Indie-criticism

 
STEPHEN MALKMUS DAY - APRIL 2ND 2004


STAGE 1
Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks 10.45-12.15pm
Modest Mouse 9.15pm - 10.15pm
The Shins 8.00pm - 8.45pm
Mission of Burma 6.45pm - 7.30pm
The Fiery Furnaces 5.25pm - 6.15pm
Miighty Flashlight 4.15pm - 5pm
White Magic 3pm - 3.45pm


STAGE 2
ESG -9.45pm -11pm
Enon - 8.15pm - 9.15pm
James Yorkston- 7pm - 7.45pm
Nina Nastasia - 5.45pm - 6.30pm
Cass McCombs - 4.30pm -5.15pm
Deerhoof - 3.15pm - 4.00pm
Tras Gras Och Stenar 2pm - 2.45pm


DJS-STAGE 2
12am - 2am - Justin Spear (Stereolab)
2am - 5am Belle and Sebastian DJ's


SONIC YOUTH DAY - APRIL 3RD 2004


STAGE 1
Sonic Youth - 10.45-12.15pm
Vincent Gallo 9.15pm - 10.15pm
Le Tigre 8.00pm - 8.45pm
Angelblood 6.45pm - 7.30pm
ooioo 5.25pm - 6.15pm
Black Dice 4.15pm - 5pm
Sacc Trust 3pm - 3.45pm
Fuck 1.45pm - 2.30pm


STAGE 2
Lightning bolt -9.30pm -10.45pm
wolf eyes 8pm - 9pm
Charalambides 6.45pm - 7.30pm
Erase Errata 5.30pm - 6.15pm
Dream Aktion Unit (Chris Corsano) 4.15pm - 5pm
Double Leopards 3pm - 3.45pm
Carla Bozulich/Nels Cline 1.45pm - 2.30pm


DJS - STAGE 2
12am - 2am - Ailidh Lennon
2am - 3.30am DJ Spykid
3.30am - 5am - Russell Haswell


STAGE 1


ATP DAY - APRIL 4TH 2004


STAGE 1
The Tindersticks 10.45-12.15pm
Love w/ Arthur Lee 9.15pm - 10.15pm
Cat Power 8.00pm - 8.45pm
Arab Strap 6.45pm - 7.30pm
Sophia 5.25pm - 6.15pm
Explosions in The Sky 4.15pm - 5pm
Ella Guru 3pm - 3.45pm


STAGE 2
LCD Soundsystem -10pm - 11.15pm
The Notwist - 8.30pm - 9.30pm
Bardo Pond 7pm - 8pm
Jackie-O Motherfucker - 5.30pm - 6.30pm
Threnody Ensemble 4.15pm - 5pm
Polmo Polpo/hangedup 3pm - 3,45pm
Vibra Cathredral Orchestra 1.45pm - 2.30pm
Fursaxa 12.30pm - 1.15pm


STAGE 2 CLUB NIGHT
11.45-12.45 Dizzee Rascal
1am - 1.45am - Har Mar Superstar
1.45am - 3.30am ATP Djs
3.30am - 5am Djs Ben Drury and Will Bankhead


Cool.



posted by Matthew at 5:30 AM

 
December albums:

Doleful Lions - Out like a lamb
Belle and Sebastian - Dear catatrophe waitress
Komeda - Pop pa Svenka
Elliott Smith - Either/or
Vincent Gallo - When
Jesse Sykes and the Sweet Hereafter - Reckless burning
Grandaddy - Sumday bonus disc
Brother JT - Come on down
Howie Beck - Hollow
Joy Zipper - The stereo and god
Cat Power - What would the community think?
Pearls before swine - One nation underground


posted by Matthew at 12:38 PM

 
Boxstep – By now even trees (Homesleep)


This promising E.P from the Pittsburgh 8 piece sounds particularly fantastic, since I’ve been listening to Heart 106.2 all day in the office. I have Elton John’s ‘Are You Ready for Love’ stuck in my head on a permanent basis, but thankfully this Boxstep record is ferocious enough to banish memories of John from my head for the full 24 minutes of its duration.

‘Fortune Cookies’ begins with great energy and purpose, with penicillin organ battling fiery guitars and violin, culminating in a drowsy puddle of hypnosis. Twice. There’s plenty of accordion here too, always a good thing, particularly in the crashing instrumental ‘The Tenting Effect’.

‘French Architecture’ starts menacingly but the chorus is cluttered, with all eight members of the band trying to make themselves heard. The ‘angelic male and female harmonies’ promised on the press release don’t quite materialise. Eric Graf’s vocal is purposeful and direct, but grittier and flatter than an angel’s voice. When Sarah Siplak, with her near-celestial vocals, takes lead on ‘Western Exit’, the band produce their best results. A very promising taster, better than recent Elton John, and not totally unlike Knife in the Water, Mekons, Willard Grant Conspiracy and Gorky’s. Their live shows should be very good, and a UK tour is likely later in the year.


Bright Eyes, Shepherd’s Bush Empire, 7.8.03

A trumpet solo marks Conor Oberst’s arrival on the stage. The girl in the row behind me, five seats to the left, howls her approval and I await her larynx to land on my lap. Next moment, a contagious wave of shushes slaps quiet the selfish chatter at the bar, for St Conor is about to sing!

He sings and I sigh, for it is evident that this beautiful venue has robbed his performance of its intimacy and its urgency. Almost three years ago I saw Bright Eyes in San Francisco and he was in superb form. He scolded the audience for not paying respectful attention to the opening band (Azure Ray, with whom he played backing guitar) and transfigured his anger into a range of fantastic solo songs. The lyrics flipped from the ramp of his swollen lips and his spit threatened the enchanted front rows.

Oberst’s greatest strengths, and indeed also his weaknesses, are to be found in his songwriting. He is a confessional, emotional and unpredictable writer and these qualities make his albums compelling. His nervous quavering, thankfully toned down in recent releases, are irritating on record but when performed with conviction, create an enormous stage presence.

He is, after all, a fascinating character. Is he genuinely self-loathing, depressed, and prone to hysterical angst - ‘everything I make is cheap and trite’ - or is he quite subversive – his staged radio appearance on "Fevers and Mirrors" suggests a talent for self-parody and humour. Tonight, sadly, his stage presence barely registers. There’s no banter, no jokes, no wit and no personality. He just stands there, slightly hunched, getting on with the job, and it is difficult to care for him. He neither irritates nor charms, and he isn’t helped by the fact that, tonight, the Empire is imitating a microwave oven and his lyrics emerge from the speakers damp, spongy and barely decipherable.

Otherwise, there’s little else wrong with the songs – solid arrangements, great variety and many enjoyable moments. The new songs promise that Oberst will fulfil his promise as a political songwriter (evidence of these talents are best demonstrated in his side-project Desaparecidos). He commentates on the war in Iraq as a disillusioned armchair spectator, and mixes the personal with the political with ease. In one verse he describes making out with a girl on the floor of his living room with the war on the TV in the background. Elsewhere, he muses about celebrity and its costs; the status, the travel and the money, but also the homesickness, the loneliness and the neglect of his old friends.

As competent as his band may be, Bright Eyes is essentially Conor Oberst, and perhaps more solo touring would allow audiences to see more of his personality. He is a brilliant young talent, but on too many occasions tonight he was quite boring.




Misplaced Music – Sampler – Spring / Summer
Matthew Lee

Giving Leeds its own rock festival every summer has put the city back on the music map. I attended the northern leg of the C****** festival two years ago, and although it was nice to see PJ Harvey and Mogwai, it wasn’t such fun watching beered-up skinheads set fire to portaloos, and stealing Yo La Tengo t-shirts from my tent (true story).

A million miles away (figuratively of course, we’re still in West Yorkshire) from this nonsense are Misplaced Music, an independent label born in Duluth, Minnesota, but now, weirdly, relocated to Leeds. Primarily showcasing the talents of bands from these two cities, the label motto is, ‘You don’t have to be from Duluth or Leeds to be a band on Misplaced, but it helps".

Their first release, a beautifully packaged split 7-inch from January 2002, featured Low’s ‘David and Jude’, an extremely brief, lovely, live favourite, opposite Vibracathedreal Orchestra’s ‘Stole Some Sentimental Jewellery’, a Julian Cope endorsed drone jam session.

Confusingly, two of the three Hood songs on this compilation are picked from a compilation of Hood songs that are on compilations. ‘Winter Will Set You Back’ is a mournful, sincere ballad. 1998’s ‘The Weight’ sounds like a sabotage attempt on a nursery rhyme, cut-up, sewn back together and then thrown to the wolves. Best of all is ‘Cross the Land’, where the Matt Elliott effect can truly be felt - the track appears to double in volume about halfway in, and then get ripped to pieces by broken glass and wood splinters.

The standout track on the compilation is ‘Grapefruit’, by Nebraskan singer/songwriter Simon Joyner. A lethargic, weary and woozy joy, dragging along at half-speed, with Joyner straining his voice to keep up with the lack of pace.

Dakota Suite, another Leeds band, provides the album’s centrepiece, ‘Narcolepsy Lake’ a divine piano instrumental. Time for Rodeo’s ‘It’s a Breeze’ is fascinating, like a hillbilly Danielson Famile. Charlie Parr’s ‘Henry Young’s Body’ is a slice of country blues with a 6-string acoustic guitar and a harmonica. His traditional American folk music is worlds away from Hood’s experimental electronica and demonstrates Misplaced’s willingness to greatly vary their output. This brilliant compilation has been hogging my stereo for the past few weeks, and I eagerly anticipate their future releases, especially since a record from the amazing Court and Spark is promised in the future.







posted by Matthew at 1:41 PM

 
my recent reviews

Dean Wareham & Britta Phillips – L’Avventura (Jetset)

Rather than immediately disillusion you with the disappointing reality, this being an uninspired offering from the singer and bassist of Luna, let’s briefly entertain the unjustified hype. It’s the stunning debut album from the genius behind Galaxie 500, with the woman who provided the voice for cartoon riot-grrl Jem, of Jem and the Holograms. A 1980s pop-cultural dream team; and a Gainsbourg / Bardot for the new millenium.

Nope. It’s just a Luna side-project – pleasant listening throughout, with few surprises. The concept is promising – a romantic and seductive incarnation of Dream Pop, a collaboration with audible chemistry. And in the first two songs they deliver. Night Nurse’ is a fantastic opener. The duo’s mischievous interplay is corny yet enjoyable, and the accompanying string section offers a theatrical bombast sorely missing on the remainder of the album. ‘This is followed by Ginger Snaps’, a glistening and sugary pop song enriched by amusingly ambiguous flirtation; "You can cut my hair, you can fill my cup…" ‘

‘Sadly these standards are not maintained throughout the record. ‘Threw it Away’ sounds uncomfortably like Lou Reed, right down to the busily punctuating guitar. There’s a decent cover of ‘Random Rules’, which, thanks to Dave Berman, is a great song, but the female vocal is barely there and it feels a little out of place. In‘’Your Baby’ and ‘Out Walking’, Phillips sings unaccompanied, and although these are pretty songs, they lack spark, and crucially, dialogue; her love is apparently not reciprocated. Their cover of the Doors’ ‘Indian Summer’ is the dullest moment here. The insipid lyrics ("I love you the best, better than all the rest"), the lack of Phillips’ vocals, and the unchanging instrumentation make this track one to skip.

The album cover is revealing. The couple share a sofa, separated by inches, but emotionally miles apart. They look like contestants on Blind Date about to bitch about a hellish weekend skydiving together in Aberdeen. On the basis of the first two songs, this should have been an album of duets, a charming, sleazy, and subversive romantic comedy. Their voices are well-matched and there are flashes of inspiration, but the lack of interplay and exchange on most of the songs make this rather forgettable.


Boxstep – By now even trees (Homesleep)


This promising E.P from the Pittsburgh 8 piece sounds particularly fantastic, since I’ve been listening to Heart 106.2 all day in the office. I have Elton John’s ‘Are You Ready for Love’ stuck in my head on a permanent basis, but thankfully this Boxstep record is ferocious enough to banish memories of John from my head for the full 24 minutes of its duration.

‘Fortune Cookies’ begins with great energy and purpose, with penicillin organ battling fiery guitars and violin, culminating in a drowsy puddle of hypnosis. Twice. There’s plenty of accordion here too, always a good thing, particularly in the crashing instrumental ‘The Tenting Effect’.

‘French Architecture’ starts menacingly but the chorus is cluttered, with all eight members of the band trying to make themselves heard. The ‘angelic male and female harmonies’ promised on the press release don’t quite materialise. Eric Graf’s vocal is purposeful and direct, but grittier and flatter than an angel’s voice. When Sarah Siplak, with her near-celestial vocals, takes lead on ‘Western Exit’, the band produce their best results. A very promising taster, better than recent Elton John, and not totally unlike Knife in the Water, Mekons, Willard Grant Conspiracy and Gorky’s. Their live shows should be very good, and a UK tour is likely later in the year.



posted by Matthew at 9:10 AM

 
Arm of Roger was Timmy Branca, Panda Nelson, Britney Fett, Zeke Doloric and Whitey Fong, and this, their second record (their debut, The Velvet Insides, was lost in a house fire) is impossible to describe.  Let guitarist / songwriter Timmy Branca explain all to the confused listener - "Most people who have heard this record who don't know us that well think it's a weird one. I don't know about that.  It's more all-encompassing to me, like a rock version of world-music or some shit."  He's right.  This record is the rhythm of the world spinning on its axis.

The album opener "Robot Escort", is a beautiful, heartfelt love song about a man who falls in love with a humanmade machine. Branca's lyrics lament a personal tragedy in which, a male rock-star, made of guts, flesh and emotion, is unsure whether his robotic partner reciprocates his awesome love. Branca's voice is Prince Charles versus Shane McGowan, an inebriated, regal drone, accompanied on this track by vomited foreign mumblings and a electric-shock spasnotic lo-fi pang. 

"One Time they Called and Asked for Freddy" perfectly captures the mundane everyday goings-on of the day-to-day life of a rock star trying to chill out with friends.  "Some people call me up and ask for people who don't live here. I'm going to blame all the zeros in my phone number", Fong sings. What follows are three minutes of glorious repetition, wrist-slittingly dull but with an unshakeable catchiness; a long list of names of people that don't live in the songwriters house.  "One time they called and asked for Norman.  One time they called and asked for Sherry."  The listener is forced to share in Whitey Fong's pain, at having his privacy disturbed at regular intervals by people calling the wrong number and interrupting his domestic routine.

The lyrics on this record are consistently poetic. "Down with the Animals" provides an insightful commentary of urban human behaviour.  The band write about farm animals as though they were humans, but whilst humanising animals and protesting against conditions in zoos, they viciously animalise the greed and ignorance of modern Man.  "Make way for the vicious cougar, he's in the drive-thru ordering tacos and burgers for his friends at the cougar den."  This is brilliant social commentary, and typical of the band's all-encompassing "Fuck Off and Die" political and social stance.  In "I like Lo-Fi Recordings", Branca sings "I am a naked spaceman.  I like to stand naked on the moon."  Maybe, just maybe, there's some of his semen on the moon still intact, and they'll mistake it for alien dung, or something...

The band's shocking misanthropy continues apace in "You Know You're Fucked Up".  Panda Nelson shouts "Everybody says the word 'fuck' these days, so it's okay, and you're really fucked up.  You're a fuckin' dick too!"  Ouch!  The record ends on a happy note, with a song all about pussy.  "Put plaque on my pussy? I'll put plaque on your pussy!  Throw rocks at my pussy?  I'll throw rocks at that pussy!"  Truly universal stuff.

Of course, much of this record is a piece of shit. And the band doesn't even exist. Arm of Roger is a pseudonym for Grandaddy -"The Ham and its Lily" is the legendary fake album they originally sent to their record label instead of the Sophtware Slump.  It has now been made available on Grandaddy's own record label, Sweat of the Alps, and it is very funny indeed.  Even with the band playing their instruments very badly, and singing ridiculous lyrics in silly joke voices, there are some fascinating and beguiling noises made on this record. Some of it even sounds a little like Grandaddy.  This piece of shit smells pretty good. 

www.armofroger.com

posted by Matthew at 2:55 PM

 

Sphyr – A Poem to M

Sphyr are Ohad Benchetrit and David Mitchell of Montreal’s Do Say Make Think, with pianist / accordionist Milos Popovic, and poet / rapper Derek Stephens.

This inspired collaboration sounds quite unlike anything else, a synthesis of hip-hop and traditional folk music, which sounds potentially disastrous, but is in fact engaging, hypnotic and addictive. Benchetrit’s beautiful Spanish guitar and Popovic’s accordion recall early European folk music, but Stephens’ vocals are crammed with tension, urbanity and paranoia, sounding distinctly North American and modernistic. Stephens’ vocals are largely monotonous, but sermonised by hugely accentuated syllables delivered with conviction and passion.

The production is superb; natural and organic, the gentle tapping of accordion keys and the scratching of guitar strings illuminating the band’s performance. My only gripe with this record concerns Stephens’ poetry itself. Although his vocal style is surprisingly well matched to the unlikely instrumentation, his words are abstract and unfathomable to the point of meaninglessness, and it isn’t easy to connect emotionally to the music. I’m sure he’s trying to tell us something very personal and very important, but despite my thorough expert analysis I still have no idea what he’s on about. I’m sure the mysterious ‘M’, whoever he or she may be, appreciates the poetry more than I do. With or without any deeper meaning, this is a brave, adventurous and exciting record.





posted by Matthew at 6:59 AM

 
Bob Log III, London Metro Club, 7th May

Bob Log III, according to his official biography, lost his left hand in a childhood boating accident. The hand was replaced by a monkey paw, which explains why he can play the guitar twice as quickly as anybody else. This one-man band from Tucson, Arizona, wears a bright orange bodysuit and a large silver motorcycle crash helmet. He never removes the helmet in public and rumours circulate at large regarding his identity. I can confirm, however, that contrary to popular belief, he is not one of the Strokes in disguise. He has installed a telephone microphone, secreted by a length of vacuum cleaner tubing, into the part of the helmet next to his mouth. He calls his guitar String Around A Stick, plays cymbals and drum furiously with his feet, and almost all the songs are about boobies.

"Now I gonna play the fastest song in the mothafucken’ world..." Log pulls a customised Bob Log III designer tea cosy over his head, "...Blindfolded!" He plays with alarming speed and there is macro-pandemonium; three or four brave headbangers in the crowd, a deafening racket, indecipherable screeched lyrics (almost certainly about boobies), and at the centre of it all, a skinny, hairy lunatic wearing a tea cosy over a crash helmet.

After demanding a double Scotch on the rocks from the bar, Bob has a little game for us to play. "Boob Scotch!" he screams through his telephone mic, every word attracting chalk-on-blackboard spine-in-skull feedback.

"Yeah! Come on! Let’s play Boob Scotch!" A male photographer is the first to dip his boob into Bob’s double Scotch. "Dude Boob’s fine with me!" Three female members of the public also oblige, with the breast-covering fabric of their clothing. None of us can see his face, but from his body language I’m sure Bob is disappointed that he’s been denied pure boobie. He takes a swig of Boob Scotch and turns psychic. "You’re 36 years old, you’re 24, you’re 28, and you’re... 12!!! I ain’t drinking no 12 year old Boob Scotch. That’s illegal!!!"

He’s a little like a one-man White Stripes, although his distorted telephone mic voice is similar to Tom Waits. There’s a little Ed Hamell in him, some Billy Childish and a dose of Lightnin’ Hopkins. He describes himself as a ‘blunk’ artist (blues/punk crossover) and his lyrics, an irrelevancy anyway since they can’t be understood, are Bloodhound Gang. All his songs sound very similar but thanks to his bizarre appearance and his sheer energy it doesn’t become dull. For the final song of the night (I think, entitled Boob Trap, there’s a ongoing theme here...) a girl sits on each of his legs so that when his feet pound against the percussion we can all admire their jiggling boobies. And at the end of the song he bends over and lets people in the crowd kiss his magical helmet. Immature, ingenious fun.

posted by Matthew at 11:07 AM