EDITION 36
SEPT 2005 REVIEWS
Yamaguchi / Lucifer Matches / Trademark
@ The Boardwalk
It was inevitable, wasn't it? We come to wave fondly goodbye to Yamaguchi, Sheffield's favourite Magritte style electro rockers and they stormed it. The best show we saw them do. But first…
Trademark hail from Oxford and do a sort of 80s synth poppy thing which, in the good bits, remind of a heartfelt Pet Shop Boys but soon head off into cheesy Stock, Aitken and, whatever happened to the other one? The singer's resemblance to a pre-Joseph Jason Donovan doesn't help matters.
New bands are at a distinct advantage when they're being reviewed, if the reviewer's aware that they're not long formed, that is. There's the benefit of the doubt option available, working on the possibility of improvement.
On the other hand if the band are any cop then it's even more fun to be the first to say so. And Lucifer Matches, three gigs in, are a fair bit of cop already. OK, there's some tinkering needed but the basics are there. There are some instrumental electronicky moments which probably sound better in the practice room but there are some good songs built over a thumping QOTSA bass with touches of the Manics. It's a bit intangible, but I'd put a few quid on them ending up more than the sum of their influences. There's an interesting sound brewing.
And on come the suited and bowler-hatted Yamaguchi, always a bright spot in the blokey denim world the local gig scene can sometimes appear. Sadly, it's to wave goodbye.
They've always been a fun mix of slap bass, electronic drums and hairdryer guitar; mixing rock posture with a carnival sense of fun. Tonight, Matthew, they're simply a very, very good Yamaguchi.
On 'Groove' the head-mic'ed Robin takes centre stage and dances in a manner not seen since Michael Jackson had a nose, and for the rest of the set slides, as if on castors, round the rest of the stage, Hanna looking on with great amusement.
Deservedly there's an encore, then, without even a puff of smoke, they're off.
Andy, who's a great drummer, is moving on. No doubt Hanna and Robin will re-emerge sometime in the near future with something interesting. We'll be waiting.
words: Jack Tractor, pics: Chris Saunders
Hiem / Smokers Die Younger / The Hipshakes
Electric Blanket @ Blind Institute
I paused from gathering wood for the fire of Lughanasa. I left my collection of hawthorn and oak beneath a plastic sheet just past Bowcroft Cemetery, beyond the edge of Stannington, and I started the long march into town. The hawthorn was easy to come by but the oak took some time to search out.
There is a large crowd at the Institute for the Blind at nine o’clock, which increases as the night draws on. A gathering of the ill formed and misshapen. The fat in winsome floral patterns and customised Oxfam. The permed and the perfumed. Failed musicians in conversation with surly record shop owners and inauthentic club promoters. A tribute to Dennis Wilson c. 1972. The first DJ plays second rate new versions of things first heard 25 years ago.
The Hipshakes dedicate their performance to the Hull rugby league side that defeated St Helens in this afternoon’s Powergen Cup semi-final. ‘Sister Ray’ mutates into a punked up pop song. The Ramones momentarily joined by Black Sabbath and the heavier elements of Spacemen 3 in a demonstration of typical young speed pop. The drummer was commended on his performance in the last issue of Sandman and I can confirm he is an energetic young fellow in trance land.
The singer from Ape Drape Escape acting as MC reveals himself to be a top rate music hall dancer and an eater of carnations.
Smokers Die Younger strive to change from song to song, still these foundation elements plainly remain: surf Joy Division, ‘New Dawn Fades’ delayed, PIL chants, Pixies and ‘Mull of Kintyre’.
I had to leave at 11.11. to go in search of an ash tree. It was hard to find the way out.
I witnessed Hiem’s performance through the medium of psychic CCTV. This is what I saw: an aggressive man and his smaller friend. The ghost of a moustache above the top half of a shell suit, blood red, white striped. There is no love lost between them. A neon glow, a dark haired David Blunkett, a giant. A star sign saying ‘Hiem’.
Post-punk guitar master Paul Mills suggested the venue should be used more often. He stated that only an enterprising promoter is necessary to bring this about. After a brief discussion about the local politics of live music promotion, Paul eventually identified Jan from Sandman as the ideal man for the job, although acknowledging that this would prove difficult because of Jan’s other activities. I’m sure the capacity crowd would agree with Paul. I think it would be the ideal space for a one off Nihilstics reunion.
Patrick, son of Peter, son of Fred
Silver Soul
@ The Green Room
A Green Room, a place where artistes wait before appearing on the bigger stage and maybe that’s what this place is: turn up here and who knows what you’ll see, one band, three bands, all different and all free. I have to admit this is my first trip to the Green Room since it changed from Bistro Casablanca. A few tables have gone but it still has a café/bar feel to it. The band, Silver Soul, is a three-piece made up of a drummer, keyboard player and singer, who ran through two fairly standard sets of traditional jazz/swing numbers. They seemed to relax more as the night went on and a few more punters came in, some obviously fans/friends. They aren’t going to set the world on fire but I don’t think they want to; they enjoyed it and so did the crowd. I wasn’t sure what to expect but as it’s free to get it in and on some nights there are three bands/musicians on, what more could you ask for?
Jon (Silverseed)
The Hipshakes / New York Alcoholic Anxiety Attack / Curbar
@ The Grapes
A mixed bag tonight. First band Curbar draw the biggest crowd, and although they're apparently very new it's easy to see that they might just have something and be worth watching out for. It's fairly standard indie rock, but with a bit of flair - it actually has melodies, and the singer's not half bad either. Another refreshing plus point is that Curbar seem to be a new Sheffield band that don't wear Fred Perry and belong to a certain recent scene.
Next band. Hmmm. New York Alcoholic Anxiety Attack have to be one of the most mis-named bands around. Going on the name, you'd imagine Lou Reed / The Strokes-isms, perhaps with a harder edge. What you get is a pub-standard shouty trio that smell more than a little of New Model Army and the Levellers. They're big on power chords and grimacing, but unfortunately small on tunes or decent lyrics. And even if they were great, this feels very much like a dead genre to me. But perhaps that's just my suspicion of anything crusty coming to the surface, I don't know.
In contrast, the Hipshakes are great. This is three-piece messy surf garage rock; it's got real energy and it makes you smile. It might not always be in tune or in time, but it goes "a-one-two-three-four" in all the right places and consequently brings to mind something of the Ramones as well as a whole host of garage bands. They're never going to sell truck loads of records, but if you want proper rock and roll along with your Stella on a Friday night, you could do much, much worse than going to see The Hipshakes.
words: Seth Tempo, pics: Andy Brown
iForward Russia!
@ The Casbah
Forward Russia! this month are enjoying unanimous praise from the likes of Steve Lamacq and the NME. Taking their advice I headed down to the Casbah to see one of the most electric live bands in the area.
The evening started with a rather doomed set from Fury of the Headteachers, “Sorry, I’ve got laryngitis. I really shouldn’t be singing but I’m going to play the set anyway,” croaked the lead singer. Just as I was marvelling over what a Christian martyr this guy was, bad luck struck again, “Has anyone got a guitar with strings?” Oh dear. Aside from the various mishaps, Fury of the Headteachers delivered a reasonable set, though due to the numerous interruptions they didn’t have time to show their true potential under the time constraint.
¡Forward Russia! on the other hand had no problem creating an impact. Taking to the stage in matching T-shirts, as they launched into their first song it was easy to see how they had gained their reputation. Front man Tom flounced around uncontrollably, barely giving himself the strength to reach the next line, whereas drummer Katie kept as strict and straight faced as a poker player throughout. In the second track, recent single Thirteen, some of the earlier misfortunes affected the headliners with the lead singer suddenly having a rushing nose bleed. Unlike Fury of the Headteachers, however, it didn’t affect their set, and, if anything, added to the chaos of the performance.
¡Forward Russia! are a band who must be seen live; even if you find them shambolic and disorganised it will be something you’ll never forget. For me though, it was raw punk at its best.
Ruth Offord
James W Hindle / Mi and L’au / Josephine Foster
@ The Lescar
Quiet is the new loud’ they said, back in the late 1990s. But nobody heard them, and pop music continued on its noisy rampage, to produce the fantastic array of loud and energetic rocking-out bands we enjoy today. And yet, in a few dark corners, far away from the chanting crowds and thrashing electro-guitars, sitting behind their pints and applauding politely, a select few remain enthralled by the subtle power of quietness.
One such corner was The Lescar on August 15th. The back room was busy for a Monday night, but experiencing an uncharacteristic hush. On the stage a young, bearded man by the name of James W. Hindle was playing some beautiful opening bars on his acoustic guitar. It was difficult to escape thoughts of Nick Drake as his voice cut into the music clearly, but the lyrics had a more modern, urban feel. And refreshingly, a wry sense of humour crept in from behind the melancholy chords. ‘There are probably more people in this room than there were on the whole tour I have just been on’ he remarked at one point, smiling gently.
Next up was the enigmatic male/female duo of Mi and L’au, though it was not clear which one was which, and as they played, it became difficult to imagine one without the other. They hailed from Finland, the male performer was French, they sang one song in Swedish, and were definitely other-worldly. Sometimes a note seemed to last forever. At one point the man became statuesque, hunched unmoving over his guitar, waiting to play a chord to complement his partner’s arresting voice. This was not easy listening. As the sharp-featured woman sang the words ‘Insanity is no excuse for bad behaviour’, the audience seemed duly reprimanded.
Finally, and most bewitching of all, came Josephine Foster. Her flowery dress and demure manner suggested a wholesome bygone America, but her haunting voice and intricate guitar rhythms and experiments with discord produced other, far more disturbing images in the mind. Everyone was transfixed. Someone thought she sang like a theramin sounds. Two friends walked out of the pub talking about Hitchcock film soundtracks and looking slightly nervously over their shoulders.
Quiet is not the new loud. It never will be. But if you listen carefully, you might just hear something interesting.
Elly Tams
Corleone
@ The Howard
Sheffield is great for music at the moment, here’s why: Sunday night at the Leadmill, the Arctic Monkeys play to a sold out crowd of around a thousand, every song meets rapturous applause and everyone seems to know every word to at least three-quarters of the songs. Fast forward now to Monday night and Corleone take to the stage at the Howard, seemingly the place to be for free, live music on a Monday night. The crowd of about 40 people don’t know the words to the songs but they meet an enthusiastic reaction. The point I’m trying to make is that from the biggest venues right through to the floors of the smaller pubs, Sheffield is brimming with great music.
Corleone are what you might call ‘post-rock’. In contrast to the Arctic Monkeys, (whose ‘Bang Bang Recordings’ T-shirt Corleone’s drummer is sporting tonight) they are unashamedly epic, and all the better for it. Their set is packed with little spine tingling moments of beautiful melody, packed tight against big, hard edged soundscapes. Like the very best of bands such as Sonic Youth and Mogwai, they etch out little moments of heart-swelling beauty from tough, rapturous noise that can make you melt with joy. Just when you think that the song has run its course, the band, perfectly in tune with each other, look round and then unleash another supernova-like sound that grabs the attention of every punter in the pub, a sound surely made for bigger venues than the Howard.
You’d think that the band could only go so far with this formula, but not so. I, personally, am totally awed from start to finish. Songs like Fuck Manhattan are seething with uncontrollable rage and anger, whilst instrumental track This Is The Walk You Must Walk (possibly the finest, most controlled, well played piece of instrumental rock music you will hear all year) changes the mood towards mild calm, yet maintaining the ‘edgy’ thing this band do so well, and keeps things interesting.
Variety then, is perhaps what’s best about Sheffield at the moment. For every Arctic Monkeys or Bromhead’s Jacket I’d like to think that there is a Corleone playing somewhere, waiting to blow you away. And long may it remain.
Michael Brader
Presidents of the USA / Reuben / Scanners
@ The Leadmill
Recent supporters of The Wedding Present, the Scanners, started the night with an awesome (can this word still be used seriously?) female singer, with indie thrashing pop rock. They sound like the Pixies and their playing is very tight with a dance-style beat.
Reuben were brilliant and full of banter for the crowd (“Thanks for coming the both of you”). Their sound is grungy and catchy with heavy and poppy songs, with influences like Glassjaw, Refused and, strangely, Aphex Twin. The Guildford trio’s debut album is worth a look when it is finally released, titled ‘Racecar is Racecar Backwards’, featuring the great ‘Let’s Stop Hanging Out’.
Them cartoon characters, PUSA, are off again singing about lumps and ‘bo weasels’
(has Avid Merrion got ‘owt to do with this?). Starting with an excellent cover of ‘Video Killed the Radio Star’ and performing most of the first album, they pogo-ed and laughed all the way through the set. Chris Bellow’s speedy vocals featured in some of the song’s fills, and solos were used to explain the reason for their success, break-up and reunion, all over in 30 seconds! After songs from the new album, ‘Love Everybody’ (including ‘Some Postman’), ‘Kitty’, ‘Dune Buggy’ and the rest, it was time for a cover of Lulu’s ‘Shout’ and a chanting session (old rivals Green Day have covered this for years in a very similar fashion - so who’s copied who?) They finished with the track ‘We’re Not Gonna Make It’, which sums up their attitude to being (naked and) famous (sorry!) They only want to make people dance and sing along to mindless lyrics (the bouncer in the pit was laughing to ‘Kitty on my foot and I wanna touch it’). Watch out for a live DVD edition of the debut album this winter.
It’s good to see a revival of all the 90’s alternative bands – Carter USM, Dinosaur Jnr etc. Let’s have some more!
words and pics: Danielle Millea
Kate Rusby
@ Cannon Hall Open Farm, Barnsley
As a massive two-year-long fan of folk singer Kate Rusby, you may predict that this review will be greatly biased, as indeed it may. Despite the fact that I am lucky enough to have discovered this delightful sounding Barnsley-born talent two years ago, I truly believe that anyone, fan or not, who found themselves soaking up Rusby and her band’s (including instrumentalist extraordinaire, John McCusker; accordionist, Andy Cutting; double bassist, Ewen Vernal, and the humorously entertaining guitarist Ian Carr, along with a delightful group of Coldstream Guards brass boys) set, on a sunny evening at Cannon Hall Farm would have found it difficult, if not impossible, to have savoured each and every moment.
Following the launch of her new album at the Cambridge Folk Festival, ‘The Girl Who Couldn’t Fly’ (available in shops this September), the set was made up of a series of older favourites and new album material. Kate combined her contemporary take on traditional folk songs, such as ‘Cruel’ and ‘Let Me Be’, together with a charming ‘folksy’ take on Pee Wee King, Redd Stewart and Chilton Price’s ‘You Belong to Me’, with some of Kate’s very own song writing that offered just as much ear candy, with enchanting tunes such as ‘No Names’, ‘Moon Shadow’ and ‘The Elfin Knight’.
As always, time between songs was spent with Kate and her band sharing jokes and general chit chat with the audience, showing her entertaining friendly Yorkshire charm that makes for such a spontaneous-feeling gig.
An extra special moment for me personally, which was the end to a perfect night, was the song ‘Underneath the Stars’(from the 2003 album of the same name) filling the night sky, almost like a lullaby, and providing everyone, cosily huddled in that sheep field whilst sat underneath an appropriately beautiful star-filled night sky, a memory to last a lifetime.
A live talent not to be missed. Even if you think you don’t like folk music, go and see Kate and you soon will.
Ruth Palmer
Leaves
@ The Boardwalk
Leaves show unfulfilled promise.You can tell an Icelander by the shape of his eyebrows and the fact of his pointy ears. Icelanders believe in elves because half of their time is spent fucking them. As the pig is to the Stannington farmer, so the elf is to the man of Iceland. All of this elf fucking has led the musicians of Iceland to mimic the sound of the shifting earth, slow moving but enormous.
It was knowledge of the locals' love of elves that prompted the TOPY field trip to Iceland in the early 1980s, before this band and its audience were born. Djinn, David, John and Helgi set out on a perilous adventure. They stayed at Hilmar's house. Suffice it to say the trip ended in a riot of elf fucking.
Anyway, Leaves follow up 8 minutes of promising glacial drift with half an hour of bland pop sensitivity. The drummer has a photograph of a large quiffed Morrissey covering a secret hole on his drum kit. At their best they resemble a desperate and barely coherent cross between wild Waterboys and common Joy Division. There is an edge of excitement, and it is just about perceivable. At their most degenerate, Leaves resemble a sincere tribute to the song craft of Elton John.
Not even the introductory music, a melding of ice, blood and steel, can save us from disappointment.
Cari saluti,
Helgi Pedarsson
The Palms
@ The Citrus Rooms, Barnsley
It is no secret that Barnsley has a short source of decent live music venues, which makes Barnsley audiences impossible to please. However, The Palms never seem to fail in delivering a set that pacifies crowds of critics that would make Simon Cowell look like an affable fella!
Every time I watch this band they manage to send me into a nostalgic reverie, taking me back to the days when Indie music was just that.
The Palms have the knack of producing more and more mature and addictive tracks, which when performed live they present a stronger influence.
Tonight their set is energetic with each song performed with perfection. The bands casual mannerism with regards to their ever-growing popularity never fails to amaze me. The sound bounces out causing an outbreak of rhythmic foot tapping and enthusiastic 'body rocking.’
Guitarist Tom Tasker nurtures a guitar in the same way as John Squires and makes the combination of quick cord changes and bending squealing leads look almost effortless. Chris Thorpe on keyboards compliments the strong bass line (it is hard to believe this band use to play without this keyboardist, snagging him was a good move)
The vocals are excellent with words you can clearly hear (a rarity in itself). For days later you’ll find yourself humming to songs such as ‘Liverpool Streets and ‘State Of Me’.
Undoubtedly The Palms are Barnsley’s most influential yet underestimated band.
Donna Bonds
