LIVE REVIEWS *1
The 4’s
@ Joseph’s Well, Leeds
Just as their name lacks originality, so too does The 4’s music. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing, especially at their stage in the game. Originality is a hard thing to achieve even for the most experienced of bands, never mind one that looks like they’re fresh out of high school.
All-in-all The 4’s, who cite influences such as The Rolling Stones and The Undertones, put on an enjoyable show and their potential was clear from the outset. The problem is they never quite realised it. In their defence the lack of support was sure to be disheartening (there were 6 people in the audience) and consequently I’m not sure they gave it their all. That said the band had some good stuff to offer. Their opening track ‘I Don’t Know What I Want’ which is available as a demo in HMV in Leeds was instantly catchy with a powerful anthem chorus and set a high standard for the remainder of the set. The songs that followed did deliver but at times fell into the trap of sounding too samey. Front man Simon Glass’s accomplished vocals were one of the most impressive elements of the bands performance, leaving other areas with room for improvement. This is a band clearly in its early days, but brimming with potential and likeability. They’ve got a long way to go but something’s telling me they might just get there.
Emma Dakers
Agent Blue / Spitfire Charlie / Dakota
@ The Cockpit, Leeds
Cold Wednesday nights in February are not usually something to write about, however this was no ordinary Wednesday night. It was my first chance to see some up and coming bands playing at the Cockpit.
A smattering of people dotting the floor greeted Dakota. Balanced guitar, rattling drums and steady vocals eased everybody into ‘Million Miles’. With the song complete the band received a fluff of applause from the sparse early revellers.
Heavier drums and choral guitar riffs brought us further into their set as more people filtered in. At times it was difficult to hear Dan Pearson on vocals with the instruments in full flow but overall it was vocally strong. Although lyrically they were nothing to set the poet’s heart racing, they produced some melodic tunes of an upbeat nature. A good set closed nicely with ‘Let the Light Shine Out’ to a now filling crowd.
Spitfire Charlie took to the altar with a laid back looking John Roberts belting out his ear crunching vocals (in between swigs of beer) from the off. There was definitely more of a buzz in the crowd. With songs that ranged lyrically, vocally and instrumentally they were there to entertain.
Whether it’s the excellent climbing guitar solo and thumping bass of set closer ‘Let’s See What It Will Bring’, crashing drums in every track, or excellent vocals, this set definitely grabbed my attention. SC may have influences from the rock genre, but they are producing songs that stand tall in their own right. Tales of the drink filled sexploitations that come with Leeds student life are both witty and catchy. Just like in WWII the Spitfire proves itself to be a winner!
We’ve had the beer in hand frontman, now for the cigarette waving frontman. Skinny jeans, scruffy hair and arrogant swagger is the best description of Nick Andrews. He amused and entertained me during this set. Agent Blue played a funky set of indie rock tunes. Andrews definitely lives for his art and was strong for the most part. On occasion he was out muscled when the instrumental reached an air crunching high.
Aside from a seemingly lost Josh Hill on guitar, the band seemed strong as a unit and played some top notch tracks, my favourites being ‘Monster Monster’ and ‘341’. Worth seeing.
Dom Chalk
Be Your Own Pet
@ The Cockpit, Leeds
I’ve been living a lie. For most of my mature life, I’ve considered myself to be a strong believer in indie pop, and romance. Now I have four (pseudo?) trailer trash garage rock’n’roll fiends making me throw myself around with reckless abandon. As the gorgeous blonde singer yells “I’m here to take your money!… And I’m here to steal your virginity!”, I don’t find myself thinking “oh, how crass”, I look to see where I can sign up for this offer. What’s happened to me?
More importantly what’s possessed the youth who, during the aforementioned song (‘Bunk Trunk Skunk’ FYI), stage-dived nose first into the floor, only to immediately rejoin the fray? This is some strange power that Jemina (for that is the name of tonight’s punk rock siren) and her band of noise making bastard brothers hold. It is causing us to act in such a foolish manner, making us simply forget that some bitch in heels is pogo-ing on our toes. We’ll remember that when the dull pain comes back in the morning. We’ve been won over by the rock’n’roll.
That is the key. Infatuations aside, the strength that Be Your Own Pet possess is pure raw primal energy. This is rock’n’roll in its full thrills and spills and sex and violence and fire (only the last of those is solely invoked lyrically) glory. It’s the sound of The Ramones finding their feminine side. It’s very messy, always dangerously close to grinding to a shambolic halt; the buzz comes from watching them narrowly avoid disaster every time.
You really feel like they mean it as well. Set closer ‘Damn Damn Leash’ gets interrupted when Jemina stops the song and starts ranting: “Do you know what, we fucked that up. Do you know why? The guys at the back aren’t dancing. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why aren’t you having fun and living your life?”. And then ‘Damn Damn Leash’ starts again. The room surges, and you realise that she’s helped you. Sure, we can enjoy ourselves while keeping a respectable distance, but a band like this need you to, quite literally, throw yourself into the songs. And after that vicious line of questioning, how can we say no?
Tom Goodhand
Be Your Own Pet
@ The Social, Nottingham
Be Your Own Pet are from Nashville. I saw these guys support The Kills, I left after they played that time. Not because they were bad, because they were blatantly better than The Kills were ever going to be. The band is a four-piece, three goofy looking (but retaining coolness) guys, and one mental screaming good-looking front girl. She’s the kind of girl most guys would really want to chat up but after they see her on stage they know they don’t have the guts to do it. Their music is punk rock, and they just go wild. Jemina, the singer, embodies the punk sounds that the band make by screaming, falling over, spitting and telling the crowd how lame they are for not going crazy on a Saturday night.
The band are really young and obviously really into music, the drummer has his own label, Infinity Cat, which started out by doing a few CDRs and now does proper CDs and vinyl. This band need to be seen. Their performance was excellently volatile, and the crowd did get into it, so much so that a bouncer had to stand on stage to stop kids jumping on stage to get their mates to take photos of them at a real punk rock show so they can put the photos on there Myspace profile. Shame the wildness only lasted a few songs and not all the way through. Also I didn’t see any girls leaving with blood on their tops, which is always a disappointment. Give me a girl fight any day of the week. Band 10/10. Crowd 4/10. This Review 1/10 (probably).
Words and Photography: Joe Blanchard
Be Your Own Pet / Good Shoes / Jeffrey Novak’s One Man Band
@ The Social, Nottingham
The gig kicks off with Jeffrey Novak; an unexpected cacophony of sound and another American Import. Onlookers are more than a little surprised to notice there is only one man on stage: banging away like there’s no tomorrow and strumming like he’s got an overexcited nervous tic in his arm. Then he starts singing…
The second support act, Good Shoes, are old hands at gigging and play a precise set to a receptive if slightly reserved crowd which quickly thawed out. My only criticism was their foolish hiding of their best aesthetic asset (i.e. the stunning bassist) away in the corner. Calculated riffs and open vocals get heads nodding but the crowd is seemingly too cool to dance. However the crowd warms to them and the cheer after their last song is out of appreciation, not relief.
During the wait for the Nashville quartet nonchalance is cast aside like obsolete outdoor garments, the collective body heat soars and pushing and shoving starts before the youngsters even hit the stage.
Their explosive set starts and all pretences gone, the first five rows are doing their best impressions of Jemina; hair flying everywhere (and sweat as well).
Be Your Own PET are on excellent form- crashing into each other and the crowd, jumping around and even bleeding in a pretty successful attempt to match the exuberance of their short, stinted, static masterpieces.
Despite their best efforts, the crowd just can’t match the energy shown by the band onstage, who dive around the stage, onto each other, into the crowd, onto their instruments, finally ending up in a triumphant heap, much to the delight of the crowd, who are still screaming.
As odd or premature it may seem to have the gig of the year done and dusted in January, with Jeffrey Novak, Good Shoes and the unstoppable Be Your Own PET, it’s certainly what The Social have done.
Louise Norris-Hunt
Babyshambles /Tiny Dancers/ The Holloways
@ The Plug, Sheffield
So, the Cirque de Doherty pitches up at The Plug to bring some of its customary grime to Sheffield’s shiniest new venue.
Opening up, the spritely Holloways have learnt an important lesson early; to be successful in this game you need to make people move. These young’uns do it well: not in a po-faced Franz Ferdinand sort of way but in a big-grin-plastered-over-your-face sort of way. Between the intermittent use of this season’s cause celebre ‘gypsy-punk’ and the Hawaiian guitar flecked closer - and first single – Generator, their set premieres a broad enough range of influences to elevate them above the current clutch of ‘cokernee’ urchin rockers.
How on earth did Sheffield give birth to The Tiny Dancers? Sounding like Rufus Wainwright if he’d grown-up in Nashville, The Dancers diaphanous sound is more suited to a hushed, reverent Albert Hall crowd, than the by now rabid ‘Shambles fans. Geek-chic extraordinaire David Kay delivered his elegies passionately, but their impact is quashed by the monsoon of beer.
A Babyshambles performance tends to hinge on what frontman turns up: the visceral punk poet or the vacant, fucked-up casualty. Tonight, perhaps in mind of his court appearance the next morning, the latter bounds on stage. Minus guitarist Patrick Walden, the band play songs from The Libertines back catalogue, the new Babyshambles album, a few new’uns and a few covers, in a set just shy of two hours. Doherty is engaged; flirting with the audience, reading rose-tethered poems flung on stage and introducing yardie roadies.
Initially the songs sound a little small without Walden’s axe-heroics over the top. But as the band hit their stride, the talent behind the headlines emerges: Sticks and Stones takes on a skanky-swagger missing on record; and Albion is the heartbreak lullaby to dystopian England. The gutsy segueing of Don’t Look Back into the Sun into the Oasis classic Don’t Look Back in Anger shows Doherty’s song craft standing-up well against Grandmaster Gallagher’s.
The bass and drums of Drew McConnell and Adam Ficek show off their ingenuity: reacting to Doherty’s odd rhythmic tangents- apropos of nowt- like battle-hardened pro’s.
Supermodel-lite closer La Bete et La Belle is a suitably stomping conclusion - with fiddles courtesy of the Holloways - which leaves The Plug exhilarated. Not pure exhilaration. One tempered with the nagging worry that the most enormous talent is wafting into the ether out of a mini Martell bottle.
Stu Scott
Babyshambles
@ Rescue Rooms, Nottingham
As soon as Pete Doherty stumbled onto stage, not realising where he was, unable to find his microphone, the state of him was clear. His music however, wasn’t.
The band seem to be falling apart. They played as a three-piece since the guitarist left recently, with the bass player and drummer fading into the background whilst Pete’s roadie hung around the stage retrieving his dropped plectrums and making sure he was still standing. People weren’t really there for the band so it didn’t matter.
He played guitar better than expected, clanging out his tunes to a surprising standard. The slow songs were clumsy yet enchanting and he appeared to enjoy playing them more and lost himself in the midst of them as they veered off on tangents, with the guitar overpowering his vocals.
The crowd however weren’t there for these. They wanted the early, glory days of The Libertines, the sweaty glamour Pete famously exudes. At times this was there. As he played the songs people paid for, such as What Katy Did and What A Waster, the audience, mostly made up of men, lived it up. The faster Babyshambles’ tracks such as Pipedown and Killamangiro got the same reaction. His set was short and simple and contained no surprises. Ending with an impressive version of Fuck Forever but lacking an encore you were left wondering if that was it.
The passion seemed to have faded though. The songs were played and he mumbled incoherently into the microphone between songs, staggering around stage, topless having ripped his shirt in two yet he seemed to be playing on autopilot. None of this came as a shock though, you don’t expect more than an average, drug heavy performance, whether he turns up or not is the only thing questioned.
Sarah Gibson
Blinded By Science / The KBC / Bochum Parkway
@ The Grapes, Sheffield
The electronic spectre of DFA productions had crossed the pond and was resident apparent from the very beginning of this Sheffield vs. Manchester gig, and this promise of so styled music was clear from the type of folk the evening had attracted – a healthy dash of friendly pretension. The three band line-up all had intriguing names, which can be misleading, but I find the name is where you begin with such things.
The crowd had swollen to a respectable size by the time the first Sheffield act, ‘Bochum Parkway’, took to the stage amid heckling whoops, indicating a fair proportion of the crowd were of the mate variety. The electro intro’s and fast paced guitar melodies of the songs made for a really enjoyable set, with the lead singer providing some excellently spikey vocals, resulting in a overall sound reminiscent of The Rapture. After a five tune set, the last of which was impressively sustained, the group departed – Sheffield
1: Manchester 0. Manchester’s ‘The KBC’ comprised of fewer members, but their sound was just as strong.
Displaying more art house style than the previous act, they banged through their tunes with particularly sharp numbers like the recently released ‘Poisonous Emblem’ and the awesome ‘Pride Before The Fall’, both of which had the crowd gyrating in appreciation.
Mixing the Franz sound, favoured of late, with some energetic and harder guitar play, this is certainly an act not to be missed, with their more prominent rise hopefully assured. Sheffield 1: Manchester 1. After two such impressive offerings perhaps I was expecting too much from the last Sheffield act of the evening:
‘Blinded By Science’. The band consisted of more members, but highlighted even further the stage presence of the previous acts and their associated front men by way of their lack of it. That said, the band can clearly play and so it was a shame that what they played lacked lustre, with their harder rock style being so incoherent with the previous two bands that I can only assume that they were the victim of some miss billing. So, the final score? Definitely a draw – normally a shite result, but in this case a reflection of the quality of music that both of these fine Northern cities are currently producing.
Matt Child
Bob Marley Tribute Night
@ The Everyone Centre, Sheffield
It’s pub kick out time and I’m at the Everyone Centre trying to negotiate a queue which stretches the length of the building. There’s something of a stir here and it’s easy to see why – the Birthday of one of the greatest musical heroes of our time. The fact that he’s passed away has only strengthened enthusiasm for Bob Marley’s music, and a surprisingly young crowd are eager to get inside.
Junior Bigfist (look at the size of ‘em!) kicks off the night with some heavy skank, and you can see it’s going to be a good one. The vibe inside the place is happy, love for Marley spreading out in all directions, and Mr Meerkat (Dubcentral) follows with a storming set to warm things up for the main event.
Around 12.30 the band appear. On an ad-hoc stage, the Riddimtion Backing Band have acquired a whole host of assorted singers and a brass section to boot. After a haphazard intro (Jammin’) they get into it – the singers and the crowd clearly loving every minute. Okay, it feels a little bit like live karaoke, but the performances are spot on. I even find myself shedding a tear at one point, during Vanessa’s rendition of ‘No woman, no cry’.
They finish their first foray to claps and nods of approval all round, as Rootsfella gets the throng bobbing and weaving, dropping more than the occasional ‘Bob’ classic amid ragga and drum and bass cut-ups.
When the band reappear, the performances are tight, with some truly inspiring singing from Mim Suleiman (3 Little Birds), Dan Nobleman (Heathen) and the Junglist Aliiance (Lively up yourselves). At the close of the set, people are visibly jumping to Fujativ & Diamond’s ragga interpretation of the classic ‘Could You Be Loved’. As one heavily bearded Aussie punter summated, ‘it’s all goin’ off gorgeous’. I couldn’t have put it better myself.
Whilst the reggae continues into the night I reflect on an enigmatic figure, whose music has touched people all over the world. It’s a pleasant feeling that tonight has served the memory of this legendary man well, and the appreciation shows on the faces of everyone present.
Chevron Chicane
Cappo / Rukus Regardless/ Midnyte
@ The Social, Nottingham
The long -standing Nottingham lyricist ‘Cappo’ was joined by ‘Rukus Regardless’ and ‘Midnyte’ for a live set at ‘The Social’. Epitomising giving people value for money, ‘Cappo’ started by letting the crowd know they were about to hear eighteen new tracks from the up and coming release ‘Code Of Practice’. What may have been a surprise for many of the crowd was the fact that ‘Cappo’ left most of the rapping to ‘Rukus Regardless’ and ‘Midnyte’. The reason- ‘Cappo’ produced all eighteen tracks on show, and certainly demonstrated that he had learnt a thing or two from his former producers the ‘P Brothers’.
The beats got progressively heavier through the night, a mixture of Bronx base and darkly atmospheric loops, with slivers of soul providing the hooks. Under this heavy tension lurked ‘Ruckus Regardless’, spitting braggadocios battle/ Nottingham ‘street’ rhymes. Undertaking the core of the rapping, ‘Rukus Regardless’ showed his capabilities for spitting lyric after lyric, using snappy phrases packed with rhyming words. The tracks often of the: non-melodious, rapped verse, rapped hook and rapped intro variety.‘Midnyte’ backed up a lot of the lyrics and occasionally dropped verses himself which flowed nicely, the pitch and cadence of the verses riding more slowly and steadily on the beats. When Cappo did take the mic, the lyrics were complex and weighted concisely, showing a maturity in Cappo’s delivery. There was also the usual Cappo energy, the Notts’ man even jumping over the stage barrier at one point to rap surrounded by a circle of nodding listeners.
The atmosphere inside The Social was hindered by the sound problems and it was not for lack of MC effort that the night didn’t fully take off. Without the sound issues this would have been a somewhat different set as, after the show, I listen to the promotional CD. The beats ranging from soulful deep grooves to dramatic and driving loops, the words now having the meaning lacking at ‘the Social’ and showing all three MCs as: sharp, skilled and raw. Though this was not fully reflected on stage, they are certainly a trio to watch out for if you want: tight, jagged, lyricism combined with some sterling underground production.
Edward Cornwall.
Cardboard Radio / Lady Fortune / The Federals
@ Fibbers, York
It seems quiet in Fibbers when The Federals start their set, and the sense of not quite being ready to rock and roll pervades the stage. The lead singer possesses a slightly under-developed voice because of his intent to growl deeply down the microphone. What he might lack in confidence he makes up for in spirit. At times the boys seem to be wandering aimlessly around the stage as if they’ve lost something, which in reality is probably just an apathy that comes with the unfortunate task of being the opening band. The drummer, however, is having none of this laid-back approach, and is maniacally drumming as if his life depended on it, and this makes him mesmerising to watch. The only gripe I have with the Federals is that a couple of their songs have a very similar sound, but this does not affect their popularity.
Lady Fortune are the second support act of the night, and a good support act they are. They’re a band hailing from Telford and rumour has it that they’ve been likened to the Libertines (though there is not much evidence of this until their last song). They’re one of those bands which seem to resemble so many other modern bands that you just can’t put your finger on who exactly – which is probably a plus. They have some really nifty and catchy bass lines and the bass player nicely finger picks through all the songs. Some of the songs end abruptly, when you’re really starting to enjoy yourself, but at least they’re short and sweet and very much to the point.
This band certainly look the part, with stripy t-shirts, suit jackets and the customary smooth haircuts, but even with that polished effect I still like them.
Another band who looks the part without contrivance is Cardboard Radio. As they take to the stage the venue is suddenly flooded with people. They play a number of good new songs and some old favourites which get the crowd going. In fact the crowd love them so much that a group of people create a commotion of jumping and feeble attempts at crowd surfing, which in true style the band take no notice of. This is a really good set, they hardly stop for breath, moving seamlessly from one song to another. There is even a funky drum solo which has everyone nodding their heads, thinking it can’t get better, only for it to lead straight into another classic track from their EP. It turns out to be a pretentious-free, non-fussy, funky night of music.
Meriel Flint
Chas 'n' Dave
@ Theatre Royal, Wakefield
Saying that you're going to the theatre usually prompts the question "Ooo what to see?" in a fake posh accent (or is that just my mates?). When you answer "Chas 'n' Dave" get ready for a chorus of "why?" Being a regular festival-goer I have heard their name but never bothered going to see them. Now I know why!
Don't get me wrong, the two cockneys and friend are fantastic, multi-talented musicians, but after a while you wish this music was just permitted to TV theme tunes (Only Fools and Horses, Monty Python). Even though the songs are about different subjects they all have a similar feel. I really enjoyed the tunes containing no vocals, the sound was great and my head did start to bob, especially to "Beer Belly Banjos" but when the vocals started I just wanted to go home. Nothing against the lads or the accent but I just wasn't in the mood. The crowd was though and the Londoners played requests for those in the stalls. ‘Rabbit’ was the only track I was familiar with, which was played in the second half (it was quite a long show). All in all pianist Chas Hodges, guitarist Dave Peacock and drummer-turned-plumber-turned-drummer Mick Burt played a lot of their back catalogue, which spans over a quarter of a century.
Danielle Millea
Castanets / Jana Hunter / The Good Anna
@ The Social, Nottingham
The Good Anna are a relatively new band in Nottingham, both literally, and sonically… The sounds they made were totally wild, free and improvised, quite an odd choice for a gig featuring two co-headliners from the US that are more folky, but this fitted in nicely in an odd way. Patch drums for Designer Babies and has an effortless style and grace with his experimental drum style, he is very much like a young Chris Corsano, which in my opinion is never a bad thing, as he is probably one of the greatest drummers around these days. Guitar work was also really experimental by Graham; I think paper clips or something like that were flying off his guitar at one point. It sounded amazing, but appeared confused a lot of people. The Good Anna would probably do extremely well on the American ‘indie’ scene, Raymond who is Castanets appeared to be very into it and his roots seem to be in the smaller side of the indie scene there.
Jana Hunter was basically stunning. She got on stage and just played guitar and sang, it seemed to just ‘happen’, she didn’t appear to be trying that hard, which just made it even more incredible. This girl is doing really well, having a split LP with Devandra Banhart can’t do you any harm though. She very much has this sound of Devandra to her vocals, but much sadder and more emotive This comes across through the structuring of her songs, and through her melancholic vocals.
Castanets played with Jana Hunter on bass, Raymonds vocal skills are amazing, the sound of his voice can change from soft, to a kind of nasal sound, perhaps along the lines of Billy Corgan from Smashing Pumpkins. His performance was excellent, strangely intense I think, but with a kind of calm about it… At times it seemed improvised between Raymond and Jana, but it fitted together well. This had been a really good night even if it did end up rather rushed, all three acts made the most of the short set times…
Words: Henry Powells
Castanets Photo: Joe Blanchard
City Ghosts / Kill Surf City / The Morphines / Thief / Black Dog Sunday
@ The Piper, Hull
Black Dog Sunday provide us something a bit heavier than any of us were expecting without ever really offending.
The hardworking Thief are next up and while never really wowing us they take us on a solid tour of their own Brit-rock. Thief are set to entertain many on the Hull gig circuit.
The Morphines are a epiphany waiting to happen. They have so much talent but as of present they seem doomed to meander from ska to rock to punk and back with little cohesion. They are most definitely never dull but it changes from moment to moment. One second your hairs stand up on the back of your neck as a guitar line and a vocal thrill you and the next you shudder in pain. The lead singer tries and fits the role but is in desperate need of a consistent voice.
Blimey Kill Surf City, if they continue the level of progress they have made in the last few months they will actually deserve the acclaim they have got from round these parts. They begin all full of enthusiasm, looking to come out of their shells with guitars being swung above heads and the singer seems released. Not only have they grown in confidence but their suicide ballard, gothic-fuzz-punk that occasionally twinkles with post rock is blossoming. Their last song tonight shows this- not once wavering- intense and compelling for it’s entirety.
And to The City Ghosts. There is something about the siblings Greg and Hetty Ullyart (other than their black metal sounding surname), which means once they are set upon a stage they grow infinitely in stature and guise. This isn’t doing their everyday personas a disservice but there ability to entertain and to rock (sorry I’m throwing silly clichés) is considerable. Throw into the mix the abilities of drummer Nat Lawson and bassist Lee Websdale and we get an eclectic mix of almost operatic vocals, ska bounce and beautiful melodies
Mike Reynolds
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
@ The Leadmill, Sheffield
The townie girl in front of me is texting her mate. I NEED A BOOGIE, she taps out, THIS IS VERY LOUD MUSIC AND YOU CAN’T DANCE TO IT. Well, Merzbow it ain’t, but she has a point. The indie boys and girls in front of centre stage get caught up in a little bounce from time to time, and further back the less adventurous are flexing the odd leg muscle in that way you do when you’re at a busy gig and have neither the space or the inclination to really go for it, but despite the drummer’s occasional deployment of the currently ubiquitous disco beat (boom-crack, boom-crack, hi-hat on the off beat) this is very much music for the head as opposed to the body. As for the volume, they’re no louder than anyone else really, but from about three songs in singer Alec Ounsworth’s guitar takes on a jarring (and unintentional, if the sound of their album is anything to go by) tonal quality that can only be described as painful, and I reckon it’s this to which my townie friend is alluding.
You can’t prosecute a band for not being Parliament, though, and neither can you for having a bad mix. So instead I’m going to prosecute Clap Your Hands Say Yawn for boring me senseless. While on record their schtick is pleasant enough, live they fail to hold my attention. Perhaps it’s the quality of the songs: only ‘By The Skin Of My Yellow Country Teeth’, ‘Upon This Tidal Wave Of Young Blood’ and ‘In This Home On Ice’ really stand out as undeniably strong. Or perhaps it’s the fact that, with the exception of keyboard player Robbie Guertin (who spends the majority of the set grooving like a loon and thumping himself in the chest with his tambourine) the band seem bored themselves. Long tours in dreary countries can do that to you, I guess, but I’d have hoped that playing to a venue full of people who apparently all know and love your album would help to get the adrenaline flowing a little.
Don’t get me wrong, this was not a terrible gig by any means, and one Clap Your Hands Say Yet More Songs About Buildings And Food is worth a thousand (insert name of this week’s NME haircut band), no question. It’s just that while on record they come across as a nifty – if hardly groundbreaking – amalgam of some of NYC’s finest (think Television, Velvets, early Talking Heads), live the relentless guitarriness of proceedings makes you think of the Wedding Present fronted by a bloke who can sing. And while that’s certainly an improvement on yer actual Wedding Present, it’s not enough.
Perhaps I’m being a curmudgeon. Clearly almost everybody in the room apart from me (and four-fifths of the band) was having a great time, and I’ve failed to mention their very cute helium balloon stage decorations. But, hey, sorry kids, this is MY review, and from where I was standing (a few rows back, in front of the right PA stack, information buffs) Clap Your Hands Say Yeah didn’t manage to persuade me that either clapping my hands or saying yeah was the appropriate response.
Lucy Nation
Clutch
@ The Cockpit, Leeds
Take heavily bearded men, add extended instrument and drum solos and a sprinkle of the pentatonic and you might be forgiven if you thought I was talking about that dodgy blues band your dad’s mates are in . What you have here, rather, is a ménage à trois of gluttonous King-Size Mars bar proportions that makes up the best rock band on the planet bar none. If Lynyrd Skynyrd somehow had managed to survive the crash as burned out zombies and then picked up chainsaws instead of guitars, you'd get Clutch.
Over a decade ago they started life as a posthardcorerockgrimegrungemetal thing, a genre that was hard to define, and they gradually morphed over several albums into the Cracken that stands before me. Often critically acclaimed, but criminally overlooked by the general public, they play groove laden rock that is both euphoric and aggressive, and mellow and turd layingly heavy. Neil, the front man, often seen with a guitar round his neck, really comes alive in the tunes where he is free from the bind of playing an instrument, gurning and grimacing like your grandma without dentures, a Nan possessed.
Some of the best drumming I’d seen for a long time also emerged from the stage tonight. A drum solo can be the thing of nightmares, but tonight’s is as musical and entertaining as any other part of this amazing live set. If you closed your ears, and could only see the band you might think that the remaining band members were gently playing their way through Beethoven’s moonlight sonata, barely moving, little eye contact with the crowd, concentration a devil on their back. They wouldn’t be able to get way with this is if wasn’t for the bastardized Sabbath frenzy spewed forth. The only real disappointment was the omission of THE Clutch classic ‘A Shotgun Named Marcus’, despite a few dozen over excited cries for this tune. But I’m sure there will be another time, another chance; they've been touring the world for well over 12 years, here's to 12 more.
Ahab Crank Knee
Corleone
BrAsh @ The Grapes, Sheffield
Corleone, it should be pointed out, are not your average indie band. They’re fairly quiet on stage, they don’t really play songs that you would whistle on your way home and often lash their work with layers of feedback. It is for exactly these reasons, though, that they stand out as one of the more interesting bands in Sheffield.
From the very first sound to come out of their amps tonight it’s clear that this gig is gonna be a good one. The band pelt out a song called ‘Crude Black Millions’ with such power that you have to stop and catch your breath before the next one. And before you know it Corleone’s brand of aggressive, beautiful, ‘post rock’ has gripped you and you’re totally wrapped up in the music.
Included in the set tonight are a few new tunes which, at first listen, seem to stick to the classic pattern of loud explosions of noise pushed right up against softer moments. One of the best things about Corleone is, even when they play songs with a catchy riff (such as future classic ‘This Is The Walk You Must Walk’), the band manage to maintain an edgy sort of feel to their music, as thought the sound might just tip into roaring feedback and angry screams at any moment. It’s impossible to second guess this band though and that’s precisely what makes them so intriguing and what keeps you watching from start to finish. What also makes them so compelling is how in tune they are with each other, considering some bands seem to struggle just keeping in time, these boys really play well together and the set sounds tight as anything.
It really is a pleasure to watch but before you know it its all over and you’re a tad disappointed it all had to finish (always the sign of a good gig, I feel).
Corleone are billed tonight as ‘returning heroes’, on this form it’s certainly nice to have them back.
Michael Brader
Discharge
@ Junktion 7, Nottingham
These stalwarts of the British Hardcore Punk scene are all too often overlooked. Hailing originally from Stoke on Trent they are as loud and obnoxious now as ever they have been in their near thirty year history.
Habitually the demise of these surviving punk bands is to turn into their own tribute acts, not Discharge however, mixing a couple of new tracks in with the hits, their sound has lost none of its gusto. Furious and deafening, obnoxious reverberations resonated the punk faithful as the capacity audience lapped up this most influential of sounds, competently supported at Junktion7 by Splynter, The Antics, and Certified.Indeed, Discharge can name Metallica amongst their fan base.
Rat (also of The Varukers) on lead vocals is an animal in more than just name and gave his usual reassuringly irate performance, personifying all that Punk has come to mean.
Discharge must go down as one of the seminal Punk Bands of the past thirty years- still going, still loud, still fucking punk.
Danny Vile
Downdime / Porlock / All My Friends Are Dead
@ The Royal Park Cellars, Leeds
If nothing else, tonight’s gig reinforces what a stroke of luck it was for the good people of LS6 that the Royal Park was recently resurrected as a live music venue, it’s convivial atmosphere and genuine sweat-dripping-off-the-ceiling intimacy offering the perfect context for local heroes Downdime to come at us once again with their relentlessly frantic noise-pop. Their songs are frivolous confections for sure, bouncing along with a reckless enthusiasm that best expresses itself in Ged’s frankly hilarious guitar-playing (he barely seems in control of the thing half the time, favouring sheets of just-about-tuneful fuzz over, you know, chords and suchlike) but are also meticulously crafted, hammered into a lasting place in your consciousness by a tight-as-a-drum rhythm section and generously distributed, deliciously melodic keyboard stabs. Ged’s mid-Atlantic nasal twang makes it easy to cite Placebo as an influence (which many have), but it hardly seems fair to associate Downdime with any kind of angst-fuelled hand-wringing, such is the infectiously joyous atmosphere they invariably create at their shows, both as musicians and as people. They’re also getting better and better as they go along, which suggests all sorts of exciting possibilities for the future.
Ironically, by trying so hard to sound as important as possible, support act All My Friends Are Dead seem to forget that you also have to have something to say, something which gives you an identity and separates you from the countless other bands currently ploughing the same, increasingly barren, artistic furrow which most would label ‘post-rock’. Their mournful, slow-motion guitars waltz along in the same predictably pretty fashion we’ve heard so many times since Mogwai dropped ‘Young Team’ back in ‘97, accompanied by mournful string motifs (conjured up tonight by a single cellist who, to be fair, acquits herself very well), before inevitably segueing into tension-release crescendo sections in which the cymbals crash, the bass throbs away and the guitars lock into crunching riff patterns a la the Scottish noiseniks’ ‘Ratts Of The Capital’. It’s well-executed and rather exciting on a superficial level, but offers nothing of substance, nothing which stays with you after the last notes have dissolved into dissonant feedback.
Original headliners Porlock are a far more rewarding listen however, offering an interesting angle on the lush, groove-laden sound of Tindersticks, spliced with male/female indie-pop harmonies reminiscent of Belle and Sebastian, or more recently, Stars. They’re definitely a band with potential, boasting a debut LP rammed full of ideas, but don’t yet quite seem able to fashion a live set to match their recorded output. Don’t count them out though.
Greg Elliott
Fall Out Boy
@ The Refectory (LUU), Leeds
I’ve never seen anything quite like this. I’ve never heard anything quite like it either. As Fall Out Boy launch into their first song a high frequency wail fills the air, seemingly emanating from the front of the stage. It’s a visceral, gut-churning sound that’s quite devoiced from the punchy punk-pop (or, go on then, if you must, ‘emo’) that Fall Out Boy are playing and is very effective at smothering it . I assume that some appalling, feed-back inducing accident has occurred with the band’s equipment and wonder why no one else in the crowd seems to have noticed. This God-awful, ear-splitting din continues for the duration of the opening number and it’s only when the band pause I realise the actual source. It’s coming from girls. A vast, heaving scrum of tiny girls pressed right up against the front of the stage emitting the keening mating call of the pubescently lustful. Fall Out Boy’s second sonic missive does nothing to dampen their, err, damp enthusiasm.
The screams appear to be directed primarily at the (aptly named) lead singer, Patrick Stump, a short tubby fellow with a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He’s a choice piece of arse, sure, but he’s hardly the stuff of your average teen girl’s gooey dreams. No, it’s all very hard to fathom. Perhaps it has something to do with the lyrical content of Fall Out Boy songs such as ‘Calm Before the Storm’ and ‘Dead on Arrival’. Basically it’s an episode of One Tree Hill, all head-spinning first love and thrilling break-ups, but with more beer and farting. This is certainly where the appeal lies for the boys in the audience. The kind of guy who loves Fall Out Boy must, I suspect, be so backed-up with emotional constipation that his only option for release is to form a punk-pop band and attempt to convince the world this is actually ‘emo’. At any rate the screams do not last long and soon scores of girls are shoving their way towards the back of the venue, their hair plastered against their foreheads, eyes wild, clawing desperately at the limbs in their way. Sodden and steamy, they are a strangely glorious sight. For them, there will be no going back now. They’ve tasted frat boy blood and, somehow, Sugababes’ lyrics just won’t ring true any more.
Richard Morris
Firesuite
@ D‘n’R Live, Sheffield
Tonight I came to see Firesuite, so I am afraid I missed the other bands that were playing DnR, a great little dive of a place that most people in Sheffield still know as ‘Under the Boardwalk’. For a cold Sunday in February, the place was pretty busy. Firesuite always bring with them a certain magical atmosphere that you cannot ignore and this evening was no exception.
The four piece may be unassuming and not hugely talkative on stage, but they play with a self assurance and power that longstanding followers will notice is growing all the time. Like many local bands, Firesuite have been through their ups and downs. Recently they have had to contend with the departure of their original drummer Jaemi, but have regrouped brilliantly. Richard Storer now provides the rhythmic backdrop and does so with great skill and sensitivity. He and Chris Minor on bass work well together, and at this gig I thought the bass sounded better than ever.
But for me, Firesuite’s main attraction is the beautiful combination of male and female vocals, which the lead guitarist Chris Anderson and keyboardist Jemima Grace produce together, whilst simultaneously demonstrating musicianship of the highest quality. This time the keyboard playing moved effortlessly from jerky electro pop to flowing melodies, and Chris walked a tightrope many guitarists attempt, between strict control and wild abandon. But unlike others he did not fall off. He barely even faltered.
Their set is full of great numbers but ‘Crossfire’ and ‘Blushed and Bruised’ stood out this evening as heartfelt musical gems. Although the emotional content of the tunes and lyrics is never far from the surface, the care and attention with which the songs are put together gives them a depth and intelligence that is rare indeed. And, no matter how small the venue or the audience, the band always play with passion and seriousness, which I think is one reason their fans are so loyal.
Firesuite are a delicate but significant force in the local rock scene. If they haven’t already, then they are bound to get to you in the end.
Elly Tams
David Ford / Duke Special
@ The Cockpit, Leeds
Duke Special: grey dreadlocks and matching suit add to his mysterious air; the array of strange, unidentifiable contraptions baffling all.
Alone, Duke bashes those ivories like tomorrow will never come, but remains gracefully still; the heartfelt ‘I don’t love you’ resonating with all in the dark, sweaty room. Suddenly Duke disappears but soon emerges with percussionist Chip Bailey. A beautiful fusion with Bailey follows on the second number ‘Another drunken evening…so deceiving’. Although many present probably haven’t heard of the piano-loving Belfast boy, the empathy felt immediately for him establishes an unbreakable rapport.
Serenading each individual; then sinister laughter and Bailey’s utilisation of cheese grater against wooden spoon and ‘stumpf fiddle’ fuse together superbly. During the rest of the set we are given a sneaky peek at the David Ford collective on the painfully emotional ‘Portrait’. ‘Last Night I Nearly Died’ is ironically upbeat: “Last night I nearly died, woke up just in time”. Duke Special exits with an unplanned stage-dive: so unpretentious, in an industry full of fakes.
David Ford tenderly tinkles the ivories for the hearty ballad ‘What Would You Have Me Do’: “…coming home from the pub after too many…and you’re the loneliest person in the world’. The whole venue erupts with applause after being well and truly mesmerised two songs in. Ford really comes out on the heartbreaking ‘I Don’t Care What You Call Me’ as all are gripped by his soulful beauty.
‘Don’t Tell Me’: “staying with someone for fear of never getting laid again”; is a fine display of bitter truth “…pretend…you want me”. The wonderfully upbeat ‘Cheer Up (You Miserable Fuck)’, is dedicated to the audience: ‘Ghosts walk through the walls’; climaxes in Ford’s announcement ‘This is where Leeds sings along’ and we gloriously “La la la” our way to the finish.
“The people who think less of themselves, I tend to think more of” says Ford, just before the band launch into ‘If You Only Knew’, “Born out of sad circumstances”; and we believe it: “If you only knew/ Just how we feel about you/ You couldn’t hurt like you do”.
Ford is “No preacher”, but still performs the stand-out track: ‘State of the Union’. How anyone can ignore this splendid rallying against governmental “fucking over” is beyond me. Ford ends the set soon after the live favourite and we leave teary-eyed: grateful for the surreal experience of The Ford but sadder still that it’s over…until the next time.
Maria Pinto-Fernandes
Jon Gomm / Gallo
The Collaborators @ Mixing Tin, Leeds
Having seen the jaw-dropping skills of Jon Gomm at Clarence Park last year I was waiting for a chance to catch his unique style again. Support was in the form of Gallo, a female duo featuring sweet, almost child-like vocals, fantastic guitar playing and the odd saxophone solo. Their songs may have occasionally sounded like bits of other songs pasted together, but the delivery was comfortable and engaging, and the obvious teamwork showed the hard work they put in.
Now for the Gomm. He started off with a blues tune, using his thumb for the bass notes, fingers for the rhythm and top-end strings and tapping the guitar body for the drums (like the acoustic guitar version of human beatbox Rahzel). Surely only an octopus can play like this; a flash of arms producing the sound of a full band. His vocals on later tracks were good too, managing a full range of notes. His cover of Radiohead's 'High and Dry' was brilliantly accurate, and created a sing-a-long for new fans like myself.
You could see Jon's hand was sore before the end of the gig (I'm surprised he doesn't have RSI) but he carried on for an encore with Gallo and another fella (whose name I missed but was excellent with his tiny German guitar), improvising (though I'm sure they had a little practice first) tracks from Björk and Extreme(!), amongst others. I did think £10 for a CD was pricey but listening to the tracks and imagining the show it is well worth it. I would recommend to anyone to check Jon Gomm and Gallo out in future.
Danielle Millea
Harrisons
@ The Leadmill, Sheffield
There’s no fanfare, swaggering bombast or thundering hip-hop entrance track when the Harrisons take to the Leadmill stage tonight for the most important gig of their career so far. Just four figures bathed in darkness, waiting for the lights to go up and for the hushed murmur of the partisan sold-out crowd to grow to an emphatic roar. It’s an understated entrance alright; but also a fitting one for a band who’ve recently been quietly going about becoming Sheffield’s next most-likely-tos.
You should know the score with these boys by now: abrasive mod-punk guitars that provide the perfect lad-rock canvas for tales of heartbreak (‘Wishing Well’) and about looking for affection on the seedier side of town (‘Shirley’s Temple’). Songs for lads to below out in stadiums, pint in hand, that speak about the frustration of living a northern post-industrial city but also talk of the hope and belief that there’s something better around the corner. Set closer and stand-out ‘Blue Note’ opens with a tinge of lyrical weariness, before launching into an emphatic chorus that notes that although the ‘beautiful days’ are gone, that it’s only “not for long”. Singer Jubby – feathered hair, plaid shirt, classic rock’n’roll attitude – is a focal point of controlled intensity, growing increasingly buoyant as each song rolls by.
Tonight it’s clear there’s an overwhelming sense of momentum growing behind these average Hillsborough lads. A band who booked their first gig before they’d even written any songs are fast evolving into a smart, confident rock’n’roll outfit. 2006 is theirs for the taking.
Rick Martin
Hayashi / Nshwa
@ Mine, Leeds
The recently opened Mine Bar is Leeds University’s latest addition to its ever expanding collection of live music venues, replacing the much loved Harvey Milk Bar which closed down some 4 years ago. The venue is attractive in design, intimate, and on this particular night was swelling with inebriated students, all geared up for some excellent musical entertainment.
First to take the stage were Nshwa, a 7 piece soulful funk band whose musicianship and professionalism was clear from the start of their set. They combined dramatic and powerful usage of the keyboard, supported by a water tight rhythm section, embellished by intelligent use of samples and extra percussion. The haunting, soulful lyrics of front lady Shona Foster carried well over the speakers. The quality of sound – whether down to engineering professionalism or not – was excellent, but it would probably have sounded good coming out of a £10 mono cassette player due to the excellence of this band’s performance. The audience clearly loved it, and whilst attention spans always wane to some extent at any live event, it was noticeable that people’s conversations diminished as the band’s set progressed, and with the consistently tempting funky grooves that Nshwa churned out, people began to take to the dance floor.
Then came Hayashi, and if the audience had been a little tame up until this point, the roars of adulation that sprung forth from the crowd put paid to that. Hayashi are clearly a very popular band, and especially good as a live act, combining drum & bass, funk, trip-hop and using a variety of instruments, from djembe, to electric dbl bass and an electronic didgeridoo. Hayashi have 3 female vocalists who front the band, and although not especially dynamic in their live performance, nevertheless combined to form some interesting harmonies, washing over the predominantly dark low bass sounds produced by the keyboard, and shaking our rib cages whilst the drummer pulled off some amazingly precise d ‘n’ b grooves. More and more people took to the floor and by Hayashi’s final song, the atmosphere was electric. From start to finish, Hayashi took us on a musical journey that was a fitting response to Nshwa’s earlier set, and both bands are an example of quality rehearsed outfits that y’all should check out.
James Myhill
Hotsnack / Smokers Die Younger / Printed Circuit
Electric Blanket @ The Blind Institute, Sheffield
The final Electric Blanket took place, as tradition would have it, at the Blind Institute beneath the watchful gaze of David Blunket. In fact, you might very well have mistaken the evening for a Blunket appreciation night as to further add to the atmosphere participants were furnished with a mask of the good man himself. A crowd slowly grew from the assorted Sheffield misfits who managed to find their way past Bia Hoi without being blinded by the sheer volume of skin on display on this frozen Friday evening, and the first of the three band line-up made their way onto the stage.
Smoker’s Die Younger can be thought of as emo-styled indie rock, but the bridge used to span the genres is well made, but uninspiring. Take, for example, the bridge over the river Kwai – skilfully engineered but woefully plain. Still, their mediocrity was sent soaring into the stratosphere of greatness when compared to the offering put forward by the second act - Hotsnack, which left the majority stunned and looking vaguely bewildered. This apparent bewilderment born from the discordance of initial promise of a most exciting set, and the noise that followed. This imagined promise was based solely upon the visual impression made by all contributing band members being adorned in a menagerie of bizarre fancy dress outfits raided from Big Bird’s closet. The anticipation was tangible and even Mr. Blunket appeared to be salivating, but within the first tune of the set disappointment hit. It was a poor attempt at some kind of abstract ambient electro, but the landscapes created with their electronic paintbrush would better approximate the directionless flailing of a five-year old, than some undiscovered masterpiece. Disheartened with the first two acts I wasn’t really expecting much of the third and final. Thankfully, Printed Circuit blew me away. The performers – a bloke and a lassie – pumped out funky electro beats that, from the opening number, had the crowd twitching and a sea of Blunket masked heads popping around the hall like members of some insane electro cult. Sounding rather fresh for what is becoming a saturated take on the genre, these two laptop maestros enthralled for the entire set and rescued the evening from disaster.
Matt Child
Howling Bells / The Bonnitts
@ The Adelphi, Hull
Having spent the day listening to Aberfeldy and reading old Spiderman comics I come to tonight’s gig in slightly the wrong frame of mind. To get myself in the mood for The Bonnitts’ Interpol-esque Indie rock and Howling Bells moody psych-folk I’d probably have been better off listening to old PJ Harvey records and watching Rumble Fish, twice. In fact, Howling Bells are so shadowy and mysterious, in sound and appearance, I half expect Walter Neff from Double Indemnity to clamber onstage at any moment, call lead singer Juanita “baby”, light a cigarette and then run off mumbling something about being glad he shot Phyllis (apologies for the obscure Film Noir reference). Don’t get me wrong though, in a world of Indie stars on reality television and in the tabloids, genuine mysteriousness is definitely a good thing. And it’s certainly not all doom and gloom, debut single ’Wishing Stone’ often veers close to the more melancholy moments of power-pop eight-piece The Concretes before checking itself as if to not give too much away. Howling Bells, whoever they are, deserve your attention.
Tom White
