LIVE REVIEW: Noah &The Whale, Queen's Hall, Edinburgh, 10 Mar

In five years time it's safe to assume Noah & The Whale won't be singing THAT song. You see, the Twickenham quartet fancy themselves as more than chart-breaching pixie-poppers and tonight they make their intentions clear with a pre-show appetiser of short films embracing both monochromatic drama and Pingu-inspired animation. An interesting concept, for sure, but sub-par art-school productions do not a serious band make.

What actually tips it N&TW’s way is the shoals of sombre, infectious melodies exuding from stage. Denser in sound than their brittle-boned debut LP suggests, Charlie Fink's tremulous blow swathes through the orchestral blizzard of Jocasta and Mary with the expertise of someone much longer in tooth. New numbers slot in like quarters to a Vegas fruit machine and although THAT closing totem is wearily treadmilled, N&TW manage to chisel into an enthralling creative avenue. Lord knows where they’ll be in half a decade.

First published here
Photae by David Anderson

Whatever happened to... Morgan?

I loved Morgan. Well, more specifically, I loved Morgan’s Y2K-released debut record Organized. Back then, at the turn of the millennium, I was an undergraduate student perplexed by the beats of Freddy Fresh, the brutality of Wu Tang and the linguistic cuteness of the Kinks. Music felt like a jamboree; a pick ‘n’ mix of sonics that fitted into my not so fitting Mini-disc player when I made those infrequent ventures to campus between the sweat-beaded throb of clubland. It wasn’t that I didn’t know music, it’s that I wanted to know too much; I had to consume every chord, every melody, every sound that ever existed. Ah... to be young, foolish and ambitious.

All in all, I was a bit of a confused monkey in my fledgling years but Morgan Nicholls – he of Senseless Things fame – changed that. Organized was a rainbow-bright swash of all that intrigued me. It took the summer-time pop sloping of the Beach Boys and beaded it together with slithers of Hip-Hop, Soul, Funk, Electro, Synth-tronica and – Christ – even kiddy pop. I can still hear the heavenly chords of opener Flying High that swooshed deliciously through my lugs and into that piece of grey matter that incited the fluttering of a thousand butterfly wings in my malnourished belly. The irrepressible Miss Parker and Fistful of Love were equally magnificent, each blessed with swathes of schoolyard samples and ice-pop melodics. Sure they were flawed, but that was the appeal: who wants prolonged perfection when you can have a few scorching moments of brilliance that’ll remain forever in the mind?

So aye, Organized was my album of a long, arduous summer spent in the belly of the Fringe but, sadly, Morgan Nicholls never followed it up. So where’d he go? Oddly, he’s moved on to bigger and better things: he hooked up with Gorillaz, spent time kicking rhymes with Mike Skinner and The Streets and, perhaps most bizarrely, now play keys for gargantuan, shit-shifting decibel merchants Muse. All well and good, I guess, but it’s disappointing to discover that someone who played such a big part in a rather important window of my life now scurries in the shadows of those I despise. It’s funny how things turn out.

DiScover.... Young Fathers

Edinburgh and Hip-Hop are a little like skinny jeans at Christmas: try as you might, they never seem to fit. But cutting loose from the city's underground with a hype-driven furore normally reserved for West Coast (that's Glasgow, not LA) art-poppers is indelible beat-smiths Young Fathers. Already on the radar of Skins-ogling miscreants, the Auld Reekie ensemble annexes hip-shooting rhymes with skirt-lifting samples that bunny-hop to an 80s flavoured beatbox. By running the gamut of fresh and used, the MC ensemble of Ally Massaquoi, Graham Hastings and Kayus Bankole engulf the ears in a manner The Cool Kids could only dream of. Recent download single 'Straight Back On It' is a prime example of their pliable sonics; sliding up to the floor with the ethereal zing of flower-wielding era De La Soul before exploding into a luminous disco twirl of breaks and brass. Both funny and overtly verbose in delivery (check the brilliant Mr. T inspired diss on the elasticised 'Superpop'), the effervescent triad have slipped away from major label clutches, preferring to stick to their roots by releasing forthcoming long-player Inconceivable Child ... Conceived through Leith-based label Black Sugar. Exhilarating home-boys, you might say; Young Fathers are so tight it hurts.

www.myspace.com/youngfathers

ALBUM REVIEW: Casiotone For The Painfully Alone - Advance Base Battery Life

It’s difficult not to sympathise with Owen Asbury. Instead of striding, he shuffles; instead of triumphing, he fails; and instead of letting it all go, he bludgeons his confidence with self-doubt and loathing. Yet, when love’s vacuous jaws have gnarled on the heart and spat it out like a compassionless beast, Ashbury’s maudlin trinkets transform as a back-patting sanctuary for the abandoned. Suddenly, this is a man who knows exactly how you feel - a Casiotone for the Painfully Alone [CFTPA], if you will.

But any tortured romantic eagerly anticipating the return of Ashbury and his lovelorn laments is about to be sorely disappointed. His latest LP Advanced Base Battery Life is no spanking new CFTPA release. Rather, it’s a languid assortment of rehashed singles, re-traipsed B-sides and oddly re-jigged Springsteen classics. Nae quite an album for soothing broken souls, then; more a record label’s stroll down memory lane.

The problem with memories is they’re often better left to the past. Dressing up the wonderful ‘Lesley Gore On the T.A.M.I Show’ with a constellation of synth and Jenny Herbinson’s cottoned tones may varnish the familiar, but drop in a frayed entanglement of collector only demos and the record diminishes as a wallet opening compendium. Sure, scratchy renditions of The Boss’s ‘Born In The USA’ and ‘Streets Of Philadelphia’ meddle gamefully alongside a fuzz-drenched [Paul Simon's] ‘Graceland’, yet when pitted against ‘Holly Hobby’’s chime riddled splendour they toil as underdeveloped bedroom jams.

Admittedly, moments of wonderment can be slurped from this well of dissatisfaction: a creaky acoustic melody and crackled vocal trickle like tear droplets down the beatific ‘It’s A Crime’, and the gyrating R&B rhythm of Missy Elliot’s ‘Hot Boyz’ is smothered in Ashbury’s gleefully sardonic rumbling and the lascivious purr of Katy Davidson [Dear Nora]. While ‘White Corrolla‘’s twinkling keys and shoulder slooped mew resonate with a crispness that stretches beyond the original’s scuffled timidity and into a sparkling, cherry-popped glitter of melody

But gleaming parts are few in a sum that equates to just another shoddily contrived dust-racking compilation. Essentially, Advance Base Battery Life is a record that offers little to seasoned CFTPAers and even less to those of unaccustomed lugs. The solitude of narration that seizes Ashbury’s full-length recordings has been reduced to a cluster of underwhelming off-cuts that lack direction or purpose. And that’s a crying shame because, really, this is a man who’s capable of so much more.

Sympathy, once again.

Things I've learned from....

...music journalism:

(1) Radiohead is both a sacred sheep and a cash cow

(2) James Brown is not the Godfather of Soul

(3) Palms are crossed with silver; words are not

(4) The NME is universally slated, yet everyone secretly admires it

(5) No one cares about consistency, style or grammar

(6) The Fall are better than you think

(7) Bands are not as clever as journalists make you believe

(8) Journalists are not as clever as words make you believe

(9) Some people do really wear sunglasses indoors

(10) Every good question has been asked before, as has every bad one.

ALBUM REVIEW: Teitur - The Singer

For some, the voice of Teitur Lassen is a grandiose pleasure that hypnotises the eardrums. Yet, for others, his lavender scented tones are as grating as a hangnail on a blackboard. And once the Faeroese singer-songwriter opens up his well-oiled throat you’ll know exactly why: there’s truly no middle ground when it comes to this man’s piercing pipes. But his music? Well, that’s an entirely different matter.

Rich with tenderised symphonies and dashing yarns, his fourth studio LP The Singer is an angelic, prose-heavy effort that can catch the breath with whispered brilliance, yet readily strikes out with stolid flutters of languid, directionless toils. It’s not a torturous affair; merely a frustrating one, destined to gnaw away at the frayed strands of the patience. If ever a record was made for casting a browsing thumb over the ‘Next’ button this is it.

The title-track’s introductory welcome bear testament to such laboured listening. An operatic plead of fine-tuned a cappella, it’s the type of elitist melodrama Freddie Mercury treadmilled at the bookend of his recording career. Narrated by narcissistic chords and self-aggrandising flashes of brass, there’s simply no give to vicariously whined couplets like “I sing about my loneliness and in return they thank me/ I had never meant to be a singer.”

This penchant for self-indulgence shepherds the record into a cluster of nadirs; be it the spiritless fan-boy reminiscing of ‘The Legendary Afterparty’, ‘Guilt By Association’’s laboured Bright Eyes-aping or the monochromatic dripping of ‘Letter From Alex’. Sure, each is a chest-puffing composition bulging with atmosphere, but these quarrelsome tribulations could only resonate with a hermetic teenager’s persecuted mindset.

Fortunately, Lassen encounters greater success when the tempo turns brisk; infusing a positivist feel through his bleak lyrical undercurrent. The Mexicana parps and deep dwelling bass of ‘Girl I Don’t Know’ carry his inclining crow skyward on a canvas of affective melody, while ‘Catherine The Waitress” boisterous rhythm is supplemented by the sort of jangle-happy toe-tapping Stuart Murdoch regularly dusts down his tweeds for.

A hybrid of Lassen’s dual musical predilections, ‘Start Wasting My Time’ juxtaposes tepid verses with a buoyant chorus section that saunters to the rhythmic sway of cocksure percussion and prickling guitar. It’s an extravagant swoosh that perches above much of the record’s all-consuming dreariness, proving this softly worded balladeer has the dexterity to fabricate something more gratifying than a sprawl of diluted arrangements.

While such sporadic flashes veer brilliantly off-kilter, The Singer’s one-geared nature is the making of a man who’s more than happy to play it safe. His voice may fissure opinion, but when it comes to the music Teitur Lassen takes it straight down the middle of the road.

School Of Seven Bells: Transcripts...

This is the transcript of an interview I recently did with Ben Curtis of the rather magnificent School Of Seven Bells for The Skinny. An amiable, pleasant sort of fella, Ben talked frankly about escaping from old ensemble Secret Machines, his new band’s recent record and the two ladies who’ve put a rather large smile on his face...

Hi Ben, how are you?
Ben Curtis [BC]: I’m very well. I’m at home in Brooklyn right now. We’re on a bit of a break but not really, we’re concentrating on recording right now. There’s not really a break.

Can you tell me how the band initially came about?
BC: The idea was just to make music; it was just a matter of growth and pushing ourselves and appreciating the situation. We met in 2004 when we were all on tour together in other bands and we started chatting about it then. In 2007, I guess, we eventually got round to making music and it was really exciting and had a lot of energy from the beginning.

What is it about Claudia and Alejandra [Deheza] that twirled your head?
BC: I guess it was the different musicality of it really. It’s weird, I don’t feel like I’m working any differently. I feel like I’m making music the same way and it’s really different because our collaboration is really different. They have really strong musical personalities and it’s very different to my ears. It’s weird, chemistry is a really important part of making music with people and their habits are completely different from lots of people I’ve encountered. Making music is all to do with habit: Your here and you need to go here. Other people’s habits are really backwards but with these two it works.

Do you play off each other?
BC: It’s a contrast but it’s complimentary. It’s a conversation that works.

How different is it working with two pruning ladies compared with two sweaty rockers?
BC: [Laughs]: It’s entirely more pleasant, believe me.

Has it been different recording with them?
BC: We’re all together . We start from the top down: With atmosphere and things like that. We record from our studio at home so we’re really immersed in everything we’re doing and it becomes a real part of our lives. We’re all adding different things to the music. Out of these atmospheres so many songs come out of them.

It's been suggested that you have a non-too-typical approach to song writing focusing on lyrics first before the music. Is this true?
BC: At the heart our songs are songs. You can play them any way you want or you can dress them up any way you want, but they’ll still retain the same inherent personality. I guess the production idea and sound is totally informed by what is happening in the vocal. That’s where it starts because we don’t want those ideas to be limited or serve the purpose of just spicing up some music. We write them and they’re free to go where they want – I think that’s different from how a lot of people write music.

I get the impression that the voice is an intricate part of the melody, as if it’s an instrument itself?
BC: That’s true. A lot of vocals and harmonies and they spend a lot of time on that and the vocal is an arrangement in itself. It stands on its own and a lot of the musical ideas come out of that. It’s a cool way to work, starting from a really human point.

Have you found it tough stepping out of the shadows of Secret Machines?
BC: It’s been frustrating doing something new when everyone is referring to another project - I don’t think people realise that. I made two Secret Machines album. When I started that band that was the statement I made and I did it and I feel like it’s done. And they’re there and you can hear it any time. Now I’m doing this and they’re totally different. It’s weird that there’s a comparison but I think that the comparisons have begun to reduce. There are so many people there right now that have no idea what I’ve done before.

Has the release of the album cut off the past?
BC: For me, it was just something that we did. It was a year and half of touring and writing and fans of the other things we were doing weren’t aware of that at the time. But I didn’t really thing about that at all. I’m not worried about it. I know that I can control how people confuse what I do.

It’s quite tough, I guess, when blogging is so prominent.
BC: Yea, it’s so radical. Music Journalists would write something and that was the definitive word but now any kid in any country can write to a blog and say whatever they want. And this is just some kid who hates his life. We’ve been really lucky though and people have responded so well to it. We’re grateful to get that in such a delicate situation.

How's things been for you since the album's release? It's been picking up a lot of praise. Is it something you expected?
BC: In a way you have to expect that but I know you can’t count on it. We think what we’re doing is great and you really have to think that way. But we really had no idea and whether it was going to be out of step. Sometimes people aren’t really feeling a certain kind of music and it’s really arbitrary in this kind of whim-generation. So we’re really lucky because we believe what we’re doing is really current.

You’re not trying to tap into a scene though are you? This is organic...
BC: Yeah, for real. You can’t really do that. You have to do what you do. I think it’s quite obvious when people aren’t genuine about something and people will pick up on it. You can tell when people are really serious about something and are into what they’re doing. I think what we’re doing is a valid statement. There’s so much music out there that doesn’t need to be made, so I feel good about where we’re going.

Psychedelia /Shoegaze seems to litter the reviews up to now... but I get the impression the album's sound was more organic in creation , in that there was no clear direction from the off. Am I way off the mark here?
BC: Specific genres were nowhere near in our minds when we started off. We can just accept that though because I think people are painting it in a positive way but we’re not trying to achieve those sounds. It’s not really where we’re coming from.

You have made a record that doesn’t give any indication of where you’re going...
BC: Yea that’s the kind of band we wanted to be. We were worried about genre definition: we wanted to be open-ended. We don’t really want to make the sort of music that alienated people. But we have no idea what we’re doing next. It’s exciting and terrifying. We’ve been doing some new tracks and remixes for people and it all sounds so different – we really have no idea where we’re going to go.

You’re playing with Bat for Lashes in the UK soon. Is that one of the artists you have an affinity with?
BC: It’s one of the bands that we like. I’m not sure how much affinity we have with them but we’re lucky we can play with so many different bands that are all going to be a little bit relevant. BFL is great she’s really amazing live.

How does the sound transfer in the live environment?
BC: It’s just the three of us. The beats are all electronic and it’s just the three of us playing instruments so it’s great. It’s a little bit more muscle in the live setting so there’s a little more energy. We didn’t write the record with thoughts of live performance at all, it was really playing music and making songs so it’s a great coincidence to be going out and touring the record.

You sound like a content man. Has this given you a new lease of life?
BC: It’s reassuring to know that I can do something like this and it works and it’s going to be a constant. And this collaboration is amazing and really satisfying. I’m totally happy, as you can tell.

So, how far do you think you can take this band? Is it a long term project?
BC: For sure.. .it’s a long term project. It’s very much collaboration however, when we make this music something mysterious happens and it totally works. We have no intention of making metal machine music any time soon. I mean, we write songs and that’s what we do. As many people can experience it and love it – or not. We don’t have a ceiling or anything, we want it to remain open-ended but we’ve really not thought about it though. Maybe we should discuss it...

Finally, what’s the best thing about being in SOSB?
BC: Hmm.. I dunno. I guess it’s great to develop relationships with people, working and living with them. I don’t envy the people who are making music on laptops at home. It’s probably great but doing something and making a piece of music then someone else adding something on is a really great, great feeling for me.

Related feature can be found here

RECORD REVIEW: Wavves - Wavvves

As one man bands go, Wavves is up there with the loudest. San Diego slacker Nathan Williams’ almost-eponymously titled (check the extra 'v') sophomore LP may not allure those of sensitive eardrums, but for everyone else it’s half an hour of rapacious, temple-pounding sonics.

By swilling together fuzzy clutters of guitar and percussion with swooshing melody, Williams' annexes depth and dimension to Times New Viking's 2-D blueprint of N-O-I-S-E; adding sensitive, humane flushes to the trash punk decibels and skeletal riffs of Get In The Sun and So Bored. Record highlight is the chronic dirtbox scuzz of No Hope Kids, yet more chasmal cuts like the coruscating Killr Punx, Scary Dem or the infested lair of drum that is Sun Opens My Eyes suggest Williams has both the scope and range to escalate beyond these myopic throes. Not quite a masterpiece then, but pretty soon these Wavves will come crashing in.

RECORD REVIEW: Beirut - March Of The Zapotec/Realpeople: Holland

Up until now, Zachary Condon's never been one to do things by halves. Abound with voluptuous mariachi sways and waltzing European melodies, previous Beirut releases were unrepentant stomps that left no doubt as to their creator's stoic intentions. March Of The Zapotec/Realpeople:Holland is an entirely different proposition.

Part one of this dichotomous affair finds Condon mounting the uncultivated, if familiar, climes of Mexicana folk; where triumphant, parping brass exhales over rippling percussion and mandolin while he warbles staunchly against these gales of instrumentation. By part two he’s crept into the unknown: the synthesised world of glitchy electronica. Disappointingly this new domain fails to fan his creative sensibilities, with No Dice and My Night With The Prostitute From Marseille resembling tiresome Hot Chip cast-offs- less dancefloor filler, more lughole chiller. He may have got half way there but, for once, Monsieur Condon misses out on the whole shebang.

RECORD REVIEW: Andrew Bird - Noble Beast

Andrew Bird’s always been a bit of a mystery. Capable of delivering both oddball verbosity and tailored elegance in one fell swoop, the Chicago-born troubadour cuts a nomadic figure when traipsing through the industry’s unruly queue of PR skirt-chasing. Yet he consistently produces the sort of ditties slobbering A&R toads sodden their tighty-whities over: innovative, consuming melodies with the dexterity to moisten tear-ducts or flutter the strings of the soul. A sure-fire cash cow in many worlds. Not Andrew Bird’s.

You see, his senses are swayed by more extraordinary pleasures; be they Weather System’s neo-jazz swings [2003], the esoteric monologues of The Mysterious Production Of Eggs [2005] or Armchair Apocrypha’s [2007] pensive collusion with science. Whatever the guise, his typicality has always been untypical of us, the everyday punter. While we steadily progress on our linear, predefined routes, Bird’s pathway zigs, zags, pirouettes and rotates before reaching its destination, armed with the allure of both story and song.

Weighing in at six-minutes shy of an hour, Bird’s fourth studio album, Noble Beast, should feel more journeyed than the shorter endeavours folded away in his, now bulging, archive. Instead it’s lighter, daintier even; as if shorn of responsibility and obstruction. The quilt of melody upon which his crooning tones once laid have been replaced by a brittle, straw packed under-sheet that takes time to embrace but, after a few restless nights of tossing and turning, grows as a soothing comforter for the soul.

Introduced by the pursed-lip blows of Bird’s familiar meandering whistle, inaugural number ‘Oh No‘ begins with a massaging palm of string and drum. Arrangement-wise, it’s characteristic of the man’s past glories- swooning, bulbous chorus preluded by slinky violin fanfares - yet, such is the willingness of tone, it rubberstamps a definite shunt forward in expressionism, even if a curious glee is induced by his pledges of being at one with “the harmless sociopaths”.

Delivering on this early promise, the advancing numbers of Noble Beast congregate as an organic array of tune that beams beyond Armchair Apocrypha’s dense aural midst. The touching ‘Masterswarm’ sets out with a slowburning contortion of brittle fret plucks before sparking kinetically into blizzards of instrumentation and diction. Likewise, doom-laden canticle ‘Effigy’ arrives under cloaked fiddle strains, slowly unravelling as a purposeful sway that has Bird agonising over his own insularity.

Of course, the linguistic acrobatics remain as impressive as ever; his recital of tongue-knotting stanzas during ‘Tenuousness’’s harpsichordal flurry is executed with such rapidity they hum like a voluptuous musical accompaniment. But this is not a habitual collection of inner-monologues scattered bare across fully developed euphonies - there’s less bafflement to these tales. The mesmerising ‘Anonanimal’ may be rife with dramatic vicissitudes of guitar, drum and key, but his words are non-conflicted and the production bleeds purity. It’s the sound of a man coming to terms with the contours of his own skin.

Yet, Noble Beast is not without flaw. In fact, imperfections are bruised across the record’s spine like blows from a cracked whip. The laboured ‘Fitz & Dizzyspell’s conduces heavy eyelids with its dreary, poker-faced gushing; ‘Nomenclature’’s cumbersome strains leave its final crescendo blunt and withered, failing to emerge from the tedious slipstream; and ‘Natural Disaster’’s creeping strings and arid backdrop do little to rescue what is, in essence, an undeveloped, shovelled-up lament.

Sadly, these lulls rein in an album threatening to take flight with two cuts that prove Bird’s lost none of his idiosyncratic mastery. ‘Not A Robot, But A Ghost’’s twitching, saw-buzzard backdrop transcends into a thrill of experimentation, with glorious robotic Tropicalia glazed atop the grimy canvas of looping, gyrating effects. A startling moment, for sure, but it’s surpassed by the magnificent ‘Souverain’. Easing in with a mournful Spaghetti Western whistle, it develops as a hopelessly contradictory ballad - both downbeat and lustful - that swells with orchestrated hooks and ponderous wordplay.

Perfectly poised, this elegant, heart-pumping climax brings an often luscious, sometimes languid, record to a fitting conclusion. Far from refuting suggestions of esoteric sauntering, Noble Beast’s quirky trove lends itself to a man playing ball in an entirely different court; one without structure, boundary or cash-money ambition. But, hey, you know Andrew Bird - he wouldn’t have it any other way.

INTERVIEW: Rob St John

I really rather like Rob St John. His music sends the kind of shiver down my spine normally reserved for a pucker lipped kiss from my - rather bed ridden at present - better half. To catch him live is like a gift from the gods : a beautiful whisper flutters through the airwaves while at all times accompanied by the sweetest harpsichordal melodies. He is, of course, part of Edinburgh's bountiful Folk scene and a few months I got the opportunity to chat with him and band mate Rob Waters prior to the release of his new EP Like Alchemy...

***

Hushed, brooding, maudlin - all adjectives I've read that describe your sound. Is this sort of atmospheric something you're trying to achieve when creating music or does it just comes naturally?
Rob St John [RSJ]: I guess that stems from a number of sources. The basic songs are written by me, then augmented, orchestrated and generally made better by the band. I guess the choice of instruments is very influential: the harmonium, saw, cello, double bass, autoharp. I love minimalist and droney music - Steve Reich in particular - where one well played note is worth a thousand self-indulgent ones. If we can meld that to a good song it feels fresh and new and exciting. We're careful never to saturate a song, and never to stick instruments in where they're unnecessary.

Equally, I think the instrumentation stops a song from becoming one-paced and dry. The ability the instruments give us to leap into a crescendo belies our post-rock leanings and hopefully stops the music being dirgey and depressing. I like that melancholic euphoria you get with bands like Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Nina Nastasia, I guess that's partly what we aim for.

Your songs are incredibly poignant, and in many cases very personal. How emotional an experience is song writing for you?
RSJ: It's certainly not the soul-searching experience you hear of people having. I'm very, very un-prolific, unfortunately. I have notebooks of scraps of lines and observations scribbled down here and there. Sporadically, a tune will present itself and I'll delve into the notebooks to find themes. Whilst the nucleus of a song is usually built around a few lines, the random nature of bits and bobs of lines being written down next to each other, but at different times, can lead to you drawing unexpected connections between themes.

The seemingly-personal songs are, in fact, not written about me but my view of other people dealing with their own situations. The last thing I ever want is for my songs to be an open-diary confessional. If you can write things with a certain ambiguity, hopefully it'll resonate with people as they tie it to their own experiences. After Elbow won the Mercury Music Prize, Guy Garvey said they "avoid grand statements in favour of quiet revelations", which really resonates with me - even though I'm not a huge fan of their music.

It'd be quite easy for us hacks to lumber you into the singer/songwriter bracket. Does that concern you?
RSJ: A bit. I guess it's a really ugly term - almost a byword for backing-music-bland. But then what is there? Nu-folk? No. Acoustica? No way!. Librarian pop? Probably. The nearest I can get is creaking and droning lo-fi folk music. Eagleowl recently got categorised as anti-drumcore in a German fanzine - how good is that?
Rob Waters [RW]: The problem with the singer/songwriter label is that it is tainted by association with so many sub-standard acts and drab open mic events. But beyond this it does not account for the organic process involved in performing where a song is developed by the musicians present. Singer/songwriter does not sufficiently describe the process of performance in a band like ours, even though the basis of each song originates from one person.

Have you ever thought about creating a full blown pop opus just to set the cat amongst the probable pigeonholing?
RSJ: Definitely. I like the idea of continually releasing small scale EPs, which are all really cohesive, and doing a "pop" one appeals. If nothing else, it makes life more fun doing new things, and not getting stuck in a rut.
RW: I think it is good to develop stylistically, and I think it's something which is built into our music, whether by chance or invention. Even this latest record differs a lot from the previous one in structure and feel.

I saw you play at the Bowery [Edinburgh venue] the other week and it was one of the finest performances I've witnessed this year. How different is your approach to playing live when compared to making an actual record?
RSJ: I think music should always have spontaneity to it, a spark and hint of the unknown, even if that sometimes feels like you're walking a tightrope where things could fall apart any second. I'm very lucky to have found four musicians in Rob, Bart Owl, [glockenspiel/ukulele], Emily Scott [double bass] and Louise Martin [cello/saw], who are very in tune with what I want from the songs, and so massively talented that it takes very little time to make them sound good. In fact, we've now become a band in all but the name - is it too late to change it!? - with everyone being integrally important and crucial to the song-writing process. They're all great people too, and none of us have any grand designs for fame or exposure, taking everything that comes along as a good experience, and so avoiding any ego or arguments.

You were playing with just one other at the Bowery - I think it was Emily - how does that compare to playing in a fully-manned group?
RSJ: That we play shows with different line-ups is entirely down to us all working full time jobs, and not always getting time off. It makes each show something different and interesting for both us and the audience. Sometimes, like at the Bowery, it's great to have the songs very sparse, with lots of room to breathe, and sometimes it's great to go all out with the orchestrations. Everyone improvises a lot too. Not in a Phish/ endless jam band way, but just subtly altering the tunes each time out.

So what do you prefer: playing live or making records?
RSJ: Generally, playing live is more fun. Making records the traditional way - multitracking each part - is quite a tiring and monotonous process. For the last EP, we hired out Stockbridge Church overnight, hired a load of vintage equipment and got a great friend and wonderful sound engineer Damon Thompson to record us playing live. We sat in a huge circle in the vast, cold and reverby church, playing each song over and over til we were too tired and drunk. In the cold light of day, we picked the best takes, did minimal overdubs and there was the EP. The spontaneity, and feeding off each other in the recordings made it really fun to make, and we're all pleased with it.
RW: Live shows are eclectically different by the mere virtue of the varied assortment of the musicians we manage to get together to perform. When we make a record we actually rehearse a bit.
RSJ: The last thing we ever want to be is a band who can get up on stage and knock out the hits to a crowd of A&R men. We have our small bunch of loyal fans (6 at the last count), and to make everything we do slightly different and new really appeals.

You're part of a tight-knit and thriving musical community in Edinburgh right now, how does it feel to be a musician in the city?
RSJ: We're so fortunate to be a part of it. It's very true that you have to build your own scene, sometimes you get asked how to get gigs, and I think everyone quickly realised that no-one's going to come and do it for you, so DIY shows became the way forward. We owe huge debts to our good friend Emily at Tracer Trails, who by putting on some stunning DIY gigs for a couple of years, proved to everyone that it was possible. There's so much healthy cross-pollination between bands too. I play in Eagleowl full-time now, and Bart plays full time with us. Withered Hand and Meursault have members in common. Again, there's absolutely no ego, everyone just wants to have a good time and enjoy themselves. Importantly too, when you are seeing these great bands and you hear the great new Meursault/My Kappa Roots/Great Bear/Withered Hand/Eagleowl song you're then inspired to do something better yourself, not in a competitive way, but just through being in awe of the great people involved.
RW: The music scene in Edinburgh is fantastically lively and I think this helps to drive everyone involved to keep re-thinking their approach to music. It's also a very supportive atmosphere to work in, and folks like Fife Kills: and Tracer Trails have made things possible which would have been very hard to achieve alone
RSJ:I think there's a really great and appreciative set of gig-goers in Edinburgh, who have come out of the woodwork in the last year or so, to really embrace the "lets find a room, get a PA, put on a gig!" philosophy. Playing to 20 appreciative people in a tiny gallery or church somewhere sure beats playing to 300 disinterested people in a soulless venue.

You've submitted a track for the Ten Tracks sampler for December. Why did you choose do this?
RSJ: I think Ten Tracks is a great concept. We're really into the idea of making our physical releases something worthwhile to own - we hand stamp and number each one of the recycled heavyweight card cases for example. However, you've got to be aware of the scope the internet and digital files gives you. I'm not a fan of selling mp3s, preferring to wait until the physical release has sold out, then giving away the tracks for free. What I like about Ten Tracks is that - contrary to most music downloading, where you cherry pick tracks here and there - the cohesiveness of the playlists each month: ten tracks that work together, and that pair well known acts with acts people have never heard of....like us.

What are your plans and ambitions for 2009?
RSJ: We're talking about doing another UK tour in February, this time an Eagleowl/Rob St John double header. We're recruiting a great new drummer, so the songs will add another dynamic. We'd love to do another EP as soon as possible, but we need to sell a few of Like Alchemy before we can afford that! Rob’s ' The Great Bear project is being resurrected, and we're both very excited about that, if you haven't heard his songs yet, I can't recommend them enough.
RW: We're also chatting to a label about putting out a split Rob St John/Great Bear 7” and a tape compilation.

And finally, can you tell me what you think is more likely to kill the music industry stone dead: Illegal downloading, TV programs like that fucking Orange Unsigned Act filth or the return of Axl Rose.
RSJ: Apathy - and expecting something for nothing.

This interview was conducted for this here feature at The Skinny

Spins & Needles: Whinging like fuckety...

Hello and Happy New Year! As you may, or may not, have noticed Spins & Needles has undergone a bit on an aesthetic upgrade since the arrival of 2009. This aint part of no new year's resolution I'd like to point out, I just thought I'd try and instil a bit of life back into my writing as well as this here site. It’s been a hectic and tumultuous six months that’s involved getting married, dealing with the UK Embassy, getting a new flat and trying to feed two mouths on the measly wage of a single Edinburgh financial sector job – so apologies for not updating as much as I did before, I've been a little tied up.

I’ve also been pondering exactly where I’m going with this writing milarkey. I once thought of it as a possible career; y’know, I’d be a kind of Lester Bangs of the Central Belt or something equally as ridiculous. But REAL music journalism is dead. Kaput. The blogosphere has seen to that. I quote from an interview I did last week with Ben Curtis of School Of Seven Bells: “Music journalists would write something and that was the definitive word but now any kid in any country can write to a blog and say whatever they want. And this is just some kid who hates his life... it’s such a delicate situation”. (full interview soon to come...)

Sadly, never has a truer word been said. It’s all blaggers who wanna find the next scene; vocabulary-bereft fucktards who’d gladly suck Billy Sloan’s cock to progress; and joy riding dirtbags all about the swag of free Big-boy band gig tickets but none about frequenting a scuzzy dive to dish out a few constructive sentences on some up coming local scamps. Man, I sound cynical. Fuck, lets face it: I AM cynical. But that’s what a new found sense of perspective brings. I’ve never done this for the money – which is pretty fucking fortunate – but sometimes, just sometimes, the lack of imbursement for all those hours stashed away in a stinking, airless cauldron of a room grates like the rubbing of a thistle to the scrotum.

So where now?

Well, that’s what I’ve been asking myself.Perhaps it’s time to branch out; move on to pastures new? A fucking degree in journalism wasn’t attained by effusing over some jumped up, ratfaced cunt attempting to master the intricacies of playing six different chords in succession. Admittedly, it wasn’t gained by reading Su’s trash mags either but, hey, a boy can have some vices, right? Anyway, this year Spins & Needles may take on a bit of a different guise. Sure, expect the usual plenitude of overly-verbose reviews and interviews but nestling in between these mainstays may be a scattering cultural observations, a shower of incoherent rants (as this one has so become) and, yes, a rainbow of witty asides.

Oh...and from now on there will be no more scoring. You want to know how I feel about an album? Read the words. Scoring was so 2008.

RECORD REVIEW: Antony & The Johnsons - The Crying Light

It feels like aeons since Antony & The Johnsons' majestic I Am A Bird Now snatched the Mercury Prize. In reality, only four years have elapsed since that fateful eve but group lynchpin and New York-dwelling cooer Antony Hegarty - sans dabbling with euphoric disco ensemble Hercules And Love Affair - has been as reticent as the record’s coy melodies.

Finally returning with The Crying Light, Hegarty remains ill-at-ease with the limelight’s blinding gaze; fortunately, he’s retained a penchant for jaw-gaping compositions. His unmistakeably enunciated chords soar across every ivory-keyed arrangement like a sea bird migrating to the heavens. Subtly nuanced numbers like One Dove and Daylight & The Sun are still riddled with the inherent complexities of an outsider looking in but furrowed beneath is an optimism that stirs hope into the heart-melting vignettes. It may have taken an age but, here, Antony proves he was well worth waiting on.

Record Review: Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion

After a six-month long fanfare of blog-whetting hyperbole and disingenuous half-truths, Merriweather Post Pavilion [MPP] has finally – FINALLY - landed. So what’s to be made of Animal Collective long-player number nine? Well, iris-crossing cover art aside (It's nae moving, but it fucking is), it's exactly what you'd expect from these perennial, Baltimore-born boundary pushers: A micro-cosmic conflate of wobbling electronics snared by harpsichordal Wilson-stitched harmonies and skeletal folk ricochets.

But far from an extension of 2007's much-lauded Strawberry Jam, MPP seems more attuned to the cloud-bursting dreamscapes of Panda Bear's majestic Person Pitch. The shimmering, cherryade sonics imbued within on-the-spot jogger Brother Sport and the equally frantic My Girls may not mark a Tardis-like rejuvenation in either scope or scale but they're unavoidably Animal Collective and, with that, they're undeniably mesmerising.

A wealth of ethereal, space-aged cuts peppers the inner core of this openly exploratory affair. Summertime Clothes' slew of key and chorus spiral giddily into the cosmos before crossing more intricate constellations in Daily Routine's mesh of rhythmic synth-bending; and such star-twinkling pathways continue to be hopped, skipped and pirouetted throughout the record's remaining numbers.

So far, so Animal Collective.

Yet, MPP displays a side that’s long been embellished under layers of gauzy instrumentation and muffled, tin-pot vocals: a cohesive, linear narrative that reeks of affection. Bluish, a hopeless, habitual love song that’s engrossed in childish desire, is the kind of tear-duct moistening lament that's oceanic in melodic depth, while No More Runnin’ and Taste are textured in such creamy, heart-cooing splendour it feels almost intrusive to wade through their deeply welled, emotional mires.

For those requiring the less expressive edifices of yore, a familiar sense of derangement eventually emerges in the Lion In A Coma’s pulsing tribal fizz. But even in this chasm of android chimes and scattershot percussion, wary lugholes retain a periscope-like tautness in anticipation of the soul-plucking ambuscade destined to follow. But, like the teasing chanteuse of an album MPP is, it never comes.

See, such playful, esoteric card-shuffling is what renders this record - and, ultimately, this group - a truly unique proposition. A rich, multi-layered amalgamation of the band's past, MPP captures the cascading feints of their less-celebrated roots and cloys them together with Strawberry Jam's pyrotechnic showers, producing an instantaneous and exhilarating imprint of Animal Collective in the here and now.

God only knows where they go from here.

First published here

The Skinny's Ones To Watch in 2009

Last year our scribes foretold glories for the likes of Frightened Rabbit, Yeasayer, MGMT and the now omnipresent Noah & The Whale and, by Jaga's beard, were we right. But, rather than patting ourselves on the back for a job well done, we’ve come up with another batch of acts upon whom we’ll put our house. So, infused with more buzz than a crack addict in a beehive, these are ten of our ones to watch in 2009...

Crystal Antlers are more than a wee bit special. The Californian quintet’s debut EP is a cranium-compressing bruiser: skewering brutal guitars with whip-cracking drum thunderstorms to create a cacophonous frenzy of amp-blowing sound. As ravaging as this will no doubt be to hair-flicking indie hipsters, droplets of prog and classic rock can be found slithering between the sheets of every rambunctious number. And that's what makes Crystal Antlers such a pant-pissing proposition: by having one foot in what was proven righteous in the past they're about to catapult straight into the future.

Exalting colourful yarns of banana slugs and dinosaurs with seagulls’ wings, High Places' lyrical content bears more than passing resemblance to a Roald Dahl novel. But underneath the Brooklyn duo's quirky, childish disposition lies an ocean-sized penchant for lucid melodies, woven into a tapestry of highly strung calypso and jovial, swooshing synths. The sublime collection of EPs 03/07 – 09/07 first brought the pair to the Skinny's attention and the release of their luscious debut LP coupled with a hectic continent-hopping touring schedule will have this phosphorescent ensemble bending its way into your imagination soon.

Joe Gideon and the Shark are the kind of band your mother warned you about. With scuzzed-up guitars leering over nihilistic pummels of drum, theirs is the sound of writhing rustic blues. To call this 'electrifying' would do little to convey the surging energy created by this London based brother-sister duo whose debut longplayer is set to embed itself within the nation’s ear-sockets early this year. Think the Archie Bronson Outfit muzzled by Mark E Smith’s flaming growl: there’s absolutely no doubt about it – you need Joe Gideon and the Shark in your life this year.

Math Rock may have slipped from the pickled brainboxes of de rigueur-happy aficionados but Maps and Atlases are far from Foals-mimicking rehashonistas. Nestling between the algorhythmic rush of Cap’N Jazz and Battles' more inclusive moments, this fresh-faced Chicago quartet have already whetted palates with a brace of mindblowing EPs in Trees, Swallows, Houses and 2008’s melodically serrated You & Me & The Mountain. Armed to the gnashers with barraging, algebraic percussion and spasmodic guitar taps, 2009 should finally be the year this band not only pins itself on your map but the whole damn globe.

2008 saw Edinburgh’s musical subculture rise with a boldness not seen since the halcyon days of Josef K and the Fire Engines. And sitting proudly atop Auld Reekie’s perch of creativity is the alchemistic sonics of local quartet Meursault. A schizophrenic ogre of heart-pounding acoustic folk and shuddering synth, the ensemble’s debut longplayer Pissing On Bonfires/Kissing With Tongues – our album of the month last December – plundered lugholes with vehement surges of electronica before soothing the mind with lilting strums and frontman Neil Pennycook’s reassuring crow. Already a favourite amongst the central belt’s more tuned-in dilettantes, Meursault look set to venture out onto more luscious pastures over the next 12 months.

In almost every sense Over The Wall are a typical Glasgow band. The duo of Ben Hillman And Gav Prentice makes charming, minutiae-detailing paeans that bleed twee pop sensibility while stoking the fires of transient electronica. Really, the only noticeable difference between this pair of west coast wannabes and many of their hometown adversaries is this: they’re good. Very fucking good. Without pretence or sneer, the captivating ensemble have built up a devoted following on the back of ditties like the impeccable Thurso and equally elegiac A Grand Defeat. Having recently made a successful play for the nation’s airwaves, these lads should this year prove just how untypical a 'Glasgow band' they can be.

Passion Pit ain’t exactly a band for all seasons. Toploaded with handclaps and synths, the Massachusetts-based quintet’s debut EP Chunk Of Change was built with one thing in mind: sunshine – and plenty of it. A firm sense of Hot Chip’s retro-tronica resonates throughout their gush-heavy reveries but below this floor-filling core is the good time pop sensibility of Phoenix and The Sleepy Jackson. Despite having only a handful of gigs under their belts, the group’s disco melodics and cuddling hooks have already wormholed their way through the blogosphere and with Frenchkiss Records spurring them on, this lot will bedazzle you with sunshine long before the summer does.

The hushed reverence of Rob St John is a sound to behold. The Edinburgh based troubadour’s cerebral tones and stupefying sense of atmosphere is always breathtaking, and at best the purpose of adjoining strum and voice as one. Tingling neck-hairs with his slow-handed brilliance, St John’s knack for a tune is similar to local luminary James Yorkston, but there’s enough autumnal despair in his finger-plucked trinkets to suggest Messrs Drake and Buckley have had a hand in developing his wispy, evocative laments. Either way, Rob St John’s a remarkable, uncut diamond soon to be dug up.

A rip-roaring stomp of indie-pop, Sky Larkin teetered on the brink of a crossover last year. With more gazump than Los Campesinos! and less whine than Johnny Foreigner, the Leeds-born trio seem perfectly poised to make that final step when their debut long-player is released through Wichita in the coming months. With hooks aplenty and the bolshie tones of Katie Harkin at the helm the group’s live shows have become a must-see spectacle of raucous, virulent energy, and if they can muster up a record half as exhilarating then the world is theirs for the taking.

Blessed with the most inspired moniker since Lesbian Dopeheads On Mopeds, We Were Promised Jetpacks have established themselves as firm favourites in these quarters. Now signed to the mighty Fat Cat Records via a nudge and a wink from Glasgow brethren Frightened Rabbit, the four piece wear the badge of Franz inspired indie-pop-pickery with brazen aplomb. Bulging with infectious riffage that rushes into you like a two minute knee-trembler round the back of the bikesheds, WWPJ have both the cheek and charm to launch beyond the stars in 2009.

First published here