What I was listening to last week...

Last week, my house was all about sneezes and snotty handkerchiefs. They didn’t belong to me, mind you, but at times it certainly felt like it, such was the veracity that each cold-like symptom was projecting from Su’s cranial coves. So, much of the week was spent avoiding whatever germs were circulating around the flat and making sure the patient was fed, watered and entertained.

But yesterday, Su was on the mend. And on a day streaming with sunshine and tingling with a crisp, post-winter bite, we made our way to North Berwick and Dunbar for a few hours of picture taking and relaxation. Armed with a mixtape that furrowed the dankest cauldrons of my iTunes collection, it turned into a therapeutic getaway; lungs full of sea air and minds cleared from the sniffling, spluttering, choking of the previous five days.

Much of the mixtape belted out on the 27 mile trek brought me back to the bands and songs that have, in some small way, shaped my listening habits and, at times, my life today. So, for this week’s ‘What I was listening to last week…’ I’m going to take you through some of that mixtape tuneage.

Animal Collective – Winter’s Love



When I got married almost three years ago, my wife’s walk down the isle was accompanied by Animal Collective’s melodic woodland blowing. At the time, it was an unexpected twist to a nervewracking day, but listening back now, for the first time since we swapped rings, it’s inconceivable that Winter’ Love was made for anything else. In a career of fine moments, this is one of the Baltimore band’s finest.

Flaming Lips – Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots



It was actually ‘Race for the Prize ‘ from 1999’s majestic Soft Bulletin that I selected for the mixtape, but Soundcloud has nothing from that era so Yoshimi… will have to do. I know the Flaming Lips are such an obvious choice, but for an 18 year old from the very north of Scotland Soft Bulletin was like nothing I’d ever heard. It was rich with slightly psychedelic textures and the most luscious, intelligent pop melodies. In truth, it felt like it came from another world. Almost 12 years on, it still does.

Casiotone For The Painfully Alone - Jeane, if you’re ever in Portland



Another track that wasn’t quite on the mixtape (right artist, wrong tune), but this tinny number from the much missed Casitone For The Painfully Alone (CFTPA) still twangs at my heart strings. Much of mine and Su’s relationship developed over long distance phonecalls, letters and musical mixes. ‘Jeane…’ -a perennial fixture on those emotion-packed CDs - captured our frustrations and fears at the time. Thankfully we don’t have to worry about whether Skype is going to drop a call anymore, and this ditty seems to swell with an added dash of retrospect from that time.

Beastie Boys – Egg Man



In our younger days, my best mate and I would spend our weekends terrorising our psychotic next door neighbour with night-long assaults on the Duncan Street decks. The usual sequence of events was that the evening would start off slightly tame - a glass of wine, a few records leisurely played - but by the time the Beastie Boys’ Egg Man made its way to the wheels of not-so-steel we were in full alcohol-sodden flight. Good times.

Captain Beefheart – Yellow Brick Road



Admittedly, Beefheart took a little while to stick with me. But, once persuaded by the brilliance of Safe As Milk, it didn’t take long before I fully embraced the Captain’s psychedelic swamp blues. Interestingly, Su commented on our way to North Berwick that this particular track sounds like it should be animated. I guess in a way, that’s exactly how the Captain probably saw it too.

Found – Machine Age Dancing



Okay, this one wasn’t actually on the mixtape at all, but I’ve been listening to the new Found record, Factorycraft, all week in preparation for a Drowned in Sound review. It’s actually very different from Found of old; less bleeps, more wiry guitars. So far, I’m enjoying this shunt in artistic direction, even if this cut isn’t quite the strongest.

Yuck - Yuck

During the early Nineties, UK airwaves were jarred with the clang of ambitionless slackers who, without irony, slumped their shoulders at mainstream success. This was a new wave of star: apathetic, insular and un-moved by the behemoth pomp-rock of the times. But, if the sentiment was distinctly un-American, the results certainly weren’t. Grunge goal-kicked MTV into the consciousness of a new generation; chiselling icons from its reluctant foremen while bankrolling a sea of green notes into the pockets of opportunistic major labels.

As strange as it is to say now, Britpop’s mid-decade arrival was invigorating. Suddenly, the impassive ideals, lank hair and flannel shirts were gone. In their place stood an unquenchable bravado, fuelled by booze, gak and The Beatles. Considering the detachment that had gone before it, Britpop felt like an invasion people could actually be part of. Never mind the brouhaha over Oasis and Blur, this was something more – a parochial revolution that pushed Loaded, Chris Evans and New Labour to the fore of British culture.

Looking back, almost two decades on, it all feels like a shameful anachronism. Today, Britpop’s legacy is as washed up as many of its ‘stars’ who fronted the cereal box covers of Select, while the draconian values espoused by New Labour, Loaded and Chris Evans are consigned to darker days. Yet grunge retains an air of credibility. Perhaps not in philosophy - its ‘hate my life’ mantra has been swallowed whole by the embarrassment of emo tripe – but the ilk of Dinosaur Jr, Nirvana and Sonic Youth still carry weight amongst today’s wet-eared melody makers. So much so, recent whispers of a grunge revival have amplified into full-blown chatter.

Over the past year, Yuck have been tipped as heirs-apparent to this new (or nu-) grunge throne. The charging guitar stabs of their early output, emblazoned with a distorted throb that echoed J Masics’s barbaric fretwork, were certainly impressive enough to merit the accord. And to throw in a dash of intriguing subtext, two-fifths of this London-born quintet were spat out from the embers of Cajun Dance Party, a whippersnapper indie-rock troupe better known for saccharine pop melodies than turmoil-induced riffs, instilling a polished edge to their fuzzy throngs.

Yet, across the gamut of 12 tracks, the band’s early promise wears thin. Their debut long-player - self-titled to seemingly maximise the effect of that abrading name – may not exact the same angst-ridden principles of grunge’s hey-day, but the guitar-thick production and gnarled vocals clamp defiantly on to the period, albeit leaning more towards Creation’s hazy output than the gritty clatter of Sub-Pop and Seattle. And, as with any form of retro-resuscitation, the pleasure taken from this foray down memory-lane diminishes fast. After all, these wares have been turned out before. Usually with more class.

The opening run of ‘Get Away’ and ‘The Wall’ leads the album’s charge, blurting out the sort of crunching riffs and effortless choruses Ash pedalled on career-launching debut 1977. Frustratingly, such obvious hero-aping trundles down the record’s spine. The bassline-bruising ‘Operation’ and the equally frenetic ‘Holing Out’ gush along like Teenage Fanclub in a juvenile detention centre. ‘Rubber’s swamping dirge of reverb and distortion is equally cloned, riding a psychedelic Pixies trip without the clout or gout of Frank Black. It’s not the execution that’s the problem here; it’s the lack of initiative.

Played out in full, the record resembles a depressing rummage through early-Nineties record racks - listenable, yes, but without the nerve to tickle more ear-pleasing teats. And while Yuck display a doggish pedigree, their efforts lack the persuasiveness of their idols’. Even lyrically the album pays a weak homage to the past. The shaky narrative that runs over ‘Suicide Policeman’s breezy acoustics couldn’t be more a It's A Shame About Ray-era Evan Dando if it pulled up with a crack pipe and a Courtney Love blow-up doll.

Ultimately, Yuck is the work of a band in its infancy; too engrossed in worshipping musical deities to lay down its own ideas. Yet, within this naivety are subtle glimmers of hope. The hushed chimes and whispered purr of ‘Stutter’ work their way into a luscious dream-pop lament that serves up a glorious album high; while the guitar-stacked ‘Georgia’ is a frothing, acrobatic affair that suggests uncharted depths lie below the sea of mediocrity. But these are mere glints of salvation. This, as a whole, is a record safely chugging down the long, empty road to alt-rock purgatory.

Ironically, just over 20 years ago such a cumbersome debut could have set the foundation for glories to come. But this is not 1989 and they are no Nirvana. Yuck, despite their best efforts, are part of an era where quick wins score high and a long game means nothing. Had they furrowed their own pathway their future could have been assured. Instead, the past may be all Yuck have to play with.Y

What I was listening to last week...

Let’s face it, I neglect this blog. Mostly because I’m too busy writing for other people, but also because I don’t think anyone’s all that interested in my daily musings. After all, it goes something like this: Get up, take bus to work, communicate with others, walk back from work, cook dinner, write, read, sleep.

See, not that entertaining really. But, much of my daily drag revolves around a soundtrack of music. Either music I’m writing about or music I’m just listening to purely for the fun of it. So to give this blog a sense of reason amidst the transposed scrawls from other publications and, also, to recap on some of the tuneage I’ve been listening to in the space of seven days (which at times feelsl like an avalanche), I’m going to attempt to write regularly about the records and songs I’ve made my way through over the last week, good or bad.

A weekly post can’t be that hard can it? Well, some of my blogging buddies may disagree. Regular blogging takes dedication and time, which I don’t always have a lot of. It also takes a certain degree of arrogance to believe that anyone will actually give a damn about the words you write – a singular trait I don’t always exude.

But, hey, let’s see how this goes. It could blow hard, or it could blow good. So starting today, this is my weekly round-up of the sounds I’ve been listening to. Perhaps we could call it a sound-up? Maybe not…


Nicolas Jaar – Space Is Only Noise



Sure Pitchfork is a game changer for most bands and, mostly, the writing is a step above your typical glad-rag penmanship, but their ratings are not always entirely logical. I’m thinking about that abominable James Blake LP right now, but there have been others who’ve had their decimal points notched up without justification. So when they bestowed a more than remarkable 8.4 on Nicolas Jarr’s Space Is Only Noise LP I took this glowing accolade with a touch of sodium chloride. Yet, they were right: it’s a warped, electronically-jazzed sprawl of synthesised bleeps and crystallised flat-beats. And this laser-gun swathing title track is a perfect pathway into the record’s glacial, lonely enclosure

Profisee – I See



Last week Nike Oruh (aka Profisee) welcomed me and Su into his house to kickstart a photostory on the release of his new EP Logan’s Run (due for release 28 March). Not only were Nike and his family wonderfully engaging hosts, but his approach to music creation and the industry itself was as refreshing as a blast of holy water to the retinas. Production-wise, Profisee’s music’s streets ahead of local indie acts and his lyrical execution marks him well above the middle-runners of the UK’s beats scene. But what struck me most, both in his music and meeting him in person, was his absolute belief in the music he makes. There was no self-doubt, no compliment-seeking. This is his music. And this is what he loves.

Yuck – Georgia



Despite the name, Yuck are a band more hotly tipped than a chilli-chopping chef clutching his member in a urinal. Yet, having just reviewed their debut longplayer for Drowned In Sound, I’m struggling to figure out what all the fuss is about. Post-grunge-lite guitars and stodgy songwriting do not a good band make. Yes, they sound a lot like Dinosaur Jr and, even more so, Teenage Fanclub, but this is a band riding a wave that’s barely caught surf in 20 years. This track, Georgia, at least shows signs of modern life, but in all honesty this a record to avoid.

Mondegreen - Making Cookies

Making Cookies by mondegreen

I’ve been putting together this month’s Drowned in Scotland feature and, as usual, picked a Scottish band to ‘introduce’ to the masses. I remembered speaking to Chemikal Underground’s Stewart Henderson last year about a band Mondegreen and thought I’d finally get round to checking them out. Pretty glad I did. Part Pavement, part Field Music, the Glasgow trio create a guttural clatter that convulses like an epileptic at a strobe-lighting convention. Their EP, Headless, is an insanely breathless affair and this track’s a prime example of their musical goodness. If it piques your lugholes, you can pick it up here on their bandcamp site for free: http://mondegreen.bandcamp.com/

So there you have it, that was my first 'What I was listening to last week' feature. The plan is to put another one together next week, but probably best not to hold me to that.

Sea of Bees - Songs For The Ravens

Wallpaper's got be one of the modern world's most peculiar and unnecessary luxuries. For some baffling reason, millions of people choose to spend hours in colossal home improvement stores agonising over what luxurious floral print best embodies their personalities. Then, once it’s up and pals are suitably impressed over Tetley and ginger snaps, their immaculate choice of interior enhancement fades into the background, barely given a moment’s notice amongst the rabble of domestic life.

In musical terms, Sea of Bees' debut album, Songs For The Ravens, bears a striking resemblance to such initially gratifying, yet ultimately pointless, decoration. On first spin, Californian songstress Julie Ann Baenziger‘s aural tidings sound polished and preened, but they very quickly evaporate into insubstantial melodies that carry no weight and hold little interest. By spin number five, this woozy indie-folk affair has turned into the sort of cushioning ambiance that would droop the eyelids of the most stubborn insomniac.

Admittedly, that’s a harsh deconstruction of Baenziger’s craft. Her soaring mew is bewitching- a luscious hybrid of Nina Persson and Cat Power – and, at times, there’s a subtle quirk to her acoustic arrangements that positions her apart from the straight-laced swooning of her fellow west-coast folkies. Yet, despite these virtues, it’s a record that lacks any discernible hook. Rather then a succession of fully realised, off-kilter refrains, Songs for the Ravens feels like a sketchy daydream without the necessary parts to form outside Baenziger’s imagination.

Beneath the overwhelming drabness, genuine flickers of brilliance do exist. The rolling bassline and splashing cymbals of opening number ‘Gnomes’ bears the traits of a grumbling Mark Lanegan/Isobel Campbell composition – less Lanegan’s smoke-bitten baritone. And ‘Willis’’s ethereal star-chasing has Baenziger’s pristine tones swooping high above the transient blur of winking glockenspiel and zippy percussion. Considering its companions, the track marks a remarkable high that suggests Kate Bush-like ambitions loiter somewhere in Baenziger’s repertoire.

But these are fleeting moments on a record often lacking direction. Dreary tearjerkers like ‘Strikefoot’ and ‘Blind’ mingle freely amongst 'Marmalade'’s ambling rhythm and the tedious country balladry of ‘The Gold’. 'Sidepain’’s toe-tapping strums may strike a light with embittered females (the rousing “where did all the good men go?” callout will undoubtedly see to that), but it’s a distinctly prosaic affair that places Baenziger in the same awkward corner as KT Tunstall – a highly skilled artist who doesn’t always make best use of her ability.

Composed by someone who clearly aspires to kookier songwriting realms, Songs for the Ravens is surprisingly one dimensional. It may not be intentional, but it’s a record polished with chart-pleasing gloss, both in melody and lyrics, and lacks the mystique needed for sustained listening. With greater vision Sea of Bees may one day become a more substantial proposition, but for now Julie Ann Baenziger’s solo project barely papers over the cracks.

Live Review: Maps & Atlases, Gallops, Lady North

Sneaky Pete's, Edinburgh
30 January

Buried in the bowels of Edinburgh’s Old Town, Sneaky Pete’s is the sort of place that’s easily passed by. Wedged between the Grassmarket’s aggressive watering holes and the gruesome, tangerine-tinted meat market that is the Cowgate, this granite-wrapped venue keeps a low profile amongst such inhospitable company. But with the city’s music halls dropping quicker than the flies of a sailor in Leith docks, perhaps a little reserve is for the best. After all, Lord knows where the reaper’s scythe will land next.

Despite its menacing surroundings, Sneaky’s rafters are rammed tonight. A disparate bunch of hipsters, chin-strokers, hippies, students and cherub-cheeked teens line the floor of this sardine-packed sweatpit. The reason, most likely, is to pitch a spot for the headline draw in a venue with as much breathing space as a vacuum-packed Renault Clio, but it’s reasonable enough to suggest the allure of an intriguing undercard is equally irresistible.

With nerve-ends clearly jangling, local noise-mongers Lady North are first to the fore. The trio’s tectonic throbs of guitar, drum and bass have been making in-roads into the Scottish music scene over the last six months, providing a contrasting blast (and I do mean blast) of refreshing air to alt-folk’s gentile snoozing. And, despite a few jittery opening moments, their five song assault merely feeds their reputation as intriguing and unpredictable purveyors of pulsing math rock.

Led by Scott Bullen’s android guitar, each sonically-perplexing number is serrated by percussion so shuddering it could rectify any clogging bowel obstructions. But Lady North are no avant-garde thrash merchants; tonight they show a tuition that captures wider strains of funk, reggae and prog, and an eagerness that tears apart at convention with gnarling effects pedals and toxic, gyrating basslines. In short, it’s an exhilarating opening set and one that’s met with a barrage of clapped palms from Sneaky’s expanding masses.

Given what’s gone before them, much lauded Welsh instrumentalists Gallops are already on the back foot as they amble on stage. Their intricate electro-fare may be riddled with rich percussive layers and angular guitars, but there’s little pull in this inconsistent and, at times, anodyne showing. At their glitchiest, the quartet drive through intriguing limb-flinging ideas with a barrage of incessant anti-disco grinds. But, too often, it degenerates into furious slabs of guitar that writhe out like early Nineties bandana-rock over a bed of tumbling drums and bleeps.

Struggling with this kind of musical bi-polarity is not something that’ll ever trouble tonight’s headliners Maps & Atlases. Over the past five years the Chicago four-piece have escaped math rock’s claws and advanced as a band lacking any obvious hole for a pigeon to reside. Intelligent pop may be as close as it gets to nailing their luscious, yet perplexing, arrangements, but, given the band’s evolutionary nature, it’s probably wiser to accept that theirs is a sound without need for inscription.

From the opening flutter of ‘Pigeon’s Graceland-aping veneer, it’s clear Maps & Atlases are having no trouble getting to grips with the hefty mosaics of debut LP Perch Patchwork. Every note tonight is seamless, every gruesome time signature executed with militant precision. For a band so readily portrayed as laid-back dudes, the urgency and accomplishment that burns through the rhythmically bewildering ‘Artichokes’ and ‘Living Decoration’s cascading guitar is astonishing.

What’s more surprising is just how far they’ve extended their reach. Not so long ago, this was a band that floated on the periphery, seemingly too obsessed with Don Caballero and guitar tapping for the dainty lug holes of many a listener. But tonight they’re pushing out flummoxing numbers like ‘Every Place Is A House’ and ‘Witch’ as if they’re modern pop chalices. Not that this is Britney-like in nature, of course - Dave Davison’s nasal tones are too impregnable for such ignominy – but the sugarcane melodies of ‘Solid Ground’ and ‘If This Is’ are so thick and lugubrious they’d easily sweep the feet off a wider, less knowledgeable audience.

In what’s a near immaculate set, ‘The Charm’s heavenly crescendo is tonight’s defining moment (even more so than the band’s foray into the crowd for an end of night sing-a-long) – it’s ear-consuming splash of tribal rhythm mixed up with Davison’s penetrating shrill hypnotises both crowd and band alike. In every sense, this is the kind of majestic, all-encompassing performance befitting a band at its peak; one that knows there’s little out there to touch it right now. And sure, no-one likes a show-off, but with tricks this good it’s almost impossible to complain.

Photos by Su Anderson

Say hello to... Lady North

Let’s get this straight: Lady North aren't a typical Edinburgh band. For starters, no-one in this noise-wielding trio – made up of Scott Bullen, Paul Bannon and Jamie Steel - wears an overgrown beard or moth-eaten bobble hat. And there’s certainly no place for an acoustic guitar in their booming artillery of bass, drum, guitar and effects pedals. But what really singles them out as an anomaly in the city’s current musical climate is that folk music is barely on their radar, never mind in their songbook.

"To be honest, it’s quite a surprise there are so many folk bands around. I don’t know many people who listen to folk - I suppose we run in different social groups," explains Bannon, whose hexagonal drum patterns lie at the heart of Lady North’s animalistic sound. "It does seem for the last year or so there has been an over-exposure of indie-folk bands in the city, but there has also been a rising interest in the city’s electronic based acts, which are more our cup of tea. We’ve been big fans of The Japanese War Effort for a long time and have just recently got into Dead Boy Robotics in a big way."

Curiously, Lady North may actually plug the gap between the city’s more leftfield folk outfits and its electronic musicians. On the face of it, their math-predilection is easily identified; the complex, atonal rhythms, fed by Bullen’s cryptic guitar taps and Steel’s surging bass lines, bear a striking resemblance to the dissonant rock that emitted from the American Midwest in the early 90s. But underneath this intellectual exterior pounds more primal urges. This is an Edinburgh band you can actually dance to.

"We try to be non-genre specific, we definitely don’t want to be pigeon holed as a certain sound," says Bullen of the band’s floor-filling appeal. "A lot of people have said we’re a dance rock band. And while I have nothing against it as a label it caused an adverse reaction in my head, leading the last three songs I've written to be far more spacey and with less driving rhythms and more ethereal noise. We basically want to be relevant, modern, interesting and to always maintain our musical sense of humour."

Born from rival factions of a snowboarding (or “shneebogging”, as Bullen puts it) and instrument club, Lady North has been a long time coming. Initially a post hardcore four-piece, the band’s current incarnation has evolved through years of late night pontificating, an increasing interest in the virtues of funk and, perhaps most importantly, the departure of vocalist Ali Shiels. Instead of relying on a voice to hog the limelight, it’s the music that must shoulder the glare – a responsibility the band are steadily growing used to.

"We don’t make any conscious attempt to compensate for not having a singer," says Steel. "The music should speak for itself and shouldn't need vocals to set a tone or tell the listener how they should be feeling. Also having no vocals helps us stay away from any one genre: if your singer screams you're typically typecast as an emo band or if he growls you're a metal band, regardless of what the instruments are doing. Maybe this way people can hear the music as it should be heard and not have to worry if we're punk/indie/metal enough for them."

With only a few tracks committed to record so far (although their debut EP is due out in spring), Lady North are a force that needs to be witnessed live. Founded on Bannon’s aggressive clatter of drum and cowbell, their distorted blasts are almost Martian in sound; splattering out as free-form waves of propulsive melody that are deconstructed, note by note, before rebuilding into a strangling cacophony. It’s tight, sure, but it’s not sleek. There’s a queer intuition that goes beyond the hours spent holed up in a practice room, turning each show into a unique, almost organic, experience.

"No matter how much we prepare or how well we know the songs, it all comes down to the sound on stage," says Bannon. "When Scott has a loop going, I need to hear his amp so I am playing in sync with the loop. If I can’t hear it clearly and I’m slightly off time, any subsequent loops Scott records will be out of time as he has been following what I’ve been playing. In saying that, if Scott’s original loop is out of time, we’re all f***ed."

Their brutal live outings have already earned Lady North a stellar reputation, both with punters and the local authorities – the band proudly picked up an ASBO after a particularly rowdy flat party last year. And if their experiences in 2010 - which included a mesmerizing role in the final Versus with Foundling Wheel and Dead Boy Robotics and a support slot with fellow noise-mongers Bronto Skylift - have taught them anything, it’s that compromise isn’t an option.

"We’ve learned that what’s more important than playing perfectly is playing with conviction and without inhibitions. That’s what people really pick up on," says Bannon. "That and some bad-ass dance moves."

When Saints Go Machine - Fail Forever

Nowadays, winning a national music competition is no sure-fire career win. In fact, it’s usually the final nail in an already rickety coffin. One minute you’re busting your lungs out in front of millions, the next you're chomping elephant testicles in a jungle with the bloated remnants of celebrity past (hey, look everyone, it’s Dom Jolly). So, as the Danish National Radio Talent of the Year Award winners, When Saints Go Machine have a lot to prove.

But should they? After all, it’s not the Copenhagen quartet’s fault that sceptical listeners are bodyswerving the shtick of hard-working competition winners. There’s more at play here than a purposeful loathing towards those who’ve done well; this is the rejection of music playing out like pantomime on millions of blinking boxes across the land. It’s what happens when a decade of aural diarrhoea lines the pockets of sycophantic arse-wipes and Dannii Minogue.

In just twenty-five glossy, star-striding minutes, WSGM do an admirable job of wiping away any detractors. Glistening with electro-orchestral compositions, the quartet’s debut Fail Forever is the sort of ambitious post-club fare that slithers effortlessly between dancefloor-cradling wooze and the heavy trance of a 7am comedown. Thankfully, it’s no by-product of a dollar-skimming conveyor belt; Fail Forever is the makings of something much more refined.

The band’s influences lie close to home: the nocturnal pop nodes that radiate from the album’s title track share an intellectual glow with fellow Scandinavians The Whitest Boy Alive and Fever Ray. But it’s the wailing strains of Nikolaj Manuel Vonsild that separates WSGM from the pack; his brooding, almost acrobatic, tenor gasps for air amongst the thick carpet of bass and tear-duct moistening cello.

High on complex arrangements, this penchant for the complicated has a tendency to muddy the record’s more ambitious efforts. Pirouetting around a Sufjan-like labyrinth of vocal loops, the bubbling rhythm of 'Pick Up Your Tears And Run' gets lost inside space-age drone, turning the track into little more than pedestrian electro-fodder. Likewise, 'Grey And Blues' is highly concentrated effects board wizardry, but the industrial site pounding quickly plods along as if exhausted by its own intricacies.

Bookended either side by these confusing swathes, the middle pairing of 'Pinned' and 'You Or the Gang' proves the record’s main pull. The former batters pneumatic drum and delicious key hooks into a dramatic slab of synthesised pop, while the latter’s suffocating rhythm gyrates to a sticky beat that sweats more sex than a trick-turning chanteuse on a running machine. Both intelligent and infectious, these cuts are fuelled on an aesthetic of gloomy self-reflection that’s not far removed from Arab Strap’s more energetic numbers.

As easy as it is to dismiss the Danish National Radio Talent Of The Year, Fail Forever suggests WSGM have some mettle to merit the accolade. There are some flaws, but this is a record that demonstrates the band’s expertise in creating smart electro-pop flings. And given the dearth of longevity in modern day competition winners, it could be the first chapter in a surprising success story.

A self-indulgent aside: My interview with Record of the Day

Record of the Day recently asked me to answer a few questions for the Media Spotlight section in their weekly industry magazine. I have to admit I was a little apprehensive about it; self-promotion's not something I'm particularly interested in. But, Nick and I are aware we need to promote the Radar site with a bit more vigour and personality, so I felt it was probably worthwhile. Industry types usually read the rag and, well, it might just help to give some exposure to our site and some of the bands.

So, here's the interview in full. It was a bit disconcerting being on the opposite side of things, even if there was no Dictaphone involved (thank god), but I think I managed to come across OK without sounding like too much of an ignoramus. It has been a strange start to the year; not only did this crop up but I've been asked to be a selector for this year's TITP TBreak stage. It's not something I'd ever thought I'd be doing, but if it helps some deserving bands out then it can only be a good thing. Can't it?

***

Name:
Billy Hamilton

Job:
Co-editor Radar.Scotsman.com

First music-related job:
Reviewing various music-related shenanigans on the Edinburgh Fringe for ThreeWeeks magazine. 110 words for a review seemed like big deal back then. Working every day and having to file to deadline was a steep learning curve.

The last music I purchased was:
It was actually a collection of Otis Redding songs for a fairly arduous car journey up north. Not that cool, I know, but Otis had pretty hefty set of pipes.

The music that's exciting me at the moment is:
Well, there’s a young Edinburgh three-piece called Lady North who are probably the most brutal and genuinely breathtaking band I’ve seen in the city in years – the drummer is insane. We’ve actually got plans to put together our first in-depth photo-story with them, which Nick [Mitchell, fellow Radar co-editor] and me are quite exited about.

A recent trend I've been enjoying is:
I’m not sure I enjoy trends so much, but I’ve got a lot of admiration for the people putting on makeshift shows around Scotland at the moment, in spite of the demise of the country’s smaller venues.

A trend I have less time for:
Is Rihanna a trend? She’s seemed to be on every R&B record these days, so I think she counts. Her voice is like a vocoder-affected chest infection.

How I'm listening to my music now: (Spotify, iTunes, CDs)
I absolutely loathe listening to music through computers, probably because mine is a bit shite, so usually it’s just MP3s through my stereo/iPod, or good old fashioned CDs or vinyl.

The best thing about my job is:
Seeing a new band for the first time and feeling like you absolutely need to write about them. It’s a pretty satisfying feeling.

The worst thing about my job is:
Enduring the wounded blog posse that rounds on writers after a middling (or less) review of their favourite band. It can get particularly blood thirsty up here and I’m certain it affects what journalists write, which in turn does no one any good.

How have recent changes in the media world affected what I do:
The gradual movement from print to online was a big change, in terms of style and tone and just the amount of space you have to write. Also, I think having to ‘tool up’ and work with multi-media content is something most journalists have had to get to grips with. Ultimately, it’s made music journalism more dynamic, if maybe a little less personable.

The best interview I did recently was:
James Graham from the Twilight Sad is always a pleasure to interview, so it was probably my last interview with him in October. It’s just a shame we couldn’t publish half of what he said.

The worst interview I did recently was:
I guess the worst I’ve had in the last year was with a singer from an American band who was clearly annoyed by being phoned up at 12pm US time, as agreed with his PR. Add this to his complete inability to understand my accent and it turned into a pretty uncomfortable half hour.

What other music magazines or writers do you read?
The usual online/magazine fare, I’m afraid: Pitchfork, DiS, Quietus, Cokemachine Glow, Pop Matters, Stool Pigeon. Every month I’ll wade through The Skinny, which is still Scotland’s best music magazine. Also the NME has been getting noticeably better so I’ve started picking that up more often.

One change I'd make to the music industry?
Kill off The Brits.

One act I'd really like to succeed this year is...
John Knox Sex Club. Their debut LP Blud Rins Cauld was one of last year’s best records and their live shows are incredible, yet they’ve barely been heard of outside the Central Belt.

If I didn't do this job, I'd...
Probably have more spare time and less junk mail.

Introducing... Lady North

They’ve only just started pummelling local punters with their pneumatic math-rock, but in 2011 Lady North’s noggin-crunching sonics will stretch way beyond the central belt. It’s been too long since an Auld Reekie outfit has crafted such a ferocious entanglement of guitar, bass and drum, but the wait, which has dragged on through myriad drab alt-folk combos, has been worth it.

Think Don Caballero gyrating against Foals’ triangular, floor-filling rhythms like a hyper-sexed teenager and you’re only half way there. It’s more than that. Much, much more.

So far, a trickling of online cuts has only hinted at the band’s muscle. But live, well, Lady North is a seething, stomach acid-frothing ogre of sound that rams its fist into your face again, and again, and again.

Riding on the kind of apoplectic percussion that signatures Battles’ more barbarian efforts, swathes of matadorial guitar expulse with such brutal urgency it induces lashings of cold, stinking sweat: part in fear, part in utter exhilaration. Believe me, no matter who you are, you need this band in 2011.

Photo: Su Anderson

A look into the Scottish music scene in 2011

Radar's recent recap of 2010 underlined one thing: a year is a long time in music. The last twelve months saw the Scottish music scene’s industrious beehive finally produce the honey it’s been promising. Bands broke; labels formed; ideas congealed; people danced. It was, without doubt, the year that capitalised on our nation’s steadily brewing potential.

So, where will 2011 take us?

Well, resting on laurels is not an option. While Glasgow’s musical boom shows little sign of impending bust, its east coast counterpart is fighting for its life. Over the past few months Edinburgh venues have been dropping quicker than Nick Clegg’s approval ratings in a student union. Financial mismanagement and poor decision-making is threatening to suck the lifeblood out of the city’s music scene.

Thankfully, a strong hand of Edinburgh bands and promoters are far from defeated. The meltdown of traditional venues has led to the rise of innovative alternatives. Gigs are springing up all over the place: houses, art studios, charity shops, churches. And these are no ill-thought out affairs – they’re professionally run, heavily attended and, most importantly, entirely independent. 2011 may just spell the end of the traditional gig as we know it.

Despite the DIY protestations of local scenes, a whiff of professionalism permeated 2010. Recognising a need for evolution, longstanding blogs turned managers and labels to the bands they’ve been championing. Others transformed their off-the-cuff musings into articulate reports on the scenes they’re involved in. Promoters and bands, meanwhile, seemed more eager than ever to espouse PR and media savvy in the digital age.

So this year, we wholly expect the musical underbelly to continue treading the industry rungs. More in tune with audiences than London-based money men and carrying more collective clout than many established publications, the growing gaggle of local entrepreneurs needs to drop the ramshackle shtick for a more polished edge. Like it or not, money makes the industry go round. What we need now is the right people making that money for the right reasons.

Unquestionably, the central belt is the heart of Scotland’s music scene. Realistically, it’s not that surprising – the area contains around three quarters of the country’s music venues, while longstanding labels and media outlets are predominantly positioned at both ends of the M8. But, believe it or not, there’s life outside Edinburgh and Glasgow. And by the tail-end of 2010 our inbox was increasingly filling up with propositions from bands, labels and promoters from Dundee, Aberdeen, Inverness and, erm, Stornoway.

Pushing into a new year, we’re hoping this trend continues. Sure, the thought of the next big hope deriving from somewhere beyond our comfort zone is intriguing for an Edinburgh based publication like us. But just knowing that scenes are sprouting up in towns and cities across the country is reassuring. The idea that new music, unaffected by central belt trends, is waiting to be heard is an invigorating prospect for 2011.

And finally, perhaps this is the year that eventually welcomes home an abandoned friend. In recent times, we’ve seen a swarm of electronically-tuned acts hogging the limelight, while the growing trend towards the comforting cradle of acoustic folk has continued apace. So where did our riff-throttling, sweat-bucketing, decibel-rattling guitar bands go?

At the moment, Dananananaykroyd and Bronto Skylift are the country’s bastions of eardrum assaulting clatter. But beyond these volumised flag bearers, there’s little sign of any high-end contemporaries rising through the ranks. It’s strange to say it, but somewhere along the line rock music fell out of cool. What 2011 needs is a band to kick down the doors and put it back in its place. Now, the big question is, who’s it gonna be?

10 tracks of 2010

So, that’s Christmas done then. Presents opened; meat devoured; copious volumes of wine skulled. With 2011 now looming forebodingly on the horizon, I thought I’d take a look back through my musical catalogue to pick out my ten favoured tracks of the last 12 months.

All in all, it’s been a bulbous musical year. My eardrums seem to have been drowning in glitchy electro that’s incites languid head nods rather than dancefloor limb-flinging. Despite this penchant for mother-board made bleeps and blips, there’s was a deluge of staple guitar-based bands that produced the musical goods, particularly from north of the border.

Anyway, enough procrastinating. Here are the ten tracks that stuck their pistols to my temples and demanded repeat listening in 2010 (click each title for videos)…

Honestly The Beast – John Knox Sex Club

The locally concocted hype that enshrouds Scottish bands can be as off-putting as it is intriguing. So, there was something admirable about a band like John Knox Sex Club quietly stepping into the spotlight with debut LP Blud Rins Cauld. Part demonic throb, part melancholic weep, Honestly The Beast perfectly cross-sections the band’s uncompromising tendencies. The weep of violin juxtaposed against a wild-eyed scree of post-rock is an astonishing rumble that places this thrilling Glasgow outfit amidst the creamy crop of 2010’s best.

Aidy’s Girl Is a Computer – Darkstar

I fell hard for effects board wizardry in 2010. Seriously, I spent most of the year slavering like a doe-eyed teen over any beard-sporting, Macbook-slinging electro-cat that purred its way into my lugholes. Undoubtedly, Darkstar’s North was the head pickling delight of the year’s rhythmically slinky records; a careful concoction of textured soundscapes and emotive songwriting that uncovered fresh rewards on every listen . Oddly, standout number Aidy’s Girl Is A Computer was a strange anomaly on the record’s luscious musical pasture. Awash with textured electronica, the track’s voiceless sprawl of beat-fed repetition creates a hypnotising glare of pinball machine melody that’s impossible to shake.

He Would Have Laughed – Deerhunter

Even if it wasn’t written as a tribute to the sadly departed Jay Retread, He Would Have Laughed would still moisten the most hardened tear ducts. Immersed in a tide of cascading percussion and chiming guitar, Bradley Cox’s strained intone barely breathes amongst the opening notes of this transcendental haze. But as the track’s layers slowly peel away, his pleading crow begs its way to the fore as a wallow of self-pity that gnarls away at any remaining heart-strings. It’s a stunning arrangement that deserves wider airing, but considering how unappreciated much of Cox’s work is (partly down to his own relentless output), this will likely go down as another masterful effort that gets filed away without much notice.

Rachel & Cali – Damien Jurado

Picking a track from Jurado’s masterful LP Saint Bartlett was a tough call, but the ghostly aesthetic of Rachel & Cali just about scrapes it. Built on skeletal acoustic rhythm and Jurado’s echoic, agonised vocal, this shimmering cut is testament to pure songwriting – something 2010 has strangely lacked. Jurado’s always been skilled in picking at the bones of his past and a fug of personal retrospect blankets this lushly composed lament. As tear-jerkers go, you’re unlikely to have heard anything as brittle or honest in 2010.

I Built Myself A Metal Bird – Thee Silver Mt Zion Memorial Orchestra

A rampaging blast of Fugazi-like guitar, this was the stand out cut from Thee Silver Mt. Zion...’s widely overlooked Kollaps Tradixionales. Admittedly, Efrim Menuck’s jarring wail is an acquired, possibly unlovable, taste but here his ear-bleeding wail falls perfectly into place amongst the rapacious whirlwind of violin, riff and percussion. What he’s warbling on about, it’s impossible to say, but this is a serrated affair that cuts its way deep through your nervous system.

The Splendour – Pantha Du Prince

Another electro-bending hypnotist who flooded my ear drums this year was German-based producer Hendrik Weber. Riding under the moniker Pantha Du Prince, Weber’s third full-length, Black Noise, was a remarkably amphibian affair. The Splendour’s arid soundscape may not seem like the most immediate number on a record that contains the infectious Noah Lennox collaboration ‘Stick To My Side’, but unravel its endless layers and you’ll find yourself embedded in a gloriously rich velodrome of perpendicular rhythm.

New Ruin – Meursault

Despite the slavering attention it received elsewhere, All Creatures Will Make Merry (ACWMM) never really clicked with me. Live, Meursault are a formidable beast; yet for some reason that bombast never truly washed through their second full LP. Perhaps my expectations were too high, but ACWMM felt more like a step to the side than a step forward. But embedded within the album was a track that underscored Meursault’s live opulence. Built around a breathtaking framework of pulsing drum and cavernous effects, New Ruin strides airwaves like a gargantuan, massive in both sound and ambition. Carry on like this and Meursault could be frightening.

Girl Named Hello - Of Montreal

Let’s face it Of Montreal are a band made for fornication. Wriggling, pulsing, scratching, writhing, they frequently hit the G-spot of unbridled aural thrills. Girl Named Hello is no different. Trembling like the knees of an ageing sex pest in a backstreet brothel, this slickly coined dancefloor shuffler finds Kevin Barnes in curiously reflective mood. Sure, “If I treated someone else the way I treat myself, I’d be in jail” my not be the most intellectually stimulating line you’ve heard this year, but fed by a gyrating thrust of ass-slapping bass it’s probably the sexiest.

The Wrong Car – Twilight Sad

Where this came from, who knows. If Forget The Night Ahead was an unfocused affair, then these seven minutes see The Twilight Sad re-honing their lens with bombastic aplomb. The thing its, it’s not a new formula; Andy Macfarlane’s glum-pussed guitar still brawls alongside James Graham’s inimitable crow. But instead of churning out the same cave-friendly tumult of 14 Autumns…, this is a driving, seething affair that lacerates your synapses like a Buckfast-swilling barber.

Mexico Wax Solvent – The Fall

Led by the festering oscillations of 2010’s dirtiest guitar riff, this violent urban fuck of a track bears its teeth with typical Mark E Smith rabidity. The stand out on this year’s remarkable Our Future Your Clutter, Mexico Wax Solvent is the most obviously polished gem in the album’s cliff face of jagged, knuckle grating cuts. Not that it’s done The Fall any chart favours, mind; with Smith maniacally quavering about barbiturates, making rice with screwdrivers and governmental coups it was never likely to chime with the lightweight swarms. Still, this is one of the most exalting thumps of industrial post-punk clatter to detonate its way through my speakers in years.

Gigs of 2010: Enfant Bastard, Roxy Art House, 2 October

Y’know, of all the shows I’ve seen in the last 12 months, of all the bands I’ve witnessed storming bigger, better sounding stages, it’s Enfant Bastard’s bit-bending performance in Edinburgh’s Roxy Art House that stands out the most.

I’ve got to admit, I’d never really taken to Enfant’s enigmatic shtick. His unruly reputation always seemed like a perfect cloak for disguising some frustratingly underprepared and half-assed performances. Worse still, people didn’t just tolerate it, they loved it.

But in a 45 minute vacuum of snarling Gameboy throttling, Cameron Watt completely won me over. Gone was the introverted recluse of old; instead here was a stage-hogging showman scything his way through the shrapnel of pulsing, screw-loose electronica.

Sound-wise, Watt was absolutely relentless, pumping out sprawls of drum ‘n’ bass, happy hardcore and techno with breathless, scattergun gusto. In truth, it was spectacular: the kind of pulse-racing, electrifying show I’d never imagined Enfant Bastard was capable of.

For once, being wrong has never felt more right.

Meeting Mitchell Museum

Over the last year, Mitchell Museum have slowly pushed their way into the Scottish music scene’s spotlight. It’s been a surprising rise, given the insanity of the band’s early live outings. Each head warping affair showcased the Glasgow quartet’s definite potential, but also displayed a penchant for deranged, almost psychedelic, spectacles.

Since then Mitchell Museum have steadied the ship. Their illuminating debut album Peters Port Memorial Service was released to a tide of acclaim north of the border, while their live set has been honed into a well-drilled, hi-octane thrill of good-time sound. And, when those abstract predilections do shine through, they’re put to remarkable use – the self-produced video for latest single 'Tiger Heartbeat' is a fantastic acid-trip of beer guzzling robots.

We caught up with singer Cammy MacFarlane to find out what sort of impact the city has had on one of its most exciting new bands...

Since this chat’s part of DiS’s 10th birthday celebrations, let’s start with an on-topic question: 10 years ago what was on your stereo?

CMF: In 2000 Dougie was listening Sonic Youth’s Dirty, Raindeer [drums, vocals] was regularly spinning the Smashing Pumpkins, I was big on The Eels and Kris [bass, vocals] spent his mornings listening to John Lee Hooker.

An eclectic mix from you boys. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. So, how do you think the city’s music scene has changed over the last year?

10 years ago we were just young kids living in fields and didn't really know much about any music scene. We were still playing in our very first bands and it seemed very exciting to be coming to Glasgow to play a gig never mind actually being part of a scene. These days jeans are tighter and haircuts are sillier.

Glasgow always quite a few jealous looks from other cities in Scotland - what do you think it is that makes the city stand apart, musically?

We think it is a bit of a fallacy that there is the Edinburgh /Glasgow divide in music. We've always had a good time when playing in Edinburgh and playing with Edinburgh bands in Glasgow. It seems more like a created tension to drum up some rivalry and hopefully a bit of inspiration. There are as many good bands outwith Glasgow as there are in it. Meursault from Edinburgh, Miniature Dinosaurs from Stirling, Fence collective from Fife, Copy Haho from Stonehaven for example.

Good point. But what kind of opportunities do you think being a young band, much like yourselves, in Glasgow gives a band?

We got a bit of a break winning the King Tut's [Wah Wah Hut] Your Sound competition when we first started out. Things started to pick up and we got a few shows down in London and some record label interest and generally a bit of a buzz was built around the band. Opportunities like this and the sadly now defunct The Mill gigs for new acts has really helped us out in the early days.

How much of an impact has Glasgow had on shaping your own sound?

Our inspirations come more from American and Canadian bands so we don't feel a massive influence is apparent to our music, but having lived in Glasgow for many years we are all very pale.

Not sure that’s just Glasgow affliction. Anyway, there’s seems to be an amazingly varied musical community in the city, but no real ‘scene’ to put a finger on. How important do you think this is in creating the thriving subculture that Glasgow has become?

There are lots of weird and exciting new sounds going on at any given time. Friends of ours involved in the Glasgow noise scene and are running their own label and releasing some very interesting stuff. There is also a thriving hip hop scene with Loki, Big Taj and Kobe Onyame. It's not just pale wee skinny boys singing about the rain.

So where do you think Glasgow sits in comparison to city’s like LA, Seattle, Manchester et al?

It's hard to pin down a particular point in time where the Glasgow scene has had such obvious influential effect like the Manchester Factory records era, but it has had various different success stories over a long period of time. It does feel that every now and then one particular Glasgow band gets picked for superstardom but there has always been a continuous flow of good music that is there for people to find.

Finally, in ten years time when DiS is setting foot in its twenties where do you think Mitchell Museum will be?

We'll be sitting in a slightly bigger van than we are in right now celebrating our tenth birthday, eating an oaties biscuit or whatever the futuristic equivalent will be. Hopefully we will an invite to your birthday party. If not, why not?

Scotland round-up: November - December

If ever a month highlighted the gaping divide between Edinburgh and Glasgow’s music scenes it was November. While Auld Reekie rued the capitulation of another musical hub (with the possibility of more to follow), its west coast rival has been launching a new label, hosting a music industry convention on the future of digital music and watching a member of its most prominent promotion team take to the nation’s airwaves.

So, let’s get the rough stuff out of the way first...

Edinburgh art/music venue The Roxy Art House has closed its doors after parent company, Edinburgh University Settlements (EUS), went bust to the tune of around £4m. Not bad for a charitable organisation. There’s a shovel of questions still to be answered, like just how did EUS survive so long haemorrhaging £300K a year and what the hell was ex-Hibernian chairman David Duff, a convicted thief, doing acting as an adviser? But for Edinburgh’s music scene, the repercussions of the Roxy’s demise are particularly weighty.

With one less venue, the city’s bands are simply running out of places to play. Over the last few years Edinburgh’s subculture has blossomed, thanks mainly to the full force of electro-beard outfit Meursault and a persuasive posse of online advocates. Given there’s around five dedicated, local-level venues left in the city, how much longer the scene will continue expanding is questionable. A single positive to the EUS disintegration, which has also slammed the gate shut at grassroots art hangout The Forest Café, is that it’s got various local luminaries riled and proactive (You can read some of their musings here, here and here). As the old adage goes: what don’t kill you, only makes you stronger.

One Capital-based institution making its way back into the fore is seminal caterwaulers Scars. The announcement may not be as keenly greeted as Pulp’s recent reformation, but after creating one of the Post-Punk records of the 80s, Author! Author!, the band’s return after 25 years should perk up those with an ear for jagged guitar stabs. So far only a ‘one-off’ reunion show with TV21 and Josef K/Orange Juice axeman Malcolm Ross has been announced (Edinburgh Picture House, 29 December), but presumably the attendance of a sizeable crowd will spawn a follow up tour in 2011. If not, then it’s a show not to be missed.

This month’s cockle warning news comes from the other side of the M8. Two prominent Glasgow bloggers Lloyd Meredith and Halina Rifai have compounded their musical noggins to launch Olive Grove Records. Billed as an ‘innovative independent Scottish DIY label’, Olive Grove’s inaugural release came from Indie-Folk sextet Randolph’s Leap, with the promise of much more to come. Here’s what Meredith had to say of the label’s reason for being: “We decided to join forces to create a label that gives an organic platform for chosen artists to release their material. Neither of us have gotten into to make money out of it, our aim is that any profits made are given straight to the artists. This might seem a bit nuts, but that's the plan.”

Talking of a bit nuts, Ally McRae, one half of stellar Glasgow promoters Detour Scotland, will be espousing his northern brogue all over the Radio 1 airwaves from January. Proving that Auntie isn’t quite as off the pulse as the employment of Edith Bowman suggests, McRae is taking up the reins of The Scotland Show from the departing Vic Galloway. By focusing on ‘under the radar’ music from around Scotland, the show seems perfectly aligned with Detour Scotland’s mantra of promoting the country’s best new music. A clearly delighted McRae said: “I'm beyond excited to be joining Radio 1 and taking the reins of a show that is so vital in promoting the vast amount of cracking Scottish music being produced from this wee country.” If you can’t wait a few months to hear McRae’s tones, you can check them out on Detour Scotland’s regular podcasts.

Fabled Glasgow venue King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut – y’know, the place where a certain Neanderthalic Manchester act was ‘discovered’ by Alan McGee - is playing host to a 70-band extravaganza early next year. Limply named New Year’s Revolution (seriously, who picked that title?), the 14-night soiree provides a stage for many of the country’s finest acts, including French Wives, Endor and lughole-raping scuzz punks She’s Hit. The festivities start on 3 January and, with the promise of four bands a night, it’s sure to bring an aurally impressive start to the post-festivity blues.

Further up the rungs of the Scottish music scene, Selkirk quartet Frightened Rabbit have hop-scotched their way from FatCat to revered major label Atlantic Records. Singer Scott Hutchison said: “It feels very special to be part of a label with such a great history and we're really looking forward to working with everybody we have met to this point. We also feel it's important to mention how great the past four years have been with FatCat and although it is time to move on we are greatly appreciative of the amazing job they've done.” It still feels strange to say it, but the F’Rabbit boys are now sitting in the same stable as Kid Rock, Plan B and Toni Braxton. The cynics will no doubt decry ‘sell out’, but let’s hope this next chapter in the band’s career is as listenable as the last one.

Proving that music in Scotland’s not solely owned by the Central Belt’s twin towns, Dundee promoter Robin Murray has set up his own label Verses to showcase the surprisingly high number of quality electronic acts the city has to offer. Verses kickstarts into life with an 11 track compilation containing effects-board inspired tuneage from the likes of Esperi, Edward Shallow and Nomogram. Murray explains: “Finding more and more young producers eager for an outlet, Verses began as a means to tie together a few loose knots... Electronic music is always on the margins, always underground working against the norm. Equally, the label aims to bring opposing viewpoints together just to see what happens. Finally, Dundee is always seeking to be heard over its bigger - but not necessarily better - neighbours.” Wonder who he could be talking about?

Gigs

With the festive season on the way, there’s a sackload of music-related Christmas parties going on around Scotland. Here’re five of the finest mince-pie munching shindigs for you to shake your sleigh bells to…

Song, By Toad Christmas Party 16 December, Charlotte Rooms, Edinburgh
Edinburgh stalwarts Meursault are propped up by lusciously toned Rob St John, Inspector Tapehead and Jesus H. Foxx in this sure-to-sell-out festive jamboree.

Eagleowl’s Christmas Party 17 December, Pilrig Church, Edinburgh
A Christmas party with myriad local bands and a Stars in your Eyes theme? Not exactly what you’d expect from Edinburgh whisper-folksters Eagleowl, but it should result in some fine pre-Xmas japery.

Kid Canaveral’s Christmas Baubles 18 December, The Lot, Edinburgh
Rammed to the brim with high-end Scottish tune merchants, including King Creosote, ballboy and impressive local janglers Cancel The Astronaut, this all day extravaganza promises mince pies, mulled wine and “a healthy dose of festive cheer”. Best get in quick for one of the hottest tickets in town.

Electra Fence Records Xmas Party 19 December, Nice ‘n’ Sleazy, Glasgow

With illuminating indie-popsters Mitchell Museum billed alongside Seventeenth Century and Glasgow curiosities Behold, The Old Bear, this promises to be one hell of a Chrstmas cracker from worthy local label Electra Fence Records.

Olive Grove Records Christmas Party 22 December, 13th Note, Glasgow
This newly born label is getting in to the party spirit with a reel of Crimbo-speckled sets from local songsmiths Esperi, Randolph's Leap and RM Hubbert.

Introducing…

Seafieldroad

Anyone familiar with the pavement-gazing splendor of Edinburgh/Glasgow electro poppers Swimmer One is in for a compelling end of year treat. With solo-project Seafieldroad, band frontman Andrew Eaton has conjured up a heart-breaking beauty of a debut LP in There Are No Maps For This Part Of The City. Built upon a foundation of weeping piano, his extra-curricular activity is the polar opposite of Swimmer One’s coruscating textures. Introverted and almost entirely reflective, Eaton’s brooding intonation washes across a sea of mournful laments to create a soundtrack that’s perfectly attuned to winter’s lonely, dark nights. Probably not a Christmas party starter, mind.

There Are No Maps For This Part Of The City is out now through Biphonic Records

Lady North

Edinburgh’s Alt-Folk acts may be hogging the limelight these days, but buried away in the city’s underground is a barbarous, experimental scene bursting to break out. And right at the forefront of this volumised revolution is Lady North’s skull-busting, Math-infused rattling. A torpedo strike of twitchy fingered time signatures and rampaging percussion, the apoplectic outfit conjure up bastardised rhythms that contort like Lazarus Gitu in an electric chair. They may still be cutting their teeth in the bowels of the city’s underbelly, but this young trio are already turning heads and bursting eardrums. Check. Them. Out.

You can catch Lady North playing Versus in Edinburgh on 25 November. They’re also supportingh Glasgow noise-mongers Bronto Skylift in Sneaky Pete’s, Edinburgh (12 December) and Nice ‘n’ Sleazy, Glasgow (13 December).

Over the Wall - Treacherous

Accessibility – it’s the cornerstone of every great pop record. Let’s face it, other genres aren’t that easy to get in to, especially when they’re ushering you through a tiny, niche-sized side door that nobody’s really bothered about entering in the first place (hello, nu-folk). But pop’s different. It’s the massive, glistening gateway that welcomes everyone in with a playful pat on the rear and an enveloping hug.

Of course, pop also has its anachronisms. Acts like Talking Heads and Orange Juice passed themselves off as all-embracing entities, but below their aurally pleasing shell was a cleverness of sound that lifted them far beyond the standard chart bound production line. And to this day intelligent pop is the chagrin of chin-strokers everywhere, unable to fathom whether it’s ironic, annoying or actually just pretty tootin’ good.

Over the Wall’s new longplayer Treacherous will no doubt infuriate these scraggily bearded stooges. Awash with parping brass and slinging more hooks than a 'Peter Pan' casting session, the debut offering from Glasgow-based duo Gav Prentice and Ben Hillman could easily be misplaced as a glossy, snow-white affair. But entwined within the record’s honeyed core is a talent for making complex melodies sound sweet and simple.

It’s been a few years since the pairing were first touted for greatness north of the border, based mainly on their energetic live showings and the sumptuous folk-pop lament ‘Thurso’. Spruced up with a coat of production polish, the track’s nostalgic swoon bookends the ten tracks that precede it here; representing a triumphant climax to a record that’s often rewarding but occasionally naïve in its presentation.

Opening number ‘Shifts’ sets a frantic early pace that’s ignited by Prentice’s brogue-stained wail “we only have tonight”. This pulse-raising explosion of drum machine and keyboards segues perfectly into the old age-avoiding ‘Settle Down’, where a snowstorm of epileptic chime is replaced by the rally cry “go break free, it’s not your responsibility” bellowing out like a call to arms for disaffected twentysomethings.

The theme of gawky-youth-cum-adult insecurity frequently rears its head - from ‘Don’t Listen To Them Son’s gleeful rollick to the lovestruck blows of ‘Angela’ - and for the most part fashions out a deliciously catchy affair that’s caked in typical Scottish retrospect. But, with tortured lines like “Jess and the others could see my willy and it was embarrassing”, ‘Two Nightmares’s guitar twanging shtick is a step too far. It may spawn an immediate chuckle, but this schoolboy immaturity reduces an interesting composition into the album’s one true lull.

For a band so focused on immediacy, it’s the less-accessible numbers that showcase the duo’s full range. Built on a foundation of blinking keys, ‘A History of British Welfarism 1945-1984’s guitar-stained crescendo is a sobbing joy of indie-pop histrionics. ‘Stages’ is just as segmented and equally dramatic, setting off on brooding piano wander before rising as an insatiable toe-tapper that could easily slot into Field Music’s more choral undertakings. So much for single track pop ponies; this is a band with a motorway of ideas.

If widespread adulation was the objective, then Treacherous has just missed the mark – the gulf between euphoric romps and obstinate cuts is too wide to be populous. But what Over the Wall have produced is a shining debut LP brimming with the sort of effervescent melodies Scotland hasn’t created since the early Eighties. Sure, it doesn’t fling its doors wide open for the masses, but then you only really need to knock and let yourself in.