RUBY THROAT – The Ventriloquist

Seemingly, the name Katie-Jane Garside is a familiar one, or atleast, it should be. As resident scream queen with creep-thrashers QueenAdreena, Garside is a formidable force of something unlike nature. So thus, Ruby Throat is a curious expressive experiment. It is her sweet falsetto that grabs from the get-go. Its an obvious, if not wholly disappointing start as Swan and Minotaur-Troubled Man goes places that alt.folk treads often. House of Thieves is a gateway though. It’s swaying acoustic rhythm and disparate side guitar makes for a pleasant backdrop for aforementioned Garside to sprinkle down some wonderful vocalisation. It’s a haunting CD, one of mystery and, for once, some goddamn atmosphere. I’m not adverse to actually hearing some soulful production and it’s not all softly softly; Consuela’s Newt is an example of some chewy-pseudo pysch blues rock. Every time she shrieks “I don’t wanna die” it reminds me of a garbled sentence etching through a female orgasm. And THAT is why I like it, damn it.

BOO HEWERDINE – God Bless The Pretty Things

It’s nice, but is it necessary? I ask myself this whenever Ray LaMontagne, Damien Rice and Jose Gonzalez release a new LP. Usually the answer is “sure, why not”. I am not saying its a bad thing but the general pool of singer-songwriters often gets polluted by people who just do it because some chick in a bar said they have a nice voice when they did a cover of a Ryan Adams track. Boo Hewerdine, you have bored me to the point of running my head under a tap of boiling water and beating my fist into an orange. And the title frustrates me because I’m used to irony. Nevermind. I suppose each track is ‘nice’ but it never sways far from ‘nice’ and it always comes back to ‘nice’. Being overly critical is not my problem in this instance. I just want to hear something that’s not ‘nice’. Is it really too much to ask?

EPxceptional! 16/11/2009

MATTHEW CLARKE – Lost Souls & Outsiders

Our very own Mr Clarke has gone an released an EP of covers spanning a range from Tom Waits down to local lad The Boy I Used To Be. Not for Matthew the glossy and polished route when recording, as I expected, he has embraced a lo-fi recording technique that makes you feel like you’re listening to a much copied old cassette, recorded covertly and passed illicitly between friends. This is by no means the easiest record to dip into, but there’s something rewarding, you feel you’re delving deep into someone’s innermost thoughts and feelings.

KODIAK JACK – Bunny Girl

Kodiak Jack are unafraid to remember why they started a band… they go out to play music and have fun, there’s no serious political commentary here, just a bunch of guys rocking out. Front man Bryn possesses an impressive set of pipes and the rest of the band play the sort of macho, unashamed rock that seemed for so long to have gone out of fashion. File this next to your Aerosmith, your Guns & Roses, your Journey… all the bands you can’t help but love for their sheer passion!

LEIGH MARY STOKES – Best Served With Tea & Biscuits

Leigh Stokes writes songs that are down to earth, tales of everyman and their mundane existence. I know this even before the CD drawer retreats into the hi-fi and long before the first chords of opener ‘When It All Goes Wrong’ tinkle away. A few scant seconds later Leigh’s voice ushers forth from my speakers, it’s best described in one word – cute! There’s a lot of Lily Allen and Kate Nash in this EP and the song writing is easily the equal of the latter. It doesn’t float this writer’s boat, but it’s done very well and I have a suspicion every one else will like it quite a bit!

LITTLE COMETS Live @ Southampton University, 24/10/2009

I’m not going to lie to you, it was 2030 when we got to the venue and it was already an interesting night. My friend was, by his own admission, wasted and was worried that he wouldn’t be let in. I did the whole ‘keep cool’ routine, and it worked, but only because I wasn’t so drunk and we did OK. We got inside and immiediately we got jumped by two women (one of which looked silky and sexual like Pixie Lott) but they both looked too young for me and all they wanted was my email address. After that I had to go an take a leak and on the way got harassed by a 30 year old lady who told me her husband was also called Matthew. Now, she wasn’t just talking to me but full on groping my arm and side and she just said she had a husband. Doesn’t take a genius to guess how quickly I got out of that.
Anyway, I’m here to talk about music. I was there, primarily, to check out the latest indie band to walk across the Call Upon The Author radar and cause some disturbance. They were a Tyneside group called Little Comets. One of those plaid-shirt wearing, scruffy haircut bands who all seem to play with their necks balanced on their guitars. The first twang of the telecaster starts off and I have no choice but to rifle through previous North-Eastern indie bands like Maximo Park for reference. We get to the second track and I decide that the “oh oh oh oh” vocal parts from the Futureheads version of “Hounds of Love” could fit neatly over every one of their numbers. There was a delicate side to the group though, the fourth song was a tremendous ballad of a modern-day love is war scenario. The only problem was the singularity that each song was cloaked with. They had great stage presence but this was no match for the fact that their single, and presumably the song they would want to promote the most, was hidden amongst the rest and no real identity for it was given. I don’t actually remember any of the songs being introduced. Oh well.
One group that did know how to do this were the Noisettes. Some-way through the set they hark back to memories of playing to 20 people at the Joiners, a distant vision when placed next to the sold-out room of screaming fans in front of them. We all pretty much know though that the majority are here for three songs max though. No one seems to remember the groups first effort, “What’s The Time Mr. Wolf” released to a wave of apathy a few years back, but the latest CD, “Wild Young Hearts” have not only proven them to do be skilled musicians but as chart breakers. And these are no throwaway songs either. They have clout beyond belief. “Don’t Upset The Rhythm” is still doing the dance hall rounds and has become a gigantic hit where as “Never Forget You” is an extremely powerful song filled with nostalgia and regret. The whole goddamn show is insanely good. They knock versions of those songs plus “Wild Young Hearts” and “Sometimes” with ease and passion before ending, blisteringly, with “Children of the Revolution”. Hats of to you ,Noisettes. Now, to get home with the drunk.

COSMO JARVIS – Humasyouhitch/Sonofabitch

I want to start this review by saying I have major R E S P E C T for Cosmo Jarvis. This is mainly because I had a flick through his booklet and realised this double CD (18 tracks in all) was almost completely recorded, engieneered and produced by the man himself. That said, his music ain’t so bad too. I had a go explaining Jarvis to a friend to which she replied “Oh I hope he doesn’t speak over the music. That gets annoying”. And it does, doesn’t it. It’s become a horrid habbit for people with DIY tendencies to have a go at MCing over some nice riffs recorded a bit roughly on a cheap mic with lots of spirit. I am happy to say though that Jarvis is a true melody maker. “Mel’s Song” is as close to perfect pop that I’ve heard in a long time. A bit like Busted if, y’know, they weren’t crap. But it doesn’t really end at great song-writing. Everything from uke’s to flutes make an appearance. So, yeah, I have major R E S P E CT for Jarvis and his incredible double CD. It’s a bit like a Wes Anderson film. On repeated listens you realise there is more than the incredible sound and biting wit, and I’m happy to say that that be soul. Thanks dude, you’ve made my day.

DAVY KNOWLES & BACK DOOR SLAM – Coming Up For Air

Davy Knowles is a lucky dude. You see, he got to produce his CD “Coming Up For Air”, with Peter Frampton. Quite an honour. He even got the grizzled rock music legend to play some guitar and EVEN do a “rock and roll count it!” on ‘Keep on Searching’. When I first thought about the possibility of Frampton working with new blood on a rockin’ blues CD I thought it could only mean good things as Frampton has often tried to push boundaries and not keep conformed. So then I had a listen to the CD. And then I had a listen again, I genuinely thought I put the wrong CD in the player at this point. Did somebody just tell Frampton to dial-a-Blues-album? And Knowles himself isn’t innocent here either. His voice is the kind of M.O.R dirge that people like Clapton have established over the years and that mavericks like the Alabama 3 spend their time ridiculing. It could have been so good, too. And the solos: wow, I have lots to say about these prime examples of guitar masturbation. Not. And it is horrifically boring, from start to finish. Sorry Davy, but not even close to making an impact, unless I choose to bludgeon someone with the jewel case it came in. Which is possible.

UMEK – Umek? Hell Yeah!

Ok, so before I begin, I must let you know that I know NOTHING about dance music. I went to a club once and I didn’t like it. I also have it on good authority that ‘Bonkers’ by Dizzee Rascal did OK this year. But this release, a compilation mix of Umek’s work, is venturing into hardcore territory. As it kicks in I suddenly realise my CD system is used to the simple strains of plucked guitar (which it finds difficult at the best of times) and that the complex basslines will not be booming through a sub-woofer the size of a two storey detached house and that all the subtle (is there subtle in dance music?) undercurrents of sound will not be picked up. Sorry about that Umek. And I haven’t taken any amphetamines this morning. I’ll skip to a quick analysis: ear-breaking repetitiveness which tends to change every 5-6 minutes and then a distorted vocal part and some horrible 8-bit noise which (I think) is supposed to replace melody. But don’t take my word for it. I know some people who would like it, but they go to Liquid, spend summers in Ibiza and are generally lucky in finding one-night-stands. I am the antithesis of this half-arsed description so OF COURSE I’m not going to like it. But I had a go. Sorry, Umek. Love the title of the album tho. HELLYEAH!

TREETOP FLYERS – To Bury The Past

As music is becoming more available within the evolution of technology and, with it, comes a higher quantity of production, a line is being drawn to consider what we have and what we had. The latter attempts to attain similar qualities of a musical past or at least attempt to harness the positive aspects from what is considered to be the past. Mumford and Sons and Fleet Foxes can be added to this ever-growing list. Like practically every decade since the 1950s, the revival of roots music has become a major influence in new bands of the early 21st century. Treetop Flyers do this with grace. Their opening track, the beautiful ‘Mountain Song’, fuses a mysterious Americana sound with a graceful timelessness. Musically, the acoustic guitars dance and sparkle for the entirety of the EP while the electric guitars glisten and set the tracks on fire. There is a fighting prettiness that one can be content with, however nothing particularly wants to contrast or take it to the next level. The whole thing works though because of a slight variety, but it is its lazy and obvious influences (I could probably pick Willy Mason, Bob Dylan and Neil Young as a quick list) which ultimately let it down, because, at the end all I can hear is the Eagles. Horribly, the beauty in the music is also its downfall. Perfect production and well-written songs but there is nothing to cement a memory and all that remains is a list of more well-known artists, which is a shame, because it really is lovely.

SOUTHSEA FEST: Matthew Clarke’s View

Presumably, one has been here before. A year ago to the day (funny, being that it has become an annual thing) I was stood here, looking just as bemused as I did today. But a year has proven itself to be a long time in terms of social arrangement and within seconds I have met up with Edward Perry (The Boy I Used To Be’s lesser known band member) and I have mugged him for a Fest ticket and his camera. The first moments of the official day then begin wandering over the cables that litter the Wine Vaults and some punked up women swap my ticket for a wristband. They look unamused as Chris Psalia offers them beer, not pieces of paper. Suddenly I have become uninteresting.
It is just about 20 past 11 and I guess you can say Festival day begins now because the wristband is now on. About two and a half minutes in I notice the guys from Senator walk past who enthusiastically inform me that they are on at the Deco at half 4. I let them know in return that I already know because I wanted to see them anyway. They look surprised and I have to show them my timetable and their band name highlight for them to believe me. Unfortunately they ended up going on later, so I would have to let them down. Not long after that I get jumped by Huw Olesker who was just about to play his first of seven shows of the day. He’s basically the literal version of Tiny Tim for the uke-is-now-cool generation. This would be the third time I’ve seen him and, despite playing familiar material, I laugh my tits off.
Not long after I pop over to the Fat Fox. It’s still closed and would be for about 40 minutes but people start congregating around whilst Ally (the promoter for the venue) reminisces casually about how the Fat Fox was buzzing last year because this was where the wristband exchange was. After a while trendy people start smoking and talking about trendy things that, frankly, I don’t give a toss about. I zone out. I finally get inside to a wave of apathy. Ed’s inside strumming his guitar and I sit by him. He starts making up things with my name in it that are clever but often let down by the odd self-referential lyric. He’s a funny fucker I’ll give him that and I genuinely couldn’t wait for his set, which although I’ve heard a hundred times (on stage and myspace and whatever) it still sounds fresh and fun. But it is now 20 past 1 and I want to see Aeroplane Attack…
…who are half-way through their set in the sweaty Edge of the Wedge. I had the weird and wonderful opportunity to support these guys but fuck me if they were bigger and better than then. It was a very short ten minutes though before they finished, the wall of sound collapsing and leaving me uncomfortable with the thought of walking back anywhere. Ritchie from the Demons said he was popping to the loft to see the Confederate Dead and, being that it was my plan to do the same anyway, I followed. When I got there it was the unlikely formation of the Melodramas that made me take notice. They were interesting and doomy, drastically different to the sound of craptastic indie that I had associated them with. However, this kind of slid my mind cos I wasn’t here for them. WHEN the mighty Confederate’s started it was as if there was no other reason to go to the fest. Mind-blowing and quite sexual, I rejoiced at the entire band and their request for fuck loads of reverb. It was like fucking Hope Sandoval in a black hole. Only, I can only assume that would be slightly more memorable.
Next up was a quick jog over to LJR’s (a venue well-known for terrible sound) for the fantastic Deads. Heed the previous sentence though for the garage band were hindered with the crappy sound and the whole thing became muggy and fuzzed without sounding interesting. I knew the SONGS were there, but the sound was shite. No need to mince words. Don’t worry though, the B of the Bang sounded like this too. Anyway, next I wandered over to speak to Ed to tempt him into seeing Kill Kasper but he wanted to see a couple of crappy Joy Division sound-a-likes so I let him get on with it. After stopping several times on the way to the Wedge I finally got there and watched the majority of Kill Kasper. I’ve heard these guys before on t’internet but never really had been impressed by many of the things that they do. I was always under the impression the lyrics were lifeless and had no meaning other than the vapid imagery they conjured. Boy, was I wrong though. On stage the words seem to impact you like a mallet. The Kolonel looks sincere, pissed off and like he wants you to rock out. A woman starts dancing at closer ‘Get Out’ but she looks like the woman in the song. Suddenly irony overwhelms me.
I’m not a 100% what I did next. A bit more wandering I think, but The Demons were really only on my mind. I got to the Edge, thinking that I would be late for the start of the show, but I was only just appearing at the beginning of Dragon Eye Morrison, a group I never really cared for and the gig didn’t really sway me in any way. When the Demons did come on stage, I really don’t think I was ready for it. I’ve seen them quite a bit and I like all the lads (and Neil, their groupie) so it is always a pleasure to check them out. They were phenomenal. Ok, the vocals were a bit muddy and inaudible, but when does that factor in a pop underground show. That’s right, never! Just about as good as the Confederate’s and probably one of the best times I had seen them play. Next up I wandered to the Magick Bean to watch Le Plat Du Jour, who were kooky and reminded me of Devendra Banhart, the Velvet Underground and Cat Power without the star power. Ed, being the scenester fanboy he is, loved it though and got mildly offended to my text suggesting that “she’d get it”.
We got chips after that and started planning our next visits, but I was knackered and began to make my way home at half 7. A couple of goodbyes and second-thoughts plus ten minutes later I was on the train. I was asleep by half 9. What a wuss.