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Thoughts on the World Cup
Apparently Trinidad & Tobago manager Leo Beenhakker is tired of England hype.
He's tired? How the hell does he think we feel?
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The Great Escape DAY 3 - Brighton, 20 May 2006
OK, day three. I rendezvous with Jungle VIP in Sumo. Such is VIP's post Richard Hawley euphoria I am allowed to pick all of tonight's action. I hope I can make him regret that.
Plaster are a three piece. They utilise drums, bass, keyboards, laptops and other stuff. I realise that some of my previous field reports on the electronica inclined artists have not provided you much detail about their instrumentation. Therefore, tonight I studiously make notes. Amongst Plaster's gadgetry is a Roland 303, Roland SH101, a Korg Kaos pad, an apple mac, and a 'mackie'. They have other stuff, but it wasn't clearly labelled. They use this stuff to make a electronica augmented jazz-funk brew. They give the odd track a vague acid-ish wash with the 303. I love random bands.
Apparently Tunng don't like to be called 'folktronica'. This is strange as folk + electronica = folktronica. The only alternative is 'elecolk'. They take some time to resolve technical difficulties, but eventually get started. Their techy guy takes care of the beats which allows their drummer - who doesn't have any drums - to add chimes, bells and other tinkly things. The two guitarists strum in conventional fashion. The sole female onstage plays a melodian thing - I can't remember it's name - and sings. Their final member sings and continually upends a circular piece of wood to no great effect. I'm sure these folkies are very democratic but it doesn't look to me like he's putting in his fair share of work.
Their best songs gallop along propelled by techy's beats and the rapid guitar strum-ery. They remind me of Hood circa Silent 88. There is no lead singer within the group so the majority of the songs by the group as a whole. It gives their music a sing-a-long effect which hides, as VIP astutely notes, the fact that no-one in the group has a great voice.
VIP and I have a notion to see the Kooks. Anticipating a crowd we head to the Spiegel tent. It's already mobbed and entrance looks impossible. Plan B is Tapes n Tapes at Audio, but another monster queue hastens a rethink. Plan C is Morning Runner at the Freebutt, but the venue is rammed and we can't see the band. We move straight to Plan E, as on the way to the Freebutt we'd walked past the Pressure Point - Plan D - which has the longest queue so far.
Fortunately no-one wants to see Fell City Girl at the Ocean Rooms so we're able to get in. It's not that surprising. If their unremarkable indie were a car it'd be a Mondeo.
Clearlake are headlining. Their singer asks the audience if they're only here because they couldn't get in somewhere else. This demonstrates a welcome humility or a worrying lack of confidence in their material. After ten minutes I know which I think it is. It's not that Clearlake are a bad band, it's just that they don't do anything to stop me drowning in a tidal wave of indifference. It's a disappointing way to end the festival.
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The Great Escape Festival DAY 2 - Brighton, May 19 2006
With last night's tinnitus gently fading, it is time to abuse my ear drums again.
Sign are already underway as I arrive at the Concorde. They're Finnish - I think - but their sound is classic 80s LA rock. They're very heavy, but they're not heavy enough for this crowd who, like me, are unmoved.
Jungle VIP is again my comrade-in-arms. A metal virgin, he arrives just before Gojiria's set disguised in a black t-shirt with a skull design. I could tell him that his Adidas trainers and top betray his indie credentials, but that would only worry him so I keep quiet.
French death-metal band Gojiria are next up. The crowd is evidence of the growth of extreme metal, as there must be several hundred people here tonight. The first gig I ever went to was in 1992, to see the long forgotten death-metal band Necrosanct at The Richmond - now called the Pressure Point. At that time Brighton's death metal scene consisted of the members of Necrosanct and half a dozen other people.
Gojiria's technical death-metal is greeted with wild frenzy by the crowd. Within half a song a violent mosh-pit has formed. Gojiria's stop-starty rhythms impede my enjoyment of their brutality. I prefer a bit more groove and flow.
Brighton's Johnny Truant come on to the sound of 'The boys are back in town'. Their metalcore sound is ecstatically received by the hometown crowd. Disturbingly Jungle VIP, is enjoying the band more than me. I suggest we depart before my extreme metal credentials are undermined.
Jungle VIP and I head to the nearby Hanbury Ballrooms to see Richard Hawley. We anticipated that this would be a popular gig, but already the venue is full and operating a one-out-one-in policy. There's over an hour and a half before he's due on, and despite the rain, a queue has already formed. I care little for Richard Hawley, but VIP is a big fan and I promised him this if he'd go to Gojiria.
The queue shows little sign of moving and our anxiety rises. VIP is anxious not to miss the act he most wants to see. I am similarly anxious, only my concern is to get out of the rain. We make tantalising progress towards the front of the line. A couple of drunk kids clutching a cider bottle hammer on the door and bolshily demand to be let in. The doormen get increasinly annoyed with the lary gobshites, who are oblivious to their rising ire. Note to youth of today: Irritating doormen will not gain you admittance.
Eventually, despite an agonising wait at the front of the queue, we are let in. Midlake are playing. They've got a country tinged indie rock thing going, which reminds me of Grandaddy and the Flaming Lips. They have a wealth of keyboards, effects pedals and other gadgetry which oddly seems to play little part in their sound. One of their troupe has a superb Sparks style gay moustache. A welcome sight after yesterday's disappointment with The Feeling. They end their set and VIP spots the end of a sofa which allows me to rest my now aching back.
Richard Hawley opens his set with a plea to the doormen to let those still queuing outside in. Fortunately, they take no notice. I hope it proves a salient lesson to the gobshite kids I met earlier. I'm not sure how to describe Hawley's music. His brand of tuneful artistry is alien to me, so I am devoid of reference points. Country tinged rock ballads is the best I can come up with. He's got a great voice, but that's not enough for me. I become intrigued by the bassist who looks uncannily like Elvis Costello.
The set ends and I head out into the night. It's still raining. The Gossip are playing a set in a couple of hours time at the Beach. I think about grinding it out till they come on. I think better of it and take the bus home.
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The Great Escape DAY 1 - Brighton, 18 May 2006
The queue outside the Beach is massive. Controller Controller must be very popular with the kids. I have never heard of them. Judging from the age of the people standing next to me, I was buying records before they were born. I guess I am just getting old.
I am in attendance with Jungle VIP. Neither of us paid £40 to stand in a queue so we adjourn to the Zap for The Figurines. They're Danish and play straight ahead indie. They're good, but not great. The tracks towards the end of their set are the best. More drive and the riffs are better.
We abandon the Zap and head to the Ocean Rooms to check out Holy Fuck. A drummer and bassist lay down heavy rhythms with a punk energy which touch on funk and dub. Two further members stand in front of tables laden with keyboards, effect pedals and other gizmos. They overlay the dance-able rhythms with electronic swooshes, buzzing bass and chord sustains. It's a great set. Holy Fuck have propulsion, drive, energy. The crowd grow increasingly enthusiastic. Someone offers to buy them breakfast.
There is some confusion about how to leave the Ocean Rooms, but we are soon on their way to the Komedia. We arrive in time to see the end of Cord. They are straight ahead rock. The singer is giving it everything like he's playing to a packed Wembley Stadium but he's doesn't suceed in conveying this to the crowd.
I am here at the insistence of VIP to see The Feeling. Soft-rockers, part of this new-wave of Hall & Oates. Sadly none of them wears a gay moustache. I didn't think I knew them, but they did that 'na-na, nanana-naaa' song. They really aren't my thing. You know when you aren't going to like a band when they say: "This is a song about alcohol, it's called Rosa."
I bid farewell to VIP and head to the Concorde to catch the end of 65 Days of Static. After The Feeling, 65 DoS post hardcore is like a relaxing warm bath. Their dry riffing and electronica wash sounds great at first, but there is something too considered about it. Their songs all build to the same blitzing crescendo. They aspire to something epic, but it sounds too controlled. They need to let the needle go into the red.
I collect my bike and battle against the head-wind home.
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BARR/The Sticks/How the west may save us yet - Barden's Boudoir, London, 9 May 2006
How the west may save us is not a band but a collection of short films with music by outre bands. There was a good film which had a tasmanian devil type character in it - I think it may have been called incredible raccoon boy. It seemed to be drawn in someone's school exercise book. The visuals had been imaginatively matched with the track which was a stuttering electronica type thing.
The other memorable film had music by Comets on Fire. The film had a mixture of colourful, dense, comic style montages bleeding into stills of the band playing. It had a low-tech fanzine style that I liked.
The Sticks are a guitar and drums two piece from Brighton. I enjoyed their primitive distorted sound. But other bands have done this better in the past (Doo Rag) and are doing it better now (Coachwhips).
BARR reminded me of my recent encounter with Hawnay Troof. Rapping, talking rhythmically, whatever over various beats. I didn't like the beats too much - though they were better than Troof's. Unfortunately I couldn't hear his raps, which limited my chances of getting something from his performance. The experience was not heightened by the foul eggy stench emanating from the venue's drains.
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Metal: A Headbanger's Journey
Fronted by life-long metal fan Sam Dunn, the documentary purports to be a tour of the heavy metal universe, but is little more than a 'Janet & John' style guide to the genre.
The documentary looks at metal's origins, style, controversies and how it has survived as an outsider subculture. However, for those with even a passing knowledge of metal there is precious little insight on offer. The examination of metal's origins consisting of declaring Black Sabbath the music's inventors.
Dunn attempts to give the film an intellectual sheen by describing himself as an anthropologist. He also includes interviews with a couple of sociologists whose expert opinions consist of blandishments which even Raj Persuad would be ashamed.
Despite access to a host of influential names such as: Tony Iommi, Ronnie Dio, Cannibal Corpse, Alice Cooper, Dee Schneider, and Mayhem's Necrobutcher, Dunn elicits nothing interesting from them.
Dunn is clearly enjoying himself as he travels around the world interviewing his heroes. The consequence is that the film comes across as a glorified video diary.
Pointless.
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Smegma/Runzelstirn & Gurlestock/Hototogisu/Deepkiss 720 - The Luminaire, London 1 May 2006
I nearly didn't go to this gig. It seemed like it was going to be an evening of gruelling endurance. Especially when I overhear a woman say: "It looks like the hardcore noise crowd are in."
Deepkiss 720 is one man, Jason Williams. Apparently he used to be in I'm Being Good - but I don't remember him. His sound is built on a very heavy low bass that you feel in your stomach. There are various analogue type squelches and chuggings over the top. For a bit he thwacks a guitar type thing. It's like listening to a wounded animal trapped inside an underground cavern.
Hototogisu are a two piece. Male and female. They utilise guitars to create wall of noise feedback. At first the woman makes evil noises into a microphone, before joining her colleague in pummelling a guitar. There are moments where I can hear flickerings of something beneath the maelstrom, but I fail to sift them from the sonic debris.
Runzelstirn and Gurglestock are apparently key members of the Swiss 'schlimpfluch' scene. What, you mean you haven't heard of them? There is a hint of S&M about the duo. One man, let's call him Runzelstirn, sits on a stool dressed in a black skirt. His torso bare except for the black paint on his nipples. His mouth appears to be bound by a piece of wire. On his hands he wears 'cyber gloves' which he uses to trigger various samples and noises. Gurglestock performs the gig wearing a sinister pig mask. He too is bare chested. He moves about the stage and audience carrying a small amp. At one point entering into a staring contest with someone sitting at the front.
This is to say nothing of their music, which for all the gothic cabaret, is hypnotic. Tiny bursts of static sound like flies crawling over the remains of a week-old carcass left in the sun. Their eggs hatch and pupa gorge on the rotten remains, which is at once a dead and living thing. Nearby a small child is tortured, her pitiable cries assail your uncaring ears.
Smegma have been knocking around since the early 70s, not that I have ever come across them before. Perhaps that's because the band appear to have spent the last 30 years in a Grateful Dead gig. Musically the band take their cue from Faust. Processed electronics are combined with parping whistle orchestras, which mutate into bursts of psych-rock. Childrens toys, theremin, cornet and turntables are all thrown together. One band member plays a piece of rubber from which he elicits the noise of a saxophone. Somehow they meld this cacophonous brew together.
Throughout the gig I feel that I have been granted the chance to see something rare and precious. Something about the possibilities of music, but that insight eludes me. All I know with certainty is that I have witnessed the majesty of Smegma.
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