Folly Group – Old Blue Last, 11 March 2020

March 12, 2020March 12, 2020 ~ Henry ~ Leave a comment

Powerplant / Legss / Folly Group – Old Blue Last, 11 March 2020

Impenetrable poetry with Legss, coal-powered punk and inspirations of self-doubt

Last night I saw Powerplant, Legss and Folly Group at the Old Blue Last.

Ahead of arrival, I sat in the window of the Shoreditch High Street Pret, drinking coffee and writing six (very) short stories.

I mention this, because prior to the gig I was elated with my imagined artistic credentials. Afterwards, I wasn’t.

Legss’ impenetrably poetic performance forced me to reassess my recent literary output. It helped me conclude that I’m still wanting.

It’s one hell of a thing when a band inspires that sort of retrospection.

English Literature Students Must Know Legss

I’ll start by setting the scene.

Upstairs, the Old Blue Last was rammed with English Literature students from Queen Mary. Considering Coronavirus achieved pandemic status earlier that afternoon, it was an impressive turnout. It also made me notice that the air was acrid, and the usual East London scents weren’t in attendance.

Before the first band, the crowd muttered of assignments due, lecture attendance, summer aspirations, and how often they’d been to Printworks.

Pints were swilled with youthful enthusiasm. Maybe gulped is better.

Someone even wandered around the crowd, shouting to his friends, “You know what we should do, we should buy some drugs.” Yet to realise that everyone does drugs and it’s not really worth screaming about.

It was cool to be present with a student audience though, however obnoxious they may have been. At least they actually seemed to be excited about something.

Folly Group

First up were Folly Group, an experimental, four piece electronic, punk (?) band from London.

Interestingly, they had two percussionists.

Maracas shook, pulse tubes chimed, the vocalist braaped, and the guitarist and bassist shifted scales up and down with reckless abandon.

Each song employed contrasting tempos, but the only one I recognised was Butt Not Rifle (probably because it’s the only one on Folly Group’s Soundcloud and the only one I know).

The set was interesting, but it was hard to distinguish between songs. So I guess that means some of it lacked distinction.

Legss

Before Legss took the stage, I unknowingly stood behind a young man with a mullet and a clam-shell necklace. Who knew he’d be the drummer?

Legss kicked off their set with a poem that was hard to navigate, but made the night’s keywords easily identifiable (yes, Folly Group and Powerplant got a mention).

The baseball cap adorned singer references the mundane against the literary and the group acknowledged that this was Legss main draw. Stories of the banal, and yet not so banal, spoken in a way that reminds you of how Pete Doherty rambles, but with better references and way, way more bite.

It was strange that the frontman’s manc accent (??) didn’t translate into his performance. Unless it was a concept thing about how poetry should only be spoken proper. Either way, it made for strange listening against the ‘banter’ between sets.

His lyrics bewildered, but intrigued, that may not really make that much sense when they’re drilled down, but they were the sort of thing that could inspire you to fear and question your own ability to write prose.

I’m focussing too much on the singer. It sounds like I’ve got a crush.

Instrumentally, Legss were an expected post-punk affair. One lead into a song sounded almost exactly like Slint’s Good Morning, Captain. Perhaps it was.

Everything worked, perhaps because it’s easier to weave bizzare concepts with words than experimental sounds.

Legss were bold, pretentious and very different.

I really liked Legss, but perhaps that’s down to me wanting to be bold, pretentious and very different.

You should really go and see them.

Powerplant

With a fill of Legss, I considered leaving before Powerplant started, but having wedged myself in the corner and suddenly surrounded by students, I was forced to stay.

Powerplant played explosive, proto-punk with some electronic elements.

The frontman had an almost Johnny Ramone bowl cut. He also kept requesting more guitar, which is in form with a Powerplant. Did you know that a coal firing power station can take up to six months to prep (clean)?

I’d heard Powerplant’s recordings before and found them flat. Not so live.

In stark contrast to Legss, it wasn’t like they were really doing anything that new, but they did play well constructed, muscular punk. While listening through all of their latest album, People In The Sun, can get samey very quickly, it was actually really electric live.

The crowd liked it too.

But I think most of them had only gone to throw beers, get soggy and inappropriately touch their friends.

Perhaps punk and metal gigs are some of the last bastions of sexual harassment.

I wouldn’t know. I was standing in the corner.

Why I No Longer Hate The Wombats But You Still Shouldn’t Go To All Points East 2020

March 11, 2020March 11, 2020 ~ Henry ~ 3 Comments

Last week I drafted a blog about how February’s announcement that The Wombats will be headlining All Points East 2020 with The Kooks, justified boycotting the day festival.

Writing it made me really angry.

So angry that I felt it necessary to sit on it, and reflect on why I hate The Wombats so much.

Through reflection, I’ve realised that I don’t hate The Wombats, and their status as All Points East 2020 headliners is not a good reason to tell people to rip up their festival tickets (if yours is digital you can still smash up your phone – go on, I dare you).

Anyway, while you should still definitely NOT go to All Points East 2020, I’ll get to that in a bit.

Deconstructing why I hate The Wombats so much made me realise that actually, hating a band intensely is a real symptom of fanboyism / fangirlism / fanthemism. Because it’s the mirror-image of dogmatically repeating what you think is cool, and holding opinions that make no sense (the definition of fanboyism). Which makes sense, because that’s what music encourages you to do, by embedding lyrics and tunes in your head, over and over again.

But I don’t think dogmatism’s cool, so I decided to change my mind about The Wombats.

Here’s how I did it.

Why I Thought I Hated The Wombats

I started by rekindling my intense hatred for The Wombats.

This was achieved by spending most of last week listening to their first album, A Guide To Love, Loss and Desperation. Wanky title, isn’t it?

Listening to it again helped me distil this hatred into four key points, which I wrote down and then felt pretty stupid about.

Here are the reasons.

They’re stupid, aren’t they?

1. The Wombats’ Lyrics Really Make Me Cringe

I don’t know why, but the lyrics in Wombats’ songs always make me cringe.

Take the singles from their debut album:

Kill The Director

Kill The Director involves the frontman finding himself in a situation that plays out as if it’s a romantic comedy or Eastenders episode, and references how ‘carrots help you see much better in the dark’.

I’ve always felt like the frontman Matthew Murphy’s prose would be perfect for a BBC funded Romcom, like, I dunno, a feature-length version of My Family, which is an awful idea, isn’t it?

Also carrots don’t help you see in the dark.

Moving To New York

Moving To New York is about how Matthew Murphy is going to move to New York because he’s got insomnia.

My gripe with this song is that he sings it as if he hasn’t considered that the cost of Manhattan apartment (because he’d totally live in Manhattan) would make his insomnia worse.

It’s also like it was written in reaction to an episode in which Matthew Murphy’s parents forced him to revise for his General Studies AS-Level, and his very mature reaction was to run around the kitchen table, waving his hands in the air, saying that he was going to slit his wrists because General Studies is definitely way too hard.

Let’s Dance To Joy Division

Let’s Dance To Joy Division is apparently about how the singer was in a pub in Liverpool and everyone was dancing to Joy Division (it’s alluded that the song was Love Will Tear Us Apart Again, and I think fair to assume, because that’s probably the only Joy Division song that people who listen to The Wombats know).

The chorus hinges on how ironic dancing to Joy Division is, because I dunno, Joy Division songs are about being sad, and people never dance to sad songs when they’re happy. Yeah, that’s totally a reason people don’t dance to songs isn’t it?

So yeah, I don’t think there’s anything ironic about dancing to Joy Division, and in context it comes off as a song dedicated to what I assume is Matthew Murphy’s snarky, yet poorly justified, superiority complex.

As you can see, most of my hatred here is based on a completely imagined version of Matthew Murphy. It’s like he must have stolen my girlfriend back in 2006 (ha! I didn’t have a girlfriend).

And when I think about this, it’s totally unfair. Because he’s probably quite nice, and definitely writes better lyrics than I do.

2. My Sixth Form Tutor Said They Were Shit

My sixth form tutor, Mrs Blay, used to let us pick music to play during morning registration.

One morning, a girl I didn’t like kept requesting on The Wombats. Mrs Blay proceeded to say they were shit.

I didn’t like that girl. I really hated that girl. So by association, I started hating The Wombats.

3. They Remind Me Of Mid-2000s ‘Indie’ TopShop Girls Who Wouldn’t Go Out With Me

I remember The Wombats as a band liked by teenage girls who’s rock / indie credentials were store bought from TopShop in the early 2000s.

Remember that uniform of stupid hats, plaid shirts, skinny jeans, oversized sunglasses and unwavering sense of superiority (over the other girls, who just didn’t understand real music)?

I don’t know why, but this really annoyed me.

Perhaps it’s because at the time, the coolest attributes I had were owning a copy of the Pixies’ fourth LP, not understanding Daydream Nation and a pretentious aversion to Best Ofs. It was also that none of the girls appreciated just how cool all of those attributes were.

4. The Wombats Are Really Inoffensive

Listen to their songs.

They’re not hurting anyone are they?

I don’t know why, but I’ve always felt like music should like say something in a pseudo-it’s-not-saying-anything-but-it-makes-you-feel-better-about-listening-to-it sort of way.

Why? I don’t know. It’s just a stupid pretension.

Why The Wombats Are Not A Good Reason To Avoid All Points East 2020

Having written down the reasons I hated The Wombats, I realised that they’re all really, really stupid and I should stop hating The Wombats immediately.

I mean, the more I think about it, the more I’m sure that The Wombats are probably alright.

It’s also impressive that they’ve managed to make a lot of money as a reasonably cookie cutter indie band, and are now headlining a reasonably big UK (day) festival almost fifteen years after they were relevant.

Finally, they’re getting a bunch of idiots to pay for their retirement, which I think we can all totally applaud.

Why You Still Shouldn’t Go To All Points East 2020

But although I’ve stopped hating The Wombats, I still don’t think you should go to All Points East 2020 and here’s why.

1. It’s Has-Been Central

With the exception of Tame Impala, all six days are a complete nostalgia trip.

When was the last time you heard anything good from Bombay Bicycle Club, Massive Attack, Thom Yorke, Kraftwerk, Iggy Pop, The Kooks or The Wombats?

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t in the last decade?

So you already know that everyone there’s going to be reminiscing about how the last time they listened to [insert band] they could still see their penis / vagina over their now enormous beer gut.

Is that how you want to spend two weekends?

Hanging out with those types?

2. The Free-Entry Activities Sound Shit

“There’s food, there’s film, there’s a circus. There’s everything that you could think of.“

That’s a quote from the video explaining All Points East’s new, free programme of mid-week activities. It’s like it justifies how the festival is now commandeering a large portion of Victoria Park for another weekend.

While I guess it’s great that they’re pretending to do something for the local community this year, it doesn’t sound like much.

Wait, let me rephrase that. It sounds like a completely hollow cop out.

I mean, how does food, film and a circus sound any better than sitting around in the sun with your friends, watching half naked people (cinema), drinking bottled beer (food), while Australians throw rugby balls in your direction (circus)?

It doesn’t sound any different at all. If anything, my version includes more nudity.

Also, they say this portion is free, but I’m sure the food isn’t going to be.

So it’s probably just another justification for them to charge vendors more for the privilege of selling overpriced food.

3. It’s STILL Commercialisation To The MAX

American Express and Firestone are still sponsoring the event.

Which means that there’ll be a special wristband area for twats who have American Express cards, or eat tires.

While I guess it’s a positive that such dickheads will be segregated from the wider crowd, the concept is still dreadful, and if you go to All Points East 2020, you’re endorsing it.

4. It Means You Don’t Read My Blog Enough

Last summer, I wrote the ONLY honest review about All Points East 2019.

My review clearly explains why it was so bad last year.

While I’m not clairvoyant, given there are three more days of it this year, I can and will definitively predict that it’s going to be worse this year (or was there a whole two weeks last year? I really don’t remember)

Given the evidence, why would you go?

Why I’ll Probably Go To All Points East 2020 Anyway

So, now you know why it’s not The Wombats’ fault that All Points East 2020 is going to suck. It was going to anyway!

Also, you now know why you should revise your opinion of The Wombats too.

Despite all of these brilliant reasons not to go to the day festival, both you and I are probably still going to.

Because honestly, what else are we going to do? Balloons?

Hi Frisco / Two Weeks In Nashville – Sebright Arms, 3 March 2020

March 4, 2020March 6, 2020 ~ Henry ~ Leave a comment

A juxtaposition of the bravado of youth and the modesty of age.

Last night I saw Hi Frisco supported by Two Weeks In Nashville at the Sebright Arms.

The last time I was there, I accidently saw Steve Buscemi’s Dreamy Eyes and Cat Princess. The accident salvaged an otherwise woeful afternoon spent with the Jeff Buckley Appreciation Society at Sofar Sounds (got you – that’s not a real band – it’s how you know weekends are better spent with Coronavirus than at Sofar Sounds).

First up:

Two Weeks In Nashville

Two Weeks In Nashville are a four-piece rock band. A young rock band. They’re talented and play well. They might disagree, but pop-rock’s their thing, with equal parts guitar solos, posturing, signing the horns, unnecessary lunges and tartan trousers.

Despite a high turnout for Hi Frisco, not many descended to the basement to watch Two Weeks In Nashville’s set. Instead, the audience arrived en masse at 8:45. Shitty crowd – check.

Two Weeks In Nashville played four songs (it could have been five). The set sounded like Train or U2 with a caveat. No Joshua Tree era aural landscapes or any sense of punctuated pre Rattle and Hum urgency.

That’s because Two Weeks In Nashville were missing something. Not with the performance; unless you’re offended by singers who cajole for claps and seem set on receiving restraining orders from their microphone stands; but the songs betrayed their youth. I say youth because it’s like the band’s a couple of haircuts away from figuring who they are (I also held the door for one of their mothers-come-roadie).

Further, while there’s no need to be obsessed with lyricism, vocals sit at the forefront of pop-rock songs, making derivative harder to hide.

Sure, rock music is built on cliches, but it’s pretty ambitious to cram ‘toy soldiers’, ‘no surprise’, ‘we’re coming home’, ‘at war with the world’, ‘we stand on mountains’, and ‘we are more than numbers’ into a single song. Yet Two Weeks In Nashville managed it with their latest single Take Control. If you haven’t guessed, I think it’s too much.

I’m not writing this to be cruel.

Last night Two Weeks In Nashville exhibited all the talent needed to entertain and excite. However, without a bolder, more personal direction, I think they’re going to find it hard to achieve.

Hi Frisco

Hi Frisco are an indie band with electronic elements. Apparently last night was their debut headlining gig. They played live as a four-piece, but apparently they’re normally a duo.

Their sound’s similar to Tame Impala, The War On Drugs and the Smith Westerns. Dreamy shoegaze pop, with eighties movie synths, bright guitar flurries and vocals that sort of float – you know, just go with the accompaniment instead of taking charge of the song.

They’re actually good. Surprisingly good. Not No Joy, Hare Tarot Lies good, but easily Smith Westerns, 3AM Spiritual good.

Either most of the audience knew them, or they were recently featured in Time Out, because for a free show, it was busy.

In sharp contrast to Two Weeks In Nashville’s exuberance, Hi Frisco’s frontman wore his fragility on stage, adding a slice of endearing to the performance.

They finished the set with their latest single, The War. While it was a short, more wasn’t necessary. Also, the shiny silver banner, apparently created by one of Hi Frisco’s mothers was very nice. Great job.

It reminded me that I’ve always found that Tame Impala songs drag, as if they’re hard to appreciate unless you’re stoned. Hi Fresco’s songs hit a similar note, but they’re more structured. More listenable. Of course, covered in a layer of sheen, but not applied so thick that you lose sight of the features.

Hi Frisco delivered a compact yet compelling dreamscape last night. The War is also cool, even if it was inspired by Atlas Shrugged.

Assuming they keep this up, I think they’ll be moderately big soon.

Gemma On Hard Times

Between sets, I met Gemma.

She said to me that the Sebright smoking alley was her turf. She’s been homeless for 26 months.

I gave her £1.10. When she asked me to walk her to a cashpoint, I declined. I bought two beers for myself at £11.00 instead. I regret that.

Gemma was drunk and I rolled her a cigarette.

We sat together for a bit. We didn’t have much to say.

She claimed people working at the Sebright knew her, and made her a drink called ‘Diabetes on Ice’, comprised of lemon juice and ribena. She didn’t mention the ice.

She said that instead of going to a hostel, she usually tried to get into a bed and breakfast. To do that she has to raise £26.00 a day. That’s about £790 a month. It’s more than my rent.

I’m not writing anything anyone doesn’t already know.

I don’t even know why I’m writing it.

It’s the first time I’ve had a conversation with a woman who’s homeless during a gig. She was carrying most of her possessions and hadn’t showered for a while.

I’m not sure that it means anything, but she was a feature of the night.

I hope she managed to find another beer.

The Wants / Happy Couple – Lexington, 27 February 2020

March 1, 2020March 1, 2020 ~ Henry ~ Leave a comment

Why Want The Wants? Because it’s your chance to surrender to a life punctuated by comically small beanies, song deficits and trips to the bathroom with all of your favourite guys.

Apparently I’m not talented enough to capture how much The Wants are into Twin Peaks

This Wednesday, I saw The Wants at the Lexington. They’re a New York post-punk band, who are apparently “Led by [an] elusive duality of personas, which oscillate between earnestly romantic and unsettlingly deadpan.” Two-thirds of the band are also in art rock five-piece, Bodega, which explains some of the current buzz about them. Perhaps that’s why they’re able to describe themselves with such style.

The Wants are currently promoting the upcoming release of their debut album, Container, out on 13 March 2020. Wednesday’s show was supported by Happy Couple.

They Want The Wants

I didn’t pay to see the show. My girlfriend had an extra ticket.

I wasn’t her first choice of company. She’d planned to go with a friend. Apparently, sometimes they both treat the process of buying gig tickets as a seduction raffle. In this case, the prize was a chance to bag The Wants’ unconventionally handsome, Madison Velding-VanDam. However, when the aforementioned friend discovered that DIIV, an apparently prettier band, were playing the same night, she took the plunge and my girlfriend was left treading water with me.

I hadn’t listened to anything released by The Wants prior to the gig, so I went in cold.

However, having now listened to everything they’ve got on Spotify (on repeat); the Motor, Fear My Society, Clearly A Crisis and Container; I’ve come to the conclusion that they’re actually pretty cool, albeit, there’s not a whole lot to go on.

While I was listening to The Wants, my flatmate compared them to Butthole Surfers. Considering his playlists are dominated by Adele and Billie Eilish, it isn’t the worst comparison. But I’d say they’re more like Talking Heads, with an engine running on ambient techno and a quirk suppressor (they’d take it off, but these days, the environment’s a big issue).

Canned Curiosity

Before the show had even started, the merchandise stand became a talking point.

Instead of stacks of 12” LPs and cassettes, the shop window was piled high with cans of tinned food, unlabelled. Despite the obvious guess being that this was to help attendees self-isolate in the event they contracted Coronavirus at the gig, it turned out to be a cool way to add physicality to preordering The Wants upcoming album Container.

What better preorder incentive than a little apocalypse cuisine?

I was severely disappointed to learn that all of the cans contained peas. Word of advice The Wants, next consider the possibility of a couple of cans of Fray Bentos.

Who’s The Happy Couple?

First to play were female-fronted, three-piece Happy Couple. They kicked it off with a frenetic, bass-driven, noise rock set.

So, when are you guys moving in together?

Happy Couple offered a selection of songs that were a tauter, more accessible, take on Kim Gordon-led efforts from Sonic Youth’s major label era. While there’s often a tendency for noise rock to sound a bit samey, Happy Couple delivered plenty of diversity. Altogether, a pretty sound support.

What About The Wants?

Headliners, The Wants ran through a limited catalogue with a certain poise.

The set was short. Really short. Departure time was 22:00, even with the encore. Similarly, every song ended impressively abruptly, as if it was a theme.

Live, The Motor was slick. It was also charming to see frontman, Madison Velding-VanDam so VanDam-elated, making considerable use of the confined space. On the night, his onstage antics seemed to be taking cues from a certain David Bryne’s brand of bizarre.

While his enthusiasm did nothing to propagate the promise of deadpan, it worked, with the exception of Fear My Society. It sounded a bit like someone reciting keywords from a Medium article, losing a bit of its otherwise stirring atmosphere of the recording. That’s to say, I was initially turned off the song during the gig, but arrived at liking it.

I shouldn’t forget that my girlfriend thought the show’s highlight was bassist Heather Elle’s Wednesday Adams dress. Given that I know even less about dresses than I do about music, I’ll refrain from providing an opinion.

Conformity of Cool

Forgetting The Wants, one of the most striking things about the gig was the conformity of the crowd.

It was like walking down Broadway Market on a Saturday.

A sea of tea-pot-cosy inspired hats, more mullets than I care to mention, the heavy stench of that scent every girl in east London wears (you know the one I’m talking about), leather trousers, moustaches and those dangly cross earrings. I guess it happens with fad, but this really seems to be a uniform.

“I’m more of an All Day Breakfast Kinda Guy. Can’t you tell? That’s why my teapot-warmer, I mean beanie, is brown and I have moustache to disguise my disfigured upper lip.”

Now, while I’ll admit I wasn’t there because I adore The Wants, it felt like I wasn’t the only one. Despite the evident draw of the band, it was as if the majority of the crowd were there because this could, for all intents and purposes, be perceived as a Bodega side-project, making attendance less of a risk (in terms of maximising cool time) than another band may be.

Standing in the crowd, it felt at times like everyone was auditioning for a leading role in the next Churchill advert, ominously nodding their heads to songs they weren’t familiar with.

I don’t write this to be judgemental, or maybe I do. But there wasn’t the vibe that people were there to see a band they liked. I’m guilty of this too, but I think the atmosphere suffered.

Perhaps that’s why there were so many boys going to the bathroom in threes.

You know, so they could complement each other on their facial grooming techniques while washing their hands.

Blue – Only Attitude – Single Compilation Review

October 27, 2019 ~ Henry ~ Leave a comment

Back in September, Blacktop Records asked me to review BLUE – Only Attitude.

I like to impersonate my heroes, so I’m doing it a month late.

What’s Only Attitude?

Only Attitude is a single compilation, written and recorded by Ross Miller, the bassist of Canadian Juno Award Winners, the Dirty Nil.

The compilation comprises of two previous releases, Positive Attitude and Only Anger, released in August 2018 and June 2019 respectively.

It came out on 27th September 2019, so I’m pretty late to the party.

At seven tracks, it clocks in at just under 12 minutes. Listen to it on bandcamp.

What Does It Sound Like?

Hardcore punk. Like, you know, proper East Coast Hardcore. Not a 2010 variant of hardcore punk (you know, AFI…)

Fugazi. It sounds a lot like Fugazi. But less funky (Waiting Room is totally funky). Energy that I guess seems slightly reminiscent of Gorilla Biscuits’ first EP.

Primal, urgent and apparently with a positive message. Fast, abrasive, not-tuneful throughout. It’s interesting if you like that sort of stuff. But if you don’t, it’ll probably damage your stomach lining.

While it’s all the result of low production values, the first five songs (Positive Attitude) are raw-er. The bass thumps, guitars drive faster than they should, and it sounds kinda shambolically muscular. Maybe lean’s a better word. Last two songs (Only Anger) are mellower, with more vocals that are more exposed.

I didn’t really appreciate the apparently positive message.

Greater lyrical diversity would have be a boon. First four songs are blue obsessed.

Picks: track 2. Feelin’ Blue, track 5. Comparable Compassion and track 6. Only Anger

Opinion: Not easy listening. Interesting if you like 80’s hardcore. Definitely less polished than any of the Dirty Nil‘s efforts. Dynamic changes on tracks 2 and 5 are nice.

3 BEERS

Why This Is Such An Important Development

A real record label asked me to review something.

That means I’m officially a music journalist.

Rolling Stone and Pitchfork are probably trying to get hold of me. So like, could everyone please continue to not call me.

Thanks.

BODEGA @ Moth Club – Three Free Gigs #10

August 10, 2019August 11, 2019 ~ Henry ~ 1 Comment

There are a bunch of free gigs in London. Each week, I try and go to three.

The rating system’s simple: how many beers did I buy (drink)? The more, the better.

10. BODEGA @ Moth Club, London

Friday, 9 August 2019

“Truth is not punishment,” so let’s be honest, who was actually disappointed about the cancellation of Boardmasters?

If you haven’t guessed it, no one who was at Moth Club last night.

No one dances, writes, or fights, or fucks or makes love quite like me – Bodega @ Moth Club, 9 August 2019

That’s because Bodega, New York art-punk five-piece (or whatever else you want to call them) graced Hackney with a surprise, and importantly FREE, appearance at Moth Club, thanks to high winds off the Cornish coast.

I’d go into a rant about how much I hate Cornwall here, but I can’t be bothered, so insert your own joke about pasties and inbreeding.

Ahead of the release of their latest record, the show was an expected, but delightfully executed affair – dominated by songs from their debut LP, Endless Scroll. There were a couple of new ones, including Shiny New Thing, and (I think this is the working title), ‘An actress who decides every move based on how people will regard it in the future’. It reminded me a lot of when I paid to see them at the Shacklewell Arms in February. Great performance, but like, not the best songs in the world.

Moth Club was hot, everyone was drenched in sweat, but Bodega’s performance was energetic, and they actually seemed happy to be playing.

The band have spent a lot of time on the road, and they let the audience know it by dedicating Gyrate to everyone’s favourite band, Viagra Boys.

Other highlights included a cover of Silver Jews, Black and Brown Shoes, in memory of the recently deceased David Berman. Jack in Titanic, as always, was an epic tragedy. It’s a great song, but maybe they’ve played it too often, and like Titanic, maybe there are only so many times you can watch Leonardo Dicaprio sink.

Bodega ended the set with an extended jam that eventually morphed into Truth is not Punishment, with a lot of tired arms and a standing drummer with a nose bleed (or did my memory get warped because I follow Bodega so compulsively on instagram?).

Walking away from the stage, despite being way too sticky, it actually felt like arriving at a venue for 19:00 had been justified. And, thanks to closing at 21:30, everyone was left with a night full of opportunity, and sense of achievement.

Shame no one stayed for the Horror’s Rhys Webb’s DJ set, but I mean, it’s been five years Rhys, maybe everyone still going to Cave Club is a total loser.

4 Beers

The Deep and Human Music – Three Free Gigs #9

June 20, 2019August 11, 2019 ~ Henry ~ Leave a comment

There are a bunch of free gigs in London. Each week, I try and go to three.

The rating system is simple, how many beers did I buy (drink)? The more, the better.

Trump must be quaking, and fists a shakin’, because funk’s totally where it’s at man.

The Deep & Human Music at the Shacklewell Arms

Wednesday, 19 June 2019

Last night the Shacklewell was rammed. The busiest I’ve seen it on a Wednesday in years. And who was filling the space, smoking atop the astroturf where they shouldn’t? A whole lot of strange looking people.

In pursuit of objectivity, artistic freedom and focus, I’d ventured to this gig alone, with only three rollie’s worth of tobacco in my denim jacket. In hindsight, I should have brought more.

This Wednesday, out of four performances, I only saw two. So unfortunately, there’s no review of GFE or Dominic McGuiness, but I can assure you that if they were anything like the two bands I did see, I didn’t miss much.

Third, or first up, Human Music. The first thing that strikes is the name.

I think their name was a reference to a cartoon. Probably Futurama, with it’s zany wit and relatable characters. Human Music’s probably something Dr Zoidberg invented to get his Earth Citizenship, involving bagpipes or a dreidel.

I mean, I could totally accept bagpipes and dreidels were the inspiration for Human Music (the band). They were completely brimming with tomfoolery. Dressed like clowns, their front man lumbered around the stage, let the audience know how much he hates Donald Trump and whoever the Prime Minister is. The music was akin to Irish folk in a cemetery, with demented, but relatable organ (synth) parts, that inspire images of the circus.

Human or primate. Is there really a difference? Human Music @ the Shacklewell Arms, 19 June 2019

As music that I assume was inspired by 7 billion people, it was pretty damn uninspired.

But the crowd seemed to like it.

That’s how, despite a bearded fat man trying to cut the set at time (10:15-ish), the crowd just screamed for more. And they got what they wanted.

Which says a lot. Beware, when a room full of people stops respecting the borough’s strict, but fair, permitted noise levels on residential streets, and potentially cuts the main band’s set short as a result, we should all be worried about how torn the fabric of our society really is.

Maybe that was the point.

Anyway, they finished playing after another three songs.

Then I was left with the relief of the intermission. And what better way to spend it than sitting alone, replying to my many fan emails.

I was interrupted by a pale Australian girl. She has the gall to ask me for a fag. I still feel bad about the colonies, so I offered her what dregs of tobacco I had left, and lashings of opportunity to immediately exit after amply fingering my filters. But she kept talking.

Apparently she knew the band, thought I’d think they were great, really loved wearing fur coats in the summer and was too ill to go to work that day, but cigarettes and gin had sustained her for the gig.

She then asked if I was Australian, and then kept trying to figure out what my name was.

A bit of a dicey situation, I know.

That’s when I noticed everyone was in the bathroom. Twos and threes. And then she let me know, damn, the Deep were a funk band.

And as everyone knows, funk band fans are like hippies. Completely insufferable.

I had to escape.

So I suggested that the band were starting and we really didn’t want to miss the show. I let her walk ahead of me, re-enter the gig space, and then I slunk away to the bar at the front; unseen.

After waiting a while at the bar, I went back in to see the band. I didn’t have much choice, I hadn’t come to the Shacklewell Arms to not review the headliners.

And that’s how I got to the Deep.

Oh the Deep.

So Deep, so deeply cliched.

There was a trombone.

There was a guitar.

There were dual vocals.

There were sing alongs.

The crowd jumped up, got antsy, and it seemed like the people in front of me wanted to start a fight with something. Maybe their libidos.

The songs were punctuated by horns, the bass wobbled and everyone sang about being in love.

Then, as always happens at the shows of touring funk bands, the crowd secreted a rogue saxophonist, who clambered onto the stage to great applause, donned some pretty ridiculous sunglasses, because you know, he wakes and bakes, and then wailed and wailed and wailed.

How Deep? Too Deep. You’re hurting me,
The Deep, and some weird saxophone player at the Shacklewell Arms, 19 June 2019

I left after four songs.

It confirmed to me again, that there’s nothing worse than funk, unless like, you studied music man.

2 BEERS

GIG REVIEW: L.A. Peach and Lacuna Common – Three Free Gigs #8

June 6, 2019 ~ Henry ~ 1 Comment

There are a bunch of free gigs in London. Each week I go to three and review them.

The rating system’s simple: how many beers did I buy (drink)? The more, the better.

8. L.A. Peach and Lacuna Common @ Blondies, London

Wednesday, 5 June 2019

Henry learns that exceptionally good punk comes from Oxford and L.A. Peach is totally besotted.

Blondies - Inside — Apparently heaven and hell are both teal. Neon lights @ Blondies.

This was my first visit to Lower Clapton’s Blondies.

It’s dark, the space is tight and it’s drenched in neon. The stage is situated right next to the entrance, so beware, once the curtain’s drawn and the band have started, you’re stuck – unless you want to join the performance and navigate whoever’s playing.

It’s the only hole in Hackney where the stuff on tap is almost exclusive Vice’s beer– bit of a shame because it’s not very good. There’s also a terrace hidden at the back, so there’s at least one reason to go for an actual drink – just remember, the terrace closes at 21:00 (it’s actually quite cool).

Last night, Blondies were hosting Oxford indie / punk trio Lacuna Common and London-based five-piece L.A. Peach (I think they’re a five-piece, but maybe it’s just a singer with a guitar and some friends).

The crowd was made up of animated mannequins from Beyond Retro. I was wearing a white button-up shirt, carrying a laptop and felt like a total prick.

First up, Lacuna Common seriously impressed. They’re really fucking good.

Lacuna Common at Blondies — Not quite a glimpse from the bathroom. Lacuna Common @ Blondies

The band play that ‘blood-in-your-teeth’ kind of punk (defiantly British), the type that somehow makes stories about the banality of life seem interesting (like an imagined pint of vodka). Punchy and almost immediately captivating, their songs were simple, catchy, held the right amount of suspense, while consistently delivering a certain despondency.

The frontman spat out tales of having no money, people not caring enough about him, skinny jeans and twats from Oxford, while the bassist occasionally chimed in with his own wheys and woes. Instrumentally, it’s basic and the lyrics aren’t anything new, but it really worked. Like, really worked.

(I REALLY LIKED LACUNA COMMON)

Lacuna Common T-Shirt — Do you reckon dad’ll look good in this? Lacuna Common merch @ Blondies

Their dad was at the back selling t-shirts and white vinyl pressings of their latest single, Not the Same. Going on the performance, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone actually bought one.

L.A. Beach didn’t have Lacuna Common’s energy, but I think that’s the point.

The band’s vibe is dreamy and they deliver subdued, low-tempo numbers that build into strangely gritty and unnerving sonnets. All quite melodic.

LA Peach at Blonies — I couldn’t see L.A. Peach, so I just watched the bartender twist out orange juice with a magic orange squeezing robot @ Blondies

Between songs they were kind enough to add liner notes through a lot of one-sided dialogue with the crowd (how post-modern).

Transcribed below, I hope they’ll help you understand a little bit more about the band:

“L.A. Peach is the best thing you’ve seen all night,” – they’re not too cocky.

“What do you call a chicken with a piece of lettuce in its eye? Sees-a-salad” (Caesar salad, get it?) – they’re masters of comedy.

“When I was in year three, I had to run the relay race at sports day. Stick [baton] in hand, I tripped and fell into this girl’s crotch.” – they’ve all had a really traumatic upbringing.

“Have you seen my girlfriend? Doesn’t she look like Trent Reznor?” – they’ve got a lot of respect for women.

All of this context helped me fully appreciate their songs. Particularly why they tricked you into a false sense of security by sounding sweet and ethereal (the type of thing you put on when your mother’s round) then suddenly got really psychotic.

It was kind of like this: bright guitar and a slow groove overlaid with tales of loving someone so much you want to flay their skin and wear it when meeting their parents.

One thing that was clear throughout was that L.A. Peach’s singer / guitarist (maybe L.A. Peach himself) was completely besotted with his new lover (the keyboardist). (Check out this feature in Clash if you don’t believe me).

I hope it works out.

4 BEERS

GIG REVIEW: False Advertising – Three Free Gigs #7

June 3, 2019June 4, 2019 ~ Henry ~ Leave a comment

There are a bunch of free gigs in London. Each week I go to three and review them.

The rating system’s simple: how many beers did I buy (drink)? The more, the better.

7. False Advertising @ Old Blue Last, London

Monday, 3 June 2019

Is it False Advertising if they were definitely playing alternative rock?

False Advertising at the Old Blue Last — False Advertising pretending not to play alternative rock @ the Old Blue Last

Today, I saw False Advertising, a half female / male fronted alternative rock trio at the Old Blue Last. They were there to launch their latest single, You Won’t Feel Love. It’s pretty cool. Listen to it.

As the night’s only band, False Advertising didn’t need to do much to hold the crowd’s attention. Despite this (maybe they didn’t realise), they still delivered a solid performance that didn’t seem to lose momentum despite two drummer / guitarist switches. (I have no base comparison, but their parents seemed delighted, so I’m going to stand by that statement)

The songs were the standard alternative rock stop / start affair, mixed with some jarring hardcore rhythms and the usual discordant guitar. The lead single inspired memories of Veruca Salt’s second effort, Eight Arms to Hold You. That’s meant to be a positive. Also, it was definitely better live. They’re actually pretty decent live.

To mark the single’s launch, the band bribed the audience with a mason jar filled with swirly-pops. I didn’t take one because my reviews are totally impartial, but apparently the track’s lyrics were singed into the stopper. Sweets are obviously the natural extension of the concept art that’s accompanied a few of their singles (You Won’t Feel Love, You Said and Give It Your Worst) – yeah, actual examples of false advertising.

The rest of the performance sounded a bit more like Shudder to Think mixed with a bit of Jawbox– but less hardcore and alternative now it’s 2019.

Good gig for a Monday.

NB: If False Advertising find themselves stuck for inspiration for the next single, I’d recommend Head & Shoulders (visibly reduced flakes at a distance of 2-feet – yep, the claim was investigated in 2006 but it’s still on the bottle).

Four_Beers

FOUR BEERS

GIG REVIEW: Mellow Gang – Three Free Gigs #6

June 1, 2019June 2, 2019 ~ Henry ~ Leave a comment

There are a bunch of free gigs in London. Each week I go to three and review them.

The rating system is simple. How many beers did I buy (drink)? The more, the better.

6. Mellow Gang and Hobby Club @ Lion Coffee + Records, London

Thursday, 30 May 2019

Compact space, small crowd, embarrassed band, no crescendos. Other’s would call it ‘intimate’ – but I’m a realist.

This Thursday, I saw Mellow Gang at Lower Clapton’s premier coffee-come-cocktail-come-record-shop, Lion Coffee + Records (it’s almost in the title, isn’t it?). It was a taster gig, organised to showcase Mellow Gang’s upcoming album, Adjourn. Hobby Club supported.

Unfortunately, I didn’t arrive in time to see Hobby Club, but my girlfriend did. She gave me a download: the guitarist pulled faces at the crowd and the singer looked really Hackney (after she’d taken off her jacket). Great then.

So on to Mellow Gang, who I definitely didn’t miss.

For those who haven’t listened, Mellow Gang play dreamy music that would go great in your lounge. Kinda like Cocteau Twins with Lana Del Rey vocals: a lotta’ chime bells (keyboard), electronic drums that could attract an orca (sonar sounds) and female vocals that pour out like molasses. Also, their song Carousel sounds like Supertramp.

During the show, I stood at the front of the audience – a decision I immediately regretted. Yeah, I kept getting in the way of the hired cameraman (he probably hadn’t been to Hackney before – he was wearing a stab-proof) and I didn’t have anywhere to look except directly into the bassist’s eyes. My gaze made the bassist really uncomfortable (shame, I was trying to express that live, he was the highlight).

Technically, Mellow Gang were good (except for some lacklustre guitar – but no big deal). By that, I mean they played songs from Adjourn successfully live.

However, live, they didn’t recreate the draw of their studio material – really dense crescendos.

But that might have been the space.

NB: The space is cool, sounded like the mixing could have been better though.