Armchair Archive.
The
main Armchair Critic page seems really popular, but it's got so big now that
viewing it involves a lot of scrolling. So, I've now shifted everything but the
five most recent reviews in each category to this archive page. As with the
main page, under each category of review, the most recently written are always
at the top. As I go to a lot of gigs I don't have the time or inclination to
review every band I see, but the chances are they'll get some sort of mention
on my blog, which you can also reach by following
the link at the bottom of the page.
The
bullet code for reviews is ►= CD/record/ demo. ♫= live gig. ◙=film
or video. ♥= books/ print.
►Evel
Knievel/In The River - Stuffy/The Fuses [May Go 0 Records maygozero004]
Evel
Knievel kicks off with
a bout of cheesegrater guitar, before the Pixiesish vocals come in. Some nice
moments - a Gang of Four style drop out then come back in type bit, and a slow
bit where you can imagine that, live, the bassist and guitarist would do that
rocking backwards and forwards post-hardcore 'gardeners digging on an
ornamental model windmill' manouevre. But of the two tracks, In The River
is a far stronger song. A gorgeous bass sound, and vocals reminiscent of that
bloke out of Placebo if he wasn't annoying. There's an epic feel to this, but
it doesn't sound pompous, partly because ingredients like the strings and piano
are offset by clanging, tightly wound guitars. Good stuff.
►The
New Cross: An Angular Sampler - Various [Angular Records ARC002]
An
excellent budget-priced collection of tracks from local bands on this New
Cross-based label. Stand out tracks as follows. Bloc Party; The Marshals Are
Dead . A track managing to combine numerous 'good bits' without sounding
like it's been welded together from five different songs; vocalist with a Mark
E. Smith bark, rollicking rattling snare drum, guitars switching from the
choppy to the twiddly and back again. The Fairies Band; Pink Socks Rock. Chugging
gumby guitars, shouty vocals. Like early Slits but less all over the place.
Nemo; Piccadilly In Sepia. The Soft Cell revival starts here! Lounge
crooning vocals, like a less deranged Julian Cope. Plinky and shimmery
Eighties-sounding synths, and a song with a wicked hooky chorus.
►Pub Rock/ Left Behind- the Beemen. [no label stated]
This sounds like it was
recorded in a shed in 1982. That of course is a compliment; there's a lovely
lo-fi warmth to this. Pub Rock starts with a drum machine that sounds
like it was picked up in a car-boot sale, then a fuzz guitar crashes in backed
by a beautiful swirling cheesy organ. The result is a likeable mix of Sixties
garage psychedelia, Fall/ Blue Orchids griminess topped off with Beach Boys'
vocal harmonies. In theory it shouldn't work but it does. The other side, Left
Behind, is in similar vein but with the harmonies developed further
and more of a pop sensibility, like a less studenty Stereolab or a good
Microdisney, if you can imagine that. Well worth a purchase. See www.beemen.com for ordering details.
►Two
track promo sampler -Vic Thrill. [Circus Clone records]
Two
tracks giving a taster of debut release CE-5.
Wailing
Wall is terrific; intriguing
oblique/wacko lyrics, a big leaping guitar riff, and a freakishly impossible
guitar solo to top it all off.
Afrological starts shakily with some cheapo
digital bedroom funk but is quickly rescued by yelping paper and comb vocals
and a synth making a noise like a dying wasp.
►Boss
Samplerage 4 - Various blokes. [Boss Tuneage bostage5120]
Nothing
much to gripe about on this £4 double label-sampler [except the absence of
women] and some real corkers among the tons of tracks. Current joint fave is Science
Fiction by Brock Pytel. It manages to sidestep most of the trademark Boss
Tuneage elements, and instead goes for lolloping cheesy synth riffs and breathy
vocals in a skinny tied early eighties kind of way. The lyrics are savvy and
literate; a song about reading books by people who sound like they probably
really have read a few. Geekcore, anybody? Similarly out of step are the Kick
Joneses with Hate List. If this tune doesn't cheer you up you're dead.
I've been having a shit time at my dayjob lately, but I put this on my walkman
on the bus ride and I go in grinning. They take some tiredish old tricks [ a
mangled version of the bass riff from My Sharona, key changes in the last
choruses] and make them seem fresh as fuck. If people still made unironic teen-flicks
where there's a concert scene when everybody wigs out, this'd be the song of
choice to get everyone on the dancefloor. A lot of the other tracks do fit a
bit of a Boss Tuneage blueprint but they're none the worse for that. Something
With Numbers demonstrate some of the elements on the onomatopaetically [!]
named Denenenenenena; pinging snare, thrumming low slung bass,
impassioned sand and glass vocals, everything tight and fast. Their brains
still show through though. Also mentioned in dispatches: Reno Divorce-Hard
Luck Story; punk pop, cool harmonies, bit of a Britpunk1979 feel, SLF with
added sarcasm. Words Away-Digging Holes; wicked spiralling guitar line,
intriguing lyrics, guaranteed to get you moshing round your front room. All
Systems Go-Running Blind; a killer chorus and outro with almost Beatlesy
harmonies. Skeeter-King; a huge chunky, churning riff with lovely
spaceous, jangly bits in between, cool smartarse world-weary lyrics. La
►An
introduction to minute melodies- Grandmaster Gareth. [Awkward Records 005]
30
tracks, all a minute long, from Grandmaster Gareth of Misty's Big Adventure. A
couple of throwaway clinkers among them but mostly real gems. Several [e.g burning
dollar bills, aeiou, the bongos are bust] sound like excerpts
from soundtracks to obscure low budget European movies. There are some
fantastic collisions of style going on here; Can playing Chinese/Hungarian jazz
on broken biscuits, Hawkwind having a punch up with Chas and Dave on I
got my monster etc, Sonic Youth meets Enya on I hear voices.
Although a lot of the stuff is tongue in cheek some of it is genuinely
beautiful. Though it might seem like complaining that a quatro formagio pizza
is too cheesy, tracks like lovely cellos and new acoustic bowel
movement really are over too soon.
♫Fonda 500,
One of my favourite
bands, this lot. Sporting between them two tanktops, a polkadot frock and a
short sleeved 'leisure shirt' they'd look exactly like reluctant guests at a
family wedding in the late 70s, if it wasn't for the big black woolen panda
hat/ balaclava that the keyboard player's got on his head. The daft hat tells
you a lot about Fonda 500. It tells you, for instance, that they don't take
themselves too seriously. And fair play to them for that. The hat-toting frontman
is a natural sit-down comedian and a lot of the ramshackle panache the group
put into their performance seems to come from their sense of humour. And
they've got the music to back it up; the songs are terrific slices of bouncing
cartoon Casio pop. Usually when a band is genuinely funny, the music's fucking
awful; anybody remember Half Man Half Biscuit? But the problem for me isn't so
much the songs, many of which are classics, but it's in the execution of what
they do. Tonight they featured loads of songs from the new album. On this
evening's showing I'm going to have to reserve judgement because the sound was
so bad and the playing was so shambolic. That's been the case a few times when
I've seen them lately. I saw them in Brixton not long ago and they pretty
clearly hadn't even soundchecked. At
♫Buff Medways,
International Students' House, 30th Jan 2004.
First, indulge me in a
brief 'I saw him first' type moment. I heard Billy Childish's first band, the
Pop Rivets on John Peel in about 1978. The track, called something like Beatle
Boots I think, knocked me sideways. I searched in vain for their album at
the time and never found it so I lost track of them. I assumed they'd gone the
way of the space hopper and the three day week [nice idea, where are they
now?]. But Billy Childish is still at it, 25 years on, and, with his current
band the Buff Medways, finally getting some credit for it.
The first thing that
strikes me about the Buff Medways is how entertaining they are to look at.
Graham, the new bassist [and potential stunt double for Tim from the Office]
gurns away in shades. Wolf, the drummer, looks like an old-school local
butcher, and smiles quietly to himself, but does everything else loudly. From
the neck up, Billy, with his lived-in features and huge bristling mantelpiece
of a moustache, looks the dead spit of that other great amateur Robert
Tressell, author of The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists. From
the waist down he's got the moves of James Brown and the comedy knees of Max
Wall.
And what they do is
simple but briilliant. Basically it's a mixture of Sixties Beat and raw blues,
played with garage- punk energy. The Buffs make no great claims to originality,
with Billy even taking the piss about the similarity of their material to the
songs that 'inspired' them. And there are definite echoes of the Kinks and the
Who circa 1965, particularly on Troubled Mind and Strood Lights. Aside
from their energy what makes the Buffs so engaging is their lack of
affectation; their unpretentious manner and Billy's self-deprecating humour are
genuine, and hard not to love.
♫T.V.Smith, The
Verge, 24th January 2004
Ah yes, one man alone on
a stage with a battered acoustic guitar and a bunch of heartfelt songs. How
many piss-awful nights out have been launched on the back of that particular
formula, I wonder. But not tonight. Tonight, T.V Smith plays selections from
his new album, Not A Bad Day, and his extensive back catalogue from his days
with The Adverts, and The Explorers. Through the set you can chart his
development. The old numbers are rendered pretty faithfully, even the vague
sense of key and the tendency to speed up remain. The newer stuff is more
sophisticated musically; Smith is a cracking tunesmith now. But the consistent
factor from the early to the late stuff, is a committed and rebellious intelligence
evident in the lyrics. And there's no denying Smith's affable charisma on
stage. He must be pushing fifty, but he bounced around like an excitable dog
during a ninety minute set that had me engrossed throughout.
♫ Vic
Thrill, Ro Ta Session, Notting Hill Arts Club, 26th Sept 2003.
They dress like a late
1970s sitcom writer's idea of how a punk rocker looks, so my expectations are
low. But I'm won over in minutes by their sheer energy. Fuck knows what they're
like when they aren't jet-lagged. Vic [the man] treats us to plenty of kamikaze
leaping around and Vic [the group] provide a full-on wall of sound that has
people simultaneously grinning like idiots and jamming their fingers in their
ears. Light and shade? Fuck that! The music is shambolic in places but the
songs can stand it; an infectious mix of Wire/ Devoesque gumby singalong
choruses, bits of B52 twangery and intriguing stupid/clever lyrics. They manage
some good and surprising things; the loudest drummer ever, and Vic's rhythm
guitar sound which crosses Lou Reed's chunky rattle, and the ukelele stylings
of George Formby. Recommended. [See above for CD review.]
♫ Too many
to mention. Truck Festival, Steventon, Oxfordshire. 19th
& 20th July.
About six months worth
of gigs in two days, and all for twenty odd quid. But still on a site small
enough to avoid feeling overloaded and so retiring to your tent to get cabbaged
instead of seeing any bands. What follows is really a selection of high-lights.
Heroes of Saturday are the
Edmund Fitzgerald. Any response short of euphoria seems churlish, partly
because they pull off so many unexpected things. Thing one is, they manage to
be louder than they sound. How? Thing two is they manage to come up with
endlessly varied tunes which all manage to remind me of the melody played by
the overturned ice-cream van in the Day of the Triffids. I could compare
them to Television and Sonic Youth, but they haven't got Television's
chin-stroking frosty-arsedness. And they top Sonic Youth; Sonic Youth have
discordant bits, then they have melodic bits. The EF have both going on
simultaneously, but kind of fading in and out. The effect knocked me side ways.
Other Saturday surprise
was [were?] Vic Twenty. Suddenly it's 1982 all over again. Either you're
looking austere and buying Kraftwerk albums or you're buying Laura Ashley
dresses. Or you're doing both. In which case you are in Vic Twenty, and
you may well be double-handedly responsible for kick starting the Jona Lewie
revival [ask your mum.]. Generally I don't get on with people that nobody could
take objection to but that applies to this pair and they still manage to put
out something interesting. Maybe the thing is that although they plough a bit
of a well-worn early Eighties synth-pop furrow, they do it with love rather
than irony. And love is always better than irony.
Sunday. Went to the pub
for a £6 breakfast just so I could shit in their toilet. Three times! By now my
mood had dipped. Something about the area and the crowd. The
Luckily the first act I
saw all day was Nervous Test Pilot, who was full on enough to lift me
out of my parochial torpor. He's hard to categorise but I'll be trite and say he
plays banging techno for people who aren't sure what banging techno is. He
happily takes the piss out of himself and most of what he samples, and the
whole crowd falls in love with him. Immediately after his set the merchandise
tent is crammed with people buying his CDs.
The day continues to
improve with the appearance of Misty's Big Adventure. I can't explain or
excuse my love for this band. On paper, they read like an advert for bringing
back National Service; they are ironic, they are over-staffed, they are even
slightly jazzy. But I love them. What I love is their disregard for cool and
their dedication to what they do and their wit. The audience can't get their
heads round this, but MBA show that sometimes it's better to be right
than popular.
Chris T-T manage to be both popular and right. I've seen Chris solo
quite a few times and really enjoyed his stuff, but this is the full band
line-up. Chris T-T [the band] are no more a backing band than PJ
Harvey are a backing band. This is a real band. The downbeat, compassionate
songs about lives going awry are still there, but everything is delivered with
that much more muscularity and energy. There's an edge and anger about them
that stood out from the tone of the rest of the festival. Three cheers for that.
♫ Bob Log
III, the Lonesome Organist. Monarch,
For a while I got a bit
disillusioned with this reviewing caper. Where were the free CDs? Where were
the places on guest lists? But nights like this make me glad to have the chance
to rave about brilliant stuff and to think and talk about what I like and
value. This night restored my faith in the value of a complete disregard for
any attempt at seeming cool.
First up is the
Lonesome Organist. He brings his hangdog face onstage and has a brief
grumpy exchange with the soundman. Things don't look promising. Up to this
point he only redeems himself with his hat [more of which later]. It gives him
the look of a cross between Norman Wisdom and Neil Innes. Once he gets going
the more apt comparison is Roy Castle on Record Breakers trying to play as many
different instruments as possible. Because the Lonesome Organist is
underselling himself. Not only does he play two or three keyboards, at the same
time he plays drums. He also happens to be the best one-handed guitarist I've
ever seen. All of this he does like a man who realises that life often amounts
to one stupid idea after another, but feels every idea should be pursued with
lunatic gusto. He fannies about like a big kid, but in a way only a very driven
adult can. And the results are gorgeous. He has a beautiful high pitched bluesy
voice. He finales by simultaneously tapdancing and playing the melodica. There
are great spurts of sweat cascading from the peak of his cap. If I was a lady
I'd've already been big with his babies by this point. I settle for tipping my
imaginary hat at his stupid one.
And then the main
attraction; Bob Log III. My mate Sean the Obscure swears by him, but I
was wary. Last time I looked the blues was mainly a lot of turgid
miserablist toss. First promising sign to the contrary is the shiny blue
jump-suit and even more soppy headgear; an astronaut's helmet complete with
built in telephone mouthpiece for the vocals. The best bit is the fact he walks
onstage as if there is absolutely nothing unusual about this get-up. I was
frankly over-refreshed by this stage so the details are hazy. Mainly I remember
it as a blur of blistering slide guitar, not of the turgid Ry Cooder variety,
but of the sort that makes whole audiences want to jump up and down grinning.
Top man!
♫ Crazyface-Ro Ta Session, Notting Hill Arts Club, 26th
April 2003.
Blimey! Another
fantastic band within days of the last. And the only common factor is their
out-of-townness. That's no coincidence. These and the above share a lack of
interest in seeming cool, and a determination to enjoy themselves/ entertain
people. They dress like some badly dressed pub-rock band, [e.g. the Godfathers,
Dr Feelgood] and in fact retain some of the best features of that genre. They
are tight, they are witty, they are cleverer than they seem. The lead guitarist
does all the stuff that makes young boys pose in their bedroom mirrors. The
vocalist sings like an angel and dances like a tit. He follows in a long line
of off kilter warblers; Vic Godard, Marc Bolan, Roger Chapman, Wilko Johnson.
And Crazyface show every sign of getting better. Every new song they announce
tops any of the tracks from the new single.
♫ This Ain't Vegas- 93 Feet East, 21st April 2003.
I
lost interest in music for a few years, until I happened across 'Zen Arcade',
by Husker Du. They sounded so righteously furious that I got my faith back
immediately. I think This Ain't Vegas can have the same effect on people. They
are really pissed off about something and it's hard not to be shaken by that.
I'm trying to avoid comparisons on this page as much as I can but this lot
definitely sound like they've been listening to their mum's Gang of Four
albums. This is a good thing. The vocals yap and rant, the guitar chops chimes
and clangs. They've got Sonic Youth's instinct for how long to sustain the
jagged discordant bits and exactly when to throw in shimmering splashes of
melody. I bought the 3 track e.p. My copy jumps. Their music is so angular it
took me a while to realise. Get out and see them if you get half a chance.
► All content on the site is
copyright Eddie Willson Ó 1994-2004. Don't reproduce any of it
without asking permission first. You can email me at eddiewillson2000(at)yahoo.co.uk
if
you've got questions or feedback about my work, or you just want to get in
touch.