Burning Leaves, Bella Union Stage

Words: Rich Thane, Peter Bloxham and Jude Clarke. Photographs: Rich Thane

Yesterdays events certainly took their toll on TLOBF. What with the rain, the uneccessary walking, the rain, the pretty awful lineup on the main stages and, not to mention the rain. But we are not to be defeated - after all, we’re here for 4 days - it’s a marathon of stamina ladies and gents. Yes, Thursday = wash out. The bad weather conditions meant people were keeping under cover and pretty much ignoring the fantastic music on offer at the big red double decker. Alas, today was a whole different kettle of fish. Triumphant is the word best to describe the events of the Bella Union stage.

We make a start on day two with a pint on the roof terrace of the Big Chill House in Kings Cross, soon to be joined by friend of TLOBF - Dave. The weather is looking glorious so Pete suggests that we walk to Hyde Park. Rich Thane is restrained by Dave. We arrive at Green Park and walk straight to the press entrance and over to watch Black Kids with the minimum of fuss. Rich Thane is clearly pleased by this and remarks that ‘Today is going be awesome!’ a number of times. We purchase some pear cider and go to sit on the grass by the Bella Union stage. Black Kids, by the way weren’t very good. Probably owing more to shit sound rather than the fact that they’re just shit. Because they’re not. Well, at least Pete doesn’t think they are. Dave seems unimpressed and Rich just wants some pear cider.

Burning Leaves, Bella Union Stage

The weather and the crowd are already looking much, much healthier by the time Burning Leaves take to the stage. The atmosphere is pretty close to perfect as they harmonize their way through a haunting, minimalist set, people are not only gathered on tables and chairs, sipping cider and enjoying the weather - they’re actually really properly listening to the music!

We use guest passes to use the posh toilets in the guest area. Despite posh automatic taps, Pete still manages to spray himself with water in the crotch area. He doesn’t see the funny side. We begin to notice conspicuous Morrisey fans wearing quiffs and T-shirts proclaiming him to be God.

Paul Marshall, Bella Union Stage

Paul Marshall is accompanied by an electric cello. Rich Thane is very pleased by this, as is the rest of the crowd- he receives an enthusiastic response. Rich immediately goes over to the nearest member of Bella Union staff to get a CD after discovering they’ve just signed him. [shameless plug="Buy his album digitally from the Bella Union shop"/plug]

We eat some pretty terrible food from a nearby hot dog stand. Pete’s vegetarian options are unsuprisingly limited. He orders a  bowl of chips. Halfway through he complains that he’s sick of eating chips.

Emmy The Great, Bella Union Stage

TLOBF favourite Emmy the Great is joined by the equally excellent Young Husband for her set. Emmy is her usual chatty kooky self. Dave seems convinced that she is fixing his gaze as she ploughs through her set that is unfortunately over before she even warms up. As Emmy turns her back to tune her guitar, Dave busts a move to catch the tail end of Beck’s set. Emmy doesn’t seem to notice.

The Duke Spirit, Bella Union Stage

Tonights headliners The Duke Spirit put on a rare stripped back acoustic performace - which is always going to be an interesting proposition. Leaving their sexually charged, dirty rock n roll stripped down to it’s bear bones. Needless to say, their set is a total highlight of the day - ploughing through a set focusing heavily on the bands Neptune . ‘Dog Roses’, ‘This Ship Was Built To Last’ and ‘Into The Fold’ are delivered with so much gusto, Leila Moss being her usual captivating self. Adoring fans swoon. During ‘Soverign’ a special guest is introduced - Bella Union boss, ex-Cocteau Twin and “mentor” of the band Simon Raymonde dusts down his bass guitar. He looks sincerely happy to be there - though, the potential Cocteau Twins cover version regrettably doesn’t happen. Indie from Burning Leaves hops on stage to add her backing vocals on ‘The Step and The Walk’. Their 30 minute set over in a flash. Nuts.

After the show Leila is approached by fan after fan for photographs, one of whom remarks, rather amusingly “One day I am going marry you!”. “Okay, just make sure you let me know first!” comes the reply from Leila before he runs away with his mate, punching the air as he goes. Pete notes that it’s probably a good thing that he didn’t ask her to sign anything.

Simon Raymonde joins The Duke Spirit

As evening draws, it’s clear to all that the day has been  a complete turnaround from the teething problems of yesterday for both TLOBF and Bella Union. A triumph. Simon hands us a copy of the Bare Foot in the Park an awesome compilation from Bella Union and Oxfam featuring all of the bands playing on the stage this weekend. If you’re planning on going to the festival Saturday or Sunday make sure you pick up a copy. £3.50 from every purchase goes to Oxfam. If you aren’t heading to the festival but still want a copy of the album, drop Bella Union a line here. I’m sure they’d be happy to help.

We don’t even bother to see Morrisey, we just go to the pub to get pissed.

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Whilst Rich Thane and Pete Bloxham spent all day hanging around the Bella Bus, thus missing the ‘bigger’ acts, our very own Jude Clarke who happened to blag a free ticket for the day. We talked her into writing an account of her day - taking in the bands we’d missed. Thanks Jude!

Having blagged a very last-minute free guest pass to Friday’s Wireless Festival, as a friend’s “plus one” (thanks Jo!), I had no time beforehand to do my usual borderline-obsessive-compulsive spreadsheet creation and myspace surfing.  I turned up, then, with open mind, unplanned schedule and a determination to just see what happened, musically.

Battling past the layer upon layer of corporate logos, brands, and gimmicky marketing ideas (”win a car!” “upload your festival photos right here!” “have a free milkshake!” etc etc) I made my way to the small O2/MTV stage to see who the first of the day’s two mysterious “Special Guests” was to be.  Pleasingly, it was The National, who started my day very nicely, thank you very much, with a short 15-minute, 3-song set.  Despite not being what anyone of sound mind would describe as a summery, sunshin-ey sort of band, they were well received, and obviously glad to be playing this quick warm-up for their headlining set on the Sandisk stage later that evening.

Next was Lightspeed Champion on the Main Stage.  Endearingly geeky and with a lovely warm and tuneful voice, and the occasional tune to match (single ‘Tell Me What It’s Worth’ is a corker), this was lovely stuff to sit on the grass and enjoy.  His day was apparently made by having found Jay-Z’s setlist from his headline set the previous day, which he described, aptly, as “an ebay goldrush”.

The law of diminishing post-Libertines returns was once again illustrated by the fairly pedestrian Dirty Pretty Things‘ appearance next.  The beginning of their set was pretty much how you would expect it to be, so I wandered off in search of pastures newer and more interesting, and was rewarded by Sea Wolf in the small Tuborg Stage tent.  Their emotional country-tinged Americana was like a larger, more spacious version of Two Gallants (Six Gallants, anyone?), and constituted the day’s highlight set for me.

Next it was the obligatory misty-eyed moment for ‘Made Up Love Song #43′ during The Guillemots‘ Main Stage slot; a set which confirmed for me again that this is one of those bands that works approximately 75% better live than on record.  Fyfe Dangerfield’s manic, frenetic skittishness on stage, and the strange range of styles that the band attempt just make much more sense in this context.  If you’ve only heard this lot on record, don’t write them off.

Ambling over to the little corner of non-corporate heaven that was the Bella Union stage (when I say “stage”, I really mean “cute red old Double Decker bus, with awning, and hand-drawn poster”) I managed to catch just the very end of Burning Leaves beautiful harmonies, before fighting my way through the crowds in the Sandisk Stage tent for surely-should-have-been-headlining Siouxsie.  Despite disturbing all my long-held preconceptions by breaking into a big cheesy grin a couple of times, she mainly managed to steer just clear of caricature and cabaret; and strutted, posed and kicked her way through a crowd-delighting set incorporating favourites like ‘Christine’, ‘Happy House’ and more recent fare like ‘Into A Swan”.

I then ended my day the same way I’d started it: with The National, this time headlining the Sandisk Stage, like my own personal lugubrious bookends.  With a darker feel to their set this time round (perhaps courtesy of the setting sun, dry ice and indoor location), this felt to me like a band that ought - surely - to be reaching greater levels of awareness and acclaim than have so far come their way.  If their set ended in some huge newsworthy drama, or they took leave of their senses and decided throw in a cheeky Los Campesinos! cover, or something, then I am afraid I am unable to give you a from-the-ground report, as I had to sneak off a few songs in to - prosaically - get the train home.

This was my first Wireless experience and not one, if I’m honest, that I would be too troubled to repeat (particularly as a paying punter).  The lineup was a curious mix of the massively commercial and the not-yet-on-my-radar, and the incessant marketing (we got jumped on within - literally - five minutes of arrival and press-ganged into answering a ‘lifestyle’ questionnaire) was tedious and atmosphere-sapping.  That said, there are always going to be a few worthwhile musical experiences to winkle out of such events, and - for me - Sea Wolf and Burning Leaves are going to be the two that justified my train fare and that I shall be myspacing forthwith.

Read all about yesterdays festival shenaniganas here.

Toby, Luke & Leila from The Duke Spirit with Bella Union’s Simon Raymonde.

Words : Rich Thane & Peter Bloxham. Photographs: Rich Thane

Corporate festivals. Not normally the kind of place you’d find TLOBF. Not because we’re snobs or anything, you know - it’s just that the lineups are always a little on the shit side. Luckily for Wireless then, that they decided to ask much loved and respected London based label Bella Union (home to Fleet Foxes, Beach House, Lift To Experience, Explosions In The Sky) to host their very own stage. Giving the casual music fan a more ‘alternative’ festival experience. On paper, a fantastic idea - but can they pull it off at a festival that’s more concerned with brand awareness than the actual music? Well, that’s what we’re here to find out. Label boss and ex-Cocteau Twin Simon Raymonde kindly invited TLOBF to cover the 4 day event on their behalf. To take in the sites and sounds and give you, dear reader an insight into the weekends shenanigans.

Day 1 [Thursday 3rd July]

11:40 TLOBF meet at Kings Cross and decide that it would be a totally super idea to casually stroll to Hyde Park. It’s a ‘reasonable walk’ but ‘being as it’s such a glorious day and all’ we set off.

30 minutes down the line and we spot a rather awesome looking pub. It must be graduation day for some University students as they stand outside the pub in throngs. That doesn’t put us off though. Pear Cider and Guiness on a hot summers day. Is there anything better in life. Seriously… We’re in high spirits as we leave the pub and undertake the last mile to Hyde Park. Which is where it all goes a bit wrong.

14:15 We’ve been walking a while and decide to hop on a bus. We’re having an animated conversation about food or something but Pete can’t help the feeling that the bus should definately have turned right by now. Of course he second guesses himself and keeps his stupid mouth shut for the first time in his life.

14:30 After chatting on the bus for about 15 minutes, Pete Bloxham’s suspicions about the bus going the wrong way up the Finchley road are finally confirmed beyond a doubt when we see signs for Hampstead. Fuck. Fuck. We get the bus back to the pub and decide to use their ‘facilities’. We think it rude not to have another drink. We should’ve stayed on the bus to Hyde Park Corner. By now walking the rest of the way is a bad idea. But we do it anyway.

16:15 After what feels like 6 hours of aimlessly walking around and having countless people give us wrong directions - we finally make it to Marble Arch. (We actually made it in a fairy direct route, although I’ll admit that my sense of where exactly I should be going was vague at best- Pete). Rich Thane is tired of walking and appalled that someone who has lived and worked in London for years can have such difficulty finding a major landmark. Excuses aren’t washing and eventually a threat is made involving an afro and a bic razor. The words “It’s fine! We’re here, we only took one or two wrong turns!” and “We’re not even late!” are repeated ad nauseum but seem to fall on deaf ears.

16:30 We arrive the Wireless Festival site. As luck would have it - at the wrong entrance. After more walking we find press entrance, have customary arguments with the people handing out tickets, beg for a photo pass. We’re in. Thank the Lord!

16:35 After five minutes we’re both resisting the powerful brainwashing tactics of one million billion brands plastered all over the site. The term ‘corporate festival’ suddenly takes on a very literal meaning indeed. The place has everything - the entire park is lined with outlets selling everything from roast beef to chow mein to vegetarian curry. There’s a half pipe, an Xbox 360 arcade and about nine different structures adorned with sponsorship logos that I’m not even sure have a specific purpose.

Finding Bella Union stage isn’t as easy as it seems.
“Hey excuse me, can you tell us where we can find the Bella Union stage?” we ask various stewards. Responses vary from: “What’s the Bella Union stage?” to “There isn’t one.” Excellent. Our claims that it has “arguably the best line up of the whole festival, mate!” are met with suspicious stares.

After walking around the site aimlessly for around 15 minutes I suddenly pick out, from the distance, My Morning Jacket’s ‘Magheeta’ blasting from a nearby PA. There is a red double decker London bus in our direction with a make shift stage attached. That’ll be the Bella Union stage then. Awesome - a stage with bugger all advertising. How refreshing. We have beer and catch up with the Bella Union guys.

17:00 Just as we’d settled down and rested our wounded feet, a torrential downpour ensues. We pass the time by talking to a random Australian girl about the weather and answer a questionnaire about which brands we have noticed at the festival. We only do this because the woman doing the questionaires was wet and wanted to go home. She seemed nice but turned out to be a complete simpleton. Pete is annoyed by this questionnaire and gives smart-alec answers. Simpleton is not amused. She decides to run headlong into downpour to avoid talking to TLOBF any longer.

Pete Greenwood, Bella Union Stage.

18:00 It’s still bloody raining as Pete Greenwood takes to the Bella Union stage. Pete does fantastically despite the bad weather and reacts well to heckling from a pair of stereotypical major festival morons. I think they were smoking crack. Not familiar with Greenwood’s material, we watched with baited breath to see if the London via Leeds folk singer could cheer up a sodden and sparse crowd. He did a fantastic job. He reminded Rich of Mick Head from Shack in his vocal delivery, whilst his meticulous folk guitar playing had hints of Nick Drake. Impressive stuff indeed. Having recently signed to Heavenly records, expect to hear more from his soon. Check his myspace here .

18:30 We grab some food in the hospitality area. Television presenters and ex-shipwrecked stars mill about while we stuff our faces. Rich Thane opts for a juicy steak burger while Peter picks at some watermelon and feta cheese. Hell yeah – we know how to party. We are rather excited at the prospect of the complimentary pic n mix.

18:45 We head on over to see what’s happening over on the other stages. We find some weird dance act playing in the San Disk arena. They had horns and a scantily clad dancer. That’s really all there is to say about them. Needless to say they were shit. Heading over to the main stage we spot a little pink haired woman onstage. Oh! It’s Lily Allen. Fuck, it must mean we’ve stumbled upon Mark Ronson’s set. People seemed to be enjoying themselves, Rich is more concerned that he’d left his bag of Pic n Mix on the dinner table.

Cave Singers, Bella Union Stage

19:15 Aaaah, that’s more like it. Back at the Bella Union stage just in time for Cave Singers . And boy oh boy, do they not disappoint. In their brief 25 minute set they managed to cram in highlights from this years debut album Invitation Songs including ‘Helen’, ‘Seeds Of Night’ a jaw dropping ‘Dancing On Our Graves’ which saw front man Pete Quirk bang away on a make shift drum: An industrial size tub of Hellman’s mayonnaise. Half way through the set, Quirk makes a classic faux pas remarking that a group of St Johns ambulance medics weren’t paying attention. Only to realise moments later, they were in fact attending to a fainted girl. Exclaiming ‘Oh god, I didn’t see that! Now I feel like a total asshole!’ We all laugh and don’t even feel guilty. Easily the performance of the day.

20:15 Swedish singer songwriter and the only Bella Union artist playing today; Peter Von Poehl takes to the stage. His gentle performance is heartfelt and certainly more tender that on record – he is unfortunately cursed with a disappointing turn out from the crowd. With only a handful of people in the audience Rich confesses a feeling of guilt for having to dash over to the main stage to make sure he gets a spot in the photo pit for Jay-Z.  Not before making a detour to the games tent where Bloxham is handed a thrashing on Soul Calibre by Thane.  (It was more fluke, but the brutal digital beating eases some tension caused by pointlessly walking round Central London only hours earlier.)

Peter Von Poehl, Bella Union Stage

21:15 Jay-Z holds the crowd in the palm of his hand. He explains explicitly that among his many concerns in life, a ‘bitch’ is absolutely not one. Anyone who was with Beyonce Knowles would probably make the same claim. The synchronized hand movements he draws out of the crowd are an impressive sight to behold, as is his impassioned monologue about the negative treatment of African Americans under the Bush administration complete with a 40ft image of the gormless looking commander-in-chief. It’s basically a re-arrangement of his Glastonbury set but heck, you can’t knock the guy - even in the admittedly sterile atmosphere it’s still a joy to watch a fantastic rapper and a gifted orator do his fuckin’ shit.

Jay Z, Main Stage

Wordless at the Whitney, a series of concerts curated by Wordless Music for the Whitney Museum of American Art noisily ended last Friday with a set by lo-fi favorites Times New Viking and Jefferson Friedman’s third string quartet as performed by members of the American Chamber Music Ensemble.  Times New Viking’s latest album, Rip It Off, out on Matador records, has received a lot of recent critical praise for its affecting combination of noise and pop.  Jefferson Friedman, a former member of the punk band Shutter to Think, has become a highlight in contemporary classical music.  The two were well matched, and not just in the context of Wordless Music’s brief to bring the classical and indie music worlds together.  Both halves of the program had a highly developed sense of how to balance two extremes: dense textures and sweet melodies.

For the string quartet half of the program, most of the audience sat on the soon-to-be dance floor in front of the stage.  A huge Rauschenberg painting/banner, stretching to the high ceiling, hung behind the players. Severe concrete square pillars surrounded everyone. And to the left of the stage (from the audience perspective), a giant wall of glass let the sun shine in.  It felt like story hour in kindergarten, with the music acting as an exuberant, entertaining storyteller (the kind you always liked as a kid).

The quartet, organized into three sections—Introduction, Act, and Epilogue-Lullaby—was good drama, as these names might suggest. Intense chugga chugga rhythms (one can hear Friedman’s connection to the world of punk) cut against moments of stillness in which translucent skeins of sound (usually made by the harmonics on the various instruments) floated onto us.  In between, there were moments of lyricism and counterpoint to make any fan of simple or complex art music happy.  In other words, the quartet was a performed mix-tape, a playing-out of Friedman’s own listening.  And we heard a lot: classic 19th century Romanticism (think Brahms), astringent but haunting dissonance (think Ruth Crawford Seeger), weird quasi-Quakerish melodies, punk, and—on the other side of the time spectrum—the emptied out modal harmonies of pre-tonal Western music.

But in all this mixing, the best parts of the quartet were those times when Friedman figured out some way to make these old-fashioned instruments emit the strangest noises.  I had never heard string instruments sound so much like feedback before.  Quite striking.  Appropriately, I think, the quartet ended by messing with the classical cliché in which the composer drags out the final cadence until the audience bursts with anticipation, only then giving them a deeply satisfying long final chord.  Friedman ended with a final short note that screamed for that home ending.  Instead, the room filled with background noise: speaker hum (the instruments were mic’d) and audience chatter.

Times New Viking—no slouches in the feedback department themselves—exchanged the subtleties of the string quartet’s contrasts for the enveloping raw power of fuzz and distortion.  The first song of their set, also the first song off of Rip It Off, “Teen Drama” started off all lovable and innocent with its loping, catchy riff and steady beat.  Then guitarist Jared Phillips stepped on the distortion pedal, and his guitar’s sound transformed from very loud warm overdriven crunch to insanely loud cold jagged crystal.  It hit like an ice storm on a diamond sea and instantly transformed the party from happy fun time to something denser, darker, more profound.  This is the sound of sound happening.  But it wasn’t all distortion zen.  Inside of the thick swirls of sound (given bottom and even more density by Beth Murphy’s keyboard), flowed the voices, themselves distorted, warbling away: “…Each summer is the right time for living in sunshine/Quit living your life like you’re nervous…” Two birds in a hurricane joyfully singing.

At one point the hurricane stopped because something broke. What was it? The power supply? The sound system? The amps? Drummer Adam Elliott said, “Do it yourself, kids.”  After a few moments of rumor-filled silence, sound returned.  Music continued to play.  People continued to dance in front of, around, and on the stage. And curious passers-by continued to look down through the glass wall at what must have been a strange but pleasant sight: a basement punk show put on display.  Art, life, noise, music: what’s the diff?

Photos courtesy of Chris Owyoung

Armed with my ticket, and what little cash I had to spend on beer and merchandise, I marched with the other 40,000 Radiohead fans onto Victoria Park to see the band return with a performance of their number one album In Rainbows.

Whilst waiting for support act, Bat for Lashes, to emerge the crowd speculated in the sweltering sunshine as to how the light show would fair in the blazing daylight. Huge wind chime like rods were being drawn across the stage-money well spent if the sun actually goes down.

Finally Natasha Khan arrives, rain stick in hand and ready to set the tone. Although generally well received, it really did need to be dark for her to work her magic on the crowd. It also didn’t help that the screens were not even switched on during her performance, Nevertheless she still managed to wow us with the airing of new material and familiar tracks such as ‘What’s a Girl to Do’ and ‘Priscilla’.

Then at 8.15pm, fifteen minutes earlier than last night’s performance, Johnny, Thom, Phil, Colin and Ed took to the stage with smiles all round. ‘Reckoner’ made an odd but well received opener, followed by ‘15 Step’ and ‘There There’, which was strangely anthemic as Greenwood pounded the drums.

It’s apparent from the off that the band are not only tighter than ever but thrilled to be touring again. Thom remarks about the sun and it’s reluctance to sink behind the trees so the lights can be used. However this is perhaps a blessing in disguise as they then burst into ‘Lucky’ with the audience reciting back “Its gona be a glorious day” with the sun doing what it does best right on que.

The first half of the set showcased In Rainbows and Kid A with ‘National Anthem’ whipping the crowd into a frenzy. ‘Everything In It’s Right Place’, with its gradual build, receives some knowing nods and some of the best Thom Yorke impressions I’ve ever seen, and some of the worst.

Thom’s falsetto vocals soar with ‘Nude’, utterly pitch perfect and enigmatic as always, continuing to wow throughout ‘Videotape’ and ‘Optimistic’. This morphed into a melodic snarl for ‘Myxamatosis’.

Surprise tracks such as the relatively unknown ‘Bangers And Mash’ still managed to make an impact with Thom hammering the drums centre stage whilst Johnny delivered an amazing guitar solo. The band then lulled us into a nostalgic state with ‘No Surprises’ before moving on to ‘The Bends’ and then ‘My Iron Lung’, guitar thrashing all round.

The encores were a return to Ok Computer and with old favourites, ‘Paranoid Android’ causing a riot amongst the crowd. ‘Karma Police’ was the key moment of the night as the audience chanted back “For a minute there I lost myself”, driven with Thom on an acoustic guitar it really was a moment. They then sent a rapturous and satisfied crowd home with ‘2+2=5′. Perfect

Will they ever fail to impress and amaze, I doubt it.

Photographs: Ama Chana

Whilst most bands reunite for money, an ego-boost, or an ill-fated attempt to reclaim past glories, one gets the impression that when the prickly and perfectionist Kevin Shields decides to make a comeback, he’s got a damn good reason to. And whilst seminal noise-rockers My Bloody Valentine haven’t any new material on show just yet, tonight’s show more than proves they’ve not lost the scintillating energy that made them such a draw the first time round.

The fierce opening chords of ‘Only Shallow’ immediately dispelled fears their 14 year hiatus had softened them, and there’s little faulting any of their other picks from Loveless either- an extended ‘I Only Said’ was particularly breathtaking. Some folks complained about inaudible vocals, especially Sheilds’, but they’ve never been a prominent element of the MBV sound- and in all honesty, most of songs work just as well as pure instrumentals. Continue Reading

Liars / Photographs: Ama Chana

Prior to the show, I’d hardly heard anything by either act before- just a shed load of hype and hyperbole. Gig-wise comrades had declared this was not a show to be missed, a double-whammy of impeccable awesome that would totally blow me away.

Well, they were half-right.

The considered, melodic fuzz of Bradford Cox’s Atlanta, Georgia outfit Deerhunter wasn’t well served by the Koko’s dire acoustics, but despite the lack of volume and static, nervy stage demeanour it was clear that these guys are pretty special- they’ve captured that same kind of mesmerising, hazy groove that the Animal Collective crew excel at. A generous hour long support slot allowed them time to slowly build up their multi-layered walls of noise, and although it sagged occasionally, the overall effect was decidedly lovely as it swelled gloriously. Continue Reading

Photographs: Ama Chana

WOW. I’ve waited two years to see Sunset Rubdown, the most brilliant member of that incestuous circle of Canadian indie bands centered round possible genius Spencer Krug, and my God they didn’t let me down. Their swirling, synthy technicolour bombast is manic enough on record, but the unassuming Krug and his gawky, shy band pull out all the stops for their live show, sweeping away all and sundry in a wave of clashing keyboards and breathless, impassioned vocals. Continue Reading

Before I even begin, there’s one big thing about this year’s festival that needs to be said so let’s get it out of the way first and then we can crack on with the music. With the dates clashing this year with the build up to the MotoGP, plus the fact that a motocross circuit was being built on the old site, festival organisers decided some changes were in order. They made the move to hold the entire festival outside of the confines of the Donington circuit.

Okay. This meant no hill from which to leisurely watch the bands from; no chance to walk the hallowed circuit, sucking up the exhaust fumes of Grand Prix’s past whilst perusing the stalls for a suitable sunhat; and most heinously of all, no Dunlop tyre – the gigantic archway that epitomised the Download spirit of machine and metal, leather and tread, volume and power.

Upon arrival, I see that this year the walk from campsite to stage has become so stretched that now we are expected to trudge through sand, stone, and shit for over a mile (if it’s anything less than a mile then I’m a Frenchman) before we hit the final tent. All this means if you wanted to catch Invasion on the Gibson Stage (11am, Sunday) you’d have to be setting off well before 10am. I have blisters on my blisters, as I write.

There is an upside. The second stage is no longer a tent; it’s now an open-air stage in front of which lies an expansive, rather unforgiving but swamp-free, concrete viewing area. And if you’re really very important, they have buses laid on to transport you from campsite to stage (I couldn’t find them for love nor money!)

Enough – let’s get cracking with the music. Well, it appears that there are so many big names plumping for Reading this year that one wonders whether the organisers are trying to go for a softer, more accessible Download – less brutal metal and more classic and emotional rock. Well, fair enough, considering that so many other smaller festivals are taking up the mantle with Bloodstock, Hard Rock Hell, Damnation & Ghostfest all competing for the most extreme noise bands.

With the Duracell Tent and Monster Bar DJ’s blazing out the “choons” before the first band even take the stage there is plenty of fun to be had and I certainly had my fair share. Favourites included the mosh-inciting anthem ‘Bodies’ by Drowning Pool while Slayer’s ‘Raining Blood’ got a good airing over the weekend. Then, at first light, Friday morning, 50,000 of us donned our walking gear for the tiresome slog down to the arena gates; and there we queued whilst all around us chants of “Donington, what is your profession?” were screamed. Replies of “Ha-OOH, Ha-OOH, Ha-OOH!” rang around and you at last felt part of something special.

As I piled through the security line and approached the Tuborg Stage the raw punk aggression of Zebrahead saw many leap into action, bucking and air-drumming to the beat. It’s pretty impressive stuff and is only topped by the take-no-prisoners rock of Stone Gods. With Robin Goodridge (ex-Bush) stepping onto the kick-pedals of poorly Ed Graham just a few weeks previously you’d think the boys would be taking things a little easier. Hell, no. There’s a furious pace being set and as Richie Edwards screams “Let’s burn the witch”, I double-take in case they really are! ‘You Brought A Knife To A Gunfight’ sees Dan Hawkins strike his familiar rock pose, legs spread wide, as he rips great chords of solid rock into the ether. Jeez, I miss The Darkness’ energy but I sure as Hell don’t miss the spandex, the falsetto or the comedy capers. Stone Gods are the grown-up version and they own us right now.

Already exhausted, I traipse over to catch Seether on the main stage who give us a roaring display of metal-infused rock before pulling a cover of Nirvana’s ‘In Bloom’ out of the bag. The weak ‘Rise Above This’ from the new album is a disappointing climax. Thankfully, Disturbed’s insane poster of a burning monster gets me all excited again. As they blaze through ‘Ten Thousand Fists’ and ‘The Game’ I can’t help but feel something is missing from the performance. It could be the guitars are too quiet but they pick up as they go on with ‘Inside The Fire’ getting the crowd rocking with a big sampled opening.

Ignoring the chance to see (a reportedly lacklustre) Motorhead (yet again) or the immense High On Fire, I find myself being dragged over to The Subways (or as their banner reads “The Subway” (I know the London Underground is sprawling but I didn’t expect a station here at Castle Donington). Well, the band turn out to be one of the best bands of the festival with ‘Mary’ delighting and the anthemic ‘Oh Yeah’ triggering universal chants of “Have you ever seen the light?” The crowd simply lap it up with the bare-chested Billy Lunn egging us on. Most eyes, however, are on the constantly body-jacking Charlotte Cooper, positively shining in her Ace Frehley face-paint. Never have I seen a three-piece make the stage look so vast. Every inch is covered as they fight their way through the dry ice. This surely isn’t the same band that produced such a sugary-sweet limp-wristed album. Is it?

I catch the start of Rival Schools who simply don’t step up to the plate with both crowd and band inactive. They open with ‘Used For Glue’ but after a few songs I don’t feel inspired enough to stick around for ‘High Acetate’ and move on. On the main stage Judas Priest are struggling through a near two-hour set that’s been thrust upon them because of Kid Rock’s sudden admission to hospital (“exhaustion” is cited but we’re all crassly thinking “overdose”). They shouldn’t be struggling with such a vast catalogue of music to choose from but watching Rob Halford stagger about I can’t help but think he’s on his way to joining Kid Rock at Nottingham General. He manages to haul his aging limbs over a Harley at one point but it’s a kind of hollow gesture when all you can do is imagine the rider falling off it. When they do hit their stride, Priest rock like the Gods they are. ‘Breaking The Law’ is a monster and the crowd chant is memorable.

I manage to fit in a few songs of the Kiss “extravaganza” (replete with wires, explosions, face-paint, costumes, a wall of lights and a whole truckload of pomp and circumstance) but I really have to be a party-pooper because I want to see music that excites me. I know I’m in the minority but Dillinger Escape Plan’s staccato mathcore noise and vitriol combo thrill me ten-times more than watching a man painted to look like a cat beating out steady soulless rhythms.

Through smoke and sweat the DEP boys are caning their bodies, spasmodically contorting themselves into unthinkable positions and their music follows suit. When they hit full stride it’s an awesome thing. It’s roaring, flared aggression beyond belief – a mushroom cloud of muscles, angst and instruments. They climb the stanchions, they leap off stacks, they bruise and break our ears with their shattering string and stickwork. As first a stage monitor and then a microphone stand spear their way into the crowd you just know there’s going to be a bloody end for a few in the pit tonight. As the band depart I catch my breath before heading back out to catch a prolonged volley of Kiss fireworks (which are fantastic, by the way, and make me wonder why they aren’t closing the festival on Sunday) and a, by comparison, limp-sounding ‘Shout It Out Loud’ and ‘I Wanna Rock N’ Roll All Night’. I’d rather be a part of the ‘Panasonic Youth’ to be honest.

Saturday dawns and last night’s revelry means a late start. I miss out on the joys of Malefice (which I hate myself for) but catch the end of Skindred and their legendary ragga-metal vocalist Benji Webbe. He bonds the crowd tightly enough to mosh in time whilst he blazes the incredible ‘Nobody’ at them. And after raising such merry Hell he gets out a small keyboard and lulls us to sleep with a sedate tune. Very strange, but very good.

As their set ends the rain begins to fall and, over at the Gibson, Go Audio get a pleasant surprise as their tent begins to fill with sheltering punters. Nodding heads signal that their plodding pop-rock is finding many new fans and ‘Made-up Stories’ is a highlight. The rain relents and I catch the end of Job For A Cowboy. They’ve improved since I last saw them (though they still lack stage presence) with the happy circle pit response proving it to be true. Despite its age ‘Entombment Of A Machine’ gets a huge roar with ‘Knee Deep’ following up and getting the remainder of the crowd nodding along approvingly.

There’s a pre-show crowd bottlefight for 36 Crazyfists but it stops when Brock Lindow walks out to a huge ovation. He responds with “I am pretty sexy aren’t I?” and continues the banter throughout – yep, he’s got the crowd just where he wants them. ‘Heart And The Shape’ and ‘The All Night Lights’ both shine out like beacons and I find myself loving every minute.

Exhaustion hits hard and after the long hike back to the tent and a tin of hot corned beef (looks like crap, tastes like Heaven) I’m good to go again. I make it back just in time to witness Bleeding Through incite a massive circle pit around the sound desk. It’s immense and, somewhere within the ring of bodies, a bewildered ice-cream salesman gives up and cowers in his van.

I see Biffy Clyro are doing that thing they do again – what was it again… ah yes, owning the festival – tearing their way through ‘Living Is A Problem Because Everything Dies’ and the absolutely killer ‘Get Fucked Stud’. They even have time to show off and give us some scorching back catalogue classics. “’Mon The Biffy!” screams a lad in front of me and I’m wholeheartedly with him.

Moving over to the Tuborg I catch the end of Ace Frehley who, as the Wildhearts’ Ginger implies later, is probably more effective as a solo artist. His songs fizz and buckle with rock heart and soul. Following his set there is a noticeable surge and it’s because we’re about to witness the incredible talent of Pendulum. With their even-more-mainstream-than-the-last-album material to perform they have never been closer to being a decent Download headliner. Judging by what they manage to produce over the next hour I’ll be first in the queue recommending them. Epically-charged drum n’ bass with guitars and sweeping samples carry the dancing crowd straight into sonic nirvana. Yep, Pendulum’s pulsing, banging, warping music married to the mesmeric vocal of Rob Swire certainly gives us all a reason to smile.

At the main stage now and Incubus spend way too long crooning and not enough time powering out their hits whilst over at the Gibson I find a tent bursting at the seams with happy Saxon fans. Teenagers need not apply, this is an old man zone, but by gum, it is rocking! I’m only here early for Testament but I find myself caught up in it all and singing myself hoarse. Once Saxon depart and the headliners arrive, I realise that no-one has left. The old folks are all still in… and why not? Hell, Testament are the forefathers of Bay Area thrash! The gloom descends and they power onto stage in a wail of shredding guitars. Chuck Billy’s vocal is slightly over-egged with echo and comes across as not only epic but also difficult to make out. It seems to slip behind the guitar and disappears altogether when the drums really lay waste. Highlights are without doubt ‘Henchman Ride’ and ‘Alone In The Dark’ – both see the crowd finally letting loose and causing mayhem.

Reading’s Exit Ten kick off Sunday with an energetic display of their up and coming metal prowess that deserves more than the polite applause they get. Over at the Main, Apocalyptica, four hairy Finns and their cellos, are delighting the uninitiated. They carry their instruments about like they were mere violins and windmill their hair longer than anyone I’ve ever seen windmill. Inviting Lacuna Coil’s Christina Scabbia to sing ‘SOS’ is a masterstroke but then everything without vocals seems lost once she departs.

Ignoring the promise of a trip across to see Airbourne (who apparently were scaling the lighting rig over at the Tuborg Stage) I stay to witness the corseted ice maiden Sharon den Adel smile, croon and captivate. 2007’s ‘The Heart Of Everything’ gets a good airing and by the end I curse myself for not owning it. At last, the band I’ve been waiting for, In Flames, take the stage. I’m keen to see how mainstream their sound has become since the early days – the answer is not as much as has been reported. Sure it’s more melodic, but Anders Friden still sounds like the Devil Incarnate. Although, I’m disappointed by their stagecraft Anders’ occasional monotone joshing with the crowd raises many laughs. ‘The Mirror’s Truth’ certainly goes down a treat with the fans and the Download moshpit responds by finding a new level of intensity.

I see Elliot Minor get a half-hearted bottling for a performance that seems less in keeping with a rock festival than anything else on the bill, and The Wildhearts spend far too long talking. Today, they are the comedy turn with Ginger upset that he’s not getting wet. “I heard that some bottles were being thrown” he inquires before demanding that we “throw anything that isn’t nailed down” at the stage. All through their set he returns to his theme. “If I don’t leave this stage soaked I’m gonna be really disappointed”. After a great deal of good-natured banter and a few scorching rock tracks (including the killer ‘Caffeine Bomb’) they are asked to leave the stage, having overran their slot, which they do with a resigned look on their faces. Jimmy Eat World, meanwhile, are burning through ‘Salt, Sweat, Sugar’ and ‘The Middle’ and keeping us all on our toes. Man, I wish I’d brought my dancing shoes.

One band left to go and it’s a biggie. When Sepultura’s Cavalera brothers had a tiff 12 years ago it sent shock waves around the world. When they reformed it gave the chance for those who’d never seen them play together to witness just how incredible they are live. Cavalera Conspiracy, one album down, headlining the final night of Download Festival – that’s how much their reunited front means to the metal community. Igor is an unmatched force on drums; tearing into his kit like a man possessed he creates double-kick thunder which blasts into those out front. As they run through their album ‘Inflikted’, Max wails each note with a huge grin on his face and, across stage Marc Rizzo yanks at his guitar like it’s done him a disservice. Out front we’re just happy to mosh and circle pit and headbang to every beautiful note. But, there, there in the back of our minds we’re waiting, waiting. We know it’s coming… but when? Then, BANG, there it is – the glorious cover of Sepultura’s ‘Roots’ we’d all secretly been waiting for. The monstrous circle pit says everything about this band, this song and this festival that you needed to know.

Photograph by Nick Greenan

The last time I saw Black Kids on the London circuit was only a few months ago now at this very same venue when they supported Sons and Daughters. Whispers of hype began to emerge and gather speed yet they remained entirely anxious and humble on stage as they played to the half filled venue.

Since then they have blossomed from a much talked about new act to a full blown indie pop wonderment, with substance. With backing from many respected voices in the industry, the Jacksonville quintet have gone from dingy clubs to headlining the ‘In New Music We Trust’ stage at Radio1’s One Big Weekend.

Four months on and they’re back at the same venue, only this time their support act status is banished. They’re tighter, even more excitable, established and with a sold out tour and debut album to unleash. Continue Reading

Elbow. Photograph by Dan Griffiths.

Across the river tonight, Coldplay are making their live comeback with a free show at Brixton Academy. On this side of the Thames, Elbow are playing to a sell-out crowd at Royal Festival Hall. It’s one of the biggest bands in the world versus the band they ripped off.

Unlike Coldplay, who will always be guaranteed a place on countless coffee tables no matter who they rip off, Elbow have a bit more to prove. There’s the critics, who, bar latest album Seldom Seen Kid, have been less than complimentary over the last 15 years. There’s the fans, those who have been there from the beginning, and those who bought Seldom Seen Kid on a ‘like-Coldplay-you’ll-love-this’ basis. There’s Massive Attack, this year’s Meltdown curators, who handpicked Elbow because they think they deserve it. Then there’s the band themselves. 2008 is looking decidedly like make or break for Elbow. They’ve moved record labels, had babies, and released their most critically acclaimed album to date. If it doesn’t come together this year, will it ever? When put like that, it’s a wonder the band make it on stage at all. Continue Reading

Primavera has, over the last four years, become a sort of Catalan ATP to the Reading/Leeds of Sónar or Benicàssim - challenging, innovative and unfailingly brilliant. Many of its six stages nearly slip off the tarmac and into the sea, a sharp salt tang fizzing in the air, catamarans and gulls gliding languidly by.

Young Marble Giants photographed by Amos Memon

This is a year dominated by the old guard. Despite a programme that reads like Pitchfork’s buzz list, Young Marble Giants, whose sole LP, Colossal Youth, came out nearly three decades ago, deliver the performance of the festival, if not the year. They’re less a live epiphany (they’re almost motionless on stage) than a stark reminder of what it means - what it should mean - to be an artist, to be human, to struggle to understand one’s place in the universe. They’re as seminal as Joy Division but without the relentless namechecking and photogenic biopics; as enraged and engaged, but delivering their barbed commentary with clenched-jaw, shiver-inducing minimalist restraint. There’s an extraordinary frisson to watching a quartet of 40-somethings, professionally obsessed with the fleeting moments of youth, excavate the fruit of their adolescence from the amber it was set in after an untimely 1980 dissolution. Playing with a live drummer instead of, famously, a slightly crap homemade drum machine, their sound is more rounded live than on record, but no less resonantly vacant. Alison Statton’s crystalline but deliberately unpolished vocals float above the high, melodic bass and rumbly rhythm guitar, the two almost impossible to untwine. They close with “Credit in the Straight World”, still the sharpest interrogation of underground culture of the last 50 years. As reunions go, this is as magical, as untainted by the passage of time, as anyone could hope for.

Watch:> Young Marble Giants: ‘Salad Days’ and ‘Credit in the Straight World’:

With a crowd of about 20,000, Primavera is small enough that you’re constantly running into friends, acquaintances and various members of Les Savy Fav (who whirled through their late-night set like a particularly colourful and ear-splitting hurricane). Look, here’s Andy Hung out of Fuck Buttons, watching Bradford Cox of Atlas Sound mooch about ahead of an eardrum-shattering set punctuated with deeply philosophical interludes about girls “getting fingered in a KFC parking lot in New Jersey”. The night before, Fuck Buttons had virtually reoriented the earth on its axis with their potent blasts of sonic might. So Andy, what were your favourite bands this year? “Shellac, Shellac, SHELLAC!”

Shellac photographed by Inma Varandela

Shellac are indeed amazing. It’s tribute to years of graft as well as genius that everything melts into place, the most awkward of time signatures washing over the enormous, raw midnight crowd like the sucking of an ebb tide. When they kick into “Prayer to God”, it’s like the tear ducts of thousands of men, dormant for years (well, since they first hit play on 1000 Hurts) swell, itch and flow. But, like a spoilsport, I have to disagree with Andy. Devo were (by a whisper) better.

Devo photographed by Inma Varandela

Devo were a revelation, issuing a wholehearted challenge to any band who’s dared to exist since 1973. Their sound may be inarguably of its time, but the sharpness of every note, the knowingness, the layers of meaning in their every power chord and mock-salute, were an unspoken reminder of the era from which they sprang: Kent State, Watergate, Wounded Knee. O to be in a band when being in a band meant taking on the Prez, however obliquely and with whatever abstract, absurdist joy. O to be in a band when being in a band meant everything.

Fanfarlo photographed by Emma Gowing

Watching Fanfarlo in England always seems a bit of a cheat. They’re so technically and melodically accomplished, so assured, so ridiculously good that it’s surreal to see them playing in, for example, a tiny upstairs room at the ICA. They should be two albums in and headlining the Astoria. Here, they’re as shiny-eyed and intense as ever playing to thousands, vocals, violins and horns ringing out pure and clear like a prayer.

Amos (drums), after confidently predicting “no smoke unless you ask for it”, is almost suffocated by the smoke machine. Poor Amos. So what were your favourite bands? “Well, I was backstage at Dinosaur Jr and embarrassed myself air-drumming to ‘Feel the Pain’ just as Malkmus walked past. Dufus!” So, Simon (vocals, guitar) what were your favourite bands? “Dirty Projectors, Port O’Brian, Deerhunter and El Guincho.”

Dirty Projectors photographed by Inma Varandela

I’m not one of the many instant converts to the clattering, hypnotic charms of El Guincho, but I’m with Simon on the Dirty Projectors. (So is Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, rocking out and oblivious to all around him for most of the set. Whaddaya say, Justin? “Fucking amazing!”) Despite being perhaps the only one around who was unimpressed by Rise Above’s seemingly remote, swottish exercises in third-world cultural examination, I was floored by their live set. More than floored - awestruck, motionless, slack-jawed. Dave Longstreth’s locked-eyeball intensity, the velvet-gloved, iron-fisted control of Amber and Angel on the flanks, the sheer gloriousness of the melodies - I’ve never been so delighted to be proved wrong.

HEALTH photographed by Inma Varandela

HEALTH are extraordinary. They seem to be able to expand - their volume, their relentless thrashing, their mighty talents - to fill whatever space is available. On the Vice stage, out on a peninsula surrounded by the sea and seemingly all 20,000-some festivalgoers, they’re like the darkest elements of a Matisse dance painting come to violent life. Wild but elegantly thrown-about limbs and bodies give visual form to their relentless beats and hammering chords. Acid clouds of sound build up, with phrases and refrains echoing and repeating until they lose all meaning, at least in any traditional sense. Their pagan exuberance - wheeling mics around, shoving them into monitors, throwing their bodies into anything that will resist - recalls misfit teenagers set loose in a laboratory of dark secrets. Weird science indeed.

A few lines must be devoted to the festival’s disappointments. Malkmus, you’re first on the list, although I suppose no one can blame the clearly billed Steven Malkmus & the Jicks for not playing a Slanted & Enchanted Don’t Look Back session, which seems to be the secret hope of the entire audience. You’re next, David Berman - Silver Jews are dully, slickly uninspiring, in line with the recent nice-enough Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea. And personal disappointments - word has it that Pissed Jeans and Why? are epiphanical, and both missed.

I’m told off for missing Bon Iver, who rouses a tear and a holler from every listener, as he did four days later at St Giles church in London (and two weeks earlier at the Forum and Rough Trade East. How many landmark, heart-stopping shows can one man perform in a few short weeks?) But I don’t regret skipping his show, instead hopping across town to the unmapped, almost unadvertised satellite gigs in the Parc Joan Miró. Curious toddlers stare and bemused grannies drag their tiny dogs past a wonky stage where the magnificent David Thomas Broughton holds court. His mind-boggling mix of soaring baritone vocals and looped guitar, rattles, taps and feedback is punctuated with abrupt moments of slapstick. Unlikely as it sounds and impossible as it is to explain, every song is a lush, delicately layered, sometimes ear-shattering mystery, but I find myself humming a few uncannily catchy lines on the way back to the festival proper.

The Wave Pictures photographed by Inma Varandela

On Sunday night, the The Wave Pictures are as delightful, melancholic and quietly perfect a closing act as anyone could wish for. Against a backdrop of early flights and Monday-morning hangovers-in-waiting, they mesmerise nearly a thousand in Barcelona’s gorgeous fin-de-siècle Apolo club, complete with softly glowing globe chandeliers and mahogany wall detail. They’re reflective and wistful, but also totally gripping, with ballsy bass and drums. Crowd favourite “Now You Are Pregnant” gets as rapturous a singalong reception as always, but in retrospect it’s almost chilling. In a plea to the girlfriend who’s never really understood him, David Tattersall sings, with a catch in his throat I may be imagining, “Johnny Cash died today, and you’d say, ‘It’s not like Elvis’ … and you would be right.” We wake up to the news that Wave Pictures idol and all-round legend Bo Diddley has died.

So, David, I’d asked earlier, what were your favourite bands this year? “The Sonics were very good, very good indeed. And Jonny and Franic playing with Darren Hayman.” You can’t nominate them, they’re in your band. “It was still very exciting.” It was all very exciting. It was life-affirming, euphoric, momentous. It was the musical high tide of the year. Don’t mind us, we’ll just lie here next to the ATP stage, under the sun and the wheeling seagulls, until next year rolls around.

Photo by Amos Memon

After a 6 year wait, tonight is the night we welcome the return of The Notwist. A band who’ve made perhaps one of my favourite records in the shape of Neon Golden, and all geared and set up to promote their newest release The Devil, You + Me. You can’t help but feel the sense of excitement and anticipation in the crowd at the ICA as we wait for them to take to the stage.

And boy, did we wait? The wait I mean, is that the crowd are left to hang on a fair bit for the band, with no support act to open the evening even though it was listed. Curses. But not to worry. Tonight was all about The Notwist anyway. Just after the 9.30 mark, the band take to the stage to generous and loving applause which even they seem surprised by and played pretty much most of the new record, including the title track and a quite simply stunning goosebumps inducing version of ‘Gloomy Planets’. One of the real true gems from the album. Continue Reading

Fleet Foxes photographs by Rich Thane.

It’s nice to suddenly find yourself at a gig that’s gone from being a slightly obscure “up-and-coming” type show to a full blown queue-round-the-block hot ticket in the space of a few weeks. Tonight’s sold out ULU Bella Union showcase is exactly that, with Fleet Foxes garnering 5/5 reviews in every broadsheet and monthly magazine going. Fame, it seems, is looking over their shoulder, and tonight’s gig feels like a significant moment in their rapid rise. Continue Reading

Unfortunately, it seems The Futureheads are destined to be one of those bands who forever live in the shadow of a strong and highly promising debut. 2006 follow-up News & Tributes was pretty much unloved by everyone (apart from TLOBF’s Rich Hughes - but he’s weird like that) and the new release This Is Not The World, although an improvement still doesn’t hit the heady heights of the self titled debut. Still, it doesn’t stop them and they continue to do their thing on the road. Currently trekking up and down the UK in support of the new album, Valerio Berdini stopped off at the Cambridge Junction to take these awesome snaps. See more of his work here.

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Performing their classic album It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back in it’s entirety. Public Enemy are the latest in a long line of bands taking part in the awesome ATP Don’t Look Back series of gigs. Enjoy the photos below, all shot on 35mm film.

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Who knew that this would have been one of the last shows at the Cambridge Barfly? News reached us last night that the venue (which was only re-opened and branded as ‘Barfly’ six or so months ago) has been closed down. Nuts. Maybe someone who knows a little more can leave a comment below and fill us in on the details - until then though, enjoy these photos of Tokyo Police Club. Their new album Elephant Shell is out now on Memphis Industries.

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Photos courtesy of R.E.M. Tour Site

It felt like the ’90s all over again during R.E.M.’s blistering performance at Berkeley’s Greek Theatre. Before his band packed in twenty-seven adrenaline-filled songs into a a two-hour time slot Michael Stipe’s jovial levity was palatable on stage. As he creeps towards middle age his introductions to songs like ‘What’s The Frequency Kenneth?’ as hailing from to “the year 1064,” as Stipe said. (Not quite, but they did play a song from their debut Chronic Town EP of 1982.). The breezy set connected the dots throughout their tenured career and skipped over their recent troubles (Up, Reveal, and Around the Sun, you know what you’ve done). Guitarist Peter Buck (he usually assembles the band’s setlists) did a fine job. They reached as far back as 1985’s Fables of Reconstruction for albums, seeing the band dusting off tracks like ‘Driver 8′ and ‘Life and How We Live It’ with plenty of bravado. They even had enough time to play rare live songs like ‘Find the River’ after only one rehearsal. Even in the band’s early material you can see the R.E.M. equation forming. Despite that equation now becoming stale after so many years, all the jangling guitars, arpeggio chords, almost caustic vocals, and bassist Mike Mills’ soaring backup vocals just felt right. Part of the charm of R.E.M.’s recent stab at relevance (the rock riff heavy Accelerate) is ostensibly the joy of watching your old favorite band retread over some of the highlights that made you fall for them in the first place. Sure that’s not the best scenario for them but within the guise of a their new album at least it isn’t boring. Sure, Accelerate isn’t the best rock record on the market but the nine songs they played were dispersed throughout the set in deft fashion. It felt like a reunion tour of sorts. Continue Reading

Spiritualized. All photos by melimOi.

Alongside the massive proliferation of the traditional style camping-in-a-field-of-mud music festivals in recent years, there has also been an increase in what you might call “urban” festivals - weekends of programmed music taking place around a range of venues in a particular town or city. One such event, which has now been running since 2005 in Nottingham, and since 2007 with a broadly parallel line up which swaps over the two days in Bristol as well, is Dot to Dot . I spent the weekend at the Nottingham event, and - musical highs and lows aside - enjoyed the opportunity to check out some great and varied (yet all convenient close to one another) venues in this well-served musical city. Rock City (basement and main room), The Rescue Rooms, Stealth, The Bodega (formerly The Social), and two rooms at Nottingham Trent University on the Sunday played host to the marathon event, none of which, pleasingly, was more than a 10 minute walk from any of the other venues. Continue Reading

The Man On The Moon is a curious venue. It’s dark, grimy and has a bizarre set-up with the sub-woofer located under the stage and a wiring system so complex that it enables the soundman to only alter pairs of monitors at a time. With the lights rigged up to blaze out only a red glow it’s almost like being in a quirky Dutch brothel.

Tonight’s promoter, Xavier, doubles as the opening act, Twenty Three Hanging Trees. He’s hunched over his guitar making a warping wall-of-sound belch forth with the use of heavy reverb and loops. The venue’s mural of an astronaut floats behind his head and this only increases the whole other-worldly appeal of it. Above him hangs a dead disco ball and before him the audience sits cross-legged reverentially rocking back and forth in time with the warping guitar. He reaches across to pick up two musical boxes, in turn, which he carefully places on his pick-ups and a steady, tinkling tune is heard over the reverb as he winds them. It’s all a little too cosmic and somewhat peculiar, but there is a certain magic within his music. Continue Reading

Gay Against You

This Saturday I travelled down to distant London to attend the second annual Brainlove all-dayer at the Brixton Windmill, a sort of almost-birthday party for John Brainlove, head of the very good Brainlove Records (Keyboard Choir, Friends Of The Bride, Napoleon IIIrd, Pagan Wanderer Lu) and a former member of experimental types Junkplanet (and Tracy Is Hot & The Clap!) as well as a writer for (amongst other publications) THIS VERY SAME WEBSITE- The Line Of Best Fit (conflict of interest duly awaits). At six a.m. I wake up. By just past 7:30 I am sitting, accidentally a bit too early, in Manchester Piccadilly train station, waiting for my friend Steve Jam On Bread (set to play the acoustic stage) so that we can catch the 8:17 train to Sheffield (and then onwards to London from there, West Coast mainline having been maddeningly closed). Steve’s bus gets delayed, so 8:17 becomes 8:33. Steve has left his debit card back at his flat- 8:33 becomes “catch the 8:44 train to Chesterfield, change to Derby, from Derby go to London, get the underground to meet my girlfriend in Waterloo, I’ll see you there.” A short call from his equally confused girlfriend later and a text arrives on my phone giving me the option of waiting for the 9:20 train to Sheffield which he can get on at Stockport and meet me there. Largely ignorant of London and its ways, I decide to exercise this option.

So that’s the first part of my Brainlove all-dayer experience, sat in Manchester Piccadilly train station reading The Economist and listening to Distophia on my mp3 player, blinkingly shaking off the organisational hassle around me. This, I suppose, is what you get for choosing to attend an all-dayer in London when you live in Manchester. That said the bands are good. Cats In Paris, Keyboard Choir, Gay Against You, Jam On Bread, Pagan Wanderer Lu, Team Brick, Napoleon IIIrd… all acts I would pay to go and see individually if they were in the same geographic vicinity as me, and so I guess if they’re all clustered together then despite the distance… well. By this point I’m writing from the perspective of a man who has spent a truly ridiculous amount on train fares over the past two days so in a fiduciary sense it was not worth it at all but in theory, this line-up is gold, particularly the main stage but also round the back near the barbecue where they have the acoustic one (also where dear old Steve Jam On Bread is scheduled to be playing). Continue Reading