Grouper, aka Portland, Oregon’s Liz Harris, has announced a couple of live dates for this November, touring with the rather wonderful Rafael Anton Irisarri (The Sight Below). Fingers crossed there’ll be a few more… so watch this space.

No news on a new album, but these dates might hint at something coming along…

November
04 – Islington Mill, Manchester
05 – Cafe Oto, London

Argh, I really hate London sometimes. Underground tubes, over ground trains, double-decker buses… Not bendy buses though, they’re free… Anyway, I’m massively delayed in getting to the venue, just had enough time to grab a quick bite and arrive just in time for Thrill Jockey’s Baltimore support act, Thank You. Side note: I haven’t been to The Lumi since they tore down that annoying wall by the stage side and it looks a real treat now it’s been refurbished. The space has opened up and it sure makes it a darn sight easier to worm your way to the front with minimal effort. I’m glad I did now because it was a joy to behold.

The trio sounded so positively charged, full of drive and vitality that you’d have to be a reptile like creature not to let yourself get lost in their fierce energetic post-punk madness, driven by carefully placed melodies and some killer drumming. ‘Pathetic Magic’ harnesses drummer Emmaniel Nicolaidis as the focal point as he lays down fill after fill and begins to drench in his own sweat in no time. Apparently he learned the entire set within a week of joining the band after original member Elke moved to Berlin. Cool. Guitarist Jeffrey McGrath lays down fractured riffs and tribal chants on ‘Strange All’ and keeps the pace moving along tidily. There were a couple of hitches along the way, a few sound problems and broken strings which held things up but nothing to stop the momentum of their set. Definitely whetted my appetite to investigate them some more. Thank you Thank You (ahem.)

And then there was Portland, Oregan’s Grouper (aka Liz Harris to her mother). You couldn’t really get two completely different artists, back to back. From one extreme, of Thank You’s raw chaotic racket, we’ve had to adjust our mind space and mood for some delicate slumber-drone. And fast. A hushed, calm engulfs the room. The lights go off. Harris sits down with her hood mystifyingly covering her head, fidgeting with her guitar, amongst a battery of pedals and old Sony Walkmen with a stack of white cassette tapes in complete darkness. A projector provides the only light, shining directly onto Harris and displaying some minimal nature themed movies, to great effect I may add, as she crafts up some static, muted thunderstorm effects and begins to quietly sing. Her voice sounds so untainted and fawningly distant, it would make the most hardened of souls, melt. She may not be renowned for her stage presence or charisma, but she has the unique gift much like Windy & Carl, Stars of the Lid and The Caretaker, to transport the listener away with her murky, oceanic melodies, lumbering overtones and dreamlike drone set, sourcing mainly from material of latest offering, Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill. (Insert Heart Icon here)

As delightful as she was, unfortunately it’s the kind of music you don’t want to stand and observe but rather slump into a contented heap in a comfortable ball and float off into a place that only your own mind can create. Towards the end of the performance, I begin to feel uncomfortable. I’m surrounded and it’s too much of a squeeze. My legs are killing me and there’s no sitting down at the Luminaire tonight. There’s even signs which say so. And I also sadly confess that I start keeping a watchful eye on the time. I don’t want to miss the last overland train… Seriously, why can’t shows just run on time sometimes? Upset the Rhythm seriously have left me stranded on way too many occasions, as much as I love their shows. Just stick to the bill and finish before 11! Not that hard guys. Harris ends her set abruptly. I’m about to run off but she creeps back from behind the curtain to play an encore. I should leave. But I can’t do it. She lays down a gorgeous icy loop, which makes me wanna bust out crying. It was beautiful. I miss the overland train in end. I get back for near 2am. But it was worth it.

Photos by Ama Chana

Aaaaaah our favourite time of the year has loomed yet again. All Tomorrow’s Parties. The one event in the calendar year where geeks mingle with beardies and hipsters hold hands with hippies. There really is no other festival like it, and for those of you who couldn’t make it or even for those out there who want to re-live the shenanigans we like to give you the best coverage that’s humanly possible.

We’ve already published John Brainlove’s diary and even ‘twittered’ our way through last weekends events.. But as ATP round 2 kicks off this afternoon we’re pleased to unveil our bumper review!

Two perspectives. Boy and girl. Adam Elmahdi and Kate Price give a detailed look at last weekends The Fans Strike Back event accompanied with the photographs of Lucy Johnston and Rich Thane.

Enjoy! And if we’ve missed anything out – don’t forget to tell us about it in the comments thread below…

Look out for a full review of The Breeders weekend, plus a massive photo feature of both events. All that’s to come next week…

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Grouper (RT)

Perhaps Grouper wasn’t the best choice to start proceedings. True, Liz Harris had to be on a plane that very evening, but her uncompromisingly sombre ambient noise was too mellow and esoteric for a Friday afternoon slot, as evidenced by the rapid audience shrinkage throughout her set. Casiotone For The Painfully Alone‘s Owen Ashworth fared a little better, although his melancholy lo-fi indietronica was little augmented by a backing band that too often came across as an afterthought. Very heavy on new material, the lack of old favourites like “Jeane, If You’re Ever In Portland” was disappointing although when he hits the spot, he’s as quietly charming as ever.

Casiotone For The Painfully Alone (RT)

Thank the Lord for Jeffrey Lewis to get things back on track. His monotonal drawl may bear little relation to the melody at hand, but that’s all part of his ramshackle charm- more important are his sharp, self-depreciating wit and his hilarious, deftly surreal cartoons. More polished but less engaging were M83, whose hazy synth-pop seemed a little lost in the Butlins food-court. The new raved-up coda to ‘We Own The Sky’ was a nice touch, but their reduced line-up made them more reliant on backing tracks, detaching them further from their audience and leaving even their most euphoric tracks uncharacteristically hollow.

M83 (RT)

But then- BAM! From the darkness of the Centre stage, a hero- nay, messiah- for our times emerges. Long of hair, earnest of speech, he preached a message of deep philosophical import; an ethos for all men to live by- to be happy, to have fun and most of all, to PARTY HARD! Yes, I witnessed the oddly charismatic legend that is Andrew WK, the musical equivalent of a Jason Statham film- objectively awful and yet at the same time, totally awesome. “Bad Brilliance,” a man with a balloon for a head came on stage and repeatedly rapped his own name, some guy from Current 93 made a cameo appearance and despite the set consisting primarily of AWK karaoke-singing over various permutations of ‘Party Hard’, I couldn’t help but be carried away by his sheer enthusiasm. Let’s just hope he never decides to start a cult…

Devo (LJ)

Fittingly, he was followed by fellow madmen Devo who, despite looking like a bunch of crazy bachelor uncles clad in their boilersuits and trademark flowerpot hats were perhaps the tightest band of the whole weekend, their jagged grooves much heavier than the uninitiated would expect. They’ve had 36 years to hone their showmanship and it shows- they know how to work an audience, and what’s more, they still genuinely come across as a band that love what they do. All in all, a fantastic set- a sentiment that, alas, cannot be levied at Pink Mountaintops. As great as their grandiose new album is, the dodgy mix at Reds rendered any subtlety imperceptible and within fifteen minutes the sledgehammer sound had me retreating back to the bar. Ah well- you win some, you lose some.

Retribution Gospel Choir (RT)

Now Saturday, *that* was a textbook example of how to curate a festival. Low side-project Retribution Gospel Choir provided the scintillating rock ‘n roll start Friday so sorely lacked, despite some tedious scrote heckling “throw us your guitar” at Alan Spearhawk. Perennial underachievers live, The Acorn seemed to have finally found their feet- with a new line-up and tighter sound, they do well to counter general hipster indifference (“could I have a little more audience in the monitor?”) with their luscious balladry and Rolf Klausener’s soaring vocals. But even they couldn’t hold a candle to the sublime Grizzly Bear. Fleet Foxes comparisons are to avoid, as both bands furrow similar harmonic veins, but whilst Robin Pecknold’s harmonies are clean, well-scrubbed and immediate, Ed Droste’s have a more wistful, delicate quality that’s ultimately much more gratifying. Balancing the new (and rather superb) Veckatimest material well with old favourites like ‘Knife’ and ‘Lullaby’, their mesmerising hour-long set seems to be over in a blink of an eye, a testament to their understated genius.

The Acorn (LJ)

They even overshadowed Pavillion headliners Beirut, whose strong set nonetheless seemed to be lacking a little something (not least the violinist I used to have a bit of a crush on). Without a doubt, it’s amazing to see how far Zach Condon’s evolved as a live performer over the last couple of years- no longer does he stand there like a deer in the headlights, and his Morrissey-esque croon, whilst still a tad wavery at times has gone from strength to strength. Alas, the same can’t really be said for his song-writing, which peaked at Gulag Orkestar and has rarely achieved the same brilliance since. Whilst the Balkan swing of ‘Elephant Gun’ and the like still have the old magic, the newer tracks blend into one and it’s hard not to crack a smile when someone responds to Zach’s call for requests with, “something that sounds a little different!”

Beirut (RT)

And on the subject of “something a little different”, cult noise-rockers The Jesus Lizard‘s first show in a decade certainly lived up to the fevered expectations surrounding them. As a statement of intent, ripping off your shirt during the intro to the first song and taking a running jump into the audience is pretty hard to beat and David Yow, a balding, slightly sinister middle-aged guy resembling The Yellow Bastard from Sin City had no intention of letting the pace slacken from there on in. On stage, he paced around menacingly, barking ferociously down his mike, but more often than not he could be seen swimming aloft on a sea of hands whilst his ever-proficient band nonchalantly watched on. What a comeback.

Shearwater (RT)

Alas, Sunday ultimately seemed a little anti-climatic in comparison. Shearwater seemed unsuited to Pavillion stage, Jon Meiburg’s hauntingly powerful falsetto and their intricate orchestration dissipating in the sterile surroundings. !!! delivered an energetic, funk-fulled set, but were wasted in their early-evening time slot- they’re a band best experienced in a state of mild-to-excessive inebriation, and even the feckless alcoholics of ATP hadn’t reached that stage so early in the day. The ubiquitous Parts & Labor, spotted anywhere and everywhere throughout the weekend seemed knackered by the time it came to their own performance, which suffered from a chronic lack of volume and almost inaudible synths. When they’re on form, they’re a breathtaking live experience (they nearly eclipsed the mighty Battles when they supported them in ’07) but they seemed to squander this vital opportunity to win over a larger audience with a competent, but rarely genuinely impressive set.

Spiritualized (RT)

Spiritualized‘s performance really seemed to divide people- some found it deathly dull and meandering but their mix of the ear-obliterating fuzz of My Bloody Valentine combined with the gospel-tinged euphoria of Screamadelica-era Primal Scream ticked all my boxes. Static to a fault, they’re not the most visually arresting band and their interaction with the audience is non-existent, but in this case there was no harm in letting the music do all the talking, with an extended “Come Together” being my musical highlight of the whole festival. School of Seven Bells were rockier than expected, tweaking their arrangements for a punchier vibe whilst retaining the dreamy shoegazey production of Alpinisms, but after a while I felt the need for something a little more…energetic, a desire well-served by LA electro-punks The Mae Shi. Previously shambolic to a fault, the mentalist four-piece have finally tightened up enough to deliver a proficient set, but without losing the sense of scrappiness that lies at the heart of their appeal. ‘Run To Your Grave’ may have been the single best singalong of the weekend, and although the new noisecore-orientated material lacks the spark of old, they still know how to rouse a mosh-pit. Indeed, the Mae Shi could be a metaphor for ATP as a whole- schizophrenic, surreal, a little poncey but nevertheless a hell of a lot of fun.
Adam Elmahdi

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Parts & Labor (LJ)

As stragglers flow through the sun-scattered gates of Butlins for this year’s first All Tomorrow’s Parties muso geek-off, the first real drops of sweat hit the Centre Stage floor. HEALTH are a eardrum shattering, frenzied and seductively brash statement of intent, smashing the weekend from a pleasant seaside outing into full pelt beatfest.  Meanwhile, downstairs M83 are one of many bands this weekend to fall victim to the vacuous expanse of the Pavilion Stage, their shimmery effervescent pop floating up towards the rafters and failing to truly engage.

For Devo however, no room is too big and no face too glum. As the sun sets and the Pavilion darkens, their awkward and infectious anthems have even the most severe minds in agreement that jumpsuits, ridiculous masks and funny over-priced red hats will never go out of style. Wheeling out the hits, from ‘Gates of Steel’ to the classic ‘Whip It’, it’s alarming how many songs even the most passive of Devo fans will unwittingly know the words to.

Fuck Buttons (RT)

Jesu calm things down a bit but before long it’s time for Fuck Buttons‘ much anticipated premiere road test of their new material. Despite fear that 2008′s Street Horrsing would be too tough an act to match, all anxiety is soon relinquished by a deliriously absorbing and fever-pitched set. Embodying the spirit of ATP, Fuck Buttons’ magic isn’t brashly flaunted but quietly creeps up and enraptures, making it impossible not to dance – and dance we do.

Errors (LJ)

Saturday’s hangovers are eased mid-afternoon by Nico Muhly, if only because his illustrative soundscapes seem to lull the majority of the audience into a much needed extra half hour snooze. Later on the same stage Young Marble Giants win the award for biggest disappointment of the weekend, delivering the most turgid renditions of Colossal Youth classics, serving only to prove why some bands should never be allowed to reform. Thank the lord (or indeed ATP), then, for the appearance of Grizzly Bear whose intertwining vocals, bracing swathes of sound and journeying melodies set a precedent for the rest of the day. The 1-part stoner-metal 1-part-balls-out-rock’n'roll of Harvey Milk, explosive Balkan wanderings of Beirut and invigorating post-rock disco of Errors make for an unlikely but scrumptious trio, leaving things only to be pissed upon by Marnie Stern‘s tiresome yelping. Still, that’s nothing that a bottle of whisky and a good chalet party can’t remedy, right? Right!

School Of Seven Bells (RT)

Tearing oneself away from the free fairground on Sunday afternoon, Shearwater enchant with their ambient acoustic beauty before the usual witty banter and caustic riff-pounding of Future of the Left makes a stand-out on an otherwise quite soothing stage line-up. However, it’s the Centre Stage that plays hosts the weekend’s true gems. School of Seven Bells serve both musical and physical beauty in matching plentiful bouts with their beat-laden eerie prog-pop, wowing the crowd before gracefully leaving the stage to this weekend’s true heroes.

Marnie Stern (LJ)

It’s been 11 years and David Yow is still… well, David Yow (The Jesus Lizard) and the fact that simply shouting his name out loud feels so great is surely something telling. Clambering around, intrusively rooting out every bit of space onstage and off he physically might, age has not diminished a man who simply represents everything a front man should and could possibly be. Stage diving, crowd surfing, not to mention song upon song ofgob-smacking, eye watering punk rock meat – this is live performance at it’s very best.

Closing what, whilst perhaps not the strongest ever ATP line-up, is certainly one of the most varied and eclectic, Sleep rise to The Jesus Lizard’s bait and hold their own. Earplugs prove pointless as the room trembles and lungs rattle in chests with the sheer velocity and poweremanating from the stage. Sleep are (arguably) THE defining stoner rock band of all time and, holding a drunk and exhausted crowd in their hypnotic grip for over an hour and a half, prove how escapist and cathartic sound can be. The perfect wind-down from yet another successful Minehead adventure. ATP, we salute you.
Kate Price

Before we run our extensive review of last weekends ATP shenanigans, we asked  John Brainlove’s to jot down some thoughts about the weekends happenings.

Look out for a full review plus a bumper photo feature coming very soon!!

All band photographs by Rich Thane.

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So, we’re in Simon’s rickety car, screaming down the motorway, chasing the patch of blue sky that somehow seems to be constantly moving away from us. The moustachioed Major Matty Hall is our car’s co-pilot, having shotgunned the front seat, like a bastard. He is conducting a short seminar on the difference between nuclear and thermonuclear bombs. We are hurtling towards Minehead. The tape player is apparently frozen, so I am piping The Horrors’ new album through my tinny battery powered speakers.

It’s ATP. yayTP. The lineup this weekend was ostensibly selected by ‘The Fans’, or at the least the excitable ones who buy tickets in time to effect the voting.

Christopher Alcxxk of Internet Forever texts me. He has picked up ten of my favourite Portuguese custard tarts for me from the bakery near his house. We have a boot full of booze and breakfasts. I’ll be sleeping on a sofa in someone else’s chalet this weekend – ATP press tickets come sans-accommodation – and I’m gonna be doing some cooking to say thanks.

By the time we get onsite, we’ve already missed Grouper. Apparently she had an early slot because of travel arrangements (before people were even allowed into their chalets) and played a pretty grumpy set to a half empty room.

After some epic trundling around the chalet village with my luggage on a trolley, I make it into Casiotone For The Painfully Alone in time to catch a few highlights from his great new record, Vs. Children. I get a text – our chalet window has been smashed in while the others were at Tesco getting booze, and there’s glass everywhere, including on the sofa I’m sleeping on.

Andy Hung, Fuck Buttons

But before I want to deal with that, Jeffrey Lewis is downstairs plying his ever-engaging anti-folk, then HEALTH, who turn in one of the performances of the weekend: a battering, powerful, committed set. I’m a convert.

I pop back to the chalet to survey the damage. Butlins have cleaned up our chalet and boarded up the window. I sit down for a minute, and end up boozily sleeping through Devo.

Fail.

Back in the festival, everyone is talking about how good they were.

Double Fail.

It’s around this time that I bump into Andy from Fuck Buttons, who says their set is going to be 80% new, with a new beginning. The crowd is heaving. “The Fans” are, tonight, increasingly ‘messy’, dressed up kids staggering around with wide pupils. I’m still pretty straight at this point and feel a little bit old. Unusual for the famously ‘beardy’ ATP festival. Fuck Buttons launch straight into a new song, and don’t let up for an hour – their new set is more about beats and building momentum than their previous layered noise stuff. There’s a rhythmic, wriggling section with Andy squeezing sounds out of a Gameboy, an extended, dancey, layered up new song with softer drum and synth sounds than usual, and a new ending with some searing bassy bursts and powerful drumming from Ben. If there’s any criticism to be made, it’s that some of the transitions are a bit long, and let the build/release energy drop rather than peak, but it’s a good solid performance, and a great introduction to the new songs.

Rolf Klausener, The Acorn

Saturday morning, and I still haven’t got those damn tarts off Chris. We keep missing each other. It’s turning into an ongoing custard tart saga. Me and my chalet-mates play crazy golf. The Cave Singers are audible coming from the main stage. The golf isn’t at all crazy. It’s just small.

The Acorn is my favourite show of the weekend. They’re perfect on the pavillion stage. Their warm sound fills the space, resonant and embracing. The two-drummer rhythm section fill every space with sensitively played taps and beats, carrying along the wonderfully emotional and engaging songs. The hairs on the back of my neck go up, and my body feels suddenly ablaze with adrenalin, and I breathe in the sound. Connection: made.

We bowl. I win. Win!

Beirut play the electronic songs from the new album as traditional arrangements, and they stand up well. “Would you prefer it if I put on a donk on there?” asks Zac. I’m half surprised that my answer is no.

Sarah Pickles of team ATP is having a big wedding party on the Saturday night, so we head over. Marnie Stern is there! I croak out a feeble fanboy “hello Marnie Stern!”, much to the amusement of my so-called friends. The Pontin’s 5-0 descend at 5am and disperse us. Chalet parties till dawn, then the seaside for a blue light sunrise. A man with a musical backpack goes spinning past us, to the strains of “North American Scum”, wheeling down the beach and into the surf, followed by a flock of dancing hippy kids. I fall into bed satisfied that as much fun as humanly possible has been squeezed out of Saturday night at ATP.

By the time I’m capable of functioning again, the Sunday lineup is sparse. The headliners are repeated with both Sleep and The Jesus Lizard playing again, even though neither of them were full to capacity on Saturday. Doubling up the headliners was understandable when there was a queue around the block at the Camber Sands site for someone like Sonic Youth, but here it seems excessive, especially considering the ever-escalating ticket price.

Jason Pierce, Spiritualized

I don’t know if my mood is something to do with it, but Parts & Labour seem really weak. I can’t get into Killing Joke, but then I’ve never liked them much really. Spiritualized play a bludgeoning, unsubtle steamroller set of gospel-tinged stadium rock that sounds more Oasis than Spaceman 3. It’s a big, satisfyingly large and solid sound – but size isn’t everything.

It takes the sheer happiness explosion of The Mae Shi to get the blood pumping again – their odd mixture of jerky guitar lines and screamo, and their chubby-faced emo-tinged manboy 90′s pop-punk sound is accompanied by all kinds of ace theatrical stage antics, including their trademark move – covering the crowd with a giant rainbow-coloured cloth canopy. Fun times.

Custard Tart Saga

Chris finally catches up with me – the box of tarts has congealed into a solid mass of soggy pastry and warm custard. The rest of Sunday night is spent playing poker and making a dent in the last tray of beers. I’m too exhausted for the party/melee/dance-off/bro-down down at the Crazy Horse bar this time around.

The next day, I hang around a bit longer than usual as Simon steels himself for the drive after 72 hours of sleep deprivation. Within hours, the hall is full of extended families, and the shutters have gone up on confectionary stalls, and the bouncy castles have been blown up. The main hall is full of Lego-coloured plastic furniture, and the only soundcheck that’s happening is for bingo. I finally fall into the car, and fall asleep, and wake up back in London a few hours later.

Brainlove Records