Get Involved Charabang - Rich Mix (8th May)

Arriving at Shoreditch’s Rich Mix for Get Involved’s Charabang Launch party, I was met with the unfortunate news that the breakdancing magician had to pull out.

That should give you an impression of the eclectic mix of new talent on show at the first Get Involved Charabang last Wednesday night. Magical Bones’ exclusion was a shame, and judging from his YouTube channel it’s a sight to behold, but the night showcased some of the best rising London acts around.

First to the stage was Arthur Lea, who channels the rootsy upbeat New Orleans Jazz of Dr. John with remarkable Jazz piano chops. 

Lea’s got that Delta spirit running through him, rooted in offbeat, bouncy riffs – but his lyrics tell his own story, covering topics from dealing with loneliness to wanting to be a superhero; the latter with audience-participatory zoom! and pow! sound effects. Check out 'Make Do' below.

Next up was the frankly unbelievable beatbox wizard ReepsOne. Reeps is a force of nature, and is able to exploit his vocal chords into producing an unstoppable frenzy of electronic music. He mentions onstage that occasionally he’s hired to play two-hour DJ sets armed with nothing but a mic and PA system, and you can believe it. Close your eyes, and you could be listening to some actually quite brilliant Dubstep, Electro and Drum & Bass.

That’s the most impressive thing – Reeps doesn’t just produce impressive sound effects and sit back for the applause, but moulds and layers them into music you would actually listen to. As he puts it, it’s not replication – it’s creation.

And in true variety show style, we go from the basements of 2010s London to the glamorous Boogie Woogie of 1940s Hollywood with self-proclaimed ‘vintage girl band’ the Tootsie Rollers. The Tootsies stormed through a dazzling setlist of contemporary classics, authentic 40s numbers and an original track that shows they’re past imitation – these girls are the real deal.

Rounding off the night were The Royal Organ Duo. The South East London natives play like Booker T & The MGs and banter like Chas n’ Dave; and use instantly recognisable pop classics as a platform to launch into all kinds of knockout jazz improv. Respective masters of organ and drums, the Royal Organ Duo don’t play covers as such – they take just enough elements of those songs we all know, from Jessie J to Led Zeppelin, and spin off into inspired and unexpected places. If you’ve never heard a lounge jazz play on Stairway to Heaven – now’s your chance.

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Animal Collective - Centipede Hz

Over the last decade, Animal Collective’s journey has been characteristically bizarre, feeling their way through various shades of psychedelic noise pop. Though what they do is pretty hard to pin down, from the gorgeous psych-folk of Feels and Campfire Songs to the whacked-out madness of Strawberry Jam and 2009’s critics’ choice Merriweather Post Pavillion, psychedelia seems a pretty strong place to start when trying to make sense of it all.

That said, making sense of it all is absolutely the last thing you should do with an Animal Collective album. On Merriweather opener ‘In The Flowers’, the line ‘if I could just leave my body for the night’ turns an uncertain, washy picture of a chance meeting with a dancer in a field into a bursting, intense dreamscape that shoots off into the sky and, for an hour’s sensory onslaught, never really comes down.

And here, three years later, after a year and a half of doing whatever the hell it is they do when working on an album, is Centipede Hz. When asked how he would describe the sound of the new album, multi-instrumentalist Deakin helpfully went for “Centipede Hz”. Also, here’s a still from the video for single Today’s Supernatural:

So, there’s that.

Gratifyingly, Centipede Hz winds on in much the same vein as Merriweather. The familiar sonic blitz and sense of curious exploration are intact, but Centipede Hz is its own beast. It’s frantic and noisy, and a lot grander than anything that’s come before. Opener and possible album best ‘Moonjock’ kicks straight into an apocalyptic 7/8 sprawl with Avey Tare and Panda Bear sharing vocals. With Deakin back in the line up and after varied solo efforts, the band is more collected and resolute than ever.

There’s frequent spots of magic through the album – Deakin’s first songwriting credit and lead vocal ‘Wide Eyed’ bounces to its own irresistible groove, and ‘Tomorrow’s Supernatural’ is an organised mess of organ bursts and Avey Tare’s trademark snarls and shouts.

After becoming established in their own special way, every release seems to be hailed as Animal Collective’s most coherent effort to date, or the album that could finally break them into the mainstream. Though Centipede Hz does feel that little bit more like a more lucid and focused collection of songs, replete with catchy hooks and radio-friendly structures (see ‘Wide Eyed’ and ‘Amanita’), it’s as dense and mystifying as ever. Despite having their feet more firmly on the ground, their heads are still up in the clouds.

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Laura Marling & Timber Timbre - Manchester Apollo (9th March)

★★★★

“You guys ready to rock n’ roll tonight?” Timber Timbre’s Taylor Kirk asks the steady collective murmuring of a restless support crowd. “…yeah I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Kirk’s extraordinary brand of spooky swamp folk, sounding like a cross between age-old delta blues and the ghost of M. Ward, unfortunately failed to really capture the imaginations of the seated Apollo crowd. As a big fan, I spent most of the set sulking to myself about this, but the 3500-capacity hall was admittedly a strange environment for a sound that relies so heavily on its own macabre atmosphere and intimate boneyard charm.

Regardless, he kept up the enthusiasm and crooned his heart out, from the wonderful ‘Demon Host’ to a stomping stripped-down version of ‘Bad Ritual’.

Unsurprisingly, the mood was transformed at the entrance of headliner Laura Marling, who peppered new tracks and fan favourites in with songs from her latest album, A Creature I Don’t Know. Demonstrating a guitar-playing fluency well beyond her years, her on-stage presence is made all the more remarkable by her endearingly reserved and minimal on-stage banter. She seems comfortable, but predominantly humble about her clear success, and from asking each member of the band to provide a “fact for the day” to telling the unlikely story behind the name of her debut album, the atmosphere stayed relaxed and inclusive.

She demonstrates an impressive skill, as a musician as well as a songwriter, and the songs are personal, honest and at times, genuinely affecting. 

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Breton - Other People's Problems

Though south Londoners Breton take a lot of their sonic cues from the late 90s electronica of Mezzanine-era Massive Attack, it’s fans of the Rapture, Foals and the Maccabees that will be the most pleasantly surprised. It’s dark, pulsing electronica for established fans of indie rock, but there’s more to Breton than being the next NME poster boys.

In fact, there’s a lot more. They’ve already built up quite a name for themselves with their talent as filmmakers (based in disused-bank-turned-studio BretonLABS), which now translates itself perfectly to meandering, enigmatic music videos and a reportedly stunning live show. After starting to make and perform music to accompany short films, the band’s reputation grew from their notoriety on the south London squat party scene.

Named after the father of surrealism, Andre Breton, and with frontman Roman Rappak’s compulsive recording and mixing of anything and everything that grabs his attention, the band have set their compositional targets pretty high. That’s not to mention the recording of the album in Sigur Ros’ own studio in Rekyavik, and subsequent full orchestration by German composer Haushka.

So far, it’s all pretty impressive, and gratifyingly, Other People’s Problems pays up. It’s deceptively complex, and the ubiquitous thick, cinematic strings add a rare tension and depth to what could all too easily be dismissed as plain old indie electronica. In fact, the albums weakest points are those in which this influence is over-indulged. There’s always a danger to a band like this taking themselves too seriously, but Breton get away with it through sheer talent and artistic sensibility. Overall, it’s expansive and rewarding, and whatever your initial reaction, will be well worth your while.

Out March 26th on FatCat Records

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The Twilight Sad - Ruby Lounge (10th February)

★★★★★

Having just kicked off the tour with a frenzied show in their native Glasgow, frontman James Graham reminisces: “…we came back to Scotland, and we played in a place called Nice ‘n’ Sleazy, and it was my Mum and Dad, and four of our friends that were at the gig, yet we were in New York the week before, playing to about a hundred-and-something people in a packed out venue”. The journey thus far has not been meteoric, but with steadfast honesty and a clear dedication, The Twilight Sad have gradually built up a die-hard and adoring fanbase.

Despite ditching the accordion because “it broke”, the new album does little to build on their trademark melancholy shoegaze, but this has never been a problem for Twilight Sad fans. In fact their consistency is their most impressive achievement, showcased in an ear-splitting and intensely heartfelt set. “One thing I’ve liked about what people have said about the new album is that it’s pretty much unmistakably a Twilight Sad album… I’m glad that it came across that way” says Graham. “People go through ups and downs, and you need to go through them to appreciate the ups, and I think dark music can be uplifting as well”.

Crowd-pleasers ‘And She Would Darken the Memory’ and ‘Cold Days from the Birdhouse’ from their stunning debut Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters blended sweet vocals and solid drums with a fiercely distorted and amorphous guitar that surprisingly loses nothing in their reduced instrumentation onstage. The set is fraught and monumental, though judging by the crowd’s reaction it seems like they’re preaching to the choir.

On the band’s growing popularity, Graham says “I thought that was quite a cool thing, that people wanted to know who the fuck we were. Worse thing is they still don’t know who the fuck we are.”


http://www.student-direct.co.uk/2012/02/21/live-the-twilight-sad-ruby-lounge/

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Marcus Foster @ Deaf Institute (25th November) - Mancunion

★★★★

“I guess I became a hunter quite young, I just for some reason became obsessed with it,” explains Marcus Foster of his love for discovering music. A lifelong fan of Tom Waits and John Martyn, Foster’s music belongs to a different time, and his on-stage presence borrows from an age of vocal theatricality and brutally honest performance.

When I caught up with Foster before the show, he described how his sound came about. “A few years ago I thought I wanted to make a kind of folky record, then Mumford came out and this whole folk thing started happening and I guess I naturally kind of found the electric guitar again.”

“I guess the kind of music I like listening to is primarily about the voice. The voice kind of carries everything, whether or not you play different characters... like the sense of someone just feeling it, the ability to tell a story.”

“I like honesty, people that just go for it. Music that just smacks you in the face, I like that.”

And go for it he does. Undeterred by an unfortunately sparse Deaf Institute crowd, and accompanied only by his own guitar, Marcus Foster holds no punches. His confidence is admirable, and certainly refreshing, but his insistence in pushing every song to its emotional limit makes for a slightly confusing experience.

Of his wide-ranging influences, Foster says “It’s dangerous to be so wide sometimes, it can be like you’re just trying to bring too many ingredients to a recipe, I mean ‘we’re just going to make beans on toast, put the pineapple away...’”, but he’s got nothing to worry about. His weather-beaten voice convincingly lends itself to the old Folk, Rock and Blues he channels, and for those of you still rifling through Oxfam for Alan Lomax compilations; Marcus Foster is well worth a visit.

http://www.student-direct.co.uk/2011/12/05/feature-marcus-foster-deaf-institute/

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Sonic Boom Six @ Moho Live (15th October)

★★

Teenage ska-punk gets a bad rap. Unfortunately, through all their pseudo-political rallying, and 'give yourselves a massive cheer' hyping, Sonic Boom Six didn't do much to dispel its reputation. The night was kicked off with an unexpectedly anarchic and brilliant support set from local hardcore ska-punk hooligans Stand Out Riot, who made good Moho Live's reputation for intense and intimate local gigs. The contagious enthusiasm and brutal confidence of lead singer and trombonist Francis Hunt translated to sheer hedonism in the crowd. In terms of a live experience, especially for a support band, it doesn't get much better.

After such an intense warm-up act, it felt strange to be apparently the only one let down by SB6, who played an enthusiastic but unconvincing hour of angsty, forced and pretty unremarkable tunes in uniform 'I Heart MCR' t-shirts and trucker caps. As a quick look at the crowd makes clear, it is music made for teenagers, designed to be frustrated over at home, then cathartically screamed and fist-bumped to live.

Between distinctly average songs, their on-stage presence consisted of repeated and shameless self-promotion, lazy crowd-pleasing soundbites (there's only so many times you can chant "sound of da police" without wanting to set fire to someone), and the odd manageably political outcry to get everyone all good and angry.

Despite all this, there is something to be said for the show. The introduction of each song sparked huge cheers of recognition, and letting the crowd choose from their back-catalogue was pretty well received. They're not changing the world, but anything that gets a crowd as enthusiastic and damn-near reverent as this Moho Live crowd seemed to be must be doing something right.

In their final song 'Back 2 Skool', lead singer Laila K preaches "...soon I know you never leave the playground", which was pretty unfortunately appropriate to a disappointing set.

http://www.student-direct.co.uk/2011/11/15/live-sonic-boom-six-moho-live/

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Clock Opera @ Sound Control (10th October)

★★★★
Playing an inexplicable second fiddle to Chapel Club’s flat-out uninteresting headline set, those who managed to arrive early enough were rewarded with a fierce and genuinely exciting half hour from experimental synth-rock titans Clock Opera.

Apart from a quick introduction, the band didn’t seem to be too interested in crowd interaction, but the all-too-short set contained enough diversity and raw power to draw their admittedly sparse audience in.
Frontman and songwriter Guy Connelly’s delicate voice bears a definite resemblance to Elbow’s Guy Garvey, but the thunder behind him points at something a hell of a lot more elemental. At times the painstaking sound manipulation on the pre-made samples brought to mind the wavy psychedelia of Feels-era Animal Collective, which only serves as a testament to their songcraft. Their over-reliance on these samples may have put some purists off, but the pot-bashing, crazy-dancing stage presence was more than enough to keep the audience hooked.

Samples aside, Clock Opera can also boast a pretty impressive musical proficiency. The drums were sprawling but thoroughly grounded, and Connelly’s voice was haunting and powerful in equal measure, expertly backed by precise and deep harmonies.

Closer and most recent single ‘Lesson No.7’ started off a with a spooky, chiming manipulated guitar loop and gradually built to a furious bass-heavy hurricane that drew the set to a pretty colossal conclusion.



http://www.student-direct.co.uk/2011/11/11/live-clock-opera-sound-control/

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Girls - Father, Son, Holy Ghost

When Girls' debut Album was released in 2009, it was embraced for all its lo-fi tortured optimism and let's-get-fucked-up-and-love-each-other balladry. The story that led to its conception was pretty damn unbelievable (abandoned son of god-fearing cult members moves to San Francisco, is taken in by local millionaire, starts band with neighbourhood punks), and bandleader Christopher Owens' voice had apparently been tailor-made to break hearts, falling somewhere between Elvis Costello and Ryan Adams' end-of-the-road romanticism.

On Father, Son, Holy Ghost, Owens continues to channel the 60's sunshine pop of Roy Orbison and the Beach Boys, but in an altogether more ambitious, rounded and ultimately satisfying piece of work. Just like on the first album, there's a fresh batch of bouncy anthems about love that immediately sound like songs you've loved all your life, but they're tossed in with the Deep-Purple inspired, riff-heavy 'Die', the heartbreaking 'Vomit', and the world-weary despair of 'Myma' (a contraction of the last lines of the refrain 'so far away from home, and you my Ma'). It's an emotionality that borders on cliché, but lines that could appear over-sentimental and tacky elsewhere are so earnestly and desperately delivered that you can’t help but lend it the same sympathy and understanding that you would a close friend.

As is clear from the offset, the album borrows heavily from the past, but it's hard to imagine Owens' songs delivered in any other way. These are pop songs as they used to be, with all the raw emotion and attention to musical detail intact. Of course, it's got its weaker moments, but all in all Father, Son is anthemic, joyous, genuinely affecting and impossibly endearing in equal measure.



http://www.student-direct.co.uk/2011/10/28/album-girls-father-son-holy-ghost/

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Arctic Monkeys - Suck It And See

Poor Alex Turner. It’s not often the curse of the difficult second album strikes so poetically. When he shuffled on to the scene in 2005, ever the unassuming frontman, Whatever You Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, his aching love letter to the practised art of going out and getting pissed, struck a chord with a generation of teenagers who did little else. The lyrics were disarmingly poetic, and above all else, the album sounded great. It came at a time when people needed their anthems, and an unsuspecting club-going public found them in Alex Turner, their unlikely spokesperson. Unsurprisingly, a headline set at the Reading and Leeds festivals followed, along with a world tour and an entire generation who know the album back to front.

It was then that the curse hit. When you’ve made an album that expresses everything you’ve learnt up to that point, what, then, do you have left to write about? 2007’s Favourite Worst Nightmare came and went, with a couple of expectedly great melodies, and flashes of lyrical brilliance, but little in the way of innovation. Similarly, with a new record collection (Hendrix, Sabbath etc.) and production credits from Josh Homme, Humbugpromised to showcase a brand new, badass incarnation of the Arctic Monkeys, which turned out to be surprisingly convincing. Their guitars sounded thick and impending, and a world-weary Alex Turner was more in his element as a Nick Cave-style balladeer.

Now, a full six years after their debut, Arctic Monkeys’ third shot at relevance is still just wide of the mark. That said, they do sound far more confident in their sound, and the newer influences finally sit comfortably with Turner’s morbid crooning. Matt Helder’s drums are as brutal and fresh sounding as ever, understatedly thrashing through each bouncing melody. At first listen, the tracks hold up. There are enough riffs and hooks to keep you interested, and each line is sung with an underlying melancholy that hints at something much darker underneath the surface.

Problem is though, there’s not.

Lead single ‘Don’t Sit Down ‘Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair’ starts off with a promisingly seedy guitar line and grows into a thundering foot-stomper (special mention again to Matt Helders’ drumkit shitstorm), but save for an oo-oo-oo-yeah-yeah-yeah chorus, even by the end of its three-minute duration it seems tired and unimaginative. There’s plenty of workable stuff here, but every spark of ingenuity is stretched out and exploited, a far cry from the frequent splashes of colour jumping out of the first record.

While the performances are musically spot-on (Matt Helders isthe man), the lyrics and songcraft seem forced and lazy, which regrettably exposes a band firmly resting on their laurels. The greatest shame of all, perhaps, is that the album isn’t bad. Once it gets going, the vision’s there. All My Own Stunts is firmly up there with their best songs, and opener She’s Thunderstorms is a charming jangly anthem, both showing just what this album could have been. They’ve a solid new direction and as a band have an incredible potential to create another classic album, but for whatever reason, it’s yet to arrive.

At the start of the video to 2005’s I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor, a fresh-faced Alex Turner gave us a warning through his awkward teenage diffidence: ‘don’t believe the hype’. Maybe we should have believed him.

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Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

In a 2010 interview with MTV, Kanye West admitted in a rare moment of pseudo-modesty that “I do have a goal in this lifetime to be the greatest artist of all time, [but] that’s very difficult being that I can’t dance or sing”, and in his more vocally ambitious moments on MBDTF, the latter is made abundantly clear. How, then, do you go about proposing your place as the greatest indie-leaning rap megastar in the world? West’s own particular brand of superstar is miles away from the secret-freakshow stadium pop of his hero Michael Jackson. This new proposed superstar marries porn stars in Hell Of A Life, runs his mouth off about douchebags and scumbags in Runaway, and tells just about everyone to kiss his asshole. In fact, as he repeatedly proclaims in his wildly cathartic centre-piece, he’s a motherfuckin’ monster.

The list of guest stars is enough to sell this album alone, with the inclusion of mainstream big-hitters Rihanna, Jay-Z and Rick Ross, as well as a couple of inspired choices from across the board, including Nicki Minaj (Trinidadian no-bullshit brat rapper), Justin Vernon (Wisconsin cabin-folk staple) and John Legend (super-smooth sex-pest crooner). Each disparate guest star brings a fresh take to the Kanye West brand, never once sounding forced or out of place.The ensemble casts on Monster andSo Appalled show each artist off individually, but the message and ambition of the tracks are never lost.

Almost every track stands alone, but in All Of The Lights, West finally has his anthem. It sounds gigantic, and encapsulates his vision and purpose up to this point. The semi-dub-like chorus pops give way to a winding, off-beat groove for the verses, and the feeling of grandeur never lets up. As a single, it’s certainly catchy, with Rihanna’s club sing along chorus, but shows enough intelligence and dexterity to demonstrate just how good pop music can be.

The genius of this album is not in the performances (despite the all-star cast), nor is it in some great, sign-of-the-times lyrical statement. West’s saving grace, and his brilliance as a performer, is his unflinching dedication to his music.

West relies on a deep knowledge of sound and attitude, together with his own tortured musings on 21st century stardom, to deliver a statement so grand and decadent, yet ultimately insular and personal, that you can’t help but think this is the greatest record he could make. The attitude is not one of ego and self-promotion (much as he’d like you to think), rather it shows a tenacious self-belief, and a rejection of any suggestion of modesty, self-consciousness and self-sacrifice. Kanye West isn’t the messiah, but he is sure as hell trying his best.

“Have you lost your mind/Tell me when you think we’ve crossed the line/No more drugs for me/Pussy and religion is all I need/Grab my hand and baby we’ll live a hell of a life”

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