Avatar - Comets on Fire

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Comets on Fire

SubPop

Comets on Fire’s sound is a mess of dreadnought riffs, sky-scraping spherical freak out and tribal drums. A sound not unlike watching burning comets in the Mojave Desert wacked on mescaline. It’s a kool-aid acid test for the stoner generation.

They may stray a little too close to the world of prog for some tastes, but the sheer weight of the music and the dense knotted playing steals the day. Welcome to the wide open space of The Comets. Let them burn into the fabric of your mind’s eye.

Tony Heywood (c)

Low Lows - Five Ways I Didn't Die

Found this lovely live take of a new Low Lows track Five Ways I Didn't Die from their second LP Little Tigers . It has a kind of acoustic shuffle, its like a long lost Sun recording, a missing demo of a Elvis track with lyrics by Van Dyke Parks and vocals by Lou Reed. Lets hope of the whole LP is up to this standard. Enjoy !

Five Ways I Didn't Die (Live)

Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly Bristol October 2006

Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly

@ Academy 2, Bristol, 16 October 2006

Sam Duckworth aka Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly stands with his fringe soaked in sweat beaming like a Cheshire cat. He has just finished wowing the crowd with a rousing version of I Spy. The sleek and soulless Bristol Academy 2 has been well and truly rocked. Its low ceiling and black interior alive with the glistening faces of a hundred plus happy punters. The performance had started slightly aimlessly. The last two tracks that had pounded out of PA before he took the stage were The Clash's Train in Vain and Rock the Casbah. Whether it was statement of intent by Duckworth or a stitch up by the sound engineer, it's a fairly difficult pair of songs to follow. Duckworth, augmented by a small band, opened with the leading two tracks from The Chronicles of a Bohemian Teenager. It felt as if he was sizing up the crowd and that they were assessing him. A punk rock folk singer signed to a major label. Was he for real? Did he believe, did he have the drive and commitment? Well over 180 gigs in the past year strikes me as committed. From the arse end of nowhere to festival Stages, the boy just wants to play. Lean, taut and punching hard, this was a focused and sharp gig. He and his band are in fighting form. Much has been made of Duckworth’s politics and today he didn't shy away from attacking apathy, consumerism and racism. Yet much like Billy Bragg before the miners strike, the politics are personal more than party political. It's a humanist stance that he believes in. It seemed to gel well with the audience apart from the three twats in front of me who seemed to have wandered into the wrong gig. I think they where looking for Prince Harry’s girlfriend. To mock someone for their anti consumerism stance is okay if you have no soul. To openly joke about anti-racism is stupid, dumb and not something you should air in public unless you want a slap. The version of Glass Houses that follows burns with righteous passion Live, Duckworth's material had rougher edges. His vocals are pleasantly ragged, his voice becoming an emotional rasp. The energy levels never waned despite monitors being climbed and Duckworth dashing around the small stage with his acoustic guitar in hand. His love/hate relationship with his native Southend is laid bare in a mainly acoustic reading of Lighthouse Keeper. The desire to escape his McJob future written large in the way he bellowed: "Although the arcades shine bright, they don't have the glow of the city lights." These songs seem to have been torn from his psyche. The singles lifted from the LP provide the crowd with a host of sing along moments. I Spy is the Wonderwall dynamic stripped to its bones and rewritten for the No Logo generation. Call Me Ishamel takes flight, the crowd embracing the song like a long lost friend. The band come back and encore with a cover of the Steve Miller Band's Abracadabra and it brings the house down. Welcome to the world of Southend’s own musical superhero. Catch him before he soars up to much bigger venues. - Tony Heywood First Published on Music OMH Sam doing I SPY - In Yeovil

The Boyfriends - The Boyfriends

The Boyfriends - The Boyfriends

A certain Mr Steven Patrick Morrissey hand picked the The Boyfriends to provide the support on his UK tour. From the opening bars on their eponymously titled debut LP is easy to hear why. Martin Wallace's croon bears a striking resemblance to the bard of Manchester's own weary tones. The band punch their instruments with the passion that fired The Smiths.

There is a crackle, a swoon, a thump that rushes out of your speakers in vaguely 1980's indie style. But are the Boyfriends more than a bunch of Handsome Devils, a gang of Charming Men? Does the music oscillate wildly or is it a pale imitation or a well thumbed record collection? Are The Boyfriends a miserable lie?

Well, strike me down with a feather, hang out the bunting and turn off your phone. This is something to treasure. Despite my huge reservations and my obsession with The Smiths, I am smitten with this record. There is more than enough invention, wit, wisdom and zeal here to mark the Boyfriends out as something special - a rare band, even. Wallace's words are by turns heartfelt, funny, clever and well observed.

Thankfully all the quick word play is not lost in a stew of Albion skiffle. That fragile indie sound that has ruled the roost since Pete and Carl split is nowhere to be seen. The lyrics soar across the ominous mechanical throb generated by the band. If you were looking to The Smiths for reference then this would be them in their post The Queen Is Dead glory. This is not meek or delicate - the guitars lash like Bernard Butler jamming with The Who.

The opening Brave Little Soldiers is a bold statement of intent. A set of chords ripped through with glorious abandonment, the rhythm snarls with dark intent. The lyric a call to arms, a plea to keep your dignity and your individuality in face of indifference. The guitar riff is as catchy as a common cold. British Summer Time opens on a reverb heavy riff that builds slowly to its Graham Coxon style fractured melody.

When Martin Wallace sings "It is far too a nice day to be in playing scrabble, let's slap on some factor 15 on and join the half naked rabble..." I can't suppress a smile. The picture he paints of London hanging out in the summer time would make Ray Davies proud. It could be a Blur classic apart from the fact that Wallace displays empathy for his subject matter and not misplaced scorn. The military drum rolls match the mood delightfully.

The bassline and toms that open Adult Acne provide Richard Adderley the space to show off his chops. From atonal sparks, via wah wah funk to the chiming chorus, the playing is a master class in precision; mind your backs for a new guitar hero. Adderley further enhances his reputation with the dissolving chords that open I Love You. An aching plea, a declaration of love that pricks the skin like a tattoo needle, leaving an impression long after the sensation has faded. The guitars are like whiplash on the bullet train. There is Always Hope closes the LP in a slowly drifting maze of melody and noise. Eight minutes of melancholy bliss.

Everything here is disciplined and succinct, nothing over stays its welcome, the whole collection hums with purpose. The only thing that stops me declaring it a stone cold classic is a certain lack of variation. It's nick picking really. This is music of passion and soul. If you miss this you're a fool.

- Tony Heywood (C)

Fire on the Bright Sky - Low Lows

Fire on the Bright Sky - Low Lows

Monotreme Records

The Low Lows have arisen from the ashes of NYC dream pop band Parker & Lily. I have to whisper it quietly. I can’t quite believe what I am hearing. The ghost of Galaxy 500 haunts the grooves of this record. The mesh of melody and noise, the languid grace, blissed out chord progressions and dark undertows. Think the Velvet Underground drinking with Big Star. These songs hang suspended in heavenly reverb. PL Noon’s weary croak slides in-between the guitar storms and organ flashes. Restless, burnished, bruised and beautiful.

Tony Heywood ©

Originally published in Mercury Moon

Beast Moans - Swan Lake

Beast Moans

Swan Lake

Jagjaguwar

Swan Lake are a supergroup formed from various leading lights of the Canadian indie underground. They blend aspects of the new weird folk of the Akron Family or Espers with a fractured post prog stew. Melodies take sudden left turns; vocals are processed to oblivion, jarring instrumental passages are grafted onto sunshine strumalongs. Odd for the sake of it. Yet All Fires rises above the convoluted chaos through its sheer emotional weight and conviction, and Swimming In Her Pools has a certain naïve charm.

Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan Bristol 25th January 2007

Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan – St Georges Bristol – 25th January.

Isobel Campbell’s soft tones are darting around the black hole of Mark Lanegan rasp as he sings “the flame that’s burns’. The crowd is in rapture, clapping along with some spirited prompting from Isobel Campbell. It’s a new composition for the crowd to absorb and the first signs of something stirring up on stage. A spark at last in evening that was threatening to hang suspended. Mired in good intentions but lacking soul

The genesis of The Ballad of Broken Sea’s, written and arranged by Campbell with Lanegan adding his vocals in America, always posed the question of chemistry. How would a studio based project recorded by vocalists in different studio translate on stage? How well do they know each other? Would it gel?

They wandered onto the stage at St Georges to loud applause from the eager crowd. They are a striking pair up on what once had been an altar. Lanegan in his scuffed apparel, dark denim, a menacing presence. His frame and manor mark him out as dark avenger, Harry Powell in The Climate of The Hunter singing the Nick Cave song book. He struggles with the mike stand extending it up reach his height. Isobel Campbell’s looks slight, a furtive, benign jumble of June Carter Cash and classical musician. Dressed in an emerald green 50’s frock and a fetching pink bow tied around her waist. A chair and a cello beside her position on the left of Lanegan.

Revolver opens the show but fails to ignite. Lanegan voice is even deeper live, a low rumble. He grips the mike and stares out into space, his baritone as dark and bleak as a murder victim’s grave. It fills the empty spaces, the hidden hollows in this old church with ease. Unfortunately Campbell ’s voice seems paper thin in contrast, getting lost in the wide open acoustics of the cold stone walls.

It wouldn’t be an issue if there vocals blended as sweetly as they do on record. The light and shade is missing, only Lanegan’s darkness seems to have turned up. The opening tracks are underwhelming. A combination of nerves, lack of familiarity and the difficult atmosphere of St Georges ruining any chance of building a momentum.

There is no audible communication between Isobel and Mark, they look lost, like a couple on a first date or an aging partnership after one hell of a row. It gets worse. Lanegen keeps disappearing off stage. Maybe he is watching Celebrity Big Brother. Maybe downing a drink or ten, as you can’t bring them into the stage area. He could be doing both at the same time, it would be more entertaining that the opening section of the gig.

During one of Lanegan’s absences the gig starts to take flight. Reaching for a series of notes at the top end of her range and missing them Campbell visibly relaxes. It dawns on her that she can take risks and fail. Fail and not be rebuked by the audience. Her confidence blossoms and the mood improves markedly. There is a lightness in her voice, a playful skip in her step.

Lanegan returns and they rattle through a couple of well chosen covers. Bob Dylan’s Little Sadie has been previous recorded by Lanegan and he comes alive during the delivery. The version of Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood’s Sand is enlivened by a funky little stylophone solo from Campbell . It helps that the stronger cuts from The Ballad of Broken Seas are keep over to the end. The Circus Is Leaving Town is tight and focused, the riff bouncing off the heads of the congregation. Honey Child What Can I Do finally delivers on the promise of the LP. The voices blend perfectly, they soar upwards alive with a passion. Then its over, a beaming smile from Campbell and a wave from Lanegan. A great end to an imperfect gig.

Tony Heywood (c)

Isobel and Mark Live in London on the same tour....

Plague Songs

The concept LP seems to have had a shot in the arm in recent years. From Magnetic Fields 69 Love Songs via Sufjan Stevens recent projects and the prog metal of Mars Volta the left field seems to have embraced the concept LP to its heart.Plague Songs is slightly different. A concept LP ? Sure, but from an arty and obscure genesis this collection was birthed. Ten songs, ten plagues and one of the most original and arresting anthology of music you will hear this year. The soundtrack to a live art installation of the ten plagues of Egypt set in the rainy English seaside town of Margate. Part Wickerman, part Blair Witch part mixtape for the end of the world.The beauty of the collection, its strength lies in the wide variety of contributors and their differing takes on the source material. Plagues Songs glides effortlessly from the sodastream pop of Imogen Heap into the charcoal black nightmare of Scott Walker onto the bluesy piano based lament of Rufus Wainwright. Each artist has taken the subject matter and buckled the narrative, corroded the source. The approaches differ across a broad spectrum of musical tone and voice. The opening track by Klashnekoff mixes biblical quotes, stuttering grime beats and dense vocals flows to evoke dread and tension. King Creosote's Relate the Tale take the plague of frogs and tells it from the perspective of a frog, his dulcet tones riding atop a jaunty acoustic backing. It’s surprisingly effective and touching. Brian Eno and Robert Wyatt tackle the plague of files with a maze of ambient noise and fly buzzing. Scott Walker pares back the mesh of the nightmarish Drift into a murmur of percussion and vocals. His voice hushed and mumbled is thrown against a choir of pitch shifted shrill cries. The result is a cacophony of disquiet and fear. As clammy and claustrophobic as the plague of darkness it describes.Yet for all its dark subject matter there is light and humor on show. Stephen Merrit takes the plague of Lice and sets it against a New Order style backing and laces it with his dark wit. Cody Chesnutt soaks the plague of boils in New Orleans horns and a funky shuffle. The stand out track is The Tiger Lillies Hailstones. A broken boned tale of taking class A drugs in a tin shack. .Marytn Jacques vocals blend perfectly with the bowed saw and piano melody of pure grief. Startling and wonderful. This is an engaging and arresting listen. Get yourself a little bit of the plague

Written for KevChino.com

Original Review post

http://www.kevchino.com/index.aspx?review=1147

Billy Bragg - Vol 1

The first time I heard Billy Bragg sing was on breakfast TV. He ripped through a rousing version of It's Say Here and I dropped my school bag in shock: I had never witnessed anything like it. Punk rock folk music if you please.

The sound of a cheap untreated electric guitar, a pin sharp eye for details and the spirit of The Clash without the rock 'n' roll posing. The self confessed big nosed bard of Barking shredding the idea of press freedom, the royal family and tabloid double standards in under three minutes. I had never realised that music could jab like that, carry real meaning and be delivered with such white knuckle conviction. I was hooked.

Listening to Billy Bragg's work in a block like this I am struck by how consistent, strong and passionate his song writing is. Vol 1 contains seven CDs: the first three studio LPs plus the International mini LP and various EPs, live tracks and B-sides. There are also two DVDs of live material. It's a testament to Billy Bragg's ability that there is no filler on here at all.

I have always felt that to define or stereotype him simply as jukebox for the likes of Arthur Scargill is to miss the point. There's no denying that he is a political songwriter, and a brilliant one at that, but there is so much more to this Karl Marx set to music. Much later in his career he sung of having "a socialism of the heart", and from the opening bars of his debut LP you are in little doubt that this is true. On the songs on these CDs - be they protest songs, love songs or a genre breaking mix of both - it is the humanity, warmth and empathy that shines through.
The songs on Life's A Riot With Spy vs Spy and Brewing Up With Billy Bragg still sound raw, vital and basic. You get Billy, his gruff vocals and the sound of a budget guitar plugged into a practice amp. The music here makes the The White Stripes sound like ELO. In an age when someone like Tears For Fears would spend two months on a drum sound the rawness of these recording was startling and revolutionary. It was a conscious attempt to distil music back to its very core.

If you compare Man In The Iron Mask from the first LP and Myth of Trust from the second you get a clear example of his skill as a wordsmith and writer. Both are tales of affairs, the first told from the point of view of the injured party, the second from someone who is cheating on their partner. Man In The Iron Mask is pure pain loneliness and defeat. It's a love song of sorts that subverts the macho swagger of rock music with something more human and truthful. On Myth Of Trust Bragg peels away the bravado of the love affair and exposes the rotten, self-serving disgust at the centre. This ability to cut through to the core is something that places him above the vast majority of his peers.

The songs come thick and fast, the love songs Saturday Boy, St Swithin's Day, A Lover Sings; the politics, Island of No Return, Ideology, To Have And Have Not. When the political meets the personal on tracks like Levi Stubbs' Tears, Between The Wars and Home Front, Bragg was forging a new type of soulful folk music, a blend of left wing politics and warm heartfelt observation. In a post Blair world where socialism has become a four-letter word, we need the likes of Billy Bragg more than ever. It's shameful that in days like these no-one has taken up the torch.


The rare tracks are a treat for any long term fan: A13 Trunk Road To The Sea spins Route 66 through Essex to Southend. Back To The Old House is a glorious cover of The Smiths track, the live version of A Lover Sings has Johnny Marr throwing in the riff from This Charming Man.
It always made me chuckle that Bragg managed to fuse, soul, Woody Guthrie-styled politics and killer tunes to a degree that Paul Weller never managed after The Jam. Soul music doesn't live in stylised backing tracks or the clothes that you wear but in the heart and soul of the performer. This is soul music and Billy Bragg is a soul singer. You need to hear these songs: they will make you life better.

Original Review for Music OHM

http://www.musicomh.com/albums5/billy-bragg-2_0306.htm

Tom Waits

The wonderful Tom Waits is back in the news with the release of Orphans.
Have a listen to this great interview around the time of Blood Money and Alice.

He discusses his musical development, Johnny Cash covering his songs. He quest to grow old quickly, he voice is like gravel and whiskey cocktail. A wonderful half hour.

Tom Waits Interview