A New Band A Day

I Was A King, Attempts At Miserablism and Fjords

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 09:43:00 +0000

Norway: a country of intense natural beauty, endless sunshine and the highest standards of living in the world. No wonder that I Was A King make music that's so happy the songs themselves are fit to burst, right?

Well, kind of. I get the feeling that I Was A King are a little... well, bored of all the good times, and are trying out this whole 'miserable' thing, you know - to see what it's like. Naturally they partly fail, but that's no bad thing, resulting, as it does, in songs that throb with bliss and only tinged with sadness.

A pop song with 'hit' writ large all over it, Norman Bleik's melody is a lightly trodden dance straight into Teenage Fanclub territory - hence the name - and it's chiming, charming and purer than mountain water. Norman Bleik isn't the first song to press Byrds-y wistfulness into My Bloody Valentine's warm blizzard of noise, but it is the first for a long time to do so this successfully.

Best Wishes mines the same rich vein of dreamy, fuzzy melody, a songs whose saccharine stylings are tempered with washes of well-measured blissed-out Shoegaze guitars.

I Was A King meld icy Scandinavian sweetness, duvet-cosy feedback and (whisper it) Britpop choruses to form their own musical fjord. Cleverer than you'll initially give it credit for, sadder than you'd dare hope, and drenched with sunny yearning. Delightful.

PS: They're playing at the Ja Ja Ja Scandi-showcase in London in a week's time. Don't miss them.

Photography By Silje Andersen

Wild Palms, Terrorism and Haircuts

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 09:59:00 +0000

A few years ago, a frankly bizarre incident involving avant-garde noise-troubadours Godspeed You! Black Emperor, a confused petrol station clerk, and a crack FBI team who swooped to arrest them. Why was Oklahoma's finest called into handcuff-clicking action so swiftly? Because the clerk thought they 'looked unusual'.

On such small sartorial details the security of the free world pivots. And if GY!BE look like terrorists, then I'm surprised that Wild Palms can pop to the cornershop for milk without being bundled into a sensory deprivation cell.

They don't look like terrorists, you see, just a bit... unusual. Put it this way: if sporting 80's Liverpudlian scally haircuts and migraine-loud stay-press shirts was a crime, Wild Palms wouldn't dare get on stage for fear of red laser-sight dots appearing on their foreheads.

Thankfully, this uneasiness of dress translates directly into their music - the punctuation-mocking ......Over.....Time..... is an odd, angular swirl riddled with awkwardness and a chopping guitar sound of real beauty.

The beat insists but never touches the terrors of disco-rock, and shows an appreciation of 80's Indie without slavishly copying any of it. ....Over....Time.... is a song that could propel the band to deserved renown.

If so, then many more will feel Reason Dazzled battering ears and hearts with its exuberance, all bare popping drums and shrieking guitars; Bleached White will thrill as a lost B52's b-side covered by The Fall.

Wild Palms: too odd to be arrested, too good to be kept down. Great.

Etienne Jaumet, and Paul McCartney's Unusually Chestnut Brown Hair

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

I recently read an article claiming that Paul "L'Oreal Chestnut Brown Tint For Men" McCartney wrote The Long And Winding Road for Tom Jones, who then turned it down. Doubtlessly he was too busy struggling in and out of his tight trousers and brushing his chest hair to contemplate hollering a song written by a mere Beatle.

I find that just too hard to believe. OK, The Long And Winding Road is almost unbearably sentimental to listen to without spontaneously vomiting, but still, why would Tom say no?

Most interesting of all is the fact that Macca wrote songs for for others whilst in the Beatles.

But it seems all artists feel the need to spread their abilities, terrified by the prospect of confinement by the group aesthetic. Albeit, in Paul's case, this confinement would have been from The bloody Beatles, a claustrophobic arrangement most people could probably just about live with.

Etienne Jaumet is one half of the interesting Zombie Zombie, is in a host of other bands, and yet still craves independence. Thankfully, I may add, as his LUST FOR SOLO GLORY has resulted in a cluster of sparse, delicate and addictive electronica.

Entropy is a deliciously restrained, techno shudder that ramps up the tension as it maintains its steady onward trundle. Inevitably, it fizzles and dies before any anticipated bassy explosion.

While minimalism is key to Etienne's music, he's also an eclecticist: Madeleine is as a birdwatcher's audio cast-off, a Commodore 64-obsessive's record collection and an easy-listening connoisseur's choice cut, all in one.

Perhaps Etienne Jaumet's music is a side-project, something made to pass the time or simply an audio investigation. Like, Whatever: the end result is curious, relaxing, and unexpected, in that order.

Stained Glass Heroes, Baby Cannibalism and Rap-Rock

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Think your life's crappy? Pah. I've just read Cormac McCarthy's The Road, which, as far as I can tell, was nothing more than a literary exercise on the author's part to redefine the word 'bleak'.

In The Road, McCarthy takes the meaning to whole new levels of shuddering misery from whence the word itself can now only be written in a special ink made from a mixture of the ground bones from your recently deceased cat, and orphans' tears.

So, all you struggling writers looking for work, and new bands (who are on the road in a very different manner), read the book and take heart. Life looks better when you haven't had to cannibalise babies for food yet.

Stained Glass Heroes' Insects is pretty menacing and post-apocalyptic itself, albeit with more of an exoskeletal slant. The guitars grind mechanically, the vocals are crooned through the last remaining walkie-talkie, and the chorus is a relentless insectoid scuttle. It's a rather brilliant, rather camp, lurching monster of a song with a hook that you'll hum robotically for aeons.

Dashing quickly from Schlock-rock to edge-of-reason drumbeat fiasco, Turkish Wedding shakes with lunatic precision, drawing all around it into a wild, circular, rhythmical shimmy.

Uncomfortably close in name to dreadful US Rap-Rock (urgh) outfit Gym Class Heroes they may be; but if Stained Glass Heroes are the musical accompaniment to the apocalypse, I for one will enjoy my senseless killing and pillaging rampage just that little bit more. Sharpen your butcherin' knives and listen here!

Wonderswan and A Critical Re-Appraisal Of Toploader's Legacy

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

There's a lot more to be said about band names - though any serious conversation rarely gets beyond the the early-naughties' monumentally awful, ear-bothering, ooh-look-at-us-aren't-drugs-naughty fatuousness of Toploader's moniker.

They were endorsed by Jamie Oliver, for heaven's sake, a folly of such magnitude that the repercussions went full circle, beyond the 'unparalleled idiocy' category and into the public's affections.

And the worst news of all? Toploader are reforming. It says so on Wikipedia, so it must be true. Start stocking up on tinned goods now - the apocalypse is nearly upon us.

Some past new bands have chosen more acceptably outré names, producing musical hat-tippings to obscure Japanese videogame consoles - see Golau Glau's Virtual Boy, and the entire output of fuzzy bleep specialist Kezzie Beat - but Wonderswan are the first to actually name the band themselves after one.

The fact that they produce delightfully grainy rock instead of the 8-bit Chiptune bleeping you'd expect means that extra kudos is to be swivelled towards Wonderswan. Then heap even more on them as you revel in the 90's Americana lo-fi sounds of Furrrpile, a whining and crunchy song so slack that it is almost anti-rock.

And before you ask, yes, there are great big dollops of Pavement in their sound, but no lo-fi band can avoid that trapping. But songs like Curve step daintily away from Malkmus and co, occupying their own, shoegaze/lo-fi (Shoe-fi? Lo-gaze? Shlo-Faze?) space - cranky, broad and fuzzier than a teenage boy's chin.

Wonderswan are from Leeds, but could have stepped straight out of the bare, dusty midwest landscape that I (wrongly) picture all US lo-fi/hi-brain function bands to be living in. If their presence is a blast from the past, it's a very welcome one.

PS: Pavement are reforming too. Look out for the Pavement/Toploader double-header tour.

Ghosts (No, Not Those Ghosts)

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Now that the unholy trinity of The Laptop, The Internet and Garage Band allows every man and his dogged devotion to Dubstep to become a band, there's an increasingly common problem.

Actually, there's a whole raft of new problems, most of which stem from the astonishingly asinine nature of the majority of these half-hearted efforts which seem to be created purely to allow another sequin-T-shirted goon to boast to his 'peeps' in the pub that he's, like, a musician, yeah?

But I digress. The main problems are the band names themselves. Even though English has over a million words to choose from, the same words keep getting chosen for more than one band, and thus squabbling ensues.

So Ghosts aren't the same as these Ghosts. Or these Ghosts, these Ghosts or this Ghost. Lawyers: on your marks, get set, SUE! Today's Ghosts in question are nothing like any of the others, which will at least help you to differentiate between them when confusion arises on iTunes.

Ghosts' music is, well, ghostly. No Lake is all thick mist, throbbing murk and swirling sonic fog. Don't be shocked if you experience both a sudden chill and visions of a dead body lying twisted beneath icy water.

Ghosts are smart enough to extrapolate this sound into songs that have more soul - and Young Ghosts is the result: a rusty two minute pop song. It hisses and pops like a 1900's wax cylinder discovered in a time capsule, and drone eerily, all the while maintaining a simple pop sensibility.

Ghosts are a band swamped in fuzz, enveloped in age and washed in sepia. They are from another, indefinable age - not tomorrow, today or even yesterday. Their sound is fresh but rotted, pure and dirty like a bloodied wedding dress. Nice.

Coyote Eyes, and IKEA/ADHT/H1N1

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Looking for new bands by wading through Myspace - which sometimes can resemble an endless, IKEA ball-pit playroom populated only by ADHT snot-nosed kids with Swine Flu and soundtracked by a million Coldplay-a-likes - can be a genuinely despairing experience, especially when one drab band after another is whelped into your lap.

Today, it took an uncommon amount of time before the abrasive buzz of Clumsy by Coyote Eyes served as a very welcome reminder that it was all worth it. Like a disproportionate number of sharp new things at the moment, Coyote Eyes summon from Brooklyn and make rugged, metallic, yelps from somewhere far beyond comfort.

Yellow Red is bloody and raw, searing and naive; juddering with sweet and sour vocals and guitars that slope and slide muddily. Out Of Mind is a slow gentle cry, bandaged, dabbed and dried, with a chorus drenched in mania - purposely built for fey Indie kids to sing along to.

Their songs are cleverly built and lackadaisically compiled - and this combination of spirit and slumber leaves them with a selection of songs that are uneasy but enthralling. Coyote Eyes prod at your worries but leave you strangely soothed.

Photography by Michael Seto for L Magazine // Northside Festival

October's Top Five New Bands!

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Ah, October, the month that plays merry sartorial havoc with outergarment selection. On the first day of the year that pulling on the goose-down lined half-coat/half-duvet for the first time seems like the correct, mother-pleasing thing to do, warmth and sun inevitably follow.

Likewise, after donning a flimsy cagoule the next day, the wind and rain lash cruelly. October, you cannot compensate for such mischievousness with mere orange leaves, you know.

Luckily for us, October's new bands actually tried to cheer us up - a typically motley crew of the good, the weird and the grouchy (see # 1 for more).

So, in no particular order:

Nutrition On Tape - ANBAD said: "Nutrition On Tape's music is a jabbering, eddying salute to the last 30 years' pop music. Songs waft in through the window and tickle your ears: tomorrow today. Clever, bright and alive."

Ace Bushy Striptease - ANBAD said: "Ace Bushy Striptease are a band brimming with youth, fun coming out of their eyeballs and an ear for a great tune. Expect great things"

Swing Youth - ANBAD said: "Simple things done simply. Swing Youth are a lovable bunch, with a selection of songs that demand dancing. They're happy and alive, and happy to be alive. Nice hair, too."

We Aeronauts - ANBAD said: "We Aeronauts are charmers: intelligent, educated and talented. If you met them in a bar, you'd ask them out on a date."

And October's Best New Band Is...

Egyptian Hip Hop - ANBAD said: "The drummer wore a swine-flu face mask. The band swapped instruments for each song. No smiles were cracked at any point. They were so androgynous, they may have been bred in giant petri dishes."

Listen, we thought we'd hate them too, especially after everything we were told about them. But they're great - a band whose crafty creativity is equalled by the sheer bulk of hair balancing on their heads.

So congratulations Egyptian Hip Hop! Not that they'll be pleased - even if the slenderest of smiles form on their faces, they won't be seen though the fringes. The grumpy so-and-so's.

ANBAD Probes... Forest Fire

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 15:00:00 +0000

Forest Fire were the band who blazed (Boom! Boom!) a trail onto ANBAD back in September and wowed us all with their grimy, shambling, rock. We frothed at the mouth a bit, and spouted such platitudes as:

"Their music has that vital ingredient: unconfined individuality. Yum. A really very good new band."

All of which would have been just lovely if I hadn't then tried to crowbar some dreadful cooking analogy into the article. (But for those of you who simply love boiled octopus, you're in for a treat.)

Still, I wanted to fan the flames of Forest Fire (last one, honest) a bit more, and so had a chat with the band to see where they were, where they are going, and to hear of their plans to violently assault Bob Dylan. They spoke in italics, thusly:

Hello Forest Fire! How the devil are you?

Well, thanks.

Where are you in the world right now? What do you see? And what is good about that place?

Seattle. Dogs. Coffee.

You've been gigging for a while now - are you the kind of band whose records are a document of their live shows, or are the live shows an expansion of your records?

Second one.

Where in particular have you enjoyed gigging?

We actually had a great time playing in London. France was great as well. But we are such a new band, every show still feels like the first.

I got a bit breathless over your music in my review of you, in particular the lovely shambolic nature of your songs. They sound like they fell together haphazardly - is this right, or is your creative process more tightly focused?

They fell together, but I wouldn't say haphazardly. We took a really long time on Survival. We started out with flawed recordings, and then balanced them out with careful and laborious overdubbing.

From where I'm sat (which is under gloomy skies in Manchester, UK), Brooklyn seems to have an exciting and vibrant music scene. Is that true, and if so, what is particularly good about it? Which other good bands are there to look out for?

I think it must be true. But Scenes are limiting right? Check out Hologram, Shilpa Ray and Her Happy Hookers, and Goodbye the Band.

Your music is getting people nicely hot under the collar. Where do you go from here now that you know you've caught eyes, ears and possibly hearts too?

Well, that's very nice of you to say. Thanks a lot. I feel like we just want to follow each song to it's end. That's all we ever really aim to do.

And speaking of endings - finally: if you could meet any musical hero, who would it be, what one question would you ask them, and what drink would you buy them?

Dylan. I'd Throw a drink in his face. After I heard the song "Sarah" I couldn't pick up a pen or a guitar for about a month.

And with that, they were off, possibly to leave magnifying glasses in wooded areas full of paper-dry scrub whilst shooting fireworks into Californian hillsides. Or not. Their lovely album, Survival, is out now.

Photography by Victoria Jacob

Lost Knives - Or, How To Be Superceded By The Lure Of A Kebab

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 09:52:00 +0000

This post ought to have featured last week, when Manchester's In The City New Music Conference was relevant, current and new. I wanted to see Lost Knives quite badly, but was 'held up watching another band'.

A quick glance at the schedule would reveal that I was at the Dutch Uncles gig, but a delve into the truth would expose that I had holed up in a kebab shop and was shoving dubious spicy meat into my idiot face.

I wished I'd seen them, especially when, the next day, talk of their performance was a drizzle of positive chatter. My guilt was compounded when one the band then sent me an email asking if I'd seen them play.

So this review is part praise, part apology, and part admission of dumb servitude to a base need for cheap meat. Lost Knives are a good band, who will succeed regardless of any shabby chuntering on a new music blog.

If they do make it, it will have been their songs that drove them there. Tracks like Cold Morning are rumbustious enough to please the indie purists and to shake the rest from their slumber. A foot stomper in the very truest sense, Lost Knives throw big chord changes, clobbering drums and gritted-teeth vocals in, and get skyscraping rock in return.

Laden with end-of-world doom and shoot-to-the-moon ambition, it's a song as wide-eyed as it is jittering with aggro. Lost Knives are less spicy, but more meaty than any amount of grilled, skewered meat. Praise indeed.

The Platers, and The Unremitting Tedium Of Country And Western

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Ask anyone and they''ll tell you, with a Harrumph!: New Indie isn't anything like Old Indie.

But just imagine if your favourite musical genre never changed, and the bands simply ground out the same old songs time and time again. The tedium would be hell - unless of course you're a country music fan, in which case you'd be in familiar territory.

Still, revisiting the past is fine as a nostalgic exercise now and then. The Platers make no bones about it: 'Indie music like they used to make it', indeed. And you know - they're right. The Last Days Of The Holidays sounds like a Popguns record, with guitars that jangle so aggressively, crushing puny indie kids with a mighty wall of treble.

In Proper Indie Pop fashion, the song is wistful, trembling and slight. Fretting and not wanting to go home from summer holidays is the stuff of 80's bedroom 7" enthusiasts, all right. As is Stand And Fall, which shambles into a wonderfully soaring, chiming chorus that would sit perfectly on any TDK C90 mixtape.

The danger with so blatantly dipping into the past is that you run the risk of becoming a pastiche - and in a genre that values realness, this is the least Indie trait of all. Fortunately The Platers dodge this Indie Pop Crime thanks to a sincere love of the songs from the past, and their efforts to create their own pay off. Turn down the guitar fuzz and turn up The Platers!

Squinancywort - Anonymity Rules

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 10:59:00 +0000

You know what to expect from modern leftfield electronic music by now. Made as a one person/laptop hybrid operation, the creator will hide behind a bank of deliberately obtuse sounds, strange imagery (musical and visual) and a series of curious song and artist names.

So far, so predictable. What makes returning to these seemingly identikit bands worthwhile are the songs - each invariably packed with more original sonic ideas than a lifetime of indie jangling.

They might not make you hum along, or think about poverty, or chew your Subway footlong in time (that's Coldplay's job), but if you're an audio magpie like me and just want to hear something shiny and new, you'll keep going back and back and back for more.

Squinancywort: see? That's the spirit. Odd name, anonymous creator, pictures of flora and fauna on the Myspace page. According to the Basic Rules, all these signifiers are to be ignored, so let's do just that and get to the music, yeah?

An Exultation Of Skylarks, vast, ominous and throbbing, sounds almost random in its composition, but grows in a way that could only be through the interference of a creator (divine or otherwise). Gorgeted Puffleg is a similarly spiralling, all-consuming affair, and is the kind of music that could lull you to sleep or keep you awake depending on your circumstances.

Squinancywort makes sounds that hum, whistle and devour themselves in one relentless forward motion. Success here is defined by the distance the songs put between themselves and normality, and on that basis, Squinancywort is a strange, winningly creative curio.

We Aeronauts and Sex In Transit Vans

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 09:00:00 +0000

What happens when a band grows up? I don't mean that in the sense of the usual band progression of: Bright Young Things > Big Cynical Rock Juggernaut > Guitarist's acoustic side project > Band split, reform and discover folk rock. I mean intellectual development, when a band get past the sex-with-groupies-in-the-Transit-Van stage.

'Thought' and 'rock music' aren't happy bedfellows, but can occasionally pair up without resulting in honest that's never happened to me before pretentiousness.

Take We Aeronauts, who maintain a thoughtful approach without making music that is only of interest to themselves. So songs like Fleet River build and grow organically, exploring new dimly-lit places, but not disappearing up one of their own.

Fleet River is a sound-fog of carefully selected rattles, stretched notes and sounds that transform, eventually, into an evocative and grand song. And Boatswain's Cry is cut from more standard cloth - it's an actually lovely song; serious without self-importance.

We Aeronauts are charmers: intelligent, educated and talented. If you met them in a bar, you'd ask them out on a date. Listen here!

Swing Youth, and Ian Curtis = Dr. Strangelove

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 11:24:00 +0000

Some new bands would just love to be as glum and dark as Joy Division. Witness the current crop of frontmen who have suddenly developed hollow eyed stares and Ian Curtis arm twitches - the Indie equivalent of Dr. Strangelove's alien hand.

The truth is that most bands just can't manage it, because if there's one thing you can't fake, it's existentialist miserablism. Most bands just want to have fun on stage, but few are bold enough to actually do it. Today's New Band are, and for this we should all be thankful.

For instance: Swing Youth have a song called Hey Keith, the subject of which is probably not to do with a long, gloomy gaze into the the soul. It's more likely to be a song about saying 'Hey' to a man called Keith, which is about as much depth as a lively, fun indie pop song deserves.

World in Flames, despite having a title that sounds like a Johnny Hates Jazz album, is about as close to pure pop as is allowed without turning into ABBA. Lyrics about a girl? Check. Exuberant vocals? Check. Bright guitar jangle? Yup. Under the requisite three minutes pop time limit? Well, no, but no-one's perfect.

Simple things done simply. Swing Youth are a lovable bunch, with a selection of songs that demand dancing. They're happy and alive, and happy to be alive. Nice hair, too. Ian Curtis would have loved them.

Taxi! Taxi! Adios, In The City

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 10:07:00 +0000

Two days after In The City has ended, and almost all traces of its existence have dissipated. The buzz has moved elsewhere, and a only few limp posters remain. Shame. The feeling of being in the sticky armpit of the UK's new music world was nice while it lasted.

So here's an affectionate* faux-award-ceremony look back at ITC:

The Sudden Flash Of Common Sense award: When an unnamed BBC Radio One DJ left Mark Ronson's keynote speech after 5 minutes, because he suddenly realised that he hated Mark Ronson 'with a passion'

When Hair Reigned Supreme: The giant, all encompassing fringes of Egyptian Hip Hop; the bleached Princess Diana hairdo of the singer from Ou Est Le Swimming Pool; even Mark Ronson's slicked quiff: The Conference When Hair Got Bigger Than Rock

Sack The Proofreader Award: The slogan "ITC: Everything Else Is Just Noise" is quite zippy, but only if you remember to include the 'Y' in 'Everything' before you plaster it all over all thousands of posters, T-Shirts and all merchandise

The Man With The Best Anecdote award: Peter Hook, for his story about Bernard Sumner displaying his displeasure at Spandau Ballet by urinating onto them from a balcony as they played a gig in Paris

The Award For The Most Reverb-Drenched Microphones: 19 year-old Swedish twins Taxi! Taxi!, for their unusually echoing warble.

(Male readers - admit it: a very specific mental image was dredged up when you read the words '19 year-old Swedish twins', wasn't it? Bleach your mind and be reasonable, please.)

Taxi! Taxi! were elfin, brunette, clad in denim dungarees, and grasping spookily at guitars and accordions. Their songs, punctuated by pleas for more reverb directed at the sound technician, were so alien they felt beamed-in from another planet.

If NASA discovered life in a far away solar system and responded by blasting a space ship filled with Patti Smith and Kings Of Convenience records at them, songs like More Childish Than In A Long Time would be beamed back, and songs like All I Think Of would be made after their first confusing visit to Earth.

Taxi! Taxi!'s songs are barely there - emotions first, noise second, understanding third. Lovely, wispy, dissolving.

*predictable

Photography by Martina Hoogland Ivanow

In The City Special: Egyptian Hip Hop

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +0000

The opinion heat-haze of In The City means that an unbiased view of a band becomes impossible. As many people will rave over an average, or downright dull band as those who froth over a good one. You quickly realise that listening to opinion at ITC is almost always a waste of time.

For example: I was told that Egyptian Hip Hop were, variously, 'rude', 'piss-poor', 'six out of ten' and 'a lot of old tits'. I had to see them. And as it turned out - guess what? - they were all wrong. Well, maybe not about the 'rude' bit. They weren't rude as such, but maybe a little easing of the surliness wouldn't go amiss.

Still, they were more inventive and had a couple of songs that were better than almost all of the showcased bands. Skinnier than heroin addicts, and sporting fringes that started a millimetre above the ear, they ground out one catchy, looping cranky pop song after the other. Wait - let me stress the vastness of their fringes again: one band member was practically 90% fringe - it looked like he had trained a large hairy dog to sit on his head.

The drummer wore a swine-flu face mask. The band swapped instruments for each song. No smiles were cracked at any point. They were so androgynous, they may have been bred in giant petri dishes. Songs like Heavenly were, indeed, ethereal, curious and new, and Rad Pitt (Pun alert!) is a skewed pop delight.

Strange but true: Egyptian Hip Hop are better than anyone wants to admit. Don't believe the (lack of) hype. Listen here!

In The City Special: Ou Est Le Swimming Pool

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 11:32:00 +0000

At a music convention like In The City, rumour and hype swirl together to form a noxious fog that can engulf even the most seasoned and cynical new band seeker. Avoiding bands surrounded by hype is one of the basic rules of following rock music, and yet I willingly traipsed along to see two of the main 'buzz' bands, drunk on a few begrudging words of encouragement from a middle aged A&R man.

The club was packed on both occasions. One of these bands was actually cheered onto stage before they had even played a note, and yet when their guitars were actually plugged in, they were disappointingly risk-free, and average at best. So when I found myself in another crush of haircuts and PR sweat, I expected little. Half an hour later, after Ou Est Le Swimming Pool had finished, I still wasn't sure if they were the best or worst band I'd ever seen.

On reflection, I realised that this was the best reaction I could have hoped for. Even ignoring their linguistically challenged of-the-moment name, the band is crammed with weird, admirable anomalies.

The two keyboard players looked like a before-and-after picture of a Pet Shop Boy who'd drunk a pint of LSD. One was in a geography teacher's grey suit, and the other sported a moustache, vomit-coloured shirt, and a vividly coloured scarf wrapped around his head. They both played thrillingly big music; stabbing chords and huge drumbeats.

Contrast them with the two singers who emerge from the shadows, one a Burberry-clad Simon Le Bon mini-me, the other a boyband escapee. They both sing with a sincerity and passion that jars hard against a band set-up that is so post-ironic it has become pre-irony, and thus sincerity. Clever.

The response from everyone who saw them was the same: bewilderment and then a creeping realisation that Ou Est Le Swimming Pool were the most memorable band of In The City.

I could describe the songs to you as usual, but for once, I don't think words could do them justice. Listen for yourself and feel a band more polarised than a trucker's Aviators.

Today's New Band - The Liberty Ships PLUS! In The City Day 2!

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +0000

It's a sign of age, apparently, when policemen start looking frighteningly young. Yesterday, I had a similar experience at In The City when I met The Liberty Vessels, four 15 year olds from Liverpool - a band whose combined age is only just twice mine. It was terrifying. They were accompanied by the world's proudest mother, whose broad ever-constant smile was one of actual joy.

Just to ram the point home: they were really young. They hadn't started shaving, for Christ's sake. They were born after the internet was. They were playing a early gig that night, because they had to be in school at nine o'clock the next day. I cringed at my (relative, ahem) old age when I heard their mature, warm and bold songs.

So, The Liberty Vessels are Today's New Band, naturally. Songs like Say Nothing practically demanded so. The singer's voice is that of an adult man, surely. It's creamy, expressive and true, singing touching words, simply. Digital Covers chugs with confidence and charm. The band are skilled in supporting the lyrical focal point.

This is a band who've played a handful of gigs, have only just found their feet, and yet are ahead of much of the pack. They'll reach whichever destination they desire. Good luck navigating rock's stormy seas, Liberty Vessels. Listen here!

PS: ANBAD continues to gather MASSIVE CRITICAL PRAISE, or, more accurately: we've been featured in Click Ticket's Top 20 Music Blogs list! Hooray! Thanks Click Ticket!

Today's New Band - Dutch Uncles PLUS! In The City Day 1!

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 09:30:00 +0000

Here are notes from yesterday's 'action' at the In The City music conference, the UK's premiere unsigned band shindig:

Mark Ronson: silent, bored, ubiquitous skinny trousers 'n' scarf combo, giant quiff
Steve Lamacq: patient, friendly and his voice is even more delightful in real life
Huw Stephens: see Steve Lamacq
Assorted PRs, A&R people and managers: busy, busy, busy, and 'can you print my name more clearly on this AAA Pass please, people won't be able to see who I am'
No free bar/buffet: a travesty

I shamefully collared Steve Lamacq and Huw Stephens and stammered incoherently about how much in liked their radio shows whilst pressing my email address into their hands. They nodded good-naturedly before slowly backing away.

The bands there were a real, friendly delight - untainted by an industry which sometimes seems geared to grind any fun out of a job that ought to be pure fun. As I spoke to them, I sucked in as much of their enthusiasm as possible, and hoped they'd find what they were looking for in the murk of rock 'n' roll.

There are literally* a million bands at ITC, and like any music festival, you can only scratch the surface of what's on show. But Today's New Band emerged from the haze, and they're a good 'un: welcome, Dutch Uncles.

To be honest, I thought that their name was a euphemism for a scatological sexual perversion, though apparently it's not. They told me that their name comes from the title of a play, and none of the band members have actual Dutch uncles. Such is life.

But their songs are great, quirky pop - hear Steadycam, soak up the megawatt-bright, chiming chorus and wonder where they've been all your life. Doppelganger is a curious, scratch 'n' sniff pop song; inventive, coiling and sweet.

Oh, and the band wear a range of truly heinous charity-shop clothing. Men after my own heart. Great. Watch them soar: listen here!

*kind of

Photography by Nina Kölle

Break Thru Radio Blogger Of The Week! PLUS! In The City Music Conference 2009

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 16:30:00 +0000

ANBAD isn't really used to having awards bestowed on it, but be still my beating heart: here on the wonderful Break Thru Radio, ANBAD is Blogger Of The Week!

The delightful Mimi Kim of Break Thru Radio interviewed me and the results are in this show, which, even if I do say so myself, is lovely stuff. I talk about all these things:

Why I write about a new band a day, and why I haven't gone crazy yet
The bands I've liked writing about, and why
Why I get all soppy and weepy when thinking about John Peel
Plans for world domination, enslaving the human race through increasingly mind-grating Flo Rida records

Though one or more of those is a downright lie. Anyway, inbetween my mindless yapping, Mimi plays all sorts of great records of my choice. In case you somehow missed the link: here it is again. It was a great experience - thanks Mimi!

And in other news: I've used all my boyish charm and manly good looks (i.e. not much) to sneak into the wonderful, annual In The City new music conference, which is based in Manchester and is The World's Premiere New Music Event, according to the website. It is just that, I suppose, but in reality is a good excuse to see some ace unsigned bands and drink too much in a drizzly northern city. I'll report back to you next week.

Today's New Band - Chicken Feed

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +0000

Now, how to end the week? In a blaze of crucfyingly harsh Thrash/Dubstep-hybrid noise? Or a sub-heartbeat soundscape flutter? Look, I'm lying: the amount of planning that goes into ANBAD could be etched onto the back of a gnat, and yet this haphazard approach works more often than not.

For example - Today's New Band, Chicken Feed, make music that's gossamer-thin, delicate and sugary: it turns out that they're the perfect week-ending wind-down soundtrack. If you were planning a big night out, I'm sorry. But a good snooze is just as cool, yeah?

Duck Egg Diner, emerging from a reverb-burble, plays at deliberate half-speed; laconic, shiny and bright. It's the song that says, Aloha, Hawaii - we're here to relax in egg-yellow sunshine until we sink into the sand and become one with the hot white granules. Lights Out slurps at Hazel Mills' lyrics, and covers them in a dribble of over-friendly bleeping.

Chicken Feed are another good example of today's new music; in design and execution. Low on personnel and outside influence, Chicken Feed are free to create, create, create. We listeners reap the rewards. Listen here!

Today's New Band - Hot Lava

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +0000

If you could remake classic songs with a contemporary twist, would you? Or does the phrase 'contemporary twist' make you retch with the bilious force you'd usually only attain after watching a dozen car TV commercials back-to-back?

If you're like me (and if you are - 1: heaven help you, and 2: perhaps you'll have an idea where that limited edition Primal Scream 7" I misplaced a few years ago is), then you'll flinch at the notion. But it's a tempting thought all the same: just think what the Beatles might have done with a copy of ProTools.

So, Today's New Band offer us a glimpse of yesterday today. Hot Lava make songs that sound old, but new.

YSFW (Deadbeat Daughter) is a bolt from the past, a song that has shot through a wormhole in time - and anyone who has dragged their eyes across A Brief History of Time will know that this means it also partly comes from the future. Or something. Stay with me here.

Shimmering guitars ring and bounce; the soundtrack to an imaginary 60s TV pop show - the kind that has dancing girls with bouffant hair and purple minidresses.

JPG In The Sun and Brainex both blur the line between the past and present even more furiously, rattling drumbeats weaving neatly with eddying pop-psyche noise.

Hot Lava contort sound, and perception of it. The treatment they afford their songs isn't glib or novelty, but a strange distortion of what you assumed to be the norm. And most importantly of all, their songs needle into your mind and stay there, vibrating just so.

Photography by Ellie Bolton

Today's New Band - The Witch and The Robot

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +0000

Oh yes, I've been to Cumbria. For the uninitiated, it's the very northern, remote part of England; full, as I remember, of natural beauty, rain and - in Barrow-in-Furness at least - very large and intimidating men. It's also the home of the strange and brilliant band British Sea Power, whose album The Decline Of British Sea Power is an oft-overlooked classic.

Today's New Band, The Witch And The Robot, are from the same green, lush part of the world and are championed by, indeed, British Sea Power. This is as suitable recommendation as any, and The Witch And The Robot don't disappoint. The same air that gave BSP a crazed edge has blessed a second band with a similarly obtuse outlook on life.

The Best Free Show On Earth whistles one flute-loop over and over so many times that an entirely unexpected Orbital-esque feel blossoms out of the song's lovely, Byrds-y, sun-soaked roots.

That song is shot with vanilla-flavoured normality in comparison to Sex Music (Beef On Wax), which is a song in several, absurd, contemplative parts. It starts here, then peers over there, and then is suddenly distracted by something else. You know how you've always longed for a song that combines safari parks, feline disaster, cod-funk and spoken-word pieces? Well, prepare to sleep easily again: you've found your perfect song.

Despite the cream-pie attacks at their gigs, The Witch And The Robot aren't zany-kids-TV-pranks crazy, they're just wildly inventive; free-association idea-forming as they play their old/new songs carefully and cleverly. They don't deserve sympathy, or confusion, or apathy - just your full attention.

Today's New Band - Boat Beam

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +0000

Today's New Band are really nice. Ouch, I just used the 'N'-word. But it's in context, yeah, so it's OK. And anyway, lots of my friends are nice, and they don't mind me using that word.

I'll say it again: Boat Beam are nice, and unashamedly so too. They're a peculiar Australian-Spanish-American hybrid, and this shows in their music, the origins of which can't quite be nailed to one place. Their niceness, I assume, comes from the bonhomie that a multi-lingual friendship necessitates. This is a good thing.

Igloo begins loopily and rolls from there, embracing unusual structure, sounds and intent on the way. It's always heartening to hear an indie band working differently, and here they have a good stab, wrapping reversed vocals around a hesitant rhyme.

The Rain Pauly is just lovely. Again, there's no other, more zingy, word to describe it. Slippery vocals slump over a simply rounding guitar and form a dreamy, sweet, floating song that feels like a heartfelt hug received after a tough day.

Lots of the bands on ANBAD are abrasive, or obtuse, or noisy, or all three at once. Boat Beam are here to partially redress the balance; slight, happy-go-lucky and warm. Listen if you have the sun shining on you. And if not, listen anyway and maybe you'll forget that it isn't.

Photography by Candela Sotos

September's Top Five New Bands!

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 08:55:00 +0000

I received a moderately angry email from a reader, haranguing me along these lines:

"Joe, I was prepared to ignore your lack of organisation over the summer while you were living in a tent, but you've now been back over a month, so there's no excuse for the absence of the round-up of September's Top Five Bands. Sort it out, idiot; chop chop."

OK, it wasn't an email at all, but the shrieking sound of my guilty conscience. So, belatedly, here are September's best bands in no particular order:

Robert George Saull & The Purgatory Players - We said: "Their songs are sung in a manner suggesting an interest in the quixotic and sung using words that almost have the wrong meaning, but not quite. It is recorded by young men in very normal clothing from the north of England."

Golau Glau - We said: "A dreamy clatter, hissing angrily and throbbing with monster synth stabs, over vocals that vanish into the swirl."

Balún - We said: "Balún have realised that technology is only useful if the intent behind that use is carefully measured, and in songs like Minumina have produced small bubbles of quivering delicacy; bubbles ready to burst under the weight of their frivolity."

Shark? - We? Said?: "Songs like these leave nothing else on which to ponder: superb grimy garage-rock, with the added benefit of 30-odd years' hindsight."

And September's Best New Band is:

Run DMT - We said: "Run DMT are daring, imaginative and downright bizarre. Their songs sound like they were born after some sort of perverse musical DNA-splicing experiments, or if your iPod could separate individual sounds from a million songs and then shuffle-play ten of them at once."

Run DMT are worthy winners indeed - flexible, awkward and, dare I say it, avant-garde: well worth ten minutes of anyone's time.

And speaking of time, I promise that the round-up for this month will be published when it should be. Honest gov'nor.