It’s weird: Sugababes produce exciting, interesting shiny pop gems on record, but I hated them live, while Westlife’s albums are some of the dullest things known to man, yet their live show is pretty good. Never thought I’d end up becoming an expert in stadium pop shows…

3rd July @ Liverpool Echo Arena

After they’re made to wait until 9:40 on a school night to see their heroes take to the stage, the mostly pre-teen audience can be forgiven for getting a bit restless. Some of the older members of the half-full Arena’s crowd have taken to booing the band before they even come on, such is their lateness.

When they’ve allowed their fans to get that upset, Sugababes are going to have to put on a show more crowd pleasing than a Beatles reunion to make up for it. The show they do put on, however, is more akin to a school assembly performance than a triumphant production by a girl band who’ve sold more records than The Supremes, Banarama and even Destiny’s Child.

From the opening four-on-the-floor club mix of ‘Hole In The Head’, the 3 ‘babes are upstaged both by their dancers and fantastic backing band. They give the same rehearsed sultry looks and pull the same wannabe-sexy moves for the show’s duration. They look bored, quite frankly. The musicians, meanwhile, are having a great time, keeping themselves entertained by dropping elements of The Who’s ‘Baba O’Reilly’ into ‘Push the Button’ and wigging out with some guitar histrionics on ‘Freak Like Me’.

Despite having some genuine pop classics in their repertoire, the trio manage to put on one of the most lacklustre and unnecessarily low key stadium show that can have ever been. Let’s hope it doesn’t put the younger audience members off gig-going forever though. Quality pop can be so much better than this.

Not really my usual fare, is it? But a surprisingly good show seen in the course of writing another review for Orange.

29th June 2008 @ Echo Arena

As far as big pop events go, they don’t come much bigger, poppier or more eventful than this without the involvement of Bob Geldof or Nelson Mandela: the last show of a forty-million selling boyband’s 10th anniversary tour, on the opening night of Liverpool’s annual Summer Pops blowout, at the city’s spanking new Echo Arena.

The almost palpable anticipation is immediately justified when the lads come onstage wearing leather jackets and Aviators to a cacophony of rock guitars and a light show worthy of Pink Floyd. It’s clear this isn’t going to be a sat-on-stools, stand-up-for-the-key-change run through of the Irish boys’ ballad hits. Many of their fourteen number one singles are there of course, but there’s also a show-stopping selection of uptempo covers, from The Jacksons through to Robbie Williams via Kool & The Gang’s ‘Get Down On It’, with pyrotechnics that could probably be seen from Dublin.

The fact that these tracks form the gig’s centrepiece though serves almost as an admission of the chronic dullness of much of Westlife’s own material. This is further evidenced by a tedious acoustic mini-set of songs from last year’s Back Home album, which sees most of the reluctant dads and boyfriends in attendance head off for a Carling.

Despite this, and no matter how much they may pretend to begrudge accompanying their loved ones tonight, the dads and boyfriends will have enjoyed it really. From the final brace of ‘Swear It Again’ and ‘Flying Without Wings’, along with the requisite stadium spectacle and emoting, it’s clear that no matter how boring their records, Westlife put on a show that only a miserablist like Geldof himself could fail to like.

A version of this originally published at Orange.co.uk, for whom I’m now writing.

Necessity is the mother of invention, according to some ancient Greek bloke. So does the complete lack of invention shown on Silent Cry mean that the last thing the world really needs is another album from the band who bought us ‘Buck Rogers’?

It’d be churlish to suggest that we’ve never needed the Welsh trio. Their early records helped fill a gaping Britrock void in the late 90s, and since 2001’s Echo Park they’ve unleashed a handful of mini pop-classics that sit beautifully alongside ‘Bohemian Like You’ and ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s on local radio stations across the land (admittedly, a back-handed compliment if ever there were one).

But the band’s sixth record abandons that joyous melodic sensibility in favour of a faux-anthemic Snow Patrol approach. Opening track and lead single ‘We Are The People’ is a directionless dirge, produced, dubbed and layered to within an inch of its life to hide a chronic lack of what those in the music biz call ‘bollocks’. And while ‘Miss You’ hints at Feeder’s previous scratchy punk-pop brilliance, it’s one of only a few moments of light relief in an album full of humourless attempts at mature radio ballads.

Silent Cry’s 45 minutes are an overlong and tiring listen. At 13 tracks, it’s like having to explain the same thing over and over to a stupid co-worker. And as the sort of intellectual giant who reads Plato-quoting record reviews in their spare time, surely you don’t need music that reminds you of that feeling?

2nd May ‘08 @ Liverpool Guild of Students

Commercial. Over-produced. Not “real” drum and bass. Yeah, we’ve all heard the accusations leveled against Pendulum. But really, who wants to pontificate on the finer points of authenticity in electronic music when they’re off their face, down the front, havin’ it? At least, that’s what you’d think before experiencing the Aussies’ live show. Because while one of their singles might sound monstrously powerful as part of a DJ set, a whole evening of those same formulaic wait-for-the-catchy-synth-riff-to-kick-in moments quickly becomes a junglist Groundhog Day.

Not that it matters to the Guild’s student crowd – they seem to be loving the change from carpet-and-chrome cheese clubs. But for anyone who doesn’t think Grooverider is a brand of condom, Pendulum are almost the dance equivalent of Linkin Park: plenty of lights and dry ice, with enthusiastic calls to “completely lose it!”, but little substance to be enjoyed by those for whom getting twatted at a gig isn’t a novelty in itself.

Aside from awing at the stadium-extravaganza production values though, it’s telling that “the kids” respond more rapturously to the famed remix of Voodoo People than any of the band’s original material. And while only the most ardent purist could deny Pendulum’s occasional brilliance in mixing dance and rock, previews of tracks from guitar-heavy new album In Silico are less Prodigy, more watered-down Pitchshifter.

Which just goes to prove: although being inauthentic may not matter, being average really does.

30th January ‘08 @ Korova, Liverpool

Sit at home working out the time signatures of your math rock records if you must. Ziroki’s cult Scouse following is merrymaking enough for all the Foals fans in the world tonight. Syrian-born frontman Ziyad Al-Samman is the spit of classic rocker Phil Lynott and dresses like a colour-blind Willy Wonka. He probably looks like a fucking star when he’s just popping out for some milk, so stick him behind a microphone with three equally flamboyant oddballs playing scratchy cartoon pop and you can see why the venue’s packed out this early on a wet Wednesday evening.

Barely thirty seconds in and they’ve got everyone miming along with the swimming-fish hand motions that match the nursery rhyme melody of Dead Sea, while fan fave In My Heart bounces off the walls like only the best party-time power-pop can. Sound cheesy? That’s the point. The lads may as well have a neon sign flashing “FROMAGE” behind them. Because they’re having more fun tonight than a whole army of “it’s all about the music, maaan” dullards have ever had in their life. And if that means they need to get the Laughing Cow in to help on the occasional harmony, Ziroki don’t really care.

30th January ‘08 @ Korova, Liverpool

“You sang so beautifully. Like a bunch of altar boys”. Given that the refrain the audience join in with so enthusiastically is a shouted coda of “here we fucking go” (from track Go Square Go), you can’t help but feel that frontman James Allan has his tongue placed firmly in his cheek. Comparisons to religious experiences aren’t actually that far from the reality of a Glasvegas live show though: Allan exorcises himself of bad childhood memories and emotional frailty, while the assembled congregation mouths along to lyrics like psalms, strangers put their arms round each other, and a bloke at the back even starts speaking in tongues.

Whether that’s down to spiritual fervour or cheap beer no-one can say, but what’s certain is that this Liverpool basement has never seen such a communal epiphany. Tonight’s walls of noise-pop will be the first experience for many here of the four Scots’ ethereal sobbing-into-their-football-scarves beauty. And they’re an awe-inspiring lesson in how music really does make the people come together, with last year’s debut single Daddy’s Gone becoming the mass singalong it’s always had the potential to be. Although one non-believer was heard to claim that all the songs sound the same, who cares? It’s not as if the Ten Commandments had much stylistic variation, and they were cracking.

So: a quiet Saturday, and nothing to write about. Why don’t I share a bit of music gossip from here in Liverpool? No-one else online seems to have picked up on this yet, and it’s more interesting than most of the Lily Allen trivia that’s been passing for music news the past couple of days. I’m completely sympathetic to her recent loss, but since when is “girl goes shoe-shopping” news-worthy?

Anyways, a recent announcement at the Paul McCartney-founded “fame school” (as us students there hate calling it) Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts (LIPA) confirmed that Travis frontman Fran Healy is going to be teaming up with the Institute to release an EP of his favourite up-and-coming artists currently honing their craft there.

Scheduled to see the light of day this summer, it will be the third edition of the Institute’s yearly digital compilation, which has previously been curated by Robin Gibb of the Bee Gees. The 2006 collection showcased an early track from former LIPA students (and now chart stars) The Wombats, so if Healy’s A&R skills are any good the release may be indicative of the next big thing. If by “next big thing” you really mean “next Liverpool act to get played ad nauseum on the Chris Moyles show and feature in a pointless Capital of Culture ceremony“.

Fran’s faves will also play a showcase at another industry event going on in Merseyside later this year. A bit of speculation though: will Travis turn up to gig alongside them, hmmm? They’ll no doubt be gearing up for the release of their sixth album by then, and could probably do with all the press they can get - Selfish Jean didn’t exactly set the world alight, did it?

OK, I know that was mean - I’m just not the biggest Travis fan in the world. But congrats to all the students involved; it’s quite a coup, and I’ve genuinely enjoyed the previous LIPA Records releases.

15th January ‘08 @ Korova, Liverpool

The Merseyside post-football crowd could never really be described as “sophisticated”.  Or “artsy”.  Or even “able to walk in a straight line”.  So eight-minute space-rock numbers probably aren’t what the beery lads filtering into Liverpool’s Korova after their team’s drubbing of Luton were looking for.  And 5 hairy Norwegians wearing bandanas and spangly ruffled shirts definitely don’t figure in the normal match night routine.

Obviously not versed in the way things are done round here, The Lionheart Brothers press on by staring at their fretboards, making earnest closed-eyed wailing noises and carving majestic synth spires before our eyes.  Not the standard technique for fending off scallies, granted, but it seems to work.  Showing few of the sunshine psych-pop tendencies of spanking-new second album Dizzy Kiss, the Scandinavians stomp hard upon the FX pedal labelled “wig-out”, letting up only for the 3 minutes of celestial shimmerpop that is album highlight “50 Souls and a Discobowl”.  And it’s made all the more beautiful by the audience’s awe-struck silence until the final bass throb.  So look out for a handful of spare seats at Anfield next week.  After tonight, it wouldn’t be surprising if a few people swap Steven Gerrard for shoegaze.

Last night I went to the opening ceremony for Liverpool’s (in)famous year as European Capital of Culture. While I stood there feeling cultured, enlightened, and generally pretty smug about myself I thought, “this is something worth dashing off a quick blog post about”. So quick-and-dirty, rough-and-ready, and with no more rubbish puns, here it goes.

In all honesty, this post’s titular pun is a bit unfair. I love Liverpool - I’ve lived here for almost three years now, and it’s a great city. I do think the “Capital of Culture 2008″ title is genuinely merited, with the myriad of opportunities for arts-and-entertainment-related-treats the city offers, not to mention to benefit that the resulting investment (arguably) has been and will continue to be. The main problem people seem to have with the Capital of Culture is the way it’s being implemented by the various bodies responsible. It’s easy to be cynical though, so I attended this evening’s ceremony with an open mind. Unfortunately however, it deserved any appalling derogatory wordplay I could throw at it.

My overall impression was that the ceremony seemed like a bloody-big-budget school play. It opened with a load of acrobats hanging off a huge crane, dressed in hard hats and hi-vis jackets, which one can only presume was meant as a tongue-in-cheek reference to the fact that the city’s looked a bit like a building site for the past couple of years. As the night’s compére said, “tonight, the Big Dig becomes the big gig!”. But had it actually been a big gig, it would have been far better: a couple of bands, a bit of dance, a comedian and a extract from a play - ace. As it was however, there were 35 minutes of an epic, overblown intro full of fireworks, cringe-worthy poetry and, inexplicably, loads of kids carrying boxes onstage. 200 guitarists riffed along to an unrecognisable noise while stood on top of the roofs of the Empire Theatre, Lime Street Station, the Radio City tower and, erm, a car park. Probably sounded like a great idea when sat around a table in a board room, but on the night it reached Spinal Tap-esque levels of pompous unintended hilarity. And while the BBC are right in saying that Echo and The Bunnymen, The Farm, Toxteth rapper Riuven, Pete Wylie (of The Mighty Wah!), as well as Vasily Petrenko and the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra “took centre stage“, that’s literally all they did. All that talent, and they didn’t perform, oh no. They were paraded on stage and stood there waving like muppets. What a waste.

Following all that overlong “intro” nonsense, the only two vaguely-worthwhile parts of the event were single-song performances from Ringo Starr and Liverpool band The Wombats. But even then, both were mimed (seemingly at the insistence of the organisers rather than the artists - The Wombats are a great live band normally, tonight making a point of knocking over their gear well before the end of the song). And who really cares about a self-congratulatory song from The Beatles’ drummer’s new solo album - accompanied by that famed Scouser, Dave Stewart of the Eurythmics. Who’s actually from Sunderland. And I do like The Wombats, so it would be churlish to point out that they’re not exactly the most established contemporary Merseyside band, with one hit to their name. The Coral/Zutons anyone?

Well, I’ve gone on long enough now; “I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead” in the words of Mark Twain. How’s that for culture?

I loved iLiKETRAiNS’ debut EP. So much so that I’ve lazily recycled some of my thoughts on it for this piece on their debut album proper. But you won’t tell, right?

Leeds five-piece iLiKETRAiNS are such fans of all things historical that they’ve probably got posters of Oliver Cromwell on their bedroom walls. Not only does this album deal with assassinated 19th century politicians and long-forgotten wars, but it’s practically a one-band shoegazing revival – talk about living in the past. And could there be any nerdier prospect than that of a history lesson from a bunch of FX pedal obsessives?

The answer’s yes: a maths lesson from Stephen Hawking would probably fit the bill. In his absence though, iLiKETRAiNS do a good job of bringing a bit of intellect to the sort of darkly beautiful epics previously peddled by Godspeed! You Black Emperor. Foreboding vocals give way to walls of shimmering reverb on Twenty Five Sins, while Death of an Idealist is the best funeral march you’ll hear this year.

On repeated spins however, Lessons Learnt’s eleven tracks ultimately succumb to the same problem as many nerds (and, indeed, post-rock bands): droning on too long, and generally being a bit dull.

They showed great promise. But in the end, they failed. Just like Napoleon’s army in the Battle of Leipzig, the band would probably want me to add.