sometimes listening is not enough

I (don’t) hate rock n roll. Primal Scream get down at The Scala

2019-06-05T12:22:00.000-07:00

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As a teenager trapped in a steel town with little cash and only my mind as means of escapism it was inevitable that I would turn to tunes to soothe the crushing numbness of nothingness that hung around in the air.

It started with simple rock n roll - it wasn’t even real rock n roll – it was some sort of working man’s club revival with aged fellas in drapes sporting DAs and thus there was an inevitable Showaddywaddy type lock on, Shakin’ Stevens and Stray Cat struts and shit. Don’t get me wrong it filled a hole. I know it was only rock and roll but I liked it. From there I would listen to Elvis, Carl Perkins, Eddie Cochran and through that came The Stones and The Beatles. This would have been back in the early eighties.

By 1985 I had stopped my association with rock and roll. It wasn’t that I hated it but I associated rock and roll with the worst excesses of TOTP culture - all men in denim with collars up shaking their hips and pursing their lips but looking like stout middle aged men hanging on to some sort of milkshake dream – you know it’s not Nashville it never would be – it’s Ashby and we’ve got a Kwik Save.

I had begun to define my self in opposition to this. I began to hate rock and roll and all those people with nothing to show.

Yet looking back I was simply a rock and roller by another name.

My rock and roll was reaching beyond the kiss curl and jumpsuits. It wanted it to be fierce and untamed. It began with The Velvet Underground. It would take some time to find the dirty end of scuzz rock and bawling but in the beginning The Velvets provided this antidote to the bland chug a lug-lug-lug of the behemoth rock and rollers. Screeching and full of bittersweet romance and loss The Velvets was the band I wanted to be in. Artful outsiders to the mainstream of fat rock and rollers – maaaan. Appropriation occurs at every stage of living when you are a youth – so I searched out winkle pickers, tight black canvas and blunt scissors for bowl headed cuts.

And then as I was morphing into my own zone came the Jesus and Mary Chain. Year zero for the rebirth of independent pop music. It was 1985. Suddenly it was the ‘rebirth’ of rock and roll in this house. Screaming teenagers and loss of control.

Real rock and roll.

Maximum rock and roll.

Bobby Gillespie was part of this new rock and roll. Two drums and this supra-cool aesthetic. It was instant love – heaven’s above! Then there was talk that he was only moonlighting in the most original band I’d ever heard. The Jesus and Mary Chain were a band who’d taken all the elements of rock and roll and merged them into one pure blast of sonic magic. But this Gillespie had another band – a band called Primal Scream. Cool name and one cool motherfucker. So into town to purchase their single was the next move – once again you have to remember that we weren’t downloading this and having a listen through streaming. You had to go to the shop ask for a copy – sometimes order it – without listening and then buy it – we weren’t brave enough to listen to it in store and say no. So it would be bought, bagged up and returned to bedrooms to revolve on cheap record players turned up loud (when we could get away with it.)

‘Crystal Crescent’ was a beautiful song. Psychedelic and tripped out lite and tight not noise and full of rage. There was a gentle side to this rock and rolling. Flip the record and find Velocity Girl. Simple, chiming and over in seconds.

Suddenly there was a new rock and roll in town.

And that rock and roll was in town again tonight (or in this case a few weeks back as it’s taken far too long to write this) Primal Scream played the Scala for a night of maximum rock and roll. And after many years I was back in the fray again. I sort of lost touch with the Scream after the heady Screamadelica days and lows of the Give Out but Don’t Give Up long player. It wasn’t that I didn’t like them but rather they were verging on something I wasn’t quite aligned to. I’d got rid the winkle pickers ( as had they) and most sounds in my head were electronic and made for dancing to through the night. The Scream seemed to be mutating into something like the behmoths I couldn’t take anymore – it had all gone a little too rock n roll.

But how wrong I was.

Following ‘Give Out’ came a blistering set of long players and The Scream found that Stooges fright and scowl blended with motoric electonica that was always at the heart of what they did/ do. Tonight is no exception. It’s the greatest hits and they are the greatest. A two-bit indie rock band from Glasgow with all killer and no filler delivered a wonderful evening of music for the maximum capacity crowd rammed into The Scala on a Tuesday evening.

Opening with the gospel rock of ‘Movin’ On Up’ Gillespie resplendent in Flying Burrito Brothers meets Viet Cong black suit whips up the crowd to a frenzy and we are only one song in. This is a stripped back Scream this evening and possibly for the future. Innes – blue tonic suit, pork pie hat and Hawaiian themed shirt (perhaps he was going on holiday afterwards), Duffy tucked behind the keys (I can’t tell you what he was wearing – I couldn’t see him), Simone pwering away on bass and Darrin firmly sat behind the kit.

Tonight’s proceedings take in 1986 to the present. A full on 33 years. Gillespie still has that awkward charm of a man who knows he’s a rock and roll star but isn’t going to pander to the obvious. Tight lipped except a few acknowledgements and thanks and a heartfelt tribute to the very recent death of Jake Black from the Alabama 3. Gillespie lets you know how he feels through the songs.

Innes is in towering form with his guitar tonight and being up and close is a pleasure. The last time I saw the Scream was at a festival and everyone was talking through ‘Damaged’. It wasn’t great. Tonight though they can see our eyes and we can see the whites of theirs. And it all makes for an hour and half of sonic mayhem and merriment. Every tune is greeted with a cheer and there was always one part of the crowd bellowing out the words and boogying on down whether the tunes were coming from Sonic Flower Groove or Chaosmosis.

It was wonderful to see The Scream acknowledge some of the tunes that had brought me to their door so long ago. ‘Velocity Girl’ was aired tonight and it probably hasn’t been played since 1988. It was longer and there was a sense that Gillespie had done a Lou (Reed) on it with a change in inflection of the lyrics. But you know what. He wrote it - he can sing it however he likes. We didn’t have a surprise visit from Martin St John. I think the ‘Confessions of a Primal Screamer’ but the stop to that. So there are no tambourines but Bobby did have maraccas.

And Innes got the Rickenbacker out for a blistering ‘Imperial.’ Which for old men like me was a lovely addition. I was gutted that we didn’t get ‘Ivy Ivy Ivy’ from the second album even though it had apparently been soundchecked in Brighton the day before – but hey ho the set list made up for it with sublime cuts from Vanishing Point (Kowalsi and Star) and Exterminator (Accelerator, Kill All Hippies and Swastika Eyes – with Innes in full siren effect)

Of course we got ‘Loaded’. And we had a party. We had a good time. With Gillespie holding his microphone aloft for the crowd to chant back at him as he grinned from ear to ear. I think the biggest surprise for me was seeing just how popular ‘Country Girl’ is for The Scream. It’s a sure fire crowd pleaser. I wasn’t too certain when Riot City Blues came out. I was in the camp that I thought they could do better with what they had but clearly that’s the reason why I never ran a record label nor fronted a successful band. Bobby is in his element and the stripped down Scream give all their worth in a rock hoe down and the crowd sing along in unison to what seemingly is their ‘biggest’ hit. And I guess that’s what it’s all about. You don’t last 33 years if you don’t have the tunes that make the whole crowd sing. Tonight Primal Scream don’t even play half of the ones they have in the locker. This is a rock and roll band that can command a crowd.

When I think back to those early days of catching glimpses of Primal Scream on TV you can see that it’s all still there in Bobby G and his merry band of brothers and sisters. It’s charisma, self-belief and the ability to have a god time.

Primal Scream were good tonight.

Actually Primal Scream were great tonight.

Primal Scream are a maximum rock and roll band.

I think I might love rock n roll again.

Good (Friday) Times with Panda Bear

2019-04-21T06:06:00.000-07:00

Noah Lennox passed me on his way across the pelican crossing in Brixton. Hood up and inconspicuous simply blending with the comings and going of South London. In some ways Noah Lennox takes this on to the stage tonight. There is an effortless in his performance as he creates a psychedelic electronic storm through repetition, clipped beats and sonic dissonance. There is no real interaction with the crowd until the end and little after the encore. Whilst in front of us and clearly central to all proceedings Panda Bear seems larger than his lone figure. The whole performance commanded from his workbench of electronic wizardry knits with the huge LED screens positioned either side and behind to present Panda Bear as something futuristic and otherworldly.

Today is Good Friday and Panda Bear is back in London to celebrate the release of Buoys at the Electric Ballroom in Brixton. After a thorough search on the door I make my way in to the venue – it’s dimly lit and blurred. It does not have the same vibrations as last year at the Village Underground in Shoreditch. The crowd slowly fills up for this early start – Panda Bear will start at 8.30. Early evening electronics for the soul served up for this diverse and disparate crowd who have found themselves in South London. There are Americans of all shapes and sizes, young emo kids, multicultural hipsters, a couple from Scotland, a young guy who’d travelled from California and healthy LGBT+ mixing as one for the sounds of one man and one part Animal Collective.

Noah arrives without fanfare and checks his instruments before we check his track record. (Check the record – check the guy’s track record) Plugging in headphones and turning things on there is a sudden burst of the opening of ‘My Girls’. He can’t possibly be teasing us? It stops and that snatch is all we will hear. Yet in many ways Panda Bear’s brand of electronica is captured in that phrase. He deals in repetition and distortion, out of chaos and never ending reverb emerges beauty and fragility with supersonic bass shaking stomps to unite the floor as one nation under a (digital) groove. Tonight we are mainly treated to the delights of Panda Bear’s last two wonderful records, the vinyl only release ‘A Day with the Homies’ and the new long player ‘Buoys’. Through a harmony fuelled opening of simple keyboard drone emerges ‘Dolphin’ with its water drop beats and robotic vocal codas as Noah intones that he is ‘gonna switch of the screen – unblinded’ as the visuals power up behind and at his sides in what will be a profound light and video accompaniment throughout the show. Frazzled dancers, liquid drops and pulsating static merge with op art lines and symmetry and lysergic dreams and nightmarish grins as all that is solid melts into air (well light – but you knew where I was going?) throughout the whole set. They do not detract but add to the chemistry as we are exposed to the finer moments of his recent work, Dolphins becomes ‘Nod to the Folks’ and the set lists switches between the new album and its previous release.

Then within the inter song sound swathes comes the familiar strains of ‘Comfy in Nautica’. Where it started for me. Person Pitch was my first encounter with Panda Bear and I instantly fell for its Beach Boy wonk and skronk. As Noah urged us to ‘try to remember always, always to have a good time’ it struck me how wonderful a lyricist he is. Songs are constructed and delivered with words that hint at situations of danger, confront confusions and question it all. Panda bear is a wonderful singer his range and fearlessness in moving through scales and tones to create the most effective sonic delivery of any other singer currently on the scene surely deserves wider exposure. He’s a harmony group in one. A pocket sized Beach B Buoy. Words delivered in harmony with himself should be heard by more people and its evident that tonight isn’t quite the sell out I had expected. The top part of the venue is closed yet it doesn’t result in a lacklustre performance despite the early start.

Panda Bear continues to craft the tunes with a nod to his tussle with the Grim Reaper as he plays only one number from that album tonight in the form of ‘Crosswords’. The songs from ‘Buoys’ are greeted with cheers and yelps and even some air fist pumps (there was a guy from Chicago there – he dug it maaaan). ‘Token’ with its repetitive motif of guitar and soaring climax of longing as Noah repeats ‘ I want to tell you that I want you’ is astounding in it’s simplicity but delivered through a clear full on PA hits you hard and right in the gut. I was wondering how the sparseness of ‘Buoys’ wuld play out in a larger venue as I’d spent most of my time with this long player in isolation and headphones. The album has this return to the ‘real’ but its cut up samples of guitars mixed with the open and honest recording of Noah up close felt incredible personal in its approach. It stills feels incredibly personal up close tonight even with jutaxposed visuals and full on volume. Buoys is a tough one. It can hold its own when turned up loud.

Panda Bear is a tough buoy.

As the set builds to the final song we are treated to a new number as yet not released, ‘Playing the Long Game’. In its heavy bass and repetitive beats Panda Bear is forever reinventing and representing sound in his time away from Animal Collective. His work is truly original and uncluttered by the modern yet by its very existence repositions itself as the most modern and urgent music being made in the 21^st Century. As if Van Dyke Parks and AFX collaborated whilst Eno recorded the results.

Panda Bear thanks us for coming, thanks us for listening and thanks the support band and is gone. Lights power down. And we begin to clap and shout.

There is a fleeting return.

Two songs. One from Tomboy, a sublime ‘Last Night of The Jetty’ with its beats turned to sledgehammer blows as Lennox asks ‘didn’t we have a good time?’ Followed by the bowel quaking ear wrecking sub bass bombing of ‘Sunset’. The crowd moves in unison, tripped and blissed out as sonics merge with soul and we all feel uplifted.

Then Panda Bear is gone.

I don’t believe in God. I do believe in Panda Bear. It had been a Good Friday.

Panda Bear's site can be found here: https://pandabearofficial.com/

Here is Comfy from Nautica from the evening: courtesy of Lucas Moreira

Here is the video to 'Token' from 'Buoys'

Pop Glam Folk Explosion: Lavinia BlackwALL and Stilton at The Social

2019-04-02T12:15:00.002-07:00

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I headed over to London last night in anticipation of catching up with old acquaintances and intent on making new ones. I was going to see Lavinia Blackwall’s new musical venture since leaving the highly rated Trembling Bells in 2018. The gig was at The Social which has seen its fair share of upheaval recently and currently is still a venue for live sounds – a wonderfully cosy and tight space built for all sorts of hedonism to go off.

Tonight I was to be part of this hedonism with a side of gentle inflection and introspection. And for Monday in this part of town it was heartening to see that the show had sold out. The third to sell out on this short tour of cities and spaces up and down the country. Now selling out a show is great for the band but as I travelled on a train into Charing Cross the news that I wasn’t going to get in had me pondering what my next move would be.

It’s here that Marco Rea came to my rescue. Marco is simply the best. A Superda extraordinaire and one part of Lavinia’s Stilton – her incredible band of musical brothers bringing light and shade to her lyrical journeys. Marco has been creating wonderful sounds from Scotland for sometime now, a man born full of melody and harmony that comes out in abundance tonight. I first became enthralled to Marco’s musical world as he and Stuart Kidd sang together as The Wellgreen before a Euros Childs gig way back when. Marco has remained pretty much constant in my musical life ever since. And boy was I glad he was in it now – a quick message here and there and Marco had me in and I was very much relieved.

First up were Solveig and Mike offering surreal folk trips and dreams in violin and acoustic guitar with harmonies cartwheeling and rolling around in lyrical play and smiles. I wasn’t sure what I was going to think – I don’t have the folk antennae – I can’t always here the connections or the drift from the norm. Yet I felt I was being challenged by them – in a good way. It made me curious to check them out further. They also recounted stories of falling in ditches which tickled me, sang tales of sandwiches, misheard a request for a song with Kite in the title and brought to life the cinema of the sea. Not many groups can do this in one set. Technically they are wonderful and Mike’s acoustic guitar ticklings and jangles are complimented by the supberb violin of Solveig creating a rising folk psychedelia for the growing crowd. Although I hope Mike doesn’t have to play in such tight spaces for the rest of the tour as his accident prone frame nearly caused the violin to be absent for the rest of the set (possibly tour) after he knocked it in a moment of punching the air. A great opening set and they would later return to help out Lavinia and her ever expanding band.

John Martin played next - a person’s name but a band – do you get me? He’s John but there were other people there on the stage. There were flashes of beatific chord sequences and witticisms in jangles and tremolo. Reminded me of The Divine Comedy.

Then came the psychedelic beast of Green Seagull bedecked in the ramalamma of late sixties freakbeat fashions. They had this

incessant chug which was good. Reminded me a great deal of The Zombies meets early Pink Floyd uptown in a battle of harmonics and minor keys. They are supporting The Seeds in mid April at the Beat Bespoke – it will be night of getting down and shaking your fringe if you’re into that sort of thang. And I am. The keyboardist parents were there too. They should be proud of their daughter as her groove holds the whole thing together whilst guitars riff out and the bass provides staccato throbs to their psychedelic garage chug a lug.I reckon with a little more space they’d be ones to wig out.

So after three quality sets the main act arrived and there was a good crowd and a good feeling about it all. Now at this point I am yet to be able to name all the songs and like a fool I forgot to swipe a set list to help me piece this all together. So it’s going to get rambling. Lavania arrives backed by the kaftan bedecked Stilton a sort of pop folk glam group of wayward souls who know how to party and dance the night away. The set showcases the range of Lavania’s vocal sorcery moving through the scales and tones with ease. It really is quite mesmerizing and in Zepplin’s words, ‘tight but loose’ adding rich textures to the groove and goo of Stilton. Marco has written a few songs with Lavania and all have this richness to them as they start one place and then by way of George Harrison, Neil Young, Arthur Lee and some part of Wings end somewhere else in a perfect blend of chime and harmony. Pop punch in folk structures. It works and the crowd knows it too. Whilst all of this might be new to us and even to Lavinia (after all these are new songs only just getting aired and may not yet be finished) there’s an understanding that they will become classics and we are witnessing the start of a different chapter in Lavinia’s choral quest for something after the bells have stopped.

The night has a fun feel to it. It’s not earnest - nor serious – but it is honest. There’s in song chatter and discussion including some recollections about lost phones in ditches (the theme of the tour) and projectile vomiting in Oxford Circus. We also get to hear the tales of the tunes - one song ‘Watson’ is apparently about a werewolf who is committing murders and the detective investigating is actually the suspect. To be fair it works better in melody and performance than me trying to explain it here. Another was called ‘Keep Warm’ – you can probably work that one out yourself.. It isn’t all one tempo of souped up folk glam rock shenanigans some songs aired tonight have a creeping melancholic undertow to remind us that sometimes things can be lost and not clear in this day and age. There are waltzes and ballads mixed within the up-tempo adding to the dynamics and all round brilliance of what will surely be a storming debut album which we’ll hopefully get to hear this year.

For the final numbers – there could have been three or possibly two – Lavinia and Stilton are joined by Solveig and Mike. It’s getting rather cramped up there and I’m not sure The Social can contend with that many musicians on ‘stage’ at any one time. To be fair you can’t really say Seb was on stage – he’s pushed up in the passage to the toilet – but he still played like a trooper adding flourish and power throughout the evening to Lavania’s delicate sounds. However Solveig and Mike are a good addition further complimenting the charm of it all. As violin merges with acoustic guitars, melody filled guitar licks and shapes, pianos , expert bass, tight rhythms and soaring vocals it only adds a further magical quality to it all. Finishing with an incredible version of current single “Waiting for Tomorrow ’ the night is over. There are shouts of ‘play it again’ and ‘more’ but it’s not to be – it’s 11 o’clock on a Monday and time to get home and rest for the day ahead.

I told Lavinia and Marco that I was going to pursue a Kate Bush fronting The Lost White Album take to it all – but the more I return to the evening and listen closer to the sounds on the single – I’m hearing Joni Mitchell – this is Joni’s ‘Esher’ sessions - a White Album conceived through another dimension of feeling. Live there’s a Beatles sense of playfulness throughout whilst the vocals send you somewhere else. There’s a nod to the past and a rush to the future with this folk rock feeling. This band and their music comforts in its reminder of previous times yet feels modern and alive as it delivers smile after smile in abundance.

I’m glad I know Marco because it led me to this.

Lavinia BlackALL and Stilton have already sold out three dates this tour. They will go on to sell out even more.

I had a wonderful time and you will too - go and see them - they are still out on the road this week.

You can find music by them here: https://laviniablackwall.bandcamp.com/releases

Here’s the video for “Waiting for Tomorrow’

A Huge Ever Growing Pulsating Band That Rules From the Centre of the Ultraworld: The Orb at the Queen Elizabeth Hall

2019-04-01T06:00:00.000-07:00

It wasn’t planned. It came to me as I waited. I could kill off ambient house music. In some sort of sound terrorist intervention smash up the stage and call the whole thing off. I hadn’t planned any of it but reading Bill Drummond lately has made me question why I should be here in the first place. I mean doesn’t Ambient House really belong back in the late eighties/ early nineties? I’m sick of this ambient house with its nods and appropriation of ‘world music’ and its offers of meditation and enlightenment. I’m sick of its dreamy dirge like nothingness that just drifts through me and over me without demanding that I listen. I’m sick of Eno and his crew lauding it over us all with his nods to minimal space and open thinking and no drums. I’m sick of all the colours and symbolism associated with a genre that has risen up out of experimental music and become a byword for really being the sounds in-between things.

I want ambient house to die.

I had travelled down by train early to get to the Southbank – no real reason to leave earlier than usual. I hadn't anyone to meet. Concerts are normally solidarity affairs for me. Even though I’m bursting with trivia and facts and want to discuss possible setlists and always hope to meet the artist in some sort of acknowledgement that I care and they care too.

I used to do this when I wrote a fanzine – made the untouchable possible and talked to people. Now crippled by age and a lack of energy I simply imagine all the things that could happen.

And it happened at The Orb tonight at the Queen Elizabeth Hall.

Not interviews with artists nor hook ups just the simplicity of crowds letting go and finally feeling alive. It was clear that we weren’t out of it and certainly weren’t discussing what we were on. But there was a sense of abandon – well in the space between Row A and the stage. It all went off there.

But back to killing off ambient house – ambient music altogether. The KLF (that’s Bill Drummond and Jim Cauty) deleted their back catalogue at the end of their period of fame. They stopped. Literally pulled the plug and refused to make their sounds available. In essence they died. (Which is ironic considering they came back after 23 years as an undertakers)

The Orb haven’t done this.

They have continued to evolve in modern times.

Releasing long player after long player. Which means they are creating something beyond the tags, the genre, the label they are often given. They are creating sounds beyond the (little fluffy) clouds and at the edge of space.

I will not call them an ambient house group.

A long time ago Jim Cauty was part of The Orb. In fact I watched Alex and Jim trying to create sounds with a DAT and decks in a corridor whilst Primal Scream played. Ketamine had zoned the whole place – no one could move - there are flashes of them sat under a table and in all honesty at that point we could have called the whole thing off. There’s only so much extended reverb we can take – especially in that state. Ambience was a state of mind – not a soundtrack

But Alex carried on regardless.

And I am glad that he has.

There’s a lot of Punk Rock in the good Doctor – in The Orb. I think they mean it maaaaan.

So my fantasies about killing ‘ambient house’ subsided over the course of the evening. I entered the brutalist modernism of the Queen Elizabeth Hall (the building that boat tours on the Thames call a ‘carbuncle’ alongside the Royal Festival Hall and the National Theatre – mainly because they paraphrase would be King Charley – but also because they have no soul and don’t live in London) I was early and there was a fella done up in a ‘universe and planets print suit’ – I never spoke to him. But he was the real deal. He was Ambient in textiles.

And then The Orb tonight were a revelation.

Thomas Felhman wasn’t there as far as I could make out. This was just Dr LX and a young fella and a bassist. But that was actually enough. I’ve seen The Orb countless times and like The Rolling Stones (so I’m led to believe) they can be a hit or a miss – even with a ‘burger’ or two. Which makes them unpredictable. Which is how it should be really – otherwise they might as well be a covers band. Which is odd because as I made my way home and ventured across the road in Blackheath there was a band playing in the Railway Tavern – they were playing Blur’s Song 2 – the singer was enunciating the Whoo Hoo – but as Whoo Yeah – it was flat as fuck. Perhaps I should turn my energy to killing that off?

But I was happy though because what happened tonight was The Orb simply nailed it.

They made sounds that pulled at every element of being. Alex is simply the master of ceremonies. Curating (yes I said it) and dropping samples that lift people and places to higher states. Alex is able to conjure up an atmosphere with his wizardry at the decks – because that’s what it is. He plays samples – manipulates them and takes the crowd with him. He makes us follow in his dubbed out glory and uses machines to layer bliss amongst us all. And the audience weren’t tired all ravers who would be better off sitting down than moving a few limbs – the QEH crowd were a mixture of old and new – not so loved up as before but ready and willing to get on the orb bus that would carry them to orblivion. Obviously, I was part of the older set and as ‘Perpetual Dawn’ kicked in and we all gave way to getting down with it – it was heartening to see some people staying put – dodgy hips I presume. But they were smiling.

The Orb arrived with no fanfare. Following a spaced out, dubbed out and clubbed out set from who knows – it wasn’t clear – but it was enjoyable – The Orb arrived. Suddenly they were on and making sounds and ‘No Sounds Were Out of Bounds’ this evening – yet vocals were. No guests - no additions. Just Alex and that fella and a bassist when required (if that fella is Felhmann then he is the new Dorian Gray) The audience were sat – respectful and appreciative. To be fair I wasn’t out of my seat from the beginning. But LX was casting his magick he was casting a spell in reverb and dub that we could not resist. There were snatches of this and that. Early sounds mixed with the new. And then out of the ambience came Towers of Dub – this incredible powerful repetitive calling. Heavy bass and dogs barking – the ultimate in dance friendly sounds. Yet we stayed put – to be fair I had lost it at that moment – I may have even closed my eyes in the sway (hey hey hey) I hadn’t heard 'Towers of Dub' that powerful in years. It was incredible and you could feel the will of the audience. Waiting for the right time to get up and get down with it.

The Orb journeyed further following 'Towers' with 'Star 6,7,8 and 9' I was well and truly enthralled. I had decided that killing ambient house would not be possible this evening. There was clearly a place for it – well a place for this – as I said I think The Orb are creating something fresh and different and I didn’t want to ruin the evening for everybody else. Besides the magick had worked – I was swaying – putting my arms in the air and generally getting wide-eyed loon like. It was a mild mannered rave up for the middle class masses all washed and suitably booted and home by half ten but within those hours we were enthralled by The Orb soundsystem. Tune after tune declared their sonic prominence at the top of the pile – crafting huge pulsating monsters from decks and FX. And the crowd got more heady and decided that dancing the evening away was required. From the 'Back Side of the Moon' Alex and Co. created a sonic mix of bleeps and yelps and dubbed out dissonance to rock the masses, with new new grooves from the latest long player mixed in with the perennial crowd pleasers. I thought it was going to go off when that Millie Ripperton refrain drifted from the speakers as Alex mixed and chopped 'A Huge Ever Growing Pulsating Brain That Rules From the Centre of the Ultraworld' to wild abandon. And then finally as the curfew reigned in and with twenty minutes before ‘game over’ Joni was asked what were the skies like when she was young.

And she told us.

The skies had little fluffy clouds in them and ran on forever.

You knew it was coming but a song that is over 30 years old was still presented in a new form. It still had an impact. The Orb had won. The Queen Elizabeth Hall was awash with grins and arms aloft – ok so we were older and weren’t going to last much longer than 10pm but it was joyous and fun. Fifteen minutes of fluffiness. The Orb are an electronic group who offer up a sound that is both comforting and challenging. A sound that is relevant and nostalgic. It’s a sound that is thirty years in the making – The Orb make sounds were no sounds are out of bounds – they do not make ambient house.

They are music makers of the finest quality. Just don’t call it Ambient House.

The Orb Sounds can be found here: https://www.theorb.com/

Here's the full rendition of Little Fluffy Clouds from QEH 30th March, 2019 - thanks to Willy Billiams for filming it.

Take a 'chance' on this Kidd

2019-03-01T06:16:00.001-08:00

Music is all about time. The right time more often than not.

At the moment I have 'time'. It’s hasn't always been like that but circumstances sometimes throw you the freedom to think and do something different.

Time is on my side - If I could turn back time - Hit me baby one more time - This time (more than any other time)

And when time connects with ideas then things become magical. You see (well hear) there’s so much sound out there. And when our ears align with the sounds of the underground, from the garages, the box room rebels and the cupboard pioneers then their melodies and words can lift our days and hit us right in the heart. All these genres emerging over time and rolling over one another – boundaries collapsing and sound taking over in fits and starts and change. This great body of sound pushing and moving on across centuries and cultures it's bound to have an impact.

And when you have time you make things.

And when you have time then things can happen.

At some point last year Stuart Kidd had ‘time’ on his hands – as he puts it a ‘chance weekend’ to himself. So why not take a chance on the time that you’ve got. Which is exactly what he did. Setting himself the challenge to record an album in a weekend. Well let’s say put down the basis of a long player in a 48 hours (I can’t be exact – I wasn’t there) The result of this is ‘Chance Weekend’ an incredibly beautiful set of songs structured through chance and risk, experimentation and play.

We all experience moments of time on our hands. Good times. Bad times. It’s what we choose to do with this time that shapes tomorrow and all that. There’s something in looking back to those moments when boredom bred creativity and the 'in between' happened. Stuart Kidd makes the music of the 'in between' from a cupboard (well not just a cupboard – but let’s stick with it as an image for his creative genius) in Scotland. Stuart Kidd has been in my life for some ‘time’ now. I first came into contact with his incredible melodies and harmonies as part of The Wellgreen in a club in North London. Playing good time rock and roll with his partner in chime Marco Rea. And then through his bandcamp site I discovered all manner of beauty. 'Chance Weekend' is another find from this cupboard full of dreaming.

Starting with an idea – well it has to start somewhere – to create songs using ‘chance’ materials Kidd set about creating a wonderful new long layer. Inspired by Eno and Coryat and Dobson’s ‘The 12 Song Game’ he set about using random cards and exercises to revisit sounds, create new ones, merge ideas and sing with abandon in new ways. It’s still Kidd though – it’s still songwriting of the highest order – it’s just put together differently.

Sometimes with time on your hands you find new things to do with it.

Now this might be an odd place to bring this up but I’ve been reading a book by John Higgs again ‘The KLF Chaos and Magic and the band who burned a million pound’. It’s a wonderful book and you should read it. But within its pages is an explanation of magical thinking. ‘Chance Weekend’ has been touched by magical thinking. It really is a beautiful piece of work. I should write this review by using the techniques that Kidd used – roll a dice and add parts about harmony or write in italics and bold. But I’m going to chance it and just write whilst listening. Hopefully it will make some sense.

Opening with ‘A picture I don’t want to paint’ with it’s nod to the laid back 'mid-eighties late night feel' production, kind of like a nightime drive tune that appears from the radio - not Chris Rea - it’s never ever Chris Rea – but it has a sort of minor melancholic tinge coupled with odd squiggles and squeaks and straight away this is a departure from what we might be used to. The song is still full of rich harmonies blending and coming together but there’s a touch of wailing guitar in there to, it’s quite a sad opener but it works.

This is followed by ‘Little One’ a heartfelt tune to being a family. I guess once someone else comes along you shift your perspective in life and this shift in perspective has produced a wonderful song. It starts with a buzz and simple beat mixed with a drone my kind of pure pop – I can’t put my finger on the what it reminds of – it has this big ‘red rocks’ moment near the end – you know epic pop. All hands aloft with lights and people on shoulders. It’s a song with a punch in the air and swaying with your lover. Families come from this. There’s a lyric that Kidd sings so beautifully - keep us in your plans – because you know your children grow up and we all have to escape sometime but as a parent you want your children to 'keep us in mind'. It resonates with love for the unknown whilst calling past - a nod to being back somewhere in time. It's a beauty. This cupboard pop pioneer is producing some of the most wonderful sounds around at the moment and you really should give it a listen.

Opening with a Sgt Pepper like fanfare ‘Forget Me Not’ drifts into that beatific 60s simplicity and here come The Zombies to help him create a perfect pop storm with a banjo and a kazoo somehow making melodies conjuring the 1930s. This has a lot of Macca about it and that’s no bad thing. There’s never an afterthought with Kidd – he puts it all into the tunes and it works. Like ‘Tomorrow Sky’, that comes next all seas and open horizons with a space filled guitar part to match. This is my favourite so far ( but I haven’t got to the end yet) There’s a swirling organ like the mighty sea rumbling beneath it and that chord progression sends you far out to watch the sun. I don’t want to say it’s country folk – but you need a jump in point so I’m saying it has echoes of country folk but inflected with the city (to keep it real maaaaan) The harmonies are thick and wonderful - the whole long player is both reflective and forward thinking. In using random procedures to create songs the process has made Kidd stray from what he knows into a tomorrow that never knows.

Next comes 'Crazy George' – which is just brilliant it seems to be made up of found sounds and repetition. I get the feeling of early children’s television music as Kidd makes sounds from rainbows. It’s got a touch of Van Dyke Parks, it's pastoral and evocative of other pleasant worlds. Actually this might be my favourite. And once again time is referenced so well as KiDD sings 'You can’t look back without tomorrow close at hand.' You really can't.

Up next is ‘Sagro’ - now this actually has the Bagpuss melody as it's intro ( or I might have locked on to a children’s television theme in my mind through my own magical thinking) it’s all Oliver Postgate and wonder. Still mining that Van Dyke Parks vibe and then shifting to drum machines and swirls. Melodies unwinding over chugging beats. When it breaks after two minutes it’s sublime. I could listen to an album of that sound. There’s lots going on in all these songs – but it doesn’t feel that it’s thrown in – more developed even though his working method held more power over the production of this album than the more traditional process of writing a set of songs. But sometimes you have to just do something different

'Like a Bullet' is a ‘cut up’ lyrical blast an ‘Alphabet boogie woogie’ to borrow Kidd’s own technique. I have just written ‘The Beach Boys meet The Style Council uptown’. And that’s no bad thing. So I'll stick with that description for now.

The fuzzed opening of ‘Unknown Hometown’ with its echoes of MBV guitars breaking and falling apart whilst Teenage Fanclub provide the structure is absolutely pure pop. Random and sublime. It feels like it’s in a key that’s pushed his voice somewhere else and I really like that. It’s quite a big one this one.

We are nearing the end and there’s time for two more tunes from this wunderKidd. ‘I see crocodiles’ a drone spiritual with a touch of Bowie era ‘Low’ about it – you’ll get the reference when you listen. But then suddenly punctuated with huge harmonies as at comes to an end – we're back to hands in the air – as night falls and we fall in love. And there’s a lovely drone repetition at the end that I could listen to for hours.

Finally wonk pop at its best is addressed in ‘Where have they gone’ With spring reverb making it seem ‘Free’ ( see what I did there?) and alive. It’s like Kidd goes glam with a touch of Tricky thrown in the blender. A riotous manner with which to close the cupboard door on at this time. As experiments go this works for Kidd. It’s another long player of incredible tunes and words from a genuine genius of sound. He’s contributed to so much wonderful music over the years but clearly saves some of the magic for himself. With time and chance he’s woven together a truly special record.

With ‘time’ comes creativity. Kidd’s time over that weekend was well spent. Why don’t you take a chance on Kidd and listen yourself this weekend. You won’t be disappointed.

You can find the album to download or buy a limited copy here:

https://kidd.bandcamp.com/

You can find even more wonderful things here:
https://kiddtunes.com/
https://open.spotify.com/artist/7jTgnIN8MDiKqHVGfvgz0k

Here is the video for ‘A picture I don’t want to paint’

Oh and check out The Barne Society they released Grin and Bear it by The Wellgreen - and that's ace too.

I missed the Sleaford Mods - it's O.K

2019-02-22T17:36:00.000-08:00

I missed the Sleaford Mods last night – but bought a ticket for Stereolab today – but it’s not like seeing the Sleaford Mods.

I just listened to Kebab Spiders- I love that pure honesty of what the fuck and this and that – but it’s the craft of Fearn that’s getting me – there’s the scowl and undertow and all that rah rah rah – but the tunes become more sublime everytime – hit hit hit – penny shove gone crazy and paying out non stop for the masses. Making la la sounds and bringing you in. I haven’t heard the rest of Eton Lives – but this is good.

This makes it even more fucking gutting that I missed it.

But I’ve been missing lots

I got put out my job sometime back – making it large over December days – you know smiling and all that whilst walking through some fucking shit mire not knowing.

So back to the Mods. We are the mods. Always.

I’ve been clean living in dirty times all my life.

I haven’t written a thing for a while. The last time I saw the Sleaford Mods was at the The Roundhouse in Camden.

I nearly bit someone’s throat out.

Well I didn’t bite it out. I wanted to. Not sure if that was a Sleafords Mods reaction or down to the medication I was on at the time - it can get you like that at times - send you off kilter. It was for my chest by the way - antibiotics. But it was a worry. Mods shows and all that weren’t punctuated with violence – everytime I had seen them there was an air of beauty – people getting along - listening and grinning.

At the Roundhouse – I had experienced something different. Now I am a middle aged man – I’m 47. Can you say I was too close to the front. I paid the money – it was free standing - I made my way down to the first couple of rows – I didn’t push nor shove I was close – maybe not a close as I wanted but I was near the stage.

I enjoyed the set – there was an element that felt removed and the audience weren’t as into it as they were at Brixton before. Some movement happened – people got lively. Ok by me. I felt water on my head. Liveliness. Yet it felt calculated. Looked around and this person was ready to try it again. I think it he mst have got caught up in the heady nature of the event.

I am a 47 year old man.

I mean you no harm.

I meant no one any harm.

I carried on my evening – it was close to the end. The Mods had been good. Not quite connecting. Wetness on the head - again. Clearly it was intended. Yes I had shuffled around a little. I had caused no harm.

I ventured to leave.

I was kicked.

I was kicked again. On purpose.

Looked around. Same members of the audience who had spilt a pint on my head. Older than me by my reckoning. What kind of fun is all that?

I came to do no harm.

But I was ready for a rumble. I told him. I told him I would wait outside.

He did not wait outside.

I would have been a 47 year old man rolling in the Camden gutter.

It didn’t happen. I was waylaid by my friend who bought a t-shirt. A cautionary move to calm the whole thing down. This is the friend who offered to get tickets for the 100 Club last night.

He didn’t get tickets.

I thank him. If the crowd is turning into a freak show of wannabe fighters and scrappers then I can leave it for a while. Best to. Let them drift away on the next 'difficult album'.

We will go again to see Sleaford Mods.

I will be friendly. As I always am. My friend knows this.

Panda Bear was loose in London

2018-04-15T12:56:00.002-07:00

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I have enjoyed the thrills of live sounds for years and years. There’s something magical about the experience of seeing something you committed to your memory through repeated revolutions on record players suddenly becoming real for your ears in a building with the minds that made it there in front of you.

I can remember most of the gigs, shows, sets, concerts – what ever you wish to call them – that I have attended - not the literal evening but sensations, snippets, sounds and smells that conjure up a moment or an emotion that was lodged way in my brain. Fleeting images of my heroes played out in mind films on the surface of my eyes.

Panda Bear at the Village Underground on Tuesday is now firmly lodged in the cerebral mass of synapses and connections. I am a fan of Panda Bear – you all should be a fan of Panda Bear – because there’s a beauty within those electronic collages that soothes the soul.

For those unaccustomed to Panda Bear – he is actually Noah Lennox – and one part Animal Collective. I came to Animal Collective after listening to Panda Bear – not the other way round. I like Animal Collective but I like Panda Bear more. Each tune he has released has wrapped itself around my heart and made me smile that little longer – not that they are all happy tunes mind.

I arrive at the Village Underground a little early. So I head off for a drink in graffiti covered buildings and hip surroundings. I buy a drink. It costs £5.80. Ridiculous really. I think The Smiths t-shirt I bought at one of my first concerts cost £5.

Some time the city is out to rip you off.

Panda Bear is playing in East London tonight – but this is no rip off – this is not a rock n roll swindle. And this is his one date in the city as he waltzes through Europe and beyond. There is only one day to spend with this homie. Not even a day – it’s only a night.

But I’m glad I spent it with you.

Proceedings begin with Maria Reis who produces sounds that are both haunting and jaunty – there’s a popness to her MBV meets Eno tunes. The crowd are warm in their appreciation and the cavernous building - with it’s bar on the side making it difficult to see the stage - feels intimate as she plays to the swelling numbers.

And then we wait for PB. I have managed to find a spot way down the front about two bodies back and to the right of the stage. The crowd is hip and youthful – but I don’t care - I am an old man taking space from the youth. I dig this too.

I wait for the arrival of Noah. At 9.30 the lights dim and Panda Bear enters the room – he takes off his coat- keeps on his hoodie - picks up the microphone and begins to create sonic alchemy. Tonight’s ‘show’ and to be fair it is a ‘show’ is full of repetitive visuals and strobed lights and screens there to add and support the wonderful sounds of the Bear’s workbench. I’m intrigued by the workbench – it looks cobbled together with MDF to hold instruments that shake the very soul. Noah works this table of instruments(?) throughout the set – sounds blending and growing from his array of special units and keys – drones become fragments of songs and layers of sound build upon each other into this beautiful digital cacophony offset with sweet harmonies and honest feelings.

To be honest it’s hard making out what I’m listening to – I never got hold of the last vinyl only ‘A Day with the Homies’ but I guess this is what I’m listening to interspersed with songs from when he took on the Grim Reaper and won. There’s a few older ones too all presented with a backdrop of a pulsating dancing woman in garish make up and flowing dresses. It’s a trip maaaaaaan. A real mind bending trip. But the audience are here for the ride – there’s a group behind me bellowing the words and dancing with wild abandon – we are here to worship at Lennox’s sonic altar – we are his disciples – which is apt because it’s just after Easter that he walks amongst us.

The night develops through each sample and repetitive drone with the Panda adding vocals as loops become recognizable tunes - it’s hard to know where to clap – so I just grin throughout. The new tunes are harder in terms of beats – there’s elements of hip hop, drum and bass and the inevitable dubstep – but it doesn’t feel bandwagon jumping more an evolving landscape of sound that Panda Bear inhabits. The set consisted of this according to setlist.com

Dolphin (New Song)

Flight

Boys Latin

I Know I Don't (New Song)

Part of the Math

Cosplay (No Outro)

Cranked (New Song)

Shepard Tone

Crosswords

Home Free (New Song)

Selfish Gene

Cosplay Demo (Outro)

The end of the set before the encore slowly built into a huge pulsating bass drone with vomiting visuals and strobes. It was heavy work. But there’s absolute heavy soul in his squelching electronic psychedelia.

Lennox is not a dance musician - but we sway in unison at times to his kinetic rhythms and futuroid B(each) Boy singing – because after all his voice remains his secret weapon. It’s what everything hangs on –and follows this incredible set with an encore of three incredible works - Sabbath (New Song), Crescendo (New Song) and finally Sunset with each one getting better than the last. We are uplifted and dancing – and then he is gone.

Coat on and out the building – well probably not - but I want to afford him some rock star status – not that he is that at all but he deserves to held up a little higher than he is. It’s hard to find music that resonates and connects in this digital forever streaming age and Panda Bear is making incredible tunes that will stand up and be re -evaluated in future years.

I’m glad Panda Bear played at the Village Underground and you will be glad next time he plays – because you’ll be there too.

Here's a Part of the Math from France - I can't find any videos from London - but you get the idea.

Moogie Boogie in London - Euros is back in Town

2017-11-25T12:21:00.001-08:00

It’s been a long time since the roogie boogie visited this part of town. I’ve been all caught up in suits and presentations and unable to get any thoughts down other than those that generate pay slips. I haven’t been writing about music. And sometimes listening is not enough.

Where’s the fun gone in all of this?

Luckily Euros was back to revive the vibe.

Euros Childs has been officially released from House Arrest and is now out and about to bring us light ( and some dark) in the winter evenings. It’s been two years since he was last in this part of town. So it only seemed right that I should spend time in his company two times – and as luck will have it he decided to play two wonderfully storming utterly beautiful ‘shows’ in London.

So the roogie boogie is back. Well - a different type of roogie boogie

Double the time and double the pleasure.

And it’s always a pleasure when Euros is in town. His errant psychedelic left field skewed view of the world can’t fail to delight. And delight it does with the packed house in North and South London on a Sunday and a Monday evening this week.

Tonight Euros and Rosie are a two piece bent on giving us a rocking good time. It’s a different experience to the Roogie Boogie band but no less intense. The addition of a new Moog strengthens the bass and (rouche) rumble within the mix.

Moogie Boogie.

And at the Sebright it’s genuinely heart shaking – the moog that is - although that might have been where I was sat – or where I’m at.

The stage is set up and is reminiscent of a low budget indie Rick Wakeman – lots of keyboards and wires (and a phone – for the drums - well some of them) and a lonely two piece kit at the back. And whilst Euros isn’t playing a brand of noodling prog rock ecstasy there’s a nod to it – especially the wigged out psychedelia of Dust – heard on both nights in a mighty melee of sound and confusion – all fingers and palms and repetitive bass.

As ever Euros entertains – how can he not – and there’s something magical when these songs come alive in packed houses – and both were packed houses.

The 'House Arrest' tour has only just begun – date after date in carefully considered venues across the land and Euros always seems to choose interesting venues - both shows in London are in great places – I arrived early on Sunday to the Sebright Arms – a lovely venue – with fantastic sound- tucked away behind a main road in Cambridge Heath.

Euros has a new long player to plug and sometimes you head into these journeys knowing what to expect – but this time I wasn’t sure – I had listened to the album once – in fits and starts – I had some idea of melody and lines but hadn’t yet immersed myself in Euros’s world. So there was that thrill of the new – the unexpected in the air.

This was also Euros without the Roogie Boogie band - it’s a new band I guess.

It’s the new thing.

I also had my picture taken by a man who was convinced I was Vic Reeves. He wouldn’t let it lie.

Rosie opened up for the main event ( at the Sebright) in the guise of 'Oh Peas' with soaringly tragic and introspective black anthems about loss and love. Not exactly cheery – but bleakly magnificent if you like to shed a tear on a Sunday.

Then Euros arrived to the theme from Ski Sunday (which is actually called “Pop Looks Bach’ pop pickers) As you know by now a Euros concert is one underpinned by incredible songs and heartfelt laughs – he never misses a beat – the audience murmur to each other beforehand that seeing him always leaves you happy – that he makes you laugh ( in a good way)

And that’s the Euros experience in a nutshell – I’ve been watching him in various venues for years now and always leave feeling some how happier. The set tonight is a mixture of the new and some old – but it wasn’t what I expected. Songs are pulled from House Arrest, Refresh, Cousins, Bora da and Son of Euros – I think. I never got hold of the set list so I’ve been trying to piece it together in my head.

I wasn’t sure about 'Refresh' on first hearing – it was difficult and seemed to be facing inwards – explosive in the layers of samples and resamples. But if you keep on in there it is refreshing (see what I did there?) And 'Pick it Up' is exceptional in its airing on both nights – basically a rallying call to pick up the shit on the street, in the park, on the beach. It takes a mundane thing and transcends to the magically. It’s about shit – shit on your shoe, in your hair – it’s thoroughly far out.

On stage Rosie and Euros flit between synths ,drums, guitar ( well not so much the guitar) and phone (for the drums - there’s an App for that) to summon up melody fuelled monsters of delight. There’s that open honesty in the songs that is somehow infectious to the watching audience – creating connections from the darker end of the street. Songs about eating disorders – Euros needs a list tonight – hastily pushed to the side of the keyboard to name all the foods that 'Christy and Misty' get through – not to mention the waiter who ends up on a spit and with its tempo changes and refrain you get a sense of Sgt Pepper – especially Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite, or the obsessive 'Shower' taker – safe within the waters of his own home, the yearning ambition to pursue a 'Stuntman' career, the trials of being a bag – a 'yellow bag', an incredible version of 'Peanut Dispenser' - which surely must be it's first airing in years and years - and I haven't been able to shake it from my head for days - or just the bliss that it is to exist in a 'Happy Coma'. Which gets us all singing the chorus and empathising that not all things are bad. Well not until your life support is switched off.

And of course colanders. Mine is rocking back and forth. How about yours?

The set tonight is wonderful – the sound is sharp, taut and visceral. And we get 'Look at My Boots '– at first a stuttering attempt at the end of the set that eventually becomes 'Jane (Not her real Name)' from Cousins – which is a bonus.

But then correctly in the encore. A song of studied coolness about boots and fridges.

Waiting for Euros to comeback on after lights down at the end of the set you can feel that energy he creates – the crowd are chanting – I’m clapping – they are clapping – we are all clapping and there really was a roar when Euros returned to the stage – he’s a well liked man – they are a well liked band in these parts.

But I’m out the door on Sunday - no time to wait in queues for CDs and signatures – but it doesn’t matter as I’m seeing Euros in Nunhead the next night – closer to home.

Nunhead is a different affair – all knitting clubs and real ale. The venue is a community run public house and venue – it's a nice place – with gold lame curtains on a foot and half high stage – sort of ballroom blitzed. Tonight there are two other turns before the main event – Garden Centre a fella and basically a neurosis belting out childlike squalls and screams about things I have little time to care about. And then The Gentle Good who's worked with another Mynci - all intricate picking and lilting songs of moths, birds, love and open water, the rightside of folk for me – not overly jumpers and roll ups.

Tonight the entrance is to the Monty Python Theme (actually called Liberty Bell – pop pickers). Now just so you know two nights of Euros really isn’t that excessive in my book – but I had been asked why I was going again considering I’d seen the band last night. I don’t think I need to explain it really – I’ve said it here before – being in a room with Euros makes you feel good. And I could see some familiar faces in the crowd – we’ve been standing in rooms with Euros for sometime.

We will continue to stand in rooms with Euros.

We like it that way. And I was only coming from down the road – I spoke to a Japanese woman – Fujiko (I think that’s her name) who I have seen at many of these nights – she had come from Tokyo. So let’s get it in perspective.

I like Euros Childs. Lots of us like Euros Childs. She really likes Euros Childs.

Tonight was just as brilliant. A set peppered with the same songs from the previous evening but mixed up a little. The sound was dense – and didn’t pack the clarity of the Sebright Arms ( ‘More drums’) – if I’m being critical - but there was still the beauty in the room. ‘Turning Strange’ sounds magnificent on both airings over the weekend – in theory its 80s sounding chords shouldn’t work – but Euros weaves that simplicity and feeling through it. It has a Brian Wilson nod – like it could have been co produced by Dr Eugene Landy and ended up on Wilson’s first solo album.

It’s mesmerising. Full of harmony and warmth.

It’s on the new album – you should buy it.

You probably have.

And then with a final flourish they finish with Godmalding (pronounced – God -Mal -Ding to help with the scansion – as it didn’t know it was going to end up in a Euros song) the night was over.

I hope that Euros is not placed under House Arrest for another two years.

He's been missed.

But just so you know he will always have a welcome roof in this part of town.

You can buy the album from the man himself from here You can also get all the other albums too - and you know they are all worth a listen.

The House Arrest continues right up till mid December - see him before he returns home and gets locked back in again.

Here are some videos from Nunhead The Ivy House - I can't find any from the Sebright Arms ( credit to the people who filmed them - thanks)

The Rise and Rise of a Northern Star

2016-12-19T08:28:00.006-08:00

I have been meaning to get this down for some time – in fact it’s nearly four weeks ago – and many things have happened in between – but so it goes. I don't write for the NME - I write for me. Anyway - sometime back I ventured to Camden Dublin Castle to see The Stella Grundy Band. You remember Stella don’t cha?

Stella is a legend. Simple as that really.

Previously and still part of the Manchester ‘scene’ - heady on the music scene. She was part of Intastella. That sudden burst of ‘new pop and soul’ that Manchester is wont to do when it suits. You know just be that little bit ahead. There’s always something going on those cobbled streets.

Now I was a fan of Intastella and The Twist. If you ever had the inclination to read half of my writing on here – you’d know about me and Tony O. You know how that story goes. But I don’t think I’ve written about Intastella – I probably first heard them through a recommendation from my brother Paul – it normally starts there – but it could also have been through those Goldsmiths’ student union days ( daze) all mixed up mates and swapped music. I think there was a lad in the year below – he was in Ariel – they were from Manchester – some of them went off to be The Chemical Brothers – it may have been through conversations – I can’t quite recall – but what I can recall is being struck by the psychedelic shuffles and squelches and this floating honey sound – this sort of lilting voice - all soft yet - well I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. But they looked great – Stella was a force to be reckoned with – I remember listening in to a BBC Radio One live show and back then technology could or most likely would let you down – Stella was having none of it – and let the BBC sound engineers know what she thought. It was great listening for the anarchist in me – not so great for the BBC. Stella’s still got that steel.

She’s open and honest. Yet you wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her. I imagine it’s fairly difficult to make it in the ‘business’ as a woman.

As a star.

As a Northern Star.

And now here she was again. Full on and ready to take on a crowd who didn’t quite know what to expect. A mixture of beards and bomber jackets – hipsters and those who might need hips replacing in a few years. We were a good crowd. A crowd willing to be entertained. Stella was taking the stage before the ‘headline’ act – Unknown Pleasures – a Joy Division tribute band – we are clearly living in post-modern times maaaaaan.

Saying that Stella’s already re–represented the pop star via her stage production of The Rise and Fall of a Northern Star. It’s quite difficult to disentangle Stella/ Tracy at times as the room bursts with sound collages from Tracy – snatched quotes and lines - who’s up there on the stage? Nonetheless what this show does – and it is a show – a show a strength – of resolution – of good times – of groovy times – is allow Stella to play to her strengths – her skills as a performer.

She’s has this magnetism - she begins to command the room – to make them pay attention.

We are treated to selections from Stella’s wonderful album ‘The Rise ad Fall of a Northern Star’, tales of excess and longing – of being in a band – existing. They are delivered with fury and humour – Stella’s vocals mixing wonderfully with electronic grooves and bubbles and bass. Absolutely solid gone. There’s a direct dub lineage in all of this performance – the sound is wonderful – aggressive and loose. Throbbing and delightful. Guitars screech and delay whilst electronics boil then simmer in this (insta)stella mix – and everything is held down by expert drumming – blending triggered samples and machine beats to the real – this band are incredibly tight – uptight – out of sight. I hadn’t quite expected it to be this way – there’s pop floating through it all – but you can see the dark side – the excess within – taking the whole thing up a notch. This is not nostalgia but it looks back at the ride Stella’s been on. It’s not always been an easy one – sometimes she’s had to carry a heavy heavy weight. They don’t play Heavyweight tonight – Stella said that it’s because they are working on a new version – I hope it harks back to the early incarnations of the tune – it’s a belter – and I’m definitely coming back to see it played live when Stella and her clan return. Finally we have an old Intastella tune in the mix ( for their No.1 fan) – Skyscraper – a towering dnb floor shaking fest as Stella and the band bring the crowd ever higher – write to the top of the tower block.

They only play for 30 minutes

Stella and her mighty,mighty,mighty band could have played for longer. The crowd were in the palm of her hand and there for the taking. But you know the adage – keep them wanting more. They do want more. And I am certain Stella will continue to deliver.

In some ways the whole night was an odd one – here we had new exciting sounds taking hold – a new Manchester excursion – demonstrating its roots –and growing new branches – whilst the final ‘turn’ of the night was a Joy Division covers band – they could probably get a slot on the ferries – it was old Manchester – well at least a vision of it – and don’t get me wrong they were alright – and I’m sure there’s a fan base – but it’s not Ian. It isn’t any of them. That happened in 1979. And then it came to an end. I listened to Joy Division in my bedroom – I was 11. It paved the way for this. For connecting with new sounds.

Stella is making new sounds not treading old ground.

She’s not just a Northern Star you know.

She’s simply a star.

You can buy her album here

And you can listen to this right now.

How to destroy rock n roll - an evening with The Telescopes

2016-07-10T09:54:00.000-07:00

They make fucking noise.

The Telescopes make beautiful fucking noise.

It's been a while since I was actually in New Cross. I pass through it - but don't stop there so much (can't stop, won't stop) - not since those heady university Goldsmiths' daze. Which is pretty much where The Telescopes came in. Okay - I first found my love for their sonic shakes whilst living out life with a bowlhead and bag on the mean streets of Scunthorpe - a northern town to bring you right down. The Cheree realeased Kick The Wall - summing up all that teenage frustration in guitars and screams. On hearing Stephen and Co's cacophony I decided that I liked it and wanted to taste a little more - and I pursued it with abandon in my early university time.

So I set about going to a number of gigs of theirs - early days for them and late nights for me. It was clear then - as it was with tonight's concert - that The Telescopes take no prisoners. They just play hard motherfucking rock n squall - and that my friends is exactly as it should be. Early Telescopes had that Iggy/ Stooges/ Spaceman thing going - no down tempo numbers full on sonics and screams.

I sent letters - mainly to Jo - and Stephen as well - interviewed them for a fanzine - jumped myself silly at gigs - supported them in Hull - watched them play with The Mary Chain and then slowly I stopped listening for a while. It was those repetitive beats - pulling me somewhere else.

But now here I was again waiting for a set of something - and to be honest I wasn't expecting it to be that hard - that brutal - but I felt challenged and that's good - it makes you think - it makes you question music. And as that's my bag - tonight's Telescopes - so different to years gone past - but so bloody-minded and similar in repose and attitude - did just that. They destroyed rock n roll for all around and simply put it back together in layers of reverb and hate.

The day was billed as a Psych All Dayer - but I was making an evening of it. I tend to end up at these things on my own - my 45 year old set don't go in for this type of abuse - so I arrived for a set from Black Seas - a five piece Jaguar guitars and tweed sort of thing - they had noise and jangle - a touch of early valentines and a singer prowling and sending deep reverberations around - I guess it was a Nick Cave type thing - but with none of the presence and he was wearing a Nike t-shirt - so I'm not having that. You've got to put some effort in.

This was followed by a transcendental trumpet and electronica pyschedelic workout by two blokes under the name Hirvikolari - they started with dub echoes and bleeps and pretty much kept it that way as a colossal twenty minute beast was unleashed with modular pulses and repetition. I liked it - I liked their style.

Next - Melt Dunes - young psych upstarts - with loud guitars and hair - I quite like d them to be honest - a bit Sabbath - a bit of this and that - but their was conviction and a sense of show - some youth down the front showing that he dug it - I liked that - this band will have fans - they will show their appreciation. They finished with a cover - and I can't remember it's name - but it was fantastic - all

repetitive and shouting - they will certainly make some memorable records.

And then to The Telescopes - this brooding thing - slowly lumbering to the stage from the caves - finally alive and hungry. Stephen has been ploughing this field for some time now - incarnations of The Telescopes - forever looking further and beyond the now - exploring new space with a set of like minded 'cavemen'. This current line up found Dave Gryphon on three stringed bass - 'Why would I need a G?', Stuart Gardham ( I think - but I might be wrong) stretching the sonics through six strings and John or Jon hitting the skins - warrior like - in control and controlling. Stephen spends most of the night crouched down - kneeling on the stage - listening and adding - sending his vocals spinning out and out into space ringing around and around - merging and melding into one noise - one beautiful noise.

If truth be told - I didn't recognise a song - there was a fella and his wife - had waited all day for this - he was wearing a Chapterhouse t-shirt - he didn't stick around - they weren't playing the hits. Not that that would be a bad thing - The Telescopes have an army of tunes - they just decided that this wasn't the place to play them - or if it was - present them in such a manner that meant they became something else. Feedback jazz - was my bag that night.

It's hard to describe the sheer force of this group - it is not noodling or sonic fuckery for the fun of it - it seems to me that they actually want to push the limits of sound. I was on such a buzz on it finishing - it felt like I'd been fought with - punched and dazed - half the crowd had made it through the door - pushed themselves away. It was confrontational pop music. I can only imagine it must have been like witnessing Suicide or Throbbing Gristle for the first time. It was not for the faint hearted. It wanted to fucking eat us all up - but there was subtlety and simmering within - at one point with all members fallen to the floor pushing their instruments against speakers and stage - vibrating - shaking - as Stephen howled down the microphone there came about a point of sudden bliss coupled with an expectation that we had hit new heights - that rock n roll was dead and somehow it needed to be saved - it needed raizing from the dead. And all that we had learned came crashing down in that sound - it was offerring a new perspective on these South London streets.

The Telescopes were asking us to think - in this nostalgia fuelled era (of which I'm completely guilty - but I mean it maaaaaan - I truly do ) they didn't represent the past - and sell t shirts and CDs of glory days - they simply put that aside - they continued to breathe new breaths - new life and grew into this. I turned 45 this year - why should Stephen be stuck being 19 - we've all moved on. I'm glad I took th etrip back to past memories. I left New Cross just as the Venue crowd were lining up to get in. Times have changed - I first met Duglas from BMX bandits there - I got the feeling that the BMX Bandits would not be on the Venue's playlist tonight.

So why stick with the past?

I feel Stephen an Co are still trying to explore what can be done - they are still kicking against the wall. Even if it means that they don't necessarily play 'Kick the Wall'. Do you get me?

You should try it though actually having a night with The Telescopes. It's modern. It's vital. It's music pushed to its limits.

It's a fun night out.

One from the new long player

These things have not happened

2016-06-17T03:51:00.000-07:00

This is a list of things I have not done. I may get round to it. I do like to write. I never have the time.

This will remind me.

I have never written about Andrew Weatherall

Ultra vivid Scene

Lush/ pale Saints

Ride

The Sea Urchins

Public Enemy snd power of funk

De la Soul and teh death of the D.A.I.S.Y age

Remember Fun and why they never get a mention

Syd barrett / Pink Floyd

The Smiths

The Telescopes and Lincoln

Buffalo Tom and the pre grunge time

The Lemon heads

Pixies at Brixton

Razorcuts and jangling guitars

Sarah Records……properly

Fanzines and hate

The Essential Mix in the early 1990s in Darryl's house or Nick's car

Ministry of Sound and losing it

Strictly Rhythm

The Small Faces and why I fell in love

A Tribe called Quest because they are wonderful

The Bridge House Hotel and Scunthorpe scenes

Cassette tapes and falling in love

The Stone Roses and why the Second Coming was welcomed in this house

Oasis and Blur becuase I was at Knebworth selling programmes

Bill Drummond and the KLF - except when I talked about it being Grim up North

Sodden streets and eclectic beats ( because that sounds like a good title for a post)

The failure of Morrissey to ignite a shred of passion

All the mods that you see and growing a beard like Godley and Creme

The World of Twist (again) and not getting Earl Brutus

Intastella because they were fantatstic

Ocean Colour Scene because Moseley is a good place

The Gardening Club and heavy beats and sweating walls

Wearing red cords and hearing Eddie Flashin Fowlkes deejay

There's more.

There's always more.

The death and possible rebirth of pop: Animal Collective in hip London times.

2016-04-19T13:32:00.000-07:00

I can't think how music actually exists these days. None of it makes sense. I think the time is right for bailing out. I don't actually understand it anymore. It's beyond me. I tried getting a handle on it and then it kind of fell away. There's too much out there - it just rings and sings and buzzes and fuzzes and i don't get it anymore. I don't know where to start listening and hearing - i don't know what I like anymore. You can stream this and that - you can start here and here and end up there - you can't settle for long enough to just listen.

And then you can't write because some fucker is putting it up with samples and soundscapes - podcasts and v-logs - I haven't time for all of that

I just wanted to write, about bands that moved me - but it isn't enough - in a stream of making this pay for that and that

I ended up at The Troxy this week ( or last week) I was there to see Animal Collective - I'm a fan of Panda Bear really - but fell in love with the electronic analogue hub and rub of the collective along the way. I wasn't a fan way back then - but i am now - post post merriweather and all that.

So i arrived - all excited - Painting with being one of the best things I've heard this year - in a while to be honest (bar anything related to Euros Childs - because - well he's kind of it really - absolutely guaranteed to affect and effect in this house) The Animal Collective animal truly is a work of wonder and fun - all switched harmony and playfulness - pop and psychedelic in the truest form.

So I arrive - rushed and unkempt - late afternoon meetings about this and that rolling still in my mind - grab (my coat - grab my hat) a sausage roll from Sainsburys - i live off pork - animal selective maaaaaaaan. Eventually getting to the change of venue - pack them all in on one night only (the Bush was closed) and made my way upstairs - unrestricted - but difficult to hold down a seat when you're on your own - which is pretty much the case these days in rock venues - in any venue really - i don't talk much - it all comes out on here - in here - another beer?

Which brings me to this.

A band from the stable of PC Music - the pin up star or some such shit GTOFY - opening - supporting - or ruining the night before the collective came and semi- saved the idea that music is something to fucking care about. You see - I don't fucking get it anymore - this Verrucae Salt on crack routine - this Aqua meets the Chipmunks thing - this being taken the piss out of thing. This is not cutting edge - ironic - we can say racist things and just laugh it off - this is the fuckers who Jarvis fucking warned us about now making music. They don't even pretend to mix with the common people. Cameron's fucking daughters - this isn't some fucker with dreads dabbling in reggae - this is cunts with trust funds making a mockery of all that came before - they are despised - not misunderstood - absolutely despised - and when Avey Tare gave it the big shout out - part of me couldn't really give a fuck anymore.

I have gone beyond my limits. I have had enough.

But to do justice to the beauty of Animal Collective - I will write this down. I know I'll write again - but it's kind of an audience of one. To be honest if it's today's pop pickers reading this - they wouldn't get past the first paragraph - they'd want this post as an Instagram pic with filters or some such shit.

But for now I'll try and recall the beauty and wonder of Animal Collective - an inventive and resourceful band of lysergic experimenters and adventurers. Arriving to greets and whoops Animal Collective settled behind banks of electronic cables and dials and faders and keys - alongside a drummer too - he was a little higher up beating majestic time and rhythm to the sonic tinkering down below - Panda Bear on the left (audience wise) Avey on the right and Geologist right in the middle - headlight on and easily spotted.

Opening with Natural Selection their set slowly grew into a shimmering bleep and harmony monster - controlled and indulgent but appropriate and exciting all rolled into one. At first I wasn't sure how the building was holding up to the sound theatrics - whether the vocals were drowning the melody but slowly and surely they started to meld into one organic thumping beast of a pure pop experience - an animal in itself. Blending skillful harmonic interplay with machines - a soul driven electronic pop workshop - pushing musicality and redefining the pop experience. The majority of the set was drawn from 'Painting with' - a long player that has caused some fuss online in comment sections under videos - I think it's absolutely sublime - well realised - less prog noodles and over introspection. It's a new pop statement for a time when pop has pretty much died ( Christ- I witnessed that in the choice of support - i know I should get over it - but I think i'm scarred)

As they drop Golden Gal - I'm twitching and a rocking in my seat ( I was high up - it happens at my age) - a song with a sonic thump and squelch - radiating through the wonderful setting of The Troxy - coupled with a set of carved faces and projections and pulsing lights - it's clear that Animal Collective want you to have an experience. And if truth be a told an experience was had - so different to their recordings as songs emerge and sounds becoming melodies and voices begin to rise and rasp over this sampled electronic back beat (and boy do they use it)

And out of this futurism emerges a nod to the past - Jimmy Mack - all covered in reverb and rhythm as Avey sends out a melancholic message of loss - of hope that maybe Jimmy might come back. There are nods to the past elsewhere as well - older tracks from Feels and Post Merriweather Pavilion sit comfortably in this pure electronic handling of all material - this band has no guitars - they are not needed now.

Perhaps they never were.

It's interesting how all this looks - Geologists nodding - Avey whooping and being lost in the moment ( kind of like a possessed music teacher) and the Panda Bear holding his mic - in what seems like a nervous disposition until his voice soars and swoops in (endless) harmony with Tare's deeper tones. I know you're not meant to mention the Beach Boys - but that's why I rate them - they push the relationship with music and voice and that in my opinion this deserves to be discussed in the realms of a post Beach Boys age. It really is The Orb meets Wilson 20,000 leagues up in the sky. Repetitive melody and heartbreaking harmony. I love it and it nearly restored my belief in the power of sound to change the world. Nearly.

And then after The Burglars - they are gone. There's been lots of wonder and awe on between. But for now they leave the stage. Not for long. Lights kick in - they assemble in that slacker Kraftwerk manner and offer us Daily Routine into Alvin Row ( a song from years and years ago) updated for the masses - who respond with rapture and cheer.

Finally - the beat begins to kick in and those Floridada sounds emerge - a song so instantly catchy that as I depart the crowds are simply humming and singing - unknowingly - unwittingly - because it just lodges in the brain and whirls around and around.

It's a fitting end to the evening - the song captures the sonic thrill of this collective mining of pop - it's irresistible - filled with hooks - veers into psychedelia and still remains of the past, present and future.

Which is pretty much what Animal Collective do.

They are all past, present and future. They are not ironic. They don't preach or try to challenge preconceptions - they make music.

They make music with heart and soul.

They are a wonderful band to have in these dark times.

Here is a great performance from 6music - it will get right inside your brains.

Dreamers: A Night with the BMX Bandits

2016-02-06T12:01:00.001-08:00

Independent pop music in 1986 was genuinely that – it was independent – fierce in spirit and attitude – it was not part of the plan – it was immediate – simple and available from the right record shops or fanzine networks and tape exchanges. I remember those times with both happiness and fondness. It was a time of awakening and feeling accepted – or not feeling accepted and knowing you weren’t the only outsider.

Not that I was an outsider – a loner – that was never my bag – give me a slightest hint of an audience and I’d be performing to it – liked the sound of myself see – clearly I still do – or I wouldn’t write this. Yet 1986 was a formative time for many. I was 14 – nearly 15 – growing up – the weight of the world sitting heavy on my shoulders and then along came all of these bands – shambling as John Peel said or jangly this and that – as various music journalists coined it. One newspaper - the NME put some of this emerging independent experimentation together ‘on tape’ ( I’ve got it on tape – well a tape of the tape) they called it C86.

As a rolling stone of a tape it gathered momentum – it’s now viewed as a pivotal moment in defining an era – it didn’t feel like that at the time – it was just a tape with some songs on it that the NME gave away that week – some of them were shit songs ( you decide?)

However as the apocryphal story goes ‘this tape’ begat all other indie bands from that ground zero – thus we have that tape to thank for fucking Slowdive or The Chesterfields. (joke – natch) However – it’s fair to say there was a lo-fi revolution taking place – The Smiths had opened our eyes (another apocryphal story) and now out of that re-appreciation of rock n roll came these bands with 'soul' - not all about the hits but rather these bands were making something with integrity. It didn't matter that many of these fledging singles sounded cheap - under produced - it was all about existing - perhaps being on the outside of the mainstream - but here you could set the agenda.

The BMX Bandits have always been on my radar – not quite central – but there – pinging away – I know they are there - do you get what I mean? It turns out they’ve been there for thirty years. I first met Duglas in South London – it was at a Teenage Fanclub gig at the Venue in New Cross (now home to three floors of independent sounds and lots of covers bands) but at that time they used to put on bands. I was talking to Norman Blake or whoever and Duglas was there. We struck up a short conversation about the magic of Brian Wilson.

HE talked about SMiLE and promised to send me a copy.

He was true to his word.

He sent me a tape. I don't know where he'd got it from - but it was such a lovely thing to do - he track listed it and put on a few other Beach Boys gems too. It took another twenty-five years before I could thank him properly - via the wonders of the web (wonderweb?) and connections via cables.

There's something about that attention to detail and wonderfully openness that Duglas and his 'family' of Bandits have that can easily be mis-read - as twee and past it - or creepy and calculated - but if you look close into Duglas's eyes you can see he's been 'for real' since their formation. This is no novelty act. Tonight the 100 Club will be witness to another extension of PuNK (it's where it started maaaaaan) - that freedom to do just what you want to do.

Before the BMX Bandits - we have The School - a seven piece mish-mash of the Shangri-las, Motown, Spector, Beach Boys, The Pastels and dare it say it a C86 vibe - there's a craft in this Cardiff based troupe - horns and xylophones - pianos and guitars - layered vocals and sing along ding a lings - they are perfect in their own right. Reaching right back to the past to come up with something new. They are not twee - they will take you out in the underpass. You should all check them out - I will be doing so again.

And then this thronged crowd witness a beautiful pop performance - finely tuned and honest in its approach. Having read the piece in The Guardian previously – maybe it helped shift that perception of Duglas as eccentric rogue – and placed him in that rock n roll list of tortured artist – confronting his demons on stage through the simplicity of songs like ‘Your Class’. He's the Bellshill Brian Wilson - he even has the hand gestures to match.

Love and mercy, indeed.

We are party to the wee talks from Duglas peppered with his observations and ultimate belief in love. His talks are funny - he is a funny man. He eats an apple - he eats a boiled sweet. He plays the kazoo. He gives us his best tunes. It's a testament to this band that you can put a song as magical and wonderful as 'Serious Drugs' four songs in and know that you've got belter after belter left for the crowd.

We are party to a pop band with tunes that should have been high in the hit parade. I'm not going to try and describe the sound - but this is pure pop craft - there's a nod to the past - you can't write songs like this without referencing Spector and Wilson - but there's so much more hidden inside Duglas and his Bandits heads - listen to the howling guitars of 'Kylie's got a crush on us' or the Ramones meets The Shirelles stomp of my favourite song of the night 'I wanna fall in love'. Duglas and CHloe are in fine voice - they swap and harmonise all night - all sixties glamour and well tailored suits. Then there's the beauty of 'The Day before Tomorrow' were Duglas is joined by Sean Dickson (previously of The Soup Dragons) on omnichord. It's quite poignant really - Duglas tells us the tale of choosing their name and how him, Sean, Jim and Norman phoned up Eugene (from The Vaselines) to tell him their choices - how he hated the name the BMX Bandits - so they stuck with it. - and now here is Sean on stage once more with his boyhood pal - they hug after a riotous E102.

Pure class.

And then they are back to tell us of the injunction they have had to get to stop Kylie following them - cue Kylie's got a crush on us and then a blissed out Witchi Tai To to round it all off.

Glasgow in the early eighties must have been an exciting time - oh to be at Splash One. But you know I didn't need to be there - because of it - I've had a chance to hear those beautiful dreaming minds - Duglas, Norman, Sean, Bobby, Stephen, Rose, - what a gang - what a set of groups.

What a bunch of beautiful dreamers.

It was a pleasure to be with Duglas and his Bandits in The 100 Club. It's important to be reminded of the power of love. Duglas sings from his heart to yours and makes it seem that everything will work out right in the end.

Anything is possible in Duglas's impossible dream.

BMX Bandits are thirty years old. Here's to another 30 years.

Here is a wonderful song from the night - thanks as always to Ruth for capturing it

And here's one from The School

I wrote for luck - they sent me you

2015-12-22T08:39:00.000-08:00

All documentary programmes about Manchester will discuss the pivotal moment The Happy Mondays and The Stone Roses played Top of the Pops. They will argue how it redefined the centre of pop – how it re-presented the working class as saviours of music – how it broke boundaries and fuelled dreams.

In Scunthorpe on that Thursday 23rd November, 1989 we had a power cut.

The North East were not witness to this seismic shift.

We did not yet have that Madchester feeling

There was a time when the Happy Mondays were seen as the bottom of the heap, the underbelly of the working class – drug dealing rough youth with fried eyes and crazy dancing. Compare that to the real misspent working class of today – the uneducated and illiterate- this cultureless mob that is shat on a daily basis.

The Mondays look like fucking professors – do you get me?

It’s been a week or so since I saw them – the show – at Brixton Academy a revisit of Pills, Thrills and Bellyaches – plus a couple of other classics thrown in. It was excellent. Just so you know – if you weren’t there. I’ve written about Ryder somewhere back in the past – all explaining his impact on pop culture and how his lyric flair and rhythm are worthy of study and this and that. I mean it maaaaan. Sometimes pop transcends its boundaries – sometimes we can transcend our boundaries.

I’m writing this in south London – after an hour of idiocy and inarticulate mutterings. I worry about the working class – perhaps it’s because they don’t have Top of the Pops anymore – we are fractured and disparate – no commonality or shared experience.

Back then – when the spirit of 86 had manifested into 89 and beyond - all tribes and outlooks had come together – learnt from one another – listened and lifted the spirits – community and action were up for grabs – discussion alongside hedonism and dirty mags. The Happy Mondays emerged with a rawness and authenticity - so sadly lacking in the independent scene of today - that took the breath away. This was not a typical NME band - but they had to cover them - they had to write about their fried funk - Parliament meets the Velvets by a route taking in John Denver - TB303s - disco and freaky dancin'.

It’s an odd venue the Academy – considering what’s its seen in rock n roll excess it feels a little faded these days. It looked like it could do with a lick of paint and some 'shake n vac' on the carpet. It looked like it could do with a new lease of life.

And here were the Mondays – looking like they'd had a new lease of life – alive and with it – on it and surviving. Clean living in dirty times. This was no haggard run through of past glories – it was putting it right back out there and making people remember why Ryder and Bez are actually celebrities. This wasn’t about ‘effs and jeffs’ on TV shows or political musings in Manchester. It was the music that made the paaarrrttty – and these are no jesters – working class freak shows – they are the talent – the raw fucking ingredients of a funked up childhood and living life excessively and expressively.

It’s straight into the Thrills, Pills and Bellyaches anthems – beginning with Kinky Afro - Rowetta literally whipping up the crowd and Bez commanding the mad proceedings - so pivotal to all that is the Mondays. Without him they'd still be a wonderful band of brothers - with him they are future funk muthas - a juggernaut of pop party arriving in your town.

At one point Ryder reminds us that this would be point when you turned the record over. That slight pause - getting your breath back and then on with the party. They really are tight - no updates of the tunes- played as there were written - tight and discordant house funk freak sounds - wonderful. Inevitably the place errupts when the band launch into Step On - all fake maraca shakes and moves as Bez conducts up front. He looks great - it's great when you're straight - oh yeah. We are twisting our melons - we are talking so hip - we are with the Mondays - on their ship and they are guiding us ever higher and to happy climes.We are existing in Harmony - right here in the confines of a faded concert venue - but this is no faded band.

And then they are gone. But not for long. Emerging to the shouted Higher - Hallujah chants - we are happy for Shaun William Ryder to lie down beside us and fill us full of junk. He may not have been sent to save us - but itsurely feels like it. The Mondays articulate the possibilities that were there for the taking back then - combining fun with fulfilment. They were never really gone work for the man - but the sure helped those stuck in factories escape from him. Finally - they end with Wrote for Luck - I can't describe how much that tune was a revelation then and still stands strong now - like this band - still standing strong.

A long may that continue.

What with The Mondays, Black Grape and a Shaun William Ryder album on the horizon it seems that all that premature talk of rocks and lost form was merely that - all talk - SWR and Bez and band are made of much sterner stuff. He breezed through the jungle and Bez made that stint in the house look like a stay at a holiday camp. These men were built to last and deserve the recognition and appreciation that some of the other 'baggy' groups still get.

I wrote for luck and they sent me you.

Here are the Mondays doing what they do best - enjoy

Do you remember when Gedge was cutting edge?

2015-10-30T16:54:00.001-07:00

Do you remember when David Gedge was well known? The pinnacle of independent hipness in your home town? He was all front cover this and all of that - guesting here and there - I got the NME today - it was from a guy in a hi-vis jacket outside Covent Garden station - it's still in Emma's bag -I haven't even read it.

My band were once reviewed in a Scunthorpe rag - compared us to the Weddoes and we were incensed - too easy - too appealing - to downright chug a lug a lug. We were only young - we weren't having that - we we're going to be bigger, better, harder, stronger. We weren't.

I've recently revisited the Festive Fifty - the Wedding Present appear in it - frequently - to be honest - it was downloaded by my brother - he sent it my way - I mean there's too much to play these days - I looked at the listing - it went on and on - you know fifty tracks- like a Now that's what I call an INDIE compilation - I'm not quite certain how I fitted it all in back then - listening to it all - what with television, film, girls and late night walks and talks and possibly a kiss and all of the other - but there was a world filled with music - with sounds from the underground. It hadn't crossed over - you had to find it - on cheap cassettes from names on letters who lived in Leeds or Middlesboro' - talk over weeks not instant blips and bleeps and youtube finds - on the radio late at night - - do you remember when Gedge was cutting edge?

I saw The Wedding Present possibly twice - I can't quite remember all the details - Once was definitely in Kilburn - the national - around Bizzaro time - i think - all hands held with new loves and smiles and anticipation - pale saints supported - blew them away to be honest - but I will write a pale saints post - sometime. They deserve it. Not that The Wedding Present don't - I just need to properly revisit it all and digest what it was that made me both revile and kind of like them somewhere down the line.

So the festive fifty (which is where I started - but didn't discuss) - is now getting cut up and placed randomly on CDs - for car journeys and moments of nostalgia ( Freak Scene - No.5/ Shame on You . No33 or something ) I said I wouldn't do that here - talk of nostalgia - but here I am - guitar in hand - milking moments from lost times.

The dream is over.

So to let you know -

I don't believe in Elvis

I don't believe in Jesus

I don't believe in Blast First

I don't believe in Kanye

I don't believe in Cameron

I don't believe in Zimmerman

I don't believe in Wilson

I don't believe in Spector

I don't believe in Smith (M.E)

I don't believe in Sarah

I don't believe in 4AD

I don't believe in Heavenly

I don't believe in Gillespie

I don't believe in Creation

I don't believe in Morrissey

I don't believe in sub-culture

I don't believe in Sub pop

I don't believe in Annakin

I don't believe in capitalism

I don't believe in rock 'n' roll

I don't believe in Peel

I just believe in me

Emma and me.

And the other three.

The dream is over.

Not as passionate - but still listening - still trying to write.

Girl on a train: Sleaford Mods whilst the city never sleeps

2015-10-11T13:09:00.000-07:00

I hadn't planned on being at this concert, gig, shindig - I was bought a ticket from the other half - a birthday treat as her birthday fell the very next day after it - late night outings and present opening mornings. She knows how much I love a rant - a rave - she know how much I love her - she lets me out - because this I guess this is what i'm about.

So it was with coughs and shakes that I made my way to the forum - to see 'em - to be with the mods again. To be honest - i was late to the key markets push - I hadn't listened as intently to this long player as much I should have. So with minimal plays in Zafira journeys I wasn't fully accustomed to the blast and rhetoric- the fucked off 'avin it - and downright funk of it. It was sitting there on the old itunes - not yet settling in the brain - but tonight I was going to see them live tonight.

Through phonecalls and garbled texts I let myself in to the venue without companions - zipped up parka and stares - grey hairs and semblance of attitude - with 4.80 a pint and a scant smile for the trainee bar staff.

I didn't want to waste the moments of big city life.

I hadn't been in the Town and Country club since god knows when - probably Ultra Vivid Scene or Buffalo Tom in the early 90s. Things still remained the same - but i wasn't bothered.

Being there as the hall filled meant I got to witness York's finest (Iggy) pop - in the shape of Mark Wynn - all grapes and blouses and skinny black trousers. Not a Fall rip off ( even though he played Psychomafia )- a Formby punk warrior with tales of Claire ( if only she wore a name badge) from charity shops and doctored Bowie struts and grapes - 300 quid and we paid for the privilege - he felt so fucking modern - but reminded me of my youth - an absolute fucking trooper - wit and words and shapes and moves.

Performance punk poetry.

I wasn't expecting it - you know he basically danced - randomly recited poetry - ate grapes. It was good - but you know - I couldn't hear the words properly - it was hard to make out. (This is meant ironically - just go and see him - it's worth it)

Steve Ignorant - heartfelt (like a moonlight shadow) all warrior folk and gesture and musical number - it wasn't getting me - but the guy's got pedigree - so you know - we'll see. Arch ranting over tinkling - hand gestures and industrial language - because we matter - we are fucking human after all.

Before the wonder of Wynn - I had managed to have a brief chat with Andrew Fearn - all gentle and humble - not that I expected him to have gone all diva and not cared - after all we (the audience) were there for this bunch of cunts (Jason's observation). We talked of Nottingham - I asked why Beeston never gets a mention - mainly because I'd been a resident of Nottz (with a Z you...) and a part of that Beeston shuffle - apparently it's too posh - although I have witnessed the Sleaford Mods lyrics being played out on Beeston streets in real time - do you get me? Anyway I left Andrew alone - he was with a couple who were telling him that the Mods music was right - for these times - right for right now. I bet he gets that a lot these days.

And then at 9.30 - on came the Mods - straight up and no fuss - in your face and filling the space with fans and sweat - bile and gutteral soul searching about this nation's saving grace - it was ace. Jason and Andrew - prophetic proto punk poetry and rhythm delivered in bombast and bass - it was ace.

It didn't seem as frenetic as last time - I think that might have been down to the fact I was ready for it - the first time was a fucking blast - this time I kind of knew what was coming. New songs peppered the set Bronx in a Six, Face to Faces, Giddy on the Ciggies, Arabia- Jason contorting and sweating - if he hadn't brought on his No.1 fan (an actually fan) then I think he may have lost all the fluid in his body. You get a workout from this band. A proper session - of self expression. As I said previously my friend - who was there (live) tonight -thinks they'll become all acceptable - used in adverts at some point. He may be right - this certainly felt like that step up - a big hall and playing to the balcony. I guess the bigger the venue the more likely you make sure it's a show.

And it's always a good show. Let's be honest no else is doing this.

The bass is set to low - the crowd just wobble, wobble, wobble - united in the words of Williamson - crack headed garbage talk - inarticulate rage ranting - the mundane made magical in repetition and riotous commands. Whenever Williamson screams 'sack the manager' it sends the hairs on my neck soaring. There's something incredible in his ranting.

A modern day ranter - perhaps?

Now, if you look up the definition of a ranter from medieval times - you can see the straight up link to the Mods movement (if two people can be called a movement) Here it is: The Ranters were one of a number of nonconformist dissenting groups that emerged around the time of the English Commonwealth (1649–1660). They were largely common people, and there is plenty of evidence that the movement was widespread throughout England, though they were not organised and had no leader.

Do see what I mean?

What the Mods have done is wrap that discordant sound of modern living - that background fug - bass and (rowche) rumble - frustration and fuckery - into a set of songs that document both the past, present and the future. These repetitive bass thumpers - expertly handled from Fearn's fingers - allow laptops to connect with the oldest sound in the world - the voice.

This is modernism.

I'm getting older - and so are the mods - but the crowd is growing - young minds being opened by words from older guys. I can completely understand how Sleaford Mods came to exist - but every time I hear them - and in this case see them -I can't help marvel at the ingenuity of it all. It's like they just came out of nowhere but perfectly capture - well - rupture the fabric of modern times. There's a wonderful line in 'Rupert Trousers' about Blur. They don't play it tonight. They don't need to get into those sort of fights - but they point a finger at the pomposity of pop life - they prick it and reveal it as the banal it actually is.

I hope this rise to super stardom doesn't diminish the wit and insight of Williamson or alter the relentless drive of Fearn's beats and bass and flickered melody. I hope it doesn't come to an odd end.

I don't get in the mosh pit tonight - although I stand on the periphery. I always did - and that's where the Mods are tonight - still on the outside looking in - or perhaps pissing in and causing a fuss.

And with that the show ends - tight - thumbs up and thank yous and I'm off to be a zombie and tweet ,tweet, tweet about it. It's what us London teds do.

So making my way home I arrive at Charing Cross. Sly fag outside the station. Suddenly approached. Blond hair and eyelashes. Off guard. A girl (well a woman) trying to find her way home - all lost and confused - taxi ready but just pissed up and unsure - she was working for Goldman Sachs- wedding in April - man in Munich - pissed up beer festivals and lost connections - it gets like that - she drinks at Somerset house whilst we listened to rants and the diatribe of Williamson and Fearn - in the same city - different dreams and all that - all on the same train - same place but thinking differently.

I didn't tell I'd just been in a room with the invective and froth from two top fellas. I didn't tell her that our worlds were probably quite different. I didn't tell her that the man is a wanker - and that it don't get much better. She can find all that out for herself.

She can find that all out when she stumbles across Sleaford Mods on the radio.

It's going to happen soon.

A little bit of roogie boogie on a Sunday

2015-10-10T12:37:00.000-07:00

This concert kind of rushed up on me - a sudden posted video and tour dates - Euros Childs was coming to town again. It had been a busy weekend - up to the Forum on Friday - birthday walks and meals (I was cooking not celebrating - I mean I was celebrating but it wasn't my birthday) on Saturday and then here - back in the heart of the city on a Sunday evening. Summer sun fading and a grin on my face - I was heading to The Lexington for another dose of that roogie boogie magic (and it is magic he weaves - with his merry men and woman - real magic)

I hadn't had a chance to listen to Sweetheart - released on the Friday - you can get it from The National Elf himself if you want - so some of this set was going to be like the first time I saw him (you) - unknown set lists and tunes - which added an edge of anticipation for me - not necessarily for Euros Childs and the band - they knew what was coming.

But I didn't and it was a blast.

There's a certain sweeping charm to the whole affair - 8pm Oh Peas! plays - all chords and words - gentle and humourous - a girl and a guitar - cutting and tender - whilst various members of the Euros gang - mingle and pace - drink tea and get the errands out the way.

I think I've seen Euros now about eight times - now that's a fair amount of times in my book - I once followed The Cure over most of England with my brother - I didn't backcomb my hair - I was getting into Spaceman 3 to be honest - but that was different - we were young. My brother has now taken to following PINS around - I'm sticking to Euros - he just has that pull about him - a merry prankster - a simple guy with simple songs - but oh my there's so much more than that.

So here he is - new recording in the bag - recorded in a week in his parent's place - and now Euros is on the road - with a full band again to play to people who appreciate that sort of thing - and there are a lot of us. We fill The Lexington up - we are a throng - a mixed bag - eclectic - like these roogie boogie warriors. Stage set up - conversations had with two fifths of the group (Stu Kidd and Marco Rea of The Wellgreen, Dr Cosmos's Tape Lab, Poundstore Riot, and BMX Bandits fame - you should be buying all their records too)

Euros arrives on stage all nervous legs and tics - green t-shirt and jeans (there used to be a feature in J17 - a teenage girl's mag - I used to read it in my cousin's house up in Scotland - it had piece about how much your fashion cost that you were wearing - they took pictures in the street - I can't help costing out my outfit every time I go out - I had planned on asking Euros what his outfit would have cost - in my head I thought that would be a good opening interview question - you come up with these type of ideas when crossing the river - South to North)

Anyway he launches into Horse Riding - this band are on fire. He's not really easy to classify - to me it's straight forward rock n roll - yes we have that psychedelic thing, that folk thing, that krautrock repetition thing - but he keeps it wrapped up in rock n roll - not all leather jackets and spitting - but performance - integrity and show - like Elvis did - like Jerry Lee Lewis keeps doing - with a slight nod to Little Richard (it's all in the show)

The set continues with a healthy selection from Sweetheart - Fruit and Veg - Julia Sky - Sweetheart and Lady Caroline - and you can see the pleasure it brings - an album recorded in a week - with a band - and what a new long player it is. I don't know where he finds the melodies - perhaps it's being in his parent's place - where the album was recorded - but he just keeps churning out these pop beauties for us all - ones that keep us smiling through winter.

At one point Euros tells us that touring from city to city has resulted in the invention of a game called 'who's on the plane?' A sort of reversal of the Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, Big Bopper disaster (you know when the music died) whereby you can chose the artists who are on it (the plane) in the likelihood it's going down (there should be an app for that - I'd download it)

Euros tells us that Dave Stewart has firmly booked his place on that plane.

Harmonies and riffs - Euros states the simple feeling of feeling love - of feeling overwhelmed or underwhelmed - both rejected and welcomed - hugged and shunned in tales of happiness and woe (sometimes with a ghost check out Lady Caroline) And the set continues to build with ( despite contractual show business stops for Laura J Martin whose adding flute and mandolin sparingly but as always effectively tonight) further musical explorations of love and feelings.

We get Billy and the sugar loaf Mountain - and the layering of voices is sublime - and an audience sing a long of Daddy's Girl ( we may have out sung Wales) before a stormer of song called Bycycle of Bees - which may be an old one - it may be a new one - it's most definitely a good one. Building and building as Marco's guitar screeches and wails in walls of sound. It's that psychedelic thing again. A band connecting and taking you somewhere else.

Followed by Heywood Lane - which I'd been singing all week. And then a rip-roaring Roogie Boogie to round the night off. But we (the audience that is) we're not ready to go home - we clap - we chant - we want more. (We might not see him for a year). A cheeky call out for the whole of Miracle Inn - but instead we get Tete a Tete and a wonderful full band Spin that Girl Around. And then they are gone. Well not gone - Euros is up and off to sell the sounds - from his stand at the back of the room.

He captures human emotions for me

He captures feeling alive

It is evident that he has not taken a Dave Stewart angle to any of this pop making process.

Thank fuck. We can buy Dave Stewart - or DS as we call him round here (infact it's a little known fact the Nintendo DS actually refers to Dave Stewart - but that's another story) a ticket for the first seat on the 747 - that's a big plane - we can all think of other passengers.

Euros Childs will not be on that plane.

You can be certain of that.

Sweetheart is available at The National Elf website

And here is Machine (off the new album - and live at The Lexington)

Thanks to seajohnster for posting this to YouTube

Panda Bear is listened to in this house

2015-07-19T15:39:00.000-07:00

I find myself returning to the ‘new’ Panda Bear album again and again – it’s kind of rolled around my soul for the last month or two or three. There’s something euphoric and utterly bleak about it at the same time. It’s all that cracked beauty that’s getting me – you getting me? I’m not sure how I arrived at Panda Bear – it was through a chance encounter with Animal Collective possibly or a mention in Mojo (oh no) about Person Pitch that probably got me started.

It was either Bros or Comfy in Nautica that did it.

I love that cacophonous sound of digital and analogue breaking down and spinning round and round with reverb drenched falsetto like a future Wilson brother hooked up to Detroit and trance. I still have a whole heap of equipment lodged around the house and in various buildings – old synths, drum machines, 8 track recorders, echo units, drum machines, sequencers and laptops with part finished songs and unfinished beats. I sometimes think I might set it all up and record an opus – you know Wilson meets Detroit.

But Panda Bear got there first. Oh he was way out in front.

I don’t listen to as much electronica as I used to. There’s not much room in the day for beats and bleeps when you’ve the madness of young minds running rings round mine. As I said most of the time electronica is confined to solo car journeys – but I can sneak Panda Bear in on the pretext that the kids love The Beach Boys.

So what to say of Panda Bear meets the Grim Reaper – a title already intriguing –like a hallucinatory dub album with dark over(under) tones. Now hear this! Noah Lennox, a.k.a. Panda Bear, a.k.a. one-fourth of the founding members of Animal Collective, sees it like this, ‘[as] more comic-booky, a little more lighthearted,” he says. “Like Alien Vs. Predator.”

It has that sci-fi/ lo-fi - oh why appeal. Within the ‘soup’ there are ever morphing sounds and feels – cycles and loops – textures and tones coursing throughout the whole thing. It was made with the collaborative soul of aka Pete Kember (everyone’s got an aka these days) Sonic Boom. A sonic alchemist from way back when who blended psychotropic drugs with paeans to the almighty channelled through electrical velocity, hum and drone.

What’s strange is that this wholly unique and striking long player is ripped from the heart of those sample packs available for all to use. But it takes a sense of the unknown to transform them beyond the usual and make it unusual, “I got into the idea of taking something that felt kind of common — the opposite of unique — and trying to translate that into something that felt impossible,” he says. The textures for the album came together everywhere from El Paso, Texas, to a garage by the beach near his home in Lisbon, Portugal, where he has lived with his family since 2004. I‘ve put a couple of these stretched out electronic psyche numbers on a compilation for the kids (my kids – that’s who I’m doing it for) and it’s clearly Mr Noah that gets us all going – all nonsense shout outs and something like a ‘big chip on her leg’ – well that’s what we sing.

It’s electronica sending out viruses to infect the brain.

(won – won – won) Wonderful.

I’m not in the mood for a full review – I just need to get back to writing somehow – somewhere – but I want to put down a few thoughts about ‘Tropic of Cancer’.

“Some of the songs address a big change, or a big transformation,” And here is the central song about death. That’s the one I keep returning to (it’s on the kids compilation – we sing it together – maaaaaan.) It’s truly heart breaking – truly heart breaking – with its repetitive sample of harp from The Nutcracker Suite and utter openness about the devastation of losing someone ( you won’t come back – you can’t come back – you won’t come back to it) “It’s sort of marking change — not necessarily an absolute death, but the ending of something, and hopefully the beginning of something else.” All somewhere over the rainbow - but it's a place you don't want to go. Saying that I always felt that song had a sinister edge. A little too much 'survivor soul' in it.

I know Noah keeps on getting compared to Brian Wilson – but you can trace it right back through his Panda Bear work – introspective – open – real. Tropic of Cancer is ‘In my Room’ – an honesty so much missed in this calculating unforgiving modern austere times (perhaps I wasn’t made for these times and nor was Noah) There’s fragility in his words and harmonies that sink into the psyche – it gnaws away at you – like his subject matter. And he couples this with genuine psychedelia – colouring sound and song in modern ‘far out’ ways.

Panda Bear meets The Grim Reaper and comes out on top. It’s a wonderful long player from a wonderful talent.

You know Wilson’s getting on – Noah’s still young. Let’s book some time for him at Ocean Way Recording, Hollywood.

Another response to (Sleaford) modernism Part 2

2015-06-06T03:35:00.000-07:00

Arriving in Camden Town the rub and mix of London smashes against the senses - all nose, eyes and ears. I am making my way down the High Street to Koko - London's hip hangout for NME youth and groove (I've got a Brit Award) to see Sleaford Mods - Nottz (with a Z you cunt) upstarts - emperor's new clothes or the real thing ? (just so you are aware of this - the are the real thing - and i've never thought otherwise)

There's something about Sleaford Mods that brings out the bile in people - they either get it or fucking hate it - with a passion. A real passion - trying to drown out one of the most authentic voices in rock n roll this decade. I don't know why the man (that's the 'man on the street) thinks like that - perhaps he's a wanker.

So down a hot high street of cheap plastic and chicken. With carrier bags, skateboards and mental health, crab eyes and rage I make my way to the Palais - a venue steeped in tradition and history - comedy ( the last Goon show was recorded there) and music hall - cheeky songs and bawdy crowds.

How times have not changed.

The concert is an early one - doors at seven - Vic Goddard and his Subway Sect on at 7.30 - and Sleaford Mods at 8.30. We all have to get out by 10 so NME people can set up stuff and groove. Me I like the fact it finishes on time - clocking in and clocking off - I know my hours - work like. But this concert is far from work like - it feels like Sleaford Mods are on the verge of that bigger breakthrough - new songs from 'Key Markets' have creeping claustrophobic choruses - there is a difference in the air. And I'll return to this later.

So Vic gives a pleasant set of post punk scratchiness and hollers and shakes - you get the lineage (from here to where we'll be going with Sleaford Mods) - the ranconteur - there's a story about this one and that one - the audience peppered with beards and loss of hair - young ones and old ones - they are receptive. I am receptive to these sounds too - it reminds me of The Only Ones and Orange Juice - The Jam and The Buzzcocks - it has its place because Goddard was a face then and he is now. Good stuff.

So myself and Andy B (a long time friend and with an open mind to music and the masses) snatch a cheeky pint or two and position ourselves in the crowd in readiness for the band. And they are a band comprising singer/ poet Jason Williamson and musician Andrew Robert Lindsay Fearn - oh but it's a lap top and he doesn't even play owt. Get awwt of it. Of course he fucking plays it - he plays it every night - without that stance and shake at the side to Williamson's frenetic peacock strutting - head shaking - hair brushing - tourette's ticking I think it wouldn't work. Fearn has this 'lad on a bike outside the off licence asking you to buy fags' feel about him - even though he could get his own. It's a likely alliance of minds - words and bass - beats and politics - it's a Pet Shop Boys borne out of Poundland and Bargain Booze - Kwik Save and Frozen Foods - of small market towns - concrete slabs and orange fluorescent haze as days became dazed as life present just fuck all to do - day in day aawwwwt.

I think I've been waiting for Sleaford Mods for a long time - saying that they've been going for a long time - anyway - I like a rant - an incoherence - a 'I just can't fucking believe it' strop at life and here is Williamson and Fearn to articuate this in brutal inarticulation - with bellows and burps - raspberries and grunts - this peppered spastic magic - sums up the state of the nation aptly - white British rap music (perhaps?). Williamson arrives after Fearn has set up - a few thumbs to the full hall and they are in and on it for the next 80 minutes. Williamson's lyrics depict the frustration and pointlessness to modern living - puncture the ideology of musical acceptance from the masses - he attacks bosses (sack the manager) - sees the ugly overbelly of being a citizen in the streets.

Williamson struts and juts - there's a camp element and theatre to it all (apt in this music hall setting) - seeing it in the flesh he reminded me of Iggy Pop - all command and freak - everyman and star rolled into one - all stage glory as this nation turned Tory. What's your story? Delivered with wit not banter, shouts and stutters of tales of real life gutters and nutters on trains and buses and in shopping centres (the Vicky Centa) I lived in Nottingham for eight years - it gets under your skin - I can see this midlands mentality wrapped round these visions.

These are true modernists.

You get a sense the audience are shifting in their demographic - there's a fella holding a wine glass ( i mean him no harm) but you know what I mean - all middle class elbows and A roads. English Heritage visits and cheese - mixed with fixed stares and potential threats of violence. I guess Sleaford Mods have mortgages to pay with their faces of rage. And that doesn't matter - your music moves with you - you can tell on these new tunes - there's a temperance in his temper. Andy B even suggested that Sleaford Mods music would appear in advertisements - he thought Homebase - I'm not quite certain about that.

But I feel I am witnessing a band of the (no) future. They mean it man. We mean it maaaaaaan. The band continue with abuse - sonic shakes and bass (rowche) rumbles - the aural equivalent of a gang of hoodies showing cheap youtube clips of spits in playgrounds and accidents and precinct fights - all hot headed and lairy - not scary. Cunt this and that. Rage about those times- i fucking hate these times and here is the idiocy articulation of fear and loathing - we don't know what to think - shut it aawt mate - shut it awwwt.

I want a bounty - just a fucking bounty.

Sleaford Mods are the genuine article - not that they claim authenticity and all that shit - this is craft and graft.

I am 44 next week and I have never been more excited in my life. Onwards and upwards - here's to the Sleaford modernists - you cunt.

Here they are.

immediate response to Sleaford Mods Koko London

2015-06-05T16:48:00.001-07:00

I will write a full review - these are just words for now- i have pictures - i have not put them up:

this response will include swearing

chicken villa

hot streets

terrace banter

and mistaken identity

peacock shapes and stage glory

full houses and a nation turned tory

what's your story?

vitriol and rage and camp hand gesture and inarticulate mutterings

sex pistols and cusps of fame (but it's all so fucking boring)

command

iggy pop vemon

and songs turned up to eleven

wit not banter

shouts and stutters

of tales of real life gutters

and nutters

on trains

and buses

and in shopping centres

and streets

ram raided

and not faded denim

men

with faces past rage with mortgage

just simply stood and fed with invective

for minutes

or hours

because that's what we do

middle class elbows and

wine in hand

as we witness a band of the (no) future.

they mean it man

we mean it maaaaaaan

cusps of breakthrough

you discuss adverts and useage

the band continue with abuse

cunt this and that

i put the cunt in scunthorpe

i fucking rage about those times

i fucking hate these times

and here is the idiocy articulation of fear and loathing

we don't know what to think - shut it aawt mate - shut it awwwt.

I want a bounty.

just a fucking bounty

that's how we yell.

we demand

this is a band with politics and understanding

audience

shout cunt

they get it

smash it - big up the riots

with a z u cunt

I have always liked The Fall

2015-04-28T14:29:00.000-07:00

I have always liked The Fall.

I’ve written about those (various) times before. It was my brother Paul who got me into The Fall. Not John Peel. He bought a seven inch from a man in a market and we played it at home again and again.

It was called Totally Wired.

I arrived at Brixton Electric as the doors opened. Various Fall t-shirts already assembled in the queue – anticipation for this dedication to the rigmaroles of RnR already there in the air – all high tension (line) and knowing nods that we were all Fall fans.

And 50,000,000 Fall fans can’t be wrong.

As I ventured round the building locating enclosed open spaces for my lungs (that’s the smokers corner) I arrived there alone. On my own with cigarette smoke for friends. When through the door burst two wide eyed – wired fresh young things – all angular movements and rapid talk – they were singing Totally Wired.

You don’t have to be weird to be wired.

I’d learnt this much early on. Scunthorpe streets weren’t so tolerant back then – or at least I thought the world was divided into the ‘Henry Afrika’s Scene’ a nightclub on Doncaster Road with outdated hairstyles and outdated moral views and those of the independent scene – all spikes and hair and leather and cider – and never the twain should meet. It wasn’t actually like that at all – but I grew up thinking I was an outsider.

Turns out we were just conforming another way.

So here I am a 43 year old man (and I like it) holed up in Brixton with The Fall. It was a first for me. It was a good introduction to the rampant ramalamma of MES and assorted musicians. So from Totally Wired singing openings and nods and charged glasses I was wished well and that this would be an intense night and was welcome to join them later in the heaving mass of bodies up the front. I said I’d think about it.

There seems to be lots of discussion and talk at a gig like this – what’s your favourite Fall song? When did you first see them? How did you get into the Fall? Lots of never ending questions about the North and whether they’d be good or not.

They were good. Excellent in my head. But I’ll tell you about that later.

I read a review on the mighty Louder than War website that at a recent gig they had played a 45 minute slowed down film of rock royalty – just to set the place on edge. I wasn’t sure whether we’d be treated to the film - I quite fancied it to tell the truth. Instead we had two bands – the first were called Wetpig and they had a ramshackle repetition in the music (and they're never gonna lose it) appeal. Scratchy and catchy if you get me. Three strong women with post -punk riffage - keyboard drone – motorik drums and funked up bass. They were good actually. It may have been their last gig. So there you go.

This was followed by some overblown shite from a band who took themselves far too fucking seriously. All hand gestures to soundmen and raging intensity – they even had a strobe to accompanying their Ride/ U2/ Coldplay mash up. You don’t have to be weird to be wired. But it helps if you’re wired from the start. They weren’t. They will not feature on compilations in people’s cars in the future.

The Fall feature heavily on my car compilations. We as a family (my family- not the world) have listened to a potted history of The Fall over the years (yeah but what’s your favourite era? I can hear you asking) So to eventually arrive in a building when I knew The Fall were going to play in was exciting for this old man. So we waited - posters said 10pm The Fall - it would be considerably later than 10pm that MES and Frenz would walk on the stage. To a backdrop that simply read Dedication not Medication - You Decide on one half and The Fall (White on Blue) on the other - microphones were set up and a moog set up right hand side with a chair - repetitive squelches and bass rumbles accompanying the roadies technical know how.

And then nothing.

For forty five minutes.

Nothing.

Two deejays playing vinyl - but no Mark E Smith.

A can is thrown.

Still nothing.

Conversations turn to Mark's state - is he too drunk to get it together? Is he actually in the building? Is this the way to start a UK tour?

And then an introductory tape - and the nucleus of The Fall arrive - Elena (Mrs MES) places her red coat and bag on the chair to the side of the Moog - Peter Greenaway turns up the guitar - Dave connects it all with his bass and then they lock down in double drum time (Keiron and Darren) and we wait for an entrance. At first a voice from the wings - and then the man - staring us down - prowling and stopping - gurning and growling. His door is always open. We welcome him en masse - we are suddenly under the thrall of Mark. He will command proceedings from now on.

And it's a whirlwind - muddy vocals and indecipherable sounds emanate from Smith - yet it mutates into a classic Fall sound. Chugging and reverberating around - as Smith swithes stance and microphones - turns dials and creates art out of chaos. He's the real deal this fella - he's wearing suit - you know - he's made an effort (I remember an interview with Mark in one of music magazines and he was bemoaning the lack of getting dressed up for a night out - I think it was around the time of the rave explosion)but here he is like he's just got out the office - slipped the tie off and wandered on stage. Oh to work with a colleague like MES in the office - it would be great.

Hurtling through new Fall material - this juggernaut of a group pummel us with twists and snarls - as Smith makes every part of the stage his own. There's new material from the much anticipated Sub-Lingual Tablet - I think Quit iPhone gets an airing as I snap cheeky photographs on mine at the side of the stage. A blistering Mister Rode and sonic exploration via Auto Chip 14 - 15 9 (another new one) So I'm there - and I'm getting it - not rushing like I did when I first heard Totally Wired - but all these sounds are falling into place and suddenly I have the revelation (to me - it may not be to you) that The Fall are direct (dead beat) descendants of The Kinks. Observational scowl and punk attitude - in your face - menance and grimace. The Fall are making art. They reflect and reinvent. They are incredible.

And then they are gone. 26 minutes in. They leave.

The crowd seem bemused. The band seem bemused. MES has left the stage - so they do to.

This could get ugly. But then from the wings - comes the crooning of Smith. He's back it's not exactly an encore more a light breather and then he's there - jacket off - back to get on with the show (and it is a show - studied rock n roll like Elvis' hips and legs) and we get four more numbers - including a song I think is called Stout Man - which the whole band seem to chant - in fact Darren the 'second' drummer may have had a run out on this one - adding more Smith like sounds to Smith's microphone maelstrom. Darren gets to round off the evening too. He's pretty integral to this whole set up. We also get Facebook Troll - a new song from the new album - as Mark commands from he front all open arms demanding that he 'wants a Facebook Troll'. It's brilliant. It's pertinent and it's funny. MES always in touch - always ahead of the game.

Four songs in they disappear again. The lights aren't up but people are unsure. It's 10 past 11. There's a scurry for (stale) air and I overhear a conversation - young lads - fred perrys and short sensible hair - moaning between themselves - and there's just one lad complaining - 'I can't understand him - it's shit - this is shit - I can't hear him - what's he on about - this is shit'. This is a band still getting a reaction that's divided - that's up for debate - 31 albums in.

And then they are back.

Two more tunes. Venice with the girls and Bury. Darren gets brought to the front. Stood next to Peter and MES stands with them as they tell us - explain to us they are not from Bury. Things like that are important. He's quite egalitarian is MES tonight - microphones are given to group members - all are encouraged to participate - including the audience.

Then they are gone. But not finished.

Suddenly as Smith is wont to do - they re-emerge and strike up a mighty Theme from Sparta FC - there's power in this longest serving line up of The Fall. And with Darren shouting Sparta, Sparta, Sparta to the crowd they depart.

It is finished. I have witnessed (the fitness) of the mighty Fall.

I don't think I could have envisaged that The Fall would still be so relevant - so important when we first played Totally Wired back then in Scunthorpe bedrooms. But Smith needs more room (to live) in this world. He might not play the game for the industry but he is a role model for art. He creates an effect - he demands a reaction.

He still makes me think.

I like that in my popstars.

I like The Fall.

It's Facebook Troll - but you never know MES may be writing another song called Fibre Book Troll.

It's been way to long, way too long baby

2015-02-20T16:36:00.002-08:00

I don't know whether I have it in me to find a thing to write about these days - so pulled from pillar to post - to this to that and back again.

I need to concentrate on the now and get that better (it couldn't get much worse)

So posts have gone adrift - have been started and lost and I've surrendered to the beat that goes on and on and on.

I wanted to write so much down over the last months.

But I couldn't wring it from this sorry brain.

I know it will come back again.

I'm certain of that.

Here are some random sounds for random times.

There's an election coming you know.

I am currently writing about Sleaford Mods/ Panda Bear/ The Fall/ John Lydon

and of course forgotten youth

and possibly gigs on common land

When the cider starts flowing

2014-12-09T13:05:00.002-08:00

I’d quietly started sipping the apple juice in a boogaloo bar on the other side of the street – I guess they were still putting out the chairs in The Red Hedgehog – because I was uptown in Highgate to see the ever wonderful Euros Childs ‘in concert’. A sudden blast to the end of 2014 – a new long player (well 32 minutes or so) from the man himself and a series of dates to accompany the release of Eillaaig.

The Boogaloo bar was once the haunt of Shane MacGowan and his brand of roogie boogie - his picture was on the wall – he was by the fire – he wasn’t on fire – I guess that would happen though – accidentally set himself alight – on an any given night.

The cider was strong in there. And when the cider starts flowing there’s only once place we’re going. To see Euros Childs in an intimate venue across the road.

The cider was flowing there too. All bottles from off licences sold at twice the price for a good cause. In fact a heady mix of strong cider and the eternal waft of a lit joss stick greeted my arrival to The Red Hedgehog. For some reason I chose a seat which pretty much meant I was looking at Euros’ back for most of the night. Just like the poster advertising the tour.

It would have felt a little odd to be seated right in front of him. You know Mark Chapman like.

Now - you know my unwavering bias for Euros Childs. So this review of sorts will simple tell you to go see him – buy his new album – and ask him to make another one – so we can all do this again next year. So here goes – as I said the cider was stronger than me – I hope to recall the night the best I can.

The support act for tonight was Euros Childs – so it was two sets for the price of one. Never knowingly undersold is Euros. So the first set was the new record by. An odyssey (and oracle) of piano and words – like watercolour brushes dipped in water – trails and swirls. The new album - Eillaaig – which I presumed was welsh – well he’s from another land this man – is actually a made up word – there is no translation there is only it’s fixedness to this album. It doesn’t translate to any world language – but then again Euros seems otherworldly at times – all angles and twitches – spreading utter joy wherever he lands.

This album is other worldly.

The album has this Satie/ repetitive/ Brian Wilson/ Mozart triads (that’s not a gang – I’m talking about the notes) discordant subtlety throughout it – mixed with sentiment and feeling. Of walks and old buildings – wood and smoke – it kind of conjures up the air – you feel like you’re outside when you’re listening on the inside. The piano is taut – crisp like winter mornings – but slowly filling with warmth as your cheeks begin to glow in icy sunshine. Simple bass notes – holding the ethereal floating top end in place – not letting it drift away. It’s full of honesty – and reminds me of arriving in halls for ‘singing practice’ dusty floors and piano masters (sorry that makes me sound so public school – it was comprehensive schools in Scunthorpe I’m referencing here – just so you know – I mean it maaaaaaan)

It’s classical in so many ways – possibly conceptual.

The Red Hedgehog was probably the right place to play. It had this awkward honesty about it to – all woollen hats and slight confusion. Euros seated at the far end surrounded by red chairs and candles and general tat – pushed to the back. The majority of the new long player is instrumental – you don’t always needs words. And besides we’d get those in the next half.

Suffice to say – It was great to hear this – without already hearing it first – a bold move on Euros’ part? Not really – I think his audience – and it’s always growing – this night was sold out after all – I think his audience can take the risk too. You are always pleasantly surprised/ satisfied by his music making and I’ve been playing the album every morning since hearing it that first time.

It is my winter warmer.

So with the album played and hands clapped – Euros departed in readiness for the second set. It was costume changes and roadies testing equipment whilst we waited.

It wasn’t. It was an empty piano and more joss sticks.

I don’t think there was a costume change – but there was an ‘entrance’. Appearing from the back to rapturous applause Euros was back (and of course my view was his back) to play some more – to put the soul in the rock and roll (or was that Denim?) This wonderful set mixed the old and the new – with his usual humourous insight and meandering tales we are accustomed to as part of the Euros audience – as I said there’s a gentleness to this star performer – that comes out in a humble manner – but he does make me laugh. He could do an ‘in conversation with…’ evening and it would be just as fun. Ok – well nearly as – because when Euros breaks into Ursula’s Crow (can you break into Ursula’s Crow – he’s not Elton John milking the masses?) you remember that it’s the songs that make you sing and grin.

He has that touch – light and airy meets well timed delivery. With a run through of some of the wonders of Situation Comedy (Second Home Blues and Tete-et-Tete) and Summer Special (That’s Better ) and the majestic Ends (the Open Window, Spin that girl around, Parent’s Place – you can find how that song gets me elsewhere in my writing about Euros) And a thankful outing for Bread ( I don’t mean we stopped and popped to Gregg’s) all baroque and crust – one day Jonny will release a second album – Euros said so – it might be the Joe Meek one. There was How Do you Do from Son of Euros, Dust from the Cousins album and a wonderful version of Pretty Ballerina by The Left Banke that nearly rounded off the night. Euros should do a covers album at some point. You know it would be beautiful. Euros even waited for a member of the audience to get back from the toilet. Well that was me – I told you about all this flowing cider and where it leads. And besides there was only one toilet – the other was screened off – for the rock stars I guess – or possibly because of the plumbing.

Euros finished off the night’s proceedings with a glorious uproarious Poodle Rockin’ finale. And that was it. Huge applause and shuffled chairs. Out into the bracing night air with a (miracle) grin and a wide eyed stare.

I don’t think I can make the later London shows – it feels treacherous – but there are young ones to look after and presents to buy and wrap and turkeys to feed and crackers to stuff or something. You never know – I just might find myself there.

An evening with Euros is somewhat irresistible.

Buy his album. Buy all his albums. You even get a note from the National Elf himself. And elves like to make us happy at Christmas (or summat like that)

I haven't got a video of the night - so here's a link to Euros' sound cloud site:

And a lovely version of The Open Window

NWA (Noise with Attitude) Part 2

2014-11-21T12:39:00.000-08:00

‘I'm going down to the place tonight,

To see if I can get a taste tonight,

A taste of something warm and sweet,

That shivers your bones and rises to your heat’

You see Jim always puts it best.

Arriving early at The Troxy – in the scuzzy end of the east of London – where gentrification has yet to set in. Limehouse was an apt place for the return of the mighty JAMC – this wasn’t central London west end and bright lights – it was on the periphery – standing at the edges – but not wanting to get in – instead looking out. Leather jackets turned away from the surburban and mundane.

When I first heard Psychocandy – courtesy of my brother – it felt like the most thrilling piece of vinyl for a long time. At this point I had an understanding of who Spector was, rock n roll was played in the house – I liked it - but here was rock n roll for my generation (not theirs) it was full of energy and anger – confrontation and isolation - bravado and moments of doubt. It took the scowl of Lou Reed and wedded it to a maelstrom of white noise. It was coming from the tough streets of Glasgow – it was frothing at the mouth and screaming from its lungs. It echoed my steel town boredom and hormone fuelled adolescent – spotty kids playing guitar licks.

Jim and William felt like me and my brother – except we probably didn’t fight as much. But there was that insular – extrovert thing going on. And it’s evident tonight – whilst Jim’s upfront, slight swagger and confident (in parts) – William hangs in the wings – turning his back on us and towards his amps – his screeching and wailing emanating from his guitar is his only communication. He’s Ron Asheton to Jim’s Iggy.

So tonight at the Troxy it’s the return of Jesus and Mary Chain - back to their beginnings – who McGee declared the ‘best band in the world’ way back in 1985. Would they still be? Can a set of outsiders from Glasgow – now embraced by the mainstream – still astonish the world?

The evening starts back to front or ‘upside down’ (see what I did there?) – they’re always contrary these fucking scots – aye – I’ll just do it my way – so they do - opening with ‘encores’. From the opening chords of April Skies it’s clear that they are here to take no prisoners. They are going to assault the ears and lead us right into a mess of sound. Whilst the sound is loud it’s clear that William is controlling the intensity. Jim’s not always clear in the mix – but it isn’t muddy - just brutal at times – and never more so than on Upside Down – a song I never thought I’d hear in a live setting – I was 13 when that single emerged in 1984. I am 43 now. It still rattled with chaos – as Jim forever upending his microphone stand – paced and prowled the stage as William layered the sonics and filled this wonderful venue with a snarling noise.

Then it was on to Psychocandy.

From the opening promotional film for East Kilbride all shot through with flame as the celluloid burnt and warped through the jump cuts and repetition of motorbikes, youth, buildings, hands, fights, decay and blurred shapes and swirls the JAMC are here to entertain.

Those expecting Douglas and Bobby to be in the line-up may well have been disappointed - but it’s fair to say they left way back then and have pursued their own rock n roll dreams. So we might not have the iconic two piece kit but we still have the brothers Reid and that Spector beat to bring is in and hold us enthralled for the next hour ( I know the long player is only 43 minutes – but we had to clap you know)

I often return to Psychocandy – I’ve been dipping in over the past 30 years. It’s still raw and honest and surprising. The Mary Chain were my Velvets, my Stooges, my MC5 – I hadn’t heard those bands at the point Psychocandy emerged – well maybe the Velvets but the other two I can honestly say were not part of my record collection. They would come to be - because of this band. And this combination of metal machine music with the ‘ba ba baas’ of sraightfoward rock n roll was revelatory. You couldn’t predict that sound. You have to remember this was Wham time, Culture Club and Live Aid. We’ve got Band Aid again – right now – and right now we’ve got The Jesus and Mary Chain. They’re not trying to feed/ change the world – it’s just pop music (with an edge). And oh what an edge – this felt out of nowhere –it felt juvenile but understood it’s past – yet they were dismissed as a ‘band who couldn’t play’ and because when no one takes you serious - that makes you feel so dangerous – and therefore anything goes. From bedrooms come great dreams and schemes – couple this to a defeated working class and a riot strewn landscape then the JAMC’s brand of desolation blues was bound to chime with some of us.

So here it was tonight- in full aural glory. This was a run through from track one to track fifteen ( see that pop pickers – 15 tracks – value for money) As I said it was controlled chaos – I saw My Bloody Valentine way back when – and they were just too loud – lost in the mix – not creating aural landscapes but just causing hurt. This was explosive – but with modesty – it didn’t take over – Pyschocandy is a testament to the tunes that were played here tonight. The feedback is not added - it’s integral to the sound – that ringing sound uh huh huh. William is riffing and revving and the five piece are in full flow from the start.

This looking back to a seminal album does not mis-fire.

I am a moving and a shaking throughout. And I’m in the seats above. God knows what’s happening on the dancefloor. It’s hard to pick out a moment with a concert like this – you kind of dive in and suck it all up. You experience it – maaaaaaaannnn. But I guess ‘ In a Hole’ felt special – evoking that frenzied appearance on the Whistle Test and the first time I heard it in session on Peel – that’s my Mary Chain special one – and then of course there’s 'Never Understand' and 'Taste of Cindy' and, and, and. So it’s all buzzsaws or chainsaws and scowls and screams – Jim’s frontman posturing still hypnotic despite the thirty year gap – his voice was great – as I said hidden at times in the mix – but powerful nonetheless.

And then with the brief ‘ It’s So Hard’ (the only one that I feel sounds like it may have come from ’85 – with its Bunnymenesque bass and guitars) it’s over. It is all over.

Game Over – and it was.

When Psychocandy emerged it was a game changer – it would ultimately lead to the Gallaghers and Radio One’s embracing of the independent scene. Culture isn’t the same as it was – it never will be. We don’t do nostalgia here. This wasn’t nostalgia tonight - this was a revisit of one of the greatest rock n roll records ever made.

No swindle was involved.

Here is Upside Down - courtesy of Plastictoy1 - he or she captures the intensity

Here's to lots more dots: The Pale Blue Dots

2014-10-25T06:37:00.000-07:00

I received a copy of Lots of Dots through the post the other day. It’s the new (long) player from The Pale Blue Dots. Actually it’s the first long player from The Pale Blue Dots. It was good to see that the thinking, the talking and writing has finally paid off. I was beginning to doubt whether any of this would ever surface and run its rings around the world.

If you don’t know already – because these things get around town – by word of mouth, internet ravings and rumours and releases – The Pale Blue Dots are Huw ‘Bunf’ Bunford and Richard Chester. Richard is one of my best friends – is my best friend. Good friends. We’ve spent some real good times together and I’ve always appreciated his musical ear(s). Bunf was known to me through the Furries – and that pretty much makes him a musical genius – there hasn’t been a band like the Super Furry Animals before or after. They captured that freeing of sound the 90s let in – briefly combining rock and roll with psych and soul all topped with chemical beats and treats.

It was Welsh independence writ large for the masses with guitars and furry suits. And here it is again - without the suits but just as experimental.

As you know – I have had access to part of The Pale Blue Dots for some time and have been raving and raging about them for two years now. Ever since Richard sent me Additional (which is yet to see the light of day) a tune all awash with Jeff Lyne, flourishes and strings I have felt this band had a finger somewhere on the pulse of rock n roll (that's the widest definition of rock n roll - you could just call it music) So where to begin? I should do some sort of plodding Mojo review – two paragraphs and a press release. Give four stars and bang it up. But I think it deserves a little more praise than that – but then I am a bias fucker.

This is not an extension of the Super Furry Animals. It isn’t even a solo project – it’s a bit more complicated and I think this first long player reveals it. Its textures and hooks and riffs and rolls coupled with openness and playfulness. It’s the pleasure of listening. It’s clear that there is an interaction between the two worlds – Bunf’s is different to Richard’s but that shared connection – that understanding is evident in the straight pop boogie of Devastation through to the wonderfully evocative Nebraska.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. It isn’t conceptual – yet there’s a thread running through it. We have references to West Coast psychedelia (Slow Reaction), through soundscapes and Asian melancholia mixed with the funky drummer (Tokyo Hotel Silence or Silent Tokyo Hotel – which had my daughter smiling - she just loved the idea that the two pieces were essential the same with muddled words) coupled with ramalama Bolan/ Bowie infused boogaloo (Devastation) eighties production and early synth experimentation (Look into my Eyes) to the wild plains and haunting twangs of the prairie as dusk falls (Nebraska).

And it all works together. From start to finish it evolves and lingers – causually working its way from the short term memory to the long term.

Its an experiment in getting inside your head.

Guitars are distorted and loud, it's full of clangs and chimes - then things are suddenly strummed and simple – they are sounds in themselves. And you can see that both of these fellas love sound. You can see that they 'get' sound. They get down to 'sound'. (The Sound of the Crowd)

I guess we get a glimpse of what’s inside their heads. It’s quite dark at times. You might keep it upbeat but No Motivation references that sinking slide into busily doing nothing but sleeping. Put that with Slow Reaction – which from its opening piano riff lodges itself firmly in your brain and you’ve got a band struggling to articulate and do.

Except it isn’t. Because here’s an album full of potential pop hits. Produced by Cian at the Strangetown Studios - there's a lovely space and groove to it all. I mean that I really do. As I said previously these are older fellas writing music for the masses. There’s a touch of Nilsson, of Alex ‘Skip’ Spence, Jeff Lyne (and his dark eyes) Spector and early electro albums and of course if you really want to you'll hear a nod to the Furries. Bound to - really. Oh and Daf is playing drums.

It's a wide-ranging album and whilst the focus will be on Bunf - this is double labour of love - for both members. It surprises and asks for a response. When I first heard Reach for the Keys – I didn’t get it. It seemed so overblown and vibrating with empty halls and the echoes of children’s voices – with a rolling nursery rhythm beat. But as with all these tunes they have legs – they have feet – they grow. And it's haunting opening - sort of reminiscent of the Tales of the Unexpected - Roald Dhal making earworm pop - soon lodges itself in your brain. Bunf's simply delivery coupled with found sounds and talk - after a few listens I was happily singing along.

Aquarium could be the missing link between the last SFA album and these Pale Blue Dots. Creeping closer now it gives you the creeps. Bunf's vibrato is quite extraordinary. There's a fragility amidst the lush orchestration - as Bunf dazzles his partner with his 'Admit One Extra' pass and get's her in for 'free now baby'. Meanwhile Richard's layering the strings like the bastard son of Barry. Super continents collide my friend.

And what a great collision this is. It's good to have Richard and Bunf together.

You know I was worried about Lots of Dots dark unnerving cover – a little girl slaughtered as a lamb sits by her side. I mean what should I be reading into that? Or it could just be a broken ornament – found in any home across the land and tipped over through excitement and stupidity. You know it’s just a cover - but there's an undercurrent to it - a subtext. Something which rings out on this (way to short) long player - take Look in to my Eyes - it's all in a look. Concentrate. Something's lurking in this song - something's lurking in this album and I like it.

You know we might miss the Super Furry Animals and I’m not holding my breath for a reunion – although it would be great.

But let’s give this credit.

Let’s give them all credit.

They can all write fucking quality tunes - Gruf, Cian, Daf, Guto and Bunf – with each other - apart - or here with Richard Chester.

I hope this release is the start of something new. I know there are more songs - lots more dots - absolute crackers - but as first releases go - every tune is great in its own right. And if me and my kids are singing these songs in the car - then I know you will be too.

They're having a blast. So let's join in.

Lots of Dots is released on StrangetownRecords on November 3rd.

The Pale Blue Dots are in session on Monday on Marc Riley's show from 7.00pm

You can listen to The Pale Blue Dots here.