Tiny Dancing

Skin Mitten Mix Up No. 001

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 17:30:00 +0000

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 23:08:00 +0000

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 19:23:00 +0000

We Are Two

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 21:27:00 +0000

My friends, let us look around us. In the grand scheme of things, we are but amoebic specks on the timeline of existence. Civilised humanity has gradually worked itself to a gateway of pointlessness over the last 10,000 years or so, and whilst we might look at achievements such as our worldly wide information superhighweb, built on a backbone of filth, and believe we are advancing beyond all recognition, against the back drop of the 15 billion year old universe, we aren’t much really. Aren’t much at all.

And so what significance can we attribute to the second anniversary of this very vehicle for melancholic out-pouring that you find yourself wading through at this moment of a blink of a fraction of history? Well, shit loads, obviously.

We could go into a bit of depth and detail as to the significant steps on the evolutionary path that we’ve achieved, but truth be told or something, there is not enough time in the day, or adjectives in the lexicon to cope with our skills – needless to say though, your occasional kind word makes it all worth while. Honestly.

Take this one for example, received from Mr Hopkinson’s Computer, who joins us in our celebration, by having a go at some Bjork-ing. Textbook.

~~Mr Hopkinson’s Computer – Birthday~~

And with this introspection that our ludicrous measurement of time deeming that another passing of 365.25 days made up of 24 hours made up of 60 minutes made up of 60 seconds gives us, we retort with this – we are a'changing. Like a caterpillar retreating into it’s pupae, we are going to sleep for a while. But when we come back, we will be a beautiful butterfly. Or possibly a moth. Or maybe we might just stay a pupae. Hmm.

Until then, as an apparently suitable footnote, where do I find myself on this most celebrated of days? In a hotel room far too far North, with the sound of a power shouting class booming down the hallway, and the suspected dramatic view of the English countryside obscured by genuine proper rain. How wonderfully apt. To add insult to injury, due to my little tripette, I’m missing a night of high falutin in New Cross, where PNAK are churning out their spasticated krautings. We’re going for a walk now.

~~PNAK – Experimental Croquet~~

Tiny Dancer

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New Night

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 19:43:00 +0000

We all like new things, don’t we. A bit of new. A new thing. Nice bit of something new. A lovely slice of new. A visit to Newington. A trip to New World. Two tickets to New please. Have you seen New lately? Tell him I’m looking for him. I’ve just booked an appointment with Dr. New. I’d love to see your new. Gone on, show us your new.

Oh, okay then.

The name’s War. Gary War. Which is the best name I’ve heard for about three days. But then, it’s been a good couple of weeks for names. I met a man called Wayne Tantrum this week. And last week, a man called Gavin Savoury. Both true, both brilliant. But neither of them can tell me about the future, whereas Gary War most definitely can. I don’t believe in time travel and all that old shite, because my puny human brain can’t conceive the fourth dimension, so I’m stuck with the same old three. I’m not that upset about it, but if you are, the lad War has written a song which I believe is atuned to the most highly developed of the human senses, and is really the instructions on how to enter the fourth dimension and build a time machine. This is it.

~~Gary War - Hope For The Future~~

Q: What is the thing that would happen if you locked half of Electrelane in a dark room for seven days and seven nights, with ~~The Lightning Tree~~ piped in on repeat, in 2001?

A: Aleks And The Drummer

Thank god.

~~Aleks And The Drummer - Szcz~~

And finally, it is new, but it isn’t new. It is new, because I haven’t heard it before, but it isn’t new, because I’ve heard it before. Well, when I say I’ve heard it before, I’ve heard Meddle before, and god knows I’ve heard the Bladerunner sound track before. And now Mirror Mirror sound a bit like playing them both together at the same time, but so they play together as one thing. And I haven’t heard that before, so therefore it is a new thing, and it counts as such.

~~Mirror Mirror – Lock Up Your Sons~~

If you believe what they say, all this lot of new have got records coming out soon. I’ll keep an eye on them, but I’m not sure I trust them.

And finally, confirmation of some sadness that has been floating around – Yellow Swans have called it a day, and what’s more they’ve said so. I fucking love Yellow Swans, even if ashamedly I’ve only been listening to them for a couple of years. In a rare moment of out pouring, they opened my mole-like eyes to much, and therefore they will join the pantheon. They’ve still got some live dates to play, and I’ve never seen them live, so if anyone is off to Barcelona for the 20th of June, and they’ve got room in their suitcase, I’m not much trouble. Cheers.

~~Yellow Swans – Police Eternity~~

Tiny Dancer

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A Great Work Must Have Many Sides

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 21:20:00 +0000

The practice of going out somewhere is a fickle mistress. On the one hand, you get to see stuff, some of which you might even quite like. On the other hand, you have to deal with people, and as we are all well aware of, the majority of people are rubbish. It’s a fine line, and one which should not be crossed without a great deal of thought and consideration.

But so buoyed were the Tiny Dancing team by the success of our recent excursion to Camden, we did it again last week. Not exactly the same you understand – although the visit to Shah’s was once again a triumph – as this time we voyaged off to Kings Cross to see DeVotchKa at The Scala. Credit for this one has to go to Stardust who at his persuasive best persuaded us that it would be a good idea to go and see a band none of us had ever really heard before.

Now, this breaks a golden rule of the fine line crossing. If you don’t have an idea what you’re letting yourself in for, you can easily run foul of people. But everyone deserves a slice of good fortune every now and again, and by god, we got ours. Not only were DeVotchKa a bit of a revelation, but the only person who offended me was a portly man sporting a teutonic ‘tache who seemed intent on thrusting his arse towards me at every opportunity. Not bad, considering.

So good were the surprisingly small band (as in number of members rather than stature), with their massive tubas, drummer drumming whilst tooting on a trumpet, multi instrument wielding genius and plaintively voiced lead, Debris was at one point thought to be seen jigging about a tiny little bit. It’s not been confirmed, but smoke, fire and all that. Apart from a genius cover of Venus In Furs, two songs stood out on the night, both from How It Ends – Enemy Guns, because the start sounded a bit like the start of Dolphin by Shed Seven, and the titular How It Ends, because Nick Urata sounds like Roy Orbison on it, and that’s as high an honour as I can bestow upon a man. Get that album and their newer one here.

~~DeVotchKa – Enemy Guns~~

~~DeVotchKa – How It Ends~~

The day before, I’d gone all cultural, and wandered to The Young Vic to see Olga Neuwirth’s operatic attempt at Lost Highway. The mere thought of it is enough to scramble the mind, but alas, it was a bit rubbish. Where David Lynch manages to imbue the film with a terrible, intensely claustrophobic sense of foreboding dread, with each pan of the camera threatening to reveal a new horror at every turn, the fully viewed stage, whilst impressive, left nothing to the imagination. And where Lynch manages to capture the disconcerting and strange so perfectly, moments like the party scene were clichéd down to what people might think weird is, rather than actually being weird, because it’s weird.

The final nails in the coffin were a particularly badly judged turn as Mr Eddy, and the operatic second swathe, which rendered the dialogue laughable, when really, no-one should be laughing. An exercise in form and concept over content, and as a result, a shame.

That said, the continuous orchestral score was rather excellent. Over the 90 minutes of the piece, the music was the only element that reminded of the fear that should thread throughout. In an ideal world the score would be recorded and released, but given the relatively short run assigned to the performance, it can’t be likely? So instead, here are some of the more likely moments from the film soundtrack, from Angelo Badalamenti and Trent Reznor, who also produced it all. Get it for obscenely cheap from here.

~~Angelo Badalamenti – Fred & Renee Make Love~~

~~Angelo Badalamenti – Red Bats With Teeth~~

~~Trent Reznor – Driver Down~~

Of course, being the theatre, no-one was overtly annoying, although being the theatre, that was quite enough to start with.

I’m staying in tonight.

Tiny Dancer

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The Songs Of The Anaesthetist

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 17:59:00 +0000

A shiny new present arrived in the post recently, all the way from the Amazon. It's called Lifetracks and it's by Mr Tom Middleton, one of my top 20 ambient music heroes (I have a lot of ambient music heroes). Tom Middleton was one half of Global Communication who were doing their thing way back in the nineties, the other half being Mark Pritchard.

As well as creating one of the slowest albums ever with 76:14 (here we give you the last track on the album, 12:18. It's a choral piece that has always put me in mind of the lapping of waves on a beach and is simply beautiful, especially the reprise at 7 minutes 30. It's also excellent for falling asleep to - in a good way), they were also partly responsible for one of my favourite albums in Remotion, a compilation of seven remixes for other artists (and a couple by themselves including one under their Reload guise) that manages the tricky business of hanging together as an album in it's own right.

Not only that but they also recorded an electro funk odyssey under the moniker Jedi Knights, nearly got sued to high heaven by George Lucas and then wrote the bona fide CLASSIC deep house tune The Way / The Deep (I'm going to leave you to seek this one out - it's too good to give away). Since then they have gone their own ways, recording under various names and DJing themselves silly all over the world - nice work if you can get it. For full information I can do no better than direct you towards the excellent and informative Reloadonline here.

So it was that I gave Lifetracks a spin - and I must confess did so with some trepidation, hoping that Tom would have not lost his magic. I was rewarded for my faith with an album of shimmering beauty. Recorded over a period of nine years, and linked inscrutably somehow to the Big Chill festival where Tom has played several times, each track is "inspired by history, people, places and experiences". There are two good reasons for buying this album:

1) it's bloody lovely; and

2) it has a really nice picture of a coastal scene in the fold out booklet. Nice touch.

For your listening pleasures:

~~Tom Middleton - Optimystic~~

~~Reload - Le Soleil Et La Mer (Global Communication Remix)~~

~~Global Communication - 12:18~~

~~Jedi Knights - May The Funk Be With You~~

Crisp Debris

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Richard Godwin Is Alive And Well And Living In London

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 19:08:00 +0000

Here at Tiny Dancing HQ we attract all manner of waifs and strays from all over the world, bringing us their wares to show. More often than not we hear them out, nod sagely, thank them for their interest, give them a bowl of soup and then send them back from whence they came, "filing" their offerings with all due deference in an appropriate place; leaving posterity to judge where we dare not.

So it was with some trepidation that I opened a parcel left on my desk accompanied by a note from Tiny Dancer, flecked with blood and sick (he’d been for a liquid lunch with Debris I believe), saying, "Stardust old man, have had this sent to us - not quite sure what to make of it - needs measuring against the great male chanteurs, which is your area of authority. Leave it up to you to see if it's worth a post or if we should send him away with a flea in his ear."

The package was entitled Brel And Other Gallic Horrors and contained the usual stuff about being a fan of the blog, although he did reference a Brel posting I had done – the lad had done his research. He referred us to his cover of the Brel song Next, which some of you may know from Scott 2, and which Richard Godwin, for such was his name, had re-interpreted with his own translation from the French.

Taking my quill, I scribbled a reply along the lines of "Will have a listen tonight... Next! I bet it’s rotten, can’t wait!". I then called in Casanova Cox, a grubby faced urchin that we use for running errands, playing pranks, satisfying Debris’ carnal appetites and occasionally allow to write an article about some rightly forgotten band from the Britpop era. I gave him a shiny penny and sent him over to TD.

That night, after I’d feasted on my usual dinner of opium and whores I lit a fire, opened a collection of poems by the Metaphysicals, poured a glass of single malt and let the gramophone do its work on this Richard Godwin...

The first track I listened to was Next!. Now the thing with Brel is that almost all versions of his songs that the English speaking world has heard have the long shadow of Scott Walker looming over them. He worked from the translations of Eric Blau and Mort Shulman from Jacques Brel Is Alive And Well And Living In Paris and very much brought out the bedsit romanticism in the songs through his persona of the sensitive poet for whom reality is a disappointment and people’s nature is too base. It’s that reading of Brel that’s prospered to this day to the extent that artists don’t so much cover Brel as cover Scott Walker covering Brel.

Godwin’s interpretation is arguably a lot closer to Brel and the tradition of the bawdy, whisky soaked balladeer, who drinks and drabs all day and must confront his demons alone at night. It’s a good version, notably for the guitar arrangement; Godwin really is a very good guitarist.

So a nice start, but it takes more than a "nice start" to get past the strict quality control at Tiny Dancing... then I listened to The All-Stars, one of his own compositions, and was sold. Melancholy loveliness of the highest order, beautiful lyrics and again some great guitar parts.

A quick glance of his influences on MySpace, apart from Leonard Cohen, didn’t turn up who it was reminding me of, although it’s a great list including most of my favourites. He actually really reminds me of Lambchop, but also, musically, Jarvis Cocker when he does more downbeat stuff, particularly some of the songs on This Is Hardcore (listen to The All-Stars from about two minutes thirty and tell me I’m wrong).

It was at this point that I realised we needed a Tiny Dancing field trip to go and see the man in action, so we donned our cloaks and set out.

A very nice curry in Euston was followed by Dancer, Debris and I venturing to Tommy Flynn’s of Mornington Crescent to sup a few ales and keep one eye on the football whilst hiding from the dull support acts. Once the danger had passed we wound our way closer to the stage to catch his set and also to get away from a very smelly old man who had taken a shine to Debris. It was well worth the trip.

The performance was really rather marvellous and lived up to what I was hoping for from the recordings that I’d heard, with a couple of unfamiliar songs at least matching what’s already out there. Currently everything is vocals and guitar, which means you have to make an effort to listen and unfortunately Flynn’s wasn’t the best venue for this as the occasional shouts supporting Arsenal or Liverpool trampled over some of the subtleties of the set. I for one am hoping that the future will bring a brass section as then I think the world will hear just how good the songs are...

I encourage you all to check out one of his upcoming London shows which you can find on his MySpace page as we all thought he was great and I for one will certainly be going back for another look at some point. As an inducement here are Next!, The All-Stars and Variety for your delectation. If you like these then you can also hear Josie and One Of Many on his MySpace page here.

~~Richard Godwin - Next!~~

~~Richard Godwin - The All-Stars~~

~~Richard Godwin - Variety~~

Ricky Stardust

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When The Music Changes So Does The Dance

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 20:27:00 +0000

What happens when you make everyone put their electronic guitars away, and make them play the saxophone instead? Jazz happens. Jazz.

Now, there used to be much to be afeared of in jazz. Go into any jazz shop, and you instantly felt the unease in the air. Earnest, serious men in the main, rifling through the racks with a quiet, furious determination, looking to fill the gaps in their closely guarded collections. And it wasn’t a place for the ignorant. You needed to know your stuff. It was no good liking something purely because you liked it. Oh no. You needed to know exactly what it’s all about, the timbre, the voice, the scale that confines the action, the character of each individual musician, the history. It also helped if you smoked a pipe.

Yes, there used to be much to be afeared of in jazz.

But no more.

Fulborn Teversham are a prime example of why not. Half made up by Chief Jazzer’s Seb Rochford and Pete Wareham, who kick about in Acoustic Ladyland and Polar Bear amongst others, it’s got saxophone, squelching synths and mental vocals courtesy of Alice Grant. And it’s all over the place. In fact, it might not strictly be jazz. But then again, it might. Hmm. What it definitely is, is cracking, and Empty Shell is one reason why. There’s more to download here. And once you’ve done that, buy the album.

~~Fulborn Teversham – Empty Shell~~

For something a touch more traditional, we look to Led Bib. Traditional in that they’re arranged, and they veer off into proper jazzing at times – but then they turn back on you with duelling saxophones, Bowie covers, and fx laden keys. This track should give you an idea of what’s going on and to persuade you to buy their latest album Sizewell Tea, but most of all go and see them live, because they tend to kick off a bit more, and give it a bit more freedom. Like playing the theme from Cheers for instance. But in a good way. Album here.

~~Led Bib – Stinging Nettle~~

And last but not least, we have Chik Budo, the arch infiltrators, slipping their jazz in under the radar stealthed over with all kinds of distorted bass and synths, and possibly even occasionally, a little bit of the funk. Battling saxophones again but this time far removed from the traditional, more towards the art and the rock, and rightfully so. This track is NYNX – but it’s rather short, apologies for that. I’ve got another one of their tracks on a cd somewhere, but after three days searching, I’m arsed if I can find it. Which is what you get when you haven’t got your cds in alphabetical and chronological order (eh Debris?). They’ve got a single out soon, so keep an eye out for that. In the meantime this is a brief beauty.

~~Chik Budo – NYNX~~

They tend to gravitate towards each other these jazzer types, so be on the look out – nodding, tapping of feet and clicking of fingers is obligatory.

Tiny Dancer

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What We Find In Dusty Corners

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 21:32:00 +0000

One of the best parts of moving house, as I recently did, is packing up all your CD's and coming across a load that you simply haven't listened to in years. Even in my alphabetically and chronologically arranged collection (I know, I know...) these albums have somehow managed to disappear from my radar. Listening to them again now, it seems the reason for this is that many of them fall into the 'average albums with one standout track on them' category. These include:

1 - Radio K-A-O-S by Roger Waters - Not a terrible album by any means, but if I tell you that it's a concept album featuring a Californian DJ talking to a Welsh man who has a Stephen Hawking voicebox in the last 30 minutes before a nuclear war, all overlaid with heavy mid-80s production that makes it sound like Dire Straits, I think you'll appreciate why this one doesn't get played that often. Still, track one - Radio Waves - is jolly enough.

~~Roger Waters - Radio Waves~~

2 - Gone Again by Patti Smith - As I recall, this album was hailed at the time as a return to form, and indeed it is a very competent album, but my God it's hard work. It's just so damn miserable. Not miserable in an exciting Joy Division / Depeche Mode / The Cure way, just miserable in a kind of serious, adult way. That said, I really like Beneath The Southern Cross (which features impressive guests with John Cale on organ and Jeff Buckley on backing vocals).

~~Patti Smith – Beneath The Southern Cross~~

3 - Music Is Rotted One Note by Squarepusher - Like Aphex Twin, but with jazz. That, my friends, is a recipe for an unlistenable album - it's simply not something the world really needs. Except for My Sound which is just glorious; a long, dark, looping jazz riff that steps up subtly every now and then to wrap another layer around itself.

~~Squarepusher – My Sound~~

4 - Wild Mood Swings by The Cure - The Cure's 1996 album is not one of their best but even an average Cure album is never a bad thing; Want and Club America are both good tracks and Gone! - presented here - is a decent bit of jazzy whimsy in the horn-laden tradition of The Lovecats.

~~The Cure – Gone!~~

5 - Radar by Earthling - Released in 1995 at the height of trip-hop, this one defies the category in that it is actually an excellent album that is overshadowed by the first track 1st Transmission, which is so good the rest of the album seems average in comparison, even though it's really good. Mau's lyrics on this one are genius:

I know who I am -
I'm not who you think I am

Whistlin', hummin', thumbin' a ride
Driver won't you take me to the other side?
I'm a book, a poem - by Leonard Cohen
Son of the Dice Man and I won't stop throwin'
I'm Boris Karloff - the man they couldn't hang
I'm a ruffneck romantic talking that slang
I'm Jesus Christ superstar
Driving around in an old yellow car

~~Earthling – 1st Transmission~~

If you like Portishead, Tricky et al I strongly recommend you buy this album - here's one more track, Planet Of The Apes in case you should require further persuasion.

~~Earthling – Planet Of The Apes~~

Crisp Debris

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As a cheeky footnote, if any of you fine fine people find themselves in the fine fine neighbourhood of New Cross tomorrow night, and you find yourself feeling particularly saucy, you could do worse than nip along to the Amersham Arms where The Gluerooms will be 'happening'. And what's more, Tiny Dancer will probably be playing some records in between the turns. Whether that's a good or a bad thing, only time will tell.

The Beginning Has No End

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 23:32:00 +0000

So we played them on the podcast, and posted them with as tenuous a reason as possible, and now five days after it’s release I can confirm what I suspected - Fuck Buttons have made the best album of the year so far, and it’s going to take something pretty special to better it in 2008.

If you haven’t got Street Horrrsing yet, you could stop reading this now and get it from here - but bear in mind you can download it all without too many problems as it’s all over the place, and whilst you’re piecing it all together, you could read why everyone else thinks it so good, so I don’t have to bother to go into it all again.

And once you’re done buying or downloading and had a listen to it all the way through, come back here and download Lets See If Any Ghosts Are Here Yeah? and suss out where it all started. I don’t know how long it had been knocking about, but my increasingly patchy memory seems to suggest I picked it up as a home spun cd-r around this time last year. Or something like that. Give or take a couple of months. Probably.

~~Fuck Buttons – Lets See If Any Ghosts Are Here Yeah?~~

Although consisting of one track nearly 30 minutes long, it’s clearly the blueprint for Street Horrrsing – from the chiming start not quite reproduced as Sweet Love For Planet Earth, moving though what would become Ribs Out, the recurring sounds and motifs of power synths and distorted screams, and culminating in more or less exactly what would become Colours Move. Missing is the most impressive passage of the album, the section of Okay Let’s Talk About Magic through Race You To The Bedroom / Spirits Rise to Bright Tomorrow, which clearly demonstrates how far important progress has been made in a relatively short time.

Even then, it’s still interesting to see where things started out, and the influence that a record deal, Mogwai production and the needs of the music industry have had – from the splitting of the album across six tracks when it still holds together as one continuous piece, to the editing for a seven inch release which although handy and serving a purpose, seems to go against everything else the band puts together.

Despite the various luminaries appearing at the Camber ATP, Fuck Buttons are by far and away the turn I’m looking forward to seeing most, but for those that can’t bear the thought of chalet life for a weekend, they’re playing with Battles and Liars at the Astoria on the 14th of May, which surely could be splendid? If you’re in North America, they’re all over the place right now. Buy the album. Because you should. And this is a bit special as well.

Tiny Dancer

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The Strong Devoted

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 22:25:00 +0000

You get a lot of bands in London. Sometimes it seems like you can’t move for swarms of drainpipes and meaningful haircuts. They’re everywhere. You can’t go to Sainsburys without tripping over a Jing, a Jang, a Jong or whatever the fuck they are, or a winkle-pickered synth-rocker making sure the walk down the High Street hasn’t undone all that hard straightening work.

What’s more, the vast majority of them are absolutely appalling, and I say that from a position of some experience. There was a time not so long ago when it seemed all I was doing when I wasn’t sleeping, eating or selling my soul to the devil was going to see friends in bands in the vast gallery of London’s toilet venues. Most of said mate’s bands were okay, but they tended to share the bill with some horrific excuses for people that come together to make music that others might enjoy. The odd excuse might have a redeeming feature, like the lot that had a bassist who was the spitting image of Diana, Queen of Hearts (God Rest Her Soul), despite being a chap. And the steady Chinese water torture drip of earnest young men with acoustic guitars, and a following of his family and friends from the Home Counties. They were always quite entertaining, in a soul crushing way.

To make matters worse, most of these terrible, terrible bands tend to think they are the future of music, and are on the brink of that first deal that will propel them onto the inevitable road to international mega stardom that their undisputed talent so richly deserves. Whether they believe that because they have absolutely no taste whatsoever, are completely and utterly clueless, or just need to justify their petty existence so their world doesn’t fall in around their ears, I don’t know. But yes, you get a lot of awful, terrible bands in London.

So it was genuinely unusual to overhear a conversation between two band members that was concerned with what they were going to do on stage in about half an hour that wasn’t deluded nonsense, but a truly nervous desire to do what they could do, and hope that the assembled throng would understand that it was good. They weren’t going to force it down throats, they were going to put it out there, and leave it up to you to decide. And so it was that I witnessed such a thing walking down the street in front of two Broken Records, on the way to see their first gig in London last Tuesday at the Soho Revue Bar.

Those with their ear that tragically close to the ground may well have caught a previous whisper about a band causing a bit of a stir in Edinburgh over the last year or so, and though such types are thankfully few and far between (myself obviously included) there were still enough of them (us) to fill a strip club to the point where people had to stand on the poles and podiums to get a decent view. Those whispers that had been popping up here and there seemed to include a lot of mentions of Arcade Fire, but once the band begin, it’s pretty obvious that those comparisons are a little bit lazy.

Yes, there’s an indecent amount of instrument swapping going on. Yes, there’s a slight vocal similarity. Yes, there are accordions and strings, and all kinds of things – but, believe it or not, people were doing this before some splendid Canadians appeared a few years ago. In the hands of Broken Records, the sound is far more indigenous – violin, cello and trumpet combine for moments that remind of Belle and Sebastian. On a new song (sorry, didn’t catch the name), piano and trumpet come together to evoke the melancholy of Christmas EP Mogwai. When things pick up pace, it may even get a bit Celtic Soul Brother, although probably less soul, more pop. And with it all, there’s just enough mishap to stop it all getting far too shiny far too soon. Lyrics are earnest and wrought with intent, without straying into wincing teenage soul searching. The two Broken Records were right. It is good.

There are still a couple of moments that remind you that it’s relatively early days, and that there’s still a way to go. The inexplicable and repeated breakdown in A Good Reason seems incongruously shoe horned in the absence of something better to do, and the occasional bass line or melody pops up that needs a bit more thought rather than settling on the easy option.

But that’s probably being a bit harsh. You get the feeling that these things are already getting sorted out as we go along, even if we get just a 25 minute set that’s truncated because at the moment, there’s nothing more to give. For a first foray into London’s unforgiving pit of mundanity, it’s actually a bit of a triumph. You just have to hope it’s not all happening a bit quickly, that the already signed single deal with a nicely positioned small yet perfectly formed label doesn’t make it all seem a bit too easy. You just really, truly hope.

If you have a look at their myspace, you can still order their first home made EP, and to tempt you here are a couple of reasons why you should. But better still, get yourself along to one of the increasingly long list of toilet venues they’re playing in the foreseeable while you still can - they’re not going to be playing them much longer.

~~Broken Records – If The News Makes You Sad, Don’t Watch It~~

~~Broken Records – Nearly Home~~

Edit: Song By Toad has put up an acoustic Broken Records session, and it is a corker. Find it here.

Tiny Dancer

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Do I Dare Disturb The Universe?

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Fri, 14 Mar 2008 21:39:00 +0000

It was my birthday recently. I don't ordinarily deal with birthdays particularly well; anything that reminds me of the number of years I have wasted getting to my current lowly position in life is frankly unwelcome - but the creeping black horror was tempered somewhat with the receipt of a lovely present from Tiny Dancer; a CD by a German techno dude I had not heard of until then, Stephan Bodzin. The album is called Liebe Ist... and has two of the most important things a good German techno CD should have - brilliantly clean, crisp pumping tunes that throb with dark energy and more essentially, a really cool minimalist sleeve. I would describe his music as... well, as exactly what you would expect German techno to sound like really. Check out Turbine and then buy the album from here.

~~Stephan Bodzin - Turbine~~

Points of interest culled from his myspace page are that his influences are listed as Kraftwerk (makes sense), Motorhead (those crazy Germans do love their heavy rock) and, er, Miles Davis. I'm finding it hard to get my head around that last one - the king of improvisational avant-garde jazz somehow doesn't fit in with the precision sounds of Bodzin, but there you go. We also like the fact that the production company Bodzin has set up - Herzblut Recordings - sponsor a local kid's football team, Union 60 Bremen. What a genius idea - I can't wait to see this catching on everywhere else.

Listening to this album reminded me of Circulation's 2000 album Colours, which whilst having a much more laid back housey / jazzy sound, also features extremely exact production values. On both albums I would warrant that there is literally not a single sound out of place - truly music made by machines. Take a listen to White to get an idea of what I mean.

~~Circulation – White~~

And what the hell, whilst we're knocking about chatting techno why not wrap your ears around the tune that introduced a harder, darker edge to house music back in 1991 and virtually invented techno, Joey Beltram's Energy Flash. Rather depressingly I have just calculated that most of the kids out there in club-land were toddlers when this came out, whereas I clearly remember it being played on the radio at the time of its release. God, I hate birthdays.

~~Joey Beltram – Energy Flash~~

Crisp Debris

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This Is No Declaration, I Just Thought I’d Let You Know Goodbye

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 20:51:00 +0000

Belle and Sebastian are my favourite band ever.

There, I’ve said it.

I first found them back in 1997. It was at a time when I was actively looking for a band I could call my own. Up to that point I felt like every artist I loved had been fed to me by someone else, whether that was trawling through my dad’s record collection and finding Bowie and Floyd; or if it was John Hunt copying the Beatles’ 67-70 album for me (with the tape running out two thirds of the way through Across The Universe; I still expect it to cut off every time I hear it) or Tiny Dancer playing me His ‘n’ Hers in Richard LeRoy’s car; or Simon Baker and Crisp Debris forcing me to buy The Queen Is Dead. I was always coming to the party late.

Then one Sunday Night on Stuart Maconie’s Radio 1 show I heard The State I Am In and I knew. I just knew. Sometimes you do just know, don’t you?

Dog On Wheels came out a week after and I bought it immediately and listened to the four tracks contained on it 6 times in one day. It was like nothing I’d ever heard before. I grew up with Britpop; Indie music was chart pop music to me. I didn’t have to trawl around in obscure record shops and read fanzines like people had to a few years before. Blur and Pulp were in Smash Hits for God’s sake (not that I bought Smash Hits...). I wasn’t aware of Felt and I wasn’t aware of Postcard Records and I certainly had no knowledge of what C86 was.

Dog On Wheels sounded like unfinished demos. You could hear the strings squeaking and the voices occasionally going a bit out of tune and the odd note being dropped. It was like the band had recorded it on a tape recorder in their bedroom for their own use (which isn’t too far from the reality) and let me have a copy of it. It felt like they’d let me in on a special secret.

Over the next few months or so they released two other EPs, Lazy Line Painter Jane and 3, 6, 9, Seconds Of Light, the latter of which got Single of the Week in both Melody Maker and the NME and people started to pick up on them a bit more and they were no longer my secret. But I actually didn’t mind, I was spreading the gospel with the best of them and managed to convert most of my friends along the way.

Once I’d exhausted the EPs I found out about If You’re Feeling Sinister and their unavailable debut album Tigermilk; their first two long players. I remember buying Sinister and realising that before I had been dealing with 4 tracks per release and it taking ages for me to tire of them, so the concept of getting ten new tracks at once was immense; I wondered if I’d ever be able to process it all.

B&S always say that Sinister is their most complete collection of songs and I think I’d have to agree with that. The run of the first six songs up to Get Me Away From Here I’m Dying, Stuart Murdoch’s mission statement, is extraordinary and for me I can’t think where it’s been bettered.

Next I tracked down Tigermilk to a church in Greenwich and paid more than I’d ever paid for a record to have it. Everyone knows the story of how that album came to be and if you don’t then you can look it up, but really the album is a miracle. Sinister may be their best but coupled with Dog On Wheels I think Tigermilk is my favourite thing they’ve done and still defines what was great about them to me.

Over the years after this and with varying degrees of inconsistency on their albums my love for them was kept alive by seeing them perform more times than I can remember. The first time was at the Bowlie Festival that they organised down at Camber Sands in 1999 that has since transformed into All Tomorrow’s Parties. They headlined the Sunday night and I was nervous all weekend thinking that something would go wrong and it would be cancelled. I have a bootleg of the gig but it doesn’t approach how great it was.

Other highlights would be hiring a box to see them at Royal Albert Hall and all of us shouting for Stars Of Track And Field until Murdoch acknowledged us with "Sounds like we’ve got some athletes in tonight". I suspect we enjoyed it more than he did... It would be many more gigs before I’d finally get to hear them play it, but God, when it finally happened it was worth the wait.

Another one that comes to mind is when they played the Astoria. My friends and I had tickets for the Friday night but I was sitting in work on the Thursday knowing that they were playing then as well and was unable to resist going down to the Astoria on my own and paying through the nose for a ticket from a tout. I’ve always been someone who gets too excited and has to open their presents before Christmas.

I guess I should also mention the time I went to watch them in Barcelona with Tiny Dancer and Casanova Cox of these pages. We stuck around at the after-show in the bar upstairs from the gig and it was then that I met Stuart Murdoch. It didn’t go well. For starters I was sober, which at the time was something of a rare state to find me in and not when I’m at my best. I won’t go into exactly how the conversation went but Murdoch left hastily fearing he was going to be beaten up and have his hat stolen by three English boys who have stalked him across Europe. Thank God Isobel didn’t turn up.

Oh Isobel...

The day Isobel Campbell and Belle and Sebastian parted company was my Beatles splitting, Kennedy being shot and Altamont all rolled in to one. I loved Isobel and I think in many ways I’ve been chasing an Isobel figure ever since. After she and Stuart David left the band things were different. Murdoch himself has said that one of the big reasons why he didn’t want them to leave was that he didn’t like it when the original line-up of a band he loved changed and worried that the magic would go with them. They went on to make their most commercially successful record in Dear Catastrophe Waitress but he was right; it wasn’t the same.

But Murdoch was still there and so were some great songs. I’m A Cuckoo, If You Find Yourself Caught In Love and the Good Vibrations-esque Step Into My Office Baby are all as good as anything they’d done before and the first two in particular were high points lyrically. And in the end, for me, B&S always started with the lyrics. As soon as I heard:

My brother had confessed that he was gay
It took the heat off me for a while

The deal was done.

In the sleeve-notes for Dear Catastrophe Waitress Murdoch names his canon; "Larkin, Cohen, Lawrence and Moz." As a list, it will do. Of that ilk, Murdoch is lyricist of his age. He knew his people and he spoke to them about things they cared about in the way that they felt it themselves. He remembered; he understood. Hell, he’d spent so long ill in bed that despite being ten years older than his audience he still thought and acted in the same way as them. In the same way as us.

Think of me as a friend
Not just the boy who plays guitar

He said, and we did.

In many ways his lyrics changed my life. Aside from opening up the indie scene to me (for good and bad) it led directly to me buying a guitar, forming a band and writing songs and meeting many people who will probably stay in my heart forever.

He’s on the list now; I’ve added him; he’s in the Pantheon. "Larkin, Cohen, Lawrence, Moz and Murdoch." I’m left with the memories and a number of questions...

Who will be next writer to make it on to that list? I don’t know and it’s probably not for me to say; it’s for people who are younger than me and still haven’t found their writer to choose who follows. They are out there, scribbling away in their bedroom somewhere, biding their time. Don’t worry, they’ll come.

Will any band or songwriter ever mean so much to me again? It’s unlikely; I think you only have that kind of thing once and at a certain age.

What will Belle and Sebastian do next and how will I feel about it? Their last album was not great by any means and they’ve been silent for some time. I don’t know whether it’s a misstep which will be followed by a return to form or the end of a great run. I suspect the latter but either way I know it won’t be like it was and really it hasn’t been for some time.

They’re no longer "My Band". They’ve changed and so have I; it’s all over now but by God we had some times didn’t we? Yes we did.

The Tracks

Belle and Sebastian are releasing an album of tracks they recorded in sessions at the BBC. As a geeky fanboy this is stuff I have from taping them off the radio at the time and I put it all together and produced my own version long ago. If they choose the right things then it will be their Hatful Of Hollow as there is some great stuff that they’ve never released and some versions of songs that are better than what we have on their albums. My favourites are the ones I present here.

First there’s a version of I Could be Dreaming which Stuart sings at least twice as well as his vocals on the original. When he sings about killing his friend’s abusive boyfriend or taking on some local kids who are having a go at him you actually believe him capable of it.

~~Belle and Sebastian – I Could Be Dreaming (Radcliffe Session 1997)~~

Next there’s Magic Of A Kind Word which is Isobel’s best vocal performance and also the best thing they never released.

~~Belle and Sebastian – Magic Of A Kind Word (Peel Session 2001)~~

And finally is The Loneliness Of The Middle Distance Runner. For some reason, although the recorded version hardly differs at all from this one, this is twice as good. I can’t put my finger on it but it seems to have more life and the right level of melancholy in Stuart’s voice to change it from being average on record to one of the greatest things that they ever did.

Have you seen The Loneliness of the Middle Distance Runner
When he stops the race and looks around?
I’ve left the stage
You’ve seen it now

~~Belle and Sebastian – The Loneliness Of The Middle Distance Runner (Live on The Apocalypse Tube 1999)~~

Ricky Stardust

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Please Lord. Not Another Beadle. Not So Soon.

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 19:12:00 +0000

So I had a nice little post lined up about Idlewild that was all insightful and very informative and considered and that. But sometimes, something more important comes along, something that makes you reassess your priorities. Swayze is in trouble. Everything else can wait.

Initial reports of weeks to live have been dismissed, but still the situation is not good. Whilst I have no doubt that the battle will be met with a combination of zen meditation skills (as seen in the award nominated Road House) and wildly sexual dancing moves (as seen pretty much whenever the opportunity arises), it will be tough even for Swayze. Tough, but not tough enough.

Whilst I’m sure this is what is known in medical circles as ‘a scare’, I’m equally sure Swayze could do with the love of his fans to get him through. And so, I ask that you leave your messages for support as a comment to this post. I will collect them, and make sure they get to him. On that, I give you my word.

Whilst finding the words that best sum up your feelings, please feel free to listen to the great man’s greatest moment, on repeat, for as long as your mind and body can take it. I’m into my fifth hour, and I’m not flagging. Not for Swayze.

~~Patrick Swayze – She’s Like The Wind~~

Words that invade your heart, and saxophone that penetrates your very soul.

And speaking of Beadle:

~~Junglie Sammie - Limb By Limb (RIP Jeremy)~~

Wrong, of course.

Tiny Dancer

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The Weaknesses Are The Strengths

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 23:23:00 +0000

This arrived in our inbox this morning.

2008; the age of Oyster cards, self-service supermarket tills and 5p flights to Singapore.
The Internet is everywhere, diffused through the air, as ubiquitous and as ready as oxygen.
All music is free and all music is available on tap.
No matter how rare, you can find it in seconds and you can save it onto your hard drive along with the other 500,000 songs in your music library. Maybe you'll listen to it once; maybe you'll give it 30 seconds and then click on a different track.
If you really like it, you'll probably choose to put it on your mobile phone and force fifty total strangers to listen to a tinny, distorted version of it, whether they wish to or not.
New albums, like soggy, boot-printed copies of Metro on the floor of your bus home, have a clearly defined shelflife of 24 hours.
You can make your own music on your laptop too; and, angling for a gig on Big Brother or their local weather bulletin, everybody who can, does.
They sign up to Myspace; their recordings are seashells on a beach, needles in a haystack.
Those who obtain significant commercial backing may become known for their criminal activities, drug addictions, nervous breakdowns or philandering footballers, but never for their music.
Does it condescend you? Yeah.
Radiohead try to give away their new album. We're still not remotely interested.
All music is free and all music is worthless.

We too have had our nostrils fouled by the stench of 2008. We tried to think of ways that we could combat it, and put a small grain of integrity back into the role of the artist. But we couldn't think of any, so we decided to have our petty bit of revenge by adding our own little bit of stench into everybody else's nostrils. Thus was White Elephant, the third Vichy Government album, born.

According to the old fable, third albums are 'difficult'. There will be no backlash against ours; because nobody bought, heard, or has heard of the first two. In this world of disposable, play-once-then-spit-into-tissue music, White Elephant is an album with a twist. The preceding 30-minute efforts, Carrion Camping and Whores In Taxis, elicited the response that the grating minimal Casio of Andrew Chilton and the humourless, whining cant of Jamie Manners were far too crude and monotonous to be easily got through in one sitting. This in mind, we chose to make our third album twice the length of its predecessors. Weighing in at 18 tracks, each as queasy and ear-bleeding as the last, White Elephant represents a true endurance test. Other albums are chewing gum, ours is a jumbo super-sour fireball gobstopper.

Proceedings kick off with Jamie's eight-minute short story, Death of a Mummy's Boy and end with Andrew Chilton's seasick instrumental, The Teams That Meet In The Blue Legume. In between, 'highlights' include the bar-room brawl of The Exterminating Angel Of Greek Street, the car-alarm pop of My Mail-Order Bride and the Bobby Goldsboro tearjerker that is Abusive Childhood Narrative. Silly cover versions du jour are Northern Soul anthem I'm Your Pimp and talentless cunt Mick Jagger's Memo From Turner.

As to brief band biography/background/profile, I've been doling out this crap for six years and I really can't be bothered. Write your own fucking review. I couldn't care less whether you listen to the thing or not. Just bang your head on the typewriter til you have your 500 characters, then submit that. I guarantee you'll have made much more sense than any other music journalist has managed to before.

White Elephant is released in April

~~The Vichy Government – Serbian Warlord~~

~~The Vichy Government – My Mail-Order Bride~~

~~The Vichy Government – Memo From Turner~~

alskjdfhlkjasdhfruthlkjhgfu\yvsio yfcuw pwoeyr9487509874-187.ND,FMF 'WAF]EAWF #f[po #PEWOF POERIGPWI359[89[G8[98G[9u gfhjkjvnf jfnaoufir[paoiufvponiupoitu[]po]ion]vvi/'.;.';';l.q';oe[3p9x4mcjglkvjs;rutcjkhfrkejwrhycnwp54n[qer'auwit#uq4ur9qn#tu#CFWOIFUNPQOWIVBEWROIQUB87V58Q9708593Q[57B83573QBQB'45IOUY89[785PQ9QA['R78R[Q87R'AWO8ER[vbw958v[w8t'ut'e[wroiutwvbsnpcnasjfcpbnaoiuvvebpfoiu7bq8p47rpaiouyp40789[=0[‘csflnknewrpo34598vopuaoipeguks;otjio4[uq9t0u;sq[j[tu0r987[ cf riupoiutp4qc uiaju’ #a #fpv]ap

Hmm.

Info here. More here. And here. Buy here.

And finally, in a twist of fate that some would say is surely more than mere coincidence, card carrying Friend Of Tiny Dancing Steve Horry did some of the producings for the album. The exact details escape me now, but that's largely unimportant. What is important is that he's a jolly talented chap, and he's available for hire at a reasonable price, maybe even a kind word. If you fancy some twiddling expertise of this like, give him a shout here.

Tiny Dancer

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Minutes of The Tiny Dancing Social Committee Annual Planning Meeting

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 23:03:00 +0000

Present: Mr. Tiny Dancer, Mr. Crisp Debris, Mr. Ricky Stardust, Mr. Casanova Cox

Apologies: None

Location: Mr. Dancer’s Lodgings

Mr. Dancer welcomed all to the meeting, and thanked them for attending. He also congratulated Mr. Stardust and Mr. Debris on their recent co-habitation, commenting on the elegance of the arrangement. Mr. Cox also offered his congratulations. Mr. Stardust and Mr. Debris offered their thanks in return.

Mr. Dancer confirmed that the purpose of the meeting was to agree the first outing of the year of The Tiny Dancing Social Committee, and stated that he hoped a suitable agreement could be made that met the requirements of all concerned. All confirmed that they were hopeful that this could be achieved in a timely fashion.

Mr. Debris asked where more ale could be found, and was directed towards the local emporium. He decided to remain for the moment.

Mr. Cox commenced proceedings by stating his vehement opposition to attending the Glastonbury Festival this year, indicating that after last year’s farce, his patience had been pushed beyond the pale. Mr. Stardust seconded this feeling, Mr. Dancer concurred. Mr. Debris stated that as long as he had breath in his body, he would not sleep in a tent. It was therefore decided that The Committee would not attend the Glastonbury Festival this year.

Mr. Stardust took the opportunity to recount an amusing tale, wherein Mr. Baker (S), an acquaintance of The Committee, relieved himself of his dinner in a stranger’s tent whilst watching Bjork at last years Glastonbury Festival. All found the tale very amusing, and Mr. Cox thanked Mr. Stardust for reminding him of the occasion.

Mr. Debris enquired as to whether there was any wine available. Mr. Dancer stated that there was a bottle of port in the pantry, which was swiftly fetched by Mr. Dancer’s man.

Given Mr. Debris’ strong feeling against the use of a tent as a means of accommodation, Mr. Dancer moved The Committee’s attention to the forthcoming All Tomorrow’s Parties functions, taking place at Butlins Minehead and Pontins Camber Sands.

It was explained to Mr. Debris by Mr. Cox that attendance at said extravaganza would allow him to sleep in a bed in a chalet. Mr. Debris confirmed that he would find this agreeable, as it would allow him to reside in a manner as a gentleman might expect, and not in a fashion that would not even be suitable for swine, at which he consumed a generous glass of port with a decadent flourish.

Mr. Dancer then moved proceedings on to the tricky choice of whether to attend the Minehead or Camber Sands Parties. Much heated debate was held on the aspects of both options, with the pro and contra arguments given equal regard. At one point, Mr. Debris attempted to leave the meeting without prior warning, but was persuaded to stay by Mr. Dancer, with the help of a brass poker.

Following a sustained period of in depth and intellectual deliberation, the balance of opinion was deemed to favour Camber Sands. At this point, Mr. Cox reminded The Committee of the performance of Mr. Baker (T), an acquaintance of The Committee, at the first All Tomorrow’s Parties in 2000, which included accusing Mr. Lamacq of being "two bob" and the excellent achievement of consuming ale through his blouse. Everyone agreed that it was a most commendable performance, and that all hoped that similar feats could be achieved in Mr. Baker (T)’s absence.

Mr. Dancer dispatched his man to the local travel agent, to make the appropriate preliminary arrangements for The Committee’s attendance. A celebratory port was taken by all.

Whilst this business was taken, Mr. Dancer confirmed that he was very much looking forward to taking in the performance of A Place To Bury Strangers whilst at the event, and Mr. Cox agreed that he was very much anticipating their performance, especially given their reputation as New York’s loudest band.

~~A Place To Bury Strangers – Missing You~~

Mr. Stardust concurred with Mr. Cox, and added that he was glad that the chance would be presented to renew his acquaintance with Mr. Lekman, of whom he had not had the opportunity to discourse for some time now. Mr. Debris agreed that it would be excellent fortune to take ale with the Swedish troubadour once again, with which he took up the bottle of port, and drained the remaining liquor.

~~Jens Lekman – A Little Lost~~

Mr. Cox took the opportunity of Mr. Debris being silenced by intoxication to confirm with The Committee that his anticipation was piqued by the planned encounter with Fuck Buttons, after a recent appraisal of the Bristolian ruffians synthetic noisings and shoutings. Mr. Dancer was in the process of agreeing, when his man returned and confirmed that all had been arranged with his travel agent.

~~Fuck Buttons – Sweet Love For Planet Earth~~

The sound of rejoicing roused Mr. Debris from his slumber, from which he emerged with a somewhat disagreeable disposition. This was exasperated by the discovery that there was no more ale or spirit or wine in the vicinity, and in order to placate him, The Committee took the decision to retire to the local hostelry.

Before they departed, Mr. Dancer requested whether there was any more business to be had, and with nothing tabled, it was agreed that the next meeting would be held at the earliest opportunity, with the possibilities of attending The End Of The Road Festival and Bestival still to be explored.

With that, Mr. Debris burst forth from the lodgings whilst spouting extreme vulgarities, and the meeting was closed accordingly.

Tiny Dancer

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The Flawless Joy Boys

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Sun, 24 Feb 2008 21:54:00 +0000

The music of Campag Velocet is a strange beast. It’s either barely tolerated at best or fiercely guarded like a slightly simple, untoward cousin. A kind of yes, I know why you might not like it, but you are wrong – there is something good at the heart of it. Even if you’re not sure what it is.

Led by Pete Voss, they appeared out of the arse end of Britpop with a slightly abrasive, faux thuggish play on a mixture of guitars, Weatherall-ed Primal Scream, and Eno-ish soundscapes. They hit with Bon Chic Bon Genre, a 97 second statement of booming, snarling intent that disrupted the flow of pop from the previous four or five years. I remember hearing it for the first time on The Evening Session, and then in the weekly visit to the slippery floored palace of dreams. It sounded immense.

~~Campag Velocet – Bon Chic Bon Genre~~

And that’s probably where it started to go wrong. Instant attention was paid, and unfortunate comparisons were drawn. Voss was modelled in the image of the still ruling Liam Gallagher, but where his unfortunate personality was tempered by his brother, Voss went it alone and was pretty much unlikeable, press wise anyway. He was aggressive, but he didn’t give way into soundbite or pap shot, and it didn’t really sit well in the likes of NME, it couldn’t really be sanitised.

Then, the album came. Bon Chic Bon Genre opened with the single, but then segued into all kinds of moments that didn’t quite match. The instrumental soundscapes, the odd indie pop song, the incongruity. Voss’ lyrics were open to ridicule – an over reliance on Anthony Burgess’ Nadsat suggested both unoriginality and over adherence to the droog mentality. The rest of the apparent stream of consciousness spewing producing anything but lyrical couplets.

They did get about, but within a year or so, they were gone.

~~Campag Velocet – Caught Unawares~~

But not forgotten. The snapshot coverage gained meant they got out there, and opposing tasteful indifference they built up a vociferous following. They popped up here and there keeping the people happy, until they returned in 2004 with It’s Beyond Our Control. More or less of the same, but this time embittered by the experience of the past five years. Vindictive Disco came out first, as a shot across the bow – the indie moment that didn’t represent the album.

I managed to see them a couple of times during the supporting tour, a genuinely good band fronted by a desperate man. It’s not often that you see the premeditation of putting on weight lifting gloves so that a tambourine can be driven into a palm as hard as is possible. Scribbled sheets of A4 were rifled through, until something suitable came to hand. Sometimes it matched, sometimes it didn’t. What struck me though, was the crowd. They’d been waiting for the return, and they were jubilant. They were sharing something, and they knew what it was.

The stand out moments from the album demonstrate everything you need to know – lyrical questions remain, but the intent is there. And you make your choice – you either like it or you don’t.

~~Campag Velocet – Motown Clic...~~

~~Campag Velocet – Ain’t No Funki Tangerine~~

And that, disappointingly, was it. The courage didn’t really match the conviction, and the fight was over. There isn’t even that much out there about them - the net based fan organisation is gone, a myspace remains (worth visiting for a live download), there are scraps. But that’s it. They’ve almost been erased.

Take it – here - or leave it. It’s your choice.

Tiny Dancer

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Calm Down You Silly Silly People

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 21:35:00 +0000

The Brit Awards are on television. I’ve just watched a pube headed twot scream the life out of something with a young lady who should probably have known a lot better, before an apparently pissed up old crone tumbled out of the wings with her inconsequential brood, and shared platitudes with the most fatuous waste of space our hallowed shores has produced in a number of years. I’m not surprised, but ever the optimist, I was vaguely hopeful.

So, before my brain starts eating itself in pity and escaping out of my earholes, I need something that doesn’t involve hordes of sniffing industry fools wailing and clapping like a speared sealion. Something that isn’t an under rehearsed collaboration between two ironically opposed artists, that of course demonstrates how the organisers are switched on and ultimately the most powerful people in the universe. Something that isn’t the Brits.

I choose the Poles. About 18 months ago, I posted a couple of songs by Milipop in accompaniment to a celebration of autumn on the brink of winter, and the beauty that all that holds. Minimalistic, understated, reflective, claustrophobic beauty. And so in this time of need, I turn back to Milipop, or as is now, Tomasz Bednarczyk. The step out of anonymity has done nothing to deter the flow of repeating seconds, stuttering glances and veiled moments, and to my aching brain, this is a good thing.

~~Tomasz Bednarczyk - Love~~

~~Tomasz Bednarczyk - Bike~~

Unfortunately I don’t read Polish, but I know a link when I see one, and that’s how I ended up at home.pop.rec and their stable of like minded souls. As you might or might not suspect, Tomasz is not alone in his retrospection and At Home are alongside him in glorious shadow. I know not what they get up to in those parts to trigger such thoughts, but you will not find me complaining, especially in current company.

~~At Home – 02~~

I’d love to know how to get hold of more Tomasz and more At Home, but all I can make out is that Room40 are re-releasing Summer Feelings at the end of March. That may be enough to retain the sanity. Please, let it be enough.

Tiny Dancer

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February 2008 Podcast - What Doesn't Kill Us Makes Us Stronger

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Sun, 17 Feb 2008 16:32:00 +0000

The Greatest Music Ever Made

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 17:37:00 +0000

To commence, a simple logic equation:

(1) Wendy Carlos composed the soundtrack for the motion picture Tron

AND

(2) Tron is the greatest motion picture ever made

THEREFORE

(3) Wendy Carlos composed the greatest music ever made

Like I said, simple. I think you’ll find we’re all in agreement, and for those that aren’t, have a bit of this.

~~Wendy Carlos – Tower Music – Let Us Pray~~

But it doesn’t end there. In fact, it doesn’t even start there.

Then Walter Carlos, in 1968 he created and released Switched On Bach, which is sometimes thought to be the first recording in the history of the world ever to use synthesizers as a genuine musical instrument. Such was the human populace’s shock at this sudden shift into the future, it sold more than half a million mind bending copies, and became the biggest selling classical record in the world ever in the process.

This was followed by a couple more variations on the similar theme, before the fates brought him (still) and that most treasured of filmic nutters Stanley Kubrick together under the united banner of Clockwork Orange in 1971.

Although Alex DeLarge’s obsession with Beethoven and the futuristic setting of his existence would seem to feed directly into Switched On territory, Carlos started the collaboration whilst working on some new music that he thought was right up Kubrick’s dystopian alley.

The legend has it that Carlos was about three and a half minutes into this new work when inspiration struck with the news that Kubrick’s long planned project was underway – and this is clearly borne out in the resulting Time Steps, when at 3 minutes and 17 seconds the first classical, recurring motif drops into what has previously been a ponderously abstract wander.

Who knows where Carlos was going, or even if he’d even truly started at that point, but with the re-focus of Anthony Burgess’s narrative, Time Steps becomes invigorated and purposeful. The remaining ten or so minutes take us on a journey through our existence, and into the themes of the story – via the classical reference we glance upon a time of high intellectualism tragically anchored in the mire by the unchecked debauchery of base savages. The occasional shoe-horned ticking clock leaves us in no doubt that time is passing, and yet the future and the past are shackled together without any opportunity of escape, destined only to orbit each other, history repeating itself time and time again.

In traditional Kubrick non-confrontational style, a lot of the soundtrack put together by Carlos hardly features in the released film, and Time Steps suffers accordingly. But it needs to be heard in it’s full form so we can take part in the entire journey, and realise the error of Kubrick’s judgment at spurning work that can truly be called great.

~~Wendy Carlos – Time Steps~~

You can pick up the soundtrack for Tron for next to nothing from here. Clockwork Orange is normally a bit more expensive, but you should get it all the same from here.

Finally, as an excellent aside, as well as being the greatest composer in the world, Wendy Carlos also likes taking pictures of solar eclipses. So wonder at our place in the vast universe as heavenly bodies entwine around us here.

Tiny Dancer

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I Saw So Much I Broke My Mind

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 21:43:00 +0000

Sometimes, I think I’d like to be a cowboy.

I’d start out doing all the normal cowboy things, like falling in love with swarthy maidens, getting shot, dying, coming back to life again, finding my one true love who would stand by me forever, going out and getting drunk and fighting, and all that good stuff.

But after a while, I’m pretty sure that would get a bit boring. There are only so many saloons you can have a hoe down in, only so many cattle rustlers you can run out of town, only so many rodeos that can be won, only so many heart felt songs that can be sung around the camp fire. And besides, the 70s would be looming over the hill like a stampeding hoard of angry buffalo, and this time, I wouldn’t be running for cover.

First things first though – I wouldn’t be growing my hair long. There are some places a cowboy will never go, and that’s one of them. And I wouldn’t be wearing one of them big dresses that them there hippies would wear. Oh no. I ain’t no sissy.

I probably would dabble in mind altering drugs though. Strictly speaking, the cowboy’s lot is as much fire water as can be drunk before passing out and/or liver failure, and you might have to graduate on to all kinds of filthy uppers and downers and inbetweeners if you should be so lucky as to have a hit single, and have to drag your addled body across all fifty states promoting it so you can earn enough money to send back to your one true love.

So a move onto the mind altering drugs might be frowned upon in Nashville, heck, they might even try and throw you out of the Hall Of Fame. If it came to that though, I’ve got an ace up my sleeve – I’d draw the attention of the elders to that little episode Kenny Rogers and Glen Campbell had back in ’68, when it all went a bit hazy and a bit wavy and a little bit too far out - what’s good for two of the High Priests Of Country is good for me.

~~Kenny Rogers & The First Edition – I Just Called In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)~~

If they still maintained that sitting under a cactus weeping at the beauty of the fire sprites was behaviour unbecoming of a manly man of the West, then I’d straighten myself up, pull myself back together, and remind them of Mr Hazlewood’s fine body of work, before slinking back down into place at the base of my prickly friend, and waiting until the moon said I could go back home again.

~~Lee Hazlewood & Nancy Sinatra – Some Velvet Morning~~

But, as my mind started turning into swine feed, my cowgirl would drag me to the water trough, dunk my head in it a few times, and would tell me that unless I stopped taking all that crazy junk and started making something of my life, she’d up sticks and leave me, and at that point, I’d see the light, and I’d turn back onto the straight and narrow.

In fact, I’d make such a big u-turn, I’d go down to the town school, and I’d learn how to read and write. I’d probably find out that after a life of cattle management and then mind expansion, I was actually an electronic genius, what with my practical and imaginative skills, and before long, I’d be going to college, and I’d be learning how to make rudimentary synthetic sound machines that can recreate the noises of entire robotic orchestras.

Once I’d become a leading figure in the field of electronic musical interpretation, I’d go back to my roots and reproduce the classics on the machines that I’ve made, and I’d probably record a couple of albums, just like that Professor Gil Trythall did.

~~Gil Trythall – Nashville Moog~~

~~Gil Trythall – Wichita Lineman~~

Yep, sometimes, I think I’d like to be a cowboy.

Kenny here. Lee here. Professor Gil here.

Tiny Dancer

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When We Stay In Our Chambers

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 22:27:00 +0000

It is Thursday, and it is February, and ask anyone you like, but that is not often the best place to be. Such are the depths that the dark midwinter continues to drag me to, I’m only leaving the house between the hours of three and four in the morning to buy cupasoups from the 24 hour corner shop. I haven’t seen the sun in weeks, and as a result, I’ve become more or less translucent. People take one look at my pallid demeanour, and run screaming for their mothers. My hair has grown long and unkempt, my eyes are rheumy. My only friends live in the magic picture box. It’s possible I may never again know the loving touch of another human being. I am truly alone.

No – this is not often the best place to be.

But hey – enough of all this gloomy nonsense. I’m a glass half full kind of guy, so let’s look at the bright side. All this confinement to my small, dingy room has allowed ample time to take advantage of the generosity of whatever near neighbour hasn’t locked up their broadband connection, and traverse the information future highweb looking for twinkling musical stars amongst an increasingly underwhelming firmament.

Lord Auch have risen from the grave of the occasionally enjoyable yet rarely grieved Black Wire, but instead of sticking to what they know have descended into a reflectively PiL-ish fear and loathing, and sit somewhere on an empty island surrounded by a sea of doubt where they shout out to the vast expanse about grief, and it echoes back and swirls around and around until they can’t hear themselves screaming, but realise they don’t have anything more to say.

~~Lord Auch – Great Big Ulcers Of Grief~~

Very few of the earth people ever really get a proper grasp of what time is all about, it’s the size of their tiny heads you see, just can’t take it all in, try and get away from a linear understanding, and it’s straight off to mentalville. Which is fortunate, because that’s where The Ice Cream Headaches live, spooling the thoughts from their collective twisted time squashing minds into a primitive recording cell, and then letting them loose on day release. There are moments when their thoughts exceed the frequencies that you and I can deal with, but stick with them, and they will stick with us.

~~The Ice Cream Headaches – Circuits Of Time~~

Nothing saddens me more than an unloving uncaring world that has turned its back on a fallen hero, forgotten they ever existed, moved on to the next bright young thing, forgotten what they owe them, forgotten that without them, maybe they wouldn’t actually be here in the first place. Iron Pirate is not like that. Iron Pirate remembers the heroes, and will not let us forget. Iron Pirate remembers that the future will be saved by robots, and they will do it to an accompaniment of the lightest metal that only the most skilful of smiths can produce, and it will tell their stories like the minstrel songs of before.

~~Iron Pirate – Path Of Unicron~~

I leave you now. It’s minestrone time.

Tiny Dancer

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Don't Calm Down

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 22:07:00 +0000

Those of you based in the UK will know that Liverpool is European Culture Capital this year and to celebrate this (whatever it actually is) I thought I’d stick up a quick little post in honour of our friends up North. I considered basing it around the city’s most famous sons, but you can probably get all The Coral songs you like elsewhere.

For some reason the late 70s and early 80s saw a Merseyside music scene born that, whilst not as commercially successful as the Merseybeat bands of the 60s, spawned many great bands in its own right. The rock family tree is pretty tortuous so I suggest the interested amongst you visit here to start with. This will give you a short article about the now legendary Crucial Three – a band famous for not actually recording anything (they were only together for about six weeks), but rather for their members who all went on to form astonishing bands. These were Julian Cope (The Teardrop Explodes), Ian McCulloch (Echo And The Bunnymen) and Pete Wylie (Wah!).

Click on the links and you’ll soon be lead all over the shop of this bizarrely productive period – for instance, if you click on The Teardrop Explodes you’ll then find that the band originally featured David Balfe (who later set up Food records of Blur etc fame), who also co-owned the Zoo record label with Bill Drummond, later of The KLF – who at that time played in Big In Japan, which also featured Holly Johnson (Frankie Goes To Hollywood) and Ian Broudie (The Lightning Seeds)… and so on. Give it a go - it’s great fun and almost certainly better than listening to Ringo Starr’s latest tune Liverpool 8, which rather heartbreakingly is absolute shite.

And now for three monumentally classic hits from the bands that came out of that Crucial Three.

~~Echo And The Bunnymen – The Cutter~~

~~The Teardrop Explodes – Treason (It’s Just A Story)~~

~~Wah! – Hope (I Wish You’d Believe Me)~~

You want more of course. Echos here, Teardrops here, Wah!s here. Ringo... no.

Crisp Debris

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The Difference Is Felt Rather Than Heard

noreply@blogger.com (Tiny Dancer) — Sun, 27 Jan 2008 23:54:00 +0000

It always pleases me when I find something that’s been around forever that I’ve never really heard of. I properly came across Rhys Chatham in an interview he did with Wire magazine last year - I say properly, because I’d heard his Drastic Classicism in amongst the maelstrom that is New York Noise Vol. 2, but such is the embarrassment of riches that plagues the entire series, I’d kind of missed it. So when he started going on in the interview about tuning pianos in seemingly arcane and mystical ways, knocking about with The Ramones and Sonic Youth, and writing music to be played by hundreds of electric guitars, I thought I’ll have to see what this bloke’s about.

The first challenge was finding something by him. As a rule, I don’t like to talk to people who work in record shops. It’s the classic reason why, and I know I should be better than that, but these people are pros, and I don’t try to compete. So it took a genuinely thorough ferret around the racks before I found Die Donnergotter, a compilation of instrumental pieces recorded between 1977 and 1986.

Prior to 1975, Chatham's output was mainly minimalistic, lengthy experimental stuff such as 1971’s Two Gongs, but after seeing The Ramones at CBGB’s, he started punking it up - that actually meant using electric guitars, a couple more chords than usual, and cutting song length to around 8 minutes, but compared to what went before, it was definitely punking it up.

Guitar Trio is as good an example of this revised approach as any – first put together in 1977, it’s probably his most well known piece. It might not have the unbridled fury and aggression of Drastic Classicism, but it seems to have become a real touchstone for modern music. So many musicians have played Guitar Trio with Chatham who have then gone on to be genuinely creative or influential, it’s almost like a proving ground or graduation ceremony. Even until recently, Guitar Trio has been taken around the world, played with local guitarists wherever it appears.

~~Rhys Chatham – Guitar Trio~~

I was going to post Drastic Classicism as well (which you can probably find out there somewhere), but I’ve changed my mind. I mentioned to Cox earlier in the week that I wouldn’t be posting any of Chatham’s longer stuff unless I was feeling particularly pretentious, but I’ve changed my mind. And it’s not because I’m feeling pretentious, but because I want to give a decent idea of what he's about. If punk had an effect on him and it was long lasting, it was in sound and approach, and was always tempered by his classical roots.

Die Donnergotter was recorded in 1986, and whilst you can see the connection with Guitar Trio, it’s more drawn out and certainly not as frantic. It sees a return to the kind of minimalist ideas of repetitive rhythms and playing, leading to almost hypnotic passages that take long minutes to break – but when they do, the single chord change is all the more anticipated and beautiful - it’s almost a test of duration and patience.

~~Rhys Chatham – Die Donnergotter~~

In 2005 Chatham performed A Crimson Grail with 400 guitarists in Paris – part of which can be found at Motel De Moka. It possibly signalled the end of 30 years of gradual progression and expansion, as his latest project Essentialist has seen him form a genuine band with just four other musicians, and go back to the beginning. The beauty of A Crimson Grail is undeniable, but it seems to have been as far as it's possible to go – whether it’s the sheer scale, the logistics, the possibilities, the expectation - the next step on from there has completed the circle back to 1975.

Essentialist are due to release an album this year on Table Of The Elements, where you can also find Two Gongs, Die Donnergotter and A Crimson Grail.

Tiny Dancer

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