FOREIGN OBJECTS / SOLUTIONS / PERSONAL BEST, Buffalo, 1st

This may be the last Lesson No.1 promotion for a while and it’s an early one, so switch on and get out in support. OK? LN1 shows are a solid gold kite mark of quality in any case, but this one should rip in especially fine style. Boston’s Foreign Objects do catchy, fast and fun riot grrrl-inspired punk, whipping through eight diamond-sharp examples in 15 minutes on their full-length debut No Sensation. Get there early to catch Personal Best, who might well have sprung from Boston circa 1992 but are in fact one of Caves and one of Bedford Falls doing pared-down alt-rock tunefulness.  Get involved.

LUCKY DRAGONS / TEN / SILVER STAIRS OF KETCHIKAN / MINOTAUR SHOCK DJ SET, Cube, 1st

On record, Lucky Dragons’ electro-acoustic snippets, vocal and percussive loops and playful experimental zeal pitches them somewhere between Sung Tongs, The Books and concréte installation project. Their live performances – in galleries, museum, workshops or clubs – see them stretch the parameters of conventional gig setups to take in audience participation, interactive collaborations and unique, tiny moments of shared wonder. If you saw them support Dirty Projectors and Polar Bear in Clwb in ’09, you’ll know what I’m droning on about. If not, it was pretty delightful, and genuinely inclusive and warm. With gauzy, ambient improv guitar workouts from Charlie out of Thought Forms (as Silver Stairs Of Ketchikan), mordant and melancholic post-folk atmospherics from Ten and Minotaur Shock on the decks. It’s a perfectly chosen bill and a pretty special night in prospect.

BOLIDE / MILCHE GRAND / FAIRHORNS / HEXENVERFOLGUNG, Croft, 4th

SLY AND THE FAMILY DRONE / MxLx / GIANT SWAN, Croft, 6th

Two shows at one venue within three days, featuring little-known bands with pretty excellent names, two of whom are Matt Williams and four of whom (at least) are doing Supernormal fest in Oxfordshire in August. Check that link, by the way, it looks brilliant. Anyway, they’re our wildcard picks for the month ahead by dint of the fact that they promise tripped-out noise, dribbling improv madness, percussive battery and righteous kraut-drone action aplenty.  Fairhorns and MxLx you should know and love like we do by now; the kraut/dub and drone/blissout eargasm alter-egos of the man Team Brick respectively, they’re equally essential.  Bolide and Hexenverfolgung hail from Brighton and offer free improv chaos and filthy jazz noise on a Monday night.  S&TFD go with the classic drum/synth/cassette loop line-up, while Giant Swan give it some tumultuous floaty drone love on a busman’s holiday from The Naturals.  What’s not to get excited about here, then?  Exactly.

ANDREW BIRD / WOODPIGEON, Trinity, 6th

A seemingly leftfield choice to headline the second stage at Green Man in ’09, Bird was in fact an inspired selection; while Jarvis toiled away across the site, his solo songs an unwelcome diversion from his patter, Bird’s easy charm, careworn croon and deep, luxurious catalogue of undiscovered orch-folk gems stole the show at a canter. A virtuoso violinist whose early affiliations with gypsy jazz, swing and folk blues still inform his latter-day pop songwriting, his broad stylistic palette, dizzying, seductive wordplay and burnt-sugar voice would elicit comparison with the pop-baroque orchestration and raffish wit of Rufus Wainwright, M. Ward’s crumpled folk-country or the tastefully reappropriated AM radio storyteller pop of Destroyer’s Dan Bejar if he didn’t cover all bases equally well.

LA VAMPIRES / MARIA MINERVA / ITAL / MAGIC TOUCH / HEATSICK, Motorcycle Showroom, 8th

Achingly hip LA label 100% Silk brings the party to this mammoth Qu Junktions night, with label head honcho Amanda Brown’s own LA Vampires and Tallinn-via-London chanteuse Maria Minerva heading the bill. Appearing here in a full-band setting, Brown’s releases as LA Vampires have seen her exclusively work in tandem with labelmates, be it the static-wreathed drones and spooked vocals of her Zola Jesus collab, warped tape-loop jams and blocky 80s FX or the submerged and heat-baked house beats explored with Ital’s Daniel Martin-McCormick. He’s here too, returning to Bristol with his slo-mo, prickly-heat drone-house epics, as is his Mi Ami bandmate Damon Palermo, aka Magic Touch, who brings a more direct, delirious retro-disco vibe. Minerva might be the most intriguing of all the turns here; her own take on the Not Not Fun house style allies seductive lo-fi dance-pop to sturdier, more modernist house and garage patterns. A pretty intense and rewarding showcase for a label that’s a singular voice in dancefloor circles.

JACK LEWIS’ AWKWARD ENERGY / THE MIDDLE ONES / TWO WHITE CRANES, Café Kino, 9th and Moon Club, 14th

More than merely the Carl Hoddle of antifolk, chiefly because I just made that up and it made me chuckle, Jeff’s little brother gets a fraction of his coverage but here steps out of his shadow for a rare solo tour. Moving in the same tight creative and collaborative circles (Herman Dune, Wave Pictures, Kimya Dawson etc) mightn’t exactly suggest a singular voice, but his L’vov series of albums (L’vov Swims the Willamette, on Cornershop’s Ample Play label, is his fifth) reveal a sunny, laidback and awkwardly witty pop that trades enough on the family tropes and retains a naivete, charm and wit redolent of Richman or Malkmus but offers something unique and enjoyable.

DAVID THOMAS BROUGHTON, St Bonaventure’s, 11th

It’s galling, in a way, that ten-a-penny mobile phone advert singer-songwriters shin up the greasy pole so quickly and frequently – selling out huge venues on the way – while the likes of the unique Broughton remain cult concerns. It was wonderful to see him play the main stage at End of the Road a few years ago, baffling the afternoon picnickers with his gloriously plummy Jake Thackray tones, frenzied violin and decaying vocal loops.  Outbreeding may have showcased slightly more conventional songwriting than his previous loop-heavy, improvised and processed recordings, but it’s still wonderfully affecting, odd stuff; a Richard Youngs-style approach to folk, twisting English traditions, weird acid-folk, and more contemporary electronica together and coupled with a rich Yorkshire baritone and disquieting, personal subject matter. Captivating to see live, get up close and revel in it.

LA SERA / CASSETTE CULTURE / VELCRO HOOKS, Fleece, 12th

The breakneck pace of Vivian Girls’ thrilling 2008 debut had an unfortunate critical echo; last year’s third emerged to frustrating indifference from many, as if the abundance of trebly C86 copyists made them a worse band. There was a notable tension creeping into the band’s lyrics, perhaps unsurprisingly; girl-group fragility and brittleness hid in the murk and reverb from the start, and the resultant solo projects could be seen to act as a clearing-house for the band’s songwriters to work through some long-held issues. Bassist Katy Goodman’s confident, direct second LP as La Sera hits the spot. In parts it tears along with the same cacophonous energy Vivian Girls specialise in, albeit paring back the sheets of noise for a cleaner, crisper fuzz-pop. Elsewhere there’s luminous melodies and swooning Beach House languor.

ADDISON GROOVE, Clwb, 8th & Thekla, 15th

Conceived as a Chicago footwork and juke-influenced sideline to his plentiful and high-quality heavyweight dubstep releases as Headhunter, Addison Groove achieved notoriety from the off with the inimitable gonzo brilliance of ‘Footcrab’. Repurposing the bass-heavy juke form for UK dubstep crowds, the resultant hybrid came off effortless, dumb and hugely danceable. A subsequent flurry of 12”s and remixes followed a similar pattern, dabbling in electro and house along the way; one such, for Spank Rock, led to a couple of suitably lascivious numbskull collaborations on AG’s debut LP earlier this year. Breathless, sweaty dancefloor fun and bass-heavy filth in spades at this one. 

Y NIWL / JOYCE THE LIBRARIAN / VIOLAS / EILIR PIERCE, Café Kino (22nd) and Clwb (23rd)

TAFWYL FAIR, Cardiff Castle (23rd)

Anglesey’s finest continue to tour incessantly as their profile justly rises; radio sessions, high-profile endorsements and support tours (Richard Hawley, more dates with Gruff Rhys) litter their diary as album number two comes together. They’ve two shows in the capital to mark the expansion of the Tafwyl fair, the centrepiece of a week-long community arts festival to raise the profile of spoken Welsh in Cardiff. A mid-afternoon slot in the free alldayer (also featuring Meic Stevens, Heather Jones, Yr Ods etc) is followed by a Clwb gig where the promisingly unhinged Eilir Pierce – Denbighshire’s own R. Stevie Moore, he said glibly – supports. The night before sees them blast through twangy nuggets old and new in a rescheduled show in Café Kino’s intimate, friendly basement; in-yer-face and loud like memorable Swn shows in CAI, the Model and Dempseys, it’ll be well worth the hike to Bristol to witness people seeing them for the first time again.

FLOATING POINTS / ANDREW WEATHERALL / BEN UFO / BRAIDEN, Clwb, 22nd

Blinding line-up courtesy of Electronic Goods and Red Bull Music Academy, topped off by nu-house wunderkind Sam Shepherd aka Floating Points. The Londoner’s diverse and frequent releases via his Eglo imprint have moved almost imperceptibly across the map, from the gloriously symphonic downtempo electro-soul like ‘Love Me Like This’ or the spacey, smudged disco ecstacy of ‘Vacuum Boogie’ to the fidgety abstractions of ‘Danger’. Think the psychedelic, jazz-inflected bass music of Flying Lotus rerouted via Detroit and Chicago. Supporting cast is pretty solid too – just Hessle Audio mainman Ben UFO and Rinse FM’s Braiden – oh yeah, and the masterful Andrew Weatherall. Expect the first two to chart a course through garage, funky, dubstep and electro; expect the unexpected from the moustachioed interloper.

THE SCHOOL / TOYPOP / MOUSE DEER, 10 Feet Tall (23rd) and Croft (6th)

In which Cardiff’s finest pop combo, fresh from a support tour with reanimated C86 janglers the Primitives, take a deserved victory lap of the country in celebration of their utterly lovely second album Reading Too Much Into Things Like Everything. A refinement rather than a reinvention, it once more takes lyrical and musical inspiration from classic girl group pop, with Spector and Bacharach arrangements, brassy indiepop choruses, deft hints of new wave and wistful Francophone longing. They’re a proper gang these days, and this giddy enthusiasm shines through every note. Pick of the handpicked supports here is Mouse Deer, hopelessly named but toting deceptively complex, sunny pop of a Field Music hue with some very nifty melodic twists. Afterparty chaos will ensue following the Cardiff gig. Do yourselves a favour and celebrate with them.

Oh hey, it’s been too long. A pretty random tape purchase from the Shape Records site led to 30 minutes of strung out, experimental bliss from Failed NASA Experiment, which led to a FNE back catalogue reservoir-deep with skronk and drone joy, which led to their mother label The Lows And The Highs and a further roster of fried heads and cracked speakers. Once you’re in, you may as well go up to your neck – it’s music that’s dusty, out there, full of love and devoid of crap indie middle eights. A new split cassette with mystery Argentinian weirdos Ø+yn should make you immediately juice up; check these totally objective song descriptions and pretend you don’t want multiple copies.

Cinco Cantos a la Virgen de Satrostramocha: Canto 1

Brittle strummed ukes. Plucked strings. Metal twinkling percussion/FOOT STOMPS. Wonky keyboard from space. Bends time.

Canto 2

Keening violin in the gate of madness. Stalking guitarro. Dribble drool vocals from male Spanish witch. Bells. “Woo-ooo-oo! Eeeah!” Everything up, coalescing. Rest. Sawing a violin in half. Jews harpocalypse. Weird ruler on table noise. Lone plucked guitar. Then a dead choir begin.

Canto 3

Pipes of the dead. Honks. The skronk note. Wood hit. Cat walking on piano. Guitar/toy car revving. Giant fart cloud. Waaap noise from space or is it yawning aliens?

Canto 4

Desert violin wibble. Metal hit. Some chanting. Pure tone for ringing ears. Gibbering ghosts in background. Is that a dog? Whispering spells. Quiet. Slave ship drums. Noise coming in like lighthouse revolutions. Violin again. Quiet. Metal ghosts. Bird noises? Stoned whistling?

Canto 5

Horizontal plinks of guitar amongst the birds. Singing with half open eyes. Dissolves into monks again.

The Royal Court Of Khru Pipeang Mon Yaihat

FEEDBACK. Guitar slowly sculpted into shapes. Odd tonk of drumkit, gradual bang bang over guitar scream. Battered drums, slowly. Then a lot. The scream over everything.

For Maria Mednyanszky

Snooker balls? Ping pong balls? Fired against walls and the ricochet noise gradually reverbed into some amazing minimal psychotic techno track. Yeah!

He Can’t Bowl And He Can’t Throw

SKRONK. Reed obliterated and drumkit fucked to death. Dystopian funk, almost.

Dilophonotini / Moacroglossini / Philampelini

Plinking of guitars. Weird train toots. Ghost humming chorus. Coming together of heads. The desert again.

The Gossamer Albatross

Cosmic guitar drone. Spaced clangs, rippling bass notes. On and on and on. Strafed by static. A bubble against the world.

The Bosonic Temple Of King Soloman

Rifling through a junk shop. Scattering metal and strings. Into…

The Quick Witted But Slow Footed Bill Brenzel

… looming bass throb. Stalking, thudding steps. Dread echoes. 

A Recipe For *blank*

Strange, filleted sounds. Drones taking it out then receding. Cracked blues guitar over the wreckage, played for the heck of it. Chatter and shimmer underneath. Lovely lovely lovely.

Live In Penarth 26.02.11

Coming drone/feedback/drum scrape. Metallic mirage. Distant cries, becoming melody. Building. Wish I was there.

http://thelowsandthehighs.co.uk/

http://thefailednasaexperiment.tumblr.com/ 

http://soundcloud.com/omasin

Will Oldham has grown increasingly unable to resist a collaboration in recent years, and in teaming with prolific Glaswegian folk-rock troupe Trembling Bells he’s made his most inspired choice yet. Over three albums the formidable voice of Lavinia Blackwall and jazz, rock and psych-tinged arrangements of Alex Neilson have reworked classic Fairport/String Band folk revivalism into wild, freewheeling new shapes. Oldham’s trademark creased, careworn quiver dovetails splendidly with Blackwall and acapella ensemble Muldoon’s Picnic on the teaser EP for the full-length The Marble Downs LP, tackling English and Scottish traditionals, bawdy folk duets and sundry other tangents with a sense of fun and exploration. Should be a rollicking good time.

Lawrence Of Belgravia + Q & A with Lawrence and Paul Kelly, Cube, 7^th

One of the most fascinating and unique characters in the monochrome world of 1980s indie Britain, Lawrence Hayward’s eccentricities and foibles are much documented (David Cavanagh’s Creation history ‘My Magpie Eyes Are Hungry For The Prize’ essays the period nicely) and can obscure the bigger picture; one of a reclusive, compulsive pop dreamer who spent a decade making elliptical, muted music that could go technicolour almost without warning. He later detoured wildly into gleeful, studied glam pastiche that resulted in at least one classic album (‘Denim On Ice’) and the sort of cultish acclaim that gets you films like this about your life. The result gets a viewing in the Cube’s cosy space with Lawrence and Saint Etienne film-maker (and former guitarist) Paul Kelly fielding questions afterwards. A quiet, beautifully framed observation of a life outside the margins looking in.

Francois & The Atlas Mountains / Stranded Horse, Clwb Ifor Bach, 9^th

Being woken by the charming Balearic pop of Francois & The Atlas Mountains’ ‘Les Plus Beaux’ on the radio was one of the nicer surprises I’ve had on a work-day in a while, not least because of how incongruous it seemed that the cute Franco-Bristolian shamblers of 2006 had popped up on Domino Records and radio playlists in 2012. Their stealthy progress is testament to evolution rather than revolution; the hints of Malkmus, Richman and Hayman detectable in Francois’ scratchy, lopsided songs back then can still be heard now, albeit dressed in brighter, more musically adventurous coats. The romantic, nostalgic europop of Jens Lekman or Victoria Bergsman and a warm palette of smoothly integrated global influences has risen to the surface; hearts will be won with this long-overdue return.

Shabazz Palaces / DJ Moneyshot vs Rackbeat & Bar-Low, Start The Bus, 11^th

Being Sub Pop’s First Hip-Hop Act in an era when its roster is as fragmented and nebulous as it’s ever been doesn’t give Ishmael Butler the novelty cachet it once might, but Shabazz Palaces’ debut proper Black Up was still a take-notice rap album of rare import. The Seattle veteran’s amorphous arrangements hark back in a small way to his early 90s jazz-rap outfit Digable Planets, but the often jaw-dropping clashes of dense, politicised, hyper-literate lyrical clusters and harsh, modernist robo-funk suggest the eye of a storm that draws Cannibal Ox, Anti-Pop Consortium, cLOUDDEAD, Flying Lotus and DJ Krush into its path.

Andy Stott / Roly Porter & Flicker / Vessel (DJ Set), Cube, 12^th

If Jamie Teasdale (now AKA Kuedo) took the twinkling, insidious darkside melodies on the demise of Vex’d, his erstwhile partner Roly Porter contented himself with the real dark stuff. His Aftertime full-length creaks and groans with oppressive metallic weight, industrial drone and a textural heft that’s spacious and claustrophobic seemingly at once. Ben Frost is a fair comparison, if required. Heading up this storming Qu Junktions double bill is Andy Stott, who takes a similarly surgical approach to Porter but uses dub, techno, deep house and supremely brooding bass music as his components. The result is a hermetic, heavy-lidded meshing of Actress’ inversions of dancefloor tropes and Basic Channel minimalism. You want intense this month, this is where you’ll find it.

Esmerine / Eric Chenaux / Oran Mill, Cube, 13^th

Instrumental group from Montreal, Godspeed/Silver Mt Zion affiliates… so far, so good, and so predictable. Not really, though; this is post-rock in the sense that Tortoise, Rachel’s, Clogs et al are, owing as much to Steve Reich and chamber music as to the quiet-loud build of so many indistinguishable earnest young men. Eddying pools of cello, marimba, piano and spare percussion, the balance between tense, contemplative pieces and moments of pin-drop beauty is expertly judged. Compatriot Eric Chenaux similarly juxtaposes modern composition and jazzy, improv-style arrangements with stately balladry; the results, particularly on 2008′s Sloppy Ground, can be disorientating and quite beautiful.

MXLX / Woolf / Stacking Chairs / Brandyman DJs, Undertone, 16^th

NEPOTISM KLAXON! Yes, this is a Joy Collective co-promotion with magnificent humans Lesson No. 1, and as such we are duty bound to proclaim it GIG OF THE MONTH. Luckily, we would never lie to you, much, and herein lies all manner of beauteous noise, repetition, restless invention and sheer giddy fun. MXLX is Matt Loveridge, man of infinite musical tendrils whose work as Fairhorns, Klad Hest, Knife Liibrary and (most appropriately here) Team Brick takes in shuddering dancefloor stomps, decaying drone, blackened ambient noisescapes, modern composition, plainsong and whatever else he feels like. The MXLX mask sees him move back towards the lengthy drone/percussion/chant workouts of before, and it’s bracing, heady stuff. Much the same can be said of Casey Raymond’s homebrew techno, feverish guitar spasms and gleeful plunderphonics in the guise of Stacking Chairs, while Woolf should ably detonate the bridge between the two with urgent, chaotic no-fi punk, tumultuous DIY noise and the spirit of classic, vital riot grrrl. We are having fun here. Are you?

Japandroids / Cadence Weapon, Clwb Ifor Bach, 17^th

Many will wake the morning after this gig with unexplained soreness in their upper arms. This will be because they spent Japandroids’ set involuntarily punching the air. They’re that sort of band; sweaty, committed full-tilt alt-punk epics of yearning, regret and nihilism cranked out somewhere between No Age’s sloppiness, Fang Island’s bro-chant inclusiveness and the blue-collar library card punk of Titus Andronicus. Clwb’s ground floor is made for nights like these; if you caught Fucked Up’s staggering debut Cardiff show there you’ll know what to expect of this one. That the support is brilliant Toronto MC Cadence Weapon – backpacker, party-starter and braggart in one super-confident whole – is as utterly incongruous as it is excellent. Unmissable, right? RIGHT.

Harvey Milk / Hey Colossus, Croft, 23^rd

What with this and a Melvins show in consecutive nights, the Croft may well crumble to ruins by the end of April. Treacle-thick, agonisingly slow and often utterly bleak in tone, it’s sort of a mystery how HM end up being such a fun ride; the subtle variations in the formula (blooze-rock stormers, heads-down Motorhead punk, tar-black humour) draw you in and let the monolithic guitar sludge do the rest.  Somewhere between the Milk’s grim riffmonsters and Butthole Surfers’ acid-crazed heart-of-darkness murk lie London goons Hey Colossus, an amp-torturing live unit akin to pals Part Chimp’s splendidly gonzo sonic attack.  Perfect bedfellows for a night of leery noise.

Saint Etienne, The Gate, 25^th

Why is it that Saint Etienne are my favourite pop group of the last 20 years? It has to do with an all-consuming love for pop music; across genres, nationalities, decades. It’s a simultaneous scholarly, journalistic eye for nuance and detail and trivia (cf. Neil Tennant) and unabashed wonder at pop’s continued ability to leave you blissful and shivering at the smallest intimate moments or the most widescreen, inclusive ones. It’s the art (conceptual films eulogising London past, design, sleevenotes-as-essays both delicious and pretentious) and the artifice (trashy, ecstatic europop production, shoddy miming, MOR affectations). It’s some of the best songtitles ever and THE best pop songs of the 1990s. They don’t make them like Saint Etienne anymore. But Saint Etienne, thankfully, still do.

Soe’za / Motes, Café Kino, 25^th

Fifteen years strong, Soe’za may record and play only sporadically these days but their strange, befuddling brew remains something well worth investigating. On one hand the taut math-rock guitars and clipped, declamatory vocals are in an antsy post-hardcore tradition, but add to that rolling double-drumming, blaring french horn, counter vocals worthy of Stereolab and a tumbling, complex prog/Beefheart songwriting streak (labelmates Bilge Pump do the same, with lesser resources) and the infinite possibilities of a group of musicians free to play around with whatever they choose become joyfully clear. Cram them onto the stage in Cafe Kino’s excellent basement space, add the minimalist anti-rock of Motes and you’ve a quiet gem on your hands.

High Places, Ten Feet Tall, 29^th

Newcomers to High Places at last year’s Original Colors might be forgiven for hearing over-familiar notes in their cut & paste electronic pop; it certainly took deliberate steps towards heavier beats and gave stylistic nods to techno and two-step.  The duo haven’t left behind the home-recorded charm that characterised their earlier records, though, nor the endearing mix of sloppy, rough-edged arrangement and precise, clean, optimistic sing-song vocals.  At their best they sift the simplicity and hope of bedroom indie pop, the kind of DIY experimentalism born of ambition without resources and a clear-minded dancefloor nous and cherry-pick the best of all worlds in a way numerous other NYC duos fail to do.

Papa M / The Liftmen / The Balky Mule, Cube, 31^st

This is a fine surprise; the re-emergence of David Pajo in his own right, just when you’d be forgiven for thinking he’d given it all up to a life as hired-gun bassist (Interpol, Zwan), questionable revival metal (Dead Child) and the odd Slint reunion show.  Papa M was, of course, one of the three iterations of the ‘M’ name Pajo adopted for innumerable LPs and EPs between roughly ’95 and ’04, and for the most part marked a transition from the plangent post-rock excursions of Live From A Shark Cage to the dusty countrified laments of Whatever, Mortal.  Either version of Pajo is a welcome sight, one man, his guitar and an array of beautiful, lonesome sounds.  Top-drawer local support too, itchy post-punk and DIY lo-fi folk experimentation.

Islet / Hail! The Planes / Mars To Stay, Clwb, 31^st

A no-brainer to finish on, then.  Islet should not, must not, fall prey to the eternally frustrating scenario of the flat home-town gig, that puzzling phenomenon where Cardiff audiences’ familiarity with a band manifests in shrugged-shouldered indifference, laziness.  Islet deserve undying enthusiasm more than ever in a year when the leap to debut album proper was made with embarrassing ease.  If Illuminated People made few abrupt attitudinal changes from the two EPs, it’s because their methods were already so fully-formed.  They’re a better live band than ever, too, a four (or five) headed hydra teasing out the songs into new, wild shapes with telepathic understanding.  They also pick some cracking supports, and here expose two bands to the sort of wider audience they deserve; Mars To Stay’s hushed, lo-fi Galaxie 500-isms are wisps of pop melody in clouds of hiss and guitar static, and Hail! The Planes’ folky post-rock has stealthily assumed a fine dramatic weight and grace.  As clear a picture of the rude health of Cardiff’s experimental fringes as you’d want, and on payday too.  Bargain.

Not that you should necessarily listen to him past the age of 15, but Bill Hicks’s joke about men jizzing out whole galaxies in their sleep could be applied to Matt Loveridge’s approach to releasing records. Is it Loveridge or Williams? It used to be Team Brick, and sometimes it’s Klad Hest or Fairhorns or MXLX or playing ATP as one third of BEAK>. It’s CDRs and tapes and one man shows that appear from nowhere to spread spore-like, radiating from Bristol to infect willing brains with warped MIDI noise, improvised moanings, modern composition and ecstatic, trancelike sonic pressure. All this relentless, itchy energy is less like throwing enough shit at the wall, more the endless hydra-headed possibilities music can grow into. And this, uh, rainbow shower consistently leaves good music lying around as a bit of bonus.

You could reeeeally reduce things by saying this is Loveridge’s “piano album”, though that maybe conjures Gonzales or Chris Martin not being clubbed to death. There’s not much Billy Joel on ‘Drowners’, unless that’s his ghost moaning from inside the piano, slicing his face on the strings. ‘Line Up The Glyph’ alternates between gothic piano stabs and wrecked calm, vocals moving from stentorian boom to drifting murmurs. Its dry refrain of “You fuckers…” probably won’t be sung in the street, and it dissolves into a sweet, feedbacking blissout of bassoon and chord clang. There’s similarly lush sound gloops in ’50°S 100°W’ and ‘Smiling Resplendent Up Worried Gulch’, monk/Monty Python-like chanting and layers of chattering in the former, priest-like utterances and metallic zings in the latter, lovely piano lines crawling out of the wreckages of both. This is what happens when you follow your nose: ‘Snarlin Radge With Accurate Gun Hand In Feary Withers’s waves of rippled, echoing piano masks buried screams and grunts, floating eventually towards some distant brass honks and a sort of desert mirage of madman’s rambles. The closing ‘Pitgazer’ is more structured – some martial piano, rising and falling, some skittering drums bolstering it – but again things take over: feedback, ghosts of voices, halting piano, waves of fuzz and crackle gradually covering everything.

‘Drowners’ washes over you like some treacly oil slick of ideas. It’s dense and weird but floats on a hazy cloud of simplicity, bare ingredients clustering like buzzing flies. All of which means: another great album by Matt Loveridge. Throw it on the pile, roll around in it.

http://kindarad.bandcamp.com/

http://hatesphere.tumblr.com/

The older you get, the more ground down by life’s disappointments and repetition you become, the more you need pop music, and especially pop music like this. A sweet three minute dose is still sunlight through drawn curtains, still a step away from sadness, a bubble that can’t be burst. The School are from Cardiff, and bandleader Liz Hunt has been pretty adept the last few years at writing bruised and classy takes on ’60s girl group shimmer. Songs like ‘All I Wanna Do’ and ‘Let It Slip’ take all the joy and worry of being in love, strip them into universal language then blast them back through chunky keyboard piano and fake strings, pocket symphonies on minimal budgets. Always underrated in their hometown, The School shouldn’t just appeal to those who take a knitted swimsuit to ATP; go tell the strangers at the bus stop this band are seriously swoonworthy.

Recorded in north Wales with albino sex guru David Wrench, these four tracks show a new shine to their polka dot dresses, and may be their best work yet. ‘Never Thought I’d See The Day’ rides in on a perfectly queasy organ bounce and threads it between perky guitar peals and just right backing ‘oohs’. It has a sort of cutesy roar that powers it with great poise to the end, all kinds of light hearted, addictive sparks flying off. No idea how much effort it takes to make this effervescence looks so effortless. A switched gender Jonathan Richman cover becomes ‘When He Kisses Me’, another lop-sided grin of Vitamin D. The keyboard piano is super-chunky, madly tuneful, the beat lollops like dopey lovers, and all is well within its plucked strings, shouts and call-outs. They give a weird kind of dignity to Richman’s childman capering while dosing it with fun – a pretty neat trick. The keyboard turns clipped and stoic for ‘Where Does Your Heart Belong?’, a strength-in-heartbreak number with recorder shadowing the vocal lines and a nice Beach Boys desolation feel. The chorus gently unfurls into some Bacharach brass, and it’s all quite swish. ‘I Wouldn’t Know What To Do’, originally by The Honeydrips (me neither), relaxes things further. Not much more than vocals over acoustic guitar, woodblock and xylophone, it hovers briefly in the air like some Velocette ghost. Which is another way of saying: The School have the tunes to justify being part of a brilliant girl group-inspired lineage, and the skills to escape any twee indie ghetto you might want to put them in. This single’s for anyone who ever had a heart, and it’s to be cherished.

http://theschoolband.blogspot.co.uk/

http://elefant.com/en/disco/15349/Never%20Thought%20I’d%20See%20The%20Day

BLACK BREATH / VICTIMS / TORMENTED / SHAPED BY FATE, Clwb, 4th

Returning to Cardiff after a pretty bloody rowdy Lesson No. 1 show at Buffalo in 2010, Seattle’s finest practitioners of death- and hardcore-inspired metal are even leaner, even faster and even more ridiculously killer than before. Blistering Slayer thrash, furious hardcore, double kick drum madness with some good old black metal throat-clearing thrown in for good measure, they absolutely do not fuck about. It’s crazily accessible, winning stuff, too, so the curious will be very much rewarded. Strongly advised to get there early, as local metalcore bruisers Shaped By Fate get all nasty, brutish and short before the all-Swedish tour support line up get busy. This event will be loud.

SNUFF / CAVES / VANILLA POD, Fleece, 4^th

Gawd bless ‘em, Snuff are – and I’ve been called out by my Joy Collective colleagues for making this assertion before – impossible to dislike. Some would have it said that a semi-retired North London punk band of twenty years’ standing, with a penchant for trombone ska, a singing drummer and a long history of covering TV themes, pop standards and ad jingles are not a serious nor viable proposition in 2012. Nuts to them, frankly, for Snuff remain rowdy, lovable fun, not to mention authors of a number of genuinely great pop-punk nuggets and seeing them live will make this, and many other, old fools very happy.

THE HYSTERICAL INJURY / CRASH PARIS / BELLIES! / DRUNKEN BUTTERFLY / PERSONAL BEST, The Tunnels, 5^th

This one’s billed as a Riot Grrrl night, and like the movement it features a clutch of bands united less by musical similarities than a shared sense that music can be empowering, messy, vital, politicised, DIY and fun, sometimes all at the same time. The mighty Bellies! embody this perhaps better than any, their joyous, dislocated guitar-trumpet-percussion both restlessly creative and furiously, deliriously ramshackle. The Hysterical Injury’s Annie Gardiner is another who can’t keep still, her fantastically gleeful rock posturing and falsetto pirouettes the perfect foil for brother Tom’s thunderous Lightning Bolt drum attack. Gloriously daft fun. Added to this, you’ll find Crash Paris (churning, screaming Babes In Toyland grunge fun from Bristol), Drunken Butterfly (Sonic Youth-inspired three-piece with added ukulele) and the nicely yearning indie/Americana charms of Personal Best, who might just be named after the ace Team Dresch LP but, y’know, might not. Bristol Ladyfest will have a stall, and there’s zines, art, merch and plenty of righteous, inclusive, inspiring fun. Be there.

FLIPPER / BIG NATURALS, Croft, 5^th

The slow, sludgy, bass-driven SF punks that inspired your Melvins and Mudhoneys are still on the road, three-quarters of the original line-up intact, and they’re looking surprisingly decent on it. Largely, you suspect, falling back on classic fare – it is, after all, the 30^th birthday of Generic Flipper this year – they maintain a new album will follow in 2013. Retaining the attitude of their west coast peers but slowing the pace down to a skronky, atonal two-bass grind, Flipper’s influence echoed way longer than the magnificent chaos of ‘Sex Bomb’ etc might have suggested; Black Flag, early Nirvana, Jesus Lizard, Pissed Jeans, you get the idea. Don’t expect polish, even after all this time, but plenty bad-attitude, good-time noise. Bristol’s house-shaking two-man bass & drum attack Big Naturals will be a tidy warm-up.

MICHAEL HURLEY / ROZI PLAIN / DEAN MCPHEE, Cube, 8^th

A first European tour in ten years for this now seventy-something Old Americana troubadour is a pretty big deal, and the bill that Qu Junktions and ShieldShaped have put together makes it even more so. Hurley’s multifaceted career has taken in Greenwich Village coffee-house folk, porchlit hoe-downs, whimsical collaborations (Have Moicy, with the Holy Modal Rounders, has taken on classic status) and an almost Neil Young-esque position of grumpy old sage taking issue with the Man (see his anti-fracking crusade). With a huge and influential songbook to call on, this should be pretty special. Rozi Plain’s brittle, tender folk and Yorkshireman Dean McPhee’s solo electric guitar meanderings fill out a top-drawer bill.

EVENING CHORUS / LITTLE ARROW / IVAN MOULT, St John’s Church, 10^th

PEN PASTWN, Chapter, 20^th

These two intimate little shows draw from a pool of busy Cardiff-based collaborators who you can probably find playing several times a month in one guise or another. It’s easy to take such things for granted, though, and as both these gigs mark occasions it’s only right to give them some attention. Evening Chorus hold a slightly belated celebration of their Acorn EP, released in January in the quaint St John’s Church. Theirs is a quiet, self-effacing charm, their plaintive, rousing folk rounds propelled by double bass, simple percussion and songs which can tug the heartstrings. They do the familiar strikingly well, avoiding the over-earnestness and irritating affectations of more feted peers. EC’s Eugene Capper joins the collective formerly known as In Chapters later this month to mark their rebirth as Pen Pastwn; Richard James, Gareth Bonello, Andy Fung et al host an A/V show documenting their work with Sudanese musicians.

THE MONOCHROME SET / PERSONAL BEST, Buffalo, 11^th

It’s quite the month for long-standing bands on the commercial fringes but of no little influence. Next up for another go round are the archetypal art-school fops tilting at punk windmills, The Monochrome Set. More stiffly angular than Orange Juice, more linear and classicist than Josef K, TMS’ oddball loucheness, cabaret leanings and inscrutable lyrics were always likely to attract a cultish following, and so it was. They were unapologetically clever-clever. They favoured ridiculous pseudonyms and wrote a farewell song for their departed drummer. They made a play for pop stardom, and failed, and their clipped, angular art-pop brushed the edges of jazz, country and Beefheart eccentricity. Their current, third reformation has produced their first new album in 17 years, and you really should acquaint yourself with them while you can.

TINA HITCHENS & DAN PERKIN, Canton Uniting Church, 21^st

It’s an easy building to miss, but halfway down Cowbridge Road at the Uniting Church, tucked in next to Somerfield, there’s an evening of duets for flute and piano which celebrates a young life tragically lost. Five-year-old Harry Patterson died in a freak accident at home in Swansea last year, and proceeds of the gig will go to awareness-raising charity Harry’s Fund. The duo will tackle some fairly heady 19^th and 20^th century classical fare, and with both having an excellent background (Cardiff New Music Collective, ThingsMakeElectric, dots.filmband, Spencer McGarry Season etc) it’s highly recommended regardless of the worthy cause.

AU, Louisiana, 23^rd

Last time Portland’s Au played our patch, they were bundled offstage in little over 20 minutes due to a hopelessly over-running gig (ok, mainly to Fredrick Stanley Star milking their support slot, the scamps) and to an increasingly impatient, however polite, hip-hop promoter waiting in the wings. A monumental shame, as the duo hinted tantalisingly at the greatness found in their Verbs album. Therein, they lay down beds of carefully woven keyboards, keening, wordless vocals and loose, skittering percussion, let the whole beautiful cacophony fall back to reveal lush, insidious harmonies, then cranked the whole the giddy fairground whirl up again for one more trip. Au mainman Luke Wyland recorded follow-up Both Lights himself, and it sounds like another bold step forward from an unassuming, wildly creative one-man Animal Collective. Maybe he’ll get a full set this time.

BLACK TWIG PICKERS / MIKE GANGLOFF / NATHAN BOWLES, Café Kino, 26^th

JAMES BLACKSHAW / MICHAEL FLOWER BAND, Café Kino, 27^th

A pretty awesome one-two of folk-inspired wonderment at Café Kino here. With apologies to the Black Twig Pickers, keepers of a decades-old flame whose raucous, freewheeling live shows and collaborations with Jack Rose and Charlie Parr have wrought old musical traditions into spirited new shapes, the real one to catch this month is James Blackshaw. A ridiculously talented 12-string prodigy in the Fahey/Basho school, his prolific output for Tompkins Square and Young God has broadened to include piano, electric guitar, percussion, strings and the odd vocal. The effect, on 2010′s All Is Falling, is utterly transformative; the gorgeous, mantra-like guitar pieces of old become wild, expressive symphonies. If, like me, you missed his Swn show with Swans a while back, do not miss this.

GRAVENHURST, Grain Barge, 27^th

It’s been a while since the knotty, greyscale psych-folk of Gravenhurst last appeared on the radar, not that Nick Talbot has been resting easy; his band’s first album in five years appears this month but recent work with Bronnt Industries Kapital and his Silent Age label keep things ticking over. This low-key hometown return (solo, with “some new pedals I’ve picked up”) will be an excellent way to get reacquainted. Talbot’s creations are very deliberate, densely constructed things, the clarity of his voice and the intimate folk of his early work having broadened to take in driving motorik pop, the shoegaze/drone fog of Flying Saucer Attack and the rippling psych noise of Voice Of The Seven Woods. Dark, intense and rewarding stuff.

CATE LE BON / TENDER PREY / STACKING CHAIRS / R. SEILIOG / NO THEE NO ESS / FIST OF THE FIRST MAN / H. HAWKLINE, The Printhaus, 28^th

This takes place under the banner of the Canton Crawl, which will in future hopefully become a miniaturised Swn festival taking place across a number of small local spaces. On this occasion the only crawling undertaken will be home to bed after an all-day session of fine wigged-out music, DIY crafts and t-shirt printing and the heady charms of the Barenaked Brewery’s finest ales. Effectively a Cardiff curtain-raiser for Cate Le Bon’s wonderful sophomore LP CYRK, a cast of familiar names in old and new guises will ensure hangovers ring out across the city on Sunday morning.

EDAN / MR. LIF, Thekla, 29^th

The self-styled Humble Magnificent may not be the most prolific emcee on the block – seven years and counting since his last full-length, the psychedelic Golden Age cap-doff Beauty And The Beat – but his sporadic UK live appearances remain essential viewing. It’s often effectively a showcase of his brilliantly dextrous DJ ability as much as a rap show, but if he treats us to both there’s few better, combining scholarly wordplay, smirking braggadocio and a showman’s touch. Frequent collaborator Mr. Lif often ends up playing second fiddle on bills such as this, but the Def Jux alum’s an excellent live performer; a social commentator who can stray into the over-earnest on record, but a high-fiving, front row-prowling presence who excels in loud, sweaty clubs. This one’s a real highlight of the month.