The Ruckus | Record Reviews, MP3s, Videos | Up the punx.

In Pictures: Field Mouse at Larimer Lounge, Denver

2013-05-21T11:00:00-07:00

This was my first encounter with Field Mouse. I'd heard the name before, but since I was without a doubt seeing them open for Laura Stevenson, I waited to listen. In a lot of ways, I'm glad I did because a live introduction is one of the best you can get to a band. And I was impressed. Field Mouse is lovely, fuzzy indie pop that fits right in with Laura and many of the other things I listen to. I recommend you check them out as well.

The Front Bottoms - Talon Of The Hawk

2013-05-21T10:07:00-07:00

The Front Bottoms' Talon Of The Hawk is a series of vignettes, memories of adolescent adventures underscored by catchy beats and ultimately driven by Brian Sella's heartfelt vocals and Matt Uychich's undeniably solid, play-for-the-song rock drumming. The addition of Tom Warren on bass and Ciaran O’Donnel on keys/trumpet/guitar adds more of a complexity to the arrangements than seen in their (much loved by everyone at The Ruckus) self-titled debut.

The album kicks off with a snarky sendoff, closes with an ode to an inevitable end, and touches on everything from drugs to road trips to regrettable tattoos to abortion in between. "Lone Star" is a punk rock "Brick," one of those upbeat downers that catches you with its unexpected heaviness (The past few months were pretty rough / A couple times, wished we both were dead) and hooks you with its driving melody.

It's the lyrics that get me the first time I hear "Twin Size Mattress," the first publicly released track from the album. This is for the lions living in the wiry broke down frames of my friends bodies... is a tattoo perfect line, and the rest of the track follows suit. I play it on repeat for the better part of two weeks. This is a love song, a friendship song, a regret song carried perfectly by Brian Sella's acoustic guitar and fervent vocals.

The Front Bottoms - Twin Size Mattress

This is for the lions living in the wiry broke down frames of my friends bodies.
When the flood water comes, it ain't gonna be clear. It’s gonna look like mud.
But I will help you swim.
I will help you swim.
I'm gonna help you swim.

"Back Flip" gets a special mention here for its hazy, stream-of-consciousness lyrics and nod to America's Wang:

The Front Bottoms - Back Flip

I'll move to Florida, and I'll buy a brand new pick-up truck
And I'll tint all the windows including the driver's side
Now you can't see me, so you can't touch me
When I sit at the red light and watch your boyfriend wonder if I'm inside
If I am dead inside

The rest of the songs are just as strong, easy fodder for road-trip mixtapes and sing-a-longs, and undeniably begging to be heard live. Talon Of The Hawk is a solid, rocking album that proves without a doubt that The Front Bottoms are indeed a band who are coming into their own.

Track Listing:

1. Au Revoir (Adios)
2. Skeleton
3. Swear To God The Devil Made Me Do It
4. Twin Size Mattress
5. Peach
6. Santa Monica
7. The Feud
8. Funny You Should Ask
9. Tattooed Tears
10. Lone Star
11. Backflip
12. Everything I Own

Talon Of The Hawk is out today. The Front Bottoms are on tour starting May 31.

The National - Trouble Will Find Me

2013-05-21T09:00:00-07:00

This record tells a story. Perhaps it's not meant to be such an overt chronicle of a broken relationship, but few albums have felt like such a self-contained narrative to me. Trouble Will Find Me weaves a tale of loss, loneliness, and a touch of closure, tied together with beautifully melancholy melodies and frank lyrics.

I'm sure a million reviews have expounded on Matt Berninger's gifted voice, and this one is no different. His baritone is simply gorgeous and I admit that I spent the first couple listens just getting lost in the sound of it, and missing the words entirely. But the lyrics are where the real magic comes out, a perfect fit for Berninger's haunting tone. "Every day I start so great / then the sunlight dims," he laments in "Demons," getting at his absolute graveliest.

The National - Demons

There's plenty of mood-setting on the instrumental side too. Devendorf's drumming is somber and restrained, while Dessner's hazy guitar rarely gets forceful enough to take the forefront. The result is a pervading gentle gloom that highlights the emotional heart of this album. A few songs do break through that reserved tension. In "Sea of Love," the melody starts off heavier, while the song continues to build with echoing background vocals and a strong drum beat, as Berninger pleads "tell me how to reach you." The bright guitars and brisk drums in "Graceless" gives it almost dance tune status, at least in comparison.

If this is a journey through dealing with heartache, "I Need My Girl" is the bargaining stage. One of my immediate favorites, Berninger admits "I know I was the 45 percent of then / I know I was a lot of things / but I am good I am grounded... I need my girl." Likewise, "Pink Rabbits" is the acceptance, "I'm so surprised you want to dance with me / I was just getting used to living life without you around;" "You said it would be painless / it wasn't that at all."

The National - I Need My Girl

Trouble Will Find Me is out now. It's a definite contender for album of the year, so this is one you do not want to miss. The National are touring extensively this summer in support of Trouble. Check out the full list of dates to find one near you.

Satisfying The Bloodlust Of The Masses In Peacetime: Half Man Half Biscuit at The Grand Pavilion, Matlock Bath

2013-05-21T04:00:00-07:00

Half Man Half Biscuit are not the most prolific of artistes. They fastidiously avoid the usual treadmill of touring and press schedules that beset most bands in this day and age. Having famously turned down an opportunity to appear on television because Tranmere Rovers were playing that night (the producers even offered to fly them by helicopter, but they still said no), Half Man Half Biscuit answer to no one. Instead we get but a handful of shows every year, an album once in a blue moon, with interviews and promotional exploits being as rare as hen’s teeth. It is also quite unusual for them to venture down to London, so if you want to see them, you need to travel.

Which is how I found myself at London’s St Pancras Station on a Friday morning in April. Generally occupied by people from the North of England, and Europeans travelling on the Eurostar, there is palpable sense of foreboding in the air; like everyone is expecting to be mugged, raped, and/or killed right there on the concourse. Panic-stricken tourists are scurrying for the exits with arms full of luggage and children, as the PA overhead informs us that we are in an emergency situation and everyone should exit the station post haste. They have punctuated this warning with an officious klaxon, just in case you needed further convincing that some serious shit is about to go down. Having already been there for 10 minutes listening to some Muppet make noises like a donkey kicking a microphone, I’m not buying it. My suspicions are confirmed when an irritated sounding woman informs us that there is nothing to concern ourselves with, and this was a just a “mistake”. That judgement call won me 8 places in the queue at Starbucks. Result.

My companion for this trip is my oldest friend, Séan. He is the first person I ever saw Half Man Half Biscuit with, and he is late. He makes up for this ultimate travel faux pas by purchasing the first round, and by coining the phrase Bellendery* while we drink it. We vowed to use the expression all day and forever, and promptly never spoke of it again.

I have never really been a fan of the Midlands if I am honest. I don’t have anything against it per se, but there isn’t anything I like about it either. Our hour-long stopover in Derby did nothing to change my opinion. We nearly got run over by a car on the pedestrianized train station forecourt. The driver had already embarked the wrong way down a one-way bus lane, causing a bus to perform an emergency stop (which is how we were alerted to the fact a car was headed straight for us), before careening across the paved area at the front of the station. It turns out he was en route to a disabled parking space at an adjacent hotel. At no point did he seem to register that he may of made a mistake, nor make did he make any effort to slow down.

Matlock Bath is a picturesque little spa town on the banks of the River Derwent, a stone’s throw from the Peak District National Park. Being a geographical ignoramus, I really had no idea where we were going. Nor did I particularly care. I did no research whatsoever, and Séan booked everything but the gig tickets. I definitely looked it up on a map, but you know, didn’t really put it all together. So I was genuinely surprised to find myself in the kind of place I might like to take the wife for a romantic getaway, or (more likely) somewhere I might have ended up on a school trip. Our hotel manager was a friendly South African lady named Susie who clearly thought we were gay. She gave us a brief tour of the dining area, and encouraged us to use their “beautiful garden” before pointing us in the direction of room 6. We scuttled off to the disappointment of no river view, dumped our stuff, and then hit the road.

Separated from the venue by a single road and less than a mile, we decided to walk it. On our left was a river with canoeists a plenty, and to the right an incline of foliage and houses. It didn’t matter which direction you choose to gaze, you were looking at something pretty. We cleverly decided against trying to follow the riverside path that is signposted “This is not a path”, reasoning that it probably isn’t some sort of surrealist art installation but instead an informative sign that we should abide by. The road, as it goes, leads to a pub. Two pubs, actually. Jackpot.

The Midland sells vibrators from a coin-operated machine in the gent’s toilets. This is definitely the first time I have ever seen this, and it made me wonder what happens after-hours around there. In English folklore, the further north you travel, the more likely you are to encounter promiscuity en masse. I once got offered sex by a complete stranger in Manchester because it was 10 minutes before the club closed and she had clearly decided that I would do. But, despite it’s riverside seating, and suggestions of sexual tomfoolery, the idea of eating at The Midland didn’t appeal. The Country and Station across the road was having Steak Night, and as it happens the landlord is a charming and friendly gent. He regaled me with tales of the annual fireworks night that regularly sees 9000 people descend on this tiny town, and advised me of the fact that there would be absolutely nothing open after the show and that we were wise to be getting food in at this point. He surreptitiously slipped me a couple of taxi numbers with a wink, and told me to come back in 15 minutes to order food.

Being a town of one road, The Grand Pavilion in all its pink glory was pretty easy to find. Having recently been taken on by a Trust of dedicated locals, this long neglected old building is now the subject of a campaign aiming to restore it, with the end result being a boost to the local economy via the platform of tourism. This was one of the friendliest staffed shows I have ever been to and I genuinely hope they mange to pull it off. Their belief in the project was infectious. It had obviously all been a hot topic of gossip around the town too. From what we were told and overheard, local people were divided on whether this was all a good idea or not, and as I understand it tonight’s show was their first venture toward the future. The word on the grapevine was that they had not managed to secure a liquor license for this show, and that it was potentially going to be a disaster. The man at the door reassured us that they had a full license, and three bars. We didn’t actually ask.

The direct result of the Trustees determination to rejuvenate this fabulous building put me in the mind of an ambitious squat party run by my parents, but it had an undeniable charm. The hall was decked out in bunting created from old newspapers, and there was no beer on tap. I resisted the allure of the well-stocked merch desk. It may not seem like much, but I definitely deserve a medal.

So anyway, I don’t remember whom the support was. They completely missed my mood by a country mile and it was a lovely evening for smoking outside. I should probably explain at this point that Half Man Half Biscuit are easily my favorite band ever. I don’t do this kind of thing for just anyone, and I also don’t get to do it very often. I have a wife, a young daughter, and a job - I lack the luxury of being able to bugger off to spa towns as and when I choose. So this whole trip was a bit of a big deal. This felt like an event. So I was proper excited. Like, a 5-year-old on Christmas morning excited. No support band had a chance. When they were safely off stage, we secured a spot near the front and buckled in for what was clearly going to be the best fucking gig ever, man. Best one fucking EVER!

Much to my chagrin, they opened with San Antonio Foam Party. I am pretty sure you could see the disappointment visibly encapsulate my body. It’s not an awful song or anything, but it would never make a playlist. For a horrendous moment I managed to convince myself that their lack of predictability in setlist choice was about to reward me with a two-hour slew of songs I really didn’t give two shits about, and our trip would be remembered as the time I got arrested in Matlock Bath for attempting to incite a riot. However my momentary paranoia was unfounded, as they proceeded to make me both entirely hoarse and break out some of my finest Dad-Dancing moves. It was life-affirming stuff.

They did, of course, play the song that probably brought 80% of us here; The Light At The End Of The Tunnel (Is The Light Of An Oncoming Train). This is a song in which the lovelorn protagonist is bemoaning the fact he has been dumped in favor of “featureless TV producer Steve” and the bright lights of London, at one point reasoning “when you’re in Matlock Bath, you don’t need Silvia Plath, not when they’ve got Mrs. Gibson’s jam”. I swear to God I’ve never sung a lyric louder. It was a special moment in which all of this effort confirmed itself as a brilliant idea. I remember embracing Séan and congratulating myself on being there.

Half Man Half Biscuit are a fascinating band. Often foolishly written off as a novelty, or some kind of comedy act, they have never strayed from their own path. Spending the duration of their career on the small label they started out with, and having seemingly always put their love of football before the music, there is no doubt that the reason they do this is because they want to. There doesn’t seem to be the slightest interest in expanding their fan base, or gaining any kind of acclaim. No lights, no gimmicks, no tours. As a consequence they provoke a dedication in some people (mostly middle-aged men) akin to that of a teenage obsession. This is confirmed tonight by a 500-capacity sold out show that would have required a large swathe of the audience to seek accommodation to attend.

The show ended about 11, and true to my landlord friend’s word the entire town was shut. Séan and I marched back to our overnight home in Matlock, stumbling across a late night bar with music and dancing along the way. Several sheets to the wind, we found ourselves dancing with the dregs of a hen party to chart hits at 2am, before being refused entry to a cocktail establishment by the doorman making a throat-slitting motion. I would love to tell you the following day was all sunshine and lollipops, but it was not unlike being flogged with an iron bar. We had to spend another torturous hour in Derby, where we failed to secure ourselves decent coffee, and were treated to a hailstorm.

Totally worth it.

*For the Americans: a Bellend is not unlike a Douche Bag, although they are the tip of a penis rather than a ladies hygiene product. So Bellendery is the equivalent of Douche Baggery.

Evan Cotter is a pretentious middle aged bambakomallophobic bellend, with a penchant for focusing on the negative. The poster boy for small man syndrome.

Track Premiere: Dave Hughes - Livin' On A Prayer (Bon Jovi Cover)

2013-05-21T02:00:00-07:00

With his latest album, 'In Death Do We Part?', almost ready for it's physical release - I said it was good back when it was released digitally earlier this year - Dave Hughes has cracked on with doing a few rough and ready covers for the extended edition of the aforementioned album.

Despite his general disdain for all things Bon Jovi, Dave has recorded a cover of 'Livin' On A Prayer'. One of the the New Jersey band's biggest hits, it's sung up and down the country (very badly) in karaoke bars by drunken businessmen who don't know any better (probably) on a daily basis. Dave has reworked the song slightly to turn the 'rock classic' into something a little more folky and, for my money, a whole lot more listenable.

Check it out below and be sure to head over here and get your hands on a physical copy of 'In Death Do We Part'. The 'Expanded Edition' comes with a covers CD - on which this gem can be found - as well as four new songs that are only available in this package.

Dave is also playing on the Scottish dates of Ben Marwood's forthcoming UK tour.

June 4th - Cerberus, Dundee
June 5th - Pivo, Edinburgh

Dave Hause (w/ Jonny Two Bags) at The Slade Rooms, Wolverhampton

2013-05-21T01:44:26-07:00

Wolverhampton is a city I’ve only been to once before. It was in 2009 during the Frank Turner/Fake Problems/Beans On Toast tour and, whilst that show was rad, I never really took to the city itself and having been given a little time to check it out again before the show started, my opinion hasn’t changed. Alas, this isn’t a travel blog. I was there for the music and I’m glad I was.

As you may have been able to tell from my musings about this year’s Groezrock festival, I’m a pretty big fan of Dave Hause. One of the most energetic solo performers I’ve ever seen, he never fails to impress and this night was nothing different.

Howvever, before all of that, it was time for Jonny Two Bags. Like Dave, I’d seen Jonny play just a few days prior in Belgium and he was great. His rock and roll infused sound is different from a lot of people playing acoustic music, but the crowd in Wolverhampton didn’t seem to care; chatting throughout and drunkenly shouting at the Social Distorition guitarist during his pretty short set.

He struggled through it and joked about how none of us could buy his music yet. The one 7” Two Bags has released as a solo performer is long sold out, but he assured us that ‘Salvation Town’, his solo full-length, was coming soon. It’s a good job too, because I really can’t get enough of Jonny. He puts a new twist on an old school sound and I really dig it.

Unfortunately, I think Jonny was struggling here. I don’t know what it was, but he didn’t look himself: He looked slightly frail as he persevered through his set, trying his best to please the braying masses waiting for Dave to take to the stage.

The thing is, when he did, this didn’t change. Throughout the night I had various groups of people talking loudly around me, which begs the question why even come to the show in the first place?!

Regardless, Dave smashed it yet again. Even a drunken woman in the front row - who seemed to be offering herself to Dave during every break in the set - couldn’t put the Loved Ones frontman off. He played hit after hit, with the crowd singing along (when they weren’t too busy in conversation) and, just like in Belgium, the new songs were going down really well.

The crowd didn’t ease up on him one bit though, but he handled it like a pro. He took it all in his stride and used his ‘chats’ with various rowdy audience members to bridge the gaps in his set.

Loved Ones songs, a nod to both Joe Strummer and The Hold Steady (in one fine medley no less!) and his own solo tunes closed out the night and, again, left me with the feeling that Dave Hause is one of the finest purveyors of this ‘acoustic punk’ thing out there.

It’s just a shame that the crowd weren’t as on form as he was.

In Pictures: Lucy Rose at Shepherd's Bush Empire London

2013-05-20T13:33:34-07:00

It had almost a year since I'd caught Lucy Rose live, it was hot off the back of her putting pen to paper and signing to Columbia, she played a medium sized, sweaty venue at The Great Escape festival in Brighton. So a whole year later I was lucky enough to head down to the Shepherd's Bush Empire to watch Lucy headline. A rather special experience. Lucy, ever grateful and humbled by the crowd arrived on stage and opened the show with 'Red Face', unable to stop smiling. She may perform songs with emotive and touchinglyrics such as 'And I loved the way you looked at me; and I miss the way you made me feel; when we were alone' but her shows are also full of enjoyment and laughter, that leave you smiling. Later in the headline show, she got her bass player, Simba to sing in German in the chorus and got up all fans with birthdays up on stage for a round of 'Happy Birthday'. Before finishing the set with the dreamy 'Don't You Worry', we were treated to new tracks, giving us a glimpse of the future and something to look forward to.