1234 Go!
“Gig reviews from sticky-floored sheds”
Múm’s Gone to Iceland
Múm – Tabernacle
Tabernacle is a roomy venue. Roomy in the Heathrow terminal 5 sense. The incongruous glass-fronted shop and reception desk, accentuate the air of a BA departure lounge. The bar area could easily be mistaken for a large barn minus the livestock, and demarcated by squishy seats. Alarmingly they serve their expensive cocktails in plastic cups.
However upstairs the gig venue is great. Two-tiered, the large stage visible from all sides, boasting first-class acoustics.
A perfect venue in fact for beguiling Icelandic band Múm to showcase their wares.
Múm have existed in one incarnation or another for around ten years. A rambling seven-piece (currently two women, five men) although not dissimilar in style to Sigur Rós, indisputedly dishing up their own individually-crafted, multi-instrumentalist perspective on quirky Nordic pop.
Tonight cellos, violins, trumpets, piano overlay drums, bass, synth and guitars providing a luscious texture and crisp counterpoint. The music is part sea shanty, part siren song, part bumpy electronica. Even the handclaps and finger snaps sparkle. The vocals soar and sear ( Björk-like) it’s clear Icelandic girls just love that high register.
The group dynamic is endearing. The kind of band you want to give a group hug to. (Yes, just a hug, you cynical souls). In many ways live on stage they’re a thoughtful, considered bunch – not expending unnecessary effort to engage, but nevertheless cordially inviting the audience along for the ride.
The experience is akin to staring through a window into a firelit, beautifully decorated family home, from the cold, winter street outside. It’s voyeuristic, slightly poignant yet at the same time satisfying.
The audience are attentive and protective, and shush any beer-fuelled chattering during the quiet bits. It’s impossible to avoid sea analogies when listening to Mum’s music. Six albums in, the ebb, the flow, the powerful swell of the ocean, the froth of salty brine, the crash of storm-driven waves upon rocks are all there.There’s both a plaintiveness and a passion. The crowd, seated on the floor for most of the gig allowing the songs to flow over them, stand for the well-deserved encore to enthusiastically show their appreciation
Tonight is a soundscape of glacier, volcano, waterfall and ocean with Viking heart and contemporary twist – and seven is the magic number.
Wave if You’re Really There
Wave Machines – Shoreditch Church
Shoreditch Church is an impressive architectural structure both inside and out, tonight rendered even more so by lines of candles flickering in the dark, enshrining the entrance.
These days churches seem more amenable to opening their doors to musical and cultural events across the board – the successful and high profile Little Noise sessions in the Union Chapel testament to this.
Wave Machines are the least likely ‘wedding band’ candidates one could possibly imagine – yet tonight the Merseyside mavericks are here in the house of God, officiating a marriage.
The reason? This is the fifth in their series of themed collaborations with Arts collective Mercy, aptly titled ‘Wave If You’re Really There’
Tonight marriage is on the menu, and band, ushers and guests are all suitably dressed for the occasion in dickie bows, ruffly white shirts and froufrou dresses. The beams are adorned with filigree hand-in-hand paper cut-outs and there is a definite air of expectation.
Tonight’s event is curated in association with London’s much vaunted poetry collective Homework, and among the diverse talents on offer is poet Nathan Jones, and musical support by avant garde-ists Post War Years and acoustic singer/songwriterJohn Smith (who appears to have brought his entire fan club along for the ride)
The audience are surprisingly attentive for a Saturday night crowd – in so much as spoken word and music receive an evenly warm reception from this mixed-media savvy crowd
Although alcohol is not being served inside the venue, we have been invited to smuggle bottles in (pear cider for us). It lends a slightly transgressive atmosphere to proceedings, as we stand on pews, shout clap and drink
It’s all rather evangelical – a forward-thinking God would surely approve. To be fair, it’s probably the largest and most enthusiastic congregation this church has seen for some time.
Wave Machines do two sets tonight – one early on in the evening supporting poet Nathan Jones and then a closing set.
This band defy genre pigeon-holing. A heart-warming combination of art, danceability and introspection.
Beautifully-crafted songs – from the anthemic Punk Spirit to the melodic voyage that is The Greatest Escape we Ever Made effortlessly direct the audience’s emotional focus, elicit smiles en masse, and get people (literally) dancing in the aisles. Eerily falsetto choruses are underscored by funkier-than-funky rhythms, dark social comment (Dead Houses) and passages of unease balanced by gentle humour
Confetti streams down on us during the final song Wave if you’re Really There and we are handed slices of wedding cake on the way out.
Wedded bliss indeed.
Going Coastal
The Sea – 12 Bar.
On a busy Friday night, 12 Bar resembles a set from Pirates of the Caribbean. All narrow gangways and low, creaky beams, rum in the galley, an ‘avast me hearties’ bonhomie, and a nervous band line-up, looking ready to walk the plank.
Surreally there is a pirate in the audience tonight, flanked by several ‘Village People’ sporting workman’s helmets and Cherokee headdresses, and an inebriated man in a snoopy costume. Don’t ask us why. We really don’t know.
Fresh back from SXSW and on the cusp of a month-long European tour, exceptional Cornish two-piece The Sea (brothers Peter and Alex Chisholm, guitar and drums respectively), have over the past 12 months or so, been slowly and steadily whipping up not so much a storm as an F5 tornado, with their raw, pared-down Hendrix-inspired blues.
Their palpable energy and the sheer uniqueness of their musical proposition (no frills, no veneer, no safety net), should by rights have already catapulted them into the realms of mainstream adulation.
But in time-honoured tradition, they are paying their dues, gig by gig, town by town, continent by continent – consolidating their reputation and building a fan base.
Tonight’s set is a text book exercise in exuberance and excitement, as with near telepathic synchronicity, the pair anticipate each others on-stage moves in a manner one imagines only close-bonded siblings can. It’s a fascination.
The vocal crowd don’t want ballads, and they catcall their appreciation as the band power through My Brother Blues, Say it Again, Love, Love, Love.
The guitarist has been known to occasionally switch to keyboards to deliver slower-paced, Beatle-esque numbers. Tonight they don’t – much to our relief.
If the ‘band is the brand’ then this brand is undeniably all about unconstructed primal energy, and it seems sheer folly to dilute that.
The only real issue that confronts The Sea, is ensuring the recordings capture as far as possible the essence and magic of their live sets. That will be no mean feat.
If there’s any justice in the world this band will go stellar before the end of 2009. White Stripes aside, there’s no-one quite like them around at the moment, certainly not in the UK.
And if this is the caliber of music, sleepy, Cornish coastal towns are producing, then maybe we should all visit the British seaside more often. (Eden Lloyd)
The Noise of Art
Stricken City – Proud Galleries.
An up-for-it Camden crowd are surging through Proud tonight, clutching their beers expectantly, and waiting to catch the increasingly popular support Chapman Family and fey, indie-art headliners Stricken City. Today, technically the first day of summer – it hailed. So most are thankful for the toasty interior of The Stables, and hoping for an evening of great sounds to take collective minds off inclement global conditions.
Stricken City are an interesting beast. Not unlike a good book which takes several pages to fully capture the reader’s imagination – this band’s complexities are revealed slowly over the course of their set.
As the name suggests, they create rollercoaster 3-D, peak-and-trough landscapes, rather than simple soundscapes. A sonic Google Maps for post-apocalyptic suburbia.
From ‘Twin Peaks’ style musical tableaux to rhythm-infused, jerky pop beats, they flirt with but stop short of full embrace, of their diverse influences (Tom Tom Club, Sugarcubes, Bow Wow Wow). As an entity they remain enigmatic.
Female-fronted bands of all genres are enjoying popular resurgence of late, with Metric, The Noisettes, Asobi Seksu, The Ting Tings, Little Tremors et al, leading the way. As part of this illustrious stable, we must include the unselfconscious, coltish Rebekah Raa – Stricken City’s lead singer, and occasional synth-prodder.
Raa is a smart focus for this band. A chameleon-like amalgam of Juliette Lewis, Kate Bush and Bjork – she is angular, lanky and calculatedly dishevelled. In essence, the ‘eternal student’ you’ll spy wandering through halls of residence at 3.00am with one shoe missing, and an empty bottle of vodka tucked under one arm.
Yet she is the unobtrusive glue which binds Stricken City together.
While many female vocalists willingly play the vamp, the coquette or the shy ingénue, Raa resists the temptation and remains grounded – a solid, dependable part of the band. Shining, but never overshadowing her band mates, she knows intuitively when to step forward to embrace the limelight and when to step back. That’s why it works.
Great, choppy indie guitar and a dependable drummer who is most certainly ‘in the zone’ drive the material forward, as we’re treated to Tak o Tak, Bardou and more.
Stricken City are an unexpected, involving pleasure on a cold night
One last imponderable. How does the guitarist keep his immaculately glossy fringe in such an impossibly well-behaved, gig-proofed state, irrespective of the on-stage mayhem? If there’s a miracle product out there I think we should be told…. (Eden Lloyd)
School’s Out
Old School Tie – Dublin Castle.
It’s Saturday night, and The Dublin Castle is packed to the gills as we negotiate a path to the bar through the beer swilling/spilling, music-loving masses.
Along with the majority of the crowd, we’re here to catch Birmingham 4-piece headliners Old School Tie (two sets of brothers, James and Dan Cameron, and Mike and Chris Unwin – the band was formed when the brothers attended school together, hence the moniker)
It should be stated up front that Old School Tie are not purveyors of the three minute pop song. A quick shifty through timings on their MySpace, confirms that few offerings come in at much under six minutes. In addition the hybrid influences seeping through their material go beyond eclectic, bordering (on paper at least) on the musically precarious.
The algebraic, math rock of ‘Blindfolds’ nods unashamedly in the direction of Foals, whilst ‘Preacher Part II’ is a disconcerting (though after a couple of listens, oddly appealing) marriage of early Genesis and Happy Mondays. Prog rave anyone…?
This is a musical balancing act which might translate well live. Or alternatively fail quite spectacularly. Our fingers are discreetly crossed behind backs in hope they pull it off. This band’s modus operandi is at very least adventurous, and it has to be said we’re rather partial to adventurers.
We’re not disappointed. Once they get into their stride, it becomes apparent that as an entity Old School Tie don’t just gel, they positively soar.
They’re dance demons, funksters, rock purists – surfing fest-tastic rave riffs, Wave Machines style funk and er yes, ELP. We remain convinced at least one of the band is a closet progster. Not pointing any fingers. At the keyboard player.
Live, Old School Tie work in tandem as an unstoppable force, pulling the threads of their influences together seamlessly. They work hard, play hard and not only have demonstrable fun onstage, but insist their audience leaves exhausted and happy too.
The closing song of the night is on-stage mayhem, as band members swap instruments with dizzying speed and velocity. The unfortunate keyboard receives such a merciless pounding that it near jumps off the stand – the mere sight I’m sure, enough to give Rick Wakeman chronic indigestion for weeks should he witness it. Catch this band on the way up if you can. They front their own home-grown festival ‘Fieldview’, and one hazards a guess, this would be the perfect environment to experience them live for the first time.
Come rain or shine, Old School Tie are going to do just fine. Under their umbrella, ella, ella. (Yes, that is an in-joke. Go see them live, find out).
(Eden Lloyd)
Feelin Bullish
Cocknbullkid – ICA.
An arty young crowd throng the ICA for tonight’s performance. Whether the attraction is the venue or the bill, it’s hard to say, as this contingent is ‘home counties’ arty rather than ‘Hoxton hero’ arty. We’re fond of the ICA. It boasts an interesting and well curated programme of events, intimate auditorium, good acoustics, and joy of joys - clean toilets.
Honorable mention must go to support Plugs, whose uplifting brand of feel-good psychotronic chunk/phunk, kicks the evening off to a terrific start. Ones to watch.
Having put ink to paper on an Island Record’s deal earlier in the day, Cocknbullkid is in confident mood this evening. Hyped to the nth degree a year or so ago (lauded as one of Time Out’s Next Big Things in 2008′), she then mysteriously disappeared off mainstream radar, but it would appear she’s simply a slow burner, and tonight she’s back with a vengeance.
Exhibiting maturity and composure beyond her years (she’s just 23) Cocknbullkid’s soulful pop voice, and Ghana-by-way-of-London whimsy continue to mark her out as an intriguing talent.
Barring her obvious sartorial discomfort (grappling with a Boadicea style top which constantly threatens to reveal her ample assets), she soars through her repertoire with a delivery which ranges from the warm bath magic of On My Own to the bubbly jacuzzi tingle of I’m Not Sorry. As a performer she’s sexy, strong and comfortable in her own skin – and more than capable of delivering on early promise. We hope there’s a lot more cock n bull to come from this kid. (Eden Lloyd).
Alive and Kicking
Dead Kids – Barfly.
I recently asked a number of my friends to describe in one word, an abiding memory from their first Dead Kids gig. Among the responses: exciting, intimidating, involving, politicised, scary…
Unsurprising considering their charismatic frontsman Mike Title, loves and hates his crowd in equal measure.
At a classic Dead Kids gig you’re unlikely to find the gloriously hyperactive singer on the stage. You will find him bouncing off walls, hurling himself into the audience, embracing bemused punters, swinging from the ceiling beams, hurdling the bar (much to the trepidation of the bar staff), or swearing in frustration. Dead Kids are a force of nature, and this is reflected in their music.
Tonight’s gig is no exception. Barfly is heaving and the air uncomfortably close, and my pet hate (people wearing large rucksacks. WHY?) are out in force – augmented by a girl who for some reason has brought a suitcase.
None of this prevents Mikey from jettisoning himself around the room with barely disguised glee. But although the band sound great and the energy levels are high, one does wonder whether Dead Kid’s live sets are now so entrenched in band mythology, that they are now simply fulfilling expectations, and going through the motions. That would be a shame
You either love or hate Dead Kids, there’s very rarely middle ground (for the record we love them). Everyone should go to at least one Dead Kids gig. You’ll come away feeling alive. We promise. (Eden Lloyd)
