I don’t think I will ever feel at ease with Australia.  Its just too vast, just too hot.  It’s the kind of place where bad things happen beneath a tempered sun that can’t help but influence and direct a person’s behaviour in unhealthy fashion

Originally hailing from such parts The Doomed Bird Of Providence is not so much a band as it is a gang.  At last count it was five strong and growing.  With this their arsenal of instruments has grown over time and now as they present their debut album their aural vision is as clear and powerful as ever.

Boasting a previous criminal record, when the Doomed Bird Of Providence first unleashed their wares a couple of years ago with their self titled EP on Laily Recordings it was a prized eruption that contained a solid set of songs at the hands of band leader Mark Kluzek which eventually led to low level scandal regarding the selling of goods on eBay.

With Will Ever Pray the message is clear: this band is here to give you nightmares, to saddle you with guilt as the Poms must be forced to pay for previous indiscretions.

The piece opens with vocals distributed like lashes.  From here strings soon drop, sinking their claws into proceedings from where they never let go.  With this accordion then seeps in as the occasional piano keys drip like blood and guitar parts are driven and tempered.

Something of a concept album possessing a staunch inflicted narrative Will Ever Pray is a two part monster as the first four songs telling tales of early exploration and deportation by ship in and around the Australia region.  Then “the massacre of the whole of the passengers and part of the crew of The Sea Horse on her homeward passage from Sydney” consumes the following five track finale.  Naturally its downbeat content but ultimately more entertaining and accessible than watching the History Channel.  In other words this is a previously untapped fountain of information.

Comparisons do not come easy or necessarily clear in compliment.  Obviously the accordion is an instrument that does not get a lot of action in a rocking world and while hardly being Klezmar, its use and execution is somewhat more ghastly than the dark, likeable and comic Tiger Lillies.  Likewise the heavy violin strings delivered in an Australian context obviously recall The Dirty Three however when they layer in tandem and echo with guitar it feels akin to darkland Velvet Underground.  To this you can perhaps throw into the mix a sense of Tindersticks but ultimately the band is so much more as it offers a sound that it earnest and very much its own.  You won’t hear anything else that sounds like this in a hurry.

Of the first half raft it is “On The Deathbed Of Janus Weathercock” which provides the highlight with the detailed description of a man’s demise as all comes together sonically and majestically lending something of a tranquil air to anything but a peaceful demise.  The hooks here are the kind that give birth to goosebumps.  This physical reaction however may also be as result from the fact that Weathercock was a notorious poisoner.

As the second half of the record begins and the massacre ensues this chapter opens with a ten minute plus instrumental of ringing strings as a queasy sensation prevails and an eventual hook and loop that perversely reminds me of an unidentified staple from my past (sorry to be vague).  From here a clap shanty spurs the crew into action as by part 3 there is talk of “slashing throats” and “cutting out tongues” which makes for a horrific snapshot in time.  With this part 4 resumes the score motif as delicate piano ticks lend the piece a calm after the storm feel, housing a raindrop like sensation to represent the closure and conclusion of the rain in blood (reign in blood).  By the end the devastation feels like jubilation as a change in order feels very much on the cards.

To garner a full appreciation of this record it is beneficial to listen intently as the multitude of instruments all jostle for position while at the same time being given space to breathe.  This is a truly tight outfit and very talented musicians playing to their strengths and syncing in the most dogged and accomplished manner.

Curiously this makes for very good public transport music especially trips that are long haul.  While sat squashed onto a train with my fellow passengers I can’t help but empathise and liken my plight as I envisage all aboard being driven and dragged to a destination against our wills as the necessity outweighs the enjoyment of our existence and whisks us into bondage, suffering and misery.  With this I can’t but view it all as a shared experience and use it as an effective tool to combat the labour of my day.

This is the real deal.

Did ya.

Thesaurus moment: carnage.

The Doomed Bird Of Providence

Front And Follow

It was genuinely sad news to hear thatFrank Sidebottom (or rather Chris Sievey) had lost his fight against cancer a few weeks ago.  When news initially broke that he had unfortunately got the disease the fact that he was continuing to perform on the live circuit suggested that he was going steamroll and power through the illness.  Sadly this was not to be.

Originally I thought Mark Radcliffe was Frank Sidebottom or vice versa but soon it became apparent that they were both birds from the same tree, from a rich Manchester scene with a staunch and glowing legacy.  Frank Sidebottom was a hilarious creation, a lo-fi character that was always around but never seemed to quite get the breaks or the right vehicle with which to work his magic.  Undaunted however he kept plugging away in a manner that should serve as true inspiration to anybody in either comedy or music that carries on regardless in the face of slack apathy.

Prior to this year’s World Cup beginning Frank was already pushing his World Cup single (hey, he might as well, every other schmuck was) and as soon as his passing was announced immediately people on Twitter began suggesting that his fan base get together and attempt to fire the single to the top of the charts.  Quickly some kind of campaign began to take place and before long a realistic amount of followers looked in place to get the song a decent chart positioning.  Unfortunately things then took a turn for the worse as it was discovered that Sievey had passed away without leaving any assets and it appeared that his family would not be able to afford a fitting funeral for such a treasured performer.  With this the Twitter campaign took on a different role and within days £21,000 had been raised for his send off.

Now the time has come to release the single.  Originally it was supposed to be “3 Shirts On Me Line” but I sense/fear that that song was never correctly recorded in time.  Instead the good people at Cherry Red have quickly pulled together this digital single of typical Frank delivery in the style of George Formby gone chipper, Manc and mental.  The song barely lasts a minute but that’s not the point, its Frank!  Under such circumstances who can deny?  The other track is “The Robbins Aren’t Bobbins” which is his ode to his beloved Altrincham.  It sounds like it’s from a different era, which is perhaps/probably is.

Seldom do charity records feel worthwhile but for once this release does as it represents tribute to a genuine and truly entertaining individual that is a sad loss to the profession and industry.  For years I have vowed never to open an iTunes shop account but especially for this release I did.  With proceeds going to cancer charities here is hoping that the record places high on Sunday 11 July (World Cup Final day).  It will, it really will.

Take care.

Thesaurus moment: frolic.

Frank Sidebottom

Cherry Red

At the end of the day the sad truth/reality was that this was the only release I bought on Record Store Day that I actually wanted beforehand.  And I only got it out of good fortune when one of the Rough Trade clerks happened across some copies and did a shout out to the people in the queue to see if anybody wanted one.  I swear half an hour before this moment I had seen a man the age of Mark E. Smith carrying a pile of about fifteen copies of this record to the counter.  That should not have been allowed but in a way it all seems apt

Despite now being on their best record label for years The Fall artwork remains wonderfully incoherent, messy and looking tossed off in seconds.  There are just some things that remain reassuringly constant.

“Bury” is another great slab of vinyl.  Perversely it reminds me of a lo-fi version of “No One Knows” by Queens Of The Stone Age but it is also so much more.  We have a Bury here in East Anglia but it is nothing in comparison to this.

In many ways The Fall is a better act than ever.  Without doubt Mark E. Smith runs a tight ship and with its revolving door of musicians these days it’s not so much a band as an outfit with a squad mentality akin to the greatest football clubs.  This is the modern way of doing things, deal with it.  With this process in mind you can’t help but think in another life Smith might have made for a great football manager.  Maybe Manchester has a successor for Fergie after all (pending a reverse Tevez dose of treachery).

Wonderful distortion welcomes this song into the world which is then promptly pursued by a fine stomp and seemingly random musings from Mr Smith.  It’s all about Mr Smith.  This is the stuff of legend, it still sounds great after all these years and uses terms such as “municipal buildings” which you will be hard pressed to unearth anywhere else in music.  In a time when we need this music the most it truly comes to the plate and pays off tenfold.

Thesaurus moment: reliable.

The Fall

Domino

Here is another limited edition release from Record Store Day.  By the point of this purchase I was just snapping up any cool looking or sounding release in order to bump up my goodies and prevent the people at the counter giggling at my pathetic collection of rubbish sucker releases.  I’m not so sure that this release should have made the cut however.

I have actually see Villagers and it was not an experience I would care to share or repeat.  The buzz was good with them being signed to Domino and all but the reality was trite and laboured.  For this I blame Bon Ivor and his log cabin bullshit.

Hailing from Ireland unfortunately this means Mr Conor J. O’Brien possesses a singing voice that reminds me of Feargal Sharkey gone through an auto tuner.  And we all know what happened to that guy.

It is all very impassioned and aimed (maybe cynically) at an audience experiencing a crisis and mentally drifting off into the distance as life becomes difficult for their kind.  Am I being too harsh?

Taking a deep breath and endeavouring to listen to this afresh things don’t really manage to improve as his storytelling style of lyrical narrative portrays a slow version of life that I just cannot relate to, one where a person has too long to dwell on the whimsy of life and little in the way of an arc existence.  I bet skinny people have sex to this music.

I still blame The Wicker Man.

Thesaurus moment: grandiose.

Villagers

Domino

I once saw Foals play live at Latitude Festival and unfortunately it was one of the most feeble sets I have ever witnessed from a band with such clout being pumped into and put behind them.

Its not all hate from me honestly I have genuinely liked a number of their singles but sometimes you just have to shrug and concede “I don’t get it.”  I remember when I worked at the studio and how the A&R (A&E) lady was raving about in the context of all this nu-rave gimmick stuff.  At this point I genuinely thought there was more to them.  Then Sub Pop signed them in the US so surely there must be something there to grab hold of.  So with nice looking artwork on Record Store Day as all the limited edition releases I actually want have gone to pushier individuals than myself here is me giving them another chance.

On that note I’ll be fucked if I know what they are doing on this single.  For starters it is so fucking quiet and subdued.  Why is this?  What point are they trying to make?  Is this them sounding mature?  Sounding as if operating on a knife edge?  Am I playing the record at the wrong speed again? (no to that last one).

So well done, once again the kids have been let down by a band claiming so much and delivering so little.  How the fuck can Warners be justified in supporting this?  Why are they wasting the earth’s resources on such dross?

Eventually the song crawls out of its stupor only to resemble some eighties sports television soundtrack.  Can the bar be actually lowered any further?

Thesaurus moment: spoon

Foals

Warners Music Ltd

For the longest time on Record Store Day 2010 I found myself wandering around with just this seven inch in my hand.  Truly people were swarming all over limited edition stuff in the style of Sex And The City wannabes at a Next sale.  For a moment I felt panic, I wanted out of the record shop but there was no escape.  So instead I found myself just standing in a corner breathing heavily hoping to bide my time until the real goodies hidden behind the counter were to be unveiled for the patient mannered types such as myself.  It didn’t happen.  As I saw somebody carry off their vinyl version of the Sonic Youth Starbucks compilation for the eleventh time I knew my She & Him seven inch would not be alone in order to maintain cred as I approached the counter.  From here when I finally approached the checkout with my pile of potentially mediocre vinyl, including my £6 She & Him seven inch, my pain was justified as the man smiling behind the till handed me a cloth tote bag that came exclusively with this release.  Had my pain in one foul swoop suddenly been justified?  I had only been in the store almost two hours by this point.  Was it worth it?  For £41.42 I got my record store rush.

I just dropped this record.  Literally and physically, I haven’t even got around to listening to it and the corner of the spine is now already bent.  The value has just gone from mint to just very good.  Suddenly it doesn’t feel worth it.

She & Him feel like flavour of the month right now, which is not necessarily a band thing because Zooey Deschanel has a high level of cred right from back when she was a scene stealer in The Good Girl.  That said actresses taking up indie rock has something of jaded history (Juliette Lewis and Scarlett Johansson a dubious list begins with you).

In a sad way Deschanel’s efforts remind me a bit of Reese Witherspoon in Walk The Line and as such make them DOA.  In John Peel style I begin listening to the seven inch at the wrong speed (listening to it after the Factory limited edition ten inch I also got at Record Store Day).  Dare I even suggest that it may sound better at such a speed (I’m down with the kids and their chopped and screwed).

I was given to believe that this would be a full on country assault but instead it is a far more sprightly affair.  Her voice reminds me a lot of Tanya Donnelly, Shannon Wright and Sarah Shannon from Velocity Girl (all fantastic vocalists) but strangely the most striking aspect that grabs me is the piano line courtesy of M Ward that reminds me of the “Self Preservation Society” theme song from The Italian Job and thus it all comes full circle and the selection never escapes Hollywood.

Thesaurus moment: wrap.

She & Him

Domino

This is something of a refreshing throwback to spiky and scratchy lo-fi DIY bands from a few years ago, the ones that pushed forward an idea that my own generation were able to attempt and succeed at in producing on the proviso that there was something more to it than the desire to be a star.  For this a sardonic wit always felt essential, necessary with view to confuse and sometimes abuse anyone around looking to be of a discerning nature.

The most obvious reference for a single such as this is Art Brut along with the early boy girl dynamics of the Delgados before they discovered strings and bloated arrangements.  In this it is obvious just where the appeal comes from, in the desire and need for the listener to hear nasty yet tuneful guitar music that doesn’t sink and drown in cliché.

Hailing from Cardiff (although without being Welsh) it is strange how so many bands are emerging from Wales at the moment.  They are not necessarily all good but it does suggest something about the way boredom is being dealt with in places away from the supposed centre of the universe (London).

“Romance Is Boring” is a great sentiment, one that points at something away from Care Bears and daydreams.  As ever I sense I am arriving late to the party with my enjoyment of this band but giving them the benefit of my doubts of try hard this is the kind of fun explosive indie guitar song that sadly feels rare these days.

“Too Many Flesh Suppers” on the flipside is an altogether more angular and confused state of affairs, less directed and suggestive of their appreciation/fondness for Broken Social Scene.  To some ears this will sound like a mess but to others it will be gold.  Sadly though it is a song that never lives up to its great title.

This won’t help me recapture my youth, nothing will.

Thesaurus moment: bellow.

Los Campesinos!

Wichita Recordings

Perhaps not with the smartest of reasoning I am finding myself these days purchasing a lot of seven inch singles just based on their artwork.  As the format becomes sadly rarer by the week, this growing personal throwback for me presents itself more as a piece of art rather than a salient music format.  This single is a very good example of this.  I really hate the way the world of the single has gone now, the Sunday charts are so pathetic it is unreal and there is no way in hell that a band selling an MP3 or two on a given date will or should constitute a single release.  The idea of doing an “MP3 single” is one so redundant to me.  The other day I heard a pretty decent song by a band from Liverpool and I decided to check out the release date of the song I found myself faced with a two week wait to buy it from iTunes etc.  I promptly laughed my fucking arse off as I found the song on seconds via Hype MP3.  It is what they deserve.

This release however is the polar opposite of such backwards management.  For me passion oozes from the tangibility of the release.  So who the hell are The Dustaphonics?  I have no idea what their music sounds like but what I do know is that they come with amazing artwork.

Looking at the sleeve alone you get the impression it is going to be dirty, like something you might find in a John Waters or Russ Meyer movie.  Yes, music from a better time.  The cover features a golden age comic beauty, shameless and suggestive.

Having already reviewed the record before even playing the record finally upon hearing it I find myself introduced to something that sounds akin to The Cramps fronted by Lisa from the BellRays.  It is slow paced and dripping in swagger with dirty sax spewed sporadically over proceedings.  This is very fun stuff.

The writing credit includes the name “T.L. Satana” which indeed does turn out to be Tura Satana, most famously the star of Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! which lends another exciting aspect to the record as it transpires that she is indeed responsible for some of the lyrics/words in some capacity (although perhaps she didn’t realise it).

Perhaps the less said about the b-side (a cover of The Jiants  “Tornado”) the better.

Thesaurus moment: pine.

The Dustaphonics

Dirty Water Records

The Sone Institute are one of those acts that produce a wide series of sounds that exhibit a huge scope of imagination and lengthy influences that provide a distinct setting for the task ahead.  Listened to with a clear head, yours will be a mind soon muddled and disfigured by the sounds and images imposed onto your soul.

In the past Sone Institute have displayed a talent for spilling beats over the most cautious of tones in a style similar to Broadcast while mixed with an easy listening intellect and kitsch awareness (appreciation) akin to that of Jonny Trunk.  Within such a gesture there is true fluctuation of two grand and downbeat worlds convulsing and marking something wholly fresh into the ground.  With Curious Memories they have expanded further on this premise extending their arsenal and truly succeeding with every avenue they visit.

The album begins with a thunder bolt followed by crazed and disorientating fairground attraction atmospherics on the wonderfully named “Inter Asylum Cross Country”. The track sounds like something RZA may have cooked up and used on one of his scores.  Truly a song to come with stitches.

With “The Wind Began To Switch” the record reaches a frenzied pace as handclapping hysteria coupled with grandiose strings that sound straight out of an American television cop show from the seventies bursts onto the scene.  The crazy beat sounds excessively like Lalo Schifrin’s work on Dirty Harry only now bettered to a blistering pace.

Eventually it all mellows out quite significantly, changing identity like a chameleon on a mirror, touching zones that you might expect as output from acts on labels such as Ninja Tune and Kitty-Yo.  A true blissed out harvest of an experience occurs as ambience overrules the exotic early impetus of proceedings in assaulting fashion.  It has to be said the swinging of systems in such schizophrenic style does make for a difficult listen.

For some reason I come away from listening to this record with the theme music from The Professionals running around in my head.

This is music for the movies.

Thesaurus moment: flick.

Sone Institute

Front And Follow

I used to have an online buddy hailing from Norway.  In fact I feel when she disappeared from the cyber world I actually lost a potential love for in Line Larsen I truly feel I met (in an online capacity) a potential soul mate.  Our interests were similar and we exchanged similar worldviews and a sense of fondness prevailed that could have remained/lasted strong for a long time.  When she disappeared off the face of the internet I truly feel fearful that something bad occurred to her in real life.  I really wish she would get back in touch I miss her so.

At this point the single has almost concluded as I acknowledge that the first time I am playing this seven inch I am paying absolutely no attention whatsoever to it.  My bad.

Beach House appear to have come out of nowhere, they are being lauded by all quarters as a sudden stream dreamy (sometimes drippy) bands begins to overwhelm indie pop.  If it were a bit louder you might compare it to the shoegazers.

It all feels rather minimal.  Half the time the vocalist (I’m loathe to say singer) appears to be making up words, exchanging lyrics for noises they appear to be making up on the spot.

There appears to be a prevailing leaning towards an eighties slickness and sensibility to sound at the moment.  I am truly struggling to decide whether this is a good thing or not.  Here with “Norway” I am being presented with a layered set of sounds padding out a strange set of sentiments being exhibited by the frontman that be.  With creeping, underlying sonics I would not be surprised if new My Bloody Valentine material were to sound like this (or at least the demos might).

Perversely this ultimately sounds to me like the singer from the Wannadies fronting the accompaniment of Ryuichi Sakamoto in “Merry Christmas, Mr Lawrence” mode with a dabble of MBV effects stirring underneath.  Random.

The b-side sounds a bit like Scrawl.

They’re from Baltimore but not like in The Wire (the TV show not the magazine).

I think I missed the point.

Thesaurus moment: hut.

Beach House

Bella Union