Tags: fast cars, lou reed, paul weller, Richard Hawley, steven murray & kingbird, tom petty
New Wave veteran Steve Murray has enjoyed a long and varied musical career since early success with ‘Fast Cars’ in the late 70’s. His CV peppered with numerous high profile session musician gigs, Murray seems to be one of those well-respected ‘behind the scenes’ guys who has finally decided to take the plunge and branch out on his own, with backing band ‘Kingbird’. Together they offer an appealing brand of stripped back alt country numbers on debut EP ‘The Hand of Fate’.
There is a deliberate retro feel to single ‘So James Dean’, and it’s a real grower. With the shuffling charm of Murray’s accomplished guitar playing blending well with a strong chorus, a neat piano hook and unpretentious lyrics. Overall this is a solid 4-track EP from a ‘musician’s musician’ with a natural feel for a tune, who doesn’t feel the need to have to try too hard. The other tracks are ‘You’re So Funny’, the Tom Petty sounding ‘American Girls’ and ‘Twisting the Hand of Fate’. This fine, short collection is a touch nostalgic, and has that ‘lived in’ feel of later Lou Reed stuff. The harmonies could be tightened up a little and lead guitar brought out more, especially on the single. But there is enough here to anticipate a good album, which might turn out to be one of those sleeper hits like Richard Hawley’s Cole Corner.
New York’s The Go Station have a strangely familiar Britpop sound dominating this album, which is not without it’s bright moments. Among their strongest tracks are opener ‘All Together Now’ plus ‘Twin Six’ and ‘Next In Line’. With these you can hear more of their original voice. And at best, their tunes carry purposeful, rhythmic indie rock, with some tight, energetic lead guitar, pacey drums and anthemic, crescendo choruses. But with much of the material here, on tracks such as ‘Not Enough’, ‘C’Mon’ and ‘They Way Of The World’, it’s as if someone has taken all the mid 90’s Britpop bands you can think of, liquidised them, and drunk them down in one. This means you get some good, smooth Oasis and Charlatans styled bits, but also, you end up swallowing quite a few indigestible chucks; a finger from Menswear here and testicle from Toploader there. With ‘Way Of The World’, the chorus proclaims; “It’s just the way of the world…the original sin…sign of the times…it’s the state I’m in’. For all I know, this could well be listing some of the many po-faced, pseudo-philosophical album titles prevalent back then. For fans of the bigger, broader British sounds of the previous decade, then The Go Station do what they do well. But for those who remember being saturated with this sort of thing in the mid 90s, it’s not a return journey many of us in the UK yet wish to make.
Oh my, how the jealousy intensifies of the thought of missing Nirvana’s headline slot on the Friday night at Reading ‘92. But, as a mere spotty adolescent at the time, the chances were derisorily slim that the immeasurable impact they had that night would have had a significant premise in my think tank at that tender age. However, due to the release of this climatic DVD/CD combo, a joyous wa hey, yes indeed, wa hey is bellowed out! We get to relive Cobain at his most spasmodically enchanting, fronting the primal instigators of grunge music of the early 90s. The campsite that year was rife with rumours that year that Cobain was AWOL, rumours citing anything from an overdose, to marriage difficulties or that he was compelled to shun the show due to his displeasure of the limelight. That aside, the set was filled with mind-blowing grunge and sloppy indie-rock that came accustomed to Nirvana’s shows. Filled with most of ‘Nevermind’ and ‘Bleach’ their set was that of a greatest hits ensemble. The inclusion of bootleg gems ‘D7’ and ‘Spank Thru’ whetted the appetite further. But, nothing resonates as profoundly as their classic cuts, such as ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit, ‘Lithium’, ‘School’ and set closer ‘Territorial Pissings’. This showing came a year after ‘Nevermind’ an album that reset the aesthetics and expectations of modern pop music. And delivered Reading a Nirvana arguably at their artistic peak. Nirvana you live on in our hearts!
Brit-pop icon and ex-frontman of Suede, Brett Anderson has somewhat gone from iconic winsome fella to forgotten elder statesmen singer/songwriter. ‘Slow Attack’ is his third studio album in as many years. And the former penning partner of Bernard Butler is no closer to resurrecting the toff-pop Suede were oh so good at. It’s a sombre, reflective insight into Anderson’s life like in ‘Pretty Windows’ but one that could be a closing statement rather than a new beginning for him. With lashings of strings and plangent piano sections, Anderson’s armoury is reflective on how deep he digs in this swooning baste. The woodwind abound ‘The Swan’ and opener ‘Hymn’ is anything but the refulgent Bit-pop that pulsated through his veins at one point. With age, Anderson has entered into a lyrical demise with songs like in The Hunted, as he sings “She is the hunter, you are the hunted” a far cry from the days of ‘Animal Nitrate’ and ‘Beautiful Ones’. I’m afraid the glory days are disappearing rather rapidly amidst a thick smog of grey clouds. Less a ‘Slow Attack’ more a heart attack!
NYC synth-pop five-piece Zambri are fronted by a swathe of beauty. It comes in the form of sisters Jessica and Cristi Jo Zambri on vocals. Where some may liken them instantly to Siouxsie for their spasmodic wails, a more immediate representation springs to the fore in Kasms Rachel Callaghan with her doomed bellows, which hunch neatly over the sisters vocals (refer to title track ‘Bang For Changes‘). However, their vocal versatility points frantically like a speedometer of a car accosted for a joy ride, pointing to many various other artists. This, their debut EP is formed upon a montage of industrial drums, sporadic rhythmic structures and an underlining pop sensibility amidst their punk proficiency. And as you stalk further into the EP, the influences gush out; Kate Bush and Enya-isms in ‘Let It Said’ and ‘Somebody’. The more electro enthused ‘Get Dressed’ adheres to the contemporary mass electro pushers out there. With the Zambri sisters enthusing their music with sometimes angelic, sometimes yowling vocals on a bed of apocalyptic synths, its a blend that may not seem palatable on record, but these sisters have an action plan and works better live. It’s not startlingly brilliant music but a mere introduction into NYC’s latest sister act nonetheless.
It’s all so fuckin’ bleary-eyed, in the world of LA trio Gliss’ devotion to aching, lingering fuzzed shoegazing and it’s wholly reminiscent of My Bloody Valentines ear shattering clamour. Yet this, floats along a little less raucously. Although they could hardly be dismissive of their musical roots either! It’s shoegazing ethics are primal, distorted and fuzzed up guitars bellow out municipal noise but maybe it’s worth considerably more admiration that has currently been tossed their way- this being Gliss‘ third studio album. The torment is obvious in the fractured structures and thwart lyrics, the effects pedal worn to the metal, languid purrs by Martin Klingman and Victoria Cecilia of broken souls- no more than in their crackingly hazy onslaught opener ‘Morning Light’. And for you bleary-eyed post rock/pysch mongers out there ‘Sleep’, like the title, may induce just that, exhibiting innate soothing riffs, it has a backbone of a mellower Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. ‘Beauty’ submerges itself in a little more affluence than the morbidity of the other aforementioned walls of sound that immerse any flicker of vocal prevalence. ‘Lovers In The Bathroom’s toned down, and sublime guitar parts, culminate in the bands best album to date. Simply no implosion here.
Codeine Velvet Club have got me calling call Hollywood ‘Tinseltown’, name checking Old Blue Eyes and telling strangers in bars that, back in the day, you never had to worry about a dead hooker in the pool so long as you knew the right people. A side project of Fratellis’ front man Jon Lawler and singer-songwriter Lou Hickey, CVC make a spirited attempt to annex the swath of retro musical territory stretching from noir to Nancy Sinatra. The band’s opening thrust – their panzer strike through the Ardennes, if you will – gets things off to a cracking start. This reviewer’s favourite track, ‘Hollywood’, is a punchy number oozing silver screen delight and film noir charm that serves as a sort of manifesto for the rest of the homage-heavy album. Hard on its heels comes the probably-just-as-good-now-I-come-to-think-of-it ‘Vanity Kills’, a Broadway-style show tune that ups the swing and smooch factor with lines like “Life’s a roll of the dice/But you’ll pay the price/When that curtain falls”.
‘All My Mistakes’ is a thoroughly pleasant ‘best of’ album from Faroe Islands born singer / songwriter Teitur Lassen. The tracks collected here mostly come from his previous three albums, which were not released in the UK. Opening well with ‘Don’t Want You To Wake Up’, Teitur establishes his understated, stripped back acoustic folk stylings, with a melancholic turn of phrase and light and uplifting melodies. ‘Louie Louie’ is a gently rolling number with a world weary feel that captures the more atmospheric side side of Teitur’s work. The album overall is slightly let down by a number of soft and unchallenging pop numbers, such as ‘One & Only’ and ‘You’re The Ocean’, which are both guilty of riding first class on the cheese express. “Love is somewhere in between what you believe and what you dream” Anyone? Once my urge to drink bleach had subsided, a couple of other nice numbers popped up. ‘Boy She Can Sing’ is also good, but the most innovative track by quite a way is ‘Catherine The Waitress’, which has a more upbeat Belle & Sebastian feel. With some atmospheric instrumental touches and a gentle, singing voice, there are more decent songs than mistakes with Teitur’s work. Unfortunately, he occasionally slips across the border to cheese town and almost tricks you into following.
