Tags: Hell Yeah Records, Umek
Record Label: Hell Yeah Records
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Umek – or Umek The Exorciser as he used to be called – is Techno royalty. He’s been producing proper, no-nonsense bangers for years. This ‘mix tape’ that he’s compiled for Hell Yeah Records sounds like something taken straight out of a dirty, squatty, illegal warehouse rave somewhere in Hackney and comes jam-packed with cheeky surprises such as unexpected builds, hi-hats, snares, drops and bass lines – whipping you into a frenzy with the greatest of ease. This is certainly one for the techno enthusiasts out there. The only downside of this mix is that by comparison, the end section doesn’t live up to the beginning but that shouldn’t stop you from checking it out. All hail King Umek The Exorciser.
Like a tentatively worded remark on a school report, perhaps the nicest thing I can say about this release from The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart (TPOBPAH) is that it shows some potential. Lead track `Higher Than The Stars` will stick in your head, and is a genuinely catchy, if slightly twee, indie tune. Things go quickly downhill after that, as Kip Berman’s occasionally interesting lyrics are lost under bland blankets of sound. Limp acoustic guitars play host to the lovelorn couplets of `Falling Over`, a song which follows the winning formula that Black Kids laid out in 2008, only not so convincingly. `103` sounds like the pre-programmed `Euro-Disco` beat off of an old Yamaha keyboard. Intermittent synth flourishes liven things up throughout the EP, recalling early Grandaddy or Lemon Jelly, but it’s not enough to stop me dozing off by the halfway point of each track. What was maybe intended as exploratory has ended up being boring for the listener. It could be down to the flat production but I’m left wondering how Brooklyn, the scintillating home of Santogold, the Beastie Boys and Jay Z, spurned a band so humdrum. Sorry TPOBPAH, but I’m yet to be charmed.
Staten Island quartet Cymbals Eat Guitars are Wayne Coyne’s (The Flaming Lips) latest bosom buddies, and very much like their dream maker talisman, CEG project you into their wonderment of freak-out instrumental blasts in which the cymbals don’t actually disembowel the guitars, just occasionally drown them out. Their name was born from a Lou Reed quote. And musically they do tramples through rummaging distortion much like Velvet Underground, a wide-eyed scope of coloured guitars, DIY hazy arrangements that usually conclude in a cacophony of noise. Their crescendo’s are grandeur (‘Cold Spring’) their guitars often deafening, horns far too Bright Eyes-y (‘Share’) and peppered with a wave of reverb (‘And The Hazy Sea’) see CEG’s soon go from a steady temper to a boiling pot of melded clamour. Joe D’Agostino (head honcho) balances his soft overtures with his insane sporadic lunacy remarkably well. And with it pulling influences from Pavement and Arcade Fire too, ‘Why There Are Mountains’ soon grows on you like the slightly deranged child at school that you were compelled to learn more about. Cymbals Eat Guitars are that nutty adolescent, although I’m not sure anyone will figure out what’s in their heads. Compelling and fascinating music!
Flood Of Red: new heroes of British post-hardcore or whiney emo bitches? Yesterday, this reviewer would have plumped for the latter, but a second play through of the Airdrie sextet’s debut album ‘Leaving Everything Behind’ makes me glad that I hung fire. The main problem that my past, admittedly rather dickish, self had with the album still remains – there’s simply not enough variation between songs to sustain interest throughout all its 14 tracks. I may have the attention span of a 12-year-old mainlining Sunny D, but about five songs in I switched off mentally and just let Flood Of Red’s dense sound wash over me like waves of lukewarm porridge. Emo-charged lines like “I’m a candle that’s blown out” and “I’m so scared about everything” would occasionally elicit a hollow groan, but generally I was happy to let Flood Of Red bash away in the background while I surfed 4chan to find out what the basement dwelling wretches of |B| were up to.
Turning the mind is a painfully cheesy journey into ethereal singer/songwriter electronica. Oliver Huntemann co-produces and mixes parts of the album so it benefits somewhat from his production skills. He features on what is arguably the tune of the album – ‘Let Go Of The Fear’. This is a slightly more up-tempo electro tune, one to bob your head to – until, after singing “let go of the fear” Maps goes and spoils it by talking over the verses. That’s right – he talks. But not in a cool way; in a ‘we’re Pet Shop Boys and we’re so electro’ kinda of way. This album does have some nice moments and in parts it gets a bit dark and techno-y, but in other parts it sounds like something that Take That would come out with if they were to hijack some synths and drum pads. And what’s with the constant reference to drugs like Crystal Meth, Valium and Cocaine? Seriously – bragging about it ain’t cool. It’s an effort just to listen to this all the way through – in fact – I challenge you to try listening to it in its entirety without flicking through any of the tune’s. You can’t. Avoid.
Foreign Beggars return with a colourful third LP, continuing their amalgam of UK urban styles. In the same way that De La Soul crafted their multi-dimensional ‘3 Feet High and Rising’ back in 1989, Foreign Beggars have looted various genres and peppered it with an array of quirky rhyming that belies a more serious social commentary. All this is done with a dizzying plethora of guest contributors including Dr Syntax and Detroit’s, Guilty Simpson. Opener ‘Move Higher’ sets the tone as an uplifting soul-hop beat provides the sonic foundation for their matter of fact portrait of how things are right now. Subject matter continues with an earthy maturity, dealing with mortgages (‘Keep It Comin’), benefit dilemmas (‘Seven Figure Swagger’), and psychosis (‘Asylum Bound’) amongst other issues. All the while this is pulled off with an engaging array of fresh rhymes, often with a comical twist. The production is pretty minimal and crisp as of today’s major league standards, and sucks in a mix of electro, dub-step and grime. All round this is a very playable and solid LP that begs another listen or two. 
‘Departures’ starts with a promising opening as some light percussion leads into a pleasant enough track ‘Let’s Run’, which as it developed, my boy-band pop heckles began to rise. Really, this album is a loosely-guised mainstream pop offering, which is more Ronan Keating than David Gray. There are a few interesting slights of percussion, piano, but overall, the indie cynic alarm bells sounded early and rang throughout. To be fair, John Garrison’s ‘Departures’ is well put together, and will find a audience for it’s relaxing, everyday songs. But without a strong voice and no real spark of originality, the good flashes in better tracks such as in ‘Footprints’ and ‘Rendevous’ do not re-occur often enough and this album really doesn’t sound new or different. Though there is a track called ‘Cold Coffee’ which I guess could be used to advertise Starbuck’s. ‘Departures’ treads a well worn path fairly effectively, but gets stuck in clichéd expectation. Garrison, formely of British band Budapest, is not without musical talent, but this album is a pretty dull affair that slips past without really engaging you. Like Starbucks, I just don’t get it.
The Chemists’ debut begins with an excellent, unexpected introduction from Richard E. Grant. What follows, is a concise collection of thirteen accomplished indie rock numbers. As test tubes bubbled with green, noxious liquids and goat embryo’s floated in formaldehyde, The Chemists slaved away in their Bristol laboratory. As lightning struck, the y fitted together a torso made up of The Wedding Present, The Music, Maximo Park and Eagles of Death Metal, attached the limbs of a potent drummer and fine guitarists , then bolted on a misshapen British head, full of forceful power chords and fine, cynical lyrics. Finally, Mungo the hunchback servant brings the still beating heart of American rock, the beast is sewn together, lightning strikes and ‘The Theories of Dr Lovelock’ is alive! The key to this album’s success is it’s relentless tempo. Though perhaps lacking in subtlety, this is a good rock album. Complemented by punch and energy, and the ability to vary and experiment with some exciting guitar distortion and deliver reliably above-average song writing. ‘This City’ and ‘Milk and Honey’, ‘Radio Booth’ and ‘Hot in That’ are all strong offerings that help tie the album together, and will no doubt work well live. The one slower number ‘Waiting’ has a heady, Sonic Youth feel to it, with echoing vocals and a sublime bassline, more of this sort of thing would have been great. A little gem at the end of the album is a cracking cover of Britney Spears ‘Toxic’. If you hear and like any of The Chemist’s stuff, then you will thoroughly enjoy this album.
For this offering the charismatic world genre-busting genius packages a live EP and DVD for his avid entourage. It encapsulates the spirit and overwhelming joy which his music brings to the people. Spanish guitars, piercing vocals from Chao from his sold out world tour in which garnered him a Grammy nomination in the process whilst touring ‘La Radiolina’ is truly sublime. The four songs on this EP are taken from the live show in the famous Roman Amphitheatre in Bayonne. They include; ‘Clandestino’, ‘Rainin’ In Paradize’, ‘Mr Bobby’ and ‘L’Hiver Est La’. From one of the most captivating artist the world has to offer at the minute, this cannot be missed!
