DaveAxbey is a minor character who became a series regular in season two. A London-based journalist and entertainment industry PR guy, he is depicted as a genre-savvy geek obsessed by videogames, anime and indie music. Tags: Belle & Sebastian, Codeine Velvet Club, Jon Lawler, Lou Hickey, The Fratellis
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”.
Seriously, serve up these songs on Radio One for long enough and fedora sales would skyrocket. But don’t all rush off to buy shares in Acme Hats Inc. quite yet, because the snag with CVC is that they’re essentially a novelty act – and novelty can get old real fast. ‘Reste Avec Moi’ could be a Kinks’ soundtrack for a hip French film, ‘Like A Full Moon’ is a song that The Coral never quite got round to writing, while ‘Nevada’, orchestrated by Belle & Sebastian’s Mick Cooke, has a woozy romantic beauty. However, this whistle-stop genre tour means that the album never quite breaks free from pastiche. It’s difficult to dislike Lawler and Hickey’s rummage through the musical equivalent of a dressing-up box, but ‘Codeine Velvet Club’ sounds like a parlour game in a way that Amanda Palmer’s Weimar burlesque and Luke Haines’ acidic 1930s anti-nostalgia somehow manage to avoid. I bet CVC had fun making this album and I certainly enjoyed listening to it, but in the end ‘Codeine Velvet Club’ is like Gus Van Sant’s remake of ‘Psycho’ – glossy, well-produced and kinda pointless.
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.
Maybe there’s something in the air north of the border, but Scotland certainly seems to spawn more than its fair share of top notch indie bands. It’s a reputation that Copy Haho’s latest single ‘Wrong Direction’ does nothing to dent. Released courtesy of Too Pure – recently rejuvenated as a shiny new monthly singles label – ‘Wrong Direction’ is a satisfyingly skewed slice of old school alt-rock goodness. On paper it’s a pretty orthodox guitars ‘n’ drums affair, but once Joe Hearty’s fractured opening vocals have grabbed your attention there are enough angular rhythms and stutter steps to keep it ensnared for the rest of song’s smidge-over-three-minutes duration. ‘Wrong Direction’ leans more towards pop-rock than experimental avant garde, but there’s enough quirkiness and individuality to make Copy Haho stand out from the crowd – a quality shared by the band the four Stonehaven lads are currently supporting, Los Campesinos. B-side ‘Demons And Gods’ may not be quite as immediately catchy as ‘Wrong Direction’ – I guess there’s a reason it’s the B-side – but the tune grows on you after a couple of listens and makes for a good companion piece. Coming hard on the heels of their pleasingly titled ‘Bred For Skills And Magic’ EP, Copy Haho’s latest single is another step in the right direction for a young band on its way up.
The first thought that springs to mind about Biffy Clyro is ‘Didn’t they have an album with a girl doing the two finger shuffle on the cover?’ Then comes ‘So what does their name actually mean?’ closely followed by ‘Hey, these guys kind of rock, don’t they?’ Just in case you’re the pub quiz type, the correct answers are ‘Yes’, ‘Fuck knows’ and ‘Yes again’. Leaving aside the exciting fields of onanism and etymology for the moment, it’s fair to say that Biffy Clyro’s new single ‘The Captain’ from the upcoming ‘Only Revolutions’ does indeed rock – but not in the way that I expected. In fact, this reviewer was deeply unprepared for the Ayrshire three-piece’s hearty yell of ‘WOH!!!’ followed by around three minutes of ridiculously over-the-top, anthemic bombast. With added horns. Now, I’m pretty sure the group will catch some flack from the fans over this song – at heart ‘The Captain’ is fairly mainstream, radio-friendly rock. There’s going to be accusations of selling out and tears before bedtime, I can tell. Point one: this is Biffy Clyro we’re talking about: it’s not as if Godspeed You Black Emperor! had just announced they were doing a Christmas single with Elton and Mariah. Point two: even if it is selling out, ‘The Captain’ is still a heapin’ helping of fun. It’s an explosive, infectious, energetic, vaguely defiant whoop to the heavens. It ends with a chorus of “Let’s lock Death away”, for God’s sake. It is like a few hundred dramatically moustachioed hussars snuck inside your head and threw all their hats in the air at the same time. And seriously, who wouldn’t want that to happen?
Those pure of heart with noble souls may not have heard of the Suicide Girls. They’re indie-inclined young ladies with enlightened views on raccoon-girl mascara, piercings, tattoos and the artistic value of getting nekkid in front of the camera. I mention them only because the Kate Walsh gig also seemed to be aimed, Trident missile-like, at my own particular fetishes. Female singer-songwriter with the voice of an angel? Check. Bittersweet love songs? Check. Deceptively simple arrangements? Once again, check. There was even cello accompaniment, for Christ’s sake.
Interesting fact: there’s a 12 second difference between the radio edit and album version of The Mojo Fins’ single ‘Always Now’ because they had to cut out a high-intensity barrage of such breathtaking obscenity that it would make even Joe Pesci void himself in an uncontrollable bout of fear and disgust. That’s not true, sadly – but wouldn’t it have been fun? You bet. Back in oh-so-mundane reality, however, those extra 12 seconds are filled with much the same gentle vocals, chimey guitars and ooh-wah melodies that saturate the rest of the Brighton band’s pleasant, if thoroughly conventional, lurve song. In fact, ‘Always Now’ is pretty mainstream stuff – you can see why The Mojo Fins went down well at Glastonbury – and your mileage will vary depending on how much of an insult you think ‘middle of the road’ is. Glass half full; the single is undoubtedly easy on the ears, possesses a certain sentimental charm and has enough of a folksy tinge about it to distinguish The Mojo Fins from all those other white boys with guitars, as St. John of Peel was wont to say. Glass half empty; you could hardly claim that it distinguishes them that much. This should be a good thing in terms of sales – after all, Coldplay may make the world’s most insipid music, but each night they sleep atop great piles of soft, yielding money – but this reviewer would personally prefer a bit more pep and ginger. There’s nothing wrong with The Mojo Fins, but if I can remember what ‘Always Now’ goes like tomorrow morning I’ll eat my stylish hat.
Here’s an exciting trivia fact to brighten your sad, tedious lives: indie five-piece Bastila took their name from a table football bar where they hung out during a holiday in the Czech Republic. This begs a number of questions. First off, why the fuck don’t we have something as awesome as ‘table football bars’ over here? Secondly, how tragically geeky is it that I assumed the name was lifted from a Jedi chick in the Knights of the Old Republic videogame? Lastly, we’re all busy people so could you cut out the whimsical shit and tell us if their new single, ‘Ghosts’, is any good? Well, yes. Yes, it is. Provided you don’t have an intense allergic reaction to all things post rock, then Bastila’s five minutes of guitar-laden shoe gazing definitely ticks all the boxes. ‘Ghosts’ could be the bookish older sister of a Eurodance floor filler, penning bittersweet poetry in her bedroom while her younger sibling is out on the town, knocking back the vodka and Relentless and pretending to be in Ibiza. Repetitive understated vocals and catchy, crystal clear guitar hooks stack to create a lushly hypnotic musical soundscape that draws the listener in and hugs them tight. Perhaps it’s ‘Ghosts’ dance-like qualities that explain why the pair of remixes accompanying the single are, for once, worth listening too – tweak the beat a little and our heroine can let her hair down and party with the best of them. Positioned at the popular, easily-accessible end of post rock, Bastila’s second single is like discovering a picture of an old girlfriend at the bottom of a drawer – comforting, nostalgic and ever so slightly melancholy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got something in my eye…
Fuck you Stricken City. I’ve listened to ‘Songs About People We Know’ four times in a row now to try and pick out a standout track, and it just ain’t happening. Hook-laden single ‘Pull Down The House’, which follows quirky acappella opener ‘Gifted’ and declares the eight track EP officially open, seems a good candidate until its catchy comrade ‘Small Things’ puts in an appearance. Then come ‘Killing Time’ and ‘PS’, both of which are on the right side of awesome, not to mention sub-two minute charmer ‘Sometimes I Love You’ and… well, you get the picture. London fourpiece Stricken City hit the mother lode of rich indie goodness and proceed to mine it diligently until the last note of Tori-Amos-meets-art-rock closing track ‘Terrible Things’ fades into the aether. ‘Songs About People We Know’ may not quite be album of the year stuff – Metric have already got that sown up, as far as a certain somebody is concerned – but it’s every which way to excellent and makes good on the promise shown by earlier singles ‘Tak O Tak’ and ‘Lost Art’. Nervy guitars, addictive bass and jauntily varied percussion are topped of by frontwoman Rebekah Raa’s distinctive vocals to create a sound that’s accessible without losing its alt credentials. Think Bow Wow Wow and Talking Heads tunes sweet talked into a naughty threesome by Bloc Party’s ‘This Modern Love’. If you’re a sucker for deliciously ramshackle post punk pop you should give ‘Songs About People We Know’ a try before Stricken City become the NME’s flavour of the month and everyone hitches a ride on the wagon.
You can see what fourpiece Sam And Me were going for with their debut album. Floaty melodic pop. Soulful reflective love songs. You Simon; me Garfunkel. And in places it works: ‘Sonic Boomerang’ sports cheery video game samples, ‘A Lying, Down Disposition’ is liltingly catchy, ‘Cloud Sounds’ has a disarming music box quality; ‘If I Fall, Can I?’ pokes its elfin little nose into the post-rock garden. ‘But Dave, you devilishly handsome young music critic,’ I hear you say. ‘If there’s so much to like, why the snarky tone?’ Well, the trouble is that ‘The Battle of Hemsby’ is less than the sum of its parts. Sure there are some sparkling moments, but the songs as a whole blend into one gooey indie mush; it’s like being gently smothered under a lorry load of marshmallow twists. If the lyrics were better I’d cut the tunes some slack, but while Sam And Me set out for a picnic at Lovable Wistfulness, they end up eating their sandwiches in a rubbish-strewn lay-by somewhere between Clumsy and Po-faced. “Around the day in 80 worlds”; “I’m sick and tired of always feeling tired and sick”; “Does working for The Man mean that much to everyone?” Honestly guys, until you start writing better lines I wouldn’t have them printed in the sleeve notes – it’s just handing ammunition to evil bastards like myself and begging to be shot. But if I’m being said E.B. it’s not because Sam And Me are just no good, it’s that they’ve got the potential to be so much more interesting. An extra sprinkling of standout moments, a thicker slice of oomph and ‘The Battle of Hemsby’ could have been a seriously fun album full of summery pop goodness. As it is, the album’s like candy floss from the faded seaside resort it references – sweet, soft and disappointingly insubstantial.
Back in 2005, British post rockers Engineers ruffled the calm waters of the indie scene with their eponymous debut album. Then they went Lord Lucan on us. Nada. Nothing. For four years. Now, having survived a prolonged bout of record label drama, the quartet is back with 13-track follow-up ‘Three Fact Fader’. As these lengthy gestation periods are often a cause for concern – Elastica, anyone? – I popped the wax cylinder on the trusty gramophone with a certain degree of trepidation. No need; if anything Engineers have upped their game during their enforced hiatus, adding a stronger rhythmic drive to their lush hippie-flavoured post rock. This is especially evident on two of the album’s stand-out tracks, ‘Sometimes I Realise’ and ‘Hang Your Head’ – accessible without being dumbed down; tunes that the polka dot hipster girls can move to. Other highlights include the majestic ‘The Fear Has Gone’, shimmering, Beach Boys-esque album closer ‘What Pushed Us Together’ and ‘Brighter As We Fall’, which the band build layer on layer, strip back and build up again into a shimmering tower of sound. One minute Engineers are reaching back to grab a slice of Haight-Ashbury – there’s an undeniably folksy quality to the vocals – and the next they’re knock, knock, knocking on the door of Krautrock. ‘Three Fact Fader’ is an intelligent, polished and (God forgive me) well-engineered work of art. But cramming bands into genres like veal calves is one of those brutal, stupid things that reviewers have to do, so let’s just say that Engineers have built the shoegaze album of the summer, and leave it at that.
