Tags: The Low Anthem @ Union Chapel

To mark the album release of ‘Oh My God, Charlie Darwin’ on Bella Union, the Union Chapel was treated to a captivating performance by multi-instrumentalist Americana three piece The Low Anthem, with impressive support slots from Gemma Ray and Snowbird.

Gemma Ray opened well, with a selection of covers and solid sounding tracks from her new album. The highlight being a superb cover of Etta James ‘I’d Rather Go Blind’. Snowbird consists of former Cocteau Twin and Bella Union chief Simon Raymonde on piano and curious conveyer of ethereal oddness, Stephanie Rosen, on vocals & guitar. The former Massive Attack singer swept the crowd along with a beguiling vocal performance and a childlike giggling charm. Beneath her playful ramblings on the subject of ‘witch flavoured’ chewing gum and other general dithering, Rosen is clearly a poised and accomplished performer.

A spellbinding set from The Low Anthem took the audience through blasts of dirty railroad blues-rock and rippling cornfield soundscapes in a powerful, subtle and hypnotic performance. As this current wave of new Americana hits the UK, The Low Anthem will be among the first on shore. A tangible atmosphere was created in the Union Chapel, with outstanding, in-depth performances of slower, mellower numbers like ‘Ohio’, ‘To the Ghosts Who Write History Hooks’ and ‘Ticket Taker’, a hushed crowd was transfixed.

Dirty Seasick Steve-esque alt-blues numbers, such as ‘The Horizon Is A Beltway’ and ‘Home I’ll Never Be’ demonstrated, in a similar way to Arcade Fire, how The Low Anthem are able to switch effortlessly from layered instrumentals with sophisticated melodies to scruffy, energetic rock. With Ben Knox Miller leading on vocals, Jeff Prystowsky and Jocie Adams made up the trio. They switched instruments throughout, with organ, harmonica, double bass, horn and a bunch of other instruments that frankly, I’d never seen before. The Low Anthem have a rich and varied repertoire, injecting the dusty, rusty, roots of American folk with vivacious new life.

Tags: London, Slow Club @ ICA

So I’m running late for the gig and I aint in the best of moods, works shit but its work I suppose, the Glastonbury ticket never arrived (couldn’t afford it) and the prospect of facing the fast approaching future in debt and despair is frankly not what I signed up for.

So I get to the gig only to find the girl that I am bringing down as my plus one (long term friend, new found love) is not my plus one because I don’t have a plus one (thanks editor!) so I do whatever self respecting lying cheating scoundrel does and tell her to wait outside while I work my silver tongue magic on the unsuspecting, unsettling and downright unnerving looking women on the door.

‘Your cool as fuck, your cool as fuck, your cool as fuck your cool as fuck’ the mantra in my head repeats over and over until I reach my destination, roll up my sleeves and beam a big beaming grin at the aforementioned dragon. Honestly readers this aint George and the Dragon but Chris and the bitch because she turns me down quicker than a tramp looking for a lap dance. So faced with the option turning up empty handed to my date…. to protect her modesty lets call her…….. Fiona. I swallow my ever demising pride and buy her a ticket. This is all forgotten when I suavely saunter outside holding two tickets to Slow Club at the ICA.

Before I tell you about the gig a word must be said for the ICA and apart from its staffing policy I can’t fault it. It’s perfectly position in the shadow of the palace just on the left as you parade up the mall. The night is one of those perfect summer evening where London just looks beautiful and you forget about crunches and crack heads. So after getting drinks at the bar (pint for me and a white wine for the lady Fact fans) we head into the gig.

Now I hate sweating I find it repulsive and the thought it has just made me gag on my red stripe but I put up with it in certain situations and this is one of them. The walls are sweating tonight but the people inside are just to fucking nice for it to be a problem. Not in a nice Coldplay way but in a way that in every group of mates you have a muso friend (John in mine fact fans) who likes good music and is just an all round nice person. Well every last checked shirted bastard in this place might as well be called John (I shout it to do an impromptu test and three people turned round) and that’s the world Slow club inhabit and its lovely.

They start the gig by coming in from the doors and ripping into the b–side of their new single ‘Wild Blue Milk’ right there in the middle of the floor and those big beaming grins are back but on everyone’s faces not just mine this time. There fucking brilliant Slow Club and I can’t put my finger on why they are but they are, maybe it’s the self deprecating Yorkshire charm, maybe it’s the between song stories of parking fines or maybe, fluff lines or just the tunes. The rollicking and rousing drums of Rebecca and Charles’ guitar strings shuffle just fit and before you know it you’re a signed up soldiers of the Slow Club army.

The reason we are all here tonight varies I imagine, but the main reason is the launch of the single ‘It Doesn’t Have To Be Beautiful’ a great single by a great band and I urge nay, I implore you stop reading this piffle and go and buy it!

Tags: Enter Shikari @ Heaven, London

At 7pm Enter Shikari begin their showcase of their sophomore album ’Common Dreads’. With only a smidgen of alcohol passing the lips of the audience and this early showing, some may have thought that this could lend to a sombre atmosphere, they couldn’t have been much more wrong. With indie scamps aplenty, the avid adolescent following of Enter Shikari were the size of a small sweaty army. Near on immediately, a whirlpool of flailing arms and half naked torso’s swirled somewhat aggressively around the venues floor.

And it was a humbling moment for the St Albans amalgamates, morphing their screamo, rock, drum n’ bass and techno together, and more importantly surprisingly well to my amazement. Well at least I, were to be the only one to doubt their furious beats. Rou Reynolds does his now highly publicized, unintentional impression of Mike Skinner sublimely well. The new songs are delivered with aggression yet superb tightness, none more than new single ‘Juggernauts’ that has the collage of young scrotes moshing like little shits around me, my watching eyes looking out for any pre-pubescent twat that may whisk me off my feet at any moment. But fortunately I was not to be pulled into the ungodly cauldron of sweat.

The drum n’ bass of ‘Zzzonked’ is a refulgent barrage of serrated beats and ‘The Jester’ has equal oomph in their set. I never thought it would happen but, tonight, Enter Shikari have categorically and resoundingly won me over with their hallucinogenic onslaughts and abrasive soundscapes. Why thank you boys, I will more than likely enter your world again!

Tags: Manchester, Oasis @ Heaton Park

When significant musicians announce plans to perform in their home cities, the rumblings of ‘homecoming concert’ excitement immediately start up among their fans. When the announcement is made by Oasis, the anticipation descends not only upon those lucky enough to acquire tickets, but anyone who hears the news. The general consensus is that an Oasis homecoming gig is sure to be one of those events which will forever be inscribed on history’s musical calendar. It just seems that when the Manchester veterans of Britpop return to play in said city, they genuinely feel that they are home, sweet home. This shared feeling of joy between band and fan is what inspired the electric atmosphere at Saturday’s Heaton Park performance.

The 70,000-strong crowd, some decked out in wellies and macs; others not so fortunate, were undeterred by the sopping mud and ongoing threat of more torrential rain. Nothing could have dampened the fact that this was Oasis’s biggest gig since Knebworth thirteen years ago. Nothing, that is, except for maybe a repeat performance of the chaos at Thursday’s opening show. ‘Technical difficulties’ caused the band to exit the stage twice before being forced to offer refunds to the irate gatherers-but that was an unlikely prospect in the minds of this fresh gathering of expectant supporters. Everyone had already had more than their money’s worth with stellar performances from support acts Free Peace, Twisted Wheel, The Enemy and Kasabian, but the energy on-site wasn’t about to wane just yet.

Despite earlier downpours, the afternoon had miraculously managed to stave off further drenchings, and by the time Oasis arrived on-stage at 8.45 to a roaring version of ‘Rock And Roll Star’, the adrenaline was at an all-time peak. The ground had been newly divided with barriers and security staff to minimize any moshpit-style crushings during the main act; though the majority of the songs still brought bring near-death for the more vertically-challenged. The more recent hit ‘Lyla’ followed up the opening track and, via another mass singsong, proved its credentials as a classic that stands up among the best of them. The even more recent ‘I’m Outta Time’ later brought a stunning performance from Liam, and showed that when he bothers to swagger onto the stage to take the limelight, he can still deliver beautifully. His other self-penned gem ‘Songbird’ equally displayed the lairy frontman’s softer side. Noel provided some outstanding solo pieces himself, with ‘The Masterplan’ and ‘Half the World Away’ returning comparable awe as he took to his chair centre-stage.

The sweetness of those more tender tracks was as usual interspersed with the energy of the more vigorous anthems. ‘Roll With It’, ‘Cigarettes And Alcohol’, ‘Live Forever’ and ‘Supersonic’ saw the jubilance and inevitable thrashing around which has come to be expected of these celebrated masterworks. The sound seemed slightly indistinct on a couple of occasions; the throng of would-be Noels became a little confused over the words to ‘The Importance Of Being Idle’ when the audio grew suddenly vague. There were also frequent warnings to wear hoods over heads due to certain audience members apparently urinating into cups then flinging them. These were only slight blemishes though which did nothing to tarnish proceedings, and the euphoric mass of spectators could not have been happier as the foursome returned for the encore.

‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’ marked their return, and Noel served up another rousing performance which prompted misty eyes from even the most sweaty and lager-soaked gentlemen. ‘Falling Down’ and ‘Champagne Supernova’ followed, as the melancholy of the night’s approaching end began to pervade all. Finally, the now-familiar show finale of The Beatles’ ‘I Am The Walrus’ ensured that the assembly of admirers were reluctantly ushered from the park on a high, with an almost complete feeling of satisfaction. It was permeated only by the deep longing for the boys not to leave it so long to make history again.

Tags: London, The Gaslight Anthem & Mando Diao @ HMV Forum

After a sterling opening from Swedish rockers Mando Diao- admittedly having walked in two songs from the end- the HMV Forum is packed to its picturesque rafters. Their set closer ‘Dance With Somebody’ had the crowd formatively moving their limbs in accordance to these young rockers.

…But really there’s only one reason why we’re here, isn’t there? To see the most coveted band of 2009; The Gaslight Anthem. The buzz that’s surrounding this New Jersey quartet is somewhat vast, yet, wholly deserved for their explosive bursts of anthemic tunes, soulful streams of beatific punk at it’s most potent and their heartfelt blues that makes your heart skip two beats, not just one. They’ve been taken to the American hearts as the predecessors of a certain Bruce Springsteen, they already have a job on their hands to meet the hype that they are being greeted with after second album ‘59 Sound’.

Brian Fallon has always come across a ostensible, working class, humble fella, and tonight is no exception- a beaming smile engulfs his face as a raucous ovation bellows from the belly of the Forum, as he emerges from behind the curtain. And his smile widens further as he sees the venues packed with TGA fans and Springsteen fans awaiting a look at their idols successors. Atmospherically, this is probably the height of what I, personally, have ever experienced at this historic venue. And, haven’t been quite this excited about a gig for many a year.

And, yes, it does take the guys a couple of songs to hit their peak. But once the opening riff of ‘Old White Lincoln’ swirls around the venue, it culminates in mass madness and they’ve arrived. As eagerly anticipated this has been, this is the time for catharsis, and all inhibitions are lost in a moment. ’59 Sound’ begins and it’s a continual snowball effect, rolling guitars and sumptuous rock vocals “The chains I’ve been hearing for most of life, did you hear the ’59 Sound coming from your Grandfather’s radio” seemingly blurted out of everyone’s mouths, to the amusement of Fallon.

A cover of ‘Stand By Me’ morphs into ’Miles Davis & the Cool’ triumphantly causing communal waves of joy within the crowd. Their a raggedy bunch though; Fallon emblazoned with tattoo’s; Alex Levine’s jolting and robotic jerks mimics Sacha Baron Cohen’s character Bruno, he like Bruno, clearly holds himself in high esteem; Alex Rosimillia hunches over his guitar throughout with his mane cover his face. But it‘s not about the aesthetics of The Gaslight Anthem, it goes much deeper than that.

They’ve got the songs (’Great Expectations’, ’The Patient Ferris Wheel’, ’High Lonesome’) there is no doubt. This summer is sure to be all about the prophetic rise of The Gaslight Anthem. My voice has left me, but, The Gaslight Anthem have not…Absolutely, categorically, one of the best bands ever to perform in front of my eyes. Mesmerising!

Tags: London, Teitur @ ICA

After being completely bowled over by Teitur’s second album ‘The Singer’ I waited with in trepidation in the ICA for the arrival of one the Faroe Isles greatest export to adorn us with his presence. And it was with that fear -that he may not match up to the pedestal standings, that I have so openly purveyed him worthy of to people- that I duly hoped he would live up to the album he so astutely and meticulously created.

Ambling onstage with his band, Teitur looked fearful of the audience that eagerly gazed his way. He was wearing braces upon his nimble frame, a jumper that was slightly pulled out of shape from a “touring-potbelly” that Teitur seems to have developed and his usual ashen skin still looks in great need of a couple hours of the sun‘s attention. But deep down it was inevitable that this night was going to be special!

‘We Drink The Same Water’ is the first song that really grips the audience and is performed with consummate ease, yet beautifully exquisite and thankfully not over-blown. The introduction of a string section begins with an attempt at a rendition of Jerry Lee Lewis’ ’Great Balls Of Fire’ only at somewhat slower grinding pace, played in the minor key, with Teitur unable to keep a straight face as croons out the chorus.

The upbeat ‘Catherine The Waitress’ dabbles in a shift of pace, yet still ultimately delectable. The minimalist ’Singer’ focuses as much on Teitur’s voice as the reverb of the buzzing cello that’s played by the side of him. “I sing because I want to be loved” he finishes with, well tonight Teitur is loved by everyone in the ICA. An intimate insight into the make-up of this Faroe Islander, culminating in a completely captivating live show.

Tags: London, The Muscle Club & Wet Paint @ The Old Blue Last

If this review was to have been a sandwich – the nourishing slices of bread being Tom Stock and Wet Paint, with Welsh four piece The Muscle Club in the vital role of the oh-so-tasty filling. But the best laid plans o’ mice an’ men gang, as you’ve probably noticed yourself, aft agley, with my carefully crafted metaphor getting bent irrevocably out of shape by a barmaid’s confident assurance that the gigs never start before nine. ‘Oh really,’ he said, voice laden with sadly retrospective sarcasm, ‘Izzatso?’ Well, goddamn my loathsome tardiness, because a subsequent visit to the internets reveals Tom Stock to be indie guitar strummery draped with surprisingly delicate estuary-tinged vocals; nothing earth shattering, but a pretty fine start to an evening.

The other slice of bread in this – I guess now open-faced – sandwich was a more rocked-up outfit by the name of Wet Pain; three bearded guitar-wielders and a zebra dress wearing girl on drums. While songs such as ‘Hug It Out’ showed off Wet Paint’s grunge colours, there was something distinctly homegrown – Britpop even – about ‘Don’t Shave’ and the rather excellent ‘It Rots’. Kudos also to the bassist who spent much of the set with his back to the audience à la Mark E. Smith, giving my plus one, The Blonde Midfielder, ample time to study his half-uncovered boxers.

Even for the BM, however, the night’s main attraction was undoubtedly The Muscle Club, and it gives me a warm fuzzy feeling to report that the Welsh lads were stone cold awesome. Playing songs from their upcoming EP ‘Fragmented Ideas From Young Lungs’ plus a few new ‘uns, The Muscle Club sound an awful lot like fellow Cardiffistas Los Campesinos. There’s even a similarity in song naming, with the kick-ass catchy ‘Alright! Okay! You win!’ echoing the latter’s ‘You! Me! Dancing!’. But to write vocalist Michael Bateson-Hill, guitarist Matthew Hitt, bassist Ceri Jones and drummer Jordan Hayward off as Los C. wannabes would be drenched in wrong – tunes like ‘Damn These Circumstances’, ‘Be Glad You’re Neurotic’, ‘Hail Joe Hale’ and ‘Ithaca’ are more than capable of standing on their own two feet.

It’s always a good sign when you have that ‘I wish they’d played one more’ feeling, and it was present in spades at the Old Blue Last. They must be putting something in the water in Cardiff these days

Tags: London, The Ettes @ Buffalo Bar

As cramped as the Buffalo Bar is, as dingy and, its downright grotty littered walls with stickers and beer soaked plaster falling to the floor- you can’t help but think it’s architecture has been meticulously devised to house bands like The Ettes. And they pack a devastating punch. The Ettes show is exactly what my system needed to get over a tedious day!

As the ArtRocker night proceeded, another bland all girl electro band plays and pass, never stepping out of the boundaries to make any lasting impression, in fact their name cannot even be dissected from my memory. But this is all about Los Angeles trio The Ettes tonight, and their steely licks and brash punk bravado, not a nondescript wailing all girl band.

The Ettes Lindsay ‘Coco’ Hames streams sublimely tort vocals that would have befitted CBGB’s way back when the streets of NYC were paved with drunks, clothes-horsed-model-artsy types but more importantly a bunch of potent musicians that influenced many musician that ply their trade now. Everything about The Ettes seems to fit this artistic mould.

There’s a distinct whiff of feminism tonight, that not only stops at Coco and drummer Maria ‘Poni’ Silver but Jeremy ‘Jem’ Cohen (the only man in the band) seemingly camps up the stage, although maybe not wholly intentionally. But, his strong bass lines are studiously carried out all night, so we can maybe forgive him.

Their set paddles through the infectious ’You Can’t Do That To Me’ and ’I Get Mine’ evokes memories of classic 60s rock buffered by Coco’s sassy and soulful howls. ’No Home’ has Jem’s hugging fuzzed-up basslines yet again proving potent fixture in The Ettes sound. And ’I Ain’t You’s once again is all about Coco’s sublime vocal input.

And overall The Ettes are as arty as a Shoreditch twat with thick rimmed glasses who has 20/20 vision, they’re slick garage punk purveyors and we love them. Its just not sure that they would be as effective outside the dingy indie bars they currently frequent at this time. As they rock venues like the Buffalo with consummate ease and style!

Tags: Lipstick & Guitars Tour @ Ginglik, London

The dungeon, otherwise known as the Ginglik or its previous incarnation as Shepherds Bush public toilets, was last Tuesday teeming with oestrogen, tattoos and cocktail dresses for the first leg of the Lipstick & Guitar Tour featuring Nell Bryden, Lana, Gabby Young and Kat Flint.

The slapdash venue was strangely enticing with Christmas lights twinkling under a billowing ceiling of red silk, a mob of guitar cases stacked in the corner and the classic disco searchlights that blighted most of our salad-day snogs. However, the sound system was expertly pitched for these four wildly different artistes.

Kat Flint, the poetical Scottish folk singer and her ‘stolen’ band were sent on as the fluffers. Flint shyly prattled between songs but was only confident when she plucked her guitar and sang like the love child of Judy Collins and Damien Rice. Although the stage was generously sized, Flint’s band squeezed into the tightest semi-circle they could muster while her cellist sat incognito behind her.

Flint’s vocal control was flawless while her tank-topped and bearded percussionist and pianist provided Beach Boy castrato harmonies. The pace remained pensively measured but mercifully picked up during the toe-tapper ‘Lazybones’. Flint’s most powerful song of the evening was a solo performance of ’Your Heart And Mine’ while her backing band looked mournfully at the floor.

Gabby Young was a different metaphorical kettle of fish with bright red hair and a décolletage of pearls that provided their own percussive appeal. Her Amish-attired band sat in a circle, as if prepared for a rehearsed reading, while Young effortlessly spiralled the scales with her classical-trained vox, satirical lyrics and rambunctious backing surround of trombone, trumpet and banjo. Young blends Brighton kitsch with Cossack gusto. Where her quirky style belongs is anybody’s guess but it certainly deserves a headline slot in the Spiegel tent with a floor full of audience members linking arms and spinning like whirling dervishes.

The third act of the evening was Lana, a chimera of Amy Winehouse and a Council Estate with a big fuck-off white electric guitar, fearless comic ability and a spangly mini dress from a circa 1984 wedding. Her lyrics were jaw-droppingly simple from ‘liar liar telling lies, lies, lies’ to (and would you believe it) ‘Don’t Call Me Baby’. But in spite of her austere lyrics, bribing the audience with free CDs to incite them to dance and the most cardinal of all, audience participation, Lana’s mix of Latino rock and blues and full-frontal boldness placed her in a different league altogether.

Finally New Yorker Nell Bryden took up the stage with a cool-cat Hammond organist for company, a drummer who bore an uncanny resemblance to Javier Bardem in ‘No Country For Old Men’ and a double bassist who appeared to be humping his elephantine instrument throughout. Straight from the Percy Sledge school of Country Soul, Bryden unequivocally proved just how effortless and polished live performance could be.

Every member of Bryden’s band was unashamedly and genuinely invested in the music he or she was producing. Even Bryden’s rock-chick hair-swishing, hip-swinging and shoulder-shrugging dance routine seemed fitting and unpretentious as she breezed through the tracks of her new album.

With thrilling blasts of tempo, Bryden’s vocal fluency and ability to glide through the scales and the genres from western-swing in the opener ‘Tonight’, to gospel-country in ‘Helen’s Requiem’ to honky tonk in the finale ‘Late Night Call‘, I had to resign myself to being hopelessly impressed.

The band order for the night was entirely befitting and in accordance with the evolutionary trajectory of man, whereby each successive band produced a bigger sound, bigger instruments and a bigger personality than the last.

Despite the makeshift construction of the stage, the smattering of fold-away chairs and decor that was more akin to my own attempts to throw a house party, I couldn’t help but feel charmed by this underground grotto.

The girl at the door explained to me that the martial arts-obsessed owner named the venue Ginglik after the kung-fu term which means ‘an unstoppable force’. Given the calibre of the song-writing and performances delivered by Flint, Young, Lana and Bryden and their refreshingly dissimilar styles, I can only conclude that this venue was aptly baptised.

Tags: Ladyhawke @ Koko, London

So first of all, I’d like to clear this up: Ladyhawke is FIT. Now that’s off my chest I can continue… I arrived late at Koko and only had about 5 minutes to settle until she came on – at this point there was a buzz in the air, but that seemed to be instantly quelled as soon as she took the stage. Her first song ‘Magic’ seemed somewhat flat – as did the crowd. Why couldn’t she have waited until later to play it!? Anyway, the flatness was emphasised when after a couple of songs she said “Thanks for coming, and thanks for talking”. Fair enough – what a lame crowd! Fuck me, all these people paid good money to see her and they can barely even lift one foot off the ground!

Anyway, the further the set went on, the more she settled and the more the crowd duly responded. And, what a show it turned out to be. Obviously she had to go through her album fillers, but them, combined with a couple of cheeky covers (Britney’s ‘Womanizer’ and a Patti Smith song – the name of which escapes me), soon got the place rocking. So, at the end when it came to ‘My Delirium’, everyone was sent quite literally delirious. There were even some token pyrotechnics thrown in for good measure.

One thing is for sure; Ladyhawke is not a born performer. She has a nervy, almost awkward stage presence. However, despite this and the wooden crowd, she managed to pull off a good show and sent everyone home feeling happy.