CSS + Justice, Leeds Uni, 02/12/07
One word for the Justice live experience – astonishing.
Surely it’s the point of support acts to be not as good as the headliner, to provide support, make the main act look better. It’s certainly been the case for pretty much every gig I’ve been to until now.
But never before have I seen a support just totally own it. This must have been booked months ago when situations were different. They should have gone on last. At the very least call it a joint headline. Justice tore the place down, and CSS watched on nervously from the balcony.
Their weapon of choice was a massive glowing bank of machinery, adorned which a giant glowing cross. The beats were punishing, horrendously loud pulses thundering out the speakers. Each thud was like a kick to the chest. You had to dance. It would only get worse if you didn’t.
D.A.N.C.E started out as a slow singalong, the room united, arms in the air, knowing what was around the corner. Cheeky little samples reared their head, Atlantis To Interzone’s siren-and-response making the most appearances. DNVO and Phantom upped the sonic crunch. One by one the crowd were realising that, yes, this is one of the most sensational gigs they have ever witnessed. Sweat was dripping from the ceiling. I was dancing like a twat. CSS were starting to regret this.
Never Be Alone started out life half a decade ago on Simian’s second album, a decent indie/electro crossover that probably would have got a lot more attention if it was released these days. But it missed the zeitgeist and got buried under Almost, But Not Quite. Then two French fashion kids entered their stabber of a remix into a magazine competition, and the rest is sticky dancefloors everywhere. So I guess it’s only right that they own this song now, it’s cry of WE! ARE! YOUR FRIENDS! an anthem for the day-glo children.
Waters Of Nazareth was almost painful, that song could start wars. Justice was served. Follow that...
If they had anyone else on before them, I’d be raving about CSS. But this was the third time I’ve seen them this year. The set was near identical, the new material wasn’t mindblowing, and there was a general air of “meh”. Still, they know how to put on a show. Off The Hook and Alala are always gonna get us moving. There was snow, ticker tape and dancing Christmas trees. Lets Make Love And Listen Death From Above is still a stormer. But they need some new tricks.
If Justice had headlined that night I probably would have flown home. You. Need. To. See. This. Band. Quite possibly the best performance I’ve seen this year, and that includes Arcade Fire at Glasto. And I don’t say that lightly.
Monday 3 December 2007
Tuesday 30 October 2007
Optimum Mathleticism
Foals, Leeds Cockpit, 5/10/07
Updates are going to be few and far between here at the moment. We had our house broken into a month ago and my laptop was pinched. Frustrating. Insurance bureaucracy is still causing me to ponce internet access off my housemates every now and again. But in the good news I’ve got and got myself a Proper Job so more gigs are on the cards. Unfortunately the manflu has just struck me down at the moment so I’ll be missing Super Furry Animals tonight and most likely British Sea Power tomorrow. Even had to give up my ticket to Annie Mac on Saturday. Gutted.
Anyway, before crime and the plague got in the way, I saw finally got to see Foals properly. A lost ticket caused most of the supports to be missed. I think we only caught the last three songs of Metronomy, but it was everything you wanted a electrowave support act to be. Catchy blips, giant lights attached to their chests and even a little synchronised dancing towards the end.
Something I’ve noticed about Yorkshire folk – they’re a bit proud of their postcode. Random moments of the evening would be punctuated with shouts of “YOOOORRRRKSHIIIIIIIIRRRRRE” in case we’d fallen asleep and thought we were still in Leicester. My company for the evening was actually from the Shire and just found it irritating.
Yet another over-long sound check later (why? I mean really, why?) and Foals finally shuffled on stage. They are geeks. Yannis stood side-on, rarely acknowledging the crowd with eye contact. What followed was an unrelenting assault in efficient rhythm-heavy Music To Dance To.
Yannis was at his most animated during his quest to climb the speaker stacks, which took three attempts. There was a look of solid and calm determination on his face.
In terms of variation there was nothing. Almost to the extent that theirs is one debut album I am not eagerly anticipating. I can imagine on record this collection of songs could sound quite dull. However, on stage they are brought to life. Equations and remainders, stream lined and tight. Who cares about the lack of variety when what is on show has such powerful rhythm that whatever available appendages can’t help but shake in time.
The songs rush by in haste. The closing triple pronged assault of Mathletics, Two Steps Twice and Hummer create a dance-off of silly proportions. Hummer sees the band disappear in a sea of kids invading the stage. It is undoubtedly their best song and a highlight of recent trips to the indie disco. It must be something to do with the right balance of cowbells, bleeps and shouting.
A closing air of mutual satisfaction. There was dancing for all.
Updates are going to be few and far between here at the moment. We had our house broken into a month ago and my laptop was pinched. Frustrating. Insurance bureaucracy is still causing me to ponce internet access off my housemates every now and again. But in the good news I’ve got and got myself a Proper Job so more gigs are on the cards. Unfortunately the manflu has just struck me down at the moment so I’ll be missing Super Furry Animals tonight and most likely British Sea Power tomorrow. Even had to give up my ticket to Annie Mac on Saturday. Gutted.
Anyway, before crime and the plague got in the way, I saw finally got to see Foals properly. A lost ticket caused most of the supports to be missed. I think we only caught the last three songs of Metronomy, but it was everything you wanted a electrowave support act to be. Catchy blips, giant lights attached to their chests and even a little synchronised dancing towards the end.
Something I’ve noticed about Yorkshire folk – they’re a bit proud of their postcode. Random moments of the evening would be punctuated with shouts of “YOOOORRRRKSHIIIIIIIIRRRRRE” in case we’d fallen asleep and thought we were still in Leicester. My company for the evening was actually from the Shire and just found it irritating.
Yet another over-long sound check later (why? I mean really, why?) and Foals finally shuffled on stage. They are geeks. Yannis stood side-on, rarely acknowledging the crowd with eye contact. What followed was an unrelenting assault in efficient rhythm-heavy Music To Dance To.
Yannis was at his most animated during his quest to climb the speaker stacks, which took three attempts. There was a look of solid and calm determination on his face.
In terms of variation there was nothing. Almost to the extent that theirs is one debut album I am not eagerly anticipating. I can imagine on record this collection of songs could sound quite dull. However, on stage they are brought to life. Equations and remainders, stream lined and tight. Who cares about the lack of variety when what is on show has such powerful rhythm that whatever available appendages can’t help but shake in time.
The songs rush by in haste. The closing triple pronged assault of Mathletics, Two Steps Twice and Hummer create a dance-off of silly proportions. Hummer sees the band disappear in a sea of kids invading the stage. It is undoubtedly their best song and a highlight of recent trips to the indie disco. It must be something to do with the right balance of cowbells, bleeps and shouting.
A closing air of mutual satisfaction. There was dancing for all.
Monday 6 August 2007
Lethal Drizzle
Moving house, lack of internet and general Stuff has kept me from posting this so far...
Glastonbury Festival, Worthy Farm, 22nd-24th June 2007
Watching Glastonbury on TV is like aliens looking at Earth from space. You get a sense of scale, it looks beautiful, confounding, like nothing else…but you really don’t have a clue what it’s like until you’re there.
It’s almost worth going just to cut through the mythology and cliché. In a way, after viewing what appeared to be a never-ending canvas metropolis on the small screen, it wasn’t long before it became A Festival Site, just like the others, with muddy paths and shit toilets. But of course this wasn’t like any of the others. This was the greatest festival on the planet, viewed from the sky or more traditional ground locations.
The bus journey down was a living hell. Cattle to the slaughterhouse get better rights than the eight hour journey we were put through. This was mainly down to “Steve” and his lack of festival site navigation. That and quite a few other people had heard about this little event and also wanted in.
To write a review about Glastonbury and only talk about the music would be repetitive and more than a little overdone. The following were seen, even in a vague context during some more comatose tent-based moments:
Reverend & The Makers, The Cribs, Modest Mouse, Good Shoes, Bright Eyes, Super Furry Animals, The Coral, Rufus Wainwright, Arcade Fire, Arctic Monkeys, Björk, Brakes, The Long Blondes, CSS, Klaxons, Pigeon Detectives, Babyshambles, Gruff Rhys (twice), Editors, Mr Scruff, The Holloways, The Enemy, Sunshine Underground, The Marley Brothers, The Rakes, The Go! Team, Jamie T, Chemical Brothers.
But some performances really need highlighting, and the finest was surely Arcade Fire. The matching uniforms, the bizarre swimming pool videos, the delicate apocalypse of instrumentation that completely hypnotised the audience into total devotion. Numerous biblical references that weave through their new album have turned Win Butler into a paranoid preacher, his wiry frame stuttering with fear and compassion. His band, his gang, fly and crash around him, with the percussionists losing none of their sense of self-mutilation. And the songs…being at the festival means I missed the television coverage, but if No Cars Go wasn’t used over the ending montage then something is wrong. Rebellion (Lies) can’t be put into words. And the closing chant of Wake Up was echoing around the crowd long after they left the stage.
Then for some unknown reason I pushed against the crowd for half an hour to go see Arctic Monkeys. Yes, the songs were all present and correct, but something was very unremarkable. Dizze Rascal’s appearance would have been a highlight had his microphone been switched on. So it was back to the Other Stage where I managed to catch the last five songs of Björk’s set, and wished I’d stayed for the whole thing. She is without comparison. Hyperballad never sounded more beautiful, and everyone left wanting to get hold of one of those electronic Tetris block tables that was abused during Declare Independence.
And thank fuck for The Go! Team, the one band that made me forget the rain, mud, piss and shit that surrounded me and, with the help of quite a bit of cider and gin, made me dance like a twat. With only two bands above them on the Other Stage, Ninja appeared truly humbled in front of the huge crowd that had gathered before them. Inexplicably sandwiched between (ugh) Mika and (ARGH) The View, it was fantastic to see the energy and bounce supplied by the shed load in the Arts Centre was switched to IMAX-sized enjoyment.
Honourable mentions must also go to Good Shoes, Pigeon Detectives and The Rakes for tight performances, to Jamie T for being as charming as always and to Gruff Rhys to admitting he was in a worse condition than anyone watching him.
Disappointments have to include Rufus Wainwright and the Chemical Brothers. Rufus was on fine banter form, but just playing his new so-so record in its near entirety isn’t the festival way. 14th Street and The Art Teacher were the only old songs we were treated to, but he does gain point for providing the first “moment” of the festival. He brought on Martha to perform a under-rehearsed yet sublime rendition of Hallelujah. And the Chemical Brothers not playing The Private Psychedelic Reel is just pointless.
A quick paragraph about the weather. Now I realise Dot To Dot’s winter conditions were just toughening me up for the main event. There was a imbecilic piece in the NME that basically said “why was there mud?” You’re in a field. It rained. That makes mud. And really, you’ve got a waterproof, you’ve got your Wellington boots, you’ve got a shitload of booze, what’s the problem? I can’t say I noticed it after a few cans. For the first few days we were lucky, only in the sense that after it shat it down for half an hour it was then dry for the rest of the day. Only Sunday was a downer with its unrelenting drizzle. The worst came on Monday, eviction day, when the showers just wouldn’t stop. The muddy path that had doubled in size since I pitched my tent next to it had formed a free flowing river of shite. I left my tent behind. I regretted this decision halfway up the M4, but there you go.
Glastonbury, so They tell me, is in danger of losing touch with its roots. It has sold out. According to NME, it’s in danger of “pricing out the real fans”, and that there was a “noticeable lack of young people” present. Bollocks. Every walk of life was fully represented, and by the looks of the flags many nations were there as well. It was refreshing to see bands and not be surrounded by teenagers. Although as I write this, Michael Eavis is dismissing this year’s crowd as “middle aged”, not “up for it” and will be targeting a younger crowd next year. So maybe I’m wrong. That statement will do nothing to quash the “sell-out” naysayers, and perhaps it is a little disappointing. But nothing can stay in the past. Longevity is only guaranteed if you can adapt and move on. Unfortunately, in this instance it appears that this just means letting in more youth.
How many would show up if it was just half a dozen bands and a pint of milk? And how many would show up for the Greatest Show On Earth? The answer is clear. Glastonbury cannot sell out or conform, because it is Glastonbury. It is imitated but never bettered, it exists on its own and nothing else will ever come close.
There are countless things I could go into more detail about…the flags around the Dance Village, being constantly asked for a lighter or pills, the greatest baguette in the galaxy (The Growler – chips, cheese and bacon, doesn’t sound like much but it was beautiful), the new Park area that was a festival within a festival, the atmosphere of the Stone Circle…but words and hyperbole only go so far. Some things you have to experience for yourself to fully appreciate.
Glastonbury Festival, Worthy Farm, 22nd-24th June 2007
Watching Glastonbury on TV is like aliens looking at Earth from space. You get a sense of scale, it looks beautiful, confounding, like nothing else…but you really don’t have a clue what it’s like until you’re there.
It’s almost worth going just to cut through the mythology and cliché. In a way, after viewing what appeared to be a never-ending canvas metropolis on the small screen, it wasn’t long before it became A Festival Site, just like the others, with muddy paths and shit toilets. But of course this wasn’t like any of the others. This was the greatest festival on the planet, viewed from the sky or more traditional ground locations.
The bus journey down was a living hell. Cattle to the slaughterhouse get better rights than the eight hour journey we were put through. This was mainly down to “Steve” and his lack of festival site navigation. That and quite a few other people had heard about this little event and also wanted in.
To write a review about Glastonbury and only talk about the music would be repetitive and more than a little overdone. The following were seen, even in a vague context during some more comatose tent-based moments:
Reverend & The Makers, The Cribs, Modest Mouse, Good Shoes, Bright Eyes, Super Furry Animals, The Coral, Rufus Wainwright, Arcade Fire, Arctic Monkeys, Björk, Brakes, The Long Blondes, CSS, Klaxons, Pigeon Detectives, Babyshambles, Gruff Rhys (twice), Editors, Mr Scruff, The Holloways, The Enemy, Sunshine Underground, The Marley Brothers, The Rakes, The Go! Team, Jamie T, Chemical Brothers.
But some performances really need highlighting, and the finest was surely Arcade Fire. The matching uniforms, the bizarre swimming pool videos, the delicate apocalypse of instrumentation that completely hypnotised the audience into total devotion. Numerous biblical references that weave through their new album have turned Win Butler into a paranoid preacher, his wiry frame stuttering with fear and compassion. His band, his gang, fly and crash around him, with the percussionists losing none of their sense of self-mutilation. And the songs…being at the festival means I missed the television coverage, but if No Cars Go wasn’t used over the ending montage then something is wrong. Rebellion (Lies) can’t be put into words. And the closing chant of Wake Up was echoing around the crowd long after they left the stage.
Then for some unknown reason I pushed against the crowd for half an hour to go see Arctic Monkeys. Yes, the songs were all present and correct, but something was very unremarkable. Dizze Rascal’s appearance would have been a highlight had his microphone been switched on. So it was back to the Other Stage where I managed to catch the last five songs of Björk’s set, and wished I’d stayed for the whole thing. She is without comparison. Hyperballad never sounded more beautiful, and everyone left wanting to get hold of one of those electronic Tetris block tables that was abused during Declare Independence.
And thank fuck for The Go! Team, the one band that made me forget the rain, mud, piss and shit that surrounded me and, with the help of quite a bit of cider and gin, made me dance like a twat. With only two bands above them on the Other Stage, Ninja appeared truly humbled in front of the huge crowd that had gathered before them. Inexplicably sandwiched between (ugh) Mika and (ARGH) The View, it was fantastic to see the energy and bounce supplied by the shed load in the Arts Centre was switched to IMAX-sized enjoyment.
Honourable mentions must also go to Good Shoes, Pigeon Detectives and The Rakes for tight performances, to Jamie T for being as charming as always and to Gruff Rhys to admitting he was in a worse condition than anyone watching him.
Disappointments have to include Rufus Wainwright and the Chemical Brothers. Rufus was on fine banter form, but just playing his new so-so record in its near entirety isn’t the festival way. 14th Street and The Art Teacher were the only old songs we were treated to, but he does gain point for providing the first “moment” of the festival. He brought on Martha to perform a under-rehearsed yet sublime rendition of Hallelujah. And the Chemical Brothers not playing The Private Psychedelic Reel is just pointless.
A quick paragraph about the weather. Now I realise Dot To Dot’s winter conditions were just toughening me up for the main event. There was a imbecilic piece in the NME that basically said “why was there mud?” You’re in a field. It rained. That makes mud. And really, you’ve got a waterproof, you’ve got your Wellington boots, you’ve got a shitload of booze, what’s the problem? I can’t say I noticed it after a few cans. For the first few days we were lucky, only in the sense that after it shat it down for half an hour it was then dry for the rest of the day. Only Sunday was a downer with its unrelenting drizzle. The worst came on Monday, eviction day, when the showers just wouldn’t stop. The muddy path that had doubled in size since I pitched my tent next to it had formed a free flowing river of shite. I left my tent behind. I regretted this decision halfway up the M4, but there you go.
Glastonbury, so They tell me, is in danger of losing touch with its roots. It has sold out. According to NME, it’s in danger of “pricing out the real fans”, and that there was a “noticeable lack of young people” present. Bollocks. Every walk of life was fully represented, and by the looks of the flags many nations were there as well. It was refreshing to see bands and not be surrounded by teenagers. Although as I write this, Michael Eavis is dismissing this year’s crowd as “middle aged”, not “up for it” and will be targeting a younger crowd next year. So maybe I’m wrong. That statement will do nothing to quash the “sell-out” naysayers, and perhaps it is a little disappointing. But nothing can stay in the past. Longevity is only guaranteed if you can adapt and move on. Unfortunately, in this instance it appears that this just means letting in more youth.
How many would show up if it was just half a dozen bands and a pint of milk? And how many would show up for the Greatest Show On Earth? The answer is clear. Glastonbury cannot sell out or conform, because it is Glastonbury. It is imitated but never bettered, it exists on its own and nothing else will ever come close.
There are countless things I could go into more detail about…the flags around the Dance Village, being constantly asked for a lighter or pills, the greatest baguette in the galaxy (The Growler – chips, cheese and bacon, doesn’t sound like much but it was beautiful), the new Park area that was a festival within a festival, the atmosphere of the Stone Circle…but words and hyperbole only go so far. Some things you have to experience for yourself to fully appreciate.
Monday 18 June 2007
Exclamation Point
The Go! Team + Revenge Of Shinobi, Colchester Arts Centre, 13/06/07
Another gig full of teenagers, another night feeling old. And since when has Colchester moved inside the M25? Five quid for a double vodka and coke? Christ, no wonder I’m moving North.
You know my feelings on instrumental bands. All well and good, but very easy to noodle off into some dull little corridor. Revenge Of Shinobi are in no corridor. They were playing the tiny Arts Centre like it was Westminster Abbey. Loose stoner rhythms rise up to form satisfying head-nodding beats. Echoed vocals create an ambient haze like the sunrise over last night’s party. There are no meandering solos. Every chord, every item of percussion has its right place. And they may or may not have a song called Tune Sarpong. The expensive spirits might have been playing tricks on me.
From basement solo sample project to your one-stop partybus, The Go! Team must provide one of the best live shows in the country. The sheer number of them added to their musical versatility put to the square root of Ninja’s energy and charisma equals one hell of a show. Thunder, Lightning, Strike is transformed, bigger, louder, harder. The new songs follow suit. Each one of the Team gets a moment out front, be it playground piano solos, banjo swayalongs or exercise DVD workouts.
Whereas on record the samples took most of the attention, on stage Ninja is the main event. Throwing out lyrics, orchestrating her Team and splitting up the audience to see who can sing and dance the best, she is a star. But they function perfectly well without her, with instrumentals like Junior Kickstart allowing the guitarists to indulge in some stage-spanning scissor kicks. The new songs sounded solid, catchy, and could be the soundtrack of this summer if the untitled new album is released in time. We’ve even been promised a Chuck D collaboration, but unfortunately he couldn’t make it up the A12.
The night finished with a full length blow out of Ladyflash, and a sweltering Arts Centre was released upbeat and chattering into some welcome drizzle. It was one of those gigs that left a big grin on your face. No pretension, no scene, just an old fashioned dance-off. For this, and many other occasions, The Go! Team provide the ultimate soundtrack.
Another gig full of teenagers, another night feeling old. And since when has Colchester moved inside the M25? Five quid for a double vodka and coke? Christ, no wonder I’m moving North.
You know my feelings on instrumental bands. All well and good, but very easy to noodle off into some dull little corridor. Revenge Of Shinobi are in no corridor. They were playing the tiny Arts Centre like it was Westminster Abbey. Loose stoner rhythms rise up to form satisfying head-nodding beats. Echoed vocals create an ambient haze like the sunrise over last night’s party. There are no meandering solos. Every chord, every item of percussion has its right place. And they may or may not have a song called Tune Sarpong. The expensive spirits might have been playing tricks on me.
From basement solo sample project to your one-stop partybus, The Go! Team must provide one of the best live shows in the country. The sheer number of them added to their musical versatility put to the square root of Ninja’s energy and charisma equals one hell of a show. Thunder, Lightning, Strike is transformed, bigger, louder, harder. The new songs follow suit. Each one of the Team gets a moment out front, be it playground piano solos, banjo swayalongs or exercise DVD workouts.
Whereas on record the samples took most of the attention, on stage Ninja is the main event. Throwing out lyrics, orchestrating her Team and splitting up the audience to see who can sing and dance the best, she is a star. But they function perfectly well without her, with instrumentals like Junior Kickstart allowing the guitarists to indulge in some stage-spanning scissor kicks. The new songs sounded solid, catchy, and could be the soundtrack of this summer if the untitled new album is released in time. We’ve even been promised a Chuck D collaboration, but unfortunately he couldn’t make it up the A12.
The night finished with a full length blow out of Ladyflash, and a sweltering Arts Centre was released upbeat and chattering into some welcome drizzle. It was one of those gigs that left a big grin on your face. No pretension, no scene, just an old fashioned dance-off. For this, and many other occasions, The Go! Team provide the ultimate soundtrack.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
