RIP Cockpit

So today I found out the Cockpit was shutting down for good.

Going to the Cockpit feels so closely tied in with moving to Leeds back in the summer of 2007, exploring a massive new city and hearing You! Me! Dancing! everywhere we went. Friday nights there were just the best, absolutely rammed with a perfect atmosphere. Fridays at work always seemed to drag a little too long if I knew that's where I was ending up that night.

So many great gigs were seen there. Off the top of my head...Patrick Wolf, The Go! Team, Lykke Li, Metronomy, Maccabees, Ladyhawke, Gruff Rhys...it was the perfect mid-sized venue to catch someone just before they got huge or a rare show in a smaller setting.

It was also home to Ice Cream, the long since gone queer night that used to take up Thursday evenings. Ice Cream was the first place I felt confident and comfortable enough to chat up guys. It didn't always go well, but it was the first steps that count. One of my favourite ever stories to tell came from this night...

Me and Ward walked into the toilets to see a Well Fierce drag queen putting on her finishing touches. "Is this the blokes?" Ward asked. She turned to us and said, in a voice that could not have been more deep or Yorkshire, "waddaya think???". And off she went. I'm almost definite this actually happened.

On the walls of the bar were framed tickets from early gigs by acts who went on to be massive. The White Stripes, Amy Winehouse, Queens of the Stone Age, that kind of thing. I always hoped to catch a show there that ended up behind the glass, and I did. Last time I went there, on display was a ticket from the Foals gig in 2007.

The last time I went there. It was some time last year, a Friday night that is usually rammed. The biggest room was shut, only populated by coat racks. and the other rooms never touched capacity. Something felt like it had gone wrong a while ago. I never made it back to see if things improved.

I could go on about Why Don't People Want To Dance These Days, about the rise of wood panelling, craft beers and pretentious snacks in Leeds nightspots, but there isn't much point. I doubt those kind of places will last 2 more years, let alone 20.

The Cockpit hosted nights out that forged new friendships, nearly ended old ones and everything inbetween. A sweaty little cave with no phone signal and the worst smelling toilets. It will be missed.

Giving It A Little Bit More

Friendly Fires + SBTRKT, Leeds Academy, 19th November 2011

Bathed in green light, the two men of SBTRKT gave us a relentless, bass driven opening set. Flying between instruments, looping various percussion and keyboards, we got masks and mayhem. Shame there wasn’t time for Something Goes Right, but Pharaohs and Hold On more than made up for that. See them live if you can.

Ed McFarlane is a machine. He may have had to cancel a bunch of shows due to laryngitis, but tonight he was king. The very second that opener Lovesick kicked in, he was off, a blur of hips and moves that make Mick Jagger look like Mick Hucknall.

Their first album was one I adored for years after it was release, so Pala faced expectations it was unlikely to match. Jump In The Pool, Paris and the superlative Skeleton Boy were therefore obvious highlights. The tropical LED displays brought some warmth to this bitter Yorkshire winter, and an upbeat crowd brought the dance in response.

Finishing with their festival anthem Hawaiian Air and a deafening Kiss Of Life, Friendly Fires reminded us why they are one of the most rewarding and exciting live acts in the country.

Youth Knows No Pain

Lykke Li, Leeds Cockpit, 15th April 2011

Let’s be honest, the Cockpit isn’t famed for its aesthetic qualities. A mobile signal blackspot with an air raid shelter roof and a floor that would need an atom bomb of bleach before it could even be described as “a bit sticky”, most acts arrive, accept what it is capable of and leave.

Lykke Li isn’t most acts. Tonight the Cockpit was transformed in to a smoky, gorgeously lit cavern with draped curtains and a wind machine. There, in the centre of it all was Li...Fitter, huskier, more seductive.

A sold out crowd baked in the tinned heat as her band took to the stage and opened with Jerome. The tribal percussion of second album Wounded Rhymes was perfectly represented. Of the 6 musicians, the standard split was two on drums, two on keyboards and one backing singer. Rarely was a guitar or bass picked up. Wounded Rhymes is a record that positively throbs with desire, the 10 tracks a massive leap forward from debut Youth Novels.

As expected, it was the newer songs that were the focus of the evening. A flurry of cries for Little Bit were silenced with the retort “is that all you want to hear?? I’m trying to teach you about all kinds of music”, going on to pause b-side Paris Blue halfway through to ask the crowd if it was fine to continue, with more than a little irritation in her voice. As if we’d say no. Little Bit just happened to come next, the fragility of the recorded version eclipsed by a powerful bass line.

Love Out Of Lust sounded painfully beautiful live (“so dance while you can…dance ‘cause you must”) as did Sadness Is A Blessing (“sadness you’re my boyfriend, oh sadness I’m your girl”). Li certainly knows how to put every bit of her heart on display. Tune Of 2011 so far goes to I Follow Rivers, showing there is determination amongst the despair, alongside the catchiest of melodies.

There were a few surprises in the mix too. A cover of a song by The Big Pink was a bizarre inclusion. But far more successful was a rendition of the intro Silent Shout by The Knife, merging into Until We Bleed, her Kleerup collaboration. We were also treated to Possibilities, Li’s contribution to the New Moon soundtrack.

Little Bit aside, the only other track from Youth Novels to be performed was a powerful I’m Good, I’m Gone, with Li pulling all kinds of shapes with some drum sticks, smashing away at nearby cymbals whenever she saw right.

Get Some closed the main set, causing much dancing on stage and off, before an encore of Youth Knows No Pain and Unrequited Love, ending on a sombre note. Perhaps the lesson is that not all stories have happy endings. Happy or not, all gigs I see this year will be measured against this ridiculously high bench mark. Sensational.

Edit

During my lazy period of not writing anything, I went to some shows...

LCD Soundsystem & Hot Chip, Rotherham Magna Centre, 13th November 2010

Everything ends. It’s a depressing fact, and James Murphy calling time on LCD Soundsystem just feels plain cruel. But at least we got one last hurrah in a co-headline tour with bezzie mates Hot Chip.

The night wasn’t without controversies though, with LCD taking to the stage first and only playing All My Friends off Sound Of Silver. If I’m honest, I was still in awe of their Academy gig, nothing was ever going to top that. What we got instead was show more focused on This Is Happening, the set opening and closing with that records’ first and last tracks. In between there was the usual faultless musicianship and trademark Murphy self deprivation. If this really is the end then they left on a high.

Less praise can be given to the bar facilities at the venue. OK, so working museums don’t tend to be well versed in the ways efficient alcohol distribution, but this was taking the piss. Woefully understocked and using a bar surface that was just that little bit too long to be heard over, we lost whole hours in that plastic bottled hell, and the first few songs of Hot Chip as well.

Whereas LCD have always performed as a bunch of session musicians (beyond talented but lacking camaraderie), Hot Chip played like the Boys From School, working off each other and generally having the times of their lives. Latest album One Life Stand did the usual Hot Chip record thing of containing some brilliant moments before drifting off a bit towards the end. Although to be fair to them that is an accusation you could level at pretty much any album these days. Unlike most bands, when Hot Chip release a Best Of it’ll contain some of the finest dance pop this country has produced.

Still sore from not hearing Someone Great or All I Want earlier, it was pleasing to hear Hot Chip play every song I wanted them to play, just not in the way I was expecting to hear them. One or two unnecessary guitar solos were thrown in, but Over & Over, Ready For The Floor and Shake A Fist were all present, correct and dance magic.

I remain hopeful that this isn’t really the end for LCD. James Murphy Will Return.


The Go! Team, Leeds Cockpit, 18th February 2011

Another band that have announced that this could be our last album / tour / series. What’s going on?? Still, since Take That have made reforming into a billion dollar business, no one seems to stay split up for long.

New record Rolling Blackouts takes the familiar themes of old skool horn samples, cheerleader freestyling and all the drums in the universe and thrown in some good old fashioned songwriting that gives the whole experience a more satisfying feel.

Ninja is still the star, kicking out against everything and anything, dancing like she knows you’re watching. She gets the biggest cheers, so it’s ironic that my favourite tunes from the new album actually feature the vocal talents of the other members. Secretary Song fizzes and delights, and Ready To Go Steady is a gorgeous Mowtown girl group-esque ode to settling down with that right guy.

Playing the songs in the same order every gig must get depressing, but is was a tad odd to chuck out Ladyflash so early on, and to end the encore with second album track Keys To The City. But hey, there was party on the stage and everyone was invited. Add to that some charming crowd interaction: “we’re gonna play our new single now which is called...anybody?” cue a muffled reaction from the audience. “See, that’s why we’re never gonna be famous!” Their career path may never reach the X Factor Results Show, but by the looks on their faces The Go! Team are bloody happy doing their own thing their own way, and making us all dance at the same time.

Grow Until Tall

Jonsi, Leeds Academy, 8th September 2010

Perhaps it’s their country’s resemblance to an Alien world, but Icelandic singers have a habit of acting and sounding like they’re from another planet. The proper debut solo album from Sigur Ros singer Jonsi saw him mostly using English lyrics, not that you could tell. His haunting falsetto has been bewitching crowds for years, but to witness it live is a sensational experience.

The crowd was always going to be a step sideways from the usual student knobheads you get at the Academy, and it was all Guardian readers and their children. With this type of crowd and this type of gig there was always the danger of the experience being ruined by Talkers, but the hush the spread around the building as Jonsi took to the stage with just an acoustic guitar was equal parts reverence and excitement. Unfortunately this didn’t last, and we had a group of chatting types near us, but a curt “shut the fuck up” soon silenced them.

Dressed in rainbow coloured robes fit for Joseph, albeit a Joseph raised by Wolves on Summerisle, Jonsi brought with him a band decked out in similar woodland attire, rarely staying on the same instrument for more than one song. Among the appliances brought to life were a shell in a jar, an eight man Glockenspiel and some kind of collapsed Cello.

Go was played in its entirety, with a few additional solo tracks thrown in for good measure. The visuals were among some of the most breathtaking I’d ever seen. They started in an almost pantomime fashion, with scenes of a burning book leading to smoke being pumped onto the stage. But then an epic battle between a Deer and a Wolf unfolded in front of us like some kind of IMAX Grimm fairytale nightmare. Go Do was accompanied by thousands of ants, seemingly spilling out of the screen and scurrying amongst us.

The sonic range was all over the place. Heatbreaking acoustics would be followed by ukulele disco. I had always been fascinated by Jonsi’s voice and wondered what studio trickery was required to produce such sounds. Now I know, it’s all him. At one point he held a note for what must have been minutes, never faltering. Bollocks to autotune.

For the encore he bounced back on stage with some ridiculous headgear which even Jay Kay would deem too daft. But Jonsi pulled it off with literal gay abandon. Grow Till Tall was the final song, and I had been warned of the levels it would reach, so earplugs at the ready I faced wave after wave of noise as everyone on stage looped and layered and abused their instruments until an almost unbearable wall of sound was formed. Jonsi was screaming into his microphone but was almost unheard under the chaos around him.

As the fuzz subsided, everyone returned to the stage for one last bow. Jonsi is a man like no other, and this show was one of the most unique performances I’ve had the pleasure of attending.

As long as St Christopher's here...

Jamie T, Leeds Academy, 25/01/10

I meant to write a few things before 2009 was out. There was a mighty fine Florence gig in December, which along with a I Can’t Believe It’s Not A Shit Opening Act support from Temper Trap was probably the best all out show I’d seen all year.

Florence herself was holding back, it being the beginning of the tour I guess she’d implode if she belted it out every night. Still, we got Lungs in its near entirety (plus b sides!!!!!!!!!), fairy lights in the rafters and the mostly female, older-than-usual audience made a refreshing change from the Topman clad pricks I’m usually surrounded by.

I was also planning to write some review-of-the-year business, but the moment’s passed. Fuck that decade. To the future!

And we begin with a gig that should have taken place back in October. But as that fell two days after Bloc Party and all the antics that surrounded that night, my stamina was glad of the reprieve that came when Jamie T was diagnosed with laryngitis and forced to cancel his tour.

After what felt like an eternity, Kings & Queens was finally given to us in the latter part of last year. I’ll be lying if I said I loved it, but it faced impossible competition. Panic Prevention WAS my final year in Lincoln. The people I met. The days and nights we had. Nothing was going to come close, perhaps mainly because that chapter of my life is (happily, mind) over, and as nice as nostalgia can be, there will be none of this living in the past.

So a gig that leans more towards the album I feel little connection to was always going to be a more sedate experience. Refreshingly, I was in the minority, as the kids in attendance knew all the words that evaded me, and joyfully kicked the shit out of each other why I just stood back and admired it all.

However, it was one of the most controversial sets I’ve ever witnessed. I’ve seen Radiohead gleefully ditch Creep like it ain’t no thang, but tonight Jamie didn’t play Salvador or Shelia, arguably his two biggest tunes. Yeah we got a couple of b sides and that’s always a giggle, but for someone with only around 35 songs released, it seems odd to be shutting that door so wilfully. Chakka Demus and Sticks n Stones seem to be the replacements, and they have the blokey singalong bits and the scumbag lyric bits…but it’s not the show I’ve seen him deliver before. Sometimes that’s a good thing. On this occasion, it wasn’t.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a fucking charmer that could cough his lungs up and it would still be entertaining as all sticky-floored hell, but almost three years to the day that I saw him do the most sensational of gigs, I can’t say this was the show I was hoping for.

After resorting to dancing in Revolution (seriously, don’t try going out in Leeds on a Monday night. One time I somehow ended up at this Minimal Techno evening. Terrifyingly vague music. The dry ice didn’t help matters) we went home and put on Panic Prevention. Cos really, nothing else compares.

Bigger than the sound

Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Leeds Academy, 29/11/09

Perhaps I’m just being nostalgic for days gone by, but you don’t seem to get amazing support bands any more. There’s plenty of competent ones, and the once in a blue moon stunner, but more often than not the opening act do nothing more but increase your trips to the bar.

I wrote out a whole piece slagging the support from tonight into little dirty pieces...but decided against it. There’s enough trolling on the internet as it is. Let’s just leave it at They Weren’t Very Good and move on.

Thank fuck for Karen O.

A giant eye looked out over the proceedings, as shadowed shapes took to the stage, one of them unmistakably wearing a giant rug of some description. The hushed refrain of Runaway brought a quieter opening than I was expecting, although the song does rumble upwards into a climax that merges into Rich, and then we’re off.

Karen O is all teeth and eyes, the impression of that mile wide grin staying with you long after the night is over. She skipped and bowed her way through a set that contained nothing but highlights. Seeing them at Leeds Festival this year was bloody beautiful as previously mentioned, but this was the full show I was waiting for.

The crowd was full of lots of mini O’s-In-Training, perfect bowlchops and liberal make-up agendas, screaming adulation at their heroine and her trio of sonic superheroes.

Skeletons probably got the biggest reaction from me, a few tears and a phone call to the girl who really should have been with me that night. It’s a song for the sunrise on the morning after, equal parts hope and regret.

Cheated Hearts got extended with some audience participation, Maps got a full band airing (as much as I love the acoustic version, you can’t beat the thump of the drums and Nick Zinner’s soaring guitar line) and Zero quite literally got the leather on.

Then, in one of the more perfect encores I’ve ever witnessed, Y Control, Turn Into and Date With The Night made good use of the glitter and ticker tape cannons placed in strategic stomping points around the stage.

Their sound may have matured from the garage into the Discotheque, but each era slots next to the other, expertly sown together with an effortless cool.

Because that’s what the Yeah Yeah Yeahs are. Cool. In look, in sound, in everything.

Was it worth all that war just to win?

Patrick Wolf + Micachu & The Shapes, London Palladium, 15/11/09

I’ve gushed about Patrick Wolf many times in this blog already. I’m about to do it again, so make sure you’re sitting comfortably.

This was to be The Show To End All Shows. A one-off performance to celebrate Patrick’s seven year career to date, and topping off a 2009 which saw him take another sequined step towards the mass adulation that everyone attending tonight knows he deserves.

The setting was the Palladium, taking a night off from Sister Act – THE MUSICAL!!! and providing home for a couple of thousand extroverts and bohemians. I’ve not been in a room of so full of gay men since Ice Cream rolled out of town. It was the perfect venue. Ornate, classical and echoing with history.

Starting the night were Micachu & The Shapes, taking up a small area in the centre of the stage. Starting with a clanging drone that shuffled its way into a tune, each track swerved between abstract catchiness and what my Mum would describe as “just a load of noise”. Micachu herself reminded me of Justine Frischmann’s semi comatose androgyny. I’m still a bit undecided, but they shared the same uncompromising spirit that has been at the core of Patrick’s work since the very beginning.

So that got us in the mood for something a bit different, which is what tonight was to be all about. To add to this, the pre-performance music ranged from classical to gypsy folk to Cheryl Cole. Surely, somewhere in this myriad sonic triangle lies Patrick Wolf.

After new (I think) song Divine Intervention is sung behind the closed Safety Curtain, the all too familiar tribal thump of Overture begins. The curtain raises. The strings soar. He appears. And, not for the first time that night, the tears begin.

This gig put a few things into perspective for me. Is there any other artist or band that could draw this reaction from me? Radiohead, very possibly, but however much I love them, they like to keep a certain distance from their audience. Blur and Pulp also have the means, but I’m unlikely to see either of them live any time soon. Maybe it just doesn’t take much to make me cry these days, after a combination of relatives passing away, pets being put down and friends leaving town. God help me when The Doctor regenerates in the new year, I’ll probably need therapy.

I’m rambling.

The set had an understandable focus on The Bachelor, with debut Lycanthropy also healthily represented. As my main love falls for the middle two records, it would have been nice to hear a few more from them, but seriously this was not a performance you could fault. Other than that it ended and I had to go back to dull reality afterwards.

The highlights were numerous. Florence bringing the house down for a lusty rendition of The Bachelor. Wind In The Wires and its hushed fragility. Oblivion unveiling a horned leather jacket as well as The Voice Of Hope, and Hard Times finally getting people dancing in the aisles, as well as Alec Empire attacking what appeared to be a cybernetic ironing board.

It was this call to arms that made the whole night really kick off. There was a rush to the front of the stage, sporadically broken up by the theatre’s ushers, but the delirium was never truly quashed from then on. After a fiddle with the set list, The Libertine arrived and transformed into a stomping ukulele-off. The divine Damaris has now joined the ranks of Classic Wolf, meaning that Tristan felt like a bit of an afterthought in its wake.

Arriving at the end of the main set, which had lasted almost two hours, The Magic Position came with Patrick sporting a shiny new top hat and a tear in his eye. Its very telling that there are no decent videos of this on You Tube, as the hysteria among us all reached its peak. Some things are just impossible to document on camera phones. The performance of this song and what it means to me is hard to put into words, so I won’t.

Returning for a touching rendition of The Sun Is Often Out, dedicated to a lost friend, the end came with Vulture. Tonight’s outfits included a black feathered ensemble followed by something involving bamboo and pantaloons, but the finale was delivered in see-through trousers and a liberal application of silver body paint, emerging from behind the curtain on a rotating disco ball. I fucking love that I wrote that sentence and every word of it is true.

Tonight we watched a man throw his very essence into a show that he has been preparing for his entire life. Over the years Patrick Wolf has been occasionally outspoken and often uncompromising to the point of career destruction. Was it worth all that war just to win? Yes it was.

To be lost in the forest

Bloc Party, Lincoln Engine Shed, 12/10/09

To be honest, I wasn’t paying support act Grammatics the attention they deserved. You try concentrating on a band when you’ve got a two pinter of cider in one hand and a gin and tonic in the other. This being the seventh time I’ve seen Bloc Party, I think I’ve written about the ins and outs of their live show several times already, so let’s talk about the past...

2005. It was a very good year.

On a personal level, it was exactly halfway through my time at Uni. After a muted start, I was finally starting to get out a bit more. This was partly motivated by living in a house full of people who were only living together because we couldn’t find anyone else to live with. You can imagine the chemistry. Oh, the fun times. We communicated via angry notes left in the kitchen. I hid my saucepans from them. That sort of thing. But something else was pulling me outdoors. The music. 2005 saw a rash of debut albums that provided dozens of spiky indie pop tunes, mostly produced by Paul Epworth, that made the sticky floored indie clubs (well, club) in Lincoln the most desirable of locations.

It was all coming together. A bunch of bright young things from various ends of the country were picking up guitars and actually making a decent racket again. Because “they” had to give it a name, “New Britpop” was coined, but that was doing it a disservice. Britpop of old can be boiled down to a North v South façade engineered to sell magazines (remember them?) and caused a million shit bands to get record deals (remember THEM??). Don’t get me wrong, Blur will forever be the soundtrack to this young Essex boy growing up, and Pulp’s Different Class will always be one of my favourite albums, but the rest of it? There were some good moments, but there was a lot of tack too. Enjoyable but a bit dated. Uniform.

Plus, I was 10 in 1995 so wasn’t really old enough to consume it all. By the time that I properly started getting into music – you know, buying NME and Melody Maker every week, recording sessions off Steve Lamacq, falling asleep to John Peel, taping pound coins to cardboard and sending off for rare vinyl singles I couldn’t even play – it was the end of the century, the arse end of Britpop. There was the occasional spark of brilliance, but nothing that inspiring.

Cut to 2005 and Bloc Party, Futureheads, The Rakes, Maximo Park, Editors, The Killers (I stand by Hot Fuss, ignoring what came after) and fucking hell even Kaiser Chiefs brought out debut albums just as I was getting into dancing on the heady rush of two 99p pints (I was a lightweight. Much has changed, of course). Without boring you with too much more of my life story, I wasn’t a happy boy before I left home, and my first year or so at uni was a hangover from this. But getting out more was the making of me, even if it was for being known as that tall guy who gets pissed easily. But at least I had a good soundtrack to it. Apply Some Pressure, Helicopter, Hounds Of Love...these formed the background noise to me finally getting a life.

Out of all of these albums, it’s Silent Alarm that I hold in fondest regard from that time. Bloc Party always did look, talk and act like they were the ones who would be doing something interesting for the foreseeable future. Maximo, Rakes and Futureheads all released sophomore efforts that were beyond decent, but they have offered diminishing returns since then. Then there were the also-rans. The Others. The Dead 60s. Hard Fi. The Ordinary Boys. Where are they now? Fuck knows, but there was that one song we all liked, and will probably still dance to it if the cider is doing its job.

I put on Silent Alarm for the first time in ages the other day, and my God it certainly still packs a punch. It instantly transported me to that lofty house in Lincoln’s West End (Leeds folk, think Hyde Park but a quarter of the size and more horse shit on the streets) with its blocked drains and faulty heating (“It’s so cold in this house” never rang more true). There isn’t a duff song on there, and that’s before considering the two singles that came either side of the album, Little Thoughts and Two More Years. The former being the sound of young men writing a song together for the first time, and sounding all the more fresh and spunky for it, and the latter being a gorgeous ode to a decaying relationship. Two of their best songs, and they don’t play either of these at this gig. Nor do they play Blue Light, Halo, I Still Remember, Two Months Off...obviously, there is only so much time that they are allowed to play, and it’s best to leave wanting more. They are, essentially, A Big Tease*.

Bloc Party are finally becoming the band they always promised to be. Kele Okereke has gone from a shy geekboy mumbling insults to indie nobodies, to beefcake showman, owning us all with just a raise of his eyebrow. He is now confidence personified, backed up by his boys who have a lot more toys to play with these days. Russell Lissack is all fringe and pedals – a Johnny Greenwood in the making – and Gordon Moakes spends most of the gig prodding at keyboards and glockenspiels.

It’s the encore, Flux is coming, we all know this. Then I hear it, in the background. A noise. Is it my ears ringing? They did just play Ares. “We dance to the sound of Sirens”. No, it’s the fucking fire alarm. Ignore it, one more song, come on. The tour manager comes on stage. Kele lets him give the announcement. We have to evacuate the building. Now. Balls.

Not hearing Flux is equal to that time I saw The Chemical Brothers a couple of years ago and they didn't play The Private Psychedelic Reel. There was no excuse of a fire alarm to hide behind, they just didn’t play it. The fuck? Flux is a vital song. It’s important. Urgent. It rescued the tail end of the Weekend In The City campaign from slipping off into the night unnoticed. It is, to be frank, The Tits. We had all had a good dance that night, especially me on my ankle that I thought I’d broken. It would have topped an immense gig and made it a borderline classic. Instead we were left with the nagging feeling of being a bit short changed.

We shuffle out doors, swapping conspiracy theories, fed by some twat being roughed up by the heavies after fucking around with a fire extinguisher. Turns out it was one of the smoke machines that set it all off. The fire engines have shown up. We head off to The Glasshouse to dissect the evening.

Still, I got to watch a band I have loved for a long time yet again deliver the goods. I hear there will now be a hiatus, and there’s even mumblings of a split. If they do, it would be an incredible shame. Let’s hope this is just careless talk, and it won’t be too long before they come back to save the universe once more.

Kebab Watch: I think I’ve mentioned several times about Poppins, and the times we spent there, feeding our fat faces. Wherever we went that night (Topkapi? Somewhere on the High Street anyway) well it was never gonna come close. Most of mine ended up all over my mate’s floor. Sorry about that.

*I’ve just seen a site that compiles all the set lists from this tour, and they played pretty much all these tracks across several nights, so I guess it’s just luck of the draw. Fair play for mixing it up, the material is certainly there.

It may be pills at work

Goldfrapp, Leeds Academy, 03/1108

Alison Goldfrapp has gone through a few phases. Yodelling milk maid, filthy Cabaret strumpet, glam rock dominatrix, each with a new wardrobe and sonic accompaniment to match. With fourth album Seventh Tree we find her channelling a Wicker Man-esque folk siren. Fitting, then, that we get the soundtrack to this fine film before the band arrive on stage. This is a record made for those late summer evenings, and the best is done to recreate this on a freezing night in Yorkshire. Despite being open barely a month, the Academy has already got stickier floors than your average toilet venue. Go figure.

‘Paper Bag’, from debut Felt Mountain, isn’t the most immediate of set-openers, but her hushed tones (“No time to fuck…but you like the rush”) silences the room to attention. An upbeat and chiming ‘A&E’ comes next and gets a few nods, before an extended ‘Little Bird’ brings out some almost terrifying acid trip visuals, swirling around the picnic basket and Maypole stage dressings.

Never the most banter-driven performer, Alison manages to terrify an audience member into submission for having the audacity to film a track on his camera. Kids these days, eh? Still for the most part she seems in a chipper mood, half marching half twirling around the stage in an oversized pink bed sheet.

Unfortunately the newer songs get a little lost when played along side their elder companions. The crowd seem grateful for a little shuffle to ‘Satin Chic’, but when a trio of Seventh Tree tracks follow, they are buried under the middle aged chatter. A shame, because the already ethereal ‘Clowns’ is bloody gorgeous.

Herein lies the Goldfrapp Paradox. They now have an equally balanced catalogue of loud ones / quiet ones, but the two can’t really coexist together live, not in this setting anyhow. It’s not the band’s fault as such, you just need a patient audience, and this wasn’t one of them.

We finally get some Black Cherry tunes in the closing trio. ‘Train’ clicks and whirrs like, well, a train, and ‘Black Cherry’ brings out the hugging from the lovers. Finally, the ever filthy ‘Strict Machine’ explodes in a dazzle of spotlights, feedback and some moderate dancing. Goldfrapp have never been a band to repeat themselves, so it’ll be interesting to see what the next phase brings.

DiS

Tron Funk

Neon Neon + Yo! Majesty, Leeds Brudenell Social Club, 01/11/08

Side projects, like spin-off sitcoms, can be dodgy territory. But when Gruff Rhys is involved, you know you’re in safe hands, right?

In Rhys and the Super Furry Animals you have one of the most prolific and creative bands around – The Beatles of this generation if you believe Gary Lightbody. But realistically they’re about as popular now as they’re ever going to be. Over the past couple of years the offshoots have immerged in the shape of Acid Casuals, The Peth and two solo albums from Rhys. But it’s with Boom Bip collaboration Neon Neon that Gruff has got the most attention.

Yo! Majesty’s support was surely the closest thing you were gonna get to seeing Missy Elliott in a working men’s club. Shunda K and Jwl B pointed us out one by one and coaxed the crowd closer to the stage, while some random bloke jumped around at the back pressing buttons. I’ll admit, before tonight their track on Stainless Style was probably my least favourite on the record. But having that attitude at eye level changes your perspective. The beats were hard, the rhymes were fierce and very, very fast. The audience were suitably warmed.

Neon Neon gather on stage to much devotion, egged on by Gruff’s “Applause” cue card, and begin with the Tron-funk of ‘Neon Theme’. Throughout the night mathematic colours and shapes light up the screen behind them like a malfunctioning Amstrad on an old edition of Tomorrow’s World. The whole evening could have been an extended edition of Look Around You. Gruff Rhys does have something of the confused Physics teacher about him. The band were expanded to include the effortlessly cool Cate Le Bon on Keytar and Har Mar Superstar on break dancing duties.

‘I Lust U’ and ‘Told Her On Alderaan’ - two perfect examples of Gruff’s knack for a catchy tune - were brought out early. This breezy electropop could have been the soundtrack to any number of Brat Pack road movies. For an album that was never meant to be played live, some of the songs just sound better, helped by the fact that Neon Neon play like they’d been together for years. The seedy bassline of ‘Michael Douglas’ got the most crowd shuffling (“I need…more…STUFF”) and then ‘Sweat Shop’ brought back Yo! Majesty to pack out the tiny Brudenell stage for a brutal dance-off.

At the very end there was just Rhys and Bip on stage together in a mini techno workout. Gruff played the invisible drums with some magic glowing sticks. Chances are this is the last we’ll hear from Neon Neon, but in any case it was a celebratory finale to a project that probably was more successful than anyone thought it would be.

DiS

Better Than Sunday

I've started writing for Drowned In Sound. My first assignment was Ladyhawke at The Cockpit, the fruits of which can be found here...

http://drownedinsound.com/events/38348

But fear not, my rambles will still be appearing at 45 Turns. More fun and games to follow soon.

I know your hands will clap

Lykke Li + El Perro Del Mar, Leeds Hi-Fi Club, 03/06/2008

The Hi-Fi club was tingling with anticipation, and tingle it might. Lykke Li has knocked The Blogs for six with her whispered heartaches and lo-fi loneliness. Could she deliver?

Before we could answer that we had a subtle opening set from El Perro Del Mar. A dusty-eyed Hope Sandoval singing into the sunset, she gave us slow burning songs designed for a night of stargazing in the desert.

And then Lykke Li took over the stage and stamped her domination on the evening. I knew this was going to be good, but I was shocked at just how good. Dancing, swaying, stamping, pointing, we belonged to her. Despite a minimal musical accompaniment, the songs were louder and pumped full of confidence compared to the skeletal recorded versions. Little Bit throbbed with a heartbeat of desire, and Breaking It Up was hollered through a megaphone, feedback ringing.

I’m Good, I’m Gone closed the main set and the dancing finally took off, we were clapping at all the right moments and getting rewarded with a knowing grin. She’s amassed a fine collection of pop songs that work their way into your consciousness. And encore came with a slow number followed by what appeared to be a cover of Walk On The Wild Side...until the drums kicked in to make it Can I Kick It. With some old skool hip hop shapes thrown in, she kicked it. She OWNED it.

Lykke is a star. 2008 will be hers, hell give her the next few decades. And make the most of these club shows, she won’t be playing many more tiny venues.

Kebab Watch – no food tonight, a belly full of vodka saw off any hunger.

Covered In Bees

Lethal Bizzle + Bashy + Blah Blah Blah, Leeds Rio’s, 29/04/08

It’s always fun reading back the little notes I drunkenly text myself during gigs. Here’s my summary of Blah Blah Blah:

“New wave Housemartins. Young Knives but black. Jamiroquai but not a cunt. Then it hit me – Ian Dury. The accent, the rhymes, a mild funk”

Not quite sure where Jamiroquai came from, but BBB (it was an evening of bees) were a great little opener. Songs that criticise London twats have been done a million times and often descend into lame self-parody, but this collection of tunes were bloody catchy. Death To The Indie Disco has one of the best uses of “wankers” in any song you’ll ever hear.

Bashy was there to warm up the crowd, and we were fucking boiling by the end. I read a review elsewhere on the net that dismissed him for shouting over 30 second clips of random songs...this person clearly wouldn’t know gig atmosphere if it bit him on the arse. Bashy was starting up a riot. Down amongst the crowd, inspiring dance-offs and singalongs, it got us buzzing for the main event.

Bizzle is a charmer. The crowd (young, mixed, Skins) were his before he stormed the stage. The beats were immense, his flow unstoppable. Every track was a hands-in-the-air highlight. Police On My Back, Bizzle Bizzle, Pow, Uh-Oh, Fire...he was full of love for the people and we gave plenty back. Another set that went way too quickly.

And a set that is hard to describe, because Bizzle transcends the genres. A tight live show that could match any rock gig for levels of intensity, displaying bucketloads of charm and accessibility that is often lacking from live hip hop acts. He was constantly on the verge of diving into the crowd, who were equally close to spilling on to the stage. Bizzle is one of the UK’s best showmen who compromises nothing. Potentially life-changing.

Kebab Watch – best chips and cheese in Yorkshire, hands down.

I Heart Maccabees

The Maccabees + Josh Weller, Leeds Cockpit, 25/04/08

Another Leeds gig, another vocally proud Yorkshire crowd, this time belting out Maccabee-related terrace anthems, quickly turning to jeers when an allegiance to Fulham was outed. It’s what you go to shows for, really. And the band well work off that endless enthusiasm.

Opening act Josh Weller looked petrified – mainly due to his wiry afro pointing straight to the ceiling. All Young-Knives tweed worn scandalously tight (a cry of “get your cock out” is met with nervous laughter and the response “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you”) Weller provided a suitable set of abstract indie pop. Circus sounded like, well, the circus, strutting along with a fairground bass line. His “stolen band” (all looking like they come from three very different groups) worked well off the troubadour, with the keyboard player manically brandishing a percussive pineapple for most of the set.

For me, Colour It In was one of the little miracles of last year. Heartbreaking vocals delivered with child-like simplicity, it was naive without being irritating, unsure but not unknowing. Live, there can only be more bounce to the proceedings. Newie You’ll Do As Your Told (the first signs of attitude) went straight into X Ray and Lego. Key to an indie anthem – guitar line you can sing along to. Balls to the lyrics, the melody has to stick in your head. And they’ve got a load of them.

The new material was no massive departure, but it sat alongside and complemented the older tracks with ease. Toothpaste Kisses got arms around shoulders. Latchmere closed the main set, and the already up-for-it audience lost the last of their inhibitions. The gig went way too quickly. Back they came back on for some humble thank-yous, a breezy new song that would be a good closer to the sophomore album, and a perfect version of First Love to see off the night. Everything made sense, there was a clarity in the air that refused to be dampened by overpriced vodka-based drinks.

Kebab Watch – the first time I’ve had a Donner on a plate, and eaten it with proper cutlery. At 3am. In a curry house. Decent mayonnaise, unnecessary salad.

Too many legs under the table, too many reasons for trouble

NME Shockwaves Tour: The Cribs + Joe Lean & The Jing Jang Jong + Does It Offend You, Yeah? + The Ting Tings, Leeds Uni, 09/02/08

The NME Tour is meant to be a cross section of the current musical scene. Almost like an artefact for musical historians to look back on, and no doubt say things like “Christ things got a bit desperate at the start of the 00s” and “Andrew WK?????”. It can be hit and miss. I doubt anything will beat 2005’s Killers/Futureheads/Bloc/Kaisers combo in terms of nailing the zeitgeist. Especially for grabbing the top and tailers before they went completely up themselves. Then last year, The Automatic headlined. Smooth.

So did McNichols & Company get it right this time?

All eyes are always on the opening slot, but I can’t see The Ting Tings Live At Wembley Stadium ever being a proper sentence. Not that they put on a bad show, but their garage pop will always be better suited to intimate venues. And you can get a better look at Katie White, a miniature Debbie Harry who was doing her best to inject some life into this static room. There wasn’t much variation in their set, but they had enough catchy headnodders that should have at least got a few people moving. Great DJ and That’s Not My Name only got a vague response. It wasn’t looking good…

Does It Offend You, Yeah?’s name and aesthetic could easily see them dismissed as Hoxton Twats. But they bring the noise, filthy and unforgiving. The stuttering high hats of Justice collide with a frantic heavy-bass-and-yelping combo not heard since Death From Above 1979 hung up their elephant noses.

“You lot are better than last night already!” exclaimed chief yelper James Rushent. Really? Doesn’t say much for last night. There was a bit of action down the front, but my companion and I were trapped behind a wall of non-movers. We went for it anyway, because its noise that makes you want to spazz. Let’s Make Out isn’t a request, you have no say in the matter. They’re all over your face in seconds, Rushent dives into the crowd and has the shirt torn from his back. Well, he was asking for it. We Are Rockstars does nothing to lower the momentum. Screams, demolition, CHAOS. At least in my head. But a few more had caught on by now. Why did it have to end?

JL&TJJJ (no easy way to talk about this band, 2008 being Year Of The Silly Name) found themselves bumped up a slot amid an increasing amount of exposure and hyperbole. And they have the odd tune to back it up. Like Razorlight before you realised Johnny Borrell was a cunt. But something was missing. I wasn’t engaged. I still had that ace We Are Rockstars bassbeast going through my head. DIOY,Y? would have been much better precursors to the main event. Lucio Starts Fires will always get me on the dancefloor, but their live experience just left me empty.

So, I had issues with the crowd and dared to question their passion. What was up with the kids? Too many deadlines lately? Well shut my mouth. I always knew a homecoming (of sorts) by The Cribs would be A Show, but this was just astonishing. I’ve never seen an audience so completely in the hands of the performers. But The Cribs inspire that kind of passion. And this being the second night, it weeded out all the little fashionistas who were quick off the mark to secure tickets only to spend the evening screaming at Joe Van Moyland. The opening non-stop trio of Don’t You Wanna Be Relevant, Our Bovine Public and Hey, Scenesters! had the kids moving like they should have been all night.

It was recently pointed out to me the level of attack aimed at the Pigeon Detectives in Our Bovine Public. Example:

“I'll never forget how all this begun
And I will never regret a thing I have done
But you would never exist without us, so maybe I do...”

When the Detectives released their debut, I thought The Cribs were in trouble, that they had competition. Did they Balls. The Cribs exist in a refreshingly bullshit-free world, and they know pretenders when they see them. They’re not in this business to make friends, or apparently even have that much fame. They make music, they have one of the most passionate bunch of fans around. That’s enough. Pigeon Detectives pale on repeated listens, and I can’t see increased exposure and bigger venues doing anything to improve that. Wakefield’s true kings delivered a hit-laden set that saw bruised feet and discarded clothing from us all.

And then it happened.

“Please welcome our mate, Johnny Marr...”

And that intro to Panic was played. The boys in the audience either cried or went nuts (both in my case). And some of the girls did too, after they were told who he was.

Stick around for the rest of the set Johnny? Yeah go on then. It was a genius combination that should hopefully see some recorded output soon. Sonic Youth’s Lee Ranaldo was even beamed in for Be Safe. Those two in the same room? Happened.

The Cribs were top of the world, aptly supported by Does It Offend You, Yeah? and two others that will probably get more success than their talents merit. You can’t ever see The Cribs calling it a day any time soon, long may they continue...

Kebab Watch – I asked for donner and chips, and they chucked in a load of salad and shit without even asking. Dicks. Good chips though.

Get ready to ignite

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.

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.

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.