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| Yeah Yeah Yeahs / C64s / Har Mar Superstar (London Astoria) | |
On the bigger
stage, it’s harder to read the band but their dervish intensity on Bang and Tick
shows they still have something to prove. Karen
O makes full use of the space on stage, strutting proudly in a strange and garish aerobics
video outfit while Nick and Brian colour in the space around her with swathes of
aggressive sound. The album isn’t out
for another month but the new songs played tonight leave us full of hope. In particular, the new single Date With The
Night is perhaps the best thing they’ve every done, a riot of squealing noise
like a pile up of crime scene police cars and gigawatts of energy. Even though we
knew they were great last year, it’s a bit of a culture shock to observe what effect
they’ve had. But in this mass-produced,
over-marketed business we call show, it’s good to see a band that’s avoided
corporate pimping, that’s built itself up on performance not hype, and that
hasn’t lost the ability to smile. And
even though they’ve moved up a division, they show tonight that they can still punch
with the best. The big surprise with the C64s
is that they don't call themselves The Gnomes or the Debasers or some other such name that
would indicate that they are actually almost a covers band for the Pixies. The basslines,
hooks and yelped vocals all owe a substantial debt to Frank Black and his chums. Not that
this is a bad thing of course as the Pixies were one of the best live bands ever and
whilst the C64s also have some pretty impressive riffs, they'll never be up with the big
boys so long as they can't find a little niche for themselves. |
| Badly Drawn Boy / Aidan Smith (Twisted Nerve Showcase, Comedy Store - Manchester ) | |
Put together at short notice (and selling out even faster), this gig was meant as a thank-you from Damon to celebrate his and Twisted Nerve’s success since the release of that now-famous EP originally released in 1997. 500 copies only were printed, and 500 people only were allowed in to this gig. It was also the first gig for a young man from Eccles who may just prove to be as successful as Gough himself. 23 year old Aidan Smith may not yet have the charisma of a star performer, but should it really matter when a man has a truly original talent like this? Providing bittersweet, quirky lyrics to heartfelt tunes, Smith had the audience completely in his grasp and laughing hysterically, particularly at "Song For Delia Smith" (sample lyric: "I like your eyes, I like your chicken pies") and a song attacking soulless boy bands. But this was always meant to be Damon’s show. Announcing he felt more nervous than his performance in front of 80,000 at Glastonbury last year, this was Gough at his most humble, playing in front of family and friends. As usual he stopped and started several songs, but this time due to overwhelming emotion. His piano version of Springsteens Thunder Road, dedicated to his mother, was jaw-droppingly poignant, as was You Were Right, with Joe Strummer’s name added to the list of sadly-missed performers. Ending in a rousing version of Pissing In The Wind which had Damon’s girlfriend and friends (including the famous veteran superfans Dennis and Lois) dancing around, the audience left feeling as humble as the performers themselves. This was truly a special night. Reviewed by Robert B
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| The Kills (London, Astoria and 100 Club) | |
It was the best of
times, it was the worst of times… well, not really, but there’s a place for
intense, sexualised music, and the Astoria, with its tiers of voyeurs, isn’t the
place. For me, the 100 Club has all the
atmosphere, intimacy and a downright sweaty invitation to loosen your clothing and
inhibitions that a huge hall like the Astoria can’t offer. When you’re playing hard rock anthems like
the Datsuns, you can fling a few poses and mouth a few slogans and everyone gets it. With a band like the Kills, who deal in the dark
and dirty, in sexed up tales of voodoo, irrational passions and low-down meanness, their
more focused power only has a limited radius. You
need the 100 Club with its arsecheek-rubbing closeness, the walls that could tell tales,
the floors that still bear the stains, for the fuck-and-fight stories told by the Kills. Oh, sure, at the Astoria, they give it their best shot. The album is fully of magnificent tunes that sound great because they are great. In Superstitition, VV sings in an intense Polly Harvey style as she blows the sexiest cigarette smoke and Fuck the People is a rousing Tenpole Tudor-like anthem. But the Astoria stage emphasises that it’s just two people and a drum machine and their little gestures are lost on a big stage. The glory of the Kills isn’t seen until a week later when we get essentially the same set but in a smaller setting and it’s like chucking a match into a box of catherine wheels. VV prowls the stage more and fights the hair in her eyes while Hotel is ever vigilant. VV sways in that sinuous way that makes perfect sense set against Hotel’s scratchy, jagged rhythms. Not content with singing his parts, Hotel mouths VV’s sometimes. And when they sing together, they’re staring at each other and moving ever closer, the intensity of which heightens the effect of Kissy Kissy and Monkey On My Back. Shit, it’s just as sordid as sometimes the best gigs ought to be! Hotel has said in interview that they wanted to make their lives into a band, not merely be in a band. At the 100 Club, he doesn’t have to carve ‘4 Real’ into his forearm for us to believe it. Reviewed
by Ged M |
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| Ooberman (Metro, London) | |
The
rhythm's tight and the accompanying vocals from lush chanteuse Sophia are light, airy and
sweet but it's frontman Dan who keeps you entranced, his army jacketed figure patrolling
the stage like a guard with coarse woollen pants. The songs are the perfect mix of
the old Rock n roll is dead, long live Ooberpop. Reviewed by Paul M
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| Linkin Park / Onepity (Brixton Academy) | |
With the music press crowing about
the demise of nu-metal (whither Papa Roach? - or is that wither?), its biggest exponents,
Linkin Park, were in Europe for a micro-tour of just six dates. They could’ve pulled the punters in by the
thousands on an arena tour; instead they opted for their equivalent of playing the Hope
and Anchor, Islington to give us a foretaste of new album ‘Meteora’ (released 24th
March). There’s a myth that Linkin Park
is just a manufactured nu-metal boy band, beloved of pubescent teenagers. The fact is they’re a bunch of mates who
happen to play well-crafted, radio-friendly hip hop/metal that sells by the aircraft
hangar-load. Sure, there were some kids as
young as 6, but basically this was your typical indie/grunge/nu-metal crowd. After an intro from Mr Hahn
(sampling/scratching) the band launched into the first three tracks from
‘Meteora’ including dramatic new single Somwhere I Belong. Two
things were clear; the new material ploughs the same multi-platinum furrow as ‘Hybrid
Theory’ (which is no bad thing), and they are a darn sight heavier live than on
record. Part of the reason for the latter is
that Jo Hahn’s efforts often got lost behind the crunching guitars, as did some of
Mike Shinoda’s rap vocals, making for more of a mainstream metal sound. But the twin vocalist set up works well with
Chester Bennington on singing and screaming while cheeky-faced, Shinoda does the rapping
and occasional guitar duties. The band is tight and slicker than
the spill from the Exxon Valdez; love them or loathe them they’re expert at what they
do, and hi-tech; not a trailing guitar lead in sight.
The Academy was heaving and when the band did Points Of Authority,
the crowd sang along unprompted to ‘the sun goes down’ bit. Chester liked walkabouts in the crowd, but his
effusive comments about London and the Linkin Park fans were about as sincere as George
W’s reasons for wanting to bomb the crap out of Iraq.
With You was belted out in ‘Reanimation’ (their remix album)
style, all the singles had an airing, and the show ended with, surprise surprise, One
Step Closer, with its immortal cry of ‘shut up when I’m talking to
you’. After some hand-shaking with the
crowd the band left the stage but Chester returned to meet fans. Next time you see these guys no doubt it’ll
be back to stadium rock land, and unless there are some extremely fickle fans out there,
they’ll be there for a good while yet. Set list: Don't Stay /
Somewhere I Belong / Lying From You / Papercut / Points Of Authority / Runaway / Faint /
From The Inside / Hit The floor / With You / Crawling / In The End / Reviewed by Graham S
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| James Yorkston / Adam Snyder / King Creosote (Camden Dingwalls) | |
Turning up late I missed most of the opener, hirsute Fife neo-folkie King Creosote, which was a shame if his duet with the headliner on Friday Night in New York and sample backed “Funkadelic-folk” was anything to go by. New York’s Adam Snyder is not, I suspect, related to Twisted Sister’s Dee. His openers were slightly pedestrian, more mainstream, country rock, but the set picked up with a return to more old-fashioned protest songs focusing on the iniquities and bullying of corporate America and the widening gap between the rich and the poor. Finishing with a couple of Mark Eitzel like, delicately worded and played earnest songs made him well worth sticking with, though quite a way off the rather over-egged praise of the quotes on his album flyer. As a Smoke-dweller I’ve been waiting quite a while to see James Yorkston actually play a decent length set to an appreciative audience, and he didn’t disappoint. Supported by his Athletes, touting double bass, harmonium, piano accordion and occasional drums, the night in the main consisted of an in order run through of last year’s fantastic “Moving up Country” album. While you might bracket him as indie-folk, essentially his are a bunch of top-quality tunes backing lyrics dealing delicately and humourously with the concerns of day-to day life. The more delicate songs such as In Your Hands and St Patrick were slowed down and allowed to linger tantalisingly, while the more upbeat like I Spy Dogs raced through with Pogues-like energy and abandon. Despite being for once, his audience, nevertheless there was constant a battle to be fought against a fair handful of noisy so-and-sos at the bar, which he only really one a couple of times – during the quietest, sparsest, but also most moving Tender to the Blues and 6:30 is just way too early. Coming back armed with only a banjo to run through a couple of newies and traditional songs betrayed an unfounded lack of confidence in following up last year’s success which I hope he overcomes. The final run through of the magnificent and gritty Lang Toun (which has sounded indulgent in the past, but fits perfectly here) proved how good he is. Let’s hope there’s plenty more to come. (Anyone who can point me towards a copy of the Lang Toun 10” will be a friend forever.) Reviewed by Matthew H |
| Feeder / Hell is for Heroes / Serafin (Brixton Academy) | |
In
a different league entirely is the much-touted London quintet Hell Is
For Heroes. With frantic riffing they belted out a relentless
stream of chest-beating metal anthems including singles Night
Vision and
the chugging I Can
Climb Mountains. Whether
they can live up to the ‘great British hope’ tag remains to be seen, but
they’re clearly a significant force on the rock scene now and went down a storm. Feeder have been steadily
climbing the rock ladder for years, a process given a huge boost by the simplistic but
catchy Buck Rogers which saw them become chart regulars. More hit singles and a hit album followed; the
world was their oyster. Then drummer and founder member Jon Lee hung himself. Fortunately the band decided to continue,
returning with their most successful album, the more mainstream ‘Comfort In
Sound’, and a step up from venues like the Astoria to the Academy. This was their first tour without
Jon and must have been difficult for Grant Nicholas (guitar/vocals) and Taka Hirose
(bass). Maybe that accounted for Grant’s
staidness during the first few songs or maybe it was because they were nearing the end of
a lengthy trek. In any event Grant, who may
not always be the most charismatic of frontmen (but a darn nice guy), soon hit his stride. The set opened with the stomping single Come
Back Around followed by the blazing
pop-punk of Insomnia. From the off
they were given a rapturous reception and between every song up went football-terrace
chants of ‘Feeeder, Feeeder’. They
took the pace down a few notches for the haunting slowy Child In You and Turn
among others before cranking things up again with golden oldie My Perfect Day and
the crunching Godzilla. Taka
invited us to sing along with Buck Rogers, they belted out Seven Days In The Sun
and the speed punk-metal of Waiting For Changes before the surprise set closer Moonshine. The encore included the Feeder anthem High
and a barn-storming Just A Day. An
honourable mention must go to Mark Richardson (ex-Skunk Anansie); no-one can replace Jon
Lee but this man is an awesome powerhouse on the drums.
Feeder have set themselves pretty high standards but at the moment they have
no problem living up to them. Set list: Come
Back Around / Insomnia / We Can’t Rewind / Turn / Child In You / Forget About
Tomorrow / My Perfect Day / Godzilla / Summers' Gone / Just The Way I'm Feeling / Buck
Rogers / Seven Days In The Sun / Waiting For changes / Moonshine Reviewed by Graham S
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|
| The
Rogers Sisters/ The Projects/ Numbers (London, Arts Café and Metro)
|
|
 Beer in hand, band on stage
– small stage, mind – and an audience that knows its musical arse from its
elbow. That’s all I ask. No looking down, dressing up or sounding off. Just music, a good vibe – and that beer. On Friday night at the Arts Café and Saturday at
the Metro, NYC’s much-lauded Rogers Sisters produced no blood or
tears but plenty of sweat and the odd full-on lightning bolt. When do you know that a band loves music as much
as you do? When they vary the songs in their
set so they won’t get bored playing them. And
when the songs are as powerful as Zero Point (Saturday only) and their tense,
dynamic cover of Zig Zag Wanderer (Friday only), you don’t mind seeing them
more than once to get the full effect. Live,
they trade in the frothier dance-pop for something more muscular and punchy – the
angrier bits of Gang of Four, some Pixies and Throwing Muses maybe. I’m A Ballerina, out soon on Rough
Trade’s For Us Records, is full of skittish charm, throwing odd Eastern shadows while
Song For Freddie, at about 4 minutes, is just epic, pulsing and swaying, a
chocolate-sweet shell with a very hard interior. They’re
back in May for a London show. Miss at your
peril. At the Arts Café
they played with the sprightly Projects.
With a decent sound, the band’s power came through clearly, eased by
Morgane’s synth-rush, perfectly displaying the art-pop majesty (emphasis on pop
tonight) of the new single Entertainment. On
Saturday, the Sisters completed a bill with Numbers. The latter are a three piece from Oakland,
featuring guitar, synth and drums (a singing drummer, no less!). The music is pure post-punk rock, the synth
doing a great job filling in for a bass with plenty of quirky, twisty Gang of Four rhythms
and, on one track, there are exciting echoes of The Normal’s ‘Warm
Leatherette’. In truth, it works up to
the moment where the clicks and changs begin to lose their potency but up to that point
it’s an enervating set and confirms that their album is worthy of serious
exploration. Reviewed
by Ged M
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|
 The
Futureheads were bloody marvellous tonight. Its
all very well dressing up the noble art of pop in the language of Keats and Byron, but
sometimes you just have to say it like it is. Go
and see this band and be inspired. This was a
rip-roaring performance from start to finish. More
knowledgeable writers for this site have offered comments about the band's playlist, vinyl
output, and indeed the name’s of the band. I
suggest you order your back copies at the end. Me? I came a blank canvas, upon which the Futureheads
laid a performance so touching it fills my heart with pleasure to be able to write about
it.Initially though, the venue did the band no favours. Perhaps it was in deference to the 100 Club, the Kills or simply the poor quality of the PA, but the first couple of numbers sounded awful. It is a credit to the band they overcame these inadequacies. Early hiccups brushed aside the band visibly relaxed and it was smiles all round. Soon they were flushed with an intangible, nervous energy. Indeed, such was their youthful exuberance you could be forgiven for imagining the Futureheads supping an illicit pint afterwards, under the knowing eye of the barman. But the concentrated, intense sound they produced demonstrated a growing maturity in their songs and their stage presence that belies their age and relative inexperience. Reference points from the past flagged up early XTC or the Scottish postcard label of the eighties (Orange Juice, Scars, Fire Engines). But it’s hard to be a revivalist when you’re under 20. Their powerful, driving new wave pop places the Futureheads as upholders of a great British tradition. But they are more than new wave derivatives. Most impressive is the singing. The vocal interchange is both fresh and dramatic. Despite a conspicuously conspicuous lead singer, complete with tight Oxfam shirt and moves more jarring than Talking Heads' David Byrne, the singing seemlessly shifts between all three-band members. Regularly seen in mainstream UK boy bands, in this environment it lends the songs a rich vocal texture and dexterity. At the end of a storming set, greatly appreciated by the
crowd, the band had a look of self-satisfaction that was not altogether unpleasant. I repeat; go and see this band and be inspired. As for the Kills? Insincere, studied, too precious. An exercise in style over substance. Dull, boring. I left… Reviewed
by Alex S
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|
The Undertones (St
Patrick’s Day free festival, Jubilee Gardens) |
|
The sun is out, the sky is blue, the grass is green (so is the hair of a few nearby), the beer is black and a group of middle-aged teenagers called The Undertones are on stage grinning and bopping about as if they’d released Teenage Kicks only yesterday. Mind you, there are enough middle-aged teenagers in the crowd, some with babes in arms, grinning and bopping along to Derry’s finest as they remind us just how great their back catalogue of punky powerpop is. Every song, from You’ve Got My Number to Get Over You, sounds fresh and yet faithful to their memory (even if it feels faintly ridiculous to be singing “Jimmy Jimmy….Ohhhh”, in a field, in a crowd). The whole thing is damn near perfect even if they confound convention by sticking their best known song – the mighty and much compiled Teenage Kicks – in the middle of the set. OK, so there’s no Feargal on vocals but the ‘new boy’ Paul McCloone judges his performance just right with a bit of Sharkey warbling in places but without going too far in the direction of impersonation. Whilst we are comforted with the familiar, two new songs get an airing and although the prospect of new material from a reformed band usually summons groans (“please don’t let it be shit”) one of these - Thrill Me - is classic Undertones (it’s as if by playing the old stuff they have been revitalized) that deserves to be on the same stage as the likes of My Perfect Cousin or Get Over You. As perfect as a 99 ice-cream with the bottom bitten off. Set list: You've Got My Number / Jimmy Jimmy / Thrill Me / Here Comes the Summer / Teenage Kicks / Wednesday Week / She Wants Everything But You / My Perfect Cousin / Get Over You. Reviewed by Kev O
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| The Rogers Sisters (London Barfy) | |
 Brooklyn based three piece the Rogers Sisters produced a rather
splendid album of brief quirky pop ditties last year which saw them repeatedly compared to
the B-52s. Whilst there is no doubting
the similarities in Jennifer’s vocals with those of Kate from the B-52s the other
musical similarities are less pronounced live as they deliver spiky punk, occasionally
bordering on garage. It’s probably just
as well that the band don’t have beehives either (unlike the B-52s) as they’d
soon be wilting under the efforts of chugging to their output. Bassist, and occasional vocalist, Miyuki in
particular, is a thrashing lunatic, throwing himself around like a man with no sense of
danger or fear of adding to the cuts on his head. When
music is as good and the performers as entertaining as this you can’t help but feel
that they deserve a better sized audience than the half empty Barfly tonight. Still for those of us that made the effort, we
reaped the rewards. Reviewed by Paul M
|
They say that some
people have champagne tastes on beer money.
Ooberman's Dan Popplewell looks
like a punch drunk boxer who's opened his eyes to see his opponent flat out. He
seems bewildered yet edgy, not quite sure where he is or why we're watching him. You
see Ooberman are touring for the first time in years and since their last live dates
they've gone from media darlings through the depression of the loss of a record contract
and now back out into the bright lights of small venue gigs like this. Fortunately, they
are not alone. A sizable and enthusiastic crowd of young Ooberboys and Oobergirls have
gathered to bear witness to the pop wonder that is Ooberman. 
and new, one minute
melancholic, the next euphoric. There's hints of Belle and Sebastian, Flaming Lips,
Gorky's and the Delgados, and with the new single First Day of the Holidays, even
Pulp playing ELO's Mr Blue Sky. Other highlights are the eastern fiddle thrashing of SnakeDance,
the boggle eyed silliness of early single Sugarbum, the ska on 78rpm of Beany
Bean and the pure pop splendour of Bluebell Morning.