The Mendoza Line  / Herman Düne / The Broken Family Band (London, Arts Café)

For a band that has two acoustic guitars, a fretless bass and a drumkit played mostly with brushes, The Broken Family Band are loud tonight.   Their songs have an Americana feel that’s halfway between Smog and Bonnie Prince Billy, helped by arch lyrics (check Twisted for example), post-ironic delivery and an acceptable degree of arrogance.  Without it they might be yee-har Radio 2 fodder, but the BFB experience is broader and more fun than that.   

Queen of the Sea starts the set with a laidback, Tex-Mex texture that’s deceptively easy listening until it bursts into heavier life and it has a line “sometimes nothing must take the place of nothing in a heart” that sticks in your brain like a page three girl to a lottery winner’s arm.  They chance a new song, Out the Back of the Chapel, which is bold considering it owes everything to Herman Düne (they readily admit it) who are watching from the side of the stage.   It’s another song with sly lyrics and a spirited pace.   Off the Radar is a song of infidelity, full of military analogies and a kazoo break(!).  They finish with a track that they describe as their ‘Stand By Your Man’: it’s fast and loud with harmonies that are pure Flying Burrito Brothers. 

There’s something quite subversive about the band, from the way they twist a fairly straight country formula to the asides from Steven Adams, who is the one real presence onstage.   It’s a fun opener.  

Herman Düne, it’s fair to say, are pretty shambolic, which adds to the fun.  They chain-smoke, discuss onstage what to play next, and they invite the guitarist from Wave Pictures to come up and play guitar solos, which he does very well.  There’s no art or stagecraft; they stumble onto the stage, pick up their Silvertone guitars and start to play.  Sometimes it’s The Velvet Underground lost in a forest, sometimes it’s a lonely Neil Young sound.   It’s anti-folk and anti-fashion; the one influence they acknowledge is The Mountain Goats on their cover of International Small Arms Traffic Blues.  Their own new material for future release on Track and Field sounds amazing – Show Me The Roof is a perfect taster, simple yet epic.  2003 will be their year. 

Tonight is the debut of The Mendoza Line in England and, barring some nerves, they’re enjoying it.  On record their songs are polished and produced, instruments are clearly separated in the mix and the lyrics are as important as the tune.  It’s good but live brings a new perspective on the band.  They’re dirtier, more ragged, a bit bluesier and a whole lot more rock’n’roll.

Just as, sometimes, words on a page don’t sound the same as spoken English, the live experience mushes up some songs to a form that works brilliantly in front of an audience.  Tonight we got that.  Damn Good Disguise is slowed down, almost drawled but not quite as Dylanesque as the album version, before the band pick it up and run with it to the finish, making it sound almost a sea shanty.  The Triple Bill of Shame sees Tim Bracy singing at his most soulful and affecting with Shannon Mary McArdle contributing sweet, folky harmonies.  On In Your Hands she belts out the song like the pop ditty it is.  Their nerves abate as the audience responds to their infectious enthusiasm and the Arts Café becomes pretty toasty with the warmth generated onstage and off.  And on a freezing night in London, when you’re a brass monkey urgently looking for a welding shop, who could complain about that? 

Reviewed by Ged M
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(aka Queens of Noize presents the best of 2003)

You can’t beat a gig with no expectations and being pleasantly surprised with the bands.  First up were The IV’s (fours?) a pleasing punky rock combo with a Pete Libertinealike front man (they have in fact supported the Libertines in the past) who specialised in Jaggeresque moves and cheery banter. Good catchy tunes and worth looking out for.

Clang are a three piece fronted by Donna Matthews (ex Elastica). Cracking rhythm section fractured by Donna’s thin piercing vocal and discordant, pulsing guitar. Unfortunately they err on the experimental and what started as promising quirky popish tunes mostly stretched out into monotonous dirges. New direction and material should hopefully see some promise from the undoubted talent of this line up.

The Sunderland based Futureheads strolled in looking like middle class Surrey boys with a drummer who was surely the jester in RentaGhost. What a transformation once on stage. They launch into exhilarating edgy 80s tinged jutted pop punk, with a fantastic tricky, three pronged, shouty, but harmonious vocal assault which rushes the listener through the set.   Songs like Picture of Dorian Grey, and a cracking cover of Kate Bush’s Running Up The Hill typify this excellent band's set.  Comparisons with XTC will inevitably be made but the 'heads have a tight, visceral edge that really thrills. The best thing out of Sunderland since err um Jim Montgomery.

Pink Grease hail from Sheffield but look like something out of 70’s New York. They were more frill than substance but entertaining enough.  The foppy bleached blonde, heavily eye shadowed singer, ripped Mickey Mouse T shirt and beige leather jacket certainly looks the part of a “rawk” frontman with a Martin Degville gurn. The rest of the band are a real hotch potch. A  Slick style nancy with a mullet, pink and white stripey top and red handbag, who amusingly mock machine guns the audience with his axe. The bassist is a Quireboys clone. Band mouthpiece is Mungo Jerry’s Ray Dorset (I’m convinced) an afroed sunshaded geezer completes the line up apart from a scrawny freak (surely a lovechild of Bill Drummond) with a big box of electronic tricks akin to the BBC radiophonic workshop slung heavily on his shoulder.  Their set is average and despite their look and their musical talent their tunes are electronicy/rocky but sadly unmmemorable 70’s Stoogy Glampunk. The on stage antics alone are a wheeze -  jumping off the back of the stage, an accident involving a serious guitar move and a face incident made this a visual spectacle.

Review by Graham J and Nancy M
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3 Head are a five piece dub outfit and whilst the thought of a reggae set would normally see me making a b-line for the bar pronto these were alright.  The traditional dub basslines were topped with guitar and screeching violin alongside ragga toasting and there were enough hints of the Clash and Throbbing Gristle to make me put off the booze order till after they’d finished. 

As this is an XFM night the radio station’s DJ John Kennedy introduced Gothenburg’s The Caesars with a claim that we’d be hearing a lot more of them in 2003.  Personally I’d heard enough of them at the tail end of 2002 to agree but whilst their set was useful they didn’t live up to my expectations based on the excellent Fun and Games EP.   They didn’t lack energy, indeed at one stage they were rocking so hard on the tiny stage a large keyboard toppled off an amp that was vibrating so much.  What they did lack was the tightness you’d expect from a band now three albums into their career.   At times they were a tad messy, the sound fuzzier than Gaz Coombes' cheeky chops and in particular the subtleties of excellent EP track Only You were lost. 

The soaring vocals were at their best when the often cringingly poor lyrics were indecipherable but the heart of their sound is the Farfisa organ which gives them a 79/80 mod power pop feel with hints of other influences from the Pixies to the Flamin Groovies.  The biggest cheer came inevitably with the churning out of the Lee Perry cover and EP a-side Fun and Games which was at least as good as the recorded version.  All in all – good, but no cigar. 

Setlist: Sort it out, Kick you out, Only You, You Don’t Mean a Thing To Me, Suzy Creamcheese, Punkrocker, Spill Tour Guts, Fun and Games, Jerk it out.

Review by Paul M
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The name is now usually prefixed by the words “the legendary” and both crowd and media are out in force for him, the crowd including the Beatings and Bobby Gillespie.  The set started shakily, the singing flat and the sound muted.  Fortunately both picked up for the rest of the unbroken two hours, which featured the entire ‘Forever Changes’ album, with orchestral accompaniment, bookended by two collections of Love songs.  Highlights of the first section were a blistering Robert Montgomery and a maudlin Signed D.C. whose haunting tones managed to permeate even the aircraft hanger that is the RFH.  After the initial shakiness, Arthur’s voice picked up and demonstrated that his reserves of soul run deep.   The occasional solo by Mike Randle was a bit irritating: we’ve come to praise Arthur and when he’s not in the spotlight it’s like the sun’s gone in.   Fair play to Baby Lemonade though: as a backing band, when they’re anonymous they provide a brilliant accompaniment for King Arthur.

We were then presented with the whole of ‘Forever Changes’ sounding, if anything, clearer and brighter than the recorded versions.  The songs have lost none of their power: on the contrary, after 35 years they’re still gaining lustre.  The second set had a brilliant Always See Your Face and then a special guest on The Singing Cowboy – so special that Arthur had to be told his name twice and still announced him as “Grim Caxton”.  The Blur reject played his piece sheepishly then snuck off stage again.   The final song was brand new and sounded like a Scottish Hogmanay knees up tune crossed with a revolutionary anthem.  Kicked off by a piper in full kit, Arthur sang of burning his bridges: “bye bye America…bye bye California, you made me happy and you made me cry”. 

With all the great names of the 60s either missing in action, dead or disgraced, Arthur Lee may be the one true star we have left.  In Everybody’s Gotta Live, just like last summer, he made his call for “freedom” and we all knew what he wanted to be free of: prison, poverty, prejudice and popular indifference.  Well he might have cracked it in the UK.  As our discredited Royals become ever more irrelevant, we’re ready to elect a new ruling dynasty, and only Arthur’s fit to sit on its throne.  If all of this is karma for the crap he’s taken in the last 30 years, then he deserves it.  It’s the power of Love.

Review by Ged M
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Clean-cut good looks, nice shirt and a floppy blonde fringe. Britt Daniel takes the stage looking like a Blue Peter presenter. Not that this would mean a thing to Spoon’s lead singer and song-writer, because the joys of sticky-backed plastic probably haven’t made it as far as Austin, Texas.

In case nobody knows that Spoon hail from the land of George Dubya, someone from the strong American presence in the crowd soon sets the record straight.  “Austin, Texas! TURN IT UP!” he shouts, as Spoon launch into Small Stakes. Like a one-night stand, it’s nervy, rousing and all over in two minutes. In fact, none of Spoon’s songs last much longer than three minutes. But this is more than just a wham, bam and thank you band.

With a huge debt owed to Elvis Costello’s spiky sound, Spoon’s songs tremble and twitch with an energy that threatens to break free, but is continually reined in by Daniel’s commitment to respect pop’s borders. This tension produces some quite spectacular flinching and head-snapping from the singer as he rushes through a smattering of tracks from the latest album, Kill the Moonlight. But it is material from last year’s magnificent Girls Can Tell that shines. The Fitted Shirt, Anything You Want, and Lines in the Suit all shiver with sharp hooks and quirky choruses, pricking the crowd into a strange lurching dance.

They wrap up with an edgy cover of Roller Coaster by the 13^th Floor Elevators - think psychedelia with a tic - leaving Daniel sweat-soaked, wide-eyed and wired. More Richard Bacon than Valerie Singleton.  

Review by Patrick M
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Manic Street Preachers / Kenesis (Brixton Academy)

Barely out of nappies Kinesis are an up and coming quartet from that well known rock ‘n’ roll metropolis, er, Bolton.  Formed 2 years ago they play sledgehammer political punk-metal and would have been a much better fit with The Manics of old than the middle-of-the-road rock act they’ve become.  All decked out in matching white t-shirts they are well into posturing; you might expect a guitarist to play frantically while flat on his back in the last song (which he did) but not in the first (which he did).  Cock-sure of themselves they delivered a powerful set of no let-up pummelling chainsaw-guitar rock.  And if there’s a drawback, that’s it; no let-up.   The songs were too indistinguishable, too unvaried.  But they’re young, keen and talented.  Give them time.   The Manic Street Preachers may be about as genuinely political now as Screaming Lord Sutch (yes, I know he’s dead) and as relevant to today’s music scene as Oasis, but they can still pull in the punters in their thousands and belt out a set of crowd-pleasers.   And as their ‘Greatest Hits Tour’ rolled into London, that’s exactly what they did, augmented by a keyboard player and extra percussionist.  Opening with Motorcycle Emptiness from ‘Generation Terrorists’, an album well-represented tonight, they played songs from across their career with the conspicuous exception of the last studio album, the pretty appalling ‘Know Your Enemy’.  ‘Gold Against The Soul’ and ‘The Holy Bible’ got two tracks each but the bulk of the set was drawn from the debut, the more accessible post-Richey albums ‘Everything Must Go’ and ‘This Is My Truth…’, and non-album singles.  Motown Junk was dedicated to (the probably late) Richard Edwards.  You don’t tend to think of James Dean Bradfield as a guitar hero but he rips the tunes out of his instrument with consummate ease while whirling round the stage on one leg.  Nicky Wire was his usual cheerful self and mostly opened his gob to slag off other bands.  ‘We’re not used to playing places this small.  Bands like Ash, The Hives and Supergrass, that’s their life’s ambition.’  Wanker; didn’t exactly sell out Wembley overnight did you?  And later in a diatribe about shit cars: ‘the worst fucking cars of all were the Datsuns.  Funny how history repeats itself.’  But the lovable Jimmy Dean makes up for his bandmate. The gig ended in fine style with the trio of If You Tolerate This…, You Love Us and A Design For Life.  No encore, but when you’ve played a 90-minute greatest hits package, what’s the point?  The Manics may have got a bit flabby and commercial in the last few years but they can still pull it out of the bag live. Set list: Motorcycle Emptiness / Revol / You Stole The Sun From My Heart / The Masses Against The Classes / There By The Grace Of God / Australia / Kevin Carter / Slash n’ Burn / Tsunami / Motown Junk / Theme from M*A*S*H (Suicide Is Painless) / Stay Beautiful / Little Baby Nothing / Faster / From Despair To Where / Roses In The Hospital / Forever Delayed / The Everlasting / Everything Must Go / If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next / You Love Us / A Design For Life Reviewed by Graham S Top | Comment on this artist or review on the Forum

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (Olympia Theatre, Dublin)

Oh dear. Oh, dearie, dearie me. I'd been looking forward to seeing the mighty BRMC ever since I caught half of their set at the Witnness festival last summer. They hadn't been spectacular then but I put it down to severe lack of crowd participation, which of course, is fundamental to making any live show great. This Olympia gig should be good, though, I thought to myself- it'll be their own fans, a full set and not just a quick 45 minute jaunt on a summer festival day. Alas, how wrong I was. How disappointed I was. After an abysmal start to proceedings - a pointless set from DJ Dan Mancini, which kept the majority of people in the bar- wouldn't blame them either- Black Rebel Motorcycle Club took to the stage, clad in their black leather jackets, black tee-shirts and shiny black bo....well ok, maybe they weren't shiny boots, but you get the general impression. They were black. They were mean. They were ready to rock....or so I thought. Being a big fan of their 2001 eponymous debut, I'd come to appreciate BRMC as not just another band from the same rock n' roll academy that has spawned bands such as The Strokes and The Vines...and yes, BRMC have been hyped by the NME, which isn't very appetising, but I felt that they were different. They had talent. They had class. Most importantly, they had a bloody good album. I feel let down. I feel disappointed that BRMC were no better than they were at Witnness, which was, well....not the best, to say the least. Plodding through a set which perused most of the album, plus a few b-sides, BRMC gave the general impression of just not wanting to be there. Yes, there was the mandatory sing-alongs of the fantastic singles 'Spread Your Love' and 'Love Burns' and these seemed to be the biggest crowd-pleasers. But there was no 'oomph' - nothing to make you think 'Wow, these blokes are really, really talented'. It's highly frustrating for me because I still think that BRMC are one of the best new bands to have emerged in the past two years. Unfortunately, they seem to be caught up on their image. To be fair, they weren't the worst band I've ever seen by a long shot, but they were disappointing. It was definitely a case of going through the motions, even on the brilliant 'Red Eyes And Tears' and 'White Palms'. BRMC have the potential to be one of the best bands going if they just put in the effort for their live performances. Come on, lads - take off yer jackets, roll up your sleeves and maybe interact with the crowd a bit more- there was barely a peep from the three of them throughout the whole gig. Hopefully with another album or two under their belts, they'll improve and mature, but until then, I won't be seeing them again. 'Whatever Happened To My Rock 'N' Roll' they ask? I dunno boys, but when you find it, please let me know. Reviewed by Lauren M Top | Comment on this artist or review on the Forum

Pulp (Auto Festival)

And so, the end? Well maybe, but if it is, they couldn’t have picked a better way to bow out, finishing with a spectacularly thunderous version of  Common People, Jarvis is stood in the centre of the stage at perhaps the strangest venue in Pulp’s 25 year career, with a warm smile on his face, telling the crowd that "we may meet again". Rewind back to a couple of hours earlier, and after wandering round the freezing cold Magma Centre, Baxter Dury is entertaining the crowd waiting for Pulp, he’s okay, and sounds eerily similar to his late dad. Next up, The Bees, who warm up the crowd with some supercool slices of retro funk, with horns and hammond organ aplenty. But while this Magna Centre is the kind of place one could spend an entire evening wandering round, the majority of people are waiting to see if this really will be the final gig of Pulp’s career. They’ve already admitted they aren’t going to be around for some time, and the poor sales of their hits album cannot have exactly inspired them to continue. The reception they recieved tonight may have helped however. Starting with Do You Remember The First Time?, this is the seventh time I have seen Jarvis and company live, and I’ve never been surrounded by such an excitable crowd, every one of them, like me, determined to make the most of this gig.

The band are as excellent as ever, bass player Steve Mackey, the organiser  of this festival, smiling far more than his cool persona normally lets him get away with. Jarvis is as witty as ever, treating the crowd to nuts while sarcastically warning those with nut allergies, and teasing the crowd with the possibility of Haribo Supermix. Playing more His ‘N’ Hers-era songs than usual, the front of the crowd are definitely hardcore, singing 59 Lyndhurst Grove and Razzmatazz word for word. Sorted For E’s And Whizz sounds a little funkier than usual, with Ross from Fat Truckers adding extra percussion throughout the gig.

After a transcendental version of Sunrise which had Jarvis wigging-out like never before, Pulp were apparently going to play The Last Day Of The Miners Strike but instead skipped to a version of Happy Endings that took everybody by surprise, this song hasn’t been played live in years and could definitely be taken as a clue to Pulp’s future, but it was a torch song to melt every ounce of cold in Magna.

Other highlights? Friendly crowd, excellent sound quality, The Kills intense performance (I don’t know what the singer was saying, but she was fucking sex personified) and seeing Jarvis and his missus hand-in-hand following Schneider TM’s robotic take on There Is A Light That Never Goes Out. Here’s hoping that there’s more Auto to come, and, it goes without saying, more Pulp too.

Reviewed by Robert B
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It's been a couple of years since I last saw Gomez, and since then their fortunes have changed somewhat. After releasing stopgap compilation "Abandoned Shopping Trolley Hotline" two years ago, the group took a well-earned break. Upon returning this year with the shiny new "In Our Gun", Gomez received mixed reviews, some critics lazily claiming it was their own "Kid A". While far from perfect, "In Our Gun" was actually a pretty good album, not up to the standard of "Bring It On" but a step forward from the slightly over-the-top Americana of "Liquid Skin". Unfortunately, "In Our Gun" seemed to pass album buyers by. It seemed that the world had moved on.  However after tonight’s gig it would appear that Gomez are happy with this fact. Coming onto the stage to the sound of Kenny Loggins hit Footloose, Gomez seemed more than happy to be playing to what is, after all, the only fans they have left, their loyal fanbase. Ben’s voice sounded amazing, I’d forgotten just how impressive it is live, and its still hard to believe it can come from such an average looking man. The songs from "In Our Gun" sounded great, "Shot Shot", "Detroit Swing 66" and of course, the beautiful "Sound Of Sounds".

As expected though, it was the early stuff from Mercury Music Prize winning "Bring It On" that got the biggest reactions. "Here Comes The Breeze" had everybody shouting "Gonna get out our heads" in unison, and anthem "Get Myself Arrested" caused dancing galore. Gomez also gave the crowd renditions of work in progress, the most notable being a song similar to "Shot Shot" only heavier (Ian dedicating it to his dad, who apparently "loves loud music") and a tender ballad that had the crowd wondering what Gomez meant when they sang that maybe pigeons are the rulers of the universe. Hmmm.

Encoring with an intense version of "Army Dub" that had Ian stomping around like a lunatic, and "Tijuana Lady" (well, they had to didn’t they), that for some reason Ben sang to a skull, Shakespearian style, it would seem that Gomez will continue with their eclectic combination of blues, rock, dance etc for as long as they continue to genuinely love music. Lets hope this is for a long time to come.

Review by Robert B

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Firstly, there were two other bands playing this gig but for the first one I decided to sit at the back and drink Fosters whilst facing the wrong direction instead of watching - they sounded terrible anyway. The headlining band were the Black Heart Procession, but they bored me and I needed to catch the last bus home, so their keyboard tinkering was to miss out on the scrutiny of Richard C.

Elf Power were the band I’d paid my hard earned cash to see, and despite a hefty delay they didn’t disappoint one little bit. I’d heard they could ‘rock rather hard’ during their live shows, and they do, largely thanks to their fucking ace drummer. I’m no drumming expert but he’s my hero now. The rest of the band did some sterling work on the instruments they dabbled with, and one of the guitarists, Laura Carter, did the old slide guitar with a beer bottle. I haven’t seen that one in a while.

Their performance has confirmed to me that I should continue to whore this band to the public and demand that they give them a listen. A disappointingly short set, but one that that everyone enjoyed, and one I’m sure anyone else would have enjoyed. A fantastic band.

Review by Richard C

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The new and improved Jets now feature a second guitarist, and it has opened up a whole new dynamic range to their live performance. Where before there was always a promise of full on guitar assault during their songs, it often never materialized. Now there is ample opportunity for both the axe-wielding imps to unleash hell upon their instruments, and flail across the stage like demented Tasmanian Devils. It works in spades.

In their new bass player they finally have a second vocalist capable of both harmonizing with the singer, as well as taking on the responsibility of lead vocals for a couple of songs. Again this adds yet another dimension to their sound and live performance. The drumming is still as heavy and tight as it’s always been, and is the key to their success. Whenever they seem to be close to veering off course due to the intensity of the show, the drummer has the natural ability to grab the song by the scruff of the neck and drag the band through to it’s conclusion.

Having seen most of the big new names play live this year, and been both impressed and disappointed by what I’ve seen, it has taken four teenage girls from East London to fully restore my faith in the future of rock and roll. The music scene is ripe for a band just like The Suffrajets to come along and steal everybody’s thunder. Last time I saw them I thought they had potential, now I know they have the talent. Bigger, better and louder sums tonight up nicely. The next hurdle they have to cross is capturing their live energy on record, which (as The Libertines will confirm I’m sure) is never as easy as it sounds. I’m putting my head on the block here and I’m bound to be slated for saying it, but this was the best live performance I’ve seen this year – bar none. “Hello World” indeed!

Now how do you follow a performance like that? In that situation you have two choices, either get up on stage and play the set of your life or accept that you’re not really as good as you thought you were, play your set and get outta Dodge as quickly as possible. Katastrophy Wife chose the latter easier option.

Having the former front woman from riot girl mainstays Babes In Toyland may have swelled the attendance, but it did nothing to improve either the quality of the songs or the performance. There was a lack of variety or promise in any of the tunes, and melody was sacrificed for drone and excessively fuzzed guitars. Boredom surfaced four songs into the set and the bar was a more attractive proposition to being forced to listen to another self-indulgent 3 minutes of Middle American 30-something posing as teenage angst. At least The Babes used to have a good line in tunes and getting the message across to the audience. There was none of this in evidence of this tonight. Just goes to show that you can never rest on your laurels in the music business. Katasrophy Wife are destined to obscurity unless they ditch the posturing, and concentrate on writing some decent songs. Ok, they were on a loser having to follow the Jets performance, but that’s no excuse for just going through the motions. Being semi-famous is no substitute for being passionate about you art.

Review by Micky K

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The band started off a little slowly (bear in mind these are First Generation Punks and should therefore perhaps be sitting in bath chairs in a rest home whilst a blue-rinsed lady of a certain age bashes out "You Bastard" on the old Joanna with the words '"Remember this one do ya?") but they became more animated as they went on. This would have all made much more of an impact in 1977 but the crowd (most of whom were probably too young to remember them first time round) responded well, especially to the typical punchy numbers.

ATV were one of the first punk bands to make a conscious effort to widen their musical horizons (e.g. doing reggae tracks before The Clash did) and they demonstrated some of these less obvious musical directions when they invited a flautist on stage for a couple of numbers. We were told the guy had last played with them in 1979 but he seemed to have no problem picking things up again. A decent set by a band who are holding up well.

Review by Alex M

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