The Stool Pigeon Music Newspaper Issue 024

PRESENTED BY ATP CONCERTS

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December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

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The Stool Pigeon UK TAKING ITS TIME TO WARM UP TO COOLY G

But it would help if people stopped thinking of her as dubstep Words KEV KHARAS Picture GARY MANHINE

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ne of the best things about UK dance music is that it’s not overly concerned with being ‘pop’. As such, it doesn’t tend to have an existential fit every time it gets bored of itself. The scene’s self-confidence perhaps explains why, as British bands continue to lurch from boom to bust on pendulous waves of hype, our dance

moments seem to flow gleefully and gratefully into each other, past and present crystallised in ever-onrushing dance futures.

You can’t imagine UK dance ever disowning bass, for example, in the same way that UK rock has shed flares; even if there’s a decent argument for seeing the killer, percussive thwack of Cooly G’s funky house as a revitalising antidote to the womping of bass-led dubstep.

That womping has owned London in recent times, but has started to feel chronically sluggish, like flares dragged through puddles.

That’s not to say Cooly G’s dances don’t throb with low-end pressure. It’s just that with the shift in lead from bass to drum the thing’s carried along on a more sprightly momentum, resulting in dancefloors more feminine and alluring than found at dubstep’s militant socials.

Cooly - real name Merissa Campbell, from Brixton, south London - hasn’t spent a great deal of time at capital city dubstep nights like FWD or DMZ these last few years. “I used to go to Fridge Bar [in Brixton] on Sundays for some underground house,” she explains. “I wasn’t going to dubstep nights, I was going to deep house nights.”

This hasn’t stopped her being slung in with dubstep’s sprawling escapee nexus, however, as the dance style rushes onwards into dalliances with house, G-Funk, techno, soul, and grime; not to mention recent rose-tinted, silver-skinned flirtations with UK garage from the likes of Joy Orbison and Brackles.

Cooly doesn’t think too much about that, though. “I just do my thing. I don’t over-think it. My music comes from inside me,” she says, “and now I’m letting it out.”

There’s more to Cooly G than jacking, bald-snare funky house. She’s also a semi-pro footballer, single mother, and youth worker. “That’s just standard for me,” she says. If terse email interviews could shrug, this one has tired shoulders.

She warms more when asked about playing live. Have the crowds changed at all since you released the single [‘Love Dub’/’Narst’] with Hyperdub this summer?

“London shows, people stare at me a lot,” she says, before dismissing the idea that that might be because Hyperdub’s still seen as a ‘dubstep’

label, despite the fact all their best moments in recent times have moved away from dubstep’s 140bpm lurch.

“Maybe it’s ’cause I’m female. I’ve only really seen that at one show at The Macbeth [Hoxton, east London] though. But they get down - at international gigs they go more crazy and you feel them more, but it’s all good. I feel good when I play out, wherever.

Everyone is cool.”

Gleeful, grateful. Cooly G knows her wave won’t ever crash. It’ll just get absorbed in the warmth of the crowd, and go thwacking on forever.

Mysterious, druid-like Drumcunt not a fan of the new Fuck Buttons LP

INSIDE

XXIV, December 2009

Words JASPER VICAR

Cope got it about right.

“Drum loops, busy drums, drum’n’bass loops, stupid redundant drums, Rockers Uptown, pulsing reggae pulses,” he wrote about Drumcunt recently, “yup, these druids really are cunts for the drums.”

And if that sounds peculiar, you should try emailing Drumcunt to ask who he/they (definitely not ‘she’) might be: “Drumcunt is a band of gypsies based in south London,” you’ll be told. “It’s a spiritual home.

We come together in different forms usually at the break of dawn when rehearsal rooms are quiet and rock stars are tucked up in bed. It’s music made by people who are pretty unattached by the proposition of being liked. Self-victimisation.”

There is music you can hear, if not just yet. A superb CDR album, Superlucky, printed up to the tune of 50 copies is long gone, but Judgement Dispenser are threatening a re-release on... cassette tape.

You need to hear their pounding concoction of twisted loops and samples mashed into tracks that sometimes sound kraut-like, sometimes heavily dubstep. And, yes, of course Drumcunt is reluctant to describe the sound: “It’s a vent of pent-up emotions. They are all there, mixed up in a pot of shit and sprayed onto the wall for everyone to see and turn their noses up at. I guess you could call it noisecore or electro-kraut or break shit beats or anything else tediously mundane.”

Suddenly, though a bit more sense: “Neu! are one of the bands that I wish I was the drummer for.

They covered so much ground on their records and weren’t scared of freaking people out. I like that. The Heads from Bristol make a wonderful noise, too. And I am currently addicted to Hype Machine and all those breaks and drops.

There are too many to mention.”

More personality begins to emerge when Drumcunt’s asked how Julian Cope got to hear his music: “He got sent a CD. He listened to it and liked it. Well chuffed with that: he’s an absolute legend. I stood next to him once and felt like the smallest man in the world. My dad taught his old guitarist [Donald Skinner] to play guitar, and he used to live next to me when I was a kid in Tamworth.

Some pointless trivia for you.”

But you won’t reveal your identity, Drumcunt? “No, but I do have a message: don’t buy the new Fuck Buttons album. It’s shit.”

Julian

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The Stool Pigeon December 2009

S D R I B G N SO LETHAL REJECTION

FUNKINEVEN SOUND BEING RECEIVED LOUD AND KLEER Danna Hawley London, Monday Novemeber 9.

room bathed in sweat at a raucous underground party in Dalston, east London. Smiling, screaming faces are everywhere; location and time lose all relevance. The word ‘journey’ doesn’t quite do the DJ’s set justice: from the hybrid funk/rock sound of Prince-era Minneapolis, to the metallic beats of

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Detroit’s techno heart, to the outer-galactic feel of neo-soul, the soul-driven, openminded world of FunkinEven is allencompassing.

“I wouldn’t call myself a DJ,” he says with a shrug, later. “I call myself a record collector.

I just appreciate really good music across all genres.”

Trip back to France helps river-loving Fránçois open up the floodgates of creativity Words SAM LEWIS Marr y ’ s new Album, Plaine Inondable, is a beginning that came out of an ending. Having reached breaking point with life as a DIY musician the stress of organising tours, recordings and practices - Fránçois decided to give it all up and go back to his roots, namely his parents’ home in the south of France.

“I went back without any particular intention,” he explains, “partly to have a good, nice rest.”

Yet outside the claustrophobic bubble of the UK (where Fránçois resides again) and its music scene, he discovered a new-found creative freedom. In money-mad England, music and art are hobbies to be

Fránçois

The ever-dapper West Londoner always has an air about him, as if he’s dancing to a different drum. That’s because FunkinEven has got, to quote his own track, ‘Mad Swing’. Amassing a remarkable amount of productions for the best part of 13 years (a time in which, he claims, almost no one knew he was making beats), his own sounds provide a hypnotic, intoxicating path into the unknown. His first official release, ‘Kleer’, printed on clear vinyl and featuring the soaring vocals of his Eglo Records’ label-mate and long-time collaborator Fatima, is currently being hammered by other DJs. It also sold out on pre-order earlier this month.

“Fatima came to my house for two days and we got writer’s block,” he says of the track. “She couldn’t write anything, and I couldn’t make any beats. I played her loads of stuff from my library and she wasn’t really getting into the vibe. Then I loaded up a track that I’d already made and rearranged it. ‘Kleer’ was finished within 15 minutes, just like that, after two days of having writer’s block. She just sat down and started writing lines - ‘Like a breath of fresh air when I inhale it’ - and that was it.”

The moment the distinct snare of ‘Kleer’ kicks in, it triggers an unprecedented roar on any dancefloor.

Needless to say, it goes off. “I get kind of shy,” he says, laughing. “And I get kind of a sick feeling. I didn’t know it had that effect.”

From his days hype dancing to his days as a rapper and producer, music has been ever-present in FunkinEven’s life. “I had DJs in the family,” he says.

“My uncle lived on the ground floor and his soundsystem would shake the eighth floor! I grew up with music... just vibrations. Reggae, raga, rare groove, soul, hip hop, Chicago house, Detroit techno, acid, everything.”

And that’s why FunkinEven’s managed to create a sound that gives you that bubbling sense of discovery: genre-mashing vibrations that leave people scrambling for adjectives. To help, he’s created a new genre for his music: “I call it ‘HipSoulSonic’,” he explains, “and I would describe that as the foundation of hip hop, hard beats, and a futuristic sort of fusion of sound and sonics, all wrapped with soul.”

indulged outside the rigours of a working life.

“I didn’t have to work or feel stressed about money because I was staying at my parents,” he says. “We had so much time, we could just experiment. It was a real luxury.

I imagine, in my stereotyped vision of the seventies, that people had more time, just playing and jamming and finding ideas instead of having to organise everything in one afternoon.”

There’s a childish pleasure in making music, playing and creating for the joy of the act itself, rather than for any conscious end goal.

Fránçois’s music is full of this sense of simple wonder and yet too contemplative to ever become cloying. It’s a dreamlike amalgamation of French and English lyrics over lilting acoustic guitars and impressionistic pianos - part Adrian Orange joyous freedom, part Erik Satie sad melancholia.

Still, Plaine Inondable’s musical palate is broader than Fránçois’s previous records, inspired by both the African melodies of Ali Farka Touré and the Éthiopiques series, as well as the polyphonic vocals of Eastern European choirs. A Basque female choir features throughout, with Fránçois espousing the “purity” of its sound.

The recording process was just as simple and cathartic, the name of his ‘band’, Atlas Mountains, standing for whoever happens to be playing with him at any given moment. The album title, though, refers to where he lived as a teenager by a river which, in the winter, floods all around.

“Being away from France for a while, and then coming back, I could see the landscapes there with new eyes,” he explains. “The flood is this weird phenomenon; it feels like the river is quiet, and then all of a sudden it just overtakes

everything.”

Plaine Inondable reflects the moods of that river: occasionally bubbly and calm, yet full of darker, sad undercurrents.

Fránçois moved to Bristol in 2003 and was absorbed into the city’s formative DIY scene. Though recent years have seen him play trumpet on Stateside tours with Camera Obscura, he says, “When you put one foot inside the world of the ‘industry’, all the ideas are very compressed to make them more manageable on a big scale. But when you’re DIY, you can experiment a lot. It’s just easier.

More liberal, you have more freedom.”

There’s no definite plan for the future, however: “My music’s focused on whatever happens in the time around the music.”

What’s always important is the moment itself, it seems.

Everything else can wait for later.

IPC TOWERS, London. UK rapper Lethal Bizzle seems like a genial and hard-working sort, so he probably ought to have realised that the NME and Uncut might not appreciate him strolling into their shared office to play them his new album on full tilt during a normal work day. Apparently, the building almost collapsed. Later, the following news reached us: “It’s a good thing he did play the album as loud as he did, otherwise he would have heard us all pissing ourselves laughing at how fucking shit it is and how absurd he looked nodding his head to his own music.”

SLIT DECISION BRIGHTON, East Sussex. It’s clear not everyone would jump at the chance to play on-stage with punk legends The Slits. After turning up unexpectedly at a recent gig in Brighton that featured Glaswegian ‘nae wavers’ Divorce on the bill, chief Slit Ari Up asked if her band could perform an impromptu set. They needed a bassist, so Divorce’s VSO stepped forward and enquired whether the songs were easy to play. “No Slits songs are simple,” came Ari Up’s pompous reply, to which VSO curtly said: “Fuck off then, I’m not interested.”

SHOE PIE HACKNEY, London. A right old online hoo-hah got going in late October after The Quietus website ran a not-so-complimentary interview with pop starlet Florence Welch. It seems she has a lot of fans out there who will passionately jump to her defence. None, though, managed to leave a comment quite as brilliant as this: “Florence just strikes me as the musical equivalent of Colin Hunt from The Fast Show: ‘I’m mad, I am! Look, I’m climbing up the speakers in a paisley burka! No shoes! Someone tell Edith Bowman!’”

TOPLESS PIT BIRMINGHAM, West Midlands.

Birmingham-based Passion Pit fans encouraged to upload photos of the band’s November 1 gig at the O2 Academy received a rude shock when the promotions company handling the event issued them with an incorrect URL. passionpit.com is a very different website indeed, especially if you add /photos to that address. The punters, many of whom complained to the promoters, were gently reminded of the actual URL, passionpitmusic.com, and told that, under interrogation, research is the best excuse.

BOOK WORM BRIGHTON, East Sussex. As if hearing Nick Cave promote the shit out of his bloody awful new novel wasn’t enough, we’re now having to put up with him making a series of very public apologies to Avril Lavigne, whose vagina features heavily in The Death Of Bunny Munro. In the latest example of a man totally losing sense of himself and probably suffering from erectile dysfunction, Cave creepily said: “It’s not a happy book, but I just keep thinking that if Avril Lavigne wrote a book about my dick, I wouldn’t mind.”

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December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

Gyratory System in bid to put a spin on electronica

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luke turner

EAR THE MACHINES. “There’s a museum in Brentford full of 19th Century mechanical instruments piano rolls and wind-up one-man bands,” says Dr Andrew Blick, effects trumpet player and producer behind The Sound Board Breathes, the debut album from Gyratory System. “They’re real instruments but played by machines. You get the repetitive, grinding machinery feel, and that’s the kind of sound I’d like to think we’re aiming for.”

Gyratory System follow the inspiration of these cogs, sprockets and ratchets and create their hectic blend of electronica and strident, quasi-militaristic brass using a methodology they term The Process, which Blick explains via a diversion into a classic of English literature: “The album title is taken from a line in Paradise Lost. One of its themes is the tension between free will and pre-determination. I wasn’t trying to put Paradise Lost into musical form or anything as pompous as that; more getting the idea of that conflict - that there’s a pre-determined formula and

an improvised element.”

But how does this then become a songwriting technique? “The Process is a means by which we collide preordained musical ideas with random elements,” elaborates Blick. “The exact way in which it works is constantly evolving, since The Process is itself a process. For this album, we used a basic formula to construct a backing track, then improvised live instruments on top of it, then re-introduced the original formula to finish the track.”

It’s a far cry from the recent applications of brass to contemporary music by the awful nineties Britpoppers Kick Horns, and now by the plastic parping of Mark Ronson.

Are Gyratory System seeking to reclaim the brass tradition for the pop end of the avant-garde? “We are trying to do new things with the trumpet and other acoustic

instruments by applying electronic effects to them,” Blick enthuses.

“Hopefully that can help put them back at the forefront of music where it was in the time of JS Bach and jazz musicians like King Oliver and Miles Davis.”

But Gyratory System’s aesthetic is not merely an abstract notion - the music of The Sound Board Breathes is very much rooted in place. “A lot of it is about London - places that wouldn’t normally get mentioned,” Blick says. “If you go to the end of the Piccadilly Line platform at Baron’s Court there’s a funny building that has a strange, turretlike roof. I’ve spent a lot of time looking at that.”

It’d be nice to imagine that, as he watches, The Process is whirring inside his head in a quest for more of Gyratory System’s sublime fanfares for the uncommon mechanical.

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TIGER MY TIMING Pop kitties earning their stripes to avoid being caught by the tail

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s it over yet? Because hearing everyone bang on about the eighties is really very dull. Not least when most of the bands getting branded in that way have very little in common other than a bloody keyboard.

True, New Cross five-piece My Tiger My Timing (named after an Arthur Russell song) echo the new wave of Talking Heads or Blondie, but their sound is less retro than the genre-botherers would have you believe.

Clean, cleverly assembled post punk, with subtly brilliant melodies resting on the downplayed melancholy of colourful lyrics, it’s light years better than the great majority of this year’s emerging bands elbowing each other for room in the myopic genre of electro pop (see: Plugs, We Have Band, Chew Lips). That’s because they’re not elbowing anyone, and so says front-lady Anna Vincent.

“

I guess when you come out as a new band, people need to give you a label to get a handle on what it is that you’re doing,” Anna concedes, “but we are essentially a rock band, and the keyboard thing was never supposed to be a reference to the eighties. It’s funny because electro pop seems to be such a reference now, but when we started it was more a texture than a feature of the music. We don’t particularly think of ourselves as electro.”

y Tiger My Timing started playing together in 2008 and have since been gigging almost solidly around the country, concentrating on the release of two EPs (via Silver Music Machine and Pure Groove) and working with producers including Andy Spence from New Young Pony Club and Joe Goddard from Hot Chip. And Anna wonders why the resulting singles have been transformed into playful electro numbers! “It’s funny how production can take your ideas quite far away from their original form,” she says.

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till unsigned, still yet to record an album, My Tiger have an unusually strong sense of... timing. “You see bands that get signed quite early and maybe rush something out and it’s not quite as they wanted it to be,” Anna explains. “We’re quite a new band still. We probably have enough songs for an album but we’re not ready to make one yet. We don’t feel that this is the pinnacle of what we’re going to do.”

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hat said, they’re well on their way.

Anna speaks keenly about returning to the same small venues around the country during repeated tours to find that, though no one knew who they were the first time, now people know the words. “The audience is important,” she says. “If they’re on your side then it changes everything. To me, being in a band is about communicating, not just shouting into a vacuum.”

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ho knows what their album will sound like? Anna’s optimistic when she talks of making music that transcends style and doesn’t pander to genres. But it’s early days. What My Tiger are capable of remains to be seen - when they’re ready, of course. Hazel Sheffield

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Darkstar Shrug Off Dubsteb For Skewered Shock Pop

by Louise Brailey

veryone loves dubstep, right?

E From Pitchfork to NME, people are falling over themselves to praise a genre formerly restricted to lads from Croydon.

But engage Darkstar’s James Young on the subject and the circle jerk is brought to an abrupt halt.

Dubstep is done,” he says. “I think it’s completely had its day. It sounds cold but it makes no difference to me if it stopped now.” ikes. While many consider James and his musical partner Aidan Whalley part of the new wave of producers borne from that very scene, they disagree. Even when they were swapping ideas as students they were hard to pin down; James had a predominantly electronic music background, Aidan’s tastes were band orientated. Common ground was a shared love of 2-step, sci-fi and a sense that they didn’t quite fit into the scene that surrounded dubstep’s seminal FWD club. “We were never at home with it,” explains James, “when we made tunes we thought they were better than what was getting played, so we thought ‘if they’re not going to play it, fuck them.’” his stubbornness finds expression in their off-kilter aesthetic: minor harmonics, processed vocals and a taste for retro-futurism. Recent single ‘Aidy’s Girl Is A Computer’ combines garage syncopation, 8-bit synths and vocoder phrases while previous crossover hit, ‘Need You’, married a harpsichord figure with a robotic vocal beamed in from a dystopian future where robots are too busy nursing broken hearts to take over. All their records, even the early experiments, reject the big room mentality for an affecting emotional economy. Strip away garage signatures and Darkstar make songs, not tracks. Skewed, melancholy pop songs. t’s this sensibility that caught the ear of Kode9, whose Hyperdub label proved the perfect home for their sound. Forget trite ’nuum theorising, Darkstar feel a deep connection with the eighties synth pioneers. “I was brought up in a very industrial town; I worked the worst jobs you can imagine.” James’s gestures are broad as he describes polishing metal for 12 hours a day. “It strikes me as odd that people like the Human League and OMD had been through very similar things to what Aidan and I had been through. To me it was more than coincidence.” f the pop thing doesn’t piss off the bassheads, their next move will.

Their album will see the boys ditching the vocoder altogether for a shoegaze-driven sound. “We’ll probably get a lot of flack,” says James. “I think people will be quite shocked.”

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The Stool Pigeon December 2009

SISTERS OF TRANSISTORS KEEN TO KEEP THE HAMMOND ORGAN IN THE FAMILY Words JOHN DORAN

ne day while casually tuning through the longwave frequencies on our massive Bakelite radiogram, I chanced across a stray broadcast crackling with arcane information. It told of a secretive history of female Hammond organ quartets from between the wars being the true origin of both rave and Kraftwerk. Among the snippets of socio-sexual musicological history, there was talk of a “salacious party train with blacked-out windows” packed with GIs and good time girls running all night between Manchester and Warrington in 1944.

Then, serendipitously, the very next day the postman delivered a new album by Sisters Of Transistors called At The Ferranti Institute (Advanced Composition For Electric Organ Quartet) featuring Mr Graham Massey (formerly of 808 State) on

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drums and four mysterious ladies on vintage keyboards. Coincidence?

Well, yes.

Massey took a break from handmaking the sleeves for his record (“It’s rubbery! It looks like it’s got its own wetsuit on!”) to explain his fascination with the keyboard quartet: “They had them as far back as 1937. The guy who ran the Hammond Company used to put on demonstrations and he had ladies who did these performances, sometimes as an octet. Someone sent me a YouTube clip of a ladies’ organ quartet performing in New York in 1939 demonstrating the Novachord, which was like a forerunner to the modern synthesizer and when you look at it, they are basically a pre-war female Kraftwerk.”

Of course the sound of the Sisters (who also feature Mandy Wigby, ex of Justin Robertson’s big beat act

Lionrock) isn’t pre-war itself but rather imagines a sparkling pop/rave spin off from the intense horror prog of Goblin, the DIY spookwave of John Carpenter and the lounge-Kraut of Stereolab. Even though he learned the drums especially for the group, Massey says he applied lessons learned from his time with 808 State: “They’re both keyboard bands and both essentially keyboard quartets.

You end up with intertwining lines. It ends up sounding quite baroque, so you have to make sure that lines complement each other and harmonious lines are moved around so that they weave in and out of one another. The difference is that in this band everyone is playing live. It’s not sequenced in the same way.”

And when asked if he has been tempted to get MC Tunes involved, he laughs but, interestingly, doesn’t rule it out.

2009, November 9

by Luke Turner

GITHEAD Wirey Old Bastards

They don’t care much about anything.

bed wetter olin Newman looks over at his wife, Githead bassist Malka Spigel. “The dynamic of Githead is strange in that the heart of the band is two people who sleep together,” he chuckles. But nocturnal arrangements are not the only refreshing aspect to Githead, a project from the man you might otherwise know as a lynchpin of Wire, along with Spigel, electronic artist Robin Rimbaud (aka Scanner) and drummer Max Franken.

This autumn they release their third - and finest - album, Landing, all motorik fuzzpop. Or, as Newman puts it, “There’s this moronic power of people playing moronic together.”

Do you bring the moron, Colin?

“We’re all morons,” says Newman, laughing. “Malka’s pretty moronic.

Pretty and moronic. See what I did there?”

Githead doesn’t sound like a band of a certain age. Newman and Spigel are full of enthusiasm for new music, curating the Sled Festival in Calgary last year with a bill that featured the likes of Liars, Women, Health and Holy Fuck. On a preparatory visit to the Canadian city, Spigel and Newman recruited two local musicians for an improvised gig, while the whole of Githead will be touring with new Warp signing, Manchester’s Lone Lady, in the New Year.

Though Rimbaud and Franken can’t be present for The Stool Pigeon interview, Githead are very much a collaboration of equal parts, something that’s reflected in the Landing’s dense, sinuous textures. Although their debut

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EP might have been called ‘Headgit’, Newman is keen to insist it’s a fourway project. “I’m not the chief git, no. When it works at its best it’s almost ego-less. It’s all about producing a result.” And what was the result Githead were looking for? “The aim was to sound like people in a room, playing,” Newman says. “Why not take the best of classic recording, but without being anal about it? You don’t need to be the Dap Kings people, trying to make records as if it’s 1973. That’s just pointless. I hate that. When MGMT say there haven’t been any good records made since 1973, they sound like young whippersnappers making a point. When someone who’s over 50 says that, they sound like a fucking old git. We’re not doing this for fucking money; so we must be doing it for something. We might sound arrogant, or like we’ve got a ghost’s chance in hell, but basically we’re trying to make contemporary music. We want to make a rock record for now and we don’t want to sound like anyone else.”

Crucially, it’s got nothing to do with the past histories of any of the various members. “What we’re trying to do with Githead and with Wire flies in the face of everything that you’re supposed to do. Number one: if you’re in a classic band, play your fucking classic album; no one’s interested in what you’re doing now.

And number two: what? You’ve got another band? Fuck off! Githead is about trying to be true to your artistic nature and doing what you want to do.

It’s about now.”

12 years old i still pissed the bed i pissed in anger at my mother i pissed in fear i pissed in love lacking i pissed in desperation i pissed in grief i pissed in aloneness i pissed in need of specialness i pissed in sexual antisipation still a child not held but touched by a mans hoary hand wounded in the hart – a gap – a hole clean thru i pissed in wondering where the angels were vampires id already seen

JUST KILL ME NOW,

BY MR IMAGINARY I write this, idiots are summing up the decade. They will tell you that the 2000s consisted of celebrity culture, reality TV, progressive terrorism, recycling and dubstep. One thing missing from all of their hastily-written features, however, will be language-mangling cuntishness. There will be no mention of the fact that great portions of our lives are infected by mealymouthed management speak, devised by evil ‘creatives’ who have a pathological fear of clear communication.

In 2005 I worked in a dizzyingly banal open plan office as a writer and editor for a large multinational based in London. We shared the space with a management consultancy whose role seemed to be expensive, boutique, institutional dim-wittery. Before I arrived they’d already created a very small circular room called the library, which was completely empty but covered in photographs of books. Inquiries as to its use were met with a frosty silence. One day they built an ‘Imaginarium’ - an empty room in which one could ‘imagineer’. I emailed them the following: “-arium is a suffix used to make nouns and, save for the odd ostentatious Victorian freak show owner, has not been used since Roman times.

Which is why we have the library and not the librarium. The word you’re struggling for is ‘imaginary’.

Which ironically could be used to describe your grasp of fucking English. By the way, I’m writing this advice for free during my lunch break and will not invoice you for a million quid at the end of the year.”

The cunts sacked me a few hours later. But their time in the sun is up. Come the revolution next year, they’ll be first against the wall. Or to use language they might understand, they are about to be introduced to a cross platform final solution to their continued existence.

As

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Scales from the crypt Everyone digs the deathly serious A Grave With No Name Words THOMAS A. WARD Photograph LUCY RIDGARD

Shields, the prime mover and orchestrator behind London’s A Grave With No Name, shifts awkwardly as the photographer cajoles him into position. The flash, illuminating his pallid complexion, candidly captures his inability to conform to social norms. “I don’t really relate to that many people,” he explains timidly as he rustles through a bag of nuts and raisins. “I keep myself to myself, but then a part of me hates that: I understand that I have to make an effort in life... so that’s why I make music. It’s the only language I can speak in, really.”

From the isolation of his bedroom, with his instruments, an eight-track and an understanding of melody, Alex has crafted a debut album, Mountain Debris, that sits in purgatory between the earthly melancholy of lofi grunge and celestial shoegaze. Its fractured sonic and visual aesthetic seems to explore the thin, fragile line between heaven and here. “I really

Alex

believe, and it sounds a touch pretentious, that melody and sound can be transcendental,” Alex explains earnestly. “The album is meant to take you on a journey and just be inside... It’s a world that I have created and I’m slightly fascinated as to how people react to it.”

For Alex and his bandmates, who

“Melody and sound can be transcendental” are part of his live set-up - Thomas King (bass) and Anupa Madawela (drums) - this year has seen the release of a split 7” with Natural Numbers, an eponymous EP that sold out, and a warm reception by almost everyone who has stumbled into their world. And a tour supporting similarly haze-infatuated friends The Big Pink has furthered Mountain Debris’s chances of success

when it is released on No Pain In Pop on November 30. “Going on tour with The Big Pink was the most fucking fun I have ever had in my life and you don’t get that unless you are in a band,” Alex reminisces with a wideeyed excitement, “but [being in a band] means fuck all to me. It is literally about making music that is good and actually stays true to what I believe in.”

As you’d guess from their band name, it’s hard to find any defining identity within Mountain Debris except for that of your own. The brittle beauty of the record creates fissures in the surface of reality only to be swamped with psychedelic solitude and melodic detail; what gravitates towards a certain sadness in sound is only uplifted by the grace that is distilled within its recording and your resulting mind’s voyage. Or, as Alex puts it: “There is beautiful melancholy and then there is selfpity and I think that it resides on it being that kind of inspirational melancholy where you find beauty in art as opposed to the self-absorbing side of it.”

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The Stool Pigeon November 2009

DOUBLE TROUBLE

An unlikely pairing, but the COMANECHI duo make for perfect partners in noise crime.

Words by Jim Delirious Photograph by Erika Wall

There’s this YouTube clip on Comanechi’s MySpace page that seems to tell you a lot about Akiko Matsuura, drummer/singer in the grunge rock duo. It’s called ‘Comanechi Listening Party’ and in it, Akiko, equipped with a Fisher Price-style mobile 7” player, walks into the office of Vice magazine in London to play them a single the band put out on White Heat in 2007. It’s the Vice people who are shooting the film and not her.

She just sits there listening to her song, presumably hoping that everyone on the magazine will love it. They do, and she becomes friends with them.

It transpires that there was nothing staged about that episode. Today, Akiko says, “I was bored at home and I had this record player, and I just wanted them to listen to the song in front of me.” The song is called ‘My Pussy’.

Now, you can think of her doing that as simply a bold and amusing thing to do - good on her, if you like; life’s short, why the fuck not? Or you could use it as an example of a fierce ambition to get NOTICED, even if you might end up with egg on your face.

Perhaps there isn’t a difference and, at any rate, it worked.

The best two lines in the (priceless) press release that was sent out with promo copies of Comanechi’s debut album, written by Alex Miller of Vice, are: 1. “Everyone in London wants to screw Akiko,” and, 2. “I don’t know Simon, the guitarist in Comanechi, personally, but he’s pretty fucking good at his job.”

Ah yes, Simon Petrovitch. Sometimes it’s like he’s not even in the band.

Simon is very different to Akiko. He likes the outdoors (he’d been walking on The Ridgeway near Watership Down the weekend before our interview), he’s quiet, very sweet, wears horrible jumpers, and he’s a music man through-and-through. “You know when you get really inspired when you see a band?” he says about a recent Sonic Youth show he went to. “That’s what it was like seeing them. What they do is simple. I really like people who can make amazing sounds without being dexterously clever with their fingers. I was inspired to go home and have a Sonic Youth-athon - going through an album a day.”

Akiko is a proper music nut too, but she has a wildly contrasting personality: she’s Japanese, obviously, a city girl, far less reserved, and, especially since she started playing drums for The Big Pink, she’s won herself a reputation for being a ferocious party animal. Check her blog for ample pics of her slutting it up with The Big Pink boys, and

even, god help us all, Lily Allen.

Really, they make for an intriguing pair.

Akiko, what does Simon bring to Comanechi?”

“Transport! He has a car.”

Simon, what does Akiko bring to Comanechi?

“STDs, mostly.”

Comanechi have been around for ages, playing gigs in east London and releasing low-key blasts of pop punk on small indie labels. Even before Akiko joined The Big Pink, she had other projects, which she still has - Pre and, cough, Sperm Javelin - and no one held out much hope of her getting round to recording an album with Simon. That that album, Crime Of Love, is really good is actually something of a surprise.

Or maybe not.

It sounds stupid, but Crime Of Love is an album, and not a collection of grotty, twominute belters that had been Comanechi’s calling card up until they went in to attempt something longer. Its genesis lies in Simon and Akiko’s dedication to trying something new (even, brilliantly, heading out to the New Forest - fruitlessly - to record with Electric Wizard’s producer), but they also both acknowledge a huge debt to the man who’s putting out the album, Milo Cordell.

“To start with, he was going, ‘I love it,’ but then I didn’t hear back for a while,” explains Akiko. “Eventually, he said, ‘I like it, but if you want this album to last, you’ll have to have more variety.’ I was upset when

he said it. I thought, ‘Shit!’ But he was right, and it made us make a better album.”

Milo is in The Big Pink but he also runs Merok Records, famed for putting out the first Klaxons and Crystal Castles material, but you’ll need to dig deeper than that - to releases by Teengirl Fantasy and, particularly, Salem - to recognise that he knows his onions when it comes to progressive music.

“We had enough material to do a double album,” says Simon. “We were known for really short singles and we thought it’d be the ultimate two-fingers to release a monster debut double album - it would have been the most surprising thing. We put it to Milo and he told us to pick only the best songs and it’d be much stronger. And thank fuck he said that.”

The finished album is a very personal and diverse 12-tracker with a secret song tucked away at number 69, predictably. And ‘My Pussy’ is about a cat, not...

“I just want it to be something that can stick in your head for days,” says Simon, “something you can form a relationship with. I think some of the songs on the second half of the album will be growers. I hate easy access. I don’t like albums that you really get into and then shag them to death within six listens.”

As for Akiko, she turned out to be far gentler in person than you’d imagine.

Ambitious? Absolutely ruthless. But, good on her, if you like; life’s short, why the fuck not?

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December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

International news Foul Language There’s nothing vulgar about singer-songwriter KURT VILE’s trad-rock, you hear?

Words by KEV KHARAS

Photograph by SHAWN BRACKBILL

All things considered, the English language will feel fairly satisfied with what it’s achieved over the years, but along the way it’s been responsible for the odd fucking horrid phonetic collision. For words like ‘portion’.

Portion! And ‘garment’, ‘moist’, ‘pusillanimous’, the masculine Christian name ‘Clive’... ‘Wet wipe’.

‘Jacksie’. You shudder, but while one can find in the dankness of these words a certain fetid glee, perhaps no phrase holds more dread for the virtuous man alive at the dying end of this decade than ‘trad-rock’. ‘Trad-rock’. ‘Tradrock’. No matter where the emphasis, it just sort of slouches on the page, feckless and reeking in its own ink like rank meat. Thank god the phrase ‘trad-rock’ is no longer in the mouths of our children. Thank god its sour taste, its argot of licks and chops, has been torn from their tongues. The Boss can holler all he wants, but this dying decade has largely let trad-rock alone to be solid and dull and petrified and shit in a stock cupboard at the firebombed offices of Absolute Radio, imprisoned for all eternity in the pages of Q Magazine by Christian O’Connell’s cum.

Like a jizm ghetto, Christian.

Or a spunk oubliette.

Which is precisely why trad-rock’s just been rescued, of course. Have you

heard the new Kurt Vile record?

“Springsteen, Dylan - those kinds of people are my heroes,” explains Vile, 29. “It’s not just me, y’know? Those guys are like a cult to some people, or bigger than that - back in the day, Springsteen fans would go to every one of his shows, he’d fill all the arenas.

“I guess I just see the greatness of those types.”

Most wilt in the shadow of that greatness once they see it, and those who dare try carve their own niche on The Rock usually come off like cavemen, but Vile’s been carving his niche since birth. One of 10 siblings grown in a twin-three bedroom house just outside Philadelphia, the need to engineer personal space amid the bodies and the clamour can be heard in the cobwebbed corners of that new record, Vile’s cocksure yet waltzerpoised Childish Prodigy.

“I guess at the time it was close quarters. It was also, looking back, really awesome. I tell a lot of people I feel lucky there was so much stimulation...”

He trails off. “...and also you still get to be in your own little world. It’s not like you all have to sit at the dinner table at a certain time. You do whatever.”

‘Whatever’, in Kurt’s case, was messing around in his bedroom with

the banjos and guitars his father, a bluegrass and folk obsessive, bought him. Perhaps that’s why the music of Childish Prodigy, debut album Constant Hitmaker, and the band he used to play guitar in, The War On Drugs, doesn’t seem rebellious at all.

It is ‘trad’, essentially; full of wide, open American space, harmonicas, drawling and echoes of illustrious elders (Childish Prodigy often sounds like Mick Jagger singing and Nick Drake playing, somehow without surrendering the swagger or vulnerability of either). That ‘own little world’ of Vile’s childhood remains so important, though, because he does get weird - even ‘Freak Train’, the track from Prodigy keenest to explore those old, open, American frontiers, sounds like Animal Collective gone kraut as it clatters steady through Freaksville. Vile also endures frequent comparisons to increasingly revered maniac Ariel Pink.

So what do we have here? You’ve created your own little space away from the crowd, but your music definitely sounds like it comes back to that family dinner table - like it ultimately returns to something more crowd-pleasing and empathy-prone, rather than escape into some awkward, anti-social noise hermithood...

“Yeah... Um, what was the

question though?”

Sorry, there wasn’t really a question.

“Ha ha, thought so. No, I hear that, I hear that. You’re right.”

Kurt says “I hear that” a lot. Like when I tell him that on the cover of Childish Prodigy (a water-ruined Polaroid of a tuxedoed kid sat before the faint skyline of Vile’s home city, Philadelphia) only looks like it’s there because the kid happened to imagine it was.

“Yeah, that was my brother at his prom... I hear that.”

Or when I suggest the new record’s “more intimate” than the first.

“Yeah, I hear that.”

Or when I say the Pitchfork review of Childish Prodigy (6.3) was wrong to take the third album he’s released in two years as a definitive statement rather than something more off-thecuff.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear that.... Um wait, did you just say the Pitchfork review was good?”

No. “Yeah, it was bad.” He laughs heartily. I don’t think he’s being deliberately obtuse. It’s just that, as is the case with most trad-prone rockers, he doesn’t seem to want to talk about things too much. Hidden behind the mane grown from tiny

holes in his scalp, Vile isn’t emotionally obvious - and it’s that, I think, which sets his music apart from all the others in love with fusty, cummy old rock’n’roll. There are no love songs or hate songs on Childish Prodigy - instead you get rock music that’s evasive and contradictory, cartwheeling guitar arpeggios, chords emancipated from worn, trudging progressions, his voice barking and screaming in sudden raving flights.

Tracks like ‘Dead Alive’ and ‘Heart Attack’ slip through that gauze of emotional labels veiling jaded brains and strike the gut, somewhere closer to visceral.

Most people with your influences, Kurt... their music’s so boring. Why is that?

“Ugh,” he says. “There’s tonnes of music out there, so you gotta learn how to do it your own way - be as original as possible.”

Sorry, can’t hear you over the blaring cliché.

“You have to constantly think about it. After a while it becomes natural. Now I just feel like I have my own scent - my own style - so I don’t have to think that much.

“Some people just have a gift for music, you know? And I’m grateful I have that gift.”

Yeah. I hear that.

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International news

Sludge duo Black Cobra charmed by the classical composers Words toby cook postal service is a funny old thing, isn’t it? Well, more of a complete pain in the arse and an unreliable method of communication. Imagine, then, a band separated by 3,000 miles, trying to write music by mailing the various parts to each other. Because that’s what Bay Area sludge duo Black Cobra did. “We never really had a schedule; we weren’t pressuring ourselves to finish things... Actually, it was a pretty interesting method,” explains drummer Rafa Martinez.

Originally from Miami, Rafa moved to California in 1999, forcing him and college friend Jason Landrian - then a member of stoner rock luminaries Cavity - to collaborate long-distance.

“I’d lay down a drum pattern, record a riff over it and send it to him. Then he’d get back to me and we’d just sit on it for a while,” says Rafa. “We weren’t even thinking that we were going to put out an album; we just

The

found ourselves with all this material and [thought], ‘Oh, we’ve got enough for a record.’”

That record, 2004’s self-titled EP, garnered enough attention to convince the pair that if you’re in a band this good, you’d better be in the same city. “We’ve developed a chemistry,” says Rafa. “We can hone in on things now. The good thing about being in front of each other is that you can get into the minutiae of things a little better.”

That chemistry has paid off.

Their third studio LP, Chronomega, combines hulking slabs of riffs with a tribal-like groove of such brutality that it sounds downright primitive. Nothing like Stravinsky, then. Or is it?

Although the pair studied classical music at college, it’s still surprising to hear Rafa list maestros Stravinsky and Tchaikovsky as influences. “They place so much importance on rhythm.

It’s very abrasive the way that those composers write, but very meticulous at the same time. With us, not having a bass or a second guitar, we have to be locked in and sometimes there are a lot of counter-rhythms. Studying classical music enabled us to understand how to use that ‘language’ a little better.”

But despite being a full-time project touring the like of Japan and Australia, don’t expect to see them at next year’s BBC Proms.

JAPAN’S finest Bo Ningen set upon TURNING English MUCH OF

the most forward-thinking rock of the past decade has been Japanese, but bands like Boredoms, Boris and Acid Mothers Temple have had to travel to Europe and America in order to be appreciated, remaining virtually unknown in their homeland. So it’s inevitable that cities like London would start producing their own Japanese freak bands, like Bo Ningen.

Bo Ningen are the psychedelic underground freak-punk quartet of your dreams. They formed in 2007 when singer/bassist Taigen met guitarist Kokkei at London’s Imperial College, where Kokkei was playing in a 10-piece Japanese pop orchestra.

They began improvising lengthy noise jams together, gradually adding second guitarist Yuki and drummer Mon-Chan as their music became more structured and actual songs emerged from the primal chaos. Four of these are showcased on ‘Koroshitai Kimochi’, their ferocious debut EP. The self-recorded EP marks the point at which songs that are still fluid and semiimprovised on stage become fixed in amber; to an extent, these recordings have to be the definitive versions, at least for the time being.

Pic Laura Hernando TRAVELLIN’ BAND

“YEAH, IT’S STRANGE,” they agree, sitting in a Camden pub yard.

“We’d like to get to the point where the studio recordings and the live band are two very different things,” Yuki says. “But at the moment we don’t really have the equipment to make that possible.”

As well as running the monthly Far East Electric Underground club night in Kings Cross, these longhairs deliberately play up their heritage, referencing cult sixties Japanese psych combos like Flower Travellin’ Band, Speed, Glue and Shinki and Les Rallizes Denudés.

Describing themselves as “enlightenment activists from the Far East psychedelic underground” while dressing in androgynous, multi-coloured outfits, with Taigen barefoot on stage, they love the music and imagery of these groups, but don’t take the trip too seriously. Indeed, despite their dedication to experimentation and extreme, avant-garde sounds, Bo Ningen are still very much a rock band; they set out to entertain and have a good time, not to stand around po-faced and cool. “I move around on stage because the music moves me and it’s exciting,” Taigen says. “I want to communicate that, because I want the audience to be as excited as I am. We definitely want to put on a show.”

And they recently brought it all back home, playing a self-financed, five-date Japanese tour, booking the dates themselves and sleeping on floors in true hardcore style. Now they’re even looking forward to playing in Yorkshire for the first time. Look out, Bo Ningen are coming your way.

Words. BEN GRAHAM

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

S D R I B G N SO STUPID TWEETS MEMPHIS, Tennessee. When musicians leave bands, we always get fed some pony from their bandleader about “creative differences” and it’s often impossible to find out what he or she really thinks. Not so with indie rocker Jay Reatard, whose rhythm section gave him the big heave-ho in October. Announcing their departure via Twitter, Reatard wrote: “Band quit!

Fuck them! They are boring rich kids who can’t play for shit anyways. Say hello to your ugly and boring wives, oops, I mean lives, guys. Suck it.”

WRIST JOB

Words hazel sheffield Photo alanna wiggins Feather’s music exists

Tickleyin semi-consciousness

where language is bubble bullets or industrial candyfloss or mwoar and tzang and actually doesn’t make any sense at all. Annie Sachs, Virginiabased mother-of-one and solo force behind the moniker, signed to Animal Collective’s Paw Tracks for the release of her self-titled debut in 2008, an album that took some four years to realise. She returns just a year later with its sequel, Hors d’Oeuvres, turning spirals of woozy, interlocking melody into something a little more uplifting - a pastiche of clanking, sinking moon songs that play as repeated exhalations on a frozen pane of glass.

“One thing that was really important to me was to not make a sombre feeling record,” Annie says, “so I just worked really hard to be able to look through it and see that people would be looking into it. I just decided to go for it.”

People will be looking, because there aren’t many artists who have been flung from their bedrooms into support slots for Animal Collective within months of discovery.

“That was my first tour ever, so they really took me out totally green, or wet behind the ears or whatever,” says Annie, unafraid of her inexperience. “I had no idea what I was doing or what to expect. I think they

enjoyed that. It’s Animal Collective they were happy to expose something that’s that fragile or unformed to the world.”

Annie is still learning how to make her hypnagogic pop stand up to the glare of the stage lights. “Music was a weird auto-pilot thing at night time,” she explains. “All my friends were out partying and that wasn’t something that I was able to do, because you can’t leave a kid alone.

So I would just get out my four-track and make songs. I wasn’t concentrating on doing it for any reason other than just to do it.

“In some ways, I don’t mind taking the risk to try and translate this really personal, sometimes embarrassing thing live, but sometimes I feel like it’s a kind of peep show. I’m not even sure if [playing live] is the best idea, but I appreciate the struggle of trying to figure out how to do it.”

Half-dreams are not meant for sharing; they drift through winking eyes in fading light and make for tough translation. But Annie, alongside colleagues like Ariel Pink and Nite Jewel, will compose their strange night maps for direction.

“Sometimes I can’t even tell what I was saying or what I meant, so I have to go home and write what I think the words are,” she says. “It’s like playing with Play-Doh; you have to mould it into something musical.”

After all, do you always remember your dreams?

REYKJAVÍK, Iceland. In this paper, it’s become something of a sport to take the piss out of four-eyed ginger nitwit Erlend Øye of Kings Of Convenience and The Whitest Boy Alive. Because he’s a cunt, and he keeps giving us more proof. You’re an artist playing a festival. You are issued with an AAA wristband. But that’s not enough for our Erlend. Oh no. At this year’s Iceland Airwaves in October, he demanded that Kings Of Convenience be given wristbands that were a different colour to absolutely everyone else. Because he’s a cunt.

IPOLAR DISORDER SAN JOSE, California. There are plenty of amusing things about Daniel Johnston being made the subject of an iPhone game. Just the idea of suits trying to muscle in on a cult singersongwriter with bipolar disorder is funny, and then there’s the hilariously stupid comment the game’s makers said: “We wrapped the game around...

[Johnston] constantly having to contend with evil and with Satan, which are probably the demons within himself.”

What!? As for Johnston, he just doesn’t seem to give a shit. “I don’t even know what an iPhone is,” he announced.

WINGING IT OSLO, Norway. Fans watching Norwegian noise-rockers Årabrot play the Øya festival this summer were more than concerned for the health of a lady sporting fairy wings who was ‘dancing’ with the band. Hammered, she fell from the stage, then miraculously picked herself up, only to do the same again. A British promoter who saw the gig and was keen to book the trio, enquired after her well being some weeks later. “Annelinn, our eminent driver and much beloved merch lady, is okay,” he was told. “But still on crutches with a broken foot.”

OH CHOKO NEW YORK, New York. And now for a quick story about a lady gagging and choking up. Yoko Ono was so moved by a version of hymn of mediocrity, ‘Imagine’, performed by Lady Gaga at an early November Human Rights Campaign dinner in Washington DC, she was prompted to tweet: “Dear Lady Gaga, hearing that made me choke up.” Yeah, yeah, we know what she means, and she wasn’t being sarcastic, unlike President Obama, who was also present and said: “It’s a privilege to be here tonight to open for Lady Gaga... I’ve made it.”

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December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

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The MINAH Bird.

Sune Rose Wagner of THE RAVEONETTES on wine snobbery “I think that a lot of people have this notion that snobs are the only people who care about wine, but my winemaking friend, who’s like this totally stoner rock-type guy with long shaggy hair and a Ramones tshirt - and one of the top wine producers in the world - can walk into a bar, ask for the wine list and pick out the most amazing bottle. You see the waiters go, ‘Oh, who is he?

Where does he know that wine from?’ There is a weird attitude to wine, as if it’s only for people who sit around in country clubs and fancy restaurants. But lots more people are starting to drink wine, and that’s great, especially if you like food. It doesn’t have to be expensive to drink. A lot of producers make really good house wine; some of them are just outstanding and they’re only about $10 a bottle. That’s very reasonable!”

As told to Julian Marszalek

Spliff saga puts Taxi Taxi’s noses out of joint Words Ann Lee Photo Erika Wall

It says a lot about 19-year-old Swedish twins Taxi Taxi! that they were so disturbed by the presence of a joint being unceremoniously plonked down on-stage while they were performing once that they had to get rid of the offending item before they could carry on. The wholesome duo were so put off by the fumes that were emanating from the lit spliff during their debut performance at Denmark’s Roskilde festival that a security guard had to rescue the day by getting rid of it.

Johanna Eriksson Berhan says: “We were performing in a stable and everyone came to our concert, because it was raining and we were inside so there were about 2,000 people.

There was an old man, who looked like a junky and he was very drunk. He came up on stage and laid a joint that was really fat on my chair. I was getting totally distracted by it because of the smell. We had to interrupt and ask some people to come and get it because I couldn’t play while that joint was there. Everyone in the

audience cheered when we said that. They appreciate it when you make a stand.”

Their debut album Still Standing At Your Back Door has the same innate innocence and sweetness that the youthful pair share. It’s a collection of fragile and haunting acoustic folk anchored by the beauty of

their dual vocals and delicate instrumentation.

The sisters only officially became Taxi Taxi! after a Swedish journalist came across two songs they’d posted for friends to listen to on MySpace and aired them on a national radio. When they started to be offered gigs, the band realised they only had

those two songs and set to work on expanding their set.

Björn Yttling of Peter, Bjorn & John produced their debut EP and the sisters embarked on recording their first album after they finished high school.

They share songwriting duties and claim being twins is “nothing magical”.

Johanna explains: “We have had the same childhood, so we have the same associations and we relate to the same things.

It’s quite logical but I guess our music wouldn’t sound like this if we weren’t sisters.”

So, do people ever confuse them? “People used to,” says Miriam, “more when we were kids, because now I’ve grown a little bigger. When we were younger everybody said, ‘You can just switch places, no one would notice!’ But we never tried. I don’t think we ever wanted to.”

All hail, Taxi Taxi!, the least mischievous girls in music who make clean-living sound fun-loving.

OUT NOW FABRICLIVE48: FILTHY DUKES Having proven their studio ability on the aptly named ‘Nonsense in the Dark’, FABRICLIVE48 sees the Filthy Dukes going back to what they know best: uproarious, incendiary DJ sets that sizzle through a smorgasboard of genres. Not so much crossing boundaries as erasing them completely, coupling pulsating kick drums, with dreamy melodies, the Dukes meld songwriting sensibilities with an ability to turn a dancefloor upside down. Throw down your preconceptions and discard your notions of the sounds of a fabric main room – this is the Filthy Dukes, and this is how they Kill ‘Em All. The mix ducks and dives through styles and sounds without a moment’s respite – setting the pace from the off with their own gloriously synthladen stomper ‘This Rhythm’, they move through ‘Beat The Clock’ by the legendary Sparks, Aeroplane’s disgustingly brilliant Italo remix of Sebastian Tellier – straight out the book of Daft Punk, and even manage to drift in and out of Aphex Twin’s classic ‘Windowlicker’ before the close.

RELEASED 16TH NOVEMBER FABRIC49: MAGDA Magda’s latest tour de force, fabric49, a thumping trip into the otherworldly that breeds a rare feel of mystique and discovery, without ever compromising the groove. Crafted with meticulous detail and loving precision, it carries the weight of any Magda DJ set: intricate 4/4 licks that are bass-laden to devastating effect. Dramatic sounds and eccentric basslines carry the fastmoving, multilayered mix through the rising swells of Circlesquare, the haunting vocals of Luciano, the chilling chords and offbeat pop elements of her kindred spirits at Minus (Gaiser, Marc Houle and Heartthrob), and the funk-filled soundscapes of Magda’s own productions. A watertight compilation that brims with lively character, and skitters with Magda’s personal touches and effects, fabric49 is a reminder of how rarely DJs truly break the mould. A mix CD with as much artistry, perfection and vision as an original album.

RELEASED 7TH DECEMBER FABRICLIVE49: BURAKA SOM SISTEMA Born in the frenzied kuduro (the Angolan/Portuguese hybrid club music that borrows from traditional African rhythms, Carribean rhythms and European club music) parties of Lisbon’s suburbs, Buraka Som Sistema return to their roots on FABRICLIVE49. Two years of incessant touring of their manic live show have left them hungry to return to the bedrock of their sound – the Buraka Sound System. Three years since their breakthrough ‘Sound of Kuduro’ took the world by storm, kudoro’s influence on club music can be felt across the globe, and its on their debut mix CD that they incorporate their own music – complete with re-edits from the likes of scene leaders L-Vis 1990, Stenchman and A1 Bassline, the music they’ve touched and anything that fits their intense blueprint for club music; from Zomby to Diplo to Skream.

Forthcoming: Martyn, dBridge & Instra:mental Present Autonomic

www.fabriclondon.com

12

International news

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

GET BACK GUINOZZI GO NATIVE TO GET THE RED CARPET TREATMENT hazel sheffield Eglantine Gouzy of France’s Get Back Guinozzi begins with: “It was very simple. One winter we started to work on nine tracks. Then I went to the jungle, then back into the studio and did six more tracks, and then I had a baby.” Simple.

Slight and dark, with painted lips and patterned clothes, Eglantine elaborates in idiosyncratic, lilting English on her time in the wild. “I wanted that for a long time - to be Mowgli in the Indian jungle. I wanted a remote place, but with electricity to record things; somewhere completely different from Brixton or Paris, where I lived before. Karnataka is a state in India; it’s hilly and jungley, with animals. I was a bit crazy, being alone like that.”

Much of Carpet Madness was created before Eglantine’s trip, growing from The Raincoats’ and The Slits’ sense of abandon, musical partner Fred Landini’s love of reggae, and a younger Eglantine’s British pop obsessions: The Cure and The Smiths.

Now both in their late thirties, their music sways with tropical abandon; lyrics dissolve into giggling, hooting and panting, and melodies languish in the warmth of stately, circular harmonies.

Fred and Eglantine used to make music in one take. He sent her the tapes over from the French Riviera and she added the vocals in drizzly Brixton, bish bosh. “The way that I sing is really spontaneous,” Eglantine says of their process. “I think about singers I admire, like for ‘King’s Song’ I thought about Elvis, and for ‘LA’ I’m talking about Ariel Pink.”

The rough originals were cut up and remixed by Michael Beckett (of German electronic outfit Schneider TM) and will be presented for your live listening pleasure in the UK this month, fortified by a five-piece band. Indeed, Carpet Madness, out on Fat Cat, will provide you with a window on the jungle in the icy British winter.

Singer

LAURA GIBSON LIKES HER MEN SERVING TEN YEARS OR MORE ALEX MARSHALL Laura Gibson is a wonderfully prim and proper folk artist - all cotton dresses and vintage hair clips. She’s the type of singer who takes care to pronounce every syllable correctly, and she would never dare boast about her music.

In other words, she is the last person you would expect to keep the company of rapists, murderers and child molesters. But if there is one thing I took away from talking to her for a halfhour, it is that Gibson is champing at the bit to play more prisons.

“We played our first this summer Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution,” she says, from her Portland home. “It’s about three hours east of here. It’s medium security. I think 10 years is the minimum sentence, but there’s some people in there for life - some hard folks. They asked us to play and it ended up being the most amazing audience I’ve ever played for. They were just very respectful and cheered heartily.

“I’ve never felt so much like people were hanging on all the words I was singing. I felt that every word carried so much more weight than a normal show. And after we played, all these very hard, grizzly-looking men came up and said, ‘That really touched me.’

It just felt so special.”

Where’d you play? The canteen?

“The building we were playing in was kinda like a school gymnasium.

But because there is no privacy in prison their bathrooms were over on the wall - just completely open. So every once in a while I would try and make eye contact with the crowd and I’d glance over and there’d be someone sitting on the toilet watching the show.” She starts laughing. “It was just a fascinating experience.”

The reason for this chat is Laura’s beauty of a new record, Beasts Of Seasons. It is a delicate album where songs unfurl from just Laura and her nylon-stringed guitar to take in trumpets, strings and piano.

Laura will happily tell you how half of it is filled with communion songs and half with funeral songs, and how it was written overlooking a cemetery, but she’s sure that did not influence the record’s themes.

She can also tell you fascinating tales about her childhood in the small lumber town of Coquille, Oregon (“We didn’t really have pop music.

There was a radio station where you could sell things”), and how she didn’t really play music until her twenties.

Even then, her first two years as a musician involved playing solely to AIDS patients every Tuesday night at a Portland hospice.

But really, she most comes alive when talking about gigs like that one at the prison. Her usual circuit is far more suited to her character: she plays house shows where people “sit around fires drinking warm cider” and where she’s never far from a lake to swim in. Fortunately, even these produce great little stories.

“I played this birthday party. It was this sweet couple, and right before I went on the wife was like, ‘Whatever you do, please mention that it’s Jim’s birthday.’ So I kept playing and forgetting, playing and forgetting, and then I finally remembered right before I played this song ‘Where have all your good words gone.’ And the chorus is: ‘Do you wish you were an honest man?

Do you wish you were a better man?’

Every time I play that now, all I can think of are the horrified looks on his and his friend’s faces.”

NEW YORK CITY SHOEGAZE POP DUO VON HAZE EAGER TO PLAY MISTY FOR YOU CIAN TRAYNOR can’t tell by looking at them, but these two lanky, leather-clad Americans have an opposites-attract dynamic.

Travis Caine was the blue-haired, fishnet-wearing punk who’d piss on his friends’ cars; Katherine Kin was the quiet artistic-type, riding horses and swimming in creeks. He doesn’t remember anything before the age of 10; she can’t forget being run over by her dad when she was three.

But last winter, in a Key Lime pie factory on the docks of Brooklyn, their yin-and-yang chemistry produced an album of dark, languid pop vignettes.

Occasionally they’d step outside, get stoned in the cold, and watch dead dogs wash up on the shore - just to break from “the pull and tug” tension between them. The intense stint culminated, somewhat appropriately, by mastering the nocturnal hypnotics of their self-titled debut on Sly Stone’s old mixing desk, the funk legend’s yellowed roaches still preserved between the cracks of the console.

Von Haze met at an art college in Richmond, Virginia and moved to Brooklyn together after graduating in 2004 - but the music didn’t come till much later.

“We didn’t start playing until about two years ago,” explains Kin. They giggle, lock eyes and pause awkwardly. “We needed a chance to... get to know each other first.”

But as someone who began playing in bands at 13, trading his skateboard for a bass, Caine was eager to get Kin playing an instrument. “I bought Katherine an auto harp as a present one year, then a bass for her following birthday,” he says. “I was writing these songs and playing them for her, then I’d turn around and Katherine was doing the same for me. Now when we lock in on stage, it’s more than just a band being tight; it’s an emotional, spiritual thing.”

If this sounds mushy, it’s not reflected in the music: a detached blend of heavy shoegaze aesthetics, fizzing drum machines and whispered vocals.

Helping to mould that sound was Richard Fearless. The Death in Vegas frontman was living nearby and recruited Caine to play in his new band, Black Acid. Eventually the rapport between them led to Fearless becoming the unofficial third member of Von Haze.

“Bringing his perspective was pretty huge to the band,” says Caine.

“When we get to the part where we start working with Richard, the material is all we’ve been thinking about for a really long time. He just gets what’s in our heads.”

But even now, with their debut single just out and the album finished, the idea of this dynamic developing a momentum of its own still fizzles with tension.

“It’s like, ‘Hurry up and wait,’” says Kin, flapping an arm. “Just hurry up and wait!”

You

WITH SAVIOURS IT’S ALL ABOUT HARD ROCK AND ALMOST CRASHING INTO A PLACE IN IRELAND TOBY COOK plan e is star ting to tip in the wrong direction; the fuel has been dumped and they’re losing altitude somewhere over the Atlantic. Suddenly the still fledgling career of the Oakland hard rock outfit seems as if it’s about to meet an abrupt end. “We’re heading back towards Ireland and we’re like, ‘What the fuck is going on?” recalls the band’s Scott Batiste. “We’re doing 700mph, straight back from where we came! Even the stewards are shitting themselves!”

A thick, Californian twang plucked straight out of The OC belies more than a slight quiver as the Saviours’ drummer recounts his not-exactlynear-death-but-still-pretty-fuckingscary experience.

“So finally they make an announcement that some sort of thing in the hydraulics of the wing has locked and they’re going to try to make an emergency landing in Ireland. It was sketchy as shit. They managed to reset the system, but by then they had already dumped all the fuel. It was fucking horrible. I was like, ‘Cool - nice knowing you!’”

And so that was that: a little bit of pressurised grease in a tube brought the opportunity for an intense bout of reflection. The four-piece had only formed in 2004, based purely out of Batiste and guitarist Austin Barber’s desire to “do a heavy band that was kind of relentless and loud and punishing and fun”.

Punishing and fun, really, is about as accurate a description as is possible of Saviours, especially current release Accelerated Living.

It’s not really D-beat, but yet it is. It’s not really like Sabbath or Motörhead, yet it is.

“There are a tonne of influences from all over the place, really,” explains Batiste. “A lot of people are like, ‘Oh yeah, you’re a thrash band,’ or, ‘Hey, you’re a stoner band,’ or, ‘You’re stoner thrash!’ And it’s like, whatever dude.”

Since enlisting new lead guitarist Sonny Reinhardt last year, one appropriate label might be: the band with the fucking killer-shredder on guitar, who have eschewed the sludgy sound of previous releases. As Batiste puts it, “We were like, why not put a fucking blazing solo over this part or that part? Because now we can, y’know?”

This attitude pretty much sums-up Saviours’ ethos. In a way, you get the impression that they genuinely do whatever they please, be that leaving in tape glitches on their records, or never flying over Ireland ever again.

Saviours’

International news

December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

Hello Sailor!

Everything’s hunky dory for Lawrence Arabia now he’s deserted the sinking ship of London.

“The defining cultural difference about New Zealand,” explains Lawrence Arabia, real name James Milne, “is that it has become unreasonably proud of itself. Britain seems to be terminally self-loathing... which I think is quite an admirable characteristic, really.”

Tea, self-deprecation and Shoreditch’s narcissistic locals (“They don’t seem like they have any purpose but to be beautiful”) are three things that James took home with him from the two years he spent in London after the release of his 2006 debut. Clearly, moving here had its ups, downs and eyeopening moments.

Supporting Feist on tour around the UK was a highlight for the 27-year-old.

However, trying to write and record new material between New Zealand and the UK had its problems. “There were certain difficulties in the change of pace and culture-shock,” James explains. “You kind of feel that you are always auditioning and trying to grab people’s attention along with 1,000 bands who are trying to get the big deal.”

As you may have gathered from Flight of the Conchords, in New Zealand things work differently in the music industry. “No one is trying to get signed here because everyone does it themselves, promoting shows and releasing records,” says James. “There is no

By THOMAS A. WARD

hanging around waiting for a big [record company] hand-out like there is in London.”

It’s 8.30am in Christchurch, where he lives now - not a perfect time to do an interview. His answers are slow, sleepily polite, and witty; his voice lacks any emotional intonation upon the punch line.

When asked to describe his debut, Lawrence Arabia, which was released on his Honorary Bedouin label, he explains in a deadpan-manner that it was “hamstrung by

its own ambition” and full of “cast-offs and esoteric dead ends”.

His excellent new album Chant Darling is an enthused re-imagining of classic British pop from the sixties, swirling with Beatleslike melodies and wistful Kinks harmonies to create something that is anachronistic in spirit, but wholeheartedly original in sentiment and creativity.

“I really got stuck on trying to make the album sound like Hunky Dory, which I completely failed to do,” James quips. “But I wanted to make this a well-crafted pop record. Hopefully it differentiates itself from your general, mundane pop.”

Chant Darling is already out in New Zealand and gets a release here via Bella Union on January 4. It will be followed by a UK tour. With a ‘single of the year’ award already under its belt in his home country for ‘Apple Pie Bed’, is it fair to say the album is being received well?

“It’s been really good, actually,” says James, still giving nothing away in his tone of voice as to whether he is genuinely happy by this. “I released it myself, which is good and bad: it hasn’t been sucked up into the realms of hype and I don’t have to do any odious commercial promotions. It’s picked up a load of momentum over the last year and it’s basically snowballed, despite my hopeless business acumen.”

13

FEELING PECKISH. Sunset Rubdown’s

MILLIONAIRE’S SHORTBREAD Serves

6-8

INGREDIENTS.---1 cup all-purpose flour Pinch of salt 1/4 cup sugar 1 cup cold unsalted butter, 1/2 cup cubed and 1/2 cup melted 2/3 cup brown sugar 2 tablespoons golden syrup 1 tin sweetened condensed milk 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 4 ounces bittersweet chocolate 1 teaspoon vegetable oil

PREPARATION.---Sift together the flour, salt, and sugar. Rub in 1/2 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces. Press into an 8 x 8 tin. Bake in a 350°F oven for 25 minutes, until golden brown. Cool on a wire rack. Combine in a medium saucepan 1/2 cup unsalted butter, 2/3 cup brown sugar, 2 tablespoons golden syrup or dark corn syrup, and 1 tin sweetened condensed milk. Stir over very gentle heat until sugar dissolves. Increase heat to med-low and bring to a boil. Simmer gently for 7 minutes, stirring continuously, until caramel-coloured. Add 1 teaspoon vanilla and pour onto shortbread base.

Leave to cool and set. Gently melt 4 ounces bittersweet chocolate with 1 teaspoon vegetable oil in a metal bowl set over a pan of simmering water. Spread over caramel. Cut when chocolate is set.

14

International news

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

MATIAS AGUAYO PROOF THAT TECHNO ISN’T REALLY LOST Words louise brailey probably won’t piss too many people off to suggest techno has got a bit boring. Dry functionality has become the default background noise for K’d up scenesters in sunglasses. Bored with waiting for the hundredth pitchshifted vocal to kick in? Console yourself with the new wave of contrived deep house, cozening you in a cushion of sustained synth pads and mediocrity. Great.

It

But for those not ready to jump ship, Matias Aguayo has proved something of a saviour. His 2006 12” ‘Minimal’ was a criticism of the scene’s dearth of ideas - an inside joke based on depressing truth. As an outsider dividing his time between Europe and his South American homeland, he still has much to say: “Techno sounded much more crazy in the past. Nowadays when I hear somebody play, it often sounds so normal.”

His second album is a challenge to this cult of normality. Released on

BOOGIE man DÂM-FUNK keeping it FANTASY, NOT real Words danna hawley Funk is explainin g the title of his debut album, out on Stones Throw. “Toeachizown was based on being able to just do you; travelling your own lane,” he says. “That’s what I’m trying to do with the music.”

Toeachizown (pronounced ‘toeach-his-own’) perfectly sums up both the artist and his album. He describes his “modern-funk” productions - smooth, buttery vocals melted over thumping basslines and freaked-out electronics -

Dâm-

Photograph rob low while coolly smoking a cigarette; his long, pressed-out black hair surrounding his big framed sunglasses. Dâm-Funk’s own lane, it seems, is aimed straight towards another planet. He channels the elements of funk’s old school as if on a mission to keep them alive within today’s production values. But the 38-year-old ‘ambassador of boogie funk’ is no newcomer to the game.

A stint as a struggling musician in South LA (“I even played in groups that would back comedians”) honed his skills to the point where his album is entirely free of loops and

Kompakt, Ay Ay Ay is a departure from 2005 debut Are You Really Lost, a record that took the skeletal structure of after-hours minimal and added a large dollop of sinuous melody. This time Aguayo dispenses with synthetic classicism for an almost completely organic reimagining. “I didn’t want to concentrate on editing, programming or sound design,” Aguayo explains, “I just wanted this process to flow.”

To do this, Aguayo rejects traditional structure for an improvi-

samples. “I don’t want it to be misconstrued that I’m some type of elitist that’s against sampling,” he says. “There are great artists that utilise it in an artistic way. Ninetynine per cent of my stuff is not sampled, but I choose to record like this; I just like the way it sounds when you play something from the beginning to end.”

Dâm (short for ‘Damon’) is meticulously comprehensive, even when it comes to discussing his influences. “I was into metal when I was a teen: Kiss, Rush and Heart. With new wave, I got into Depeche Mode and Soft Cell,” he says, speeding up with excitement. “[Then] harder groups like Iron Maiden and Venom, Mötley Crüe and Van Halen. I just liked what they were doing because I considered metal to be the bastard child of rock, and funk is like the bastard child of soul and R&B. So I just always had that connection: the black sheep of the family.”

This unique ‘out there’ quality is an ideal he aspires to. As Dâm explains: “When I went to a Kiss concert in 1982 - it was the tour when Ace Frehley was gone, but it

sational process and, most obviously, uses his voice as a percussive tool.

Single ‘Rollerskate’ comprises layers of vocal clicks and pops undulating beneath a gossamer-light vocal line.

The West African melodies and Latin rhythms that augment the rest of the album enhance this distinctly human approach to producing. “Music making should be something very easy,” Aguayo adds.

“If you can hear the effort, it’s probably too conceptual.”

Easy for him to say. Not everybody grows up exposed to a

was Gene Simmons, Paul Stanley, Vinnie Vincent, and Eric Carr on drums... rest in peace Eric Carr.

Mötley Crüe opened up for them, before they were even popular.

When I say they were larger than life, you went to the show to see a show. You wanted to see somebody be different; you saw characters.

Now, you see your homeboy onstage, know what I’m saying? I wanna see some cats that’ll bring something more to the stage.”

His DJ sets - often filled with keytars, vocoders and improvised vocals - are a true musical experience. The dancefloor becomes a mind-opening classroom as DâmFunk educates on the mic with every record he drops. He’ll explain the name of the track, the label, the year it came out and even its cultural significance.

But how does he stay so schooled himself? “I guess I just pay attention to detail,” he says modestly. “Even going back to cartoons... I would watch cartoons like Scooby Doo and wait for the credits at the end, like, ‘Oh, that was the one from the ’78 era.’ I would be interested in the

rich body of music in Chile, nor has a father who was friends with the pioneering Argentinian DJ, Alfredo, who made tapes of early house music for the young Aguayo. This musical education has been channelled into Ay Ay Ay, making it a call to arms to recalibrate techno’s priorities; to return to thinking about music, not presets or clothing lines. “I wanted to reconnect with the way I did music in my childhood, before all the rules came in,” says Aguayo. “I achieved this, I think. It made me very happy.”

details of things. And when I would look at album covers, I would check the credits. That’s how I would find different records, because I would know about the labels and producers.”

Musical prowess isn’t the only thing Dâm’s known for. His belief in alternate universes and life on other planets has been known to pop up in interviews, recently telling Pitchfork that: “These days, everybody says, ‘Keep it real,’ but I say, ‘Keep it fantasy.’” When questioned on the statement, his voice takes a more solemn tone. “I came up in the hood, if you will, and I’ve seen stuff that was crazy. But why do I need to tell people that I saw somebody get shot and my dad had to do CPR on him while I was standing there watching? Is that gonna help the music? Is that gonna make me feel good? Music, to me, is about being taken away from that reality. I want to give a different perspective: I want to make it instrumental; it doesn’t even have to have words. I just want to make music that takes you to another place, that’s all.”

C O LD C AVE

L O V E C O M ES C L O S E O UT N O W "Odd-pop masterpiece" NME "The dark side of synth" GUARDIAN "One of the best pop albums of the year" FACT www.matadorrecords.com

www.theheartworm.com

THE NEW ALBUM OUT NOW www.kurtvile.com www.matadorrecords.com

aaaa THE STOOL PIGEON aaaa UNCUT aaaa THE FLY

17

December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

Features

Bad Hare Day RABBIT-LIKING SINGER-SONGWRITER SUFJAN STEVENS IS NOT A HAPPY BUNNY AT THE MOMENT. Words by Barnaby Smith is wrong w i t h Sufjan Stevens. Something is awry in his pretty little head, above which the heavy fog of gloom now sits. He’s lost his energy, his charm and, especially, his focus. Perhaps he’s been thinking too much. Perhaps he needs some time with that great agony uncle in the sky.

Perhaps he needs a wife.

Something

on this long, interview-heavy afternoon in New York, he is tired and miserable. He bristles impatiently at any suggestion that his trio of new releases don’t count as ‘proper’ follow-ups to 2005’s Illinoise, the second part of his infamous and increasingly unlikely 50 states project. “You mean, just because they don’t have songs?” he snips.

Today,

Stevens is in a hole of disillusionment, it’s of his own making. The reason, as has been well documented through the blogosphere recently, is that he has been suffering a kind of artistic existential crisis as he struggles to locate his individual voice amid what he calls the ‘white noise’ brought on by the so-called democratisation of music.

He’s been quoted as saying, “I’m at a point where I no longer have a deep desire to share my music with anyone,” and, “My innocuous music offers nothing new or beneficial.”

If

the fact that he performed three new songs - ‘proper’ songs, that is - on a recent tour of the US East Coast suggests he isn’t about

But

to give up and do a JD Salinger just yet.

Or maybe he just wants to start a public dialogue. Either way he has a lot to get off his chest.

is an excess that seems unending and impervious to understanding,” he says, wretchedly. “It can be overwhelming, but it’s important for people like me to not get anguished for too long on the cosmic, greater process. I tend to despair sometimes over meaning.

What’s the meaning of a song? Of an album? What does it mean that I’m on stage in front of people? What is this dynamic? What is this relationship?

“There

always have to wrestle with the motivation behind motivation. Am I creating for myself?

For a public? For God? For nothing? Is there just a void? Are all the sounds we create consumed by a vacuum? These are probably juvenile existential qualms, but I can’t help it.”

“You

of those trio of new albums is a soundtrack to a film he was commissioned to make to celebrate New York’s ugly but essential BrooklynQueens Expressway (a concept that ostensibly leans towards the JackKerouac-by-way-of-Paul-Simon sort of East Coast wistfulness in its mythologising of this great slab of concrete). On this occasion though, he has put aside narratives and histories in favour of a more abstract view of his subject. He spent hours upon hours on the expressway, breathing it in.

One

wanted to relinquish anything too literal or historical,” he says of The BQE, “and to invest myself in the sheer pleasure of experience through the senses. It’s extremely visceral, there is no narrative and it’s completely impersonal, which I like. It’s satisfying because I often try to render my self in a song and impose my own autobiography. That can be exhausting, and it can be a release to eliminate that from the creative process. [The album] is a celebration of colour, shape and form reduced to physical, primitive experience. It’s a painting, in a way.”

“I

BQE is stunning. Often aligned with minimalists like Steve Reich and Terry Riley as much as those in the folk canon he is loosely part of, Stevens takes that and complements it with touches of Gershwin and Copland. You can imagine Woody Allen liking this record, and it’s a much more enjoyable listen than one of his other current plugs, Run Rabbit Run, a reworking of his 2001 LP of electronica Enjoy Your Rabbit, by New York string quartet Osso. He thinks the album outdoes the original because it is “more human”. Finally, there is a record he made with his stepfather, Music For Insomnia, which is just incredibly dull.

But deliberately so: the album is designed as an aid for those, like Stevens, who can’t sleep.

The

BQE is, ‘proper’ album or not, a continuation of Stevens’s tendency to ornament the minutiae of normal American lives.

The

“Transcendental nostalgia” is how David Byrne once described him. You could say he adhered to his own brand of patriotism, a kind of vaguely liberal national pride that echoes people like Walt Whitman or The Band in its belief in America’s innate beauty and potential, even if its reality is regularly corrupted. Albums Greetings From Michigan: The Great Lake State and Illinoise are, in their own way, dedications to America in all its troubling guises.

Stevens’s faith-inspired narratives of domestic scenes and small-town politics are for his fans arguably as important a part of American literary lore as Nantucket’s port or the communities of West and East Egg. And often where there is patriotism, there is nostalgia and sentimentalism too. Stevens has been accused of both.

do feel that my music doesn’t feel very contemporary,” Stevens says. “There is something very romantic and old world about it. Even in the aesthetics and packaging of the records, there’s something midcentury. But I don’t have much respect for nostalgia, and I like the idea of existing in the here and now. I like present-tense philosophy. I do, however, think my music is a compression of nostalgia, modernism and this kind of neo-futuristic, apocalyptic religious sense.”

“I

there is a sense of dramatic apocalyptic helplessness to those

Actually,

current despairs of his. For indie-folk’s most famous Christian, these are some serious dilemmas. It’s become a little passé these days to ask Sufjan about his faith, but the fact remains that in the past it has been a key theme in his music. Yet here he is agnostically wondering about the point of it all.

Eventually, he admits that despite this apparent loss of creative mojo, the link between spirituality and music, for him at least, remains. think music is mystical,” he says, “in that it’s invisible and it’s physical. It’s not seen by the eye but felt by the body and spirit. That’s an indication of its spiritual value. It’s an ecstatic form. It’s spiritual and religious but it’s also more pointedly mystical and mysterious and I think that’s what makes it infinitely accessible and interesting. Even in a very physical, material world, we still feel these spiritual impulses from music, art and poetry. It’s inherent in the human psyche. I believe you can socialise a man but he will always be spiritual as long as we’re finite; as long as there’s an expiration date. Man is wholly spiritual.”

“I

thus it is that Sufjan Stevens, despite his confusions, does maintain a deep kernel of faith in music, and God. As far as identity crises go, his is pretty mild.

And as long as he is still capable of things like The BQE, the Nausea ought to keep its distance from him, to invoke Jean-Paul Sartre.

And

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You can try and suck the blood out of VAMPIRE WEEKEND, but they’re a hard band to stick a stake into.

Words by HAZEL SHEFFIELD Photographed by RICHIE HOPSON

Ivy

ception Weekend, but the per ma?” Vampire d will com ban d e for leg Ox col an ppy ut pre abo of them as a t gives a fuck n’t tha with t Do e s fac a ips Kid ecl nt, e to me ‘Th m ern r And did you hea wing Sandinista gov be difficult for the well aware of. t listen-through in wh ich poe tic um. Are they not are firs alb e’, nd the ing anc eke m om Ch fro We thc A e nt for pir nd are ir app early is used Sta lifornia Vam e wh ite - the t majority of of being defined by Pigeon is granted. ‘Ca adly, in prefix form, it del ica tel y dis ma ntl understand that the vas the still afraid cern The Stool y with More bro tradict, lyr ics te con pla ’ con bas to Son lam n: ng t’s tio goi ma and osi plo not s? e opp ‘Di ice tur people are to imply English’ and stylistic cho Yet col lar cul even mean ail. corporate cash mer appropriatcontralateral.

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La pre era ves lph is that conversation. I it mo Ra t’s not a sioned drive gen We’re going for bit it becomes clear.” ds about something.” o shirt adverts? Cricke Cab’ invokes a disillu music is like that at all.

“Her it a little ys in is also his pol ink Ur two min ns are ‘Taxi , lij: Th pla isio ver ‘I n ang cle dec ile tm eve wh ugh No Ba , tho l? one city ns. , y gir any sic ctio om t Their mu And the visceral rea around a glo l sport tha s le pul wa ents tab e ts res for tur par om rep , pic it ns’ is.” unc h t the usi bas wit tha ic ‘Co and es made on an academ far from exact. In name’s Kirsten, A Contra’ crunch America. I think ys ty, ch gle wa cri mu Sin e ala s.

3.” for h som le riff 198 wit in sib in no y er er, Batmanglij is respon e kind of an oth monies and jazz pia en in New York Cit ay from each oth ce, “There som three boys aw anging that har ns’ races at breakneck speed - the tak oun arr the , ann and iew to erv ing son int duc t.”

Tom pro the pas g In of the forcin ‘Cousi t are like a pire Weekend pire Weekend hing forward, r why Kirsten is nts in Co ntr a tha And that’s what Vam goes into making Vam sound of a band pus g altogether refuse to explain furthe y are mo me iet, the t Qu ses n. clo eno their songs, a e in ssin Th nom ent pre er. phe !” s, res cov such a complex pretty shambolic on their album crashing onward are trying to rep t is (he jus ge y off, ima iron s e ic fall rat “Th it t s, Soc “The point is not tha e is when Baio say trasting ‘other’? almost coy, and fond of different buttons. colourful com bit,” Baio con e the more Batmanglij stions than he’s ter on, walking to a nt to the band becaus it can breathe a little La “To some extent, yeah,” t eva tends to pose more que tha rel t, be we sic to hoo re mu tos in mo not ed pho the ant jor it, ort ma the ut imp he abo for it’s r), ple t we nk peo thi willing to ans agrees. “I we talk to outdoor spo concedes. who steps in to it, which is e time that Dave had the time to talking nervously This time, it’s Tomson at Columbia at the sam too metronomic. We get different reactions Tomson and Baio are e s k. wa lea Som s . um tor ord .” alb jec ge that you rec ant an s Pro ima of ort lly think about thi imately what’s imp Longstreth of Dirty about the possibility to explain: “Like an debate over rea ks brooding ult e no bearing really lifeless, loo ch a e. hav mu he ke Yal ht , is at ma s t mig now sic ow jus e ich mu foll her in uld wh at wo ve ing g’s Wh major Koeni the bands se off- percei d voice of like having a ing from.” ord, but to keep tho interpretations ned about his damage “Meeting Dave, it was on where a person is com ut and concer sa- various use perfect rec abo ref ver y ed con the all ortant about talk m ich imp we .” fro wh f are life e sel ing re “Some things shared experienc bits gives it mo photograph, dur and excuses him d to lij ire ly hea ang mp ire tm Va his concludes. ent Ba h is lij ” e wit all ng, ang g pos for Eq ual ly, what we were learni to admit that its pur tion, instead walkin Ralph Lauren,” Batm e moment of ny levels and obvious from ing sections, pocket of his is rar ma str a ch the so so In mu in on t n. tuo st d tha vir exi ctio han s s rea ugh the one nd’ e tho clo says, down, the “His ack. provok t I do Weeke anings arnations. What’s can ’t act ual ly pla y one clutching a paperb so many different me Batmanglij lets slip, “Bu their resulting pop inc to Ba tm ang lij to duffel coat, ing they have eful precision, ay str hop rw nce , doo ere ind any def the y beh g be pla his .” han can ’t is s less obvious vio lin . “I don think this album The two Chris’ to so many people as he wil l “Sometimes the r me harmony is versation, maybe be received as a An d tha t’s as far Longstreth’s work: “Fo instruments,” he says. open the desire to con that the album will e lity sic, y’r mu qua the r in e st poo .” aus in mo one bec s ut not d thi abo ma and e f. like e, s car sel get I kag ion s him ng sat pac ian thi the music whole If its conver there’s explain e Weekend’s like a good a direct gateway is not playable! But tched from the web.

Vampire Weekend This, then, is Vampir because I feel like it’s u rk an MP3s sna sed like, ‘This Yo wo me res it.

I art ng add d nt at which its doi An are poi . ut y and the ling abo the : if fee up fun nce to memory and something very conversation, and tracks are cut personal conscie be se. the the s to sen but mis nty an er, ht s and force ple thi put mig and tre re’s ple com ngs do it just on the harmony in the Lo on these grounds, the missing, they say, peo they’ll refuse your dem Their music tic, musical can it back very the lf. s that you can y aes rse ton pla ir y but you the onl of for m . set can nk fro ain a er thi ed Ag to like put ner It’s com point. it in you of it Contra is a gar t on this record ng. And then you put st in a vacuum: make ise.

The album cover for push, and I think tha ir cheap-soundi e and they play it and does not exi to n’s and otherw the m tons, ma m the wo but a fro ask of ent h ’t les fer rap mp don dif tog exa but g e Take som we’re pushin front of someon stark vintage pho what you will, g nt ely eni ere ens Ko diff int a ice g n not kin sio evo e.” expres her t album. Did you hopefully, and we’re suddenly it’s so aliv face, spell it out for you. title itself. firs time ago for extolling the ord.”

University was a life biguous, much like the mming rather than mood from the first rec sla am a in ho of “w las de h rril ma were gue es of gra mm ar wit Much is already being Historically, Contras left- int ric aci vibe on Contra, who stood against the gua ara mooted West Coast Nic ’t immediately something that isn

Fatigue

ISSUE TWENTY-FOUR RAIN ON LAKES, HUMAN TRAMPOLINES, LIGHTNING BOLT AND THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE STOLEN MASK. Rhode Island power duo Lightning Bolt exist as temporary royalty in the realm of the senses. Not just their nomenclature, but album titles such as Ride The Skies and Wonderful Rainbow give you an idea of the elemental kingdom they oversee. A masked Brian Chippendale plays drums and sings simultaneously with a microphone in his mouth while Brian Gibson plays bass. From this deceptively simple set up they create, marshal, amplify and then unleash a projectile jolt of heavy metal that nods briefly to hardcore, punk, psych rock and black metal as it hurtles past, speeding like a Japanese bullet train constructed of whale carcasses, stalactites and diamonds.

Of course they don’t deal in idyllic, sylvan or even red-intooth-and-claw notions of nature, but that of vast weather systems, tectonic shifts, batholithic ruptures, cave collapses, and mega tsunamis. Gibson’s bass runs through an impressive array of FX units that conjure up a massive sound, out of which solidifies battleship riffs and surprisingly user-friendly hooks, while Chippendale’s octopodalic drumming forms not just a rhythm but another layer of fizzing texture.

The pair are often described as ‘noise’ or as having a very ‘difficult’ sound, but their latest album Earthly Delights (out now on Load) shows that they are more than capable of producing righteous rock (‘Transmissionary’) and gentle aqueous ambience (‘Rain On Lake I’m Swimming In’) when they feel like it. However, their din is mainly akin to a single-span suspension bridge in a violent earthquake, the roads rippling and buckling as the giant cables snake free.

In some respects, the group are a victim of their own uniqueness. For most of their 15-year career, they have insisted on playing off-stage and among the audience, wherever possible. Brian Chippendale explains that this was partially to break down barriers between the group and the crowd but adds: “When you first play in a club, you look out from the stage, your

10 friends are across the room and you’re like, ‘This is ridiculous. We’re over here and they’re over there. Why don’t we pick our stuff up and go over where they are?’ In the beginning, people didn’t know what to make of us - we were literally chasing them round the room, trying to scream into people’s faces a little more. After a time, it became a comfortable thing. But it has changed, because 15 years ago we were 20-year-olds playing to other 20-year-olds and now we’re 35 and still playing to 20year-olds, so there is a bit of a disconnect there in that way, which is a little bit strange.”

Their gigs can often be unpredictable, riotous affairs that see not only audience members, but sometimes the two Brians getting knocked flying. And this sense of weirdness is only amped up by Mr Chippendale’s mask, which looks like something a retarded serial killer clown might wear.

But the mask isn’t just there to secure his mic in place and scare people, it also holds an almost transcendental amount of significance to some fans. During an ATP gig about four years ago, he announced that he had to fashion a new mask out of a pillowcase after some light-fingered admirer had made off with the real one.

Brian sounds serious when this episode is mentioned: “I try to keep an eye on where the mask is, especially after that incident. It was just one ‘crazy’ British guy [laughs]. He just had to have it!”

Then unfolds a tale which is part-Murder She Wrote, part-King Of Comedy, part-Phantom Of The Opera, and part-When We Were Kings: “I got it back. You see, I had a suspect in mind. After the gig when it was stolen we watched some footage that someone had recorded and I said, ‘I think it’s that guy.’ I didn’t sing on the final song and he held the microphone for me. He was the most enthusiastic fan of all time. I remembered that I’d seen him before. I was like, ‘Wait a second, that’s the guy from

BY JOHN DORAN

the ICA from two years ago who tried to trade his baseball cap for the mask. That’s the guy who wanted my mask last time we were over!’ The people who took the footage were like, ‘Oh, we know that guy. His brother works in a bar near here.’ So we got his brother to go into his room a couple of months later and the mask was tacked up to the wall. Apparently there was something of a wrestling match over it but eventually his brother got it out of the room and gave it to some promoters who knew me and they mailed it back.”

He pauses for a second and then resumes the tale in a sinister manner: “The mask now has a tear across it, which was sustained while it was being rescued. I never wore it again. I just wanted it back. So he couldn’t have it [laughs].”

There’s a vast difference between what Lightning Bolt do live and their recorded output, but when it is suggested that the band try to narrow this gulf by doing all of their records live in the studio, Brian says: “I think it’s less a product of trying to capture the live sound and more a product of our relationship. We don’t like to sit round in the studio and spend time together thinking things up. We usually just come together, do this thing and then separate because, after 15 years, there’s only so much time you can hang out for. But we do talk about trying to do a more studiostyle album where we build things up in layers for some time.”

Brian even confesses that they may be finally ready to take the stage: “We’re getting a little bigger now so at some shows we have to play on a stage. It seems like sometimes we’re like a trampoline for people to bounce on to have a good time. Some don’t care about the music so much as they care about the idea of what the event is supposed to be like. But I can’t even make a judgement on that. Now that we’re playing on stages more, I think these ideas will align better.

Some people will be watching us and go, ‘Oh, they’ve been playing songs this whole time!’”

Comparing Notes They’re not sure about Kenny Rogers, but they’ll take The Beach Boys and MUSIC GO MUSIC don’t mind at all if you say they sound like Abba.

Words by Phil Hebblethwaite Fresh off-stage from supporting Franz Ferdinand at London’s Brixton Academy and the two main players in Music Go Music find themselves in something of a pensive mood.

“I missed my last note, my favourite note to sing in the whole set,” says frontlady Gala Bell of the vocal climax that closes the live version of their 10-minute disco belter, ‘Warm In The Shadows’. “Bad scene that I missed it, but the set was okay.”

“Everybody seemed to be having a good show apart from me,” adds Kamer Maza. “I have three keyboards and every single one gave me problems. It’s never happened before.”

Much later, and cheered-up considerably, Kamer says: “After tonight, I’m ready to get a better version of me.”

Chew on that. It’s an odd thing to say and, of the many strange things about this band, it’s a clue to perhaps the strangest: Music Go Music intend to franchise themselves.

Gala Bell and Kamer Maza are not real names. They’re the names of characters that Meredith and David Metcalf - a lovely, intelligent and beautiful married couple from Los Angeles - slip into when they write, record and perform as Music Go Music. They have another band, too - the almost-baroque and equally brilliant indie group, Bodies Of Water - but when they do that, they do so as Meredith and David.

It’s them. Music Go Music isn’t. It’s pure theatre, and for that reason, they don’t see why other singers and musicians can’t play their parts.

“Wouldn’t that be amazing!?” squeals Meredith. “That’d be so good. It could go on forever. We would be all old writing the songs and it’d be like, ‘Send this one to Germany, the German version of us will love it!”

But how could you allow it? Wouldn’t you worry about standards slipping?

“That’s the thing,” she continues. “I wouldn’t do it unless it was just perfect and the people felt

Photograph by Mattia Zoppellaro

the music in their own completely different way.”

Music Go Music, whose other full-time member is guitarist TORG (Adam Siegel), make music that exists somewhere between the city, the country and paradise. It’s part Studio 54 downtown glitz, part earthy, classic songwriting, and also otherworldly and heavenly.

Their debut album, Expressions, is already out in the States and when it’s released here in January, it will most likely make them famous across the UK - more so than in America. People here will adore Music Go Music without knowing anything about them, because the British have always been suckers for perfectly executed glittering pop and rock.

Straw poll, Music Go Music! Everyone thinks you sound like something else. Asked to distil your band into a single song, this is what five of your fans said...

“Whoah, hang on,” says Meredith. “Before you start, did anyone come up with a Meat Loaf song?”

No. “I love Meat Loaf. I haven’t seen him recently, but footage from him from a while back... he’s amazing. I feel a real kinship with him. He has a crazy name, but he’s totally serious. He’s for real and he’s feeling it.”

Can we start now?

“Okay, sorry.”

Track 1. ‘I Feel Love’, Donna Summer.

Meredith: “Oh cool, I like that song. [sings] ‘I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel looooovvve.”

David: “That song’s brilliant.”

Track 2. Bit of a weird one, this. ‘Just Dropped In’, by Kenny Rogers, as made famous

by The Big Lebowski.

David: “That’s Kenny Rogers!? I had no idea.

That’s crazy.”

Meredith: “That’s cool, too. I can see that in us. It has that... stomp to it.”

David: “I’ll admit that I have a little trouble

seeing how that applies to us.”

Track 3. ‘We’ve Only Just Begun’, The Carpenters.

Meredith: “I love that song. I was just telling Victoria from Little Boots, because she was at our show in Manchester, and I was trying to talk her into getting married... we’re all about getting married. She asked, ‘If I do, would you sing at my wedding?’ I said, ‘Yes, I’ll sing ‘We’ve Only Just Begun’, and I wanna sing, ‘The Rose’, by Bette Midler.’”

Digression: the marriage thing. Like Meredith says, they’re all about it. Both David and her like it that there are wildly conflicting reports on how old they are, but they do say they got married in 2001 when they were very young. “It was a barely legal situation,” says David wryly. “No, I graduated college, left south LA, where we’re both from, moved in with a friend who lived round the corner from her...”

“I don’t wanna get into, er...” says Meredith, cutting David off. “And, by the way, I’m 13.”

They live in Highland Park now, a largely Hispanic neighbourhood north of downtown.

They bought a house there in 2003 that gypsies used to live in.

Next track, track 4. ‘God Only Knows’, The Beach Boys.

David: “That may be my favourite Beach Boys song. ‘Wouldn’t It Be Nice’ and ‘God Only Knows’ are my favourites. Good choice. I’m flattered.”

Track 5. ‘The Winner Takes It All’, Abba.

Meredith: “Interesting!”

David: “That’s one of my least favourite Abba songs.”

Meredith: “I would have preferred ‘Waterloo’.”

David: “I like the disco songs better. But it wasn’t until after we started recording this stuff that I started really listening to Abba. Now I think they’re rad.”

So you don’t get upset when people say you sound like Abba?

Meredith: “I love it! I think it’s great. I mean, I think ‘Light Of Love’ sounds a lot like them, and I’m glad about that.”

Straw poll over. Anything you’d like to add, Music Go Music?

“I’m surprised that no one picked up on the heavier side of Music Go Music,” says Meredith.

“That’s my favourite part.”

Describe yourself, then? Do you stand by what you previously told this paper; that you’re “a rock band making whooshy, dreamy sounds with tinkly stardust noises”?

“That sounds like Meredith!” crys David.

“People are always saying, ‘It’s pop music, it’s pop music!’ but I think of us as a rock band,” says Meredith. “But, really, I just think of it as music. And that’s why we’re called Music Go Music. We wanted to have music twice in the band name, obviously.”

The atmosphere changes as the conversation moves onto their very real shot at making it big next year, and especially in Europe.

“On a conceptual level, it would be rad,” says David. “I suppose that’s the agenda, or whatever.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but I thought my contribution was to make music that would really appear as pop music. But then I knew we had to move beyond the realm of the conceptual and actually become pop music. And it feels satisfying to actually see it out.”

“When we’re in LA, we feel so far away,” continues Meredith, stuttering. “Could it affect us? I don’t know. I could be totally naïve. We’re definitely not planning on touring incessantly or anything like that. I think the music is so indulgent and I want it to be special. We can’t churn it out, night after night.”

She stops, giggles, looks at her husband, and says: “That’s why we need to get going with this franchise idea.”

Cloud Canine Snoop Dogg loves his kids, never does the dishes, and we all need “the white-wig-wearin’ parliament motherfuckers” to let him back into Britain.

Words by Daddy Bones Photo by Estevan Oriol

t long motherfucking lizzle. Twenty-two issues ago, in 2005, when The Stool Pigeon was just still hatching from its egg, we summarily failed to interview Snoop Dogg. We came close, and it was galling to not get the chance to grab even a soundbite on that particular UK tour.

Finally, on the eve of his 10th solo album release, Malice N Wonderland, the now wellplumed Pigeon was offered a rare phoner with perhaps the best-loved and most famous black entertainer in the world. Twenty minutes on a lowvolume, patched phone line to New York isn’t quite the shining opportunity we’d hoped for, but even a long-distance yarn while his tour bus warms up is quite a kick. I mean, this is Snoop Dogg here. Who, aside from the British government that, in 2007, banned him from re-entering the UK following an entourage altercation at Heathrow, doesn’t love Snoop Dogg?

Snoop is the bomb: the smooth operator who made West Coast hip hop a household sound; who changed the way the genre feels; and who can move into any field to which he takes fancy cinema, TV, sports, porno - and come off with yet further respect and accolades. Few can do this and, in such respects, he is hip hop - or at least the embodiment of its expansive possibilities. Thirty million albums sold is a bullet-point, sure, and so is appearing as a judicial head-in-a-jar on Futurama, but I can think of no finer measure of his stature than that he was name-checked in Father Ted. Don’t laugh. When an Irish writer needs the name of a rap figure to contextualise a line in his script, he picks the only one that everybody knows.

Yet it’s only fairly recently, in this era of celebprodding media, have we really got to know what’s behind the enduring image of the slang-talking pimp, Crip Walking from a haze of weed smoke.

The documentary TV show, Father Hood, showed Mister C.C. Broadus as the fun-loving family man, and his cameo in Sacha Baron Cohen’s outrageous Bruno movie told us he was sharp enough to be in on a very blunt joke. Successful, stoned, sly and funny? Mother-fucker.

A

HOW ARE YOU, SNOOP?

Higher than a motherfucker. Did a show last night with Method Man and Redman in Times Square.

THREE OF THE BIGGEST STONERS IN AMERICA? ALL ON ONE BILL? WHO WERE THE ROADIES, CHEECH & CHONG?

SO WITH ALL THESE THINGS YOU DO IN YOUR LIFE THESE DAYS IT’S STILL...

SOMETHING I HAVEN’T SEEN IN A LONG TIME: A TIM DOG 12”.

KIDS ARE FORCED TO GROW UP TOO QUICK THESE DAYS, I THINK.

Yeah, ’cause there’s still people who never seen me before. When I’m on-stage it gives them chance to be part of something they been down with for a long time.

‘Fuck Compton’? They had that Tim Dog ‘Fuck Compton’ up in there?

Yeah, you don’t wanna shape and mould your kids because you gonna shape and mould som’n that you don’t want. Let them find out who they are and let them become the best at whatever they gonna be - even if it’s a criminal, a preacher, a doctor, or whatever it is. Let them find out, as opposed to trying to make them be something that they’re not.

EVEN THOUGH YOU’VE BEEN DOING THIS FOR 17 YEARS, THERE’S ALWAYS A FRESH GENERATION...

NO, THE FOLLOW-UP: ‘BITCH WITH A PERM’ [POSSIBLY THE MEANEST, MOST PERSONAL DISS RECORD EVER]. DID YOU EVER MAKE PEACE WITH TIM DOG?

[Mishearing] Well, I think I’m the second generation. I think we on the fourth generation of rappers, but I’m like the second generation of rappers.

I never even met that nigga! Oh, we killed his ass off quick! We went so hard on that nigga on the first tour, he was gawn after that! Nobody even cared about the nigga.

YOU’VE GOT A LOT OF RELATIVES IN THE MUSIC GAME. ISN’T BRANDY ONE OF YOUR COUSINS?

IS THIS A BIG TOUR?

YOU HAD THE LAST LAUGH.

AND NATE DOGG, TOO.

This is just to promote my album: me, Devin The Dude, Redman and Method Man - just gettin’ out and lettin’ the people know that it’s ready to come.

Yeah, and I never met him. And I still go to New York all day, every day so he must not been as gangsta as he said he was.

Yeah. They go hard.

IT’S NOT OUT IN THE STATES YET?

NEW YORK RAPPERS ARE STILL RETICENT TO WORK WITH RAPPERS FROM THE WEST COAST AND THE SOUTH. WHY IS THAT?

He doin’ alright. Doing a little bit better.

I think the rap game is just changing direction like it’s supposed to. It moved off over to the west, the midwest, and now it’s down south.

That’s what it’s supposed to do - go off. It’s in Europe, it’s in Japan, Asia, Africa... You gotta appreciate it for what it is; something that will never die.

It’s kinda hard to explain, but he’s doing alright, so y’all just keep praying for him and he’ll be up out of it sooner or later.

Nah, December 8th.

CHRISTMAS PRESENTS FOR THE KIDS, RIGHT?

Mmm-hm. Ex-actly.

IS MAKING MUSIC STILL AS IMPORTANT TO YOU AS EVER? I MEAN, YOU’RE PRETTY PROLIFIC...

It’s still one of the most important things in my life, ’cause that’s what I’m dictated by - my music. I can do TV shows, movies and videos, but my life is essentially controlled by the music I make. It’s my number one inspiration in life.

WHEN YOU WERE A KID, YOU WERE BIG INTO COLLEGE FOOTBALL. YOU CAN’T CONCEIVE THE FUTURE, BUT...

Nah, I thought I was gonna be playing basketball or football, know what I’m sayin’? As a kid, that’s what my vision was, ’cause I was into sports and being athletic and just being on top of my game, you know? I was so competitive. I thought I would make it in that world before entertainment, and if I did make it in the entertainment world I was thinking of being a comedian. I was more of a funny guy.

Yeah, it’s still the highlight for me; in front of a crowd, a live audience. Gives people a chance to be part of the music that they love.

HOW IS NATE? I HEARD HE WAS ILL.

SOME KIND OF LUNG PROBLEM?

DID HE JUST STOP RECORDING? HE SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN GONE FOR SUCH A LONG TIME...

Mmm-hmm. [Long pause] Well, it’s delicate; I can’t really speak on that, so that’s why I can’t answer you.

My life.

SURE. I’VE BEEN CHECKING THE NEW ALBUM AND THE PRODUCTION CREDITS AND ALL, AND WAS A LITTLE SURPRISED THERE WAS NO DRE.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE ACTUALLY LIKE? YOU’RE A HUGE RAPPER AND ALL THAT, BUT YOU’RE MARRIED WITH THREE KIDS. HOW OLD ARE YOUR KIDS?

Why you surprised? I made three albums without Dr Dre. He don’t dictate my sound.

15, 12 and 10.

ARE THEY GONNA FOLLOW IN YOUR FOOTSTEPS?

No, they got they own shoes to walk in. They don’t need to walk in my shoes.

I JUST THOUGHT HE WAS KINDA DUE BACK WITH YOU. BUT YOU TWO ARE STILL BEST FRIENDS?

We’re great friends, but sometimes I like doin’ shit on my own, man, where I don’t have to become dependent on nobody.

DO YOU DO MUCH PRODUCTION YOURSELF?

WHAT DO THEY WANT TO DO WHEN THEY GROW UP? SO EVEN WITH ALL THESE STRINGS TO YOUR BOW, YOU THINK YOU MIGHT BREAK OFF ONE DAY AND BE A STAND-UP COMEDIAN?

Yeah. Real talk.

DO YOU STILL GET A BIG KICK OUT OF PLAYING LIVE?

AND IT’S STILL MORE IMPORTANT TO YOU THAN ANYTHING?

Yeah, Brandy and Warren, they’re ma cuz.

Well, I do a bit of that. If you listen to my records, gotta lot of comedy in it; the movies I been in... I’ve always been able to put a little comedy in everything I do, because that’s a part of me.

SPEAKING OF FUNNY THINGS, I SWUNG BY A SECOND-HAND RECORD STORE TODAY AND SAW

I... I don’t know. They still kids, still livin’, so I let them live their life. I don’t question what they wanna be or what they wanna do; they at the age where they learnin’ themselves, so...

THAT’S SWEET.

Well, I remember when I was that age - you really need space. So let ’em be kids and become who they gonna be.

I can, but I mean... there’s certain situations where I don’t put myself in that position, ’cause I got people who are better at that than me. Every time I do a record, I go for a different look, a different sound, a different feel, conceptually. To get with Dr Dre, it’s gotta be a concept thing. I don’t just fuck with him on some once-in-a-lifetime; we gotta do some concepts. That’s why everything we done is great and timeless. We don’t just do it here or there; we come with great conceptual projects.

WILL YOU WORK WITH HIM FULLY AGAIN?

I never stopped working with him. Just because you don’t hear him on my album don’t mean that I ain’t working with him. I might work on one of his artists’ projects or give him an idea, or he might mix one of my songs. It’s more about just being down with each other. Sometimes you wanna create your own atmosphere. To me, Ice Cube is the best example: he sounded great when he was with Dre, but when he left Dre he created his own sound. To ever get back with Dre again, it’d be great, but you don’t not listen to Cube ’cause he ain’t got Dre, and that’s the thing that I been doin’ - creating my own sound, whether I’m working with Pharrell, Timbaland, The Dream or Teddy Riley. Whoever I’m working with, it’s my sound, it ain’t they sound.

IS THIS DUDE THE DREAM A NEPHEW OF YOURS? IN THE NEW ‘GANGSTA LUV’ VIDEO, YOU REFER TO HIM AS ‘NEPHEW’.

OKAY, NO POLITICS - DULL SUBJECT - BUT IT MAKES ME THINK OF MONEY, AND YOU DO HAVE A LOT OF THAT. WHAT DO YOU DO WITH YOUR MONEY?

Well, you can’t die with it! Fuck it! Spend that shit! What you gonna do? Save and shit? I like to spread it out: my investment is in the community and the people who wanna do something with themselves - and give them an opportunity.

WHAT KIND OF THINGS? THE SCHOOL FOOTBALL TEAM THAT YOU COACH?

I got a Little League football league that I started: The Snoop Youth Football League - a whole league that I been runnin’ for five years. We had over 20,000 kids from the inner cities sign up and participate and play.

IS IT A NATIONAL THING?

Dream? He’s a producer, songwriter, singer. He wrote Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella’, and Mariah Carey’s last number one single...

HOW OLD IS HE? HE LOOKS LIKE A KID.

Hmm... 20-something, y’know? It’s all good.

IT’S JUST THAT YOU SAY IN THE SINGLE, ‘HEY NEPHEW, COME OFF THEM KEYS.’ SO I THOUGHT MAYBE HE WAS ACTUALLY A NEPHEW.

[Laughs] Oh, I know. In the industry, they call me Uncle Snoop, so a lot of these guys are my nephews.

IT’S ALL ONE BIG FAMILY.

Ex-actly, that’s what it all boils down to.

IS IT JUST AN AMERICAN TOUR YOU’RE DOING?

Yeah, but I’m comin’ to Europe, though, so don’t trip. Y’all gonna get it sooner or later.

YOU NEED TO COME BACK TO BRITAIN. WE NEED TO SORT THAT OUT.

Yeah, they need to let me in and quit bullshittin’!

They acting like bitches over there! Let me in the motherfuckin’ place!

WHO DECIDED YOU CAN’T COME IN, THE HOME OFFICE?

Well, the people - they want me there and love me and wanna see me. It’s the motherfuckin’ government. Some white-wig-wearin’ parliament motherfuckers. They running they shit based on the 1800s, as opposed to the 2000s. Y’all livin’ in yesteryear! Y’all need to change your shit over there!

It’s only in California but it will continue to spread and will go outside of California next year. I invest a lot of my money and more of my time into that, because time is more important than money when you’re dealing with trying to bring change, you know?

IT’S GREAT YOU GOT THE OPPORTUNITY TO DO THIS.

Yeah, but my money don’t mean as much as my time and devotion. Motherfuck a million dollars. I can give you a million dollars and say, ‘Here man, I love you,’ but if I can give you a million dollars’ worth of game, you can go out, make three million, give me a million, and now you got two million. I’d rather teach you how to create your own way, as opposed to giving you something that don’t give you no attitude to wanna work.

DO YOU EVER BRING YOUR FAMILY WHEN YOU TOUR?

DO YOU FIND THEY HAVE ANY ISSUES BECAUSE THEY’RE THE SONS AND DAUGHTER OF SNOOP DOGG?

They handle all that shit. They been dealing with it since they was born.

THEY GO TO SCHOOL IN LA?

Yeah. Catholic school; my eldest son is in high school.

YOU SENT THEM TO A CATHOLIC SCHOOL?

[Quietly] They mama did that. But realistically it was the best thing for ’em. I see my kids are some good kids for going to a Catholic school.

DID YOU GROW UP WITH RELIGION IN YOUR HOUSE?

Yeah we went to church every Sunday and Tuesday.

I’VE SEEN THE SHOW FATHER HOOD. THAT WAS A GOOD SHOW. IT’S SO CLEARLY OBVIOUS THAT YOU’RE A DEVOTED FATHER AND HUSBAND, AND YOU REALLY HAVE A LOT OF FUN WITH THE KIDS.

I UNDERSTAND THAT, BUT...

...this shit is real. And, as you get older, that life that you live becomes either a homely life - you have a wife and kids - or it becomes real reckless and wild with you and your homies and then you have kids.

You gotta understand, when most rappers come in the game, they don’t have kids, wives, relationships... It’s based on them, their neighbourhoods, their homies and what they grew up about. So that’s what they rap about: what the fuck they goin’ through. When they get older, like myself, then you start to feel like a rapper has fell off, or went away from what you’re normally accustomed to. But he’s just growing as a man; as a person.

SO YOU DON’T FEEL LIKE YOU SHOULD START RAPPING ABOUT DOING THE DISHES AND PUTTING THE KIDS TO BED?

SUNDAY AND TUESDAY!?

It was like bible study or som’n.

I don’t never do the dishes! So why would I rap about it? I got a motherfuckin’ maid to do that shit!

A LOT OF RAPPERS CONVERT TO ISLAM. I ONCE READ YOU ONCE JOINED THE NATION.

LET ME ASK ABOUT PORN, BECAUSE IT’S A SUBJECT CLOSE TO MY HEART...

I didn’t join The Nation of Islam, I roll with ’em.

Fruits of Islam, Nation of Islam... Mr Farrakhan is a personal friend of mine; I love and support everything that they do, so... that’s what it is.

There’s only one god in the world. Regardless whether you Christian, Muslim, Baptist, whatever no matter what your belief is - there’s only one god you prayin’ to. So I don’t classify myself as a Muslim or Christian, I’m just a god-fearing person who loves god, loves life and that’s how I carry my life. When I roll with the Jewish people, nobody say that I’m a black Jew, but when I roll with The Nation of Islam, y’all wanna say I’m a Muslim. I eat plenty bacon. Do plenty shit. And that’s just what it is.

Heh. You like porno, huh?

I LOVE BACON. YOU CAN’T BEAT IT.

No, they in school, and my wife’s doing her business, so... this is like me going to work, or going to the armed forces. I go to war on my own, and I come back with the goods.

It was never a persona with me: it was me; it was my life. You gotta understand that a lot of rappers are not living a persona, they’re living their lives.

For real.

You really can’t.

[EMI REP: OKAY, ONE MORE QUESTION AND SNOOP’S GOTTA GET ROLLIN’.]

DAMN, NOW I CAN’T REMEMBER WHAT THE FUCK I WAS GONNA ASK YOU.

WHO DOESN’T?

Well, that’s why I made a few! I know everybody like it, but everybody be afraid and ’shamed, so I was like, ‘Fuck it, I’m gonna put together a coupla porno movies. I’m gonna direct and add a different flavour to the porno world just to change the game.’ And I did. I won four AVN awards, sold the most DVDs ever in porno, brought a new style of shooting, brought music to the porno world... I changed the whole game and they thankful for me. They want me to do more, but I’m like, ‘I’m cool, that was a phase for me and I don’t wanna do it no more.’

YOU CAN’T DO THAT FOREVER WITH A WIFE AND KIDS, I SUPPOSE...

I had a wife and kids when I did it! That didn’t stop nothin’. I just didn’t wanna do it no more.

ANYTHING YOU WANNA DO THAT YOU’RE YET TO DO?

Take another sip of your drink, it’ll come to you.

Yeah, we’re real partial. We’re real close - not fake, and we’re not Hollywood. We’re more on the page of friends. I’m not even like their father - I’m like their friend. I wanna be like that, ’cause a friend they’ll tell anything, but a father they’d hide certain things from. So that’s our relationship.

OKAY, EVERYONE KNOWS SNOOP DOGG - HE SMOKES WEED, HE’S THE PIMP, AND ALL THAT BUT YOU’RE NEARLY 40, A FAMILY MAN AND A REAL SMART GUY. DO YOU STILL FEEL THE NEED TO PRESENT A PERSONA WHEN YOU RECORD?

Yeah. I feel like a gotta win a motherfuckin’ Grammy.

MORE THAN AN OSCAR?

Yeah, real shit. But I’ma get one of those, too.

words LUKE TURNER

photo SAM CHRISTMAS

WITH HIS LATEST BAND, COLD CAVE, FORMER HARDCORE SINGER WES EISOLD IS TAKING POP TO AN ICY, BITTER END. Opposites. Contrast. The subtlety of difference between the two. That’s Cold Cave.

“I want to have that balance with everything we do,” says the group’s founder Wes Eisold. “I think a perfect world is one with evil and good in it. I don’t think one can exist without the other. You have to take into consideration everything you do with people, and every decision you make, and how you process outside information. You always have to remember that there are two sides to everything.”

We see Cold Cave’s two sides on two nippy evenings in London in early November - first, at the White Heat club night in Soho. On the left of the stage, Dominick Fernow, grimacing under a severe fringe, twists nobs, flicks switches and unleashes slabs of caustic noise. He also happens to be the founder of the Hospital label, which specialises in upsetting delicate ears with releases from Wolf Eyes and his own group, Prurient. On the right, Caralee McElroy, formerly of Xiu Xiu, is playing sweet, almost twee keyboard melodies while singing with curious joy: “I’m... not going back.” In the centre is Eisold: the compelling face beneath a long, black hooded jacket buttoned to the top.

It’s a startling performance, mixing the noise pop of Cold Cave’s debut album Love Comes Close with the more abstract, industrial sounds of Cremations, a collection of the EPs and singles recorded when Eisold was largely working solo after years spent in hardcore bands. It’s one of those rare gigs that insists you see the group again at whatever the next possible opportunity may be - even if that means going to Camden.

And so to The Barfly the following night, and an even more intense set: all grinding static and haunted house beats so brutal they send certain mid-week gig-goers straight to the exit. More fool them, for the bedrock of noise goes on to prove Cold Cave’s astounding pop nous.

But how did we get here, reclaiming the gothic from the Goths and setting out to humanise the industrial through perfect pop aggression? As Eisold sings in ‘Theme From Tomorrowland’: “The future comes with the past decades.”

Cold Cave’s intensity is a logical extension of, and evolution from, the purity of hardcore - it’s just that the guitar has been ditched in favour of a growing collection of thrift-store synthesizers. With these tools, Cold Cave weld the cathartic passion of Eisold’s musical past to the evocations of dystopia, and the dichotomy of humanity and modernity that was explored in the synth experimentation and pop of those who found a home on Mute records in the early 1980s. Indeed, Cold Cave are as much Depeche Mode and The Normal as Throbbing Gristle and NON. “It is kind of like those records,” says Eisold. “I wanted to make a pop record. I think for me it’s probably the most accessible record I’ve ever been involved with.”

His musical consciousness developed over the sound of humming escalators in mid-1980s mall America, and Philadelphia where Eisold grew up. It’s only been very recently that he moved to New York City, where Fernow and McElroy live. “As a kid, the mall was a really special place for someone younger who would go shopping with their parents and see The potential for that accessibility was something bandmate these people clad in black,” Eisold says. “From that, my first Caralee McElroy recognised immediately. When asked what obsession became The Cure, followed by The Smiths.” gripped her when she first heard the music of Cold Cave, McElroy doesn’t hesitate. “I thought it was a great Eisold says he also had a period of loving Britpop, and still has combination of being dancey and accessible,” she says. “But it stacks of US import-price NMEs he bought back then, also has darker and dirtier sounds to it... Those worlds wanting to know what was happening on the other side of the colliding is really interesting to me. I love pop music; I love Atlantic, just as he followed more homegrown, aggressive really structured verse-chorus-verse-chorus [songs] - but tastes. “By the time I was 15 I was angrier, so you find dirtying it up gives it more feeling.” hardcore,” he continues. “If you’re young and unsure about how you feel about the world, you’re probably going to fall into hardcore.”

Feeling. That’s the key. Noise music can often be so bleak and lifeless that it lends itself to snooty dilettantism. But what Eisold started out singing/screaming in respected hardcore Cold Cave have done is take this basic austerity, and force it groups Give Up The Ghost and Some Girls, only moving on to have a dialogue with pop. It’s a tradition of blending dark to Cold Cave’s electronic, synth-based clarity a couple of years and light that extends right back past early-1980s synth ago. Could it not be seen as an opportunistic shift? After all, pioneers to the Romantics, and their engagement with their the tattoos of a hardcore musician can still be spotted surroundings. Though Eisold admits that the songs reflect protruding from under the cuffs of that long, black jacket. “For how he was feeling on whatever particular day they were me, hardcore was really appropriate for that time in my life, written, the emotional triggers could come from things as and now it’s not, really,” he explains. “The way you view the simple as, “People on the street who you interact with... or world and the way you want to express yourself in that world people you don’t interact with. It all goes into what we’re will change.” trying to make. I think it can change within 15 minutes, even. I think that’s the point: trying to record what you’re experiencing in life, and that’s going to change at any moment. It’s a diary of where you’re at; or it should be. I think it is for most people, if they’re honest with themselves.”

Brush With Fate

Pitch

Intro

It’s taken a lot to keep Los Angeles dream-pysch trio WARPAINT on the attack.

Words Photo Los A

by Hazel Sheffield

by Phil Knott

ngeles, once the preserve of Barbie Hollywood starlets and garish hairmetallers, has been undergoing something of a cultural renaissance in recent years. Not everywhere, you understand, but beneath that deceptive silicone glare the underground is heaving, a manytentacled bohemian creature cooking up cultural moonshine that will slowly permeate the mainstream.

Downtown venue The Smell first pierced the upper atmosphere, receiving coverage for its propensity to unearth neo-punk noise-masters The Mae Shi, No Age and Health, among others. This year Manimal Vinyl, the über-hip label run by fashion stylist Paul Beahan switched to worldwide distribution following successes that include charity tribute albums (The Cure, Madonna, David Bowie) and the Manimal Festival, established just last year in Joshua Tree national park. er east, Echo Park houses the artistic elite, the suburban dropouts whose cross-pollination is beginning to surface and transform all musical knowns about the city. These are the streets that Hecuba, Rainbow Arabia, and the Warpaint trio of Jenny Lee Lindberg, Emily Kokal and Theresa Wayman tread. Now, on the eve of Warpaint’s signing to Rough Trade following this year’s CMJ showcase in New York, things look set to go global. But why now?

And just what is it about LA lately?

Furth

definitely easier to live in LA than it is in New York,” Theresa explains down the phone. “There’s a lot of sun and a lot of space to roam around.”

“It’s

e background, New York’s humming; our interview is scheduled just hours after that fateful CMJ performance.

“Echo Park is almost like Williamsburg - a poor neighbourhood that became gentrified - and a lot of artists live there. There are all kinds of different people doing all kinds of different things and collaborating.

The group that we have over there is large but it’s really tight: we work together on all our projects photoshoots, videos, music, clothing...”

In th

Park made Warpaint what they are today. For the last year-and-ahalf, they’ve been gigging constantly in local venues, securing three residencies and working on their sound. But Theresa’s not an LA native. She grew up in Eugene, Oregon, where she met Emily one day in choir class, aged just 11.

Echo

fork premiered the non-Ledger directed video last month. It shows the white-clad trio running through a forest, throwing sand at one another, kissing and then diving into a fountain. Its message is darkly seductive, coloured by the pervasive innocence of badly synchronised dance routines and hands held under trees and under water. Much of the same can be said about their music. On a six track EP selfreleased in the States in February and remixed by Chili Pepper’s man John Frusciante for a Manimal rerelease in October (December in the UK), the girls stud thick, wandering basslines with pinched guitars and circular riffs. Ethereal, reverberating vocals, sometimes harmonised, sometimes velcroed together in unison - gurgle angry (‘Beetles’) or whisper, schoolgirl syllabic (‘Billie Holliday’). The music drifts and snaps, loose and transforming, the work of a band that, even despite all the years, was far from fully formed when they wrote these songs. As they grow, the extent of this experimentalism is likely to recede.

e always had a musical relationship,” she explains. “We would walk to school together and sing songs from The Lion King, or ‘In The Jungle’, because there are multiple parts. Or we’d make up really stupid little raps. We were both kind of dorky... it was really nice that we connected on that level.”

“We’v

d, when other girls were starting to fuss over make-up and boys, Emily and Theresa were still living in imaginary worlds known only to one another. Eventually, they both left Eugene to travel together and ended up, like so many aspiring musicians and actresses, in LA. It was there that Theresa met Jenny Lee Lindberg at a casting, having befriended her sister Shannyn Sossamon just days earlier. The four girls would fall in and out of the band repeatedly in the years that followed their formation in 2004, recruiting male drummers when Shannyn was too busy acting to play, and sometimes going for months without getting together. Theresa tries to explain the chronology now, but it barely makes sense. One thing is clear: Warpaint has always centred on these girls. The men they’ve recruited to play drums with them have been replaceable... and Theresa can’t even remember the last name of ‘Quinn’, their current drummer, when asked. What makes this band is a sense of shared vision among friends that Theresa also finds difficult to explain.

Indee

the band split up for a little while I was really devastated,” she admits. “I played on a tour with Vincent Gallo for a little while. Then the band said that they wanted to get together again, and even though that thing with Vincent was amazing, I had to go back.”

“When

e meantime, Shannyn decided to break from Warpaint for good, having secured some major acting roles that demanded the best part of her time.

One of them, starring against Heath Ledger in A Knight’s Tale, resulted in a great friendship between the late actor and the band. “I love Heath, he’s a friend... he was a friend,” says Theresa. “He wanted to do the video for ‘Stars’.”

In th

newer songs are not as quirky,” says Theresa. “We went through a phase where we simplified a little bit, but we’ll never escape that deep, dreamy, underwater feel; that sense of rhythm and movement to a song, that good beat.”

“Our

music must progress, but that irreplaceable sense of identity is unchanging: “I feel like the first time we played it probably sounded like crap, but it didn’t feel like that or sound like that to me,” Theresa says. “It felt like the first time we played we were playing similar to the way we play now. We understood each other musically, right away. You can’t help but think that it’s just meant to be. You know when you just get that feeling about something? That’s definitely how I feel.”

Their

Park’s a cosy place to be an artist.

With Rough Trade now at the wheel, Warpaint’s world is about to get a whole lot bigger. But no matter how big their game gets, these three girls know that, in the end, it’s always going to come down to the strength of their friendship. Just before she signs of, Theresa takes the time to make this clear: “Our message is the depth of our relationship and how we’ve learned to share with one another. That’s probably the biggest thing that we have to say: we’re just meant to be together.”

Echo

To

Bear

Words Photograph

by by

Kev Mattia

Kharas Zoppellaro

Having the intense intimacy of their music thrust into the limelight was always going to make The xx feel vulnerable.

And already they’ve lost a member.

Crosses

The xx on Brighton Beach, October 27, the day before Baria (right) walked out of the band.

to body, eye to eye, voice to voice, hand to hand, arm to shoulder, arm to waist, mouth to mouth, hand to head, hand to body, mouth to breast, hand to genitals, and finally - finally - sexual intercourse.

These are the 12 stages, as mapped out by behavioural psychologist Desmond Morris, that our relationships must all one day stroll through if we’re to laze in the precious and tender glow of real intimacy. Halt there, though, gladsack; eyes back in pockets.

Something seems off. There are flaws here. That final stage could just as easily have been replaced by the words ‘the police arrived’ or ‘the man did not move any more’.

At least then there’d be the implication of hazard, something Morris seems to omit altogether from his flat pack instruction manual to undying love. It’s not Ikea. It’s fucking, Desmond.

Except it’s not that either, at least not always and not with The xx. Their intimacy is curiously sexless; but like fucking, and all other intimacies, at their best they are emotionally ambiguous, awkward, treacherous, done in the dark. As such, they are impossible to reduce to 12 easy s t e p s .

The xx are a band that happen in the dark. Their debut album xx was written and recorded over the course of four teenage years and still seems to exist nocturnally, in silence broken by night’s edge, reverb and mysterious bass loom.

Camouflaged from head to toe in various shades of black garb, you always get the sense with them that things are being figured out away from the distractions of an awake world.

That sense is piqued by the emotional honesty in the throats of Romy Madley Croft and Oliver Sim, whose love-bitten confessionals are so candid they may as well be heart murmurs.

Oliver and Romy aren’t always easy to listen to. Their young voices stand naked against the austere musical backdrop beckoned into being by his bass, her guitar, Jamie Smith’s Akai MPC drum machine and - formerly, now - the additional guitar and synth work of Baria Qureshi.

Such minimalism is unforgiving - every moment of doubt or unease, every affectation suddenly becomes as desperate for attention as Fred Astaire. You hear the tips of their fingers sneak back across guitar strings.

You hear the tongues moving in their mouths, and you end up stranded somewhere between confidant and voyeur. Teenage girls from America might roll their eyes and declare the experience ‘Awkward,’ or, ‘Cringe’, but discomfort is a cheap price to pay for a record with such a rare

Eye

ability to draw you into its empty, silent spaces - for a record that seems to tender real intimacy.

“The big thing for me, lyrically, is that I’ve always written with the thought in mind that no-one else will really hear it,” admits Oliver, peering out from backstage at the crowd gathering ahead of tonight’s show in Brighton. No one apart from Romy, anyway.

So it’s gonna be weird writing again, with the thought in the back of my mind that people might hear this at some point.”

M i g h t ?

“Maybe I won’t put it all out there next time.”

Oliver is six-foot-plus, slick hair, stud-earring, south London.

It’s hard to figure out whether or not he needs to be timid about letting his emotions show.

“The lyrics come first,” Romy explains from behind her swept fringe. “It’s a case of me and Oliver working alone, getting the confidence up and building a skeleton of words.

Then we add our bass and guitar to that skeleton and Jamie and Baria will help flesh it out.”

This interview, it should be noted, happened on the day before Baria left the band.

“A lot of that minimalism [on the record] comes from the fact that I have an MPC,” says Jamie, whose fingers hammer and poke at the MPC’s drum pad to provide The xx with a reticent but reliable, juddering heartbeat. Jamie also produced the debut album.

“We spent about a month before recording in the studio just taking stuff out of the songs,” he explains, before Romy delves further into the band’s past: “When we first started, Oliver had only had a couple of bass lessons and I was teaching myself guitar. A song like ‘VCR’... I listen now and think, ‘That’s such a simple guitar line,’ but at the time it was all I could play. So it sounded right, I think. I like that because it’s having limitations, but not c o n s c i o u s l y . ” I read somewhere that, in your own words, “It started out as a joke” - that The xx were originally just like every other teenage gang of four you find hanging around the school music-block at lunch time; blaring out loud, distorted punk covers. So when and why did you decide to pare things down?

“I think that actually, underneath the jokey thing, I was already writing in a way that was more personal,” Romy explains. “But on my own. I was writing poems, things like that. When we first met it seemed scary and it took a while to get more serious words out. The first

step was the singing part and so we had to do that as a joke, but as we got more confident we found we could sing more personally in front of each o t h e r . ” “Me and Romy aren’t necessarily singing to one another,” Oliver explains.

“She’s my oldest friend.”

The phrasing here is vital.

When Romy and Oliver sing, ‘voice to voice’, it is very much in front of one another, rather than to each other. There are only ever four people involved in the stories The xx tell - one is whoever’s singing, be it Romy or Oliver, while the other just listens. That’s two. The third is the person they’re singing about - the ‘you’ who crops up in every song to provide both the affection and the subsequent, inevitable angst.

The fourth is the listener. As such, all the lovelorn vows to “cross oceans” and “give it all on the first date” are directed outwards, and suddenly there’s tension within The xx’s intimacy, because even though that’s where the songs exist, it’s not what they’re necessarily about.

They couldn’t be, because Romy and Oliver aren’t singing to each other - they subvert that traditional, lovebird duetdynamic in the most dazzlingly logical and extreme way p o s s i b l e .

A friend of mine interviewed you recently and she said she asked about your sexuality and you didn’t want to go into it...

“I don’t think you liked that interview,” says Oliver to Romy.

“I just don’t think it’s particularly relevant,” he says to me.

“It’s relevant to us as people, but maybe not musically.”

“It’s not like we’re in the music personally,” counters Romy. “We just wanted to be people doing it separately. We never wanted to be that band with a face before the music.

We’re putting ourselves out of it and the music is what it is.”

You can see why it does intrigue people - because the music draws you in, but there’s that certain step that has to stay h i d d e n . . .

“Oh definitely, I can definitely see why it’s i n t e r e s t i n g . ” Romy flicks her fringe, smiles awkwardly.

“It’s just er, I dunno...”

Something you wanna keep b a c k ?

“Yeah, it’s just something we’d rather not project. The songs are anyone’s, you know?”

She shrugs and holds out the faces of her palms, referring once again to that desire to draw people in. People get confused when they don’t know where the sex is, though. Have you ever had boyfriends or girlfriends who’ve been threatened by the

closeness of your relationship?

“No, I think it’s very much a friendship,” says Romy.

“I’ve got an older sister,” Oliver explains, “it’s very much the same kind of relationship.”

So how long have you two known each other?

“Since nursery,” says Oliver.

“Since we were about three, isn’t i t ? ” “Yeah, 17 years.”

“17 years.” Oliver again.

“Wow. Our parents were friends.

You know when your parents are friends and they try to push their kids together? Good choice mum made. We went to primary school, secondary school, sixth form and now this. We’ve been side-byside most of our lives.”

Haven’t there been times when you’ve drifted apart, belonged to different peer groups? Have you always been best friends?

“Yeah,” says Oliver.

“Yeah,” says Romy.

“Always,” says Oliver.

That’s pretty amazing.

“Yeah,” says Oliver, then l a u g h s .

“It’s nice to have somebody that you’ve been through so much together with,” says Romy.

So a track like ‘VCR’ (lyrics: “You, you still have all the answers / And you, you still have them too / And we, we live half in the day time / And we, we live half at night / Watch things on VCRs, with me and talk about big love / I think we’re superstars, you say you think we are the best thing / But you, you just know, you just do”) - that’s not about the two of y o u ?

They look at each other.

“Well ‘VCR’, you instigated that song,” says Oliver.

“Yeah, well, ‘VCR’ is, y’know, I wrote it when I was 16 and it means something to me now that it maybe didn’t mean then.”

Romy continues: “They come from so far back, those lyrics. I can connect with them a bit more now. Things that have happened to me... I want people to listen to it and be able to adapt it to their own lives, ’cause that’s what I’ve always done with music I’ve loved. And I kind of don’t want to know everything about the songs I love. I prefer to keep it that way, keep it a bit of a mystery so people can have it as their song.”

But there’s never a ‘them’ in the lyrics, Romy - there’s never anyone there apart from the two of you and whomever you’re singing to, usually lost and slightly beleaguered on this harsh, minimal landscape your music conjures up. It does seem very direct. That thing you do, maybe, when you’re in love and everyone else is unimportant, so mentally you cut them out of the w o r l d . . .

“I hadn’t thought about it

like that,” she says. “I mean, yeah, it is like everyone else is shut out. I like that our voices and our lyrics cross over and don’t exactly meet.”

The xx have said in the past that they got their name just fucking about on Microsoft Word, but I’m going to ignore that and point out how the axes of each ‘x’ work in a similar way to those narratives spun by the singing pair, crossing over at points, resting and reliant, but each, ultimately, holding another at bay. There are times when The xx sound quite like other people like The Kills, The Cure, Chromatics and Young Marble Giants; Chris Isaak, Everything But The Girl, Rihanna and Mario Winans. But there’s never a single moment when the intimacy sounds anything other than their own, because the contradiction at the heart of that intimacy - the “dazzlingly logical and extreme” thing that ultimately limits it and prevents Romy and Oliver from going beyond ‘arm to shoulder’ - is so unique.

The source of all The xx’s empathy and tension is the relationship between their singers.

Each is an x holding the other at bay, repelling ends of twin magnets, keeping a lid on it all, protective of that awkward, simmering and unsaid thing like small talk at a dinner party, or pubic hair.

The four of them are out on Brighton Pier, trying to keep stonyfaces fixed for posed photos. The weather is pretty terrible. A wind’s got up and is toying with Romy’s fringe, and squawking arcade machines don’t help the quest for seriousness. Smiles lurk just beneath the surface and they emerge when a gaggle of kids slightly awkward, early teens approach, asking, “Are you The xx?” They get their photo taken with the band and briefly everyone seems happy about it, before the goofy teens lollop off with their disposable camera and Romy, Oliver, Jamie and Baria troop back to the venue.

It’s the last time Baria will play with her bandmates. The next day she bails on a show at the Village Underground back in London citing exhaustion, Oliver explaining from the stage that it’d been “a really tough few days for us” and that “this is the first time we’ve played as a three piece.

It’s devastating not having Baria here with us but you all being here has made us feel better.

Thank you very much.”

She’s quiet the night before in Brighton, not once approaching the dictaphone as Oliver talks about how the touring has “gone steep onto another level - more and more and more and more, further and further away from home”.

He talks, too, about the 12 shows they played - around three a day

- earlier in the week at New York’s industry marathon CMJ, describing them as “good” but “really intense”.

You can’t help but feel the last four months on tour contrast starkly with the four years previous spent writing and recording xx in their bedrooms, and at their label XL’s in-house studio. Did they invite too many people in, too quickly?

Backstage, again, in Brighton: if you were to go back to those quiet days you had before, would that be OK? Or would you miss what’s happening now?

“All I want now is to go back to that,” says Romy. “I crave that. I crave it so badly. [gesturing at Jamie] But we discussed this - you came home and said you sat down for five minutes on the sofa and were bored. So I think if I had a week of it and went back to touring that’d be ideal for me. Just to pause and reflect on things. I think we’re all quite slow people, and things have got faster around us.”

A few days of rest later, I call Oliver to ask about Baria’s departure. He seems more u p b e a t .

“We’re a three-piece now.

We’ve been in a band with Baria since we were 16 and known her since we were 12,” he says, (the four of them first met at Elliot comprehensive school in Putney, which also counts Burial, Four Tet and Hot Chip’s Alexis Taylor among its alumni).

“It’s just been a case of, I suppose, growing apart? It’s a big jump from 13-years-old to 20. I think we’ve just grown into different people and I don’t believe touring was for her, really.

“It’s been ridiculously sad, but I’m quite looking forward to seeing what spawns from here. For the first time in a long time we sat and worked, jamming in a rehearsal space trying to build up the live set again and have moved a bit further away from the album, after a stage of just reciting it.

“I feel like we’re going somewhere else now - being a bit more creative, trying to put on a bit more of a show.”

Putting on a show doesn’t seem like the sort of thing that would come naturally to The xx, but then how would I know what’s happening inside their skulls? Perhaps the biggest mistake was thinking that they might know themselves, that they might understand what it is they’re awkwardly feeling their way towards, because for all their intimacy, The xx ultimately seem a band as unknowable as the algebra of their name.

Back to the drawing board, D e s m o n d .

TIME’S NEW ROMANS Philadelphian folkies ESPERS are looking to the tried and tested to shape the future.

Words by Barnaby Smith Photograph by Daniel Coston

Meg Baird, singer and guitarist in Espers, is recalling a nightmare she had recently. “It was really strange and it scared me, I woke up,” she says in her mousey, slightly timid way. “I was inside a kind of art deco coat closet by myself when a giant black Doberman Pinscher came out from the wall with a big collar on.”

Less droney?

“Yes! And I mean that in the most specific, musical way. It is far less droney.”

“The reason I had the dream was that I was re-watching Twin Peaks.

Nothing too deep there.”

Espers’ aim was to embrace the broadness of their collective influences, and therefore they are faced with the problem of committing to nothing. III lacks the focus of previous records which, as Baird says, was specifically in the style of their heroes of the late sixties and early seventies, and in particular the Canterbury scene.

Weeks is apparently obsessed with Caravan.

Unlike Espers’ mystical and continually fascinating music, the latest instalment being their fourth record, III, not a lot about Meg Baird runs too deep. This stand-offish supposed freak folk nymph exudes normalness and, again unlike Espers’ music, the mundane necessities of day-to-day existence have caught up with her: she is on the phone from her work desk at a contemporary art museum in the band’s native Philadelphia.

“We always try to keep things as abstract as possible,” she continues, “not in a frustrating or confounding way, but just to keep things open. Our name comes from the same place; it comes from a book Greg had about intellectuals and how intellectualism can be a form of social deviancy. In the book, there was a lot of attention on a cult in North Carolina who would use the name ‘Espers’ when discussing themselves, and not their own names.”

Unflamboyant and no great conversationalist, Baird is an introvert, albeit a very warm one. Yet on previous album II, the intensity and imagination was such that Espers appeared to rise above the Devendras and the CocoRosies to reach a more profound plane of modern folk where they had only Vetiver for company. That record was a landmark release for Baird, Greg Weeks and Brooke Sietinsons who started playing together in 2002 and have been joined by a changing assortment of musicians ever since. They released their eponymous first album in 2004, a covers album called The Weed Tree a year later, before II gained them international recognition in 2006.

Baird and Weeks both enjoy solo careers where they can indulge their personal fancies more than in a band set-up where any artistic sense of self is dissolved. That’s not to say Espers lack identity, just that it’s an identity that isn’t based on the personalities of its members.

Freudians and dream analysts would have a field day, what with the black dog of depression and all. But Baird isn’t reading that much into it.

The new record comes from a different place. It’s a set of songs harking back to more ‘traditional’ structures with the emphasis on melody rather than the atmosphere and mystery of II. More than ever, the album reflects Baird and her bandmates’ devotion to their beloved British sixties heavyweights, Fairport Convention and Pentangle.

“I don’t know if it is back-to-basics,” says Baird of III, “but it is probably more open. I think maybe our first album and II were made from a slightly narrower palette of influences. This one feels like everything... everything you’ve ever heard! And it’s less jammy... although I’m just trying to think of a more accurate phrase.”

trained songwriters composing according to convention. That attractive lack of learning had previously been a hallmark of Espers, with only drummer Otto Hauser and Sietinsons balancing Baird and Weeks’s looseness with technical know-how. Baird, however, refutes any accusations of competence, even if anyone who has seen her play can bear witness to her serious skill. The truth is she doesn’t even know the names of chords.

“Sometimes it’s almost funny, ’cause when we’re writing we’re both really stupid about theory,” she says of her partnership with Weeks.

“We can get into some pretty silly conversations trying to explain things that anyone with a little bit of theory could explain in a sentence. Someone more schooled would get frustrated. We both have a pretty imaginative approach, though, and bring in images to describe things.”

It’s all very reminiscent of people like Bert Jansch, Robert Wyatt and John Martyn, who Baird and Weeks, both self-taught guitarists, venerate so much. Indeed, throughout our conversation Baird makes not a single reference to a contemporary band, murmuring only vague recognition at the mention of Brightblack Morning Light, yet getting (relatively) excited about reissues of obscure European prog from the seventies and Fairport Convention’s Unhalfbricking.

Like many of their ilk, Espers are undoubtedly fixated on rock’s past glories.

“The subjects might be personal, but we’re just not making them so identity-based. It’s a lot of abstraction and plenty of nature, and a little bit of fantasy, but not too much. I think it works best when things don’t sound so overly personal. I just don’t think it fits with the group dynamics and aesthetics that we’ve come to together. There are even chord progressions that I don’t use with Espers.”

I put it to Baird that Espers’ music is even mournful for lost times.

This all seems a bit woolly. Baird’s un-opinionated, ambivalent nature is echoed by moments on III that lack conviction; that sit in an equivocal netherworld where Espers seem intent to resist wholeheartedly adventuring into any specific mood or sound.

That said, ‘Colony’ is, rivalled maybe by II’s ‘Widow’s Weed’, the best song they have ever done. The darkness, though, is largely gone.

As for the present, III is actually a very fine album, all told. Innovative in its lack of innovation, you could say, and by no means a step backwards.

The other fact is that several of these songs sound like they have been written by someone who knows what they’re doing; seasoned,

“I think we are aware of history rather than mournful for it,” she replies. “We don’t try and be based in the past and we like to think about the future. It’s not mournful for a time; maybe good things that were lost in that time, but not the time itself.”

The future will see Baird continuing to balance Espers with her museum duties, while Weeks, also faced with a day job, has installed a studio in his new home in the Pennsylvania countryside, providing Espers with their very own Bron-Yr-Aur. Baird can rest easy at night.

MAN

Words by Danna Hawley Photo by Kelly Burian

LOVE

BLOOD

TWENTY

9

label, including a 11-year-old Lil Wayne and 13-year-old BG, Birdman says: “Wayne and all them were too young. I didn’t get into this to rap; I got into this to make rappers. I wanted to executive produce, but, because my artists were so young, I was forced to start rapping.”

Birdman, known then as Baby, initially stepped up to the mic with Mannie Fresh (also the label’s in-house producer at the time) as the Big Tymers duo, creating a face for Cash Money that definitively repped the glitzy high life. They released five landmark albums between 1998 and 2003, with Birdman debuting as a solo artist in 2002.

As he prepares for the release of his fourth solo album on November 23, Pricele$$, and a collaborative LP with Def Jam’s Rick Ross (release date tbc), it’s astounding to think that Birdman never intended to be a rapper. “Yeah, but that was 20 years ago,” he reflects. “Twenty motherfucking years, that’s how long we’ve been working hard, baby. Now it just feels like, ‘Fuck it, we all in it now, so we gonna go so hard to where our life on it. We gonna die for this shit. So you better have your game up, ’cause if you ain’t ready to die for this music, you will never catch up. Believe that.’”

The uncompromising Cash Money crew moved to Miami after Hurricane Katrina in 2005, but Birdman shows little distress. “I love Miami. The lifestyle, the yachts, the condos, the beach, the water, the women... and the studio. Our work area is our club area. So if we wanna club, we’ll bring the club to our studio. We believe in more work than bullshit.”

Prodded further, he speaks about his hometown with a mixture of melancholy and pride. “I miss my city, I miss my family, I miss my house,” he says. “New Orleans is unique, it can’t be duplicated.

The food, the people, the music... it’s just different. That was our own culture.” He hesitates and corrects his tense. “We do have our own culture.”

Anticipating more questions about Katrina, Birdman changes the subject to tattoos. I ask him how many he has (nearly every visible inch is covered in ink). “I’ve stopped counting,” he says. “I’m gonna do everything - I’m gonna be a wallpaper.”

But why tattoos?

“I love the little pain I get from them. I need it. It makes me feel for my loved ones I take it in blood - and all my losses. I do it for them.”

Ever the businessman, he brings the notion of family back to his label: “We believe you are your family, that’s our thing. Cash Money, Young Money come from the streets... motherfuckers embracing you from the block. That’s blood love. So there’s a difference with us.”

Between talking about Cash Money clothing and film projects, he meticulously rattles off dates for the label’s nine releases between now and February, including an album from British R&B artist Jay Sean.

Of the unexpected addition, he explains: “I liked his swagger. I knew if Jay could get that far on his own, I could take him to the next level. He was right there, at the tip of it, with no work. So once we put in a little work... well, that’s why he’s got the number one record in the country right now.”

As the interview draws to a close, Birdman asks if I want to see Lil Wayne’s show again the following night. True to form, he tells his manager: “Give her anything she needs. And make sure you bring her to see me.”

I don’t find myself backstage the next night, but back in the sweaty crowd during their explosive show, surrounded by crying girls (really) and overexcited dudes piously yelling every lyric at the top of their lungs.

And watching a larger-than-life Birdman wave his arms like wings onstage, I ’m reminded of his words from the day before: “A chill runs through your body, you know?

When we first started, people used to like us, but now I really feel the difference when I ’m out there. Motherfuckers really love us.

It’s crazy.”

The most fly guy in hip hop is BIRDMAN, boss of Cash Money Records, prolific MC, and the father figure who took Lil Wayne under his wing.

BIRD

Early October and the world’s biggest rap star Lil Wayne is playing one of three soldout shows at the Hammersmith Apollo in London. A track on which he and his label boss Birdman feature, DJ Khaled’s 2007 summer jam ‘We Takin’ Over’ blasts through the PA. Right before Birdman’s verse, Wayne asks the crowd to chant “Birdman! Birdman!” then suddenly the man himself bursts on-stage for a surprise cameo, flapping his arms. The place erupts to a deafening roar as the entire audience raps along to his line: “Birdman daddy, I’m number one...”

The following afternoon and I’m waiting in a hallway of the Mandarin Oriental, a opulent hotel that takes up an entire block in Knightsbridge. People and diamonds are pouring out of Room 421, almost like it’s a clown car. One of those people is Birdman’s older brother and co-founder of the Cash Money label, Ronald ‘Slim’ Williams. With the door ajar, I can hear Birdman’s distinctively sluggish voice floating into the hallway: “Birdman’s gonna keep flying, know what I’m saying? ” I follow his manager into the gargantuan and lavish double suite in which eight or nine members of his crew remain. Birdman looks up and his tattoo-covered face brightens.

“Hello beautiful,” he says, the diamond grills in his mouth forming a big glittery smile. I sit beside him on the ornate couch and he returns his attention back to his Blackberry. I clock he’s writing to Drake, the rap phenomenon taking the world by storm and the latest signing to Cash Money offshoot Young Money Entertainment. Mountains of fruit arrive on two gold-plated platters, and Birdman informs me that he’s “a fruit fanatic”. His bracelets glisten and his pinky ring sparkles as he puts the Blackberry down.

‘Bling bling’ became such a part of common vernacular it was officially added to the Webster’s English Dictionary in 2003 as: “Jewelry, often gaudy or ostentatious.” The term was made famous by BG in his 1999 hit of the same name, and the accompanying video featured the entire Cash Money crew - Mannie Fresh, Birdman (aka Big Tymers), Juvenile, and a thenteenage Lil Wayne - decked out in cars, boats, “private planes” and flossy jewels. It was the beginning of a movement in hip hop, with the emphasis being on money and ‘stuntin’’. It gave rap a flashy new face.

Now, 10 years later (though without BG, Juvenile and Mannie Fresh these days), the Cash Money/Young Money empire sits on the top with multi-platinum sales across hip hop (Lil Wayne, Drake, Bow Wow, Glasses Malone), rock (Kevin Rudolf) and R&B (Jay Sean). When asked just how many units the label’s shifted, Birdman whistles: “We’re like 60 [million]. We’re probably 50 [million] in ringtones, singles... and counting.” He pauses. “We up there.”

Hard to imagine that it all started with Birdman and Slim selling CDs from the trunk of their cars in the 3rd Ward of New Orleans. “I did that shit for a couple of years,” he laughs. “I was independent for seven years before I signed with Universal, and I’ve been with them 13 years.”

Birdman grew up in the notoriously rough Magnolia Projects in uptown New Orleans where, in the late eighties, an organic strain of hip hop called ‘bounce’ began to take shape at local block parties. Powered by the energetic ‘triggerman’ beat and characterised by both call-and-response vocals and Mardi Gras Indian chants, it helped give Cash Money its unique stance. Their take on the sound, ‘gangsta bounce’, put New Orleans firmly on the international rap map.

Of the early days of Cash Money and signing a handful of young rappers to the

30

Features

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

HEX

Wayne THE on

APPEAL

Coyne FLAMING his

of LIPS band’s

psychedelic-punk-rock freak-out music,

the meaning of life, and those l o v e l y t e e t h of his.

Words by Illustration by

Cian Traynor Crayon Legs

Wayne Coyne is about to reveal the meaning of life. He’s sitting in his living room in Oklahoma City, in a compound resembling Edinburgh Castle, staring at a giant inflatable sun and reclining on an oversized couch made of white fur. The dog he’s petting thinks the couch is its m o t h e r .

Coyne is possibly the only person that would seem perfectly at place in a scene like this. When not trying to scare local children or dying his pets pink, the singer has been concocting the kind of offbeat ideas that have propelled the Flaming Lips’ career for the last 26 years. There was the quadrupledisc set designed to be played on four stereos simultaneously; the ‘parking lot orchestra’ that synchronised 40 car stereos; the live concert listened to on headphones; the sci-fi movie about a suicidal Santa, filmed in Coyne’s backyard over five years; the guitars with built-in Theremins and iPods; a marching band with vagina-shaped heads; the concept album about a Japanese girl who battles evil pink robots; a Halloween procession of 1,000 flaming skeletons; and most recently, the assembly of 400

naked cyclists for a video shoot.

“To me, it’s not just about the idea but becoming obsessed with the idea,” says Coyne. “I’m not proud of that but I know it’s what gives me the confidence and energy to say, ‘I’m just gonna do this thing.’ You become sort of comfortable writing songs a certain way or singing about things in a certain tone of emotion... and a lot of that will tend to sound alike. But for me, I never really thought we had a style. The thing that we do is to be these weirdoes that keep on exploring and finding new dimensions of ourselves. That doesn’t mean they’re bigger or better or more entertaining than the last dimension... but we keep t r y i n g . ” The determination to be different began when, as the youngest of five brothers who all painted, Coyne gradually found art to be “a little boring and isolated”. It was only after attending a concert

by The Who and a late-night, smoke-filled screening of Pink Floyd’s Live at Pompeii that he realised that the theatrics of rock could offer a full range of expression. “I thought I might be one of these exotic drug dealers or something. Nothing serious. There was always a sense that I wanted to be an artist, but there was no other real profession awaiting me out there. So from the time I was 16 or 17, I was already thinking that, y’know, I had a guitar and I wanted to be in a rock group. That was 1977 - the whole world seemed like it was about music.”

Dropping out of high school in his senior year, Coyne spent much of the next decade working as a costumed fry cook at Long John

Silver’s, a local fast food outlet. But one day the shock of being held up at gunpoint acted as a catalyst for his creativity. A spate of armed robberies in the area had left several restaurant employees dead, and now Coyne found himself face-down on the floor, thinking, “Is this it?”

The Flaming Lips, a band Coyne formed with his brother and bassist Michael Ivins, took on a new urgency. But although the group spent years adapting the line-up, putting out albums on a small indie label and touring the college circuit on a budget, it never grew above the level of dedicated hobbyists. They were content with their modest achievements, feeling lucky to make $100 a week in the knowledge that they were just doing it because they liked it. As Coyne puts it: “We never really considered that we should be that successful, so I think our standards were probably lower than everybody else’s.”

It wasn’t until 1990, with the release of In A Priest Driven Ambulance, that the Lips outgrew their image as garage-punk misfits.

Their prank calls to Warner Bros. looking to speak to Jane’s Addiction paid off when a label rep decided to attend one of their shows. They set the stage on fire, nearly killing themselves and the 300 people watching, and it seemed to seal the deal. Yet even with the backing of a major label, by the time the band scored a novelty pop hit with ‘She Don’t Use Jelly’ in 1993, numerous Flaming Lips musicians had been and gone (including Jonathan Donahue, who left to focus on his own band, Mercury Rev). Moving forward, the

collaborative, multi-instrumental approach of the group’s only constants, Coyne and Ivins, allowed drummer Steven Drozd to pursue other styles of instrumentation, shifting the band’s sound towards progressive pop. But by the time their groundbreaking album The Soft Bulletin ushered in a new era of critical fanfare, their good fortune seemed to be coming to an end.

“Steven started to become a heroin addict in 1994,” Coyne explains. “So up until 2002, he was pretty much escalating towards death. By the time I wrote ‘The Spiderbite Song’, Michael had this accident where a wheel from another car had somehow come off and slammed into his driver’s door, trapping him. It almost came through and hit him in the head.

There were definitely enough things in a short amount of time where you start thinking, ‘Yeah, this has all worked out so far but maybe this is the end of it.’” For a brief moment, Coyne slows down - but only to cough out a succession of wheezy laughs between sentences. “So, on one level, it was kind of devastating, but on another level it showed me that it was really up to me. Until then I felt like it belonged to the cosmos; that it was up to serendipity to work. But after that I realised it wasn’t at all. The Soft Bulletin, Zaireeka, Christmas On Mars - it all came from that epiphany.”

It also helped develop the band’s live show into an interactive multi-media experience. Hand puppets, fake blood, confetti, balloons, giant fists, megaphone cheerleading, dancers in animal costumes and, of course, Coyne

Features

December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

crowd-surfing in a giant spacebubble all came to symbolise the Lips’ fusion of anarchy and inspiration. A Grammy Award for 2002’s Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots followed by an opportunity to step into the White Stripes’ summer festival slots rocketed the band from art-rock outsiders to the most adored live act around. But criticisms have lingered, even among diehard fans, that the group’s showmanship is merely a gimmick that leaves the music secondary to the spectacle.

“I think the spectacle would not be known if it didn’t have music with it. Even as someone as phenomenal as Jimi Hendrix, the footage he’s most known for is when he lights his guitar on fire.

And it’s a wonderful creation. Music is such a strange, abstract cloud you don’t really know what it is. The human mind needs an image to [associate] this sound to it. I think that’s why people remember anything about groups at all.

People say, ‘Oh, isn’t he that guy who walks in the space bubble?’

And to me that would be wonderful.

It’s like Santa Claus or something.

You have to be an exaggerated character and in a sense I think that music lets you have that. I’m kind of a bad singer, so while I sing these songs you can see a 50ft naked woman dancing behind me and I’ll pour blood on my head and it’ll be great! I know music is for the most part something that you enjoy almost in isolation, but a rock concert is a big freak out.”

Coyne is perfectly suited to the role of ringleader. With his streaks of silver curls and three-piece suits, he effuses charm, bubbling over with a seemingly infinite stock of

ideas and anecdotes. He also takes an interest in others with the kind of conviction a politician would kill for. Although Coyne seems acutely aware of his magnetism something others believe he uses as a skilful means of distraction and control - he’s adamant that his benevolent ego has always been a part of who he is. “I never felt like a nerd or an outsider. But I think people liked me enough. I was definitely one of the cool kids. I mean, I was one of the only people in high school you could buy pot f r o m . ” To his fans, Coyne has become a Pied Piper-like figure who inspires them to follow the Lips’ live circus with cult-like devotion. “I don’t know how they do it,” Coyne says of the band’s tour chasers. “They’re not independently wealthy but they’re free enough to follow you around endlessly. There are some fans that we’ve known for 10 years now people that you see grow up, like, ‘Wow, you’re still doing this?’ I don’t think of that necessarily as a bad thing. They’re doing what they like and they feel some sort of connection to what we do. There are obviously some who are only in it to get attention, but they’ll leave after a while ’cause it’s not worth it.

The ones that truly do admire you and love you and all that... you know, it’s great to be loved.”

Honesty is not an issue with Coyne. His throwaway comments on everything from Arcade Fire to Bob Dylan have sparked uproar in the past. But even Warner Bros. couldn’t have expected him to announce details of the band’s latest and final release for the label, Embryonic, with an admission that all the usual pitfalls of a 70-minute

double album (but on a single CD) are especially true in this case.

Yes, it could have been better if it was shorter and, sure, the band completely lost their way, but it is what it is: an improvised set of brooding, free-form jams. Yet as Coyne explains, these moments of doubt have always been there.

Nobody gets better and better for 26 years and the disjointed Canlike krautrock of Embryonic is more an avoidance of a mid-life crisis than the result of one.

“I never considered that we wouldn’t find a way, but that doesn’t mean that you find a way that’s great or interesting... I can say that about some of our most popular and successful songs, even a song like ‘Do You Realize?’. I mean, there are moments when you’re making it and you’re like, ‘This just seems like a bunch of hokey shit.’

Then someone listens to it and they think it’s so simple and perfect. You feel good for five minutes and then you fall directly back into, ‘We suck.

Why do we even do this?’ I think that’s just the nature of working on your own ideas. Unless you’re completely conceited and full of yourself, you always worry about if it’s any good. You just have to hope there’s some unique charm about what you do that gets you through the door, and frankly a lot of times you don’t know what that is.

Sometimes I just think it’s timing.

You can’t really ever control that.”

In the case of the gig that got them signed, Coyne explains that the band had assumed it was because of the phenomenal “psychedelic-punk-rock freak-out of a night” they produced. Only later was it revealed that Coyne’s teeth had been the nuance that won the

label rep over. “And when she said that, it actually came as a great relief,” he says. “I thought, ‘I don’t know if I’ll always write songs and set the stage on fire but at least I’ll always have my dumb smile and my teeth.’”

Coyne is relentlessly positive.

He excites easily and has a way of making everything sound simple or, as he describes it, coming out with “cosmic hippy shit”. No wonder then, that when Pitchfork gave their summer festival-goers an opportunity to ask the frontman a question, fans were either frothing at the mouth or lost for words. So as Coyne’s manager insists that there’s only enough time for one final question, the obvious subject to broach with any Pied Piper worth following is, of course, the meaning of life. He chuckles heartily but again remains unflappable, barely pausing to consider his answer.

“I suppose it’s to make sense of the life that you have. I don’t know if that means that life has any real meaning. To be creative and imaginative aren’t just things that artists should have. Every human in existence creates the meaning that they want in their life. I say it all the time but, y’know, two people could be walking along the beach and one person notices how great the water smells and how beautiful the sunrise or sunset is. The clouds are making a painting of a poodle or whatever. And the other person is just on their cell phone saying how miserable life is. Both are having the exact same experience, but they’re valuing different things.

So I would say the bad news is: it’s up to you. But the good news is: up to you. Whatever you want it to mean, it can mean that.”

31

YOU TERRIBLE CULT A decade since neo-doom titans ELECTRIC WIZARD conjured up the heaviest album ever and they still have nothing they wish to spell out.

Later

on tonight, a stygian gloom will descend over Kings Heath in Birmingham, but for now the sharp Indian summer sunset adds a healthy glow to metallers stood outside the Hare & Hounds drinking golden cider in the burnt umber evening. Everyone looks happy and relaxed.

Everyone bar Electric Wizard, that is. And that’s exactly as it should be, given that they’re the world’s heaviest band. Locked inside the pitch black, windowless venue, they are ill at ease.

Drummer Shaun Rutter paces, muttering to himself and scowling. If ever there was a man who should be in a band called Electric Wizard, it is Rutter. With his arched eyebrows, waxed devil’s nib beard and giant coat, he looks like Ming The Merciless as conceived by Dennis Wheatley.

Newest recruit, Athenian bassist Tas actually turns out to be a very friendly and polite cove, which just goes to show you should never judge a book by its cover, especially when the cover is one of full-facial tribal tattoos.

Chief conspirator, guitarist and one of the coolest women alive, Liz Buckingham, despite nonemore rock chick attire, looks like she should either be on a spaceship or an Egyptian barge, not in the upstairs room

of a Birmingham pub. And Mr Leccy Wizard himself, Jus Oborn (resplendent in the doom rock uniform of denim bellbottoms, an Ozzy in ’71 haircut and an extravagant shirt) looks like he should be in a high dependency lung disease unit.

“A BWAHURGH HURGH HURGH!” he coughs. He takes an empty Russian beer can out of his pocket.

“A BWAAAH CRRK CRRK!” he coughs. He cleans the flat surface full of pin holes at one end of the can with a matchstick and then carefully loads up half the sticky black resin we’ve just given to him on top of it.

“A WOOAAAARGGHHH! HARRG HAAARG!” he coughs. “Sorry. I’ve got a bit of a cough,” he adds redundantly before lighting the mound of drugs and inhaling centilitres of thick smoke. Some of the clenched tension seems to slump out of him.

Oborn formed the group in Dorset in 1993 along with Tim Bagshaw and Mark Greening (who both now play in psych metal overlords Ramesses) ploughing the (then) deeply unfashionable furrow of valve amp and Sabbath worship, and forming oppressively heavy anthems about Satanism, the occult, horror movies, psychedelic drugs and biker culture until releasing the lowwater mark artefact of such things, the album Dopethrone at the turn of the century arguably the heaviest in this or any other genre. Since then, in

relative terms, their sound has become cleaner, culminating in Witchcult Today (2007).

Finally gaining control over his spasming lungs, Oborn reveals the band are about to release a new album in early 2010: “Since Tas joined the band about two years ago we’ve been writing a lot. We’ve got three or four songs about half done. One is finished. We’re not prolific writers, but the band’s jamming well; it feels good and it feels like the right time to record. You know when you’re ready. We don’t get pressured into it by anyone.”

When asked if the sound will be more disturbed and rupturing, like Dopethrone, or precise and warm, like Witchcult Today, he complains that he doesn’t really see too much of a difference himself: “We’re using the same studio as on Witchcult Today. We’re trying to be more focused this time; everything was a bit scattered before. We used to go into the studio and do a lot of drugs, jam and come up with ideas. I guess things are more focused now because we know what we want to do. Personally I don’t think the style’s changed that much. It’s the same format, really. We’re going to carry on exploring our love with vintage equipment. We’re Electric Wizard not Electronic Wizard.”

Oborn won’t be drawn on the departure of Tim Bagshaw and Mark Greening to form Ramesses, other than to say

Words by John Doran Portrait by Maria Jefferis

he’s “gutted” to have lost the other two longest serving members of the Wizard.

However, he adds: “Now that we have Tas, Shaun and Liz, the band feels solid. I’ve known Liz for ages. She was playing with Sourvein when we did our first tour of the States, so I knew our styles would correspond. A lot of the effort in getting a line-up to work is understanding the dynamic of the band.

The old line-up had two writers and a fucking drummer who came in from the total leftfield. That created a sound.

And it was a matter of trying to create that dynamic again and now we have it. Me and Liz write, Shaun and Tas throw in the leftfield. The dynamics are the same.”

I tell him that once, while DJing in London under the oppressive weight of bad drugs, I dropped ‘The Satanic Rites Of Drugula’ only to look up and see that the barman of the pub had grown bright red horns and was breathing fire. “I’ve seen some pretty terrible things while playing our music,” Oborn replies. “It would be impossible to put into words. The music is very visual and is based on things I’ve seen while taking LSD and listening to psych bands. The music and those riffs are possibly an attempt to try and convey the experience

of LSD better than words can.

Psychedelic means mindaltering and we write mindaltering songs. If you’ve only heard Elvis, I guess something like the cartoon psychedelia of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is going to sound pretty fucked up, but to our ears it sounds like playground music. To be truly psychedelic, the music has to be able to alter your mind so you lose touch with your body.”

Seeing Electric Wizard is not necessarily a joyous or uplifting thing (although it can be) but it certainly is very intense, very spiritual and communal. Is Electric Wizard more than just a group? Is it a way of life?

Oborn reloads his makeshift pipe. “It is a way of life that I’m espousing to people,” he says.

“I feel that this is the way. For us it is a cult, the cult of the riff - the mindless worship of the riff. It’s fucking doom. This is everything. This band is for real and I don’t know what else to say. It’s not an image. People can read it in any way that they choose, but they should dig deeper. I’m not going to spell it out for anyone. People who really listen to us can understand what we mean.

Most of the time.”

“A HRRK! A HRRRK!” He’s coughing again but he manages to stop himself for long enough to add hoarsely: “Make us look like fucking cunts, yeah? I want people to hate us. I want people to fear us. I want the common man to spit at us in the street.”

Outside it is starless and bible black and finally Electric Wizard seem happy.

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The Stool Pigeon December 2009

Travel

THE

BIG DREAM

Gringo is funny and multifaceted.

This helps in Rio de Janeiro, the city of samba, beaches, carnival, cordiality and now, the Olympics.

Gringo (aka o Gringão - ‘the big Gringo’) is an MC who lives and breathes the city’s favela-based baile funk scene. As his name suggests, he is not originally from Rio; he comes from, as he puts it, “a shit fucking suburb in Germany” (Stuttgart).

Half-Dutch, half-German and an orphan at 17, he lived with an African family from Togo, his sister and “an alcoholic friend”. When he was 18, he founded a punk-turned-ska band influenced by English groups like The Specials, Hotknives and Madness and drove to London in a green Opel to see Desmond Dekker play Finsbury Park.

“The bass player, the keyboard guy and me got the money together and we drove there,” Gringo explains. “We didn’t even have enough money for a hotel so we slept in the car, and so that people didn’t rob us we always tied underwear to the radio aerial.”

After a stint as a techno MC by the name of Gary Speed (after the Newcastle United player of the same name), he went to Brazil, found love, took citizenship and settled down in Rio under his married name of Bernhard Hendrik Herman Weber Ramos de Lacerda.

“Why is funk so well known nowadays?” he ponders today. “I think that people need a big wave of music from Rio de Janeiro in Brazil.

Rio is for all of us. It’s the big dream.”

As a foreigner, Gringo is received by locals with a mixture of curiosity, jealousy and hostility. While he often

MC

collaborates with international names, his day-to-day grind involves criss-crossing the city, performing at gang-run events and fighting for space in a cut-throat industry that generates millions each week for a beady-eyed handful of industry chiefs.

Alongside Gringão, an album put out in 2008 by Man Recordings, Gringo has a list of local and international collaborations as long as your arm. He has collaborated and been remixed by the likes of the Stereo MCs, Toddla T, Uproot Andy from New York, DJ Beware, Maga Bo, Diplo and, more recently, the Zizek crew from Buenos Aires. In Rio he records with MCs from all over this sprawling metropolis of seven million souls.

Gringo lives in a favela but thinks globally. Not hung up on nationality, he has only returned to Germany once. In his spare time he plays percussion with the traditional Mangueira Samba School where he is competing for a place in the 2010 Carnival procession, and translates the sambas of one of the unsung musical heroes of Brazil, Cartola, into German.

To understand funk it helps to understand a bit about Rio, one of the most exuberant, beautiful and violent places in the world. While the city markets itself to the outside as a few neighbourhoods by some beaches under a statue of Christ near a football stadium, in reality it is a complex urban sprawl that lurches between chaos and order, and where millions live crammed into the city’s 1,000-odd favelas.

Carioca [people and things that come from Rio] funk grew out of the late-eighties and early-nineties dance scene. Sounds were strictly Miami

Baile funk’s slide into little more than ass and gun music is alienating a German rapper who has made an unlikely name for himself in the lethal favelas of Rio as... MC Gringo.

BY

DAMIAN PLATT

Diplo and MC Gringo (right)

Travel

December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

Bass imports, the all time favourite base of countless tracks being ‘Volt Mix’ by DJ Battery Brain. Since then funk has grown into a locally produced, bass-oriented electronic music. In 2009, the Brazilian funk industry is stitched up by a few big names, principally DJ Marlboro and the Furacão 2000 soundsystem.

These players divide artists, DVD releases, radio shows, parties and an awful lot of money between them. Except by internet and word-of-mouth, it is almost impossible for artists to achieve exposure without the support of these two industry capi.

Rio is schizoid. While the Copacabana and Ipanema neighbourhoods enjoy a Swiss standard of living and relatively low crime rates, the population of the favelas found on the hillsides and suburbs live in Baghdad. Favelas are controlled by criminal groups known as ‘comandos’ and, increasingly, militias linked to politicians and the police. These groups engage in clashes over territory, with corrupt police selling services and even entire favelas to the highest bidder.

For young people growing up in this environment, war-grade weaponry and drug sale points on the corner are normal. And if you grow up in a favela controlled by one comando you are forbidden from entering a community controlled by another. This means that the least privileged of the city are contained in areas where they live with the constant yet unpredictable menace of violence. For those at the top of the pile it is a perfect situation of divide and rule, for it is favela residents who clean homes, drive buses, look after flats and houses and serve in supermarkets, bars and restaurants.

It is also the favelas where funk parties, baile funk, are the numberone leisure option for young people, where Gringo sings, and where the parties are best. But because armed groups control the communities, funk played at events is more often in praise of the gang. It celebrates their activities and their taste for criminality, guns, drugs and underage sex. This type of funk is called proibidão - prohibited funk and for many favela kids it is their favourite type of music. Although Gringo is quick to point out that he doesn’t sing it and nor does he side with any of the factions, he spells out some of the difficulties of living and working in such a complex and polarised world: “I live in a favela called Pereira da Silva that is next to Falete and Fogueteiro, which are both extremely tough favelas run by the Comando Vermelho (the Red Command) who are enemies of nearby Mineira and Macacos, where I can’t go. I go to favelas run by other factions but only if they are far from my home. So I do go to Vila Vintém in the suburbs, but if I do, I don’t tell them I come from Pereira da Silva, and when I go back home I don’t tell them I’ve been to Vila Vintém. A few weeks ago I was in Vila Vintém. It was very surreal, very psychedelic.

One or two streets away there was a shoot-out, but where I was everyone stayed calm. I asked if it wouldn’t be better to go to a house or protected place, and they said, ‘No, the shootout is two streets away, we’re fine here.’ It was crazy... in fact, it was horrible. This was police against the gang. I was there for a Sunday event where you can still distribute your music in the old way - give out CDs and even though this is an area run

by the enemy of the drug faction where I live, I still take the risk to go there because of the good atmosphere.”

Good atmosphere? This is another of Rio’s complexities. People don’t like to talk about violence, but at the same time it’s all around, and in favelas it dictates life. When does not talking about violence become complicity through silence, I wonder?

In the 1990s MCs like Cidinho and Doca put out raps with socially conscious lyrics. But the popularity boom of funk and its criminalisation have conspired to squeeze out political content, replacing it with a lowest common denominator mix of ass and guns.

Gringo is well aware of this, and one of the challenges that he faces is a current trend for repetitive computerised lyrics such as “senta, senta, senta!” (sit, sit, sit!) that have sidelined the MC. “The new funk is groovy. It’s pure bass and rolling percussion with no snare,” he says.

“It could be great but it’s just one beat that is always the same. The kids are all making tracks with Sound Forge, they just do control and C, paste it and do other lyrics over it.

They even copy lyrics. They don’t do anything of their own anymore.

Actually, funk now is without lyrics they just repeat phrases. It’s weird.

There were some producers who got power and changed the whole game.

It’s like brainwashing.”

Gringo goes on to talk about funkcumbia, a musical style mixing Carioca funk and cumbia from Argentina that he has been working on since linking with people from Zizek. It seems that fusion is the way forward.

Gringo also likes Argentineans for not being afraid to stand up and shout for change: “In

Argentina people are more vociferous about their reality. In Rio people are not very critical, but the Argentines were getting drunk and being really pissed off about their lives. This was great to see because Rio people are very defensive and passive, and everyone can do anything when things are like that.

The system here is working very well, in other words, and I have to give big respect to the arseholes who created the system, because it does work really well - it’s perfect.

Everyone who is rich will stay rich till the end and everyone who is poor will stay poor or have a very tiny chance to get ahead. It’s a hardcore TV society - the soap operas are brainwashing and, in its own way, funk is brainwashing. The brainwashing is carried out with superficial topics which transfer to the favela people, and it makes them think that they should be happy with their situation; that they should be happy in the shit. Inside the favela there is the music that confirms the authority of the drug traffickers and helps them to sell more drugs.”

I ask Gringo if there is life for him outside funk and he talks with great enthusiasm about his hero Cartola: “Cartola played on cruise ships sometimes. In the middle of his career he retired to wash cars in Ipanema before a manager took him back into music. He was a guy who started to sing positively about the favela, and showed that without studying it is possible to write poetry.

He makes pictures with words and he made the favela so romantic. During this time, Mangueira was divided between six families who he managed to unite. He also chose the colours pink and green, which go beautifully together. I live in the neighbourhood

of Laranjeiras and he lived in Laranjeiras when he was a kid. His spirit is still in the air and I’m a person who has found his spirit. If I sit in my house and play Cartola, it’s my reward for the bullshit that I have to put up with day-to-day.

Like I said, Rio is the big dream - I live this big dream and see what a big fuck-up it is. But it’s a good fuck-up. I have to admit they fucked me good in funk. I have no money but I’m happier than I would be in Germany. It’s a tough situation and the MC world in Rio is a dog-eatdog environment where people work alone. Funk is closed and made up of small posses of MCs alone with their managers. In this way there is not a lot of room for creativity. It’s all politics with the MCs and their managers fighting for radio space; the worst kind of pay and play culture.”

Does he have a manager, then?

“Me? I don’t have a human manager.

My official manager is God. I have the best manager of them all. God will bring me good things and I trust in him so I’m not nervous. Fé em Deus!! It’s a favourite Carioca saying that means ‘in God we trust’1000 per cent.”

This faith in higher powers permits Gringo to remain upbeat, like most Cariocas.

“Things are changing very fast,” he concludes. “A lot of negative things are happening - the lyrics, the one beat, DJs paying each other to play or not play songs... But it will change.

Funk is always changing and it follows trends. We had a trend where women were associated with the names of different fruits and we had conscious funk for a while. Funk is living off different trends and funk will change again. It’s like a chameleon.”

Morro da Providência, Rio, by day. Photo by Mauricio Hora.

Morro da Providência, Rio, by night. Photo by Mauricio Hora.

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36 Travel

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

CARNIVORAL PLEASURE Meat, music, booze, sex, sex, meat, ATM, The Beatles, meat, guns, music, hotel, sex, meat, music, Gängeviertel, meat.

Three days at Hamburg’s Reeperbahn Festival.

WORDS BY

PHIL HEBBLETHWAITE PHOTOGRAPHS BY JAY EVERS & MATIAS BOEM

and nauseous from acute meat withdrawal, we are walking down perhaps the only street in Hamburg without 100 kebabs shops on it: Spaldingstrasse, a couple of miles east of the Reeperbahn. Underneath the Amsinckstrasse flyover, we spy an innocent-looking café and enter. The owner, surprisingly, is an ex-pat Yorkshireman. We order, begin to eat, and then the Yorkshireman reveals himself to be a massive racist. Fear spreads through us as he says astonishingly bizarre things like, “A Greek man came in here once and I shoved a TV up his arse.”

We leave, sharply, convinced that half a dozen Turkish people have been butchered and stored in his freezer.

“Was your currywurst okay?” I ask a companion, concerned.

“I think it could be widely identified as being in the genre of meat,” comes the ominous reply, “progressive meat, or avant meat.

Perhaps post meat. Handbag meat.”

There was a lesson to be learnt from that peculiar late-lunch experience: that a fish is not always a fish in Hamburg and sometimes a fish can be square. And if that sounds surreal, you should have seen the Yorkshireman’s Wiener Schnitzel.

Thrown and disturbed, I suddenly become intensely aware of the streets and buildings around me - the slab-concrete overpass that, true to the most empty cliché, makes me think of Kraftwerk, and the functional, ungrand and identical housing blocks that line both sides of Spaldingstrasse. In this part of the city, everything was re-built post1945 and I recall a devastating fact: that 50,000 people died when the Allies bombed Hamburg in July 1943, 15,000 more than at Dresden.

Limp

The second biggest city in Germany and the seventh biggest in Europe, Hamburg is impossible to get a proper grip on when you’re in town for just a few days to attend a music festival, the Reeperbahn Festival. Only an hour-and-a-half from Berlin on the train, it feels like it partially exists in the German capital’s long shadow, especially culturally. Cheaper rents and a more lively artistic atmosphere forced an exodus of creativity to Berlin after reunification and it’s something Hamburg has become passionate about addressing. There have been attempts here recently to make locals and visitors more aware of the city’s specific cultural past and, of course, that includes remembering that the good old Beatles came of age on the Reeperbahn in the very early sixties.

There’s a new museum called Beatlemania that’s actually pretty useless, but it does have a passport photo booth in it that takes your picture with a mop top of any of the Fab Four superimposed over your own barnet, and naturally that’s absolutely genius.

More interesting is Gängeviertel, one of the oldest quarters of Hamburg that, very recently, has become something of an artists’ paradise. In a nutshell: the area has been in dramatic decline for decades with 10 or so vast buildings almost falling to ruin. In a classic case of work-shy hippy sorts putting down the bong for a day and heading onto the streets to take on The Man, 200 artists organised themselves and squatted Gängeviertel’s blocks on August 22 to protest their sale to a Dutch property developing company.

The squatters are still there, and might remain permanently. Die Bürgerschaft (city hall) is divided:

right-wingers obviously want them lined-up and shot, but liberals know damn well that if there are spaces for creative people to use freely and cheaply, it will encourage Hamburg’s artists to return from Berlin, to the immeasurable benefit of the city.

There’s certainly room for them.

When we visited Gängeviertel, admittedly on a weekend morning, it was almost deserted. But I did notice, balancing on a wire fastened between two buildings, an installation of a wooden ballerina who had a plastercast (dead) dog hanging from her outstretched arm, and naturally that’s absolutely genius.

And so to the Reeperbahn, Hamburg’s most famous strasse, party Mecca, and site of what turned out to be a superb music festival. It was a Camden Crawl / Manchester’s In The City / Brighton’s Great Escape kind of arrangement - scores of bands playing in 20-odd clubs/venues along the strip, across the greater St. Pauli area, even on a boat. Three nights, and one wristband gives you access to everything. Bingo. And a solid lineup, too: Dinosaur Jr, Future Of The Left, Simone White, Times New Viking, Seasick Steve, Au Revoir Simone, King Khan & The Shrines... and, yes, a bunch of German bands, but Germans being proud sorts made it almost impossible to get anywhere near seeing anything local.

If you were to take a walk down the Reeperbahn and distil each establishment you pass into its core element, the pattern would go something like this: meat, booze, sex, sex, music, ATM, hotel, meat, booze, sex, meat, guns, music, booze, booze, meat, sex, music, hotel, sex, sex, ATM, meat. There’s no messing about. It has the highest police

presence in Europe on weekend nights and, holy shit, I sincerely hope the gun shop sells fakes.

As with every other notorious district in Western European cities, there’s been some gentrification of the Reeperbahn in recent years. The days of gangsters like Willy The Albanian, Razzy Tony and Vienna Peter fighting for control of the prostitution and drug rackets are over, and even the Hanover branch of the Hell’s Angels, who tried to muscle in on business in the 1990s, now only work (legally) as bouncers.

There are still hookers operating on the strip - about 400, also legally - but many of the brothels are now located outside of St. Pauli and a lot of trade has gone online. In fact, when it comes to sex, the Reeperbahn looks stuck in the eighties. The frontage of strip clubs are adorned with hideous air-brushed images of supposed kittens in Borat-style body thongs and equally grotesque blown-up photos of thunder-thighed Amazonian ‘babes’ who could be anyone’s aunt. You’re not even tempted to pop in for an ogle.

But still, the Reeperbahn is a riot, and especially when the annual lateSeptember festival is on. In fact, it’s almost perfect. I’m not going to bore you with what bands I saw and what I got up to, but it is worth noting that Germans aren’t that interested in seeing the music you probably want to (so it’s easy to get into shows that would be chocka in the UK), booze is cheaper, so are hotels, and nowhere closes till 6am. And 24-7 you can eat as much meat as your colon can handle, unless you’re on Spaldingstrasse, where the only thing you need do is plunge that bastard Yorkshireman’s bald head deep into his chip fryer.

38

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

Print T

Sheer Fabrication

he Velvet Underground: New York Art is a lavish, exhaustively researched coffee table book which attempts to elevate the VU above the realm of rock’n’roll by establishing their high-art credentials.

Ultimately, it doesn’t make its argument very convincingly, but it assembles a real treasure trove of material in the attempt.

Emphatically photo-led, the book is crammed with dazzling live shots. Many of them were taken on the band’s tours with Andy Warhol as the Exploding Plastic Inevitable, during which they would perform feedback-drenched soundtracks to the mercurial artist’s films. The photo archive reminds you how brazenly the band’s look has been imitated over the past four decades. It’s supplemented by an archive of gig flyers, which endure as masterpieces of pop-art design.

But, as The Stool Pigeon’s art department will tell you, words can ruin everything. Certainly, the quality of the textual material is variable at best.

The central piece, an essay by superannuated rock hack Jon Savage, is dryly academic, almost self-parodically pompous and, above all, unengaging. It’s preceded by a detailed chronological timeline which, like all timelines, is as

interesting to read as a phone book.

The fresh material contributed by band members is similarly underwhelming. It amounts to a transcript of a brief, incoherent conversation between Lou Reed and Maureen Tucker.

Thankfully, the reprints of sixties press coverage serve to enliven proceedings. It’s a treat to sample mainstream newspapers’ appalled reactions to the band (see extract), but even those are trumped by an interview Third Ear Magazine conducted with Lou Reed and Doug Yule in 1968.

Therein, Reed comprehensively destroys his contemporaries. Westcoast hippies are the first to get it: The Grateful Dead are dismissed as “a joke”, while Jefferson Airplane are “even worse, if that’s possible”. The next target is Frank Zappa. Having ruminated on “the incalculable damage done by lowlifes like Zappa”, Reed delivers his verdict: “He’s twobit, pretentious, academic, and he can’t play his way out of anything.”

The 13th Floor Elevators?

“They’re just sick. People take drugs and go off and they think anything they’re playing is tremendous.” Bob

Excerpt From a

NY Times review of a 1966 show

Niall O’Keeffe learns that a posh Velvet Underground book can’t be their mirror

The psychiatrists who turned out in droves for the dinner were there to be entertained - but also, in a way, to study Andy [Warhol]. “Creativity and the artist have always held a fascination for the serious student of human behaviour,” said Dr Robert Campbell, the program chairman. “And we’re fascinated by the mass communications activities of Warhol and his group.”

Delmonico’s elegant white-and-gold Colonnade and Grand Ballroom had probably never seen such a swinging scene. Edie Sedgwick, the “superstar” of Warhol’s movies, was on full blast chewing gum and supping a martini.

There was John Cale, leader of “The Velvet Underground” in a black suit with rhinestones on the collar. There was Nico, identified by Warhol as “a famous fashion model and now a singer”, in a white slack suit with long blond hair. And there were all those psychiatrists, away from their couches and not really mingling, not letting their hair down at all.

“I suppose you could call this gathering a spontaneous eruption of the id,” said Dr Alfred Lilienthal. “Warhol’s message is one of super-reality,” said another, “a repetition of the concrete quite akin to the LSD experience.” “Why are they exposing us to these nuts?” a third asked.

“But don’t quote me.”

The act really came into its own about midway through the dinner roast beef with string-beans and small potatoes, when “The Velvet Underground” swung into action. The high-decibel sound, aptly described by Dr Campbell as “a shortlived torture of cacophony,” was a combination of rock’n’roll and Egyptian belly-dance music.

The evening ended with a short talk by Jonas Mekas, film director and critic. But long before that guests had begun to stream out. The reaction of the early departees was fairly unanimous. “Put it down as decadent Dada,” said one. “It was ridiculous, outrageous, painful,” said Dr Harry Weinstock. “Everything that’s new doesn’t necessarily have meaning. It seemed like a whole prison ward had escaped.”

“You want to do something for mental health?” asked another psychiatrist. “Kill the story.”

THE VELVET UNDERGROUND: NEW YORK ART

Edited by Johan Kugelberg Rizzoli

Dylan? “Dylan gets on my nerves... If you were at a party with him, I think you’d tell him to shut up.”

Moving into high gear, Reed proceeds to disembowel bands who claim Stockhausen as an influence.

“Did these people ever listen to Stockhausen? That’s the most boring shit in the world.” He finally reaches a conclusion. “The one thing that everybody’s been trying to get out of us is philosophy and all of that, and that’s the one thing we don’t do... All we are is, we play rock’n’roll.”

Suddenly, the concept of this book seems to vaporise.

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40

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

Moving Images Winnebagos Flick Trick Skateboard films are traditionally low-budget affairs where soundtracks are purloined from whatever C90s Pinhead and DonkeyPunch are currently listening to in their splitter. DJ Baron is about to upgrade the genre, bringing in an array of legends like Lemmy, Dave Lombardo, Snoop Dogg and Warren G, to make a bespoke soundtrack for the much-anticipated skate movie Extremely Sorry. Whether their audience will notice after hot-knifing half a gram of spice or not is probably not the point.

Treasure Island

Film Noir

Being exiled at the Branchage festival in Jersey a far from taxing experience

he twin-prop Fokker thundering across the English Channel towards Jersey ought to be called the Tax Evasion Express. The flight is half-full of serious-looking men in expensive suits bent over keyboards, ignoring their breakfast cheese and coleslaw roll as they delete government revenues with a

flick of a laptop mousepad.

Jersey, with its curious sense of identity (at once Britain circa 1983, and also not Britain at all) and air of nouveau riche conservatism that stems from this concealed wealth, is perhaps the last place you’d expect to find a film festival as innovative and enjoyable as Branchage. The island has only one official cinema, a Cineworld that squats on reclaimed land on the edge of St Helier and stinks of stale popcorn crushed into carpet. The Branchage organisers have had to be creative, commandeering venues from the town hall to a public school, a castle to the Gerald Durrell wildlife park, and a massive

bunker complex left behind by the Germans at the end of the war. You can never quite tell which idea came first: the location or the film being screened in it. With the focus very much on documentaries and British cinema, and with the local audience to cater for, the programming is esoteric without being pretentious, and eclectic while retaining the air of thoughtful curation.

It all makes Branchage the perfect festival for the film enthusiast, rather than the film snob. You’re not going to get your ear chewed off by some bore droning on about the dialectics of the French new wave.

Instead, The Stool Pigeon spent the

weekend hurtling around the island to catch some of the films reviewed below this piece, and drinking late and long into the night at parties held in a Belgian Spiegeltent that made for the festival HQ. It’s a far cry from a multi-venue music festival, where queues, bog-standard indie fodder, and a general air of exploitation are the depressing order of the day.

So, as Jersey recedes into the Channel behind the tailfin of the Tax Evasion Express’s return flight, Branchage feels like a revelation, and you can’t help but wish music festival curators would take inspiration from these people of vision.

Big River Man Dir. John Maringouin

Man of Aran Live soundtrack

by British Sea Power

The Posters Came From The Walls Dir. Jeremy Deller

Legacy In The Dust (The Four Aces Story) Dir. Winstan Whitter

Words LUKE TURNER Reviews DAVID MOATS

T

This

film could legitimately make claim to be the third film in Herzog’s ‘Amazon cycle’, except that the role of mentally unstable-hubristic-adventurer normally filled by Kinski is here taken by an overweight, alcoholic Slovenian distance swimmer (pictured). And this is a documentary.

Starts as a humorous character study, quickly descends into Apocalypse Now-style madness. A tall tale like this would once have been the stuff of folk legend - no embellishing necessary.

If

the words ‘silent film’, ‘documentary’ and ‘fishing’ don’t get your blood rushing, rest assured this is a riveting watch. A 1934 documentary about an island fishing community off the coast of Ireland prizes aesthetic beauty and drama over factual content - to the extent that some of the scenes were staged. British Sea Power’s live soundtrack is rapidly becoming one of their trademarks. There were many standing ovations and more than a few moist eyes at the Jersey Opera House.

Turner

Prize winner Jeremy Deller’s presence was felt at the festival both in the form of his Acid Brass band, who played big band covers of 808 State and A Guy Called Gerald, and through this excellent documentary about obsessive Depeche Mode fans, in collaboration with filmmaker Nick Abrahams. Like Iain Forsyth and Jane Pollard’s series of Nick Cave documentaries, the film eschews the standard ‘behind the music’ band melodrama, instead letting the fans become the stars.

Dalston’s

Four Aces Club was the best party in east London for over 30 years. Reggae greats like Desmond Dekker and Burning Spear performed there, Dylan and the Stones hung out there and The Prodigy played their debut gig in the venue. Director Winstan Whitter treats us to some incredible archive footage and interviews while taking a critical look at the long history of police interference, as well as Hackney Council’s recent decision to tear the club down in the run up to the Olympics.

Psychedelic comedy duo The Mighty Boosh are planning their own movie after the pair had small cameos in their producer Paul King’s new picture, Bunny And The Ball. The witch-faced cadaver who plays Vince Noir, Noel Fielding, and the other one have got the bug after seeing how the process works firsthand. The other one, who plays jazz bore Howard Moon, said the chaps were planning on doing “exactly what we didn’t do on TV”. We very much look forward to the experience of laughing, then.

Bull Shoot Warp films, the people behind the excellent Dead Man’s Shoes and the dark delights of Chris Cunningham’s Rubber Johnny, have released Bunny And The Bull into the world via the London Film Fest.

The movie is directed by Paul King, of aforementioned Mighty Boosh fame, with the entire score composed by cult, off-kilter folk dudes the Ralfe Band. The Times said it is “rippling with invention”, and hits screens on November 27.

Fuck me, did I just write a press release or what?

Closing Mancs Many of Manchester’s musicians who used to be good but aren’t anymore are getting together for a muted TV project, written by a mutual friend from the inner circle.

Ian Brown reveals Johnny Marr is involved, and possibly Mani or Paul Ryder from the Happy Mondays.

This sounds like The Future. “The idea is that Johnny writes the music and I write the words and the melodies,” Ian Brown told the BBC. Yippee.

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December 2009

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The Stool Pigeon December 2009

December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

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The Stool Pigeon December 2009

Arts

drawing attention You’ll marvel at this exhibition of cartoonists tearing strips off something sketchy

Comi

cs have always provided a sanctuary from the debacles of the modern world.

They let you slip away into an alternate existence, where the greater good fights a perpetual slew of evil villains, often mimicking and satirising the power struggles we encounter in our everyday lives.

Both

leading comic illustrators are teaming up with experimental youth initiative Ctrl.Alt.Shift to fight The Man in a new exhibition called Unmask Corruption at London’s Lazarides Gallery. The showcase aims to inspire and politicise a new generation of activists by looking back at how the medium of comics has been used to highlight and challenge social injustice throughout the last century.

Addi

Now

using content from previously unseen archives, a selection of the world’s most compelling graphic novelists and comic artists have joined forces to create a limited edition comic book entitled Ctrl.Alt.Shift Unmasks Corruption, containing 96 pages and over 20 uniquely illustrated tales.

And,

the book and exhibition are the result of months of collaboration from leading comic artists such as Dave McKean, Aleksandar Zograf, Bryan Talbot and Marjane Satrapi, as well as musical comic fanatics VV Brown and Dev Hynes (Lightspeed Champion). tional Ctrl.Alt.Shift workshops will taking place at the ICA as part of Festival 2009, which explores the worlds of graphic novels and manga in the current age.

also be Comica comics, Thomas

A. Ward

Ctrl.Alt.Shift Unmasks Corruption exhibition Until November 30 Lazarides Gallery 8 Greek Street London W1D 4DG ctrlaltshift.co.uk/unmaskscorruption comicafestival.com

Clockwise from top

CITY OF ABACUS, by VV BROWN, DAVID ALLAIN, and EMMA PRICE UNSPEAKABLE THINGS by O’CONNELL & BLEASDALE From

THE CURE by FLOODWORKS

KING LISTPIN by DEV HYNES and LUKE PEARSON

The Stool Pigeon Interview

Speak, Memory ON THE EVE OF THE RELEASE OF HIS DEBUT SOLO ALBUM, STROKES FRONTMAN JULIAN CASABLANCAS WAS IN A LITERARY, PHILOSOPHICAL AND RATHER FORGETFUL FRAME OF MIND. Interview by Niall O’Keeffe Image by Heather McCalden

All rock’n’roll bands are styled as the last gang in town: an indivisible unit greater than the sum of the parts. In most cases, it’s a seductive myth. Even great bands tend to comprise a gifted individual and a bunch of his lucky mates. The Strokes are a case in point.

However good the others might look in photographs, and however tightly they might play, Julian Casablancas is The Strokes. That much can be discerned from a scan of their albums’ songwriting credits. Casablancas wrote eradefining 2001 debut Is This It from top to bottom.

He wrote all bar one of the songs on the unfairly maligned follow-up Room On Fire (2003), cowriting the exception with guitarist Albert Hammond Jr. And, although he probably wouldn’t thank you for reminding him, he wrote 11 of the 14 songs on damp-squib third album First Impressions Of Earth from 2006, co-writing one each with lead guitarist Nick Valensi, bassist Nikolai Fraiture and drummer Fabrizio Moretti. In mitigation, that album was ruined as much by over-complicated playing as by lacklustre material.

Either way, Casablancas was plainly the creative force that drove The Strokes through the frantic half-decade leading up to 2006. During the hiatus that’s followed, the others have unwittingly conspired to emphasise their leader’s importance.

While Valensi maintained a dignified silence as he reared a family, Casablancas’s other charges have seen fit to embark on ill-advised solo careers, with Hammond recording two albums under his own name, Fraiture launching a band named Nickel Eye, and Moretti trading as Little Joy. Reactions have ranged between pity, amusement and yawning indifference.

In this context, it’s hard not to see Casablancas’s newly released solo album Phrazes For The Young as a lesson in humility for his errant bandmates. Certainly it’s the most appetising and rewarding of The Strokes’ solo ventures. It opens with a sucker punch: after a burble of sci-fi sound effects, ‘Out of the Blue’ moves quickly into classic

Strokes territory as, over wiry guitars and chugging rhythms, Casablancas’s vocal flits between the languid drawl and anguished croon that are his trademarks. Suddenly, the years fall away.

Evoking The Strokes at every turn, ‘Out of the Blue’ tells a story of success turned sour and the resultant thirst for vengeance, as Casablancas wryly intones, “Somewhere along the way... pleasure turned to madness,” and, later, “I know I’m going to hell in a leather jacket - at least I’ll be in another world while you’re pissing on my casket.” At the song’s climax, he delivers a devastating payoff: “Take all your fears, pretend they’re all true; take all your plans, pretend they fell through... That’s what it’s like for most people in this world.” It’s assuredly not like that for Casablancas, which makes the observation all the more powerful and poignant.

Much of the album has an expansive, philosophical bent. “We’re so quick to point out our own flaws in others,” he muses amid the glossy eighties synths of single ‘11th Dimension’. ‘Ludlow St.’, a ragtime waltz, equates urban gentrification and yuppie invasions with the land-grabbing of the pioneers. It’s captivatingly ambivalent: “All my fantasies died when you said yours... Will my mind be at ease when you get yours?”

Though perhaps not as expertly played as a Strokes album, Phrazes For The Young is more diverse musically, making heavier use of keyboards and complex time signatures. It’s a relatively slim volume - eight songs - and it loses its way somewhat toward the end, but these shortcomings are compensated by the reassuringly familiar sound of Julian Casablancas in fine voice - not to mention a succession of memorable hooks. Ultimately, this is the best record a Stroke has delivered since 2003.

Yet the album’s mood is a brooding, portentous one, typified by ‘11th Dimension’, with its talk of “bootleggers and vultures” and its suggestion that we “forgive them - even though they are not sorry...”

As the barbs and bleak asides accumulate, one starts to wonder how content Casablancas is with

life as a Stroke.

When, during this interview, he’s asked direct questions about competition with his bandmates or the difficulties of working with them, he issues abrupt dismissals. Nonetheless, the terms in which he talks about The Strokes are striking. He complains about the difficulties of getting everyone in a room together because they’re so busy with “other things”. He talks enthusiastically about the “freedom” that comes with working solo, when you don’t have to listen to other people’s opinions or come up with a part for a waiting guitarist to play. At one point, he half-jokes about the possibility of the band absorbing his solo project “or vice versa”.

Is it fanciful to suggest that Phrazes For The Young is the sound of a dethroned king casting fire at his disloyal subjects? Probably. But the album leaves the clear impression that Casablancas would fare just fine without his fellow Strokes, even if he’s far too diplomatic to suggest such a thing himself.

Casablancas speaks slowly - and quite vaguely, at times - but he’s patient, thoughtful and polite: he even extends the time allotted to our interview as an apology for being late on the call.

How late? A mere 15 minutes, which actually makes him neurotically punctual by musicians’ standards.

The opening questions mistakenly assume that Casablancas now lives in Los Angeles. He’s tolerant.

Stool Pigeon: You’re in LA? Julian Casablancas: I am, yes.

SP: JC: SP: JC:

Is it a big change?

To be on the west coast, you mean?

Have you settled over there? It’s supposed to be very different...

Yeah, it is. It’s great. I don’t live here, but I’ve been working here, rehearsing here,

and it’s amazing. The weather, I think, is a huge thing.

SP: JC:

But home is still New York.

Home is still New York, yes. I think that makes me feel less weird about loving it

here.

The title of your record is based on a title of Oscar Wilde’s. Is he someone you’ve been reading a lot?

Just being totally honest with you, no, not really. It was a book of several different stories, and I think it was the last story in it - ‘Phrases And Philosophies For The Use Of The Young’. Yeah, I was looking through it for some reason, and I thought it was great. I haven’t read a lot of his stuff. At school they made us read A Portrait Of Dorian Gray and all that...

SP: JC:

It’s quite a thoughtful, philosophical record. Were there a lot of literary influences feeding in?

Maybe, I guess. I like stuff like [13th Century Persian poet] Rumi and random philosophy books... You have things like The Analects [a book of Confucius’s philosophy], those kinds of things.

SP: JC:

This is you striking out on your own and putting your own name on the record and being the focal point. How does the songwriting differ from The Strokes? Were there a lot of pent-up ideas that you were waiting for a chance to execute?

I didn’t think like that before I started at all, but it was definitely nice to be able to explore any possibilities I desired, y’know? With the band there’s definitely a little more... definitely parameters, whether it be what instruments people play or whether it’s just people’s opinions. To be honest, it was really fun to be able to follow an idea

SP: JC:

without being told that that’s a bad idea. Not to say that I didn’t have bad ideas that I scratched along the way - probably half of them were. More than half.

Probably 80 per cent of what you do is not good. I think editing is probably the biggest part of it.

You’ve always been famously exacting with The Strokes’ records, when it comes to editing and getting them exactly as you want them to sound. Did the same obsessive drive kick in when it came to putting this record together or did you feel less pressured?

I would say it’s similar, or maybe even more pressure. You know, I think that it’s not just that I’m obsessive, it’s a desire to get everything right - for everything to be perfect, to be ready. Yeah, that does take a lot of work. Maybe that’s obsessive, I don’t know. It’s time consuming for sure. But I think it really pays off in the end.

Some people say, ‘You’re never happy,’ or, ‘The record will never be finished until it’s ripped out of his hands,’ or whatever. It’s not like it’s never finished for me. I just think it’s taken a while to finish the ones that I’ve done. I mean, I’m done with it, I’m happy with it. I can’t say that about all the records I’ve done, because we’ve had deadlines and it was ripped out of my hands.

SP: JC:

Is there a particular Strokes record that you wish you’d had more time with?

Yeah, I think the last one we could have worked on a little more, personally... It’s funny, the second one was ripped out [of my hands] - we had deadlines - but I feel like it was good, even though we rushed and we worked the full eight hours and we ran with the hard drive to the mastering place... That one I felt better about. But the last one...

SP: JC:

Do you think a bit of exhaustion may have set in when you were doing the third album, and that it was time for a break to recharge the batteries a bit?

SP:

Well, yeah, that period lasted about six months, maybe [after The Strokes finished touring the album]. Then I was pretty much ready.

JC:

Had the solo record been in your head a while, or was the intent initially to go back in and do another Strokes record?

The idea was to be doing it semisimultaneously - a few weeks here, a few weeks there - but with doing a Strokes record, it’s hard to get everyone in the same spot. People were doing other things, so, in the meantime... It was nice to do that; it was an opportunity.

SP: JC:

Was it a chance to explore different musical influences? Clearly, some of it’s written on a keyboard, and there’s more eightiessounding stuff...

I definitely had more freedom to do that, so it came out more like that just because I didn’t have guitar players waiting to play, you know what I mean?

SP: JC:

Obviously the other members pursued their own projects. Was there a competitive element that crept in when you saw what they were doing?

I would say no. Not really. I mean, I don’t know, maybe subconsciously in my mind. But I don’t feel that.

SP: JC:

How do you see the future in terms of keeping the two things going? Has the first one whetted your appetite to do more solo records and continue that in parallel with the band?

Possibly. I mean, it could go a few different ways. It might get absorbed in the band - or vice versa! I’m kidding. But I think I’ll always want to play Strokes shows and do Strokes records or whatever, but... it’s not only me in the band.

SP: JC:

In the early days you spoke about the influence that your stepfather [Ghanaian artist Sam Adoquei] had had on you. Have new mentors emerged who have changed the way you do things?

No, I think my stepfather is still a person who kind of guides me in everything that I do. If I’m confused about things, he’s always... He should really have his own TV show and help people deal with their problems.

SP: JC:

SP: JC: SP:

He’s still someone you turn to for advice in everything you do?

Definitely. Definitely. I mean, Sam, he’s a pretty unique person.

Are there particular words of wisdom that he’s passed on to you and that you would pass on to others? You once said something about him emphasising the importance of hard work...

I think that was the first thing that kind of seeped in; the first thing that got me on my way. Oh God, there’s so many things that he said. Sometimes you’ll get bogged down in arguing with people, and he’ll say, ‘Don’t fight with the pig in mud because he just loves it.’ Or he’d just teach me things like, when you lose your temper, it doesn’t even help you, you know what I mean? Even if there’s chaos going on all around you, the more calm and collected you could be, the better you would deal with it.

You know, like, for example, in the World Cup when Zidane headbutted the Italian in the final.

When that happened, he was just, ‘You see how silly it is when you lose your temper?’ The guy possibly lost the World Cup because of that. To think how stupid that is, you know what I mean? So it’s things like that, like trying to keep hold of your emotions in those instances... That’s just one of thousands, really.

JC:

When The Strokes blew up and were so famous for quite a sustained period, did you find that a stressful time, looking back? Was the intense scrutiny of the band something that wore you down after a while?

I wouldn’t say so, no. Sometimes if you’re touring and you do a lot of interviews, it can be psychologically weird. You know that it’s going out to a wider view of people and it’s... it’s the questions that state facts to you, over and over. It’s always like, ‘So, this record is so hard. Are you aggressive because of this and that?’

And about the same record, the next interview will be, ‘This record is so soft. Are you going soft now?

Is it because you’re married?’ It’s constantly having to be told what everyone thinks about you. After a while, it’s like the opposite of what I would imagine psychiatry would do. Building in a bunch of ideas...

To be honest, touring - the travelling and the playing and all that - has never been a big deal. I always find I don’t mind that. It’s sometimes that the energy level dips below having that constant drive of wanting to play music all the time, so you - in your free minutes - start watching TV just to decompress, and you go six months without writing a song... That kind of thing gets me personally frustrated. But any kind of success you get is great.

SP: JC:

Obviously you were seen as leading lights of the New York scene of the early part of this decade. When I spoke to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs earlier this year, Karen O said she’d moved to LA because she was grieving the death of that scene. Do you feel that there was something there in New York that you now miss, or was that never on your radar?

Emmmm... What was on my radar was, I think, a small group of friends. I wouldn’t call it a scene, you know what I mean? It wasn’t like everyone had a certain kind of outfit and haircut and always went to a bunch of different venues. I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t remember it so well. I always thought they were trying to make more of a

SP:

JC:

scene than there was. But having said that, whatever little there was has changed.

Manhattan has pretty much moved to Brooklyn.

I think Brooklyn is the centre of new music. I feel there’s more of a scene now. There are so many bands in New York and LA, everyone’s like, ‘Have you seen this band and that band?’ I don’t remember that so much. Other than the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and us, and maybe the Liars, but I didn’t even see the Liars that much. I mean, I guess The Walkmen too, but these weren’t people that I personally hung out with, you know what I mean?

In hindsight I can think of bands from New York from that time that were cool. Maybe they all hung out, I don’t know. When we first started there was a bunch of bands that no one really would know now, you know? But I wouldn’t say that ever grew into a scene. We came out of that bunch of bands, but I think we came on so strong from the beginning that we would kind of... It’s not like we would make enemies, but I think people were like, ‘Wow.’ I think people were sometimes surprised at our vibe. So sometimes that can cause a little bit of competition, because we’re all friends and we started different bands and we’re like, ‘Yeah, go dudes!’ It’s more complex than it seemed to me, but maybe I’m being overcomplicated. If people want to see it that way, and people want to think it was so, I’m not going to dispute it either. Again, I’m not a good eyewitness because I don’t remember things so well.

long was it in process?

Well, it was on and off, which was done semi-purposefully because I was being with the band and stuff, and it was also... it’s just good to have fresh ears to work on things. I think you get to a point where you feel comfortable, right before the stage where you start over-thinking things and making it worse. So you get to that point and then walk away from it and not listen to it for a month or two, and then... So kind of on and off for a year and a half, I would say.

Was that because of your alcoholic intake at the time?

I think a little bit of everything. In general, I’m hanging out with people and I’m like, ‘Oh yeah, I saw that person three weeks ago,’ and they’re like, ‘That was two years ago.’ So I don’t trust my own memory. With some things I’m good... I can remember random faces from 10 years, 20 years ago, but my time memory is very weak.

I guess you’re going to be doing some solo shows. Are we finally going to see you playing something on-stage? Or are you determined to bring players in and just be a singer in the live setting?

I’m just going to be a singer. I’m not so into the singer who starts playing an instrument... I’ve never had that bug, that desire, to be honest. I never wanted to play an instrument onstage. Performing an instrument never appealed to me. Playing one, and writing stuff, that’s always fun. I love to do that and I do it all the time. Just to put myself through that... I always thought, ‘Leave that to people who dedicate their lives to an instrument.’

SP: JC:

You mentioned The Walkmen in passing. Was their previous band, Jonathan Fire*Eater, an influence on you?

No, but that was the band whose name we heard so much when we were getting signed: ‘Oh, it’s the next Jonathan Fire*Eater! We’re scared that they’ll self-destruct,’ or whatever happened to them. I don’t really know I didn’t know them at the time... I kind of missed all that. But I definitely heard about it afterwards.

SP: JC:

Stewart Lupton from that band was on the cover of The Stool Pigeon in 2007, with a new project, The Childballads...

He was the original singer?

SP: JC: SP: JC: SP:

Yes. He’s been off the radar for a long time, but he’s done some good stuff with The Childballads.

I didn’t know that.

Some of the songs on your new record are quite deep and quite literary. Do you do a lot of writing before you put a song together?

Do a lot of these songs come from longer pieces of writing?

Ah, yes. Sure... I’ve been trying to focus more on lyrics and stuff in the last few years and compiling a lot of stuff and using that for the songs. Sure. [Mildly sarcastically] You got me....

JC:

SP: JC: SP:

I wasn’t... There was no agenda.

I don’t know why I said it. That’s a very accurate, astute observation. I like it.

You mentioned having the thing wrenched out of your hands in the past.

Did you have a lot more time with this record? How

JC:

You’ve always written The Strokes’ songs and I guess you wrote a lot of them on guitar. Have you always played keyboards as well?

Actually, I’ve always written on guitar and keyboards - both. I think when I first started writing songs, before even songs for The Strokes, I would mess around and write half and half. And then with The Strokes there were times when I would play mostly guitar because I was just trying to master it a little better, or at least get to the point where I was confident enough that I could write in any genre or whatever - bluesy solos to more complicated picking stuff. But I always did both. Last Strokes record, I did both, and [with] this one too I did both. I think it just kind of translated where I was... If I was writing it mostly on keyboards, it would end up being a keyboard instead of turning into a guitar.

SP: JC:

SP: JC:

[Record label employee cuts in with five-minute warning] We have a few more minutes. I’m sorry about that. That’s just protection in case it’s going terribly bad, you know?

JC:

SP: JC:

You mentioned never being a fan of the singer hunched over a guitar or

whatever...

It’s not that, particularly. It’s just basically to be stuck being the guy playing guitar and strumming chords and singing, just to be, ‘I know how to play the guitar,’ you know what I mean? I always want what the guitarist plays to be complex or to be irrelevant to what you can do while you’re singing. That’s all.

Who would be the frontmen you would single out as your favourites, whether contemporary or going back years?

Performance-wise or just vocal-wise?

SP: JC: SP: JC:

Both.

I mean, that’s a tough one. It’s like a medley of so many people. For what my vibe is, God, I don’t know. When I was young I liked Eddie Vedder a lot, but I wouldn’t say that’s who I’m trying to emulate onstage. It’s the one part that I think I’m still kind of figuring out. I did a thing where I’d always sit still and hold the mic stand a certain way. You see so many people doing that I feel like I don’t want to do that any more! So I don’t know, it’s always so different. Like, I love certain people but

it’s not how I want to do it either. Like, I love, obviously, Freddie Mercury when he was at the peak of his... He was amazing, but that’s not what I feel like doing. Although it might be fun!

I just want to focus on the music sounding really great. I think it looks cooler when you’re just standing there and it’s very intense. If what you’re playing is pretty magical it can give off a pretty strong aura that looks cool to me. It’s more Velvet Underground - kind of a laid-back performance vibe. I’m kind of constantly torn between both.

Sometimes things happen spontaneously and it feels very intense. To be honest, I don’t know.

When I try to over-think it, it goes bad.

Did shows change a lot when you cut out the drinking? You gave up alcohol a few years ago, right?

Yeah. I think it made the behaviour a little less whatchamacallit - it’s like a Catch 22: it’s like you perform way better, technically, but don’t act as kind of reckless, which people obviously love. You walked onstage and you tripped and people kind of liked that. I think there was a Robert Pollock thing: I don’t know if he was joking around, but he said if you walked out and fell on the floor, people would just go nuts. But then at the same time, you get that wasted and the songs sound pretty terrible. So it’s weird. Musical people will be like, ‘I thought the show was pretty terrible.’

And then tone-deaf people will be like, ‘That was AM-AZ-ING!’ So it’s really, like, you’ve got to pick your poison, and I think I’ve... well, I guess I’ve chosen not poison. That’s a terrible analogy, but I think you get naturally high if the music is really good, which is maybe even more kind of... I don’t want to say pure, but it feels better, does that make sense?

SP: JC:

With the new songs, you’ve used more complex time signatures, and they’re a little different from what you’ve done before. Do you see that carrying through to what The Strokes do in the future? Do you see your songwriting moving in that direction?

SP:

[Record label employee cuts in with lastquestion warning] I think it’s tough to say because the band might simplify things. Also, I’m inclined to... I think the band will probably simplify things.

And I think that sometimes that’s a good thing. It depends where I’m at, really, I don’t know. I think the point with the band is that it’s more of a group effort, so I do the singing part and the general music directing but I won’t really tell people what to play.

Maybe that’s been a problem that’s made people go off and do solo records!

JC:

SP: JC: SP: JC: SP: JC: SP:

Including you.

What’s that?

Including yourself, of course.

Well... no. What do you mean, sorry?

Just that they’ve done solo records and now you’ve done your own. And now you’re ready to convene again.

Yeah... Yeah, yeah.

I know I’m supposed to finish up so I will.

We’re coming to the end of a decade and a lot of people are going to talk about The Strokes as the band that defined this decade, musically. Is that something you’ll take pride in or do you view those kinds of statement with a jaundiced eye?

JC: SP: JC:

That sounds insane to me! But I love it.

I’ve already taken the 40 minutes allotted to me, so thanks a million,

Julian...

Do you need more time? Five more minutes? I don’t want to make you work too long, but [referring to the 15-minute delay to the start of the interview] you were nice enough to stick around...

Okay. Are there shows lined up yet? Will we see you in the UK soon?

We’re definitely coming to Europe in December. So we’ll be in the UK. We’re doing a residency in November here. We’re playing west coast shows: San Francisco, Vancouver, Seattle, San Diego, and then coming to Europe for December.

SP: JC: SP: JC: SP: JC:

Will it be a full band backing you?

Yeah, yeah - six people. Two drummers, two keyboardists, two guitarists.

You’ve also, I guess, been rehearsing in parallel with The Strokes. Do you have a lot of material stockpiled, for them?

Yeah, yeah, we’ve got a stockpile of stuff we’ve got to go through. Soon as I can get everyone ready to go! I’m ready to go.

SP: JC: SP:

Is it always tricky to get those five personalities in the room together?

It has been, yes. It has been lately!

Do you find the way the business has changed hard to get your head round the shift to downloading, the focus on live shows rather than records... Do you feel you can go with it or is it something you want to rail against?

I think it’s been good. I think that it’s good that there’s not that thing where there’s 10 albums that the record industry loves.

There are so many different bands - so many ways to get heard - and the internet helps people have so much more eclectic tastes. They’re able to get their hands on a lot of music. I feel like there’s a lot of good stuff coming out. There are more good bands I think than ever in my lifetime... so I don’t think you could argue that it’s a bad thing.

JC:

With the freedom that you’ve had with the solo project, do you think that going back to the band full-time is going to be, initially, a bit challenging?

No. I think it will be fine. If anything it’s the other way round - that intuition...

SP: JC: SP: JC:

You know each other well enough by now, I guess.

Yeah. I think if you play music with people for that long, there’s a certain musical chemistry.

Has it ever been your desire to strike out into other forms of expression - to write a novel or a book of poetry, or act, or anything else?

Yeah, not those particular things, but...

I’d like to be an inventor, in my secret life. But I’m not sure that I’m able to pull that off.

SP: JC:

Do you see yourself ultimately ending up as a Leonard Cohen figure, performing rapturously received shows to adoring fans the world over while in your seventies?

Emmmm, I don’t know. I don’t think so, maybe. I mean, it’d be fun to do it for fun, but I don’t know. I guess I would see that as ‘still in my job’ perhaps. Is that weird to say? Still in my primary job.

SP: JC:

(...pronounced tie-tor)

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55

December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

Comment & Analysis What is this figure in black which stands before me, pointing?

SON OF DAVE Black Sabbath haunts this afternoon here in my blues hideout. As the rain and church bells of their self-titled 1970 album swell up, I fondly recall a gang of metalheads mugging me. My date was taken into the bushes and molested. Sabbath blared out of the ghetto blaster that I was beaten in the head with. We were young but strong enough not to let it give us a bad trip.

News from back in the Midwest colonies this week: two teenagers stabbed, bank robbed, pensioner beaten with table leg. Native and biker gangs are bigger than ever.

London may be a tough place, but it’s the same walking on the wrong

street in Wintertown late on a Friday night. Reason and morals aren’t there, and you will be curbstomped to a gangsta soundtrack.

Nothing changes except the soundtrack.

Which brings us to a question.

How in sonic hell does a volunteer music journalist measure progress?

Does music get better or just change? Is there any point to the change? Does it actually change much?

I know this is going somewhere, even if you don’t. Who’s your daddy?

It’s a good question - one that’s recently been asked by the good folks at EMI. I have a new job with EMI. I’m head of advertising. They’ve hired me on a reality ad I’ve just cooked up. We’ll fake Paul McCartney’s death again. We get him axed by a teenage gang in Kilburn who claim they didn’t know who he was.

Secretly, they’re working for Pakistan Intelligence (who were in on the Twin Towers toppling). Then Paul gets found alive and well in a cave in Afghanistan. You see, we need something to compete with the Jackson ad (brilliant; an old ad-man mate of mine did that one), which has distracted everyone from buying the

Beatles re-release. Poor EMI need a fresh angle.

Once upon a time, there was a fellow named Pasquali in Italy who discovered that if he brought noodles over from the Far East, people would eat them all up very quickly.

He began to make noodles, and Italian food became Italian food. A thousand years later, Italian food is still the same.

Music, handbags, sunglasses, and all sorts of crap are ruled by the same principles as Italian food. A good invention won’t ever sound or look or taste bad. A good sound isn’t relative to what decade you live in. It’s good and that’s that. Just like gnocchi gorgonzola will always taste good, if it’s made properly.

On my 27th birthday, a long time ago, I took my stoned friends paintballing. We put on our urban nightmare costumes and giggled and went into the post-apocalypse styled battle zone. I handed the nasty man who ran the place a CD of Arthur Lyman to play for us while we murdered each other.

“I only got a tape deck,” he said.

“Oh, that’s okay,” I told him, “what tapes do you have?”

“We only got one tape.”

“Uh huh, what’s that?”

“Black Sabbath. First album.”

Scary music is like Italian food.

Turn it up, my friend, it’s my birthday! Crikey, and an acid flashback. Hell couldn’t be more fun than this.

Now keep your eye on the birdie.

If tough guys change their tune, why doesn’t Italy change its menu to sushi? The answer, not surprisingly, lies in the Vatican. There is a religious-right plot to keep us buying silly new handbags, metal, rap, and techno, while pizza and The Beatles are sold until the end of civilisation as part of the unchanging fabric of papal supremacy.

My advice to the kids is this: 1. Distrust everything expensive.

2. Love no one who isn’t sceptical a good portion of the time.

3. The 1980s are not to be bought again, and you will be hurt if you wear elf boots.

4. Don’t work over-time to support the ageing establishment.

How will the new economy affect your mind? You can listen to whatever tunes you want, whenever you want, but it’s not yours. You can drive where you want in a car bought on credit, and pay by the mile and zone. Everything - your phone, health insurance, home, entertain-

ment, and livelihood - belongs to the company, bank or state. So the solution is not to live in credit. The solution is to own simple tactile things and to use them to their full potential before throwing them out.

The solution is to buy property as a group, avoid all hype and religion, and live off the waste of the wealthy.

But I’m miserable and haven’t followed my own advice. The kids are stabbing each other more than ever before. We need population control.

Music control. Stop the machine. Stop the press. Stop the bank. Stop grinning and laughing at me. I swear this McCartney ad will be my last.

Then I’m out. One more drink and I’m going home and never coming here again. (They’ve heard it all before down here at The King’s Head.)

Safe in my lair. Sabbath sounds soft now, nestled in the 1970s, and Ozzy never did any real damage.

Gangsta rap is being laughed at as 50 Cent is making ‘success at business’ books. The soundtrack to our nightmares changes, but doesn’t get better. It just changes, like this autumn’s ugly handbag.

I’ve told EMI to put out some Beatles salad dressing. I have the albums still, but I need some salad dressing.

Duh! Avarice is not one of the deadly sins, it’s the future of pop

MISS PRUDENCE TROG SEPTEMBER 8 How utterly typical. Think of all the inspirational artists like Kasabian and Florence And The Machine nominated for the Mercury Prize this year, and they have to go and give it to the token deaf girl, Speech Debelle. I’m all for equal opportunities and everything, but in the end the judging panel couldn’t help themselves, giving the nod to disability over talent. And the fact that she’s black, a girl and was brought up by wolves went in her favour too. I’m sick of all this political correctness. Nobody wants racism, sexism, homophobia and the like, but sometimes I wish we could get back to the old days, where you’d call Dale Winton a shit-stabber and nobody would bat an eyelid.

SEPTEMBER 9 Working at Negative Press I sometimes feel that what I’m doing isn’t exactly benefiting mankind, other than providing entertainment.

Though that is benevolent in itself.

However, right now I’m working on a new girlband I’m very excited about, and the fact that they have a strong agenda really appeals to my intellectual side. I’m not usually into pop - I like real music with guitars

and drums - but these women have something to say and they look brilliant as well. They’re five empowered big ladies and they go by the name of Avarice. You’ll be hearing plenty more about them in the future, you can be sure of that.

They’re like the musical version of that amazing Dove commercial, proving big girls can be sexy too. It’s not all about being big-boned, of course; they have some killer little pop songs and the ethnic one can sing her fucking lungs out. We did a showcase for them last week where loads of industry came down and checked them out. There’s going to be a piece in Woman About Town, and now I’m trying to see if I can get the cool press on board.

SEPTEMBER 16 Barack Obama apparently called Kanye West a “jackass” after he made a big twat of himself at the MTV awards. As ever Barack is spot on, but shouldn’t he be sorting out the economy, finding Osama Bin Laden and not sitting around watching MTV? What’s got into Kanye anyway? A big bag of Charlie fucking Chang, I wouldn’t wonder. I mean Beyoncé might be cool, but did she really make the best video ever?

What about ‘Dancing On The Ceiling’

by Lionel Richie, where Lionel and all his friends are dancing on a ceiling? Or that one with Sinéad O’Connor where it’s just her baldy head screeching her eyes out about some fella or other. So very moving.

My favourite video of all time has to be ‘Rock DJ’ by Robbie Williams.

It’s so clever the way he rips off his clothes and then ends up tearing his own flesh off, too. “There you go,” he’s saying. “You want a piece of me?

Well, here’s another pound of flesh.”

He’s had it tough Robbie, so I’m not surprised he became a tramp, grew a big beard and went looking for UFOs

in America. I bet there were a few unidentified objects in that beard too, like flakes of pasty and ginger biscuit crumbs.

But now he’s back, he’s stopped all that stupid rapping, and has a beautiful new model girlfriend, Eva Braun, who seems to have sorted his head out. Of course I want him all for myself, but I’m so excited he’s back again. My friend Demelza and I were such huge Take That fans when we were younger. We used to go on messageboards all over the internet proclaiming our love for Rob. She posted under the name Melanie Um and I was called Throbby Willy Yums.

I once wrote a short story and posted it on the internet involving a sex fantasy about Take That. It was very graphic, and if I read it now I’d wince with embarrassment. In the story I get backstage at Wembley and meet the boys. Within a few minutes of saying hello, Robbie is all over me, and he starts kissing my neck and my tits while Howard Donald lisps in my ear with beery breath, taking me roughly from behind. Mark Owen then begins sucking Jason Orange off, leaning against the table football. I didn’t know what to do with Gary because I didn’t fancy him, so I put him in the corner reading a comic. I have such a vivid imagination it keeps me awake sometimes. If I wasn’t such a brilliant PR I’d think about being a writer.

SEPTEMBER 22 They’ve got rid of another Sugababe and got a new one! I can’t believe it’s not Mutya! Keisha says she’s sad to be leaving, having been pushed out by the others. Well, it serves her right. And speaking of serving, I’m sure she’ll do very well when she gets a job at McDonald’s with her old mate Siobhán Donaghy. I never liked

the Sugababes anyway, and the way they ousted each other and then got their nasty friends in only to be ejected themselves... I’m sure there’s a lesson in there to be learned. You’ll never get anywhere being spiteful and bitchy.

OCTOBER 5 Avarice played a show tonight and it went down brilliantly. Keith Osbalderston from the website Listen With Prejudice has promised me a review. Keith is a brilliant laugh, and we got utterly hammered on the expense account. I’m very hopeful about the review, as Listen With Prejudice is one of the best little sites out there. He kept refusing drinks, but I’d bring him another anyway. He’s only 5’1” and wears cute little specs. I felt a bit guilty when he had a whitey and chundered all over himself, but it was a great night anyway. I put him in a taxi, scored some liquid acid and went out raging.

OCTOBER 14 I’m still in shock that Stephen Gately passed away. They said in the Daily Express that he probably died from Sudden Death Syndrome.

I don’t know what that entails, but I wouldn’t be surprised. He did die suddenly after all, so it was probably that.

Speaking of death, I read Keith’s review. He said: “Avarice are without doubt the most tragic girl quintet I’ve ever had the misfortune to see, and I once witnessed B*Witched dancing at a party with a rubber doll. They move like a bunch of arthritic gorillas drowning in a giant vat of piss, and make the Roly Polys look like En Vogue. This embarrassing display puts women’s lib back 30 years. At one point I thought the ground was rumbling, and I wondered if it was Emmeline

Pankhurst turning in her grave. I wanted to gouge my eyes out. They made me sick on myself. Horrible.

Just horrible.”

OCTOBER 26 What in Christ’s name has Amy Winehouse done to herself? I saw her at the Q Awards and she’s still not right. Her breasts, which were falling out all over the place by the way, looked like a pair of blown-up Zeppelins. I was fairly restrained tonight, and hardly made a fool of myself at all, though I did bump into a rather sheepish looking Keith while trying to make a beeline for James Morrison. He panicked, said he was “very sorry” and went to the toilet as quick as a flash. To show I’m not bitter and believe in free speech I thought I’d give him a little present. His drink will taste so much better with a bit of liquid acid in it.

OCTOBER 27 Oh my fucking Christ, Russell Brand is going out with Katy Perry! Typical that he ends up with that kooky, skinny, pretend-lesbian bitch. He can’t help himself, the dirty little sod.

It’ll never last. If it does then I’ll go into mourning. If there’s one celebrity guaranteed to bang you, provided you’ve got a vagina, it’s Russell Brand.

OCTOBER 30 I’m just off to visit poor Keith at the hospital. Apparently he broke three of his teeth trying to eat his table at the Q Awards. His mother was very worried about him and had the poor boy sectioned. I asked Avarice to sign a copy of their debut album. So concerned are they about his current mental state, they’ve gamely agreed to go with me to visit him, and said they’ll even do a routine or two to help cheer him up in his hour of need.

56

Comment & Analysis

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

INDIE DAVE

Britain is still ill, not Mozzer

ROBBIE’S LONG AWAITED REUNION WITH TAKE THAT DIDN’T QUITE GO TO PLAN

Next year it’s all about ringtoast in the online world

DIGI TEL WHAT are you doing reading this with your eyes, you antediluvian bollock? No one reads anymore.

It’s all about digital now. Which means that everything is written in binary and MS-DOS these days.

So it’s like speaking numbers instead of words. Which is just quicker to understand. We don’t have time to sit around talking about ‘words’ when there are paradigms to shift.

I’m going to have to make some concessions to your anachronistic ‘old media’ ways by speaking in a language you understand here. If only to educate you about why digital is better than most things.

Except watching your boss wank up tenners out of his oily cock into a hat for your Christmas bonus after you built a website that does some ‘community element’ shit that no one has ever done before (by ‘no one’, I mean ‘everyone’).

I’ve been working in the digital bit of the music industry for ages. Since

before Spotify at least. I guess you’ve probably only just heard of Spotify, but I stopped using it a year ago after my beta invite expired because no one where I work uses anything that goes out of beta.

That’s like shopping in, I don’t know, a SHOP on a STREET where all the REMEDIALS buy their stuff. I buy all my stuff online. All of it.

Obviously I don’t use Amazon because it’s like the Rupert Murdoch or Bill Gates of online shopping.

I live online. I am online. Online is me. I know shit.

I do ‘digital strategy’ at a record company which is sort of like having a strategy, but instead of using something that’s not digital to make it work, you use something digital.

Smart, eh?

People often ask me what ‘digital’ is and why it’s important.

And I look at them with their CDs and their cassingles and despair for those poor, clueless, un-trusting idiots. So, for your benefit, I’ll explain what digital is and why it’s important. And if you disagree with anything I say, that just proves you are holding the business back through IGNORANCE and your being an ARSE.

WHAT DIGITAL IS (A GUIDE FOR PEOPLE WHO ARE DIGITAL DENIERS): 1. ‘Digital’ comes from the word ‘digit’ with the ‘al’ bit at the end just being a time-saving spelling of ‘all’ so it means ‘all digits’ (i.e. a hand).

2. You have to use your digits (e.g. fingers) to make anything digital work.

3. So a keyboard that you type on, that’s digital.

4. Switching on a telly, that’s digital as well.

5. And knitting is properly digital.

WHY DIGITAL IS IMPORTANT FOR MUSIC (A GUIDE FOR PEOPLE WHO STILL BUY MUSIC FOR A GROAT FROM A FUCKING WART-FACED MINSTREL WHO WANDERS THROUGH THEIR MANURE-DRENCHED HAMLET): 1. In 1992, there were no paid downloads of songs; in 2009, there were some, which means that I have built a revenue stream that is equal in scale and beauty to, say, the Nile.

2. In fact, because I invented a ‘multiple revenue stream’, that’s like inventing a country. That’s how important this stuff is.

3. The CD is dead and it now stands for ‘Cuntingly Dead’, because only cunts (and my mum) buy CDs. On top of that, if you still buy vinyl you’d probably be happy to have a child-killer live next door to you and be your MP. Exactly.

4. People who use digital are scientifically proven to be the best type of humans. Apart from the ones who look at child porn websites. Or go on discussion forums to figure out how to build bombs and blow schools up. But the rest of us are fucking smashing, thanks. We are... we’re the best. We fucking R00L (that’s a clever ‘internet way’ to spell ‘RULE’, by the way).

SOME GREAT DIGITAL SHIT I DID WHICH SHOWS THAT I AM THE BEST AT DIGITAL AND YOU’RE NOT: 1. Launched a website for Status Quo that was made entirely from denim (it was like an ironic meshing of old and new technologies).

2. Embedded an entire four-track EP in the back of a wasp that was put inside a mobile so the more you shook it and annoyed the wasp, the faster the songs played.

3. Made a ‘viral video’ of this girl,

right, dancing to a song playing on her mobile which was really funny.

You had to see it, right. It was hilarious. Got 3,000 hits on YouTube.

That’s marketing, right there.

4. Invented a new ringtone format that you can download straight to a loaf of bread that plays music when you grill slices of it. I call the format ‘ringtoast’. It’s massive in the elusive, but lucrative, baker demographic.

So, hopefully now you’ll have an idea of why I am being paid WELL OVER £25,000 (that’s a YEAR, before tax) to tell musicians how they can recalibrate their Web 2.0 thinking and monetise their assets in a way that brings communitybased value-adds to their fans.

I’m sure you’re now wondering how you can get a game-changing job like mine that shreds the rulebook and sculpts The Future out of idea-gas. Well, obviously the best way to get into the digital game (or DiGam, as we call it) is to do work experience for me. So you can email me (I can pick up emails on my phone and everything) with, say, 100 different ideas about what you think I should be doing to prove my worth and justify my enormous doublefigure salary.

If you could get those ideas over to me by COB (that’s ‘close of business’ - meaning ‘end of the day’) and base them around how you would digitally market, for example, a lukewarm indie band with no songs that the label has spent £500,000 on already and needs to have a hit in the next week otherwise entire departments will get closed down.

Seriously. I’m not joking. Send me stuff. Anything.

REGULAR observers of this column will notice it’s been somewhat truncated for this edition. While usually you get to luxuriate in my words, I’m sure you’ll appreciate I’m a very busy man and next year promises to be even busier still. Besides, my fragrant wife Samantha says I can go on a bit sometimes, so much so that when I composed my speech for the Conservative Party conference in October, she sat down with pen and paper and diligently shaved the chunks of it away that she thought were boring. As a favour, I reciprocated by diligently shaving her in return...

Oh, dreadfully sorry, Eric Pickles has just tapped me on the shoulder and told me this isn’t for Nuts magazine.

So what were we talking about?

Oh yes, Morrissey. The poor chap collapsed on stage the other day with a mystery illness. I’ve not been so worried about a musician taking a plunge on stage since Alvin Stardust passed out because his hair was too heavy. Then there was Marc Almond, of course, but you don’t have to be Jan Moir to know how that one came about.

With dear Mozzer it happened completely out of the blue to a healthy 50-year-old man who leads an almost monastic lifestyle, and his capitulation suggests something more sinister at work. Though he was once described as “devious, truculent and unreliable”, I believe he’s a sensitive man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and his malaise stemmed from the sheer pressure heaped on us all by Labour. Like an indie Jesus, he was tottering on the brink for this government’s sins, under the weight of immigration and the strain of sleaze. He was taking one for those randomly attacked every 30 seconds, on the streets of Carlisle, Dundee and Humberside. Morrissey’s fall was a symbolic sign that we need a change of government and we need it now.

Before I go, I should perhaps comment on that unseemly spat between Professor Nutt and the government recently. While I don’t condone the taking of any drugs and have no intention of reclassifying narcotics, the government’s mishandling of the situation once again proves we are in the hands of complete incompetents. Drugs are bad, especially cocaine, which I have never taken, while alcohol sipped moderately can be rewarding and enjoyable. So I say unto you this Christmas, enjoy yourselves, but stay off the drugs and don’t binge drink, unless you’re William Hague, who can really handle his ale.

Remember this, Morrissey is not still ill, but Britain is. Until 2010, then.

Comment & Analysis

December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

57

letters to the editor The Stool Pigeon EMO MOMENTS Kids in Africa would love to have, like, five of my fries.

There’s nothing like kicking up a bit of stink and it’s been a genuine pleasure to receive your feedback on Niall O’Keeffe’s Nick Cave book review in the last issue. Believe us, we really like being called “cunts”. The two letters that seem to best sum up people’s feelings on that article are printed opposite, and good on you Ettrick Scott from Jesmond, Newcastle for coming up with this gem: “It was the biggest waste of a day that I’ve encountered since that time I tried and tried to crack one out over a picture of the ginger one from Girls Aloud.”

We got a fair bit of shoe pie for Alex Marshall’s Kid Cudi story as well. Someone even had the audacity

to email Alex direct with a link to a Rolling Stone piece on the rapper. The implication was that it was a far better interview. But, I shit you not, this is how it begins: “How sensitive is Kid Cudi? Sensitive enough to have an emo moment over a plate of French fries... he zones out and just stares at his plate. ‘We’re sitting in this really nice restaurant,’ says the 25-year-old singer-rapper somberly, ‘and I just wasted a whole plate of fries, when some kids in Africa would love to have, like, five of them.’”

Absolutely priceless. The Rolling Stone writer, Christian Hoard, didn’t even take Cudi to town for saying something so excruciatingly stupid.

And to think people say standards in

journalism have dropped.

Anyway, if you must slag us off, and please do, you’re advised to send your correspondence to the editor and not the art department. Or else you might get a response like this: “Dear ****, I hope you are not a journalist.

You have sent this email to the art department. We only wank over typefaces here and very rarely read the copy that we design so wonderfully with those sexy fonts. In fact, most of the people in the design department can’t read or write at all.”

The “art department”, of course, is just one man. He’s called Mickey and he works alone under the stairs in a tiny cottage in Manningtree. I’ve never even met him.

AD NAUSEUM We are all being deceived Corby Trouser Press by the curse of advertising.

Now that the rules on product placement in the media have been savagely slackened, it’s definitely time to re-direct you to my absolute favourite clip on YouTube. Simply type in ‘David Lynch on Product Placement’ and bathe sweetly in what the film director has to say: “Bullshit. Total. Fucking. Bullshit.”

Attaboy. It’s good to know you have friends out there in the world. And thanks to Pigeon reader Sam Ruscott for emailing in the link to a superb Jeremy Paxman moment, ‘Paxman is P’d off’.

It’s now my second favourite clip.

Here’s Jerrers closing Newsnight a while back: “In the meantime, it [Newsnight] is all available on the website, along with our editor’s pathetic pleas for you to send us in some of your old bits of home movies and the like so we can

become the BBC’s version of Animals Do The Funniest Things.”

Nice. Very nice. User-generated content and product placement: these are things that just don’t roll with us here at The Stool Pigeon and, my god, you have to dig deep these days to find anyone who shares your point of view.

Suffice to say, we’re passionately opposed to the scourge of modern publishing: ‘advertorial’, which is basically sponsored editorial. It goes on everywhere, and most likely in magazines and papers that you’d imagine would play with a straight bat.

Private Eye is an excellent place to read all about it, and they suggested recently that even The Times is running copy to please their advertisers. Sure, Private Eye can be smug, but so often

they just nail it, like they did with this ‘Gnome’ column: “Am I alone in deploring the relaxation of the rules regarding product placement in the media? It is a slippery slope Coca Cola which could lead to a media entirely dominated by commercial Kentucky Fried Chicken interest... We will continue to uphold the highest standards Virgin Airlines in making sure that editorial and advertising are clearly separated Royal Bank of Scotland and that Vorsprung Durch Technik the consumer is not bamboozled by Comet Sale Now On the duplicitous stratagems of dishonest agencies who are trying to deceive the public with subliminal Corby Trouser Press advertising.”

On the page opposite the column? An Audi ad.

SHIT LIST Please, no more of these silly ‘end of the decade’ round-ups.

For about 30 seconds, we thought about doing some kind of spoof on those idiotic and completely arbitrary ‘best of the decade’ lists that the music mags are running at the moment. All we knew was that each Pigeon writer would end whatever it was they had to say about the 2000s by giving it a mark out of five. So, it’d be like: “John Doran scores for the last 10 years of his life 3 out of 5.” But no one could think of an idea funny enough, so we dropped it and, besides, we got lucky with interviews this issue and ran out of space.

There’s a reason why the music magazines and websites do round-up lists and say the most mundane crap like, “It’s been a great

year/day/nanosecond for music.” Those issues sell well, but they also do it because they have to; because they need to justify their existence and pretend to themselves that what they have to say about music is somehow more important than anyone else. It isn’t.

The dude who is the editorial director of NME and Uncut, Steve Sutherland, apparently insists that Uncut has more reviews per issue than Mojo. Think about that for a second.

It’s really fucking depressing.

Guinness Foreign Extra. Now there’s a quality drink. I’ll give anyone a 2,000-word review on that, and I’ll bloody well mean it. Please, someone let me review Guinness Foreign Extra.

Deadly stuff. Sends you to paradise.

I score the decade 5 out 5. It’s been awful. And now that I’m hammered and in a rage, let’s examine the following two quotes...

Izzy Molina, Pigeon, September: “‘When a gun pop off, a nigga jump in the trunk,’ she raps on ‘Hot Girl’, and ‘Music Time’ is about getting on the mic to get away from the violence.”

Paul Lester, Guardian, October: “‘When a gun pop off, a nigga jump in the trunk’ - as she raps on ‘Hot Girl’...

As for ‘Music Time’, it’s about becoming an MC to escape the violence in which she’s been mired all her life.”

Now, that isn’t strictly plagiarism, but come on, Lester: write your own stories, you lazy, thieving bastard.

The Stool Pigeon, 21a Maury Road, London, N16 7BP editor@thestoolpigeon.co.uk

SIR, don’t get me wrong, I love your newspaper, but the article on Nick Cave’s new book was below the belt to say the least. Fair enough, the book might be shit - I haven’t read it - but from the extract it sounds pretty much like a Burroughs or Kerouac, and I’m sure if it was them who’d written it you would be creaming your pants. Why would you start an article with a biased opener like: “Nick Cave is an overrated musician”? His music has nothing to do with his book, so why include that comment in an article about his writing?

Maybe you should have got someone neutral to write it. It’s bad journalism.

ROB MORRIS, Via email SIR, having just read that fella’s review of Nick Cave’s new novel, can I say that I absolutely slot into line with his way of thinking, because it was the biggest waste of a day that I’ve encountered since that time I tried and tried to crack one out over a picture of the ginger one from Girls Aloud.

If anybody wants to read a book about a man being hilariously rotten and just plain fucking WRONG with whores and drugs and that, may I recommend Dandy In The Underworld

by Sebastian Horsley, which has the massive advantage of actually being a true story.

Tellingly, Mr Horsley is thanked by Mr Cave in the acknowledgments section of this book, and so he should be, because Mr Cave bites his style outrageously throughout, and should be giving him a percentage of his royalties as well, in my humble opinion.

ETTRICK SCOTT Newcastle SIR, one of my friends got a hold of a mix that someone at The Stool Pigeon made a while ago and all the girls loved it, especially that Yo Majesty track bout the kryptonite pussy. At one point there were six girls drinking tequila, rolling through the Burning Man festival on the back of a pick-up truck, dressed sexy/funky as hell screaming to people, “YOU GOT THAT KRYPTONITE PUSSY! YO PUNANI...” See son, the Stool Pigeon charm travels well.

MILTON MILLHOUSE, San Francisco SIR, it is not too late!

We can stop the moon bomb!

Solidarity with the moon peoples!

Down with NASA space imperialism and space aggression!

The escalation of the space war must not be met with more bombs!

Meet and show your disgust outside Greenwich observatory in 15 minutes!

Pacifists all over the universe must show them that we piss on NASA in horror of its Nazi space imperialisticism!

Make noise not moon bombings!

Arghghhghghghg!

T-BONE SNAKE, Via email SIR, riding home from a weekend in Bath on a drizzly Monday afternoon, I pulled into a petrol station a couple of miles outside Marlborough on the A4.

I filled up the tank and, as I walked into pay and get some snacks, something immediately struck me as odd about the place.

It wasn’t the shifty - no, maliciouslooking - public school boy standing in front of the half-empty shelves of assorted uselessness vacantly staring at me. Nor was it the bizarre mix of wares on display: the length of garden hose coiled round a tired looking can of Ambrosia rice pudding and dog-eared copy of Guns & Ammo on an otherwise empty shelf. The matter-of-course hermaphrodite behind the till seemed eminently usual.

What struck me was the overpowering stench of shit: the kind of smell that grabs you by the scruff of the neck and makes you know that you are alive; that focuses your mind on one sensation so much that the rest of reality dissolves into obscurity.

In focusing my mind so much on that one grain of sand in eternity, the sweet taste of shit on the air somehow seemed to bring me closer to God. For that moment, all there was was the thick air fizzing on my tongue.

I spent the rest of the ride home going over the clues in my mind trying to work out who had shat themselves like Miss Marple in a badly run retirement home.

I think it was the creature behind the till, because s/he looked like the type to shit themselves at work as though it were completely normal and unflinchingly carry on with their toil.

My only regret is that I didn’t go back to ask.

RORY Via email Sir, as someone who lives so far away in Denver, Colorado, it’s a thrill to be able to read your excellent publication cover to cover [as the new digital edition]. As someone who grew up in Dublin and watched the abysmal decline in standards from the likes of the NME and Hot Press, it really is wonderful to read such a first class, insightful, original, humorous and well-puttogether publication. My thanks to you and everyone who contributes to The Stool Pigeon. Keep up the excellent work.

NEIL SINGLETON Via Facebook Sir, can I have something other than a jiffy bag?

SEAN ADAMS, Dunblane

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The Stool Pigeon December 2009

Court Circular

Smoked-out Lil Wayne pleads guilty to avoid a bigger stretch LIONEL CAKE After forging the most successful solo rap career of recent years, it looks likely megastar Lil Wayne, aka Weezy, will take an enforced sabbatical, doing chokey for gun possession. He might have got away with it as well, if it wasn’t for that pesky DNA. The case stretches back to 2007, and Wayne’s tour bus. A police officer was alerted to some troublesome ish going down inside it, thanks to the strong aroma of skunk-fug wafting out of it, like a particularly nebulous Bisto cloud. Mmmmmm, skunk.

Wayne was promptly arrested.

The police officer conducting a search of the wagon said she hadn’t actually seen anyone smoking weed, not that police usually need an excuse

to go sniffing around when black men are gathered in one place, but she did find a .40 calibre handgun in the ensuing rummage. Wayne has always denied the gun was his, and there was some protracted nonsense about whether or not it would be admissible as evidence. There was a dramatic turn of events recently, however, when the prosecution came out and claimed it had DNA evidence linking Wayne to the gun, forcing the MC to change his plea from not guilty to guilty, or face the possibility of going down for a long stretch. Were Wayne, real name Dwayne Carter, to stick to his, er, guns, then he would likely face a minimum three-and-a-half years doing bird. Changing his plea should secure the US’s biggest contempo-

rary star between eight months and a year behind bars.

That’s not all. The 27-year-old is scheduled for trial in Arizona on a felony drug possession and weapons charges stemming from January 2008.

He has pleaded not guilty in that case, which takes place next March.

On top of all that, Wayne’s being sued for copyright infringement by little known Floridian Thomas Marasciullo, who claims he recorded material for Wayne’s record label Cash Money in 2006, only for it to wind up on various records including the Lil Wayne/Birdman collab album Like Father, Like Son. Unsurprisingly, the Cash Money family has promised to support their artist and friend.

Legal Pistol whippying for punk ice cream maker

proper Pistol whippying in court for their ice-cream cocktail The Sex Pistol, which rather amusingly features the strapline ‘God Save The Cream’, and displays a picture of Ma’am herself, in a “guerrilla icecream installation”. Naturally, it bears more than a passing resemblance to Jamie Reid’s 1977 cover for the ‘God Save The Queen’ single. The company’s website also carries an ad which features the National Anthem played with an electric guitar. That, my friends, sounds very punk indeed.

The confectioners have a stall set up within the Oxford Street branch of Selfridges, the high-end department store, and claim their punk product is more “Sid and Nancy than Ben and Jerry”, containing as it does a mind-bending shot of absinthe. It also takes smack, runs around the Chelsea hotel in New York with loads of cash shouting its fat American gob off and gets murdered.

Crying into his double-scoop and 99, Icecreamists founder Matt O’Connor complained to the Guardian that his company is “a bit dumbfounded that a group that made its reputation for being banned is trying to ban one of our ice creams and claim copyright over the national anthem and the Queen”.

JEREMY ALLEN Rotten has no problems endorsing crap butter products these days, but he does however draw the line at upstart ice cream makers cravenly co-opting imagery and wording from his old band and making a profit without sharing the filthy lucre.

The company, Icecreamists, could be in for a

Johnny

X Factor attacker too mental for court JEREMY ALLEN Leona Lewis thought she’d come up against her namesake Lennox in October while tirelessly signing copies of her new book Spirit in Waterstone’s Piccadilly, London store. Instead it turned out to be a big Polish mental case with equally massive fists. There she was, the former X Factor winner, scribbling her name for the umpteenth-thousandth time, her right wrist aching like a teenage boy’s, when up stepped 29-year-old Peter Kowalczyk who’d queued half the day.

Rather than playing the game and entering into awkward banter with the ‘Bleeding Love’ star, who was smiling inanely and making polite chitchat with people who clearly had nothing better to do, he coshed Leona full on in the head with a thunderous haymaker.

“I love you,” he shouted.

“Well I don’t love you,” sobbed Leona, in what wasn’t a bad retort given the circumstances. Leona hails from the mean streets of Hackney, where The Stool Pigeon offices are based, so she knows how to jive.

Immediately, the man was pinned to the ground by her entourage and led away as Leona was taken to a bunker to nurse her bruised head and shattered nerves. Those in the queue behind rued their luck, and publishers from Hal Leonard thought, “Fuck, who’ll want to read it without the head punching chapter?”

In the aftermath of the attack, you’ll be pleased to know Leona has recovered and is fairly philosophical about the incident saying: “I’m still alive. It could have been worse.”

Things don’t look as good for Peter, apparently a singer and an X Factor wannabe who was rejected by the judges. Clearly, he thought he’d mete out his own personal justice with his dukes.

Kowalczyk was due up before the beak at the City of Westminster Magistrates court on October 26, but has since been sectioned. The case has been adjourned until November 23 while he undergoes further psychiatric testing.

Asked to give some sort of profile by neighbours in the “grim block of flats where Kowalczyk lives in Southwark”, they described him as “a tall, skinny loner”. Quelle surprise.

Poor

Up Before The Beak SPIT SPAT Diminutive gobshite Lady Sovereign has been causing trouble again, though less for the shite this time, more for the gob. The Wembley-raised rapper was thrown into cells in Brisbane, Australia after an altercation with a bouncer, which resulted in her lobbing on the big guy. “Spitting in someone’s face is nasty, but how about a guy dressed as a girl running at you in the toilets and punching you in the head?” wrote Sov on Twitter. She was arrested and fined.

CARLY FRIES Carly Simon, author of the catty classic ‘You’re So Vain’, is sharpening her claws for Starbucks, who released her album, This Kind Of Love, to what they say was a “tepid” response. Simon counters that the coffee chain, which has distributed offerings by Paul McCartney and Bob Dylan, failed to honour their contractual obligation to promote the album properly. That’ll teach her for entrusting the job of putting out a record to a bunch of capitalist breadheads whose purpose in life is to serve ground beans.

BUSTA BANK A man sprayed with water then beaten up by Busta Rhymes has $75,000 in damages due to him, after claiming the altercation caused him psychological damage and nightmares. The soaking/beating took place in 2003 at a show in Albany, New York. The victim, Alex Duncan, claimed he doesn’t even “go to parties anymore, because there’s always someone asking, ‘What happened to that Busta Rhymes case?’” With $75k now in his bank, Duncan ought to buy us all a bloody drink.

PETE DOCKERTY Pete Doherty will be back in the dock come December 21, this time for drink driving. The serial offender has been relatively quiet of late, and seems to put his smack troubles behind him, though his recently unblemished record has been tarnished by getting behind the wheel in Gloucester while pie-eyed.

He also had a load of class As in his pocket, and no licence or insurance.

Doh. His manager bailed him out with 5,000 quid the following day.

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The Stool Pigeon December 2009

Certificates

Announcements Please email us your announcements editor@thestoolpigeon.co.uk

Forthcoming Engagements MR TOM REID & MISS HELEN GREENHAIGH. The engagement is announced between Tom, Deejay Mosca, and Helen.

Marriages LITHGOW & LEE. On Saturday October 17, at Danby Castle, North Yorkshire, Dr. Jim, son of Ron (Mad Ronnie) and Liz, and Dr. Lucy, daughter of Trevor and Roz. REZNOR & MAANDIG. On Saturday October 17, Trent, former Nine Inch Nails frontman, and Mariqueen, exsinger of West Indian Girl.

Births KLUM - SAMUEL. On Friday October 9, to Heidi Klum, model, and Seal Henry Olusegun Olumide Adeola Samuel, aka Seal, singer, a baby girl, Lou Sulola Samuel.

Divorces The divorce is announced between JAMELIA NIELA DAVIS, singer, and DARREN BYFIELD, footballer.

The divorce is announced between FRED DURST, of Limp Bizkit, and ESTHER NAZAROV. The divorce is announced between AVRIL LAVIGNE, singer, and DERYCK WHIBLEY, of Sum 41.

The divorce is announced between EVAN SEINFELD, Biohazard bassist, TERA PATRICK, pornstar.

Deaths JAKE BROCKMAN, Echo & The Bunnymen keyboardist, b. 1956, d. 01.09.2009 GUY BABYLON, keyboardist/composer, b. 20.12.1956, d. 02.09.2009

ALVIN ‘SKIP’ MILLER, former Motown president, b. 07.10.1946, d.

04.09.2009 W. FRED. MILLS, trumpeter and music professor, b. 1935, d.

07.09.2009 JIM CARROLL, writer and punk, b.

01.08.1950, d. 11.09.2009 BOB GREENBERG, music executive, b. 08.05.1934, d. 11.09.2009 PIERRE COSSETTE, music executive and producer, b. 15.12.1923, d.

11.09.2009 BOBBY GRAHAM, session drummer, b.

11.03.1940, d. 14.09.2009 MARY TRAVERS, of Peter, Paul and Mary, b. 09.11.1936, d. 16.09.2009 DAVE KILNER, Hallam FM DJ, b.

1961, d. 20.09.2009 FREDDY BIENSTOCK, music publisher, b. 24.04.1923, d. 20.09.09 SIR HOWARD MORRISON, entertainer/singer, b. 18.08.1935, d.

24.09.2009 RICHARD WOOTON, former BARD chairman, b. 1949, d. 26.09.2009 BEAU VELASCO, Death Set drummer b. 15.08.1978, d. 27.09.2009 JOHN RIVAS, Mr. Magic, b.

15.03.1956, d. 02.10.2009 REINHARD MOHN, music executive, b. 29.06.1921, d. 03.10.2009 MIKE ALEXANDER, Evile bassist, b.

22.06.1977, d. 05.10.2009 KEN WHITMARSH, HMV executive, d. 09.10.2009 STEPHEN GATELY, Boyzone singer/songwriter b. 17.03.1976, d.

10.10.2009 BRENDAN MULLEN, punk club founder, b. 09.10.1949, d. 12.10.2009 A-HA pop band, b. 1982, d. 15.10.2009 MIKA MIKO, punk band, b. 2003, d.

16.10.2009 VIC MIZZY, Addams Family theme composer, b. 09.01.1916, d. 17.10.2009 THE RAKES, pop punk band, b. 2004, d. 22.10.2009 TAYLOR MITCHELL, folk musician, b.

09.1990, d. 28.10.2009 COLIN BURN, EMI executive, b.1933, d. 19.10.2009 MIKE BECK, rapper, d. 30.10.2009 MARK SMITH, bass player, b. 1960, d.

02.11.2009

LIAM MAHER

L

iam Maher, singer with Camden-reared baggy group Flowered Up, passed away on October 20. He was 41.

Maher will live on in many memories thanks to ‘Weekender’, an extraordinary Flowered Up single released in 1992. ‘Weekender’ was both a savage satire and a celebration of rave culture. Within its 13-minute duration, the band conjured a mesmeric, shapeshifting soundtrack to Maher’s tale of a debauched all-nighter, which he delivered in his unmistakable Cockney sneer. The single was accompanied by an artful video that built a reputation for its director, WIZ. One glorious single aside,

Flowered Up’s career followed a sadly familiar trajectory. After a storm of hype which cast them as London’s answer to Happy Mondays, they signed a lucrative major-label deal, released an underperforming debut album, and were dropped.

Maher would subsequently endure a long battle with heroin addiction.

When Flowered Up reformed for gigs in 2005, I had the pleasure of interviewing the friendly, charismatic Maher. The band’s history had left him with some regrets and grievances, but he remained justifiably proud both of ‘Weekender’ and of the limitededition single ‘Better Life’, which was released in 1994, after the band’s first split. Heavenly Records have made ‘Better Life’ available as a free download.

When our telephone conversation ended, Maher signed off with what I took to be his signature farewell: “Be lucky, mate.” Niall O’Keeffe

MAHER, Flowered Up LIAM frontman, b. 17.07.1968, d. 20.10.2009

GRANDMASTER ROC RAIDA

D

J pioneer and DMC World Champion Anthony Williams, aka Grandmaster Roc Raida, passed away September 19 from an accident related to training in the mixed martial art of Krav Maga.

Born May 18, 1972 in Harlem, New York, Williams started DJing aged 10 with the help and inspiration of his father - a member of the Sugar Hill Records act Mean Machine - and went on to be considered among the best of the contemporary ‘turntablist’ hip hop DJs. Raida rose to prominence in the late eighties as a member of New York-based X-men, who later became known as the X-Ecutioners. In his career he released three studio albums with the collective and seven solo efforts.

In 1995, Raida won the DMC World DJ Championship in front of a London audience. Four years later he was inducted into the DMC Hall of Fame and bestowed the title of ‘grandmaster’ during a conference at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum by some of hip hop’s founding fathers.

He continued to perfect his art of beat-juggling, scratching and mixing throughout his career, going on to serve as Busta Rhymes’ personal tour DJ. Grandmaster Roc Raida is survived by his childhood sweetheart and wife, Tyeasha, and three daughters. Thomas A. Ward ANTHONY WILLIAMS, Grandmaster Roc Raida, b. 18.05.1972, d.

19.09.2009

NOTHING FISHY ABOUT GODFATHER SINGER AL MARTINO’S DEATH Thomas A. Ward October 12 this year, Al Martino - famed for his role as Johnny Fontane in the Oscar-winning film The Godfather - returned to the studio with producer Joe Vulpis to put the finishing touches to his new 10-track album. He left the studio after the session, accompanied by his wife Judi, to have dinner in a downtown Philadelphian Italian restaurant with Jerry Blavat, a local radio and television personality.

He died suddenly on October 13 at his home in Springfield, Pennsylvania, aged 82. The cause of death is unknown.

Al Martino was born Alfred Cini to Italian immigrant parents on October 7, 1927, in Philadelphia. He left school to work for his family’s construction business, while pursuing his dream of being a singer by playing gigs on the local club circuit at night.

Following a stint in the US Navy at the dawn of World War II, Al moved to New York in 1947 to further his career as a showman. He found a mainstream audience after winning first place on CBS’s television programme Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scout with a version of Perry Como’s ‘If’.

Martino scored his first hit single in 1952 with ‘Here in My Heart’.

Selling over one million copies, it topped the first ever UK singles chart for nine weeks, along with peaking the US singles chart. The single’s success resulted in Martino signing to Capitol. He had a further three Top 40 hits in 1953.

Martino fled the US after it was purported that his contract was

On

taken over by a new, Mafiaconnected management team who allegedly ordered him to pay a $75,000 fee upfront as a safeguard to their investment. He was said to have made a down payment to protect his family before leaving for the England.

He garnered moderate success in the UK, performing for Queen Elizabeth as he headlined the London Palladium. In 1958 he returned to the US to re-establish himself, but he struggled to reaffirm his position as a seasoned crooner following the advent of rock’n’roll.

Despite the success of 1963’s ‘I Love You Because’ and 1966’s signature hit ‘Spanish Eyes’, Martino’s star faded towards the end of the decade.

He resurrected his career in 1972 after scoring a role in Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather as Johnny Fontane, a character supposedly based on Frank Sinatra but resonated more with Martino’s career up to that time. He continued to record and tour the club circuit following its success, appearing on screen again in 1990 in The Godfather: Part III. Al Martino continued in his music right up until his death. Married three times, he is survived by wife, Judi; sisters, Frances and Rita; a brother, Frankie; daughters, Debbie and Alison; a son, Alfred; two grandchildren; and four greatgrandchildren.

AL MARTINO, Italian-American singer and actor b. 07.10.1927, d.

13.10.2009

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The Stool Pigeon December 2009

Funnies Rocky’s Classic Hip hop Covers

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Me and Ned the cowhand have formed a band and we’re gonna play the Main Stage

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STEADY B LET THE HUSTLERS PLAY

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ORLOFF P U T T H AT L I G H T O U T

Huh huh, that’s what they said about Jay Z, fartknocker

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dead weather

Errr no, it’ll be like 50 Cent at Reading, you dumbass

Huh huh heh piss huh hunh

Normal Hungarian kid IVANNOW WLADISLAUS VON DZIARSKI-ORLOFF, aka COUNT ORLOFF, was struck by a wasting disease, aged 14, and within only a few years he was unable to stand. Orloff smoked opium to combat the constant agony of his condition, and the many pictures of him puffing pipes on his business cards became his trademark.

Ivannow’s bones lacked density and grew twisted. His skin was gossamer thin, his muscles shrivelled and with the aid of a bright spotlight, spectators could watch as the blood coursed through his veins. He toured medical facilities all over the world for years, showing himself off as a specimen, eventually setting up his own sideshow, which he ran successfully until his death in 1904.

Funnies

December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

ANIMAL RESCUE WORDSEARCH

A CALL OF THE WILD AND A NEW DAVID ATTENBOROUGH SERIES HAS INSPIRED US TO PUT TOGETHER THIS COLLECTION OF MAMMALS AND CREATURES . FIND THE CAPITAL LETTERS ONLY. Stray CATS GRIZZLY BEAR GORILLAZ WHITESNAKE Atomic KITTEN CAT Power Fleet FOXES DEERhunter Boomtown RATS

SKUNK Anansie BUFFALO Springfield CHIPMUNK DINOSAUR Jr DOGS Die in Hot Cars DEADMAU5 Echo and the BUNNYMEN LAMB The MONKEES

Snoop DOGG Patrick WOLF ROOSTER SEAL Skinny PUPPY SPARKLEHORSE The WOMBATS Noah and the WHALE Arctic MONKEYS

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D O P P E L GA N G E R CARBON COPY

CELEBRITY B A R B E R .No.11.

JOH N

& E D WA R D

This Formula 1 championship winner never worries about the environment as he lets loose on the race track burning hundreds of gallons of high octane fuel. It must be the guilt that turns him into the

green crusader often seen clumsily pushing his trolley round Fresh & Wild looking for organic rusks for the kids, while crashing into piles of food and sending red lentils flying across the floor.

SUMMER OF SKULLS - NO.4 NAMES

“Now, what about you two? Do ya want Brylcreem?

by Joff Winterhart

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The Stool Pigeon December 2009

Sound & Vision Box Shot

DVD Choice KINGS OF LEON Live At The O2 London, England Columbia The Kings Of Leon’s journey from whiskey-sodden Southern enigma to world-eating behemoth was never going to be complete without a rapturously received gig at the O2. Played at the beginning of 2009’s festival season, critics and fans alike agreed it was the band’s coming-of-age show, in which they capitalised on the success of the unstoppable ‘Sex on Fire’. However, in case this and numerous appearances at European festivals weren’t enough to sate their fans’ appetites, the band and Sony have released the whole show on DVD. Inevitably, the artwork continues the Kings Of Leon’s tradition of needless machismo. In the same way that the cover of Aha Shake Heartbreak bore a close resemblance to a vagina, the cover of this looks very like an old woman’s tit, only with a black nipple. Thankfully though, things pick up with the footage itself.

Sound-wise it’s perfect, aside from set-closer ‘Black Thumbnail’, where Jared’s distorted bass spills out onto the rest of the instruments. Unlike many live DVDs, the producers have been careful to include as much ambient sound as possible, so the excitement of the 20,000 people there comes through well. Similarly, the shots of the crowd from the band’s perspective give an insight into just how terrifyingly huge the place must seem for musicians, and there’s a few touching moments of fans looking suitably jubilant.

But aside from an amusing moment when Nathan disinterestedly blows a bubble during one of Caleb’s many speeches thanking the audience, the most interesting aspect of the footage is just how uninteresting the Kings Of Leon have become. The whole set is played with clinical professionalism, but with this comes sterility. Older classics like ‘Molly’s Chambers’ are leaden, the thrillingly dirty lead guitar in the verses smoothed out by Matthew’s slick playing. Even Caleb’s rasping vocal lacks edge, only really digging in on more demanding tracks like ‘Charmer’. At one point, he says that it’s ‘bullshit’ that fans have to pay to see the band play, and that they’d like to play free gigs. But if he’s so interested in value for money, why does this DVD cost £14.99?

Krautrock: Rebirth Of Germany

BBC4 documentaries have a habit of overstating history, always relaying the past in terms of absolutes. Every album is a breakthrough, every band formation the result of some profound alignment of the cosmos. But while it may be a stretch to claim that krautrock was responsible for Germany’s rebirth, a well-made retrospective of its genesis has been long overdue on mainstream television.

Music

from Can to Kraftwerk, Faust to Tangerine Dream, the Beeb brings together the era’s biggest names, charting a movement that would later inspire British synth-pop, ambient music and even techno.

The film begins with the idea that krautrock’s experimentalism was pioneered as an alternative to everything else in music; space being the only place left to go. All that musicians needed to get there was the newly invented synthesizer and an appetite for the abstract. The subsequent rise of ‘machine music’ and a loosely-knitted underground scene meant that the bands involved were quickly lumped together into a new genre, much to their bemusement, and labelled with a term that summed up Britain’s post-war hostility towards Germany, much to their irritation.

So

an hour may seem like a short space to cover everything in, the scope of the film is forced into focus, limiting the number of talking heads to the band members themselves.

There’s no room for Kasabian or The Horrors to gush about the impact that seventies space rock had on their own style.

The closest we get is Iggy Pop (who lived in West Berlin at the time) recalling how he once shopped for asparagus with Kraftwerk’s Florian Schneider.

Though

documentary’s real charm, however, is that it’s difficult not to like the cast of characters assembled (though Can’s original vocalist, American artist Malcolm Mooney, is inexplicably left out altogether). Over three decades later, seeing how the likes of Damo Suzuki have hardly changed infuses the film with colour. We see Faust’s present day incarnation jamming with a cement mixer, Roedelius speaking about his time in the Hitler Youth, and Iggy Pop using a power drill to crack open a coconut as he tried to put the sound of Neu! into words. But behind their legendary levels of prog-rock indulgence is a refreshing lack of rock’n’roll clichés. There’s no talk of ego or excess, just mildly eccentric grey-haired Germans admitting that they probably smoked too much.

The

the film hurries to a close, the focus shifts to Brian Eno, whose search for a new musical direction led him to the ambient electronics of Cluster and Harmonia, and in turn the inspiration for David Bowie’s Low and Heroes. But using Bowie’s success as a cuttingedge chameleon to validate krautrock’s legacy seems like a poor note to finish on, deflating the film’s narrative with a slapdash ending that scuppers the chance to finally do the ol’ krauts justice. Cian Traynor

As

Also out now...

GARY HUSTWIT (DIR.) Objectified Plexi

ISAAC JULIAN (DIR.) Young Soul Rebels BFI

SHANE MEADOWS (DIR.) Le Donk & Scor-Zay-Zee Warp

VINCENT MOON (DIR.) All Tomorrow’s Parties Warp/ATP

Pity the poor bugger tasked with publicising this: a feature-length documentary about our relationships to household objects. Sadly it’s not an exposé on the world of objectum-sexuality; just stories of everyday... things. But such precedent-setting banality is exactly what drives director Gary Hustwit, who proved he can craft narratives from seemingly dull subject matter with 2007’s Helvetica, a film about a font.

Now Objectified examines the way things like toothpicks and chairs have endured for their ease of functionality, highlighting how hard it is to achieve the kind of simplicity that everyone takes for granted. But while the film makes interesting points about our culture of convenience, few people besides graphic designers and usability consultants are likely to be engaged by its clinical fetishism.

While not exactly well-written or acted, Young Soul Rebels nonetheless represents something sadly lacking in today’s British film industry.

Ostensibly marketed as a ‘Blow Up’ style murder mystery set during the Queen’s Silver Jubilee, the poorly received 1991 film concerns a young black soul fan who gets murdered in a London park while cruising, but who accidentally records his own death on a ghettoblaster. But this is just a loose framework to hang the real tale of racism, queer politics, urban music culture and class warfare on. This (and far superior films like Mike Leigh’s Naked) bookend the last golden period in Brit filmmaking that began with Babylon in 1980.

It’s no coincidence that this period coincided with Thatcherism. One can only hope that oppositional filmmaking will flourish again under Cameron.

Following a run of gritty and occasionally overrated features, celebrated Midlands film director Shane Meadows returns to the comic short form on which he first cut his cinematic teeth. With little more than a vague story idea and a character that Meadows’ stalwart, Paddy Considine, has been “doing down the pub since college”, one weekend’s shooting-on-the-fly serendipitously comes together to produce his most endearing work yet. In a mockumentary-cumverité, true comedy unfolds as the Steadicam follows Considine’s ludicrous Le Donk - a work-shy roadie and arsehole - and his ulterior mentoring of real-life Nottingham rapper, Scor-ZayZee, culminating in them both opening an Arctic Monkeys concert at Old Trafford - all at the expense of Le Donk witnessing the birth of his first child. Brilliant.

This is a very fine documentary covering the first 10 years of the All Tomorrow’s Parties festival, and it’s hilariously littered with outspoken ATP founder Barry Hogan’s profanities. The idea was that fans and performers would send in amateur footage to director Vincent Moon who forged these fragments into a highly enjoyable whole. Essentially, there are some great moments from Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Animal Collective, My Bloody Valentine and others, but it’s things like a stand-up comedian taking vehement exception to a heckler, or Daniel Johnston giving impromptu lawn performances that are most entertaining. Footage of grimy chalet parties and backstage capers add to the charm and capture the fact that, for all its pretences to being a civilised festival, ATP gets really messy.

Reviews

December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

Long Players VARIOUS ARTISTS Ghana Special: Modern Highlife, AfroSounds & Ghanaian Blues 1968-81 Soundway After Ghana achieved independence from Britain in 1957 it gradually moved into a period of relative affluence. The clubs and night spots of the post-colonial Gold Coast reflected the changes with the spread of the feel-good Afro music Highlife, and then later Palm-wine.

This fine compilation provides a great introduction to the boom time musical climate of the country before the economic collapse of the 1980s. Much is made of the vibrancy of Highlife and that’s probably down to its rich base of sources, including colonial brass bands and Liberian rhythm sections to Ashiko and Gombe - basically musical forms practised by freed Maroon slaves from Jamaica and handed down through the generations - from Sierra Leone.

There’s certainly something of the music classroom cupboard eclecticism to some Highlife, given that it utilises a refreshing mix of bongos, violins, maracas, guitars as well as traditional orchestra instruments.

And a colourful culture was replete with colourful characters. The City Boys Band

APSE Climb Up ATP Apse’s debut album, Spirit, cracked open one of the most limited genres in music: the crescendo-building dynamic of post rock. But in the three years since, they’ve reshuffled their line-up and reinvented themselves. The resulting Climb Up showcases plenty of variety and the T-Rex-like thrust of ‘Closure’ is the closest Apse have come to conventional rock, but ultimately it’s an area they don’t excel in with quite the same conviction.

BLAKROC Blakroc V2/Co-op Oh god, the horror of the rock band vs. a gaggle of hip hop MCs album. Inadvisable, but at least the band here - The Black Keys have soul and a tight drummer, and he sounds immense throughout. We begin with by far the best track - Ludacris and Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s (Big Baby Jesus, back from the dead!) - and there are others, like RZA’s and Pharoahe Monch’s, that also work well. No samples, all live makes this neither fish not fowl, but it’s mostly meaty.

DAVID CRONENBERG’S WIFE

Hypnagogues Blang Stockport and country and western were never meant to mix. Neither was the spurious appropriation of a film director’s letterhead for a band moniker. Neither were my ears and this bloody terrible record.

It screams contrivance; the vast, turd-breathed spectre of the comedy song lurches forth along with the twanging guitar and vocals that make Shane MacGowan sound like a charming, bare-balled choirboy.

Cabaret bookings beckon, as does a quickly divorce from the stereo.

DEAD CONFEDERATE Wrecking Ball Kartel Much like Titus Andronicus, Georgia’s Dead Confederate do very serious, high on righteousness and super-male classic/epic rock.

You know the thing: shout-outs to their dads for showing them “what integrity means” on the LP sleeve, an interest in the American Civil War (de rigueur), and a bunch of songs that tremble and pound, in a good way. Deeply passionate, this is earthy and unpretentious stuff that’s somehow very outdoorsy sounding, if a little po-faced.

Reviews by Staff Pigeons, Daddy Bones, Will Daunt, John Doran, Alex Marshall, Barnaby Smith, Cian Traynor, Luke Turner, and Zainab Jama.

(represented here by the 1976 cut ‘Nya Asem Hwe’) was fronted by J A Odofo, who was known locally as The Black Chinese; something that he obviously approved of given that he was constantly dressed in an extravagant interpretation of Maoist Chinese dress.

The comp, like its beautiful sister, Nigeria Special, thankfully has a slight bias towards the dancefloor-friendly and funky. One could be forgiven for thinking that they were listening to the JBs transplanted to early 1970s Ghana upon hearing The Big Beats’ ‘Mi Nsumboo Bo Donn’. In fact, the group were signed to Polydor for a short time, the home of Soul Brother Number One, Mr James Brown, who can’t have failed to have heard his stablemates’ stuttering New Orleans style back beat Afrofunk.

One of the stand out tracks here is the blazing ‘Obi Agye Me Dofo’ by Vis A Vis from 1978. It really captures the rattlebag, progressive nature of this music featuring cheeky synth squelches, a guitar line that could be an African cousin to The Amboy Dukes’ ‘Baby Please Don’t Go’ and a Rocksteady Tommy McCook-style Trench Town groove.

DIGITAL LEATHER Warm Brother Fat Possum Shawn Foree, Mr Leather, must be a masochist. The bloke’s got looney tunes Jay Reatard as his manager - someone who ploughs exactly the same pop punk furrow, but without sounding like he records in his parents’ bedroom. The press release says he moved out years ago, so he should ditch this lofi shtick as he’s easily got the tunes and choruses (“You’ll be fine / not now / maybe later”) to soundtrack a fuckload of teen movies.

JOSEPHINE FOSTER Graphic As A Star Fire Colorado folk singer Josephine Foster has made a name for herself among those who love the Folkways institution and its curatorial attentions to precountry and western American roots music. Moving backwards in time from her obsession with Appalachia, she’s now produced a challenging but sublime set of 26 songs by setting the poetry of Emily Dickinson - the grande dame of pre-modernist American verse - to music, making her seem something like a female Tim Buckley.

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Albums

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

ETIENNE JAUMET Night Music Versatile Only one half of Zombie Zombie could replicate the sound of a lethargic duck spinning in a tumble dryer for 20 minutes and still make it sound genius. But so begins Night Music, the first solo release from French producer Etienne Jaumet. With the help of Carl Craig, Jaumet coolly dispatches five throbbing tracks that are part Detroit techno, part Kraftwerk, but all meticulously measured to induce a meditative darkness.

THE KING KHAN & BBQ SHOW

Hey Colossus Vs Dethscalator Riot Season Hey Colossus own this split with a bleak and intense 20-minute track that takes in power ambient, drone, industrial throb and the kind of metallic take on Can that Hair and Skin Trading Company used to have.

Dethscalator not only run the astounding Hokaben Festival, they have been coming on in leaps and bounds themselves, with their contribution sounding somewhere between Scratch Acid and demostage Stooges.

Invisible Girl In The Red Filthy humour, a doo-wop sensibility and garage rock production are bound to make for a novel, if not sloppy cocktail. The third album from this Germanybased Indo-Canadian duo sees Khan’s bravado relatively contained in favour of making the scatological sound soulful. But when the guffaws fade, it’s hard to disguise the flat production and uniform pace as something more than two lads mashed out of it in a Berlin bunker.

KING MIDAS SOUND Waiting For You Hyperdub Waiting For You is the debut LP from King Midas Sound, a collaboration between poet Roger Robinson and producer Kevin Martin, aka The Bug. The 13 tracks are equally dark and bleak as they are soulful, beautiful and goosebump-inducing. It might sound like an overreaction, but from the album opener ‘Cool Out’ to its closer ‘Miles & Miles’, you’re taken on a sensory journey to a land where melancholy and elation sit side by side. It’s nice, very nice.

KOTTARASHKY Opa Hey! Asphalt Tango Splicing together jazz, Balkan folk, blues and electronica, Kottarashky’s debut album showcases a musician with a formidable appetite for other people’s records. Genres are sampled and looped, then sprinkled with traditional Balkan singing. The result is surprisingly coherent, and Kottarashky manages to avoid the gap-year lounginess of similar musical chefs like Bonobo. Listen to it repeatedly, though, and that looped shepherd’s pipe could get annoying.

MEMORY TAPES Seek Magic Something In Construction This LP was always going to be a disappointment after the sheer brilliance of lead single ‘Bicycle’.

But even though there is nothing here to match those sun-dappled, early New Order v. Yazoo vibes, there’s still enough to seduce you gently, rather than to thrust you vigorously into a sex coma, not least the piano-led screengaze of ‘Green Night’, Cocteau Twins tribute ‘Swimming Field’, and the early Ride-meets-Go! Team shenanigans of ‘Plain Material’.

MV & EE Barn Nova Ecstatic Peace Album 32 from psychedelic folksters Matt Valentine and Erika Elder, and like most of the others it’s full of endless jams. Although this time Dinosaur Jr’s J Mascis solos right through them. Some people would call that progress; I ’d call it adding to the mess. They sounded fresh 31 albums ago. I mean, does Thurston Moore even like them anymore?

Probably not, and he’s their bloody label boss.

REAL ESTATE Real Estate Woodsist In a year where a boom of lo-fi garage has given us dodgy terms like ‘chill wave’, ‘no-fi’ and ‘GorillaVsBearcore’, it’s getting harder to tell one fuzzed-out stoner from the next. But the soothing, slowed-down surf music of New Jersey’s Real Estate could counteract even the most extreme case of hipster fatigue.

Who cares what sub-category of ‘Forkshit’ it belongs to? This is infectious, unassuming and soulsavingly good.

MARTIN REV Stigmata Blastfirstpetite While his Suicide compadre Alan Vega’s solo albums are all ballbreaking electronic brutalism, Martin Rev takes a more studied approach. But that doesn’t mean his new album Stigmata lacks menace - Rev has us in the palm of his hand with disquiet that’s made all the more intense by alert string arrangements that contrast with shadows of electronic drone and the occasional ghostly vocal croon. An uncomfortable listen, but bleeding good.

SHRINEBUILDER Shrinebuilder Neurot It’s a given that a lot of metal tracks fail to live up to their titular billing. Songs called shit like ‘Satanic Slasher Maniac In Diabolous’ can often sound like a Uriah Heap tribute act covering Shed Seven. Well, forget complaints to trading standards officers this time, ‘Solar Benediction’ and ‘Pyramid Of The Moon’ deliver.

As good as an album made by members of Sleep, Om, Melvins, Spirit Caravan and Neurosis should be. Fuck yeah.

TRICKY ...Meets South Rakkas Crew Domino Last year’s Knowle West Boy saw Tricky breaking away from the half-whispered brooding that has become his trademark sound, and even attempt real-life singing.

Orlando super-duo South Rakkas Crew have only made the LP better, injecting nine of the 13 tracks with off-the-wall dancehall bounce. There are bad moments ‘Far Away’ breaks into generic rave - but most tracks manage to bring the original album’s more mundane parts into glorious life.

tUnE-yArDs BiRd-BrAiNs 4AD Before we get to the music, just take a minute to admire that band name and album title - those random capital letters and pointless hyphens. Now ask yourself why she couldn’t just write it normally?

If I were an English teacher, I’d be hiding in her basement, chicken wire at the ready to do the world a favour. Still, a great debut - lofi pop, all folk-influenced tunes and homemade beats. She doesn’t need a gimmick to make you pay attention.

TURBO FRUITS Echo Kid Ark When Drew Barrymore asked Be Your Own Pet off-shoot Turbo Fruits to perform at a house party in her directorial debut, many hoped it was just a clever way of luring the band somewhere to do away with them.

Unfortunately they really are in the movie, which is presumably aimed at people too young to recognise this as the fifth-rate Fisher Price punk it is. Banal and over-produced, Echo Kid would’ve sounded derivative 30 years ago.

VARIOUS ARTISTS Freedom Rhythm And Sound Soul Jazz When revolutionary new politics and revolutionary new sounds in popular music are merged, the results can often be explosive. The acts here are as much the forebears of Black Flag and Public Enemy as they are of modern jazz groups. The radicalism of Sun Ra, Archie Shepp and Joe McPhee spills off these grooves. Sure, the scatting on ‘Lateen’ by The Unity Troupe will have you using choice scatological phrases, but otherwise this is fucking smoking.

VARIOUS ARTISTS Kitsuné Masion 8 Kitsuné Parisian label Kitsuné have a bit of a knack for putting songs on their comps that subsequently blow up proppa. This time, a lot of the tracks have already done the rounds - The Drums’ ‘Let’s Go Surfing’, Memory Tapes’ ‘Bicyle’, Delphic’s ‘This Momentary’... - and with some success. As a whole, it works out as the pretty, polite end of dance pop and we’ll plump for the excellent Slagsmålsklubben as breaking big in the new decade.

Get in there, you Slags.

VARIOUS ARTISTS Rough Trade Shops: Indiepop 09 Co-op This is tweecore: a sickly sweet reminder that there’s nothing more depressing than other people’s happiness. Laid out alongside each other, the deluge of merriness in these tracks reveals a generic consistency that, despite some moments of respite, loses all sense of sentiment halfway through. Gone are the days when this would have been a cooler-than-thou collection; instead it’s an almanac of trendy music blogs that acts as an indiepop anaesthetic.

THEE VICARS Back On The Streets Dirty Water Everyone’s a thief in garage rock, so if you’re going to pinch a sound, you may as well burgle from The Sonics, Cramps and the many Billy Childish outfits.

They even took their ‘Thee’ from Billy Boy. Thee Vicars are a bunch of teenagers from bumhole town Bury St Edmunds and they’re unhappy with their lot.

They scream, they wail, they’re tight as fuck, and this is unquestionably the best R&B boogie garage rock record of the year.

On your knees now.

WETDOG Frauhaus!

Angular Frauhaus proves that this London trio certainly have a cocked ear for a natty post punk pop song. Unfortunately, the scratchy guitar lines, minimal drums and vocals that quaver on the edge of tune tend to grate, wilfully undermining the catchiness. The post punk command was to rip it up and start again, but these sonic terriers fail to shake the genre in their slavering jaws, instead irritatingly pissing a pastiche on your shoe.

HEY COLOSSUS/DETHSCALATOR

Tue 15 Dec 7.30pm

Twisted Christmas Featuring Richard Hawley, Ed Harcourt, Josephine Foster, Amiina, Polly Scattergood, Alasdair Roberts, Sense Of Sound Choir + more Our deliciously dark evening of festive entertainment returns Fri 22 Jan 7.30pm

Move between the stage and the auditorium as you experience Shakespeare’s most political plays.

Way To Blue: The Songs of Nick Drake Featuring Danny Thompson, Vashti Bunyan, Green Gartside, Teddy Thompson, Krystle Warren, Robyn Hitchcock, Lisa Hannigan & Scott Matthews A celebration of the English singer/ songwriter Nick Drake with modern interpretations of his timeless songs

Tickets from ÂŁ15 | 0844 848 4491

www.barbican.org.uk

The Barbican is provided by the City of London Corporation

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The Stool Pigeon December 2009

Demos CHAPTER XXIV. EVERYONE’S TRYING TO MAKE SOME GREEN SINGING THE BLUES .

PROJEKT Projekt. Like the real word ‘project’, but with a ‘k’ where the ‘c’ should be. ‘Projekt’ sound a bit like The La’s, in that the singer massively rips off Lee Mavers, but the impression they do isn’t an horrendously bad one - you don’t want to burn down Liverpool, so much as just singe it a bit. It’s their plea for “guidance from music industry experts on how to get that record deal”, though, that really makes me want to put a ‘k’ where their ‘c’ should be. A kick to their AWOL cocks!

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/PROJEKTNORTH CLINKER London’s Clinker are one of those bands who almost definitely have a great record collection, yet lack any real musical worth of their own. ‘The Line’ isn’t too bad I suppose. It features a predictable monologue about winding roads and wrong turns and a nice bit of fuzz that... [FAO erudite Pigeon reader: sorry for the tedium, but I find myself in something of a quandary here. I don’t want to slag Clinker too much in case I’m attacked next time I’m browsing for Puerto Rican records in Rough Trade, but I don’t want to say anything remotely nice either in case it ends up on one of the three full-colour pages of their next press release, alongside the album art to their ‘Hairy Cornflake EP’. You see my dilemma - anyway, back to it...] sort of erupts every so often into a chorus. If by ‘erupt’ you mean ‘belches out despondently’. Shit. I’ve fucked myself there, haven’t I? WWW.MYSPACE.COM/CLINKERANDOPERADOG GUS GARCIA Gus Garcia sings like he’s in the Mafia and plays like he’s in the park bandstand’s brass quartet on a Sunday afternoon. It’s an electrifying combination that can only lead to a pan-global outbreak of mass indifference.

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/BICONAN BORDERVILLE ‘Cabaret rock band’ Borderville’s lightweight brew of wacky talk, fucking around with pianos and “a conceptual artist who builds creatures out of bones and skin” prompted The Fly to say that the quartet “could well be on a mission to save music”. Or they could well not be, of course. Who speaks like that anyway? The sort of idiots who write for The Fly, that’s who - take your two and a half dead flies and piss off. Borderville are from Oxford by the way, if you hadn’t gathered that much already.

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/BORDERVILLE THE EYES IN THE HEAT These three tracks from The Eyes In The Heat have got us

thinking: is this band better than Chew Lips?

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/THEEYESINTHEHEAT

has breastfeeding, boys - are you still embracing that as well?

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/DEERSTONECOUNTY

DANIEL J NIXON Singer songwriters from the middle of nowhere, like Daniel J Nixon, invariably fall into one of two camps. The first camp is full of socially neglected maniacs who embrace their oddness and make music your mind can’t quite handle because the logic they’re working with is so far removed from your own. That camp is great. The other camp is full of socially neglected bores who make music in an attempt to make friends and as such are probably good company for country beer gardens in the middle of summer but ultimately are just too pleasant to tolerate. Daniel J Nixon, you owe me a drink.

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/IAMDANIELJNIXON

THE SEA KINGS The decent, post-Columbus shanties of Cornwall’s The Sea Kings confuse 95 per cent of all ocean-based life forms.

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/TOTHESEAKINGS

JETFLY I can only assume that Jetfly sent his ‘Punk Folk Disco’ album promo over to Stool Pigeon HQ in order to prove that, after years of arduous research, he’s finally hit upon a foolproof formula that’ll enable him to routinely produce the worst music ever made. I suppose it could be worse - he could be that bashful prick off the T-Mobile adverts. As it is, he just sounds like his younger brother. Smoking weed. On your mum.

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/JETFLY

SHE HIT ME FIRST Pop-punk quartet She Hit Me First’s name is an anagram of ‘Fetish Hermits’ and ‘Fresh Shit Time’. As a result, I will not be buying their new album.

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/SHEHITMEFIRST

NAOMI HATE HUMANS Naomi Hate Humans is alright by me.

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/NAOMIHATESHUMANS SIMON DOHERTY Two things have always put me off Elvis Costello - the first is his right eye, the second is his left. Both are tiny. Glasgow’s Simon Doherty may be better than Elvis Costello - who knows? His songs certainly stack up favourably. Unfortunately in the photograph he sent through he’s wearing sunglasses, indoors. Sorry mate. We almost had something there, didn’t we?

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/SIMONDOHERTYMUSIC DEERSTONE COUNTY Deerstone County are four serious-looking men from the northwest corner of England who have no qualms whatsoever about revealing how dull they are. Describing the band’s sound as “produced by the staple indie/rock combination of guitars, bass, drums and vocals” and “influenced by Pearl Jam, Kings Of Leon and Oasis”, Deerstone County have “always embraced 4/4 time and having a middle eight because it’s been proven to work so many times before”. So

STANLEY Bands like Stanley always seem to fare inordinately well in the demos column. Normally you’d dismiss their death-ray blasts of polite cute as too nice, but I guess it’s easier to sound adequately nice than it is to sound like an adequate genius or drunk or futurist. It’s still a bit men-who-carry-theirchildren-strapped-to-their-chests for my liking, though.

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/STANLEYMUSIC

THE DARLINGTONS The Darlingtons describe their native southwest as “sceneless”. Whatever the hogwash of decrying that, I now can’t help but picture that whole corner of England as a colourless, formless void; a grey vacuum that renders all men blind and fumbling in search of a non-existent light switch. Oddly, The Darlingtons music seems an apt fit for that - I say oddly, it must just be that they’re vaguely post-rock and anything vaguely post-rock can be an apt fit for any dire or desperate scenario the brain can conjure. Brains are great, aren’t they? The Darlingtons are merely OK. WWW.MYSPACE.COM/THEDARLINGTONSMUSIC ROB THE RICH In amongst all the bin-bag stereo, Rob The Rich’s ‘Tiger’ definitely stands out as something well realised and better produced, but is it actually any cop? In some ways I think it’s better to be nowhere near and shit rather than there already and just so-so, you know?

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/ROBTHERICHTHEBAND KOCHKA Anyway, this issue’s pick for the fat advance: Kochka, for the sole reason that they sound a bit like Abe Vigoda.

That’s it. If that’s all you louche fucks are going to throw me, I’m going back to bed.

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/KOCHKA

REVIEWS BY KEV KHARAS

.

Send your work of genius in through one ear of The Stool Pigeon and straight out the other. Address at front. Please mark the envelope ‘Demo’.

70

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

Classifieds BACKLINE FOR HIRE

TOWERGATE STAFFORD KNIGHT CO LTD

AUDIOHIRE

55 Aldgate High Street London EC3N 1AL T. 02074817600

133-137 Kilburn Lane London W10 T. 02089604466 WWW. audiohire.co.uk

INSTRUMENTS FOR SALE

ROBANNA’S STUDIOS

HOHNER Pro Fretless Bass based upon

Robanna House Cliveland Street B’ham B19 3SN T. 01213333201 WWW. robannas-studios.co.uk

BAND DRIVER HIRE GREEN MAN van tours can take up to a fourpiece band with equipment and PA to any gig in UK or Europe. Experience with backline and man management. GREEN MAN takes care of the business GREEN MAN style. T. 07780832059 E. gingerstallone@hotmail.com

BIG TOPS

G BROWN ASSOCIATES 10 Downing Street London SE1 2AF T. 02073282078

MWM ACCOUNTANTS & ADVISORS 6 Berkeley Crescent Bristol BS8 1HA T. 01179292393 29 Ludgate Hill London EC4M 7JE T. 02079199700

FLIGHT CASES

400 Derby Road Nottingham NG7 2GQ

FIELD & LAWN MARQUEES LTD

AMPTOWN CASES

Unit A58-A60 New Covent Garden Market London

21-23 Cavendish Street Peterborough Cambs PE1 5EQ T. 01733 557212

CROSSBOW 322 Church Road Northolt Middlesex UB5 5AP T. 02088413487 WWW. splitterbus.co.uk

DAN’S LUXURY TRAVEL Royal Forest Coach House 109 Maybank Road London E18 1EJ T. 02085058833

FOXY MUSIC NIGHTLINERS LTD

INSTRUMENTS WANTED

WINTERS

BIG TOPS UK LTD

BUS HIRE

Fender Jazz, cream finish with red tortoise-shell scratchplate, mint condition £100 ono.

T. 02074854018.

COCONUT SHELLS for sale. Large sack full with enough to do a fine impression of The Cheltenham Gold Cup. £3 ono T. 01206397026

CONDOR CASES

FENDER Precision STILL Wanted. Anything considered preferably pre-1979. T. 07813066437 DRUM KIT wanted by competent amateur.

Ideally a five-piece but less or more, who cares.

T. 07966212416 CHINA PLATES wanted for boisterous North London Greek wedding in December by catering company. T. 07973512647

Wendover Road Rackheath Norwich NR13 6LH T. 01603735900

INSTRUMENT HIRE

LIGHTING HIRE ASTRAL DESIGN 40-42 Connaught Road Chatham Kent ME4 5DJ T. 01634842500

BATMINK LTD The Beckery Beckery Road Glastonbury Somerset BA6 9NX T. 01458833186

CONCERT LIGHTS (UK) LTD Undershore Works Brookside Road Crompton Way Bolton BL2 2SE T. 01204391343

LASER LIGHTING & SOUND

NORTHERN LIGHT Assembly Street Leith Edinburgh EH6 7RG T. 01315532383

SUPERMICK GROUP LTD 16 Stoneleigh Street London W11 4DU T. 02072212322

MANAGEMENT 3 KINGS MANAGEMENT are looking for bands/songwriters for U.S. representation Email management@3kingsmangement.com

ALLEN’S MUSIC CENTRE

Dales Road Ipswich Suffolk IP1 4JR T. 01473740445

45 Market Gates Shopping Centre Great Yarmouth Norfolk NR30 2AX T. 01493842887

PROTECHNIC LTD

B SHARP PIANOS LTD

CHARIOT SPA

Unit 109 Central Park Petherton Road Bristol BS14 9BZ T. 01275833779

Baptist Church Wordsworth Road London N16 8DA T. 02072757577

Fairchild Street London EC1 T. 02072475333

MARNIC PLC 37 Shooters Hill Road London SE3 7HS T. 02088588100

MASSAGE SERVICES

COOKES BAND INSTRUMENTS 34 St. Benedict Street Norwich NR2 4AQ T. 01603623563

01736798837 55 Wyverne Road Chorlton Manchester M21 T. 01614349823

GRAFFITI ARTISTS CHAFFEURS

ALL STAR LIMOUSINES

SEXY YOUNG GUY Alex T. 07876704904

110 Womersley Road Knottingley West Yorkshire WF11 0DL T. 01977607979

HARDWARE FOR SALE

MISS DAISY’S DRIVERS 12-16 Leopald St London T. 02084063758

7 Ivebury Court 325 Latimer Road London W10 T. 02089606644

ERNST & YOUNG LLP 1 More London Place London SE1 2AF T. 02079512000

GUITAR CENTRE 126 Meadfield Road Langley Slough SL3 8JF T. 01753542720

damaged orange and brown carpet. Would suit somebody building a home studio as soundproofing. £30 the lot. Collect from Aberdeen area.

T. 01224555166 EARN THOUSANDS of pounds by disposing of hazardous waste on your land. Have acres to spare? Then why not put vacant land to good use and save us having to dump it in Africa.

E. backdoordisposal@trafigura.com

1-9 Stokes Croft Bristol BS13PL T. 01179241151

INSURERS

NEW KINGS ROAD VINTAGE GUITARS 65a New Kings Road London SW6 4SG T. 02073710100

ABLEMARLE

INSURANCE BROKERS 10b Printing House Yard Hackney Road

0207 613 5919

MERCH & CLOTHING DJ TEES - T-SHIRTS THAT ROCK! T. 01653695632 for a catalogue WWW. djtees.com T-BIRDS quality band merchandise. No order too small or large. T. 015025008050 ORIGINAL VINTAGE MERCHANDISE

60-62 Clapham Road London SW90JJ T. 02075825566 WWW.musiciansunion.org.uk RIZZO THE CLOWN Balloon sculptures. Gags, custard & helium included. On twelve step progamme. T. 07966212416

MUSICIANS WANTED SLOTHFUL drummer experienced in Dixieland and Easy Listening is needed by unemployed tribute band SLACKER BILK . No time wasters.

WWW.slackerbilk.com SONNY SEEKS CHER, Rennie seeks Renata, Björn seeks Agnetha, not to sing but to share contact details of honest divorce lawyer.

E: pwentz332@hotmail.com HITMAKER needs hitman to eliminate problem.

E: scowell1@gmail.com

10 Gray’s Inn Square Gray’s Inn London WC1R 5JD T. 02074044002

DAVID WINEMAN SOLICITORS Craven House 121 Kingsway London WC2B 6NX T. 02074007800 WWW.davidwineman.co.uk

GRAY & CO 3rd Floor Habib House 9 Stevenson Square Piccadilly Manchester M1 1DB T. 01612373360

AINN. T. WORFDAT - Music Division

HUMPHREY’S & CO. SOLICITORS

Richmond House 16-20 Regent Street Cambridge CB2 1DB T. 012233577131

14 King Street Bristol BS1 4EF T. 08005422769

MUSICIANS’ INSURANCE SERVICES

UNIQUE & NATURAL TALENT

312 High Street Harlington Middlesex UB3 5BT T. 08453457529

57 Elgin Crescent London W11 2JU T. 02077921666

The Old School Crowland Road Eye Peterborough PE6 7TN T. 01733223535

BETTER SOUND LIMITED 31 Cathcart Street Kentish Town London NW5 3BJ T. 02074820177

DECIBEL AUDIO LTD

Unit 2 12-48 Northumberland Park London N17 T. 02088803243 WWW.handheldaudio.co.uk

PO Box 6519 Nottingham NG3 5LU T. 01159202645 SO BOARD Limited edition t-shirts WWW.soboard.co.uk

MISCELLANEOUS occasional cakes, made to order. Outstanding detail, all edible. recent bakes include the 5-piece drum kit cake, and Hammond M3 Ginger cake.

T. 07813066437

15-19 Upper Montague Street London W1H 2PQ T. 02077241917

B & H SOUND SERVICES LTD

SHIRTYSOMETHING

The Old Dairy 133-137 Kilburn Lane LondonW10 T. 02089643399 WWW.ticklemusichire.com

ARTISTE CONTRACTS LTD

Unit 3 Central Park Military Road Colchester Essex CO1 2AA T. 01206369966

Unit 19 Greenwich Centre Business Park Norman Road Greenwich London SE10 9QF T. 08451284185

ACHY BAKEY ART Instrument-themed

LEGAL REPRESENTATION

AUDIO PLUS

A load of original T shirts and Merch, contact WWW.petertosco.com or, WWW.cafepress.com/petcatdesigns.co.uk

TICKLE

BURLEY & COMPANY

BREBNER, ALLEN & TRAPP The Quadrangle 180 Wardour Street London W1F 8LB T. 02077342244

8 Chester Court Albany Street London NW1 T. 08000748980 WWW.marsksonspianos.com

MICKLEBURGH

FINANCE & ACCOUNTANTS

A & CO

MARKSON’S PIANOS LTD.

70s CARPET around 40 sq metres of flood

PARKERS CARS 12-16 Yusmaladee St London SE12 6NS T. 0208 406 3758

DRUMHIRE Unit 14 Triangle Business Centre Enterprise Way Salter Street London NW10 6UG T. 02089600221

ZAP GRAFFITI artworks across the UK promoting graffiti as a positive artform through tailored workshops, training programmes, public studio and supplies. Fancy a graffiti artist at your event?

WWW. zapgraffiti.co.uk

MUSICIANS BENEVOLENT FUND 16 Ogle Street London W1W 6JA T. 02076364481 WWW.mbf.org.uk MUSICIANS’ UNION

Trafalgar House Grenville Place Mill Hill London NW7 3SA T. 02089051831

Unit 12 Canalside Industrial Park Kinoulton Road Nottingham NG12 3BE T. 01159899955 Millennium Studios 4-5 Elstree Way Borehamwood Herts WD6 T. 02084063758

You need ’em, come get ’em from us in London.

Email editor@thestoolpigeon.co.uk

ABC ENTERTAINMENTS

BRM PRODUCTIONS

ELSTREE LIGHT & POWER TAURUS SELF DRIVE LTD

F R E E JIFFY BAGS

P.A. HIRE

GENERATORS 4 Rosewall Terrace St. Ives Cornwall TR26 1QJ

OF

39a Woodbridge Road East Ipswich IP4 5QN T. 01473721690

LIGHT ALLOY LTD

GAFFER TAPE

1000 S

HAND HELD AUDIO LTD

HIPPO SOUND PA HIRE T. 01373813518 MEGA WATT SOUND Tall Trees 136a Roe Lane Southport Merseyside PR9 7PJ T. 01704220639

MUSIC BANK (HIRE) LTD 1st Floor Building D Tower Bridge Building Complex 100 Clements Road London SE16 4DG T. 02072520001 WWW.musicbank.org

Classifieds

December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

DECIBEL AUDIO LTD Unit 19 Greenwich Centre Business Park Norman Road Greenwich London SE10 9QF T. 08451284185

E3 AUDIO Available for all size parties & gigs. 1K to 10K rigs available.

T. 07780832059 E. gingerstallone@hotmail.com

BANDWAGON STUDIOS Westfield Folkhouse, Westfield Lane, Mansfield Notts NG18 1TL T. 01623 422962 WWW.bandwagonstudios.co.uk E. info@bandwagonstudios.co.uk

THE JOINT LTD 1-6 Field Street London WC1X 9DG T. 02078333375 WWW.thejoint.org.uk MAD DOG REHEARSAL ROOMS Unit 57 Deeside Industrial Estate Welsh Road Deeside Clwyd CH5 2LR T. 01244281705

ORGANISATION 4 Crescent Stables 139 Upper Richmond Road London SW15 2TN

SECURITY CASTLEBANK SECURITY SOLUTIONS Unit 6 Hollins Business Centre Rowley Street Stafford ST16 2RH T. 08451112048 WWW.castlebank.info

Park Farm Buckland Down Frome Somerset BA11 2RG T. 0137381351

ROCK STEADY Broomloan House, G51 2YS Glasgow T. 01414199559

THE PA COMPANY LTD.

SWEDERS

Unit 7 The Ashway Centre Elm Crescent Kingston Upon Thames T. 02085466640

Multi-talented sweders required for production of Zoolander. All applicants considered, especially YOU, if you do “Blue Steel”.

E.Vicki38525@aol.com, girlshapedthing@hotmail.com

PANACHE AUDIO SYSTEMS Unit 5a Spectrum Business Centre Medway City Estate Strood Kent ME2 4NP T. 01634720700

PHOTOGRAPHERS

VANS/EQUIPMENT HIRE

CRIMSON GLOW PHOTOGRAPHY freelance

JENNY HARDCORE MUSIC PHOTOGRAPHY Freelance photographer available for live/press/artwork shoots. Studio or location.

Competetive rates and discount unsigned artist packages. For further info and examples of portfolio please visit : WWW.jennyhardcore.co.uk

BLACKLIGHT TOURS

REHEARSAL SPACES THE BOOM BOOM ROOMS Beehive Mill Jersey Street Manchester M4 6JG T. 01619504250 FRONTLINE STUDIOS 18 Cave Street Bristol BS2 8RU T. 01179248252

THE PREMISES STUDIOS LTD 201-205 Hackney Road London E2 8JL T. 02077297593 SCREAM STUDIOS Module A1 Enterprise Point Melbourne Street Brighton BN2 3LH T. 01273671086

REHEARSAL & RECORDING STUDIO

MATCO PIANO TRANSPORT

49-51 Leswin Road Stoke Newington N16 7NX 02079239533 info@gunfactorystudios,com www.gunfactorystudios.com

288 Kensington High Street London W14 8NZ T. 02076032016

PIANO TUNERS B SHARP PIANOS LTD. Baptist Church Wordsworth Road London N16 T. 02072757577

PRESSING & DUPLICATION MEDIADISC

Best rates for backline hire, self drive splitter vans, EU & UK tour management. Work waiting for drivers with their own vans. Midlands and London based. Can deliver. POA. T. 07875556467 WWW.blacklighttours.co.uk

CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC The Limes 78 Bute Road Wallington Surrey SM6 8AB T. 02086473948 HANS FOR VANS T. 07782340058

MATT SNOWBALL HIRE

PIANO MOVERS

GUNFACTORY

kafri rehearsal studios Arch 357 Laburnum Road. London E2 8BB 07828 254 458 www.kafristudios.co.uk http://www..kafristudios.co.uk/

kafristudios@yahoo.com

PERSONALS

T. 02087896444

HIPPO SOUND PA HIRE

music photography in Glasgow. Live gigs, promo photshoots, artwork etc. Print sales available. It’s not red it’s...

WWW.crimsonglow.co.uk E. itsnotred@gmail.com

STRONGROOM 120-124 Curtain Road London EC2A 3SQ T. 02074265100 WWW. strongroom.com.

SURVIVAL STUDIOS Acton Business Centre School Road North Acton London NW10 6TD T. 02089611977 TERMINAL STUDIOS 4-10 Lamb Walk London Bridge London SE1 3TT T. 02074033050 WWW.terminal.co.uk

ROYALTY EXPERTS MBA LICENSING SERVICES LTD 4 South Street Epsom Surrey KT18 7PF T. 01372840280 THE ROYALTY COMPLIANCE

Unit 2 3-9 Brewery Road London N7 9QJ T. 02077006555 WWW.mattsnowball.com

STARCRAFT EXECUTIVE TRAVEL Fleet Hampshire T. 01252812328 WWW.starcraft.co.uk TUITION BASS GUITAR TUITION Beginners to intermediate. £20 per hour. Based in East London.

Musician Institute graduate / pro musician.

Call Andy T. 07904227751 APPLE MAC TUITION Beginners to advanced in all things Macintosh & Adobe Creative Suite .

Good day rates. T. 07966212416

Reply, quoting ref on envelope to address at front, or by emailing editor@thestoolpigeon.co.uk with ref in subject box. Confidentiality assured.

WOMEN SEEKING MEN ILLEGAL with fake passport seeks virgin resident for mutual agreement. REF: 303 PRETTY hairy biker seeks romantic tattooist.

REF: 304 BELLA EMBERG’S ugly sister with huge trust fund and tiny dresses is looking for anything she can get her chubby little fingers on. Gold diggers welcome.

REF: 0305 MEN SEEKING WOMEN 5’8” NAPOLEON seeks his Josephine for passion, breathtaking travels around Europe and fighting. REF: 0306 FLESHY pumpkin head WLTM tight-jeaned Jamie Lee Curtis to take to the dance and light my lantern. REF: 0307 CAPTAIN AMERICA 34, seeks his archnemesis for tight spandex and wrestling contests. REF: 0308 PATRIARCH of up-and-coming religion seeks altar girl. REF: 0309

GOVAN MAN 27, medium build, brown hair, blue eyes, seeks alibi for the night of February 27 between 8pm and 11.30pm .

REF:0310 MASSIVE COCKS The Big Pink seek Nico to fulfill ‘Digital Velvet Underground’ ambitions. Strictly no time wasters.

REF:0311 Reply, quoting ref on envelope to address at front, or by emailing editor@thestoolpigeon.co.uk with ref. in subject box. Confidentiality assured.

Unit 4C 101 Farm Lane London SW6 1QJ T. 02073852299 WWW.mediadisc.co.uk

SOUND RECORDING TECHNOLOGY LTD Audio House Eddison Road St Ives Cambridgeshire PE27 3LF T. 01480461880

SOUNDS GOOD LTD. The UK’s home of CD, DVD & Cassette manufacturing, and multimedia services.

12 Chiltern Enterprise Centre Station Rd Theale Berkshire RG7 4AA T. 0118 930 1700 F. 0118 930 1709 E. sales-info@sounds-good.co.uk WWW.sounds-good.co.uk

PYROTECHNICS ARSON AROUND Match Lane Beccles Norfolk NR32 T. 01502589939

PAINS FIREWORKS LTD The Old Chalk Pit Romsey Road Whiteparish Salisbury Wiltshire SP5 2SD T. 01794884040

SHOOT FOR THE STARS South Manor Farm Bramfield Halesworth Suffolk IP19 9AQ T. 01986784481

RECORDING STUDIOS 2 KHZ STUDIOS 97a Scrubs Lane London NW10 6QU T. 02089601331WWW.2khzstudios.co.uk

SAWMILLS RESIDENTIAL RECORDING Golant Fowey Cornwall PL23 1LW T. 01726833338 WWW. sawmills.co.uk

71

The Stool Pigeon, 21a Maury Road, London, N16 7BP

72

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

Business news Could Spotify already be in a spot of bother, despite what its CEO says?

Digital Watch The Government get tough on filesharers, TalkTalk won’t shut up about it, and it’s revealed that people who illegally download also spend the most money on music.

The

AS THEY STOOD ON 09/11/2009 BURBERRY 6 Month

JEREMY ALLEN

JEREMIAH DOGERTY popular digital streaming service Spotify opened last year just about the same time Lehman’s went to the wall, a chimera that surely struck fear into the hearts of all new businesses, especially one’s entering a sector as precarious as the music industry. A year later Spotify still stands, though how equipped it is for longevity depends on who you talk to.

CEO Daniel Ek stands predictably resolute about the future, extolling the industry for its support during “recession and rampant piracy” adding, “We are set up to succeed with this kind of willingness to innovate and try new things.”

Ek is alarmingly cagey about how much cash the service is making or indeed haemorrhaging, although he did say it is making “millions of Euros per month” in advertising revenue.

He cites iTunes as the model by which everyone measures themselves, and points to the fact it missed revenue targets in the initial year by 30 per cent, causing consternation among myopic investors.

However, only 10 per cent of Spotify’s 2m users have subscribed to its £9.99/month service in order to get rid of those fucking annoying adverts, and other services, such as the 7Digital MP3 shop, have been non starters.

Dan Nash at Napster is particularly sniffy: “All these ad-supported models have burned out already; why is Spotify any different?”

The answer could be goodwill, but there is only so much to go round.

There is also only so much private equity money, and Spotify must think of ways to raise capital fast. Ek has suggested selling gig tickets, and a cash investment by 3 owner Hutchison Whampoa may be a step in the right direction. A mobile service for 3 users is in the offing, but as Orange and T-Mobile look to merge, you have to wonder if they’ve backed the right horse.

THE MARKETS

Share price UK£ 200

Carter’s Digital Britain report was published recently, and a predictable draconian cracking down on naughty filesharers comes into force in 2011. Whether the threestrikes-and-you’re-out proposal is enforceable is another matter altogether, and given the rapid acceleration of technology, chances are the legislation will be entirely outmoded and redundant in 17 months time. That didn’t deter Peter Mandelson from talking tough. Most ISPs have reluctantly agreed to play hardball, though Charles Dunstone of TalkTalk is extremely critical of the measure, complaining that the new law risks penalising innocent people, will not curb filesharing, and may well ride roughshod over the judicial process, not that that’s deterred Labour in the past.

“The approach proposed by Lord Mandelson is based on the principle of guilty until proven innocent and substitutes proper judicial process for a kangaroo court,” he said, adding defiantly, “TalkTalk will continue to resist any attempts to make it impose technical measures on its customers unless directed to do so by a court or a recognised tribunal. In the event we are instructed to impose extrajudicial technical measures we will refuse to do so and challenge the instruction in the courts.”

Dunstone was also critical of an insidious new tax of 50p-a-month added to all landlines in the UK to pay for a roll-out of broadband in rural areas, complaining that the poorest 100,000 UK residents would be forced to give up their internet connections just so a few more sixfingered, straw-eating bumpkins in Devon can masturbate over Pornhub without the picture jolting.

Lord

Those weren’t actually Dunstone’s words, but the sentiment was there.

Interestingly, a think-tank for Virgin Media has found that 83 per cent of those who fileshare illegally claim it inspires them to buy more music. Demos, who conducted the research, found those who admitted to filesharing spent on average £77 a year on music, £33 more than those who said they never P2P fileshare.

“This research demonstrates that cutting filesharing off may not be the best solution for the government if they are intent on helping the music industry,” said Demos researcher Peter Bradwell, who clearly has no incentive to promote Virgin Media’s new proposed ‘unlimited MP3 downloads for a monthly subscription’ package. “Politicians and music companies need to wake up to the changing nature of music consumption and embrace the demand for new business models that offer lower prices and easier access to music.”

180

160

140

120

100 Jun09

a lunatic would suggest things are rosy in the music industry garden once again, but there are signs of green shoots, with news that this has been a record year for singles sales. Although the integral nature of what constitutes ‘a single’ has transmogrified beyond all recognition in the last half a decade, it is heartening to know that musicians will not all be forced to sell tennis balls on the beach while only Marillion survive.

Only

Sep09

Oct09

Nov09

Aug 09

Sep09

Oct09

Nov09

Sep09

Oct09

Nov09

Share price UK£ 200 180

160

140

120 Jun09

July09

UK COAL 6 Month Share price UK£ 500 400

300

200

100

72 Jun09

July09

Aug 09

THE NUMBERS

EMI singling themselves out for success The Official Charts Company released figures with 10 weeks of trading left, including the allimportant Christmas market. This year’s £117m for tracks sold, aided by a strong release schedule and a burgeoning range of online music services in the UK, has already surpassed last year’s £115.1m, which, like a Usain Bolt world record, stood only temporarily before being broken again at the next time of asking.

Geoff Taylor, BPI Chief Executive said, “We’ve witnessed an astonishing transformation of the UK singles

Aug 09

KODAK 6 Month

High Low

Stock

Price

Change Yield

45.07 14.57

AppleC

47.03

+1.6

N/A

N/A

240

33

Amstrad

203.75

+13.75

3.1

13.96

595

509

BSkyB

491.5

-12

N/A

20.7

Chrysalis

163

+0.5

0.9

52.57

41.09 25.01 Dreamworks

$42.45

+0.32

5.4

N/A

442.38 31.41

398.00

+1.75

N/A

52.2

196.5 133

LIONEL CAKE

July09

market during the last six years, with digital downloads rapidly overtaking sales of CD singles and cassettes to dominate the singles scene. That singles have hit these heights while there are still more than a billion illegal downloads every year in the UK is testimony to the quality of releases this year and the vibrancy of the UK download market.”

Even EMI, who appeared to be going to hell in a handcart only a short time ago, has reported impressive recent turnover, if you can ignore for a moment private equity firm and EMI

controller Terra Firma’s incredible debt mountain. Former Mr Sheen pusher, Elio Leoni-Scenti, appointed from Reckitt Benckiser to head up EMI as Guy Hands retired to the country to shoot apples off his kid’s heads, boasts that record company’s earnings before interest, taxes, depreciation, and amortization is set to reach well over double what it managed in the last tax year.

“The first half of the year, we’ve seen double-digit top-line growth and we’re on course to deliver over £200m,” said the Italian, smugly.

Easyjet

P/E

281.25 225.25 EMI

245.25

+9.25

3.92

N/A

274

HMV

158

+2.25

2.5

7.75

304.1 -2.90

Google

238.98

-18.52

N/A

N/A

17.25 9

MUSICCH

9.5

-23

N/A

165

42.54 20.10

MGM

213.5

39.79

+0.21

2.6

34

18.87 12.64 Motorola

$22.48

-1.9

0.9.1

14.2

22.53 17.89

Phillips

25.35

+0.35

1.8

N/A

34.30 23.17

Reg Vardy

909.5

+5.5

1.1

15.76

47.25 17.75

Sanctuary

21

+2

n/a

-5.264

248.95 19.31

Somerfield

197.00

0.0

12.8

17.23

4,400 3,590 Sony

3,850

+30

0.6

21.9

129

Topps Tiles

201.75

+1.25

0.6

17.85

189.15 32.22 Vodaphone

118.00

+3.25

N/A

134

+0.10

NA

N/A

32

16.95 15.23 Warner Grp 20.17

Business news

December 2009 The Stool Pigeon

NATIONAL WEEKLY RADIO AUDIENCE

Morsels Public Purse

REACH All ILR 24.99m (reach percent 49%)

15

9 6

3 0

Source: Music Week

Radio 2 13.62m (27%) Radio 1 11.11m (22%) Radio 4 10.21m (20%) BBC Local 8.53m (17%) Radio 5 Live 6.39m (12%) Classic FM 5.44m (11%) Others 3.76m (7%) Radio 3 2.19m (4%) Absolute Radio 1.58m (3%)

12

Audience Reach (m)

73

Do believe the hype. Public Enemy recently whored themselves for hard cash via SellaBand, and their fans duly reciprocated with lolly. Chuck D and Co, who are obviously Murray Mint after years of, well, spending their dough, asked fans to hand over a cool $250,000 so they can record in a presumably very expensive studio. Generously, devotees coughed up $50k within a few weeks, meaning Public Enemy may well be recording come Christmas. And Flavor Flav will have some more jewellery.

Heart Attack Faltering private equity group Citibank have demonstrated once again that people with too much money and gak do the most insane things. Somebody at the moneyed colossus thought it a good idea to finance Bob Dylan’s Christmas In The Heart album, and distribute it as a thank you to the 13m customers enrolled in their banking programme.

Dylan has now recorded for Starbucks and Citibank. He has nowhere left to go now but hell itself.

Radio 2 15.9%

Stupid Grunts

SHARE

The grandson of rock’n’roll stalwart Reg Presley of The Troggs has been given a $5m five-album deal by Universal. Oh hang about, that’s the grandson of Elvis Presley, not Reg. The grandson of Reg Presley has been given a shammy leather and told to wash Ben Presley’s ass with it. A spokesman said, “[Ben Presley]’s a typical 17-year-old. He doesn’t get up till midday then grunts at you.” Money well spent then, you fucking anuses.

All Local Commercial 31.6%

Radio 1 9.9%

Wagon Deal

Others 2.5%

With a suggestion that sounds very much like shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted, former Island CEO Marc Marot is asking the recording industry to look after the mental health of its stars by adding clauses in contracts that provide support should they go batshit freakin’ crazy. “The industry has no safety net for artists, or executives, who fall off the wagon and find themselves in trouble,” he said. That’s life, me ol’ sunshine.

Radio 4 12.4%

Absolute Radio 1.1% Radio 3 1.4% Classic FM 3.7% Radio 5 Live 4.9%

BBC Local 8.2%

Stick Up

TEN MOST PRE-ORDERED ALBUMS ON AMAZON’S US SITE Title

Artist

Album

1

Susan Boyle

I Dreamed A Dream

2009

2

Norah Jones

Not Too Late

2007

3

U2

No Line On The Horizon

2009

4

Bruce Springsteen

Magic

2007

5

Dixie Chicks

Taking The Long Way

2006

6

Coldplay

Viva La Vida

2008

7

U2

How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb

2004

8

David Cook

David Cook

2008

9

Diana Krall

Quiet Nights

2009

10

Clay Aiken

A Thousand Different Ways

2006

Source: Amazon

Release date

Bluebeat.com are about to be smashed

by EMI, and even the hardiest download-pirate would probably agree they have a case. The heavily protected Beatles back catalogue, which goes on sale in the form of USB sticks for £200 a pop in December via the Beatles website, is being sold off song-by-song for 25c a pop illegally by the digital snake-oil salesmen. EMI have filed an unholy copyright infringement suit in the US, and Bluebeat.com may yet get the electric chair.

Spice Track While David Beckham attempts to single-handedly secure World Cup 2018 for England, his wife will be contemplating the prospect of warbling once more with the Spice Girls at the 2012 London Olympics, though by then Geri Halliwell may need some reinforced knicker gusset. The band’s original svengali, Simon Fuller, is getting some early PR in. “They stand for so much in British music history and I can’t think of a better time for them to get back together.”

masturbate with some nice chicken pâté and a bottle of cider. It’s you time, baby.

Yeah.

Horrorscopes Your Stars With Mental Marvin

AQUARIUS JANUARY 21 - FEBRUARY 19

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT ORDER THEY COME IN, I JUST FEEL THIS SHIT”

LIBRA SEPTEMBER 24 - OCTOBER 23 While residing in Loughborough castle, I learned the secret art of transmorgarising from a strange chap called Bent, a friend of Tweezy Teasy eccentric owner of a dubious title and hairdresser to Paris high society (where his fortune in this castle sprouted from). Now I wouldn’t have learned this great skill if I was not mixing with this kind of rabble. So break out of your usual social set and meet

some eccentrics this weekend.

You never know what you may find.

Do you remember as a child those great books about the paranormal which had seedy black and white shots of smouldering granny’s slippers next to a fireplace with the caption: ‘Mona Grantham died of spontaneous combustion, 1971, Radstock’ etc.? Well, it just struck me while drinking cider in my local that all these old folks spontaneously combusted suspiciously in front of the fireplace. I just thought I’d bring that up, because it’s been playing on my mind recently.

CAPRICORN DECEMBER 23 - JANUARY 20

GEMINI MAY 22 - JUNE 21

Now most people bang on about getting the horn come full moon, but for a few of the star signs, the half moon (or waning moon) is far more of a sensual distraction. Take advantage of this half-lit magical time of extra horn power and… and... Oh shit, no one else is feeling horny.

Bugger. Okay. The truth: this is a good period to

There’s nothing like the still of night. 3.30am. Cold, crisp, misty, autumn air. The spooky, unfamiliar sounds of night creatures. There is no state of anxiety or any of the daytime pressures of humanity. Just you and your blow-up goat. Take yourself on a magical moonlit moment.

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SCORPIO OCTOBER 24 - NOVEMBER 22 Oh yeah! You’re on fire this month. This might have something to do with Mars descending into Uranus.

have seen a paranormal entity then ask it if it wants a cup of tea, and to join you on your practical endeavour. It’ll probably do you both some good.

CANCER JUNE 22 - JULY 23

TAURUS APRIL 21 - MAY 21

It’s cool, baby. It’s cool.

It was a fantastic Halloween bash on Portland Place.

Harpsichord music filled the air and witches, rogues, rakes and bloodied whores perused the great halls. I ended up in the Jacuzzi, naturally. Luckily the paint on my green-man mask didn’t run, but surrounded by bouncing flesh and bubbles, I started to get the horn only to have Uncle Knobby sucked out of my boxers into the darn vent at the base of the Jacuzzi. To my surprise I found another chap’s knob in there already, softening the blow. All ended well, but that’s another tale.

The point I’m trying to make is, when you’re in a jam, help may come from sources you may not ordinarily tolerate – like that chap’s wanger did for me!

LEO JULY 24 - AUGUST 23 You’ve heard of our lord, the green man. Well there is also a green lion often depicted in pre-medieval illustration eating the sun whose rays bleed from his face. Green being the sacred colour of transformation, the lion is a vessel of nature’s alchemic power to transform the sun into the land. The lion is your sign’s dominant symbol. Take heed and get connected with your own alchemic force of transformation this winter.

PISCES FEBRUARY 20 - MARCH 20 Don’t get paranoia mixed up with the paranormal, my bulgy-eyed friend. Rap those flippers around something practical, engaging and anticonformist this month.

Nightmares are mostly mental manifestations of your creative spirit crying for freedom! If, on the other hand, you really

VIRGO AUGUST 24 - SEPTEMBER 23 Think of a square. I’m going to project all your star information through it telepathically, Virgo. It’s a

new system I’m devising and you’re very privileged to be my first collaborator on this stunning evolutionary breakthrough.

SAGITTARIUS NOVEMBER 23 - DECEMBER 22 ’Twas only last week I saw me a dream. A jet black crow with robes of a queen. From in its tree was it, squawking a song, ‘Sqwick, skwack, quick! The humans have not long!’ Now that came to me as I was chucking my burger box on the floor, right next to a bin, which I thought you were supposed to do.

Possibly, it was the composite of rubberised fried chicken affecting my brain, or a spiritual vision. I couldn’t tell you. But it made me pick that box up and put it in the bin.

ARIES MARCH 21 - APRIL 20 Apparently, every seven years we completely regenerate on a molecular level. That’s why we get the seven year itch. Because the person you once fancied is now someone completely different - according to science.

Which, when you think about it, is quite good: you can have the thrill of an illicit affair without the guilt trip. Science is sweet.

AN utterly transparent attempt to sell you a free newspaper, the IN publishers of THE STOOL PIGEON are offering you the chance to become a subscriber. WHY rush around your local high street when you could have each new issue delivered direct to your door?

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84

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

Sports NOT CLEAR WHETHER SCOUSERS LIKE GIRLS GIRLS THE MASQUE, LIVERPOOL /

By MIKE HAYDOCK Swanton Bombs finish their warm-up set, the promise of free CDs from frontman Dominic McGuinness triggers half the crowd into a mad dash towards the merch table, That’s about 10 people. Okay, so Bat For Lashes also happen to be playing in town this evening, but it’s still a remarkably quiet gig considering the hype and critical acclaim that have surrounded Girls in recent months. Even the man behind the merch stand is bewildered. In that light, it’s both refreshing and irritating that Liverpool refuses to submit to hype; that Liverpool insists on making up its own mind, and that Liverpool certainly doesn’t like being told what to do.

But Liverpool also knows great music when it hears it. Gradually the number of bodies and the volume of cheers grows, with young guitar-and-drums duo Swanton Bombs crashing through a brash set that’s as impressive as it is diverse.

By the time Girls arrive, there’s still plenty of room to move around, but there’s also a noticeable buzz of anticipation. Perhaps the band’s back story precedes them, but certainly Christopher Owens - who grew up in a cult - looks like he’s just escaped another world and time: with his long, shaggy hair, brown cords and billowing white shirt, he seems utterly clueless and effortlessly cool. Bassist Chet JR White, meanwhile, looks more like an everyday guy you’d find down the pub, with a receding hairline and eyes that hint at hundreds of tales. The band is completed by a mirror image of each of them Owens’ on the guitar, White’s on the drums. Girls’ performance is shy but assured.

Owens is a man of few words, unless he’s eager for whisky. His songs are built on fragile melodies and sensitive strums rather than fireworks. The frazzled Beach Boys warmth of their debut album is still evident onstage, but as the vocals ring clear, The Cure also emerge as a tangible influence. When devoid of extraneous effects, Owens’s voice is vulnerable, beautiful and impossible to ignore. He bobs and crunches, raising his left leg and screwing up his face as though suffering from stomach cramps, as though each word stings in its delivery. Perhaps it does. Honesty seeps from the singer’s pores, and you get the impression that Owens couldn’t fake it even if he tried.

As

Z J

AINAB AMA JOURNALIST

Issue Twenty WINTER,2009

LONDON

Four

TYPESETTER M.GIBBONS.

A live performance by...

MODESELEKTOR AT

FABRIC LONDON

On Thursday October 22, 2009 It all went off at the superclub, as an all-star line-up popped champagne.

A LA

MODE A Review of the Performance

Fresh from their epic 10th anniversary celebrations, Fabric opened the doors of Room 1 on a rare Thursday night to celebrate the release of Modeselektor’s Body Language Vol. 8 mix CD for Get Physical Recordings.

The UK’s Patchwork Pirates warmed up the crowd by mixing between dubstep, funky and freaks, which set the scene nicely. By the time Modeselektor stepped up to the decks, the anticipation among a sold-out over-excited crowd in their early-twenties was about to erupt.

For those unfamiliar with Modeselektor, Berlin’s Gernot Bronsert and Sebastian Szary produce a glitchy, electronic-techno strain of the ever expanding bass genre, while throwing in select hip-hop breaks and heavy-hitting 8-bit basslines for good measure.

The first thing you notice about the duo is their energy. Despite bopping up and down behind the glare of their laptops, they had the crowd captivated, even when they forgot they were there to entertain - joining in with the mosh pit style dancing instead.

But when the momentum became too much, what did they do? They reach for the Dom Pérignon, of course. Shaking it up to the sounds of an unidentified minimal electro-house track, Sebastian made his way to the front of the crowd and sprayed champagne all over the audience.

But he should have saved that moment for dropping the magnificent track ‘2000007’, a collaboration with French hip-hop outfit TTC. After a slight pause, they went into recent release ‘Art & Cash’ before quickly cutting to ‘Hyper Hyper’, a remake of the former hit by cheesy German Eurotrance group Scooter. After coming back for a final encore with the electrohip-hop track ‘The Dark Side of the Sun’, featuring Berlin rap group Puppetmastaz, they left the stage to overwhelming applause.

As the lights dimmed once more, all attention shifted from the stage to the DJ booth, where the unmistakable synths from the prime minster of purple, Joker, began to bubble. Never have his synthelicious, psychedelic G-Funk infused dubstep sounded better than with his most recognised track, ‘Do It’. With a set full of brand-new dubs, remixes and ‘classic’ material, the crowd upped their energy levels to go berserk for his remix of Simian Mobile Disco’s ‘Cruel Intentions’. This prompted not one, but two reloads. Joker certainly knows how to please a crowd and with Modeselektor’s destroying the dancefloor earlier in the night, Fabric have scored yet another success.

TIGA RAISES THE STAKES IN TURBO CHARGED SHOWCASE OF DANCE MUSIC’S LEADING LIGHTS

HITHER

AND

SLITHER

Cobra Killer / The Lexington, London

WORDS

P H I L H E B B L E T H WA I T E PHOTOGRAPH

MICKEY

G

THE WAREHOUSE PROJECT / MANCHESTER HAZEL SHEFFIELD t h e railway arches of Manchester Piccadilly Station, trouble’s a-rumblin’. Ed Banger and Turbo protégés have taken the trip across the seas, armed with a decade’s worth of prowess in electro house circles, for the club night that sounds like an inner-city regeneration project and heralds brain degeneration of the highest order. This is Chibuku Shake Shake, so-called after a pasty South African homebrew of porridge and yeast.

The Warehouse Project started in 2006 as a seasonal affair and quickly got props for being the best of its kind on British soil. It runs annually from October to December, the remainder of the year being reserved for the almighty comedown that will result if ingested as instructed. Or, as the official line would have it, to keep it fresh. Fickle creatures, those of the rave republic.

WHP officers seem to know their trade, because proceedings are pretty sharp tonight. A residency in the vaults of the train station, an old airraid shelter as history attests, has been well established since 2007. It has been transformed into an aweinspiring club space complete with huge screens, a cinema showing Star Wars, different ‘rooms’ cordoned off with heavy black curtains, a thousand portaloos, and yes, the biggest speakers known to man.

The Whip start proceedings with a tepid ‘homecoming’ performance. Well their mashed up indie electro might come from Salford, but why it must snatch air from an evening of French/Canadian finery is a question that goes unanswered. The only song anyone knows is the brilliantly selfdescriptive ‘Trash’, which is so ubiquitous that it soundtracks Dermot O’Leary’s pearls of wisdom on X Factor the next night. Where it belongs.

Back to the feature presentation. DJ Mehdi announces himself with ‘Feelin’ Good’ before getting straight down to the dirty with a little Crookers, a little Boys Noize, and a lot of bass. Medhi’s one of the big boys, an old friend of King Pedro Winter of Ed Banger Records (aka Busy P), and there’s no messing with the old guard.

Brodinski’s just a tiddler in comparison, prone to wandering into interminable techno interludes. But for tonight he’s squaring up to the talent with a smatter of breaks and plenty of squelch.

Busy P takes a harder line, his

Beneath

was an odd m o m e n t during this show by Berlin electro punk sirens Cobra Killer when they walked off having played just a few songs. A lackey then positioned two chairs centre-stage, only to quickly remove them as Annika Line Trost and ‘Wildest’ Gina V. D’Orio returned to continue their performance.

A change of plan? A joke? Hard to tell, but they’ve always had a black sense of humour, and they cherish being misunderstood and probably just a bit cleverer than the rest of us.

Perennial under-achievers and professionally amateurish, Cobra Killer have been making coarse, sample-based music for over a decade now, winning themselves a cult following so ultimate it includes Peaches, Thurston Moore

There

and Jon Spencer. The latter two feature on their new album, Uppers And Downers, alongside J Mascis and Murph from Dinosaur Jr and it ought to (at last) break them to a bigger audience, if indeed someone outside of Germany would also release it.

They played most songs from the album tonight in a show that was more calculated than usual, but still involved them tipping bottles of red wine over their heads. Gone, though, is the simple backing CD and, in its place, machinery, some of which was placed on top of two monster amps at the rear of the stage. They turned to those machines often, backs to the audience, and pounded away at them like two depraved church organists in a Hammer horror film. Darkness, but for a strobe, and their legs were cut and battered.

synths mixed over tough beats that don’t pander to the rabble. And by the time Tiga takes to the decks, there are hundreds out there, stretching into the catacomb, all fucked up and illuminated by strobes. The Montrealnative stands shoulder to shoulder with your Ed Banger supremos, lording over his own label-empire, Turbo Recordings. He takes his time warming up, dropping ‘Mind Dimension’ some four tracks into a mess of sleazy beats and darker techno. The crowd are clawing at the bass by now, but Tiga’s not quick to

provide relief, stretching out remixes and pushing stakes higher with every break.

The Ed Banger lot hang back with him on stage. Brodinski’s head-inhands after his show-stealing set and Busy P offers a massage by way of congratulations - all very chummy.

Just a shame that there are points when Tiga looks more interested in the party going on behind him than the kids out front. But is that the time?

Best be getting to bed. There’ll be more WHP to be had next week, if you can handle it.

Iceland Airwaves / Reykjavík Words by Huw Nesbitt Photo by Rasha Kahil

After The Thaw

Reykjavík’s Airwaves festival a hot ticket again after nearly being put on ice last year

I

t’s Saturday morning during Iceland Airwaves and a congregation of protesters are gathering outside Reykjavík’s town hall to voice concerns about the direction of the country’s economy. All in, there must be about twodozen people, and the mood is weirdly restrained weird because not even six months ago mobs of 10 times this size were seen in exactly the same spot, clashing with police and plotting to storm the building that those here now are peacefully chanting at.

And fair dues - it must be hard to sustain the anger

that the protestors were once notorious for.

Iceland’s financial crash of October 2008 was the worst of its kind in economic history, and it almost put Airwaves under this time last year. Things still aren’t great either, but as one musician called Eliza Newman explains: “You can’t want to kill people that have hurt you, forever.

It’s just exhausting.”

Folks in Reykjavík might be a bit tired of grumbling, but the organisers and festival-goers showed no sign of fatigue. The 2009 bill had exactly the same number of national and international acts as it ever

had, and the bars in the multitude of venues that host the festival were wellstocked with boozed-up punters, such is the Icelandic appetite.

Music-wise, the bands didn’t disappoint either, and top of the list of foreigners were The Drums from New York. Many a hack hath gobbed off about how this lot are like a surf-goth Factory Records signing.

They ain’t. On Friday night, only one of their numbers (‘Let’s Go Surfing’) sounded like the Beach Boys-via-New Order.

The rest was powerfully enchanting 1950s renaissance, and had every

Icelandic teenager singing along like groupies in an Elvis flick.

Not much could touch the Icelandic bands out on these cold shores, however, and Saturday night was overwhelming.

Kicking off proceedings was a post-rock instrumental group called For A Minor Reflection.

Arriving on stage amid crimson light, every one of their 25-minute set was so drenched in glittering delay that you could hear it the following morning.

Meanwhile, down the road, were Retro Stefson playing in a 1970s-styled auditorium, and sounding like an awesome

Eagles, Simple Minds and Vampire Weekend supergroup.

Indeed, by the way their fans scrapped to get to the front, it wouldn’t be surprising if their followers pray to posters of the lead singer before bedtime.

The easy win came from electro pop-tarts FM Belfast, though, who closed the festival with a swagger, a smile and a wry cover of ‘Killing in the Name Of’ by Rage Against the Machine, which pretty much summed up the vibe of Airwaves and Reykjavík, too.

Recession?

Can you drink that or strum it?

Q&A with sparkling instrumental post-rocking teens, For A Minor Reflection What do you think the essential difference is between an Icelander and a Brit?

Guòfinnur Sveinsson (guitar): Bad jokes and stuff. Sometimes when I go to say “bottle” I say “bokkle”. And when I try to say “hotel” I say “hottle”. And “reg-easter” for “register”.

Kjartan Dagur Holm (guitar): How do you think Icelandic sounds?

Like medieval English.

G: We are going to interview you now, and question you about Iceland and Icelandic girls.

Better ask me tomorrow. So you guys are from Reykjavík. What’s it like?

G: Si Señor!

K: This is the capital of Iceland and it makes up a third of the total population, which is only 300,000. It’s a nice place. We have beautiful buildings, in some parts. Then elsewhere it’s really ugly.

G: Reykjavík is the biggest smallest city in the world. We have everything, even McDonald’s [not any longer - the three branches closed in late October].

A lot of the town is relatively new, isn’t it?

G: The oldest houses date from 1700. Then, most of it - like the hotel we are in - was built when the British army came to Iceland in 1940. If you went back 30 years and walked 30 minutes out of town you would be in the countryside.

What’s it been like in the last working?

G: Yeah, I’m a full-time sales Boss.

K: We’re still quite young, so us too much. It’s just more alcohol and cigarettes.

year? Are you guys

So it’s difficult to get pissed, but what about the important things?

K: Touring and recording is more expensive and harder to fund, but it’s not really stopping us.

G: Everything was too good in Iceland one-and-ahalf years ago. So even though we went down 50 per cent, we’re not in such a bad place. We were the richest country a year ago, so we aren’t screwed yet.

You just flew to LA to do the album, right?

K: Yeah. We worked with a producer called Scott Hackwith who was in a band called Dig. He produced the Ramones, too. Originally we went to mix the album, but because he had a huge collection of instruments, loads of ideas just came to us. So, instead of mixing, we recorded lots of over-dubs and new instruments and we’re finishing the album now.

G: He also had lots of skateboards and beer.

How did you fund that?

K: It came out of our own pockets... and a beautiful, beautiful loan we took from the bank.

G: And not just from any bank but the biggest, most bankrupt bank in the world - KB Bank. We have a company in the band’s name, so maybe that helped us. I don’t know, I’m not good with money.

What is the music scene in Iceland like nowadays?

K: Ninety-five per cent of the music is from Reykjavík, and everyone here is in five or six bands. Iceland is known for its weird alternative music, but the thing is, the biggest scene here is death metal and hardcore punk.

assistant at Hugo it doesn’t affect expensive to buy

And what about your band - how did you get together?

K: We met at a strip-poker party I had at my house about four years ago. We had mutual friends and

ended up forming a band. But we didn’t have mics or anything, so that’s why we’re instrumental.

Since then we’ve toured with Sigur Rós, and we’ve been around Europe, the United States and Canada.

Hopefully our album will make a difference and we can tour our asses off next year.

Where do you think it is most important to make it outside of Iceland if you want to be headlining Reykjavík?

G: Thailand.

K: I think it’s pretty obvious - the States or the UK. Germany is good also, but it’s not as powerful.

G: It’s common that Icelandic bands don’t get noticed until you play outside of Iceland. You can’t get big here unless you tour, or you’re a pop band.

It must be getting quite difficult to tour abroad though, now that there’s a lack of cash.

G: I don’t think it’s a huge obstacle. I think the crisis is something that should be used to motivate. If you like music, then you’ll work for it. Everyone can do it if they really want to.

Just buy one beer instead of six.

That’s some pretty cold hard capitalist talk, and if you look around the town, there are a lot of American influences, too. How much of a shadow do you think American culture casts on Reykjavík?

K: Not that much... maybe.

Gis von Ice (manager): I don’t think you guys see it. When I moved from Sweden in 1983, that’s exactly what I thought. Because you guys have lived here your entire lives, I don’t think you can recognise it.

K: You’re probably right. Maybe we don’t see it.

G: Like I said, we have McDonald’s, and we’re a small town.

Sports news

The Dead Weather kick up a storm to haunt zombified audience THE DEAD WEATHER / ST. LEONARD’S CHURCH, LONDON Words THOMAS A. WARD Photo RICHIE HOPSON

Dead Weather trace our slow descent into madness on this dreary evening, All Hallows’ Eve. And they are not so much gently tapping, but sending shockwaves through the fragile structure of St. Leonard’s Church in Shoreditch as they burst into a cover of Pentagram’s ‘Forever My Queen’. Strobe lights shoot spectre-like silhouettes against the crucifix that hangs behind them – if the band were trying to goad some omnipotent being into showing themselves to such an abrasive display of rock’n’roll histrionics, their call was answered in the eerie reverberations that shook through the floor.

And if Ozzy Osbourne made 1,000 pigs defecate in a church in the making of his 1988 video for ‘Miracle Man’, Jack White and company were surely close on a human-scale tonight.

Flowing seamlessly from one riffinfatuated attack to the next, ‘Hang You From The Heavens’ sees Alison lunge, lurch and wail with her hands down the front of her jeans like a curious child, as the spectacle of the show begins to replace the discordant sound that fills the holy walls.

“How are all my trick-or-treaters doing?” asks White as he steps to the front of the stage to cover Them’s ‘You Just Can’t Win’. Their response is one of open-mouthed amazement and zombie-like applause as the band continues to rattle through ‘So Far From Your Weapon’, ‘I Cut Like A

The

The Stool Pigeon December 2009

VILLAGE IDIOT GRASSCUT REDEEMED

BY GODLY DAEDELUS DODGY CROWD BUT Photo: Sam Collins

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DAEDELUS VS. HARMONIC 313 / VILLAGE UNDERGROUND, XXXXXX

TINARIWEN DELIVER It WITH A REBEL YELL Tinariwen / Concorde 2, Brighton

By BEN GRAHAM

T

he usual row of security lined up in front of the Concorde’s stage is absent tonight. It occurs to me that (a) a Tinariwen audience is so predominantly Buffalo’ and ‘Treat Me Like Your Mother’ to close. Two new songs are displayed: ‘I Can’t Hear You’ in which White – who shoves a bumbling Alison out of the way to steal the spotlight from the start – and Dean Fertita exchange lead guitar parts like a well orchestrated 4x100 team.

For The Dead Weather this was nothing more than an exhibition in how to market a concept, where, often as not, the music played second fiddle to the image, but for those of us that were there, it was probably one of the most haunting experiences that we could encounter on such a night. An experience we would nevermore like to encounter or endure.

middle-aged, middle-class and mildmannered that stage invasions and outbreaks of crowd-surfing are unlikely, to say the least, and (b) a band of eight tough-ass Tuareg desert nomads, half of whom were given military training under Colonel Gadaffi and fought against the Malian government in the 1991 uprisings, hardly need the protection of a handful of burly Sussex yeomen.

It’s an odd dichotomy that such a hardcore band should draw such a polite audience, and although old hippies and cultured types still make up most of the crowd tonight, it’s good to see a posse of lairy lads, lager and spliffs in hand, getting off to Tinariwen’s desert blues, too. Meanwhile, when founder member Ibrahim Ag Alhabib walks on-stage midway through the first of the band’s two sets, a gang of late middle-aged ladies next to me go weak at the knees, squealing out his name like giddy schoolgirls.

Sex, glamour, rebel chic: Tinariwen have got it all. The founding members may be getting on a bit now, but a recent infusion of young blood has put a fresh, strut in their stride. With traditional headscarves obscuring his features, guitarist Abdallah Ag Lamida is an African Keith Richards, chopping out licks with some mean poses while bassist Eyadou Ag Lecke leaps around like he’s trying out for The Clash. The music, of course, is as unique as ever: chanted, haunting melodies, clear, sharp riffs, complex rhythms and blistering solos that evoke the 13th Floor Elevators as much as Ali Farka Touré, The Velvet Underground as much as Arabic trance or Algerian Rai. There’s so much more to them, but among other things Tinariwen are one of the greatest psychedelic rock bands in the world.

Words

NICK JOHNSTONE

seemed the obvious choice - hip underground music meets hip underground venue. Emerging on the brickwork of Village Underground, the stoney-faced spectators certainly matched their surroundings. And make no mistake, promoters Sound Crash had picked formidable headliners in Daedelus and Harmonic 313.

Yet tonight they'd sacrifice sound for style points. Even early on, when beatsmith Lone humbly span low-key hip hop, winces spread across the

venue. A Tribe Called Quest was reduced to bassy mush, with Lone's set all but swallowed by the huge cavity above.

High ceilings weren't the only issue.

Approaching midnight, Ninja Tune's Grasscut worsened the mood by accelerating from crude dubstep to pumping techno, separating grimacing nerds from the undiscerning bassheadz whooping by the speakers.

"That really pissed me off," confided Mark Pritchard, aka Harmonic 313, much later on. His job was to play after Grasscut's ear-bashing.

Kudos to Pritchard, then, for having the expertise to turn things around.

For two decades, he's migrated from one sub-genre to the next, achieving greatness before moving on impatiently; tonight, his sci-fi hip hop guise seemed blessed by the wisdom of years. Somehow rescuing the sound quality, Pritchard tore into his own grimy number 'Battlestar' with bucket-of-cold-water effectiveness.

Now the tone was whimsical enough for Daedelus's entrance. Against his tail coat, tie, and Victorian sideboards, the 80-odd flashing orange buttons on this nutty scientist's sampler looked incongruous. But, triggering loops and samples like an expressive conductor, Daedelus played more naturally and intuitively than any DJ. He took in the crowd completely, splicing his own beats and pummelling basslines with everything from Mr Oizo to Anita Baker, all passing ephemerally like a time-lapse playback of parties past. It was a stirring end to an event that nearly wasted the music's brilliance.

The Broken Family Band, IT’S ALL OV ER A recollection of the events of their last ever London performance.

SO. arewell then The Broken Family Band, the most uncool of all bands, who never left their jobs and never tried to be cool, and ended up becoming one of the decade’s genuine success stories. Of course, if they had tried harder and had done it fulltime, it wouldn’t have worked, because they were a band for people who do have proper jobs and aren’t cool, and everyone needs heroes.

This Garage show was their last London show, not their last ever gig, which they performed on October 31 in Cambridge where they started out. They began with a song they might have finished with, ‘It’s All Over’ from their 2006 Balls album, a transitional record that saw them discard their earlier, almost conceptual, country sound and let the Pavement influence shine through. Later, lead guitarist Jay Williams said, “How many of you think we should have stayed with country and not gone rock?” to much uproar from the crowd. In response, he calmly flipped everyone off.

To appease the hardcore, they did play tracks from their early records.

However, this was a band that never let quality slip across any of their five longplayers and two minis and that’s a credit to the massive songwriting talent of the band’s frontman, Steve Adams.

For many, their gigs turning into something of The Steve Adams Show in recent years was trying; for others, his banter between songs was the reason for going to see them in the first place. Tonight, they were drunk and perfectly onpoint, and looking out across deep swathes of people, heads tilted upward, eyes closed, singing every lyric, wasn’t just emotional, it was immensely powerful.

by Phil Hebblethwaite The Garage, London, Wednesday October 21, and, nope, not touring any longer. Hell no.

Sports

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SPLIT VOTE BUT SOUL MAN MAYER HAWTHORNE NONETHELESS MANAGES TO TAKE LONDON MAYER HAWTHORNE / QUEEN OF HOXTON, LONDON Words PHIL HEBBLETHWAITE Photograph JODI BURIAN

Hawthorne’s recent debut album may have been something of a beautiful accident, but it clicked with people and there was nothing fortuitous about the anticipation for his first London show proper; proper, because although he’s played in the city before, he had his full band The County with him this time and almost no one had heard of him when he was last here. Bumped up to two nights at the Queen of Hoxton in east London, both sold out, there was a palpable sense of expectancy as we awaited his

Mayer

Gonzales perfect as cheap man’s Manilow GONZALES / THE PIGALLE CLUB, LONDON Words

ALEX MARSHALL

those of you who don’t know me, I’m what the French call a génie musicale,” says Gonzales, the former electro-rapper now super-producer, starting tonight’s show. Ninety minutes later at 1.30 in the morning, he’s standing on top of a piano in a dressing gown and slippers, rapping, while banging out a tune with his feet.

Below, a poor girl is struggling to play the bassline she’s just been taught while not laughing or being covered in Gonzo’s copious sweat.

It is a bizarre and hilarious sight, and it doesn’t even begin to explain what the rest of the show was like.

Between those moments, Gonzales has played some exhilarating solo piano, given a musicology lesson (“Major keys they’re just all false optimism”), worked the audience, smashed a guitar, and got Jarvis Cocker to pop up for a few songs.

There didn’t seem to be any reason for the concert - the first in a series of late-night ‘piano talk’ shows held at the plush Pigalle Club off Piccadilly Circus. Halfway through, he said he was simply here to make sure he doesn’t drop off the UK’s radar now he’s living in France (“I’m worried I’m fading into the crust of that quiche”).

Whatever the real motivation, he makes for the most entertaining spectacle, like watching a budget Barry Manilow or Neil Sedaka with a sense of humour, or Billy Joel with talent. It’s pure crowdpleasing stuff - cheap emotion and cheaper comedy mixed with musical virtuosity - but it’s performed with utter sincerity, and it deserves to be done on a much bigger scale.

“For

arrival, and also in the days leading up to the gig.

Hawthorne writes and sings golden, Motown-like soul. He claims to have discovered his gift by mistake and, in fact, he was originally a hip hop nerd who moved from his native Detroit to Los Angeles with his group, Now On. There was even a moment at this gig when he said, “RIP my brother J Dilla,” which always sounds weird coming from a white dude.

Sod hip hop, we went for a fill of creamy butter soul and, really, to see if his live show could match the dusty brilliance of A Strange Arrangement. He began with single ‘Maybe So, Maybe No’ and it was a bit... flat. The band hadn’t soundchecked properly and Mayer

was nervous, but it was more that the swing and deftness of the song just weren’t there. At all. Did the crowd care? No. You had here, all night, a rare-as-hen’s-teeth example of a London audience going ballistic right off the bat.

Tougher songs like ‘The Ills’ came across far better but he ballsed up his big falsetto tune (his debut single), ‘Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out’, by pissing around and trying it in (pre-planned) different styles, perhaps to disguise the fact that he just isn’t as good a singer as he sounds recorded. For some of us, the cold truth was as big a tragedy as a good Etta James song, even though the man who kept saying “He took London!” as we left was absolutely right.

ARMY OF WATCHFUL SWISS FANS HAPPY TO ROLL WITH FLORENCE DESPITE HER MACHINE-LIKE PERFORMANCE FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE / MASCOTTE, ZÜRICH Words

BARNABY SMITH

native Züricher says: “For Swiss people, someone as colourful as this from London is a bit special.” And so it was that what counts as Zürich’s alternative crowd packed Mascotte to the rafters, even though alternative Zurich is about as risqué as a Marks & Spencer winter collection. This was all very civilised, and Florence And The Machine matched that with a performance of

A

stagnant professionalism. Indeed, Switzerland being the home of procedure and routine, Miss Welch found a vocal crowd (but restrained, of course) all too eager to fawn over her in their droves.

Welch must be given credit for achieving that which many would kill for: she splits opinion more than any new act this year. To some she is a gifted, flamboyant heir to Kate Bush’s throne - an attractive, enigmatic, female answer to Patrick Wolf. To others, she exudes

fatuousness - a character who is incapable of putting together a coherent sentence and is reliant on an industry catapulting her to fame off the back of a gross victory of style over substance. Tonight, she was the glorious centre of attention for a crowd who might not know any better.

Her show does look good, as Welch throws her skinny frame about the stage, peppering her performance with shrieks, whoops and screams in an attempt to add charisma to disappointingly album-perfect

TUBE SNaKE BOOGIE ZZ TOP HIT ALL THE HIGH SPOTS

ZZ Top, Wembley Arena, London, Wednesday, October 28.

For people of a certain age, ZZ Top begins with the video for their eighties smash hit ‘Gimme All Your Lovin’’. It’s the one set in the gas station with their hot rod, The Eliminator, the pointy finger move, and the chick who has cash stuffed into her stocking top.

Oh yes indeed.

At my school, the video split people in two: those who thought it was the most stupid thing they’d ever seen and hated it (girls, Joy Division fans, etc.), and those who thought it was the most stupid thing they’d ever seen and adored it (the kind of kid who also loved all the rubbish Kiss singles of the time).

We were naïve then, but nonetheless that video was something of a portal leading directly to AC/DC, better Kiss records and, in particular, ZZ Top’s 1973 third album and first million-seller, Tres Hombres.

That’s an album that needs to be owned on vinyl - not just because it sounds incredible, but mostly because it has the best inner-gatefold-sleeve image in rock’n’roll history: two giant, messy plates of Mexican food and an over-flowing glass of beer. Simple, meaty, tasty, cheesy, and probably not very good for you, what is portrayed in that photo is a decent enough metaphor for the band itself. And naturally the power of the image bombs as part of a CD booklet.

Billy Gibbons (guitar/vocals), Dusty Hill (bass/vocals) and Frank Beard (drums) - the unwavering original and only ZZ Top line-up - played

the couplet of songs that open Tres Hombres, ‘Waitin’ For The Bus’ and ‘Jesus Just Left Chicago’, right up front in this 1.5 hour Wembley Arena set. It felt like a nod to the hardcore who love seventies-era ZZ Top and have only just forgiven them for re-mastering those early records in 1987 to give them a digital edge. Have mercy indeed.

Of course, most tickets for tonight were bought by people wanting to hear tracks from Eliminator and there was genuine power in the build-up to them.

Throughout older classics like ‘La Grange’ and ‘Cheap Sunglasses’, they were locked down, rock solid and tight as hell. Gibbons remains a master of hard blues guitar and you’ve got to really despise ZZ Top not to be charmed by the band’s two front guys slipping into their age-old synchronised movements.

‘Gimme All Your Lovin’’ and ‘Legs’, hilariously complete with the videos beamed up behind Frank, made Wembley explode. Comic nostalgia or not, time has served those songs well. And those who think they sold out back then ought to remember that Gibbons and Hill never took the $1m from Gillette to shave their beards. Even better, it later transpired that Gibbons had travelled to the show on the tube.

Bring on the Rick Rubin-produced new album.

On the strength of this performance, it’s guaranteed to be a belter. Phil Hebblethwaite

renditions of ‘Blinding’ and ‘Kiss With A Fist’... to loud (but again, restrained) cheers. She and her band seem scared to wander away from the script.

Improvisation or spontaneity are rarely hinted at, and even her banter feels staged, like it’s organised, deliberate and rehearsed kookiness. Only on ‘Cosmic Girl’ does she appear to throw herself into her performance, but she remains noticeably self-possessed. Her absent skills may emerge with time. She is 23, after all.

The ostentatiousness extends to her band - tight, but dulled by the blandness of their leader. The harp, for example, seems thrown into the mix for merely decorative reasons, and only at two points can poor (and talented) Tom Monger be heard above the din of what is essentially an indie band. However, for all the limpness, Welch can truly sing, and the fact she so easily replicates her recorded self here is testament to that. ‘Functional’ describes this show, at best.

Florence encores with her infamous cover of Candi Staton’s ‘You Got The Love’ - the first time her band look as though they’re enjoying themselves - and it’s a good performance all round. Even that Swiss reserve is put aside as the crowd respond to Welch’s demands that they jump up and down. One man’s junk truly is another man’s treasure.

Sports news

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Ibrahim Ag Alhabib's Tuareg rebels (9) Captures Tracyanne Campbell's Maudlin Career (6, 7) Nick, folk singer produced by Joe Boyd (5) Jackie Leven wrote one to Johnny Cash (5) _____ + English, Dizzee Rascal album (5) Heartbreak (Elvis) or Yorba (White Stripes) (5) Made a Blueberry Pie this year (4, 2, 3, 4) 1969 festival and Joni Mitchell song (9)

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Had a very Modern Guilt in 2008 (4) May, Irish rockabilly singer (6) Parable of ______ Land (The Red Krayola) (6) The shade of Scott Walker's Montague Terrace (2, 4) 18 had a great one! (6) Terrifying Ian Brown single (1, 1, 1, 1) Ryan, formerly of Whiskeytown (5) _____ of Violence, spiralling Gruff Rhys song (5) Uncle, Jeff Tweedy's pre-Wilco band (6) Dennis was the only Beach Boy who did this (6) ___, ___ Heat, made up the breakdown in 2003 (3, 3) Ghost ______, fifth Songs: Ohia album (6) Albarn, Coxon, James and Rowntree (4) McConnell, Babyshambles, recently working with Lee Mavers (4)

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Crossword No.XII compiled by Ed Mugford 21

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