Under City Lights Spring 2018

“IT’S INTERESTING AS AN ALL-GIRL BAND TO SHOW AN ALMOST NEUTRAL-GENDERED PERFORMANCE”

Rare FM magazine www.undercitylights.co.uk

spring 2018

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FILLER

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Editors-in-Chief

Hughie-Rogers Coltman

EJ Oakley

Jamie Walker

design

Nikol Chen

contributors Joe Bell

Silas Edwards

Jake Crossland

George Horner

Alice Devoy

Alex Hemsley

Olivia Lunn

James Witherspoon

Tom Edwards

Adam Zamecnik

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JAMIE WALKER

Editor’s Message Ah! The second edition. The zine equivalent to the difficult second album. Not so for Under City Lights! If EJ, Hughie and I wore blazers in and around university, those blazers would have three words, sown in crimson red silk thread, just above the breast pocket: Persistence. Patience. Preservation (in Latin, of course). Complemented by a stack of these magazines clutched under arm, you’ll most likely find us at all of the popular hydration stations around campus (water refill points; coffee shops; etc.) sneakily dropping a couple copies off for the rehydrated public to peruse over. Pick one up, have a read. I hope you enjoy the edition.

EJ OAKLEY

Amidst looming deadlines for both articles and university degree assignments, the second issue of Under City Lights has been born.

Our lovely little winter child was compiled and came to life just as the Beast from the East and Storm Emma met in London and made sweet, icy love in the capital, and it sure does make a good read to curl up to and enjoy with a cup of hot coffee or tea. Our writers have braved storms both physical and metaphorical to bring this issue to you – from my trek to the Alvvays gig at the Roundhouse in gale force winds, to Jake Crossland weathering his own personal storms and finding it within him to defend yet another reviled character in music, to James Witherspoon’s fateful battle with his faulty laptop to bring you an interview with one of London’s most exciting bands. Once again, we bring you our love of music with hands open, and we hope you enjoy this term’s issue.

hughie rogers-coltman

Stay classy and stay lucky, EJ Oakley

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This edition of Under City Lights is fitter, happier and more productive. We’ve slimmed down the size and streamlined the writing to give you the best (only) music magazine that UCL has to offer. The usual mavericks have shared their thoughts in the columns, be it Jamie’s rigorously academic dissection of album art, or Tom’s insightful discussion of the future of Soundcloud. There’s a whole load of reviews, including a much-anticipated contribution from our foreign correspondent Jake Crossland. We’re also lucky to have Goat Girl for our cover feature; the South London band have been hyped by the Guardian and Vice, so I’m sure that they’ll be thrilled to be finally making it into the hallowed pages of Under City Lights. We’re really proud of this edition, and I hope you enjoy it.

contents personal columns The Musical Hiatus: Yay or Nay?

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An Honest Guide to Festival Season

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The Aesthetics of Album Art

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In Defence of Lily Allen

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How’s mainstream radio doing - time for a change?

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Soundcloud and Attitudes Towards Music Today

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Interviews Goat Girl

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Husky Loops

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Martin Luke Brown

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Album Reviews MGMT - Little Dark Age

Preoccupations - New Material

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Beach House - Lemon Glow (single)

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Rich Brian - Amen

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Hookworms - Microshift

Car Seat Headrest - Twin Fantasy Charli XCX - Pop 2

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Courtney Barnett and Kurt Vile - Lotta Sea Lice

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gig Reviews Husky Loops @ The Lexington

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Alvvays @ The Roundhouse

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Elder Island @ The Jazz Cafe

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HMLTD @ The Windmill

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PERSONAL COLUM UMNS PERSONAL C COLUMNS PERSONA AL COLUMNS PERSO SONAL COLUMNS P PERSONAL COLUM UMNS PERSONAL C COLUMNS PERSONA 6

MNS PERSONAL CO COLUMNS PERSON AL COLUMNS PERSO ONAL COLUMNS PE PERSONAL COLUMN MNS PERSONAL CO COLUMNS PERSON AL COLUMNS PERSO 7

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J

ust last year, New York’s indie rock trifecta returned from lengthy hiatuses from music.

Grizzly Bear woke from a fiveyear hibernation period with Painted Ruins, The National made waves after four years with the critically-acclaimed Sleep Well Beast, and Fleet Foxes all but reshaped the face of indie folk; coming back after a whopping six years with one of the best albums of 2017, Crack-Up. The music press welcomed the trifecta back with open arms and hyped up their album releases to no end, but the albums themselves were released to mixed reactions. While The National’s Sleep Well Beast proved an almighty blunderbuss that barrelled its way into almost every critic’s Best of 2017 list, Grizzly Bear and Fleet Foxes fell by the wayside. The former’s album only reached the number 27 spot on the US charts, while the latter was accused of not being ambitious enough on Crack-Up by more than several critics – an unjust indictment, in my opinion, but one that was shared by a worryingly large number of reviewers and fans alike.

Varying reception aside, these three albums all share one thing in common – none of these albums came anywhere close to surpassing their creators’ best albums. Boxer is still the crowning jewel in The National’s impressive discography, while Grizzly Bear’s Shields and Fleet Foxes’ debut self-titled album remain firmly glued to their thrones, according to both Metacritic and general popular opinion too. An average of five years sequestered away from the music scene had rewarded indie rock’s powerhouses with nothing but mediocrity, or in The National’s case, falling oh so sadly short of their former glory.

Was spending all that time away from music even worth it, in hindsight?

To justify their bands’ long absences, Robin Pecknold of Fleet Foxes cited the insidious feeling that Fleet Foxes just didn’t fit into the music scene, while Grizzly Bear’s Ed Droste simply “tuned out for a couple of years and didn’t pay much attention”. So, from the sound of it, musical hiatuses seem to be, at their very heart, the product of immense creative discontent. But taking a break from work when you’re already feeling world-weary oftentimes never truly revitalises you, in the same way that fooling yourself into thinking that a little Netflix break after two unproductive hours of attempting to revise and failing won’t actually stretch to encompass the rest of the day. Distancing yourself from your work doesn’t always mean that the quality of it improves when you get back to it – in fact, it often means the opposite. Can the same be said of musicians and their hiatuses from the scene?

Most people don’t seem to believe that anything can come of extended breaks, or that musicians should and would be taking extended breaks in the first place. More often than not, a hiatus announcement might as well be a fullblown breakup. Take One Direction as the most famous example of this, or, in the indie rock vein, Bombay Bicycle Club. Ask anyone who knows anything about these two bands, and they’ll tell you that they don’t think there’s a chance that either of them are going to put out another album, even though they’re not actually broken up; just on “extended hiatus”. Consider another example from the opposite end of the spectrum – when Jamie T all but vanished into thin air in 2009 to nurse his ailing mental health, nobody considered for a minute that the man was simply taking some time out, and rumours even began circulating on the internet

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that he was dead. 2014 saw Jamie T prove that he was indeed alive after all with the release of Carry On The Grudge, an album which was so painful in its banality that it had listeners scratching their heads over whether the man had also forgotten how to write songs in the five years that he was away. It’s clear that the public has no faith in the utility of hiatuses, let alone the very concept of one itself, and their misgivings have thus far been proven true.

Admittedly, sometimes hiatuses do signal a sea change in some artists’ output, but this has an equal chance to be for the better as it does for the worse.

Take MGMT and Bon Iver, two artists who withdrew from the scene amidst growing scorn for their chosen genres, only to return five years later with albums sounding markedly different from anything they had ever put out before.

With MGMT, those five years had been spent amalgamating their seemingly contradictory proclivities for indie pop and psychedelic rock into an extremely cohesive new sound, while Bon Iver bought himself a vocoder and moved into extremely experimental electronic-folk territory. Both albums were critically lauded, and certainly proved to be crowd-pleasers too.

But while Little Dark Age and 22, A Million did well with critics and listeners alike, these records appear to be the exception to the rule. On the other hand, take Fall Out Boy, who returned to music after a long hiatus and completely switched genres while they were at it; moving past the twin corpses of emo and pop punk towards a slightly leftfield brand of pop-rock that started off well but soon soured into a god-awful mess reminiscent of the worst dregs of 2013’s dubstep scene. When seen

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in line with the unfortunately lukewarm-to-negative critical reception of most albums from returning artists, most of which is completely deserved, hiatuses simply don’t seem to do much good for the quality of musical output.

The situation is less akin to that of a butterfly emerging from a pupa, and more like an introverted teen emerging from their room for the first time in days. Most of the time, artists are the same people they always were after their hiatus. So why all the pomp and circumstance?

Make no mistake, I’m not belittling the need for a hiatus, especially not when the issue at stake is an artist’s mental health. Looking at hiatuses through the analogy of a break from revision reveals the same thing. It’s impossible not to take a break from work at some point if you don’t want to end up a sobbing mess; as the words you’ve just written dissolve into incomprehensible scribbling on the page before you. But the return of long-absent artists is often a phenomenon that receives an almost obscene amount of attention from the media, and I’m simply stating what appears to be the sad truth at hand – regardless of the justification for it, long breaks from music almost never result in the thoughtful, mature magnum opus that the press often goads people into expecting from returning musicians.

Just think about it. You don’t celebrate whenever you close that Netflix tab and return your attention to those long-overdue essays. So why fuss over them when musicians do the same?

By: EJ Oakley

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F

estival season is looming. If you’re like me, you find this time of year incredibly stressful. You have to get a group of ten or so people together, make sure everyone’s free, make sure they’re all happy with the lineup, and finally choose a festival that you all spend your 150 quid on.

There’s a Machiavellian undercurrent of factional politics among my friends at the moment, as people try to push their festival of choice upon the group.

It is a big commitment, and if like me you can’t normally even commit to a pub outing an hour in advance, it’s quite hard to commit to a whole four days in July. This year is an interesting one, since Glastonbury’s off the cards and Secret Garden Party is no more. New, smaller festivals seem to pop up each year. With that in mind, I present to you my thoughts on some of the festivals that you may or may not be considering this summer. If you are having trouble deciding which one to go to, this list will be of absolutely no help whatsoever, and will in fact make things much more difficult. Please do not take anything I have written here into account when choosing a festival – this is an unofficial, incomprehensive and not remotely unbiased guide.

BRAINCHILD Haven’t heard of Brainchild? You know that girl who you see in the library?

The really cool one with the shaved/ bleached/shaved and bleached hair and the improbable number of face piercings? The one with a big stack of books next to her with titles like ‘Intersectional Cultural Theory’ and ‘Queering Mythologies’? She’s definitely going to Brainchild, and probably performing

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there too. It’s a festival set up by a former UCL student and is all about ‘the DIY spirit, art, music, and ideas of the people around us’. Their whole ethos is about everyone getting involved and contributing their own creative inputs to the festival. They have open-mics, jam sessions, and political discussions.

Which all sounds great, but for those of with no creative or artistic talent (aside perhaps from writing cynical, slightly envious reviews of festivals we’ve never been to in a desperate attempt at humour that fails to mask our own glaring insecurities) I slightly worry that we won’t have much to contribute. Also, I dread to think what sort of ‘ideas’ I’d come up with after three days of heavy, ahem, ‘festivaling’. Nobody needs to hear that.

GOTTWOOD Gottwood is a small electronic festival in North Wales seemingly exclusively attended by students from about 10 universities. Interestingly, the festival is actually much smaller than it could be – the organisers have capped it at about 5000 tickets a year, so it’s preserved a very intimate feel. On the one hand that means that tickets can be tricky to get hold of. On the other, it means the lineup is an absolute beast, with many of the biggest and most exciting names in house and techno on the bill. Ben UFO, Craig Richards, Grain (aka Artwork), Jackmaster, Move D, Shed and Special Request are just a few of the many names, big and small, that will be there this year. Looking at the lineup actually stresses me out quite a lot, as I know that I would have to miss some of the names if I was going there. And all of this is coupled with a beautiful woodland site filled with little stages. Sounds like a winner.

HOUGHTON See Gottwood, but a bit closer to London.

LATITUDE Mark is 41 years old and lives in St John’s Wood with his wife, Lisa (40) and kids, Lily (6) and Tiger (4). He runs his own graphic design company. He and his friend Tim, who is also a graphic designer, like to take their families to Latitude every year. They pack their straw hats and their Super Furry Animals T-shirts into their 6music tote bags and all pile into the Volvo for a weekend of family fun. If Mark and Tim are lucky they’ll be able to leave their kids long enough in the Kids Area to share a cheeky hash joint while they watch Slowdive. This is the only time of the year that they are able to do this. One day we will all be like Mark and Tim, but thankfully we’re still young and can go to real festivals which don’t have Harry Hill headlining a stage. For this reason I will not be attending Latitude until I’m at least thirty-five, and neither should you. Also, The Killers are headlining, in case you needed any further reason not to go.

BOOMTOWN Boomtown describes itself as a ‘world within a world, with legends breathing history into the city’s streets.’ This probably represents the experience of about 5% of the people there, the sort of people who wear top hats and steampunk goggles and hang out at the electro-swing stage spinning weird sticks and juggling. Literally everyone else at this festival is an under-25-year-old with a burning desire to consume as many narcotics as is humanly possible in a

3-to-4-day window. Boomtown is in fact an entirely different kind of city to the one the organisers like to pretend it is – it’s a safe space for Caucasian dreadlocks, fila shotter bags and long, completely unironic conversations about the relative merits of jump up and raggatek. There’s usually some vaguely interesting people on the line up but by the second day you’ll be having so much fun dancing to dark psy in a forest that you won’t really care whether you see Gorillaz or not. Truth be told it’s a bit of a paradise, and has one of the least judgemental, most genuine atmospheres of all the festivals on this list.

Just make sure the photos don’t make it on to Facebook.

NASS NASS is for those particular people who look at Boomtown and think ‘that looks a bit tame for me’. All of the scariest people you see in the grimiest bit of every festival, the Monday-at-6am gurners, conglomerate here once a year and get very fucked indeed. It’s not for the faint hearted. Reading people’s experiences of the festival on Reddit is very enlightening. I’m not sure I can imagine anything less pleasant than ‘ego death at Andy C’, but if that sort of thing floats your boat then NASS is the place for you.

READING AND LEEDS Ah, Reading and Leeds. There are two types of people at this festival. The first is your standard post-GCSE teens, rocking up in thirty-strong groups from their schools, pissing on each others’ tents (a pretty classic move, to be fair), and duct-taping 2-litre bottles of Strongbow to each hand. They spend most of their time sitting in deck chairs being impos-

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sibly loud and obnoxious, and might occasionally wander into the music bit to watch Boy Better Know, where they’ll mosh very violently, be sick, and do some more pissing on people. The other group are men in their late twenties to early thirties who dress like either Noel Fielding or Noel Gallagher (only those two, no-one else). These men (they’re always men) are incredibly vocal in their distaste for most modern music; they think that Kanye West is ‘a bellend’ and that Rihanna ‘isn’t even singing’.

They prefer real music, like Catfish and the Bottlemen or Franz Ferdinand. If you fit into either of these two groups, though if you’re reading this magazine I highly doubt that you do, then be sure to splash out £220 ASAP. PARKLIFE Parklife used to be a one-dayer, and now it’s a two-dayer. Still, I have no idea how they can squeeze so many good acts into just two days. For the bedroom-DJ types, there’s an absolute schmorgasbord of tech-house DJs (love them or hate them), and for the rest of us, there’s a pretty sweet range, be it classic hip-hop, techno, bass, jungle, grime, disco, you name it. The only guitar band I can see on the list is Bastille, though, so maybe steer clear if that’s your thing.

FIELD DAY The closest thing that London has to Parklife, Field Day has become the capital’s biggest festival over the past few years. It tends to pitch itself as a more ‘serious’ music festival than its grimy Northern cousin, which means you’ll get Helena Hauff instead of Kurupt FM and Earl Sweatshirt instead of Stormzy. I’m not sure how I feel about London festivals. On the one hand there

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is something nice about the fact that you can pre at yours, roll down to the site, and then sleep in a bed again afterwards. On the other, I feel like some of the atmosphere of the true mudand-sleeping-bag experience is lost.

There’s a new site for the festival this year, down south in Lambeth, having formerly been in Victoria Park. If you’re at UCL, then good news! This year, like last year, every single undergraduate in London will be there. Every single one.

By: Hughie Rogers-Coltman

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L

et’s get subliminal. Album covers are an unconscious stimulus for many. We walk past them on tube platforms, taking in the number of stars and perhaps a name or two; they pop up on the margins of websites we visit, accompanied with a single word review in quotation marks; we flick through hundreds in record stores, our eyes only taking interest in the colours and reflections.

This column seeks to revert attention back onto the humble album cover; an art form which currently pervades a slight (slight) scent of insignificance within the grander canon of contemporaneous musical thought. Last edition saw me scrutinise recent album art from the likes of Godspeed! You Black Emperor, A.Savage and Niall Horan.

This edition it’s time to shake things up a bit:

Migos - Culture II Migos bring class. Forget the 6.4 Pitchfork (semi)pitchforking, what Migos’ follow up to cult (?) record Culture lacks in musical credibility, it sure makes up for in its powdered cherry red backdrop. Quavo, Offset and Takeoff (the

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Migos troika) carry themselves with poise, aplomb, and even a slight scintilla of the unordinary. Stood in triptych order we really begin to question: who are these men? Two white doves flutter high above the scene on contrasting sides to the bouquet of mixed-flowers signalling that this is, indeed, a second attempt at commenting on / tracking / creating Culture. The parental advisory sticker in the bottom right hand corner is unnecessary, as this album cover already asserts that this record will be explicit.

The Fratellis In Your Own Sweet Time I was going to make a pun on the title of this album and make a reference to the fact that The Fratellis hadn’t released an album since their (sorta) smash indie debut Costello Music. However, a brief Spotify search revealed in excess of three albums released since – who knew! No, literally, who knew? The album cover to In Your Own Sweet Time is the sleeve equivalent to that guy, always a guy and always by himself and always bald and always wearing a trilby and always standing with a wry smile and a half drunk pint (probably Amstel) in his hand at the barrier of … well probably a Fratellis concert actually probably. Reminds me of that statue in the centre of the UCL library if St Michael put down his javelin and erotically but consentingly embraced Satan (St Michael overcoming Satan, John Flaxman, 1819-24). A bit of a gatsby-esque-letssit-in-a-room-and-do-acid-damn-it-Peter-you’re-forty-get-a-job eye-sore.

Justin Timberlake – Man of the Woods This isn’t the official album art for the new record by everyone’s favourite JT (hotly challenged by Jordin TooToo); however, what a work it is! Here we see a side of Justin which just hasn’t been given the attention it deserves: the sensitive stable boy. Justin is rocking the textbook ‘thumb in the pocket’ rodeo confidence and pairs this with an audacious combination of double denim (with sheep wool inlay) AND leather jacket. Somebody give this man a medal. The horses in the background are indifferent - they know of Justin’s talent - they need no convincing of his prowess. I / us / you, however. Well, that is a different question. If his recent performance at SUPERBOWL LII hasn’t convinced you that JT (Justin, not Jordin) is the new Prince (the singer. Justin, unfortunately, is not in line to the throne) then Man of the Woods c e r t a i n l y might not.

Bingo. That does that. See you next edition.

By: Jamie Walker

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s with last issue’s column, I’m out defending to the point of no return. After looking after the almighty Kanye, it only seems fair to jump to the aid of Lily Allen: from Yeezus to Sheezus. With that cheap gag dispensed early on, it’s time to double the body count of disgusted friends and halve that of Allen’s critics with a few choice words.

Unsurprisingly, there are a fair few reasons people have unfairly attacked the (unfortunately, very much former) Queen of Pop, and they aren’t all defendable in one fell swoop. This may take time and chronologically is probably the best way to get this one nailed.

Let’s start at the beginning.

2005: she’s been discovered through MySpace and, in a year’s time, the eternal hit ‘Smile’ will top the charts. Right from then off, she’s been blasted with claims of unoriginality, dependence on her producers and exploitation of her father Keith Allen’s contacts. It’s interesting to note then, in my smug pedantic voice, that she was noticed online without the involvement of Mark Ronson, and he only helped complete the final half of the album. Hah, facts! She was estranged from her father from the age of 4. Pow, more facts! Search for an album as outspoken, sarcastic, cutting, catchy and bombastic as Alright, Still and you’ll come up empty handed.

Boom, a slightly subjective fact package!

Fast forward a few years, and she’ll be criticised for minor scuffles with celebrities (part of the big-mouth Allen package). She punctured the pomp and mythology of celebrity with little more than a few cutting words and an overactive MySpace account, which,

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music ignored, is her lasting legacy.

Just like the Arctic Monkeys, she spearheaded the internet’s impact on music and twisted it into a personal weapon, pre-empting music piracy by releasing mixtapes online. Attacking celebrities is de rigueur post-Twitter. Lily Allen did it before it was cool.

A few years after that, it starts to get morally murky. There’s only so much you can defend after all - attacking an incessant photographer is understandable but ultimately still violent. It’s when a big mouth moves onto big actions that it can start to distort legality. Her comeback track, ‘Hard Out Here’, saw her paw with feminist ideas but she lacked the wisdom and knowledge to do it justice. The accompanying video is a white feminist’s daydream with black actresses splayed into sexual objects, in an unconvincing satire of hip-hop. She subsequently sought education and apologised though it’s questionable whether her intentions were genuine. Was her impetus the criticism she received, out on damage limitation, or did her self-improvement come from a genuine place of concern? The jury’s out and I’m not taking their place.

Finally, most recently she’s been cast as The Left-Wing Luvvie and attacked vehemently by the media for an act of empathy. Exposition bomb: in 2016, she visited the Calais Jungle, the refugee camp since cleared, and met with a 13 year-old immigrant. With his family settled in the UK, he could legally join them; as a result of British bureaucracy, it was quicker to attempt hiding in channel-crossing vehicles. Allen apologised through tears on behalf of her country for what the Government had pushed him to and the right-wing press jumped on it. ‘Not in our name!’ they cried, dis-

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crediting the child and attacking Allen’s wealth. Obviously, highlighting rights violations whilst feeling actual human feelings is too much for some people to swallow. Does this even need defending? Do I - a dumb student writing this for fun - actually, seriously, need to defend a public figure for showing empathy in public?

Lily Allen is not an easy figure to defend. She’s made inexcusable mistakes and those which are palatable exist for a variety of reasons. It’s difficult to point to a singular underlying cause for all the controversy which has circled the ‘LDN’ singer, leading to a fractured defence.

She’s attacked for things she’s said and done, she’s attacked for things others have said and done and she’s attacked for things no one has said or done. As a prominent left-wing figure, she’s attacked politically; as a prominent woman, she’s attacked for her gender.

She’s delightfully outspoken and, with her upcoming album curtly titled No Shame, you won’t find Lily apologising.

By: Jake Crossland

BBC Radio 1 and the playlist debate 21

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017 saw Radio 1 listening figures drop dramatically, with Nick Grimshaw facing the ‘lowest ever’ listeners for the breakfast show. In contrast, streaming figures have thrived over recent years.

Why tune into radio when Spotify will bring heaps of new music tailored for you?

Despite this, BBC 6 Music reached its highest ever listening figures in May of last year, showing radio has risen to competition on some fronts. People still crave the human element of radio and tastemakers bringing what they brand as the most exciting new music.

However, Spotify and other streaming services have opened listener’s ears to a whole range of new artists. Realisation is creeping in that there’s more to the world than every track off Ed Sheeran’s new album. BBC Radio 1 may see their role as setting trends, but it also needs to start following them.

With the influence of major record labels decaying, the definition of ‘success’ in the music industry has altered dramatically. Gone are the days when you need a top 40 single to be branded exciting and new. Tom Misch has over two million listeners per month on Spotify along with a headline show at the 1,700 capacity Roundhouse to support his debut album – all without a major record label deal and Radio 1 support. Shame’s debut offering ‘Songs of Praise’ broke into the UK album-chart despite no play on Radio 1’s daytime shows. There’s an increasing gap between what people are listening to and what major radio stations want people to listen to. Don’t get me wrong, I love a bit of Bruno Mars and JT from time to time (guilty) but I’d also love to hear a bit more variation. BBC introducing

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remains a solid platform for emerging artists, but it would be great to see at least as many new artists on the playlist as Ed Sheerans and Taylor Swifts.

There is a sense that Radio 1 is beginning to get the message. Grimshaw’s listening figures bounced back this year, and the B and C lists as of today contain songs by Superorganism, The Sherlocks, Tom Misch & Loyle Carner (finally) and Jorja Smith. The A list is still dominated by the likes of Rita Ora, Taylor and Ed Sheeran however. And recently, Loyle Carner - this is a man who won best British Male Solo Artist at the NME awards recently, as well as album of the year at the Mercury’s - dropped out the Radio 1 live lounge after he was told his proposed covers of Kanye West, The Fugees and Kendrick Lamar were not ‘big enough hits.’ Twitter users were quick to tell Carner to ‘get over to 6music’ as well as one ‘@WolfOfWapping’ tweeting BBC Radio 1 claiming they’d ‘underestimated’ their audience.

Until BBC Radio 1 start playing new music from artists’ people are genuinely listening to, then they’ll continue to alienate their listeners. Anyone can go on Spotify and play the new Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift albums. Not anyone can go on Spotify and find a hidden gem from a fantastic emerging artist and talk about their background too.

There needs to be a shift in the focus of mainstream radio. Radio 1 needs to start playing some of the genuinely exciting music that’s around at the minute and take a few more risks for the artists it should be supporting regardless. Otherwise, the listening figures will continue to drop.

By: Joe Bell

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I

n a post Limewire world, Soundcloud proposed a libertarian vision of online music sharing. Music listeners of a previous generation relied on others to rip their favourite music off CD’s and upload them to the web for everyone to copy, stream or download. Instead Soundcloud envisioned that the creation of music by those individuals who were unsigned or misrepresented by the commerciality of the music industry could drive users to collaborate, by facilitating the sharing and discussion of recordings.

Soundcloud was originally created by Swedish sound designer Alexander Ljung and Swedish artist Eric Wahlforss in 2007 with a view to bring the sampling of sounds to a community.

This vision made easier by the availability of a higher quality audio recordings through the advancement of mobile technology such as the iPhone microphone, with an emphasis on taking recordings ‘in the field’ and ‘on the go’.

Unsurprisingly this idea was met with much enthusiasm. After 3 years the platform had gained a million regular users.

One of the main benefits of Soundcloud was that it gave each upload a unique URL which meant recordings could be embedded in other websites increasing the platforms reach through blogs and other social networking sites. With continued investment the platform grew enabling a wider listenership. Indeed, listenership is the correct description.

As more users became listeners rather than creators, a shift in the social network left the majority of users wanting to discover the next musical trend rather than being apart of the next trend

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themselves. From a business perspective this meant the content needed to move away from musical ideas, unreleased songs and podcasts towards fully commercial copyrighted music.

With fresh investment from venture capitalists Soundcloud successfully negotiated a deal with Warner Music Group, which also coincided with the partial monetisation of the site, through adverts and channel sponsorship for their ‘Premier Partners’. This was met with criticism as it suggested that the businesses aims were shifting behind closed doors.

This is the dilemma of a large music sharing website: How do you grow as a business and make profit while still remaining useful to the community of independent artists who it was originally designed for? Dilution becomes an issue within all large sites; as more music is on the platform a single demo simply won’t stand out against the production value of a copyrighted album.

Perhaps this unfortunate situation was simply the by-product of a transition from a free music sharing site to a paid subscription service. By March 2016 Soundcloud secured deals with Universal Music Group and Sony Music Entertainment with the aim of introducing its paid subscription service, Soundcloud Go, by the end of the month.

Subscription streaming music services such as Spotify, Apple Music and Amazon Music already crowd the market, so what was the thought process behind this move? Currently Soundcloud have 175 million monthly active users which is surprising when compared to Spotify’s 75 million but when you com-

pare the payed figures, Spotify have 56 million customers where as Soundcloud has only 39.1 million customers.

This demonstrates that Soundcloud cannot gain any sort of profitability if it is purely a premium paid site but instead needs its existing community of creators and listeners to support the free side of the website before any transition is possible. However, this transition has put a strain on the company with Ljung announcing last year that about half of its staff had to be let go in order to ‘remain on the path to profitability’.

Looking more broadly subscription music services have led to a resurgence in consumption of music and a move away from piracy. Sites like Soundcloud now need to investigate ways in which Artists can benefit from the royalties of their streams, ensuring that both the listener and the artist are being treated fairly from services such as Soundcloud.

By: Tom Edwards

Loyal users have expressed concern about the possibility of company and website collapse. Chance the Rapper, an independent artist whose career was arguably made by releasing his album Colouring Book for free on Soundcloud has shown his support of the streaming service by reassuring his follower that his music wasn’t going anywhere. One could argue that Chance has a vested interest in Soundcloud as he is yet to bring out any music onto anything physical. But from Chance’s reputation of just being a nice guy it’s nice to think that the commerciality of the music industry and the creativity of independent artists can coexist in relative peace and harmony within a site like Soundcloud.

Soundcloud’s transition towards subscription music may have upset some independent artists but the company has to represent the community on the site. If the transition justifies the site financially in the long term then perhaps some sacrifice of its integrity is worthwhile, especially if they’ll always be a part of the site that is free and accessible to independent artists.

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JAMIE WALKER SPEAKS TO LOTTIE, THE LEAD SINGER OF SOUTH-LONDON’S FINEST, GOAT GIRL.

“IT’S INTERESTING AS AN ALL-GIRL BAND TO SHOW AN ALMOST NEUTRAL-GENDERED PERFORMANCE […] IT DOESN’T HAVE TO FEEL MASCULINE, BUT AT THE SAME TIME IT’S NOT ULTRA-FEMININE. IT’S MORE THE NATURALNESS OF HUMANS, AND I THINK THAT THAT IS AN IMPORTANT THING TO SHOW WHEN WE ARE ON STAGE.”

G O Ag Ti r l

UnCL: Hey Lottie, thank you for taking the time to do this interview. How are you?

Lottie: Ah, thank you. Thank you for asking us. Yeah, I’m good, not too bad.

Lets start by contextualising the band: could you take me back to the very beginning, what was the catalyst in the creation of Goat Girl?

I think it was quite a natural creation. It was just a matter of us being friends, and using our time in a productive way.

I mean, at that time we were going to a lot of gigs. Feeling quite inspired. And we have always been quite musical, so it felt natural to start making music together.

What sort of bands were you seeing at these early gigs?

I think, well, a gig that really shaped us was Fat White Family, and a lot of Trashmouth gigs as well, people like Warmduscher. People like that.

You have recently released your latest single ‘Cracker Drool’, the B-side of which, ‘Scream’, is my favourite single of yours. Can we expect a full-length Goat Girl album coming soon?

Yeah, we’ve created it. Now we are just sitting on it, waiting to release it. I think it’s going to be released April 6th.

Oh, amazing! The video for ‘Cracker Drool’ was directed by CC Wade, who I know works with and is good mates with Jerkcurb. It has a distinct Lynchian style to it - who led the creative direction on that video?

Yeah, it was really influenced by – oh,

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I can’t remember the name of the film now - but a really old black and white film. It was all really CC Wade’s idea, he came up with the whole concept and then put it into place.

London seems to be revelling in its own artistic talent at the moment, not only with performance bands such as HMLTD, but photographers such as Holly Whitaker and magazine publications such as So Young cataloging this postpunk renaissance. Do you think the music leads the art, or are you all a part of one cohesive living musical organism?

Yeah, I think it’s all inclusive. The art side of it, and the exhibitions, kind of run in line with the music. Everyone has their hidden hobby which they love doing, and everyone is expressing them in the same world as the music exists in.

It’s very often that people from bands will be putting on exhibitions, like Holly Whitaker had her exhibition, and yeah…

I think that all of the people involved are very creative and have their own works of art.

I think I’ve seen you guys five or six times now, both at small venues such as The Windmill, and then larger stages at festivals and at KOKO supporting Baxter Dury. Your performances are always characterised by an intimacy and modest confidence, which is in opposition to the extravagant performances of bands such as Shame or HMLTD. How much do you enjoy performing, and how important is the performance aspect of the band to you?

Yeah, I think it is important. It’s not necessarily what it revolves around, I mean, what is most important to us is writing songs and making it what it is. But at the same time, performing is quite im-

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portant because it’s quite interesting as an all-girl band to show an almost neutral-gendered performance. Like, it doesn’t have to feel masculine, but at the same time it’s not ultra-feminine.

It’s more the naturalness of humans, and I think that that is an important thing to show when we are on stage.

Yeah, I presume it’s really important for a lot of the women who come to these gigs, especially as line ups are usually filled with all male bands. Even though there is a fantastic array of female-led bands in and around London, such as Drahla, Hussy and Our Girl – the majority of the bands coming out of London still all seem to be white and male. Do you think there is anything that can be done to achieve a greater number of female bands, who then go on to get record deals and tours.

I think having platforms to exist just as women is quite an interesting thing.

My friend has set up a thing called ‘Femme’, which is for that purpose; ‘Gal-dem’ exists as well, for women of colour. Having these platforms that exist is important. But at the same time, it’s kind of like, I came across a person who set up a record label just for women, and he was a white guy, and there is an element of patronisation to it. I think gender, in a way, is irrelevant.

But to have it there and to promote the message behind it is a natural way of existing. I don’t think you need to intentionally create girl bands, I just think that happens because people want to play with each other.

I agree, it would be a real shame for an all-female band to come together, and then for the emphasis to lie solely on the fact they are all female, as opposed to celebrating their music.

Yeah, exactly, because then it distances them from being successful due to the music. People listen to music and they like it on that basis, rather than it being about gender. Or at least I hope.

You have a tour kicking off at the very end of March and leading into April, is there an enjoyment in being on the road constantly for weeks on end. Is it fun, or is it a bit tedious?

I think it’s a bit of both, really. It is kind of unnatural to be going from place to place and not really seeing any of it.

There are moments when you get to go out and experience [a city], but a lot of the time you feel as if you are not moving, as you are just moving from venue to venue to venue. I love going to places like Scotland and Ireland and Manchester, the crowd has such an appreciation for music, and you can tell that by the way they listen and respond. Also, I think we have just been really lucky with the tours we have had. Mostly they have been as a support slot, and we have learnt a lot from the bands we have toured with. They are usually way further ahead in their careers, and it’s really interesting to talk to them about it, and watch them perform, and learn their tricks.

I’d quite like to get some context on you as a writer and the band itself. What kind of bands were you listening to, and who were your major influences growing up?

I think mutually we listen to a lot of scratchy guitar music. Like Sonic Youth, Pixies, Silver Jews – I think we were inspired by that kind of sound, and we had the aim of creating something in a similar genre. We have quite a varied taste as well, I like a lot of Krautrock,

experimental bands, electronic music, blues, jazz – there is quite a wide range through everyone else as well.

I have read that as a band you were heavily influenced by Mark E. Smith and The Fall, how did his death affect you?

It affected me in a way because I was going to see a gig and it was like, watching this gig, you can feel his influences in the way people perform on stage, how they sing. The amount of energy that he had towards the end, watching him playing was an inspiration because he was completely defeating anything that was an illness for him. He was completely just not giving a fuck, and I think from that I felt quite sad because it was almost like he was indestructible. I had also grown up listening to The Fall, and I felt so honoured and privileged that we got to play with him, and that he was really nice about our band, and that meant so much coming from him, as he is my idol, in a way.

You grew up in South London, didn’t you? What was London like for you growing up, and how has it changed since?

I guess it’s changing in the sense of the gentrification of certain areas. You see quite a lot of home businesses, in places like Brixton or Peckham. Now when there is a place to live which is cheap it becomes taken over by the students, who then create a ‘scene’ within that, and as a result the place becomes commodified. Watching that happen, alongside the influx of the rich into South London is kind of weird – it’s almost as if the ‘centre’ of London doesn’t even matter anymore. There was always signs of it, but never to this extent.

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It must be bizarre, especially with the speed at which its happened. One final question to end: if you had to choose, what has been your favourite live gig of all time?

I think one of my favourite gigs has been Beak>. I don’t know if that was the best one of all time, but that was quite a recent one. I saw Beak> play at Latitute, and I really love that band so much, their just insane. Yeah, that was a really cool one.

Awesome. Thank you for the interview, Lottie, and best of wishes for your tour!

Interview by Jamie Walker Photography by EJ Oakley

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words By James Witherspoon

photography by ej oakley

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h ul so ko yp s

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Y

ou guys are playing here tonight on your first headline tour. I was wondering how it felt to be in the spotlight.

Danio: It’s fine, great.

Tommaso: I think we played in a field when we were really young, when we were like four years old. But then we met properly when we were 8 or 12, at a White Stripes concert in Bologna in 2005. He was 15, I was 12.

Tommaso: Yeah, fantastic. Especially because it’s London and we’ve played so many shows here – it’s rewarding.

And how’d you meet Danio?

Danio: It feels like you’re a crazy chair.

Like I’m a chair, that is flying over the Lexington.

Pietro: We were at the same high school.

They laugh.

What made you choose MEI and WOOZE as your support tonight? I just heard one of them rehearsing outside, and it sounded really good.

At this point, Husky Loops’ band manager, Clare, walks in and asks us if we would like some wine.

Danio: Their band’s good, like, MEI is in Tiny Factory with us, which is a collective that’s been running for a few years.

They’re just releasing some new music and what they’re doing is so on-point…

Also, MEI is incredible.

Tommaso: We’ve known them for a while.

Danio: I think WOOZE are friends with Pleasure Complex, which is a band we love. Really good band.

Going back to the beginning, how’d you guys all meet each other?

Danio: They, apparently – I just found out – met at a White Stripes show.

Pietro: No, we knew each other before.

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Tommaso: Many years after.

Danio: He was the cool kid – he knew the Arctic Monkeys.

They laugh.

Danio: He did. You definitely did.

Pietro: Then I moved to London, after high school. And three years later, these guys started messaging me like ‘hey, how is it in London’? And I was like ‘yeah, come, stay in my bed for a couple of days’. Then we started jamming, when they moved to London, it was really good. Eventually all other projects that we were working on dislocated, and what remained was Husky Loops.

Pietro glances at Danio.

Pietro: He joined the band in the same way that a virus enters the body.

Tommaso: Funny but true.

Danio: I had the worst tonsillitis for the past two weeks – it was terrifying.

Why Husky Loops? It’s quite an enigmatic name.

Danio: So, I’m gonna reply to this question, then [Tommaso’s] not gonna say

anything, then Pietro’s gonna reply. And he’s going to try to put a meaning to a name. But I can tell you in advance there is no meaning, and it was just because no one else had done the name, and it makes me REALLY PROUD. Tommaso: No, I’m going to say the technical bit.

Danio: What’s the technical bit?

Tommaso: Google.

Danio: Oh, the Google thing, yeah. Because if you Google it nothing comes up apart from us.

Tommaso: You’ve ruined my part.

Danio: I’m going to talk for Pietro now.

I guess husky is not a word you would use with loops. So it makes it cool. And also ‘loops’ is cool because we like looping stuff.

Tommaso: Yeah, when we jam we loop stuff.

Pietro: Is that why you just repeated the same thing? To me there was that thing that you wouldn’t put the adjective husky together with the noun loops. There was just a loose connection to the fact that we were Italians and we would often speak quite loose English. So we would just use words quite freely, and that there is a degree of freedom with that. But that’s my own loose interpretation.

Pietro: Yeah.

Danio: Oh yeah, I love huskies. To be honest with you, it wasn’t a husky, it was an Alaskan Malamute.

Tommaso: How ignorant. Sorry.

So I’ve seen you a couple of times now, and you’ve got such an eclectic sound. I couldn’t help wondering, when you were younger, what you were listening to.

Tommaso: I was listening to a lot of British music, so like Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, all of that. That’s my background.

Pietro: The first cassette I ever bought was Barbie Girl by Aqua.

Danio: I was listening to a lot of rock n’ roll music from the 50s, and blues.

That’s definitely what made me want to be a musician.

I was wondering how you would describe your sound to somebody who hasn’t heard your music.

Danio: Husky Loops.

Danio begins muttering ‘loops’ under his breath repeatedly.

Yes, okay.

Danio: He said yes as well.

When you’re songwriting, what comes first – melody or lyrics?

Danio: You know, we have plenty, and you can come up with your own – please do.

Danio: Lyrics.

Tommaso: And he had a husky dog.

Danio: As a songwriter, I just catch way

Lyrics first?

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more lyrics than music. Music is always very separated for me. I think When I Come Home, our last single, is the only song I’ve ever written where the words and music came at once.

Speaking of When I Come Home, could you tell us a little more about it?

Danio: I wanted to write a song for Husky Loops that was a love song, but it wasn’t as a man referring to a girl. I wanted to a love song that was more generic and could talk to a lot of people in a different way. I think of the things like family and friendship and relationships and so on. That’s it really. Musically it was really influenced by R n’ B and hip-hop, because those people like Frank Ocean really come up with amazing intimate songs – but they have a really good energy. We wanted something like that on stage. Before When I

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Come Home, every single love song we played on stage was kinda very slow and intimate.

Pietro: I can be really in your face but still tell you something as if I was whispering in the bedroom, and that’s the kind of thing we wanted to get with this song.

Danio: Kendrick was a massive influence because he does that brilliantly.

Speaking on the hip hop front, I was browsing your Help for Huskies page the other day and saw you had a few hip hop side projects going on; could you tell us a little more about that?

Danio: I just really like hip hop. And it’s easy enough because you steal other people’s music, and then you can just make new music from it. I’m joking –

it’s just a genre that I’ve always loved.

To me it really refers to the, how can I explain, it connects to me in the same way as early 50s rock n’ roll did. It’s very simple, there’s a few elements in it, and it communicates in the same way. It’s the only music that makes me feel like that, fresh, and inspires me more than most bands over the past 25 years. So that’s the reason why I started making beats. A lot of stuff for Husky Loops came from my beats. Fighting Myself was one of them.

Pietro: There is a strong process of regurgitation in the songwriting. He’d come up with a song and then we’d make a demo, and then we would fuck up the demo, and then we’d play it again, and it’s cool.

You guys have two EPs now, can we expect a full length anytime soon?

Pietro: I guess we are letting the writing process dictate the way.

Danio: I don’t like albums any more. I don’t think anyone listens to them, so I don’t really enjoy it, because I don’t really write for myself. But, you know, it depends: if you come up with a really good concept for it, that’s what I’d like to do personally, and they would too, then we would write an album around a concept. With the two EPs, the concept was ourselves, and the music we create, and the way we do it. And we did things that were really showing the style of Husky Loops.

Tommaso: And the two EPs are very connected, and we’re actually selling them together on one CD. They are acting like an album.

Pietro: It’s such a cool thing, because

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we keep an eye on what people want and they keep requesting EP1 even though it’s sold out. So we were trying to find a way to bring it together in physical form. We really like the vinyl format.

Danio: What we really don’t want to do is a collection of tunes. You know what I mean? Like, oh, we’ve got 20 songs let’s put them all together in a box. I don’t get it. I don’t think it’s cool enough.

You guys have done super well for yourselves, how has it been doing all you’ve done without a record label.

Danio: It’s because of Clare (the band manager). It’s very hard to not have a label, because you support yourself most of the time. It’s really hard to be a band in 2017 – but it’s also good to have artistic freedom. I think if someone takes away the control we’ll freak out.

Pietro, Husky Loops has a great aesthetic and some stunning design, which you handle. I was wondering what the thought is behind this.

Pietro: I think it’s all in the name, because Husky Loops has a meaning of rough repetition. I don’t know if there’s an overall meaning to the aesthetic of Husky Loops. A side of it is truthfulness, and another side of it is groove.

The concept of rhythm can be seen throughout everything we’ve done. But, most of all, it’s being true to the songs we compose and allowing its story to come out as it is. It also allows us to deal with the different interpretations we might have of a song between the three of us, and working to make something that people can relate to. We think that, as Danio was saying about the sound earlier, being a DIY, unsigned band doesn’t mean we have to be lo-fi.

And that really applies to what we do visually and sonically. We try to give the best hi-fi product we can, because

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we’ve been lucky to get really good opportunities, both in the studios we’ve been working in and the facilities we’ve used in making art and in collaborating with other people. So we’ve worked with amazing directors, artists, and photographers; and my job has often just been the coordinator or the general director that brings these things together. It is a team effort and you try to bring people in.

Danio: I almost feel like today is the opposite really. Everyone thinks DIY means lo-fi because of the past. But big labels put out so much shit. You know, I don’t want to be geeky because quality is not what expresses emotions, and I don’t believe in that, but if you listen to Pale Waves records they don’t sound good. Or most of the stuff in the charts – it doesn’t sound good. Kendrick sounds good, and Frank Ocean sounds good, but most pop music today is not about qualities – labels want quickness and shit, and that’s what sells. It’s not that I don’t like Pale Waves, it’s a technical comment. Quality isn’t a measure these days – and I wasn’t alive, so I don’t know if it was like that in the 60s, or in the 70s, but today it definitely isn’t.

Major labels put things out that sound and look terrible and they think it’s okay.

Being DIY today actually means you can make it actually good: choose a studio and make it sound as good as you can, and you can actually make it look good because you’re in control and you know what’s good. You know the culture. I believe in this.

On a slightly less serious note, I was looking at your Help for Huskies page earlier and was wondering what the most ridiculous thing you ever sold on it was.

Danio: We sold a jingle for dogs… *laughs* Tommaso: Have we sold any pasta?

Danio: No. Tommaso: We’re waiting for that moment.

Danio: But the jingles are great, keep them coming in.

Multiple people with the jingles for dogs?

Danio: Yeah, I think three or four. A lot of writing for cats and dogs. If someone has a crocodile, you know…

Tommaso: No. We played in France. I got pretty drunk, and usually I keep the bass guitar on the speaker in front of me. And that time I left it in the room because the speaker was too close to the crowd. And we kept drinking and singing, and we went down to the stage and it was my turn. And these 400 French people were like ‘yaaay’ and I didn’t have anything. So I ran back upstairs.

Pietro: [sarcastically] That’s a hilarious story, isn’t it.

Tommaso: Called Fred.

Danio: Well I just fell off stage.

Danio: What’s the difference between a crocodile and an alligator?

Tommaso: But how did you fall off stage?

Pietro: Good question, I’m not sure…

Pietro: The funny part of that was how you just pretended everything was fine.

You fell on your arse.

Danio: But you went to the RCA? Pietro: How is that related?

Danio: I don’t know.

Pietro: Isn’t it about water? Like salty water… or… sweet water?

Danio: Americans are very fussy about it, they’re all like ‘it’s not a crocodile’.

Clare: DNA is our answer. Come on, that was funny. Genetics? Drink more wine please.

Danio: I’m drunk.

Clare: Stop drinking, then.

Do you guys have any funny gig stories?

Tommaso: I have the funniest one.

Danio: I fell off stage, it’s funnier than his.

Danio: What am I supposed to do?

Say ‘everyone I fell off stage, stop stop stop?’. You just go, like, oh ‘whoops’, and just go on.

Finally, what’s on your playlists?

Danio: Jazz – a lot. Chris Dave.

Tommaso: I’m listening to Princess Nokia. A girl who raps, from New York.

And then, Charlotte Gainsbourg’s new album. It’s pretty cool. Then Kendrick Lamar.

Pietro: Kero Kero Bonito.

Danio: Fucking hell…

Thanks so much, it’s been good talking to you guys and I look forward to tonight.

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ma r ti n l u ke br o wn WORDS BY JOE BELL

Y

ou’ve just finished your Pret - can I have a step by step review of that please?

Martin: [laughs] Yeah, so - started off with a sort of porridgey-oaty flavour, then you’ve got some nutty overtones.

Right at the bottom there is a kind of buried sweetness which really just tickles the palate nicely.

Great! More importantly, your new song J.O.Y was released recently - can you say a bit about the meaning and writing behind it?

I’ll try and keep this eloquent! So Joe, who’s one of my best mates now - he’s

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a really good producer, we’ve done loads of stuff together. We did this Shaun the Sheep thing, we’ve written a lot for other different artists and we’ve sort of become a bit of a production/ writer team. Every now and then we’ll just write for the sake of writing. Sometimes it’s a pitch for a pop thing - he works really closely with Ellie Goulding, so we’ve pitched a couple of things to her. But yeah, J.O.Y ended up being one of these things that just came out one day and we didn’t really expect it. I really loved it. Then ‘Opalite’ and ‘Into Yellow’ which actually came after that sort of built around that song and that sound. I guess lyrically it’s all about being in the moment and being present, not living

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too much in the past or being anxious about the future - just trying to let yourself feel every moment and not let it pass you by.

Cool. Your new music has got a lot of things going on - new textures, different instrumentation. Is everything now sounding like you want it to sound in your head?

Yeah! But it’s a mess - I always get really annoyed actually, looking back on Spotify at all the songs I’ve put out and how incohesive they are. But I think it’s reflective of the time weirdly. I don’t know if that makes me a good artist or a terrible artist because there’s no sense of cohesion, but all the songs are very apt for where I was at in my life - I think with ‘Nostalgia’ I wanted to be like a Ryan Tedder pop star and I wanted that ‘pop, pop, pop’ but sort of have some depth and meaning to it and I feel like that’s what ‘Nostalgia’ was. Then I did this big record deal with Parlophone and they wanted me to be more gritty-soully. That is kind of what I was brought up on - I was brought up on Motown and soul. I did that for a bit and it was really angsty and I was very angry at the world - I think that kind of comes across as well, everything’s really distorted and ‘roar’! But then I left Parlophone - it didn’t work out and I just kind of sat around thinking a lot. I wrote a couple of songs that were really stripped down and just me and a piano or me and guitar. I think that was very apt as well, I was trying to fall back in love with music again in the purest sense. Now at where I am - as you were saying with all these new textures and sounds - I’m just exploring another part

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of music that I haven’t known. I think each part of them (the songs) is just me at different times - but I get annoyed at myself that they don’t really seamlessly go together. But I’m getting there man - I’m getting there.

Obviously you’ve been touring a lot and releasing new music. You said you’re more comfortable with where you are now, have you sort of got a vision or just seeing what happens?

Definitely, yeah. I think it’s just getting a balance isn’t it? Life’s all about balance – ironically, my Mum always tells me that! I feel like I’m getting there now. I’ve got the excitement of the music and the artisty thing doing this. Most days I’m in the studio and writing for things that aren’t just me. It’s a weird thing being an artist because all you’re really ever doing is thinking about your emotions and putting everything under a microscope. I feel like I’ve got a good balance now of writing for me and writing for other artists - pitching this for TV and film as well, my music is a lot broader.

I feel happier exploring different parts of it rather than just focusing solely on being an artist because I’d just send myself mental really by doing that.

You mentioned earlier something about writing music for Shaun the Sheep want to say a little more about that?

Yeah, I wrote the trailer music for the next Shaun the Sheep film… Which is totally random. I’m singing in a stupid voice about partying in the Milky Way. [laughs.]

That’s cool!

Yeah it is cool! It’s really fun. I think again what you were saying earlier about new sounds and new textures and things - I feel like I’ve always struggled to have my sort of ‘signature’ sound. So it’s really nice doing things like that where you get given a brief and it’s almost like method acting but with music. They gave us a reference song sort of like an old 90s rock tune and said ‘we want something like this, but lyrically a bit silly like this’ and you just encompass that and embody a 90s rocker. I did that and it’s so fun - I almost enjoy that more than being myself. I think being yourself is actually really horrid because you’re always so open and vulnerable.

raphy - he’s just amazing at it. I think it’s really easy to get overwhelmed with the path that you’re on, but it’s really lovely knowing that anytime you can redefine yourself. I feel like that’s where I’m at at the minute really, I’m just sort of redefining what I’m doing and I love it.

This is your last show for a little while sold out which is awesome. What’s the plan for the next year or the next couple of years?

Nice ending!

So do you think you might go to Colombia and be a farmer or something for a bit then?

Maybe Wyeah! It’s quite nice. I wouldn’t be married though - I’m single as fuck at the minute. I’ll be alone! And a farmer…

Aw. You’ll get there I’m sure. Thank you!

I’m going to knuckle down - I’m always writing, loads and loads of different things. For lots and lots of other artists, bits for TV and film and really weirdly again I’ve pitched this thing for like a Korean-Pop Boy Band. A certain amount of my music is fucking weird. So I might go to Korea this year for a couple of weeks and just write weird K-Pop stuff!

It’s really nice. I turned 25 recently. I think some people really panic, but one of my best friends is 30 - he turned 30 this year - and it’s really amazing to see what he’s done. He was a musician for a few years - he was actually a footballer when he was younger - he got dropped!

So he was a musician, then he got married and moved to Colombia and was a farmer for like five years! He turned 30 this year and has now taken up photog-

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riod of hiatus. Not a peep is heard out of them for five long years. But then, some cryptic tweets. A new single, then two, then three. And finally, the light at the end of the tunnel – or should I say, the darkness?

MGMT - LITTLE DARK AGE

BY EJ OAKLEY EJ Oakley is pleasantly surprised by the fourth studio outing from indie-psych’s best-known stalwarts – while the record is clearly a compromise between critical approval and personal creative vision, walking the thin red line between both fields has never sounded better.

The year is 2013. Andrew VanWyngarden and Ben Goldwasser have been making music for a solid eleven years under the moniker MGMT, yet they are still only known for a single runaway hit released at the start of their career. The critical reception of their albums has slid from enthusiastic to barely lukewarm over the past few years, and their self-titled album has just been released to a deluge of confused and unhappy reviews from two opposing camps of critics. “Not experimental enough!” cries one side. “Not pop enough!” jeers the other. It’s enough to make anyone’s head spin, and it is certainly more than enough for VanWyngarden and Goldwasser. Slinking out of the limelight quietly, MGMT enter a self-imposed pe-

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Little Dark Age has come to us in a time when the album’s title couldn’t be any more apt. Named after the band’s reaction to the Trump presidency and crafted as a reaction to “evil taking over the world”, the record is 45 minutes of well-crafted, albeit left-field pop. The weird and the wonderful always abound in MGMT’s work, but this time, the two-minute cowbell-punctuated ditties and twelve-minute symphonies replete with kazoos have been replaced with woozy 80s synths and hooks so catchy that you’ll snag your shirt on them as soon as the first song starts playing. MGMT may have been the band’s self-titled album, but Little Dark Age is the record that fully encompasses the band’s true potential, marrying Oracular Spectacular’s glittering pop sensibilities with VanWyngarden and Goldwasser’s signature proclivity for esoteric sonic experimentation. The result is a record more accessible than the duo’s previous two albums, and ultimately, one that is infinitely easier to love.

Samples of an overly enthusiastic TV workout coach pepper the bombastic synth introduction to album opener ‘She Works Out Too Much’. “The only reason we never worked out was he didn’t work out enough,” coos a saccharine-sweet female voice, dealing out what is both a smug display of childish wordplay and the undisputed pun of the year to the tune of a driving drumbeat and a ridiculously infectious retro hook. Little Dark Age only ramps it up from here – immediately following that is none other

than the record’s title track, a song that unarguably breaks new ground on the indie-psych front and pushes MGMT into electro-goth territory that proves surprisingly dark and tantalising. ‘One Thing Left To Try’ sees the band go full disco and emerge triumphant, while ‘Days That Got Away’ and third single ‘Hand It Over’ hark back to the gentle, shimmering psychedelia of their unjustly maligned second record, Congratulations. There is something on Little Dark Age for everyone who cares to lend an ear, whether you’re a fan of one, all, or none of their previous records.

The undisputed stars on the album are, however, the twin colossi that are ‘When You Die’ and ‘Me and Michael’ – two songs so different that they could serve as polar opposites on the spectrum of everything that MGMT have ever produced. But make no mistake.

Each offering is so impressive that it almost justifies the rabid baying from critics for the band to go either fully experimental or fully pop – if this is what they can achieve on either end of the scale, it’s no wonder that everyone is fighting over which end they should be on. ‘Me and Michael’ is undoubtedly a pop masterpiece constructed out of the kitschiest bits of 80s music, armed with a power-ballad chorus capable of punching through even the most hardened pop-skeptics’ sensibilities. On the other hand, ‘When You Die’ sees MGMT show off the perfect blend of lyrical aggression and musical creativity, culminating in a track that somehow manages to simultaneously cheer you up and chill you to the bone. “Go fuck yourself,” VanWyngarden intones coldly, over the bright tones of an electronic erhu emulator. “You heard me right.” It’s a lyric we should all be glad for even in spite of its petulance. After years of meandering

across genres, MGMT have finally met themselves in the middle; embracing their talents on both sides of the divide.

For the first time, we are truly hearing them right.

“Impossible!” I hear you cry. “A psychpop record? MGMT are sellouts now?!”

Well, if selling out means taking the best parts of what they do and throwing them all into a glorious fluorescent triumph of a record, then yes, MGMT have truly sold out. May they live long and prosper for it.

PREOCCUPATIONS - NEW MATEIRAL

BY JAKE CROSSLAND Preoccupations’ particular brand of icy, abrasive new-wave post-punk has previously shocked and chilled in equal measure; their new album sees the frozen edge begin to defrost (making it perfect for a spring release) despite darker lyrical material. The appropriately titled New Material is the third from the Canadian 4-piece and the first to

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truly earn its sophomore label. A name change saw the group effectively release two debut albums (2015’s notoriously-named Viet Cong and 2016’s also self-titled, post-renaming Preoccupations) and makes this album their first attempt at a second go. Settling into their fractured and labyrinthine niche, the new LP is a brief caper into warmer territories, laden with techno-like, industrial trips.

‘Espionage’, the first taste of the album, sees the quartet settle into their recognisable racket, matching haunting synth arpeggios with jagged, industrial drums. Indulging in layered harmonies has characterised Preoccupations’ past work and the album opener escalates New Material into further, vocally textured regions, with a call-and-response chorus somehow managing Nine Inch Nails-does-Duran Duran.

Blending the demonic terror of early Trent Reznor with the pop ambitions of Simon Le Bon is largely a consequence of the familiar yet fearful tones of lead vocalist Matt Flegel, who sounds like a pantomime Marilyn Manson in the best way. It’s a spectacular trick, to walk the line between camp and grave. Flegel captures it perfectly and relishes in the release.

After a brash reintroduction to the band, ‘Decompose’ uses gentler melodies and open-string guitar strums, a regular technique of the four piece, to warm frozen exteriors. Bass stabs and shifting rhythms add a dark tinge to the otherwise pastel tapestry - buzzing and splintered synths are relegated to backing singers, the inviting vocals the main focus of the track. ‘Disarray’ pushes further into the band’s newwave aspirations, ditching the industrial pains found elsewhere throughout the

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LP. And while the music may be melting, the lyrics they reveal in the thaw are decidedly vulnerable, exposing Flegel’s dark mindset. ‘Disarray’ finds him coming to terms with everything being a lie; ‘Manipulation’ deals with a fear of being forgotten through imagery of war and obfuscation, backed by an equally wooly, ethereal synth loop and distant drums.

An album standout comes in the spectacular closing track ‘Compliance’, taking its cues from caustic techno and dance music. Building from threatening synth stabs and found-footage percussion samples, it swells and fizzes until reaching a saturation of white noise.

The instrumental track highlights the group at their best, balancing distinct melodies and rhythms with challenging structures and corrosive arrangements.

In the case of New Material, the balance regularly tips towards creating an accessible body of work, perhaps in spite, or as a consequence of the lyrical mire.

Whilst tantalisingly brief, the 8-track album carves out progression in much the same way the songs unfurl. The band reach an impasse of spectacularly complex sound, yet somehow push through to find something gentler and staggeringly unique. New Material continues the Calgary quartet’s hunt for something greater, one song at a time, with warmer moments hinting at a future wholehearted embrace of new-wave. The hypnotic looping and industrial scare tactics are enough to preoccupy anybody - luckily, Preoccupations have grander things in mind for next time.

hookworms - microshift by ej oakley Hookworms’ third album moves the psych-rock quintet towards popular accessibility while compromising none of their usual boldness; a shift in the right direction that is anything but microscopic.

Only the brave and stupid remain unfazed in the face of disaster, and Hookworms frontman MJ is anything but the latter. Boxing Day 2015 saw the River Aire break its banks and flood several recording studios; among them being Hookworms’ creative haven, Suburban Home studios. A substantial five-figure monetary loss and six months’ worth of rebuilding time were mitigated by a very successful GoFundMe campaign, and before long, MJ and co. were hard at work once more, and from a once-watery grave, Microshift was born.

Microshift isn’t the only thing MJ has put out since the grand reopening of Suburban Home, but it certainly is without a doubt the crowning jewel in his portfolio as both a producer and a

musician. Hookworms’ previous two albums, Pearl Mystic and The Hum, were brilliant, albeit challenging listens; much less accessible than the shortand-sweet numbers churned out by their experimental post-punk compatriots TRAAMS and Eagulls. This is, of course, no fault of Hookworms’ own – sophisticated psych-rock tends to wall itself in with its own die-hard fans; deterring other listeners with songs clocking in at an average of six or seven minutes long and an undying marriage to the long-play record format that ensure any singles off the album feel somehow incomplete once removed from the greater context of the album itself.

But now, Microshift is the Trojan horse within those walls, and the Leeds quintet are all but reinventing the genre for all to enjoy and take example from.

Unlike the low, menacing guitar drone on both Pearl Mystic and The Hum, Microshift moves Hookworms into new territory, juxtaposing skittish synth lines and steady motorik rhythms at the forefront of their music to create songs so infectiously unique that it wouldn’t be an overstatement to classify them as psych-pop. Album opener and second single ‘Negative Space’ serves as Hookworms’ thesis for the record, progressing from quirky robotic samples to the rising swell of psych-rock’s signature synths, before finally letting listeners down gently on the tide of a refrain more tender than your own mother’s touch. From there, Hookworms wage an all-out war on the presupposed boundaries that their chosen genre – and ultimately, their own previous output – had placed upon them. Not a single one out of the nine tracks on Microshift fall short of being absolutely stellar, and each in their own way – testament to the Leeds quintet’s musical

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dexterity and whip-sharp experimental instincts.

On Microshift, Hookworms display a softer side to them than ever seen before, and to much avail. The incoherent shouts and frenzied cries on tracks like ‘Away / Towards’ and ‘The Impasse’ have been done away with. MJ’s vocals are now almost completely decipherable; the voice of a man who no longer sees his music as an outlet for some incomprehensible anger eating away at him, but as a sanctum of solace instead. ‘The Soft Season’ is a tender goodbye to a lost lover holding no resentment, only bittersweet sentiments – “I’m glad you’re feeling safe and I’m glad you’re coping,” MJ intones softly, “I’m sorry if the world has hurt your feelings.” Even the brooding seven-minute behemoth (and Microshift’s standout track) ‘Ullswater’ hides a gentler side, speaking of comfort, co-dependence and solidarity in otherwise turbulent times. While seemingly uncharacteristic of both Hookworms and psych-rock in general, this new display of emotion is hardly unwelcome. In a world where the alternative rock scene – particularly in Britain – is more often than not dominated entirely by displays of aggressive masculinity and a “big boys only” mentality, it is incredibly heartening to know that some bands out there refuse to fall into step with such a mindset.

Microshift also touches on more personal topics for the band, to much success. ‘Static Resistance’ is nothing short of a post-punk anthem, whose lyrics reference MJ’s struggles with mental health. “There’s nothing wrong with being fragile, alright?” he crows, over the exultant scuzz of frenetic, distorted guitars. “You learn to celebrate getting through / getting past / getting all

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this out your system.” Hookworms are clearly jubilant – they have weathered the storm, both as a band rebuilding their own recording facilities, and for MJ as an individual, trying to overcome his own personal struggles. ‘Boxing Day’ is yet another track symbolising Hookworms’ triumph over adversity, a soundscape of the fateful day Suburban Home was inundated; fleshed out with brutal electronic backbeats and almost occult chanting. This is immediately followed up by ‘Reunion’, whose calm sweeping synths undercut the chaos of ‘Boxing Day’; the dewy-eyed calm after the storm and the promise of rebirth. The album still feels like a cohesive journey; a story told from start to finish, but unlike most albums where the tracks fade into and out of each other, every song is also distinct from the rest as a chapter in its own right. Microshift, with its personal significance to the band themselves and its refusal to play by anyone else’s rules, is not just the album we’ve been waiting for – it is the album we all need.

At the end of the album’s final track, ‘Shortcomings’, we hear the sound of birds chirping and trilling for a fleeting moment before the album fades to black. Have Hookworms finally found peace? With as cohesive a mission statement as Microshift, I wouldn’t be surprised if they have at last.

The defining feature of their 2015 albums “Thank Your Lucky Stars” and “Depression Cherry” is undoubtedly the dream-like smoothness; whilst this bubbles up in “Lemon Glow”, it seems as if this feature now belongs to their past. Despite a subtle veering away from the velvet serenity of their beloved repertoire, the familiarly eerie soundscape reassuringly bleeds through from their previous work. The duo’s echoic chilliness rests alongside the soothing gracefulness, still making up the primary substance of the song.

beach house - lemon glow, single by olivia lunn Simmering freshness: Beach House’s Latest Single “Lemon Glow” Beach House’s latest song “Lemon Glow” has a pervading rawness to it, possessing an urge to move into the unexplored. A precursor for their new album set to be released in Spring, the Baltimore duo (comprised of Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally) are taking their sonorous lushness down a new silken path. Their previous melodies felt like floating clouds, left to formulate and billow in their own time, yet “Lemon Glow” has a refreshing sense of sharp definability to it. The refined urgency of the rhythm and the biting synth creates a wonderfully jagged texture, lying forcibly beneath the vocals.

Comparisons can be drawn with Melody’s Echo Chamber; although more upbeat and optimistic, Melody’s rhythmic rigidity provides a similar frame for the voice that glides dreamily on top.

Legrand’s voice is syrupy and mellifluous. After about half a minute of deepening organ tones and throbbing drum beats, the sounds no longer bounce off one another but meld seamlessly together. Released on Valentine’s Day, she gives the track a sassy dimension through lyrics that voice the sweet intimacy of lovers. I get the sense this new album will be less political and more meditative than “Thank Your Luck Stars” (2015), as the words in “Lemon Glow” dwell more in the private realm than the public, capturing the tempting intangibility of “candy-coloured mystery”.

The mystique of their pioneering dream pop rests on the seemingly effortless semblance of lyrics, rhythms and layering, which emerge from the song like autumnal leaves wistfully drifting towards a mossy lawn. “Lemon Glow” disappears like melting snow, leaving nothing but a mysterious bounce in its wake. “Work, Bitch” is the duo’s recently adopted motto, and its irony seeps into the song’s determined wanderings. In a 2015 interview, Legrand describes her life as nomadic, whilst musing: “Are artists fearless hunter-gatherers of the energy that people need?”

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The accompanying music video is evocative of Bridget Riley’s optical illusions. Monochrome fragments continually morph and move, resisting stillness, echoing the song’s searching restlessness. Although striking, these visuals aren’t especially original and don’t stand out in their own right; however, they do much to bring out the trance-like tensions and hypnotic vibrations of the music. The starkness of the black and white shapes goes against Legrand’s lyrical obsession with colour, perhaps exposing the reality behind her ideal.

Beach House typically release albums in their entirety, intending them to be experienced as a unified whole, but this teasing slice is simply too delicious to be left unacknowledged until spring. An exquisite drop of zing that needs to be tasted.

rich brian - amen by hughie rogers-coltman 54

The most interesting hip-hop in the world right now seems to be coming from South-East Asia. Artists such as Keith Ape, Higher Brothers, Dumbfoundead, and Year of the Ox, among others, are bringing a much-needed emphasis on good flow to the nihilistic, stupid, but undeniably exhilarating culture of Soundcloud rap. By far the most exciting hip-hop artist to have emerged from the continent in recent years however, is Rich Brian (FKA Rich Chigga). The former internet joker has amassed a cult following, and is now being taken seriously as a major hip-hop artist. This debut album lives up to the hype, and the sound presented on it is one that could represent a new chapter for hiphop. He might be the first to successfully juggle all of the most interesting trends that this decade has brought to the genre, balancing the abstract musicality of Odd Future or Brockhampton with the thuggish, danceable energy of Lil Pump or Smokepurpp, while always sounding fresh and original.

Brian Imanuel is a teenage prodigy (he recently turned eighteen), who has been an internet presence since he was just eleven, when he ran a meme page (of course he did). From this he moved onto Vines and YouTube videos. By the time he started rapping he was already an internet star. It’s a really interesting exercise to watch this progression just by scrolling down his YouTube page. You can see the development from comedy and irony to ‘serious’ (if it can be called that) music. His real break into hip-hop came in 2015 with not-quite-comedy single ‘Dat $tick’. The video for the single cleverly played off of the racial stereotypes that would be sadly inevitable in the juvenile and hyper-masculine culture that dominates a certain side of YouTube. Dressing up

to the Asian nerd image with a tuckedin polo and fanny pack only served to bring Rich Chigga’s (as he was then known) frankly incredible flow into relief. This, coupled with a very tight, very heavy trap beat, made it clear that there was more to Imanuel than pure comedy. Or, as no less than Ghostface Killah put it, ‘he don’t look nothing like how he sounds; he’s dope though.’

2 years and 86 million views later, Rich Brian has given us is his first album, Amen, and it’s brilliant. The style swings from outright trap heaviness on the title track and ‘Glow’, to cloud rap on ‘See Me’, to Joji-style (the fellow Yotube alumnus features on ‘Introvert’) soulfulness and introspection on ‘Glow Like Dat’, which is for me the standout track on the album. Yet for all the genre-shifting, the album always feels coherent.

There is a traceable thread through the album, partly due to really subtle, intelligent production (remarkably Imanuel produced most of the tracks on the album). There is also his trademark deep tone and an aggressive driving flow that fits perfectly around this style of beat. This flow is best exemplified on a track like ‘Tresspass’, where he sustains a straight, relentless 4/4 flow over a deep trap beat for almost the entire track. Where another rapper, a Ski Mask the Slump God, say, or a 6ix9ine, would let that beat do the work, falling back on adlibbing or maybe some repetitive triplets, Imanuel doesn’t. He proves that you can have it both ways, that a heavy beat worthy of Smokepurpp doesn’t necessarily have to mean lyrical compromise.

Of course, there are the moments of lyrical inanity. It wouldn’t be a truly credible hip-hop album without a few dick jokes and moments of machismo. His

more shocking lyrics are in the tradition of Eminem and Tyler, the Creator, however – there’s always a self-awareness of the ridiculousness of them. It’s ironic that a rapper as young as Rich Brian should show a much greater awareness of this kind than many of his contemporaries – the sheer lyrical idiocy of Lil Pump can be fun, but over an album it becomes grating. Imanuel has instances of this subversive sense of mischief, but at other times the lyrical content in these songs is actually pretty interesting. ‘Glow Like Dat’, which is, as I mentioned earlier, a masterpiece of contemporary hip-hop production, is also an opportunity for Imanuel to display the lyrical variety that he is capable of. The song is about a break up, with lyrics about the pain that he feels about it interspersed with standard rapper bragging. You could read it as a deconstruction of the masculine façade put on by young male rappers, indeed young males in general. Alternatively, of course, that could be reading too much into it. But whether this is a conscious deconstruction, whether Rich Brian’s lyrical complexities are deliberate, or not, what is clear is that he is exploring territory that the likes of Lil Pump would never dare to go near. And all of this is coming from an 18-year-old.

This mixture of high and low, of profanity and posturing with sincerity and self-awareness, has, of course, been a characteristic of hip-hop since its inception. But it’s very interesting to see how it is manifesting itself in the Soundcloud era. Two of 2017’s most exciting artists were Joji and Rich Brian, both of whom started out as essentially memes; Joji as Filthy Frank, an absurd Youtube character, and Brian as Rich Chigga, a nerdy Asian kid who behaves like a gangster. In fact a lot of the

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Soundcloud rap movement has been deeply imbued with meme and internet culture. How much more popular was ‘Gucci Gang’ thanks to memes about how terrible its lyrics were? It seems to me that in Amen Rich Brian has capitalised on this aesthetic. Fully aware of the deeply ingrained sense of irony integral to meme culture, he has produced an album of real depth. He has pushed forward the musical aesthetic of Lil Pump and his ilk into a new realm with both his genuine gift for flow and the variety of his lyrical content, and in so doing has reconciled the differences that people tend to draw between trap and ‘real hip-hop’. It’s not an album without flaws – ‘Little Prince (ft. NIKI)’ is sugary and boring, and ‘Arizona (ft.

AUGUST 08)’, despite some lovely, artful sampling, is a bit all-over-the-place structurally. However if the overall sound presented on Amen is anything to go by, Rich Brian’s brand of hip-hop, and his artistic vision, is very promising indeed. I’m on board with it.

There’s no other way of saying this – Twin Fantasy is a kickass album. And it was a kickass album even when Will Toledo, the frontman of Car Seat Headrest, released it on Bandcamp in 2011. OK, this might sound like a lousy attempt at selling a few extra copies of poorly remastered demos from back when Car Seat Headrest consisted of only Toledo in his late teens. Luckily, that’s not the case. Twin Fantasy has been completely re-recorded. What once were rough lo-fi takes are now bold anthems. Still, Twin Fantasy didn’t lose any of its emotional power, its youth or other quintessentially lo-fi qualities. In fact, they were only strengthened.

car seat headrest - twin fantasy by adam zamecnik

Indeed, there is a certain tongue-incheek quality about Twin Fantasy, perhaps representative of the wild mood swings of puberty. Toledo may be pouring his heart out on ‘Beach-LifeIn-Death‘, just the second song on the

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Many of the reviews for any new Car Seat Headrest albums often mention the transformation from a solo project into a “masculine” and “mature” band.

Yet that completely misses the beauty of Twin Fantasy or any past releases. If anything, “masculinity” would ruin the appeal of Toledo’s deeply introspective lyricism. “I pretended I was drunk when I came out to my friends. I never came out to my friends. We were all on Skype,” Toledo sings, in the 13 minute epic ‘Beach-Life-In-Death’ where minute descriptions of boredom are quickly replaced by confessions of depression and feeling completely lost. Still, it is odd how anthemic this song is, switching between stream-of-consciousness verses and intense chorus. At the same time, it’s equally surprising that a 13 minute meditation on feelings of dread and heartbreak can sound so catchy.

album, but he can also quickly switch to humour and constant self-referencing. This becomes quite apparent on the tracks ‘Stop Smokin‘ (We Love You) and especially on Bodys. While BeachLife-In-Death stuns the listener with its length and emotional charge, ‘Stop Smokin’ (We Love You) quickly replaces that with total confusion as Toledo repeats “Stop smoking, we love you/And we don’t want you to die” for less than 2 minutes. ‘Bodys’ is even brattier, with Toledo himself breaking the fourth wall when he schools the listener on the structure of the song “No, it’s just the building of the verse, so when the chorus does come, it’ll be more rewarding”.

Equally referential is the sound the record, channelling 90s emo revival bands such as Sunny Day Real Estate with the swagger of Julian Casablancas. If anything, Toledo should be lauded for his ability to utilise his influences to great results, particularly in case of the climatic track ‘Famous Prophets (Stars)’. It is a track definitely worth noting, captivating the listener with 16 minutes of pure emotion and sudden changes, starting as a mid-tempo rocker, quieting things down with a piano-led intersection and then bursting with immense energy in the end, while referencing ‘Beach-Life-In-Death’ through a call-back to its chorus. At the same time, the rest of the band also deserves great praise for their dynamism and energy, turning what used to be rough dirges into intricate anthems.

Although some might miss the lo-fi qualities of the 2011 Bandcamp release, there is no need to worry that Twin Fantasy lost any of its appeal. It still is an immensely personal record with Toledo’s characteristic vocals and lyricism. The sound production may be a bit cleaner but that did not rid the re-

cord of its rawness and honesty. In that sense, Twin Fantasy remains a stark reminder of Toledo’s feelings of confusion and desire, and indeed, a reminder of the confusion puberty brought to everyone.

charli xcx - pop 2 by george horner As a self-proclaimed ‘poptimist’, I make it my mission to try and convince non-believers; those who look at pop and can’t see past the UK Top 40 and every faceless artist that fills it, to delve deeper into the canon to find the hidden gems that make pop so electrifying.

Charli XCX’s latest mixtape, Pop 2, is at the top of the list on my crusade.

Charli XCX has always been somewhat of a pop enigma. She began performing in the Myspace era at dingy London warehouse raves. She made it into the big time when she wrote and performed on ‘I Love It’, the 2012 hit single by Icona Pop. However, with the release of last years acclaimed EP Vroom Vroom - produced by bubble-gum-bass-veteran SOPHIE - and her all female mixtape Number 1 Angel, we began to see what happens when Charli XCX is released

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from the shackles of her record label: she creates adventurously eclectic sonic palettes that couldn’t sound more out of place on Capital FM. Pop 2 is filled to the brim with a diverse set of features, including PC Music maestro A.G. Cook who channels his futuristic glitchy production onto every track. Pop mainstay, Carley Rae Jepson, features on synth-y mixtape opener ‘’Backseat’’, whilst Post-Soviet Estonian rapper Tommy Cash – a rapper whose style is best described as dystopian Euro-trap – features on “Delicious”. Pop 2 shows off Charli XCX’s pure musical prowess, but it also reveals her ability to combine a raucous collection of pop misfits and musical outliers from all corners of the globe and create something truly distinctive and idiosyncratic.

Melodically this mixtape shines, with Charli XCX showing that pop music doesn’t have to be lyrically dull. Suffering by one’s own hand, pop music’s lyrical repetitiveness (an inherent characteristic of the genre) is often one of its least appealing aspects. Charli XCX is not afraid to embrace lyrical constancy.

An example being ‘I Got It’, where the entire chorus features 41 I got its and two yeah’s. Instead of removing the lyrical monotony crucial to the genre, Charli XCX embraces it, manipulating the vocals to the point where they become unsettlingly distorted and compressed, ingrained into the very percussion of the track. This is the main charm of Pop 2, her ability to not stray too far from the formula, whilst turning it on its head and creating the sound of pop-to-come.

Thematically the mixtape also has a lot to say. It is clear that Charli is singing from the perspective of a twenty-something, a member of the generation who grew up under the guise of Myspace

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and MSN, Twitter and Snapchat. Pop 2 is about love in the digital age, how we curate and project digital selves, and how this affects how we interact with the very human concept of love. On ’Femmebot’ - one of the more experimental tracks featuring the fierce U.S. based rapper, poet and performance artist Mykki Blanco - Charli sings from the perspective of a powerful ‘femmebot’; a stereotype of a woman, programmed by society to perform and act in a way that fits with the status quo.

Charli XCX, once again, denies conformity, opening the track with the blunt declaration: “Go fuck your prototype / I’m an upgrade of your stereotype”.

Charli XCX saves her best till last, with the perfunctory titled ‘Track 10’, in what may be her best piece of work to date.

It begins with a jumbled high pitched white noise chatter which, like a radio, tunes into an idyllic combination of interstellar harps and heavenly choral notes. The rocket ship rumbling bass enters and the song grows as Charli sings over a drum beat generated entirely by computer code, overseen by another PC Music artist Lil Data. The song builds in layers until an anthem is orchestrated that encompasses the entire ethos of Pop 2. Entirely digital; filled with a human clutter.

It is the human touch within Pop 2 that means it will remain in the canon of music far longer than any other pop music being released today. This mixtape is full of goosebump inducing euphoria, moments which cancel out the difficult and complicated world we live in. For something so digital and programmed, this mixtape is a maze of human unpredictability.

A mean feat from Charli XCX.

experience - be it buttering your toast, or falling in love. Listening to Lotta Sea Lice is an experience of falling in love with the everyday, noticing the banal again, and seeing the charm surrounding you.

courtney barnett and kurt vile - lotta sea lice by alice devoy “Keep on rolling on the impulse/ ignore backstage lethargy/ and all those obligations lost in/ reverie.” (Let it Go) Self-described by Courtney as ‘harmonies and guitarmonies galore’, Lotta Sea Lice is the wondrous brainchild of Kurt Vile and Courtney Barnett. It is nine songs of raw honesty coupled with soft guitar riffs, creating music that is simultaneously feel-good and cathartic. It is difficult not to fall in love with the idea of this adorable duo, whose sounds match each other as well as birds match the sunrise.

A knowledge of Courtney and Kurt, who have their two rightfully deserved personal fan-bases independent of one another, would leave you questioning why this album didn’t come sooner. The two share a talent for making deeply poetic songs, laid-back and devoid of all pretension, that cut to the core of personal

The first song, ‘Over Everything’, was written by Kurt for Courtney after they kept meeting on the tour circle and became friends. Perhaps inevitable, the welding of Courtney and Kurt when they recorded this first song created sparks, and what started as an EP soon became a nine- track record. Lotta Sea Lice has the two covering each other’s songs, as well as original collaborations that range from the charming ‘Continental Breakfast’ to the more sombre ‘Off Script’.

Fundamental to this album is Courtney and Kurt’s spirit of collaboration, which was their outstretched arms ready for a welcoming embrace. Everyone seemed to get involved: ‘Fear is like a Forest’ was written by Jen Clover, Courtney’s partner; there are backing tracks from Dave and Bones from Courtney’s band (the CB4s); and they worked closely with artist Stella Mozgawa who inspired the name of the album. When it is the norm to put just one name on an album, belying the true nature of music production (or, indeed most art), which involves countless participants, Lotta Sea Lice seems like a step in the right direction for encouraging artists to all share their ideas and pitch in, not worrying who does what, for the sake of churning out some nice music.

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words by james witherspoon

photography by ej oakley

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pstairs at the Lexington, Husky Loops were set to fulfil their destiny. Over a year since they’d appeared at Great Escape’s First Fifty as a new voice on the London music scene, they were to play the (sold out) London stop on their first headline tour. Drinking from faded plastic tumblers of red wine in the sunken green room of the venue, they seemed supremely confident – London, of course, has been their stomping ground for the last four years – but this concert marked a momentous occasion in what must surely be their rise to stardom. But first, the support.

MEI, a London-based neo-soul outfit, were the first to take to the stage in front of an already moderately-busy crowd. For an ecstatic 15 minutes, the trio worked their magic with a distinctly Hiatus Kaiyote-flavoured set, combining the powerful vocal range of the titular singer and lush new-jazzage instrumentals. As if caught in a spell, early arrivals to the concert found themselves swaying rhythmically to the otherworldly majesty of astral blues.

Somewhat jarringly, the second half of the set saw a paradigm shift to cosmic, FlyLo trip-hop; and eventually the outright grime-tinged swagger of Pennies, the band’s first single. Quite why their initial offering would be so different from their repertoire remains to be seen; however, the latter tracks recalled Tricky’s collaborations with Martina Topley-Bird in the best possible way. It’s good to see an act as singular as the Loops choosing a similarly challenging and intriguing support to launch their concert – and the crowd was most certainly revved up for more.

WOOZE then took to the stage, garbed in canary yellow jumpsuits and blazers,

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sound-tracked to a mock-announcement of their arrival. Despite their low social media profile, and total lack of streamable content, they’ve managed to amass quite the hype over a supposedly unique, daring sound that blends wavy psychedelic overtones with a dark grunge/hard rock base. What we got, from what I can tell, were circa-1960’s pop vocals (think The Beatles or The Beach Boys), combined with garage rock, and some slightly jarring samples. Also conspicuously present was a regular barrage of tone/key changes that proved to be disorienting, although certainly intriguing. To be fair to the duo, the tech equipment seemed to suffer outages at several points, catalysing song restarts and general embarrassment. As a result, it felt like we weren’t being given the experience and sound that we were intended to receive – through the haze of poor production, however, I got the impression that these guys will be ones to watch. They’ve constructed a killer aesthetic, conjure the spirits of the drug-infused mid-20th Century, and combine that with a much harder, concert-suited sound.

And then, it was time for Husky Loops.

A projector screen descended from the ceiling, and the lights flickered for a second before plunging us into darkness. Silence. As the broken circle of the band’s logo pulsed on the illuminated board, a looped funk sample built in volume and the members ascended to the stage. What followed was, undisputedly, one of the best concerts I’ve ever seen.

For an hour, the Loops seamlessly blended content from their two current EPs, flotsam-and-jetsam samples from the last century of music, and innovative dance tunes that flitted between

each other in a riotous maelstrom of infectious summeriness and the hardcore. There’s something about the trio’s live shows which isn’t visible from their recorded output: a raw, untamed unpredictability that dares you to second guess where a sunny, groovy riff could plunge into head-banging heavy rock at any minute.

Periodically, frontman Danio Forni would break up his flow on original songs to introduce a mass-media snippet of music from another time and place, only to snap immediately back into a killer guitar solo that had the crowd cheering and flinging themselves into the air. All the while, a slideshow of eccentric and aesthetic GIF content, curated by drummer Pietro Garrone, backlit the proceedings in a suitably idiosyncratic, trippy manner recalling reports of the original Pink Floyd concerts at the UFO Club.

The Loops took us through their entire musical oeuvre, from foot-tapping fan favourites like ‘Secret Matilda’ and ‘Tempo’ (which has one hell of a whitenoise kick live); to newer songs ‘Girl Who Wants to Travel The World’ and ‘When I Come Home’. We were also treated to some new material, including a stellar, hard-hitting cut named ‘Good as Gold’, which I’m sure you’ll be hearing of soon enough. Every time I see these guys live, it reminds me why I was so impressed in November 2016 at Kamio. Their visual aesthetic is so tightly wound together into their music, which pushes the boundaries when exploring areas like plunderponics, and the dividing lines between dance and rock (Primal Scream vibes). As a stage presence, Danio seems almost possessed at times, yelling odd occultish sounds into the mic, and even at one

time humming a famous pop song in the bridge of his own. They’re not without their own distinctive humour either – Ed Sheeran’s ‘Shape of You’ blares through the Lexington’s speakers, only to be slaughtered by a cacophonous, screeching guitar riff a second later.

The hour-long barrage of noise, imagery, and sweat climaxed in an innovative guitar-based dance track set to a stroboscopic array of primary colours – turning the band members into blackened silhouettes against the tumultuous roar of pure noise. A perfect conclusion to a perfect set that was in equal measures loud, innovative, and catchy: at times, I was so impressed that I actually laughed out loud.

What sets this headline tour above the rest is the way in which Husky Loops have constructed a 60- minute, monolithic experience that stands as a monument to their output over the last four years. When watching this modern rock in overdrive, it really feels like we’re watching a signature set: a cohesive, well thought-through event that doesn’t just feel like a jumble of songs played by a good band. The sum of its parts may have been magnificent, but this concert proved to be even greater.

All of this which leaves me wondering: what will we be saying about Husky Loops in a year’s time?

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23.02.18

ALVVAYS THE ROUNDHOUSE

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words and photography by ej oakley

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anada’s best-loved indie rock darlings washed up on our shores in a flurry of striped t-shirts and infectious guitar hooks. EJ Oakley ventured deep into Camden Town to witness the spectacle.

A lot of fuss is habitually made about the state of British indie rock nowadays – yes, it’s still in critical condition – especially in comparison with indie rock across the pond in North America – arguably a scene not faring too well for itself either. But what of Canada?

Amidst the ‘Britain vs. America’ brouhaha that’s a tale older than time itself, everyone seems to forget the only country whose stellar indie rock scene has remained so strong and stable that Theresa May’s mouth would water just thinking about it. The nation that produced Arcade Fire, Metric, Feist, Jeff Rosenstock, Mac DeMarco, and countless more names that would take me as least two pages to type out entirely, is oft forgotten for the sake of scratching at old scabs – a crying shame, really.

But then again, this world wouldn’t be as great a hulking ball of pain as it was if everyone could tell where the best things in life really were.

Arriving at the crowded Roundhouse on this particular Friday night did alert me to the fact that many people in London were indeed aware that seeing Alvvays would be the best thing that they could do with their night. Streams of people snaked out of every possible entrance; the queue for drinks at the Roundhouse bar was almost unmanageable. Opening acts never draw a particularly large audience, but the impenetrable throng of people gathered in the standing area prior to the first set was so unprecedented that I managed to lose my companion in the crowd before anyone had

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even taken to the stage. It was clear from the start that Alvvays and their music meant something to each and every person in that crowd, somehow – be it through the tales of romance and reckless abandon that they spin with their songs, or their inimitable brand of feel-good indie with a slightly dewy-eyed sheen to it. The drunks, the dreamers, and the hopeless romantics had gathered in full force that night, and they were all there for one band.

The band tasked with warming up the crowd that night were none other than Glaswegian quartet Spinning Coin. Unfortunately for the audience, Spinning Coin seemed to have been unable to decide exactly what type of music they made before playing anything at all, and ended up playing tracks that could have come straight out of a Baby’s First Introduction To Alternative Music Genres album. The band oscillated between tracks that straddled garage rock and psychedelia in the worst way possible – sounding too ambitious to fit with the former, not ambitious enough for the latter, and simply not remarkable enough to be considered a remotely enjoyable hybrid of the two. After several mostly indistinguishable tracks, all of which were the musical equivalent of the colour beige, and one of which involved a disagreeable amount of caterwauling at an equally unpleasant pitch, the foursome left the stage.

After half an hour of waiting with bated breath, the sweet strains of ABBA’s ‘As Good As New’ faded away to nothing, and an expectant roar rose from the crowd. Alvvays appeared on stage moments later; launching straight into ‘Hey’ (a number off their newest record, Antisocialites) as their adoring audience cheered them on. Molly Rankin

and co. breezed through their bestloved numbers with ease, stopping occasionally to punctuate their set with lovably Canadian banter about tourist activities in London and the Toronto Raptors game on air that night. Their performance was rapturous the whole way through, even as the energy dipped during slower numbers like ‘Forget About Life’ and ‘Party Police’, which had the audience shouting the lyrics along regardless of tempo.

As expected, Alvvays truly shone as a live act during their more upbeat tracks – ‘Saved By A Waif’ set the entire room abuzz as Rankin’s falsetto hit all the right notes with crystal clear clarity, while ‘Atop A Cake’ and ‘Your Type’ had several audience members in the centre of the crowd even attempt to start a moshpit. While most of these noble attempts to hot-wire the crowd into a slightly more energetic state met with no avail – through no fault of their own, given the varying moods of each song – all inhibitions were finally dropped when the band played their final track, the beautifully melodic ‘Next of Kin’.

The crowd sprung into action, the

moshpit burst to life as its members belted out every lyric and note, and I was even unwittingly reunited with my companion; colliding into each other as the final guitar lick on ‘Next of Kin’ swelled to its triumphant finish. Alvvays’s set only lasted for just under an hour, but it was clear that everyone in that auditorium had truly enjoyed themselves from start to finish – including the band members themselves.

As a whole, there is really something to be said about Alvvays’s live performances, even if their sets mostly consist of replaying their songs exactly as they are in their studio recordings. What they lack in live experimentation they make up for through the simple fact that their music sounds infinitely bigger and better live. Rankin’s tender vocals and guitarist Alec O’Hanley’s sparkling riffs undoubtedly steal the show, somehow sounding even better in person than on record. The same can’t be said for a lot of other indie rock acts – British or American. Perhaps it’s time to acknowledge that the real stars of indie do not lie here, or across the pond, but further north than we all expected.

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24.01. 18

elder island the jazz cafe

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Words by Silas Edwards

Photography by Alex Hemsley

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n an interview for the New Yorker last year, Sylvan Esso’s producer Nick Sanborn bravely defined the best electronic music as ‘music that really sounds like humans made it’. The first time I read this definition, it seemed like a good summary of the project embodied by a wave of electronic artists (starting with The xx in 2009) who have pioneered the use of new music technologies to create songs which are subtle and rich in feeling, and not mechanical at all.

Elder Island, the much-hyped electronic trio from Bristol whose show this week at the Jazz Café sold out several months in advance, do not fit so comfortably into this definition. Their music instead takes the human as its building blocks, in the poignancy of Katy Sargent’s low voice and the warmth of her cello strings. Next the band introduce the electronic: pulsating beats, synth chords and, most distinctively, the impossibly cool funk-guitar lines painted over the top. The result is not music that sounds like humans made it, but music that sounds like it was made in outer space.

Elder Island’s London show marked the second stop on their biggest headline tour to date, which will see them visit Dublin, Manchester, Bristol and Leeds in the coming days. Their support act

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was Small Hours, a brand new collaboration between a talented singer and guitarist/producer with a striking approach to electronic pop. Though the band occasionally struggled in a particularly noisy venue, when they turned up the heat for their track ‘Preacher Man’, the crowd suddenly started to pay attention. Ending their set with a dazzling guitar solo in the song ‘Shoebox’, Small Hours left a warm impression on the audience at the Jazz Café.

By the time Elder Island arrived on stage, the room was completely packed. Starting with a new song, ‘Stranger Exchange’, the band wasted no time in building up a trance-inducing electronic soundscape. Elder Island’s lyrics resemble magic spells, featuring short refrains that are at once personal and mysterious. The eldritch quality of the music steadily intensified with Katy Sargent’s chant: ‘Come along, if you fall you’ll be undone.’ The charm was unfortunately shattered in the fourth song, ‘Garden’, when Sargent realised her cello was out of tune and struggled to find the right pitch until the chorus. The band however dealt with the disruption in an impressively calm way - apologising and taking a moment to tune together before carrying on. The musicians all had a refreshing stage presence, with an evident desire to prioritise the music over the choreography. The gig was free

of the usual scripted banter between performer and crowd that typifies many live shows and the music-making came across as communicative and spontaneous, even despite the restrictions of using of pre-recorded sounds.

For me, the show peaked with the track ‘Golden’. In the patient build-up of repeated sequences Elder Island crafted a song with a gripping sense of momentum, containing amazing moments of transition where the listener imagines themselves opening doors into ever stranger worlds. While some Elder Island songs lack structure and coherency, the best contain addictive rhythms, strong choruses and make incredible music for dancing. The show ended with their hit track, ‘The Big Unknown’, a song which has garnered more than 4.3 million listens on Spotify.

Watching the audience at the Jazz Café mouth the words and move their feet it was evident that the band have captured the hearts of many music lovers.

I wouldn’t hesitate to bet that by this time next year, Elder Island’s distinctive space-sound will be known and loved by many, many more people.

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02.02.18

h m l t d the windmill

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Words by hughie rogers-coltman

Photo by rachel prew

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little over two years ago this magazine reviewed a performance by a little-known new band called Happy Meal Ltd. The excitement, novelty and decadence of the band was incredibly exciting, reawakening a long-dormant sense of glamour that hadn’t been seen in ‘indie’ music (in the loosest sense of the term) since the days of Roxy Music.

They were perfectly contrary to virtually every trend in music at the time. It’s as if they emerged from a vacuum, carried only by their own incredibly potent, iconoclastic energy. They were at the crest of a new wave of bands emerging from South London, and more specifically a barmy Brixton pub called The Windmill. A lot has changed in those two years. Some of those bands are selling out US tours (Shame), others have already burned out (Dead Pretties, (ahem) Nervous Conditions). Yet HMLTD, as they are now known, haven’t actually changed that much at all.

Aside from their name, a contract with Sony, a handful of singles, and a series of increasingly outlandish haircuts, the band I saw playing at The Windmill on Friday were very similar to the band we described two years ago. Is this a problem? Not necessarily. They’re as shocking and exciting as ever, and they have shown a remarkable refusal to compromise in their sound and image. I’m just interested to see where they can go from here.

At the opposite end of the spectrum we have Black Midi, who were supporting this evening. The depressingly young (17 is what I’ve been told) quartet are incredibly exciting, showing a musicality and genuine instrumental ability that is remarkably rare among the post-punk bands that frequent this venue. In the space of a few months they

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have already garnered a huge amount of respect; this was their fifth gig at the Windmill in January. They manage to juggle the inevitable Fall influences with a real musical complexity, never falling back on any chord sequence, always delivering the unexpected in each of their tracks. The drummer is the best I have seen in a new band in a very long time, and the whole band plays off of his rhythmic complexity. 5/4 and 7/2 time signatures abound, but it never feels meretricious or proggy. There’s definitely a Minutemen influence in there, but the band never felt retrospective. One of the songs (unfortunately I wasn’t able to catch the name) had an almost Afrobeat feel to it, with a chugging jazzy rhythm to it that kept the guitarists on their toes. Another featured a lengthy vocal monologue over a repetitive, hypnotic guitar riff. This might have felt like a pastiche of Minutemen’s ‘History Lesson Pt. II’ (something I would have no problem with) had it not developed beautifully into a driving crescendo. This ability to mix their influences, complex instrumentation and intelligent songwriting means that Black Midi are a very exciting band indeed – both sophisticated and visceral.

And onto the main event. It’s difficult to convey the unique feeling created by an HMLTD gig to someone hasn’t experienced it. You know it from the moment you enter the venue. The theme for Friday’s show was infancy. Disturbingly painted naked dolls and hundreds of dummies hung from the ceiling and the walls were covered in baby photos and fake children’s drawings (‘by Henry, 22’).

The horror-movie aesthetic created a sinister, but ultimately very fun environment. Everyone was in on the joke. The soundtrack when we arrived sounded like Squarepusher or Shitmat - ridicu-

lously over-the-top hardcore and jungle - adding a further level of cutting discomfort to the abrasive surroundings.

Once the support bands had played a banner was raised in front of the stage – ‘EXPLOITATION BEGINS AT BIRTH’.

In another band this sort of pass-thebong faux-philosophy would be worthy of ridicule. Yet for some reason HMLTD seem impervious to parody. So much of their aesthetic is itself a parody, an ironic reflection of musical and aesthetic clichés, that it’s difficult to know what is and isn’t supposed to be ironic. And the very satisfying truth is that it doesn’t actually matter. Their irony sort of circles in on itself, and what emerges is a sincerely thrilling, completely uninhibited experience of genuine musical energy.

So when Henry Spychalski emerged, tearing through the banner looking like some sort of Mighty Boosh parody of a glam singer, the crowd went nuts. A throbbing drum machine announced the opening track ‘Music’ and the mosh pit got underway immediately, not really stopping for the rest of the 45-minute set. The band members were works of art themselves. Every minutely plotted action of Spychalski was in character; the maniacal grins, the wide eyes and the Michaelangoan poses struck by his body all added to his wonderfully crafted persona. The other band members were similarly striking. Guitarist Duc looked like a sadistic late 19th century French aristocrat, a kind of electric Montesquiou. Drummer Achilleus was a techno-pirate who looked straight out of an 80s B-movie. The effect of this was a kind of synaesthesia; the multiplicity of images on stage and the insane unpredictability of the music all melted into a surreal energy, which took hold of the crowd. If my description of this sounds curious and abstract,

it’s because that is what this band are – you can’t really understand it until you’ve experienced it for yourself.

Was it original? I’ve seen this band many times, and the effect is largely the same every time. There were a few newish songs (‘To The Door’, ‘Satan, Luella and I’) but the ones that provoked the biggest reaction from the crowd (‘The Choo Choo Train’, ‘Where is Joanna’), were songs that they have been playing for over two years now (interestingly both are yet to be released). Perhaps this is because they were very much playing to a home crowd, in an unusually small performance at The Windmill.

But I couldn’t escape a nagging sense of apprehension. When the band is post-modern, post-ironic, post-internet and post-just-about-everything-else, where can they progress to? Perhaps we’ll see an album from them. But it would feel too pedestrian, too well-trodden a path for them to take. They seem to exist outside of the regular structures of the music industry; I can’t really see them following a traditional route to ‘success’ (whatever that word would mean for them). But what I am sure about is that theirs is a unique artistic vision, and a unique talent for performance. Whatever route they take, it will be a very exciting one to witness.

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Š under city lights mmxviiI the views expressed in this magazine do not necessarily represent the views of the editor, rare fm or uclu.

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