6 FREE
/ P. 2 - 3 /
www.waxxx.co.uk
CONTENTS • 6/ Ear Waxxx
Andy Hill of Abandon Silence fame delivers some musical gifts that will bring joy and happiness for all who listen.
• 7/ UK Festivals
Similar sort of set-up; blag some press passes, get fucked off the free booze, forget everything that happened, make up a review!
• 22/ Waxxx On Art
A look at the talented Katie Craven’s new exhibition.
• 24/ Zee
A new exhibition from Kurt Hentschläger coming to FACT as part of the AND festival.
• 25/ The Liverpool Scene • 8-9/ Foreign Festivals
A round of up the festivals we managed to get into for free!
• 10/ Single Reviews
This issue we have gone a bit dancey dancey, so make sure you listen to these gems at a socially unacceptable volume.
• 11/ Album/Ep Reviews
A nice mixture of emerging artists mixed with better known artists to provide some consistency.
• 13/ The Who?
Life goes on for this unknown band in Liverpool. They are starting to make a few noises now and have secured support slots for some big bands. A link to their music will bring sunshine to your ears before we reveal their identity in the next issue.
• 16-17/ An Excerpt From A Novel In Progress
We have read about the chaos in his personal life over the past few issues, now he takes us into his professional world and introduces us to his boss “with the fucking massive head”
• 18/ Breaking Britain
Remember the riots? Old news we know but Stevie Law takes a look at the underlying issues of why they started with a slightly less right-wing view than the popular media.
• 19/ Keep Calm? Fuck Off
It’s possibly the most over-used unimaginative piece of shit poster. Tear it off the walls in your student halls along with the ‘Back to the Future’, ‘24’ and ‘Stoner Simpson’ poster and be creative.
‘Liverpool is at the present moment the centre of the conscience of the human universe’. A quote from Ginsberg in the 60’s paints a picture of an artistic melting pot in our city. How does this compare with today? You decide.
We have a few events in between for you to get involved with. We have teamed up with Actionaid and FACT to show a couple of classic films at our film nights. The Big Lebowski sold out on Monday (19th September) and the next instalment is Easy Rider, with all proceeds going to help build schools in Africa. Next we have Is Tropical (Kitsune) who play INK bar with support coming from Tea Street Band and Picture Book. Tickets are selling well at 3Beat, so don’t leave it to the last minute and be left disappointed. Love you all lots, Waxxx xxx
• 28/ Waxxx On Film
Charles watches films at FACT and tells us about them so you don’t have to sit awkwardly through anything shit.
• 30/ Horoscopes
Publishers Michael Pickard – michael@waxxx.co.uk Joshua Burke – josh@waxxx.co.uk
The most accurate look at the stars and signs for the next few months. Abide by them or fail.
Editor Joe Murphy - joe@waxxx.co.uk
Editorial
Designer Rogelio Narito – ricky@rogelionarito.com
So we made it to a year old, despite the financial losses, rowdy parties, arguments, celebrations, punches and kisses. It was never going to be easy was it, especially when we tend to leave everything to the last minute. First of all a big we want to say a big thank you to everyone who has supported us and everyone who hasn’t. It has made it more challenging and we hope you have enjoyed what we have had to offer. Our first birthday party is at Camp&Furnace (formally the A-Foundation) which has been in demand for events over a number of years. Despite the government disassembling the art scene in Liverpool, it has allowed for new owners to turn the A foundation into a warehouse venue, indoor park and hotel and we are privileged to be able to host the first party. We have joined forces with Eat Your Greens, Harvest Sun, Puschka and American Apparel who will be providing wearable, edible and musical gifts for all. Paul Chambers and Punks Jump Up will be headlining and we are super excited about blasting the roof off.
Advertising info@waxxx.co.uk Contributors Owen Rogers, Emma Harrison, Klaus Joynson, Andrew Hill, Michael Pickard, Joshua Burke, Lorne Ashley, Dani Canto, Chris Holland, Tom Southworth, Charles McIntyre, Stephen Baxendale, George McCallum, Stevie Law, Orla Foster, Jodie McNeil, Joe Murphy, Matthew Lloyd, Kurt Hentschlager, Joshua Burke, George Newman Publishers Michael Pickard – michael@waxxx.co.uk
HIRE Telephone 07736 613339 www.campandfurnace.com enquiries@campandfurnace.com
Eatery, bar, music venue, ARTS hotel, INDOOR PARK, photographic studio. Coming soon.
GIGS/NEWS
/ P. 4 - 5 /
Words: Joshua Burke
MU SIC NE WS
METRONOMY
THE KAZIMIER SATURDAY 24TH SEPTEMBER
LOVE INKS
WILLIAMSON TUNNELS SATURDAY 24TH SEPTEMBER
CAVE PAINTING
After receiving a prestigious Mercury Music Prize nomination for their latest album The English Riveria, Metronomy’s highly anticipated show at the Kazimier is not one to miss. Having played at many of this summer’s festivals, including a slot on the Pyramid stage at Glastonbury, their autumn tour is a great way for the band to celebrate the recognition that they have finally achieved. Tickets sold out.
Our dear friends at Harvest Sun host what is referred to in these parts as a cracking line-up. Set in the ever-picturesque Williamson Tunnel, come on underground is sexy, Love Inks headline what will no doubt be an atmospheric gig. Their debut album E.S.P was released earlier this year and is full of short, catchy songs. Comparisons to The XX could be considered lazy but not too far away from the truth, lead lady Sherry LeBlanc resembles Stevie Nicks more than the previous Mercury winners. Support comes from Sun Drums and Terra Alpha, as well as All We Were who recently released their self-titled EP and returned from a European tour with Liverpool favourites Stealing Sheep.
Cave Painting are a band that have released two songs and have received a lot of attention. The reason being, the two songs are great. They are like Vampire Weekend’s cooler cousin from out of town and have a sound that draws you in and resonates around you like an old friend. With the release of their debut EP this autumn, their show is bound to be full of anticipation and grubby hands trying to exchange money for vinyl.
CLOUD CONTROL THE KAZIMIER SUNDAY 9TH OCTOBER
WILCO
MANCHESTER ACADEMY TUESDAY 25TH OCTOBER
RODDY FRAME
Cloud Control’s Bliss Release provided everything you want from a great summer album: floating harmonies, melodic bass lines and niggling guitar hooks. They maintain a fresh sounding record whilst sounding somewhat familiar; it resembles that of a clean-shaven Fleet Fox. The Kazimier will no doubt provide a superb backdrop for what is certain to be a night of beautiful music.
The legendary Wilco return with their 8th studio album The Whole Love in September with an October UK tour following. The album follows in the same vein as 2009’s excellent Wilco (The Album), combining all aspects of the band’s sound to create a classic Americana-pop album. It is their first album released on their newly created label ‘dBpm’.
Having found fame with 80s indie band Aztec Camera, Roddy Frame is heading out on the road again in support of his new album. Along with his acoustic-based solo work expect to hear some of the best music to come out of the 80s indie scene, including classics such as ‘Oblivious’ and ‘Somewhere In My Heart’.
TINDERSTICKS
LAURA MARLING + THE LEISURE SOCIETY
THE PHILHARMONIC HALL TUESDAY 18TH OCTOBER
GHOSTPOET
CONTEMPORARY URBAN CENTRE (CUC), GREENLAND STREET TUESDAY 11TH NOVEMBER
ANGLICAN CATHEDRAL FRIDAY 28TH OCTOBER
Veteran miserablists Tindersticks bring a unique show of film and music to the Philharmonic. They shall be performing various pieces of their highly orchestral and rich scores to projected scenes from films of the French director Claire Denis (35 Shots of Rum and White Material). The shows coincide with the release of the 5-CD box set ‘Claire Denis Film Scores 1996-2009’.
Also nominated for this year’s Mercury Music Prize is Ghostpoet. He plays Liverpool’s creative art space ‘the CUC’ in support of his electronica album Peanut Butter Blues & Melancholy Jam. The album has gained critical acclaim since its release in February and he has even toured with the likes of Jamie Woon and Metronomy. He played a well-received set on the West Holts stage at this year’s Glastonbury after being added a week before replacing Gonjasufi.
Along with the release of her third album A Creature I Don’t Know, Laura Marling embarks on a UK tour of the country’s finest cathedrals including a stop on Hope Street. Since arriving on the indie-folk scene, singing with Noah and The Whale, Miss Marling has adapted into a serious, and important, singer-songwriter who is bound to play a very special show this autumn. Support comes from folk-pop outfit The Leisure Society, whose recent release Into The Murky Water is one of my favourite albums of 2011.
MHEDI DEAD
STEPHEN MALKMUS & THE JICKS + GIRLS
MAGNET
Seminal producer DJ Mehdi died on 12th September after falling from a roof at his home in France. He was a big part of The Ed Banger record label and was an immensely talented DJ, loved across the world. The famous Paris Social Club, popular with other Ed Banger artists was closed the following evening as a mark of respect. RIP Mehdi 1977 – 2011.
HMV RITZ, MANCHESTER TUESDAY 14TH NOVEMBER
After last year’s highly anticipated and well-received Pavement reunion, Stephen Malkmus returns with the new Jicks album Mirror Traffic. The album is a fantastic mix of typical Malkmus-esque traits, it’s full of satirical, nonsensical lyrics and shambling guitar playing throughout. They are co-headlining this show at the newly refurbished HMV Ritz with the superb Girls, whose new album Father, Son, Holy Ghost is out in September.
THE SHIPPING FORECAST SUNDAY 25TH SEPTEMBER
THE KAZIMIER SATURDAY 15TH OCTOBER
They’ve found the keys. Not only that but they’ve managed to get the electricity switched on. Now in the ownership of the company running Ministry of Sound and co, The Magnet is promising to bring an awesome array of talent back to the venue that was a city favourite for the past 60 years or so. Sorry we didn’t open it.
SAKTE
CAMP?
PPL - PAY PISS LOADS
The skate park on Jamaica Street was boarded up not so long ago. Everyone got really pissed off, climbed over the fence and carried on skating. The council were, to everyone’s surprise, in support of the park continuing and arranged for contractors to go down and take orders from the skaters as to where they wanted new ramps etc. Not only surprising news then, but another boost for the area, which appeared to be heading towards decline earlier this year with the closure of the A Foundation.
We reported earlier this year that A Foundation was to close its doors after suffering from major cuts to the arts. Fortunately, new owners Miles Falkingham(Union North), Simon Rhodes (smiling Wolf) and Tim and Paul Speed (of Elevator Studios) have got hold of the keys and are currently programming a seriously exciting run of events. The first music event to be held in the venue will be our very own Waxxx House Party on 1st October featuring Paul Chambers, Punks Jump Up, Mr Paul, CntMixWntMix, Jess Gascoigne, Avant Hard, Waxxx DJ’s, YBA amongst many others. Get your tickets from 3beat on Slater Street and support your local record store!
Don’t bother starting a club night anytime soon. A consultation is currently underway by PPL and PRS who collect royalties for artists when their music is played. Audience magazine report that a standard club night over three hours attracting a 500 strong audience will have their rates put up from £40 to more than £600. That’s sure to bum rape some venues, and promoters, who will be forced to increase prices or reduce costs. Either way, it’s not good for “punters” as they say in the trade.
Retail Location: American Apparel, Unit 93 22 Paradise Street Liverpool L1 8JF Tel: +44 (0) 151 707 1766
EAR WAXXX
/ P. 6 - 7 /
Words: Andrew Hill
MU SIC
RADIOHEAD
1
TKOL REMIX 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 RELEASED: OCT 10TH 2011
Despite the ever-increasing worries about Thom Yorke’s sanity; his penchant for discovering new pockets of music, particularly the electronic kind, has led to this new venture for Radiohead. After the great initial response, but not lasting reception that King of Limbs received, they have now moved to a remix album. We all know that a ‘remix album’ rates pretty highly alongside the ‘deluxe version’ or the ‘CD and DVD package’ at the top of greedy musician’s money grabbing schemes; but the artists involved in this LP certainly seem to go against those judgments. Despite, the five, yes five, different versions of ‘Bloom’ that appear, it seems that this is actually a serious attempt at a credible remix album. Featuring 19 tracks from artists across the electronic music spectrum, there are elements of techno, house, dubstep and garage, with artists such as Modeselektor, Jamie XX and Sbtrkt appearing. One of the highlights on the LP comes from Leeds based producer Blawan. His re-work of the track ‘Bloom’ is utterly spell binding, completely splicing it in every way possible, Blawan leaves the track for dead and stretches it out into an 8 minute epic with some of the hardest breakdowns you’re likely to hear in 2011.
SertOne
2
In the past year or so, Liverpool has developed a number of new exciting electronic music artists, from John Heckle, to Mele, to Dauwd. Another name to add to this list is SertOne; despite the fact that he is an Irishman living in Liverpool. Nonetheless, we shall let him off due to the quality of his productions and live show. Hailing from Portadown, SertOne produces hip hop, another large rarity in Liverpool. His productions come from the hip hop ilk of artists such as Samiyam, Daedelus and Flying Lotus. His West Coast influenced beats play out across Django’s Riff each month at his club night, Fly High Society, which he runs with close friend Bolts. With releases forthcoming on Melted Music, we recommend you keep a close eye on this guy in the coming weeks and months.
CIRCUS 9TH BIRTHDAY
3
THE MASQUE SEPT 24TH 2011
Despite puncturing their usual Summer hiatus with a Resident’s Party and a surprise show with Maya Jane Coles in The Shipping Forecast, it still feels like an age since Circus last graced Liverpool with its presence. However, as much sadness and longing that this brings you, one glimpse at the line up for their forthcoming 9th Birthday celebration will allay all of those feelings. Headlined by James Zabiela, this behemoth of a line-up just keeps giving; from the Liverpool debut of the German techno monster Chris Liebing, to the Masque debut of the petite Londoner and hottest property in electronic music Maya Jane Coles, to the return of the unpronounceable David Squillace, as well as the return of the ever present Circus residents, the mighty Yousef and the bequiffed Lewis Boardman. With another hefty run of gigs set to take place throughout the 2011/12 season, we cannot wait to get back into the swing of things at the Circus.
THE WEEKND
4
THURSDAY FREE DOWNLOAD
After transporting himself to the forefront of the musical blogosphere earlier this year with his free mixtape House of Balloons, forward thinking RnB artist The Weeknd (real name Abel Tesfay) returned earlier this month with the follow up, Thursday. Narratively flowing from his earlier effort, this LP had a more subtle approach, with three or four listens needed to fully grasp the excellence in song writing displayed across the mixtape’s nine tracks. After the recounting of decadence and debauchery that underlined House of Balloons, Thursday is a more introspective account. Lyrically he has pushed himself further, the middle tracks ‘The Birds Part One’ and ‘The Birds Part Two’ are pure beauty. As one, they would be challenging for track of the year, but you can see the reasoning behind their split. The riposte, “Don’t make me make you fall in love with a nigga like me,” is repeated throughout, as the artist rejects the advances of his lover. It is in these two tracks that his loneliness and fears come to the fore, as if he is finally revealing his true self. Whatever your previous judgments are on R’n’B as a genre, I truly recommend that you check this out – it’s a free download for Christ’s sake! This guy proves that despite the US lead dominance of artists like Pitbull and Akon, there is still excitement and quality to be found in the genre.
SEVEN STREETS
5
WWW.SEVENSTREETS.COM
Liverpool has very few internet based sources of musical knowledge. We all know that Waxxx is the best place to go for the physical stuff, but how is it online? This is where Seven Streets comes in. A simple and easy-to-use layout displays features and articles about the subjects that really matter to the Merseyside cultural population; local arts, local music, local reviews. It is this incisiveness and prevalence to local matters that make Seven Streets the perfect destination. A recent review of Creamfields even gathered its own online cult status, with its mockery and sharp tones contrasted with a fairness and openness that would not be expected if similar events had happened to you (read it for yourself to understand.) All in all, Liverpool needs a cultural online presence, and Seven Streets’ quality output and round the clock updating ensure that, at least for the time being, the perch is theirs.
1 REMIX/ALBUM 2 NEW ARTIST 3 EVENT 4 ALBUM 5 BLOG
UK FESTIVAL REVIEWS: GOTWOOD / ATP / PARKLIFE
www.waxxx.co.uk
Words: Owen Rogers, Mark Sheerin, Andrew Hill
GOTWOOD
I’LL BE YOUR MIRROR, ALEXANDER PALACE
PARKLIFE
If you’ve ever been to a festival that was high in lasers but low on imagination, frivolity and soul it was probably a dance music festival. A while back Glastonbury gave birth to Glade: a hippy-dance hybrid fighting against the short-comings of Guettarised festivals like Global gathering. Sadly Glade festival is slipping into the shadows, but Global Gathering - much like David Guetta - has become richer and more hideous. Enter GOTTWOOD; a creative, electronic music festival nestled in a quaint Welsh wood by the ocean (under two hours away). I was smitten by the setting: a small sea of tents surround a dark wood with a thumping heartbeat. We took a few hours to fuel up in the midst of bird calls and deep house echoes, I’d overheard some stylish and rather posh attendees saying that Gottwood only kicked off at night. A stumbling gurner proclaimed “that’s when the woods change colour”… “sure, maybe for you”. Turns out I was wrong to doubt that sweaty prophet. At night the festival was a musical riot and a visual feast. Neon beams of green, blue and purple drench the Gottwood canopy. It is a vivid Neptunian forest, playing host to all manner of under and overground DJ’s. The first act I caught was MAX COOPER. Techno often relies on relentless momentum to hold an audience, but Cooper delivered something far more subtle. We were spoon-fed fairly simple beats to begin with, just to get people twitching. As the set charged forward he expertly edged in complex, glitchy counter-rhythms to put the crowd in full swing. His influences are clear; his tunes evoke the works of Stephan Bodzin: but where Bodzin might be sinister throughout, Cooper chucks us a beautiful melody or groovy discoesque baseline. A short shimmy down the lantern-lit walkway brought me to the Mixcloud Wood Club, a hollow barn that was housing MR SCRUFF, now about an hour into a colossal five hour set! I can’t admit to staying for the whole caboodle but in the two hours he covered roughly a million genres. The man is a mixing magician. Drum and bass shouldn’t go into obscure snake jazz any more than two goes into five. What is your secret, Scruffy? URCHINS perk me up in the wee hours and in Tiger costumes no less. It’s the first time I’ve heard decent electro in months. Handclap tunes and catchy vocals put the crowd in a great mood, and suddenly everyone’s got fags to lend. The mixing is fairly basic, but for this hour it’s all about picking a string of perfect tunes. Urchins do this to a tee, they are bastions for catchy drops and fresh sounds, all with a slight techno crossover. CASINO TIMES judged a mid-afternoon set perfectly on Saturday. Their painfully cool disco house set lassoed an active gathering under the colourful projections of the Igloo. Watch out for their remix of DJ Nibic (Stuffa) coming out on Swedish label Trunkfunk. It’s big. Unfortunately Saturday’s headliner Jamie XX was forgettable, his over-hyped Gil Scott Heron remix album was infinitely better than his performance at Gottwood. There was nothing dynamic about his mixing, and a combination of bland track selection linked with his expressionless face created a stale set. Mr XX aside, there were also excellent sets from, Frank Brothers, Dan Bumont, Eldoko (curator) and The Correspondents. Gottwood is bizarre, beautiful and perhaps a little bit posh. I embrace this however, so long as my cheeseburger is halloumi and not cheddar, yum.
In advance of this weekend’s event, organisers ATP, who describe their formula as an “excellent mix tape”, released a playlist on Spotify. It ran to 14 hours and our introduction to their urban festival format was no less intensive. No escaping to the chalet, the beach or even the crazy golf, I’ll Be Your Mirror all took place in a cavernous exhibition centre with a confusing one way system and a zealous security team. It was hard on your feet as well as your ears. But of course, the musical challenges of ATP festivals are to be relished. Portishead, Grinderman and PJ Harvey may have been the headline acts. But the well curated line ups mean that it may often be the bands lower down the bill that make your weekend. A case in point is Company Flow. Last seen by this reviewer at an ATP in 2001, the hip hop trio were back in the UK after a 10 year absence. A show of hands suggests much of the audience were here for this return and it’s likely many were also at that appearance in Camber Sands. The good news is that El-P, Mr Len and Bigg Jus have still got it. Their turbo charged assault on the West Hall was one of the highlights of the weekend. Intelligent trash talking and virtuoso scratching don’t get old. There was no stopping them as they outplayed their hour long slot. So if you were looking for lesser known bands with the potential to keep you interested for the next 10 years, I’ll Be Your Mirror did not disappoint. For me, dd/mm/yyyy, Foot Village, and The Books all had instant and I hope lasting appeal. dd/mm/yyyy are a Canadian band who purvey what might be called overheated maths rock. In other words the time signatures pull you before you realise how insane the melodies are. Two drummers and a nice line in banter delivered an early blast of both excitement and humour. Equally bracing Foot Village had twice as many drummers. This allpercussive LA supergroup built landscapes of rolling drums and atmospheric cymbals. But it was drummer/singer Grace Lee’s primal freak outs on stage that along with her fluorescent shorts, made the highlight. The Books were more sedate and took their metronomic beat from a sampler. Sound bites and a hypnotic film also helped orchestrate their civilised bowing and plucking of string instruments. The result was a remarkable synthesis of the avant-garde, the middle class and the new age. However, the fresh and the new soon took its toll. On perhaps the year’s hottest weekend, space on the Ally Pally terrace, with spectacular views of London was at a premium. The halls were at times so drained it was as if the concert had been forgotten about. Like the rest of the country, we were reeling from the hackgate scandal and learning the news of Amy Winehouse’s demise. But somehow, these circumstances offered the perfect context for PJ Harvey to showcase her latest album. Let England Shake is after all concerned with mortality and the state of the nation. With a band including Bad Seed Mick Harvey, PJ’s live sound was hardly less polished than the studio version. But her voice was warmer and the crowd dynamics gave her songs new urgency. Grinderman had just as little trouble commanding full attention in the venue’s vast Great Hall. Nick Cave is much too young for a second childhood, but his new band may qualify as a second adolescence as he gave a tortured, manic performance reminiscent of his Birthday Party days. Night had fallen by the time Portishead took the stage on each day. The trip hop scene which gave rise to this Bristol act may have been hung up on emerging digital technologies. But with live drums and guitar, the sound here was rich and timeless. Beth Gibbon’s voice is, if anything, even wearier, and the accompanying film on stage side JumboTrons brought home the menace of more recent material. Collapsing into a chalet would have been quite welcome at this point, but instead there was a citywide transport system to negotiate. There are obvious positives to cheaper, more focused ATP festivals in the capital. But like life in London itself, the experience is full on.
At the beginning of the festival season was Manchester’s Parklife Festival. Constructed by the people behind the city’s hugely successful Warehouse Project nights, a fantastic line-up was to be expected. With tents hosted by organisations, such as Crosstown Rebels, Hospitality and Liverpool’s own Chibuku, there was a hugely eclectic roster of names for any fan of electronic music to appreciate. The two day event took place in Platts Field Park in the heart of Fallowfield, Manchester’s student badlands. Headlining on the Saturday were the American’s Kelis and Doom. Kelis’ set timed perfectly with the sunset, though her insistence on performing electro-pop versions of even her biggest songs did begin to grind. However, finishing on ‘Milkshake’ ensured that the huge crowd were able to look back with good memories. A lot more could be said for Doom. Performing in the Now Wave tent at 4pm, his set time was not exactly ideal for a headliner, but his performance certainly was. Bouncing onstage in an England replica football shirt, he and his hype man kept the crowd entertained across their hour long set, with classics such as ‘Accordian’, ‘All Caps’ and ‘Lightworks’ all being aired. Despite the cross-Atlantic invasion seen in the headliners, there was a distinctly British look to the rest of the line-up. The Hospitality arena displayed the heavier side of drum ‘n’ bass whilst the Chibuku arena hosted performances from Simian Mobile Disco and Fake Blood. The dreary weather on the Saturday night ensured that anyone complaining about the lack of camping facilities were swiftly shouted down. Sadly the bad weather continued into the Sunday, where heavy downfalls in the early afternoon kept many hungover revellers at home until later in the day when some of electro-music’s biggest hitters took to the stage. One of the afternoon highlights came in the Thrasher tent, where Hudson Mohawke displayed why he is sought after by artists such as Just Blaze and Chris Brown. The Glaswegian smashed his way through his 45 minute set, ending with the truly epic ‘Thunder Bay’ off his recent Satin Panthers EP. Headlining the same stage later in the evening was DJ Shadow. Now, this writer must come clean and admit that I have been yearning to see a DJ Shadow live show for around five years, but even still, his insistence on playing generic dubstep and heavy drum’n’bass in the second half of his set was incredibly frustrating. However, the first half an hour of his set more than made up for it, as he breezed through tracks from Entroducing at a rate of knots. Closing the festival for 2011 were the now headline-veterans Chase and Status. Whatever problems people may have with their more recent musical outputs cannot argue with their stage presence and the sheer carnage that they can cause in a crowd. Despite myself not being the biggest fan of their music, their ability to turn a crowd of several thousand in to an angry heap of chaos was hugely impressive, and certainly a worthy way to end this fantastic festival. With plans a foot for 2012, it is interesting to see where Parklife could go. One thing is for certain, with the talented people behind it and the obvious local support it has, it is only going to get bigger and better.
FOREIGN FESTIVAL REVIEWS: PRIMAVERA / HIDEOUT / OPEN’ER
/ P. 8 - 9 /
MU SIC
OPEN’ER
PARC DEL FORUM, BARCELONA 26TH - 28TH MAY 2011 If you were like me as a kid, and enjoyed nothing more than large parks to build dens and get lost in, then there is a high chance that the thought of going to a music festival abroad probably excites you a lot. If, however, you annually attend the murky depths of Malaga on package holidays, with your entire trip planned out right down to the toilet breaks, then being on a plane in wellingtons and an anorak with a tent and not much else to your name is probably not going to tickle your pickle! Waxxx sent me to Poland’s biggest music festival, Open’er Festival, sponsored by Heineken. It’s huge. 80,000 people, intergalactic famous headliners (Prince, Coldplay, The Strokes, Deadmau5) and an uncountable amount of surrounding rave tents / art exhibitions / cat walks / food halls… everything thought of to the very last details and very last minutes of energy you might have. Unlike British festivals, the camping is limited to around a third of the overall population of the festival, and this dedication to the party meant that every camper was (for lack of a better word) nice. Everyone helping everyone else out to put up their tents, sharing booze, stories, food and plans for the weekend and beyond (I was invited to numerous ‘after party’ house parties for the Monday) all on the first night, before even a band had taken to the stage. We had created a group already. The two British kids in Poland for the first time, with nothing to our name except a bottle of smuggled rum and a tent, now had a contact list of 4 Polish mentalists, an American, a Russian and a fellow lost soul from Britain. It was all smiles as we exchanged tales of our travels and where we planned to go next with our lives. It was something straight from an imagined and modern, Jack Kerouac novel. The next morning our Russian / American / British friends invited us to go to the town centre of Gdynia, the unfortunate city hosting the madness of Open’er, to force some culture in to the trip. We grabbed the free bus there in the sweltering 30 degree heat and got fully involved in everything it had to offer. A dip in the sea and a nap under a tree left us hungry for anarchy back at the festival (after I ran around the city trying to find out the Polish for “Do you have any Nasal Hayfever Spray”... which I never found). Upon the opening of the main arena, Open’er began to take a real stride in its step. The main arena is of an epic scale and size - it feels like an adventure holiday. They wasted no space however, with free wifi hotspots every hundred yards - not missing a trick on publicity, this let the ravers tweet and blog away 24/7. Their favourite moments, songs, places to party or next tent rave we’re all thrown out on the airwaves with hashtags, keeping all 80,000 people feel connected and, more importantly, together.
Everyone was sharing their festival with everyone else. On the first night, when Coldplay took to the stage, it honestly felt like no other party I had ever been to. Coldplay, whether you love them or hate them, have penned some of the most epic popular songs this side of The Beatles, and, if you haven’t had the privilege of seeing their live show in a festival environment, I suggest you do. Hearing hit after hit never sounded so good. With everyone singing every word back, even their visual distractions (at one point they let off hundreds of paper doves into the audience) never made the show feel cheesy or over played. But Open’er does not let you end with each sets final song. It’s organized perfectly so that at the end of every set, if you pace your walk to a leisurely stroll, you will arrive at which ever stage you want… at beat one, bar one, song one of the next act. It’s clever, efficient, and not tiring at all, believe it or not. Keeping you engaged is exactly what Open’er does best. As soon as the Main Stage is spent of all its stadium-esque tricks, the Tent Stage’s emerging talent’s have past their bed times and the World Stage has split its last bongo skin, the ‘merchandise areas’ become the ultimate party foray. There were 4 of them, with two ‘stages’ each among the stalls, selling food, something and everything in between! These areas were built around airplane hangers. Loads of them. One had a silent disco, one was pumping out pure shuffling filth techno until literally the last person left (this was their motto, no lie!), one was even designed by the head honchos of the prominent Berlin tech scene, built entirely from water containers with its own beach. It was madness. And, to be honest, a lot of this night life was a blur. A really fucking good blur, belly full of Heineken, head full of Prince and Primus songs (Never in my life did I ever think I would see those two bands on the same stage, right after each other!) [It’s also worth noting that Prince played 7 encores... Every time, walking on to a Polish united chant of “Preeeeeence, Preeeeeence”] Huge highlights we’re my first experiences of Fat Freddy’s Drop live and James Blake, who played a cover of Mala’s (Digital Mystikz) ‘Anti-War Dub’, a moment that will live with me forever. The real kicker though? Waking up, feeling as rough as a bears arse and going for a hot shower, less than 10 meters from your tent, and, on the way back, grabbing a hot cup of tea from the guy rocking around with a portable tea dispenser... Ready to do it ALL over again!
It was this togetherness that really excited me about the festival. Friendship groups we’re created online, then transferred into real life - like a taste makers blog thrust into reality.
HIDEOUT
ZRCE BEACH, CROATIA JULY 1ST-3RD 2011 Getting to Hideout was a massive pain in the arse. Literally. Sat on a non-air conditioned bus, in midday Croatian heat, trying to get some much needed sleep in preparation for the festival whilst speeding round hilltop cliffs didn’t make for an excellent start. Yet worse was to come. An hour or so into said journey, after we had finally got to the top of an epic mountain, the tour woman got a call saying we had forgotten two people. We drove back down the bendy roads, rather pissed off and confused only to pick up two women who hadn’t even booked on our coach but thought they were too important to actually buy a ticket. As you can tell I was in a bad mood, but this soon wore off. Advice from people who have been to Croatia in the past for festivals informed me that drugs were going to be impossible to source. This was understated to say the least. Not only was it impossible but it was also illegal to ask anyone. The secret police were apparently everywhere, attempting to catch people out by asking them if they would like to purchase drugs from them. Agreeing could land you in prison. So what on earth made this one of the best festivals of the summer? Put simply, the line-up. Look at the line-up for all the forthcoming Warehouse Project nights, take away a couple of fillers who you’re not interested in, add a long sandy beach and plenty of sunshine, mix with a cheaper total ticket price (early bird starts at just £70 for full festival), reduce number of scary pill-heads and you’ve pretty much got Hideout. Yes, it was a massive pain in the penis to get to, but this almost added to it as people wanted to help each other out because we were all in the same boat. Quite literally at times. On the first night of the music starting, we were highly anticipating Jamie XX. We were slightly disappointed and bored and needed more of a kick to get us in the mood. Fortunately the Reclaim The Dancefloor stage provided such a kick that we nearly fell off the balcony. This was more like it. Jack Beats, with his delicious and not always familiar sound was pushing the entire crowd to their limit before allowing them a mini breather and then climaxing to a point where no one knew where they were or what the fuck they were doing. Definitely the highlight of the Friday, if not the whole festival. The second night was even more like it. Our newly found friends on the bus had helped us get a lot more in the mood. Not that we needed it. Tonight we had Caspa, Annie Mac, Simian Mobile Disco, and my favourite DJ and producer Aeroplane. Despite him earlier coming onto my girlfriend, Aeroplane – real name Vito De Luca, dropped an incredible disco set, and somehow got everyone dancing to Abba, which left him worthy of such
a big slot on the main stage. Later, Annie Mac made the night her own and left us desperate for more. I can’t describe how good her set was. I’m sure you can imagine. Definitely Saturday’s highlight. On the Sunday, and after 3 hours sleep (or what seemed like it) we awoke with horrible hangovers early so we could catch a boat party, headlined by Aeroplane. His set was pretty much exactly the same as the night before but in a different setting, out at sea, it seemed to nearly get rid of our hangovers. The crowd were more giddy than the night before (they must have somehow found something and forgotten to sleep). Once again, Aeroplane got everyone massively pumped with his Abba remix before anyone realised what on earth they were singing along to. We still had the final and arguably the best night ahead of us though, so after a sleep, we thought it a good idea to get silly drunk and make our way on the cramped bus down to the festival. Erol Alkan was the highlight by light years. His sound may not be as “current” as the dubstep or disco DJs but he certainly breathed new life into his set and filled our ears with joy. Next 2ManyDJ’s reminded the audience why they’re the crowned kings of electro. Only problem is, I’ve seen them 2ManyTimes. Erol stole the show tonight. Back next year? Yep, already got my ticket. Worked out it’s actually quicker, cheaper and more fun to drive all the way there though.
Words: Michael Pickard, Joshua Burke, Lorne Ashley Photography: Michael McCormack
www.waxxx.co.uk
FOREIGN FESTIVAL REVIEWS: PRIMAVERA / HIDEOUT / OPEN’ER
PRIMAVERA
PARC DEL FORUM, BARCELONA 26TH - 28TH MAY 2011 As a first time visitor to Barcelona’s Primavera festival and in fact Barcelona itself, I was interested to see how it differed to other foreign festivals and even our own festivals back in the UK. Traditionally, Primavera has stood out from the crowd due to its forward thinking line-ups, excellent organisation and smooth management. Such traits have led it to quickly become the first choice festival for music lovers opposed to Barcelona’s secondary offering of Benicassim - a place where glow paint and low-cut vest wearing cockney pricks pollute the air declaring their sex is on fire. First impressions however, were a little sceptical. Queuing up for press passes on the Wednesday took the piss, however, this was NOTHING compared to trying to get into Poble Espanyol to see Caribou and Echo and the Bunnymen on Wednesday night. This was down to either Primavera underestimating the amount of people who would turn up, or... us being fucking totally un-organised and turning up an hour before the start of the show. Probably both. Then, there was the implementation of a new horrendous credit card system used to buy booze. Queuing and frustration hit the English early on the first day. Closed bars, gigantic lines and all your money for booze on a card which didn’t work eventually led the organisers to sensibly revert to cashbars site-wide and with this the mood palpably improved. Anti-government protests had been present throughout Spain in the weeks around Primavera. Frustration with budget cuts and unemployment were aired publicly as political unrest spread throughout Spanish towns and cities. On the morning of Friday 27th May, when, in what was supposed to be a clean-up operation of Plaça de Catalunya, a clash with police sent 99 people to hospital. Political graffiti and signs were everywhere throughout the festival and banners proudly reading ‘Spanish Revolution: Sing Along with the Common People’ were common place the following day thanks to Jarvis Cocker’s dedication of “Common People” to the protesters. The line-up meant there would be many clashes throughout the festival and the first was on Thursday when forced to decide between Caribou and Interpol. Opting for the latter, we went for a crazed sing-a-long as Interpol treated the crowd to a lot of early material from their first and second albums. Although the sound wasn’t great, it was nowhere near as bad as Paul Banks’ newly sported mullet! Carlos D was certainly missed and as newer material began to surface interest seemed to wane. The next decision: Grinderman or The Walkmen? Despite looking extremely dull, The Walkmen smashed the Pitchfork Stage with songs from their new album Lisbon. When the opening chords of fan favourite ‘The Rat’ broke out, The Walkmen tipped the crowd over the edge and did more than enough to challenge the growls of Nick Cave’s Grinderman from a nearby stage.
PULP! PULP! PULP!
Having wanted to see pulp ever since their infamous glastonbury performance I positioned myself centrally, had a few dabs, a sip of cider and waited to be blasted down memory lane The Flaming Lips entered the main stage at around 2.15am and everyone seemed well oiled up! “The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song”, “Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots Pt. 1” and finally ending with “Do You Realize?” made it the perfect pick me up to carry on through to kicking-out time! Wayne’s arsenal of confetti cannons, space cannons, balloons, streamers and psychedelic light show and video projections was complete sunshine for the soul! Next up on the ATP stage were Factory Floor. Their machine rock was ultra-impressive but I can’t help feeling they would be best suited to an intimate environment in order to truly feel their full effect. That left Greg Gillis, AKA Girl Talk, to close out Thursday on the Llevant stage. The set started at 5am and everyone who still had a little left in them was there!!! The appeal of Girl Talk is; if you like dancing and having fun, stage dancers and a constant hail of balloons and toilet rolls - you’re going to have a good time. Friday brought us The National who played to a massive crowd at the Llevant stage. Highlights included ‘Mistaken for strangers’, ‘Afraid of everyone’, ‘Mr November’ amongst many others. They were on top form and it’s good to see them getting the reception they deserve. Deerhunter also played the Llevant stage, which is located as far away as possible from every other stage in the festival. Although inconvenient, the cool sea breeze made it the perfect setting for Deerhunter’s dreamy guitars. *PULP PULP PULP. Having wanted to see Pulp ever since their infamous Glastonbury performance I positioned myself centrally, had a few dabs, a sip of cider and waited to be blasted down memory lane. Jarvis Cocker was on blinding form as his ever so distinguishable silhouette endlessly to’d and fro’d throughout. Jarvis was up to all sorts during a set list jammed with songs from glory-era albums His and Hers and Different Class whilst the rest of the band frantically tried to keep up. ‘Disco 2000’, ‘Do you remember the first time?’ the promiscuous ‘Pencil Skirt’ and finally ending with ‘Common People’ ensured it was a highlight for all who witnessed the comeback. Highlights from the final night included Odd Future and Caspa. The amount of fuss around Odd Future meant we had to go and check them out; it was amazing to see the passion of their fans which eventually caused an unprecedented stage invasion. Fully embracing this, Tyler the creator, was encouraging fans to defy security guards and mount the Pitchfork Stage at the end of their set prompting chants of ‘Wolf Gang’. Caspa was the last throw of the dice for us and certainly for one member of our gang! Living up to the Scouse reputation we pinched a bottle of vodka from Odd Futures’ rider and got on our pins to see Caspa at the Llevant stage (yes the fucking stage on the other side of the festival). Once we got there one member of the group got on his high horse and drank near enough the whole bottle of vodka before eventually passing out. We then had to carry the casualty to the festival entrance and swill him with water. However, there was still no life. It was only when a group sing-a-long of ‘I’ve got a golden ticket’ from Willy Wonka broke out did we manage to get him on his feet and back home to end the festival happily ever after.
Words: Michael Pickard, Joshua Burke, Lorne Ashley Photography: Michael McCormack
SINGLE REVIEWS
/ P. 10 - 11 /
Words: Chris Holland / Tom Southworth / Delyth Briggs
MU SIC
M83
TEETH FLOWERS
AUDIO VIDEO DISCO
The public perception of Justice has always been a confusing thing. Their leather-clad appearance, the blank expressions, the live shows in the dark, all this has led to an image of a band who are dark, broody and nihilistic. And while punishing, snarling songs like ‘Stress’ and ‘Waters of Nazareth’ (a classic of our time) entirely fitted in with this image, it’s easy to forget that Justice’s debut was full of shamelessly happy pop songs like ‘D.A.N.C.E’, ‘DVNO’ and ‘The Party’.
There’s something not right about Teeth. The band’s last single‘Care Bear’ was accompanied by a video where men, smeared with make-up and decorated with wigs and garish dresses, pretended they were the band’s front woman. I consider this to be a good analogy for their music. Dance music, like womanhood, is a nuanced thing. There are many different ways to achieve it. But Teeth seem to plaster on the fast beats and sugary, day-glo synthesisers with a trowel- like a musical drag queen hoping to impress. The weird thing is, like a drag queen, ‘Flowers’ is very in-your-face but also very, very entertaining. Make of that what you will...
The public perception of Justice has always been a confusing thing. Their leather-clad appearance, the blank expressions, the live shows in the dark, all this has led to an image of a band who are dark, broody and nihilistic. And while punishing, snarling songs like ‘Stress’ and ‘Waters of Nazareth’ (a classic of our time) entirely fitted in with this image, it’s easy to forget that Justice’s debut was full of shamelessly happy pop songs like ‘D.A.N.C.E’, ‘DVNO’ and ‘The Party’.
INTRO FT. ZOLA JESUS
‘Audio Video Disco’ though, is an unmistakably light affair, with a gentle but insistent beat and flourishes of electronic piano, reminiscent of Air. Whilst it’s not as frantic or catchy as ‘classic’ Justice, it is nice to hear the band at ease with their lighter side.
JUSTICE
‘Audio Video Disco’ though, is an unmistakably light affair, with a gentle but insistent beat and flourishes of electronic piano, reminiscent of Air. Whilst it’s not as frantic or catchy as ‘classic’ Justice, it is nice to hear the band at ease with their lighter side.
ARIEL PINK
R0YKSÖPP
I’ll be honest; I nearly wetted myself when I heard Ariel Pink was releasing a new single. A collaborative track with lo-fi home recording veteran R Stevie Moore, Dutch Me had all the promise of Pink’s previous freak-folk funk fests with the added maturity of one of the DIY music scene’s heroes. It’s been a long time coming; the pair has been touring the US West Coast for the best part of a year, plenty of time (and talent) to create a fine-wine of a track. Unfortunately instead of a fabulous bouquet, there is a distinct scent of piss in the air. And no, I didn’t lose control of myself. As a fan of Pink’s song-writing I might have had too great an expectation. His back catalogue is incredibly colourful, and adorned with so much glitter and tinsel that this offering sounds as plain as a brown piece of paper in comparison. No sound clips from porn movies or mental keyboard effects here folks. A shame really as it’s these quirky inserts that added depth to Pink’s songs, offsetting the Glam-rock sound with a darkness which exuded intense psychedelics and extreme sexuality reminiscent of the 60’s and 70’s musical era. Maybe I’m being too critical. I can’t deny R Stevie Moore his moment of glory as his vocals are incredible. Suddenly the stripped down sound makes so much sense as you can hear Moore’s yearning through his voice, which would no doubt be drowned out had Pink sprinkled his trademark sparkle. I’m not saying that Moore has influenced the track beyond recognition. His drum-machine beat and snare is off-putting but it’s definitely an Ariel Pink track, it still has the Ariel Pink charm; it just sounds a bit like an elaborate joke. It wouldn’t be out of place on a Mighty Boosh episode and it’s not hard to imagine Noel Fielding dancing along to it in a skin-tight outfit, yawning “Dutch me, Dutch me”, acting like a tit. This isn’t the end though. It’s just one track. Frankly, Pink might be crucified for this measly offering, but with news of a new album titled Ku Klux Glam in the offing, no doubt his resurrection will be swift and glorious.
It’s good to see bands evolve over the years, and this is the case with Röyksopp’s latest offering, ‘Shores Of Easy’. Although this warm fourteen minute track is a proper treat for the ears, the nature of its steadily-increasing synth build-up, as well as the frequent minor chords that pop in to say hello throughout, it is clear that this is no Melody A.M. Written back in March after their gig at The Wiltern in LA, the band stayed up until 3am mucking about with their guitars and synthesisers, spawning what they describe as “a perfect soundtrack to that borderline state between being awake and being asleep” – better keep it away from the car stereo then. The band have only played the song live once, on Santa Monica’s campus radio station the day after its inception. Berge and Brundtland claim that the track is not indicative of things to come, which suggests a desire to continue the band’s tradition of producing fairly short, riff-orientated gems, following the success of their album ‘Junior’ that saw them win ‘Best electronic album’ in last year’s Spellemannprisen awards in Norway. Heavyweights in the Norwegian electronic scene, it’s hard not to compare the group with contemporaries such as Lindstrom. However, the eerie nature of this track cannot help but conjure up the image of a Prins Thomas cover, minus the cheesy grin. If you like your electronica with a side order of progressivism, then ‘Shores Of Easy’ might just be your tipple. You can download the track for free from the band’s website, at… http://royksopp.com/track-of-the-moment. If you haven’t already had the delight, then you should check out their remix of The Irrepressibles, as well as their many other edits in the ‘Track of the Month’ section on their website.
THE KAZIMIER
SHORES OF EASY
ALBUM / EP REVIEWS
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Words: Charles McIntyre, Owen Rogers, Chris Holland
HUDSON MOHAWKE
TANDY LOVE PRESENTS - TURK JERK
Long gone are the days when a musician’s charisma hinged on bravado. Pretence be no more, this era’s for the musical anti-hero. In dance music, such characters champion hedonistic originality amongst waves of bastardised dub step and stagnant electro; roaming the underground behind guises like ‘Hudson Mohawke’. In 2009, Mohawke (Ross Birchard) released Butter on Warp Records, a blunt yet glorious fusion of experimental electronica, 90’s hip hop and retro synths. Sadly, being simultaneously before and ahead of your time has its problems. The album was musical marmite; adored by some, undecipherable to many. In Satin Panthers, Mohawke has acquired a lasso for the thousands; an EP for the dance floor, sent to tug you towards his world, one unlikely hook at a time. It kicks off with the indulgent ‘Octane’; a spiralling intro track laced with epic tension. It’s the ultimate ‘final boss’ music for all you retro game nuts. A gruff and booming midi horn motif drives the EP in its early stages eventually meeting a menacing synth breakdown. The record continues to move on in genre defying style. The sci-fi opening of ‘Cbat’ precedes the most sinister drop known to dance; a sparse dub-step beat underpins a tortured melody, lubricated only by empty silence. Hudson lifts the EP at the penultimate track, ‘All I Need’ builds around a catchy female vocal; but where most producers would succumb to the stereotypical ‘drop’ format, Mohawke rewards the listener by hammering abrasive yet addictive discords – genius. The EP closes with a valiant synth fanfare, an interesting round off to the EP - it makes me laugh – as if he’s using twenty percent of the record to celebrate the other eighty. This EP is everything I want from new music, an audacious output of fresh material, with the exciting potential to reshape more than one genre. Having preached this, Satin Panthers will still polarize listeners, and Hudson is perhaps only part way through unlocking the commercial potential of his music. But should it click with you at this stage, we will both be hoping that Satin Panthers is a prefix to a more lengthy release. Catch this Glaswegian wizard at Chibuku on Oct 22nd.
Tandy Love is a very mysterious figure indeed! Unless of course you’ve got a slight comprehension of anagrams, in which case you can easily deduce that Tandy Love is in fact, record collector extraordinaire Andy Votel - the guru behind Twisted Nerve records and the exceptional reissue label Finders Keepers. As a DJ Votel has become known for sets that take in songs from places which most people wouldn’t even think had music scenes - with Finders Keepers recently releasing compilations showcasing the 70s scenes from Thailand, Spain and Persia.
ANATOLIAN ANAGRAMS
SATIN PANTHERS EP
On this album Votel has turned his attention to Turkey, selecting some of his favourites and re-editing them in a process he refers to as “depipping and restoring with extra juicy bits”. And it IS very juicy. For someone unfamiliar with the typical Turkish sound, I’d describe it as funky with an obsession with novelty synthesiser sound effects.
RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS I’M WITH YOU
If you’ve seen The Doors, you probably wish you were born in 1940s LA so you could have lived through the 60s and 70s in all its rock/ soul/funk glory. For us retrospectives, music has never been, and never will be as good as it was back then. But thinking back, I can remember a period of my youth (twixt child and dropout) when seriously cool rock began percolating through the dreary mesh of contrived-todeath, British pop-rock bullshit. The White Stripes, The Strokes, Foo Fighters, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Placebo, Queens of the Stone Age… the invention of the mosha. It seems I did live through a pretty rockin’ time of my own after all.
While it might not be to everyone’s taste, the beats are hypnotic and there are more catchy bass lines than your hips can really deal with. There’s also an air of deranged excitement that can’t really be explained and that makes the album a refreshing and inescapably fun listen. This is the sound of a country discovering new genres and being very giddy about it. An odd but fascinating, not to mention endlessly enjoyable insight into Turkish funk - a genre nobody knew about, but one that we should apparently all discover. 9/10
It saddens me to think that many of these bands are falling by the wayside in terms of album credibility. Foo Fighters have gone sour, The Strokes aren’t even touching any more, and Placebo make about as much impact as a…well, placebo. So surely the Chilis, who were ancient even when I first heard about them, should stop now while Californication is still in our CD collections.
JOHN MAUS
WE MUST BECOME THE PITLESS CENSORS OF OURSELVES From the first shimmering notes of ‘Streetlight’, John Maus lets us all know what we’re to expect from “We Must Become...” - gloriously 80s, electro pop. That said, those who are only familiar with electro pop in the shiny Duran Duran sense may be left confused as Maus draws more influence from the darker edges of the 80s, such as early Human League, Violator-era Depeche Mode and even John Carpenter’s soundtrack work at times. The highlight has to be, the quaintly controversial ‘Cop Killer’. Here Maus croons in his half-soothing, half-sinister baritone that you and he should “Go kill the cops tonight... let’s kill every cop in sight”. These lyrics are laced over an ominously synthesised melody that is weirdly reminiscent of a horror videogame soundtrack. In all, it’s a perfect example of Maus’ talent for being creepy, but lots of fun as well. If you’re familiar with Maus from his work with Ariel Pink, you should brace yourself for something very different to Pink’s relaxing, retro indie. Yet despite the air of pretension around the title and Maus’ recent interviews, there is an awful lot to enjoy here. 8/10
Firstly, let’s talk album name. ‘I’m With You’ is a pretty poor effort in my book, especially when you consider it was rumoured to be titled ‘Dr. Johnny Skinz’s Disproportionately Rambunctious Polar Express Machine-Head’, which is infinitely better for reasons I don’t need to go into. Don’t people make up album names by getting high and throwing fridge magnets at car bonnets anymore? Even the cover art – a fly on a tablet – is lame. But then it was designed by Damien Hirst… Musically, the album isn’t fantastic. The absence of guitarist John Frusciante, who left the band in 2009, is devastatingly obvious throughout I’m With You. His replacement, Josh Klinghoffer, lends a layered guitar style which just doesn’t compare with Frusciante’s blistering finger work. The only track which seems totally formed, both lyrically and instrumentally, is ‘Brendan’s Death Song’. If this was the base standard for the album, it could have been much more interesting. Sadly the majority of tracks sound like they’re off an early concept album, and the single release ‘The Adventures of Rain Dance Maggie’ is tragically mediocre, although I do recognise the brilliance of the line “Tick tock I want to rock you like the eighties, cock blocking isn’t allowed”. Although the lack of Frusciante funk is definitely a major factor in the failure of I’m With You, the general material couldn’t be saved with any number of improved guitar riffs. Lazy song writing is the real plague at play. ‘Look Around’ is an exercise in how many times you can listen to Kiedis sing the words “look around” without thinking the CD is jumping. ‘Dance, Dance, Dance’ is a sentimental feel good bit of aural fluff, and ‘Even You, Brutus?’ sounds like a Lady Gaga ballad sung by Eminem. Kiedis referred to the new album, and the new band line up, as a ‘a beginning’. The sad truth is the exact opposite. The Chilis have lost their heat, and no amount of tabasco can save them now. 2/5
SAMIYAM
SAM BAKER’S ALBUM When it comes to instrumental hip hop with a slightly psychedelic style, there’s one name that’s always going to come up, and one artist that others within the genre are always going to be compared to…Flying Lotus. Upon releasing 2010’s Cosmogramma LP, FlyLo established himself as the king of trippy drumbeats with spaced-out synthesisers over the top. Fortunately for Samiyam, he comes with FlyLo’s seal of approval, what with Sam Baker’s album being released on Lotus’ Brainfeeder label and the two having collaborated before under the name ‘FLYamSAM’. Some instrumental beat tapes can drag on a bit, after all, hip hop is rarely intended to be heard without vocals - but Sam Baker’s album avoids this, simply by keeping the songs short (only 3 of the 17 tracks break the three minute barrier) and filling them with whirring synthesiser sounds and relaxed but intricate drum patterns. Whilst few songs meet the standard of opener ‘Escape’ with its squelchy melody and head nodding rhythms, this is actually something of a very solid album. Sam Baker’s Album shows that Samiyam can produce very fun and interesting hip hop. However with this offering, it appears he isn’t quite ready to come out of Flying Lotus’ shadow just yet. 6/10
14-18 Hardman St, Liverpool Open Till 4am Sunday-Wednesday, till 5am weekends
£1 Shooters £1.50 Bottles* £2.00 Bottle and Shooter offer* *At all times except Fri/ Sat after 9pm
Baa Bar, Fleet Street, Liverpool Baa Bar, Hardman Street, Liverpool
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www.waxxx.co.uk
THE WHO?
How do we become successful recording artists? Our managers proclaim it’s all about the music. Errr, really? Something doesn’t add up here. Who’s chucking record deals at Brother, and which of you bought Swagger Jagger!? These phenomena deflate me. But this summer has been one of inflation, both economic and musical. Last issue we were in the trenches, battling to get material heard, rejected by sound city, gigs passing us by for lack of full commitment to our cause. Ch….ch…ch…..Changes were needed. Exit two of our beloved friends and enter shiny new people, each matching us ‘originals’ pound for pound in commitment and creativity. This new vitality gave us the gumption to nag the distant puppeteers of our beloved music scene. A fortnight of seemingly unnoticed e-mails to Club Evol was suddenly met with a vague offer to support Metronomy on the 24th. This pleased us - good chat-up line, great support slot. Mike Deane was the next to topple; kindly offering a Liverpool Music Week date which I cannot yet disclose. Promotional bigwigs Me And Him and Everisland responded likewise, they all seem susceptible to the hooks and haunts of our sonic atmospheres. But alas, we could not retain this upward curve. Metronomy’s recent sell out status attracts some musical politicking and our luxury support slot is left hanging in the balance, slipping through our now crossed fingers. C’est la vie. These various bits of attention render us part of the Liverpool scene; a good thing. But our pedantic nature twinned with an acute change from yesteryears’ sound demanded that we alter our name. Has anyone out there attempted this? A brief look through the Oxford dictionary determined a loathing for every word in its possession. All word combinations are cheesy or nonsensical, no ‘The’ names, or scenester punctuation. How about The Who? Not a chance. I kid you not, we pondered ‘Diamond White’ for an evening. But much like the drink, it only seemed a good idea at the time, and by 2am we were quite sick of it. My apologies to Bumper and Delta Taxis. Our name had to be something neutral, something adoptable, and as it turns out something un petit peu Français. On the business side of things, our demos attracted some attention last month. A well connected manager working for an enticing label asked us to depart our current arrangements in exchange for sparkly studios and producer link-ups. But we’re not ready to step on the industry carousel yet and the managers we know and trust are far more understanding of our want to develop. So, while we plod along, I invite you to put some sound to our anonymity. www.soundcloud.com/waxxxwho
Words: Owen Rogers Illustration: Mary Kim Naylor
Words: Stephen Baxendale Illustration: George McCallum
AN EXCERPT FROM A NOVEL IN PROGRESS
/ P. 16 - 17 /
SO CIAL
I had stopped wearing a belt to work, the tie was long gone and my trousers had split down one side. I had stapled the trouser leg back together, but occasionally a few of the staples would fall out and my leg would become exposed, I had to carry around the stapler with me at all times so as I went about my day I could repair the seam if necessary. I was working at a ‘bargain department store’ which was situated on the edge of Liverpool’s most deprived slum. I had planned to work there for just a couple of weeks, but by this point I’d been there for two years. I had no doubt in my mind that it was the worst job in the world, but I had stuck with it because the managers didn’t notice if I came in half asleep and it was only a ten minute walk away from my flat. I came onto the shop floor and immediately the displays were making me feel nauseous. There were rows of shiny leather jackets. Piles of microwaves that were probably faulty. Heaps of every kind of useless tat and unnecessary gadget. I looked around and I saw my supervisor’s head bobbing over the displays. I hated that man’s head. It was the most god awful thing I had
ever seen. It was a terrible and ugly head, full of strange angles and uneven surfaces. It looked more like a giant elbow with a face drawn on it than an actual human head. My daily tasks were putting stock out on the shop floor and working the till. I had to carry out all my jobs while my supervisors and managers spat abuse and ignorance at me. They paid me minimum wage and even then my pay slip was always a third short of what I was owed. We never got to finish on time and we were always expected to come in early. The air was thick with dust and odd smells because there was no money for real cleaners. There was no money for real anything actually. The company was on a financial knife edge. One bad day and the whole company could go under. Terrible cover versions of half popular songs were played constantly on a loop, after a few hours it would get to the point were it all blurred together and the only sound you could actually hear was that of your brain cells committing suicide. Most of my co workers were sexual deviants and thugs, the ones who weren’t were rambling idiots who would talk to me about any inane thing that came into their minds, they would come over to me ranting and raving about nothing at all, after ten minutes of this I would have to start jabbing a
pen into my thigh just to keep myself sane. Despite all that, it was his head that sent me over the edge. That fucking head of his. I could have put up with all the misery if it wasn’t for his head. I could feel myself dying every time I saw it. I was being murdered with a head and nobody even cared. My supervisor spotted me and began walking over. He had an inefficient way of walking which really pissed me off. He took lots of quick yet short steps and pumped his arms about in an exaggerated manner. The man was a fool. With that sort of head you can’t afford to take liberties with your walk. When he finally got over to me he pointed a finger at my chest and said “I don’t want to hear any of your usual shit today. I need you on the tills and then when it’s quiet you clear that back room. Understood?” Behind the tills on our floor was a stock room that was about the same dimensions as a bus. Everyday it was filled with crates of brand new stock. I was expected to unpack all this stock, take it out to the shop
“it was his head that sent me over the edge. That fucking head of his. I could have put up with all the misery if it wasn’t for his head. I could feel myself dying every time I saw it. I was being murdered with a head and nobody even cared.” floor and then take the packing materials down two flights of stairs to an incinerator.
He walked off, pumping his arms, turning around once to look me in the eyes and make that ‘snip snip’ motion with his fingers.
“Look.” I said “I’m not going to be able to get the back room cleared, I’ve told you this before, it’s not physically possible.”
I made a start on the back room but I knew it was impossible. Christ, he must have known it was impossible, he was cruel but not stupid. If he wants me to clear the back room I’ll clear it, I thought. I began taking the fresh stock straight down to the incinerator, I know it was criminal and irresponsible, but I just didn’t care. I still don’t. I put a few things out on the stock floor for show, but most of the fresh stock was going straight to the incinerator and being burned up. By nine o’clock I had flamed about five thousand pounds worth of stock... but still the back room was nowhere near clear.
“Oh I see how it is.” My supervisor said, leaning his head towards me. “You like being lazy. Well we’ll see how much you like being lazy when I mess with your money. Maybe I’ll cut your hours right back. Cut cut. Snip snip! See how you like being lazy when I’ve got your money.” He made a little ‘snip snip’ motion in the air with his fingers. I knew from experience that he meant this threat. The man was a sadist. I felt like murdering him. I know I could have gone through with it too, I would have jumped up and bit his neck, got my molars deep into his wind pipe and chewed like a mad weasel. I decided against this. Instead I just imagined apes gang banging his corpse until I felt calm enough to speak. “I’ll see what I can do.” I said.
The shop opened its doors and almost immediately there were deranged customers limping and shuffling towards the till bank. I could see their little brains twitching as they tried to think up new ways to fuck me around. The only staff I had to help me was a man called Munaf, and Munaf was useless. Literally. He was a man without use. Thinking about it, he was the most disgusting man I had ever known.
Just standing next to Munaf you could feel yourself being dragged down into madness and poverty. He was as low and pathetic as a man could possibly be without actually being dead. He was an alcoholic and a lunatic. All the ale he drank had made his brain so dysfunctional that the only word he was capable of saying was “Lovely.” You had to gauge his real meaning by the tone he said it in. Becoming like Munaf was my greatest fear. I’m told he had moved to the city to be a writer, but that ‘discount department store’ had got hold of him. It had melted his brain and shit on his soul. He had accidentally been working there for twenty years by this point. I would like to be able to say he looked bad for his age, but in all honesty the man barely looked human any more. Time and extreme drinking had flattened his head to the point were it looked like a giant hamburger. He was an ugly bastard but he wore a giant regal moustache, which really didn’t help at all, it made matters worse if anything. He had four or six hairs which he combed across his head into an abomination of a comb over. His stomach was bloated and heavy and he had to tie a belt around it just to keep it in place.
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I pitied Munaf, but I didn’t hate him. I hated the other staff, but I suppose they hated me too. We were all hateful people. You had to have a heart full of hate to work in a place like that. I felt like everyday there was an unspoken competition for who could be the ‘lowest fucker of the shift’. Munaf usually won. All day the customers besieged me and Munaf. I lied to them. Tricked them. Pleaded with them. Anything to get them to leave me alone. I couldn’t stand them. The customers were like a cross section of mental illnesses. In their numbers they possessed every sort of depravity. Every kind of stupidity. Every kind of perversion. There were manic ones, paranoid ones, delusional ones. Liars. Thieves. Almost certainly some murderers. Their ugliness knew no bounds. It seemed unreasonable to me that people should allow themselves to be so ugly. Most of them were barely human. Once, I thought I saw one with hooves instead of hands and one with a snout instead of a nose, but it had been a long shift and hallucinations had become common place. We’d been doing the tills for five hours straight and I was starting to crack up, I looked over at Munaf to see if he was surviving. He turned to me with crazy eyes and rasped the word “Lovely.”.
Words: Stephen Baxendale Illustration: George McCallum
AN EXCERPT FROM A NOVEL IN PROGRESS
As the afternoon went on the customers wore me down. I kept asking my supervisor for a break but he kept saying “Not now! These customers will tear us to shreds if we stop for even a second!” I kept glazing over my eyes and going into fantasy worlds. I imagined tearing down the store with my bare hands. I imagined forcing my supervisor into the incinerator. I imagined being rich. I imagined not being such a fuckup.
shit and I just laughed. I laughed for a long time. This is what two years in retail can do to your mind. I came back upstairs and walked into the staff room, stapling my trousers back together as I sat down. I knew I needed to eat, but I felt too low to do anything. I thought today was going to be the day I won the unspoken ‘lowest fucker of the shift award’. Until I saw Munaf.
I’d been on shift for nine hours and I had not sat down or ate a single calorie. The customers gave us a brief respite so I leant myself against a wall for a couple of seconds. My supervisor saw me from across the floor and the sight of someone relaxing sent him into a fit of rage. He was making wild ‘snip snip’ motions with his hands at me. I went in the back and began bagging up the most expensive stock I could get my hands on. Armfuls of leather jackets, mini plasma screen TV’s and a bag of mobile phones. I took it all down to the incinerator. I was throwing the stock in the incinerator, beating on it with a broom and imagining it was my supervisors head. I thought of all the stock losses, all the jobs I was putting in danger, I thought of being caught, I thought of all the Vietnamese children in factories that had slaved to make this
He was using a fork to eat a tin of vindaloo curry sauce. I knew he hated the taste of it but it must have been the only thing he could find. His skin had gone swollen and purple from the spices. He was covered in sweat and fat beads of it were falling off his head and into the tin he was eating from. He started making a little choking sound and I think tears began mixing with the dripping sweat. He looked up from the tin and quietly coughed the word “Lovely.”. “You sinister bastard.” I said “Won’t you ever let me win? ”
Words: Stevie Law Illustration: Klaus Joynson
BREAKING BRITAIN
/ P. 18 - 19 /
SO CIAL
“If the young are not initiated into the village, they will burn it down just to feel its warmth.” African Proverb You could see them coming from a mile off. The shadowy, menacing horde - garbed in their ever-recognizable uniform - chasing down pavements nationwide, leaving a devastating trail of destruction in their wake. Small businesses ruined, innocents harmed, innocents killed. They tore out the beating hearts of the communities that helped make them with a callous, ice-cold nonchalance that shocked even the most cynical sectors of society.
bespoke ivory tower. One of their peacocks might have been particularly vocal and a couple of Aberdeen Angus mooed at them ‘a bit funny’ but that was about it. Indeed, they knew nothing of the swell of anger happening on the Woodbury Down estate until the Daily Mail reliably informed the world that Them Blacks and Other Immigrants were throwing bricks at the peace-loving white folk across England’s green and pleasant land.
“Shoot them all!” cried the more damning voices from the public gallery. The police, rendered impotent by the sheer power of their adversaries, could do nothing. Standing back, they watched as the sinister mass flagrantly pillaged, derelict of guilt for the anguish that they were causing. Its resources stretched beyond breaking point, the government slumped down unto its knees.
Besides, why should they pay? None of their newly accrued wealthy friends have to. I mean, they’re not even forced to pay taxes (in 2010, the Treasury accounted a loss of £7 billion from the UK’s most privileged, as well as £6 billion from Vodafone, £1.2 billion from Sir Philip Green’s Arcadia Group. The list is endless.) What’s more, the banks stole £850 billion and they haven’t been asked to pay it back. Wait, wait... Did I just read that right? £850 billion? £850 BILLION? There would have to be a riot every day for 93 years and 77 days to equal the cost bestowed upon the coffers by our neighborhood’s friendly money-lenders.
The bankers had gotten away with it. The three days of rioting that lit up Britain following the death of Mark Duggan on August 4, 2011 shook the country to its core, costing the state roughly twenty-five million pounds per day to keep it in check and prevent a swift and fiery descent into anarchy. That’s a lot of money, right? Wrong. We live in a society where a lottery winner from Fife could happily pick up the bill and still have a cool £86m to spend on groceries, the occasional holiday and a haircut once every couple of months. They wont, of course. For they - like so many in the upper-echelons - saw no problems on the hundred acre estate surrounding their beautifully
Nothing was done to punish these Cunts. No imprisonment. No fine. Not even a gentle slap on their collective pinstriped ass. And yet the punition dished out to the rioters was so draconian that Draco himself turned in his grave, screaming; “Jesus H. Christ! That was fucking harsh! [sic]” One poor sod, namely Thomas Downey - a 48 year old known alcoholic who had just been released from prison - was served with a 16 month sentence for stealing a can of Coca Cola. That’s sixteen months for
50p of thirst-quenching, corporate goodness. Using this very same rhetoric, our banker chums are rightly entitled to just short of 2220 billion years imprisonment. Lock them up. Admittedly, the vast majority of those who took to the streets were by no means aware of the scale of corporate theft occurring, nor were they savvy to the circumstances surrounding Mr. Duggan’s death, or the fact that politicians were sat at home condemning the chaos beamed in perfect HD to their £8865 expense-claimed Bang & Olufsen televisions. They were bored and they wanted trainers. However, they were ignorant to the actualities because they have been priced out of an education. They were bored because amenities and community projects previously available to them have since been closed in a series of drastic austerity measures caused by a severe lack of funds in the nation’s kitty. And they wanted trainers because, from birth, they have been indoctrinated to believe that men are not judged by the content of their character but by how much cool shit they have accrued. You cannot deny somebody a future in one breath and then mock them with consumerism with the next. It’s like handing somebody a loaded firearm and expecting them not to want to pull the trigger. Finally, that gun went off. Broken Britain? The fiscal elite have been systematically destroying it for years. Now might just be the time for us tracksuited yobbos to put it back together again.
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If you’ve heard it once, you’ve heard it 100,000,000 times: ‘Keep Calm And Carry On’. It seems hardly a day can pass without this maxim being bellowed from a t-shirt, mug or window display, instructing troubled souls to sit tight and stay sanguine when the going gets tough. In recent times, the saying has been adopted by more outlets than you can shake a stick at, supposedly a tribute to the level-headed British at their tea-supping, phlegmatic best. Of course, its origins aren’t quite so cuddly — the slogan was devised in 1939 by the Ministry of Information, as part of a broader campaign to keep up morale. The other two were more of a mouthful: ‘Freedom Is In Peril, Defend It With All Your Might’ and ‘Your Courage, Your Cheerfulness, Your Resolution Will Bring Us Victory’. Plastered across billboards in every locale, the first two posters were intended as a sort of rallying cry, while the latter was designed to act as a tonic to the nerves, steadying the British public until the enemy’s defeat. Little did the civil servants creating the campaign guess that their words would be so heavily embossed on the national psyche long after peace was declared. At the time, however, the campaign failed to strike a chord. As it turned out, dear old Blighty found the posters pompous and almost accusing in their implied division between “You” and “Us”. Social research project ‘Mass Observation’ reported that 53% of those it surveyed disliked the posters, which were dismissed as “insipid and patronising invocations” by the press. At the time, ‘Keep Calm And Carry On’ didn’t make such a rousing impression either. No, good old Keep Calm was the big guns, the one they were keeping rolled up in the corner of the office until the dreaded day German troops invaded England. That day never came, of course, and the poster vanished into obscurity until 2000, when it fell into the grateful hands of a bookseller in Northumberland. Sensing its kitsch potential, Stuart Manley made copies of the poster for friends and customers, and word quickly spread. In 2005, the office nearly collapsed under the strain of packing Christmas orders after the poster was featured as a gift suggestion in a national paper. No doubt this provided an inspiring backdrop as citizens across the land courageously bore the brunt of Mother’s cremated roast potatoes and listened to Uncle Eric’s annual joke. Skip ahead six years and the proliferation of the brand is enough to bring on an attack of gout. People can’t move for this bulletin tugging at
KEEP CALM AND FUCK OFF
their morale like a whiny child, stamped onto tote bags, coasters, mats, crockery, deckchairs, biscuits, cufflinks, aprons and bed linen. With each day that passes, a fresh office peels down its “You Don’t Have To Be Crazy To Work Here – But It Helps!!!” poster and replaces it with George VI’s royal insignia, branded onto fierce pink and pillar box red. For the wits and wags among us, there are, of course, some cheerfully anarchic updates: “Keep Calm And Have A Pint”; “Procrastinate Now and Panic Later”; “Face Palm And Carry On”. And in case you doubted the campaign’s hipster credentials, fear not: the Stereophonics lifted the motto for the title of their 2009 album. The mantra has been a big hit throughout the recession too, balming the worn souls of all who browse in pricey gift shops along Bold Street. Sorry Felicity, but it looks as though we won’t be able to keep going to Waitrose for the big shop. Keep Calm And Carry On! And we’ve deducted some of your clothes allowance. Keep Calm And Carry On! Oh, and Tristan – head office said they’re going to stop the account for those two hour marketing lunches we were so fond of. Keep Calm And Carry On! People identify with the motto because it confirms a sense of misplaced national pride, an idea that steely perseverance will prevail over any hardships life has to throw. It’s an old concept, this British stoicism, a myth which has been going for years and won’t be stopping any time soon. Hark, do be careful with that axe, won’t you! Oh, never mind. I didn’t use that arm much anyway. The cliché gives the British a lot of credit as pillars of endurance, unflappable in crisis and adhering to a time-honoured moral code. The stiff upper lip stood firm during the riots too. “Well done West Kirby/Hoylake/Calderstones, am proud you didn’t riot tonight” went the Facebook updates, as though not getting involved was testament to some innate nobility and composure. As though each suburban resident stood firm, the riots blazing at every window while the home fires burned defiantly inside. This, I guess, is the fighting spirit of a country whose people spend seventy percent of their lives talking with grim forbearance about the weather, and who genuinely buy bunting when aristocrats get married. Maybe the poster’s forced jollity is quite in character; a spoonful of sugar helping the medicine down. After all, just think of that man in charge of things. The one with gelatine features and a voice carrying all the gravitas of a Year 2 recorder recital
Words: Orla Foster Illustration: Joe Murphy
— David Cameron. This idea of archaic, English briskness, of taking it on the chin and pulling your finger out, complements his agenda perfectly. His response to the August riots was to condense complicated issues into a polarised, black and white moral equation, one which could only be solved by rounding up the miscreants with a cane and beating them until they bawled. The rest of the population could hold their heads high knowing that Her Majesty would be proud of their conduct. And why might that be, exactly? “Because this is Britain. This is a great country of good people,” came the reply. In 2008, at a speech in Glasgow East, his speech ran along much the same lines, announcing that his party would no longer tolerate “moral neutrality”, and suggesting that bad individuals are to blame for all the problems they face. A harsh home truth we’ve apparently been shying away from. “Bad. Good. Right. Wrong. These are words that our political system and our public sector scarcely dare use any more”, he intoned, the words of the Eton matron no doubt clanging about his skull. Keep Calm And Carry On! So, by this reckoning, it’s back to a belief system of potted beef and egg powder, when pubs stayed shut on a Sunday and tyrannical gym teachers were known as “bricks”. A mythical, heavenly Britain, where cinemagoers rose to sing the National Anthem and to succeed, all you had to do was want to succeed. And have married parents. Still, if you can hold on a while there’s bound to be something different to take its place after a few decades. Another trite little billboard jingle. That old lie, ‘It’s Fine Because It’s Fair’, is my first request; though ‘If You Are Lucky Enough To Look Under Twenty Five, You Will Be Asked To Prove That You Are Over Eighteen’ would look swell on a tank top too. Who knew officiating bodies could be so poetic? Well, the British, apparently. So let’s hear it for British resilience! There’s so much to be proud of; as masters of fortitude and self-denial, these words of strength will evermore be the lantern in each dark hour. Keep Calm And Carry On! I’m sure the 979,000 18-24 year olds who can’t find work will find their spirits rallied by this message too. And heck, the NHS can make do and mend. Funding cuts? Taxes going through the roof? It will all be character building in the long run. Show some grit, fellows.
SPEAKEASY returns to the KAZIMIER on SATURDAY 8th OCTOBER with
“if we could flat pack the building and put the crowd in a bag we’d take them to every gig” - The Correspondents
the RIOT JAZZ BRASS BAND ft MC Chunky This rip snorting 7 piece brass band are coming fresh from a summer of festivals (Soundwave Croatia / Kendal Calling / Bestival) plus recording sessions with London Elektricity (Hospital) and Plan B (The Ballad of Belmarsh)
..
plus BURNITOV / DOGS POCKET & more
Tickets: 50 x £5 Early Birds then £6.50 Advance and £8 on the door More info and tickets from www.speakeasyliverpool.co.uk
http://cadeandtodd.tumblr.com/ info@cadeandtodd.co.uk
/ P. 28 - 29 /
WAXXX ON ART
Words: Matthew Lloyd Photography: Rogelio Narito
A RT
ARTIST OF THE MONTH: KATIE CRAVEN September will see artist Katie Craven have her first solo exhibition at The Bohemia Space (Mello Mello Café) Katie Craven graduated from the LJMU Fine Art course a year ago, and since then has exhibited in a number of venues across Liverpool. Craven’s paintings blur the boundaries of abstract and figurative, they are hugely emotional, personal, playful and erotic pieces. I decided to have Katie Craven’s work on display at The Bohemia Space because I think she is one of Liverpool’s most fresh and talented painters, for the same reasons she also became a new member of the Red Wire Art Organisation. “My paintings enable me to express the unexplainable emotions that I possess. I often find it really difficult to say exactly how I feel, however when I look at my paintings… I know they represent everything that is in my mind. In a way they speak for me, when words fail. My recent paintings are about lack of control … everything is about control. I keep painting people tied up - It’s like I feel trapped in my own head.”... Katie Craven Katie Craven’s solo show will be at The Bohemia Space (Mello Mello / 40 - 42 Slater St) 17th Sept - 8th Oct. Mon - Sun / 10:00am till Late. www.thebohemiaspace.tumblr.com
/ P. 24 - 25 /
A RT
ZEE AT FACT If you’re finding your state of mind a little addled lately, then FACT’s new exhibition could be a good place to wipe it down and start over. Taking place as part of AND Festival, ZEE is the work of Kurt Hentschläger, an artist who has been working with holographic and video technology since the early eighties. With this work he seeks to break down the visual landscape by manipulating the boundaries of sensory perception. The result is a mind-altering experience designed to promote a sense of tabula rasa (Latin for blank state) and harness a more ephemeral state. Visitors will find themselves fully immersed in a dense fog, causing them to become disorientated and unable to distinguish surfaces or walls. As pulses of light are beamed through the haze, vibrant kinetic structures will break through the poor visibility, forming a wild array of shapes and patterns. As a result, the light will stamp itself onto each visitor’s brain, creating psychedelic structures and altering all perception of time and space. With no fixed narrative, and the visual environment constantly in flux, the light interference brings visitors into a state of synaesthesia, blurring the distinctions between sound, visuals and the physical world. In effect, you will witness the exhibition in your own mind rather than in reality. It’s a kaleidoscope of your brain’s own making. Zee at Fact opens 29th September and continues until 28th November.
ZEE
Words: Orla Foster Photography: Kurt Hentschlager, 2008, image courtesy of the artist
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A friend recently returned from a 3 month stint touring the US. Upon her return she threw a book at my head and said ‘there’s your present. I found it in a thrift store in New Orleans.’ Expecting some sort of deep south drivel, I looked down and to my surprise found myself holding now what I regard as one of my most treasured possessions. ‘The Liverpool Scene’ edited by Edward Lucie-Smith sat before me and with its psychedelic hot pink font, the book carried an endearing air of neglect bared by the faded colours and well thumbed pages -so I read on. Gritty black and white photographs littered the pages, interspersed with poetry by Roger McGough, Brian Pattern and Birkenhead’s Adrian Henri .The book beautifully captured the rise of the 60s arts scene in Liverpool and what is great about it is that, although I am a fan, it is not a Beatle-centric accolade but instead concentrates on the written word emerging from Liverpool in a decade of real artistic prosperity. I guess one of the most interesting things about the style of ‘The Liverpool Scene’ is the refreshing American perspective; Liverpool was revered and ‘seen’ in a new way. On the back cover a quote from Ginsberg reads ‘Liverpool is at the present moment the centre of the consciousness of the human universe’. These words immortalise the excitement that was felt by poets at both sides of the Atlantic, the Mersey Beat and the beat poets of the states, united in their outlook, defiant of the land that stood behind them. Both schools of poetry divided opinion due to their stark declaration of sincerity and simplicity- the well heeled expectations of the metropolis rejected, creating a localised space and voice imbued with the fumes, decay and beat of the city. This sense of localisation makes the book. A quote from McGough reads:
‘I’m involved in a very claustrophobic environment, rather than wide social things... The Georgian poets were poets who tended their gardens while the factories were being built on the outskirts; in fact, what we’re doing is that- while the mushroom cloud is growing outside on the horizon we’re laying the birds in the back yard.’ And to some extent this quote rings true of Liverpool’s reluctance to join, as it were, the ‘mushroom cloud’ that sits unnervingly outside
THE LIVERPOOL SCENE
of the city. Apprehension about what lay beyond the city bounds did and still does create a kind of insulation, a fierce loyalty to the city, to its streets, its inhabitants and general way of life. Around the same time from across the pond, poet Frank O’Hara recorded his daily walk in a poem ‘A step away from them’ (if you’ve not come across O’Hara before, he’s highly recommended). Signposts punctuate the ramble with their loud proclamations; he stops for a cheeseburger at JULIETS CORNER and this say-as-you-see style is echoed by Adrian Henri’s poem I want to paint. ‘I want to paint’ he writes, ‘I LOVE YOU across the steps of St Georges Hall’. Both poets inscribe their landscape before it inscribes them, simultaneously reading and writing the world around them. New York and Liverpool, pieces of outward looking land, enjoyed a mutual defiance and creativity. Rock n roll, fresh from the US, influenced the sounds of the Beatles and led a generation of youthful rebellion. Sixties poetry, bare and unflinching, flew in the face of the high brow on both sides of the Atlantic. This book recollects the bursting creativity and enthusiasm that emanated from Liverpool in the 1960s, an excitement that was to tragically fade in the decades to come. Perhaps this literary unison, so lovingly depicted in The Liverpool Scene, has its roots in a geographical parallel. To be on the periphery of land can reinforce your sense of place, a constant reaffirmation of where you are and where you cannot go. And although you are aware of the mushroom cloud ( as McGough put it) behind you, paradoxically the edgeland can also dissolve your spatial awareness and instead create a kind of tabulsa rasa, a mind as blank as the muddy waves that lap up before you. The sixties was a time when the world’s eye was upon Liverpool and perhaps that’s why this book feels so alive, but just because that eye has wandered doesn’t mean the city’s artistic merit has declined. Liverpool is, and always has been, a melting pot of culture that looks both inwards and outwards, the scene may not be what it once was but the beat goes on.
Words: Emma Harrison
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WAXXX ON FILM
/ P. 28 - 29 /
Words: Charles McIntyre
FI LM
WHAT’S COMING...
ONES TO WATCH
From the infected, oozing innards of Hollywood gossip, I have managed to extract some minute glassy gall stones of genuine interest. It wasn’t easy mind, and on the way I narrowly escaped being force fed some ‘Breaking News’ about Jennifer Aniston’s pubic hair or some such bullshit. It’s hard enough dodging that Lucozade coloured Scottish wazzock on GMTV, or whatever it changed its name to in the hope of sophisticating a channel that broadcasts the X Factor. Pssh, good luck with that, morons. Thankfully my will was strong and I deflected all ‘non-information’. Why let it get to you? I mean who cares if they’re rebooting the Spiderman franchise less than 5 years since the last cruddy spectacle? Just ignore it. Casting the guy out of The Office to play Bilbo Baggins... It just goes straight over my head. I barely even noticed that Johnny Depp is playing a hideously out-dated Native American stereotype in The Lone Ranger remake (Depp reckons he’s one billionth Cherokee, so I guess that makes it OK). These things just don’t affect me any more... *Deep breaths, Charles, you can get through this* The interesting news relates to a few films worth knowing about. Firstly we have the long awaited Lincoln. Rumours about Spielberg’s biopic seem to have been floating around for years, but it is finally due to commence shooting later this year. Sadly Liam Neeson, who was originally tipped to be playing Lincoln (the resemblance is striking), seems to have been ousted from the project. Instead Daniel Day-Lewis is now cast in the ‘please-not-another-War of the Worlds’ Spielberg piece. Another Presidential heart warmer heading our way is Hyde Park on Hudson. Bill Murray (YES!) is tackling the role of Franklin Roosevelt whilst Laura Linney co-stars as Roosevelt’s confidant Daisy. Set during the King and Queen’s visit to New York in 1939...bah who cares it’s Bill Murray!!! Finally we have the latest offering from Ridley Scott – Prometheus. Conceived as a sort of prequel to Scott’s masterful Alien, Prometheus, if it pulls off, will blow the tits off Avatar. This is gonna be one nasty, grimy Alien fuck up story...in 3D. And yes, I hear the non-believers of you out there – “What about Robin Hood? How do you explain Body of Lies?” Frig off, the man directed Legend. End.
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WAY OF THE MORRIS RELEASED: 9TH SEPTEMBER 2011
A documentary about Morris Dancers (!)
HOLY ROLLERS: THE TRUE STORY OF CARD COUNTING CHRISTIANS RELEASED: 28TH SEPTEMBER 2011
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I put this here as a sort of warning. Since films like Super Size Me and Religulous cashed in at the box office, Hollywood has a habit of putting quirky, sarcastically friendly documentaries together that sound much more interesting than they actually are. I’m guessing this is one of them. Want to see some overfed, predominantly white, middle-class Christians gambling so you act surprised that this happens? Then this film is right up your street. AVOID.
TYRANNOSAUR RELEASED: 7TH OCTOBER 2011
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Films like Dead Man Walking and A Room for Romeo Brass have cemented Paddy Considine’s reputation as Northern legend (he’s actually from the Midlands but we’ll let that slide) so it seems right that his first feature film should be set in Leeds. Before you get too excited, Tyrannosaur isn’t about dinosaurs in Yorkshire, although I do acknowledge that as a film concept this has been massively overlooked. Instead, Tyrannosaur follows the bleak life of Joseph (Peter Mullan, see Session 9), a violent drunk widower who through a chance encounter befriends charity shop worker Hannah (Peep Show’s Olivia Colman). What develops is a story about loss, violence and friendship. Considine, in my opinion, is a breath of fresh air for English film. Cockney obsessed Nick Love dominated the ‘noughties’ with his absolutely dyer (Danny...you get it?) series of films which possessed about as much profundity as a Halifax advert. It’ll be nice to see an uprising of Northern (cough...Midland) splendour to lift British films out of the quagmire of awful gangster preoccupied shite.
THE REVIEW
THE SKIN I LIVE IN DIRECTED BY: PEDRO ALMODÓVAR RELEASED: 26TH AUGUST 2011 There are few directors with a track record of films twisted enough to induce the unique emotional concoction of dread, intrigue and nausea that accompanies the mention of Almodóvar’s name. Yes his films deal with complex narratives of gender and identity with an acute observational ability, but they are also sick to the bone. My first exposure to the Almodóvar oeuvre came about when my EX flat mate brought home the Almodóvar box set. As I sat through films like Bad Education, Talk to Her and The Flower of my Secret, I began to notice a recurrent theme. Slowly but surely my sanity ebbed away into my untouched box of ‘lads’-night-in’ popcorn, until finally I locked away the DVD collection – which I had come to refer to as “Jack’s Rape Films” – in said flat mate’s room, where I presume he burned it in a sacrificial orgy of self-cleansing, for it was never seen again. Yet as I revisited the scenes of horrific, stomach churning unspeakableness – which had been helpfully seared into my brain with graphic detail – I couldn’t help but appreciate the camera angles, the clever use of fill light, even the meticulously dirtied floor tiles. With grim realisation I understood that what I had witnessed was nothing short of expert film making. The sad thing is I can never unwitness it. The upshot of all this is that I have become, to a certain extent, immune to the Almodóvarian grimness that pervades his films. Half an hour or so into The Skin I Live In, I was barely phased by the Spanish Paddy McGuiness lookalike dressed as a tiger vigorously raping a helpless woman whilst his mother, tied to a chair, watched on in horror via a CCTV screen. ‘Classic Almodóvar’, I said to myself, as the majority of audience members around me wept with terror. In Almodóvar’s defence, The Skin I Live In is a film about much more than mind fracturing tension and horror (although it does feature heavily). The plot is relatively straightforward; being straight out of the now tediously prosaic ‘Frankenstein’s monster’ formula, but the interactions within the narrative is what makes the film Almodóvar’s masterpiece. I wasn’t overjoyed when I learned of Antonio Banderas’ casting, but he does play the role of expert surgeon Robert Ledgard surprisingly well, although in the majority of the film he simply has to cruise around Toledo looking like a Spanish Sean Connery.
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From the first portion of the film we learn that Ledgard is secretly testing a type of artificial skin on a woman (Elena Anya - Mesrine) who is imprisoned in his castle-like mansion. Anya has a demanding role to say the least, and her convincing performance showcasing multiple layers of character (I can’t go in to more detail without giving the plot away) is, on reflection, remarkable. Our first assumption is that the woman is his wife – who supposedly died of serious burns from a car crash. But all is not what it seems. It is around this bizarre relationship and its origins that the film revolves, and ultimately we learn of the deranged interior beneath Ledgard’s ‘shaken not schtirred’ exterior. The film’s ‘twist’ is thankfully downplayed and is in fact very easy to detect early on (or is that just my Almodóvar shell shock rearing its head again?). The brutal and perfectly executed aspect of the twist is, rather, that its obviousness is also absolutely abhorrent. As you are led to its conclusion, you are forced into imagining the outcome; only to learn you were completely right all along, YOU SICK MINDED BASTARD! Similarly, Almodóvar ensures that almost all the characters in the film (even the villains) retain a perspective from past experience or misinterpretation with which we can almost fully sympathise. Therefore nothing in the film is totally justifiable or condemnable and, as is Almodóvar’s want, your judgements become tangled in a web of knotted perceptions and affiliation. This is summed up pretty well in the line “I don’t think I really raped her.” My major criticism of The Skin I Live In is the drearily contrived ending, which although powerful, and somehow sardonically hilarious, is just too Disney, especially after witnessing the previous 2 hours of nerve plucking wrongness. Aesthetically there is a return to Almodóvar’s obsession with female solidarity but the story arc is a little too convenient to be convincing. Hopefully after reading this you will choose to see The Skin I Live In to prove how brave you are. Just don’t expect to feel like the same person afterwards. 9/10
Words: Joshua Burke Illustration: George Newman
HOROSCOPES
/ P. 30 - 31 /
HOR0 SC0 PES
Libra As a strong-headed person, success is always going to be important to you. For this reason, the stars would suggest you drop the pole dancing lessons for kids idea.
Scorpio Wooo! You’re a fresher! Going out and getting smashed all the time is like, totally fun huh? But remember, to call yourself a fresher you need to be fresh. Remember, Vagisil is available from all good chemists.
Sagittarius They’ll say you died of a broken heart, but that’s only because no one wants to explain autoerotic asphyxiation to your poor mother.
Aries Be wary of your close working relationships this year. Working in a nursery is not an ideal place to start a “relationship” with one of your “clients”.
Taurus Forget it, despite all your best efforts and numerous sleepless nights, you will never ever be able to increase the size of your penis using rubber bands and clothes pegs.
Gemini Come out all guns blazing this month and show them all what you can really do. When the police arrive and see the bodies, remember a shot in your temple is a sure-fire way to finish the job.
Cancer The clue is in the name. You will die this month.
Leo You’ll have a hard time finding inner peace, but frankly, you’re snorting so much large-animal tranquilizer the stars assume you don’t really care.
Virgo You’ve always been conservative in your outlook on life as a way of retaining what you believe are common values and asking a Vietnamese waitress where she’s from is your right. Asking when she’s going back is not.
Capricorn Orion is in your moon this week. Take caution, as he hates wearing condoms and has slept around a lot.
Aquarius You will fall foul of Jesus this month and break two of the Ten Commandments after you disrespect your Father by committing adultery with your Mum.
Pisces Trying to “keep the wolf from the door” is a constant battle for you, but for God’s sake, just let it out to have a piss.
HOUSE PARTY OCTOBER 1ST 2011, BLADE FACTORY (A FOUNDATION) GREENLAND STREET, L1 0BY -TICKETS £8 FROM 3BEAT (SLATER STREET) AND FATSOMA
PAUL CHAMBERS (PHANTASY SOUND RECORDS)
PUNKS JUMP UP (CASSETTE RECORDS/KITSUNÉ)
AVB (DOLLOP)
MIKEY DON (UNITY RADIO)
MC ISHU EAT YOUR GREENS DJ’S CHRIS BARKER (DEEP SPACE ORCHESTRA)
JESS GASCOIGNE WAXXX DJ’S MR PAUL (DISCOTECA POCA)
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AVANT HARD