missive 138
08-10-2007
Singled Out
Missive 138

For Kelly and Mark

Singled Out - a kick in the eye up a dark entry

First of three quickly turned out missives this week - we promise - honest - unless of course we keel over or fall off the CD mountain which is now threatening to consume our living space as we speak. So if all goes to plan there will be another Missive either tomorrow or Tuesday tops - this will be a my space thingy type thing while towards the end of the week - and before the weekend another one of these - obviously with different records and stuff. Other than that - the singles -

Soft Hearted Scientists ‘Eyes’ (My Kung Fu). Another teasingly tasty morsel released from the confines of the wood crafted magical hidey hole realm that is the ‘take time to wonder in a whirling world’ full length by Welsh space travellers Soft Hearted Scientists. The harpsichord halo‘d ‘Eyes’ is a kaleidoscopic treat that nibbles cutely at early 70’s children’s TV via the surreal worlds of ‘Cat Weasel’ and ‘Bagpuss’ and wraps them up in hazily light headed washes of tingling 60’s motifs - think of a montage of myriad sounds provided for by the Monkees, ‘here we g round the mulberry bush’ Spencer Davis Group and the Byrds - and peppers the action paint day-glo canvas with delicate hues purloined from the Stone Roses quieter moment as found on their defining debut set only to take to hand a mystic ladle and stir the enchanting brew into a hopelessly flirty feel good gem that despite any resistance on your part gathers you in by way of flowing riptide currents of tumbling effervescence Flip over for the same track without vocals which unless I’m very much mistaken is known around most parts as an instrumental - well cute and wonderfully formed. www.my-kung-fu.com

Joy Division ‘Love will tear us apart’ (Warner Brothers). Released originally in 1980 literally weeks before Ian Curtis tragically took his own life it now finds itself pushed into the public consciousness to coincide with the Anton Corbijn’s moving biopic of the lead singer entitled ‘closer’ itself based on widow Debbie Curtis’ biography ’touching from a distance’. This track and the re-vitalised interest in the Joy Division has assumed a deeper resonance and sense of sadness given that Anthony H Wilson the Factory records head honcho and key player in their history sadly died last month. Of course ‘love will tear us apart’ should need no introduction it is and has been one of the key note tracks of the last 30 years that has informed successive generations of music fans, a hybrid post punk austere electro gem that within masks a rapidly uncoiling and troubled mindset of its chief protagonist Ian Curtis. It was not Joy Division’ finest moment - arguably that honour goes to ‘Atmosphere’ or (in my view) ‘Decades’ however it does perfectly encapsulate their ability to blend ceremony, celebration and a sense of majestic awe dipping in and out of focus between intertwining dark and light shades with Curtis’ deeply personalised guilt stricken and hauntingly enigmatic delivery contrasting abruptly against the bathing backdrops of weaving ethereal synth chorus’. An unearthly and fitting epitaph to this seminal ensemble.

My name is red ‘Alice won’t you lay with me?’ (Sad Gnome). Those with fairly reasonable memories may well recall that we briefly gave this lot a mention via Missive 131 when we inadvertently (and I’ll hasten to add with much joy) tripped upon the Sad Gnome record label. ‘Alice’ is the Brighton based ensembles debut release, an infectious honey that initially sounds like some best forgotten mid 80’s rock anthem brought in from the cold re-twiddled, re-sprayed and given a cutting edge chassis refit. Not a million miles in terms of stylising as the immense Suzerain, the ultra sexy pulse pounding ‘Alice’ is tensely wrapped and wired with punctuated lust ridden rhythms bedded upon slickly seductive showers of synthesised whirlpools - not your happy go lucky love song for My name is red - no sir - this is your full on crawling up the walls in desperation trying to score a seedy fix all metered out to a melody pierced through with restless upping the ante strut like splintering ravaged riffs that consume you whole and cocoon you into an inescapable trap of claustrophobic desire. Flipside features ‘the sun has got its hat on’ and before you ask - no not the chirpy little bugger from yore but instead a loosely detached and unhinged wig flipper of sorts that initially starts out like some rapidly unravelling from the inside slacker like moocher before momentarily bypassing through a trip like techno montage only to re-emerge from the other side as a viciously lacerating non nonsense foot to pedal blistering boogie mainlining on the riff from ‘(I’m not your) Steppin’ stone’. Essential stuff. www.sadgnomerecords.net

The Adventure of Loki ‘dance like a maniac’ (16 tons). Totally wired. From the word go with its frenetic scatter attack in your face full frontal assault charge this freak show baby just refuses to relent. The second release from this Lancaster based three piece following their acclaimed ‘Feminine Side’ outing which - bugger - we missed. ‘dance like a maniac’ is quite frankly the most off the wall and devilishly delicious thing to have had us bouncing off the walls while near destroying our poor hapless hi-fi since the Victorian Gentlemens English Club’s debut release wrestled its way through our mail box and held siege to our listening space. Fast, furious, demented and happily bonkers, ‘dance like a maniac’ is as the title suggests a fried and unhinged invitation to go mental - teetering precariously on a finite knife edge between chaos and collapse this festering slice of unstoppable unruly pop carnage is just what the doctor ordered. Obtuse, angular, acerbic and anarchic, this boy / girl delivered primal paint bomb stutters with playful menace coercing dislocated hip swerving savvy with a deliciously twisted candy pop underpin that’ll floor you just for its brazen audacity. Flip over for the slightly more toned down yet equally frenetic ‘split’ which if I didn’t know better I’d say was B-52’s recalibrated with a rampant post punk / art pop mindset relearning how to play from scratch and using the Pixies ‘Surfer Rosa’ as a template from to crank out spitefully twisted fractured morsels of acute anti-pop. Frankly kids this lot wipe the floor with most of the talent-lsss tat that seem to hog the column inches of the music rags. Expect a whole full lengths worth of twisted treasures in the shape of ‘melomania’ early next year. Don’t think you need telling - joint single of the missive. www.myspace.com/theadventuresofloki

The Broken Family Band ‘Leaps’ (Track and Field). Following hot on the heels of the killer direction changing stomping ‘love your man’ single and again culled from the recent bollock dropping tasty ‘hello love’ set ‘leaps’ is - well we were going to say throbbing good fun - which perhaps would have been quite appropriate considering this cheeky little ditty is an ode to a spot of afternoon how’s your father. Separated at birth from Hefner anyone, ‘leaps’ is a wonderfully frisky feel good cruise controlling whipper snapper that’s sumptuously braided seductively with lightly toned 50’s styled bubble gum pop accents that sound as though they’ve been bronzed via an extended west coast vacation retreat and latterly decamped to the studio becalmed and chilled - liable to leave you with a warm fuzzy glow - though exactly where its not for me to say.

Billy Mahonie ‘EP’ (Euphrate). In typical Peel fashion we’ve tried playing this release at various speeds all except 78rpm which I must admit might have been quite interesting until that is we spied the small tell tale detail. Easily the best looking vinyl single we’ve had this week which given that it’s the only vinyl single we’ve had this week makes it something of a one horse race and arguably a back handed compliment. Seriously though it is a thing of beauty - clear vinyl 7 inch housed in a transparent tracing paper sleeve with cover art by Caroline Nesbo strictly limited to just 500 copies. Last time these dudes featured in these pages was via that awesome split release with the Jesus Years via the Theory of Nothing imprint (see missive 100). At the time we were keen to remark how the trademark Billy Mahonie sound - you know those intricately layered post math contortions where being radically rewired into something a little more malleable. Well bugger me the trend continues, this release features two cuts that were initially made available via the bands website as freebie MP3 downloads - stands to reason they’re no longer there otherwise you wouldn’t buy the bugger would you. First up ’nightmare city’ is as the title hints racked with a chillingly pensive demeanour, bolted upon a gnarled darkly funky bass underpin this doom laden slab exudes a detached sense of unease as it blankly mooches with ominous discordant restlessness which is brought to the fore by the fact that its clinically cast in an edgy void like austere glow reminiscent of South East London’s Left Hand while riddled by a chorusing frontline of intertwining guitars that coalesce into a curiously disharmonious effect. Flip the disc for ’scary village’ is grouchier still though arguably more playful in design, like a slowly curdling Shellac this solemn beauty broods and blisters as it freewheels in concentric formations atop a grizzled recoiling bass throb while simultaneously at various points managing to usher in a distant strain of new found math dub fusion (of sorts) - of course - you need it, you want it - who wouldn’t. www.euphrate.org

Southern Tenant Folk Union ‘Cocaine’ (Ugly Nephew). The first of two must have releases from London based imprint Ugly Nephew. Southern Tenant Folk Union if I rightly recall used to be Santos El Diablo in a former life who by way of several well heeled releases had us swooning aplenty in the confined aisles of the losing today record shack. Now relocated - musically that is - and no doubt threatening to do with banjos and bluegrass what their former charges did for their crooked sci-fi folk tinged Pixies meets They Might Giants styled psychedelia. The bitter sweet ‘Cocaine’ leads out their debut twin set - a gorgeously conceived lazily spun slice of breezily celebratory melancholic Americana that opens to the slender entrée of acoustic arpeggios ushered in from Venice (or so it would seem) that soon given way to be delicately unwoven by flurries of tripping recline like banjos and the silken procession of pining violins that combined coalesce superbly in to a strangely warming yet parched porch lit beauty that beguiles as much as it enchants - think of a demurring Bad Seeds shimmying with the Carter Family. Flip over for the Dylan-esque ’who is going to love you now’ - a truly trembling tearjerker washed gently throughout with succulent sheens of harmonica and nimbly braided by the dinky passage of a warmly inviting campfire gathering of lolloping inebriated banjos and Celtic styled strings. How can you resist?

Alice McLaughlin ‘dolly figured’ (sunday best). More Sunday Best loveliness this time in the shape of Alice McLaughlin, a canal boat living songstress who in passing has been variously described as a ’female Hunky Dory-era Bowie’ with hints of Janis Joplin’. That may well be the case but for her debut outing ’dolly figured’ we swear we hear the daintily trod impish spectre of Kate Bush’s ’Army Dreamers’ decked out in fatigues flirtily romancing the grooves of this deliciously shy eyed cutie. Longingly set within a twinkling folk tinged waltz montage, Ms McLaughlin playfully skips, coos, caresses and enchants with beguiling breathless ease amid the slender trappings of ethereal melodies all at once distinctly familiar yet sounding as though they’ve peered from a forgotten distant past through some peek - a - booing time portal to impart their delicate, disarming and dreamy entrapment. Similarly touched with a rare mystique ’the dream’ over on the flip is hauntingly mercurial in such a way that these days only Bjork gets away with being chastised for being overtly clever, nevertheless this touching nugget delicately awash with a tremble like nimble exterior that’s dashed upon a sweetly affecting reflective aura softly unfurls with the same engaging tug and lull as to have fans of Karen Dalton all a flutter. In other words its quite a special little thing. www.sundaybest.net

The Author ’Taxi’ (Split). Already having secured the ears of a certain Steve Lamacq for whom they’ve already recorded a BBC session as well as being the subject of much heated chatter amid the word of mouth my space community, ’Taxi’ is the limited debut outing for Jersey based combo the Author - see sawing guitars needling with intricate zig zag disharmony revealing a poured over record collection pilfered from an older sibling much loving of Magazine pitted with angst, urgency and a desire to quickly get to the nub of matters without shilly shallying therefore mainlining into your headspace to set your life signs into a positive state of frenzy while all bleached out by scratchy vocals that cast the whole spectacle with a chilling post punk austere grip that assumes velocity and a schizoid mania to leave you rooted to the spot in jaw dropped awe. Nuff said our kid. www.splitrecords.co.uk

The Patty Winters Show ’You are wrong’ (Vacuous Pop). Been way too long since we had any Vacuous Pop ear gear hammering the hell out of our hi-fi so you can imagine there has been a fair spot of hullabaloo in the singled out camper van of sound following the arrival of the second single from London based trio (the admittedly strangely named) the Patty Winters Show (can‘t I‘m afraid comment on their debut release ’people like us aren’t meant to win’ which to much grumbles passed us by - or did it - well whatever the case we can’t find the blighter). This cutely tigerish twin set comes pressed on limited quantities of white vinyl (a copy of which we’ll have to chase up for our own), easiest way to describe these deliciously dour dudes is to imagine the ridiculously underrated Decoration in full ’George Best’ era Wedding Present regalia shimmying up to ’Surfer Rosa’ era Pixies and crafting out sweetly damaged pop. ’you are wrong’ is bullishly decoded in all manner of potently primed C-86 riffmanship only to be bitter sweetly glazed by Kim Deal-esque harmonies that sumptuously coalesce into a curious dark / light / happy / miserable spectacle that prickles and purrs in equal measures. That said the better of the brace can be found on the flip, ’you can’t force people to care’ is a bleakly beautiful slow to stir gem ripped from the arse pocket of Shady Bard who regular observers of these pages will note is not such a bad thing, utilising fractured rhythms which endow an overall sense of detachment and distance, this achingly hurtful slice of numbed indie pop wallows restlessly amid speckles dashed hope and resigned to the fates blankness though be warned once the harmonies kick in and the ante is upped there won’t be a dry eye in the place. Heartily recommended for the more bruised and shyly hiding in the shadows residents of the parish. www.myspace.com/vpop

The Patty Winters Show will be playing as part of the Vacuous Pop showcase at the RoTa in Notting Hill on Saturday 27th October.

Thee Humbug #5. About ruddy time. The long overdue 5th issue of the very excellent self styled ’irregular gazette of Sheffield music’ Thee Humbug. Brought to you from the same people responsible for the Sheffield Phonographic Corporation imprint (more about them in the next missive) - this issue features all your usual finger on the pulse observations, insights and interviews with the latest class of bubbling just below the radar talents that this nation has to offer (pause for intake of breathe and featuring in no particular order of merit the chiara l’s, dave woodcock the hair, atoness, slow down Tallahassee and much more) as well as all the usual features that patrons have come to love and expect including the continuing exploration in a bygone era long past via ’hey kids it’s the Twenties’ which in case you didn’t realise or know (the clue is in the title - durr) is a spotlight on artists from the 20’s (now how hard is that) elsewhere there’s a cartoon brief history of Pulp, somewhere else Denzil Watson (he of Repomen fame or should that be infamy) continues his trawl through the great lost Sheffield bands of recent memory - this particular issue training the spotlight on Action Spectacular, Cradleyard and the excellently named The Poisonous Little Creatures (indeed I know a few of those). As though to spoil you rotten there’s also a stonking 12 track CD for you to play while you peruse said 34 page document from which we suggest you go straight to track 5 for a ’firewater’ by Dave Woodcock which unless I’m very much mistaken sounds eerily like The Flaming Stars (whatever happened to them?). After that fast forward to Rotary Ten who to date have managed to shuffle out two singles which have both ducked below our ever keen radar. Could ’I fear the field’ be the first ever pop song about goal keeping we wonder, a gorgeous throwback to the late 80’s and to a time where quickly spun jangling guitars where all the rage - very much in the essence of the Sarah and Summershine blueprints of yore and sounding not unlike Frank and Walters with a red hot poker shoved up their backside by Hey Paulette. The chiara l’s who featured in passing via the last missive or two stump up a demo version of the club floor lifting post punk posturing ’odio’ which frankly could be the best thing of this ilk that we’ve heard since the Clerks and hey kids there was a band worth pinning hopes on until that is they split and reformed and returned with bigger bruisers as Maudite Dance (see missive 135). Elsewhere there’s the crookedly skewif and barnstorming after the pubs close rousingly impish Bromheads Jacket like the Jakpot whose ’the turning point’ kicks you in the cobblers, pokes you in the eye and questions your parentage yet still makes you smile safe in the knowledge that somewhere out there are young men with guitars, trading with wordplays and putting the world to rights. Though for what its worth our favourite cut of the pack must surely go to the Friendly Wilson whose wired to the teeth ’fingers and thumbs’ sounds like its just stepped off a bus whose destination was clearly 1978 while managing to all at once touch base with early Mudhoney and the Halo of Flies while devilishly tapping into the late 70’s back catalogue of both the Fall and Wire - apparently there’s an albums worth of the same screaming to be tracked down.

The Zetland Players / the Sliding Rule ‘Split’ (Ugly Nephew). Something of a rare treat this. The Zetland Players are a London based quartet who to date have one EP stashed up their collective jumpers, ’strongmen and sailors’ is a rollicking press ganged rum soaked stirring shanty of some measure borne out of a rampantly energised acoustically strummed swing-tastic toe tapping saga from the high seas braided by deliciously decoded flotillas of hauntingly shimmering jangles to deliver a homely brew of chest beating goo that catapults you through a myriad of emotions while it freewheels through an eye pokingly ramshackle and finitely crooked fun filled sidestepping haze of furious folk and moments of tranquil mellowness. Flip the disc for the mysterious Sliding Rule who are or more rightly is Nima from Hush the Many doing a spot of extra curricula moonlighting. Of course Hush the Many are currently one of the best bands operating on the fringes of the underground of late - still no sign of the absolutely flooring ’storyend’ being released though word has it there is a new single on the horizon which to much grating of teeth we haven’t got / heard yet - ho hum. Anyhow enough of that - Nima under his guise as the Sliding Rule serves up the enchanting ‘DC-13’ - takes a while to kick in but once it does what you are invited into is a beguiling and ghostly world. Darkly romantic this unusual honey creaks and crackles with an almost dream like resonance, like a fleeting shiver or a moment of déjà vu, ’DC-13’ is treated to the faintest of touches set as it is upon the caress of a looping rustic melody it exudes a solemnly majestic beauty that bewitches and draws you near beneath its lulling cloak, layered with twin tracked vocals that veer between intermissions from the ether and softly hushed mantras this delicate and sensitive nugget is wrapped sumptuously in an ethereal weave of church / chamber like monastic grace. Essential. www.uglynephew.com

Simon Mastrantone ‘the drowse’ (Rekobet). Maybe its our ears playing tricks but we swear we hear elements of Howard Devoto and Pete Shelley crookedly navigating between the grooves on this wayward babe. Somewhere amid ‘the drowse (prologue)’ there’s a killer power pop tune restlessly sitting though you’d be hard pushed to find it as its caught square pummelled and smothered by all manner of splintered riffs, post math intricacies and the flagrant disregard for any notional verse / chorus / verse dynamic which for us here is all mighty fine stuff. Instead what you get is an up and you stew of stop start fast slow fractured and bristled white funk that surges and dummies at erratic neck brace assisting pace, not a million miles from the Playwrights in terms of design but without the agit overload though countered with the certifiably playful essence of the Gang of Four. Flip side features the far better ’epilogue’ version of the same cut which frankly towers above its attending sibling, this time honed, precise and nailed to the floor with a rampant free wheeling throb that had me recalling on more than one occasion Snares and Kites this full throttle babe soars with sublime ease ratcheted all the time with furious chorus’ of jabbing riffs that do their utmost to insidiously work their way beneath your skin. Successfully I should hasten to add at this point. www.rekabet.co.uk

L R Rockets ‘Personality’ (Art Goes Pop). A belching brace of brazenly barnstorming boot banging boogie from London based quartet the LR Rockets that should suitably see to it that the hi-fi is in equal measures trounced, terrified and trashed. Don’t know about you but in our humble opinion those punky pups over at Art Goes Pop certainly have an enviable knack of filling their grab bag full of goodies when they’re out and about on scouting raids. This year alone has seen them upending our normally tranquil environment with drop dead dandy discs aplenty by the Duloks, the Low Miffs, Kill the Young, Stinky Munchkins and the bollock dropping cool of Isosceles. Not content to give the chasing pack barely a pause for breathe they up the ante with the third release from LR Rockets - yep you heard right the third release which bugger me means that we’ve already missed out on two potential gems much to our gnashing of teeth. ’personality’ is one bad assed bastard of toxic tastiness, totally unhinged and wickedly wired - an acutely angular New York Dolls if you like shagging the hell out of the riff from the Jam’s ’when you’re young’ and launching off at the deep end in to a frantic action painting montage of thunderous riot laden grind peppered with a maddeningly schizoid throb that’s braided with more needled hooks than a Thailand sweat shop. ‘pincer movement’ over on the flip is more of the same only with the fraught, frantic and frenetic dials all cranked up to meltdown, distressed pop for the damaged. Joint single of the missive as though it could be anything else. www.myspace.com/artgoespop

The Loves ’one - two - three’ (Fortuna Pop). The long over due return to these pages of Cardiff cuties the Loves with not three (as the title suggests) but four prime servings of perky pop. Title cut ’one-two-three’ is so unashamedly steeped in all glam references it comes adorned with glitter, big hair and even bigger boots (shiny ones mind you with stars on). In the wrong hands this could have gone teen tat cheesy thankfully instead it’s a delirious dandy of a ditty that manages to shoehorn nods aplenty to Suzi Q, the Rubettes and most curiously the Beach Boys in surf mode and ‘end of the century‘ era Ramones (I kid you not) while wiring into the mutant matrix some nifty touches of 50’s bubblegum pop tendered with the essence of Spector while hoodwinking a spot of acutely faux Bolan-esque boogie while playfully cross fusing Glitters ’I love you love me’ with the Bay City Rollers ’bye bye baby’. Its about as much fun you can have being all early 70’s retro without suffering vertigo. ’Chelsea Girl’ recorded live last year at St Andy’s Church in Northern Quebec, stripped of the usual full on pop adornments this resonating fragile Velvet-esque finds itself equipped with a superbly statuesque demeanour that shimmers and sparkles amid tenderly crafted reposed 60’s motifs. Described by the attending press release as Simon Love’s ’nasty song of hatred and avengement’ hey we’ve all been there though some of us are still brandishing the torch like a club with spikes - ’when I get my gun’ is a tongue in cheek knockabout foot tapping acoustic babe that for the best part sounds like the Modern Lovers on chill pills until the final minute when all hell breaks loose are things get a little fried to say the least which is strange considering last cut of the set features a faithful re-tread of Jonathan Richman’s (him of the Modern Lovers - well spooky) ’pablo Picasso’ which is more than can be said for Dame Dave’s ill conceived rehash fro m a year or three ago. Buy on sight. www.fortunapop.com

Beck ’Timebomb’ (Interscope). Available on 12” and download only with no plans on the horizon for any further new material, ’timebomb’ again finds Beck shedding his outer skin and changing tact / direction and style (see that’s how its done Prince so shove that up your arse you pompous pygmy prima donna). Curve balling at just the right side of meltdown Beck rewires his past into a brief flashing before your eyes drowning man sequence of buzz sawing frazzled digitalised hypnotically monotone mantra. A mutant hybrid that draws upon elements of kraut, electro-clash (bugger how I hate that term), skewed techno, grime and the blank austerity and the grim futurist vision of post punk and scrunches the whole lot into a ticker tape brew that under its hood purrs a weirdly funky and desirably dinky candy pop montage. Blimey and there’s us making it through the review without mentioning Toni Basil’s ’Mickey’, Afrika Bambaataa in their Time Zone guise or the Modern Lovers’ 9who we now seem to have on the brain - see last review) ’roadrunner’ - frankly kids the best thing he’s done since - oooh -the last great thing he did.

32-a ‘EP’ ((self released). A ferocious three track debut from Cardiff based quintet 32-a that oozes menace, attrition and tension as though it was a life threatening sickness. Riddled throughout with a piercingly inescapable sense of the apocalypse unfurling in festering delight upon your hi-fi, 32-a don’t do charm or playfulness, instead like dark prophets crusading beneath the cloak of gathering storm clouds they pummel, lacerate and usher in upon rip curls of dread unease exacting their ravaged doom laden atonement. ‘set the foundation’ the opening cut is a contracting mass of sinew seizing swamp grind shredded by a bludgeoning front line assault of needling Killing Joke-esque hysteria stricken riffs over which Dead Dave’s scowling delivery prevails like a hell sent preacher man. As you’d imagine from a title like ‘the usurper’ this howling inferno of battle stricken carnage is bleached and wasted amid a rooted to the spot malignant grind, fiercesomely huge, atmospheric and unrelenting at various stages its freewheels toxically between elements of Iron maiden and Fields of the Nephilm. The unforgiving ‘adapt and serve’ rounds up the pack a thunderous take no prisoners scorched earth bastard love child whose parentage can be traced loosely to Carcass and Ministry - best advised to nail down all lose objects - you have been warned. Mini album due early next year. www.32-a.co.uk

Shibuya Crossings ‘Can you prove (something to me)’ (Typically Magic). Welcome return to these pages of Shibuya Crossings following their well fancied (well here at least) debut ‘typically everyone thinks you’re dead’ from last year (see missive 99). With a little shimmy here, the odd nut meg there this power popping pearl of Brit stamped stomping pop mainlines directly in to the mid 90’s (Indian) summer of love revisited and curdles a bugger of a catchy treat culled from assembled parts formerly belonging to the likes of the Mock Turtles, the Rembrandts, Ash and Top, fuzzes up the mix with hints of Velvet Crush applies lashings of effervescent fizzy codas and sets it all of with a spanking hook happy feel good chorus snared straight out of the late 60’s out of the arse pocket of the Monkees. Cute - not ‘arf. And as with all highs there’s the obligatory low which on this occasion seals itself in the shape of the acoustic reading of the lay you low bitter sweet ‘some better days’ over on the flip. Gorgeously hurtful and subtly braided with the kind of lonesome introspection (and equipped similarly with harmonies to match) as was once the forte of McCartney’s more fragile and thoughtful additions to the Beatles canon. A bit of a gem then. www.shibuyacrossings.com

Bad Sandwich ‘Get a Grip’ (Tenta). Wildly precocious - don’t know about you but it seems these guys are having well to much fun. Bad Sandwich are your instant to hand furiously infectious toe tapping party pack. Fusing blistering white hot funk and classically styled 70’s retro blaxploitation (just check out the slick workout of the booty bouncing ‘tablets 4 tissues’ by far the best thing here) all supplemented by some of the most gratuitous use of the wah wah without actually being illegal, Bad Sandwich serve up a insidiously energetic and contagiously rampant club floor stew that’s both sassy and sophisticated, trimmed with a rock underpin and in front man Quirky Brown a vocalist who seems to be on a god given mission to whip your arse into shape as he rollercoasts through the scales like a man possessed. Think of a loose limbed Chilli Peppers bitten by a seriously potent funky bug, though on the closing ‘dark squid’ - deliciously daft as it is - sounds like the Higsons being forced to record while dancing on red hot coals by a particularly spitefully minded Flowered Up - manic and way to energetic for daytime hours. www.tenta.co.uk

Plans and Apologies ‘Meetoo - Mel Gibsons…..Iraq!’ (Exercise 1 / Pandaz Pop). Okay a bit of strange one this - one side is released by Exercise 1 who you may well remember released that rather corking single by Twin Thousands ‘like you a lot’ - while the flip is being put out by the bands own Pandaz Pop imprint. The story goes that the decision as to who released what was decided on the flip of a coin. Anyhow limited to just 500 copies and pressed on white vinyl (a copy of which we must remember to snare for ourselves) Plans and Apologies are of that rare breed that refuses to kowtow the party line of accepted pop. Sure enough both sides of this single are arguably their most normal and together to date which frankly is a much marked contrast to last years ‘wirez, man’ set which was so off the wall it was wholesomely unclassifiable. Bristling beneath the finely tuned feedback whirring glaze of the Pixies ‘motorway to roswell’ as razored and scratched by ‘the wagon‘ era Dinosaur JNR, ’meetoo’ soon crawls out of the fuzzy haze to dust itself down and emerge as a coyly tingling summers end nugget filtered silkily by chorus’ of cascading jangles that intermittently crackle and fizz with kooky harmonies and off kilter fuzzy kickbacks hoodwinked from Pavement as though found sparring with ’catholic education’ era Teenage Fan club - yep that smart. Flip over for a spot of sarcastically trained good bye and good riddance Blair baiting in the shape of ’Mel Gibsons….Iraq!’ - a spiteful dig about politicians, the media, the general dumbing down of society and the rewriting of history glorifying the bad guys as heroes in film at the hand of little Mel G or something to that effect - lots of graphic detail that’s certain to annoy the new Radio 1 (as in Radio 2) schedule arrangers - a kind of Smiths meets Wedding Present for Telegraph readers. Go to the bands my space site at http://www.myspace.com/plansandapologies where for gratis, nowt, diddly squat you can download ‘the free dee pee’ EP, ‘Torn out pages from the Middle Agez’ and the 13 track ‘plans and anthologies 3’ set - if I didn’t know better I’d say they were spoiling us rotten. Deputy single of the Missive.
www.exercise1.net






Plan B #25 - Features all the usual gubbins that you’ve come to expect from the nations alternative to the NME, Animal Collective - who I must say seem to be everywhere these days - are the cover stars as well as interviews with Bass Clef, Vialka, Future of the Left and Nista Nije Nista (who frankly sound right up our street) as well as a feature on Anti Folk plus your monthly staple diet of records, cd’s, films and comics to have and avoid. There’s also a brief critique on Bill Hicks who as much as I’m torn to agree with Doran’s piece ‘why I hate….’ I do feel he’s slightly missed the missed the point because for me Hicks wasn’t so much a comedian but rather more a social agitator training his warts ’n’ all microscope to penetrate the rose tinted bullshit of life’s great lie and turning the miror upon us to show how stupid e were for being sucked in as such. I’ll never forget his Easter routine something about looking through the bible and not finding any reference to chocolate, eggs or rabbits and his ‘what if Jesus came back’ monologue where he questioned the scenario of Christ seeing people wearing crucifix’s by way of identifying with their faith while to him it would be a painful reminder of his demise on the cross. And as though your appetite isn’t already suitably whetted attached to the front of the magazine there’s a quite wonderful 15 track window showcase marking what is the 10th anniversary of the Bella Union imprint of course set up by ex Cocteau Twin-er Robyn Guthrie. Featuring what is a stellar cast of critically applauded ensembles and would be stars currently bubbling beneath the surface of wider public discovery. Included here the carnival of joyful sound that is the Kissaway Trail whose ’smother + evil = hurt’ for some reason only best known to my inner self fills me with the unfathomable desire to go and peak outside to see if there’s a Lowry styled Christmas parade passing our gaff - think full blown and flying Polyphonic Spree after a hefty transfusion of the Dream Academy. Likewise the winter sentiment continue into the nuzzling ’balloon maker’ by Midlake which again for unfathomable reasons had us recalling Cockney Rebels ‘Mr Soft’ spliced through with Mercury Rev’s ‘Car wash hair’ albeit speckled with brass fanfares, twinkling bells and positively festooned in all things homely and fuzzily alluring. The Dears ’hate then love’ possesses one of the most deceptive and distractively lazily drawn hooks we heard all year, culled from their debut ’the earth is not a cold dead place’ Explosions in the Sky excel in doing what they do best - crafting tempestuously evocative sheens of enigmatic emotion eroding grandeur, two guitars, a bass and a drum kit provide the basis for this hope / loss / hope detached serenade of shimmering post math rock splendour - crushing stuff - and epically so. Beach House - previously unknown to us - are duo Victoria and Alex who together craft hauntingly frail gems in the making, taken from their self titled debut full length ’apple orchard’ is refined, delicate, dusty and inconsolably at a loss amid a world of fast food, fast living and self perpetuation - it provides a safe sanctuary from a maddening world, oozing in mystique and mystery as though recently dusted down having been found lying peacefully in a cobweb strewn attic - imagine Galaxie 500 sparing with Mazzy Star being oversee by ’La Folie’ era Stranglers and then some more Exquisite in a word. Elsewhere there’s Lift to Experience’s simply arrestingly beautiful ’falling from cloud 9’ with its streaming haze of chiming chords and feedback swirls that aligned to Josh Pearson’s almost hushly bruised casually matter of fact vocal give the whole spectacle an air of fractured falling apart discordance. The quite heavenly sounding the autumns play peek a boo with ’the beautiful boot’ possessing a tip toe like daintiness, crystalline twinkling chimes and clockwork toy rhythmic charm seductively braided by the softly lilting boy / girl vocals this sly gem soon yawns, stretches and awakens from its slumber emerging as a lovably honey crusted sweetie of some measure. Peter Von Poehl’s ’the story of the impossible’ will appeal in the main to fans of Ooberman and Oddfellows Casino - ghostly, tender and majestic in equal measures not just for the wonderfully worked pastoral floret’s but for the way Poehl is able with deft ease to shift his vocal through the scales. All said and done though best of the showcase set by far is Stephanie Dosen’s ’a lily for the spectre’ - enchanting in a word - beguiling in another - a vocal that sounds like a hybrid made up of DNA strains belonging to Vashti Bunyan, Serafina Steer and Heather Duby set to a lush patchwork of dreamily conceived cascading Gaelic pastoral bliss cultured from the same rich mines that were once melodic playground of a certain Nick Drake - need we say more. Perfect.

That’s it for a day or two - next time out it’ll be one of those my space special type things - plenty of goodies for all ( I hope - blimey bet be getting a shift on - haven’t even started listening to them yet). As per usual eternal gratitude to all those who have in some small way had a hand in making these musings possible. Updates and stuff via www.myspace.com/thesundayexperience or you can email me at mark@losingtoday.com or by snail mail (that is assuming that Royal Mail ever go back to work) 105 shaldon drive, morden, surrey, sm4 4bq, uk.

All that leaves me to say is to wish you well and take care of yourselves

Mark
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