missive CLXXXIX 28-01-2009 Singled Out
Missive 190
For Kelly and Mark - missing you.
Singled Out - rummaging out the essential ear-gear.
And so this week saw the return to broadcasting of BBC bad boy Jonathan Ross, a tamed affair to be honest with Ross looking and acting for the best part of proceedings like a scolded school boy mentally double checking the words tripping off his tongue and seemingly scared of causing offence, that said his guests more than made up the slack with Messrs Evans, Fry and the surprisingly affable Mr Cruise all impishly lowering the tone with Franz Ferdinand wrapping up the proceedings doing a rather nifty re-drill of U2’s ‘Numb’ - of course we jape with you - it was their spanking new single called ‘numb’ - sorry ‘Ulysses’ - any way a slyly funky thing it is sounding like its been sent through for a specialist melodic massage by some strange time tunnelled bitchin‘ 70’s flock wallpaper and mirror ball styled disco-fied brew - by the way love the white winkle pickers lads. Anyway if you’ve somehow managed to avoid the Franz’s latest (do you live in a cave with communications by any chance?) here’s the video…
Back to Ross - mind you the contrition bit didn’t last long, apparently comments were made regarding having sex with a pensioner on his radio show the following morning. Now I’m all for taste and decency but if you feel that something is going to offend then you don’t listen, its like the old adage ‘if I told you to put your hand in the fire would you do it’ - okay you probably would if you were wearing asbestos gloves - but you get my drift. Frankly this is a broadcaster acutely sharp and funny though admittedly a tad up his own backside, grossly overpaid and who enjoys pushing the envelope (not very far admittedly) and inviting his friends and heroes on the show wherever the chance permits, a broadcaster unafraid to say the first thing that comes in his head even if the mechanism between his brain and gob is slightly - shall we say - lacking. A pale imitation of the Radio master class in humiliation that was the pairing of Mark Radcliffe and Marc Riley in the early 90’s (who remembers them getting Bowie in to sing the morning travel report or baiting Fish in a phone in for their, as was, ’hit the North’ show for Radio 5 - and you thought the Word and Shooting Stars were anarchic. Returning to Ross again - we suggest that all those arses who want to see their name in print by jumping on the band wagon and making spurious complaints have the good decency to locate the switch saying off and do one as you’re only feeding the fire in a more publicity means more listeners way or were you too stupid to see that. And there’s me thinking the Witch trials had died with McCarthy.
Those finding themselves tuned into Radio 4 earlier last week may well have stumbled across ’in search of Sid’. Marking the up and coming 30th anniversary of Sid Vicious’ death - blimey where did the years go - friend and fellow punk Jah Wobble scoured the address books for this thirty minute focus, conspicuous by their absence there were no meaningful insights or fond recollections from the usual suspects Messrs Rotten, Jones, Cook and Matlock or for that matter the rest of the old guard which in all honesty perhaps made this a good thing, Viv Albertine leading the charge along with a few of Mr Vicious nee Beverley’s local acquaintances Vince, Terry and Billy and a rare interview conducted by Jon Savage with Sid’s mother shortly before her death of an overdose. In between all this tales of bed wetting, sexual naievity, that infamous cat killing incident and Sid’s rapid unravelling at the hands of heroin addiction. You can access the program by going to BBC’s listen again option at http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00grqms
www.myspace.com/headswedance - we do recall getting a cd from this lot just before Christmas or thereabouts, technical glitches meant we couldn’t actually play the blighter though rest assured now that its been brought to our attention and more importantly that we’ve remembered not reviewing said disc we will rummage around the tool shed for a hammer and chisel and set to work prizing open the treats no doubt awaiting amid the grooves. For now though the cosmic glam club floor crusaders feature on the Rewind2 covers project which basically is a free to download gathering of today’s youthful antagonists pitting their wits and skills and imparting their interpretations on a motley crew of tunes from various 80’s heroes and villains such as the Bunnymen, ELO, Tom Petty, Yazoo, Pigbag, Power Station and such like. You can delight and delve in the dazzling extravaganza by redirecting the pointy thing on your mouse towards the general direction of http://www.buffetlibredjs.net/index2.php - dare say we’ll be dipping in and out the selections over the course of the next few days. As said though for now Heads we Dance go head to head with Kraftwerk’s early 80’s binary communication ’computer love’ - ah we remember it well the golden age - mass unemployment, recession, the falling sterling, Bruce Forsyth on Saturday night TV and Liverpool top of the football tables - some things just don’t change don’t you find. Achieving quite an amazing fist of things Heads we Dance instil and delicate and less overtly obvious line of seduction to their appraisal of Dusseldorf‘s favoured sons robotic party animal, that cold hearted frost glazed aloof sheen of the original softened and mellowed by a sultry streamlined glow gleaned by a sultry undertow and the kind of twinkle some pure pop sensibility that to us suggests a dirtied up Dollar getting some kind minx-ish makeover by a less pervy Soft Cell. Of course its essential ear gear ripe for immediate turntable plundering.
Out next week and by all accounts hogging kind words over at the Guardian, Scouse combo (are they cloning these blighters up there we wonder) Screaming Lights will next week be releasing their debut double A side outing ’GMN’ / ’Glow’ which if I recall rightly we featured to much fond rapture and waxing of words at missive 182 - well here’s an acoustic video of ‘glow’ for your discerning visual delight…you can sample more of the bands wares via their MS page at www.myspace.com/screaminglights
Think we told you we’d be revisiting that rewind 2 compilation though obviously not as soon as this, however we did spy a familiar name in the guise of Melnyk who I think I’m right in saying have featured on more than the odd occasion in these pages. Here seen teaming up with Swedish chanteusse Sara Berg (who again we swear has featured in these pages at some point or other) to plot a rather ripping revisit to Kate Bush’s mighty fine ’running up that hill’. Of course these days La Bush is a recluse or is that reckless - can never remember, these days apparently - depending on which paper you read - is re-living the life of a Bronte and spends her time baking cakes and cookies occasionally committing her talents to the groove when the begging letters from record executives stop piling up at the door and into the bargain embarrass the new pop breed with her beguiled melodic elegance , in fact so mysterious and secretive is she that this months edition of the Word magazine features a piece on her wherein a gathering of journalists are asked to recount their meetings with the pop pixie and all appear spellbound and unable to impart anything of solid worth other than to say she said ’amazing’ quite a lot. Blimey is that the time - wish we wouldn’t go off track. Back to Melnyk whose fault it was that we wittered on as such. Anyway a blinding re-drill - love the Chic ’I want your love’ subtleties blended beautifully to the uber coolly chilled and sophisticated noir down tempo intones which to these ears very much recall the softened master class sheen brought to bear on Mr Numan’s work by Andy Gray and while it might be argued that its lack the flow of the original its certainly measured and cut with an oozing pulsating club floor setting in mind. ‘amazing’. http://www.buffetlibredjs.net/index3.php
Shoosh ‘new sun’ (herb). I think we are right in saying that this is the forthcoming Shoosh single for the small but irrefutably impeccable Herb imprint. Shoosh you may well recall featured on a corking split for Awkward Silence last year with the equally tasty tuneage of Cheju completing the melodic marriage, since then there’s been an album ‘Orpheum circuit’ which we loved and played to death so much so that we forgot to review the blighter though if you don’t trust our recommendations we suggest you take heed of the acclaim bestowed on it by the likes of turntable trend setters Boomkat. Shoosh feature among their ranks a certain Craig Murphy who unless we are very much mistaken we mentioned in passing last missive out for his extra curricula activities as Solipsism - gets all very confusing I can tell you. Anyway back to Shoosh, a twin set no less featuring a wonderfully willowy entwining of ’new sun’ and ’strange tides’, the former a dusty picture box subtly doused cosmically enhanced freewheeling spot of lilting loveliness longingly wrapped amid trestles of softly cured droning lunar key swathes and the introspective glaze of slyly shimmering rustic strums that gather together to impart a delightfully homely honeycomb of twilight twinkling treats. Far superior though in our humbled view is the flip cut, ’strange tides’ is nothing if it isn’t breathtaking, a hollowing honey dripped treat pierced by a numbing isolation, like a fading memory of a precious moment or a fleeting apparition, this bitter sweet moment of aching bliss cuts deep and hurts with its apparent forlorn framing, unassumingly mercurial and solemnly statuesque in short it’s a pristine account of beguiled ambi-psych-folk. www.myspace.com/shooshmusic
Merchandise ‘listen up!’ (cityscape). Apparently there’s a full length looming on the horizon from these chaps entitled ‘for the masses’ which we must admit is proving to be something of a breath held anticipated thing over in our gaff, sadly there’s no announced street date as yet, however to placate ’the masses’ there’s this nifty little twin set to tuck into and keep the home fires burning. ’listen up!’ according to the press release attaching to this CD / vinyl set (pressed on white wax and replete with a badge I should add - how these lads love to treat us) is a ’tale of heartbreak and emotional torment told against a sparkling musical backdrop’ - couldn’t have put it better myself though as is our want we will add to that that this babe is braided by a hugely lolloping and deviously off set hook that’ll flatten you without so much as a by your leave, blending the summer glazed dimpled effervescence of Dodgy’s holiday time honey ’staying out for the summer’ with the less obvious tangy overtones of a post ’wake up’ Boo Radleys, drizzled with subtle west coast accents and a head turning sucker punching infectiousness ’listen up!’ fizzles with a quietly disturbing lo-fi feel good mellowness and an un-assumed pop prowess that once slyly shimmying past your defences will set up home in your psyche and ping around nonchalantly until summer fades. That said we are quite more than smitten by the flip cut ’lonesome beauty’ as it affectionately tumbles and teeters carrying in its wake memories of those classic era Kitchenware releases from the early 80’s, and though we here are all firmly at the mercy of winter’s icy grip this babe almost feels like a metrological calling card ushering in the oncoming spring season. www.merchandisetheband.co.uk
And here’s a video of the chaps performing their previous gem ‘sometimes’…..
Sarandon ‘other people’s records’ (little car). Boot tapping wig flipping brilliance from the greatest under achievers currently pulling faces and screwing up people’s record listening tastes. Sarandon are past masters at being - well brilliant, both responsible for perfecting the art of producing skewed lost masters as well as equally proving their unequalled adeptness at their wilful disregard for playing the pop game, for the last few years they’ve busied themselves in sublime ad hoc fashion occasionally unleashing the odd indie nugget or two. ’other people’s records’ is an EP boasting three more day-glo ditties from the demented desk of the Sarandon gang and marks the debut release for the newly augmented Little Car imprint. Featuring guest vocals from the Pocketbooks Emma Hall ’for the now’ is a crippled pop gem hoodwinked straight out of the arse pocket of the TV Personalities, all at once dislocated and damaged and nailed onto a harmony laced skewiff canvas this slice of vibrantly wired pop is jiggered and jarred by a deliciously schizo stop start dynamics and best filed we feel somewhere near those essential Beatnik Filmstars and Magoo types. Flip the disc for ’other people’s records’ - the title track no less - to these ears sounding like some face slapping echo from the vibrantly volatile late 70’s punk / new wave scene, this beauty blisters and broods between momentary flashes of stinging agitation and an ever so brief though ear lobe stealing shudder of wiring cacophony. That said we’re more than fond of the parting ’vertical slum’ - an old Swell Maps cover done as a tribute of sorts to the late Epic Soundtracks, a brazen and blistered slab of snot nosed agit pop that to these ears sounds not unlike Spizz Energy lamping several shades out of Jilted John with the Blockheads refereeing the melee. Absolutely essential. www.littlecarrecords.co.uk
Telonius ‘hit me with your rhythm stick’ - blimey we just can’t resist this compilation - another track from that Rewind2 covers project - this time sees the previous unknown to us Germany’s Telonius pitting their wits against the Ian Dury and the Blockheads immortal ‘hit me with your rhythm stick’ and coming out of the other side sounding not unlike a hot n horny dominatrix wet dream inspired by some strange mutation between Miss Kitten and Rick James both freebasing on a weird 80’s style transfusion that incorporates by and large a heady side order of Nena‘s ‘99 red balloons’ and Grandmaster Flash (backs). Well smart if you ask me. http://www.buffetlibredjs.net/index3.php
LR Rockets ‘dance it away’ (silver door). We must admit that for the best part of the day we’ve been trying to fashion a nifty little dance routine suitably attired and readily marketable for this particular track, and though we’ve scratched our head (as bruised as it is) and nearly ended up requiring the services of both the local casualty unit and a builder we are happily convinced that we’ve cracked it. Unhappily for patrons of this potentially life threatening jig it does require the plugging of oneself into the mains and cutting all manner of comedy cartoon shapes as you ricochet in pained spasms and seizure fits across the floor space annihilating no doubt loosely fitted items of furniture and various structures. LR Rockets should need no introductions here given their debut opus ’personality’ via Art Goes Pop (a label of whom we’ve just discovered sent us a comp a while back which to much embarrassment will be getting the once over very, very shortly - and in case you‘re taking notes its called ‘the Glasgow school of art goes pop‘) featured in these very pages at missive 138 wherein the blighters interrupted a very serene moment with some wilful slabs of dirty no nonsense bad assed groove which we might add was for a week or so the top of the complaints agenda at our local parish tea and biscuits soirees. Anyway that was then and blimey hasn’t the year flown by, ’dance it away’ is not - sadly - some bastardised response rapture to Roxy’s classic ’dance away’ (replete with lighting of cigarette credits at the start - such folly these days would be held up as grossly irresponsible by the media mind police the Mail). Anyway we’ve gone off on one again as per usual, ’dance it away’ sounds to these ears like a speed induced Gang of Four pulverising the local club floor and bringing in their wake a spot of dance dementia, festooned with screeching banshee like strobe lit riffage and rumbling with such infectious g-force momentum that guarantees skin will literally peel from some part of your being. All this and more shoehorned into a tight as a gnats arse regimental grind and laced up loud, fast, dislocated and viciously vibrant. Did we mention its liable to cause lasting damage to limbs. Elsewhere ’death of the UK’ makes for a salivating spectacle of Clash like heroics albeit threaded with moments of curiously woven cosack like dynamics and wound tight with an accusing finger jabbing bollock dropping dandy chorus hook that unless we are very much mistaken sounds like its been swapping notes with the Parkinsons. And those among you thinking that surely they’ve run out of steam at this point - think again - ’animal’ aside sounding like ’clear spot’ era Beefheart speeded up, welded to a rollicking and rampant art pop punk groove and spun a few times over a shed load of roasting hot coals possesses perhaps the most annoying addictive hook you’ll hear from here until Spring wherein you’ll be besieged with all manner of bands waxing lyrical about the joys of sun, sea, sex and solero bars and welding such observations to cutely affectionate wily waltzes born of harmonies and melodies plundered from the likes of the Beach Boys, Buffalo Springfield and Bucks Fizz (the latter was a joke - just testing you are all still awake -zzzzzzzzz). Rounding up the pack of this grizzled boogie bashing foursome a remix of ’london girls’ by the 2bob kunts (charming) who strip the original to its barest essentials and wire in some seriously lo-fi and angulated schizoid electrofication whose bloodline is obviously indebted to both Joy Division and the Normal. Further turntable damage is expected shortly via the Little Power and Ctrl Alt Del imprints - can’t wait. www.myspace.com/lrrockets
The Plenaries ’a wonderful thing’ (self released). Indeed it is. Apologies to the band as we’ve had this cutie for a fair while and have on more than one occasion simple swooned each and every time its ushered into ear shot. Best described as one of those rare records that’s so unassuming it sounds almost embarrassed by its own shyness and revealing of its worth that you‘d be forgiven for almost passing it by as it demurringly murmurs and softly lulls in the hope that it catches you off guard. Both tender and delicate ’a wonderful thing’ is cut with the same kind of stealth like pop prowess that only the Heart Strings and the High Wire have seen fit to brave and utilise as their own, scratch a little deeper beneath the surface sheen of the forlorn ache, the genteel tingle of the mellowing introspection and the fuzz drizzled riff framing and you’ll find a starry eyed statuesque classicism buried deep at its core that on repeat listens combines the elegance of Galaxie 500 and the shimmering buzz pop beauty of the Stars. ’all over again’ features over on the flip side lush with prickly 60’s pop motifs and by our reckoning something that admirers of Richard Green’s Somatics ought to be checking out sooner rather than later. Those wanting more - and you all should - are advised to hook up to ’evil’ on their MS page for a spot of quite haunting though alluring and arresting shade adorned mind arranging meditative psych pop which we hear feel is their finest moment to date. Ones to watch. www.myspace.com/theplenaries
Karim Fanous ‘drama queen’ (knn). Last featured in these very pages way back at missive 159 with ‘sometimes’ which if we recall rightly blew us off our comfy listening pedestal with its simplified and sparse perky pop sensibility which we do remember mentioning a passing similarity to both a certain Louden Wainwright III and Bert Bacharach which I‘m sure you‘ll agree is pretty decent company to be in. Well bugger us and darn it if the blighter isn’t at it again, blessed with an enviable ability to wire up and concoct dashingly dippy pop overtures on what appears to be a shoestring budget both ‘drama queen’ and its attending flip cut ‘super bug’ channel similar fanciable hook happy foot tapping follies as those momentarily missing in action dudes the Tacticians. Assuming rollercoaster dimensions ‘drama queen’ swells and swerves n’ ducks and dives to shimmy its way through a fizzing strum throbbing carnival of sound whose rootsy beat pop sensibility smacks you straight in the chops and appears to veer - if our ears don’t deceive that is - ever so closely to that of messrs Lowe and Edmunds. Better still is the flip side ’super bug’ - sumptuously braided by a deceptively off kilter lo-fi funk dialect if we didn’t know better we’d have to say this strangely addictive gem had been hoodwinked straight out of the back pocket of Squeeze’s Glenn Millbrook - class or what? www.karimfanous.com
The loves ‘the ex gurlfriend’ (fortuna pop). If I recall rightly I think we have a few fortuna pop goodies stashed about our person - all no doubt will feature here once we’ve nailed the buggers to the floor. Anyway first up on the inspection block the welcome return to the fray for the Loves with what appears to be the first of three EP’s which will in time form the basis in promoting their third full length entitled - go on have a guess - aw shucks you got it in one - (have you been peeking?) - ‘three’. for those of you so far unaware of the Loves all we can say is that you have no business buying records, to those who are vaguely or indeed intimately aware of the Loves then a brief recap - their f**king brilliant - hell why go around the houses with wordy descriptions - just get straight to the bloody point man. Anyway ‘the ex gurlfriend’ was loosely mentioned in despatches during our eventful ‘post flu and toothache special’ way back not two weeks since when it featured as part of the rather spiffing Christmas advent calendar type thing that Maps Magazine where running preceding the yuletide celebrations not that that small inconsequential detail is going to stop us prattling about its virtues - no siree. A super slinky helping of glam tinged bubblegum pop, this babe is so ultra cool your fashion kudos go through the roof just standing next to it as it purrs, pouts and lip curls its way seductively into your favoured listening obsession list though frankly we are disappointed that it doesn’t come replete with a video featuring cameo appearances from Bolan and the Shangri La’s set in some 50’s styled ice cream parlour replete with hoodless Thunderbirds, juke boxes the size of fridge freezers and bee hives the size of small skyscrapers. Or maybe there is - hang on we’ll check. Nah they buggered up on that one. Flip the disc for the mooching ’Johnny Angelo Blues’ - a rumbling feline of a cut staked out with slithers of soft psyche and a devilishly itchy sleazy quota wherein the likes of Wray, Berry, Lewis, Glitter and Bolan (again) are thrown in the blender and done to smoking - in a word - stunning. Rounding up the (leader of the) pack (sorry couldn’t resist) ’around and around’ is your spiked strut grooved flashing of tangy bubblegum pop that from where we are sitting not a million miles from the Ramones - need we say more? Buy on sight. www.fortunapop.com
Those of you with relatively short attention spans may well or as the case may be may not remember us going ga ga at the prospect of some new ear gear from Death Pop records coming in the shaping of the mighty Brain Washington whose ‘lsd’ / ‘bad acid’ twin set 7 inch wax bastard is due to throw fists and cause disgruntled fits among all the best record racks belonging to the finest record emporiums of this fine though recession blitzed nation - well here’s the video that goes with ’lsd’….hey Becks where’s our promo…..?
And staying with Death Pop for a moment longer the inordinately insane and devilishly uncouth rabble rousers Atomic Suplex whose ‘atomic suplexed by a girl’ track you can hear by visiting the page link below have been short listed top appear at the Red Stripe Music Awards at the Brixton Windmill on the 16th January which if your reading this now (as in Thursday) is tomorrow or else if your reading this now (as in Saturday) was yesterday. Anyhow we gather the Death Pop family will be in full attendance so expect plenty of grizzled grooves and head damaging ear candy. www.myspace.com/deathpopped
The keen eyed among you - that is assuming anyone actually reads this stuff - may well have chuckled at our omission of Theoretical Girl in the last missive especially considering we were plugging the latest Clang event and had promised to mention them along with It Hugs Back and the Joy Formidable (whose ‘cradle’ we absolutely feckin’ adore more than life itself) who we did mention as though to pour salt in the wounds. Anyhow next Clang event is on the 21st January - details via www.myspace.com/clubclang - as to the Theoretical Girls they go a lot like this…. www.myspace.com/iamtheoreticalgirl - can’t for the life of me recall exactly whether or not we’ve featured the Theoretical Girl in these pages before - if not then shame on us because this is mighty fine ear candy by any standard. Apparently there’s an album looming on the distant horizon, apparently snaffled up by Memphis Industeries who in another life used to send us their wares but these days appear to big now that the No Musical Express kissing their indie major butt - moi bitter - nah not me sir not when there are far better labels like Lo, Static Caravan and Fortuna Pop peppering our hi-fi. Moving on - Theoretical Girl or as she’s better known to friends and family - Amy Eleanor Turnnidge files her charmed pop morsels under the tag of ’electro / folk / pop’ via her ms page, these gorgeously rhyming chiming key cultivated pop sensations buzz with a flowering effervescence, all at once forlorn and fanciful and distractively hummable (dare you resist the freshly serenading melodic cosmic rapture of the Momus meets St Etienne like ’I should have loved you more’) or the crooked glare of the streamlined icy groove of ’the hypocrite’ which veers ever so close in proximity to the much missed Melys. That said we suggest you start your journey with the simply hurtful ’seeing you again’ here delivered in its demo form - a frail and fragile beauty glazed with a terrifically crushing majestic calm - will carve you open that I guarantee.
And here’s video of her - blimey we spoil you rotten don’t we…..
www.myspace.com/deeeadmellotron - perfect in a word and certainly deserving of much inquisitive interest from the shoe gaze, space pop and soft psych fraternity, dead mellotron hails from Louisiana and by the looks of things appears to be just one bloke - Frazier - who cites his influences as ’complete apathy’ - hell he’s on our wave length. There’s an EP currently doing the rounds entitled ‘ghost light constellation’ which we will endeavour to try and blag for review - for now though settle yourself down for four showcasing cuts from that said set. While the case could be argued that Dead Mellotron don’t in any way shape or form push the musical envelope - be honest who does these days - one thing that can’t be refuted is that give the blighter a guitar and fuzz box and he’ll happily restring past JMC gems for fun. Easily filed alongside that other Velveteen space cadet Cheval Sombre, dead mellotron crafts out sublimely shimmering shade wearing de-tuned day-glo feedback sprayed pop pretties of the highest order, embracing in equal measure elements of Sunray, MBV and Spacemen 3 these fringe flopped mind evaporators course through the psyche imparting kaleidoscopically treated brittle bubblegum dialects, part drug induced yet indelibly bliss grooved. Here you’ll be treated to the swoon inducing buzz kissed starry eyed lo-fi lysergic Reid ripples of the hypnotic ’nothing I ever imagined’ and the Chapterhouse meets Ride-esque stratospheric celestial fuzz chimed ’I woke up’ though for us the best moment by far is without doubt the breathlessly statuesque frost tipped ’untitled’ with its glacial textures, alluring mantras, igloo imparted electronic squiggles, monastic tonalities and crunching wide screen calibration. Think we’ll be keeping an eye on this one.
http://www.myspace.com/thetombots - currently unsigned though we’re of the mind that that won’t be the case for too long, hailing from Salford and numbering three in their ranks we are more than a mite surprised that neither of Manchester’s taste makers Akoustik Anarkhy or Melodic haven’t had their heads and ears turned on by these four showcasing cuts and seen fit to secure their signatures while no one‘s looking. If reference markers are the necessary requirement then the Tombots happily occupy an enviable and deviously sublime sound space somewhere between Birdpen, Swimmer One, Working for a Nuclear Free City and Genaro (in fact ‘river and the fish‘ manages to draw and distil the best elements of all of them into its melodic DNA matrix). Their sound a pulsating playground of starry eyed bitter sweetly dipped longing and surging communiqués from an as yet un-plotted galactic territory, blending distractively hook happy orbiting overtures fused together by the interweaving of coolly coalescing riffs and the dimpled anthemic throb of wiring hyper driven keys the Tombots craft a precision toned cascade of alluring ear candy. The buzz sawing numb of streamlined ‘accounts and thoughts from a staircase’ assumes an audaciously unassuming dynamic and plots a trajectory where the paths of ’Kelly watch the stars’ era Air and the all seeing pop wherewithal of Lynne’s mid 70’s ELO intersect, in between the subtle spirals of the seducing glacial intones elements of late 70’s Sparks flash by slightly out of focus with the whole spectacle flavoured with vague kraut dialects and crystallising superbly as though sprayed coated and polished by the much missed (the) Koreans. The aforementioned ’river and the fish’ initially sounding as though cued from the Meek produced fairground dream coat that was the Tornados ’telstar’ there’s a forlornly dulled ache about this hurt beauty that makes you want to wrap around it a consolatory arm while the vocals may well have a few of you reaching for your early Peter Gabriel records. Both ‘confetti rainbow’ and ‘the composition’ deem to break from the ranks, there’s something strangely buoyant and vibrant that seems at odds with the earlier formed view of the band, both assuming a curiously dust ravaged spurs and leathers western styled jig - think the men they couldn’t hang meets wall of voodoo overseen by Space, the latter in particular you suspect with its off kilter and slyly inebriated funky throb could with a tweak or two yet cause some considerable club floor damage while the former drizzled with a boot tapping ska underpinning and much putting us in mind of 90‘s electro combo Laptop. All well smart in our book.
The Bishops ’if you leave today’ (w2). Last featured in these very pages way back at missive 105 wherein we wowed and cooed to the sounds held ransom amid the grooves of their ’higher now’ twin set. With an album and several well toned 60’s sounding shimmies under their belts these dudes and purveyors of the yesterday sound return to the fray with a much anticipated ’for now’ full length (due March) and this dandified Cuban heeled cutie. Like a distant echo from the incumbent mid 60’s beat grooved scene ’if you leave today’ is a prime sliced stripped to the bone spot of radiantly retro revelry whose tangy and day-glo intones strangely weave and veer between the bitter sweetly gathering climates of the chiming power pop and melodically astute High, Velvet Crush and the Power of Dreams while simultaneously brandishing the kind of vintage accoutrements more commonly associated with the Troggs. Mind you better still is to be found over on the flip, ’by your side’ is succulently filtered and framed with some nifty dashes of beach loving surf twang that finds itself accompanied by the well heeled appearance of sun kissed factor 10 west coast shimmies and a mooching soft psyche undertow which to these ears at least smarts, soothes and whispers of a honed lineage tracing back to the Wailers and the West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band - cool or what? www.thebishopsband.com
Social ‘a call to arms’ (divided London). One of the first truly great singles of the year, the return to the fray of the Social, this five track flag bearing bastard of a set is due to appear on the bands own imprint pressed up on twelve hulking inches of wax. Blessed with sonorous vocals much reminiscent of a youthful Cathal Coughlan that find themselves joyously wired to a bleakly forlorn though pensively gritted early 80’s English guitar sound whose ancestral lineage belies echoes of And Also the Trees, Artery, the Chameleons, ’vengeance’ era New Model Army (especially on the crunching terrace fanfare laced ‘to the bone‘ and the rousing crusade like ’under grey English skies’ with its subtle mid 80‘s 4AD intones - perhaps the best cut here all said and done), Micro Disney (obviously) and ’Meat is Murder’ era Smiths. Throbbing with bruised ambition and possessed of a dulled bedroom anthem-ic thrust not to mention sounding like a clarion call being serviced by an approaching cavalry hastily arriving to rescue the good name of guitar pop from the fleeting hordes of five minutes of fame seeking wannabes, ’the fallen’ takes its cue sound wise from Moz and Co’s ’the headmaster ritual’ and directs its withering ‘tongue in cheek’ glare on - according to the attached press release - ’the fickle and pre-conceived state of the british music scene’ and depressingly coming to the conclusion that ‘the formula for youth culture is locked in a safe in a boardroom in Bloomsbury’. Of course its all delivered with a hint of heartening dismissal and set to the chiming rhyme of an off kilter funky meets jingle jangle jamboree of quickly drilled fist clenching struts whose heritage lies in the sweat steamed student halls of discreet showcase gigs during the early 80’s. ‘uk gothic’ follows in quick pursuit ample bringing with it that happy / miserable chemistry that was so prevalent on the Smiths debut opus while ‘Hugo’ blisters solemnly with a faintly hollowed majesty much reminiscent of the Wild Swans. A class apart then. www.dividedlondonrecords.co.uk
Their Strange Gathering ‘requisite’ (self released). Oh blimey another release that we suspect we’ve had far longer than we should have without writing about it with all the richness it so rightly deserves. Four young south east London based lads who according to their brief biography met through a shared admiration for all things Mogwai, Idlewild and Death Cab for Cutie (the latter named being subtly nodded to on the parting ‘there is change’) which all things considered is a fairly good call this that the chemistry occurring within exudes some nifty slices of mercurially mellowing melodies that we feel are ripe and perfectly calibrated for some drive time radio play saturation or at the very least to be savoured during the stilled wiles of early morning twilight passages. Three cuts feature within with the lead out ‘requisite’ proving to be the strongest of the set by far, much recalling in its early stages the much missed Paris Angels and 14 Iced Bears belying as it does that self same quietly pulsating layer on layer momentum though here blossoming to reveal a softly tender and deceptively alluring core that aches and pines with a forlorn and deeply attractive longing that’s bridled and framed by the stratospheric decoration of SOS like morse code riffage halos that ultimately cast unassuming though beguiled bitter sweet sheens to the proceedings. ’sadly missed by some’ is equally affected by a numbing heart string yanking presence that’s hurtfully bruised and reflectively hollowed, tear stained and torn and lovingly braided by the buzzing cortege of honey dripped feedback fizzes leaving the beautifully insular ‘there is change’ to kick up a quiet emotional storm with its chiming serenades and honeycombed braidings of fuzz drilled starry eyed lilts - will cause lumps in throat. www.myspace.com/theirstrangegathering
The Rapscallions ‘suck’ (self released). I had an uncle who used to call me a rapscallion, not that I was a scoundrel given I was only 4 at the time- notorious of nonesuch nursery was my infamy. Strangely such utterances where always accompanied by a swift clip to the bonce region of ones person. These being the days where parents and closely related family members where allowed - indeed sometimes heartily encouraged by the powers that be - to administer such brutish ‘clips’ upon persons of a junior age without fear of having their photograph appearing on a bus shelter or worse still in the pages of what passes for the indecently fascist observers of moral turpitude or should that be turps - the Da*** Ma**. ‘clip’ sounds like a wheeze eh - a really jape - many a time my poor head would be summarily decorated by all manner of sticking plasters of the type whose adhesive there appeared no equal - and that I can readily vouch with evidence given it took with it several layers of skin not due to surface in daylight until you were at least of an adolescent variety as you sought the excruciating task of prizing it from your personage. Those were the days young people. You don’t know you’re born. Anyhow where was I or mores the point where was I intending to go before I ruefully started reminiscing - ow my heads hurting now - must be delayed shock or something. Anyway the Rapscallions who in text speak are probably known as the pscalls with a silent ‘p’ which being text doesn’t work so it would be plain old ‘scalls’ which would have them located in God’s Country or thereabouts - Liverpool for those not keeping up with proceedings and frankly who would blame you. Not so young folk with the strange looking hairdo’s and bizarre jean wear apparel these dudes numbering in three hail from Dartford and are intent in dropping the odd well aimed spanner in the works of the airy fairy safe and sad indie scene with this their independently released debut four track. Between you and me sounds like three blokes having way too much fun for our liking and who’d blame them the current underground scene is way too serious and up its own posterior for these ragamuffin punk dudes but enough of that a few quick peeks at the press release pour forth descriptions such as ‘Dickensian rock’ daubed with ‘Dick Turpin etchings’ lazily inebriating in an ’olde English tavern styled knees up’ - the sound tagged as ’Rockney’. Non more so is best exemplified than on the gritted gallant gallery that is the ska scarred ‘revolting bar stewards’ a nifty slice of humongous press ganged scurvy riddled revelry whose adoption of New Model Army and Then Men They Couldn’t Hang like elements may yet prove in time to be a crunching show stopper among an enviable backdrop of aural artillery. Anyhow four tracks are gathered here whose closest bloodline of current day trends appears to share a lineage with the likes of Lupen Crook, Paul Hawkins and Billy Childish, fuelled by fire water and unfeasibly infectious these quickly drilled tales eked and inspired by after hours drinking sessions depict an darkened and seedy alternative London landscape riddled with discontent and a stirring from half lit no go areas from whence those evil n’er doers Chas n’ Dave exist, of course we jape Chas and ruddy Dave do me a favour guv’nor makes you laugh to think that Status Quo were derided (though admittedly at the time perhaps rightly so) and yet these (please refer to ‘rabbit’ and so atrocious sh**e called ‘margate’ or something and then tell me again why you like them?) were heralded as some kind of godfathers to a scene that no-one can recall now - what was its name - bet it had something to do with that Doherty bloke who hopefully now is not writing his follow up memoirs. Anyway back to crux of the matter, the Rapscallions blend a killer line in rock-a-billy, skiffle (as on the superbly skiffle toned and cool cat riffage of the Strummer-esque ‘comfort zone’) and ska and brew said ingredients into rampantly audacious shadowy shanties that cut, jar and swagger with an audacious artistry to strangely have you overwhelmed by the desire to bop till you drop. Curiously enough the flighty rover appeal of the radio rollicking lead out track ’great swines drink alike’ the weakest cut here is out shone by the speaker spanking curtain closer ‘capital punishment’ which proves to be the sets defining moment a kind of sinew seizing up tempo and volatile free for all that imagines ‘all mod cons’ era Jam on a head on crash with the Skids ‘masquerade’ which by our reckoning is pretty much essential ear gear for all. Corking stuff. www.myspace.com/therapscallions
The Coronas ‘decision time’ (3u). Already causing something of a fuss in their Irish homeland having wowed punters and fans alike as well as proving something of a seemingly permanent feature in the charts following the release of a debut full length entitled ‘heroes or ghosts’ and a handful of acclaimed singles. Three years into their career and with ears a burning with fond acclaim and the enviable endorsement of the Hot Press publication this Dublin based quartet set their beady sights on the UK mainland with the release of ‘decision time’ which acts as a precursor to the albums full release on these here fair isles. Indelibly delivered with an eye on the American MOR market, its easy to see why the Coronas have been taken to hearts of the college set, inoffensive and acutely inscribed with drive time radio appeal, ’decision time’ is a streamlined soul / rock pop affair that’s cast with a smoky knowingness that sees it gliding towards similar territories once occupied by former Irish pop combo and ZTT artists the Marbles who we must admit here and now are somewhat much missed. Anyway this cutie is serviced with a mature hue and sumptuously caressed by an attractive melodic knowingness the type of which insidiously hooks upon your psyche and lingers long after the stylus has returned to its cradle. Expect heavy broadcast rotation. www.thecoronas.net
The Anomalies ‘old skool’ (beyond music). Fuck me - the minute we banged this on we were hooked, such a smoking and steaming affair that we suspect its destined for imminent dance floor damage. Culled from the forthcoming ‘free soup special’ full length which kids on initially hearing sounds to us like the hottest slice of hi-fi hi-jinx currently mooching about in record land, ‘old skool’ is quite possibly the sexiest and meanest sassy assed bastard on the block right now, showcasing the enviable talents of Mouthmaster Murf and Sam Meehan, these turntable terrorists cook up a delirious funky stew that’s so ear bending and catchy it ought to come equipped with jabs, sounding not unlike a studio fist fight between Eskimos in Egypt, the Beastie Boys, Rick James, Basement Jaxx and Grandmaster Flash, the Anomalies concoct a tasty fry up of familiar party sounds that freewheels amid a stomping boogie-licious spree of baggy, scatchin’, hip hop, trip hop, blip hop and retro rock riff manoeuvres all devilishly drilled within a fractured and schizoid electro fuzzed template ready to be sent out into the weird wide world to fend for itself all the time swaggering and sauntering like a bad thing. Essential I’m afraid. www.the-anomalies.co.uk
Official Secrets Act ‘the girl from the BBC’ (One Little Indian). Now safely ensconced onto the One Little Indian imprint following briefly sold out stay overs at Dead Hostess (‘Snakes and Ladders’) and Weekender (’Victoria’) and brandishing a debut full length due for full release at the tail end of March entitled ’understanding electricity’ which we’ll admit has been receiving the odd admiring stare of late in our gaff, the hotly tipped (still - blimey that’s exactly what we said way back at missive 145 when we first come across the ear wear of these strut laden dudes). In fact it was then that we fell under the spell bound charms of this cutie, ’the girl from the BBC’ was originally tucked away on the flip side of the bands debut release and if we recall rightly (what am I saying if I recall rightly - I’ve got the review type blighter in front of me now) was ear marked as the stronger of that releases brace of cuts. Still sounds like the dogs bollocks as far as we are concerned, its slow stuttering pace spiked with subtle shards of post punk angulated accents and a curious mutant species of the dub family that finds itself metered out with a slyly catchy albeit dislocated and off kilter melodic throb is primed to guarantee repeat plays one suspects in tandem with the current Franz Ferdinand outing on any decent and self respecting in house turntable. Mind you as is typical of these things it’s the flip cut ’something that you want’ that should by rights have you driven to distraction and wearing clean through the waxen grooves. Uber cool in a word and desirably sexy with it, this pop diamond pulsates, clatters, gallops and shimmies radiantly emitting an overwhelming feel good buzz across your listening space as it sweetly curves, coos and charms its way into your affections with its craftily cutely drilled day-glo flirtations and sassily mutantly funky hip shaking pop pout. Irresistible. www.myspace.com/officialsecretsact
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewProfile&friendID=80785100 - firstly apologies for the extended and overtly cumbersome link but we couldn’t find a snappy my space reference with which to copy and paste. A quartet based in Croatia who currently unsigned (though we’re much thinking that that shouldn’t be the case for very much longer) have been around in some shape or form since 2005 and have in that time released two EP’s ’the end of beginning’ and the no frills titled ’promo 2008’ both of which you can download for nowt by following the links on their MS page which sadly for now we‘re having trouble ripping. Punishing stuff indeed, Defiant appear to be the illegitimate offspring of an illicit bunk up between Slayer and Carcass, though easily filed under the banner of the metal species grind core and speed thrash in between the immensely enjoyable unholy spectacle of blistered and bludgeoned and very much beaten out of shape pyrotechnic riffage. These dudes from the backwaters of hell create an aural carnage that aside being threatening and apocalyptic is matted with a grimly foreboding swamp like grind that removed of the demonic vocal growls and viciously drilled riffmanship could in another parallel universe pass for some dementedly fried and freaked noise lashed Jap core variant of the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion - don’t believe me eh - then check out ‘sawned’ and tell me I’m wrong. Mind you those of you much loving of your battle grained Iron Maiden charges will do well to check out the corrosively speaker spanking ’it burns your heart’ though for us ’I demand’ is just a humungous take no prisoners cranium crunching slice of frantic bastardised boogie. Hopefully we’ll fix the gremlins from those downloads and get these dark lords back into these pages faster than Moz can record another decent album - ah - so its going to be a while then.
The Foxes ‘Bill Hicks’ (Room 10). Last seen flexing their wares around these here parts way back at Missive 176 when their debut seven inch platter ‘trauma town’ was cited as being responsible for a fair amount of rumpus in the Singled Out listening shed, London beat pop combo disprove the age old adage about lightning striking twice with this walloping twin headed slice of uber buzz pop. Named in honour of the bad boy of comedy and scourge of censors and middle American safeness - the late Bill Hicks - whose well observed monologue regarding Eggs and their relevance to Easter - and chocolate ones at that - and the Crucifix should be searched, sourced and listened to this very instant. Blimey where were we. Ah yes impish souls the Foxes, more quality 60’s sourced groove, ‘Bill Hicks’ kicks furiously amid a sweaty haze of jagged hip hugging riffage and blistered soul moves, like some emotionally starved upstart it snarls, spits and rages with an impetuous ferocity leaving scar marks on the turntable which in our gaff is a much welcomed past-time. That said and by our reckoning for the second time on the bounce best moment by far is tucked up over on the flip side. ‘come and get you’ is - unless our ears very much deceive (and they rarely do just for the record) - a whole bag of beat grooved toe tapping 60’s styled Scousadelic skiffle riddled shanty sassiness cooked up by some impromptu meeting between the Stairs, the LA’s, Space and the Coral which be honest now sounds like mojo rumbling slice of effervescent sunshine pop sumptuously tailgated by the teeniest traces of youthful Beatle-esque montages and shoehorned splendidly into a breathlessly devious roller coaster ride of high octane carefree perky pop goodness. Think that covers all the bases. www.thefoxesband.com
And did someone mention the Stairs in passing just a second ago, well hell and bugger me with a Hohner semi acoustic (in sky blue) it seems that the head honcho of those finest exponents of retro cut beat grooved 60’s rock-a-boogie Edgar Jones is back on the prowl and due shortly to commence a short tour with his new combo Free Peace when they take to the stage to open for the re-energised Oasis next month. If you go to www.myspace.com/freepeaceuk you can catch yourself a heavy dose of jaw dropping Zeppelin meets Hendrix blues rock that frankly sounds as though its been head tripped straight outta a legendary evening at the UFO, all killer stuff though sadly for now only excerpts alas mind you it wets the appetite especially the swamp laced ‘dem bones’ so dirty and decadent it had us rifling about the gaff for the Led’s first opus for quick comparisons and swapping of notes. Those of you down in London town can catch the trio performing a warm up set at the Old Blue Last on February 3rd at the behest of the mighty 1965 records.
The Race ‘rude boy’ (shifty disco). There was a time when even under the cover of the thick miserable grey skies of winter a little sunny spec could be eyed in the corner of the listening room where on the turntable sat the latest treat from those ever watchful purveyors of sparkly pop - Shifty Disco. These days those fond times of spanking turntable tuneage appear regretfully more seldom with each passing season given that somewhere along the way we’ve haplessly fallen from the Shifty Disco mailing list. Ah well such is life. So with that in mind you can imagine our expectant joy when through the mail box came a tumbling a rather nifty twin set bearing the hallowed name of Oxford’s finest taste makers tattooed as were on its back side in big bulging letters. There was a momentary pause of expectancy of the type normally savoured in our gaff for musical missives from the likes of Static Caravan, Trensmat and Fortuna Pop as we viewed with much fondness the three track single and forthcoming full length (entitled in case you’re taking notes ’in my head it works’) from the Race. Placing said disc on player there was a brief pause, a momentary stillness and a timid fleeting of the kind of edginess reserved for an off spring about to embark on a public performance with you silently in wait hoping that they don’t in someway goof up thus laying the foundations for a life of unfulfilled expectations. Bollocks we should have known better, ten seconds in and we were sold, we’re gonna love this we thought smugly - nay confidently - to ourselves. Prized from the forthcoming - and aforementioned - full length - itself the bands much anticipated follow up to their ’be your alibi’ debut from a few years ago, ’rude boy’ is a slyly seductive treat of some merit, moulded from elements of sparsely minimal atmospherics chipped with a coolly distilled early 80’s retro sheen that’s slyly tweaked with hazy shards of post punk funkiness, this honey distractively draws you in with its shape shifting array of mellowing MOR harmonies and a strangely lulling off kilter super chilled laziness that once gathered together resplendently crystallise into moments of succulent melodic glazes the lilt and overtly serene calm of which is momentarily corroded by the occasional stratospheric impact. Flip the disc for a brace of exclusive cuts, the shyly cast and sensitive ’I won’t stay away’ is particularly fetching and deserving of much love as it bitter sweetly rages and retires amid crusading post rock structures while the hurtfully bruised ’Holy Ghost’ simply steals the set, all at once fragile, frail, hollow, humble and hymnal - be fair warned this will crush you at a glance. www.shiftydisco.co.uk
The Scratch ‘against the grain’ (pony land). The return of one of our favourite turntable obsessions of recent years, the Scratch have on more than one occasion flattened us into states of jaw dropped fondness within these pages. Despatching a high end pedigree of pop grooved new wave the Scratch sound like renegades from another pop age time tunnelled into the present and brandishing an impeccable arsenal of hook laden nuggets and whistle-able sub three minute anthems whose prime directive it would seem - aside that is wearing your stylus blunt - is to drive you to the limits of distraction. Both ’against the grain’ and its flip cut ’cool in an uncool way’ bristle with the trademark class of Scratch releases of yore, the former seductively swooning ’n’ swaggering and proving to be a hitherto instantaneously shot of delirious radio friendly new wave buzz laced power pop over-turing that catches light with the same acutely knowing melodic symmetry of the much missed Motors from yesteryear albeit here found peaking over the shoulder of the Flamin’ Groovies and comparing notes whilst shoehorning into the mix some neatly drilled strut riffed ear candy and MOR harmonies. In sharp contrast the hot rod boogie of ’cool in an uncool way’ yelps, coos, pouts and preens its way in to your psyche and burns the grooves in the process to sound not unlike a preened, primed n’ stripped to the bone early career Reverend Horton Heat who aside sounding like some 50’s wet dream homage sublimely manages to not only veer into the same retro glazed avenues similarly occupied by Pirroni’s much admired Wolfmen but craftily echoes of the ghost of Bators former charges the Dead Boys and the Lords of the New Church while happily showing off its Vanian like Damned / Phantom Chords implants. In short devilishly cool stuff from the practitioners of perfect pop. www.thescratch.co.uk
And that’s your lot for a day or so, as previously reported future missive specials are planned for northern star’s ’psychedelica III’ compilation which while we are there we’ll be hooking up to the strange fuzzy fynds trypped up by the Timemazine crew who I believe are based in Greece who kindly sent over the first three issues of their highly readable periodical - each issue coming replete with its own tasty fringe flopping CD cover mount. And while we are at it with all things freak beat and 60’s seasoned we’ll have a peak at the weird and wonderful wigged out happenings currently catching the ear of the Shindig dudes. In addition there will be a Distant Noise special following in hot pursuit - Tarl has just sent over the final instalment of the year long series - a superb remixes set - hopefully all this should be with you before the week’s out or thereabouts as well as some closely detailed inspection of that aforementioned Art Goes Pop compilation which we must admit to being so impressed with that we’ve dared ourselves to go on a spot of reconnaissance work and flesh the appraisal out with some sneaky peaks at the my space pages of the featured culprits within. No sleep for us then.
As usual thanks to all who’ve made these mutterings possible - its greatly appreciated and a special warm thanks to you for passing by here and perusing the contents. For contact details please see previous singled out farewells while updates can be accessed by redirecting yourselves to www.myspace.com/thesundayexperience which aside providing links to some of the coolest bands around has - for now - a killer Lovely Eggs track which you ought to check out right now because when you come crying year end when they go stellar we’ll be here happily dishing out the age old sage remarks such as ‘told you so’.
