TRISTAN - IN THE CITY AND OUT AGAIN 2009
Imagine, the last dying cracks of gunshot, the smoke settling on a British city. News of victory and that the battle is over. The joy of hearing that the troops are returning. A General is clearing is forward command post, long after the final orders to withdraw have been issued. His orderly has cleared the room, but as one final inquisitive gesture, he checks the drawer of his antique wooden bureau. Neatly folded, but as yet unread, are the neatly written and then folded dispatches, of a brave young soldier, keen to document and describe his final days on the frontline...
My press-pass photo made me look like a twat. I woke up in several places that definitely weren’t my bed. I had arguments with John Robb, the bouncer and MohoLive and a fair few people in between. And I saw some gigs too. Make this sorta thing happen more often please?
Sunday
1830 The Bay Horse: Feldspar
Feldspar are a folk band who met at the Royal Northern College of Music. From the inauspicious beginnings of yawn-fest acousticdom, they conjure long, jazzy folk songs not dissimilar to the Pentangle at their height. Sure, there’s a fair bit of strumming and the vocals are a little nesh, but Velvet Underground-esque tonal clusters hammered out on an electric piano and beguiling woodwind that conjures a sort of forest around the arrangements redeem this. Sadly, they befall that vice common to many a classically trained band: there’s constantly a sense that they’re holding back on the risk taking, even though they clearly have the talent to go all out mental and produce something truly original.
1900 TV21: Wonderswan
Take a classic rocking-out Pavement song, ‘Serpentine Pad’ for instance, turn it up a little bit louder, repeat for the duration of a gig and you’ve got Wonderswan. Obviously it’s fucking awesome. Ear-splittingly loud, ear-splittingly catchy and even fuzzier than the 90s, it’s like a nostalgia act, but actually cool, mainly because it’s nosier and scuzzier than the first time round. Sure, it’s music for boys in plaid shirts and Reebok classics, and they’ll probably be playing some event in Urban Outfitters before long, but I’m that fucking cool too.
1945 TV21: The Moi Non Plus
Bands that sound identical to other bands but are still good seems to be a bit of a theme at TV21 tonight: The Moi Non Plus sound identical to Liars, only, maybe, a little more fun. There’s chanting; there’s tribal drumming; there’s creepy-ass keyboards. It’s frankly amazing that they don’t leap into ‘It Fit When I Was A Kid’ half way through or something. Still, disturbing, hypnotic, drum-heavy music is NEVER bad though, and they get extra points for telling the room of industry types that they don’t like the vibe in the room at the end.
2030 TV21: Copy Haho
These guys have played with Johnny Foreigner and Los Campesinos! apparently. I’m glad then, that they’re not an over stimulated failingtofuckfest. Rather (and I’m sorry if this upsets anyone), Copy Haho sound like Ash (that old TV21 theme again ey?). Yeh! Copy Haho sound like Ash and in a totally awesome way. This is nothing short of awesome, straight-up pop punk, with enough weird noises and decent clothes to ever allow it to fall into some sort of horrifying teenage genre pitfall.
2100 Space: Rook and the Ravens
Really, really not my sort of thing, but I’m impressed by how well they do that whole loud country/blues/folk thing, just like Led Zeppelin. I really hate giving in to admiring bands because they’re such good musicians, but hella, they are.
2140 The Deaf Institute, Dutch Uncles
Polyester charity shop shirts. Check. Dashing good looks tempered with an experimental tendency. Check. George Michael-alike singer. Check. Dutch Uncles are essentially Wham!...on acid!!!!!! A joyous, slightly tongue in cheek pop sensibility is married with sharp cornered guitar work and catchy keyboard lines. The overall effect isn’t dissimilar to Franz Ferdinand, but the means are far less ‘earnest art school boys’.
2240 The Deaf Institute: Kong
Which leaves us with Kong, who are utterly terrifying as usual. Every time I see them, I’m never sure whether I’ve actually listened or just been left with some sort of indelible impression of horror from the mere sight of them. They’re like murder, rape and paedophilia, but like, totally awesome: rasping that they “like your blonde hair and your blue eyes and your ARGGHGHGHGH”, it’s hilarious and deeply disquieting, and even the haughty, hip girl behind the bar is moshing.
Monday
A banging headache and I still manage to get to my lectures, before running off to see more bands after a hearty bowl of soup and a surreptitious tinny. I did less running around this time though.
2000 The Deaf Institute: Esben and the Witch
WOWZER! Esben and the Witch win the prize for best band of the weekend and apparently their drum machine is broken. They’re creepy, operatic and deeply unsettling: strange fairy tale words in soaring, ethereal vocals soar over spindly guitars and ominous drums, synths sputter and hum and everything is driven forward with the terror that only comes from running away in the dark. This is like what Bat for Lashes or Florence and the Machine would be like if they were genuinely otherworldly rather than studied-weird. Absolutely magnificent.
2050 The Deaf Institute: Munch Munch
Munch Munch are kind of like a circus sideshow: swirling, organ based, pretty fun and slightly creepy. There are echoes of Clinic in their hypnotic keyboard noodling and general sense of hilarious threat. Munch Munch have a stronger pop sensibility though, and, dare I say it? This could be construed as sort of post-new rave: an attempt to take those psychedelic pop stylings to a whole new level.
2140 The Deaf Institute: Clues
Clues are the new band of Alden Penner, the weird, reculsive (and probably more creative) member of morbid-pop Canadian geniuses The Unicorns. Looking at him now, T.S. Eliot’s comment on Webster comes to mind: Penner looks like the “skull beneath the skin” and he’s totally spaced out dreamy to boot. The music itself is similarly morbid and dreamy, sort of like the evil woman in the folk tale who lures her victims to death with strange charms. Guitars drive into fuzzy walls of sound before collapsing into sinister whispered vocals and squelchy, cutesy keyboards. It’s schizophrenic and very very dark.
2230 The Deaf Institute: Frightened Rabbit
Frightened Rabbit are one of those bands that always sound better on paper. “Dour Scottish indie rock, you say? YEZ PLZ!” In reality, they’re kind of dull and earnest. It’s all serious emotions and straight faces, which, to be honest, leaves it about as nothingy as Coldplay (and definitely with fewer tunes).
After the Deaf Institute I run off to Big Hands to catch the craic (or whatever you do with the craic). Frankly, (and bear in mind this is a Monday night) it’s like something from the decline of the Roman Empire. Drunken bodies everywhere, dogs running around, the Violent Femmes playing at maximum volume. When it finally kicks out, I saunter back to the Midland Hotel where I insult John Robb by asking why he doesn’t call himself JoRo. I mean, seriously, it would be an improvement, right?
Tuesday
Somehow I’m still alive. I wake up on a very comfortable sofa and look something like death. This has the added advantage of making my eyes look really green. Sexy.
1930 Electric Boogaloo: Simon Lynge
First a note on the venue: who knows what unholy activities usually happen here, but this place is totally Patrick Bateman meets David Lynch, and whilst I would never ever ever step foot in here under normal circumstances, it’s fucking AWESOME.
Simon Lynge has come all the way from Greenland and he seems very happy about it. He plays a set of straight-up, singer-songwritery things, which it must be said, he’s very good at, but I’m in some sort of surrealist nightmare, I don’t wanna hear strumming heartbroken boys. He gets plenty more interesting though when he adds strange droning and beatboxing to the mix. In fact, he should probably dispense of the guitar altogether.
2020 Electric Boogaloo: Beatbox Fozzy
Talking of beatboxing….Beatbox Fozzy is nothing short of a genius. All to often, beatboxing is nothing more than a novelty act, a party trick. Beatbox Fozzy is genuinely enjoyable to listen to though. Sure, his technical skill is stunning: at times he seems to be singing and making about four drum noises at once, fuck knows how he does it. What bowls me over though is his humour and intelligence. He’s catchy, dancey and does the cleverest genre pastiches, covering Cypress Hill with silly voices and performing a dubstep piece that sounds more genuine than the genuine article.
2110 Electric Boogaloo: Morton Valence
Morton Valence should be a pop sensation. Hilariously camp, ridiculously catchy and slightly sinister, they have everything you need. The singer has a comedy moustache, a silly hat and plays the trumpet with dubious skill, you can dance to them and the keyboard girl is ridiculously hot. How much better could it get? They storm through a whole load of beautiful, bittersweet future-hits, one moment lost and vulnerable, the next grinning wildly through a megaphone. It’s ramshackle, knowing and very very fun.
2200 Electric Boogaloo: Taxi! Taxi!
This is sweet, slightly danceable Swedish pop music, but I’m shushed and glared at for daring to open my mouth, once, to comment on the music and it replaces words with a sour taste. Down with the over-serious!
2220 Chicago Rock Café: Mount Kimbie
Mount Kimbie look about twelve years old and make hypnotic dubstep. Like most dubstep it’s hypnotic and full of the sort urban decay these kids have probably never seen in their lives (unless they’re older than they look or have been to Detroit or something). It should be fantastic but Chicago Rock Café is brashly lit and a bit WEIRD really and sorta kills the atmosphere.
Afterparty Moho Live
The less said about this the better. I dance badly to some hip-hop, argue with the bouncer and am thoroughly confused when I actually wake up feeling quite OK in my bed the next morning.
