The S.L.P. - The S.L.P.

Like Muse, Kasabian shouldn’t be as big as they are.

Granted each album contains the compulsory singalong designed for festival moments, but those are surrounded by vignettes of experimentation.

Kasabian’s debut was electronic psychedelia, the follow-up threw some acid in for good measure. Their highpoint, West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum back in 2009, was a bonkers hotch-potch of everything from The Kinks to DJ Shadow. Since then, they’ve successfully trodden a fine line between anthemic and eclectic. For all the comparisons, they’ve always been more Primal Scream than Oasis.

So it should come as no surprise that on chief songwriter Sergio Pizzorno’s first solo offering (well, not exactly first – more of that later) he’s gleefully relinquished the responsibility of writing the bangers and taken the full left turn. With no expected commercial success (although it would undoubtedly be welcomed), experimentation is very much the order of the day.

That said, there’s very little on here that would sound out of place on a Kasabian album. Essentially, Pizzorno has just freed himself of structure, in that it to all intents and purposes is a concept album without a concept. The tent poles of the album at start, middle and end are all marked ‘Meanwhile….’

The first (‘In Genova’) has a sense of drama lifted from Ennio Morricone before African bass dominates a gospel vocal drenched scene setter. In contrast, ‘…At The Welcome Break’ features sad mournful guitars before man of the moment slowthai enters the fray with spoken vocals that sound like they are being whispered through a traffic cone. As a closer, ‘….In The Silent Nowhere’ evokes the crispy wind of Nightmares On Wax before strings swell to end proceedings.

Veering more into dance than rock, the album is driven by percussion like a bulldozer riding rough shod. ‘The Wu’ is propelled by bouncing bass while ‘Lockdown’ breaks into life with whip-crack drums akin to Blackalicious. It starts slowly and is reminiscent of the work Pizzorno did with Noel Fielding as Loose Tapestries, with strung out vocals over immersive dub beats. ‘The Youngest Gary’ starts like much-missed The Music before being swamped in fuzzy bass.

As a child of the rave scene, Pizzorno knows the potency of a drop and there’s plenty of moments here; ‘Nobody Else’ goes full on touch the sky, summer party anthem and similarly ‘((trance))’ has a spine of acid-house piano that sounds thirty years out of date but also never better. Both are life-affirming.

The promotional message has been that it’s wildly different from Kasabian but that’s not strictly true. It’s very easy to imagine Tom Meighan on vocals for ‘The Wu’ and on the marching doom of ‘Soldiers 00018’. The same could be said for the first few minutes of ‘Favourites’, which builds and builds until it’s nearly chaotic before Little Simz brings some discipline and grace to proceedings. It’s beautiful alchemy and stands amongst Pizzorno’s best work.

What the album lacks in choruses it makes up for in scope. Continually interesting and surprising, it’s another example of how little credit its creator gets for his willingness to experiment with genre.

Frankie Cosmos - Close It Quietly

As is so often the case with those born to parents in artistic fields, Greta Kline (daughter of Hollywood couple Phoebe Cates and Kevin Kline) had many opportunities to discover her oeuvre.

The benefits of home schooling allowed her the opportunity to go to underground rock shows and get involved in the Westchester music scene after dropping out of university because she found it unaccommodating to her touring schedule. Lucky her.

In the early part of this decade, Kline took up the moniker of Frankie Cosmos, initially solo and then picking up band members along the way. Signing to Sub Pop back in 2017, Close It Quietly is the band’s second on the iconic label and fourth in total. It’s a perfect home; the label is the indiest of independents, allowing acts on their roster the scope to fully indulge their artistic tendencies.

And this is an indulgent album, despite its sparseness of sound and paucity of track length. It totals twenty-one tracks but comes in at forty minutes. It’s always been Kline’s preference to be short and sweet with song lengths whilst frequently having lengthy tracklistings, but here she’s going for broke. The sound is restricted to simply vocals, guitar, bass, drums and occasionally xylophone. As such, every weapon in the arsenal is given its chance to shine.

Kline grabs attention from the off, the opening lyrics ‘the world is crumbling and I don’t have much to say’ (the first part of which is painfully true and the second demonstrably not), acting as a mission statement. Kline has a great deal to say, most of it intriguing. As is her trademark, she takes the point of view of a variety of both inanimate objects (‘Windows’) and organic matter (‘Trunk Of A Tree’) which throw up some inspired, albeit leftfield, lyrics. Best of them is on closing track ‘This Swirling’; ‘I will die trying, I will die crying, I will cry dying, I will die trying, I will try crying’. Quite a mouthful to read, let alone sing, but a true moment of inspiration.

The bass gets its time to shine on ‘So Blue’, the drumming holds ‘I’m It’ together and the wispy wiggle of guitars make ‘Rings (On A Tree)’ a delight. The production is very even, each instrument is high in the mix which allows everything time to breathe and for the listener to hear the capabilities of the band. It’s intimate and deliciously low-fi.

However, such a stylistic choice often has its limitations, especially on an album that’s crammed with a series of mini opuses. At the halfway point, after a clutch of mid-paced songs, things begin to stagnant. The forty-five second ‘Self-Destruct’, a musing with only Kline and acoustic, acts as a palette cleanser before things pick up for the second half.

‘Wannago’ is full Strokes, while ‘Even Though I Knew’ ups the pace significantly. The album is almost operatic in structure with a rapid fire approach as it deftly powers through songs and mood. Perhaps that’s the point; it’s designed to appease the short attention span that the press of a button now offers listeners.

At some points jaunty and at other points solemn, there is an intimacy and lightness of touch which pervades the whole album and rewards the dedicated followers with full access to the latest world Frankie Cosmos have chosen to inhabit. But it can also feel like a slog at points, the starkness morphing into repetition.

Creative people should always be given the space to follow their muse, but there’s also a lot to be said for quality control.

Bat For Lashes - Lost Girls

Using the album as a form of story-telling has long been Natasha Khan’s preferred approach.

On 2009’s Mercury-nominated Two Suns she was inhabiting the character of Pearl, a femme fatale. Three years ago on The Bride the perspective was of a woman whose fiancé dies on the day of their wedding. It’s a useful tool, allowing Khan to put her emotions on display whilst hiding behind the veil of a concept album.

The approach is being used once again on this fifth album, but the music has been given something of an overhaul. Khan relocated to LA a few years ago and this was initially conceived as a script for an 80s-set film (the title gives a reasonable insight into her thought process regarding the style of the film). Logic dictates that the music has to fit accordingly, and so it does.

‘Kids In The Dark’ taps into the same style that Tame Impala have been successfully mining for half a decade. It’s sumptuous and romantic with Khan’s fragile voice over shimmering keys. ‘Jasmine’ is hushed and sensual, successfully exploiting her contralto skills, and ‘Safe Tonight’ also greatly showcases her vocal dexterity while in contrast, ‘Desert Man’ is more familiar Bat For Lashes territory, more elegant than much of what surrounds it.

But musically it’s fully in thrall to the decade that fashion forgot, for better or for worse. ‘The Hunger’ features sparse but effective piano and intricate background guitar which is bolstered by thudding drums. It’s Florence Welch set to Depeche Mode. ‘Feel For You’ is funky afro-beat with multi-layered vocals, but neither distract from the guitar which seems a little too close to Nile Rodgers’ contribution to Bowie’s ‘Let’s Dance’ for comfort.

Speaking of The Dame, instrumental piece ‘Vampires’ cribs the saxophone from ‘Lazarus’ and blends it with Disintegration-era Cure, all phased out bass and spiky, effects-pedal drowned guitar. Not for the reason that it doesn’t feature Khan’s vocals, still the highlight of the album.

The 80s influences aren’t always from the best sources; ‘So Good’ is a synth workout that seems designed to bring out The Robot in the listener, while ‘Peach Sky’ features irritating effects that bring to mind the naff TV shows of the era. The really cheap ones.

As ever, it’s a hugely dramatic album, Khan continuing to demonstrate her unique ability to capture the nuances of the human emotion through her lyrics. She should also be lauded for not resting on her laurels musically; it’s true to say much of Lost Girls is new territory. The problem is that it’s not new musical territory in general. As well as the aforementioned Tame Impala, Pave Waves released much the same album last year and there are countless other examples.

The strength of Bat For Lashes is that she has always stood apart from the crowd, but on Lost Girls she finds herself standing that little bit closer.

The Futureheads - Powers

The Futureheads were one of the most consistent bands during the first decade of this century.

Regular as clockwork, a new album came every two years from 2004 to 2012. Not only consistent in timing but also in quality, their first four were laden with punchy indie anthems that stood out from their peers; more muscular than Franz Ferdinand, more direct than Maximo Park.

Then, in 2012, after the brave but irritating acapella-only album Rant, the boys to all intents and purposes disbanded. Not for any musical differences, but because lead singer Barry Hyde was suffering from problems with his mental health that were becoming harder to negotiate. By 2015 it seemed the band was no more; drummer Dave Hyde stating they were no longer working together. And yet here they are, back again.

No official reason has been given for their reformation, apart from an admirable willingness to not simply trawl their wares and hits on the festival circuit; it’s about moving forward.

First things first: this is not an easy listen – musically they never have been. Their unique brand of angular art-pop has, whilst demonstrating musical dexterity, always been a razor-sharp assault on the ears. This continues on Powers, but the subject matter is very personal, Hyde’s struggles with his health dominating the album.

Lead single ‘Jekyll’ was an effective way to announce their return, with all their USPs compressed into four minutes. The illogical chord sequences, brutal drumming and vocal harmonies are all present and correct, albeit with a touch more drama than in the past. ‘Listen, Little Man!’, another recent single, could also only be them, all wonky stomp and winding, furious guitars. The former is about the unpredictability of human behaviour, the latter about the suppression or lack of aspiration of the common person in the modern age.

The frantic rattle of ‘Headcase’ which, despite evoking the Batman theme tune (never a bad idea), could be a recollection of the conversations that took place when they disbanded (‘don’t forget to ask for help’), while the sheen of ‘Electric Shock’ could be the Stranger Things theme tune given, well, a jolt with steroids.

Once you understand the themes of the album, you can guess the subject matter from the titles. ‘Animus’ is probably the most on-message track here; laced with real urgency (even more than usual), it conveys the suffocation of depression in both music and lyrics.

There are other things on the band’s minds too; ‘Across The Border’ is a social commentary rant about their home region of Sunderland, the poster boy of Brexit. Ross Millard’s distorted vocals are a punky stream of consciousness over fuzzy bass, attempting to offer insight into why people felt compelled to vote the way they did, and a reminder as to what they are losing in the process.

On the other side of the coin, ‘Good Night Out’ echoes The Faces in both theme (‘you’d swap it all in a second for a good night out’) and sound, all swaggering guitars and seventies good time rock. The trademark ‘ohhhs’ do veer into early Kaiser Chiefs territory, but such is the risk they run.

Ross Millard is able to project a bit more emotion than Barry’s more direct style, and it works well on ‘Stranger In A New Town’ which is Elbow in spirit and tone but Gang Of Four in style. On ‘Don’t Look Now’, a straight forward love song put through the unique Futureheads prism, he successfully conveys yearning (‘afraid to say what we want from tomorrow’). Both are refreshing palette cleansers against the cacophony of guitars that dominate the album.

They sound revitalised after their sabbatical, but as ever it takes a few listens to differentiate between the songs, and it’s probably a track or two too long. But Powers is a heavy album in both content and sound, more often than not delivered in the inimitable, playful Futureheads fashion.

A welcome return.

Corre - Rituals

Indicative of the nature of this project is the lack of fanfare surrounding its genesis and background.

Henry Green, a Bristol based cult electronic producer, is the driving force behind it. Green’s breakthrough came with a cover of MGMT’s now indie staple ‘Electric Feel’, before he released a debut solo effort two years ago. Hattie Ellis meanwhile is a photographer by trade, cultivating dreamscape imagery for an accompanying short film. The imagery evoked from the music will surely not be far from the final outcome, but the lines are very distinct when listening to the album.

‘We’re really intrigued by the shared qualities within two completely different elements but also how their differences can complement each other’, say the pair, which is as contradictory yet as artistic a statement that can be made. It’s also laudable as an approach, but the issue with consuming one half of such a project is that, without the full context, it can be found wanting. Sadly, such is the case here.

Ostensibly a film score (a lazy definition which would probably horrify its creators), it’s a slow burner. Opening with a slow pulse before mournful strings swoop in, it immediately targets the heart rather than the head, as indeed the whole album does. Much of it echoes the ambient dub of Jon Hopkins and the fraught anxiety of Thom Yorke’s recent album ANIMA, specifically on ‘Cycles’ which, were it not for the relative proximity of the release, would bring questions of plagiarism into the frame. Fortunately, it’s just a happy coincidence and the comparison can be nothing but a compliment.

Sadly, as the album continues it becomes repetitive with little to differentiate between the tracks. Some electronic beats here and a bit of washed-out piano there fleshes things out, but not enough to cover the run-time. The two components of the project will surely work well as a whole, but this collection loses power standing on its own. The essence of the music is good and emotionally engaging, there’s just too much of it.

There is a core mood which pervades the entire album, that of a funereal air. There is much beauty to be found in melancholia; one person’s funereal is another’s ephemeral, and while Rituals is largely successful in finding the sweet spot between the two, to another’s ears or in another mood it could go the other way. In that sense it’s rewarding and emotionally fulfilling as it may reveal more secrets with repeated listens. But it also runs the risk of being discarded after just one.

Taken out of context, as by definition this album must, elegant beauty can easily become boring.

Man & The Echo - Men Of The Moment

Well there’s a tongue twister. Pity the poor radio presenters.

This Warrington four-piece have been in action for five years, their angle being an amalgamation of left-of-centre politics with a punk-funk sound. Released in 2016, the self-titled debut was perhaps ahead of its time, the tidal wave of societal dysfunction then still yet to fully hit.

In 2019 we’re in the full throes of the chaos (although these may seem like halcyon days in the years to come) and so Men Of The Moment, which is a continuation of their wry observational style, couldn’t be more prescient. But if you fear another doom-laden state of the nation address in the manner of Thom Yorke, don’t be put off. This is an album with joy as its core.

‘Life On An Island’ best demonstrates this; despite the lyrical content coming from the perspective of a man who is frittering his life away, with only the next pay day to look forward to, it’s drenched in calypso funk. A perfect dichotomy. Recent single ‘Capable Man’ carries more of a disco strut, like Franz Ferdinand in a dance off with Talk Talk, while ‘Give Me The Pomp’ is more straight forward art-pop but no less angular.

‘Of Course’ is sweeping melodrama, the lead vocals carrying a majestic dignity over a military structure. ‘On Safari’ is written from the perspective of someone who is part of the establishment, perhaps an MP, congratulating themselves on how ‘real’ they are by ‘integrating with the native population’. It manages to be subtly derogatory in both perspective and content. Closer ‘White Culture’ is quite literally a list of criminals, from Saville to Sutcliffe, over a sparse verse and guitar intense chorus. The title alone makes the point.

The key touchstone is The Divine Comedy. So tongue-in-cheek it’s almost blowing raspberries, right down to the vocal delivery and sometimes jaunty song structures, it’s little wonder they are supporting the indie heroes this autumn. It’s very much a concept album, most of the songs written from the perspective of that most unrepresented demographic: the previously repressed white male. Even down to the artwork, a piece by, ahem, man of the moment Cold War Steve.

But it’s not done with a superior sneer; it reads (hears?) like an attempt to understand why this specific sub-group think and feel the way they do, and attempts to defuse their toxic masculinity. Ironically of course, were anyone of that ilk to listen to the album they would likely feel outraged and offended, as they’d likely be taking it at surface level.

On Men Of The Moment, Man & The Echo are offering a perspective on how we got here in the first place, not professing to have the answers to the current dilemmas but, with a strong pattern of uplifting melody, they are ensuring we learn with a smile on our face.

New Order - Live at Bristol Sounds 2019

A gorgeous summer’s evening next to the river is the perfect environment to watch New Order.

Their joyous melding of guitars, keyboards, synths and other electronics has soundtracked many a summer, and hopefully many more. As we all know, it became so shiny that it’s now a stark contrast to their output as Joy Division but the people of Bristol, hosting the band for the first time in 35 years, are rewarded for their patience tonight (July 18th) with a bit of both.

The set is a masterclass in balancing audience expectations, keeping themselves engaged and also throwing out a few surprises.

It’s guesswork on behalf of the band, but it’s a common strand for groups to want to play their newer material. While the tracks from their most recent album (now four years old) could hardly be considered new, it’s probably important for the band dynamics that they play something from the present day (i.e. since the new members joined the fold). Fortunately, Music Complete stands up well next to any of their classic records, and is given good exposure.

The set begins with the propulsive ‘Singularity’, complete with a bravura, heavyweight drumming performance from Stephen Morris. It’s immediately followed by 2015’s ‘Restless’, Bernard Sumner doing a good impression of Pete Townshend with his extravagance on the guitar. Later on in the set, the disco stomp of ‘Tutti Frutti’ (complete with mandatory Dad dancing from the frontman) gets the place moving, and the sneering ‘Plastic’ is placed next to a run of hits but doesn’t seem out of place.

As for the hits, which is why most people probably came out, the only complaint could be the lack of their own personal favourite, as all other bases are covered. ‘Bizarre Love Triangle’ follows ‘Sub-Culture’ in a one-two punch mid-set before a run of classics takes us to the end of the main set.

The dichotomy of the euphoric music against Sumner’s grounded vocal style has always been the latter’s USP. The watertight ‘Perfect Kiss’ is a lesson in aspiration which batters the ears and eyes, while ‘True Faith’ is splashed with befitting balaeria to increase the endorphins. We are teased with the familiar bass of ‘Blue Monday’ before they give the crowd what they want (with the accompanying light show as grandiose as one could hope), and the main set closes on ‘Temptation’ which now comes with orchestral flourishes and a frankly demonic outro on the electric guitar.

Earlier in the set, ‘Your Silent Face’ acts as a palette cleanser following a run of three Joy Division classics. Celebrating its 40th year, Unknown Pleasures is one of the most iconic albums of all time, if only for the artwork (go to a festival and you’re never more than 100 yards from a t-shirt) and demands acknowledgment. Bravely, early on in the set we are treated to a run of three classics (‘She’s Lost Control’, ‘Shadowplay’ and ‘Transmission’) which, given their placing, is a canny move; those in the crowd that weren’t moved by newer material certainly would be by these. If not, they’re at the wrong gig.

A bigger surprise is left for later on, the first song of the encore being ‘Decades’. Grainy footage of Ian Curtis and the rest of the band provides the backdrop, the opening line of, ‘Here are the young men, the weight on their shoulders’, given considerably more depth. It’s a poignant moment, and evidence that Bernard Sumner and Stephen Morris have stopped trying to outrun their past, acknowledging that they never will.

Nor should they, especially as it gave them the majestic ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’, unquestionably one of the greatest songs of all time and the only choice to end an unforgettable evening.

Pretty Vicious - Beauty Of Youth

This album arrives on your music player of choice with a lengthy tale attached. Are you sitting comfortably? Then we’ll begin.

The Welsh four-piece released one track, ‘Cave Song’, via Soundcloud in late 2014 to the acclaim of many including DJ Zane Lowe, then at Radio 1. A bidding war amongst the major labels in the UK ensued, the band eventually signing to Virgin EMI in a deal rumoured to be worth more than £500,000, weeks after playing their first gigs.

Over the course of 2015, in between writing and rehearsing, several high profile support slots (including with Noel Gallagher and Manic Street Preachers) kept their profile up yet, despite releasing four singles during the year, Pretty Vicious struggled to find a producer who could harness their sound.

They settled on Owen Morris, the man responsible for the first three Oasis records, and as a fellow Welshman and architect of the wall of sound that was those albums’ key template, it seemed a match made in heaven. However, over a period of several months and a number of studios on both sides of the Atlantic, it became apparent there was a clash of personalities with the famed producer, and as a result relations with the label became strained.

Eventually band and label parted ways with no fruits of labour to bear. Unencumbered by outside pressure and finding a producer who was able to harness their energy, Pretty Vicious finally recorded their debut album in late 2017, and then found a more suitable home with the Big Machine Group. If that tale wasn’t enough to fill a decent rock biography, owing to personal issues singer Brad Griffiths has, hopefully temporarily, stepped back from the limelight, leaving the band with the unenviable task of promoting their debut without their frontman.

So the pieces are in place for the tale to become legendary, but what of the album itself? Does it justify the abnormally long wait as the document of working class life that was promised, or has the relentlessly brutal conveyor belt of British rock strangled them in their cot? The answer, as ever, is somewhere in the middle.

The music itself is mighty; straight out of the traps Griffiths delivers a larynx-shredding vocal on ‘These Four Walls’ and it’s all systems go. ‘No One Understands’ is the youth anthem they always promised, while ‘Force Of Nature’ pilfers from Muse at their heaviest.

‘Someone Just Like You’ bears more than a passing resemblance to early 21st century hopefuls The Vines, and ‘Little Molly’ is full on epic, grandstanding rock. Best of all is ‘Something Worthwhile’, which sounds like the song Catfish & The Bottlemen have been trying their damnedest to write. They may not be quite so young now, but to have such a broad palette at such an early stage suggests a real willingness to push themselves.

On the other hand it all sounds timeless, which in five years’ time will be a blessing, but when indie rock is currently harnessing the power of punk and new wave and is bristling with an energy and directness it’s been missing for a long while, Pretty Vicious could be at risk of being out of kilter. Idles, Fontaines D.C., Shame and many others are leading the charge to be in tune with the times and it remains to be seen if there’s room at the inn for less apposite, but as equally passionate missives.

What’s most promising about this debut is that not one of their early singles is included, suggesting they may have more to come and, once Griffiths hopefully resolves his personal problems and with everything on the business side now settled, it could be even better.

This collection of sneering and soaring mission statements augurs well for that.

DMA’s - MTV Unplugged Live

The MTV Unplugged albums are a curio; most acts worth their salt have performed on what is first and foremost a TV show, and by extension that makes it a promotional obligation.

A musical outfit release an album. To increase sales of said album they are required to promote it. If they are deemed to be worthy, they are offered a slot on MTV Unplugged. The most significant Unplugged album is undoubtedly Nirvana’s, now regarded as a key part of their canon. But others have also fared well; Eric Clapton and Paul McCartney regained some critical respectability in doing so. Although never unplugged, the concept is designed as such to give them the opportunity to demonstrate the gentler side of their oeuvre.

In DMA’s case, the side is fragility. The Australians have a burgeoning reputation as a lad’s band, one which does them something of a disservice. Lyrically, there has always been a romantic, wistful element, but it’s often drowned in their Britpop inflected sound; stripping that away and laying the songs bare brings the tenderness front and centre.

In fact, the boisterousness that the band are associated with is nowhere to be found on this album. Their chat between songs, which granted may have been judiciously edited for release, amounts to about ten words, all of them humble.

Opener ‘Feels Like 37’ acts as a good barometer for the rest of the set/album, the gentle picking of the winding acoustic providing a winsomeness and weary air. Subsequent tracks ‘Lay Down’ and ‘Time & Money’ continue in this vein, with the piano solo at the end of the latter evoking real melancholy. The drums don’t appear until ‘Emily Whyte’ and are reinforced by a string section and slide guitar which are peppered sparingly throughout the rest of the set. Meanwhile, the ivories on ‘The End’ morph it into a kitchen sink drama and add real emphasis to the bridge on ‘Health’.

The Madchester guitar tones the boys specialise in are brought to the fore on ‘Warsaw’, while ‘Do I Need You Now?’ is transformed into an epic, eight-minute long lament with some excellent bass work. Album highlight has to be their cover of Madonna’s ‘Beautiful Stranger’. Thankfully not imitating Madge’s frustratingly cutesy vocals, singer Tommy O’Dell makes it his own and, minus William Orbit’s bubbly production, it’s a slowed down, maudlin affair which loses nothing of the melodic majesty of the original. Worth the price alone.

These projects are generally only for the dedicated fan base, and it’s true that casual listeners will find little to draw them in here. For fans of the band it’s a different matter though, as these new interpretations vary from closely following the blueprint of the master version to becoming a different song entirely, and no less enjoyable.

Which is testament to the band’s ability to craft good songs, regardless of the instruments delivering it.

Billy Bragg - Live at Fiddlers, Bristol

Speaking politically is impossible to avoid when discussing Billy Bragg.

He makes no bones about being a political songwriter and never has done, it’s enabled him to carve out a niche all for himself over his near forty-year career. Whilst the debate about politics and music rages on, Bragg continues to tread the road less-travelled, that being his unique blend of folk and punk.

Fresh from his usual role at Glastonbury (having been curating the Leftfield Stage for nearly a decade), Bragg is now moving onto his next project, a series of residencies consisting of three nights at particular venues across the UK for the remainder of the year. Having done the first in Portsmouth last week, the Bard Of Barking (the moniker is compulsory) has now pitched his tent in Bristol which, aside from London, is as close as he’s likely to get to a homecoming gig, politically speaking.

The residency is divided into three separate nights; the first a greatest hits set, the second choice cuts from his first three albums and the third consisting of tracks from his second three albums. Endearingly, Bragg simply refers to the albums as colours (‘the blue one’ etc). Once again doing things his own way, it’s a remodelled version of the celebratory album tours that have become a fixture of the live circuit. Tonight (July 10th) it’s one man, three guitars and the songs that have defined his career.

Opening with ‘Sexuality’, tweaking the lyrics to make them more apposite (‘don’t threaten me with Morrissey’) which he will do throughout the set, the crowd are in fine voice, Bragg himself commenting that ‘it’s like playing to a convention of Billy Bragg impressionists’. With tongue firmly planted in cheek, Bragg refers to certain songs as ‘bangers’ and he’s got a few: the roof is also raised for ‘The Milkman Of Human Kindness’, ‘Greetings To The New Brunette’ and arguably his finest hour, the wonderful ‘A New England’.

Yet it’s the deeper cuts that have the most resonance, including his reinterpreted version of ‘Ode To Joy’, unsurprisingly included tonight. He addresses toxic masculinity on ‘Handyman Blues’ and ‘To Have And To Have Not’ and ‘There Is A Power In A Union’ require little explanation in 2019. Full explanations are always provided though, despite preaching to the choir. Bragg is a raconteur at heart and one suspects he’s equally as comfortable eulogising through the medium of song or speech.

A genial host, he regales us with tales from his past and seems genuinely upset when discussing Morrissey’s current travails. It’s rarely mentioned but he’s also a cracking guitarist, the electric strumming on ‘Why We Build The Wall’ giving it a sinister undertone. Holding the attention of an audience for two hours as one man is no small feat, and the musicianship deserves equal credit.

Less of a national treasure than an institution, Billy Bragg shows no signs of slowing down. Or more accurately, the world shows no inclination for him to have to do so, as his updated version of ‘The Times They Are A-Changing’ (with added ‘Back’) demonstrates. For that we should be thankful, as no other artist can hold a candle to his eloquence and lucidity.

Long may he fight the good fight.

Glastonbury Festival 2019

It’s the same every year.

In October, once the tickets have been sold out, the frustrations and criticisms come to the fore. Then, come March, the line-up is released and immediately panned. Then, in the last three weeks of June, the haters have a field day. Variations of ‘it’s middle class’, ‘it’s too left-wing’, ‘it’s not what it used to be’ are to be found on every social media site and forum.

For those lucky enough to step through the gates the doubts, debates and disturbing weather forecasts evaporate. By the time the music (officially) starts on Friday, the outside world and all the associated problems are miles away, literally and spiritually.

It’s not without its issues, some of which are self-inflicted. A sojourn over to the William’s Green Tent on Friday lunchtime promised some Yak to blow the cobwebs away, but for reasons unknown they swap slots with Yellow Days (due to perform straight afterwards) and are unfortunately culled from the list by virtue of the fact that Fontaines D.C. are performing their first slot of four this weekend over in the John Peel Tent at roughly the same time, and are not to be missed.

If the size of the tent (the biggest of their four gigs) and the size of the crowd intimidate the band, you wouldn’t notice. The Dubliners are coming on leaps and bounds this year, yet singer Grian Chatten still hasn’t stopped pacing the stage like a man possessed when he’s not on the mic. These laurels are not going to be rested on. The audience takes a while to respond, but with a closing trio of ‘Liberty Belle’, ‘Boys In The Better Land’ and ‘Big’ it’s a fool’s errand to deny the band. One down, three to go.

Over on the secluded Greenpeace Stage, Mattiel (also performing several times over the weekend) are giving a shamefully small crowd something to think about. Reminiscent of Cher’s early output, this is classic rock with no frills. ‘Keep The Change’ is delivered with more gusto than Florence at her finest, and their cover of ‘White Light, White Heat’ gives the classic a well-rounded edge. Fortunately, the Atlantans are to be found on The Park stage tomorrow with a bigger crowd and slot. Their star deserves to shine.

One issue that was no fault of the Eavises was Snow Patrol having to pull out of their teatime Other Stage slot due to injury. Fortunately, The Charlatans were ready and willing to step into the breach. Now that the crowd are well-lubricated, the opportunity to sing indie classics is grasped with both hands. Always cheerful, Tim Burgess’s facial muscles must ache by the end of the set, so big is his grin. In particular, ‘The Only One I Know’ and a mighty ‘One To Another’ take us all back to a more innocent time.

Like a punch to the gut, Idles bring us right back to the present. It’s been an astonishing twelve months for the five piece, with Brit nominations and Ivor Novello awards amongst the accolades for Joy As An Act Of Resistance. But as Joe Talbot regularly and endearingly informs us, this show is the highlight of their career so far and they play like their lives depend on it. There can’t be a dry eye in the house when Talbot breaks down during the now bona fide anthem ‘Danny Nedelko’ as Mark Bowen picks up vocals (whilst crowd surfing, obviously). In what can only be described as a Glastonbury moment, Talbot’s wife and daughter come onstage and give him a hug. It’s a beautiful sight, but for your correspondent the tears started when Talbot lets the crowd sing ‘unity’ from the chorus of the song. A powerful and simplistic message that ultimately is what it’s all about.

Eyes dried, on we move and we must. Interpol will do well to wrest the Band Of The Day title from Idles but they give it a good shot during their headline set at the John Peel Tent. They’ve undergone something of a renaissance in the last couple of years, and touring for the fifteenth anniversary of Turn On The Bright Lights seems to have revitalised them too. There’s a breeziness to the set where once there was intensity, and as festival sets go they’ve got the tunes. All the indie disco favourites are present and correct, and while Stormzy takes the headlines on Friday night, Interpol quietly and finely went about their business.

But as everyone knows, the music doesn’t stop just because the headliners do. Up in the Crow’s Nest, black midi and Squid keep the party going. There is much talk over the weekend about the comeback of jazz, and in their own ways both bands are in that vein. Neither conform to something as archaic as structure, and while black midi rock the tent harder, Squid’s ‘Houseplants’ continues its mission to be song of the year.

The heat on Saturday is unbearable and shelter is required, primarily at your own tent if possible. Rumours of the water running out quickly spread across the site, logic dictating that dehydration and hangovers are not a good mix. As such, the day kicks into life quite late on, at pretty much exactly the same moment that Johnny Marr starts playing guitar. Playing hits from across the three key stages of his career (The Smiths, Electronic and solo), Marr has the crowd eating out of his hand. It’s not clear if he’s trying to imitate Messrs Morrissey and Sumner vocally, but if so it looks and sounds effortless. Better still, recent singles ‘Spiral Cities’ and ‘Hi Hello’ stand up to any of the classics, even when they are ‘How Soon Is Now?’ and ‘Getting Away With It’. ‘Get The Message’ and his cover of ‘I Feel You’ are welcome additions to the set, but nothing will ever top the majesty of ‘There Is A Light That Never Goes Out’, now a full on crowd singalong. Marr has become a fully formed frontman, and the coolest person at Glastonbury without a doubt.

Of course, a certain Liam Gallagher would contest that. Wearing a thick cotton parka in thirty degree heat, as only he can, his sub-headlining slot on the Pyramid Stage is one of the most anticipated of the day, which is ironic considering the set is much the same as it’s been for the last two years. New single ‘The River’ is brought in, but as it was released two days previously, when most of the crowd were immersing themselves in scrumpy, it understandably gets a muted response. But he can afford it when he finishes on a run of ‘Wonderwall’, ‘Supersonic’ and ‘Champagne Supernova’. It’s got everything you would want from a Liam Gallagher gig; the Pyramid field is absolutely packed, arms are aloft and anthems are roared, and there are the mandatory digs at his older brother. The LG bandwagon rolls on.

From one Liam to another over on the Other Stage, as The Courteeners batter us with more anthems as the sun goes down. A perennial festival band (as Liam Fray points out, this is their seventh Glastonbury in eleven years), the Mancunians are pros. The electro-tinged ‘The 17th’ is the musical highpoint of the set, but the usual double whammy finale of ‘Not Nineteen Forever’ and ‘What Took You So Long?’ (complete with a slice of James’ ‘Tomorrow’, naturally) slay the crowd. It would be refreshing if they perhaps closed the set with something else, but with the band’s view of smoke and anarchy from the stage, one can understand why they don’t deviate from the tried and tested formula.

While The Killers are bringing the good vibes and special guests over on the Pyramid, The Chemical Brothers bring the party to the Other Stage. It’s easy to forget how many stone cold classics the boys have in their locker (although Glastonbury has that effect), but when faced with the unstoppable, relentless sensory assault that is their set, the memories come flooding back. Now they are seemingly standing alone as kings of the electronic scene (as with Liam Gallagher earlier, there is a touching tribute to Keith Flint), we should treasure them more than ever.

But Saturday night has one more treat in store. Up at the Crow’s Nest, Snapped Ankles are an hour late. Come 3am, a complaint about such a trifling matter won’t be heard. Their pulsing cacophony in such a small space, complete with crowd interaction (sitting down until the drop, etc) is the perfect accompaniment to a nightcap of choice, and perhaps the highlight of Day 2.

Much cooler temperatures and the awareness that time is now precious ensures an early start on Sunday. Boy Azooga, despite posture and smiles that suggest he hasn’t been to bed, gets proceedings off to a flier in the William’s Green tent in a lunchtime slot, while Slaves follow suit on the Other Stage. Any doubts that they may struggle on such a big stage are quickly dispelled; the power the pair generate is worthy of any setting. Brief, bewildering and giving us a brand new number, the Kent duo are in no mood to be intimidated. Not that they ever are.

Fat White Family are a bit incongruous; whilst the scuzzy sheen they are currently peddling is good Sunday afternoon fare, their sneering insolence doesn’t quite match the harmonious vibes of the Park Stage. The same can’t be said of The Good, The Bad & The Queen; enlisting Cor y Penrhyn is a shrewd move by Albarn and co, the male choir’s backing filling the field for ‘Lady Boston’. Their laconic shuffle is apt when heads are heavy and hearts are sore, and the title track from last year’s Merrie Land album is both horrible reminder that the real world is waiting, but the beauty of the piece is a perfect way to keep it at arm’s length for a little while longer.

Vampire Weekend provide the Pyramid punters with one last chance to dance, and then it’s a whistle stop tour of the site to catch as many of the headliners as possible before the dreaded moment. The Streets’ comeback has been going for over a year but shows no sign of slowing down, Mike Skinner defying the health warnings by offering us every last bead of sweat he can muster. Meanwhile, the pleasant surprise of Reef keeps the party going, complete with a note perfect cover of the Faces’ ‘Stay With Me’. Finally, The Cure make the crowd work for their pleasure before rattling through some of the finest songs of the last forty years. Even Robert Smith allows himself a smile. And then, heartbreakingly, it’s over. A test of endurance that’s over far too soon.

Glastonbury takes far more criticism than it deserves. It’s not perfect but then nothing is; the spirit and attitude that Michael and Emily Eavis instill is infectious. The goal is fun, yet equally as important is the ethos: a desire to make things better. The much-discussed plastic ban is an unparalleled success, the familiar festival soundtrack of the crunch of bottle notable by its absence. Everywhere you look, people are smiling and helping each other.

The United Kingdom has never been as divided in living memory, and while it’s fair to say that not all political demographics are represented on Worthy Farm this weekend, all would be welcome as long as they are prepared to simply be kind. To one another, and to the planet. All other festivals, and there are certainly enough willing to take Glastonbury on, simply won’t come close in 2019.

It’s the same every year.

Unity.

Hatchie - Keepsake

When does a comeback become the status quo?

In pop and rock music the last decade has been defined by being in thrall to the 1980s. The Decade That Fashion Forgot is perhaps the last great period of originality in music, and its legacy seems to grow ever stronger; Pale Waves could write the whole soundtrack to Stranger Things and no-one would notice, Fontaines D.C. have studied new wave in detail whilst The 1975, one of the UK’s biggest bands, aren’t fussy and channel the synth pop of the entire era. Aligned with the nostalgia for the era in pop culture as a whole, the whole decade is a well of inspiration that is perhaps never going to run dry.

Hatchie seems keenly aware of this: last year’s Sugar & Spice EP was a tantalising glimpse of her summery symphonies, and now we have the full debut Keepsake, its music reflecting the weather a Brisbane native might be accustomed to, if not those of us from certain other parts of the world, so bright and shining is it.

‘Not That Kind’ is widescreen indie pop with a glorious sheen that could lift the most maudlin of days, lead single ‘Without A Blush’ a synth driven paean to the rigours of love, as much of the album is; ‘I didn’t want to end tonight, I didn’t want to end the dream’. Love, being the most relatable subject matter, is the over-arching theme of the album, to the point that it can become repetitive, but the surrounding music or vocals cover all manner of sins.

Hatchie’s vocals are generally all multi-tracked, with an ethereal quality that befits the subject matter. The sprinkles of shoegaze that accompany her pained singing on ‘Her Own Heart’ (‘stay true to your heart but don’t look back) make it a particular standout, while the Smithsian guitars that kick in for the chorus on ‘Secret’ easily outweigh the frustrating vocal delivery of the verse.

The guitars are also put to good use on the strutting and joyful ‘Unwanted Guest’, giving it a propulsion that is lacking elsewhere, while the solid bass on ‘Kiss The Stars’ evokes the yearning pop of The Cranberries. Similarly, the drum machine on ‘Obsessed’ adds some pace to the album, the guitar majesty of New Order thrown into the mix. Album closer ‘Keep’ does the same trick, but this time it’s the frenetic nature of The Cure’s ‘Why Can’t I Be You?’ that is the key source material. Lastly, ‘When I Get Old’ is a masterclass in drum fills.

The 1980s introduced the synthesizer and the keyboard into the charts in a big way. Ironically, being the most computerised, those instruments are arguably the most effective at reflecting human emotion, therefore it’s probably unsurprising that it’s made such a comeback. In this day and age we are all indebted to computers, yet paradoxically we crave human emotion. A vicious cycle indeed. Hatchie manages to find the balance between the two and has crafted a more than promising debut.

Ultimately good pop will out, as it has done here.

Lust For Youth - Lust For Youth

A self-titled album is a curious thing.

It’s normally accompanied by a statement along the lines of, ‘this is the truest reflection of the band to date’, or ‘the music should just be judged on its own merits’. In the case of debut albums it’s understandable, if only just to re-emphasise the name and cement it in the listener’s head. Similarly, the sophomore album may come with words loosely approximate to, ‘the first album was just us finding our way. THIS is our defining statement’. The further into a band’s career they get, the principle continues to apply, although it does cast their preceding albums in a bad light.

This is Lust For Youth’s fifth album and, while it would be a shame to cast aside the previous four, it seems to be where they have found the perfect blend they have been looking for. Their debut, 2011’s Solar Flare, was a doom-laden drone inflected affair, with the alienation of Kraftwerk and Ian Curtis the key touchstones. As the albums have gone by the band have lightened up, moving into more new wave synth akin to the Human League and Depeche Mode.

'New Balance Point’ is immediately evocative of the 1980s, like the period episodes of Black Mirror. Listing a sequence of grudges (‘You never fail to disappoint’) and realisations during the death of a relationship, its despondency in musical tone matches the lyrics. Regretro-pop at its most mournful. Insignificant is a more upbeat affair with a disco beat that swells gradually before a final two minutes of glorious, industrial dramatic melancholy. If Slowdive covered Neu it would sound like this. ‘Venus de Milo’ flirts with the scattered sound of Fischerspooner with added balearia but sadly doesn’t fulfill its initial promise. It promises to explode but opts to fizz along.

‘Great Concerns’ opens with the same unsettling synths as The Vaccines’ ‘All In White’ and then becomes a Killers remix, which distracts slightly from the lyrical content concerning the current ecological climate. ‘Fifth Terrace’ benefits from female vocals which give it an ethereal and reflective quality, befitting the slower pace. ‘Adrift’ is the most out-and-out pop song, once again echoing the pure melodrama of The Killers, a tale of lost love and small town romance combining with the melody which is Springsteen-esque (and therefore sounding even more like Las Vegas’ finest). Like ‘Insignificant’, it goes off on a house-beat tangent which doesn’t really reflect what has gone before, but certainly makes it more appetising for the ears.

‘Imola’ is strangely placed, an ambient pause for breath despite being the penultimate song. Featuring Romanian spoken word narration covering racing driver Ayrton Senna, it’s immersive but would have been more effective two tracks earlier. As it is, it serves as precursor to closer ‘By No Means’ which could be a Pet Shop Boys offcut. Fitting, as that is surely what Lust For Youth are aiming for.

Not a sunshine album, but perfect accompaniment to the ongoing apocalypse that is summer 2019.

Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds - Live at Heaton Park, Manchester

Lest we forget Big Brother.

During the past week it’s been something of a bonanza for those of a Gallagher persuasion. To recap, last week Noel released the main B-side of his forthcoming EP; within a matter of minutes Liam had stolen his thunder by unveiling a snippet of his own forthcoming single. Then the campaign for Liam’s second solo album began in earnest with an intimate gig, interviews aplenty and the required PR for a new documentary entitled As It Was.

Knowing what we know of Liam, it’s unlikely to be coincidental that all this took place in the week of his older brother’s biggest ever solo gig. Yet you wouldn’t know it: Noel continues to rise above with no acknowledgement tonight (June 7th).

There is enough to be going on with, not least of all the weather. The whole of the UK is feeling the effects of this sodden Friday, and it’s far from ideal for a big gig such as this.

That said, it is Manchester and the music of main support act Doves works well in this environment. Their music carries with it a bleak and industrial quality which fits the mood, but it’s a bit of a slow start. ‘Snowden’ and ‘Firesuite’ open the set and, as elegant as they are, lack the required power to grab attention. Fortunately, the stomping ‘Black And White Town’ follows and lifts the crowd, the Motown beat getting the bodies dancing.

The hiatus hasn’t done them any harm, and the trio are clearly very comfortable working together again. Their best album, 2002’s The Last Broadcast, is most utilised for the set and from the moment ‘Pounding’ is delivered midway the bar is raised. ‘Caught By The River’ could keep rising forever, ‘Last Broadcast’ is a winding, dramatic symphony and their dance roots are on full display for ‘There Goes The Fear’, but the highlight of the set is first album cut ‘The Cedar Room’, which is bruising but beautiful. Cockles warmed.

Still theoretically daylight but basically dark because of the weather, the stage is alight for the thunderous ‘Fort Knox’. The High Flying Birds currently number seven bodies, and all contribute to the cacophony of the opener. Ysee is a truly impressive singer, and nowhere is she better utilised than on the controversial track from 2017’s Who Built The Moon?, her vocals resonating across the field. The first half of the album makes up the first five songs of the set, and while the album wasn’t to everyone’s taste there’s no denying the tracks work really well live. The glam ride of ‘Holy Mountain’ is now a favourite, and the band is stretched to the limits by the variation of ‘Keep On Reaching’ and ‘It’s A Beautiful World’ for different reasons; the former never stays still while the latter is a lesson of musical restraint. Elsewhere, new single ‘Black Star Dancing’ slots into the set well, the bassline (‘borrowed’ from Bowie’s ‘Fashion’) sounding colossal in the open air.

After a testing opening for the parka monkeys, the band slip into more familiar territory. ‘Talk Tonight’, ‘Little By Little’ and ‘The Masterplan’ give 30,000 sets of lungs a good warm-up for ‘Stop Crying Your Heart Out’, the main set closer. At the time of release it was a perfect representation of where Oasis were in 2002; a number two single but a by-the-numbers flag bearer. Noel’s revaluation of the song reminds us that few of his peers have his knack for creating a chorus, the crowd likely heard from Manchester city centre four miles away. Likewise for the sublime ‘Dead In The Water’, surely one of the best things he’s done this century and proof that, even with the best production in the world, it always comes back to Gallagher’s songwriting.

The High Flying Birds were always meant to be an evolving collective (evidenced by Scissor Queen Charlotte Marionneau having to temporarily step away from the tour in the days leading up to the gig), but Gallagher will do well to better the current line-up. Mike Rowe, Chris Sharrock and Gem Archer all bring their Oasis experience to the table, but should never be taken for granted. In particular, Archer’s solos on both ‘Little By Little’ and ‘The Masterplan’ transcend the rest of the song. Equally, Jess Greenfield on keys and backing vocals adds a lightness of touch and a specific groove, and Zuton Russ Pritchard does everything that is asked of him on bass and is the tent pole around which everything else revolves.

The encore is a hat-trick of Oasis classics, ‘Whatever’, ‘Half The World Away’ and ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’, and by this point the band are accompanying the audience rather than vice versa. In a rare moment of interaction, Noel encourages a round of applause, not for the players but for the crowd. ‘All You Need Is Love’ closes out the set and everyone heads off into the night, singing.

The excitement of the Oasis gigs was in part down to not knowing which band would turn up, whereas the High Flying Birds are much more consistent and are soaring at present.

That reunion just gets further and further away.

Liam Gallagher - Live at Hackney Round Chapel, London

There is absolutely no doubt where the hottest ticket in London is tonight, June 5th.

The 250-capacity Hackney Round Chapel isn’t renowned for its musical heritage (its most popular income stream being as a wedding venue), but the tiny venue is packed tonight and the great and the good – including Miles Kane, Kyle Falconer, Dynamo and, rather wonderfully, Krishnan Guru-Murthy – are all in attendance to see one man.

In case there was any doubt, the set-up on stage features the simple words ‘Rock ‘N Roll’, Manchester City’s initials and the bass drum an image of Leo Sayer, a nod to the latest grenade thrown in the endless Gallagher War and our host’s succinct opinion on his elder brother’s new musical offering.

It has the atmosphere of a comeback, which to all intents and purposes it is, even though Liam Gallagher’s last gig was less than a year ago. Ostensibly to promote his new single, but actually to launch a new pair of custom Adidias Spezial trainers, the gig was only announced last week and obviously sold out in seconds. The anticipation before he takes to the stage is palpable and, as ever, intro music ‘Fuckin’ In The Bushes’ whips the crowd into a frenzy.

Picking up exactly where he left off, the opening one-two of ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll Star’ and ‘Morning Glory’ takes the raucous crowd into ecstasy. Hearteningly, it’s a very mixed crowd; the old school fans (those with grey hairs and beer bellies) are to be found from the middle back and seated in the rafters, not that many people are seated at any point. The first few rows however are generally made up of men (it’s always men) that can’t have been born when Definitely Maybe was released. It’s testament to the power of the Gallaghers that they are still able to entice the younger generation.

It’s also an ongoing mystery as to exactly why. Anyone who has ever been to see the man live knows exactly what to expect. Minimal interaction with the crowd, very little body movement aside from a shake of the maracas (at one point shaking them into the mic, Liam accidentally knocks it off its stand and leaves it to be picked by one of the crew – that’s about as impromptu as it gets), but the sheer magnetism and charisma has long filled rooms bigger than this. He’s just got an aura around him. But it all plays second fiddle to The Voice; to paraphrase his brother, when you hear that voice you know you’re at a gig.

Singing as he does, shredding his larynx night after night, it’s a wonder Gallagher has a voice at all. It’s still so powerful, the herbal remedies he is taking to preserve it are working a treat. Tonight he sounds absolutely at the top of his game, not quite as wondrous as it was in the mid-90s but as strong as it’s been since then. He’s found the sweet spot between singing and shouting again and, on this form, no singer in the world comes close.

It helps that it’s probably his strongest solo set to date. The highlights from his first album (‘Wall Of Glass’, ‘Greedy Soul’, ‘For What It’s Worth’) seem to be standing the test of time, and he even throws in ‘Soul Love’ from the Beady Eye years. Tellingly, that and new single 'Shockwave’ are the only songs that incite trips to the bar, but give the latter a month or so and it will be a set highlight. But, of course, it’s the Oasis songs that make the gig transcendent.

Liam has been giving the people what they want on that front, with many of The Hits present and correct from day one. But he’s also been listening to suggestions (via Twitter) for some of the deeper cuts. While the first half of the gig is very familiar, for the second half he throws out a couple of surprises; ‘Columbia’, which has been played live on a handful of occasions in the last two decades, sounds as menacing and brooding as it ever did, while ‘Lyla’ (a number one single but such is the competition, still something of an outsider) sounds mighty and really works well with his maturing voice.

His band have evolved too; in the early days the musicianship was very straight forward so as to give Liam the full spotlight, but perhaps now they have the confidence to spread their wings; the elaborate outro to Lyla is played in full, and the famous opening to ‘Morning Glory’ is restored.

But these gigs are largely about the crowd. Every word is sung loud and sung proud, there’s crowd surfing and good old fashioned moshing. The common parlance nowadays is ‘limbs’, and it’s a perfect summation. Nowhere more so than on ‘Cigarettes & Alcohol’, its message of hedonism as valid now as it was then, the ultimate anthem to immerse yourself in. Knowing that the crowd can go no further, the closing number is a truncated, keyboard and cello only ‘Champagne Supernova’. And then he’s gone.

There wouldn’t have been a stronger set anywhere in the world tonight and, unbelievably, it’s less than an hour in duration. Quality not quantity. Just imagine what damage he’ll do and what joy he’ll bring when the tour starts. Given the electric atmosphere, the adulation from the crowd and strength of the set, tonight would be a career highlight for many.

Business as usual for Liam Gallagher.

Pip Blom - Boat

Feted as Ones To Watch back in 2016, Pip Blom have taken the long way round with Boat.

The band are named after their lead singer and songwriter, who during her teens answered an advertisement for a songwriting competition in her native Netherlands that set her creative juices flowing. Despite only reaching the semi-final, her future was decided whilst writing numbers on a Loog guitar. Ploughing on, Blom self-released songs on the Internet having recorded all parts herself, and attention started to come her way.

Requiring a band, she enlisted her brother Tender (round of applause for the Blom parents please) on guitar, Darek Marcks on bass and Gini Cameron on drums to embark on live performances. A handful of singles were unleashed before Heavenly Records beat what was no doubt a clutch of labels to the punch by signing the band late last year.

It may appear that releasing the debut album a few short months later would mean a rushed one to capitalise on the hype (numerous festival appearances including Glastonbury await this summer), yet Blom has crafted these songs from scratch and has been perfecting them over the last few years. A DIY act in its truest sense, the effort shows.

There is real craft and attention to detail here. Every song has a well thought through arrangement and structure but, inevitably down to their circumstances, they are slightly held back by the limited instrumental options available, though exposure after a few listens reveals that the melody is key.

Not that there is anything wrong with the instrumentation; wonderful things can and often are achieved on guitar, bass and drums, and the range of options are on display here; the stinging guitar on ‘Daddy Issues’ complement the naggingly infectious chorus, which like much of the album manages to retain the rawness of Pip Blom’s early demos. Elsewhere, the throbbing bass on ‘Aha’ nearly blows out the earphones, and clattering cymbals are expertly deployed on several occasions to herald another splendid chorus.

Yet, as well as melody, one suspects the intention is to create atmosphere. Blom’s voice, while not having the greatest range, expertly conveys the emotion pertinent to the song. ‘Say It’ sounds like The Strokes but she has such anxiety and desperation in her voice that the subject matter is apparent. On ‘Set Of Stairs’ she’s assertive, and on ‘Ruby’, one of two album highlights, she’s having fun with the verse which fits in with the wonderful pop and, once again, an insanely catchy chorus. Her lo-fi distorted vocals too work well in parallel to the inflating bass on ‘Tinfoil’, but both add to the atmosphere of a march to a hangman’s noose. Finally, on The Lemonheads inspired ‘Bedhead’, she’s gone for a double tracked vocal, beautifully slovenly in the way that only love can make.

Blom’s lyrics are able to convey everyday anxiety beautifully (‘Tell me what you’re feeling, cos I can’t read your mind’) as well painful honesty, specifically on the wonky 60s garage of ‘Say It’ (‘I think I’m hard to please’) suggesting there’s a bright future ahead.

But that’s for another day; on Boat we’re lucky enough to hear the fruits of her labour to-date, and that will do just fine.

Richard Hawley - Further

Now a relatively successful solo artist, Richard Hawley has had a lengthy career and is the definition of a cult hero.

But rather than peak early with a breakthrough hit or band, he simply and quietly goes about his business whilst going from strength to strength. As a member of the short-lived but never forgotten Longpigs in the 1990s, he briefly touched the top 40 then went to the top via All Saints’ cover of ‘Under The Bridge’ (he recreated the famous guitar).

The King Of Sheffield has often been praised by Arctic Monkeys and was a semi-regular member of Pulp, but can claim none of the success of either. Further is his eighth studio album and, with all of the previous seven having been named after Sheffield icons or landmarks, offers insight into where his head is at.

The naming choices were at risk of becoming a gimmick, but Further adopts the same principle. Lyrically, the album is about ploughing forward and reaching out whilst at the same time looking into the distance, daydreaming.
Opener ‘Off My Mind’ is a straight forward thrash, clocking in at under three minutes its immediacy sets the precedent for the album, no other songs lasting over four. Some of his previous laments, beautiful though they were, had a tendency to outstay their welcome and so the succinct approach suits him. It’s also a great rock and roll single, complete with squawking solo. ‘Alone’ follows suit with a simplistic yet sweeping chord sequence. The strings soak the song in a melodrama which befits the title.

The album is roughly divided between guitar heavy blasts and the more sombre, intimate slices of observations that have long been the touchstone of Hawley’s career; ‘My Little Treasures’ is based on conversations with friends of his father following his death some years ago. For whatever reason, perhaps because of the emotions attached to it, the song has been gestating for 12 years, and the wait has been worthwhile. It manages the rare feat of making the listener nostalgic on first listen.

The title-track is jaunty and romantic, while the elegant music hall of ‘Emilina Says’ is this album’s mandatory kitchen sink tale. Elsewhere, ‘Not Lonely’ might be the most fragile thing he’s ever done. On the other side of the coin, he’s evoking Britpop and garage on the rockier numbers. ‘Is There A Pill’ is grandstanding, with a chorus very similar to Lennon’s ‘Just Like Starting Over’. ‘Gallay Girl’ is unchallenging, but speaks to the soul not the heart, and ‘Time Is’ has the scale and propulsion of Oasis. It’s much more straight-forward than the psychedelic envelope pushing he embraced on 2012’s Standing At The Sky’s Edge, but no less powerful.

Richard Hawley’s oak voice is the perfect accompaniment to those red wine fuelled nights of contemplation, his dexterity on guitar a perfect balance of breaking your heart, then giving you a hug and singing at the sky with you. Now nearly twenty years into his solo career, and still without a ‘hit’ to speak of (Tonight The Streets Are Ours would be his only single to come close), Hawley is rightly lauded amongst those in the know, easily able to sell out large venues and with A-list status on BBC 6Music.

On the basis of this, his well-most rounded album, that status will only be reinforced.

Interview - The Blinders

The pressure put on bands to represent the voice of the people – be it a specific generation, class or political inclination – is a curious one.

Few other creative types have such responsibility placed upon their shoulders, largely due to the unique passion and life-changing effect that only music can have. But spare a thought for those handling the pressure. Such is the absolute world that we now live in, to walk that tightrope is a thankless task.

“If you’re talking about politics it gives you a reason to be shut down,” ponders The Blinders’ Charlie McGough when talking to Live4Ever at South By Southwest 2019. “If you’re just a band talking about your Friday night, what is there to criticise? If you then do or say something that might be politically incorrect, or make money from those reasons, then that’s a reason to disqualify anything of the band.”

Expecting sympathy for a trio of young men (Thomas Heywood, guitar and vocals; McGough on bass and Matt Neale on drums) who are living not only their dream but countess other peoples’ too may be optimistic, but some empathy should be applied. It’s not an original observation, but musicians earn a pittance of what they once did and yet because of social media are scrutinised more than ever: At the tail end of 2018 one of the band’s songs, the mighty ‘Brave New World’, was used on an advert for leading betting organisation William Hill.

Barbs were slung in their direction, of ‘selling out’ or being insincere. It did seem curious, an usual misstep in what had otherwise been a faultlessly principled journey. Debut album Columbia was met with acclaim, stocked to the gills with parallels of western culture viewed through a dystopian prism or righteous fury. To fall so quickly and controversially into the trap of capitalism seemed beneath them.

‘That nearly split up the band actually,” Heywood explains.

‘This was an argument we discussed for a very long time. We knew we would get flak for it, there was no question about that. The way we got around it was to preach to the converted. We saw Cabbage go on Soccer AM. That’s on Sky, everything that they talk against. Yet they wore the Justice For The 96 shirts. It’s something that nearly broke up the band and is one of those…The idea was to put the song out there to as many people as possible, and that was the only thing that could justify that. If it is justifiable.”

“We live in a capitalist society don’t we? That’s the nature of it,” McGough continues. “We sell t-shirts, we make profits on t-shirts but then you’ve got to make a profit to survive. The advert thing, it goes to pay off a debt with the record label that needs paying off.”

Context and compromise are key. In an ideal world, The Blinders wouldn’t have been in a position which could be perceived as selling out. Rock stars, like the rest of us, have to make ends meet. But the alternative would be for the band to cease functioning. Too heavy a price to pay for all of us. Not least for the band themselves, three childhood friends who have been playing music for as long as they can remember. It’s the familiar but heart-warming tale that Heywood regales us with; “We were all into similar music and we were the only ones that really played instruments. We went to secondary school together and we magnetised naturally through playing instruments, and the love and passion we shared for mutual bands.”

The trio are now based in Manchester but hail originally from Doncaster, a collection of villages in Yorkshire that, it’s probably fair to say, are not particularly renowned for rock heritage. The musical DNA of Doncaster is more based around an older tradition, explains Heywood. “My father was a brass band musician and so was my mother, so they were musicians in their own right, but they never forced me to go down the brass route! That’s the kind of thing that was in Doncaster. It’s in the blood, if you like.”

An aptitude for music is a start, but harnessing the sound takes time. Long hours are required in the practice room, but whilst in that grind it’s hard to see past the next rehearsal. Eventually, a leap of faith is required. The Blinders were lucky enough to have a helping hand.‘The bar where we used to play in Doncaster, we played there for our second or third gig I think it was,” McGough explains. ‘The guys who ran the bar stopped and watched us, and we’re now good friends with them. That felt like a good moment because it got us other shows. That was a catalyst at that early stage. They were the cool guys in town and to have their approval…”

All the band are in their twenties, but they are fast learners. The price of being in a larger, more culturally astute environment is that the competition is of a higher standard. This is especially true with a city like Manchester. From the Buzzcocks to Everything Everything, the Cottonopolis has always had a relevant stake in alternative music, ergo it would be easy to drown in the creativity. “You have to actively do something to stand out from the crowd,” argues Heywood. “We very quickly realised that we did have something to say. Whether or not we knew how we wanted to say it was a different matter. I think we’re still finding that out.”

For those that haven’t had the pleasure of entering their ‘alternate world informed by reality’, it’s a wonderfully immersive place, not only because of the political allegories which are rife throughout but because of the imagery surrounding courtyards, kingdoms and older hierarchical societies managing to find the perfect balance between whimsy and social commentary. “That’s exactly what we wanted to put across”, Heywood informs us.

“We can’t think of a better way to enjoy our music. We’re not here to say something or change people’s minds on matters. Unfortunately, we’re the type of band to write as a mirror rather than give any answers to anything. We just write what we see and hold a mirror up to society. It’s there if you want to see it but it doesn’t have to be. Just tap your foot if you like.”

So on to the future. It’s an old cliché that bands have twenty years to write their debut and a year to write their sophomore. Is a return trip to Columbia a possibility, or are we sailing for alternative shores? We’ll have to wait to find out.

“We’re always working on new material. We’ve really sunk our teeth into writing and creating music now we’ve been in the studio. We’ve seen what we have at our fingertips and there’s no reason why we shouldn’t push the boundaries. We’ve got about a dozen songs written over the last six months, give or take. We want to write double that by the summer.”

“We have sort of realised that we want to create as opposed to perform. So we’re focusing on a lot of new material and ways to try and take whatever we’ve got going on as far as we can as fast as we can. We have no intention of dabbling around the same sound – because we’ve been given the platform to do whatever we want, basically, we’re going to do that. That’s just how it feels with the future.”

Frustratingly cryptic but understandable. The Blinders have worked very hard so far, with attention paid to all elements of their output, be it the theatricality of their live shows (Heywood doubles as Johnny Dream onstage) to the over-riding themes mentioned on their album. Art should not be rushed, especially principled art. However, demonstrating you have some form of social conscience arms your critics, as the furore over the William Hill advert proved. The issue clearly still rankles with the band, if only because they resent being confronted with the dilemma in the first place. McGough elaborates:

“Although that sits uncomfortably with you, what do you do? What is the answer? Arctic Monkeys might get criticised for not saying enough, but that’s OK because they’re making money so they don’t have a voice, basically. Then Bono stands in front of 90,000 people and makes however much from the Zoo TV tour but then gets criticised. So where is the balance?”

“They all do it. Bruce Springsteen is outspoken and one of the richest men in the country. U2 are invalidated because they don’t pay their tax in Ireland. That’s fair enough; criticise a band for letting their music be on a betting advert. Choose to listen to that band or not then. But you’ve got to understand that money has to be made somewhere. I don’t know whether that’s a valid point or not.”

The issue has clearly strengthened the band’s resolve and made them arguably even stronger and closer. This is a band who thrive on conversation and debate. “I think in this day and age it’s a very private world we live in, as well as very open. I don’t think we’ll ever get people coming and discussing open politics. But if, as a consequence of listening to our music or coming to one of our shows, that triggers something in their minds…” Heywood makes no bones about their stance, whatever Joe Public thinks.

“We have no intention of shoving this down people’s throats. It’s just what we’re writing about and what feels natural to us. If people get behind it then they get behind it.”

“Isn’t that what all music is, really?”

Pottery - No. 1

Some bands take a while to harness their sound. Debut offerings, be it EPs or albums, are often varied in style and contain a plethora of ideas that have been percolating for a number of years and can either display a band full of ideas or a band throwing mud at the wall to see what sticks.

More often than not, that occurs over a choice of hand-picked songs designed to demonstrate their diversity. In Pottery’s case, they demonstrate it over a matter of minutes. No. 1 is a furiously frantic journey, opener ‘Smooth Operator’ is naught more than an instrumental, the drumming full of fills reminiscent of Humbug-era Arctic Monkeys, bristling with the scrape of funk guitars which build the mood before they clang as intensity kicks in.

‘Hank Williams’, despite the title, sounds like Britpop Blur at their most Kinks with a bassline that prods you in the ribs. Meanwhile, second track ‘Spell’ has a chiming guitar intro which could be eighties Edge but then turns on its head to broaden its palette into more all-encompassing post-punk. It’s only two minutes but must be exhausting to play.

That must be true of all songs on the EP. The listener is certainly never allowed to rest on their laurels. It’s elaborate to the point of indulgent, with lots of drum fills, leaps up and down the bass fret and vocal ticks. In truth, it does cover up a paucity of melody but there’s little time to dwell on that as the music never sits still for more than ten seconds, with the vocals given very little if any time. The band describe themselves as garage but they doing a dis-service; there is real musical dexterity at work, even if it is untamed.

George Harrison would be proud of the guitar licks on ‘Lady Solinas’, while ‘The Craft’ once again channels the vaudeville nature of The Kinks but with an urgent tempo that is fortunately intermittent. It’s a fairground ride of a song. No-one, possibly the band least of all, can predict where these songs are going. All are opuses, but special mention must go to ‘Worked Up’ which starts as a louche jam but descends into an overweight, bass driven epic. We go to for a quick jaunt around the world before ending up where we started for the last thirty seconds which recall the opening, but manage to sound nothing like which immediately comes before it. So immersive is the song that to come back around again is startling.

But that’s nothing compared to closer ‘Lifeline Costume’, which is basically a distillation of every track that has every appeared on a Nuggets compilation. Arguably the most exhausting eight minutes ever committed to tape, it flies out of the traps with feverish instrumentation, goes everywhere from the dark alleyways to the wheat fields, up to Mars and then back again. How we are expected to keep up when it sounds like the band barely are is anyone’s guess.

Like the rest of this EP, it’s brilliantly bonkers.

Clinic - Wheeltappers And Shunters

All hail the unheralded heroes.

Ever since The Velvet Underground, who have now taken their rightful place as one of the most influential bands of all time, there has always been those acts that operate in the shadows or the underground but have no end of plaudits from those in the know.

Love, Neu and the Buzzcocks can all lay claim to shaping British music in the sixties and seventies. The recent rebirth of Gang Of Four has led to a re-evaluation of their back catalogue. Devo are not a well-recognised name but can claim huge influence.

On this side of the year 2000, one of the early movements was to be found on Merseyside, with The Coral, The Zutons and The Dead 60s spearheading the charge for off-kilter, guitar driven, spiky scally rock. It’s a distinctive sound that is identifiable as being unique and self-contained enough to come from that corner of the North West, and to ignore Clinic as pioneers, or at least flame-bearers of that movement is to do them a huge dis-service. That they’ve been operating for 21 years from behind the curtains is a crying shame.

On this new album, their first after a sustained period of productivity (one album every two years without fail since 2000), we are once again welcomed into their weird and wonderful world. Few tracks exceed three minutes in length and manage to be both individual bursts of life that hang together to form a structured and coherent piece of work. It could easily be both concept album or Best Of collection.

The broad theme is of old-fashioned, family participating entertainment, references to circuses and fairs abound. Band conductor Ade Blackburn states that in serious times it’s nice to have some inoffensive fare to feast on as refuge. But like those once-halcyon days, there is a dark heart lurking beneath the surface. An air of looming menace pervades, as it always has done.

Incidentally, it’s been a good week for Wheeltappers and Shunters. For those fortunate enough not to remember it, the album is named after a long forgotten Granada TV production from the 1970s, where light entertainment favourites would perform in a fictional club environment. Think of a slightly less fictionalised version of Phoenix Nights. In a strange coincidence, the video for Noel Gallagher’s latest single centres around the show. Classic Gallagher cribbing? We’ll probably never know.

Once again, they are brimming with ideas. ‘Laughing Cavalier’ is hurdy-gurdy lightweight psychedelia with Blackburn’s unique blend of earnest and grappling vocals leading us into ‘the fun of the fair’, grabbing the listener by the hand like the madcap ringmaster he was always meant to be. Complex echoes early Gorillaz, harmonica and drum machine working in spooky synchronicity, with background voices, either whispers or shouts, persisting in the lower levels of the mix. ‘Flying Fish’ is more like the intense Clinic of old, the whimsy temporarily stripped away, while ‘Congratulations’ is a Hammond organ kaleidoscope of a song. Rejoice! is glam at its most insistent. The whole album has a deftness that Clinic have undoubtedly always had but rarely utilised, perhaps due to the long sabbatical.

This album is unlikely to win over any new fans, but then that’s extremely unlikely to be Clinic’s priority, having never been so. We must treasure bands of their ilk; those whose charms only appeal to a select few but which are harnessed and shaped to appeal to many more.