Andy Warhol wrote in his autobiography that "Two people kissing, always look like fish" which is only one of the many observations he made which have changed my outlook forever.
BELUGA WALES
According to The Telegraph, there are only 100,000 left.
Thursday, 31 July 2008
Blogging is Better than Snogging
Andy Warhol wrote in his autobiography that "Two people kissing, always look like fish" which is only one of the many observations he made which have changed my outlook forever.
Mickey Moonlight - Interplanetary Music
Perhaps in an effort to regain some cool after their the abismal ED REC VOL 3, which failed to titilate the tympanic membrane (eardrum).
The video pays homage to a Robert Smithson esque appreciation of naturally occuring formations.
- Asphalt Runoff
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
Monday, 28 July 2008
Anger and Steam
Goya - Satan Devouring his SonWhen a cartoon character gets mad, he spouts steam from his ears. Thus is life for the animated. If he had his bike stolen, he'd probably just spout some steam out his ears and skedaddle around for a bit with his eyebrows arched an inch above his head. Life for us affords no such pleasure. Anger can be a useful emotion; your adrenaline rises, your blood pressure rises, you boil and scheme. But without all the thwacking and maiming the cave-dwelling recesses of your brain are cooking up, that steam just condenses round the inside of your skull leaving your cerebellum floating in a pool of suppurating, fetid uselessness. Odd vengeaful vigilante fantasies bubble around in the gloom, neurones heabutt each other, bike parts lie discarded in the temporal lobe. Nothing works. That is how my head is. Anyhow, to distract myself from the loss of my, beloved, bicycle and this dank situation I went out and trawled some bars for musical rage.
"Bullet with Butterfly Wings" was like getting trepanned. All the steam rising in gentle clouds from a clean hole in my head. It's purifiying. Tight and straining rhythm takes shape. The rusty, threatening bass and serrated speak-song circle like knife-fighters. Then comes the chorus, a howl of sweating, grungy guitar and that awesome screech of "Despite all my rage / I am still just a rat in a cage".
"Gouge Away" is more sexual, open in its hot-fingering perversion. The two songs share a lot. Listen to them one after the other as the night comes on and feel those canines grow.
Smashing Pumpkins - Bullet with Butterfly Wings.mp3
The Pixies - GougeAway.wma
Saturday, 19 July 2008
Hangovers, Waterfalls and Waits
I spent today cowering in shady nooks, trying to give a hangover of Terminator-esque doggedness the slip. It didn't work; they can smell your sweat. Anyhow, it's quite the art to make music for people who actually would rather not hear any noise at all. Try and dissolve that pore-clogging ethanol with shuddering bass and you'll be left a withered husk . So the other, sedate, option is to go ambient. Embrace your inner Californian and visualise a babbling brook or the such-like. There we go, floating away from that slobbery pillow and mouth like dry, bristley camel hair to the smooth moss of the Lake District... Check out The Big Lebowski scene in the Dude's bath, that's whale noises he's listening too. Enough said.
Creeks and Waterfalls
Creeks and Waterfalls
On the other hand, some feather-duster light electro, like Futurecop!, whose wanton synth can induce comfortable anti-gravity in a crumpled body. One of the few bands that can make music you want to dance all night to, pissed into the ladies toilet, and then still like listening to when you wake up...
Futurecop - Nasa.mp3
Or go with a beautiful voice, making sure to skirt any hints of depression - you've got enough to face, nightmarish things like a half-eaten, browning apple - as the pitfalls of wallowing in Keatsian melancholy all day, musing on nightingales and Fanny, are deep and insecapable. I chose Beirut "Postcards from Italy", as ukeleles are really soothing, also the rising climax saw me don my regal, if damp, bathrobe and shuffle around like an aged. Result.
If you know you're never going to leave the womb of your hangover, slip on Tom Waits and do some morose, sailor-like, alcoholic miming. "The keeper of a bad liver and a broken heart" gave an interesting interview in 2006 recalling some troubles he had as a boy, a form of super-acute hearing- "It was a frightening thing. I mean, I thought I was mentally ill, that maybe I was retarded. I'd put my hand on a sheet like this [rubbing his shirt] and it'd sound like sandpaper. Or a plane going by." - that's not retarded, sounds like Waits was actually born hungover.
A sobering thought for sore heads.
Saturday, 12 July 2008
Dancing in the Dark vs Stuck on Repeat. Ringside seats.
Martin Creed's Work No. 270: "The Light's Off"...is anyone else hearing seals barking and chainsaws?
I'm left a little dazed after the six minutes of aural assault, the silhouette of a flickering lightbulb in a dark warehouse a harsh retinal sear. Like looking at the sun too long. PTP, my bureau deskmate, enjoys it; he likes the heavy stuff. The first time he played it to me, he had a nosebleed. As his pupils dilated and he savoured the bright red blood dripping from his upper lip, it seemed that 'Dancing in the Dark' had reached a physical state of being. It's inaccessible and uncompromising; raw, rasping sound strapped to a minimal skeleton. There's no melody, and except for the nasal singing interludes, no change. It feels a little like concept music, as in you're welcome to hate on it; but that's equivalent to looking at the floor in the face of it's brutal aesthetic stare. You're just a pussy. I wouldn't be surprised if it was the soundtrack to Thursday night dogfighting in disused parking lots.
Well, whether it transcends just being noise is debatable. Whether it transcends just being shit...
Little Boots - Stuck on Repeat (Fake Blood Remix)
As points of comparison go, it's weak but 'Dancing in the Dark' could easily have been called 'Stuck on Repeat'. And the opening has a slight chainsaw vibe... Except the sexy Little Boots / Fake Blood combo have spawned an absolute behemoth. It's a heavyweight, sculpted and light on it's feet. In fact, this track is Ali, and it lays a fat roundhouse to the meaty cheek of Proxy's club bouncer. Then, still nimble, climbs the ropes, takes the belt, does the splits and shimmies on down to the disco. Distorted vocals, dirty driving synth and serious drops combine with an airy layer of piano and a monk-like breathy chant. Drop it in a big night anywhere and reap, brother, the adulation it deserves.
Wednesday, 9 July 2008
Tuesday, 8 July 2008
Saul Williams - penny for your thoughts
Saul William’s thoughts are chucked, with a violent precision, at grinding bass and whirling synth.Syllables rattle at your ears. Difficult to get at first, all that's clear is that he's got it and the reasons he is recognised as a spoken word pioneer, hip hop poet or whatever are clear. Every sentence drips with significance, right from the start, and he is worth quoting in full:
“cartons of the milkyway with pictures of a missing planet / last seen in pursuit of an American dream”.
Images skip like cut newsreel:
“an MC told a crowd of a hundred to put their hands in the air / an armed stepped into a bank tells everyone to put their hands in the air / a Christian minister gives his benediction while the congregation hold their hands in the air…/ Hands up!”.
Words clash together and reverberate off each other; it can be disorientating, but let yourself get shaken up and iAntertwined and intricate street scenes emerge:
“a young child stares at a glowing screen transfixed by tales of violence / his teenage father tells him that that’s life / not that Barney shit / a purple dinosaur that speaks of love / a black man that dreams of blood / which one is keeping it real son? / who manufactured your deal son?”
and the breakdown centers around a stuttered exchange with some beggartype pandering you jaded thoughts: "penny for a thought" exactly. Towards the end, backed by tense snares and scratching, the track morphs into a kind of exorcism. A snarl at all false pos
turing. As he says himself "be men, motherfuckers, be men". If you like it try out the beatbox spit of “Sha Clack Clack” and biographical wanderings of “Black Stacy”. Williams is spine-tingling; a voice to refresh rap.
PennyForAThought.mp3
ShaClackClack.mp3
BlackStacy.mp3
Saturday, 5 July 2008
Turn That Shit OFF
Collaboration can turn ideas into projects which realize full potential, becoming bigger and better than ever before conceived.
Although it seems collaboration isn't always used to such great effect. Dizzee Rascal & Calvin Harris' 'Dance Wiv Me' has a wanky bassline that sounds like the jingle of a 90's advert. The video may have been directed by gang of council estate adolescents looking for fame and fortune on Channel U. However, perhaps the greatest downfall is the line 'I love it when you flex like that'. Hinting at the past success of Dizzee's 'Flex' only further emphasises the poor quality of the music presently pressing at our eardrums.
Enough ranting, I really got into Jazz since I left school, its partly down to the great music here
http://iwannafuckdirtyharry.blogspot.com/2008/06/love-kills-like-somebody-gave-cupid-gun_08.html
and my awesome saxophone teacher. PTP
Wednesday, 2 July 2008
Glastonbury Baby
Glastonbury
My first time was emotional. I finally crashed at Leonard Cohen; flat cider, sunstroke and standing on one leg to save my burning feet all contributed to a brief transcendent moment as a seagull hung right above the point of the pyramid stage. Whether it was Leonard or the seagull, who knows, but I came over all pensive and weary like adults get. Yet, trace back three days and I was in the flower of youthful naivety and excitement...
MGMT
MGMT, the name and the band, sounds like a mind-altering substance. Tart synth and the dazzlingly named Andrew VanWyngarden's reedy voice make some original left-field pop. I was excited to see them get their colour on live, 'Electric Feel' being under constant playlist pressure, (check the Justice mix below too...) so my eyes sizzled nicely on the keyboardists neon orange jumpsuit. 'Weekend Wars' was a good opener, nicely jump around staccato in places. Then came 'The Youth', which could have been a soaring moment with lyrics like "The youth are starting to change / Are you starting to change? / Together, together, together..." to get the feeling that Glastonbury meant more than a weekend out. It came out a little faded. In my gig paradise, everyone sort of holds hands and sways to the significance, chanting that mantra. On second thoughts, that might just be heaven. Or a cult. However, the end was wild, sheering away from some slight "awkward-cousin-rock" head grooving they brought out the zane in "Time to Pretend" and "Kids". The tent went mental. First, the two frontmen left the stage, returning regaled in the rug of dreams. A technicoloured garb that could have been made from the saliva of a thousand acid trips. Andrew came over all prophet in his matching blindfold, and the manic level kept getting higher as they kneeled semi-possesed and screamed lyrics about families of trees wanting to be haunted. Wierd shit. The winding synth of 'Kids' was adopted by the crowd as a laddish chant that went on a long time after they left the stage. Hand me my blindfold... I want to get in their world.
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/MGMT_ElectricFeel.mp3
Saturday
The Teenagers
I'm not really sure they go much past trading on a French accent, Parisian slimness and being a little naughty. I was expecting much more in French funkery. Their songs are just standard rock with added slut. And not as deep as a rockslut's tonsils(Sorry, when in France...). 'Homecoming' is a good song, but not as good as the remixes. Their remix of "It's the Beat" had crack, but so far that's all, they feel like a fringe band. Nobody cared at 1.40 (and I cared for Black Kids at 2.50) and the singer's weak voice limped to the edges of the tent, dissolving in the sun, or so it felt as I left. He preened well, throwing the microphone cord around him like some tantric toy and there were moments of brilliant comedy. For "Homecoming" he did his standard sexy trick of getting loads of girls on stage to play the female. They were pubescent, none older than sixteen, so it was special seeing them jump in glee and sing "I fucked my American cunt" and dance like they would to the Jackson Five. Or the Hokey-Cokey. Flooded with hormones, two lasses with hungry eyes dived for his skin-tight white shirt and flounced to yank it off. He tugged down stubbornly, looking quite the prude and beaten at his own sex game...dissapointing
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/theTeenagers--HomecomingGentlemenDri.mp3
More did happen at Glastonbury, I didn't get sucked into the vortex of the Hare Krishna tent...but I'm tired and spent a lot of time trying to upload music which I'm not sure works. Yar. Until tomorrow then.
Black Kids
A lot of blogsteam has been spouting about this group. The hype backlash came even before their first album release. Soon bands will be hyped and written off before they leave their mum's garage. Here the physical group stood up and Frontman Reggie Youngblood said it himself, switching into slow Floridian drawl, "Shee-et, there's lots of you out there". At 2.40. Posters for their new album "Partie Traumatic" are everywhere, no doubt it will spawn at least one summer hit. Hopefully "Hurricane Jane". "I Wanna be Your Limousine", a track I hadn't heard before, was a treat, not quite Grace Jones's "Pull Up to My Bumper" which featured the classic lyric 'Pull up to my bumper baby, /In your long black limosine, /Pull up to my bumper baby, /And drive it in between.'but no doubt cruising in the same direction. The Youngblood clan dominate the band, with Reggie's sister Ali on keys and vocals so it has a nice old Southern knees up vibe. Ali's got moves too; larger lady panty-flashing, gyrating fun.
Vampire Weekend
Accused of being slightly teachery by some; so what? They wear their Ivy-League unashamedly. Smart collars, smart lyrics. Lyrics that make you think, even wonder constructively what they mean. Unlike the mental effluent of most indie. Certainly, the first band to have me reach for my reading glasses and an encyclopedia with the line "charm your way across the Khyber Pass" stuck in my head. Ahem...The Khyber Pass is a important strategic pathway linking Pakhistan and Afghanistan. Cleverer already. "Oxford Comma" was fantastic, especially the racing climax of "why would you lie about how much coke you have? / Why would you like about something dumb like that?". Now I like that lyric. Shame instead of "coke" it's "coal"; now, the intelligentsia might sneer and say, "one and the same, son, one and the same" but drugs are edgier. Hands down. But it doesn't matter if they're nice and not too dark because they make quality, original music. It does matter slightly at Glastonbury if you refer to dancing in wellies as "dancing in squidgies", step forward Ezra Koenig. But what the hey, forgive them all, not too much is lost in translation. "Mansard Roof" was stomp-happy with some nice ringing strings. "A Punk" got the crowd a bit ska-ed up, shouting "Ah Ah Ah Ah" back in his face. "M79"'s probably my favourite of their tracks and live the sound is loud and crisp. I regret calling them nice earlier, it's so demeaning. They're much, much better than nice. They should have enough ideas in their cufflinks to survive "difficult second syndrome".
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/05M79.mp3
Simian Mobile Disco
Sometimes I make notes during gigs. Rock, roll and remember kids. Sunshine and pear cider really get to the head. Anyhow, on checking my scabby piece of paper next morning all I saw under "SMD" in big, childish capitals was "SHIT". I had staked a claim to front row space with outlandish dancing for half an hour to the entertaining Greg Dead and a be-crutched MC Spree. Then I waited absent-mindedly for Simian to emerge in glory. A chubby roadie who looked a little like a chipmunk with a jewfro wandered on to warm up, other roadies clambered around the back doing fun roadie things like plugging wires in and out. The tent is full, but despite the lurid plastic sunnies with no lenses worn by boarding school brigades, excitement was not to be had. They did not emerge. I wanted to feel my abdomen crushed against the fence, but nobody even nudged me in the back.
Eventually I asked a security guard when they would be on. He said one was having a baby. Alright, I thought, but why've the pair of them got to be there at his wife's special moment? Stretchmarks are not, I'm sure, bandmate banter. And then he told me and a horrible realisation hit home in my ciderfuddled head. James Ford was the chipmunk. He's an uninspiring DJ, kept making plaintive gestures to the tossers next to me who shouted suggestions all the time as if to say "I'm sorry, I'm shit". Having played no SMD classics, only an underwhelming "Hustler", he scuttled off to climb trees and gnaw things.
Hot Chip
Alexis Taylor, Hot Chip frontman, strikes me as a cross between a superhero sidekick and a small bird. Robin and Tweety. When he came on to the Other Stage dressed in a yellow suit with his nose daubed, beakishly, in yellow, all I saw was Tweety. Not, you might say, inspiring. However, this tenuous digression has a point. Hot Chip are a digressive band. Who else writes about love in the context of Monday night's wrestling? (Sit down The Rock). And so bringing Wiley on to duet was another digressive stroke of brilliance. His East Lahndan accent dovetailed(watch it...) nicely with Taylor's high timbre, even quavering, voice. Their covers are usually high class, 'Sexual Healing', sounds like the intricate courtship of two IBM processors and the delicate singing is more tender than lustful. So, who better to pull out a cover of "Nothing Compares 2 U"? Listen to the crowd on the link below, even Wiley was crying himself silly backstage. Still, it may have been the moment more than the song, listening to it again it really isn't the same. However, "Ready for the Floor" and "Over and Over" had serious bounce, Hot Chip have serious range. A DJ set later that night, which I didn't make it too was supposed to have gone off too...multitalented, multifaceted diginerd rock.
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/10Wrestlers.mp3
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/HC-NothingComparesGlasto.mp3
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/02_Sexual_Healing.mp3
Jay Z
Jay Z's got a big mouth. In all senses. So, it's hard to see him as the shunned underdog. But, in a piece of Houdini-esque legerdemain, that's what it felt like when he was about to come on stage. I had forgotten that I don't really like Jay Z. A genius video of quick-flash clips of people, Noel Gallagher in particular, slamming Jay Z had turned him into a martyr for rap. Everyone who put him down sounded fantastically middle class and ignorant. The revolution was at hand. Involuntarily, I was actually chanting "Jay Zee". But then he was actaully on stage strumming his guitar - in what he must have thought was a move of daring, Jay Z came on playing Wonderwall. Now, having just tried to make Noel Gallagher out to be a prat, which isn't overly hard, playing that song just proved his point. The crowd loved it. And that's not because Jay Z is playing guitar. That's because everybody loves Wonderwall. And, in his bid to convert us British to Hip-Hop, because we haven't really moved past "Greenfingers" really, he sampled relentlessly. U2, Panjabi MC, Rihanna. Maybe he just doesn't have enough serious beats of his own...99 Problems aside. His rapping was monotonous, flapping alot without really hitting much. "Fuck Bush", his political rant, is an easy target. Dre is way out of his league. Good showman that he is, the material just isn't there. His final "showpiece" track, Encore with Linkin Park... Here's one of his few tracks I love; he didn't spin it -
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/success.mp3
Sunday
Mumford and Sons
Marcus Mumford has a very powerful voice. I've posted a link below, but live it's a different deal. He can really rip it. A clearer and stronger sound than any I'd heard in the last two days. Mumford and Sons came on at 12 30 to a respectable crowd. They left at 1.15 to a standing ovation and a full hill by the Park Stage. Perfect morning sounds. I think you could get away with calling it epic folk; his voice rippled through the hills and dales of Glastonbury (too Sound of Music?)calling out the acidheads from their grots to gurn right in front of stage. Turns out, in the incestuous world of folk, he's also the drummer for Laura Marling. Who played deadpan to her crowd: "Anyone see Mumford and Sons earlier?" [cheers] "Yea, they're alright, could do better". I saw her gig and found myself wishing that Mumford would break free from "backing band" shackles and go on some duet with Laura. That would really be the Sound of Music. It's refreshing music; the lyrics aren't as convoluted (or perhaps interesting) as Marling's, but I prefer the sound and rhythym - the slow build and powerful climax a bit like Arcade Fire. Sound of Music references aren't all hilarious tongue in cheek stuff. There's a lot of "aaah, aaah" vocal stretching exercises. You can sing too, in the crowd. On the whole better, I believe, than regular stablemates Noah and the Whale. EP launches Monday See them live on 7 July at Luminaire in Kilburn. Or check www.myspace.com/mumfordandsons.
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/01RollAwayYourStone.mp3
Crystal Castles
It's hard to explain this gig being the best gig ever. So much energy, the one gig that felt different experience, the crowd as one. It only lasted 20 minutes. Lady in red, black eyes, like a ghost, looks like a ghost, dances like a pogo, screams and whispers like a dervish, eyes like space, climbs scaffold, pulled off, courtship dating, loudness and cut-up, she leans over crowd, security hold her back from crowd, sound cut off, boos, sound on, people surfing, Cleopatra lies on the hands of entranced crowd writhing, dangerous melee, gig pulled. Adrenaline like nothing before, the crowd nearly went over the fence in outrage at the pull.
Check out Courtship Dating, link post soon.
My first time was emotional. I finally crashed at Leonard Cohen; flat cider, sunstroke and standing on one leg to save my burning feet all contributed to a brief transcendent moment as a seagull hung right above the point of the pyramid stage. Whether it was Leonard or the seagull, who knows, but I came over all pensive and weary like adults get. Yet, trace back three days and I was in the flower of youthful naivety and excitement...
MGMT
MGMT, the name and the band, sounds like a mind-altering substance. Tart synth and the dazzlingly named Andrew VanWyngarden's reedy voice make some original left-field pop. I was excited to see them get their colour on live, 'Electric Feel' being under constant playlist pressure, (check the Justice mix below too...) so my eyes sizzled nicely on the keyboardists neon orange jumpsuit. 'Weekend Wars' was a good opener, nicely jump around staccato in places. Then came 'The Youth', which could have been a soaring moment with lyrics like "The youth are starting to change / Are you starting to change? / Together, together, together..." to get the feeling that Glastonbury meant more than a weekend out. It came out a little faded. In my gig paradise, everyone sort of holds hands and sways to the significance, chanting that mantra. On second thoughts, that might just be heaven. Or a cult. However, the end was wild, sheering away from some slight "awkward-cousin-rock" head grooving they brought out the zane in "Time to Pretend" and "Kids". The tent went mental. First, the two frontmen left the stage, returning regaled in the rug of dreams. A technicoloured garb that could have been made from the saliva of a thousand acid trips. Andrew came over all prophet in his matching blindfold, and the manic level kept getting higher as they kneeled semi-possesed and screamed lyrics about families of trees wanting to be haunted. Wierd shit. The winding synth of 'Kids' was adopted by the crowd as a laddish chant that went on a long time after they left the stage. Hand me my blindfold... I want to get in their world.
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/MGMT_ElectricFeel.mp3
Saturday
The Teenagers
I'm not really sure they go much past trading on a French accent, Parisian slimness and being a little naughty. I was expecting much more in French funkery. Their songs are just standard rock with added slut. And not as deep as a rockslut's tonsils(Sorry, when in France...). 'Homecoming' is a good song, but not as good as the remixes. Their remix of "It's the Beat" had crack, but so far that's all, they feel like a fringe band. Nobody cared at 1.40 (and I cared for Black Kids at 2.50) and the singer's weak voice limped to the edges of the tent, dissolving in the sun, or so it felt as I left. He preened well, throwing the microphone cord around him like some tantric toy and there were moments of brilliant comedy. For "Homecoming" he did his standard sexy trick of getting loads of girls on stage to play the female. They were pubescent, none older than sixteen, so it was special seeing them jump in glee and sing "I fucked my American cunt" and dance like they would to the Jackson Five. Or the Hokey-Cokey. Flooded with hormones, two lasses with hungry eyes dived for his skin-tight white shirt and flounced to yank it off. He tugged down stubbornly, looking quite the prude and beaten at his own sex game...dissapointing
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/theTeenagers--HomecomingGentlemenDri.mp3
More did happen at Glastonbury, I didn't get sucked into the vortex of the Hare Krishna tent...but I'm tired and spent a lot of time trying to upload music which I'm not sure works. Yar. Until tomorrow then.
Black Kids
A lot of blogsteam has been spouting about this group. The hype backlash came even before their first album release. Soon bands will be hyped and written off before they leave their mum's garage. Here the physical group stood up and Frontman Reggie Youngblood said it himself, switching into slow Floridian drawl, "Shee-et, there's lots of you out there". At 2.40. Posters for their new album "Partie Traumatic" are everywhere, no doubt it will spawn at least one summer hit. Hopefully "Hurricane Jane". "I Wanna be Your Limousine", a track I hadn't heard before, was a treat, not quite Grace Jones's "Pull Up to My Bumper" which featured the classic lyric 'Pull up to my bumper baby, /In your long black limosine, /Pull up to my bumper baby, /And drive it in between.'but no doubt cruising in the same direction. The Youngblood clan dominate the band, with Reggie's sister Ali on keys and vocals so it has a nice old Southern knees up vibe. Ali's got moves too; larger lady panty-flashing, gyrating fun.
Vampire Weekend
Accused of being slightly teachery by some; so what? They wear their Ivy-League unashamedly. Smart collars, smart lyrics. Lyrics that make you think, even wonder constructively what they mean. Unlike the mental effluent of most indie. Certainly, the first band to have me reach for my reading glasses and an encyclopedia with the line "charm your way across the Khyber Pass" stuck in my head. Ahem...The Khyber Pass is a important strategic pathway linking Pakhistan and Afghanistan. Cleverer already. "Oxford Comma" was fantastic, especially the racing climax of "why would you lie about how much coke you have? / Why would you like about something dumb like that?". Now I like that lyric. Shame instead of "coke" it's "coal"; now, the intelligentsia might sneer and say, "one and the same, son, one and the same" but drugs are edgier. Hands down. But it doesn't matter if they're nice and not too dark because they make quality, original music. It does matter slightly at Glastonbury if you refer to dancing in wellies as "dancing in squidgies", step forward Ezra Koenig. But what the hey, forgive them all, not too much is lost in translation. "Mansard Roof" was stomp-happy with some nice ringing strings. "A Punk" got the crowd a bit ska-ed up, shouting "Ah Ah Ah Ah" back in his face. "M79"'s probably my favourite of their tracks and live the sound is loud and crisp. I regret calling them nice earlier, it's so demeaning. They're much, much better than nice. They should have enough ideas in their cufflinks to survive "difficult second syndrome".
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/05M79.mp3
Simian Mobile Disco
Sometimes I make notes during gigs. Rock, roll and remember kids. Sunshine and pear cider really get to the head. Anyhow, on checking my scabby piece of paper next morning all I saw under "SMD" in big, childish capitals was "SHIT". I had staked a claim to front row space with outlandish dancing for half an hour to the entertaining Greg Dead and a be-crutched MC Spree. Then I waited absent-mindedly for Simian to emerge in glory. A chubby roadie who looked a little like a chipmunk with a jewfro wandered on to warm up, other roadies clambered around the back doing fun roadie things like plugging wires in and out. The tent is full, but despite the lurid plastic sunnies with no lenses worn by boarding school brigades, excitement was not to be had. They did not emerge. I wanted to feel my abdomen crushed against the fence, but nobody even nudged me in the back.
Eventually I asked a security guard when they would be on. He said one was having a baby. Alright, I thought, but why've the pair of them got to be there at his wife's special moment? Stretchmarks are not, I'm sure, bandmate banter. And then he told me and a horrible realisation hit home in my ciderfuddled head. James Ford was the chipmunk. He's an uninspiring DJ, kept making plaintive gestures to the tossers next to me who shouted suggestions all the time as if to say "I'm sorry, I'm shit". Having played no SMD classics, only an underwhelming "Hustler", he scuttled off to climb trees and gnaw things.
Hot Chip
Alexis Taylor, Hot Chip frontman, strikes me as a cross between a superhero sidekick and a small bird. Robin and Tweety. When he came on to the Other Stage dressed in a yellow suit with his nose daubed, beakishly, in yellow, all I saw was Tweety. Not, you might say, inspiring. However, this tenuous digression has a point. Hot Chip are a digressive band. Who else writes about love in the context of Monday night's wrestling? (Sit down The Rock). And so bringing Wiley on to duet was another digressive stroke of brilliance. His East Lahndan accent dovetailed(watch it...) nicely with Taylor's high timbre, even quavering, voice. Their covers are usually high class, 'Sexual Healing', sounds like the intricate courtship of two IBM processors and the delicate singing is more tender than lustful. So, who better to pull out a cover of "Nothing Compares 2 U"? Listen to the crowd on the link below, even Wiley was crying himself silly backstage. Still, it may have been the moment more than the song, listening to it again it really isn't the same. However, "Ready for the Floor" and "Over and Over" had serious bounce, Hot Chip have serious range. A DJ set later that night, which I didn't make it too was supposed to have gone off too...multitalented, multifaceted diginerd rock.
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/10Wrestlers.mp3
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/HC-NothingComparesGlasto.mp3
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/02_Sexual_Healing.mp3
Jay Z
Jay Z's got a big mouth. In all senses. So, it's hard to see him as the shunned underdog. But, in a piece of Houdini-esque legerdemain, that's what it felt like when he was about to come on stage. I had forgotten that I don't really like Jay Z. A genius video of quick-flash clips of people, Noel Gallagher in particular, slamming Jay Z had turned him into a martyr for rap. Everyone who put him down sounded fantastically middle class and ignorant. The revolution was at hand. Involuntarily, I was actually chanting "Jay Zee". But then he was actaully on stage strumming his guitar - in what he must have thought was a move of daring, Jay Z came on playing Wonderwall. Now, having just tried to make Noel Gallagher out to be a prat, which isn't overly hard, playing that song just proved his point. The crowd loved it. And that's not because Jay Z is playing guitar. That's because everybody loves Wonderwall. And, in his bid to convert us British to Hip-Hop, because we haven't really moved past "Greenfingers" really, he sampled relentlessly. U2, Panjabi MC, Rihanna. Maybe he just doesn't have enough serious beats of his own...99 Problems aside. His rapping was monotonous, flapping alot without really hitting much. "Fuck Bush", his political rant, is an easy target. Dre is way out of his league. Good showman that he is, the material just isn't there. His final "showpiece" track, Encore with Linkin Park... Here's one of his few tracks I love; he didn't spin it -
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/success.mp3
Sunday
Mumford and Sons
Marcus Mumford has a very powerful voice. I've posted a link below, but live it's a different deal. He can really rip it. A clearer and stronger sound than any I'd heard in the last two days. Mumford and Sons came on at 12 30 to a respectable crowd. They left at 1.15 to a standing ovation and a full hill by the Park Stage. Perfect morning sounds. I think you could get away with calling it epic folk; his voice rippled through the hills and dales of Glastonbury (too Sound of Music?)calling out the acidheads from their grots to gurn right in front of stage. Turns out, in the incestuous world of folk, he's also the drummer for Laura Marling. Who played deadpan to her crowd: "Anyone see Mumford and Sons earlier?" [cheers] "Yea, they're alright, could do better". I saw her gig and found myself wishing that Mumford would break free from "backing band" shackles and go on some duet with Laura. That would really be the Sound of Music. It's refreshing music; the lyrics aren't as convoluted (or perhaps interesting) as Marling's, but I prefer the sound and rhythym - the slow build and powerful climax a bit like Arcade Fire. Sound of Music references aren't all hilarious tongue in cheek stuff. There's a lot of "aaah, aaah" vocal stretching exercises. You can sing too, in the crowd. On the whole better, I believe, than regular stablemates Noah and the Whale. EP launches Monday See them live on 7 July at Luminaire in Kilburn. Or check www.myspace.com/mumfordandsons.
http://memphis.barker.googlepages.com/01RollAwayYourStone.mp3
Crystal Castles
It's hard to explain this gig being the best gig ever. So much energy, the one gig that felt different experience, the crowd as one. It only lasted 20 minutes. Lady in red, black eyes, like a ghost, looks like a ghost, dances like a pogo, screams and whispers like a dervish, eyes like space, climbs scaffold, pulled off, courtship dating, loudness and cut-up, she leans over crowd, security hold her back from crowd, sound cut off, boos, sound on, people surfing, Cleopatra lies on the hands of entranced crowd writhing, dangerous melee, gig pulled. Adrenaline like nothing before, the crowd nearly went over the fence in outrage at the pull.
Check out Courtship Dating, link post soon.
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