Shearwater project a vision amid a swelling atmosphere More

Live Review

Written By Michael Wood Sunday, September 13th, 2009

Black Diamond Bay supporting a joint headline of Clinic and Shearwater at Brudenell Social Club, Leeds

This does not really work - this double headlining of curio Doctor dressed bassists Clinic and Austin, Texas atmosphereist Shearwater - but it is a noble experiment and one that serves the Brudenell Social Club well on this the final week before the influx of new students.

The aim hangs with that expectation - in a week's time countless eighteen year olds will bring a glorious newness to Headlingly in Leeds which serves as their City locked village but tonight those of us who are more permanent residents enjoy something more mellow.

First though - before the offshoot of the Okkervil River family tree that are Shearwater take to the stage - come Black Diamond Bay who style themselves as Electro-Folksters. They are fun in many ways most of which they probably do not intend to be. A chorus that runs "We'll stop carrying knives/if you stop bombing the fuck out of countries you don't like" is always going to run into criticisms for being a little too fourteen year old discovers politics but the singer - who dances purposefully - and his two backing singers who cut a Human League thrust - seem to really mean it and being earnest will always win points with me.

Besides at one point Black Diamond Bay make a noise thus: Bewoooewp! We really will always be together in electric dreams.

Clinic take to the stage dressed as Doctors and it almost seems like a bad joke when they tell us that the lead singer is ill but it seems that it was not and normally they have lyrics between the funked up sound which was pleasing enough.

More pleasing though are Shearwater who are a much more post-rock beast than the aforementioned Okkervil River with whom they share members playing out what sound to be a thousand different takes on soundtracks to Hitchcock's The Birds with last album Rook concerning itself with themes such as an avian conquest of the world of man.

It stirs the blood and focuses the mind with sharp picture framed lyrics picking out moments and freezing them. Auteur Jonathan Meiberg's rich, near pain near dread voice warns through the tails with the band and Clinic switch between two sets which breaks the atmosphere Shearwater create but leaves enough of an impression of a band with a vision and the ability to project it.

Okkervil River the masters of invention More

Live Review

Written By Michael Wood Wednesday, September 9th, 2009

Okkervil River at Academy 2, Manchester

Three things you can count on:

In Manchester it will rain. This is the first thing and sounds like a tired cliche but is true and this afternoon the rain has been heavy, filling the drains and bringing about a sewer smell to pervade the city and fill the lowest floor of what Will Sheff will call a "four level music processing facility."

You can count on Red High Tops too - this is the second thing - and I broke out a new pair for the wander up Oxford Road to the gig and although it is over twenty years since I first wandered to a gig in Converse. Chuck Taylor, Eddy Current, McCarthy's Larry. They are - or were - Americana.

Crawling out of Americana come Okkervil River. Okkervil River are a third thing you can count on. Will Sheff and his band are an unremittingly excellent collective in all they do. Five albums of intelligent, articulate and fascinating music and a string of live shows that take those songs further than one could have thought.

My definition of a good live performance is that a performer is able to take a song heard hundreds of times and breathe a new life into it, change intonations on lines to tweak context, alter the focus of narratives by dropping or raising vocal sections, embowering surprising and effective emotional layers onto what is already familiar. A good gig sees this happen three or four times. Okkervil River deliver such near magic dozens in occasions measured in dozens.

The band play a very similar set to the last time they played in this venue and while Sheff has not a beard and bassist Patrick Pestorius has shaved his off they look much the same as they did ten months ago. The acoustic guitar that Sheff strikes often and hard, throwing over his back on a well worn strap, is the same well scratched piece which played here last year.

Not reinvention then but rather invention. Invention coming in a performance that never goes beyond the remit of being a rock 'n roll show but rather celebrates the form.

Will Sheff uses a rich understanding of the rock n' roll performance to pull off all the tricks he can to beguile and audience that shows gig experience through it's part greying hair.

He drops to speech leading the audience back to "pause and add your own intentions/right here". He slows a song down to near still lingering over "just one rose/one day/and that was years ago." which cuts a swathe of silence through those collected here tonight in a genuine and affecting way.

Affecting too is the unsettling undertone underlying the Okkervil River catalogue and Sheff's battle torn lover is replaced by a seething menace who "thirsts for real blood/for real cuts..." stalking the centre of attention making you complicit in his crimes.

The beat of "a bad movie/where there is no crying" is pattered out in hand claps while "we sail out/on orders from him..." is intoned by Pestorius stepping out from bassist shadow to share Sheff's stage.

It is Sheff's stage though and he takes it for encore picking his beat up guitar and returns as the devastated lover "to cheat/on Maine Island" slowly, delicately, setting his voice against the embers of the evening.

Ultimately though Sheff lifts the mask a final time concluding the encore out at Westfall with easy murder and examination. Playfully he begs to be examined, to see if you can see the truth in his performance, see the legion in his swollen eyes. "Evil don't look like anything" he finalises daring you to carry on an investigation of what this occurrence, to analyse.

New insights gleaned, the night relies on that.

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Grammatics vs Blue Roses show scope for Brinley and beguilement from both More

Live Review

Written By Michael Wood Tuesday, August 4th, 2009

Grammatics vs Blue Roses at Nation of Shopkeepers, Leeds

The word "verses" is ill picked. Owen Brinley and Laura Groves - one of Grammatics, the other who is Blue Roses - combine intriguingly on the evening dubbed as Grammatics vs Blue Roses but ultimately is creates a potion mixture of both.

Blue Roses are a wonder, of course, with Groves having graduated from the pubs of Bradford and area into a fully fledged artist. She shows her abilities by melding the distinct style of her richly produced debut with the four piece she shares the stage with allowing a the depth of Emilia Ergin's Cello and the harmonies that Brinley provides to create new versions of I Wish I, Coast and especially Does Anyone Love Me? which is the best of the three songs from the eponymous album.

Owen Brinley's voice swoops alongside Laura's on her songs but on his own - Grammatic's are interleaved - is restricted to a more melancholic simplicity. Time Capsules and The Great Truth and Inkjet Lakes both benefit from Groves adding a texture but when covering The Killing Moon Brinley's voice comes to life in warmth. One wonders why he does not explore that more in his own band's songs which are lachrymose and lucid.

The seven song set is an idea of both and illustrates the differences - Blue Roses are the emotion, Grammatics more analytical - while celebrating the similarities which are in the craft that goes into music, delicately crafted, and beguiling.

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Twangly Jangly Time Tunnel More

Live Review

Written By Ria Wilkinson Sunday, August 2nd, 2009

The Lazy Darlings, The Crookes and Swimwear Juniors at Cockpit 3, Leeds

It’s a Friday night and we are stood upstairs in room titled “Cockpit 3” – an intimate venue with the stage squeezed into the corner of a room reminiscent of bomb shelter.  A curved, metal lined ceiling can cause potential havoc for particularly tall band members which was not an issue for the delightfully diminutive Laura Groves who performed here pre-Blue Roses and no doubt many other up-and-coming acts over the years.

Leeds based trio The Lazy Darlings take to the stage and quickly establish they know what they’re doing with their sound. It’s a fusion of the twangly with the jangly.

The simplicity of guitar, bass and drums is occasionally spiced up with some harmonica that enhances the county or blues influence over some of their tracks that are mostly routed into the original ‘90s indie sound.  A particular stand out track is Lover, Come In – with vocal stylings and lyrics that Graham Coxon would happily swipe for himself.

The creative centre of Lazy Darlings is Dave James, a veteran of the Leeds music scene and the continuity of the band’s line up. He crafts considered, and often uplifting songs that treat the ears by not having a monotonous rhythm. He is joined by relatively new recruit, a Texan called Rod Castro on bass who uses his exotic drawl to attempt to lure people upstairs to further populate the audience.

Rod is also responsible for manning the video loop backdrops that are projected during the songs that give The Lazy Darlings an audiovisual style that is more memorable than most similar acts of their size. The projections add to the music without overpowering or distracting from it.

The Lazy Darlings are too lazy to mention they have an EP out - Life Is Easy - and on which the eponymous track and some others are sprinkled with some female backing vocals reminiscent of Throwing Muse Tanya Donnelly - further rooting their sound into the 90s indie. The Lazy Darlings produce an aurally easy going noise that I’d describe as laid back, not lazy, for there is effort being made here.

Suddenly we are zipped through the time tunnel to the 1950s. Buddy Holly, Bobby Darin, Elvis Presley and Bill Haley are alive and well and have all just graduated from Sheffield University. Not really, but close your eyes and you can certainly hear their influences alive and kicking inside the youngsters who take to the stage in front of twelve people.

Open your eyes and you will see in the sharp 15 minutes stage turnaround time, we are now suddenly inside the kind of British bedsit Morrissey would dream of.  There is worse-for-wear portrait of a youthful Queen Elizabeth, a Lowry print propped up on the amps and a couple of table lamps warm the underlit stage. A small battered suitcase customised with tape spells the name of the act on stage – The Crookes.

Named after the student area of Sheffield where they resided and met, The Crookes are a very fresh faced group of four. They were recently lauded with high praise from Steve Lamacq on BBC radio 6Music as “definitely one of my top three unsigned acts in the UK today”.  Lamacq knows his musical onions.

This is their first visit to play Leeds.  Their attention to detail includes dressing in the style of clean cut boys of the era – buttoned up plaid shirts, trousers a little short to show off their moccasins, etc. However, the bassist has a quiff that droops into his eyes – clearly the sign of a potential ‘50s bad boy – and sure enough it is he that starts proceedings with some finger clicking as he launches into his croon.

Half an hour later we have been treated to some ukulele and banjo in addition to the nostalgic sound of guitar drenched in moody reverb, not forgetting some energetic “legs in braces” dancing.  The set is over and songs such Yes, Yes, We’re Magicians, A Collier’s Wife and Backstreet Lovers will linger as we digest the erudite and imaginative lyrics. Perhaps if Bobby, Bill and Buddy had just graduated in English Literature, they may have had lyrics like this. Elvis? He studied Geography...

The night ends with the interestingly monikered Swimwear Juniors. Immediately you can hear there is something “good” about them. That sort of initial gut feeling that this set promises to be of a quality that sets them a bit apart from the hubbub of regionally sourced music. However it’s too early in the set to put your finger on the exact words to yet describe how they are better than average. The vocals of Oliver don’t always “fit” with the music but are spit out Los Camposinos style like breathless notes from diaries hurried to the beat.

The third song in and people are turning to each other nodding and simultaneously mouthing “this is good”. However, soon after that the crowd becomes a bit distracted by the giving out of luminous wrist bands (woo!) and shortly after, free vodka samples.

However, you can’t ignore music which is as well crafted as this. There is something thoughtfully folkish, a leaning towards, say, Noah and The Whale but Swimwear Juniors are navigating more into their own waters than following in the wake of others. They too have an EP out (eponymously titled I believe) but fail to mention this at the time. I go and ask them if they have a cd (The Lazy Darlings came prepared with sample cds to give out) but sadly they have not. This is a shame because there is relatively little of them about on the internet to listen to – their mySpace has only three tracks on, one of which is a Radio 1 jingle. I am even unable to determine where they are from – I assume somewhere Yorkshire – and therefore kick myself I didn’t ask when enquiring of a cd.

In short, for a hard earned £5 entry, tonight has yielded three acts that are really worth seeing again for their own individual merits. Steve Lamacq has indeed pointed us to a new band breaking the current musical mold in the form of The Crookes and in return we’d like to offer him Swimwear Juniors. And so our journey through the Twangly Jangly Time Tunnel finally deposits us back into the damp Leeds evening.

Analog Bombs Go Bang on a Friday Night in Clayton More

Live Review Mermaid's Flannel

Written By Michael Wood Saturday, July 18th, 2009

Black Feathered Feet, Analog Bombs and Young Loves. Mermaid's Flannel at Fiddler's Three, Bradford

"Its rocking on The Fiddlers on a Friday night" the singer shouts.

Black Feathered Feet are pub rock pure n' simple and very simple they are too wailing between verses and noodling on guitars. It is rough and ready rock but that is no bad thing on a Friday night in a suburban pub a stones throw from the suburban house this writer grew up in Clayton - a typical suburb of Bradford.

The criterion for gigs in walking distance aside Black Feathered Feet do growling Chris Cornell style rock decently and are worth your attention if that is your bag. If it isn't your bag then take a look just to see how much the drummer looks like the one from Lost who was also a Hobbit.

Not at all like a Hobbit is Ben of Analog Bombs. Standing at least seven foot tall - perhaps - he is as striking as he is charming fronting the band with a warm, rambling presence. "Good evening we're the Analog Bombs", he says "We've had a drink."

Analog Bombs mix musical styles but are mostly indie ska - if such a genre exists, perhaps they just look indie and play ska - and are a a blast. Ben's lyrics are based in being a local of Bradford - in parts at least - and at times can be touching and have a ring of truth. His delivery is rare and enjoyable. He rapidly fires Yorkshireisms spinning the odd tale of being unlucky in love around the Wool City.

Charming, enjoyable, and probably the best band you will see on a Friday night in Clayton. Hancock - the song about long flattened club Tumblers - is worth the admission alone. It is indie disco as tragic love affair and nudges the Analog Bombs past The Pigeon Detectives Test as in "Why is one more popular than the other?"

Young Loves come on with an "hilarious" joke about knife crime and an opening number that sounds a bit too The Libertines for its own good.

As a band they are well regarded and five minutes into their set the five yards in front of the pub corner dubbed a stage is peopled with young things dancing but something about the band seems as like it has been seen before.

Perhaps it is the contrast to the innovate Analog Bombs or perhaps it is the fact that Young Loves come behind the likes of White Light Parade and The Swing Movement in Bradford's canon of bands making this kind of sound. Indeed they lack the drive of the former and the spark of the latter.

The kids love them though and they finish the night well.

The night - Mermaid's Flannel Presents - deserves applause too for the attempt to put on good music for the drinking crowd. More power to them.