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The Ending Of, Dinosaur Pile-up, Getoutofcities, Bedroom Gymnastics Granadaland at The Love Apple, Bradford

Bedroom Gymnastics

They are young - these Bedroom Gymnastics kids - and in a while the keyboard Katie will be told that she has to go home by her Dad when on stage she is apart from the rest of the band of pale faced yoofs who are warming up the Bradford scene.

They are well supported by old and young and thrash away on guitars through songs like Holes - the oft talked about track- but they have a tendency to bleed one bit of thrashed guitar with howling vocals into another bit of thrashed guitar with howling vocals and one is taken not with a confidence but the opposite.

In a quieter moment they cover that Lisa Loeb song that everyone can hum but no one knows the name of and give themselves away. They can play and they can sing but they lack assurance in their abilities to do so and hide themselves behind the howls.

Getoutofcities

Howls are one of many noises that will not be heard after the volume excesses of Getoutofcities who are dubbed Post-Rock and after an eardrum splitting set should inspire a joke about posts and deafness but none spring to mind. They are proponents of that swirling, atmospheric, soundtrack music and are entertaining enough but fail to rise above the likes of Falconetti or Lab Noise in Bradford's crowded aural soundscapers.

Dinosaur Pile-up

Immediately rising as high as some demented Pterodactyl are Dinosaur Pile-up who rip through a five song set in their third gig brilliantly. From Kendal via Leeds they pilfer the sounds of early 1990s smart American guitar rock - if you think Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain is three times as good as Nevermind then Dinosaur Pile Up are for you - while bringing a sense of modernity to proceedings.

They crunch through My Rock n' Roll and it digs into the head with a powerful bass line thudded out by checked shirt wearing Tom (as distinct to the other Tom sterlingly performing on drums) while lead guitar/vocals Matt fuzzes up both strings and singing to an increasingly appreciative audience. I Get My Direction's loud-quiet-loud approach has the word "Pixies" thrown about in a good way. Matt hopes to have twelve songs done towards the end of the summer and will test them as the three piece tour extensively - "I've just got a van" he says - which could be the making of the band and certainly will give plenty of opportunity to see them again.

Not that keen to be seen again are The Ending Of who grind through a dull set never becoming more interesting than when the guitarist strays too far from his fuzzbox and pulls the wire out. They tell us they have never been to Barnsley before and that seems forced. The set is cut short and time - mercifully - plays a part.

Ear drums recovering then the talk of of Dinosaur Pile-up who go on to support The Rosie Taylor Project in Leeds on Wednesday (16th April) and then on to bigger and better.

Six Fingered Man, The Analog Bombs at The Manville Arms, Bradford

With The Head having finally seeped into the local lexicon tonight's venue is renamed The Manville Arms and in the low corner of the open floor of hosts the first gig of Bradford's The Analog Bombs since the last gig ended in a brawl between the Bassist and Ben.

One has some sympathy for the bassist as Ben - standing around six foot eight - seems the sort who could cause a riot in an empty room bristling at the front of his three band mates like Sean Bean playing Kurt Cobain having been stretched on a medieval rack.

His vocal stylings are raw as are his lyrics and they are pushed along by the Indie meets Ska tone of the rest of the band largely driven by Dean's organ playing and the new bassist Rick who enjoyed an impressive debut.

They are very much a local band and The Analog Bombs sing about Bradford in a knarlled kind of way. "What would I give/to spend one more night with you" is a refrain from a song about 1990s indie disco Tumblers. God I Wish I Was You is likably barbed and spat out in rough Yorkshire and they very much seem like a band with more ambition than talent but that is no bad thing.

Certainly not compared to Six Fingered Man who seem to lack the ambition to go beyond the remit of being a pub band. They are technically competent but lack anything approaching a spark to render them that interesting beyond talking about The Princess Bride - great film - and how they may or may not have given the band a name.

The Letters, The Last Ones Indie Schmindie at The Love Apple, Bradford

“Bradford,” she said “is too music what L.A. is to the movies. Everyone is either in a band, starting a band or getting involved in bands.”

In the last two or three years Bradford’s music scene has changed beyond recognition as much of that change has come in some way from this small bar with a room that is The Love Apple and the people who populate it. Tonight they give local bands the route forward towards the BD1 Live and Granadaland nights that - if this week’s NME coverage of Saturday’s Make Model gig is an indication of – are beginning to get noticed.

Not that one would imagine that The Last Ones are going to advance much further than wet Wednesday nights in Bradford coming over as they do as a Oasis tribute band who do not know any Oasis songs and while Beccy Stubb’s bass drifted into Stone Roses territory too often Robin Stern’s vocal snarl is more of a purr and a rough purr at that.

Wake Up shows some promise but the band need to find their own sound rather than pilfering sp wholesale through the early 1990s Manchester scene for inspiration. The better bands of whatever scene there is in Bradford are lofty because – in this writer’s humble opinion – they create music across genre but definitely from Bradford.

The Letters emerge as a fine example of this. This is the third gig for the band build from bits of seniors of Bradford indie Green but confidence and heldover experience are a combination to drive any performance and tonight is smooth and entertaining.

Kelly Heaton’s low key vocal through Atomic layers onto some impressive guitar work by Leon Carroll – the band have three covers and six original songs as they build a setlist – augmenting Kev Pryke’s bass and Rob Mills’ sterling work on the drums but it is in their own material where the band’s distinctive mix of fuzzed up, fast tempo, treble high guitaring begins to shine. Just Remember is C86 with added Jesus & Mary Chain and stands out.

The stand at ease on stage with Rob swapping quips with the audience from behind his kit and hearing a shout of “ten a penny” but in truth immediately arresting and entertaining bands are rare and as Leon’s tweaking of guitar buzzes along Kelly’s vocals the decent Wednesday night crowd smiles and enjoys.

The Letters are likeable and liked. Green ploughed lonely furrows in Bradford’s music scene but hardly got past venues such as this. One suspect The Letters will find more followers in the flourishing, well tended Bradford music scene of today.

The Futureheads, The Daisy Riots and Uncle Monty at Northumbria University, Newcastle Upon Tyne

The Futureheads

The Futureheads are currently in the middle of a student union venue sized tour where they are airing their new third long player offering “This Is Not The World” – due out this month on their own label.

The Daisy Riots

Uncle Monty

Tonight they have been supported by The Daisy Riots (Southportian shoegaze haired young moppets thrashing out the treble loud and clear on their guitars) and Uncle Monty (local four-piece, a little older, a little more earnest with some good melodies weaved into their more structured guitar driven noise). Both acts successfully fulfilled the brief of the support band - be distracting, nay, entertaining but don’t risk over shadowing the main act.

After casually assembling at the stage side to watch Uncle Monty, The Futureheads disappeared backstage to regroup as their lone roadie prepped their instruments expertly, which was almost another support act in itself.

Emerging confidently through the darkness a few moments later, Barry, Dave, Ross and Jaff took to the stage, grabbed their delicately tuned guitars (Dave excepted) and immediately launched into a frenetic rendition of Decent Days and Nights.

This familiar crowd pleaser was a perfect choice to announce their arrival in the evening and was followed by a pair of tracks also from the back catalogue to really stimulate the crowd memory of The Futureheads. The track A to B, subject of which is laziness was played with such vigour, in particular by Ross, that it raised an ironic smile in this reviewer.

It was observed that The Futureheads stood in formation of decreasing order of frenzy in their playing styles -left to right: Ross (lead guitar), Barry (rhythm) and Jaff (bass) with Dave (drums) behind Barry. Ross leapt about in “air guitar” style operatics, Dave gave Meg White a run for her money in cool, almost dispassionate play whilst Barry and Jaff covered the middle ground in their own way. And this was pretty much maintained throughout the whole gig as they skilfully mixed their classics like Area with several morsels from the new album at breakneck pace.

The new material showcased, including title track This Is Not The World, the intriguingly concepted Girl With The Radio Heart, single Broke Up The Time and rousing current release The Beginning Of The Twist fitted seamlessly into the rest of set as the younger crowd at the front moshed along merrily.

The latter track was played with a touch more focus and diligence for it was being especially recorded (as is every night’s version on the tour) to be released.

The venue, as a student union, was mainly filled with usual clientele of young things that may be of less discernment or passion for The Futureheads than the band deserve, especially when rolling out new material. I do wonder if they had held this gig at, for example, The Cluny, whether the new material would have been greeted by a crowd with more enthusiasm and interest. I felt that The Futureheads deserved more response and verve from the crowd in both banter and also in praise for their spirited performance.

However, that is not to say the crowd were not engaged as audience participation was corralled by Ross (of course) who directed appropriate hand clapping and vocal work from us – at one stage mimicking crows with an “Ah! Ah!” along to a chorus of a new track. As rewards, we were gifted Skip To The End and the near legendary Hounds Of Love to play with.

After a consistent and sometimes relentless set with a brief encore (where they go to hug and praise each other – according to the The Young Knives last week, who let us in on an industry secret (wink, wink) of what groups do between encores) and finale of a short, intense track, they bounded off stage and so never outstayed their welcome.

The Magnetic Fields at Town Hall, New York City

Magnetic Fields

Strung along the stage at New York's Town Hall are Magnetic Fields. "We are here to promote our new record, erm, Distortion" says Claudia Gonson sitting behind a piano looking nervously across to the mercurial yet miserable Stephin Merritt and in the next hour and a half they will craft music worth crossing the Earth for.

For the uninitiated Magnetic Fields are a strange combination of New York curio quirks. The lead performer Merritt pushes a finger in is ear to deaden the sound of applause - a medical thing - but as a symbol of the band's reluctance to conform to a norm of pop music it is telling.

More a recital than a gig they are a mandolin, a piano, a cello, am acoustic guitar and drafted in singer Shirley Simms who begins the night with the ironic yet bitter paean to axe attacks California Girls.

So the scene is set with Gonson - all Annie Hall chic and disorganisation - playing good wife to Merritt's sniped, self depreciating one liners and perhaps this would not play elsewhere but this is the home town and Magnetic Fields are in accepting company.

They run through the love song for the City - Come Back From San Francisco - which sounds like it is on the edge of shattering and Gonson offers that that tune comes from the seminal 69 Love Songs which is a hard to follow work and one that has forced the band into new directions over the past decade. The noise pop of Distortion is missing tonight and tracks are acoustic, beautiful, chipped from marble.

Old Fools is a typical example with the strings of a cello replacing feedback howls it is rendered different and softer and the snide Merritt is replaced by one heartfelt and tender. For a band that delight in playfulness the soul shows bright tonight.

The set list meanders around the newer work dipping back to include Lovers On The Moon which is shorn of its electro pop beginnings of fifteen years ago and arrives fresh and wholeheartedly. They fiddle with tracks from spin off band The Gothic Archies and as if to underline the point that this is a performance and not a gig they take a break, an interval.

I Thought I Was Your Boyfriend is plucked from quirky to quality and The Nun's Litany has vocal changed from Shirley to Stephin and raises chuckles. No chuckle, no not even the sound of a pin dropping as Stephin pours heart, soul, energy and endeavour into a breaking rendition of Papa Was A Rodeo which stands as the greatest version of any song I've heard live. Every line filled with bittersweet promise and hope for a love not lost.

There are dry eyes in the house but they are not mine.

Am encore includes a funky version of Three Way, a stripped back Claudia moving through Take Ecstacy With Me and ends on Stephin's solo rendition of The Book Of Love and the night is done.

The globe navigated and the prize priceless.