Gig Review: Peter Frampton - Corn Exchange, Cambridge 12/11/11

Now into his sixth decade of performing, Peter Frampton is a living legend. Commercially, his success may have been somewhat short-lived but pick at the stitching of rock music and you'll find him interwoven into its very fabric. Released in 1976, 'Frampton Comes Alive!' is still one of the greatest selling live albums ever, going six-times platinum, yet he is mostly remembered for making his guitar speak. He does this by using an effect known as a 'talkbox' and Frampton is certainly the man who popularised its use more than any other artist.

That talkbox is here for tonight's gig at the Corn Exchange. The event, rather grandiosely titled "An Evening With Peter Frampton", is a sold-out, all-seater, three-hour marathon divided into two defined halves. The first half, celebrating the 35th anniversary of that aforementioned album, the one that Frampton jokingly refers to as "Me Comes Alive!", sees the band giving it a full airing. The second half, dedicated to Frampton's more recent work, includes material he's written for others and covers of songs that have inspired him.

Watching the lights dim, the large video screen at the back of the stage flood with simulated smoke and hearing the familiar recorded opening of roaring crowd burst forth from the monitors, is certainly enough to trigger off the nostalgia and a few goose bumps. The band shuffle into position and, finally, Frampton emerges with a mile-wide grin. They launch themselves straight into 'Something's Happening' and we're off. The five men, amongst them Sidney Sheldon, the album's original bassist, make a fine fist of picking their way through the order, track-by-track, note-for-note, beat-for-beat. "Hello Cambridge!", announces Frampton, before popping in the information that he has always supported the city in the Boat Race. The cheered response shows he's hitting the right notes even when he's not bending the strings.

The flowing locks and the slimline figure may be gone, as the awkwardly schmaltzy images flashing across the backdrop seem keen to highlight, but his honeyed vocal remains surprisingly undiminished. It's a soft, rich and faintly nasal Clapton-esque croon that yawns out from the back of his throat. When combined with his inspirational guitar technique, he is able to create a formidable sound. His touch, awareness and control of both tone and variation of string pressure is second to none. Every string bend, tremolo and slide is pinpoint and each finger movement is accompanied by a twist of both torso and face.

Through the funky shimmying of 'Doobie Wah' and the sweeping hit 'Show Me The Way', his pistoning knees propel him around the stage like a wobbling skittle that refuses to fall. The latter song takes him from the right to centre-stage where his talkbox is positioned and we get a full display of how his mouth shape and finger position dictate the robotic sound that emerges. Throughout the set, each guitar change brings with it a sidestep from clean and crisp into warm and tremulous. One particular highlight, 'Baby, I Love Your Way', brings the coy audience fully into play and 'Do You Feel Like We Do?' is a brilliant climax to the first half, inspiring both a guitar-battle with the increasingly-featured second guitarist and a refusal to perform the track's celebrated talkbox ending - "I don't have to do it tonight, do I?" he teases, shouting "Make me!" before, of course, he acquiesces.

Certainly, the monitors do play up momentarily, there's the occasional fluffed line, and there are a few sedentary pauses between songs whilst the band switch instruments and Frampton fires up the fans, but the gentle self-deprecation displayed by the man more than makes up for these misgivings.

After the interval, we get a good dousing of his latest album 'Thankyou Mr. Churchill' with the pacy 'Restraint' and the biographical 'Vaudeville Nanna And The Banjolele'. We're also treated to an appearance from his son, Julian, who is greeted by a coddling audience aah-ing. The hooded Frampton Junior responds by snarling back the loud rocker 'Road To The Sun', before a gaudily distracting backdrop. He cuts a menacing figure with his constantly flicked long-hair but it's mainly his formidable vocal that leaves many folks in shock.

With three barking instrumentals from the Grammy-winning 'Fingerprints' and a surprisingly caustic cover of Soundgarden's 'Black Hole Sun' it clearly defines Frampton Senior's decision to start mining a harder seam of rock. Of course, he pulls it back to something more palatable in the encore by sending us off singing his praises with a sublime rendition of George Harrison's 'Whilst My Guitar Gently Weeps'. Before a packed house, Frampton certainly came alive tonight.

Photograph courtesy of Stuart Hobden @ www.stuarthogbenphotography.co.uk

Also published @ Cambridge-News = http://www.cambridge-news.co.uk/Whats-on-leisure/Reviews/Peter-Frampton-14112011.htm

Gig Review: Feed The Rhino - Cambridge, 26/9/11

The last time I saw Feed The Rhino, a few months back on the UK leg of the Sonisphere Festival, they were, there’s no easy way to say this, putting such major acts as Slipknot and Metallica to shame by proving that standing, posing and strolling are no comparison to clambering, hustling and stage-diving. I’m trying to picture just how their usual display of maniacal fervor will go down in this tiny club (that’s a capacity of 80, folks) and it’s causing me, and most of the mortals present, to drool at the prospect.

There’s three decent warm-up acts on first tonight so there’s plenty of food for thought while we wait. Local act The Temptress (3.5 out of 5) are battling the half-empty gig room by staging their own mini dance-floor invasion. The songs are chaotic, but effective and so my only real criticism is that frontman Remi Marcel Jermy is blasting his malevolence down at his feet rather than out into our faces. Hopefully, they’ll nail down a bit more confidence as they progress and then songs like the excellent “Jack” will really leave a mark.

The odd one out here was always going to be Cambridge’s Unit 9 (3 out of 5) who, you could argue, are the only band not to dabble in hardcore. Instead they play hammering, blues-led swamp rock and sound, in turns, like Down, Black Label Society and Alice In Chains. Although “Dirty Sanchez” loses power in the chorus due to a spot of quirky offbeat drumming, “Tear It Down” goes a long way to making amends, drawing a fine reaction from the rapidly expanding, clearly open-minded crowd.

Main tour support comes from Heights (4 out of 5) who fire out a remorseless combo of slow, methodical beats and overlay it with barbed anthems which are gang-chanted in waves. “Forget”, in particularly, stands out with each word screamed out with hostile menace – “The sun will rise / And the time will pass / And I’ll forget you / I will forget you”. By the end, frontman Thomas Debaeres is getting mobbed so often he opts to retreat to a point of safety whilst the lead guitarist mounts the flimsy folding merch table, trampling CDs as he goes, in an attempt to bait the crowd further. The one image I’ll take away from it all, burnt onto the inside of my retinas, is of the bassist, all staring bug-eyes and bleeding gums, impotently mouthing the words to every goddamn song.

Feed The Rhino (4 out of 5) are in our faces from the start. Bearded frontman Lee Tobin leads the charge, but the Colley brothers and bassist Oz Craggs aren’t far behind, bonding with their disciples by means of raised guitars and mouthed lyrics; often just the odd nod is enough to get a reaction. New track “Knives” gets an early airing and pours fuel on simmering flames with all eyes now on Tobin as he falls to his knees to try and wring every last drop of energy out of his body. Thankfully, he’s up quickly to proffer the gift of an, as yet, unreleased song, and the bulldozing “Transistor Down”. The latter comes with an extra long, bassy build allowing for Tobin to mount the dangerously rickety, double-stacked PA to his left so he can really prime the crowd to full effect. No-one riles an audience like him and all his cajoling allows for a frothing collective to form; almost enough to catch him as he crazily leaps. The combination of height and weight was always going to take them down, but those who are left sprawling are quickly hauled back to their feet grinning like idiots.

From here on they lose a little of their intensity, almost as if they’ve misjudged just how hot the venue gets. Still, with the band constantly conferring to gauge each other’s impression of the show and thumbs going up, our bearded hero is soon chiming in to reward the audience with what they want to hear – the cheesy, yet clearly heartfelt “Tonight’s show has blown our minds and we’ll be coming back to Cambridge real soon.” He proceeds by teasing us with what he calls a “last song” but acquiesces to a couple extra when cries to the tune of “It’s only half-ten!” ring out. The band’s response is for one last big push and Tobin sets about organising the night’s first decent circle pit, two walls of death and a stage invasion for a crushing rendition of “Caller Of The Town”.

Despite everything, it still feels like there’s something missing from their performance – perhaps it’s the proximity of the four walls which has restricted their efforts. The band still predictably, yet exultantly, launch themselves into the crowd and manage to leave us with that delightfully disarming sense of loss and confusion that follows such mania when the banality of normality all too quickly resumes.

Also online (with more photos) @ The NewReview = http://thenewreview.net/show-reviews/feed-the-rhino-cambridge-uk

Gig Review: Letlive - Portland Arms, Cambridge 9/9/11

The always alternative, yet surprisingly miniscule Portland venue in the mild-mannered UK city of Cambridge is rammed, front-to-back, side-to-side, with baying punters desperate to get a glimpse of the Letlive scream-machine. The extremely effective, femme fatale foursome of Beverley Kills (3.5 out of 5) do a damned fine job of warming those check-shirted chaps and chicks up with a smouldering pop-punk play memorable for its scowls and smiles (vocalist Georgie Morrill) and blur of thundering sticks and hair (drummer Juliette Jones).

Forthwith, LA’s Letlive (4 out of 5) emerge to yelps of joy and proceed to squeeze themselves into the various nooks and crannies of the stage, leaving the front free for lantern-jawed vocalist Jason Aalon Butler to prowl back and forth like a trapped tiger. The crowd ignore the danger signs and simply launch themselves towards the band, heaving and moshing with arms raised in triumph. A few go ass-over-tit but are soon yanked back to their feet and the small floor space quickly becomes this heaving, boiling mass of bodies. Energy is expended from both band and fans, the temperature rises and clothes are quickly shed.

The noise levels are through the roof as Ryan Jay Johnson’s cacophonic bass thrum collides with Jean Nascimento’s scaling guitars and Anthony Rivera’s imploding drum beats, and still you can hear the masses yelling every word like it’s their last. Above all that it’s very much a case of Butler trying to make himself heard and through all his intense pacing and yelling he very quickly begins to wilt. During “Muther” his knees buckle, he ceases to resist any longer and simply hands the mic over to the baying masses before him. Here, the whole force of the sound becomes a little loose and parts go missing but it’s forgivable when you consider the restricted confines of the venue.

Having whisked up the setlist to add variety to the tour, the constantly billowing mop of hair that is Ryan Jay whips out his bottle-shaker mid-set to accompany the rolling snare for “Le Prologue”. It’s like one long, sucking inhalation, building and building like a pressure-cooker until, finally, the drums crack, the top blows and the crowd becomes another furious blur of swinging arms and shoving bodies. Cue “The Sick, Sick 6.8 Billion” and we have our emotional peak. Nascimento tweaks knobs at his feet to transmogrify the sound, Rivera aggressively rides his heaving crescendo and Jeff Sayhoun tries to eat the backing mic (at least until Butler evicts him from it as the crowd absorb his own). The stage invasion begins and a few of the more confident plant kisses.

The efforts leave Butler, looking pretty out of it by now, introducing “Casino Columbus” almost apologetically as he finds his happy place at the side of the stage, catching his breath. His tattooed chest heaves up and down making the pictures warp as he croons gently into the mic before he suddenly explodes back onto stage, rips down the curtains and rail and begins pawing at the steamy windows in what appears to be one last fruitless bid for freedom. Whipping round he points first at the crowd then himself, making it clear in one simple gesture how much tonight has meant to him and his band.

Also online @ The NewReview = http://thenewreview.net/show-reviews/letlive-cambridge-uk

Gig Review: The Chariot - Rock City, Nottingham 19/3/11

Day three of the latest Chariot European tour, which itself is wedged in between their travails around North America and Australia. This is, clearly, one of the hardest working live acts out there so, although it’s still a privilege to witness them tear Rock City a new ass, the evening has this nagging air of inevitability about it. Me, them, bedlam. I’ll throw the horns at that.

Tonight, we are invaded by painted Vikings with plastic swords as the venue pits two tours against each other. Upstairs in the larger room we have Crimfall and Turisas, the latter sounding oddly lacklustre without accordion-player Netta Skog but still well supported. Down in the dirty basement lurk the fiery hardcore kids who’ve come to see MyChildren MyBride and The Chariot. The former were certainly sounding pretty fucking heavy as I sat and tried to interview Chariot vocalist Josh Scogin over the mayhem, but now it’s later and we’re both stage-side watching bassist Jon ‘Wolf’ Kindler and drummer David Kennedy go through a series of warm-up exercises.

It’s the very first note in anger that we truly realise what we’re in for here. With stunned faces all around me, I watch as ‘Wolf’ turns and hurls his bass into the crowd, following it in to retrieve it just moments later. In all my years of gig-going, I’ve never seen someone do that on the first note. There wasn’t even a proper pit formed yet! From that point on, anything goes. The show becomes an absolute free-for-all and that’s just the way The Chariot like it.

Describing this quintet’s music to a casual observer would be tough but (and please excuse my inexact grasp on the subject) I’d go for the words: Chaos theory. It’s exactly that. Sonically, on occasions, everything all hooks up and you can get a good neck workout, but the component parts (the periodic orbits if you will) all immediately split and go there separate ways just as quickly as they all came together and chaos ensues again. Visually, it’s exactly the same. There are moments when they are all face-front, hammering out their destructively cantankerous hardcore as a unit, but then one-by-one they all turn and start scaling furniture, jumping up wildly, yanking at their respective instruments, falling over. Chaos.

Two minutes later and the first mic has gone – torn from its lead and discarded. Scogin grabs hold of the backing mic, screams bloody murder into it until the drums cave and the guitars dig in, at which point he lobs it to the ground like it’s wronged him in a past life. “David De La Hoz” fires up and he frantically retrieves it only to loft it over the metal ducting above and swing it back and forth whilst he bellows into it with each pass. All around him, the rest of the band show similar disdain for their beloved equipment. More evidence of a life spent on the road. ‘Wolf’s bass, in particular, looks like it’s been stripped of its paint which, considering how often it goes over the barrier, is no surprise.

Kennedy is suddenly up and kneeling on his drumstool; his adjusted action bringing his elbows up high around his ears. A glance to the right and the seemingly omnipresent ‘Wolf’ has mounted the bar whilst below him Brandon Henderson is yanking his guitar up and down, back and forth; hurling himself into impossible shapes. Out front, the pit is small but violent, encouraged by Scogin’s exhortations that “tonight is all about being free” and how their new album, Long Live, is “a tribute to them”. Every now and then fans, some with cameras, begin to find the courage to join the band on stage, one lingering too long before an utterly overwhelmed member of security takes a small, pensive step forwards.

With an Orange amp either side of the drumkit (the bass sound tonight is mighty) there are several moments when it feels like the shockwaves may lift you off your feet. ‘Wolf’ is certainly enjoying it from his lofty perch on top of the speakers, freaking us out as he considers dangling from the glitterball overhead. A brief pause gives Scogin the chance to step front and centre and stare us down. “This has been my favourite show of the tour so far”, he says with a wry smile knowing that it’s only their third date. And with the line “from the first day of the tour people have been shouting for this song” we are thrust into the spasmodic heart of “Yanni Depp” – “NOVOCAINE!” we yell in unison and the huge, heaving breakdown is met by punching fists and flying feet.

By the end, the venue is laid to waste, the audience are ashen-faced and sweat-slicked from their efforts, the floor is littered with broken items, parts of the roof hang loose, an expensive-looking camera has taken a battering, clothing has been discarded at the corners and there, in the centre of the stage lies a mangled and lifeless microphone. All are symbolic of tonight’s wonderful, joyous, brilliant chaos.

Also online @ The NewReview = http://thenewreview.net/show-reviews/the-chariot-nottingham-uk

Gig Review: Shrinebuilder + Wolves In The Throne Room - Scala, London 2/12/10

Ducking into the Scala to escape the capital freeze is a pointless exercise tonight as, be it deliberate or not, the band room is chilled to the point where their cloakroom becomes wholly redundant. It’s the perfect temperature for Wolves In The Throne Room though, who proceed to ramp up the emotion with a combination of gloom, jettisoned fog, etched banners and a protracted candle-lighting ceremony. With the stage fully anointed, their crushing gloop of malevolent black metal, crust and doom rings out, regularly dipping into a burbling, Neanderthal-paced melancholy before bursting out into a session of grating barks and power chords. Like creeping death, they wash over us sparking neither disgust, nor true passion. A few nodding heads and the odd round of gentle applause are all they can muster from those attending, although their fastidious lack of eye contact, rather than their music, is most likely the reason for this.

Nothing less than a volcanic eruption (remember those newsreaders trying to pronounce Eyjafjallajoekull?) could stop Shrinebuilder visiting these shores last Spring, so to finally hear the crowd roar as Dale Crover (Melvins’ drummer/vocalist), Al Cisneros (Om’s bassist/vocalist), Scott Kelly (Neurosis’ guitarist/vocalist) and Scott ‘Wino’ Weinrich (The Obsessed vocalist/guitarist), legends all, mount the stage is enough to cause several grown men’s lips to momentarily quiver. The lank-haired Crover and Cisneros, resplendent as the class clown in his woolly hat, immediately fire up the rhythm section; Dale beats the snare into submission with the minimum of effort whilst Al uses his grotty basslines to overwhelm as much of the room as possible. Kelly and Wino try hard to make headway into the deluge with dissonant guitar and a mixture of vocal howl and croon, but they seem to make little impression. Only a trip up to the Glass Room, where a vast pane dissolves the sound, can cure the problem and single their individual efforts out.

They mix the songs up nicely, firing up the mighty ‘Pyramid Of The Moon’ and ‘The Architect’ as an opening salvo and saving ‘Solar Benediction’ for a raging finish. The middle of the set wanders away from the punchier material to slip into a spot of almost mystical noodling – it marks a period where the now fervently headbanging crowd find space for mild introspection. The band also happily fit in a couple of less well-known tracks; ‘We Let The Hell Come’ shining out like a beacon. Kelly, looking like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards and sporting a perma-stoned expression, is constantly impressive, digging out arse-clenching riffs and scowling vocal which Wino latches onto, plugging any gaps in sound with wah, extravagant slide and morphing melody. In fact it’s also Wino who adopts the role of ringmaster, legs spread, urging the audience to greater heights with a combination of vein-popping head jerks and fierce eyeballing.

There is really only one real spoiler to this brutal showing and it comes in the form of this evening’s stringent ‘no flash’ policy. One fan dares to forget to switch his off and suffers the indignity of having a roadie repeatedly pelt him with flying cups until he ceases. When you’ve got four of the world’s finest musicians before you, performing at the top of their game, turning your brain into mush, it seems the perfect excuse for a little lack of self-control.

All photographs by Rich Etteridge

Also online @ TLOBF = http://www.thelineofbestfit.com/2010/12/shrinebuilder-scala-london-021210/

Gig Review: As I Lay Dying @ Barfly, Cambridge 24/3/08

Following a long delay and a seemingly endless series of sound-checks the lights dim and the crowd noise doubles in intensity. The opening bars of ‘Separation’ ring out and As I Lay Dying burst on with ‘Nothing Left’. Immediately Tim Lambesis’ vocal blows us all away as he lets rip a gigantic roar - it seems to sweep out into the room as a soundwave knocking us back a few paces. His huge frame appears over the madly devil-horning crowd and we know we’re in for one wild ride.

As has gone with the bands before, it’s abundantly clear that when the venue is full the low ceiling and stage mean that anyone back from the first five rows aren’t going to see much of the band tonight. Maybe the odd glimpse of a guitar or the top of Lambesis’ head as he stretches to see how many are in tonight, but mainly just the backs of heads. I can just about make out that there isn’t much room for them all on stage with Nick Hipa hiding behind bassist Josh Gilbert but still churning out a conveyor belt of incredible shred guitar.

‘An Ocean Between Us’ and ‘The Darkest Night’ blast out and those watching echo the words straight back. The pit opens up and the mosh begins in earnest. Tonight the search-lights are in action sweeping out across the crowd whilst the coloured strobes attempt to reduce our view of the band even further. Lambesis is up on the barrier, awash with tattoos, high-fiving and screaming bloody murder at us. As the blistering pace of ‘Within Destruction’ falls away, and the pit collapses into a sweaty mass, he leans forward and asks “Is everybody still alive?” It’s certainly getting pretty stuffy but the endless supply of water at the bar makes it bearable. As their set comes to a close not a soul leaves and they treat us to an encore kicking off with the anthemic ‘I Never Wanted’ and ending on the pogo-friendly ‘Falling Upon Deaf Ears’. It’s certainly been a treat for our ears if not our eyes.

Also online @ Music-Zine = http://www.music-zine.com/reviews/?id=440

Gig Review: Athlete + Broken Family Band @ CornEx, Cambridge, 5/2/08

The Broken Family Band, hailing from Cambridge (and bits of Foxton and London), are the city’s most successful band of recent years. They’ve been receiving all sorts of plaudits and not just from local press. NME, Rocksound, The Independent, The Guardian (I could go on) all talk highly of their music with Pitchfork claiming them “a triumph of urban wit over rustic convention”. So we’re expecting big things then.

Well, from way back here in the Corn Exchange’s curious V.I.P. area, below the upper balcony, it’s hard to get into such an unenthusiastic band. Those that are here for their brand of shoegaze/alt-country melancholy seem thin on the ground judging from the crowd reaction. Steven Adams, the lead singer, looks like Dec (of Ant + Dec) would look like after a hefty drinking session. He’s sporting a baggy checked shirt and it matches his tired banter with the crowd. “We don’t usually enjoy playing in Cambridge but you’ve been great”, he drones miserably. He follows that up with a resigned “Athlete are nearly on”. To be fair the band barely has time to get the crowd going but they have a go and ‘Don’t Change Your Mind’ and ‘It’s All Over’ are well-received.

From the moment the charisma of Athlete’s Joel Pott hits the stage everything changes. As he sings the first bars of opener ‘Tokyo’, from latest album ‘Beyond The Neighbourhood’, the crowd comes to life. His hard-edged, lilting yet urgent vocal is crystal-clear over the music. It’s pretty unusual to be able to catch every single syllable but that’s what both he and his sound-crew have managed to pull off. Every… single… syllable. ‘Westside’ is a joy with Pott standing alone in the spotlight, all eyes glued to him, as he slowly leads up to where the band provide the back-boost and the crowd join in with that damnable catchy chorus - “Wherever you look you can see that everybody wants to be part of the rock scene”. It’s the leaps in pitch delivery and subtle timing of the words that is so compelling - some are drawn out, others rapid-fire. The band have always managed to produced these perfect pop hits, brimming with clever lyrics and bounding, upbeat melodies, but not always received the acclaim (or airplay) each one deserves. Structured to appear impossibly difficult to perform they are just layer after layer of simplicity and are fiendishly clever.

Athlete have completely hooked the crowd by now and they begin impromptu clapping which the band encourages until it bullets them into hit single ‘Hurricane’ and searchlights swing over the masses searching out the loudest voice. Immediately mobile phones are held aloft, shining out in the darkness, each capturing their own personal memories. Behind the boys on stage four banded strips of neon light change hue and create shapes to each song whilst swathes of beams provide a backwash of colours – it’s quite a lightshow. There’s a brief respite in the songs and a face in the pit shouts out for his favourite song. “24 hours!” he yells. “We’re not playing for that long” retorts Pott with a wry smile. Then he’s suddenly serious informing us of the presence of St. John’s Ambulance and Security and promises that no-one will get hurt. We wonder where he’s going with this before he implores “So, we’ll be very disappointed if there aren’t a few people on shoulders for this next song”. The band strike up ‘Beautiful’ and a bunch of heads obligingly pop up above the crowd.

Throughout the set there are numerous guitar switches from electric to semi-acoustic and back again with a roadie scuttling on and off stage - he’s being kept busy tonight. Steven Roberts’ drums are thundering away under the quieter tracks whilst Tim Wanstall concerns himself with tinkling the ivories as well as flicking switches and turning knobs to create those “organic beats” of his. Bassist Carey Willets spends most of the gig completely absorbed in the music, swinging his head to and fro.

‘Wires’ inspires an impromptu singalong which the crowd take up and repeat back three times – all this without the band making a gesture or uttering a line and without backing. It’s quite a moment and Pott sounds honestly chuffed with the reaction. “Thank you. That’s the first time that’s happened”. ‘You Got The Style’ prompts a round of waving down the front which he returns with a warm smile. It’s tough to find anything wrong when a band is so on form and tight as this. He’s almost apologetic when revealing that they need to leave the stage before the encore - “We need to take a piss”. Such is the response that he retorts “What’s happening? I thought Cambridge was such a reserved town!” They bustle through ‘24 Hours’ take their bows and the fully-engaged crowd enthusiastically chant for more of their blustering piano-driven guitar pop-rock. They return with ‘Shake Those Windows’ and ‘Flying Over Bus Stops’ and as we all decamp to the bar or homewards we discuss nothing but just how heavily under-rated and completely unstoppable Athlete truly are.

Also online @ Music-Zine = http://www.music-zine.com/reviews/?id=420

Gig Review: Asobi Seksu @ The Portland, Cambridge

Green Mind Promotions’ final show is back where it all began, here at The Portland, and it’s a full house. Sounding like a cheap rail company, Econoline kick proceedings off energetically with their geeky brand of upbeat pop-rock. They revel in the packed crowd and set the tone for the excellent Scanners who delight with their angelic harmonising and thudding rhythms. They play us their debut UK single “Raw” and plug their album which is finally due in January, having already been released stateside many months ago. From the sound of it, we’ll be hearing a lot more of their sweet indie pop in the near future.

Asobi Seksu roughly translates as “playful sex”. Tonight they’re a four-piece from Brooklyn, N.Y., and are all leather and jumpers; tall and tiny. They peddle a strange brand of trance-inducing shoegaze indie. The diminutive Yuki has a fascinating vocal which is indecipherable live but remains beautifully clean and resonant. It’s a fearsome fifth instrument over frenetic guitar and drums, high-fretted Cure-like bass and ebbing keyboards, and features a hefty dose of echoing sustain. Perhaps to emphasise the dreamlike nature of the music, the stage lighting is kept low with the occasional strobe effect. New single, “Stay Awake” is the star of their set and is a sprawling deeply-layered number which gets the crowd nodding along; most finding themselves lost within the sound. Despite this peak, most of their set tonight lacks variation and isn’t quite as inspiring or memorable. It’s a shame because they obviously have much to offer and shouldn’t be simply dismissed.

www.asobiseksu.com

Also online @ Music-Zine = http://www.music-zine.com/reviews/?id=365

Gig Review: V Festival 2006, Chelmsford

This weekend I did that age-old last minute thing where your mate wins 4 complimentary weekend tickets to the V-Festival in Chelmsford and says "do you want one" and you go "yes" and then sponge a lift and go around all weekend slaughtered out of your mind spending the money that you would have spent on tickets on alcohol. RAWK.

Basically the music sucked. We knew this before we arrived because all the bands playing were a bunch of toss/not my kinda thing. But it just didn't matter. That was the thing. Nothing could have spoilt my perception because it was allllll FREE. Well, the ticket was. The rest of it was extortionate. The £10 for the programme, the £3 per pint, which involves inordinate amounts of double-queueing (for tokens, then at the bar). The £4-£7 for the half-cooked stall food. Then there's the security which is frisking and bag-searching and watching from scaffold-towers of sentineldom, plus there's no fires or shouting or running or heavy petting. But, hey, that's V for you. Think Glasto without the crusties and all the interesting bands replaced by not-so-interesting popular music bands. It's that middle-class 'shooting stool and lunchbox' kind-of festival.

The bands - well, we slit our wrists to Radiohead, we gaped at the unholy shit that is Sugarbabes. Obviously not for long. I think we saw about two songs of virtually everything before leaving in disgust. The only full sets we saw were Biffy Clyro (the only band worth going for), Ordinary Boys (lively but ultimately unfulfilling), Hard-Fi (better and more cockney than expected).

Also danced drunkenly to Fatboy Slim. Well I danced to a huge TV screen flashing various words up for about an hour before I spotted this tiny figure on top of it. Yep, it was Fatboy giving it large. The organisers had put him in a giant tent which meant only a privileged *snigger* few got to see him. Just why they felt the need to erect a fence outside to keep the fans out god only knows - we had to jump it. By the time we came out the crowd behind the fences were at least 10 deep in every direction.

The only other full set we saw was Faithless who flattered to deceive. The hits were all there but it sounded like they'd sampled them with others which was just weird.

I regret not staying for all of Paul Weller who sounded great during "Peacock Suit" and Keane who for some reason just hit the right note with me. But both times I weighed up whether a beer, piss or a burger was more important and the music lost out every time.

They'd made a real effort with the inter-crowd entertainment - there was this dancing robot. I think it was that one off that advert that turns into a car. It was proper big. And kinda scary when it came close! It was rapping and dancing and each movement was accompanied by a realistic "vvvvvsttt". I wanted one.

All this and the weather after all the scares was great. The odd blast of rain but mostly sun. I came back with a tan for crying out loud! Mind you, I also came back with mild food poisoning which sucks.

P.S.: If you want a better review you can do a lot worse than this chap.