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Indie
tags: | tindersticks | the hungry saw | tomorrows yesterday | the flicker of a little girl | more...

Funk and Soul
Modern funk and soul appears to have been swept under the ‘mainstream’ rug like traces of a 4am kebab on your mother’s favourite carpet. That’s why DJs who specialise in funk and soul have to dig, delve and fight for modern vinyl; it’s such a niche market. All the decent stuff is few and far between; unique and often rare. Brooklyn-based Truth and Soul Records, one of the finest producers of modern funk and soul, have released their second compilation ‘Fallin’ Off the Reel Volume 2’. I know, I know: it’s a compilation and compilations are generally bad - if you liked a particular song by a particular artist you’d probably own their album anyway, right? The difference is that Truth and Soul are renowned for releasing music on limited edition 45 singles that never exceed 2000 pressed. It’s akin to popping down the supermarket and picking up some Evian after a code red terror warning; you’re going to have a bit of trouble. ‘Fallin’ Off the Reel 2’ is an opportunity for collectors who missed out on tracks to get their hands on them, or for those poor souls that don’t own a record player to become acquainted with the finest in modern funk and soul; and boy is it a fine collection. In a nutshell it’s a host of artists from Truth and Soul delving into everything from Latin-funk to the kind of funk beats you’d associate with Crockett and Tubbs in the ghettos of Miami Vice or Tarantino’s Jackie Brown. There are old favourites including ‘I Can’t Help Myself’ and an excellent version of Marvin Gaye’s ‘What’s Going On’, lovingly performed by artists with respect for the music and who, well, sing it with a lot of soul. We’re talking the likes of ‘Tyron Ashley’s Funky Music Machine’ and ‘Black Velvet’; a Cuban edge to the Latin-funk scores performed by the likes of ‘Bronx River Parkway’ – thrusting you into Little Havana with a fat cigar and a quart of rum. Wu-Tang’s Raekwon even gets involved for a hip hop score on the Pete Rock classic PJ’s – giving it a deep and funky edge. It’s a peculiar inclusion, granted, but it works surprisingly well surrounded by the more classic funk and soul fodder. If you haven’t heard of Truth and Soul before now, then Fallin’ Off the Reel 2 is the perfect way to become acquainted. Sexy, funky and smooth. A bit like yours truly on a Friday night… Dave Dryden www.truthandsoulrecords.com
tags: | truth and soul | more...
Folk
Essie Jain is an Englishwoman in New York, and her debut album is most obviously inflicted with that ageless stigma – the ‘earnest’ pigeonhole. But does that equal ‘a second rate Joni’? The only real answer is one reasonably akin to sometimes yes, sometimes no. ‘We Made This Ourselves’ is melismatic, minimally scattered orchestrals, a bit of well-executed vibrato here and there and an occasional Baltic flair, seen clearest on ‘Talking’. And talking of the confines of labelling a new artist, the following words also come to mind: delicate, sombre, subtle, understated - but Joan As Police Woman’s ‘Real Life’ seems to work it a whole lot better in just under five minutes than this album can aspire to. There’s nothing wrong with Jain’s folk, it’s just not life-changing or even that affecting, despite the undeniable honesty – most notable on paean to the battle between alcohol and a partner, ‘Loaded’. The butterfly infused artwork says it all for mediocrity. The simple waltz metre of ‘Disgrace’ is impeccable and the vocals consistently wistful – but it’s just not engaging. And minimalism can also go one of two ways: beautifully built up intricacies, or something like a drone. Suffice to say, this is the latter, less varied, more self-resonant interpretation. Introversion aside, there’s no Joanna Newsom duck-like vocal quirk, nor can there be any valid claim that a Vashti Bunyan purity’s enough – because the listener wants more now, or at least this one does. Blame it on Cat Power. NS
tags: | essie jain | more...
Dance Punk
I cannot think of a single original thing that has been said about Foals in the last six months. Do you know how hard this makes what I have to do? Doubly hard, twice. That’s how hard. Because first I have to condemn everyone for not saying anything original and then I actually have to justify my moral rectitude by bringing a palate-cleansing course of fresh thought following the cloying banquet of derivative tripe. So much coverage, so many voices – a diaspora! …of, um, the young middle class across England AND America! – saying the same complimentary things in the same complimentary way, but never quite getting the music, the band, the buzz. The world inevitably tends towards eating itself; coverage of buzz bands implodes under the burdensome litany of qualifications about just how hyped a band are – focus on buzz and the music is obscured. This is the fucking awful self-obsession of the rock-critically correct and it is borne of a lack of inspiration or imagination. It’s a goddam shame: a record as oft-times breathtaking as this should inspire everyone to strive for more fitting forms of expression. Somewhat amusingly, as this self-obsessive buzz intensifies, enveloping and obscuring the music, Foals’ strength as artists resides in their intense disregard for all except the music they are playing. Nobody would come off well beneath the glare cast on them and they’ve regularly been guilty of some ungainly, self-aware squirming in interviews; when they play, though, there is nothing else in the world to them. This is the most you can ask of performers in the art-form noted above all others for its sublimity. Antidotes is an egalitarian dialogue between its players, its muses, influences, between harmony and discord – balance achieved by recognising extremity and disagreement. They told me when interviewed, “Sitek said, you can go to some in producer and he’ll make you a pink brick. Compressed to fuck. He showed us the spaces between sounds.” Their immersion in the music they’re making, their trek to some half-imagined source, has left them so familiar with the terrain en route that listening to this record is to hear their descriptions of its pieces: musical landscapes in narratives incredibly engrossing, yes, and also guilty of the flaws specific to those who tell it – and so more personal, and so the better. Ahh… fuck. That over-reaches, doesn’t it? As time passes, y’see, and you grow more familiar with it, Antidotes offers many minor epiphanies of appreciation: for the players and its emotion, but above all for its intelligence. This all comes later, fortunately; at first you hear nothing but the record’s pulse, lusty affirmation that it and you are alive. You’re completely over-run; the opening does it: the staggering one-two hit of ‘The French Open’ and ‘Cassius’, a violent reprisal upon doubters, pounding, insistent and dramatic – you feel floored and breathless as the spiders-on-ice skitter of Yannis’ guitar gives way suddenly and a brass breakdown marking the scene change and second act. You’re grateful they offer the respite. Those physical and emotional responses, though, are telling of the thought evident in sequencing, the artful production – signs of a band interested in more than being interesting. The record feels as though it’s in several movements: following the thrilling opening, the subsequent triumvirate of more considered and adventurous tracks make something of those abstruse influences everyone is so keen on talking about, particularly the BLN minimal shit; ‘Olympic Airways’, particularly, is curious in its refusal to offer the expected pummelling by drums while guitars are more tender, less crawling. A later movement, ‘Two Steps, Twice’ and ‘Big Big Love (Fig. 2)’, offers in turn both fury and insecurity; this combination is the showpiece of the album, yet also its heart and humanity: a rebuke and a caress genuinely meant, and which you can tell makes them anxious about how honest they’ve just been. Fie on this earnesty! (Theirs and mine). ...As a friend objected, “But they’re not funny, are they? They’re not taking the piss out of me while I listen to them, or out of music or musicians.” He’s right. They’re not. This is neither a giddy nor a gleeful experience; but it’s fucking intoxicating: a throw-down record; at times, an imperative to dance as an antidote to rising nausea; but mostly, there’s just imperative – caused by Antidotes’ insistent, propulsive nature, there’s this physical imperative which circumvents any response other than what feels right viscerally. The album is bigger than that single response, by far, but the physical response is at its core: the first reaction and the right one. Those minor epiphanies – the way Sitek’s production has Antibalas’ horns warmly embrace the abrasive edges of the guitar in ‘Heavy Water’s peaks, the deflated theatrics that close Electric Bloom with it’s refusal to peak in the way it’s earlier urgency portends – such small revelations and hidden joys come from deferred appreciation that behind something so visceral is art, craft and thought from immersed and obsessive musicians. Nonetheless, Antidotes is very much a record Foals have wrought; it is very much a debut record: obsessed over by the artists, struggled with, immersed in; perhaps too taut, too tight. Certain records in certain publications demand big reviews. The match of Foals and Notion is not that of Klaxons and NME, Pitchfork and Radiohead. To me, though, Antidotes feels like that big record expecting a big review. It seems like there’s a lot to cover, too many edifices built up around it to navigate, too much said by too many and all too familiar: how Sitek produced it, how his mix was rumoured to be an awful stoned haze, that Yannis saved it, the covers, the influences. That rising buzz. Y’know what buzz is, really? It’s the noise we raise in fear of the silence, our anxious confrontation with absence and anticipation; it’s the clamour we make in terrified stupor before the music arrives. Antidotes is out now. Words: Michael Lewin
tags: | foals | antidotes | more...
Indie
Albums from Transgressive (Battle and Foals) are always welcome, and the first half of Young Knives’ second album sets the bar so high for 2008, it’ll be gloves off the moment competitors hear it. It’s a fantastic start, with the energetic ‘Fit 4 U’ kicking off with the kind of 60’s jauntiness Supergrass used to wow/annoy with. Next the similarly chorus-loaded ‘Terra Firma’ and ‘Up All Night’ stake their hit single status, with the kind of rabble-rousing cynicism bus drivers must dread hearing on the upper deck, the former even seductively underpinned by new fangled synthesisers. ‘Counters’ is another highlight: surging, pastoral rock, with dogs making a welcome return to pop since Pet Shop Boys’ ‘Suburbia’; its atmospheric middle 8 even segues into a handclapped groove and some glorious nonsense about hosepipes. ‘Turn Tail’ is early U2, punk with a velvet heart, its gentle croon and swelling strings ending in a cacophony of experimental victory. Meanwhile ‘Dyed In The Wool’ puts sheep as protagonists in song and it’s a romp. The album isn’t blemish free, ‘Flies’ somehow outstays its brief welcome, while ‘Mummy Light The Fire’ has such a fantastic, shy, guitar break it needs more room to breathe. Then, following ‘Current Of The River’s wide-screen indie, arrives a secret track, which after you’ve forgotten the album is playing, bursts frantically into life. Once you’ve recovered, its mockney fairground jape does little to compensate. But overall it’s a well-tempered success, The Gang of Four influence remains, though Mogwai’s producer, Tony Doogan, as expected, provides the instrumentation greater voice, reining the starkness in at the right points. It loses a little focus towards the end, but there’s orchestrated magic amongst interweaved vocals, lending a variety and depth to these instantly likeable tracks. The intended videos for each song promise to be equally interesting. TH
tags: | young knives | more...
Electronica/Dance
Do you enjoy oxymorons? For those without an unabridged Oxford Dictionary in front of them or who are devoid of an English Language GCSE, an oxymoron is a description or comparison using opposites. If you prefer a more pompous (read ‘accurate’) explanation, our handy online resource, dictionary.com, tells us it’s: ‘a figure of speech by which a locution produces an incongruous, seemingly self-contradictory effect, as in “cruel kindness” or “to make haste slowly.”’ Hot Chip have always been the musical equivalent of an oxymoron. Previous long-players, ‘Coming On Strong’ and ‘The Warning’ were loaded with a potent combination of laid back yet pulsating beats. Seemingly drawing from soul, indie rock, funk and any other source of subtle dancefloor beckoning, they crafted 4am soothers rather than 1am bangers. For this we were all grateful, and often surprised. It seems that their third opus, ‘Made In The Dark,’ is aware of this background yet conscious of trying to push forwards. The energy rippling throughout opener, ‘Out At The Pictures,’ from the languishing keyboard vamp that ends up in competition with a racing pulse rate, to its pummelling repetitive chorus, is a little disarming. It’s also undeniably exciting. The basic, stripped down instrumentation of yore has been augmented with a heap of simple melodies and elemental noises. Upon arriving at current single, ‘Shake A Fist,’ not only does that irresistible monotone geek electronica shine through as usual; we get a hilarious breakdown incorporating Todd Rundgren’s announcement of a new game: ‘Sounds Of The Studio.’ Here they proceed to throw the kitchen sink, hand dryer, washing machine and everything else into the following three minutes so as not to disappoint anyone with headphones. The rules on this record seem to be that there are no holds barred. Don’t for a second think we’re facing a riotous mess, though. The Jenga construction, overlapping textures and functional vocals are all present and correct, providing a safe zone for Hot Chip aficionados. You know that their relatively inoffensive assault on your feet is going to lead to an unavoidable epidemic of toe tapping. It’ll also cause a mental feedback loop in your brain, causing you to inadvertently start humming those repetitious hooks. Now consider this. Does this sound like it belongs in 2008? Will this knock you flying off your feet, leaving you panting in a corner? Are you going to be proclaiming this to be the record of the year come Christmas? Initially, it must be said, ‘Made In The Dark’ excites and intrigues just as much as it settles your synapses into recline mode. For those of you still convinced that ‘Over And Over’ is the full extent of Hot Chip’s range, we draw your attention to ‘Touch Too Much,’ the title track, ‘Whistle For Will’ and I’n The Privacy Of Our Love.’ Eschewing the usual blend of bleeps, squelches and rhythmic patterns, these are organic, piano-led soul songs. It’s within these stripped down, melancholy tunes you explore the very roots of what Hot Chip do. It’s here that crystal clear nuances are all important, and lead even a casual listener to conclude that this is where these boffins’ hearts actually lay: hence their evocative motifs in their electronic music. It’s enlightening in a way that it wasn’t on previous efforts, and it’s possibly an indication of future endeavours. Unfortunately it has to be said that what Hot Chip offer here is neither the spectral shock of The Knife nor the emphatic genre-sniping of LCD Soundsystem. Instead they seem to be simultaneously pushing themselves as hard as possible while content to remain more or less the same as before. This is best expressed in ‘Don’t Dance,’ or the undeniably catchy, but overwhelmingly sedate, ‘Ready For The Floor.’ Another oxymoron. But what they lack in true forward thinking, Hot Chip make up for in pure escapism. A slow-burning electronic love song about wrestling. An ascending, warbling synth slalom with deadpan, digi-vocals on Bendable, Posable. It’s not groundbreaking but it is a vital injection of fun. In the end, which is more important? The drawback is this. While we at Notion don’t expect artists to push on leaps and bounds in a couple of years, it’s still tricky to really compliment this as a worthy third album when Hot Chip’s contemporaries, such as James Murphy, are being heralded as boundary-defying, ‘Best of the Year’ rated artists. Hot Chip have performed admirably and extensively within their own framework and so they should - limitations are best explored before moving on. There are swathes of layers to paddle in and that in itself will provide a highly entertaining and lengthy listen, at least. However, where ‘The Warning’ was a defibrillator jolt to the waning indie-dance heart, this is a mild stimulant while in the grip of a certain silver sound. It’ll course through veins and leave that pop buzz thudding in your head for a long time. It might even cause a few flashbacks in a few years time. But it won’t be a brand new experience, and that might leave a bitter taste in the mouth. Fiercely laid back. Passionately soothing. Pushing familiar boundaries. ‘Made In The Dark’ is all this and more, infuriating as much as it invigorates. The stealth impact made here is plain to see – like an invisible infection with highly visible symptoms – and the pandemic is on its way. Whether it’s advanced enough to take permanent hold is another consideration. While willing to say no, it’s fair to say that this writer, at least, is casually addicted. BB
tags: | hot chip | more...
Indie 'Post-punk' Heavyweights
You have to be skeptical of reissues, what, with record labels trying to cash in on the popularity of a band; rushing to release their back catalogue before the hyperbole settles. However, this doesn’t ring true for the reissue of Les Savy Fav's singles collection ‘Inches’, despite the bands mounting popularity. You see, ‘Inches’ has never been released in the UK except on import. Interestingly, the album was conceived before the band had actually recorded any albums at all. The plan was to release eight singles on eight different record labels, with different art work for each one. The idea being that when all eight were collected they’d go together like a jigsaw puzzle; no surprise then that the four key members of LSF met at art school. The album contains seventeen songs and one dramatic reading; with rarely a bum note throughout. Inches showcases how LSF have grown as a band, but still have a cohesive, sonic identity; their own image and own distinct sound. This is thanks, in no small part, to Seth Jarbour's guitar work; instantly catchy hooks and riffs layered on delicate squalls of sound. The muscular rhythm section, Harrison Haynes on drums and Syd Butler on bass, more than puts the groove into each track, all of which appear to be dancefloor fillers despite a razor sharp post-punk edge. There are standout tracks throughout. Live favourite 'The Sweat Descends' is an ode to partying, whilst 'One Way Widow' contains the awesome acapella intro "She was sweet sixteen baby beauty queen / straight white teeth bathed in beauty cream". Impressive shit. Tim Harrington's lyrical inventiveness is sure to impress anyone sick of hearing run-of-the-mill odes about pubbing with their mates or crying over lost loves. More than a showcase for their many talents, ‘Inches’ displays the heart, soul and very core of a band doing whatever they damn well please.
tags: | les savy fav | more...
Techno for the 'Deeper Listener'
Previous outings on Bpitch’s excellent ‘Boogybytes’ series have given label mates Kiki, Sasha Funke and Modeselektor an opportunity to show off their record collections, whilst keeping in line with the Berlin label’s techno roots and ideology. It was only a matter of time before founder and label boss, Ellen Allien stepped up to the hair dryer for the obligatory wonky headshot cover art, to showcase what’s hot in Berlin right now. Anyone familiar with Allien’s DJ sets will see no great surprises in the tracklisting, which features well-knowns from the BPitch roster, a couple of newcomers and also minimal regulars AGF, Villalobos and Damien Schwartz. Subtly mixed as always and dropping everything from sub-aquatic rhythms to organic melodic bleeps with highlights being the inclusion of newer artists’ Melon and Lucio Aquilina. As you would expect, Villalobos, Sasha Funke and AGF all deliver, and Allien shows her touch rounding off the mix with Little Dragon’s beatless ‘Twice,’ fitting the mood perfectly. Definitely one for the ‘deeper listener’ amongst us, and also an interesting insight into what’s actually good in minimal these days. RC
tags: | ellen allien | more...
I have to tell you; I put off reviewing this album for quite some time... The front cover (see for yourselves) and the name of the band, didn't sit too tight with me; in fact, I felt strangely uncomfortable. I thought the band were going to sound like some sort of cheesy, stadium rock outfit, and for the most part I was proven wrong... Foxy Shazam sound like Meatloaf had he grown up listening to hardcore-punk; all ten Piano/Keyboard driven tracks giving you a desire to stand-up and shake your ass like you’re at a Honky Tonk bar in Memphis. Stand out tracks are 'The Rocketeer' a pretty self explanatory song (it's about the cult comic book hero) which features a fantastic 5-4-3-2-1 countdown chorus and a 'yes yes yes' that has such an irresistible piano riff you’ll want to jump-up and swing dance with everyone on the bus, tube or train; kind of like a scene out of 'Happy Days'. It also shows (again) that they're quite capable of catchy shout along choruses. Foxy Shazam (having listened to the album the name makes perfect sense now) are easily the best new band I've had the pleasure of hearing. One can only hope they'll make it over to England soon, as I'm sure that there live show will be even more thrilling than listening to them on CD. Words: Andrew Devine
tags: | foxy shazam | more...
Early Exponents of 'Avant Punk'
Hydra-Head (HH) has seen fit to release the entire discography of one of the early exponents of the ‘avant punk’ scene. Never heard of them? Neither had I; but fear not because HH have come to rescue them from obscurity. Unsurprisingly (this is Hydra Head after all) they have quite the punk credibility. There membership consisting of a young Kurt Ballou of hardcore/punk stalwarts Converge (have I got your attention now) and Aaron Stuart of semi-legendary, but sadly now defunct, post-hardcore band Piebald. Like many other bands of their ilk (yes Some Girls I’m talking about you too) it can take a while before The Huguenots songs become fully realised in your head. It’s hard to listen to all the instruments at once when they’re all screaming for your attention at the same time like a band of unruly children. However, with perseverance you can prise open the tumultuous layers of sound and unveil the fractured beauty within. Jazzy guitar licks surface for a moment before they are garrotted by searing bursts of acerbic guitar squall, that twists the brain in knots, and the rhythm section (if you can call it that), laying waste to everything in their path like a blitzkrieg leaving nothing standing. Although they went onto bigger and better things it’s a shame they disbanded without leaving more of a legacy, something which this release will hopefully go some way towards changing. Words: Andy Devine The Huguenots – Discography is released on Hydra Head Records February 14th
tags: | the huguenots | more...
Atmospheric Indie Royalty
Laura-Mary Carter, who provides the voice, guitar churn and chutzpah to Blood Red Shoes, is well on her way to becoming the Shirley Manson of this millennium. With a teetering, mild, rock-slide of a single, this piercing pair strides ever closer to their debut album release which could establish the Brightonians as atmospheric Indie royalty. Laura-Mary is already seen by many as an independent-minded soul, whose guitar churning, and sturdily defiant vocals provide a firm base to communicate the outfit’s uncompromising perspective. For ‘You Bring Me Down’, Laura-Mary seems more than qualified to communicate the turmoil that surrounds letting the heart win the battle against the head. The dilemma surrounding this personal issue reaches boiling point when the duo build up to a crunching chorus; the strident guitars wrap around the knocking, rock-sure, and tone increasing drum combinations of Steve Ansell. Integrity is retained, yet a radio friendly anthem is conjured up; it’s all going right for Blood Red Shoes. Words: Dave Adair
tags: | blood red shoes | more...
Folk / Soul / Blues
Mingling heart-warming vocal clarity, a backing of soulful cooing, and brassy instrumental cushioning, will help Beth Rowley wet appetites for her forthcoming album ‘Little Dreamer’. Single, ‘Oh My Life’, is a good advertisement for Beth’s crispness and worldly projection, giving the songstress the air of a calmer, more focused Amy Winehouse (imagine that!). Building upon her well received EP ‘Little Dreamer’, Beth uses B-side ‘How Could You Ever Leave’ to instill a slower pace. Displaying her loved-up side, as the romantic simplicity of the lyrics draw out: “I waited right here for you to appear; so I could be by your side I wore my red dress and shoes that you bought hoping that you might say; That you’re looking lovely today.” A blues lag instills a sorrowful tone when the tale takes a twist towards rejection and unrequited love. Rowley has a powerful voice that she uses to good effect, but is careful not to labour it. This is a good start. Beth Rowley’s album ‘Little Dreamer’ is release 21/04/08 on Blue Thumb Records. Words: Dave Adair
tags: | beth rowley | more...
Talented Organic Musicians
While the basis of this album may be described as folk-electronica, there are an array of influences on display here; the opening track ‘Take’ includes a tribal beat that echoes Basil Poledouris mixed with skewered pop and leftfield hippy wailings. Tunng have been doing this since their debut album ‘Mother’s Daughter’ and here on ‘Good Arrows’ they’ve taken another step to reinvent their sound. It’s all quite endearing stuff; nice and friendly, almost commune-ish in its lo-fi feel – check out ‘Hands’ which sounds like Postman Pat, or the oompah beats of ‘Bullets’ for what I mean. Standout tracks are ‘Soup,’ which takes an obvious inspiration from Mike Oldfield’s ‘Tubular Bells’ before opening up with a metal riff that sideswipes the listener from nowhere; or ‘Spoons’ with its deliciously rich acoustic guitar noodling, making it the closest to old school folk on the whole album. Like all summer records there’s a genuine attempt to connect with that collective outdoorsy feeling and for the most part Tunng make it work. The only let-down is that some of the electronica and idiosyncratic production tends to overshadow a band who are clearly talented organic musicians – perhaps they should take a step back from the blips and bleeps, and focus on honing the natural talent that they already possess.
tags: | tunng | more...
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