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Thursday, 29 July, 2010
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You are browsing the gig reviews. Check out what was good and make sure you go next time.
Breakin' Convention: 'Hip Hop and Dance Performance' at Sadler's Wells
21/05/2008
2008 marked the fifth year of the annual festival of hip-hop music and dance performance, Breakin’ Convention, at Sadler’s Wells theatre. A night predominantly based around urban music sub-genres and performances incorporating the dance that has evolved from them, the foyers of the London theatre were decorated with graffiti. Sure, Breakin’ Convention proved to be a mesmerising physical and visual display of acts as far and wide as South Korea and Brazil, but first and foremost its routes are deep-set in street culture. This was evident from the start; curator and director Jonzi D pumping-up the audience and bringing a well-respected; some might say classy theatre, an immediate indication of the party to come. And boy was this a party. To say Sadler’s Wells has never rocked so hard would be the wrong genre, but when over the course of three days you’ve got guys performing break-moves in the foyer, and Membros from Brazil showcasing a performance from the violence and drug-addled ghettoes of Rio de Janeiro on stage; pyrotechnics accompanying unbelievable, spine-tingling, insane, and extremely dangerous stunts, you’ve certainly never felt so compelled to move. See, the visual display is just part of Breakin' Convention, and the music that accompanies the performances is hot, rump-shaking stuff, that shouldn't be dismissed. In conclusion, the greatest aspect of this three day festival, over the May Bank Holiday, wasn’t just the music and performance (the photographs only tell half the story), but Breakin' Convention's ability to draw on such a deep range of emotion. From MacMillan’s Elite Syncopations creating an atmosphere of dance and revelry, to the unnerving intensity of the fascinating Mukhtar OS Mukhtar of Cirque du Soleil (think hip hop dance based on the mentally unstable). In a nut-shell, Breakin’ Convention has finished its fifth year with barely a wrinkle on it’s backbone. Whatever anti-aging cream they’re using to retain and improve such attractive features, I for one want a part of. See you next year, Jonz!
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'Smirnoff Electric Cabaret' featuring Pete & The Pirates, ABC Glasgow
12/05/2008
First up, Reading’s Pete & The Pirates tore unapologetically through their Little Death LP. With an unassuming aesthetic (no skinny jeans or haircuts here), the band’s raw sound and unabashed energy came somewhat unexpected, but were that much more delicious as a result. Followed by the more seasoned (and more skinny jean clad) Mystery Jets – themselves touring their “Twenty One” longplayer – there were more high-octane antics. No longer sporting the father-son combo with which they debuted (frontman Blaine’s father Henry now in a studio-only role), the Jets exuded a new-found dynamic; one characterised as much by charm as confidence. Next up, New Yong Pony Club’s Ty leapt on stage donning a top seemingly made out of thousands of silver washers, the sort of attire you can only pull off with headline billing; something she and the band have been growing into for the past 12 months. Now a cosy fit, she soon had the crowd chanting to an arsenal of future classics. Sandwiched between the bands was an intriguing mix of performers (human beatbox? Check. Hula girl? Check. Rock’n’roll trapeze double act?! Check) and some frankly bizarre goings on (man on stage paints portrait of Freddy Mercury upside down in the time it takes one Queen track to play). Such original episodes of tried and tested silliness (show me a man who doesn’t want to go home with an inflatable guitar?) gave far more than the recommended daily allowance of fun. Wrapping things up were the unlikely turntable tag-team of Breastfed honcho Linus Loves and half of Maximo Park. Now, whilst the merging of warm, electro-tinged 4/4 and Northern indie-popsters might sound like a riddle (it did to this scribe), the reality was akin to everyone being invited to a “back-to-mine” DJ-off at Senor Smirnoff’s gaff. Magic. Words: Nick Morgan
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Jam For Bread w/Beardy Man and Bonobo @ Shepherd's Bush Empire
07/05/2008
It's heartening to see such a stellar line-up from the quality left-of-centre music scene, performing for a good cause. Jam for Bread, at the Shepherd's Bush Empire, was all about supporting the ‘Medical Foundation for the Care of Victims of Torture’ and its related fundraising event, with Gilles Peterson hosting the proceedings that celebrated 60 years of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Headlining was Bonobo – Ninja Tune stalwarts that put on a solid performance and trotted out their classics like 'Ketto' with a full live band. Lou Rhodes, ex Lamb chanteuse, was highly anticipated but disappointing due to sound problems and it being just her and a mellow guitar as the penultimate act to a crowd ripe for serious revelling. It was the lesser-known acts of the night that proved the most exciting; Surrey's Jamie Woon brought the place to a standstill, his Timberlake-esque vocals soaring as he sampled and re-sampled himself, his guitar, and beatbox rhythms. His 'Spirits' tune is outstanding. South Londoner Tawiah also showed her unmistakable star quality, performing an acoustic set, her three tracks enough to proselytise the previously unconverted. 4Hero's Mark Mac did a nice drum 'n bass DJ set that cranked up the energy after a slightly pedestrian outing from dub reggae band the Soothsayers. He didn't have nearly enough time to attest the massive contribution he's made to the UK music scene, but it was enough to impress and pique interest. A generous and uplifting occasion. Words: Helene Dancer Photography: Mandy Taylor
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The Rage Into Spring w/The Crimea at Cargo!
01/05/2008
The Rage Into Spring Cargo, Shoreditch Sometime back in April The Rage events have a philosophy. The kind of philosophy that garners one of two reactions. There’s no in-between, no but; it’s either “that’s good” or “that’s bad”. Those that say The Rage is good are people who like to sip champagne, munch on posh nibbles and sway gently to cutting sounds secure in the knowledge that they are “one”. Maybe they have an inner rock demon fighting to break free with a twenty-four carat pitchfork and a penis like a pen-knife; who knows? Alas, at The Rage these people are made to feel special; part of a selective almost exclusive sect. The people who say that The Rage is “bad” are people who feel hard done by when they’re not granted access to the selective ‘mature’ sect because (A) they can’t afford it due to (B) a job that churns their guts about like a cement mixer which (C) leads to giddiness and projectile vomiting; probably because (D) they spent their meagre wages at a club called ‘Tiger Tiger’ or ‘The Blue Fountain’ that has a special deal on cocktail pitchers, including ‘Blackcurrant Bum Fuck’ and ‘Orange Cum Sunshine’. Or they could just be too young as The Rage events are strictly for a “mature audience”. Anyway, I went to The Rage’s first event of the year, The Rage Into Spring, and despite feeling somewhat out of my depth because (A) I can’t afford such things - (E) came into the equation – (E) being the fact I’m a journalist with powers of persuasion and flattery that continue to astound. To pen a modern phrase: “I blagged my way in”. An initial reaction: Everyone looks very smart. A second reaction: Good god man, you’re a fish out of water. Alas, we go to these things for the music not for a set dress code. Besides scratch beneath the suits, shirts, and fancy skirts and you’ll find there are people just like you whose clothes look worn and are there for the music too. ‘The Rage Into Spring’ had an eclectic bill, breaking talent that “can be appreciated by the more mature attendee” and acts familiar “with a more mature attendee”. Close friends of Hadouken! – The Clik Clik were there; a band (3 guys + 1 gal) who are rapidly gaining popularity and recognition with a couple of upcoming dates on the festival circuit. Championed by circles of the music press, with a firm fanbase and distinct sound, “Post-punk band” The Crimea were also on the bill. Though whether such a sound can be described as “Post-punk” is debatable… And a few of the more obscure acts like ‘Tom Hatred and The Angry Band’ and ‘Tom Yuli’ were playing on the night. Let’s be quick about this: Tom Hatred and The Angry Band should be watched with an eagle eye (V.good). The Crimea were exceptional. And our party missed The Clik Clik and Tom Yuli because we were fashionably late. But hey, if God intended us to be perfect there wouldn’t be pillaging, mugging, rape, murder, stabbings, shootings, and fungal foot rot. I managed to catch a few words with The Crimea’s bass player Joe Udwin. I was after a reaction, an opinion, a view on playing to such an exclusive ‘mature’ audience: “We knew what to expect and we knew what we were expecting would be good,” said Joe. “It’s great”, he continued. “To be honest, the age group doesn’t make it any different to any other gig I’ve been to. There are probably just less smuggled in bottles of cider”. Indeed… Joe was right. Nobody at The Rage would smuggle in a packet of painkillers, let alone a bottle of cider. The most they’d probably stretch to would be a Cuban cigar rolled on the thigh of a virgin. The Rage events are full to the brim with over twenties describing the ‘full-bodied’ flavour of their wine and the ‘delicate texture’ of their meat (dish). Hell, even the people were friendly and - by god, that wasn’t expected. An attractive girl from Sweden, a PR guy, a journalist, a guy simply here to see the bands - all talking, mingling and sharing the scene as one. To borrow a quote from the American self-help luminary Wayne Dyer: “Judgement prevents us from seeing the good that lies beyond appearances”. In conclusion: The Rage events may be somewhat exclusive - where people wear perfume, aftershave and sip champagne with an elegance ‘unfamiliar’ to those who “fiddle with stem” and “down like sun-drenched Cowboy”. But at heart it’s a great event, with great music, and great people. An event that those ‘unfamiliars’ should attempt to attend in their quest to feel “special” and become “one” (if not for the limitless Jack Daniels, live bands, and attractive Swedes). Words: Dangerous For info on The Rage visit: www.therage.tv The Rage On In Summer: 2nd July The Rage Through Autumn: 8th October The Rage Out In Winter: 11th December
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Method Man and Redman at Shepherd's Bush Empire
22/04/2008
Method Man and Redman Shepherd’s Bush Empire There's chemistry, and then there's the explosive combination of Method Man and Redman, who ripped up the stage with such force the place was filled to the rafters with people throwing their hands up Wu-Tang style as the duo trotted out all the classics. There was Meth's 'Bring the Pain', 'Method Man', a Wu-Tang moment with 'Wu-Tang Clan ain't nuttin to f*ck wit', Redman's genius 'Smoke Buddha' off the Muddy Waters album, and lots from their 1999 Blackout! album, naturally. 'Da Rockwilder' tore the roof off in particularly violent fashion. Rumour has it, a second album's on its way, along with ‘How High 2’ – the sequel to their film released in 2001. There was a shout-out to ODB too, Meth giving the man props in a spangly Wu-Tang t-shirt and Funk Doctor Spock raising his hands in appreciation. They may be highly charged individuals who pull no punches, but they're proud and professional, putting on a show tighter than their verbal sparring without a hint of filler in sight. Refreshing and too much fun. Words: Helene Dancer
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Lupe Fiasco at KOKO, April 2nd
14/04/2008
Lupe Fiasco KOKO April 2nd April 2008 Lupe Fiasco has been called everything from a lyricist to a terrorist. The one word you wouldn't associate with him is energetic. But you wouldn't think that on the evidence of this gig, as he leaps around the stage, his energy so infectious that the audience forgets he was an hour late. Lupe’s energy spills over into every song and none more so than ‘American Terrorist’. Allusions to George W. Bush drew the loudest cheers of the night, which in turn drew one of his best performances. Every word was said with so much passion you wouldn't believe Lupe was accused of being lethargic a couple of years ago. He makes full use of the stage, dancing like James Brown impersonating a pastor; adopting The Godfather of Soul’s routine of using the mic stand as a dancing prop, before leaping onto some speakers during a band instrumental. Lupe's six-piece band is extremely strong, making each song fuller rather than making them sound like demo versions. They even go into a neo-soul breakdown at the end of ‘Sunshine’ that wouldn't be out of place on an Erykah Badu album. There were some faults with the band approach, ‘Dumb It Down’ was spoiled by a wailing guitar, but these were minor in a gig that could easily turn a sceptic to a fan. From the double time rapping of ‘The Cool’ to the acoustic version of ‘Superstar’, it's clear that Lupe has grown since the ‘Food & Liquor’ days and is now a fully fledged performer. And all the better for it. Words: Jason Dike / Photography: Uzo Oleh
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Gallows at The 100 Club, 5th March
13/03/2008
Gallows The 100 Club 5th March 2008 Some would say that the spirit of Punk died in 77 only to be taken over by second rate bands drudging sound-out without the ethos and attitude of their predecessors. I guess that’s kind of true. I mean, the Sex Pistols were so fresh and exciting when they kicked-off, that people were literally Cumming in their pants (possibly), and they’ll probably say that the magic of 76 will never be repeated. Sure, that’s sorta true; the whole collective attitude of Punk will never reach the dizzy heights of that bygone age. But we can still take solace and huge relief in the fact that Blink 1-8-fucking-2 aren’t the only ‘so called’ Punk band around. For Gallows are just about keeping the spirit of Punk alive, baby, and they’re doing it mighty well. You only have to look at Gallows to realise that each member has his own sense of style; a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ that sets him apart from his peers; a certain panache, if you were. I mean, sure, Gallows don’t exactly dress with safety pinned trousers, pink winkle-pickers and torn and frayed tees, but they’re definitely Punk. I mean, the whole point of Punk is that you and you alone are an individual in the way you dress and act and look but share a certain ethos, attitude or interest with the rest of the Punk fraternity. This ethos and attitude is clear in Gallows performance and a huge reason for their failure to disappoint at London’s historic 100 Club. The Watford lads’ performance is as wrought with energy as a night in the sack with Arnold Schwarzenegger, the guv’nor dripping hot wax on your back, shafting you up the arse and calling you his “bitch”. A choice metaphor when you consider that Gallows are a hardcore Punk band. You may think that means thrashing guitars and drums blending together like some schizoid brain-fuck, but you’d be wrong. It’s accessible hardcore and, like an onion, it has multiple layers of attitude: Intelligence, rhythm, dare I say it… Soul? Frank Carter, as I’m sure anyone with a knowledge of Gallows will testify, gives a raucous, full-throttle performance. As Brian May would say (seriously check out his blog), when Frank is performing “you can almost touch him… eat him… delicious!” I guess the wee fella’s kind of akin to Johnny Rotten, and not just because of the ginger bonce. No, both break the boundaries between artist and audience, interacting on a level rarely seen in live performance. Exposing his tattooed frame, Frank swings from the light fittings, spits, crouches, and leers in the face of the baying crowd. The whole performance is flawless and even ‘ol general of grime Lethal Bizzle shines as he collaborates on ‘Staring at the Rude Bois’. Despite having a beefy entourage who appear to be preventing a Bizzle attack from the masses, the ‘rude boy’ still took time to crowd-surf; both highly amusing and in-keeping with Gallows band meeting audience philosophy. Have Gallows brought Punk crashing into the new millennia? Planet Notion says yes, and anyway, they shit all over Blink 182. Who called them Punk anyway; fucking ponces!
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Islands at Hoxton Bar and Grill, 26th February
07/03/2008
Islands Hoxton Bar and Grill 26th February I walk through the door of the Hoxton Bar and Grill just as Damn Shames are walking off the stage which is literally a Damn Shame as from what I’ve heard of them their twitchy, funky disco-tinged post punk grooves would have definitely put me in the mood for a night of music. Alas it wasn’t to be. I have always thought of Islands fondly, their debut album Return to the Sea was a permanent fixture in the CD player of my car as I cruised around my home town a couple of summers ago. At once poppy; but with a ‘quirky’ darker side to it, it was the perfect antidote to the saccharine crap that usually swamps the airwaves during the warmer climes. Ah… Memories. However, things don’t get off to a good start. The mic’s on the stage don’t appear to work and after a bit of faffing around we hear singer Nick Diamond’s voice come through the monitors. “That was excruciating” he declares before the band launch into a new track from the forthcoming album ‘Arm’s Away’. Immediately it’s obvious that they’ve moved in a slightly different direction to what has come before. With the addition of two violinists the new material has a far more orchestral tone to it. Gone are the light-hearted melodies and the delightfully absurd synth squelches. Indeed, the new numbers have a more muscular feel to them. However, I find it hard to really get into the music being played. I don’t know whether it’s the fact that I’m tired after a day at work, the unfamiliarity of the songs, or the rather muted response from the crowd, but something feels a little off. They manage to redeem themselves with ‘Where there’s a will (there’s a whalebone)’ which features the delightfully menacing line “going down to my tropical hideout / if anyone finds out I’ll turn their lights out”. On the album this song features a mid-song rap from Subtitle; he isn’t here tonight so instead the band have a wig out jam, which actually works a lot better. All of the musicians go crazy on stage and seem to really enjoy themselves for the first time since they started playing. They leave the stage with a knowing wink reassuring us that they’ll be back for an ‘encore’. When they return they play the opening song from Return to the Sea, which was my first introduction to the band. It’s wonderful to see ‘Swans’ being performed live, and it benefits from an extended instrumental mid-section. The band are clearly enjoying performing it, the violinist jumping up and down by the side of the stage and the guitarist pulling amusing faces as he peels out the last few notes. Alas, I still can’t shift the feeling that I haven’t seen Islands at their best. Hopefully if/when they return to tour the 'Arm's Away', following its release, I’ll be able to see the band I know they’re capable of being.
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Trencher at The Portland Arms, Cambridge
05/03/2008
Trencher / Spin Spin the Dogs / MicroPenis The Portland Arms Cambridge March 1st. The ‘hilariously’ moniker’d Mircopenis are a boy/girl duo who make noise using vox/bass/drum machine. They’re a sort of post-modern, performance art, piece, with lyrics like “I’m in love with the communist war machine. Supersonic. Sex. Attack”. The problem is that singer Louise has very little stage presence; she mainly stands in one spot looking like she wishes she was somewhere else, which doesn’t really help when delivering lines like that. I don’t know if you’ve seen the ‘Bad Uncle’ episode of Nathan Barley, but Micropenis sound like the girl from that fronting a Big Black tribute band. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing as they’re quite enjoyable, assuming it’s all a little tongue in cheek and, dare I say it, ‘ironic’. Spin Spin the Dogs are another interesting spectacle. The singer can only be described as ‘eccentric’ as he stomps around the stage as if afflicted by some sort of petit mal, and barking (no pun intended) out lyrics, whilst the band play something akin to neo-jazz in a similar vein to Mr. Bungle. Sadly their frontman is no Mike Patton and his attempts at being ‘zany’ are a turn-off; introducing each song with an anecdote before running out of steam and demanding his band play the next song. Considering how ‘normal’ the three young men that form Trencher look, it’s surprising how evil they sound, especially considering their sonic arsenal is comprised merely of drum kit, bass and a tiny Casio keyboard. They tear through a set, comprised almost solely of tracks from last years Lips album, and it’s enough to make your skin crawl. Aside from myself, and a few other brave souls, the rest of the audience watch from the back of the room; secure, safe and trying to avoid having their ears flayed. Quite a shame as they miss an incredible display by all three musicians. I never thought it possible to create so much dread from so small a device but singer/keyboardist M.Shit manages to do just that. His fingers are a blur as the machine spits out what can only be described as a ‘dark carnival’ sound; like the Pied Piper luring poor children to their doom. You’d be forgiven for assuming that Drummer ‘Lock Monger’ ( Trencher obviously don’t use their own names) were some sort of multi-limbed demon, unleashing an assault on all parts of his kit. The dirty, fuzz-bass, grooves, which are wrenched from Pox’s instrument, are enough to send a shiver up your spine as you try twitching and contorting to the music. A particular highlight is Nightmare on Crack St, a lurching beast of a song, akin to a merry-go-round gone horribly wrong. They finish their set in the manner it began, all screams and noise, and I wander into the evening, my ears ringing delightfully and my soul slightly stained; but all the better for it. Words: Andy Devine
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