Current listening favourite - A Place To Bury Strangers 'Exploding Head', out on Mute in October. Remarked to Steve that they sounded like they knew what they were doing and he told me one of them used to make effects pedals for the likes of My Bloody Valentine. Responsible for some big noise then. A nice, loud, messy yet controlled set that feels a bit like getting your head flossed.
Any, erm, feedback anyone?
Simon
Loads of good press about our Recordstore Survival Guide. The intention is to help other indie record store in times of crisis. Yes, you're right, we are nice. Here's an example of some press right here
Simon
Brendan Benson - 'My Old, Familiar Friend' >>> (Echo)
Chances are that the first time you heard of Brendan Benson was when he shacked up with Mr. Jack White in the White Stripes’ man’s extra marital side project The Raconteurs, a band that united White’s desire for guitar histrionics to the peerless pop sensibility of the little known Benson. It was a marriage made in heaven, giving White the opportunity to spread his wings beyond the confines of his garage rock cage whilst Benson, having already produced two near perfect power pop records (and a third valiant attempt to recreate the formula), finally managed to get his songs heard by a wider audience.
Just as Future Of The Left continue to preach to a converted few whilst delivering the most exciting punk rock this side of Nirvana, so Benson has consistently produced the finest indie-pop for a small but devoted following. Both artists are head and shoulders above their contemporaries, drawing gushing plaudits from critics and faithful fans alike, yet neither has managed to trouble the mainstream, remaining stubbornly niche despite themselves.
Maybe all that’s about to change for our Brendan on this, his fourth solo album. It’s been four years since the rather polished ‘The Alternative To Love’ (an album that only disappointed in the fact that it could never live up to its predecessor ‘Lapalco’ ) and in the meantime Benson has indulged his rock-god fantasies with the aforementioned Raconteurs, honing his song writing craft and stepping out of his comfort zone to take on the mighty Jack White in a game of “who’s the better front man?”. The busman’s holiday appears to have done the trick though, and ‘My Old Familiar Friend’ pours out of the stereo like…well…an old familiar friend. Gone are the slightly forced attempts at the “perfect song” from his third release replaced by the fuzzy warmth and timeless brilliance that permeated his first two minor masterpieces. That’s the beauty of Benson, at his best he manages to immerse himself with the classic song writing of the greats (ELO, The Cars, Todd Rundgren, even (whisper it) Sir Paul ‘thumbs aloft’ McCartney), delivering pop nuggets that contain a nagging sense of déjà vu whilst also busting out a multitude of surprises at every turn.
Kicking off with the straight up rocker ‘A Whole Lot Better’, ‘My Old Familiar Friend’ is a relentless master class in pop song writing that doesn’t let up until the closing swirl of final track ‘Borrow’ (by which time you‘ll be re-hitting ‘Play‘ to start the entire trip again). The newly acquired fame induced paranoia of second track ‘Eyes On The Horizon’, the soulful sweep of ‘Garbage Day’ and the darkly threatening ‘Feel Like Taking You Home’ (the gathering pace towards the song’s finale marks this as Benson’s ‘Gimme Shelter’) all stand out but this isn’t merely about individual tracks. As with all Brendan’s work this album is a journey through relationships and the frailty of the human condition and here it’s clearer than ever that Benson’s old familiar friend is the bitterness of heartbreak and rejection. Whether the object of his affection is trying to “show me up so everyone can see” (‘You Make A Fool Out Of Me’), or “proving to be a hard habit to break” (‘Don’t Wanna Talk’) few songwriters can match Benson’s ability to create startlingly upbeat tunes from the painful mire of imperfect love.
‘Lapalco’ still retains its crown as Benson’s majestic peak but with ‘My Old, Familiar Friend’ his status as merely “the other one” in the Raconteurs could soon be a thing of the past. It’s a bold, engaging, dream of a record that is destined to become a lifelong companion for anyone who has ever searched for the answers to love in a dusty pile of old 7-inches.
Key Tracks: 'Eyes On The Horizon’, ‘Garbage Day’, ‘Feel Like Taking You Home’, ‘Don’t Wanna Talk’
Rating: 8/10
Steve Wheeler
Click Here to buy
Further Listening:
Brendan Benson: 'Lapalco' >>>
Brendan Benson: ‘The Alternative To Love’ >>>
Paul McCartney & Wings: ‘Band On The Run’ >>>
Electric Light Orchestra: ‘All Over The World: The Best Of ELO’ >>>
“Let’s get the old gang back together”, sounds like the beginning of a particularly clichéd heist movie yet, worryingly, it has become the sentiment which several beat combos have attached themselves to over recent years.
The Liverpool FC team of the 1980s was one of the most perfect footballing machines in the modern game yet you won’t find them all back on the training ground looking for a stab at the Premiership crown. The founding fathers are unlikely to be resurrected anytime soon to bemoan the bastardising of their beloved constitution by the recent political regimes of the US. So why, do bands like Led Zep, The Police, The Specials and Limp fucking Bizkit feel the need to dust off the Marshalls and head back out on the road? They had their time and in many cases they screwed it up, let it go you old fuckers – you’re ruining the memories for everyone.
Over the past couple of weeks two of my favourite bands have had rumours and confirmations of their reformations littering the press. I have mixed reactions to both. Firstly Faith No More, a band I have loved for as long as I have cared about music. I never got to see them live (except a lucky invitation to watch them record a session for Radio One – their brief cover of ‘Live Forever’ really was quite stunning) and I’ve always been slightly underwhelmed by their various solo projects, so the prospect of a full band live return (and even the possibility of new music) does give me goosebumps of pleasure. However, I know I’m destined to be disappointed. Live they won’t play all the songs I want to hear (Mike Patton has been quite critical of their early output) and on record they’ll never reach the highpoints of ‘Angel Dust’ so why bother? They’ll sully the legacy and leave thousands broken hearted. Secondly, The Stone Roses are rumoured to have buried the hatchet and will head out on the road again for a 21 date tour. These boys, more than anyone, have something to prove. The end of the band was mired in acrimonious splits and painful gigs, the solo work of Ian Brown has overshadowed everything bar the classic debut album and the thought of them getting back on stage has been greeted with snorts of derision. In many ways I’d like to see them get back out there and finish the job they started, to prove the naysayers wrong – but I doubt they can pull it off and it’ll just leave a bitter taste for those of us who believe that, at one point, they were the greatest band in the world.
So why do these crinkly rockers insist on one last hurrah? Money? Yeah...probably. Many of our former heroes have been forced out of retirement to pay off dealers, wives and plastic surgeons. To prove they can still cut it? Just like Hugh Hefner and his bevy of busty beauties, the older gentleman still wants to believe they are as skinny, vibrant and as sexually alluring as the young pretenders. But unless you’re Mick’n’Keef (let’s not forget the longest serving band in history have never split) you can’t get away with the leather trousers and the porn star girlfriend at the age of 50. To continue the legacy? Why not preserve it by not fucking the whole thing up with terrible gigs and below par records (I’m looking at you Motley Crue). Robert Plant had it right when he refused to tour with Led Zep after their brief reformation, but part of me just wished he’d never stepped on stage at all. I didn’t go to the gig – couldn’t bear to see a bunch of geriatrics run through some of the dirtiest, raw rock’n’roll ever written (it just didn’t seem right), similarly with Pixies – I had no desire to see a formally great band just go through the motions (and plus, they hate each other. Why the hell would they want to go back on tour?).
So why are the general public lapping up the prospect of these former greats strutting across the stage again like nothing has changed? Some reformed bands have been enormously successful and critically lauded – The Verve, Dinosaur Jr, My Bloody Valentine (to name just three) have continued in a similar vein to where they left off, the intervening years blinked away like a fleck of sleepy dust from a drowsy eye after a decade long snooze. The answer probably lies in the current state of the music scene where albums have been reduced to the price of a tin of beans and label bozos are constantly after the next three minute wonder. A quick fix to plug the industry dam that leaks money like a teenage cock spurts semen during a dream involving Frankie from The Saturdays and a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs. The general public are beginning to see through these shallow products as the junk food of musical invention that they are. Who wouldn’t want to see a reformed Spandau Ballet knocking out hit after hit on stage rather than the prospect of 60 minutes in the company of Metro Station?
So there’s the crux on the problem – loads of new bands are shite and we are forced to search out relics of another era like Paul Gambaccini guest-hosting Time Team. What’s the solution? Keep searching out and supporting new, innovative bands (not the mass marketed schlock that we get spoon-fed by Radio One, MTV etc – you know the culprits) – buy their records (don’t just rely on Spotify), go to their gigs (there’s a plethora of DIY gigs in every city throughout the country) and above all tell everyone you know how great they are. That way we’ll kill two birds with one stone: no landfill indie and no pension pop – spread the word like a musical gospel.
Still I’d much rather go see a reformed Shed Seven than listen to an album by Joe Lean and The Jing Jang Jong.......
Here’s to kicking out Jimmy Page’s zimmer frame
Steve
The NME, that bastion of indie-cool, has just held its annual award ceremony. A time to reflect on the past year’s musical highs, and to stick two fingers up at the corporate back-slap fest that is the previous week’s Brit Awards. Except, as has been a worrying trend for the past few years, the NME has failed to make any such gesture. Instead we are treated to a procession of winners at both awards that are pretty much interchangeable, and most worryingly they are nearly all signed to the big four major labels.
So, the big awards are going to the big four labels at both the mainstream and the alternative award ceremonies leaving the underground scene and the struggling indie labels where exactly? Left to scrape away at the public consciousness like an errant beggar scrounging for coins whilst overpaid banking fatcats nonchalantly stroll past on their way to another meeting, brunch or mutual masturbation session.
The NME should be ashamed of itself. Here is a magazine that celebrates in its position as the first port of call for young music fans to discover the artists (yes I’m pretentious enough to consider musicians artists) that will have a lifelong impact on them, yet the magazine is more than happy to get into bed with the major labels whilst they collectively stick their heads beneath the covers and praise each other’s rancid farts.
Now, of course, the majors are more than capable of sticking out a half decent record or two, it would be churlish to suggest otherwise. The Kings Of Leon proved it by winning awards across the board for their breathtakingly created fourth album ‘Only By The Night’, whilst Elbow were also honoured by both the Brits and the NME in a long overdue acknowledgement of their consistently high contributions to the UK music scene. However, although you can forgive The Brits for their inability to see beyond the gleaming towers of the West London music industry (they are part of the same system), why is it the NME fails to offer a credible alternative? There’s plenty of great music out there that would relish the exposure and yet the New Musical Express chooses to play it safe with an almost identikit selection of winners to is supposedly more mainstream cousin.
Here’s a rundown of the major winners at both:
Godlike Genius/Outstanding Contribution - The Cure/Elbow (NME) Pet Shop Boys (The Brits)
Best British Band - Oasis (NME) Elbow (The Brits)
Best International Band - The Killers (NME) Kings Of Leon (The Brits)
Best Solo Artist - Pete Doherty (NME) Paul Weller/Duffy/Kanye West/Katy Perry (The Brits)
Best New Band - MGMT (NME) Duffy (The Brits)
Best Live Band - Muse (NME) Iron Maiden (The Brits)
Best Album - Kings Of Leon (NME) Duffy/Kings Of Leon (The Brits)
Best Track - MGMT - Time To Pretend (NME) Girls Aloud - The Promise (The Brits)
Tip for 2009 - The Big Pink (NME) Florence And The Machine (The Brits)
What strikes me the most about this list is that once you really take it all in it appears The Brits have actually made the ballsier choices. Perennial godfather of whatever scene the indie kids are chattering about Paul Weller over tabloid-courting walking mess Pete Doherty, Kings Of Leon over The Killers and their maddening descent into U2-esque pretention, Iron Maiden over fucking Muse again! (I hate that band), Elbow over Oasis – all much more surprising choices for The Brits Academy. And don’t get me started on Girls Aloud winning best single. A brave, wise and thoroughly deserved choice (and no, I’m not joking). But that’s what The Brits is there for – to celebrate the big mainstream acts and let the folks that watch it on ITV and only buy 2 albums a year know what they should be putting on their Xmas list. The NME shouldn’t be following suit, it should be looking further afield, should be supporting the very underground scene that helped it blossom into the world’s leading music weekly, should simply be better.
Who would I have picked? Well – I’m still gonna go quite safe and there’s still a spot for a few major label acts but I think the following would be a whole lot more interesting and would give some well deserved exposure to a few less well established acts. Except Radiohead of course, they deserve something just because they rule.....
Godlike Genius – Super Furry Animals
Best British Band – Radiohead
Best International Band – TV On The Radio
Best Male Solo Artist – Beck
Best Female Solo Artist – Ladyhawke
Best New Band – Neon Neon
Best Live Band – Les Savy Fav
Best British Album – Late Of The Pier – Fantasy Black Channel
Best International Album – No Age – Nouns
Best Track – Fucked Up – Year Of The Pig
Tip for 2009 – Pulled Apart By Horses
Rant over. Let me know what you think.
Speak soon
Steve
Failed to get his down on Friday due to excessive hangover and a mountain of more business-orientated tasks to complete but thought I’d let you all know about my evening in the company of world-straddling record company monolith Universal Records and their newly signed acts of 2009. The night started shittily enough with a mild snow storm and some cold ass winds blowing around my newly shorn head but once I’d arrived at the auspicious venue for the night’s proceedings, the palatial Bush Hall, I was greeted by free booze and copious quantities of gourmet hotdogs, nice to see the Credit Crunch hasn’t affected the catering - good start. First up - Gary Go - introduced as a “one man Coldplay” (I counted four musicians on stage so I’m not sure Universal’s forte lies in basic arithmetic) - a Bono-lite peddling pedestrian anthems rammed full of nausea inducing bluster and bombast . If I see a more punchable face in the Top 40 this year I’ll be surprised. Next, new blues/jazz singer Melody Gardot who looked remarkably like Anastacia without the hint of a sex change. Musically she followed the tried and tested Eva Cassidy route even ending on her own interpretation of ‘Over The Rainbow’ - who says originality’s dead? Third came I Blame Coco who happens to be the offspring of Sting - funny I thought you didn’t ejaculate during all that tantric sex…..Anyway, I was reminded by an old friend that Sting famously only listens to his own music and on the evidence of his daughter’s output, it seems that so does she. Same voice, same mannerisms same bloody tunes…..just what we need. Amusingly The Noisettes featured next who, if I’m not mistaken (and I’m not), have already had an album out on Universal sub-label Mercury so are hardly a new act (I found out later that they had been dropped and re-signed so technically were a new signing - hmmmm). Despite lead singer Shingai Shoniwa attempting to out alien Grace Jones with her rather bizarre choice of haircut, The Noisettes still knocked out some rather half-arsed electro pop tunes that suggest that they may feel the huge Universal boot up the jacksy for a second time Talking of weird hair, finally we were treated to La Roux, who having tipped already this year I was looking forward to catching. Her three tunes didn’t disappoint, particularly former single - synth-fest ‘Quicksand’ - which still held enough Prince-tinged thrills to, at last, make me raise a smile. So that’s Universal’s hot new tips for 2009 and god help us if that’s all they have to offer. No doubt the huge marketing machine will deliver some fine sales for each but I can safely say that, save La Roux, I’ll be avoiding this little lot like the plague for the rest of the year. Yours gripely Steve
Last night I witnessed one of the wrongest (I know it’s not a real word) things I’ve seen since Cartman giving Ben Affleck a hand-job in an episode of South Park. The sight of former Smiths guitar-slinger Johnny Marr getting down with “the kids” alongside his new band mates The Cribs was both surreal and harrowing.
Now, I’m no fan of The Smiths (pseudo-intellectualism and average tunes) but to see a man who was half of one of the most celebrated writing partnerships in modern music slumming it with a second tier indie band just didn’t sit right. Where once he had Morrissey’s poetry he now shares the boards with a band who finish 85% of the choruses with “uh oh oh oh”, where The Smiths dictated fashion for students throughout their 80s, The Cribs have haircuts that make them look slightly retarded.
I’ve never really had anything against The Cribs – some nice enough tunes and they did rope in Sonic Youth’s Lee Ranaldo for their last album (plus points for anyone), but last night the sight of Marr hip-shaking it through their hour and a half set made me view them with less complementary eyes. When lead singer Ryan Jarman started slating indie-runts The View all I could think was - you pretty much sound the same but with more feedback. When he chastised the security for throwing out a stage invading fan I was left feeling that they really should have stopped playing the moment he got kicked out and refused to go on until he was let back in, not waited two songs to have a word. Better still he should have done a Kurt Cobain and actually started wrestling with them. Later on, the band did manage to get some fans onstage which has been reported in the press today as some punk rock statement but I couldn’t help but think that it was too little too late – and it all felt a little safe. Even the brilliant ‘Hey Scenesters!’ made me proclaim “oh, the irony”.
So it got me thinking – can misjudged collaborations affect your respect/love/mild-liking for a band? The answer is obviously yes but what are the worst examples?
Here are my top 5 worst team-ups ever:
1. Jimmy Page and Leona Lewis performing ‘Whole Lotta Love’ at the Beijing Olympics – guitarist in possibly the greatest heavy rock band of all time, meets charisma-free Cowell protégée. Only matched for horrendousness by the sight of David Beckham kicking a ball from a double decker bus.
2. Beth Ditto and Mika performing ‘Standing In The Way Of Control’ at The Brits – From credible art-rocker to corporate whore in less than 3 minutes just by stepping on stage with one of the most annoying pop stars of the last 50 years. Expect a slating in the NME for the next album....and hopefully an end to Mika’s career (fingers crossed)
3. Mick Jagger and David Bowie ‘Dancing In The Streets’ – two icons of British music miss the mark entirely with this Martha and the Vandellas cover and what the fuck where they wearing in the video? I know it was the 80s but Bowie looks like a flasher and Jagger....words fail me – this man sang ‘Gimme Shelter’ possibly the most jaw-droppingly awesome song of all time, I feel violated.
4. Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman – Somethin’ Stupid – not affecting my appreciation of a musician as I will always loathe Williams with every fibre of my body but Kidman is a brilliant actress and the way she slated Tom Cruise’s height after their divorce was priceless. Why she would want to sully her good name by teaming up with the ‘fat-dancer’ from Take That is beyond me.
5. Akon and Eminem – Smack That – the world’s greatest White Rapper helps out the human-chipmunk and pretty much obliterates all the credibility he’d built up. Lame rhymes and that annoying voice come together in probably raps worst collaboration ever.
later
Steve
