overlap

Well, less of the starting and more of the firmly established, I think. In any case that's the first line of Frank Turner's song Photosynthesis, of whom much, much more later. It's been a long time since I had a new back catalogue to go in search of, and after a day of almost constant listening to the limited songs on myspace and the rather more on youtube, I know that waiting for a couple of days before I do so will be a necessary step to avoid becoming rather saturated with those songs before I even get my hands on the CDs. Trusted recommendations are few and far between, and by the time you reach your forties, even if you love your music in many forms as I do, there's just not so much room left to take on new things that either bring something truly new, or do something familiar in an novel and unfamiliar way. Sometimes you just have to take a chance, and the worst that happens is you know not to come back so you've learned something in the process. And while the no job situation remains less than ideal, I can still find eleven quid to take a little chance, and I lived to be glad of having done so. It's October so it's the peak season of touring from now till Christmas. And it's a gig in a student venue by an artist with a sizeable audience among that demographic, so it's hardly a surprise that the gig is sold out and already over half full when I walked in. First act was already on stage, a guy called Jay who goes by the name of 'Beans On Toast' - you can guess what I think of that. He puts out a stream of wordy folk-acoustic ranting that could be improved for my taste by cutting out every other swearword, and for someone like me who has a full and lively vocabulary, that's some criticism. It's when it's in every other line of every song that it starts to come across less as effective self-expression, and more as flailing against the world. Which is something of a shame as he's got a smart tongue and undoubtedly a few things to say about the world which I could largely go along with. Next up are Fake Problems, who have one notable feature you'll either get on with or not, and the rest of it is irrelevant. I like the lead guitar player, especially when he gets to play solos, but the singer's voice strikes me as like a mix of the worst of Tom Waits covering Green Day in a generic corporate punk fashion. There's the odd moment where the tunefulness of Stiff Little Fingers breaks through, but nowhere near enough for my taste. Now, this also being the start of the academic year, give or take, means the venue is full of snappy young hipsters, and the waiting for Frank to come on meant I was indulging in a serious bout of handbag envy when someone walked past me and though surprised immediately addressed me by my first name while it took me a couple of moments to become clear of who it was. You can draw your own conclusions about the timewarp aspect of my hairstyle that I was immediately recognisable to someone I haven't seen in a decade or thereabouts! And to be honest, running into someone I used to get on really well with when we worked together would have made my night even if FT had turned out to be rubbish. We had a little time to catch up on the last decade, and you can also draw your own conclusions about the fact my old mate was still in touch with what everyone else who was in that department back then had been up to since, while I pretty much left, full stop. To a rousing reception, FT took the stage and did getting on for 90 minutes of cracking folk-angst-pop that had me grasping for comparisons. The musical feel is reminiscent of the Levellers when they started hitting the college venues, and a hint of Dexy's Midnight Runners' Kevin Rowland in his voice. The material is rather more the politics of the individual than of dogma and party policy. Looking like mid-70s Springsteen (and Johnny Barlow) from a distance is always going to be a decent move if you can pull it off, and what comes off the stage is a surprising amount of humanity and warmth, as well as a sense of humour and heritage, the latter coming through in a vocal only version of the ancient folk song Barbara Allen. It would be easy to come across as po-faced and preachy when you're doing a song about war, but when it's introduced by saying that you're going to protest via the medium of the guitar solo, well, I'll forgive anything, frankly. There's a lot made of his privileged background, but it seems fair to say he's paid his dues over hundreds of gigs in recent years. But what surprises me is that nobody's drawing the lazy comparison between his background and that of Joe Strummer, who ended up the sort of mythical figure that transcends the music they make. And if you wanted a candidate for a new youth cult leader, FT has the charisma in abundance and appears to be doing all the right things that that could just become a reality. Similarly to how Billy Bragg is cleverly marketed as someone who doesn't like marketing, the FT songs are polished to the point of just enough to remove the rawness but retain some rough edges, and it's a potent mixture. Meanwhile I've another gig to get to tonight, and then I've a new entire back catalogue to buy up. Here's the video for Photosynthesis - and if you can't find something of interest or amusement in it, let me know and I'll pop round and clean your ears out for you!

Labels: Beans On Toast, Fake Problems, Frank Turner, gigs

*So sings Traceyanne Campbell in Camera Obscura's song Away With Murder, and she has a very good point. Starting getting ready before 4pm is a good guide to a gig being something special, in more than one way. With a long bath, and more than enough make up behind me, my new handbag and I headed off to see Camera Obscura once again. I'm a very visual creature, and one of the things that makes my life easier is being able to rehearse the visualisation of where I am going, and what happens when I get there. With a familiar (and free!) parking spot only a short distance away, it's still something of an ordeal to get to the venue and inside it, a little bottle-related parking and moving on notwithstanding. Despite the getting through the door security gauntlet-running, it's relatively easy to go and stand in the dark, even if I'm a head taller than most of the other women on the premises. In a cramped space, there's more than enough sweat to make even the best Hollywood make up artists' work run, so it's not exactly easy to keep my cool. The bar was rammed when I got in, and while the lots of people coming through the front door makes me one of many rather than an isolated individual, it's still a moment or two of fear mixed with panic mixed with hope. Support act Magic Arm has a lot in common with Rob Jones' Voluntary Butler Scheme, in terms of sampled drum loops and so forth, but where the VBS makes a virtue of things that don't quite work, Magic Arm guy makes it look like technical probnlems rather than intentional vagueness, so it's not 100% convincing. I like the slightly more delicate acoustic guitar bits, I'm just not entirely certain how much is intentional. Camera Obscura, on the other hand, seem to have everything under control, despite Traceyanne's difficulties with the in-ear monitoring. It's great to see a band who make proper pop music for grown-ups, amd middle-aged people like me included. It would be futile to go through the set in detail, but Teenager is fabulous, and the whole set is over bang on 11 pm so I can be home by midnight-ish and take forever to type this out as the wine takes hold of my typing fingers. I'm way beyond a sensible, objective review here, but I had a great time.

Labels: Camera Obscura, gigs

One thing you're at the mercy of at a seated gig are the vagaries of who you end up sitting next to, or between. It's a factor that makes a bigger difference to me than it does to many people, particularly in certain circumstances, and one thing that leavens the question somewhat is knowing who your fellow audience may be. In any case I traded the delights of taking my new handbag out for a quick chat with the turn, but it was mildly pleasing to find my judgement turned out spot on. And for future reference, well that's worth knowing. Getting inside the venue and heading up the stairs to hear 'ladies and gentlemen, tonight's performance will start in two minutes, please take your seats' is a slightly more elegant way for the show to start then a roadie shining a torch towards the sound desk and flashing it. And promptly at 7.30, Miles Hunt and Erica Nockalls walked onto the stage to play for what I suspect is a bunch of folk predominantly unfamiliar with them. I gather I'm not the first to observe how grown-up and professional someone is when not swearing once over the forty minute set, and for just an acoustic guitar and a fiddle and mostly one voice, the sounds was flawless. Sat in the front row of a balcony section, I had a great view, and the mix of songs from Catching More Than We Miss and more familiar songs drawn from both Miles' solo work and The Wonder Stuff was pretty much spot on. Erica singing on Plans In The Sky was a particular highlight, and one of the things it brought to mind was whether she might end up also providing the Kirsty MacColl backing vocals on Welcome To The Cheap Seats at some point. Funny that Miles then told a story about his first encountering the sainted Kirsty, and they played Welcome To The Cheap Seats. The final song of the set was, less predictably than you might think, Size Of A Cow. Less predictable because this is the first time I've seen it done in a duo format with Erica's fiddle dualling the keyboard lines and guitar stabs, which is both a refreshing re-invention and set-closing cue for most of the crowd's familiarity reflexes to be touched. Ace! After a quick chat with Miles & Erica, and another venue PA warning to return to one's seats, The Proclaimers took the stage in front of a fairly partisan audience. I'm sure Cap In Hand has a certain resonance when it's played in a country that isn't England, and for me those subtler moments are the finer part of the set. I'm not sure whether the rhythm section were turned up to eleven on purpose, but at times it sounded more like the driving, muscular approach of The Who or Dr Feelgood than the sort of finesse or delicacy I'd rather hear. I'm On My Way could be a rogue Status Quo song that escaped and grew up north of the border, Erica returns to the stage for Sunshine On Leith, and from my vantage point I'm watching the crowd as much as the stage. I mentioned before the familiarity reflexes, and it's true that I'm taking a slightly less partial view than I normally would just because I didn't come for the headliners really. It's more than diverting to watch the security staff trying to get certain people to sit down, and confiscating a bottle that was being passed around, but it's equally observable how 500 Miles in particular has everyone out of their seats clapping slightly out of time and for the most part immediately sitting down again once the one song they really know is over. Interesting! After a brief excursion to play the return for the encore game, and a bit more help from Erica, the lights go up and it's all over bang on ten pm. This is both fitting for a proper theatre venue, and curiously un-rock n roll, but a gig where I could have been home well before half past ten had I not made a slight detour to run an errand on the way is a rare thing indeed! Miles & Erica setlist DWI\Fill Her Up and Foot Down\Corny But True\Circlesquare\The Cake\Stay Scared Stay Tuned\Amongst The Old Reliables\Plans In The Sky\Welcome To The Cheap Seats\Size Of A Cow

Labels: Erica Nockalls, gigs, Miles Hunt, The Proclaimers

It comes to something when the artist has got backstage video footage from the gig already up on facebook and I'm still days behind in catching up! Sometimes you need an understanding of what makes an act special, in more than one sense, if you're not going to be taken by surprise. On the one hand it's hard to avoid pigeonhole limitations by putting a label on something, but on the other hand if you ignore it then you are definitely missing something. But it's natural enough that there are lots of women holding hands with women, in a concentration that's part reassuring that it's obviously a safe atmosphere for that to happen, and part raising the question as to whether such an event is needed for it to happen. Whatever, I'm not qualified to answer the question. Last time I saw the Indigo Girls my brain chemistry was somewhat affected by a combination of alcohol and adrenaline, and despite the undeniable appeal of that option, this time I ended up fully sober and paying attention. Despite which, a couple of days later I'm now a bit short on detail! The full detail of the setlist is irrelevant, but it runs roughly by alternating a couple of new songs with a couple of old ones with a couple of new ones and so on. There's some great banter as Amy takes forever to tune her guitar, Yield and Starkville are highlights, the newer songs come through in the live environment with a bit more flavour as they haven't really leapt off the CD at me. At some points that atmosphere heads almost towards political rally, while Emily is at pains to point out that the songs shouldn't need to be political, but the mix of celebration and serious is unmistakably potent. And then they play Ghost, which is a song of tremendous personal importance and Three Hits is likewise accompanied by the crowd's voices in great number. The gig turns into an immense singalong, uplifting and inspiring in turn, and you can believe it when they comment from the stage that they've had a great time too. There's a general warmth from the gig that keeps us all company till long after we've finally made our way out of the lengthy car park queue, and gone our separate ways. See you next time! * Power Of Two is a song from the Indigo Girls' 1994 album 'Swamp Ophelia', a fine description of how just two voices and two instruments can make for a top night of music, and a couple more relevant things besides.

Labels: gigs, Indigo Girls

Keeping up my consecutive calendar month gig record was looking doubtful till I made a late decision to head up the M5 to one of my favourite venues, JB's at Dudley. No rush to be on time, but some incentive to make sure my ticket for collection on the door was actually there, and it was. So, what do you expect from an event called Metalfest? Right. I came in while Warpath were on stage, and saw their last couple of songs: I imagine that's what watching Metallica looked like in 1983, but from a position that might turn into some surprise by the time they'd turned into the metal U2. Sure they know what they are doing and good luck to them, but it's not really my style. Not really [someone's] style is also a good fit for Touchstone. I saw them a bit over a year ago, and wasn't quite convinced, and having had greater familiarity with a couple of their myspace tracks in the meantime, I'm still not. I'm not sure if it was the shoes that made singer Kim look more Jessica Rabbit-in-the-Headlights than composed and self-possessed. I wanted to give them another chance, and I like the sound, but maybe I just don't like watching them on stage. Curiously unsatisfying. Next up were Eastern Front. When you've gone to the trouble of setting up a big visual impact to your onstage moments, it sort of blows the fun when you've got band members turning round to shout at the venue lights/sound staff when you are waiting to get going. Now, the visual impact was one thing, but when they start making a noise as well it's nothing if not memorable. I'm still not sure it isn't some kind of abstract art prank by Jaz Coleman to make fun of just what rubbish you'd have got if Venom had seen more of King Diamond and Slayer before they really got started, mind. Full credit for the onstage spotlights to catch the white facepainted faces against the black jumpsuits in the dark. Full credit for the Kerry King wrist spikes and the barbed wire hanging off your mike stand. Well worth seeing once, purely for the mindwarp experience, but utterly unlistenable. Headliners the Blaze Bayley band never disappoint, and this is part celebration, part the end of the touring for the Man Who Would Not Die album, as they go immediately into the studio to start work on the next album. I have to say I wouldn't know Lord Of The Flies from Lord Of The Dance, and as far as I'm concerned, well it's like your first girlfriend goes off, has a kid with someone else and in due course you all get over it but even if you and the ex eventually get on very well you're always going to see something else when you look at that kid. In which case, though I know Blaze isn't going to drop the Maiden stuff and there's no reason why he should just to suit me, I am looking forward to another new album and more new tracks. Which is the important thing. Blaze Bayley 4/5 version in full flight. Dave always gives really good hair onstage.