tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43161299749722488472024-03-05T08:02:44.560+00:001001 Fun Things to Do in AberystwythOh, The agony of living somewhere stupid.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-34177612173062826562012-04-04T00:58:00.003+01:002012-04-04T01:04:40.007+01:00Quick You Fool, Catch The Sun!<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Summer arrived last week. It arrived, scorched everyone's pasty skin (except mine, sun: "</span><em style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">hisssssssssssssssss</em><span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">") and then departed with the sort abruptness that one might describe as rude. </span><br />
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Reports from taxi drivers give snow in some parts for tomorrow, but then taxi drivers will also tell you stories about how David Bowie has a house in Maesteg, how pigeons carry space measles and how David Cameron is an entity constructed entirely from ham. </div>
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One of those is absolutely true.</div>
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In honour of our fleeting glimpse into the mythical land of barbeque, I give you a couple of summery tracks.</div>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.box.com/s/c8d03a1ee1a0db5d9e5c">Haystacks</a>, <i>The Cave Singers</i>, No Witch. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Jingly jangly farming fun, fun, fun, fun. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.box.com/s/8fae4cbad585b7075d9b">I've Been Waiting</a>, <i>Uninhabitable Mansions, </i>live on WFMU. Hipster haze.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.box.com/s/96be68ac0132ec7b62fa">Bola Bola</a>, </span><i style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 18px;">Gorky's Zygotic Monkey</i><span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">, Barafundle. Always reminds me of the Wicker Man... and misspent summers past.</span></li>
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</span><span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">.... Oh and this:</span><div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-59692416867140853712012-03-13T09:07:00.000+00:002012-03-13T09:07:06.515+00:00Utter Addiction, Total Conquest<br />
I don't remember where I picked up the Elvis Perkins bug from; it was somewhere recent, almost certainly a music blog ... but I'm terribly sorry, I can't remember the name of the lovely soul who made the recommendation - shine on whoever you are!<br />
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What a recommendation it was. Aside from the unbelievable Billy Bragg & Wilco, Mermaid Avenue box-set, Elvis P has had almost exclusive rights over my ears. Over and over and over, until the songs are as ingrained as stains on a kitchen table. Tip-top stuff.<br />
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<li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?vp550nkgcv49nzi">Elvis Perkins, Ash Wednesday, from the album Ash Wednesday (FLAC)</a></li>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-24796142622520717392011-10-24T12:05:00.002+01:002011-10-24T12:05:34.525+01:00Here's to Glen Campbell. Seriously.I was going to be all trendy with a roundup of Cardiff's Swn festival (Nikki and the Dove stood out), but, er... well, I went to see Glen Campbell the other night; he kind of took the cake.<br />
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Glen Campbell may turn out to be one of the most memorable gigs I've been to. He's 75, suffering from Alzheimer's and yet still performing in a farewell tour - one that includes a costume change no less. He basks in a haze of glorious neon Americana (does a mean Elvis impression), and whilst on stage he appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. The dexterity of the septuagenarian's guitar playing and his lyrical recall remains untouched by the ravages of dementia - there was even an outbreak into 'Dueling Banjos' at one point, causing my poor charred husk of a heart to burst with joy. He still can perform.<br />
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Watching Glen, one is apt to be reminded of the redoubtable Mrs Beetle from Stella Gibbon's 'Cold Comfort Farm', she who planned to turn her grandchildren into a jazz band. Glen's done it. His daughter's a multi-instrumentalist, one son plays bass and another plays the drums. They all play and sing. Whilst that kind of forward planning must certainly keep the overheads down, I suspect it's also the reason that he was able to undertake this last tour. His family treats him as a treasure.<br />
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They weren't alone in that sentiment - I don't think I've ever seen a standing ovation given before an artist has even sung one note, but there was a palpable genuine affection in sold out St David's Hall. It was never hard to watch Campbell on stage (despite my pre-concert worries), there was never a pause to allow a crushing weights of concern and sympathy deaden the mood. Alzheimer's wasn't so much an elephant in the room as a buzzing fly to be hand-waved off , at least while the limelights shone. "I'm 54", he joked, "I forget things!".<br />
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As the evening wore on Glen's banter became at times a little confused but the show's structure and band provided direction and focus. He remained in high spirits, surrounded by his children,even singing some 'new'. The picture of a man at peace; one who has the good fortune to be on stage, appreciated, and singing with wizened gusto. Would that that level of attention and fondness could be so easily granted to other dementia sufferers, providing a constant tonic of reassured self worth. That said it's not all peaches and gravy; on the way out one old chap muttered about Campbell's voice being "different" since the last time he saw him, 35 years ago.<br />
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Glen Campbell's certainly never been cool. Not even ironically, despite the potent combination of Rhinestones and faux folksiness. Nor has he been rejuvenated and re-marketed by the loving ministrations of a seminal producer (one suspects he wouldn't have submitted to such attentions), or fixed into the firmament as an American icon. Yet he's still wearing spangly cowboy jackets, and the Witchita Lineman is still on that line. The evident pride in his career must surely contrast with what his happening to his mind, yet he looks to be content. A man who knows himself, and is in on the joke. To watch Glen Campbell was to be provided with a rare glimpse into unique performer's longevical life, and to be given cause to celebrate.<br />
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Here you go, you know you'll enjoy them really:<br />
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<li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?wx4fnnvz2bx636c">Witchita Lineman</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?4xgcyjcanf2au2p">Southern Nights</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?crfmk7nyafr1jfu">Rhinestone Cowboy</a></li>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-13636743196472809312011-09-30T15:40:00.010+01:002011-09-30T22:29:29.467+01:00Power Pop for Nuns: Hazey Janes<blockquote>
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Writing about the Hazey Janes should be simple. They're a Scottish band with faux American accents. Their music is unassuming power pop; between the jangly guitars you can hear echos of nifty West coast three part harmonies. There's a spot of self-effacing Bon Jovi fandom in there too - though they just about get away with it. The songs are catchy enough to raise a smile and enjoyable enough to warrant more than one listen. The Hazey Janes seem to have mastered the art of being uncomplicated without being dull.<br />
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Oh boy, is that ever damning with faint praise; it's also pretty unfair as I've willingly given the upcoming album 'The Winter That Was' a few repeat hearings.<br />
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Carmelite is one of the more boisterous offerings. If I liked it less I'd call it a skillful package of cliches; driven, sweet sounding and not a little soft-rock. They're a little like the post Holy Bible Manic Street Preachers, without the 6th form poetry.<br />
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The ingenuous truth is that although the Hazey Janes fall into the (somewhat long-winded) category of dime-a-dozen bands "capable of putting out a decent tune without signifying anything", actually that's okay in this case. They're solid, not boring. Perhaps it's indicative of my current tendency to overdose on lots of angsty, hand-wringing indie and a bit too much electro, but these guys feel like a gust of fresh air; there's unabashed jubilation to be found in their gusto too. They're not so mild that they're inoffensive, but for a simple band they've been a pain in the backside to analyse.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-23461174047655201152011-09-30T10:46:00.009+01:002011-09-30T22:31:34.673+01:00St Vincent - I'm flicking through a thesaurus for superlatives as I typeI'm trying to find a prosy way to start talking about St Vincent. Maybe a comparison with other bands that use St as a honorific, maybe some sort of poor ramble about the singer-songwriter's beatification after leaving the smiley happy, cult-like Polyphonic Spree...<br />
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No. Sod it. </div>
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St Vincent, aka Ann Erin Clark is bloody good. Her first album 'Marry Me' was bloody good, 'Actor' more of the same, and not only does 'Strange Mercy' fail disappoint in any way whatsoever, it keeps on improving with every listen. 'Cheerleader', taken from the newly released third album proved to be my personal highlight of last night's Music Geek Monthly meeting; even though I completely misheard the chorus and thought she was singing about not wanting to be a "chimney". Totally understandable; chimney isn't exactly the sort of career for a young, talented woman.<br />
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Generally Miss Clark gadds about as an alternative darling; popping up here and there in elite touring bands, or as an opening act to indie groups with serious chops - Arcade Fire, Grizzly Bear etc, etc. Usually garnering plenty of critical acclaim and Kate Bush comparisons. Did I mention she's bloody good? She plays a dirty bass, she sings - she probably doesn't want to be a chimney (her lyrics tend to be a bit cleverer than that) and if that's not enough she plays a slew of other instruments too. Flute, organ and piano aren't enough for her or her heavily layered arrangements. </div>
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Strange Mercy is a curious beast. The album sounds raddled; a travel-soiled girl weary under florescent bus station lights, hands clenched into fists, palms marked by half moons. It spins from from fragility to aggression; catchy riffs subvert the dark, challenging and frank tone as the music ripples with raw emotion, painful stories and originality. </div>
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Second track 'Cruel'is a perfect example of the music's schizophrenic nature; bright, breezy start with a luscious stroke of 'Spanish Eyes'-like balladry, counterpointed by a chirpy electro beat that bob-bob-bobs along until... until... Until there's a crescendo and you're not quite in Kansas anymore. Yet as suddenly as it changes it reverts to being a blowsy singalong once more, albeit about someone "someone waving flares in the air so they could see you".<br />
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There's not a hint of pretension, not even in tracks with titles like 'Neutered Fruit' (which include a Disney choir like warble). It's the music of someone who is clearly in love with what she does; complex, creative, crafted.... And it's bloody good.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-80407020877035271162011-09-11T13:54:00.014+01:002011-09-30T22:32:04.302+01:00A Weakness For Harmonies<span class="Apple-style-span"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span">There are plenty of slightly doleful, jean-clad, folky harmonisers lurking out in the mists. </span>Sweet, twee and utterly vapid, yet hell-bent on clogging up one's ears with cable-knit earnestness. The demonstrable effect of which is akin to a giant smug sigh. There are few things truly as dull as when an otherwise inoffensive genre shuffles up to politely handbag the listening public, but that's what happens when folk attacks. Tea, trees and twiddly-dee songs of melancholia for everyone!<br />
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Right now contemporary folk feels almost beyond redemption. Boring music by numbers, thoroughly moribund with both a sense self-inflated authenticity and well stroked beards in dutifully curated states of distress. </div>
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Thankfully there are exceptions to this stream of tediousness...<br />
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March of Dimes are a alt-country band, rich with the sort of concinnity that acts as a lodestone for attention. After following up on a recommendation, the Leeds based group have become addictive listening.<br />
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The (now) five-piece started as a musical project of commemoration and celebration. The first album, 'All Intents And Purposes', 2008, certainly does sound personal, but there's unexpected quirks and tangents that transform the songs into something greater than audio diary entries of middle-road lyricism. It serves as a reminder that ardency isn't always a bad thing; running alongside the (rather charming) mostly sad songs is unheralded vein of flippancy and musical skill that is very definitely beguiling.<br />
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Aside from the first album there's a couple of EPs too, all under Hope House Records; the entire collection can be found for streaming <a href="http://www.marchofdimesmusic.com/">here</a>. I promise it's worth it.<br />
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The latest EP is a little richer in tone; a little more polished, but it bodes well for future releases. B-side 'The Navigation Song', is just the right side of wistfulness to make it the perfect accompaniment to fleeting scenes from train windows, or all other autumnal travel needs.<br />
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I'm a sucker for good harmonies; it's a pleasure to find a new reason to actually enjoy them.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-26507792803956572082011-08-28T09:19:00.007+01:002011-08-28T09:47:58.020+01:00Musing on Billie Holiday... and Bananas.<div style="text-align: center;">
</div><blockquote></blockquote>I once had a falling out over Lady Day. Yes, it <i>was </i>late at night. Yes, whisky sampling had been taking place - how clever of you to guess.<div><blockquote></blockquote>
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My friend was being a pretentious jazz snob (the worst kind of music snob, so sayeth the shoegazer) belittling her later work. Okay, she lost a lot of her range to booze and drugs, but an expansive range was never her big thing. I think the later fragility adds a poignancy to her music. People are at their most interesting a study when they're less than perfect. You can marvel the sublime, but half its glory lies in being able to bare witness in the face of the moment's brevity. Beauty doesn't remain fixed, all skill fails; the passage time takes its toll (especially bananas). We all have failings and lord knows we acquire more (or better disguises); ultimately Elvis was no less great because he got fat.<blockquote></blockquote>
Okay, some stuff to know about Billie Holiday, though I'm sure you all do....<blockquote></blockquote>
Billie Holiday is the perfect accompaniment to heavy rain and introspective writing. She was born Elenanora Fagan back in 1915, died an old, old young in '59. Jazz purists are apt to talk about her phrasing and pioneering vocal style - she liked to emulate the band, particularly the cornet. Music historians cite her tragic upbringing, though in her autobiography she made light of it...</div><div>
</div><div><blockquote></blockquote> <blockquote>"Mom and Pop were just a couple of kids when they got married. He was eighteen, she was sixteen, and I was three'.</blockquote>
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Her mother sold her into prostitution age 13, the men she loved treated her badly, but all that was nothing. She was raped as a child by her neighbor: she was arrested as she lay dying. If she'd be around today there's no doubt the only thing you'd know her for would be her prodigious heroin addiction.<blockquote></blockquote>
Holiday co-wrote only couple of songs, but they've become standards - including "Don't Explain" posted down below. As I mentioned above, she shot her voice through booze and drugs, but the fragility became her. She sang for crying hearts, and broken spirits; for those who've been wronged and those who didn't/couldn't help themselves. Injustice and pain is universal, but that music can only ever be hers.
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Her final album, Lady in Satin was recorded with Ray Ellis and his orchestra a year before her death. In the liner notes wrote of her...<blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote>"I would say that the most emotional moment was her listening to the playback of "I'm a Fool to Want You." There were tears in her eyes ... After we finished the album I went into the control room and listened to all the takes. I must admit I was unhappy with her performance, but I was just listening musically instead of emotionally. It wasn't until I heard the final mix a few weeks later that I realized how great her performance really was."</blockquote><blockquote></blockquote>
If I had to listen to only one record for the rest of my life, it would one of Billie's.
Here are some of my personal favorites:<blockquote></blockquote>
<a href="http://www.box.net/shared/e88vaq0vt2zxkdcrcbbu">
</a><ul><a href="http://www.box.net/shared/e88vaq0vt2zxkdcrcbbu"></a><li><a href="http://www.box.net/shared/e88vaq0vt2zxkdcrcbbu"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="http://www.box.net/shared/e88vaq0vt2zxkdcrcbbu">I'm A Fool To Want You, Lady in Satin, Columbia, 19</a><a href="http://www.box.net/shared/e88vaq0vt2zxkdcrcbbu">58</a></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><u><a href="http://www.box.net/shared/hrf2qfrz7zk7jemck0yf">Don't Explain (live), Carnegie Hall, 1956</a></u></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><u><a href="http://www.box.net/shared/duji2kym4jitne92j1vx">Strange Fruit (live), Complete Billie Holiday on Verve</a></u></span></li></ul><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><blockquote></blockquote>
</u></span></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-64359097662704104652011-07-29T13:45:00.010+01:002011-09-30T22:32:35.623+01:00Stand-Up Review: What Is Love, Anyway?<a href="http://www.google.co.uk/url?source=imglanding&ct=img&q=http://venues.meanfiddler.com/upload/Richard-Herring-Preview-300.jpg&sa=X&ei=d7YyTvS5Goa88gOq4_SgDg&ved=0CAQQ8wc&usg=AFQjCNH87jLF3_-KFwp_ra2VUNF8Qi0DVw"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.google.co.uk/url?source=imglanding&ct=img&q=http://venues.meanfiddler.com/upload/Richard-Herring-Preview-300.jpg&sa=X&ei=d7YyTvS5Goa88gOq4_SgDg&ved=0CAQQ8wc&usg=AFQjCNH87jLF3_-KFwp_ra2VUNF8Qi0DVw" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a>
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Richard Herring is a sweetie. There's simply no denying it. He may have stood on stage and delighted in the vulgar and sophmoric in "AIOTM", or tormented comedy partners with sick imagery and a sicker brain. He's still a sweetie. His new show "What Is Love, Anyway?" is a triumph, or rather I expect it will be - since I've only see the (very polished) preview. Despite it's unfinished nature, it was the best stand-up set I've had the pleasure of seeing. You might say I'm biased since I'm a long time fan girl -I even own a t-shirt, but last night I put down my wine, listened and felt deeply touched. Not like that.<br />
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What is love, anyway? Howard Jones says it's leaving room for doubts, other songwriters tell you that despite the dark night, the heartbreak, the physical abuse, the cheating or otherwise hell to pay, that some people muster up a love so intense, so pure that it can endure any attack no matter how atrocious. People are immortalised by their love - or fossilised by it. Finally the bible comes along and defines a kind of love so bloody blissful that it is nigh on unattainable and if you had it, well you'd probably be bored.<br />
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Love is not boastful, love is kind, it is not arrogant nor rude - all of which seems to be at odds with Herring's on-stage persona of a juvenile bombast, delighting in the moronic. When one thinks of Richard Herring the first thing that comes to mind ridiculer of the offensive and champion of the absurd. Though he has presented a softer side before, both in his delightful and long running blog <a href="http://www.richardherring.com/warmingup/">Warming-Up</a> and in the reflective "Headmaster's Son".<br />
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In "What Is Love, Anyway?" Herring purports a rationalist perspective; love is as ridiculous a belief as religion. Faith in soul mates, in moonlit walks and hands held tightly, is all just as foolish. It the hands of a less skilful comic, the show could easily become the same bitter rant that's been spewed at bartenders through the ages. It never does. Instead "What Is Love, Anyway?" skilfully blends the pitfalls and absurdity of romance; it's never mawkish, nor wistful, nor is it overly cynical or cruel. The humour is keen, personal and utterly beguiling. You leave needing to think on about Herring's observations, not because they're so quotable, nor because of the unexpected tenderness flourished at the end, but because the jaunty pace and blithe delivery mask unexpected wisdom.
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The show hits the highest peak of comedy, it is both funny and astute. It does not lecture, it does not harrange. It is quick to laugh at the foibles of human nature and sniggers at delusions. Like the Apostle Paul, Herring it seems, trusts, hopes, perseveres (even when he claims otherwise), but later laughs heartily.
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Well worth a look. Go, go, flock in your droves.
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-44787186089627105152011-04-27T16:38:00.007+01:002011-09-30T22:30:36.938+01:00Cider, Parks and the Creeping Sensation of Sunburn<a href="http://www.google.co.uk/url?source=imgres&ct=img&q=http://blog.girlsbydesign.com/wp-content/aberystwyth.jpg&sa=X&ei=dT64Te2PC5Oq8AP2nMFE&ved=0CAQQ8wc4Qw&usg=AFQjCNGdHSVp_dp_04K3v9_OZVuVopoYvg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.google.co.uk/url?source=imgres&ct=img&q=http://blog.girlsbydesign.com/wp-content/aberystwyth.jpg&sa=X&ei=dT64Te2PC5Oq8AP2nMFE&ved=0CAQQ8wc4Qw&usg=AFQjCNGdHSVp_dp_04K3v9_OZVuVopoYvg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 326px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span">The Lure of the Possibilities of Summer ... <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Aber</span> Almost Looks Nice</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.6633277893997729" style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Matt Pond PA were one of the first bands I found courtesy of the sparkly new technology of the </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">interweb</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">, with its “www’s”, mp3s and other … modern things. Back in the dark age of dial-up. Back before google had become a verb when rickets still roamed the Earth. If I remember rightly </span><a href="http://www.polyvinylrecords.com/" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">Polyvinyl Records</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> were offering some free tracks of Saturday Looks Good to Me - least I think they were free, surely everything was back in those halcyon days; free or bartered for with pigs. Anyway, since Matt Pond PA were part of the same stable and also (very probably) free I gave them a go. </span></span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ve</span> a soft spot for the band. Matt Pond, now located over at <a href="http://www.altituderecords.com/">Altitude</a>, ticks along with a myriad of chums who come and go like ships in the night. Generally Pond <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">et</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">al</span>, create gentle indie of a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">wishy</span>-washy nature; expansive yet at odds with Pond’s frailty. Don’t get me wrong, it’s (thankfully) nowhere near Conor ‘here’s-a-tissue, give-it-a-good-hard-blow’ <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Oberst</span>’s intense wail, but there’s the same time there's a similar crunched up awkwardness; Pond oscillates between nervy hand-wringer and dreamy tree-hugger. At worst it’s just pleasant background music but at best it’s ridiculously catchy, or apt to tweak the corners of your mouth upwards. It also fits well with the sunshine. </span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Which brings me to my point; the nice weather dictated a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">playthrough</span> of 2010’s ‘The Dark Leaves’ in its entirety; I really rather enjoyed it. Whilst it's neither bursting with </span></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">originality or tenderness, Dark Leaves is however good at what it does; with a nature element that makes one feel almost out-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">doorsy</span>. It's the musical </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">equivalent</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> of a hand crafted wooden kitchen table, one whose burns and spill stains only make it seem all the more homely and loved. Dark Leaves is gentle but solid, and </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m recommending Matt Pond PA as the perfect accompaniment to cider, picnics in parks and the creeping sensation of sunburn.</span></div>
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<li><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://www.box.net/shared/7gfnkeyjrj">New Hampshire - Emblems</a>,2004</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://www.box.net/shared/7gfnkeyjrj">Ruins - The Dark Leaves</a>, 2010</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://www.box.net/shared/skm8dj7g73">Possibilities of Summer - Deer Apartments</a>, 1998</span></span></li>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-49876584610837878302011-04-07T11:20:00.009+01:002011-09-30T22:33:29.181+01:00With Blasphemy So Heartfelt, And Tired<blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><i>Not A Happy Bunny.</i></span></div>
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Jessica Lea Mayfield may look like a wee country poppet, but her songs are as weighty as an apathetic partner forced to waltz. At 23 she's a veritable connoisseur of misery - all perfectly okay for bluesy country, especially as there isn't a trace of bad teenage poetry, emotional aggrandisement, nor a misplaced quest for empathy. The girl is just plain miserable. She's not happy being sad; she just is. <br />
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She's also just released a new EP, 'Tell Me', but I'm behind the times and still caught up with 2008's 'With Blasphemy So Heartfealt'. 'Blasphemy...' is a break-up album that hits all the right notes and won't spare a single one extra. The sparsity of each track reigns in mawkish tendencies, and the sullen delivery is strangely evocative, despite its detachment. This is an album of lyrics churned from nights spent with eyes fixed upon a spot on the wall, and where fleeting western skies can be found in a few chords.</div>
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All in all, it's impressively bitter. The only problem is that listening to the whole thing in one go feels like being beaten over the head with a brick by someone who consistently sounds too bored by their own anger to care. However taken in little pieces it's a beautiful broken necklace of an album with gems that are burnished brightly. Mayfield is a talented soul, and one I suspect will be accompanying my night whiskies for some time to come.<br />
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<li><a href="http://www.box.net/shared/qeo7xy46p5">Jessica Lea Mayfield, Blasphemy So Heartfelt - Kiss Me Again</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.box.net/shared/471s0zz6nv">Jessica Lea Mayfield, Blasphemy So Heartfelt - I Can't Lie To You</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.box.net/shared/mdvfsfsrrq">Jessica Lea Mayfield, Blasphemy So Heartfelt - Bible Days</a></li>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-32596676812979651592011-04-02T00:54:00.005+01:002011-09-30T22:35:06.739+01:00Lived in Bars and Danced On Tables<span style="font-size: small;">It's late and I'm wistful. Circumstances that are far from mutually exclusive, though it's usually thanks to whisky that the two dance to their private waltz. There's nothing like living in a bottle.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Which brings me to Cat Power's 'Lived In Bars'. The last song of the night for the drinker who's up way bedtime and reached far, far beyond Darien's peak. At least until the beat kicks in.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Always stay for one last drink. That's when the interesting things happen. </span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-90785457400528124592011-03-13T11:09:00.009+00:002011-09-30T22:36:18.442+01:00Still Corners - The Musical Equivalent of Floaty Sleeves<a href="http://cdn.pitchfork.com/media/Endless_Summer.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://cdn.pitchfork.com/media/Endless_Summer.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 221px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 221px;" /></a>
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Another beautiful spring Sunday; blue skies, birds, squinting whilst muttering about lost sunglasses (left in a pub). It can mean only one thing; time to pull shut the velvet curtains, maintain my consumptive pallour (not to mention vitamin D deficiency) and wither away in bitter darkness, but all whilst listening to sunshine songs. </div>
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Still Corners recently signed to Sub Pop where they're currently slogging away on an upcoming album that should be out in time for summer. The band makes 'dream-pop', aka music that sound wispy/ethereal and is this case comes with with heavy organ usage; it's melodic, but too skewed to be wholesome. Imagine the tunes playing in Christopher Lee's head when he's gadding about in that Wicker Man wig; all flowers and nature one minute and then virgin sacrifices the next. Got it? Lord Summerisle's internal soundtrack -that's them.</div>
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Not that that's bad thing! Still Corners's first self produced album 'Remember Pepper' is intriguing and eerily tranquil; a 1960s dream of smoke and silent waters, though like the sticky drips of a melting mivvy it can be a bit too much of a good thing. However their last EP 'Endless Summer' is a haunting ball of fuzzy noise and reverberating drums, packing a hidden punch and boding well for the upcoming album. It may be a hazy summer love-affair brought on my the shimmer of the sun, but right now they're definitely worth a listen.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-55380923952536769082011-03-07T09:50:00.012+00:002011-03-13T12:20:36.906+00:00Brighton Rocks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4063/4374417646_e88b1bfd76.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 210px; height: 250px;" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4063/4374417646_e88b1bfd76.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><div>Hullo!</div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>Bloody hell it's been a long time; a long, long time; a long, long, long, long time. A long, long, long, long ... ahem, enough of that! Thanks to the friendly folk who emailed to ask if I was dead. I'm not. So, aside from listening to too much Josh Ritter (you can never have too much, never), hating Aberystwyth with the fire of a thousand suns, collecting evesdropped beauts like "real zombies shuffle" and bemoaning being old, what do I have to offer you?</div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>Well, to ease myself back into the swing of things, I'll start with a wee band called The Blue Hearts. Confusingly there happens to be two sets of Blue Hearts, one was Japanese punk outfit and the other is a Brighton purveyor of self proclaimed 'neon rock'. Unlike most irritatingly titled music sub-catagorisiations 'neon rock' comes with a handy little definition that one suspects was scribbled on a beermat; an "<span class="Apple-style-span">eclectic mix of brash rock n roll tones steeped in the sexuality of a down-town late night speakeasy". Yes, well. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
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<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.code7music.com/store/images/JoM-front-Cover.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 355px;" src="http://www.code7music.com/store/images/JoM-front-Cover.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a></span></div><div>The Blue Hearts have been around in one incarnation or another since the early 90s. The front man, Bob Powell sounds eerily like better adjusted Nick Cave, whilst the music rings with echoes upon echoes of nostalgia; solid rock 'n' roll hooks of simpler times, but with typical three piece rhythms enriched by Sue Bradley's violin. </div><div>
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</div><div>The latest album title 'Jukebox of Maladies' may put you in mind of a pic'n'mix of venereal diseases, but it's a hearty listen of extreme reverence to mythologised rock and roll. Influences lie heavily but each song never quite tips into tribute or wholesale imitation. The whole record is undoubtedly loving made and it is a thing of quality - old fashioned but certainly not without style.</div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
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</div><div>You can bop a bit to it too. </div><div><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/file/d3m8u7amakq7z89/04%20Jukebox%20of%20Maladies.m4a">
</a></div><div><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/file/d3m8u7amakq7z89/04%20Jukebox%20of%20Maladies.m4a">Snake Oil Sam - The Blue Hearts, Jukebox of Maladies</a></div><div><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/file/h6dhkuza82yt9r0/07%20Snake%20Oil%20Sam.m4a">Jukebox of Maladies - The Blue Hearts, Jukebox of Maladies</a></div><div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-8294407229443262010-09-07T11:30:00.017+01:002010-09-09T14:13:44.972+01:00And One Guy Played a Saw<div style="text-align: center;">
</div><blockquote></blockquote>A busy weekend has passed leaving bruises, a bad back and worries of impending hypothermia as souvenirs. I swear a solemn oath to the stars above to never, never go to a festival ever again. Never... though I seem to remember saying that last time. <div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div> A few years ago the Electric Picnic went badly wrong; the bands were brilliant and atmosphere great, but thanks to an overly enthusiastic night in Dublin (and the need to buy wellies) I found myself picking coins from the floor, pitifully trying to garner enough to buy food to go with my free samples of iced tea (like tea but cooler). Four years on; I'm older and wiser (and I own wellies). Four years on and I was determined my Electric Picnic would be foolproof: n<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ey</span>, it would be nothing short of triumphant! Waterproofs, camping stove for morning brew, air beds for old bones, sun screen, anti-histamines, enough plasters to bandage a mummy, eye masks, ear plugs, warm clothes, sunny skirts... the list of was endless, it would make everything perfect - and I took it all, as my now strained back can testify.</div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>And yet it still went wrong - I forgot to pack a spare tent.<blockquote></blockquote><div><div style="text-align: center;">
</div><div>To say the tent leaked gives the impression of the odd few drops tattooing an unwelcome wake-up call on a partied out sleeper. The tent did not leak - the tent streamed water in order to give a reproduction exact in its verisimilitude to the lashing storm outside. There was no sleep, no sleep at all, only sopping wet sleeping bags, drenched clothes, floating air-beds and hunched figures huddling over a dying lamp holding umbrellas in what was technically indoors. I blame Dublin Gospel Choir and their quite frankly <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">un</span></span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">necessary,</span> though funky, prayers for rain earlier on the Sunday. And the tent. I hate that tent. And I hate the bus that made me late for my flight back; so late in fact that I had to fork over more precious euros for the pleasure of waiting 8 hours in Dublin airport in bone-chillingly wet clothes, getting steadily drunk, sleep deprived and maniacal.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>As for the Picnic <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">itself, well, </span>it's changed a lot; the crowd is now young, drunk, and not too interested in music, or maybe I'm old, grumpy and fed up of being barged into by festival zombies smacked out on the thrill of underage booze and cigarettes. It did seem a shame to be surrounded by solipsistic youngsters, flush with a sense of self-entitlement, wrists wrapped in special wristbands denoting access to the poshest camp sites that their parents' money could buy; most of whom were content to swig jelly shots and scream at each other rather than listen. </div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>It wasn't all bad though; alongside the youth, the poets trying out sex noises as performance pieces, fire-dancing hippies and the over-priced cartons of noodles there were still some decent acts; I wouldn't have missed Seasick Steve's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">gurning</span></span> or Marc Almond putting his heart and soul into his set for the world. Not to mention the sheer joy of looking on as a 55 piece orchestra was upstaged by a spoon wielding tramp, though oddly enough he wasn't advertised in the line-up.<blockquote></blockquote></div><div style="text-align: center;">
</div><div>The outstanding band was undoubtedly The Low Anthem; easily one of the most impressive and diverse musical outfits I've seen for a good long while. Their second album, the self-released 'Oh My God Charlie Darwin' drew high praise, signings with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Nonsuch</span></span> and Bella Union labels, wider re-release and then even more critical acclaim and as much wealth, sex and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">beardcare</span> products as the band could want. Not content to rest on these laurels Ben, Jeff, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Jocie</span> and Matt have also been touring heavily, including some new material rumored to be from a forthcoming album, currently somewhere in the works.<blockquote></blockquote> </div><div><blockquote></blockquote><img src="http://twangville.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/tla8.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 307px; height: 230px;" border="0" alt="" /></div><div><blockquote></blockquote>The band is unashamedly talented, with members frequently swapping between the harmonium, oboe, drums, mobile phones, "singing" saws and some weird bell like contraption (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">crotales</span></span> - thank you wiki), whilst blending their voices in perfect <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">folky</span> harmony. There wasn't a single trace of the ennui that seems to riddle other indie-folk bands, you know, the ones where members project so much artful disaffection that they can't even to be bothered to sing their own turgid songs. <blockquote></blockquote></div><div>
</div><div>The Low Anthem played like they meant every minute, their songs rang clear with skill and care, whilst <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Jocie</span></span> Adams' voice couldn't be more beautiful if it tried. Also, one band member looked a lot like an incredibly smiley Asian Robert Winston, which was just the icing on an already very well iced cake. Highlights included the post-apocolyptic, but "now performed as a love song" 'Ticket Taker' and 'This God Damned House' accompanied with melodic mobile phone feedback.</div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>The gig was a tad spoiled by the dull bass of the stupidly positioned 'Electric Arena' stage, and by the brusque time-keeping due to the damn schedule. Still, if I should die of galloping influenza it'll all have been worth it thanks to these tip-top folks. I'll be seeing them again as soon as I can. Assuming of course that the galloping influenza thing doesn't happen....</div><div><blockquote></blockquote>Have a wee listen...</div><div>
</div><div><ul><li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?gj1s4jbi6qs6wql">'The Horizon is a Beltway'</a></li><li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?sd7oqq08cifaj5q">'The Ticket Taker'</a></li></ul></div><div>
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</div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-73287534958277137162010-08-21T00:00:00.010+01:002010-08-21T15:23:39.269+01:00Since it's early let's keep the false cheer to a minimum<div><div style="text-align: left;"><blockquote></blockquote><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#00CCCC;">Good Morning Nantwich, Adventures in Breakfast Radio</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote></blockquote><i>
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>I bought Phill Jupitus's 'Good Morning Nantwich' today, ostensibly to read during the quiet moments of the Electric Picnic, but since I've just finished it we can assume that said plan is now moot and another trip to the bookshop is in order...</i><blockquote></blockquote></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">
</div><div style="text-align: left;">What with the grinning cartoonish cover, the boy's own adventure title and Phill Jupitus' down to earth cheery wit you'd be forgiven for thinking that 'Good Morning Nantwich' is an avuncular, gossipy tale written by a cheeky, cheerful chappy. Think again - clowns are always crying on the inside. 'Good Morning Nantwich' chronicles Mr Jupitus' experiences during his stint at the 6 Music breakfast show, but it is more than that - 'Nantwich' is a manifesto of what music radio should aspire to be. <blockquote></blockquote></div><div style="text-align: left;">
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Phill Jupitus' breakfast show launched 6 Music back in 2002. I didn't listen. Not many people did, but as an avid listener of the recent '<a href="http://www.eoncorp.com/clients/phils/">The Perfect 10</a>' podcasts with Jupitus and long time collaborator (and 6 Music producer) Phil Wilding I can only say I missed out. I missed out on on eclectic music, missed out on some decent banter at breakfast (not to mention a presenter who wasn't going to fake being a morning person), and missed out on Wilding's strangely sexy Welsh accent... The music's what's important though, and that was certainly what the breakfast team thought. </div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>Throughout this account, Mr Jupitus' chafes about the various managerial constraints that limit a deejay's freedom, particularly the playlist - why bother to employ someone interested in music if you don't want to hear any of their collection? His criticisms are far from malicious, but neither are they benign. Typically he concedes that first thing in the morning listeners probably didn't want their boat rocked, but <i>come on</i>; if you want to hear Coldplay then why not fuck off and listen to Radio 1, 2 or worse any god awful commercial station where tosh, blather and inanity all go hand in hand. 6 Music was supposed to be Peel's legacy so it should damn well be living up to the name, not trading on it. </div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>Despite a slightly scarring experience at the station Mr Jupitus' has always been vociferous in support of 6 Music and the BBC's mandate alike. He's given various interviews about how 6 Music has once again found its feet and was one of the key spokespeople who campaigned against its closure. His commitment is unquestionably undiminished, but one can't help hear a heartfelt sigh echoing through 'Nantwich' of how much more 6 Music could still achieve were it not crippled by corporation bureaucracy. Not because Jupitus wants to be back on the air, but because he's part of its core disenfranchised demographic - the music snob, and without aspirational radio stations, (like 6 Music at its best) all music snobs have are their own mp3s to listen to and their own vinyl collections to reorganise. Okay, that's hyperbole - there are blogs too, but when did radio become so circumscribed?</div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>With no small amount of charm Phill Jupitus has written a behind the scenes story of the foundation of a music station, a template for forward thinking broadcasting, and conveyed a touching and touchy autobiography that's reminiscent of former Auteur's frontman Luke Hain's 'Bad Vibes - <i>Britpop and My Part In Its Downfall</i>'. 'Nantwich' is nothing short of one a giant 'harumph' (<i> harumph -the bitter sigh that fed up dogs occasionally make</i>) of deprecation, despair and independence albeit tempered with wit and the virtues of hindsight. Or as Phill put it in a recent Guardian interview it's "a love letter to radio, but also an apology for not being better at it". </div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>I'd expected a lighthearted holiday read, instead 'Nantwich' is a passionate plea for intelligent radio and a call for deejays to receive faith from their bosses, not to mention freedom from focus groups and RAJAR pressures. Above all it's a reverberating statement of "damn you all, I really tried". Not a bad read all in all.</div><div><blockquote></blockquote></div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div><img src="http://www.offthekerb.co.uk/images/artists/phill-jupitus/P_Jupitus_03.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 146px; height: 223px;" border="0" alt="" /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">Top marks to Phill. He always has lovely suits too.</span></i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-82930564973647928462010-07-29T14:31:00.010+01:002010-08-21T15:25:22.619+01:00Things To Make And Do<div style="text-align: center;">
</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sharingthemusic.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/banner_011.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 620px; height: 198px;" src="http://sharingthemusic.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/banner_011.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>
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</div><div>Are you friends tired of being on the receiving end of your unwanted mixtapes (ungrateful buggers)? Interested in having a CD of random stuff come through your door? Most importantly of all; do you have faith in human nature?</div><div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>If you're almost nodding your head off in agreement then the <a href="http://sharingthemusic.wordpress.com/">Mixtape Project</a> may be for you. Sign up with your name, postal address and willingness to make one mixtape a month. You should find yourself on the receiving end of sparkly new compilation CD. Some of which are rather lovely, like this one...</div><div>
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</div><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4078/4752753049_bfe9f508d8.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 175px;" border="0" alt="" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Scrawl in Permanent Ink? NO THANK YOU. </span></i></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">
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</div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}">Here's an appropriate song; </a><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?vxzrdavqvcizq6w">Beat Radio's 'Teenage Anthems for the Drunken Boat'</a>, it's rather good.</div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Cheers to twitter buddy and cracking artist @Duchamps_Bride for pointing this out. </span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-32352249246705768532010-07-27T13:28:00.010+01:002010-07-29T14:47:34.906+01:00Money Can't Buy You Happiness...<blockquote></blockquote>Emmy the Great's album 'First Love' made a beeline for my heart; to get her next album off the ground the folky darling is making a beeline for pockets...<div><blockquote></blockquote>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://thedailygrowl.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/emmy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 360px;" src="http://thedailygrowl.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/emmy.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Starving Musican? With <b>That</b> Ice Cream</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">?<blockquote></blockquote></span></div><div>
</div><div>Asking fans for cash in exchange for musical perks certainly isn't anything new; there's an ever increasing lineup of artists seeking money up front, with varying degrees of success - Public Enemy's fan base certainly weren't too keen on stumping up $250,000. The appeal of a tangible connection to a musical project is obvious. Options to go see a sound mixing, to melt into a puddle at a meet and great, or get a signed t-shirt, allow an enthusiast to collude. As a small bonus the major labels get to suck lemons in penance for price fixing CDs, back in the day.<blockquote></blockquote> </div><div>
</div><div>It's not all about innovative music making, or putting over over on the man though (my god, I used used the phrase 'the man', I half expect to hear the muted sound of a stoner cheering). Over at pledge, Madina Lake have appealed to fans to help cover bassist Matthew Leone's substantial medical costs, after he was injured intervening in a domestic dispute, offering access to EPs, t-shirts, interviews and house concerts; donations welcome <a href="http://www.pledgemusic.com/projects/madinalake">here</a>.<blockquote></blockquote></div><div>
</div><div>As for Emmy; starting at £8, a contribution secures support for the album, garnering a wee prezzie for yourself and donation to a good cause (Amnesty, WaterAid, Samaritan's Purse). All gifts can be found here at <a href="http://www.pledgemusic.com/projects/emmythegreat#project">pledgemusic.com</a>. Her last album was rather splendiferous, and she seems a nice lass, so she's had some of my shiny pennies.<blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote></div><div><ul><li>Here's <a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?wsxm0144gigqwmm">First Lov</a>e, live, see what you think.</li></ul><div>
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</div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-32130357652975710962010-07-08T09:20:00.013+01:002010-07-12T15:25:51.999+01:00Ghosts of Wales<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2030/2100128547_4e5d2cbdb9.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 295px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2030/2100128547_4e5d2cbdb9.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Photo taken from one <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/meblob/">Jim Blob </a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/meblob/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Blann's</span></span></a></span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/meblob/"> </a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/meblob/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">flickr</span></span></a></span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/meblob/"> stream</a>. He has some lovely picture of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Aberystwyth</span></span></span> which make the place (if not the people) look almost attractive. </i></span></div>
<blockquote></blockquote>Well, there's been bit of a strange start to the morning; after a troubled and largely sleepless night I was rudely awakened by <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">thunderously</span> loud music. 'Music' is stretching it; the dawn was broken by an ebullient <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">cacophony that</span> sounded for all the world as if ghosts of Wales had risen up to march to war. Rolling timpani drums, competing (equally boisterous) male voice choirs, and chorus of lamenting women thrown in for good measure; all singing/howling "Bread of Heaven" as if they were on the wild hunt.
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The odd thing is that the origins of this frenzied Wagnerian terror are an absolute mystery. It was supposed to be a copy of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Cerys</span></span></span> Matthew's new album, '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Tir</span></span>'</span>, a lovely lilting affair, but somehow, I'm told, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">iTunes</span></span></span> has channelled the host of hell into a stirring rendition fit for an epic medieval battle. The next track was a strange pizzicato string thing...
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I shall be spending some time deciphering it, whilst polishing my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">sosspans</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">bach</span></span></span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">mawr</span></span></span> into armour.
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In the meantime, why not have a wee listen to the songs they made me sing back in school assemblies and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">eisteddfodau</span></span> (big artsy competitions, which <b>all </b>learning <b>must </b>grind to a halt for). Additional bit of trivia Cerys Matthews's former bandmate Owen Powell was once my old welsh teacher. Wales : it's a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">cwtchy</span></span></span> little country.
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I'm moving so so soon.
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<ul><li><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?wimz4zgjnmg"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Myfanwy</span></span></a></span><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?wimz4zgjnmg"> - </a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?wimz4zgjnmg"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Cerys</span></span></a></span><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?wimz4zgjnmg"> Matthews</a></li><li><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?dtwwwyxgmtz"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Ei</span></span></a></span><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?dtwwwyxgmtz"> </a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?dtwwwyxgmtz"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Di'r</span></span></a></span><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?dtwwwyxgmtz"> </a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?dtwwwyxgmtz"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Deryn</span></span></a></span><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?dtwwwyxgmtz"> Du - </a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?dtwwwyxgmtz"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Cerys</span></span></a></span><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?dtwwwyxgmtz"> Mathews</a></li></ul>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-17227987581415360682010-06-21T12:09:00.019+01:002010-06-21T16:55:39.487+01:00Shhhh, tell no one.....<div style="text-align: center;">
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Secret queues, secret buses, secret warehouses, spectacular times and a film on top; all part and parcel of the lastest Secret Cinema outing.</div><div style="text-align: left;">
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>Secret Cinema is a quasi-regular event organised by some nice folk in London; you pay your money, get a location, some clues to the film, advice for fancy dress and before you know it you're being whisked away to a brave new world.</div><div><blockquote></blockquote>
</div><div>In this case it was a world based around Blade Runner; a neon dystopia with Voigt-Kompf tests, replicons, snakes, and pickpocketing dwarfs running rampant against the worn future backdrop. Men wore trench-coats and steely expressions, and women were clad in nowt but bits of plastic. Best of all, it was all hidden amongst a maze of shipping crates. just under the shadow of that bloody big tower at Canary Wharf.</div><div><blockquote></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote></blockquote>
</div>Apart from getting annihilated in chess by some fiedish chess-child, it was all pretty amazing; I played with snakes, had a massage, and got to see a classic film in a great setting. Tiptop time. But Shhhh, tell no one....
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Photos taken from <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/futurecinema/sets/72157624197946405/">Future Cinema's flickr stream.</a></div><div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-56768542101996953202010-05-24T15:48:00.019+01:002011-09-30T22:38:19.903+01:00Unrequited Love with Workers in the Service Sector<blockquote>
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In Glen David Gold's magnificent story 'Carter beats the Devil', the titular magician Charles Carter visits a fortune teller whose sole revelation is the name of the woman of his dreams - Sarah. It's a name that never leaves his mind. A few years ago I had a similar experience...
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Don't look at me like that, I only went to keep a friend company, and quite frankly the lady in question certainly couldn't muster abilities to trouble either James Randi's proffered million or Tim Minchin's offer of his left leg, piano and wife. She did tell me about a man called 'Steve', who is supposedly destined to be the great love of my life. 'Steve'. It's hardly an auspicious name.
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All that preamble brings me in a roundabout way to my point; Teitur Lassen and his songs of love yet to come. Teitur is a singer/songwriter of the fay variety, who is out to pluck heartstrings with his plaintive voice. Chances are you'll have already heard one or two of his songs on some film or another; yet despite wit and craftsmanlike skill, not to mention artistic accolation from the likes of Rufus Wainwright, the Faroese singer's profile is woefully low in the UK.
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">Don't be mean - his Gran made him that jumper.</span>
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Teitur may be an unabashed romantic but his music is far from being a boring dirge of fragile emotions. Fourth studio album 'The Singer' is full of grand ambitions, breezy soundscapes and a cavalcade of interesting arrangements that flow alongside heartfelt writing. It's music with deep pauses that allows the sighs to escape.
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As for my story, since my visit to 'Gypsy Rose' I've only ever met one Steve; Steve-the-Barman, who worked all the hours under the sun at the pub at the top of my old street. Upon whom I had a hopeless, not to mention paralyzing, crush. It was all I could do to stop myself breaking things out of nervousness as I tried to force out the odd word. Then I found out he had a girlfriend. So much for destiny anyway.
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<li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?ndiwgngcwmo">Catherine The Waitress</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?3zyo1fkmmun">Start Wasting My Time</a>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-70784285121430418542010-05-14T16:30:00.008+01:002010-06-21T16:59:38.152+01:00The Blue Blue Bluegrass of London<div style="text-align: left;"><blockquote></blockquote></div>I have a confession - I quite like country songs. Sorry. I like the melodrama, the unabashed heartache and alcoholism. Hell, I have a not very secret, and not at all ironic, love for Dolly Parton - great woman that she is. Admittedly most country music is a bit of a guilty pleasure for me though; there's only so much you can take of yearnin', cheatin', or dogs dyin'. Not to mention the pungent evocations of leather and spilt whisky that have proved a bit too corrosive for any lengthy musical exploration - but very now and again I have found someone who is a bit special , someone who holds my attention...<div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote></blockquote></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"></span><div><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote>The Barker Band hail from London, which is a bit of a shock, not because all Londoners must play plinky-plonky pianos, sing about "Mother Brown" and do 'nuffick else, but rather because all that hokey Americana has managed to survive a transatlantic transplant with no ill effect. A cynic may get the impression that this six piece outfit is playing at being cowboys, but that's utter nonsense. These guys mean it with all their hearts, and they're not alone - British country is small but tenacious. The Barker Band is stronger than just a genre though. </div><div><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote></div><div>The Barker Band is a a bluegrass outfit with everything you could wish for: fiddles, banjos, a sound full of wide skies, sad eyes and bags of soul. The band's fourth album 'Sorry For The Kissing' came out last year and gathered quite a bit of critical acclaim for its blend of upbeat tempo bluegrass knee slapping, wistfulness and longing. It's a bit different and well worth a listen. And since they've had support from 6Music and Steve Lamaqc in particular, I'll just crowbar in a reminder to <a href="https://consultations.external.bbc.co.uk/departments/bbc/bbc-strategy-review/consultation/consult_view">'Save 6Music'</a>.</div><div>
</div><div>Anyway, here's a wee sample;<blockquote></blockquote></div><div><ul><li><a href="http://rapidshare.com/files/387310004/09_Creating_Heart.mp3.html">Cheating Heart</a></li><li><a href="http://rapidshare.com/files/387310003/12_Make_Him_Stay.mp3.html">Make Him Stay</a></li><li><a href="http://rapidshare.com/files/387310002/11_Die_Tonight.mp3.html">Die Tonight</a></li></ul></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-88485982986886034312010-05-04T09:40:00.008+01:002011-09-30T22:37:12.086+01:00The Other New Worlds We'd Discover<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgIoGaAloDHt2qqBaNSOL9ReLxLchbQRSPBtEzfhw8rKjOBJYlOFSuHWY7fSYmeojDwnFS-RveA26_CNhlbMZFYO3DJshx9Fvt0r80o6efQyOxH3-0eK9yaHT0IgJs_HaXiw9-TxaaRKA/s1600/josh_ritter_so_runs_the_world_away.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467369367250438690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgIoGaAloDHt2qqBaNSOL9ReLxLchbQRSPBtEzfhw8rKjOBJYlOFSuHWY7fSYmeojDwnFS-RveA26_CNhlbMZFYO3DJshx9Fvt0r80o6efQyOxH3-0eK9yaHT0IgJs_HaXiw9-TxaaRKA/s200/josh_ritter_so_runs_the_world_away.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 199px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a>
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I could write so eloquently about ... </div>
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No, that's not true: I could write so<em> much</em> about the myriad of shattered memories that scattered into the air when I put the wrong song on today- they hung around like dust in sunlight, a halo of broken dreams picked out about my head, or drunken bats clashing into each other, etc, etc. That sort of poor prosy lyricism could continue for a tediously long amount of time, all I can say in my defence was that it was a song that bit down hard and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">elicited</span> a choking response.</div>
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It's all Josh <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ritter's</span> fault. Damn you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Ritter</span>, damn your poetic lyrics that puncture like tattoo needles, damn your sensitive new album, and damn, damn, damn my own stupid self for being such a soft touch that one song can make my heart feel like chipped pottery. </div>
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If you're not aware of Mr <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ritter</span> then you're in for a treat; he's a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">folky</span> gem from Moscow, Idaho with dazzlingly beautiful lyrics and quite a few natty tunes too. 'So Runs The World Away' is his </div>
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fifth studio album: it isn't bad at all. In fact the sheer amount of emotional charge he manages to pack in reminds me of why I love music, and just how expressive a good song can be. I'm head over heels for him.
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A melancholic Josh <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Ritter</span> is the voice you wished you possessed when you find yourself hemorrhaging aerial recollections of loss, resignation and beauty -the voice of the tales of one too many, though whilst you're busy sliding down that bar, he's poised, charming and totally disarming. And yet with the sudden spin of a coin, his tunes can switch to peels of jubilation: resounding hope, triumph and shining lights abound. Sincerity and heartfelt earnestness are his hallmarks throughout. </div>
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Sadly this ability to turn on a sixpence creates a fault line that undermines 'So The World Runs Away'. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Ritter's</span> shift in mood oscillates a little too wildly, and for once doesn't seem to be deftly managed. The changes in style are choppy and slightly chaotic, but if you're only going to unpick it all and stick it in a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">playlist</span> then maybe the arrangement is ephemeral anyway. I'm probably being old fashioned in complaining at all. It does sound a little unpolished though.</div>
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What does work however is the quixotic <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">balladering</span>: Josh <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Ritter</span> continues to create <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">folksie</span> songs that sound like they've existed in the ether forever. They're perhaps a little disenchanted, and quite a bit tougher than second (and sublime) album 'Hello Starling', but then there's been an odyssey of wandering in between the two. 'The Curse' (quite Cohen-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">esque</span>), '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Latern</span>' and 'Another New World' are the perfect accompaniment for the ghosts that waltz at the back of your mind. The tender reaction they provoked was worth its weight in gold.</div>
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<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Ritter</span> writes that he is living a charmed life, and though the life of a professional <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">musican</span> may be a story he has at times fallen out of love with, he's still going strong and still creating wonderful songs - that alone makes my heart beat a little faster.</div>
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Whilst I go exorcise some demons, you can hear the whole album <a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=126173168">here</a>, which is rather nice, eh? And <a href="http://www.joshritter.com/">here's </a>a free mp3 of 'Change of Time'. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-28222931319073103372010-05-03T11:53:00.012+01:002010-05-03T15:34:37.162+01:00Where Did You Go...<div align="left">Hola! <blockquote></blockquote>
There's been somewhat of a hiatus here at 'Fun Things' but there you go. Real life ticks on, what with weddings (an actual fun thing in Aberystwyth!), illnesses, madness, watching the Rex Harrison's career killing Doctor Dolittle (very eccentric, but it wouldn't be Easter without it), snooker, and lots of time spent at other coal faces. Here I am again though; let's speedily shake hands, and it's very nice to see you. </div><div align="left">
</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><blockquote></blockquote>Now that's all over, let's press on to business. Last night I had the pleasure of going to Clwb Ifor Bach, Cardiff to see 'The Bluetones' - yes, obviously they're still going. There's even a new album out on May 24th too.</div><blockquote></blockquote><div align="center"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 375px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 250px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.brightonlife.com/images/news/50.jpg" /> <p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Come on, there's no heart you can't melt with a certain little smile... is there?</em>
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</div><blockquote></blockquote><div align="left">I had my fingers crossed for a jolly time: I hoped for a band that were adjusted to their slip from the 90s limelight, good music, and for a bit of nostalgic indulgence. I remembered the Bluetones fondly as a sparky set providing lilting pop with an audible smile. They formed part of the soundtrack for a great slur of selective teenage memory; a time that was always sunny summer, with trips to Cardiff to buy cds, making mixtapes, festival going, a time in fact when I was actually generally pretty miserable - probably due to nasty sunburn from all those balmy halycon days. <blockquote></blockquote>Back then The Bluetones were in the second tier of Britpop, not huge, but catchy and infectious, popping up everywhere, and slogging along even when the bubble burst. They never quite lived up to their early promise but they were always around, all whilst clad in some form of denim. </div>
<div align="left"></div><blockquote></blockquote><div align="left">I have a quite a bit of affection for Britpop in general, but I'm not a diehard fan weeping over copies of Select; I like The Bluetones's greatest hits, but I've not really kept up with their slighter returns. So I must confess that, alas, I had an ulterior motive to going last night. Bobbing away to the hook-heavy blast from the past were bound to be people my own age, people who sang 'Alright' on bikes, who were once naive enough to have clearcut views on Blur vs Oasis, people who Luke Haines wouldn't piss on if they were on fire. People who *must* be around the same age as me, and surely one of them must be mildly attractive and worth talking to.... <blockquote></blockquote></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">How does the adage go; man makes plans and God laughs? <blockquote></blockquote></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">The gig itself proved to be rather lovely, which sounds a little twee, but thanks to a mix of old sing-a-long favourites and slightly darker, but still frightfully pretty new songs I had a delightful time. Lead singer Mark Moriss was engaging, everyone on stage looked to be enjoying themselves, and the crowd were friendly too -mostly couples though. Smug ones. The old songs you know all about, most of them have featured on the 'Teachers Series 1' soundtrack, but as for the new...</div>
<div align="left"></div><blockquote></blockquote><div align="left">It's a shame that The Bluetones have slipped off the radar, as their newer offerings demonstrate a rather interesting progression; refinement rather than reinvention, and pure pop rather than jaded carping. They're not ashamed of being the less than cool cousin gamboling behind the bigger Britpop kids, and why should they be? The band have always managed to mask the slightly sinister, even downright heartbroken with upbeat melodies and Moriss's indefatigably chirpy voice: as their concert t-shirt says, they've been 'shitting hits since '96' (you've got to love the irony) so theirs is a skill pretty much honed to a tee. The newer material is both fine and at times poignant, and all the more charming for its utter lack of world weary cynicism, which struck me as rather unusual. </div>
<div align="left"><blockquote></blockquote>Long story short it all worked well, a good time was had and there was even a wee moshpit for 'If', which has to be the most bizarre bounce arounds I've ever been involved in, and in heels too. Yes it was those ones.... <blockquote></blockquote></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nfsSHn79WYs/S3UkiGlxE_I/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Als1Osb8QZ8/s1600/shoes.php" />
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<li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?wjlejzyag0a">Marblehead Johnson</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?sharekey=4eec997f40c5bc9300d27174b47c66572273e5ecafcce5d75be6ba49b5870170">Head on a Spike</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?yggzgwmyzej">Slack Jaw </a>
</li></ul>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-64846303094662088902010-04-06T15:26:00.012+01:002010-04-06T15:43:51.848+01:00Paul Haig Day 2<a name='more'></a><br />
Quite a few people will be blogging in detail today about Paul Haig; there will be wit, erudition and obscure tracks galore (hop on over to<a href="http://thevinylvillain.blogspot.com/"> Vinyl Villain</a> to see who is participating). Unfortunately I was woefully ignorant of most of Paul’s solo output until I signed up to be part of this - so I've found myself wondering what I could add without sounding like a total fool. I applaud the spirit of the day, I liked Josef K, and in the run-up to this day I've been listening to as much of Paul as I can...<br />
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Before I get going I'll cover some basic bullet points for those of you who aren't up to speed with the whole Paul Haig shebang:<br />
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<ul><li>Paul Haig has a beguilingly lush voice, he makes rather good records, and if that’s not enough to warrant a bit of a backslapping, then it’s also worth noting that he’s also a friend to bloggers.</li>
<li>A year ago JC at Vinyl Villain ran the first Paul Haig Day, to thank Paul for his support of TVV and other blogs being snowballed by dmca takedown notices, notices which caused entire posts to be lost.</li>
</ul>Now on with the show...<br />
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It's laudable that artists like Paul get involved to support the fans who flag-wave for them, so I’m very pleased to be able to tip you a wink to a remix of ‘Trip Out The Rider’ – the opening track on his most recent LP, selected by Paul especially for today. I’ve also selected my favorite Josef K track, Chance Meeting – nothing too esoteric there, but it’s a good day’s work.<br />
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Paul’s done a lot since Josef K, so I don’t want to denigrate any of his later music, I do however have a soft spot for the band, plus it’s how I was first introduced to Paul’s songs so I feel fully justified in offering it as my addition to Paul Haig Day 2.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN">Josef K is the perfect sort of band for a cult following of record nerds. Existing for a flash during the freezing rain fury of early 80s, the post punk outfit was an arty lot: disdainful of the spotlight, exacting in their standards, and blistering live performers. Their mystique was only increased by the disappearance of the test pressing of their debut album amidst a mix of heady rumors, though the band have later stated it just didn't sound right. It also helps that the group was short lived – with longevity assured through mythos and influence alike: Josef K are welcome echos in the songs of Franz Ferdinand and The Wedding Present. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN">As for my pick, ‘Chance Meeting'; it first came out in 1979 on Steve Daly’s Absolute label - the first and last release on that lable actually, and was then re-recorded a year later with some adjustments for Postcard. It’s sparse, bitter-sweet and almost painful in poetry and sincerity. Ah sincerity, again, the sort of word that comforts a music nerd. This version is from the 1982 Crazy to Exist live album, recorded in London just before the band broke up. Enjoy.</span></div><br />
<ul><li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?zmoetznn2oy"><span lang="EN">Trip Out The Rider (remix) - Paul Haig, Relive</span></a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?nziz2nywlrz"><span lang="EN">Chance Meeting - Josef K, Crazy to Exist (Live)</span></a></li>
</ul>Here's to Paul Haig Day 2, and JC at Vinyl Villain folks.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4316129974972248847.post-46733890147776273412010-03-01T12:20:00.010+00:002010-03-01T13:07:54.986+00:00The Day of Daffodil Theft<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3649/3329033282_f118e81866.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3649/3329033282_f118e81866.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i>Cate Le Bon - ready to be frisked for daffodils.</i></div><br />
Break out the welshcakes,* it's St Davids Day! St David is the patron Saint of Wales, but rather than get plastered on erm... sheepdip, we Welsh celebrate by aquiring daffodils to wear patriotically, whilst we moan about the rugby team. In a similar vein, little girls have to dress up in itchy woollen blankets and those funky hats; boys must smell of leeks.<br />
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<i>* Like a sort of flat scone, but with sugar on top and much nicer.</i><br />
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It's also a day when various Welsh people in their (gulp) late twenties all collectively muse "didn't we used to get a half-day off for this? Y'know when we were about 6, what happened to that?" The answer no doubt lies with the bloody Thatcher: shutting out mines, stealing our milk, personally kicking our Nans in the face, mutter, mutter, where's our half -day? <br />
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Thankfully the embarrassing "Cool Cymru" tag has also been consigned to the dark days of the past, allowing Welsh music lovers to quietly disown the Stereophonics and appreciate new bands without a cup of nationalism on the side. So who's worth a listen? <br />
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Cate Le Bon, that's who.<br />
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She's folky and melancholic, often described as haunting; so translate that as a shawl wearing fey woman, possibly prone to introspection whilst standing in the rain. In keeping with the internecine spirit of Welsh music, she had her big break after charming Gruff of Super Furries fame.<br />
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Cate's songs sound very traditional and homely; there's no overt quirkiness or trilling lyrics that quickly fall to the floor and flower, nor is there a grand sweeping scale rich with wild themes. The music is simple, stripped down, slow, and sad. Oh my are those songs sad - even on the one that sounds quite happy. They're also pretty, deceivingly so in their simplicity, as they linger for a long time.<br />
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Her first album is a solid starting point, though admittedly one that twirls immaturity on its fingers as if it's hair about to be chewed. Nonetheless, you certainly get the impression that there is more to come - it's experience rather than ability that's lacking.<br />
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Judge for yourself though: here she is at Glastonbury 2007;<br />
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And here's something to take home and enjoy. In a gloomy way.<br />
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<ul><li><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?sharekey=4eec997f40c5bc9300d27174b47c66572273e5ecafcce5d75be6ba49b5870170">Hollow Tree Hounds - Cate Le Bon. </a></li>
</ul>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0