Jeremy Warmsley – Lose My Cool (Transgressive Records)
August 11th, 2008
4.0/6.0

The first single taken from Warmsley’s forthcoming album How We Became is a gloriously sweet and geeky confession of infatuation, and the inconvenient havoc it plays with one’s equanimity.

Jeremy Warmsley swims in the same folk-poet pool as Laura Marling, Noah and the Whale, Johnny Flynn et al, all of who are defiantly (and delightfully) anti-Brit School in both melody and method. However, Lose My Cool sees him branching out from twee nu-folk and discovering the cosy end of cute electro – the kind that allows one to nod along in a dignified manner without losing one’s glasses – a key concern in Warmsley’s case, one imagines.

There’s a touch of Rufus Wainwright about Warmsley’s slightly nasal operatic melodrama, which, while adding pathos to his plight, also elevates him above the mediocre heartbreak brigade.

words: Rowan Woods

www.jeremywarmsley.com
www.myspace.com/jeremywarmsley

Those Dancing Days with The Answering Machine
The Roadhouse, Manchester
Saturday August 9th, 2008

With an ample crowd shoehorned into a sweltering Roadhouse, we arrive halfway through The Answering Machine’s set thanks to a rare bout of timekeeping idiocy on our behalf. The band have not only retained their trademark indie-pop urgency, they’ve taken it up a fair few notches since the start of the year.

Cheered on from the side of the stage by members of tonight’s headliners, they blend old hits such as Oklahoma and Oh Christina with newer material including Emergency and the simply brilliant set closer You Should’ve Called. The overall impression is that of a band whose sound is becoming ever more coherent and professional, without losing too much of that raw charm which proves so endearing. If the whispers are true, expect the New Year to herald the release of a hotly anticipated debut album.

We’re left waiting a while for the arrival of Those Dancing Days, but it’s definitely worth it. Impeccably turned out, the Stockholm fivepiece take to the Roadhouse’s stage and immediately catapult a captive audience back to the birth of modern pop, such is the euphoria generated by their live show. Believe me, if we were in the 1960s, there’d be teenage girls (and boys, let’s not split gender-specific hairs here) swooning in the first few rows. Quite how this band have escaped the radars of tastemakers when the audience are evidently so enthusiastic is beyond belief.

Alas, at times their songwriting (notably a catchy yet somewhat formulaic number including repeated references to ice-cream) has some way to go to reach full maturity - my accompanying Fugitive, one Miss H Bayfield, feels that they will make an excellent second album band for this very reason. However, when it comes to delivering a top-notch live performance, they’ve already got it down to perfection.

Cissi Efraimsson is such a fantastic drummer that it begs enquiry as to whether Two Doors Down by the Mystery Jets was penned in her honour. If not, then it blatantly should have been. Her trademark forceful bass drum kicks run through all of the band’s repertoire, pinning together a tight live performance.

Keyboard player Lisa Pyk throws shapes with carefree abandon, and lead vocalist Linnea Jönsson is something quite special indeed. Possessing a truly seductive voice which balances a steely intensity with warmth and charm, her vocal talents are best displayed on a jaw-dropping version of the band’s second UK single Hitten.

Those Dancing Days hark back to a bygone era of carefree pop, but anyone who would think this makes them another bunch of mindless copyists in the industry’s current obsession with going retro is very much mistaken. Lock up your sons and daughters – actually, fuck it, batten down your own hatches too. If you refuse, then don’t say I didn’t warn you that Those Dancing Days are guaranteed to steal your hearts in next to no time.

words and pictures: Kate Goodacre

www.myspace.com/thosedancingdays

Duffy
Somerset House, London
Friday, July 18th 2008

As the sun sets over Somerset House, Duffy appears on stage to a crowd baited beyond breath. Catching the end of Syrup and Honey, she instantly shows us what she is capable of - belting out harmonies to excite a crowd. Ironically, she also shows us what she is incapable of, as the lack of originality in the performance quickly becomes evident.

Clearly nervous, she talks hesitantly between songs, reminding the crowd of her Welsh roots and giving introductions to each song in turn. If Lulu had written her own songs, this would be it. But while Duffy can do the songs, Lulu could do the personality.

Four songs in, and I would be excused for thinking we were still on track one. This becomes more and more evident as her songs slowly start to merge into one, whilst the band play ritardando to allow her to litter the show with solo sections of top grade quality. Unfortunately, even during these periods of star-like expression, her nerves once again show, emphasising that although she is one of the biggest selling artists this year, she is still somewhat unsure of her place on the stage.

Playing live always has its complexities, and either due to her shyness or very bad acoustics, her voice is constantly drowned out by the band. She saunters around the stage during instrumentals, and makes it very clear that she has no intention of doing anything but singing. We all know she’s done it. Mercy, the one song that most non-fans have shown up to listen to, is finally played to a thankful crowd as Duffy exits.

While Duffy may go the way of Tim Henman with so much expectation piled upon her shoulders, as long as she remains focused she could become quite the supernova. My suggestion would be to experiment on the next album - her fans are there for the voice, and that voice will always be there.

words and pictures: Chris Richards

www.iamduffy.com
www.myspace.com/duffymyspace

Snowman With The Kill Devil Hills and The Silents
Capitol, Perth, Australia
Saturday, July 26th 2008

Tucked away in the centre of Perth, a gem of a venue with terrific ambience attracts an inquisitive backpacker eager to sample the alternative music delights of yet another Australian city. Armed with copies of various independent music press, I had discovered that the high ceilinged yet intimate Capitol was the place to be on this particular evening. Three of Western Australia’s best are on show, with one act saying goodbye to our shires before departing for my native land in search of fame and fortune.

First on are The Silents. With the room already containing a fair sprinkling of early birds, they blast out lively, punk tinged indie rock highly reminiscent of Australia’s best known alternative rock export The Vines. Midway into the set, the sound switches to jangly guitars and long held vocal notes that bring back childhood memories of Britpop coming though the radio.

They are followed by The Kill Devil Hills, who are much more difficult to define. The set opener, a slow burning number that eventually explodes into a cacophony of heavy blues riffs, bluegrass violin and multiple vocal lines, sets the tone for what is to come. This heavily textured country blues, infused with politically charged lyrics and extremely good singing from all six members of the band, gets everyone nicely warmed up for what is to follow.

Snowman follow forty five minutes later to a rapturous reception from the now packed room. With little introduction, they launch straight into a medley of tracks from their first, self-titled LP. This material consists mostly of fast-paced, heavily textured alternative rock, influenced by American college rock of the early 90’s. Joe Mckee’s snarling vocal delivery and high volume, edgy guitar lines provide some indications of the madness to follow.

Several audience members comment on the radical new direction of the band’s most recent release The Horse, The Rat And The Swan, and everyone is about to be on the receiving end of its full fury in the live arena. The rhythm section, in unassuming fashion, hurls out tribal rhythms that transport the listener to the darkest rituals of the human soul. Multi-instumentalist Andy Citawarman adds his own degree of high octane insanity to the proceedings, whether on guitar, keyboards (which he pounds just as relentlessly as the bass and drums behind him), or the violin, with which he careers off the stage into the audience sporting an expression of pure, unhinged madness.

It is McKee, however, who steals the show. Standing tall, thin and erect above his faithful, he imparts his manic delivery in immaculate fashion, spitting out lead single We Are The Plague in terms that would leave small children cowering in their beds for months to come. His guitar input serves just as well in taking every member of the crowd to some dark place that one hopes had been left long unexplored.

The effect of the complete article is enough to leave you breathless in their wake. The addition of elements from bassist Olga Hermanniusson should bring bought some light relief. Saxaphones and sweet vocal harmonies with Citawarman only serve to veer off into the macabre and darken the mood still further.

A frenzied encore, lasting well over ten minutes sees McKee also take a trip amongst us and bid the crowd to kneel at his feet, which almost all unquestionably obey. With a live show this original and well performed, it would seem that music fans all over the UK will be performing his bidding any day now.

words: Steve Welch

Snowman, as already mentioned, are set to relocate to England. Their second album, The Horse The Rat and The Swan, is out now on Dot Dash Records The Kill Devil Hills are currently on tour in Australia. A 7″ single, Hungry And Down, is out now. The Silents are currently touring in Australia to promote their new record Things To Learn, also out now.

www.thesnowmanempire.com
www.myspace.com/thesnowmanempire
www.myspace.com/thekilldevilhills
www.thesilents.com.au
www.myspace.com/thesilentsband

Late Of The Pier – Fantasy Black Channel (Parlophone/Zarcorp)
August 11th, 2008
4.7/6.0

The debut LP from Earl Samuel Dust and his three bandmates has been long awaited in certain quarters, mainly in East London. But this Erol Alkan-produced collection is an unexpected gem.

Album opener proper Broken’s main lyric, “# it’s all evolutions for now #” sets the tone for what is about to unfold into your ears perfectly. It is a bold and satisfying intro – the transition from Broken’s indie-pop hooks into scratchy minimal electronica through electro-glam stomp into signature tune Space And The Woods is seamless.

This is all before it really starts to get interesting. The improvised percussion and heavily modulated synths of The Bears Are Coming gives it a squelchy electro-funk feel before giving way to a fantastic dream-pop payoff that Klaxons would be proud of.

When the awkward beginnings of latest single Heartbeat gives way to a chorus guitar/synth hook that rivals anything MGMT can make you sing at Glasto, it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It’s all very Neon Plastix (criminally underrated, sadly missed) until the Rage Against The Machine riffage that sounds space-as-fuck ends things very Erol.

There’s a slight drop in quality before the madness of Focker gives way to the album centerpiece The Enemy Are The Future. This track shows some incredible ambition in moving from Talking Heads-style odd-pop into a full on rave-up, complete with tribal rhythms, and back again. While Dust’s vocal performances may sell some of the arrangements short at times, this is a fine performance.

Erol’s pawprints are all over this album. No one in clubland (my favourite ‘land) can mince up genres like him, and it’s clear to see he’s brought bundles of energy and influences out of the band. But there is no denying that LOTP knows how to write excellent pop. Just try to resist closer Bathroom Gurgle’s urge to “# put your hands on your waistline and move your body to bassline #“.

words: Arj Singh

Late Of The Pier’s festival circuit encompasses the Reading Festival (August 22), Leeds Festival (August 23), Creamfields, Warrington (August 24) and Bestival, Isle Of Wight (September 6). They also play two London instores next week at Puregroove, Farringdon (August 12) and Banquet Records, Kingston-upon-Thames (August 13).

www.lateofthepier.com
www.myspace.com/lateofthepier

Cut Copy – Hearts On Fire (Universal/Modular)
August 4th, 2008
4.0/6.0

YES! The mid-90s dance revival is on. Somehow these Aussie electro-pop kings have made both the ascending house keys middle eight and sampled from nowhere female “oh oh’s” sound cool again. Back in 2006 it was phone keypad tones, and now it’s a sax solo. A. Sax. Solo.

This is Ibiza-house for the post-electroclash era, with dreamy vocals over swathes of synth wash and a simple driving bassline. To say this had me dancing around my living room on a wet, downer of a Monday morning marks it as an achievement, let alone the fact I was singing along full belt to the ridiculous but perfect lyrics - “# There’s something in the air tonight/The feeling that you’re out could change your life #“.

While the original version of this track will conquer beaches, barbeques and radios all summer, it is the Calvin Harris remix that should absolutely destroy the dancefloor at this year’s Warehouse Project. All syncopated and atonal, it’s crying out for that kind of running/stomping on the spot and pushing the world downwards as you get like, well up, with your hands dance.

words: Arj Singh

Cut Copy play at UK festivals including The Loop in Brighton (August 16) and Creamfields, Warrington (August 23).

www.cutcopy.net
www.myspace.com/cutcopy

09.00: Yup, there’s even a chapel on site, but we’re not talking Glastonbury’s Lost Vagueness here. It’s real, and people use it. Nevertheless, we see flyers around advertising The Gospel According To Billy Bragg at said chapel, so perhaps they are pretty lax in their choice of preacher. SP

10.00: We wait in a fairly sizeable queue for a massage in the Heavenly Healing fields. A woman wearing only what can be described as a loincloth, and something just as flowing and hem-less up top, seems to be standing on someone. And she remains there for the time in which we wait. She’s still going half an hour later. SP

12.00: The Insect Circus stage is the perfect Sunday afternoon venue, especially as the WI tea tent is so close and the vista is the sea. The stage itself is privy to child-friendly acts, whilst the nearby theatrical setup plays host to street theatre and circus acts. And we spend an hour watching the Insect Circus, where contortionists dressed as worm charmers and acrobats in fly costumes delight the adults and generally terrify the younger children. SP

15.00: There’s no way Emmy the Great has been camping. Not with that shiny bob. With my lank greasy locks, I am exceedingly jealous. I am also yet to see what all the fuss is about with Emmy, especially as she seems to bear that irritating ‘anti-folk’ tag that never seems to make sense to me. Still, she has a nice bit of fiddle to keep me amused and contained until… SP

16.00: …Eliza Carthy. There is nothing this woman can’t do, and there’s nothing that Eliza can do wrong in my eyes. She frankly seems a little confused (and disappointed?) when she arrives on stage, exclaiming ‘I thought they said this was a folk festival?’ But it’s not long before she’s into the swing of things, showcasing some of the more old-timey, blues-sounding new material from her new album.

She’s soon up to her old tricks, winking at passersby, cracking jokes, all with dad Carthy watching on in admiration in the wings. She soon breaks bow hairs, demonstrating the energy and passion for which she is famous, and material from Angels and Cigarettes even gets an airing. SP

20.00: The Laughter Library is even more packed now than when it was raining, and who would’ve thought it’d be down to Mr. Chips and his compadre? Yes, the return of Roy Walker and his Catchphrase into an all new live, interactive show delights the punters. It won’t be long before Roy ‘You all thought I was dead!’ Walker will be trawling up and down the country visiting Students’ Union after Students’ Union. SP

20.30: But we don’t get comfortable for long, as The Imagined Village are on the mainstage. For the uninitiated, The Imagined Village is an impressive show regardless of whether you recognise folk pioneers Martin and Eliza Carthy, Chris Wood, the adorable Copper Family, Afro Celt Simon Emmerson, as well as leading ‘world’ musicians in the form of Sheila Chandra and Johnny Kalsi.

It’s a sound unlike one you’ve heard before, blending English traditional music with beats and bounces from all cultures and eras, and a bit of history and heritage thrown in for good measure. SP

23.00: I can’t stomach Kate Nash. Well, admittedly, there is a moment of curiosity regarding whether she really would prove to be a good Sunday night headliner, but when we learned of a showing of a live Mark Thomas gig going on at the Groovy Movie tent, we decided Kate most definitely was a loser. SP

words: Sophie Parkes
archive pictures: Kate Goodacre

00.30: After hours entertainment doesn’t seem particularly extensive here really, so we head to the Groovy Movie tent for short films, many of which I must admit to having seen at rainy Glastonburys over the years. SP

10.00: I’m certain I’ve never slept so well at a festival before. I’m normally awake at the first slither of sunlight, but today I sleep in until 10 and crawl out to be greeted by a breakfast courteous of our new friend from liftshare.com. She not only proves wonderful in driving us from Manchester and back, but even shares her food and drink with us less prepared ruffians. Wonderful. SP

12.00: A jousting display takes place. No joke. With the delightful backdrop of Lulworth Castle, four dashing (yes! they were really dashing, too!) knights take to the sandy arena to fight in the true, chivalric manner upon steeds decked out in their colours. Children and adults alike tussle to give their favours to the knights and eagerly hang on to the fence, risking a sandy spray from flying hooves. SP

13.00: The dressing up boxes have been raided and everyone is clad in bright and bold colours, imitating characters of myth and fiction or history in surprising accuracy. However, a trend appears. Alice in Wonderlands, rabbits, Queens of Hearts, ostensibly Mad Hatters and even a flamingo wander past. We hear a record for the world’s largest Mad Hatter’s Tea Party is due to be attempted. SP

14.00: Gideon Conn undoubtedly needs no introduction to Fugitive Motel regulars, but to the mainstage crowd at Camp Bestival, he proves a revelation. Bounding on to the stage dressed in shorts and in his own t-shirt, he welcomes a bigger band that Mancunians would recognise. The atmosphere is electric, especially when the entire crowd recites Pylons and Wires - complete with hand movements - back to him. Posing for photographs and selling merchandise for an age after his performance indicated that for most people, Gideon is the find of the weekend. SP

15.00: King Creosote is very middle of the road, but there’s something about him that keeps me compelled. And he makes some wry comments about the beautiful weather. He certainly does rule OK. SP

15.45: The Camp Bestival theme is continued in their festival ambassadors – the Bluecoats. The Bluecoat tent is home to many unusual occurrences and at this time, we notice a small crowd has gathered.

Weasling our way in, two children are wrestling and the audience are actively encouraging it. What we quickly learn is that this is sock wrestling, and the small boys have the aim of pulling off the socks of their opponents. Mad, and strangely sinister, but wonderful entertainment. SP

16.00: You either love him or hate him. And he knows it, which is exactly why Billy Bragg chooses to sport a Marmite t-shirt. As usual, there’s as much banter as there is song, but it’s enjoyable, enlightening and wholesome. It’s true, especially when he dedicates A New England to Kirsty MacColl’s memory. SP

17.45: What do you mean everyone’s talking about Black Kids? They obviously don’t sound too great to us, as we fall asleep on the field as they blare around us. And we’re none the wiser. SP

22.00: Preparations for The Flaming Lips have been taking place slowly since Thursday. We’ve become used to seeing Wayne Coyne wandering around the site in a cream suit with suitably large lapels, supervising the assembling of a gong or the inflating of a net full of large balloons.

So we aren’t surprised when Coyne enters the arena from a giant sphere, rolling from the castle portcullis right the way through the crowd and up on to the stage. Confetti canons blast the crowds, the aforementioned gong lights up on every stroke, people dressed as superheroes dance on stage.

But best of all? The psychedelic and oft-distracting visuals, especially the one featuring the hungry komodo dragon and Takeishi’s Castle contestants. You need no further explanation. SP

23.30: DJ Yoda seems to have packed out the tent early on, so we head to the comedy tent for more from that loveable Canadian, Craig Campbell. SP

words: Sophie Parkes
archive pictures: Kate Goodacre

Thursday July 17th

16.00: Having just driven (at an unsurprisingly rapid pace) through a wooded road lined with signs declaring the chilling words ‘Do not stop unless in an emergency – military firing range’, we pull in to the grounds of the impressive Lulworth Castle. But energetic and nonchalantly unhelpful staff tell us we’ve arrived a day early for press, so we’re reduced to exploring the site as naked-wristed fugitives until daybreak the next day. SP

Friday, July 18th

09.00: Wristbands firmly consigned to wrist and no questions asked, we are free to roam the site. First stop? Full veggie breakfast at the Thali Café. I’d still go to festivals for the food, even if there wasn’t a musician in sight. SP

12.00: Tents are still being erected, Hugh Jart still being constructed, many other features still receiving their last lick of paint. They’re relaxed down here in Devon. But the Laughter Library is taking visitors, and we pop in to find an enthusiast young physicist dressed in chef whites, demonstrating the power of the microwave using an array of different props, including balloons, lightbulbs and colour-changing t-shirts. I soon, too, become enthralled – and slightly bemused at this plucky young fella’s enthusiasm for my most hated subject at school. SP

13.30: “Oi! You can’t go in there! Health and safety!” A yellow shirt points to the tape by means of explanation. Health and safety? I only want to cross a patch of grass – in front of the mainstage no less – to the portaloo. I had been doing it all morning. “How ridiculous!” I retort with no effect whatsoever, having not quite planned a sensible put-down in response.

14.00: Sam Carter, first act on the main stage for the weekend, calls across the mic “It’s alright! You can come forward! Music has apparently been deemed healthy and safe.” The tape magically disappears, and the crowds surge forward. SP

15.30: Florence of Florence And The Machine evidently went to a boarding school when she was younger. Nothing wrong with that per se, I reason, but boarding school graduates shouldn’t pretend to be frightfully bohemian, if you see what I mean.

She flits across the stage in a whirlwind, her band exchanging knowing shrugs, all legs, hair and a cleverly crafted stage persona. “This song’s about quaaluds, man” she actually breathes. Her keyboardist, also with a posh name, merely stands behind the instrument, her hands in the air. I don’t see her play it once. Nevertheless, Florence has an enviable voice and the performance is strangely compelling. SP

16.30: As the forecasted rain begins to pelt down, the Laugher Library fills. The afternoon’s showcase, compared by a wry Scouser called Silky, culminates in a performance from a Canadian Anglophile named Craig Campbell. If a lobster were to have visible features, it would resemble Craig Campbell’s malleable expressions. No doubt about it. SP

20:00: Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip would not usually be my cup of tea. I usually see a laptop on a stage and turn away in deeply rooted prejudice. However, the anthemic quality of Thou Shalt Always Kill has had me hooked for a while and the spoken word of Pip, as it turns out he is affectionately known, is especially appealing. More so when volunteers distribute cutouts of Pip’s beard attached to lolly sticks, providing hours of entertainment thereafter. SP

23.00: Chuck Berry is apparently 81. Or 84. No, 85. Definitely in his 70s. Audience members cannot make up their mind, but nevertheless, he’s old. Thankfully, he hasn’t gone the same way as poor Brian Wilson. He may have an excellent backing band, too, in the form of his children and an astonishing Finnish pianist, but Chuck’s still got it, too. He even cracks out the moves he’s famous for. SP

words: Sophie Parkes
picture courtesy of Camp Bestival

Joanna Newsom
Somerset House, London
Sunday July 20th, 2008

Following another year of eclectic yet impressive Summer Series line-ups at Somerset House, Nevada City’s whimsical harpist Joanna Newsom clearly jumps out as this year’s act most perfectly suited to the grandiose surrounds of London’s 18th century courtyard.

Shortly after the courtyard clock chimes nine, the elfin author of 2007’s poetic masterpiece Ys shuffles onto a stage decorated merely with an imposing harp and the grandest of grand pianos. As she seamlessly slips into opener Bridges and Balloons, Newsom’s meek and shy demeanour endears and pulls in tonight’s crowd almost immediately. Impressive renditions of old favourite Sadie, and Emily, Newsom’s ode to her astrophysicist sister, go some distance towards showcasing Newsom’s unique combination of vast vocal dexterity and harp-plucking splendour.

Considering this is her second performance of the day, having hot-footed it up from Suffolk’s Latitude festival, further clumsy and somewhat overwhelmed banter could be excused. In this case, it is however an excuse not worth making, as it is this very innocent and unassuming crowd connection that acts as the perfect accompaniment to such spellbinding storytelling.

As the imposing city clouds draw in for another night, the aptness of the venue’s setting is only heightened. Further charming highlights follow in the form of a clutch of piano-driven new numbers, which Newsom modestly claims are “only half written”. Drawing to a close with the serene Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie, tonight’s crowd file out into the star scattered sky safe in the mind that they’ve witnessed one of the 21st century’s most unique, enchanting songwriters.

words: Tom Harrison
pictures: Kate Goodacre

www.dragcity.com