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tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-339980032018-05-29T05:06:27.219+01:00Wholly VagueIs the Saxophone really the work of Satan?Cerihttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-50351497079430547462010-02-12T21:25:00.002+00:002010-02-12T22:56:44.382+00:00Looking back - the music of 2009From my own perception I spent most of 2009 looking backwards into the history of music, specifically the 1980s and following the ephemeral trails left by new pop and (what was then) the daring electronica made by machines and sang with a passionate detachment that historians can only dream about. Despite the trail being somewhat weak in terms of the legacy and impact that new pop and 80s synth pop seemed to have on popular culture it sneaked back enough in the music of La Roux and even bizarrely Lady Gaga in that strange androgynous playfulness (or cold calculated lunacy depending on your viewpoint) that she exhibited. Still, she never made so much impact on me as Boy George did back in the early 80s seeing him on TV and experiencing my first taste of gender confusion - was it a girl? No it's a boy! But he's wearing make-up and a dress mummy! I can only link my extreme open-ness towards the multiple ways in which sexuality and gender can be expressed to growing up in the 80s where it was possible to experience it on a weekly basis if only through watching Top of the Pops - and people think Russell T Davies is being subversive with gay characters in Doctor Who. Hardly.... Anyway I deviated somewhat from the point which was to remind myself that I did not spend the entire of 2009 stuck in a retro music wonderland but I did listen to quite a lot of the modern stuff as well as evidenced by my anal approach to dividing up the albums I buy/add to Itunes into the year they came out. I am sure I am not the only person to do this... commencing with Starsailor's All the Plans which like most of Starsailor's more recent offerings is pleasant but forgettable, I struggle now to even hum any of the songs stark in the list. They even have those vaguely pretentious names like 'Neon Sky' and 'You never get what you deserve' cough Coldplay cough. I bought the Answering Machine Another City, another sorry after reading an interview with them in some trendy muso mag that I can't remember the name for the life of me. It's pretty good in a kind of sounding-like-the-subways-but-less-noisy-kind-of-way, rather earnest and the singer's voice got on my nerves a bit because of his habit of over-pronouncing his words. Bastila couldn't be bothered to think of a title for their album other than um Bastila which is lazy but they have a trumpet player which is pretty exciting and lots of energy live which sadly doesn't translate well onto album like many bands I see randomly at a festival they are quietly consigned to the itunes tracklist for eternity. Mongrel's Better than heavy was a free gift with the independent or guardian something like that so is very worthy as a result I managed about 2 seconds before I got bored. Plus I am not that fond of Reverend and the Makers who constituted a sizeable portion of the record. The Black Ghosts... now this is an album I do like despite their lack of ability to think of an album title and the wistful 'Full Moon' that lurks on the beginning to the Twilight film no real indication of their ability to write a stonking disco tune. Did I really just use the word stonking oh dear I did I blame having to write too many reports at work it has seriously dimmed my ability to think of pretentious metaphors. Ho hum The Big Pink A Brief History of Love seemed to be part of the half-hearted shoe gazing revival (well you don't imagine them to have enough energy to be passionate about it do you?) with its scuzzy production and hazy lyrics about girls and whatever. I like Crystal Visions and Dominos (nothing to do with the pizza people I assume) but the rest seems to be blurred into one big messy mass so lets pass on that to White Rose Movement who released one bizarre single Cigarette Machine which seemed to be an Elvis piss-take on a politically incorrect subject, not as immediate and loveable as their debut but let's give them a chance hey! Anthony and the Johnsons made me cry again with The Crying Light and so I only listen to it at my most resilience, I only hope that Anthony is blithe and cheerful in real life as he is melancholy on record. Ou est le Swimming Pool rocked my festival mind but Dance the Way I feel didn't quite capture the spirit of seeing four men who look like they come from completely different musical backgrounds in one band (the singer in a cardigan no shirt for god's sake) bouncing round the stage like a very wrong boy band. Not that any boy bands are ever right but this is extreme. Dots to connect was some compilation of American bands doing covers of miserable tunes but it had Veil Veil Vanish and Bell Hollow who are awesome kind-of Goth bands.  Fever Ray, well I don't know what to say exactly it disturbs me and thrills me in equal measure a brooding slab of awesomeness particularly 'When I grow up' which never fails to send strange shudders through my ears into my brain and crystallise into tears of amazement as such a song could ever be written. Like The Twilight Sad Forget the Night Ahead it is not an easy listen; squalling feedback, grumpy singer in the Scots vernacular and a true horrorshow of song narratives that make you want to cower next to the stereo with your hands over your ears until it stops. But its that kind of challenge which I expect from my music. Kiss of Life  by friendly fires was a sweet candyfloss track that I hope will be toughened up for their next offering, its a teeny bit, well a lot twee - we want strong colours not pastel! The Cheek Hung Up on being the Menswear for the new Millennium and Brett Anderson surprised me by going all torch singer on us and delivering a majestic song The Hunted which reminded me of the swooning delights of The Wild Ones. Hmmm the Editors went a bit weird and electro on In this Light and on this evening: I have to say that I liked the sparse musical backing but unfortunately the lyrics are so clunky that their amusement factor completely destroys the attempt at seriousness. Like actors that have one way of acting singer Tom only really has one way of singing - sonorous, po-faced and absolutely no sense of mischief or even a raised eyebrow. Remind you of anyone? Whereas Yeah Yeah yeahs pulled off the same retro vibe with aplomb on It's Blitz mostly because they seem more fun and Karen O yelps and stutters her way sexily through. I think they should have A levels on the song titles to the Manic's last album Journal for Plague Lovers which saw them return to form in a blisteringly beautiful way, and Nicky's last song to Richey is so plaintive that even thinking of it stirs the tear ducts. Somehow they get away with song titles like Jackie Collins Existential Question Time without looking like prats but then the Manics always got away with many things that no other band can, they have that magic. Royksopp Junior was overall a disappointment for me although I love The Girl and The Robot which is infinitely catchy - I think they used up their magic all on that song. Kitsune Maison Compilation 7 introduced me to Two Door Cinema Club Something good can work and at the polar opposite of this sweet paean Heartsrevolution whose electronic mash-ups like Ultraviolence complete with girly sinister vocals are fabulously decadent. La Roux I liked when they first emerged but I went off the high voice antics pretty quick still not a bad return to the 80s, although listening to the real thing kind of spoils the novelty. I went off Maps as well who went all hippy and rave-y with Let go of the fear. The Maccabees weren't really my thing either but Amadou and Mariam are, certainly The Magic Couple does not lie, they have soul and groove in buckets. More so than David Sylvian who continues his war on music with Manafon a nonetheless hypnotic exploration of sound topped off with David's incredible voice (it got me to try out Tilt by Scott Walker which is deemed to be unlistenable but I rather liked it although perhaps listening to Sylvian prepared my ears for it I don't know). Passion Pit Moth's Wings continued the domination of young men with very high voices making music, well not sure if there is really a dominance but I blame Mika. Another band that are better on record than live, like MGMT they were very flat and disappointing. Blacklist I have no idea who they are but seem to be slightly gothic and Midnight of the Century is suitably dark and brooding as a dark and brooding thing can be. Two giants of the 1980s teemed up as John Foxx got together with Robin Guthrie for Mirrorball, no lyrics as such just Foxx ooh-ing and aah-ing over melodic guitar, would sound good in one of those weird water tank things where you can do nothing but relax. Guthrie's former singing partner Elizabeth Fraser did not do quite so well with Moses which sounded like the Cocteau Twins mashed badly with the Gotan project, a bit dated really. Everything Everything another promising band with My Keys, Your Boyfriend which has one of the best lyrics of the year 'It's like I'm watching the A4 paper taking over the guillotine' and despite the presence of another squeaky male he just about gets away with it because of the beautiful melody which is how Interpol would sound if they were on happy pills. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart are a well cute band with a cute name and cute band members and cute songs about being in love and being young and eating too many sherbet dib dabs and even better all this cute-ness is not sickly at all because they have absorbed the dirty feedback sensibilities of bands like My Bloody Valentine, hurrah! The Horrors ditched their Victorian steampunk goth overtones (shame) and got grown up and (but not too) serious with primary colours where Faris howled about ice ages and got his fragile frame into a lather but it worked and that's what matters. Howling Bells did not achieve so well IMO with Radio Wars it's like they had all the right ingredients but something did not rise properly so it came out the studio oven all flat. Paul Haig sneaked into the end of the year with Relive and proved that he is quietly continuing to produce great works without fuss. John Foxx was a busy man with another release this time with Steve Jansen (ex Japan) and D'Agostino A Secret Life proving very gentle and subtle, perhaps too much so as it is the kind of music to lie in a dark room to when you have a migraine. Not that its a bad thing, mind. I like the Hours' See the Light again another band that quietly does its thing getting album covers from Damian Hurst and supporting Kasabian, an explosion of piano and 'will to live' songs that give you hope when your wallowing in the doldrums. Simian Mobile Disco is slightly more then A Temporary Pleasure but not having much cause to dance round the house at the moment it largely remains a silent pleasure. White Lies oh yes To Lose My Life caused me much hilarity when I bought it not just for its obvious 80s leanings but also the completely un-subtle references to DEATH and GLOOM and SUICIDE it gives hope to polo neck wearing 6th form miserable-ists writing poetry in their messy bedrooms. But saying that it is a surprisingly catchy set of songs which means I cannot hate it, to lose my life coming out as a collision of Duran Duran and Joy Division - now if only that had really been possible how good would that be? Fab and now onto my favoured band at the moment Franz Ferdinand who burst Tonight: Franz Ferdinand all over 2009 and made me sit up and realise how fabulous they actually are! Mind you the best songs are all squandered at the start of the album in a funk-tastic orgy of Ulysses, Turn it On and No You Girls - stop Franz you are really spoiling us. Then its Jack Penate who forced upon me a similar about turn with Tonight's Today which followed me around Top Shop and beat me into submission with its Latino vibe (hang on isn't that the preserve of Friendly Fires) and I was very surprised to find that boring troubadour Mr Penate could actually be quite exciting if only someone would give him a pair of maracas. Next, a set of bongos... Clark bended my mind with fierce electronica in the shape of Totems Flare the kind of musical meanders where the tempo and whole atmosphere changes with the wim of a pitch shift. But the Wild Beasts Two Dancers is for whom I reserve most of my love this 2009, the unassuming blokes from the North (although Hayden's denim suit is very outre and consequently disturbing) who produce such innovative, mesmerising and downright bizarre music. If they were a cake they would be one of those super expensive and gaudy macaroons in the golden shop window in London. The Boxer Rebellion financed their own album Union and whilst there is nothing to rave about it is pleasant enough in a generically good alternative music style. Ha ha and if that sounds condescending then its not meant to be. I am only recently getting Grizzly Bear but Veckatimest seems to be everything that Bon Iver and Fleet Foxes are not e.g. interesting, tuneful and wistful in a heartfelt rather than a soppy pathetic way, its hard to articulate the difference as such but there seems to be more substance here. They probably have beards though as the beard has inexplicably become fashionable. Empire of the Sun went Walking on A Dream but were too close to MGMT for comfort so it washed into a blissed out haze-fest devoid of much spirit but fun to sing along all the same. The Victorian Englishman's Club have an unwieldy name and on Watching the Burglars do a convincing Adam and the Ants before collapsing into a coma from inhaling too much air whilst gulping; believe me it's good. Wave Machines another festival find with Wave if you're really there and I was there, I really saw them and I really heard I go I go I go which is easily their most upbeat song with a mean message, always a fun juxtaposition. Kasabian continued to head downhill with West Ryder Pauper Asylum I dunno they just seem to have lost their edge since their debut which still stuns me with its menace, especially if you walk the streets of Leicester with it in your ears. And that was 2009.Cerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-54639540113655000672009-11-17T21:52:00.001+00:002009-11-17T21:54:05.050+00:00Not really so much about music but a link to another of my 1980s obsessionsCerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-60017140047725551492009-09-08T13:49:00.005+01:002009-09-08T14:26:34.789+01:00club country 12" - the associatesA return to the Halcyon year of pop 1982
For the 12" version of 'Club Country', Billy Mackenzie stares out challengingly from the cover defying you to dislike this joyfully sneering slab of noise. This version comes with pummelling drums to start and a rather jazzy synthesiser bit in the middle. Like boys in lace and make-up it's definitely of its time but defiantly relevant considering the amount of artifice that seems to come with the media.

Unwittingly every day seemed to start the same

'A.G. It's You Again' another version of 'Arrogance Gave Him Up' from Sulk, less polished and with a strange, slightly hectic feel from the giddiness of the drums. So less like the theme tune to a nature programme.

In bed with Bourdieu

Never is it so evident that there is a 'cultural capital' attached to the making, selling and listening to of music. A very few incredibly manipulative people seek to define and control the tastes of the nation - even the world - and would dictate what radio stations play and what infiltrates our head-space. Never underestimate the capacity of music to mess with your head and subconsciously inform your outlook on the world - as a mind-altering substance it is second-to-none. Phil Collins should come with a warning. Ocean Colour Scene should be banned for its capacity to make one feel nauseous and Paul Weller.... well he should only be sold to those who promise, PROMISE, to burn it immediately afterwards once they have taken the required dose. Thank goodness then for 'Ulcragyceptemol' the antidote to the dangerous poison sold to us by the corporates, a stream of common sense and epithets for successful living. Let Billy Mackenzie guide you towards being a better person and the distant piano chords soothe the soul unfortunately harmed by the Beyonces and Britneys. "Put them down" and be a good boy.

Cerihttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-39546067743849125922009-09-04T13:22:00.014+01:002009-09-06T16:24:55.629+01:00she loves me not - alan rankineIn his inspiring work 'Rip it up and start again: postpunk 1978-1984' Simon Reynolds cautions us to be wary when dabbling into the music of our post-punk heroes after 1984. Not only had the shiny bauble of New Pop become 'bloated' and 'plunged into decadence' but Pop Stars suddenly found themselves spokespeople for the world on a scale never seen before. It was the time of the Po-Faced Political Message but also of Pop Stars blowing hugely ridiculous budgets on videos and yachts, champagne and cocaine, the record labels getting fatter and fatter. Everything Went Over the Top in the security of a bouyant market and Smugness ruled in the pop charts, epitomised by those horrible Spandau Ballet songs 'True' and 'Gold'. By 1985, as Reynolds quotes, even the great John Peel was lamenting that "I don't even like the records I like." But there is something strangely addictive about 'bad' music, after all witness the whole 'Guilty Pleasures' movement. And a dabble here and there into the post-1984 cultural wilderness can be rewarding, although generally anything from the mid-late eighties does suffer for being inflicted by what was deemed fashionable in the day, i.e. too much honking saxophone, overwrought female vocals and bathed in that smooth, syrupy production that makes it hard to distinguish the real instruments from the synthesisers. Far from being 'Abba on speed' New Pop began to sound like Abba had swapped the speed for Ovaltine.

It seems to me it was more the loss of the Punk and Post-punk spirit that Reynolds and Peel were mourning, the warped beauty of New Pop that for a brief moment lit up the mainstream more brightly than the bland monotony usually labelled 'Pop' music. Looking back there are treasures to be found. The Cure's 'Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me' (1987) is the best twisted Pop record ever made after 'Sulk'. Paul Haig descended into 'The Warp of Pure Fun' in 1985 and emerged with his dignity intact, while 'Perhaps' (1984) saw Billy Mackenzie haphazardly balancing between youthful hysteria and a growing propensity towards a 'maturer' style (although the later, unreleased, 'Glamour Chase' would see the transformation complete). ZTT were doing good things e.g. with Propaganda, although they were overshadowed by the crass antics surrounding Frankie Goes to Hollywood. David Sylvian, Gene Loves Jezebel, The Wake, Siouxsie and the Banshees.... the Post-Punk greats did not die they just reinvented themselves. However the mainstream certainly returned to the 'manufactured' - no longer could it be countenanced that something like 'Party Fears Two' could sneak into the top ten, into everyone's living room and steal their hearts with its sultry shimmer.

Into 1987 we wade, when Billy Mackenzie's erstwhile Associate, Alan Rankine, released 'She loves me not'. Prior to that he had spent time producing other peoples' records (such as the Cocteau Twins and Paul Haig), working with cultish record label, the wonderfully named Les Disques du Crepscule, and living in Belgium. It's not quite a forgotten classic but like Haig's 'The Warp of Pure Fun' (of which it is reminiscent and not entirely a coincidence since Alan Rankine produced it) it is just that, a fun record which, in this period of 80s revival, is able to stand up to (and maybe even surpass some) contemporary attempts at melding the guitar with the synthesiser. Responsible for most of the instruments / parts in the Associates, Alan Rankine has a keen ear for melody which makes even the weaker songs palatable, but even he was not immune from the taint of sax and syrup. The mid to late 80s also seemed to be to the detriment of the guitar, which almost disappears into the murk here, surprising since Rankine ranks with the best of the Post-Punk guitar pioneers in terms of the sounds he managed to conjure with his fingers and a few effects. Still there is enough sophistication to make up for the disappointment that it sounds, well, so conventional at times. Especially when compared to the diverse and wonky marvellousness of 'Fourth Drawer Down'. It's like listening to 'Perhaps' - you know that both men had to move on and could not have produced another 'Sulk' (and nor would they want to) but it makes you yearn for its weirdness, it's boldness in abandoning the typical song format and its attempt to cram every possible emotion into one circle of vinyl.

And 'She loves me not' certainly starts with a bang! and ends with the apocalypse! clamouring for your ears' attention. 'Beat Fit' has rather silly lyrics but is infectious and introduces several of the 1001 synthesiser noises which identifies this record as a spawn of the 80s - as does the hyper female backing vocals and ubiquitous saxophone. Luckily this is not too intrusive keeping as it does to the rhythm of the song rather than meandering all over it. Alan Rankine's singing voice is remarkably urbane, slightly gruff and cynical at times, but that seems to suit the world-weary, even baffled, tone he affects. 'Days and Days' is the first of one of the more schmaltzy songs here, along with 'Last Bullet' they are quite light and relatively forgettable, but then I have never been a fan of ballad-type songs so they are probably okay if you like that kind of thing. 'Loaded' juxtaposes icy, melancholic synths (the ones that remind me of speeding down German autobahns at night lit only by orange sodium) and a softer vocal, ostensibly about throwing your cares away and having a good time but underlaid with that sadness it suggests it can only ever be ephemeral? Finally a guitar is spotted from very far away singing to itself in the background. 'Enough of that' says the sax and wrests domination of 'Your Very Last Day', unfortunately quite a plodding song despite Rankine's attempt to enliven things up with a dramatic vocal, but tones its influence down for 'The Sandman' which deals with a chilling subject (child abuse) in a surprisingly sympathetic way, when it potentially could be very clunky especially since Rankine's lyrics are far more literal than his former partner's. 'Break for Me' adopts that cod-reggae rhythm that was once so popular (please don't bring it back!) and that 'shimmery-curtain' percussion thing but apart from those two crimes against music it is a pleasant moment, a break after the frenetic rush of 'Lose Control'. And certainly a moment's pause is required before the stand-out track of the album, a slight intake of breath before the aural assault begins. Betraying more than a little of the 'more is more' philosophy that so drove the Associates ever upwards towards musical greatness, 'The World Begins to Look Her Age' is an attempt to capture the end of the world, well what the end of the world would sound like if only hysterical female backing singers, chuntering saxes, synthesisers and Alan Rankine were all that were left. Into this one song Rankine crams an album's worth of ideas and sounds and textures; its overloaded certainly and in the hands of someone less skilled it would probably collapse under its own weight, but this was the man responsible for 'Club Country' and however he does it, somehow it works! It's like magic because taking it all apart it's a pretty much standard 80s pop tune but combining all the unprepossessing elements together with a random song structure, explosions, layer upon layer of alarm and panic, ramping it all up and over eleven, well... it's an exhausting experience. But like the best of the Associates it makes you feel; its more than wallpaper or something to put on in the background and ignore. This is a song that defies being ignored! And it's certainly better to go out on a bang than a whimper. So yes, there could be many things wrong with this record but when it works the sheer verve reminds you that greatness never dies completely.

Sadly, but unsurprisingly, there are no videos of Alan Rankine solo on YouTube so a badly taken picture of the album cover is all I can offer in way of illustration. Luckily he is a very handsome fellow :)

And just for fun, the Associates do 'Club Country' on Top of the Pops, Alan keeping out of the bizarre sartorial choices made by some other members of the band, thinking here of Martha Ladly in the swimsuit!

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Cerihttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-16558982525026951352009-09-02T20:26:00.004+01:002009-09-02T20:41:41.287+01:00Squeaks, pops and Scratches: Adventures in VinylIt has been a long time in coming. It must have been over a year ago when I decided that it was time to test the idea that vinyl is the preferred listening choice of the 'serious' or nostalgic music lover. Although I was brought up with vinyl I would hardly call myself nostalgic for it since it always seemed a bit of a palaver setting it all up and then making sure that the needle was in the right place. It was when my house-mate pointed out that you placed it on the edge of the record to start rather than have to find the songs manually that I realised that perhaps I was a little bit out of my depth. I realised I was even more out of my depth when it took me over three hours to work out how to record the lps through the computer; after much knashing of teeth it was possible to be confident that the software that came with the record player was clearly rubbish rather than it being my fault for being unintelligent when it comes to technology. Fortunately Audacity saved the day and much knashing of teeth and tearing of hair later I worked out how to record the lp, save it to itunes and convert it to MP3 all in one evening. To quote the Inspiral Carpets, 'Nobody said it was gonna be easy...' It became slightly more surreal when some of my worst concerns about buying second-hand records on ebay and in charity shops came true and the lp simply would not play and any amount of cursing at it would not compel it to not jump and not crackle like a crazy coco-pop monkey on lsd with maracas, however it reminded me that someone had obviously loved the album so much they had played it to death (that one of these records was 'Sulk' by the Associates was quite pleasing in that respect if it was not so frustrating in wanting to listen to it...). Anyway the said purchase has opened up a whole new world of music, chiefly because it enables me to seek out even more obscure stuff from the 80s that is only available in vinyl, yay!Cerihttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-79072434158619207972009-08-17T22:16:00.007+01:002009-08-17T23:30:16.830+01:00Summer Sundae 14-16 August 2009 (a review in bullet points for brevity)Good things about Summer Sundae 2009 (general)

It didn't rain - hooray for sun!

It clinched more space from Victoria Park so there was more room to walk about and the sound clash from the various stages was less pronounced

The Garden was relaxing if you wanted some peace and quiet... ha ha albeit with lots of screaming children having a pillow fight

Now the Charlotte is gone Summer Sundae is one of Leicester's few hopes of seeing new bands and it did not disappoint!!

The Streets got swine flu so Idlewild jumped to headline!!

Bad things about Summer Sundae 2009 (general)

Having to avoid psycho ex-housemates

Disorientation caused by a larger site to play about in

Electronica largely absent this year - too much reliance on guitar and whiny folk singers, get rid!

Some strange choices of time-tabling

Constant queues in the Ladies toilets (but when doesn't that happen???)

Notable bands at Summer Sundae (in no real order of preference)

Wild Beasts - the mad poets of Kendal were glorious. These guys deserve to be HUGE - who else would dare sing sweetly choir boy about diverse and unpleasant (ahem) subjects as snogging drunken in alleys, yobs on a night out, fathers being ignored by the courts and the sordid dreams of shiny-shoed men?? I lost my heart in that tent

Idlewild - thanks to the defection of The Streets Idlewild were promoted (thank goodness) to headliners and gave a rollicking set of over an hour despite being unprepared for it, although the passion and anger of former years has definitely mellowed (but that's what you get for being over 30)

Minnaars - described as math rock crossed with indie dance not sure exactly what that means but definitely exuberant and kicking the retro guitar-synth into the twenty-first century, set the tone whereby younger bands put some of the more established bands to shame for their sheer panache and verve

The Kabeedies definitely get a mention for the best on-stage banter of the festival, not sure their sound is doing anything new but fun all the same like swallowing a whole bag of minstrels in one go

The Charlatans - Tim Burgess just stepped out of his time machine looking like he had never left the 90s. Like Idlewild the Charlatans rose to the occasion with the right amount of nostalgia / new song ratio and invited the crowd to feel touched by the wonder of their presence (or something like that) - anyway it proved that clunky Oasis stole the crown that should have belonged to the Charlatans

Kevin Hewick proved that people over 50 do not have to be staid and boring and can lie on the stage playing their guitar with their teeth. But only just.

Monotonix defy any kind of description except they are completely bonkers - playing scuzzed-up dirty rock and roll IN the audience - a security guard's nightmare they must be - moving their instruments around, only wearing pants, chucking water, hairy and sweaty, leaping off balconies, a drummer who is the personification of Animal - audience participation to the max and proving that it can be done. Monotonix I salute you

Ou est le swimming pool - strange sartorial decisions abounded (bat-winged cardigan with nowt underneath? tank-top gym wear? check shirt and hairband with moustache? Shirt and jacket like dodgy club promoter?) kind of wonky pop by a boy band who hate each other's guts

The Cheek - are they the new Menswear of the twenty-first century? Or is there something brewing in their heads which will blow us all away with its total awesomeness? Only time will tell but there was a good attempt at feigning aloofness whilst trying not to laugh as the sweat drips from the chin

The disappointments

Mystery Jets - pretty dull really except for their one good song about being in love with a girl who lives two doors down, since they sacked the Dad it seems to have gone downhill

The Domino State - wanted to sound like Echo and the Bunnyman and the Chameleons, sounded more like Richard Ashcroft without the Verve, bloated and dull

Broken Records - unforgettable folk whining, the first of many

St Etienne - it was amazing to finally see Sarah Cracknell in the flesh and with a feather boa but there was something lacking in the performance, bit flat and they only played one really really good song, Only Love Can Break Your Heart, the rest was slightly drivel (sorry)

Bon Iver - less said about this the better as only more whiny folk. Should have been on in the day not the evening, its like getting a sparkler and it fizzing out before it even starts

The Zutons - like Bon Iver it makes me feel like there is something fundamentally wrong with my brain - both these bands are so popular but they just leave me cold. Zutons had no warmth no sparkle just sounded conventional and adding nothing to the musical lexicon - very disappointing ending to Summer Sundae this year

Bands I should have seen / seen more of

65daysofstatic - VERY VERY LOUD but sounded promising

Micachu and the Shapes - clashed with The Cheek and our allegiance was to the boys from Suffolk

Hugh Cornwall - punk and post-punk relic

Future of the Left

Ou est le swimming pool prove that sartorial decisions are not their strong point

The Charlatans - effortlessly good

The Kabeedies - blurred but bouncy

Someone forgot to inform the drummer about the visual aesthetic - Minnaars

The Wild Beasts - obliterated by light and poor camera on mobile phone

The best way to see (and hear) the Zutons - slightly out of focus

Yawn, yawn - Bon Iver

Suffolk's finest - The Cheek

Cerihttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-12707126175671790032009-08-11T20:13:00.002+01:002009-08-11T20:31:41.751+01:00choose your own adventure - heartsrevolution'choose your own adventure' books were always a bit of a con: firstly, of course you could only choose the adventure in the parameters of the author's imaginings (sometimes quite sadistic if it was one by Ian Livingston and Steve Jackson, such as monsters with huge numbers of eyes bursting open in blisters from their backs that lounged in pools of disfiguring acid, ice maidens with slaves controlled by metal collars that could burst and kill them, beautiful women enslaved within magic armour that forced you to kill them whilst tears rolled down their face, haunted houses owned by devil worshippers far more vindictive than any hollywood fright fest, vampires with biscuits made of blood to catch the unwary adventurer... who knows what impact such things have on the intensely open minds of young persons) and the fiendishly complicated and ultimately time-consuming approach to fighting monsters meant that it was always more tempting to choose your own outcome (vanquishing the monster of course) and keep going backwards and forwards through the options until the happy ending was reached. heartsrevolution on the other hand are a boy and a girl and 'choose your own adventure' is a deceptively simple, though compulsively hectic rush of adrenaline which despite its cutesy exterior hints at a dark heart beneath.Cerihttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-36343385928232974612009-07-25T22:52:00.002+01:002009-07-25T23:12:00.541+01:00veil veil vanish - into a new mausoleum EPGoth somehow suits the eternal greyness of Britain, desperate to glean something elaborate out of the mishmash of brutal box like houses and grotesque Victoriana that blights our nondescript towns. The Cure and their ilk are as familiar as the cracked pavements and greasy windowsills on the high street even if the black lace gloves and creepy makeup is largely gone. Now the Americans come to steal our monopoly on melancholy. Veil Veil Vanish from San Francisco, not somewhere to be immediately associated with the intense mournfulness that spreads slowly and with intent from the speakers. I wanted to think 'they are trying too hard' after all the Ep is entitled 'into a new mausoleum' and it's like duh death and goth how obvious. I wanted to hate it. To take songs like 'Reproach' and gleefully tear them to shreds (which the masochists would probably love if they have a goth-like inferiority complex). To use the fact that they appear on the Cure tribute album 'Perfect as Cats' covering 'The Upstairs Room' as evidence that you may as well go and listen to the original instead. Instead it's been on repeat all evening. It is the blissfulness of colliding guitars, exploding into the aural equivalent of gazing up into the wonder of a starfilled night; the intense anxiety / obscurity of those shattered by existence and needing to sing about 'shadows dripping like honey kissing'; the exhaustion of feeling captured in sound.Cerihttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-82091011819854175622009-06-25T13:52:00.007+01:002009-07-25T23:19:17.976+01:00white rose movement - kick / cigarette machineNamed after an abortive movement by students from Munich to oust Hitler from power, the band known as White Rose Movement epitomises dystopian world views of Ballard, Foxx et al tied to the pop bombast of Duran Duran - yes its another eighties throw back electroclash special but WRM do it so well you can forgive them for being a little bit derivative. Dancing towards the apocalypse, the power of 'Kick' (their debut) lies in the tunes they meld, speaking of the sleaze, tension, general nastiness of 21st century life, narrated by the sensual, sulky vocals of singer Finn. Certainly there is something inextricably sexy about synthpop, perhaps its the breathy vocalists the genre seems to attract, which both Finn and (former) bandmate Taxxi demonstrate (the double xx there perhaps another nod to pioneers like John Foxx?), alongside a catalogue of teasing yelps, random screams and emotional outbursts that makes this album so vital, so alive in its conception of 21st century nightmare. Like the movement known as 'New Miserablism' e.g. Interpol, Editors, White Lies etc there is more than a hint of violence driving the melancholy, but unlike say the White Lies for instance there is no compromise in 'Kick' as to there being any hope that we will break out of this; you can kick and scream and rail all you want but we are stuck in this mess. So you might as well revel in the seediness, in the sleaze and leap in with guts. Check out 'Speed' and 'London's Mine' for maximum exhilaration, 'Girls in the back' cuts deep whilst the hidden track after 'Cruella' is to swoon for. Also for the record; Newest single 'cigarette machine' (how quaintly subversive) sounds like Elvis had he been hanging round the English high street too long and ingested the local patter.Cerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-6389704024066958632009-06-18T21:03:00.008+01:002009-06-25T00:07:45.652+01:00Balgay Hill: A play about Dundee, Billy MacKenzie, The Associates, about heroes, fame and home
History is (mostly) straightforward. Events happen, are recorded by a number of eyewitnesses, whether written down or carried in the minds of those who experience it. These become the definitive 'facts' which give us our sense of identity, our sense of who we are, the sense that we are the product of a long line of Others - that we are here today because of their actions. We impose upon it a beginning, a middle and an end. And because we are a perverse species we mostly like to insist on a happy ending.

Even music is prone to such gross simplification. Not so 'Balgay Hill' a play which reflects the inter-connectedness between home, our sense of belonging and the memories which become (formalised as) our histories.

 "Neither James (Brining, Director) nor I wanted to write a straightforward bio because  nothing  about Billy or his story is straightforward. He is an amazing character full of  contradictions trailing a litany of legends in his wake. He is a different kind of hero  blessed with an extraordinary voice" (Simon Macullum, Writer).

Balgay Hill is (loosely) the story of Billy Mackenzie, maverick and magnificent singer with The Associates, told through the interwoven lives of four individuals from Dundee, where Billy was born and now rests close to the titular Balgay Hill. At first I was uncertain as to how this could be accomplished without seeming forced in terms of incorporating Billy's (larger than) life into the lives of mere mortals (so to speak), however it was very sensitively done, with the main framing device being a video that one of the characters was making about Billy's life as, they quite rightly said, there is no real, lasting memorial to him. Only fragments of a life that was lived for the briefest of moments in the spotlight; the seminal being when Billy shimmered onto the Top of the Pops stage - wearing a black beret and raincoat, seemingly trying not to laugh at Alan Rankine and the chopsticks stuck in his hair - rightly identified as a key moment (as beautifully described by Simon Reynolds in 'Rip it up and start again'). Such fragments can be misleading - how much do we really know about someone like Billy?

 "To think you learned to know someone and find / That you don't know, don't know them  at all." (Club County, The Associates)

Whilst Billy's life provided the structure for the events (the details of which would be familiar to anyone with more than a passing interest in The Associates, they cannot help but attract big stories to them), there was always some blurring between what belonged to the life of the character, and what belonged in the life of Billy. This was effective in that it created a real sense of how memories operate, they are often jumbled and incoherent, hard to fathom as to their time and place until we place them into a narrative. These memories were not existing as something given, but we had to piece them together, to give them meaning.

 "I found a coin and washed away the silt / I found a shiny coin / A coin whose head was  slightly to the tilt / Who'd leave it there in silt / guilt?" (Nude Spoons, The Associates)

Whilst it seems ironic that going by his singing voice you could have thought that Billy Mackenzie was as likely to have come from Saturn than from Dundee, also poignant was the emphasis within the play, in the words of writer Simon Macallum, "our relationship with the place of our birth". And although Billy himself left Dundee several times he always came back. Two of the characters in the play had never left, one never really belonged there, and the last only returned (as was implied) to die there, according to the Japanese saying. Sadly this was the same for Billy, who was found in his father's garden shed in 1997 having taken a fatal overdose. The closing of the play on Balgay Hill, close to Billy's final resting place, no happy ending, no tying of the ends reflects (for me) the reality of memory, there is no end, and with there being no end the memories will live on, gathering their own momentum; not Billy-as-he-was but Billy-as-he-is-remembered which will necessarily be different depending upon who is doing the remembering. Yet this is the nature of memories, they are idiosyncratic, highly personal and indisputable, the perfect foil to the 'boring old history' that we are forced to learn because someone tells us it is important. But it got me thinking, why do some memories endure more than others? Which memories of Billy will endure and which will fade? All in all it was more than a curiosity piece, it was a thoughtful and engaging work which deserves a lot of success. Now I wonder if Take That the Musical will have the same effect....

"So what if this party fears two? / The alcohol loves you whilst turning you blue / View it from here, from closer to near / Awake me!" (Party Fears Two - The Associates)

Some pictures....

Looking across to The Law from Balgay Hill

Looking across to the 'Silvery Tay' from the cemetery on Balgay Hill

The Dundee Rep Theatre

The best record shop I have visited in ages, Groucho's in Dundee

NB All quotes from Simon Macallum are from the 'Balgay Hill' programme; song lyrics from The Associates album 'Sulk'Cerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-31663709550968005262009-06-17T22:46:00.005+01:002009-06-18T22:53:33.789+01:00Crystal Stilts - Alight of the NightThe name Crystal Stilts sounds like one of those magical objects found only in European fairytales; like Baba Yaga's house that spins on chicken legs, the nettle shirts that Elisa must knit for her doomed brothers or the singing ringing tree that restores the morally bankrupt Princess to goodness. Likewise the sounds constructed by the Stilts are somewhat vague and ethereal, with a tinge of the typical English weather. If drizzle and mist could sing, rather than whisper with eerie precision in your ears, 'Alight of the night' might be the consequence. Singer Brad sounds like he is enveloped in the stuff, his melancholic drawl subsumed beneath the weight of the ponderous production, recalling the wooziness of sinusitis, or that early sensation of numbness when operating on little sleep. The world becomes cocoon-ed, perhaps a little indifferent, a little detached; its rather reminiscent of My Bloody Valentine and Shoegaze bands, but without the excruciating ear-bleed. Whatever - the results are beguiling, particularly songs 'The Dazzling' and 'Departure' which set a simple repetitive rift against bass-lines that chog along almost jovially alongside the mournful (and unfathomable) vocals, the slight melodies weaving in and out. The power of the rhythms rise above the murk and prevent this album sinking into its own navel, creating an oddly uplifting experience.Cerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-78936491652949800742009-06-12T00:42:00.004+01:002009-06-12T01:46:14.987+01:00Do the Mussolini (Headkick)In the movies machines almost never listen to music, indeed they seem to go out of their shiny way to avoid it. So the machines in the Matrix might get some stirringly creepy soundtrack to their human-growing activities, but in the reality they would only be listening to the hum of the electricity generated. Cybermen may have a glorified I-Pod attached to their 'ears' but it is doubtful they hear anything more than the stomp stomp of their heavy feet as they go about their deleting business. However if machines were going to listen to music it would be tempting to consider that they would not look much further than Sheffield's Cabaret Voltaire, surely the most suitable soundtrack to any dystopian nightmare? There is no softness in their creations, no hint of the natural world in their stark soundscapes, brittle textures and distorted vocals. So whilst some songs recall beauty, some revel in the soppy-ness of love and human relationships. Not the Cabs. 'The Original Sound of Sheffield '78/'82' could only be forged in the fires of Steel City, the sweat and grind of the mill, the continual threat of gory accident or death, hastened by the dilapidation and griminess of everyday existence. It's like heading back to the Industrial Revolution in a rusting shopping trolley, as told creatively through tape cassettes and voice modulators, guitars pushed to their limits through electronic veils. Obscure, obscuring. So "Nag Nag Nag" worms its seedy way into your skull, un-fathomable instructions barked in bleary voices, seemingly recorded in a wind tunnel. "Do the Mussolini (Headkick)" constructs its beat around metallic intestines, churning through the sewers of human existence to spew out only garbled messages. Whilst the woozy clatterings of "Yashar" are imbued with traces of Eastern melody, generally this is a grim, if satisfying, trawl - satisfying in that it reminds forcefully that music does not always have to be a pleasant or uplifting experience - it can be discomforting, unsettling even. Take the saxophone on "Wait and Shuffle" merely a discordant meandering, only here it sounds threatening, as far away from the smug tedium of jazz as can be imagined. Then in 1983 'The Crackdown' lets us imagine how it might be if the machines decided that they liked to disco. Only a very imaginative (and un-self-conscious) individual might attempt a shuffle to "Baader Meinhof". Anyone might move themselves around to "24-24", still cloaked in urban tension, but far more accessible with it. Still, even if the beats are more familiar, the dissonance only becomes greater with immediacy; imagine Britney Spears doing a cover of "Why Kill Time (When You Can Kill Yourself), imagine if pop could be this discomforting? (Although the sight of Britney, post breakdown, continuing to gyrate on stage is pretty discomforting in itself) Chinks of light are also beginning to appear in the darkness; "Animation" with its shiny guitars and jaunty, if jerky, rhythm effectively creates machine-funk, "Diskono" escapes the dirge that otherwise drowns its comrades, describing (perhaps) the ecstasy rush of LEDs, and, of course, "Just Fascination", the closest to a conventional song as the Cabs are willing to provide, sent askew with its claustrophobic atmosphere - the prototype of electro-Goth. The future is bleak, (if) the future is Cabaret Voltaire; listen to it and despair.

The searing sound of Cabaret Voltaire - 'Nag Nag Nag'

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Cerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-9047745624633684162009-05-25T22:40:00.009+01:002009-05-25T23:53:03.045+01:00Dot to Dot Festival 2009 - NottinghamThe Dot to Dot Festival, for those who are not familiar with it, takes place over two days in May in two cities, Bristol and Nottingham. I had the opportunity to attend the festival in Nottingham, which spread around fifty bands across five venues. Fortunately all of them are close to the city centre however I saw only the minutest percentage of bands (only seven!, which is pretty pathetic really) and, of course, there being many frustrating clashes where I had to choose. Still I was very pleased with who I did see, and I liked skipping between the venues (most of which I had not been to before) with the aid of a red wristband, none of the mud or trouble with rain like a proper outdoor festival.

The Pains of being pure at heart were LOUD and reminded me more than a little of My Bloody Valentine crossed with a Sherbet Dib Dab, although they didn't make my ears bleed (fortunately as it was still only 3.30pm). Very cutesy, very fun but not too twee!

When Maps first emerged they (he) made music from the bedroom, woozy and unfathomable. Now Maps are out of the bedroom and onto the dance floor! Whilst new touches to old favourites like 'Back and Forth' refreshed their sound, the new ones (including 'Let go of the fear') were a bit formula electronic for my liking, having lost some of the idiosyncratic melodic touches of 2007's 'We can create.' One which had the repeated refrain 'Love will come' was downright sinister.

I wondered into the Rock City's basement venue to watch Telegraphs who were a bit too US Rock copyists to hold my attention for very long. In the main room I found Mumford and Sons four young men sounding much older than their years with a succession of folk-y songs played on acoustic guitar, double bass, steel guitar / banjo and piano. The singer looked a bit like a young Stephen Fry as the group next to me had the pleasure of pointing out.

There was more than a shiver of anticipation for the next act Patrick Wolf; I confess I knew very little about him but it was evident from the moment he stepped onto the stage in leather leatherhosen, knee high socks, and most of Barry M's makeup range exploded onto his face that this is someone who is DIFFERENT, maybe a bit STRANGE. Well my measure-stick of 'different' is 'Sulk' by the Associates and the music did not even come close to the bizarreity and bravery of that album.

Much of it was quite conventional if I dare say it, the addition of a violin giving an eastern European flavour which perhaps makes it different to other bands around at the moment. Who can say? Never mind, it was entertaining enough and Patrick had a fine pair of lungs on him.

Ladyhawke lurked in the darkness and barely came out from under her fringe, but who could blame her when for the first ten minutes there were about eight photographers sticking their camera lenses in her face? When they had gone she seemed to visibly relax and even came out front for a guitar solo (of sorts). Backwards-looking-but-future-sounding songs like 'Delirium', 'Magic' and 'Dusk til Dawn' were rousing and got the crowd going despite the vocals being washed out by the over-enthusiastic synths.

Omigod - Friendly Fires  - I was NOT prepared for the frenzy! Nor the sense of euphoria despite the beer raining down and the crush of the crowd! Starting off with the best song on their album - 'Lovesick' - it only got better and better, singer Ed Macfarlane drenched in sweat from gyrating so much, guitarist and drummer duetting on cowbell and shaker to the beginning of 'On Board', the mad hysteria to the arrival of 'Jump in the Pool'... as a total immersive experience it was more than enough to make me want to do it all over again when the final strains of 'Strobe' faded away.

To end on such a high it was difficult to go and watch another band after that, and Crystal Antlers really were not doing anything for me so reluctantly I gave up the pretence that anything could match the Friendly Fires!

Cerihttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-27760797198004774752009-05-17T22:19:00.008+01:002009-05-17T23:16:28.872+01:00the black ghosts - the black ghostsIt is rather shameful to admit that I completely passed The Black Ghosts by when they first emerged... introduced to 'Something New', which was a rather jaunty tune with a pleasing discordant chord opening, nonetheless it (unfortunately) came across as rather insipid outside the context of its encompassing album (although in place it makes perfect sense). It took an opening song to a recent low-budget film with lame (ahem) sparkly vampires to ignite that fatal interest.... A little bit of research and it emerges that the 'Ghosts are formed from the smouldering ashes of Simian (splitting into two with Simian Mobile Disco being the most obvious link), a band who exists virtually in my collection and is virtually never played, being a bit too day-glo and sickly sweet for more melancholy tastes. The Black Ghosts are, however, leaning more towards this vein; despite the high energy forced into dance-able tracks like 'Repetition kills you' and 'Anyway you choose to give it' there is a certain fragility in the arrangements - a sense of loss underlying the optimism - that keeps it interesting, a vibe that hangs together upon the wistful, yet fortunately not so cloying, vocals of singer Simon Lord (he seems to have lost most of the affectation he employed in Simian although there is an ill-advised lapse into cockerney at times). Damon Albarn also appears but I am not sure he adds much in the way of interest (meow!) In terms of the songs... there is a certain schizoid nature at work here; if you heard some of these songs randomly you would hardly link the two together. Take 'Full Moon' (from said sparkly-vamp-fest) which could be from the pen of a folk group, all lilting guitars and throbbing bass speaking of the earth and pine trees, immediately followed by 'I don't know' which was made for all I know by intelligent computers and robots manipulating synth pads, only the voice recognisably human (and even then you would hardly link the Simon 'here' with the lushly-tracked Simon 'before'). Both have in common that they are ridiculously catchy. Gloriously dramatic to open, 'Some way through this' is aching to be the soundtrack to bleeding hearts, however in the next breath 'Anyway you choose to give it' revels in the obsession caused by love - although the narrator is of sufficient presence of mind to almost resent their paramour for causing this parlous state - to what must be one of the most criminally underrated disco stomps this century (it's not the kind of thing I hear at the disco anyway when it should be!) As well as disco, the 'Ghosts also reveal a well-raided musical styles sheet, managing smooth ('It's your touch'), funky ('Until it comes again') guest singers ('Repetition kills you') and ballads ('Don't cry'). It all builds for the cataclysmic final blow-out - 'Face' - constructed around the repetitious call to arms 'you've got to face the music', underpinned with basic killer beat and 80s throwback synth crunches that makes my heart skip with excitement and notch up the volume. One to play as loud as you dare in the hope that the neighbours will lap it up with grateful pleasure.

The video for 'Anyway you choose to give it' , which sort of goes with the idea that it's made by computers or robots!

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For comparison purposes, 'LaBreeze' by Simian....

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...and the brilliant 'I Believe' by Simian Mobile Disco (you might recognise the singer)

<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lMoorwCt0bA&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lMoorwCt0bA&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Cerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-57346791666592569482009-05-05T22:59:00.006+01:002009-05-05T23:36:52.456+01:00bell hollow - foxglovesFoxgloves are amongst my favourite flowers, a graceful blush of pink amongst the trees, carefully designed to manipulate the bee into its pollen-lain interior.... Bell Hollow likewise draw you in with a rich, velvety sound like those petals. Whilst having more than a passing resemblance to Interpol and their ilk (not a terrible sin in my book I'll admit) Bell Hollow do not have the same aggressive edge exhibited by that band, more of a shimmery softness around the edges; so trailing a hand lazily in the water on a sultry summer's day (rather than getting all hot and irritable on the sweltering streets of New York). Opening with the spirited dance-y 'Seven Sisters', Bell Hollow echoes all the pleasant aspects of those fey whimsical bands that you feel might be too delicate to be bruised by the rigours of success (and alas Bell Hollow are no more, adding weight to that ad hoc theory....) Even Nick Niles singing "and we're young and wild" barely stretches to upbeat. Even so the sound of melancholy is a wondrous thing, his voice drips with such lusciousness it has the effect of making even the most prosaic of actions compelling. Exhibit A on 'Our Water Burden' - "take the letter on the mantle, open it slowly, read my hand-" convinces me that even a shopping list would be transformed in his capable larynx. If you have an irrational hatred of jangly guitars then this album might be hurled against the nearest wall in a fit of pique, for herein is plenty of delicate chiming 'bell-like' guitar (I am honestly running out of metaphors and words to describe this kind of thing, no wonder music journalists go a little barmy in the search for better and greater adjectives), inducing all kinds of pleasant imaginings in the mind of the susceptible listener; personally I am still reclining in a boat slipping silently through the water, somewhat like the doomed Lady of Shalott, especially by the time 'Eyes like Planets' mopes into view. Things head rapidly downhill after that before pining away with the despair of 'Lowlights' only...only... before there is a brief flash of resilience 'The Bottle Tree' which crackles with the bitterness of resigned 'told-you-so' - 'that was then, but this was now, you got what you wanted but it went sour' - a battered cry to be careful what you wish for if ever there was one. Still, a good dose of melancholy which never collapses into utter misery is always welcome, only the sad note to end on reflects the fact that it DOES end here. Forever. And the bell tolls goodbye.

The lovely strains of 'Seven Sisters' (as found on YouTube)
<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RpfodPKJdg4&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RpfodPKJdg4&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Cerihttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-40663086087601514542009-04-19T11:31:00.004+01:002009-04-19T12:17:28.627+01:00The Stills - Logic will break your heart and Oceans will riseI refused to even engage with the second album from The Stills (Without Feathers) as soon as I learnt that David Hamelin, who had previously been the drummer, would be taking on vocal duties alongside Tim Fletcher, who sang for the majority of their first album 'Logic Will Break Your Heart.' Not that I have any specific prejudice against singing drummers (ahem Phil Collins ahem) and I am very sorry to Mr Hamelin but the sublimity of 'Logic Will break your heart' was mostly secured for me because of the vocals of Mr Fletcher, which are often so beautiful I often found myself longing to have his dulcet tones drip-fed into one ear continuously (the other ear would be reserved for David Sylvian) as I am certain this would make the world a much better place to inhabit. Anyway, I am running ahead of myself to get on to the second without talking about the first... Aside from having an inspired title, 'Logic Will Break your Heart' for me was the best example of the harnessing of an intelligent post-punk sensibility and reconfiguring it through the glossy sounds of the '00s; okay they are still dealing with the same issues as everyone else, love, death, love and death, however the heartfelt nature of Tim Fletcher's keening vocals helps to lift this collections of songs above the murky parapet of indie rock and imbue them with a fatalistic core that taps into our deepest fears of melancholy and being alone-ness (or something to that effect). An instinctive pull towards melody pervades songs like 'Changes are no good' which contains some of my most favourite lyrics ever - 'All the world's deranged and I'm left crushed, people delayed or in a rush' - for their simplicity. 'Fevered' is sheer heartache melted and poured into the amplifier, a tiny tear clinging to the ephemeral plastic of our mass culture.

Like the Killers, the Stills kind of lost their edge on their second album although, as I admit, I have not taken the time to listen to it and find out. I will have to wallow in my ignorance for the third attempt 'Oceans will Rise' is taking my attention at the moment and... hooray there is Tim Fletcher's voice stamped all over it and David Hamelin's voice is pleasant enough and there is plenty of melody to counteract the slight element of U2-esque bombasity that has crept in, but then 'Logic...' had such an atmosphere of resigned introspection that even the slightest cranking up of those guitars could blow away its fragile pretensions. Saying that, I think The Stills have sacrificed some of their quirkiness for conventionality, unless they were a conventional band all along and 'Logic...' was merely an aberration. Still, whilst some of the songs are forgettable ('Hands on Fire' is pretty bland, 'I'm with You' predictably dull) there is enough to make you hope; 'Snow in California' is a lovely song with seductive harmonies, 'Snakecharming the masses' a more low-key appeal and unusual structure; an achingly beautiful song seems to be trying to get free from 'Dinosaurs' if it wasn't for the intrusive 'rawk' guitar that stomps heavily all over the fledging attempt. So 'Logic...' still beats the pants off 'Oceans' merely for its refusal to get too enmeshed in the need to be anthemic - for this reason, 'Oceans' seems rather forced instead of effortless.

Courtesy of YouTube, the sublimity of 'Changes are no good' from 'Logic will break your heart'

<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/hmqPCrgHSzI&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/hmqPCrgHSzI&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Cerihttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-19457753570334394582009-03-19T23:04:00.004+00:002009-03-19T23:16:10.492+00:00Taking it easy with Mansun and MarionThere seems to be a 90s revival happening at the moment, lots of rumours flying around about the 'seminal' (I say this with a heavy amount of sarcasm) 90s band The Stone Roses reforming, and The Charlatans and Saint Etienne playing at the Summer Sundae festival in Leicester this August, to suggest but two things floating around the Internet ether. So I decided to have a listen tonight to some tunes that I was listening to in that very decade. A couple I have to mention; the first is 'Take it Easy Chicken' by Mansun. I was never a huge fan but I did love this song, due to the wonderful sneering vocals and the dense guitar riff that drives into your skull with the subtlety of a migraine. Besides the gratuitous incorporation of a farmyard animal into a song title is pretty funny. The second song I 're-discovered' was 'Sleep' by Marion; poor Marion never really seemed to get anywhere and I think they ended up re-releasing Sleep twice in slightly different versions. Like 'Take it easy chicken' I get the sense that Marion do not really like the protagonist of their song, although singer Jaime Harding is too polite to sound really cruel. I always like the lyric 'Go to sleep there's more fish in the sea' as a potential put-down, sadly I have never had an occasion to use it.Cerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-39765146668928339922009-02-17T20:06:00.010+00:002009-02-18T08:33:54.298+00:00empires and dance - simple mindsIt's always an exciting moment when an assumption that you have held for such a long time is irrevocably shattered in the light of a new discovery. I was always dismissive of Simple Minds based on the fact that when I was conscious enough to listen to and remember music their output was pretty much the overblown stadium rock God posturing of the mid to late 80s which I cannot help feel numb towards (stadium rock in general that is). There's nothing wrong with ambition yet achieving the pinnacles of success (almost) inevitably mean a slide downwards and the 80s are littered with countless bands who reached the stars only to be burnt and cringe into a congealed mass of MOR. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, however based on my admittedly scanty knowledge, Simple Minds appear to fit into this arbitrary category quite nicely. Reading the reviews for their 1980 album Empires and Dance it seemed to suggest it was something of a masterpiece and having listened it is hard not to think it is far more sophisticated than their later rock efforts. Not that it was even popular at the time, like many of the bands I have discovered in recent months abandoned by their record companies and the public, it does not seem much of a coincidence that much of it is dark (read miserable), experimental (read all over the place) and oblique (read incomprehensible lyrics). I have no idea what Jim Kerr is singing half the time but something about his pronunciation makes it seem important. Opener I Travel bursts brightly into being quite aware of its brilliance, a sparkling intensity of spacey synths, squalling guitar and decadent disco that could slip into the charts today and you would swear it was by Ladyhawke or White Rose Movement or Neon Neon it is so NOW (but of then) except for Kerr's unmistakable vocal style of course (him not being a woman either which is all the rage in electro in the noughties). It all ends too soon. Today I died again is heavy with echo and subdued in comparison, concerned with a life lost - 'The clothes he wears, date back to the war.' Celebration is starker still, a glam-stomp only someone forgot to put the glam in, disappearing with it into the void instead. This Fear of Gods is almost-trance drip dripping into consciousness (like a fast train travelling through snow-bound mountains) until it turns on a chord and disrupts itself crashing into brighter sparks. So many echoes here... Capitol City reminds me of dirge-pop, not in a good way particularly. 'Hey Waiter' things are getting a bit peculiar around here, firstly Constantinople Line comes over like a Gothic Japan, and now some woman is talking in French (a la Visage), until a nursery rhyme mash-up and hideous wounded saxophone keep cutting her off (aha must be twist/run/repulsion then). Its back to business with Thirty Frames of Second channelling the same nervy sense of paranoia that would define post-punk pioneers like Magazine, and the shiny synths here reminiscent of those great 80s school TV programmes we watched like Dark Towers and one I cannot remember the name of but it concerned an spooky boy alien who landed in a gravel pit. Kant-Kino has a great title and lovely squelchy synth attack which comes and goes again before it is even introduces itself properly. You have to love how some bands can just throw away a great idea like that. Oh for the experimentation of youth! Which leaves the final Room 'I only live here, a fragile man' emerging from the slow burning mire, only to peter out again... Empires and dance indeed, the hedonism before the crash (as we may/may not be experiencing again), the sound of a band struggling to contain a thousand ideas (so lets put them all in).

A performance of the brilliant 'I Travel' from 1980 (with thanks to YouTube)

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Cerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-63179743989809556212009-02-15T19:13:00.007+00:002009-02-15T19:55:38.694+00:00Here comes everybody - the wakeIn 1985 Scotland's The Wake made the kind of music where you are afraid to sneeze in case you disrupt the delicate melodies; even breathing seems a harsh activity in the company of the ethereal Here comes everybody a relatively hidden gem in the history of Factory records. Although at first condemned for producing sub-Joy Division standard post-punk dirges on their debut (as must every band signed to Factory at the time) by the mid-80s The Wake were coating their tales of love lorn and love lost in woozy blankets of loveliness, sugaring the misery so to speak. Elements of pop and dub-tinged bass provide the bedrock bubbling away beneath which prevents songs from floating into the ether or the sensitive listener either drowning in sorrow or in syrup, whilst the vocals are gentle without sounding too twee or cloying. Indeed singer Caesar sounds so doleful, even on the more upbeat songs like Talk about the past, you might have, like me, the strong desire to want to force feed him with fairy cakes and tea until he gives in and raises a smile. Nevertheless it is the fragile beauty of the triumvirate of Torn Calendar, All I Asked You To Do and Here Comes Everybody which all deal to some extent with the disappointment caused by love (a good topic for the day after Valentine's) which are the most endearing. Here Comes Everybody overlies cavernous drums with tender melodies and crushing heartache - 'I lost you in a lonely crowd, you wanted to be free / you wanted to be someone else, I'll always disagree" whilst All I Asked You To Do wears its pop sensibilities on its sleeve and, like The Cure at their best, is infectiously catchy, the simple melody underlain with mists of synth to create a dream-like atmosphere. Torn Calendar is the wispiest little thing, best consumed in the quiet rather than the bustle of everyday life. Together with The Names (sort of their label mates) The Wake create soundtracks to lose yourself in the waves of soothing melody.Cerihttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-15180604304722781522009-02-13T21:55:00.002+00:002009-02-13T22:07:39.240+00:00new song - Howard JonesSeeing Howard Jones on Top of the Pops performing New Song with a semi-naked man in chains standing beside him is one of my earliest memories, and for some reason it has always stuck with me. Listening to the song now in adulthood it seems a very peculiar juxtaposition between a rather twee and naive-sounding primitive synth-driven muzak sound with very grown-up lyrics exhorting us to be all post-modern and open-minded, so 'don't crack up, bend your brain, see both sides, throw off your mental chains' which has subconsciously become a kind of mantra. It is a shame that after writing such lyrics as 'challenging preconceived ideas' HJ went and blandly called it 'New Song', which, along with the dated soundtrack, unfortunately detracts from what I think is still a strong and important message especially when in the depths of a 'I have no reason to be here' existential crisis.Cerihttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-36117230602897216372009-02-12T22:00:00.007+00:002009-02-13T10:50:34.787+00:00Pop Always Shines on TVTwo videos from the 80s which both happen to revolve around the act of watching the television in an otherwise deserted room - Independence Day by The Comsat Angels and Visions of China by Japan. Both want to convey an important message. With respect to both songs being fantastic, the production values of the videos are pretty terrible and suspiciously similar.

Poor Comsat Angels' singer Steven Fellows is agitated because instead of the usual Saturday night entertainment he is being subjected to continual images of people in uniform marching through New York and rockets being launched. Like him I would be pretty frustrated if that happened. So he gets together with his band-mates to sing about it.

<embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/MXw7a3FdBL4&hl=" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" fs="1" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always"></embed>

Poor David Sylvian looks pretty bored too, trapped in a room with only a TV and jigsaw to occupy him. Occasionally he puts the TV on but like the Comsat Angels' TV this one is faulty and keeps showing only static and unreal images of China. Oh look there's some people marching in uniform! Even worse the only clothes he has left to wear are a check shirt and some dungarees. Bravely he struggles on and even manages to complete his jigsaw before being rescued by his bandmates and taken to a fancy dress Communist party.

<embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WhC8LnFd2LE&hl=" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" fs="1" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always"></embed>Cerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-78078995334611865642009-02-12T19:51:00.006+00:002009-02-12T20:20:08.325+00:00When the Postman Doesn't Call on Valentine's DayThe shops are awash with hearts and flowers and chocolates and all the trappings of a commercially insipid and putrid Valentine's Day. Call me bitter but in the spirit of being perverse I have concocted my own Anti-Valentines compilation, selecting the most twisted, miserable and bleak songs which bring either unsympathetic thoughts of love or present an alternative to being trapped in the nightmare of what constitutes the perfect ideal vision of a romantic relationship (as in the fantasies of advertising companies). Hey so they're not all totally connected to love but the title alone should convey enough:

Touchy! - A-ha

Tears Are Not Enough - ABC

Dog Eat Dog - Adam and the Ants

I could be Happy - Altered Images

Hope there's someone - Anthony and the Johnsons

It's Better this Way - Associates

What's A Girl To Do? - Bat for Lashes

Small Talk Stinks - Bauhaus

I don't love anyone - Belle and Sebastian

Blue it is - Billy Mackenzie

Declare Independence - Bjork

Love Burns - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

No Need to Cry - British Sea Power

Why Should I Settle for You - Candie Payne

Maybe Someday - The Cinematics

Love + Pain - Clor

Men's Needs - The Cribs

Music is My Hot Hot Sex - CSS

How Beautiful You Are - The Cure

We're So Happy - Danse Society

Some Kind of Fool - David Sylvian

The Trial - Dead Can Dance

I Luv U - Dizzee Rascal

I Love You Cause I Have To - Dogs Die in Hot Cars

Darling, You're Mean - The Duke Spirit

Is There Something I Should Know? - Duran Duran

Getting Away With It - Electronic

There's A Ghost In My House - The Fall

Get Up and Use Me - Fire Engines

Bandages - Hot Hot Heat

Leif Erikson - Interpol

Fall in Love With Me - Japan

Don't Let Him Waste Your Time - Jarvis Cocker

Heart and Soul - Joy Division

Everyday I love you Less and Less - Kaiser Chiefs

Destroy Everything You Touch - Ladytron

Can't Stand Me Now - The Libertines

I Want to Burn Again - Magazine

Going Missing - Maximo Park

Jealousy - Octopus

She's a Rejector - Of Montreal

Rip It Up - Orange Juice

XOYO - The Passage

Chained - Paul Haig

The Murder of Love - Propaganda

Lipgloss - Pulp

You and I - Mass

Love is the Drug - Roxy Music

Only Love Can Break Your Heart - Saint Etienne

Dirty Disco - Section 25

Overrated - Siobhan Donaghy

Typical Girls - The Slits

Stop me if you think you've heard this one before - The Smiths

Say Hello, Say Goodbye - Soft Cell

I'm Free - Soup Dragons

I Think I'm in Love - Spiritualized

Still in Love Song - The Stills

Beautiful Alone - Strangelove

Walk on By - The Stranglers

Is This It - The Strokes

Life's What you Make It - Talk Talk

Watch me Bleed - Tears for Fears

That Move - Teddy Thompson

Infected - The The

United - Throbbing Gristle

Suffocated Love - Tricky

Rockwrock - Ultravox

You've got my number (why don't you use it) - The Undertones

Femme Fatale - The Velvet Underground

History - The Verve

Get Free - The Vines

Pagan Lovesong - Virgin Prunes

All I asked you to do - The Wake

Inaction - We are Scientists

Freeze - We are Performance

Last Christmas - Wham!

Love is a Number - White Rose Movement

Fell in Love With A Girl - The White Stripes

Must be the Moon - !!!
Cerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-45173922222945241102009-02-12T19:25:00.002+00:002009-02-12T19:50:36.710+00:00abc - lexicon of loveOn the subject of Sheffield bands, ABC are another ubiquitous 80s band but once which I feel were right to be lauded, particularly for their 1982 album Lexicon of Love (I am working on the theory that 1982 was one of the best years for music in the world ever). It's totally a concept album - Martin Fry gets dumped and writes a whole album's worth of material about it, poor man must have suffered- however it is a concept that works brilliantly. It's got some of the symbols that stand for some of worst excesses of 80s music to boot like saxophones, orchestras, irony and that kind of histrionic texture that can swathe the music in syrupy gloop if its not carefully applied by someone like Trevor Horn. Yet this is when pop was at its finest and this is one of pops finest attempts at capturing the headiness of a time when the UK was crawling out of the despair of the late 70s and men could wear make-up and have bouffant hair and sing in gold lame suits on Top of the Pops and nobody would bat an eyelid (although it was supposed to be the dark ages then in comparison to our supposedly more tolerant present). Songs like Poison Arrow are stupidly catchy at the same time as being gently nasty - 'who broke my heart, you did' cannot be more direct and seething - and anyone who is not a sobbing wreck by the end of All of my Heart blatantly has not got one. Even the less well known songs like Tears are not enough and Valentine's Day keep pace, Date stamp beginning with the sound of cash machines and exposing the business of love for the fraud it is (ironically it is almost a dead cert that some of these songs will be doing the rounds on those cheesy Valentine's Day compilations). I also love the trivia that the girl who inspired this album was invited in for a cameo - she is the girl saying 'goodbye' on The Look of Love, part one.

 Here is a glimpse of the famous gold suit.

<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Waea3eXnl_o&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Waea3eXnl_o&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Cerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-16531052957331376722009-02-12T18:53:00.006+00:002009-02-12T19:23:05.911+00:00simple minds - promised you a miracleI always mightily disliked Simple Minds, mostly because they are one of those bands like Coldplay and U2 who have that overbearing sense of bluster and swagger which suggests that, wrongly or rightly, the limelight is more important to them than the music. They were part of Live Aid. Like Spandau Ballet and Duran Duran they are always trotted out as an example of an archetypal 80s band like there is nobody else to choose from. Their most popular songs are dull bland and pompous like Don't you (forget about me). Bizarrely enough however I was inspired though (by listening to Spandau Ballet of all things) to investigate as to whether their earlier incarnations would yield any interesting surprises. And it did. (This is clearly a dangerous challenge to set myself, after all what if I started liking early stuff by Bon Jovi or something???) I was drawn towards the shimmering, tangential pop of Promised you a miracle delighting in its attempt to eschew the usual verse chorus set-up for leaping straight into the chorus, Jim Kerr's posturing vocals interwoven with a pleasant jangle reminiscent of fellow Scots Orange Juice (although the echo stops there) and delicate synths. It's pretty funky compared to their leaden attempts at rock that came later. Notable mentions to fellow companions from New Gold Dream (81/82/83/84), the dreamy stylings of Glittering Prize and the title song, with its incredibly familiar synth-led melody which I recognise from some crappy dance tune of a couple of years back, Open Your Mind by Usura. It's amazing what dance music has cannibalised. Perhaps there IS something in my nascent theory that 2 Unlimited were inspired by John Foxx...

A performance of said song on the much-missed Top of the Pops.

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Cerihttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-33998003.post-83380860940120824992009-02-11T14:30:00.003+00:002009-02-11T14:43:42.377+00:00delicatessen - there's no confusing some peopleIn an unexpected case of history repeating itself I found the third, and last, Delicatessen (who formed in Leicester no less) album from 1998 by accident in the secondhand racks in Record Collectors in Broomhill, Sheffield, the same place I found hustle into bed (1996). It was only two pounds, cheaper than a pint of beer, so how could I leave it there? (I wondered at the same time if I was flicking through CDs which had been there since I had left University (getting on for over 10 years) which gave me some comfort that one part of Sheffield had not disappeared under a shiny new, ultimately soulless, tower block). Anyway the album itself is remarkably pleasant after hustle, not so filthy and violent and repugnant which admittedly, for me, gave that album its charm. Singer Neil Carlill's voice is as rough and ready as ever, the songs tend to ramble a bit, but there is a brightness and a wistfulness about the music which did not exist before, although the lyrics seem to me as oblique, Lightbulbs and Moths takes its title literally for instance. The sun is beginning to shine through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, alas it was perhaps too late for chart glory (if that was the aim), although it still outshines a lot of the trash churned out in the 90s, recall for instance (in whispers) Sleeper, Powder, theaudience, Menswear and their ilk.Cerihttp://email@example.com


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This is the first True Story of many, submitted by a fellow Nomad:
Guest Blogger: Jen from Wander One Day
While we were living in Phoenix, Arizona, my husband and I took a trip to Los Angeles, California to visit a few of his fraternity brothers. I didn't want to crash their "guys night", so I spent the first evening with a friend who lived in the area. After living in the desert, I had a craving for fresh seafood, so we drank lots of wine and ate oysters that melted in our mouths at The Hungry Cat in Hollywood.
I made it back to my hotel room and was about to fall asleep for the night, when my husband drunkenly called me up and wanted to come up to my room. After spending the evening and most of the night drinking with his buddies, he missed me, so he took a cab 20 miles to join me for the night. How sweet, I thought, but I should have known what sort of weekend this was going to be.
The next day, we took another cab back to my car, which he had kindly parked in a ticketing zone near his friend's apartment. Oh well, no big deal, it was just a parking ticket. His friends decided they wanted to spend the day at the beach – great idea! I love the ocean, and you don't get to see much water living in the desert. So we all drove out caravan-style to Hermosa Beach, where friends of friends had an apartment 800 feet from the Pacific Ocean. We laid on the beach, played frisbee, engaged in many, many games of beer pong, and enjoyed the mild California springtime weather. But then unthinkable happened – the booze ran out!
No worries! My newfound friend-of-a-friend and I walked a couple blocks to the store and stocked up on wine, beer, and all sorts of good stuff. The festivities continued! And continued…
At one point around 5pm, I had the wherewithal to figure out our sleeping situation for the night. While I had the hotel in downtown LA booked for another night, there was no way either of us would sober up enough to drive before midnight. Plus, we were having too much fun! So we jumped at the offer of a futon for the night.
And so the party continued. This is where things start to get hazy. Somewhere during the night we ate burritos, which I assume were the best food we'd ever eaten due to our inebriated states. There was also a bar, where I might have almost gotten kicked out after kicking over a pitcher of sangria (my question is, why was the pitcher of sangria somewhere I could kick it??). The rest of the night is gone from memory forever.
In the morning, the hangover had yet to fully set in (and I might have still been a little drunk) when my husband dragged me out of bed at the crack of dawn. I couldn't figure out why he insisted I get my shoes on at such an ungodly hour, and he dragged me out of the apartment and down the sidewalk toward the beach.
Wonder of all wonders, on the morning after my forgotten night of drunken debauchery, we happened upon a sunrise Easter church service on the sandy beach. The sky was streaked with pale pinks and yellows, and even the waves washed quietly upon the shore. We shivered in the cool morning air and listened to the voices raised in common song. As the moon set and the sun began to rise, the music played and I received communion. I guess the hour wasn't so unGodly after all.
Somehow the headache and queasiness that follow a night of drinking seemed muted and subdued that morning. We ate a deliciously greasy hangover-soothing breakfast at Hennessey's Tavern, and were back on the road to Phoenix before our fellow revelers even dragged themselves out of bed.
Related articles
- 5 Hangover Cures That Actually Work (thoughtcatalog.com)

subset: commoncrawl


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To lose the only thing you care about and have to battle to get it back is unfortunate and troubling. To be in the same position for a second time is just plain careless. This is the situation that Kham (Tony Jaa) finds himself in. In the events of the first Protector movie, Kham has his pet Elephant stolen and transported to Australia (as you do). He is forced to fight his way to retrieve his prized friend.
In the second film it pretty much goes down the same way. His elephant is held to ransom by Mr LC (RZA) who uses the pet as leverage for Kham to do his bidding. Kham must find a way of stop Mr LC and get him and his trunk ( and the rest of it!) home. The trailer has some pretty full on action scenes with explosions and kick-ass fighting.
The Protector 2 is released on the 2nd of May in the US.
John McArthur
Latest posts by John McArthur (see all)
- Solo: A Star Wars Story - May 25, 2018
- Sherlock Gnomes - May 14, 2018
- The Hurricane Heist - May 4, 2018


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3/18/04 Welcome to my domain. If you've stumbled in by mistake, don't be alarmed... merely being here is no transgession on your part. But if you'd like, delve a little further. I may desecrate this webspace further in the future, so don't mind the cobwebs...
The Dirges Of Cyberspace
Rotten.com--Pictures, slates... all delightfully graphic and graced with that rotten sense of humor!
Dayudie.com---Funny, crude, sadistic... flash games and movies that are sure to move you (in one way or another)
Encyclopedia Metallum--A very dedicated collection on thousands of metal bands.
BNRMetal Pages--Another great metal database.
b0g.com--Sick, grotesque humor.
Steak and Cheese--This seems to be a recurring theme, doesn't it?
Cannibal Holocaust--Umm... click here if you don't have any issues with... yucky stuff.
House Of Horrors--An awesome site featuring some of the best in horror films and underground work.
Gonzo.org--An intensive look into the life of the outlaw journalist, Hunter S. Thompson


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Lauren & Nick : Mooloolaba, Point Cartwright
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This past week has been spent getting to know them better, and honestly. Emily is the sweetest human to grace this earth. She's kind, thoughtful, and literally SO smart. I found out Brendan is more than the funny jokes I met 6 years ago. He's generous, thoughtful and wrote one of the best poems I've ever heard.