Venue: London Astoria
Support: Fabienne Delsol
Reviewers: Dill and Phil W.
Phil, who WERE the support band? Apart from weird French people that is…
Support was provided by French singer Fabienne Delsol who performed a mixture of both covers and original material including new single “I'm Gonna Catch Me A Rat” from her latest album “Between You And Me”. She released her first album in 2004; looking at the track listing it includes a song called “My Love Is Like A Spaceship”! Not sure if she played that one or exactly how the metaphor works but it sounds like a song I'd like to hear!
Wow, that’s almost like a direct from website puff, or you really did like them? For me though, they affected my evening, as I got side-tracked into looking at the band dynamics, and I did that for the Warhols. It really did look odd with Fabienne Delsol – one side lively, having fun, bouncing around; the other side on secondment from Toussaud’s. They could well be termed ‘cute’, or maybe ‘chic’. Archetypal French peeps whatever. Do you think it was cobbled together to support her? Whatever, I think they won me over in the end.
They certainly won ME over in the end but I was far from convinced at the start of their set. As far as band dynamics go, its not too unusual for one performer to look upbeat and lively on stage while another looks like they’re waiting in line at the bank but it was noticeable here; the more the guitarist on Fabienne Delsol's right looked sullen and detached, the more the guitarist on her left seemed to be enjoying himself. But I doubt there was necessarily any pre-conceived plan behind this. Musically the band were certainly stuck in another time - somewhere around 1969 - from sound to dress sense. I'm never sure how I feel about that kind of thing, so purposefully imitating another time, but it worked for them and cute is definitely a good description of the final product both in looks and sound. Actually what stuck with me most after their set was their use of stage lights, which had them permanently bathed in simple, motionless blue and purple lights that shone down from directly above them through a permanent haze of dry ice. It rendered the late sixties vibe complete so that for a moment you could lose yourself in their own indulgence.
The lighting was possibly more to do with what was to come. I guess you’ll agree THAT was fairly elaborate…
Yeah, the Dandy's had themselves backed with banks of multicoloured strip lights; impressive but simple enough not to detract from the band themselves. Complemented with the house lights and the occasional burst of strobe, they drew us into a world of psychedelic starfields and bursting supernovas.
Hummm, maybe you saw a Black Hole as well. I just got occasionally blinded, but I don’t have your design experience to notice much else. I suppose part of the lighting was to somehow keep them in the dark. I don’t think I ever got a full-on, fully-lit sighting of Courtney Taylor, or (licks lips) Zia in the whole proceedings. Even Pete was a little obscure from 5 feet away, but then I suppose that’s his style, surly arse! It did allow Brent to get a sneaky, cheeky sniffsnort of something, however (allegedly). Age, I reckon. It’s hard to grasp the fact that they’ve been making their slightly kooky music for the last 15 years. Even though they were promoting a new album “…Earth to The Dandy Warhols…”, it wasn’t all new songs. You’d almost think they had an impressive back catalogue….
You would, except that over the last 15 years the band has quietly accumulated a VERY impressive back catalogue! I've been a proud fan of The Dandy Warhols since I first discovered them a little late on with their third album “Thirteen Tales From Urban Bohemia”. Psychedelic shoegazing, grunge infested power pop and unlikely alt.country.... with horns! I'm there!! The same week I bought the record, I went back to the store and bought the first two albums, both of which have outstanding moments (“Minnesota” for example), but “Thirteen Tales” has remained my favourite listen. The three song sequence that opens the album has to be one of my all time favourite album openings; sometimes I've just stopped the album after the first three songs and gone back to the start! I saw them live that same year and they were stunning, the lengthy moments of psychedelic jamming making the biggest impression on me. I never really got “Welcome To The Monkey House” but “Odditorium” for me felt like a return to form. I've ordered “Earth To Dandy Warhols” from Amazon, so we'll see if it makes it through the post before Christmas!
Whereas I really dug “Welcome to the Monkey House”, along with the rest. I think it’s because they’re musical minah birds, mimicking styles that they dig. And with “Monkey House”, they dug the 80s, Duran Duran, Simple Minds etc…. Dude, we wouldn’t even be having this discussion if they’d just come on, played their new album to us, and cleared off. Instead they gave us a real treat. How many songs was it?
I think it was probably around 28 or 29 songs in the end. At some point toward the end of the set Zia complained to Courtney they had already played 26 songs, add in the unexpected (but hoped for! – Dill) performance of “The Dandy Warhols' T.V. Theme Song” and the closer “Country Leaver” and the fact you noted on the sound desk 27 songs’ cues and it must be around that number. I'm not even sure if they played an encore, at some point the whole band did leave the stage but for Courtney who treated us to a solo version of “Every Day Should Be a Holiday”. I wondered at the time if that was actually the end of the main set but the rest of the band just couldn't get Courtney off stage! After more than two hours, Courtney had to be practically forced off stage by his band members and the house lights. It was certainly value for money and I couldn't think of many songs I would have liked to hear and didn't! Over two hours they really did plunder material from all six albums including the first song from their first album, the aforementioned “The Dandy Warhols' T.V. Theme Song”, which Zia claimed they hadn't played in fifteen years!'
All but one song of the set was original content – and even “Little Drummer Boy” they had covered way back when. Yes, I remember that they couldn’t drag him off at the end. It was too late for an encore, but what could they have done? By that time, my bladder had pushed me away from front stage, and towards the ‘comfort areas’. The crowd was so dense, there was no way back!! Which brings me back to band dynamics. At front stage (off to the side), the band did seem a bit dysfunctional to me – three separate islands of activity. Zia on her own, Pete on his depressed own, Courtney and Brent having a laugh in the middle. But when I saw them from the back, it was completely different, and they were, actually, so together. And loving it. And loving us. The crowd were bouncing all the way to the back door, and I felt somehow…. ‘Christmas-ey’. Which brings me to this…. If the whole point of a review is to make someone want to see them, wouldn’t it have been far easier just to say ‘They’re brilliant, not to be missed, go see them, now’?
I guess it would be! I mean, they were brilliant, they really shouldn't be missed, and everyone should go see them now! Except the circus has already left town, and looking at their tour schedule, the band should be back in Portland by now to celebrate Christmas with their families. So most of you have missed the show, but what a show it was! More than two hours of sonic marvelling; Zia enthusiastically shaking her tambourine with one hand while working out a bass line on her keyboards with the other, Pete lost in his own world of intergalactic guitar textures and kicking away at a myriad of multicoloured effects pedals. Brent slamming on his drums while Courtney took centre stage, hemmed inside a circle of monitors that had the effect of mounting him on a metaphorical podium. And all the hits just started rolling out: “Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth”, “Bohemian Like You”, “We Used To Be Friends”, “Good Morning”, “Godless”, “Boy's Better”, “Minnesota”, of course all of these were released over half a decade ago! Not to say the band haven't released some great music since then, but for now their chart topping days are definitely over and it’s quite possible the band are happy to keep it that way. Famously uncomfortable with their success at the time, and actually, as anyone who's seen “DiG!” can attest, the Dandy Warhols never were the band to save rock n roll. More than a decade after “Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth”, the Dandy's are playing epic two hour shows in modest venues; they are the rock n roll legends of their own particular corner of the world, knowing full well even their fans find themselves scratching their heads in confusion the first time they spin any of their recent releases. In the end, you've just gotta feel the vibe man, you've just gotta get into the groove, you've just gotta dig! And if history is anything to go by, The Dandy Warhols will be back next year and everyone should go and see them! Well, you know, if you dig!
……A sort of ‘Yes!’, then, except for the ‘Now!’…
Sunday, 14 December 2008
Monday, 1 December 2008
"Sue" : Frazier Chorus
(SONGS FROM UNDER MY BED – Lost Classics Rediscovered)
by MMT.
#1 – “Sue” : FRAZIER CHORUS (1989)
Not so long after coming up with the concept for this occasional series, and even less long after extricating my knackered copied tape of this album from the maze of tunnels which lies beneath our bed, I had one of those serendipitous moments: despite never having met anyone else that’s heard this album or having heard it mentioned anywhere in the music press or the world since, it’s been re-released this year for no apparent reason! So if you’re stuck for something to buy me for Christmas, details can be found at the bottom of this articlette. Ta.
Brighton’s Frazier Chorus (to me at least) were one of those indie-poppy bands who you might see on The Chart Show once in a blue moon (again, see below) but existed in a pre-Madchester slough in the late Eighties when quirky independent bands rarely if ever got into The Actual Charts and ‘made it’. (Though actually this, their debut album proper, was on Virgin). Their two ‘hits’ from “Sue” - “Typical” and the more memorable “Dream Kitchen” - reached #53 and #57 respectively. They apparently went a bit “indie-dancey” after this for a further two albums, but by then even their brief blip on my radar was over.
But listening to “Sue” again just shy of twenty years on, there’s still been virtually nothing like it since – it’s a smashing collection of lazily melancholic songs about frustration and boredom. I can’t even think of any other similar-sounding bands for comparison – and impressively, it hasn’t even dated much.
The band’s party piece is to forego much of yer usual guitars and bass in favour of flutes, clarinets, percussive instruments, a poppy orchestral/musak production and vocals recorded so intimately it’s like singer Tim Freeman’s sat on an old chair in your room mumbling, half-whispering the lyrics to you like a friend. Quite a miserable, deadpan friend.
Creating a mood that’s perversely evocative despite containing very little, “Sue” exists in a world of “snoozing”, “tea”, “pottering about”, “rain”, and “reading the papers”. Their songs tell pointless stories about going for a dull drive (“and once you've seen one tree... you've seen them all” - “Little Chef”), having a nap in front of Postman Pat (“Forty Winks”), and dying relationships and, er, Shake-N-Vac (“Living Room”). It’s a sad, sleepy album, but one with a genuine sense of menace at times. Standout track “Storm” is both achingly wistful and skin-crawlingly sinister – not an easy balance to work with. And the reverb-laden "Forgetful" is just creepy!
But by cripes it’s bored, too. An album that feels like a Sunday afternoon, watching the clock hands move slowly through the hours. An album that’s run out of things to say to its wife. An album that knows it can’t articulate itself about the things that really matter and so mutters on about kitchens and dust and lumpy couches and carpets. An album that maybe even enjoys this tired feeling of ennui. And surely we can all dig that. Ever decreasing circles. The minutiae of existence. This stuff is so kind to my hands.
So… if you ever see it in a sale or something, check it out. Or if somebody buys it me for Christmas I’ll do you a copy. It’s, y’know. Okay. (yawns)
(stretches)
LINKS
* http://www.frazierchorus.co.uk/ - official site with links to buying the re-issued album from the record label.
* http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=hQQYm5P0oAM&feature=related – video for “Dream Kitchen” – a bit quiet but worth a watch, not least cos it’s a version straight off The Chart Show! Respec’! Also on YouTube is the video for “Typical” - http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=3XI-Mf3tgec&feature=related – with some weird starsign captions from The Chart Show too!
by MMT.
#1 – “Sue” : FRAZIER CHORUS (1989)
Not so long after coming up with the concept for this occasional series, and even less long after extricating my knackered copied tape of this album from the maze of tunnels which lies beneath our bed, I had one of those serendipitous moments: despite never having met anyone else that’s heard this album or having heard it mentioned anywhere in the music press or the world since, it’s been re-released this year for no apparent reason! So if you’re stuck for something to buy me for Christmas, details can be found at the bottom of this articlette. Ta.
Brighton’s Frazier Chorus (to me at least) were one of those indie-poppy bands who you might see on The Chart Show once in a blue moon (again, see below) but existed in a pre-Madchester slough in the late Eighties when quirky independent bands rarely if ever got into The Actual Charts and ‘made it’. (Though actually this, their debut album proper, was on Virgin). Their two ‘hits’ from “Sue” - “Typical” and the more memorable “Dream Kitchen” - reached #53 and #57 respectively. They apparently went a bit “indie-dancey” after this for a further two albums, but by then even their brief blip on my radar was over.
But listening to “Sue” again just shy of twenty years on, there’s still been virtually nothing like it since – it’s a smashing collection of lazily melancholic songs about frustration and boredom. I can’t even think of any other similar-sounding bands for comparison – and impressively, it hasn’t even dated much.
The band’s party piece is to forego much of yer usual guitars and bass in favour of flutes, clarinets, percussive instruments, a poppy orchestral/musak production and vocals recorded so intimately it’s like singer Tim Freeman’s sat on an old chair in your room mumbling, half-whispering the lyrics to you like a friend. Quite a miserable, deadpan friend.
Creating a mood that’s perversely evocative despite containing very little, “Sue” exists in a world of “snoozing”, “tea”, “pottering about”, “rain”, and “reading the papers”. Their songs tell pointless stories about going for a dull drive (“and once you've seen one tree... you've seen them all” - “Little Chef”), having a nap in front of Postman Pat (“Forty Winks”), and dying relationships and, er, Shake-N-Vac (“Living Room”). It’s a sad, sleepy album, but one with a genuine sense of menace at times. Standout track “Storm” is both achingly wistful and skin-crawlingly sinister – not an easy balance to work with. And the reverb-laden "Forgetful" is just creepy!
But by cripes it’s bored, too. An album that feels like a Sunday afternoon, watching the clock hands move slowly through the hours. An album that’s run out of things to say to its wife. An album that knows it can’t articulate itself about the things that really matter and so mutters on about kitchens and dust and lumpy couches and carpets. An album that maybe even enjoys this tired feeling of ennui. And surely we can all dig that. Ever decreasing circles. The minutiae of existence. This stuff is so kind to my hands.
So… if you ever see it in a sale or something, check it out. Or if somebody buys it me for Christmas I’ll do you a copy. It’s, y’know. Okay. (yawns)
(stretches)
LINKS
* http://www.frazierchorus.co.uk/ - official site with links to buying the re-issued album from the record label.
* http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=hQQYm5P0oAM&feature=related – video for “Dream Kitchen” – a bit quiet but worth a watch, not least cos it’s a version straight off The Chart Show! Respec’! Also on YouTube is the video for “Typical” - http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=3XI-Mf3tgec&feature=related – with some weird starsign captions from The Chart Show too!
Saturday, 22 November 2008
MY VITRIOL
Venue: University Of London Student Union
Supports: Tabitha Benjamin, Satanic Sluts and Enjoy Destroy
Reviewer: Phil W.
The street outside Leicester Square tube station was heaving with police, riot vans and hundreds of woman chanting and holding up big placards emblazoned with the words END VOLENCE AGAINST WOMAN! My bro Ian and myself had just stepped out of the pub and into a feminist march! It was one of those unfathomable moments when you're not really sure exactly what’s going on but you're faintly glad to be caught up in the situation if only to get the story!
On stage, two slender females in faintly gothic attire stripped down to their leather underwear and started rubbing each other all over. The audience watched in stunned silence as a girl gave a topless lap dance to someone in a pig costume, while the maid in the rabbit mask left us all very confused. This was the Satanic Sluts, the burlesque dance troupe of Georgina Baillie fame. It was one of those unfathomable moments when you're not really sure exactly what’s going on but you're faintly glad to be caught up in the situation if only to get the story!
In the sepia-toned memory there are four of us; Ian, Steve, Anthony and myself. The Roadmender is busy, the gig had sold out several days ago but we had all managed to secure tickets. My Vitriol were poised to make it very big and had an album due out later that year. Seafood provided admirable supports but the headliners performed a breathtaking set. My Vitriol’s music was an impossibly good blend of My Bloody Valentine and Sonic Youth textures, Foo Fighters hooks and meticulously composed instrumentals all held together by Som’s smooth, ethereal vocals. On stage they looked slick and cool in their sharp suits and eyeliner, flanked by banks of blinding strobe lights, lasers and thick smoke. That was 2001.
My Vitriol’s debut album, Finelines, turned out to be nothing short of stunning; their massive ambition realised across sixteen tracks of shoegazing aesthetics, pop rock tunes, startling instrumentals and hook-laden lyrics. I saw the band play several times over the next couple of years; at the Roadmender, at Reading, at Glastonbury. Then in 2002 the band disappeared into hiatus to record a second album and they never came back. They didn’t break up - over the years there were constant murmurs from the studio that the band were recording. Their record label released Between the Lines, sixteen b-side tracks that played like a second album, but in the studio the band were finding it very hard to follow up their huge debut. Finally in 2006 My Vitriol re-emerged to play the London Koko, Ian and I were there, but still there was no new album in sight.
So two years later, Tabitha Benjamin opened the evening with three songs of solid singer/songwriter fair, two of which were played on a ukulele. The Satanic Sluts were, well, confusing. And then Enjoy Destroy warmed up the crowd with some hard rock guitar tones but by now everyone was waiting for Som and company to take the stage.
“This is a new song!” Som cried out to the audience as the guitar inferno of My Vitriol broke into their second song. The band had opened with the hook laden crunch of Losing Touch. Behind the band and the blinding stage lights hung the My Vitriol logo; seven years on, they may be using the same backdrop! Over the next hour or so My Vitriol worked their way through all the classics; Pieces, Ode To The Red Queen, Under the Wheels, Cemented Shoes, Grounded, Infantile, Falling Off The Floor, Vapour Trails, Moodswings, plus a lot of new material. For much of the evening the band appeared to be playing alternatively old songs and new ones and the new material sounded very strong. The band can still draw awesome waves of sound from their instruments, turning distortion into art. Live, they still sounded shockingly unique, creative and impassioned. Indeed, but for the new songs this could have been the same gig Ian and I had seen at the Roadmender in 2001. The band played like visitors from another planet where time moves much slower; barely visible behind the clouds of dry ice and cornea-burning stage lights, sharply dressed and playing with achingly beautiful distortion played several decibels louder than your average jet engine. Finally, inside the hurricane distortion of Alpha Waves, Som announced the last song and the band burst into Always: Your Way. Seven years on, the crowd still went wild, fanatically singing along to every word. When the band returned for an encore they played the extended instrumental Tongue Tied before bursting into the short, sharp rage of COR.
After the rest of the band left the stage, Som stood in front of the audience; smiling, arms outstretched, looking close to tears. Same show, same songs, but absolutely priceless. They may never have followed up their stunning debut, but its shows like this that help explain the weight of expectation on Som’s shoulders. A band this good really does need to record something very special. But if the new songs played tonight are anything to go by, Som and company have nothing to worry about. Seven years on, the My Vitriol wave is still riding high.
Supports: Tabitha Benjamin, Satanic Sluts and Enjoy Destroy
Reviewer: Phil W.
The street outside Leicester Square tube station was heaving with police, riot vans and hundreds of woman chanting and holding up big placards emblazoned with the words END VOLENCE AGAINST WOMAN! My bro Ian and myself had just stepped out of the pub and into a feminist march! It was one of those unfathomable moments when you're not really sure exactly what’s going on but you're faintly glad to be caught up in the situation if only to get the story!
On stage, two slender females in faintly gothic attire stripped down to their leather underwear and started rubbing each other all over. The audience watched in stunned silence as a girl gave a topless lap dance to someone in a pig costume, while the maid in the rabbit mask left us all very confused. This was the Satanic Sluts, the burlesque dance troupe of Georgina Baillie fame. It was one of those unfathomable moments when you're not really sure exactly what’s going on but you're faintly glad to be caught up in the situation if only to get the story!
In the sepia-toned memory there are four of us; Ian, Steve, Anthony and myself. The Roadmender is busy, the gig had sold out several days ago but we had all managed to secure tickets. My Vitriol were poised to make it very big and had an album due out later that year. Seafood provided admirable supports but the headliners performed a breathtaking set. My Vitriol’s music was an impossibly good blend of My Bloody Valentine and Sonic Youth textures, Foo Fighters hooks and meticulously composed instrumentals all held together by Som’s smooth, ethereal vocals. On stage they looked slick and cool in their sharp suits and eyeliner, flanked by banks of blinding strobe lights, lasers and thick smoke. That was 2001.
My Vitriol’s debut album, Finelines, turned out to be nothing short of stunning; their massive ambition realised across sixteen tracks of shoegazing aesthetics, pop rock tunes, startling instrumentals and hook-laden lyrics. I saw the band play several times over the next couple of years; at the Roadmender, at Reading, at Glastonbury. Then in 2002 the band disappeared into hiatus to record a second album and they never came back. They didn’t break up - over the years there were constant murmurs from the studio that the band were recording. Their record label released Between the Lines, sixteen b-side tracks that played like a second album, but in the studio the band were finding it very hard to follow up their huge debut. Finally in 2006 My Vitriol re-emerged to play the London Koko, Ian and I were there, but still there was no new album in sight.
So two years later, Tabitha Benjamin opened the evening with three songs of solid singer/songwriter fair, two of which were played on a ukulele. The Satanic Sluts were, well, confusing. And then Enjoy Destroy warmed up the crowd with some hard rock guitar tones but by now everyone was waiting for Som and company to take the stage.
“This is a new song!” Som cried out to the audience as the guitar inferno of My Vitriol broke into their second song. The band had opened with the hook laden crunch of Losing Touch. Behind the band and the blinding stage lights hung the My Vitriol logo; seven years on, they may be using the same backdrop! Over the next hour or so My Vitriol worked their way through all the classics; Pieces, Ode To The Red Queen, Under the Wheels, Cemented Shoes, Grounded, Infantile, Falling Off The Floor, Vapour Trails, Moodswings, plus a lot of new material. For much of the evening the band appeared to be playing alternatively old songs and new ones and the new material sounded very strong. The band can still draw awesome waves of sound from their instruments, turning distortion into art. Live, they still sounded shockingly unique, creative and impassioned. Indeed, but for the new songs this could have been the same gig Ian and I had seen at the Roadmender in 2001. The band played like visitors from another planet where time moves much slower; barely visible behind the clouds of dry ice and cornea-burning stage lights, sharply dressed and playing with achingly beautiful distortion played several decibels louder than your average jet engine. Finally, inside the hurricane distortion of Alpha Waves, Som announced the last song and the band burst into Always: Your Way. Seven years on, the crowd still went wild, fanatically singing along to every word. When the band returned for an encore they played the extended instrumental Tongue Tied before bursting into the short, sharp rage of COR.
After the rest of the band left the stage, Som stood in front of the audience; smiling, arms outstretched, looking close to tears. Same show, same songs, but absolutely priceless. They may never have followed up their stunning debut, but its shows like this that help explain the weight of expectation on Som’s shoulders. A band this good really does need to record something very special. But if the new songs played tonight are anything to go by, Som and company have nothing to worry about. Seven years on, the My Vitriol wave is still riding high.
Thursday, 20 November 2008
THE AMANDA PALMER INCIDENT
Words by: Phil W.
Amanda Plays A Small Show
Amanda, dressed in nothing but a corset and suspenders, climbs down off the small stage and into the audience. Her arms are smeared with black paint and her ragged hair is slick with sweat. In her right hand she is clutching a battered ukulele. The venue is small, the air thick with the sweat of 350 fans crammed into a tight, dark hole. It’s intimate and personal, the sweaty figure of Amanda in underwear squeezing through the audience and climbing onto the small concession table at the back of the room. Unamplified and off key, she begins to sing a cover of Radiohead’s Creep.
She sat behind her piano, Amanda in corset and paint, and gently played Hallelujah, the standard from Leonard Cohen. She gradually built up the tension, emotion tearing each verse. Appeared at the back, a girl dressed in black, wide eyed and barely nineteen. She was all long dark hair and waif like features, eyes open wide and alive. She was guided to the side of Amanda, told to sit on a stool by her feet;
“She broke your throne and she cut your hair….”
A man in black appeared behind the girl and proceeded to cut away long strands of her dark hair. Walking to the edge of the stage, he passed her locks out to members of the audience.
A backing track plays as Amanda Palmer steps out on stage for the first time. In her hands she clutches a set of hastily written cardboard signs, their words smeared down in thick black paint; Hello, I Made, A Record, This Is, Not, It, This, Is, Ben Folds, He, Helped Me, Make, My Record, I, Love Him, And, I, Love, You.
After the show I spy Amanda in the bar. She’s drifting absently between her fans, saying hi and signing autographs. I’ve nothing for her to sign. She offers me a lock of hair which I’m not sure I want; “but it’s so romantic!” she replies seductively. I tell her I really dug the show and she seems pleased. She puts her arm around me and strokes my chest. “Thank you” she says, her vivid eyes like glistening pools that dive deep into her soul.
Amanda Makes A Music Video
The lights are big and round and white and we are told repeatedly not to look at the camera once the film is rolling. There is a hushed atmosphere of excited anticipation coursing through the theatre. It’s our turn now, the cameras now fall on us. The director has been pacing back and forth around the upper tier of the theatre all morning, her expression focused. When she talks, she doesn’t need a microphone; “Ok, so what I want you guys to all do is all just act like screaming Amanda Palmer fans, just all go crazy, then the football fans are gonna come down here shouting “Leeds United”, then you’ll all be cheering together, then I want you guys to love each other, hugging, kissing, whatever, and then I want you all to start killing each other, really going for it, but comedy killing, its all got to be very over the top, people watching the video have got to know it’s a joke otherwise it won’t work…..”
The stalls are cleared and the tables are set. Inside the frosted glass illusion, this might be drinks in a prohibition era speakeasy. But beyond the illusion, huge omnipresent cameras wheel across the theatre on rails. On stage there is a huge, glowing sign; large round bulbs spell out AMANDA. In front of the sign is Amanda herself, casually dressed and loosely going through her dance moves and miming to Leeds United. It doesn’t really seem too important what she does though, she’s Amanda Palmer. It is the backing dancers which flank her either side that are getting the grilling from the dance director and who practice over and over again long after Amanda has disappeared into makeup.
Outside the venue it started to rain. Amanda’s personal assistant had a camcorder and she filmed me singing a few lines from the forthcoming single Leeds United. While most of the extras had already gone, it had become increasingly clear it would take more work to move on some of us. We had got out of bed at 5am that Sunday morning and some of us had travelled long distances to be at the video shoot. Amanda’s personal assistant took us all for coffee and filmed us singing Leeds United in a shopping mall.
Amanda Plays A Bigger Show
There is something strangely fitting about watching the show from high up in the gods of the Koko Theatre. Maybe it is something to do with the theatrical nature of her performances; the burlesque cabaret of miming and street performers, unlikely musicians, the dancers and the costumes which accompany her live show. Her music effortlessly combines Weimar era cabaret with punk and rock n roll. Her music sounds simultaneously post-modern and classical, ‘Brechtian punk cabaret’ as she self-described her music as one half of Boston-based alternative legends Dresden Dolls. Maybe it’s all those photos of bombed out theatres on the inside of the Yes, Virginia artwork, the Dresden Dolls’ second album, but it is fitting to see Amanda perform in a theatre, and watch her from a place where the existence of the theatre around you is so constantly apparent.
These are unfortunate times and when a dark cloud descends over a loved one there is often little one can do to help. It was left to Mr. Gaiman to break the sad news; from his place on the stage he reported the recent death of Amanda Palmer. Miss Palmer’s corpse, shrouded beneath a flowing white gown, was carried on stage by members of her performance troupe; freaks who perhaps would have found work nowhere else but in her travelling circus. Their heads were dipped, their queen had fallen. They placed her body behind the piano, where in life she had no doubt felt most at home…
…Amanda launches into the epic assault of Astronaut. Over the next hour and a half she ploughs through most of the songs on her new album Who Killed Amanda Palmer? and plunders songs from both Dresden Dolls records. Stand out highlights included a run through of Bad Habit and I Google You, a song co-written by Neil Gaiman. A horn section backs her for Leeds United; Guitar Hero erupts into a line dancing extravaganza with Amanda hopping around the stage in a plaster cast, having previously injured her foot. During an emotional performance of Strength Through Music, a song inspired by the Columbine Massacre, mime artists from her dance troop join her on stage dressed in school uniforms.
Seeing Amanda and co-conspirators dancing and miming to a backing track of Rihanna’s Umbrella, complete with real life umbrellas seemed unlikely but it happened - as did a cover of Bon Jovi’s Living On A Prayer. But Amanda pulled it off with style, skill and humour, her singing barely on key, her voice powerful and emotion driven, her piano playing confident and heartfelt. The show was wonderfully burlesque and just a little tongue-in-cheek. If there’s one message Amanda wanted to leave us with tonight, it seems to be that she’s no pop star. Record labels apparently made that mistake and she’s still sore about it, turning vitriol into mockery. But underneath what really drives Amanda is her songs; creative and intelligent, energetic and heartbroken, honest and theatrical, humorous but serious, and constantly twisting, refusing to be pigeonholed. Beneath the fiction there is truth, behind the comedy there is honesty. Amanda isn’t afraid to put her heart before her head, to die for her art if that art is pure. Combine that with her larger-than-life stage persona and a gig that that’s just as much a fringe theatre production and you’ve got something truly special. For now though, I still can’t stop playing her records….
Based on events occurring at the ICA London – 21st August, the Coronet Theatre – 31st August and the London Koko – 10th October 2008.
Amanda Plays A Small Show
Amanda, dressed in nothing but a corset and suspenders, climbs down off the small stage and into the audience. Her arms are smeared with black paint and her ragged hair is slick with sweat. In her right hand she is clutching a battered ukulele. The venue is small, the air thick with the sweat of 350 fans crammed into a tight, dark hole. It’s intimate and personal, the sweaty figure of Amanda in underwear squeezing through the audience and climbing onto the small concession table at the back of the room. Unamplified and off key, she begins to sing a cover of Radiohead’s Creep.
She sat behind her piano, Amanda in corset and paint, and gently played Hallelujah, the standard from Leonard Cohen. She gradually built up the tension, emotion tearing each verse. Appeared at the back, a girl dressed in black, wide eyed and barely nineteen. She was all long dark hair and waif like features, eyes open wide and alive. She was guided to the side of Amanda, told to sit on a stool by her feet;
“She broke your throne and she cut your hair….”
A man in black appeared behind the girl and proceeded to cut away long strands of her dark hair. Walking to the edge of the stage, he passed her locks out to members of the audience.
A backing track plays as Amanda Palmer steps out on stage for the first time. In her hands she clutches a set of hastily written cardboard signs, their words smeared down in thick black paint; Hello, I Made, A Record, This Is, Not, It, This, Is, Ben Folds, He, Helped Me, Make, My Record, I, Love Him, And, I, Love, You.
After the show I spy Amanda in the bar. She’s drifting absently between her fans, saying hi and signing autographs. I’ve nothing for her to sign. She offers me a lock of hair which I’m not sure I want; “but it’s so romantic!” she replies seductively. I tell her I really dug the show and she seems pleased. She puts her arm around me and strokes my chest. “Thank you” she says, her vivid eyes like glistening pools that dive deep into her soul.
Amanda Makes A Music Video
The lights are big and round and white and we are told repeatedly not to look at the camera once the film is rolling. There is a hushed atmosphere of excited anticipation coursing through the theatre. It’s our turn now, the cameras now fall on us. The director has been pacing back and forth around the upper tier of the theatre all morning, her expression focused. When she talks, she doesn’t need a microphone; “Ok, so what I want you guys to all do is all just act like screaming Amanda Palmer fans, just all go crazy, then the football fans are gonna come down here shouting “Leeds United”, then you’ll all be cheering together, then I want you guys to love each other, hugging, kissing, whatever, and then I want you all to start killing each other, really going for it, but comedy killing, its all got to be very over the top, people watching the video have got to know it’s a joke otherwise it won’t work…..”
The stalls are cleared and the tables are set. Inside the frosted glass illusion, this might be drinks in a prohibition era speakeasy. But beyond the illusion, huge omnipresent cameras wheel across the theatre on rails. On stage there is a huge, glowing sign; large round bulbs spell out AMANDA. In front of the sign is Amanda herself, casually dressed and loosely going through her dance moves and miming to Leeds United. It doesn’t really seem too important what she does though, she’s Amanda Palmer. It is the backing dancers which flank her either side that are getting the grilling from the dance director and who practice over and over again long after Amanda has disappeared into makeup.
Outside the venue it started to rain. Amanda’s personal assistant had a camcorder and she filmed me singing a few lines from the forthcoming single Leeds United. While most of the extras had already gone, it had become increasingly clear it would take more work to move on some of us. We had got out of bed at 5am that Sunday morning and some of us had travelled long distances to be at the video shoot. Amanda’s personal assistant took us all for coffee and filmed us singing Leeds United in a shopping mall.
Amanda Plays A Bigger Show
There is something strangely fitting about watching the show from high up in the gods of the Koko Theatre. Maybe it is something to do with the theatrical nature of her performances; the burlesque cabaret of miming and street performers, unlikely musicians, the dancers and the costumes which accompany her live show. Her music effortlessly combines Weimar era cabaret with punk and rock n roll. Her music sounds simultaneously post-modern and classical, ‘Brechtian punk cabaret’ as she self-described her music as one half of Boston-based alternative legends Dresden Dolls. Maybe it’s all those photos of bombed out theatres on the inside of the Yes, Virginia artwork, the Dresden Dolls’ second album, but it is fitting to see Amanda perform in a theatre, and watch her from a place where the existence of the theatre around you is so constantly apparent.
These are unfortunate times and when a dark cloud descends over a loved one there is often little one can do to help. It was left to Mr. Gaiman to break the sad news; from his place on the stage he reported the recent death of Amanda Palmer. Miss Palmer’s corpse, shrouded beneath a flowing white gown, was carried on stage by members of her performance troupe; freaks who perhaps would have found work nowhere else but in her travelling circus. Their heads were dipped, their queen had fallen. They placed her body behind the piano, where in life she had no doubt felt most at home…
…Amanda launches into the epic assault of Astronaut. Over the next hour and a half she ploughs through most of the songs on her new album Who Killed Amanda Palmer? and plunders songs from both Dresden Dolls records. Stand out highlights included a run through of Bad Habit and I Google You, a song co-written by Neil Gaiman. A horn section backs her for Leeds United; Guitar Hero erupts into a line dancing extravaganza with Amanda hopping around the stage in a plaster cast, having previously injured her foot. During an emotional performance of Strength Through Music, a song inspired by the Columbine Massacre, mime artists from her dance troop join her on stage dressed in school uniforms.
Seeing Amanda and co-conspirators dancing and miming to a backing track of Rihanna’s Umbrella, complete with real life umbrellas seemed unlikely but it happened - as did a cover of Bon Jovi’s Living On A Prayer. But Amanda pulled it off with style, skill and humour, her singing barely on key, her voice powerful and emotion driven, her piano playing confident and heartfelt. The show was wonderfully burlesque and just a little tongue-in-cheek. If there’s one message Amanda wanted to leave us with tonight, it seems to be that she’s no pop star. Record labels apparently made that mistake and she’s still sore about it, turning vitriol into mockery. But underneath what really drives Amanda is her songs; creative and intelligent, energetic and heartbroken, honest and theatrical, humorous but serious, and constantly twisting, refusing to be pigeonholed. Beneath the fiction there is truth, behind the comedy there is honesty. Amanda isn’t afraid to put her heart before her head, to die for her art if that art is pure. Combine that with her larger-than-life stage persona and a gig that that’s just as much a fringe theatre production and you’ve got something truly special. For now though, I still can’t stop playing her records….
Based on events occurring at the ICA London – 21st August, the Coronet Theatre – 31st August and the London Koko – 10th October 2008.
Tuesday, 30 September 2008
SOUTHSIDE JOHNNY & THE ASBURY JUKES
Venue: The Stables, Wavendon, MK.
Reviewer: MMT
Last Friday my Dad’s band played a retirement party in the meeting room at the end of their Department’s corridor. They’ve been going a good twenty, twenty five years, and as OU Party Bands go, they’re pretty damn good - for a bunch of Dads with guitars. ;-) It was a few songs before Southside Johnny warmed up enough to show that his own well-travelled act was anything more than just a bigger bunch of Dads with guitars and horns.
I will hold my hands up (as ever!) and state outright that I had never even heard of Southside Johnny - let alone his band the Asbury Jukes – before Dad invited me and Chris along to The Stables. But I always enjoy going along with him to these Dad Band Occasions, and this one was an eye-opener! I’ve never seen The Stables so packed, and an audience so enthusiastic, almost bordering on hysterical in places! And I’ve seen some pretty good bands there!
So – Southside Johnny is a singer from Noo Joisey who usually plays with a band which features a brass/horn section (delete as appropriate, I dunno the exact terminology!) – trumpet, trombone, sax and a much bigger sax which my Dad thinks was a bass sax. He’s been going a long time (he’s three weeks older than Dad) and his Wikipedia entry links him heavily with “the Jersey Shore sound” out of which also came Bruce Springsteen. Guitarist Bobby Bandiera also currently plays live with New Jersey’s most famous sons, Bon Jovi.
That’s the history, but judging them just on the performance was easy. It wasn’t really my sort of music – mostly good-time party rhythm n’ blues with occasional tinges of soul – but I’ve learnt on these occasions to sit back and enjoy the displays of musicianship on offer. I know it sounds a bit wanky, but the sheer craftsmanship of the band was breathtaking, one of the tightest acts I’ve ever seen live – even though Johnny kept muttering that they weren’t playing very well. Apparently their keyboard player had been denied a work permit on entry to the UK and was subsequently missing from their sound. “Tricky for us, he starts most of the songs”, drawled Johnny. Nightmare!
It was four or five tracks before this experienced frontman warmed up enough to start wisecracking, but once he did it was clear he’s been doing this a long time. The banter with the audience and the band was effortless, although his griping at the sound guys re: monitor levels is something I never like to see.
Their most recent album, perhaps unsurprisingly for 2008 (see also Scarlett Johansson) is an album of Tom Waits covers, and actually some of the songs they’ve done in their own R n’ B Big Band format work well. Me and Chris started watching the backline of the four-strong horn section to try and work out their characters. The long-haired trombonist had a permanent smile on his face, while the lead sax dude kept coming front and centre to do solos with a weird crouching stance that gave the slight impression he was blowing the notes out of his arse.
The main axis of the eight-piece band though was the partnership between Bobby Bandiera (who did a couple of politely feedbacky solos that I think even Phil might have liked!) and Johnny himself. As the night wore towards a close, they were taking requests from the crowd and playing them flawlessly, laughing and joking – even playing a heartbreakingly poignant impromptu version of “Silent Night” that perversely may have been my favourite song of the night.
The crowd were on their middle-aged feet and dancing enthusiastically by the encore. I glanced around and saw that there were younger people too, dotted here and there. Up on the balcony, three girls were dancing like the girls out of The Commitments. Where does the Dad Band line begin and end these days, I wonder? Something worth pondering. Anyway, a good night of funtime rock. Maybe one day I’ll have a horn section too.
Reviewer: MMT
Last Friday my Dad’s band played a retirement party in the meeting room at the end of their Department’s corridor. They’ve been going a good twenty, twenty five years, and as OU Party Bands go, they’re pretty damn good - for a bunch of Dads with guitars. ;-) It was a few songs before Southside Johnny warmed up enough to show that his own well-travelled act was anything more than just a bigger bunch of Dads with guitars and horns.
I will hold my hands up (as ever!) and state outright that I had never even heard of Southside Johnny - let alone his band the Asbury Jukes – before Dad invited me and Chris along to The Stables. But I always enjoy going along with him to these Dad Band Occasions, and this one was an eye-opener! I’ve never seen The Stables so packed, and an audience so enthusiastic, almost bordering on hysterical in places! And I’ve seen some pretty good bands there!
So – Southside Johnny is a singer from Noo Joisey who usually plays with a band which features a brass/horn section (delete as appropriate, I dunno the exact terminology!) – trumpet, trombone, sax and a much bigger sax which my Dad thinks was a bass sax. He’s been going a long time (he’s three weeks older than Dad) and his Wikipedia entry links him heavily with “the Jersey Shore sound” out of which also came Bruce Springsteen. Guitarist Bobby Bandiera also currently plays live with New Jersey’s most famous sons, Bon Jovi.
That’s the history, but judging them just on the performance was easy. It wasn’t really my sort of music – mostly good-time party rhythm n’ blues with occasional tinges of soul – but I’ve learnt on these occasions to sit back and enjoy the displays of musicianship on offer. I know it sounds a bit wanky, but the sheer craftsmanship of the band was breathtaking, one of the tightest acts I’ve ever seen live – even though Johnny kept muttering that they weren’t playing very well. Apparently their keyboard player had been denied a work permit on entry to the UK and was subsequently missing from their sound. “Tricky for us, he starts most of the songs”, drawled Johnny. Nightmare!
It was four or five tracks before this experienced frontman warmed up enough to start wisecracking, but once he did it was clear he’s been doing this a long time. The banter with the audience and the band was effortless, although his griping at the sound guys re: monitor levels is something I never like to see.
Their most recent album, perhaps unsurprisingly for 2008 (see also Scarlett Johansson) is an album of Tom Waits covers, and actually some of the songs they’ve done in their own R n’ B Big Band format work well. Me and Chris started watching the backline of the four-strong horn section to try and work out their characters. The long-haired trombonist had a permanent smile on his face, while the lead sax dude kept coming front and centre to do solos with a weird crouching stance that gave the slight impression he was blowing the notes out of his arse.
The main axis of the eight-piece band though was the partnership between Bobby Bandiera (who did a couple of politely feedbacky solos that I think even Phil might have liked!) and Johnny himself. As the night wore towards a close, they were taking requests from the crowd and playing them flawlessly, laughing and joking – even playing a heartbreakingly poignant impromptu version of “Silent Night” that perversely may have been my favourite song of the night.
The crowd were on their middle-aged feet and dancing enthusiastically by the encore. I glanced around and saw that there were younger people too, dotted here and there. Up on the balcony, three girls were dancing like the girls out of The Commitments. Where does the Dad Band line begin and end these days, I wonder? Something worth pondering. Anyway, a good night of funtime rock. Maybe one day I’ll have a horn section too.
Thursday, 18 September 2008
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF VODKA BOY
Venue & Support: Various throughout the Summer of 2008
Reviewer: Dill
Despite Phil confidently predicting on a sunny Saturday morning that it was the first day of summer, my chronometer (with the handy calendar function) told me we were well into September already, and that, wishful thinking and global warming aside, Summer was now Over. A good summer, all told, as I took to behaving like an uncommitted student with a line of credit and generally did Grand and Noble things (at least in my eyes, especially after four or five large quaffs of the regular, please, landlord). However, the highlight of the Summer of 2008 has been without a doubt having the privilege and pleasure of following The Further Adventures of Vodka Boy on their travels around Milton Keynes. They’ve been creating a bit of a stir...
In simple terms Vodka Boy are, as they tell us in their eponymous, autobiographical track, Martin on guitar and Matthew on voice, and simplicity is certainly part of the duo’s charm. Each a composer of particular parts of their oeuvre, they seem to resonate best when pared down tunes match thoughtful, mainly wistful but oddly hopeful lyrics, with the odd finger click. While the chords are sparse and clean, the singing is powerful and pure. The diction is so good there is absolutely no need for lyric sheets, while each strum of Martin’s guitar is delivered with Swiss timing. It’s catchy. First time listeners have been known to sing along to choruses at the first repeat.
But it isn’t all simplicity. There really is something about these guys, something that captivates. Martin broods into his guitar, and amazingly keeps himself to himself on the stage. It seems to leave Matthew with sole possession of the stage, onto which he graciously invites all to partake of the experience. The man has chutzpah, huevas, balls. Listen to him singing ‘Blonde Girl on a Summer’s Day’, or Bon Jovi’s ‘Blaze of Glory’ and you get a sense of the fun that these two have together – it leaks out toward the audience. Matthew has a stage presence that seems to amplify ‘Essence of Band’ by a factor of 10. Used as headliners, they wrap up an evening so comprehensively, you know they were meant to be, were born to be, the headliners of that particular show. On their ‘Back To The Land Tour’ this summer (the resultant ‘Live’ CD is due for release at sometime in the near future), they’ve played without support, in fields, in woods, in corners of poetry stages, but always Convincingly. Festival season in Milton Keynes was continually augmented by their presence. Their music was mixed up with a few catchy covers, and a new track ‘Thistledown’ getting it’s first airing. But throughout, the delivery was a matter of professional consistency. This is Milton Keynes ‘Premier Acoustic Duo’. But they already know this. They’ve added in the lyric to their story track.
But the highlight for me was as a warm up act at a vast July evening party where the drinking and socialising had not yet begun. Everyone was in their own little groups, minding their own business, and wondering what the night was going to bring them. Vodka Boy took the stage to murmuring, chatting little groups, uninterested in any entertainment they could not provide themselves. Matthew greeted them to little effect. Martin hit the first chord meaningfully, Matthew hit the sing button and scores of heads snapped round, suddenly, unwillingly, unavoidably hooked. The party was a Great Party.
If there are any criticisms of the band I have to make it’s that Vodka Boy still play locally, unfazed by their burgeoning reputation, just seeming to ‘want to get the music out there’. There are rarely large crowds, but a large crowd would add to the magic. It’s charming, but the talent is obvious and you are left to wonder what the hell they are still doing here. Not that you’ll complain. I’ve yet to see anyone do so who has come across them. They are even starting to get together a ‘Stable’ of acts together and putting ‘Evenings’ on. Not that they need it. You have every opportunity of getting to see them. The Monkey Kettle editor is well apprised of their movements and should be able to tell you of their next appearance. I advise you to see them. They really are that good.
Reviewer: Dill
Despite Phil confidently predicting on a sunny Saturday morning that it was the first day of summer, my chronometer (with the handy calendar function) told me we were well into September already, and that, wishful thinking and global warming aside, Summer was now Over. A good summer, all told, as I took to behaving like an uncommitted student with a line of credit and generally did Grand and Noble things (at least in my eyes, especially after four or five large quaffs of the regular, please, landlord). However, the highlight of the Summer of 2008 has been without a doubt having the privilege and pleasure of following The Further Adventures of Vodka Boy on their travels around Milton Keynes. They’ve been creating a bit of a stir...
In simple terms Vodka Boy are, as they tell us in their eponymous, autobiographical track, Martin on guitar and Matthew on voice, and simplicity is certainly part of the duo’s charm. Each a composer of particular parts of their oeuvre, they seem to resonate best when pared down tunes match thoughtful, mainly wistful but oddly hopeful lyrics, with the odd finger click. While the chords are sparse and clean, the singing is powerful and pure. The diction is so good there is absolutely no need for lyric sheets, while each strum of Martin’s guitar is delivered with Swiss timing. It’s catchy. First time listeners have been known to sing along to choruses at the first repeat.
But it isn’t all simplicity. There really is something about these guys, something that captivates. Martin broods into his guitar, and amazingly keeps himself to himself on the stage. It seems to leave Matthew with sole possession of the stage, onto which he graciously invites all to partake of the experience. The man has chutzpah, huevas, balls. Listen to him singing ‘Blonde Girl on a Summer’s Day’, or Bon Jovi’s ‘Blaze of Glory’ and you get a sense of the fun that these two have together – it leaks out toward the audience. Matthew has a stage presence that seems to amplify ‘Essence of Band’ by a factor of 10. Used as headliners, they wrap up an evening so comprehensively, you know they were meant to be, were born to be, the headliners of that particular show. On their ‘Back To The Land Tour’ this summer (the resultant ‘Live’ CD is due for release at sometime in the near future), they’ve played without support, in fields, in woods, in corners of poetry stages, but always Convincingly. Festival season in Milton Keynes was continually augmented by their presence. Their music was mixed up with a few catchy covers, and a new track ‘Thistledown’ getting it’s first airing. But throughout, the delivery was a matter of professional consistency. This is Milton Keynes ‘Premier Acoustic Duo’. But they already know this. They’ve added in the lyric to their story track.
But the highlight for me was as a warm up act at a vast July evening party where the drinking and socialising had not yet begun. Everyone was in their own little groups, minding their own business, and wondering what the night was going to bring them. Vodka Boy took the stage to murmuring, chatting little groups, uninterested in any entertainment they could not provide themselves. Matthew greeted them to little effect. Martin hit the first chord meaningfully, Matthew hit the sing button and scores of heads snapped round, suddenly, unwillingly, unavoidably hooked. The party was a Great Party.
If there are any criticisms of the band I have to make it’s that Vodka Boy still play locally, unfazed by their burgeoning reputation, just seeming to ‘want to get the music out there’. There are rarely large crowds, but a large crowd would add to the magic. It’s charming, but the talent is obvious and you are left to wonder what the hell they are still doing here. Not that you’ll complain. I’ve yet to see anyone do so who has come across them. They are even starting to get together a ‘Stable’ of acts together and putting ‘Evenings’ on. Not that they need it. You have every opportunity of getting to see them. The Monkey Kettle editor is well apprised of their movements and should be able to tell you of their next appearance. I advise you to see them. They really are that good.
Thursday, 31 July 2008
TOM WAITS
Venue: The Ratcellar, Phoenix Park, Dublin.
Reviewer: MMT
glitter and doom. “a carny barker”. the rain on the roof of the Rat Cellar.
I must have been about ten when I first heard Tom Waits. Having been raised thus far by my Dad playing mainly Beatles or Buddy Holly records in our presence, I was scared shitless. It was probably something off “Swordfishtrombones” or “Rain Dogs”, neither of which are particularly scary compared to his more recent output, but still – who on earth was this man grinding gravel in this throat like a bluesman who’d been dead for a century and why was my Dad listening to him?
It took me about fifteen years or so to get any further. Occasionally Dad would do a compilation tape and post it to me at university, but I still couldn’t hack that voice – though under it the songs and lyrics seemed interesting enough. But slowly and surely, as my twenties waned and my Nick Cave Obsession showed no signs of going away, I started to Get It. They’re akin, two shadowy sides of a very dark coin. Probably a dark coin chucked down some kind of black well. 2004’s “Real Gone” album swung it for me. That voice was now harnessed to bizarre percussive clankings, wheezing machinery. A way in. I took it.
an aged monkey in a bowler hat. a hobo preacher. hoist dat rag.
Tom Waits has only come to the UK to play live for two short tours in the last twenty-one years. So you can imagine, it’s a hot ticket for the loyal fans. Luckily for me and my brother, our Dad is loyal enough to buy tickets for all three of us! And as he’d been on holiday when Tom last came in 2004, he was desperate to see him this time. Perversely enough, the only ‘local’ gigs on the “Glitter And Doom” tour were in Edinburgh and Dublin – London ignored altogether! – but Dad wasn’t going to let that stop him! So Dublin it was.
Rather than play at an established venue, on the evening of the gig we strolled up through Phoenix Park Dublin to what looked from a distance to be a huge circus tent. In fact, that’s exactly what it was – a 4,500 capacity circus tent called “The Ratcellar” with a huge blow-up of Tom’s face hanging above the entrance like the grizzled old ringmaster he is. Around the perimeter of the tent were the usual burger vans, toilet blocks and beer tents – I will officially state right now that the beer tent was the fastest and most efficient beer tent I have ever been in at a gig or festival. Kudos to the Irish!
a nightclub singer who’s never seen the sun. the human cookie monster. trampled rose.
Tom played for about two and a half hours solid, and even though I started to find my seat uncomfortable before he even started, I didn’t care. I was transfixed. It was genuinely one of the greatest gigs I have ever been to. Playing songs from all across his thirty-plus year career meant that I only recognised about one in five, but that actually made the experience even more mesmerising.
Shadow-boxing and shaking his fists into the dark fervently, the man live is even more a brilliant enigma than on record. Growling, spitting and hollering his way through twenty five tracks he was a sight to behold. A long section near the middle sat at what appeared to be a broken-down old piano (but was clearly in good enough nick!) contained some incredibly touching knackered balladry such as one of my Dad’s faves “Invitation To The Blues” and the achingly fractured “Innocent When You Dream”.
The tearjerking singalong he elicited from us during that last-mentioned was proof that his crowd-skills are as honed as you’d expect after such a long career. Telling us wry anecdotes – his speaking voice clearly the inspiration for Heath Ledger’s Joker – and conducting the congregation in lengthy clap-interactions, the Ratcellar denizens were obviously smitten. As you might expect, them having waited so many years!
croaking, hammering the keys. rusting engines spin their last. stomping in the dust.
But for me it was the Fucked-Up Jazz™ (which James was always trying to get Sebastian Windsor to play Back In The Day, incidentally!) and Filthy Blues which stood out. The semi-industrial chuggings of his backing band provided an expert canvas across which Tom could spray his world-weary poetry. Bleak gospels. “Lie To Me”. “16 Shells From A Thirty-Ought Six”. “Misery Is The River Of The World”. And “9th And Hennepin” is more akin to a poem over a backdrop of weird jingly noises than a song anyway.
“Make It Rain”, with which he closed his main set (coming back for three more songs after a lengthy pause that made us think perhaps he’d nicked off home!) was immense. It span off into an extended jam and sheets of glitter literally rained down from the ceiling onto the stage. Incongruous. Beautiful.
I’ve seen a few gigs in my time by Great Artists revelling in a long, diverse and impressive back catalogue: Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney. This was up there with them, for definite. Epochryphal.
y’know there ain’t no devil, thass jes god when he’s drunk . lost at the bottom of the world. glitter and doom.
Reviewer: MMT
glitter and doom. “a carny barker”. the rain on the roof of the Rat Cellar.
I must have been about ten when I first heard Tom Waits. Having been raised thus far by my Dad playing mainly Beatles or Buddy Holly records in our presence, I was scared shitless. It was probably something off “Swordfishtrombones” or “Rain Dogs”, neither of which are particularly scary compared to his more recent output, but still – who on earth was this man grinding gravel in this throat like a bluesman who’d been dead for a century and why was my Dad listening to him?
It took me about fifteen years or so to get any further. Occasionally Dad would do a compilation tape and post it to me at university, but I still couldn’t hack that voice – though under it the songs and lyrics seemed interesting enough. But slowly and surely, as my twenties waned and my Nick Cave Obsession showed no signs of going away, I started to Get It. They’re akin, two shadowy sides of a very dark coin. Probably a dark coin chucked down some kind of black well. 2004’s “Real Gone” album swung it for me. That voice was now harnessed to bizarre percussive clankings, wheezing machinery. A way in. I took it.
an aged monkey in a bowler hat. a hobo preacher. hoist dat rag.
Tom Waits has only come to the UK to play live for two short tours in the last twenty-one years. So you can imagine, it’s a hot ticket for the loyal fans. Luckily for me and my brother, our Dad is loyal enough to buy tickets for all three of us! And as he’d been on holiday when Tom last came in 2004, he was desperate to see him this time. Perversely enough, the only ‘local’ gigs on the “Glitter And Doom” tour were in Edinburgh and Dublin – London ignored altogether! – but Dad wasn’t going to let that stop him! So Dublin it was.
Rather than play at an established venue, on the evening of the gig we strolled up through Phoenix Park Dublin to what looked from a distance to be a huge circus tent. In fact, that’s exactly what it was – a 4,500 capacity circus tent called “The Ratcellar” with a huge blow-up of Tom’s face hanging above the entrance like the grizzled old ringmaster he is. Around the perimeter of the tent were the usual burger vans, toilet blocks and beer tents – I will officially state right now that the beer tent was the fastest and most efficient beer tent I have ever been in at a gig or festival. Kudos to the Irish!
a nightclub singer who’s never seen the sun. the human cookie monster. trampled rose.
Tom played for about two and a half hours solid, and even though I started to find my seat uncomfortable before he even started, I didn’t care. I was transfixed. It was genuinely one of the greatest gigs I have ever been to. Playing songs from all across his thirty-plus year career meant that I only recognised about one in five, but that actually made the experience even more mesmerising.
Shadow-boxing and shaking his fists into the dark fervently, the man live is even more a brilliant enigma than on record. Growling, spitting and hollering his way through twenty five tracks he was a sight to behold. A long section near the middle sat at what appeared to be a broken-down old piano (but was clearly in good enough nick!) contained some incredibly touching knackered balladry such as one of my Dad’s faves “Invitation To The Blues” and the achingly fractured “Innocent When You Dream”.
The tearjerking singalong he elicited from us during that last-mentioned was proof that his crowd-skills are as honed as you’d expect after such a long career. Telling us wry anecdotes – his speaking voice clearly the inspiration for Heath Ledger’s Joker – and conducting the congregation in lengthy clap-interactions, the Ratcellar denizens were obviously smitten. As you might expect, them having waited so many years!
croaking, hammering the keys. rusting engines spin their last. stomping in the dust.
But for me it was the Fucked-Up Jazz™ (which James was always trying to get Sebastian Windsor to play Back In The Day, incidentally!) and Filthy Blues which stood out. The semi-industrial chuggings of his backing band provided an expert canvas across which Tom could spray his world-weary poetry. Bleak gospels. “Lie To Me”. “16 Shells From A Thirty-Ought Six”. “Misery Is The River Of The World”. And “9th And Hennepin” is more akin to a poem over a backdrop of weird jingly noises than a song anyway.
“Make It Rain”, with which he closed his main set (coming back for three more songs after a lengthy pause that made us think perhaps he’d nicked off home!) was immense. It span off into an extended jam and sheets of glitter literally rained down from the ceiling onto the stage. Incongruous. Beautiful.
I’ve seen a few gigs in my time by Great Artists revelling in a long, diverse and impressive back catalogue: Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney. This was up there with them, for definite. Epochryphal.
y’know there ain’t no devil, thass jes god when he’s drunk . lost at the bottom of the world. glitter and doom.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)