Gerry Cinnamon - The Bonny

The Curious Case Of Gerry Cinnamon.

Jake Bugg must be fuming – eight years ago the Nottingham starlet was carving out a niche for himself in British guitar music with tales of love and life, of getting into scrapes and managing the boredom of working class existence. And while the subject matter wasn’t new (The Streets kicked it off, then Arctic Monkeys brought into the indie realm), there was a rawness to it, backed nominally with acoustic guitar. Where the Monkeys were wry, Bugg allowed his heart to show.

Subsequent circumstances have meant that Bugg has lost all momentum, and the vacuum has been ably and promptly filled by Gerry Cinnamon. The Glaswegian managed to capture the mood of those that wanted independence during the Scottish referendum of 2014 with ‘Hope Over Fear’. Since then, he’s become a true grassroots phenomenon of a kind that is rare in this age of manufacture. His debut album Erratic Cinematic, released in 2017, evolved naturally via word-of-mouth to the extent that he had prestige shows lined up for the summer – a homecoming gig at Glasgow’s Hampden Park and a sub-headlining slot at the Reading/Leeds festival – before you know what.

It’s undoubtedly an impressive achievement; with no recognition or critical acclaim he’s managed to permeate the mainstream on his own terms, and deserves plaudits for that alone. Cinnamon consciously exists in his own world, and indeed here recognises as much on ‘Outsiders’, a self-referencing call-to-arms akin to Pulp’s ‘Mis-Shapes’. Elsewhere, on ‘Six String Gun’ he acknowledges his weapon of choice and laughs in the face of the derision he gets for any over-use of it. Which is just as well, because if you don’t like acoustic guitars, kick drums and harmonicas, then there’s very little else for you.

Bob Dylan is probably his closest reference point, but while there’s little poetic insight in the vein of the great man, Cinnamon does cover varied subjects. ‘Roll The Credits’ observes the break-up of a relationship from afar, while ‘Everyman’s Truth’ is about the age of disinformation we live in. The Bonny is the third part of a character study (started with ‘What Have You Done’ from the first album and the opening track on this, ‘Canter’), the track itself the resolution to build something better. Similarly, the now eerily prescient ‘Dark Days’ is a lesson in looking at the simple pleasures in life.

Hope is the main theme: the opening line (again from ‘Canter’), ‘This is the beginning of the rest of your life’, is aspirational, and the drivetime, Don Henley-esque ‘Where We’re Going’ (the most developed track here) is a song of regret but also a timeless theme of escaping your circumstances. On the other end of the scale, ‘War Song Soldier’ is more personal and lyrically bare, Cinnamon instead opting to sing wordlessly whilst the mournful harmonica and overall starkness of the song reflects better the mood.

He harnesses the old Celtic impulse to sing songs of love and life at the top of your lungs, which therefore makes reviews such as this pointless; like Stereophonics and The Courteeners, Gerry Cinnamon is now critic-proof. The songs come from a place of universal truth and are folkies the likes of which have been sung since man invented the guitar. Written about the people, by the people, for the people.

There’s a lot to be said for both the refusal to concede and the ability to tap into something primal, but ultimately it comes down to whether you dig it or you don’t.

The Dream Syndicate - The Universe Inside

The Paisley underground scene is one of the lesser known movements in rock music, but in the mid-1980s its influence was being felt everywhere.

Broadly owing a debt to the west coast scene of two decades before, it fused guitar interplay with broad strokes of psychedelia and acrobatic harmonies, as per Love and The Byrds; The Dream Syndicate were one alumni of the scene, taking the innovation of The Velvet Underground but adding some punk energy which went on to influence Echo & The Bunnymen in Blighty, while Prince named his label (Paisley Park Records) after the movement. Brilliantly, the scene’s only mainstream success was The Bangles.

Since their reformation in 2012, and like many other reunited bands, The Dream Syndicate gradually came round to the idea that there might be an interest in hearing new music too, and with The Universe Inside they have now released as many albums post-split as they did in the first phase of their career. With a pace of development that puts many younger acts to shame, for the fourth year in succession a new album has been unveiled.

Calling this an album is something of a misnomer, as it’s structured more as a symphony. Consisting of only five tracks with a runtime of an hour (derived from an 80-minute jam session), it’s unfocused, at times shambolic and stretches the meaning of self-indulgent. It’s also, at several points, superb.

Opening track ‘Regulator’ is twenty minutes of noodling psychedelia with the only consistency provided by an incessant drum machine. The guitar lines channel the sound of 1970s New York at the start and become a fuzzed-out shimmering wall of noise by the end. There’s sitars, warbling sax, seemingly random archive quotations and presumably a kitchen sink all hidden beneath deliberately muffled production. Yet everything subtly evolves so as not to appear too fragmented, so that by the end of the twenty minutes you’re listening to a completely different track.

As with the rest of the album, one track segues into another as ‘Regulator’ becomes ‘The Longing’, mainly dominated by ethereal, shimmering guitar and more traditional (i.e. human) drumming and singing. It then gives way to ‘Apropos Of Nothing’, which is Roxy Music covering On The Corner by Miles Davis. Representing the deterioration and subsequent rebuilding of the mind, its first half is sultry and sleazy before the pace ups rapidly in the second which then melts into the strutting ‘Dusting Off The Rust’, a fusion of German prog rock, west coast buzz and Morricone soundscapes. Lastly, ‘The Slowest Rendition’ has the atmospheric ambience of Berlin Eno/Bowie, all twinkling, sax driven electronica against a monologue delivered by Steve Wynn.

The Universe Inside is a swirling, progressive whirlpool that engulfs for a blissful hour. The lack of structure, or indeed songs, may not be to everybody’s tastes, but its adventurous nature is an excellent tonic, an escape route from the modern world.

Purity Ring - WOMB

Originally members of the wonderfully named Gobble Gobble, Colin Roddick and Megan James have been operating as Purity Ring for nearly ten years, after the former began experimenting with electronic production and beat-making whilst on tour.

Their debut album Shrines was released in 2012 to acclaim, its follow-up Another Eternity sustaining their popularity. Five years on, having spent the last three years bunkering down to record it, their third album WOMB has been unveiled with all the hallmarks of their sound immediately present and correct; a combination of suffocating electronica, often macabre lyrical themes and James’ child-like vocal delivery.

Opener ‘rubyinsides’ is claustrophobic, attempting to recreate the sonic texture of internal environments best signified by, well, you can probably guess. Thematically, Purity Ring have covered bodily viscera frequently, but this album has a focus on one organ specifically. Using the womb as a metaphor, the songs refer to a woman coming of age: on ‘femia’ the protagonist wakes ‘in a sea of dark liquid’, and over each track the listener is asked to see things from the young woman’s perspective as she goes on to suffer heartbreak, loss and violence. It’s compelling to listen to but, unfortunately, the choice to have James’ vocals in their trademark pitch, with little deviation, ensures it’s also a grating one for that very reason.

Sonically, Roddick pushes himself; such as on the ‘whipcrack’ beat of ‘pinklighting’ where he accompanies slivers of synth that contrast well to the funeral sleigh bells on ‘peacefall’. Distortion and loops abound, his production more coherent with the subject matter than it has been previously, and broadly judged well. However, sometimes the intent to capture and reflect the tone of the subject matter can make the music itself less remarkable.

As a genre, dream pop often rests on its laurels, merely content to get by on sonics. At points discombobulating, at points wearing, Purity Ring thus deserve credit for pushing themselves into unchartered territory on WOMB, and in doing so redefine themselves.

Mystery Jets - A Billion Heartbeats

This album appears to be cursed: originally due for release last autumn, it had to be delayed when singer Blaine Harrison underwent an operation for an infection.

The band weren’t able to fulfil the promotional duties required (in-stores, radio appearances etc) and so opted to delay the release by six months. Obviously, promotional duties are now off the agenda once more, but at least we finally have the album in full form.

Whether or not it’s been worth the wait is a different question. When the Eel Pie Islanders first broke through in the mid-2000s, they were quite lightweight. Although better than much of the so-called indie landfill that they were associated with, as their relative longevity has proved, they were still quite fey.

In the preceding years, the electric guitars have been turned up progressively and have surely reached their zenith on A Billion Heartbeats. Where they were scrabbling beneath the surface amidst the airy expanse of previous album Curve Of The Earth, as with their peers Foals’ recent output, here the electric axe is beefed up and dominant, at least on the first half.

Opener ‘Screwdriver’ must be the heaviest thing they’ve done; a sprawling, multi-part rock monster of a song which gives a false impression with a twinkling start. As a mission statement, both with lyrical content (‘fight them with love’) and gnarly chords, it’s highly effective. Similarly, the dystopian ‘Petty Drone’ is riff-heavy but with a more uplifting chorus while ‘Campfire Song’, which opens with fast acoustic (which acts as a relief to the multi-layered production that otherwise pervades the album) is explosively uplifting and brings to mind the more gospel moments of Stereophonics’ output (please note, this is not meant as an insult).

Acknowledgements of other bands feature prominently; Harrison sounds unerringly like Gaz Coombes on the single ‘Hospital Radio’ while, more seriously, ‘Watching Yourself Disappear’ was inspired by Frightened Rabbit frontman Scott Hutchison’s tragic death in 2018. The former is broadly soothing until the spiky, frustrated guitar and ghostly harmonies provide an air of unease, while the latter combines nagging, echo-led drums with shivering guitar lines.

Thematically, once again the current situation pushes misfortune into the band’s path: the twinkly ‘History Has It’s Eyes On You’ outlines the importance of female role models throughout time, while ‘Wrong Side Of The Dreams’ takes, ‘lunatics reading bibles and buying guns’, to task but ends laden with positivity (‘follow your dreams and don’t ever stop’).  Undoubtedly relevant pre-pandemic these issues seem, whilst no less important, of a different age. However, they won’t disappear and once things ‘normalise’ these issues will rightly return to the top of societal conversations. Lastly, the title-track, like the album itself, is a call to arms for progressives, drenched in 80’s rock and military drumming with the most potent tool in pop’s armoury (a key change!) fully deployed.

Mystery Jets have never sounded quite so muscular, and while Harrison’s soft voice doesn’t quite suit the heavy sonics, he gives it his best shot. On the latter, more ethereal tracks, it fits perfectly.

A Billion Heartbeats is worthy and tangentially diverse, but may not stand the test of troubled times.

Fiona Silver - Hostage Of Love

Star power: you either have it or you don’t.

Sometimes, with enough work and force of will, some artists earn it (looking at you, Mr. Grohl), but the lucky folk are just born with it. The ability to capture the eye from youth becomes the ability to enchant a room.

They come in all shapes and sizes too: Fiona Silver may be small in stature but is a pint-sized powerhouse. Not only a singer but a songwriter, producer and guitarist, she has a swaggering gusto that oozes through the headphones. This new EP follows up her debut album, Little Thunder, of three years ago and is a swaggering, rolling collection of songs which recalls halcyon days that seem so much further away now.

On ‘Dark Blue’ her voice ranges from intentionally hoarse (but filled with attitude) to falsetto. Reminiscent of late-60s Cher and timelessly feelgood with surf-rock drumming as the icing on the cake, it strikes the perfect balance between Silver’s punk attitude and a FM rock aesthetic. Her cigarette-stained voice is equally dominant on ‘Hot Tears’, with a bass that prods at your innards, whilst the song itself has the structure and arrangement of a lost Isaac Hayes classic. In contrast, ‘You Make Me’ is a mid-tempo, timeless song of love akin to Alabama Shakes, albeit with an inconsequential chorus (‘you make me ooh/do/yeah’ etc). It’s percussion driven and pleasant, but doesn’t really go anywhere.

The musicianship is impressive throughout; face-melting guitar solos adorn ‘Hot Tears’ and ‘Violence’, complimenting the Philly soul, funk, and wah-wah guitars of the latter. The song itself is lyrically haunting, referencing being ‘six feet under’ and ‘flashing lights’ in reaction to the title. The melancholy mood continues on the brooding title-track, a slower paced, speakeasy number on which Silver channels her inner Amy Winehouse before letting the band take over.

As one of those with a voice that belies her years, Silver is a joyous femme fatale. Hostage Of Love is full of such joie de vivre and uninhibited relish.

Why I Wrote ‘Some Might Say’

A short piece I recently wrote for Live4ever. Call it personal PR, if you will.

Live4ever’s Richard Bowes has just written his first book, Some Might Say – The Definitive Story Of Oasis. Here, he outlines why it was a tale that needed to be told:

You undoubtedly have your opinions on Oasis. 26 years on from their debut single, they still cast a huge shadow over British rock music. They changed the genre (whether or not that was for the better or for the worse is subjective), and their impact was undeniable. Seismic, even.

The twin titans that were Parklife and Definitely Maybe raised the standard for guitar-led music from 1994 onwards, albeit for a brief, golden period. Top 10 singles were expected rather than the hoped for and then, once Oasis infiltrated the mainstream, they became a part of British life. Everyone knows the Gallagher brothers.

Yet where Blur opted to retreat and the majority of other ‘Britpop’ bands floundered, Oasis sustained their success: 23 UK top 10 singles out of 26, with only four of those failing to make the Top 5. Each studio album a Number One. Sold out tours, right until they split in 2009. An astonishing degree of chart success that bettered anything Queen or The Who (for example), two of the most successful British bands of all time, achieved. Liam Gallagher’s rebirth over the last few years only serves to demonstrate the continued interest in Oasis, even if it is hugely driven by nostalgia. The perception that Oasis were a 90s phenomenon is true to a certain extent, but that’s only a part of the story.

That story, from start to finish, has never been documented. There’s a wealth of books that cover their early years but, hopefully to your amazement, there is yet to be one published that spans their career from start to finish. There is now. Not only that, but with access to a wealth of exclusive interviews, there are some stories from their imperial period which had not yet been told. I felt that the story needed to be told. Inevitably, there will be things I missed, but I believe it’s as comprehensive a record about one of the biggest British bands ever as there could be.

At least until the revised edition.

False Heads - It’s All There But You’re Dreaming

London trio False Heads have unveiled their debut album after coverage from the big hitters at Radio 1, 6 Music and Radio X, alongside slots playing with Queens Of The Stone Age, The Libertines, David Byrne, Band Of Skulls and Frank Turner.

Most impressively of all, patronage has come from no less a source than the great Iggy Pop, who’s reported to have said: “They are young and talented and going places. If they came to my town I’d show up for that, if they come to your town you might wanna show up.”

Of course, at present that’s easier said than done, but who are we to argue with the great man? Fortunately, he’s right on the money. It’s All There But You’re Dreaming is a beast of a debut, timeless Britrock at its best.

‘Whatever You Please’ starts with the gentle strum of an electric before exploding into a gargantuan statement of intent with chilling, OK Computer-style guitar lines, ‘Fall Around’ has a gripping bass with the call and response vocal style of mid-1990s Blur. ‘Twenty Nothing’ is one of several tracks to channel the insolent sneer of Green Day, but with an English accent that recalls The Subways’ early output whilst raging at the ‘gutter press’.

The riff-tastic ‘Ink’ is a moody, fast-paced thing which puts the bass pedal through its manoeuvres, while ‘Slew’ is a bit less refined and features a big, typical rock-out coda that has the stodgy sound of grunge, demonstrating a shrewd production technique that keeps things just dirty enough.

As ever with these reviews, ‘punk’ and ‘grunge’ will come up as touchpoints but, whilst being hard to avoid, they don’t really tell the tale. ‘Comfort Consumption’ is something of a warped ballad, rattling along comparatively softly and melodically, while the punchy ‘Slease’ is an odyssey that goes in several different directions, but all with a sustained and raucous tempo. In similar fashion, closing track ‘Rabbit Hole’ is a doom laden mini-epic, as the protagonists wail whilst slipping down said hole.

Although featuring a plethora of riffs, the album isn’t all about the guitar: ‘Steady On Your Knees’ puts a brooding bassline front and centre as singer Luke Griffiths stretches his vocal to its limits, and it’s hard to select just one drumming highlight as the entire album is rabid on that score.

It has to be said that Royal Blood are also an inevitable but unavoidable comparison, yet False Heads don’t rely on the wizardry of an effects pedal; theirs is a purer sound. The album is one or two tracks too long and a reliance on repetitive (and shouted) choruses does point to their inexperience. But ultimately, in a year already becoming crowded with strong debuts, False Heads have laid their marker down in impressive fashion.

Opinion - COVID-19 - Music Will Save

A lot of words are flying around at the moment, the main one being ‘unprecedented’.

Whilst being apposite, it also fails to do justice to the situation the world finds itself in. In the UK, despite the depressing outcome for much of us, the general election and then Brexit at least brought a certain amount of clarity and near-relief after three-and-a-half torturous years. Things were just starting to normalise, in as much as they could.

Now this. Now it turns out all that instability was just a starter to COVID-19. You’re all reading the news, changing every day, but to focus on all things music: one of the first warning shots was the postponement of Coachella, more serious the cancellation of SXSW. This in itself was a devastating blow: the festival is a showcase for newer artists and bands, many of whom rely heavily on the exposure and promotional opportunities it brings. But again, these were naught but teaser trailers.

It snowballed: Record Store Day, a key event in the music calendar and a day in which all music fans can attend events and support the art as a whole, pushed back for three months. Gigs started being cancelled and then, as news of the infections and deaths kept coming, it went to the next stage, with tours postponed indiscriminately – Stormzy, The Who, Idles, Ash, Foo Fighters, Madonna, Blossoms among those whose tours fells like dominoes. Live Nation and AEG cancelled their shows. Then, with grim inevitability, the mother of all festivals had to break the news no-one wanted to hear: despite being over three months away, the lengthy preparation time involved meant that the Eavis family had little choice but to cancel Glastonbury’s 50th anniversary bash, a week after announcing what was generally agreed to be the strongest line-up for some time.

The government’s press conference on Monday, 16th March was an attempt to allay fears but fell short; there was ambiguity as to whether venues, pubs and clubs would be required to close, putting their existences as risk. Some steps have been taken to help the hospitality industry since, but it already looks like it won’t be enough. Grassroots venues such as The Exchange in Bristol took the decision on themselves to close. Many others will be following suit, but even more established names such as The Joiners in Southampton are already asking for crowd-funding assistance.

There’s no doubt about it, this is bleak. Bleaker than anyone could have anticipated a few short weeks ago. In less than three months, the 2020s have already been defined. Everything seems to be falling, like in a film. But this is real life.

In music, the bigger acts will be OK. As an example, The Who have already rescheduled their arena tour to 2021. The Academy venues, all owned by o2, will surely be fine. The major record labels have vested interests elsewhere and are undoubtedly insured up to their eyeballs. But some small labels will probably fold. The homes of innovation and creativity that major labels don’t cater for will disappear in the process. Independent record stores, who have done so much to carve a niche over the last few years, will find themselves on the front line when the inevitable recession hits. The damage this thing is going to do, to all walks of life, seems incomprehensible right now.

And yet. And yet. Music will save, like it always does. We music fans are a passionate and resourceful lot, and glimmers of hope and innovation are popping up. Yungblud and Rufus Wainwright are among many acts now streaming gigs, and countless others will undoubtedly follow suit. Chris Martin, Bono and Robert Harvey have performed songs on Instagram (whatever you may think of the first two, their hearts are in the right place). Crowdfunding will no longer be a platform for obsessive folk, but a true platform to help our fellow man.

Twenty years ago, the major labels bought up the independents as a result of the success of Britpop, but back the independent labels came. Vinyl was an outdated concept fifteen years ago, now we have specific days of celebration. Record shops, independent or not, are social gatherings themselves.

As music fans, we’ve always been a community. In this mainstream, commercialised, faceless world of bland high streets and chain pubs, we’ve always been proud to be different. We have to lead from the front with that attitude now. As well as our belief in the redeeming power of the universal language that is music, our innovation and compassion has never been more vital, not only for music but for wider society. For now, support your local venues in any way you can, visit independent shops (not just record stores), show love and support for artists, whether you like them or not. More importantly, support your fellow man and yes, be grateful for our wonderful NHS.

It’s going to get worse before it gets better. This is it. The darkest day. The blackest hour. Chin up, shoulders back. We’ve got work to do.

“So when you see your neighbour carryin’ somethin’,
 help him with his load. And don’t go mistaking paradise,
 for that home across the road.”- Bob Dylan

Morrissey - I Am Not A Dog On A Chain

The fallen hero is back, whether you like it or not.

Whilst criticisms of Morrissey suddenly seem very churlish in these increasingly uncertain days, they still aren’t unfounded. His comments about Harvey Weinstein and his support for Britain First were the most deplorable to some his most ardent fans, yet it’s important to remember ‘twas ever thus: he doesn’t care what you think.

Morrissey has always been an outsider, throughout his thirty-five years in the spotlight always railing against the establishment. However, to quote Spinal Tap, it has resulted in his fanbase becoming ‘more selective’. His comments have also reignited the argument about separating a creative from their art. Unfortunately, he’s just made the debate even more complex.

His last release, 2019’s California Son, was a covers album, lending weight to the idea that he’d creatively run out of steam and as such was sliding into irrelevance, making the case for the prosecution easier. In classic contrary fashion, and as is his wont, Morrissey has in response come up with the most subversive album of his entire career.

He’s never been known for being especially experimental, although that’s a slightly disingenuous perception, each album containing splashes of colour (the mariachi on 2014’s World Peace Is None Of Your Business being a good example). But, I Am Not A Dog On A Chain is almost a complete overhaul of sound.

At first it’s disconcerting on opener ‘Jim Jim Falls’ to hear his sullen tones over electronic hip-hop accompanied by more familiar use of pianos (this time much higher in the mix) and strangled guitar. Meanwhile, a synthetic orchestra adorns ‘Love Is On Its Way Out’, cheap Casio-esque keys and all, and the staggered electronic twinkle of ‘Darling, I Hug A Pillow’ almost clashes against the typical subject matter (‘why can’t you give me some physical love?’), although the vocals are infrequent.

In fact, in another volte-face, the album is surprisingly lyrically-light. One doesn’t choose to listen to a Morrissey album for the instrumentation, but it’s clear a lot of effort has been put into the record, with a lot simmering beneath the surface: ‘Once I Saw The River Clean’ has house music beats, keys and strings combining, and at points Stephen is nowhere to be seen. Similarly, on the frankly bizarre ‘The Secret Of Music’, it seems that the singer is accompanying breakbeats rather than the other way round. The song itself is a dirge, little more than him reeling off a list of instruments (including, hilariously, the bassoon) followed by a little solo of said instruments. It’s nearly eight minutes long, six minutes too much, although it does contain one pearler of an insightful lyric: ‘I delight to cause a fuss’.

On the lyrics, all usual bases are covered – contempt (‘If you’re going to kill yourself to save face, get on with it’); compassion (‘be careful in this knockabout world’) and self-absorption (‘maybe I’ll be skinned alive like Canada Goose because of my views’). Other familiar tropes occur, such as his annoying habit of the first line being the song’s title, while closer ‘My Hurling Days Are Done’ is one of those farewell numbers that frequent every one of his latter-period albums.'

It’s an album of peaks and troughs, featuring both highlights such as the single ‘Bobby Don’t You Think They Know?’, all chiming fuzz with Thelma Houston supplying attitude, glamour and bite, and the slinky, kind ‘Knockabout World’, but also rudderless tracks such as ‘The Truth About Ruth’, which tries to push itself in various directions but always ends up in a cul-de-sac.

So is Morrissey on a rich vein of form, with three albums in 30 months, or does he perhaps feel the hand of time upon his shoulder? Either way, it’s a prolific period that puts younger bands to shame (although given past form we can probably now expect a lengthy hiatus). In light of his reluctance to engage with the media, we won’t ever know for sure. One thing that is safe to presume is that he heeds the advice of this heroes more than ever:

‘There is only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.’ – Oscar Wilde.

Tricky one.

The Lottery Winners - The Lottery Winners

There’s no doubt about it, things are pretty rubbish right at the moment. The partisan nature of politics is bad enough, but recently parts of the UK have been battered by floods, and now we have a pandemic to deal with. Floods and plague so far in 2020, and the clocks haven’t even gone forward yet.

Even worse for us music fans, the industry is taking consecutive body blows. South By Southwest was the first event to cancel, then Record Store Day followed, postponing until June. Gigs are being cancelled left, right and centre, and if things carry on as they are there could be no festivals this summer at all. We’re already at the point where the Stereophonics are being berated for allowing their gig last weekend to go ahead.

And yet, paradoxically but as it always does, music will save. The Lottery Winners, a four-piece from Leigh, Lancashire are believers and opt for the fun approach. Bonding over a love of The Smiths, they cut their teeth performing in pubs and working men’s clubs, covering tracks by Oasis, The Verve and Radiohead before eventually finding their own sound which has eventually lead to the release of this, their self-titled debut.

In truth, you’d be hard pressed to find a lineage from the bands mentioned above to here, aside from some very generic Britpop echoes. The album is generally more in line with the American pop-punk bands of the early part of the century, albeit not entirely. ‘21’ is held together by Madchester guitars (and, in fairness, a Jagwar Ma vibe), and ‘That’s Not Entertainment’ contains some modern-day wry observations (‘I don’t want to come to your love island and I don’t want to come dine with you’), while ‘I Don’t Love You’ sounds like contemporary Mock Turtles. Not necessarily a bad thing. Elsewhere, ‘Headlock’ has a gnarly Muse riff.

Other than that, it’s pop rock all the way. ‘The Meaning Of Life’ struts with the sound of a mob as backing vocals and ‘Little Things’ is joyfully uplifting, held up by a strong rhythm. ‘18-30s’ is an unashamed youth anthem (‘They never taught us how to live at school’), and ‘My Only Friend’ is one of those heart-on-sleeve, earnest rock tracks that bands like Blink 182 excel at.

It’s all good fun, but there’s not a huge amount of variation; singer Thom Rylance seems to have only one key (not quite screechy), and seems to be primarily concerned with carnal matters which are a little dated. Also, as good as the rhythm section is, on guitar it’s power chords and not much more.

But, and this is key, they don’t take themselves too seriously. Something which, in these troubled times, can be enough.

Porridge Radio - Every Bad

You could be forgiven for thinking that Every Bad is Porridge Radio’s debut offering, such is the hype they’ve been generating.

In fact their debut album Rice, Pasta And Other Fillers was released four years ago. It was a low-key, low-fi offering that will be regarded in years to come as the sound of the band finding their feet. And you can be confident that such discussions will be had in the future, for Porridge Radio are in this for the long haul, whether they like it or not. At the very least, expect Every Bad to pop up when the lists are collated at the end of the year.

It’s one of those albums that instantly sounds familiar and unique, right from the off. Lyricist and singer Dana Margolin grabs attention with the album’s opening line: ‘I’m bored to death, let’s argue’, as ‘Born Confused’ swells with gentle acoustic strumming giving way to a background organ while the rest of the band slowly make their presence felt. The song finishes with a coda of, ‘Thank you for leaving me, thank you for making me happy’. As becomes apparent, Porridge Radio refuse to conform.

‘Sweet’ takes things up a notch, devastating with tornado guitars as Margolin goes up and down the vocal scales whilst the music displays the time-honoured technique of quiet then LOUD. It’s an oldie but it never fails. ‘Don’t Ask Me Twice’ takes another left turn, all tom-toms and cowbells before a life-affirming chorus with angelic backing vocals. Like much of the album, it feels like it’s barely held together. ‘Give Take’ opts for a different approach, always on the cusp of exploding but opting not to do so, and is no worse for it.

Everything feels rickety. Recent single ‘Lilac’ is fragile with laconic guitar and brittle violin. It has the feel of This Is Hardcore era Pulp, without the melodrama. Album centre-piece ‘Pop Song’ also features languid guitar, but has a wooziness that feels like insecurity as music (‘please make me feel safe’). Anything but a pop song, it merits multiple listens with so many different layers hidden within.

Broadly speaking, the album is grandiose in scale, perfectly exemplified by Margolin’s titanic vocals. Lyrically, her nearest touchpoint is Karen O, but on the ever-so-slightly ponderous ‘Nephews’ she performs some vocal gymnastics that only Florence Welch would try, while on the eerie ‘(Something)’ her voice is auto-tuned to chilling effect. The rest of the band play their part too, specifically on the sublime ‘Long’, which again builds slowly, each instrument introducing itself as if part of an orchestra, a special mention reserved for the excellent drumming. The strung-out, fuzzy bass on ‘Homecoming Song’ works well in conjunction with the clattering drums as the song bursts and pops along to bring the album to a close.

It’s not perfect; the price to pay for warranted repeated listens means the lyrics, already repetitive, become wearing. Margolin is a fan of the mantra, repeating simplistic messages (‘there’s nothing inside’, ‘I don’t know what I want, but I know what I want’) which grate, although many are impactful by virtue of her delivery. Otherwise, prepare to immerse yourself in this collection of compassionate war cries.

Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds - Blue Moon Rising EP

Will this please Oasis fans? Noel Gallagher, once their darling, has seen his stock fall over the last few years, primarily down to two things: the partisanship of social media meaning apparently everyone has to take a side and, in correlation, the rebirth of his younger brother.

Despite that fanbase now having the luxury of Oasis-esque material from Liam and more experimental work from Noel, it seems some still aren’t happy. Not that Noel seems to care.

The animosity started following the release of 2017’s Who Built The Moon?, and subsequent releases have only stoked their ire. Despite this, it is his prerogative to experiment (after 25 years of writing songs in a broadly similar style, one can understand his need to do so), but some people refuse to allow it.

By rights this EP (the last of three during the past six months) should go some way towards redemption. The first reveal, Christmas-time single ‘Wandering Star’, could only be him; the wistful romanticism and half-paced chord structure putting his trademarks front and centre. As per, Gallagher rips off one of his heroes (the ‘my oh my’ cribbed from U2’s ‘Stuck In A Moment You Can’t Get Out Of’) on a song that is broadly about his personal life and loves. Kudos to the man, he really loves his wife. The sleigh bells, added at the last minute for that Christmas market, are a bit gratuitous and sound incongruous here in March, but other than that it’s a welcome addition to his many songs of this oeuvre.

‘Come On Outside’ was originally earmarked for his former band, and has been remarkably unaltered in the ten years since being written, this version having been mixed by his old confidante Dave Sardy. The demo has been given a polish, with spooky piano and choirs added, and is an absolute brute of a song with a rollicking vocal performance that hits that Oasis sweet spot. Without wishing to be obvious, it would though be interesting to hear Liam’s take on it.

The title-track is more in line with his new, modern sound, aping 1980s atmospherics as he’s been doing for some time. His vocals are stark against a toe-tapping beat and good melody. The chorus seems underwhelming at first but gets under the skin while the lyrics, once again concerning matters of the heart, are also a cut above.

The Reflex Revision version focuses on the effects, emphasising the ‘Running Up That Hill’-esque noise and other sounds for over seven minutes. Inessential, but a good listen. The 7” mix on the other hand, such as it is, offers little.

With a 66% hit rate this EP should then please the Oasis fandom, a parting gift before his next album.

Interview - Andy Crofts

Photo by Rob Connor

Andy Crofts needs some tips on self-promotion: “It’s by no means anything to do with what my actual album will be. I kind of wish I hadn’t done it! You know when you’re trying to be spontaneous? You can’t be spontaneous when you’re putting something out, it just doesn’t work like that. I had to tell people about it a bit. It’s just a collection of songs that I did on my radio show. No frills, quite rough. The recordings are really raw and some of the levels are up and down.”

The songwriter is speaking to me before his acoustic show at The Louisiana in Bristol, the second night of a mini-tour he’s doing for fun, certainly not to showcase his ‘new album’. As the frontman of The Moons has explained, he’s recently released a covers album just for the hell of it, comprising a number of songs he’s performed on his regular Boogaloo Radio show. “There’s a charm to them, so I just put them together for an album,” he tells us.

“Just for the hell of it, because I didn’t like the thought of those things being wasted. They’re all covers: ‘Wings Of Speed’ by Paul Weller, ‘Ghosts’ by The Jam, ‘Don’t Let Me Down’, ‘Waterloo Sunset’, ‘I Love You’ by The Bees. I asked the listeners to pick a song every week, then I’d cover it. Then I just put them all into one space. It’s just digital. It’s not going to stay up for long. I’m having a very limited run of CDs put together, but that’s it.”

Get it while you can, as Crofts has already moved on. Reason being that he has a lot of irons in the fire at the moment, including a new Moons album. The band have been on ice for a few years, but Crofts has a pragmatic attitude which is generally overcome by his simple and pure love for music: “We’ve been quiet for a while. We did the last album, Mindwaves, in 2014. I’ve got two kids as well, and they are a handful! So I don’t really have loads of time, so to juggle that with the rest of the lads, who live up and down the country…We can’t just hang out and have a ‘praccy’, it has to be properly organised.”

Such is his dilemma that Crofts seems to be debating the band’s future over the course of our conversation: “It’s not fair on everybody else to waste their time and I can’t expect them to just to turn up when I say,” he says.

It sounds like The Moons are succumbing to geography and sadly fading away, before Crofts hits us with a plot twist: “But then other times I’ve thought, ‘What is the point of knocking it on the head? We’re certainly not in it for fame and fortune!’. We’ve recorded a new album in Abbey Road and it’s sounding great. In the last two weeks I’ve mixed it and it’s pretty much done now. Success for The Moons is our own success; we got to record in Abbey Road, with my original music. That’s success.”

Crofts also has a large chunk of a solo album ready to go: “I’ve got a bunch of demos that have been laying around and I’m slowly building them up over time. I’ve got about fourteen songs that I want to be the album. It’s more musical, not indie-schmindie rock and roll, with songs like ‘Jennifer’ or ‘English Summer’. Not jangly indie.”

As to when the album will see the light of day, it’s equally as fluid as the Moons album: “Between Weller work, I guess.”

For the uninitiated, Crofts is a member of Paul Weller’s band, and has been for the last twelve years. He gives us a bit of backstory to their relationship: “I was in a band called the On-Offs which was a power-pop, punky thing. We got support with him, he and Steve Cradock watched us soundcheck and they were loving it. Afterwards I messaged them to say thanks for having us, then Paul rang me and said it was wicked, blah blah blah, send me some demos. So I sent him some of what ended up being The Moons. We stayed in touch via text and then he rang me to tell me he was looking for a keyboard player, was I interested? Obviously I said yes.”

Sometimes dreams do come true. Crofts has contributed in a variety of different ways to the last five studio albums made by The Jam legend, with the next one due for release in the summer. Having been on a rich and prolific vein of form for the last decade, how is Paul Weller’s fifteenth solo album comparing? “It’s sounding amazing,” Crofts tells me. “It’s not a million miles away from what he’s been doing for the last few years. It’s just good songs. I think I know how he’s so prolific: because he’s found freedom in himself. It sounds like a hippy thing to say, but you learn how to knock down all those walls that you margin yourself in with. If you can get rid of that then you’re free to not care and that makes you more prolific.”

Not only that, but Weller also adopts a collaborative approach in the studio: “He’s always been very free, and that’s what I admire about him. We’ll all be sitting round and put together ideas, he’s very good at inspiring us. If, for example, I hear a string section on a song, the string quartet come in they will add it.”

With a new album comes a worldwide tour, and with much of 2020 already taken up, it’s a testament to Croft’s attitude that he’s optimising his downtime by opting to tour himself. After two dates, in his hometown of Northampton and then Bristol, there’s a two-week break before shows towards the end of March. Crofts continually makes the point to me that the gigs are just a man and a guitar (“it’s me and my songs before all the stuff goes on in the studio”), but that’s doing himself an injustice. He keeps the crowd entertained throughout the Bristol show, a special Department S night in conjunction with their regular Saturday night events.

He’s an old-school raconteur, equally entertaining when not playing, giving the crowd insights into the songs he’s written, thanking us in a heartfelt way. He regales us with the strongest songs in The Moons’ catalogue (‘Something Soon’, ‘Jennifer’) whilst also throwing in an adhoc cover of The Beatles’ ‘I’m A Loser’ in addition to a splendid version of ‘I’ve Just Seen A Face’ earlier in the set. As well as that, we get a couple of glimpses of The Moons’ next album. It may be just a man and his guitar but sometimes, when the music is of such purity and honesty, that’s all you need.

“Paul Weller will always be priority, and I can work my music around that,” he tells us. “I’ve become close with him so I don’t ever want to mess around with that. I’m in the band and blessed, so I’ll just make my music work round that.” As for the Moons? “Why can’t we just be one of those bands that just records? There’s all these pressures when you’re in a band, does it really matter? Why can’t you just make music and put it out?’

Why not indeed. Regardless, with so many different plates spinning Andy Crofts, and all of his fans, have much to look forward to.

Dry Cleaning - Live at The Louisiana

There may have been a storm battering the UK for the third weekend in a row, but inside the small Bristol Louisiana (Feb 29th) there’s sweat dripping from every attendee’s pores.

Dry Cleaning are slowly but surely building up a dedicated fanbase having recently taken up a mini-residency on BBC 6Music, and it’s not hard to ascertain why: there’s nothing else like them at this point in time. The musicianship isn’t especially original (consisting as it does of guitar, bass and drums) nor are Florence Shaw’s insights about the mundanity of life, but the delivery is unique.

It’s hopefully not doing Shaw a disservice to say that she isn’t really a singer, more a quasi-poet raging against elements of 21st century life, albeit in tone rather than volume or animation. The frontwoman is zen-like in her performance, at various points either staring blankly into the middle distance or looking quizzically at the audience, perhaps surprised that we are so entranced. Like Liam Gallagher, she has made a lack of movement beguiling.

Her bandmates, in contrast, are a bit more recognisable. Tom Dowse on guitar, who has the determination to wrench as many sounds as he can from his instrument with vigour, is a more traditional indie rocker (beard, long hair), whilst Nick Buxton on drums is clean cut. Threatening to upstage Shaw (and nearly coming close) is bassist Lewis Maynard, who’s full Spinal Tap, gurning at the audience and rocking out like he’s playing Wembley. All in all, they are a motley looking crew, with the instrumentalists unbridled in their joy at being able to live their dreams.

With two EPs under their belt, Dry Cleaning have enough material to deliver a strong set. They roar into life on ‘Spoils’ as Dowse’s guitar goes from gnarly to spiky. Musically the band have a variety of influences; ‘Dog Proposal’ sounds like a lost Cure track, ‘Viking Hair’ has a sheen reminiscent of The Cars, while in a more general way the sound is reminiscent of Sonic Youth’s lo-fi moments. An exception is ‘New Job’, which is lo-fi on record but live carries itself like a muscular Television. At points the supporting music to Shaw’s diatribes is repetitive, but only when necessary, i.e. when the song is focused on what she’s saying.

And she has a lot to say: sometimes it seems like random meanderings, such as on ‘Traditional Fish’ which, at first, appears to be little more than a list of things she’s read when out and about (‘chicken burger pizza’). However, even when doing so it’s compelling, her delivery streams of consciousness for her own sake, which is what art ultimately is (although the presence of a music stand in front of her with lyric sheets shatters that illusion somewhat).  On occasion, the subject matter is more apparent, such as the tragic heroine of ‘Viking Hair’, and ‘Magic Of Meghan’, a presumed ode to the former princess.

Rarely less than acidic, sometimes she opts to sing, as on ‘Sit Down Meal’ and generally sounds flat, but one suspects that’s the intention: despite their name and subject matter, Dry Cleaning are anything but dull.

Interview - Deja Vega

Deja Vega are the latest in a fine tradition of great bands from the north west of England; a power trio in the most literal sense, they combine the adrenaline of Oasis, the grandeur of The Verve and the widescreen soundscapes of the much-missed Exit Calm. Yet such musical ambition and dexterity belies the trials and travails that they, like many of their peers, have gone through.

When I met frontman Jack Fearon in Bristol prior to the second show of a recent five-night UK tour, he told us of the unusual position they were in of having a fully recorded, mixed and mastered album with no label on which to release it: “We had the album recorded and it was sat on the shelf for about a year or two. We were drip-feeding the singles and eventually we were going to take songs off the album and make a five-track EP with songs people had already heard and scrap the others.”

It was desperate times calling for desperate measures. They were eventually able to release their self-titled debut album last October, but unfortunately the label which had first given the band an opportunity had by then fallen by the wayside. “It was really sad,” Jack explained. “We signed to an independent label called Runway Records, as it was coming up to the releasing the album the owner emailed us and said, ‘We haven’t got the funds to press the album’, it wasn’t just us, they did it to three or four other bands. It was a bit gutting, and we felt sorry for the guy because we could tell how gutted he was.”

This early setback left the band in a quandary, but they were undeterred; “We just said, ‘Sod that, we’ll save some money and press the first single ourselves, with a DIY ethic’. Then another label called Sister 9 came along and they said they wanted to press the album for us.”

“I still listen to it now and I’m quite proud of it. There’s nothing I’d particularly change about it.” Rightly so: it’s a sonic slap in the face, comprising eleven watertight tracks of pacey psychedelia that sound like they’ve been produced by Phil Spector and mixed by Kevin Shields.

It’s fair to say it’s not in-line with British guitar music’s current dalliance with ‘post-punk’, instead the album could be from any point over the last forty years, exemplified by their residency at the Shine On festival. “It’s amazing and we’ve done every year. It’s great to see the progression of fans. The first year we played to about forty people. As we’ve gone on, we’ve gone up the stages and played to loads more people.”

Unusually for music of such widescreen ambition, the subject matter of the songs is generally quite intimate. Fearon is an observational songwriter, following in the footsteps of Damon Albarn and Kelly Jones, broadly writing about the foibles of individuals. “People fascinate me,” he told us. “I get dead inspired by hearing stories about people I know or people from the town that we’re in. Each song is about a person I’ve come across or a story I’ve heard.”

The music itself, however, is a group effort: “We just jam, play for three hours solid and something will pick us up. We like that so we’ll concentrate on it, find the structure and use it. It’s very rare that I go in the studio and say, ‘Lads, I’ve written a song, what do you think of this?’. We tend to jam and it turns out better.”

Their sets at Shine On brought them to the attention of The Wonder Stuff, whom they have supported, and a music legend of the north west, Brian Cannon, whose Microdot company designed the iconic early Oasis sleeves, and in the 90s also worked with The Verve and Ash. Cannon now works on all the artwork for Deja Vega.

“We met Brian years ago as our old band and we were saying, ‘Listen to our tunes’,” Jack recalled. “He never got back to us, so we thought it probably wasn’t for him. Then we did Shine On in 2015 and we saw him there. We said, ‘Come and see our band’, and obviously he couldn’t remember who we were. Then he happened to be walking through as we were playing and pricked his ears up. As soon as we finished he ran into the dressing room and said that was the best thing he’d heard in the last ten years. Then he kept asking when he was going to do some artwork for us, and we told him we had no money. He said, ‘I don’t care, I like you that much that I want to do the artwork’. Brilliant, a legend of a guy that’s sorted us out. We’re working with him now.’

The short tour, meanwhile, which covered London, Bristol, Nottingham, Birmingham and Manchester and sadly will have finished by the time you read this, was in conjunction with not only the album, but also a new single entitled ‘Who We Are’, the first salvo from their forthcoming second long-player, inspired by their experiences of the music industry thus far: “It’s a song about not giving up and having self-belief. There’s been loads of times we’ve been promised stuff and it’s been dropped, like the stuff with the album. We had to pull ourselves back up and get on with it.”

Tour details are being finalised, as well as some support slots, although the band have no preference on who they tour with; “I don’t think you can be picky,” Jack said. “If someone turns round and says to me, ‘Do you want to support Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs or the Spice Girls?’, I’d say I’m not bothered as it’s a gig at the end of the day. And it’d be a good gig.”

Based on their showing at the Louisiana, ‘good’ is underselling it. The three young men filled the room with a glorious cacophony: ‘Eyes Of Steel’ packed a punch like Kasabian on speed, ‘Chasing’ bounced along with drummer Tom taking a break from his usual relentless pounding to throw everything at the song, filling every space, and the closing wigout of ‘The Test’ was, like much of the set, held together by Mike’s titanic bassline.

The trio managed to create a vibe that was both intensely epic and spacious. When asked earlier to describe Deja Vega’s sound, Jack had said ‘fast and bulbous’, which is incredibly self-deprecating. Volcanic would be far more fitting.

Interview - HMLTD

HMLTD have taken the long way round.

Active for five years, the six-piece have learnt the rigours of the music industry and manipulated them to their benefit. Initially signed to a major label after generating a huge amount of buzz back in 2015, things didn’t pan out and the band sought pastures new.

Yet the extra spent time formulating a strategy enabled new ideas and sounds to formulate. Their debut album, West Of Eden, was released in February, one of the most eclectic and ambitious you’re likely to hear all year: synth pop, Madchester house, euro pop, western…it’s all contained within.

“That’s really intentional,” frontman and lyricist Henry Spychalski told me before their recent gig at the Exchange in Bristol. “One thing that we really hate in a lot of bands is that there’s not really much to distinguish any one song from another. It quite often just collapses into itself. The intention with the band has always been to never write two songs that are the same. That’s why we try and explore so many different genres.”

HMLTD are based in flourishing south London, but Spychalski is keen to clarify that the area isn’t the home of a specific movement, more of a mindset: “I don’t see it as a scene but more of a community. Within the community you’ve got lots of different artists who actually respect each other and know each other on a personal level. We all play different genres: Shame make 1970s punk, we make this electro art-punk or whatever you want to call it, black midi make prog or math rock. There’s always artists that are doing really different stuff. I have a lot of respect for those other artists and I believe that’s mutual. It’s like a petri dish of ideas.”

West Of Eden has ideas in spades. Its lengthy gestation, due to circumstances beyond the band’s control, brought about the opportunity to throw many genres into the pot. “The album is so much richer for having had an inordinate amount of time spent on it,” Spychalski said. “It’s the best part of three or four years work. Most of that work hasn’t made it onto the album. Some have been discarded, thrown to the wayside in their dozens. Not necessarily because they were bad, just because they didn’t fit this narrative we were trying to build.”

The broad scope extends to the narrative as well as the soundscapes; opening track ‘The West Is Dead’ should give you some idea. “The last year was just this real tough process of crystallising the concept and the themes, and then creating this narrative thread that runs through the album,’ Spychalski elaborated. “The album is about the death of the West, and the spiritual crisis that has occurred in the wake of the collapse of religion. About trying to rediscover meaning in this really meaningless landscape against the backdrop of ecological crisis, and economical and political catastrophe.”

Whichever way you look, mankind is in trouble. Yet much has been made of the younger generation having to make sense of the mess that’s been created by their forebears. “When you look at what’s happening in the world politically at the moment, the rise of the far right, populism, the massive inequalities being created by neo-liberalism…all these things may be a necessary stage we have to pass through in the historical dialectic, in order to move on to something better,” Spychalski said. “Our generation is probably going to have to bear the burden of a lot of that transition and the pains that it will produce. I think our generation’s lives are going to be filled with a lot of pain and difficulty. The album’s about having to still find joy in life against this backdrop.”

Depressing stuff, but there is hope in defiance. HMLTD don’t claim to have the answers, but refuse to get dragged down to the quagmire: “We want to show rather than tell. We don’t want to be pedagogical. But we also want to be very explicit about what we’re showing, and to try and show it in the clearest light possible. The album is short term pessimist, long-term optimist. It’s celebrating the darkness before the dawn and trying to find a space to dance within it.”

So broad is HMLTD’s sound that it’s no surprise they are building up a following on the continent as well as in the UK: ‘Next week we head into Europe,” Spychalski told us. “This (Bristol) is our last British date and then we’re going across to Europe which should be fun. Just a week, not a big tour, a whirlwind trip.”

Indeed, their plan for the rest of the year is to spend some significant time building up a fanbase in foreign fields. Gruelling experiences of the UK festival circuit apparently requires a fresh approach for 2020: “We’re trying to avoid English festivals and focus on eastern Europe. People don’t really appreciate you at English festivals, and nor do the promoters. You just get treated like shit, then you go to Europe and the hospitality is incredible. They really look after the artists and it’s just a far more enjoyable experience.”

Europe’s gain is Britain’s loss, as the album translates well live: the acid infused beast that is Loaded, with a thumping bass that brings to mind the super clubs of old, is mind-blowing, but then twenty minutes later Spychalski is facing the Exchange crowd, arms aloft to the full-on Euro trance of Blank Slate. It causes no end of frustration to a writer, that they are indefinable, but epic synth-pop is the broadest term that could be tenuously applied.

Singer Tallulah Eden, who features on several tracks, provided a sensual breathlessness to the fray, working well in contrast to Spychalski’s extravagance and high-octane sincerity. It’s a powerhouse of a performance from a band fully aware of the society in which they operate.

“We live in a generation where attention spans are shrinking and shrinking,” Spychalski had concluded. “To an extent you need to just celebrate what you have before going on to the next thing. That applies to music and to anything else.”

Psycho Comedy - Performance Space Number One

Sometimes albums just come from nowhere, existing in a world of its own, one only its creators fully understand.

Usually debut efforts, those creators have had the luxury of time to create aural versions of their headspaces. In the case of Psycho Comedy, they’ve been operating as a band for five years with limited releases, presumably beavering away to make their debut as close a reflection of their particular headspace as possible.

Immediately attention is grabbed by the opening track, a statement of intent as you’d expect from a song named after the band; a vaudevillian warped offering (think early Horrors) that pulls open the curtain to reveal the eerie realm that we are to inhabit. If you weren’t already aware that Psycho Comedy hailed from Liverpool, you will be as soon as lyricist and frontman Shaun Powell utters his first distinctive sounds. Like their spiritual forebears The Coral, they bury the tunes as much as possible, but they still make the way to the top.

Likewise on ‘First Cousin Once Removed’, Powell channels Miles Kane against chiming guitar and garage rock that sounds fifty years out of date but wonderful for it, with a hint of Northern Soul for good measure. ‘Performance Space Number One’ could be sampling the Troggs’ classic ‘Wild Thing’ on first listen, while the galloping, sleigh bell-drenched ‘Pick Me Up’ (a recent single) has the feel and confidence of a classic, albeit one pulled from the Nuggets series.

The influences keep coming; ‘I’m Numb’ cribs the rollicking sounds of ‘Lust For Life’ but throws a surf rock guitar riff in for good measure. ‘The Hangman’ evokes ‘Peter Gunn’ with guitars clashing before giving way to a stream of consciousness from Powell. In contrast, the bass sounds like it’s operating in another realm.

Melodrama is king; the swaggering ‘We Adore You’ confrontational yet vulnerable, and ‘Sleepwalking’ advises us to ‘jettison that sunshine’. It may sound depressing, but the righteousness with which it’s delivered outweighs anything else. In contrast, the jaunty ‘Standin’’ has the melody of a bubble-gum pop track, but once again hidden beneath jangling metallic guitars. The album is broken up by short spoken word pieces (‘Island’, ‘The Theatre Came Crashing Down’) that act as brief interludes, opportunities to catch breath and escape the maelstrom of glorious noise before going again.

Psycho Comedy have taken elements from a variety of inspirations that either should have or should be more well-known: Echo & The Bunnymen, The Velvet Underground, The Cramps and The Blinders can all claim to have their fingerprints on Performance Space Number One, but the quintet have the gumption and vision to meld their influences together to create a piece of work that stands apart.

Like those influences, they are unlikely to attain mainstream success, but that’s Joe Public’s loss – these are a special secret who should only be shared with a chosen few.

Following in a fine tradition, Psycho Comedy should be Merseyside’s next great band.

The Murder Capital - Live at SWX, Bristol

There’s nothing more gratifying than following a band on a journey of incremental steps.

Last year, The Murder Capital slowly crept into our lives via word of mouth and a gradual flow of radio sessions before their fine debut album, When I Have Fears, found itself on numerous end-of-year lists. Justly so, as it’s one that rewards repeated listens, featuring a new slice of hidden drama or lyrical gem at every turn.

Their brooding intensity is now appearing at bigger venues; in autumn last year they were playing the 500 capacity Exchange in Bristol – less than six months on they are able to fill the SWX with over twice as many punters. Yet their power hasn’t diminished on a bigger stage, and nor have the theatrics. The musicians walk on stage first, bassist Gabriel Paschal Blake still leering at the crowd, its increase in number of little importance to him, while vocalist James McGovern makes his presence felt immediately as he dives into the crowd before powerful opener ‘More Is Less’ has even finished.

Although pigeon-holed as gloom merchants in the vein of Joy Division, the quintet actually borrow most liberally from the Pixies, a famine and feast, quiet-then-explosive approach which serves them well. There’s a real maturity in the work too, songs are given the chance to breathe; ‘Slowdance (I &II)’ is primarily powered with bass and drums, Damien Tuit and Cathal Roper on guitars dipping their toes into Pink Floydian grandeur but restraining themselves for the good of the song.

One thing that has changed is the lighting, now much more befitting a band with a measured depth of sound. When the more explosive tracks kick in the band can only be seen as silhouettes, all moving in time to their own bursts of life. In contrast, during the heartbreaking ‘On Twisted Ground’, McGovern stands alone in a spotlight. Excuse the cliché, but with the crowd silent, listening to his desperation, a lone pin falling to the floor would be heard. Aside from the low bass and McGovern’s distant vocals, the only sound that can be heard in the SWX is that of the bar staff.

Before the track, McGovern issues a message of solidarity to hold on to our friends. The song itself is a paean to a friend of the singer’s who took his own life, and it’s emotionally draining to watch, let alone play. The silence at the end, broken only by McGovern’s breathing into the mic, is both uncomfortable and spellbinding.

Following track ‘Green & Blue’, all tom-toms and Gang Of Four guitars, moves proceedings back to more familiar, anxious territory, and is a good bridge to the snarling guitar of Love, Love, Love. The twin hurricanes of ‘Don’t Cling To Life’ and ‘Feeling Fades’ bring urgency back too and close the set with a flourish.

As with the album, watching The Murder Capital live is an experience logically sequenced to target the hearts, heads and souls. Making small gigs feel intimate is easy but to be doing it now on a larger scale is a sign of real power.

Don’t bet against them bringing their majesty to festival tents, for this is surely the next step in their progression.

Interview - The Ks

The K’s seem destined for big things. Without releasing an album the band are already becoming a must-see on the live circuit and have a fanbase on social media that’s growing by the day. Only a handful of singles, the latest of which was released on Creation23 last year, are all singalong anthems. Judging by the crowd reaction for the new songs performed recently at the long-running Department S club night in Bristol, many more are to follow.

Jamie (singer, guitars), Dexter (bass) and Ryan (guitar) all live in Earlestown, with drummer Jordan making the effort to travel in for rehearsals from Blackpool. I caught up with the band a week after their biggest gig yet, a sold-out show at the Ritz in Manchester…

How did you meet?

Jamie: Me and Dexter had been in the same class since reception. We all went to the same school. Jordan lives in Blackpool and we got him in.

Dexter: Ryan lives down the road and we used to play football as kids. Me and Jamie have been in a band since we were dead young. Then we split up for about two years. Jamie and Ryan met at a house party and Ryan said he could play guitar.

Jamie: We’ve known each for years, we didn’t meet at a house party! It had been about five years by this point!

Ryan: I was playing in another band and these boys were playing elsewhere. Then we got Jordan in and it kicked off.

What are the main musical influences on the band?

Ryan: Loads of different bands. It’s hard to say when people ask that because there’s loads.

Dexter: The Clash, The Jam, Stiff Little Fingers.

There’s been a handful of sporadic singles up this point, what does the next year look like in terms of new music?

Jamie: We’ve recorded (the next single) and we’re looking at producers now because we want to change bits of it. We recorded it at the same time as ‘Glass Towns’. It was recorded quite a while ago and we’ve done different bits so we want to get it re-recorded. Not fully, we just want to add some bits.

Dexter: It was a long time ago and we’ve recorded a lot more demos since then. Because there’s a back catalogue that’s still our next single. We’ve got singles for the next two or three years! But if we miss this one out then it’ll get missed.

Ryan: We’re just strategically planning out songs in line with tours the agent’s planning at the minute, so it’s hard to say. We know there’s one coming out in March. We’ve got lots of songs to release, it’s just planning it around when’s best to do it.

What about an album?

Ryan: We’ve got the songs.

Jordan: The demand is there. Whenever we put a post up saying, ‘news coming soon’ everyone always says, ‘album?’. They’re ready for it. We’ve started to put some new songs in the set, ones that no-one has heard before. We’re just testing them out, see how the crowd reacts then we work out where to put them in the set.

Obviously playing live is important to the band…

Jamie: It’s at the stage now were we just get in a van and go where we’re told. We’ll play anywhere. Half the time we don’t even know where we’re going.

So what’s on the agenda on that front?

Jamie: A mini-tour and then straight to festivals. The first festival is in April. We’ve got a tour in March and then we’ll be doing festivals until October, and then back on tour in October. We’ve got loads in the diary.

Presumably the Ritz show was the best yet?

Jamie: The Ritz was the best one we’ve done, but Kendal Calling (last year) was mega.

Ryan: We didn’t expect anyone, and it was mobbed. It was good because it wasn’t our crowd.

When I caught The K’s live it was all tub-thumping rock songs delivered by a gang of young men with an absolute belief in where they are going. It rarely failed. Tight without being too slick, their debut single ‘Sarajevo’ now has all the hallmarks of an indie disco staple, while ‘Glass Towns’ filled the venue. Onstage, the band looked like what they are; a bunch of friends who happen to be creating music that resonates. Many more venues will feel their force in 2020.

Liam Gallagher - Acoustic Sessions

Well, this was a pleasant surprise.

Released in conjunction with the video for ‘Once’ (featuring Eric Cantona), it ostensibly works as an EP for the same track: two versions adorn this short collection; a demo devoid of added effects or instrumentation, ably demonstrating that a good song is a good song regardless of production (featuring, as it does, only guitar with Gallagher harmonising) and an acoustic offering which strips the Lennon vibes of the original whilst retaining the strings, the earnestness of the song suiting the stripped down model equally as well as the parent track.

There are three other tracks lifted from Liam Gallagher’s successful second solo album Why Me. Why Not?, none of which add anything of substance. ‘Alright Now’ remains chippy and jovial and not markedly different while ‘Meadow’, as the name suggests, was a gentle track anyway but here has keys strangely low in the mix, almost non-existent. One of the stronger tracks from the album, ‘Now That I’ve Found You’, sounds less FM rock than it once did, still unashamedly sentimental but with a strong vocal.

All three tracks are less than six months old so none are wildly different from the originals because let’s face it, most fans are basically here for new spins on Oasis, of which there are three, each one over twenty years old.

Liam’s voice has understandably changed during that time, his voice now containing more nasal sneer than before. He bends the notes to fit the new singing style, which in the case of' ‘Cast No Shadow’ feels like a loss. The passing of the years has shaved away some of the naïve charm that his voice once had on the most faithful cover included, and with the more direct (and simpler) drumming and melodramatic piano, it feels much more professional. The female backing vocalists add some emotion in lieu of brother Noel, but on the whole, it seems an odd choice.

‘Stand By Me’ is much better, the acoustic sound more in line with the emotion of the song than the bombastic, full band version from Be Here Now (although it has to be said even that can’t hide from the song’s unnecessary repetition, with each chorus being the same line three times). Wisely, the track is truncated at the end but that’s probably the wrong choice; it would seem more suitable to trim the choruses elsewhere as it ends suddenly, with that gorgeous middle eight (working very effectively sans electric) acting as the crescendo.

The real jewel in the crown is the new version of ‘Sad Song’. Since the release of the Supersonic documentary back in 2016, Oasis fans have longed to hear a full Liam take on the Noel-sung lost classic. In his usual way, the younger Gallagher wrenches the emotion out of every note, obviously in a more confrontational style, but no less effectively. Now with added subtle strings which rise elegantly, it’s a welcome addition that compliments the original.

This collection contains some odd choices then, and it would have been nice to acknowledge his first solo album (having recently reimagined the song live, a stripped-down version of ‘Greedy Soul’ would have seemed an obvious inclusion), but that’s nit-picking and missing the point of what this is: a nice little treat for the faithful.