The Shelter Frequency

Here's another great big festival review that I'm having to type in all over again, so I think I'll do it in two halves again. I'm that lazy. Plus I'm running out of archive material, so I have to spin it out a bit; heaven forfend I think of something new to say.

First paragraph's boring, isn't it? Second is no great shakes, either. Gets going a bit later on.

AUDIOSCOPE, The Zodiac, 29-30/10/05

Is it really possible to give an objective review of Audioscope here? After all, it's a longstanding, well respected charity event, and what's more the Oxfordbands crew are behind it all. Then again, art is nothing without a response and, being a white hot ball of opinion with few friends left to try them out on, it's the internet for me. Suffice to say that, whatever anybody's tastes and reactions, nobody can deny the vast amount of energy expended in organising Audioscope, nor can they balk at the huge sums raised over the years for Shelter. All of which sounds rather liek the preface to an admission of a bad weekend, whereas nothing could be further from the truth.

Like finding a tenner in a coat you haven't worn for a while proceedings start with a pleasant surprise. Excepting a couple of drizzle-flecked songs at Truck, it's been a year since I last saw Fell City Girl live, and in my memory they've been filed away as "impressive, but not revelatory". A week may be a long time in politics, but this last year has seen some incredible changes for FCG, progressing to bigger and better things on a seemingly monthly basis. Whether my memory is faulty or whether the hard work has paid off is unimportant, FCG are now a live force to be reckoned with. Or perhaps surrendered to in awe. Naturally lots of attention is given to Phil McMinn's cracked angel voice, but for me it's Shrek's drums that catch the ear, intelligently undercutting songs that threaten to turn into bombastic Muse stomps with brittle, icy rhythms. A beautiful opening set, and one that asks the question, "What will 2006 hold for them?". To be frank, no reply seems too grandiose. Oxford act of the year, no competition.

The question that Bullet Union's set raises is "Just what is alternative music, anyway?" We've just heard some potential Top 40 botherers from FCG, and wandered past a gigantic queue of people eager to collect tickets for a sold out Zodiac. Is there really any such thing as leftfield rock anymore? If there is, it certainly ain't Bullet Union, who are only a couple of jerky corners away from being a stright up melodic punk band. Which doesn't mean, of course, that they are a bad band by any means, just not a vastly moving one. Perhaps this set, complete with broken strings, isn't the ideal one on which to judge them, but by the end of the weekend BU had become a pleasant yet nondescript haze in the memory's mniddle distance, obscured by superior acts.

One of whom are Bristol's Ivory Springer. Drafted in at late notice to replace Giddy Motors who split up after the lineup was annoucned (Hey, it's a charity gig, they should be forced to play by Dickensian officials!) Ivory Springer add a dash of wit to the still half-empty Zodiac. Well, the "Four Tet only" brigade have missed out and no mistake, passing up half an hour which is as intelligent and amusing in its musical angularity as in its hilarious ad libs. Admittedly the format isn't revolutionary, and I overheard the name Big Black being spoken behind me at least once, but there's an undeniable force and character to their three-piece bludgeoning that ensures a warm reception.

As well as being the feeling brought on by standing in the dingy confines of The Zodiac drinking expensive cheap lager for two full days, Ill Ease is also the name of a sassy New York one woman band. Structuring rootsy new wave tunes from a series of fuzzy guitar and drum loops, Elizabeth Sharp delivers a yelpingly idiosyncratic set that is equal parts Dylan and Peaches. There is a slight fear that this is only interesting because there's just one of her, and that a full band would reveal the limitations in the songwriting, but it's still a barrelfull of fun, which thankfully throws a little NYC swagger into a bill mostly populated by awkward avantniks.

The demands of a hungry stomach and an eight o'clock pass out limit meant that I sadly missed most of Shooting At Unarmed Men. The five minutes I caught at the end appeared to offer the fine balance of humour, bile and naked agression that characterised John Chapple's previous band, McLusky, but perhaps that's not award winning journalistic insight...

There's a certain type of aged female relative that only ever says two things. First off, they'll meet you at birthday parties with the stalwart, "My, haven't you grown?", whereas in later years, you'll bump into them somewhat less frequently at funerals to be greeted with "My, you haven't changed a bit". Data Panik, effectively the new face of Bis, inspire both of these reactions simultaneously. Haven't they grown: the once smug and tinny rhythms have been replaced by a muscular rock attack. They haven't changed a bit: the songs are still hung on playground-simple vocal lines screamed out in the style of the Tantrum Tartrazine Vocal Consort. Perhaps wordy verses would be better served by being performed by one person at a time, so that we had some tiny idea of what the tunes were supposed ot be about, but overall Data Panik sent a mighty streak of joyful pop music over a somewhat obtuse weekend, like a splurge of squirty cream over elaborate confectionary.

Explosions In The Sky's first number opens with a langurous, glistening guitar part sounding something like Another Green World-era Eno taking on a lost track from The Bends. Sadly, this beautiful beginning decays into a dull, foursquare post-rock trudge, If MFI sold neo-Mogwai instrumentals they'd sound like this. In fact they'd sound slightly more intriguing, as there'd probably be piece that wouldn't quite fit that you'd have to hammer in with the end of a screwdriver, whereas EITS are spotlessly, tediously neat and tidy in their predictable guitar peaks and troughs. Maybe they'd work better if I came to them with fresh easr and unscrawled notebook, maybe I'm not in the mood, maybe 75% of The Zodiac, who are clearly loving every minute, are more discerning than I, but my attentuion soon wandered. Unfortunately for my general health, it wandered to the bar.

Four Tet's earkly work was a highly original melange of electronically treated folky offcuts, like The Infredible String Band's knuckles and kneecaps tossed into a techno bucket. His more recent material has developed in a chunkier, more organic direction, without losing any of the individuality. In a live setting the elctronica element is naturally foregrounded, though Kieron Hebden's abiding interest in jazz and improv means that we get something far more engaged and mutable than most mouseclickers can offer. This is both Four Tet's strength and his weakness, in that every show has an entirely different shape and texture, with long extemporised passages growing from the familiar material, but also in that there is the occasional longeur during which it sounds like Hebden is twiddling one of his knobs back and forth waiting for the next flash of inspiration. The conclusion to be drawn is that it's tough to be a solo improvisor, whether you've got a rack of machinery or a battered banjo, and that Hebden is good, but not yet up with the greats. Let's not forget, however, that this is ultimately techno, and there are some lovely post-electro 909 passages pumping that last dram of energy from our tired frames. There's a tiny part of me that worries that anything with a vaguely insistent beat would sound like manna by this point in proceedings, but that's not important right now. What's important is that we just witnessed some truly live electronica that, despite some limp moments, has kept us fully intrigued. He move we? Just about, just about.