Purgatory Thinktank

Got to be quick today, I have a house full of visitors and need to go to a wedding soon.  So, commence copy and paste.  I'm, a bit embarassed about the last line in this, but I'll leave it in.  That's what happens when you write reviews on Christmas day after a quick sherry.

LIMBO KIDS – WANDERLUST EP (Own label)

Has someone cool got an uncle who went into a coma in about July 1988?  Because, in Oxford especially, the cool kids seem to be making music that is, not so much generically retro, as deliberately mimetic of this precise period: it’s as if the movers, shakers and Tumblrati were preparing a sonic welcoming committee for somebody’s putative return to consciousness.  This EP (not explicitly released under the Oxonian People’s Front moniker of Blessing Force, but with links to Trophy Wife and Rhosyn, so it’s as near as dammit) is almost comically exact in its recreation of the post-synth pre-rave pop of ’88 and ’89, and yet is, unexpectedly, pretty great.

Limbo Kids – no, sorry, LIMBO\\KIDS, as the record artwork would have it; why have designers started approaching their keyboards like drunken schizophrenics from the seventeenth century, and when the hell will new band names stop looking like swearwords from Asterix? – feature James Hitchman from Alphabet Backwards, and continue his recent quest to reduce pop music to one single, all-engulfing vocal hook.  His part on “Heartshots” is so simple it makes “Blink Of An Eye” sound like “Bohemian Rhapsody”, but it’s woven so well over a funky-ish drummer and fruity organ rhythm that the track doesn’t sound simplistic.  There are strong hints of late ‘80s dancefloor monsters like Jellybean Benitez and even Betty Boo in the backing, but the elegant placement of the vocal lines makes this a surprisingly satisfying piece, capable of inspiring multiple listens.  It should be a hollow pastiche, but emerges against all the odds as an enjoyable song.

The track “Wanderlust” runs tearfully from the club to a draughty teenage garret, but is equally spotless in its vintage, sounding a lot like one of the more melancholic tracks from Prefab Sprout’s From Langley Park To Memphis.  Again, there’s not much material here to play with, but it’s so artfully put together that it feels like a weighty statement, not a sonic souffle.  Rose Dagul’s funeral cortege cello is absolutely perfect in its stately sadness, and we love the ghostly, well-kempt goth air of the lightly reverbed drum machine.

Sadly, the final track breaks the spell somewhat.  “Desire” isn’t dire, but the vocals suddenly sound drab and wheedling, and the whole piece sounds like a pretty dull bit of album track studio confectionary: there’s a reason why Climie Fisher have been forgotten, you know.  Still, we’ll forgive this one misstep if it means we can enjoy the gorgeous cultivated misery of “Wanderlust” again.

Oh, welcome back, uncle.  Did you sleep well?  Yes, Dr Who is still on telly, but we’d better have a chat about Jimmy Saville...

Peephole Skills

Bought the new Scott Walker album today, and a couple of random cheap records by Yacht and John McCusker.  Let's crack open the Harvey's Bristol Cream, for a proper Christmas Eve. 

WELCOME TO PEEPWORLD – CHARM OFFENSIVE (Big Red Sky)

The cover of this EP features a photo of Welcome To Peepworld that’s clearly intended to echo Grant Wood’s painting “American Gothic” (whereas Bert Audubade’s resemblance to a member of Grinderman is probably coincidental). It tells you a lot about a duo that has a traditional craftsman’s touch, and an eye on the darker, sterner side of their craft.  It’s definitely the latter part of the equation that we enjoy, and a couple of tracks here, “All you Need” and “Fool”, are immaculately performed, and wispy sweet, but a little generic.   Things are definitely improved when the mood turns blacker and when Fi McFall pushes her voice beyond its natural warmth into more ravaged tones.  On “Help Me” or the title track she rises to a yearning corncrake screel that teeters on the far edge of melodicism, and the effect is captivating.  At its best, this record reminds us of Kristin Hersh’s early 90s material, simple guitar strumming overlaid by wild-eyed drama and elegantly swelling strings (courtesy of the wonderful Barney Morse-Brown); if it can’t always keep up the emotional intensity, it at least never stumbles into open mike self-pity, and it does boast the best piece of singalong a capella break-up vitriol you’ll hear this year. Charm offensive?  Stick to the bitterness, Peepworld, it’s far more interesting.

Lau Played!

Contemporary World Good: I'm listening to the new Death Grips album, which I downloaded for free.  Why don't you?

Contemporary World Bad:  The new iTunes.  Is that not repulsive?  Maybe it's good if you want to put your earbuds in a cloud and tag each semibreve (or something), but if you just use it to load an iPod and burn CDs, it's a pain in the arse.

LAU – DHP Promotions, Jericho, 16/11/12

Enjoying a pre-gig pint in the Gardener’s Arms, Jericho, we admire the old records displayed round the walls.  What a great way to celebrate vinyl, we think; followed by, well, not as much as actually playing it.  We’re sorely tempted to indulge some proper vinylphilia, and half inch a twelve inch, and that’s the paradox: as soon as you start actively celebrating something, you’re effectively admitting its demise - the living need no eulogies, after all.  Which makes Lau an interesting band.  The gig’s promoters describe them as sounding like Godspeed You! Black Emperor, which they do, but only in the sense that a shrew probably looks like a puma from the point of view of a cuttlefish.  Crazy comparisons aside, it’s quite hard to pigeonhole an eclectic trio that fights hard to walk between the twin evils of preserving folk as a taxidermied museum piece and clogging the arteries of a living tradition with an excess of gloopy crossover syrup. 

And, to a great extent, they succeed.  The playing is impeccable, especially Aidan O’Rourke’s fiddle, the mid-range so creamy and rich, the phrasing so natural, you’d swear it was talking to you, murmuring secrets so comfortingly indulgent they’d make Nigella sound like Dot Cotton.  The atmosphere is wonderful, too: some of the apparent ad libs were probably well aired, but they stopped the gig getting too salon polite or rock pompous.  There are impressive musical twists to discover, “Horizontigo” displaying the clockwork sugar locals might associate with Message To Bears, and “Far From Portland” a stately plucked coda that reminds us unexpectedly of Papa M.  There are also less successful departures from the folk path, like fuzzy laptop snuffles somewhat akin to Four Tet, and it’s frustrating to watch Martin Green leave off the spry accordion lines to tinkle faux-atmospherically at a Rhodes.

Folk trios don’t normally sell out the Jericho, or require much award storage space, so it would be easy to assume that Lau had cynically cross-bred their music to make it palatable. It would also be downright wrong, as the honest love of what they’re playing oozes from the musicians.  It’s just that, in general, the more folk they are, the more we like them, and the pieces that transport us are “Torsa”, with its lively Scottish rhythms, and Kris Drever’s lovely, straight take on Lal Waterson’s “Midnight Feast”.  Not perfect, then, but still great to see a band with a love of British folk, and wide enough tastes to distract the barman at the Gardener’s whilst we swipe that old Warp EP.