Appeering So

Here's a review from Nightshift and an article from The Ocelot, nice and simple.  And a big hello to any Americans or Canadians - apparently a bunch of you spent a long time on this site on the 25th.  I'm sure you're just little web program thingies, but welcome all the same.

It’s a little sad that, although ostensibly removed from the external editorial pressures of bullying record companies and advertisers’ grubby expectations, writing about Oxfordshire music continually covers the same acts.  But how can I balance this?  If you’ve searched out this tiny fragment of the magazine, you doubtless already know Spring Offensive are fantastic.  You’ll already have danced drunkenly to a Rabbit Foot Spasm Band gig.  You’ll already have investigated The Cellar Family.  You’ll already be uncertain about that new Foals LP.  So, let’s talk about a band from the past. 

The Evenings were a noughties collective built around drummer Mark Wilden.   On record they made clean, often melancholic techno-pop tracks; live, in contrast, they tended to chuck varying constellations of performers at the same backing tracks in a defiant act of euphoric stadium dada cabaret (all the musicians were part of a local enclave who continually guested in each other’s projects, so that going to gigs in that era felt like a sweatier version of Cloud Atlas).  If you enjoyed The Evenings at the time, you’ll have a favourite moment (toast at Truck, anyone?).  If you missed them, go to www.markwilden.co.uk to see what you could have won: all the recordings are there to be downloaded for a small price.  Of course, although ex-members are now in great Oxford acts as diverse as Space Heroes Of The People, Flights Of Helios, Komrad and The Brickwork Lizards, The Evenings never officially disbanded.  If every Ocelot reader got in touch...

SEAMING TO/ KIRA KIRA, OCM, The North Wall, 15/3/13

There’s a lot to like about Kira Kira’s tribute to Sigridur Nielsdottir, dubbed Grandma Lo-fi, who made 59 albums in her Icelandic living room in her 70s.  Unfortunately, they all happen on the top of each other, and last about 30 seconds each.  Over the sort of library glitchtronica typical of her label Morr, Kira Kira throws abstractedly dramatic whispers and indulges in close-miked abuse of a music box whilst tweaking hisses and hums from eviscerated circuitry. Somewhere in the flurry of electric crackles, breathy vocals and fragmented beats is some fantastic music, but it feels as though we’re thumbing through the tesserae, rather than admiring the mosaic.

Seaming To and her mother, concert pianist Enloc Wu, perform a song-cycle dedicated to their (grand)mother.  Any fears that this will be a sincere but sugary affair, like a Race For Life blog set to synth pop backing, are smashed as the eerie opening vocal collage leads into mysterious Debussy piano.  Judy Kendall’s subtly allusive lyrics dodge the saccharine too, perhaps addressing cultural changes in three generations of a Chinese family: “I only look the part in photographs/ this hand me down that doesn’t fit” probably isn’t a line St Winifred’s School Choir ever sung.  To’s vocals are superb, edging from a steely operatic imperative to a bittersweet jazzy intimacy – “Through” sounds like “Je Ne Regrette Rien” rewritten by Erik Satie – but it’s Wu’s piano playing that’s the real revelation.  Every keystroke has its own distinct character, whether she’s whipping up a blizzard of icy high notes, laying down some stately chords or expertly mimicking the rhythms of speech like a classically controlled Cecil Taylor.  The downside of this varied programme is that whenever Wu’s not playing it feels like a wasted opportunity, although sections like the excellent Caretaker haze of a Guangdong folk tune lost in electronic mist and e-bowed zither can hold their own.  Good to find that artists can approach the theme of grandparenthood at a level higher than Clive Dunn and Peter Kay.

Funeral For A Spendor

According to the Stasi-like methods with which I observe your activity, the last person to come to this site through an external link came from the website of an early music ensemble I reviewed in two sentences 8.5 years ago.  That's kind of fun, isn't it?  They were a good act, too, so far as I recall, and I'm glad to see they're still going.  Go to http://www.wildruby.co.uk/skeletoncrew and repay the favour.

DEATH OF HI-FI – ANTHROPOCENE (BG Records)

Death Of Hi Fi.  Whether we’re meant to make this connection or not, it’s a fitting name for a hip hop act.  As more and more music is listened to on mobiles and tinny laptop speakers, many producers are mastering their tracks to work best when shared on someone’s phone in a bus queue, not spun on 1200s attached to a fat sound system, and it’s the post-hip hop diaspora that’s leading the game, changing the sound of the genre from the bottom up.  The hallowed boom-bap has been replaced by the airy piff-paff.  Whether this is a harmless step in the evolution of music distribution or a sonic tragedy is a doctorate yet to be written, but it’s certainly interesting in this instance, as this album is lush, deep and layered, yet doesn’t tend to rely on a booming kick drum or a blue smoke bass fug. 

The concept behind the record is that various aliens have interpreted earth culture based on snatches they had picked up on radio waves.  To be honest, after the international collage of voices that makes up “Hello From The Children Of Earth”, that brings to mind OMD’s speaking clock sampling “Time Zones”, this conceit is unlikely to remain at the forefront of your mind, but on a simpler level, interpretation is paramount here, as DOHF have drafted in a wide selection of vocalists to augment their tracks.  These range from prevalent local names like Half Decent and Asher Dust, to proper coups, like Dizzy Dustin from California’s Ugly Duckling.  Dustin’s track “Bullspit” (no relation to the Shaodow single) is possibly the pick of a very impressive album, throwing some excellent rhymes and a ridiculously infectious hook over a lolloping left hand piano line that isn’t a million miles away from a soulful take on Talk Talk’s “Life’s What You Make It”.  It’s an example amongst many on Anthropocene of raps with real character – whether or not anyone can imagine dial-twiddling ETs on this record, there’s no shortage of mic-troubling MCs, with a variety of accents and angles, which makes a change from the identikit bars we hear so often on hip hop albums, in Oxfordshire or beyond.

The downside is that this record dips when the vocalists take a backseat.  There’s nothing at all wrong with the instrumental cuts, but they sound as though they’re backing tracks in need of a strong vocal.   At least there’s plenty of variation, from the epic “Entering Orbit (Intro)” to the cheeky chiptune scuffle of “Anthropocene (1UP Overture)”.  Like so many good hip hop producers, DOHF are at their best letting subtle tweaks and touches bring out the flavours of their MCs, rather than composing instrumentals with their own cohesive narrative: it’s the Prince Of Persia synthline on “Manamals” or the mid-80s Tangerine Dream chug of “Until I Stop Dreaming” that we love, rather than the slightly over-egged pomp of the title track (plus there are the ghosts of some cheesy Highlander guitar wails haunting a few dank corners).  So, perhaps the record is a touch overlong, but it is still deeply impressive, and comes highly recommended.  Anyway, what does it matter?  Who the hell listens to whole albums nowadays, anyway?  No time, bruv, the bus should be here in a minute.