I’m writing this after spending a long day at the Wittstock
festival in Culham, an annual whirlwind of music, charity and impossibly
laconic sound engneers. Highlights this
year included sly slide boogie from Beard Of Destiny, top notch cubist pop from
Von Braun and a new, OMD flavoured tune from Space Heroes Of The People, not to
mention a T-shirt so hideous I had to buy one to show sceptical future
grandchildren: and that was only one day out of three. Rural Oxfordshire has a strange habit of
throwing together tiny festivals in its odd outposts and tired market towns, so
this month’s recommendation isn’t for a particular act or promoter, I’m simply
advising you to scour the listings for one of these jumbled, noisy labours of
love in back bars and marquees in every corner of the county.
They tend to be free or damned cheap, and often in
support a worthy cause, so take a chance.
You’ll find old boys playing afternoon blues, and slick indie nippers
very slightly out of their comfort zones; drunken hoedowns and glossy molls
sniggering into their Bacardi at the idea of someone making music with a
laptop; good ale and ropy burgers; bemused bar staff and tiny kids blowing
bubbles in front of expletive-spitting punk bands; chummy heckling and interminable
raffles. In an era when most festivals
feel like AGMs at a deli counter, and messages are as subtle as “Hey! Wow!
Music is great! Now buy some Red
Bull!”, it’s refreshing to find people making music for its own sake, and
supporting deserving charities into the bargain.
ROBERT DIGWEED COLLECTIVE – FIRST IMPRESSIONS (Dig
For Victory Records)
We still call them demos, out of habit. Once upon a time artists made rough versions
of tracks quickly either as a calling card for the doorkeeper of the
professional music world, or as a reference point to work on arrangements; nowadays
anyone can rustle up a decent recording, and you just need a laptop, not a
pressing plant, to release it on the world.
In fact, the difference between the demos at the back of this magazine,
and the “Own Label” releases on these pages is roughly the difference between
terrorists and freedom fighters – it all depends on where you’re standing. This
debut album promises “fresh new ideas to Jazz from a generation of new blood”,
but sounds like a shiny promo to get juicy corporate gigs: it’s a demo, if ever
we saw one. It matches their website,
which is one giant ad brochure; everyone’s gotta make a buck, but it would be
nice to see passion, not testimonies from the Rotary Club of Beeston.
However, strip away the lifeless, wheedling vocal
numbers (especially the Katy Perry cover) and the unconvincing dancefloor
grooves, and there is something worthwhile hidden here. Digweed has a relaxed sax style, with a very
pure tone, exuding plenty of west coast Stan Getz warmth, and his trumpet
player has an excellent high cholesterol Freddie Hubbard sound. They cover Hubbard’s “Red Clay” with rich,
cinnamony double tracked horns and a Steely Dan heathaze guitar, and their take
on “Comin’ Home Baby!” is equally smooth and friendly – the languid cocktail
quack of the wah-wah guitar isn’t to our taste, but it’s otherwise well-made,
comfortable music. For all Bandcamp’s
anaemic waffle about music “stylised with a Jazz-Funk fusion aesthetic”, or the
frankly desperate tag “Instrumental hip hop” – twice, mind! - this band is at
its best making simple, unflustered music.
We’d like to see them capitalise on this, and concentrate on an early
Hancock/mid-60s Cannonball vibe, but we suppose Beeston Rotary have other
ideas. And they’re paying the bills,
right, Rob?
