Contra(ce)ption

"Homercles cares not for beans"

THE FAMILY MACHINE – HOUSES THAT YOU LIVED IN (Beard Museum)

There’s a moment listening to the gorgeous “Quiet As A Mouse” when we realise that it sounds like something from a vintage Oliver Postgate TV show.  Listen to that wiltingly simple vocal melody and those urbanely bucolic drizzles of guitar, and couldn’t this be what Gabriel the Toad might sing if he had to explain something intangibly complex like regret or absence, instead of hot air balloons and sharing?  What makes this album beautiful is not just the lovely sound – although the sound is lovely, from the 60s soundtrack horns and Bacharach bass of “Long Way From Home” to the Golden Syrup Abbey Road warmth of “Morning Song” – but the way that the deftly constructed miniature songs seem to say a lot about huge topics in very few words, like indie folk as written by Saki.  Or Yoda.

The key concept that resurfaces throughout the records is home, whether as welcoming shelter after a hard journey or as mute witness to painful absence: the title track could easily be a rewriting of Philip Larkin’s “Home Is So Sad”, over a melancholic melody that somewhat recalls early 90s R.E.M. It’s not always easy to hone in on what specifically these allusive little songs mean, especially “We Ain’t Going Home” which simply repeats its title in reverberant harmony like the world’s most elegant footie chant, but perhaps they are not supposed to be tied down.  Most great pop music is brash and cocksure, but The Family Machine’s intimate intricacies are more haiku than high kick, and should be cherished as amongst the county’s very best.

We Need To Talk About Jo(h)n

I Googled Myleene Klass quickly whilst writing this review.  Now I see her knickers in my sidebar whenever I go on Facebook.  It must be by far the most commercially viable thing I've Googled in about 2 years.

LCO SOLOISTS & JONNY GREENWOOD, Beard Museum, St John The Evangelist, 21/2/15

There are a number of people who have taken the sometimes shaky walk between pop and classical but, whether they’re iconoclasts who rubbed against their new world (Zappa), surprising traditionalists (Lord; Sting) or vapid embarrassments (Klass), the popular star generally retains centre stage.  Interestingly, neither Jonny Greenwood nor his promo people have over-publicised his recent compositions for concert hall or celluloid and, whilst this event probably sold out more quickly than your average contemporary music gig, it’s clear that serious (if not necessarily austere) music is the sole focus tonight.  Perhaps we should file Greenwood as “cross-under”.

Tellingly, Jonny isn’t onstage that much, leaving the spotlight to the excellent London Contemporary Orchestra Soloists.  His one solo showcase, Reich’s “Electric Counterpoint” has surprisingly bluesy phrasing, as if yanking the airy serenity of Metheny’s famous version down from the clouds to dingy bars and city streets.  As a composer his work is balanced and varied, highlights being “Miniature”, which adds to tambura drones a cold constellation of Satie piano notes and aching violin that is positively Vaughan Williams, and “Future Markets”, a full throttle dirt-ride for strings like a cross between Bernard Herrmann and Can.  Occasionally the soundtrack origins of much of the music can make it feel a little pat and guilty of emotive signposting, but the sound has a depth and mystery that makes it far more Penderecki than Korngold.  Only “Self-Portrait With Seven Fingers” disappoints, using the audience’s phone-triggered tinny plinks to create a Fisher-Price carillon: the aleatory concept is intriguing, but it’s mostly just annoying.

Although the LCO musicians are a honed ensemble, the night’s highlights come from two solo pieces.  Oliver Coates’s version of cello and effects piece “Love” by Mica Levi takes the blasted romanticism of the original version and emphasises a cheap seasick awkwardness, until it resembles V/Vm tackling Nyman, and Anna Lapwood’s take on Messiaen’s Bachian boogie-woogie pile-up “Les Anges” on the SJE’s organ perfectly mixes the twitchy intricacy with the devotional intent.  That the applause for these two pieces is as warm as that for Jonny’s guitar spot speaks volumes about the quality of these performers, and the open-minds of the audience.

The Giddy Goatee

This is a review of a promoter whose gigs I've really enjoyed on many occasions, but the night in question was a bit dank. All those good gigs I saw with pen safely in pocket, & then I go and review this one. So, you can probably taste the conflict betwen wanting to be nice about the organisors, and wanting to be nasty about the acts.

I've kept the "house style"micro-paragraphs this time, just so you can see how the BBC editor used to post the reviews. No matter how glib and pithy I tried to be, I was apparently always too long winded and obtuse, so he hacked the copy into tiny bites of prose. Semi-colons got chopped regularly. Probably fair, I'm a bastard for convoluted, multi-clause sentences, but on the other hand, I think it's best to imagine your readers have got beyond The Magic Faraway Tree in terms of reading comprehension. Actually, this review, like a lot of my BBC efforts, is pretty poor: was this because it was early in my (ha!) career, or because I was trying, and failing, to write like somebody from Look In to keep the powers that be happy?

THE BROTHERS OF INVENTION/EMILY ROLT/LAGRIMA/FATALLY YOURS, Beard Musuem, The Purple Turtle, 11/04

Maybe it's the name, but I always imagined Fatally Yours were a goth band. Perhaps they are normally, but in semi-acoustic formation they sound like an American chart indie band circa 1999, with hints of 70s AM pop. Which is better than it sounds, actually.

There's a pleasant warmth to their two guitar sound and they have a decent clutch of songs - though, whatever your politics, the Iraq song is a royal duffer. Despite the fact that he looks nothing like him, something in the singer's mannerisms (and eyebrows) reminds me of Morrissey. Not that he sounds like Morrissey...he sounds like an American chart indie singer circa 1999. Which is again better than I'm implying.

It's a good little set, and if that sounds patronising, remember that Beard Museum is, by definition, a little gig. Most enjoyable.

Acoustic duo Lagrima has a bunch of songs that sound like 50s jazz stanbards you can't quite place. Whilst this means they don't pack too many surprises, it does mean they come across as elegant and immediate.

The guitarist is incredibly fluent, and the singer, despite her obvious nerves, has a delicious, smoky voice, that really cuts into the heart of the compositions. Their first song features the repeated refrain "Easy", and that's my minor gripe with them: I'd love to see them stray from the path and develop their sound. It's as if they know that anything they do is effortlessly lovely, so play it safe.

Still, if "effortlessly lovely" is my harshest criticism, I think we're onto a winner here...

Emily Rolt is an incredible singer...and by "incredible" I mean "extremely able" rather than "any good". Like many RnB types, warbling Emily seems to have confused vocal dexterity with the ability to interpret a lyric. The again, when a song basically consists of the words "beautiful, beautiful love" repeated for about a week, maybe there's nowhere to go.

I've never liked it much, but Coldplay's "Yellow" does not automatically become more emotionally charged if you play it really slowly and never come close to singing the melody. Emily's constantly singing

.............................and up here

down here


...................................................and over there


for no clear reason. Except that she can, I suppose.

In all fairness, millions of people will love her, and she won't disappoint them, but I need something more.

Emily is great at what she does. Then again, so was jack The Ripper.

ddly, when The Brothers Of Invention took the stage I whispered to my friend, "They look like Maroon 5". "More like Toploader," he replied.

Well, blow me if they don't sound like a cross betwen the two. Their bouncy jazz-pop is fine, but Curiosity has already killed the cat, don't let it kill me too.

At least, this was my first reaction, but by the end of the set they'd just about salvaged it, with some entertaining lite funk tunes, and some neat keyboard playing, so let's average it out to polite ambivalence.

Another varied and interesting line-up from The Beard Museum - far more than just an acoustic night.