Funny thing: when The Jukes sent an email to the Nightshift editor about my review, one of their points was that this website wasn't very popular. Since then, the review in question has comfortably become the most viewed page on here in recent memory, and most people seem to have been linked ffrom Facebook. The Jukes' Facebook? Or just a coincidence? I've no idea, but it's sort of intriguing.
Oh, and yes, I am unpopular. That's how you can tell I'm good.
SMILEX/ THE CELLAR FAMILY/ DEER CHICAGO, Coo Coo Club, Jericho, 2/3/12
We saw Deer Chicago a few years ago, and were impressed. Since then they’ve delivered on their potential, and got very slightly worse. Their sound has improved enormously, and is now a huge cascade of emotive noise that fair tumbles out of them. They’re capable of glistering crescendos, but sometimes we wish they’d vary the dynamics, and step away from the screaming stadium in their minds, to regain some of the subtlety of old. All this epic swooning is like super-strong Bavarian lager they sell in your local dodgy cornerstore: doubtless intoxicating, but not big on delicate flavours. A very good band, then, but perhaps not the one we expected them to become, which is out fault, not theirs.
The Cellar Family are less a band, more an annoying muscular twitch in sonic form. Tonight, they play beautifully, lancing their music’s scabrous boils with razor punk incisions, and flooding The Jericho with horrific, visceral imagery delivered with scientific coldness. It’s like a cross between Weird Tales and The Lancet, all buoyed aloft by wittily slurred guitar and snidely forceful rhythms. Humdrum punks take note: everyone can sneer, but only a band like this can actually communicate disgust.
Smilex are celebrating a decade of nefarious activity, balancing on a latex tightrope strung between twin poles of grubby punk sleaze and dumb cock rock preening. Whilst it’s tempting to dismiss Smilex as an eager panting puppy amongst rock beasts – gags like Motley Cruecut and Judas Verger would be almost too easy – tonight’s gig reminds you of just how good they are. Lee Christian, of course, embodies his stage school punk persona, dressed as Kenny Everett in the Blue Oyster Club, but his vocal yelps and drawls really do carry the songs well. The band spends a lot of time throwing rock shapes that probably moved from parody to habit nine years ago, but by Christ they can kick out a squall. As with Deer Chicago, it’s always best to take Smilex on their own terms. The way to have a bad time at their gigs would be to imagine what a band of this much ability and stage presence could achieve if they had any taste. The way to have a good time is to neck a crème de menthe spritzer and dive into the nearest wall of flesh. Who could complain about ten years of that?
Showing posts with label Coo Coo Club. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Coo Coo Club. Show all posts
Tuesday, 3 April 2012
Saturday, 23 May 2009
There's A Pnak To It
Over at www.oxfordbands.com there's a Punt review by some of the old OHM writers, and it's the first time we've worked together for about 5 years. Exciting stuff. Not for you, for us. A little. Briefly.
Anyway, here's a slight Nightshift review from a little over a year ago - seems like the other day. Also, policemen look young now, Wagon Wheels used to nbe much bigger and Tom Baker was the best Dr Who. Time for my nap...
ELAPSE-O/ PLEASE/ PNAK – Coo Coo Club & Permanent Vacation, The Bully, 6/12/07
We’ve often supposed that Autechre came up with their song titles when they were losing at Scrabble - “Of course it’s a word, it’s a track on our new album!” – and Pnak must have got their name from the same place. Names, however, seem unimportant when the first track consists of gloriously greasy electronic tones smeared over some sprightly drumming, and sounds like Fripp & Eno’s No Pussyfooting being played at the same time as Teach Yourself Afrobeat. A couple of vocal loops aside this sets the tone for the whole of Pnak’s deeply satisfying performance. The abstract tones that are generated from a single Casio keyboard are incredibly visceral and inventive, and even if the drums could do with being a little more decisive, the effect is a surefire winner.
The more pronounceable Please use two tremolo-heavy guitars and a pounding drumkit to make the sort of cross-eyed rockabilly you might get if The Blue Orchids tried to play The Shadows. We find ourselves deeply in favour of this, at least until one of them starts singing, and a random selection of squeaks, groans and burps gets in the way of what could be knockout instrumentals. Shut your mouth, boy, and you’ve got a hell of a band.
Local experimental favourites Elapse-O get rid of the drums, and play seriously fuzzed and reverbed guitar and bass over chugging pre-recorded rhythms, whilst the odd 50s ultra-slapback vocal makes an appearance. The formula is one part shoegazing hum to two parts Suicide’s plastic Elvis trundle, which ought to be a recipe for sonic success, but ends up dull, grey and rather annoying. Perhaps the slightly flat sound of a nearly empty Bully sucked some of the life from the set, but it doesn’t look as though they had much suckable life at the outset. This gig didn’t entice, excite or develop, it just elapsed.
Oh.
Anyway, here's a slight Nightshift review from a little over a year ago - seems like the other day. Also, policemen look young now, Wagon Wheels used to nbe much bigger and Tom Baker was the best Dr Who. Time for my nap...
ELAPSE-O/ PLEASE/ PNAK – Coo Coo Club & Permanent Vacation, The Bully, 6/12/07
We’ve often supposed that Autechre came up with their song titles when they were losing at Scrabble - “Of course it’s a word, it’s a track on our new album!” – and Pnak must have got their name from the same place. Names, however, seem unimportant when the first track consists of gloriously greasy electronic tones smeared over some sprightly drumming, and sounds like Fripp & Eno’s No Pussyfooting being played at the same time as Teach Yourself Afrobeat. A couple of vocal loops aside this sets the tone for the whole of Pnak’s deeply satisfying performance. The abstract tones that are generated from a single Casio keyboard are incredibly visceral and inventive, and even if the drums could do with being a little more decisive, the effect is a surefire winner.
The more pronounceable Please use two tremolo-heavy guitars and a pounding drumkit to make the sort of cross-eyed rockabilly you might get if The Blue Orchids tried to play The Shadows. We find ourselves deeply in favour of this, at least until one of them starts singing, and a random selection of squeaks, groans and burps gets in the way of what could be knockout instrumentals. Shut your mouth, boy, and you’ve got a hell of a band.
Local experimental favourites Elapse-O get rid of the drums, and play seriously fuzzed and reverbed guitar and bass over chugging pre-recorded rhythms, whilst the odd 50s ultra-slapback vocal makes an appearance. The formula is one part shoegazing hum to two parts Suicide’s plastic Elvis trundle, which ought to be a recipe for sonic success, but ends up dull, grey and rather annoying. Perhaps the slightly flat sound of a nearly empty Bully sucked some of the life from the set, but it doesn’t look as though they had much suckable life at the outset. This gig didn’t entice, excite or develop, it just elapsed.
Oh.
Thursday, 26 March 2009
Hard Pill To Swallow
Right, I'm in a hurry tonight, so we'll keep it simple: a recent review, from Nightshift, of three acts: good, so-so, and rubbish. The most fun ratio for a reviewer, really.
THE MEDICINE/ THE MOUNTAIN PARADE/ DUOTONE - Coo Coo Club, Jericho Tavern, 10/1/09
The sonic pairing in the name is presumably that of acoustic guitar and ‘cello, but Duotone is a one man operation, and that man is Barney Morse-Brown. With the aid of a loop pedal Barney strings together some meltingly gorgeous licks and melodic fragments, until his music sounds alternately like Nick Drake in a hall of mirrors, and Sibelius’ “Swan Of Tuonela” caressed by Arthur Russell’s sleepy ghost. The only weak point in a stunning set is the vocal: Barney’s voice, whilst not unpleasant, has all the power and resilience of wet tissue paper, and can’t find a comfortable place in the intricately constructed musical skeins. To be honest, there’s no need to even open your mouth when your ‘cello sings like this, and you’d wait a long long time to see a musician with such a wealth of subtle phrasing opening a gig. Everyone should see Duotone, whether they’re introspective folkies, classical vultures, melodic pop kids or post-rock clever dicks, it’s a treat.
The Mountain Parade’s set is roughly a Concerto For Trumpet, Melodica, Cardigans And Standing Around Sheepishly. Think of the twee-est thing you can, multiply it by glitter to the power of homemade badges, and go from there. The music is quite pleasing – something like Belle & Sebastian at a toddler group – but the performance is so cutesy and ramshackle the only possible reactions are gooey condescension (“How sweet”), or towering rage (“Try to look like you’re making a bloody effort!”). Singer Roxy has a clear limpid voice, and some of the songs are good, especially the history of “Shackleton Bewley, Explorer Extraordinaire”, but whilst we’re not insistent that every gig is a sweat drenched hell pit, we’d rather not feel as if we were watching someone else’s kids in the infant school nativity.
No hint of the unrehearsed or whimsical as The Medicine crack into a tight set of bluesy, roadhouse rock yarns. The playing is faultless, with especial mention for Joel Bassuk’s incisive drumming, but although we have a lot of respect for leader Matt Sage, both for his acoustic performances and his running of the excellent Catweazle and Big Village promotions, the gig gets tedious after about a song and a half. The third number is approximately The Beatles’ “Don’t Let Me Down” as performed by the band who do the incidental music on Friends, whereas the majority of it resembles Bob Dylan’s Oh Mercy LP without the mysterious alchemy that makes it a Dylan album, and whilst we’re not insistent that every show is a heart-rending exploration of the soul, we’d rather not feel as if we were watching someone else’s Dads in a garish small town covers bar on a slow Wednesday.
THE MEDICINE/ THE MOUNTAIN PARADE/ DUOTONE - Coo Coo Club, Jericho Tavern, 10/1/09
The sonic pairing in the name is presumably that of acoustic guitar and ‘cello, but Duotone is a one man operation, and that man is Barney Morse-Brown. With the aid of a loop pedal Barney strings together some meltingly gorgeous licks and melodic fragments, until his music sounds alternately like Nick Drake in a hall of mirrors, and Sibelius’ “Swan Of Tuonela” caressed by Arthur Russell’s sleepy ghost. The only weak point in a stunning set is the vocal: Barney’s voice, whilst not unpleasant, has all the power and resilience of wet tissue paper, and can’t find a comfortable place in the intricately constructed musical skeins. To be honest, there’s no need to even open your mouth when your ‘cello sings like this, and you’d wait a long long time to see a musician with such a wealth of subtle phrasing opening a gig. Everyone should see Duotone, whether they’re introspective folkies, classical vultures, melodic pop kids or post-rock clever dicks, it’s a treat.
The Mountain Parade’s set is roughly a Concerto For Trumpet, Melodica, Cardigans And Standing Around Sheepishly. Think of the twee-est thing you can, multiply it by glitter to the power of homemade badges, and go from there. The music is quite pleasing – something like Belle & Sebastian at a toddler group – but the performance is so cutesy and ramshackle the only possible reactions are gooey condescension (“How sweet”), or towering rage (“Try to look like you’re making a bloody effort!”). Singer Roxy has a clear limpid voice, and some of the songs are good, especially the history of “Shackleton Bewley, Explorer Extraordinaire”, but whilst we’re not insistent that every gig is a sweat drenched hell pit, we’d rather not feel as if we were watching someone else’s kids in the infant school nativity.
No hint of the unrehearsed or whimsical as The Medicine crack into a tight set of bluesy, roadhouse rock yarns. The playing is faultless, with especial mention for Joel Bassuk’s incisive drumming, but although we have a lot of respect for leader Matt Sage, both for his acoustic performances and his running of the excellent Catweazle and Big Village promotions, the gig gets tedious after about a song and a half. The third number is approximately The Beatles’ “Don’t Let Me Down” as performed by the band who do the incidental music on Friends, whereas the majority of it resembles Bob Dylan’s Oh Mercy LP without the mysterious alchemy that makes it a Dylan album, and whilst we’re not insistent that every show is a heart-rending exploration of the soul, we’d rather not feel as if we were watching someone else’s Dads in a garish small town covers bar on a slow Wednesday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
