Here are my favourite 5 Oxford records of 2011. I wrote this for www.musicinoxford.co.uk, but they didn't appreciate they were in alphabetical order. Never mind. I also wrote a little precis of the year, whcih boiled down to "why can't anyone write as well as me?", so I'll leave that out for now.
Borderville – Metamorphosis: An octagonal package bursting with pretension, playfulness, performance and pop music. New developments in theatrical rock from the in sect.
Coloureds – Tom Hanks EP: A grubby confused no man’s land in the ongoing dance music war between the brain and the feet.
Duotone – Ropes: Perfectly turned studio folk knick-knacks that are as intriguingly mysterious as they are artfully decorative.
Fixers – Here Comes 2001 So Let’s All Head For The Sun EP: A paean to the Beach Boys and Ibiza house made from pastels, sherbert and reverb. It was even mixed by someone called Bryan Wilson, what are the chances?
Spring Offensive – A Stutter & A Start single: Suppliers, along with Fixers, of truck’s other great Oxford set this year, the ever-resourceful Spring Offensive offer us, not only a clipped piece of pop yearning, but a neat one-shot video and a colouring book
Showing posts with label Duotone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Duotone. Show all posts
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
Friday, 30 September 2011
The Hemp Brothers
When I was younger I used to get angry about people discussing the weather. Now I disagree, all I can think today is "Fuck me, it's hot for September". You can scoff, but you're thinking it too (unless you're one of the people from other continents who visits this blog: hello, foreigners! Youre not real, of course, are you? Just web-bot type things I suspect).
DUOTONE – ROPES (ECC Records)
There’s a sense of retreating into safety about Duotone. Not only are the band named after an old printing technique, but their promotional material is steeped in sepia Edwardiana, and despite copious use of loop pedals their music nods towards well-behaved salon folk. Add a few lyrics about the hermetic safety of an old-fashioned middle class childhood, all bedtime stories and warm nurseries, and you’d be forgiven for thinking that Duotone are a soppy panacea for delicate wallflowers who think the world is moving too fast and who wish they were back at prep school.
But you’d be wrong. Comforting and hushed the music might be, all deep in the womb of Barney Morse-Brown’s impeccable cello, but this is far more than insipid ambience. Not only are there moments of chilling eeriness throughout the album, but the music is restlessly inventive. When it might have been easy for Duotone to stick with some whispered melodies and a few pretty James Garrett guitar parts, they slip some eclectic elements into the album: “Walking To The Shore” starts with a stately promenade that owes something to British minimalism, before introducing a spikily elegant vocal line that reminds us of The High Llamas. Later, “Alphabet” leaps halfway through from bucolic lullaby to something that isn’t far from a Knight Rider chase theme. “Broken Earth” is a high point, a “Hansel & Gretel” referencing chunk of goth folk that reminds us of an urbane take on 60s experimental folk, a clean-shaven Comus if you will.
There are a couple of mis-steps on Ropes, from the fluffy Disney refrain of “’Till It’s Over” to the directionless doodle of “Powder House”, wordless female vocals flitting politely about like “The Great Gig In The Sky” repackaged for Habitat, but these are minor blemishes. Ropes is a gorgeous record that is immaculately performed and recorded, but which still retains an enticing air of melancholic mystery: for all their abilities, this is the important element most Sunday supplement boutique folk acts seem to be missing.
DUOTONE – ROPES (ECC Records)
There’s a sense of retreating into safety about Duotone. Not only are the band named after an old printing technique, but their promotional material is steeped in sepia Edwardiana, and despite copious use of loop pedals their music nods towards well-behaved salon folk. Add a few lyrics about the hermetic safety of an old-fashioned middle class childhood, all bedtime stories and warm nurseries, and you’d be forgiven for thinking that Duotone are a soppy panacea for delicate wallflowers who think the world is moving too fast and who wish they were back at prep school.
But you’d be wrong. Comforting and hushed the music might be, all deep in the womb of Barney Morse-Brown’s impeccable cello, but this is far more than insipid ambience. Not only are there moments of chilling eeriness throughout the album, but the music is restlessly inventive. When it might have been easy for Duotone to stick with some whispered melodies and a few pretty James Garrett guitar parts, they slip some eclectic elements into the album: “Walking To The Shore” starts with a stately promenade that owes something to British minimalism, before introducing a spikily elegant vocal line that reminds us of The High Llamas. Later, “Alphabet” leaps halfway through from bucolic lullaby to something that isn’t far from a Knight Rider chase theme. “Broken Earth” is a high point, a “Hansel & Gretel” referencing chunk of goth folk that reminds us of an urbane take on 60s experimental folk, a clean-shaven Comus if you will.
There are a couple of mis-steps on Ropes, from the fluffy Disney refrain of “’Till It’s Over” to the directionless doodle of “Powder House”, wordless female vocals flitting politely about like “The Great Gig In The Sky” repackaged for Habitat, but these are minor blemishes. Ropes is a gorgeous record that is immaculately performed and recorded, but which still retains an enticing air of melancholic mystery: for all their abilities, this is the important element most Sunday supplement boutique folk acts seem to be missing.
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.
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