And here's part 2. Nothing much more to say tonight, I'm tired; winning the pub quiz by a record margin was nice, but I shoudln't have had that victory pint. In bed with the prom, I suspect.
RIVERSIDE FESTIVAL, Mill Field, Charlbury, 20/6/10
“Please welcome Slantay,” yelps the main stage MC as Sunday kicks off. Well, it’s written Slainte, but pronounced “slawncheh”, meaning “health” or, colloquially, “cheers”; a tough word for an Anglophone, perhaps, but surely if your job basically boiled down to saying the names of bands before they played, you might make the effort to work out what the words sounded like, no? Not as bad as the announcer later on who introduced Redox by telling us they played “one of” his weddings (classy), and yet still laboured under the misapprehension they were called Reedox.
After a slightly scratchy opening Slainte, who are a Gaelic folk act (get away), build to a great head of steam, leavening the predicted foot tapping reels with “La Partida”, a luminescent harp showcase.
Apparently, gents think of the Alphabet Backwards if they’re trying to stave off, shall we say, a particular moment of intimacy. Funny, then, that the band is a huge explosion of pure energetic release. The beauty of the band is that they balance their Sunny Delight exuberance with some excellent song writing, not to mention the fantastically ornate and playful synth lines, that are like being wined and dined by a sexually predatory Ms PacMan. My God, Sunday has started well.
And it doesn’t stop there. Sonny Black is a white haired chap playing acoustic blues, and although we sometimes feel we’ve heard enough white haired chaps playing acoustic blues in provincial music events to last us until the day the lost chord is unearthed, Black really is worth a listen. Not only does he have some effortless bottleneck technique and a great little bucolic melody in the lovely “North Of The Border”, but he can also celebrate Mississippi John Hurt’s “easy-kickin’ fingerpickin’” in an English accent without sounding like a dick. There’s a quiet grace about him and his music, and he should have been higher up the bill with a few more train loads of listeners to greet him.
Lee Christian’s Prohibition Smokers Club are a loose-limbed latin pop jam band, looking like a mushroom ingesting cult pretending to be Kid Creole & The Coconuts. The horns are punchy, and the set is pitched as a little interlude of fun, but still we felt it didn’t quite come together, and a cover of The Fun Lovin’ Criminals’ “Smoke ‘Em If You Got ‘Em” drove us to the bar. Everybody else in the whole of Charlbury seemed to love it, though, so what do we know?
“Think Maroon 5 meets Beverley Knight combined creatively with early Red Hot Chili Peppers,” says the programme’s write up of Alyse In Wonderband. Jesus, if we had thoughts like that we’d turn ourselves in to the nearest police station for the good of the nation. Actually, they’re not bad at all, a youngish band who have a natural control of their pop-funk, and perform it with plenty of vim, Alyse Kimsey’s voice working well above fluent keys. “Creep” in particular (no, not that one) has a groove that even cuts through our professional cynicism.
As is the case every year, billypure make like The Levellers to cheer up the revellers, and if it isn’t a revolutionary leap from their previous sets, they do a good job, as ever, and the James cover is an interesting arrangement. The violin sounds horribly scratchy though – get a new pickup!
The Shakellers make a big-boned chirpy rock racket, something like The Bluetones pepped up on MSG and barndance cider, but The Black Hats do the perky guitar bit far better, their new wave ditties as excitable as a friendly puppy – and, oh look, there’s Lee Christina on guest vocals, with some of that sneering chutzpah we missed from the PSC set. However, it’s Von Braun that really win us over, making a good grungy early Muhhoney noise with drums, two guitars and a frankly buggered mike lead. At times the songs lift off into surreally wired mantras approaching The Pixies at their effervescent best. A great discovery.
You have to wonder how some of the acts find themselves on the Riverside bill, and what they think of it when they get there. Take Dead Like Harry, who have travelled all the way from Sheffield and who have recently toured with Scouting For Girls, do they think “finally, back to the roots”, or “disembowel the agent” when they roll up onto Mill Field? Not to mention all the stall holders selling dayglo dope leaf hoodies and all that crud, who look as though they make about three sales all weekend, do they feel swizzed? Well, fuck ‘em, the Riverside crowd is too sensible for that rubbish – the wacky hats are left to wilt in the sun whilst the home made cakes stall does a justifiably roaring trade.
Dead Like Harry are, of course, awful, but they don’t enrage us as much as we expected, even though they sound like Keane played by Hothouse Flowers. In fact, they come across as a likable bunch, and their piano-flecked pop is easy to tune out whilst finishing the crossword.
Phyal have been warmly welcomed back for a few reunion gigs, and Riverside is exactly the sort of place their approachable rock romps make sense. “Crude” doesn’t quite hit the spot, but after some drumkit surgery and a few swigs of lemon squash – oh, Kevin Eldon, if only you’d been there – “Daisy” flies out of the traps, setting the clattering tone for the next thirty minutes. A superb set but, it must be said, after three reunion gigs Phyal need to stop with the nostalgia and make some new recordings, or shut up!
Nah, only joking, they’re always good value, as are The Mighty Redox. They are a truly under-rated band outside of the furry fraternity in which they move. Nick Clack and Graham Barlow, aside from looking like shiftless dropouts from some Restart scheme for unemployed wizards, are an outstanding rhythm section, but they certainly know their place, leaving the lion’s share of the stage to Phil Freizinger’s fuzzy guitar and the frankly loopy Sue Smith’s acid-sauteed vocal wailing. Set highlight “Eternity” sounds like Gong freaking out in a banshee wife swapping party, until the world is fed through Freizinger’s giant phase pedal, which probably has its own generator backstage.
The weekend finished with The Quiet Men, who aren’t the band aging scenesters will remember, but an Irish folk rock band, with a big line in Pogues songs. Well, that’s OK, we all like The Pogues, right? Crowdpleasing, we suppose, but a disappointingly unadventurous end to the weekend. But then again, the beauty of Riverside is that it can entertain old West Oxfordshire boozers, sun-drenched children, well-heeled salmon sandwich picnickers as well as miserable musical zealots like ourselves. And, the real miracle is not that they’ve managed to put on a festival for free that aims to please so many people, but that they actually succeed. We’ll definitely be back for more next year.
Slantay.
Showing posts with label Phyal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Phyal. Show all posts
Thursday, 22 July 2010
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Mug Games
Pretty duff review this. I'm told that there was only one vocalist in The Process. Hmmm.
Also, clearly it's "dolls" closing in for Harry Angel, not "doors, I've realised. Obviously.
VARIOUS - FRESH FACES FOR THE MODERN AGE (Rivet Gun)
Local compilations are seemingly proliferating across Oxfordshire at an ever-increasing rate. With so many to choose from, the most pertinent question is how they should function: are they best designed as a random promotional snapshot of the county's musical landscape, or do they make a greater impression when constructed as a cohesive album? There's something to be said for both approaches, but it's a fact that those compilations that cast their net in the tightest arc are the most successful.
With that apparently in mind, Fresh Faces collects music solely from the forgotten realm of heavy rock, nestling somewhere between the extremes of metal's sonic assault and the abstract art-noise rock kingdom. The fact that all the acts are represeneted by at least two tracks adds to the impression that this album is a considered statement, not a ragabag snatch of pals. OK, so the CD is well put together, but is the music any good? Let's start at the bottom, then.
Their frankly embarrassing sleevenotes tell us that "journalists seem to think they are the poets", so just to avoid any confusing interjections from my starving muse, let's keep things simple: Verbal Kink aren't very good. True, the band have left behind the castoff grunge sounds of old for something a little more rhythmically intircate, but even at their best the compositions sound bolted together rather than well arranged. The true drawback is the vocals, however, which are petulantly adenoidal on "Tramazapan Alcohol Suntan" and a weedy scream on "Skeleton Dance".
The Process are the only band here to flirt with metal, and again they're let down by the vocals, if not quite so shockingly as Verbal Kink. They employ the nu-metal tag team of meldoic singer, with a tendency to drift towards rap phrasing, and impenetrable growly monster. Neither vocalist is that shoddy individually, but they just don't gel that well, especially on "Proud To Be", which is strong at either end, but flaccid in the middle, like an old hammock.
Phyal up the ante somewhat, but they're an illogical proposition, being a good band playing rubbish music. How do you judge a tight and exciting live band with a striking frontwoman whose every alternate song sounds like Lita Ford's "Kiss Me Dealdy"? Just shrug your shoulders, shake your hair and go along with it, I guess, and dumb anthem "Crude" (sample lyric: "dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty thing") would be the ideal soundtrack. Isn't there a little fourth former from 1987 in all of us somewhere?
Strike a light, guv'nor! Tim Lovegrove from Junkie Brush comes across as incredibly British amongst all the mid-Atlantic accents on this record. Not that we're mocking, as a natural singing voice is one of the things that make Junkie Brush a refreshingly honest, no nonsense band. Straight up, well played, head pummelling punk rock is always a pleasure, even if the recorded tracks lack their live bite, especially "Problem-Reaction-Solution". "Monkey Grinder" has more of a brooding quality, and the quieter delivery stops them from falling into a declamatory Sham 69 pothole and keeps interest levels raised.
The true heroes of this CD are Harry Angel. Ironically, they're probably the least rock of all the bands, yet they cast the most menacing shadow. Live favourite "Death Valley Of The Dolls" is an over-excited yelping little thing, borne up by sprightly snare heavy fills, and its sparse tale of red eyes, unanswered calls and doors closing in creates an atmopshere of suspicion. The much vaunted Pablo Honey influence is evident on "Striptease", where the falsetto elisions are a joy, deliberately edging up to each note like a film noir fink sidling out of a bar room brawl. Harry Angel have acheived what so many face-painted, snarling metallers miss: they are genuinely unnerving, and hugely entertaining.
It's unlikely that we'll see a better compilation of these sorts of bands emerging in the foreseeable future (until Fresh Faces Volume 2, of course), so if you have a taste for more concise song-based rock, we'd advise tracking down a copy.
Also, clearly it's "dolls" closing in for Harry Angel, not "doors, I've realised. Obviously.
VARIOUS - FRESH FACES FOR THE MODERN AGE (Rivet Gun)
Local compilations are seemingly proliferating across Oxfordshire at an ever-increasing rate. With so many to choose from, the most pertinent question is how they should function: are they best designed as a random promotional snapshot of the county's musical landscape, or do they make a greater impression when constructed as a cohesive album? There's something to be said for both approaches, but it's a fact that those compilations that cast their net in the tightest arc are the most successful.
With that apparently in mind, Fresh Faces collects music solely from the forgotten realm of heavy rock, nestling somewhere between the extremes of metal's sonic assault and the abstract art-noise rock kingdom. The fact that all the acts are represeneted by at least two tracks adds to the impression that this album is a considered statement, not a ragabag snatch of pals. OK, so the CD is well put together, but is the music any good? Let's start at the bottom, then.
Their frankly embarrassing sleevenotes tell us that "journalists seem to think they are the poets", so just to avoid any confusing interjections from my starving muse, let's keep things simple: Verbal Kink aren't very good. True, the band have left behind the castoff grunge sounds of old for something a little more rhythmically intircate, but even at their best the compositions sound bolted together rather than well arranged. The true drawback is the vocals, however, which are petulantly adenoidal on "Tramazapan Alcohol Suntan" and a weedy scream on "Skeleton Dance".
The Process are the only band here to flirt with metal, and again they're let down by the vocals, if not quite so shockingly as Verbal Kink. They employ the nu-metal tag team of meldoic singer, with a tendency to drift towards rap phrasing, and impenetrable growly monster. Neither vocalist is that shoddy individually, but they just don't gel that well, especially on "Proud To Be", which is strong at either end, but flaccid in the middle, like an old hammock.
Phyal up the ante somewhat, but they're an illogical proposition, being a good band playing rubbish music. How do you judge a tight and exciting live band with a striking frontwoman whose every alternate song sounds like Lita Ford's "Kiss Me Dealdy"? Just shrug your shoulders, shake your hair and go along with it, I guess, and dumb anthem "Crude" (sample lyric: "dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty thing") would be the ideal soundtrack. Isn't there a little fourth former from 1987 in all of us somewhere?
Strike a light, guv'nor! Tim Lovegrove from Junkie Brush comes across as incredibly British amongst all the mid-Atlantic accents on this record. Not that we're mocking, as a natural singing voice is one of the things that make Junkie Brush a refreshingly honest, no nonsense band. Straight up, well played, head pummelling punk rock is always a pleasure, even if the recorded tracks lack their live bite, especially "Problem-Reaction-Solution". "Monkey Grinder" has more of a brooding quality, and the quieter delivery stops them from falling into a declamatory Sham 69 pothole and keeps interest levels raised.
The true heroes of this CD are Harry Angel. Ironically, they're probably the least rock of all the bands, yet they cast the most menacing shadow. Live favourite "Death Valley Of The Dolls" is an over-excited yelping little thing, borne up by sprightly snare heavy fills, and its sparse tale of red eyes, unanswered calls and doors closing in creates an atmopshere of suspicion. The much vaunted Pablo Honey influence is evident on "Striptease", where the falsetto elisions are a joy, deliberately edging up to each note like a film noir fink sidling out of a bar room brawl. Harry Angel have acheived what so many face-painted, snarling metallers miss: they are genuinely unnerving, and hugely entertaining.
It's unlikely that we'll see a better compilation of these sorts of bands emerging in the foreseeable future (until Fresh Faces Volume 2, of course), so if you have a taste for more concise song-based rock, we'd advise tracking down a copy.
Saturday, 19 September 2009
Chick Korea?
You said I was ill and you were not wrong. Urgh, I feel like crap. Here's an anonymous old BBC review to make us both feel slightly worse.
WARHEN/ PHYAL/ FORK, Oxfam benefit, Bully, 7/04
Calling your music "prog punk" is rather like calling it "chalky cheese" - a contradiction in terms. With Fork it really means "new wave with a few extras". Most afecting in parts, but hard to get a handle on tonight. The main problem is the lead guitarist, who is as loud as the rest of the band put together. At least. This wouldn't matter so much if the vocals weren't whispered in a menacing rasp, and the squealing licks deflated the effect somewhat.
Ultimately the best tracks were those where they open the rock and roll throttle, or strip things down to an ominous pulse spiced with eerie murmuring. In other words, the tracks with the fewest prog elements. Someone is missing the point here: question is, is it me or Fork?
Phyal can be relied on to produce a good show, that's a given. Their sound is simple, if fabulously unfashionable: a tranche of funk, a soupcon of mild goth, all floating in a bouillabaisse of oldschool metal. Rather like German band Uniting The Elements, who recently visited The Zodiac, Phyal banish any worries about musical naffness with a searing theatrical performance. Glenda is a committed hair-flailing frontwoman and the band is compact and forceful. They could maybe do with an extra string to their song-writing bow, but they're certainly worth watching.
Where did all those Supergrass comparisons come from? OK, Warhen are young, a trio, and full of beans, but that's where it ends. Aerosmith, AC/DC and Cream are more useful reference points. It's silly, it's adolescent, it's resolutely dumb but Warhen's marriage of 70s cock rock and punk attack is great fun. They play well tonight too, though the tiny powerhoue drummer steals the show, as ever. Maybe the music doesn't linger in the memory, but for 30 minutes Warhen were captivating. Now, if only they could learn some interesting stage banter...
WARHEN/ PHYAL/ FORK, Oxfam benefit, Bully, 7/04
Calling your music "prog punk" is rather like calling it "chalky cheese" - a contradiction in terms. With Fork it really means "new wave with a few extras". Most afecting in parts, but hard to get a handle on tonight. The main problem is the lead guitarist, who is as loud as the rest of the band put together. At least. This wouldn't matter so much if the vocals weren't whispered in a menacing rasp, and the squealing licks deflated the effect somewhat.
Ultimately the best tracks were those where they open the rock and roll throttle, or strip things down to an ominous pulse spiced with eerie murmuring. In other words, the tracks with the fewest prog elements. Someone is missing the point here: question is, is it me or Fork?
Phyal can be relied on to produce a good show, that's a given. Their sound is simple, if fabulously unfashionable: a tranche of funk, a soupcon of mild goth, all floating in a bouillabaisse of oldschool metal. Rather like German band Uniting The Elements, who recently visited The Zodiac, Phyal banish any worries about musical naffness with a searing theatrical performance. Glenda is a committed hair-flailing frontwoman and the band is compact and forceful. They could maybe do with an extra string to their song-writing bow, but they're certainly worth watching.
Where did all those Supergrass comparisons come from? OK, Warhen are young, a trio, and full of beans, but that's where it ends. Aerosmith, AC/DC and Cream are more useful reference points. It's silly, it's adolescent, it's resolutely dumb but Warhen's marriage of 70s cock rock and punk attack is great fun. They play well tonight too, though the tiny powerhoue drummer steals the show, as ever. Maybe the music doesn't linger in the memory, but for 30 minutes Warhen were captivating. Now, if only they could learn some interesting stage banter...
Friday, 27 March 2009
Temporal Uncertainty
I have no idea when this was from. The edition of OHM inexplicably has no date on the front (it also has no writer credits for each review, for some reason). It does claim to be Volume II, Issue 2, but then so did the one I was looking at last time I posted from OHM, so who's to say? Bloody amateurs.
Klub Kak again, I'm so predictable, aren't I? The Smug Jugglers, by the way, were an atrocious band, but they were nice guys who used to fill in for KK whenever anyone pulled out, which is why I've seen them all too many times. Suitable Case were an amazing Beefheartian gospel metal band, whose singer Liam (now in Mephisto Grande, an amazing Beefheartian gospel - you get the idea) has some gnashers missing. Wierdly, Rus from Phyal ended up in Eduard Soundingblock, another post-SCFT act. Endlessly fascinating, I'm sure.
Oh, look at that, Lagrima pop up again. I used to like them, but they've spit up now (literally: they were a couple).
LAGRIMA/PHYAL, Klub Kakofanney, The Wheatsheaf, Feb 2004?
Off once again to the wonderful Klub Kakofanney, Oxford's longest running live music night. You never know quite what you'll get at Kak - except that there's about a 50/50 chance that The Smug Jugglers are playing - which is part of the pleasure. Lagrima start the evening, and do it extremely well, tickling the small crowd with a handful of light, sublte, slightly flamecoid jazz-folk numbers. The vocals are warm, smoky and deliciously low and intimate, even if the body they come out of looks like it would be more comfortable some place else; the acoustic guitar is beautifully played, with so many counterpoint lines and percussive elements it sounds like a whole band's locked in the fretboard. I've a sneaking suspicion that they let their talent do the work occasionally, and it would be nice to hear some risks taken in the more straightforward tunes, but they certainly go down pleasantly with a pint of Guinness, that's for sure.
Phyal, by contrast, trade a neat line in Market Town Metal. Admittedly I've invented that genre, but you get the idea: tuneful heavy rock performed with gusto, led by a singer who's clearly studied The I-Spy Book Of Rock-Chickery quite closely. The first, and best, song with its tight funky rhythm section, sounds a little like the Chili Peppers wrestling with Evanescence over an antediluvian goth tune.
There's a mid-90s concern with a vocal melody on display, but it's bolstered with some firy guitar work, which keeps things interesting, although pretty much all the songs seem to carve the same sort of shape, and a little time spent arranging might move Phyal up a gear. Still, if Suitable Case For Treatment are too noisy for you, why not give Phyal a testdrive? They have a more melodic approach and all their own teeth.
Klub Kak again, I'm so predictable, aren't I? The Smug Jugglers, by the way, were an atrocious band, but they were nice guys who used to fill in for KK whenever anyone pulled out, which is why I've seen them all too many times. Suitable Case were an amazing Beefheartian gospel metal band, whose singer Liam (now in Mephisto Grande, an amazing Beefheartian gospel - you get the idea) has some gnashers missing. Wierdly, Rus from Phyal ended up in Eduard Soundingblock, another post-SCFT act. Endlessly fascinating, I'm sure.
Oh, look at that, Lagrima pop up again. I used to like them, but they've spit up now (literally: they were a couple).
LAGRIMA/PHYAL, Klub Kakofanney, The Wheatsheaf, Feb 2004?
Off once again to the wonderful Klub Kakofanney, Oxford's longest running live music night. You never know quite what you'll get at Kak - except that there's about a 50/50 chance that The Smug Jugglers are playing - which is part of the pleasure. Lagrima start the evening, and do it extremely well, tickling the small crowd with a handful of light, sublte, slightly flamecoid jazz-folk numbers. The vocals are warm, smoky and deliciously low and intimate, even if the body they come out of looks like it would be more comfortable some place else; the acoustic guitar is beautifully played, with so many counterpoint lines and percussive elements it sounds like a whole band's locked in the fretboard. I've a sneaking suspicion that they let their talent do the work occasionally, and it would be nice to hear some risks taken in the more straightforward tunes, but they certainly go down pleasantly with a pint of Guinness, that's for sure.
Phyal, by contrast, trade a neat line in Market Town Metal. Admittedly I've invented that genre, but you get the idea: tuneful heavy rock performed with gusto, led by a singer who's clearly studied The I-Spy Book Of Rock-Chickery quite closely. The first, and best, song with its tight funky rhythm section, sounds a little like the Chili Peppers wrestling with Evanescence over an antediluvian goth tune.
There's a mid-90s concern with a vocal melody on display, but it's bolstered with some firy guitar work, which keeps things interesting, although pretty much all the songs seem to carve the same sort of shape, and a little time spent arranging might move Phyal up a gear. Still, if Suitable Case For Treatment are too noisy for you, why not give Phyal a testdrive? They have a more melodic approach and all their own teeth.
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