Right, I'm ready for the second part of the typing. I've been reading my complete Shakespeare, seeing as I thought I ought to fill up the gaps in my knowledge. An Act a day over breakfast. Having read Two Gentlemen Of Verona (unfunny) and The Merry Wives Of Windsor (mostly jokes about "amusing" accents, a bit like an Elizabethan Mind Your Language) I'm beginning to worry that I've already read all the good bits.
But none of this is getting Truck reviews typed up, is it, sirrah?
Having thankfully dropped the lacklustre vocalists in evidence last time I saw them, Scratch & Sniff bring a little bucolic sunshine into the lives of a tent full of tired, rain sodden campers with a clutch of good old squeezebox instrumentals. Slightly frayed round the edges, perhaps, but aren't we all at this time of the morning? Had this set been later in the afternoon there would have been do-si-doing, I guarantee.
Odd to see Trademark in the rock kingdom of The Barn. Evidently they've gone for an upbeat kickdrum heavy set in order to fit in. Perhaps the cavernous acoustic reveals some of the limitations of Oli's vocals, but Trademakr are as impressive as ever, boasting plenty of vim: hi-NRG newie "Stuck In A Rut"sounds like a lost Sonia single, for God's sake.
"Whisky In The Jar" continues their tradition of Truck exclusive cover version finales, and whilst it's not as good as "God Only Knows", it's worth remembering that very little on the face of this earth actually is...
I'd gove The Drugsquad a definite hats off, if it didn't mean my head would get so wet. There aren't many local bands who could turn a smattering of frowning drenched punters into a crowd of happy skankers, but The Drugsquad is one of them. OK, it's ska punk not rocket science. But who ever danced to rocket science? An impressive performance.
According to their website it's a regular occurrence, but I'm unsure how to describe Earnest Cox. The best I can offer is a tentative "Raqdio Two Punk". They roughly alternate between a mantric magaphone led rant, redolent of Frenz era Fall, and two chord wordy slowburns that bring to mind Swagger era Blue Aeroplanes. Bloody great indie rock, in other words, with plenty of Farfisa-like organ over the top. I guess if Chamfer swapped Bollywood for biliousness they might sound very slightly like this.
If anyone had any lingering doubts that Fell City Girl are an incredible Oxford band, this Truck performance will have dispelled them. They don't even look like they're trying very hard, and yet the music is faultless. My only criticism is that they rather over use the epic crescendoes that clearly come so naturally to them. They're already better than Muse or any of those post-Radiohead emotirock bands, and I suppose that by the time Truck 2006 is up and running we'll have had a taste of what they can really do.
Haing nipped into the theatre tent only to find it deserted, I try the acoustic tent again. I presume the goth-dusted light rock act is Susan Hedges. One song makes exactly no impression on me. Oh look, the sun's come out. Bye.
Tragically The Black Madonnas aren't old teatime TV staples The Black & White Mistrels doing a cover of "Vogue", but handily they are a prety nifty swamp blues trio. Surrounded by grubby and steaming people in a barn that smells distinctly of manure, this seems to make all sorts of sense. "Dirty Roier"? I hear you, boys.
After that earthy display I feel the need for some seedy and amatuerish gay rock and roll about nightclubbing underbellies and hating your Granny. Well blow me (ahem) if it's not The Open Mouths, providing just that. It's pretty enjoyably petulant stuff, and the ironic domestic violence balld "No Means Yes" is a slice of comedy genius to rival the great Otis Lee Crenshaw.
Why do I love The Epstein so much? Light, breezy country pop is the sort of thing that snoozes are made of round our way. I suppose it must be their fantastic musical ability and generous helpings of natural charm. That and the Russian waltz about bearmeat. It's a true achievement to weave such a profound spell on the main stage with a delicate and wistful number like "Leave A Light On".
No Truck is complete without some musical revelation or other. This year it's Chip Taylor, playing some relaxed bluegrass tunes. Think that sounds a bit uninspiring? Well, he wrote "Wild Thing" and you never, so shut up and listen! Ably assisted by Carrie Rodriguez, she of the delicious syrupy vocals and scorching fiddle, Chip has the small crowd entranced in no time, despite a somewhat wayward mix. The heavily bearded bassist deserves a mention too, cramming more technique and ideas into an eight bar solo than lots of bands manage in a full show. We could have listened all afternoon, quite frankly.
Ever wanted to know what nervous_testpilot's nightmares are like? Robochrist is the answer. His show's essentially one strangely made up leather-clad man miming to a tape of gabba metal covered with plunderphonic goodness (making espeically good use of samples from Prefab Sprout and Family Fortunes), and it's entertaining enough. Trouble is, an act called Robochrist is never going to be as good in the flesh as it is in your head, is it?
Damn you, Scissor Sisters! Damn you for making all this ironic, drama school pop crap acceptable. Do Me Bad Things are like a horrific cross between The Darkness, Wham! and Soul II Soul...but not nearly so interesting. With wailing guitar solos, stadium drums and camp Mercury poisoned vocals, it's inch perfect and impeccably put together, but then again, so is a fitted carpet. Drivel. Smug, overly honed drivel, which is always the worst sort.
Showing posts with label Scratch And Sniff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Scratch And Sniff. Show all posts
Saturday, 5 June 2010
Tuesday, 7 April 2009
Bloomsday
Since starting this blog I've pretty much managed to upload 3 reviews a week, but I'm away for Easter, so regular readers (splutter) will have to wait a bit for the next installment. Well, I've only been reviewing for about 6.5 years, there are a finite number of reviews in the pile, so it's best that we don't glut on them all at once, like chubby cosseted scum children. This is an old OHM review of the sort of odd free day out Oxford council used to run a lot, before they ran out of money.
I also interviewed fellow OHMer Russell Barker about his Oxford music compilation in this issue, but it's a bit dull, so I shan't type it all out!
FLOWER & FOLK FESTIVAL, Florence Park, 11/9/04
This City Council organised folk festival and floral competition is woefully advertised, and I only find it by chance. A pity, as the sparseness of the audience doesn't reflect the quality of the music. Senegalese visitor Jali Fili Cissokho begins proceedings, singing some quite lovely pieces and accompanying himself on the kora: if you don't like the beautiful grids and skeins of lively plucked notes, you can at least be fascinated by the instrument itself, which looks like the dried remains of a deep space crustacean.
Ed, Bob & Pete are onstage next. I dare say they actually have a band name, but in the absence of a programme we have to grasp what facts we can! Using dulcimer, bouzouki and fiddle, aongst others, they rattle through some traditional melodies, which is all perfectly elegant but somewhat polite and decorative for my tastes. Their vocal pieces are overly earnest too.
Youthfull dub troupe, Raggasaurus, wake us up with hot servings of mammoth antediluvain skank. Their instrumental pieces boast bouncy drumming and plenty of topnotch digi-delay knob-twiddling, and have a ramshackle charm. Thier obvious lack of rehearsal means that tunes grow organically, which is delightful; it also means they die a slow, agonising death, which is less so. Although Raggasaurus run out of ideas before the set ends, their witty bubbling reggae shows plenty of promise, if they're prepared to put the work in. Plus their excellent cover of the Dr Who theme is a highlight of the day - perhaps the TARDIS got stuck in police box mode because it was too stoned to bother changing?
Well, this is probably a timefiller: Pete, who played earlier today, is performing with a member of the headline band. Still, whether it's a desperate remedy or a longstanding collaboration, this turns out to be the best gig of the day. The duo really gets to the pulsing heart of traditional melodies, throwing them into the drizzly afternoon with vim. Unlike the earlier trio, they make the songs sound like vibrant and important music, rather than the soundtrack to some Tourist Board propaganda.
Scratch And Sniff don't really work, sadly. The two fiddle and squeezebox format throws up some decent arrangements, and whilst rhythmically it's not as neat as we'd wish the playing has soul. However, the two young ladies on vocals put in a lacklustre performance, and they look excruciatingly uncomfortable being there at all. To be fair this says far more about their youth and inexperience than their innate talent, and there are a couple of gorgeous moments, but unless they start seeing performance as something other than a chore they won't get too far. Oh, and please drop the Corrs cover, for all our sakes.
I also interviewed fellow OHMer Russell Barker about his Oxford music compilation in this issue, but it's a bit dull, so I shan't type it all out!
FLOWER & FOLK FESTIVAL, Florence Park, 11/9/04
This City Council organised folk festival and floral competition is woefully advertised, and I only find it by chance. A pity, as the sparseness of the audience doesn't reflect the quality of the music. Senegalese visitor Jali Fili Cissokho begins proceedings, singing some quite lovely pieces and accompanying himself on the kora: if you don't like the beautiful grids and skeins of lively plucked notes, you can at least be fascinated by the instrument itself, which looks like the dried remains of a deep space crustacean.
Ed, Bob & Pete are onstage next. I dare say they actually have a band name, but in the absence of a programme we have to grasp what facts we can! Using dulcimer, bouzouki and fiddle, aongst others, they rattle through some traditional melodies, which is all perfectly elegant but somewhat polite and decorative for my tastes. Their vocal pieces are overly earnest too.
Youthfull dub troupe, Raggasaurus, wake us up with hot servings of mammoth antediluvain skank. Their instrumental pieces boast bouncy drumming and plenty of topnotch digi-delay knob-twiddling, and have a ramshackle charm. Thier obvious lack of rehearsal means that tunes grow organically, which is delightful; it also means they die a slow, agonising death, which is less so. Although Raggasaurus run out of ideas before the set ends, their witty bubbling reggae shows plenty of promise, if they're prepared to put the work in. Plus their excellent cover of the Dr Who theme is a highlight of the day - perhaps the TARDIS got stuck in police box mode because it was too stoned to bother changing?
Well, this is probably a timefiller: Pete, who played earlier today, is performing with a member of the headline band. Still, whether it's a desperate remedy or a longstanding collaboration, this turns out to be the best gig of the day. The duo really gets to the pulsing heart of traditional melodies, throwing them into the drizzly afternoon with vim. Unlike the earlier trio, they make the songs sound like vibrant and important music, rather than the soundtrack to some Tourist Board propaganda.
Scratch And Sniff don't really work, sadly. The two fiddle and squeezebox format throws up some decent arrangements, and whilst rhythmically it's not as neat as we'd wish the playing has soul. However, the two young ladies on vocals put in a lacklustre performance, and they look excruciatingly uncomfortable being there at all. To be fair this says far more about their youth and inexperience than their innate talent, and there are a couple of gorgeous moments, but unless they start seeing performance as something other than a chore they won't get too far. Oh, and please drop the Corrs cover, for all our sakes.
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