You are currently browsing the monthly archive for May 2008.
The goose that wakes me up every morning, photographed on the banks of the River Don, next to an old tin can (fittingly).
For a variety of reasons – work commitments, poor motivation, The Wire – I haven’t been to many gigs this year. I’m not counting or anything so I can’t give you hard figures, but I know I haven’t made it out to see a band since the Efterklang show in March, which is pretty weak for someone who spends most of their free time thinking, talking and writing about music. I’d been eyeing this one up for a while, though, and I was determined not to miss out. I even bought tickets for a change.
When this date was first announced a few months ago, I had been most enthusiastic about seeing Iron & Wine. I’m a long time fan of Sam Beam’s work – Our Endless Numbered Days was my favourite record of 2004 – and I wrote a pretty glowing review of his latest album for a print mag called Rock ‘n’ Reel late last year. But over the past months, while my interest in The Shepherd’s Dog has cooled, my appreciation and respect for Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago has spiralled into the realm of obsession. As a consequence, as I approached the bright lights of the Leadmill on Wednesday night I found myself consumed by thoughts of the support act rather than the headliner – “will it be a full band show or just as acoustic set?”, “will he play Skinny Love?” etc.
Little did I know it, but I was setting myself up for a huge disappointment: Bon Iver was only on stage for a measly 25 minutes to warm the crowd up for what turned out to be an Iron & Wine marathon. I felt robbed, even though I had no right to – I would have loved this arrangement two months ago – and I’m sure it coloured my experience of the evening.
But maybe there’s more to it.
Bon Iver’s five songs sounded fresh and exciting, with their sparse yet intriguing instrumentation. Justin Vernon was joined by two other musicians, an additional guitarist and a percussionist, and they managed to recreate the sound of For Emma with impressive accuracy. Skinny Love was probably the highlight for me, although opener Flume was fantastic too, but as Vernon and his collaborators wrapped the set up with a rousing rendition of Creature Fear I couldn’t help but think about the songs they hadn’t had time to play and how great an encore would have been.
In stark contrast, Iron & Wine seemed to play for hours. I didn’t time their set – and I must admit I punctuated it with a number of trips to the bar and one telephone conversation – but it was certainly too long, even for someone with a healthy working knowledge and appreciation of Sam Beam’s catalogue.
There were some refreshing versions of old favourites like Cinder and Smoke and the new songs, particularly Pagan Angel and A Borrowed Car, sounded sufficiently ‘big’, but the whole set just smacked of over-indulgence. As the evening progressed, the wholesome big band sound began to dwarf Beam’s gentle vocal, and arguably 90% of the songs outstayed their welcome by at least a few minutes.
The set had started out strongly with a handful of beautiful, sparsely arranged acoustic tracks performed by Beam and his sister, Sarah; I couldn’t help but feel that Beam would have been wise to slot a few similar numbers into the middle of his set, if only to break up the monotony of it all. Sadly, he didn’t, and as I caught myself yawning for the fiftieth time during a stretch of seemingly endless guitar noodling, I couldn’t help but think of Bon Iver and what might have been if the promoters had arranged a more democratic split in the performance times.
The name might exude adventure, but this sextet from Charleston, South Carolina isn’t about to discover new musical territory any time soon. Freedom Wind is the sound of a band in love with harmony-laden sixties pop, more specifically the music of Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys. After 30 seconds of Forever you’ll have probably drawn up a mental list of the Explorers Club’s chief influences, but this doesn’t have to be a problem; the harmonies are polished and the melody is sufficiently summery to make denying the song’s obvious charms virtually impossible.
Honey, I Don’t Know Why sounds less like a straight up 60s homage, bearing more resemblance to the music of, well, a dozen or so Elephant Six acts from the late nineties. It’s a decent enough stab at edginess, but somehow Explorers Club sound more comfortable when they’re not trying to come off as vaguely contemporary. Fortunately, the majority of Freedom Wind sounds like it could have been unearthed in a studio time capsule from 1966 and the album is all the better for it.
Freedom Wind’s best moments are the slower, melancholy numbers that tell of unrequited or lost love. There’s a certain naive quality to the Explorers Club’s sound that helps the relatively simplistic lyrics achieve a greater emotional resonance, and accordingly songs like If You Go and Don’t Forget the Sun really hit home. My personal favourite, however, is the gorgeous instrumental centrepiece Summer Air which doesn’t even need lyrics to summon up potent images of happier summer days gone by.
It’s all been done before, of course, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be done again. If you like your pop music with harmonies and heart then the Explorers Club could well have recorded the soundtrack to your summer. (7/10)
Album review published on NORIPCORD.COM
After two weeks of never quite getting round to it, I finally got around to seeing Persepolis last night and I’m glad I made the effort. Ok, it wasn’t much of an effort, a fifteen minute walk to the cinema, but you know what I mean. I’m quite aware of the fact that haven’t seen enough new films this year – I blame The Wire, which has occupied most of my free time for the past two months – but this brilliant little animated film has renewed my interest in getting out there and trying new things again.
Based on Marjane Satrapi’s graphic novel of the same name, Persepolis is essentially the coming of age story of a young girl in Iran, before, during and after the 1979 Islamic revolution. The film is told from the point of view of Marjane, who was around ten years old at the time of the revolution, and so reflects on the situation from a child’s perspective, and the child of a reasonably affluent communist family in Tehran at that. Marjane’s uncle Anouche, a recently freed communist activist, is effectively Marjane’s most influential history teacher, too, so those looking for the other sides of the political argument will not find them covered equally here. As I said, it’s a coming of age story with a side order of politics, not a political essay. And it’s all the better for it.
After the revolution, with Iran embroiled in a devastating war against Iraq – you know, the one we supplied the weapons for – Marjane is sent abroad to Austria to attend school by her parents. The film follows her experiences there, as she gradually loses touch with her homeland and struggles with her identity, trying, with limited success, to integrate herself into Austrian society. This segment of the film offers a pleasantly distracting comedic element (the Viennese anarcho-punk scene, a string of useless boyfriends) but there are also poignant scenes as the European experience turns sour for the teenage Marjane. Crushed by a series of unfortunate events, she heads back to the now very different Islamic Republic of Iran to attend college and, eventually, to undergo a political re-awakening that will see her return to Europe once and for all.
While sarcasm, humour, and politics are never far away, it is the strength of its supporting characters and the depth of their relationships that makes Persepolis great. Key to the film’s success is Marjane’s bond with her grandmother, a charismatic, wise and above all loving lady whose words of wisdom (”the first marriage is only practice for the second one”) are matched only by her beauty tips – I certainly wasn’t aware of the cosmetic powers of a bowl of cold water. (Watch the film, you’ll see what I mean).
While others might disagree, I also felt that the film’s handling of the revolution – i.e. its one-sided, childlike portrayal – worked surprisingly well. Refreshingly free of preaching, Persepolis has encouraged me to go and learn more about pre-revolution life in Iran under the Shah and the revolution itself. It’s prompted me to think, rather than telling me what to think, and that distinction is important.
Still, even if you have no interest in Iran or politics whatsoever, Persepolis a great film and, as much as I enjoyed Ratatouille, I think this would have been a worthy winner of last year’s Best Animated Feature Film Oscar. Then again, I suppose it’s a minor miracle that a French film about an Iranian girl even got nominated in a major category.
If there’s a more interesting indie-rock label than Jagjaguwar out there at the moment then they certainly aren’t sending me promos. Its ridiculously impressive roster – Okkervil River, Bon Iver, Black Mountain, Sunset Rubdown, I could go on – reads like a who’s who of my current favourites and with the release of Ladyhawk’s second album Shots it really seems like these guys can’t miss at the moment.
Another top quality product of the fertile Vancouver scene, Ladyhawk released its self-titled début on Jagjaguwar back in 2006. Boasting two genuinely great tracks in The Dugout and My Old Jacknife (both of which featured in No Ripcord podcasts last year) Ladyhawk offered a refreshing take on the ‘Southern’ rock sound with its sinewy guitar riffs and meaty rhythm tracks. Shots takes that formula and runs with it, venturing into some darker terrain along the way. It’s a bolder record, which manages to sound mature without sacrificing the band’s free-wheeling ‘jam session’ sound.
The muscular opener I Don’t Always Know What You’re Saying kicks the record off with a bang. A ramshackle medley of pounding drums and relentless guitars, this mid-tempo rocker sounds so energetic and spontaneous that I wouldn’t be surprised if the band had only jammed it out ten minutes prior to nailing it in the studio. The moody Fear is another early highlight, more a paranoid comedown than an alcoholic-fuelled high, but a cracking tune nonetheless. The album’s middle third explores a somewhat darker place – just take a look at those song titles (Corpse Paint, Faces of Death) if you don’t believe me – but things brighten up again on Shots‘ final track, the ten minute plus epic Ghost Blues. The band’s most ambitious track to date, this three part marathon tips its hat to progressive rock without ever slipping into the realms of self-indulgence. I presume the band recorded it in a relatively sober state, too, because it features the record’s finest musicianship by far.
So while Jagjaguwar may well release a below par record in 2008, Shots is not that record. Funnily enough, it’s the sound of one of Canada’s best new bands. Well, what did you expect? (8/10)
Album review published on NORIPCORD.COM
What a difference a year makes. 12 months on from my scathing attack on the Arctic Monkeys’ second album, Favourite Worst Nightmare, I find myself in a rather unusual position, sitting down to write a glowing review of an Alex Turner-penned album. It’s a surprise, yes, but not an altogether unpleasant one. Two 4/10 reviews might suggest otherwise, but I can assure you that [No Ripcord] doesn’t have a vendetta against Turner and his band. We’ve just been unimpressed by their work so far.
But this isn’t an Arctic Monkeys review. The Last Shadow Puppets is a collaboration between Turner and Miles Kane of Liverpool three-piece The Rascals. The two forged a strong friendship when Kane’s former outfit the Little Flames (no, me neither) toured with the Monkeys a few years back, and this project was clearly born of a mutual love of 60s pop, Bowie and classic singer-songwriters such as Scott Walker (circa early solo career), whose influence can be heard throughout The Age of the Understatement.
UK readers will have probably heard lead single The Age of the Understatement already. The track, which opens the album with a bang, is a cracking advertisement for The Last Shadow Puppets. Listening to its dramatic strings and galloping rhythm section you can’t help but think of riotous Westerns or the better James Bond films. Indeed, it would make a cracking Bond theme and the song’s video even has a Russian espionage theme to it.
Elsewhere, there are highlights aplenty. Standing Next To Me is a great take on orchestral 60s pop that would sit happily alongside anything from Walker’s 1969 classic Scott 4. Separate and Ever Deadly is more menacing, with military drums and plenty of emphatic pauses; think The Coral, but much, much better. The Time Has Come Again provides a surprisingly tender finale, easily eclipsing any of the slower numbers in the Monkeys’ catalogue. It’s a simple enough song, with Turner’s reverb-laden vocal floating dreamily over a lush acoustic guitar and ambient strings, but it’s powerful stuff and arguably the album’s finest moment.
Its critics have suggested that this album is a futile exercise, the work of two men in their early twenties pulling out all the stops (a polished production job, lavish strings courtesy of the London Metropolitan Orchestra) to re-create the sound of an era they were never alive to experience in the first place. It’s a valid observation but I’m struggling to identify the problem with it. Besides, surely the same criticism could be levelled at any of the major players in the UK’s alarmingly congested (and incredibly dull) post-punk revival scene? Turner and Kane might not be riding the zeitgeist, but how many of today’s artists can confidently claim to be breaking new ground anyway? These two musicians have crafted a handful of great songs and set them to a rich, orchestral backdrop that doesn’t sound in the least bit tacky or pretentious. The Age of the Understatement might have been conceived as a tribute to a beloved era in music but thanks to the industry, enthusiasm and talent of Alex Turner and Miles Kane it’s become something much more interesting than that: a great record in its own right. (8/10)
Album review published on NORIPCORD.COM
