This Is Not TV

The dust has settled, the neoprene-polyester tent fires have finally been extinguished, the scrats have been disposed of in huge refuse pits, too drunk on casual violence and Stella to care… no, that was just one of my darker dreams… and a month-long clean up campaign will be underway from Festival Republic. The festival season is nearly over (Bestival is still to come for all you die-hards) and it has corporate rocked. By way of penance and payment for my place in the hallowed grounds of the guest area, behold! My long-winded review, précis, summary, self-indulgent dry hump lig fest. Enjoy!

Thursday 21^st August

And you all thought it started on Friday – wrong! For the last two years, Dance To The Radio have generously curated an evening of label/Leeds orientated entertainment for the festival early birds.

The guest entrance is closed due to mudding, so after a long trek and having to down my wine at the entrance gate, we manage to catch the last two songs of Wintermute, who seem to be owning the stage when we get there (please note: the Introducing stage has the best sound all weekend – natch). Dan is so in the zone that a can thrown at him is dodged ten seconds before it arrives. Yah boo sucks, you non-fan of nerd rock. Chris and Dave rock out regardless, prompting the mythical unprompted clap along; Ben is so surprised he misses a beat. Rounding off the set with ‘Jambon Jambon’ (it’s French) I get a slight lump in my throat. These boys have grown; soon they’ll be flown.

Dinosaur Pile-Up, featuring ex-Mother Vulpine frontman Matt, come as a bit of surprise – sorta like hearing Mars Volta after loving At The Drive In. They’ve got drop D pop down to a tee, but it sounds pretty standard and fairly pedestrian if well written. Matt looks all floppy fringed but the sound has gone more rawk… it’s satifying but shallow. I will need another band ten minutes later.

After a brief respite to smuggle more wine into the site and meet up with Adam TiNTV, we fight back through the mud to find that the Pigeon Detectives are playing next – a surprise gig from one of Leeds’ favourite bands. Unfortunately, they are not one of mine, though I must admit they have one or two good, albeit moronic, songs. Boy, that hurt. Having taken an age to set up (not really their fault) their sound is the worst of the evening (not really their fault) but Matt Bowman struts around the stage with arrogant flair, stirring up the now familiar chants of ‘Yorkshire’ and ‘Leeds!’ The wine is kicking in hard at this point and I am in danger of coming out the worst at the hands of Pigeons fans. Thank goodness Adam is still sober.

Broken Records, playing to a much depleted audience after the triumphant and magnanimous Pigeon Detectives leave the stage, have many players and many instruments. Violins, guitars, drums, keys, vocals… yep, it’s a bit Arcade Fire. Even more than that, they’re a bit Levellers and a bit Dexy’s Midnight Runners. Folksy and innocuous, they entertain without leaving the slightest imprint on my mind, though that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

What is a bad thing is the length of the Grammatics’ set. Three measly songs with Owen doing his level best to make the most out of a bad situation. ‘Polar Swelling’ is a great warm up, ‘D.I.L.E.M.M.A.’ is the best I’ve ever heard them do it and ‘Shadow Committee’ cranks up like a Bond theme should. They even make reference to Justice’s ‘We Are Your Friends.’ Then it is all over and the foppish four are no more. I am left with a semi-on and a rekindled hatred of the Pigeon Detectives. Rob is robbed.

Popularity: 7% [?]

Now that the hilarious furore of the nonre (non-genre) new-rave has died down, perhaps we can get on with listening to some proper arse-wiggling dance music that is strong enough to stand up for itself without being propped up by some lazy-arsed hack’s attempts at pigeon holing (it’s electronic; it’s got guitars; it’s dancey; it’s heavy – nooooo, must-create-neat-space-for-sound…). Hot Chip have made a good ambisexual start, CSS are ruding it up, but if you want pure carnival sexiness… go to St Albans. You don’t hear that every day of the week.

It could have been a very different story though. School buds Macfarlane (vox, synths, bass), Gibson (guitar – what else) and Savidge (drums) started out playing post-hardcore Fugazi inspired music with lots of math guitar and no vocals. Hardly Mardi Gras, but then they discovered the power of pop and lo and behold… Friendly Fires’ eponymous album.

The complexity and tricksiness is still there for all those who want it though, only it’s been funked up and grooved over: the synth and bass combo of ‘In The Hospital’ is the dirtiest funk this side of Parliament and hooky as you like, with just the slightest hint of Michael Jackson circa ‘Off The Wall’; ‘Jump In The Pool’ may pack the breathiest synths this side of 10cc but beneath it all is the throbbing pulse of a Brazilian street party. Essentially, it never gets overwhelmingly artsy – the closest it gets to indulgent is on ‘Skeleton Boy’ but even at this one’s progish heart lies Macfarlane et al’s secret weapon.

Candy Staton, or specifically the Source featuring Candy Staton. This is Friendly Fires’ ‘Shazam!’ Like a brazen idol, that looping, descending adagio rears up above the beat, vocals and riff and names the whole lot as its own. Most evident on ‘On Board’ and the aforementioned ‘Skeleton Boy,’ they don’t skirt around it, avoid it or deny it. It’s loud and proud, and from thereon disco ensues.

‘Strobe’ with all its Euro-synths and twinkle beat is veritably sequined, despite its backtracked guitars; ‘Lovesick’ slides and sleazes, revelling in its failed relationship over groovy bass, guitar and bongos; ‘Photo Booth’ dirties up a perfectly innocent woodblock with slap-pluck bass and a constant beat full of Studio 54 promise. The shaking of booty is unavoidable, though your mind screams “this is so basic – do not give into its primal urges.” But your mind is no longer listening, because its already taken too much of a battering from ‘Paris’ and ‘White Diamonds.’

‘Paris,’ that NME Single of the Week thing may smack of Calvin Harris in delivery, but he never had such epic ambitions. The chorus opens up like a starshell, a sweet duet on a balcony overlooking a Son Et Lumiere over the Seine. It’s a promise of near future hedonism (“I’ll find you that French boy/you’ll find me that French girl”) masquerading as romance. It’s an honest fantasy and it never lets up; unrelentingly vivacious. ‘White Diamonds’ on the other hand is pure stomp, 70’s style. Part Diana Ross, part LCD Soundsystem, part Scissor Sisters, the falsetto soars as Savidge pounds the drums… then, just when you think you’ve got the measure, Gibson throws in a post-rock middle eight over the disco. Nuts, but inspired. And then there’s the cowbell… did I mention the cowbell?

Taking Christopher Walken to heart, if there was anymore cowbell in this album, it would be all cowbell… or bongo… or woodblock. The percussion from Savidge is an inspired moveable feast, an inclusive carnival of pick up and plays. It gives it an unmistakably improvised feel while retaining the professional tightness required to achieve such flexibility. Despite that, it never overwhelms. There is balance, harmony, and this is what really lifts this album head and shoulders above its contemporaries.

LCD Soundsystem has always sounded a bit patchy to me; CSS have a brace of decent songs; Hot Chip can get a bit experimental. Friendly Fires remain true to the dance, maintain the form, comes out dripping with sweat and beaming like a loony; it has no pretentions to deny or confess. Stick this in your ears and prepare to have a good time without guilt or shame; it’s what it’s there for.

Popularity: 12% [?]

As Leeds Festival and Reading Festival draw to an end TINTV want to know who you watched and who you rated as this years best band, personally I haven’t stopped talking about the talented Seasick Steve and British Sea Power this festival… more to come from TINTV on Leeds Festival very soon!

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Let TINTV know who or what your highs and lows of this years festival were by leaving a comment below, we will have a extensive review and photos of the entire festival up as soon as we recuperate from what was a fantastic Leeds Festival… Rock ‘n’ Roll!

Popularity: 2% [?]

A band called The Death Set at a night called Chips With Everything has, at first glance, a smack of scenester pretence to it. But before you run off to the likes of Kasabian & The Enemy looking for a dose of ‘real fookin’ music, please bear in mind that some groups seek out pretension and some groups have pretension thrust upon them.

You see, there is no ‘holier- than- thou’ attitude with the Death Set – audience participation is the key, as the Baltimore based band perform in the middle of the dance floor – surrounded by some very excitable fans. On stage theatrics – or in tonight’s case off stage theatrics – is obviously important to the group, as energetic singer Johnny Siera practises high dives off the bass drum, climbs on top of amplifier stacks and walks confidently along the bar.

The Death Set’s brand of highly combustible electronic punk is as subtle as Elton John’s approach towards home furnishing. The sampled keyboard lines are crude and rudimentary; the live drums run the gamut from frantic all the way to frenzied, and the array of juddering basslines on display tonight could give a lily-livered gig goer a nasty hernia.

But The Death Set are more than just rabble-rousing racket merchants. The rapid-fire vocals of Around The World show off the exuberant performance skills of pint-sized frontman Johnny Siera, while Negative Thinking suggests that the three-piece might just be able to hone their musical formula.

The band close the chaotic set with an equally chaotic cover of Nirvana’s Territorial Pissings, before smashing their guitars into smithereens– Pete Townsend style.

The Death Set live experience is not unlike being run over by a tour bus ten times in quick succession, but finding that – praise the Lord! – you’ve emerged practically unscathed every time.

Scott Zverblis

Popularity: 4% [?]

The fourth outing in as many years San Francisco kraut-surfers Mike Donovan and Matt Hartman, aka Sic Alps, is a curiously partial realisation of an album. Sparse to the point of skeletal, tracks rarely reach the three minute mark, choosing or rather being chosen to die young, cut off in their prime. It’s a very uneasy feeling, which deserves some elucidation.

Imagine please an empty beach in Germany where the breakers roll in and are seen only by the ghosts of two young American musicians, trying to piece together a song that will end their purgatory de la plage, breaking off and starting again like a melodic Waiting For Godot. Forgive my pretentiousness, but I’m on a pistachio high. ‘US EZ’ is not easy listening. Opener ‘Massive Place’ peels the skin on a raw wound of paranoid psychedelia and post-war german rock and roll, all bound together with Big Sur reverb. No drums, just melody and echo that fades restarts with more Pink Floyd, less Beach Boys and screaming analog ghosts (‘Bric Jaz’). This theme repeats throughout, with the occasional sound experiment and angry musical outburst (‘Put The Puss To Bed’ is like an abbreviated ‘Ummagumma’ and ‘N##JJ’ is pure violent shred-noise). It almost seems too futile for words.

There are fortunately moments of possible reconciliation. ‘Everywhere and There,’ fully conceived and breathily delivered with pupil dilating languish ties together the Byrds, Floyd and Velvet underground with some lovely psychedelic harmonies, only to have the bubble burst by discordant and heavy guitars. ‘Clubbing for $$’ with its psycho chillout blues is a dead cert for Spaceman 3/Spiritualised’s chemical gospel, only it’s a chorus to an absent hollow god. Even ‘Quai Des Orfevres’ with its tenderness and softness, alien amidst this soundscape of antisocial pop and twisted guitars, is the symphony of a heart shattering – regardless of glockenspiels.

Like an outtake taken from the sixties psychedelic movement, ‘US EZ’ is an oddity; a lost tape; a rumour. It’s songs drift in and out, the voice fragile and uncertain, the guitars lazily or angrily abused for no good reason. Sad and lonely rainy day music, it’s hard to adore something so impossible to cling to, and I must admit I find myself craving a fully formed song by the end, but this is as good an album as you could want for this wet, autumnal summer we are having and will be ideal for the forlorn wintry autumn we experience as a result.

Popularity: 14% [?]

Scouting For Girls are pleased to announce details of their UK Winter Tour.

The British indie-pop sensations will kick off the tour in Bournemouth on the 1st November and conclude at London ’s Brixton Academy on the 27th November. The band finish their current Spring tour on 29th May which has included a record-breaking 4 sold-out nights at London ’s Shepherds Bush Empire.

Scouting For Girls reached number 1 with their debut album, ‘Scouting For Girls’ in January of this year, and have sold in excess of half a million records to date. They are the biggest selling UK band of 2008.

Tickets for all shows will go on general sale from Friday 30th May.

The band release their new single, ‘It’s Not About You’ on the 28th July through Epic Records.

Scouting For Girls play:

1st November – Bournemouth , Solent-BIC
2nd November – Plymouth , Pavillions
3rd November – Brighton , Centre
4th November – Southend, Cliffs Pavillion
6th November – Newcastle , Academy
7th November – Grimsby , Auditorium
8th November – Wolverhampton , Civic
10th November – Manchester , Apollo
12th November – Swindon , Oasis
14th November – Cardiff , Arena
15th November – Liverpool , University
16th November – Nottingham , Arena
18th November – Leeds , Academy
20th November – Glasgow , Academy
22nd November – Doncaster , Dome
23rd November – Portsmouth , Guildhall
27th November – London , Brixton Academy

www.myspace.com/scoutingforgirls
www.scoutingforgirls.co.uk

Popularity: 36% [?]

Not everyone is going to like ‘Hermenuetics’. I’m not certain exactly why. Actually I do know why. It is a matter of songwriting. One part of what Antennas To Heaven are doing is great epic pop balladry. But that can only account for less than half the sum of the parts which make up ‘Hermenuetics’. The rest of it goes something like – vast swathes of instrumentalism which avoid overlaying the tunes with too much in the way of effects such as distortion, reverb, delay etc although these are present. Then there’s a bloke talking during parts of the album and I don’t catch exactly everything he says, sort of surreal vignettes of northern life in which even a visit to the local newsagent can prove the start of a bafflingly obtuse series of circumstances. Meanwhile the instrumentation takes definite turn towards actual 80s FM rock, which is different, if little else, and highlights some of the more cinematic elements of the earlier part of the album.

Some people will not like ‘Hermenuetics’. Partly because Antennas To Heaven are a little self consciously ‘clever’ in a way that some people don’t always appreciate. That and their odd resemblances to bands like Foreigner, REO Speedwagon, Journey, Toto – just the ballady stuff though, not the power epic motorway anthems which are often associated with US bands of the late 70s/early 80s.

I am going to listen to ‘Hermenuetics’ again. Probably in October.

Jon Gordon

http://www.antennastoheaven.co.uk

Popularity: 10% [?]

Popularity: 3% [?]

The difficult twelfth album. I don’t think anyone has called it yet that, but how many bands get that far, honestly? Beck Hanson has been making tracks since 1993 and still stands up as an artist of some integrity in an age of bands with the life spans of mayflies and an eye to flog their hits to a mobile phone provider as soon as humanely possible. And to think they called him a ‘one-hit wonder.’

But to go back to the word ‘difficult,’ after such an illustrious career it must get bloody hard to think of new stuff to write (I have a similar problem, but am yet to have an illustrious career). To freshen the brew, Beck has produced this album with mash-up maestro Danger Mouse though the whole affair is less off the wall than you would expect. Or at least, less obviously so.

On the first few listenings, it is easy to dismiss this as a nice little pop acoustic album with psychedelic undertones. True, Beck and his acoustic are the predominant sound throughout, but the details are more interesting. There is a sort of parallel chronology running through this with a definite theme: imagine if we were as aware of global issues in the sixties as we are now. ‘Orphans’ opens with a sting of harsh samples before sliding into an acoustic psychedelic freak out complete with free-association word salad on the theme of the end. ‘Gamma Ray’ also lurks in the summer, a twist and shout in a hurricane with the ghosts of the Beach Boys groaning in despair in the background. A touch of Neu, cut short to flourish into the neo-Pink Floyd epicry of ‘Chemtrails.’ “Where do they go?” inquires Beck of the frequent flyers as unnecessary drum fills pepper and Beatles out-takes salt the track. We get to the root of this issue with ‘Modern Guilt,’ a retro-fitted ‘Lazing On A Sunny Afternoon,’ with an embarrassed shuffling gait, an apology that lapses into ‘da-da-da’ when there is nothing left to say.

This obsession with a 60’s that never happened could get tedious, but fortunately Beck moves things on a bit in the disco flamboyance of ‘Youthless.’ The despair is still evident, but at least it has a pulse now in a Madonna reinventing fashion. Fairly standard, but almost fun, if you forget the line ‘there’s a bottomless pit that we’ve been climbing from.’ Existential disco? Why not. ‘Walls’ is similarly cheery depressing, with a half realised Eastern tea dance sample, but ‘Replica’ comes out fighting with some drum and bass fire in its belly, the beat overwhelming the melody for the first time. We are almost in the present day.

‘Soul of a Man’ is an odd departure for the Beckster – the bass is crunchy and sexy, but the guitar, distorted and bombastic, is more like Muse than anything, though it has elements of Dr John and, erm, techno in there. He loses interest in the track and fades it out prematurely; if it’s one thing that can be said about this album, it’s that the endings are abrupt, either cut or faded in their prime. ‘Profanity Prayers’ owes more to new Radiohead, but you can hear just a touch of the country boy with slide guitars for arms that we knew and loved. “Who’s gonna answer profanity prayers?”; the question remains unanswered and hangs like a sword of Damocles over the proceedings. ‘Volcano’ completes the album apocalyptically but gracefully with a sound familiar to those who’ve heard Beck’s work with Air. The samples are there but in minimus, apart from the choirs that sing us to the afterlife we deserve.

For all it’s maturity, restraint and eclecticism, there is quite an adolescent feel to this album. Preachy. That’s the word. It jars against some of the more fun elements of the album. You also feel that he’s missed an opportunity to use his producer to his full extent. It is by no means a bad album and is cleverly indicative of a time that almost was, but doesn’t have the joie de vivre of other albums. Difficult? Yeah, well things is tough all over.

Popularity: 6% [?]

Leeds’ Vessels are not ones to be hurried, rushed or pushed into something they’re not going be at least 98.6% happy with, so the album has been a long time coming. In factuality, its inception can be traced right back to their formation in 2005. Only now after three years of gathering, pruning and nurturing can this debut finally see the light of day. Of course, having the right place to record and the right producer to record it helped too.

In December 2007, all five Vessels (Tom Evans, Vocals/guitar, Martin Teff, guitar.bass, Lee Malcolm, guitar/synth/drums, Tim Mitchell, drums and Peter Wright, guitar/vox) got on a plane and flew out to Pachyderm studios outside Minneapolis (where ‘In Utero’ was recorded) and met up with Explosions In The Sky producer John Congleton. Ten days later, they had an album’s worth and after nearly a year of tweaking, it is finally ready. Worth the wait? Including the three years? I’ll say this: it certainly is a comprehensive piece.

As you may have inferred, ‘White Fields…’ is a bit of a ‘story so far’ with privileges, but has a touch of the symphonic too. ‘Altered Beast’, a reference to the coin-eating lycanthropic Sega arcade hit from the 80’s I hope, overtures the album. Tim Mitchell’s signature morse drums spiral and twist into math complexity as Tom, Pete, Lee and Martin string ditonic riffs and breathy synths over the top, a geometric Orb of sorts. Acting as a ‘Young Persons Introduction to the Ambient’, the track rolls on past Oldfield, through Glass, over Satriani before arriving at post-rock village, land of the long white crescendo. It’s a journey packed full of promise and you find yourself pressed against an imaginary window, gazing out at a rolling scenery of bizarre geological features and stunning vistas. There are of course many parallels to draw to 65days and Battles, but whereas the former veers into hard techno and the latter clinical krautrock, this takes the middle path into… harmony. And the rest of the album.

You could, if you wanted, divide the album into 3 parts: old, new and milestones. In the name of chronology and getting this review done, let us begin with the old. In the case of these tracks, ‘Happy Accident,’ ‘Walking Through Walls,’ and ‘Look At That Cloud,’ at a guess, there is a feeling of completion and closure more than anything else. ‘Look At That Cloud!’ stretches out slowly and gently, but meanders slowly from chord to chord like an exercise in post-rock. ‘Happy Accident’ showcases the classic flourish of slow build climax and fade in pure Godspeed style, complete with samples and the whole thing is telegraphed, literally, from the very start. ‘Walking Through Walls’ is more like an extended acoustic remix and lacks the distinctive holistic Vessels voice. Plus it never really starts. They all certainly benefit from the improved production, but there are better things on the album.

The milestones… okay, I’m making this up here, but I’m sure I’m onto something. ‘Wave Those Arms, Airmen’ sounds like a generic post-rock ramble from the start, but about halfway through does a musical backflip, lands on it’s feet and realises that it’s left mentor 65days in it’s dust. Dulcimers and glockenspiels blossom as to songs intersect, the old and the new splice and reform. It’s a beautiful thing. ‘Trois Fleures’ blends in a dash of distorted vocals, martial drums and industrial ugliness, a stylistic flexing of muscles if you will and ‘An Idle Brain’ just goes nutso with weighty riffs and African guitars before it crumbles, plateaus and returns as a folksier incarnation. I say milestones, because for me these are the points where Vessels find their voice through the corse of the song and shed the comparisons to Battles, Godspeed, 65days and all the stuff I’ve mentioned with impunity beforehand. Which brings me to what is, in my mind, the good stuff.

Curiously enough, it coincides with increased presence of Tom Evan’s warming, regional vocals that, along with Tim Mitchell’s pulsing rhythms, give the tracks heart and soul. ‘Yuki,’ a melancholic piano and masked electronic piece, is subtle and heartbreaking, the climax never quite rears it’s head, but then neither is it an anti-climax. ‘Two Words and A Gesture,’ twinkles along with rapid piano and glockenspiel runs and when the climax arrives it is sustained but strangely unresolved. The jewel in the crown is definitely ‘A Hundred Ways In Every Direction,’ with double tracked vocals, gearshifts, sustained climaxes, upward spiralling melodies and all five members playing with unbridled joy – a post-rock orgasmic chill that lasts way beyond the fade. I must admit that Tom’s lyrics verge on the completely nonsensical diatribal (“right away/it all becomes near”, “hold up/held down” – more like buzzwords really) but the sound they make, the shapes they make – that’s what matters here, rather than misjudged vocal cleverness. Less is definitely more.

Ten tracks weighing in at over five minutes each is certainly a big wedge of album and you can hear the quality and the love that has gone into this. So much love that the band are reluctant to shed some of their songs – it would have probably worked just as well with seven tracks. But Vessels are the giving kind, and this is a gift to their fans that will just keep giving. New comers may start to fidget during some of the tracks, but hang on in there; the best is yet to come. If the new tracks are any indication and if the next album can be a bit snappier, a tired old genre may have found a new, vibrant voice.

Popularity: 34% [?]