Being divided between two counties has certainly been a contributing factor behind the decision, but the principle reason has been ‘quite serious health issues,’ as announced enigmatically by founder member Thom Corah. He has also reassured fans that the hiatus does not mean a complete halt, just ‘a slowing of pace’.

‘Calla played their last gig for the foreseeable future at Holy Trinity Church, Leeds this Saturday, a suitably sombre affair, which was attended by members of I Like Trains and Glissando as well as a good many well-wishing fans.

Though it is unclear as to when we will see ‘Calla again, it is fairly certain we shall see them again, in one form or another.

‘Condor and River’ is available on this 12″ split with Maybeshewill from Gizeh Records.

Saturday night, The Packhorse in Leeds at the wrong end of Freshers’ Week - no place of promise.

Tall, thin and Victorian, it watches as a rag-end of locals (sixty years to drink their brain cells dry) creep home and a tide of students (set to achieve it quicker) take over.

A bit of paper stuck to the door signals a clandestine upstairs meeting, FoS vs GZH.

Local promoter, Forest of Sound and local label Gizeh (as in “Gizeh Record”, geddit?) fielding four bands apiece.

But all is not well. Winter North Atlantic, having spent seven hours failing to fix a broken computer have pulled out. Winter North Atlantic, is actually Ed Carter of Sheffield, and it is sad to miss him because doing homework for the gig I loved his myspace quite enough to buy his records.

As it is, the night kicks off with Manchester’s Spokes, two of whom live in the “rough part” of Salford, (possibly an overfine distinction). They make a fine noise do Spokes, in the “Explosions in the Sky”, “God is . . .” tradition. But that is the trouble: they are copyists.

Of course it sounds good, it sounds right. Because who in their right mind would copy rubbish? But they bring nothing new. And that is a waste.

We shuffle across the landing to t’other room (five minute changeovers observed to the dot) for Phantom Dog Beneath the Moon, half of whom, “multi-instrumentalist / spooky electronic dude Scott” is absent for the trivial reason of a PhD viva. This leaves Garfunkel without his Simon. Aaron won the prize that night (and it was a close run thing) for the most wayward hairdo and (more easily won) the shyest stage presence. But he has a voice. The voice does thin, glassy, ringing, but the voice also does dire, abrasive, barking. Here, you think, is one soul who may not see out the year intact. Ghosts stalk the songs of Phantom Dog . . . I am not being metaphorical. When not busy thinking about equations, Aaron spends his time writing songs about ghosts.

Which I suppose leaves little time for the hairdressers.

Chantal Acda (Dutch) playing as SleepingDog confesses a preference for horses and rabbits to people and has two podgy red ponies perched on the monitors and two fluffy white rabbits nearby. But is one of the rarest of things, a real woman. Her songs: sad, intense and beautiful, natural as breath, hold the room still. She has been on tour with Glissando, thinks they’re nearly as nice as horses and pinches their violinist, Sophie, a happy collaboration, for two songs.

Downstairs, students dressed as schoolgirls, shirts and faces covered in felt-tip pen, clog the bar.

Across the landing it is Pan Am Scan, who are three: two blond, one oriental, all male. One applemac, one vibraphone, one drum set plus etceteras.

This is only Pan Am Scan’s fifth gig.

They improvise.

Neither of these facts is apparent !

The applemac person samples and re-jiggles. A human pedal! At one point the wee chap at the vibraphone (you could pop him in a pocket) lies a large chain over the keys, the percussionist pulls a thread up through the drum skin, beats small copper bowls with woolly sticks and generally works himself to a frenzy over tiny tiny sounds. They make curtains of sound coalesce like Northern Lights in that dark Leeds night.

Downstairs, students dressed as clowns crowd out the bar.

Back across the landing, Glissando, who everyone in Leeds knows, settle down to produce elegant music with breathtakingly awful lyrics. Maybe the Cocteau Twins knew a thing or two.

Cramming eight bands into four and a half hours was always going to be a challenge, especially as many of them are musicians. (!) But all goes tickety boo till The Boats. The Boats look to have fetched along some bloke they’ve found propping up the bar as their singer. The rest of the band’s shambolic efforts make him look a consummate professional.

The Boats spend loads of energy making little scritch-scratchy noises only to fall in bits over an unearthed lead offering all the scratchiness they could ever want – free.

If it were not for the appalling reality of the first years downstairs, you’d be tempted to say The Boats act like a load of students. Here, for sure, are men who drop their underpants on the floor at bedtime. But the sounds they make. Oh. Like a curlew over a marsh, mist over a river, autumn leaves in a dry wind are, luckily, much prettier.

Downstairs, tigers with black whiskers, (by now VERY drunk) lurch on the rolling deck of the pink marble floor.

Rather late, and with audience attrition having taken its toll, it is Rothko’s turn. It is rather nice that, in the week Rothko return up north, the Rothko exhibition kicks off at theTate. Both are simply magisterial.

At one point an unopposable wall of sound bears down and it seems succumbing to drowning might be soft as a falling into a little sleep. Mr Beazley, head Rothko honcho has a habit of expecting things of his bass most basses have not even dreamt of. And he does not take no for an answer. Unmistakable as a Rothko painting, hear one note from a bass and you can tell when Mark Beazley is playing. Chefs have signature dishes, Mark a signature touch. In a set of a mere five pieces their wine list is by turns: coarse, noisy, abrasive, rich, plummy, rotund, sharp, acidic, blackcurranty.

Vodka drinkers – schoolgirls, clowns or tigers – need not attend.

The billing Forest of Sound vs. Gizeh, implies a competitive element.

Judges, your cards please!

FOS

fall at the first hurdle, losing Winter North Atlantic NULL points

handicapped by losing ½ of Phantom Dog . . . 2 points

hit a winner with Pan Am Scan 4 points

choose an unreliable steed in The Boats 3 points

total 9 points

Gizeh

take an unimaginative option with Spokes NULL points

sign SleepingDog 3 points

play their solid card: Glissando 3 points

persuade royalty to attend: Rothko 5 points

total 11 points

*** Winners Gizeh ***

(and hence, perhaps, for want of a PC, a night is lost.)

Thanks to Wendy Cook for this review.

They’re not what you’d expect them to be, these two. Glissando spin out epic black candyfloss confections as light as air, as mournful as Penelope’s shroud, built insubstantially from minimal piano phrases, ambient synths, samples and bowed guitars from Richard Knox and bound together by the haunted, fragile vocals of Ellie Irving – it’s the stuff of abandoned toys in attics and other ghosts of childhood. Her Name Is Calla, though similarly epic, are more robust. Their songs arise from ambient folk soundscapes to cataclysmic riff laden climaxes, punctured by Tom Morris furious cries and Thomas Corah and Sophie Barnes blaring brass. You’d expect them all to be fairly dour and quite serious. So wrong, so wrong…

Rich (Glissando) has collared Tom (Calla) from packing up duties and he’s looking a trifle confused. “I didn’t realise I was staying for this,” he says, “I just came to get my piano case.” Still, general confusion, spontaneous puzzlement and utter bewilderment all go hand in hand with touring, which is what the two of them will be doing for the next week or so. Having both recently released albums (Her Name Is Calla’s ‘The Heritage’ and Glissando’s ‘With Our Arms Wide Open We March Towards The Burning Sea’) in need of some promotion, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Who’s was it? “It’s half and half really,” says Rich quietly amidst the furore of instruments being stowed and the birthday party next door. “We decided to do it… just to push a few areas that we had… and it worked out alright. I think.”

“At our level where you’ve got no representation it’s really hard to get things fluid, getting one day after another,” adds Tom, openly proud of their achievement, “no-one really wants to take two smallish touring bands. But it all seemed to come together really easily. Two of the dates we’d prefer the other way around because it means we’re going to have to do more driving, but in general things have been really good.”

“We’re just looking for fees to cover the petrol,” says Rich, ever practical, “that’s the starting point, and because we’re travelling together we can pool the money, plus travelling together is… nice.”

Nice? That’s a new word for it. Last time I spoke to Calla, they cheerfully recounted the drubbing Rich received at their hands. Tom grins evilly when I mention this. “Touring with us is quite eventful. We’re really worried about Sophie and Ellie because they’ve not come out on the road with us before.” I ask if he’ll be showing some sort of restraint with the ladies, stumble half way through my statement and end up in Mark Manning territory. I meant restraint, not restraints, Tom. “We’ll try… but probably after a few days…” he tails off enigmatically before regaining the thread. “It’s not that we do anything wrong, it’s just that… we seem to get involved with Portuguese drugs barons and things like that.” Tom reconsiders his last statement. “I wouldn’t say he was a drug baron, more of a peddler.”

“We have some footage of Mike asphixo-wanking…” chips in Rich. We’re going that way again…

Fortunately, Thom chooses to interrupt at that point, with a moment of purest Tap brilliance. “The handle of my case just broke,” he says mournfully, “the tour’s off.” After some gentle persuasion by Tom, he is mollified and continues to load up the van. I tentatively re-approach the subject of touring hijinks… “Basically, the last tour that these guys had, they played with Twilight Sad,” says Rich. “Pete (iLiKETRAiNS sound man) came with us and said it was the best time ever – and he’s done like a million tours.”

Tom stops Rich, remembering something. “About half way through,” he says, ”we had to pull over and all sit apart for about half an hour because… I didn’t know it was possible to get bruises from laughing so much.” It all sounds very chaotic and rock and roll. “What you’ve got to remember is,” explains, Richard, “all the tours that our two bands do are holidays from work and families. So none of us take holidays at all. We have to have a good time or it’s like more work and more work.”

Tom nods. “If we could take it to the next level,” he says dreamily, “if we could take more days off work and get more money from gigs then we could go out more – which would be ace.” It can’t be easy with petrol costing an organ every time you want to go beyond the city limits either. “Petrol costs are insane,” agrees Tom. “But apart from that, there are no real negative aspects, so we’ll keep on going out on tour.”

The tour this time around will be re-visiting some familiar haunts, but also opening up new territory. “I’m really looking forward to playing Newcastle and Cardiff,” says Tom.

“Cardiff’s a nice place,” confirms Rich, “and the promoter’s done a lot of work.” Tom notices that all his equipment has been put away. “This is awesome,” he says, “like having roadies. TRAiNS haven’t even got roadies.”

“I’m not really looking forward to London,” admits Tom, recovering from the novelty. “I don’t know what the York one’s going to be like. We seem to be playing some places this time that we haven’t played before – well, we’ve only been to York once… there are places that we’ve played at once, really small gigs, so it’s nice to get the chance to go back.”

“And because we’ve got the two records out,” Rich rethinks frowning, “but the students have gone, so it might be a difficult time.” Chin up, Rich, things could get worse.

At this point, the noise level rises a decibel next door as they put on Guitar Hero. “I think I might walk in there with my balls out,” says Rich, “see what happens.”

“I think someone would punch you,” says Tom.

Rich shrugs. “They’re playing Guitar Hero.” For some reason, this seems to explain everything for him.

‘The Heritage’ and ‘With Our Arms Wide Open We March Towards The Burning Sea’ are both out now and available from Gizeh Records.

Yet another hangover looms as we raise our weary heads in London town and hit the rainy road to Cardiff.

It seems to take us about a week to get there and we’re late. We need not worry though as the venue has some crazy policy of no noise before 9.30. Good one.

Tom and i take a stroll around the city in the hope more people will show up while we are gone. They don’t.

There is a DVD projector and we run the Refused DVD behind us while we play.

The night is strangely subdued but we step up the action after the show by meeting our hosts, Isaac and John. The 24 hour Tesco eats our money on alcohol and we have another late night drinking until we all fall to sleep one by one.

The aim is to get back to Leeds to see Frightened Rabbit and The Old House on Thursday but we fail due to a 9 hour journey home.

Tired hearts and minds but memories to treasure.

Over and out…..

Rich x

Hungover in London on a rainy Wednesday morning. We stayed at my old friend Tony’s house last night and drank rum and gin into the wee hours listening to Dr John vinyls and smoking our body weights in tobacco.

If you are new to the world of Wray & Nephew please investigate for yourself. It’s like a 63% acid trip.

Tony sells me one of the last two copies of a Shit & Shine 12″ he released on his Noisestar label which make me a happy boy.

Today we head to Wales and the last stop of our rock tour

The morning consists of coffee and doing an email interview for God Is In the TV webzine who are promoting the Cardiff show on Wednesday.

Tom Waits soundtracks my journey to Newcastle and we travel stress free straight to the Head of Steam venue.

We are playing for the same promoters who put us on in May so it’s really nice to see those guys again, John is his usual welcoming self.

It’s not as busy as last time we played there but that’s been the way of late, it’s a tough time of year to tour. Our set feels very strange tonight, almost like we didn’t even play.

We meet Stephen again who has helped out with some beautiful artwork for us and ‘Calla recently, you must seek his work – www.thesinginggarden.co.uk we share beers and cigarettes and bid a fond farewell.

The journey back is sleepy and something happens which I don’t want to mention anything more about.

Her Name Is Calla

well, we woke up this morning pretty knackered with ruined bodies after last nights amazing five person mosh in the back of our van. We tried to come round as best we could with some fresh sandwiches from a nearby shop. It did nothing for me.

After yesterdays bitter disappointment, we checked our emails to find the ghost that is Robot Professor promotions had emailed us to say he’d already told us that the gig was cancelled a few days back. Of course you did mate. Would of helped if you’d at least taken the gig listing down off of your site.

Anyhew, after literally burning away £100 in diesel and oil, we arrive in Newcastle at The Head of Steam. Lovely little venue where we meet the ever so nice John and Narbi from Fake Indie Label. Sound check is good and there’s a crate of Corona on to help things along.

Not much else to report. We almost die, but that’s it.

By Tom

We’re currently on the drive to Birmingham, the potential of tonight’s show being a full-scale disaster is fairly high due to the promoter (Robot Professor) not returning emails for the previous few weeks… it’s a worry.

I watch a DVD about a band called Refused – a now defunct Swedish hard-core band who made one of my favorite records in ‘The Shape of Punk to Come’, this film always pushes me to try and find new limits with our band, it’s a real inspiration.

Everyone has suddenly found a new lease of life – Jeff Buckley is leading the way along with some hideously over-priced serve station coffee……

….. and so my gut feeling turned out true. There is no show, no promoter and bunch of pissed off people outside to venue in the midlands rain. (Please see the photos for the note I left on the door of the venue).

However we are nothing if not resilient and we arm ourselves with beers and head back to Leicester for a brief ‘Calla family visit before the real action begins.

Today (Monday), Tom and I are battered and bruised from our late-night slam dancing festival in the back of the van on the journey back North last night. At the Drive-In hold a special place for me and we took that place to the nxt level with a little help from a couple of rock monster girls.

No one can doubt the ability of ROCK to change the world.

Her Name Is Calla

It was the best of days, it was the worst of days. In all honesty for anyone else it would have been a very shit day but we had a brilliant time.

It all started quite reasonably, we woke up late after a brilliant gig in York which left us knackered but pretty damn happy, attempted to leave on time and left late. Upon arriving outside the venue (Concrete in Birmingham) it all started to go downhill. After numerous attempts to get in contact with the promoter over the past month with no response, we were feeling dubious about the gig and when we arrived our worries were confirmed when the doors were locked, the lights were off and the bastard (Robot Professor for all bands’ future reference) was nowhere to be seen. A phone call went straight to his voicemail. So a 280 mile round trip to Birmingham for no reason whatsoever left us feeling slightly disgruntled to say the least.

Pints were downed in a local pub, where a man on the neighbouring table was serenading the room with Irish folk songs. Back into the van, where we were treated to a surprise strip-tease from Mike, which got a bit violent when Rich started whipping him with his own belt, and then a stopover in Leicester where half the gang went off to see their lady partners. We said goodbye to Dave our cello player and the rest of us went to a parent and baby party to see Tom’s wife and daughter who gave us all a top-notch glockenspiel performance after pushing Tom out the way when he tried to show her what to do, good lass!

A few hours and beers later we started the drive back to Leeds, at which point the inspired decision was made to soundtrack our journey with the king of poop himself, the much misunderstood Jacko. As ‘Earth Song’ crashed out of the speakers Tom ripped off his t-shirt to a less than adoring crowd. A whole hour of the legend’s hits kept us entertained for the majority of the journey before At The Drive In made an appearance and we had a mini mosh in the back of the bus, with Tom and Rich attempting to prove their rock credentials by getting semi-naked. Nevertheless, the girls still out-rocked them good and proper. So, a weird day, not particularly useful for us as a band and a huge waste of time but a whole heap of fun nevertheless. Newcastle tomorrow should definitely be a belter now we’ve had an unexpected break.

Setlist

Earth Song

Earth Song

Earth Song

Earth Song

Earth Song

P.S Mike’s gay. (thom’s edit)

By Sophie

City Screens, Basement – York

Her Name Is Calla Tour Dairy

Our 2nd day on the road and we find our selves suffering from a self
inflicted late night and the days rain and thunder. By the time we
make our way into York the sun has return and so has our health. The
‘Basement’ is below a working and hip cinema, we set up while looking
at posters advertising the next european art house film to come
through these doors.
We were aided by a very nice and well prepared sound man ‘Vin’, it
sounded well ace on stage and we were all happy, then the uber nice
and smiley promoter Joe arrived while glissando were sound checking,
he got on our good side by getting us some tea and coffee, then after
the sound check we had some food, which is always a massive plus.
Thom and I then looked around a lovely small church next to the venue,
we took in its tranquility and beauty, and without trying to sound gay
or wet, we were both a little over come after reading the ‘Request’s
for Prayer’s’ notice board, reading of people’s pain, loss and hope,
hope that a little prayer would help ease their pain and suffering or
help lead them out of a hole.
We returned to the venue to find the rest of the guys waiting to see
‘Wow Meow’ we were all dead impressed by Simon and his looping of
beats, guitar, effects and vocals. and he was bloody nice too! I also
liked his t-shirt.
Glissando followed and again they were wonderful, it was impossible
not to be swallowed up and surrounded by their amazing songs and
sounds, they just seem to get better and better, those bastards!!
Then it was our turn and we had a great set, Tom was feeling a little
unwell before we went on, he claims he nearly fainted during Nylon,
but he didn’t, so he should learn to shut up and get over it!! The
audience were cool, staying respectfully quiet throughout everyones
performance and they even entered into some of our inane banter.
We’re all pooped out now and are looking forward to rocking out in
Birmingham tomorrow!
‘Toot toot!
Michael Love

Our Set List
Moment of Clarity
Nylon
Long Distance Runner
Wren
Rebirth
New England

Encore
Condor and River

Glissando YORK

A murky Leeds morning and the remnants of a hangover loom large as a mostly uneventful day passes us by.

I’m in need of some inspiration and keeping hope that tonights show in York is successful.

It is successful and we meet some wonderful people and chat to some of the crowd after the show.

I guess you’ve probably figured that I’m not so good at describing how we play at these shows. To be honest it’s impossible for me to begin to put into words how it feels to play these songs and throw your mind into that space and I’m not even going to make any attempt to do so.

Set List

Our Flags Wave and Our Arms are Around Another’s Shoulders

Grekken

Floods

With a Kiss and a Tear

As part of our quest to provide a different kind of music news n reviews website (and to wind up Stone Gods fans – blimey, I only said I was horribly disappointed with the album, I didn’t wish them dead…) here is part one of our exclusive tour blog from Leeds/Leicester post-rockers, Glissando and Her Name Is Calla. I have a horrible feeling that it’s going to go a bit Bad Wisdom.

Day one.

Leeds – The Pack Horse

First night done. It went fairly well, though as with the trains tour last year, the first night threw up a few little problems. It transpires that Tom is either sexy or sexist, we’re not quite sure what Sophie said. Either way, he accidentally got into an interview earlier where he alleged certain activities regarding the two girls joining us on this tour. They might regret climbing into the van in the morning.

The drive up from Leicester was characterised by traffic jams, which bring their own fun due to the close proximity of fellow motorists. Some of them were nice looking, some weren’t, but we don’t discriminate. (Apart from Adam, who did). Anyway, we’re now back at Ellie’s talking about gang rape while Pete shows us videos from the trains tour. York tomorrow.

The website for the venue gives the impression that the audience will be seated in rows. Rock! Right, I’m off to the van to get cosy and watch Cloverfield (newly stolen off Ellie’s computer). Oh, one last thing, if you live in Newcastle and have floor space for five or six people, please email us.

Thanks.

Thom.