This Is Not TV

Opening the proceedings and keeping it local, Dinosaur Pile Up (NME) load up the riffs and let loose, nineties style. Matt is not holding back on the rock clichés and even though their peculiar brand of grunge rock is nothing new it makes for a lively start to the festival proper.

Lively, until you see Pulled Apart By Horses (FR). Wearing day-glo capes and crippled by appalling sound (nothing sounds miked up), they lumber belligerently into a set that is shout along fun and includes crowd surfing guitarists, semi-nudity and punches in the face. A typical satisfying PABH performance then.

I shun Detroit Social Club (FR) after realising that they appear to be fronted by Howard Moon pretending to be Ian Brown and check out Spinnerette (NME). Good call. Ex-Distiller Brody Dalle is a gorgeous, curvaceous David Lynch heroine whose attitude rich voice is backed by some incredibly raucous B-movie riffage. Real guilty pleasure stuff, but guilt is way overrated.

Eagles of Death Metal (MS) don’t really grab me – It’s enjoyable guitar based rock for sure but… meh. I’m too excited about Patrick Wolf (NME) and boy is he on good form. Dressed like Jerry Cornelius and Vampire Lestat’s bastard hermaphrodite child he charms the crowd, prancing and crackling with sexual energy. Taking choice cuts from his last two albums, he coaxes beautiful music from keys, violin and a priapic guitar before rounding off his set with a costume change and a climax as camp as… oh, any of the surrounding fields. Bloody amazing.

Secret gigs are fast becoming the essence of Leeds Festival and being in the right place (NME) at the right time (ummm… then) can sometimes become a unique experience. Today it is the turn for the Them Crooked Vultures (NME) to become the stuff of legends. With Dave Grohl, Josh Homme and (gasp) John Paul Jones (plus Spinnerettes Alain Johannes, the luckiest other guy ever) this is the super group of super groups and their combination of throaty QOTSA riffs, Foo-ish percussive energy and zep-esque grandeur makes for an enjoyable, if nostalgic, never to be repeated experience. There is one moment when the three of them are playing together so joyfully in a triangle that it is unimaginably beautiful. Probably the defining moment of the weekend.

Rival Schools (DT) have certainly seen better days, so I prepare for the post-rockalypse that is 65daysofstatic (FR), a band who finally after all these years appear to be on the verge of actual and deserved recognition. Unfortunately the sound is again an issue, but the band and audience are unbowed (even though the rabble rousing ‘Retreat, Retreat’ is lost to the garbled mix). The resulting rave-mosh is satisfying and appreciated by the band who are, quite literally, unstoppable.

As are old hand mainstagers Prodigy. Going for maximum crowd pleasing tonight, there are no new tracks, no obscure muso-pleasing references, no pauses, come to think of it – just energetic hard floor beats, bass and tunes. Maxim calls upon his ‘Prodigy soldiers’ to move like they’ve got a purpose, Keith gambols about like a crusty punk clown and every song hits the mark. The set climaxes with ‘Outer Space’ and nothing could be more bloody apt.

On a nineties rave high I make it to the NME stage in time to catch the close of Glasvegas. I must admit that I am surprised at how anthemic, striking and likeable they are. Fortunate really, as we are kept waiting an extra forty minutes for Gossip. Beth Ditto enters at crowd level in a black and white patterned off-the-shoulder number with a bright red pixie cut and black hole eyes. Meanwhile the rest of the band (or ‘Kens’) wear muted colours and know their place. It really has become a one woman show and this is the problem – yes, there are some good tunes, Beth has a good voice but the ephemera is getting in the way. We get it. Move on. More band, more tunes… better time keeping.

Popularity: 69% [?]

I once had a friend who knew a dour New Zealand couple that were consistently and unwittingly hilarious. He would regale us with their favourite phrase and we would laugh, both at his accent and its absurdity: “How’s Ewan?” “Same as ever: unpredictable.” Pulled Apart By Horses are a bit like that. You know it’s going to get weird and silly, but that’s all you know. Therefore, this interview should be hoot.

Formed from the choicest cuts of Concentration Champ (drummer Lee Vincent), It Take Bridges (guitarist James Brown), Mother Vulpine (front man Tom Hudson) and Monster Killed By Laser (Robert Lee), PABH (as they shall be known for the duration) first came into being at a ‘secret gig’ on 13^th February, with guests being invited by text message. Their pre-gig birth is, however, up for interpretation. “It was a bloody mucky mess,” says Rob, getting weird, “there was hay everywhere, I put my arm up the wrong hole first…” getting weirder, “but I held it in my arms and it was a beautiful moment.” James (a self-confessed ‘fucking idiot’) turns on him with a look of puzzlement on his face. “What, were you dying?” he says, “our band started…” followed by a drawn out death rattle. Yep, things have degenerated pretty quickly. Good. “It’s really boring actually,” says Tom soberly, “It started on the internet with James getting a bit bored and sending some emails.”

“Yeah, it’s not very exciting,” admits James. “ I heard Lee had left Concentration Champ and I was like ‘He likes Jesus Lizard, I like Jesus Lizard, let’s start a Jesus Lizard band,’” he drops the Alfie Noakes voice for a moment. “But that’s the complete opposite of what happened.” What actually happened was that Lee, James and Rob started rehearsing in a room in a less than salubrious area of the town before realising they needed a singer. James from Napoleon 111rd was considered for a while, but it was Tom who stepped manfully into the breach, turning up to a rehearsal “AND THAT WAS IT!” shouts James indignantly. It could have all gone wrong, though. Tom had met Lee once before at the Library… and been a bit scared of him. “He had a stocking over his face and was pounding the crap out of drums,” Tom says in his defence. “And he had just finished having a wee.”

Okay, so if they don’t sound like the Jesus Lizard, what do they sound like? Everything else, apparently. Everything good. “I always have lots of trouble trying to describe in interviews ‘so what does your band sound like?’” Says James putting on silly voice no. 3, “but I think it’s because we’ve all come from totally different bands and it’s just one big melting pot and the end product is… one big mash-up.”

“I think you can definitely hear stuff like Nirvana and RATM coming back in,” says Lee, “not because we sound like them, but because it’s stuff we’re influenced by, it becomes part of how you play music, and when you try to play naturally, everything that you’ve been brought up on comes out again.” But it’s not just about the bands you listened to, is it? There’s a whole teen culture with games and silly jokes coming out too. The Super Hang On thing?

“It was Paul Marshall’s birthday,” says James grinning, “and he really liked the game when he was a kid; he wrote some lyrics to the theme tune and used to sing them all the time.”

Lee nods, smiling. “He wants to sing the intro to that song when we do an album or something.”

“A lot of it’s based on a silly sense of humour that we all share rather than…” Rob trails off, making shapes, “and it turns itself into music.” Yeah, those titles certainly reflect a silly sense of humour. Part Chris Morris, part Peter Cook… part Richard Attenborough.

“I didn’t realise ‘til the other day,” says James, wide eyed, “I was sitting on the train, and I’d written out a set list in a book and I remember reading ‘I Punched a Lion In The Throat’ and I thought ‘what the fuck is that?’” the rest of the band explode into giggles. “My mum originally thought the title of that song was ‘I Punched My Girlfriend In the Throat’” says Tom. James calms down for a moment. “She was really upset by it…”

But the musical and humorous influences are linked intrinsically to and by the overriding philosophy of PABH: have a good time, all the time. “When we started doing it,” says James, “it was for fun. I think that’s when those influences from when you were a lot younger would come out… we are a serious band, but if we were a band trying to sound like the Arctic Monkeys, I think it wouldn’t be as much fun and everything about it, about us going out for drinks or doing a gig… it’s just about enjoying ourselves. It comes out in the music… you think of happy times and you end up playing a Nirvana chord…” So it’s a bit of a crisis thing? “It is for me,” says Lee gruffly, “I’m old.”

If you haven’t tagged on to the element of fun when listening to their recorded stuff, full of sound and fury signifying… well, lion abuse for a start, going out to see them drives the point home more thoroughly than embroidering with a pile-driver. Rob, Tom and James throw themselves about the stage like it was electrified and by the end if someone is not in casualty, projectile vomiting or stark bullock naked, it’s been a quiet night. “Tom keeps throwing up on stage,” jokes James, “it’s turned into our gimmick.” Tom quite infamously emptied his guts on the Introducing stage at the end of their set at Reading this year. “It’s happened three times in the past four gigs,” says Tom, “although Reading Festival was from pushing it too much and going all out… but I didn’t mind it then.”

James leaps in to defend Tom. “But with Tom,” he says, “out of all of us, he’s the one that’s screaming and jumping and playing guitar at the same time and, outside of that, he’s the one staying up ‘til four in the morning doing the artwork.” So he’s the pusher?

“When you’re playing it live,” explains Lee, “there’s no effort at all because you’re having such a good time… I think on the… admin side of things, the things you do outside of playing live, James is definitely the guy who pushes us all and sorts everything out. I’m not saying that he’s good or anything…” he quickly adds.

“You never want to say that,” says James.

“But you’re an eager bastard,” says Tom, finishing him off.

As well as playing the Leeds and Reading festivals, PABH have also signed with alternative noise merchants Big Scary Monsters, home of Tubelord, Blakfish and Itch, to release their first single, ‘Meat Balloon’. With James running his own label, it does strike me as owning a dog and barking yourself, but what do I know? “I think when you have your own label,” says Lee, “it just seems so easy to do that yourself. I think if you find other people who you respect and will make it good and are willing to put money and time into it… you just know they’re going to do a really good job.” In answer to my previous question about my personal knowledge, apparently very little. “We did have a couple of offers at the start,” adds James, “some in Leeds, some other people – but I think with [Big Scary Monsters] it’s based on the bands and stuff that are on the label… there’s some really good stuff, so I think we’re suited to do a release with them.” Professional in operation but DIY in attitude, Big Scary Monsters may not make hod loads of cash, but their collective heart is in the right place. “They’re bang into it,” says Lee, “not because they think ‘we can make a bit of money off the back of these guys,’ no, they really like the band… they’re just really nice people to work with.”

Rob rouses himself from a moments alcoholic musing. “The thing with releasing it through On The Bone,” he says methodically, “is that it would have been too easy. We wanted to wait for some outside enthusiasm.” The rest of the band sit back looking very satisfied with this answer, so I move on… to Spain!

The concept of these guys abroad is a frightening one, even more so when it transpires that it wasn’t their idea. “It was really early on actually” says James, “they asked us. We’d had these songs up (on Myspace) for about two months when we got this message saying, ‘come to Spain to do a tour,’ and we thought what’s this gonna involve? Are we gonna have to pay for it all blah blah blah, but basically they said ‘we’ll do it all for you, we really want you to do it.’”

Lee nods in agreement. “It’s a testament to the music scene in mainland Europe – you don’t get that over here. There’s no DIY Spanish booking agent that will go to a Spanish band and say, ‘do you want to come over to the UK and we’ll sort you out a tour.’ It’ll never happen. But I think they’ve got much better attitude to underground bands over there. Any promoter in the UK could learn a lot from Europe. There’s still good places in the UK, but they go above and beyond, they look after bands so well and people over there seem to be a lot more into going and seeing bands they’ve never heard before.”

“I think the main reason we were asked to play there was because we sound remarkably like the Gypsy Kings,” says Rob sensibly.

So to recap: in eight or so months they’ve played two of the biggest festivals in the UK, got themselves signed to a label and agreed to tour Spain. Swallowing my justifiable envy, I ask them what they put their success down to. As a group they shrug. “I can’t fathom it,” says Lee, “don’t get me wrong, it’s really cool and really exciting but I don’t have a fucking clue.”

“I guess some bands come along at certain times and it’s what people want to listen to.” Rob tails off, shrugging. “I dunno, I’d like to think that’s the case for us – I hope it is because that’s literally the only explanation I have. Other than that… I think it’s quite evident that we enjoy ourselves when we’re playing and people just want to have a good time too and get involved with it.”

Tom picks up on this. “I think there’s so many bands now that are just going for the big goal and they’re trying so hard and are so serious about it… I don’t know, I think it’s refreshing to see someone doing it because they’re enjoying it… a bit of a party.”

From what I’m hearing, all of them have been in those serious bands and have seen what can happen. “You get to a point when you’re in a band,” says James, “and you play a gig and you’re quiet and you’re really pissed off and don’t play properly and your hearts not in it… I think that’s the point where you should start questioning why you’re doing it. Because I think, not to be big headed, we’re doing it for all the right reasons. We love it… that’s all.”

And so, it would appear, do a lot of other people. Especially the naked guy who gets up on stage with them an hour later. And with horrified realisation, I knew where they’d got the title of their debut single from.

‘Meat Balloon’ is released on 27^th October on Big Scary Monsters and it isn’t named after what I thought. They will be returning from Spain to play the Brainwash Festival on 18^th October unless they get sold into arse slavery. Oh yes, and in case I forget: spatchcock!

Popularity: 9% [?]

I wake up feeling surprisingly spry on one of the two nice days in August, take a deep breath and prepare myself for day three in Bramham Park. My body has moulded to the lumps in the ground (though my pillow keeps deflating) and I have even tuned out to the three word vocabulary idiots camped beside us. Time to treat myself to some nice gentle trad folk, LS6 style.

Fran Rodgers has been breaking hearts with her beautiful voice for several years in Leeds now, so it is a long overdue event to see her reach a wider audience on a bigger stage. A much bigger stage. In fact, it swamps her. Then she opens her mouth and the tent fills with her rich, clean, heart-rending tones, augmented with acoustic guitar and lap dulcimer. She buries the needle. Harmonies loop and fold like musical origami as she overwhelms and is in turn overwhelmed. Then, the moment of truth as a security guard wipes away a tear. Result. Meanwhile, a member of These Monsters is in floods. I come close when she dedicates ‘This Is Dedicated…’ to her parents. The French bit breaks me. Beautiful, simply beautiful.

I roll in a daze to the Introducing stage – Dave from Wintermute has suggested I check out the Situationists – and catch the Tripwires from Reading. It is a competent performance but fades into the melange of Stereophonics/Kaiser Chiefs emo-laced indoe rock. I’m sure they are lovely lads… maybe that’s part of the problem. It’s okay for an innocuous scribe like me, but a band needs to be… striking.

The Situationists are living proof of parallel musical evolution. Four nerdish, self deprecating young men playing angular but poppy math music that is so tight you could serve pear cider in it and not spill a drop. Sound familiar? Okay, I’m referring to Wintermute – bit obscure, but if you read the previous paragraph you might have a giggle. The crowd are lapping it up and rightly so as this fare has an undeniably catchy indie groove riffs threaded with some neat fills from drummer Ralph. Fidgety Futureheads/Foals rock that is almost as good as their Leeds counterparts, Wintermute. Almost.

I have only one sentence written down for Henry Rollins: See fucking awesome. A mite trite, but perfectly justified. His delivery is constant but well paced, his humour self-deprecatingly charming, his passion palpable, his content hilarious, anecdotal and frank… he is the sort of person you could listen to all day and, considering the man’s penchant for work, the sort of person who would talk all day. And night. It dawns on me that this is Bill Hicks true heir without the drug references or perverted sex fantasies. So not perfect, but still… fucking awesome.

Unlike Be Your Own Pet. Considering that this is one of their last gigs, Jemima Pearl looks and moves like she can’t be arsed anymore – it’s a far cry form the band I saw two years ago. It’s a shame, because the material from the new album is so… crispy. ‘Valley Of The Dolls’ should be spat out like bad seed, not mumbled. The smattering of audience look pretty disinterested too. Such a pity.

Sheffield’s Darlings of the Split Screen are stirring up the mid-size crowd at the Introducing stage with an electro ladle of samba. Terrible imagery, but good music and very zeitgeist. Kid Faces bops the synth, throwing out the sounds Hot Chip/XTC/Friendly Fires style and it is good n infectious. In fact, I wish I hadn’t bothered with Be Your Own Pet now. Catching these guys full set would have been better.

More festival lard n sugar premium mix from a sensibly priced vendor. I overcome the gag reflex and get back to the Introducing stage just in time for Leeds’ rock phenomena Pulled Apart By Horses, the yin of post-Mother Vulpine to Dinosaur Pile-Up’s yang. I hear that on the previous day, when they played Reading, Tom went to say “Cheers Reading,” and instead vomited for three minutes. He then wiped his mouth and said “cheers Reading.” Hence, a rock phenomena. Their five song set is baggy, ridiculous… and magnificent. Guitarists Tom and James leap off stacks, dive around the stage, play the theme from ‘Super Hang-On’ and spaz out to the extreme and the whole thing culminates with Tom singing on his back whilst being carried by the audience. Fellow ex-Mother Vulpine Lins takes over from Tom for that, setting in my mind the most beautiful rock n roll tableau of the weekend. Fellow writer and Leeds legend Sam Saunders comes striding out of the mosh pit and sums it up in two words: “Fuck indie.” Amen.

For some reason I miss about half of the Maybes?’ set – look, I’m being honest here – and when I return, I’m thinking they sound like your average indie electro band sporting just the right amount of plucky arrogance. I shrug. Then for their finale they embark on what can only be described as an ambient indie post-rock extravaganza. I didn’t see that coming. I’m intrigued. It’s like Aerogramme gone ladsy, Mogwai gone Liverpudlian. It’s about two minutes too long, but I am fair impressed and totally fail to secure an interview with them. I am nothing if not amateur.

Ida Maria, Norway and womankind’s answer to Pete Docherty actually deems to turn up today, wearing a battered top hat, a short dress and a leather jacket. Her make-up is Alice Cooper circa ‘Flush The Fashion’ and she is flanked by two Kens (Stefan Tornby and Johannes Lindberg). Looking slightly tipsy, she wades through the majority of her set with some half-hearted enthusiasm while her cohorts look on unimpressed and the audience wait for that song. In short, it’s one of those “come on, play the hit” gigs and I am personally a bot nonplussed. When the songs do come (‘Stella’ is sorta familiar) there is a cheer of relief from the audience and Ida, feeding off the response, ups the drunken antics a notch, flirting with the crowd, and generally selling ‘I Like You So Much Better When You’re Naked’ like she should have done the rest of the set. Flash in the pan minus the nudity.

Friendly Fires follow and fortunately a good number of folks remain, because, though the dancing girls aren’t present, the carnival is coming to Leeds today. Showers of ticker tape herald their opening and Ed MacFarlane struts around the stage like a techno Mick Jagger, arse wiggling joyfully every time he pokes emphatically at his synth. Candy Staton sticks out like a glitter covered thumb – in fact, is celebrated exuberantly. Only problem is that the sound is so muddied that it doesn’t quite ignite. It gets pretty damn close when Jack Savidge and Edd Gibson hit the drums, turning ‘Paris’ into a Rio de Janeiro carnival, the air now thick with confetti and passion. Okay, it’s bloody good. I’m convinced.

Boogeying off to catch my breath and chat to the BBC, I am just about prepared for the double whammy of the weekend: QOTSA and RATM. Two great acronyms, two great bands. For some reason, though, Queens are a bit down beat tonight. The set is eclectic, featuring tracks from all five albums, but Josh Homme looks like a man going through the motions. Plus, the whole thing is still not loud enough! Whoever decided the sound on the main stage (i.e. some noise abatement official) should be held accountable for kicking the heart out of the speakers. Still, despite the lacklustre performance and poor sound, it’s nice to hear in the open air.

A lot of people have been waiting a long time for this. You can sense the anticipation in the air. Or it could be the damp. When the lights finally come up after an unwelcome delay, the stage is dominated by a large red star – and that’s it. The emphasis is on Rage, not gimmicks. When the band arrive, a huge roar goes up and the ground shakes as tens of thousands of bodies jump up and down in unison. Zack de la Rocha strides purposefully about the stage laying down hardline after hardline, only letting up form the music to tell the crowd to move back. No lectures or protests tonight, just dissident anthem after dissident anthem. Tom Morella uses his guitar like a set of decks, unplugging and tapping to get that distinct sound and I swear never to mock him about pedals again. Tim Commerford, in a full torso tattoo and little else, holds down the tune and the rhythm on his bass – for me the great unheralded hero of Rage. ‘Bulls On Parade’ detonates, ‘Bullet In The Head’ fragments and ‘Renegades of Funk’… funks, but the noise is never quite enough. The second half of the set, unsupported by volume or fusion bangers sags a bit, so I am almost twiddling my thumbs by the time ‘Killing In The Name Of’ kicks off. Then they are gone, without fuss or fanfare. It’s worth it, but I can’t help but feel that it could have been more. Rage, for sure, but contained. Like the metal.

Popularity: 8% [?]