Scrimshire - Bight

From the very first warm tones, my mind moves me to think of the needle dropping on a dusted off record, from the vocals I picture hips swaying seductively alone on an empty dancefloor of a basement venue, and the slowed down DnB style breakdown of the chorus and a creeping electro synth bring this retro-tinged slow-burner bang up to date.

Scrimshire's third album certainly has a devastatingly fresh sounding first impression within lead track Emperor, neatly unfolding into the driven electronica of Convergent, beautifully voiced by the artist himself and with the instrumental melodic shuffle of No More, Bight's place in my list of 'overlooked artists and albums that I shall harp on to everyone about' is ascertained.

As the album progresses and takes shape across the full forty five minutes, the talent of Scrimshire should be apparent to anyone whose ears are lucky enough to be graced by these hybrid dance-soul nuggets, for those less informed, you could be led to believe that what was playing was a compilation album, as loosely connected styles fill out the running time, topped off with a small smattering of alternating vocalists amongst the instrumentals.

The result is perhaps something akin to Fatboy Slim if perhaps his Big Beats weren't so big, the lightly buoyant nature of the albums first half making the tracks as accessible as Norman Cook's without the pop-aimed bravado of the Brighton based DJ's usual productions, instead the crate-digging sound is a much more subtle beast that takes its cues from jazz fusion, soul and funk.

Colliding and colluding styles mean that the album merits a full run through every single time, with each listen opening up and emphasising a new nuance of sound, and the latter part of the album slows the tempo and vaults at a 21st century update of Pink Floyd or two, atmospheric prog-leanings intertwining with a dub-infused time signature to create blissfully modern soundscapes.

All of my showboating is for nothing if you don't experience Bight for yourself, and it should not just be essential listening for music fans but also for music creatives, displaying how an innovative and balanced approach to mining the past can be brought right up to date for today's discerning audiences.

I don't want the party to be over: Flaming Lips @ The Roundhouse, 21.05.13

The atmosphere was at the very same time geeky and jubilant, a mixed crowd of ages filled The Roundhouse in Camden as mirrored domes were brought out and piled up upon the stage and Wayne Coyne's tin foil-wrapped podium was wheeled into position.

It was certainly an unsuspecting crowd that had parted with cash in order to see their heroes or for newer converts to witness what others have so long talked about when it comes to a Flaming Lips live-show.

But this was a changed band and a number of circumstances could have led to this new incarnation of a long standing favourite.

The previous night's performance had been cancelled due to illness that had struck down the psychedic-rocker's usually flamboyant leader, and overnight news told of a devastating storm that had ripped through the band's home state of Oklahoma.

Coyne decreed that he felt 'a lot fucking better' as the sound check progressed into an impassioned speech about how wide-reaching disasters and the loss of lives put things into perspective, that silly rock shows really don't matter in the grand scheme of things, but they were here to put on a show regardless.

Another change of perspective came with the band's most recent album, The Terror, their least commercial offering in recent memory that felt as if all the doom, the doubt and the death that can be found bubbling under the surface of even their most upbeat songs had finally fought its way loose and manifested in droning soundscapes and extreme experimentation.

And it was this outlook that informed the tone of the gig, drawing heavily from the new album, any concessions to former releases were equally dark and mired in waves of glacial electronica and a sense of the morose.

Crowd pleasers and huge bouncing singalongs have gone the same way as fancy dress adorned acolytes and confetti cannons (though hopefully not forever), and the absurd sight of Wayne Coyne cradling a baby doll in his arms with tender care as strobing fills the gloom and dirgy psychedelia blasts from all around, just doesn't seem like the party that I came here for.

perhaps this is a turning point, or perhaps this is just a transitional moment that will pass, but when 'Do You Realize?' no longer sounds like a joyous celebration of our fleeting lives and the ticker tape that rains down is as black as the veil of death itself, it is clear that those gathered here have witnessed a new, altogether different chapter in the Flaming Lips live history.

Brits 2013

It's February yet again, so it must be time for my annual Brits rant.

Thankfully, the award itself was looking more presentable than last years thanks to an overhaul by Damien Hirst and his famous colourful spots.

But in terms of entertainment, the Brits was bland and frankly rather boring.

Sure, Muse kicked off the whole thing in unprecedented style and bombast, and Taylor Swift had plenty of jaws dropping as she owned the stage and set pulses racing with a large scale take on recent single Trouble, both performances took advantage of the award shows monumental stature within the industry, but aside from a mesmerising turn from Ben Howard, the other live sets seemed to be lacking somewhat.

And it certainly wasn't just the artists on parade that left more to be desired, James Corden's abysmal presenting was completely devoid of any charisma, instead playing a good puppet, smiling and mugging for the camera.

Where was the impulsiveness of years gone past, where was the risk that saw Brit-Pop era award shows postponing broadcasting until a day later following the unplanned onstage antics of Jarvis Cocker, Brandon Block and Ronnie Wood?

There is nothing exciting about a polished smooth machine that runs perfectly, why do you think the biggest talking point of last year was the abrupt interruption of Adele's acceptance speech over any other winner or performance?

But where ITV's coverage was lacking, ITV2’s picking up of the baton backstage proved to be the perfect antidote.  Rizzle Kicks' amateur red carpet interviews from earlier in the evening had been replaced by sozzled revelry, an extremely loose approach to scripted questioning and disastrous attempts to read the autocue.

Co-host, Laura Whitmore, seemed panicked by the young pop duo who had clearly enjoyed far too much of the evenings hospitalities, but little did she know that the relaxed atmosphere of post-award show chitter chatter mixed with a free-flowing table service had caught celebrity guests completely with their guard down, resulting in far more honest entertainment, seeing stars as we very rarely do... drunk, witty and very funny.

It was car-crash telly, especially when Robbie Williams reduced .... To tears with his kind words and commandeered the strangely free-form interview, and I doubt Rizzle Kicks will be invited back in the same capacity next year, but we caught a rare glimpse into the real back-slapping culture of the music industry.

So next year, lets run the risk of uncertainty, lets see some more unpredicted behaviour, and lets have an award show that is worth discussing for more than just the predictable winners.

UNX - Divide By Zero

I have never claimed to be, and likely never will be, a true connoisseur of metal music.

I fail to find the subtleties that are inherent in lurching, monster riffs and screamo vocals, yet when UNX, an Enfield band that I have witnessed the very earliest moments of, approach me to cast an ear over their debut EP, then I am overjoyed to have their raucous machinations bellowing out at me from my iTunes.

The brief intro that opens proceedings is the calm before the storm, a slow atmospheric build that precedes an EP of unrelenting intensity that once deciphered and decoded reveals an internal anguish and sense of alienation that has surely fuelled angry young men across the ages and is befitting of a vocal delivery that is akin to primal scream therapy and music that exists as a pure form of raw expressionism, a release of pent up energy and suppressed aggression.

Consisting of three full length tracks, and further buoyed by three other tracks of audio diversions, Divide By Zero clocks in at under thirteen minutes, hardly out staying its welcome, and is rounded out by UNX's crowning achievement, I Think Therefore I Am.

Bringing itself to a natural conclusion, the EP closer feels like what the band have been working towards. Lyrically, it is the strongest and most memorable track on the release, taking thematical threads that have run through earlier tracks, Severance and Incision, yet it feels musically more progressive than those tracks that have come before it, with epic chiming guitars ringing out, whilst incorporating a woozy and unsettling use of experimental sampling.

As the first chapter in the UNX story closes, I hope that this is a prelude of things to come, encompassing more diverse styles into the established heavy rock template and providing Enfield's proud lineage of metal bands with a brand new standard bearer as it marches ever onwards.

The fate of HMV

Sad news this week just passed that the record store HMV has gone into administration.

Many are quick to decry the loss of another high street chain, the latest in a growing list of former town centre staples that has gone the same way as Woolworths and the like, yet it has hardly come as any surprise, if anything, most have wondered how it has staggered on for so long.

Music fans have witnessed dramatic changes to the way that entertainment is consumed over the last fifteen years, with the rise of peer to peer networks, apple's dominance of online legal downloads, and streaming platforms such as YouTube, spotify and soundcloud, all contributing factors that have altered the musical landscape so that it is virtually unrecognisable from that of 1998.

With rental chain Blockbusters, shortly following HMV into administration, no doubt suffering against competition from Lovefilm and Netflix, it seems clear that the age of the physical format is severely in decline, and that perhaps HMV may have been better of concentrating on live music ventures rather than going up against and losing to online prices.

Since record companies, in response to dwindling sales have refocused on '360 degree' deals that incorporate tour earnings and merchandising, I was surprised when I learnt that in late 2011, HMV made a move to sell the music venues and interests that they had accumulated, seeming to miss the changes that surrounded them. More recent developments have seen HMV stores kitted out to shift the focus to technology and headphones in an attempt to keep the business afloat, but it has all been too little too late.

The future is decidedly uncertain as to if HMV will remain on our high streets, and my sympathies genuinely go out to those whose jobs are jeopardy, but the fact that they follow Our Price, Tower Records, and Virgin Megastores onto a list of extinct species is surely a sign of the times.

Frankie Machine

With over a thousand songs being carried around in your pocket, it is astonishing to think that it could still be difficult to find music to suit your mood, yet, quite simply, all this choice can be rather confounding.

And so my story begins on a rather dull January morning, leaving the house and contemplating the working day and how long it is until my next day off, I need something calming, serene, distracting, and I need it now.

I scroll past bands I love, bands I'm bored of, and artists that just don't seem right for right now, and I settle upon the name Frankie Machine.

I remember very little of why, but I remember I liked it, so I choose this, and after a brief offbeat intro, I am reminded of what held so much appeal as the sound of Nineteen Seventy Three is channeled directly into my ears.

A simple acoustic track that I have missed so much that I play it twice in a row, and as I tune into the remainder of the EP from whence it originated, I wonder how I ever came across this in the first place, what website or blog must have convinced me to right-click and save as, and a most audacious thought of all, how, in this highly informed digital age, do I still have no idea who Frankie Machine is.

I literally know nothing at all about him, other than his name, and due to a couple of skits on the EP, that he had been played on radio 1 by John Peel in the era in which emails were being used by the late fan-favourite presenter.

And you know what? I actually kind of like it that way.

it would take next to no effort to google the name, possibly finding more info than I would need to know, but I won't, cos I actually like having nothing more than my own admiration of a few pieces of music to satisfy me in this age where almost everything is shared, re-posted and ubiquitously linked to facebook.


edit:  since it has always been my intention to share music, i did precocously approach google with caution, purely with the sole intention of letting you hear what i heard

i also believe that the whole EP can also still be downloaded, although i didn't hang around to find out

NME is currently reminding us that The Libertine's Up The Bracket was released a distant ten years ago, and in doing so has recruited a handful of acts to cover the debut album in full.

While it was hardly a heavy hitting album at the time that was dominating the charts, the resulting impact on the changing music scene was what truly made it a seminal release, with exciting new bands (and a bundle of lower regarded copycats) following in their wake as London became exciting again, as the usual barriers between artist and fan were being demolished, thanks in part to Internet forums, but mainly down to ramshackle guerrilla gigs and secret parties anywhere from back room bars to bedrooms.

So it is surprising that there are few higher profile artists involved in NME's covermount, what we have instead are presumably a smattering of hot new acts that the magazine are currently touting as the next big thing, but having outgrown NME's trendsetting attempts and penchant for lists I haven't actually heard of that many of them.

Sadly, what should have been a unique homage to a defining moment of British music history is rather more miss than hit, with most acts paying extended lip service to the lovingly held memory of the Libs and sounding like just another bad cover version lifted straight from soundcloud, kicking off with Peace surgically attaching baggy vibes in an awkward manner and progressively getting worse.

Spector and The Milk add something new to proceedings by transplanting the spirit of Albion into far more diverse host bodies, but the female truncating of Boys In The Band by Stealing Sheep, although brave, just doesn't work well for me, and as for Mystery Jets and The Charlatan's Tim Burgess, well, they frankly didn't try very hard and should have known better, delivering rather uninspiring knock-offs each.

thankfully, they did stay true to the albums brevity, and after 37 minutes that could have been better spent listening to the original or scouring the internet for rare Babyshambles demos, it is all over, phew.

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