The Twilight Sad / Mutineers / Goodnight Lenin @ The Hare & Hounds, Kings Heath, Monday 26th October 2009

The Twilight Sad...out of darkness comes light.

Are you sitting comfortably? Right, then I’ll begin. Once upon a time in a magical kingdom far, far away (oh alright then, it was Birmingham) there was a rather fine band called The Allies. They had more than a touch of the Arctic Monkey’s about them (no bad thing), but one or two tracks hinted at a more unusual and intriguing Celtic flavoured direction. For some reason they split up (‘musical differences’ no doubt). Now several of them (there seemed to be about 97 people in The Allies) have returned as part of a brand new five piece, Goodnight Lenin. Ditching the indie direction entirely they’ve gone all folk harmonies - Simon & Garfunkel meets CSNY on the way to a barbecue at Bob Dylan’s house (B.Y.O.B…Dylan’s a bit of a tight arse). When I say brand new I mean it. This was only their second ever gig. Their MySpace thingy currently features a mere brace of tracks recorded in a kitchen (one of the band told me they planned to play a lot more kitchens in the future…makes a lot of sense to me, you can make a nice cup of tea halfway through the gig and rustle up a bacon sarnie if you get peckish). Whilst the MySpace tracks are acoustic the live sound’s beefed up by drums, amps, fiddles…one of the singer’s mum’s raucous laughter…so it’s a lot richer sounding. The one constant though are those gorgeous three part harmonies. I know they’ve sung together in one form or another in the past (so they’ve got a bit of a head start) but, for a group that’s only performed live in front of an audience for half an hour or so to date, this was simply a stunningly good performance with moments magical enough to tingle the strongest of spines. 'Wenceslas Square', 'Crook in the Creek' and 'Incendiary' were all crackingly good but, to be honest, there wasn’t a dud in the set for me.

Second on the bill, ahoy there m’hearties, pieces of eight etc etc it’s Mutineers. With echoes of such 80’s indie luminaries as the Lotus Eaters ('First Picture of You') and Fiction Factory (‘Feels Like Heaven’), especially on tracks like 'Shadow Kisses' (one of their set highlights tonight) there’s a lot to like about this motley crew Jim lad (actually they weren’t motley at all, they looked like lovely lads, but I have to keep this tiresome analogy going now I’ve started it don’t I?). Some nice jangly guitars, Nicolas’ angelic vocals (shades of Billy Mackenzie) and poetic lyrics (cop a load of "All the shallow graves laid by Chinese whispers. Through these sliding doors cursed with shadow kisses") combined to cast aside any thoughts of making the band walk the plank.

Finally it’s The Twilight Sad. Awww…shame. Cheer up chaps. It’s not that bad. Why so sad? Oh, your girlfriends have all run off with your best friends, taking your record collections with them. What’s that? They nicked your favourite jazz mag too? And made several long distance calls to a Thai brothel before they left resulting in a massive ‘phone bill and the unwelcome attention of several ladyboys who want to “love you long time?” Wow. I think I’d be a little sad too. That explains the music I guess. A mix of Glasvegas, Arab Strap and (swirly walls of guitar noise ahoy) The Jesus and Mary Chain it’s pretty miserable stuff, but miserable (done right) can, in a perverse kind of way, be uplifting too. What The Twilight Sad managed to do quite brilliantly in this live performance was to avoid making it all seem tooooo dark and depressing. There’s a defiant quality there, a celebration of the ying and yang of life all set against a torrent of guitars, some Joy Division-ish drums and intriguing angst ridden lyrics. Take these beauties for instance:

“Head up dear, you're shallow and blind
Head up dear, the rabbit might die
Because they're putting, the boot in, tonight”

Easy listening it ain’t, but then life ain’t a bed o’ roses all the time is it? At times tonight the music enveloped us like a thick fog (there literally was a thick fog in the venue too thanks to a highly efficient smoke machine…) but it was a warm, strangely comforting embrace, a little like being hugged by a drunken reveller on New Year’s Eve. James, the lead singer, was at the heart of creating and sustaining this atmosphere. He seemed genuinely touched that so many people had turned up. I imagine next time round, as more people catch up with them, he’ll be even more touched. He also seemed totally lost in the performance, not in a fancy ‘look at me’ kind of way, but genuinely singing as though his very life depended on it. It's a rawness that you rarely see these days. On ‘I Became a Prostitute’ this really shone through, the quite and loud bits giving him the chance to show his softer as well as his rockier side. At one point during the gig he knelt down in front of the drums, beating a drumstick against them with such ferocity that it splintered clean in two. Like I say, there was'nae any pretence here. As Richy Manic would’ve carved it, this was ‘4 real’. During ‘And She Would Darken the Memory’, abandoning his microphone altogether, James ended up bravely howling out the words against a viscous wall of noise. Like many of life’s battles depicted in their songs it was one he couldn’t possibly win, but the fact that he tried says everything you need to know about the band's heart and soul.

PS: Both Wayne and ShakeyPix were there last night to photograph the gig so click on Da Snapper links to the left for some proper pictures. Flash, bang, wallop.

Top Tracks # 5 - Everything Everything - Photoshop Handsome

Unusually for this series of random recommendations this one’s pretty recent (even though it has strong echoes of early 80’s legends XTC). On top of being a generally brilliant track (bonkers lyrics, some nice vocal harmonies and a side order of military drumming for good measure) the video’s not bad either. And, guess what? By a strange quirk of fate the band’s playing in Birmingham next Wednesday 28^th October at The Flapper...whether they'll end up beating each other senseless remains to be seen.

Nine Black Alps / Sucioperro / Black Market Empire @ The Hare and Hounds, Monday 19th October 2009

Nine Black Alps...one lousy photo.

A jaunt to the Hairy Hounds once more to see a band I’ve read about but never actually listened to, partly ‘cos I’m a bit slack like but mainly ‘cos whenever I go onto/into MyBook, YourFace or SpaceTube I inevitably get distracted by some Albanian Gangster Rap, videos of exploding goldfish or messages from people I’ve never met offering to enhance the length of my manhood for just $68 a month. For $68 a month I’d want my manhood to do all the housework, rustle up a nice bit of tea and sing me to sleep too. Why can’t science be more useful eh?

Black Market Empire

Anyhow, casting aside thoughts of singing members, tonight’s bill looked strong enough to get my left leg twitching (it does that a lot you know…it’s what passes for dancing in my eyes). First up were local boys Black Market Empire who kicked off proceedings with another fine Weller / Cast / La’s / OCS infused set. There’s an infectious jauntiness about this band that’s instantly likeable and each time I see them (I think this was the third or fourth time this year) I’m never disappointed. No ‘Get Up, Get Down’ tonight (often one of the band’s set highlights) but tonight ‘The Letter’ and ‘The Tony Allen Dance’ (it is called that isn’t it?) came off really well and, despite opening for two much ‘heavier’ bands, they got a great reception from the crowd too. Bonus points for a nice bit of banter with one of the audience who took the piss when the lead singer stuttered over one of the song titles “Thanks for coming Damo…you c***”. That seemed to do the trick…

Su...su...sucioperro

Next up Scotland’s Sucioperro (all wearing a distinctive ‘uniform’ of black trousers, white shirts and black armband with a red cross on it) who played a set full of meaty drum driven rock with a good chunk of (fellow Scot’s rockers) Biffy Clyro in the mix. That’s probably not a surprise as lead singer JP Reid is also in (the frankly terrifying) Maramduke Duke with Biffy’s Simon Neil. The set, mainly consisting of tracks from new EP The Dissident Code (out now), cracked along at a rollicking pace and featured plenty of thrashing about and ‘foot on the amp’ rock god poses. The funereal ‘No. 273’ and slower ‘Conception Territory’ took the pace down a notch or two, but we were soon back with the thrashy stuff thanks to a blistering ‘Mums’ Bad Punk Music’. “Believe in your dreams and tell the ones you love that you love them” implored singer JP Reid just before their closing number ‘Don’t Change (What You Can’t Understand). Coming from the mouth of some people that would sound a little sickly, but at the end of a bruising set, and delivered in that slightly menacing Scottish accent, I found it rather touching. Proof that heavy rock has a heart…albeit a slightly twisted, blackened one.

Finally, Nine Black Alps. Kind of like Nirvana fronted by Liam Gallagher in places (quite a few places actually) they put on a solid show of full on rock, balanced with a couple of slower numbers that seemed to make better use of Sam’s vocals. As with Sucioperro there’s some pretty heavy stuff in there and the gig kicked off with a prime example in the form of Salt Water (from the aforementioned album ‘Locked Out From the Inside) before settling into, well, a little bit of a gig rut to be honest. Nothing wrong with the songs as such, but to me they seemed a little samey in places and, with the band suffering from a nasty bout of phlegm, you could understand if their energy levels were less than 100%. Perhaps not knowing the band’s music also stopped me from really getting into it as much as some of the audience, including a particularly determined and energetic stage invader who had to be (literally) carried off and physically restrained for a few moments (Sam christened him his ‘private dancer’...awwww how cute). At times Sam’s voice seemed a little too, I guess the word would be ‘sweet’…I found myself yearning for some Lemmy (or JP Reid for that matter) style growling to match the heaviness of the music. The set picked up considerably halfway through though with ‘Unsatisfied’, the more melodic ‘Bitter End’ and the frankly brilliant new track ‘Vampire In The Sun’ (the set highlight by a good garlic clove or two). So, overall, not bad but I suspect they weren’t firing on all cylinders tonight. Muchos respect due for turning up and doing the show if they were feeling like a bag of shite though...

PS: Noticed a nice blog post on the Nine Black Alps MySpace page slagging off the NME (who, rather unfairly I’d say, gave the band’s new album 3 out of 10). As a reader of NME back in the 80’s and 90’s the magazine’s decline is pretty sad but, I guess, inevitable. The pace of change in the poppier, more mainstream sector of the music biz is so rapid that a printed format just doesn’t stand a chance, which is probably why the NME is now stuffed full of glossy posters and desperate attempts to latch on to any new act that might pull in the punters. As a well established (three albums under their belt so far) straightforward rock outfit, without a hint of the electro sparkle or garage-lite that’s so hot right now NBA would seem to be the complete opposite of what NME’s after. A shame, but I can’t be alone in wishing the NME a speedy end before its dignity and reputation is sullied even further.

PPS: Both ShakeyPix and Wayne (snappers to the stars) were there last night so, for proper pictures, click on the links under Da Snappers.

The Miserable Rich / Babel / The Random Family @ The Glee Club, Thursday 15th October 2009

It’s Autumn. My bits are getting cold. It’s this time of time of the year that going out gets just that bit harder. The temptation to curl up in the warm and eat your own body weight in Jaffa Cakes is difficult to resist but the prospect of seeing one of my favourite discoveries of 2009 again, The Miserable Rich, prised my sorry old ass of the sofa once more. But first the support bands richly deserve a mention, kicking off with The Random Family. How random are they? Well, for starters they’re not a family at all. Pah. I want my band names to tell the truth. After all the beatles were actually beetles, heavily made up I’ll grant you, but none the less beetles is what they were. To this day Paul McCartney still likes nothing better than rolling a big ball of dung around his garden. Fact. Anyway, glossing over the fact that The Random Family aren’t a family at all, they play a gentle form of folk pop, made for lazy summer days or, in tonight’s case, cider sodden autumnal nights. Some really lovely harmonies from the band, plenty of informal banter and a good dose of banjo made for a great start to the evening.

Next up - BABEL! That’s something biblical isn’t it? Actually there is something a little biblical about this lot…God they were good. No, really good. Watching them is akin to one of those spiritual conversions that you see on the telly. It was all I could do to stop myself from speaking in tongues. After 20 odd years of going to gigs I’m still constantly amazed by some of the truly great bands out there, doing their own sweet thing beneath the radar of much of the traditional media and, as a result, out of sight of the general public. Babel is one such band. Taking classical, bluegrass, rock n’roll, skiffle and folk, then sticking it in a blender and adding some (at times) oddball lyrics might not seem like a recipe for success but Babel somehow pull it off magnificently. Their lead singer Daniel has a lovely silky voice, note perfect (and I mean perfect) from start to finish. If chocolate could sing it would sound like him (hmmm…singing chocolate and dung ball rolling pop stars…this review’s getting weirder than usual…oh well, c’est la vie). Set against a musical backdrop that’s got shades of everything from Radiohead to Devendra Banhart, Dan Sartain, Canned Heat and ELO it was nothing less than a stunningly brilliant set. Buy the album. Go see them. Spread the word...or you'll be turned into a pillar of salt.

Babel were the dream support for another band that I’m determined to expose to the entire western world, The Miserable Rich. I first saw this band through one of those happy accidents at The Great Escape in Brighton. I was in a pub watching a band I’d planned to see then, after their set, I was getting ready to leave to move on somewhere else when I spotted a cello and stuff being set up on stage. I’m a bastard for a bit of cello so (spur of the moment kinda guy that I am) I stuck around for the next band’s set…The Miserable Rich. Described as chamber pop (that’s as good as description as I can come up with) they strike an emotional chord with me that few other bands ever have done. The wonderfully named James de Malplaquet (the lead singer) has a voice like a slightly tired and world weary angel after a double shift trying to save a gutter full of lost souls. There’s hope and despair in equal measure, songs that remind you of love, childhood and regret, lullabies and late nights. I’m not one to wear my heart on my sleeve (tried it once…blood all over the place…heart in your chest, that’s the best place for it) but The Miserable Rich are truly life affirming. Listen to ‘A Time That’s Mine’. When you’re young you look at your parents and think, I ain’t going to be like them. Work in an office 5 days a week for the next 45 years? Scrimp and save from one pay day to the next? No fear. I’m off. I’m going to be a cross dressing astronaut pop star who invents a cure for cancer, writes the best book ever written, stars in the best movie of all time and then marries a string of hotties before dying at the age of 147 in a bed full of junkie crack whores. And lo, fast forward 20 years…and you’re sat in an office. In my case (before being rudely evicted by the recession) I was actually in the same office block my father worked at for years and years and years. Well, ‘A Time That’s Mine’ captures all that emotion in just a couple of minutes, before ending on optimistic note that sort of takes you back to the age of 7 again, when the world is just so full of hope. Just lovely. That’s only one song. They have a whole album (12 Ways To Count…a true classic in every sense of the word) full of the stuff, most of which they played tonight in a set that, even coming hot on the heels of Babel’s fine showing, still managed to blow me away. From opener, Early Mourning through to Boat Song (which James touchingly dedicated to his mother) on to Monkey and Muswell each and every song is a pocket sized symphony to life’s ups and downs. You know what? If this was the last gig I ever saw, I’d die a happy man.

The Slits / PENS / The Courtesy Group @The Rainbow, Wednesday 14th October 2009

They may be less well known than The Pistols (Sex), The Spex (X-Ray) or…er…The John (Jilted) but The Slits richly deserve their place in punk history, not least of which for being one of the few mainly female punk bands (a good 20 years before an altogether more commercial brand of girl power).

Before getting my Slit fix though (that sounds a little wrong doesn’t it?), another chance to see Al Hutchins, Birmingham’s number one mad shouty genius and his band of merry men, The Courtesy Group. Imagine a mad fire and brimstone preacher trying to convert the unconvertable with a soundtrack provided by Frank Zappa and Acid Mothers Temple and you might get some idea of what they sound like. Then again you may have no idea (in which case it’s probably easier to go and have a listen first, then come back to this review and we’ll all pretend that you got what I was talking about all along). Although I’d seen the band a fair few times before, this was a different line up - the main change being the addition of a certain Fyfe Dangerfield, lead singer of The Guillemots. This ain’t as surprising as you might think (Fyfe is Al’s brother and was, I believe, in The Courtesy Group back in the day). Tonight, face hidden behind that floppy fringe of his, he played a mean guitar but otherwise remained silent, perhaps aware that his somewhat angelic voice might not chime too well with Al’s brand of Brummie street preacher. Line up differences aside it was, as ever, an engaging performance featuring another of Al’s stream of conscious poems, plenty of the classics (Brick House Blues and the New Beef were particularly fine tonight) and his trademark audience face offs. Watch out for their new album, ‘Tradesman’s Entrance’ (cue Kenneth Williams style sniggering) coming soon.

The next band, Pens, were a no show for some reason. Maybe they ran out of ink? So we pretty much dived straight into The Slits (hmmm that sounds even worse than ‘slits fix’), or a couple of them at least. Of the original era band only Ari Up and Tessa Pollitt remain. They’re joined by, amongst others, the rather brilliant Hollie Cook (daughter of Paul ‘Sex Pistols’ Cook) on keyboards and vocals. Like The Clash (who The Slits supported back in 1864) the band’s always been into the dubby reggae side of things and tonight’s set was a little like taking a deep drag on a phat one (not that I’ve ever done such a thing...much). Ari’s dreads look like the result of an over eager child using one of those Play-Doh hairdresser sets and her accent (a cross between German and Rasta) is a little unusual to say the least, but her bubbly enthusiasm (33 years into your career this has to be a pretty rare thing) was heartwarming. It warmed something else too as there was plenty of bumping and grinding going on (mainly between Hollie and Ari) and, for some strange reason, Ari poured half a litre of mineral water down her crotch to cool her ‘pum pum’ (that Little Drummer Boy song will never sound the same again). Mind you, given that one of the songs from the set, ‘Lazy Slam’, was an open invitation to shaft your partner whilst they’re asleep, perhaps her ‘pum pum’ needed a little cooling down. Speaking of songs (oh yes, this is supposed to be about music isn’t?) we got all of the hits, including a bowel shakingly dubby reworking of ‘Heard It Through the Grapevine’ (retitled ‘Heard It Through The Bassline’) and an audience participation version of Typical Girls, plus a selection of new tracks from forthcoming album Trapped Animal. Rather amusingly, before doing one of these new songs, Ari had been playing Tessa’s bass and got it stuck in her Play-Dreads as she tried to lift it over her head, ‘Me ‘air dun wanna le go o mi bass!’ she squealed. It took 16 firemen to cut her free…

After leaving the stage to rapturous applause from the audience (a mix of old punks, trendy young things, curious random folk and me) one of the audience members got on the stage, picked up the microphone and started the traditional call back the band for an encore bit. Ari and Tessa duly returned but, in return for the audience member’s impromptu MC’ing Ari left the vocals up to her and sat down behind the drum kit instead. So the encore was Ari, Tessa and (by her own admission) a slightly drunk girl. Actually she was very good, delivering a ‘hear mi now’ kind of toasting against more of the dubby stuff. A surprisingly endearing ending to a surprisingly endearing night.

The 'set Slit'

PS: All of my photographer chums were there last night so, for proper pictures of the gig, go to Da Snappers list to the left of this and fill yer boots!

This is Slits...

Tonight. At The Rainbow. Digbeth. The Slits. Legendary punk band. Gobbing by invitation only. Actually I don't think they ever went in for that gobbing business. Best not to try it. Maybe you could just pretend? Anyway, it's a rare chance to see them and a darn sight cheaper than the PiL gig at The Academy in December. £36! That buys a hell of a lot of butter Mr Lydon

PS: Did you know that John Lydon is Ari Up's (The Slit's lead singer) step father.

The Destroyers / The Toy Hearts / The Old Dance School @ The Town Hall, Sunday October 11th 2009

The Town Hall’s seen a fair few acts in its 175 years. The Beatles, Buddy Holly, Pink Floyd, MC Charlie Dickens on the ones and twos (playing Bleak ‘House’)…but tonight it’s the setting for some homegrown talent, kicking off with folk six piece The Old School Dance. Actually that’s Folk with a capital F. The real McCoy. The sort of music that you’d probably have heard played in ye olde inns across the land a couple of hundred years back. Of course they’ve freshened it up a little (tonight they revealed that one of the jigs was inspired by a late night drive home from a gig soundtracked by Radio One) but the music remains true to its roots.


It’s always heartening to see a young band embrace such a traditional sound. Images of desolate moors, flame haired maidens and wild ale fuelled dances around bonfires abound and I had to nail my feet to the floor to stop myself from doing a strange kind of Riverdance jig (trust me…no one wants to see me dance…very messy). The guy who played the ‘box’ (he sat on it and played it like a drum…can’t think what’s it’s called, but a few folk bands use ‘em now) was particularly good tonight, at one point he did a kind of duelling banjos style bit with the two fiddle players…break beat folk anyone?

The idea that one of the greatest bluegrass acts around right now should be here in Brum is, let’s face it, pretty preposterous. But here we are watching them. The Toy Hearts (a family concern – two sisters, one dad) have been going a while now. I first saw them at the inaugural Moseley Folk Festival and since them they’ve (in a coals to Newcastle stylee) played at Bluegrass festivals in the USA and cut a couple of rather fine albums. Shut your eyes and you can almost smell the campfires and mountain air. Papa Toy Heart’s an accomplished banjo and slide player and daughter # 1 (Sophia) is, it transpired, the only female flat pick guitar player to be featured in Flat Pick Guitar Monthly (available at all good newsagents). Daughter # 2 (Hannah) meanwhile was recently at something called the Bluegrass Leadership Programme, a US backed scheme to destroy the Taliban with an army of mandolin and banjo players singing songs about how their man/woman gon’ dun them wron’. I jest (no, really), but clearly the band’s getting the kind of respect stateside that most bands would give their wing tip collars for. As with The Old Dance School, it’s traditional music but delivered in such a fresh and enthusiastic way that you’d need to be clinically dead not to feel invigorated by it all. Highlight of the set included a new number entitled ‘Tequila and High Heels’ - a not entirely successful combination Hannah ruefully observed (I can vouch for that, those high heels are a bitch after a couple of glasses of dry white wine).

Finally, the explosive force of energy that is The Destroyers – Birmingham’s very own gypsy klezma ska collective (a proposition that’s probably even more preposterous than the Toy Hearts). I like to think that they all live together in a big house somewhere, cooking huge pots of stew and singing songs late into the night whilst plotting ways to overthrow the government and make the wearing of gypsy style clothing compulsory (I reckon those pointy hats that some of the band wear would end gang violence overnight). At the heart of this whirling maelstrom of fiddles, ukes, trumpets, clarinets, tubas, trombones and hurdy gurdys is Mr Paul Murphy, part demented ringmaster part MC and with a voice to die for (Scots with a distinct hint of menace and madness). The lyrics are as nuts as the music…just cop a listen to Glass Coffin Burial for example…an everyday tale of a scientist who finds a way to make himself dead….but alive…so he can lie in his coffin and watch time pass by. You don’t get that from Lady Ga Ga. The band started this track lying on the floor of the stage, corpse like before kicking off with a tune that could, quite possibly, actually raise the dead. Another highlight (there were many) was the mass sing along to Viva La Musica, several hundred people belting out the words, unaccompanied, back to the band. As celebrations for the Town Hall’s 175^th birthday go, you couldn’t get much better. It was a dizzying show, part celebration / part call to revolution…hmmm…perhaps it’s time to end the old three party political system once and for all and just introduce the PARTY system, courtesy of The Destroyers. They’d get my vote.

PS: It appears that this show was recorded using six cameras (that’s roughly one camera per 28 members of the band) so I suspect some form of film might be in the offing. As this was arguably one of their finest ever performances that’s a very, very good thing. Viva la musica!

Bollywood Steps @Victoria Square, Friday 8th October 2009

At last! A Hindi tribute to H, Clare, Faye, Lisa and the other one. Can’t wait to hear their version of ‘5,6,7,8’ (or “Panch, Chhah, Saat, Aath” as you’d say in Hindi…ha…that’s impressed you eh?). What’s that? Oh. It’s not a Hindi Steps tribute band? Shame. I really think there’s some mileage in that. Nope instead it’s a spectacular Bollywood style dance event hosted by Bobby Friction (now that’s a great name for someone in Steps innit?). I have to admit that I’ve never seen an entire Bollywood film, but I’ve seen bits of them and they all seem to feature some kind of dance every 5 minutes or so. If only real life was like that eh? There you are, standing in the queue at Aldi and all of a sudden the old woman in front of you whips off her cardie and starts waving her arms all over the shop and doing that head sticky out thing. Then the geeky 16 year old stacking shelves joins in, scattering packets of pasta (99p for a kilo) as he goes, followed by the heavily tattooed security guard, the slightly scary cashiers (how quick are they…do Aldi provide a stash of speed for everyone?) and that Albanian chap who’s always playing the concertina outside. Soon the entire store is a riot of music, colour and cheapo knock off wannabe brands like ‘Twax Fingers’, ‘Anthrax Toilet Tissue’ and ‘Noddy Form Sanitary Towels’…

Anyway…sadly life ain’t like that but tonight was as close as we’re going to get with a fine troupe of dancers shaking their thang as part of the Town Hall’s 175^th anniversary celebrations. Backed by 10 Dhol drummers, lit up by fireworks and featuring a host of flexible young bodies (if I tried to do any of those moves my limbs would snap off) it more than lived up to its claims to be a ‘spectacular’. I was fortunate enough to have a press pass (shhh…don’t tell anyone) and enjoyed a particularly good view of the whole shebang. Choreographed by Birmingham’s very own Simmy Gupta the show’s five years old now and has already played to rapturous receptions all over the shop, but this was its first showing here in Brum. Split into a head spinning 22 sections over 40 minutes or so it’s a little like being dropped slap bang right into the middle of a Bollywood movie – in other words, mad, funky, exotic and more than a touch camp in places. The night kicked off with an all girl dance (dancing in what I’d call a more traditional Bollywood style). Half way through a fountain of water sprayed over them, catching the light as it fell like a million tiny pearls. Quite magical. Next up were a bunch of chaps dressed in tuxes doing a more modern R&B tinged number (some Jacko style moves in there if I’m not very much mistaken). Their neat trick was a Buck’s Fizz style ‘Making Your Mind Up’ trouser rip off, revealing traditional Asian dress underneath. Funky and funny at the same time. The Town Hall made perfect backdrop and, at several points, Dhol drummers and dancers appeared between the columns of the Hall, the lighting casting giant shadows up the walls of the building. The show climaxed with the Wedding scene, culminating in an explosion of fireworks and a mass dance off featuring 175 local schoolchildren who’d been taught some of the moves (makes a nice change from double geography I guess…).

Of course describing dancing’s even harder than describing bands (you’d think after reviewing the odd thousand or so I’d be getting better, but no). Happily Andy (aka DRW-Images) snapped away like man possessed and captured the real flavour of the event far more than my mere words could ever hope to.

PS: The show’s on again at 3pm today…er, right now then…and tonight at 8pm (arrive at 7.30 to learn some steps for yourself). Altogether now…‘‘Panch, Chhah, Saat, Aath’…

Top Tracks # 4 - The Miserable Rich - Pisshead

Okay, time for another in my random series of Top Tracks and this time it’s a bit of a heads up too. Next week (Thursday 15^th October) the world’s leading purveyors of chamber pop (and performers of this particular Top Track ‘Pisshead’), The Miserable Rich, are playing at The Glee Club. Tickets are a mere £5, so even the miserable poor (like me) can afford it. I was lucky enough to see them live at The Great Escape in Brighton earlier in the year and they are heartbreakingly, tear inducingly good. Seriously. As this live clip shows they’re big in Duisberg, but have yet to get a sniff of the attention that they deserve here in the UK. Enjoy.

Frame and fortune…

Regular readers will be familiar with my humble photographic efforts. To be honest I don’t put a huge amount of effort in most of the time (which probably explains the results) but hopefully the snaps capture something of the evening. Over the past few months though I’ve been fortunate enough to meet some proper photographers at gigs and, for your delectation and delight, I’ve added links to them in the lists to the left (under Da Snappers). They (Andy aka DRW-Images, Richard aka Shakeypix and Wayne) are often at the gigs that I attend and, on top of being jolly nice chaps, are all excellent photographers too. Enjoy!

PS: You’re quite possibly wondering what a picture of a lizard is doing at the top of this post. Hmmm…me too…but I took it and it looks a damn sight better than most of my efforts, so there we go. Er…and Jim Morrison (of The Doors) was known as the lizard king...there was a band called the Flying Lizards as well. See, my musical blogging integrity remains in tact. Sort of.

Doll & the Kicks / The Lights / Drunk Lovers, Sinners & Saints @ The Hare & Hounds, Monday 5th October 2009

Before tonight’s gig there was a bit of a rumour going around that Morrissey was going to turn up. Yep. THE Morrissey. Hmmm, we’ll see. It’s not entirely bonkers for reasons you’ll discover in a moment…but even so…Morrissey in a pub? In Kings Heath? It just don’t feel right.

Anyway, first up Drunk Lovers, Sinners and Saints (which one are you eh?). Lead Drunk Lover/Sinner/Saint (delete as applicable) Sal’s got a really strong, rocky voice, perfectly suited to the material. This might sound like an odd thing to say but you’d be surprised how often the two just don’t quite match somehow. ‘Say Anything’ and another track that might have been called ‘Someone Stand By Me’ were particular highlights. Citing Paramore as an influence they’re well worth a listen, especially if you’re in touch with your inner emo (although debate rages about whether Paramore are emo or not…but that’s a whole different kettle of eyeliner).

Next, and hallelujah brothers and sisters, I’ve seen The Lights! Actually I saw them before a couple of years back supporting The Wombats, but that doesn’t make a very good intro now does it? Folky, country tinged grown up pop, they’re pleasant listening and, in tracks like Low Hundreds (the standout number of their set), cleverly combine this with some memorable choruses and hooks. The male/female vocals work really well in places, with the female half recalling shades of the lushness of Sam Brown. Now that’s lush. Wonder what happened to her (anyone under the age of 30 probably has no idea what I’m on about, but Sam was one of the UK’s best female vocalists back in the late 80’s). Hold on a mo. Hmmm seems she’s working with Jools Holland, releasing solo stuff and living in a tiny Scottish village. I don’t blame her. Ain’t the web great? It’s not just there for porn and images of cats with captions reading ‘Can I has a reason why this is remotely amusing?’ you know.

Right. Time for the main event. A band you read about here first (sort of). The last time I saw Doll & the Kicks was May 2008, playing upstairs in a pub on the outskirts of Brighton. Now look how far they’ve come, here they are, playing upstairs, in a pub, on the outskirts of Birmingham. Ahhh but there’s a huge difference. This time they’re fresh from a tour supporting a certain Mr Morrissey who, by all accounts is a bit of a DATK fan and prone to popping along to see them (see…that’s how rumours start). In fact they’re supporting him again soon all over the UK and they will…I am confident...win hearts, minds and asses. I’m not going to beat around the bush here - lead singer Doll is, let’s face it, a sexy lady. I know we’re all supposed to live in a world in which such things don’t matter but they do, especially in the world of la musique pop. She’s ditched the long blonde hair that she had last time I saw her and the short version that followed, now she’s gone all noir, creating a slightly 60’s kind of look (the sparkly hot pants helped). That’s the image sorted then, but combine all of this with a belter of a voice (Gwen Stafani meets Lena Lovich), enough stage sassiness to give the pope (or indeed Morrissey) a stiffy and tunes so infectious (Blondie meets the Scissor Sisters) that scientists across the western world are currently working on a vaccine and you’ve got a winning package. ‘Roll Up the Red Carpet’, ‘He Was a Dancer’, ‘Pictures’, ‘You Turn Up’…one great, classic new wave pop song after another, all delivered by a bouncing ball of energy. Being in the fortunate position of already knowing most of the songs tonight’s gig came across like a greatest hits set to me but, purely in the interests of impartiality, I sought the opinion of a few people who were new to the band and they were knocked out, bowled over, blown away, tickled pink (or whatever superlative you fancy) too. Top Doll-ar.

And did Morrissey turn up? What do you think eh? Although I did see a slightly camp looking fellow in the toilets. Oh. That’ll be a mirror then…

General Fiasco / The Onlookers / The Fall, The Rise @ The Academy, Birmingham, Sunday 4th October 2009

Forsaking the Antiques Roadshow (how rock n’roll am I eh?) a comfy sofa and a gentle drift into dribbling oblivion after chuffing my way through an entire roasted cow instead I made my way to the new Academy for a night of equally new music in the shape of…deep breath…The Fall, The Rise, The Onlookers and General Fiasco. General Fiasco? Admit it, as band names go that’s kind of asking for trouble. Short of calling yourself ‘Colin Cockup and the Halfwits’ you couldn’t arm your critics with much more ammunition if you tried. Anyway, we’ll gloss over that for now and focus on the opening act, ‘ladeeez and gennelmen iiitttt’s The Fall, The Rise!’ Oh, hang on. Where’s the audience? Hmmm, I’m not a mathematician but there can’t have been more than 15 people here, in a venue that must hold around 250 people. Shame. That’s the allure of the Antiques Roadshow I guess. Those that were there, mainly a line of teens clamped limpet like to the barriers, probably weren’t the best audience for The Fall, The Rise’s take on At The Drive In / Biffy Clyro. With larynx shredding vocals and a lead singer who paced the stage like a caged animal it was an engaging performance (sprinkled with a nice line in self depreciating wit) but, without the buzz of a decent sized audience, they were really up against it. Set highlight (and new song – you can listen to it on Their Space) ‘As Close To An Apology As You’ll Get’ shows that, 4 years into their career, the band’s name could well be coming true. Fans of a raw, head down rock would be well advised to check them out.

Next up (and arguably deliverers of the most consistently impressive set of the night) The Onlookers. Bringing an iPod’s worth of influences the lead vocalist has a Kings of Leon sort of sound (even straying into Noddy Holder style blues hollering at times), whilst the music sweatily embraces everything from Sex Pistol riffs to The Doors, The Small Faces and Hamburg-era Beatles. The bluesy feeling ‘Woodlouse’ got the best response from the crowd (which stubbornly showed no real signs of growing) and the band neatly avoided any mid set lulls with a well paced selection of tracks.

On then to Northern Ireland’s very own General Fiasco. I knew less about this band than I do about Quantum Physics but a quick search on Google reveals that it’s made up of three Bulgarian transvestites in their 80’s. Hmmmm…maybe the Interweb isn’t the reliable source of knowledge I thought it was. Ahhh, no, hang on, I have it now. They formed at school in Northern Ireland a few years back and have since supported The Wombats, The Pigeon Detectives and The Enemy (educational huh?). Recently signed to Infectious Records (who’ve previously snapped up Ash and The Subways amongst others) General Fiasco are attracting a fair bit of attention right now, earning themselves a support slot on The Enemy’s next major tour and the attention of Zane ‘I’m nothing like Murray from Flight of the Conchords’ Lowe. Okay, here endeth the lesson (there’ll be questions later so I hope you were paying attention), how was the gig? Well, you just can’t fault the energy or deny the catchiness of some of the songs, especially ‘Rebel Get By’ (an anthem for generation Skins if ever I heard one), ‘Sinking Ships’ and new single ‘We Are the Foolish’ (out soon and – neck on the line here – a surefire hit) replete with shouty out ‘HEY!’ bit for the crowd. Musically they came across as a mix of the Kooks and Green Day (unsurprisingly there were echoes of Ash in there too)…in other words catchy pop with a rock edge. The crowd (still not much bigger) consisted of a few superfans who I noticed knew most of the words and there was some gentle bobbing about. For me some of the mid set songs were a tad samey, a problem accentuated by the strength of the tracks already mentioned, but this is a band at the start of their career so there’s plenty of time to develop more killer and less filler. The lead singer also does that eee-lonng-aaaat-iiiiinnnggggg of words from time to time that’s ever so popular these days, (his voice is strong enough to dispense with such vocal clichés), but that’s a minor gripe. All in all an impressively solid show from a band you sense have a lot further to go. Fiasco well and truly avoided.

PS: This was my first time in the ‘new’ Birmingham Academy. A great improvement on the old one, but then again a second hand septic tank would be a great improvement on the previous place. Tonight we were in the equivalent of the old Bar Academy. This version is so much better, a square room (rather than a long one) giving plenty of space to move about and a decent view wherever you stood. Not sure about the flashing urinals though…most disturbing seeing your genitalia (or anyone else’s for that matter) lit up like a Christmas tree. And £3.70 for a pint of Strongbow? Shocking.

PPS: There are some more super pictures of this gig (and many others for that matter) taken by the lovely Wayne John Fox right here (look under "Sets" "Live music").

Zu / Beestung Lips / Das Bastard @ The Rainbow, Friday 2nd October 2009

Graagggghgnggngnagghhhhhhhh!!! Okey, maybe that’s not the typical way to begin a gig review but then again none of the bands on tonight’s bill were what you’d call ‘typical’ either. Nope. What it is though is an approximation of the noise emanating from the mouth of the lead singer of openers Das Bastard. Formed from several other projects (including an Untitled Musical one) tonight was the Bastards very first gig. You couldn’t tell. They’ve already really gelled as a ‘unit’ (as they call it in the biz) and make a glorious noise in the grand tradition of bands like The Jesus Lizard (or so someone far wiser and better versed in this particular genre told me), in other words LOUD…but surprisingly melodic in places. The lead bastard spent a large part of the show crawling over monitors and thrashing about like a beheaded anaconda on the floor. It was during one of these thrashes that I noticed he was wearing odd socks. Hmmm, perhaps it’s a comment on the mixed up nature of the world in which we all live (hence the angry, angst ridden soundtrack)…or then again perhaps he just got dressed in the dark. Whatever the reason Das Bastard are a darn fine addition to Birmingham’s musical scene and an absolute must see. The wearing of odd socks is, of course, compulsory.

Sandwiched between the Bastards and headliners Zu were Birmingham’s finest hardcore punksters Beestung Lips, making a triumphant return to the live stage. On top of being a damn fine bunch of musicians the Lips are blessed with a lead vocalist whose very soul seems to explode out of his pores as he performs. If you’ve seen Heroes (Season One I think) where that bloke explodes, taking the world with him, you’ll know just what I’m talking about. Variously going by the name of Biff, Hetero and now Ben, he never gives anything less than 100%. He has one of the most engaging microphone techniques I’ve ever seen. It’s as though he’s fighting with the thing, holding it at arms length, trying to protect himself from it with a well placed hand, using it like a cross to ward off the evils of the world. I could just be imagining things, but that’s how it seems to me. Trying to explain the sound (of any of tonight’s bands really) isn’t an easy thing to do. This is music to be experienced. But, if you want some idea, it sounds, well, damn pissed off. Imagine the most angry you’ve ever been about anything. Now multiply that feeling by 10. Now feed that through bloody great speakers and crank up the volume. There. That’s what Beestung Lips sound like. Bloody brilliant.

Last up – and legends in their genre…actually they’re probably the only group that exist in their genre (given that the play a kind of demented metal math jazz) – Zu. For a three piece they make one hell of a noise. Imagine a jazz combo crashing into a psychotic metal band on the M25 and you’ll get some idea of the sound. Deep, throbbing bass, tribalistic drumming and the kind of sax that would give Lisa Simpson an instant embolism all come together in surprisingly intricate freeform jazz patterns that, depending on your state of mind, either makes you want to blow off your own head or leap up and down like fruitcake. It’s music for the mad…your own personal soundtrack to your 119^th nervous breakdown and yet…and yet…after a while it all seems to make some kind of strange sense.

Puppa Class - LDZ release new EP

Yeah, yeah, yeah…what’s up motherhumpers? MC Baron in da house, keeping it gangsta and…er...fly and probably dope too…oh alright then, I can’t do street speak but listening to this EP a few times I’m struck with a sudden yearning to start wearing my jeans round my knees and investing in a couple of tonnes of gold chains. Yes it’s LDZ (or London Zoo to their mates) with their latest release The Puppa Murc EP. Fusing grime, dubstep and hip hop over four tracks it’s a catchy, classy collection that neatly showcases the kind of music that you normally hear blasting out of mobiles on the top decks of inner city buses. There’s some clever rhymes across all the tracks (especially the closer ‘Go This Way’), but pick of the bunch for me is ‘Relevant’, a looped Spanish guitar giving way to a dirty dubstep beat that’s the perfect backing for MC Dabbla to deliver an angst ridden flow.

The Puppa Murc EP is out right now on Dented Records. Respec…

That iPod song…

Continuing their habit of picking annoyingly catchy tracks to flog their iPods, Apple have picked another belter. This time it’s Miss Li (hey, before discovering this fact the originator was a...wait for it...Mr Li...Mr Li? Mystery...get it? Oh my aching sides...) from Sweden and something called ‘Bourgeois Shangri-La’. Oh good grief it’s going round and round and round in my head now…

Warning: Play this track at your peril.

Top Tracks # 3 The Associates - Party Fears Two

Proof once again that I have my finger on the pulse of new music I proudly present the third in my random series of Top Tracks, The Associates and 'Party Fears Two' from...er...1982. I guess if you're over 30 you'll know it already, younger viewers may not be so familiar. For the uninitiated The Associates were one of those incredible '80's bands who managed to release some pretty strange stuff that, incredibly, got into the charts. Take this track for instance, almost operatic vocals, ghostly sounding keyboards and oddball lyrics...it's an intoxicating mix...Phil Spector meets Soft Cell. The band (more of a solo vehicle for Billy in the later years) went on to have a few more hits before drifting into cultish semi-obscurity. Just as he seemed to be making a comeback of sorts in the late 90's Billy committed suicide. He was just 39. I've probably listened to this track more than any other in my life and, unusually for me, I never get bored of it. Enjoy.

Goading the Lily...(or why file sharing’s here to stay)

I’ve ummmed and ahhhed about even writing anything on the issue of ‘file sharing’ (I’ve wittered on about it before) but what the hell, it’s a Wednesday, I’m at a loose end until Deal or No Deal starts and you’ve clearly got nothing better to do with your time either so pull up a chair and let’s chew the fat. There seems to be a bit of a dividing line being drawn up between the thrusting young bucks in the music biz (Lily Allen - self appointed web warrior, Tinchy Stryder and…er…James Blunt) and the old school (Radiohead, Billy Bragg and Pink Floyd). The young bucks are (quite understandably) a bit pissed that they’re getting to number 1 in the charts then getting a cheque for £15 from their record label. The old school take the view that, ‘hey man, file sharing ain’t so bad’, just as long as it leads to people going along to their gigs and spending £50 on a tour t-shirt.

Happily Muse’s Matt Bellamy has the solution (something which I favoured the last time I wrote about this), slap an extra few quid on everyone’s broadband bill and then divvy up the cash amongst all the artists (isn’t that how the PRS works?). I can sense that an awful lot of folk ain’t going to be too happy with this approach either though. If you’re just a casual music fan will there be an opt out clause? Will artists get a fair proportion of the dosh? Who the hell’s going to oversee all this? For the record (pardon the pun) I’ve pretty much given up buying or downloading music altogether. Over the years I must’ve spent thousands (literally) on records and CD’s, now I just pop on Spotify or Pig Radio and away we go. Free music. I’m drowning in the stuff. That, for me, is kind of the bigger issue, or the elephant in the i-pod as it were (hey, there’s an App for that!). Given the ease with which we can all access music that sense of loyalty that you got from parting with your cash to buy a new album is rapidly evaporating. There’s always something shiny and new to listen to. Shallow? Maybe. But if that’s how I feel (a 30 something) won’t younger generations follow suit? It’s still too early to tell whether Pixie Lott will make it to her tenth album, or if we’ll see that Tinchy Stryder 50^th anniversary tour but I’m guessing that today’s music stars are not only going to get a much smaller wedge in future, they’ll also struggle to keep their fanbase for more than 30 seconds.

As a non musician I can happily sit here and say that it’s not all bad. It might help to keep things fresh and, with my idealist hat on, music shouldn’t really be a ‘career’ first and foremost anyway. You play because you love it, much the same as the billions of bloggers out there sit down and write for hours upon hours in the vain hope that someone out there reads and likes what they’ve written. Blogging’s very rarely a way to earn a decent living, nor, (let's be honest here) for most musicians is music. Of course, whilst money can’t buy you love a distinct lack of money ain’t much cop either and I appreciate the fact that it must be bloody hard to write, record and tour when you’re working in Sainsbury’s. So I’m tempted to say that, in addition to slapping a little onto the cost of your broadband, part of the solution lies in raising ticket prices. As the evil ebay touts constantly prove, people are willing to pay crazy money for some gigs. But then you’ll just end up with gigs full of rich middle aged people standing around drinking red wine and discussing pensions. Hmmm. Maybe Lily could write a song about that? The conclusion? You want a conclusion? Trying to stop file sharing seems to me to be a pretty futile thing to do. It's like asking people to stop using the tap to get water out. Anyway, some 14 year old kid will always find a workaround and if you start sticking your fans in prison (after all they're only downloading your music 'cos they like you) you probably won’t have much of a career. The genie’s well and truly out of the bottle and having one hell of a party. My idea, for what it’s worth, is an annual subscription kind of approach. As a band you sign fans up, they pay a few quid and, in return, on top of ‘exclusive tracks and videos’ (yes, I know that they’ll only remain ‘exclusive’ for 30 seconds but it’s the principle) they get first choice on tickets, backstage party entry, that kind of shit. Or, in other words, a modern take on the old ‘fan club’. On top of retaining the bond that used to come from buying an album couldn’t it also provide up and coming bands with some of the cash they need to survive?

Having a party this weekend…?

It’s a thorny problem. You’ve arranged a bit of a house party and want to appear super cool but the only CD you have came free with the Daily Mail in 2003 (Jive Bunny’s Anthrax Party Mix) and you dropped your i-pod down the loo (hell, it happens). Relax. I have the answer courtesy of the Hearing Aid’s American correspondent (didn’t you know this site was international?) the Bobby Dazzler (that’s his real name too…honest). It’s a three hour StickyPod Connection mix, so enough time for your guests to get legless and start groping each other, from this year's Shambhala and it features everything from J5 to The Beatles (as you’ve never heard them before). It’s a quite brilliant funk/breakbeat/ragga mashup and you can download the whole thing right here, free, gratis and for nothing. Shabba!

Alela Diane / Laura Gibson @ The Town Hall, Birmingham, Wednesday 16th September 2009

Continuing my love/hate relationship with the Town Hall (I just struggle to get on with it as a gig venue) tonight worked surprisingly well. It was, at a guess, less than 20% full, which is a real shame given the quality of the artists on offer, but there you go. First up a totally new name to me, Laura Gibson. Seemingly as frail as a gentle breeze her solo set kept the few of us that were there nicely entranced for a good half hour or so. She’s got one of those lullaby kind of voices that you can imagine rocking babies to sleep to. Not that I have…or ever wish to…have babies. Poor buggers. You’ve got to feel for them. What kind of a world will they grow up in eh? Shafted from birth. No wonder they’re screaming their heads off. Anyway, Laura Gibson’s soothing voice will certainly help them endure the slings and arrows of life and they could do worse than listen to her lyrics too. She sang something about how the lines on your face were the pattern left by time. That’s a good way of looking at it. Pick of the set a crackingly good piece of Americana entitled ‘Spirited’…which you lucky folk can check on her MySpace thingy.

On then to yet another discovery that I have Pig Radio to thank for (on top of Frida Hyvonen, Okkervil River, The Bird and The Bee, The Decemberists…oh the list is endless…gawd bless ‘em), Alela Diane’s ‘The Pirate’s Gospel’ (‘yo ho yo ho ho yo ho ho’ indeed) fixed itself firmly in my brain last year and refused to leave. It’s a sea shanty kind of track (as you might guess) and the perfect vehicle for her strong sea shanty kind of vocal. I’m not sure what the technical term is but her voice kind of rises and falls, often during an individual word (have a listen, you’ll hear what I mean…either that or you’ll have me sectioned for hearing things).

For some reason Alela didn’t do ‘The Pirate’s Gospel’ tonight. I didn’t see any pirates either…unless you count the bar staff who wanted to charge several pieces of gold for a small glass o’rum (well, red wine in any case…I’d hate to contemplate what they’d charge for a glass of rum). Ohhaaa me ’arties, shiver me timbers. Speaking of wine (yeah, I’m a ponce I know) what the hell are they serving at The Town Hall. The back of the small bottle I bought describes the flavour as having a touch of mint. It does. It tastes of mouthwash. Seriously. It’s probably the worst glass of wine I have EVER tasted (and, being a cheapskate, I’ve had some pretty rough wine over the years). Happily Alela, a justifiably rising star of the Folk Americana (music to sit on the porch of a log cabin by) scene, more than took my mind off the stuff. She did a few songs with Alina first (another female vocalist whose harmonies with Alela were just sublime) before being joined by her dad and a couple of beardy blokes who rocked things up a bit by adding mandolin, bass and drums respectively. Alela herself seemed genuinely knocked out by the beauty and history of the venue (prompting me to think, ‘yeah, it is pretty special’) and, even though it was obviously fairly empty she seemed to enjoy herself as much as my fellow listeners. Someone shouted out ‘next time it will be full’, judging by the lushness of tracks like White As Diamonds (‘Early One Morning’ crossed with that song that used to be on the Cadbury’s flake ads…you know the one…‘Only the crumbliest flakiest chocolate…’) it might well be. Special mention and respect due to the beardy bass player (Tom Bevitori) for his comedy turns, especially his ‘Birmingham? I thought we were playing Burning Man’ routine. Genius.

The Lemonheads @ The Irish Centre, Digbeth, Tuesday 15th September 2009

Lordy…I’ve not been to a gig at The Irish Centre for ages. It seems that they (whoever they are) are doing the old place up and, although it’s still a work in progress, it reminded me of just what a cracking venue it can be – a decent sized stage, a good view from wherever you stand and a bar (and staff) that delivers a lush, creamy pint of Guinness in your sticky mits in double quick time. Thanks to yet more West Midlands Travel shenanigans (and a little piss poor planning on my part) we arrived as the first act was already on but both he (I didn’t catch his name) and the second support, Richard Burke seemed to have a decent clutch of folky self penned songs. Richard established a nice patter with the crowd too (Evan Dando take note…) and gave us a refreshingly different take on Yazoo’s ‘Only You’.

But tonight was all about The Lemonheads of course. For a while The Lemonheads’ star shone bright with a massive album (It’s a Shame About Ray) and a lead singer who made one of those ‘most beautiful people in the world’ lists (to be fair he was a bit of alright back then). However lead ‘head, Evan Dando, developed a nasty crack habit (in every sense of the word…I believe he once ‘had a go’ at Courtney Love), lost his voice for a time (Chris de Burgh won it in a game of ‘craps’ and refused to give it back) and drifted into semi obscurity. I guess many people would find it hard to name a Lemonheads song, but you’d know them when you heard them. ‘Into Your Arms’, ‘If I Could Talk I’d Tell You’ and their cover of ‘Mrs Robinson’ all received oodles of mainstream play back in the day. But now they’re (well Dando and some other bods at least) back, back, back with an all covers album (Varshons) featuring songs by the likes of GG Allin (notorious shock rocker who regularly beat up his audience and performed naked save for generous smears of his own pooh), Wire and…er…Christina Aguilara. Whether this signifies a drying up of Dando’s mojo or not remains to be seen (although an original album’s supposedly in the pipeline).

I’d read some mixed reviews the tour so far so my expectations for tonight’s show were set at a fairly low level. In particular some had commented on the workmanlike performance and how Evan has a tendency to just come on, crack through the songs at breakneck speed and then get the hell out of there. The speed issue was certainly true tonight. I lost count of just how many songs they did…20? 30? 40? Seriously, it could have been that many (the set list seemed to be 3 sheets of A4 paper taped together). Bang, bang, bang…crank ‘em out. Personally I’m not averse to a fast turnover set (if you don’t like a tune no worries, there’s another along in 45 seconds) but, at times, I got the sense that the tracks had barely got going before they were swept aside for a fresh one. Evan wasn’t in a chatty mood either (I’m not sure he ever is) and it was a good half an hour or so before he spoke to the audience. Again, that’s not the be all and end all of a performance but, you know, it’s kind of nice to be nice and all that jazz. The benefit of this no nonsense ‘do exactly what it says on the tin’ approach is that the assembled faithful (judging by the sing alongs and tour t-shirts from the early 90’s many were long standing fans) were treated to all the hits and key album tracks (with the obvious exception of 'Mrs Robinson' – the single that was released without the band’s blessing and which went on to become one of their biggest successes). However, Evan’s clearly got a bit of a temper on him, kicking out the footlights on the stage and laying down his guitar and stomping off stage when he felt the sound wasn’t right (it sounded fine to me) during the solo part of the show (he returned and played for another 40 minutes). You’d think from reading all this that the show was a bit of a disaster. Opinion was split from what I could gather but, personally, I left feeling more impressed than let down. It actually made a refreshing change to see someone who clearly isn’t there to win friends and influence people and who, in this world of polished stage managed celebrity, still retains something of that ‘fuck you’ rock n’roll attitude. To be fair to Evan he did mutter a few words along the lines of ‘Hope you’re having a good time’ and kind of waved at us (well, his hand moved up a little, but he may just have been swatting a fly or something) as he left the stage. The voice, whilst a little more battered than in the past, was far stronger than I’d been expecting too and really suited the world weary nature of many of the songs. Predictably there was no encore. Hurrah I say. I can’t stand that going off, coming on bullshit. Do the set. Take a bow. Leave on a high. Evan gets my vote on that one. What tonight did do was reveal just what a strong songbook Evan’s accumulated over the years. Check out ‘Rudderless’, ‘Alison’s Starting to Happen’, ‘Outdoor Type’, ‘Bit Part’, 'December'…the list goes on. These are great songs, perhaps somewhat unfairly confined to the 90’s (I guess it's still a little soon for that decade to be plundered and recycled). It’s unlikely that Evan’s ever going to suck corporate cock and play the PR game to get the accolades that he deserves but, if there’s any justice, flawed but strangely memorable gigs like this will continue to keep the flickering flame alive.

ArtsFest…and a rant about empty shops and the plans for a Birmingham Photo Gallery – Birmingham 11th-13th September 2009

Enjoyed a very pleasant weekend strolling around ArtsFest again and had the good fortune to be press ganged (in the very nicest way possible) by Pete Ashton into taking part in Birmingham’s People – a project that aims to capture for posterity the faces of some of those who live here. It’s part of a wider project to establish a photo gallery for the city, which seems to have a particularly active snapper scene but nowhere to show off its collective talent. How about the old library eh? Instead of knocking the whole thing down (granted, you might want to knock a few chunks off) why not turn that into the gallery? It’s close to the existing museum and art gallery and could, I’m sure, be knocked into a workable space. There. That’s decided then.

In the meantime might I suggest that some of the many empty shops in the city (I’m looking at the old Virgin Megastore for example...either of 'em) be used? This recession is going to drag on for a while and, even when we do emerge, I wouldn’t mind guessing that t’web will continue to erode the need for a ‘high street’. How much nicer it would be to have a whole bunch of semi permanent ‘pop up’ galleries across the city for artists to display and sell their works. The property owners get someone to look after their empty buildings and we get something interesting to look at. I believe that's a win/win to borrow management speak. At the very least why not just stick big boards up in the windows of all these empty shops and bung the pictures on there? Of course I’m oversimplifying things and no doubt people will shoot ruddy big holes in this plan (security, staffing, heating and lighting, health and safety...blah blah blah...couldn't this all be covered with some form of lottery grant or sponsorship from local firms?) but why the hell not eh? I’m sure I’ve seen other cities do (or at least propose) something similar and I can’t see any benefit whatsoever in having empty shop windows. You’d attract more visitors to the city, encourage the arts scene to develop and make the place look a whole lot better. You could even turn one of the shops into a more permanent base for the Birmingham’s People project…

I’m sure someone’s already thought of this. If not, why not? And if they have, why hasn’t it happened? Eh? Eh? Oh so many questions…I guess I’m in a questioning (and somewhat evangelical) mood today. I propose a motion that makes it ILLEGAL to have 'bare' windows in Birmingham City Centre. All those in favour? Motion carried (hey, this politics business is really simple). Over to you Birmingham City Council. Oh, by the way, I've got another bone to pick with you. When are you going to sort out Lightwoods Park in Bearwood eh? Why not just give it to the good folk who are already running Warley Woods? Or better still why not employ me to come up with a whole bunch of crackpot schemes? I'm full of silly ideas and very reasonable...

To make this post vaguely about music I’ve stuck up my shot of Anthony Joseph and the Spasm Band who played a short, but darn fine, set of funky soulfulness that recalled echoes of the late, great Isaac Hayes. Awesome.

Kylie Audlist / Cookin’ On 3 Burners @ The Yardbird, Friday 11th September 2009

The cost of this evening’s entertainment? Bugger all. It’s part of Birmingham’s annual ArtsFest thingy and proof that our fair city can organise a piss up in a brewery after all. Who’d have thought it eh? If we don’t get City of Culture 2013 I’m going to scweam and scweam until I’m sick. We can have Ozzy performing in Centenary Square. Jasper Carrot in the Town Hall. And how about Duran Duran returning to The Rum Runner Club? Obviously we’d have to rebuild the place first, but that’s a mere detail.

Anyways, tonight’s gig was a bit of a funk fest, kicking off with ‘All Funked Up’, some DJ types. I’m not normally much of a DJ person. However I do appreciate that there’s a certain degree of skill in mixing all of dat shit together, and ‘All Funked Up’ (on top of choosing a frankly unbeatable list of tracks) were funking great. They provided the soundtrack to what appeared at first to be an impromptu B-Boy face off, the likes of which I’ve not seen since watching a 25p charity shop copy (on VHS – old skool stylee naturally) of Breakdance The Movie a few months back. The assembled crew threw down (I believe that’s the right term) an eye watering range of moves from the classic head spin to jumping up in the air and landing with one foot on the stage, one foot on the dancefloor…legs akimbo. Ouch. That’s one way to split your differences. From what I can tell these happenings are a fairly regular occurrence and there’s some kind of competition going on next Friday at the Yardbird too – with a grand prize of £50! Hell yeah. All are invited to take part, but unless you’re bloody good I’d stick to watching it from a discrete distance.

On to the main event/s. All the way from Melbourne, Australia…Cookin’ On 3 Burners! So called because one of the burners on their cooker broke in their communal flat. No, it’s probably to do with the fact that there’s 3 of ‘em and they’re cookin’ (ie playing rather well in the vernacular). That’s cleared that up then, but do they deserve the name or should they perhaps be redubbed ‘Bubblin' On a Low Heat’? (I'm on fire today aren't I?). Well, I was lucky enough to see Sharon Jones and The Dap Kings (the undisputed Queen and Kings of the old skool soul revival) play this very venue last year and they come damn close to stealing their crown. Bass, drums and a Hammond organ. The holy trinity of funk. Whilst a kicking brass section would’ve been the cherry on top, for a three piece CO3B were as tight as me at the bar. And you don’t get much tighter than that. After playing an ass shaking set for around half an hour they were joined by Kylie! Kylie? At the Yardbird? In those hotpants? Hubba hubba. What’s that? Oh…a different Kylie is it. Righty ho. I’m guessing there are a fair few Kylie’s in the world other than Ms Minogue, but she’s one of those singers…like Madonna, Iggy or Englebert…who just kind of owns the name. Whereas THE Kylie is a bit of a pop legend, THIS Kylie (also from Oz) is more of a soul diva, along the lines of our very own Alice Russell (with shades of Macy Grey in some of the vocals too…a touch of gravel in the voice that’s just sooooo damn soulful it hurts). The club was packed out, sweaty (Kylie acknowledged that this was ‘The hottest I’ve ever been in England’) and a few brave B-Boys (and girls) were at the front all night dripping and flipping their way through the set. Like the last time I was at The Yardbird the place somehow recaptures some of the spirit that you’d imagine existed in the US in the glory days of soul and funk. Not a bad achievement for a bar in Birmingham. Kylie’s set was a triumph. ‘Push It Up’ and ‘This Girl’ in particular stood out. That’s one sweet, soulful lady and, if you’re a fan of Quantic, Alice Russell, soul, funk…hell, just music in general…she’s an essential listen. The set closed with an instrumental number. A cover version. Of Cars. By Gary Numan. Yes. I know. Inspired. You can (and MUST…I insist) listen to it on Their Space. What's that? You can't be arsed? Oh alright then I'll stick it up here (see below). Despite my somewhat impoverished circumstances (such is the life of a freelancer) I bought a couple of CD’s (does anyone else buy CD’s these days or is it just me? Thought so). Now, all I need to do is to spend the next 7 days listening to them and spinning on my head whilst doing the splits and throwing my limbs out of their sockets and that 50 quid is mine…

Top Tracks # 2 - Sebastien Tellier 'La Ritournelle'

Okay, the second in my invaluable (oh alright then, mildly interesting) guide to the greatest tracks ever made (that you might not have heard of) is a few years old now but, despite listening to it time after time it's still just beautiful...from beginning to end. Sebastien Tellier himself seems like a bit of a character and isn't averse to taking the piss out of himself (witness his Eurovision performance) but this track (a love song...ahhh...bless) seems to play it pretty straight. It's a biggie too. 7 minutes and 31 seconds. You'll have to wait 3 minutes and 58 seconds for any vocals too, but they're worth it. Enjoy.