Written for Bristol’s Crack Magazine.
The Duke Spirit seem to have been around for ages. Their name has been a staple in the indie press and on festival bills for the better part of a decade, and their popularity has maintained a steady plateau throughout. Tonight the band reap the benefits of a history of due-paying and studious touring as a large gaggle of Bristolians brave a chilly Monday evening to witness their return to The Fleece.
The band swagger on with the uptempo Into The Fold from 2008’s Chris Goss-produced Neptune. They immediately demonstrate their diversity by following up with the new wave-tinged Procession from last year’s Bruiser and execute a seamless drop in pace. The tempo fluctuates during the set and material old and new is tied together with a grungy bite that runs throughout. Tracks from their 2005 debut LP, Cuts Across The Land hold their own as songs like Bottom Of The Sea, Love Is An Unfamiliar Name and the excellent Red Weather are aired and received as old favourites.
The Duke Spirit fit the mould when it comes qualifying as British indie heritage. Each member is musically accomplished, sufficiently tall and attractive; guitars are loud, overdriven and sonically entwined and their rhythm section pounds with sturdy elegance. Yet somehow, they lack a certain je ne sais quoi and perhaps, edginess. Anglophiles in the US, Japan and Australia have lapped them and made them a fruitful UK export, while over the past nine years they have struggled to progress upward of the Fleeces, King Tuts and Cockpits on their home turf.
None of this is to say that The Duke Spirit don’t put on an entertaining show. Front-woman Liela Moss is a rare kind. She manages to meld an Iggy-esque predatory swagger with a knock-kneed Bjork vulnerability alongside various peacock and feline poses with seeming ease. Her between-song chatter is sparing and considered, which she attributes to watching the “cool as fuck” Mark Lanegan the previous evening. She prowls the stage and captivates the room with her voice, which essentially is the thing that defines their sound. A diverse audience of devotees sing her words back and bop to the beat and although it gets a bit sweaty, things remains highly civilised.
Their Korg keyboard is exercised as Moss leads the band into the increasingly dramatic Villain, and provides one of the evening’s highlights. 2010 single Everybody’s Under Your Spell demonstrates a more glam, anthemic side and possibly a glimpse of the key that could take them to the stratospheric heights that some argue they deserve.
They end with the Sonic Youth meets Nancy Sinatra of Cuts Across the Land and underline an impressively tight performance. Job done. Three albums down, they make decent viewing and with the album fat trimmed, are far more compelling over an hour in the live setting than they are on record. Well worth a tenner.
Photo by Rosie Lea.
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In three short years, Pulled Apart By Horses and their support, The Computers, have shot from the depths of their respective scenes in West Yorkshire and Devon right to the forefront of the British rock scene. Though contrasting in style and sound, both bands draw from a pool of timeless influences, representing the discerning listener while the technicolour, fringes and auto-tune neo-metal kids do what they do. The buzz around the headliners means that the Fleece is ramajammed, sold out in advance and loads of bearded blokes are left gawping hopelessly outside.
The Computers kick off in a grandiose fashion; uniformly dressed head-to-toe in white and claiming that they have come to save us. Quiffs n’ all. Rattling through tracks like crowd favourite Music Is Dead, Group Identity and Where Do I Fit In from their 2011 debut LP This Is The Computers, they sound like a band that have toured relentlessly and played anywhere. Their local support and rapport with resident gig-goer Big Jeff demonstrated the graft that they’ve already put in. They are loud, focused and fun. The recent inclusion of a synth player adds to their live dynamic, lending a new lease of life to old-ish songs like Teenage Tourette’s Camp and moving them closer to that swaggering Costello-inspired garage punk that they seem to be striving for.
Though his banter between songs is a little sixth-former-y at times, frontman Alex is an engaging focal point and puts the work in to whip up the crowd. By the time their set has reached its climax, he has parted the audience in two, is bellowing from one of the venue’s pillars/drink tables at the back of the room, thus encroaching on the chin-scratcher territory and placing everyone firmly in the action. Crowd invasion at its finest.
Armed with fresh material from their latest offering Tough Love, Pulled Apart By Horses waste no time in capitalising on a suitably warmed audience and launch head first into the remarkably-titled I Punched A Lion In The Throat. From the off it’s energy, flailing limbs and lots of noise. Newer songs such as V.E.N.O.M sound a little more complete than earlier efforts, but still maintain the hyperactive boisterousness that made them such an exciting prospect in the first place.
PABH sound like the collective sum of their influences, glued together with a party-tinged snarl. You can hear the angular artiness of Fugazi, the riffing and grooves of Fu Manchu, the damaged noise of Black Flag and the structured massiveness of Queens Of The Stone Age. Like their support, they chat casually between songs, engage with members of the audience and set the tone of a “those guys are just like us, only onstage” hardcore show in the early 80s. Between-song chat ranges from Axl Rose vocal and dance impersonations to guitarist Tom bleeding from stage dive-cum-guitar solo.
Newer songs Night Of The Living (I’m Scared Of People) and Shake Off The Curse sound huge, and like the rest of their output are better represented in a live environment. Established favourites (the also remarkably-titled) Meat Balloon and High Five, Swan Dive, Nose Dive from their self titled 2010 debut have the Fleece eating from their collective eight hands. Though their progression is evident, material from both albums sits comfortably together and completes a compelling set.
Though an encore is not entirely necessary, PABH manage to redeem themselves by squeezing in a surprise cover of Nirvana’s Tourette’s, fitting both as an homage to their influences and the fact that it’s two days before what could have been the hero-in-chief’s 45th Birthday. The show ends with half of the band surfing triumphantly on top of the audience and feedback wailing from the speakers. Business as usual for the Leeds boys then. Bristolian ears still ringing later in the week, guaranteed.
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Written for Bristol’s Crack magazine:
It’s September 3rd and The Croft is hosting a Wolfparty. Five bands, two rooms, ten cigarettes and eight ciders. Let’s do this. This is Turbowolf’s first headlining show of the year and the first in Bristol in recent months. They’ve handpicked the support , the venue, provided an after-party and packed the place with friends, family and fans. Metal.
Things have changed for Turbowolf in 2011, they have recorded their album, toured Europe with Korn and Dimmu Borgir, signed with Hassle Records (Trash Talk, Alkaline Trio, Cancer Bats), recorded a couple of videos and bagged a new drummer and bassist. Exciting times, but tonight they have a triumphant homecoming to celebrate.
They open up with the blistering Ancient Snake and commence with an onslaught of flailing hair, limbs, sweat and noise. The audience join in dutifully – crashing into one other and singing every word. The Big Cut and Things could Be Good Again (also from their recent foreplay-before-the-album EP) demonstrate a punkier sound than heard previously – somewhere between Soundgarden on glue or The Misfits on heroin – and adds a stylish dynamic to their set.
Like true pioneers of audio/visual overload, Turbowolf ensure that you have something to watch while you soak in their sounds. Vocalist Chris only stops to tamper with his keyboard and spends the rest of his time in, on or under the audience. At one point he surfs to the rear of the room, belts out a song, dives again and surfs back to the stage. Another crowd surfing session takes place on a skateboard that somebody had left enticingly onstage. Andy (guitar), Joe (bass) and Blake (drums) play with finesse and power in equal parts and demonstrate a band that has evolved further from an energetically scruffy ball of noise into something more accomplished.
Recent single, A Rose For The Crows is the heaviest of their set and a psychadelic swirl of stoner metal that slowly concludes with an elegantly simple down-tempo outro that’s built from pure doom. Forthcoming single Read And Write is an already established fan favourite and is making waves with various DJ’s across the county, thanks to its swirling and infectious hooks. The band close with Let’s Die and say good night, ensuring that the all remains encore-free and a battered audience gets an opportunity flee to the cool.
A very busy 2011/12 now awaits as the band embark on a UK tour with Hawk Eyes and The James Cleaver Quintet (including another show at the Croft), followed by a couple of dates with the mighty Monster Magnet. This will coincide with the release of their eponymously titled debut album on the seemingly prophetical date of 11-11-11. Voodoo. Surely a contender for Bristol’s premier live band – catch them in a venue near you.
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Written for Bristol’s Crack magazine:
A sweltering Trinity Center plays host to a highly anticipated night of vox-less eclecticism.
Opening tonight’s proceedings are Gallops, who are “From Wales and are Welsh”, apparently. It’s a modest opening and about as much chat as we are to expect for the rest of their set.
From the outset Gallops are tight and assured. Clearly the music does the talking as they take us through through their self-titled EP and a few newer songs. Their perhaps most complete song, the infectious Miami Spider, provides the high point.
A minimal approach to stage presence and crowd interaction is more than made up for by their drummer Dave Morait, who is mental. If you locked a 12 year old Keith Moon in a room for a decade with nothing but a drum kit, ‘Led Zeppelin II’ and a Buddy Rich DVD, this man would be the result. His erratic technique adds a solid foundation and a pretty frame to each song and is deserved of a special mention.
A straddling of several genres demonstrates Gallops’ wide range of influences. While the Battles comparison is obvious and somewhat lazy, they incorporate math-rock, droning electronica, post-hardcore and a dusty-fingered record-digging quality that few bands manage to convey. As their stage time drew to a close, the audience had swollen to four times the size, marking a triumphant performance and a huddle of new fans. Mission accomplished.
Fresh off the Glastonbury press, and following the recent departure of guitarist, keyboardist, vocalist and ‘guy with the ‘fro’ Tyondai Braxton, it could be said that Battles are up against it. However, a lack of space and an air of anticipation suggest to the contrary as the band cooly take to the stage and go to work on the increasing intensity of Africastle; the opening track from their latest album. A unanimous sweat commences.
Battle’s musicianship is impeccable as they navigate us through a soundscape of off-kilter rhythms, melodies, samples and drops. Their recent shift to a four-piece has clearly heightened Ian Williams’ duties, as he juggles between guitar, two tilted keyboards on either side of him, a suspended cowbell and an array of pedals, loops and samplers. His dual guitar tapping and keyboard playing alone is a joy to watch. He also controls two screens that make up the backdrop, displaying vocal performances from the likes of Gary Numan (on My Machines), Kazu Makino (Sweetie & Shag) and Matias Aguayo (Ice Cream). Williams manipulates these between dreamy images and merging colours as the setlist develops and compliments each song with its visual accompaniment.
Former Helmet drummer John Stanier is precise and assured as his trademark solitary Zildjian cymbal hangs high at full stretch; requiring a split-second glance preceding each use. His playing commands full attention from the centre of the stage and dominantly leads the band into their sensical changes in tempo and speed. Guitarist and youngest member Dave Konopka is assured and adds parts that flirt with frantic erraticism and harmonious intricacies.
A relatively short set, totaling just shy of an hour, is followed with an encore that features the steadily-arranged Sundome. Although encores should be reserved and limited to Bon Jovi, the dramatic crescendo of the closing tune makes for a fittingly epic finale and halts their set neatly at the point between wanting more and wanting to be outside.
Though Battles’ playing sometimes lacks the soul of lesser acts, their jaw-dropping musicianship more than makes up for it. Cue a herd of sweating late-twenty-somethings with beards in check shirts leaving in the knowledge of £14 well spent and a larger percentage of absentees who should know better than to be elsewhere
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Glassjaw are an elusive and now unsigned post-hardcore band from New York. Their last proper album was released in 2002 and since then they have played here and there, aired a few new tunes, performed in other groups and generally (intentionally or not) been enigmatic and secretive. This is probably the band that they always wanted to be.
Glassjaw’s recent state has turned their hardcore fans 51% rabid with anticipation and 49% creepy, so you can imagine the raucous response to an unexpectedly released a 7″ vinyl on 8th August (8/8) to coincide with a UK performance this year. A second release followed on 9th September (9/9) and a third on 10th October (10/10). These were unveiled through their official website and at low key concerts, selling out at an increasing pace each month. Every 7″ had the band’s ‘gj’ logo die-cut from the middle, meaning that they could only be played using a specially produced cardboard adaptor that had been sent to fans of the band in the months before 8/8 (which in itself had got the ball rolling on the speculation and expectation), or bought – in a sturdy-looking plastic form – again, through their online shop.
A month after each vinyl was issued, an MP3 version was put on sale on their site. In between releases, a one-take video version of a new song (not necessarily one from a vinyl release) was placed on vimeo to keep collective appetites suitably whettened.
It appeared that Glassjaw’s movements were becoming predictable, until this happened:
This poster appeared on the band’s official website in the days leading up to 11th November. It appeared that they were going to release their new 7″ single at a pizzeria in their hometown of Long Island, New York. 88 copies of the new 7″ single were present at the restaurant and were sold with a ‘Theglassjaw” pizza to the first 88 customers that knew what to ask for. What came as a bigger surprise to those attending was a message that was printed on the inside of the pizza box:
The address on the ticket is that of Glassjaw guitarist, Justin Beck’s humongo merchandising company Merchdirect. 88 fans turned up at 11.11pm and were let through to the band with their instruments. The first few through the door were handed Flip cameras and along with everyone else, had their phones and any potential recording equipment removed from them. The band then ran through a rendition of a new song, and a lucky fraction of the attendees became the directors of their – one would presume – upcoming, one-take music video.
This is perhaps the coolest thing I have seen a band do for a relatively small and exclusive group of fans that are as used to and excited by waiting as they are sick of it. The band have already announced a New Year concert on 1/1/11 which is set to be a big one (full LP/EP release perhaps?), and we have the matter of 12/12 also approaching. What other plastic treats will they serve up?
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MY FAVOURITE ENVELOPE.
I bet you don’t even have one? Thought not.
I received this from Cerebral Ballzy. The Brooklyn skate punk crew. Check them out if you haven’t already, they’re a bit like Bad Brains being played by Beavis and Butt-head. It’s good.
Anyway, I ordered their limited edition ‘You’re Idle’ vinyl ep. The sleeve is lovingly wrapped in grip tape to make sure that your other 7″ records get trashed and this is the only one you can play ever again. Bastards! This is the envelope that I received it in. THRASH!
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Written for and printed in the May issue of Bristol’s ‘Eye’ magazine:
I first saw the Bronx during my gap year in 2004. I pulled up to Amsterdam, found a hostel, saw their name in a local gig listing and decided to attend all within around 10 minutes. Having heard their then latest single ‘False Alarm’ not long before leaving for my jaunt, I kind of knew what to expect. After arriving at the Paradiso theatre the rest of the night became a blur of drink; punk; 400 Blows; falling over; a big bassist and a big bass; crashy loud drums; the singer in the crowd; the singer being funny and the singer being scary. All of this culminated in us nearly joining them for a post-gig night out but choosing to see ‘Lost In Translation’ instead (big regret). Details are hazy, but since then, they have pretty much been my favourite band.
I watched them progress from there, from their first album to their third. Time brought better artwork and maturing songs, snappier t-shirts, weirder videos, bigger chords, catchier vocals and louder guitars. They are a band that improve upon and outdo themselves constantly, a rare breed. In modern punk, that’s rarer than a Sid Vicious knife party.
In 2007 the band were offered to perform one of their songs in an acoustic format. Deeming this as cliche and never being ones to stick to convention, they decided to perform one of their punk standards through the medium of Mariachi. From this, the band discovered a special knack for this traditional Mexican ditties and set upon writing an entire album under a the guise of El Bronx. Clever. Not only do they play the tunes, they look the part too, by donning traditional mariachi gear and recruiting necessary musicians for increased authenticity. Consequently, the band undertook the task of relentlessly touring the globe, often with both of their bands sharing space on the same bill. This entails dressing up, setting up, playing an entire set as El Bronx, packing up, changing, setting up again and then smashing through a headline set of hardcore/punk/rock ‘n’ roll as The Bronx. Night after night.
El Bronx released their debut album last year. Far removed from novelty, it’s an innovative and exciting record that has helped the band gain wider recognition outside of the punk/hardcore community. All the while, they maintain the snarl and spirit of independence that made them so great in the first place.
Considering the above, you can imagine my dribbling delight upon hearing that both of these bands are playing Bristol’s very own Thekla. Small enough to let the chaos reverberate off the rafters, and weird enough to feel like you have walked into something historic; the rum soaked hull of the club on a boat is the perfect setting for this messed-up hybrid. Brighton’s Ghost Of A Thousand have taken it upon themselves to play as the buffer between The headliners and their mariachi counterparts and should be worth checking out. 11 quid buys you a ticket to three unique bands, a messy and diverse night out and some bragging rights for one of those “wow my Dad didn’t used to be a gimp” moments with your kids in 20 years time. Enjoy.
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Review was written for and featured in the April edition of Bristol’s ‘Eye’ magazine.
There’s nothing better than a pleasant surprise. I rocked up to the Croft on the 17th March to check hang out at a gig with a mate I haven’t seen for a while. Having reached an age where I’m musically stubborn, think I know everything and cynical of anybody younger than me playing in a band, my hopes weren’t high (for the bands, not the company).
Arriving fashionably late, I strolled past the surprisingly stocked merch tables and into the main room to Outcry Collective 1,2,3,4’ing into their first song. Initially a drummer and 95% of a crowd down (drummer was in the bog), they pounded through each number regardless, gaining movement and bodies in the crowd as they progressed. Their early Every Time I Die-esque punk/metal provided Bristol with some half-time head bouncing bops and enough southern-fried riffs to help spice up a wet Wednesday evening.
We then bowled into the front room for a cider and saw Bullwhip setting up their gear as we jostled for a space at the bar. Local artist Sepr was on the drums so we were both pretty intrigued to see what they had to offer. They smashed through a set of angular, heavy rhythm-based instrumentals with minimal vocals, which quite literally let the music do the talking. Solid, musically apt and uncool in the most complimentary sense, this lot are one to watch.
Ciders in hand, we rattled into the main room once more to see the headliners, Computers. Dressed entirely in white, the band took their positions on stage and kicked into their first song. Well, except for their frontman Alex, he took position wherever the hell he fancied – mic stand and guitar in tow – and continued to do so throughout their entire repertoire. Computers had that kind of ‘smack round the face, damn they’re good’ sort of effect that some bands just have without necessarily meaning to. It’s the kind of music that denim, dirt and quiffs were invented for. Their hardcore bits and stage presence reminded me of The Bronx, the rock n’ roll bits reminded me of New Bomb Turks and the vocalist conjured up images of what Buddy Holly be like as a nasty, snarling modern day punk. I suddenly began to strongly consider spending eight of my unallocated gold nuggets on that Phil Collins’-face-featuring t-shirt of theirs I had half ignored and half sniffed at on my way in and realised that there are still cool bands out there to discover. Every self-appointed music scholar/fool needs that from time to time.
Chatting to them after, they excitedly told me that Speedo from Rocket From the Crypt would be flying them out to the US to record and produce their newest material the following week. If my trusty words aren’t seal of approval enough, then let that be. I don’t write about gigs very often due to aforementioned cynicism, so I would rate it as one ‘so good that I decided to review it’.
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Got sent my hand-stamped Edan ‘Echo party’ vinyl today, direct from Lewis Recordings. I received the CD copy through the post a few weeks ago, and was waiting patiently for the vinyl to arrive. Any delay was understandable, Edan has hand stamped each cover individually, making 1000 in total. Work not cut out for those with a short attention span…
Let’s go and play on bikes…
The thing I liked about this delivery (on top of the music and the customisation) – and something that the digital machine that killed analogue and physical release has failed to fully cull – is that it was like a proper parcel from a proper label. I got a package full of fliers, a free ‘Best of Lewis Recordings CD’, stickers and a poster. Wichita do this too, and I’m sure there’s a few others out there doing the same. It’s like what it used to be like to order something from a cool label; so thanks Lewis Recordings, and please keep it up. Oh and thanks for signing Edan, he rinses it.
Here’s my package (not in that way):
There are 999 other versions of these customised vinyl covers in the world. I want to see what the others look like. If anyone that owns one reads this, send me a pic and I’ll create a little thumbnail library. Here’s mine:
I caught Edan and Ricky Powell’s touring ‘cultural event’ last Sunday at Metropolis in Bristol. there are a couple of dates left on the tour, so highly recommend checking it out if you can. Details on Edan’s website.
Rolling on Floor Laughing, What The Fuck? Oh My God.
Update 09/02/2010: I have found a few pictures of the other versions of these covers. I will add to the collection as I find them, below:
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Thought I would collate my Facebook and Twitter status updates from the last few months into a single blog post for a few reasons:
1) I’m a foaming douchebag
2) So they can all be found in one place and can live as a resource for mankind for all eternity
3) I don’t have anything else to blog about
4) Blognor Regis
Stolen ones are credited, here we go:
- Ives Says: I was the head of lead generation at the pet dog accessory factory.
- Ives Says: I bred a cantelope with a labrador and got myself a Melon Collie.
- Ives Says: I went bald on a flight. Knew I shouldn’t have chosen receding airlines.
- Ives Says: I just fell on an envelope – back in a jiffy.
- Ives Says: Kiss My RSS
- Ives knows everything about non-stick frying pans and vegetable steamers since completing my Tefal course.
- Ives Says: I just dropped my laptop on my foot, it MegaHertz. (Nicked this one)
- Ives Is reading the biography of the author of Lord Of the Rings, called ‘Look Who’s Tolkien’
- Ives Says: In the room the curtains were drawn, but the rest of the furniture was real. (Stolennnn)
- Ives Says: I want to write books and fix teeth, so have decided to become an AuthorDentist.
- Ives managed to mail some greek dip home and had some great posthummus success.
- Ives Says: An electronic document was arrested today for being a PDF-file.
- Ives Says: How does Mr Miyagi relax? Wax off. (Rory told me this!)
- Ives Says: Dell Buoy – Using your laptop as a makeshift raft during a shipwrecking incident…Everything needs a name.
- Ives Says: I saw 2012 last night. I don’t know about you, but Armageddon a little bored of all of these end of the world films now.
- Ives Says: I like Apple Mac Minis, but find them a little un-PC
- Ives Says: Marks And Spencers new advert states that it wouldn’t be Christmas without M&S. They’re right too. It’d be Chrita. (Stole ittttt)
- Ives Says: I just bought a load of websites, now I’m domain man
- Ives Says: I was told how great stocking fillers are, so I put some tights on and shat myself.
Oh my god, rolling on floor laughing, laughing out loud, for your information, no problem, laughing my arse off.
Kiss my bum & Merry Christmas love from zombie me x
raaaa
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