Album: The Maccabees - Colour It In (Fiction)

In the press release The Maccabees' debut album, it says that the band now "sell out the same venues they once struggled to fill". Fair enough P.R. fodder, you might think. Think about that sentence for a moment though and it becomes clear that this is a classic example of damning with faint praise. The phrase, "struggled to fill" intimates that the band did fill those venues eventually, it was just a bit of a chore. That they're now packing out the same halls they used to, only quicker, suggests that the band haven't really moved on much from their first single release. Hell, if their own press agency can't seem to write something glowing about them, what kind of chance do I stand?

Well, there's not a lot here to praise. The riffs are sharp and angular, just the way those skinny-trousered kids like them, but beyond all the right sounds, there's not much else of any substance. Some bands can get away with just skating along on pleasant melodies and vaguely danceable rhythms, but The Maccabees are quite possibly one of the least assertive bands I've heard in quite some time. Singer, Orlando Weeks' whey-faced, faux-impassioned delivery doesn't really help, his affected quiver being a permanent turn-off.

Their best songs, like ode on a swimming baths, 'Latchmere' are spiky and memorable, but there's way too much filler here. I'm talking three good tracks out of thirteen ('About Your Dress', 'First Love' and the aforementioned) and that just isn't good enough. Sorry boys, but you'll have to try harder if you want to graduate to those bigger venues. Maybe you could go on an indie also-rans double-header with Good Shoes or something?

http://www.highvoltage.org.uk/displaydemoreview.asp?num=2673&band=823

Album: The Stills - Without Feathers (Drowned In Sound)

The Stills' first album, Logic Will Break Your Heart, traded in the kind of dark majesty that drew them endless comparisons to fellow goth-y rockers, Interpol. The resemblances were there for all to see; a love of both Joy Division and Echo & The Bunnymen, black clothing, a streak of doomed romanticism. It hampered what was actually a pretty decent record from getting the attention it deserved.

Thankfully, The Stills have stepped out from the shadows with their second full-length. Without Feathers is a lighter, peppier affair than its predecessor, but one that suffers from a lack of cohesion and an unwillingness to fully embrace the boldness the songs hint at, in favour of striking a middle ground between the blackened opulence of old and their newfound bent towards a brighter outlook.

The album starts out well enough, with both 'In The Beginning' and 'The Mountain' showing enough of a flair for exuberant optimism, but all too often and mostly always when you feel they're about to really take off, as in the doo-wop sway of 'Halo The Harpoon', they cop out and lapse into trad, indie-rock stereotypes. There are odd moments of sanguine clarity, like the E-Street-meets-Arcade Fire bluster of 'It Takes Time', but they are counterbalanced by dropped balls like the could've-been-great-if-they'd-really-fucking-gone-for-it, 'Oh Shoplifter'.

Without Feathers is a flawed, but heartening attempt to forge a new direction from a band who could have easily just released a facsimile of their debut. If they learn how to ignore their more conservative urges then they really could be something special.

http://www.highvoltage.org.uk/displaydemoreview.asp?num=2675&band=1711

Live: Electrelane (Manchester Club Academy, 7.5.07.)

Electrelane, so good on record, had passed me by as a live act in the past. Until recently, I can't ever remember expressing any desire to see them in concert, even though I've been a passive admirer of theirs since early this century, upon hearing 'I Only Always Think' at university. I guess there's just something about their music that screams "home listening only" to me, but I just never really entertained the notion that they would be able to cut it live. Was I right?

Well, partly. Tonight, Electrelane, touring in support of what I think is their best album to date, the luminescent kraut-pop of No Shouts, No Calls, take a little time to get going. This sees set opener, 'Bells', from 2005's Axes and, more disappointingly, 'The Greater Times' fall a little flat. They don't hit top gear until a menacing, borderline furious 'Eight Steps' around four or five songs in, but after that, they succeed in building a tangible level of mood and atmosphere that even the dodgy Club Academy sound system can't ruin.

The band are clearly enjoying playing the punchier, more direct new songs, like the jagged instrumental 'Between The Wolf And The Dog' and the sweet, Gallic-tinged pop of new single, 'To The East', but it's also allowed them to breathe a bit of focus into the older material that gets aired, with 'Blue Straggler' being particularly impressive. Despite the fact that it took a while to light a fire under them (chalk that one up to it being the first night of the tour), Electrelane ultimately proved themselves as a band with very little left to prove to anyone and obviously relishing this position.

http://www.highvoltage.org.uk/displaydemoreview.asp?num=2633&band=1657

Album: Arctic Monkeys - Favourite Worst Nightmare (Domino)

Arctic Monkeys' meteoric rise of 2005/06 looks, with hindsight, like a microcosm of the industry hype machine in the '00s. It was all a bit too instant. Understandably some people cried foul, or at worst, proclaimed them to be everything that's wrong about British music. The more level-headed amongst us called it as we saw it; Arctic Monkeys were just another decent guitar-pop band, with too much praise heaped upon them.

With this in mind, they returned to the studio, determined to go one better with their second album. And it shows, for the most part. Across its twelve tracks, there's a definite broadening of scope at work. This is as adventurous a record that you get in Britrock these days. Cause for celebration or damning indictment of these complacent times?

Favourite Worst Nightmare, whilst not taking too many risks, is the sound of a band pushing themselves to their limits, while having a keen knowledge of where said limits lie. You can hear this extended reach in the rollick and flex of 'Brianstorm', or the intricate arrangement of album centrepiece, 'If You Were There, Beware'. For every arresting, that's-a-new-one triumph, there's a step backwards like the borderline cynical festival anthem in the making, 'Fluorescent Adolescent' or a bold misstep like the clumsy atmospherics of 'Only Ones Who Know'. The most heartening signifier of the band's maturity comes with 'Do Me A Favour', wherein Alex Turner's sharp witticisms carry more poignancy than before.

FWN is by no means a great leap forward for the UK music scene, but it does display a band unwilling to rest on their laurels. Arctic Monkeys are most definitely not the saviours of rock that some may have you believe, but they just took a step in the right direction.

http://www.highvoltage.org.uk/displaydemoreview.asp?num=2612&band=371

N.B.: Ignore the five-star rating below this. Think my editor may have well been having a laugh. If I remember correctly, I gave it three.

Live: Black Lips (The Roadhouse, Manchester, 29.4.07.)

Every once in a while, you see a gig that reaffirms your faith in rock 'n' roll and realigns dwindling expectations in the old bass-guitar-drums set-up. One that sets the bar up a notch again, back to what it once was. A gig that for 24 hours after feels like the best gig you've ever seen. Black Lips at the Roadhouse was one of those gigs.

Not that this was the best thing I'd ever seen on stage, but it threw into stark relief just how boring and stultifying most rock bands are live. Black Lips have been steadily cementing their status as a fierce, unpredictable live act for the past three years or so, with tales of inter-band kissing, members urinating into their own mouths and hardcore nudity. This kind of stuff is all sideshow though and it's the sheer garage punk thrill of seeing bands play loud, fast, infectious tunes that they've mastered. All the gross-out tricks in the world could neither add nor subtract from that.

We get lead guitarist Cole swapping spit with rhythm guitarist Ian, which is something you don't always see. What you see even less of these days though is a band as thrilling as Black Lips. There's an epiphany moment during the rocketing 'M.I.A.' when you look at all four members trading off on vocals, playing as hard and as rapidly as they can (Drummer, Joe, in particular looks like some fevered hybrid of Animal from The Muppets and an octopus) and you can't help but think “I love this band”, or even, “I want to be in this band”. Isn't that what rock 'n' roll is all about? They don't reinvent the wheel, but they've stuck some pretty bitching spokes on it.

http://www.highvoltage.org.uk/displaydemoreview.asp?num=2605&band=1728

Live: Pop Levi (Manchester Academy 3, 25.4.07.)

There are a lot of things that I’d like to say about Pop Levi. One of those things would be that he’s a shiny, flamboyant beacon in an increasingly beige British music scene. Another would be that he’s some kind of perverted saviour of pop; the offspring of a tryst involving Marc Bolan, Prince and Arthur Brown at Woodstock in ’69. I’d also like to say that he’s one of the best live acts around and more fun than a barrelful of chimpanzees on LSD.

I’d like to say these things, but I can’t. I can’t say them because they’re not true. There’s something just so lightning-in-a-bottle brilliant about Pop Levi that never really makes itself known. The idea of Pop Levi is a lot more appealing than the execution. That’s not to say that he doesn’t have some great tunes, he does – his debut album, The Return To Form Black Magick Party is one of the year-thus-far’s most pleasantly surprising debuts, all sparkly pop and reinvigorated vintage riffing – but all that is made redundant by a couple of fatal flaws in Pop Levi’s multi-coloured façade.

First up, the complete lack of sincerity is totally off-putting. I’m not a subscriber to the idea that pop music has to be sincere or meaningful to be great, but the artist has to believe in it for it to carry weight. Pop Levi substitutes conviction for studied, well-worn rock poses and gimmicks. Everything that the guy does has been pilfered from music’s past. He does the Angus Young bent-double head shake around five times too many for it to be considered mere homage. He also stares down the girls in the front row, lasciviously, like every rocker with a raging libido since the fifties has. All the shapes that Levi throws just come off as clowning, thus undoing the good work done by his songs.

Another flaw is that he’s way too sure of himself to be likeable. I like a pop star with a bit of arrogance but Pop Levi just takes the biscuit. He’s playing a room the size of a shoebox, yet he thinks he’s onstage at Wembley, pyrotechnics and dancing girls flanking him. This is an ultimately alienating move on his part. We like our stars to be on a pedestal, but not one that they’ve built for themselves. Even the most seemingly unapproachable talent like Morrissey has an affinity with his fans to the point that he’s constantly touching hands with the front row at gigs and throwing his shirts into the crowd for the sweaty, be-quiffed hordes to fight over like dogs after a bone. Pop Levi’s over-inflated opinion of himself creates a distance between audience and artist that seems unassailable due to his complete lack of self-awareness. You don’t get to be a star just because you decide it, you are anointed by the public and, car advert soundtrack aside, what would the average man on the street know about him if pressed?

Lastly, for all the sweat that pours from his face, there’s no real effort been put into making the songs that jump out of the speakers in technicolour on the album work in a live setting. Stretching out the intro to opening gambit, ‘Sugar Assault Me Now’ to an interminable length (it was probably about five minutes, but it felt like five hours) might have seemed like a good idea in the rehearsal room as an exercise in heightening anticipation, therefore making the eventual release all the more emphatic. In actuality, it just bores and infuriates, ultimately flattening what should have been a knockout blow. Also, ‘(A Style Called) Cryin’ Chic’, so oddly exotic and evocatively patchouli-stained on record, like some previously unearthed Donovan masterpiece, is put asunder by a weary, passionless delivery.

There are good points though that point to Pop Levi maybe learning from his missteps in the future. ‘Blue Honey’, even without the handclaps that give the song that added something on the album, is a delight and one of the few songs that live up to its recorded counterpoint. Also, set closer, ‘Dollar Bill Rock’ is transformed into a restless, itchy wig-out that’s worthy of Levi’s influences.

It’s just not enough though and the calculated lecherousness just comes off as creepy most of the time. If he ever comes down off the ego trip he’s on, then he just might have a shot at attaining the status he thinks he already has. He’s got the tunes after all.

http://www.rachaelburns.net/html/music/2007/04/gig-review-pop-levi-mancheser-academy-3.html

Album: Kathy Diamond - Miss Diamond To You (Permanent Vacation)

Maurice Fulton – producer of quality music, sterling remixer, enigma and all-round crazy bastard – has always been a difficult man to pin down. Even though he does have what some might deem a trademark sound with distinct leitmotifs (slap bass, distorted, druggy synths, masses of percussion), it’s often hard to tell whether he wants to make music that’s accessible or whether he wants to challenge and weird the listener out.

Fulton productions can sometimes be strange (look no further than the riotous ‘Let’s Get Sick’ from the first Mu album or the whole of the Eddie & The Eggs album for proof), but every now and then, he goes for the jugular and makes a track that could slay a dancefloor from fifty paces or could conceivably be a crossover hit (check his remix of Hot Chip’s ‘Over & Over’ or ‘My Gigolo’ from the Stress: Why Put Me Through It? album). On Kathy Diamond’s debut full-length, Maurice Fulton has bridged the two. Miss Diamond To You is a pop-soul-disco record filtered through Fulton’s askew view on music.

From the opening track, its head-turning immediacy is clear. Perhaps it’s Kathy’s sweet, everywoman voice that makes it impact instantly, but from the word go, it’s evident that it’s Fulton who’s firing on all cylinders. Opening track, ‘Between The Lines’ is like a smoother do-over of the Grace Jones classic, ‘Nipple To The Bottle’, but with a more narcotic vibe, creating an easy, soft buzz, which dovetails neatly with Diamond’s lilting tones. It’s a sexy song, almost tangibly so, but the sex element is never crassly driven home. It’s there though, in the sinuous bassline and the over-dubbed orgiastic vocals in the chorus.

Even though Fulton’s more obvious production touchstones on this record are dancefloor-driven (West End, Prelude), there’s more than a whiff of the avant-garde about the lissome, airy guitar lines that pepper the album, akin to such vanguards as Manuel Goettsching and Michael Karoli. The cerebral edge is tempered by an ear for what makes a good pop song or club track. The lyrics are often inconsequential, in that they cover impersonal declarations of love, but Fulton uses Diamond’s voice as another instrument or layer of sound a lot of the time.

This is most evident on ‘Over’, in which Diamond’s vocal is cut-up ever so slightly, giving it a barely perceptible robotic feel. Most of the vocal’s reverb is dampened and it occasionally jumps from speaker to speaker, one word to the next, giving the vocal a wonderfully strange, jarring air that acts as a counterpoint to the music’s tight funk jam. There’s a point when the clavinet joins in with the vocal melody and it feels like a wall is broken down, allowing the diffuse nature of the music and voice up to that point a chance to dovetail, albeit briefly and it’s jaw-dropping.

Although I’ve so far chosen to highlight two songs in particular, this is an album where picking standouts seems futile. Miss Diamond To You is best experienced as a whole. It’s a dance album with a clear focus and one where there’s an idiosyncratic language at play. It’s nicely out-of-step with most other stuff that’s going on in the dance music scene and yet it’s so gettable and completely modern. When all’s said and done though and we’ve pontificated over where Fulton and Diamond were coming from until the cows (Mu?) come home, it’s essentially a pop-soul record. An odd, left-of-centre pop-soul record, but a pop-soul record all the same. Instinctual body music that’s as easy on the ear as it is stimulating to the brain.

http://www.rachaelburns.net/html/music/2007/04/kathy-diamond-miss-diamond-to-you.html