Ship of Vools

Karnivool*****
Jurojin*****
Kill Goliath*****
La Scala, London, 21st Dec 2010




After the shambles of the third test, the last place I really wanted to be was surrounded by Aussies. Loads of them. But they were out in a frozen Kings Cross by the bucketload for WA's prog heroes Karnivool. Not that the sedate game played in long white trousers was on anyone's mind this evening.


A packed La Scala was in party mood and ready to lap up the heady musical cocktails being served up. Shaken and stirred.

I have to admit, I hadn't heard of either of the support bands, but was yearning for something new and intoxicating. First up were Kill Goliath. And they certainly didn't disappoint. From the crisp and intricate drum pattern that kicked of the first number, they launched into all manner of crazy time-signatures and catchy riffs with hair-raising drops and a real dollop of good musicianship. They reminded me of a heavier Xcerts without the poppy bits. 


The wee celtic frontman hunched behind a left-handed SG sang confidently and looked like a cross between the little welsh prat from Stereophonics and Tim from Ash. But with better hair. I thoroughly enjoyed it. However, I must admit though, the constant shifting time signatures did on a couple of occasions sound a little affected and show off pick your nose and blow off. I had a nagging feeling this is the drummer's band. Saying that, it's not a bad thing and they went down very well. Some of their tuneage is on the widgety thing on the right. Check them out.

Jurojin. My new favourite band. Well kind of. Look, they've got tablas which has got to be good.

So, what next? Well, a loose 5 piece collective called Jurojin, that's what. And wow. Just wow. I was seriously blown away. Folky, proggy, metallic, heavy, world, ethnic, technical, tuneful; just astonishing. The only reason I can't give them 5 stars is I obviously didn't know any of their tunes. And I don't know how to colour a star in half in HTML. But they are ones to watch. The lead singer was always in control of his tenor-ranged voice. No screamo, pig squeals, no Robert Plant ear-splitting histrionics, just a smooth, beautifully tuned almost folky voice with trills, vibrato and genuine originality.


The bass, drums and guitar were all mastered. Heavy and dark to funky, jazzy and soulful. Man, like this lot. Then when you thought it couldn't get better a tabla payer (yup, a tabla player - and a bloody good one) was wheeled out. 

Violin? Phwoooar!

This ethnic spice just added to the gorgeousness. Oh, and a very hot Nicola Benodetti looky-likey violin player in a blue pvc catsuit joined in just to raise the headiness and hedonism an extra level. Oh, and how could I not mention the stunning performance of Black Leg Miner, the old folk standard. Bloody amazing. 


Like any new band you see for the first time that make such an impression you really hope they'll go on to marvellous and world-beating things; but with this lot, I really mean it. Original, talented, entertaining and, well, just bloody brilliant.


In the words of David Coverdale, here's a tune for ya:



How the heck would Ian Kenny and the Karnivool boys top my new favourite band?


Well, lights down, expectations up and straight into the plinky plonky opening to Simple Boy showed how. And some.

Plink plonk...booooom!!!

Kenny with his new crew cut was in commanding form. He strutted. strained and seduced the adoring sardines in the full house. The set was the perfect balance of sing-alongs, proggy noodlings, heavy as hell riffage and rare and fragile beauty. No sexy fiddle player though. Sadly.

The boys, foolishly had Creme Eggs on the rider. Schoolboy error.

By all accounts, they're really kicking off in their home land and on this evidence, they're gathering a grand old following in the Motherland. An over 18's audience dissolved and regressed into excitable and fawning teenyboppers. Enthusiastic but mildly genteel pits sprung up, there was a smattering of crowd surfing (especially from Aussie-looking birds that looked as though they were refugees from The Church) and just about everyone sang along. 

What would sir and madam like to drink?

All the faves were played with Roquefort and New Day getting hairs standing up and everyone throwing themselves around like tasmanian devils on mescalin.


It was sweaty, energetic, triumphant, loud, perfectly performed with enough deviation from the recorded versions not to be on a heavy Steely Dan tip with solos played note-for-note. That would be horrid.


The guys looked like they really enjoyed themselves and there was a mutual energisation exchange witchcrafty thing with the enraptured throng which added even more love to a love-packed room.


I saw the Vool earlier this year at Islington and it felt a little staid and removed. Tonight made up for it in spades. A different band. A different crowd. A different class.




More tunes soon. Bwoooar!


Oh, and have a grand Chrimbo.


Here's a little festive pressie, an acoustic version of The Mighty Proceed's Tricycle Journey. Merry new year.


A Tricycle Journey (acoustic version) by PROCEED

Oh God

30 Seconds To Mars *****
Enter Shikari *****
Funeral Party *****
The O2 arena

Leto. God? Nah, wanker.

All a bit embarrassing to admit I was there. But I was. It felt odd. Actually, it was odd. But I'll keep it brief. A full house on a chilly night at the big round tent full of shops and restaurants. The vast majority of whom appeared not to have grown their first pubic hair. 

Unsettling. And odd. Very odd.

Unlike Shikari, Funeral Party weren't even allowed to stand up on the skinny stage of humiliation...

First up were Funeral Party. A kind of post hardcore, pop punk, indie noise machine with some tunes. Not bad. Not my kind of thing. But not bad.


Then some drummers came and, well, drummed.


A hush descended and a few shouts of Shikari filled the vast upturned Dutch Cap.The beloved St Albans din makers were up next. The crowd had swelled to pretty much three quarters full. I was actually quite looking forward to this incongruous billing. I've been watching Shikari since they were as young as most of the crowd in venues like The Astoria, The fantastic Astoria 2, Their first headline show at Brixton Academy, festival tents, venues that resembled scout huts (on reflection, they probably were) and tiny sweaty rooms. But the O2? Supporting a blue haired evangelist adonis? Told you it was odd.

 St Albans' finest freshly squeezed

The first thing that struck me was the fact that the boys were teetering on about 18" of stage in front of a billowing enormous sail-like curtain. I was sitting way from the madding crowd to one side (yes, sitting!) and from my vantage point could see the area behind the billowing enormous sail-like curtain was absolutely huge. In Newsround stylee, about half the size of a football pitch with a couple of double decker buses thrown in.

This really was a master/servant relationship. I remember when bands would be happy giving their support shitty sound and a slightly chaotic backline plonked in front of their menacing looking rig. 


Not here. If they could, they'd have put them in a separate room.

White billowing sail-like curtain. Oh and Rou.

So, the lights went down, lots of tweets, burbles, dub-steppy brown noise and other sonic wallpaper kicked off. 


The lads tiptoed onto their sliver of stage and, well, kicked arse.


A short set but packed with energy, bounce, bass drops, buttock-clenching, heart-stopping dub step interludes and big guitar work from Rory did the job. And then some.

Oh my, how pits have changed. Sigh.

Solidarity kicked the whole thing off, Mothership became Motherstep having been given a brush up on Rou's Korg box of buttons and Kaos, Sorry You're Not A Winner got the house really going, Havoc and the new one Destabilize worked, but why oh why did they feel the need to do the drippy load of old tut that is Gap in The Fence? Unnecessary and unwanted. Thankfully they ended with a raucous working of the mighty Juggernauts which got the pit going, albeit a terribly polite kiddy pit - a far cry from The Astoria 2's Hadean tour de force a couple of years ago. All-in-all,  they filled this big old shed with a big old noise and did it with aplomb. 


Now they're independent again, I look forward to a shift back towards the dirty and exciting buckets of racket they made on their magnificent first album. On this showing, they've still got that something special.


I said I'd be brief. I lied. But I will be now. 30STM? Don't really know what to say. So I'll do it in 50 words:

Leto...Wanker.

Blue hair. Messianic. Entertaining. Wank. Mass girlie hysteria. Nuremburg Rally. Self-indulgent. Impressive light show. Wank. Tunes. Singalongs. Jesus. Pointing. Waving. Jumping. Lots of jumping. Energy. Wank. Showman. Screams. Fizzy knickers. Tame. Wank. Evangelistic. Worrying. Fascist. Wank. More jumping. Love-in. Masturbation. Onanism. Wank. Wank. Wank.


But you know what? It was quite enjoyable. And I'd rather have our future generations watching this big, fairly anodyne, but undoubtedly clever and well put together loud rock and roll rather than Take That. 

Leto...Wanker

It was a big wank though.


Songs? Oh yeah, they did the ones we all know. Ones about Kills, ones about maps of the world, ones about being closer to the edge. Ending with the Gary Glitter party on stage for the one about Kings and Queens.


Odd indeed.

Leto...Wanker.

Sorry, couldn't resist, latest vid from the genius that is Proceed. 

Oh, and a fantastic new acoustic version of A Pointless Voyage. Class.


Curious Acoustic by PROCEED

The Vool next. 


More tunes soon, Bwoooar!

Def n Dumb

Deftones *****
Coheed and Cambria *****
Brixton Academy 17th November 2010

Chinooooooooooo. 

For once no travel troubles. No rain. No strikes. Got to Brixton in very good time to actually catch the support act. Wish I hadn't.

Sorry, you're not a winner. Chugaluggalug.

I just don't get Coheed and Cambria. At all. I've heard interviews with the band's very own comic book guy Claudio Sanchez and he comes over terribly nicely. If not a little bit nerdily scarily. Not that you could discern any of the high pitched warblings made even worse by the legendarily shite sound down in Brixtaan.


The musicianship is pretty much top drawer, the themes, er, all a bit sci-fi and concepty and the vocals; think Jimmy Krankie with a weird East coast burr. WIth a mahoosive 'fro. Nope, definitley don't get them.


A lot of people do though. And last night, a lot of people did. Ok, they weren't your usual hopefuls or fodder for the soundman to make the main band sound better that often accompanies the big boys, as they're biggish boys themselves; but there were a lot of terribly enthusiastic screaming acolytes hanging from the rafters. Sad. Very sad.


The real problem is; they're no good. All the songs go on too long. They are all pretty much in the same key and dynamic range (the PA must've been weeping as it got baggier and baggier) and they offer no light and shade. Just a train screaming at the same pace for the whole of the set. Exhausting and, to be honest, boring.

Comic genius. I'll go fetch the keg of beer.

The only relief for me came from the fact that Sanchez is the spit of Phineas Freak from The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, which overlaid a jaunty comic book based irony over proceedings.




So, they came. And thankfully went. But,what would Chino and the boys bring us?

Gifts from the fucking heavens that's what. 23 songs of power, aggression, beauty, 
spine-tingling melodies, raw, shit-scary screams and growls and brilliant musicianship.


This really was a treat. And a privilege to behold. Chino's voice is a rare and unique weapon. Capable of driving even the stoniest of hearted oxen to shed a tear and to goosebump up like the last sad chicken in Sainsbury's. He then counterpoints the plaintive beauty with such venom and power it leaves one bowlderised, bedazzled and bleeding.

Chino pulls out the trusty old SG. 

The baritone guitar work of Stephen Carpenter welds the whole thing together and pulls the heavy load like a massive chugging locomotive, but unlike Coheed and Cambria, there's subtlety, nuance, melancholy, space as well as testicle-tightening power. 


The set was so perfectly constructed. Songs from the very first album sit so happily alongside brand new material. The balance is so deliciously concocted like a complex, multi-layered but ultimately irresistible intoxicating brain damaging cocktail. There are too many highlights to mention, but the sublime You've Seen The Butcher, Change and 7 words were just about as good as anyone could ever get live.

I really have been blown away by these guys. Jaw-dropping, masterful, beautiful, beastly and utterly, utterly brilliant. I am a very lucky man to have been there. Oh yes.


Here's a vid of the three encores ending with the mighty 7 words. Ears are still ringing. Enjoy...





More tunes soon, Bwoooar!

The Greatest Escape

Unbloodybelievable.

The Dillinger Escape Plan *****
Rolo Tomassi *****
The Ocean (Missed them. Oops!)
The Electric Ballroom, Camden 5th November 2010


Not getting used to this early start gig thing. Completely missed The Ocean (sorry guys) - they must've been doing a matinée. 


Anyway, onwards and upwards. Rolo Tomassi. Wow! A tiny (and very hot - even though I'm not allowed to say that as she's way too young!) Eva Spence belts out huuuge noise. A bit like a cute little sports car but with the engine of a Eurofighter - then chucked through Ted Nugent's world record beating 65K rig from many years ago. Surprising. Frightening. Bewildering. But, well, kind of good.

Rolo Tomassi defy categorisation. And I'm not going to try. There's no shortage of tunes, technical and musical ability, but loads of big sounds. Very big sounds. Thery're energetic, bouncy, fun but scary as fuck. And by the end of their massively well-received set, a packed crowd were certainly enraptured and appreciative. 
The Ballroom was pretty much rammed to the rafters and the air of anticipation was almost tangible as the last vapours of Eva and the boys drifted off into the ether.


Talking of the crowd; what a bizarre collection. Yes a few trad metal heads, camo shorts 'n' all, many grizzly beards and checked shirts, loads of caps like the bloke from the X-Factor, a smattering of IT guys, scene kids, inquisitive Shoreditch types, loads of muso 'biz' looking coolites, more girls than you could have predicted, certainly a herd of out-of towners (pointed out by my mate Matt!) and a few hold hacks like me. Whatever and whoever, everyone was certainly up for it.





Then it happened. Jeez! A brutal but mesmerising, spine-tingling and testicle-wrenching launch into Goodbye Mona Lisa from the spellbinding Option Paralysis. There are few, in fact, fuck it, NO bands on this earth who come close to DEP. The breath was kicked and beaten out of every onlooker. Ben Weinman threw his plank around like I've never seen before. Billy Rymer's drumming was like having the All Blacks' Pack speed tapdancing on your cranium. Greg's voice like a hot fire poker up the jacksie all tied together with Jeff Tuttle's frenetic and ridiculously contolled but eplileptic guitar work and Liam Wilson's liver-splitting bass. Truly awesome. An over-used word, but truly needed here. 

The 'tunes' kept coming, new, old, really old. All amazing, astonishing, astounding and uncompromisingly aggressive. Even the mellow bits and jazzy piano excursions from a stripped to the waist Weinman, had a brooding malevolence and you knew it was just a bit of foreplay befor the full-on violation continued.


The crowd looked like a writhing scene from Hieronymus Bosch or Danté. All hell was opening up and legs, arms, arses, sweat, blood, shit, beer and piss filled this most sulphurous, noxious dark stygian cavern. And it was amazing. Stage diving? Nah! For pussies, These guys run into the crowd. Jump upright. Swing on dirty bastard gangland wharehouse torturer's lamps.

They crack on through 'singalongs' like Black Bubblegum, the ever infectious Milk Lizard, and the higlight of the show for me - Gold Teeth on a Bum. They pepper the set with classics; Fix your face, Panasonic Youth, the genius of Sugar Coated Sour, the frightening and seldom heard Mullet Burden all coming to a vinegar stroke crescendo with the classic 43% Burnt. This is surgonlike precision in eviscerating the crowd. Perfectly constructed and designed for maximum collateral damage and precision targetting. They rule. Totally.

I truly can't articulate the reasons for my love for this lot. They're nihilistic, inaccessible, loud, ugly, annoying, disgusting, brutal and undoubtedly brilliant musicians (not many circle pits open up to a song in 13/8 with massive accidentals and compound time breakdowns). But I do love them. Irrationally,perhaps worryingly.


The whole evening is back lit by a state-of the art but industrial rig which lends to the overall marauding and uncomfortable menace of this Hadean tableau. And it works brilliantly. But the weirdest thing is that I smiled throughout it all. Massive circle pits and havoc notwithstanding. In fact my face, as well as my arse, chest and head hurt more than anything. Because of the smiling.


I've seen this lot 5 times now. This was by far their best show so far. Saying that, the other four were bloody brilliant too (especially the remarkable concert in a coffin session at The Barfly earlier this year). You know those middle class lists and books of things to do before you die - bungee jumping, swimming with dolphins, climbing Everest, sleeping with Angelina Jolie. Sod all that. See this lot live. They will change your life.


Astonishing. Fucking astonishing.


Deftones up next.


More tunes soon. Bwoooar!

Odds, sods and dogs. Some new tuneage.

Haven't been to a gig for a wee while, so little to report on the live front. However, I'm seeing the mighty, frightening, ridiculous, horrid, amazing, nauseating, sublime, ridiculous and incomparable Dillinger Escape Plan on Friday (did I mention ridiculous?); so if I'm still alive after being dipped into their Dantéan cauldron, then I'll try and scribe something.


In the meantime, I thought I'd just put a wee collection of some varied stuff on board the good ship Bwoooar. Some brilliant, some middling, some, well, just interesting. 


Let's start with the brilliant I've seen the Butcher from Deftone's latest long player. Get a load of this:




Next up, the new one from The Shikari machine from St Albans City. Still not too sure after their stunning debut three or four years back, but this one seems to be getting them back closer to where they should be. I think. Well, maybe...see what you think...





Next up is a live performance from the terrific Aussie boys Karnivool. This was from their support set for Skindred last year and I like it. So there. Seeing them at Le Scala in December - should be great.



In the words of David Coverdale (without the swears), here's a song for you. The official promo for collapsing Cities off Sam's latest long player. Not the best track on the LP, but catchy, hummable and very good live..



Fresh from their support slot with Mr Duckworth, here are the brilliant Xcerts with the catchy, lively and infectious Young (Belane) of their fabulous recent album. 




And finally, here's something a bit different, the original, mixed up vibes of Tiger Please. A terrific UK band with a podgy Welsh singer and some big tuneage. Deserve to be big. Enjoy.



That's it for the mo. Still loving Proceed more than anything though.


Oh, and check out io at http://www.weareio.co.uk/ for some pretty stunning post rock ambience and nurdling. Their new album MATERIOPTIKON is well worth a listen.


Oh go on then, here's a vid:







More tunes soon. Bwoooar!

Geoff Capes, Wears Cakes and Pies

Sam Bam Thank you Ma'am.


Get Cape Wear Cape Fly *****
+Justin Sane*****
+The Xcerts *****
+Tellison *****


Electric Ballroom, Camden 13/10/10

Tidy venue. Tidyish crowd. All looked promising. The drinks started to flow. Atmosphere, well, never really got anywhere near warm. All a bit odd.


Odder still was the first act on. The oh so amusingly named Justin Sane of Anti-Flag 'fame'.


Now I'm sure Mr Sane is nice to his mum. We know he's nice to animals (a staunch animal rights radical veggie and all round good well meaning egg). But, to be honest he was, well, poo! Very poo.


The sort of stuttering, poorly crafted and terribly played, over-earnest bedroom bollocks that a drunken student called Nigel would hockle-up round your mates flat after a couple of litres of Gaymers and a jazz woodbine before he was told to 'give it a rest now Nige, we fancy listening to some Gotan Project'. Wanker.


Seriously, he was terrible. No tunes, no hooks, no ability on the guitar. Weak and characterless voice. Sheesh.

Things could only get better. And my God they did. Next up (and surprisingly low down the bill - due to them actually doing another gig later that night over 100 miles away in Canterbury) was the totally superb slackerpop trio The Xcerts. Tight, tuneful, loud, lovely, brash, beautiful, brilliant.

I've now seen these guys on about half a dozen occasions and they go from strength to strength. 


An understandably but sadly short set threw in new stuff from the bonkers and brilliantly bewildering Scatterbrain long player with older favourites. All performed with maximum effort and energy and no shortage of technical skill. Frontman Murray MacLeod totally rules the stage (and in the last number, the floor of the venue in a scene redolent of Fightclub but with a Fender Telecaster not fists). His boyish frame and floppy mop coupled with a good ol' boys lumberjack shirt evoke memories of a young Cobain. But with guitar playing ability thrown-in.


Can't wait to see them on a major headline tour. I urge everyone to see them. Spellbinding and special.

Not so much so of the next lot up. Tellison. Never heard them. Or even heard of them. But was mildly amused and entertained. All a bit poppy and frothy but pleasant enough. 


Imagine Fall out Boy, McFly, Funeral for a Friend and Youmeatsix all thrown into a Braun Multipraktik and whizzed into a moussey-like foam. You get the picture. 


Saying that, the gals in the crowd seem to enjoy them. And they seemed like nice enough lads.


So, what would our Sam dole up?



Well, a full band for starters. Mike G on the cornet (but no other horns), the bloke who looks uncannily like Nasser Hussain on bass, a real drummer, a keyboard player and, well, another guitarist. And no visible laptop. Real instruments. Real music. And really good.


Big energy, big sound, big smiles, big hair, big tunes and big ooh ooh singalong bits. Everything we've come to expect from Monsieur Duckworth. And some. 


A rollicking set packed with new takes on old faves (Oak Tree, i Spy, Get Cape, Glass Houses, Call Me Ishmael) and a couple from album no 2, spiced up with three or four from the new eponymous offering. 


Sam was his normal endearing, charming and at times gauche and unconfident self, mixing estuarine tinged banter and quips with a passionate chest-beating anti homophobia/racist/BNP/EDL diatribe intro to Glass Houses.


He also had technical gremlins trying to wedgie him throughout. The sound wasn't great all the way through (but thankfully didn't spoil the enjoyment too much); and to cap it all,  his trusty acoustic melted down and he had to play his 'chilled and melancholy' section on a Telecaster. Which, surprisingly sounded great, albeit dragging Sam inevitably and inexorably closer and closer to his metamorphosis into his hero Mr Bragg.


A Daft Punk cover then lit up the place and got more than a few tired feet a-tapping and challenged by some on the spot tuning difficulties, Sam remained upbeat, entertaining and enthralling.


The crowd, for their part was boisterous and appreciative throughout rather than adoring and passionate (and not particularly huge, bewilderingly),joining in where they needed to, OOOOhing diligently and throwing cheeky banter towards the wee man between tunes.


Despite whimpering out with no encore, no War of The Worlds or Chronicles it was a great performance leaving many fat smiles plastered over the crowd as they headed for the tube or kebab shop. Tasty.


Bwoooar!

I should Koko

Wow. Just wow. 

***** 

Oceansize came, we saw, they certainly conquered. 

A hungry and packed crowd tuck into a delicious and well received appetiser from the fabulous This Town Needs Guns (thanks to a monsoon in Londinium and ensuing traffic nightmares, I sadly missed the first support from the normally spellbinding yndi halda).

They are ridiculously good. Technically good. And some.The multi-tap,slide, air-tap sorcery of the guitar leaves ones jaw well and truly dropped. Ok, it could get a little repetitive, but in this cogent and economic set, it just leaves you wiping your eyes in disbelief like a cartoon drunk with a brown bag o' booze having just seen a giant mouse in boxing gloves.

The sound wasn't the best however, shy of top end on the vocal, sections of songs sounded a bit muddy; but, thankfully it really didn't affect the overall output. This lot should be going places. Thoroughly enjoyable, energetic but self-effacing and terribly polite. And loved by the enthusiastic and appreciative crowd who looked like the assembled creative departments of all of Shoreditch's web design or games developers on a mass evening out.

A worrying thought fizzed into my Jagermaester-addled noggin box though; weren't they a bit similar to Oceansize? Would we notice the difference (trade-mark guitar noodling style notwithstanding)?

There was no need to worry. None at all.

Mike and the boys kicked off with gut-grabbing and brain scrambling bombast. The monster opening riff of Part Cardiac rocked the Koko to the core. Beautifully played with enough deviation not to be a slavish, dot-for-dot rendition of the studio album version. This is real, raw and brilliant music. Heavy? At times. Intricate? You bet. Emotional? Infinitely. The set gathers pace, passion and involvement from the attendant Shoreditch battalions. Old favourites are liberally mixed with new tunes from the excellent Self Preserved As The Bodies Float Up (must be the best album of 2010).

The beautiful Music For A Nurse brings the house down. It's spine-tingling harmonic opening is met with tears and cheers. Sublime.

The set is beautifully constructed and cleverly contrived to muss with just about every internal organ, body part and section of the brain. By clever shifts of complex time signatures, technical brilliance, soul and raw energy, this lot push their crafty hands inside you, pull, push, squeeze and stir up all the gooey bits and occasionally  pull out their fists to deliver mighty blows. You're left feeling sick, hurt, soothed, seduced, bullied and generally fucked around with. And I absolutely love it.

After Ornament/The Last Wrongs fades ethereally into the moist humidity of this fey and beautiful venue Mike Vennart wanders back on. Noodles with his tuning a bit and the lads launch into a 10 minute version of the haunting and spectacularly beautiful Women Who Love Men Who Love Drugs from the excellent Effloresce long player. The crowd melt yet again and as we finally file out into the dank and shiny London air the final refreain is being whistled and hummed by all and sundry.

Genius. Just genius.

Talking of which, here's a bit of fun, Proceed's cover of a Kelly Clarkson tune great fun....

More tunes soon. Bwoooar.