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!