X rated. The Xcerts at The Borderline

The Xcerts*****

Flood Of Red*****

Drawings*****

The Borderline 18^th January 2012

Tote bags. Beards. Plaid. More beards. Fucking tote bags! Yup, tote bags. Sported by blokes. With beards. Bellends. Bearded bellends. With bags.What is going on? If any of the hipsters in tonight’s assembly decided to commit a murder, there’s no way a conviction would stick. Any identity parade would be declared erroneous because the line up would look identical. Even the women.

Sorry, I digress. tonight’s show promises the world. A buffet of slacker grunge alt bastards from all ends of this sceptred isle. 

Drawings*****

First up are a trio from Southampton. Why that’s relevant is beyond me. Saying that, the old ship city is doing something right; Burn The Fleet and, er, Craig David among the marine diesel infused conurbation's issue.

So what was on offer? A jaunty enough start with a U2 ish delay fest followed by some tapping and guitar whizziness all backed by a big-arsed bass and, well, to be honest, an average drummer.

Nonetheless, the assembled bearded, be-bagged bellends seemed to quite enjoy what was being served up. Matthew Reynolds’ vocals were chocolately and mellow and hovered around rather than soared over the interesting soundscapes.

All together now, Oom Pa Pa Xanadoooooo

There was definitely an indie vibe, but in a good way rather than the joyless predictable shit of The Vaccines et al. Throw in a smattering an art school proggy, techy rocky sensibility and top it off with a touch of Chas and Dave oom pa pa and you’ve mixed up an interesting Martini. There were elements of Rush (probably unwantedly and unintentionally) and even moments of a Ceilidh ish flavour, all culminating in a rousing finale with descending thirds lending an Elgaresque grandeur to wrap proceedings up.

All-in-all, not bad. Not brilliant. But definitely not bad. In a world of stunning trios, Drawings are going to have to dig a bit deeper if they’re going to rub shoulders with the likes of Arcane Roots and tonight’s main honey pot, The Xcerts.

Flood of Red*****

I don’t know how I’ve missed Flood of Red until now. They seem to have been around since God was a nipper, but tonight was my first live exposure to this ramshackle bunch of mainly Caledonian malcontents.

Guitars? Yes. Tote bags? Get off.

Less than 30 seconds into their energetic and vibrant set opener, I hated myself for not having dined at their table until now. I loved it. The vocals were spectacularly dynamic, flitting effortlessly between penetrating, hair-raisng yowls and controlled melodic power: all played out in front of a frenetic, ever-shifting, engaging and crazed band. Who were enjoying their arses off.

Their songs were original, catchy, complex and high wattage throughout.

The swollen crowd lapped them up and the energy seemed to fuel fun and frenzy on stage. Thoroughly entertaining, impressive and enjoyable. I will definitely seek these bad boys out again. (I think they’re supporting the mighty Bled on their swansong tour!).

The only possible negative, was that on their merch table, they were knocking out branded fucking tote bags!

The Xcerts*****

This must be about the dozenth time I’ve had the privilege of being in the presence of The Xcerts. And the joy, anticipation and excitement gets only stronger with every performance.

Despite his new mane, Murray still looked 14

The sell-out crowd was equally collectively  expectant, wedged in and drooling at what was about to be delivered. The lights dimmed, the roar went up and on strolled our diminutive, intrepid trio. Still looking like teenagers.

And, then, boom; straight for the money shot. Do You Feel Safe opened the sermon and every one of the congregation in this church of hipsterville began their collective worship joining in with reverend MacCleod’s enchanting homily.

These guys must be one of the hardest working bands on the circuit and all the hard work has certainly paid off.

There’s an innate telepathy between all the individuals, Jordan Smith’s precision bass playing is neurally linked with Tom Heron’s economic and sympathetic skin walloping. They are so tight, so slick, so conjoined yet never clinical, sterile or predictable. Thankfully, there’s no Steely Dan faultlessly true to the recorded original note-for-note rendition slavishness here; far from it, a loosesness and delicious spontanaeity keeps the cauldron bubbling with the three individual parts reacting and interreacting with like one of those enormous shoals of herrings from a David Attenborough under the sea special.

All the favourites are given an airing tonight. Slackerpop, Young (Belane), the anthemic Crisis in The Slow Lane, Scatterbrain, Just Go Home with it’s oo oos, a couple of new ones and the spine tingling Aberdeen 1987 with Murray dispensing with his buddies for a truly goosebump-inducing fragile and fantastic solo rendition. The crowd sang every word and there can’t have been a dry eye in the house.

Judging by the masses of industry types here tonight, along with the cream of some of the very best young UK bands – Damiani, Pennels, Doyle, Duce, Delaney among others propping up the bar – the importance of this band is gathering a well deserved momentum and it feels they’re on the very brink of bigger things.

I’ve waxed lyrical so often about the genius of these lads and on the strength of tonight’s brilliant performance, I can’t add much more praise. They truly are one of the very best live acts in the country and long may they continue spreading the gospel of slackery grungy rocky beautifulness. A class of their own. Truly.

No 1. Bloody well No 1. 

On another note, I just wanted to share my absolute joy and pride at the fact (as of posting this) that we have an independent, original and fucking brilliant rock record at No1 in the album charts. Anyone who’s ever read any of my ramblings, can’t failed to have noticed how I’ve been a constant supporter and ridiculous fanboy of the St Albans anarchists Enter Shikari. Well done you tinkers, a truly brilliant moment giving hope that the world is waking up.

The often miserable but wonderful Mike Duce and his LTA boys next. Can’t wait.

More tunes soon, Bwoooar!

Secret Midgarden party. Midgar Live. Oh, and Maybeshewill as a bonus.

Midgar*****

Atum**1/2**

Press To Meco

The Perfect Crime

93 Feet East Shoreditch 11^th January 2012

I’ve got to admit, it was my first time at this hipster venue tucked away at the solemn and shadowy end of London’s achingly fashionable Brick Lane. But, excitedly and full of meat products and new world wine (following a tortuous industry dinner) I skipped into the unknown ready to be wowed by Midgar et al. Well, due to my tardiness, just Midgar and Atum actually - I sadly missed The Perfect Crime and Press To Meco.

An encouraging start; the room was a good old size with a big raised stage, a retro Bakerlite front of house PA, a well-stocked bar and a smattering of what looked like industry types mingling with scene refugees and trendy web developers . But it was only a smattering. Disappointingly.

Atum**1/2**

First up were Atum (after an interminable sound check.) A five piece from North West London Town apparently. I had no idea what to expect but was ready to be impressed.

Michael Hupping, the singer looked like a mod on the run or a cross between a Gallagher brother and Joey Barton and he was clutching drumsticks. No idea why. Didn’t see him do anything with them, but clutching them he was.

The set started and slid into a pleasant enough melange of a proggy vibe with an indie backbone via Tool and Karnivool with dollops of whisked up Kasabian, subtle hints of Deftones on a bed of freshly picked Intronaut.

A heady mix. It kind of worked in places but was a little bland and flat in others. But the cavernous and empty venue did little to heighten the flavours. Add in a terrible sound and some fairly terminal tuning issues and the overall aftertaste was nowhere near as good as it could have been.

Saying all that, despite Hupping looking like a heroin mod chic extra on Casualty, he had some vocal chop. A pretty spectacular range; from a controlled low end Stuart Staplesesque baritone to a soaring Jeff Buckley higher register. And some of the tunes weren’t at all bad. Would like to give them another chance in a fuller, smaller venue with better sound and the use of a guitar tuner wouldn’t go amiss.

So, my second starter of the evening seen off, what would the main event serve up?

Midgar*****

I’d rather hope the disappointingly flaccid crowd would swell to the size of a Blue Whale’s woodie for Midgar. But, sadly and unbelievably it got to about a 20% lazy lob and that would just have to do.

Maybe it was the choice of venue. The time of year. The lack of listings or people being skint, but it staggers me that one of the UK’s greatest young musical talents didn’t pack the hipster hall to its rafters. They deserve to.

No matter, I was lucky enough to be here and was salivating at the prospect.

Vennart/Wilson-Taylor. The transformation continues.

At first I didn’t recognise Andy Wilson-Taylor. All short hair and school shirt. The metamorphosis into Mike Vennart from the brilliant but sadly defunct Oceansize (btw, check out his brilliant new project with The Gambler at britishtheatremusic.com) is almost complete. But as he sauntered onto the stage, the whale’s penis throbbed more than a little, the band struck up a hearty tune and we were off.

Midgar are a mash up of many influences, genres and styles. Sweeping arpeggios, intricate tapped and swept guitar work, heavy as hell drops and riffage, triggered 808s, harmonics, orchestral samples all Araldited together with a tight as a rusted Scammel wheel nut rhythm section and all topped with Wilson-Taylor’s masterful, mesmerising, powerful, hypnotic and other-worldly vocals

The Welcomed New Member of Midgar

There are traces of Muse, hints of Vex Red, Thrice, InMe and Incubus (before they turned into Richard Clayderman and Kenny G with a crap wedding DJ), and even Chopin and Debussy. Yup, this evening Mr Wilson-Taylor got all Vladimir Horowitz or André Previn on our arse and played live keys on a couple of tracks. Brilliantly by the way.

Their set tonight was primarily made up of new stuff. And bloody great new stuff at that.

There were a couple of older faves thrown in – Set closer, Karmic Retribution and the always wonderful Vincent’s Masquerade (no Colour Us or Lead Your Children To The Sky – with or without Steve ‘The Dude’ Sitkowski – though) but tonight was a celebration of the future. And what a future it threatens to be.

The PA didn't help

Sadly I didn’t catch the names of most of the new songs (I think one was called Neptune) but without exception, they were of the very highest quality. They happily contrast lighter, harmonic and melodic themes with ball-crushing, percussive riffage and marry haunting beauty with brutal uppercuts to the unsuspecting underbelly. A truly intoxicating and breathtaking set performed exquisitely (despite the slightly less than Hi-fidelity Bakerlite powered sound). It would have been a 5* otherwise.

It will be a heinous crime if these boys have to play in many more half-empty toilets. They deserve a bigger stage. A bigger blue whale’s penis and I can’t wait to see them again and for the new album.  I know Alex Baker on Kerrang! Radio is a fan and does his bit, but more people need to hear this lot. They deserve a wider audience. Here’s hoping they manage to hop onto the festival carousel this summer and charm the nation's earholes.

In the meantime, brilliant stuff tonight. Here’s to much, much more to come.

As a footnote, Wilson-Taylor mentioned they were in the process of trying to find the right producer for the new record - how about this for an idea? Dan Lancaster of Proceed and studio Glass Eye. Just imagine….oh god, the whale’s awakening at the prospect.

Been rubbish and away, so completely forgot to post the review of the absolutely stunning Maybeshewill Christmas Spectacular at The Lexington. So here it is. A review of the absolutely stunning Maybeshewill Christmas Spectacular at The Lexington.

Maybeshewill*****

Cats And Cats And Cats*****

A Genuine Freakshow*****

The Lexington Islington 15^th December 2011

Packed house. Bursting at the seams. Lots of Christmas cheer. Many elaborately knitted sweaters and more than a few novelty santa hats.

A Genuine Freakshow*****

A Genuine Cat Show. No, wait a minute...

First up are  A genuine Freakshow. I’ll be honest, I only caught the last couple of tunes. But I liked what I heard. And saw. A lot. A rag bag jug band come school orchestra packed the stage and the complex, rousing ‘new country’ sounds packed the room. A cross between Death Cab For Cutie, Sigur Ros, The Whitest Boy Alive and Oceansize with horns, strings, melotron and spiralling harmonies. Enchanting. Simply enchanting.

Cats And Cats And Cats*****

Next Up were an equally vast array of folky jumpers, instruments and hair. Possessing one of the finest names in rock music, at first listen and glance , Cats And Cats And Cats could be from the same double yolked egg as A Genuine Freakshow. But on closer inspection, they’re more ramshackle. More discordant, rougher round the edges and slightly darker than the previous jug band. 

There's a cat in me kitchen what am I going to do?

There are definite DNA similarities with Gong and the Bonzos. A sense of the bizarre and dishevelled art school disquiet. A kind of very British Arcade Fire with pop and folk overtones. And I loved it. I’m not totally sure if these two bands are genre defining, or indeed, if they fit comfortably into a genre at all, but file in the same cider crate as My First Tooth, Liam Frost’s now sadly defunt Slowdown Family and even Copenhagen’s wonderful Alcoholic Faith Mission and we’re not far off an ‘ism’.

Maybeshewill*****

I’m a gobby, verbose shite and never knowingly shut up. But tonight I am rendered virtually speechless. The Leicester 5 piece (plus strings) completely took my breath, heart and words away. They effortlessly but passionately and gorgeously treat the adoring throng to a run through of their masterpiece I Was Here For A Moment, Then I was Gone. The whole album. Back to back. In all its glory. All its light and shade. All its beauty. All its brutality. All its brilliance.

Wow. Just wow. The place turned into a worshipful writhing mass of appreciation and love. The band were obviously feeding of this unbelievable energy. They smiled. They preened. They pranced. They fucking loved it. And so did we all.

Instrumental music can, to some, appear unfinished or incomplete. These people are nicompoops, ninnies and ne’erdowells. Maybeshewill, along with bands like ASIWYFA and Yndi Helda prove (as if it were needed) that  lyrics and vocals are not always needed to convey the most amazing emotion. To transport the mind. To entrance, amaze and stun. Well, it didn’t stop Sibelius, Elgar or Mozart, did it?

After the album recital, the boys gleefully clambered back onto the stage and further massaged the love-struck Yuletide revellers with three encores including the heart-stopping Paris Hilton Sex Tape. A true privilege to have been there. A magical, emotional, beautiful and stunning evening that will go down as one of the very best. 


The ever remarkable Xcerts next.


More tunes soon. Bwoooar.