Straight, no chaser. Straight Lines Live Review at The Black Heart

Straight Lines *****
Hey Vanity *****
The People The Poet *****

The Black Heart, Camden, Monday 3rd March 2014

Because it's moist and a bit miserable and we've had a damp, squelchy and dour winter, it seems kind of appropriate to run over tonight's acts using a kind of meteorological theme. Just 'cos I can. Count them puns kids.

The People The Poet *****
After an absolutely storming set supporting the wet and disappointing plastic popsters Blitz Kids a couple of weeks ago, I've been looking forward to the next warm front of balmy blue-collar, honest loveliness to bathe my aching bones.

An early slot has pulled a reasonable throng in off Camden's soggy streets as the garrulous and engaging Leon Sanford leads his Welsh wonders onto the pokey stage. Opening with People, the curtain raiser from the stunning album The Narrator, they are instantly into their stride. 

Bright and breezy, multi-layered musicianship belies the fact there are only three folk hitting, plucking, picking and strumming these days and fills the room to provide the perfect blue sky for Sanford's growling, seductive and often raw but always soulful crooning. As always, he's aided and abetted by the gorgeous and ridiculously symbiotically tight harmonies of the diminutive will-o-the-wisp Greta Isaac.

Ok, so there's a bunch of technical bad weather and Sanford's Mic packs up mid song early on, but that's a minor shower in what is a deliciously heart-warmingly sunny set crammed fiull of woo-oohs, integrity and soul climaxing in the brilliant Heart Of A Lion which must surely end up on a sporting montage BBC film at some point. Sunny days ahead indeed.

Hey Vanity *****
Next on the weather chart, blowing in from the east are Essex quartet Hey Vanity. All fizz, slickness, power and muscle with Marc Halls' phenomenal vocal range forming the eye of this perfect techporock tornado.

I've been lucky enough to have been caught in this lot's storm on many occasions, but they've seldom sounded better than they do tonight. Always tight, but never clinical or soulless, they mix up breezy, tuneful choruses and refrains with darker, heavier chugs and downtuned blasts.

This is clever but not indulgent; smart but not shoegazing, catchy but not derivative. The lastest single Some May Say is the perfect example of how their sound is developing and, tonight is a tour de force within the twister of a superb set. The outlook is certainly bright.

Straight Lines *****

After the sweet cyclone of Hey Vanity, the clouds darken and the forecast is looking murkier and forboding. Then the clouds burst and a Welsh whirlwind uproots all before it.

With a re-jigged line up (including The People The Poet's guitarist - who apparently is the brother of one of Straight lines, who apparently all went to school together, and chapel, and nursery and Mrs Jones from the corner shop once made them all tea and they all were in the Welsh Bob sleigh team together. Probably. - on bass), it's clear from the outset that Straight Lines have been at the rock and roll steroids.

There sound is heavier and rockier than ever. And much more mature. All Sabbath and Bad Company with Budgie and a smattering of NWOBHM (ask yer gran little 'uns) thrown in for good measure. And it bloody works. Oh yes.

A fierce storm but flecked with accessible melodies and hooks and glued together by Tom  Jenkins' incredible and original piercing alto. Older favourites like the catchy pop rock favourite  Half Gone are given the leaden skies treatment and sound heavier and more grown up than ever. The Anthemic Ring The Bells is heavier and sounds even more like they really mean it. Accompanying the older tunage are the offerings from the latest excellent self-released Reflect EP which is a heady brew of retro rock and tuneful thunder with the Sabbathy A Hole In The Sky being a particularly blinding blizzard (see what I did there?).

A lively crowd is whipped up into a tidy maelstrom throughout and  on tonight's evidence, Wales have another proper rock band to be proud of with enough clear air between them and the radio banal (lazy comparison klaxon ) Sterophonics, the post hardcore vibes of FFAF, greasy metal of BFMV and the onanistic indulgence of the Manics. (Whatever happened to Dopamine?).

Lovely see.

Takedown, deeper and down. Review of Takedown Festival 2013

Takedown 2013 *****

IDivide, Hey Vanity, Marmozets, Subsource, Max Raptor, Affiance, Closure In Moscow, The Algorithm, Sonic Boom Six, Burn The Fleet, Arcane Roots, Don Broco and more

Southampton University 11th May 2013

After last year's tour de force, Takedown 2013 has a lot to live up to. But today's line up looks, if anything, even stronger than last year, so the signs are good.

Anyway, wristband on, cider in hand, let's do this.

I Divide ***1/2**

First up Exeter boys I Divide on the Big Deal stage. Well, in the SU bar really. And, bizarrely with the footie on the telly throughout the set. A scary and daunting slot to be first up on such a huge day, but the lads produce a crackling set of tuneful alt rock to kick things off with aplomb.

Front man Tom Kavanagh is a lively ringmaster with a big voice and he leads his circusmen from the front with real energy throughout. It's easy to stick them in the same box file as Mallory Knox, WATO and even Hey Vanity, and similarly (and mercifully) there's a decent amount of difference between them and the many other me-too post-hardcore, alt pop/rock bands up and down the land. And on today's performance and in front of a decent sized and enthusiastic crowd, they look destined for bigger things. 

Hey Vanity ***1/2**

A wander over to the Smalltown Records stage next, stuck uncomfortably in a foyer/corridor area wedged between another bar and a garden area. And well worth the wander. Essex lads Hey Vanity are making some real traction in the biz at the moment with their intelligent, Thrice-like, downtuned melodic and sophisticated blend of melody and meat.

There's a good sized gathering considering the earliness of their slot and they're rewarded with a slick, strong and stylish set. Having recently come off tour with Don Broco and Mallory Knox, Hey Vanity have garnered a decent amount of recognition and airplay, and with songs like Wading Through Dreams and the extremely classy Bleed, Breathe, Grow it won't be too long before they step up and take the bigger headline slots themselves. 

Slightly surprised they didn't do their brilliant cover of Outkast's Hey Ya (Seems like perfect festival fare), but all-in-all a top performance from a seriously top young band.

Affiance *****

Into the gloom of the 'second main stage' Cube next for some Metalcore from Ohio. Metalcore doesn't always tickle my bits, saying that, when it's done well at the hands of KSE et al, it can be magnificent, challenging and even moving. This afternoon however, Affiance are only some of the above. Plagued by technical problems before they even start, you can't help but feel deep sympathy for Dennis Tvrdik and his Ohian noiseniks as they have their set cut short having schlepped all the across the pond. What they do produce though is strong enough to get the crowd involved and Tvrdik's voice is right up there at the top table of metalcore crooners. 

Max Raptor *****

Time for the first trip of the day to the main Rocksound Stage for outré, fucked-up punk bombers Max Raptor. Led by chief rebel rouser Wil Ray, the midlanders tear the walls down and instigate the day's first serious crowd movement. 

Their intelligent, original and cock-eyed sardonic punky vibe mixes up heavy chugs, massive sing-a-longs, witty and clever lyricism, bile, aggression, humour, smiles and semtex. This is heady, brilliant stuff and the crowd glug it down greedily. Favourites like The King is Dead and the ever-wonderful Patron Saint (of Nothing) are slotted into a mesmerising set spiced up with new material kicking off pits, mass gang vocals and probably the odd leaky bladder.

Absolutely loved it. 

Marmozets *****

Staying on the main stage, next up are the remarkable Marmozets. All math, mayhem and massive noise. While it's often easy (and lazy) to file Marmozets alongside Rolo Tomassi, (mainly due to the fact that a hugely noisy and often scary but diminutive female fronts both), there is no one truly like these northern noise machines. 

Their crazy time signatures, huge riffs, technical arpeggios and noodlings all provide a delicious sauce with all the trimmings for the staggering power and charisma of Becca Mackintyre (whose voice has never sounded better) to be plonked on top like some 3 Michelin Starred molecular gastronomic mouth fuck.

There are pure hints of the mighty DEP, but the overall dish is an original melange of quirk, dissonance, heat, power and contrast. Delicious and challenging.

Oh, and there was even a dude in a wheelchair in the middle of the circle pit. All round mouthwatering madness.

The Algorithm 

Can't give any stars. Not because they were shite. Far from it. It's an old rant, but I just don't get this lot live. It's a French dude on Ebay or checking his Facebook on a laptop and a brilliant drummer. The music is a dot-for-dot-quantised-programmed-spliced & diced-insanely clever spiky, technical, heavy, wobby jiz bomb. BUT it's not live. While Remy would contest that he's doing something valuable on stage; he's not. He tweaks a few buttons, smiles like a kid on a Sunshine coach on the way to Southend and that's it. He might as well just press play and have a fag and a cuppa. 

The crowd are strangely subdued this afternoon too, which doesn't help matters. The only real sanity is the incredible stickmanship of Mike Maylan (Monuments) who impeccably and hypnotically keeps up with the MacBook Pro's digital, dubby, djenty, mathy bleepy ridiculously complex midi burps.

Nah. Not live. Brilliant, brilliant record though.

Subsource *****

Back over in the SU bar, this is happening. You know those films that were made back in the eighties (Things like the terrible Streets of Fire) portraying the future as a dark, post apocalyptic, unruly, choatic place? That.

Picture an unholy modded industrial Magimix or fucked-up steampunk cement mixer full of barbed wire, shrapnel and boiling fluorescent robotic rats piss. Throw in chunks of metal, wobs, subs, brown notes, riffs, soaring vocals, Slipknot's ball sack sweat, a crazy futuristic stand up bass that looks as though it's been fashioned out of timbers from the Mary Rose, your nan's kitchen chair and Mad Max's hatchback and you're getting close to whats occurring.

This is the most ludicrous but delicious post nuclear cocktail. Thrilling musicianship, sphincter-prolapsing beats and Shikariesque subsonic whale farts, venom, energy, grit and raw power. Speechless. Breathless. Peerless.
  

Arcane  Roots *****

Main stage. Pretty full room. Lights down. Loads of the other bands and industry bods looking on. 'That' hum. Anticipation. 

Gulp. From the very moment Mssrs Groves, Burton and Atkins take to the stage, the game has changed. What is happening here is something very, very special. 

World class is obviously an over-used football pundit and chav on the bus cliché. But on a Saturday afternoon, in a sweaty super-sized school hall three normal looking blokes from Kingston are quite simply that. World bloody class.

Opening with the stunning Energy Is Never Lost Just Redirected from their recently released masterpiece Blood & Chemistry this is music (and a performance) from another world. The predominantly young crowd are clearly stunned as the set gathers pace and bombast. 

Groves' incredible and almost soprano voice is on top form as they rip faces off with a ferocious and fiery set taking in the joyous You Are and ferocious Million Dollar Que$tion from the stunning mini album Left Fire interspersed with a cleverly curated heavier festival selection from the new album including the sublime Sacred Shapes, The Rifftacular Resolve and the gut-punching, arse-kicking firepower of Second Breath.

Groves cajoles the crowd which gradually gets more and more involved and a decent sized and transfixed pit loses its shit and inhibitions as the glorious set develops.

There's genuine sophistication in Arcane Roots' music. But it's never self important or indulgent. While there are complex, choppy time signature mash ups and spectacular, bewildering riffs, runs and cadenzas, there's fantastic song craft on display. Perfectly balanced melody juxtaposed with exquisitely placed aggressive barks and stresses. Huge hooks. Delicious harmony and counterpoint. It is pretty close to genius. No, fuck it, it is genius. And even the very best of today's other bands are given a lesson by these magnificent maestros.

As I say world bloody class.

BurnThe Fleet *****

One of rock's unlikeliest but most likeable frontmen is the next ringmaster on the long and thin Southampton Music Stage. 

Andrew Convey leads out local boys Burn The Fleet for the very last time in its present incarnation. A genuinely sad moment for British Rock, but spiced and tempered with the anticipation of what the next chapter is going to hold for this talented bunch. 

A vast throng has crammed itself into the 50's vintage-styled bar area to give these salty old bollocks a fitting send off. And as send offs go, this one goes off.

The music is almost incidental. There's so much love in the room. Every word is sung back like shanties in the Saloon bar in The Old Sailor's Dong. Huge choruses, rousing refrains, pile ups, pits, mosh and mayhem. Even Bobby D from Don Broco gets seriously involved in the melee, throwing himself around like a hyperactive toddler after mainlining Gatorade spiked with meth and dutifully singing along.

By the time the majestic and anthemic Handfuls Of Sand comes to an end, there isn't a dry eye or a moist throat in the room. It's a genuine privilege to have been lucky enough to have had my heart stolen by Barnacle Bill and his band on the many occasions I've seen them live. And this evening's emotional adieu will go down as something extra special.

If the new venture/incarnation is only a fraction as good as BTF have been, then the world's in for more delicious treats.

INTERMISSION AND CONFESSION


Before I wind down with the last two acts, I just wanted to give a hearty thumbs up to the whole team behind Takedown. A truly brilliant day, with precision organisation, vision and ambition. Judging by the acres of smiling faces and general love vibe around the place, I don't think I'm alone in saying this is one of the very best 'pop up' festivals out there. Along with Burnout, it really is a joyful class apart. Ok, there were some 'orrible mean spirited bastards who apparently jacked some phones, but that apart, Takedown has been a total triumph.

On such a busy day, it's inevitable that you're going to miss some acts because of clashes, so today's casualties for me included WBTBWB, Palm Reader, Natives, Dance Gavin Dance, JCQ, Hacktivist and TesseracT. Which was a real shame, but there'll be other days.

Ok, this is where I fess up. I didn't get to see full sets from Mallory Knox, WATO, WSS or The Blackout. Not because I didn't fancy it. Or I think they stink. Nothing could be further from the truth. And the bits I did catch were,as expected of the highest order. Nope, the truth is, I peaked too early and by the time all of the above were on, I needed a bit of a chill. And a G&T. And a lie down. Ok, I admit it, I'd overdone it. Shocking confession. But being of a certain age, a whole day of drinking and moshing (well as much as bumbling around energetically(ish) clutching a cider, Jager or Sailor Jerrys counts as moshing) has well and truly taken its toll. So I slid back to the SU bar for Sonic Boom Six.

Sonic Boom Six *****

All froth and fun. Even the 'aggressive' bits. There's a poppiness and a radio-friendliness to Laila, Barney et al that seems to go down smoothly with the enthusiastic mob who are hiding from the main stages late into the evening. 

Laila K is in sprightly form as she flits around, all sex, sass and shimmy leading the ska/rock/dub/whatever mash up. I'm never sure whether we're meant to take SB6 seriously. Far from a novelty act, they mix up genres and styles for fun. Sometimes to brilliant effect. Other times a bit, well, meh. But I don't know where they truly sit. Perfect for festivals or support fluffers, I'm not sure they've got quite enough armoury for bigger, headline sets. 

However, there's nothing meh about tonight's performance. Dancing. Grinning. Skanking. Moshing. More drinking. Enjoying.

Don Broco *****

Right we're getting towards the top of the bill. In fact, arguably the Beds boys should have been at the very top, but a packed out sweat bunker of a main stage doesn't really give a toss about what order things are served up in. 

Anyway, the present dahlinks of the British Rock scene fresh off the back of their triumphant two part Priorities headline tour (Underworld review here> KOKO review here>) are here to entertain. And that, my friends, is exactly what they do. And some.

From the familiar opener Priorities to the frantic set closer Fancy Dress, it doesn't stop. The jam-packed crowd are taken on a thrilling and grin-packed adventure ride, expertly guided by Rob Damiani, the ridiculously hench and knicker-fizzing master of ceremonies.

The set is rammed full of sing-a-longability with the adoring crowd beating Bobby to just about every note and word. The Whole Truth, Hold On, Yeah Man, Dreamboy and Beautiful Morning (complete with now standard but never anything less than thrilling segue/drop into Thug Workout) and Actors are all set to stun. Theres no fucking about. Just party time. It's all slick and polished but still full of charm, personality and honesty. Shoulder riding, push ups, pyramids and good old fashioned dancing. You 'eard.

Ok, they're not on the same sophisticated or grown-up level that Arcane Roots are on, but I challenge anyone in the world whether they're a doom metaller, stepper, nihilistic death core addict, prog shoe gazer or a joyless self-loathing indie twat not to tap a foot, nod a head or bust out a ridiculous grin as these boys ply their trade.

It's glorious, celebratory, intelligent, inclusive good time rock and roll. And tonight Matthew,  I fucking love it. 

IN SUMMARY
Festivals can't and don't get much better than this. The odd thieving bastard notwithstanding, Takedown 2013 has been an absolute triumph. 

A brilliantly arranged, curated and organised grin fest from the moment the doors opened til the end of the punishing UPRAWR after party with Alex Baker and Tek-One delivering the happy finish everyone deserved (although the first DJ was just a self-indulgent dance-mixed-up joyless bellend who didn't play a single tune just wobs, bleeps, Protools generated midi farts and mash ups that none of the assembled rock crowd gave a shit about. Ok, over it now. Still a bellend though.)

The breadth and depth of talent from across a wide range of alt/underground/punk/metalcore and just about any other core you could mention, on show today is simply breathtaking and a wonderful indicator of just how healthy real live music is in the UK.

Amazing day. Amazing people. Amazing bands. Amazing hangover. Can't wait for next year.

Special thanks to Dwoooarf for helping out with the photos. Cheers mate.

The Real Brits - Don Broco, Mallory Knox & Hey Vanity Live At Camden Underworld Review

Don Broco*****

Mallory Knox *****
Hey Vanity ****1/2*

Camden Underworld, Thursday 21st February 2013

I want JLS to be here. And One Direction. Maybe Jake Bugg. Or Emile Sandé. While we’re at it, get those fucking Gallagher brothers down here. And The little dwarf twat with the fingerless mittens and the shades - Will I.Am a dick or whatever his name is. 

Then I want to wrench open their jaded, cosmetically weighed-down eyelids. Bore new, fresh holes into the sides of their heads to replace their soiled, fouled-up lugholes. Drill a fucking huge vent in the fronts of their over-important, puffed up fat craniums, then stand them in the middle of the pit in a sweaty, dingy, lager-soaked firetrap surrounded by real, passionate people.

Brits? Pah! Reality TV red-button, text-in-con, Cowell-based soylent green eating, mainstream, populist mind-bending ego fests; double pah! Tonight ladies and gents, is about real British music. With emphasis on the word real.

An absolutely rammed Underworld is testament to the fact that genuine music is alive, well, breathing and thriving. And a country mile away from the plastic, ersatz and manipulated idols and icons spoon-fed to the hapless and obedient diet-controlled masses.

Hey Vanity ****1/2*
Opening tonight’s revolutionary council meeting are Hey Vanity. Formed from the ashes of the splendid Fei Comodo, this fresh-faced foursome storm into a wonderfully crafted and perfectly delivered set to whet appetites, get heads a-bobbing, legs a-jumping, fists a-pumping and hearts a-racing.

Their sound is more grown up than Fei Comodo. More sophisticated. But simpler. Rawer. But cleaner. Lighter. But still heavy when needed. There’s a poppy, indie vibe not too far under the surface. While Fei Comodo were thunderously dark and heavy in places, Hey Vanity eschew the big drops, beatdowns and dropped tuned kicks in the crotch in favour of guile, layers, melodic diversions, counterpoint and syncopation.

The guitar work is lighter. Airier. More textured and sweeter. Rhythms bouncier and dancier. Melodies, well, more melodic. Don’t get me wrong, this is still loud rock music with heavy chugs and bombs, but they’re cleaner. Less violating; more deeply satisfying. Fingering, not fisting. 

Saying all that, only two of the lads were actually from Fei, so to bang on about them too much would be unfair and unhelpful. This is a new band with new schtick and deserves to be treated as such. No matter how inevitable backwards comparisons are.

Anyway, the crowd are lively from the start and lap up the new boys’ delicious fare. Not having been around for long is no hinderance for these boys as their collected oeuvre so far fills out a perfect support slot. 

The performance is steel shard sharp. It’s tight but not sterile. Marc Halls’ soaring vocals are spot-on and majestic cutting through the thunder, texture and complexity of the music. They even throw in a blistering cover of Outkast’s Hey Ya before ending with the brilliant single Breathe, Bleed, Grow. Expect to see a lot more of these boys. They mean it. Fantastic stuff.

Mallory Knox *****Next up for the prosecution are present tips-for-the-top and radio-raiding Mallory Knox. After their recent headline tour (have a read of the Garage show review here if you fancy it), it must seem a bit weird for these guys to pop back down the bill, but, undaunted, Mikey Chapman (complete with his trademark asymmetric strawberry blond mullet mash up mop) cheerily leads the fab fenland five into a high octane and searing set.

Every tune is an absolute banger. The brilliant album Signals is unsurprisingly raided for most of its massive numbers: Death Rattle, Signals, Hello and Wake Up are all belted out and sung back. There’s room for some older, but no less brilliant tunage with Oceans and Resuscitate stirring the pits up into a frenzy before the massive sing-a-long Lighthouse brings the dripping roof down.

This lot are genuine stars in the making and have a fantastic knack of putting a heavy edge onto a solid pop foundation and clever song construction. The only tiny concern would be that two or three of the songs contain big woo-ooh-ooh-woo sing-a-long refrains which, while highly effective at cajoling and engendering crowd participation need to be used sparingly and in a controlled way to avoid homogenisation and even worse, veering towards being all Adam And The Ants.

Don Broco*****

Don Broco must have balls the size of cat’s heads to open their show with two such brilliant bands and will need to produce a seriously off-the-scale performance to top the offerings so far. 

So, what you got lads?

As the lights dim, every square inch of the subterranean sweat bunker is occupied. Oxygen’s at a premium. Knickers are fizzing. There’s a real, palpable crackle of anticipation. It’s special already.

The intro tape teaser/taster of Priorities adds to the gulp factor. 

Then we’re off. The four über-lads launch into the title track form last year’s tour de force. The place goes off its tits. This is the moment I want JLS, One Direction and the fucking Gallagher bellends to see. 

The moment that makes all the truly hard work, the midnight motorway service stations, borrowed floors, under-filled all day breakfast sarnies and stinking vans seem worth it. 

No public vote. No Manc mafia PR-driven fast-track elevation (you know who you are). No specious and laughable awards for being the hardest working band in the land for playing a comparative handful of shows. FFS!!!! No, this is what it’s about. This is the proof. The delivery. The honesty.

Sure, these Bedfordshire bawbags have had their share of hard-earned column inches. Sure they’re easy on the eye, media-friendly, articulate, clean cut, wholesome, talented fuckers. But they put the hard miles in. Played toilets. Played support. Played festivals. Played places no one’s ever fucking heard of.

Tonight, the set never relents. Delivering banger after banger. Just when you think the crowd has reached vinegar stroke, the frenzy and froth goes up another impossible level. The massive melodic poppy joy of The Whole Truth, the feel good-filled I’m Good, the joyful Beautiful Morning melting seamlessly into the savage and hilarious mosh making Thug Workout; it’s all here. All wonderfully crafted and considered. 

The sickeningly buff and bubbly Rob Damiani leads from the front. Seducing the crowd to simperingly do whatever he wants them to. Sing backs, sing-a-longs, pantomime boys and girls sing-offs. Every single one of the gathered gawpers is putty in his hench fist. Don’t you just hate him? One can only hope he’s got a cock like a boiled shrimp and stinks like skunk’s vag.

During all the fun, pop and pomp, it would be easy to forget just how brilliantly played their stuff is. There’s not even a whiff of synthetic plastic here. The playing throughout is wholesome and sensational. So tight. So precise. So on it. 

The sound is big, bright and far more sophisticated than meets the ear. Simon Delaney’s guitar work is technical, spot-on and flawless. Tom Doyle’s bass funky, heavy, subtle and magical without being showy-offy. And Matt Donnelly’s drumming glues the whole experience together vibrantly and precisely. A feat made even more impressive by the fact he delivers the vocal highs to counterpoint Bobby’s baritone all through the set.

By the time Fancy Dress has been delivered to a spent and satiated crowd, there isn’t a face that doesn’t ache from grinning. A gland that’s not swollen. A pair of knickers that’s not moist or a heart that hasn’t been won over. 

A truly magnificent evening all round and one that truly underlines how brilliant, buzzing and exciting the British rock scene is. And long may it continue. 

Here's a cheeky fan vid of the set opener. Top stuff. Maaaaaate.....




As a side note, the linking factor between two of tonight's brilliant Brit bands is a gent called Dan Lancaster. The driving force behind the astonishing band Proceed, he is also a brilliant producer and, indeed, twiddled the knobs on both Priorities and Signals. But you probably knew that. Anyway, Mr Lancaster is kind of reinventing himself at the mo and is launching a parallel career as Dan James.

The same absolutely astounding voice, but with a much different vibe. More souly, dare I say R&Bish and all round hi-gloss pop. Not rocky, but just brilliant. Check some of his stuff HERE