Posted in SHOFT on Friday 17th June 2011 at 6:06am
I realise I'm a bit late to this particular party, partly because while I might be listening repeatedly to something, I don't always feel I've got the audacity to write about it. Indeed it's unusual that I cover two releases by an artist in quick succession - because I figure that anyone who reads this with any regularity will probably get pretty bored with my enthusiasm rather quickly! However, this album has bucked the trend somewhat - partly because it's so impossible to pin down on a quick listen or two, and certainly because it's often so different to the EP I recently wrote about. To recap on the basic premise - King Post Kitsch is Charlie Ward, a producer, multi-instrumentalist and songwriter of not inconsiderable talent. Oddly, given the man's day job there is a conscious effort not to over-produce the music on this album - songs are left to fuzz out into sudden and inconclusive endings, and the hisses and crackles of real instruments and snatches of studio conversation fill the few moments of silence here. Wrapped in a cover which could be grisly urban reportage, or might just be someone searching for a lost pound coin - this varied and intriguing debut is just as hard to pin down at first.
After the opening stomp through "Portland St. Pt.2" and the fuzzy anthem which fronted the recent "Don't Touch My Fucking Honeytone" EP have been despatched, "The Werewolf Hop" starts with a sinister near-whisper before evolving into a swaggering, cranky horror film soundtrack, and ends with cheeky stabs of organ and loping, simian bass playing. In between it's joyous and fairly absurd at times, but it's also huge fun to listen to - and likely for the artist to play too. Buried somewhere in here is the manifesto for the entire record - "I don't need a reason/it just makes me happy" - which signals the inclusion of such a bewildering array of influences and reference points that recording them here would be futile. People tend to recommend that I listen to things they perceive as 'folky sounding stuff' which has always amused me given the breadth of my tastes and my allergy to a fair amount of folk music, but oddly it was this route that initially led me to King Post Kitsch. It took me a little while to figure out some of the earlier work I heard because it didn't fit the description at all, but here the more introspective, acoustic side of Charlie's output is reflected too - not least in "The New Gang" which is indeed gentle, glockenspiel propelled folk with nimble guitar picking and high, dreamy vocals. Also in this vein is the next single from the record "Fante's Last Stand", which is delicate and fragile - initially a world away from the fuzzy, scuzzy depths that King Post Kitsch sink to elsewhere on the album - but even this succumbs to a glorious squall of noise and filth towards the end.
There are probably never going to be enough songs about urban paranoia, but "Walking on Eggshells" is going to be a contender for one of the finest. An air of carefree, swinging 1960's London permeates the song with it's "ba-ba-ba" chorus and joyously heavy-handed Dave Clarke Five drumming. But the sinister lyric is buried in such unashamed guitar pop that it's not immediately evident quite how tense the mood of the song becomes. Perhaps to temper this edge there is room for some sparkly, nervy indie pop next in the form of "You Talk Too Much". It's chugging guitars and soaring choruses could be regarded as fairly conservative by the rest of the album's standards, but even this manages to surprise and confound, with a garage band guitar solo tucked somewhere inside just to keep us on our toes. The whole track bursts with enough enthusiasm and drive to fill an entire album of a lesser artist's material. Surprisingly quickly, things draw to a close with the melancholy organ throb of "Closing Time" which seems to be a tale of the last moments of drinking-up time in a bar - and somewhere here I begin to realise just how many ideas have been road-tested in this fairly concise album, and just how many of them have landed pretty much as intended. That's no mean feat at all.
King Post Kitsch had a life before being snapped up by Song, By Toad Records and that is reflected here in a number of tracks which have appeared on download-only EP releases previously. However, despite the patchwork of styles and tempos and the stitching together of new with older material, this forms a remarkably coherent and hugely satisfying album. The high points for me occur when King Post Kitsch heads full tilt into a fuzz of noise which hides a nugget of neatly concealed pop joy. There are countless moments like this - and for that reason alone this album is a compelling listen.
King Post Kitsch - You Talk Too Much
Posted in SHOFT on Sunday 12th June 2011 at 5:06pm
As is often the case with new music, my first listen to this long awaited album is on a train. This time though, despite the threat of summer arriving earlier in the week, I'm travelling under brooding, leaden skies. It's a bitter morning in more ways than one, and somehow once again the right music finds me just when I need it. In this case music that is capable of indulging my glowering bad temper, but also of lifting the spirits and inspiring action. Song Of Return are assembled from a fairly high quality kit of parts - based initially around the feted but now defunct electro outfit Union Of Knives, members of several other notable acts feature including perhaps surprisingly Louis Abbott of Admiral Fallow. This range of talent makes "Limits" a varied, ambitious and ultimately dazzling collection of music which explores both highs and lows
I'm struck initially by "Shackles" which I remember from a demo which has been knocking around on my iPod for a while. It occurred to me back then that it was almost perfect - and that any band that had recorded demos which sounded this complete was going to be pretty special. Sensibly, little has changed here - an aching, sweeping vocal is supported by guitar riffs which pile onto each other, ratcheting up the levels of noise further and further until things finally soar impossibly. It's an expansive, breathtaking piece of work, which showcases Song Of Return's ability to build music in a theatrical sense - providing a backdrop, setting a stage and then finally letting the action begin. This approach, whilst well-tested by a host of acts around currently, never gets tired in this case because Song Of Return do it incredibly well - without fuss, pomp or self-importance in any sense.
Next, there is a jagged electronic pulse at the core of "Concentric" - it's a stuttering, nagging song, with a wall of noise slipping in and out of focus which has a strangely orchestral quality. Joined by what sounds like a choir of children, the main vocal is edged into the background, leaving the wash of noise and disembodied voices to push the song to it's quiet, electronic ending. Biology was always my least favourite subject at school, and initially the title of "Story of a Cell" makes me think of interminable afternoons watching a Science teacher being ritually humiliated by a class pointing at pictures of the human reproductive system. However as "Concentric" quietly ebbs into the dirty, distorted bassline which slinks through this track, the cry "if I am singular how can I rebel?" strikes a chord. It's all working towards a chorus buried in duelling squealing guitars while the vocal insists 'you choose to let your ship go under now' as the song disintegrates, with practically only the drums remaining.
"One Million Hertz" opens via a gentler, understated entrance with a low murmured voice which intones an apocalyptic but weirdly optimistic lyric. The music is little more than a distant drone, except for a repeated piano refrain and sweeps of distant guitar. As the vocals soar, the composition starts to disassemble until there is little more than the voices remaining until "Anniversary" arrives via low, melancholy piano melodies, with a wash of guitar noise and distant distorted vocals. The urgency increases and echoing beats enter the growing maelstrom, but unusually it's the deep, darkening piano which heralds the explosion and not the all-too-easy big guitar ending this time. But when it lands, it's utterly massive as the bass performs somersaults beneath everything. Listening to this on headphones is a staggering, draining and emotional experience. But the album reaches its pinnacle for me on "Trajectory". Starting with a drone of organ and a desperate and insistent vocal, it builds through layers of throbbing bass and pulsing drums until it reaches a point where it's capable of spinning off with its own momentum. The first time I listened to it, again on a train but under sunnier skies this time, it all clicked strangely into place with its refrain of "I'm on a course/and the track is set/and it's leading me way out of my depth". I'm not sure how sensible it is making life-changing decisions based on the chance hearing of music at just the right moment - no doubt I'll write here and let you know how that pans out...
In a year of impressive and inventive records, "Limits" already stands out as something very special - cinematic and ambitious like few albums of this nature, sometimes punishingly loud, but also often dark and oblique - this album is open to endless re-interpretation. Capable of seismic noise alongside lighter, more delicate touches Song Of Return have stumbled across a formula which has eluded a whole slew of acts which have gone before. While the music of a lot of bands which attempt to produce wide-angle, epic and expansive rock gets misappropriated to clumsily soundtrack 'goal of the month', it's going to be tricky to do this with something as layered, intelligent and occasionally brutal as this.
Song Of Return - Shackles
Posted in SHOFT on Thursday 9th June 2011 at 10:06pm
It's a difficult question for the musician at the grass roots, and one probably best avoided much of the time: am I in this for credibility or success? It would be interesting to speak to some of today's giants who set out as bratty NME-bothering nobodies and now stalk stadiums, and to ask at what point the motivation flipped for them - if indeed they feel it ever did? It's always going to be an uncomfortable concept though, and I suspect that sneering claims of authenticity and credibility will always be held over people who are making it work in the business. So I said some fairly dismissive things about Alex Cornish once - I don't think I sneered but I did imply perhaps that he was less than sincere about what he did. But on "No Shore", Alex's third album, there is enough genuine sincerity evident to keep the entire music business afloat just a little while longer while us cynical bloggers get over ourselves. And if it's authenticity that we're really seeking, it's worth noting that Alex records the majority of this work at his home in Dunbar. Aside from some technical wizardry and instrumentation which isn't readily knocking around the house, he also appears to plays the majority of the instruments on the album. There's no shortage of songwriting craft on show here, and anyone who doubts the commitment or the talent here needs only to watch the recent Song, By Toad house gig where Alex performed a remarkable set with a string quartet in an Edinburgh living room. If Alex Cornish is in any business, it's the business of making sure the world gets to hear his songs, and I'm sure that's ultimately the reason every musician does this isn't it?
As if to prove this point, "Rely" sweeps in with a touch of the epic. Ushered in by pensive drums and piano, soon the sparingly used and never overbearing brass section begins to shimmer around the song, returning to give the ending a touch of New Orleans. On both this and the initial "Storm To Pass" Alex's vocal delivery in this rich, dark musical setting immediately reminds me of Mark Eitzel - he sounds almost defeated, but then stretches to reach near impossible notes. There is something utterly compelling to me in listening to an artist striving to deliver a song like this, and any pre-conceptions I had about this record already begin to crumble. Next, piano, reverb soaked vocals and a delicately plucked guitar outline the plan for "Open Your Eyes". This is a tune, and particularly a storming chorus which any of those huge stadium monsters would kill to get their hamfisted mits on, but in Alex's hands it remains a personal and simple effort - heartfelt, on a human scale, and never straying even close to the dangerous territory of self-importance.
There are however a couple of points on "No Shore" where I lose track of things a little in the dizzying array of musical riches on offer, and despite a promising cascade of piano at the outset, "Skyline of Paris" perhaps isn't so engaging and disappears into the background as a result. But the mood is restored by "Keep Focus" which adds a shuffling beat to an expansive ballad, driven by an insistent piano line and shored up with dramatic strings. It's clear by this point on the record that Alex Cornish has mastered the art of writing melodies which linger in memory long after the song has finished - and there are points in my day when I find myself re-running the hooks from "No Shore" in my head. This has to be some sort of mark of the success of any collection of popular music. Adding weight to this theory, "Always A Way" introduces a touch of radio-friendly country to the proceedings, but despite its evident accessibility and potential to reach all kinds of audiences who probably don't read down-at-heel music blogs like this, it remains one of the most interesting vocal performances on the record. The lyric appeals to me too, an age-old tale of a search for a sense of place, which manages to evoke the damp and blustery east coast of it's origins somehow. This will be a controversial viewpoint I'm sure, but at the outset "Breathe Slow" could be a Meursault song. There is something about it's echoing, sweeping vocals and picked banjo and guitar which suggests a not-so-distant kinship, despite the musical approaches employed being poles apart. The whistling mid-song plays a cruel trick by referencing "Always On My Mind', which gives me a weird but not by any means unappealing mind-picture of Neil Pennycook and Willie Nelson maybe one day sharing a stage.
Whatever this record is, it's far from background music - as the majority of Alex's songs here compete hard for your attention and refuse to let the listener off the hook without even just a little emotional engagement. Music designed to for easy listening depends on as little complexity as possible in order to exist just outside the concious attention of listeners, and this is far from that in the sense that it is layered with beautifully executed instrumentation, and full of engaging hooks and twists. The fact it is delivered with such polish and panache is, in itself significant. After all, there are two ways to approach the DIY ethic - by embracing and delighting in the rough edges, the pops and the crackles and letting the music stand as a document of the process, or of making the best of what is available and producing something which belies its humble origins, beating the big guys at their own game with solid hard work. Both are valid, and I never fail to be amazed at what musicians achieve on their own terms nowadays. But Alex Cornish has selected the latter and doesn't let the resources available to him limit his vision. Maybe after all there is something deeply subversive and ultimately very punk rock indeed about a guy recording in his house reaching the Radio 2 audience? If you love well-executed folk pop, have an ear for a tune and recognise a great voice then its worth giving Alex Cornish your attention. You've nothing to lose except your preconceptions, and plenty to gain. If someone as stubborn and old as I can get over myself fairly publicly, then I'm damn sure you can...
"No Shore" is released on 13th June via Bellevue Records. You can find it on Amazon too.
Alex Cornish - Breathe Slow
Posted in SHOFT on Saturday 4th June 2011 at 11:06pm
I have a habit of ending up here at the wrong times - and this hastily arranged trip was no exception as I'd arranged to head back tomorrow missing a Fence show which had an almost dream line-up for me. However, I've also had a fair share of happy accidents which have led to me crossing paths with some interesting new music. This time though, my timing had worked out perfectly in terms of catching up with the progress made by some of my previous exciting discoveries, as under the auspices of the West End Festival, Electric Honey records were curating an evening at Òran Mór which would also serve as the launch for White Heath's album. So, once a large wedding party had been negotiated and everyone had found the right location within the sprawling and beautiful building despite the efforts of security staff to direct us otherwise, the stage was set for a varied and interesting evening of music.
First up were Stirling's Minature Dinosaurs who may yet represent the future of Electric Honey following a single release early this year. I'd not stumbled across this band before, and found them a bit of a strange proposition at first. They appeared on the surface to deliver pretty standard, anthemic indie-pop - albeit with reference points which were as impeccable as their heavily sponsored attire - showing from the outset that they had a clear understanding of the Scottish pop pantheon from Franz Ferdinand right back to touches of Orange Juice. Try as I might though, I just couldn't get used to the curious yelping vocal delivery. Throughout a pretty frantic and busy set, there were touches of promise - lots of driving beats and infectious choruses, and where the space and time was allowed in their short snappy songs, some rather lovely swoons of guitar. When they played slower numbers, there was time to enjoy the potential here, but when they cranked up the pace and rattled through faster songs it became a little bit formulaic. I found myself willing vocalist Barry Maclean to sing in his own voice, which seemed melodic and strong at times, but veered into the affected whooping as things picked up pace. Its fair to say though, that a lot of people clearly enjoyed Miniature Dinosaurs set, and with time and space to develop - which Electric Honey have always seemed adept at providing for bands - they may yet deliver some interesting work.
I've been openly airing my near desperation to see French Wives for some time, and could hardly disguise my joy when they appeared on this bill - along with the news that Electric Honey will release their debut album sometime next year. Sadly, it really wasn't to be French Wives' night, and from the outset they were dogged with sound problems which left things a little muddy and drowned the quieter parts of their set in a hum of feedback. Add to this an over-excited bar area full of Stow College students and their families, all gleefully but inconsiderately chatting - and it wasn't going to be an easy gig. Proceedings began with "Covered in Grace" which promised to burst through the less than perfect conditions with it's soaring violin and vocals. The band played all of their recently released EP on Red Hat Records, including a surprisingly toughened sounding "Big Brave Boy" which seemed bigger and bolder than on record, with chunkier guitars and rather fine bass playing - an element of French Wives I'd perhaps not picked up on until tonight. Despite their clear irritation at the sound situation on stage, French Wives managed to sound nothing less than huge in the hall, and thankfully the wonderful harmonies and Siobhan Anderson's soaring violin work managed to pierce the wall of low-level interference. Throughout the set, it was fascinating to watch the comic interplay of bizarre gurning and odd gestures between guitarist and bass player, who seemed to make the best of a bad lot and were determined to enjoy the experience. "Halloween" from the band's debut single was sadly frustrated almost entirely by the ongoing poor sound and growing audience chatter, but still managed to deliver it's thunderous ending which led swiftly into "Me vs. Me". The angry edge to the performance actually served this tune well, with Stuart Dougan fairly snarling the line "I'm not having fun anymore". I know the band didn't, but most of the audience did. True professionals, one and all - and I'm pleased to have finally managed to see them play.
Woodenbox took to the stage looking fairly relaxed about proceedings. After all, they had a plan to deal with the sound issues - and it seems that was to simply blast on through it at full tilt. Indeed from the moment the mariachi brass and energetic harmonies first slammed through the muddy mix, the plan worked perfectly. The amazing and animated crowd response to "Life From Above" was surprising, after all this is in essence country music delivered with a degree of authenticity, and there was something incongruous about a crowd of young hip students and their folks reacting like this in the curious celebratory atmosphere which was developing in Òran Mór as the night wore on. Woodenbox had the advantage of a huge range of genres to choose from in their sweep across the vast continent of Americana, and things moved swiftly and effortlessly between swampy, southern darkness through whistling spaghetti western themes into moments of off-kilter skiffle and jazz. Vocalist Ali Downer looking every inch the archetypical southern man, but revealed his origins with a strange inter-city accent that could be from anywhere in the Central Belt, as he introduced the fantastic "Draw A Line" as their first ever single. It was delivered triumphantly with a joyous and blaring brass ending which managed to persuade sections of the partying audience onto their feet at last. Finally, a roaring take on "Hang The Noose" defeats the chatterers and the muddy sound once and for all with it's unstoppable howl. They made it look easy tonight, and weirdly the thorough blasting which they gave the PA seemed to have finally cured it of it's frustrating issues!
It was a big night for White Heath as their genuinely stunning debut album was launched at last, marking the culmination of their work with Electric Honey and Stow College. There was a sense that this was a graduation, and the gents from the band were dressed for a formal occasion tonight - making me feel just a little guilty for my description in an earlier live review! They took to the stage at Òran Mór to a remarkable reception, their ranks now including bass guitarist Craig Salter. As a low rumble of noise emerged, for one awful minute it seems the sound issues were back before it became clear that this was the brooding introduction to "Maker". Soon the piano twined its jazzy improvisation around the emerging melody, and the sound began to build via the medium of Sean Watson's soaring vocal, eventually erupting into a tremendous noise. This collapsed directly into the sublime "Election Day" which shuddered and lurched beautifully with the addition of bass. I was struck by how White Heath have developed and changed in the short time since I last saw them play, and how the process of working over these songs in the studio has given them the confidence to experiment and play with their sound. As a perfect example, "GG" tonight becames a punky, joyful thrash with weird electronics jittering and dancing around it's dark pop core. It's utterly exhilarating to watch a band so clearly excited to be playing and comfortable enough with their material to turn some of it on it's head entirely - not least the most reinvented song in White Heath's arsenal, "7:38am". Tonight this adopted a strangely clipped, almost funky and tense edge which sent me back to the recording at the first opportunity to look for the clues that this was hidden in the track all along. The evening's highlight for me arrived with "Past The Satellites, Into the Fray" which sets out tense and controlled but finally and joyously exploded with Shoub's vocal outburst and energetic tom-tom solo, provoking incidents of sudden and spontaneous dancing in front of me - and a bit of keyboard trashing rock'n'roll activity on stage too! With the album played in its entirety and thus well and truly launched, the most exciting aspect of tonight for me was watching these songs continue to evolve beyond their recorded form - and I sense that White Heath are not going to stand still for long.
As a truly wonderful audience reaction echoed around Òran Mór, I left the rather stunned and genuinely delighted looking band to the family and students who were keen to shake hands, hug and congratulate them. It had surely been White Heath's night, and despite a pretty remarkable line-up of bands it seems only right it should have been. It's still early, when I emerge into a chilly but bright evening - and hopping onto a bus which takes the ski-ramp of the A82 and soars by the hulking Stow College building, I wonder not only what's next for the bands I've seen tonight - but what amazing futures are already being dreamed up inside?
I've had a home on the web for more years than I care to remember, and a few kind souls persuade me it's worth persisting with keeping it updated. This current incarnation of the site is centred around the blog posts which began back in 1999 as 'the daylog' and continued through my travels and tribulations during the following years.
I don't get out and about nearly as much these days, but I do try to record significant events and trips for posterity. You may also have arrived here by following the trail to my former music blog Songs Heard On Fast Trains. That content is preserved here too.