THE SUPER-MEGA-UBER-EPIC FOUR DAY ARCADE FIRE REVIEW!!!!

THE LONG VERSION

A question I’ve been asked far too often these last few weeks is, “why the hell did you see the same band four days in a row, you sad badge-wearing freak?” And that’s a more difficult question to answer than you’d think- at least whilst trying to sound like a rational human being. I mean, I go to a lot of shows (perhaps too many) but I’ve never felt any particular urge to see a band more than once on the same tour. Yet this group of weird Canadians with their funny clothes and freaky instruments not only compelled me to dole out for four consecutive shows, but made me actually regret not doling out for more.

The thing is though, the Arcade Fire are more than just a band. They’re an experience. Yes, they’ve got two classic albums behind them; yes, they’re all multi-talented instrumentalists but just as importantly they know the value of real showmanship- not the leering, testosterone-fuelled posturing of sub-Libertines ripoffs that inundate the music world, but an actual, well-thought-out act that’s as exciting and expressive as the music they play. Just picture the scene- you’ve got Richard on his knees, banging the hell out of that now-legendary yellow drum; Sarah and Marika jerking about like clockwork marionettes, bows flailing as they attack their strings in a staccato frenzy; Jeremy denting cymbals and massacring drum-skins; old grumpy-face Tim laying down the bass with consummate professionalism and Will hitting that glockenspiel like it’d personally insulted his mother. There’s Regine, flitting between drums and keyboards and accordions and hurdy-gurdys with an impish grin on her face and an effervescent spring in her step, and in the middle of it all stands Win Butler, the ringmaster of this glorious mayhem. He’s a quiet bloke, not often given to overdoing the banter, but there’s a sense of powerful determination there- a defiant ‘fuck you’ to the rebelling sinuses that by rights should have knocked him off the road long before Oslo. And this chaotic, manic, wonderful energy is all transferred to the audience, making grown men weep and inspiring people who should know better to jump and sing their fucking hearts out. At their best, they’re as uplifting as any band on the planet, one that leaves you on a high long after the last note has faded- and it’s this sense of lasting euphoria that makes seeing them night after night such an utter pleasure.

But enough of my pseudo-Paul-Morley bollockry; time to review some shows! First, let’s get the worst out of the way- Wednesday was by far the weakest night of the four. Marred by a viciously elbow-happy crowd, sub-par sound and a uncharacteristically subdued atmosphere, it was still better than the vast majority of live shows I’ve seen but there was definitely something missing. The band were obviously trying their best, and they certainly had their moments- ‘Cold Wind’ was a delightfully soothing oasis of calm, ‘Tunnels’ never disappoints and the increasingly rare ‘Laika’ was a real treat- but the spark simply wasn’t there. As Richard told us outside later, “it was a rather boring show for us.” It’s the only time I’ve seen them where I haven’t left the venue buzzing with euphoria, and I must admit I was having doubts about whether I’d bother going to all four days after all. Luckily, Thursday night’s performance, by dint of being the best show I’ve seen in my life, kinda made up for it.

Frankly, the whole experience was such a haze of unadulterated joy that I’m finding it difficult to remember specific moments of brilliance, but Crown of Love was a contender for the best individual performance of a song I’ve ever seen. It’s always been one of my favourite AF songs, but the sheer emotion the band pours into it live transforms it into a nigh-on religious experience. With the congregation of thousands singing along with a passion that’d put the Vatican to shame, the atmosphere was just astounding; I don’t think I’ve witnessed anything quite like it. And just as it swells up to its emotional zenith and you think “this literally can’t get any better,” the song and crowd alike explode in an eruption of baroque disco awesomeness; needless to say, ‘amazing’ doesn’t do it justice. Then there were songs like Black Mirror, ruined by the muddy acoustics the night before that finally had the opportunity to shine, and although they never quite nailed the horns at the end of Ocean of Noise, the segue into the mighty Rebellion was perfect. By the time they played a triumphant Wake Up, the mingled feelings of exhaustion, dehydration and indescribable elation had me literally wiping tears of joy from my eyes; the only time I’ve ever done that at a gig before was when I saw them play “In The Backseat” back in 2005. On that night, I thought I’d never been blessed to see a show that good again- Thursday’s performance happily proved me wrong. The only disappointment was the conspicuous absence of ‘Power Out,’ but hey, you can’t have everything.

Memorably, this was also the night of the first fruit flinging incident, where roadies from the ‘magic window’ at the side of the Academy would throw a variety of fresh produce at the fanboys congregating in the road below. Despite their valiant efforts to deter the ravaging hordes by pelting apples and bananas at them, they couldn’t hold the bastards off. Indeed, the mob below mistook this as a gesture of affection, and grabbed the fruit like manna from heaven. I personally got a bottle of Evian, which isn’t, under most definitions, a fruit per se, but was very welcome nonetheless. Our small troupe of Moths (Fiona, Jaylily, Jennywren, Cicero, Moonfullofstarz and bf) then wound up at the Dogstar, where we were graced by bangin’ R&B choons and overpriced London beer- the perfect environs for a group of indie fans such ourselves. :p Interesting fact- whilst walking back to the station, I got offered drugs on nine separate occasions. You gotta love the Brixton entrepreneurial spirit…

By Friday the sleep-to-Arcade Fire ratio meant that fatigue really started to kick in; thankfully, I was standing next to Louis who made up for my shameful lethargy with flying (or should that be pogoing?) colours. The specialite du jour was a cover of the Serge Gainsbourg penned Eurovision hit ‘Poupee de Cire’, an upbeat Gallic slice of camp that once again highlighted Regine’s natural star quality and affirmed her status as the heart and soul of the band. The Well And The Lighthouse again proved itself to be the ‘Haiti’ of Neon Bible by absolutely trouncing the overproduced recorded version, and although not doing enough with its fabulous call-and-response ending, Windowsill provided one of the evening’s more subtle pleasures. But the highlight of this fantastic set was undoubtedly the surprise substitution of Neon Bible for Power Out. Hardcore devotees of said title track may have been disappointed by its absence, but such a high-energy show deserved a suitably high-energy finale and it doesn’t much get better than Neighborhood #3. I was admittedly far too shattered to mosh by this stage but judging by the bruises on my arm, my fellow UKKers certainly weren’t…

Most significantly though, this was the most Mothtastic night of them all; there were at least fifteen of us there and we certainly made our presence felt. The Tim chants led by the board’s ‘hooligan tendency’ managed to elicit an embarrassed smile out of the notoriously stony-faced bassist, our impeccable vocal skills were documented for the ages by PABBY and Jules’ dancing skills would certainly give John Travolta a run for his money… There was also a unforgettable moment when, in a reprise of Thursday’s fruit dispensing incident, a fan was graced with an apple thrown by the band themselves; with a reaction akin to Jerry Falwell if he’d been casually chucked the Holy Grail, he fell to his knees and exclaimed, “I’M HOLDING A FUCKING ARCADE FIRE APPLE!!!! IT’S A MIRACLE!” After freaking out Win during his brief apperance at the magic window, our veritable army of Mothdom marched off to the Albert, where photos were taken, drinks were drunk, band members accosted and the Antichrist was defeated by the power of sheer cowardice (as Diaji can testify…) 'Twas a lot of fun!

Saturday gave me a welcome opportunity to recharge my batteries (‘sleeping is giving in,’ my arse) and that meant that for me the final show pipped Friday as the second-best night of the residency (though truth be told both were equally good). I won’t deny the absence of Crown of Love saddened me, but the band made up for it by putting on their most intense performance yet. Will seemed to pull out all the stops with his crazy antics, Win was unusually free with the banter and Wake Up seemed even more overwhelmingly joyous than ever. Things were brought to a close with an acoustic cover of the Clash’s ‘Guns of Brixton,’ which wasn’t quite as effective as at Porchester (to be fair, the venue was about ten times bigger) but was a nice little touch nonetheless. They didn’t play Headlights though, despite all the effort I put into my banner- what a bunch of bastards! :p My personal favourite moment of the evening though was seeing the reaction of some fans who’d been waiting two years for the opportunity to see the band; I think their screams of “that was the most fucking amazing thing I’ve ever seen!!!” suggested they may have enjoyed it. Being specifically offered a setlist at the end by a security guard because he was so impressed with my enthusiasm was pretty cool too! Then it was off to the Albert for one last drink with the UKK crew before buggering off back to boring reality, completely broke, completely shattered- and completely over-the-moon. So much good music over such a short space of time…how will anything ever compare?

But those four days were not just about the brilliant music; it was about the brilliant people I met and instilled with a pathological fear of portly men with badges. It’s heartening to see that Arcade Fire can attract fans from all walks of life, and we motley crew of Moths were a shining testament to that fact. So Fiona, Jaylily, Spidey, Don, Jules, Cicero, Dustonmytambourines, Jennywren, Diaji, FitzKreuner, Louis, James111, John Gleeson, <3Joujoux d’Antan<3, Eliz, Marfamac, Pulkpull, PABBY, Wintertime, Anwar, Amadeep, Facundogore, Aethan Romm, Moonfullofstarz, Neon78, Ellroy, Moon, Erol, Pilgrim S and I Are Scientist- it was great meeting you all! Arcade Fire are the best band in the world, with the best fans in the world. Fo' sure.

THE SHORT VERSION

It was really fuckin’ good. Oh yeah.

(Awesome photo courtesy of British Storm Petrel from UKK)

EAGLES OF DEATH METAL (London Astoria, 11/03/07)

Despite having contracted what seems to be the Plague from some unknown agency, I rather enjoyed Eagles of Death Metal at the Astoria tonight. A far more light-hearted outfit than Josh Homme’s other band (stoner rockers Queens of The Stone Age), they provide simple, no-frills, straightforward rock ‘n roll. Their material could certainly never be called ‘varied’, but there’s no denying these guys are masters at what they do- the band played loud and tight, and that’s all you need for a show like this. Homme’s tongue-in-cheek strutting and good ol’ boy charm added immensely to proceedings; although he sometimes overdid the banter, it was clear that he was having the time of his life up there and that enjoyment was conveyed very much to the audience. Because I wasn’t feeling too good, I stood at the back of the venue for once which means I felt a bit detached from proceedings, but their 90 minute set clipped along at a swift pace and I must admit I did feel a lot better afterwards. Respect to the healing powers of ROCK!

Oh, and they played a cover of “Stuck In The Middle With You,” which made me exceedingly happy. No-one's ear got cut off, which made me less so.

Went to two great gigs earlier this week; here are the inevitable reviews.

Los Campesinos! (London Spitz, 05/03/07)

Another day, another NME buzz band. But Los Campesinos! seem, for once, to be the real thing; a band that eschews the sub-Libertines claptrap that’s so in vogue at the moment and plays music that’s actually FUN to listen to. And so this gig at the Spitz was one I’d been really looking forward to- a test to see whether their unabashed sense of joy that infuses their songs came across in a live setting. Support came courtesy of another talked-about band, the Leeds three-piece Sky Larkin. The majority of their set consisted of guitar led tracks; above-average British indie fare to be sure, but nothing that really made them stand out amongst the milieu of similar UK bands. Their synth-led tracks on the other hand were a lot more intriguing; the lead singer seemed to grow in confidence, having the poise and energy of Emily ‘Metric’ Haines on happy pills. It was enough to make me want to check out their stuff in more detail, but it didn’t impress me nearly as much as Peter and the Wolf last week.

Luckily, the headliners more than lived up to their considerable promise. Fusing the hyper-active multi-instrumentation of Architecture of Helsinki, the lo-fi charm of the Research and the dynamic energy of the Arctic Monkeys, the bunch of hairy reprobate students and indie-chic ladyfolk that call themselves Los Campesinos! nonetheless have forged a sound that they can call their very own. Jangly glockenspiels, male/female call and response and post-rock-for-ADD-kids build-ups are the order of the day, and it’s a formula that works a treat. However, it’s also the source of the band’s one weakness- a lack of variety. Their reluctance to deviate from this blueprint means that too many of the songs run together and although they’re all a lot of fun, a bit of a change of pace once in a while would have made this a truly classic show. Saying that, any band that can produce a song as exhilaratingly joyous as “You! Me! Dancing!” (performed here with the members of Sky Larkin) could frankly fill the rest of their set with James Blunt covers and I’d still have come out happy. They’re still a bit rough round the edges and the overly-similar songs could stifle their potential, but with a bit of work I see no reason why Los Campesinos! won’t be HUGE when their album comes out later this year.

The Earlies (London Scala 06/03/07)

Last May, I decided to check out a band called the Earlies at York Fibbers. When I booked the tickets, I hadn’t heard a note by the half-Texan, half-Mancunian outfit but the radiant reviews of their live show were enough to tempt me to take the plunge. It’s something I’ve never regretted. Their debut, “These Were The Earlies,” is a glorious mix of 60’s West Coast harmonies, psychadelic prog and delightful orchestral flourishes which manages to combine a comforting familiarity with off-beat experimentalism- a kind of ‘Guillemots meets the Beach Boys’ vibes. And their live show is even better. With ten people on stage playing dozens of different instruments, they’re a sight to behold and the soothing ocean of sound that they produce have made them, in my opinion, one of the best live bands around.

Even though I hadn’t managed to listen to their darker second album, “The Enemy Chorus” before their headline show at the Scala, it proved no obstacle to enjoying the show- even though it was a whole eight songs before they played anything from the first album. The Earlies have always produced the kind of music one can really lose oneself in and the new material is no different; full of mesmerising grooves and lush harmonies that’s utterly blissful. The renditions of debut favourites ‘One Of Us Is Dead’ and ‘Wayward Song’ were both enhanced with some nice improvisational touches and the superb encore of ‘Morning Wonder’ was positively hypnotic. Perhaps some moments weren’t quite up to par with their recorded counterparts, but these were few and far between- I can think of only a handful bands who can maintain such a consistently high level of brilliance like these guys. As my friend Scott said, “I just can’t understand why crap like The View is hyped up so much, whilst great bands like the Earlies are ignored.” And on the evidence of Tuesday, it’s impossible to argue with him.

Oh, and one of the lead musicians (the guy who looks disconcertingly like Colonel Sanders) commended me on my badges. Go me!

Los Campesinos! - You! Me! Dancing!
The Earlies - 25 Easy Pieces

MY LATEST NOVEL (London Spitz, 28/02/07)

On paper, My Latest Novel should be one of my favourite live bands- a wonderful catalogue of work (infused with a luscious yet understated folkiness that makes them sound like the sober, Presbyterian younger brother of the Arcade Fire); talented musicians; big, glacial build-ups culminating in explosions of beautiful sound. And yet they’re not. There’s something missing from the equation, a certain spark that prevents them from reaching the heady heights they’re clearly capable of. It could partly have something to do with their dour Scottish demeanours; whilst perfectly pleasant, it’d be fair to say they aren’t the most charismatic bunch. A below-par sound mix doesn’t help matters either; the vocals were buried far too low on both occasions I’ve seen them. Also, there’s always that nagging feeling that the band aren’t performing to their full potential; there were too many moments where I thought “this could be amazing if they put a bit more ‘oomph’ into it”. The fantastic encore of Sister Sneaker Sister Soul just underlined the subdued nature of the rest of their set, displaying the verve and intensity that should, and could have been present throughout. It’s a shame, as they have the talent to be unmissable- as it stands, they’re merely good.
On the other hand, supports Peter and the Wolf were an absolute revelation. Consisting of a beardy guitar-and-piano-playin’ frontman, a instrument-twirling double bassist and a gleefully enthusiastic barefoot percussionist, they played with the infectious passion the headliners were so solely lacking. I’d never heard any of their material previously, but it’s fantastic- not a weak song in the set. Their sound isn’t particularly innovative, but it’s infused with the same instant timelessness that Camera Obscura do so well (although these guys are far more jolly than those wistfully melancholy Scots.) DEFINITELY an act to look out for in the future.