SONGS I'M LIKING AT THE MOMENT



Animal Collective – Peacebone
Typically a beret-wearing, chin-stroking band of the highest order, critically-divisive noisemakers Animal Collective have finally made an song that, whilst still very pretentious, is nonetheless rather excellent. A kaleidoscope of electronic loops, Speak-And-Spell vocals and squelchy synths, Peacebone might be best described as the Go! Team as imagined by David Lynch. The initial lack of rhyme, reason or any modicum of sanity can be off-putting, but the disparate elements eventually coalesce into something with a certain off-kilter logic to it. And importantly, it recognises it’s own ludicrousness; it’s basically a novelty track (albeit a very cleverly constructed one) and it doesn’t pretend to be any more than that. Decidedly odd, but strangely addictive.

Arcade Fire – Maps
My favourite band covers Yeah Yeah Yeah’s modern classic. Less abrasive and rocky than Karen O, Regine Chassigne’s French lilt is the perfect match for the subtle, reserved folky-orchestral arrangement, and the instrumentation is just as awesome as you’d expect from the Arcade Fire. Easily on par with their Talking Heads cover they did back in ’05.

Beirut – In The Mausoleum
Pasty-faced wunderkind Zach Condon’s new LP “The Flying Cup Club” may have sidelined the Balkan sound of his critically-acclaimed debut for a more Parisien vibe, but his glorious folk is no less infectious for it. His arch vocals may be an acquired taste but the ukuleles, horns and fiddles that adorn his melodies are as irresistible as ever. The brilliant ‘Nantes’ is getting all the plaudits at the moment, but I personally have a soft spot for the Yann Tiersen-meets-Sufjan Stevens sound of ‘In The Mausoleum’, a song that mixes evocative Gallic influences with wonderful Arabic-tinged strings courtesy of Owen “Final Fantasy” Pallett.

Efterklang – Towards The Bare Hill
Obscure Danish post-rock may not sound like the most enticing prospect in the world, but Efterklang are one of the more intriguing bands I’ve discovered this year. If Sigur Ros swapped glacial majesty for deep wooded valleys, they might come up with something like Towards The Bare Hill, a song whose pizzicato violins, earthy percussion and xylophones strike out exquisitely complex, perfectly timed rhythms like an organic piece of clockwork. Married to traditional Scandanavian choral vocals and ultra-lo-fi production, it’s a unusual and atmospheric work that one could imagine scoring a ‘forest spirit’ scene in a Miyazaki film.

The Polyphonic Spree – Running Away
The multi-coloured robes may have given way to military garb, but Tim DeLaughter’s musical army still know how to craft an effervescent pop gem.
If you’ve heard any of their stuff before you’ll know what to expect; happy-clappy melodies, trippy lyrics and a hell of a lot of instruments, but unlike the overly indulgent sophomore album, they’ve realised this stuff is best in small doses and have accordingly compressed sixteen metric tonnes of joy into four glorious minutes. Not as essential as Soldier Girl perhaps, but a welcome return to form nevertheless.

Sunset Rubdown – Up On Your Leopard
The pinnacle of that incestuous Canadian music collective consisting of such indie luminaries as Wolf Parade, Frog Eyes, Swan Lake and the Handsome Furs, Spencer Krug follows his sublime masterpiece “Shut Up I Am Dreaming” with “Random Spirit Lover,” an album that owes as much to Frog Eyes’ wild-eyed mania as the dense, keyboard-heavy sound of his previous work. The highlight is the fantastically named ‘Up On Your Leopard’, chock-full of demented sea-shanty accordians, mystical fairy-tale lyrics and a dramatic baroque sensibility that makes Arcade Fire look like Arctic Monkeys. The waltz that forms the latter half of the song is classic Krug; wilfully uncool, slightly unhinged but singularly catchy at the same time. Outstanding.

RILO KILEY (Islington Academy, 20/08/07)



I first saw alt-country outfit Rilo Kiley back in 2005, when they were touring More Adventurous. They were good fun, I enjoyed the show but it wasn't exactly amazing. I've not heard their new disc, “Under The Backlight” yet, but their move towards straightforward indie-pop hasn’t exactly been received well by their long-established fan base (although it has been getting decent reviews in the mainstream press). As a result, it came as a bit of a shock to me that Monday's show at the Islington Academy was one of the best I've seen all year.

I can definitely see how the new material may sound cheesy on record; the lyrical excellence of their earlier work has given way to a focus on catchy melodies and basslines, but combined with Jenny Lewis' natural redheaded awesomeness and a tight-as-fuck band it worked fantastically live. Adding two new members was a great call; the extra keyboards, flourishes of brass and backing vocals added so much and let's face it, they were pretty damn attractive too. The funk-inspired basslines and preponderance of wah-wah peddles assuaged my concerns about the sub-par lyrics of the new songs, and the sound quality was near-flawless; bloody loud but almost perfectly mixed (Jenny's guitar was occasionally too low in the mix, but it's the most minor of quibbles). And they played all my favourite tracks from More Adventurous; Portions For Foxes was naturally brilliant, Does He Love You was as intense as ever but my personal highpoint came when Blake Sennett and the bassist treated us to a delightful rendition of Ripchord on ukulele and mandolin. Insofar that this was a performance by a band that I like but don't love, it's hard to find fault in it and it proved to me that a superb show by a good band is just so much more satisfying than a merely good show by a superb band.

MARTHA WAINWRIGHT (Shepherd’s Bush Empire, 17/08/07)



Has there ever been so much musical talent concentrated in a single genepool as the Wainwright clan? Loudon the Third was once spoken of in the same breath as Bob Dylan, his ex-wife Kate McGarrigle is an Order Of Canada-winning folk singer. Their son Rufus has received the more recent plaudits with his camp Liberace stylings and a superlative taste for showmanship but at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire last Friday, it was finally big sister Martha’s turn in the spotlight. As someone who’d never heard her debut I was concerned that, despite her fine musical pedigree, she would fall into that most accursed of genres: MOR acoustic balladry. There are few things more likely to strike terror into the hearts of man than the prospect of another set full of trite sentiment and strummed melodies as original as your average Quo song, and I’ve suffered quite enough of them in my lifetime. In the event, it turned out that I had nothing to worry about because she was, quite simply, bloody marvellous.

Less extravagant than her sibling, but full of a warm, easy-going charm, Martha’s a naturally engaging character, full of a subtle energy and vivacity that enthuses all she does. In contrast, her lyrics are dark, moody and personal (she dedicates one song to a friend who’d committed suicide) and this clash between her personality and her material creates an emotional intensity that’s even more satisfying than Rufus’ pizzazz. Although her voice may not be as characterful as, say, Regina Spektor’s, what it lacks in idiosyncracity it makes up with a down-to-earth sincerity that’s strong enough to effortlessly carry the 90-minute set. Her backing band skilfully kept the groove going without trying to overshadow the main attraction (as Cat Power’s sessioners so notably failed to do), and the quality of music on offer was only matched by the calibre of the special guests: Pete Townsend and his ivory-tinkling partner Rachel Fuller. As well as backing her for the final songs, they performed a delightful cover of the poignant “It’s A Motherf****r” by Eels, Fuller joking about trying to match Martha’s penchant for profanity before the lady herself delivered a stunning low-key rendition of Bloody Motherf***ing Asshole. Finally, the band and her illustrious friends left the stage to leave her with her soon-to-be-husband Brad, who accompanied her on piano for the last song of the night, the enchanting Dis, Quand-Reviendras-tu. How fitting, I thought, that her show should end as a family affair.

FIELD DAY FESTIVAL (Victoria Park, 11/08/07)


Ah, Field Day! On paper it seemed a nigh-on utopian concept; some of the most cutting-edge bands around playing in a picturesque (for East London) location, coupled with traditional country fete sideshows and perfect weather to boot. Which thus begs the unfortunate question: how could it have gone so wrong?

Their main fault was that they’d simply booked way too many bands. Yes, it meant that you were spoilt for choice, but it also meant that set durations were severely restricted- very few bands were given more than half an hour. Add in the knock-on effect of overrunning performances, and some of the later bands found themselves with barely 20 minutes to play. Then you had the stages - with four of them shoehorned into such a limited space, volume levels were kept so low to avoid cross-over that the sound simply didn’t carry enough to accommodate the sheer amount of the people watching. Even relatively close to the stage, you found yourself overwhelmed by the mobile-phone chatter of less considerate patrons; further back you just didn’t stand a chance. Combine that with overpriced programmes and the frankly shocking paucity of bars and toilet facilities (the world hasn’t seen such queues of hipsters since Broken Social Scene last toured) and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.

Nonetheless, with bands that good on the bill there was no chance Field Day was going to be a complete washout. The gravel-sodden rasp of Absentee provided one of the day’s early highlights, and charismatic Beta Band offshoots The Aliens went down well with an unpretentious and thoroughly enjoyable set. Caribou, an intriguing proposition on record fared less well; they undoubtedly had their moments but despite an impressive display from their two drummers, they were too slight to make much of an impression on me. Foals’ hyperactive, oh-so-current synths-and-drums sound initially caught my attention but their lack of variety saw me drifting off by the middle of their set, and Late Of The Pier furrowed far too similar a vein to them for me to give a damn about.

The Earlies on the other hand were a breath of fresh air. Although it’d have been nice to hear some material from the debut, the ten-strong psychedalic-orchestral-prog collective put on a stellar performance, complete with mesmerising grooves, dense instrumentals and a sense of fun that was sorely missing from so many of the acts I saw that day - which includes the underwhelming performance by the festival’s biggest draw, avant-garde New York four-piece Battles. Curtailed to 25 minutes thanks to the over-crowded line-up, they were obviously pissed off, the audience were even more so and although they were as technically astonishing as always, you could tell their heart wasn’t in it. Even the mightly Atlas was emasculated by the volume restrictions, and all you could hear afterwards were the grumbles of punters decrying spending £22 on such a pathetically brief set. Thank God then for Justice, who managed to end proceedings on a high; although the volume issues still reared their head, those who hadn’t opted to leave early were treated to their superlative dance anthems, culminating with a superb singalong rendition of “We Are Your Friends.”

There’s no doubt that Field Day fell far short of it’s incredible promise, but still, full marks for ambition and certainly the seeds are there for a truly great annual event. Scale it down, get fewer bands playing longer sets and for the love of God, cut down the hour-long queues for the bogs and in future years they could have a classic on their hands. But on the evidence of Saturday, they’ve still got quite some way to go.