POLYSICS (Islington Academy, 09/02/08)

Hyperactive Japanese mentalists in bright orange boiler suits, hi-energy surf-rock melodies and nonsensical Japlish exhortations? Yup, you got to love the Polysics. After enduring Cutting Pink With Knives, the most breathtakingly dire support act I’ve ever seen, the Oriental four-piece had quite the task in winning back over the audience, but thankfully their day-glo pogo punk par excellence swiftly erased memories of the distressing awfulness of their openers. Their live sound isn’t drastically different to their albums, except that everything’s twice as fast, twice as loud and fuck loads more energetic which, you know, is pretty fine by me. New songs sparkled with life, and the oldies got the whole crowd moving and singing along incomprehensibly like no other band I’ve seen since Gogol Bordello. Like most essentially novelty acts, one could argue they lack subtlety and variety but that’d be missing the point- this band’s all about having fun, and in this they succeed with flying colours.

RACHEL UNTHANK AND THE WINTERSET (London Borderline, 08/02/08)

Amiable Geordie Rachel, her little sister and their two bandmates have done the near-impossible: they’ve persuaded me trad folk is a good thing. There’s nothing intrinsically innovative about the Winterset; their songs are all folk standards from across the British Isles, with the earnest lyrics and parochial themes that’s typical of the genre, but their performed with such flair and charm that it’s impossible not to fall in love. Both Unthank sisters are blessed with the most amazingly ethereal voices, perfectly complimented by their effervescent cello and piano arrangements and their unassuming, down-to-earth charisma makes them just as likeable as their music. The Lonely Cutter, with its cute tap-dancing interludes and big ol’ audience singalongs was a highlight, as was the marvellous Bleezing Blind Drunk, but it was accapella closer The Shetland Boat Song that really blew me away. One of those rare acts that can open up a genre to non-traditional fans, I cannot recommend them highly enough.

BLACK KIDS (London Water Rats, 06/02/08)

Of all the bands that have been tipped for success this year, there’s none that have won me over more than Black Kids. Their marvellous Wizard of Ahhhs EP has been soundtracking my last couple of months, and their live show, although not quite as good as it could have been, showed enough promise to suggest a band destined for big things. Sounding like the Go! Team spliced with The Cure and Bowie, their soulful, nostalgic, slightly melancholic but wonderfully uplifting lo-fi pop is as instantly catchy as anything I’ve heard since Little Man Tate and it was great to see that they managed to convey this in their live show. Reggie Youngblood isn’t the most likable of frontman, true, and their musical proficiency isn’t jaw-dropping by any means, but when you’ve got songs as deliriously awesome as “I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You” criticisms tend to just melt away. Loads of room for improvement, but I’ve got high hopes for these guys.

OKKERVIL RIVER (London Scala, 05/02/08)

With the possible exceptions of the National and Sigur Ros, never has my opinion of a band changed so dramatically as with Okkervil River. Yeah, I’m still to be convinced about the brilliance of their recorded material, but for sheer passion and musicianship and all round proficiency, they’re one of the best bands touring today. Texan folk-rock with a touch of the flamboyant, Will Sheff’s rough-edged voice is less hoarse than at their sublime Luminaire performance, and although the Scala is much less intimate than Kilburn’s finest, the same degree of brilliance is on show here. My friend derided the rest of his band as “pub-band musicians,” which I think is unfair- true, they don’t try to steal the limelight (although the maniacally grinning drummer Travis deserves a mention), but they’re all superb musicians, adding the perfect degree of instrumental flair to accentuate the richness of Sheff’s melodies. John Allen Smyth Sails merging into A Life Is Not A Movie merging into For Real was as sublime a twenty minutes of live music I’ve heard for months, and if the encore went on a bit too long, there’s no denying one got their money’s worth. Best show of 2008 so far.

MAKE MODEL (London Water Rats, 31/01/08)

Part of a new wave of Scottish bands bent on erasing the bad taste of The View and their talentless ilk, Make Model’s impressive if succinct set at the Water Rats suggests an exciting new talent with a bright future ahead of them. Eschewing the Libertines derived sound commandeered by so many of the peers, the dense synth pop and lovely wall-of-sound harmonies of debut single The Was comes across as a heady mix of Glasvegas and Los Campesinos, whilst having a distinctive edge of its own. And unlike so many new bands, they seem to have more to them than their one big song; the fuzzy guitars and irregular time signatures of Czech Neck recall Broken Social Scene at their most accessible. Plus, they have a track named after a Brass Eye joke- what more could you want?

(Photo: John Lewis)

EXPLOSIONS IN THE SKY (London Astoria, 30/01/08)

Two hours of music, roughly five songs played. In most cases, you’d feel pretty short changed, but with a line up of Explosions In The Sky and Eluvium you wouldn’t expect any different. One man sonic magician Matthew Cooper starts the night’s proceedings with his looping, minimalist soundscapes; it’s not often you’d hear 16 minute stretches of ambience at the rock ‘n roll Astoria, but on a night like this, it seems to fit. Not everyone’s cup of tea, definitely, but for fans of Alexander Tucker and Boards of Canada he comes much recommended.

In any case, he set the tone perfectly for the headliners. Not a band to rush things, Explosions In The Sky’s slow-burning, considered instrumentals may strike a newcomer to their music as Sigur Ros without the orchestra, but I think EITS’ charms are more subtle, if perhaps not quite as breathtaking. Yeah, they can slowly swell to a climax of ground-sundering aural intensity with the best of them but their more reserved moments can be just as impressive. Although banter is a no-no (would have broken the flow of the show), they put a surprising amount of passion into their performance, Munaf Rayani on his knees during the more intense moments and if there were some idiots who persisted on talking through the quiet bits, the vast majority seemed to be enraptured. Being someone’s who’s always preferred a bit more instrumental variety in his post-rock, Explosions In The Sky will never be my favourite exponents of the genre, but especially given the simplicity of their set-up, there’s no denying they’re an incredible experience live. Let’s just hope their proposed hiatus doesn’t turn to be a permanent one- it’d be a shame to see these guys fizzle out.

(Photo: Jacob Saunders)

STARS (London Koko, 29/01/08)

I first saw the increasingly-popular Canadian sixpiece back in October, and as this review testifies, I thought they were pretty great. And their show at the Koko was another satisfying dose of shimmering pop and lush melodies, but with a slightly more downbeat, reflective setlist and a lesser degree of intimacy. Impressive support set from Apostle of Hustle too, much better than his solo show supporting Broken Social Scene back in the day.

REVERE- The Luminaire (24/01/08)

Having blown me away opening for Hope of the States splinter band ‘Troubles’ last March, it’s shocking it’s taken me so long to check out Revere again. The London-based nine-piece haven’t exactly reinvented the wheel with their orchestral post-rock, but their slightly derivative sound doesn’t get in the way of their excellence as a live act. A bit of Balkan brass here, a touch of Muse-esque histrionics there, they draw upon whole mish-mash of influences, all woven together with impressive skill. Their lyrics are pretty unexceptional as a rule, but their lush, cinematic sound is something to behold, adapting the classic post-rock template and giving it a slightly poppier, more accessible edge. The spectral vocals from Gabby Young are particular worthy of note, complimenting Stephen Ellis’ falsetto wail wonderfully, and set finale The Escape Artist particularly impresses with its melodic strength and instrumental richness. Perhaps an occasional deviation from slow-loud dynamics wouldn’t have gone amiss, and there really isn’t need for marching band snare in every song, but they produce such a damn glorious racket I can’t help but love them. As long as their upcoming album does their live show justice, hopefully 2008 will see Revere get the success they so richly deserve.

Wojtek Godzisz was a pretty decent support as they go; his lyrics were as dire as the script from Alien Vs. Predator 2, but his sheer enthusiasm and catchy classic rock hooks passed the time very pleasantly. Another band called Kaiko also played, but I’ll be damned if I can remember anything about them. Couldn’t have been that great, really.

(Photo: Polstar Photography)

MORRISSEY- London Roundhouse (21/01/08)

I’ve always been perplexed at the reverence afforded to Stephen Patrick Morrissey. Sure, he’s one of Britain’s best lyricists, but the relative staidness of his melodies and his appallingly egotistical behaviour makes him an exceedingly difficult character to love. Monday night’s show at the Roundhouse didn’t change my opinion of the man one jot, although I’ll admit his songwriting’s much better than I’d previously given him credit for. It started off fantastically; a rapturously received How Soon Is Now followed by his best solo single, the brilliant The First Of The Gang To Die. But then new material and obscurities started to take over the set; to give him his dues, a couple had promise, although others came across as generic as your average Feeder song. Given the recent furore over his comments about immigration to the NME, National Front Disco was an audacious addition to the setlist, leaving a bad taste in the mouth of more than a few present, although the excellent Death of A Disco Dancer almost made up for his questionable foray into controversy.

Although he complained of “a frog in his throat…and not a small French person”, Morrissey’s unmistakable croon was thankfully undiminished, and despite looking more like a middle-aged bank manager every day, he still has the flair of the consummate showman. Shame about the sound though; for such a well-regarded venue, the acoustics were dreadfully tinny, with Morrissey’s vocals often lost in a haze of echoes and bass. His uninspiring pub-rock musicians didn’t help matters much, although their plodding takes on the Mozfather’s oeuvre was at least mildly competent (unlike Cat Power’s band last year, who were truly atrocious). Peculiar crowd too; the front third frantic hardcore supplicants at the altar of Moz, madly scrambling to get the merest angstrom of bodily contact with their Messiah, the rest music hacks and disinterested scenesters showing the same enthusiasm that normally greets a wake. Ah well, closer Last Of The Famous International Playboys was a blinder, a superb singalong moment in a show mostly bereft of genuine atmosphere- if all of his songs were as good as that, then I’d be more inclined to understand the slavish hero worship he attracts. I’ll happily acknowledge his status as one of the great idiosyncratic icons of British music, but I’ll never be able to love him half as much as he loves himself.

JIM NOIR (London Borderline, 17/01/08)

Basically the Fast Show’s “Brilliant” guy with a guitar, Jim Noir’s hesitancy after a long break off the road didn’t get in the away of a charming (if slightly chaotic) show that suffered only for its extreme brevity. Previewing new material, it’s clear the chirpy Mancunian is still in thrall to the spectral harmonies of Brian Wilson, although the tendrils of classic 70’s rock have started to encroach upon his trademark psychedelic pop. Vocodered vocals add an intriguing new element to the mix and although by no means a revolutionary step forward, the new stuff does seem to vary enough to reinvigorate a formula that might have quickly gone stale. A few staples from the days of yore made welcome appearances (Eanie Meany, The Computer Song), but his reluctance to play My Patch was badly-judged, especially as his set clocked in a paltry 35 minutes. More than a few audience members left the Borderline feeling short-changed, and given that he was doing so well up until then, you couldn’t help think he’d just snatched defeat from the jaws of victory

Supports The 586 also deserve a mention, if only because they straddled the line between brilliance and awfulness so precariously that I’m entirely unsure what to think of them. One part Man Man, one part The Specials, their garish, baroque synth-pop was irrepressibly energetic, impeccably delivered and often strikingly catchy, with the chemistry between vocalists Deborah Coughlin and Steve Horry palpable throughout. But there’s only so much self-aware eccentricity a man can take, and after thirty minutes of shrieking hysteria I’d more than had my fill. They’re essentially the Mighty Boosh in musical form- extrapolate from that as you will.

THE BEST LIVE ACTS OF TWO THOUSAND AND SEVEN



Last year, I saw a rather worrying number of musical acts and here, for your delectation, are the fifty that impressed me most. Some deserving bands have been left off, and Fiona will disagree with half of those who’ve been left on, but eh, you’re never going to please everyone. Anyway, without further ado, I present the List O’ Gigs (2007 Edition):

50. THOSE DANCING DAYS
The Swedes have a natural talent for writing catchy, joyous pop, and Those Dancing Days are another fine export from their musically-fertile shores. Although they looked way too young to be allowed into the Water Rats (I swear they must be, like, 14) their proficiency and confidence belied their age, although they did have an endearing habit of collapsing into giggles at the slightest opportunity. Their eponymous single was the cue for spontaneous dance party madness through the venue and not even a host of technical hitches could ruin one of the more low-key success stories of ‘07.

49. LIAM FROST
The first show of last year, but that’s no reason to forget it. The portly, dishevelled Mancunian occasionally emo-ed it up too much for his own good, but his intensely personal lyrics and string-drenched folk worked fantastically in the intimate environs of the (now sadly departed) Spitz. The Mourners of St. Paul’s pulled at the heartstrings like few other songs this year, and Frost came across as a genuinely top bloke- I can’t imagine many artists stand by the door to thank their audience after a show.

48. LOS CAMPESINOS!
Gareth Campesino’s whiny vocals can grate, and a little more variety wouldn’t go amiss but Los Campesinos! are easily one of the better NME hype bands out there. Their technicolour indie is full of carefree, ramshackle charm, and fantabulous single You! Me! Dancing, complete with hotly-tipped Leeds outfit Sky Larkin on percussion duties, instigated one of the more amusingly localised moshpits of the year.

47. LONEY, DEAR
Bolstering the disproportionately large Scandinavian presence on this list, the folky Swedish five-piece have been 2007’s most prolific support band, appearing no less than four times in opening spots throughout the year. Thankfully, their lovely harmonising and lilting vocals has never failed to delight, and although Emil Svanängen has a tendency to overdo the staccato vocal gymnastics, there’s a sweetness and innocence about them missing from most home-grown music.

46. AKRON/FAMILY
Doing more with three musicians as many bands do with six, Akron/Family are one of a handful of bands that genuinely defy description. Although billed as psych-folk (whatever that means), their actual style wildly glides through the entire spectrum of modern music, veering from pleasant acoustic balladry to distorted feedback chaos (often during the same song). Needless to say, the quality’s pretty variable; where they’re good they’re very, very good but when they’re bad they’re nigh-on unlistenable. Then again, any band that’d rather dance to Prince with random audience members than soundcheck are pretty cool in my book.

45. THE DIRTY PROJECTORS
The epitome of the Marmite band, The Dirty Projectors are the kind of act made to split opinion. Watching an unfeasibly lanky bloke wails his way through Black Flag covers whilst two girls support him with crystal-clear harmonies may seem the height of pretension and yeah, sometimes they’re pretty hard going but they’re a fascinating and sometimes quite wonderful act to watch.

44. THE OUTSIDE ROYALTY
Described as a cross between Arcade Fire and Pulp, it was inevitable that my interest would be piqued by this up-and-coming Anglo-American six-piece. And, although they’re nowhere near the quality of those bands (yet), they’ve got enough going for them to indicate a very bright future. Adam Billing’s breathless vocals can be overwrought to the point of irritation and formulaic song-structures rule them out from bonafide genius, but otherwise their synthy, orchestral pop and vibrant performance mark them out as the most impressive unsigned live band I’ve seen. In particular, their Arcade Fire-goes-punk cover of Eleanor Rigby is amazing, worthy of being spoken in the same breath as the original. If their own compositions can reach the giddy heights of that, then stardom is within their grasp.

43. 65DAYSOFSTATIC
The Sheffield-based purveyors of ear-melting math-rock were one of the great musical discoveries of ’06 for me, and their headline show at the Koko lived up to expectations with pounding irregular time signatures, spectral synths and relentless drumming being delivered at earth-rupturing volume. But the derivative nature of their new tracks suggests a band swiftly running out of ideas; there wasn’t a single new track that didn’t sound like a re-run of an older one and although the likes of “Retreat! Retreat!” remain mind-blowing, one can’t but wonder if they’ve run out of places to go.

42. BRIGHT EYES
For those with an allergy to screaming fangirls with stupid fringes and reckless addiction to eyeliner, I’d strongly advise avoiding Bright Eyes gigs. But despite his qualities as an emo-magnet, Conor Oberst remains one of the most intriguing singer-songwriters around. His choice to focus on his new country-folk LP Cassadaga at the expense of his more cerebral old material alienated his more established fans, but there’s no faulting the show itself; a ten-piece orchestra recreated the fullness of the album flawlessly and the famously temperamental Oberst generally kept his cool. Nice suits too.

41. THE DECEMBERISTS
Literate sea-shanties and baroque folk may not sound like the most obvious material for a sell-out show at the Royal Festival Hall but then again, Portland natives The Decemberists are not your average band. Accordions and acoustic guitars hitched to poetic, often esoteric lyrics are the order of the day, and although they’re not the most consistent of bands, the likes of the truly beautiful Crane Wife, based on a Japanese folk tale have deservedly made them one of America’s biggest cult acts. The geeky, bespectacled Colin Meloy’s a great believer in crowd participation, and his recreation of the American Civil War (with dinosaurs) was fantastically inspired, but his habit of forcing the theatrics can grow tiresome and can sometimes even detract from the music itself. Nonetheless, it’s great to see a band as idiosyncratic as the Decemberists doing so well for themselves, and if you’re willing to overlook their excesses, they’re worth checking out.



40. ST. VINCENT
Ms. Annie Clark is a very talented lady. A former singer with the Polyphonic Spree and erstwhile member of Sufjan Steven’s backing band, she’s finally hit out on her own with one of the most striking debut albums of the year. And although recreating the richness and eclecticism of “Marry Me” with only a guitar and a loop-pedal is impossible, her creativity and musical mastery ensures the stripped-down reinventions of her songs succeed more often than not.

39. YANN TIERSEN
Inexorably attracting the entire French population of Greater London into the exceedingly cramped Scala, acclaimed composer Yann Tiersen ditches his trademark accordion for an electric guitar and a rock ‘n roll sensibility. And the occasional cheesy ballad aside, it’s a move that works surprisingly well, proving there’s more to the immensely talented Frenchman than the “berets-and-baguettes” waltzes of the Amelie soundtrack (amusingly rendered here as fuzzy, doom-laden slab of post-rock.) Still, it’s not quite the same without the violins and squeezebox, and despite their occasional appearance throughout the set, a few more of the classics would have been welcome.

38. MISTY’S BIG ADVENTURE
A band designed for support slots (in the best possible way), what Misty’s Big Adventure lack in substance they make up with sheer funnery. Grandmaster Gareth’s lyrical ability won’t ever put Dylan to shame, but their effervescent, ska-tinged nursery rhyme pop is guaranteed to make you smile. Or cry with fear, if band mascot/nightmare-inducing apparition Erotic Volvo has anything to do with it.

37. THE NEW PORNOGRAPHERS
A.C Newman’s “supergroup” are ardent subscribers to the “no-frills” school of live performances, and their solid, if unimaginative run through their catalogue of superior power-pop guarantees a good ol’ sing-along if little else. What’s lacking in their performance is balanced with the quality of the songs and the enthusiasm of the audience and although entirely devoid of surprises, the atmosphere during the likes of The Bleeding Hearts Show more than made up for its conservatism. If you don’t raise your expectations too high, they can be a lot of fun- just don’t go expecting them to change your life.

36. ANDREW BIRD
Proof that sometimes less is more, Andrew Bird’s dazzling instrumental skills and irrepressible ambition leads to a live show that’s at turns both brilliant and frustrating. A virtuoso on violin, a dab hand on piano and a peerless whistler to boot, there’s no doubting he’s a man of exceptional talent; unfortunately, his unbalanced setlists, tendency to stretch songs to breaking point and love of unnecessary sound manipulation make him come across as a bit self-indulgent. Then again, songs like Plasticities and Why? manage to combine a variety of instruments and multiple loops with remarkable effect, perhaps because they rely more on his prodigious skill than electronic faffery. If he could rein in his more exasperating tendencies, he’d be truly astonishing; as it is, he’s merely impressive.

35. HOLY FUCK
The surprise hit of Glasto, the naughtily-named Holy Fuck struck me as a kind of Battles-lite; lacking the technical razzle-dazzle of those math-rock gods, but making up for it with much more warmth and accessibility. Their low-fi electro-rock romps underpinned with budget Casio keyboards combine the talents of two head-to-head electrical wizards, each armed with a table full of knobs, pedals and miscellaneous technical frippery with live guitars and drums, giving them far more presence than your average electronic artist, and with spectacular songs like Lovely Allen under their belt, they’re no musical slouches either.

34. AMIINA
Better known as Sigur Ros’ all-female string section, Amiina’s twinkly pixie music deserves far more recognition in its own right. The Icelandic four-piece were a perfect fit for the ornate intimacy of Bush Hall; their mixture of violins, glockenspiels, mandolins, melodic bells, musical saws and wine glasses producing the same uniquely Scandinavian ambience as their parent band, albeit with a more parochial, child-like tilt. A couple of songs were too understated for their own good, but the subtle delights of Rugla and Seoul provided a welcome change from the sledge-hammer of volume I normally favour. Also, I think I’m in love with Hildur, but that’s by-the-by…

33. EFTERKLANG
Danish band Efterklang sound a bit like Amiina covering the works of Joe Hisashi with Holy Fuck on drumming duties, with results as odd as that sounds. Their organic, lo-fi post-rock is a peculiar beast; esoteric yet warm, underpinned by irregular time-signatures and Soviet-choir vocals but also a sense of easy-going fun. They’re not the most accessible band in the world by any means, but silly costumes, sillier facial hair and communal singalongs made this far more lighthearted and cheerful than one would possibly expect.

32. BUILT TO SPILL
They’re kinda old, kinda static and have a penchant for appending songs with six-minute guitar solos, but don’t let that put you off. Built To Spill’s eye for melody and tremendous instrumental proficiency is more than impressive enough to cover for their uninspiring on-stage persona, and even technical hiccups galore couldn’t dampen the surprise hit of May’s “Week Of Gigs.” Conventional Wisdom in particular was fucking ace.

31. STARS
I must admit, Stars really surprised me with their show at the Scala in October. The most overtly “pop” band of the Arts and Crafts collective don’t exactly burst from the seams with originality, but their endearingly earnest songwriting, lush instrumentation and all-round cheeriness is a formula that works exceedingly well. Emily Milian rocked out on the guitar and flute, whilst the aforementioned Torquil (surely that’s not a real name) Campbell bounded round the stage singing his heart out. The rollocking, proggy Set Yourself On Fire, the delectable power-pop of Ageless Beauty and the brash, multi-layered sonic intensity of Soft Revolution all sparkled, the band seemed to really enjoy themselves and from the reaction of those around me, it looked like the audience did too.



30. FINAL FANTASY
Despite the ever-increasing circle of pretenders, Owen “Final Fantasy Pallett” remains the finest proponent of the loop-pedal around. The violinist extraordinaire and part-time Arcade Fire member previewed some promising material from upcoming album “Heartland” during his set at the Latitude Festival and dazzled the packed-out audience with his musical prowess. Even when he slipped up, he recovered with good grace and although the archness of his vocals can be off-putting, his melodic talents put his competitors to shame.

29. LES SAVY FAV
Tim Harrington tweaked my nose. And my friend Alex’s. He also scaled up the Scala’s balcony via the speaker stack, and dangled backwards so precariously that the audience as one held their breath waiting for the inevitable crunch of breaking bone. Oh, and there was the full-scale stage invasion at the end, let’s not forget that. Basically, this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill gig and if I’d been more a fan of LSF’s output this would have been one of the shows of the year. Still, despite not getting the fuss about their musical credentials (all their songs sounded exactly the same to me), for sheer entertainment value this was second to none.

28. COLD WAR KIDS
Would have been higher if not for a dreary showing at Latitude, but Cold War Kids were easily one of the top five acts at this years Glasto; Nathan Willett’s curious hybrid of vaudeville pianos, funk basslines and breathless, bluesy howling elevating them far above the myriad identikit indie types that hogged the Other Stage. Album highlight We Used To Vacation, with its incisive, intelligent lyrics was performed with élan, but it was Hang Me Up To Dry, coinciding with the first glimpse of sunlight all weekend, that cemented their reputation as a formidable live act.

27. !!!
Music’s most unpronounceable act since The Artist Formally Known As Prince gave up the squiggle, Canadian dance-punkers !!! have garnered a much-deserved reputation as a live band. The irrepressible Nic Offer’s endearing awful method of “dancing” puts to mind a slightly more cogent Bez, the hip-hop stylings of Shannon Funchness added variety to the mix and if they sometimes seemed a bit lost on the Koko’s stage, the up-for-it vibe from the audience boosted their confidence. Energy levels cranked up a notch or three with “Me and Giuliani In The Schoolyard,” and if they occasionally came across as a second-rate LCD Soundsystem, the majority was impressive enough to make up for their stupid name.

26. PARTS AND LABOR
Completely unknown to me before their support slot for Battles, Parts and Labor came across as 65daysofstatic with the melodic nous of Ratatat. Needless to say, they were bloody good. And my God, they weren’t half loud either. Set closer Fractured Skies was as good a four minutes of fuzzy, dense post-rock genius as I’ve ever heard, performed with a brain-melting intensity that’d make Battles proud.

25. FROG EYES
One of the more idiosyncratic offshoots of the circle of brilliant Canadian musicians that spawned the likes of Wolf Parade, Handsome Furs and Sunset Rubdown, Frog Eyes’ first London show since 2003 could have been one of the shows of the year, if not for its distinct lack of Spencer Krug-osity. Attempting to recreate the power of their album’s swirling psychedelia without the keyboards so integral to their sound was always going to be a gruelling task, and some of their songs (Idle Songs, Bushels) are diminished despite the band’s best efforts. But overall, the new arrangements worked well and new song Paul’s Tomb employed Carey Mercer’s frenzied, impassioned wailing (a castrato Bowie being attacked by a swarm of hornets) and tremendous vocal control to quite astonishing effect- if the recorded version is even half as good as this, I can honestly see it topping Bushels. And that’s quite something.

24. RILO KILEY
New album “Under The Blacklight” may have suffered more than its fair share of hipster disdain, but Rilo Kiley’s shift from alt-country to sultry disco is a perfect fit for their live show. Dispatching their biggest hit Portions for Foxes so early in their set may have been suicidal for less proficient acts, but former child star Jenny Lewis delivers their new (sometimes rather cheesy) material with charm and professionalism, aided by one of the most perfectly balanced sound mixes I’ve heard at a gig. Even the oft-overshadowed Blake Sennett had his moment in the sun, making the plaintive mandolin strum of Ripchord his own. On the evidence here, they’ve improved leaps and bounds since 2005, and it’ll be interesting to see where they’ll go from here.

23. MENOMENA
The Portland three-piece sound a bit like Mercury Rev, a bit like the Earlies but mostly they sound like themselves. Their marvellous “Friends and Foes” album has been one of my most listened-to discs of the year, and though their live show is a very different beast it still displays their unusual degree of imagination and inventiveness. From the swooning melodies of Rotten Hell to the discordant, jagged The Pelican, they produce a much larger sound than their three members would suggest, and even though the lashings of baritone sax, keyboards, guitars and pedals don’t produce as rich a sound as their recorded efforts, they succeed with much more flair than most acts in their position.

22. MUSE
Subtle: no. Awesome: damn straight. Matt Bellamy was out to rock the foundations of Wembley Stadium right from the outset, and the triple-whammy of Knights of Cydonia, Hysteria and Supermassive Black Hole set a pace that barely let up over the show’s two hour duration. Treating the 70,000-strong audience to a 23-song behemoth of a setlist, Muse raided their back-catalogue for all it was worth and not even the band’s chronic lack of personality could dampen the enthusiasm of the crowd. Plug In Baby was as monumental as you’d expect, as was most of the Origin of Symmetry material but it was the pyrotechnics that really took your breath away- flames bursting from the front of the stage; cartwheeling, confetti-dispensing ballerinas floating about on hot air balloons and a breathtaking array of mobile phone lights illuminating the stadium like a galaxy of stars. So what if it was all a bit soulless; it’s not often you get to see a show of such scale and ambition. Spectacular in every sense of the word.

21. PATRICK WOLF
The man with the best wardrobe in indie, Patrick Wolf has continually impressed over the last year. He made the best of a difficult job supporting Arcade Fire at Brixton; his Latitude slot was one of the top three sets of that festival and his Christmas show was a stylishly flamboyant end to this superb year of gigs. Niftily balancing the brooding, dramatic balladry of old and the camp, literate pop he moved towards in his most recent effort, he’s become a showman worthy of his musical abilities, imbued with a confidence that was previously lacking. As long as he doesn’t let his fragile temperament get to him, I can just see him getting better and better- let’s hope he doesn’t screw it up.



20. MARTHA WAINWRIGHT
Hailing from one of the most talented families in music, Martha Wainwright has stepped out of the shadow of her flamboyant, eccentric brother Rufus to prove herself as an exceptional musician in her own right. Her voice may not have the character of say, Regina Spektor’s, but its down-to-earth sincerity combined with her folky, vivacious demeanour is just as enchanting, and coupled with songs as emotional as Bloody Motherfucking Asshole she’s more honest, and ultimately more satisfying than her more famous sibling. Nice, if entirely unnecessary, guest spot from Pete Townsend too.

19. OF MONTREAL
Hiding desperately dark lyrics about depression and drug abuse under chirpy synth-disco melodies, the fey, awkward Kevin Barnes wouldn’t strike you as a natural showman. But clad in tight PVC hotpants, and a whores-worth of makeup, the Of Montreal frontman camps it up to high heaven for a show that one part gig, one part panto. A lack of live drums hurts a couple of songs, but She’s A Rejector, The Party’s Crashing Us and the 12 minute prog-monster that’s The Past Is A Grotesque Animal all shine in a show that combined music and theatrics with equal aplomb.

18. TWO GALLANTS
Making the White Stripes look like Renee and Renato, the Delta Blues duo are one of the most exhilarating live experiences around. Adam Stephen’s croaked, visceral howl is fuelled by a furious, wild-eyed passion but the star of the show’s inarguably the uber-awesome Tyson Vogel. As a Guardian journalist so aptly put it, “he doesn’t so much play the drums as explode in their general direction;” a wild, flailing dervish of drumsticks and energy whose rhythmic talent is second to none. The new songs are too derivative of their older songs to make a mark, but classics like Steady Rollin’ and Las Cruces Jail never fail to blow me away.

17. REGINA SPEKTOR
Perhaps she lacks the quirky spark of old, but the Russian-American songstress is still a one-of-a-kind performer. Cutting a more professional, less eccentric figure than before, her piano-led anti-folk, full of wry observations mixing the mundane and fantastical remain as charming as ever, and are a perfect fit for the modernist grandeur of the revamped Royal Festival Hall. Her vocals, as always, are the centrepiece of the show, her broad New York twang belieing the crystal clarity and remarkable versatility of her voice and even an all-too-familiar set list couldn’t diminish her brilliance.

16. BEIRUT
Zach Condon’s love affair with Europe continues unabated, with his new album “The Flying Cup Club” moving on from the Balkan influences of his debut to a distinctly Gallic vibe. His live show has consequently evolved, with the brass-heavy balladry of old giving way to a greater emphasis on accordion and violin. What hasn’t changed is Condon’s marvellous baritone croon, nor the proficiency of his ever-growing entourage of backing musicians. The Sufjan-in-Arabia bounce of In The Mausoleum and accordion-infused Nantes are welcome new additions to the Beirut repertoire, although none of the new songs quite match the stupendous Siki Siki Baba or Elephant Gun.

15. FEIST
Yeah, yeah- 1234 has been played to death but a predilection to commercialism doesn’t make Leslie Feist any less superb a performer.
The most charismatic songstress I’ve seen this year, I wasn’t expecting all that much from her beforehand, but her smoky, soulful vocals, easy-going banter and outstanding backing band made her shows a treat from start to finish. The Nina Simone-inspired gospel spiritual Sealion stood out as the highpoint, but she breathes new life into even the weakest of her songs, and the elaborate marriage proposal she engineered for an audience member suggests she’s a lovely person to boot.

14. THE EARLIES
Still Britain’s most underrated live band. The half-Texan, half-Mancunian outfit merge squelchy prog-rock and blissful psychedelia with fantastic results, and
their 10-member entourage wielding an orchestra’s-worth of instrumentation mean their live shows never fail to deliver a sumptuous feast for the ears.
It’d be great to see them to play more from their fantastic debut (the slow-burning but heavenly One Of Us Was Dead was one of the most gorgeous listening experiences of the year) but they still have more character and complexity to their music than any NME cover non-entity you’d care to name.

13. LCD SOUNDSYSTEM
Less a dance party than a localised battlefield, LCD Soundsystem’s Brixton gig was not for the faint-hearted. The cowbell-tastic Us Vs Them had the crowd going crazy from the get-go, and by the time we’d reached North American Scum it was total, every-man-for-himself mayhem. But hey, to expect any less of a reaction to James Murphy’s critically-acclaimed punk-funksters would have been foolish indeed. The man himself is an unlikely indie hero; a slightly podgy, genial 38-year old who ambles good-naturedly round the stage directing the action, but with the music and atmosphere so frantic, you barely had time to acknowledge his presence as you were swept along in the latest surge of bodies. Didn’t stop it from being completely brilliant though, even though it took days for my legs to recover…

12. THE POLYPHONIC SPREE
One of the first bands I ever saw, Tim DeLaughter’s 20-strong multi-instrumental cult return with a darker-tinged, but no less rapturous live show. Bedecked in cod-military uniform rather than the robes of old, their choral paeans to love, happiness and general hippy-ish claptrap still have the power to inspire joy in even the hardest of hearts, despite the curiously flat sound mix. I’d forgotten quite how great their debut was, and although the formula wore thin over two hours it was overall a pretty damn enjoyable performance. Nice touch to include a bit of Tripping Daisy in there too, even if no-one else really appreciated it.

11. GOGOL BORDELLO
Who doesn’t love the Gypsy Punk?! I’ve waxed lyrical about Eugene Hutz’s gypsy-punk mentalists time and time again, but I can’t iterate enough about how great a live proposition they are. New album Super Taranta is the most solid LP they’ve released, and the likes of “Supertheory of Supereverything” and the outstanding “American Wedding” sit well amongst old favourites like Mishto and Start Wearing Peopl. Hutz himself is a whirlwind of moustachioed charisma; an eccentric, reckless anarchist with no room for rules or authority. But one can’t help but feel that they’re increasingly being forced to compromise between their anarchic punk roots and the venues needed to accommodate their ever-increasing fanbase; the Hammersmith Apollo curtailed the stage invasions, crowd-surfing and even the drum-riding finale that are par-for-the-course at smaller Gogol gigs, and it all seemed less genuine as a result. Still, any band that can get the whole Apollo moshing from front to back (including the balcony) is obviously doing something right, and there’s no denying Hutz has got the most awesome ‘tache in the business.



10. MÙM
Proving that innovation and childish glee aren’t mutually exclusive, Icelanders Mùm pulled off the surprise coup of the year and gained a well-deserved, if entirely unexpected place in this Top 10. Complaints that departures from the band had left them reliant on backing tapes were addressed with a 20-member(!) retinue that gave their lovely electronic soundscapes and quirky glitchy pop a complexity and richness far beyond anything their recorded output would suggest, typified by the breathtakingly lush “Marmalade Fires.” Enchanting, captivating and decidedly unserious, the most downright lovely show of ’07.



9. THE HOLD STEADY
Who would have thought watching five middle aged men living out their dreams of being Springsteen could be so much fun? Their keyboard-heavy bar blues don’t exactly ooze originality and frontman Craig Finn is as far away from being “cool” as humanely possible, but that’s all part of their charm; their boundless enthusiasm and instant melodies, full of catchy hooks and singalong phrases make them the perfect party band. Props to the wine bottle twirling, beret-clad, twirly-moustachioed keyboardist who’s evidently the real star of the show; there really aren’t enough people who look like pantomime villains in modern music.



8. OKKERVIL RIVER
I’d never really got Texan folk-rockers Okkervil River. I’d admired their songwriting and liked their melodies but there was something about their records that’s never quite sat with me. But as a live band…well, they’re something else. True, Will Sheff’s singing does have a fairly loose relationship to the melodies at hand, but for passion, style and overall consistency they impressed me as much as any act this year. Gifted with a flair for the dramatic, and a wide range of instruments, they finally gave their excellent melodies the arrangements and energy they deserved, and Our Life Is Not A Movie Or Maybe seguing into For Real was pure brilliance in musical form. Still don’t like their albums, but what ya gonna do?



7. O’ DEATH
The best support act of 2007, O’ Death were a breath of fresh air in a slot too often taken by over-earnest acoustic troubadours or ten-a-penny Libertines wannabees. A riotous, yee-hawing explosion of gothic bluegrass, they had the unrestrained, manic energy of Funeral-era Arcade Fire, the instrumental skill of Hayseed Dixie, and actually impressed me more than the (none-too-shabby) headliners. And that was nothing compared to their absolutely phenomenal headline show at the Kilburn Luminaire. Delivering more verve and intensity in one song as many bands manage in an entire career (the venue’s manager wrote it was the best show they’d ever put on there) the rollocking Only Daughter Of Mine reached such breakneck speeds the violinist looked like he was going to explode and not even a dreadfully corporate audience could ruin a never-less-than-scintillating performance.



6. BATTLES
John Stanier is a man’s man. A relentless, mechanical ubermensch, he’s drenched in sweat by the second song and by the middle of the set he looks like he’s going to faint. But nothing’s going to stop him hammering his kit and absurdly high cymbal with such force that you can see the sawdust flying off his drumstick, or hinder his inhuman accuracy even when dealing with the most complex time signatures. Watching him drum is worth the price of admission alone, but the rest of the band unbelievably share the same level of technical proficiency; Tyondai Braxton playing guitar and keyboard simultaneously when not beatboxing or providing vocodered chipmunk vocals, Ian Williams adding angular guitar and keys and Dave Konopka messing about with the electronics when he’s not interlocking time signatures with frighteningly clockwork precision with Stanier. Yes, they succumb to pretentiousness from time to time, but after hearing the staggeringly, tremendously sublime Atlas (one of the top 10 live songs I’ve ever heard) I’m willing to forgive them anything. The most exciting discovery of the year.



5. THE NATIONAL
Eschewing special effects and razzmatazz for good, old-fashioned musicianship, The National have taken me aback time and time again with just how damn good they are. There’s an intensity about their shows that’s hard to fake; the awkward, gangly Matt Berninger’s uneasiness with being under the spotlight manifesting itself as total absorption in his performance, his rich, whisky-soaked baritone often cracking with barely-contained emotion. The anthemic Mr. November and Abel are obvious highpoints (Matt leaning over the barrier in front of me during the Astoria gig was particularly memorable) and Padme Newsome’s flamboyant violin during Fake Empire deserves a mention, but The National are often best at their most understated. That fact alone may limit their appeal- they don’t provide a spectacle, they’re not ostentatious or even particularly charismatic, but they’re fucking good musicians. And that, sometimes, is enough.



4. BJORK
Bjork’s headlining set at Glastonbury’s Other Stage was truly a feast for the senses- a whole smorgasbord of special effects, lasers, an orchestra who seemingly looted the Polyphonic Spree’s “Together We’re Heavy”-era robes, heavy electronic beats and the unmistakable voice of the Icelandic pop-pixie herself. Despite a whole day of torrential rain, several inches of mud and severely aching legs, I couldn’t help but be entirely hypnotised; from the understated harpsichord-led arrangement of “Venus as a Boy” to a career-best performance of the brooding Bachelorette the pace never flagged, and the grinding glitchy techno of “Declare Independence” was a perfect closer to the most divine day of music I have, and possibly ever will witness.



3. I’M FROM BARCELONA
I’ve debated long and hard about where to place I’m From Barcelona on this list- I mean, they’re basically a novelty act, with all the depth and musical innovation of a rubber duck. But then again, I’ve never come out of a gig with uncontrollable giggles and the physical inability to remove the grin off my face for an hour after the show had ended, so I reckon they deserve this. Their songs are barely less simple than your average CBBC theme tune, but so insanely catchy than you can’t help but be swept along by their cheeriness, and the joyous anarchy, compered by the wonderfully moustachioed Emmanuel Lundgren, puts to mind a low-budget love child of the Flaming Lips and the Polyphonic Spree. 20+ members, vocals riffing on Wes Anderson films, home-made confetti, balloons galore, riding on audience member’s shoulders, all-out kazoo action and a stage invasion which had 150 people dancing with the band to a techno remix of their theme tune…it was less a gig than the BEST PARTY EVER.



2. JOANNA NEWSOM
If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s the acts you anticipate the least that end up impressing you the most. I can count on one hand the number of acts that have honestly affected me on an emotional level, but within two songs Joanna Newsom’s extraordinary performance at the Royal Albert Hall had me fighting back the tears. Despite the lushness of Van Park Dykes’ orchestration on Ys, the ten-minute long compositions work even better in the stripped-down, band-based format employed here, with the focus shifted entirely on the self-depreciating Newsom and her mesmerising harp playing. That sandpaper voice, so scratchy and irritating on record has been tamed and groomed into something beautiful, songs like Emily and Sawdust and Diamonds were transformed into something otherworldly in the opulent surroundings of the venue and if not for a underwhelming, drawn-out encore, it might well have been the best show of the year.



1. ARCADE FIRE
There’s a reason why I’ve seen this band fourteen times this year, and it’s not just my compulsive need to piss away cash. As the band that ignited my love of live music, Arcade Fire will always have a special place in my heart, and although they’ve sometimes fallen short of their own spectacular standards they remain the benchmark to which all other bands are measured. At their best, there’s not a live act on Earth to touch them, and I’ve had the sincere pleasure of seeing them at the pinnacle of their talents. Their incredible rendition of Haiti at BBC’s Maida Vale Studio stands out as the most animated individual performance of 2007, only matched by Richard Reed Parry and Will Butler’s comically violent antics during Laika at Ally Pally. Although the Neon Bible tracks still pale in comparison to their Funeral brethren, My Body Is A Cage has become one of the centrepieces of their repertoire, the stage set-up and musical arrangement brilliantly foreboding and allowing Win Butler a chance to show off his vastly improved vocal talents. And Crown of Love at Brixton Academy was euphoric like no other song I’ve ever witnessed; the intensity and passion from both band and audience was as spiritual as I’ve ever felt. But if there’s one single moment that sums up their magic as a live experience, it was their spur-of-the-moment acoustic performance of “Wake Up” on the steps of St. John’s Church, Westminster; a once-in-a-lifetime experience that’s unlikely to be topped as the most incredible musical moment of my life.



And for completions sake, the 10 worst, or most disappointing acts of 2007….



10. BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE
Well, “Broken Social Scene” is a bit of a misnomer really; “Kevin Drew Rambling A Lot, Whilst Occasionally Playing Some Stuff Off His Solid New Solo Album” would be a lot more accurate, if a wee bit less snappy. Cut down from twelve-plus members to five, the new-and-not-so-improved stripped down incarnation of Montreal’s favourite hipster collective were actually pretty good when they bothered to play some actual music, but a fatal combination of nerves and alcohol meant far too much time was wasted with aimless, slightly excruciating banter. Adding insult to injury is the fact that at their Koko show the following month, Emily Haines joined them for “Anthems For A Seventeen Year Old Girl”- all we got was Major Label Debut (Fast) and a couple of lesser old-school tracks. For shame, Kevin, for shame!

9. BLONDE REDHEAD
Well, they sounded really good during sound-check…The central problem, and it really was a problem at a show as intimate as their showcase at FOPP, is that they’re ultimately not much more than a jumped-up karaoke band. Yeah, their music is great (“23” is one of the singles of the year) but replacing most of the keyboards with backing tapes left the set floundering for a focal point. Singer Kazu Makino has a striking voice, but her fairly static, reserved stage persona isn’t nearly enough to carry a show by itself, and her two bandmates simply don’t do enough to dispel the feeling that you might as well be listening to the CD’s instead.

8. CARIBOU
Well, whoop-di-doo, they’ve got two drummers. So did Modest Mouse, and that didn’t make them any good either. A lot of people have been bumming on this band, but after seeing them twice I remain resolutely unimpressed. They have their occasional interesting moments, and you can’t fault them for sheer volume. But where’s the melodies? Where’s the love? And where’s my fucking drink?

7. THE KILLERS
If you can’t even get people going to “Mr. Brightside,” you know you’re in trouble. To be fair to the Las Vegas mob, the peculiar volume limits at Worthy Farm didn’t help them at all, but that doesn’t excuse the sterile, workaday performance from a band who should, and could have owned the Pyramid Stage. They reclaimed something from a deeply uninspiring 90 minutes with a rousing “All The Things That I’ve Done” but I don’t half wish I’d gone and seen Iggy Pop instead.

6. CAT POWER
Whoever persuaded Chan Marshall to pass herself off as some sort of low-rent Lady Sovereign should be hunted down and shot. At her best, Marshall’s emotional fragility has produced the most affectingly beautiful performances I’ve ever heard; one has only to see her appearance on Jools Holland or her sparse, impossibly raw cover of Otis Redding’s “Remember Me” to fall desperately in love with her. But she’s notoriously unreliable too, and her appearance at the Kentish Town Forum certainly won’t go down as her finest hour. To be charitable, at least she didn’t throw in the towel ten minutes in (as she’s infamously done in the past) but the turgid pub-band funk of her awful backing band almost made me wish she had. Stripped of all subtlety, one suspects the rare moments of genuine emotion that did break through were by accident rather than design and even though it’s good to see her happy, it’s a shame it’s had to come at the expense of her talent.

5. THE KOOKS
Indie music for 16 year old public school poshos. There’s no doubting they can play their instruments (which automatically makes them better than the View) and they can even knock out the odd catchy tune, but there’s a million better bands out there.

4. MODEST MOUSE
What a tragedy. “Good News For People Who Like Bad News” is one of my most beloved albums ever, so I was expecting a truly top-notch show from one of America’s most acclaimed indie acts. What we actually got was a shrugworthy saunter through their back-catalogue which not even a decent setlist could save. The Royal Albert Hall was completely the wrong venue for them in any case, and the terribly fuzzy sound didn’t help matters. The clash of egos between Isaac Brock and Johnny Marr provided some unintentional entertainment; the former getting increasingly pissed off as the former Smiths guitarist stole the limelight with his rock-star stylings, but it meant that the band never really seemed to work as a cohesive whole. And although they hit the mark with Black Cadillacs and Dashboard, they ballsed-up “Float On,” which is unforgivable. Biggest disappointment of the year.

3. DIRTY PRETTY THINGS
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

2. CLARK/FOUR TET
Battles at the Scala may have been the most downright impressive set of the year, but first I had to endure two mind-numbing hours of this dreary bollocks. Clark was a one-man experimental electronic artist, which was exactly as exciting as that sounds, but he was an exercise in uninhibited joyousness compared to Four Tet’s interminable “DJ Set,” which involved the desperately overrated folktronicist inflicting a barrage of droning noise whilst picking his noise nonchalantly in the corner. As much fun as contracting a minorly disfiguring skin disease.

1. THE VIEW
As talentless a bunch of wasters as I’ve ever bared witness too, the posturing, unlikeable Dundee lads pulled off the near-impossible and made their mediocre, by-the-numbers indie even less appealing than on record. Their attempts to get the audience to clap along were hindered by their complete inability to play in time, and their lack of anything approaching a decent tune was frankly depressing. With Make Model, Broken Records and Glasvegas making waves at the moment, it’s not like Scotland’s short of musical talent; there’s really no excuse for this sort of shod.

Right, that’s it. I’m done, finished, finito. Sigh a breath of relief, and grab yourself a biscuit or something. You deserve it.

EFTERKLANG (London Bush Hall, 23/11/07)

If Amiina covered the works of Joe Hisashi and underpinned it with the rhythmic precision of Battles, the result might sound a bit like Efterklang. Mostly ditching the swelling loud-soft dynamics so common of their post-rock ilk, the Danish band’s sound is a strikingly organic one; low key, acoustic, with subtle, unshowy timbres and a vocal style straight out of an early Soviet workers choir. Adding to this idiosyncratic mix is a unexpected math-rock element; there’s irregular time-signatures and clockwork-precise drumming a-plenty, although the notoriously impersonal, mechanical soullessness of that genre is mostly absent here.

As pretentious as this all may sound, it’s offset by the sheer enthusiasm of the group itself; far from the beard-stroking musos you’d expect, they’re bedecked in silly costumes, awful facial hair and a winningly easy-going nature. Full of gleeful enthusiasm, their obvious pleasure at playing to such an attentive audience made their music all the more enchanting; with a greater focus on vocal elements than on record, most notably on Towards The Bare Hill, it’s also instilled with far more warmth than you’d expect. And getting the whole of Bush Hall to join in the vocal harmonies of Cutting Ice Into Snow was a wonderfully communal moment, a real rarity in the “too-cool-to-care” hipster-dominated London scene. Having not expected overmuch from Efterklang, it was satisfying to see such complex, esoteric music performed with a lack of ego or self-indulgence and in the end, it proved to be one of the more understated highlights of the year.



Their violinist Peter Broderick was also good in support; although too many of his tracks came across as sketches rather than fully-formed compositions, his multi-looped vocal harmonies and interesting use of instruments (saws and plastic tubing) are definitely worth investigating further.

(Photos: Ragsmaloy (Flickr))

ARCADE FIRE (London Alexandra Palace, 17/11/07-19/11/07)

After a year of relentless touring, it’s all over. I’ve seen Arcade Fire 14 times this year, from the intimacy of the BBC’s Maida Vale Studios to the vast fields of Glastonbury. Some shows have been better than others, a couple have even disappointed but it still remains that at their best, there isn’t a single other band on the planet that can come close to their brilliance.

Saying that, Saturday wasn’t their best hour. The cavernous Ally Pally was never going to be an easy job for the sound people, and the acoustics did seem echo-ey and slightly thin throughout. More irritating were the violent, cerebrally-challenged contingent of drunken yobs and displaced Twang fans that crushed, punched, elbowed and generally inflicted discomfort upon anyone within 20 metres of the barrier. The band’s performance too seemed to lack something, despite a blinding start- the madcap Tom and Jerry chaos of Laika, which had Richard wildly chucking drumsticks across the stage at Will was the best rendition of that song I’d seen since the Funeral tour. But an ill-judged cover of the Smith’s Still Ill dissipated the momentum that’d been so carefully built up at the beginning of the show, and they never really recovered. Even Power Out and Rebellion were shorn of their usual energy, many fans unable to enjoy themselves due to the actions of the twattish minority. A breathtaking, frantic rendition of Wake Up (MOSHPIT!) did make up for some of the deficiencies and don’t get me wrong- it was still, in comparison to most bands, an excellent show but overall it fell short of their exceedingly high standards.



Luckily, the following night turned out to be one of the most wonderful displays of live music I have ever witnessed. The soundboard going kaput during My Body Is A Cage (and rendering Win’s vocals inaudible) prevented it from being the Best Gig Ever, but fuck me, it was definitely up there. It started off amazingly, with Black Mirror, Laika, No Cars Go and Haiti, before a mild dip with the middling My Body Is A Cage and the aforementioned MBIAC (although the unintended ‘instrumental’ version wasn’t actually that much of a disaster.) After sound was restored, they moved into the more chilled middle-section of their setlist; a delicate, subtle Neon Bible, a fantastic impromptu cover of Bruce Springsteen’s State Trooper (which could have come straight from their second album) and a rousing Intervention, much more impressive than Saturday’s lacklustre acoustic version. But, as much as I’d been enjoying myself thus far, I hadn’t seen nothing yet.



Seeing Headlights live had become something of an obsession for me since I first heard the divine Electric Picnic recording back in September 2005, but they’d cruelly avoided playing it any of the previous shows I'd been to. It would only appear at nights immediately before or after the ones I was at, and I'd convinced myself fate would forever deny me the chance to "ooooooooo-ooooo-oo-oo-oo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo" along with Regine and co. So, when Win announced those magic words, “this song’s called Headlights Look Like Diamonds,” I naturally started squealing like a Take That fangirl. And apart from the backing vocals being too low in the mix, it was perfect; the UKKer’s standing in front of me pulled me forward towards the barrier, I forgot the lyrics in my state of shock but God, I was so deliriously happy. I remember Will running back and forth across the stage like a madman, and violist Marika grinning at our little phalanx of obsessees going absolutely mental, but most of all, I remember the sheer sense of wonder at how, even after fifteen times seeing them, they could still completely take my breath away.



But that wasn’t enough for Arcade Fire, oh no. They then followed up with- in succession- The Well And The Lighthouse, Tunnels, (Antichrist Television Blues), Power Out, Rebellion, Keep The Car Running and finally, Wake Up; no less than 45 minutes of non-stop, heart-pounding, voicebox-destroying, pogo-tastic AWESOMENESS. The very definition of what a live show should be, I had tears of joy in my eyes by the end and underlined the reason why I’d fallen so completely in love with this band, and gigs as a whole, in the first place.



Understandably, Monday couldn’t live up to the utterly sublime show the night before, but it was still a wonderful send-off. The main niggle was the rather par-for-the-course setlist, apart from a gorgeous cover of New Order’s “Age of Consent” and a welcome appearance of recent B-side “Surf City Eastern Block,” but any failures on the surprises front was easily made up for with a sublime, no-holds-barred performance. If Laika on Saturday had been fantastic, Monday’s was GODLY- by far the best rendition of that song I have ever seen. Richard and Will picked each other up, wrestled on the ground, used each other as ad hoc drumkits and at one point even fell off the stage, bleeding and bruised. The wilfully anarchic spirit so notably absent at their earlier shows this year was out in full force, and this energy carried to every other part of their set. (Antichrist Television Blues) was as good as I’ve ever heard it, having become as intrinsic an element of the live show as anything else off Neon Bible- I particularly liked how Richard, Will, Win and Regine crowded round a single mic during the final verses, as if they were some Depression-era blues act. And the final Wake Up of the tour was both poignant and euphoric, with support band Wild Light randomly commandeering instruments whilst band and audience to a man put their all into making it the most perfect ending possible to Arcade Fire’s last UK show for two years.



Finally, as amazing as this band are, it wouldn’t have been half the experience without the folks I’ve met on the way. I’ve made some great friends this year, and it’s been an pleasure getting to chat to so many people from such a variety of different places. Roll on 2009!

(Photos: Alan Bee (Flickr); John Gleeson))

TWO GALLANTS (London Koko, 14/11/07)

What can I say- Two Gallants are one of the most consistently awesome live bands around. Their distinctive Americana-meets-Delta Blues sound isn’t normally my sort of thing at all, but this unshaven, slightly disreputable duo perform it with such rough-hewn vibrancy that they put all but a handful of other bands to shame.

Adam Stephens' croaked, passionate howl and nimble fretwork are extraordinary enough, but the real star’s Tyson Vogel; a scrawny, wild-haired figure who ranks as the most amazing drummer (Battles’ John Stanier excepted) in the business. His unreal sense of rhythm (not to mention kit-obliterating forcefulness) is genuinely jaw-dropping, his arms flailing about in blur of drum-rupturing chaos. If the new songs seem too derivative of their older works to live up to expectations, then there’s enough classics scattered about the set to make for it- Steady Rollin’ prompted an audience-wide sing-along, and Las Cruces Jail instigated a minor riot near the front. It’s fantastic to see a band I first watched in front of 30 people command a crowd of over a thousand only two years later, and if there’s any justice in the world they’ll be playing to even more in years to come.

(Photo: Jacob Saunders (Flickr))

FROG EYES (London Luminaire, 11/11/07)

After a four year hiatus, Canada’s premier borderline-psychotic four-piece make a mostly triumphant return to London- despite an potentially set-destroying lack of keyboard action. Yes, that’s right- the swirling psychedelic arpeggios and clashing chords that lie at the heart of the Frog Eyes experience are completely absent from the live show, vaguely approximated using guitars or omitted entirely. It’s a shock to the system, but to their credit they somehow carry it off…well, for the most part.

Carey Mercer’s mystical, esoteric lyrics (or fevered ramblings of a madman, depends on your point of view) are delivered with his characteristic frenzied yelp, like a castrated David Byrne rolling through a field of nettles. It’s definitely an acquired taste, but if anything his voice sounds better live, his vocal control quite magnificent to behold. His wife Melanie impresses on the drums, taking the plentiful tempo changes in her stride, whilst the other two members manfully, if not entirely successfully, try to fill the void left by Spencer Krug’s absence (who’s too busy swanning about North America with the sublime Sunset Rubdown.) The problems manifest themselves most seriously on material from their latest album Tears Of The Valedictorian; Idle Songs, Stockades, and even stone-cold masterpiece Bushels were all inevitably diminished without Spencer’s keys.

Luckily, the old songs fared much better, with Masticated Outnoard Motors and One In Six Children Flee In Boats particularly enjoyable, although the night’s unquestioned highlight was brand new track Paul’s Tomb, obviously constructed with keyboard-lessness in mind. Rivalling Bushels as the epitome of Frog Eyes’ distinctive sound, it showcased Carey at his very best, with some mind-blowing vocal gymnastics towards the end of its epic 8 minute duration. But despite the many musical marvels on offer, one still couldn’t help thinking how much better it could have been if Spencer had been there.

(Photo: Realname (Flickr))

BEIRUT (London Roundhouse, 10/11/07)

Only one year on from their support set at the Camden Roundhouse, 21-year-old Balkan aficionado Zach Condon and his rag-tag group of musicians find themselves returning to the iconic London venue- this time as headiner. This meteoric rise to prominence is well-deserved; the baby-faced prodigy’s mix of stirring indie balladry infused with strong Gypsy influences is perfect fodder for a live show, and with his ever-expanding entourage by his side it simply gets better and better.

Touring new album “The Flying Cup Club,” their semaphore LP finds them taking inspiration from the smoke-filled cafes of Paris, the city where Condon now resides. Although not yet as accomplished as their earlier work, the Sufjan-in-Arabia bounce of In The Mausoleum and the accordion-infused Nantes hold up impressively well against old favourites Postcards From Italy and Elephant Gun, although songs like The Penalty still lack much-needed oomph. Zach himself has progressed leaps and bounds in the last year, his crippling stage-fright replaced with a quiet confidence and his rich, characterful croon, evocative of Morrissey (sans sneer) sounds better than ever. The acoustics and mix (at least at the front) were as perfect as I’ve ever heard at a gig; the trumpets were warm and clear, the violin (so often submerged under guitars, brass and other such frippery) was always audible and the volume was pitched impeccably, allowing the full force of their ramshackle orchestral sound to encompass the Roundhouse.

If the setlist was slightly imbalanced at times, the quality of the music generally covered for it, and the Soviet brass march of Gulag Orkestar and brilliant Romanian standard Siki Siki Baba formed one of the most enjoyable encores I’ve seen in a long time. I’ve seen Beirut six times now, and this was easily their finest performance so far- if they can make their newer stuff as compelling as the rest of their oeuvre, one can only imagine how amazing they’d be.

(Photo: Littlejonesie (Flickr))

ANDREW BIRD (London Koko, 09/11/07)

Andrew Bird’s a frustrating guy. He’s obviously a ridiculously talented individual; a virtuoso on violin, a dab hand on piano and a peerless whistler to boot. His albums, too, are superb- his latest disc Armchair Apocrypha is one of my favourite albums of 2007. But despite this manifestly winning combination, he’s never as good live as the evidence suggests he should be.

His choice of setlists is an issue; although heavily weighted towards the new material, his tendency to plump for obscurities for crowd-pleasers can overwhelm all but the most hardcore Bird fan. A more notable weakness however derives from his inability to decide quite what he wants to be. Variety’s a fine thing, but his wild veering between straight-laced indie balladeer and experimental sonic manipulator (often in the same song) leads otherwise perfectly decent songs to succumb under the weight of unnecessary self-indulgence. It’s a shame, as when they do work, his multi-instrumental looping exercises deliver outstanding results (see-Palindromes, Plasticities, Dark Matter) but his unfortunate habit of stretching and overlaying a song to excess too often proves his downfall.

His best moments come when he ditches the pretentiousness and dons his “mad music professor” guise on songs like Why? and Dr. Strings. Relying on charisma rather than the loop pedal, they communicate his remarkable musical skills far better than faffing about with fancy-pants technology ever will. It just goes to show: sometimes, less is definitely more.

(Photo: Guillaime Michelet (Flickr))

THE NATIONAL (Shepherd’s Bush Empire, 08/11/07)

To think a year ago I didn’t care for the National. Their cult hit Alligator, although loved by many of my peers, left me cold and it’s only since the release of the superb Boxer that I’ve learnt the tragic error of my ways. But it’s their quality as a live act that’s fully converted me from nay-sayer to fully paid-up fanboy.

Central to that is their vocalist Matt Berninger; his whisky-soaked baritone (tempered with a subtly sardonic tinge) the centrepiece of their beautifully melancholic odes to love and loss. His obvious awkwardness at playing the frontman manifests itself in a total absorption in his performance, providing an emotionally charged, almost uncomfortably intense experience. Balancing out the seriousness of Berninger is Padme Newsome, adding a dash of flamboyance to proceedings with his frantic violin contributions; the rest of the band are no less impressive, with Bryan Devendorf’s unshowy but technically stunning efforts on the drums particularly worthy of praise. The show itself was a marvel, a display of an act at the height of their powers- an unexpectedly generous setlist, Berninger on fine form (even cracking jokes!) and some simple but very effective light effects contributing to the enchanting atmosphere.

As my appreciation for Alligator grows, I found many of my highlights derived from that album, most notably Secret Meeting and a touching Daughters Of The Soho Riots. A subdued (if thoroughly respectful) audience meant that their out-and-out anthems Abel and Mr. November lacked the sheer euphoria of May’s Astoria show, but a number of more subtle treats (oldie Wasp’s Nest, Squalor Victoria, and personal favourite Apartment Story) compensated for the lack of vigour. But for me, the zenith of a night full of high-points was the glorious Fake Empire, unrecognisable from the underwhelming renditions of the shows earlier this year. Culminating in a swelling storm of intricate guitar and chaotic strings, they’ve stopped trying to recreate the interlocking syncopated rhythms of the original, and given it a simpler, but infinitely more satisfying conclusion. In a way, it’s symbolic of the band as a whole; a year of solid touring has honed their performance to perfection, with thoroughly sublime results. One of the most talented bands around, The National prove that in this world obsessed with image and glamour, there’s still a place for good, old-fashioned musicianship.

(Photo: Rhyca54 (Flickr))

!!! (London Koko, 07/11/07)

Having missed out on semi-legendary disco-funk-punk act !!! (pronounced ‘Chk Chk Chk’) three times already this year, I finally was allowed the opportunity to rectify this unfortunate state of affairs. Support came from Holy F**k, the great discovery of this year’s Glastonbury Festival whose accomplished set was almost worth the price of admission alone. Like a more accessible step-brother to Battles, they lack the technical razzle-dazzle of the aforementioned math-rock heroes, but their ad-hoc approach and old-school Casio keyboard stylings strike a more endearingly light-hearted note. Their on-stage layout is more inspired than most; the two central members of the band facing each other like wargamers trying to outgeek each-other on the battlefield of glitchy, danceable electronica, their weapons two tables decked with pedals, knobs and sound-distorting devices of all shapes and sizes. Innovative but none-too-serious, they’re a band well worth checking out in their own right.

As for the headliners, they share the same musical palette as LCD Soundsystem with a slightly more lyrical bent, although under the thumping bass and the venue’s notoriously unreliable sound system it was difficult to distinguish anything so subtle as actual words. But hey, !!! are out to make you dance, not think, and in that they succeed with flying colours. Nic Offer’s irrepressible frontman in the vein of Les Savy Fav’s Tim Harrington, and shares that same enviable knack of effortlessly working a crowd; his awful if boundlessly enthusiastic dance moves and disdain for mere rules of health adding a metric ton of charisma to an otherwise no-frills performance. Shannon Funchness, a New York version of The Go! Team’s Ninja added her far stronger vocal skills to the mix on several tracks, and if the rest of the band looked lost on the vast stage of the Koko, it didn’t impact on their proficient musicianship.

If there’s one flaw in the equation, it’s their lack of truly memorable tunes, but to be honest you’ll be too busy jumping around the place to care. Not quite as good as LCDSS I must admit, but don’t let that put you off- they thoroughly deserve their reputation as the party animals of the indie circuit.

(Photo: Holly Erskine (Flickr))

THOSE DANCING DAYS (London Water Rats, 03/11/07)

Hailing from the Swedish school of superior pop that’s produced such fine alumni as The Concretes, I’m From Barcelona and Loney, Dear, Those Dancing Days are another worthy addition to the country’s burgeoning music scene. Their addictive bubblegum pop doesn’t exactly ooze originality, but their enviable knack for sweet synth melodies and lead lady Linnea’s glacial but soulful vocals makes them a guiltily satisfying pleasure. They stand up well as a live act too; despite looking about 12 they’re a confident, talented bunch. Current single Hitten leads to a communal singalong, and by the time they reached their final tune (their ubiquitous title track), the tiny Water Rats venue had descended into full-scale dance party chaos. A very promising start; may their dancing days long continue!