Monday 7 November 2011
Drop It Like It's Hot...
In the aftermath of a fire, it is always the embers which burn the hottest. Amidst scenes of great desolation, tiny fragments of that which raged relentlessly still remain.
This is Embers in a nutshell.
Formerly Lost Knives, minus their previous drummer and adapting a whole new direction, Embers early offerings are raw and ultimately, relentless.
The lineage of Manchester's music is well documented, and it's often cited that in Manchester, bleak is best. "It's grim up North" they say. Whoever 'they' are. This is what Manchester does best, it's not here to hold your hand, to tell you "everything's going to be alright."
The city itself has never had the glitz of London, or The Beatles, yet it carries on. Raging. Brooding. 'Days Turn Into Weeks' embodies this and threatens to be as vast and poignant as the material being released by The Horrors at the moment.
Dark, gothic and simmering away behind closed doors, Embers is a project that shows great potential. Keep your ear to the ground for the inevitable live bombardment as they aim to right the wrongs that came before them, and burn anew.
Tuesday 18 October 2011
Hatchets Buried, 'Originals' at the Ready
You’ll have to forgive me on this one. I know I’ve been prone to hyperbole in the past, and sometimes it’s unjustified. However, with something as cathartic and raw as music, it’s a natural response.
It’s very easy to get all wrapped up in the feelings of “what might be?” with the announcement of a new album from your favourite band, or the prospect of a tour, or the latent, post-foetal glow of “the best gig ever.”
Like I say, it is not giddy, it is what it is.
2011 has, again, been ‘The Year of the Reformation’, with indie demi-gods The Strokes and Britpop mastodon’s Pulp leading the way.
That was until around 4pm today, for 18/10/2011 will go down as a day in British music history as the day The Stone Roses finally decided to build bridges, and announce a new album and two comeback shows at Manchester’s Heaton Park. Both of which will be a prefix to a planned world tour.
Now I’m sure the pessimists and those who steer clear of ‘Madchester’ and all it’s nostalgia will together, groan collectively at the sight and sound of Manchester’s ‘Old Guard’ rearing their demonic, cocaine battered heads, but you know what? Fuck ‘em.
I have my doubts, yes. Brown’s always been questionable live, Mani could barely stand up during Primal Scream’s set at Glasto he was that battered and I’m not looking forward to the painful six minute instrumental ‘Foz’. In fact, I hope they swerve a fair bit of ‘Second Coming’, although I’d imagine that album’s prominence in the pending set-list was probably a clause in John Squire’s contract.
Seriously though, despite the negative tones of the above paragraph, does it all really matter? It’s ‘The Roses’. They, along with others, gave voice to a disgruntled Manchester, down trodden by the political and economical holocaust that beset the country under Thatcher’s rule.
Brown, Squire, Mani and Reni had people dancing in an environment when only bleakness seemed to prevail. Their timing, given the current mood and state of the country, is apt and probably no coincidence.
There’s nothing wrong with harking back to a time and scene that’s happened over 20 years ago, nothing wrong with it at all. Like they say, you can’t know where you’re going until you know where you’ve been. Chances are some pen pushers are going to claim this is a setback for all the creativity and excitement that has burst out of England recently. For me though, The Roses pushed British music forward about 30 years anyway, so when you add it up, we’re still a decade ahead of the curve. So fret not.
I don’t care if they were before my time, or even that I will never truly experience the mood and variables that helped the band become who they were. That’s irrelevant. I have my own connection with the band, my own memories of how I felt when they came on in a club. My own imitation of Ian Brown’s swagger whenever ‘I Wanna Be Adored’ played in 42nd Street, when I was an 18 year old little muppet acting hard because of vodka and red bull.
It’s our turn now and whether non-conformists like it or not, these gigs are going to happen. Well, providing Brown and Squire can stay mates for eight months.
So, to the naysayers I say this, go and trawl Youtube looking for piss poor vocal performances by Brown. Laugh at Squire’s egotism on ‘Second Coming’, or Mani’s white outfit at Benicassim 2011. Ask “who is John Reni anyway?”
And whilst you’re all sat in your room, I’m going to go down to Heaton Park with 75,000 other folk, sing every song at the top of my voice and have the time of my life.
That is if I manage to get a ticket.
It’s very easy to get all wrapped up in the feelings of “what might be?” with the announcement of a new album from your favourite band, or the prospect of a tour, or the latent, post-foetal glow of “the best gig ever.”
Like I say, it is not giddy, it is what it is.
2011 has, again, been ‘The Year of the Reformation’, with indie demi-gods The Strokes and Britpop mastodon’s Pulp leading the way.
That was until around 4pm today, for 18/10/2011 will go down as a day in British music history as the day The Stone Roses finally decided to build bridges, and announce a new album and two comeback shows at Manchester’s Heaton Park. Both of which will be a prefix to a planned world tour.
Now I’m sure the pessimists and those who steer clear of ‘Madchester’ and all it’s nostalgia will together, groan collectively at the sight and sound of Manchester’s ‘Old Guard’ rearing their demonic, cocaine battered heads, but you know what? Fuck ‘em.
I have my doubts, yes. Brown’s always been questionable live, Mani could barely stand up during Primal Scream’s set at Glasto he was that battered and I’m not looking forward to the painful six minute instrumental ‘Foz’. In fact, I hope they swerve a fair bit of ‘Second Coming’, although I’d imagine that album’s prominence in the pending set-list was probably a clause in John Squire’s contract.
Seriously though, despite the negative tones of the above paragraph, does it all really matter? It’s ‘The Roses’. They, along with others, gave voice to a disgruntled Manchester, down trodden by the political and economical holocaust that beset the country under Thatcher’s rule.
Brown, Squire, Mani and Reni had people dancing in an environment when only bleakness seemed to prevail. Their timing, given the current mood and state of the country, is apt and probably no coincidence.
There’s nothing wrong with harking back to a time and scene that’s happened over 20 years ago, nothing wrong with it at all. Like they say, you can’t know where you’re going until you know where you’ve been. Chances are some pen pushers are going to claim this is a setback for all the creativity and excitement that has burst out of England recently. For me though, The Roses pushed British music forward about 30 years anyway, so when you add it up, we’re still a decade ahead of the curve. So fret not.
I don’t care if they were before my time, or even that I will never truly experience the mood and variables that helped the band become who they were. That’s irrelevant. I have my own connection with the band, my own memories of how I felt when they came on in a club. My own imitation of Ian Brown’s swagger whenever ‘I Wanna Be Adored’ played in 42nd Street, when I was an 18 year old little muppet acting hard because of vodka and red bull.
It’s our turn now and whether non-conformists like it or not, these gigs are going to happen. Well, providing Brown and Squire can stay mates for eight months.
So, to the naysayers I say this, go and trawl Youtube looking for piss poor vocal performances by Brown. Laugh at Squire’s egotism on ‘Second Coming’, or Mani’s white outfit at Benicassim 2011. Ask “who is John Reni anyway?”
And whilst you’re all sat in your room, I’m going to go down to Heaton Park with 75,000 other folk, sing every song at the top of my voice and have the time of my life.
That is if I manage to get a ticket.
Tuesday 24 May 2011
Wednesday 20 April 2011
Mash It Up...
Nice little skim through some great songs from over the years. Hats off to the folk at 6Music.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/podcasts/series/joyof6
http://www.bbc.co.uk/podcasts/series/joyof6
Sunday 10 April 2011
The Comeback Kid...
Agent Provocateurs, there's a quite a few of them on God's green. People that incite debate, anger, frustration and a whole host of other emotions. Harry from The Only Way Is Essex, Jessie J, and Lucifer's own emissary of heated debate, Gary Neville. Individuals such as these are loved by some, reviled by others. Except for Jessie J, she's just a dick.
However, none of them lot hold a candle to Kanye West. The Chicago native incites all kinds of palavar, and every so often, downright encourages controversy. Sometimes it's humorous, "George Bush doesn't care about Black people", for example. In other cases, it leaves a sour taste in one's mouth. His hissy fit during the EMAs after he lost out to Justice in the Best Video category for instance. Ahhhhhhhh, you all thought I was going to harp on about poor Taylor Swift. Suckers.
"Yeezy's" taken a few hard hits of late, none moreso than his Mother's untimely death. Obama labelling him a "jackass", probably didn't help his Jupiter sized ego neither. Jay Leno more or less broke him when after his bumrushing of Taylor Swift, the chat show stalwart asked King Kanye how his mother would of reacted to the Hennessy fuelled sabotage?
Let's have it right, he's been a bit hit and miss since the stellar College Dropout, showing occasional flashes of brilliance with songs like 'Flashing Lights', 'We Major' and 'Crack Music'. Yet nothing has really floored you like 'All Falls Down', 'Never Let Me Down' and ultimately, the amazing 'Through The Wire'.
Kanye's always been a feller with an ear for a sample and often hilarious turns of phrase. Yet he seemed to lose his way a little with 808s and Heartbreaks, an ode to a stormy break-up with on off missus Amber Rose and his Mother's passing.
The haters thought they'd had their moment of triumph, writing Kanye's obituaries and celebrating the demise of the biggest selfdom in Hip-Hop since LL Cool J. Mistake. The worst error with an adversary, is to consider them unecessary. This will build a resentment in said foe, who, if they have anything about them, will turn that resentment into drive and use it as fuel to fuck you up.
Enter My Dark Twisted Fantasy.
It's an epic album, his biggest project yet. The music geeks over at Pitchfork drew similarities to Michael Jackson in relation to the scope of it all. They weren't wrong, really. Every song on the album is a haymaker, and it's difficult to really single out a favourite without getting in a twist. It's like trying to name your favourite character in The Wire (today it's Bunk, yesterday it was Body).
It's safe to say, Kanye is back. In the past two or three years, Wayne, T.I. and Big Boi have raised the bar that Kanye himself challenged them to equal with his hole-in-one first LP. Things appear to have come full circle as the Chicago rapper returns to the summit of rap with his fifth opus.
However, it'll all be irrelevant once the good doctor returns with Detox.
Until then, enjoy the video to 'All of The Lights'. And no, I haven't decided to post this one because Rihanna's side boob is draped all over it. Ahem.
Ta-ta for now.
However, none of them lot hold a candle to Kanye West. The Chicago native incites all kinds of palavar, and every so often, downright encourages controversy. Sometimes it's humorous, "George Bush doesn't care about Black people", for example. In other cases, it leaves a sour taste in one's mouth. His hissy fit during the EMAs after he lost out to Justice in the Best Video category for instance. Ahhhhhhhh, you all thought I was going to harp on about poor Taylor Swift. Suckers.
"Yeezy's" taken a few hard hits of late, none moreso than his Mother's untimely death. Obama labelling him a "jackass", probably didn't help his Jupiter sized ego neither. Jay Leno more or less broke him when after his bumrushing of Taylor Swift, the chat show stalwart asked King Kanye how his mother would of reacted to the Hennessy fuelled sabotage?
Let's have it right, he's been a bit hit and miss since the stellar College Dropout, showing occasional flashes of brilliance with songs like 'Flashing Lights', 'We Major' and 'Crack Music'. Yet nothing has really floored you like 'All Falls Down', 'Never Let Me Down' and ultimately, the amazing 'Through The Wire'.
Kanye's always been a feller with an ear for a sample and often hilarious turns of phrase. Yet he seemed to lose his way a little with 808s and Heartbreaks, an ode to a stormy break-up with on off missus Amber Rose and his Mother's passing.
The haters thought they'd had their moment of triumph, writing Kanye's obituaries and celebrating the demise of the biggest selfdom in Hip-Hop since LL Cool J. Mistake. The worst error with an adversary, is to consider them unecessary. This will build a resentment in said foe, who, if they have anything about them, will turn that resentment into drive and use it as fuel to fuck you up.
Enter My Dark Twisted Fantasy.
It's an epic album, his biggest project yet. The music geeks over at Pitchfork drew similarities to Michael Jackson in relation to the scope of it all. They weren't wrong, really. Every song on the album is a haymaker, and it's difficult to really single out a favourite without getting in a twist. It's like trying to name your favourite character in The Wire (today it's Bunk, yesterday it was Body).
It's safe to say, Kanye is back. In the past two or three years, Wayne, T.I. and Big Boi have raised the bar that Kanye himself challenged them to equal with his hole-in-one first LP. Things appear to have come full circle as the Chicago rapper returns to the summit of rap with his fifth opus.
However, it'll all be irrelevant once the good doctor returns with Detox.
Until then, enjoy the video to 'All of The Lights'. And no, I haven't decided to post this one because Rihanna's side boob is draped all over it. Ahem.
Ta-ta for now.
Friday 25 March 2011
Music For The Sunshine...
Still don't think there's a better song to listen to when it's sunny.
One of the greatest social commentators music has ever been lucky enough to bare witness too.
Take care Joe.
One of the greatest social commentators music has ever been lucky enough to bare witness too.
Take care Joe.
Monday 14 March 2011
Erm...YES!?
They're back. Actually back. Back for good. No silly, not Take That, The Strokes.
Yesterday I was watching Alexa Chung's new Gonzo (side note: mighty improvement on Zane Lowe) and the video for their new single 'Under Cover of Darkness' was on and for me this is where it sank in.
Seeing them assembled together in an official capacity, watching Casablancas look effortlessly cool in the video, this was The Strokes.
Yes, he's separate from the band for the most the video, and his wardrobe differs slightly making the band look like an ensemble session piece and Julian the solo musician. There's a point to all that though isn't there?
All the politics behind the third album, Albert Hammond Jnr. wanting to pitch in with the writing and Casablancas' subsequent rebuttal of his material leading Albert to pen two solo LPs. Frankly, neither First Impressions of Earth nor Yours to Keep were blinders, so to listen to 'UCoD' is a relief. Simply because it is.
Watching the video, listening to the lyrics, you'd hope the band have worked through their differences and will come back with Angles and remind everybody why, at one point, they were the best band going. There are still a couple of niggles though, one being not once do any of the band even look at Julian during the video, let alone make eye contact with him. Artistic direction or festering resentment? Who knows?
These things matter, with a band like The Strokes. To me anyway. In 2001 when Is This It was released, I was 15 and heavily into artists like Tupac and Biggie, so I didn't think an album with guitars would interest me. Incorrect. It provided a platform, shaping my tastes and preferences without me really noticing it. It crept up on me. To like this band meant something; I'd never witnessed a vested interest in music like this. I could relate to these guys. Well, I could relate to them, more so than I could a Black Panther activist who'd been shot five times.
Unfortunately, the band did lose their way a little. Casablancas did become a little too cool, which in turn seemed to exasperate the other band members. The 3rd album sounded discombobulated and strained.
From what I've heard of the new album so far, the band appears ready to be mates again. 'UCoD' is the flagship song of this reunion and that is no coincidence, seeing as it was penned by the band as a whole. Hopefully, The Strokes will take their past scrapes and use them to strengthen and rebuild a bond that gave us a truly classic album in Is This It.
"I'll wait for you,” sings Casablancas on 'UCoD', “will you wait for me too?”
All parties involved appear ready to do so now, which is comforting. As a collective, we want our band back. I don't think that's too much to ask is it? We have waited long enough.
(Editors Note: Fabrizio Moretti drumming in the video? Or Shia LeBeouf?)
Wednesday 23 February 2011
Odd Future T.V. Debut...
Heads are going apeshit for Tyler, The Creator at the minute. His 2010 debut solo album Radical put people onto him, with Pitchfork Media claiming it was the 32nd best album of 2010. The video for new single 'Yonkers' has people going mental on the interweb, and may spell the end for the "are they aren't they joking" guys from Die Antwoord.
Give them a listen, they're pretty good. By "pretty good" I mean they're brilliant.
Ta-ta for now.
Give them a listen, they're pretty good. By "pretty good" I mean they're brilliant.
Ta-ta for now.
New Beginnings...
What with all the revolutionary goings on of late, I too felt it time to incite change. Granted, I'm nowhere near as brave as the students and protestors of Egypt, Libya and Bahrain, no sir. I exist within the world I was dealt, so my big change is going to begin with this blog. Starting frommmmmmm, now.
So, New York Telephone Conversation is going to become somtething more of, well, believe it or not; a conversation. Dun dun duhhhhhh.
So, New York Telephone Conversation is going to become somtething more of, well, believe it or not; a conversation. Dun dun duhhhhhh.
This week, I have two topics of discussion; Gruff Rhys' lovely new album Hotel Shampoo and the aforementioned trouble in Libya. 'Citing.
Right then, onto the Welsh Wizard. No, not Ryan Giggs, the other one, our boy Gruff. The fantastically quirky 40 year old recently released his 3rd solo album, Hotel Shampoo.
All of his idiosyncrasies are prevalent on the album, which for his fans, is great. Gruff has always been, in the nicest possible way, pretty unapologetic about his output. He makes music for himself, pure and simple. Which means, above all the genius and eccentricity, he always comes across as sounding more content and happy with his work than any other artist I can think of really.
Gruff being weird
For people who've never really given Gruff, Neon Neon or Super Furry Animals (his other bands) a listen, Hotel Shampoo is probably a good place to start. It's easy to listen to, and the weirdness tends to serve the album as a whole rather than standing out too much and taking attention away from the ensemble.
Baring in mind ensembles and standing out and serving the bigger picture, I shall move on to Libya; a place which is so far removed from it's own contentness it seems like a nice polar comparison to Gruff and his Power Rangers helmet.
To say it's kicking off over in Libya is an understatement. Colonel Gaddafi himself has fled, supposedly to Venezuela.
A nice safe place...ahem policetooafraidtopatrolthestreetsanduserobotsinstead cough cough.
In his absence, Gaddafi's son Saif has blamed Libyans who live abroad for the current unrest in the country. Nothing to do with the fact that for 40 years, Saif's father has ruled Libya with an iron fist then? Or maybe the fact that the country has been involved in several high profile acts of terrorism? Including the Lockerbie bombing and the suspected shooting of police officer Yvonne Fletcher? Constable Fletcher was policing an anti-Gaddafi protest outside the Libyan embassy in London, and was thought to have been killed by a burst of machine gun fire that came from inside the embassy building.
Personally, I think it's high time the "Mad Dog of the Middle East" (quote Ronald Reagan) and his litter were held accountable for all their past discrepancies. The Colonel's son Hannibal has been running round Europe like a loose cannon for the best part of a decade. The wild pup has used diplomatic immunity to escape from such high jinx as attacking three French policeman who had the bare faced cheek to pull him over for drunkenly speeding the wrong way down the Champes Elysses.
In fact, the only country who took a stance against the aptly named sprog's maraudings across the continent was Switzerland. Hannibal and his wife were held in a cell for two nights after accusations of assault, backed up by injuries, from a couple staying at the same hotel. Did the good Colonel give his son a bollocking and teach him a lesson? Did he heck, he placed a block on oil to Switzerland, banned Swiss products such as Nestle from Libya and had two travelling Swiss businessman arrested on unfounded chrages of visa irregularities and tax evasion. As of November 2010, these two unfortunate souls are now each serving 16 month prison sentences.
No, I commend the people of Libya for finally saying enough is enough and bringing Gadaffi to rights. For too long, the Saddam's, the Gadaffi's and the Mubarak's of this world have been able ot get away, literally, with murder. For too long, people opposed to these regimes, people who have voiced their opinions, have had their voices snatched away from them. So, "hats off," I say.
Ta-ta for now.
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