Live
Let me tell you story in my best Tolkeinesque style. Once upon a time in a galaxy far far away (well George Lucas is really more my type of level anyway) there lived a group of elves. They sat nestled away in their insular little world, unaware of the outside world. For many millennia they have remained singing to the trees, or Ents if you will, and making love to the rivers. But now some-one some-where has sought to expose them to the world so that everybody can share in their magic and joy. Unfortunately, people outside the Elven wood have a different genetic make-up and don't desire to listen to this unfortunate ramble. How these particular elves escaped the great elf massacre of fourth-age middle-earth I really don't know, but I doubt they'll sail the seas of middle-earth to find gold at the end of a rainbow.
Fortunately I've left a little space to actually talk about the band and the gig. The story being an attempt to make this vaguely interesting - something the gig wasn't much good at. Where Elf Power used saxophones or bizarre wood things it was quite interesting, in an amusing jazz-fused-funk-poppy kinda-way (not that I know what that means). The singer's voice just doesn't have much sparkle or glamour, no bite - as it were. The one song the bassist played was probably the best - why he couldn't sing more I don't know. Anyway the crowd seemed to like it.
Thomas Skinner
As far as opening gambits go, the admission that 'it's a hideous moniker' doesn't bode well; but Altmont's juxtaposition of thunderous riffs with an uproarious race through The Smiths' 'Panic' effectively communicates their agenda of male insecurity and frustration. Although frontman Andy Mettam is a posturing, uncontrollable mini-explosion of fury, the clearly talented lead guitarist is somewhat wasted under the monotonous guitar attack; 'Obsolete', however, allows layers of intricate, shimmering guitars to underpin the theme of inadequacy with real poignancy.
The Somelady in question tonight is Lauren Laverne without the charm, wide-eyed innocence or grace, a sixth-form Alanis Morissette cheerfully grinning 'it's killing me yeah' as her band plagiarise, of all people, Jamiroquai. The songs are written by the singing drummer and are, without exception, atrocious. A passing punter proclaims them 'smiley happy wankers'. Rather a harsh judgement, but enough to convince me I was not alone in questioning the judges' decision to award them joint second place.
Autochtone blast away the funk wilderness by screaming like lo-fi Americans and briefly metamorphosing into My Bloody Valentine. Sandwiched between this noisenik gem and a rather surreal snatch of how Electrelane might have sounded in 1985, acoustics and keyboards meld into a whirr of melodic beauty; seventeen minutes into the allotted thirty, Autochtone's disjointed, fractured set implodes. It's the night's sole moment of don't-give-a-fuck attitude and, given the general malaise of student apathy, it's almost revolutionary. Scorched earth tactics prevail, then, and the winners' eyes are firmly fixed on Communist Russia...
Ria Hopkinson
Having heard Medium 21 described as the Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev yet with an inherently British feel, I turned up to the Bully hoping to find the next Boo Radleys. When the first thing I saw was the singer wondering around the sparsely filled backroom with his trousers around his ankles, I resigned myself to the fact this wasn't going to be the case. Cute arse though.
That's not to say that Medium 21 don't have much going for them. The few who witnessed the band's banter and clowning around will testify that they clearly do, able to win affection for doing things that would normally piss people right off. The same can be said of their music. John Clough sings in an American accent despite coming from Northampton (England, not Massachusetts), but he gets away with it. There are too many slow-paced and ultimately vacuous songs, but they get away with it. Practically every track sacrifices harmony for the sort of wankery that epitomises the very worst of the alt-American scene, but they get away with it. On the closing 'Cable and the Cars', it all comes together perfectly. "It's actually quite a good song, although you wouldn't guess it by tonight", concludes Clough, somewhat wide of the mark. If the performance could have been transferred to record, it would have been a contender for single of the year. As it is, they need to find some way of channelling their undoubted spark into their music more effectively and consistently. Not the next Boo Radleys, then, but not arse either.
Ann Savage
24th May 2001