Music
Gomez, remember them? The critically-acclaimed Mercury winners return after a two year break, and their trying to tell us what the difference actually is.
When talking about Gomez, it's hard not to reverberate the utterances of the British music press, who apparently know what they're all about. But how do you categorise Gomez? Even the band itself can't do it. However, you could go as far as to say that with their fourth studio album the Merseyside men are experiencing something of a clichéd identity crisis.
In marked contrast to the dizzy heights of experimentation and the instrumental cocktail that was 2002's In Our Gun, their latest album is more down the line. Maybe it will appeal to those who don't happen to be dabbling in mind-expanding drugs (yes, controversial), or, perhaps, simply a wider fanbase?
Olly Peacock himself has been quoted as saying "you can get it quicker" (that's the music, just to clarify), and dare I say it, the record could be categorised, if you really want, as a rock 'n' roll album. Is it that the band are wanting to achieve commercial success? Could this be their aim? Surely not.
Yes, possibly sensing a component too far in the cocktail, their multi-layered sound has been swapped for some traditional guitars, bass and drums (there's the difference). The trademark vocal harmonies of Ben Ottewell are thankfully still in there. But this can no doubt be attributed to the band's new-found love of playing live, after touring the US. The quintet certainly try with all their might to push the boundaries of 'modern rock,' having recruited producer Tchad Blake, who has been associated with artists from Tom Waits to Crowded House.
The rockier edge immediately kicks in with the first track, Do One, and We Don't Know Where We're Going adopts a powerful, resolute guitar approach, itching with big chords. Catch Me Up, which was the first fruit of the album, has a rather Strokes-esque vocal rhythm, but sensitive lines such as: "Hello, hello, I'm glad to see you/Now we'll only stop to say goodbye" show that, whilst verging on variety, Gomez have not neglected their lyrics. For all its meandering bass lines in the middle and the harmonica cameo in Extra Special Guy, the record loses its momentum towards the end. The fade-out There It Was is probably not the best track to finish it on, creating just a slight rock 'n' roll anti-climax.
Despite this, the album does offer that kind of eclecticism that has allowed Gomez to make their name heard, even if this has generally been outside Anglophile circles. Without necessarily meaning to be, this album could just maybe be their breakthrough.
If 3am was an album instead of a time, it would sound like this. The whole album is absolutely dripping in that semi-conscious, almost-euphoric-but-too-tired-really state; the one you fall into when it's dark outside and daylight seems like an unpleasant reality beyond what really matters right at that very moment. Think about a combination of Moby, Mogwai, Grandaddy, and being an insomniac (or a stoner). You're pretty much there. Very gentle, very quiet, very chilled.
Sounds promising, does it not? The collaborative work is the best on the album, with guest vocals coming from Chris Martin, Ras B, The Flaming Lips, Vordul Megilah from Cannibal Ox, Joseph Arthur and Michael Stipe. The instrumental tracks are cool, though without enough real depth to make them truly special.
There are a few weak links, mind, and it is these that reduce this from a 'good' to an 'all right' album, ideal for a melancholy night in, or a maudlin wind-down from a night out. Not too intense, not too heavy, music that lets you go as deep as you want.
You could lose yourself in this record if you wanted to, especially the dreamy, trippy title track. At the same time, you could kick back and take in the majesty of a fine cover of the Rolling Stones' Wild Horses. Music to think to, rather than think about, but bear in mind I mean that in a good way.
How much do I hate the NME? This much? Or this much? No, way more than that. The weekly 'Rock Bible' is little more than a corporate hype rag that only supports the 'coolest' bands out there.
At least Kerrang! tries to find new talent, whereas the NME tries its best to find bands that have ripped off an old one. Consumers just want the same old stuff from a different band. Think about the bands that they have hyped out of all proportion - The Kings of Leon, the Strokes, the Vines, the Hives, the White Stripes, and all indie stuff that seems to be the major musical export from this Sceptred Isle.
The Kings of Leon? Now seriously, how can anyone like them? Oh look at us, we look like we're from 1967 and we dress all retro and use only vintage 1967 amps - and what do they sound like? Utter rubbish.
In an effort to try and be totally retro they made their songs awful as well. But don't worry, the NME will tell everyone that you're amazing. Then all the really cool people will go to your gigs and buy your CD, because if they didn't they wouldn't be cool anymore.
That's exactly the problem with NME. Everyone's a flash in the pan because they're not cool enough. Soon enough the retro phase will pass and then they'll find a new 'cool' genre. But remember this, oh ye NME readers - 'twas but three years ago that NME loved Nu-metal, had Fred Durst's red-capped head on the cover and was going on about how great rep-rock was. So every time you snigger at the mention of Nu-metal remember that it's not long since you loved it.
You probably still do, but it's not cool to say so anymore, so you keep quiet. You mindless sheep!
Avril Lavigne -
Don't Tell Me
The cheap shot would be to say Don't Tell Me she's back. I have to say that, whilst blatantly manufactured 'punk', Avril's first album wasn't actually that bad, with several fine pop singles. Anyone who hoped she'd throw off the record companies and establish herself as her own artist is in for a disappointment though. Unfortunately the cringe-worthy chorus reveals there's been absolutely no artistic development. It sounds like Britney Spears trying to be Alanis Morissette and ending up at Natalie Imbruglia.
Ben Saunders
Nick Drake - Magic
Magic is the late Nick Drake's latest. Whilst it is an innovative piece of tweaking at the hands of music techies this song is also truly tragic. If pagan cults made Disney songs this would come so close you'd be able to smell the essence of Petunia. For all who treasured An Introduction to Nick Drake, avoid this. Don't be fooled by the first 30 seconds, after this the Beauty and the Beast style flutes kick in. Whilst Nick "was born to use his eyes", I was born to use my ears.
Charlotte Osborn
Hope of the States - The Red, The White, The Black, The Blue
The houses of parliament are exploding! Singer spits brutal rhetoric under carpet-bombing orchestras! Hope of the States are busy with mattocks and shovels, burying innocent pop songs alive in bloody swathes of feedback! But play it loudly, or you run the risk of noticing the faintly irritating, repetitious song that unfortunately has to be taped to all this. That does nothing but rope in the awesome violence of the sound. It's histrionic, and it's incredibly boring. If this song was 10 times longer, and had 10,000 times more mental orchestral moments than it already does, it would be a lot better. Poor.
Duncan Brown
It's that time of the year again: when 'bands' 'battle' for no discernable purpose. Heat one.
Spare Half Hour were first up, lacking any real stage presence but not too dire. Their drummer moved around stage more than the lead guitarist, who stood sheepishly in the corner trying to hide. They weren't helped by some rather naff covers of Fake Plastic Trees and The Eels' Mr E's Beautiful Blues, but their final song, U2's Beautiful Day was probably the pick of the bunch. In comparison, their own songs sounded like they were written in that spare thirty minutes.
They were followed by Care, who recently played at Wadstock. Their set was very patchy, with the second song - a fast-paced old-skool punk riot - probably the highlight.
However, this was in sharp contrast with a shambolic Fugazi cover, which ended their set poorly. They sounded amateurish and almost completely unrehearsed, which at times lent itself to their DIY hardcore punk approach, but at others let them down. Overall not too bad, but could do with a bit more professionalism.
Up last were At Risk, who are making quite a buzz in the local music scene, with some decent sized gigs supporting at the Zodiac.
Their experience and professionalism were plain to see in comparison to their counterparts. This was one of the main reasons that they won - they had a tight live set, well rehearsed and without any rubbish covers. However, their win was by no means unanimous: those who didn't support At Risk argued that they were boring, devoid of genuine emotion, didn't have enough decent songs. However, a majority of the panel preferred them because they actually sounded like a band who had practised. Despite the win, they aren't yet shoe-ins for the grand prize.
Michael Wayofplean
Gigs can be hit or miss affairs. Sometimes the venue decides that they'll lose your guest list place, sometimes you'll see some of the worst bands ever and sometimes you'll see a band that actually remind you that there is something special out there after all.
400 Blows are a shock. How are they touring? Why is the lead singer completely unable to sing? Why do the quiet bits, the loud bits and the really loud bits have no relevance to what has just been played? Why? I don't even want to know the answers to these questions.
Quite why Danko Jones aren't huge is a mystery. There's something about rock 'n' roll played hard, fast and with charisma. And Danko Jones play hard and have some of the most powerful natural on-stage charisma I've ever seen. It might tend towards cliché but you certainly get sucked in. Despite able support from bass and drums, it's a one man show and whether playing to 50 (as he is tonight) or 50,000, the spotlights seem to be attracted to him. It's music that sweats, has a heart beat and a steely-eyed purpose.
The Bronx has a lot to do to steal the show and to be so obviously uninterested doesn't help their cause. If there was ever an advert for the dangers of class A powders, this gig would be it: slurred banter, bummed notes and barely there vocals. The songs are just dull, muddy thrashes and then - the power cuts out. Cue heckles. Cue backchat. There's no momentum when the power gets back on: It's like a messy car crash, and then the gig ends. Danko Jones really should have headlined.
Rob Evans
I love going to orchestral concerts, But not just for the music. For me, the visual aspect is just as enjoyable. An orchestra is perhaps the most versatile group of musicians to compose for but it is not this musical depth alone which makes such concerts so exciting: there is something about the spectacle of all the musicians moving together as well, which makes an orchestral concert such a unique experience. Wind bands are fine but there's far less to gratify the eyes. Looking down from the gods in the Sheldonian on the Oxford University Orchestra last Friday, I felt almost as if I were surrounded by the bows whirling in unison across the whole orchestra.
Such physical unison is not only satisfying to watch but also a sure sign of a good, well-rehearsed orchestra, and was indeed bourne out by the sound OUO created, which was for the vast majority of the time, controlled and varied. There were, of course, the odd rough notes and minor intonation problems but to be honest, to produce a concert after two weeks' rehearsal is an achievement, full stop.
The programme itself was eclectic; demanding versatility and promising excitement, which OUO provided with apparent ease and obvious
enjoyment. In fact, the first movement of Tchaikovsky's Fourth Symphony ended with such a colossal bang (it almost seemed wasted as an end to a first movement), that the audience felt obliged to applaud. Flattering for the orchestra, but annoying for concert snobs like me, who regard it as ignorant to clap between movements.
The concert was not only an impressive demonstration of ensemble playing but also featured some stunning individual players. The principal cellist bravely opened Rossini's William Tell Overture, and thus the whole concert, with an immaculate and sensitive solo. The principal viola player then matched it with an equally beautiful solo in Vaughan-William's Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis. On top of that (if you'll excuse this hackneyed and pretentious expression) there was a rather sexy clarinet solo in the first movement of the Tchaikovky.
The concert was professional yet humourous. The Rossini was obviously great fun to play and I think a pleasant surprise for many members of the audience who had never heard it all the way through before. Of course, everyone knows the famous ending but this was the first time, certainly, that I'd realised there was more to the piece than that.
The third movement of the Tchaikovsky was also treated most wittily. It was, in fact, so charming that OUO repeated it as an encore for an unusually receptive audience. The movement consisted of all the strings playing pizzicato throughout, which not only changed the sound but also made the appearance of the orchestra much more static. This created a contrast with their usual dynamism of movement, making the concert something for both the eyes and ears to relish.
13th May 2004