Two items I'd like to bring to the attention of any readers...
Firstly, and I think I'm a bit behind on this news, but the thoroughly awesome Cave In have reconvened after their hiatus of three-and-a-half years and are releasing an EP soon on Hydra Head Records. They have one Boston show booked and no plans to tour, but new music is more than I could have asked for or expected anyway so that's cheered me right up...
(This is Cave In playing "Big Riff" a.k.a. one of the best songs ever ever ever)
...especially after hearing the sad news that Canterbury scene jazz/rock legend Hugh Hopper has died, succumbed to the leukemia he was diagnosed with only this past Winter. Mr Hopper was one of the finest bass players this country has produced - he not only had the chops, but he had a fantastic sense of balance, texture and his own role in a composition. He played with many notable figures in British music, but will undoubtedly be remembered as a not-quite-founding member of (The) Soft Machine. In this spot he hammered away through many exciting and charismatic jams, sharing the rhythm section with Robert Wyatt (among others) and authoring such post-psychedelia classics as "Memories", "Facelift", and the four-part suite "Virtually" that can be found on Soft Machine's "Fourth" album - surely one of the best jazz fusion records of all time. I was lucky enough to see him perform two years ago with Brainville, the frenetic and abrasive free jazz/noise/rock/beat-poetry trio that also included Daevid Allen (of Gong/ early period Soft Machine/University of Errors) and Chris Cutler (of the dangerously insane-sounding Henry Cow, and many more). It was my first time seeing any of these players live, and I was especially excited about seeing Daevid Allen play lead guitar. But once they took the stage it was Hugh Hopper that held my attention, anchoring the daring explorations of the guitarist and drummer by dropping these huge thick slabs of electric bass at baffling meters and appearing every inch the refined and tasteful musician that forty-five years behind an instrument will make you. And when at one point I looked down to see how his distortion pedal could possibly sound so savage and noticed it was the 'Facelift' itself - sharing its name with the song that bowled me over as a 16-year-old - I was genuinely starstruck. Here's a great clip of the three-piece version of Soft Machine ripping through Wyatt's "Moon in June". These guys all look insanely cool by the way, like... devastatingly awesome. I mean, just look at Hugh's moustache and Mike Ratledge's glasses (keyboard player). And Robert Wyatt's tie. Roughly translated, all that get-up means "I'm better than you at jazz fusion, and I don't really feel the need to put too fine a point on it."
Also, The Mars Volta covered Hugh's "Memories" as a bonus track for the iTunes version of 'Bedlam...' and it's great. It's also further proof that The Mars Volta know what the fuck they're talking about, because this song was never on a proper Soft Machine record (only a collection of '66 demos, and covered by Allen and Wyatt on the "Bananamoon" record in 1971). You can listen to Cedric and Omar's version here.
And here's a shot I took of Hugh playing with Brainville (3/7/07) at The Borderline in London.(L to R is Daevid Allen, Chris Cutler, Hugh Hopper.) (Click to enlarge by the way)
As some may know, I now live in Brighton and one of the very best features of this town is the live music. I've seen some truly memorable bands and solo artists in the short time I've been here, and it's gratifying. A couple of weeks ago I caught the frenetic Japanese force of nature known as Melt Banana at the Engine Room, an excellently dingy basement bar right opposite the seaside, supported by The Shitty Limits. The latter band includes my friend Eddie and it was great to see them, as well as the small but significant entourage that accompanied them - Cheryl (of Counter Culture, the last bastion of grassroots music appreciation in my hometown of High Wycombe, and just a damn good record shop), Kieran (punk rock devotee, occasional promoter and all-round very decent chap) and Pook (the ever-lively frontman of Ska-Metal party-bringers Beat The Red Light). The Limits were playing a lot of new material and they've really upped their game, sticking to their strengths but broadening slightly in terms of composition and focus and tempo and stage presence and a fuckload more things as well. Melt Banana then proceeded to tear the town a new arsehole in the way that only Japanese extreme bands can - with vigour, creativity and character. The place was as hot as a hellish sauna. It was especially great for me because I'd never really listened to them before, trusting in their reputation by the word of like-minded friends and other fringe-ish musicians/journalists/promoters. All the hype was indeed justified. They melted my face a bit. Fuckin awesome.
While on the subject, discovering bands for the first time by seeing them live is the greatest pleasure a music fan can enjoy. They may be at their most elemental, enthusiastic and playful in this format and many of my current favourites 'sold' themselves to me by playing an outright awesome show at a night I had attended for a different reason. A good example of this is Matthew Houck a.k.a. Phosphorescent, who I caught supporting the wonderful Black Moutain at the Scala in King's Cross last spring. He strolled onstage with only a well-weathered guitar and a loop pedal and proceeded to bewitch everyone into silence with his fragile and haunting Americana country-folk. As an acoustic singer/songwriter myself, I was immediately bowled over by his music and voice and he showed me another way to approach the form. He recently gathered together a band and headed across the Atlantic for a tour, stopping at the Engine Room to play in front of a rapturous crowd of which I was a priveleged member. The promoter took to the stage and introduced him, saying "Well... Phosphorescent, what can I say? If anyone wants me I'll be slumped in the corner of the room crying." Please do watch this clip I filmed of the full band rendition of "A Picture of Our Torn Up Praise", a beautiful fucking song if ever I heard one.
I noticed recently that my friends over in Southsea had booked a folk-punk crew called Defiance, Ohio to play at the Fawcett and that the band were heading over to the Cowley Club the very next night. The Cowley Club is a brilliant institution - the base for a radical community who put on shows across many genres and host forums and discussions on a wide range of causes that I won't try to abbreviate. Just check them out. Even if you're not into the politics, they have fucking good beer and tea. Anyway, I decided that I should look into some upcoming gigs there and discovered a Swedish hardcore band called Grace Will Fall. They played tonight and I went along, expecting a big crowd but presented with an empty venue for the entire evening. Well, all I can say is it's everyone else's problem because they missed a fucking excellent band, and a prime example of the kind of modern and invigorating European hardcore punk I could spend years trying to discover. This kind of stuff kicks the shit out of so much music, really. Imagine them playing a gig with Attack! Vipers! or early period Mínus. It would be so good I'd probably have to re-align my life afterwards.
But the aim of this post was to say that after the show, these very friendly Swedish dudes hung out with us and drank beers and talked to us about their tour so far. The singer was flying straight to Portugal to record a famous local crust punk band's album, and one of the other guys was going straight to his brother's wedding. We told them that the next time they come over to the UK (which they hope will be early next year), we would hook them up with our promoter friends in Portsmouth and Southampton and High Wycombe, because we know they would be perfect for these shows. And this, to me, was another example of the deconstruction of the business end of music making, even at the smallest level, where musician and audience are levelled to a healthy and altrusitic platform and there's no place for bullshit or division. I bought their album, and it's fucking awesome. I'm listening to it for the third time in a row while I type this.
I suppose I have no real point to all this except to say that if you love music, go out and find it at your own level because there's no player that won't appreciate that or feel encouraged to press on, challenge themselves and contribute to the worldwide resource of artistry and creation. I feel like I want to shout it from the rooftops, which is probably a good sign that I should go to bed pretty soon anyway.
Sorry. We've had internet for over a week now so there's no excuse. But there are a few things worth mentioning now I've waited a little while so here goes:
I know just how few people get past the beginning of these unnecessarily verbose blogs, so I'll kick off with the self-whoring and inform any readers about two releases to which I have contributed. The first is the "Half Reality" EP by Plurals on Dead Sea Liner records, it's £3 and can be viewed here. Plurals is the drone/ambient/soundscapes-ish project I am part of alongside my friends Duncan (of Psyche Out/Xenon Codex/Horse Vomit), Mike (of Psyche Out/The Edges Fray/Pump Shark/Xenon Codex and more), Dan (Ekca Liena/Nmesme/Sakura promotions) and Pete (Masturhate). I'm very pleased with this EP because not only does it look great, it also represents the two extremes of our sound - straight-ahead drones and an altogether less linear, highly atmospheric bleak-athon. The tracks are "Air Yet To Touch Skin" and "Hanging Bar" respectively.
The second is from my own solo project Me With Others. The 'Cigarettes' EP is with the pressing people as I write, and will be available through Beekeeper Records, which is the new label from Ashley of the now-defunct Division Street Records. I don't know how much it will cost, and I left the artwork entirely to Ashley and Niall so it'll be a surprise. I trust them though, and await the final copies eagerly. There will be a total of 50 copies made, I'll carry some around but most will be available from the Beekeeper site and in the distro section of the Dead Pilot Records site. The tracklist is: "The Seventh Seal" (a Scott Walker cover), "Behind a Cloud", "Gold Circle" and "No One Knows You". All of those songs can be heard on the myspace in some form or another, but the EP versions of "...Cloud" and "...Circle" have been left off there as a lame incentive for you to buy the EP. It's better, shorter and (probably) cheaper than the album anyway so I don't see how you can fail.
I moved to Brighton a little over three weeks ago and although unemployment is frustrating, mainly because I can't buy a lot of records and eat in restaurants anymore, it has been a good move. We have an awesome five-storey house near the train station and it's been a blast so far. I have decided to claim back a little of the tax I paid over the last few years to keep me going, in the guise of Jobseeker's Allowance and hopefully some housing benefits. I actually lost three grand a year to taxes in my last job, and if I claim some back then it means I haven't contributed to the shower of shit that will inevitably be the London 2012 Olympics! Double win.
Also, DCS sadly broke up within a week of me leaving town. This is despite my promise and honest intention of commuting to rehearsals. Turns out two years is simply too long for a 21st century human being to stick to his/her word. Things change, apparently. Perhaps it would've been easier if Joseph Heller had quit writing 'Catch 22' after two years...
Anyway, there are a few more musical things I feel are worth sharing. Dinosaur Jr are back in town supporting their new record 'Farm' and they're as brilliant and noisy as ever if "I Want You To Know" is anything to go buy. It's up for free download on their website and I urge you to check them out live as they are one of the loudest, earthiest and most enjoyable rock bands on the planet. Also they have a link on their website to FreeSoFree, a very lovingly-created database of bootlegs from Dinosaur Jr's entire career. Any band that will link fans with their own bootlegs deserves a serious listen. Here's a fucking storming version of "Forget The Swan" from the Rollins show a couple of years ago.
I just saw today that the hugely underrated doom trio YOB have reformed in the wake of Middian's demise. This is great news, because I reckon their last two records are absolute genius, but I can't help feeling slightly discouraged by the Middian situation. This was Mike Scheidt's post-YOB band who were forced to split up after a lawsuit was filed against them by another 'band' calling themselves Middian. The "original" band were some kind of shitty nu-metal throwback that hadn't done a gig in years, and consequently fell under the radar when the newer band researched to make sure no one else had the name. The full story is on their website, but it boils down to a horrible case of sour grapes and unwarranted self-importance that spilled over into the courts, wasted everyone's time and money and forced Metal Blade to pull all the copies of Middian's "Age Eternal" off the shelves. How can it be that someone so blessed with the art of the Magick Doom Riff could find themselves on the wrong end of all this shit? Court cases and petty little personal wars should be left to the red-tape-loving corporations that seem to enjoy the attention, and musicians should co-operate and compromise, or at least just write it off if they can't agree on anything. I feel sorry for the band, but at least we have YOB back and a new album to look forward to. I would say that you should order "Age Eternal" anyway because it's good, but no one will see a penny of whatever you'll pay for it. Here's a live version of "Grasping Air" off their last album 'The Unreal Never Lived'.
Also I managed to score an "industry" pass to the Great Escape Festival this weekend. If you've never heard of it, it's a "new music" event that hijacks Brighton for three days and there's a gig in pretty much everywhere that can be used for one, regardless of capacity. It's a great idea and the party spirit has definitely taken hold, but musically it pushes very few buttons for me. I did manage to catch the very excellent Cursive play an enrapturing half-hour set at the Ocean Rooms, followed by compelling stuff from Gentle Friendly and Zach Hill at the Freebutt. Zach Hill is the drummer from Hella, a mathy group I've yet to wrap my ears around. His solo stuff is literally baffling. I've never seen a drummer like him and I simply cannot conceive of how this music was written, created and performed. Takes a lot to do that to me these days. Check him out, he's on Ipecac now. I also went to a liberally-cushioned art space called The Basement and caught Elizabeth, who play slightly haunting Portishead-esque music, and Mike Bones. Mr Bones could have gone either way for me - his blurb described him as a Bob Dylan/Lou Reed crossover and a favourite of Vice Magazine. Take from that what you will, but for my own part I thought it could either be genius or a self-concious Noo Yawk bullshit exercise of the highest order. Typically he was neither, and came across passionate, warm and genuine. He doesn't have an unwavering aim just yet though, but some of his stuff was very good indeed. For the last night I caught Throats and Ghost of a Thousand at Club Revenge on Old Steine. There is a catwalk in this club which kind of looks like a penis. It is definitely a catwalk first and foremost though, and probably only looks like a penis because of the shape of the room and also because it's some kind of gay club architectural gag, and not a bad one at that. Anyway, both bands were vicious and very dynamic. GoaT predictably took home the honours as it's a hometown show for them but Throats were far, far more extreme. Here's Thursday night's highlight Cursive playing a new song on Letterman recently. It's weird to write that.
I was loaned a copy of the Portent CD too. This is some really excellent one-man black metal that has apparently taken a few years to complete by Dom, who also plays in Ethernal and was involved in the unfortunately disbanded and scarcely-seen Bucks group Huorn. I'm no expert on black metal, but to me it sounds like a cross between very early Opeth, some Immortal-sounding guitar tones, and the thrash sensibilities of Sci-Fi-era Voivod, all while being quite "dismal" most of the time (quote from the man himself). Of course, when metalheads say words like "dismal", "horrible" and "sickening", this means it's fucking great.
As a final note, I have been unable to buy the new Mastodon or Isis records as I'm unemployed and skint. Pity me. And thanks for reading as always.
Simpsons fans may recognise the blog title as a line by the one-off character Lieutenant L T Smash in an episode about hidden marketing messages. In response, Lisa asks "What's super-liminal?" Smash demonstrates by yelling "Hey you! Join the Navy!" at Lenny and Karl as they walk by the window. I was reminded of this by an article I saw on imdb.com recently about lawsuits being flung around by those involved in the movie 'Righteous Kill'. Apparently, some psychological manipulation was afoot:
"...the shot of Pacino wearing a Tutima timepiece in the 2008 drama has already sparked a legal battle between the movie's production company and the watch firm. Bosses at Millennium Films accused Tutima executives of failing to hand over a $50,000 (£35,000) fee for a three-second close-up shot of one of their watches... and now both of the film's stars have become embroiled in the case, filing suit against the film's distribution company Overture Films claiming they never authorised a commercial tie-in with the watch company. De Niro and Pacino accuse movie chiefs of failing to tell them about the deal with Tutima and insist they would never have agreed to the plan. The papers state: 'Had their permission been sought, both De Niro and Pacino would have flatly refused to consent to the use of their names, voices and/or likenesses in connection with the tie-in.'" I believe that Al Pacino would indeed have refused to sully his profession, and his art, by wilfully contributing to a subliminal advertisement, but what I base that belief upon is anyone's guess. I don't know him, I'm only ever seen him acting - that is, quite fundamentally not being himself. I have assumed that his artistic integrity would not knowingly allow him to be a shameless hawker of a posh piece of jewellery. And further still, I have assumed that the concept of 'artistic integrity' I just carelessly used in the previous sentence can be defined in that way, or in any way, and that it is a mutually accepted definition by at least myself and who I am judging. Having never met the man, some pretty big logical loopholes have been ignored in my decision to empathise with him. And yet I do empathise. He must feel like a patsy. I would too.
My point is that in the world of the arts and entertainment, fans like us have a twisted relationship with those whose work we follow. We inexplicably assume there is a common ground between us. For instance, I just demonstrated that my admiration for a fine actor cannot be extended to the point where I can simply guess at his morals and expect myself to be right. I might as well claim to know, having twice seen 'Donnie Brasco', what he had for breakfast this morning. It's a shame, because we like to hold strong to the belief that even Hollywood mega-bucks can't fuck with our own personal appreciation of the people we respect, or the creative output for which we respect them. This extends to music, literature and god knows what else. When all the salesmanship and psychology and soundbites and demographics are removed, we are left with a single artistic statement communicating with a unique human being. This is how the lefties and paranoiacs like myself are comfortable with consuming mainstream culture - we separate the artists from the management, the source from the middle men, and ourselves from the crowd. It may indeed be that Al Pacino supports this kind of anti-mass-marketing approach to his movies, and I'd like that to be true. Art is timeless, after all, and advertising is transitory by its very nature.
The scary thing is that the middle men can so successfully taint both sides of this dialogue between artistic creation and artistic appreciation, to the point where I don't know I'm being advertised at, and Al Pacino doesn't know he's the one doing it! That is fucking absurd, and lamentably commonplace too. But hey, perhaps the Tutima executives are 'just trying to make an honest buck' and 'what's the harm?' I mean, I hadn't even heard of them before I read about it on imdb.com. Now I know the name of several different watch manufacturers, and I don't even wear a fucking watch, or want to. If you play that game, it's not manipulative to want to get your company's name out there on the screens, the billboards, the magazines, the sides of buses. Most normal people won't care, and most normal people aren't human-shaped grey holes for marketing execs to manipulate either. So who are the real crooks in this story? Maybe there's no crooks, and we're all just suffering from an irrevocably disjointed miscommunication about what we are all supposed to do within society.
On Saturday I played an acoustic show at a venue called The Good Ship on the Kilburn High Road in London. The stage was down in a kind of pit towards the back of the room, just behind the bar, and with a high balcony area on the other side of it. I was due to play first, with another acoustic act after me and a couple of pop bands to finish off the night. I'm usually quite restless before any solo gig I play. I want to get on with it and play so I can relax and enjoy myself, and when it goes well I'm usually in a good enough mood to want to play again with renewed vigour. But I was acting shiftily all night prior to my set, had very little to say to the other performers and I kept having to ask people to repeat things to me when they spoke. It was the first time in a while I'd played a gig with no one but strangers in the room, and I suppose it's something I'll have to get used to. It went okay although I made a few mistakes that I had to work my way out of by diverting attention away from the guitar playing. I had virtually no recollection of how to play these songs, I couldn't focus and I had to rely on muscle memory to move me through the sections. Very strange. A few people watched whereas most of the bar was filled with Saturday Night folks talking very animatedly over my music. Of course, I could blame many things for this - being booked on the wrong night, my own mistakes, the overbearing earnestness of my own songs clashing with the rest of the acts - but quite simply they didn't need a real person to fulfil the function of providing background noise before the bands came onstage. They needed a CD.
The other acoustic act fared better, because he had brought friends along and his songs were lively little ditties about modern life. He said he was enjoying the background noise because a few days before he had played a Hippy Cafe in Camden where everyone was silent and attentive and it caught him off-guard. I watched his set because he watched mine and because his comment had allowed me to put our differences into a wider context. Give me the attentive hippies Glenn, and you can certainly have the bustling Saturday night North Londoners in the palm of your hand.
I chucked him a demo and thanked the promoter for the chance to play, apologised for my Zero door count and bade farewell to Kilburn with my guitar on my back. Then it was onwards to Liverpool Street where some inebriated friends welcomed me. Three bars and an impromptu breakdancing competition later (not between us, obviously), we called it a night and taxied back to Limehouse to visit the world's second most poorly stocked mini-market* for beer and a sausage roll. We then played some table tennis and ate toast.
The next day I discovered that if you're looking for a Full English in London, you're best not alighting at Bank. It's heavy on cigar shops and nondescript banking firms, light on Greasy Spoon caffs. I then found a fry-up near Hoxton and headed central to spend an alarming amount of money at HMVOxford Street. It's probably the last decent chain music store in the city. They had face-outs of the latest Asva and Electric Wizard records, 'Salvation' by Cult of Luna and the most die-hard of all the Monster Magnet albums, '25...Tab'. Fuck me! I thought, and took a picture. They even had a PoS block that said "Drone" on it. And to think my friend Dan laughed at me when I said I was in a drone group because he thought I'd made it up. But then again, he did also 'guess' the name Megadeth without having heard of the band apparently.
So anyway, the moral of the story is that the new Napalm Death and Phobia records are shitkicking. The End.
*The World No. 1 most poorly stocked mini-market was a Costcutter in West Drayton where most of the shelves were empty or spaciously displaying less than three of any given product. Four men stood behind the counter but only one actually manned a till, and when I asked them for extra slim filters I had to point the box out to them, which prompted a lengthy huddle and discussion in a foreign language. They then asked me how much I usually pay for these things. I was so baffled I actually gave them the correct amount. I have seen archive footage of shops in the last days of Communist Romania that stocked more than this place. I can only assume the four men behind the counter were squatters that had taken control of the shop without working out how to actually order more stuff for it.
On Saturday I went to a house party in Reading for my friend Andy's 22nd birthday. It was a normal Uni House kind of affair: punch, strangers, vomit, nudity etc. I had a great time but at one point, when the party hit its peak, an old social question re-emerged. The front room was packed with revellers and the centrepiece was the stereo, into which people were plugging their iPods and selecting well-known songs for everyone to dance around to. As I said, I was having a wonderful time, but I couldn't face getting up to dance. It's not that I don't do it - I've been to plenty of allnighters, festivals and dingy raves where I've danced idiotically for hours - it's just that no matter how drunk I get, terrible music is still terrible. I may be having the time of my life, but that won't make me like a shit song.
The music in question was stylistically varied, and although it spent most of the time well within the boundaries of Radio Friendly Rock Music it did occasionally stretch out to some Hip-Hop and Dance Classics from the 90s. Two songs that particularly irked me (as well as coincidentally receiving the most enthusiasm) were Feeder's "All By Myself" and that euphoric electrowank "Ecuador" song from when I was in middle school. For the unfamiliar, Feeder's track is exemplary of their inoffensive and polished take on US Pop Punk, where the "Ecuador" song is a tedious and overplayed rehash of the Euphoric Trance* formula. In my opinion both are pure unadulterated chaff of the highest order, and I won't go into the reasons why.
My body would simply refuse to dance to either of these songs, much like it would refuse to jump from a plane or step off a railway platform. But my question is whether this is wrong, whether this is a pathetically over-earnest and pretentious display of pure artistic obstinacy on my part. I had already played Sly & The Family Stone's There's a Riot Goin' On, which lasted two and a half songs, and though I've long preached the message that one person's opinion is no more valid than another's, despite how much or little deliberation and research has gone into the forming of that opinion, I cannot think anything other than "Do you seriously prefer Feeder to Sly & The Family Stone... are you insane???" And so while everyone danced and sang the Pop Hits, I sat on the vacated leather sofa, contented, comfortable and without a sour thought towards anybody in the room, yet people kept asking me "Are you alright Dave?", and "Are you sure? You seem a bit off." (It's a good job no one actually used the words "lighten up", which is a phrase that's guaranteed to rile me immediately.) I wasn't "a bit off" at that point, but maybe I am now. I've confronted myself with the possibility that I am a cantankerous elitist, and I don't like it one bit.
But in reality there was no harm done. I didn't like the music, I didn't dance to it, and I didn't bitch and moan about it because I had an awesome night. And besides, would Greil Marcus dance to The Sweet at his niece's Wedding Reception? I fucking doubt it - I'll count myself as one of his followers, and follow him in respectfully sitting out.
Here's Sly & The Family Stone to sing us out (from The Dick Cavett Show in 1970.)
*Further research has revealed that Sash!'s music is in fact Progressive House/Eurodance. I'm fucking sorry I mislabeled it, okay?
Ask your friend's Casual Music Fan dad about what "the scene" was like back in the day and listen to his reply. Make a few mental notes - there's probably some very good stuff in there. But take whatever he says with a pinch of salt, because one of the biggest lies you can hear from that generation is this: "There weren't a lot of bands around then, not like there is today." What he is alluding to is a time when the Hitmaker was also the Visionary, when the Stadium Filler was also the Standard Bearer. The mainstream media offered enough diversity at the turn of the 1970s to satisfy most of the Western world's "proper" music fans (i.e. those who asked more of their listening experience than just to be a soundtrack to the ironing), which in itself is quite remarkable. If you lacked the time or the inclination to look further than a few choice record labels and the latest copy of New Musical Express, you'd still have a pretty damn good record collection on your hands by '76. What they mean by "there weren't a lot of bands around then" is "I didn't really feel like I needed to look for them".
Which is understandable, because looking and finding was fucking hard to do. Underground music from abroad was even less likely to end up in your local record shop than it is today, by a long way. Around the time The Beatles were writing 'Sgt. Pepper...', Paul McCartney would hear about the latest imports from New York arriving at London's hippest outlets. If you had to be in the biggest band in the world to get a heads-up when the new Fugs or Sun Ra record was in stock, what chance did that leave the rest of us?
The irony is that the 21st Century may in fact be the best chance you have of hearing all the music your Casual Dad didn't know existed. Legions of collectors and music nerds have been starting up labels worldwide dedicated to reissuing albums that slipped through the cracks due to a combination of bad management, bad distribution, bad promotion or just outright indifference. None of these factors actually detract from the music itself, which is an injustice. How many times have you thought about that band you know that never quite got the recognition they deserved? They could end up on the 2030 AD equivalent of Repertoire Records being re-released in a digipac, with liner notes written by you.
I picked up a few more of these Lost Gems, Oddities and Groundbreakers recently and I'd like to share them with anyone reading this:
This rocks. Hard. It's utterly brilliant. In fact, it may be one of the definitive recordings in the history of heavy music. This New York three-piece attack every fantastic riff in their repertoire with such gusto and purpose that it actually made me want to abandon my artistic pretenses entirely and spend the rest of my life wailing on an SG, screaming "Yeeeaaaaahhhhh" while being stroked and idolised by an army of nubile young groupie chicks. In a convertible. The vocalist belts out these "mystical woman" lyrics like he's actually spent the last few years doing just that (except that he's also the drummer, not the guitarist). I bought this on the recommendation of Julian Cope's article on his Head Heritage website, and you must read it because he's far better at selling it to you than me.
Malachi - 'Holy Music' (1967) This reissue from Fallout Records is marketed as one of the earliest psychedelic-themed albums ever recorded, back in Summer 1966. Malachi himself had been transformed into some kind of Zen-like spiritual being (presumably by a combination of drugs, hiking holidays in Mexico and the palpable Spirit Of The Age) and recorded this album with a (future) member of Red Krayola in one evening. I like it, but I don't know why. It consists mainly of quiet, Eastern-themed acoustic meanderings with seemingly random plonks of Jew's Harp over the top. If these two were any calmer when they made this they'd have been asleep. Some vocals come in towards the end of the album I think, but I can't be sure as I tend to actually fall asleep while listening to it. It would not be an exaggeration to say that a fair chunk of this record is silence. 'Holy Music' is sonic Diazepam. There's a funny review of it here by someone who knows more than me. I agree with what he says, but I still like this record somehow. (As did Allen Ginsberg apparently, who contributes a respectful soundbite to the album sleeve.)
You know a record is obscure when the reissuing label is appealing for information about it. This is a great expansive mindfuck of an album - no "tracks", no names, no recording info. I wouldn't be surprised if the musicians involved simply vanished after completing it. Needless to say it's mad as fuck in the usual way you'd expect from Japanese experimental music. Minimal ethnic percussion and some very laid-back bass and slide acoustic work are the bedrock for the majority of this album, but I was most disoriented by what's on top of that stuff - sparse Found Sound loops, trickling water, vocals that are a cross between mantra and acid-rock swagger, and queasy out-of-phase synths to name but a few. In the second half they fade one hypnotic melody into another without the first fully disappearing, then back again, if only to mess with our heads (it works). If you ever found yourself thinking "I want to hear some really, really whacked-out shit", this is as good a suggestion as any. (Here is a concise summary, where the reviewer places them quite thought-provokingly between Comus and The Residents.)
Year 2008, Day #363: Dave attempts to fill in one of those weird, bafflingly personal/impersonal MySpace questionnaires without breaking character, or lying to make himself seem Super Awesome.
Who do you text the most? I couldn't work this out, so a cursory glance at my Inbox would suggest an equal tie between Dave George, Duncan and Mike 1.
Do you wish you had smaller feet? No
Has a rumor been spread about you? Yes, but not for over 5 years.
Are you a gullible person? Yes
Are you easy to get along with? Hopefully, that's the goal anyway.
When you're walking, do you stop to drink? No, nor vice versa.
Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend? No
Are you in a complicated relationship? Relationships between humans are never simple.
Do you hate more than 3 people? Yes, but not too many more. No one I can't easily avoid, thereby saving myself the trouble of actively hating them.
Are you too forgiving? No. People ought to be more forgiving anyway.
Do you like your hair color? Yes, could be straighter though. You can't enjoy heavy metal to its fullest with a shaven head.
Name 3 people who you talked to today? Parents, colleague Ken
What were you doing at 8 am this morning? Sleeping
Last person you talked to on the phone? Branch Manager of Interlink Express depot in Slough.
Do any of your friends have children? Yes
Are you wearing make up? No.*
When was the last time you spoke to someone you dont like? Saturday
Has a boy/girl ever called you baby? Not seriously, honeybunch.
Have you ever kissed on a boat? No, although I did stalk on a ferry.
What bed did you sleep in last night? Mine
Have you held hands with anybody in the past week? No
Do you have a friend you can tell stuff to and you're sure they won' t tell? Difficult question. I think my friends are decent enough to know what they can "tell" and what they can't, but the best way to ensure people don't repeat things is to not tell anyone in the first place.
Do you want kids? I could probably handle it, I would likely enjoy it a lot, but "want" is not a word I would use.
Did you go out or stay in last night? Stayed in
Do you like to text or call more? About the same
Do you have someone you can be your complete self around? I can't be my "complete self" at work, but anywhere else and in any other company - yes, lots of people.
Looking back in time did you ever waste your time on a certain boy/girl? Pass. No time is truly wasted anyway.
Have you ever had a really big fight with your best friend? No, but I don't have a best friend either.
Can you touch your toes? Fucking no chance.
Would you kiss anyone on your top friends? Probably, but not in any serious way.
Do you say sorry first? Before what? Excuse my childlike innocence.
Has someone promised you something and broke it? Yes, but such is the nature of people. I've never made anyone promise anything that would destroy me if it were broken.
Have you ever been cheated on? I can answer "no" with more confidence than most people.
Who was your last text from? I can't remember.
Last time somebody hurt you physically? The lead singer from Mob Rules elbowed me in the face a few weeks ago.
Butter, plain, or salted popcorn? Butter
Will you be in bed within twenty minutes? No
Would you rather be a fish or a bird? I already can swim and don't much care for it. Flying would be awesome though, so a bird.
Is there a girl that knows everything or mostly everything about you? No
Are you anything like you were at this point last year? Exactly the same, minus one drummer and with slightly blacker lungs.
In the past week have you cried? No
Who was the last person you were in a car with except for family? Dave George, Mark and James W.
Is it easy for someone to make you smile? Yes, very. Yet I apparently have a reputation for being a miserable bastard, which I resent slightly.
Meet anyone new this year? Of course. If you've stopped meeting new people you might as well stop getting out of bed in the morning.
Have you ever told anyone you were OK when you really weren’t? Yes
Do you think anyone in general out there loves you? My parents and my nan I'm sure. Also, "in general" serves no purpose in the above sentence.
If you could change your eye color would you? No, there's nothing wrong with brown eyes.
Can a girl and a boy be best friends without having feelings for each other? Yes. Mulder and Scully managed it perfectly well, if you exclude how she was artificially inseminated with Mulder's sperm but it turned out the baby might not have been his because it was actually an Alien-Human Hybrid/Supersoldier with telekenetic powers.
Have you ever dated someone to get back at someone else? No, though I'm sure it would be fun if I was a bit of a cunt.
Last boy in your room? Mike 1 came over before we went to see ISIS.
Are you close to your mum? I suppose so. We argue constantly, but it never really amounts to much.
Do you wear your feelings all over your face? Hopefully not.
Have you ever dated someone twice? No
Does it bother you when people hate you? Yes, intensely.
When did you last hit rock bottom? Christmas '05 to Spring '06 I can hardly remember.
Do you think abortions are horrible? Biologically yes, they're pretty gnarly and I wouldn't want to do one myself. But morally... ultimately, there's nothing to say because it will never be a choice I'll have to make.
What do you think of people who do drugs? They have the best stories and are usually more awesome than me.
Why did your last relationship end? For further details, see the lyrics to "I Know It's Over" by The Smiths, and insert more dick jokes.
Have you kissed more than 10 people in 2008? I doubt it.
What deadly sin are you most guilty of? Sloth is top, with Envy shoulder-barging Gluttony for the 2nd place.
What do you want right now? Happiness, Love and Comradeship, but there is a very nice looking cheese baguette in the fridge that will do for now.
Does anyone hate you? Yes, a few people. But they're up their own arses anyway.
Have you ever lost someone in your family? Not immediate family, but yes - two grandparents and an aunt.
Do you have any secrets? Yes, lots.
Have you ever touched an elephant before? Yes. When I was younger on holiday in Greece, a circus set itself up next to the hotel and tied its elephant up outside. They let it off for a walk at some point too.
Do you believe girls fight too much? Wouldn't know. As a generalisation, they over-analyse.
Have you ever walked in on people having sex? No, but I've already been in the room before they started a couple of times. Also I did barge in on a couple having sex so I could retrieve my lager from next to the bed.
What would you like to say to the first person you kissed this year? It will have been either a family member or a mate, so I'm not sure.
Do you find it in your heart to forgive? Yes, but no one's properly shat on my soul as yet.
Do you think the drinking age should be lowered to 16? No, it would be chaos.
Ever kissed someone else's girlfriend/boyfriend? I don't just go around kissing everybody and making notes, who the fuck wrote this shit**?
What's a fact about the last person who was the opposite sex, who had their arms around you? I'm not sure. It was probably on Saturday at some point, but I don't know who.
What do you currently hear right now? Fan heaters and typing
Where did you get the shirt you are wearing? Christmas Day from my aunt.
What are your chances of getting with the person you like? Low, I suppose.
Could you go a day without eating? I doubt it
What was the reason you got grounded for last? I'm 22 for crying out loud.
Do you know anyone that smokes weed? Yes.
Do you still talk to the person you last dated? I don't "date" people, and even if I did I wouldn't call it "dating".
Have you ever kissed anyone whose name started with a C? Yes
When it comes to the opposite sex, what's your "type"? I'm not sure, there are many levels of expectation and preference depending on what you're actually looking for. Many will humour a horrible slag just for some quick sex, which I wouldn't do. Many will ignore those they find most beautiful because they themselves are not beautiful enough to succeed, which is a shame and somewhat self-defeating. Other people think human relationships are nothing more than an S&M Bar tarted up as a Circus disguised as Real Life, and end up on the internet shagging an exhaust pipe or picking shards of glass out of their own anus. I'm just thankful I fall into none of those groups, and the jury is still out on what exactly is "my type".
Where is the furthest place you've travelled? Tampa Bay, Florida
How long does it take you to shower? 5-10 minutes
What was the last thing that you drank? Coffee
If you could have one thing right now what would it be? A gig to play tonight, in the middle of a tour. And someone to come with me.
Does anyone love you? Hasn't this question already been asked?
How has this week been? It's Monday afternoon, so if we're counting last week then it's been excellent. Good food, good tunes, good times, good people. What else could I need?
Does the last person you shared a bed with mean anything to you? It was Dave George.
Do you curse in front of your parents? About a tenth of the amount I curse in front of others, but yes I do.
Are you slowly drifting away from someone? Er... probably?
Did anyone see you kiss that last person you kissed? Yes
When a friend walks out of your life, do you go after them or let them go? No one has cut their ties with me acrimoniously as far as I know, but many friends have up and left town. They seem perfectly happy where they are and I don't sit around wailing over their absence, but I always stay in contact.
Have you ever fell asleep in someones arms? Outside of infancy, no.
What are you doing tonight? Curry at the new restaurant in Totteridge, then over to Gemma's flat for a get-together of some kind.
Who are two girls you trust most? Oooh... shit, tough question. Trust with what? Information, possessions, my life?? A couple of my mates' girlfriends are quite trustworthy and they know me pretty well. Hold up, this quiz is actually for girls isn't it***?
Can you fill this out without lying? Yes, but not without avoiding some questions.
What are you doing now? Shirking
When is your birthday? December 6th
Who was the last person you took a picture with? The end of Saturday has blurred edges.
What are you listening to? Nothing right now, but this morning I put on "Blues For The Red Sun" by Kyuss in the car.
Is anything bothering you right now? Many things, mainly where I'll be in six months time and what will be happening in my life.
Where was the last place you fell asleep other than in your bed? Sofa bed at Ryan's house, next to Dave George.
What's the very first thing you do when you wake up? Try to go back to sleep in vain.
*Here I began to suspect it may not be a unisex questionnaire. **This should have been where it became obvious. ***The penny drops.
It's been less that a couple of weeks since I got back from the Melvins/Patton-curated All Tomorrow's Parties, and I still haven't quite recovered from the sheer awesomeness of the event, as well as the reckless abandon with which we treated our chalets, eardrums, immune systems and body clocks. There was enough going on for me to write a whole book about, but this is (honestly) the Short Version, leaving out anything irrelevant or long since forgotten:
The journey was straightforward, clear sky etc. Homemade Somerset Chili Burger at a roadside trailer for breakfast, and a cup of tea. I took a bag of CDs along for the journey without recalling that J, the driver, has possibly the best MP3 Player contents in the world, and so most of my contributions were superfluous. We pulled up listening to 'Rembrandt Pussyhorse' and some Hellboy courtesy of Dubya. I was dismayed to find that our chalet had no living room and only one wooden chair, so we headed immediately to the Irish Bar, then for another in the main pavilion next to who may or may not have been two-thirds of Teenage Jesus. After another two drinks and some ill-advised shots in the Pool Bar, we decided to go for pizza. Walking out of the bar, I was bemused to recognise something from Rolo Tomassi's 'Hysterics' from the speakers. This certainly was ATP.
We headed to the Centre Stage, a wide and impossibly dark venue, for Melvins 1983. I enjoyed this set, but it could have been better in all honesty. It was short, and the band (& soundman) only really geared up in the second half. 'Snake Appeal' got people moving, and the last song was great.
I caught Madlove next having not read the booklet blurb on this band, so I was expecting something not so straight once I knew it was Trevor Dunn's project. It was decent, interesting Alt Rock stuff and it came off well live.
Since we'd been drinking with serious intent from about 1.00pm, by this point I was already pretty hammered. I'd decided for some reason to smoke a large joint before Big Business: stupid idea. I was a bit too spaced out to get the best from this set, but it was really very good anyway. Their music makes a lot more sense to me when it's not seguing into the Melvins' set - sonically it stands up better when it's not immediately juxtaposed with something more powerful. That's nothing against them - the Melvins are just bigger than Big Business in sound, performance, numbers and noise levels (much of that can be attributed, ironically, to the Business boys themselves...)
During that set, Dubya was wandering a bit. Maybe he'd had too much to drink. It was only 6.30pm, but it's easily done when the music goes on for over twelve hours each day, at least six of those hours stretching out far beyond the edges of the average Bad Hangover. Net result: three full days of self-flagellation and broken promises Never To Do This To Myself Again!
I think I missed the beginning of The Locust due to Dubya staggering around the fish & chip shop irritating random people and trying to seduce the blonde girl at the Spirits trailer, but what I did see was quite masterful. They are in total control, unique and skilled, with inimitable stage presence. I knew not one single note of what they played, but it didn't matter. People were pretty lively, I heard, but I don't remember much violence.
I'd seen ISIS the night before and loved it, this was even better. The sound was dead on from the start and the new song stood out as particularly awesome. A lot of people I spoke to decamped to Zu instead, who were apparently amazing. I'm sure they were, but in all honesty I was never going to miss Isis for anybody, Melvins included (though luckily it didn't come to that). Friday night was the 7th time I've seen them. One of the best bands on the planet.
Meat Puppets next, I enjoyed it. I'm new to them (except for the Nirvana MTV Unplugged covers) and I was wondering if the more "country" material would be too tame, but it comes across more forcefully live and the three-piece lineup were well balanced, experienced and very good players.
Decisions needed to be made over what could have been Time-Clash Of The Fest: Os Mutantes and Porn. Although I now know Porn's set included Thurston Moore and Brent Hinds among the usual suspects, Os Mutantes were the trump card of the whole festival. I've loved this band for a year or so and was overjoyed to see them added to the lineup. I had never guessed Patton would be such a fan, although it makes sense that these guys might have been just as much of an inspiration for 'Disco Volante' as, say, The Mothers of Invention. Their original recordings are much more experimental than what comes across on the stage, where they are unable to recreate the Musique Concrete and the Big Band stuff. While it was just the Baptista brothers and some hired guns, the whole show was vibrant and amazing. Sparkly jackets, tights, capes, dreadlocked percussionists, vocal harmonies... it was a party. Mike Patton watched most of it from the wings, as did Dale & Jared a bit later on. Sergio Baptista is a very good, traditional-style guitar player and some of his solos were great. I danced around like a loon for the rest of the night and by the time I got back to the chalet I was a little worse for wear, standing on a chair shouting the (few) words to 'Bat Macumba' in a very cracked voice.
Saturday:
I started off thinking Junior Brown was just an old-fashioned R 'n' B & country player, but it took a while to sink in before I realised the music itself is far from simple. Some of the chord progressions were highly unusual. Had this guy been around in the 50s, he would be considered quite the oddball. Good stuff though, and the guitar/lap steel cross he uses is worth coming out for.
It was the third time I've seen Mastodon, and I staked my place by the sound desk to get the best mix in my ears. The fact that they were one guitarist down only emphasises quite how powerful they are at full strength, and while the performance and material (lots of 'Blood Mountain' and 'Leviathan', plus some new stuff) is strong, I know how this band can lay waste to a venue. They didn't, but it's not their fault really. Expecting them to be devastating and finding them merely excellent... well, that's hardly cause for concern.
The Melvins were reliably awesome. My first time hearing 'Nude...' material live didn't disappoint. 'The Kicking Machine' and 'Dog Island' were the winners from that album, with the bulk of 'Senile Animal' still sounding great alongside it. 'Tipping The Lion' was a welcome surprise. The slow one from 'Senile Animal' sounded nasty as fuck. Another Melvins show doesn't disappoint, what a surprise!
Next up, the Butthole Surfers and yes, Gibby was drunk as fuck but what do we expect anyway? The set was great, full of old classics and Paul Leary was particularly deranged. Gibby veered between having the crowd in stitches laughing and having them heckle him wildly. He picked up a Telecaster, muttering to the crowd something like "Try and visualise, if you can, me... being able to play the guitar" and lumbered about twanging discordant notes for two minutes before losing interest and putting it down. Irreverant and timeless, I'm glad I finally have a Butthole Surfers gig under my belt.
I was slightly disappointed by the lack of Dave Lombardo in Fantômas, but Dale Crover stepped up and delivered admirably. I know he's an awesome drummer, but Lombardo has the speed thing down perfectly and some Fantomas stuff is pretty frenetic. Anyway, they were brilliant - tight, eclectic, brutal in places. Patton commented graciously on the festival as a whole, saying he'd seen more amazing music in the last day and a half than in the last ten and half years and thanking ATP etc. He's a very compelling frontman to watch, and 'The Director's Cut' album itself came across like a sardonic rock opera. Most of the time I was watching Dale, though. He was probably the highlight of the set.
I spent the next two hours drinking and smoking too much in the chalet of some new friends Dubya had made, so I was quite leathered by 1am for Teenage Jesus & The Jerks' second set, but I somehow had a perfect view. Short, angular, pissed off and very committed, controlled and forceful. The drummer was particularly powerful for someone with only one actual drum to use. Lydia Lunch, Thurston Moore and Jim Something-less-pronounceable from The Bad Seeds have all been Pros for such a long time that they could possibly have approached this nasty, squalid old material in the wrong way. But no, it was very very good indeed. Lunch's post-Branca guitar noise was all but perfect.
After Teenage Jesus, more Ouzo happened to me and we bowled in to see Squarepusher en masse. This was truly the best set of the weekend by some margin. This guy can do anything. He has a melodic sensibility like no one else, and seems to be unerringly in love with the bass guitar because he has wrung more out of it than any other bass player I can think of, and continues to do so. If Buzzo is a bottomless pit of riffs (which he is), then Tom Jenkinson is a bottomless pit of ideas. It's not like he's never made any filler, but who can hold that against him? The 'Just A Souvenir' material is a major departure from his usual stuff, but the rock riffs and drummer work brilliantly. The live drums are also an asset when the set gets to the inevitable 'Come On My Selector', it's "let the bass kick" drop was the singular high point of the weekend for me.
The rest of the night is lost to uncertainty. After heading back to the chalet of our new friends, I remember making a go at finishing the Ouzo while watching 'Goodfellas' over many animated and unsober conversations, failing, and hauling myself home at what must have been at least 5am.
Sunday:
My terrible hangover was only slightly lifted by Joe Lally. I love Fugazi and Ataxia, but Joe is an unassuming performer of subtle alternative rock music, and I had nothing to really grab at at a time when that was desperately needed.
I caught a bit of Leila as well but she was having terrible sound problems. Hardcore digital clipping. Not pleasant. I was with Tim Cementimenal, and he said "It would have been fine if it was just that sound."
I sat around feeling sorry for myself for a while, then grabbed J (who had been awake about thirty-six hours by this point) and headed for Monotonix. I won't go too far into it as I'm sure people have talked a lot about this band already. I decided to forego the bar and head into the melee. It was impossible to see what was going on, occasionally you'd see a guitar neck poking out from somewhere in the crowd. The vocalist shoved past me occasionally, on his way to climbing the walls & railings or hanging from the ceiling. You couldn't tell where the band were most of the time. Bits of drum kit were being passed along, played by members of the crowd. I was looking for the guitarist when I saw a swelling of people coming towards me, and I got out of the way to find the whole band moving their gig to right in front of the sound desk. After a while the vocals cut out and the drums had been dispersed. The gig appeared to be over. I decided to go outside and look for my mate in the smoking area but there were hundreds of people blocking the doors. I phoned him up and he said he was "outside, watching the gig". We filtered out, hearing wild cheers from outside. By the time I got out the door, the band pushed past me and back inside with whatever instruments they still had hold of. The gig was now over.
Another period of self-pity followed. It was imperative I didn't get drunk or stay up too late as we had to check out at 10am. Dälek are, and were, brilliant. They had two more collaborators adding sound manipulations and contributing to the general Industrial Brick Wall Noise the duo are well-known for. They remain the only hip-hop act I've ever truly enjoyed because the music itself is so strong and effective. I don't listen to anything purely on the strength of its lyrics, and most hip-hop backing tracks sound like just that. Aside from a few tasteful examples I can think of (and my knowledge is pretty basic), it just sounds tepid, uninspired and cheesy. Dälek are one of those examples.
Melvins again, and I actually detected a little rhythmic sloppiness in the middle of this set. It didn't really deter much though, and once again the latest two records got the lion's share of the setlist. 'Boris' was the real high point of their two performances, with the ending part of 'Eye Flys' running a close second. That's not me being elitist about their old material (although 'Oven' or 'Antitoxidote' would have been nice), those songs are just their most crowd-flattening. Buzzo finished off with a minimalist rendition of 'Okee From Muskogee' while Jared crowd-surfed and assaulted a roadie who was then finished off by Dale creeping back on the stage to drag him away. Not a real assault, but tell me you wouldn't feel a little raped with Jared straddling you in front of thousands of people, harmonising a country song.
Contrary to most people, I enjoyed The Damned. 'Love Song' and 'New Rose' were worth staying for, and I found their eclecticism enjoyable. They have a big sonic range that packed a lot of clout, what with the keyboards and Captain Sensible's very fat-sounding Gibson SG.
After this, we went back to our friends' chalet. Ben from Reading had been sitting around all day in his poncho, resigned to not seeing anything at all as he'd overindulged so much the previous night. Not for me though: rousing myself for a final push of adrenaline, I walked in mid-Double Negative and immediately rushed straight to the pit. What can I say? They know hardcore punk rock, and they know it well. Completely fantastic. They ended with Minor Threat's "Seeing Red".
Finally, another great Squarepusher set, though slightly eclipsed by the previous night. I managed to get to the front, where a very inebriated individual was propped against the barrier with his head bowed. He somehow managed to nod the affirmative whenever the security asked him if he was okay, but would then zone out again. Eventually I decided enough was enough and, through succinct hand signals that would have been far beyond the capabilities of my sober self, conspired with another reveller to quickly hoist the comatose raver over the barrier and drop him on the other side so we could take his place. Outstanding success, much high-fiving ensued.
Checking out in the morning was a semi-conscious affair, and we were two hours away before I realised my denim jacket was still at Butlins. And so the weekend ends with me grumbling, swearing and frowning into a sub-par Service Station toad-in-the-hole, or maybe it ends later on that day, after a long detour, in the square of a sloping Cotswolds village drinking coffee and preparing for the home stretch.
Five or six years ago my town of High Wycombe was on the gigging circuit for a lot of decent UK Hardcore bands - people like Knuckledust, Underrule, Diction, Special Move, Unite, BDF etc. A handful of people I knew would attend, some locals I didn't know would invariably be around, but mostly the crowd were followers and friends of the bands themselves. Usually they'd have come out from London. I liked the music we saw and heard - I still do. The last couple of decent hardcore shows to roll through Wycombe were the USHC bands Throwdown and Terror, the latter being the White Horse landlord Paul's last gig in charge of the pub. After that the UKHC gigs dried up, aside from a few bands playing at the largely Punk Rock-inclined Pass Out nights.
About two years ago a friend of mine, ex-Owing To This (who had captured a moment very successfully in the scene some years before), started a UKHC band with some younger members. After six months or so, they hit their stride and suddenly I was at one of their shows, standing at the edge of the biggest crowd of Hardcore kids I'd seen outside of London in nearly half a decade. It was far more violent than I remembered and though the music was still as spiteful as it was before, the fans seemed more vicious. This was more ominous than the videos of snarling, spitting, cartoonish Punk Rockers from the '77 First Wave.
Since then I've witnessed the UKHC scene accelerate through Wycombe again, riling up its youngsters as it passes by. I was never a die-hard follower, but I've lost something of the connection I once had with it. I find it hard to become enraged, indignant and territorial on cue. In fact, in the years since I left school I've tried to actively avoid those mindsets. The genre still appeals to me because I like angry, fast, and heavy, but I've never felt right standing on stage screaming at The Enemy without also screaming at Myself in the same breath for the sake of fair balance. These kids are making good music and they mean it, but they appear to me as a pack of wolves sometimes, and I doubt that individually they are as headstrong and righteous as their group catharsis would suggest.
Some of it is shamelessly Tough Guy and irksomely Preachy, too. Maybe that's a simpler reason why I'm not so moved by it all any more - I am not a Tough Guy, or a Preacher. I'm as wrong as I am right, ultimately, as is everyone.
It seems that no matter what tangent I go off on, I always come right back to metal. It's not that I ever enjoy it less or get bored by it, but occasionally other styles drag me away. Recently I realised I had an awful lot of Radiohead to catch up with. A while ago I became enamoured with Comets On Fire, Guapo, Black Mountain, and other superficially 'retro' but ultimately quite contemporary stuff. And last year I realised The Flaming Lips are one of the finest American bands of all time. Last night, though, was all about metal. I went to the Scala in Kings Cross to catch the ever-evolving Enslaved for the first time since the 'Below The Lights' tour in 2003. They've got bigger in every way since then - bigger stage, bigger crowd, bigger sound. It was a great performance at the beginning of a tour supporting a justifiably widely acclaimed album ('Vertebrae'). What is really remarkable is that they are one of the few remaining original Black Metal bands and their momentum is still gathering after fifteen years. Every one of their ten albums seems to have been a destination, from which they would then start again. They have a rich sound and their genuine progressiveness never reaches a point where it no longer Rocks Very Hard (alternatively, they are never form over function). The international metal scene is lucky to have them.
Most of the set was from the opposite ends of their career - 'Vertebrae' was, naturally, represented heavily alongside a couple from 'Ruun' (including the pit-opening "Fusion of Sense and Earth"). But they also played "Eld" and a track from 1992 (does that make it from the "Yggdrasil" demo tape??), and ended with what may have been "Slaget I Skogen Bortenfor" (my Old Norse is a little rusty) from 'Hordanes Land'. The unity between old and new was as palpable as the difference, but all the thematic speculation was swept aside by massive blastbeats. Righteous!
So metal raised my eyebrows and called me back in again, as has become the reliable norm.
The only sour point was a very tall man who stood in the centre of the crowd and Zieg Heiled his way through the first three songs. Thankfully he was ejected by security. He looked unsurprised, and made almost no attempt to fight back for the Fatherland. Sadly there are still some grown adults that feel the need to make their small, hateful point from within a scene that has far outgrown such insularities. If he wished to live out in the woods listening to puerile NSBM and avoiding racially impure citizens, then why not do it? Because he must live in the real world to pay his bills and buy his pagan jewellery, and the real world does not accommodate him. Thus, he sulks. And when he goes to the black metal show and feels his "sincerity" rebuffed by every other attendee, who is to blame? Unfortunately, if he's already stupid enough to earnestly Zieg Heil in public, the logical truth - that he is to blame - will not register in his mind.
On a Lighter Dark note, the lineup of the new band Shrinebuilder has given me something to look forward to: Scott Kelly, Al Cisneros, Wino and Dale Crover.
Read that again. They have the potential to be the best band in the entire universe.
