———–

———–

———–

———-

———-

———-

———-

———-

‘Support Act: TBC’ – This arrangement of 13 individually-innocuous letters is enough for one to get bleary-eyed and start hearing Bernard Herrmann’s strident violins from the shower scene in ‘Psycho’ fame. Presumably, the reason for such paralysing fear is the belief one harbours that the headliner has left the acquisition of a support act to the very last minute like an imminently due essay. Therefore, they must surely serve up and send out the musical equivalent of an incoherent jumble of words backed up by a few rudimentary references from Wikipedia. The strength of such dread brought on by this lexical omen is great; however, it can be by far surpassed by the strength of relief and joy one gets when, upon arriving at the venue, the support act is revealed as being a personal favourite of his or hers. And so seeing ‘Alessi’s Ark: 7.45pm’ jotted below the name of Laura Veirs on the front door of Rescue Rooms really set the pace for the rest of the night.

True to the door’s word, 7.45pm saw Alessi take to the stage in front of a predictably half-empty floor that pleasingly filled up with haste. Dressed in a checkered dress and cardigan combo as sported in her ‘Maybe I Know’ video, she immediately lavishes the unsuspecting spectators with her gorgeous tales of love told via quirk-laden vocals. Relying more on her debut album Notes From The Treehouse than her stunning 2011 effort Time Travel, the 21-year-old plays beautifully through songs like ‘Wire’, ‘The Robot’ and ‘The Horse’ with virtually every song being followed by a brief break and an allusion to how cold it is (yes, she is British). ‘Woman’ and ‘Constellations’ were comfortably the stand-out performances, the latter introducing a theme that Veirs herself would later re-explore (a theme particularly apt considering the moon and Jupiter, hand-in-hand, shone imperiously above the Rescue Rooms throughout).

Alessi’s (above) between song interaction tended to be as precocious as each of her albums and she even took to charmingly goading Nottingham for being too timid an audience. At one point, she absent-mindedly takes to fixing an undergarment before shrieking with embarrassment ‘Oh God, and I’m rearranging myself in public…’ that has the already-endeared crowd erupt into laughter.

During yet another interaction with the transfixed Nottingham throng, Alessi introduces her song ‘The Dog’ as ‘a song about…walking a dog’ before giggling at the absurdity of it and apologising for her songs’ tackling of the mundane. Such humility and self-awareness perhaps disservices and underplays the complexity of what’s really going on in her songs though, and her aching cries of ‘I’m only a woman’ hints at a sombre intricacy veining through both her music and self: more than the jingle-jangle of her semi-acoustic guitar lets on.

Finishing with ‘The Bird Song’, a song that eventually descends into Alessi effectively whispering down the microphone, she’s seen off with ample applause. Disarming herself (of a guitar, obviously), she weaves through an appreciative audience to her exit; leaving many internally intimating – to use words of her own – ‘I’d like to walk around in your beautiful head’.

By now, the venue is, if not rocking, then, swaying with noise and anticipation and it gives me the perfect chance to survey the composition of the crowd. Having just released Tumble Bee, an album of traditional children’s songs, then it’s perhaps not surprising that a large proportion is of families on a night out together; the remainder is made up of lovers entwined and half a dozen mid-life crises.

Veirs strides out on to the stage purposefully flanked by guitarist Tim Young and violinist, violist and keyboard player Alex Guy. Tumble Bee is hardly delved into at all; most material is plucked from her latest ‘adult’ album July Flame, not that this leaves the junior members of her audience chagrined. As triumvirates go, this one’s particularly felicitous in both musical terms and otherwise. While Veirs is the slightly more earnest focal point, the importance of Guy and Young is never overlooked, something Veirs herself no doubt realises and this is demonstrated as she often gives them several individual moments in the limelight. Beyond this, the pre- and post-song dialogue never ceases to entertain; Veirs the instigator, Young the conversational quarry and Guy the dealer of witty ripostes.

It’s not only with each other they interact, during ‘Life Is Good Blues’, she implores the, until now, reserved audience to give a helping hand with the ‘buh buh buh bit’. On one of the two songs from Tumble Bee, she also asks for the upbeat to be clapped and, when they do, she applauds them sweetly.

‘Sun Is King’ beautifully picks up the celestial theme dropped by Alessi’s Ark and the sentiment of it all is lost on nobody. Meanwhile, fellow tracks from the same album, July Flame, are all uniformly effective, perhaps down to their relative freshness. Older songs from Carbon Glacier such as ‘Ether Sings’ and ‘Lonely Angel Dust’, perhaps suffer from a little rustiness and their misfortune to be in such close proximity to the likes of ‘Carol Kaye’ – a paean to the much-admired bassist.

Overall, the performances never stray from excellent and it’s almost enough to take Young up on his offer of guitar lessons on Skype. It is, at times, enough for one to want to bottle it and use it when required as a balm to soothe thy weary soul. There are criticisms to be found if you dig deep enough though, I counted the use of 5 or 6 bad ice metaphors (including the support act’s) and in my most intermittently cynical moods I pretend to be surprised that the room isn’t decorated with dream catchers and feathers.

One of the most interesting performances of the night was courtesy of ‘Jailhouse Fire’, a song she introduces as being about Alex Guy and as the song progresses, she leads us to imagine Guy committing more and more outlandish transgressions.

As the night approaches its end, Laura Veirs brings out her two most celebrated songs in ‘Make Something Good’ and the exceptional ‘I Can See Your Tracks’, if you’ve not heard the latter I really suggest you do. Feeling that this isn’t enough, she also unveils a bubble machine to everyone’s amusement (including hers) and allows it to fill up the room with bubbles for the duration of the finale. To the hard-nosed, this may seem tawdry but there, in the moment, it somehow works and adds to all that’s gone before. A fine evening.

It’s a funny old thing, gig reviewing. Very often there is a feel of the same old, same old, with a few mediocre supports and a headliner trotting out the same set they’ve played the last few tours – and looking about as jaded with it all as most of the crowd appear to be. But every once in awhile a surprise turns up, stops you in your tracks and raises the game for the entire show. In the last year or two, I have only seen two other new artists – namely Zulu Winter and Clock Opera – that left me feeling as if I were looking at a band that were surely destined for the big time. The third arrived tonight.

Citizens! (be sure not to leave out the exclamation mark; doing so will bring you to another band entirely) have been hotly touted by Franz Ferdinand’s Alex Kapranos (who is also producing their May dropping debut album) and signed last year to the French label, Kitsune. The London-based quintet parade an 80s disco, indie-pop vibe, filled with a raft of catchy, danceable songs that are all infectious and instantly memorable, and in frontman Tom Burke, a presence who is like an amalgamation of a latter-day David Bowie/Bryan Ferry, with perhaps just a flavour of the aforementioned Zulu Winter’s Will Daunt. Their first single ‘True Romance’ may have hooked a few in on its release late last year, but that is nothing compared to its March radio-friendly follow-up, ‘Reptile’, which will burrow its way into your head like not just one worm, but a whole can full.

As they go from one song to the next in the nine-song set, each just seems to get better.  ‘Let’s Go All The Way’, with catchy synth hooks supplied by Lawrence Diamond, ‘whoops’ and ‘swishes’ alongside Michael Richmond’s thumping drum beat; the curious vocal manipulation in parts of ‘Monster’ that has Burke reaching falsetto heights, before the occasional ear-splitting roar kicks in, filled out with bouncy beats and harmonising vocals by guitarist Thom Rhoades. ‘Girlfriend’ – introduced by Burke as ‘this is a message from my heart, to yours’ – changes beat and rhythm throughout, to an ending which sees Burke lounging, louche-ly, with one arm resting on synth. Citizens! have recently played dates in Europe, including the Eurosonic festival, and seem to have impressed all those who have happened by them. Speaking to several people during the evening, it became evident that a fair few were here solely for Citizens! with a large contingent of Japanese fans, and one French girl who had travelled from Warsaw in Poland. With upcoming dates over February in the UK, my recommendation is to go and find out what makes them so good for yourself.

Next up, Welsh wizards of shimmering electronica Man Without Country (pictured above) take to a darkened stage as they intro into ‘Foe’ and a set of hazy, shoegaze-meets-synth melodies carried with a dark intensity of lyric and a young, poppy vibe in the style of M83. ‘Puppets’ (with a washing-machine-like whirl cycle ending), as with ‘Closet Addicts Anonymous’, which follows later in the set, are enhanced by the drumstick thrashing on sampler of Tomas Greenhalf, something which is now almost a trademark of MWC (and it has to be said, he thrashes very well). A five minute break after just two songs in owing to a technical failure, which was unfortunate for them, but they pull it back, finishing with their anthemic ‘Inflammable Heart’ that as always, raises cheers of recognition whenever played with its pulsing beats, sampler crashes and the semi-hushed vocal of Ryan Owen.

When The Cast Of Cheers arrive on stage it’s a signal for the party to begin in earnest. I don’t know what they’re putting in the water in Dublin’s fair city, but this lot must be imbibing plenty of it.  With a hopping, skip-jumping guitarist, Neil Adams, and his brother, vocalist, Conor, belting out a set’s worth of material than never run anywhere less than 180bps – it’s fast, fun and furious ballsy rockin post-punk from start to finish, full of full-on tight punchy riffs, stomping bass and thumping drums. On their website they stated that for this tour they were hoping for the same reaction ‘Susan Boyle got when she first opened her gob on stage’. Had Simon Cowell been in the audience he’d have been weighing up the commercial potential of this Everything Everything/Biffy/Foals quartet in his head.  An eight song set, including the forthcoming debut single ‘Family’, they run from almost country style tweaks on ‘ Blocks’ through to the rock thrash of ‘Human’.  ‘This is thirsty work’, says Conor at one point, taking a swig from a water bottle.  On tour as co-headliner with Theme Park (main picture), there’s going to be some craic going down across the country, that’s for sure.

If The Cast Of Cheers are the in-your-face party people, then Theme Park are the laid-back Caribbean beach soiree; Pina Colada sipping and chillin on the night breeze. It’s all totally tropical. With the success of single release ‘Milk’ and recent Channel 4 showings, they have already started to garner a fanbase – and it’s easy to see why. The five-piece Londoners are inoffensive, easy on the ear, with plenty of flowing lushness and Talking Heads rhythms. Tonight it not only brings dancing couples to the front, but also all of the evening’s supports grooving on the floor, as they flow through the jangly melodies of ‘A Mountain We Have’ and ‘Two Hours’, and the singalong catchy chorus of ‘Wax’, all accompanied by Miles Haughton’s sweetly baritone vocal. They play for less than thirty minutes, but it’s enough to send everyone home feeling chilled and filled.

As venues and performers go, the combination of Soho’s legendary Jazz bar, Ronnie Scott’s, mixed with the vivacity of the now 70 year-old Martha Reeves, is about as good as it gets. With a five-night sold out residency and a famously exuberant setting filled to the rafters with punters, journalists, Phil Collins and what seems tonight to be half of London celebrating birthdays, there is a real sense of excitement.

But tonight is all about a trip down memory lane, as well as a hint of new material from the remarkably fresh looking and buoyant Martha with a stellar cast of musicians on the horn section and backing vocalists. Similar to other performers such as Tom Jones and Shirley Bassey, the music might be brilliant, but the singer in question is all about the full performance to woo the new, old and converted.

With little introduction, the very tightly packed crowd are in rapture within a glimmer of the backstage door opening. It is clear tonight will have all the makings of a classic “I was there when…” moment. Not lacking a belting hit or two she unleashes classics as if they are throw away B-sides, it is that effortless. Her vocals are crisp, booming and larger than life. Not only this, but for such a small venue, the sound and production is nigh on perfect.

The magnificent ‘Nowhere To Run’ slips into the supreme ‘Jimmy Mack’ followed by countless others, including Beatles cover ‘Something’ the first hit ‘(Love Is Like A) Heatwave’ and ‘Home To You’. What’s so impressive is her way with the audience, before long half the seated, formally dressed and well-mannered crowd are up and letting all hell break lose. Her conversations are highly entertaining from talking about her backing singers, hometown Detroit, inviting people up on stage and encouraging a spot of jive dancing to bantering about Phil Collins and the music industry. It is an evening with a personality always primed for the big time and she hasn’t lost that one bit. A gentleman at the bar explains how he got into the gig with great sincerity. He bought a record outside the night before, spotted Martha, talked with her and before long she insisted he was put on her guestlist for the evening’s show. Instantly, from that tale alone, she gains respect beyond most musician’s dreams.

It is that presence that has the middle aged crowd tonight cooing for more and when she releases the mighty punch of her finest hit bar none ‘Dancing In The Streets’ the whole place rocks to one side in elation. It is quite simply marvellous. With a concert of this ilk, the gig goer generally believes they are going to be blown away by a genuinely great performance, but so often with the big names it fails to go to script. Forget that with Martha, she looks good, sings great and captivates the audience for 90 minutes of pure brilliance which will leave most breathless and others gasping for more. Superb.

After 103 live performances in the UK, Wednesday night saw Norway’s finest, the Casiokids, finally pop their Cambridge cherry.

For a band that had previously described performing live to us as “ a constant source of inspiration and joy” it was expected that they would give tonight some endeavour. What we didn’t expect was the pools off sweat still dripping of the ceilings after a synth-pop tornado blitzed it’s way through the defenceless, 100 person capacity room that is the Portland Arms.

After a head-turning and tight performance from Brighton outfit The Special Ks, Casiokids surfaced on stage, acting as their own roadies and setting up shop. The four-piece somehow managed to cram their large array of electro tools, and additional drummer and kit, complete with African percussion items onto a stage a fifth of the size they could easily operate. The production was far bigger than the stage itself, and that was after trimming back such luxuries like the confetti cannon that coated revellers at Casiokids’ Cargo gig the previous night. Yet the band’s constant act of jumping between positions, swapping instruments and weaving between the set up created it’s own velocity and locomotion that incited the dancing and bouncing from the audience, there were even incidents of the conga.

Casiokids got into their stride almost from the off, flying into ‘Det Haster!’, filled with its pulsating bass and fastidious synths. The ‘awk-pop’ nature of ‘Golden Years’ the latest single off their recently released third album stands out as a joyful pop belter. Despite ‘Aabenbaringen Over Aaskammen’ only just coming out the Norwegians avoided the trick of playing the majority of their new material and put on a set spanning all three albums. The set was closed with the epic ‘Fot I Hose’ which was extended due to a change in drummer. The joyous closer was extended and extended by extra drop after extra drop with the infectious wabbles and dub that served as a rallying call for the crowd to release any and all exuberance they had somehow managed to maintain.

Casiokids tonight emphasised their musical knowledge, not just through their talents and abilities to swap instruments at the click of a finger, nor their ability to hold quaint harmonies or melodic keys. But their knowledge of how to rise to the occasion and play to the crowd was the real champion tonight. Casiokids exceled in the live setting and turned up the fun and created an occasion where all present would agree, 103 shows has been far too long of a wait.

———-

———-

———-

———-

———-

———-

———-

It was near on impossible for Lanterns On The Lake to make a theatrical entrance to match the J2 theatre stage this evening. The reason being the Newcastle six-piece had spent the previous ten minutes delicately arranging and setting up their army of equipment, for which many of them would swap and use throughout. With that said, once the lights did fall and the sextet had finished their charmingly sheepish waves to the crowd the next hour that was to follow was filled with exception and stunning contemporary experimental folk. Tonight was a performance that was both enthralling and every bit as ‘cinematic indie’ as the band sells themselves as.

“It’s a lively crowd tonight” sang the beautifully pitched Hazel Wilde on the set opener. Yet the lyric from ‘Lungs Quicken’ was in complete contrast to those assembled tonight. From the off the crowd were immersed in a deathly silence that was the only feasible response to the delicate vocal and peaceful riffs streaming from the stage. ‘If I’ve Been Unkind’ was next and served as a reminder that of the folk routes upon which Lanterns build. The shift in sound from the first two tracks and throughout the show further emphasised the abstruseness of Lantern’s operation. This being the fact that their seamless glide from acoustic and organ fused folk to electronica and vying rock atmospherics makes them so hard to categorise and from this, so, so gripping to watch live.

Lantern’s debut album ‘Gracious Tide, Take Me Home’ was inspired by their move to the coast. Unsurprisingly the motif of the sea and life surrounding it is carried into the whispery debut record. Tonight this motif was a definite correlation for the band’s wonderful performance. At times there were still, almost shoegaze and peaceful moments led by gentle guitar work and folk whisicles that sat like a calm, still lake. Whilst at other moments there were crashing and forceful layers of guitar riffs and electronic waves that mirrored a traumatic and dancing ocean during a storm. The real joy in these polar movements of noise was the frequency in which they interacted and really no song finished as you would anticipate or expect it to.

The beautiful ‘Kingdom’ and the expressive ‘Keep On Trying’ were stand out moments of an eleven song set that had no lulls. Maybe Lanterns On The Lake aren’t as gripping as the dark sounds of Mazzy Star that they instantly draw comparison to but tonight Lanterns proved masters of creating atmosphere and music to capture you with force stronger than any ocean rip current.

———-

———-

———-

———-

———-

The Social might be operated by Heavenly Recordings, but tonight’s show is a City Slang double bill, with labelmates Dear Reader and Laura Gibson getting together to launch their new albums, which were both released a week ago.  The place is cosy in the extreme – the kind of place where encores have to follow on from the main set without a break, because the drummer can’t leave the stage without dismantling his kit – and as such it’s an ideal venue for the two singer songwriters to introduce the audience to their latest work.

Dear Reader, the musical project of South African-born Berlin-based Cherilyn MacNeil, is first up.  MacNeil, who performs the whole set from behind her keyboard, is accompanied by a band who struggle to fit all of their instruments on the stage.  They all seem to be multi-instrumentalists: violin, accordion, mandolin and trumpet are all employed, while the bass is passed around between them at various points.

The new Dear Reader album, Idealistic Animals, is a kind of musical bestiary: each track has the name of an animal, which is then used as a jumping off point for exploring more expansive themes and, ultimately, for examining MacNeil’s loss of religious faith.  There are no references to this inverted Damascene conversion tonight, however.  The instrumentation and occasionally baroque style means that an almost Arcade Fire level of grandiosity often seeps into the performance, but MacNeil seems content to focus on the small quirky details.  Thus the songs about animals are presented as nothing more than songs about animals.

Idealistic Animals isn’t the first time that MacNeil has used something drawn from nature as a starting point: this is proved by the highlight of the set, a rousing rendition of ‘Great White Bear’, taken from her 2009 album Replace Why With Funny.  Dear Reader conclude with ‘Monkey’, which climaxes with MacNeil repeating ‘You can go home now’.  But the prospect of Laura Gibson means that few are inclined to do so.

Gibson’s set is very much in the spirit of the album launch.  A couple of older tracks are thrown into the mix, but tonight is all about showcasing her new release, La Grande, and she plays every song from the new album.  She begins with the title track, and then moves onto the more delicate ‘Milk-Heavy, Pollen Eyed’: a superb way of starting the set, but one that left me concerned that she was using up La Grande’s finest tracks rather quickly.  However, her performance of the rest of the album is a reminder that La Grande is comprised almost entirely of songs of equally great strength, and so the quality of songwriting never lets up.

There are a few incidents that make Gibson’s set feel rather shambolic.  Early on, she forgets to move her capo and briefly plays her guitar out of tune.  Then there are lengthy backstories to several songs, and a lengthy hesitation while Dear Reader’s Cherilyn MacNeil is fetched to contribute harmonies to ‘Feather Lungs’.  But Gibson and her band take the minor mishaps in their stride, and ensure that things which might easily be considered annoying are instead almost charming.  But if these accidents must somehow be redeemed, then Gibson’s finer moments, such as her acapella performance of ‘The Rushing Dark’ with backing vocals provided by the audience, suffice in themselves.

I’ve never really been one for rituals – or at least not conscious ones – as they’re, for me, inextricably linked with the confessed put-on-left-sock-first mindlessness of Premier League footballers. One imagines though that a hefty proportion of gig-goers tend to have some sort of routine that serves them well and allows them the required repose before the frolic and frisson of live music. Purely accidentally, like some sort of knowing alchemist, I’ve stumbled upon a most magical equation; a routine ritual that ensures no matter how good or bad the band are, how heavy-handed the hurly doormen are or how persistently ennui’s banging down the door of your cerebrum, that serenity prevails. For hiding from in-house hostility and waiting impatiently for the gig’s commencement, I stuck on my favourite (despite being at this point, unseen) Woody Allen and from that moment – well, I never looked back. The combination of edifying editing, succinct smarts and devastating drollness put one in a splendid mood, and not one of those purposeless, perfunctory good moods but one with the façade of meaning. Of course, I was not asked to review a Woody Allen film tonight, but a Deaf Club gig, however, there’s method to the drivel: the reason I tell you this is because if at any point I wax too lyrical, I want you to remember that my brain was not its despondent self and slap me with a wet fish.

Being new to Nottingham’s Rescue Rooms in the gigging sense (I’ve been a few times prior in a standing at the bar and then, when I get drunk enough, dancing dreadfully capacity), I’d no cognisance of procedure. I, therefore, found myself in a one-strong queue at 9.45pm like an over-eager fanboy whose social standing would have plummeted if it hadn’t hit its nadir long ago. Upon entering the intimate (yes, that is a euphemism for small) venue I buckled up, reminisced an hour ago, gripped my Jamaican beer and sat staring, waiting, watching, dying for nigh on an hour. Then at last, the support act smugly strode onstage and within seconds, their presumably paid following filled the room in a most irritating manner – think of Woody, think of Woody. Fears of being unduly generous in praise now duly discarded.

Barefooted, hooded and busking out melodies and sentiments that had been expressed by a thousand more people, in a thousand better ways, it was hard to remain anything other than uninterested during this local band’s set. Yes, they’re young (although not actually that young), callow and new and thus, I should cut them some slack – in fact, I probably would have done had they not proceeded to talk, jump and cackle over Deaf Club’s set. Perhaps more disappointing though was their following’s dispersal soon after the frontman struck his final, derivative chord: had they not heard Deaf Club? Knowing, as I do, that coarse criticism looks unjust and incongruous unless it insists that it’s constructive, I’d like at this point to praise the rhythm section. Is that constructive? Never mind. In case you’re familiar with my opinions – and so hold everything I mumble in disregard – and are desperate to hear this band, I find myself unable to recall their moniker. Sorry.

Inconspicuously walking through where the crowd should have been, Deaf Club – comprising Polly Mackey, Paul Bates, Jac Bates, Tom Ryan and Sian Rosier – took to the compact cage with little fanfare before immediately bursting into a scintillating set list.  Uniformly minimal in both dress and dramatics, it’s clear the band have confidence in the gravitas and allure of their music and rely not on any superfluous nonsense. Singer Polly Mackey stands guitar in hand, occasionally feeling obliged to peer out beyond her dark fringe to check everyone’s as enamoured as they should be. On each side of her, Bates and Roberts remain mostly still – deeply at odds with the moving nature of what they’re producing. Beyond the foreground, and yet to be paid equal attention to, Ryan zealously provides robust rhythms without contemplating effort while Rosier maintains her keyboard as stolidly as Candida Doyle did Pulp’s.

Anyone familiar with last year’s ‘Lull’ EP will know that such self-confidence is not misplaced; it’s an EP with a great sense of sadness, moody melodies, haunting riffs and dual-titled songs (separated by the Fleet Foxean ‘/’). Unsurprisingly for a band who are, thrillingly, still in their fresh-faced ascendency, Deaf Club showcased Lull in its entirety and, unperturbed by their own astuteness on record, seemingly redefined brilliance with the live outing of each ensuing song. The irrefutable highlight of both ‘Lull’ and their gig here tonight was ‘Forest/Shore’ ; introspective, masterfully played, foreshadowing impending doom and with an orgiastic, instrumental sub-climax, it’s as affecting a song as you’re going to hear anywhere, anytime. ‘Postcard’ too is worthy of such description, here played with a passion and vehemence that’s at times unsettling. Coming at the end of the set it feels like a plea with what their wielding to allow this moment infinity and I too found myself arms akimbo, confronting entropy with anger as it dismissed my request and allowed the passing of time to remain. Preceding the performance’s finishing, a group of girls happily congregated in front of the stage in what can only be described as a huddle-cum-dance aimed at and caused by what they were hearing: a suitable and warming way to end a most impressive show. The band then gave their thanks, said their goodbyes and crossed the room to flog t-shirts and CDs in an act ill-befitting their potential.

In conclusion I shan’t go over previously made points like in a badly-written essay, but I shall make a concession. Having seen my two picks for 2012 (The Staves and Ren Harvieu) being regurgitated by broadsheet newspapers in the twilight days of last year, I’m rather eager to supersede them. While Deaf Club have a double A-side coming out in February, they’re still, I feel, not quite ready for the success that deserves them. They’re not quite inchoate, not quite fully-formed but somewhere in between and so I hereby declare them my pick (record release permitting) not of 2012, but 2013.