With Mercury-nominated 2011 debut Peanut Blues & Melancholy Jam, Ghostpoet rewired something very British into his own bleak, bruised sound.
At best, Obaro Ejimiwe’s dream-like delivery is magnetic, intimate; pulling you under the covers with him for honest confessions. At worst, it’s lazy, his elliptical phrasings and slurry delivery packing cotton wool between him and you. Lines like “dim sum and noodles were life-long friends who kept squabbling all the time... I try in vain to make sense of it all," can leave you cold.
As the sun sets through the skylights of Village Underground, an industrial space well-matched to the music, he opens with "Gaaasp". The crowd seem subdued, straight from the office, and it seems his soporific style could go either way.
But, thanks to his charisma and drum machine, he veers away from the murkiness of his studio offerings. He beams at the crowd asking: “are you here to party?”. The addition of synths, tubular bells and other instrumentation not heard on the album, builds a lush, upbeat soundscape that it's hard not to move to.
The skeleton of the set is still the dubby synths and electronic clicks that sound akin to the rainy bus stop setting of the video for track "Meltdown". Hailing from Tooting, south London, and recording his first album in his bedroom in Coventry, he paints an undoubtedly urban soundscape - comparing red eyes with brake lights - that you’d be forgiven for thinking were informed by a comedown or two.
There’s a rich British heritage to his sound - the everyday concerns of Mike Skinner, the immersiveness of Massive Attack, the delivery of Roots Manuva - that doesn’t sound out of place between contemporaries Nicolas Jaar and Flying Lotus.
Samples of rain and tweeting birds add atmosphere, before ‘Survive It’, co-sung with a female vocalist, consolidates his sound and the audience’s spirits. He finishes with an unflinching appraisal of depression in "Comatose" and the bittersweet "Meltdown" - a couplet showcasing his emotional range. And for anyone in any doubt, a raucous encore of the defiant "Us Against Whatever Ever", shows that he most certainly was here to party.
The Eccentronic Research Council by Laura Hickman
For the first in a series of events celebrating a century since Italian Futurist Luigi Russolo published L’Arte dei Rumori (The Art of Noises), his manifesto on “machine music”, cross-platform artistic collective Noise of Art had gathered together an eclectic mix of collaborators. Perhaps fittingly, the venue chosen was Village Underground, a former Victorian warehouse adjacent to a disused railway viaduct on the fringes of London’s East End – a symbol of the industrialisation that had originally inspired Russolo.
As well as a series of DJ sets covering electronic music old and new, there was a brief appearance from the ever impressive alternative all-female choir Gaggle. Kicking off a short set with a thunderous Gaslight, they then unveiled their very own app, the Gaggle Phone (which certainly puts the tone into ringtone!). As has become custom whenever I’ve seen them perform, Gaggle finished with their album closer, the mournful Leave The City, with the various members departing the stage in groups as the music played out.
The Eccentronic Research Council by Nadine Khatib
The most anticipated part of the night, though, was the appearance of headliners The Eccentronic Research Council, playing their first show in the capital. Formed by two veterans of the Sheffield music scene, Dean Honer and Adrian Flanagan (who have, in the past, collaborated with such luminaries as Jarvis Cocker and Philip Oakey), they enlisted the considerable talents of actor Maxine Peake (most recently seen in the BBC period piece The Village) and released a concept album, 1612 Underture, based on the infamous Pendle witch trials of the 17th century.
The story of the Pendle witches looms large in the popular psyche of Lancashire (much like Pendle Hill itself, a distinctive feature on the skyline overlooking Burnley) – from the coaches on a bus route from Manchester named after each of the accused to Live At The Witch Trials, the debut album by The Fall, who just happened to be playing across town tonight (a band that, in a curious twist, Adrian Flanagan was once briefly a member of). With 1612 Underture, The Eccentronic Research Council recount the tale through a partly fictionalised, often witty modern day road trip (brought to life in an accompanying short film), which also touches on contemporary social parallels.
http://www.vimeo.com/48140570A full house cheered as the band appeared – Honer and Flanagan, the self styled “practical electronics enthusiasts”, took their place at the back, behind a table loaded with vintage analogue synths (and kept company by two imitation skulls), whilst on other either side and dressed all in white, like extras from the finale of the Wicker Man, Philly Smith and Lucy Cunsolo provided extra keyboards, percussion and vocals. Most definitely centre stage, however, was Maxine Peake, attired all in black.
The Eccentronic Research Council by Sam Parr
The set opened with the steady motorik of Autobahn 666, a Kraftwerk referencing ride along the A666, the so called Devil’s Highway that connects Manchester, Bolton and Blackburn, that Peake narrated with her rich Boltonian tones. This set the mood for much of the rest of the night, with otherworldly synths alternating between bouncy, burbly and just plain sinister acting as a soundtrack for Peake, a dominant presence, to recite from her little black book. Philly Smith and Lucy Cunsolo took over for Wicked Sister Chant, whilst another Sheffield colleague, Lucy Hope, took the stage for The Hangman’s Song (naturally enough, with a noose adorning her neck). Flanagan left his gadgets momentarily to duet with Peake on Another Witch Is Dead, probably the sort of song Lee Hazlewood and Nancy Sinatra would come up with if asked to score a film for Hammer studios (though I doubt Ms Sinatra could cackle quite so maniacally as Maxine Peake does at the song’s end).
The Eccentronic Research Council by EdieOP
Not all was doom and gloom, and there was a fair bit of banter from the stage. Adrian Flanagan asked the audience if anyone was from Lancashire (being Salford born himself), but when he was overwhelmed by replies, he just gave up and joked “just shout random places at me!”
The core trio of Flanagan, Honer and Peake returned for an encore, the rather unseasonal but reassuringly acerbic Black ChristMass, which descended into an electro wig-out before they departed the stage for the last time.
With a London show now grudgingly under their belt, The Eccentronic Research Council headed back North once more and, with new material a current work in progress, we shall wait to see where their analogue odyssey takes them next.
Written by Richard Pearmain on Wednesday May 29th, 2013 12:00 am
Tags:
Adrian Flanagan, Dean Honer, EdieOP, Futurism, gaggle, Hammer studios, Jarvis Cocker, Kraftwerk, Lancashire, Laura Hickman, lee hazlewood, Lucy Cunsolo, Lucy Hope, Luigi Russolo, Maxine Peake, Nadine Khatib, Nancy Sinatra, Noise of Art, Pendle, Philip Oakey, Philly Smith, Sam Parr, sheffield, The Eccentronic Research Council, The Fall, Village Underground, Wicker Man
Similar Posts:
Achingly twee and beautiful in equal measures, Parisian electro-indie-pop band We Were Evergreen opened their sold out Village Underground show with perfect three-part harmony, ukulele (Michael Liot), xylophone (Fabienne Débarre) and guitar (William Serfass). Suddenly Shoreditch was full of summer.
In their varying levels of adorable and attractive indie the band wove together pop-folk and heavy electro Euro-beats to create a completely original and exhilarating sound. Once we were able to tear ourselves away from just looking at their three beautiful faces, we noticed that the live performance was musically almost unbelievable; the harmonies were faultless (and seemingly effortless), as were the range of sounds they created between them - all multi-instrumentalists. Even with Débarre’s synthesizers adding a pleasing dissonance the songs were relentlessly upbeat.
Serfass’s riff-based electric guitar work inspired the crowd into a clap-along, highlighting the Paul Simon, 'Graceland', characteristics in the rhythm, with the percussion taking on steel drum elements at times. By this point he was also playing parts of a drumkit with his feet, which he then looped so that Débarre (who also had parts of a drum kit) and himself created a backing track for the song to continue over. The distribution of responsibility appeared to be even between the trio, each of them working hard to create the huge electro drops that then swept back to tiny pop melodies. Third song in the set ‘Summer Flings’ demonstrated Débarre as a talented percussionist far beyond the standard indie-cute addition of xylophone. Serfass also played bass or percussion to create and loop the lower frequency lines, while central Liot took up the acoustic guitar.
The newer material they played had strong reggae influences that they transformed somehow into discordant lamenting pop. The use of cross-rhythms and bittersweet joy and melancholia was addictive and the heavier drops were pure Parisian synth-pop. Liot (on trumpet now) juxtaposed new melody lines over the dance (almost garage) beats in unexpected but totally appropriate ways.
They were part Bird and The Bee, with almost Wham! levels of ridiculousness and something between worldbeat combined with Paul McCartney’s 'Rupert and the Frog Song'. There were Arcade Fire-esque repeated lines leading to shattering crescendos and Mumford & Sons foot-stomping moments.
Their recorded material doesn’t do the power or variation in their music justice at all, and when they had opportunities to move away from their stations they danced and spun around each other onstage with infectious joy. From country harmonies to calypso beats, to the Belle & Sebastian influenced ‘Vintage Car’ in which Serfass beat-boxed bass and drum lines before looping them so that they were all dancing around once more, all playing percussion until the music built to trance proportions.
As the crowd’s woops and cheers bounced off the ceiling they returned to the stage for Débarre to come centre and perform a slower song, ‘Eighteen’. Her voice and the electric guitar were joined eventually by Liot’s trumpet, before he changed back to the ukulele while she took up the harmonica for a solo (keeping up?). Finally ‘Penguins & Moonboots’ brought the energy levels soaring back, not leaving one single stationary listener.
They completely turned all preconceptions upside-down while simultaneously charming everyone in the room. We cannot stress enough how important it is that you see this band live before you decide whether or not they are your cup of tea.
Words by Finn D'Albert
Photograph taken by Victor Lundmark in Berns, Stockholm 2012Eclectic, psychedelic and stylish, Stealing Sheep’s choice of costume acts as a decent harbinger for their performance at The Village Underground. The all girl three-piece pack more ideas into a single song than many would hazard to fit on a full album. The results are intriguing. Fragments of Talking Heads and Warpaint glisten on the surface, but buried within the art-house jauntiness and tribal groove is a Spector-esque core. On record, Stealing Sheep have been accused of lacking cohesion. Tonight, though, they’re all unpredictability and caprice: a joy to behold.
Villagers are a completely different proposition. Band leader and songwriter Conor O’Brien has etched out two album loads of meticulous gems. He’s cut from same classic songwriting cloth as Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen. But there’s a dark trimming to his fabric and an insulation that gives him an air of detachment on stage.
Tonight, as ever, his demeanour is impersonal but captivating – he says very little and yet it’s impossible to take your eyes off him. His band is a well-oiled machine, giving note-perfect renditions of the bulk of his near-perfect back catalogue. New album {Awayland} has the same stealthy emotional penetration as its predecessor Becoming A Jackal – played live though, the new songs come across with real pizzazz. ‘Earthly Pleasures’, perhaps O’Brien’s lyrical zenith to date, is – and I don’t use this word lightly – epic.
There’s something slightly iconoclastic about O’Brien’s willingness to slay a song at an unlikely point and take things off-road. On ‘The Bell’ and particularly the spectacular encore rendition of ‘The Waves’, Villagers challenge the ‘folk’, or ‘indie-folk’ labels with which they’re often laden with, descending into a lengthy jam on the former, while exploring more electronic territory on the latter.
His craftsmanship really shines through on some of the tracks from Becoming a Jackal. ‘The Meaning of the Ritual’, with which he opens the show, is spellbinding. The title track, for which he won an Ivor Novello, suggests that despite dishing out gongs to Ed Sheeran and Adele over the past year, the award’s panel still have some idea as to what constitutes talent. But it’s the erstwhile stonking ‘That Day’, reimagined as a jazzy, acoustic number that steals the show.
Fans of Chad Harbach’s life-affirming novel The Art of Fielding from last year might appreciate the resemblance with Henry “the Skrim” Skrimshander – the precocious college pitcher who eats, sleeps and breathes baseball. It’s easy to imagine the boyish O’Brien giving himself up so completely to his art, too. His songs are rich in lyrical twists, his vocals delivered with perfect enunciation – clipped consonants and rolling vowels. And watching him play, you often get the impression that he couldn’t care less whether he was playing for ten or 10,000 people.
I do find it astonishing that Robyn Hitchcock isn’t celebrating his 60th birthday with his rock royalty chums at Wembley, rather than with a few hundred diehards at a lovely, but small-ish East London venue. After all what is not to like? He has a voice like Lennon, songs that recall both Barrett and Dylan, jangly guitar episodes that summon up The Byrds and The Smiths, harmonies akin to the Wilson Brothers and surreal excursions influenced by the likes of Captain Beefheart and early Steeleye Span. He is a one man Spotify of all that’s great in intelligent pop. And yet he sounds utterly distinctive too. If ever her maj needed to appoint an pop laureate he’d be the perfect person for the gig – though his late 80s track The Veins Of The Queen would probably be enough to ensure he didn’t make the shortlist.
Tonight we are treated to a romp through his back catalogue in reverse chronological order. And even from the off the parallel universe pop hits come thick and fast with the stunning Goodnight Oslo from a couple of years back with its mesmeric guitar (originally supplied by one Peter Buck) and the Johnny Marr co-penned uplifting pop gem of Ordinary Millionaire early highlights.
A few songs in and we are transported to his more introspective period of just over a decade or so ago (which I gather was largely a reaction to major label push of a few years before), where gentle pop tunes are fleshed out by a cello and delicate female harmonies. The stunner here is No I Don’t Remember Guildford, which soars away on gorgeous vocals and subtle strings.
The first half of the two sets take in Hitchcock’s pop years when a cast of minor rock deity – Nick Lowe, Terry Edwards and Green Gartside to name but three of his conspirators, help him run through his very Beatley almost hit So You Think You Are In Love and the psychedelic vaudeville of The Wreck Of The Arthur Lee. Both wonderful songs that should have given the man his big breakthrough.
After a quick break and a poem from John Hegley the man returns with several songs from his mid-80s albums, including the glorious paean to an Isle of Wight beach, Airscpe, and the anti-Thatcher Barrett-esque blast that is Brenda’s Iron Sledge.
Finally the time travelling troubadour arrives back in the late 70s with songs from his first band The Soft Boys. From an embarrassment of riches on the classic Underwater Moonlight album to choose Hitchcock, backed by two of the three original members of of the band, opts for a spirited Kingdom of Love rather than the more obvious new wave racket of I Wanna Destroy You or the perfect jangle pop of Queen of Eyes, but then you can’t have everything…
Finally the whole cast are back on stage including, bizarrely, publishing guru and all round top bloke Mark Ellen and Adam Buxton of Adam and Joe fame, to climax with a track from the singer’s latest album Love from London. That song, The End Of Time might be fresh to most of the people hearing it, but it fits in perfectly as yet another jewel in the career of a singer who hopefully will have many more songs to come.
Robyn and Acapella guests
Including Green Gartside, Time Keegan, Terry Edwards and a very beardy Adam Buxton
If you have never heard Hitchcock, probably best to start here.
Eating. Drinking. Clubbing. Free things. Fun things. Quirky things. This is what I do. This is what I will write about. These are things I list, cross off the list, and then replace with more new things on the list. Join me in my crossing off fetish.
London Jazz Festival 2012, part 4: Supersilent with John Paul Jones, Puma, trioVD, Guillaume Perret Electric EpicGuillaume Perret Electric Epic, trioVD, Puma
Bishopsgate Institute
Saturday 17 NovemberOpening this strong bill of European power-jazz – part of the Vortex Jazz club’s City Sessions series - Puma played backlit by strobe lighting that emphasised the disjunctive arrhythmia of Gard Nilssen’s drumming and Øystein Moen’s keys and electronics. It also made the wiry, shock-headed guitarist Stian Westerhus seem to twitch like a marionette, wired by the power-surge of his own effects. The Puma live show trades some of the subtlety of their 2010 Rune Grammofon album Half Nelson Courtship for a shock-and-awe effect of amped-up multivalent noise, which can be disorienting for the uncommitted, but offers up textural riches and switchback surprises for those hanging on for the ride.
The Leeds-based trioVD can be equally discombobulating, but they’ve loosened up a bit onstage since the last time I saw them. Relaxing the compacted, quick-change momentum that characterises the needling, herky-jerky jazz-punk of their recordings, they make time stretch to get a bit deeper into looser experiments with tone and texture. It sounds wilder, but their timing is still rigorously tight, the trio still sounding ferociously well-rehearsed, and whenever they pause for breath or banter they seem anxious to crack on, hyped on infectious nervous energy.
Guillaume Perret’s Electric Epic are a far more straightforward proposition. With the leader playing sax with wa-wa pedals and effects, Electric Epic’s robust melodies marry gallic and north west African inflections to a muscular rock rhythms. The elasticity of Bassist Philippe Bussonnet is key to the group’s ability to riff on different idioms, and guitarist Jim Grandcamp is a fluent soloist, but for my tastes the groups’ main set was rather too polite and even a bit stolid, with neither the expressive freedom of jazz nor the visceral intensity of the best rock music. In their encore though, they played with an uninhibited spontaneity they’d previously lacked.
Supersilent with John Paul Jones
Village Underground
Sunday 18 NovemberWhen John Paul Jones and Helge ‘Deathprod’ Sten played a Minibus Pimps set at Cafe Oto earlier in the year their performance was tentative, often enthralling but more suggestive of potential than a full-blooded success.
When Supersilent become a trio on the departure of drummer Jarle Vespestad in 2009 they seemed to stall. Their album 9 was recorded as a Hammond trio, while 10 saw the band essay a more lyrical approach, with Ståle Storløkken on acoustic piano. Both are beautiful recordings, with 10 arguably their most accessible, but they lack the bite of their best work. So this was a better show than I dared hope for; in fact it was the best Supersilent concert I’ve seen, comparable in musical style and creative intensity to the magnificent performances captured on the Supersilent 7 live DVD.
With Storløkken once again on electric keys, the major surprise here was that Arve Henriksen now plays drums, in addition to trumpet, voice and electronics. Though his percussion style is more straightforward than Vespestad’s, it still combines beautifully with Supersilent’s intricate, fractured electronics. In more ambient passages his etherial vocalese and plaintive trumpet lend the sometimes imposing soundscapes a haunting beauty.
If Jones seemed sometimes ill at ease with the ambient textures of Minibus Pimps he was in his element plugged into the electric ebb and surge of Supersilent’s gathering storm/ocean-swell crescendoes. He played with a fluency and freedom that only served to amplify the emphatic precision with which he grooved Led Zeppelin and Them Crooked Vultures.
There was nothing about this show to suggest that Supersilent altered their established freewheeling improv aesthetic one iota to accommodate Jones; rather he fit the group dynamic as if he’d been a part of it all along. Before this tour he’d guested with the band at the 2010 Punkt and 2012 Moldejazz festivals. They should do the world a favour, and make the union permanent.
Related Posts
Minibus Pimps (John Paul Jones and Helge ‘Deathprod’ Sten) + Steve Noble and Sebastian Lexer at Cafe Oto, July 2012
trioVD at the Vortex, March 2012
London Jazz Festival 2012, part 3: Bill Frisell – The Great Flood + Ishmael Wadada Leo Smith and John Tilbury
London Jazz Festival 2012, part 2: AKODE, Black Motor, Kuára, Rakka
London Jazz Festival 2012, part 1: Peter Brötzmann Chicago Tentet, Bushman’s Revenge, Albatrosh, SynKoke, Golden Age of Steam
Motorpsycho and Ståle Storløkken: The Death Defying Unicorn + Bushman’s Revenge: A Little Bit of Big Bonanza
Stian Westerhus – The Matriarch and the Wrong Kind of Flowers + Sidsel Endressen & Stian Westerhus – Didymoi DreamsLike this:
One blogger likes this.
The Staves appeared quietly confident as they took to the stage on the second night of their headline tour, and who can blame them after touring with Bon Iver and that much-talked-about show at Wembley Arena last week.
The band, made up of sisters Emily, Jessica and Camilla Stavely-Taylor, were right to feel confident, too. They strummed and sang their way through the whole set and never once missed a note, or the opportunity to gently and quite endearingly take the piss out of each other on stage.
Kicking things off with ‘The Motherlode’ and ‘Pay Us No Mind’, the girls filled the venue, a cavernous railway tunnel, with their gorgeous and countrified harmonies. ‘In The Long Run’, a timeless kind of a tune and ‘Facing West’ followed and it was these songs, with middle sibling Jessica on guitar and Camilla the youngest on ukelele, that were perhaps the most captivating.
‘Wisely and Slow’ was another highlight, with the three sisters crowded around one microphone and singing largely A capella. In fact the more radio friendly single, ‘Tongue Behind My Teeth’ sounded slightly jarring against the stripped-back songs that made up most of the set.
‘Eagle Song’, a kind of psychedelic campfire song, saw oldest sister Emily pick up the squeezebox, “I don’t know what it is and I can’t play it! I can’t play guitar either but whatever!” she said. This natural banter with the crowd gave the gig a familial feel and probably comes from the years the trio spent gigging in their local pub, the Horns back in Watford.
Most of the new album drifted by quickly so that by the time the last gorgeous notes of album title track ‘Dead and Born and Grown’ (“Don’t ask us what it means!”) were sounding, it was difficult to believe that a whole hour and a half had gone by. It wasn’t that it was an uneventful gig – just a really seamless and enjoyable one.
Emma Barlow
Set list:
The Motherlode
Pay Us No Mind
In the Long Run
Facing West
Tongue Behind My Teeth
Wiseley and Slow
Snow
Mexico
Eagle Song
Winter TreesIcarus
Dead and Born and Grown
Tags: The Staves
Grown men have also been known to cry just hearing his remarkable voice. Tonight I was one of those guys – in fact the whole of tonight’s audience was mesmerized as soon as he took to stage of The Village Underground, the second successive sold-out night and last date of the tour. The sound in the venue was absolutely perfect and London’s often-dreadful sound clawed a few points back today. It’s high ceilings creating the most perfect of natural reverbs suiting Watson’s intricate, complex, intimate yet huge at the same time.
I caught him at End Of The Road Festival having only heard a couple of songs and was completely blown away. Poor Patti Smith was on the other stage yet everyone was transfixed by this scruffy dude in a baseball cap who looks like a lost skater child of the 90’s, yet produces the music to parallel the likes of Antony Hegarty and co.
The gig started with ‘Lighthouse’ – the first track on latest album ‘Adventures In Your Own Backyard’– with Patrick playing a gentle piano melody before the full band come crashing in with mariachi trumpets, rumbling drums and vaulting strings generating the perfect prelude to tonight’s show.
‘Blackwind’ ,‘Step Out For A While’ and ‘Quite Crowd’ all came next following the same tracklisting from ‘AIYOB’ while an atmospheric black and white film projected onto a bosom-like-sound reducer towards the back-left of the stage. ‘Man Like You’ went out to ‘all the families we’ve missed whilst out on tour’ and featured Watson’s vigorous head-shaking dance-fit. Watson manages to make you feel like every song is just for you, even though others surround you, and with an endearing nervous quality – I don’t think he really knows quite how special a musician he actually is.
A beautiful stripped back rendition of ‘Into Giants’ soon followed – all five members hovering around a lonesome microphone at the front of the stage creating a harmonious folk-pop song before dispersing towards their respective positions when transforming the track into a bouncy baroque canticle.
Highlights kept flowing, ‘Big Bird In A Small Cage’ had the whole crowd singing every word back to him and an improv-track with the support band Half Moon Run titled ‘A Woman Dressed In Chocolate’ was stunningly beautiful (although there was cries for the song to be called ‘Jimmy Saville’- much to the amusement of the crowd).
During the encore Patrick walked into the middle of the crowd for a acapella version of ‘Man Under The Sea’ which showed his heavenly falsetto so effectively. Before closing the set with ‘To Build A Home’, a song he did with The Cinematic Orchestra back in 2007, alone on stage with his piano. It was a poetic way to close the show having started in a similar vein.
The set on this freezing Monday night lasted over 90 minutes, which is not easy to fill without some people drifting off, or simply getting bored. I’d normally say that artists should play for under an hour, but I could’ve listened to this all night.
I urge you to get his latest album, in fact get all his albums, and see him live, whenever you possibly can, even to miss your own wedding as I promise you that you won’t regret it. You don’t get to see artists like Patrick Watson everyday, so make the most out of him whilst you can.
Luke Mckenzie
Doom’s been one of my favourite artists for a while now, his wordplay’s so poetic yet effortless, telling whole stories of the streets with single bars through a brutal honesty and 20:20 powers of observation. With that said, I wasn’t going to miss the chance to see him live at East London’s famous Village Underground last friday (2nd November 2012), especially when you put heads like Rodney P and Yungun & Mr Thing in support. He’s been criticized in the past for one to many no shows, but has seemed fully committed to his recent London performances, so after sampling Village Underground’s appallingly filthy house whiskey and moving on to a few too many rums, I was both relieved and hyped to see him swagger onto the stage in the spacious train tunnel donning the warehouse jacket you see below, but that’s a story for slightly later on…
First up, Hackney indie hop hop seven piece Lazy Habits were just setting up as we arrived in the venue. I was vaguely aware of these guys tunes before and had predicted them thriving in a live environment, making full use of the range of instruments they have at their disposal for an up beat and bouncy set that provided a great way to start the night. Check out The Bulletin for an insight into their sound.After Kidkanevil straight smashed the decks with a blend of classic US anthems expertly chopped with the odd UK classic, Kutmah did his thing and Thunderbird Gerard took to the stage. Although he’s personally not my thing at all and had me retreating to the bar, it wasn’t long before I was rewarded for my patience by the mighty Rodney P, who’s stage show remains as incredible, professional and engaging as ever. One of the true vets still killing it both on and off the stage. He even dug deep into a load of old London Posse tracks which was a pretty special throwback.
Next up Yungun took to the stage, all grown up in a shirt, tie and braces combination with a new name to boot. To fans of Yungun it won’t be much of a revelation, but this lawyer by day, mic smasher by night, is now officially dropping his youthful name, but hopefully not persona, replacing it with ‘Essa’. Duly noted Yungun (haha). Uk warrior Mr. Thing was on the decks behind him and, having seen these two bounce off each other on TheFunHouse the night before I was delivered the vibes I was expecting. They smashed through both new tracks from Essa’s new EP Time for Something New as well as all the crowd favourites.
Finally, the metal-face himself took to the stage, whipping the crowd into a frenzy of excitement with visuals of that infamous mask flashing behind him. Jneiro Jarel, who produced his most recent album (under the name JJ Doom) Key to the Kuffs had unfortunately dropped out (as was advertised in advance) but he still played a few of my favourite joints from that album, switching between them and older material. He’s got a slightly lazy style on stage, but with his sheer bulk and the power that sinister mask commands over the crowd combined his presence is still mighty and even suits his fairly lazy flow. Ill.
Out to Soundcrash for an epic booking as ever and constantly putting on nights that go beyond that to be generally hitchfree for all involved. Decent system, decent lighting, not too ridiculous drink prices, decent door staff, more than decent night. Out to the cabbie that let us horrendously knock his price down and got us to Fabric in record time afterwards. Out to the barman who undercharged our first few drinks. Out to the crowd. Out to the readers. Out to Lex who knows how hard it was to piece the puzzle. Out to life. Max out.More photos over at our Facebook.
Anyone of a mind to study the mysterious methods of the cult Australian all-improv trio the Necks would need to adopt a football manager's approach – poring over hours of video to work out how pianist Chris Abrahams, bassist Lloyd Swanton, and drummer Tony Buck keep on unpredictably passing the ball and finding each other in space. Their unpremeditated art has a remarkably inclusive appeal. At the packed Village Underground, men in suits stood alongside students with rucksacks or stepped around oblivious young women, heads huddled to their knees, on the floor.
A prolonged, minimal piano figure, eventually joined by slow, bowed-bass chords, opened the show, joined by quiet, chain-rattling percussion. After around 15 minutes – and so subtly its transformation was not immediately noticeable – the piano figure became less systemic and more songlike. Buck mixed a flickering left-hand pulse with the whoosh of a small cymbal scraped across a drumhead. Lloyd Swanton changed the bassline from a drone to a pizzicato rumble, then began dramatically chopping the strings with the edge of his right hand – while Buck's drumming opened out into a looser, jazzy swing before the music drifted away.
The Necks' sets are always different, and who starts has a lot to do with it. Swanton opened the second half, with a slow, pizzicato figure against a soft rumble of mallets from Buck. Abrahams, released to roam, fired off streams of free jazz figures. The temperature rose faster than it had in the first half, and Abrahams replaced his jazz runs with abstract, backhanded flicks up the keyboard, as if he were swatting flies from it. Swanton's buzzing-bee bowed chords underpinned urgent trills from the piano, and an ebb and flow of sound eventually receded into silence. Those football manager's replays would certainly reveal patterns and long-evolved tactics in these performances, but it's the way they're shuffled and negotiated night after night that keeps every Necks gig unique.
• What have you been to see lately? Tell us about it on Twitter using #GdnReview
Tweet #GdnReview
At first sight the Necks seem to be just another jazz piano trio. And there was a fleeting moment at this gig when they actually sounded like one. At the beginning of the second set, bassist Lloyd Swanton launched a two-note repeating pattern, pianist Chris Abrahams traced a shapely modal phrase up the keyboard, and drummer Tony Buck made those hesitant cymbal-tickles jazz drummers make to ease a number into being.
All very familiar. Then a mysterious transformation occurred, and soon we were in that strange territory the Necks have made their own. That piano phrase of Abrahams’s settled into a four-note pattern, whirring round like a moth in a lampshade. Gently his left hand added the other four notes of the mode, rotating at different speed, while Buck’s cymbals hissed and hummed. Meanwhile a plaintive “wrong” note on Swanton’s bass surged forward and faded, suggesting a bird-cry, or perhaps a melancholy fog-horn.
During all this furious activity the players hands were a blur of motion, but otherwise they were as still as graven images. This amplified the fascinating quality the music has, of being neither fast nor slow. It’s like a vast sound-mass suspended in vibrating, seething stillness, its colour and luminosity changing slowly, like a landscape observed from a car (the Necks hail from Australia, and it’s hard not to see their long, endlessly sustained pieces as reflections of the vast Australian landscape).
Maintaining this Buddhistic stillness while applying such unceasing energy to their instruments needs immense control and energy, but the players never flagged. It’s part of the mystique of the group that they seem to hardly notice each other, or us. It’s as if some mysterious collective spirit determines when a new sound will be slipped unnoticed into a particular sound-mass.
A state of pure undifferentiated energy, in which the piano’s hammered strings vibrate like some huge cosmic harp, is one extreme of the Necks’ sound. The other is a delicate modal plangency, made from just a handful of notes. It’s the way the players moved between these extremes that was so extraordinary.
To achieve these vast landscapes in sound the players have had to forego much of music’s territory: rounded melody, pulsed rhythm, anything that smacks of the normal human world. It’s not a territory you’d want to live in for long. But a visit for an hour or two is spellbinding.
Entirely improvised, the two hour-long sets from the Australian experimental trio were demanding, but rewarding
Both of The Necks’ hour-long sets at Village Underground began with the slow, collective deliberation of a three-way chess match. Very gradually, cymbals and bowed bass answered a looping piano pattern. After this point, as drummer Tony Buck told an interviewer two years ago: “It’s important that we don’t know where it’s going to.”
In the 25 years since they first started playing together, the Australian trio have developed a highly experimental sound that veers from pristine ambience to chugging krautrock, via everything in between. Performances are always improvised and built around a few musical figures which Chris Abrahams (piano), Lloyd Swanton (double bass) and Buck then steer into a trance-like holding pattern.
At first the opening hour evolved gently, but was soon buzzing with an itchy tremulousness, like a hot summer night thick with the hum of crickets. Swanton plucked his double bass with a rapid staccato, while Abrahams rattled the piano keys with an unceasing delirium.
Through a succession of incremental shifts in tempo, pitch and tone, the piece opened up into calmer territory, as though a cool dawn was rising out of the darkness. Occasionally, subtle changes to the repeating musical figures felt like the movement of a looming raincloud. But just as soon as this gearshift was made, the performance switched once again, this time pulsating furiously, curdling into a long period of sustained dissonance. By the time the threshing, throbbing storm had subsided, the music’s physical impact was noticeable: I suddenly realised I was slightly short of breath.
Watching The Necks can be a difficult experience at times. Something in the repetition demands the viewer stay with and within the journey of the music. This was partly exacerbated by tonight’s venue being standing room only, evident from the slight sway of several impatient bodies.
But this form of listenership also offers rewards. In the stretch where a consonant piano arpeggio and bass drone emerged out of a dissonant alarm-bell clatter, it felt almost like a benevolent act. When, halfway through the second set, Abrahams began to repeat a two-handed glissando figure, the hypnotic effect was not only pleasing, but almost troubling to hear fade away. The Necks have an impressive knack of showing the listener what it feels like to really listen.
Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2012. You may share using our article tools.
Please don't cut articles from FT.com and redistribute by email or post to the web.
Bradley Wiggins and Jessica Ennis
London 2012 golden girl Jessica Ennis and man-of-the-moment Bradley Wiggins were the star attractions at Adidas' Olympics-themed party at Village Underground in the capital last night. The two gold medal winners swapped their Team GB kit for smart party attire (Bradley in a blue suit and Jess in skinny jeans and a printed top) to rub shoulders with a star-studded crowd of sports faces and music icons (plus team Marie Claire!) who were all treated to a special set from legendary Manchester band The Stone Roses.