“Let’s put on a
festival” I imagine they said. “Where?”
somebody might have asked… “PontefractPark?”, somebody else may have ventured. “Why not?”, “It might rain”, “So let’s
have it in May!” must have been the thinking. And so, maybe, that is how
Crooked Ways 2012 came to be; a good idea as long as the sun shines.
The next consideration would have been the bands, the
obvious thing in curating a festival is to choose bands that will draw a crowd
as well as showcasing exciting, new talent. Three stages covered these bases,
with the Crooked Ways Presents stage, The Institution and the Main Stage all
offering an impressive number of acts, totalling 30 throughout the day.
Yet is it that simple? Well, no, it isn’t. For a start, I
think the organisers will today be counting the cost of a couple of lessons
learnt; mainly, the ticketing policy. A couple of issues arose here, at £30
each it felt a bit steep and I can hear the “30 bands, 30 quid= bargain”
argument but for me it just doesn’t wash because you never see all of them.
Another point to bear in mind here is that thirty quid is thirty quid and the
crowd bore witness to the fact that people weren’t ready to spend that much on
a day in the park, which is a shame but also it isn’t too difficult to work
out. So, round one, value for money, null points I’m afraid.
However, read on
because it gets better, especially for those Razorlight fans who enjoyed a
fairly intimate gig with their heroes…
Round 2, the acts: a fairly eclectic line-up was
accommodated in three tents which were suitably distant to avoid overlapping
sound, something which is a constant irritation for both the bands and their
fans at the smaller community festivals that spring up every summer. The tents
themselves were fairly small though, with the ‘Crooked Ways Presents’ tent
offering the audience no more floor space than a large double garage. The name
was a little confusing because I expected it to be a ‘new music’ type of tent,
yet it was opened by Road To Horizon who have an EP out on iTunes shortly and a
touring slot with Funeral For A Friend in the bag, it also featured Piskie Sits
later, who need no introduction, having been active for years!
Both of these bands know how to entertain and, speaking to
Road To Horizon after their set, I found that they were happy to open the day
because it was just the kind of day they would love to be at themselves if they
were in the crowd. In between these two I also enjoyed a solid performance by Route
19, who were more punk rock than they looked; they seemed to enjoy themselves
and the tent was full to bursting throughout their set.
‘The Institution’ was a better proposition in terms of size
and was full for most of the day, with a reasonable overspill in the afternoon.
The GlassCavesbrought the day to life in there,
as they fired layer upon layer of solid, stylish indie pop at a receptive
audience. I particularly enjoyed Club Smith in there who bombarded the crowd
with guitar led pop and chant-along choruses; they took the honour of being the
first band of the day to achieve some synchronised foot tapping / head nodding.
Dancing came later…
On the main stage, Wakefield’s All We Know opened the day
with an energetic set; although it was possible to play ‘spot the drummer’ due
to the piles of other people’s gear obscuring him from view, they were never
intimidated and gave a good account of themselves. Sheffield’s Feral Brood
seemed to enjoy the attention and filled the stage well with their dual vocalists
and some witty banter in between songs, but it was only when Wakefield’s Skint & Demoralised took to
the stage that we saw the first real dancing of the afternoon. Their confident,
sure footed show grabbed the crowd’s attention and gave us a tantalising
glimpse of what Crooked Ways
could have been. What happened next sealed it for me.
Hyde & Beast managed about 45 seconds of their first
song twice, they were plagued by technical difficulties which were received
with good humour by the band and crowd. At first. By the time their third
attempt at completing a number fell flat, their lead singer’s patience was
already being tested. They regrouped, tried again and managed just 30 seconds
before leaving the stage to friendly, consolatory applause.
Alarm bells were ringing now, was this it? Had the gremlins
won, was the day lost? By now, the arena was fuller than it had been
mid-afternoon, but nowhere near its capacity; which is a good thing because I
doubt that the toilets and well overpriced food facilities would have coped.
The show needed a hero, and two were lining up in the wings, the first one,
King Charles graced the stage dressed like a surfing aristocrat in brown shoes,
mustard board shorts and white dinner jacket and left it a hero having also had
to restart a song. They worked the crowd and lifted proceedings, they also
wandered the arena meeting fans after their set. One of the triumphs of Crooked Ways was
the laid back vibe and interaction between artists and paying public.
Then, it was time for worship. Reverend and the Makers took
to the stage and instantly the crowd were drawn like moths to a flame. Their
enthusiasm and determination to deliver was impressive. As the sun started to
set and the acres of milk bottle white flesh throbbed Tizer red, their set
lifted the crowd at just the right time, a chill wind stirred the park and the
early evening became a time for contemplation of what might have been. What if
it had rained, what if it had been cheaper, what if the crowd had been less
positive?
Curating a festival is a balancing act, the artists were
happy enough to be there, perhaps with one exception; the crowd were happy to
be there, they created a lovely atmosphere that suggests this is a task worth
repeating, but there were more laminates than ticket holders for long periods
of time and the infrastructure needs tightening up- some punters were put off by the high on the day cover
charge; under 14s were welcome, but for what price; the loos were clean but
were they sufficient for the intended capacity?
At tea time, the thought occurred to me that some people
might only be turning out for the headliners, I felt this was missing the
point. While I can see how £30 for Reverend & The Makers followed by
Razorlight could still make financial sense to some gig-goers, if that was the
case, which it wasn’t in the final reckoning, then they were missing the point.
Crooked Ways 2012 was supposed to be Pontefract’s big day out in the sun; the
sun turned out, but where was Pontefract? This is the crux of the issue; put a
show on, get the acts, but make sure that people know about it and care enough
to turn out.
In the end, a small but happy crowd got to see Razorlight
perform a decent set through a not perfect rig at the end of a pretty perfect
summer’s day in Yorkshire.
If you were there, well done you. If
they put it on next year, take a friend for God’s sake!
A polite queue of anticipation
blocks up the pavement on an unusually busy Wednesday night in Wakefield,
home town of The Cribs.
Almost ten years to the day since their first gig, barely 100 yards away at the
once legendary dive bar McDermott’s, the Jarman brothers have returned to play
a ‘homecoming gig’, their first in the city in over five years.
Despite the corporate sponsorship
and the fact that the show is taking place in a sit-down theatre, it is clear
from the start that this is a deeply personal affair for the band. Main support
Retarded Fish were one of the first bands the young Jarmans saw and if the
legions of fans want to trace their lineage to square one, this is it. The
band, now older but likely not wiser, hammer out some of their mid-nineties post
hardcore indebted punk to rapturous response from an overwhelmingly local
crowd. Their smiles at this most bizarre situation (the band split in 1996) are
infectious and are only beaten by those of Ryan Jarman, bouncing around side
stage with his cameraphone, once again the star-struck teen.
That boyish wonder is all the
more evident when The Cribs finally take to the stage. The quick one-two of Chi-Town / I’m a Realist has the crowd
attempting to mosh considerately around velvet seats and sees both balconies threaten to collapse
under the shifting weight. It’s clear immediately this is not just another
show. The vital energy from stage to crowd is returned ten-fold and the barely
400 capacity venue is in thrall to every second, from first single Baby Don’t Sweat to tracks from their
most recent record In The Belly Of The
Brazen Bull. The shout-outs from the band span their career; Little Japanese
Toy who organised their first gig, local practice room owner ‘Clink’, Squirrel
Records, Lee Ranaldo and local legends Pylon, their A Million Thousand Giant Steps becoming an ad hoc intro to Men’s Needs.
But this isn’t a nostalgia trip.
Sentimental; undoubtedly, but the core feeling is one of celebration. Ryan
Jarman’s histrionic guitar displays are pure tongue in cheek, acceptance of his
own childhood air guitar dreams made true and of those the band continue to
inspire in others. For a band initially so inspired by Nirvana, it is the sense
of the absurd as much as the punk rock / DIY attitude that has been key to
their survival. It’s this lack of ego and sense of pure fun that avoids the
event seeming self congratulatory; we are all part of this celebration.
The hardcore fanbase are treated
to some rarities. The Lights Went Out
and To Jackson are joyously received,
and that their newest album in some ways returns to the sound of those earlier
records means that, with choice Johnny Marr co-writes included, the band now
has a ‘greatest hits’ set spanning ten years that could go head to head with
anyone in the world.
There are still no encores but
that’s another ideal well worth sticking to. Instead they hang out with their
fans and friends at the pub across the road. The Cribs have come home and with
the band truly returning to its roots the future for them looks very bright
indeed.
Words: Dean Freeman
Photos: Dan Stringer
*There will be an article by Dan Stringer, drummer with Retarded Fish in the next issue, detailing the experiance of their reformation
We've got a hell of a lot of bands coming to Wakefield for Long Division. I keep remembering about another band that had slipped from memory and start getting excited about them all over again.
The thing about Long Division is that we don't have a singular big name. No "The Cure" or "Razorlight". That was our choice. Instead we wanted to give you quality, right across the board. But it does mean there is a chance you might miss something amazing lower down the bill. So, to try and help you (as well as myself), I have put some videos up on our blog, grouped into various vague catagories, to kinda show the breadth of stuff going on. Bare in mind, with all the Fringe Festival goings on included, this is only about half the bands playing over the weekend. Have fun!
I’ve
been keen to catch Black Moth live since reviewing their split 7” with XM-3A for
Rhubarb Bomb. Sadly, when they played with the excellent Gentlemans Pistols at The Hop in
Wakefield I was at a wedding in their native Leeds. Still, the best things come
to those who wait (Read my review of their single, it seems they like making us
wait, their debut album was originally scheduled for last autumn but emerged on
the 7th of May.)
The
quintet’s set kicks-off with ‘Blackbirds
Fall’, a crushingly heavy number that I’d originally heard on extreme metal
magazine Terrorizer’s cover mount CD; that the song has also been garnering
plays on Mark Radcliffe’s 6 Music show highlights their enormous cross-over
appeal. An impressive turnout at The Cockpit for what is only the second of slot
of the day at the venue underlines this. Those who have made the effort to get
here early are not disappointed by a set that largely lives up to Black Moth’s
potential. For one thing they sound huge; the recent addition of a second guitarist
can’t have hindered them in this department, although having never seen them as
a quartet (Curses!) I’m speculating somewhat. Harriet’s vocals, which still
bring to mind Melissa Auf Der Maur, are most effective on the slower, doomy
numbers. Occasionally during the faster sections of songs such as ‘Chickenshit’ she seems to stretch
herself a little thin, but at its most powerful her voice has certain,
mesmerising, black magic, quality. Not only do you feel like they dabble in the
dark arts, but clearly they’re not averse to worshipping at the altar of their
fellow Black prefixed Brits, Sabbath. In fact towards the end of their set they
go straight to Black Sabbath’s self-titled anthem and adopt the spirit of THAT
breakdown during ‘Plastic Blaze’.
As
Rhubarb Bomb designer Matt Sidebottom points out after their set, Leeds has become a hotbed for heavy music of late and
Black Moth are clearly one of their brightest hopes.
I Like Trains – O2 Academy
On
our way up to the O2 Academy my girlfriend and I catch sight of comedian Rory
McGrath, he’s taller and slimmer than we imagined, and sadly his wrists were
covered so I couldn’t tell you if he was in town for Live At Leeds. One person
who certainly was is the French girl who came over for last year’s Long Division
just to see I Like Trains. Her dedication had lead to me watching them at WakefieldTown Hall that day and having been
suitably impressed I decide to catch them at the rather less intimate Academy.
With
most of the day still ahead of us we decide to watch them from the balcony
seats, all of which had a flyer for the forthcoming Leeds Whisky Festival. Now
I had a number of flyers for Long Division on me and was keen to distribute
them around Live At Leeds’ venues but for two reasons I chose not to hand any
out in the Academy. Firstly said Whiskey Festival clashes with Long Division
and I had a feeling that the Academy staff would not take too kindly to me
trying to entice their potential customers away. Secondly said potential
customers just turned the flyers into paper airplanes and threw them at the
crowd in the stalls. An activity that got several people ejected from the
venue! Frankly I’m glad I didn’t waste the flyers here.
Choosing
a target if you wished to throw rubbish at those in the stalls was like
shooting fish in a barrel as they were nearly full by the time I Like Trains’
slowly pulsing intro to ‘Beacons’
began. It’s a pleasing sight given they are the opening band at the venue
(Although later in the day I got the impression that once inside most of the
punters didn’t leave here) and what little space remains is effortlessly filled
by the sounds the band generate. For the most part they concentrate on new
album ‘The Shallow’, although airing
seven of its songs means there is a lot to try and take in. As a result they
don’t quite scale the heights of their Long Division set. Still with Chris
Urbanowicz recently departing Editors, a band who I Like Trains remind me of,
it would be quite easy to imagine them building up a similar following given
the size of the audience they’ve just performed to.
Bears Killing Bears – The Well
I
was drawn to The Well for Bears Killing Bears purely on the strength of the
description of them in the programme “Thrash
punks kicking out loud fast and dirty jams in the vein of Motorhead and Black
Sabbath…” and the accompanying photo, in which they are all clutching Royal
Wedding commemoration mugs, except the guy on the left with his Iron Maiden
mug! Unfortunately they are the first disappointment of the day. Granted it
would be an even bigger disappointment if The Well had ceased to be a music
venue, which was very nearly the case. Credit to the new owners for clearly
trying to stamp their identity on the place, there are some obvious changes,
sadly the sound through the newly installed PA is not great. In the past you
were practically guaranteed a great sound at gigs here. That said it helps if
the band on stage are at the top of their game and Bears Killing Bears came
across as sloppy, whilst the limited vocals and banter, possibly due to a poor
onstage sound didn’t help matters. We exit to the bar where a convenient
speaker feed meant you could still hear the band’s set, although nothing I
heard tempted me back downstairs. In retrospect having decided not to watch Bears
Killing Bears in the flesh we should probably have bailed out of The Well there
and then as the running order meant there was no space between them and my next
pick from the 100+ bands playing today.
Runners – LeedsUniversity
Stylus
At
one time I considered myself a middle-distance runner; sadly those days are
behind me, so it was more of a brisk walk that got me to the Stylus in time to
catch the majority of Runners set. I was originally introduced to them by artist
Richard Wheater who had them perform at the ‘Switch-Off Party’ for his ‘12 Months of Neon Love’ installation at
Wakefield’s Neon Workshop. It was perhaps one of the most intimate venues I
have ever witnessed a gig at in Wakefield
which created a special one-off vibe. It was unlikely such a vibe would
transfer to the comparatively cavernous Stylus.
Unlike the Refectory upstairs I’ve always
enjoyed watching bands in here, although they have tended to be heavy bands
playing Damnation Festival, which unlike Live At Leeds only utilises the University.
Damnation’s set up means the Stylus is always relatively full, whereas few
souls have ventured up here today. It’s something of a surprise, as the
combination of synths and live drums they employ seems quite prevalent at the
moment (The majority of the bands I catch have at least a token keyboard
player). For the majority of their set vocalist Dominic is rather obviously
restricted to the stage by his synth, although during their set closer he
ventures out into the crowd. Amusingly his banter comes across as robotic,
although this is down to the vocal effects he employs, meaning that it is a
cyborg-esque voice that emerges from the speakers, informing the audience “This
is the last song of the set”. There’s a lot to be said for the bands humour, clearly
they have a very human heart, if only there’d been a few more humans here to
hear it pounding.
Karin Park – LeedsUniversity
Mine
With
an hour to kill before Post War Glamour Girls I decide to heed I Like Trains vocalist’s
earlier suggestion that everyone should catch an act they’ve never heard of.
That the Mine is situated just down the corridor from the Stylus is the
deciding factor in watching Karin Park.
Upon
entering the Mine I’m met by the sight of a blond haired drummer in a Slayer
t-shirt, who wouldn’t look out of place at Damnation festival, going through a sound
check. The plot rapidly thickens when a woman over six foot tall wearing what
can only be described as a ‘flashers mac’ and Doc Martens boots walks onstage
and proceeds to go through a soundcheck of her various synths. It transpires
that the duo is siblings Karin and David Park. As with the preceding Runners
their sound is a combination of synths and live drums, but whereas Runners front
man Dominic made little attempt to engage the crowd, Karin has them in the palm
of her hands from pretty much the word go.
I’ve
found that the sound in the Mine can be hit and miss, but as with the majority
of those in attendance I’m drawn closer and closer to the stage during Park’s
set, with a near perfect mix accentuating nearly all the facets of their sound.
Karin’s voice brings to mind Bjork, but whilst the Icelandic legend seems to
have quite a diminutive stature, Karin towers over the audience like a raven tressed
Scandinavian Grace Jones; with David occasionally adding his voice to
proceedings in a way that perfectly complements his sisters vocals.
Musically
we’re talking extremely danceable, darkened electronica. Much as I enjoyed
Runners beforehand, they seem pedestrian in comparison. It helps that Karin
immerses herself in her own moves, which probably account for her toned frame
but
she looks that focused that she’s not going to have a split second to pick out
the worst dancers in the audience (I count myself in that category!) Generally
she’s freed up to move around the stage by a laptop and a less than portable Korg
synth, however during several songs she straps on one of those ‘keytar’ synths.
It’s an instrument I generally regard as the harbinger of doom and general
awfulness (I’m thinking of supposed metal ‘pirates’ Alestorm, they didn’t look
very Somalian to me!) but in Karin’s hands it took on a new quality as a sonic
weapon, set to stun an audience. And that’s really all there is to say about
this performance, it was simply stunning. Highlight of the day so far and to
think 40 minutes previously I’d never heard of Karin Park.
Post War Glamour Girls – The Well
With
Rhubarb Bomb designer Matt down at The Cockpit snapping Fanzine holding copies
of this particular fanzine my one and only line-up dilemma thus far had been
resolved (It helps that both bands are playing Long Division, I’ll catch
Fanzine then). So it was back to The Well (A much shorter walk thankfully!) for
Post War Glamour Girls.
The
band are still sound checking when we head downstairs, which suggests the Well
is running behind schedule, in turn this leads me to believe that the problems
with the sound during Bears Killing Bears may still be an issue. As the quartet
commence their set my worst fears are initially confirmed, the bass amp’s
speaker sounds like it is exhaling its dying breath, rendering said bass an
awful flapping noise. Despite the tentative start their front man’s humour
helps to keep me interested; I’m quite certain that ‘Trawlerman’s Trade’ wasn’t just about “Fishing laws in Europe” and his remark about The Enemy was cutting.
Fortunately, unlike Bears Killing Bears earlier the sound improves and the band
seem to grow in confidence as the set progresses, although my girlfriend argued
afterwards that the front man’s vocals were occasionally out of tune. Me, I
think his Cave-esque croon suits the material and sometimes its more about vibe
than being note perfect. I would liked to have heard more vocals from the
bassist as I think some of the set’s highlights were when she stepped up to the
mic as well, ‘Spitting Pearls’ being
the best example of this. It’s slow, shimmering fret work created an atmosphere
that put me in mind of Swedes Khoma.
In
his preview of Live At Leeds Rhubarb Bomb editor Dean Freeman cited Post War
Glamour Girls as a “Band I know of but want to know
more about” and I’m glad I took his advice. They’re playing WakefieldTown Hall
at 15:00 as part of Long Division, giving you an ample 15 minutes to get there
after you’ve finished watch Red Riding Quartet!
Ladyhawke – O2 Academy
With an even more ample hour to kill before Ladyhawke at the
Academy we take a steady stroll round the edge of Millennium Square where Example and
Wretch 32 are playing their own headline gig. What I hear from behind the
fencing is an MC geeing up the crowd by playing Blur’s ‘Park life’ whilst talking over it. I thought that was the
trademark of shit, annoying disc jockeys! Things get slightly better at the
Academy, where they are still airing Queens Of The Stone Age over the PA,
including one of those ‘shit, annoying disc jockey’ skits from their ‘Songs For The Deaf’ album.
Ideally we would have sat upstairs again, but the balcony had
already reached capacity and few, if any, people seem to leave downstairs
following the end of Spector. As I alluded to earlier I suspect most of the
crowd (I use that term as all the discarded FA Cup betting slips in the men’s
urinals and questions of “Who won Chelsea or Liverpool?” in the downstairs bar,
mark this out as a football crowd checking out a few bands rather than a music
loving audience) have probably not set foot in another venue all day. In fact
the majority will be here right until the end of The Enemy, their loss!
As it turns out we don’t even stay till the end of Ladyhawke. As
soon as the set starts beer is being thrown into the air, having just spent £4
on a can of cider it’s hard to contemplate why anyone would willingly spill
even a drop in the Academy. As for Pip Brown and her band, they kick off with ‘Back Of The Van’, a place Ladyhawke
probably ceased to call home from home some time ago. It’s all very slick, with
a knowing nod to eighties pop and not much else. If I Like Trains never reached
top gear earlier, Ladyhawke are (Well technically they ‘are’ a band) on
autopilot from the word go, with the four musicians backing Pip displaying
hardly an ounce of emotion between them. We leave in search of something more
engaging, although not before they play ‘Dusk
Till Dawn’, an earworm of a song that I wake up singing the next day. I’ll
give Ladyhawke their dues, they know how to write a catchy hook, shame it’s
such a sterile one.
Kyla La Grange – Brudenell
Social Club
The prospect of heading down to Brudenell had loomed all day, to
walk would have been an epic undertaking, and thankfully there was a taxi rank
just down from the Academy. Within ten minutes we’re in the altogether more
pleasant surroundings of Brudenell Social Club. With plenty of room to sit and
hardly any queue at the bar for two pints of reasonably priced Estrella; this
is a gig goer’s heaven!
Catching the end of Kyla La Grange’s set I get the impression it’s
a musicians heaven as well. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bad gig here. Both
audience and performer are making a genuine gesture by being in this building
given that it’s some distance from the Leeds’
music venue heartland. Unlike Ladyhawke previously this comes across as so much
more than a talented vocalist and her backing band, despite Kyla’s name being
above the door (I’m not sure she’s even old enough to be a publican!) this is
very much a fully fledged unit. The programme compares Kyla’s music to Florence
& The Machine, which holds some water, but her folk tinged vocals show a
level of restraint that mark her out as no mere Florence clone trying to out
bellow Miss Welch. That she’s happy to pose with several members of the
audience for photos after her set shows she not only won them over but that
she’s very approachable too. Well worth keeping an eye and an ear out for.
Jamie N Commons
Prior to Jamie N Common’s set I wasn’t a religious man, but I was
praying his performance lived up to the one track of his heard I’d heard on
Lauren Laverne’s 6 Music show. Said track had prompted one of Lauren’s
listeners to text her with the words “Mark Lanegan Junior”. At 25 years
Common’s senior Lanegan is certainly old enough to have fathered him and
Common’s voice contains echoes of Lanegan’s substance soaked tones, but by the
end of his set it’s clear the 22 year old is very much his own man.
I’d staked my reputation on the basis of that one song, ‘The Preacher’, in order to convince my
girlfriend that a trip to the Brudenell would be worth it and within seconds of
the band commencing their opening number I knew it would be intact. It saw the
majority of the band singing in an acappela fashion that moved me to tears. But
they were tears of joy; I’ve permanently regretted leaving it too late to get
tickets for Mark Lanegan’s acoustic gig here in 2010. Well no more regrets, I
simply can’t believe that gig could have been any better than tonight (I’d like
to point out I have the CD of Lanegan’s Brudenell set, it does sound great).
There’s laughter as well, in that sense Commons is the complete opposite to
Lanegan, who is a man of few words. Commons engages with the audience between
all the songs (Sample quote “This is the romantic song for the evening, with
added harmonica too!”) and despite brandishing a guitar he’s a blur of motion
when he’s not at the microphone stand. When he is singing what comes out of his
mouth is a thing of beauty, a deep rich voice, that given Commons’ youth leads
me to believe he has a God given talent, either that or he sold his soul to the
Devil; I’m a convert regardless. When speaking with Commons after his set my
girlfriend described the performance as “Life changing!”, okay maybe we were a
bit tired and emotional but those two words perfectly sum what we’d just
witnessed; hands down the pinnacle of the day.
Los Campesinos
Rather than pay for a taxi all the way to Leeds
station we get one to the University in order to meet up with Matt again. We
briefly compare notes, but once Los Campesinos get under way it’s clear nothing
is going to top Jamie N Commons set, so rather than fork out for another taxi
we say our goodbyes and head down to the station for the last train back to
Wakefield. As we pass through Westgate you can pretty much see every venue that
will be involved in Long Division from the station. Much as I enjoyed the bands
at Live At Leeds logistically it’s a slog compared to Long Division. And for my
money the line-up at the Academy would have been better run as a separate
entity, perhaps on the Sunday. But these are minor quibbles, if you’re willing
to put in the legwork you easily got your monies worth.
I Like Trains last album, He Who Saw The Deep had a lot resting on it but thankfully a
determination to prove themselves to the world shone through. A desire to push
themselves, their sound and their ideas out of their comfort zone proved a
success. With that reinvention, The
Shallows could easily see them rest upon it. But no, once again we have
something rather different which sees them spreading their talents into
different, experimental sonic locations.
The Shallows lacks
the mass crescendos of their earlier work, instead working in structures long
and drawn with almost Krautrock rhythms, akin to where Mogwai went with some of
their last album. The opening of first track Beacons is pure Phantom Band. The
Turning Of The Bones, In Tongues and We
Used To Talk allfeature a dull
4/4 kick drum for their openings. Subtle electronics hang across the record,
basslines synthesised, beats more metronomic and rattling. At first I thought
this came across as a colder sound, akin to the sparser compositions of Joy
Division but after a few listens that feels the wrong word. Although there is a
lot of space between the sounds there is warmth sneaking through, a distant
glow, but nothing more.
Tracks like Reykjavik
combine the newfound optimism of album two with the new approach to a driving
dynamic; a carefree cartwheel that reminds me slightly of Weird Fish / Apreggi by Radiohead. But generally the more
electronica based approach to dynamics means songs have a less emotional impact
and can wash over you, on first listen. Over time it is the sound palette and
the mood of the album that works its way into your consciousness more than the
songs themselves, which is an interesting accomplishment and one that certainly allows the album to slowly reveal itself, as all great albums do.
Perhaps a weakness of the album is the lyrical side of
things. Again, they have grown on me over the repeated listens. But there does
seem to be a growing reliance on stock phrases such as “The Devil will find
work for idle hands to do”, “We will burn in hell for this”, “As we spread our
wings”, “We lay our cards out on the table” and “From the belly of the beast”.
Sometimes it feels a song has grown to certain point where we need an insight,
a “sting in the tail” and a loose phrase of little imagination appears. Whereas
that technique has worked in the past (“They’ve built mountains out of
molehills / Let them climb” from A Rook
House For Bobby) it occurred when spoken in the form of the characters that
populated their earlier historical work. It may well be that we have characters
here, apparently expressing a fear of technology in our modern world, but its
less clear and on occasion a beam of triteness comes through.
I respect I Like Trains determination to push themselves
creatively and this record probably sets them in good stead for the future as
being a group not to rest on a specific format. But it also makes it hard to
rank against their other work. As it stands, the album is structured well, with
the one-two of Beacons / Mnemosyne introducing this new style,
the middle working with it but on a more familiar ground and the last two
tracks moving the electronics into darker territory. In Tongues, the closing track ends up where we started, with a
thumping bass note, repeated. Although the circular nature is interesting, I
would have liked to have seen them let rip with a pure sonic assault at the
conclusion; it is the only track that feels unfinished.
It’s a great record, though not exactly what I thought I wanted
or at least expected from I Like Trains. As may become their trademark, it has
left me puzzled as to where they will go next but also very keen to hear these
tunes realised at their live shows. I suspect, after that, this album will
suddenly make a lot more sense.
Long-awaited is an oft used term isn’t it? It is one that is
completely relative. Waiting for the kettle to boil can seem like forever. A
bus ride into town on a stinking hangover can feel like three lifetimes. But
this record, St Gregory Orange’s second, fits the term perfectly.
Rhubarb Bomb first previewed it sometime in 2010. It was
then expected in Spring 2011 in time for the unveiling of the new four piece live
setup at Long Division. Another deadline slipped. Although that was perhaps the
problem; there wasn’t really a deadline. It’d be ready when it was ready.
So it feels great have it in front of me, finally. For those
unfamiliar with the band, the first record Things
We Said In Bedrooms was recorded by Tim Metcalfe in his home studio and
released in March 2009 on the then fledgling Philophobia Music. Not long after
Harry Rhodes joined the ‘band’ and work on a follow up began.
In various previews Tim had hinted that the soundscaping of
that first record would be replaced with a combination of pop songs and monolithic
bursts of noise. So the initial surprise with Midnight… is that it isn’t the radical departure expected, at least
immediately.
Songs leading gently into one another creating a sense of a
consistent narrative is the most obvious comparison. But the vocals in
particular are way more upfront that the previous record and vary greater in
style than the heartbroken mumble of album one, with harmonies and backing
vocals / counter melodies from Harry. Though the mood across the record isn’t a
monumental shift, this more direct approach will certainly allow the record to
reach more people. I don’t want to say it is more accessible because that
suggest it was designed that way. It is more a natural progression from the
bedroom based nature of the first record – both in its sounds and themes – to
something more willing to make a connection to the world outside the window.
The classic St Gregory Orange sound of the clicking beats
and whirls of sound are still present but they are joined by classic pop stings
of artificial string sections, wall of sound reverb and acoustic guitars. The
latter is the most important in giving the record a different feel. It hints at
the simplicity at the core of these songs and how they have been slowly thought
out and pondered over across a number of years. There is more substance at the
core of what is going on. Soundscaping is wonderful but it can also be lazy.
These gentle suggestions / reminders of the central songwriting at work are a
subtle connection to the more human nature of the record and are also
responsible for some uncharacteristically upbeat moments.
Salem AM is the most immediate track on the
record and a good example of this direct and confident approach. It has an
unashamed gleam to it that helps add pathos (a much more subtle form of misery,
right?) to the complex lyrical considerations. These poppier moments are
slotted throughout the record, amongst barer moments like Obituaries, Northeastern which replicates a disturbed mornings’
gloaming with a hallucinogenic, swirling backing. Aidan Moffat esqe spoken word
tells a tale full of vivid details and Cocker-like observations.
Blotter (Swallowing
Keys) shows another side to St Gregory Orange’s sound; bigger computerised
beats mixed in with squiggly, unsettling Kid
A effects and glitchy asides whilst the tail end of the album sees a sad
settling, a resigned sigh settle over the album which allows for some of the
most beautiful and reserved moments on the album, seen in by Sorry Is Easy’s much simpler approach. It’s
a pleasing break from the large production elsewhere, involving a gentle,
drifting piano and keyboard over the sound of people outside with the birds.
Pleasingly, Midnight…
sidesteps the trend for short, thirty minute records and confidently spreads
its wings across almost an hour of exploration. It doesn’t overstay its welcome
but it does demand care and patience. Attention to detail is the key here and is
the justification for the length of time it took to create. Sonically and
lyrically, details are hidden and revealed after many listens, but the
widescreen production and pop elements means that it is never a chore to
endure.
Truth is, I’ve not given it the time is deserves yet, and
I’ve been listening for four weeks. I’ve not even had time to discuss the
lyrically contributions. They’d probably fill a book if written out and are
rather wonderful, taking pleasure or finding sadness in the multiple wonders
you can experience in life, much like David’s
Last Summer by Pulp. In that sense it is a rather detailed but complicated
document, tied with riddles, of existing and growing up / old in the universe
right now.
And that’s the thing for me. Much of the record deals with
friendships and groups of friends finding themselves with little left in
common. It happens to us all as we grow but it isn’t usually down to some big
event. It is the tiny decisions we make each day. Like a sprawling decision tree
of everything we’ve ever done over our lives laid before us, those small,
seemingly inconsequential decisions slowly move us away from people we thought
we had so much in common with. St Gregory Orange, with their long gestation
period on this record, have done the same thing. Every ache over the
construction of a beat, the rhythm of a line or the structure of a song has
moved them further and further from their peers. The final product justifies
each of their decisions: no one else in the world could have made this record.
If Midnight… was
released by an established artist it would be fawned upon and picked apart and
declared a work of great accomplishment. It’s almost like it is too good, too
soon. Much like this review, itself a long time coming, it is long and not
always straight to the point. But after all these years I feel they deserve at
least something quotable, rather than my lengthy attempts to solve the puzzle
they have laid before me, so well done St Gregory Orange, and here you go: “A
work of wonder and endlessly collapsing beauty from one of the country’s most
unique and engaging bands”
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