Last time I went to a gig I told you about how good the support band were. I wont be doing that this time.
We arrived in Sheffield full of anticipation for one of the final shows of the truly magnificent Little Man Tate, and the sheer drabness of the support band Artery only enhanced out need for the brilliant headliners. In a room full of people waiting to see the finest piece of Sheffield indie since Arctic Monkeys, the boring sound of what can be described as a bad Magazine tribute band, fronted by your dad, was completely out of place. Almost to the point of embarrassment. Luckily, they didn’t play for very long.
However, once Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine’s ‘Sherriff Fatman’ hit the P.A, the night was a non-stop, balls to the wall showcase. All the way from opener ‘Man I Hate Your Band’, through to the rousing closer ‘House Party at Boothy’s’, Little Man Tate were on fire. Clearly up there to enjoy themselves for one last time, I never noticed a moment when there wasn’t a smile on any of their faces. Thus making this swan song of theirs all the more heart-wrenching.
What’s more, the pure quality of each and every song only begs the question of how this band is not more popular. From the big singles, to the b-sides and supposed ‘filler’ album tracks, Little Man Tate continue to impress on all fronts. Each song giving the adoring audience plenty to cheer about, as they sang with every breath in their lungs.
The appreciation of the fans was also something of a rarity in music these days. Where at most gigs, the audience are receptive to the hit singles, and maybe more…quietly appreciative of the less well-known songs, that was not the case here. While the crowd clearly loved the likes of ‘This Must Be Love’ and early single ‘What? What You Got’, the level of response for the more obscure tracks of ‘Self Appreciation Club’ and ‘Back of the Pub Quiz’ was extremely enjoyable.
While Little Man Tate certainly put on a fantastic show last night, it was not without a sense of sadness that such a brilliant, well loved, band are not carrying on. Especially considering some of the ridiculous excuses for musicians that are gracing out ‘charts’. The fact that such a genuine, nice bunch of lads feel they have ‘achieved all they set out to’, so are calling it a day is heart breaking. Especially considering the passion of the large fan base this band has. This was clearly shown as when they left the stage, chants of ‘Don’t break up’ echoed around the streets of Sheffield. We can only hope that Little Man Tate heard.
Before last night, I had never been to a gig where the support band was better than the headliners. I’ve come close a few times, with Frightened Rabbit springing to mind. Too bad the headliners were Death Cab. Last night, I thought that it had happened. At Bar 1:22, I was witness to two of the better support bands that I have seen. Admittedly I haven’t seen many really bad supports, with exception to YouMeAtSix and Amy Winehouse supporting Angels and Airwaves and Arctic Monkeys respectively, but two of last night’s ranked with the best of them.
Opening band The Bluelights, were not one of these bands. A local three-piece that reminded me of a kind of lesser, Yorkshire version of The Rifles. Giving us some fairly dull indie rock, and ending the set somewhat abruptly. With no clear sense of a proper finish, they said their final thanks, sounded like they would be doing one more song, but then just packed away. An uninspired end to a disappointingly uninspired set.
What followed was an individual by the name of Charlie Barnes, or should that be Chalie? Should you believe what promo posters tell you. Before he came on I was told that he is the human equivalent of Radiohead’s ‘Kid A’. Ok, I thought, some poncey indie boy playing a synth? Well, this was sort of true, but it was some poncey indie boy playing synth, and beat-boxing, and looping it, and adding some excellent vocal ranges to create something that is so much more than the human equivalent of ‘Kid A’. If I had any apprehensions about the ‘entertainment’ factor in watching someone sit at a keyboard and twiddle knobs for half an hour before last night, the excitement this guy provided soon eradicated these thoughts. The only worry is that his stunning live show won’t replicate on his E.P.
The night’s third band was probably the biggest surprise. A four-piece by the name of Trace, with a singer who looked at first, a little more than apprehensive, not to mention no older than 15. Once they began though, what came from the PA was a joy to the ears. A loud, technically sound, melodic slice of what I thought sounded like ‘pop-punk, but with piano’. With catchy melodies and epic breakdowns, this band is very good. Be sure to catch them next time they’re doing the local gig circuit.
So on to Grammatics then. In all honesty, before the night I wasn’t really expecting much, and after the excellence of Charlie Barnes, and Trace, I was expecting even less. I have been witness to Grammatics before, catching them at the early midday slot on Friday at Latitude last year, and I thought they were…ok. Nothing to get too excited about. However, in a small, intimate venue like Bar 1:22, they were in their element. Their blend of cello infused indie-rock-pop (if that’s a genre that exists?) completely changed my mind. A storming live set from the Leeds four-piece left me reeling, and they are definitely worth looking into further.
So, I said earlier on that before last night I had never been to a gig where the support band was better than the headliner. I still haven’t. It was a close call, but the quality of Grammatics even outweighed the brilliance of Trace. A fantastic night then, and for only a fiver, what could be better?
Yesterday morning I was inundated with a number of texts from friends and fathers asking about the truth behind reports of an Oasis split. ‘No chance’ I thought, ‘They split up at least once a year don’t they?’ ‘Just a falling out, can’t be serious’. But sure enough, after reading a story on the BBC website, and seeing a subsequent report on the news it is official, Noel Gallagher has quit Oasis.
If you asked me now what my feelings were upon finding out, I’m not sure I could tell you. With Oasis being my all time favourite band, Be Here Now being the first CD I ever bought, you would think it would have been crushing. I would have been distraught, shed a tear maybe? Oh no. I instead just sat there, trying in my head to work out a way that this could simply not be true. How could they split up? It’s Oasis. Yeah they weren’t exactly without controversy, the infamous Gallagher brothers being in and out of the limelight virtually from the beginning, bickering and rowing just like any brothers. It seems now to have gone that one argument too far though. Noel himself saying that he ‘couldn’t go on working with Liam a day longer.’
At this point, in all the news stories and articles at least, there lies a running history of the band, all the number ones, the albums, the awards, the bust-ups, everything. Re-told to you as a sort of eulogy towards the band. I’m not going to do that. Oasis are (were?) a big enough band that the story does not need retelling. We don’t need to hear everything we already know again. Instead I can only speak from my personal experience of the band, and that is as follows:
I’m not ashamed to say that Oasis are the best band I have ever had the pleasure of listening to. Not even one of. The. It’s safe for me to say that the reason I got into music at all, picked up the guitar, bought CDs, ended up doing a degree in Music Journalism, is pretty much down to Oasis, well, and my dad, for getting me into them in the first place. People talk of them having an up and down career, that the quality dwindled after ‘(What’s the Story)’. I don’t believe that. As Liam himself said on documentary ‘Lord Don’t Slow Me Down’, ‘I don’t think we got worse, I think people just got bored of us.’ If this is true, I was most definitely not one of these people.
I only ever got the pleasure of seeing the band once, last year in Liverpool, on my birthday no less. It was once of the best shows I’ve been to, and I only wish that I could have seen them more than once. Hope still remains though, in the potential for Noel to do a solo album/tour, and for a reunion, maybe not for a few years, but hope shall prevail no less.
So for now, farewell, to the best band to ever grace my CD player. You made me feel that tonight, and every night, I’m a rock n’ roll star. See you soon.
Following Alex Turner’s ambitious side-project, the Last Shadow Puppets, with friend Miles Kane, there were rumours that Arctic Monkeys were to be no more. After an extended spell on the sidelines, it could have appeared that way, that was, until that difficult third album, Humbug, was released on Monday. Many wondered if the Sheffield four-piece could reignite the fires that drove the Arctic’s engine through their first two albums and drive them to success again. The answer (dramatic pause) is yes.
The lyrical prowess of Turner has not waned in the slightest either. With each song filled with line after line of excellence. The growth of Turner himself, as well as the band, is shown here. No more are we dealing with girls who look good on the dance floor, or mardy bums, but instead fools on parade (‘Secret Door’) and lookalikes in The Battleship (‘Cornerstone’). Okay, you can say that it has shifted from the everyday observations of queuing for taxis and prostitutes on street corners, but where ‘Whatever People Say…’ won over audiences across the country, ‘Humbug’ not only challenges them, but aims to spread the net wider than the ‘indie boy going out getting lashed’ audience, and it does so with aplomb.
What is considerably noticeable throughout Humbug is how the influence Turner’s work with the Last Shadow Puppets has affected his singing. It seems perhaps since the Monkeys’ cover of ‘Diamonds are Forever’ at Glastonbury 2007, our Alex seems to think of himself as a bit of a crooner. As shown throughout the Shadow Puppets’ ‘Age of the Understatement’.
This continues through the devilishly dark rumblings of ‘Crying Lighting’, ‘My Propeller’, and ‘Fire and the Thud’, Turner’s voice remains light and graceful. Soaring above the murky rhythms below. Along with the much lighter ‘Cornerstone’ and ‘Secret Door’. However, to say the front man has gone soft is far from reality. Turner does show his aggression can match the anger of the music, particularly throughout ‘Dangerous Animal’ and the brilliant ‘Pretty Visitors’ (‘What came first, the chicken or the dickhead?’ may well be one of my favourite lyrics ever).
Love them or hate them, you can’t knock Arctic Monkeys for ingenuity. A constant progression and development in both lyricism and music has the perilous potential to alienate many fans, but also win over countless new ones. Humbug must surely cry for the latter. A fantastic album from start to finish, with a new sound that possibly trumps both previous releases by the band. With a headline slot at Reading and Leeds this weekend, be warned, Arctic Monkeys are back, with a bang.
A friend of mine once said to me that Amy Winehouse is ‘only good because she’s not black’. Before anybody gets the wrong idea, my friend is not racist, despite the aforementioned comment. Clearing up any controversy, what I believe she meant was that Amy Winehouse plays a style of music that is pretty much dominated by black artists. In a similar way to the ‘white man who played black music’, Mr Elvis Presley. However, Elvis was the King, Miss Winehouse most certainly is not the Queen.
I never fully understood the attraction to Amy Winehouse. I always felt that she was nothing more than a junkie of both the press and the smack, with less talent than I have in my left testicle. Harsh, I hear some of you utter, but perhaps true? Think about it. Still need me to back up my statement? Fine.
Point one: She can’t sing. No really, she can’t sing. All that seems to be coming from her vocal chords sounds like a warbling cat, with throat cancer, being swung from a ceiling fan. You seen the video on YouTube? That.
Point two: Content. If you can get past the god-awful singing, and actually decipher the lyrics, its drivel. Daddy said she should go to rehab (being the coked up whore she is, but more on that later) and what does she do, say no…no, no. Why? There’s teen rebellion, and then there’s just flat out ignorance. If she listened to Daddy then maybe she wouldn’t be so atrocious. ‘You Know That I’m No Good’? Yes, we do. So stop damaging my eardrums with that racket. And Valerie probably doesn’t want to come over because she heard you wailing from a mile off and fled in the other direction (Oops, I forgot that song was by Mark Ronson...).
Point three: As I have previously stated, she is nothing but a coked up whore. Spending more time in the tabloids for whatever scandal she has supposedly been up to rather than trying to better her career, or even trying to better her reputation. The fact that she regularly fails to turn up to concerts, and when she does, gives very half-arsed performances, shows more than a little lack of respect for her label, her PR people, and most importantly, her fans (deluded though they are for liking her ‘music’ in the first place). Yes I know Lou Reed and the Beatles and Pink Floyd and even Oasis have dabbled in drugs during their career, but, with the possible exception of the latter, it spawned some of their best music. But with Miss Winehouse giving us nothing that can even be classed as good, she should listen to The Verve, because the drugs don’t work.
Point four: See points one, two and three. Need I go on?
The other day I heard a rumour that she died. Drug overdose. Part of me wished it were true. Before realising the talentless woman would become martyred and special editioned forever. We just cant win can we?
One might wonder why I, at only 19 years of age, was in Liverpool last Saturday to attend a reunion gig of a band that formed 20 years ago, and split 16 years ago, when I was at the tender age of 3. Maybe if it was one of those big name bands that sold millions of records, had several number ones (that’s British number ones!) and generally were well known enough to warrant a big reunion. This was not the case. The band I went to see, Pele. Ever heard of them? Didn’t think so. In all honesty neither had I, that was, until I was made aware of the fantastic Amsterdam, and learned that Pele was lead singer Ian Prowse’s former band.Excitement was therefore brewing as me and my father, someone else who, up until Amsterdam, was only ‘vaguely aware’ of the band, turned up at the venue far too early to be let in. Not to worry though, as it led to a chance to meet Prowse again, (after previously interviewing him back in early 2007, and meeting after a fantastic Amsterdam set at Glastonbury in 2008) who was looking for a Chilean who was getting an interview (big in Chile back in the day too?). Once let in, we were one of only a handful of people who got there early enough to ‘soak up the atmosphere’ and to witness the first support act, The Verdict, and a very good band they were too. Very tight and punchy, with some quality rock tunes to boot. The next act, The Bo Weevils also proved to be a nice surprise. A quality four piece with some excellent guitar work, foot-stomping rhythms and what’s more, they were fucking loud. Both of which are well worth looking into further.
And so it came to the main event, Pele. With it being more than evident that I was probably one of the youngest people there, I didn’t really know what to expect. While Prowse’s Amsterdam have a brilliant live show, I had a feeling that the slightly lesser sound of Pele might result in a slightly lesser live show. How wrong I was! Right from opener ‘Don’t Worship Me’, to the fantastic ‘Oh Lord’, Pele rolled back the years and produced a top quality show, playing all the hit songs and more. With the likes of ‘Megalomania’ (number one in South Africa, don’t you know!) ‘Fair Blows the Wind for France’, ‘Name and Number’ and the ever outstanding ‘Raid the Palace’, fans both old and new (or should that be young?) enjoyed sing-a-long after sing-a-long. Even for me, who in all honesty had not heard much Pele other than re-done live versions by Amsterdam thoroughly enjoyed the likes of ‘A King’s Ransom’, ‘Fat Black Heart’, ‘In The Beginning and ‘Fireworks’, but the list goes on almost as long as the set list itself.
Despite not really knowing what to expect beforehand, seeing Prowse without his usual crew and with a menagerie of different songs, I did wonder if it would be like seeing Amsterdam with the volume turned down. Luckily I was swiftly proved wrong, Prowse and company producing a show well worth the reunion, and one can only hope another is on the cards sooner rather than later.
You would have thought that Jack White would have a lot on his plate at the moment. With the White Stripes, The Raconteurs, and several other individual projects, including a duet with Alicia Keyes for the recent Bond film, Quantum of Solace, you’d think he wouldn’t have time for anything else. Surely?
Well you’d be wrong, White returns to us now with The Dead Weather. A ‘supergroup’ of sorts featuring members of The Kills, Queens of the Stone Age, The Raconteurs, and White himself. However, what may surprise many is that White gives up his guitar and singing, for the most part, and takes a back seat, literally, on the drums. I can hear the alarm bells ringing from here.
Not to worry though, what we are given by The Dead Weather’s debut album ‘Horehound’ is something that differs from both White’s previous bands. Taking the bluesy sound of the Stripes, and the raw rock sound from the Raconteurs, White creates something new, but with a feel to it that can attract fans of his earlier work.
White’s decision to revert to the drums may lead to suspicion from some, but the man does very well. A damn sight better than his ex wife/sister Meg. A feat that is probably just as easily done as it is said. But to leave it at that would be grossly unfair on the rest of the band. While White is a very competent drummer, he is backing up what is a very tight, very good band. With ‘Little Jack’ Lawrence of The Raconteurs on bass, and QUOTSA’s Dean Fertita on guitar, piano and synth doing a job that is by no means worse than what White could do himself.
However, where the band get’s one of its main strengths is from the vocals of the beautiful Alison Mosshart, formerly of The Kills. From the husky drawl of ’60 Feet Tall’ and ‘So Far From Your Weapon’ to the Blondie-esque wail of ‘Treat Me Like Your Mother’ and the brilliant cover of Dylan’s ‘New Pony’. She also acts as a perfect compliment to White on the duets of ‘Rocking Horse’ and ‘Will There Be Enough Water?’
It could be very easy for one to look at this band as just another indulgence of Jack White, only made so that he could satisfy a creative branch that he could not reach with his many other projects. It could be easy to only buy this record to complete a ‘Jack White Collection’ and not really listen to it. But The Dead Weather are really so much more than that. They are a great band, and one of equal brilliance to both The White Stripes and The Raconteurs. With such a brilliant live show on top of a great debut album, long may The Dead Weather continue.
It is with a sense of slight confusion, disappointment, relief and an odd bit of excitement that I've seemingly come to the end of my first academic year of university, and it's only just April! I shall be getting the train back home tomorrow (single from Manchester Piccadilly to Bristol Temple Meads for 11 quid! Thats what planning in advance and a railcard does for you!) for three weeks to enjoy what I hope is as delightful weather in Wells as it is here in Huddersfield. Should be good, especially the last week when Emma is going to come stay and see the sights of the south (not one for sibilance am I?!). But why do I still feel strangely disappointed?
Apart from an exam on the 13th of May I will have nothing to do until September apart from move out of halls and into my house. I should be happy about this, shouldn't I? Gives me a chance to get a job and earn some much needed money, gives me a chance to spend time writing more, in terms of articles for here, and songs (www.myspace.com/mynamesmattmusic seeing as you ask). Part of me worries though, that with the current state of economy, I wont be able to find a job (not least because Jack is now here scoping out more jobs to go with the one he found after being here a few days!) which means I'll be sat around either here in Storthes, a place I am quickly getting very sick of, not least because of all the stereotypical, we're-gunna-stay-up-till-half-6-in-the-morning-shouting-our-arses-off students, but because of the Internet, which is gracefully working now for a change, the large distance it is from....oh just about anywhere and the fact that it is, in all honesty, a bit grotty, with nothing to do at all. Earning no money, and spending the lack of money I actually do have far too quickly. Either that or I'll manage to stick it through until July before moving in to my house. A prospect I am actually very much looking forward to, in that growing up, being independent kind of way, and the fact that the house is fucking beautiful. Once there though, what then? If I don't find a job beforehand am I going to be able to find one once I am in a much more convenient location? I can hope so.
Every year, the European Ski Challenge takes place in the 3 Vallees Ski Resort in the French Alps. Here in the snowy paradase, many skiiers and snowboarders flock to compete.
Below is a video showing the highlights of this years competition.
