So far this year I have delved into the touchy feely side of my relations
with other human beings and partly shelved my usual vitriol and not shoke my
fist at too many things, the budget being that bit too much too resist. This
time you find me at the start of spring, a change of seasons for the world and
also for me in my life – so what better way to celebrate than with some
glorious hippy rhetoric about the beauty of the world and of course some
excellent music.
There is a peace in my soul that is flowing the good vibes and calm
mentality into my life once more as I once again delve away from the city and
into the quiet and beautiful parts of jolly old England that are still keeping
this a green and pleasant land. I found the part of me that is peaceful and
placid in the outbacks of Australia, hundreds of kilometers away from any human
soul and reliant on the sun for everything and at the mercy of nature’s whim, there
I learned a respect for the world and a new way of appreciating the small
details in the grand schemes that build the blocks of this beautiful Earth. I
feared that nobody would believe me, this person walking barefoot across the
plains of the Northern Territory and scrambling up rock faces stroking the
surface of every rock and lifting every leaf to my nose was a far cry from the
lumbering drunk who had been stumbling around the cosmopolitan chaos of
Brighton with little respect for anything except pub opening times. I worried
that as soon as the great open spaces had folded in to man made structures and
I was sorounded by human endevour and corruption I would once again languish
into the haze of loutish intoxication that had been my escape for so long.My
fears were of course in some way justified and my will was and is no stronger
than that of any man but in Adelaide after returning from some time “out there”
I sat staring at a blossom tree in an urban garden of a house where reckless
abandon was in full dominion and I saw the quiet beauty of the wild twist its
magic around my heart and I knew that I would always have that place inside of
me, that wherever I went and however much I descended into the human world I
had found my peace with the planet and I would forever know how to see its
messages.
My new job became an exciting proposition as I walked to the back of the
pub and saw the stretching vista of the Chiltern valley spread out infront of
me. Im staring out over the view now and baby lambs skip unsure steps over
green fields as Red Kite’s hover overhead looking for an easy meal. Ancient
copse’s of greys and greens roll over the hills and line the sides of
manuquered fields and over it all the billowing majesty of the heavens, great
explosions of cloud billowing and mushrooming over our tiny lives. It’s easy
again to conjour that far away fieling to suspend yourself in the quiet calm
even when you are standing in the center of a very human storm. I am drawing
from the inspiration of the fields and trying to be the person I know I can be,
chaos can have no hold over you if you have truly surrended to the simple
serrenity of a natural understanding its just much easier to do when it is
painted infront of you in an unescapable vision.
I am settling into my 30’s quite nicely and feeling proud of myself while
still knowing I must push myself every day to go further and be more it’s quite
a slap in your own face when you realise that the things in life you once
loathed are now the things that are driving you forward but that is part of the
mystery of growing up. It’s all too easy to sit and consider and then type your
ideas and ideal to a glowing white screen but being asked to be inspirational
to others on a day to day basis is a new and interesting challenge that I am
relishng. I am enjoying my space in the world it’s a calm haven that is allowing
me to be the person that I need to be, taken away from the capitalist
structures of urban dwelling I can even ignore the well groomed upper class
types who frequent these affluent hills because I can take a look out of the
window and remember my perspective and look to those clouds for the nearest I
get to religion.
‘Noctourniquet’ by
The Mars Volta This will always be a
band with a special place in my heart, ears and mind. I remember so clearly the
anticipation of listening to the opening build up on their debut album
‘De-Loused In The Comatorium’ and waiting for the drop to hit and the measure
of this band with so much potential to be heard, I was not disappointed and
against the opinions of others haven’t been disappointed by them since, they knock
very loudly at the doors of genius and then run screaming in a make believe
language to the deepest denizens of madness and I can’t get enough of it.
When ‘At The Drive In’ split there was a hole at the top
of a genre of music that Omar Rodrigues and Cedric Bixler had done much to
champion and forward even though they would never presume to adhere to any
scene genre or anything so saleable. The resulting split tessellated like a
broken hearted lover’s pendant with ‘Sparta’ punchy and direct was caught up in
the post-punk maelstrom of artists doing much to tarnish the original ideals of
punk. ‘The Volta’ descended into something very much in keeping with the punk
ideal if not the sound – Loud, Angry and
Visceral but refusing to conform to any conventions and never giving the people
what they may think they want. Over the last 9 years The Volta boys have
created a dark and terrifying world in which there music tells deep and
involved stories that encapsulate a journey through deeply disturbed minds of
musical virtuoso’s that are unparalleled in their delivery and unmatched in
their individuality and intoxication. So with ATDI reforming (if only for live
shows) what does this do to the minds and performances of these Texan rock monsters.
Some will say that this album is mellow and a slap in the face to the ideals of
post-punk, some will miss the concepts and involved stories of previous
releases but others also have criticised them before for retreating too far
into unfathomable conjunctures in the past and I will be at the head of the
camp that see’s the melody and discernible lyrics as another string to the
Epirus bow that this group wield every time they produce music. As usual there
are deep rich layers of sound and discord that can act as a barrier to really
getting in to the music but letting yourself flow with the jarring sounds and
crushing rhythms will be rewarding as the Latin melodies penetrate your ear
space. The vocals are the biggest shift in this release with greater clarity
while still retaining the same desperate power – the album becomes more
balanced than previous releases and without feeling locked out by not being a
drug addled mess in a Texan desert having dark visions of blind soul conquering
deities of justice this is actually a more memorable work than ‘Octahedron’ or ‘Bedlam
in Goliath’. Don’t think for a moment that means we are entering the world of
the 3 minute rock song or even the 12 minute prog-rock arena, The Volta twist
from concord to chaos at the flick of a battery of switches with pinpoint accuracy
managing to balance an un quelled belly of fire with a melodic harmony and even
moments of tenderness. Still bending language to their needs and dripping with
biblical and nihilistic charm in such songs as ‘Dyslexicon’;
“In the time of the sixth sun
We are cattle to the prod
And I burn this dictionary
Because it’s my dyslexicon’
But straight after we are allowed a look into the fragile
heart of this tormented man of words who sees the things he loves always
turning black and twisted and never sure who to blame, the cruelty of others or
his own twisted view in ‘Empty Vessels Make The Loudest Sound’;
“I am a mountain of
cavernous people
Searching for a
lighthouse in the fog
the flowers that grew from the cracks in the
ground you paved
didn’t you think
he would warn me through the thorns of my waking dreams
when the riddles
connected the dots of this constellation”
These two songs back to back show
a level of duality and musical cohesion that very few artists manage to forge
into a workable form, it has been said that the best reason to write an album
is if it would drive you crazy not too and here we see the cause and the cure laid
out for us to listen too, confessional without being needy and ferociously
angry while still being disappointed and realistic. I know that this will not
be an easy recommendation because for some the sheer volume of noise can be too
much but if you want to immerse yourself in a deeply powerful world of music
then let The Volta boys entertain you with their talented hands and disturbed
hearts.
‘Sonik Kicks’ by Paul Weller Here is another artist who has more than
earned his place in the hall of fame and legend status and has become the
synonymous leader of an on-going revolution that has been pushing on since even
‘The Modfather’ was born. But what happens when ‘The Modfather’ becomes the
‘ModGrandfather’ and the brand becomes impossible to escape, I once saw
Mr.Weller pushing a pram around Preston Park -Brighton in full pinstripe suit
and peacock feathered hair looking every bit the part but a part of me was
unsure how real it all was or if he had become what people expected him to be.
The hairstyle and that look have gone through many adulterations and adaptions
but back come’s Weller the elder statesman to vamp his sound and bring a style
that he is very heavily touting as modern to a new audience and a sympathetic
old one. In all honesty I really wish he hadn’t bothered because I hate to say
bad things about him but I find this offering to be dull lacklustre and at
sometimes desperate. Surrounding yourself with younger versions of yourself and
letting them tweak modulators and play synthesised sounds over your musical ‘B’
sides is not a reinvention it’s a dull attempt to sound vital and make people
think there is life in the old dog yet. This is making me sad to write because
I once thought that Weller could do no wrong, he was the first artist that I
owned the complete back catalogue of on cd (mainly as I was still saving up for
the more extensive Beatles one) and “Broken Stones” was the first song that I
shared with a girl as “our song”. Rumour was that Weller’s desire to explore
his softer side as a songwriter with songs such as ‘English Rose’ was the straw
that broke the camel’s back for Bruce Foxton and the rest of ‘The Jam’. Weller
rode the 90’s wave heavily and with obvious skill but for me the turn of the
millennium was one too many centuries for
this musical survivor and none of his output since then has been notable except
by is disappointment. There is a very repetitive tone through this album and
the guitar work seems to meld into a fuggy sound that masks any true sparks of
the original Weller sound. But don’t get too down about it put on ‘Setting Sons’
and relish in a true English hero in the prime of his life and let this piffle
fizzle out.
‘Port Of Morrow’ by
The Shins James Mercer is Indie
royalty and his absence from his flagship group has caused ripples across the
jingle jangle lo fi’ish community, what was he doing playing around with
essentially dance producers when what we really want from him is lyrical genius
and another look into his perpetually confused and lovesick cynical view of the
world. There was some derision over the bands last offering many thinking it
was a little too bleepy and far too cheerful, I disagreed but am also glad that
this album is soaked in the bittersweet and encapsulating everything we fell in
love with the band for in the first place.
There is something in this album and indeed the group
that is impossible to emulate and is missing from far too much modern music and
that is character. Watching the latest musical monstrosity ‘The Voice’ on BBC
One and hearing the hopefuls be told how talented they are when really all they
are displaying is a very 90’s vocal style of making sure every note in an
octave has been achieved in as short a time as possible, they could sing at me
until I turned blue and fell over and I would still not care a jot because they
have no character – destined to repeat the songs of others in a bland style
that is only really excusable at a drunkard party closely followed by vomiting
and blacking out. I read 95% of the Harry Potter saga and even after the
1,084,000 words that ordeal entailed I still didn’t give a ploppy shit if Harry
lived, died or turned gay and declared his deep arousal at all things ginger
and magical because the twerp had little to no character. For an unassuming
indie gent, resplendent in jeans and cardigan Mr.Mercer only has to open his
mouth once to have me hooked on his every word and hoping things turn out well
– that’s style baby and this album oozes it from every pour.
There are melodies and harmonies that come straight from
the first two albums echoed in a childlike innocence coupled with a teenage
yearning and a few years of experience. This isn’t new ground but well-trod and
firm underfoot for a band that made their names with these intricate love songs
sung to the stars in the dead of night. If ‘Chutes Too Narrow’ was caught up on
a fantasy of how love can be then this is an album that has been chewed up and
spat out by love and still wants to sing its praises. “No Way Down”;
“Make me a drink,
strong enough
To wash away the
dishwater world,
They said was
lemonade”
How could I resist? The lyric is right up my street so go
back a few years before Indie started getting so dark and broody and when you
still had guitar songs that were not folk and float in the wonderful world of
The Shins.
‘Mr.M’
by Lambchop If Mr.Mercer is Indie royalty then Kurt Wagner the pivotal
member of Lambchop is a foreign dignitary of the highest order, it’s one thing
to be brilliant but the myriad of line-up’s and plays on musical styles
outputted by this outfit since the early 90’s has been consistently brilliant,
a rare and beautiful thing. The tides of the musical styles that Wagner and co
have displayed have ebbed and flowed over the years but the lounge singer voice
and aching beauty of the music has seen them through to arrive here when the
styles are in the limelight to be well practiced masters and it shows in every
song, in every chord, in every note. Laid back and effortless would imply a
lack of attention but in reality I mean it to imply that this is not forced it
is one of the most natural, open and heartfelt recordings I have heard since –
well last year and the astonishing album by Bill Callahan. I have drawn
something new from this album at each listen and grown to like it then love it
with every play, it is an unassuming but addictive piece of work that soothes at
the same time as it challenges you subtly to look at the frailties of this
world. Kurt Wagner operates well on the side of the self-deprecating masses
whom it is hard to truly hurt because they see the ridiculous nature of the
world and the great balance between the irrelevant and the important. There is
a wounded sound to the vocal that gives the gravitas of experience like a sage
oracle who’s every word should be hung upon as if it is the last we will hear, there
is also beauty and innocence like a Disney cartoon or the saccharine world of
Burt Bacharach where love lives inside of bubbles but this sings of the sugar
hangover that follows where we see that good time for the temporary and unreal
that it really is. There is nothing happier than misery in my opinion and this
album I could wallow in cuddle up near and shake inside until all my troubles
are far away – I hope you let it in and help it heal you. It’s all good so I refuse
to pick out specific songs I just urge you to listen.
I have been away for too long due to my immersion in my
new world, limited access to shops or internet has limited my new music
acquiring abilities and when needing to display your character through the
medium of a work stereo it is important to rely on old friends so thank you
Biggy, J5 and the wonders of Fela Kuti for helping me set a president and be
there for me in unsure times. I will shelve my need for constant cooking and
figure calculating to be back sooner next time and hopefully under a brighter
sun. Until then listen close and listen loud my good friends.
