I've been meaning to do this for ages and ages, but there's now
so many new bands I want to write about that I can't put it off for
any longer. So, all being well, there'll be a new band posted here
on every day of the working week. Where are they going? As they're only a mere four gigs old, they're probably still working that out themselves, but the songs they've made public so far shiver with possibilities. "A Dance To Half Death", their most Beirut-esque moment, enlivens the stumbling Balkan sound with a slight, tender vocal that's closer to Malcolm Middleton, while "We Walk In The Room" brings together ukulele and xylophone for a song that sounds like Antarctica Takes It!'s softer moments. "We Will Convince You", on the other hand, could be a folk pop version of The Postal Service. It's bright and insistant and strangely danceable. And that, it seems, is the point with The Second Hand Marching Band. The band was created, they say, to "play songs with many instruments that could be danced to." I can't quite put my finger on why, but there's something I like about that phrase. Songs with many instruments. It's like a tiny flash of poetry. http://www.myspace.com/thesecondhandmarchingband June 30th: Band 18 - Wild Honey Wild Honey, a duo from Madrid, sound like they've been living my life for a long time now. Like The Clientele before them, they're a band that skirt blissfully around the edge of wakefulness, their melodies meandering through vapour trails and open spaces and vague memories. It's lovely stuff - Guille picking out slight notes on his guitar and sighing out English language vocals, and Diego lazily keeping time on his drumkit - that makes you wonder why groups bother with anything else. They cheat, of course - listen carefully and you can pick out xylophones and harmonicas and the like double tracked in the background - but even so, the point is made. Sometimes you quieter you get, the more powerful you become. I've no idea how I ran into Wild Honey, but somehow that feel appropriate. "The House By The Sea:", my favourite of the three songs on their MySpace, isn't a distinct, personal experience, but an echo - like finding a charcoal sketch of the house in the title, but not knowing where the house was or who'd drawn it or why. When the duo introduce handclaps halfway through the song, it isn't - as it usually the case these days - to whip up some communal fervour, but just to punctuate time passing, almost. A strange concept but you'll understand what I mean when you hear the song. I wish I knew more about what's happening musically in Madrid. Perhaps Wild Honey can be my way in. "We can see it/If we close our eyes..." http://www.myspace.com/wildhoneysongs June 25th: Band 17 - Honey Pine Dresser
I'm going to cheat again, and write about one of the bands that are playing at tomorrow's HDIF Presents show at Jamm in Brixton. A bit of self-promotion I suppose, but then what else is HDIF Presents but this blog in physical form? I first heard Honey Pine Dresser when they were a band without a name. Their singer, Marie-Pascale Hardy, sent a friend request on My Space, and I listened to the song on her page - a slight, haunting song called "English Game" that sounded like Elliott Smith and Kristen Hersh. You don't so much listen to this song as eavesdrop on it, Marie-Pascale's echo of a voice floating through the melody like a ghost walks through a wall. "You English boys," she sighs, "are useless and time-wasting." But she stretches out the words "time-wasting" so they sound like a lament. And the following lines "You make girls feel guilty/You make girls feel lonely and clumsy" are all goosebumps and heartbreak. A second song appeared on MySpace, called "Waltham Forest Pool And Track". Not, you'd think, the most promising of titles. But seen through Marie-Pascale's eyes, what I presume to be her local pool is, again, full of heartbreak. She begins, brilliantly, with the words "I blow my nose and it comes out black/Every time he looks at me, I have a heart attack/The swimming pool is as dirty as it could ever be", before a dreamy organ sequence transports us into Marie-Pascale's not-quite-here, not-quite-right state of mind. I'm reminded of Polly Harvey - the delivery couldn't be more different, but there's a honesty about feeling fragile here that's instantly recognisable. "Whenever the water looks clearer/It means it's cleaner/But the water's never as clean as it should be/This water's wrong/this water's grey/this water's wrong/this water's dirty." So yes. They're on tomorrow night, at 8.30pm. Please come along. http://www.myspace.com/honeypinedresserhere June 18th: Band 16 - TeamAWESOME! Such is the wrongoverse (that's the universe turned upside down in plain English) that surrounds TeamAWESOME!, a band that have been on the go since 2005, released an album not long after (the frankly bonkers sounding "Greatest Hits! Vol. 1!"), and crashlanded into my world about 45 minutes ago. Maybe I've always been living in a TeamAWESOME! galaxy and I just didn't realise. Maybe we all have. It certainly seems like there's a small chance I might have been in the band at some point. Since their inception, the internet reckons they've had 27 people pass through their ranks. Blimey - come on, Saturdays, keep up! And, hey, right there on the list there's the simple entry, "Ian, guitar". No surname, no pack drill. Riiiight - so that's what I did in June 2007. They are from America of course, specifically Boulder, Colorado. They are led by Chuck Potashner, who is presumably the Conor type figure spewing bruised poetry while the rest of the band hurl their instruments at each other. And they are quite quite mad, and quite quite brilliant. I'm now going to try and work out how to buy one of their records. I may be some time... http://www.myspace.com/weareteamawesome June 17th: Band 15 - Sad Day For Puppets So there's been little time for all this - but this week I'm determined to get back on track. We kick off with the curious story of Sad Day For Puppets, a four piece from Stockholm. On YouTube, there's video footage of the band playing a festival in 2006, and they sound like every other acoustic AOR outfit that's come out of Scandinavia in the last five years or so - tasteful, accomplished, a little bland. Two years later and their debut release, the "Just Like A Ghost" EP on HaHa Fonogram, is a far sparkier affair, part effervescent indie pop, part shoegazy wall of fuzz. If you wanted to be cynical, you could say that they've simply swapped one in-vogue sound for another - although if this really is their attempt to jump on The Concretes' bandwagon, maybe someone ought to take them aside and break the news as gently as they can. Whatever the motivation, there are some lovely moments here. "Set Alight" could be Victoria Bergsman hanging out with the Drop Nineteens (or very early Teenage Fanclub perhaps). "Annie Says" replicates the supremely laid-back cool of Mazzy Star. And "Hush" sounds like it'll be sending little ripples of electricity through dancefloors before long, all infectious piano line and artfully applied fuzz guitar. Is it an authentic sound? Does it matter? There's talk of them coming over to play with the TVPs in August, so you'll be able to judge for yourself then. http://www.myspace.com/saddayforpuppets
At first I wasn't grabbed by "Kathy In Her Bedroom" - it floated past in a pleasant haze that made me think of The Brunettes' recent material, or the post-shoegaze dreampop of fellow Californians Medicine. Nothing wrong with either of those comparisons, but there was something faintly unchallenging about this sound, as if it were born from contentment rather than blood and heartbreak. But a second spin found the laidback, headnodding melody worm its way into my bloodstream. The song builds slowly but knowingly, with Goldman's sighing, sweet nothings vocal giving way to Thorne's brighter, more wide-eyed response, and by the time the insistant kraut pop of the melody really hit its stride, I was along for the ride. I played it early doors at the club on Friday and cursed myself almost straight away. What took a while to make sense on my desktop was an instant hit when played loud over a PA - only it was too early for anyone to dance to it. Playing it now, I can easily picture a dancefloor slowly clicking into its groove. Plus I've just noticed that it's labelled in my itunes as "Children's music". And what's not to adore about that? http://www.myspace.com/bedroomwalls A strange postcript to this entry. Mulling over the kraut pop of this song got me thinking about another instance of the genre: "Drink The Elixir" by Salad. If Salad are remembered at all these days, it's for being Britpop also-rans fronted by a former MTV presenter - hardly the coolest of pedigrees - but this song is far better than all that suggests. Built on a nagging k-p riff, it cranks out the noise for the simple, title-as-chorus chorus, before returning to that relentless, almost mechanical riff. I'm sure I'm on a hiding to nothing with this one, but here's a link to the song if you're interested. http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=1461917617 June 4th: Band 13 - Port O'Brien
The backstory is just perfect. Van (male) works on his father's salmon fishing boat on Kodiak Island in Alaska. No really, I'm not making this up. Cambria (female) is head baker at a cannery in Larsen Bay, a "city" on the island. Population 115. They write songs. And, of course, given the backdrop, they're astonishing. "Stuck On A Boat" is exactly what you'd expect from the title, Van sighing "I'm sick of the weather up here", the music deadbeat, sodden. Except then Van sings "My feet weren't made for the sea/They were made for running free" and the strings swell suddenly and it's like sunlight breaking through the clouds. And then I'm hearing another reference point. Nirvana Unplugged. No really number two. And in a good way, in a really exciting, inspiring way. "I Woke Up Today" is like a worker's revolt at the cannery, lots of clattering pots and pans, and a warehouse of voices crying "I woke up today/In a very simple way", like they've just been handed eternal life on a silver plate. It's rousing and ecstatic and unhinged and breathtaking, like a starburst of pure joy hitting you square between the eyes. You went to sleep an unbeliever, you woke up in the light. And if you're that way inclined you may find yourself reaching for a ladle and saucepan to play along. I would, but you know. It's late. I'd wake up the neighbourhood. So bloody hell. I'll be ordering the album first thing tomorrow. I hope against hope that it's as good as the two songs mentioned above. If it is, we may have to stop the clock. There's only a Sigur Ros album standing in its way. http://www.myspace.com/portobrien June 3rd: Band 12 - Bonne Idée But then just as you expect it all to burst into action, the song steps down a gear for the verse, the light off-kilter Dolly Mixture-esque guitar dancing gorgeously under the melt-in-your-mouth lead vocal (provided by either Agnes or Kajsa, not sure which!). It's a voice you fall for straight away - kind of offhand but luxurious, slightly out of focus in a way that Swedish voices singing in English often are. There's this bit just after the chorus (sung in French, naturually!), where the tiniest guitar line just sparkles, the music nothing more complex than bass, drums and guitars, and it makes my heart melt. At the time, there were just two songs on the band's MySpace. "It Will Be Back", sung in English, and "Dar Masar Aldrig Stor" (translation anyone?), sung in Swedish. And, confusingly for a listener who's used to everything being served to me in my own language, the Swedish song is even better. The accordian and guitar lines may be a touch more low key, more atmospheric than anthemic, but it's a dreamlike sound that draws you in and in, and by the time it all soars for the chorus (this one's glide, soar, glide - it's a good trick to have up your sleeve), you're right there with them. If you want an easy reference point, imagine the pre-C86 perfect pop of Those Dancing Days. But imagine it five years down the line. I've no idea of the ages of Bonne Idée, but this feels like a twentysomething band rather than a teenage one. The songs are subtle and emotional rather than giddy and sparky, seemingly set in art house cafes and deserted galleries. They're full of poignant spaces and unvoiced upsets. In "New Song", a song about a new song rather than a working title (I think), the chorus runs" Some day you will analyse everything til it's broken/So stay happy while you still don't know what you're doing." And it sounds like the saddest and most uplifting thing I've heard for ages. I know that the curse of this blog is that I work myself up into a state over a different band every day. And I'm sure you're already taking what I write with a lorryload of sea salt. But this feels like something very special indeed - unpolished, for sure (not all of the songs on their My Space are the finished article), but wonderful nonetheless. I'm head over heels. http://www.myspace.com/bonneide May 30th: Band 11 - Headlights
To confuse matters further, their line up consists of an elfin brunette singer called Betty (sorry, make that Erin), and four besuited blokes, one of whom could well be called Fred. And to begin with, "Cherry Tulips" sounds very familiar - there's a lush wash of organ and a shuffle snare beat that could have come straight from "Every Night". But as the song progresses, the band start to find something approaching their own style, inching towards the country rock of Rilo Kiley and the Adult Oriented Indie of Feist. All of which would be just another dollop of faint praise were it not for Headlights' way with a beatific chorus, all calmly joyous harmonies and quietly bizarre lyrics ("I want the sea/I want the horses..."). It's one of those songs you can hear soundtracking a TV advert for a piece of tasteful technology (or a nice new sofa, perhaps). Not exactly the cutting edge of indie pop, then, but just the thing to while away a grey afternoon on the cusp of what should be summer. http://www.myspace.com/headlights May 29th: Band 10 - Help Stamp Out Loneliness
The second song Colm sent me recently, "We're Split Infinitives", proves that "The Lino Heart" is no fluke. Reminiscent of Yo La Tengo swooning over The Field Mice (a hint of the magnificent "I Heard You Looking" in there, definitely no bad thing), it's a driving, dreamy, love affair of a song, one that has me locked into that head-nodding groove with an instrumental outro that's just perfection. I asked them to play a HDIF Presents show as soon as I heard them, but they turned me down - saying they'd be in touch when they were ready. Over a year later, we have a date: Thursday September 25th. I know! September! I can hardly wait, but as someone once said, it's not so far away. http://www.myspace.com/helpstampoutloneliness May 28th: Band
9 - The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart So, yes, the wonderous Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. I'll admit, when I first heard them, I was wary. What makes "This Love Is Fucking Right" so startling is that it's a perfect indie pop song. The perfect indie pop song, almost. And when I first heard it, it felt too perfect, suspiciously so. Like this wasn't music with its eyes fixed on the horizon, but a throwback, a pastiche even. Just listen to it - the processed thud of the drum machine, the wavering bassline, that precise guitar sound, the vaguely fey feel to Kip Bermnan's vocal. I recognised the reference points straight away - The Field Mice, The Shop Assistants. I lived those reference points, after all. And to begin with, suddenly hurtling back in time by almost two decades felt wrong. We should be looking forward, building on the past, not replecating it. What's done is done. But then I heard their signature song, the self-titled "The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart". And this was something else entirely. Once again, I recognised the influences straight away - The House Of Love, The Primitives. It is essentially "Destroy The Heart" melting into "We've Found A Way To The Sun". But there was a confidence to it, a kind of shining self-belief, I guess a sense of ego, determination, conviction, whatever you want to call it, that made it rise above its influences, to transcend them. I don't like it because it reminds me of bands I loved when I was a teenager. I like it because it sounds triumphant, like there's something truly important being born here. And don't the lyrics just know it: "We are so sure/We will never die, no no, we will never die." It may be a shoegazing song in essence, but this isn't a song that inpsires the listener to consider their footwear. It makes you feel like you can defy the world. So I went back and listened again, because the one thing I love most about music is having my mind changed for me. Being jolted out of my preconceptions. And I was right - "This Love Is Fucking Right" is the perfect indie pop song. But listening to it again with the knowledge that this isn't a third division tribute band, that they have it in them to better their influences, it sounded glorious. Again, there was that confidence - "In a dark room, I can see you shining bright" - but there was also a vulnerability, a sense of imperfection that made it feel like its own song rather than a meticulously constructed echo. Consider me hooked, then. I was on holiday when they played London, but hopefully they'll be back soon. And just know I was suspicious because I didn't think this could really happen again. But it can. It can. http://www.myspace.com/thepainsofbeingpureatheart Having most of a football team onstage doesn't always work out for the best, of course. You only have to look at someone like The Young Republic (lovely band, but too much classical training and not enough instinctive brilliance), to realise that you can be too damn accomplished for your own good. And sometimes it feels as if Seabear, a seven piece from Reykjavik, aren't pushing it as far as they could. Pianos tinkle, xylophones sparkle, violins trace graceful arcs, and you're never more than a few seconds away from another tasteful moment. Thankfully, there's a simplicity and purity of spirit to singer Sindri's vocal that sends sparks through the trad arrangements. At times, they recall Iron And Wine, that sense that you're eavesdropping on music that wasn't really meant for the outside world. At others, Sindri echoes Bobby Wratten's stark, understated approach to bearing the soul. And the longer you spend with these songs, the more hypnotic they become - the music weaving a cocoon around you, as all the best music does. "Human skin can be hard to live in," sighs Sindri. "You'll feel better in the morning". Amen to that. http://www.myspace.com/seabear PS - For any overseas readers wondering what happened to Monday's entry, it was a bank holiday here in the UK. So being a generous boss, I gave myself the day off. Inevitably, it rained. May 23rd: Band 7 - Bonnie and Clyde
Take "Snowstorm". Somewhere between a sea shanty and the drunken lament of a teenager that's just consumed their body weight in vodka for the first time, it sways and totters unsteadily on its feet, occassionally making contact with a world that's in focus. In the song, Fanny has climbed onto the roof during a snowstorm, convinced that "they" are talking about her behind her back, and the band match her neurosis with a brass part that veers brilliantly on the edge of being in tune, and a la-la-la-la-la backing that sounds like a baying mob willing her to jump. And the moral at the centre of the song? "It's like the saying. 'We all know the monkey. But the monkey knows no-one at all'." Um...right! I saw the band when I was over in Sweden, and even though they played to a small and frankly rather baffled crowd (most of the people had turned up for the excellent garage rock of The Greencoats, and didn't know quite what to do with what looked like a graduation party that had spilled onto the stage), they were exactly how I'd hoped they be - chaotic, endearing, gobby, unstoppable, slightly out of tune. They thrust a CD into my hands afterwards and only when I got home to London did I notice it was called "The Great Tram Robbery". Hopefully they'll come over to play the UK soon, but in the meantime there's a single on Cloudberry and they're signed to Bonjour recordings. Expect...well just drink yourself blind and let your expectations look after themselves. http://www.myspace.com/bonnieoclyde May 22nd: Band 6 - Mexican Kids At Home
Mexican Kids At Home, a five piece from Derby who describe themselves as "four skateboarders and a girl singer", clearly don't care about the petty rules of rock'n'roll credibility. Apart from employing both melodica and ukulele in their anti-folk meet indie pop songs, they sport a myspace page with a knitted woollen quilt as a background image and have a song about starting a one man band - another rock'n'roll no no. As the great Rich Hall once said, give a man a guitar and a harmonica and you can proclaim him a genius. But strap a drum on his back and put cymbals between his knees... So, yes, we're in a relaxed, unaffected realm here, far from the madding crowd. These are simple songs but instantly loveable, with some curious surprises hidden in the lyrics. "Promazine" sounds like sweet-hearted indie folk but listen closely and you'll find they're "learning how to steal and how to fight", while "Female Thief" revolves around the phrase "She took my dog away so I punched her in the face". Quite how it all works live is anyone's guess, but I can imagine that, like fellow Derby-ites The Deirdres, they're lots of fun and utterly charming. http://www.myspace.com/mexicankidsathome May 21st: Band 5 - The Voluntary Butler Scheme
Intrigued by what I'd heard, I went to see Rob play at the Slaughtered Lamb, back in February. And even though I expected great things, he was quietly and hilariously spectacular. For reasons that remained unclear, his backing band of Bolan, Cash and company had stood him up, so he tackled the show on this own, calmly piecing together each song, Final Fantasy-style, recording a guitar or a keyboard part and looping it, then recording the next bit and looping it, and so on, until a song had suddenly sprung up around him. We're pretty familiar with this technique thanks to Pallett and others like him, but while Final Fantasy's songs work more as spectacle rather than something you'd want to hum to yourself in the shower, Rob's songs are good-hearted pop gems. And he was funny too, telling little stories and making people laugh while doing his best to hide behind his fringe. Since then he's been a guest on Marc Riley's 6 Music show, and he's currrently on tour with Joe Lean & The Jing Jang Jong. He's first on out of three at the Scala tomorrow night, so go and along and see him. And tell him to check his email, will you. I need to speak to him. http://www.myspace.com/thevoluntarybutlerscheme May 20th: Band
4 - The Very Most It's all the fault of a band, of course. And it seems when you're talking about Boise, there is only one band it could conceivably be the fault of - Built To Spill. The band found fame when they signed to a major, but in true indie fashion, I only really paid attention when they were on a label called Up. I own one of their albums, called "There's Nothing Wrong With Love", and it's one of the cherished gems in my collection - a record that's almost like a litmus test. If someone knows it and loves it, then I know we'll get on. On paper, it sounds clumsy. It's part grunge, part orchestral pop, as if Dinosaur Jr had roped in a string section to record their teenage symphonies. But in your headphones, it's a magical record. The start of "Car", where Doug Martsch sighs "You get the car/I'll get the night off..." is just heartstopping, while my favourite song on the album, "Twin Falls" is perfection, tender indie pop with the most romantic lyrics about growing up in a small town. Look:
And really my romantic attatchment to the phrase "Boise, Idaho"
comes from this song, where it's "Twin Falls, Idaho". But
somewhere in my mind, because I know the band's from Boise, the two
have become blurred. What's that, Jonathan? What do The Very Most sound like? Well, the band they remind me of is Peter Bjorn and John. Not because of what they sound like, but because, like PB&J, they have one stand out song that doesn't sound much like their other stuff. That song is called "Sod Off" and as you might guess from the Anglophile title, it's as British as can be - in fact, if it had popped up as a single on Factory in the mid Eighties, it wouldn't have sounded wildly out of place. It would have been a smash too - all perfect synth lines, New Order-esque guitar and glacial female vocals from Aly McCrink (who, if you're looking for a contemporary reference point, sounds a little like Amy Millan, when she's singing with Stars). I played it at the club on Saturday and it went down a storm. Most of their other material features a male vocal from songwriter
Jeremy Jensen, and recalls the perfect chiming pop of Teenage Fanclub
(specifically, the songs written by Gerry Love - ie the pop songs),
and the lo-fi symphonic pop of Papas Fritas. It's lovely stuff, but
it's a leap sideways from the dancefloor shimmy of "Sod Off".
I've only had the album for a few days, though, so it could all make
perfect sense by this time next week. It's certainly growing on me
at a dizzying rate. May 19th: Band 3 - Detektivbyrån
Musically, the three piece - from Gothenburg,
yes, more Swedes - are probably closest to Yann Tiersen. They layer
accordion, glockenspiel and all manner of tiny chimes and squiggles
over the lightest of glitched beats, conjuring up instumental music
that makes you feel like a ghost in a slightly more cinematic world.
From what I saw of Gothenburg a few weeks back, it's a typically tasteful
Swedish port town, cobbled streets and wooden houses co-existing with
the functional concrete and glass of the modern age, but whenever
I listen to Detektivbyrån I'm transported to a fairy
tale land of snow and twinkling lights.
But, alas, when I got the band's debut album, "Heartcore", what I loved about W&P - the mad percussive clatter tied to a voice that only nudged against recognisable language - was barely present. A few songs - "Doubt/Hope", the brilliant "The Window" - were exactly what I'd hoped for, and a few others - the slow, dreamlike, almost percussion free "I Can't Tell In His Eyes" - conjured up something else equally as enthralling. But too much of the album felt aimless and affected. In fact, take away the instinctive rush that drives the percussive songs, the voice babbling onwards, no time to connect with the world of making sense, and it all felt slightly pretentious. And not in a good way. But I was told that the band come into their element live, so I went
to see them last night, opening for Caribou at the Scala. And, thankfully,
they were wonderful. There was only 40 or so people in the Scala when
they started their set, but that actually suited W&P I thought
- they could start slowly, tentatively, let the tiny details ebb out
into the looming space before them, rely on that hunched, rattling
feeling to power them through. And it worked - just Andreas thundering
around his kit, and Mariam's vocal spluttering, soaring, the two elements
coming at each other from right angles, not so much drum'n'bass as
drum'n'voice. http://www.myspace.com/wildbirdsandpeacedrums May 15th: Band
1 - Get Well Soon In fact, my real gripe with Get Well Soon isn't that he's a shameless magpie - I'm a Jens Lekman fan, after all - but that after five or so songs, he stops the cultural kleptomania and settles into aping those Radiohead ballads. Which is fine for a song and a half perhaps but by the time we get to the third song of that ilk, you're thinking "Oh well, he was showing promise, but now he's slipped into a coma." Which would be a mistake. As the next song is a reinvention of "Born Slippy" by Underworld, that reimagines the pavement-pounding lager-lager-lager rush of the mid Nineties anthem as, well, something Zach Condon and Sufjan Stevens might come up with. So a borrowed song and a borrowed style, and yet it's all still faintly compelling. You are - or at least I am - intrigued, despite everything. Of course, Gropper needs to find his own voice if he wants to be
more than a fleeting novelty. But better to suffer from a surfeit
of voices, than none at all. Get well soon, Konstantin. |
Let's
get the obvious comparison out of the way at the start. It's fair
to say that Glasgow's eighteen strong - according to their MySpace
anyway - Second Hand Marching Band have probably heard a Beirut record
or two in their time. They have that same sprawling, unsteady charm,
that sense that this is music that falls apart and then falls together
again, the horns wailing with a drunken abandon, and the accordians
and mandolins and clarinets and xylophones filling in the spaces whenever
they get a chance. At the end of the list of the band's instruments
on their MySpace, they add "Clicky things. Jingly things",
and the message is clear - this is a band unafraid to be ramshackle,
if ramshackle is what's needed to get where they want to go. 
Strange
thing happened to me yesterday. I got a full night's sleep for the
first time in over a month - in two halves, admittedly, but I was
dead to the world for well over eight hours. But rather than recharge
my batteries, all this sleep left me feeling exhausted. By mid afternoon,
I was ready to drop - it was as if my body had suddenly remembered
that it had been existing on a handful of snatched moments for too
long now, and decided to shut down there and then.
New
Band Of The Day, I called it! More like Two New Bands A Week at the
current rate. But then I forgot what happens around week four of parenthood.
The elation of the birth, and the relief that this isn't, in fact,
impossible, gives way to that all-consuming fatigue that you'd heard
so many worrying tales about. Right now, I feel dizzy and a little
blurry around the edges, and I'm not sure if that's the delayed after
affects of My Bloody Valentine on Monday finally kicking in (I wore
earplugs, and I'm glad - not just because my hearing really can't
take another battering, but because it turned the 25 minute assault
of "You Made Me Realise" into a physical experience. I -
quite literally - felt the noise), or the fact that I was up for two
hours last night comforting our eldest, who'd been woken by the baby.
I vaguely remember that it starts to get easier around week six. Only
ten days or so to go then....
Kazanggg!
A technicolour lightning bolt strikes and - zzzzinnngggg - the rules
that you used to depend upon in the pop universe have been thrown
into the air like a pack of playing cards. What once was cool is now
not cool. What once was not cool is cool. Things that shouldn't go
together are hand in hand. And, my oh my, it appears that everyone's
ended up in the wrong band. Look, there's Morrissey fronting Metallica.
There's Jay-Z singing for Oasis (much to Noel's delight, we're sure).
And, hey, over there, yeah right over there, past the Godspeed! You
Black Emperor iceskating spectacular and James Blunt And The Bad Seeds,
isn't that Conor Oberst? In an electropop/jazz swing/cracked pop version
of early Architecture In Helsinki? You know, I think it is...
Sorry
for the short break in transmission, but last week was a busy one.
Stereolab at the Windmill on Tuesday (the venue comfortably full for
this intimate festival warm up, the groop playing all the hits - hurrah!).
Darren and Jack sing Hefner plus Saturday Looks Good To Me on Friday
and Saturday (the first date being my favourite of the two, I was
a bit wiped out for the second). And then the Edwyn Collins tribute
at the Social last night, with me spinning indiepop seven inches ("How
many Sarah singles have you played tonight??," I was asked at
one point. I think we worked out I'd played at least eight songs that
weren't on Sarah. "That should be your motto. HDIF - you'll hear
at least eight songs that aren't on Sarah!"
An
email pinged into my inbox at the end of last week. "Can you
play 'Kathy In Her Bedroom' by Bedroom Walls at HDIF on Friday?"
I was immediately intrigued. I love people asking for things I've
never heard of. A quick scoot over to the band's MySpace revealed
a duo from Highland Park, California (north east Los Angeles, apparently),
namely Adam Goldman and Melissa Thorne. They'd released two albums
of what they termed "romanticore" as part of a band, before
paring down to a duo. And the press was promising. "If Elliott
Smith were still alive and decided to get together and jam with Neutral
Milk Hotel, the results might sound a lot like this," declared
AMG. 
I
seem to have a talent for this. Picking up on an amazing band just
as they're about to leave the country. Port O'Brien played at a church
in London tonight, as support to Bon Iver. There's a show I'll be
kicking myself about missing in years to come. I've only heard the
songs on the band's My Space, but my. They're spectacular. I've got
all sorts of references points running though my mind at the moment
and I'm feeling a little dazzled by it all. There's the gospel fervour
of the Polyphonic Spree; the lighter, poppier side of Elliott Smith;
the simple, soulful
power of early My Morning Jacket; and
you're just going to have to bear with me on this one, but I keep
hearing Buffalo Tom. There's something strung-out but homespun about
what's going on here. They're handclapping and group harmonising and
crying stir-crazy hosannahs, but they're also sticking to some straightforward
country rock guidelines, doling out emotions like it's the simpliest
thing in the world. 
Another
week, another great band from Gothenburg, this time a nearly all female
five piece (four women, one man). I played their song, "It Will
Be Back", at the club last month and it felt like an old friend,
one of those songs that soars then glides then soars again. It starts
brilliantly: a guitar strummed with a confidence that makes you feel
like you're in the presence of a pop classic, and an accordian line
- yes, an accordian! - that lodges itself in your brain in milliseconds.
Trust me, you'll be singing the hook to this for days after you've
heard it. It's one of those simple, joyous melodies that seems to
dive and pirouette on air currents. 
Today's
entry starts off as a tale of two bands rather than one. The first,
Saturday Looks Good To Me, started as a classic indie Motown outfit
signed to Polyvinyl, before moving onto a more experimental indie
rock sound on K records. The second, a trio from Illinois called Headlights,
appear to have travelled the same journey, but in the opposite direction.
They started off as an indie art rock outfit, before discovering a
love for indie pop and sixties cool and signing to...yup, Polyvinyl.
Named
after a Nancy Sinatra song. Surely that's all you should need to know.
Call me shallow, but they had me with the name. I've had their song,
"The Lino Heart", for ages now, maybe a year. Colm, also
of Language Of Flowers, sent me an mp3, with a brief note - maybe
I'd like to hear his new band. The idea, apparently, was to take a
break from the joyous jangle pop of LoF and have a crack at something
slightly different - a bit of krautrock, some shoegazing, some lounge
perhaps. But "The Lino Heart" is way way better than that
vague list of influences. Sounding like a haunted St Etienne (but
I dunno, about fifty times better than that sounds too), "The
Lino Heart" is a hymn to going out dancing that feels like it's
set in a deserted ballroom, maybe an hour of so after the night's
over and everyone's gone home, leaving the detritus of a life-changing
night scattered across the dancefloor - phone numbers, heels, cocktail
glasses - and a pair of lovers locked in for the evening. It's a long
song - 5:23 - and it's a steady song, just a drum machine beat, vague
atmospherics in the background, and a dreamy female vocal - but like
the best kraut rock, it needs to be that length to really capture
a mood, to conjure a feeling and then run and run and run with it.
OK,
I'm going to have to cheat. I'm going to write two entries in a day
and backdate just to keep everything neat. Plus I'm going to write
about bands that serious bloggers will dismiss as old news. It's easier
that way: I've been listening to them for months so I know what I
think. I have the best excuse though - the birth of my second son,
last Friday. I reckon there'll be a couple of erratic weeks to come,
and then we'll get back to a band a day. Maybe after the Darren shows.
I'm
a sucker for bands with loads of members. Seven is a reasonable minimum
these days I reckon. All the regular instruments, then a couple of
people on random objects. Whenever I see a band line-up that's just
bass, guitar, drums and voice, I can't help but think: "What,
no harmonium player?" (unless it's Cats On Fire, of course, who
are the honourable exception to this rule). What is still vaguely
referred to as indie has developed so rapidly in the last decade or
so that it feels almost vulgar not to be confronted with a mini-orchestra.
Room service! I demand possibilities!
There's
something reassuringly unhinged about Bonnie and Clyde. Two bands
within a band, they're a duo (Fanny Wijk and Rickard Hallin) backed
by The Up To No Good's (Karin Londré, Erik Londré, Anton
Wreger, Bo Jansson, Jon Sunnerfjell), all from Gothenburg. On paper,
they make perfect sense - a teenage/early twenty something indie pop
seven piece, who play songs like they're throwing a party, all grand
gestures and group euphoria. But somewhere in the translation, some
of the contents have shifted a little. So rather than being a cheery
celebration in the vein of, say, I'm From Barcelona, this party's
going ever so slightly wrong. Like one of those teenage bashes that
get advertised on MySpace and end up on the national news. 
Ah,
the melodica. If you had to nominate the ultimate indie pop instrument,
then this would have been your choice a few years ago. It's an instrument
that draws a line in the sand I've always thought, seperates the interesting
musicians from the rock'n'roll posers. Can you imagine the guys from
Kasabian puffing into melodicas, as they self-consciously crank up
their record collection rock? It's not a look you'd dare attempt if
you still believe in the tattered cliches of rock'n'roll. These days,
the ukulele serves pretty much the same function. You're not going
to fool anyone into thinking you're, ahem, dangerous (yeah, he's a
mean-hearted rebel in his leather trousers and shades after dark),
if you launch into a ukulele solo at a crucial moment.
If
you're thinking you kind of recognise the chap in the photo on the
right, it's because Rob Jones has spent the last few years lurking
in the background of a couple of celebrated indie pop bands. He played
in the touring band for the Boy Least Likely To, and was the original
drummer for The School. Throughout that time, he was also tinkering
away in secret on his own one-man endeavour, the Badly Drawn Boy via
Owen Pallett lo-fi pop of The Voluntary Butler Scheme. Athough according
to his myspace page, he's had a little help from some famous friends.
Check this out for a band line-up: Marc Bolan - bass, Johnny Cash
- shakers & backing vocals, Elvis Presley - acoustic & electric
guitars, James Brown - drummer, Roy Orbison - glockenspiel. 
Christmas
Twin Falls, Idaho is her oldest memory
I've
been listening to Detektivbyrån for months now, so calling them
a new band feels a little strange. Their Hemvägen EP is a favourite
on my ipod, and I play it whenever I have to go out late at night
to the local supermarket on Brixton Hill. It turns what could be a
dull trudge to the shops in the dark into something a little more
magical. The blur of the car headlights, the squelch of the mud underfoot
as I take a short cut through the little park, the shadows of the
housing estates, even the bright lights of the supermarket, as I glide
around the aisles picking up milk and bread and whatever else our
family needs. I guess I should be playing Burial - their haunted dubstep
is made for the inner city after all - but I prefer being magicked
away by these songs. 
Day
two and it's another new band I have mixed feelings about. I'll love
someone unreservedly on Monday, honest. But once again, I'm too intrigued
by the possibilities suggested by Wildbirds & Peacedrums to pass
them by. Here's the story: They're a husband and wife duo, Mariam
Wallentin and Andreas Werliin, who met at Gothenburg's Academy Of
Music, and have recorded two albums for Caprice Records, a Swedish
jazz label. And what I liked about the songs I initially heard on
their myspace was a jazz thing - they were feral, untethered, just
a voice and drums colluding in what sounded like a spiritual chant.
I was reminded of Nina Simone on "Sinnerman", that moment
where she starts humming and clapping, language no longer necessary,
the momentum of the song being enough to carry her forward.
It's very tempting to write off Get Well Soon - the nom de plume of
German songwriter Konstantin Gropper - as a slightly too clever-clever
exercise in cool songwriting. Look, here's a song that sounds like
Beirut meets Caribou meets Polyphonic Spree. Here's one that appromixates
the crooner suave of Richard Hawley. Here's one that sounds like one
of Radiohead's freefalling ballads. Here's one that sounds like Arcade
Fire squaring up to the Go Team (oops: looks like Black Kids pipped
you to the post with that one Konstantin). Here's one festooned with
bells and buzzers (and banjos, of course) on loan from Sufjan Stevens.
And, my, check out those song titles. Looks like someone's applying
for a job (any job!) at the Rough Trade Esoteric Department. "If
This Hat Is Missing I May Have Gone Hunting"; "We Are Safe
Inside While They Burn Down Our House"; "I Sold My Hands
For Food So Please Feed Me"; "Witches! Witches! Rest Now
In The Fire". OK, so I made that last one up. Oh no hang on,
I didn't make it up at all. There it is, track eleven, snuggled between
"Your Endless Dream", and "Ticktack! Goes My Automatic
Heart".
For the old HDIF New Bands page, go here
