Quite how eight tracks clocking in at over 40 minutes qualifies as an EP is beyond my ken, but that is what British Sea Power are labelling Zeus, and given it's priced at a few quid less than a usual CD album, who am I to complain?
Following on from the success of Do You Like Rock Music?, they released the Man of Aran, a soundtrack to a 1934 documentary-of-sorts of the same name: a typically commercially perverse move from a band that doesn't seem to give much consideration to issues such as chart placement or sales.
The title track and opener is classic British Sea Power: surging guitars, killer hooks and non-conventional lyrics that namecheck Rick Stein and Nikita Khrushchev in their first verse. Though clocking in at around seven minutes, it never overstays it's welcome and builds up to a tremendous climatic guitar riff.
Cleaning Out The Rooms shows off the new expanded line-up, with violinist Abi Fry and keys player Phil Sumner showing off their chops. It's a wonderful epic swirl of the song, much in contrast to Can We Do It?, which is almost caveman rock.
Bear, like Zeus, drops in some contemporary culture with the lyric "I saw you reading the Daily Star/saw you watching the X Factor/And I was wondering/how could you fall so far?", sang with sadness rather than contempt. The song rolls along languidly before kicking up a gear in the coda, driven by an pretty killer bassline.
The second half of the EP is generally given to the band's more experimental impulses that were generally housed on b-sides to singles. Pardon My Friends is a tinkling piano number that doesn't really go anywhere, Mongk rocks along pretty well but the EP is raised back by kW-h, which bounces in jolly fashion with warped vocals and siren sounds that recall glam rock.
Those of us who bought the CD/12" versions (as opposed to download, presumably) get an extra track, Retreat, which continues the aural themes of Cleaning Out The Rooms in a more sedate fashion.
Quite what these eight tracks mean for the forthcoming 'proper' album I can't say. There are no instant pop songs here - three of the tracks clock in over seven minutes - and newcomers would be best advised to check out their previous work than jump in here. Anyone who's followed their progression with interest, however, will find plenty to enjoy.
Monday, 18 October 2010
Thursday, 14 October 2010
Specialist Subject
I was hoping to write about the new British Sea Power EP Zeus earlier this week, but the Royal Mail decreed I would have to wait a week to receive it. Thoughts on that over the weekend, but initial listening shows it is fab.
Only minutes ago, I was quite disturbed by an advert for Cliff Richard's new album, which appears to take a big band/swing theme. Alright, not my bag, but whatever. But one of the songs he's covered is Willie Dixon's I Just Want To Make Love To You, best known for versions by Muddy Waters and Etta James.
As the title might suggest, it's a song about shagging. Nothing subtle, no subtexts. It's a song about not wanting anything else from someone except that one thing. And I have watched and heard with my own eyes and ears it being sung by Cliff Richard, a man who knows as much about sex as I did circa 1993. Truly, some things are beyond parody.
Only minutes ago, I was quite disturbed by an advert for Cliff Richard's new album, which appears to take a big band/swing theme. Alright, not my bag, but whatever. But one of the songs he's covered is Willie Dixon's I Just Want To Make Love To You, best known for versions by Muddy Waters and Etta James.
As the title might suggest, it's a song about shagging. Nothing subtle, no subtexts. It's a song about not wanting anything else from someone except that one thing. And I have watched and heard with my own eyes and ears it being sung by Cliff Richard, a man who knows as much about sex as I did circa 1993. Truly, some things are beyond parody.
Sunday, 10 October 2010
Talk Talk Talk
Mark Hollis' disappearing act has interested me for some time. As frontman of the pioneering Talk Talk, he went from synth-pop to post-rock before recording a solo album in the mid 90s and staying quiet ever since.
Which isn't too surprising, given his attitude to the pop game. A quick glance on youtube will reveal many awkward interviews from the mid 80s, when Talk Talk were at the height of their popularity.
Despite the elaborate music he would later make, Hollis was kick-started by punk. His elder brother Ed managed Essex outfit Eddie and the Hot Rods and helped out when young Mark formed his own band. Though it came to nothing, a song entitled Talk Talk that the brothers wrote would later name his next band, and provide a hit.
By the mid 80s, with synth-pop all the rage, Hollis needed musicians to record some demos to get a publishing deal: bassist Paul Webb, drummer Lee Harris and keyboard player Simon Bremner were recruited. A record deal was secured and the quintet recorded The Party's Over - a minor hit dismissed by many critics for jumping on the bandwagon. Notably, it featured artwork by James Marsh, who would design all the band's striking album covers.
Though featuring some fine pop songs (Talk Talk, Today and Mirror Man), it did suffer from very dated production. Subsequently, after the single My Foolish Friend, Bremner was replaced by Tim Friese-Greene. Though never appearing on promotional photos, and very rarely on stage, he would prove to be the crucial collaborator and producer needed to help Hollis reach his musical goals.
It's My Life, released in 1984, was a vast improvement on the debut. Though still synth heavy, the songs were a massive step forward. The title song and Such a Shame (apparently inspired by the book The Dice Man) remain classics of their style and time. While the album sunk without trace in the UK, it proved a big hit throughout Europe and It's My Life made the US top 40, where the band toured as support to New Wave heroes the Psychedelic Furs.
The Colour of Spring was an even bigger hit than It's My Life. Lead single Life's What You Make It, built entirely around a four note piano riff, hit the UK top 20, helped by a wonderful Tim Pope video. With extra money to spare due to the worldwide success of It's My Life, the band abandoned synths, bringing in the likes of Steve Winwood to provide Hammond organ and Danny Thompson on acoustic bass.
On the back of this profitable success, their label (EMI) were keen for more and granted an open budget for a follow-up. Locked away in the studio for the best part of a year, legend has it that the A&R man burst into tears when he first heard Spirit of Eden. 40 minutes long, it contained only six songs, none of which were even slightly suitable for daytime radio or MTV.
What is important, and time has proven so, is that Spirit of Eden is a timeless work of art. Subdued, crafted and beautifully played, I can't believe it sounds like anything else that made the album charts in 1988. The anti-heroin I Believe In You was somewhat pointlessly released as a single but any commercial ground gained by The Colour of Spring was lost by Hollis' insistence that the album would be impossible to replicate live (parts of it were improvised) and so therefore there would be no live shows.
Somewhat miffed, EMI released a compilation Natural History to claw some dollar back, which proved to be a decent plan when it sold a million. A further compilation of remixes was a step too far, and court action from the band ensured it was soon withdrawn.
Signed to the Verve label and now minus bassist Paul Webb, 1991 brought Laughing Stock, was continued in the vein of it's predecessor, though it seems even more stripped down and far away. Along with Spirit of Eden, it's one of my favourite albums to listen to at 3am with a bottle of Scotch. It's not chill out music by any stretch, but requires the kind of open listening you can sustain in the late hours.
And that was it, for Talk Talk. Drummer Paul Harris would work with Paul Webb as O.Rang and drum on Bark Psychosis' second album Codename: Dustsucker. Webb would collaborate as Rustin Man on an album with Portishead singer Beth Gibbons and Friese-Greene would continue to work as a producer with Lush and Catherine Wheel (huge Talk Talk fans) amongst others.
Hollis himself briefly reappeared in 1998 with a self-titled solo album that continued his musical trends from Talk Talk. Since then, he appears to have retired from music, mentioned as an example of someone for whom artistic purpose was far more important than the whims of record company or public. The move from easily-dismissed angsty pop group for experimental critical darlings is one Radiohead may have paid some attention to.
Which isn't too surprising, given his attitude to the pop game. A quick glance on youtube will reveal many awkward interviews from the mid 80s, when Talk Talk were at the height of their popularity.
Despite the elaborate music he would later make, Hollis was kick-started by punk. His elder brother Ed managed Essex outfit Eddie and the Hot Rods and helped out when young Mark formed his own band. Though it came to nothing, a song entitled Talk Talk that the brothers wrote would later name his next band, and provide a hit.
By the mid 80s, with synth-pop all the rage, Hollis needed musicians to record some demos to get a publishing deal: bassist Paul Webb, drummer Lee Harris and keyboard player Simon Bremner were recruited. A record deal was secured and the quintet recorded The Party's Over - a minor hit dismissed by many critics for jumping on the bandwagon. Notably, it featured artwork by James Marsh, who would design all the band's striking album covers.
Though featuring some fine pop songs (Talk Talk, Today and Mirror Man), it did suffer from very dated production. Subsequently, after the single My Foolish Friend, Bremner was replaced by Tim Friese-Greene. Though never appearing on promotional photos, and very rarely on stage, he would prove to be the crucial collaborator and producer needed to help Hollis reach his musical goals.
It's My Life, released in 1984, was a vast improvement on the debut. Though still synth heavy, the songs were a massive step forward. The title song and Such a Shame (apparently inspired by the book The Dice Man) remain classics of their style and time. While the album sunk without trace in the UK, it proved a big hit throughout Europe and It's My Life made the US top 40, where the band toured as support to New Wave heroes the Psychedelic Furs.
The Colour of Spring was an even bigger hit than It's My Life. Lead single Life's What You Make It, built entirely around a four note piano riff, hit the UK top 20, helped by a wonderful Tim Pope video. With extra money to spare due to the worldwide success of It's My Life, the band abandoned synths, bringing in the likes of Steve Winwood to provide Hammond organ and Danny Thompson on acoustic bass.
On the back of this profitable success, their label (EMI) were keen for more and granted an open budget for a follow-up. Locked away in the studio for the best part of a year, legend has it that the A&R man burst into tears when he first heard Spirit of Eden. 40 minutes long, it contained only six songs, none of which were even slightly suitable for daytime radio or MTV.
What is important, and time has proven so, is that Spirit of Eden is a timeless work of art. Subdued, crafted and beautifully played, I can't believe it sounds like anything else that made the album charts in 1988. The anti-heroin I Believe In You was somewhat pointlessly released as a single but any commercial ground gained by The Colour of Spring was lost by Hollis' insistence that the album would be impossible to replicate live (parts of it were improvised) and so therefore there would be no live shows.
Somewhat miffed, EMI released a compilation Natural History to claw some dollar back, which proved to be a decent plan when it sold a million. A further compilation of remixes was a step too far, and court action from the band ensured it was soon withdrawn.
Signed to the Verve label and now minus bassist Paul Webb, 1991 brought Laughing Stock, was continued in the vein of it's predecessor, though it seems even more stripped down and far away. Along with Spirit of Eden, it's one of my favourite albums to listen to at 3am with a bottle of Scotch. It's not chill out music by any stretch, but requires the kind of open listening you can sustain in the late hours.
And that was it, for Talk Talk. Drummer Paul Harris would work with Paul Webb as O.Rang and drum on Bark Psychosis' second album Codename: Dustsucker. Webb would collaborate as Rustin Man on an album with Portishead singer Beth Gibbons and Friese-Greene would continue to work as a producer with Lush and Catherine Wheel (huge Talk Talk fans) amongst others.
Hollis himself briefly reappeared in 1998 with a self-titled solo album that continued his musical trends from Talk Talk. Since then, he appears to have retired from music, mentioned as an example of someone for whom artistic purpose was far more important than the whims of record company or public. The move from easily-dismissed angsty pop group for experimental critical darlings is one Radiohead may have paid some attention to.
Thursday, 7 October 2010
Anti-Social Networking
Two questions I would like to never hear again in my existence:
"Why aren't you on Facebook?"
and
"When are you getting an Iphone?"
The second is easier to answer: because I don't need one. I've had the same mobile for about five years now and have no intention of replacing it. I don't see the point in having a new one that does loads of fancy things that will bring zero benefits to my life. The magazine Private Eye has an excellent cartoon called "Ibores" that hits the target bang on.
As for the first question: I never have nor will see the point in those social networking sites, unless you're looking for someone to cop off with. Yet some people seem to see being on this site (or Twitter) as some kind of essential aspect of modern life. I'm baffled as to why the footballer Rio Ferdinand feels the need to constantly update thousands of strangers as to the most trivial aspects of his day, or why anyone wants to know.
A work colleague told me "it's useful for finding people you used to go to school with", which translated to me as that old game of finding people you didn't like back then, and laughing if it turns out they're flipping burgers for a living. The other line is "it's good for letting everyone you know what you're doing" - which seems odd, as I never realised sending an email to more than one person at a time was that tricky.
I'm not covering new ground on this topic, of course, but what I do wonder whether a so-called 'surveillance' society that the likes of the Daily Mail get in a tizz about won't come as too much of a trouble to people who already tell the world what they're doing at any given moment. I'm not a Luddite, but I like new technology to enrich and improve our lives, not trivialise it (and yes, I'm aware of the irony of saying that on a blog, of all things).
If you allow me to be a paranoid nut for a moment (and why not?), I can at times envisage a future where anyone who doesn't have their own Facebook/Twitter pages is banished from society like the 'savages' in Brave New World, ostracised for not knowing the correct context to say "OMG!" or letting everyone know what bar we'll be in that Friday night.
For now, though, I'll remain quite happy in the knowledge that nobody from my past can find out any personal information about me online because, after all, if I wanted them to know, I would fucking tell them.
"Why aren't you on Facebook?"
and
"When are you getting an Iphone?"
The second is easier to answer: because I don't need one. I've had the same mobile for about five years now and have no intention of replacing it. I don't see the point in having a new one that does loads of fancy things that will bring zero benefits to my life. The magazine Private Eye has an excellent cartoon called "Ibores" that hits the target bang on.
As for the first question: I never have nor will see the point in those social networking sites, unless you're looking for someone to cop off with. Yet some people seem to see being on this site (or Twitter) as some kind of essential aspect of modern life. I'm baffled as to why the footballer Rio Ferdinand feels the need to constantly update thousands of strangers as to the most trivial aspects of his day, or why anyone wants to know.
A work colleague told me "it's useful for finding people you used to go to school with", which translated to me as that old game of finding people you didn't like back then, and laughing if it turns out they're flipping burgers for a living. The other line is "it's good for letting everyone you know what you're doing" - which seems odd, as I never realised sending an email to more than one person at a time was that tricky.
I'm not covering new ground on this topic, of course, but what I do wonder whether a so-called 'surveillance' society that the likes of the Daily Mail get in a tizz about won't come as too much of a trouble to people who already tell the world what they're doing at any given moment. I'm not a Luddite, but I like new technology to enrich and improve our lives, not trivialise it (and yes, I'm aware of the irony of saying that on a blog, of all things).
If you allow me to be a paranoid nut for a moment (and why not?), I can at times envisage a future where anyone who doesn't have their own Facebook/Twitter pages is banished from society like the 'savages' in Brave New World, ostracised for not knowing the correct context to say "OMG!" or letting everyone know what bar we'll be in that Friday night.
For now, though, I'll remain quite happy in the knowledge that nobody from my past can find out any personal information about me online because, after all, if I wanted them to know, I would fucking tell them.
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
Not a Protest Singer
Horizontal on the sofa last Friday night, nursing another bottle of beer, I noticed that Songwriter's Circle was back on BBC4. I remembered it from years ago, when they had the likes of Neil Finn, John Cale and Graham Gouldman on. That was enough to engage a flicker of enthusiasm, which burned a little brighter when I saw Suzanne Vega was on.
Ms Vega was my first gig, at Northampton way back in 1997 when I was visiting relatives down that way. Bands never came to my town, and I'd recently picked up the album Suzanne Vega after seeing Marlene On The Wall on VH-1 (or something) and been impressed. On seeing she was playing a gig close to where I would be at that time, I got my cousin to, reluctantly, at the time, come along. It was a brilliant show, and I often wonder if my thing for red haired women began at that point.
The next day, I went out and bought the rest of her back catalogue. Except the fairly average third album, Days of Open Hand, all were brilliant. I wasn't, and still aren't, into folk music in any big way, perhaps because traditional themes found in English folk bear little relevance to me in any way. Though Vega is often classed as a folkie, her topics tended to stick with the contemporary, and when she didn't (such as The Queen and the Soldier on her debut), it still managed to keep my interest.
For a brief time, she was a pop star. Luka, taken from her second album Solitude Standing, was a huge hit in the US and a dance mix of the acapella Tom's Diner (from the same album) did equally well. However, writing radio friendly pop songs was never her style,
99.9F°, her fourth album and my personal favourite, excellently crossed styles and was produced by Mitchell Froom, who she'd later marry and have a daughter with. Despite the new styles, In Liverpool should still have been a big hit. The album featured help from Pete and Bruce Thomas, formerly the rhythm section in the Attractions, both of whom returned on 1996's Nine Objects of Desire, the last of her studio works I've heard.
In the present, she was brilliant on the TV show - and she still looks fab - giving me the urge to check out her more recent works. By coincidence, I quick check of her website showed she was playing a single date in the UK in a couple of weeks - in Manchester. Naturally, I picked up a couple of tickets on the quick.
Ms Vega was my first gig, at Northampton way back in 1997 when I was visiting relatives down that way. Bands never came to my town, and I'd recently picked up the album Suzanne Vega after seeing Marlene On The Wall on VH-1 (or something) and been impressed. On seeing she was playing a gig close to where I would be at that time, I got my cousin to, reluctantly, at the time, come along. It was a brilliant show, and I often wonder if my thing for red haired women began at that point.
The next day, I went out and bought the rest of her back catalogue. Except the fairly average third album, Days of Open Hand, all were brilliant. I wasn't, and still aren't, into folk music in any big way, perhaps because traditional themes found in English folk bear little relevance to me in any way. Though Vega is often classed as a folkie, her topics tended to stick with the contemporary, and when she didn't (such as The Queen and the Soldier on her debut), it still managed to keep my interest.
For a brief time, she was a pop star. Luka, taken from her second album Solitude Standing, was a huge hit in the US and a dance mix of the acapella Tom's Diner (from the same album) did equally well. However, writing radio friendly pop songs was never her style,
99.9F°, her fourth album and my personal favourite, excellently crossed styles and was produced by Mitchell Froom, who she'd later marry and have a daughter with. Despite the new styles, In Liverpool should still have been a big hit. The album featured help from Pete and Bruce Thomas, formerly the rhythm section in the Attractions, both of whom returned on 1996's Nine Objects of Desire, the last of her studio works I've heard.
In the present, she was brilliant on the TV show - and she still looks fab - giving me the urge to check out her more recent works. By coincidence, I quick check of her website showed she was playing a single date in the UK in a couple of weeks - in Manchester. Naturally, I picked up a couple of tickets on the quick.
Sunday, 3 October 2010
Lost Weekends
Personally, I find the weekend begins at 4pm on Friday, when I get out of work, and ends at the same time on Sunday, when the day becomes like any other, waiting for the next day rolls around. It's the 48 hours the Clash sang about on their first album: "Short space of time and a heavy scene/Monday is coming like a jail on wheels".
A friend of mine made a perceptive observation last week, when the topic of weekends came up. She said that having spent most of Monday to Friday looking forward to it, it can never live up to the expectation. Certainly true in my case, having spent many a time feeling I should be doing something with the freedom I have, but usually end up staying in bed till noon on Saturday and Sunday.
Of course, there's always the football to get me out of the flat for a few hours but even that is starting to lose it's ability to get me through the week. The obvious conclusion is that I, as with everyone I would imagine, need some kind of purpose and motivation.
It seems to be a modern problem, this. Someone at work was banging on about a "course" she attended a few weeks ago and was urging others to go to some forum they hold. I won't mention the name (you never know who's reading) but some investigation led me to the conclusion it's one of those quasi-cults that essentially take hundreds of pounds off you under the guise of "helping you achieve your goals and ambitions".
Not my scene at all, especially as part of the whole course seems to be when the leader hurls abuse at you in some vague form of reverse psychology that would be more likely to lead me to smack them round the chops. Yet I imagine that in the modern world, where concepts of god and church no longer mean much to a large part of the population, people are looking elsewhere for their spiritual fulfillment.
Having never been one to follow anyone, or be a leader myself, I can't help but feel I'm at a very important junction in my life. I try to tell myself it's a big world, and that there's something out there. Then I worry I'm too cynical/lazy/easily bored to actually get up off my arse and start looking. Ah, the troubles of 21st century man.
A friend of mine made a perceptive observation last week, when the topic of weekends came up. She said that having spent most of Monday to Friday looking forward to it, it can never live up to the expectation. Certainly true in my case, having spent many a time feeling I should be doing something with the freedom I have, but usually end up staying in bed till noon on Saturday and Sunday.
Of course, there's always the football to get me out of the flat for a few hours but even that is starting to lose it's ability to get me through the week. The obvious conclusion is that I, as with everyone I would imagine, need some kind of purpose and motivation.
It seems to be a modern problem, this. Someone at work was banging on about a "course" she attended a few weeks ago and was urging others to go to some forum they hold. I won't mention the name (you never know who's reading) but some investigation led me to the conclusion it's one of those quasi-cults that essentially take hundreds of pounds off you under the guise of "helping you achieve your goals and ambitions".
Not my scene at all, especially as part of the whole course seems to be when the leader hurls abuse at you in some vague form of reverse psychology that would be more likely to lead me to smack them round the chops. Yet I imagine that in the modern world, where concepts of god and church no longer mean much to a large part of the population, people are looking elsewhere for their spiritual fulfillment.
Having never been one to follow anyone, or be a leader myself, I can't help but feel I'm at a very important junction in my life. I try to tell myself it's a big world, and that there's something out there. Then I worry I'm too cynical/lazy/easily bored to actually get up off my arse and start looking. Ah, the troubles of 21st century man.
Friday, 1 October 2010
Stains on the Heartland
It's interesting, for want of a better word, to actually be living through a recession as an adult. Though I can just about remember the 80s and early 90s and the effects on my hometown, I was one of the lucky ones in that my dad was never out of work.
Not so lucky were two of my mother's elder brothers, who worked at the last coal mine in West Cumbria until that was shut down in 1986. Some 15 years later, I went to the place, now operating as a mining museum, and the anger in the voice of my guide (an ex-miner) was still strong. My mother to this day refers to Thatcher as "that woman", which isn't that surprising considering she comes from a family where mining was the family profession over many generations.
That was then, though. The 80s were pretty much all about Matchbox toy cars, my Sinclair +2 computer and Bryan Robson for me. This time round, it's personal. The last week, I've been hearing constant talk about "restructuring" and "corporate visions" in the place I work. Euphemistic bollocks, of course - may as well call fucking you over by it's correct term.
For a brief moment, I considered asking about voluntary redundancy, even if any offer would be around £1.50 and a bag of chips. Then I remembered my own two years on the dole and watching Alan Bleasdale's brilliant Boys From The Blackstuff to know that signing on is never a good option when it comes to maintaining some sense of pride in self.
More worrying was a conversation with my landlord the other week (on being told he had to put the rent up a few quid a week). A chap in his early 60s, he informed me this was looking like the worst recession he could remember. Worrying times indeed. The point of me writing this? I think it's in setting down a marker in terms of my own life, and on a bigger scale, of when things either started getting better, or a whole lot worse.
Not so lucky were two of my mother's elder brothers, who worked at the last coal mine in West Cumbria until that was shut down in 1986. Some 15 years later, I went to the place, now operating as a mining museum, and the anger in the voice of my guide (an ex-miner) was still strong. My mother to this day refers to Thatcher as "that woman", which isn't that surprising considering she comes from a family where mining was the family profession over many generations.
That was then, though. The 80s were pretty much all about Matchbox toy cars, my Sinclair +2 computer and Bryan Robson for me. This time round, it's personal. The last week, I've been hearing constant talk about "restructuring" and "corporate visions" in the place I work. Euphemistic bollocks, of course - may as well call fucking you over by it's correct term.
For a brief moment, I considered asking about voluntary redundancy, even if any offer would be around £1.50 and a bag of chips. Then I remembered my own two years on the dole and watching Alan Bleasdale's brilliant Boys From The Blackstuff to know that signing on is never a good option when it comes to maintaining some sense of pride in self.
More worrying was a conversation with my landlord the other week (on being told he had to put the rent up a few quid a week). A chap in his early 60s, he informed me this was looking like the worst recession he could remember. Worrying times indeed. The point of me writing this? I think it's in setting down a marker in terms of my own life, and on a bigger scale, of when things either started getting better, or a whole lot worse.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
