Archive for the ‘Reviews’ Category

James Christie – The Dark Chronicles: THE PUNK ROCK YEARS 1988-2006: MUSIC, RACISM & SNOGGING BIRDS

Posted: 20 June 2024 in Books, Reviews
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Earth Island Books – 8th December 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

When it comes to what has become the divisive issue of wokeness, I’m absolutely with Kathy Burke all the way: “They’re calling you ‘woke’ if you call out bad things, basically. If you’re not racist, you’re woke. If you’re not homophobic, oh, you’re woke. Be woke, kids. Be woke. Be wide awake and fucking call it out.” She tells it straight. Ironically, many of those who position themselves as anti-woke will claim that they’re the ones telling it like it is, instead of pandering to pussies.

As many sources will inform, the term “woke” originally comes from African-American culture, meaning being alert to racial prejudice.

So, just as Trump says that ‘antifa’ are the enemy – and to unpack that, antifa is anti-fascism, so to be opposed to antifa is to align oneself as pro-fa, or a fascist, to use ‘woke’ – a position critical of racism, sexism, homophobia – as a pejorative, is to essentially state that you’re a racist, sexist homophobe. As such, there are reasons I feel somewhat uncomfortable with the pitch for James Christie’s memoir.

He is 100% “anti woke, anti snowflake and 100% anti f***ing politically correct” as he puts it (“Hell, if you can’t poke fun at yourself and then poke fun at the shit people that blight society, there’s no point in having fun at all”). It’s a biography. It’s a diary. It’s a music history lesson. It’s all three things wrapped up and more. Added with savage, sarcastic humour, this is the story of a former punk as told from a non-Caucasian alternative point of view, his time involved in London’s punk rock scene and abroad throughout the entire 1990’s and up to the early Noughties. How there was, despite the fun and laughs, a more sinister side which is never mentioned, along with the hypocrisy and the occasional violence that tagged along with it. No holds barred. Warts an’ all. It will shock. It will be disgusting. It will make you laugh and then it will leave you emotionally detached. WARNING – some material will be likely to offend.

Again, ironically, the biggest snowflakes tend to be the right-wing defenders of free speech who will defend free speech to the hilt until they don’t like the speech they’re hearing because it’s critical of their position, at which point they’ll take their ball and go home, like Lee Anderson abstaining from voting on the Rwanda bill because he heard some Labour MPs ‘sniggering’. For a tough-talker who reckons asylum seekers should fuck off back to France, he’s clearly not so tough when it comes to standing by his own principles.

I don’t truly believe that Christie is that anti-woke or anti-PC, given how his book regales us with countless instances of casual – and not so casual – racism, having been born in South London in 1969, raised by a mum and dad who’d both met there in the early 60’s, and ‘says, when some twat asks him “Where do you really come from?” or even “Where do your parents come from?” his answer is still London.’ James’ book is an account of the strife, trials, and tribulations of being a black, British-born adherent to a predominantly white scene, and it’s harrowing at times, to read of the abuse he’s endured over the years. It’s also – and this is where his strength of character shines through – remarkable to observe his strength in saying ‘fuck you’ to all the twats and placing his love of the music above all that.

What we’re really looking at is a book that tells it like it is – not so much calling a spade a space, but calling a cunt a cunt. And there are plenty of them around. In chronicling a long and challenging battle against racism – being a part of a scene that’s supposed to be a broad church, inclusive, but evidently isn’t all that inclusive – this book is arguably the definition of woke. But Christie isn’t into that position.

I think it’s hard for anyone who hasn’t had to endure racism to fully appreciate just how prevalent it is, and how much it can impact the daily lives of those on the receiving end. I’m fortunate being a middle-class white guy living in an affluent part of an affluent and extremely white city, and for this reason, reading Dark Chronicles: Punk Rock Years did shock me, and frequently.

The Dark Chronicles has its moments, and I really did want to like and get behind this book. But I simply can’t get on board with its wrongheaded and frankly bizarre anti-woke agenda, and the trouble is that it comes to dominate the narrative to the point that many of the anecdotes are shifted to one side to make room for anti-woke ranting. It’s not so much an opportunity missed as a massive misfire.

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Mortality Tables – The Engineer

Posted: 19 June 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Mortality Tables – 16th June 2024

Sometimes, personal events drive creative work in a way which runs away from the artist. It ceases being first and foremost about ‘art’, and the need to expunge, to offload, to outpour takes precedent. It’s not a conscious thing, something planned: the fact is that creativity leads the way, and art is not something one necessarily can direct or determine – at least, not true art. Art happens in response to things, and oftentimes, the most powerful art is born from exploring the deepest, most intensely personal scenarios. Such explorations may not reveal a great universal truth, but then again, they may present something that’s unexpectedly relatable. And this is where we find ourselves with The Engineer.

Mat Smith has no ambitions of leading the country, and nor does his musical output seek to obfuscate his journey or his reality. The Engineer documents this reality, and I shall quote, quite comfortably, the press release which provides vital context here:

‘In 2012, writer and Mortality Tables founder Mat Smith (Electronic Sound, Clash, Further. wrote a short story, ‘The Engineer’. A work of fiction, the story was loosely based on his father, Jim Smith, a skilled mechanical engineer who had spent most of his adult life working in a factory in Stratford-upon-Avon. The Engineer represented Mat’s thoughts, feelings and fears about his father’s retirement.

‘The story was later narrated by author, producer, playwright and poet Barney Ashton-Bullock. 29 artists, working in the fields of sound art, electronic, experimental and contemporary jazz music, were then approached to provide a sound response to a thirty-second extract of Barney’s narration. The order in which they agreed to be involved determined which section of narration they would be asked to respond to.

‘The collated 29 responses were curated and recorded over the next two-and-a-half years and assembled into a single, 14-minute collage by James Edward Armstrong. Its sprawling, disjointed presentation of short, rapidly-replaced ideas is intended to evoke the devastating confusion of Alzheimer’s, which Mat’s father was diagnosed with in 2018.’

This is about as intense and personal as it gets, and I’d like to think that this well-crafted work makes for a fitting homage. The sleeve image depicts a teenage Jim Smith on Margate’s Promenade in the 1950s, and the narrative tells the story based on his life against a shifting sonic backdrop.

On the surface, it’s a quite charming work. But it’s also sad, a tale of the way the ageing process is one of decline. And as the story progresses, a different kind of decline becomes the focus. It’s also a narrative of the way work has a way of stealing life away, especially for the manual worker. It also speaks of the difficulty of relationships, emotional disconnection, and ultimately faces the issue of mortality in the most real and matter-of-fact way. Time passes, and it passes far too fast. When you reach a certain age, every birthday gives pause for thought, and every picture gives rise to a pang of sadness. Even the passage of a year or two… how do you compute? How do you deal?

It seems that many simply don’t: I often hear or read people remark how people dying – and they die, they don’t pass, although hardly anyone ever says or writes it – people dying in their 60s or even early 70s is ‘no age’ or how they were ‘taken too soon’. I struggle with this. People have a finite time, and I speak from painful personal experience when I write that I feel that it’s quality of time which counts most. To witness a slow degeneration tends to be far more painful for those around the person experiencing it. Alzheimer’s is a cruel disease, and all profits from this release are going to the Alzheimer’s Society. This is to be applauded, of course, but not simply for its charitability, but because of its art.

The Engineer may only be fourteen minutes in duration but represents twelve years in the making, and the input of more than thirty people in various capacities. In short, it’s an immense project, and the amount of time and energy poured into such a complex, detailed work is immeasurable.

The narrator starts out feeling vaguely AI, but in no time, we come to feel a connection with poet Barney Ashton-Bullock’s delivery. It’s crisp and clear, and in some respects has BBC documentary commentary. Its power derives from its simplicity: the narrative itself is straightforward and linear. Its sonic backdrop is not, and it’s disorientating, and at times uncomfortable, incongruous, at odds with the point of the narrative with which it’s paired. The sounds behind the narrative range from grinding, churning industrial din to woozy blooping electronica and shuffling disco and is altogether less linear, mutating over the course of the piece. It will leave you feeling disorientated, it will leave you feeling harrowed, possibly even stunned, and drained. But this is as it should be. The Engineer is ambitious, and a quite remarkable work.

AA

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Fashion Tips – I Wish You Every Success

Posted: 17 June 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Human Worth – 20th July 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Exciting times always abound with Human Worth, and while the summer has up to now been a truly dismal washout, and it’s hard not to be sceptical about the hype around an imminent heatwave in a couple of weeks, July is almost guaranteed to be a scorcher in the environs of our favourite boutique London Label, with an album from Brighton supergroup Pascagoula, and this, the debut long player from Newcastle electro-disco-riot noisemakers Fashion Tips. The fact that the initial run of fifty ‘vibrant’ pink cassettes sold out in forty-eight hours, leading to an immediate second batch, indicates the level of buzz around this band – one might even say they’re pretty hot right now, and it’s not hard to understand why.

They only coalesced in late 2022, with the founding members of bass player Liam Slack and guitarist Jorden Sayer subsequently being joined by Esme Louise Newman who had established a name for herself with black metal duo Penance Stare. Fashion Tips signify quite a departure for her, but she seems well-suited and to be enjoying the change of style – pardon the pun. With opening slots for the mighty Mclusky and a tour with cult Leeds wonky noisemongers Thank, not to mention a well-received (and not just by us) debut EP.

For I Wish You Every Success, they’ve managed to get Anthony Chapman (Collapsed Lung, Mclusky, Bis, Skinned Teen) to work production duties – and a fine job he’s done, too.

The title may be a little less stunned – and stunning – than predecessor Fucking Hell, but is interesting and amusing, given that it’s a phrase you most commonly encounter on leaving cards or other notes of departure. One has to hope that this is knowingly ironic, given that the Tips (as at some point they should come to be known by an ardent and substantial fanbase) are very much still warming up here.

The album’s eight songs are cumulatively impactful, a sharp-edged, pointy-cornered assault of back-and-forth oscillating synths and thudding beats dominated by booming basslines which often threaten to submerge the abrasive, antagonistic vocals, which swing between sneer and squawk. ‘Radio Song’ – a song designed for the moshpit rather than the radio – is thee perfect opener, a raw blast of antagonism, a sonic middle finger to pretty much everything, and at the same time. That Bikini Kill have recently made a powerful and triumphant return suggests that now is the time for a riot grrrl revival after everything lese has been trawled over, but it’s the stabbing electronics and hard-edged synths which render Fashion Tips quite distinct.

‘The Lovers’ emerges in a blast of noise and locks into a frenetic groove before going wild disco, and it’s a proper hard slap around the face, electropunk cranked up to eleven.

They pack three songs’ worth of ideas into each composition, the majority of which clock in at around three minutes. It crackles and fizzes and bends the brain. Buzzing, bleeping, pumping single cut ‘Don’t Call Me’ is entirely representative of the blistering attack that I Wish You Every Success delivers. Hyped-up and hyperactive, it leaves you dizzy, dazed, punchdrunk even before the bratty drum ‘n’ bass blast of ‘Steve Lamaq’ crashes in and absolutely slays with two minutes of pure frenzy.

Grinding bass and laser-like blasts dominate the hi-NRG punk attack of ‘Hot Problems’, and Fashion Tips pack ‘em in tight and hard. There is quite literally no respite, not a moment to regain breath while listening to I Wish You Every Success, and you’re moshing in your head to some utterly punishing riffs.

Fashion Tips are the band we need right now. They are all the energy, and I Wish You Every Success is a massive rush from beginning to end.

They’ll probably be onto the third pressing by the time you read this. I certainly hope so. There ought to be a CD and vinyl edition, too. And, simply, taking quality to the next level, this album needs to be everywhere. I really do wish them every success – because they deserve it. And not in the leaving card sense.

AA

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From the Vaults All-Dayer – York Vaults, 15th June 2024

Posted: 16 June 2024 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

The prospect of Objections making a return to York was incentive enough to snaffle a ticket for this some time in advance, without even paying too much attention to the rest of the lineup initially, but Teleost and The Bricks provided two strong reasons to get down early, and a fair few others clearly thought the same.

All-dayers tend to have a couple of acts people aren’t especially fussed about at the bottom of the bill, often newer acts cutting their teeth, so kicking off with a brace of well-established local talents proved to be a combination of coup, genius programming, and an indication of the quality of the bill – which, in the event, didn’t include a single weak or dud act from beginning to end.

Another rare – and impressive – thing about this lineup is that it features just one all-male act. When you hear so many promoters responding to accusations of gender inequality and a lack of representation by whining about how they struggle to find and book bands with women, it feels like a massive cop-out. And here’s the proof. Eight bands, and only one that slots into the stereotypical white male bracket – and then again, they possibly get an exemption on account of their age bracket (that is to say, they’re probably about my age bracket). Anyway.

The last time I saw them, supporting Part Chimp, Leo Hancill and Cat Redfern were playing as Uncle Bari. Now they’re Teleost, and they’ve totally nailed their slow, sludgy sound. The guitar sounds like a bass, the drums sound like explosions, and it’s a mighty, mighty sound. Slow drumming is always impressive to watch, and hear, and Cat it outstanding, in every way, a hard-hitter who makes every single slow-mo cymbal crash count. They’re properly slow and heavy, with a doomy heft, but with folky vocals. The contrast is magnificent and makes Teleost a unique proposition.

It’s been a few months since I’ve seen The Bricks, and yet again they seem to have upped their game. Their set is punchy and forceful, led by a fierce vocal performance from Gemma Hartshorn. As a band, they’ve really hit their stride, and having got a fair few gigs under their belts now, they’re super-tight.

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The Bricks

Instant Bin are a busy-sounding indie duo who knock out short songs packed tightly, and they’re good entertainment, while Knitting Circle are very unlike the somewhat twee, whimsical and fluffy indie band their name suggests. They offer up some tense, mathy, angular noise with a hint of The Fall and Gang of Four, and are very much about tackling issues, with a strong anti-war song, and a song about menopause (‘Losing My Eggs’) while ‘I am the Fox’ which about fox hunting (and no, they’re not in favour) which takes its stylistic cues from Gang of Four’s ‘Not Great Men’.

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The Knitting Circle

Objections – who I also last saw supporting Part Chimp, but on a different occasion – are out hot on the heels of the release of their debut album. As you’d expect from a band with their pedigree, they’re seriously strong. A tight set of noise played with precision, propelled by some magnificently crisp jazz drumming and busy baselines that nag away, they’ve got everything nailed down. The three of them each bring something unique as performers, and they’re simply great to watch in terms of style and technique. Joseph O’Sullivan’s guitar work is so physical, lurching and bouncing here there and everywhere, and working magic with an oscillator on top; Neil Turpin looks like he’s in another world, a drummer who seemingly feels the groove instead of counting time, while Claire Adams is intently focused – seemingly on the vocals, while the fast fretwork on the bass seems to happen subconsciously. They are, in so many ways, a quintessential Leeds act, both sonically and in terms of cult status. They’d have made worthy headliners, but public transport dictated their much earlier slot. Then again, there seems to be a lot of merit to spreading the quality more evenly.

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Objections

After a clattering avant-jazz intro, The Unit Ama launch into some sinewy math rock with some serious blasts of abrasion interspersed with some meandering jazz discordance. They’re certainly the most unexpected act of the night. Despite having been around some twenty-three years, having played around the north and north-east quite extensively in that time, even opening for Fugazi in their early years, and releasing music on a label that also gave us music by That Fucking Tank, they’re still completely new to me. Their set is wildly varied and intriguing: deep prog with an experimental jazz element – showcasing the kind of shudder and judder, rattle and crash cymbal breaks that you’re more likely to hear in Café Oto than a pub in York on a Saturday evening, whereby it’s hard to determine at times if they’re highly technical or just tossing about like chimps messing about to see what noise they can make. It’s expansive work which makes for a compelling and intriguing set.

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The Unit Ama

Wormboys are again interesting, and varied, but in a completely different way. The four-piece present a broad range of indie stylings with some strikingly athletic vocals. In places, they’re atmospheric, haunting, moving. Elsewhere, there are some motorik sections and big blasts of noise, and visually. they’re striking, with an imposing and lively bassist centre stage with the two guitarists, who also share vocals, either side.

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Wormboys

The crowd had thinned a little by the time Cowtown took the stage, meaning a few missed out on their brand of buoyant synthy indie with good energy. Another frequent-gigging stalwart act on the Leeds scene, they provide another reminder of the quality of the scene between Leeds and York, and this magnificently-curated event showcased that quality.

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Cowtown

That a number of the bands took time out during their sets to speak out on political issues, from giving praise for bands pulling out of Download, espousing people power, encouraging people to vote, and trans rights  – to use their voices, in any capacity, and even simply providing a ‘fuck the Tories’ call of disenfranchisement, it’s heartening to feel that we have bands who are politically engaged and using their platforms for more than mere entertainment. In bleak times, that there is a real sense of artistic community among such disparate acts gives a sense of hope. That hope may be misplaced, but to just step sideways from all of the shit for a few hours, immersed in a bubble, with beer and live music is the perfect escape. We should do this again sometime.

Sumac – The Healer

Posted: 14 June 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Thrill Jockey – 21st June 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

You want epic? Look no further that this. As the press notes set out, ‘Over the course of 4 tracks in 76 minutes, SUMAC presents a sequence of shifting movements which undergo a constant process of expansion, contraction, corruption and regrowth.’

Four tracks. An hour and a quarter. And then we have the context, and the content of ‘the thematic nature of the record – narratives of experiential wounding as gateways to empowerment and evolution, both individual and collective.’

The emotional weight may not be immediately apparent without this context, but the sonic heft crashes down the doors with the opening chord, a low-down, distortion-heavy heave. The dynamic is one of a lumbering lurch rather than a forceful blast, a long, slow spew, a ruined speaker flapping a sigh in devastation. And then the bass grinds in, so slow, so dark, so heavy, like an emptying of the guts – a slow, painful Dysenteric purge. Around six minutes in, drums and vocals enter the mix and the picture – a scene of the most ruinous pain beyond imagination – is complete. ‘World of Light’ is either the most ironic or misleading song title going: it’s twenty-six punishing minutes, with extended passages of droning feedback in between riffs more brutal than crucifixion. This one track alone isn’t only the duration of some albums, but contains everything necessary.

Comparisons are references are easy and abundant, but, equally, futile: The Healer is a singular, monumental work. It would be an oversight to comment only on the brutal, crawling riffs and gut-shredding density when there are passages of haunting elegance and quite touching beauty. Solo guitar ripples and eddies like a small, quiet stream, and there are moments The Healer of calm, of grace. And the consequence – apart from rendering this post-metal – is a strong dynamic, meaning hat the bulldozer blast gave more than double impact when they hit. And hit they do.

During the gut-churning ‘Yellow Dawn’, you feel yourself hollow out, slumping inwardly following a punishing display of power. It’s hard, it, heavy, it hurts. The final track, ‘The Stone’s Turn’, is again twenty-five minutes in duration and it’s a punishing, pulverising sonic assault.

The Healer leaves you feeling hollowed out, sapped, sucked to a husk. It’s also a work of ambitious enormity. Immense doesn’t come close.

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The March Violets – Hammer the Last Nail

Posted: 13 June 2024 in Reviews, Singles and EPs
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Metropolis Records – 14th June 2024

Their Bandcamp bio presents a pretty fair an honest summary of the band’s career: ‘Original Post Punk drum machine band from Leeds. Started at the beginning, imploded, reborn for the 21st Century.’

They really were there at the start of that fermentation of post-punk that frothed its way out of Leeds, propelled by drum machines and a fuckload of attitude and came to define what would come to be defined as ‘goth’. The labelling was bollocks, but that’s the press for ya. The Violets may have been – for a short time – taken under the wing of Andrew Eldritch, who produced their first couple of records and put them out on his Merciful Release label, established for the purpose of disseminating The Sisters of Mercy’s releases, but also – equally briefly – home to fellow Leeds act Salvation, and much, much later, La Costa Rasa – but apart from the drum machine and attitude, you couldn’t really say that they sounded alike.

There were reports in the press of a falling out, although Violets front man Simon Denbeigh, who went on to front The Batfish Boys after the Violets, would later become a touring member of The Sisters as Nurse to the Doktor, before ill health curtailed any kind of musical activity.

But to backtrack a small way in a messy history, 2007 saw The March Violets reconvene, seemingly out of nowhere, with a reunion show at Leeds Beckett (which used to be the Polytechnic) and an EP and, not long after, an album. And they’ve been busy ever since.

The arrival of ‘Hammer the Last Nail’ is exciting because their first new material in a long time, and it’s a cracking tune in the vein of their later 80s works as well as the post-return releases. And it’s good, too. It SOUNDS like The March Violets. It sounds gothy, sultry. Rosie’s vocals are as strong as ever, and she’s still got so much charisma. The Violets minus Simon aren’t quite the same, and there’s no escaping that: the dynamic of the dual vocal defined their sound to begin with.

But… bands evolve, and shift lineups. This is a ripping tune and a great addition to their catalogue.

AA

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Paul K – Hyperobjects

Posted: 11 June 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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19th April 2024

It’s been out a little while now, but some releases have a slow diffusion. Hyperobjects is one of them, and it seems fitting, given that Paul K’s latest work is an immersive work which is ‘a study in musical simplicity with a stripped-down sound creating a space where the listener can both listen to the album and imagine the worlds created by each track’s individual atmosphere’. Paul’s long-shown a fixation with space, as his last album The Space Between, evidenced. But Hyperobjects does something different, and heads in a different direction.

Space. And it’s immediate relative, time. We never seem to have enough of either in the present, or overall. We live in a state of perpetual future-placement, eternal postponement, dragging ourselves through endless days of drudge while promising ourselves a brighter future, be it a holiday, breaking free from a bad relationship, leaving the awful job, or retirement. Gratification is always over there, the aspiration is forever just over the horizon, on the other side of the next hurdle, an inch beyond reach. And we find ourselves entrapped within the special confines of our limitations, the four walls of our homes, the constraints of being unable to go places because of needing to be up and at work the following day, confined by affordability, and so on and so forth. Horizons shrink, and time passes in a blink and suddenly, time and space have both evaporated. What have you done, and what have you got to show for it?

‘Hyperobjects’ is a gentle work, and while much of it is electronically-created, many of the sounds replicate conventional instruments. As such, it’s a moving and mournful piano which leads the first track, a four-part neoclassical composition, ‘Diaspora (Movements I-IV)’.

It’s the sound of a soft, rolling piano which dominates this album, which is in equal parts classical and post-rock, with ambient elements interwoven throughout. ‘Döstädning’ sounds a little like an instrumental outtake by Talk Talk. Ethereal whisps and traces of voice swish around the piano and occasional strings which trace the supple structures of ‘Hyperobjects’, but in the main, it’s showcase of the most minimal compositions.

On ‘Hyperobjects’, the tracks drift into one another to create a continuous, mellifluous whole. Its power lies in its simplicity, its purity, and in doing so, Paul K has achieved something new, artistically, as well as attaining a new peak.

AA

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Disjecta Membra – Pearls Before Swine

Posted: 10 June 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Goths are the most knit-picking pedants and harshest critics of their favourite bands of any genre’s fans I know. Actually, that’s not quite true: fans of The Sisters of Mercy are the worst knit-picking pedants and harshest critics of their favourite bands. I preface this review with this observation as a Sisters fan first and foremost, and contestably as a goth second.

Y’see, most of the bands which emerged after that initial post-punk crop which included The Sisters, Siouxsie, The Cure, Bauhaus – disparate bands who have little in common sonically and stylistically beyond reverb, dyed hair, and studded belts – and sure, The March Violets, The Danse Society, UK Decay, and a handful of others, were toss. By the time ‘goth’ was formalised as a ‘genre’ it had gone to shit, mostly with every other band ripping off the guitar and bass for ‘Walk Away’ and diluting it to a pissweak rehash, and all too often with ghastly theatrical booming vocals. And they all started wearing waistcoats and frilly cuffs and appropriating ‘gothic’ imagery to boot. That was circa 86, by which time – that’s which time, not witch time – The Sisters and The Cure and Siouxsie had very much evolved, so we can probably as much blame The Mission for the start of the rather more naff second wave. By the 90s, derivative cack like Every New Dead Ghost was crawling out of the woodwork, amplifying the cliches on top of simply being laughably bad.

It so happens that Disjecta Membra have been going 30 years, emerging from that early 90s milieu of corny goth revivalism – presumably pining for 1985 and sobbing into their baggy sleeves when The Sisters went cock-rock with Vision Thing. This release is a career-spanning retrospective, which they’re giving away free on their Bandcamp. And this is the first I’ve heard of them.

I kinda wish it had stayed that way. It starts off with the single version of ‘Whakataurangi Ake’, which features Rob Thorne, and it’s a preposterous, pretentious semi-ambient new-age effort with over-the-top dramatic vocals. I mean, fair enough in that it draws on their New Zealand heritage, but it’s pretty obvious and cheesy as. And it’s all downhill from there.

‘Lilitu’ might actually be quite exciting if X-Mal Deutschland had never existed. But as it is, it might as well be a cover of ‘In Der Nacht.’ Talking of covers, there are a few here. And again, after The Sisters broke the ground of taking songs that didn’t obviously sit with the style – like ‘Jolene’, and disco faves ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme’, and Hot Chocolate’s ‘Emma’ and made it their schtick, every other goth band thereafter just had to toss in some quirky covers… and lo, we get a take on Boney M’s ‘Rasputin’ and covers of other goth bands, because they obviously add so much more. ‘Rasputin’ sounds like you’d imagine, of course: drum machine with a head-splitting snare and spindly guitars. It’s cack, but the worst thing is that it doesn’t really bring anything new and doesn’t even sound like it’s done vaguely ironically, meaning it’s neither cool nor funny.

And while we’re in the realms of cliche, what’s the obsession with marionettes in contemporary goth? ‘Antoinette Marionette’ is as obvious as it is lame as wordplay goes., and with its crashing snare and chilly synths and spindly guitars, the best that can be said for it is that it’s uptempo. I did kinda wish that ‘Skin Trade’ was a Duran Duran cover instead of the po-faced and predictable goth-by-numbers that it actually is.

Apparently, ‘Madeline! Madeline!’ and ‘Death by Discotheque’ are both good enough to warrant two versions on a thirteen-track compilation. They aren’t, and it suggests a lack of material of a quality to fill a single album over the course of thirty years. The latter, especially is a derivative disappointment, a stab at rambunctious goth-country in the vein of Fields of the Nephilim while attempting to create their own take on Suspiria’s ‘Allegedly, Dancefloor Tragedy’- one of the few decent songs to come out of the early 90s revival. This isn’t a patch on it, and just seems to think it’s amusing bashing cybergoths. I mean, they have a point, in that cybergoth was a ridiculous thing, but of all the audiences to alienate in their position.

The last track, ‘Walking in Light’ is quite interesting, marking a shift in tone towards droning guitar ambience, at least initially, but then it descends into a glam-infused rock stomp which turns out to be a cover anyway.

30 years, and this is the best they’ve got.

AA

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Octavia Wakes – Maybe

Posted: 9 June 2024 in Reviews, Singles and EPs
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31st May 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

There seems to be a proliferation of alternative rock acts emerging of late, many with female vocalists, which can only be a good thing. As the ‘Lips Can Kill’ tour, which saw Tokyo Taboo, Yur Mum, Pollypikpoketz, and Healthy Junkies team up to offer a package deal demonstrated, women can – and do – rock every bit as hard as men. Not that this should even be a topic in 2024. But it is, and since – despite Taylor Swift achieving true world dominance beyond even Madonna – women remain criminally underrepresented, especially in the rock and alternative fields, it’s a topic that should be tackled head-on, but not in a patronising, tokenistic way.

With ‘Maybe’, the last track from their debut EP, which they’ve been drip-feeding over the last eleven months, Nottingham quartet Octavia Wakes stand on their own merits. It’s a cracking tune, with bold, overdriven guitars stacked up-front as the vehicle for a strong, melodic and hooky vocal.

As is the case with so many great songs, it reminds me of something, but I can’t quite place it, and as such, ‘Maybe’ achieves that joyous blend of freshness and familiarity.

The bassline and guitarline at the start is reminiscent of Editors’ ‘Bullets’, but played at double speed, and the song positively fizzes with energy: it’s busy, urgent, grabbing, punky and catchy without being punk-pop. While lyrically, it’s pretty raw and feels personal, telling as it does, ‘the story of a male friend reacting poorly to being spurned, making the protagonist question their own decisions and how those choices make others see them… Along with the idea of being made out to be the bad guy whichever way the scenario plays out.’

Sometimes, you just can’t win. Unless, of course, you consider channelling that situation into something artistically strong. With ‘Maybe’, Octavia Wakes emerge triumphant – and maybe they’re ones to watch for more of.

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Legion of Swine – Live at Plourac’h

Posted: 8 June 2024 in Albums, Reviews
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,
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Dret Skivor – 7th June 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Legion of Swine trotted out for a few live exhibitions in the last few months, but Live at Plourac’h documents a show which was something of a one-off among these, with the performance having taken place in a studio (Soundfackery Studios in Brittany) and streamed live, followed by a Q&A, with audio from both featuring here.

Like many noise acts, T’ Swine tends to keep performances brief. The brevity is, in may respects, part of a tradition on the scene, and while Masonna’s explosive three-minute sets take this to an extreme – and why not? Noise is all about extremity, and finding new limits to push beyond. It’s all about the impact of the short, sharp, shock. Leave them wanting more – those who haven’t fled the room, hands clasped to their ears, while holding back the urge to vomit, anyway.

Even in the absence of the old performance aspects of Legion of Swine shows, whereby Dave Procter would be anonymous in a lab coat and latex pig mask, which means we get to witness the bearded, bespectacled northerner looking quite unassuming, sonically, LoS remains a formidable force.

Opening with strains of feedback and scratching buzzes of distortion, the set holds a single, undulating note of wailing, droning feedback noise for what feels like an eternity, the frequencies and tone changing but still offering nothing more than feedback for the first five minutes of the set. The level of strain and the tension builds, but still, holding back, holding back, testing the patience as well as the eardrums. To have been in a room with this, at gig volume would hurt. Then, unexpectedly, things drop in intensity, and it’s a heavy hum, a long, low, whine that nags and throbs.

As a noise sculpture, this is a restrained, patient piece which hovers within the parameters of a very limited range in terms of frequencies and particularly texturally, manipulating feedback in the mid- and lower-ranged for the bulk of the sixteen-minute duration.

Even recorded, with the separation from the actual event, the frequencies and volume are conveyed clearly here, and there’s a gut-trembling grind to the lower-end oscillations. The release notes summarise the kit as a ‘trusty metal roasting tin and a couple of effects pedals’, and whatever the truth of the facts around the gear involved – which I suspect would have been minimal – the racket created is significant.

There’s a long, long fade to nothing.

There is a certain amusement in the fact that the Q&A lasts twice the duration of the set itself. Dave speaks engagingly on the technical processes of his use of contact mics, and, yes a baking tin, and the mechanisms involved in changing pitch and creating feedback, and so on. It’s a nerdfest that Steve Albini would have been impressed by. He discusses room space, PA, body temperature. ‘Every time, it’s a different thing’, he says.

His recollection of room temperatures and their effect on sound is remarkable, and the dialogue is illuminating. Like so many noise artists, there is a yielding to the random, to circumstance, eventuality, accepting that no two performances will be alike as acoustics and the way sounds interact is spontaneous and unpredictable.

The interview is interesting and wide-ranging, but to discuss and dissect it at length here feels like a job for a longer, more academic discursion.

This is a niche release: that’s a given. Side one will inevitably receive more plays. But both warrant same time. Listen, and learn. Enjoyment is probably optional.

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