Posts Tagged ‘Boris Williams’

New Reality Records – 7th November 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Almost a year to the week on from the release of their dark, emotionally powerful album, Age of Loneliness, Vamberator – the duo consisting of Jem Tayle, formerly of Shelleyan Orphan, and former drummer with The Cure, Boris Williams – have given a welcome poke to remind us of their existence with the release of a new single, in the form of a remix of ‘I Need Contact’, courtesy of Rolo McGinty of The Woodentops. The pedigree is rich here, and so is the quality.

McGinty’s reworking is sensitive, subtle, and what is adds is very much attenuated to the themes and underlying concept of the song, and, indeed, the album as a whole. Yes, the title renders these concepts self-evident, and while the project was spawned during the pandemic, when solitude and loneliness reverberated around the lives of so many in ways which had been hitherto unimaginable, where we find ourselves now often feels little better, with social fragmentation, social division, and the whole equation of work / life balance and all the other endless shit raining down day after day, maintaining connections – real connections, not those false connections of yelling into the void on social media – has never been more difficult. The things which were supposedly designed to bring people together – from open-plan workspaces to instant messaging and social media – have, in reality, trashed the threads of real-life social interaction. Millennials no longer meet down the pub after work or on a Friday night, and kids watch YouTube Shorts instead of going down the park. Gen X and older… who knows? We’re all lost, drifting.

‘I Need Contact’ captures that sense of desperate anguish, and McGinty adds something else – not least of all an enhanced sense of sadness and poignancy, with the addition of cellist Asakura Momoka and a field recording of an old diesel train engine. These add, respectively, shades of brooding and nostalgia (and who would have thought, not so long ago, that a diesel train would be a source of nostalgia? Time marches on, and at pace, and leaves us all behind eventually). But these additions are made subtly, keeping the soulful vocal to the fore of a minimal arrangement.

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The release is augmented by another Rolo McGinty remix, also lifted from the album. Here, ‘Creature in my House’ is stretched from its original five-and-a-half-minute duration to closer to double that. Pumped along by a retro ‘baggy’ beat (I can’t but be transported back to the 90s, as well as being reminded of the vibe of The Cure’s Mixed Up), and it does offer up a very different side of Vamberator. While the original version blends a mid-pace glammy stomp with hints of The Cure at their more playful, this lifts both the tempo and the spirits, and slings in some zany guitar breaks. Funky isn’t quite the word, but groovy might well be, and one might add ‘buoyant’, too, although it ventures into more experimental, and even dubby territory during its second half.

These are quite different versions, and make for a great single in the classic sense of A and B-side contrasting. They work well, and provide a well-timed reminder that the album’s out and well worth investigating – or giving another spin.

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1st November 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Imagine having your album release scheduled many months in advance only to find the release date crashed by The Cure’s first album in sixteen years. Imagine you’re not only an act likely to appeal to Cure fans, but your act features a former long-serving member of The Cure. This is the true story of Vamberator, the duo consisting of Jem Tayle, formerly of Shelleyan Orphan, and Boris Williams, Cure drummer from 1984 to 1994, and sometime contributor also to Shelleyan Orphan.

The album’s title is telling and possesses a certain resonance. Much has already been written on the contradictory impact of social media, and the idea that while we’ve never been more connected, we’ve never felt more isolated. Scrolling through endless snaps of people’s holidays, parties, nights out is a hollowing experience, and one that’s anything but inclusive. Of course, you want to be pleased and happy for these people sharing their experiences as they live their best lives, as is the parlance, but inside, you’re being eaten away as you’re confronted with your own mundane, grey existence.

If anything, the pandemic heightened the agony for many: half the population was basking in being work-free, spending days baking bread and discovering new hobbies and bingeing on Netflix, while the other half was battling their way into work, or juggling work and home schooling, or simply trapped indoors on their own – or worse. Virtual drinks via webcam and group WhatsApps and streaming gigs were poor substitutes for the real thing.

And now we’re supposedly back to normal, but it feels as if something has been lost, and possibly lost forever. Our lives have become more distant, more disparate. In my own experience, it simply seems harder to co-ordinate meeting with people, and while some people seem to be so busy with their social lives it’s a wonder they can remember what the interiors of their own homes look like, their busyness leaves some off us at home, disconnected for weeks at a time. I am not alone in being alone: for many, the creeping sense if isolation and loneliness weighs heavier than ever before. This is truly The Age of Loneliness.

I’ve begin with the digression in order to contextualise the point at which I arrive at this album, having spent the last few days – like a lot of people – immersed in the melancholia of the new Cure album, having not seen proper daylight for the best part of a week and struggling against the urge to hibernate.

The single release ‘Sleep the Giant of Sleeps’, which came out in the summer, showcased an energetic embracing of myriad firms, and I myself described it as ‘a mega-hybrid of alt-rock, post-punk, and psyche.’ It set a level of expectation for the album and despite being born from a place of comparative darkness, the spark of experimentation and joy of creating illuminates the recesses of Age of Loneliness.

‘I Used to be Lou Reed’ kicks the album off in a flurry of strings and takes flight with a quite poppy flavour. It’s got horns and string and synths bursting all over, and there’s a slick funk groove which emerges after a minute or so… but despite being there, there, and everywhere, from James Bond to crooning 90s indie all in the space of five minutes, nothing feels forced or corny. Wish-era Cure meets Pulp might not sound like the ultimate pitch, but prepare to be pleasantly surprised.

Shades of negativity colour songs with titles like ‘I Need Contact’ and the title track, as well as ‘I Don’t Want to Cut the Grass’, a paean to lethargy which drifts and lilts like a Kraftwerk piece, but with the drollness of late Sparks. ‘Pilgrim’ brings tints of Beatles-esque twanging and some Eastern shades alongside elements of psychedelia. With loping rhythms and layered instrumentation, the title track slips into a groove worthy of late 80s Wax Trax releases then swerves unexpectedly. ‘I Need Contact’ is a sparse piano-led ballad, and its simplicity in itself is affecting. ‘Creature in My House’ begins haunting and ominous, before swinging into an electropop glam stomp which shouldn’t work, but does. This is true of much of Age of Loneliness.

Being predictable is not an accusation one could level at Vamberator: Age of Loneliness is ambitious, and bold. Sometimes it goes over the top, but it’s forgivable, because instead of playing it safe, as musicians of their experience often do, Tayle and Williams have tested their limits here, and they’ve emerged victorious.

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Unifaun Records – 26th July 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Vamberator’s debut single, ‘Sleep the Giant of Sleeps’ (26th July 2024) is from the forthcoming album Age of Loneliness (Unifaun Records). And? Well, Vamberator is a new musical duo of some pedigree – namely Jem Tayle of Shelleyan Orphan and Boris Williams of The Cure.

This is far from a joyful reuniting: Williams had also contributed to Shelleyan Orphan, until the band’s demise following the death of Caroline Crawley in 2016.

Jem describes his transition from Shelleyan Orphan to Vamberator as follows: “After Caroline’s passing, I had been offered the chance to make a solo album. I had been writing on and off without a focus and not having someone to bounce off was new to me. Boris is family, and we have played together with Shelleyan Orphan live and in the studio on and off for years, so it felt very natural for us to work on this together. I am extremely fortunate to have a drummer of his calibre pounding out the rhythms on this album.”

Grief has a habit of manifesting and finding its channels via unexpected routes and channels, and – from painful personal experience – creative outlets can be incredibly beneficial, a form of therapy, even, and so there’s a clear sense in Tayle’s wanting to push through on this new project. And the first fruits are pretty tasty.

‘Sleep the Giant of Sleeps’ is a mega-hybrid of alt-rock, post-punk, and psyche. I mean it with no malice when I observe that many artists who reach a certain age lose some of their edge and start putting out kinds middle of the road rock that’s like Chris Read without the guitar breaks. There are some elements of that underpinning the form of ‘Sleep the Giant of Sleeps’; standard guitar chord progressions tied to a fairly mid-pace rhythm. But there’s much to set this apart, too, in particular a certain sense of playfulness and experimentalism. There are some unexpected twists to the percussion, some savvy instrumental switches from guitar to piano to the fore, and some spacey whizzes and whirrs. The arrangement is layered, bold, orchestral. The video is a bit nuts.

They reference Lou Reed, and he’s clearly in the mix, but this whips together a visionary sonic cocktail which is impossible to pin down. But more significant than the wide-ranging elements and dazzling sonic experience, is the fact that ‘Sleep the Giant of Sleeps’ is a top tune with hooks and soul and passion.

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Vamberator - Sleep the Giant of Sleeps