Posts Tagged ‘The Sound of Glass’

Christopher Nosnibor

Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ is playing just before Kid Kid Squid start, and I find myself on a rare reflective trip on how times have changed. I was in primary school – aged eight – when it was released, my school reopened on the evening that the full-length video was aired on the BBC so we could all watch it on a TV on a trolley in reception. Even at that young age, it felt like a moment in musical history. No musical release is such a global event now. Not even half-time at the Superbowl has a sense of occasion which comes close. Culturally – in no small part on account of the advent of streaming, but also the absence of music on television now, which means that the promotional video has far less reach and impact – music has come to be treated like sonic wallpaper. Do people really listen to Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift, or is their bland fare simply amiable background? Come 2015, a headteacher is forced to apologise after showing the ‘Thriller’ video to some primary-age pupils (age seven and eight) because, according to their complaining parents, they suffered ‘night terrors’ afterwards.

I expect the members of Kid Kid Squid, David and Katy – who emerged from the rocked-up dance covers act The DDK – will remember the release of ‘Thriller’ well. How well they remember the 90s is probably another matter. It’s evident from their penchant for banging beats that they spent some time having it large during the rave years. Having tried out their brand of driving techno with live guitar at an Electronic Music Open Mic (EMOM) night a few months ago, this is the duo’s first gig proper, and they’ve got things pretty tight. The first track is a bit Utah Saints, but with more of drum ‘n’ bass leaning – and the drums and bass are both thunderous. Are they rock with rave beats, or rave with rock guitars? However you slant it, the sound is outstanding. Crisp and clear, the beats are pounding and the heavily processed guitar is like a tweaking Roland TR303. Midway through, they drop their eponymous track and it simply explodes both in energy and volume – and while the chorus of ‘We ain’t no kid and we ain’t no squid!’ might not be the pinnacle of poeticism, it’s good fun – and factually accurate. These things matter. The set culminates in a frenzy of flange. That’s good fun, too, and that’s a fair summary of what KKS are about: not so serious, hi-NRG, fun times.

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Kid Kid Squid

I’m not sure what happened to the Old Concordia – apart from the Polish-built sailing training vessel which capsized and sank off the coast of Brazil in 2010. Sturdy drumming and soaring guitar definite their alt-rock sound. They’re solid and then some, and it’s a remarkably confident debut (they’ve both played before, and together, but this is their first outing as a two-piece). Atmospheric passages fill the space between songs, thus avoiding awkward silence or – worse – awkward chat and banter. They must have poured some hours into rehearsing to come out this fully formed. I’ve no idea where the bass was coming from. The drummer isn’t wearing headphones, so there’s nothing to indicate a click track or sequencing, but there must be something happening behind the scenes. Maybe it’s simply the power of the mind and some kind of magic. But what’s behind the scenes is immaterial, really. Out front, we get blistering guitars, chunky riffs and some of the most incredible drumming. Verdict in short: amazing. Horsemusic have done it again in introducing us to another act worthy of national attention.

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New Concordia

Megafragma are a relatively new act, but comprising some old faces, including, on guitars, Alexander King, of Glass / The Sound of Glass – quite possibly one of the most preposterously pretentious bands I’ve ever witnessed. But hey, he’s only the guitarist and backing vocalist, right? Right.

They rock up in red jumpsuits: that’s ok. The Wharf Street Galaxy Band, one of the finest acts to evert emerge from York / Leeds wore red boiler suits. And these guys are tight. Polished. Slick… They’re an amalgamation of post-rock, post metal, post post… which is actually pretty cool. But they do go a bit punk-pop and demonstrate some emo leanings, which is less so. Still, I could let that go… There’s a niggle here, and I need to chew on it while I dissect.

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Megafragma

More than just a click track, they have electronic drums augmenting the live kit. The bass is a bit buried in the mix, but still, they sound super-slick, anthemic, arena-standard and the drums – which are technically faultless – are well up in the mix and propel the songs along with a dynamic force. This is not your average pub-gig band, and the set is loaded with the wow factor. But the songs… pause and exhale… are quite forgettable. As the set progresses, it becomes increasingly apparent that this is very much a case of kit over content. More like Middlingfragma. They sound immense, but hollow. Technically superlative, but missing some essential ingredients, namely soul, and passion.

I can’t grumble too hard: three high-quality bands for £0, and pints in proper glasses for £5.20. This is where it’s at.

Christopher Nosnibor

As was the case with the previous instalment of Blowing Up the House, an event curated by local legends Percy, the lineup on the night bears almost no resemblance to the one advertised when the event was announced, but the one we got was perhaps even better. Certainly, no-one’s complaining, and plenty of people have turned out despite the early stages of a storm bringing some heavy rain.

Tonight is a night of mixed emotions: it’s the penultimate gig hosted by The York Vaults, a grass roots venue within spitting distance of the train station with a capacity of around 100, which has hosted some great, great gigs, hosting out of town touring acts as well as local bands cutting their teeth and building fanbases. It’s also a magnificent celebration of the quality and range of acts on the York scene, the likes of whom have been mainstay features of the venue’s listings – alongside the inevitable tribute acts, who, love them or loathe them, are major draws and bring essential revenue to this type of venue.

The fact the Vaults is closing is a major blow to live music in York, and is just one more example of the painful collapse of the grassroots circuit.

Relative newcomers and homegrown talents Deathlounge, who pitch themselves as exponents of alt-rock / emo, serve up a grungy alty rocky racket, and there’s a hint of Fugazi, a dash of post-hardcore. As much as they do incorporate elements of contemporary alternative, there are times that they sound like a band you’d hear on John Peel in the early 90s. The mid-set slowie, I’m convinced, had the same chord sequence ‘Two Princes’ by The Spin Doctors. They’re far and away at their best when they’re on the attack, whacking out infectious riffs nailed to a solid rhythm section, and as openers, they’re hard to fault.

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Deathlounge

The same can’t be said in all honesty of The Sound of Glass… One man, a guitar and a machine that does the rest. Last time I saw ‘them’, back in 2010, they were a full band going simply by the name of Glass. It’s not clear what happened to the rest of the band, but Alexander King, sporting a vest, delivers some terrible posturing, some terrible lyrics, some terrible American affectations, and a terrible mix with the drums almost completely buried. Unfortunately, his chat between songs isn’t: “We are The Sound of Glass… All of us. This is a song about mad cow disease. Sing along if you know the words….” To make matters worse, some ultra-wanky guitar solos interrupt the flow of some cringe AOR cack and the occasional power ballad. It may be forgivable to an extent, and there is absolutely no questioning his technical proficiency – the guy is clearly an outstanding musician: the main issue remains that as a performer and songwriter, he’s just not nearly as good as he thinks he is.

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The Sound of Glass

Fat Spatula sit at the opposite end of the spectrum and are completely devoid of pretension. The start of their set is delayed a few minutes by a pedal malfunction, which turns out to be confusing the input and output. Their brand of US -influenced indie rock is definitely best experienced at high volume, and tonight they deliver a rambunctious set with decibels. Singer / guitarist Neil looks like he has to really concentrate to sing and play simultaneously at a hundred miles an hour, and it’s endearing to see such effort going onto a performance – and his level of effort is matched by the rest of the band, who are sounding their tightest yet. It’s indie played like it’s punk, fast and hard. A song that may or may not be called ‘Jesus in my Bed’ resembles The Vaselines’ ‘Molly’s Lips’ (as popularised by Nirvana). Bassist Presh leaps and bounces and pogos endlessly and Jamie’s drumming is so hard-hitting it takes the top off your head, and the band’s energy is infectious.

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Fat Spatula

Knitting Circle have been getting out and about further afield in recent months, and there’s a certain pride in thinking that they’re going nationwide representing York as an act of such outstanding quality. They’re still relatively new, but have everything absolutely together, and they’re straight in with jarring guitar lines and thumping bass and drums. The sparsely-arranged songs are played hard and loud. The guitar is a smash of treble, and they push a single chord to its limit. A lot of their set sounds like The Fall circa This Nation’s Saving Grace, and there’s a strong dose of Gang of Four in there, but a whole lot more besides: they sit comfortably in the milieu of math-tinged noise-rock that’s been emerging from Leeds in recent years – think Thank, perhaps.

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Knitting Circle

“Is my guitar too loud? I’ll turn it down”, says Jamie Wilson as he switches instruments. There truly is a first time for everything, and to hear a guitarist volunteering to turn their amp down is proof that Knitting Circle are a bit different. The ‘no guns, no borders’ call for peace is genuinely affecting, while the choppy angularity of ‘I Am the Fox’ brings a rush of dynamism and a tight groove.

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Knitting Circle

They really earned the calls for an encore, which they obliged with a tidy instrumental cut to round off a top night, the likes of which only happen in venues like this.

Stuck record be damned, you can pay fifty, sixty, a hundred quid – or, indeed, several hundred quid – to see a major-league artist in a massive, massive venue and watch them from afar, or perhaps on screens, but you simply cannot beat the experience of standing within feet of the band, surrounded by people who are deeply passionate about real live music, who shut up and watch the bands instead of gabbing loudly through performances, and where you’ll probably recognise a number of faces, likely some well enough to chat to between acts, and feel the warmth of community. And you cannot put a price on that.