(David Shrigley, Time To Choose, date unknown)First, some STUFF WHAT ACTUALLY APPEARED SOMEWHERE OTHER THAN HERE. (Albeit in radically attenuated form, with the insertion of a typo.)
[Exhibit A) A promised works piece on Life Without Buildings' one and only studio record, Any Other City, written for Bristol's student paper Epigram. Essentially, the promised works section is both a chance for my friend Jon to fill the paper with content, and for a writer to remind people why forgotten/ignored/underground album x is brilliant. TO WIT:]
"Life Without Buildings feel like one of those bands. The kind that should be renowned in the "right" circles. And they've got the credentials: only one studio album, little in the way of biographical detail, a painfully short career (1999-2002) and a singer that was (and is) by trade a visual artist. Instead, they largely dropped beneath the radar- which is rather a shame, because that one album, 2001's Any Other City, is something of a gem.
Honesty is probably the best policy here: I'm willing to wager your response to this album is going to hinge upon whether the singer annoys the hell out of you. Sounds obvious, right? The vocalist normally plays a pretty huge part in determining whether one likes a band. Well, hold that thought- the thing about Sue Tompkins' vocals is that they are really, really striking. Subtract 'em from this album's equation, and you're left with rather pleasant, vaguely krautrocky post-punk tracks. Add the vocals back in, however, and you have a rather different proposition: the compositions coalesce around this ever-changing, unique...
The only really apt point of comparison is probably Horses-era Patti Smith. Both clearly owe a great deal to the beat poets in terms of delivery, but whilst Smith's focus is upon stories, Tompkins hones in on the wuurds. She revels in them. The traditional verse/chorus pattern is totally abandoned- purely verbal digressions, pulling words apart into syllables, abound. She twists back upon herself constantly, too: phrases emerge, are repeated, forgotten, half-repeated, altered, picked apart, and variously howled, sung, whispered or simply spoken. And she's almost unique, in that quoting her lyrics outside of the song does little to aid understanding them: they defy easy deconstruction; demand to be listened to. If you want a laugh, check out the transcriptions on the internet: alone, they're ridiculous, but when heard with musical accompaniment, they make perfect, obtuse sense. Stand-out track Sorrow, for instance, has the guitar continually ramping up, fading out and dropping back in, providing an anchor for Tompkins' external/internal monologue covering pretty much everything. It is, quite simply, astounding. Any Other City has that rare kind of brilliance: it just demands repeated listens. So long, of course, as you like that voice..."
[EXHIBIT B) A review (now out of date, what with the record coming out a little while back) of Maps & Atlases' first full-length, Perch Patchwork. Of the two, this suffered more as a result of the editorial axe-waving, but it's not really anyone's fault. I should've written a better piece, Jon should've paid more attention, etc. etc. Anyway. Here 'tis:]
"Don't believe the hype: when Maps & Atlases say their début LP Perch Patchwork is 'more pop' than earlier releases, it doesn't mean much; they won't be Top 40 any time soon. They're still as inscrutable lyrically: I have little idea what the hell a "Perch Patchwork" is supposed to be (fish mosaic, perhaps?), or why being greeted by a pigeon is so portentous, but underneath those odd, nasal vocals so much is going on. Stop-start guitars; unexpected, inventive drum/bass stuff; strings; the occasional parping of a brass section; what I swear were pan-pipes- it's surprising, adventurous music. Take the pretty much drum-only The Charm, or the absurdly catchy Solid Ground- the whole record kind of feels like M&A flexing their songwriting muscles. And the result? Well, it's a marriage of experimental waywardness and hooky pop songs- and a pretty much brilliant to boot: equally obtuse and accessible."
RECENT ENTHUSIASM:
MUSIC
James Blake continues on his streak of awesome, and it doesn't look like it's gonna end any time soon, either. This is a cover of Feist's Limit To Your Love, with Mr. Blake's vocals (finally) front and centre. It's also a month or so old (in terms of release) so I'm a touch behind, but never mind. See: that unfuckingbelievable gut-bothering sub bass part, and his really excellent (and I think more recent) Klavierwerke EP. Supergood.
[Exhibit A) A promised works piece on Life Without Buildings' one and only studio record, Any Other City, written for Bristol's student paper Epigram. Essentially, the promised works section is both a chance for my friend Jon to fill the paper with content, and for a writer to remind people why forgotten/ignored/underground album x is brilliant. TO WIT:]
"Life Without Buildings feel like one of those bands. The kind that should be renowned in the "right" circles. And they've got the credentials: only one studio album, little in the way of biographical detail, a painfully short career (1999-2002) and a singer that was (and is) by trade a visual artist. Instead, they largely dropped beneath the radar- which is rather a shame, because that one album, 2001's Any Other City, is something of a gem.
Honesty is probably the best policy here: I'm willing to wager your response to this album is going to hinge upon whether the singer annoys the hell out of you. Sounds obvious, right? The vocalist normally plays a pretty huge part in determining whether one likes a band. Well, hold that thought- the thing about Sue Tompkins' vocals is that they are really, really striking. Subtract 'em from this album's equation, and you're left with rather pleasant, vaguely krautrocky post-punk tracks. Add the vocals back in, however, and you have a rather different proposition: the compositions coalesce around this ever-changing, unique...
The only really apt point of comparison is probably Horses-era Patti Smith. Both clearly owe a great deal to the beat poets in terms of delivery, but whilst Smith's focus is upon stories, Tompkins hones in on the wuurds. She revels in them. The traditional verse/chorus pattern is totally abandoned- purely verbal digressions, pulling words apart into syllables, abound. She twists back upon herself constantly, too: phrases emerge, are repeated, forgotten, half-repeated, altered, picked apart, and variously howled, sung, whispered or simply spoken. And she's almost unique, in that quoting her lyrics outside of the song does little to aid understanding them: they defy easy deconstruction; demand to be listened to. If you want a laugh, check out the transcriptions on the internet: alone, they're ridiculous, but when heard with musical accompaniment, they make perfect, obtuse sense. Stand-out track Sorrow, for instance, has the guitar continually ramping up, fading out and dropping back in, providing an anchor for Tompkins' external/internal monologue covering pretty much everything. It is, quite simply, astounding. Any Other City has that rare kind of brilliance: it just demands repeated listens. So long, of course, as you like that voice..."
[EXHIBIT B) A review (now out of date, what with the record coming out a little while back) of Maps & Atlases' first full-length, Perch Patchwork. Of the two, this suffered more as a result of the editorial axe-waving, but it's not really anyone's fault. I should've written a better piece, Jon should've paid more attention, etc. etc. Anyway. Here 'tis:]
"Don't believe the hype: when Maps & Atlases say their début LP Perch Patchwork is 'more pop' than earlier releases, it doesn't mean much; they won't be Top 40 any time soon. They're still as inscrutable lyrically: I have little idea what the hell a "Perch Patchwork" is supposed to be (fish mosaic, perhaps?), or why being greeted by a pigeon is so portentous, but underneath those odd, nasal vocals so much is going on. Stop-start guitars; unexpected, inventive drum/bass stuff; strings; the occasional parping of a brass section; what I swear were pan-pipes- it's surprising, adventurous music. Take the pretty much drum-only The Charm, or the absurdly catchy Solid Ground- the whole record kind of feels like M&A flexing their songwriting muscles. And the result? Well, it's a marriage of experimental waywardness and hooky pop songs- and a pretty much brilliant to boot: equally obtuse and accessible."
RECENT ENTHUSIASM:
MUSIC
James Blake continues on his streak of awesome, and it doesn't look like it's gonna end any time soon, either. This is a cover of Feist's Limit To Your Love, with Mr. Blake's vocals (finally) front and centre. It's also a month or so old (in terms of release) so I'm a touch behind, but never mind. See: that unfuckingbelievable gut-bothering sub bass part, and his really excellent (and I think more recent) Klavierwerke EP. Supergood.
Recent digging on a (ahem!) nameless website uncovered yet another gem of a band signed to Slumberland records: the fantastic Weekend. Just turn this the hell up: distorted guitars! Noise! Obscured vocals! Win! Their record Sports will be coming out soon, and IT WILL BE GOOD.
Weekend "Coma Summer" by Slumberland Records
In other news, I saw DOOM Saturday (he was excellent) and last night's entertainment came in the form of HEALTH supporting Crystal Castles. I was actually looking forward to HEALTH more, but Crystal Castles totally blew them out of the water. Alice Glass is unbelievably charismatic, and they are very, very fond of strobe lighting. This aside, I also saw No Age supported by Male Bonding- and it was a rare case of the support being vastly superior to the headliner. Still, it was cheap- and No Age's hilarious combo of sincerity and fondness for totally unnecessary swearing was totally worth the price of admission. Not to mention other amsuing things that happened in conjunction with my attending the gig, but they're both hard to explain and not especially funny for any party that wasn't present. So, best left unsaid. Let's not resort to in-jokes, here.
I also saw the wonderful Joanna Newsom supported by Roy Harper, but it was a long time ago, and there's no easy way to express just how incredible Ms. Newsom was. The set was skewed in favour of Have One On Me (no bad thing) and featured some of the best live drumming I have ever, ever seen. Just... wow.
BOOKS
Term's recently gotten underway, so reading purely for pleasure (though philosophy is undoubtedly fun, it sometimes infuriates...) is kind of out of the question for the next little while. The last book to be completed was Jerome K. Jerome's Three Men In A Boat, which I enjoyed very very much. More in depth analysis may come later, but for now: it made me chuckle.
The current project is Virgil's Aenid, but that will more'n likely take an age, and it'll be an age before I can find enough time to actually read the damn thing. So, I suppose it goes.
