Showing posts with label Pants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pants. Show all posts

Sunday, 13 January 2013

2012: The Year In Albums (Part One)

About a year ago, I had this really cool idea. What if I wrote about all the albums I'd bought over the previous 12 months with the intent of informing people about music they might have missed - perhaps I could even place them into some kind of order, like a run down of increasing quality. Then I'd say a few words about each one and make some sarcastic jokes, you know, my usual kind of thing. I'd make it mostly albums that I really, genuinely loved, and then I'd chuck in a couple near the beginning of the list which I didn't necessarily get, but which made me sound much cooler than I really was (am? Tying myself up in tenses here.)

It turned out to be so popular, I was actually thinking of doing the same thing every January. So imagine my surprise and extreme disappointment to find that this year, not only has every other bastard with a laptop decided to rip off my idea, but they've even tried to steal a march on me by doing it before 2012 was even finished. Not cool, people. Not cool at all.



Ahhhhh, I'll be honest with you. Last year I was really scratching around to find 10 new albums that I wanted to nail my colours to. How else can I explain the appearance of Yes on the list? This year, by contrast, has been one of the best for new music in living memory. So much so that my initial shortlist for albums of the year was 34 albums - that's the same number of new releases as I bought in the entire of 2011.

This year I bought an impressive 66 new release albums, and rating them is a fairly impossible task, ranging as they do from shoegazey, reverb-drenched electronica to Celtic prog, and everything in between. I can't even fall back on last year's "stats" approach thanks to a catastrophic hard-drive crash early in the year losing 3 months of playcounts in my iTunes library. Yep, these are the things which keep me awake at night.

So, in the interests of fairness, I've divided the shortlist up into 'Prog' and 'Non-Prog'. And because I know that most of the people reading this will be prog fans, I'm going to deliberately make you wait until Part 2 for the prog albums otherwise you won't bother reading the rest of it, will you? I know what you hobbit-botherers are like.

Here we go, then. It's Gigging Forever's countdown of "every album I bought this year, shoehorned into some lame category to prevent me having to make too many decisions"...

11. (Who says I can't have 11? Do you want to take it outside?) Porcelain Raft - Strange Weekend


I've just realised that this looks a bit like... 
well, I'll let you use your imagination.

If you read my review of M83 live in Brighton back in January (which, let's face it, hardly anyone did), you'll have heard all about the spacey, echoey, dreamy sounds of Porcelain Raft, and how they caused me to nearly cack my pants. The CD is a slightly less disturbing event, and got heavy rotation during stressful periods of work this year, being the kind of aural equivalent of a hot bath with lots of bubbles.

Key Track - Oooh, let's say 'Drifting In And Out' (of the suds) -  choosing track 1 of every album again...


10. Marina & The Diamonds - Electra Heart



Right at the beginning of the year, I picked up 'The Family Jewels', Marina Diamandis' first album as Marina and the Diamonds, for the princely sum of £1.99, and it turned out to be a cracking investment, featuring very cleverly written, quirky pop songs which put me in mind of a young Kate Bush.

Now, you may come to learn this about me over time but I'm not very good at paying attention to, remembering or understanding lyrics, which therefore renders me not quite clever enough to get just how ironic this second album supposedly is - but apparently it's a satire on young pop starlets, their superficial lives and their vacuous pop outpourings. Well, I don't know about that, but it sounds like a great, fun, slightly vicious album of intelligent, dance-y pop music, which is all fine and dandy in my book.

Key Track - 'Radioactive' (No, ok, it's not on the standard edition of the album but it's a fantastic song.)


9. Keane - Strangeland



I'm not quite sure why I've decided to put this on the list. I actually really liked 'Perfect Symmetry' (their previous album, which saw them doing away with all their cliches in favour of a gaudy, brash, 80's influenced layer on top of some excellent songs, aided by super-producer Stuart Price) - and this album feels a lot like "Sorry, we went a bit too far, please come back and play us on Radio 2 again".


But there's a warm familiarity which creeps over as soon as you hear that CP-70 electric piano sound on opener 'You Are Young', there are soaring, singalong choruses, and the front cover looks like the seaside and therefore reminds me of my childhood. And it's my blog and I can do what I like.

Key track - 'Neon River' is pretty anthemic, whilst steering just on the right side of mawkish.


8. Beach House - Bloom



You know that Porcelain Raft album I chose above? Yeah, this is nearly the same album -  dreamy, spacey, wistful sounds which make you nostalgic for people and places you may or may not have ever known. Someone should probably sue someone. This album rates slightly higher on my list because:


a) Beach House have male and female vocals (Porcelain Raft are basically a one man band)
b) Their tunes are 14% more catchy
c) Cool people like this album and have put it on their end of year lists too
d) Their album cover doesn't look like lady parts - but it does make your eyes go funny if you stare at it too long
e) They haven't made me crap my pants (yet.)

Key Track - 'Wild' (ignore the video which seems to be a fly-on-the-wall documentary about heroin addiction.)


7. Field Music - Plumb / Play





Hold on a minute, that's two albums! Well, yes, it is, but 'Play' is a short album of cover versions - the kind of thing which unscrupulous record labels try to sell you as a bonus disc when you buy the same album for the second time - so it counts as part of 'Plumb'. Honest. Also the covers are nearly the same (and look suspiciously like the station I can see from my living room window.)

Anyway, 'Plumb' made it to Prog magazine's best of 2012 list, which could make it a candidate for my 'other' list, but to be honest I think sometimes people are so desperate to only like music in one genre that they try to drag anything else they like into it so they don't lose cred.

I can almost see their point, with it being an incredibly inventive guitar-based rock album, where completely unrelated and stylistically quite different songs flow into each other in a way which seems totally natural. (It might even prove to be a concept album if I pay attention to the lyrics.) And I guess opening track 'Start the Day Right' has grinding 'I am the Walrus' strings, bringing to mind very early ELO, and there are complex rhythms and shifting moods, all in 2 minutes and 18 seconds. Ah, yes, here's why it's not prog. None of the songs are longer than 3 and a half minutes, in fact they get through 5 songs in the first 12 minutes. Most prog bands can't keep a keyboard solo as short as that.

'Play' is a more traditional affair, with 8 inventive cover versions ranging from Syd Barrett to the Pet Shop Boys - and deserves to be on this list solely for the remarkable feat of making Ringo's 'Don't Pass Me By' from the White Album sound like an actual song instead of something a toddler made up on the spot.

Key Tracks: 'A New Town' (Plumb) / 'Rent' (Play)


6. Pet Shop Boys - Elysium



Oh, look at that. My pick from the last album above was a Pet Shop Boys cover, and now here's the real thing.


Have the Pet Shop Boys ever made a bad album? Assuming you think they ever made a good one, I think you'd have to agree that they've had a pretty good run of things, especially of late, with 2009's 'Yes' being a revival of the more outgoing side of PSB. Here they're back in the introspective and subdued mode that served them well on 'Behaviour' and 'Bilingual', with 'Invisible' and 'Breathing Space' being some of the most personal and touching songs they've ever recorded.

There's still plenty of room for fun, though, as the Diva-bashing 'Ego Music' and the typically self-referential 'Your Early Stuff' prove - the lyrics of the latter being composed entirely of cretinous things said to Neil Tennant by taxi drivers. "You've been around, but you don't look too rough / And I still quite like some of your early stuff..." And I think we can forgive the rather OTT Olympic Anthem 'Winner' in the context of this summer's excitement.

Key Track: Leaving (look, I can't help it if bands keep putting their best tracks first on their albums, can I?)


5. iamamiwhoami - Kin



Sometimes I'm glad I'm not right on the pulse of what's hip and cool, otherwise I think I'd get frightfully annoyed with some of the absolute bullshit that happens in the name of 'art' (or is it 'promotion'?) - this album being a case in point, with all kinds of teasers and trailers and odd videos and massive, massive hype being posted online for a year or so in the lead-up to this album.

No, I'm very happy just to get a text from my friend Mark saying 'I've been listening to this song on repeat for hours', click onto Youtube and hear 'Goods', and thence directly to Amazon to hear what else Jonna Lee and Claes Björklund have to offer.

And what do they have to offer? Well, if Beach House and Porcelain Raft are a comfy soak in a hot tub, iamamiwhoami is more like lying shivering and naked in the foetal position on the floor of a room in a Scandinavian ice hotel while Lykke Li sings in the corridor outside.

Glacial, minor chords, chiming synths and off-kilter beats assault the senses whilst Jonna moans and shrieks by turns. Oh, and some catchy tunes too, the gits. The videos are downright bonkers, though -you have been warned.

Key Track: Drops (no, I don't know what the hairy creatures are all about, either)


4. Lindstrøm - Six Cups of Rebel / Smalhans





Oh, I'm cheating again... Yeah, ok, again this is two albums. Although the second one clocks in at less than 30 minutes - but to tell the truth I couldn't separate these. Following last year's obsession with Hans-Peter and his epic 'Space Disco' masterpiece 'Where You Go, I Go Too', both these albums were always going to be an instant buy.

'Six Cups of Rebel' is Lindstrøm's more indulgent side, where he seems to have gone all out with whatever he felt like doing, whether it was a good idea or not. Hence 'No Release' is basically 5 minutes of cycling church organ, and 'Call Me Anytime' breaks down in the middle into what sounds like a small child bashing on a Casio keyboard. But then there's the funky-as-anything 'De Javu' with stabbing brass and disco beats, the drum-solo freakout of the title track, and the fantastic closing 'Hina', which is easily the closest we come to the cosmic dancefloor of 'Where You Go', albeit with a quirky edge befitting its place on this quite unusual album.

On 'Smalhans' (upon which every track is named after some kind of Norwegian traditional dish for some reason), he's back to what he does best: 6 more straightforward tracks for the dancefloor (also ace for running). But his twisted, minor-chord, Scandinavian take on things takes you on a crazy journey far deeper than any of his more popular contemporaries. Probably a journey in the snow. With elks.

I'll leave the last word to electro-pop princess Little Boots, on twitter, as I can't think of any higher praise than this, about closing track Vā-Flę-R (Waffles):

"The last track on the new @Lindstrom album is like the greatest Mario level ever. Definitely involving Yoshi."

Key Tracks: De Javu (Six Cups of Rebel) / Vā-Flę-R (Smalhans)


3. Ben Folds Five - The Sound of the Life of the Mind




I think I made my feelings on Ben Folds Five fairly clear a few weeks ago after their London gig, during which they played 8 of this album's 12 songs- all of which were greeted like old favourites, and with good reason. I'm therefore not going to waste my time (or yours, for that matter) writing tons about this.

With their trademark rollicking piano, thundering rock 'n roll drum fills, rock solid bass, and clever-clever lyrics ("I was puzzled, when it was feet on gravel / To have come apart, I must once have been ravelled..."), this album delivered exactly what was expected, and somehow without sounding like a tired retread.

Key Track: Hold That Thought is one of the less obvious tracks from the album, but really does it for me, for some reason. Not in that way. Or, Erase Me is a more standard BFF song - nice and angry. Let the hate flow through you, young Ben...


2. Muse - The Second Law




You know, if you want to be Queen, there comes a point where you have to make 'Hot Space'. And I don't mean what you think I mean by that. No, I do know what you think I mean. You think I mean you have to make a rubbish disco album, don't you? Told you.

No, what I mean is that you have to:

- Wonder how far you can go down the same old well-trodden path before people get bored
- Record some songs which are exactly what you want to record, perhaps including influences from some modern acts you enjoy yourselves
- Put them on your album along with some other songs which are still in your classic sound
- Sit back and let people get all het up about how rubbish your new album is, and how you're trying too hard to be cool, based solely on a few 3 tracks with some more modern sounds in them.
- Watch the entire of the internet slate your album (Currently rated at 2.4 out of 5 on Rate Your Music)

So what did they actually do here? Opener 'Supremacy' is exactly what it would sound like if Muse wrote a James Bond theme, and is perfectly in their grand album opener tradition. 'Survival' is gloriously OTT Queen-inspired pomposity, perfect for its status as official Olympic anthem, 'Animals' is your typical "angry, sneering Muse" song, and 'Explorers' is as wonderful a ballad as they've ever recorded, in the tradition that goes all the way back to 'Unintended' from their debut.

What does that leave us with? Well, it leaves us with two sets of songs which seem to have divided people - Firstly the 'Muse-step' songs, a "hilarious" misnomer for what are essentially Muse songs with a few modern production sounds added to them: 'Madness' with its 'wub wub wub' bassline, and 'Follow Me' which builds up from gentle pulsating synths to a wonderful climax with some of Matt's best vocals underpinned by what I assume are dub-step style whooshing / pounding noises (yeah, I'm so down with teh dubstep...) And then there's 'Panic Stations', which seems to be the one that's got most people annoyed but is essentially 'Another One Bites the Dust' for the 2010's, with some wonderfully funky brass-synth stabs and rhythm guitar. Ok, so the two-part closer 'The Second Law' is pretty out there in its symphonic-electro stylings and apocalyptic hysteria but since when we were holding it against Muse for being mental?

The second group of songs causing them problems are the two songs near the end of the album written by bassist Chris Wolstenholme. We all know what happens when you let the bass player/drummer write a couple of songs, don't we? Well no, actually, we don't (just look at our old favourite reference point Queen for a fantastic example of why it's good to diversify.) 'Save Me' is perhaps the most surprising song on the whole album, far more than any of those I mentioned above, in that it sounds nothing like Muse at all - helped partially by the fact that it's Chris singing it, but also in that it sounds much more like something belonging on an Anathema album, with its gently pounding drums, jangly guitars and understated vocal harmonies. In many ways it's the best thing here, although it's starkly at odds with the rest of the album. Perhaps it's time for Chris to make a solo album, I'd buy it.

Key Tracks - 'Madness' / 'Save Me'


1. Saint Etienne - Words and Music By Saint Etienne




"When I was ten, I wanted to explore the world.
There were these older kids at school who'd gone all the way to Somerset,
just to see Peter Gabriel's house.
Peter Gabriel from Genesis.
The way they dressed, the way their hair fell over their coat collars,
It all happened because of music - I wanted to know why.
I couldn't go to Somerset on my own,
So I used Top of the Pops as my world atlas..."

If there's one album this year whose lyrics and concept I did very much pay attention to, it's this one. It's almost as if they knew exactly how to get my interest within 10 seconds- the breathily intoned spoken word intro from Sarah Cracknell using words like "Peter Gabriel" which are always guaranteed to awake me from dozing, or pretending to work, or whatever I'm doing.

The entire album is a love letter to pop music itself- from the extremely clever cover with its faux A-Z map of London using street names and locations from the band's favourite pop songs, to the themes of the lyrics.

Opener 'Over the Border' recalls the teenage thrill of discovering and being obsessed by new bands, artists, record labels, and growing up wondering whether all this would still seem so important when school was done with (spoiler: yes). 'I've Got Your Music' is all about the delights of having your favourite song on headphones as the world passes by all around you, and 'DJ' is, well, you know. And then there's 'Tonight', which recalls the thrill of getting ready to go and see a favourite band, wondering what they're going to play, cramming on the new album before you leave- an experience eerily recreated by me when seeing Saint Etienne themselves at the Palladium earlier this year.

In fact, the album could only have been more self-referential if they'd included a song called 'You know when you buy an album and you really like it and then you realise there's a special edition with bonus tracks so you buy that too, and then you realise there was a very limited deluxe boxset which is going for £100 on eBay which has 3 extra songs on it and a poster of the artwork and then you find a Spanish website selling that for £30, so you order it and sell the other editions but it takes ages to arrive and in fact you don't even think it will, so you buy the special edition again and order an even bigger version of the poster from somewhere else, and then the ruddy box turns up in the post - and THEN they release a new version only in the US, with ten entirely new songs on the second disc'.

One for the remastered edition, perhaps.

Oh, what does the music sound like? Well, it's like most Saint Etienne: shimmery, summery, slightly melancholy dance-indie-pop, that somehow manages to sound rooted in the 60s despite a thoroughly modern sound. I've definitely got their music.

Key Tracks: 'Over The Border' / 'I've Got Your Music' (wonderful video with fans showing off their favourite albums) / Haunted Jukebox


Oh yeah, she's still cute, too.
Picture: MusicOMH.com


You still there? Ah, good. I'm nearly done, but firstly here are 10 of my favourite 'new-old' albums of the year with a six-word review of each (this should be interesting.)


Bombay Bicycle Club - A Different Kind of Fix (2011)


Indie pop band support Blur. Impress.


The Postal Service - Give Up (2003)


Should sue Owl City. Top tunes.



Dragonette - Galore (2007)

Electro pop wonder. Hot vocalist. Yeah!


Depeche Mode - 101 (1989)


Everything you need know about Depeche.


Moloko - Statues (2003)


Quirky prog dance. Awesome in surround.


Pugwash - The Olympus Sound (2011)


Beatles and ELO go Irish. Sublime.


Phoenix - Live! Thirty Days Ago (2004)


French indie band better on stage.


Orbital - Middle of Nowhere (1999)


Wish I'd heard this in field.


Robyn - Body Talk (2010)


Kickarse Swedish popstress goes gangsta. Fierce.


M83 - Before the Dawn Heals Us (2005)


New favourite band. Best old album.


Everything Everything - Man Alive (2010)


Jerky indie rock. Inventive stuff. Txtspk.


Holy Ghost - Holy Ghost! (2011)


American indie dance channels Cut Copy.


Wait, you're STILL there? Okay, here's a little easter egg for you...

The Gigging Forever "Silly Artwork" award 2012 goes to:

The Sabres of Paradise - Sabresonic II (2001)



Anyone like to have a guess as to what the music on this album sounds like? Hands up if you said 'Chilled, Balearic dance, perfect for summer evenings'. Now hands down if you are Andrew Weatherall, aka The Sabres of Paradise. Thought so.

Monday, 17 December 2012

16th December 2012: It Bites / Frost* - Scala, London

And so to what is probably my last gig of the year - the fourth "sort of annual" Frost*mas AGM. ("Sort of" annual in that it happened once in 2008, skipped 2 years and then picked up again last year - I don't think there's an actual word for that.)

This year's event is billed as "Frost*Bites" - supposedly a double-headline set from Frost* and It Bites - a John Mitchell fan's wet dream and a quality night out for any discerning lover of modern, pop-infused progressive rock. It's the first Frost*mas gig not to be held at The Peel in Kingston, which is annoying when you live in Kingston and moved there deliberately to be near all the Prog, but also leads to the most odd experience of having an actual paper ticket for a Frost* gig, and security which doesn't consist solely of a ginger boy in a hoodie.



Tickets number 001 and 002 - 
sadly retained by overzealous security staff.

I wasn't actually meant to be writing this. I'd decided weeks ago that since I wrote about last year's Frost* AGM at ridiculous length, as well as reviewing It Bites twice already in the last 14 months, I'd give you all a rest.  I mean, how many synonyms can one man find for 'amazing'? However, as so frequently happens when I go along to gigs with the intention of not reviewing them, within 30 seconds of the band coming on stage, things start happening that I just can't stay quiet about, the phone comes out of my pocket and the notes begin.


Also I suppose I did promise to "take the minutes" again, on the condition that I didn't have to organise dinner after last year's fiasco - and sure enough, extra-curricular activities have been taken out of my hands this time, with a pre-gig meetup afternoon at the Craft Beer Co, not 5 minutes away round the corner. It's a lovely, cosy pub with a wonderful atmosphere and proper beers - until about 50 prog fans descend upon the place, driving out the locals. Within 10 minutes, prog sweat is dripping down the windows, due to a combination of London drizzle outside and the warming glow of Frost*iness inside.


The afternoon's meet up is ace - with many familiar faces, lots of new ones too, and a couple of famous/infamous ones, including Tinyfish scaryman Rob Ramsay, who arrives wearing a hand knitted black jumper with a white Frost*erisk on it, worryingly not created as a joke, but a present from his mother bestowed way before there was such a thing as a Frost*erisk. I suggest that all it's missing is a little drip, to which he pulls a face and says he'll refrain from commenting.



Photos by James Allen - the first person to get his pics up 
(mine were mostly rubbish as usual)

There's even the opportunity to recreate a photo from Frost*mas 2008, when a few of us met for the first time, and are all sitting around the same table for the first time since. Some of us are a bit thinner, some of us are a lot fatter. Bert is even a bit more cheerful, but pretends to be grumpy for the sake of continuity.





Anyway, after a couple of pints, we start to wonder when we should head in the direction of the venue, and I hit upon the bright idea of checking various social media outlets to see whether hardcore Frost*ie, Frost*vent calendar mastermind and actual giant, Pete (aka Pedro) is already in place and standing guard over the queue. Sure enough, 3 minutes previously he's announced that there are already 10 people waiting for the event of the year, so Karin and I judge that it's definitely time to make a move. Various people ask us where the heck we're going and look at us like we're mental, since doors aren't for an hour.

Arriving at the venue, it looks like we've made the right move - the queue has already tripled in size since Pedro's update, and it quickly fills up behind us. We end up in the queue along with regular gig friends James, Sarah and Rob, plus Celebr8 co-promoter and short-wearing legend Geoff Banks. There's also a guy a couple of places behind us who looks spookily like someone I know from work, who I briefly catch sight of, and ponder upon the resemblance. (It's not until I get an email the next morning asking if that was me in the queue outside the Scala that it even remotely occurs to me that it might be him, since we all know that you don't meet prog fans in the "normal world".)


Doors open bang on 7 as promised, and the mad dash for the front begins, made more difficult than usual by the fact that the venue seems to have been designed by the Ancient Greeks and is a never-ending labyrinth of small passages and staircases. Will we end up in the VIP area or the ladies loos? All part of the fun. Luckily we do eventually make it into the main room, more by luck than judgement, and it evidently takes us longer than most since we emerge, blinking, into the place where all the magic happens (that's the gig room, not the ladies' loos, in case you were wondering) to find that a couple of people who were still in the pub when we left are already there. Still, as always, half the people who queued up for an hour with us have made a beeline for the bar or the merch stand immediately upon entry (I will never, ever understand this phenomenon, or stop being grateful for its existence) so we manage to grab a spot at the very front and wait for the fun to start.



Yes, that's an ironing board.

There are several things about this gig which are uncharacteristic of anything organised by Jon "Twang" Patrick, but the prompt 7.30 start is both the least expected and the most welcome, given that we're quite rammed in and it's getting a bit warm. The lights dim on the stage, revealing that the musical equipment and Jem's ironing board (don't ask) are all festooned with twinkly fairy lights, and then a familiar stomping sound heralds the arrival of...


Frost*


... who've updated the excellent 'intro song' from their 'Philadelphia Experiment' live album for this evening's purposes ("We came all this way  / on the M25 / it took us all day / cause the traffic was shiiiiii-iiiite"),  and it has us all in stitches before the band come out to a massive roar (I expect I claimed last year there was a massive roar but there are literally 3 times as many people here this year, so this is a proper massive roar. Innit.)


The traditional 'What-ho!' from Jem announces the start of the set and then they head straight off into Hyperve... what? They don't start with Hyperventilate? Well, there's another break with tradition - no, instead it's time for a brand new song, something which with most bands is an excuse to bugger off to the bar, but Frost* fans have been so starved of sustenance in the 4 years since 'Experiments in Mass Appeal' that any tasty new morsels are pounced upon with excitement. So much excitement that two rather over-eager and possibly well-lubricated chaps a couple of rows behind me start bouncing around all over the place, falling into people and knocking drinks flying. Perhaps they think they're at a Slipknot gig or something (or insert actual hardcore gig experience here - as you may realise, I have no idea.)





Oh, the new song, yeah - well, it's called 'Heartstrings', apparently - and it's a bit flipping good. But since I didn't record it and I am blogging this hot off the press, I've beaten all the Youtubers to the punch so I can't listen to it again to give you any more info than that. Except to say that it was quite heavy in parts with some crunchy riffs, and sounded like a natural continuation of the EIMA sound - except to gig buddy Sarah, who thought it sounded more like Milliontown. Not sure which of us had more beers and can be trusted, so best wait until you hear it yourself.


'Heartstrings' comes to a close and Jem heads over to his ironing board - a reference, I do believe, to one of Jem's favourite sayings, that playing keyboards usually looks about as exciting as doing the ironing. It does look like he's about to start pressing Bob Dalton's shirt for the It Bites set, but (the scamp), he's installed some kind of gadgetry in the board and triggers some nice electro-sounding samples, which the rest of the band jam along with a bit before leading into the inevitable but extremely welcome 'Hyperventilate'.





Being the first familiar song of the night, it's here that you realise how far the band have come since the early (ramshackle, charming and fun) days. I think I said last year that Nathan King on bass and Craig Blundell on drums were the missing pieces of the live puzzle, but somehow even since the last gig and on only a few days' rehearsal, they've managed to surpass themselves. Both halves of the rhythm section really start to come alive tonight, making these songs their own instead of trying to replicate the albums, for the first time that I can remember (a feeling later backed up by Blunders himself online). I really start to appreciate their own playing styles, rather then worrying about whether they're playing the exact same notes as on the studio recordings (never easy to do with the tightly structured material most prog bands play), with Nathan bringing a slightly funky edge to some parts and Craig stamping his manic drum and bass-influenced style at the same time.



You again? I thought I told you to stop stalking me.
 No, I don't care if you write nice things about me. 

Third song of the night is another new one - yes, that's twice as many new songs as we've heard in the last 4 years. Monsieur Godfrey, weez zeez new songs you are reallee spoiling uz. I believe this one's called 'Fathers', and starts with a sample of a small child talking softly before our eardrums are blasted with another Godfrey mega-riff straight out of the 'Pocket Sun' book of songwriting. In fact, there's more than a hint of 'Pocket Sun' about much of this song, especially Craig's drum parts (or perhaps that's just the beer talking.) Like all good prog songs, there are quiet bits with nice harmonies in amongst the chaos, and it sounds like it'll be a monster track to get to know at home, away from the distorted monitor-only mix at the very front of the stage.


Fan favourite, and my nomination for one of the top 3 prog tracks of all time in the Dead Nobodies XmasX poll, 'Black Light Machine' is up next, always a highlight of any gig, featuring as it does not one, but two of the best guitar solos of all time from star of the night John Mitchell and the usual breathtaking keyboard shreddery from Jem, who even plays the ironing board with his nose just before the "And you know..." section (aka "Milk it Godfrey, milk it...") 





Amazing though this is, I become rather distracted at this point by a pair of hands tenderly massaging my shoulders. Checking that Karin is still in front of me, I gingerly look round to see just how lucky I've got, only to see one of the drunk pair from earlier using me as a leaning post to get a better view - I suppose he thinks that in return, the least he can do is relieve some of the obvious tension points in my neck. This is just about tolerable, although I do make sudden violent movements every so often to see if I can make him fall over, and he eventually releases his loving grip.


My attention returns to the music just in time for the 'big banana' section of BLM, my traditional time for a spot of jumping up and down on the spot, however after 2 bounces, I remember that I've gone for the looser fitting trouser this evening due to anticipated beer consumption, and swiftly realise that my jeans are falling down  - something I'm quite keen to avoid given my new friend's close proximity behind me. The rest of the show is therefore a little more subdued on my part, though up on stage it's anything but.


Before we can get another song in, it's time, as always, for some arseing about (literally in this instance as it turns out.) "Did you know, that before they stopped making Speak & Spells, they briefly moved production to Birmingham?", asks Jem, prompting a mixture of laughter and confused interest from the crowd.




Jem's love of buggering about with electronics is well known, and this Brummie Speak & Spell is just the latest in a long line, but it does prove an excellent catalyst for some typical Frost*mas merriment, as the Speak & Spell asks Jem and Blunders in broad West Midlands-style to spell various words, which they do, using the keyboards and drum pads. "Frost Monkey Trumpet Arse" then becomes a jolly little trio for keys, Octopad and audience, in which the audience plays the part of "Arse" when prompted with significant success. Some duelling/showing off between Jem and Blunders in their usual fashion rounds off this section, before the Speak & Spell breaks its programming, and tells them to "Get on wi'it" - which Jem obliges by hammering out the riff to 'Dear Dead Days'.


It's another tour de force from the whole band, which I enjoy very much for the most part, but we're just getting to the emotional middle section when I realise that someone seems to be trying to steal my Oyster card from from my back pocket - they're doing a pretty poor job of it, too, as they keep fumbling about with one pocket and then the other. As the tone of the fumbling moves away from "inept thief" and veers dangerously towards "Jimmy Savile", I turn around and glare right into my drunken friend's eyes with a look which says "there are only two people I allow to grab my arse, one is in front of me, and unfortunately Simon Godfrey couldn't make it tonight". I'm not sure if he gets the exact nuance, as I don't recall ever seeing such a blank, vacant stare from any living creature, but it seems to work anyway, and I go unmolested for the remainder of the gig.


Actually, the remainder of the gig consists of just one song, but before we can get to that, there's the small matter of the traditional band intros, never a dull affair, but this year Jem surpasses himself with a "rawwwwk" intro for King Nathan, whose bass lights up in appreciation (not a euphemism), and then the traditional "John John-Je-John-John" Toreador song for Mr. Mitchell, which we all sing with gusto. In the middle, though, we get one of the most hilarious things ever seen in King's Cross as Jem dances across the stage to greet Mr Blundell, Gangnam Style- surprisingly accurately. I have a sneaky suspicion that more rehearsal has gone into this than the rest of the set.




In between pants (of the lung-related variety), Jem announces that we've come to the last song of the night, which I can scarcely believe since we've only just begun, but it is at least a biggie - the early classic and none-more-prog 'Milliontown' from the album of the same name. There are amazing, understated vocals in Jem's typical style, amazing guitar and keyboard duels, amazing explorations of the bass guitar's range, and amazing, impossible drum fills from the Blunderbot. (See, I told you I was out of synonyms for 'amazing'.)


In fact it's at this point that I realise that I've been staring at Craig Blundell pretty much solidly for the majority of the set so far. Yes, it's easily done when he's right in front of you, but then again, there's a reason I'm drawn to that side of the stage - there's nothing like watching a phenomenal drummer at close range, and Blunders is one of the best. Crazy time signatures? Pah, he laughs in the face of any time signature you can name (and hundreds you can't.) Patterns only previously thought playable by drum machines? Yep. Ridiculous fills every couple of bars which raise the standard over and over? You bet. In fact, I would happily go and watch a whole gig of him just playing drums - as these lucky folks at the Gadget show live witnessed the other week.


It's not 'Milliontown', though, without the "oboe" solo during the quiet section in the middle, with its customary man-love moment, as John crosses the stage, to play Jem's keyboard and gaze lovingly into his eyes. And it wouldn't be a Frost* gig if it passed without humorous incident, so Jem has thoughtfully programmed the sound of dogs barking onto the key required for the last note, which causes John to giggle like a little girl.





It's also at this point that I notice that a piece of fluff from the Santa hat Jem was wearing at the start of the set has become attached to the stubble on the back of his head like a mini-mullet- a fate which also befell his ex-bandmate Jim Sanders at a previous Tinyfish gig, and makes me strangely happy. The song eventually reaches its many climaxes and fake endings (not before he's changed the lyrics of the last section to "My lovely Scala..."), and finishes with a roar absolutely befitting to what we've just witnessed. 


Let's hope this year is finally the year of Frost*'s third album - which sounds like it will be well worth the wait - and there are more chances to hear these amazing songs live, to watch Craig playing, and for me to get my arse felt up by more middle aged men.


SEE FROST* AT THIS YEAR'S CELEBR8 FESTIVAL- CLICK HERE FOR TICKETS...


Frost* setlist:


New Song 1 (Heartstrings?)

Hyperventilate
New Song 2 (Fathers?)
Black Light Machine
frostmonkeytrumpetarse
Dear Dead Days
Band Intros
Milliontown




It's at this point that there's a choice to be made. We have possibly the best spot in the house, from a visual point of view anyway, but we desperately need a drink. Looking at the crowd and assessing (correctly) that there's no way either of us will make it out and back again, we decide to relinquish our position to the It Bites "even-more-faithful" and head out to the foyer, where we get our drink and have a quick chat with Nellie at the Merch Desk (buy the calendar - it's for a good cause and it contains several of our friends and their photos!).


And then...


It Bites


... start playing, so we decide to go back into the room and watch from the back. Not that that proves to be an option, as we go up to the doors and realise that the lucky people who have made it in are so tightly rammed that the doors won't even open. We therefore head off to take our chances in the corridors of prog, to see where we end up.


The design of the venue is actually really good fun, because you never know where you'll find yourself - if you're lucky, like some of our gits... er, I mean friends, you'll stumble across the VIP bar, with a large window onto the stage from up above the throngs, the sound piped in directly from the mixing desk, and prog celebs like Matt Stevens and Kavus from Knifeworld to chat to. If you're unlucky, like us, you'll find yourself in the topmost bar, which is 90% empty, zero queue at the bar, comfy sofas... it'd be lovely if there were any way to see the stage from here - sadly those more proactive than us have bagged all the spots by the balcony so no such luck. It becomes apparent that the venue's advertised capacity includes having 150 people in this bar, all of whom are currently in the main room.


So it's back downstairs to try again, and we do manage to sneak inside at the back just in time for 'Plastic Dreamer' - a Christmassy classic, as John Mitchell in his second role of the night describes it. And so we stand for a few songs, just listening to the band, which actually proves to be excellent fun as they're sounding the best I've heard them so far. Nathan King is on bass, also on double duties tonight, giving a welcome boost to the rhythm section and knocking rock-solid if unflashy drummer Bob Dalton up a notch or two. And John Beck, of course, founder member, key songwriter, keyboard wizard - there wouldn't be an It Bites without him.


Or I'm assuming that this is the line-up, I can't verify that because this is my view:




For all I know, JM's being backed up by Daniel O'Donnell and Anne Widdecombe on Uzbekistani nose flute.


Luckily Karin finds a little raised hobbit hole in the wall at the back, in which she can just about stand with crooked neck, and we pass a nice half hour in an odd role reversal where she towers above me watching the gig while I examine people's scalps for nits and listen to the excellent sound mix (apparently at this venue you can either see, or hear good sound). The best bit of the gig for both of us are the blistering renditions of some of the best tracks from this year's amazing 'Map of the Past' album (spoiler - it's on my end of year list), starting with current single 'Cartoon Graveyard' (as played by Dermot O'Leary on Radio 2 - surely the crowning achievement of anyone's career), and moving on to 'Send No Flowers' and proggiest song on the album 'Meadow and the Stream' with its funky time signatures and widdly keyboards.


Sadly at this point Karin's neck starts to complain, so we forgo 'The Wind that Shakes the Barley' for a bit of fresh air, and are just contemplating heading home when I hear the opening strains of something awesome. "That's... they're playing... what is that?", I start blabbering. "Once Around the World!", calls Nellie from across the foyer - but it's too late, I'm already running for the doors back towards the action. 


And so I spend the last 20 minutes of the main gig in aural rapture as intense as my ocular deprivation, rocking out to the keyboard solos of It Bites' finest epic on my empty Diet Coke bottle, singing loudly at the back of someone's head and ooohing and ahhing as I spot bucketloads of fake snow being unloaded onto the band's heads. It's bloody ace.



Oh, you would raise your camera above your head
at the exact same time as me, wouldn't you? Git.

And that, for me, is where the gig ends. As I head out to collect Karin and get on our way, I hear the band start up 'Kiss Like Judas', which I assume is the last song, but I fully expect someone to leave a comment now telling me that Jem comes back on and him and John Beck play the whole of 'Relayer' with Widdy on the spoons.


It's been a cracking night, and I'm happy for Twang, managing to sell 800-odd tickets this year compared to the 250-odd people at last year's Frost* Peel gig. Either It Bites have lots more fans (probable), or there are lots more prog fans willing to buy tickets for gigs at Central London venues where you can book tickets online and you don't have to get back from Norbiton at midnight. I'm going to say both - it looks like the House of Progression is going places. (Let's just hope they're places where everyone can see, eh?)


It Bites Setlist:


Ghosts

The Big Machine
Plastic Dreamer
Yellow Christian
Cartoon Graveyard
Send no Flowers
Meadow and the Stream
The Wind That Shakes the Barley
Once Around the World
------
Kiss Like Judas (how come It Bites get an encore, eh? I thought this was a double headline gig... huh? HUH?)

Monday, 30 April 2012

Only in Your Underwear

It's about this time in my running programme that my thoughts normally turn to that most tricky of subjects. Yes, pants.

If you're of a nervous disposition around conversations relating to underwear, you may wish to bow out now. Go on, off you go, I'm sure there's some football on.

Football underwear! Would you look at that...

Right, pants. Now pants aren't something I normally give a huge amount of thought. They're either there, or they're not. (You'll be happy to hear that mostly they are.) But when you get to a certain stage in your running, your choice of pant becomes quite important.

The ideal is to try to find a longer legged trunk, as this provides a protective barrier between your fat thighs, thereby stopping them rubbing together like fleshy sandpaper. Trouble is, however long the picture on the packet makes the legs look, they never actually come down beyond 80's Speedo length. This poses a problem when starting to run for any significant amount of time, as I have just begun to do this week. If you dare to be even slightly deficient in the pant-leg department, there's a whole wonderful world of pain and embarrassment which awaits.

Nope, these still won't be long enough.

The problem first announces itself with a tiny sting in the inner thigh area, about 15 minutes into your hour's run, and it's at this point you realise that you're going to end up on the sex offenders' register before too long. The thing is, you see, that one of those lovely "legs" on the trunks which are supposedly protecting you from chafing horror, will invariably start to ride up and roll itself into a little sausage-shaped bundle of cotton in your running shorts. A fabric chipolata, if you will. A fabrolata.

The bigger your fabrolata, the more it rubs on your most intimate areas as you run along and the more it flipping well hurts. Easily as much as being stabbed in the eye. Therefore it's clearly not an option just to let it be - but what's the best way to resolve this problem? In my experience, there are three options for the poor runner who finds himself in the pant-leg-sausage predicament.

1. The Pocket Manoeuvre

This move is the most subtle, involving simply trying to pull down the leg of the trunks through the pocket of your shorts. You can disguise it to a certain extent by pretending to be fiddling with an imaginary or real iPod in your pocket, although unfortunately it takes quite a while to achieve with any great success and there's therefore more of a chance that someone will spot you and notice that you're spending rather a lot of time with your hand fiddling about in your pocket. That and looking really rather pleased with yourself once you're done. Not my preferred option.

Here we see James Bond attempt the double pocket manoeuvre
 in suitably suave fashion. See how stoic he looks in the face
 of horrific chafing trauma. 


2. The "Up and Under"

This move represents the middle way in both ease of execution and efficiency of results, as it involves reaching up the leg of your shorts to pull down your trunks from the inside. It's good in that in order to achieve this move you have no choice but to bend over slightly, which can help to mask what it is that you're doing. I think it's fair to say that you do look a bit of a tit bent double whilst trying to maintain your speed, though.

Probably the preferred method if possible, although it's best if there's no-one running directly behind you - nobody attempting the "Up and Under" wants to cast a sneaky glance back through their legs and spy a horrified looking lady reaching for her mobile to dial the police.

I couldn't find any pictures of anyone with their hand up their shorts.
 Instead we have the logo of "Up and Under Asset Management",
who will no doubt be extremely pleased to be associated with this blog.

3. The "No, I don't give a shit anymore, this is REALLY hurting now."

Sometimes, dear reader, you've tried all of the above, and nothing is quite hitting the spot. There is nothing for it at this point but to go right in there and sort it out with some direct action, and by that I mean sticking your hand down the front of your shorts and just fixing it once and for all. Yes, there's nothing quite as satisfying as your hand down your pants... and nothing so hard to achieve subtly.

It's one thing when you're out running in the open air, as there's bound to be some point along the way when you're not that close to any unsuspecting members of the public. Avoiding school chucking-out time for lengthy runs is also, for this reason, heartily recommended. Unfortunately, if you've decided to make this particular training session a gym-based one, there really is no good time to carry out this manoeuvre.

Look how happy she looks about her workout. I'm guessing her smile
 would fade upon seeing you rooting around in your boxers.

Equally unfortunately, there is sometimes no option. It's therefore important to position yourself carefully when choosing your treadmill - the ones right in the middle face the door so everyone is going to see your every move, and believe me, there's no way to make this not look dodgy from any angle. Off to the side, then, and if you can manage to position yourself between two big sweaty blokes then so much the better as they're less likely to look at you to start with, and even less so if you start delving into your nether regions. (There are male codes.) Besides, it's likely they've been through the same thing themselves and would just give you a knowing / approving nod if they caught you in the act.

This was the background to my last workout (yes, there was a point to this whole thing...). As much as it makes me feel like a real man, there's only so much rain running I can do, so I had to resort to the gym yesterday afternoon. I carefully chose my treadmill using the rules above and was quite happily moving into the second half of my 70-minute workout when I felt that unmistakable twinge in the trunk vicinity and knew I was in trouble. The guys who'd been working out either side of me as planned had moved a few minutes previously, to be replaced by two very proper-looking ladies who, to make matters worse, were friends and were intent on carrying on a conversation across me whilst running.

20 minutes remaining of my workout, and, options 1 and 2 already exhausted several times over, I found myself with no option but to move onto option 3. Luckily by this point, the ladies had tired of their chat and were very much 'In the zone', which afforded me the opportunity to perform a swift number 3 on my right leg. Looking shiftily from side to side, and seeing the lady on my right still engrossed in 'The Voice' whilst sprinting towards some imaginary finish line, I felt rather smug at the thought of getting away with it in style.

It was at this point that I realised that I was in that most tricky of situations, the 'Double Fabrolata'. Yes, my left pant also needed attention, so I had no option but to get right on with it and get it unrolled as soon as possible. Sneaking a quick glance to my left, I was pleased to realise that lady number two was also caught up in the exploits of old satsuma face Tom Jones, so decided to go for the swift 'in and out' action, all the while looking furtively leftwards to make sure I didn't get caught.

I bet he's never stuck his hand down his...
nah, what am I saying?

Now, the difference between my left and right arms is that one is usually wearing a watch. And the thing about a big chunky training watch is that it makes a swift mission into one's goolies more of a long, drawn out affair. Not that I'd thought of this, hence finding myself frantically trying to pull my hand out of my pants, as the watch got stuck in the waistband of my shorts, and my neighbour turned to say something to her friend. Finding myself looking shiftily into her eyes as I desperately tried to free my hand from my special place, I had no choice but to raise my eyebrows and smile, defeatedly, as if to say, "Yep, that just happened." 

I've often been compared to Mr. Bean, but never have I felt so much like people had a point. Oddly enough, the two ladies left shortly after this incident, though I'm sure there was no connection. I finished my run without further incident but feel like some kind of line may have been crossed with the good people of Nuffield Health Surbiton and suspect that however much it rains, I'll be doing the next few runs outside...

Why not help rehabilitate my reputation in the community with a few quid's donation to the Cure Parkinson's Trust? 

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/JamesHendry


Music for Pant Rummaging:

- The Housemartins - I Smell Winter
- iio - Rapture
- The Walker Brothers - Nite Flights (Simian Mobile Disco Mix)
- Camera Obscura - French Navy
- Mansun - I Can Only Disappoint U [sic]
- Rilo Kiley - Portions for Foxes
- Guillemots - Kriss Kross
- Moby - 257.zero
- New Order - Round and Round '94
- The Killers - When You Were Young
- Lightning Seeds - Life's Too Short
- Faithless - I Want More
- Genesis - Match of the Day
- Saint Etienne - We're in the City
- Simian Mobile Disco - 10000 Horses Can't Be Wrong