It's difficult to know what audience Zao are going for with this, their ninth album.
The passing of time and band members has made 'The Funeral of God' far less abrasive than previous efforts and in fact weaker than anything currently on offer from same-label macabra obsessives Bleeding Through or riff brethren Throwdown.
The production is thick and fierce but lighter moments are mostly ugly interruptions rather than genuine flashes of a desire to change or brilliance and newly appointed clean vocals feel uncomforatbel and tacked on.
There are a few standout moments, the twisting static and screams of opener 'Breath of the the Black Muse' and the Pantera-like groove to 'Praise the War Machine' but the tempo, high though it is, remains almost constant, leading to deja vu and eventually boredom.
Back to the drawing board then.
7.27.2005
7.16.2005
ALKALINE TRIO- Crimson
Finished hiding in Green Day's shadow Alkaline Trio are here to turn your day black.
'Crimson' is the 'Trio's fifth album but the first one you feel is genuinely set to make them megastars.
'Time to Waste' is the first single and a note perfect opener. The quality continues ceaseless throughout and as the fast paced first half gives way 'Crimson' turns into an album your fingers and feet feel they already know.
Even if you don't declare yourself a punk fan give this a go. The lyrics amy be blood red dark but the music is easy on the ear. The catchy, varied and driving rock an excellent base for Daniel Adriano's gravel trap vocals an Matt Skiba's clean delivery.
Evil intent has never sounded so good.
'Crimson' is the 'Trio's fifth album but the first one you feel is genuinely set to make them megastars.
'Time to Waste' is the first single and a note perfect opener. The quality continues ceaseless throughout and as the fast paced first half gives way 'Crimson' turns into an album your fingers and feet feel they already know.
Even if you don't declare yourself a punk fan give this a go. The lyrics amy be blood red dark but the music is easy on the ear. The catchy, varied and driving rock an excellent base for Daniel Adriano's gravel trap vocals an Matt Skiba's clean delivery.
Evil intent has never sounded so good.
6.30.2005
Drag the lake...
...you'll find it full of love.
LISTEN TO Every Time I Die.
Fierce and black-hearted lyrics humping a fast and furious metalcore din that was good for an EP and an album and almost perfect for last album round, 'Hot Damn!'.
The Ferret/Roadrunner Records punk'n'puke metallers have gone through bassists like other bands go through drummers and hi-jacked Daryl Palumbo to bring you their new album 'Gutter Phenomenon', out August 22nd. Hear a track from it here, go see them here.
Let them change your mind
LISTEN TO Every Time I Die.
Fierce and black-hearted lyrics humping a fast and furious metalcore din that was good for an EP and an album and almost perfect for last album round, 'Hot Damn!'.
The Ferret/Roadrunner Records punk'n'puke metallers have gone through bassists like other bands go through drummers and hi-jacked Daryl Palumbo to bring you their new album 'Gutter Phenomenon', out August 22nd. Hear a track from it here, go see them here.
Let them change your mind
6.21.2005
BUKANDSKIT FESTIVAL 2. Reading Abbey RFC, Reading. 19.06.05
It starts as a distant buzzing, like maybe there's a wasp in the car that you can't see.
Then it's more.
There's a bassy rumble, relentless banging and flashing lights.
Through the pollen haze of a sun cracked field in the middle of Reading comes the sound of loud music and the smell of overpriced beer and burning burgers. A festival is disturbing the peace in Reading but it's not the one you're thinking of.
The BukandSkit festival, a one-day, two-stage event is celebrating its second year today. The event is something of a renaissance day for British bands- Biffy Clyro and Capdown are headlining- and a genuine showcase for local talent- Reading bands open both stages.
The line up reads like a 'who's who' of the UK underground and as an introduction to the day TwinZero's crash site rumble is an ugly early-afternoon wake up call. Karl Middleton leads his merry men through a set of metallic pounding punctuated by razer sharp riffing and tribal tattoos.
Thirteen fulfill every prophecy of their name and suffer the first bad luck of the day- it's kinda hard to play your cymbals when they're at home. But after a mad dash to borrow some equipment they get to play their very now sounding poppy rock but push everyone's stage times back.
But the show must go on.
For Reuben- who transform their normally sedate grunge into sunshine-magnet festival rock- and Oceansize it must go on a little longer than expected when news filters through that Million Dead have broken down in Italy.
Sylosis have recruited Jor's old singer and seemingly pirated his confidence too. Their old school thrash and new style metal mix finally looks good enough to break into bigger leagues, the majors will soon come knocking.
Sikth are on form. There was a worry about how much of the truly awful new stuff they would play but only one song, 'The Death of a Dead Day', is aired and isn't half bad after all. Despite the blistering heat the first real mosh goes to Sikth and a belting version of 'Hold my Finger'.
Inside, on the second stage, it's like standing in an oven but Eden Maine play a blinder. Towering examples of aggressive, progressive mood music like an awesome 'The Hunter and the Hunted' and 'Hail Satan!' shimmer and flex in the heat. Their frontman all handclaps and dancing feet one minute, a flailing storm of plaid and hair the next.
This Girl have to face off main stage competition from Biffy Clyro and the advance of time as last trains and buses beckon but maintain an edge that people never seem to understand and the man will never pay enough money for.
People keep leaving but the band keep playing the good time rock'n'roll they make their own, even turning the mediocre material from their most recent album into hummable quirky perfection.
People are going home tired but happy, BukandSkit 2 has most definitely been a success and proven the British rock scene to be alive and well. As if we ever had a doubt.
Roll on next year.
Then it's more.
There's a bassy rumble, relentless banging and flashing lights.
Through the pollen haze of a sun cracked field in the middle of Reading comes the sound of loud music and the smell of overpriced beer and burning burgers. A festival is disturbing the peace in Reading but it's not the one you're thinking of.
The BukandSkit festival, a one-day, two-stage event is celebrating its second year today. The event is something of a renaissance day for British bands- Biffy Clyro and Capdown are headlining- and a genuine showcase for local talent- Reading bands open both stages.
The line up reads like a 'who's who' of the UK underground and as an introduction to the day TwinZero's crash site rumble is an ugly early-afternoon wake up call. Karl Middleton leads his merry men through a set of metallic pounding punctuated by razer sharp riffing and tribal tattoos.
Thirteen fulfill every prophecy of their name and suffer the first bad luck of the day- it's kinda hard to play your cymbals when they're at home. But after a mad dash to borrow some equipment they get to play their very now sounding poppy rock but push everyone's stage times back.
But the show must go on.
For Reuben- who transform their normally sedate grunge into sunshine-magnet festival rock- and Oceansize it must go on a little longer than expected when news filters through that Million Dead have broken down in Italy.
Sylosis have recruited Jor's old singer and seemingly pirated his confidence too. Their old school thrash and new style metal mix finally looks good enough to break into bigger leagues, the majors will soon come knocking.
Sikth are on form. There was a worry about how much of the truly awful new stuff they would play but only one song, 'The Death of a Dead Day', is aired and isn't half bad after all. Despite the blistering heat the first real mosh goes to Sikth and a belting version of 'Hold my Finger'.
Inside, on the second stage, it's like standing in an oven but Eden Maine play a blinder. Towering examples of aggressive, progressive mood music like an awesome 'The Hunter and the Hunted' and 'Hail Satan!' shimmer and flex in the heat. Their frontman all handclaps and dancing feet one minute, a flailing storm of plaid and hair the next.
This Girl have to face off main stage competition from Biffy Clyro and the advance of time as last trains and buses beckon but maintain an edge that people never seem to understand and the man will never pay enough money for.
People keep leaving but the band keep playing the good time rock'n'roll they make their own, even turning the mediocre material from their most recent album into hummable quirky perfection.
People are going home tired but happy, BukandSkit 2 has most definitely been a success and proven the British rock scene to be alive and well. As if we ever had a doubt.
Roll on next year.
6.17.2005
TEAM SLEEP+Idiot Pilot. Mean Fiddler, London. 17.06.05
Team Sleep are loud. Really loud. Probably the loudest 'quiet' band you've ever heard.
The band throw out grooves other bands would kill for and when they lock together they make a sound like demolition.
No matter what they sounded like Team Sleep would've won tonights crowd over but supporting band Idiot Pilot are fighting that battle from first note to last. Y'see no one in Idiot Pilot is Chino Moreno.
For a two piece the band max out the volume just as well as the headliners but rather than building to their crescendos they commit sudden stop starts of drum machine and screams. If you need a reference point, think Radiohead but think Martin Grech rather than Muse.
Towards the end of their set most of the crowd is nodding its head and the band seem to be having fun and happy to be making friends. Hopefully friends who will buy their records.
As a parting shot one of the skinny duo extols the virtues of the Team Sleep album and asks how many people have it. In the middle of a sold out Mean Fiddler maybe 30 people raise their hands.
And there's the rub...
Most everyone seems to be here for a quick Deftones fix rather than a headfirst dive into something altogether new. After Idiot Pilot's dramatic and unexpectedly fantastic turn you feel were it not for Chino Moreno's prescence the running order tonight would be the other way around. Team Sleep have a lot to prove.
And they are by no means perfect- the drums clatter and jar, loose jams come off without point or promise and Rob Crow's beautiful vocal additions are inaudible, which on a song like 'Our Ride to the Rectory' is criminal.
However, they are special. Chino is as an engaging frontman as always and his band feel cohesive and familiar- a far cry from a bunch of hired hands. The songs feel louder, heavier even, and perfect moments like Chino's wail on the beginning of 'Red Skull' are there to be savoured.
Those looking for some Deftones adrenaline get it, but those looking for something more find that too. Tonight was about a good band playing good songs and what else is there.
The band throw out grooves other bands would kill for and when they lock together they make a sound like demolition.
No matter what they sounded like Team Sleep would've won tonights crowd over but supporting band Idiot Pilot are fighting that battle from first note to last. Y'see no one in Idiot Pilot is Chino Moreno.
For a two piece the band max out the volume just as well as the headliners but rather than building to their crescendos they commit sudden stop starts of drum machine and screams. If you need a reference point, think Radiohead but think Martin Grech rather than Muse.
Towards the end of their set most of the crowd is nodding its head and the band seem to be having fun and happy to be making friends. Hopefully friends who will buy their records.
As a parting shot one of the skinny duo extols the virtues of the Team Sleep album and asks how many people have it. In the middle of a sold out Mean Fiddler maybe 30 people raise their hands.
And there's the rub...
Most everyone seems to be here for a quick Deftones fix rather than a headfirst dive into something altogether new. After Idiot Pilot's dramatic and unexpectedly fantastic turn you feel were it not for Chino Moreno's prescence the running order tonight would be the other way around. Team Sleep have a lot to prove.
And they are by no means perfect- the drums clatter and jar, loose jams come off without point or promise and Rob Crow's beautiful vocal additions are inaudible, which on a song like 'Our Ride to the Rectory' is criminal.
However, they are special. Chino is as an engaging frontman as always and his band feel cohesive and familiar- a far cry from a bunch of hired hands. The songs feel louder, heavier even, and perfect moments like Chino's wail on the beginning of 'Red Skull' are there to be savoured.
Those looking for some Deftones adrenaline get it, but those looking for something more find that too. Tonight was about a good band playing good songs and what else is there.
6.14.2005
FUNERAL FOR A FRIEND- Hours
'Hours' sounds like Funeral for a Friend.
Despite its resounding success there's no denying that for every perfect pop song on 'Casually Dressed...' there was a weak studio track of emo-fodder filler.
'Hours' is apparently something of a gut reaction to the ten-word-titled songs about girls of their debut but the ghost of that record haunts this one.
The galloping pop rock guitars, 80's metal licks and sing-a-long choruses are all present and correct but this isn't an attempt to maintain fame and fortune by cooking with the same ingredients.
The first few tracks are real reminders of FFAF's uncanny Nirvana-like knack of writing songs you've never heard that feel like you know every word. 'All the Rage' blows away the cobwebs before the charging riff of first single 'Streetcar' ploughs past in three minutes of music made for the air guitar. Unfortunately it ploughs to nowhere.
'Drive' and 'History' are slower, almost acoustic, tracks where Matt Davies sounds like Fred Durst and the band sound like Bon Jovi. And if that can be ignored the absolute banality of the songs cannot. There are good ideas here but no matter how shiny the production, one good idea does not make a song.
Rather fittingly 'Recovery' marks a return to form that remains until the album closes. 'The End of Nothing' is the heaviest track here- complete with guitar noodles, aggressive vocals and the albums darkest lyrics. It works as a real tonic to the weaker middle section.
'Alvarez' sounds like Alexisonfire, maybe because it has a little of the high life and joy in it that that band has made their trademark, life and joy that makes a mark in few other places here.
'Hours' is a fine release but nowhere near perfect. 'Hours' is an album one half towering rock songs and pop genius and one half instantly forgettable filler and plain mediocrity.
Like I said, 'Hours' sounds like Funeral for a Friend.
Despite its resounding success there's no denying that for every perfect pop song on 'Casually Dressed...' there was a weak studio track of emo-fodder filler.
'Hours' is apparently something of a gut reaction to the ten-word-titled songs about girls of their debut but the ghost of that record haunts this one.
The galloping pop rock guitars, 80's metal licks and sing-a-long choruses are all present and correct but this isn't an attempt to maintain fame and fortune by cooking with the same ingredients.
The first few tracks are real reminders of FFAF's uncanny Nirvana-like knack of writing songs you've never heard that feel like you know every word. 'All the Rage' blows away the cobwebs before the charging riff of first single 'Streetcar' ploughs past in three minutes of music made for the air guitar. Unfortunately it ploughs to nowhere.
'Drive' and 'History' are slower, almost acoustic, tracks where Matt Davies sounds like Fred Durst and the band sound like Bon Jovi. And if that can be ignored the absolute banality of the songs cannot. There are good ideas here but no matter how shiny the production, one good idea does not make a song.
Rather fittingly 'Recovery' marks a return to form that remains until the album closes. 'The End of Nothing' is the heaviest track here- complete with guitar noodles, aggressive vocals and the albums darkest lyrics. It works as a real tonic to the weaker middle section.
'Alvarez' sounds like Alexisonfire, maybe because it has a little of the high life and joy in it that that band has made their trademark, life and joy that makes a mark in few other places here.
'Hours' is a fine release but nowhere near perfect. 'Hours' is an album one half towering rock songs and pop genius and one half instantly forgettable filler and plain mediocrity.
Like I said, 'Hours' sounds like Funeral for a Friend.
5.23.2005
OPEN HAND- You and Me
Open Hand have swapped the dreamy emotional content of the album that they released before imploding for the grungey, dusty, lights and darks of this album, the one they released after getting back together.
'You and Me' is a beating rock heart, a biting, foaming mouth and fingers reaching round a steering wheel manouvering a car through a desert at 80mph. These are songs for the deaf, to be played in the sun- elephantine jam sessions gone wrong, driving rock tracks, and breeze powered vocals that know exactly when to come in.
Open Hand is dead. Long live Open Hand.
'You and Me' is a beating rock heart, a biting, foaming mouth and fingers reaching round a steering wheel manouvering a car through a desert at 80mph. These are songs for the deaf, to be played in the sun- elephantine jam sessions gone wrong, driving rock tracks, and breeze powered vocals that know exactly when to come in.
Open Hand is dead. Long live Open Hand.
5.15.2005
HOPESFALL. Mean Fiddler, London. 14.05.05
There are other hardcore bands. Other bands kicking and screaming out of East coast America all relentless verses and choruses that fly higher than the jumbo they got here on. But tonight Hopesfall stand alone.
The bass and drums are heavy and constant, rumbling out washes of noise for the guitars to pick delicate leads or put anthemic melodies over.
Vocalist Jay Forrest has a strong, hypnotic, singing voice and can muster the scene staple impassioned scream but the man is a genuine enigma. Standing still for minutes at a time he nods along to his bands coiling space rock, fixing crowd members with a stare that seems to shift from confontational to embracing in a split second. Just when you're about to question his involvement he dives into the pit, walks over the crowd on people's hands, or leads a healthy clap-a-long.
The set mixes the old, the very old, and the new to great effect. Their contemporary softer sound does nothing to damage Hopesfall's magic or confidence and like all good performances it feels over too fast and leaves you wanting nothing at all but oh, so much more.
Other bands are in this for the chicks or the cash.
Other bands write crappy filler for shitty albums and play sloppy live sets for audiences that don't care.
Other bands aren't Hopesfall.
Mesmerising.
The bass and drums are heavy and constant, rumbling out washes of noise for the guitars to pick delicate leads or put anthemic melodies over.
Vocalist Jay Forrest has a strong, hypnotic, singing voice and can muster the scene staple impassioned scream but the man is a genuine enigma. Standing still for minutes at a time he nods along to his bands coiling space rock, fixing crowd members with a stare that seems to shift from confontational to embracing in a split second. Just when you're about to question his involvement he dives into the pit, walks over the crowd on people's hands, or leads a healthy clap-a-long.
The set mixes the old, the very old, and the new to great effect. Their contemporary softer sound does nothing to damage Hopesfall's magic or confidence and like all good performances it feels over too fast and leaves you wanting nothing at all but oh, so much more.
Other bands are in this for the chicks or the cash.
Other bands write crappy filler for shitty albums and play sloppy live sets for audiences that don't care.
Other bands aren't Hopesfall.
Mesmerising.
5.10.2005
THE HURT PROCESS- A Heartbeat Behind
Despite the faintest whiff of their nu-metal pasts in the beginning of 'Anchor' and some over-emo choruses that stink of drive-by's and butterflies everything comes up smelling of roses (and metalcore) for The Hurt Process on second album proper, 'A Heartbeat Behind'.
The band have gone through some changes since recording their last album which would explain a shift in sound and a lot of the lyrics here could be tiny barbs at those who can't take the pace and jump ship. Maybe. There's definitely added bite to the music.
The shot of vitriol could be seen as an attempt to hi-jack the latest bandwagon were it not for the variety and quality of the songs. The title track ducks and weaves like Killswitch. 'Anchor', 'Take to You' and 'Delicious 53' are exactly the sort of riff heavy metal the last album needed to balance out the abundance of the 'e' word, while 'Boogie Nights..' and an acoustic number ensure The Hurt Process' damn catchy nature and pop sensibilities shine through. These are all still songs you can dance and 'woo!' to, just bolstered by an improved confidence and better writing.
An album of madness, method, and charm to be admired then. Now go see them absolutely rule live.
The band have gone through some changes since recording their last album which would explain a shift in sound and a lot of the lyrics here could be tiny barbs at those who can't take the pace and jump ship. Maybe. There's definitely added bite to the music.
The shot of vitriol could be seen as an attempt to hi-jack the latest bandwagon were it not for the variety and quality of the songs. The title track ducks and weaves like Killswitch. 'Anchor', 'Take to You' and 'Delicious 53' are exactly the sort of riff heavy metal the last album needed to balance out the abundance of the 'e' word, while 'Boogie Nights..' and an acoustic number ensure The Hurt Process' damn catchy nature and pop sensibilities shine through. These are all still songs you can dance and 'woo!' to, just bolstered by an improved confidence and better writing.
An album of madness, method, and charm to be admired then. Now go see them absolutely rule live.
5.09.2005
EMANUEL- Soundtrack to a Headrush
We need a flood, a wave on a biblical scale, to wash away everything that's not working. We need some sort of scene Noah who gets to decide who sticks around to wear more make-up and make out.
But are Emanuel part of the problem or the beginning of a solution?
'Hotline' starts like Every Time I Die then explores every stop on the garage rock A to Z. The chunked guitars, vocal harmonies and slick production of 'Make Tonight' and the title track sound like Blindside of all people. And the end of 'Breathe Underwater' points to possible teenage Nirvana obsessions.
The sounds are as varied as the influences above but the lyrics and structures get a little formulaic.
I'm not going to argue about punk rock with you. Whether you include The Damned and The 'Pistols or Blink and Good Charlotte or all of them, if you like fast and stuttery, call-to-arms, danceable rock you'll find a tune or two on this soundtrack to prick your ear. Just maybe not with a safety pin.
Pretty soon that wave will come and the world will end. Emanuel don't care, it's time to get down.
But are Emanuel part of the problem or the beginning of a solution?
'Hotline' starts like Every Time I Die then explores every stop on the garage rock A to Z. The chunked guitars, vocal harmonies and slick production of 'Make Tonight' and the title track sound like Blindside of all people. And the end of 'Breathe Underwater' points to possible teenage Nirvana obsessions.
The sounds are as varied as the influences above but the lyrics and structures get a little formulaic.
I'm not going to argue about punk rock with you. Whether you include The Damned and The 'Pistols or Blink and Good Charlotte or all of them, if you like fast and stuttery, call-to-arms, danceable rock you'll find a tune or two on this soundtrack to prick your ear. Just maybe not with a safety pin.
Pretty soon that wave will come and the world will end. Emanuel don't care, it's time to get down.
5.02.2005
GIVE IT A NAME. Alexandra Palace, London. 02.05.05
OK, so every promoter in the country is wishing they'd thought of this first but it probably seemed so impossible, so unbelievable.
Just write a list of every next big thing and name of the moment, get them to turn up and play in a North London venue that probably hasn't seen a rock show for decades, and watch the money roll right in. Simple
Except on arrival to the giant greenhouse that is the Alexandra Palace, it seems as if counting the money, rather than spending a little, is all the organisers have done. There are 8000 people sweating under the glass ceiling, no one is allowed back outside unless that's where they want to stay, and the four bar areas that open with the venue doors at 1 have to close two hours later when the shelves are emptied by the parched crowds that weren't allowed to bring any bottles in. This does not please anyone in the 200 strong queues
It might explain why no one has anything to throw at Fightstar, not that they deserve any of that one bit. Looking alarmingly more like rock stars every time they play, the band breeze through a set of rock by numbers that's full of charm but still lacks bite.
Mae provide a little bit more of the same, but some softer edges and the angelic voice of frontman Dave Elkins help them stand out.
British rock, as always, is playing catch up with the almighty american music machine but, as always, some of us don't give a fuck. The Lucky Nine are such a bunch of likely lads. Everyone seems to wish they didn't have to look so damn cool so they could have a little dance.
Alexisonfire normally shine. Their upbeat tunes, family message, and original take on what's hot turns has previously turned macho mosh pits to dance floor party centrals but today they never quite take flight.
The old and tired debate on mixing politics and punk means nothing as Rise Against rally the troops, new single 'Give it All' raises some roars but not from sore-throated singer Tim. Alexisonfire guitarist Dallas does his good deed by supplying some vocals but apart from the hardcore punk rockers down the front most of the Palace seems uninterested.
Coheed and Cambria have always been the weird ones. Piano-sounding guitar lines, a coffin-tight percussion groove and helium-voiced SOAD-isms make these geeks unique but it does get a little bit jazz odyssey at times. That and the heat seems to making people fall asleep.
The sun has set but the heat remains and despite nearly 5 years of waiting so does the anticipation for new Finch material. and it's a weird one. They sound like Dillinger now, they sound like Minus. Nate Barcalow sounds like a baby monitor distorting the voice of satan and everyone takes a step back. The new songs jar glaringly with the poppy older material which the crowd lap up but the band seem utterly bored with and frustration rears its ugly head with temper tantrums and a broken bass.
There was a tiny doubt whether they deserved it and a slightly bigger one whether they could pull it off but the night eventually belongs to Funeral For a Friend. Someone with their finger on the volume control helps them out a little but FFAF's patented emo rock makes the biggest bang of the night.
The 5 Welsh boys still look and sound 12 years old, their potty mouths extending to making the whole venue scream profanity, but the songs are as catchy as they've always been. New single 'Streetcar' is aired quickly and turns out to be a highlight, all galloping guitars and achy breaky melody.
'Bend Your Arms to Look Like Wings' and 'She Drove me to Daytime TV' are greeted like old favourites, everyone sings back the choruses and even though the band are undoubtedly used to the crowd being louder than them it's a fine moment. It seems like people know most of the new stuff too. You pesky downloaders you.
FFAF continually thank people for hanging around but as last train times loom, the streams of those leaving grow wider, picking their way across festival style piles of shit, yawning but happy.
yeah, what he said
Just write a list of every next big thing and name of the moment, get them to turn up and play in a North London venue that probably hasn't seen a rock show for decades, and watch the money roll right in. Simple
Except on arrival to the giant greenhouse that is the Alexandra Palace, it seems as if counting the money, rather than spending a little, is all the organisers have done. There are 8000 people sweating under the glass ceiling, no one is allowed back outside unless that's where they want to stay, and the four bar areas that open with the venue doors at 1 have to close two hours later when the shelves are emptied by the parched crowds that weren't allowed to bring any bottles in. This does not please anyone in the 200 strong queues
It might explain why no one has anything to throw at Fightstar, not that they deserve any of that one bit. Looking alarmingly more like rock stars every time they play, the band breeze through a set of rock by numbers that's full of charm but still lacks bite.
Mae provide a little bit more of the same, but some softer edges and the angelic voice of frontman Dave Elkins help them stand out.
British rock, as always, is playing catch up with the almighty american music machine but, as always, some of us don't give a fuck. The Lucky Nine are such a bunch of likely lads. Everyone seems to wish they didn't have to look so damn cool so they could have a little dance.
Alexisonfire normally shine. Their upbeat tunes, family message, and original take on what's hot turns has previously turned macho mosh pits to dance floor party centrals but today they never quite take flight.
The old and tired debate on mixing politics and punk means nothing as Rise Against rally the troops, new single 'Give it All' raises some roars but not from sore-throated singer Tim. Alexisonfire guitarist Dallas does his good deed by supplying some vocals but apart from the hardcore punk rockers down the front most of the Palace seems uninterested.
Coheed and Cambria have always been the weird ones. Piano-sounding guitar lines, a coffin-tight percussion groove and helium-voiced SOAD-isms make these geeks unique but it does get a little bit jazz odyssey at times. That and the heat seems to making people fall asleep.
The sun has set but the heat remains and despite nearly 5 years of waiting so does the anticipation for new Finch material. and it's a weird one. They sound like Dillinger now, they sound like Minus. Nate Barcalow sounds like a baby monitor distorting the voice of satan and everyone takes a step back. The new songs jar glaringly with the poppy older material which the crowd lap up but the band seem utterly bored with and frustration rears its ugly head with temper tantrums and a broken bass.
There was a tiny doubt whether they deserved it and a slightly bigger one whether they could pull it off but the night eventually belongs to Funeral For a Friend. Someone with their finger on the volume control helps them out a little but FFAF's patented emo rock makes the biggest bang of the night.
The 5 Welsh boys still look and sound 12 years old, their potty mouths extending to making the whole venue scream profanity, but the songs are as catchy as they've always been. New single 'Streetcar' is aired quickly and turns out to be a highlight, all galloping guitars and achy breaky melody.
'Bend Your Arms to Look Like Wings' and 'She Drove me to Daytime TV' are greeted like old favourites, everyone sings back the choruses and even though the band are undoubtedly used to the crowd being louder than them it's a fine moment. It seems like people know most of the new stuff too. You pesky downloaders you.
FFAF continually thank people for hanging around but as last train times loom, the streams of those leaving grow wider, picking their way across festival style piles of shit, yawning but happy.
yeah, what he said
4.21.2005
THE CHARIOT-Everything is alive, everything is breathing, nothing is dead and nothing is bleeding
Ex-Norma Jean screamer Josh Scogin is now driving The Chariot, and this thing is out of control. There are elements of all this that came before with NJ but where they have got tighter, added groove and flex, these are listing, sinking ships of songs. The music always seems on the edge of collapse, any tunes that do emerge are quickly flattened by machine gun anti-rhythms and die. This is the soundtrack to a choking, the sound of fingernails. The God bothering is kept to a minimum too.
For fans of Ashlee Simpson. Apparently.
For fans of Ashlee Simpson. Apparently.
4.18.2005
SKIRTBOX. Metro,London. 15.04.05
This is a party and people will cry if they want to.
The Metro basement is hosting the release party for Skirtbox's long delayed new album 'Bitter and Direct'. Having finally given up on finding a major labal home the band have chosen Allstar Recordings to showcase their evolution from skate punks to the poppiest of rockers.
Before all that there are some VIP party guests to meet 'n' greet.Mainline sound like Somerset. Mainline sound like The Cable Car Theory. Mainline sound like Thrice dipped in Jack Daniels by Malboro men. The Bombjacks are back and get feet moving with Weezer harmonies, surf guitars and Moog moments. Neither of these bands will escape London support slot status but both produce perfect alterna-party tunes.
Skirtbox must be sick of looking at the inside of the Metro and apart from a happy happy joy joy performance from bassist Tom Wright the band do look a little bored. Maybe it's because these new songs aren't new at all, The band have been playing 'Heading for the Start' and 'For This Alone' for nearly a year. That doesn't stop them from being head-nodding rock, all of which would fit perfectly on any drive-time compilation if all drive-time compilations weren't shit.
At times Will Stapleton's voice slips into horrible Ville Vallo territory but after the initial shock it works quite well. His smooth croon fitting over Top Gun rock and 80's guitar solos.
Skirtbox could be your new favourite band, Skirtbox could be the new Ataris. Skirtbox should be able to leave High Wycombe houses for LA mansions by the end of the year. Typically, the lack of record label support and cold, hard cash could be crippling but nowhere near as much as performing like workmen rather than rock stars.
The Metro basement is hosting the release party for Skirtbox's long delayed new album 'Bitter and Direct'. Having finally given up on finding a major labal home the band have chosen Allstar Recordings to showcase their evolution from skate punks to the poppiest of rockers.
Before all that there are some VIP party guests to meet 'n' greet.Mainline sound like Somerset. Mainline sound like The Cable Car Theory. Mainline sound like Thrice dipped in Jack Daniels by Malboro men. The Bombjacks are back and get feet moving with Weezer harmonies, surf guitars and Moog moments. Neither of these bands will escape London support slot status but both produce perfect alterna-party tunes.
Skirtbox must be sick of looking at the inside of the Metro and apart from a happy happy joy joy performance from bassist Tom Wright the band do look a little bored. Maybe it's because these new songs aren't new at all, The band have been playing 'Heading for the Start' and 'For This Alone' for nearly a year. That doesn't stop them from being head-nodding rock, all of which would fit perfectly on any drive-time compilation if all drive-time compilations weren't shit.
At times Will Stapleton's voice slips into horrible Ville Vallo territory but after the initial shock it works quite well. His smooth croon fitting over Top Gun rock and 80's guitar solos.
Skirtbox could be your new favourite band, Skirtbox could be the new Ataris. Skirtbox should be able to leave High Wycombe houses for LA mansions by the end of the year. Typically, the lack of record label support and cold, hard cash could be crippling but nowhere near as much as performing like workmen rather than rock stars.
ATREYU+ Norma Jean+ He is Legend. Astoria, London. 16.05.04
Bands always disappoint. You can wait in shivering anticipation for a tour like this to come around only for rockstars to act like rockstars and Americans to be just like Americans.
But He is Legend are a revelation, by the end of a short set played by men dressed like tramps, dancing like fools, the Astoria is converted. Shake that thing!
Norma Jean have replaced a singer and added a grungier element to their sound but haven't missed a beat. They fill the stage with tantrum dancing and flying guitars, the sound- screams and hooks riding a death rattle wall of feedback- fills the room. NJ make the show feel like the tiny club dates they're used to playing, it feels like cathartic brilliance.
Atreyu disappoint. Members of the band could be seen before doors taking pictures of the blacker than black queue stretching round the venue, almost as if they themselves couldn't quite believe they had managed to get this big. And on tonight's evidence their success will need way more blind luck to continue.
From first track proper, 'Bleeding Mascara', the sound is the worst of the night and barely improves. The technical touches of 'Deanne the Arsonist' and 'The Crimson' are lost, leaving only straight ahead mosh behind.The band plough through a lacklustre performance pulling all the right moves but seemingly finding no joy in them. Even synchronised guitar moves, party tricks and a cover of 'You Give Love a Bad Name' seem forced a little old. And wearing all white is the oldest gag in the book for bands so often dressed in black.
Atreyu are heralded as leaders of a scene, one of the few that will continue when fashions change but tonight they were outplayed, outclassed and simply undone by bands that are still hungry for that headline slot.
I hope Atreyu were nice to people on the way up.
But He is Legend are a revelation, by the end of a short set played by men dressed like tramps, dancing like fools, the Astoria is converted. Shake that thing!
Norma Jean have replaced a singer and added a grungier element to their sound but haven't missed a beat. They fill the stage with tantrum dancing and flying guitars, the sound- screams and hooks riding a death rattle wall of feedback- fills the room. NJ make the show feel like the tiny club dates they're used to playing, it feels like cathartic brilliance.
Atreyu disappoint. Members of the band could be seen before doors taking pictures of the blacker than black queue stretching round the venue, almost as if they themselves couldn't quite believe they had managed to get this big. And on tonight's evidence their success will need way more blind luck to continue.
From first track proper, 'Bleeding Mascara', the sound is the worst of the night and barely improves. The technical touches of 'Deanne the Arsonist' and 'The Crimson' are lost, leaving only straight ahead mosh behind.The band plough through a lacklustre performance pulling all the right moves but seemingly finding no joy in them. Even synchronised guitar moves, party tricks and a cover of 'You Give Love a Bad Name' seem forced a little old. And wearing all white is the oldest gag in the book for bands so often dressed in black.
Atreyu are heralded as leaders of a scene, one of the few that will continue when fashions change but tonight they were outplayed, outclassed and simply undone by bands that are still hungry for that headline slot.
I hope Atreyu were nice to people on the way up.
4.02.2005
THE BLOOD BROTHERS- Crimes
"Come on, come on" scream The Blood Brothers as the chorus to 'Trash Flavoured Trash' and an invitation to new album 'Crimes', their first for new V2 record label home.
Bruising titles like 'Love Rhymes with Hideous Car Wreck' prepare you for more schizophrenic, loose-limbed, high-pitched, hardcore but this time clash with the sleepy synths and relaxed electronics that pulse round the whole album.
'Rats...' stops, drops and rolls into Ricky Martin territory before becoming a garage riff workout that dies to the sound of Dillinger-esque jazziness.
The title track is a fantastic funerial march through a sanitarium, all out of tune humming, piano, and a lonely picked guitar.
So everything changes, this is still The Blood Brothers though.
The band still create stabbing messes of noise from which impossibly catchy tunes emerge; parts of 'Live at the Apocalypse Cabaret' and 'Crimes' are pure pop music. Their songs still fold together into feedback, telling warped stories with voices that sound like a proper punk rock Jack White and a hyper Marilyn Manson, and no one has taken that drunk away from the piano.
The jarring differences between 100mph thrash punk and catchy piano key melodies make whatever crazy pills the band are taking seem all the more effective. The constant, headache inducing, metallic rush of previous work has gone and 'Crimes' is allowed to breathe, and allowed to run.
"This is a fucking fantasy", or the best nightmare you ever had.
Bruising titles like 'Love Rhymes with Hideous Car Wreck' prepare you for more schizophrenic, loose-limbed, high-pitched, hardcore but this time clash with the sleepy synths and relaxed electronics that pulse round the whole album.
'Rats...' stops, drops and rolls into Ricky Martin territory before becoming a garage riff workout that dies to the sound of Dillinger-esque jazziness.
The title track is a fantastic funerial march through a sanitarium, all out of tune humming, piano, and a lonely picked guitar.
So everything changes, this is still The Blood Brothers though.
The band still create stabbing messes of noise from which impossibly catchy tunes emerge; parts of 'Live at the Apocalypse Cabaret' and 'Crimes' are pure pop music. Their songs still fold together into feedback, telling warped stories with voices that sound like a proper punk rock Jack White and a hyper Marilyn Manson, and no one has taken that drunk away from the piano.
The jarring differences between 100mph thrash punk and catchy piano key melodies make whatever crazy pills the band are taking seem all the more effective. The constant, headache inducing, metallic rush of previous work has gone and 'Crimes' is allowed to breathe, and allowed to run.
"This is a fucking fantasy", or the best nightmare you ever had.
4.01.2005
PAINT IT BLACK- Paradise
Hard and fast, strained voiced, no guts no glory, kicking and screaming drum roll death rock. Simple, fierce, smoke headed, black hearted, hands in the air, ricochet quick, two stepping punk that paints the state of the world the blackest black and then some. Ace.
3.21.2005
ROSES ARE RED- Conversations
The Trustkill name maintains a revered place at the head of the US indie label table but despite success stories like Poison the Well and 18Visions has signed some questionable acts of late.
Roses are Red are the new kids on the block and they might become a stumbling one for Trustkill.
'Conversations' feels like a rushed album of half ideas and not quite, nearly there tunes. Vicent Minervino's thin wail smothers every song, sounding suitably Americ-emo but sounding nasally, whiney and reaching.
A thin drum sound doesn't help with fluid, pacey, tunes that could be exciting stuff had it not already been recorded by other bands. 'Oceans' steals from Funeral for a Friend, 'I Apologize' from Taking Back Sunday' and 'You and me Both' from The Used.
And this keeps happening, and will keep happening to bands whose sole influences are the leading lights of the scene they want to be seen in and nothing from dad's record collection.
It makes original moments like '12:34' and 'White and Gold''s rousing chorus really stand out, but like pennies in dogshit rather than jewels in a crown.
Calling out every member of the newer breed of 'hardcore' or 'emo' acts for being fakey, whining, sellouts is becoming something of a journalistic cliche. By all means give Roses are Red a chance, just don't expect anything shiny and new
Roses are Red are the new kids on the block and they might become a stumbling one for Trustkill.
'Conversations' feels like a rushed album of half ideas and not quite, nearly there tunes. Vicent Minervino's thin wail smothers every song, sounding suitably Americ-emo but sounding nasally, whiney and reaching.
A thin drum sound doesn't help with fluid, pacey, tunes that could be exciting stuff had it not already been recorded by other bands. 'Oceans' steals from Funeral for a Friend, 'I Apologize' from Taking Back Sunday' and 'You and me Both' from The Used.
And this keeps happening, and will keep happening to bands whose sole influences are the leading lights of the scene they want to be seen in and nothing from dad's record collection.
It makes original moments like '12:34' and 'White and Gold''s rousing chorus really stand out, but like pennies in dogshit rather than jewels in a crown.
Calling out every member of the newer breed of 'hardcore' or 'emo' acts for being fakey, whining, sellouts is becoming something of a journalistic cliche. By all means give Roses are Red a chance, just don't expect anything shiny and new
3.16.2005
HATEBREED. Zodiac, Oxford. 14.03.05
It's always seemed a little weird that after ten years of Hatebreed preaching messages of family, friendship and hardcore unity, their fans still insist on beating the shit out of each other. Gang vocal anthems like 'Live for This' and 'I Will be Heard' are screamed back to the band like blood oaths but the blood on show tonight is all too real.
Before the carnage begins the melodic hardcore of Caliban and the spit-soaked sludge of Crowbar do their best to impress. The pit monsters get the chance for a good warm up during Caliban's take on what's currently hot. The amount of energy the five Germans put into their performance explaining why they're so skinny.Crowbar wander onstage like lost Spinal Tappers, like the mess of drunk hillbilly dads they probably are, and begin the most professional of amateur half-hours that the Zodiac has ever seen. They start, fuck up, start again, swear, sweat, and mumble and pretty much rule.
All of which is like a wafer thin mint before the three course meal that is Hatebreed. The squeal of feedback gives way to a three song set-starter and things never dip. The pit is a danger zone from the first note, frontman Jamey Jasta's seemingly never-ending vat of attitude and energy spilling into the crowd. Hatebreed rip into 'Straight to Your Face' and Jasta calls for a warzone. Oxford delivers.
'Call for Blood' and 'Perseverance' keep the tempo tipped maximum and an hour of brutal aggression punches past in what feels like ten minutes. They may be old hands at this but the band show no signs of age, no signs of pandering to any stream let alone the main one and despite feeling a little impersonal the perfomance is nothing less than absolutely professional.
Before the carnage begins the melodic hardcore of Caliban and the spit-soaked sludge of Crowbar do their best to impress. The pit monsters get the chance for a good warm up during Caliban's take on what's currently hot. The amount of energy the five Germans put into their performance explaining why they're so skinny.Crowbar wander onstage like lost Spinal Tappers, like the mess of drunk hillbilly dads they probably are, and begin the most professional of amateur half-hours that the Zodiac has ever seen. They start, fuck up, start again, swear, sweat, and mumble and pretty much rule.
All of which is like a wafer thin mint before the three course meal that is Hatebreed. The squeal of feedback gives way to a three song set-starter and things never dip. The pit is a danger zone from the first note, frontman Jamey Jasta's seemingly never-ending vat of attitude and energy spilling into the crowd. Hatebreed rip into 'Straight to Your Face' and Jasta calls for a warzone. Oxford delivers.
'Call for Blood' and 'Perseverance' keep the tempo tipped maximum and an hour of brutal aggression punches past in what feels like ten minutes. They may be old hands at this but the band show no signs of age, no signs of pandering to any stream let alone the main one and despite feeling a little impersonal the perfomance is nothing less than absolutely professional.
3.09.2005
STRAYLIGHT RUN+ The Spill Canvas+ The Junior Varsity. Zodiac, Oxford. 07.03.05
I'm getting too old for this shit. Everyone in the Zodiac tonight looks about 14, but they're probably only 12. The EmoYouth army are out in force, all sideways black hair and 'the biggest belt buckle wins' competitions, far too cool to salivate over the great line-up. Watching these kids grow up and try to get a job with all these shitty tattoos and fresh piercings is going to be interesting.
Anyway, on with the show. And Asa Dawson certainly knows how to win over an audience. The Junior Varsity frontman looks and sounds genuinely excited to be here but wastes no time dealing in patronising American pap, just zeitgeist-humping pop tunes. By the end of the short set the contagious smiles on stage have infected more than half the crowd.
The Spill Canvas are a completely different story. Nick Thomas leads his band through a set of acoustic heartbreak that's thick enough to choke on and despite some clapping along Oxford remains unconvinced.
Now, if you don't know the story of Straylight Run already you're avoiding all the right emo conversations. Abandoning ship (or being made to walk the plank) from Taking Back Sunday, John Nolan and Shaun Cooper decided to sail away to slightly lighter musical seas. The piano keys and vocal harmonies of their new self-titled album being the successful result.
Opening with a fine rendition of 'Mistakes we knew we were making' the band seem much more at ease than when they supported Brand New upstairs. It's a real rush to hear the songs that have been available for download for so long entirely cobweb-free and newer album tracks so full of colour.
There are reference points, especially to the sing-a-long stylings of Taking Back Sunday, but the pace is far more sedate. The electrolisised beats of 'Tool sheds and hot tubs' and bouts of instrument swapping providing suprises. It's going to take a lot more than a few good gigs like this for people to forget the spectre of TBS thats hangs over Straylight Run but this is one small step in a run up for a giant leap.
Anyway, on with the show. And Asa Dawson certainly knows how to win over an audience. The Junior Varsity frontman looks and sounds genuinely excited to be here but wastes no time dealing in patronising American pap, just zeitgeist-humping pop tunes. By the end of the short set the contagious smiles on stage have infected more than half the crowd.
The Spill Canvas are a completely different story. Nick Thomas leads his band through a set of acoustic heartbreak that's thick enough to choke on and despite some clapping along Oxford remains unconvinced.
Now, if you don't know the story of Straylight Run already you're avoiding all the right emo conversations. Abandoning ship (or being made to walk the plank) from Taking Back Sunday, John Nolan and Shaun Cooper decided to sail away to slightly lighter musical seas. The piano keys and vocal harmonies of their new self-titled album being the successful result.
Opening with a fine rendition of 'Mistakes we knew we were making' the band seem much more at ease than when they supported Brand New upstairs. It's a real rush to hear the songs that have been available for download for so long entirely cobweb-free and newer album tracks so full of colour.
There are reference points, especially to the sing-a-long stylings of Taking Back Sunday, but the pace is far more sedate. The electrolisised beats of 'Tool sheds and hot tubs' and bouts of instrument swapping providing suprises. It's going to take a lot more than a few good gigs like this for people to forget the spectre of TBS thats hangs over Straylight Run but this is one small step in a run up for a giant leap.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)