FRIENDS - MANIFEST!

Stream the album here courtesy of The Guardian

Well this is quite simply the album I’ve been waiting for. Samantha Urbani’s uber-cool Friends finally release their debut album this Jubilee bank holiday Monday- well done Lucky Number, we knew your Britishness would be good for something- to the full spangliness of stars in the Sunday media supplements and lengthy blogger comment (see….what you’re reading). For some reason it seems like aeons since second single ‘I’m His Girl’ was first released (although it’s actually only eight months ago), but perhaps that’s because a lot has changed for that band who, on playing their first UK concertback in October 2011, had played only a handful of gigs in local Brooklyn venues and had barely formed long enough for their story about the band’s name to be more than a recent recollection. But, since then, ‘I’m His Girl’, freely sold on 7”at that gig days before release, flew off the shelves, and return gigs at The Lexington and XOYO this February sold out. The latter gig was filmed for Youtube, and despite being a little bit over-played for the cameras, it helped confirm the band’s joyous live reputation. Somehow, it feels as though the Brooklynites couldn’t get this album out soon enough. Urbani’s evident enthusiasm charmed many and irritated a few, but a bigger, 1000 strong throng headed to the seriously big venue, London’s Scala on 9 May, her band beating their headline capacity best by selling it out. Today (literally-ish), they eat swordfish with The Independent. Things just got serious.

So now that Manifest! aptly manifests on the horizon, the album delivers a topical title brimming with potential. We start at the chronological germination, first release ‘Friend Crush’, which is reassuringly at the top of the bill. Its breezy, stomping off-kilter pop was one of the best singles of last year in my view (we featured it hereski). Its younger boobier ‘I’m His Girl’ cousin is here too, but unfortunately not its lesser-boobier but even funkier sister, Ghost Town DJs cover ‘My Boo’. Are these the highlights of the now filled out repertoire? The Guardian seems tothink so, yes.

But that is not to say that it’s so. ‘Sorry’s percussive rhythm rivals ‘Feelin Dank’. Tropical touches and over-done chants make this a little song you can listen to over and over again, that belies its carefree triviality. But perhaps the biggest argument for Friends with this material is ‘A Thing Like This’. When Urbani thrashed this out at the Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen in October, where literally no one in the audience would have heard this song, my friend and I only looked at each other in knowing excitement: we knew we had just found a fucking awesome band. It’s one of those rare moments. The crowd injected with a sort of groovilicious liquid, girls started dancing, boys watched them dancing as they started dancing themselves, and secretly hoped Urbani would give them a cheeky sensual pout. This sort of carefree stuff doesn’t usually happen at gigs for cool people in London. So, with its translation to record, it should, if I was Lucky Number, have been Friends’ first single on/around the album’s release by virtue of it being radio-friendly (and representative) best foot forward. Sweet as a button, tough as a nut, it slips and slides with a synth-heavy, bass-heavy arrangement that epitomises their sound. Urbani sighs sensually, swoons delicately and confidently. She’s sexy again. And you can hear it. And the band is sexy too.  

‘A Light’ is another funky number. One of the more serious groovers, crumply lo-fi production gives Urbani a dampened touch, giving way to eminently danceable ‘Ideas on Ghosts’. That is three seriously danceable tracks in a row by the way, in case I should have made that clear. If that level of result makes Friends more self-conscious trying-too-hard than disconnected whatever dance-groove effortless tropical-pop, then so be it. The fact that this album isn’t rougher around the edges shouldn’t be held against it. ‘Ruins’ is clearly the attempt at off the beaten track, rocky rebelliousness, and really it doesn’t quite work. But fortunately, the band have stuck to what they know best: much like their American sitcom namesake, using every living moment to dance (ok, maybe not that bit) and have fun. Live favourite and closer, Swedish sung ‘Va Fan Gor Du’ retains its immediacy and swings around with the half-drunk stupor you just wanted from it. Finally ‘Mind Control’ wades in to pull down the curtain.

There are small signs that Friends’ luminous ascent from formation to fringe-of-the-mainstream may be gently stabilising. The band play 500-capacity Dingwalls in a couple of days, not a venue comparable to with the Scala, and Matthew Molnar, on bass and keyboards- although I don’t want to say it- has looked more than a little tired or bored (well....both) at recent gigs, perhaps due to the amount of touring. But, to judge longevity on these things would be ridiculous. I’m going to see Friends play Rough Trade East on Monday 4 June when this album is released. Because for all Manifest’s sophisticated fun, they retain the looseness on record to keep me intrigued; the hooks to keep me horribly hooked. And will the band continue to jostle for their ‘tropical pop’ DIY ethic to be seen and heard? As long as they’re having fun, you can be sure they will.

Michael Kiwanuka - Home Again

Being the winner of BBC’s Sound of 2012 comes with some stresses. The champion of a panel of music experts naturally draws huge industry attention, especially in recent years when the competition has acquired a sort of officialdom, and analysis, expectation and counter-analysis ensue in near-molecular detail. Industry hopes revolve to a certain degree I feel, around the idea that the champion will bring music sales up, and cultivate a new collective confidence in mainstream music.

 History has shown there are two generalised ‘camps’ available for such labelled messiahs to fall into. They can either rise above the circus and keep on like nothing has happened (which it hasn’t) (Adele in 2008, Arctic Monkeys’ Mercury Music Prize in 2006): GOOD. Or spin into an over-exposure nightmare, fight media radiation poisoning, and finally supernova: BAD (The Bravery, 2005 and Little Boots 2009). Nuff said. Well it isn’t quite as clear as that, but evidently the award is no Willy Wonka ticket, self-fulfilling prophecy for glory and recognition.

Anyway, if you’re a cynic, the fact Kiwanuka won the BBC poll in 2012 is as big a revelation as PJ Harvey taking the Mercury Prize for Let England Shake (not a very big one). Putting aside his voice and songwriting- which are probably the real reasons why he won, let’s be fair folks- his warm, folksy image and familiar sound fitted perfectly with the anxious public mood. Our country is facing financial hardship in case you didn’t know; we are all suffering socially, and we want an easier time, back when things made sense. So cue the present day Bill Withers slash Otis Redding, slash nice guy with a nice voice wearing a nice wooly jumper. Aw. If that deconstruction sounds quite close to home, The Observer took similar cues from the artwork, for its inspiration: “it desperately wants to be a 33rpm vinyl record with a faded sleeve that first entered thesecond-hand record market around 1973…” Yeah, so 1973 wasn’t all roses. But that needle hitting the worn out vinyl is powerful and iconic. The nation inhales its sound and smell wistfully, into its deepest recesses at times of worry. 

Yet the guy really is good. Contemporary scepticism shouldn’t detract from what a marvellous voice Kiwanuka has, and so gentle and nuanced. He writes with a composed maturity that is wise beyond his mid-twenties years too. *….Scratchy beardy….* It can be beautiful. It is often remarkably precocious. So who cares if Kiwanuka is what we want? Let us have him!

It was with the fanfare of 2012’s bestowed honour that debut LP Home Again was ushered in on 12^th March on Polydor (part of Universal Music). On the day, Kiwanuka played a low key set at Rough Trade East (review), London, his home taaan. Back in November 2011, he was first introduced to mainstream audiences on BBC’s Later with…Jools Holland, arguably the perfect medium for his music, with its liberal, intelligentsia-leaning mid-thirties fan base. The wonderful performance was followed by a sold-out live UK tour, and the limited numbers ‘Tell Me A Tale’ EP quickly became hot property. ‘Tell Me A Tale’ and ‘I’m Getting Ready’, which he performed on Jools, became the album’s two openers. Following generally favourable live press, ( although some note he is quite the better performer without accompanying musicians), Kiwanuka will take to the road, touring Europe, before playing UK festivals at home and abroad.  

So what about the album? Is it much cop? Well the good news is Home Again is easy to get a grip on. Its melodies are soft, warm and the arrangements bristle with familiar flourishes of jazz, folk and soul. You won’t take much adjusting, and your mum can sit comfortably in the next room (or with you even). But, as much as Kiwanuka should be nailing that whole mature, soulful  tenderness thing, which he does at times, something is missing. Sometimes, the band’s accompaniment makes a steady groove languid, rather than heartfelt; a bit glazed, rather than reflective; such as ‘Bones’, in which the band arrangement makes it sound like it should be sung by Amy Winehouse a la 50s supper club style, not a straight-talking guy in a wool jumper muddling his way through. Compare the recording with the version you can hear live at the Union Chapel, and you can see, easily and plainly, that Kiwanuka draws a better solitary, impassioned figure, guitar casually slung around his front, than a sassy know-it-all with sophisticated backing. I wouldn’t direct that possible shortcoming at Kiwanuka but it is an observation I would make, and it has the potential to breed disappointment, or at least, confusion.  This style sits in stark contrast to ‘I’m Getting Ready’, perhaps the album’s most multi-faceted track, with its bare and simple arrangement. It just shows how brilliant Kiwanuka is as a talent, that he is more captivating alone.

The latter part of the album contains some aesthetically wonderful accoutrements to the lounge style (‘Always Waiting’ notably, and ‘Any Day Will Do Fine’), but it’s noticeably more coffee shop pleasantries than tender momentum. Closer ‘Worry Walks Beside Me’ is an enjoyable ballad laced with troubling minor chords, but somehow you want Kiwanuka to be leading this homage to fear and worry, not his band, and for some of the smooth edges of the album's rich, oaky construction to be chipped away a bit, with the imperfections but reality of Kiwanuka’s own personality, whatever that might be.    

Overall, Home Again is a mixed prospect. To this novice’s ears, the songs you’ve already heard might be the best (‘Tell Me A Tale’, ‘I’m Getting Ready’ and ‘Home Again’) but there’s no doubt they are great. Additionally, ‘I’ll Get Along’ is another blitz of retro pop equal to those tracks. Yet, much of the rest sounds a little bit too much like an album going through the motions, hitting all the right references for vintage Seventies soul, from jazz flute to rich marinated verses, but for the personal touch that executes a great record. Home Again was charged with lofty things, but Withers’ Still Bill it most certainly is not.

On the upside, the label should realise what a prodigious talent Kiwanuka is and perhaps cut him some slack for a freer reign in the production process of his next album. Home Again did not conjure rave critical responses, and its commercial fate is unknown, but the strength of the appeal of an artist like Kiwanuka should not make numbers a problem for record bosses now. I don’t know what impact the artist had on the arrangements here but instincts tell me it would be surprising if Kiwanuka, with his gentle vocal style and immediate emotional proximity to the listener when alone, doesn't prefer little accompaniment; the maximum of, say, bass, a second guitar and brush drums.   

             

LIVE REVIEW: Hypnotic Brass Ensemble @ Jazz Cafe, London

Twirling care-free in a field of anonymity like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, Grapevine draws resolve from all your charming reading. You survive this tautological word racket, and hopefully gleam some new music in return. It’s for you that I tune in, turn on and drop out or whatever it’s called, and do this wacky nonsense after work when the laptop flickers and the world is but a husk of numbers on a computer. Yet, despite this, if a tree falls in woods and no one is there to hear it, it makes a seismic sound...because that tree will soon be on Grapevine, heralded as some brilliant new band and splayed like a drab strumpet for all her glory in the naked stocks of Soundcloud shame.

Could being covered on here really sound anyyy more saucy? Maybe...if there were pictures.

Today’s post is from a Hypnotic Brass Ensemble gig. The Chicago band who played London’s Jazz Café Monday night, but missed the pages of the national press (it soon transpired) are not your ordinary show-stoppers. Fans include Jude Law and Damon Albarn, the Blur liberal world arts genius. The band have tirelessly toured their back yard for 10 years, busking (check out some of their videos on youtube), ducking and diving, making self-released records- working their way towards these sorts of moments: gigs with roomfuls of warm, pre-disposed crowds. Their self-titled album- their first in the UK- was released by distinguished label Honest Jons in 2009 after the band were spotted busking near the record store in Ladbroke Grove. Sooner or later they were on Later…with Jools Holland. This, quite literally, is an urban hip-hop nine piece brass band, EIGHT of whom are brothers (awkward for the ninth member, eh?) and sons of jazz musician Tony Cohran. HBE smack you with something so direct and- as anyone who was there will testify- insanely loud, that you will be jolted to recall that brass is not only something heard in the grounds of Buckingham Palace or at the local arts centre. It has a historic place in music: the street, community life.

The nine are lively, spinning their four trumpets, two trombones, one sousaphone (yeeeaah, that’s this) and baritone in different directions to Gabriel Wallace’s drums. Their unified and determined symphony is great, aesthetically as well as sonically. It’s a powerful, raw image, these nine lads bopping to brass. They punctuate the drive with raps, each taking turns to draw in the uncertain crowd and re-assure them. You can see this is something they’ve honed. Whether due to their roots on Chicago’s south side, personal gigging experience or a wilful effort to integrate rap into their recordings (see this year’s EP Bulletproof Brass, which has vocals), heavy crowd interaction is necessary for things to fully come to life and break down a difficult fourth wall that haunts many a contradictory musician. HBE look different, even if they’re just another band. Cynics won’t know what to think when nine men with tattoos and bristling egos turn up and start pushing their trumpets on everyone and then take off their shirts. What’s English popular culture’s point of reference for this? None. Audience interaction is necessary for the uninitiated to understand what HBE are to them. Lots of cheesy call and response gets the crowd going. Chanting before ‘Touch the Sky’, ‘Kryptonite’ and ‘Party Started’ among other tracks warms them to dancing and trusting this lot of American orchestra men before the raps step aside for brass. It doesn’t take long for these gestures to become reciprocal and soon we're part of the mix. The crowd finally chant the band back down from the Jazz Café’s high restaurant balcony in appreciation. HBE get the crowd down on the floor. Everyone- (even closet killjoys…it’s hard to tell what proportion of the audience are engaging in this sort of act of obedience because they genuinely want to) was down, groovin, before rising to touch the sky. THAT sort of infectious enthusiasm is hard. HBE must have realised that certain audiences want to be led, and once they are, the atmosphere can just build.

HBE’s music is assertive. The Hypnotic in their name, derived from when the group were busking and a subway passenger missed many trains to hear them play, is certainly apt. Each song marches to a defined formula; a deep, jagged groove rather than the soft melodies often heard in jazz. Tycho Cohran- who to me seems like the leader of group for his massive sousaphone - settles into a bass groove that the rest of the band follow. Energy is then brought on by trumpets. On ‘War’, their trademark track that they must have played hundreds if not thousands of times, this formula is clearest. Rumbles blaze from Tycho, and his brothers swirl around him with repetitious horns.

Looking ahead, how will HBE avoid being labelled one-trick ponies? They deliver hip-hop’s rhythm, but songs from the UK debut didn’t allow much room to manoeuvre. Most importantly, the band ultimately have to do what they want to do. The moment Gabriel, Seba, Tarik, Gabriel, Uttama, Jafar, Saiph, Amal and Tycho’s love for their instruments and inquisitiveness dies out, so too will everyone else’s. They’re integral. This is the same with many bands I’ve seen live who come out of leftfield to mainstream tastes, particularly jazz and ‘world’ musicians. The moment the love and soul is lost between the artist and his music, uninitiated music aficionado get all aloof from it. Bulletproof Brass is a good indication of future direction. The rapping works well as an extension to their energy, live and on record, and the samples show an interesting change of style. I hope, personally, that we get something like a brass version of The Roots from HBE: a band that’s reflective, single-minded and soulful, to join a great collection of modern popular hip-hop artists. HBE certainly have the independence to do that, and the road-hardened experience to find their way. As we’re seeing fleetingly on the new EP, and most notably in the calmer ‘Black Boy’, Hypnotic’s awakening might yet be to come.

Hypnotic Brass Ensemble - War by ChoiceCuts

Hypnotic Brass Ensemble bit at Jazz Cafe by MiCloud

Bombay Bicycle Club- A Different Kind of Fix

Bombay Bicycle Club- A Different Kind of Fix

(2011, Island)

Bombay Bicycle Club are a band I’ve always wanted to see live but have never quite got round to. I watched their 2011 Reading and 2010 Glastonbury performances on the BBC, both of which looked really fun and impressive. Approaching my age, middle-class and from a nearby part of London, they also remind me of my own youth. They are still young (three years since completing their A-Levels and already three albums into their career is an astonishing achieving that almost brings to mind some kind of Chinese musical prodigy band) and yet they seem easygoing, unaffected by the fame so exceptional for people their age, just enjoying their touring and recording. If there’s one thing that’s obvious on an inspection of a Bombay Bicycle Club live performance, it’s that the band love doing it: their interaction with the crowd (usually a loyal following), cheery smiles and genuine exuberance bring out obvious good humour and level-headedness in their attitude to a typically (or typically portrayed) heady, glamorous and occasionally debauched profession: rock band.

Bombay Bicycle Club’s clean-cut image has not opened them up to jibes or cynicism, however, probably because their musical output continues to bear them out. Three albums in two years has sort of made a mockery of artists who labour over music, posturing over tone or production or management: it really does seem as though Bombay do what they want and realise they are just part of a stupid heady circus. Every album though (including A Different Kind of Fix it seems) has been received well, and has taken their career to a new, concrete level. To me Bombay will be around for a long time: slow-burner intelligent types, quietly hanging around until every indie kid in sight is gobbled up, spat out and sent on their way with a few CDs, loyal patriotism to the Bombay uncharacteristic of this flippant age and a cheery spring in their step. I thought this from the moment I heard I Had The Blues But I Shook Them Loose. Doing what you want is obvious, but for this band it seems to coincide with some kind of chink in the indie music zeitgeist which only Bombay Bicycle Club seem able to fill.

A Different Kind of Fix seems in many ways a coming of age LP- greater self-awareness, reflection and hardiness than the last. Flaws was acoustic, quiet and simple but it lacked depth at times. ‘Ivy & Gold’ and ‘Rinse Me Down’ were casual little ditties; though wonderfully formed and touching, they were not particularly penetrating. The opening riff of ‘How Can You Swallow So Much Sleep’, however- the first few minutes of the album- suggests a slightly more serious and sobering affair on A Different Kind of Fix. Trudging into the darker ‘Bad Timing’, a more staid demure is confirmed. Echo effects swirl around Suren’s drums as Jack Steadman tries to carry his voice over the atmospheric feedback. I Had The Blues But I Shook Them Loose would never have tolerated this grungy, heavy pondering, yet posing themselves a challenge, Bomaby Bicycle Club shed their image as loitering children. Reverberating guitars and vocals persist on ‘Your Eyes’ in which it sounds like Jack Steadman greets us from inside a cave. The production adds to the sense that Bombay Bicycle Club are less whimsical, less delicate and ready to carry themselves into a new, more mature phase. Animal Collective producer Ben Allen can be credited with producing this distinctly different feel that plays on the slightly more nuanced character of their music.

Other highlights include ‘Lights Out, Words Gone’ (see above Reading link), fun single ‘Shuffle’ and the haunting, melancholic ‘Still’. A Different Kind of Fix is a prime example of Bombay Bicycle Club blending the kind of catchy pop that was present on their debut with more unusual song structures, occasional moroseness (especially in the second half of the album) and a reverberating style of orchestration. In essence, the band still sound like they’re enjoying themselves, which remains the most obvious and important factor in delivering the quality that we have come to expect from Bombay Bicycle Club LPs. On ‘Beggars’ they indulge in a slight folksy stint; whooping harmonies and rich guitars suggest Steadman could even be developing the band as a new Fleet Foxes!

On the strength of this album, I don’t doubt that A Different Kind of Fix will be just as big a hit as its two predecessors and that Steadman & Co will quietly plod forward towards NME notoriety, positive reviews and even bigger shows with just as many loyal fans. One day when they split up we will turn back and look at how four teenagers from Crouch End managed to in their own unassuming way outlive the allure of cool bands like Foals and Klaxons, and puncture trends as completely irrelevant. There has been no sense of entitlement on which to hang their coats, just focus, dedication and songcraft. In the spirit of that sensibly steady-Eddy description, if there is one band your Mum might like you to like, Bombay Bicycle Club still could be it. However if this is the music they write, I don’t really care.

how to dress well- decisions from 'just once' ep

In sort of self-congratulatory commemoration of approximately a year of TTG, here is 'Decisions' from the Just Once EP by How to Dress Well. It's rather fitting because 'Decisions' was the first song posted by this blog, back on 25th June 2010. Since then there have been a further 52 posts (this will now make it 54 overall), and How to Dress Well, the artist to whom this blog has probably been most closely allied with in its own petty insular way has, I'm pleased to say, risen to a reasonable measure of critical acclaim. 'Just Once' is a four-track limited edition orchestral EP released to commemorate the passing of a good friend of Tom Krell (HTDW) and part of the proceeds will go to charity.

Anyway- may post later today with more info/another review of some kind so stay tuned!

Baxter Dury- Happy Soup

Baxter Dury- Happy Soup

(2011, Parlophone)

The problem, the paradox with children of popstars is that no matter to whom and to what they align themselves, it is nearly impossible for the public to stop seeing parents in them. These often more successful forerunners to their offspring loom large like menacing spirits in the room, dampening it must be said, the pursuits of their children. Where music is concerned, critics very often take aim with their metaphorical rotten fruit; yet when your Dad is a rock n roll icon, it isn’t easy to realise your own qualities at the best of times, let alone live up to the expectation that has been foisted upon you.

This is not Baxter Dury’s first album; however, in the two weeks since its release, Happy Soup has already proved to be his most widely publicised. The son of Ian Dury and the Blockheads singer Ian Dury, Baxter, now nearly 40, has had two previous LP- Len Parrot’s Memorial Lift in 2002 and Floor Show in 2005. The film Sex & Drugs & Roll revealed some of the tumultuous experiences he went through as a child under his Dad’s heady rock n roll influence.

That back-story though clearly did not get in the way of critics’ response to this latest Dury outing. No. You see Happy Soup­ is an odd, ramshackle, cockney Londoner’s album. It’s Baxter’s, not Ian’s, teasing out and celebrating as it does the idiosyncrasies of his own unusual persona. Dury’s voice is striking: strikingly plain, dour, direct and deadpan. Unsentimentally recalling personal events that really should warrant some kind of emotion or cracking of the mask, his style is like a male Lily Allen in middle-age, Alan Donohue from London band The Rakes in positively sombre form. With witty urban social commentary and pokerfaced delivery giving the impression that Dury is jaded, quietly brooding and disconnected from his own depictions, Happy Soup in many ways appears mildly cathartic. Indeed he apparently didn’t change the names of ‘Claire’ of ‘Isabel’, which describe former relationships. “I think my mate slept with you when you were in Portugal” is one such revelation, yet Dury delivers it like trying to get his words recognised on an automated booking line.

If Dury’s songs are about personal experience, he tries not to wallow in their sorry bog, both in terms of his disconnected delivery and the music itself. In the spirit of the English rock everyman, ‘Trellic’ delivers a simple riff and vocal that would put the best Rakes and Art Brut tracks to shame. Yet, even when trying to sound hopeful, the morose atmosphere usually wins. On ‘Leak at the Disco’ (a song closely resembling Maximo Park’s ‘Acrobat’ from 2005), he sings to a thudding bass drum and carefully chosen synth notes: “Love has all but broken you” goes the grim chorus line. In these moments, Dury finds tenderness and beauty. There is an implication somewhere in the music that sadness and reflection will one day bring redemption; that all is not lost, but we cannot find a way out just now. The song soars to its anxious close. Elsewhere, Dury uses sparse instrumentation to draw attention to his voice and lyrics.

Happy Soup is a great and unusual album. It is well-imagined, easy to listen to and while in betrayal of its title it is a little downhearted, excellent instrumentation and Dury’s sensitively summoned vocal transform its defeatism into a rich, human and vivid charm that belie its simplicity. For those who are interested, Happy Soup is one of Rough Trade's picks of the month. Baxter will also be touring the UK in October/November this year.