Another gig

On Tuesday night, I went to see a band called Mi Ami in the Static Gallery. That's the sort of person I am. I go to gigs in galleries. (It's more of a studio space, to be honest.)

I was planning to write about my gigging adventure on Wednesday. But I just couldn't think of anything to write. It was a moderately good gig, where I drank a can of Red Stripe and took a photo of my shoe (pictured). Mi Ami were not bad, but they did a lot of screeching. It reminded me of a messy spin painting and PMT combined. Plus they were ridiculously loud.

Today is Thursday, and I finally mentioned this because I really enjoyed the support bands. The first on were called Bagheera, but I can't find their MySpace. They were good, I promise. Second on were Balloons, playing some cheeky electro pop. Also good, and they looked like they were having fun. This means that I have fun, and everybody is happy.

Picture Book were also playing. I've seen them before. They're trying to do high-concept electro, and project visuals from a Macbook. For me, it ends up like The Knife without the gender-bending or sexuality, or early Moloko without the ideas. I do like bands who put "official" at the end of their MySpace profile. That's ambition.

The double gig

Last night I double-gigged. And I love doing the double-gig. Rushing across town between venues makes me feel so important and in demand. Well, it wasn't much of a rush. More of a stroll down the road.

The evening started in Liverpool Barfly, which I affectionately call the Baffly. That's because a lot of their line-ups baffle me, and it sounds like Barfly. A double-pun for a double-gig. Clever. My friends Cayelle were playing. They were a bit rusty but did well. I still think they should exploit their strengths and write songs about things they know about, such as tax issues, engineering and Numb3rs. They could be the North West's premier nerdcore band.

After this it was off to Korova for Zarif. She's the new Lily Allen or something like that. We arrived early and had to admire her bass drum for a while (see picture). Quite a while, in fact. But late stage times are just Korova's thing. Luckily, the upstairs bar has CCTV screens, so you can monitor what's happening in the gig venue and decide when it's the optimal time to go downstairs. Too early and you'll have to sit through the soundcheck. Too late and you'll struggle to find a space (although last night that wasn't a problem, with about 20 or 30 people - a bit disappointing for a free gig on a Friday night). As soon as I headed downstairs with my friends we were accosted by two braying City boy types. They were loudly yah-yah-yahing and wearing shirts. Not the Ben Sherman ones you get in TK Maxx either. One of them had slicked-back hair. They might as well have carried a sign declaring "We're not from around here". I'm all for mixing it up and meeting the variety society has to offer, but some people are just twerps. When we politely refused to sit on a sofa with them, they brayed "don't be such a homosexual!" Shudder.

Zarif and her session band were a pleasant surprise. I'd been expecting Remi Nicole Part II, but Zarif was much better than that. Brassy, funky and summery. Uncannily similar to Amy Winehouse circa Frank, yes, but somehow different. Plus her star-shaped earring matched her star-shaped tambourine. How lovely. I was enjoying her set. So were the City boys, who salsa-danced at the front with their accompanying blondes. Berks.

At the end of her set my applause was sincere. "I like this," I thought to myself. "I'm going to add her on MySpace." But then it hit me. She knows those City boys. She's friends with them. Oh Lord. Maybe I don't like her after all.

I'm in the quicksand

Yoo hoo! I've been away in Sheffield for a few days, having a little holiday. I wanted to tell you about it at the time, but my laptop didn't like the Wi-Fi in Sheffield. On Thursday night, I went to Fuzz Club, which is a band-and-indie-disco night in the students' union. It is probably the best student indie night in the UK because they consistently book in ace bands and a pint of Snakebite is £1.60. I went for Snakebite and lime. You'd probably go for Snakebite and black[currant], but I have a more sophisticated palate.
La Roux played a few songs. Just in case you don't believe I was there, here is a picture:

As you can see, she was wearing a lovely striped t-shirt and blazer. But her shoes were even more lovely. And no, her right leg is not a ghost.

Her backing synth player was wearing some very white trainers. Very white indeed. Is that a London thing? It doesn't look right in Sheffield. You're not going to last the length of Devonshire Street in the rain.

The man in front of me was wearing a colourful trilby. He took a lot of photos of La Roux on his phone. I think he was a bit in love with her.

La Roux was fairly good, considering it was her third gig. A bit shaky, but fairly good. She started with In For The Kill (new single) and ended with Quicksand (old single), with a few near-identical songs betwixt. Ultimately, it was just a lady singing over a backing track. She joked that she'd never been north of London. Well, I hope it was a joke.
The merchandise stall gave me a rather nice strip of film, reminding me to buy the new single.

After La Roux's skit, it was time to dance the night away to the Strokes, the Knife and the Smiths.

I talked to a boy wearing fairy wings. He told me he was raising money for charity and had to wear something pink. Oh really, I said, what charity? He couldn't remember.

A good night out, and I saw La Roux for £2. I know, £2! These students don't know they're born.

Chairlift live in Liverpool

Last night, I battled through the freezing temperatures to watch Chairlift at The Magnet. IMPORTANT: they were used on a iPod Nano advert, don't you know.
The Magnet is one of my favourite Liverpool venues, because it's cosy and is just about the only nice late bar in the city. The Magnet is proud of its history (back when it was the Sink Club), as it was the city's first and only black music venue. My picture at left is of the ladies' toilets. Notice the proximity of Barack Obama to the condom machine. Progress! There's also wheat pasted posters reading 'POWER AND EQUALITY'. Surely that should be John Power and equality?
Electric Church Foundation played first. I think they were students. Not that I'm a student-hater, but you know. Student bands always seem to get support slots then bring loads of friends - who disappear before the main act. Rude! Especially when the main act have been used on an iPod advert. Anyway. Electric Church Foundation sounded like a tussle between Beth Orton and a Red Hot Chili Peppers tribute act. They have an EP out on iTunes, so good for them.

Second support slot were Picture Book. They played behind draped gauze, which had visual projected onto it. This means they're either a) ugly, or b) very serious indeed. It was probably the latter. Although the music was ace-tastic (similar to Gus Gus or Roisin Murphy), it was starting to feel a bit alienating and boring. So I took a photo of my new flowery skirt, at right. Doesn't it look like an old curtain?
Chairlift were not bad. They started out with what felt like about half an hour of swirling Velvet Underground-esque atmospherics. But once they started playing some songs it was much better. The biggest round of applause was for Bruises, of course, because it was used on that iPod Nano advert. Most bands will announce 'this is our last song'. But Chairlift were a bit sneaky, and announced 'that was our last song'. I liked that. It brought an element of surprise to the evening. WELL DONE.

Liverpool Music Week

Yes, this week (30 October to 6 November) Liverpool is officially a musical city - as it is Liverpool Music Week. This week of gigs has passed me by somewhat because a) I've been in that there London, and b) US Presidential election fever, but last night I headed up to Bumper for a Johnny Foreigner gig. Unfortunately, I didn't make it as far as Dananananaykroyd because my boyfriend was feeling woozy (well, he had bravely donated a pint of his blood to the NHS a few hours earlier). And I was impatient to spend the night with David Dimbleby, watching Jeremy Vine struggle with touch-screen maps of US states.
But I did see a musical treat from Hackney Carriages, a young man with a guitar, Macbook and a knowledge of Conor Oberst's back catalogue. He was officially not bad. Liverpool music scene veterans the Down and Outs also appeared. Er, 2001 was on the phone and it wants its pop-punk guitar sound back.
There you go. Liverpool Music Week. It will end in a blaze of glory tomorrow night at the MTV Europe Music Awards. And when I say 'blaze of glory', I mean a lot of whooping, glitter and Katy Perry struggling with an autocue. When did MTV last have any relevance to music? Public tickets start at £65, if you're interested, but there is a 'restricted view'.
A whole load of free gigs sounds like a brilliant idea in theory, but it's usually difficult to find the diamonds in the mire of not-very-good unsigned bands. Maybe I'm just annoyed because Liverpool Music Week have the cheek to tell me what to wear.
PS Go Obama!

Slow Club are a very good band

Last night I saw Slow Club thumping and chanting in Liverpool Barfly. And they were rather wonderful.

They were supported by a rosy-faced cherub by the name of Thomas Speight, and also a charming young lady in skinny purple jeans. I think she was called Roxanne.

I've seen Slow Club a few times before, but last night they were extra special. For two people, they can make a lot of noise. They feature a quirky assortment of percussion, including the chair at left (legs sawn off for easier transportation). They can sing beautiful harmonies. They can even go off mic and keep all eyes on them. They're also from Sheffield. Go Sheffo!

My boyfriend declared that, as is, they are too quirky for mainstream success. But if they were 17 years old, instead of hawking their own CDs from a cardboard box at the end of the night they'd be up there with Laura Marling by now. Although I'm sad to admit it, he's probably right.

One man bands and vodka

On Saturday night I went to a gig at Mello Mello, an artsy cafe run by volunteers just off Liverpool's main drinking strip. It's a lovely little place, with pictures all over the walls and a fine selection of teapots:

Because it's a cafe, it was a BYOB night. So I arrived with ginger ale and vodka, and think I've only just woken up (it's now Monday lunchtime). The main event was Bob Log III, supported by my friend Thomas Truax. There were two other supports, but I was too rude to write their names down and the answers won't provide the answers, so I may never know the name of the young man reading poetry. Sorry! It was the Imperial vodka ('specially selected by Spar').
Thomas Truax charmed the audience with his inventions and crazy antics. Because I've been friends with him for a while, I'm not sure I can evaluate his performance. Let's just say that he doesn't so much break through the fourth wall, as smash it to pieces. And he sings about orphanages, dogs howling at the moon and long train journeys. The audience were grinning their chops off, including the passers-by with their faces pressed to the window outside.
Last week's Guardian Guide unfairly described Bob Log III as 'occasionally entertaining'. Well, Guardian Guide, I was very entertained. Unfortunately, I couldn't really see what was happening because the stage was comparable to a cardboard box. I guess some people would view it as sad that Bob Log III was hotly-tipped in 2001 alongside The Strokes and White Stripes. And while Jack White has a supermodel wife and new Bond theme, Bob Log III is still leaping around in a jump suit and crash helmet for the pleasure of drunken fools (like me). Well, you know which sounds like more fun to me? The latter. Less money, but more integrity.

Lover, come back to me

My goodness, what a busy week, including a trip to Notting Hill and a wobbly cycle around the Manchester Velodrome. On Friday night, my friend Matt offered up his plus one to watch Julian Cope at the Carling Academy. There was apparently a loose theme to do with Eric's (a long-lost venue of Liverpool legend) to promote a new show at Liverpool Everyman. I was tired, but the lure of a plus one is too great, so I scraped on a layer of mascara and threw on my favourite dress.
The Academy is always dimly lit (they've standardised everything else in all of their venues, is the lighting policy the same?), so I could get away with hiding in a corner like a ghost. A ghost drinking Carling, obviously. Doors opened at 7.30pm and we arrived at 9pm, assuming we'd already missed Pete Burns in the support slot. But, as you can see from the crappy snap at left, we had not.
Pete Burns didn't make it onto the stage until 10pm. A lot of people in the room looked like they were paying babysitters by the hour, and they were getting restless. It was the first time I've been to a gig where the crowd are booing before the band has made it on stage. But this was no mere band. It was glamourpuss Pete Burns. Celebrity Big Brother AND Celebrity Wife Swap alumni Pete Burns. He's not a man who'd be happy with a Subway foot long and bowl of chips before going on stage at 8pm. Oh no. Pete Burns is an exquisite creature who requires fine dining and a chaise longue before performing. Some people might think that three songs is not enough for a set, but when you're Pete Burns and people have paid £20, it's plenty. They should count themselves lucky to be basking in your presence for a mere £20. He introduced 'You Spin Me Round' as 'the song that took me out of Liverpool... thank god'. Yes, that's the attitude Pete! You tell the people of Liverpool that their city is shite, as if it's still the Eighties. He also told the chosen few witnessing his performance that he was 'just going through the motions', and in a glisten of black sequins was gone.
The really frustrating thing? He can sing! He has a certain stage presence! If he weren't such a whinging diva he could have had a proper music career!
Julian Cope soon appeared, topless, wielding an acoustic guitar. The Copeheads in the room seemed very happy to see him, but to me he looked like a man at an open mic night about to launch into a rant against chip and pin or unfair bank charges. I decided to head homewards after a few songs. Sorry, Julian. (Not that he cares.)

Enablers at Korova

On Friday night, I watched Enablers at Korova, a post-rock band from San Francisco.
Brighton trio Euchrid Eucrow were supporting. Although it's exciting to see a band comprised of guitar, accordion and viola, they were pretty poor. I thought they were like Magnetic Fields without the knowing humour or intelligence, while my boyfriend condemned them as a rubbish Silver Mt Zion. Harsh words. But it was too, too intense and morbid for a Friday night.
Enablers were much better, and I was surprised by how many fans were rocking out. I don't have much to say, because I was a little tipsy on Fosters (it's only £1.95 a pint). I had a bad head on Saturday, which serves me right.
There was a lot of plaid and check in the room. Plaid and check are the official clothing of post-rock and drone. My friend Matt wore a nice check shirt:


While I went for a plaid skirt and brown cardigan combo. I'm so indie.

Peter and the Wolf (and double bass)

Last night I went to Korova for some gigging action. Strawhouses and The Laze were on first, but I missed them because I was drinking Jack Daniel's and coke. If you can't do that on a Saturday night, when can you do it?
Seal Cub Clubbing Club (SCCC) are local heroes, and not bad at all. They are halfway between a watered-down Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and a watered-down Mars Volta, from the Wirral. They're also proof that all the good band names have been taken. The album is out NOW, apparently.
The crowd thinned for Peter and the Wolf, which always seems to happen when the headliners play after the local heroes. There's something charming about them, and any band who goes to the trouble of bringing a double bass deserve more than a few moments of my time. They just need more hooks. I saw them in July at the Everyword Festival, and I completely forgot to tell you about it. But that's ok, I can tell you now. It was a Nabokov Present: Tense event, which involved the band spending a week writing a few songs on knife crime (the chosen topic), then performing them at the Everyman Theatre. There was also some short plays and a video. They just plugged in, played, went away. It didn't involve excessive soundchecks or endless fiddling with FX pedals. All unsigned showcase gigs should be like this. Be honest, most bands don't even have three good songs. Why drag it out longer than necessary?
I forgot to take my camera (to Korova or the Everyman). So no pictures of the light fixtures or floor tiles :(

News news news

Ack, haven't scribbled anything blogwise for a while. Not that my brain has had no thoughts on music, but because of real life and so on. Sorry!
I zoomed down to London for an interview, and at Euston was greeted by a Mini Lamb Banana:

Liverpool city centre has been filled with Mini Lamb Bananas, and when I walk around it feels like there's always one in my peripheral vision. So imagine my excitement to find one on the platform at Euston. Look at those teenage girls admiring the other side. It's like a little bit of Capital of Culture dribbled Down South.
Well, it wasn't all that exciting. But cute.
Anyway, on Friday night I went to The Kazimier. It's an old dancehall recently converted to a cool new, DIY venue and one letter away from the name of a Polish king. It was a pagan tudor evening of delight called Karneval, featuring splat the rat, straw and cans of Carlsberg. There was also a brass ensemble playing covers of disco classics like You Got The Love. All of which was officially brilliant, especially as dancing around to live music is approximately 35% more enjoyable than dancing around to records. Here's a pic of the floor in the ladies:

Each toilet door corresponded to the colour. Brilliant, yes? Brilliant!!
There's probably similar nights happening all the time in London, but who could afford to go to them? Not just financially, but who's got the time? There might be less going on in Liverpool than the capital, but it makes you appreciate it more.

The gig drought

Ever since Liverpool Sound City there's been a gig drought. Although a lot of bands are concentrating on festival appearances in these summery months, Liverpool's venues have not exactly been bustling.
On Saturday, Black Kids play to a sold out crowd at the Barfly, but I'll be out of town. Beyond that, there's not much filling up my calendar. I might be tempted by Glasvegas at the Barfly next week, and possibly Ben Folds at the Academy, but his piano-bashing, Americana geek rock has never really done it for me. Korova have east Londoners The Brute Chorus in a couple of weeks, but their MySpace doesn't convince me.
The still fairly new Echo Arena seems to host crowd-pleasing concerts every night, including Westlife, Meat Loaf, Crowded House and a Sugababes/Bjorn Again double whammy. Even The Wombats are playing there in November. I know it's a home-town gig for them and they're popular with the young folks, but isn't 10,000 tickets asking a bit much?
What is going on with the live music moratorium? Maybe this is because of the Echo Arena, and Liverpool is now only allowed a strict quota of gigs in some sort of karmic balance.

All the young dudes

Liverpool Sound City is now 75% over. More boo! Last night I went to see Hercules & Love Affair. Doors were advertised as 7.30pm, so I rolled up at half 8. But alas, Late of the Pier and Esser would not be appearing, pushing the doors and stage times back by a few hours. So I sat in a bar drinking Carling. By the time Telepathe made it on stage I was already a bit drunk. Florence and the Machine has a nice voice, but a few years ago wouldn't she have been in an aspiring girl group, trying to be the Sugababes?
The Field also appeared, but were not as much fun as ATP. Thir live set belongs in a cool club, not a Thursday night in Liverpool Barfly. They are still my best Swedish friends because I am dead cool and talk to dead cool bands and all that.
Once Hercules and Love Affair appeared, it was after midnight and my insides were churning with cheap lager. They put New Young Pony Club to shame with their funky disco beats and brass section. Well, trombone and trumpet.
So, it was officially a good gig. A bit late for a Thursday, for me at least. It was full of students shouting 'I've just handed in my disseration!' and snapping photos, so I must be a gormless figure in the background of approximately 287 pictures uploaded to Facebook today. Well, good for them, ready to party (sorry, RAVE) all night long. But I think daytime is for work, nighttime for sleep and evening for hobbies. Is that because I'm not a student or because I'm a tired grump?
The photo is of my handbag. It came from an overpriced souvenir shop in St Petersburg, not that you'd be able to guess it's from Russia.

Santogold

Liverpool Sound City is already 50% over. Boo!There's a lot of exciting gigs happening, but I can't be in four different places at once (presumably watching three changeovers and one band). Last night I saw Santogold at Alma de Cuba, a converted chapel turned den of glamoluxe iniquity. It's usually a favourite drinking establishment of footballers, Hollyoaks 'stars' and glamour models.

It was a bit too dark for photos of the stained glass and chandeliers made out of antlers. So I took a photo of my feet instead. Those neon tights are starting to look a bit old rave.

Anyway, support from Alice Klar, The Real Heat and Ladyhawke (slightly odd, as Cock N Bull Kid, Cadence Weapon and Ladyhawke were advertised), Santogold took to the stage well after midnight. The hipster kids loved it, hoping that some of that New York cool would be passed down from Santi White and we could all forget the Liverpool murk outside. Backed by a DJ and two dancers, Santogold successfully straddled that chasm between pop and cool. Because pop music on its own apparently isn't cool, but only when presented by a Lower East Side hipster.

The dancers were ace, much better than hiring in some session musicians to play over a backing track. Dressed in identical white outfits with white framed sunglasses, they posed with military precision. It was very... gestural. Everybody went crazy for LES Artistes, she ended with new single Creator. And then I went home.

Saturday night in The Barfly

On Saturday night - which already feels so long ago - I bumbled down to Liverpool's Barfly for Los Angeles party-starters The Mae Shi. I'd only heard their name in passing and mainly went to watch Birmingham trio Johnny Foreigner. I can't know about every band. Or can I?
There was a local band on the loft (e.g upstairs) stage when I arrived, and I didn't catch their name. Rude! I'm glad that young bands can get support slots to try out their songs and possibly hone their talent. But that doesn't mean I want to hear them thrashing through attempts to sound like The Strokes/Libertines/Joy Division. This band, whoever they were, weren't particularly bad or particularly good. They were particularly mediocre, which is the best a first-band-of-the-night can hope for. Strange to think that every night of the week in every city and large town there are similar bands playing similar songs, while their friends snap camera phone pics for the MySpace. Such is life.
The Lionheart Brothers were the next support. Who needs two supports? Honestly. The guitarist was wearing a glittery headscarf, fiddling with a wah pedal and looked a bit like Naboo, so I feared a psychedelic wig-out. I assumed they were Norwegian, because there were lots of LIPA students in the room. Norwegians love studying at LIPA. I haven't discovered why. Anyway, The Lionheart Brothers (proof that all the good band names have been taken) were actually rather good. Psychedlic, yes, but not but without too much noodling around. The singer looked like a bargain basement Steve Buscemi.
Johnny Foreigner were good, and just as sweaty as their previous Barfly gig just after Christmas. My heart really likes them and for them to do well, but my head tells me their songs are too chaotic and unlovely for them to make the jump from good NME reviews to success (e.g earning a decent living from being a band).
The Mae Shi were good, although a bit self-consciously wacky. They started and ended their set from within the audience, which was like, dude, challenging. It was a fun-filled half hour involved an omnichord, fractured pop and a large sheet waved above the audience. So that was it, another gig. And then I went home.

Wonky pop

On Saturday night I had a riotous chuckle when Popjustice's Wonky Pop tour bounced into Korova. I missed out on Frankmusik because I was eating my dinner. Food has to come before bands. Sorry.
Leon Jean Marie was splendidly funktastic, while Danish pop scamps Alphabeat headlined. Ah, Alphabeat: so smiley, so youthful and so lovely. I could just cuddle them all night. From 10,000 Nights of Thunder to Fascination, they shimmied through adorable camp pop. Yes, you need to be predisposed to like "that" sort of "thing", but I do and most of the sweaty punters appeared to agree. It's not an average night in the haircut-filled Korova when people are waving camera phone towards the stage and shouting 'WHOO!!!' and 'YEAH!!!'
It was also a joy to bop around to some pop tunes, such as Sebastien Tellier's French Eurovision entry (it is, quite literally, Divine).
There was even a special VIP area, separated with some seating and this sign: