Every week, a new batch of singles are released which we can all mull over. Below I pass the verdict on three, using biscuit metaphors. I was going to do this yesterday, but didn't have chance.
The song: Cola Coka by Rosie Oddie and the Odd Squad (7 inch)
The verdict: Celebrity ornithologist and ex-Goodie Bill Oddie once made an appearance on Never Mind The Buzzcocks where he was ripped apart by Simon Amstell. The show's editing looks incredibly selective: had the BBC2 panel show attempted a character assassination on Bill? But then someone told me about Rosie Oddie, and I realised that maybe Bill had been attempting to promote his daughter's band but ended up looking like a berk. Anyway, Cola Coka is about London hipster consuming drugs. It's a mess of a song, dressed up in a fake leopard fur jacket trying to skank to The Specials. Probably all right if you believe Camden to be a magical place.
Take It To The Chorus says: It's one of those excessively sugary biscuits from foreign parts dressed up too much, like an Oreo cookie sprinkled with hundreds and thousands.
The song: When You Touch Me by Freemasons
The verdict: I don't usually delve into commercial dance tunes because, mostly, they all seem constructed to shift ringtones and 'too hot for TV' video downloads. And to keep the dancefloors of clubland excited with the promise of sex. Because that's all this is about: sex, sex, sex. Freemasons are such prolific remixers (having waved their magic, hit-making remix wand over Beyonce, Solange, Kelly Rowland etc) they possess a secret formula for saleable pop song. When You Touch Me powers along with a pounding 4/4 beat, monster hooks and an absentee female vocalist (I'm assuming the svelte model in the video couldn't produce such sounds). Even if you brain says no, your body can't resist on a basic, physiological level. The video is based on a scene from Sweet Charity, which is officially the best musical ever.
Take It To The Chorus says: A plain digestive. You know what you're getting, and it's still satisfying.
Other singles potentially clogging up the charts this week include the rather lovely Paris is Burning by Ladyhawke, chipmunk-heavy Stay With Me by Ironik and folky-dolky Caravan Girl by Goldfrapp.
Showing posts with label single review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label single review. Show all posts
Tuesday, 1 July 2008
Tuesday, 29 April 2008
Water Curses by Animal Collective
Like A-sides and B-sides, EPs only really made sense when vinyl was dominant. Do EPs even exist anymore? It's like those bands who emphasise their new single is a radio edit, when they have no hope of getting playlisted. Not even on student radio. Anway. To Animal Collective:
Critics and the music aficionados who pay attention to them couldn’t get enough of Animal Collective’s 2007 album, the at times difficult yet joyous Strawberry Jam. After all the excitement, it would perhaps be rude of the New York quartet to deny their fans Water Curses, an EP of Strawberry Jam off-cuts and leftovers.
Title track Water Curses burbles through highly strung keyboard buzzes and flute warbles so distorted they could almost be underwater. There is a melody, although it’s difficult to hold onto and gradually unravels into a jittering hullabaloo.
Water Curses is experimental, but underneath the freeform structure and sampling there is a pop song. It is strangely shaped, sometimes noisy and sometimes erratic, but still a pop song. Because it is simultaneously boldly experimental and celebratory, Water Curses is as much fun as the Beach Boys dancing to John Cage.
As for what it’s all about, it’s something to do with ‘I want to be like water’ and to ‘never need a doctor’. That’s just the lyrics you can understand. Who really knows? This is Animal Collective, after all.
Critics and the music aficionados who pay attention to them couldn’t get enough of Animal Collective’s 2007 album, the at times difficult yet joyous Strawberry Jam. After all the excitement, it would perhaps be rude of the New York quartet to deny their fans Water Curses, an EP of Strawberry Jam off-cuts and leftovers.
Title track Water Curses burbles through highly strung keyboard buzzes and flute warbles so distorted they could almost be underwater. There is a melody, although it’s difficult to hold onto and gradually unravels into a jittering hullabaloo.
Water Curses is experimental, but underneath the freeform structure and sampling there is a pop song. It is strangely shaped, sometimes noisy and sometimes erratic, but still a pop song. Because it is simultaneously boldly experimental and celebratory, Water Curses is as much fun as the Beach Boys dancing to John Cage.
As for what it’s all about, it’s something to do with ‘I want to be like water’ and to ‘never need a doctor’. That’s just the lyrics you can understand. Who really knows? This is Animal Collective, after all.
Monday, 28 April 2008
Poor Boy by School of Language
Another track review for This Is Fake DIY. I gave it 3.5 out of 5, but I'd give myself 2.5. Feel like I just relied on cliched constructions and so on, because there's only so many ways you can say 'this is QUITE GOOD, yeah?'. Here it is:
A side project of Field Music that has become a main project, School of Language is written and recorded entirely by David Brewis. This is a one man and his laptop affair, but it manages to sound like a laptop with a drummer, guitarist and keyboard player willingly trapped inside. New single Poor Boy is easily the most accessible track from his debut album, Sea From Shore.
Poor Boy is a fuzz of American college rock guitars and falsetto harmonies, approaching a geeked-up Queens of the Stone Age. Who knew Sunderland could produce such sunny melodies and squelchy bass? Like Weezer in their cuter moments, it slots together deceptively simple melodies and crisp guitar riffs. A bit like Tetris. But it’s not all brightly coloured shapes, as David slyly observes in the chorus: ‘and you’re tired of being everybody’s lover’.At four minutes, Poor Boy hangs around for about a minute too long. Many good things can happen in one minute, but Poor Boy’s repetition is not one of them. Had the duplicate choruses been chopped out, it could have been a sparky little pop nugget ready to enliven indie discos. Unfortunately, it just keeps going. And going. And going.
A side project of Field Music that has become a main project, School of Language is written and recorded entirely by David Brewis. This is a one man and his laptop affair, but it manages to sound like a laptop with a drummer, guitarist and keyboard player willingly trapped inside. New single Poor Boy is easily the most accessible track from his debut album, Sea From Shore.
Poor Boy is a fuzz of American college rock guitars and falsetto harmonies, approaching a geeked-up Queens of the Stone Age. Who knew Sunderland could produce such sunny melodies and squelchy bass? Like Weezer in their cuter moments, it slots together deceptively simple melodies and crisp guitar riffs. A bit like Tetris. But it’s not all brightly coloured shapes, as David slyly observes in the chorus: ‘and you’re tired of being everybody’s lover’.At four minutes, Poor Boy hangs around for about a minute too long. Many good things can happen in one minute, but Poor Boy’s repetition is not one of them. Had the duplicate choruses been chopped out, it could have been a sparky little pop nugget ready to enliven indie discos. Unfortunately, it just keeps going. And going. And going.
Breaking Standing by Forward Russia
Here's a track review for This Is Fake DIY. I'm never sure whether to persist with the band's artistic vision and type iForward, Russia! but, to be honest, I think it's a little unnecessary. Instead, I'll go straight and keep bands on a level typographic playing field.
Leeds cottage industrialists Forward Russia have DIY artrock credentials and an interesting approach to typography. Yes, they’ve ditched the numbers and started using proper song titles. With words and all that. As titles go, Breaking Standing is a curious mixture of two continuous present verbs that is either a striking, poetic image or a pretentious nothing.
Lead single from sophomore album Life Processes, Breaking Standing is a muted fanfare to announce the band’s new material. Emerging from an icy expanse of juddering guitars, it sounds more like their Soviet-influenced contemporaries Bloc Party than ever before. Produced by Seattle-based Matt Bayles (who has previously worked with grunge deities Pearl Jam and Soundgarden), there is a near dehumanised gloss to the recording similar to Gang of Four. Perhaps, like their Leeds predecessors, this is another device to emphasise the artifice of the creative process.
For this new, sleeker direction, Forward Russia are focusing on the human body. ‘The bruises on the inside of your face, those pummelled blanches showed through your translucent skin’ coos singer Tom Woodhead. Yes, coos. He spent much of the band’s 2006 debut Give Me a Wall in a yelping hissy fit, but his vocal histrionics have been calmed.Overall, Breaking Standing is a recognisable yet more rational Forward Russia. It is not until the three and a half minute mark that Breaking Standing reaches a brief climactic barrage of angular guitars then swiftly disappears with Tom’s sighed ‘forever…’ Forward Russia have ordered their chaos, and sound all the wiser for doing so.
Leeds cottage industrialists Forward Russia have DIY artrock credentials and an interesting approach to typography. Yes, they’ve ditched the numbers and started using proper song titles. With words and all that. As titles go, Breaking Standing is a curious mixture of two continuous present verbs that is either a striking, poetic image or a pretentious nothing.
Lead single from sophomore album Life Processes, Breaking Standing is a muted fanfare to announce the band’s new material. Emerging from an icy expanse of juddering guitars, it sounds more like their Soviet-influenced contemporaries Bloc Party than ever before. Produced by Seattle-based Matt Bayles (who has previously worked with grunge deities Pearl Jam and Soundgarden), there is a near dehumanised gloss to the recording similar to Gang of Four. Perhaps, like their Leeds predecessors, this is another device to emphasise the artifice of the creative process.
For this new, sleeker direction, Forward Russia are focusing on the human body. ‘The bruises on the inside of your face, those pummelled blanches showed through your translucent skin’ coos singer Tom Woodhead. Yes, coos. He spent much of the band’s 2006 debut Give Me a Wall in a yelping hissy fit, but his vocal histrionics have been calmed.Overall, Breaking Standing is a recognisable yet more rational Forward Russia. It is not until the three and a half minute mark that Breaking Standing reaches a brief climactic barrage of angular guitars then swiftly disappears with Tom’s sighed ‘forever…’ Forward Russia have ordered their chaos, and sound all the wiser for doing so.
I Believe in Karma by Paul Hawkins & Thee Awkward Silences
Here's a track review I wrote for This Is Fake DIY:
I Believe in Karma is the messy and bloodied remains of a sordid late-night knife fight between Billy Childish and Sergeant Buzfuz. Paul Hawkins attempts to cast himself as the marginal outsider, sticking it to The Man through his scuzzy anti-folk.
And at its best, anti-folk combines the urgency of guitar-driven punk-pop with rousing narratives of protest songs.
However, at its worst, it sounds like Thee Awkward Silences. The line-up (including performance poet Niall Spooner Harvey, Death in Vegas guitarist Ian Button and Buzfuz violinist Kate Arnold) sounds like a drearily liberal dinner party, where barefoot guests discuss Independent on Sunday arts reviews.
Lyrically, I Believe in Karma has no social or political comment; it’s just Paul Hawkins whinging about the woes of being a nice guy – one who holds open doors – unable to find a nice girl. ‘I believe in karma,’ he squalls throughout, ‘where’s my reward?’ A long way off, if you carry on like that.The main problem is how eerily similar it all sounds to Thee Headcoats, the most prolific of Billy Childish’s musical outfits. The excitement of said band is in their barely contained rage at society’s ills and how, even on record, it could all collapse in a whisky-sodden heap at any second. I Believe in Karma scrapes through trying to be charmingly shambolic, but sounds like a mundane, bad parody.
I Believe in Karma is the messy and bloodied remains of a sordid late-night knife fight between Billy Childish and Sergeant Buzfuz. Paul Hawkins attempts to cast himself as the marginal outsider, sticking it to The Man through his scuzzy anti-folk.
And at its best, anti-folk combines the urgency of guitar-driven punk-pop with rousing narratives of protest songs.
However, at its worst, it sounds like Thee Awkward Silences. The line-up (including performance poet Niall Spooner Harvey, Death in Vegas guitarist Ian Button and Buzfuz violinist Kate Arnold) sounds like a drearily liberal dinner party, where barefoot guests discuss Independent on Sunday arts reviews.
Lyrically, I Believe in Karma has no social or political comment; it’s just Paul Hawkins whinging about the woes of being a nice guy – one who holds open doors – unable to find a nice girl. ‘I believe in karma,’ he squalls throughout, ‘where’s my reward?’ A long way off, if you carry on like that.The main problem is how eerily similar it all sounds to Thee Headcoats, the most prolific of Billy Childish’s musical outfits. The excitement of said band is in their barely contained rage at society’s ills and how, even on record, it could all collapse in a whisky-sodden heap at any second. I Believe in Karma scrapes through trying to be charmingly shambolic, but sounds like a mundane, bad parody.
Monday, 14 April 2008
Just Passin' Through by The Mouth
Another track review for This Is Fake DIY:
Post-Oasis Britrock has crowds of laddish rock band swaggering for centre stage: The Fratellis, Reverend and the Makers, The Twang… and now, hidden somewhere behind a drum riser and John McClure’s ego, The Mouth. Apparently, they’re from West London, although there’s nothing in the Kooks jangle, Enemy bravado and Ian Brown oration to indicate this.
Just Passin’ Through is a song infused with rowdy nights out, success with the birds and standing up for your mates. And probably has a permanent smug gurn plastered on its chops and triumphant fist held aloft (cf Robbie Williams circa Millennium or Rock DJ). While dressed in a football shirt. On a stag weekend in Dublin. For all it lacks in subtlety, Just Passin’ Through almost makes it up with shout-along ‘ah ah ah’ refrains (or gurgle along, depending on how many cans of weak lager has been consumed) and lengthy guitar solo of unself-conscious machismo. Almost. Just Passin’ Through, unfortunately, is no greater than the sum of its lad-rock parts.
Post-Oasis Britrock has crowds of laddish rock band swaggering for centre stage: The Fratellis, Reverend and the Makers, The Twang… and now, hidden somewhere behind a drum riser and John McClure’s ego, The Mouth. Apparently, they’re from West London, although there’s nothing in the Kooks jangle, Enemy bravado and Ian Brown oration to indicate this.
Just Passin’ Through is a song infused with rowdy nights out, success with the birds and standing up for your mates. And probably has a permanent smug gurn plastered on its chops and triumphant fist held aloft (cf Robbie Williams circa Millennium or Rock DJ). While dressed in a football shirt. On a stag weekend in Dublin. For all it lacks in subtlety, Just Passin’ Through almost makes it up with shout-along ‘ah ah ah’ refrains (or gurgle along, depending on how many cans of weak lager has been consumed) and lengthy guitar solo of unself-conscious machismo. Almost. Just Passin’ Through, unfortunately, is no greater than the sum of its lad-rock parts.
Lucky Jack/Build Around Me by I Concur
Seven-inch single review I scribbled for This Is Fake DIY (well, not so much scribbled as lovingly composed):
Leaving the snug surroundings of Dance to the Radio compilations, Leeds-based quartet I Concur go it alone with debut double A-side Lucky Jack / Build Around Me.
And it’s a shoegaze romp of guitars churning away like Explosions in the Sky, or any bearded post-rock Canadian band you wish to name. Both (very similar) songs tread the well-trodden shoegazer path of opening in a rumble of quietly portentous guitars, then it goes all loud and exciting followed by another chin-stroking quiet bit. Finally, it goes really LOUD. With a barrage of cymbals pummelling away to confirm that yes, you have reached the climax. So far, so above average anger-driven, vaguely intellectual rock. But this is Jesus & Mary Chain without any issues. This is My Bloody Valentine renting a city centre flat with laminate flooring. It wants to be angry, really it does, but it doesn’t have anything to be angry about. In Lucky Jack, singer Tim Hann shrugs off vague lyrical metaphors about cannons, sunrise and stalkers. On Build Around Me he murmurs ‘there’s no negotiation or debate, just build around me,’ defeated in the face of progressing luxury flats. A shame that I Concur sound crushed by the growth of urban regeneration and inherent alienation, as there is a deliciously ominous roar to some of their reverberating guitar work.
Leaving the snug surroundings of Dance to the Radio compilations, Leeds-based quartet I Concur go it alone with debut double A-side Lucky Jack / Build Around Me.
And it’s a shoegaze romp of guitars churning away like Explosions in the Sky, or any bearded post-rock Canadian band you wish to name. Both (very similar) songs tread the well-trodden shoegazer path of opening in a rumble of quietly portentous guitars, then it goes all loud and exciting followed by another chin-stroking quiet bit. Finally, it goes really LOUD. With a barrage of cymbals pummelling away to confirm that yes, you have reached the climax. So far, so above average anger-driven, vaguely intellectual rock. But this is Jesus & Mary Chain without any issues. This is My Bloody Valentine renting a city centre flat with laminate flooring. It wants to be angry, really it does, but it doesn’t have anything to be angry about. In Lucky Jack, singer Tim Hann shrugs off vague lyrical metaphors about cannons, sunrise and stalkers. On Build Around Me he murmurs ‘there’s no negotiation or debate, just build around me,’ defeated in the face of progressing luxury flats. A shame that I Concur sound crushed by the growth of urban regeneration and inherent alienation, as there is a deliciously ominous roar to some of their reverberating guitar work.
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