The new Grizzly Bear EP is one of those magical gems that come along every so often to brighten up an otherwise unremarkable day. ‘Friend EP’ is a series of covers and remixes (in the loosest sense of the word) of the group’s first two albums. The record features the likes of CSS and Band Of Horses and will firmly ensure that you will never hear the band in the same way ever again.
From the theatrical choral dramatics of opening track ‘Alligator’ to the final whistful strains of ‘Deep Blue Sea’ it is an album that will weave you into its delicate tangle of familiar and new. The collaborations are the culmination of three years of touring with other bands and hours of painstaking reworking of old material. The well-known three part harmonies and lazy, shimmering guitars are combined crashing symbols, heavy bass and in the case of ‘Plans’ plucked banjos.
It is a wonderful album, a must for fans of The Bear and a wonderful introduction for first time listeners. The covering bands have done the group justice, building on, rather than destroying the original material and adding their own trademark quirks and ticks to produce something unique and utterly special.
Tuesday, 18 December 2007
Monday, 10 December 2007
Someone called me a sad whore for one of my reviews. What the fuck?!
Whats the point in being so maliciously rude and insulting to someone who you've never met. Fair enough, you can disagree with what I think- I'll be the first one to admit that I am hardly ever right about things- let alone be so arrogant as to think that my opinion is the be all and end all on a certain point.
But to be so outraged to the point of calling me a whore. Jeez. That's sinking to a new level of petty insults that I never thought previously possible. Especially this review of an album:
The world at large is increasingly unimportant to Anthony Reynolds. Or at least, that’s what he claims. Who cares about Big Brother or The Office when you can name-drop authors into song lyrics and get drunk in the pub. It's experiences like that which make live worth living and albums worth recording. Right? Well apparently so.
So Reynolds sings about going to the pub and the peculiar quality of pub lighting; two typically British experiences (obviously) and Vashti Bunyan and Dot Allison are persuaded to join in, addding honeyed vocals to a couple of tracks. After all, what sits better with brooding piano solos and deep expressive vocals than pretty women, breathy harmonies and a veneer of almost trendiness.
Although a whole new plateau of self-indulgence is achieved through this way on Reynolds debut album, the record does have some lovely moments. Opening track ‘I Know You Know’ is a smooth and soulful song featuring Reynolds' deep, rich voice purring over violins and Dot Allison singing like she was born for no other reason. It is all downhill, and the euphoria experienced in ‘Leaving Song’ is more to do with it being the last track than the easy-listening rock song it claims to be.
Anthony Reynolds- British Ballads
www.new-noise.net
Whats the point in being so maliciously rude and insulting to someone who you've never met. Fair enough, you can disagree with what I think- I'll be the first one to admit that I am hardly ever right about things- let alone be so arrogant as to think that my opinion is the be all and end all on a certain point.
But to be so outraged to the point of calling me a whore. Jeez. That's sinking to a new level of petty insults that I never thought previously possible. Especially this review of an album:
The world at large is increasingly unimportant to Anthony Reynolds. Or at least, that’s what he claims. Who cares about Big Brother or The Office when you can name-drop authors into song lyrics and get drunk in the pub. It's experiences like that which make live worth living and albums worth recording. Right? Well apparently so.
So Reynolds sings about going to the pub and the peculiar quality of pub lighting; two typically British experiences (obviously) and Vashti Bunyan and Dot Allison are persuaded to join in, addding honeyed vocals to a couple of tracks. After all, what sits better with brooding piano solos and deep expressive vocals than pretty women, breathy harmonies and a veneer of almost trendiness.
Although a whole new plateau of self-indulgence is achieved through this way on Reynolds debut album, the record does have some lovely moments. Opening track ‘I Know You Know’ is a smooth and soulful song featuring Reynolds' deep, rich voice purring over violins and Dot Allison singing like she was born for no other reason. It is all downhill, and the euphoria experienced in ‘Leaving Song’ is more to do with it being the last track than the easy-listening rock song it claims to be.
Anthony Reynolds- British Ballads
www.new-noise.net
Thursday, 6 December 2007
sixorgansofadmittance
Ben Chasny’s latest release, ‘Shelter From The Ash’ is one which he has, reputedly, always wanted to create। It features well-picked folk and some surprisingly restrained noise for balance, and in doing so produces, arguably, his most focussed album to date. Opening track “Alone With The Alone” appears to have simply followed on from ‘The Sun Awakens’ with Tim Green of the The Fucking Champs squeezing in extra guitar chords in the gaps between Chasny’s madly plucking fingers, – the drone in the background serving as the sonic glue, holding the song together.
If you haven’t yet stumbled across this awe-inspiring band then start taking notes. Six Organs will rock your world. There is no question about this, no room for discussion. Live, Chasny (former member of Comets On Fire and Badgerlore) and, well who ever he can persuade to perform with him will conjure up a wall of sound before your very eyes. Layer upon layer of noise, reverb and intricate melodies build before your eyes, threatening to engulf you in their midst and then, at the last minute, ebb slowly away.
‘Shelter From The Ash’ is no exception to this. It is an album packed with slow-burning, horizon-seeking journey’s from the freeform improvisation of ‘Coming To Get You’, to the mellow acoustic strains of ‘Strangled Road’ featuring Elisa Ambrogio’s (The Magik Marker’s) honey-soaked vocals; a fluid combination of electric and acoustic signature Six Organs of Admittance styles.
Minimalist, dreamlike passages of sound sit next to squealing guitars, seemingly plucked straight out of a Western whilst subjects from love to the end of the world are covered in a gruff, straight talking masculine manner, accompanied by distant howls and blurry harmonies. Clearly a lot of love and effort has been put into this album, and it is this that is more endearing than anything else.
If you haven’t yet stumbled across this awe-inspiring band then start taking notes. Six Organs will rock your world. There is no question about this, no room for discussion. Live, Chasny (former member of Comets On Fire and Badgerlore) and, well who ever he can persuade to perform with him will conjure up a wall of sound before your very eyes. Layer upon layer of noise, reverb and intricate melodies build before your eyes, threatening to engulf you in their midst and then, at the last minute, ebb slowly away.
‘Shelter From The Ash’ is no exception to this. It is an album packed with slow-burning, horizon-seeking journey’s from the freeform improvisation of ‘Coming To Get You’, to the mellow acoustic strains of ‘Strangled Road’ featuring Elisa Ambrogio’s (The Magik Marker’s) honey-soaked vocals; a fluid combination of electric and acoustic signature Six Organs of Admittance styles.
Minimalist, dreamlike passages of sound sit next to squealing guitars, seemingly plucked straight out of a Western whilst subjects from love to the end of the world are covered in a gruff, straight talking masculine manner, accompanied by distant howls and blurry harmonies. Clearly a lot of love and effort has been put into this album, and it is this that is more endearing than anything else.
Wednesday, 5 December 2007
IN AN article in last weekend’s the Guardian Guide, readers are told in minute detail how Eric Clapton was an unoriginal composer. His so called, ‘best’ songs are stolen from the work of other artists, Dylan’s Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door and Bob Marley’s I Shot The Sheriff, are two examples of which immediately spring to mind.
Now I’m not the biggest Clapton fan on the planet, in fact, Tears In Heaven is a song which gets me frantically grabbing nearby objects that I can use as padding, in a bid to stop the sugary sweet, over-the-top blub fest from reaching my ears. But enough is enough.
Like it or not Clapton is a Legend. Spelt with a capital L. The Yardbirds were the epitome of 60s cool, their signature sound spawning countless spin offs and tributes. They even appeared in the art-house film Blowup. His time with Cream inspired countless teenage boys to pick up a guitar in a bid to form a band. So what if those bands were never very good, that’s not Clapton’s fault. As the saying goes, you can lead a horse to water…
Ok, his poodle white boy perm of the late 60s may invite mocking laughs now, and some may say rightly so, but at the time was seen as the height of fashion; so what if this meant that Clapton copied Hendrix, I defy you to name someone who came up with an original idea.
What upset me most about the article was how it has become socially acceptable in Britain to slag off cultural icons in a bid to be down with the kids. This started when the cultural trendsetter that is Davina McCall, appeared on Room 101 claiming she wanted to incarcerate Frank Sinatra to its fiery depths. Her reason… apparently ‘he’s annoying to listen to’. So is she, but you don’t see me wanting to lock her up in the darkest dungeon and throw away the key, however much it would be of benefit to society at large. Sinatra had it his way; let me have mine.
Since then though celebrity singer slating has become a free-for-all। Now you can only like Take That in an ‘ironic’ way, whilst NME snigger derisively at anyone musically ignorant enough going to The Spice Girls concert at the O2 arena early next year.
The only bands you can admit to liking are the obscure ones no one has ever heard of। ‘They only have a limited, white vinyl release of 150 copies and they hang out in a crack den.’ Oh wow they must be good. Remind me to listen to them then, especially if Kate Moss has snogged one of them. In our image and celebrity obsessed culture, Paul McCartney is becoming better known for his messy divorce to Heather Mills than his time in The Beatles whilst Ozzy Osborne’s ‘the bloke from that TV show.’
Groups listened to and worshipped by millions of fans at the height of their fame, twenty, thirty, forty years ago are now being shunned by spotty 15 year olds who, if they spent half an hour on Google would come to realise that any current musical darlings like Babyshambles, The Kills or even the electronic, neon buzzings of CSS, all pay musical acknowledgements to their muse। Clapton.
My point is this: leave them alone। So what if Sting annoys the hell out of you? No need to broadcast your apparent ‘good taste’ to the world in the form of a snotty, self righteous article about how he is an affront to musical decency. Just turn off the radio and walk away. Or, if he annoys you that much, take it up with him.
Listening to music is like Einstein’s Law of Relativity. For every Genesis fan there is a hater, every jazz enthusiast there is one who thinks that the whole genre is musical masturbation and an excuse to sport black polo-necks. Music is special to so many people for the simple fact it is a purely individual listening experience. This may sound like jumped up marketing speak, but it is also true. The break in a voice or the feedback of the monitor may get my pulse racing, whilst you simply race for the exit, but whatever your experience, there is no need for the petty bitching. Just sit down, shut up and count your blessings.
Now I’m not the biggest Clapton fan on the planet, in fact, Tears In Heaven is a song which gets me frantically grabbing nearby objects that I can use as padding, in a bid to stop the sugary sweet, over-the-top blub fest from reaching my ears. But enough is enough.
Like it or not Clapton is a Legend. Spelt with a capital L. The Yardbirds were the epitome of 60s cool, their signature sound spawning countless spin offs and tributes. They even appeared in the art-house film Blowup. His time with Cream inspired countless teenage boys to pick up a guitar in a bid to form a band. So what if those bands were never very good, that’s not Clapton’s fault. As the saying goes, you can lead a horse to water…
Ok, his poodle white boy perm of the late 60s may invite mocking laughs now, and some may say rightly so, but at the time was seen as the height of fashion; so what if this meant that Clapton copied Hendrix, I defy you to name someone who came up with an original idea.
What upset me most about the article was how it has become socially acceptable in Britain to slag off cultural icons in a bid to be down with the kids. This started when the cultural trendsetter that is Davina McCall, appeared on Room 101 claiming she wanted to incarcerate Frank Sinatra to its fiery depths. Her reason… apparently ‘he’s annoying to listen to’. So is she, but you don’t see me wanting to lock her up in the darkest dungeon and throw away the key, however much it would be of benefit to society at large. Sinatra had it his way; let me have mine.
Since then though celebrity singer slating has become a free-for-all। Now you can only like Take That in an ‘ironic’ way, whilst NME snigger derisively at anyone musically ignorant enough going to The Spice Girls concert at the O2 arena early next year.
The only bands you can admit to liking are the obscure ones no one has ever heard of। ‘They only have a limited, white vinyl release of 150 copies and they hang out in a crack den.’ Oh wow they must be good. Remind me to listen to them then, especially if Kate Moss has snogged one of them. In our image and celebrity obsessed culture, Paul McCartney is becoming better known for his messy divorce to Heather Mills than his time in The Beatles whilst Ozzy Osborne’s ‘the bloke from that TV show.’
Groups listened to and worshipped by millions of fans at the height of their fame, twenty, thirty, forty years ago are now being shunned by spotty 15 year olds who, if they spent half an hour on Google would come to realise that any current musical darlings like Babyshambles, The Kills or even the electronic, neon buzzings of CSS, all pay musical acknowledgements to their muse। Clapton.
My point is this: leave them alone। So what if Sting annoys the hell out of you? No need to broadcast your apparent ‘good taste’ to the world in the form of a snotty, self righteous article about how he is an affront to musical decency. Just turn off the radio and walk away. Or, if he annoys you that much, take it up with him.
Listening to music is like Einstein’s Law of Relativity. For every Genesis fan there is a hater, every jazz enthusiast there is one who thinks that the whole genre is musical masturbation and an excuse to sport black polo-necks. Music is special to so many people for the simple fact it is a purely individual listening experience. This may sound like jumped up marketing speak, but it is also true. The break in a voice or the feedback of the monitor may get my pulse racing, whilst you simply race for the exit, but whatever your experience, there is no need for the petty bitching. Just sit down, shut up and count your blessings.
Anthony Reynolds- British Ballads
The world at large is increasingly unimportant to Anthony Reynolds. Or at least, that’s what he claims. Who cares about Big Brother or The Office when you can name-drop authors into song lyrics and get drunk in the pub. Its experiences like that which make live worth living and albums worth recording. Right?
Well apparently so.
So Reynolds sings about going to the pub and the peculiar quality of pub lighting- two typically British experiences (obviously) and Vashti Bunyan and Dot Allison are persuaded to join in and add honeyed vocals to a couple of tracks. After all, what sits better with brooding piano solos and deep expressive vocals than pretty women, breathy harmonies and a veneer of almost trendiness.
Although a whole new plateau of self-indulgence is achieved through this way on Reynolds debut album, the record does have some lovely moments. Opening track ‘I Know You Know’ is a smooth and soulful song featuring Reynolds deep, rich voice purring over soaring violins and Dot Allison singing like she was born for no other reason. It is all downhill, and the euphoria experienced in ‘Leaving Song’ is more to do with it being the last track than the easy listening rock song it claims to be.
Well apparently so.
So Reynolds sings about going to the pub and the peculiar quality of pub lighting- two typically British experiences (obviously) and Vashti Bunyan and Dot Allison are persuaded to join in and add honeyed vocals to a couple of tracks. After all, what sits better with brooding piano solos and deep expressive vocals than pretty women, breathy harmonies and a veneer of almost trendiness.
Although a whole new plateau of self-indulgence is achieved through this way on Reynolds debut album, the record does have some lovely moments. Opening track ‘I Know You Know’ is a smooth and soulful song featuring Reynolds deep, rich voice purring over soaring violins and Dot Allison singing like she was born for no other reason. It is all downhill, and the euphoria experienced in ‘Leaving Song’ is more to do with it being the last track than the easy listening rock song it claims to be.
Micheal Dracula
Welcome to the electrifying world of Michael Dracula where sinister, one-fingered horror-show keyboards worm their way into your head to sit alongside a deep rumbling bass and dancing beat. Stiff-fingered piano riffs and minimalist drums; this is music that kicks out, doubles back and repeats itself once more.
The Glasgow based four piece are signed to the legendary ZE Records, the label that captured the no wave and punk-funk scene of 1970s in New York but it’s hard to see why. Old, yet new, punk, but then quite the opposite, Michael Dracula defies classifications appealing instead to a primal yearning for rockabilly guitar riffs.
A tinny echo of an old-fashioned saloon piano marches hand in hand with rough sounding production, adding to the debut album -In The Red- scruffy charm. The iridescent title track slouches through blues rock, whilst ‘Two Wrongs’ ventures further a field, into spooky, atmospheric textures and all the while Emily MacLaren’s voice, sexy and breathy sores above the dirty rock grooves luring you into a sense of security before grabbing you by the throat leaving you unable to breathe in its heady feminine haze.
The Glasgow based four piece are signed to the legendary ZE Records, the label that captured the no wave and punk-funk scene of 1970s in New York but it’s hard to see why. Old, yet new, punk, but then quite the opposite, Michael Dracula defies classifications appealing instead to a primal yearning for rockabilly guitar riffs.
A tinny echo of an old-fashioned saloon piano marches hand in hand with rough sounding production, adding to the debut album -In The Red- scruffy charm. The iridescent title track slouches through blues rock, whilst ‘Two Wrongs’ ventures further a field, into spooky, atmospheric textures and all the while Emily MacLaren’s voice, sexy and breathy sores above the dirty rock grooves luring you into a sense of security before grabbing you by the throat leaving you unable to breathe in its heady feminine haze.
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