Archive for the ‘indie, twee shit, other jingly jangly guitar music’ Category

This is a review from my companion at the gig

“I’ve been obsessed with Adam Green since purchasing the Moldy Peaches debut album and doing what seems to be that rarest of things, since I’ve grown out of my teens, falling head over heels in love with it.

As an ex riot grrl (apart from still loving wearing nighties as daywear and silly hairclips) have never really liked male singers.
However there is something about Adam. He is admittedly rather fine looking and his rich timbre is at odds with his pretty indie boy looks. As someone who prefers music to melodically drift over my head, thinking them as more of a carrier of the tunes rather than anything vital in themselves, both his songs and lyrics mesmerise me, there is not one without the other and there is rarely a time when his songs do not accompany me on my daily absolutions. This is not good as I work in a nursery and absent-mindedly sing hideously catchy couplets about ketamine and death.

Anyway, in a bland mediocre age of uniform singers singing forgettable songs about nothing, thank fuck for Adam Green.
He comes onstage looking like Big Bird in a slightly satanic looking top with white tassels and white jeans. He stumbles, looks befuddledly arrogant, slurs, smiles, trips then bursts into glorious rich classical numbers with tunes that transcend boundaries, style and images-songs which only last two minutes and have lyrics about fucking girls with no legs, but sung so so sweetly, that haunt and hum. I watch the bouncers eyes widen as they listen and their mouths drop. Everyone around me is terribly excited at the thought that he might be on drugs. ‘He is so fucking fucked; they murmur in admiration.
He goes through the whole repertoire of his five solo albums, each song greeted with devotion and sung along to although there are a few people who have come to the gig due to hearing him and his ex Moldy Peaches band member Kimya Dawson on the Juno soundtrack.
He dives around the stage, his only words, mumbling about haggis but it is clear that he is a star. His fellow band members help him out when he seems to forget where he is, starting songs and improvising, sometimes looking like annoyed parents when he swans off, staggering on his skinny legs waving his arms and still somehow remaining impossibly elegant and glorious. How did such a glorious voice and such a foul mouth end up in this mid twenties American who looks like a member of the Killers?
Proof that if there is a god, he has a sense of humour.
Frank Sinatra, Curtis Mayfield and Mick Jagger are channelled through this slight swaying figure-I want a wee but am transfixed, cannot take my eyes of him-I imagine it would be the same seeing a disjointed Kurt Cobain in some seedy club in Seattle but Adam suits this venue-a deconsecrated church, rich and lavish yet seedy and gloriously wrong with its selection of two hundred whiskeys and plush leather sofas where people once prayed.
Adam at the pulpit, breaks into glorious song, stumbles, forgets and beams. And he is absolved as yet another song rolls forth in all its glory. Rich, orchestral and magnificent, yet lyrics delving into the seediest of mines. He is one of those rare artists where every song is a classic, no filler, all killer as they say. I cannot even remember which particular ones he sang as every song he has ever recorded is so fully burned onto my membrane, each one following me as I walk to work, brush my teeth and go to sleep that I cannot distinguish reality from memory. I just stand in a vodka haze, watching a legend perform before me, knowing I witnessing something so very very fucking special.”

Tamar Newton


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A reminder that we do a mean podcast – featuring all the above: click the pic for more details and/or subscribe below.


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Click to subscribe through Itunes and recieve all past, present and future shows for absolutely nothing

or visit the homepage for even more stuff and things…

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Includes some local bands alongside an exotic range of international talent – visit the density of sound podcast page for more details and download links

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As usual they feature the best unsigned and eclectic music we could find, yer usual mix of dubstep folk, world music, idm, drones and alsorts more.



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First time for ages at the excellent LAWM with a multi faceted 5 act line up. We arrived to late to see the uniquely talented Kriss Foster but were happily not too late for the buccaneering spirit of One Chip Potato.

(click to visit OCP homepage)

OCP as all the cool cats in the alley call them are a curious machine, all sea shanty rhythm and soaring vocals from their curiously contrasting twin vocalists, she all cool-ice and he the very definition of the word intensity. Sadly, this time the fiddle which creates the real sparks arround their sound was not working but never the less they soldiered on. I highly recomend this band to anyone with a sense of the epic and odd. Think Jeff Buckley singing Nick Cave songs with Kid Carpets instruments. Yay.

Then we went outside and missed the other two bands… Well, actually we saw a bit of Kate Goes, which lurched somewhere in between vomit inducing uber twee and deceptively clever sweet melody depending on whether you you like either sort of thing. I dunno. There is a line and I didn’t see enough to comment but my compadre had had enough after two songs….

(click the pic to make your own mind up about Kate Goes)

Then finally, the big one! – On the verge of the release of new album, ‘Funny times’ Misty’s Big Adventure had created a sell out at the Yorkshire House and set opener Long Conveyer Belt created the tone for a superb set, driving military beats and saxophonic twirlyness underscored by playful clinks, pings and beepyness, a song that on the one hand threw arround vibrant primary poster paint colours yet on the other reminded us that in it’s duration we’d moved three and a half minutes towards death. Therein lies the genius of the evening and the band. They seem to distill their thoughts on big concepts into a form that seems genuinely inventive, ever changing and yet somehow always the same.

Having not seen the Misty’s for years I was struck by the brilliance of their storytelling and the intelligence of the deceptively simple lyrics. They seem to have really grown into a band as opposed to Gareth and some musicians which was how I percieved them when I last saw them. Psychedilia, Ska, Funk, Lounge, are words that are frequently applied to said band, but unlike much labling by journo’s they really do fit. Then you have the glorious Erotic Volvo, a man in a suit that looks like a volcano covered in rubber glove who actually achieves the incredible feat of making utter sense.

This is a band that manage simultaniously to be a spectacle, a curiosity, to communicate something utterly genuine, to make you dance and smile and for it to appear utterly unaffected and natural. Snow Patrol and their other friends of the bland age achieve none of that and have millions of your pounds. Misty’s Big Adventure should be national treasures. Fuck it, they are. Celebrate them. They are utterly brilliant.


Misty’s Big Adventure

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God is in the TV apparantly – I thought it was tubes and that, but I’m clearly wrong – It does make me wonder how he/she/it can squeeze in those new flat screen models but then again the whole god thing is a bit of a mystery anyway and perhaps I’m wandering from the topic rather.

The point in question is that the aforementioned site have started a rather nifty idea – an online singles club, where you can get mp3s in return for registering with the site. This month’s freebie is by Time.Space.Repeat and if I’m honest about it, I don’t like it all – but hey! – you might!, cos the beauty of life is we all like different things – For example, let’s imagine I’m very keen on talking about the early days of organised sport and you like learning spanish. – That’s fine, we don’t need to draw guns on each other now do we?

So, head off to GodisintheTVzine and register to get yerself some lovely freebie downloadable things.

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