Glasgow Gigs reviewed for THE FRAME in 2000
WARNING: PRETENTIOUS MUSIC JOURNALISTS ARE AT WORK IN THIS AREA
Momus/Stereo Total, 23rd Feb. 00,
13th Note Club.
A legend in an eye patch
'Do you think the time is right for a progressive rock revival?'
he asked before another tune, which with only his trusty
iBook to accompany him seemed a tad unlikely. 'Glasgow's always
two years ahead,' he decided when we accented.
Momus's world is a place you have
to inhabit fully or not at all. And Momus himself is probably
the only one who is
actually capable of doing that. He even saves you the trouble
of having to describe his songs, introducing each track with
nuggets like: 'a vaguely deranged Bowie-ish Sci-Fi vibe'
During the gig, he explained the idea
behind his latest album, Stars Forever. He was being sued by Wendy
/ Walter Carlos
for $22 000 - Carlos apparently having objected to a song written
about her / his sex change - so for a $1000 "over the
Internet" fee, Momus wrote song-biographies of each of his
fan-patrons. As he said, Japanese girls seem to have piles of
$1000 lying around. Being a versatile pervert with a surplus of
provocative and amusing compositions, he also performed a
song about the Lady of Shallot's chastity belt, written with some
nubile young Japanese pop kids in mind - there's some
symbiosis going on here.
In typically contrary fashion, Momus
provided the support to Stereo Total who are nothing if not a
terminal support
band. (Let me know if I'm missing something - but haven't we been
here before?)
The self consciously alt. crowd -
the ones who run the Japanese big beat nights, and presumable
the ones whose floors the
band were sleeping on tonight - were giving it full force with
the shoulder dancing down the front - perfectly suited to this
Shonen Knife with a Europop shudder.
Disjointed kitsch-pop in a mixture
of Euro-languages. But an accent doesn't make (post)rock clichés
any less hackneyed.
He may have a square guitar but its not helping them rip off the
Violent Femmes any better. Stereo Total, from the name
down; somebody should publish the recipe:
A dash of lo-fi enthusiasm, a sprinkle
of French pop, garnish with a Krautrock sensibility, serve up
on vinyl in John
Smiths' Music department.
Reviewed For The Frame by Lucy Brouwer
BRASSY, 13th Note Club, GLASGOW 4/3/00
What would you expect from a band fronted by Muffin Spencer, little
sister of Jon Spencer - of Blues Explosion fame?
She's lived in Manchester for years, and has been a self confessed
'geek' for British culture since she was ten. Before
seeing her band I'd heard their jerkily funky single 'I Can't
Wait' (Wiija). I'd also read that Muffin always wore boxing
shorts as her official stage wear in tribute to Wendy O'Williams
( - no, I don't know either!). The thing is, seeing and
hearing Brassy, they were no more than you'd expect them to be.
The boxing gear was there all right, but Muffin was more
gym mistress than prize fighter in her satin shorts, white vest
and tube socks. When she demanded that we 'boogie with
more gusto,' it felt like she was asking for another lap of the
hockey pitch. Yes miss. Having seen her brother in action on
stage, it was impossible not to make comparisons, as Jon and his
Explosion are among the most charismatic, performers
around. Muffin comes on like a pigtailed Justine Frischman, (and
the world does not need anything else as mediocre as
Elastica) trying to whip up a frenzy; but spelling out B_R_A_S_S_Y
in a hip hop style does not 'shake the room' by itself.
They had breaks, scratches and confidence to spare but it just
wasn't coming through in the two line lyrics and one chord
riffs. 'Who stole the show?' asked the final song. Well, they
had to ask...
Reviewed For The Frame by Lucy Brouwer
God Speed You Black Emperor/Sigor
Ros, The Garage, GLASGOW 28/3/00
It seems unnaturally cold in the Garage. The place is never exactly
conducive to warmth and comfort but there are
definitely shivers in the air tonight. Once you know that Sigor
Ros are from Iceland, you can't help thinking of glaciers and
cold natural beauty. These wide spaces are articulated through
sound not language - less words - more like Liz Fraser
making choir boy whale noises. Anything with sustained chords
tends to get called 'majestic' these days, but some of us
have hazy memories of gazing at our shoes in the early nineties...
Don't mention Chapterhouse, only with the church-like
solemnity that this sound demands we're in danger of lapsing into
the realms of 'sonic cathedrals' and right back up our
grandiose arses. There is much ponderous bowing of the guitar
to produce holy and ancient sounding high notes to match
the vocals, but when he appears to be playing it with his teeth,
I can see about ten people around the auditorium
simultaneously shake their heads in bemusement. This sort of noise
and behaviour demands either reverence or ridicule.
Undeniably there's power in the voice and atmosphere in the music;
so can we excuse the pretentious moments and
broaden our appreciation perimeters? Four epics and some frequencies-audible-only-to-dogs
later, and the tundras in my
imagination are sparsely populated with soon-to-be-extinct species
of lost polar bears, redeemed souls throwing their eyes
to heaven and shafts of bright glistening light. Sigor Ros are
either the musical equivalent of being pierced by a shaft of
frozen urine ejected from a passing 747 ( - a cold and not altogether
pleasant surprise - ) or avant garde post rock (isn't that
what we're supposed to call this sort of thing now?) of fragile
beauty and delicate sense. Montreal's godspeed you black
emperor! (lower case of course!) run an ideologically tight ship.
They refuse to be interviewed or photographed, maintain a
strict agenda of non-conformity and take a refreshingly anti-corporate
stance in the ever more torpid domain of music
industry self promotion. So sort out your politics and unset your
mind before listening. We begin with the word 'HOPE'
scratched on a film loop projected on the back of the stage. An
anonymous group of musicians, most of them with their
backs to us accompany the film with glockenspiel chimes and a
burst of noise. Images of industry, turbines, then the
sensation of hurtling down a street follow. The tinkling can barely
keep up, the heart soars and the sky quakes and the film
is in perfect co-ordination with a barrage of distressed strings.
A visual loop of whirling buildings, a dizzying view from
the ground up, spins with increasing velocity, as the music builds
and builds. Scraps of sampled voices like orders from
aliens are heard as the sound quietens. We must obey, we are captivated.
More violin and more flickering images, the
volume decreases and the tills at the back bar become an audible
addition to the track. It's all so desperately elegiac, it
seems appropriate to be reminded of composer Olivier Messian's
'Quatuor pour La Fin du Temps'. Although stark,
however, godspeed are never as complex as that modernist vision
of the end of the world. The ghostly hovering images
which are integral to how the music is perceived make this more
an art installation than a gig. godspeed are expert at
sustaining momentum and never overdo it, as so many feedback frenzies
do: they gather pace and drag you along with
galloping drums, altering your perception of what a gig should
be. Compared to the artless dirges that often get passed off
as 'post rock', this is abstract in the extreme, but they're still
doing it with guitars! These instrumentals allow more scope for
your own feelings than any amount of whiny acoustic ballads. godspeed
draw with a bigger paint set on a bigger canvas.
I'm not sure if it makes you want to rise up against the dark
forces of capitalism and American cultural imperialism with
quite the fervour that their sleeve notes implore you to do -
but for brief moments it is as intense as religious music in a
godless universe. We end with the word 'HOME' scratched on the
film, as we come full circle to the only track that seems
to have a name: 'slow not for new zero kanada'. Then 'HOPE' reappears,
followed by the motto 'freedom can be achieved'.
Freedom of expression at least has been achieved by the nameless
and all but faceless Canadians.
Reviewed For The Frame by Lucy Brouwer
Radar Brothers, Vera Cruise, Stapleton
-- King Tuts, Glasgow. 5/4/00
Three more boys who need to learn more about balance grace the
stage for the benefit of their pals and those few of us that
got here early in need of a pint. Stapleton prove that guitar
bashing gets something out of your system, but that charisma
seems to have gone out of fashion. A series of complex and halting
rhythm changes like the invasion of heavy rock burst
in mid song before they return to 3 chord indie again; it doesn't
help that they look like chemistry teachers.
The next band up are Vera Cruise.
I spy something beginning with N... Nirvana? Neil Young? A bit
of both, but grunge
and western doesn't quite work in these hands, a lap steel makes
a fleeting appearance but then they go back to just loud
and unfriendly noise.
Radar Brothersstick with tonight's
theme of being neither particularly young nor beautiful. After
the day I'd had, I
thought I'd be about right for some maudlin country rock, but
somehow these brothers weren't giving me quite what I
needed. Johnny Cash at San Quintin played in the breaks didn't
help - it's one of the greatest 'my lover left me then my
dog died and I'm weeping tears in my beer' records - pretty much
unsurpassed when you're far enough down to appreciate
it. (It includes my particular fave, 'Flushed from the bathroom
of your heart'.) Having to follow it, even when they've been
compared to the Beatles and tonight's big landmark, Neil Young
(- it must be a boy thing - find me any woman who can
stand the old whinger) had to be a tricky task. They are introspective
and they have moments of beauty, sure, but they are
plodding along tonight. And they look like they are gonna fill
my car up with gas, and have names like Brad and Derek
sewn on the front of their shirts. They can wash the windscreen
and check the tyre pressure while they're at it.
I couldn't get into it, and so I played
Glasgow-scene top trumps -- 10 points for Eugene Kelly, and more
for Francis
McKee... but no points for any members of Mogwai.
Reviewed For The Frame by Lucy Brouwer
Laika, Squander Pilots -- 13th Note
Club, GLASGOW. 7/4/00
Local troupe the Squander Pilots seem to be formed to the same
mould that Laika have made their own. Its an eclectic
template all the same. With percussion and programming, dubby
bass, wailing vocals and weird brass their sound is
resonant and groovy. If straight guitar-based rock is standing
still staring at a dull landscape, then this is more like flying
low over the ground with a bird's eye view, gathering momentum.
They are laudably aiming for a lift out of the ordinary
and if they push a little harder and reach a little further then
they'll have the confidence to get there.
Laika themselves are back with their
third album of underwater krautrock, sub-aquatic dub and persuasive
percussion for
Too Pure. But they start with an old song, Shut Off/Curl Up and
immediately remind us of how it's done. When they
reach tracks from the new album, 'Good Looking Blues', like 'Uneasy'
they seem to have perfected the mixture of
distinctive vocals complemented by inventive drums and loops.
Laika know the joys of 6:8 rhythms
in a tawdry 4:4 world. In the shivers and shrieks of one of their
best new tunes, the
voodoo chant of 'Black Cat Bone,' they have realised the big Laika
idea, weaving spells and making a few of the audience
dance like men possessed. Full of urgency and insistent beats,
Laika's music gets you caught in its blast. Like a dark
jungle forest to get lost in, full of tropical bird calls, singing
cicadas and swelling rain clouds. Only forthcoming single,
'Badtimes', reminds us that we live in a technological age. It
is a musical reading of an e-mail that did the rounds a while
back, warning of the worst computer virus around that 'melts all
your ice cream, drinks all your beer and seduces your
grandmother...' Margaret Murphy Fiedler's seductive bluesy whisper
and the funky dub surroundings reach their best
moment on the closing 'Red River'. The rainy season cacophony
it creates provokes more freaky dancing from the fans at
the front and leaves you feeling restored and rejuvenated. Laika
successfully blend musical genres to make a characteristic
style that cries out to be imitated.
Reviewed For The Frame by Lucy Brouwer
Asian Dub Foundation The Garage Glasgow 25/5/00
Instead of a conventional support
we have Pangit-G and the ADF sound system pumping out some very
fine bass heavy sounds and Anti Fascist literature being handed
out at the door. The point being that we should get into it.
ADF are anti celebrity and pro celebratory.
Their name tells you what you are getting and righteously doesn't
allow you to forget it. They are uncool and admit it, but since
when did that stop a force this strong?
The audience is no less white that it would be for any other gig
and a camera man has found and focuses extensively on an Asian
couple enjoying the show, and I'm ashamed of myself for noticing.
If ADF make me confront the way we think about the issues that
they are raising then they are on their way to achieving their
goals. Being political is prone to being the antithesis of being
musically meritous (chumbawumba anyone?) but no one else is doing
it with the conviction or the power to make you dance that ADF
have in their live show. The triple frontline of bassist Dr Das,
rapper Deeder and Chandrasonic on guitar bouncing like three fiendish
Tiggers, espousing 'proper propaganda' on tracks like the latest
single 'New Way New Life' and 'Naxelite', which still rumbles
the house down. When the sound of their hero, the incomparable
Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, takes over in sample form, DJ Pandit-G
and 'radical mover' Sun-J come out from behind their decks and
all five dance with the energy and enthusiasm of excited kids.
ADF are a wake up call to make you get up and find your culture
(does this work for everybody?), celebrate your heritage and act
on your politics.
One of their slogans is 'rhythm is a human right' and they have
set up ADFED (ADF Education) to allow other people access to make
their own music. Following this, a track with a title as crass
as 'Collective Mode' is almost forgivable because it seems so
appropriate - they want to advertise the success of their projects
and ideas. For once here is a band that does walk it like they
talk it: 'Buzzin' is announced as the one word that sums up what
they are trying to do, they are anti-apathy, anti-slacker and
into expanding minds as well as exercising bodies. A 'Mumia Must
Live' banner is passed forward, a human rights cause that chimes
in with their own campaign to free Satpal Ram (check out their
website for progress reports: www.asiandubfoundation.com).
ADF are into justice and freedom, collectivism not globalisation,
and they have the stamina to make this ideal more than a pose,
more than a hollow promise of revolution. They believe in grassroots
activism and aren't afraid to say so.
After nigh on two hours of jumping about they still have the drive
to make sure we go home with the right ideas in our heads.
©Lucy Brouwer