The decision to attend the evening was unplanned. We had situated ourselves quite comfortably into a slow-grooved, crooning Jazz set at the Cape of Good Hope on, what we thought, was another mundane Sunday evening at Eight O’clock. I was joined by two close adversaries, both I know far too well: The first, a fellow music junkie and writer visiting Oxford on "business". The other my brother and possibly future lawyer considering my recent brush with hardnosed legal bullshit. We were catching up and continuing the usual philosophical discussions. China and Tibet was also given a mention but the international matter lulled us all into a reflective mood. Suddenly, after short phone call, a suggestion by our oxford visitor to move on to the Purple Turtle came up. These things happen when friends of freinds are involved. "Sweet Jesus," I thought "this man is more of an addict than I am!" It made perfect sense at the time of course. Blow even more money I don't have in town with the chance of finding more hidden music. Besides, the mood at The Cape was becoming a little too David Lynch.
The back stage at the Turtle was decorated with all kinds of candles, spinning lights, printed posters. There was enough visual delight to attract a large crowd of eeed-up students. Sadly, this didn't happen; it was too much to hope for. At some point in the following minutes a terrible thought struck me. I had become the person I described in my previous article; drunk and in need of some chaotically nasty or morbid entertainment. I was even on the same side of the room as he was that very night! Fuck... a moment of weirdness followed, it took me a good few minutes before I noticed a cello on the stage.
Before long, two guys walked on making up Duotone: lead by a cellist Barney Morse-Brown and complimented by a muted trumpeter. I managed to find out from Barney afterwards that he received classical training from Cardiff. His ability was incredible and his CV broad. Immediately, the soft, melodic wash drew everyone in the room in. Each track was built on layers of parts contributed by a sampler machine. It wasn't the first time I'd seen this, another artist I’d seen a while back called Celloman (of all things) also implements the use of live sampled cello. Duotone's approach was very different. It was much more subtle, very inventive and, as a plus point, Barney is a much more likeable person. Throughout each track he would swap between his guitar and cello to build homophonic effect. However well you use a sampler, it always sounds too organised and repetitive. "It's too perfect" was my brother’s initial response and I found myself waiting for some dark, searing moment that never came. I was able to grab a listen on his myspace page and was relieved to hear a more strong and substantial sound than the live sampler would allow him. Duotone is wonderfully appealing and gentle music; both provocative and innovative. I still couldn't help feeling that I'd one day find it lurking on an acoustic chill compilation somewhere. Fuck that. All power to him, Duotone is one of those artistic projects that truly deserve universal success. Oxford should be proud to have him around. Aaron Copeland and Phillip Glass would be.
The next group was something of a more acquired taste. Imagine if Joy Division or even The Fall originated from Exeter instead of Manchester, (and I don’t mean fucking Muse) this is a close step in understanding The Cooling Pearls. Comparatively, it holds broader, folkier instrumentation with quirkier lyrics. At the same time they carry on the ranting of Mark E Smith and the mourning spirit of Post Punk. A certain pastoral feel also emanates from the reverb'ed violin drawing colours and space over the top. I love a bit of makeshift folk/indie that's unashamed of error and low-fy quality. Fans of Arcade Fire and Broken Social Scene take note. Sadly, the mix on myspace is a little irritating in its extreme changes in dynamics. It also scared the shit out of me at one point, maybe that's exactly what they were going for. Due to their eccentric performance, I wouldn't be surprised. But I'll be fair; scaring the listener isn't the top of The Cooling Pearls menu. With track titles such as "Hot Lovin' in a Western World" I feel like I'm missing out on some private in-joke. The lyric "I fell asleep next to my girl", as bad it sounds, is perhaps an example of some ironic humour.
There are a few scattered cringe-worthy moments ("The Stars they Shield" halts in the middle for a drawn out nasally monologue) but at the same time, some truly stunning ones. One track ends with a saddening chant "the future is beautiful" capturing a glare of haunting foreboding fear. This I believe is the resonating theme of the Cooling Pearls: to all the lightheaded nonsense a darker edge laid bellow. And when the lead singer gave a peace sign at the end of the set was it somewhat ironic? Maybe that's me being ridiculous, if not pretentious. No, it was safe to say that things we're a little unclear at this point and preparations were put in place for departure. My two advisors and I made our way home, avoiding anymore discussion about that business in Tibet.
