Cog Wheel Dogs and Elapse O at the Port Mahon 10/02/08

Another trip to the Port is another musical discovery and another notable mark of the Oxford music scene. I evidently don't get out much. I also tend to be very late for things and didn't make too much of an exception for the evening. After missing the first two or three bands I arrived just in time to watch the last two, and thank christ I made it.

It's becoming harder and harder to get a feel for exactly what the "Oxford sound" consists of. A city with such variation in people will expectantly result in wide variation of style. All the tastes, interests and influences mix together like some crazy cocktail, spiked with drugs of course. Maybe that's just me. Generally, due to the amount of academia as well as the large quantity of students, theres no shortage of intellectual or provocative music. The power of choice, such a modern illusion...
In this sense, both bands were incredibly different. It was melody against texture, mood against mood and yet, somehow, they complimented each other. Cogwheel Dogs, an acoustic duo with a rough edge were first on the little paper list that hung in the doorway. Their songs, a combination of mornful blues and grunge was offset by the expressive cello unafraid of screaming and fucking with the tension. His experimentation of the instrument was refreshing when you think of how groups like Kings of Convenience use it. To them, it adds only accompaniment, a typical "hint of string". To CWD, it's a prominant voice, even competing with the heartbreaking plead of the singer. There is almost narrative or journey to the songs, like two characters telling a story. Throughout their set you could cut the audience atmosphere with a chainsaw. You could also cut the audience with that same chainsaw but that's just sick, amusingly off topic however. All eyes and ears were fixated on the delicate, soulful sound. I felt wounded somehow.

As if that wasn't enough, as if being cut open didn't affect me at all, on stroll Elapse O to initiate a final, noisier beating. Searing and intense, it was an overpowering set spaced out by the click of the pedal at the end of each track. Silence becomes haunting when they stop. My sympathies for the bass, it was dragged to it's absolute limits. A drone of pusling pro-tooled drums underneath, apocalyptic shouting over the top, all create a scraping mesh of texture leaving you feeling abused and completely stunned. Like any good gig, you feel you've been through something.
An awesome night and my critical side feels almost guilty admiting it. At the moment at least, the Port Mahon can do no wrong.

17th of January 2008- The fight turns personal in the American Election

The one policy that each candidate stands for, the one policy for me that currently presides over the rest, is foreign affairs. And it seemes at first, certainly during few months before Michigan, the only candidate out of this crazy, over-stimulated, drugged up rat race is Obama. Rare, in most politicians, is his ability to put forward this issue in near honesty and with planned efficiency. The time has come for America to reconcider their role in the world arena, Iraq being one on a very long list included. Pakistan and Kenya to name a few others. How long can the civilised world hold the torch of democracy?
What I lean on now is which candidate had the best selection of music soundtracking their happy-clappy rallys (no pink prizes for Hilary here, it was office staff party music and god awful). This will seem intelligent enough when I remind you that the US is a country that houses citizens who choose their next president, the chump who sits on the most powerful country in the world, by the style of their tie. What's unbelievably worse is watching the American media (CNN in particular) question the public, during the lulls in between poll counting, about who they concider the most "attractive" candidate. These morons they bother to interview are exactly the kind of idiotic attention seekers of whose opinion we clearly don't give a shit about. Surely I'm not the only one who thinks the US presidential election should be focused on politics dealing over the delicate future of our world, not entertainment? You think? It's like the chapter from Johnathan Swift's "Gullivers Travels" where the next King of Laputa the floating island, jumps a fucking stick. Jesus Christ, it's so close, it's creepy. Speaking of creepy, lets have a moment of silence for John Edwards...
that's enough...
What I'm looking forward to see alot more of is continued debate between the candidates (sure, as if it's presently not enough) Both Hilary and Huckabee have been putting some, lets face it, amusing punches. This campain is personal this time round, politicans perform so much better under pressure.

-More on the US Campain Trail to come-

A New, Buding Universe of Control

It is with great geeky pride that I immediately pronounce to being a gamer. Video games are something that I’ve grown up with, something that’s very much apart of me and apparently to many other people as well. The names Luigi and Mario will be printed in my memory till the day I die. I’ll never be able to forget the happy music of Zelda or the experience of playing Shadows of the Colossus for 48 hours straight without sleeping. Some of these games are so brilliant they are without a doubt a new form of art. Aesthetic and engaging, challenging and thought provoking. Perhaps, exactly what some art tries to achieve. Why, in fuck’s name, is the modern medium still undervalued and sneered upon? To some, gaming culture is almost something they refuse to talk about or accept into culture. It has always been forced into the underground. The “elite” wouldn’t be too pleased to know that, whether they like it or not, video games are finally getting some sadly overdue acknowledgement.
Anyway, on without warning to World of Warcraft, Blizzard’s online “game sensation” that’s been going for a few years now. Simply printing the title sends every mind racing. Normally the category is split two ways: those who think the game is possibly the most well designed, enjoyable, sociable games ever created and those who think it’s mindless, dangerously addictive and a waste of precious time better spent outdoors looking at the orb in the sky which you used to understand as “The Sun”. After playing the game for over a year now, getting a Tauren Druid up to level 62, a Bloodelf mage up to 31 on a friends account, my ultimate opinion is still very much undecided. This is partly due to the games ever changing nature. WOW’s alternate reality supporting its own economy, society, language and slang (lol, ffs etc) will forever fascinate me. Unfortunately, the more I progress in the game the more unsatisfied with it I become. Weird, due to the obsessive steps Blizzard has made to make damn sure this doesn’t happen to everyone. Their financial future clings on to this. It seemed that the further I dived into it the less free it all felt. As I imbibed the social aspect and learned the fine art of choosing talent points and specific gear, I was in fact loosing my own personal nature to the game and becoming an unquestioning civilian. I fucking hate rules, especially in a video game that you have to pay a considerable amount for. For me video games allow me to escape the real world for a few moments, to let my imagination wander around lawless plains miles away from money and government, social conduct and common prejudice. It was as though my initial route into the game and the customisation available had all been in vain. It began to feel like I was loosing my gamer/explorer identity behind a wall of player courtesy and set paths that my character had to take. Once society is introduced to a game, where many people are playing together and at once, laws and control must be obtained to prevent chaos and anarchy. Scarily, this is not at all dissimilar to how western civilisation is structured. The solitude element is gone, destroyed underfoot by a million other players and their politics. WOW yearns for a misanthrope or a revolutionary. For the shear hell of it, I plan to create a new character completely bent on screwing over the game step by step. Stretch limits and test the waters. I will loot chests when I fucking want to, lie about where I actually come from, fish on a sunset lit dock while my guild is off raiding. Push it all as far as it will go. And why? Because none of it, despite what it feels, is real... yet.

02/12/07 at the Port Mahon - Von Braun, The Gullivers, The Blitz Cartel and The Sequins

After a while, a personal search for music becomes an adiction or an obsession. Recently, I've attempted to direct my vision to local arenas. Where is the real music in Oxford? Where do the unheard, underground bands play? My veins cry out for relief. Well, I can at least tell you where they DONT play: The Carling Academy for one. If you want to hear local bands before they dissolve away, or before they dissapear behind the inhuman wall of fame, while their expression is still honest and fresh, then you have to look elsewhere besides the main venues. It's any music writers dream to attend a catalist gig. For example, the famous Sex Pistols gig of 1979 provoked revelation for the small few who were there. Essentially, punk and indie began at that exact moment. These small events can change perception and understanding of music, it can spark off purpose, something imminent and original.
One of Oxford's local pubs, the Port Mahon has already acquired a reputation for hosting unknown bands, I thought it was about time I paid them a visit and see first hand the Oxford scene while it occurs instead of being overselective. Maybe something might happen, maybe not it doesn't much matter. What really matters is the expression, the art and the need to join an honest cause.
Everyone that played deserves a mention. No band performed half heartly or without true intent. Each one made their own mark. I must have been the only person there who didn't know anyone from the bands performing and still, I felt welcomed. It was a raw, DIY, garage evening (call it what you will). The mix was unbalanced and shredded, so long as the volume and the distortion stayed loud we wouldn't notice. The first band, opened the night on a reflective air. Made up of two guitarists and drums, Von Braun build up a strong ensemble. It was slow, intellectual grunge; but without the whiny, teenage self-projection. They were mature and incontrol of their sound while displaying selfconfession in tear drop of sadness. I especially liked the close harmonies of both voices and the concentration on the poetry (sometimes, simply speaking the lyrics can be very powerful) Each track had something in it, unique, understated and layered. It left me wondering whether there was a lot more bellow the surface.
And now for something more upbeat... The Gullivers. Choatic, fast paced and lightheaded. Unfortunetly, the singer couldn't sing for shit, but who cares. Like Ian Curtis or Bob Dylan or any other indie singer for that matter his voice contained character and attitude that fits their style. Accuracy seems pale in comparisson to expression. They got the most reaction out of any other band, leaving a positive and satisfying affect behind. Also, the female drummer added something subtle and beautifully femine that you couldn't get, well... without a girl. It was the song "chemicals" that stood out for me. Lyrical and painfully catchy, one you'd release really.
The Blitz Cartel, despite what the bandname promotes, were the weakest set of the night. They couldn't keep together and their drummer was like a 4 year old who'd been given a kit for christmas. Clearly, they enjoyed playing and this is what kept me on their side. A few promising moments, but also some apaulingly obvious section changes. To say they were the weirdest trio of the evening is not against their favour.
The last group closed everything on a high. Certainly the most acomplished and highest membered of all the bands the evening produced, The Sequins brightly soared and with only half the total audience staying to see it. They played in offbeat rhythms, stop and start guitar riffs, all perectly in sinc. The skill and simple love of what they did was evident. I couldn't help but love the guitarist. His ability was without doubt, it was eccentric and stylised. The singer however... stop for a moment, and imagine if the Libertines ditched Pete and dragged in Jonny from Razorlight. It's a near enough description. I can't say mean things however; the poor guys had to put together the whole set after The Blitz Cartel, in a moment of "Rock n' Roll", trashed the stage and then just walked out into the croud and stood around. Punk? Not really, just plain fucking amusing.
It was at about this point that the drink had distorted my tiny brain and I headed home only to recollect now the evening gone. Without a doubt, Oxford does have something great going on, an enticing subculture. The underground scene, although not exactly how I pictured it, is apparent and alive as ever. As overwhelming as it is to think about, there's so much to get into.

Natural Influence, Natural Beauty

Picture taken (by my brother) on a walk near my house in Devon

An interesting article about a new study into Birdsong had caught my interest, undertaken by Aberdeen University and brought to public attention by the BBC (click here if you want to read it). It brings to light, although perhaps in a over-scrutised, scientific way, the affect natural sounds have on the human psyche. How much influence do we gather from the "everyday"sounds that surround us? It's already obvious that some composers and artists draw directly from nature. The French composer Berio, writing mainly in the early half of the 20th Century, would go out on walks with his analog tape recorder and document birdsong. He'd record over separate seasons and during different times of day. These samples would then be transcribed to notational score by Berio himself. Entire symphonic pieces were written based totally around the melodic birdcalls, adapted in its rythmically abstract form. Even modern music references the sounds of nature. Bands such as British Sea Power and The Animal Collective use actual recorded birdsong, wind russling in the trees, even going to such lengths as to record themselves physically outside. We have The Animal Collective to thank for that in particular. Playing your own music in the middle of an open field must be a beautifully strange and humbling experience. Also, it's impossible for me to forget the soft, reassuring waves that close Alone in Kyoto by Air. Could it be some type of nostalgia, or simply accessing the indescribable connection we have with our our world. Of course, whats more interesting is how we are influenced subliminally by nature. The idea that these sounds creep into our art without us realising it is intruiging, if not inspirational in itself. I'm probably going off on one here but it's almost like a study of the etimology of our musical system and understanding. The origin of our cry of unique animal expression.
Living in a city my ears are perpetually swarmed by background noise, the sounds of the traffic, the murmur of the crounds pushing through the high street in mad consumer frenzy. Surely, this subconciously manifests itself in my music. Could I be writing under a mood that comes from urban living? It's certainly fair to say setting has its affect on the artist, and ultimately on the art. Would Gustov Mahler been able to create that grand, expressive 9th Symphony without the seclusion of his back garden hut? Where would Beethoven's 6th "Pastoral" Symphony be without his walks in the Austrian countryside? Those Romantics got seriously obssesive about using nature as sublime inspiration. Maybe this study will answer these questions, probably not. Either way, it's important for an artisit to consider his influences and, possibly at the same time, gaze at the sky though his window.

05/11/07 - 65 Days of Zodiac

My anticipation for the gig was almost non existant. I'd seen 65 Days of Static before, in the same place but a few years ago. Whats changed since then is really the release of only one album: The Distruction of Small Ideas. Their reputation is noticably more intense, apparently there is much more talk around the campfire. Unfortunetly their sound, being very much their own, hasn't gone through any evolution at all. Still they retain their original style and their musical structure; the climax and resolve, heavy mash of guitar effects and extensive jams, full expression and musical narrative. Shoegaze, it seems, has taken a more epic turn into darker dimentions. Its experience is something like standing in a Boeing 747 jet engine or perhaps the sound that would eminate from the collapse of our sun; and in all this, it is the sound of the apocalypse. Dramatic, dark and overpowering; at times, out of control and disturbing. To dance or be involved in any way at a 65 Days of Static gig is almost impossible, I am literally nailed into place and lost in a deep-green ocean of sound. All we can do is hold fast and hope they make it through alive. I can't remember where the tracks begin or end, I'm left with only the experience, naked in the void. As one critic of My Bloody Valentine wrote "I cant really remember what they played, just that it was fucking loud". A few reconisable tracks however, like floodlights would loom out of the bombardment. The wave of distortion is sometimes broken by only by that of a lonely piano, arpeggiating by itself and leading the music into softer currents. Minutes lead into fucked-up electronics including heavy, distorted drums and chaotical abstract synths. The way these sections merge with each other is almost perfect, seemless even. They fit the phrase "a beautiful noise" in every way.
My only actual criticism that I've had to scrape for is their apparent lack of change. They've always been experimental just along too specific an angle. Two years have passed since I saw them last, the lasting effect is all very much the same however awe inspiring it is. Consideration of new horizons is required for them, if they are to continue. Also, their backing guitarist and keyboard player began to piss me off, and I really dont know why. There was an ellement of the nu-metal self loving cock about him, maybe... thats just me. One thing is certain however, 65 Days of Static are a band to see live. I've hardly listened to their albums, they just don't live up to their gigs.

It would be criminal for me to forget to mention the one support band I saw. Due to turning up late I missed the first. Asobi Seksu, an electro pop group from Booklyn's new wave, played an amazing series of tunes - sticking in with the evenings shoegaze genre, and lead by a small japanese girl with a bjork sounding, siren like voice. With rich and stunning guitar waves, blinding and beautiful, it was truly otherworldy. Long has it been since a support act keeps up with the main. Seriously, if you have a moment, you will not be disapointed.

27th of Sept: DJ Derek and Zodiac Doom

All good things come to an end. Or at least in Cowley road's case, all good things sell out (a certain Joni Mitchell pops to mind here). It seemed the moment I left cowley road it all turned into a high street. Up springs a Subway, a Costa like quicksilver lightning with Nazi efficiency. Then, of course, the rebranding and refurbishment of the legendary club: The Zodiac. It's been a couple months since the rebuilding had begun on the newly titled "Carling Academy" and the final result? Well, the first time I saw it I nearly careered my bike into an oncoming car. The (approximate) 3 million put into the construction has evidently gone into cinema-style billboards hung above the mallrat doors and into covering the entire front in shitty wooden planks that scream to be splashed in satirical or obscene grafitti. By christ, I hope they do and reclaim it for the streets. The line up for the next few months looks somewhat mixed, very much like the general public opinion of the new apparel. All initial views are based on first impressions and full opinion is yet to be developed. Sadly, my first impressions of the place are not good. I spent ages waiting around the front to be let in for 10:30pm. The staff were as clueless as the Blue Peter crew. A few days before, while trying to prebook the tickets, I couldn't hear the advisor over her alienating speaker phone and had to rely on a near-by tramp for translation. So far Carling, you have yet to impress! Your doltish little widescreen TV's and your labeling of local independant bands. "ooo' what local beer shall I have? Oh. A Carling apparently" I'm also giving it a few months before the new paint smell dissapears only to leave an over bearing swamp of genital sweat and cheap aftershave. We have the smoking ban to thank for that.
Momentarily putting aside these complaints, the evening itself was suprisingly enjoyable. The overall set was a cross breed of classic Hip Hop and Dub - if I remember rightly, there was some Lee 'Scratch' Perry and of course Bob Marley. Mainstream yes, but impossible to avoid. Reggae has a wonderful ability to instantly put you into a good mood, and totally naturally. Weed does tend to go hand in hand with the genre (at least it does with me) and trying to separate the two is like trying to become a communist without first reading Karl Marx. It's Insanity. Besides the previously hidden smell, the other inconvenience the new smoking ban presents is the impossibily to get away with a checky spliff during a gig. This is something I personally will miss, to my mind it's poetically required while out on a reggae binge. The whole philosophy all seems to slide together. The blurring of ganja and great dub, indescribable and invaluable to those who have never tried.
DJ Derek has been doing his set in Oxford for many years now, back when DJ's simply played the tracks without an oppressive ego to deal with. Unfortunetly, the later it got the worse the music got. Still, some truly great moments. He would often talk in between tracks, introducing and discussing (one topic was the recent Burma protests which I've been following obsessively for the last week). To me, it was refreshing and gloriously old-school. To others strangely, his chat didn't go down well and certain ignorant fuckers began to heckle telling him to get on with it. It's ironic really. Some people are misunderstanding the idea behind reggae. The only solution? Inject them all with concentrated marijuana. Or, even better, valium. By that point I think they'll fully understand the idea of "being chilled" and we wont have to listen to them anymore. They'll just collapse in a stoned stupor, breathing heavily but smiling. It is precisely this that worries me about the new zodiac: new clientele that comes with the branding (free of charge). There have always been wankers at gigs however. No need, I supose, to over-react here.
Although I had a good time and although I'm remaining generally positive about the next year and its promises, I can't help but feel a tiny bit mournful. I can't help but feel that we will all miss the old zodiac before the end.

On the 5th of November I'll be going back to see and old zodiac favourite: 65 Days of Static. We'll see how their powerful and provocative sound stands up to the neo-plastic atmosphere. We'll also see if The Fall ever decide to return, which, I seriously doubt.

Myspace and art? In the same sentence?

Mostly everyone by now has seen and rated myspace; we marvelled at its brilliance and then left it, like alot things, forgotten by the roadside. Thats the internet all over pretty much. It's a world so much more novel and much less sublime. Jesus, Murdoch's got his finger in many tasty pies. Pies, that we the people, surely own by rights as we baked it in the god damn first place.

The current genre of Art Rock, originally defined by bands such as Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Explosions in the Sky and Mogwai, seemed for a while rampant on myspace. They all have one immedietly rekonisable aspect: there are no lyrics, in fact, no singing at all. The human element is dropped leaving behind landscapes, colour and emotional dimentions. What's left behind is the stars. The main trouble with the genre, among only a few problems, is our old ememy repetition. It has the tendancy to sound the same after while. About a year ago I discovered what I now realise is my proudest unknown and unearthed band; unearthed via the internet. Dezerett, a typical three piece band from Florida, have stayed with me a very long time since their discovery. They are the only downloaded band from myspace (I hardly ever download myspace band tracks) that I'll casually put on without any reservations. Some of the best music you own you'll play without overthinking. Maybe, in retrospect, the fact that I was smoking an obscene amount of marijuana at the time had some effect on the forming of this opinion. Nevermind that however, I'll disclose a description. Dezerett's music, it's all about the sonic scape: the melodic and beautifully overdrive'd guitar, the powerful sadness it all provokes, the hazel-eyed offspring of shoe-gaze and art rock. Stunning and blinding. I love also the use of electronica and the minimalist approach to harmonic texture. Raw and subtle, it stands out from all the other arty instrumental rock on the web. It's music that you don't forget so easily through the mediocracy of myspace. Dezerett is a soundtrack of the escape into the inner.
But enough mooning... cick here to listen to their myspace page, write back, say I'm wrong and completely misled.

A swan song from the Titans of Dance

It's been a good month or so since the release of new Chemical Brothers album. Just enough time for the weirdness to sink in. We are the Night (July, 2007) proves alot for the brothers of electronica. They've been through it all, the whole club progression from 90's to the present. A recent article by Charlie Brooker in The Guardian sheds resentful light on the modern club experience. Clubs, according to his misanthropic-ness, are no longer where its at (summing up his article painfully quickly here I'm sorry). Christ, its taken this long for people to realise? Like all great movements in music it all selfdistructs eventually. Look what happened to indie! Not exactly 'indie' now is it children? Clubs have had their day a long time ago in my opinion and, since they were originally defined by a combination of mood enhancing drugs and insanely trippy synth-based music, they're on the horrifying comedown. Take away the drugs and the experimental sonic sounds and you're left with the modern club: repetitive, soulless and asinine.
The bro's have created something thought almost impossible: They've brought back a certain amount of dance retro to the album (residing from the re-use of old analogue synths) while moving their sound forward into fresher, original pastures green. They do all this and retain their own style and voice. A far cry from the frankly disapointing previous album. With a strong track structure they include moments of unpredicable psychedelia and melancholoy. The last track "The pills wont help you now" could symbolise a respectful goodbye wave to club. You can almost feel the lasers fading and the sun melting into the red horizon. Setting, with the promise of morning.
Shit, where does all the meaning is these great movements go? Does it have to be so hallow? Unlike Charlie B I see a future for club society. The new chemical brothers album is either a swan song of its death, or its exactly what we've all been waiting for. I guess only time will tell.
Stupid "time"...

An Anthem for the inevitable decline

The subject of growing old has long been a subject popular of rock. You cant avoid it, we all get old and die (sorry, its kind of true). It's a fear averyone who considers themselves remotely human experiences, not daily I hope however.
Personally, Radiohead's "Bones" is the song that sums up these impending emotions the most beautifully - Angry with a hint of melancholy, simple but deep, a superb anthem for the motality we all face - "I used to fly like Peter Pan". It seems you still do Thom Yorke; you sadning, mopey, genius bastard. Now I'm truly ready to face the void.
The Bends Live