Curly Hair - The Ivy League

Putting on a Curly Hair song has the same rejuvenating effect as taking a midday walk in the park. There’s no disturbances, no irritating twats hurling their egotistical chants at you, just time allocated to wandering about and collecting your thoughts. The duo’s first release, a six track EP entitled The Ivy League, has some organic, flowery illustrations on its cover and is refreshingly real and honest.

The twee, sing a’ long nature of their music belies the confidence and serious intent underneath. Curly Hair are not to be underestimated. Having set up their own label in Brighton, Toy Soldiers (which has incidentally signed Jonquil), recording their own songs and designing CD covers, they seem keen to keep control over their art. As a first for Curly Hair, the record avoids making a bathetic entrance or flogging a pointless statement; it’s satisfied in its handmade process, in the pleasure of playing and recording.

Comparisons to Belle and Sebastian have already been drawn in the press, as is typical with this kind of light song writing. After a short opening, we hear the first of two standout tracks: “Let’s Get Cleany”, a smiling ode to rough living that slows to a gradual halt and, to finish, “The Bus Song”, an upbeat affair which provokes me to use the ‘infectious’ adjective… regrettably. Some minor problems include “Hully Gully” - an out of place acapella vignette. The duo’s voice doubling displays a strong musical bond, but in the mix it’s muddy and cluttered.

Even with synth organ, glockenspiel and trumpet, The Ivy League is unlikely to give you anything unpredictable. Its play count might also be short lived, or at least infrequent. None-the-less, Curly Hair set a resonant tone for themselves and their prospective label. If you see them busking somewhere around the country be sure to buy them a cup of tea and a sandwich.

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)

The Smittens / The Just Loans Split Single

In just cause, Twee Pop and DIY ethics promote an inspiring idea that anyone can pick up an instrument and write songs. Nobody said however that all this music will be ‘good’. This release from WeePOP! is a prime example; it means well but fails to convey anything beyond the simple joy of being in a band. Seriously guys, it’s time to grow up and let Belle and Sebastian go.

You may get two bands for the price of one (two tracks by each) but like Tesco or an unfamiliar drug dealer, it pushes something of dubious quality. About halfway through The Smittens’ ‘Summer Sunshine’ you realise you’ve been burned. Lines like “cause we’re bands and we’re fans / and we like to have fun and we like making friends” don’t do much for me; neither does the irritatingly jolly backing band and tired clichés of mix tapes and cute musings. Beat Happening made an art form out of being sad and child-like; few get close to replicating it.

The Just Loans are more accomplished musically – “I hear you’re the man now, John” is a bitter and jangly bit of folk with a grumpy accordion – but again the lyrics let them down. Both bands need a dramatic change of subject matter and musical prospects – maybe a turn to The Mouldy Peaches’ sarcasm for inspiration? The rest of you keep away, there’s better stuff coming from Scotland.

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)

Fryars - Dark Young Hearts

Our interest in the past is getting pretty obsessive isn’t it? Think of some classic old band and there’ll be a contemporary equivalent for sure. Shit, the band you’re thinking of is probably imminently reforming due to their own retro addiction, an obsession with their own past. Fryars, a solo project by one Ben Garrett, has a specific intention: 80’s art electro. It achieves it too, spot on, but don’t worry. Dark Young Hearts is fortunately more than just market filler.

Straight off, Ben’s voice style is a dead ringer for Franz Ferdinand’s Alex Kapranos. Certain tracks, such as “The Ides” with its club indie rhythm, even sound like the group too. Ben is 19, self taught and has a fascination with the subconscious and the fictional. “A Last Result” feels very Syd Barrett with its silly song structure, particular English insanity and surreal, Louis Carroll-like imagery. No arguments, “when the mind is a mushroom, but the words come easily” is a damn good line and the track is definitely Ben’s best.

We have the masterful Steven Hague (producer of The Pet Shop Boys and New Order) to blame for its electro-glam tendencies. “Lakehouse” and “Visitors” sees Hague slap on the emotion: Casio synthesiser leads over rolling electro drum pads. Trouble is, it reeks of sweaty shoulder pads, pot noodle and Tears For Fears. The cracks do give way thankfully, and we catch glimpses of substance behind the yuppie disco fest. The final track “Morning” is a warm and sumptuous, symphonic anthem that leaves you on a reassuring farewell.

While on the support circuit, Ben had received seductive winks from the top labels. Yes, the big guys in the big suits had got down from their big, spinney chairs to extend him a hand. Don’t do it Ben! Give the Music Industry the finger and stay independent. Admittedly, this is all too easy to say and, like so many others before him, it’ll be hard to hold against them forever. Fryars’ catchy, naturally cool idiom and breezy energy could see the dark ones returning again and again.

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)

New Singles: Black Moth Super Rainbow's The Sticky and Randan Discotheque's Daily Record and Time To Waste

BLACK MOTH SUPER RAINBOW - THE STICKY
Come, come let The Black Moth Super Rainbow screw about with your childhood memories. The BBC workshop synths and vocoder rambling may evoke a carefree response but instead of transporting you back to the comforting days of long summers and peanut butter sandwiches, its affect simulates being trapped in a creepy kids TV show.

Very few of us would be able to keep a grip on their sanity while inescapably stuck in the world of The Magic Roundabout. This is precisely the reason why we don't give children acid. For sure, the reoccurring phrase "you and me, we're going to melt away like apples in the ground" holds anything but Disney schmaltz. The humid, electronic psychedelia suggests Lemon Jelly or Caribou, putting on masks made of wax and acting out German Fairytales.

At just over two minutes long, it's a short and simplistic release containing nothing overtly new (in fact, dangerously close to their classic 'Sun Lips'). Ideally, their newest album Eating Us where this record is plucked from will expose them to a wider audience. It is now that Black Moth Super Rainbow can begin to test their fans patience and drive their unique Halloween road show to more sublime destinations.


RANDAN DISCOTHEQUE - DAILY RECORD MAY 18TH 1993 and TIME TO WASTE
I wouldn't be the first of Bearded's writers to notice that there's something going on up in the cold and crazy Scottish hills. Randan Discotheque, the baby of songsmith Craig Coulthard, belt out two marvellous tunes on this double sided single and make a name for themselves.

In the catchy electro vein of the early 90's, 'Daily Record' is a window into one day in the Daily Record paper. Frankly, it's a cheap attempt to revive the by-gone era (also particularly strange when Craig says in a perky voice "a friend's legs were blown off by an IRA bomb") But despite this behaviour, it manages to come through after a couple of listens.

'Time To Waste' begins like a long lost Television track. A groovy bass riff punctuated by scratchy guitar frets. Damn cool. I'd bet you've always wondered what Jefferson Airplane would sound like if they came from a New York art school? Of course you have - Craig's echoing vocals over rolling blues answer your question.

Incorporating all sorts of ideas, Randan Discotheque's range may be broad but it still presents them with the problem of what exactly to rest on. It would be easy to label them as purveyors of Scottish indie charm but I doubt that would go down too well.

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)

Posthuman - Monsters and Vortices EP

Setting is clearly very important to Posthuman. Having performed at a mixture of strange locations (namely a prison and an iron mine) it's clear their intention is to impose a sense of place on the listener. Their music is a sort of theatrical electronica - by layering eerie effects over a throbbing dubstep bass, it's an aggressive mechanical ballet.

Monsters and Vortices is their third EP among an extensive list of albums and singles. Though completely club friendly, there is a deep and subversive message behind the music. London's towering disillusion and self-fulfilment is exposed; truth hides in the grimy back alleyways and subterranean mazes. The residing urban dread is hard to shake off, even after 'The Karman Vortices', a comparatively down-tempo finale that could be seamlessly edited into Boards of Canada's 'Geogaddi', their most sinister of albums.

The EP opens on 'Krill' with a pounding kick drum that overflows onto the rest of the record. A pure evil bass line in 'Callisto' slowly and mercilessly crushes the spiralling, free loving synths in a death grip. A rhythmically cut female voice sample initially provides a small human element; ultimately the heroine is smothered by the smog spewing from steam burst percussion. 'Monsters Exist' takes the tone deeper into paranoia - it's like being stalked by some predatory creature.

The EP should come with a prescription warning: Not to be taken by technophobes or schizophrenics. An extremely unsettling record, totally vacant of anything human, Monsters and Vortices is a fearful drum and bass achievement. Directing their eyes to the horizon while keeping a foot in the club, they are right to be beckoned into the circle of the electronic dark arts.

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)

Windmill - Epcot Starfields

The second album release from London's singer songwriter Windmill sees his themes of alienation and displacement launched into cold, dark space to explore the empty stratosphere that engulfs our insignificant little blue planet.

Windmill, known to his bloods as Mathew Thomas Dillon, has a peculiarly characteristic voice. Cartoon-like yet on the verge of tears, it's a shot away from Wayne Coyne or Bright Eyes. The attraction is its weakness and trembling insecurity.

Each song is unassumingly simple and built firmly around the piano - an excellent instrument to convey intimate sadness and isolation (so long as you stay clear of Elton John and that sonofabitch Chris Martin). Dillon often sings in unison with a deliberately off key backing ensemble sounding like a sing-a-long in a school play. A few standout tracks such as 'Sony Metropolis Stars', 'Big Boom' and my favourite 'Photo Hemispheres' decorate the album with uplifting hymns.

One of the most thoughtful lines comes from 'Imax Raceway':

"We want our parents to live for always / they won't, they don't want us to be sad"

(pronounced 'seead' by Dillon in his pseudo American accent) These melancholy truisms remind me of the bite-sized philosophies of The Flaming Lips or Mercury Rev. In a sense, we define our lives by these brief reflections, but unlike the grand, collective unity behind The Flaming Lips, Dillon keeps us at a distance. His detachment is key to his creative individuality.

Epcot Starfields, designed around a childhood trip to EPCOT in Florida, is a beacon of hope. Hope that a future existence will have meaning - not just made up of brand names or technological faff - and that his unique voice will be heard a million light years away. There's a lot to like about Windmill. Scared, anxious, lost and disillusioned, he's one of us:

"I find it compelling that even when armed with the knowledge of our mortality, people's ideas are limitless"

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)

Telekinesis! - Telekinesis!

I remember Seattle as a solemn place when I lived there years ago, with two types of weather: rainy and overcast. Not the sort of picture painted in Telekinesis!'s debut album. If anything, it's the exact opposite, and the only possible thing they have in common with grunge is a fondness for straight-up bar chords. In any case, this just might be the happiest album you've heard this year.

Fear not. Telekinesis! isn't teenage indie, although you'd be forgiven for thinking so. Through the imagery of childhood, nature walks and picnics, cheek kissing, cherry cola and trips to Tokyo, they communicate some honest observations. The line "I want the simple life" from the brief 'We Talk Thru Satellites' aptly sums up their happy-go-lucky philosophy. Quite recently, America's obsession with quirky kook - an ubiquitous feature of 'Juno' and Wes Anderson films - has gone mainstream. Telekinesis! and their fashionable exclamation mark nudge in on it.

The record also enlists a little help from Death Cab For Cutie's guitarist, Chris Walla. His polished pop production gives it a bright and shiny feel. But therein lies the problem. No matter how hard I try to separate them, they remain too close to Death Cab for comfort.

It's hard to criticise Telekinesis! when they are clearly having so much fun. It would be like scolding a laughing child in a playground, and I'm just not that much of a bastard. But take note: If you're expecting the electro nuances of Postal Service then turn away now. But if you like the upbeat guitar based romanticism of The Decemberists or The Shins (and yes, Death Cab For Cutie) then Telekinesis!!!!111111 is worth every scrimped and saved pound.

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)

New single's: Grum's Sound Reaction, Gliss' Morning Light and Gold Panda

GRUM - SOUND REACTION
With support from Pete Tong and the ever obnoxious ego of Zane Lowe, a debut album and a gig at Fabric on the way, Grum appears to be on the verge of breaking into the club elite: "[...] only a route that artists such as Daft Punk, The Chemical Brothers and The Prodigy are familiar with". Coming across as desperate for popularity, I've not read a more naff and needlessly hyped promotion than the one accompanying Sound Reaction.

The record gives the public what they want: An 'infectious' funk bass riff, pulsing volume and evolving beats. Like a coiled spring, the tension before the drop is expertly handled, even though the repeated vocal sample is totally meaningless. Included are two bonus remixes which show it's versatility and transport the track into different atmospheres.

The earnesty behind the promotion is unnecessary and clouds the main concern: Is it good to dance to? Sound Reaction, released in time for summer, has all the right euro disco ingredients to delight all you happy ravers. For me, however, it's just another disposable commodity - played once and then thrown out.



GLISS - MORNING LIGHT
My first listen of Morning Light was complimented by the tap tap of warm rain, resulting in a sort of druggy afternoon poetry. This paradox gained them an early advantage.

Yet another shoegaze band, Gliss take the genre back to its early post punk days: the beautiful noise of Jesus and the Mary Chain. Remember that simple, echoing beat at the beginning of Just like Honey? Well, it starts off Morning Light too. Original? Perhaps not, but what is these days?

If the dream pop of Asobi Seksu or the Raveonettes makes you wet, then Gliss is a necessity. There are few records that convey burning sadness as well as this one - it's almost heartbreaking. The fuzz of their stormy distortion mirrors a purifying explosion of water. At just three minutes and a half, it's over too soon.



GOLD PANDA - GOLD PANDA
The Electronic music culture has ever been made up of the hobbyist and the obsessive hoarder. As a collector turned creator, Gold Panda's triple track release is a product of the extreme archiving provided by the Internet. For some artists, the overwhelming variety is a heavy blow to their narcassism (boo hoo). For Gold Panda, it's an inspiration and a way into composition.

'Quitter's Raga', a triumphant opening of Hindi hip hop, makes full, if excessive use of the time stretch edit tool, one of Four Tet's trademarks. It's a glitchy, stuttering effect as well as beautifully imperfect. 'Fifth Ave' uses sparse sampling over a dirty viynl drone and is the serene call before the storm. Arguably, 'Police' could be a comment on the recent G20 violence. It's scuzzy, siren synths and sandpaper beats reveal a love for IDM acid and simulate a chaotic, seething riot.

More than anything else, Gold Panda's release has more in common with folktronica - The Books or Dosh - but all three tracks consistently avoid easy categorisation. The genre eugenics heard here might be strong evidence towards an era of Internet enlightenment, though I sense struggle at work. At the record's end, we are left alone, down the Internet rabbit hole, paranoid and displaced from human reality. There's trouble in paradise.

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)

Stanley - (Truly) Nothing To Say

The Stanley Experience is a little like watching a romantic comedy. Everything aims to please and falls where you expect. Self released through Porcupine Records, their EP couldn't be more aptly named. How anyone missed the irony beggars belief.

Everything about this record groans with boredom. From the white walled, minimal decor of the room on the cover, to the empty subject matter, pace and tuneful placidity of all five songs. This is music by musicians who've given up taking risks and have settled into what they know and what feels safe - a creative suicide.

With melodic country/folk guitars, casual drumming and a light dusting of brass, Stanley's five-piece group have been ambitiously compared to Belle and Sebastian. Hazel's vocals are smooth and relaxed but are of an all too familiar style: Norah Jones, Macey Grey, Eva Cassidy, Katie Melua - the list can go on.

After the dull first two tracks, it picks up a little. Three Words has a smiling, wistful rolling rhythm, but this is about engaging as it gets and the last track, California Boy, concludes on cliche Americana.

More happens in Waiting For Godot. Nothing To Say leaves you feeling neither happy nor sad, nor any particular mood at all, just... nothing. It lulls the listener into a state of comatose, into apathy. Stanley are a painfully accessible, celebration of mediocrity and as the EP draws to a close you sense a desperate need to check your pulse. Maybe their next release will be Something To Say?

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)

The Thing - Bag It!

For about a decade, Norway has been producing some seriously innovative instrumental Jazz and if this is news to you, then sweet Jesus where have you been? A Cave?

A few bands, like Jagga Jazzist, have relied on the wizards at Ninja Tune to assist them in their Scandinavian blend of Jazz electronics. The label has also culled The Cinematic Orchestra and Bonobo from Britain. All joyfully kick sand at the rules of traditional Jazz, throwing everything and anything into the mix.

I expected The Thing to follow suit seeing as they're from Norway. I was wrong. Approaching downright preposterous, they are on a different drug altogether and live up to what their name suggests - an indescribable creature if there ever was one.

Signed to Crazy Wisdom and produced by Steve Albini, their album, Bag It!, is an assertive fusion of Jazzpunk. It combines a hardcore, alternative ethic (the blurry photos on the sleeve recall the iconic grunge shots of Mudhoney) with a rhythmless, harmonic freedom. While covering other artists - Duke Ellington and 54 Nude Honeys for example - they also drop in two tracks of their own.

All of the searing instrumental work is attributed to the band themselves. Albini's industrial/distortion expertise gives a boost where it's needed but mainly serves as a frame for their art. The drummer, Paal Nilssen-Love, breaches the abstract with psychotic vigour. Mats Gustafsson, the saxophonist, imitates a punk singer by expelling a range of flesh ripping tones, expressions, whines and squeals.

The Thing are true free Jazz, so free that they've ran from structure and order, into the jungle and gone guerrilla. For some, they will be alienating and unbearable; for others, nihilistic improvisation at its most playful. Bag It! will divide opinion and no amount of blabber from the press will describe them accurately to you. Ingenious or daft, The Thing demand your own reaction.

(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)