I have this dream that I’m on a stage Singing singalong songs with my friends And in this dream we’re floating in space And we all wake up in the end
So what makes a classic album? I’ve listened to quite a few over my time on this music-adoring planet, & I think the answer is quite simple. A classic album is made up of classic tunes. Not album fillers, not decent tunes, but classics; both sides of the LP, when so much so as soon as the last song is play’d on side 2, you flip it straight over to side 1 again.
I mean, come on, Sgt. Peppers, every tune is bangin’. Graceland is a massive feast of classic tunes, while the Stone Roses first album is only let down by the weird backwards track. Then the Morcheeba Album… if only they could have maintained the quality of songs throughout the album after such an opening 5 or 6, etc., etc.. I mean, we could go on for hours & hours analysing the merits of all the classic albums, but we are here in my kitchen to take a look at Scottish sonic-sensationalists, Mickey 9s, brand new album, releas’d tomorrow, May 2nd, 2024
On asking the band’s frontman, St. Kool, what was the, well, essence of the album, he replied, “we’ve abandon’d our punk pretensions and produced an unapologetic collection of indie-funk pop tunes on themes of love, death, and mental health. Odes to old masters such as Eurythmics and Daft Punk, as well as current acts such as Hot Chip and Death Cab For Cutie. Personal and searching, but dreamy and fun, an album to dance and singalong to. You can cry if you want to.”
IMPRESSIVE SNAKE was recorded in the second half of last year in the two home studios of Scottish singer-songwriter, James Grant (Bicycle Thieves), & also the band’s guitarist, Anthony Paul. Song-writing credits have been split 4-ways equally between the band – no egos here -, & we’ve already heard two of the tracks in the form of ‘Impossibility’ (released 06/10/23) and ‘Moments Go’ (released 01/12/23). The latter was the last BBC Radio Scotland Single of The Week of 2023.
So – is it any good? Well let’s slap it on & have a little dance shall we?
IMPOSSIBILITY
Opening tunes announce the direction of the album. This is Mickey 9s, so of course the bouncy bass-driven beats are there, but now they are nestling in soundproof’d, undrafty studios we also get waves of super-clear vocals, both from Kool & his band harmonies. A poppy opener with a repetitive, dancefloor pleasing swathe of ending verses, including mythological references such as;
Feels like I’m on the brink of breaking down Feels like I’m all tuned into monotone Feels like I am Prometheus bound Feels like I’m living on the coast of this ghost town Well, you know, you’re not alone pal
I want to lie on Sisyphus’s stone I want to lie in the myth of my old home I want to lie in the depths of the burial ground I want to lie in the mystery of sound Well, you know, you’re not alone pal
Then you look at the album title, & especially the cover, with the Book of Genesis references, & yer like, ah this is gonna be a deep ride indeed.
MOMENT’S GO
Just as the album opens with the first single releas’d from it, the second track is the aforemention’d BBC single of the week. Moment’s Go is pure 80’s sexysynth. I mean if you were gonna suck the sap out of the tree that holds the decades up, the 80s branch, then distil it’s quintessence into a single song, you’d pretty much get Moments Go. The song itself is a semi-whimsical plea to an old lover for some kind of romantic restitution, but is perhaps a little sparse lyrically to have us truly engage with the message.
WHO DO YOU LOVE?
This is the first track on the album I’d say was a true classic. An immediate muscle-grabber, I’d imagine the dance floor would kick off to this one big time. All the parts work together in a solid block of funk here, including our first taste of female vocals, Imogen she’s call’d, a little too Annie Lennoxey perhaps, but still an absolutely excellent addition to the band’s uberconfidence – this is who Mickey 9s are, this is how we do it, & why ya not dancin’ yet?
So, a third of the way into a nine track album & I start thinking in tryptychs. Act One is over, the three segments of which seem to paint a picture of heroically attaining a high level of amorousness with a probably idealistically imagin’d lady. Eve, herself, perhaps. Let’s bang on Act Two to see if I’m right…
IF I GET LOST
I was right about the love thang, I think; check out the lyrics of this proper snappy popsplosion.
If I get lost, I get lost from you babe I run around, run around, run around, run around When I can’t find you
Minor altercations seem to escalate Gotta hide the baby when we reach this state Anger starts to grip me Time to run away Fight or flight my instinctual urge to stay
The second verse has an even better couplet, reading; ‘Talking, becomes tackling, becomes attacking / Defensive manoeuvres become entrenchments.’ Overall, an infectious earworm of a tune, dripping in melody.
WAVES OF LOVE
Track 5, the keystone, half-time oranges, the centre of gravity, etc.. Waves Of Love is dreamier, mellower affair, tho’ of course retaining the signature highway-driving, beat-focuss’d quintessence of Mickey 9s. And yes, we’re still in the love zone, whose ending is, lyrically, pure poetry
Somewhere underwater We wander under waves of love With secret hearts
Waves of love Wash over us Waves of love Will surely drown us
So it is a love album, after all! I’m definitely getting those vibes now!
HEADLIGHTS
Or not! This track had no real love references, while musically it struck me with an astonishing immediacy of coolness. I liked it, I liked it a lot. Classic bass line, chord structure & melodies given new life, with some lovely lyrics transporting us to a late night drive thro’ Scotland, probably after a Mickey 9s gig. Classic tune number two, for me.
DAEDALUS
This album is definitely getting mellower. It’s also brings us back to the mythomemic opening, in which we have Daedelus, the man who built the Labyrinth & also the wax-melty wings which his son, Icarus, used in his attempt to fly to the sun. A third conscious-surfing driftalong in a row, in whose fabulously broken & riveting ending we are definitely entering the realms of Art Rock.
DREAM
So, to the penultimate song, which is almost as important as the finale, for it, of course, sets that up psychically. Happy to say Dream is the third classic tune of the album; more restrained musically – which is a nice for the album, texture is always important-, & flourishes along to its harmony-inducing & hypnotic main lyric which we should all end up singing in the bath at random some day.
DAVE PUNK
Impressive Snake’s lengthy finale ties up all the threads we’ve encounter’d so far; grasping for love, Art Rock & that ever-moving beat given flesh by the band’s ever-slick guitar work. This really means that the entire album is more concept album than an attempt to make a classic, tho’ like I said 3 of the tunes should become perrenial favourites.
We even get a wee bit of French among the lyrics – ‘sous les lumieres stroboscopiques,’ means ‘under the strobe lights’, which is the main theme of the song, as in;
I never knew I loved you Til I saw you in the strobe lights I thought I would never find you Til I saw you in the strobe lights
So, well done lads, a proper album to listen to for 2024. I mean, that’s just me in my kitchen with a coffee listening to it’s riotous stream of beauties, tippy-tappying on my keyboard, like. I’m deffo up for seeing how the album effects me in the future, either on a drive, or having a cheeky rave in my living room, but wherever it is, I will be listening to it in its entirety, again, I am sure of that.
On the edge of summer & the verge of another fantastic Scottish festival season, when friends reunite, romances begin & everyone just has a damn funky good time, the first whisperings of that hurricane of music are, well, in the air. Being the veritable audio capital of Scotland, the Glasgow area was feeling the first gusts last weekend with two all-day fiestas of band after brilliant band – in the Paisley case -, & singer after slick singer in the case of La Sierra Casa showcase at Room 2.
It was time for a gentleman’s stroll – Paisley first, & it’s well busy Food & Drink festival, sprawling congestiveley thro the central plaza area around St Mirin’s impressive Cathedral. I mean, Paisley is kinda impressive really, & I’m hearing great things about its music scene, fresh from the lips of my mate, Myles, from Arran, who recently moved to the place. Apparently, there’s this cool jam night on Wednesday’s hosted by The Keg music venue, & by the end of his first jam there had become the drummer in two bands, both of which play’d last Saturday.
The idea is that, during the festival, Keg set up their own stage in a marquee on the bridge over the White Cart Water, in which all the bands who play at their venue get a chance to play outside – well kinda outside -, & as a part of the festival its free for everybody.
People were congregating from Glasgow, Ayr, Arran & Galloway for some proper tunes, including me & crew, & I thoroughly enjoy’d St Mungo, one of Myles’ bands, a standard 4-piece electrified by Myle’s ever evanescent drumming & the honey-soak’d vocals of singing & catchy songcrafting of front man, Greg. I especially enjoy’d their track, Goodbye (above).
After offering my appreciation to the band for a fine performance, it was time for the second half of my Clyde-water’d afternoon of Caledonian guitarwork. So, to Room 2 & the La Sierra Casa showcase. Set up by Kyle Falconer from the View, the idea is you & other budding songwriters go & spend a few days with each other & tutors at a villa near Alicante in Spain, have a fantastic time in the sun & become, by osmosis, a better songwriter.
I’ve made pals for life thro’ this nonsense
Alan Purvis
With several ‘camps’ a year going on, that means a lot of alumni, which meant that Room 2 served up something of a speed-dating style scenario, with new singers every 10 minutes or so. It was like we were all sat by a campfire being lit by the luminous flames of Glasgow’s intense love for music.
From 6PM, however, more time began to be allotted for the acts those whose songwriting efforts are seriously taking root, such as Neeve Zahra, Rosie Alice & Dovv (see Spotify links). The whole affair was fascinating, really, a staccato trolley-dash thro’ 2024’s sonic zeitgeist, it was really interesting to hear how the ‘voice of the people’ was coming out of, well, it’s voices.
Keep it up Glasgow, you really do go from strength to musical strength, with each new generation inheriting, & adding to, your catalogue of classy tunes!
I want a hero, or an ‘anti’ one Some mortal who could change the world with song & moving chords, a maestro, paragon, Whose melodies & lyrics leap along Who’ll make us think & dance, perchance upon A higher plane of consciousness, among The sibilant hauteurs of humankind, Whom, hissing, never listen – never mind!
Of all the gifts of mind the Balladeer Presents an art to us most magical In which real peoples of the past appear As powerful as if them Biblical; Vivid, moving, breathing, soothing, sincere, So much it proves a lucid miracle, They live again! those, whom in history, Did mark their mark thro restless mystery.
The Twenty-seven Club glows emphatic When titans of drugtaking finally Find bodies gone on strike, a lunatic Deviant at the wheel, to supinely Lay them down, comatose, paralytic, Often with a demeanour divinely Accepting the ultimate high of death – Ten thousand crackpipes in a final breath.
There is a modern member of that gang A master singer & a brother bard Who knew just how to tune a guitar twang To hypnotise the Hellhounds in his yard Who crooning with the old tramps as he sang Each word the turning of a tarot card Would mystify us, energize, inspire Our souls like faces shining by a fire.
His life shall form the substance of this song Whose mould ordain’d as Ottava Rima In cantos of a hundred stanzas long Projected by poetical dreamer Well, me that is, whose dragonyear sends strong Impulses, deep as the first kalima, To mind, the most poetic lives on earth In finest lines revive them with rebirth.
Most epic poets plunge ‘in media res,’ That is ‘the middle’ for those not winning School Latin prizes, (& res rhymes with ease) Where was I? Oh yes! a poem spinning On Kurt Donald Cobain, when, if you please I’ll begin his tale at the beginning For round our childhood deeds & people swarm Which piece-by-piece our deeper fabrics form.
Let us begin with the ‘Aberdeen Curse’ Being the continental terminus Ocean next stop or star-stitch’d universe Attracts th’interminable verminous Thinking, ‘well, things cannot get any worse, I might as well stay put – the sperm in us That seeks a host, he’ll spread his DNA By the shores of Gray’s Harbor’s ria bay.
From copulation comes the miracle Of this existence in consistent form When singeth Fate at thy most lyrical & Angels bringeth babies to be born As when upon Gray’s Harbour Hospital Already beaten-brow’d by crown of thorn Out of a bloody uterus, thro hurt, A boy, for all of us, a boy call’d Kurt
A boy was born in windy Aberdeen Among the forests, by the endless sea Of ceaseless rain & sunshine rarely seen Of difficulties & delinquency Crack rocks for breakfast & the jocks are mean To one starchild of cyclic mystery Y’know, the ones on earth most seldom born Like single lilies in a plain of corn.
Soon as the babe left the baptismal font He’d entertain squads of aunts & uncles Who, begging to babysit, with a want Somehow bewitch’d, planets around a sun, gulls At scraps, Arlo’s Alice’s Restaurant & others of Simon & Garfunkles, He sang with cherub sweetness, sheer delight Did fill their lives with Elven fairy-light.
There’s nothing like loving thy first born child, When every waking day’s a nursery & sleeping’s a myth, as toys & nappies pil’d In only months Kurt’s curiosity & perceptive sharpness would lead to wild Excited, explosive precocity Whose tantrums becomes something to endure But, this toddler, was talented, for sure!
Sensing a love of music in the boy Aunt Mari bought a bass drum that became Within a minute his favourite toy That with a wildness none of them could tame He’d bang & bang & bang & bang, annoy The house & all the neighbourhood, first fame For his performances, as marching round The Streets of Aberdeen all heard the sound.
And every time his bedroom lights did dim, Out came his first imaginary friend, For Boddah any bed could comfort him, Kurt knew he would be right there to the end, More tangible his monkey was, Chim-Chim, On both of them, just them, could Kurt depend For festered at the gateways of his mind He fostered hatred for all Humankind.
Aunt Mari was a musician herself She’d play’d in bars for years, even releas’d A single, she produc’d it from the shelf & play’d it Kurt, whose love for her increas’d “Auntie you are famous!” her little elf Did squeeze her hard, as solemn as a priest Said, ‘one day I’m gonna be just like you!” “What’s that?” “A singing star, I’ll be one too!”
“In that case you’d better listen to these…” & carefully selecting some albums Awards him the Beatles & the Monkees Before long a Mickey Mouse set of drums Was his for Christmas, with a kiss, cos she’s “The best mum in the mummyverse of mums!” Thrash-smash-bash-crashing, splash-crashing, ev’ry day That by the Spring was far too trash’d to play
One day he gave his grandfather some art With Donal Duck so accurately drawn He was accus’d of tracing, so did start Another drawing straightways, when alone With papers, markers, comic books, apart From other human beings, he would spawn Aliens & monsters, from time to time He added words, & even ones that rhyme
He watch’d the choppers rising from Saigon & just like that the war in Vietnam Was over, one they never could have won His uncle home return’d a diff’rent man Who, walking with his nephew said, ‘Kurt, son There’s not much work these parts, but of you can Avoid the US Army, witness’d I Such sights my sleepless nights still horrify.
In an age when pharmaceuticals reign Doctors dismiss holistic vitamins Prescribe, instead, what drags the wild kids sane, Dependency on drugs thro ritalin’s Properties, anti-narcoleptic grain, That’s more a borderline ampetamine, Which wears, off leaving Kurt awake all night Reading back issue comics by torchlight.
As waking dreams reality defies & promises of better times instils He shut out all their arguments & lies – As Wordsworth saw a host of daffodils Whenever he clos’d his Westmorland eyes Kurt too saw things – from bad birth control pills Swarm’d weird flipper babies with lizards tongues Singing discordant sentences as songs.
Love! ye men of the marrying kind, Tho’ in the main how they’ve hen-peck’d you all & as for thee, whose bridal pledge survives, Why should it be such vows protect you all Not every couple’s hugging magic thrives Better it handl’d intellectual Until at last the smother’d fire goes out & puts the business past all kinds of doubt.
His father was a Chevron mechanic With neither love for learning or the learned But watching sports border’d him on manic & of results grew trueliest concern’d Watch’d basketball matches in nigh panic – Basketball & baseball – his wife felt spurn’d, “I don’t think I ever really loved him, Most nights there’s only me & Kurt & Kim.”
Whenever a family is divided Somebody’s gonna have to rear the kids A decision anciently decided The mums’ll get ’em, even invalids Some might call the custom quite misguided Others, just our link to the arachnids When, after mating, females set a tomb Inside their gullets, nourishing the womb.
So Wendy got the boy, but beautiful She soon attracts attention, & soon found A man to fuck her from dysfunctional But, as often deliver’d by rebound, She met a loser, reprehensible He beat her, mind & body, to the ground Who told her son was better if he scramm’d A cuntish “fuck you mum!” as front-door slamm’d.
His dad mov’d out to Montesano, where His prefab home truck’d to a trailer park, & with a party was assembl’d there With beers & beef & banter in ter dark By morning glow a brand new home to share With his dear son, a modern Noah’s ark Without the women folk, but with the dogs & mice, a paradise among the logs.
Whatever Kurt now wanted now he had & did whatever too, his dad did teach Him how to shoot, to smile & just be glad They lived near nature, he was no Nietzsche But knew where to tickle his son when sad & when, one evening, camping on the beach When pled, “Dad please don’t get married again?” Don said, “Son, I promise I won’t, most plain.
The walk to Montesano’s High School took Less than ten minutes, one morn, time to kill Shortcutting thro thick woods, retorting ‘fuck!’ he saw a human hanging, twisted, still For more than time Kurt stood there & just shook, Useless limbs to life, a dimly-lit thrill, But nothing happen’d, suicide is real No more to think, to stink, to drink, to feel.
Wondering what this discovery means Some prescient portent of life story Reflecting family suicide genes Of trigger-pulls, collapsing all gory, Into deep’ning chats with the same old teens Slots, “I’ll go out within flames of glory & kill myself a famous superstar For drums & songs & strumming my guitar.”
When Star Wars came to town his powers bloom He knew he was watching his relations On Tatooine a memory exhum’d Of visiting, with the delegation Of some red planet, by two suns illum’d, When cursing these human limitations Kurt wish’d he could just Jedi back to base At hyperspeeds, & leave to Earth no trace.
Then comes the fatal gym class skipping rope He trips & slips a disc, scoliosis Soon evolves, pain so rough most barely cope For spinal curvature’s long prognosis No cure intends, no respite & no hope, “Nobody ask’d for, nobody chose this Why do bodies transform in such strange ways,” Mulls Kurt Cobain in his painkiller haze.
Then came the day Kurt wish’d he would have stay’d In Aberdeen, his dad fully reneged Upon a promise, just so he’d get laid, Promptly remarried, furthermore was plagued Step-siblingly, old loyalties betray’d, As when the British soldier ‘Gen’ral Haig’d’ & blindly usher’d t’wards trenches promis’d Empty – when maxim bullets did the rest.
Within a house of larger yards & bulks This just-add-water family took root Whose basement grew a cauldron ditch of sulks A pit to lock the door, shut out, refute, This mad reality, a pile of hulks, Thors, Spidermen, & always this strung lute Which playing with the tenderness of youth Expung’d the bullshit from this living truth.
However much that weird woman tried Her second mother’s soft felicity Grieving for his own family that died Descending into animosity He’d bully his step-brother ’til he cried & fought his father to adversity Begging his mother always on the phone, “Can I come back…” “I’m sorry son…” & groan…
Don tried the best he could in his own way Some kids have never seen their father’s face & took his son to work each Saturday Where, letting him have the run of the place, Kurt makes prank phone calls, climbs log-piles at play, The scampers to Don’s truck, his special place ‘News of the World’ by Queen plays constantly ‘Til sounds cut out at drain of battery
Upon the day Kurt’s fourteen years now are A choice from Uncle Chuck, a brand new bike Or an old electric six string guitar Made in Japan – well Kurt, what would you like As when a whaleship blips on a radar Or finger slips out of a Dutch boy’s dike – From tranquil seas futurity explodes In scudding floods, ferocious overloads!
The mysterious manna from Heaven Which thro our art unproven consumes us & drives us blindly to our obsession That uses, confuses & illumes us Remnants of ectoplasmic possession Oozes thro juvenilia, dooms us To dedication & a wasted life, Or not, for Art is Art & Art is Life!
Such manna fell on Kurt Cobain’s lithe hands & pick’d up Louie Louise, so he thought, The one song play’d by all the North West bands De facto anthem, with a chunk he caught The change of chords, the strangest vale expands Of sounds achievable, if when them sought He’d sit down, & with patience at his back He’d spin a finger-fumble to a knack.
His uncle’s band’s guitarist came along & sat him down & ask’d him what he knew The boy play’d ‘Louie Louie’, got bits wrong & there corrected was, the pair soon flew Thro three fast months & many a new song “My Best Friends Girl” & “Back in Black” but two Another, “Another One Bites the Dust” &, overall, Kurt learnt them all, well, just.
Kurt found himself three chord structures strumming & settl’d them into soft metal grooves In moments rich melodies was humming Which his internal editor approves Mouthing their sounds, syllables kept coming That like a lyrical instrument moves Together to the guitar & the beat He’s tapping out in time with sneaker’d feet.
‘So this is what it’s like to write a song,’ Kurt thought, committing soulparts to the page ‘The one’s that people like to sing along When they are sung before them on a stage;’ The need to write another song grew strong, As steers the noblest poets of an age Running to the sun of procreation Shining on their wonderful vocation.
As golden ratios thread the dance of scales Like planets realigning with the stars Impenetrating mating chords of Whales & throbbing hums of market day bazaars A driving beat divides them into bars Whose even punkwork frames, whose wild wassails When yellin’ & a hollerin’ on top Wades us thro’ sonic guts like hogs in slop.
To everything else’s detriment Kurt practic’d his guitar, his father sat Him down one day & on the next was sent To join the best boys on a wrestling mat A chance his inner furies to unvent A smash of shocks, a flash & jocks splash-crash Transforming this shy guy from nerdy squirt To hyper-daemonical extrovert
Coach told Don, “Kurt’s one of the best I’ve had! & I want him to represent the school,” So came the match, the first made Don mad The second shock’d, the third time felt he fool After the fourth he storm’d out, red-fac’d, mad How could the little bastard think that’s cool, Just folding arms & getting himself pinn’d with no resistance, his roof I’ll rescind!
A teenage body rack’d by double pain His stomach screaming at his I.B.S., Like random lightning striking thro the rain While ever ached his ccurv’d scoliosis That domineer’d his back, the brutal reign Of arthritic emperors, but far worse For soreness over vigour’s life’s worst curse.
Being born in the post-nuclear age, With Reagan’s button-finger’s puppet-poise Set to send destruction, with silent rage The Cold War wages, with its lethal toys Array’d in red & blue upon the page & TV screens, news dribbling ruesome noise Of who was winning, whom the stock-pile star America or the U.S.S.R..
Our kids they could be anything at all Some sports obsess’d, some staunch political Some natural parents, some hate the role, Some heavenly & some heretical Some total seafarers, some hometowns small Whiel some turn out to be poetical Surmising standard schooling, “What’s the point? When knowledge chieves us thro’ a reefer joint.
One lunchbreak in the school refectory In swagger’d a huge creature from elsewhere Quite confident of coming victory Kurt could not help but drilling with a stare Into this spirit, felt a factory Of frolicking was working hard in there, Yet, something else, Kris Novoselic smil’d At him & shimmer’d as a summer’s child.
Alone, again, into those muddy streets A boy, barely halfway to thirty Pockets with copies of ‘Perfume’ & Keats Passing houses ramshackily dirty A time to tear out triumph from defeats To funny be & foxy & flirty & with electric geetahs in his hand Light up the world, the front man of his band
Unable punk to buy in Aberdeen He’d have to make his own, his amp’s ten watts Full power strained, screaming for Halloween He wailed a prototune called ‘Papercuts’ & slumped exhaustedly, asweat, serene, After the blast, he felt it in his guts, With just three chords he would have, after all Something to contribute to rock & roll.
Aunt Mari had a four-track, now & then He’d songs record, percussion wooden spoons Upon an empty suitcase, denizen Of low distortive holes, guttural croons Evolving slowly into something ‘zen’ That once or twice resembl’d actual tunes & now, with ‘Fecal Matter’ he’d record A formal demo where his soul outpour’d.
The demo did the rounds of Aberdeen ‘Illiteracy Will Prevail,’ it’s name With screeching gusto agitating spleen & perfect grounds to hurt, to hate, to blame On one song Kris Novoselich grew keen & made the call, the birth of all his fame; “Het Kurt, its Kris!” “Hey, man”, “I’ve listen’d to Your tape, I’m really loving that ‘Spank Thru.’”
April 4th, 2024, Manchester. At the O2 Victoria Warehouse the Happy Mondays, Inspiral Carpets & Stereo MCs congregate a combined age of 1000+. Meanwhile, in another part of town, a brand new band outta Liverpool was braving the epic rivalry simmering in advance of yesterday’s big footy clash at Old Trafford, & playing a set of their songs. The venue, Yes, the name, Keyside, the average age, less than a 100, & the music… absolutely brilliant?
I’d met my photographer for the evening’s engagement with the zeitgeist, Danny, at Piccadilly, & down we trundl’d the few blocks to Yes, where we caught the end of the support band, Arkayla, bought ourselves a couple of decently-priced pints, & readied ourselves for the show.
So on they came, a cool-looking quartet, whose singer (Dan Parker) had a smile on his face pretty much all the way thro. The guitarist (Ben Cassidy) jangl’d with a Cure-like polish, the bass-player (Max Gibson) pull’d out some reyt lines, like, while the drummer (Oisin MacAvoy) was pure ‘Master of Merseybeat’ himself.
The overall sound of the band was a completely enjoyable alchemical audiofest, with Dan’s honied yet edgy vocals really pleasing to the ear. The songs were, well, not original in concept, but just really infectious – a few bars in & you were hooked, while come the end one was – well, I was anyway – joining in the chorus of ‘nice one lads,’ ‘yes boys,’ etc.
It’s very early days for Keyside – they’re only a couple of singles in, but have a proper twang about them. There’s certainly something about them & I think that is mainly their potential, in which case the future definitely looks promising, especially as they’re on the books of the Modern Sky label.
I manag’d to grab the bass player at the end & asked him where does he see the band in a year’s time – ‘just bigger & bigger’ he replied, & I have no doubt whatsoever, his prophecy will come true.
On a dreich, rainy, damp, wet Saturday night, which is nothing unusual for Scotland in March, Sam Lee was in Edinburgh to bring some warmth and joy to Summerall’s Old Laboratory venue. The Summerhall is a labyrinth of old theatre rooms, lab rooms and lecture halls, and is a perfect place to be hosting Sam Lee on his “Songdreaming” tour this March and April.
Songdreaming is the latest studio album from Sam and has already stirred up a frenzy of interest. Since the release of Sam’s debut album “Ground of its Own” back in 2012, his music has grown, matured and his style has evolved into something unique and very special. The tales, stories, myths, tragedy and traditional songs of times past holds dear to many a peoples hearts and Sam Lee captures that beautifully in his modern, but yet nostalgic take on folk songs.
Not re-booting or renewing; but restoring and bringing back the re-birth of lost ancient Irish, English and Celtic songs – brought forward into the present to be reconnected with multi generations of folk music lovers. Having, at times, put his roots down with the Romany Gypsies and Irish Travellers, Sam gave himself up to the musical influences and history of song and stories these communities held deep in their traditions. British folk music is steeped in history and there is no better folk singer than Sam to tell its stories.
As the lights dimmed on the Old Lab, the all-aged audience welcomed Sam with great enthusiasm. With a calm, tranquil vibe in the room, Sam proceeded to engage us with some fascinating story telling. Its was clear that Earth, nature, animals and wildlife are a fundamental part of Sam’s connections between music and mother earth, particular The Nightingale bird. Considering he was a student of adventurer and survival expert Ray Mears, it all makes sense. Folk music and Nature is Sam’s life and tonight he took us on his journey from past to present day.
Not did we just get to revel in the beauty of songs like, “Singing with the Nightingales”, “The Garden of England” “Lovely Molly”, “Bushes and Briars “, Sweet Girl McRee” and “Green Mossy Banks” we also had the privilege of the music icon Bernard Butler ( the big hit song “Stay”) on guitar. I was aware he was producing Sam Lee but was pleasantly surprised to see him on guitar. The set went as smooth as silk being turned on a spindle, moving from song to story and story to song.
A lovely atmosphere had descended over the auditorium and a quiet peaceful feeling seemed to beam from Sam. He has captivated all that folk music is, happy, sad, tragic, beautiful, loving and more importantly alive and truthful. “Songdreaming” is the dreamiest album i have had the pleasure to listen too recently and the message is clear. Never stop dreaming !! A wonderful evening of amazing musicians fronted by the incredible Sam Lee.
Last night I had the pleasure of seeing a gig at Glasgow’s St Luke’s venue to cover the support act instead of the main one. It is a church that like so many others has changed into a concert hall. It was decided in 2012 that the magnificent building needed a new purpose and renovation began in 2015. It’s in an iconic spot in the city with unmistakable red light meeting you at its entrance.
The scene was great looking down from the Gods (so to speak) the room packed and the vibe tremendous. I was there for support act ‘Kill the Pain’ who came on as a duo in sparkling red and blue dresses, and began effortlessly to inject the gig with its tones of outstanding visual and sound marksmanship.
But first I’ll remark a little on the main act who were just as brilliantly effective. Both of these bands were formed in France, Nouvelle Vague (the main act) brought out a covers album way back in 2004 when they came together to agree that it would be a worthwhile endeavour after years as musicians and producers in the music world. Their show last night had come from the specifics of French cinema in the 1960’s and new wave music from the 70’s and 80’s, they have hit a target that wipes the floor in this genre.
But now to the support act this thing called ‘Kill the Pain’. As I’ve said the venue is a handsome version of what used to be a place for religious worship, so that vibe is already powerful, as the lights went dark and the crowd quietened on came the two protagonists for the night to the tune of two humans who took to the stage without nervousness nor fragility but with a confidence that was to heighten throughout the night. They played and danced with each other sharing vocals and swapping instruments, and with total abandon explored a great many styles fitting them into a genre that was to be wonderfully celebrated throughout the evening.
A music of careful spontaneity, with a band who have hit their 20th anniversary and are following Nouvelle through a tour of the UK this year, it’s a very special gig but every inch of it total fun. I’ll mention here to give a sense of the sounds that reverberated into a room where the audience too were as dedicated as the music.
To the ceiling filled with a sound coming from 1960’s French film and musical roots of funky, outlandish and reverberant encumbering sensuality. A gorgeous vocal collaboration that changed and charged the tunes creating divergent, irony inducing fabulousness! and most of all, remarkably, without the barrier of stage and crowd. The fantastic, soothingly smooth music mixed with an amazingly strong French appeal, and unavoidable welcome to taste, construed freedom and loveliness embroiled.
Once again the view from up in the gallery mixed with the sight of the crowd and stage below was emotionally iconic, tremendously intimate, a scene fit for the making of a famous night. In the more than capable hands of musicians in the throes of dance, theatre and vocal masteries but with the intentions of a thing everyone is invited to. A staunch night of music made of love, dancing made of passion and collaborations made of gold.
The aptly titled King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut is a greatly popular music venue half way into town. It’s a venue steeped in rich musical history. The room was packed for a midweek gig, it’s very interesting layout speaks of this history and its musical ascension.
On first were the dulcet tones of Benjamin Steer who played and sang mostly on his own with a couple of backup tracks. His songs were poetic and his lyrics held a lot of emotion, he was well suited to this in his voice and appearance. He is a star in a newer type and style of song writing that mixes protest, with a strong and husky vocal, with love songs that put the lively evening in a soft mood as they whooped.
He played about 40 min set of clearly original music, which is a more than descent segment that mixed Irish with blues with pop versions, so as he left to welcome main act the already lively atmosphere, had seen a great gig.
‘Kingfishr’ are a new group who abandoned menial life to join and form a band. They were young, fun and he howled a little on vocals. A 5 piece scuffle band unafraid to share, and enjoy the room that they were making legendary, the careful blend of instruments and personalities that included a reverberating banjo, 2 guitars, bass and drum.
They rocked through the gig with heavily loud speakers yet played with a great sensitivity, that easily won the crowd over, many or most of whom were fans. Their current recording’s are only in the singles form, but their passions were felt bringing the idea they had of leaving their worlds behind. They are making their way through a large tour, and have every intention to record in the not too far off future, they should because in its revelry this was a highly organised band and they played it very tightly.
But the biggest vibe they created became communal, they parted the small crowd (Tut’ intimate size) took their place in its centre and sang and played without amplification. The room well understood this and as he sang lines to resemble an extreme human predicament, the room changed and all the phones that were on him lit up this strange and heartrending moment.
For a band so young it was like they were already living the experience and all it takes to be in a band and consciously drive it towards the roads of rock n’ roll success. And so their music stated its many faceted styles not without its appeal that drew the room closer together to really share something. A music that belts forth and puts forth its hardest and softest appeals. We must say well done to these guys as they learn to mount and ride this bull, I can imagine very great progress for this group.
Playing host to Soundhouse Music Events at the Traverse Theatre on a wintery Scottish night was the renowned poetic folk singer-songwriter, Cahalen Morrison. Originally treading the paths in Northern New Mexico, USA, Cahalen has put down roots in Scotland, and now lives in Glasgow where he seems very much at home.
Cahalen has a folk singing background with an endless list of collaboration’s with artists like Hot Rize, Crooked Still and Transatlantic Sessions, and more recently with his folky country rock band “Western Centuries”. Cahalen has also been lucky enough to experience a lot of the UK’s festival scene over the years, such as the “Shetland Folk Festival”, “Celtic Connections” and “Kilkenny Roots Festival.”
Encouraged and injected with deep American country music roots from an early age, Cahalen has adopted a heart felt approach to his music which is delivered with a tranquil execution. Travelling across the expanse of the Atlantic ocean, Cahalen brings with him to Scotland his love of traditional folk- country-rock music in his own unique style.
As the quaint and intimate Traverse Theatre filled up, it wasn’t long until Cahalen’s guest support act took to stage. Cera Impala is a honey-husked singer-songwriter who has graced many a stage throughout out Scotland. I first had the pleasure of Cera Impala’s company at Kelburn Garden Party some years ago, and was gushing to see her supporting Cahalen in her new home town of Edinburgh. Cera treated us to songs such as “Hide & Seek” and “Sunflower”, and with her beautiful distinctive voice delivered a memorable start to the evening.
Received with a warming applause, Cahalen Morrison was about to do his first gig in 18 months, and what an honour it was to be part of it. Here is a musician that is a multi-instrumentalist, and is never happier than when surrounded by a Banjo, Guitar, Fiddle, and Mandolin. Changing instruments to suit his songs, Cahalen threw in a few acapella numbers split the set well. With a voice that would stop a thousand rioters dead in their shoes within a moment of hearing him, Cahalen undeniably has a calming effect on the collective soul when he sings.
Music tells a story, but folk music storytelling tells a different tale. It brings to life forgotten tales of heroism, fatal deeds, storms and tragedies and many a distant echo from times past. That’s what Cahalen has in abundance. My favourite example of this is “Those Mighty Beasts of Holm”, about a ship that meets with a tragic end. Moving through other songs like “Turquoise and Jade”, “Nancy Fancy” and “Little Sachel”, we were engulfed in an evening of relaxation, peace and tranquility.
Tell me a story and I am hooked, but tell it in this fashion and I am fully 100% in. A beautiful evening and a beautiful gig.
It was my first visit to the new Assai Records store, Assai are a nearly decade old recording company that has its roots in Scotland. I was there for a mid afternoon promotion of a band called ‘Pet Needs’, a group who are aiming high and have a brand new album. The Record shop on Sauchiehall Street is a conclave of rock n’ pop on vinyl, but provides to all kinds of music fans, I went straight to heavy metal browsing.
It was an intimate sized space for this performance, a room with about 24 people who awaited in the late afternoon with electric enthusiasm. This was a gig to showcase the formidable talents of this fine young band, who took to their instruments and microphones creating the scene of a lively set of songs of high energy and breaking out with distinctive vocals.
This exciting gig and coming tour are on the back of this new album called ‘Intermittent Fast Living’ a trawling title for them to live up to. Released early this year the incredibly fast moving pace of digital promotion has them proving successful already inspiring a quite remarkable interest. They are potentially ready to take on great rewards by putting their music out there.
I felt an existential aspect from the music and lyrics, ‘The Optimist’ had him sing, rap and growl a little as he leaped around. Replacing electric for acoustic guitar gave the songs a dynamism of a fresh and in kind genre brought together into this rich and varied sense of encompassing a live scene making again the kings of rock.
The crowd where there to tap into this rich reprieve as faithful followers who knew the material to sing along to the textured songs crafted from these punk and rock motifs. From their various recordings it was obvious that these guys play a full game and have a sound remnant with the attitude’s of pure punk while giving rock n’ roll its due.
There was swaying interaction belting from the stage (the floor) in an act ready to gig and rile any size of audience. The contemporary take on modern living, coming from Colchester, they could express their love of music, in touring and recording that have hit the heights. A band very well suited to work and look just right, a band whose breakthroughs are shaping their imminent future before our very eyes.
Pouring just the right amount for themselves and to just the right gusto, in a new scene of opening opportunity to be taken up by talent, a scene emerging at these fronts mastering recordings and offering legendary popularity for skill that can take it. A deep well travelled genre fit to champion this modern funky, somewhat rebellious form of performing. All up to give further rise to music prominent in the hands of bands like these. About the magic of reaching deeply into the roots of their own songs, done their own way with that the spell that is that classic rock n’ roll.
To witness N’Faly Kouyaté in performance is akin to putting bubble-bath in your hot, celestial jacuzzi, for the experience is pure fluffy cosmic vibrations. His band consists of N’Faly up front, sometimes singing, sometimes singing while playing the stunning-looing kora instrument with clear virtuosity. I mean, he is the actual president of the Festival International de la Kora, so that should show his kudos.
N’Faly, former front man of Afro Celt Sound System, was this time was join’d on stage by a lady & a gentlemen, & together they create something other than music, something special, unique, wonderful. Indeed, he proclaim’d himself to be a bard, which is in essence the custodian of human culture & remembrance, & which is then return’d to his listeners as musical numbers.
In between these songs N’Faly gives us interesting introductions, with the overall effect of being re-introduced into the family of humanity. A ‘Ré-Génération’, perhaps, which just happens to be the name of the new album he is touring, which he describes as ‘a captivating fusion of AfroBeat, AfroTrap, AfroPop, AfroRap & RnB’ – all the Afros, & is at once & the same time cutting edge modernity & as ancient as the first human noises made south of the Zambezi.
To witness N’Faly in the recently refurbish’d ‘Band On The Wall’ in Manchester was nothing but a sheer delight. Their tour here in the UK is coming to a close, but they’re not going too far away – to Brussels in Belgium, in fact – & I just know at some point in the coming future I will avail myself of the opportunity to catch this maestro & his gang of very cool musicians once more.