Manchester Music - Live Review

DOD TO DOT #2: ROCK'N'ROLL'N'BLASPHEMY
:: Mystery Jets :: Field Music :: Wild Beasts :: Los Campesinos! :: Frazer King :: Egyptian Hip Hop :: Lunar Youth :: Lights :: Fol Chen :: De Staat :: ::
31 May 2010 / Various Venues / Manchester
By David Edwards
There is nothing remotely entertaining in making music easy to appreciate and listen to. Take Kenny G for example; simple, unintrusive, plain. And what do you want to do when you hear him? Attack the postman, eat small rodents, drink bleach, set fire to the furniture and sit there laughing in the flames shouting obscenities at traffic. It’s far more fun to make people sweat for it. Dinner party music? Next time they’re round, indulge them with a bit of Metal Machine Music. In-Laws coming over? That’ll be time for Cannibal Corpse. Romantic evening in? Keane (Ok, maybe that’s going a bit too far...). The point is, it’s all the better if you have to work for something, never take the simple option. Which is why Manchester Music find themselves covering the whole of the Dot to Dot Festival on a Bank Holiday Monday that has collectively consisted of about 7 days of constant drinking, the Primerva Sound Festival, the Saddleworth Beer walk, countless gigs and a Meerkat outfit. I sit in the Deaf Institute clutching my beer and eyeing it apprehensively. My head hurts, my ears ring, my legs ache and the acerbic taste of stale cigarette smoke is on my tongue. In short, I’m feeling absolutely bloody fantastic. The Dot to Dot festival has been showcasing some of the country’s more obscure and up and coming bands since 2005 but is resident here in Manchester for the first time, and extremely welcome it is too. There is a vast array of bands on over the seven stages but seeing as I haven’t mastered the art of cloning (Yet, that is. It won’t be long people. Enjoy the time you have left) I decide to secrete myself in the ample charms of The Deaf Institute to start the day off. Well, by ample charms I mean they supply cushions. But a cushion is still a cushion... LUNAR YOUTH step on stage looking slightly bemused at the entire crowd nestled on the back steps. “It’s like playing to a theatre” explains lead singer Simon Berlin, a touch nervous. He needn’t have worried; as soon as they start playing it’s so clear, concise and fiendishly well put together that people start diffusing onto the main dancefloor in appreciation. There are touches of New York in the Television precision and tightly-wound lead guitar playing, along the deep cough of rumbling Interpol bass keeping score. But the songs themselves are so gloriously epic, dripping with shimmering synthlines, tantalising builds and massive choruses. Its classic without being MOR and full of enough confidence and bravado to keep to the right side of the tracks; a bit like The Strokes covering Bruce Springsteen. In fact, they remind me of when I first saw The Strokes in 2001, almost too perfectly balanced, yet still utterly compelling. The difference now is that The Strokes should be listening to this now to find out where they're going wrong. It’s a superb performance and a wonderful start to the day. Catching up with them afterwards (Added bonus is that they’re all really nice blokes too) they tell me that they’re back in either August or September after recording some new tracks. I advise you catch them as soon as you can, they won’t be a secret for much longer. Yes, this is exactly what I need with a hangover. A frankly bonkers Dutch hard-rock band with a look of pure mania, a keyboard player who looks like he’s about to escape from a cage and a penchant for random vocal squeaks, squeals and monkey noises. This; ladies and gentleman, is the experience of watching DE STAAT. And they’re absolutely brilliant. As heavy as QOTSA but with the chaotic silliness of The Hives, they pepper-spray the room with a dense, dirty-blues aerosol that builds upon waves of thick chords and ferocious beats before breaking into extended guitar battles, random yelping and false endings, before dropping back into an acapella bit that sounds like Brian Wilson convincing the rest of The Beach Boys that they actually were monkeys (Or did that actually happen?!). You’re never quite sure where the next musical surprise is coming from; one minute it’s all 60’s pop, the next it’s UFO Club era Pink Floyd and before you know it, lead singer Torre Florim is beating several shades of something out of his guitar and screaming random phrases at the crowd. Beguiling and brilliant, though you do suspect that spending time in their practice room would be a bit like a live webcast from Dr Frankenstein’s lair... Coming back upstairs with my two-for-one cocktail offer (This could either be a very great or a very foolish discovery) I find myself staring at three guys and a girl on stage in matching red and black suits. The sight of an acoustic guitar however, proves to be a musical Trojan horse as the opening number reveals to fully electrified, loud and potentially ear-impairing. They reveal themselves to be FOL CHEN from Los Angeles and they do a kooky mixture of White Stripes rawness, kitch indie-pop and carnival brass. The problem is however, that the ideas are consistently more interesting than the outcome; with most songs being fairly bland and uneventful. At times it appears that they’re adding the kookiness, outfits and instrument-swapping as a way of papering over the cracks; the main one being that they’re stuck between being a raw blues outfit, a twee indie band and an art collective. Sadly, the resulting product never really satisfies anyone. A cursory glance at the timetable reminds me sadly that it’s time to head across to the Students Union, though there are many excellent bands still to come (The other half of the MM double act will be returning later, never fear!) so I take my leave and stroll down Oxford Road in the glorious bank holiday sunshine, past bars and restaurants full of smiling people enjoying the weather. The summer is coming, the madness is upon us and the cold days are hopefully long forgotten. Having said that, I’m suddenly begging for a freak cold front to tactically sweep through Club Academy as I stand waiting for FIELD MUSIC. It’s absolutely bloody roasting down there. With Cath off seeing The Chapman Family, we’re on a North-East bender for a little while at least. Lead singer David Brewis looks genuinely delighted at the turnout as they delve into the dynamic, piano-lead grandeur of opener “Give It, Lose It, Take It”. Always musically sharp and intelligent, they’re a band that certainly should be admired for their will to do something aside from the norm. With all the dramatic changes, shifts of style and always-altering rhythms, it’s like watching a particularly odd Broadway show. The only problem is that, just as a Broadway musical can sometimes appear oddly unfocused and hard to follow on record without the visual extrapolation in front of you; the leaps and jumps in timbre and approach starts to break up the flow and become a tad lost in translation after 20 minutes or so. Get to 40 minutes and it actually starts to become maddeningly irksome. What they do is good and skilled, no question. But in trying to cover too much territory, they become too stretched and thin; the undercoat still shows. It’s always a pleasure to see someone try to do something different but like a lot of North-East bands over recent years, you fear that the need to be “interesting” over-rides the need to be coherent. Having said that, I still think they’ll make a great album one day. Just not yet. After a quick stop by to see Twisted Wheel (They’re not my cup of Bovril, but they do what they do with aplomb) I venture upstairs to the DIY creation that is the Council Chamber room to instantly be wrapped into a cocoon of gorgeous, slow-burn, seductive electro-pop. With the searing vocals of Valerie Poxleitner, a lead singer who looks and dances like Natasha Khan if she did martial arts and with the band dexterously crashing waves of serotonin into our foreheads: LIGHTS are really something quite special. It’s sexy yet wounded, teasing yet remorseful; something like what might be unearthed if Kylie, Goldfrapp and MGMT got together in a cottage to reminisce. It is rare to hear electronic pop with such heart and the rush of transfixed boys and girls who head backstage to have their picture taken with Poxleitner after the conclusion suggests a potential devoted following if she was to spend a little more time over this side of the Atlantic. WILD BEASTS have already been given their deserved acclaim on Manchester Music’s other Dot-to-Dot review so I won’t say much, apart from the fact that they were quite, quite superb. Supremely tight, wonderfully articulate and full of breathtaking, strange songs that take root in their dense, mysterious Cumbrian Chaos; they get an absolutely massive reception and they thoroughly warrant it. Possibly the best live performance of the day. A band that inspires. No rest for the wicked, I dash immediately up the stairs of the Student Union (Which always terrify me, they wobble like an airfix kit and they look like they’re held up with only one wire rope. Anyway, I survived) to catch hotly tipped local pretenders EGYPTIAN HIP HOP. Still only 17, they’re gaining significant exposure around the region and further afield. And it’s not in the least bit surprising; while most kids are studying in the arts of Messrs. Gallagher and Doherty, Egyptian Hip Hop fillet the calmer moments of The Rapture, season with the darker edged shavings of Friendly Fires and mix it all up with big-beat stamps and circular guitar ballets. It sits on the edgier, rowdier side of minimalist and is all the better for it. Though it’s definitely of the moment and the current scene, they still manage to stand out as being innovative and distinct, always varied and knowing when to move on appropriately. All that seems to stand between them and nationwide exposure is one or two anthemic singles. Yet looking at the seething, swaying mass of the crowd and the sheer ball they look like they’re having on stage, you’d forgive them for not being too bothered about that at the present time. The stragglers are starting to stake out tables downstairs and the occasional staggering student reminds us that we’ve nearly reached the end of the day. The peculiar melancholy distinct to the end of an extended weekend descends as we realise you’re on the slow boat back to reality tomorrow. But there’s no time to fritter away on self pity; simply time enough to grab another drink and head on into Academy 2 to see MYSTERY JETS. The last time I saw them was two years ago, following second album “Twenty One” and they seemed listless, jaded, melancholic; you sensed that the end was nigh. Tonight, they are anything but. Back to the exuberance and skewed marvel of their early gigs, they play with a beaming sense of euphoria that reaches back to every eye and mind lined up to see them. Curiously, the set is entirely devoid of any track from their debut record, drawing heavily on upcoming album “Serotonin”, which previews them moving back towards the slanted, obtuse pop of their first record with a twist of dense electronica. In the absence of their other more widely known songs, the biggest cheer is reserved for the emergence of “Two Doors Down” just prior to the encore, though the excellence of the new record’s title track and compatriot “Flash a Hungry Smile” lead to you to believe that they have learned to marry the pop leanings of “Twenty One” to a more fully formed, adult sibling of their debut’s whimsical charm. It’s a grand cacophony and a welcome return to form. While waiting at the bar earlier, a girl asked me how I’d best describe LOS CAMPESINOS! Now this isn’t an easy question, so I had to mull it over for a while in my head, before coming up with “Mike Skinner if he came from an upper middle-class family, drunk on cheap alcopops during Freshers Week and getting over a breakup by developing a fetish for bleeping things, Rimbaud and staying up all night howling outside the door of your ex”. I was reasonably proud of this effort and it obviously made some degree of impression as I noticed her tapping her head to it later. But it reminded me that Los Campesinos! are an incredibly difficult band to pigeonhole. They don’t sound like anyone in particular, frequently tiptoe into streams of lyrical oddity that are can be both harsh and self-indulgent and deal in song structures that frequently decide to change their course what seems like no reason at all, while remaining both oddly twee and faintly terrifying. Yet despite this, they remain one of the most visceral and exciting bands in Britain today. Coming on bathed in soft blue light, they suit the condensed atmosphere and pressure-cooker sound of Club Academy. The gutter-punk vocal scrapings of lead singer Gareth rub up against the keyboards, glockenspiels and violin like strange, yet wildly excited bedfellows. As a live band, they’ve come on many leaps and bounds; there is now structure and form where there was once only ramshackle disorder. The chaotic nature of the songs actually benefits from this; the changes are more powerful, the instrumentation more precisely defined. And as for the lyrics; they’re still as disjointedly heartbreaking as ever. You struggle to imagine Los Campesinos! being happy. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that it is expressly forbidden by their record contract. ‘We are Beautiful, we are Doomed’ is almost wholly shouted back by the entire audience, “Death to Los Campesinos!” is greeted like an old friend by the biggest moshpit I’ve seen all weekend. It’s the sound of a band doing something that entwines an innovative meeting of minds and hearts, something that grows tall and beautiful out of the dirty ground. Final song “Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks” sees Gareth hurling himself into the crowd, losing his microphone while he stays there for a full two minutes before clambering back on stage to raggedly sing the final refrain to an admiring, rapt collection of fans singing every word in unison. There is a special kind of devotion to this band, as if they echo the fears and hopes that run through your mind sleep-deprived on the morning bus, or walking back from that disastrous date. They’re a cult band, your band, our band. Something secret, something special, something to take you through the night and out again the next morning. And that’s it. Oh, there is just one thing... We exit the Students Union to be greeted with FRAZER KING playing a guerrilla gig in the name of “Just say no to Zane Lowe” on (of all places) the steps of the Holy Name Church. There are about 60 people there dancing and having a total free for all in the middle of Oxford Road. The taxi drivers and passers-by look confused; though nowhere near as confused as the parishioner who comes out to see what precisely is going on. With a wave, they send him on his way with the quite brilliant remark “It’s ok, if you let us carry on then we’ll let you keep raping boys”. And so a quite remarkable day comes to a quite remarkable end as we all rave about on the steps of the church like something from the last days of Sodom and Gomorrah (I imagine the vicar is inside hastily praying for our dammed, drunken, unrepentant souls). I’m half hoping that the police turn up to shut the gig down but they don’t and with a final couple of ska-punk missives, they pack up their gear and we’re left to make our way home. It’s been a mission, for sure. But the whole event came across as remarkably well structured, varied and with an intelligent choice of acts spread out amongst all the stages. Now that we’re all too aware of the fun Bristol and Nottingham have been having for the last few years, here’s hoping that they bring the party back here to us next year. Give us a call, yeah? We like it, we do... http://www.myspace.com/fieldmusic http://www.myspace.com/lights http://www.myspace.com/wildbeasts http://www.myspace.com/mysteryjets http://www.myspace.com/frazerking
Resources: Lunar Youth Egyptian Hip Hop Los Campesinos De Staat Fol Chen


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