I was taken immediately by "That's How I got to Memphis", a Tom T Hall song that Bobby Bare had a hit on, but I've included the video for "Fallin Rain", a Link Wray song. Karl's version reminds me of Dan Penn's classic mid 70's album, Nobody's Fool, and there is no higher praise. The video also features Kyle Fields, who performs as Little Wings, and is also blessed with a deep bronze voice. Here's a link to a version he did of Van Morrison's When The Leaves Come Fallin' Down, cut for Aquarium Drunkard's Lagniappe Sessions series, which shares a similar autumnal pantheism.
Friday, 19 August 2016
Karl Blau, Keeping It Country
Got a pile of CDs in the post from The Crafty Crailler, but can't get past the first one, Introducing Karl Blau, a country soul gem from the Washington state artist who has been around for some time but still is unjustly undiscovered, hence the title. Ten country covers produced by Tucker Martine , one a cover of his father's songs alongside evergreens like No Regrets and To Love Somebody (To follow in Scott Walker's, Al Green's and the Bee Gees footsteps takes bottle and talent). Karl's lugubrious voice is tailor made for country and he sings these songs the only way you can - straight.
I was taken immediately by "That's How I got to Memphis", a Tom T Hall song that Bobby Bare had a hit on, but I've included the video for "Fallin Rain", a Link Wray song. Karl's version reminds me of Dan Penn's classic mid 70's album, Nobody's Fool, and there is no higher praise. The video also features Kyle Fields, who performs as Little Wings, and is also blessed with a deep bronze voice. Here's a link to a version he did of Van Morrison's When The Leaves Come Fallin' Down, cut for Aquarium Drunkard's Lagniappe Sessions series, which shares a similar autumnal pantheism.
I was taken immediately by "That's How I got to Memphis", a Tom T Hall song that Bobby Bare had a hit on, but I've included the video for "Fallin Rain", a Link Wray song. Karl's version reminds me of Dan Penn's classic mid 70's album, Nobody's Fool, and there is no higher praise. The video also features Kyle Fields, who performs as Little Wings, and is also blessed with a deep bronze voice. Here's a link to a version he did of Van Morrison's When The Leaves Come Fallin' Down, cut for Aquarium Drunkard's Lagniappe Sessions series, which shares a similar autumnal pantheism.
Friday, 12 August 2016
New Order (continued)
New Order are touring on the back of a great album Music Complete which blends their offhand insouciance and Technique era dance-rock into a streamlined animal. Tonight the songs from the album are backdropped by abstract, Mondrian-esque designs on the video screens to augment their gnomic presence, older tracks underlined by footage from the late seventies. From their earliest beginnings Joy Division/New Order were both widescreen and homely, the everyday made epic and universal, and that is still true today. In a show as big as The National's there was still time to observe Gillian's wry indulgence as Barney elbowed his way to do a keyboard solo on Blue Monday.
Nothing was as nape hair raising though as the last number, Love Will Tear Us Apart. The use of images of Ian Curtis was the polar opposite of tawdry, it tapped into a collective feeling of lost opportunity and eternal optimism that levitated the crowd. I swear! The big screen graphics fell away to a minus sign then a plus sign, a minus, a - a +, a - a +,black and white, as if to say, all we lost, all we gained. The last time I saw Bernard and Stephen performing the song was at the Sheffield Top Rank when Joy Division supported Buzzcocks. In truth my memories are impossibly vague, I can barely remember anything beyond being there, and no-one had any way of knowing what the future held.
- + - + - +......
New Order are touring on the back of a great album Music Complete which blends their offhand insouciance and Technique era dance-rock into a streamlined animal. Tonight the songs from the album are backdropped by abstract, Mondrian-esque designs on the video screens to augment their gnomic presence, older tracks underlined by footage from the late seventies. From their earliest beginnings Joy Division/New Order were both widescreen and homely, the everyday made epic and universal, and that is still true today. In a show as big as The National's there was still time to observe Gillian's wry indulgence as Barney elbowed his way to do a keyboard solo on Blue Monday.
Nothing was as nape hair raising though as the last number, Love Will Tear Us Apart. The use of images of Ian Curtis was the polar opposite of tawdry, it tapped into a collective feeling of lost opportunity and eternal optimism that levitated the crowd. I swear! The big screen graphics fell away to a minus sign then a plus sign, a minus, a - a +, a - a +,black and white, as if to say, all we lost, all we gained. The last time I saw Bernard and Stephen performing the song was at the Sheffield Top Rank when Joy Division supported Buzzcocks. In truth my memories are impossibly vague, I can barely remember anything beyond being there, and no-one had any way of knowing what the future held.
- + - + - +......
Latitude 2016: Part the fifth - Headliners
Friday - Grimes
If this were Culturebergs spiritual progenitor Tom Wolfe writing about Grimes he would no doubt echo his articles on the Noonday Underground and the Tycoon of Teen, as Grimes is now pogoing on the zeitgeist and to some degree so of the moment it is difficult to explicate without somehow immersing yourself in her sound world. Having spent merely an hour sans preconceptions in the same tent as Ms Grimes and a couple of thousand of her target audience I feel unqualified to make any judgement beyond noting her hyperkinetic show bridging the archetypal dance act cliche of the two backing dancers and a moderne take on electro pop , with a notable pan-global strain, almost oriental, like a hybrid of video game music, hip hop and dark wave. There are high pitched trills, guttural growls whilst rolling on the ground, song introductions at 100 mph, light and sound exploding throughout. Bewildering but intriguing.
Saturday -The National
The first act to headline Latitude twice, one must acknowledge the aptness of this. The National are literate rockers, both cerebral and physical, thoughtful and abandoned. They put on a well drilled show which sometimes appears on the edge of falling apart. Well it is and it isn't. Matt Berringer is a bit of a loose cannon who imbibes himself into a heightened state, tonight showering the stage with discarded wine, and the band have the wit and chops to follow where he wanders.
They drew a large crowd of initiates and neophytes and were rapturously received. The road testing of (I think) 5 new songs may have sent a few off to see Soulwax, but the deft drama of staples like Fake Empire and Squalor Victoria was irresistible . Matt went walkabout into the crowd, lost his glasses and returned like a bearded Stallone to lead the last song singalong of Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks. The National can throw stadium shapes and still connect and they won't fuck us over.
Sunday - New Order
Cultureberg safely estimates that New Order drew the biggest crowd of the weekend and justifiably so. They are as much part of manys DNA as the Beatles. They're iconic. It is difficult not to project onto their austere and probably timid selves. they do kitchen sink drama on an immense scale, all Temptation and Regret
Friday - Grimes
If this were Culturebergs spiritual progenitor Tom Wolfe writing about Grimes he would no doubt echo his articles on the Noonday Underground and the Tycoon of Teen, as Grimes is now pogoing on the zeitgeist and to some degree so of the moment it is difficult to explicate without somehow immersing yourself in her sound world. Having spent merely an hour sans preconceptions in the same tent as Ms Grimes and a couple of thousand of her target audience I feel unqualified to make any judgement beyond noting her hyperkinetic show bridging the archetypal dance act cliche of the two backing dancers and a moderne take on electro pop , with a notable pan-global strain, almost oriental, like a hybrid of video game music, hip hop and dark wave. There are high pitched trills, guttural growls whilst rolling on the ground, song introductions at 100 mph, light and sound exploding throughout. Bewildering but intriguing.
Saturday -The National
The first act to headline Latitude twice, one must acknowledge the aptness of this. The National are literate rockers, both cerebral and physical, thoughtful and abandoned. They put on a well drilled show which sometimes appears on the edge of falling apart. Well it is and it isn't. Matt Berringer is a bit of a loose cannon who imbibes himself into a heightened state, tonight showering the stage with discarded wine, and the band have the wit and chops to follow where he wanders.
They drew a large crowd of initiates and neophytes and were rapturously received. The road testing of (I think) 5 new songs may have sent a few off to see Soulwax, but the deft drama of staples like Fake Empire and Squalor Victoria was irresistible . Matt went walkabout into the crowd, lost his glasses and returned like a bearded Stallone to lead the last song singalong of Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks. The National can throw stadium shapes and still connect and they won't fuck us over.
Sunday - New Order
Cultureberg safely estimates that New Order drew the biggest crowd of the weekend and justifiably so. They are as much part of manys DNA as the Beatles. They're iconic. It is difficult not to project onto their austere and probably timid selves. they do kitchen sink drama on an immense scale, all Temptation and Regret
Wednesday, 10 August 2016
Latitude 2016: Part the fourth
First on the Obelisk Stage on Saturday lunchtime is Sturgill Simpson, championed by Americana devotees for his contemporary twist on traditional country themes. At Latitude he opted for a more traditional set -no Turtles On The Way Down - songs where train rhythms, white lines and cheatin' were featured prominently. Cultureberg had two preconceptions confirmed, and was pleased to be thus affirmed.
First, that the most perfect song is not a folk song, heavy metal anthem or soul stomper, it is a country song. His set was littered with songs whose chord progressions and structure had an inevitability , an essential rightness, whereby the audience witnesses an alchemical or rhetorical inevitability.
Second, that American musicians, even if they are not Nashville Cats, play like they've been playing since they were babies. Sturgill's band -trombone,sax and trumpet augmenting guitar, bass, drums, guitar and steel -played like they could stretch out to the horizon or bend and drop on a nickel, effortlessly inhabiting the country soul stew that is the quintessence of American music. Plus, there was a synth solo.
Sturgill ended on his best song, his "feel good, anti-war hit of the summer", cranking the band up with his rhythm acoustic. Class act.
The diligent visitor to Cultureberg may have read the piece on Father John Misty at Leeds, and the Saturday teatime show was the fifth time I've seen him since vacating the Fleet Foxes drum stool for centre stage, and this was the biggest stage thus far. Was he at home on the big festival stage? Does a Casanova betray his lovers?
The large screens hugging the stage actually give FJM the medium to exhibit nuance and gesture in a way often difficult in a darkened auditorium, and the crisp sound when added to the visual bonus brought out subtleties sometimes difficult to spot from row WW. FJM is as much a character as Bonnie "prince" Billy, Bono or Bonnie Tyler, a character who appeals to his congregation with both his canyon lothario persona and it's heartfelt suitor counterpart. He operates a hinterland previously inhabited by Leonard Cohen circa I'm Your Man and Death of A Ladies Man, a greasy haired, black haired screen for hipster projections. The beard, long hair and black uniform is ubiquitous; on more than one occaissioned I swore I saw FJM queuing for cheesy chips and artisan pizza (ready in three minutes).
FJM revisited his customary moves - collapsing to his knees in supplication, climbing the drum riser, strolling the stage confiding in his microphone -and to those who this was new it was exciting.To those who had seen him before it was interesting and actually brought out the humour - messing with his mobile during Bored In The USA or entreating on of Two Virgins to keep moving. We replay records, why not replay live shows (with a twist)? FJM understands the need to transcend monotony more than most. So, was he at home on the huge stage? Of course. He filled the field like he fills an arena, the very epitome of the new traditional rock star.
First on the Obelisk Stage on Saturday lunchtime is Sturgill Simpson, championed by Americana devotees for his contemporary twist on traditional country themes. At Latitude he opted for a more traditional set -no Turtles On The Way Down - songs where train rhythms, white lines and cheatin' were featured prominently. Cultureberg had two preconceptions confirmed, and was pleased to be thus affirmed.
First, that the most perfect song is not a folk song, heavy metal anthem or soul stomper, it is a country song. His set was littered with songs whose chord progressions and structure had an inevitability , an essential rightness, whereby the audience witnesses an alchemical or rhetorical inevitability.
Second, that American musicians, even if they are not Nashville Cats, play like they've been playing since they were babies. Sturgill's band -trombone,sax and trumpet augmenting guitar, bass, drums, guitar and steel -played like they could stretch out to the horizon or bend and drop on a nickel, effortlessly inhabiting the country soul stew that is the quintessence of American music. Plus, there was a synth solo.
Sturgill ended on his best song, his "feel good, anti-war hit of the summer", cranking the band up with his rhythm acoustic. Class act.
The diligent visitor to Cultureberg may have read the piece on Father John Misty at Leeds, and the Saturday teatime show was the fifth time I've seen him since vacating the Fleet Foxes drum stool for centre stage, and this was the biggest stage thus far. Was he at home on the big festival stage? Does a Casanova betray his lovers?
The large screens hugging the stage actually give FJM the medium to exhibit nuance and gesture in a way often difficult in a darkened auditorium, and the crisp sound when added to the visual bonus brought out subtleties sometimes difficult to spot from row WW. FJM is as much a character as Bonnie "prince" Billy, Bono or Bonnie Tyler, a character who appeals to his congregation with both his canyon lothario persona and it's heartfelt suitor counterpart. He operates a hinterland previously inhabited by Leonard Cohen circa I'm Your Man and Death of A Ladies Man, a greasy haired, black haired screen for hipster projections. The beard, long hair and black uniform is ubiquitous; on more than one occaissioned I swore I saw FJM queuing for cheesy chips and artisan pizza (ready in three minutes).
FJM revisited his customary moves - collapsing to his knees in supplication, climbing the drum riser, strolling the stage confiding in his microphone -and to those who this was new it was exciting.To those who had seen him before it was interesting and actually brought out the humour - messing with his mobile during Bored In The USA or entreating on of Two Virgins to keep moving. We replay records, why not replay live shows (with a twist)? FJM understands the need to transcend monotony more than most. So, was he at home on the huge stage? Of course. He filled the field like he fills an arena, the very epitome of the new traditional rock star.
Thursday, 4 August 2016
Latitude part the third: scions of indie
Minor Victories
On the Radio Six stage fist at Sunday lunchtime are indie supergroup, Minor Victories. Stuart Braithwaite, guitarist with Mogwai and MinorVictories said the band has all the good elements from everyone's bands, meaning also Rachel Goswell's Slowdive, Justin Lockey's Editors and James Lockey's HandHeld Cine Club (no, me neither). Now, Cultureberg looks the world in the eye and shoegazing passed us by, but I have no grounds to challenge Mr Braithwaite as MV pump out a very appealing sound that fits my thesis that many bands that please have both an indiduality whilst maintaining a tradition, subtly tweaking a genre. Their host bands have constructed Sonic Cathedrals of Sound, and MV are a Sonic Sagrada Familiar. Breathy, somewhat gossamer vocals -check. Pummelling drums-check. Screeing sheets of guitar noise - all present and correct. For a band who shared ideas and constructed songs without ever all being in the same room, the sound is cohesive and has a distinct identity, both muscular and crepuscular. Paradoxically, there is no feeling of phoning parts in or writing by committee, with Ms Goswell stood stock still centre stage as the waves of sound undulate and reverberate around her. Minor Victories, then, a tangible success. Some stuff from the past, some of what's on your mind today and you've a juggernaut for the festival season. Big thumbs up from the early risers.
Steve Mason
I'd lost touch with Mr Mason after The Beta Band, but Cultureberg's Fife associate The Crafty Crailler caught a recent show and was enthusiastic so I attended his mid afternoon performance. Unfamiliar though I am of any biographical info, though aware his new album is a return to form an emotional equilibrium, I was unsure what to expect. What we were treated to was a direct set where Mr Mason's personality reverberated with an engaging clarity. Like The Beta Band, there's a winning scallydeilic component and simple, oft repeated lyrics, almost adult nursery rhyme. Mr Mason prowls the stage shedding clothes - he first appears in anorak, goggles plus fours and boots. He has the air of one who may have succumbed to therapeutic input only to emerge much clearer about what he is angry about rather than emerging becalmed and beatific. He is clearly, in the words of one of the best songs, ""alive". At the end of the set he wishes the audience peace, this is in contrast to the fate he wished Tony Blair in the song 'Throw him on the fire' or the singalong he led the tent in, where use of fists and a baseball bat were invoked. What kind of peace he has found, it is avert engaged and active one, and Mr Mason clearly had the tent with him for the lion's share of the set. He also had the best set of plus fours spotted at Latitude. Not practical in the heat or the lights perhaps but I think Cultureberg can safely assume Mr Mason seldom takes the easy route.
Minor Victories
On the Radio Six stage fist at Sunday lunchtime are indie supergroup, Minor Victories. Stuart Braithwaite, guitarist with Mogwai and MinorVictories said the band has all the good elements from everyone's bands, meaning also Rachel Goswell's Slowdive, Justin Lockey's Editors and James Lockey's HandHeld Cine Club (no, me neither). Now, Cultureberg looks the world in the eye and shoegazing passed us by, but I have no grounds to challenge Mr Braithwaite as MV pump out a very appealing sound that fits my thesis that many bands that please have both an indiduality whilst maintaining a tradition, subtly tweaking a genre. Their host bands have constructed Sonic Cathedrals of Sound, and MV are a Sonic Sagrada Familiar. Breathy, somewhat gossamer vocals -check. Pummelling drums-check. Screeing sheets of guitar noise - all present and correct. For a band who shared ideas and constructed songs without ever all being in the same room, the sound is cohesive and has a distinct identity, both muscular and crepuscular. Paradoxically, there is no feeling of phoning parts in or writing by committee, with Ms Goswell stood stock still centre stage as the waves of sound undulate and reverberate around her. Minor Victories, then, a tangible success. Some stuff from the past, some of what's on your mind today and you've a juggernaut for the festival season. Big thumbs up from the early risers.
Steve Mason
I'd lost touch with Mr Mason after The Beta Band, but Cultureberg's Fife associate The Crafty Crailler caught a recent show and was enthusiastic so I attended his mid afternoon performance. Unfamiliar though I am of any biographical info, though aware his new album is a return to form an emotional equilibrium, I was unsure what to expect. What we were treated to was a direct set where Mr Mason's personality reverberated with an engaging clarity. Like The Beta Band, there's a winning scallydeilic component and simple, oft repeated lyrics, almost adult nursery rhyme. Mr Mason prowls the stage shedding clothes - he first appears in anorak, goggles plus fours and boots. He has the air of one who may have succumbed to therapeutic input only to emerge much clearer about what he is angry about rather than emerging becalmed and beatific. He is clearly, in the words of one of the best songs, ""alive". At the end of the set he wishes the audience peace, this is in contrast to the fate he wished Tony Blair in the song 'Throw him on the fire' or the singalong he led the tent in, where use of fists and a baseball bat were invoked. What kind of peace he has found, it is avert engaged and active one, and Mr Mason clearly had the tent with him for the lion's share of the set. He also had the best set of plus fours spotted at Latitude. Not practical in the heat or the lights perhaps but I think Cultureberg can safely assume Mr Mason seldom takes the easy route.
Wednesday, 3 August 2016
Latitude 2016: Part the Second
Estrons
Just as Protomartyr keep a clean stage (see previous post) Cultureberg can exclusively report that the band members in Aberystwyth's Estrons keep a tidy pitch, as they camped scant meters from the Cultureberg Marquee prior to their highly entertaining set on the Lake Stage Friday teatime. Being of a respectful nature. I didn't , as maybe I should have, compliment them on their well-focused 1978ish punk pop. Fronted by an outgoing blonde female singer lesser critics would opt for obvious parallels (and they are there), though I was put to mind of a more Joplinesque comparison. They went down the proverbial storm, a miniature mosh pit developing at a fairly early hour as blokes of various ages (fat lads in gold lame trousers, balding groovers and younger beardy types alike) pushed each other around. I overheard comments like "My favourite new band" and one can see how they readily evoke positivity. They belt out catchy numbers with just enough uniqueness to engender a Proustian rush in the audience and if this is any litmus test of future success then Estrons will be on far bigger stages this time next year.
Wrangler
Stephen Mallinder is the ex front man of Sheffield electronic music pioneers Cabaret Voltaire, and back then they did head out into uncharted territory and returned with maps, templates that are still replicated (often more conservatively) today, indeed on most of the stages at Latitude. Cultureberg assembled to see his new band Wrangler, with two other electro luminaries, in the Lavish Lounge. This is, in fact, a clearing in the woods with a large screen and a dusty slope. Despite this being an unlikely setting on paper, Wrangler gave one of the most enjoyable sets of the festival at midnight on Saturday.
With a sound halfway between the treated vocal menace of early Cabs and the studio funk-tionality of later Cabs, Mallinder has a vehicle that is commercial and yet still jagged. He retains the ability to invest phrases like 'real life' with unease, and I caught the word 'interzone' so the same preoccupations -Burroughs ,control, conformity, you know the schtick - are still present and correct. The casual passerby was drawn into the dust bowl by the dance ability of the music, a blend of kraftwerkian projections, up to date electro rhythm and enticing repetition. If they had been on one of the bigger stages they'd have converted thousands. As it was, in a cruel twist of fate, the only rain of the day cut the open air set short after 5or 6 numbers;either the kit would have been ruined or some unwanted sparks would have flown. They retired leaving Cultureberg both heartened and disappointed but decidedly intrigued .
Estrons
Just as Protomartyr keep a clean stage (see previous post) Cultureberg can exclusively report that the band members in Aberystwyth's Estrons keep a tidy pitch, as they camped scant meters from the Cultureberg Marquee prior to their highly entertaining set on the Lake Stage Friday teatime. Being of a respectful nature. I didn't , as maybe I should have, compliment them on their well-focused 1978ish punk pop. Fronted by an outgoing blonde female singer lesser critics would opt for obvious parallels (and they are there), though I was put to mind of a more Joplinesque comparison. They went down the proverbial storm, a miniature mosh pit developing at a fairly early hour as blokes of various ages (fat lads in gold lame trousers, balding groovers and younger beardy types alike) pushed each other around. I overheard comments like "My favourite new band" and one can see how they readily evoke positivity. They belt out catchy numbers with just enough uniqueness to engender a Proustian rush in the audience and if this is any litmus test of future success then Estrons will be on far bigger stages this time next year.
Wrangler
Stephen Mallinder is the ex front man of Sheffield electronic music pioneers Cabaret Voltaire, and back then they did head out into uncharted territory and returned with maps, templates that are still replicated (often more conservatively) today, indeed on most of the stages at Latitude. Cultureberg assembled to see his new band Wrangler, with two other electro luminaries, in the Lavish Lounge. This is, in fact, a clearing in the woods with a large screen and a dusty slope. Despite this being an unlikely setting on paper, Wrangler gave one of the most enjoyable sets of the festival at midnight on Saturday.
With a sound halfway between the treated vocal menace of early Cabs and the studio funk-tionality of later Cabs, Mallinder has a vehicle that is commercial and yet still jagged. He retains the ability to invest phrases like 'real life' with unease, and I caught the word 'interzone' so the same preoccupations -Burroughs ,control, conformity, you know the schtick - are still present and correct. The casual passerby was drawn into the dust bowl by the dance ability of the music, a blend of kraftwerkian projections, up to date electro rhythm and enticing repetition. If they had been on one of the bigger stages they'd have converted thousands. As it was, in a cruel twist of fate, the only rain of the day cut the open air set short after 5or 6 numbers;either the kit would have been ruined or some unwanted sparks would have flown. They retired leaving Cultureberg both heartened and disappointed but decidedly intrigued .
Cultureberg at Latitude 2016. Nothing new under the sun, but so what?
Cultureberg made their occasional festival trip this July to Latitude Festival in Southwold, this being the fifth trip in its eleven year incarnation. You know pretty much what to expect. Though we did not espy matriarchs in multi colour wellies striding through the mud holding their Victoria Sponge aloft and inviolate, the sheep were dyed pink, Ollie, Archie and Daisy got their faces painted and their hair spiked whilst their big sibs enjoyed a gap weekend weaving through the crowds like a Home Counties Von Trappe family,obliviously making their rightful way to their place at the front. How could one wish to not remain in a place like this.
If Glastonbury has become the Tesco of festivals and Leeds and Reading the Aldi then Latitude retains and consolidates its Waitrose banner. I do not carp as we consumed as many ten pound cocktails as the next person in the Blixen tent and the uniquely good weather made the experience convivial in the extreme. Like any dependable brand Latitude came through with a slightly altered mix of old favourites and tempting new brands. In part one I'll try to focus on the up and coming acts which tickled Culturebergs taste buds and later waffle on about the more established and well-loved acts.
Methyl ethyl
I caught Methyl Ethyl on the small Sunrise arena on Sunday teatime after a frankly lacklustre afternoon of so-so bands, fart-flat comedy, thinking (as one does three days in) am I all music-d out?Not so, as the band with possibly the worst name in the programme delivered a scorching half hour of high octane guitar rock. Coming from Perth in Western Australia one is put in mind of Tame Impala's Kevin Parker and Luke Steele, especially in Sleepy Jackson mode, and perhaps hometown isolation leads to idiosyncrasy. The band were recruited to flesh out the songs from debut album 'Oh Inhuman Spectacle', written played and produced by singer-guitarist Jake Webb, but the heft and brio that the rhythm section add to the songs made me wish they had all been on board.for the record. Mr Webb himself looks like a young Tom Verlaine, though he plays his effects pedals as much as the guitar, and sings in a voice resembling Jeff Buckley and (sans vibrato) David Surkamp of 70s enigmas Pavlovs Dog. Beneath the squall are solid melodic songs. Checking the album out back home at Culturebergs Manor there is a strong current of textured dream pop and drifting serenity not present in a beefy and dynamic live set. Songs like Rogues and Twilight Driving were memorable from first listening, and now seem almost sketches for their kinetic live performance. A real highlight.
Protomartyr
Also on the Sunrise stage I caught Detroit's Protomartyr. The programme alluded to Pere Ubu and The Fall,enough to draw me stage front. The similarity might be as much attitudinal as musical as the music is loosely post punk with fairly bleak lyrical preoccupations. The sound is tense and taut as though struggling to escape a claustrophobic existence, the guitarist reminding me of Robert Quine
But it was lead singer that was the focus. He makes Van Morrison seem like a needy attention junkie,spitting lyrics between slugs from cans of Carlsberg, with a repetition and yelping directness that will have occaissioned the comparisons with MES. The lyrics, however, are direct and understandable, unlike latter day Fall, and one detects a drive to communicate behind the lack of showbiz. The singer wears an everyday jacket, trousers and sensible shoes, is mid thirties to the bands hairy youthfulness, and jabs his lyrics home. Songs from recent album The Agent Intellect won the crowd over and Culturebergs left highly impressed. As a footnote, also impressive was that the lead singer, having emptied three cans during the set put a can in each jacket pocket and left the stage with his debris. Clearly Protomartyr embody a principled stance both on and offstage.
Estero s
Cultureberg made their occasional festival trip this July to Latitude Festival in Southwold, this being the fifth trip in its eleven year incarnation. You know pretty much what to expect. Though we did not espy matriarchs in multi colour wellies striding through the mud holding their Victoria Sponge aloft and inviolate, the sheep were dyed pink, Ollie, Archie and Daisy got their faces painted and their hair spiked whilst their big sibs enjoyed a gap weekend weaving through the crowds like a Home Counties Von Trappe family,obliviously making their rightful way to their place at the front. How could one wish to not remain in a place like this.
If Glastonbury has become the Tesco of festivals and Leeds and Reading the Aldi then Latitude retains and consolidates its Waitrose banner. I do not carp as we consumed as many ten pound cocktails as the next person in the Blixen tent and the uniquely good weather made the experience convivial in the extreme. Like any dependable brand Latitude came through with a slightly altered mix of old favourites and tempting new brands. In part one I'll try to focus on the up and coming acts which tickled Culturebergs taste buds and later waffle on about the more established and well-loved acts.
Methyl ethyl
I caught Methyl Ethyl on the small Sunrise arena on Sunday teatime after a frankly lacklustre afternoon of so-so bands, fart-flat comedy, thinking (as one does three days in) am I all music-d out?Not so, as the band with possibly the worst name in the programme delivered a scorching half hour of high octane guitar rock. Coming from Perth in Western Australia one is put in mind of Tame Impala's Kevin Parker and Luke Steele, especially in Sleepy Jackson mode, and perhaps hometown isolation leads to idiosyncrasy. The band were recruited to flesh out the songs from debut album 'Oh Inhuman Spectacle', written played and produced by singer-guitarist Jake Webb, but the heft and brio that the rhythm section add to the songs made me wish they had all been on board.for the record. Mr Webb himself looks like a young Tom Verlaine, though he plays his effects pedals as much as the guitar, and sings in a voice resembling Jeff Buckley and (sans vibrato) David Surkamp of 70s enigmas Pavlovs Dog. Beneath the squall are solid melodic songs. Checking the album out back home at Culturebergs Manor there is a strong current of textured dream pop and drifting serenity not present in a beefy and dynamic live set. Songs like Rogues and Twilight Driving were memorable from first listening, and now seem almost sketches for their kinetic live performance. A real highlight.
Protomartyr
Also on the Sunrise stage I caught Detroit's Protomartyr. The programme alluded to Pere Ubu and The Fall,enough to draw me stage front. The similarity might be as much attitudinal as musical as the music is loosely post punk with fairly bleak lyrical preoccupations. The sound is tense and taut as though struggling to escape a claustrophobic existence, the guitarist reminding me of Robert Quine
But it was lead singer that was the focus. He makes Van Morrison seem like a needy attention junkie,spitting lyrics between slugs from cans of Carlsberg, with a repetition and yelping directness that will have occaissioned the comparisons with MES. The lyrics, however, are direct and understandable, unlike latter day Fall, and one detects a drive to communicate behind the lack of showbiz. The singer wears an everyday jacket, trousers and sensible shoes, is mid thirties to the bands hairy youthfulness, and jabs his lyrics home. Songs from recent album The Agent Intellect won the crowd over and Culturebergs left highly impressed. As a footnote, also impressive was that the lead singer, having emptied three cans during the set put a can in each jacket pocket and left the stage with his debris. Clearly Protomartyr embody a principled stance both on and offstage.
Estero s
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