Kid Harpoon seems like a very busy man. No, really - no sooner had he finished his support stint to The Holloways and The Wombats on a recent nationwide tour, the soloist embarked on his own national tour albeit at slightly smaller venues.
It was a tough choice on this particular Friday night - Forward Russia or Kid Harpoon: fate pushed towards the Kid at Clwb (yeah, Forward Russia was sold out) but let's get things straight, it isn't so bad at all. This boy is good - not great (yet?) but definitely good enough to warrant his stab at stardom having started out doing sets at Nambucca on Holloway Road.
With an EP available, it seems like the first tentative steps in carving out a route through the music industry which can be so gruelling. But the rewards are there, even if you have to play in front of no more than, say, 40 people in a Cardiff club. And the gentler, almost folk-like stylings are soothing and seductive. There are a few weak links in the armoury, but no-one's perfect - even The Clash wrote shit songs. In the first half of the set, there were a couple of numbers that slid into Chris de Burgh vs James Blunt mediocrity, and didn't sit particularly comfortably. Some of the lyrics brush against the banal, which is disappointing to say the least.
But wait, see it through, because as the set continues, and he reveals his full house full of aces - Late for the Devil and Riverside are two majestic compositions and will surely earn the Chatham fella a lot of acclaim. There is a reason why The Holloways are massive fans, and that reason is starting to spread like MRSA in a dirty hospital. If he continues to write songs as good as he undoubtedly can, any prospective debut album will be worth it's weight in gold. Probably...
Next up:
Nine Black Alps @ Sin City, Swansea
Viva Machine @ Clwb Ifor Bach
31 October 2007
19 October 2007
Metro Riots @ Cardiff Barfly, 12 October
Destination heaven or destination hell...
The Metro Riots party blazed into the rather cute surroundings of the Cardiff Barfly even though the recent release of their debut album Night Time Angel Candy has splashed their name across the mainstream press. It promises much although something isn't quite right with the restrictive stage size. But it's goin' to be good anyway and you knows it!
Led from the front by the ever-dapper Damo, going on stage at 10pm on a Friday evening leaves them little time to make their impression before the club night kicks in. It seems like a travesty, and inevitably some songs will miss out. But like a short, half-hour burst of intense energy, the band don't hang about.
But first the lip service. The boy/girl combo of the first support act were hardly enthusing as a welcome act for when you walk in through the door, but they at least they were better than Noughts and Crosses, a lacklustre one-man show armed with an acoustic guitar and very little else. It hardly seems like the adequate build-up that the main attraction both deserve and arguably need.
Strutting, nay, swaggering on stage with an imposing presence, the bluesy rock of the London band resonates throughout the venue in a cacophony of euphoric grooves. So they had to leave Butcher of Hollywood out - don't all bands omit the best at some point? The wailing vocals of Damo lure you in and spit you out after a brief stint in utopia between.
The most apt word for the proceedings is 'frenzy'; a whirlwind created by the art of exciting song writing - compulsive foot-tapping and finger pointing. It rocks, and suddenly it ends. Someone's warming up the Arctic Monkeys for the club night afterwards on the stereogram. They can shove that, the Metro Riots are the band to get you moving on a Friday night and most of the people filing in as the set ends may never even realise it.
But you can't help some.
The Metro Riots party blazed into the rather cute surroundings of the Cardiff Barfly even though the recent release of their debut album Night Time Angel Candy has splashed their name across the mainstream press. It promises much although something isn't quite right with the restrictive stage size. But it's goin' to be good anyway and you knows it!
Led from the front by the ever-dapper Damo, going on stage at 10pm on a Friday evening leaves them little time to make their impression before the club night kicks in. It seems like a travesty, and inevitably some songs will miss out. But like a short, half-hour burst of intense energy, the band don't hang about.
But first the lip service. The boy/girl combo of the first support act were hardly enthusing as a welcome act for when you walk in through the door, but they at least they were better than Noughts and Crosses, a lacklustre one-man show armed with an acoustic guitar and very little else. It hardly seems like the adequate build-up that the main attraction both deserve and arguably need.
Strutting, nay, swaggering on stage with an imposing presence, the bluesy rock of the London band resonates throughout the venue in a cacophony of euphoric grooves. So they had to leave Butcher of Hollywood out - don't all bands omit the best at some point? The wailing vocals of Damo lure you in and spit you out after a brief stint in utopia between.
The most apt word for the proceedings is 'frenzy'; a whirlwind created by the art of exciting song writing - compulsive foot-tapping and finger pointing. It rocks, and suddenly it ends. Someone's warming up the Arctic Monkeys for the club night afterwards on the stereogram. They can shove that, the Metro Riots are the band to get you moving on a Friday night and most of the people filing in as the set ends may never even realise it.
But you can't help some.
10 October 2007
Toothpaste Kisses - The Maccabees (Single)
Released: 22 October
Label: Polydor
Oh, the compulsion... there's this song y'see, and it goes a little bit like 'lay with me, i'll lay with you; we'll do the things that lovers do', tied-up with finger-plucked chords and a romantic whistling solo - 'I'll win your heart with a whit-woo'.
It might be the wrong side of idealistic, but at the least The Maccabees can step away from the furious pace contained elsewhere on debut album Colour It In, and here we are with this undeniable gem, a starry-eyed reward for those who refuse to believe in harsher, black and white realities of the world. And why shouldn't it be that way?
'I'll be yours and you'll be mine' - who'd want it any other way.
Label: Polydor
Oh, the compulsion... there's this song y'see, and it goes a little bit like 'lay with me, i'll lay with you; we'll do the things that lovers do', tied-up with finger-plucked chords and a romantic whistling solo - 'I'll win your heart with a whit-woo'.
It might be the wrong side of idealistic, but at the least The Maccabees can step away from the furious pace contained elsewhere on debut album Colour It In, and here we are with this undeniable gem, a starry-eyed reward for those who refuse to believe in harsher, black and white realities of the world. And why shouldn't it be that way?
'I'll be yours and you'll be mine' - who'd want it any other way.
7 October 2007
VWF @ Cardiff Barfly
Kids, feel privileged; Cardiff have snatched their darlings back from the alluring clutches of Londinium and festival season and here we are - so what are we waiting for? But before we begin, and for the benefit of those gathered who give a damn - this is gig two of 'The Cardiff Year'. Unbelievable, an attempt to induce longevity... can we talk about VWF now?
Cardiff: the rain has started falling as September draws to a close. The temptation to descend into Dylan Thomas despondency and start warbling on about milk woods is growing, and that can't be good. BUT VWF are back in town *just* in time. It's been a busy schedule this summer for VWF - headline slots at Club NME down at Koko, playing the Hoxton scene and festival appearances including Secret Garden Party and Truck. And that means growing interest in a band that have remained too big a secret for too long. The revolution is at hand.
The set opens with forthcoming single Family Man, which is - to be frank - an utter slut of a tune. It's grimy, it's possessed and it's awesome. It probably deserves to be a dancefloor anthem for the dandy boys and girls in underground clubs nationwide, pissing on the generic indie-by-numbers rubbish that has a habit of stealing the show. In a similar vein, Let It Go and Sleep It Off are sweat-inducing, sense-cajoling teasers and my god how they strike through the heart.
Get Your Kicks and Burst Into Flames direct the set towards it's close, with the clearest nods to influences such as Primal Scream. Maybe it's the raucous temperament, the combative, swaggering bass hooks or the punching melody, but it's so damn good it's the closest you'll ever get to banging your head against the wall in such a way that would induce the ultimate orgasm. In fact, there's probably no other sensation that can boast that. Sounds good don't it.
But there we go. Swept up in a cacophony of brass licks, Jameson's and fervent melodies, the night seems to be an abrupt interruption to events. And the rain, the ceaseless rain. But like all festivities, it only ends when you let it end, so to the aftershow in Glo-bar, I think I've done enough to earn a (nother) drink.
Cardiff: the rain has started falling as September draws to a close. The temptation to descend into Dylan Thomas despondency and start warbling on about milk woods is growing, and that can't be good. BUT VWF are back in town *just* in time. It's been a busy schedule this summer for VWF - headline slots at Club NME down at Koko, playing the Hoxton scene and festival appearances including Secret Garden Party and Truck. And that means growing interest in a band that have remained too big a secret for too long. The revolution is at hand.
The set opens with forthcoming single Family Man, which is - to be frank - an utter slut of a tune. It's grimy, it's possessed and it's awesome. It probably deserves to be a dancefloor anthem for the dandy boys and girls in underground clubs nationwide, pissing on the generic indie-by-numbers rubbish that has a habit of stealing the show. In a similar vein, Let It Go and Sleep It Off are sweat-inducing, sense-cajoling teasers and my god how they strike through the heart.
Get Your Kicks and Burst Into Flames direct the set towards it's close, with the clearest nods to influences such as Primal Scream. Maybe it's the raucous temperament, the combative, swaggering bass hooks or the punching melody, but it's so damn good it's the closest you'll ever get to banging your head against the wall in such a way that would induce the ultimate orgasm. In fact, there's probably no other sensation that can boast that. Sounds good don't it.
But there we go. Swept up in a cacophony of brass licks, Jameson's and fervent melodies, the night seems to be an abrupt interruption to events. And the rain, the ceaseless rain. But like all festivities, it only ends when you let it end, so to the aftershow in Glo-bar, I think I've done enough to earn a (nother) drink.
4 October 2007
The Holloways/The Wombats @ Brizzle Carling Academy
The first gig of the year no-one has dubbed "The Cardiff Year" - and ironically it takes us back over the bridge to Blighty to Bristol, made famous by the contributions of both Casualty and Teachers. Not to disregard the heritage of Bristol, but that's another story for another day to be told by another person - preferably one with a beard and a weird gruff voice.
The Holloways and The Wombats - two cute demi-rock'n'roll gods fused into one indie giant; enough to mobilise the scenester army of Brizzle in their masses with their feckin' glowsticks. To quote Alfie Holloway "Why the glowsticks? We're not new rave!" Not that scenesters understand, for their method of communication is through quoted lyrics in the backpages of the NME.
This affable dream-team are in the midst of a modest tour around the sights and sounds of Britannia. The Holloways seem to have been touring endlessly for months off the back of acclaimed debut album, So This Is Great Britain?, and The Wombats are riding high after being adopted by the mainstream for their quirky indie-pop and unquestionable humour; look out for latest single Let's Dance To Joy Division for an example of how the Scousers can turn even the most morbid of lyrics into a smile-inducing jamboree.
Here in Bristol the crux of the matter is that The Wombats are supporting The Holloways along with the genuinely up-and-coming Kid Harpoon and another band whose name eludes the memory due to an issue with being late. Something to do with pirates. There is genuine remorse in being late... it won't happen again boss.
It took barely five seconds for the mayhem to begin as The Wombats launched into their set. Their back-catalogue may be shorter than Paul Daniels on all fours but there seems to be very few weak links in the Wombat arsenal at present. Give it a year and we'll see how far they have taken that momentum but for the time being who cares? It's hard to imagine how many acts could carry off a Norwegian version of Postman Pat mid-set, and go as far to get a rapturous reception for it. Having said that, the pre-requisite of a Norwegian speaker in your ranks can pose problems for most bands who would ever attempt it. The Wombats: brash, loud and bouncy - and consistently so.
That boxed ticked, the main event had a lot to live up to but The Holloways aren't scared of a challenge. Rob's sore throat, and Bryn's cracked ribs didn't keep them down. And after so long playing off the debut album, some new material starts to edge its way next to the likes of Two Left Feet and the enduringly charming Dancefloor. The Holloways gladly entered the party-piece duel for the evening too. With the Norwegian karaoke, the London band saw and raised by inducing an endless conga for one of the newer numbers. Who can resist a conga?
When the night reaches its conclusion in a haze of sweat, beer and glowsticks, it's an apt choice to finish with Generator; a paean to the 'music that makes you feel better', an exaltation of what it is to know that the night may end but the party will always continue. Time for some shouting in the multi-storey car park...
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