Monday Music – 31 May 2010

Back from a long weekend in Paris, here’s my weekly platter of five songs recently improving my ears’ mood…

The School – Let It Slip
Welsh eightpiece The School mix 50s/60s pop stylings with some very modern Mark Ronson-esque effects – dainty keys, electro jingles and a general smoothness.  With anyone else it would be like too many After Eights on Christmas Day, but singer Liz’s classy drawl and the sheer bouncy goodness of the songs keeps the puke well at bay.  This particular number also boasts some great rock gusto.

Twin Sister – The Other Side Of Your Face
You’re slow-mo robot-walking through Hyde Park at dawn, the last of the speed still wearing off as the sun floods up and birds sing good morning, passing strollers’ voices like drones in your head, and then Andrea starts singing, slowing you down, promising it’ll all end happily.  Twin Sister have some great songs, but this spectral seven-minute odyssey of gently throbbing techno-indie is the fairest of them all. 

Rafter – Fruit (Baths Remix)
Ooh Rafter – love his funky soul-pop numbers!  Ohhhh Baths - heart his digital wackiness!  What’s that?  Baths has remixed one of Rafter’s best tunes and made it trippily fucked-up (read: ephemeral, echoey, hazy) and yet still bum-shaking?  Oh, and this is Fruit, a song with the most gorgeous lyrics anyone’s ever heard, about a love affair frustratingly out of reach?  Man… is this heaven?

Sunvisor – Sky Dive
This is the exact musical representation of those unfocused spots you see when you’ve stared at the sun for a few seconds, then looked away.  Instead of wondering if you’ll ever be able to watch Mulholland Drive again, listen to NY duo Sunvisor‘s ice-cream dream of a song, a melodic spine-tingler that also features some Gregorian-style chants, and a constant drum stroke in the distance. 

Underworld – Scribble
Mention Underworld and all I do is think of Ewan McGregor doing breast stroke in a toilet, and lines about lager, lager, lager.  This return threatens to thankfully change that: it’s a glorious, euphoric tumult of synthy boosts and reach-for-the-laser keys, destined to thrill the pants off a dance tent near you this summer.

MP3s available via song titles

Stag & Dagger – the afterbath

Blimey.  Such was the amazingness of the weekend’s heatwave that Stag & Dagger, Friday’s festival in Shoreditch, quickly seemed like a distant memory.  However, having finally sweated out all the night’s alcohol, I can still just about remember enough details to deliver the following recount, and ultimately, verdict.

Having met up with Adrian, who irritatingly works in the heart of Brick Lane, at 6pm, we exchanged tickets for wristbands at the efficient exchange, and quizzed the lady there about why Summer Camp, announced by NME as playing, weren’t on the timetable.  She told us to ask the good folk at Hearn St Car Park – “they know everything”.  Pleased at our snooping, we then repaired to Rough Trade East for Timber Timbre, who played the shoegaziest alt-folk you’ve ever heard, and rather militarily told a lady not to photograph them.  Harsh.  The singer seemed very pleased with himself, and did a lot of Michael Stipisms, ie strange facial expressions when singing.  Each tune sounded a bit similar and it was pretty hot, so we left five songs in.

After holding up the entire 30-person queue in Sainsbury’s on Commercial St (you can’t buy single beers, fyi), we weaved our way to Hearn St HQ while Adrian revealed details of his latest love conquest.  He’s such a slut.  At Hearn St we spoke to a blonde lady who told us Summer Camp had cancelled.  “What about Egytian Hip H-..”  “They’ve cancelled”.  I felt like I could say any band and she’d say “They cancelled”.  But I didn’t, and we moped out.  Off we went to CAMP, via a Jack Penate and someone from Foals double-spot, to see John & Jehn, but there was no John and no Jehn.  They must also have cancelled.  We were about to leave in search of some, any, music, until Adrian asked the singer of Class Actress what time they were on, and she bribed him to stay with a drink token.

Finally at 9 we saw our second act.  Class Actress were pretty good, although the two songs I know and have blogged about (Careful What You Say and Journal of Ardency) were streets ahead of the rest, and they really didn’t have much attention from the room.  But we were drinking rum out of old jam jars by then, so had a great time, relishing the synthy, La Roux-with-disdain effect of it all.  Then we left, with no plan at all, and ended up at the MacBeth, where Gyratory System spent ages sound-checking and we got bored and re-skedaddled.  One of the big problems of the night was the huge gaps between bands; it’s quicker at Glasto for gad’s sake.

Next we rocked across to Jaguar Shoes, and squeezed in downstairs.  Fuck.  Microwaves on full blast have been cooler than that place.  Undeterred, we caught the end of Still Flyin‘s set, and kinda loved it – they were a large maverick band with saxophones, all sorts of keys and I think a violin, and they had a good old jam, a little Fools’ Gold esque.  Back in the cool climes of outdoors, we went to Ziegfried’s next, after gasping at the queue for We Have Band at Hoxton Bar & Kitchen, with like an hour until their set.  Madness.  At Zieg’s we saw The Molotovs, who played us some passable indie-rock.  The singer had both nice hair and a nice voice.

The plan was then to salivate over The Radio Dept., but we had an hour to spare so jiggled our way to Old Blue Last instead, happy to see whoever was playing.  Until that turned out to be Sky Larkin; a cruel trick on me by the guys in the clouds.  Adrian quite liked it, but to me this is racket rock, songs at a zillion miles an hour and as loud as possible, with little to no artistry or flair.  It just left me exhausted. 

The Radio Dept then didn’t happen – again they seemed to take an age soundchecking, and it was stupid hot.  The Legion is not very cleverly designed; the stage is next to the toilet, so you have a constant stream of people knocking your shoulders.  Eventually we lost patience ((judging from Amelia’s Magazine’s festival review, we didn’t miss much); Adrian left for his bed, it now being midnight, and I scarpered down Curtain Road to The Queen of Hoxton for the last of Django Django.  That turned out to be pretty fun; there was a real buzz in the crowd, and the alt-rock songs had a lot of imagination. 

The last stop was the old Hearn St car park.  I hoped to see Simian Mobile Disco, but they weren’t on until 2.30, a full hour and some change, and with the DJs currently playing nothing more than progressive blandery.  Hardly anyone was dancing.  Alcohol suddenly became that much more expensive.  It was time to scarper.

So, overall thoughts: I didn’t think it was great this year.  The gaps between bands was a problem as I’ve said; also the fact that so many bars in the Shoreditch Triangle aren’t part of Stag & Dagger really negates the festival atmosphere – walking around is no longer a great experience.  Bar Music Hall was a big miss this year – that place was really the hub in 2009.  Instead there’s a far greater sprawl of bars, making it mightily hard to see two acts on at the same time.  The crowd is a puzzle: beery lads who don’t seem to give a hoot about the bands, and older folks getting increasingly frustrated at all the shoving.  On the plus side, the stuff I saw was mostly good, and it was cheap cheap cheap. 

If anyone reading this went along, I’d love their thoughts?  Festivals are very subjective, personal things, so the more feedback the better.

Monday Music – 24 May 2010

Here’s my weekly collection of five songs that I’m currently loving - a one-off postponement of SOIWT’s avid London focus:

Moonlight Bride – Young Guns
I tipped Moonlight Bride for greatness at the start of the year, and while little has happened to that effect I stand by my assertion that they’re brilliant.  This is melodramatic, aching pop-rock at its most cabriolet: singalong summery songs that must be played at top volume for full uplifting benefit.  The thrilling Young Guns remains my favourite: it burns and yearns with a nostalgic love based on times when life was easy. A mix of soaring peaks, hurt-speckled vocals, sudden quietude and careering guitars, it’s just a little irresistible in these balmy times.  Whoa-ho-ho along – you know you want to.

NB: the below version isn’t brilliant – best to get the MP3.

Beach Fossils – Youth
A forbidding duo of male voices sings.  A country-esque guitar is plucked with same simple, soulful chord.  The male voices return.  The guitar is plucked a little more, a little faster.  And so it goes on this, track two of Beach Fossils‘ eponymous debut LP, released tomorrow via Captured Tracks.  Judging by its gorgeous simplicity and chilled-out broodiness, Dustin Payseur and band are a talent worth watching: this one won’t change your world but it will sure make it a little sweeter, a little gentler.  In the end, I can’t improve on One Track Mind‘s summary: “it’s a grower of a tune, with each successive listen making it a little more beloved”.  Too right.

I’m Not A Band – I’m Not A Band
I’m not a fan of I’m Not A Band.  At least, I wasn’t. In truth, I didn’t listen to them a whole lot, but the bits I did hear were melody-less noisefucks that made little impression on my charmometer.  But what with first March 23rd, and now this new eponymous (word of the day) track, I’m stumbling towards the confessional though, suddenly enthused by this electronica.  Amid the bounciest and synthiest keys imaginable, violin sounds and swaggering feedback, a pyschopathic man occasionally screams “I’m Not A Band!!!”, as if unable to contain himself any longer.  And why should he?  I take it all back I’m Not A Band – I had you all wrong.

Korallreven – The Truest Faith
No Pain in Pop makes an excellent point about Koralleven‘s seductress of a song: that for its summeryness and surf-sun-sea-sand sensibility, it’s been (probably) recorded by a geek in a (probably) windowless studio.  In Stockholm, too – hardly a tropical paradise.  Whatever, though – his loss, our gain.  Get your fake Oakleys out, shave your legs (real men only), roll up those jeans into shorts, dig out your favourite clipper lighter and go float across a park looking soulful and enigmatic as this tropical storm washes over your ears, the musical equivalent of sex in a Jacuzzi on your own Caribbean island with no postcards to write.

Lana Del Rey – Diet Mtn. Dew
We fabulously fickle Brits must almost be at the stage where we, having spent months bemoaning the arctic winter, complain about the overbearing heatwave and pray for cooler climes.  If you’re one of those already sick of all this warmth stuff, here’s a suitably smouldering, smoky, cloaky tune for ya: a purring ballad from young singer Lana Del Rey (aka Lizzy Grant), an American now based in the intolerable sunbelt that is London.  Bet she regrets that now.  An old demo, this is a song that reeks of film noir, dusty copies of Shakespeare plays, velvet blazers, jazz clubs, yellowed photographs and words lost in the wind.  Brr… is it cold in here?

MP3s via the song titles

Stag & Dagger tips

Tonight brings London’s instalment of the annual Stag & Dagger festival, with over 50 upcoming bands from rock/dance ouevres delighting sozzled scenesters in various Shoreditch sweatpits - or rather De Beauvoir, Clerkenwell, Shoreditch and Bethnal Green sweatpits, such is S&D’s scale these days. Like the Camden Crawl but good, this bruiser involves lots of walking, torturous decisions, hosts of new friends, a surprisingly efficient wristband exchange (well, it was last year), and regular shouts of “OH MY GOD, that’s like.. thingy from that band !! lol !!”.

Below I’ve listed some bands I think you should catch, but first some general tips:

1. Watch out for that Shoreditch Triangle – it gets more like the Bermuda Triangle when you’re trolleyed, and trying to cross it can take days.
2. Wear something light.  It’s far better to be cold outside than hotly lugging a coat or heavy bag inside.  That’s just not cool.
3. Bring moolah – this is Shoreditch we’re talking about, that infuriating anti-land where ATMs haven’t yet caught on.  If you do get stuck. Old Street has a few cash machines around the tube station, and there’s a free one about ten mins down Bethnal Green Road.
4. The bigger names – These New Puritans, Ex-Lovers, We Have Band – will of course attract bigger crowds.  If you want to see these guys, you’ll likely need to get to the relevant venue with at least an hour to spare, or it’ll be tears before bedtime.
5. Don’t see Sky Larkin – they’re pants.

Okay, so I veered into band territory there, sorry.  Anyway, continuing that theme, here are five acts I really rate, and who are well worth a half-mile slog with grumbling friends in check:

Timber Timbre (Rough Trade East, 6.30pm)
The earliest show of the festival sees Montreal’s Timber Timbre freak the hell out of Rough Trade with their peculiar, pallid woodsmoke-blues-rock, tragic tales told by terrified strings, earnest singing and church-quiet riffs.  These are simple and yet very accomplished songs, ones that entrap as much as they entrance.
MP3: Timber Timbre – There Is A Cure

Class Actress (CAMP, 9.00pm)
I blathered on about Elizabeth Harper in a recent post, but something tells me she’ll be so good live it’s worth doing so again.  Offering elegant, fizzing electro dance numbers with an air of sophistication and serenity, Class Actress is good for a groove, or merely a gentle n0dding of the head as you sip your pint at the side of stage. 
MP3: Class Actress – Careful What You Say

Trailer Trash Tracys (93 Feet East, 9.00pm)
Obviously you can’t do Class Actress and Trailer Trash Tracys, but plump for the latter and you’ll be richly rewarded.  The London quartet play a wistful, echoey lo-fi rock, with chanting female vocals buried amid a forest fire of throbbing guitars, fierce feedback and murderous drums.  There’s something deeply ambient about it: I want to call it post-disco, but that would just be ridiculous.
MP3: Trailer Trash Tracys – Candy Girl

Mount Kimbie (Scrutton Street Studios, 11.30pm)
Because every now and again you need a little dance epicry in your life.  Their anthems building like air-raids from an emotionless enemy, Mount Kimbie will provide ambience, moments of pause and providence, and some hip-shaking garage breaks.  The work of Kai and Dom, this is a fluid, very-cheerful dubstep with many a sudden sample. 
MP3: Mount Kimbie – Maybes

The Radio Dept. (The Legion, 11.45pm)
This one could require an early arrival but it’ll be worth it.  Sweden’s The Radio Dept. play a melodic electro-rock tinged with lush beats, sometimes like to a permanent dance remix of The Streets, sometimes a downbeat UNKLE. You’ll close your eyes, briefly revisiting a cherished memory, before returning to the almost-as-good present. 
MP3: The Radio Dept. – David

Also worth catching are Othello Woolf, John & Jehn, White Hinterland, My Tiger My Timing, Spectrals, Sian Alice Group and many more.  If you don’t trust me at all (recommended), then Stag and Dagger’s staff have also made their own, very decent, picks on the website.

Frankly, though, you could do a lot worse than have no plan at all.  Plans will inevitably get fucked up, dropped down a drain somewhere on Curtain Road, forgotten amid a jive in Jaguar Shoes.  Just go, live, and see a lot of great new stuff.  Or, as my friend and regular SOIWT inspiration Adrian just said, with brutally perfect simplicity: “I see tonight as an opportunity to see bands I’ve never seen before.” 

Have fun - lots and lots of it.   Tickets are still available here if you haven’t got on, at an impossibly reasonable £17.

The Laurel Collective

Screw genres.  That seems to be the mindset of The Laurel Collective, a London sixpiece who veer from blues to soul to electronica to rock with all the consistency of a drunken high-heeled pre-teen waltzing around Leicester Square.   A bohemian spirit and experimental enthusiasm are probably to blame thank.  The only constant is a general good-time-ness - visible amid the down-tempo murkiness of Cruel Thing, the screechy hooks of Jelly Bird and definitely the chanty rock-funk of Vuitton Blues.  Somehow, you just know that they’d be a scream live – especially at their monthly residency at Dalston’s Stag’s Head.

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MP3: The Laurel Collective – Fax of Death

Monday Music – 17 May 2010

Here’s my weekly collection of five songs that I’m currently loving - a one-off postponement of SOIWT’s avid London focus:

Nas & Damien Marley – Patience
The new album by Nas and Damien “Jr. Gong” Marley (don’t ask) has been, to use the popular parlance, proper bigged up.  Here’s the first drop from it: a solemn track that combines Amadou & Mariam’s Sabali (not that Theophilus London hasn’t done that already), Nas doing his useful bullish, cut-through-the-crap pronunciations and Damien offering a rather tender version of his usual ebullient reggae.  Will the pair, known collectively as Distant Relatives, change the musical landscape forever, inspiring countless imitations and Facebook groups and human sacrifice?  No.  Could they make your evening swim by more pleasantly?  By God, yes. 

Class Actress – Journal of Ardency
I liked Class Actress‘ other recent single, Careful What You Say, but this, their new EP’s title track, is better: instead of the former’s obviously glitzy big electro beats, it has subtler bleeps, little snatches of current flashing invisbly across a forest of pylons. Elizabeth Harper purrs out her vocals with groin-groping sensuality; the keys chime with subdued broodiness and there’s a palpable, brilliant anticlimax via the sudden, cruel severance of an ending.  It’s like an amazing house party you’re not quite sure ever happened, a perfect new girlfriend who almost certainly gave you the wrong phone number.  

Grand Pocket Orchestra – Nigeria
In honour to the swift approaching World Cup, Indiecater Records have come up with a natty concept album: they asked their favourite bands to write a song about their favourite team from those qualified for the shebang.  The resultant 32 track compilation is called Fast Forward, and includes this cheery tribute to the Super Eagles by Ireland’s Grand Pocket Orchestra, an effervescent number doused in community spirit and underscored by feverish flutes, playing at a zillion miles an hour, and sun-drenched chorus chants. If you’re wondering, Detox Cute got to England, the lucky blighters.  (Or you could ignore this, and listen to Shakira’s official World Cup tune)

Ratatat – Party With Children
The return of Ratatat comes in June with LP4, which includes this typically inventive slice of string fantasia, an encyclopaedia of riffs mixed with clangs, bangs and breaks, eccentric and electric, and so damn good.  Listening to it, I don’t know where to shake my toot beneath an imaginary mirrorball, or shake in tearful agony at the injustices of the world.  It works either way.  The guitar feedback ratchets up to unsqueakable levels and still it’s okay, still it’s beautiful.   (As an aside, check out Ratatat’s remix of Dizzee’s Fix Up, Look Sharp, courtesy of Real Horrorshow Tunes)

Marble Sounds – My Friend
Credit where credit’s due, Belgium.  Not only is an amazing Belgian professor kindly helping out with my girlfriend’s thesis, but another amazing Belgian musician has sent me this great piece of music.  When not half of the electro band Plastic Operator, Belgium’s Pieter Van Dessel is the founder of Marble Sounds, a new band who’ve just released their first full-lengther, Nice Is Good.  That includes this beaut, with vocals by Guided by Voices singer Robert Pollard.  A poisoned-candy opus of thoughtful salutations interspersed with sudden, shattering revelations, it’s a tune that produces glandular fever-sized gulps in between cardigan-like cosiness.

MP3s available via the song titles

Tim Ten Yen

With Chris Packham declaring death for pandas and America pouring oil on sealife, it’s good to find someone staunchly at one with nature.  Tim Ten Yen‘s candy-floss keyboard pop lyricises about foxes, bears and sea anemones without any discernable insincerity; no-one’s sung about wildlife with such commitment since Sesame Street wound down.  Not only that, but on stage the Londoner performs with what le cool calls “a frazzled-looking mechanical cat”.  Away from this intent naturism, his considered sound veers from Aqua-esque playfulness to indie film soundtrack sensibility, and from occasionally annoying to generally catchy.  Rumours of a residency at London Zoo are currently unconfirmed.

Steve Lamacq has apparently said that TTY is destined to be a cult figure, while a popular nickname is the Sensational Singing Salaryman.  Don’t ask.  More appropriately, Spinner called him a one-man Divine Comedy.  I prefer a one-man Fraggle Rock. 

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MP3: Tim Ten Yen – The Bear & The Fox

Monday Music – 10 May 2010

Here’s my weekly collection of five songs that I’m currently loving - a one-off postponement of SOIWT’s avid London focus:

Midnight Juggernauts – Vital Signs
Things I like about Australian band Midnight Juggernauts‘ latest, Vital Signs: 1. The fact that the singer sounds like he’s letting out of flecks of saliva while singing through gritted teeth. 2. The sudden injections of pacy chorus, like a horse making random bursts in the Grand National.  3. The messed-up screeches, a la Metallica circa ’95. 4. The word “juggernauts”. 5. The angelic oohs in the weirdo midsection, itself semi-reminiscent of those J-Lo videos when she did a dance sequence (ok, not at all reminiscent). 6. The underlying soft rock sweetness of it all. 

Cocteau Twins – Cherry-Coloured Funk
Big thanks for Shazam for this one.  There I was shopping in Beyond Retro, buying cardigans and desperately pretending to be hip, when this amazingly blissful song popped on the speakers.  Out came the iPhone, on went the Shazam app and before you could say ‘But this isn’t a new song at all, so what the F-” I knew who was responsible.  Scotland’s seminal Cocteau Twins, of course: with the usual high-and-low female vocal combo, Cherry-Coloured Funk’s another delectable slice of electro dreampop pie from their now long-closed bakery of home-cooked goodness.  When metaphors go on too long – discuss.

Best Coast – When I’m With You
It’s so shamefully de rigeur to like Best Coast right now that I’ve actively tried not to, in a desperate bid to be different (ie get attention) and like, yeah.  It went about as well as my attempts to wash my bed sheets once a week.  Trouble is, the LA duo’s stuff is crazy good: particularly this woozy, skanky number that tells a Raveonettes-style love parable over cranky, give-a-shit guitars.  As singer Bethany sounds one part seductive and one part sozzled, there’s a Revels-style sesh of acid surf rock slapped in the middle for no obvious reason.  Which basically equates to genius.

Night Driving In Small Towns – Barstool
Oh but this is so bloody simple.  Oh but that’s the point you see.  The ingredients of Night Driving In Small Towns‘ latest piece of velvet soft indie whimsy are so absurdly humdrum and un-complex that you feel slightly slighted at liking the end result so much.  Those elements being: an in-time-with-the-drum-beat chorus, a doo-doo… do-do-do chord and… well, little else.  It’s all very nice, all very simple, and somehow utterly irresistible, like a chocolate digestive or those dewy eyes your girlfriend makes. 

William Fitzsimmons – So This Is Goodbye (Pink Ganter remix)
This is the song to play on the plane home from a holiday romance, at the wedding of a girl you secretly adore, writing sonnets in your shabby bedsit between sips of cheap whiskey.  Either that or later when you’re walking through the rain and kicking bin bags up in the air, spreading the mess somewhere else, anywhere else.  It’s warm but you’re shivering, trembling, cursing if you could only form the words, crying without tears.  William Fitzsimmons‘ folk is tender enough by itself, but faint electrodes from Pink Ganter render it a red-wine blur of crushed dreams, encapsulating the beauty of some tragedies.

All MP3s available via the song titles

Camden Crawl – review of reviews

I didn’t get to the Camden Crawl – much as I love knifing rain, endless queues with drunken wankbags and Camden’s personality-free bars, talented new bands just don’t excite me at all.  But happily a lot of other writers did, and, using a pen, a sheet of paper and a retro Casio calculator, I’ve managed to come up with this pretty-fucking-rad countdown of the best-received bands. 

3. Summer Camp / Male Bonding
The two London acts will have to need a third-place play-off.  Summer Camp’s smooth, chintzy grooves compelled the NME’s slightly errant reporter, while Male Bonding’s late night thrash enraptured the local rag, and Contact too.

2. Surfer Blood
Oh yeah, there were critical voices – not least the Camden Journal, labelling the band “less than revolutionary“.  But, on the whole, this drumcore indie revision act from the States, one of the hottest tickets beforehand, pulsated most.  Not least for their keyboard player with huge afro hair.

1. Yuck
Talking of huge hair, Yuck’s drummer Jonny is the world champion of white boy ‘fros.  The band’s closing spot earned the gushingest praise, with NME particularly turned on by their guitarist’s solo, and Contact pulling out the weekend’s best comparison, likening Yuck to Urusei Yatsura.  In fact, that’s the best comparison ever.

Also scoring good clubcard points were Treana Morris‘ soul-soothing acoustic singalong, heartfelt veteran punker Billy Childish, rollicking fiddle-folk from Australia’s Emily Barker, Left With Pictures‘ thrilling violin songs, Lonelady‘s ethereal indie, the rain-defying rabble rock of Man Like Me and Kyte, a Leicester quartet offering shoegaze electronica. 

The Drums generally failed to impress, Plan B simply pissed everyone off and Stornoway suffered the first lashings of a mighty anti-folk wave slowly building.  Thing is, lovely pretty folk just doesn’t work at a big, beery venue like Koko.  Stooopid Stornoway.  Elsewhere, Best Coast and Chew Lips didn’t quite justify their hype, and Gaggle got a lot of column inches but more because people were impressed at their number (15 ladies), not numbers.  The Guardian didn’t really like anyone, but maybe sort of liked The Like.  Oh and Sugababes sucked, but you probably knew that in advance.  They’re just not the same without Keisha.  Fact.

Overall some loved it, but most found much to dislike.  I feel so smug I didn’t go that I almost want to punch myself in the face.

UPDATE!! (God, I’ve always wanted to write ‘update’ like that.)  Platform has added to the mix with a wonderfully negative review of this sodomy of a festival, even throwing in the kind of mathematical prowess which my Casio long since ceased to proffer.  Look out for a particularly appropriate ChatRoulette analogy

Spectrals

I think me and Spectrals - aka Louis Jones from Leeds – could totally be BFFs.  His song titles read like wanky texts I used to send to girlfriends I was bored of – “Can’t We Please Just Stop This Now”, “It’s Very Sweet Of You To Put Up With Me”, “Leave Me Be” – while his music is equally moody.  Think My Bloody Valentine-esque sulky lyrics drenched in constant guitar waves, sometimes groucho, sometimes surfer, always a bit Phil Spector (credit Too Cool To Die).  It sounds like listening to a recording studio through a wall: lo-fi and just out of aural focus.  What keeps your ear pervily pressed to the concrete are the quirky riffs - a rhythm-and-blues chord here, a cantankerous country-style hook there. 

Labelmate of the aforementioned Fair Ohs, Spectrals has dates in London swift approaching, playing with supporting musicians.  He’s supporting the excellent Real Estate at The Social on Tues 18 May, and at 93 Feet East on Thurs 20 May, and also playing Stag & Dagger after that.

The download below, apparently inspired by the Everly Brothers, is like wayyyyy my favourite.

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MP3: Spectrals – Keep Your Magic Out Of My House