2007
Rufus Wainwright, Hammersmith Apollo, 30-10-07
30/10/07 19:12 Filed in: Gigs
I should preface the review by saying I’m currently pretty sick with some hideous flu type thing. I can’t stop sneezing, coughing and my chest is wheezing like a miner with emphysema. So, not really in the best of health to attend a concert, least of all one that is seated and contains tender torch songs. I had visions of coughing once too often and being booted out of the venue. I’d been to the doctors just before the gig, racing from work in south London to the doc near Camden back to Hammersmith for the show. I was turned around, feverish and confused. My doctor told me that I should use my inhaler as much as possible. I was unsure about this since I’d always been told you shouldn’t use it more than twice a day. He said it was fine, the worst that could happen was minor tremors. So I used it, a lot. Soon after, I started to shake. The painkillers and the inhaler didn’t get on well and I started to get dizzy and disoriented. This was just at the moment I arrived at the venue. What possessed me to sink half a joint I have no idea but it was a mistake! Why did I think that would improve the situation? Idiot.
My head started to swirl but I held it together to get to the loo, got some water and found my seat, feeling like I was going to pass out all the way. I needed rescuing and this gig was either going to make it worse or centre me and take me out of this misery.
In my state, as it turned out, this was the perfect gig to see. The air conditioning was on full blast and I was getting cold, which seemed to be stopping me from fainting or having to leave. I felt high and paranoid, it was not pleasant. The lights went out, a huge Stars and Stripes flag (with what looked like 13 Xmas baubles instead of 50 stars) and two mirror balls, at slightly different heights, descended from the ceiling and the band, dressed in similar pinstripe brightly coloured suits came on. I caught sight of Gerry Leonard, who I had seen at this venue five years earlier, except that time he was playing Heathen. He’s the most fascinating musician, sometimes you can’t even tell when or what he’s playing. He blends in but not in an unmemorable way. He makes the overall sound what it is, as both guitarist and musical director. It was a pleasure seeing him again. Out walked Rufus, dressed in white suit with vertical stripes and glistening accessories, crystals or diamante brooches all over his suit. Handsome devil, to be sure. The crowd, made up of middle class Londoners, the best gays (and their hags) that London has to offer and trendy students, cheered and wolf-whistled at him as the band struck up Release the Stars. And then this voice, this instrument, came from nowhere and filled the room. I had something to focus on and fixed my tired eyes to him and just let the voice wash over me. People I know who don’t get him say the voice is the problem. He’s hardly Dylan, in terms of being challenging to listen to these days, but I do understand. It’s an odd voice, there’s a monotone quality to it. But once you get it, it soars and sinks and hits big notes, high notes, low notes, all in perfect, flawless pitch. I’ve rarely heard a better live singer.
Later in the show he was playing some complex piano part in the song Tulsa and hit the wrong note, it sent his voice out of tune and in a split second he looked down, found the place his hands should be, and just carried on. No stopping, giggling or apologising. He made a mistake and fixed it. It happened once more where he sang a line then said “Ah, I’ll do that one again”, and did, carrying on til the end. In between songs I can’t underplay how charming, cheeky and funny he is. Filled with nervous energy, he loses track of his thoughts, rambles and tells daft stories.
The stories themselves are worth relating – he told us about a palace Frederick the Great built for men only that he insisted had all doors unlocked at all times. How he then built a room for Voltaire, which, unsurprisingly, was never visited. He came out for the second half dressed in lederhosen, which he was keen to tell us were Austrian, not German. He’d bought them from the same place the von Trapp family had. He told us his boyfriend was back home in Germany and how German Rolling Stone had done an article about the top 10 rock stars and their muses. “Number one was John Lennon and that woman, what’s she called… Yoko, that’s it. Then Mick and Marianne. And at number 9, yes, Rufus Wainwright and Jörn Weisbrodt!”. Then there was the song dedicated to Brandon Flowers, “Hugely talented, incredibly handsome and hopelessly heterosexual!” The banter between the songs is such a part of the whole but never detracts from the sumptuous and sensitive music. I knew almost all the songs but my highlights were the amazing ode to lost love The Art Teacher and Poses.
Having sadly missed him doing the ‘Judy show’ at the Palladium in February I didn’t imagine I’d get any covers from it. Happily, I was wrong. If Love Were All followed a tender version of A Foggy Day in London Town. When I saw Morrissey at the Palladium 18 months ago, where Judy sang in 1963, two years after her Carnegie show, he walked on stage, tuxedo-clad and sang, “But I believe that since my life began, the most I’ve had is just a talent to amuse” before bursting into Panic. The song was familiar but only when I listened to my Judy at Carnegie CD (the greatest live show ever recorded, no joke) and heard her sing those lines did I realise it was the Noel Coward penned If Love Were All. Hearing Rufus sing it in entirety almost brought a tear. Very slowly, my asthma inhaler inspired tremors started to wear off. Only a little, I still felt like I was on some other planet until I got home. I can’t forget about the rendition of Between My Legs though. He has been running a competition online where people submit You Tube footage of themselves doing the spoken word section of the song. The winner is invited on stage each night to perform it. Last night it was a super excited clone-y shaven headed guy in jeans and checked shirt. He delivered his lines, to great cheers, like an overacting Shakespearian actor wannabe. Brilliant.
After the two Judy songs I was even more delighted to get the dragged up Get Happy. He came out for the encore in a bathrobe and I’d seen this before. He did it at Glasto, minus the dress up routine. But this time he perched on a chair and put on clip on earrings, heels and lipstick, slowly and dramatically, smiling, before miming to his own version of Get Happy while the band danced around him. Judy-loving gays aside, I wonder who realised what he was re-creating? I read a description of it in Q magazine a couple of months ago – they described it as him wearing ‘a Liza Minnelli style Cabaret outfit’. I guess they couldn’t be bothered to find out what the outfit really was, a perfectly choreographed recreation of Judy performing the song in Summer Stock. Not remotely like Cabaret. It was tremendous fun and was greeted with a standing ovation. Still in Judy drag, he performed the silly and charming Gay Messiah and he was off. I’m going again tonight and, it being Halloween, I don’t know quite what to expect. It’s taken me a few albums to get there but now I get it. So here I sit, at home, sneezing and coughing, but nothing will stop me from getting back to Hammersmith tonight.
Release the Stars
Going to a Town
Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk
The Art Teacher
Sansoucci
Tiergarten
The Consort
I Don’t Know What It Is
A Foggy Day in London Town
If Love Were All
Between My Legs
Tulsa
14th Street
Macushla (sung with brass only and no microphone)
Beautiful Child
Get Happy
Gay Messiah
...
Arcade Fire, MEN Arena, Manchester, 27-10-07
27/10/07 19:15 Filed in: Gigs
When my dad heard they were playing Manchester on my birthday he decided we should see them together, as my birthday present. I jumped at the chance. Not even a hideous thrashing at the football on Saturday afternoon could sour my mood - I was home, with friends and family, and about to see a band who have become one of my favourite acts to see over the last few years. I was beamingly happy all day and evening, this being my 3rd AF gig this year after Brixton Academy and Glastonbury.
I was excited and nervous, I hoped beyond hope that it would be a great show and my dad would love them as much as he does on record. Arriving at the venue, we were quite amazed to see the sheer variety of the attendees - from your average couple who wouldn't look out of place at a Simply Red gig to emo teenagers to horn-rimmed glasses wearing students to lads with a permanent pint in their hand. The place was packed. A moment later the lights went out, a brief evangelical-style clip played on the small circular screens and ten shadowed figures walked onstage to huge cheers. It was the first time I had been seated at a concert for quite some time and I won't lie - it was weird. My dad, he says at his age, 57, isn't up for standing at rock concerts anymore after 40-odd years of gig going. Initially I felt somewhat out of it, as I looked longingly at the writhing masses of people packing the centre floor. Starting with four tracks from Neon Bible I was gratified to hear the great reception each song received. When I'd seen them at Brixton, the album had been out for only 2 weeks and the Funeral songs were greeted like old friends, 'hits' even. This time every single person seemed to know the newer songs. In lieu of being able to get up and jump around I found the percussive rhythms of the band irresistible. If you can't move your feet or tap your hands to a band like Arcade Fire you must be completely lacking in the ability to let music wash over you.
And that's what they do - they create a tidal wave of sound, building it up skillfully before pushing each instrument and voice to its limit before the waves crash around you, almost becoming white noise at its highest points. Songs from both albums mingled together with ease and their stagecraft has changed and improved immeasurably. As always, Regine was adorable - bounding around from drums to vocals to accordion, keyboards, always with a joyful step.
I'd read a difficult, somewhat negative interview with them in the Guardian that morning. Clearly struggling to handle the new demands placed on them, as a result of the surprising success of Neon Bible, outside of their natural domain - concerts - Win came across as aloof and uncooperative. They aren't playing the industry game that well and in some ways that's laudable. In others, not so much - who wants to come across in the press as difficult and arrogant? One interesting comment from the interview was that, after a summer of touring, they seemingly don't now consider themselves a band who excels at festivals. The mud stopped them from enjoying Glastonbury, which initially came across as a 'get over yourself' moment as I read it but then I realised that they are absolutely right about their festival performances. Not that they were bad at Glasto, not at all. But the special relationship they try and create between band and audience can seemingly only be formed between them and people who have paid to see them. As in, a festival crowd isn’t going to be of one mind, one reason for attending, and one desire to connect with this band on stage. On Saturday I saw the best of everyone - the band and the audience. They work hard and reach out to the crowd and the crowd push back. The joyful, communal experience I felt at the Astoria three years ago was present and amplified by the 15,000+ crowd in the venue.
Sitting a good half way back I had a unique chance to see the whole show, as a stage piece - the seamless swap of all imaginable kind of instruments in between songs, the power and energy of drums/bass/guitar augmented with their 2 man brass section, 2 violinists and so many stringed and percussive instruments I lost count. An hour into the show, a chatty Win said they were going to play a song never played before. "When I first heard this band they made me want to play music. I was ill for a year and then better for a while and now I'm ill again. This is Still Ill." I leapt out of my seat with joy as they raced through a charming, slightly ramshackle, cover of the Smiths song, from their '83 debut. The coolness of that moment, well, words fail me. It was an exhilarating show, over too quickly. We bounced out of the venue and were home 20 minutes later. Yes, the arena really is that close to home! Dad said he was overwhelmed by the band and their sound, by their songs. The morning after he said the more he'd thought about the show the better it was getting in his mind. Bear in mind my dad has seen everyone live from Miles Davis to the Doors to Zeppelin, Zappa, Santana, - artists who were backed by, or bands who contained, the most immense musicians. Arcade Fire have the potential to turn into one of the great live bands. Album number three can't come fast enough.
Black Mirror
Keep The Car Running
(Antichrist Television Blues)
No Cars Go
Haiti
I'm Sleeping In A Submarine
In The Backseat
Windowsill
Ocean Of Noise
Tunnels
The Well & The Lighthouse
Still Ill
Power Out
Rebellion
------------------------------
Intervention
Wake Up
...
Prince, O2, London, 08-08-07
08/08/07 19:16 Filed in: Gigs
(LT note: after seeing this show I kept buying tickets, seeing him a total of 8 times at the 02)
I've seen my share of gigs over the years but last night was on some other musical level, one I've never been to before. I saw Prince in 1990 and I remember little of it, just craning my neck to try and see a blur of movement as I watched the greatest artist of the 80s at what I thought was the height of his powers. And yet here I am 17 years later and last night Prince, 49 years young, surpassed his 32-year-old self in every way.
The imposing O2 building, formerly the £750m Millennium Dome, towered over me as I approached Greenwich. Inside, the outer circle was buzzing with shops, bars, restaurants and inside that circle was the venue itself. Surprisingly compact due to an insanely steep trajectory my heart sank as I realised this glorified sports hall was full of your average beer swilling working class pretending to be middle class Brits. As with any performer, the ability to feed off a good audience is crucial so I was a little worried. The comfy seats and their attached cup holders made me feel like I was in a cinema or about to watch a basketball game. Usually I'm at the front at gigs, standing as near as I can get to the stage. It's been a long while since I was at a seated venue and there was an air of corporate entertainment to it all. I felt the tension of the audience as a good-natured Mexican wave started and the clock ticked on.
At just before 9pm the lights went off and the crowd roared. The stage, the famous symbol, was in the round so all views were good. On the screens by the speakers, at ceiling level, a clip of the man started playing. It was confusing for a second - after all, who starts their show with a tape of themselves? (Well, ok, James Brown's pre-show tape was his own greatest hits when I saw him a few years ago). The crowd was up on their feet, which was a relief. Sitting down to watch him would have been unbearable. The roar was deafening as the centre of the stage, clouded in smoke, sank and then rose with Prince, dressed in black, carrying his usual Telecaster, stood immovably. Quick as a flash he played a familiar opening chord and it was Little Red Corvette. I can't think of another artist who would display quite such an amount of charming arrogance by beginning a gig by throwing away four of his most famous songs as a 4 minute medley but that's exactly what he did - Corvette, Raspberry Beret, I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man and Alphabet Street (which included the lyric ad lib, "I'm gonna put her in the back seat and drive her.....to Manchester!" Where did he think he was?! After that he shouted 'Funky London!' at every opportunity). It was an almost old fashioned singalong, just him and the crowd and a guitar. I've rarely seen a gig where the star didn't hammer a hard first song to get the crowd going. But Prince doesn't do things that way.
Out of the stage centre, his band appeared, dressed immaculately in white. The twins, his dancers, gyrated their way onto the front of the symbol. Reviews had said these ladies primary act was to dance around Prince but mostly they didn't - they were just some eye candy working the stage while he was at another end. In fact, the man didn't stop moving all night. I'm going to quote my friend Rex here because I thought of this during the show and he could not be more right. "EVERY time I've seen Prince perform - which has been every opportunity I've gotten for the past 25 years - I'm reminded of the history of popular black music, whether it be a Hendrix or Hazel inspired guitar lick, a Wilson or Brown lifted dance step, or a Mayfield or Redding influenced vocal riff! Prince is a walking, breathing, year-long Black History Month!”
The sound was as good as could be expected, a little muffled and not quite loud enough, in a hangar of a venue like this but it didn't seem to matter. It was a blur of great songs, starting with Cream and continuing with an unbelievable lengthy jam of Musicology. At one point he got half a dozen fans to dance on stage for a few songs, which was distracting but he seemed to enjoy it. You could see that he enjoyed the whole night, constantly dancing and grinning. The premier fan site, Prince.org, reports this morning that the show, while the shortest so far in London at 2 hours, was the best of the ones he's done so far, with the best setlist. I admit, even I was shocked by the quality of the song choices. Some of the songs were truncated, some were played in full, but all were played with power, passion and precision. From the minute he crawled on his hands across to the back of the stage to, my highlight of the night, Controversy, it was a masterclass in stage performance. James Brown may be lost to us now but his essence lives on. I couldn't help thinking that watching this was what it must have been like seeing JB in the 60s or early 70s.
A 45-minute relentless blast of funk before he vanished, leaving everyone breathless. Who else could employ what amounted to mini-intervals mid show and get away with it? It was as if an imaginary rope was attached to each person and he was pulling us up and down, bending everyone at will. It was an honour to see Maceo Parker, James Brown's saxophonist, namechecked throughout the night, play in this interval, an exquisite lengthy version of Wonderful World. Then, with little fanfare, he appeared back on the left circular part of the symbol at the piano, apparently the first time this had been done at the O2. People were sitting, to catch their breath, and were treated to a 25-minute solo piano medley. It felt intimate, somehow. The audience, who usually would have been chatting or taking a booze break, were enraptured. It was an unforgettable show-stealing interlude that even now sends a shiver down my spine just to think about it.
Back came the band with a super hot version of If I Was Your Girlfriend followed by the immaculate Black Sweat and then a surprise choice, Kiss. I heard a woman nearby say 'This is music you listen to after you've had sex'. These three songs were like some horny interlude. Prince shouldn't be hot but he is and everyone knew it. I took a little video on my phone of Purple Rain, which always, charmingly, goes on for a couple of minutes longer than it should. Then he was gone again, down the stage trapdoor. All that was missing was a stage MC with a silk coat over his back, as he kneeled and disappeared. The second encore was a blaze of new and old - Let's Go Crazy and Guitar. Another disappearing act as the roadies hurriedly placed bongos and double snares on the stage for the final song appearance of funk/Latin collective Grupo Fantasma, his support act, which swelled the stage numbers to 13 musicians, 2 dancers and Prince. The 2-hour show felt short, almost. Later he went on to play another 2 hours of covers and jams at the aftershow gig at IndigO2, a small club inside the venue, with Grupo Fantasma, sometimes singing, sometimes just acting as a backing musician.
Such energy in a 30 year old would be impressive but for a man of nearly 50, who played keyboards, piano, guitar and even one song on bass (Give It To Me Baby by Rick James, which he stopped, smiled and said 'you guys don't know that one! I'm old school, I don't like nothin' new!' and then went into Play That Funky Music), it was breathtaking. If you're in any doubt as to whether to try and get a ticket, do it. The question for me now is how long I can resist buying a ticket for any of the remaining 15 London shows because chances like these don't come along often.
I've seen my share of gigs over the years but last night was on some other musical level, one I've never been to before. I saw Prince in 1990 and I remember little of it, just craning my neck to try and see a blur of movement as I watched the greatest artist of the 80s at what I thought was the height of his powers. And yet here I am 17 years later and last night Prince, 49 years young, surpassed his 32-year-old self in every way.
The imposing O2 building, formerly the £750m Millennium Dome, towered over me as I approached Greenwich. Inside, the outer circle was buzzing with shops, bars, restaurants and inside that circle was the venue itself. Surprisingly compact due to an insanely steep trajectory my heart sank as I realised this glorified sports hall was full of your average beer swilling working class pretending to be middle class Brits. As with any performer, the ability to feed off a good audience is crucial so I was a little worried. The comfy seats and their attached cup holders made me feel like I was in a cinema or about to watch a basketball game. Usually I'm at the front at gigs, standing as near as I can get to the stage. It's been a long while since I was at a seated venue and there was an air of corporate entertainment to it all. I felt the tension of the audience as a good-natured Mexican wave started and the clock ticked on.
At just before 9pm the lights went off and the crowd roared. The stage, the famous symbol, was in the round so all views were good. On the screens by the speakers, at ceiling level, a clip of the man started playing. It was confusing for a second - after all, who starts their show with a tape of themselves? (Well, ok, James Brown's pre-show tape was his own greatest hits when I saw him a few years ago). The crowd was up on their feet, which was a relief. Sitting down to watch him would have been unbearable. The roar was deafening as the centre of the stage, clouded in smoke, sank and then rose with Prince, dressed in black, carrying his usual Telecaster, stood immovably. Quick as a flash he played a familiar opening chord and it was Little Red Corvette. I can't think of another artist who would display quite such an amount of charming arrogance by beginning a gig by throwing away four of his most famous songs as a 4 minute medley but that's exactly what he did - Corvette, Raspberry Beret, I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man and Alphabet Street (which included the lyric ad lib, "I'm gonna put her in the back seat and drive her.....to Manchester!" Where did he think he was?! After that he shouted 'Funky London!' at every opportunity). It was an almost old fashioned singalong, just him and the crowd and a guitar. I've rarely seen a gig where the star didn't hammer a hard first song to get the crowd going. But Prince doesn't do things that way.
Out of the stage centre, his band appeared, dressed immaculately in white. The twins, his dancers, gyrated their way onto the front of the symbol. Reviews had said these ladies primary act was to dance around Prince but mostly they didn't - they were just some eye candy working the stage while he was at another end. In fact, the man didn't stop moving all night. I'm going to quote my friend Rex here because I thought of this during the show and he could not be more right. "EVERY time I've seen Prince perform - which has been every opportunity I've gotten for the past 25 years - I'm reminded of the history of popular black music, whether it be a Hendrix or Hazel inspired guitar lick, a Wilson or Brown lifted dance step, or a Mayfield or Redding influenced vocal riff! Prince is a walking, breathing, year-long Black History Month!”
The sound was as good as could be expected, a little muffled and not quite loud enough, in a hangar of a venue like this but it didn't seem to matter. It was a blur of great songs, starting with Cream and continuing with an unbelievable lengthy jam of Musicology. At one point he got half a dozen fans to dance on stage for a few songs, which was distracting but he seemed to enjoy it. You could see that he enjoyed the whole night, constantly dancing and grinning. The premier fan site, Prince.org, reports this morning that the show, while the shortest so far in London at 2 hours, was the best of the ones he's done so far, with the best setlist. I admit, even I was shocked by the quality of the song choices. Some of the songs were truncated, some were played in full, but all were played with power, passion and precision. From the minute he crawled on his hands across to the back of the stage to, my highlight of the night, Controversy, it was a masterclass in stage performance. James Brown may be lost to us now but his essence lives on. I couldn't help thinking that watching this was what it must have been like seeing JB in the 60s or early 70s.
A 45-minute relentless blast of funk before he vanished, leaving everyone breathless. Who else could employ what amounted to mini-intervals mid show and get away with it? It was as if an imaginary rope was attached to each person and he was pulling us up and down, bending everyone at will. It was an honour to see Maceo Parker, James Brown's saxophonist, namechecked throughout the night, play in this interval, an exquisite lengthy version of Wonderful World. Then, with little fanfare, he appeared back on the left circular part of the symbol at the piano, apparently the first time this had been done at the O2. People were sitting, to catch their breath, and were treated to a 25-minute solo piano medley. It felt intimate, somehow. The audience, who usually would have been chatting or taking a booze break, were enraptured. It was an unforgettable show-stealing interlude that even now sends a shiver down my spine just to think about it.
Back came the band with a super hot version of If I Was Your Girlfriend followed by the immaculate Black Sweat and then a surprise choice, Kiss. I heard a woman nearby say 'This is music you listen to after you've had sex'. These three songs were like some horny interlude. Prince shouldn't be hot but he is and everyone knew it. I took a little video on my phone of Purple Rain, which always, charmingly, goes on for a couple of minutes longer than it should. Then he was gone again, down the stage trapdoor. All that was missing was a stage MC with a silk coat over his back, as he kneeled and disappeared. The second encore was a blaze of new and old - Let's Go Crazy and Guitar. Another disappearing act as the roadies hurriedly placed bongos and double snares on the stage for the final song appearance of funk/Latin collective Grupo Fantasma, his support act, which swelled the stage numbers to 13 musicians, 2 dancers and Prince. The 2-hour show felt short, almost. Later he went on to play another 2 hours of covers and jams at the aftershow gig at IndigO2, a small club inside the venue, with Grupo Fantasma, sometimes singing, sometimes just acting as a backing musician.
Such energy in a 30 year old would be impressive but for a man of nearly 50, who played keyboards, piano, guitar and even one song on bass (Give It To Me Baby by Rick James, which he stopped, smiled and said 'you guys don't know that one! I'm old school, I don't like nothin' new!' and then went into Play That Funky Music), it was breathtaking. If you're in any doubt as to whether to try and get a ticket, do it. The question for me now is how long I can resist buying a ticket for any of the remaining 15 London shows because chances like these don't come along often.
(just with guitar)
Little Red Corvette
Raspberry Beret
I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man
Alphabet Street
Sometimes It Snows In April
(band join the stage)
Cream
U Got The Look
Musicology
Pass the Peas
Give it 2 Me
Play that Funky Music
I Feel For You
Controversy
Housequake (snippet)
Wonderful world (Maceo solo)
(just with piano)
Somewhere Here On Earth
Diamonds & Pearls
Beautiful Ones
How Come You Don't Call
Condition Of The Heart
Do Me Baby
I Wanna Be Your Lover (with band)
(off piano, back on centre stage)
If I Was Your Girlfriend
Black Sweat
Kiss
Purple Rain
(Encore 1)
Let's Go Crazy
Take Me With You
Guitar
(Encore 2)
Get On The Boat
Arcade Fire, Neon Bible
27/03/07 19:17 Filed in: Records
If I’d had to review it after one listen I imagine mine would have been somewhat like Rolling Stone legend David Fricke’s in tone. Reading his 3 1/2 star review, it’s certain to have been done after spending a mere 50 minutes in the company of this band. I confess that on first play I was under whelmed too. The songs didn’t leap out at me as debut Funeral’s had. I sat quietly after the first play and considered the nature of the modern music product versus the relative attention span of the listener. In eras gone by, albums were called ‘growers’. My parent’s generation might have fallen in love instantly with an album like Revolver but they would have to work hard at material like John Wesley Harding. Shouldn’t great albums, work that lasts, demand repeated plays? If you can get a full sense of an album on only one turn I’m not sure it’s going to last in the great pantheon of work. I appreciate Oasis. They are one of the great British bands of their time and I own each and every one of their releases but their albums have a puddle’s depth. And, aside from the first two, I have felt no desire to listen again to the rest of their discography.
In that spirit, I felt the calling of Neon Bible, an album that implores you to play it over and again. There can be nothing that affirms your love and passion for music more than a release that you sense holds great depth, a shining silver circle begging to be swallowed by a music system that does it justice. This is a dark album, a gothic record in the traditional sense, and it demands attention. I fell for Funeral after a Bowie recommendation but I had no right to expect such a grand leap forward for the follow up. It’s a sumptuous, lush, complex album. It crackles with indignant fire on 9/11 inspired track Antichrist Television Blues. For Ocean of Noise you float on a cloud above your bed as if you’ve woken up in a Michel Gondry film.
There’s a signature Arcade Fire sound: a crescendo of music, as a driving, determined song builds towards its zenith and explodes finally into release. It’s a joyous feeling when it happens and it’s never better demonstrated on No Cars Go, itself a reworked version of a track on their 2003 self-titled debut EP, and Keep The Car Running. Album closer My Body Is A Cage is a sombre, powerful, organ-laden triumph, a song that aches your heart and mind. There are few other bands currently able to pass such a musical current through your body. This collective and the mind-bending array of instruments they’re able to call upon have created an album of immeasurable beauty. It’s not only an album I don’t see beaten easily in the Album of the Year rush at 2007’s end but it’s a piece of art that may not be bettered in their careers.
...
Arcade Fire, Brixton, London, 19-03-07
19/03/07 19:18 Filed in: Gigs
Joyous. That's the best word on earth to describe seeing Arcade Fire live.
In May 2005 I got a spare ticket to see AF at the Astoria in London. I'd never heard one song. And they blew my head off. No other band has had such an effect on me on first play. That night they were all squashed onto a smallish stage, running around from side to side, swapping instruments; they created the most exquisite noise and it was one of those gigs you never forget.
I got Neon Bible at the beginning of last week and on first play, I was underwhelmed. I berated myself for having expected the songs to be immediate and briefly worried about my attention span, since the Gossip album had jumped right into my brain the week before. But that's an album that I don't feel the need to listen to over and over, obsessively - and yet that's exactly what's happened with Neon Bible. It's under my skin now, that album. It's, in the old fashioned musical term, a grower; an album of tremendous depth and opulent arrangements. It fills my room with sound and has a life of its own. It's a remarkable piece of work that will only get better.
On Saturday, after a bit of ticket-getting luck, I saw them again live. Seven days after I stood in the Brixton Academy and saw NIN I stood in the same venue waiting to hear how Neon Bible sounds live. Sure, I was looking forward to tracks from Funeral but really I was there to get another play of the new album, this time live.
The stage set was simplistically beautiful - four vertical light bars spread across the stage; a huge curtain for projections at the back; five light boxes a few feet high with white circles for visuals (often the Neon Bible album cover or shots of the band, plenty of red light on stage at all times) and the most dizzying array of instruments seen outside a classical concert. Spotting them became a game as we waited for them to come on - aside from the obvious guitars/drums/bass we spotted a piano, double bass, xylophone, keyboard, French horn, accordion and hurdy gurdy. And when the band walked on there was of course the violin and viola players to the right. Given the arrangements you can't imagine any less than the 7 band members plus the 3 additional musicians being able to play these songs. Oh, and a pipe organ too at the back which must have been at least 15 feet high.
You would think this would create the 'I don't know where to look' effect thus making it distracting to have so much to feast the eyes on but it didn’t work like that. The sound is a collective, a huge wave coming off the stage. It seemed to take both band and crowd five or so songs to get into it. The new album has only been out a couple of weeks after all so it was bound to be a Funeral song that got everyone going. After that it was a blur of energy; the crowd bounced and sang and the band fed off the crowd - from grinning and singing at the front rows to bashing a drum high above a head, it's clear AF get great pleasure from playing live.
The sound was good, after a fashion, and it was hard to keep up with the band members who kept swapping instruments. You had to chuckle as Regine in particular did an entire circuit of the stage having played violin, accordion, keyboards and drums, all while singing. Highlights for me were No Cars Go and Rebellion but it was all superb. Not many bands could get away with the ending either - an unamplified cover of the Clash's Guns of Brixton with loudhailers. You couldn't hear it but no-one cared. Neon Bible is a dramatic step forward from Funeral. There's not much more that's musically satisfying than liking a cracker of a debut album and seeing the so-called difficult second album blow it out of the water. There truly is no other band on earth like them. And if they do start to spread their influence, already seen in English band The Guillemots, they will surely remain the best at what they do.
Keep The Car Running
No Cars Go
Haiti
Mirror
Black Wave/BV
Windowsill
Ocean of Noise
Tunnels
The Well & The Lighthouse
Power Out
Rebellion
Intervention
Wake Up
Guns of Brixton
...
In May 2005 I got a spare ticket to see AF at the Astoria in London. I'd never heard one song. And they blew my head off. No other band has had such an effect on me on first play. That night they were all squashed onto a smallish stage, running around from side to side, swapping instruments; they created the most exquisite noise and it was one of those gigs you never forget.
I got Neon Bible at the beginning of last week and on first play, I was underwhelmed. I berated myself for having expected the songs to be immediate and briefly worried about my attention span, since the Gossip album had jumped right into my brain the week before. But that's an album that I don't feel the need to listen to over and over, obsessively - and yet that's exactly what's happened with Neon Bible. It's under my skin now, that album. It's, in the old fashioned musical term, a grower; an album of tremendous depth and opulent arrangements. It fills my room with sound and has a life of its own. It's a remarkable piece of work that will only get better.
On Saturday, after a bit of ticket-getting luck, I saw them again live. Seven days after I stood in the Brixton Academy and saw NIN I stood in the same venue waiting to hear how Neon Bible sounds live. Sure, I was looking forward to tracks from Funeral but really I was there to get another play of the new album, this time live.
The stage set was simplistically beautiful - four vertical light bars spread across the stage; a huge curtain for projections at the back; five light boxes a few feet high with white circles for visuals (often the Neon Bible album cover or shots of the band, plenty of red light on stage at all times) and the most dizzying array of instruments seen outside a classical concert. Spotting them became a game as we waited for them to come on - aside from the obvious guitars/drums/bass we spotted a piano, double bass, xylophone, keyboard, French horn, accordion and hurdy gurdy. And when the band walked on there was of course the violin and viola players to the right. Given the arrangements you can't imagine any less than the 7 band members plus the 3 additional musicians being able to play these songs. Oh, and a pipe organ too at the back which must have been at least 15 feet high.
You would think this would create the 'I don't know where to look' effect thus making it distracting to have so much to feast the eyes on but it didn’t work like that. The sound is a collective, a huge wave coming off the stage. It seemed to take both band and crowd five or so songs to get into it. The new album has only been out a couple of weeks after all so it was bound to be a Funeral song that got everyone going. After that it was a blur of energy; the crowd bounced and sang and the band fed off the crowd - from grinning and singing at the front rows to bashing a drum high above a head, it's clear AF get great pleasure from playing live.
The sound was good, after a fashion, and it was hard to keep up with the band members who kept swapping instruments. You had to chuckle as Regine in particular did an entire circuit of the stage having played violin, accordion, keyboards and drums, all while singing. Highlights for me were No Cars Go and Rebellion but it was all superb. Not many bands could get away with the ending either - an unamplified cover of the Clash's Guns of Brixton with loudhailers. You couldn't hear it but no-one cared. Neon Bible is a dramatic step forward from Funeral. There's not much more that's musically satisfying than liking a cracker of a debut album and seeing the so-called difficult second album blow it out of the water. There truly is no other band on earth like them. And if they do start to spread their influence, already seen in English band The Guillemots, they will surely remain the best at what they do.
Keep The Car Running
No Cars Go
Haiti
Mirror
Black Wave/BV
Windowsill
Ocean of Noise
Tunnels
The Well & The Lighthouse
Power Out
Rebellion
Intervention
Wake Up
Guns of Brixton
...
Nine Inch Nails, Brixton, London, 11-03-07
11/03/07 19:19 Filed in: Gigs
Reviews, like songs, already exist and all they need is to be lured out of your mind. That’s why the morning after a gig I always need to let the words come out of my fingers and onto the page. It’s not that I think, in the matter of a few hours, I’ll forget what’s happened the night before. Plus, I need to get this out in order to make room for the hangover I’m nursing. I find myself in such a position this morning, where I must write, having been sonically assaulted by Nine Inch Nails last night in Brixton, their last of a three night stand there.
I forget how I was introduced to them (I could say him because it really is just Trent but for writing purposes it looks better with a ‘them’) but I do recall that Pretty Hate Machine was one of the first CDs I ever bought, just after it came out 1989. It became the soundtrack to my early teens. I got the follow up EP Broken and then when 1994 turned and I started going out clubbing the album of that era was the Downward Spiral. I wouldn’t say I lost interest in them as the 90s ended but The Fragile never found its way into my playlist, even though I had bought it. They lost me somehow.
Over the years friends saw them live and related wide eyed tales of ‘one of the great nights of my life’ to me but still, I didn’t get it together enough to see them. I had reacquainted myself last week, dragging out my old CDs, and there’s no doubt that the music has dated, in a way. Any music that relies of current technology of the period is bound to. But it hasn’t dated in a bad way, if you know what I mean. And the reason for that is despite NIN being lumped in with Ministry type bands (who were very good in their genre) of the time they were always a big cut above that. They put dance beats into metal clubs, then unheard of. When I was 17 and going out to metal clubs they seemed to be the connecting force between something pretty heavy like Pantera and the what now might be called dance metal of the Prodigy; who were, controversially at the time, being played in rock clubs too.
Last night I had worries – that there’d be many songs I didn’t know, that the sound would be awful in the Brixton Academy (a gorgeous venue which had a dodgy sound system put in a few years ago), that Trent’s voice wouldn’t hold up with so many gigs in a short period (having cancelled a Birmingham gig last week) and so on. It was a good choice to have a couple of drinks before the show, even if I am paying for it now. As such when we arrived, merely minutes before they took the stage, the decision about placement was made for us – the venue was rammed, there was no chance to get anywhere near the front so we found a great little spot at the back, slightly to the right, and kept the drinks coming.
There’s something very simple about the NIN show. No fancy screens or projections, no explosions and daft outfits - just a truckload of dry ice, silver hanging lamps and a beautifully constructed light show. Big flashes and thumping strobes, it doesn’t date. They opened with one I did know, Mr Self Destruct from TDS. My mouth dropped open slightly. Now with my new glasses I could see with crystal clarity, even from the back. And the sound! Shockingly perfect, which proves that if you have great equipment and a shit hot sound guy you can beat the venue’s famously bad sound system. Or perhaps it was the drink that made it sound so good. Who can say? They set up in a certain way and I realised that what dominates is the voice, the collective of guitar and bass and the drums, almost as three separate entities. There must be some sequencing too of course but that’s to be expected. The drums sounded like cracking thunder, one of the best live drum sounds I have ever heard. Imagine the drums, played by in demand session drummer and former GnR (and current A Perfect Circle) member Josh Freese, at the top of a mountain, Trent at the bottom, and all the way up the cacophony of guitar and bass making a huge searing noise. It doesn’t matter who plays behind Trent, he knows what he’s doing and gets the best musicians, for what they have to play. Though the presence of the former Twiggy Ramirez on bass was always going to add some heavy weight to the proceedings.
When Marilyn Manson started getting noticed he was hailed as Trent’s natural successor. Even though I do like Manson, because he has intelligence to the nth degree, that’s way off the mark. Manson has always worked better as an icon than an artist. He might know how to put on the great rock show but all the pantomime dame make up in the world can’t hide that his songs (Mechanical Animals plus a couple of other tunes aside) aren’t that good.
Trent, I now realise, is as close to modern genius as we can see. Live he delivers, he rips every word out as if it’s his last. Wearing a heavy coat, which he never took off, he had command of every person in the venue. I didn’t know half the songs but, incredibly, I felt totally connected to the moment, and each and every song sounded flawless. The show was irresistible, the vibe was joyous and friendly, the music was delivered with power, passion and precision. I felt transported back to my youth as I let Wish and March of the Pigs wash over me. Hurt has taken on a new dimension since the Cash cover and it was greeted like a familiar friend. I did fancy a surprise set list choice, though I wouldn’t have minded if one hadn’t arrived, but I got my wish. The assembled goths worshipping at the shrine must have felt slightly moist when he broke out Dead Souls, the Joy Divison cover done for The Crow soundtrack. Now that was a killer surprise.
No going off and on again, just a hammered at you heavy Head Like a Hole to be dished out and they were gone. Very little chat or breath-catching breaks between songs, this gig was like being strung up in the Closer video and assaulted in the way you want to be.
Pinion (opening music)
Mr. Self Destruct
Piggy
Heresy
March of the Pigs
Closer (with The Only Time)
The Becoming
Last
Help Me I Am In Hell
Eraser
Reptile
La Mer/Into the Void
No You Don't
Survivalism
Only
Wish
Gave Up
Dead Souls
Hurt
The Hand That Feeds
Head Like a Hole