'Love Saves The Day 2014' [PREVIEW] Published May 2014 BRISTOL LIVE

Typically, the way for a festival to show it’s full potential is to be outstanding in it’s field.

Usually, city festivals have to work that little bit harder to appease the hardened hedonist. However, more city based fests are appearing with every year that passes, and they seem to be tapping into the collective conscious of the modern reveler.
Spending the day making merry and then having the option of retiring to the comfort of your own bed is surely something any discerning festivalist secretly desires. 

Love Saves The Day is now in it’s senior year, and it’s gone from strength to strength.
From it’s first soggy, queue ridden iteration, to last years sun kissed belter, it feels as though the loved up leviathan is unstoppable. 

With festival tickets selling out months in advance, and Stokes Croft’s latest addition, The Love Inn, packed to the rafters on most days, it seems as though love is airborne and infecting the city. 

The pleasure mongers at Team Love seem to consistently bridge the gap between popularity and discovery when it comes to line ups, and seem to keep all types of raver in favour. With acts as diverse as Todd Terje, Quantic, Shy FX, and Horse Meat Disco spanning the weekend, no one should be left wanting. 

In keeping with tradition, Saturday is filled with housey delights in the form of of Subb-An, Crazy P Soundsystem, Motor City Drum Ensemble and Eats Everything to name but a handful. Headliner Annie Mac will no doubt bring a few pairs of Air Max through the gate, but the smart money is on the live stylings of Todd Terje to make Saturday a day to remember.

Sunday caters to Bristol’s more even tempered denizens with the likes of Quantic, Gentleman’s Dub Club, Laid Blak and Neneh Cherry heading the bill. 

Greg Wilson’s edit heavy behemoth of a set will no doubt end up becoming a serious highlight, with local crew SHAPES and D&B godfather Shy FX providing some serious energy, there’ll be little time for rest. 

If you were concerned with what to do with your life before and after festivities, The Love Inn will be providing all kinds of entertainment to the people of Stokes Croft and beyond. 

Pre parties and aprés shindig entertainment are all catered for by the new addition to the Love family, and their kitchen can provide you with probably the only thing you’ll eat all weekend.

For the third year in a row Love Saves The Day is gearing up to be an absolute belter and is all Bristol has been talking about for the last few soggy months.

Sod your fields, this city festival is cementing a solid reputation.

‘Arbiters of Mood’ [ARTICLE]- Published October 2013 BRISTOL LIVE

“I never loved you!” she bellows as the door slams behind her. 

The pages of incriminating correspondence lay torn into shreds, along with his heart.
As he longingly gazes through the dusty window he focusses on his lost love as she walks into the arms of her new beau.

In the distance the gramophone plays ‘Agadoo’ by Black Lace.

Mood and music are bedfellows whether consensual or not. 

The pathetic fallacy of music is intrinsic and everyone craves those perfect soundtrack moments to life, whether it be the beauty of running toward your star crossed lover from the other side of a beach or staring wistfully through a rain peppered window lamenting the loss of a family pet, there is a soundtrack that is appropriate and one that feels out of place. 

Not everyone has a perpetual OST running through their heads mind, that’s a curse that only befalls a select few of us, but everyone finds solace in music that matches their mental state. It’s much easier to be on level with someone singing of heartache that mirrors your own troubles than some nubile tween shrieking about improbable promiscuity and unlikely abuse of substances that they read about in their mums copy of Woman’s Weekly.

A problem shared is a problem halved and all that, so it stands to reason that you’d want to spend time with someone equally as miserable as you, especially a musician. 

At first glance it seems strange that one would purposefully do something to enflame an already miserable disposition, but imagine listening to Lesley Gore’s saccharin classic ‘Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows’ after a visit to the oncology department, or celebrating your promotion by drawing the blackout curtains and listening to Radiohead in a damp, candlelit attic. 

There are, of course, ways to tip the scale in your favour. 

For all it’s wonder, the human body is remarkably gullible. There are many magical substances that trick your body into giving more than your RDA of happiness. 

This little workaround has a profound effect on the enjoyment of music, as anyone who broadened their horizons as a youth will know.

The heightened sense of empathy and understanding that comes from the abuse of particular narcotics not only affects your musical experience but the music itself. 

MDMA’s tendency to incite mutual rapture was most definitely not overlooked by the architects of the acid house scene that ruled the 90’s. 

It doesn’t take long for public demand to shape the scene. People wanting music to heighten a sense of euphoria will eventually lead to more and more tunes becoming more and more euphoric. It’s economics 101.

That’s not to say there’s some sort of equilibrium where mood and music is concerned, just a correlation. It’s just further proof of how innate both are within each other.  

The blues wouldn’t be the blues without feeling blue, and happy hardcore would be even less credible if it weren’t so sickeningly chipper.

If this is something we’re aware of as listeners it should be glaringly obvious to those in the business of creating music.

If an artist is particularly depressed or troubled (like any true artist should be) it would stand to reason that their creative output would reflect that poise, the same if they are vapid and transparent. It is that very transference of mood that turns a piece of music into a piece of art. 

We, as a listener, are in a unique position. We don’t have to entertain a musicians misery if we don’t feel the need to, we can just switch off when they get a bit whiny, preachy, dopey or sneezy. We are the arbiters of mood.

At least that’s what we’re led to believe anyway. Music is a remarkably powerful thing and  rather adept at altering moods without permission. The somber music that helped you through those dark times is now heavily loaded with emotion and it will most definitely remind you of that the next time you visit. Equally, the upbeat soundtrack to your jubilant days now has the ability to give you a dopamine enema at a moments notice.

When people talk about their favourite album it isn’t because they’re consistently blown away by the production value or the lyrical elegance, it’s because the elegant lyrics and deft production conjour memories, fond or otherwise.

It’s because that music’s tone was so in sync with your own at the time of your first encounter that such a strong relationship was formed. 

Now you have the ability to be transported back to that moment and relive the feelings once again. It’s this relationship that makes you able to create your own tone and it’s this relationship that is able to make ‘Agadoo’ seem like the saddest song in the world. 

Letherette- ‘Letherette’ [review] - Published March 2013

Wolverhampton has a lot going for it.

It was the first city to have automatic traffic lights installed in 1927.
It’s within the top 11% of local authority areas in England and Wales (excluding London Boroughs) for public transport use when travelling to the workplace and apparently has a football team who play better than some but worse than others.

Cracking place.

Aside from musical heavyweights like Slade, Wolverhampton isn’t really known for it’s high brow music and art scene. It’s more famous for still having a Beatties department store, which I find both surprising and depressing in equal measure.

It may too be somewhat surprising to discover that the home of over 400 council appointed, post war bungalows is also home to a duo of masterful producers who gained the fully warranted attention of Mr. Current himself, Gilles Peterson. 

Letherette spent a good while cutting their teeth on hip hop inspired beat smithery, using the lineage of their namesake as their sample inspiration. 

You can’t base your name on a Grace Jones album and not expect to give something back.

With the latest slew of releases on the arbiters of dope, Ninja Tune, they’ve shown signs of a new direction. Beautifully crafted boom baps still remain but they have padded their release out with floaty 4/4 endeavours that blur the lines between tradition and new prospects. Much like the opening of the M5 which, since 1970, has provided vital links between Wolverhampton and the South West. 

Opening single ‘D&T’ plays like the hazy memory of a 70’s beach party. Stuttering vocal cuts, lush pad stabs and an epic phased guitar solo make up an offering that can only be described with the words ‘summery as you like’.

Tracks like ‘I Always Wanted You Back’, ‘Cold Clam’ and ‘Boosted’ are the above standard fair that gained them the notoriety they much deserved back in 2010, but the smart money is on their new offerings.

Offerings such as ‘Restless’. A track that has more than a few inklings of Discosure’s pre hype belters. 

Or perhaps ‘Warstones’ with it’s camp, French, squelchy excellence.

If that doesn’t take your fancy, ‘After Dawn’ and it’s Justice-esque, floaty majesty will surely float your yacht.

In short, this album is the showcase of an act well and truly in the midst of a breakthrough. 

Not content with resting on their already gilded laurels, they’re willing and able to make progress that reveals their true potential.

A jewel in the crown of the West Midlands second largest urban subdivision.

That’s not an accolade to be taken lightly.

‘Portable Music’ [article]- Published July 2013

I have absolutely no qualms in admitting I dance to car alarms. 

I’ve been known to ‘box some beat’ to an assortment of birdsong and have hummed away merrily to the drone of the fruit juicer at work.

I spent the run up to my formative years being referred to as “Biffer” Re: my penchant for drumming on tables/ pets/ family members with a squeaky blue hammer and I 100% agree that baked beans are “the musical fruit”. I do believe “the cacophonous legume” would be more apt but Heinz have been ignoring my emails.

If, like myself, you have a constant 4/4 beat running through your head you can hear music wherever you are and it’s that idea of providing a soundtrack to everyday life that everyone finds so tantalising and subsequently why there are over 300 million Apple brand music players sitting in peoples pockets quietly waiting to break one day after your warranty expires.

I remember my first Walkman clear as day. It was my step dad’s and it lived in the shed.
The Walkman that is, not Alan.
It was covered in sawdust and the pause button didn’t work properly but it was systematically placed in my possession and subsequently returned to the shed until it eventually became mine... and I loved it like the fat kid loves cake.

The thrill of taking music wherever I wanted never wore thin.
Unfortunately the thrill of only having one tape waned fairly sharpish.

After that I was utterly hooked and over the next 12 years accumulated what can only be described as a gaggle of assorted portable media solution devices:

3 portable cassette players
2 Discmans/men/persons

3 Minidisc players

2 nondescript Mpeg Layer 3 devices

2 boomboxes

And a grand total of 4 iPod’s.

I’ve fallen foul many a time to the ‘charms’ of my laptop’s speakers instead of taking that 3 foot stretch to plug her in to a set of lovely Yamaha’s and it’s because of that ease of use provided by a portable medium that we find more and more music geared towards al fresco listening. People are now even able to create music in the great outdoors by utilising entire production suites that fit in the palm of your hand. Admittedly it has to be an abnormally large hand but who are you to judge? At some point the ability to hold 3 ruby red grapefruit in one span is going to come in really useful and the cries of ‘Big Mitts Belshaw’ will fall on deaf ears.

Being able to purchase music from iTunes while out and about was something that always irked me though. Mainly because the adverts propagated the idea of buying Jack Johnson and Norah Jones on the fly. No one should be given the opportunity to do that. It’s a matter of ethics. Also, allowing a major corporation access to your listening habits and inviting them to provide you with inspiration is only going to end in tears.

It pains me that people like tubby hipster James ‘LCD Soundsystem’ Murphy can conscientiously decide to produce an album (2006’s- “45:33”) in collaboration with a major footwear company that’s single purpose is to provide the soundtrack to a perfect workout.

The excitement that surrounds portable tunage is that you can take the music from home out of it’s domain. Drown out the mundane diegetic sounds of life and score your own as you see fit. Create exquisite juxtaposition’s of clamour and serene vista’s and provide yourself with a level of escapism the confines of your home could not see fit to loan you.

Not run through your town centre’s mandatory fountain complex quaffing a Starbucks while you consume the bastard love child of corporate idiocy and trend humping in which a podgy sell out merchant paradoxically tells you the best way to shed a few pounds.

Like a bomb in a bookshop, certain people just want to destroy something novel.

It makes no real odds to me though. I’m totally under the influence.

I now can’t imagine being without music on my person. There is a generation emerging that were practically born with an iPod in their hands and the phenomenon knows no class boundaries. It provides to all and sundry. One and all. And eventually people will begin to take it all for granted.

But, if you can remember the time you left your girlfriend and her mates at the campsite, took a 30 minute walk through sharp bushes and winding rock paths, perched yourself in a throne of boulders and watched the sun set into the sea with ‘Narayan’ by the Prodigy as your soundtrack...

Then you remember why you got so excited the first time you blew the sawdust away and pressed play for the first time.

Boards Of Canada- ‘Tomorrow's Harvest' [review] Published June 2013 LONDON IN STEREO

Think of all the incredible things the average human being could do in the space of 8 years...

You could celebrate just over 7 birthdays for a start. 

I’ve no doubt there are a lot of other things as well. The point is, it’s a pretty long while.

Imagine what a pair of Scottish virtuosos could do given the same amount of time. 

You’d imagine something epic, like drinking truly ludicrous amounts of IRN BRU or deep frying everything within a 5 mile radius of Inverness. 

In the 70,000 hours or so that have elapsed since 2005, brothers Mike Sandison and Marcus Eoin have managed to make 62 minutes of music under their Boards Of Canada moniker. 62 minutes. That’s like Nelson Mandela, after 26 years pondering the state of Africa, finally being released from incarceration and presenting a half arsed manifesto for incremental, long term change in South Africa’s road safety legislation. 

Delayed gratification only works if the end product is truly something worth waiting for.

Having to wait builds expectations that can rarely be matched.

Now, being somewhat of a veteran when it comes to mind crushing cynicism I was fully prepared to spew a bit of bile, make some mildly racist remarks about the Scottish, put on ‘The Campfire Headphase’ and pretend this whole thing never happened.

No such luck.

Tomorrow’s Harvest is a true return to form, although I’m not sure if you can return to form if you never deviated from it in the first place.

This album is like giving yourself a hug, warm and familiar yet empty and uncomfortable. The sound that Boards have mastered and truly made their own.  

There are nods to their glory days like the 1970’s infomercial fanfare that kickstarts proceedings, stuttering vocals and the familiar sound of the Roland SH-101 synthesiser peppered throughout. The purely instrumental vignettes that glue the tracks together are of the standard, glorious fare we’ve all come accustomed to and the droning, uneasy synthscapes are plucked right out of 1998.

However, there’s something about this offering that seems different. It feels darker and much more definite. It feels as though the last 8 years have been spent painstakingly mastering every sombre, lonely drone to the point of absolute precision. 

It’s this combination of sharp production techniques and desolate atmospherics that make the theme of this LP so distinct.

If, heaven forbid, Google does become sentient and chooses to turn our nuclear weapons against us for the ‘greater good’ I couldn’t imagine a better soundtrack to accompany an endless trek across the barren wastelands. This album encapsulates and invokes the beauty of isolation and in turn makes it one of the best Boards Of Canada releases to date.

If you have to wait until 2021 for a new album, so be it. You may just have finished exploring this one by then.

James Holden- 'The Inheritors' [review] Published June 2013 LONDON IN STEREO

There’s a fine line between beauty and chaos. 

Think Jackson Pollock, think Picasso, think Lindsey Lohan.

Visionaries who blurred the edge of attraction and disarray.

Seriously, some of her mugshots are hot.

Allure and anarchy seem to be odd bedfellows, but like any estranged relationship the result of them bunking up can often be something pretty intense.

This adage is especially true in regard to music. Anyone who has heard Otomo Yoshihde’s New Jazz Orchestra version of Jim O’Rourke’s ‘Eureka’ will know what I’m talking about. Right guys? I can wait until you YouTube it.

Being thrown from the relative safety of syncopated rhythms and major chords by clamour and cacophony can be somewhat appealing. It’s like a subtle sex reference in a family film, you know it’s wrong but it piques your interest.

Now, to say James Holden doesn’t do things ‘by the book’ when it comes to electronic music would be spot on. 

His aggressive apathy toward the more popular side of electronic music isn’t something he hides; the title of his fantastic 2006 album ‘The Idiots Are Winning’ proves that.

It should come as no surprise then to find that ‘The Inheritors’ is a continuation of this ethos. For a start, It’s named after a William Golding novel that portrays modern man as strange godlike beings who use light and fire to bewilder lesser mortals.

If that’s not a dig at David Guetta I don’t know what is.

With those connotations duly noted, it’s the music itself that really sets it apart from the apparent bilge it strives to sit above. Tribal yet futuristic, bold but shaky, loud and subdued. It’s made of so many sonic contradictions it appears to be confused about it’s purpose, and yet it is presented in such a definite package that the bedlam it consists of is most certainly intentional.

This offering is much more atmospheric and not as immediately accessible as his last LP. It’s clearly the work of an incredibly talented producer who wants to cut all ties with the electronic scene in it’s current form. It’s both an example of an artist throwing their toys out of the pram and a gift from a true talent who wants to educate the masses about music that doesn’t need to be categorised by genre.

This album feels like an aggressive statement against the big business of ‘EDM’ and whatever it is Disclosure are calling themselves these days, and it’s through that statement that it’s elegance becomes apparent. It’s anarchical and confusing but it’s ideology is admirable and clear.

This is most definitely the front line of beauty and chaos.

Musical Identity/ Music is a Strange Beast- [article] published september 2011

Music is a strange beast.

She’ll make you laugh. She’ll make you cry. She can anger you. She can sometimes sneak in at 4 in the morning stinking of sambuca and Hugo Boss. She can claim she’s been ‘out with the girls’ all she wants but the wry smile under her smeared lipstick betrays her. Whether she’s the demure thinking man’s crumpet or the tarted-up pop princess, everyone’s had a go and had a ruddy good time to boot. You’ll always go back for more, whether intentional or instinctive, and once that’s happened she’s got her claws in.

Anyone who’s done something as seemingly nonchalant as wearing a band t-shirt has been privy to her truly manipulative ways. You like a band. You buy a t-shirt to show support. There’s nothing darker at work.

Allow me to be the first to shout “balls!” You’ve been had mate. You’ve bought a t-shirt to let everyone know you like said band. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that mind.

I love my ‘J DILLA CHANGED MY LIFE’ t-shirt but I’m very aware of the attention it garners. I’m ok with that though, because he did and we’re not talking about me anyway.

If you love something you want people to know about it. You can claim you’re humble until the Aberdeen Angus commute home but a couple of gin and tonics will always loosen your tongue. There’s no better way to portray allegiance than a good ol’ fashioned uniform.

If you like hip hop, dress as though you’re between wardrobes following miraculous gastric band surgery. If metal is your bag you could do worse than snagging any item of clothing that’s really, really, really dark blue, dying your hair really, really, really dark blue and growing a ginger beard. Or if your particular brand is punk/pop/emo/shouty music, go ahead and look like you’ve been sexually assaulted by a clown.

People can indeed adore the output a particular genre provides without wearing the accompanying garb though. You can also say that a style of music doesn’t have a uniform, and you’d be right – but a scene does.

Everyone enjoys a sense of belonging and music, that little harpy, provides the grandest of communities. But like any harpy worth her salt, music can draw you in and make you lose yourself. When you find yourself getting vexed at ‘man dem mercing your crepes’ at a gig or covering yourself in tattoos of an artist who has the shelf life of a reduced Muller Rice, you’ve likely lost sight of what got you hooked in the first place. There’s a fine line between defining your musical identity and letting your musical identity define you. If the only reason you listen to music is because it matches the particular philosophy your scene possesses then claiming you love it seems somewhat invalid.

As David Hargreaves et al testify to in their succinctly titled book, What Are Musical Identities And Why Are They Important?:

“Because music is essentially a social activity – it is something we do along with and for others, either as listeners or as cocreators – there is a strong argument that the social functions of music subsume the cognitive and emotional functions in certain respects.”

They also go on to use words like ‘interpreted’ and ‘saxophonist’.

I’ve always felt that the personal appeal of music should outweigh the social aspects. It’s much easier to appreciate a more obscure style of music with the backing of your peers, but if that appreciation is grounded in social terms then it’s less of a personal identity and more of an ideology. As a bloke called Nicholas Cook said:

“In today’s world, deciding what music to listen to is a significant part of deciding and announcing to people not just who you want to be…but who you are.”

So I shall announce to you thus: “Who I am is a man who likes J Dilla, but I don’t want to be the kind of person who has to wear a ‘J DILLA CHANGED MY LIFE’ t-shirt to let you know that.”

But he did though, and we’re not talking about me anyway.