My Musical Week: Friendly Fires, TV on the Radio and Roots Manuva

The 2 people (Hi guys!) that have (somehow) stumbled upon this shambles of a blog  may have noticed that updates have been sparse. Someone, somewhere must be crying. But cry no more my friend! Cry no more, for Mister Maroon is to feed you a warm slice of musical pie, straight outta the awesome oven.

Friendly Fires:

Downloaded on the strength of breakthrough hit 'Paris', I was pleasantly surprised with the diversity within Friendly Fires' self titles debut. From the cheese-pop melodies of 'Hospital', to the (albeit St Albans-ish) LCD soundsystem-ey 'White Diamonds', and the wonderfully anthemic 'Jump in the Pool', the LP is bursting with new, fresh ideas. The kind of band that, if given radio play, would explode into the mainstream. I'm in two minds: a part of me wants to see them successful, but another wants to keep them a secret - all for me. But hopefully not- surely you connoisseurs of indie have them on 24 hr repeat, and are cursing me for my raffish ignorance of their subtly ironic comments on post modernism. Or some shit.

TV on the Radio:

As you may well know,  the NYC fivesome  released their fourth album recently. It's called 'Dear Science'. It's quite good. They've truly earned their 'experimental' credentials with this one, playing about with squeaky, childish vocals on Halfway Home, and breaking into a semi rap on 'Dancing Choose', before launching into a spaced out, flowery chorus. Although there's no 'Wolf Like Me' moment (Check that thang out by the way - absolutely seminal), its highlights are in the slower, harmonious moments, rather than the staccato Alt. Rock of their previous albums. Still, withoutadoubt worth a look in.

Roots Manuva:

Although I'm far from a hip-hop afficianado, I can tell you one thing: Roots Manuva is absurdly brilliant.  Being the tight bastard I am, I refrained from purchasing 'Slime and Reason' in its entirety, instead plumping for stand-out tracks 'I'm a New Man' and 'Again & Again'. 'Again & Again' is a ragga-infused, upbeat little number, with trumpets augmenting Manuva's sly lyrics. 'I'm a New Man' is a wholly different affair; dark social observations take the driving seat, while the beats are relegated to the bak seat. But most brilliant is the stupendously infectious opening lyric 'Whiskey man/Mr frisky man'. I defy you not to start humming that in the supermarket queue. 

So there we are. That's what's (almost exclusively) been filling my ears this week.

And to the two people who've read this far: drop me a shout!

Love to you all.

Reading '08 In Review.

Well, according to my previous post, I done went to Reading festival last weekend. So did 90,000 other people.

It was quite good.

Allow me to elaborate: There is no bonding experience quite like that of burning a disheveled camp chair with deodorant. With 20 people whom you have just been acquainted. By means of beer shower.
But none of this amounts to anything even vaguely resembling 'culture', so I shall press on to the very crux of the festival: music. Last year I saw a band during every single slot, many of which I disliked. However, that was my first year, and by damnit I was going to get my money's worth. I was also young and foolish. Quite to the contrary, this year i was only to see bands that interested me in the slightest.. and they were few and far between (the time in between was well spent. My liver has since fallen out with me - we had a fight last night and, well, she's packed her bags and left. She'll be back before too long though. She always comes back). Anyway, here's a summary and a short review of the bands I actually saw:

Friday

Biffy Clyro

Not a massive fan of Biffy, but it was worth watching them none-the-less. I can't really comment on the intensity of the crowd (I was waaaay back), but given the furious passion energy with which fans throw themselves into everything associated with the Scottish giants , I can assume some stuff went down. Striding on stage clad only in matching bright blue drainpipes, the bearded bombshells opened with breakthrough single 'Saturday Superhouse', before ripping through a set that included 'Who's Got A Match', 'Living Is a Problem Because Everything Dies', 'Machines', 'Get Fucked Stud' and 'Mountains'. And yeah, they were pretty good. However, I'm not the best source for a review - I'm sure they would have sounded 17 and a half times better should I have been at the front. But I wasn't. And compared to their performance last year, they were distinctly meh. But as I said, I'm not an über fan, so I'm not fully equipped to comment.

Vampire Weekend

I have a lot of love for Vampire Weekend. Their afro-beat-infused-feel-good-strung-out-pop-rock sound has singlehandedly depleted the world's supply of hyphens has lent a definitive soundtrack to summer. Although their performance at Reading 08 was nothing new, it was stonking none-the-less. From the first plinky-plonky notes of set opener 'Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa' to the anthemic 'Oxford Comma', Vampire Weekend did what they do best: make people very happy. very happy indeed. This was reflected in the crowd's reaction: die-hards with every lyric on the tip of their toungues mingled quite happily with the newcomer, the majority of whom were totally wom over . Even my friend who earlier claimed 'I only like Babyshambles, Brand New and The Libertines' was won over. No mean feat indeed.

Does It Offend You, Yeah?

Still hazy from Vampire Weekend, I struggled out of the NME tent sans any companions and without any way of contacting them. Luckily, however, this put the ball in my court somewhat; the two headliners of this year caused a musical division between my friends this year: those who would see Babyshambles, and those for Rage Against The Machine. Unfortunately, neither of these bands hold a modicon of appeal for me. The absence of familiar faces therefore meant I was not tied down to seeing either - woohoo! After considering a return to the campsite, I turned my attention to the 'Festival Republic' stage, a showcase for talent both big and small. And lo and behold, who would be playing but the Nathan Barley-esque 'Does It Offend You, Yeah?'. I remained in the lower reaches of the tent for this one, but the attitude of the 200 strong crowd did not wane. I didn't know any of their songs, but this mattered not - every song instantly danceable - a fact payed testiment to by the alcohol fuelled assortment of fans. Also, top marks to the kid who dragged his paternal escort into the fray. I've never seen a 40 year old man look so afraid.

Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip

Rage may, by all reports, have been 'mesmerising', but I think a billion-odd people missed out on a gem. Well, a couple of gems. One squat and chubby, the other impressively bearded. Hunched over his powerbook, Dan le Sac sends the set fiddling with buttons, while his hip-hop counterpart surveys the audience. The first hint of set opener 'The Beat That My Heart Skipped' was a thunderous 'BOOM BOOM BOOM BAD-EE AAAAH BAD-EE BAD-EE AAAAH BOOM AAAAH BOOM BOOM BOOM' that rang out from the near - frenzied audience. The 50 minutes that followed were as political as anything the headliners have ever done, but retained an omnipresent element of danceability. And the reaction to breakthough hit 'Thou Shalt Always Kill'? All the superlatives in the world do it no justice. So think up something for yourself.

Saturday

Dirty Pretty Things

Clad in typically bohemian attire, Carl and co swaggered on stage, droopy cigarettes in hand(s). The ex-Libertine proceeded to lead his band through a set that was, thankfully, all but but free of their new album. Aside from 'Deadwood' and 'You Fucking Love It', the only track worth of mention was their cover of Nirvana's seminal 'In Bloom'. I liked it, but whether that opinion is universal remains to be seen. In summary - yeah, good. (Carl also looked like a total God, so that helps..)

We Are Scientists

Armed with a repertoire of gags and anecdotes, WAS played a set that was on-par with the best of their previous performances. Having polished follow up album 'Brain Thrust Mastery' to a mirror-shine, Chris Cain and Keith Murray (+ touring session guitarist) unleashed hit after hit on the baying audience. Enthusiastic as they were, it only took the opening bars of 'the Great Escape' to send 40,000 people into fits. Really, really dancey fits. An A+ performance, augmented with some trademark We Are Scientists humour: 'What ever you guys are on, I don't want any! Holy Shit!, (Roadie tries to fix drums) 'OH! You think you can just take a souvenir?! Go on! get out of here! Get! Get! Jeez, people like this ruin it for the rest of us'. Classic.

Editors

They played their singles.

Which are awesome.

Everyone sang along.

Every danced.

To Editors,

which is strange.

It was good.

Nuff sed?

Bloc Party

Who ever set up Bloc Party's sound needs a right proper rough-housing. No two ways about it. The lack of decibels destroyed what was sure to be a spell-binding set. Though, to be fair, the Bloc Party obssesives that surrounded me more than compensated for the lack of noise - although they're not quite yet up to Kele's standard. That said, once I had picked out a few notes over the cacophony of cheering, each track proved to be a sing-a-long and a half. If they turn up the volume for their inevitable return to the mainstage, their 3 albums chock-full of choons are sure to kill massacre.

The Killers

Ah, the Killers; an softish-indie-rock staple. Loved by many, hated by an equal number. However, on Saturday, August 23rd , all differences were thrown aside in favour of a mass scream-your-lungs-out-athon. Such is the ubiquity of every single note the Killers have produced, noone was left with a voice come Sunday Morning. It seems a bit futile going through every single song (just fire up itunes and you'll get the gist), and aside from a handful of new songs, there was nothing remarkable about the set. This does not, however, detract from their all round good-ness, and their performance was tipped over the edge of awesome with liberal use of Pyro and ticker-tape cannons. Thumbs down for making me lose my voice though..

Sunday

Crystal Castles

Notorious for the rowdiness and controversy that follows them, Crystal Castles played a hectic set in the packed out Dance Tent. The situation demanded that normally sedate tracks (think 1991) wereto be kicked up a notch with some hardcore screaming courtesy of the elfish 'singer' Alice Glass. Ethan Kath spent his time huddled over a black box (I should really found out what's in there - A Gameboy and an Atari in a fight to the death perhaps?), firing off bleeps and what-not. To give an idea of the sheer intensity inside this miniscule tent, I genuinely feared for my life during the opening bars of 'Alice Practice'. Naturally, I came out worse for wear. Black and blue with bruises, I realised, some time after the music had stopped, that they were injuries of affection. If that's even possible. A way of one dance-punk fan to say to the other; 'This is awesome!'. And indeed it was. Although extenuating circumstances have to be taken into account (I was very drunk at the time), I'm going to call this my gig of the weekend - fitting, given it was my last..

Top Threes:

Weirdest shit I saw:

One) Man suspended by gaffa tape 10 ft up a telegraph pole.
Two) Teenager clad only in a poncho insisting that I 'don't get raped..'.
Three) A gimp.

Bands:

One) Crystal Castles
Two) Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip
Three) The Killers

Brands of alcohol:

One) Absolut vodka
Two) Carlsberg
Three) Strongbow

'Reading moments':

One) Laughing ourselves crapless about 'the moongobbler'
Two) Drinking 7 cans for breakfast
Three) Getting chased through the campsite by some guy. (I tripped over the guidewire on his tent)

So in summary: yeah, frickin' awesome!

My Reading to do list.

Over the course of the weekend, I (and perhaps you) shall be spending most of my time in an Ypres-a-like field (too soon?) with 99,980 strangers.

Activities shall include, in no particular order:

- Consumption of alcohol
- Watching bands
- Further consumption of alcohol
- Looking for a Modest Mouse secret gig.
- Eating under-cooked economy meat from a disposable BBQ
- Watching bands
- Spurning rumours of a Libertines reunion gig
- Excessive consumption of alcohol
- Finding an empty cup very, very funny
- Sleeping for 2 hours
- Getting over-excited
- Trying to erect tent, end up with heap of polyurethane and poles
- Blagging
- Watching bands
- Getting sworn at by marshalls
- Eating Wheetos
- Running up and down a hill with 700 other people.
- Consumption of Alcohol
- Trekking to Sainsbury's
- Running out of money
- Beer runs
- Losing wallet
- Seeing bands
- Telling friends how much I love them
- Finding wallet
- Thinking [insert fusion jazz-metal act here] are awesome, and will definately check out their shit later
- Clenching buttocks/wishing toilets flushed
- Consumption of alcohol
- Realising the astonishing complexity of a zip
- Changing beer-soaked, slept-in clothes
- Realising [insert fusion jazz-metal act here] were awful
- Purging mind of misdemeanors
- Looking for a Modest Mouse secret gig
- Dancing. Badly
- Seeing bands
- Getting thoroughly dehydrated/thoroughly hydrated
- Realising my feet hurt. Standing on one foot
- Consumption of alcohol
- Making friends with a guy named Hairy Steve
- Sitting around
- Never seeing Hairy Steve again
- Trying to find tent
- Tripping over guide wires
- Consumption of alcohol
- Seeing bands

Redacted: A film I just done saw

Redaction is an odd one: unlike most World War II films, it's not action laden. Unlike many Vietnam films, it's not a seminal piece of cinema. However, one quality it does share with the recent crop of [insert Middle-Eastern conflict here] is the controversy that surrounds it. But controversy does not (necessarily) a good film make...

Ultimately, Redacted boils down to a simple black and white tale of morality. But not in the twisty-turny-role-reversing-makes-you-take-a-look-at-your-own-set-of-morals kind of way.

Our narrator and (remarkably steady-handed) cameraman, Angel Salazar, wields his Handicam in an effort to create a film-school worthy masterpiece. He is Neutral. Our machiavellian villain, Reno Flake Bad. And our hero, Sergeant Jim Vazques is good. That's how Redacted rolls. Ordinarily, this would work, should it be the basic premise of a balls - out HOOAH! action flick. But it's not. Events pan out in a manner more suited to a semi-art-house reflective film on the evils of war and its ethical implications, and I suppose that's what Redaction was shooting for. But, unfortunately for 'visionary' director Brian De Palma, the concept falls flat on its face.

Take a scene near the beginning: The squad of Marines we follow are manning a road block. Cut to a time lapse of activity through said road block. Cut to a car crossing the danger line, and being shot up. Cut to the wounded pregnant woman in said car. Yes, its visceral and shocking. But no-one was really in the wrong - the questions raised answer themselves, to an extent.

I don't want to ruin the plot for you, so I won't give away any further details, aside from the inclusion of a truly God-Awful 'vid-cast' halfway through. It made me want to claw out my face.

That aside, one flaw that runs the entire length of the film is inconsistency. For the first quarter or so of the film, there are French subtitles. That occasionally turn English. Laik, wtf? Am I missing something?! Also, the occasional flitting about of perspectives could be regarded as clever and subversive, but in this case lends the movie and air of indecisiveness. For Redacted 2, keep it constant Mr De Palma.

But this pales into insignificance when the actual nature of the film is considered; it just feels so... forced. You get the impression that controversy is included for the sake of publicity, not to actually add anything. Don't get me wrong, it's harrowing stuff, but the fact that I read that off the DVD case pays testiment to my earlier assertion.

So, after very little deliberation, I'd un-recommend Redacted. De Palma, for your next tale of moral ambiguity against the backdrop of an unjust war, decide if you're filming an essay or an action flick. Just don't waste my time with a combination of both. It doesn't work. Capiche?

Modest Mouse: My Latest Musical Obsession

Before I launch into this one, let me get this straight: Modest Mouse are the best band you'll never listen to. Or they're already your favourite band. There's just no middle ground.

Well there is, but for the sake of hyperbole and a sensationalist headline, YOU'RE WRONG!

With that finished, allow me to take the time to preach to you a few reasons why you'll <3 We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank.

One) Johnny Marr is a member.
Bam, straight out there. After their former guitarist left in 2006, ex-Smiths guitar God Johnny Marr joined up, and played lead on We Were Dead. As a Smiths fan, this excites me to a degree bordering on fervor. But let's face it, you don't need to obtain fan boy status to appreciate the guitar-playing qualities of Marr. He single-handedly makes standing stock still cool. And that, amongst other reasons (like inventing indie) makes him awesome, and Modest Mouse awesome by proxy.

Two) They're as experimental as a guitar band can be.
That title's there for a good reason - modest mouse are very much a guitar band. You might be thinking 'char, but [obscure 70's electronic/acid disco/jazz fusion four piece] [Used a birch twig to play keyboard wearing nothing but tights]'. Modest Mouse aren't that kind of band. However, they have shown dogged enthusiasm for lyrical, vocal and instrumental variation. Just take the 20 second accordion solo that introduces March Into The Sea. Or the rambling banjo that strums it's way across their previous album, 'Good News For People Who Love Bad News'. Yeah, they're not reinventing the genre, but at least they're trying something a little bit different.

Three) They have a penchant for horribly depressing album titles.

Four) They have a great singer.
Isaac Brock - front man, lyricist, guitarist and vocalist. He does it all. He's dreamy. But really, the way in which he alternates between semi-scream, even and warm with a quirky edge and intimately quiet is a real draw, and the combination of these various vocal styles add individuality to each track. See 'The Parting of the Sensory' for a great example of this.

Five) Choons.
Whether it be the anthemic chart-topper Dashboard, the chant along Fire It Up or the sobering Little Motel, Modest Mouse are fine purveyors of music from the first track to the last. Differentiations in song type (Fast, slow, loud, quiet etc) are fairly standard, but the difference is in the execution. Which, as you might expect given the general tone of this post, is of the highest standard. End of.

So there we are. Now go listen!

For Starters, download: Dashboard & Florida

Love to you all.

Four Reasons Why I Hate Sam Kilcoyne

Y’know, I respect what you’re doing with underage festival and all, but it doesn’t make you any less of a tit. So here’s 4 reasons why I hate Sam Kilcoyne:

One) He comes across as arrogant.

Two) He comes across as arrogant.

Three) He’s more successful than me.

Four) He comes across as arrogant.

Hey, I don’t know the guy. Maybe he’s awesome if you get to know him.

No Country For Old Men: A Film I Just Done Seen

The Cohen brothers have a reputation for effortlessly portraying both violence and whimsy, often on the same reel. However, their latest project, No Country For Old Men, takes any flicker of whimsy and administers a savage beating before calling it a pussy and telling it to run along. It’s a balls-out-manly-action-thriller, but with an intelligent and subtle edge.

And yes, it is a magnificent piece of cinema, although truth be told, I never expected anything less from Ethan and Joel Cohen, especially so given the 4 academy awards plastered across the DVD case.

Without giving too much away, a down-and-out (Josh Brolin) stumbles upon the aftermath of a drug deal gone wrong, and a whole lot of money. So, doing as any man with an under-active common sense gland would, he takes it. Understandably, this makes certain people somewhat upset, and an assassin (Javier Bardem) is hired to take care of the situation. Predictably, the best laid plans go awry, and a chase across southwest Texas is initiated. So far, so meh.

However, from the simplistic set-up emerges a film wrought with complexity and narrative intrigue. Every twist and turn in the winding plot is detailed from three perspectives - the hunter, the hunted, and the sheriff, although these roles are by no means set in stone (wink wink, nudge nudge). So drawn was I, that when the ending eventually came, it took every ounce of reserve in me to stifle a scream.

The already superb plot is enhanced and refined with some masterful acting on the part of Tommy Lee Jones, Josh Brolin and Javier Bardem, who rightfully scooped the academy award for best supporting actor at the 2007 oscars. And this formulates perhaps the only identifiable problem with the film; Bardem’s performance overshadows his two veteren co-stars, who, put in any other film, would win critical acclaim, but in this context have had the wind taken out of their sails by the Spanish giant. But really, is this even worth mentioning? Well yes. Fool.

Tying this all together is the bright orange and khaki colour pallet, and some wonderful shots of the sweeping Texas countryside that makes up the backdrop. Although the camerawork is standard fare, a sound technique first debuted in Alien lowers the volume of any conversation, forcing you to ‘crane your ears’ (I totally just made that up, but y’know what I mean) to catch what’s going on, and increasing the impact of shocks and ‘plosions.

Ultimately, No Country For Old Men is another highly polished, and extremely successful piece of cinema from the dynamic duo <– (I promise I’ll never write that again). Although I may be somewhat biased (I’m a massive Cohen brothers fanboy), it certainly does seem hard to fault. Well worth a rental, if not a purchase - you really will want to watch it over and over. And, although I may seem hasty to declare it so - my film of 2007.

Since watching this film, I've been engineering scenarios in which to say 'call it, friendo'. 'Cos I'm cool.