Monday, April 20, 2009

Skream vs La Roux in Let's Get Ravey showdown.

It’s the biggest tune of the year so far, already bigger than Midnight Request Line and more ubiquitous even than Benga & Coki’s Night. From the grimiest dubstep nights to the cleanest R&B bars, Skream’s remix of La Roux’s In For The Kill is smashing up every kind of dancefloor across the country. The Let’s Get Ravey remix represents everything that is so exhilarating about dubstep. In comparison, the forgotten original sounds like someone’s idea of a bad joke. When you’ve heard the ominous and heavy tones of the remix the original feels like a bad GCSE music project produced on a discount Casio-keyboard. It’s all cheap synths and chirpy snares. This is the great hope of 2009? Synth girls, electro-pop and the 80s revival? When it’s done this badly it makes people re-evaluate, maybe the 80s were a bit shit the first time around…

When Annie Mac first played the Let’s Get Ravey remix on Radio 1 even she didn’t recognise exactly what she’d done. How often is dubstep heard on mainstream radio? Let alone the old skool drum and bass that breaks out for the finish. The response she got was completely unexpected. Something about the combination of those incredible vocals with Skream’s impossibly heavy production fostered a real connection with people. Nineties ravers, dubsteppers and drum & bass heads have united with the pop crowd in unanimous affection. The remix has been downloaded from NME’s website alone 700,000 times. It has reverberated through the internet and awakened the raver in all of us.

Skream made the wise decision to remove everything but Elly Jackson’s beautiful voice. Counter to most people’s perceptions of dubstep, the heavy bass doesn’t actually kick in until near the two-minute mark. He lets the tension build. You’re slightly uneasy, haunted by a sadness that’s unrecognisable in the original. Weakened by you’re unease, uncertain of what’s coming next, when the order comes down from the bass-line that it’s time to bounce there is literally nothing else you can do. All who hear it give in to its power. So when Skream lets loose the drum & bass for the last minute, even those in the highest heels can manage at least a half-time sway.
The original in contrast sounds like the theme tune to an 80s Saturday morning cartoon. The beat is just devastatingly light and frothy. It has none of the power or threat that those vocals demand. In for the Kill? Maybe if she’s killing Captain Planet or Optimus Prime.

A remix should always do something new and interesting with a song. It can explore different directions while keeping with the core of the original. A remix is even perfectly within its rights to do much better than the song it’s based on. Last years Crookers remix of Kid Cudi’s Day n Nite was such a beautifully structured piece of dance music that few people who heard it even realised it was a remix. When you go back to the Dot Da Genius produced original, you’re always left pining for Crookers ridiculously bassy wobble. Even though that surpassed the original, and even over-shadowed it, it still didn’t humiliate it. If a remix makes a mockery of its parent track, meaning it’s impossible to listen to without suppressing a giggle at its ineptitude, is that really what the artist would have wanted?

The Let’s Get Ravey remix is inevitably giving La Roux far more exposure than they would have got without it. This with the kind of Rinse FM crowd that wouldn’t previously have got past the weird French name, let alone the Erasure-influenced synth-sounds. That cross-over success is probably good for Elly Jackson’s career at least in the short-term. With an album due out this summer though, the other less visible half of the duo, Ben Langmaid, has some important production decisions to make. If they continue with this faintly ridiculous direction in the face of the overwhelming power of Skream’s remix, they risk a tremendous backlash. If Elly Jackson’s smart, she’ll immediately relinquish her professed love for the 80s. She’ll say she thought Gary Numan was just a Mighty Boosh extra and Erasure were a mistake in need of erasing. She should kindly ask Ben Langmaid to pack his bags. Following that she should march to South London and beg Oliver Jones AKA Skream, to produce her debut album. He claims to have 8000 songs in varying stages of development, how much would it take to throw 10 or 15 her way? An entire album combining Elly Jackson’s stunning voice with Skream’s seemingly limitless musical imagination, surely a prospect music-fans everywhere should pray for.

With hindsight, having the remix as a b-side to the single was a tremendous miscalculation. The juxtaposition of the sublime with the ridiculous is devastating. The idea that dance music needed an injection of the 80s now seems absurd. Dubstep has proven definitively that it is anything but a fad; it is an international movement that is here to stay. It is the sound of the future and with just one remix it has swallowed 80s revivalism whole.

Mawkin Causley - The Awkward Recruit Review

Given the fact that the folk music scene of the last eighteen months has been taken over by a breed of folk-indie hybrids, I was beginning to think that my journey of discovering new traditional folk artists was over. My fears, however, were unfounded, and Mawkin Causley's latest offering, entitled 'The Awkward Recruit' proves just that.

'The Awkward Recruit' is magnificent; from the fantastic instrumental integration to the classy, polished vocals (which switch between a variety of medieval languages - clever stuff, I assure you), there's something tantalizing and unique about what this band does. Mawkin Causley are undoubtedly the best pure folk band to land in my CD pile for ages; think Bellowhead in their infancy, with a little more zest.

This jolly and rather underrated band consist of five members, and are the product of Navigator Records - the label responsible for Lau, Spiers & Boden, and Bellowhead themselves, among others. Armed with an accordian, a bass, a guitar, a fiddle and a melodeon, Mawkin Causley are definitely a band to check out, love, and tell all your mates about. 'The Awkward Recruit' is out today, and the title track 'The Awkward Recruit' can be listened to below.

Listen To 'The Awkward Recruit' by Mawkin Causley

-Lauren Razavi

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

David Byrne's My Eyes - Royal Festival Hall 12th April


The Royal Festival Hall is a genteel venue. It basks in self-assurance, knowing that it hosts the most elite cultural events in the UK. So who was performing this night? Philip Glass? The Vegetable Orchestra? Prinzhorn Dance School? No, it was the man who yelled maniacally of his host city: “Think of London, A small city, Dark, Dark in daytime“.

Sometimes the sun just doesn’t come out in London, but I can personally assure you that it’s not dark here in the daytime. So what was such a lyrically frivolous little scallywag doing in a venue more used to riff than raff? Well, when I tell you that twas none other than former Talking Head David Byrne you will understand all. Yes, David Byrne; the man who has made a career out of a mind boggling fusion of funkypunky afro pop with lyrics that the pseuds could really dig their teeth into.

Byrne was at the Royal Festival Hall on the London leg of his world tour to play a selection of songs he’d composed over the years with the musician/producer/godfather of ambient/general legend Brian Eno.

Beginning with some newer material which (heathen that I am) I wasn’t familiar with, Byrne and his band were certainly rocking and for those with ADD, the stage-show was brilliant. This featured three dancers prancing and flouncing around to the songs, interacting with the band and providing visual relief from their static posturing. I would have liked to know if there was some sort of concept behind the dances but I had to content myself with appreciating the apparent spontaneity of it all whilst acknowledging that it had all been very carefully choreographed. Indeed at one point, one of the dancers leapfrogged over David Byrne himself who, suffice to say, also joined in the dances by shuffling robotically round the stage and following bizarre conga lines of pretentious dance-school whimsy.

For the first half of the gig the polite, largely middle-aged crowd tapped their feet approvingly of Byrne’s newer material. However when Byrne started dropping the old stuff, a few of the less inhibited members of the audience jogged down to the stage-front and began dancing in a rarely displayed passion of white, middle-class levity. Those of a less extroverted persuasion (i.e. 98% of the rest of the audience) stood up in our seats and jiggled and clapped along to fantastic ‘classics’ such as Born Under Punches, Once in a Lifetime, Crosseyed and Painless, Mind and Life During Wartime.

I was impressed by Byrne’s gracious airing of these songs which, lets be honest, he must be sick of by now. Ever the professional however he played them with sincerity, knowing full well that most of the crowd had come in the anticipation of hearing some old Talking Heads stuff. He could easily have been a curmudgeonly old bastard and only played his new nose-flute concertos like some of his miserable peers who deludedly think people care about their new albums. But he didn’t. He played the hits and that is commendable.

After three, count ‘em, t h r e e encores, the band bowed humbly and jogged offstage and, my eyes at least, were full of blind spots from where Byrne’s crowning feature of his awesome white quiff had seared itself into my vision with its disco-ball glow. The man is a legend and it was a pleasure to see him perform with such energy, wit and conviction.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Bat for Lashes - Two Suns


From the opening track of Natasha Kahn’s new album the conflict within is apparent. The words “A thousand crystal towers/A hundred emerald cities” are the sort of fantastically weird lyrics you’d expect to find in the most wilfully obscure pysch-folk song. Here though, even though the soundscape is built from various unplaceable and unusual sounds, the heavy tribal drums are undeniably funky. When the chorus crashes down on you the difference between Bat for Lashes first and second album becomes apparent, that difference is pop.

Kahn’s first album, Fur and Gold, was somewhat surprisingly beaten to the Mercury prize by Klaxons Myths of the Near Future. Fur and Gold was a confident and accomplished debut, full of metaphor and strange narrative. Although some of that did make the album fairly inaccessible. In Two Suns, gone for the most part is the spoken word and some of the mysticism. Two Suns is a rare case of a small injection of pop doing some real good to the music.

Lead single Daniel has been all over the interwebs for a few months and it got bloggers and bloggees very excited. The effortlessly catchy hook meant it was posted and re-posted. The thoughts were that if this was the direction she was going in there’d be major, and possibly mainstream, success waiting for Natasha Kahn.

To some extent this seems likely, but Two Suns is not without its faults. Ethereally obscure music can be admirable, but if it fails to connect on an emotional level then people simply won’t listen to it. On Good Love Kahn tells us in slow deliberate spoken word, “I drove past true love once, in a dream/Like a house that caught fire, it burned and flamed/Then the magician disappeared/As quickly as he came.” Poetic perhaps, but it does err on the side of parody. Throw in a moaning organ as backing music and she’s certainly lost at least this reviewer.

Kahn’s voice has always had a lovely quality of a kind of longing to it. When put to work on wilfully sad songs, like her previous album’s Sad Eyes, or Two Sun’s The Big Sleep, the effect is a calculated and powerful melancholy. On Pearl’s Dream though, it is set it loose on the dance-beats provided by Yeasayer’s Chris Keating. That undeniable aching in her voice lends the song a serious edge, so when they rock out with the synths it’s not too funked up.

It’s a shame to revel in an experimentally exciting artist being reigned in and perhaps a little tamed. Obscurity does not correlate with a lack of quality, and accessible frequently holds hands with the shit. Yet with her instinct for impenetrable physch-folk being directed down a path that is frankly a lot more fun, far more people will be interested in the music she’s making. That path is of course fraught with danger. Any further down the pop road and the magical metaphors will be mightily misplaced. Two Suns though, is still a wonderful balance of the two disciplines and overall a great addition to the recently barren stable of physch-pop.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Owl Parliament - 21st February


It had a confusing name. Bewilderment was the initial reaction of me and probably everyone who went. What the hell is an Owl Parliament? Why are there Owls? Have they finally agreed to representative government? Answers to these questions were not forthcoming, but I bought a ticket immediately after seeing the incredible line-up for what was billed as an indoor folk-festival. At £24 this was a bonafide folk bargain. Three of the best folk musicians out there, a couple of other really good folks and like four I’d never heard of. None the less at that price I’d pay just to see a Jeff Lewis gig, throw in his Junkyard Band, Herman Dune as well as Laura Marling and this looked like the gig deal of the decade.

The venue was an excellent choice. The Union Chapel is just the kind of magical place that suits an indoor folk festival. The acoustics are good and the stained glass windows lend a hint of majesty to music that sometimes ventures into the ethereal. Be advised though, at the next Owl Parliament make sure you bring the cushion they suggest to, ten hours of music plus rock hard wooden pews equals genuinely sore arse.


With it being a festival I emerged from my tent kind of late, so I missed the first two acts. I can’t review music I didn’t see, but my friend was there from the start and she saw We Aeronauts. She had this to say, “I was watching them and I wasn’t sure about it. But then I’ve definitely decided, they are in my top five worst bands I’ve ever seen live.” What she meant was that they were in the worst five bands she’d ever seen live. Far be it for me to quibble, I wasn’t there, I can only report from the secondary reading and she did not elaborate.

The first band I did see was the lovely Planet Earth. Their brand of low impact thoughtful folk was a nice way to start the day. They’ve developed a small cult following for their gentle melodies, but Planet Earth stand out from the plethora of young British folkers due to lead singer Sam’s nonchalant voice and clever lyrics. His words are often tinged with that anti-folk literality that is becoming ever more commonplace. At Owl Parliament they were good, but didn’t really get much better. Perhaps their nonchalance was too pronounced or their melodies not enough so, but their pleasant set wasn’t particularly memorable, especially in light of the folking amazing music to come.

Next up was the real surprise of the day, Mechanical Bride aka Lauren Dross and co. Her inventive stripped down version of Rihanna’s Umbrella got a lot of airplay last year, but other than that Mechanical Bride are relatively unknown, at least I hadn’t heard of them. They put on a genuinely exciting performance. The rousing haunting percussion and the interestingly unusual melodies were threaded through the constant of Lauren’s powerful voice. This reassuringly loud voice was given centre stage when she played See Worlds on only her glockenspiel. It was an accomplished performance but left me pining for the rest of the band and their percussion, a theme which was to continue throughout the day.

First though, was Peggy Sue, possessors of a hearty backing band with drummer et al. The mockney accent always seems a little forced and Kate Nashy, but I’m told that is their real accent so I suppose I can’t hold that against them. Their vocal harmonies are nice, but not strikingly original or varied. A real miscalculation came when they chose to hammer out a rhythm on an old wine box. This while a full size drum was standing less than a foot away! The wine box did not sound good, and the presence and proximity of that perfect percussion was practically panto. That being said their cover of All N My Grill by Missy Elliott went down very well, even if it was a bit folked up.

After a short break we had the male pin-up of the UK folk scene (at least he is vying for the title with Charlie Fink from Noah and the Whale), Johnny Flynn. The customary whistles and screams from the crowd greeted his first appearance. It was a real shame that his fantastic backing band The Sussex Wit didn’t follow him on stage. The old British folk style that they play is quite distinct from the contemporising done by their contemporaries, and just Johnny and his guitar lacked the complexity and depth that The Sussex Wit brings. Flynn played little new material. This was perhaps due to the nature of the day, with many if not most people there to see people other than him Flynn could play those tried and tested classics he’s been singing for a couple of years now. Of particular interest was his solo rendition of Tickle Me Pink, a delicate and beautiful number that is incidentally one of the finest comedown songs ever written. Where Flynn really lost marks was on his stage banter, his exquisitely terrible words were as follows. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the day… and… um… the rest of everything.” An undeniably pretty boy, but perhaps not much of a thinker?

Laura Marling has grown in stature and age in the past year, if not in actual size. With new hair and red lipstick she looked, if at all possible, even more like a porcelain doll than usual. Yet make no mistake for this is no fragile creature. Her voice is incredible, so much so that it has me labelling her, probably naively, as this generation’s Joni Mitchell. Her new material sounds suitably stunning, Rambling Man in particular. Although Laura too came with none of her friends, thus I reserve judgement on the new stuff until I’ve heard it with the full band. Marling is an incredible talent but when matched with the similarly talented Marcus Mumford, who normally does her backing vocals, the music has a power greater than the sum of its parts. The solo version of Ghosts in particular left my ear pining for the complexity I’d become accustomed to.

Jeff Lewis was eleven. The man quite frankly smashed it. He had The Junkyard band along to play with him and they tore up the stage as they turned it up to eleven. Sitting as I was on the first floor, Jeff’s fairly noticeable balding patch completely vanished as he bounced around the stage. The Crass covers he did went down phenomenally with the crowd. A Short History of North Korea was just brilliant. Here Jeff held up the comic he drew himself and sung along, actually giving the audience exactly what the song title suggests. In addition, Jeffrey Lewis’ crowd banter was hilarious and involving without being intrusive. Every label, both major and minor, should give lessons in stage banter with head-lecturer Professor Jeffrey Lewis. The real treat of the day was The Chelsea Hotel Oral Sex Song, a six-minute post-modern song about music, sex, love and song writing, all contained in a short anecdote about standing outside the Chelsea Hotel. It is to my mind one of the best songs written in the past twenty years. Jeff rarely plays it, he says this is because he’s worried he’ll forget the lyrics. Not a word was out of place here however, and it capped off a performance that was nothing short of amazing.

Last on the billing was Herman Dune, these French anti-folkers were an impressive if not stellar end to the day. One of the difficulties of Herman Dune live is that it’s sometimes quite hard to hear what David’s saying. If you’ve heard all of their many albums and know all their lyrics then this isn’t much of a problem. Such was clearly the case for a girl on the third row, who seemed indeed to know all the lyrics to every song of every band. For the rest of us though, some of the subtleties of Herman Dune’s playful lyrics are a little lost. Of course the strength of the tunes as always shone through and David’s languid almost insectoid stage presence was a joy to behold.

Owl Parliament was a monumental day of some of the world’s finest modern folk music. A call for more backing bands would probably be met with a rebuttal about much longer waits in between sets. All that is left to say is next year, should the line-up be but half as good, you should definitely make it down to The Union Chapel for some Parliamentary goodness. I for one will be joining you, although next time accompanied by a fairly hefty cushion.