It's the eternal question for bands deep into a decent career, isn't it? How do you keep going when you've got many miles on the road, years in the studio and record sales racked up and under your belt? Welsh power trio Feeder have been having that exact problem. Hands up who can name any of the great rock anthems Feeder have been responsible for in the last ten-odd years? Buck Rogers, Seven Days In The Sun, Just A Day, Lost And Found, maybe Insomnia and a few others on there as well? Not bad at all for a band who tragically lost their original drummer and dear friend in an unexplained suicide shortly after their breakthrough album was released.
But there is a flip side to all this; Feeder have to also be held accountable for a whole lot of rather tedious dross. I'm sorry, but to my mind, having an album compared to Travis, Keane and Coldplay (2005's Pushing The Senses) is nothing more than panning it as moping, insipid bilge. And here's the frustrating part - we know that band leader and frontman Grant Nicholas is capable of creating great songs, and yet, we are forced to pick out the odd good track here and there from the most recent long players (for example, 'Miss You' from Silent Cry, 'Godzilla' from Comfort in Sound). And before anybody throws the accusation at me that not everything has to be up-tempo and rocking, I do actually like slower, quieter music as well - when done well. Feeder's attempts at such music has, pretty much always, been anodyne and, well, dreary.
After 2008's Silent Cry, Feeder could have slowly crested over the hill into retirement or something else. Their UK record label, Echo, was dissolved, and interest was waning - it was more a sort of nostalgic look back at previous hits rather than a current, electric buzz. So Feeder decided a novel approach, and it has worked perfectly.
Essentially, they donned a disguise - suddenly, they were Feeder no more, and a new band named Renegades had appeared in their place. They acted like a new band - EPs, small gigs in intimate venues, underground word-of-mouth promotion - and yet, the people involved were the same people involved with Feeder (aside from new drummer Karl Brazil, but he was a replacement in Feeder for Mark Richardson anyway). What gives?
Simple: Nicholas fancied getting back to their roots, taking things full circle, back to where they began in the '90s with the Swim mini-album and the excellent debut LP Polythene. Which means that rock is back on the agenda - the piano has been retired to a dusty corner of the studio, and the amps are being turned up to 11. No more moping, no more sorrow, time to have some fun. Bring it on.
And so we arrive at Renegades, the album. You can tell from the cover - a topless, balaclava-ed woman holding a battered skateboard - that this will have a little more of an edge to it than previous efforts. In fact, if the band are trying to rediscover their roots, then they do a damn decent fist of it just in the album artwork itself - it definitely has a feel of a young band starting out rather than a bunch of middle-aged veterans. And this is followed up by the music, which I must say, is excellent.
Opener 'White Lines' is a little bit of a curveball, as it does distinctly sound like something you could hear from the previous albums, but in the context of the album, it makes sense - it works as a book-end to what has come before and a signpost for what to expect across the album. It's not a bad album opener, but give it a minute...then first single 'Call Out' drops, and the album is underway proper.
This album, I'll be honest, absolutely stinks of a band who are really rather enjoying themselves. No longer do sales or the path of their career really matter - how some critics can accuse the band of sounding jaded and old on this I really don't know. Nicholas (for he is the chief songwriter) has used any and every influence that has ever been felt in the band's songs before, from the very start of their career onwards, to intelligently craft 11 very strong songs - an achievement in itself given the notoriously inconsistent nature of their previous output. Nope, the band aren't going through a mid-life crisis at all - just getting themselves down the gym, trimming off the unnecessary flab, and getting back the muscle they used to have years ago.
No, it doesn't sound exactly the same as those early efforts, but then again, tell me a band that can successfully sound the same as they did when they were 20-somethings forever? Bad Religion, perhaps? The Offspring, at a pinch? But even then, the natural process of evolution and growth does play into it. Here, it can be heard in a natural quality control that every song gets filtered through, as well as a myriad of subtle influences that are added into the mix alongside Feeder's own natural grasp on rock 'n' roll. For example, a Kasabian-gone-heavy melody populates 'Godhead', and the title track is a half-decent homage to Green Day, with it's bouncing, pounding beat and barked 'Heys!' in the chorus. The opening riff in 'Call Out' is a dead ringer to the intro riff from the Foo Fighters' 'All My Life', and the crunching verse chords of the excellent 'Left Foot Right' are reminiscent of Apocalyptica's 'Life Burns!'. Throw that in alongside the sound of them delving into their grungy '90s output for inspiration ('Sentimental', parts of 'This Town'), and you have a muscular and outrageously hook-laden combination of great rock 'n' roll.
Despite the change of drummer, the band are still as phenomenally tight as ever, with new boy Brazil pounding the kit with the same lethal precision as his predecessors in the hot seat. Taka Hirose is still solid and unspectacular, but really, the star of the show from this perspective is Nicholas. His lyrics may be still a little hit-and-miss, with the odd cliche cropping up, but when they hit, they hit hard. It's his constant knack for a melody that is the band's main strength, and something that really only comes out on the fast, rockier numbers - having said that, the album's one slow-burner, 'Down To The River' is pretty decent, helped by the occasional raucous bursts of drop-D riffage. But really, this album is all about energy, and lots of it. It's not reinventing the wheel, and certainly isn't anything radical - it's essentially what Feeder have been doing the past few years off and on. Now though, they've shunned the pretensions of being the next Travis, and in the process, whilst not quite sounding like teenagers again, they do sound energised, powerful, and, dare I say it, a lot of fun. And funnily enough, the fact that it isn't a tremendously radical sounding record may be an advantage - as many UK guitar bands desperately try to cram smart-arse lyrics and as many pointlessly twiddly leads into their songs as possible, the combination of relatively simple, energetic, outrageously catchy and well-crafted songs on this LP may be just the breath of fresh air rock 'n' roll fans are looking for. For now, it's taking pride of place as my current album of the summer and possibly one of the very best and most consistent albums Feeder have yet produced in their career.
Album Details
Label: Big Teeth Music
Release Date: 5th July 2010
Rating: 8/10
Standout Tracks: 'Call Out', 'Renegades', 'Home', 'Left Foot Right'.
Sometimes, there are gigs that just seem to feel right. AFI at the Brixton Academy? It's as if they were made for each other. The classical, gothic architecture and theatrical feel of the interior of this great venue should fit like a glove around AFI's look and sound, which is...well, gothic and often theatrical. I'm actually really intrigued as to how AFI perform here; I've discussed before that I'm a great admirer of them, and how they have managed to break out of the hardcore straight-jacket and craft a unique rock sound that really doesn't sound quite like anything else you're likely to hear, and considering how many cheap knockoff clone guitar bands are stagnating the airwaves concurrently, that's some achievement in itself, and one which deserves congratulation. However, it's all well and good delicately weaving layers upon layers of guitars, pianos, choral backing vocals and strings into their aural patchworks in the studio, but the true acid test of a band is the live arena. Many have flopped before them in this trap (I'm looking at you, Fall Out Boy), so it will be interesting to see how AFI go, especially in a venue known for often dodgy acoustics.
More on that later, but first, it's time for The Dear and Departed (5/10), a band I was ready to callously dismiss as a cheap 30 Seconds to Mars clone, and whilst my cynicism wasn't completely sent packing for the exits, they were better than initially expected, and managed to hold my attention well enough with some fairly decent and slick tunes. Much like Canterbury opening for Billy Talent last November, they didn't appear suited to this size of venue or crowd, or at least weren't experienced with it; unlike Canterbury, they didn't appear to even try to make an effort in it. They may well sound like they've been listening to various AFI records and scribbling notes, but they forgot to crib down the most crucial aspects - i.e. genuinely memorable hooks and tunes, and charisma and energy in performance. The frustrating aspect about this is that it looks like such traits could easily be within their powers, but they seem disinterested in achieving that goal. Maybe they're happy cruising at this level (and why not, there are many bands that don't achieve half of what TD&D have achieved in their career), maybe they're simply suffering jet lag, but whatever, it's a disappointing set, but not without promise.
If I was cynical about TD&D, I was downright pessimistic about Sick of It All (8/10), largely because I really don't have much time for hardcore music. I'd heard of SOIA before, but try as I might, I couldn't get into them, just like I couldn't get into Walls of Jericho, Gallows, The Ghost of a Thousand, the Cro-Mags, and even legends of the scene like Black Flag. I can always respect the energy, passion and anger of hardcore music, as well as it's straight-edge values, but respecting something is not the same as liking it, and I hold my hands up and say that the sheer aural bludgeoning of hardcore has never been for me. All of that said, that doesn't stop me being blown away by SOIA tonight. Maybe I was approaching it the wrong way - maybe the only way to appreciate this kind of music is in a live context, with the sweat and spittle of the lead singer's roars and barks and the guitarist's jumping and thrashing mingling with the ravenous crowd in the pit. Speaking as a stunned onlooker watching on from the sidelines as the carnage erupted, it was a treat to watch.
Brothers Lou (vocals) and Pete (guitar) Koller mesh with the supremely tight rythm section of Craig Setari (bass) and Armand Majidi (drums) to create a furiously kinetic fireball of rage and cathartic power, and even in a relatively large venue for them like this (let's face it, this lot playing Wembley Stadium would be as out-of-place as Muse playing a pub car park), their powerful message and musical punch isn't diluted, as much as certain factors try; indeed, a partial power-cut brings their set to a shuddering halt at one point, but even this doesn't stop the rollercoaster of mayhem. In between songs, Lou is warm and genuine, urging his audience with a message of hope that never strays into hackneyed territory, which all adds to this great sense of uplifting power that emanates throughout. It's still unlikely I'll go out tomorrow and buy their entire back catalogue, and I'm still not sold on the genre, but that doesn't stop me admiring the unbridled assault that is SOIA live. Excellent.
So, with my pessimism successfully clubbed to death and thrown out onto the street in tatters, it's time to regain our composure and welcome AFI (8/10) to the show. With a gorgeous light show setting the scene, guitarist Jade Puget strides atop a monitor, rips out the lead-off notes to 'Medicate' and we're underway in some style. Anthem after anthem comes ripping out of the speakers amidst the myriad of glittering lighting effects and singer Davey Havok's flamboyant delivery, with the awesome 'Girls Not Grey' being disposed of two songs in, 'The Leaving Song Part II' following soon afterwards and the spectacular one-two punch of 'Kill Caustic' and 'End Transmission' whizzing by barely over 15 minutes into the show.
Whilst most of the set deals in the highlights of the three most recent records, of which there are many, it's refreshing to see the band so willing to acknowledge their early days - given their dramatic change of style and tone since around the turn of the millennium, and the fact that a fair few of the fans here tonight are probably oblivious to anything before 2003's 'Sing the Sorrow', they could easily choose to ignore the first decade or so of their existance, but they are happy to dive into the dusty vaults, and more importantly, the oldies slot nicely into the set without feeling like obviously telegraphed nods to the past; they just get on with the art of being kick-ass songs. I most hold my hand up and admit to having never heard of songs like 'File 13' or 'Love is a Many Splendored Thing', but the fact that they didn't feel out of place considering their age is an achievement on the band's part.
However, it's their post-1999 output upon which this set hangs it's hat on, and in that area AFI have an embarressment of riches. Along with the opening salvo I already described, 'Dancing Through Sunday' rips and roars, as does 'Death of Seasons', and newies 'Too Shy To Scream' and 'Beautiful Theives' augment the attack with a dash of confident swagger, before 'Miss Murder' brings the regular set to a bouncing and thrilling close. And even then they still have time in the encore to break out the blistering 'The Days of the Phoenix' and the sublime 'Love Like Winter', although 'Silver and Cold' seems like an odd choice to end the night on.
That combined with a few other factors prevents them gaining top score, with the most glaring issue being that of sound quality. Simply put, someone needed to whack Jade's guitar up to 11 - too many times when his lead lines or riffs were supposed to be soaring into the ether, they were being lost in the melee. The erstwhile Brixton sound problems also reared their ugly head, with some songs sounding mushy and muddled instead of razor-sharp and shimmering. These problems would be enough to cripple lesser bands, but the strength of their back catalogue combined with high musicianship shown between the four as a collective unit and a frontman oozing charisma and easy chemistry with his fellow bandmates, means that AFI save this evening's set from being a total disaster, and instead turns it into a memorable and breathless experiance for all.
Overall Rating: 8/10.
This may come as a surprise to many of you, but one of my favourite albums of 2009 so far was not a punk rock album. Far from it. Despite AFI, Billy Talent, Green Day and Rancid all putting out fair-to-great albums this year, Nell Bryden's 'What Does It Take?' was my personal favourite for quite a while, and for quite a few simple reasons. Firstly, I'm a sucker for retro Americana sounds, which Bryden does impeccably. Secondly, and most importantly: she writes and performs with a real spirit of honesty and integrity that is missing from so much new music nowadays. It is soulful, beautifully down-to-earth, and well-crafted without being bent over a recording desk and being subjected to painful and pointless amounts of Pro Tools. This is not to say the above artists do not have honesty and integrity in their music, far from it, but Bryden, for me, offers the single best contrast possible to the hordes of manufactured, droid-like figures cluttering up the Top 40 with almost robotic beats and cliched lines. It's a refreshing blast, and a very enjoyable one too.
Now, you may have noticed that I said it was my personal favourite. That's because I've now got a new personal favourite, and guess what? It not only trumps 'What Does It Take?' in all the areas I highlighted above, but it's also an absolutely killer punk rock album. I now take great pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, in introducing you to The Submission, a band who are almost a living definition of the term 'punk rock', with 'Enjoy With Alcohol'.
Any readers of my reviews will know that The Submission are a personal favourite band of mine, having given them rave reviews for their 'Spaghetti Penis' EP and their chaotic performance at the Ska-Punk All-Dayer 2009, and when the band broke cover with their plans to bring out a 22-track album entirely consisting of originals, it was not an understatement to say that the levels of anticipation were high. It actually means that this review could be quite difficult; y'see, I want to try and remain neutral here, and not get bogged down in a sea of NME style 'this band will save your life' type eulogies, but to be quite honest, it's hard not to when you're being presented with such a glorious collection of pure-hearted, strong-minded anthems as this.
In my humble opinion, punk rock as a music genre is the perfect balance between blind rage and fury and catchy pop hooks. Too far down the blind rage path results in hardcore, and too far down the pop end results in bubblegum-style pop-punk. On this record The Submission go all-out to try and fit both ends of the spectrum into almost every single song they write, and what results are two to three-minute explosions of equal parts pure aggression and wonderfully catchy melodies. Sounds simple? What makes them so fantastic is the fact that The Submission do both so well, and what's more, the four individual members both stand out as individuals and simultaneously combine to create a well-oiled and tight-knit machine. Thankfully, both the songs themselves and the production (which, despite being a home-studio job, is very very good) give all the members their chance to shine, and they all gleefully take it with both hands. Frontman Richard Harris is a one-man wrecking ball of passion and fury in the vocal department, but very rarely does he have to resort to blind screaming to get his point across - his vicious snarl does that perfectly. The rhythm section is built on Stuart Cavell's near-destructive drum work, which blends chaotic rolls and crashes with iron-clad beat precision. The same could be said to some degree of bassist Sadie Williams, whose basslines flow in and out of songs like mercury; forming the musical backbone of a track one minute before spinning out on a subtle run or lick the next. It certainly guarantees that she doesn't fade into the background like too many rock 'n' roll bassists are guilty of nowadays. Not to be outdone, Harris and his partner in the six-string cohorts, Phil Morgan, lay down equal parts bruising and melodic riffs, and barely a single song goes by without a thrillingly chaotic solo or guitar break.
There are highlights aplenty across the album, and the first 10 tracks alone are 10 of the very best rock 'n' roll anthems you are likely to hear all year. The record kicks off with 'Stay In Action', an outrageously catchy and bouncy slice of ska-punk, before crashing into 'I'm Lazy', a celebratory two-and-a-half minutes of pure good-time rock 'n' roll, which then in itself gives way to 'No Tomorrow', which hammers out of your speakers on the back of an intro riff brilliantly purloined from The Clash's 'I'm So Bored From The USA'. If anybody can find me a better opening 10 minutes to a modern rock 'n' roll record, I will be glad to hear it, but for now, this sits proudly atop the pile.
Speaking of The Clash, this album could easily be renamed 'A History of Classic Punk Rock', such as it shamelessly nods to past legends such as The Clash, the Stiff Little Fingers, the Ramones and the Buzzcocks. This is hardly original stuff at all, but thanks to the sheer level of musical skill, energy and passion thrown at these songs, it may as well be. This is not blatant grave-robbing; this is an evocative celebration of how emphatically uplifting and powerful punk rock can be. The fabulous 'Soldier' is a good a tribute as any to the Fingers, particularly on account of it's anti-government vibe and rallying 'bring the troops home' message, delivered with almost feral, phlegm-spitting rage by Harris. In fact, it is as close as The Submission have got so far to writing an epic, running as it does at just over 5 minutes and opening and closing with a haunting military drum roll.
On the subject of anti-government diatribes, the blistering 'Government Lies' is a personal favourite of mine, and you can just tell that, somewhere, Johnny Ramone is hearing the fabulous four-chord riff which drives this vicious diatribe along - and he's grinning. The two highlights from the 'Spaghetti Penis' teaser EP - the Rancid-infused 'Reggae Rock Rebels' and the loud and proud 'You Just Don't Know' - are wheeled out here, and they slot neatly into the mayhem. There are only a couple of slight deviations to the overall formula - 'Discharge' opens with a menacing bassline before quickly exploding into a runaway freight train of low-fi, crackling guitar and Harris loosing his temper with the microphone, and 'Sanity' rides on the back of an almost slightly metal-style main riff.
I've racked my brains for criticisms, but the only one I can really think of is that I would have chosen another song to end the album on rather than 'She Said', which isn't quite an 'ending' song, despite being excellent. That's just a personal foible for me. You could perhaps throw the lack of changes in pace or experimentation charge at this, but to be honest, they have plenty of time on future releases to address that point. Right now, they are clearly having a lot of fun evoking the spirit of original punk rock, and I as a listener am having a lot of fun hearing the results. Long may The Submission keep producing records like this and touring with their incendiary live show.
Album Details
Label: Unsigned
Release Date: October/November 2010
Rating: 10/10.
Standout tracks: I'm Lazy, No Tomorrow, Soldier, Government Lies, You Just Don't Know, Get Up.
I outlined in my review of AFI's 'Crash Love' how there are precious few bands out there, let alone rock bands, who seem to have a unique sound, and far too many are happy to copy, note-for-note and riff-for-riff in some cases, other artists' sounds and styles. It can get quite depressing, but I assure you, there are bands out there willing to put their name on a style that you cannot mistake for anyone else. AFI are one, and tonight, I'm about to see another - Billy Talent.
The Brixton Academy is a fine venue, and I've no qualms with returning here after enjoying a brilliant debut here seeing The Offspring in August. Proceedings start tonight with Canterbury (6/10), and as first impressions go, it's not a good one. Basically, the first thing one sees are five rather floppy-fringed youths with a keyboard and some guitars and lots of neon colours. Oh dear, one thinks, haven't we seen this before? This rather haphazard mix of Decaydance fashion and attempts at heaviosity? Thankfully, I keep my inner cynic quiet long enough into their set for me to realise that, actually, though they may shamelessly steal fashion tips from All Time Low and synth styles from Motion City Soundtrack, they are actually a half-decent band. They have that feeling of groping their way through that most young bands do when they start out, and to be fair, if what the dual vocalists Mike Sparks (guitar) and Luke Prebble (keyboards) says is anything to go by, this is by far and away their biggest gig, and they do have a slight sense of rabbit-caught-in-the-headlights about them, but I defy anybody to not be. Given the circumstances and the style of music they operate in, they craft some very deft tunes and leave this author much more impressed than he thought he would be.
The real honour of 'biggest disappointment of the evening' are for the next band up, the Cancer Bats (3/10), and it's a deserving award. Now look, I'm well aware they are rather well hyped, and they've also been given the accolade of 'most exciting punk band' a numerous amount of times, but I'm sorry, the hour-odd of brainless sludge I see tonight is not punk. It's not even hardcore punk. It's not even anything that punk has ever been associated with, ever. It's just...I don't know what it is, really. It veers from quite bad Motorhead-esque beer metal to just plain metal to sludge to just random headbanging without ever making any sense. While the contingent of their crowd who are CB fans gleefully (and quite possibly drunkenly in some cases) whip shirts off and headbang, I just spend the entirety of their set trying to work out what they're about. And I can't. I do try to be open-minded about them, but my good mate and fellow gig-goer Jacob Peeling summed it up rather nicely in the following exchange:
Myself: "They're not too bad, are they?"
Jacob: "No, they're complete shite."
I'm sorry, but he's right. Rumours abound from their fanbase present that the sound setup is atrocious and not a good reflection on them at all, so it may be a case of digging up their recorded output and giving a second opinion, but for now I'm filing them in the same drawer as Gallows - the one labelled 'bands I've been told are amazing punk bands but in fact are overrated tosh'.
So it's not going completely to plan so far. Though Canterbury were better than I expected, they still weren't brilliant, and with only the headliners to go, the onus is now on them to turn this night into something truly memorable. And you know what? They do exactly that. Haunting background music and mood lighting herald their entrance, before guitarist Ian D'Sa rips out the opening notes to 'The Dead Can't Testify' and the crowd raise as one to acknowledge the entrance of Billy Talent (9/10) to the stage, and the band respond by tearing into a high-octane, razor-sharp set of high musicianship, high energy, and low flab. Starting on a brand-new song which hasn't even been released as any sort of single prior to the show is often a big gamble, but one of BT's strengths has always been their consistency - across their back catalogue of three LPs, there are very few complete duds in their armoury. The fact that they back this opening salvo up with the classic 'Devil in a Midnight Mass' makes the opening eight-odd minutes one of the most impressive openings to a rock 'n' roll concert I've seen in quite a while. As I mentioned, consistency is their forte, which means that, by picking and choosing the best bits of their three records so far, they are left with a setlist which is an exercise in scalpel-sharp precision and pounding rock 'n' roll. Their unique take on rock 'n' roll is driven along by a pounding rhythm section in the shape of bassist Jon Gallant and drummer Aaron Solowoniuk, and led at the front by the imaginative fretboard dexterity of D'Sa and the equal parts yowling and serenading vocals of Ben Kowalewicz. Kowalewicz's vocal parts mesh brilliant with D'Sa's backing yelps to create a vocal tour de force which, when overlaid over D'Sa's quite brilliant guitar lines and melodies, forms a fabulous sonic assault. Indeed, D'Sa is the first guitarist I've ever heard who manages to sound like he's playing guitar parts which were supposed to be played by two different people.
With this potent level of musicianship and energy, great songs are almost inevitable, and boy do they come thick and fast tonight - 'Line And Sinker' wallops out four songs in, the criminally underrated and soulful 'Surrender' makes an appearance, and the new songs slot in so smoothly you'd be hard-pressed to work out which ones are new songs and which ones are songs played a thousand times before. With perhaps the exception of 'Turn Your Back', which I've always found to fall on the wrong side of overly preachy, the final five songs of the regular set are all complete belters, and when they end the regular set with the fan favourite 'Try Honesty', you swear that that must be that - there's no way that they can top that with any sort of encore. But no, they do, with the destructive one-two gut punch of 'Fallen Leaves' and the rousing call-to-arms anthem 'Red Flag' finishing the evening with an almost exhaustive delirium sweeping through the Academy. Throw into the whole show Ben's light-hearted, almost matey stage banter with the crowd, and you have a night which started out unexpectedly okay, descended badly down the toilet, before recovering to screen-burn itself onto your mind's eye for a good while, and etch itself successfully into the memory banks for future recollection, for all the right reasons.
Overall Rating: 8/10
Headliner's Setlist (taken from Setlist.fm)
The Dead Can't Testify
Devil in a Midnight Mass
This Suffering
Line & Sinker
Rusted From the Rain
Saint Veronika
Surrender
River Below
Diamond on a Landmine
This Is How It Goes
The Ex
Devil on My Shoulder
Turn Your Back
Try Honesty
Encore:Fallen Leaves
Red Flag
One characteristic that sadly blights a lot of music nowadays is the feeling that we've been here before. Too many times a song will come on the radio, and I will sit and think "Hang on, that sounds like x band", before the DJ proudly announces that it's some 'hot new talent' or something. Cue a bemused look from me at how such a blatant act of ripping off can go unpunished. Of course, bands will always sound similar to something else, and will always sound a bit like who they were inspired by - that has always happened, and will continue to do so. But there are too many bands or artists nowadays who are either digging up past glories and ripping them off wholesale or just copying themselves in the same mould as a contemporary of themselves. Examples? Two off the top of my head: La Roux's shameless (and very bad) graverobbing of '80s electro-pop and the seemingly hundreds of identikit bands who have followed in Fall Out Boy's footsteps since that group blazed a mainstream trail a few years ago now, complete with the same haircuts, same guitars, same lyrics, same sound, and same posturing, give or take a few exceptions. Like I said, there will always be a crossover between bands, and no band can ever sound completely separate from everything else that has come before it, but it is becoming increasingly harder to find bands willing to not just accept their influences, but meld them into a unique combination which listeners will recognise as theirs and theirs only. Which brings me nicely to AFI, a band who have managed this feat very well in recent years. Starting out as a slightly sarky bunch of punks, they slowly started daring to blaze their own trail out of the punk scene near the end of the '90s, and when 2003's magnificent 'Sing The Sorrow' arrived, their transformation was complete. STS stills sounds quite like nothing else I have ever heard - it has elements of hard-edged punk rock 'n' roll, heavy parts, ballad parts, dark and mystical elements, all combining to create a dark and unashamedly gothic listening experience. 'Decemberunderground' cranked up the mystery and dark imagery another notch with a heavy electronic overtone to their unique sound, but what let down this release was that it did appear to plod in places, although it still had the power to be a rip-roaring record when it wanted to be. Now we arrive at 'Crash Love', and I'm gonna state this right off the bat - this is a belter. Simply put, I love albums with a fantastic opening track, and CL doesn't disappoint - after around 15 seconds of odd ambient noise, 'Torch Song' crunches and crashes, before vocalist Davey Havok gives his trademark cry and the song roars into life, guitarist Jade Puget's opening salvo of notes ripping through the noise and lifting the fists into the air straight away. It's an absolute belter of a song, led by a monstrously catchy and seismic chorus, single-handedly putting in the shade a hundred other rock bands with arena-rock aspirations. 'Beautiful Thieves' is a more subdued affair, led by a slightly blink-182 style verse riff (think Stay Together for the Kids style and you have a good idea), until the chorus arrives to blow you away. What hits you immediately, and will be obvious already to longer-term AFI fans, is that, while AFI have the outrageously catchy choruses of many of their peers, they also have the full songs to go with them - the songs aren't simply big choruses with some mediocre verses padded out in between. With CL, AFI are also forging another unique path for themselves - they are somehow managing to walk the tightrope between catchy MTV pop-rock and more hard-edged goth rock 'n' roll, without falling on either side; for example, the foot-stomping, Adam Ant-baiting 'Too Shy To Scream' has a real Fall Out Boy vibe to it, but at the same time, there is no mistaking at all that this is Havok and company. Likewise, the belting lead-off single 'Medicate' has a little hint of Green Day about it, but Puget's imaginative little guitar runs and lines and neat drum fills from Adam Carson, as well as the trademark 'everything crashes down and then builds back up again' which only AFI can pull off with this degree of class, put you in no doubt as to who this is - indeed, AFI make forming a nifty slice of catchy, energetic rock 'n' roll look a damn sight easier than Green Day have done in recent times. In a perfect world, the strutting 'I Am Trying Very Hard to Be Here' would be the theme tune to a new teen drama show, but again, the fact that it rocks a bit too hard means that it stops just short in this aspect. In my mind, this has to be the perfect combination - pop sensibilities and melodies balanced with enough hard rocking and rolling to keep it firmly away from being the scene kids' new band of choice. Brilliant.What is also pleasing is that it shows that they have moved another step forward without loosing their identity in any way. Sure, the pacey 'Sacrilege' sounds like an out-take from the Sing the Sorrow sessions, and the lyrics are still unashamedly emotional and deep to a large extent, but overall Crash Love shows a nice progression on from past glories. Havok in particular is allowing himself to be a little more bold and slightly flamboyant with his vocals these days, and while there is less screaming this time round, the emotion and power is more evident in his voice than ever, backed up as he is with the massive-sounding gang vocals that pop up all over this LP. What does let this disc down however, is that it is still not quite consistent - 'It Was Mine' is a bit of a plodding song to end on, and might have been better placed being mid-disc, and some other songs do suffer from being filler, but then again, I defy any band to write 12 songs of equal quality as the highlights of this LP - it would be a massive ask. But I'll sum up this record like this: a common argument in the whole illegal file-sharing debate is that, if artists want people to pay for their music, they should work hard to make music which is worth paying for. If that is the case, then AFI fully deserve your money for this release - I was happy to give them mine to have it on CD. It is that good an album. Album DetailsLabel: Interscope RecordsRelease Date: September 29th 2009Rating: 8/10Standout tracks: 'Torch Song', 'Medicate', 'End Transmission', 'Too Shy to Scream'.
This review's been pending for a little while, apologies for the delay.The Offspring are a funny old band in terms of punk rock. They're almost like the forgotten ones from the mid-90s - whilst Rancid have achieved cult status and Green Day are happily riding a wave of commercial success, The Offspring are still ploughing on, doing what they've always done. Many people don't appear to take them seriously, pointing to the jocular, MTV-baiting hits 'Pretty Fly (For A White Guy)' and 'Original Prankster' and dismissing them as some sort of joke band. The truth is, though, The Offspring are probably the single most underrated band in the history of punk, and for those in the know, they are, quite simply, legends of almost unparalleled status, with a back catalogue packed full of brilliant records - 'Smash' needs no introduction, and neither does the blinding 'Americana', whilst 'Ixnay on the Hombre' is one of my personal favourite albums of all time. Last year's 'Rise & Fall, Rage & Grace' was a proud statement of intent from the Orange County boys, proving that despite being in the game for over 20 years, their drive and talent for writing great songs had not dimmed at all, and I was one of the first to snap up a ticket for their return to London. I arrive about 20 minutes before they hit the stage, skipping the support bands - a friend of mine who was there for the duration tells me that Broadway Calls were very good, wheras Rival Schools were terrible - and at around 9:30pm, the lights flash, the intro to 'Stuff is Messed Up' crashes out and the fun begins. Several things were immediately obvious - frontman Dexter Holland, who is now shorn of his mid-life-crisis hairstyle, is a subtle and commanding presence, and his voice is clear and powerful as he belts out his lyrics. The band as a whole are an incredibly tight unit, and there is no stand-out performer out of the four-piece plus additional guitarist in the background - they all mesh together to form a perfect wall-of-sound. Bassist Greg K is unfussy and workmanlike as always, guitarist Noodles busts out his leads with his usual wry smirk, and drummer Pete Parada bangs and crashes with ferocious precision. Very impressive stuff.As for the songs, well there are no real surprises in terms of the setlist, with the only exception being the criminally underrated single 'Million Miles Away', which gets a rare airing tonight, much to this author's delight. 'Gone Away' also received a gorgeous makeover, as it was performed solo by Dexter on a piano, adding extra poignancy to the lyrics. Aside from that, all the classics are present and correct - the menacing and chaotic 'Bad Habit' ('you stupid dumb shit goddamn motherfucker!'), the firecracker 'All I Want', the anthemic 'Staring at the Sun', the stomping 'Come Out And Play' - the list goes on. More recent tracks 'You're Gonna Go Far, Kid' and 'Half-Truism' augment the overall attack, and the pace is unrelentingly quick, with the only slowdowns being for the aforementioned 'Gone Away', newie 'Kristy, Are You Doing Okay?', the hilarious 'Intermission' (complete with dancing roadie), and the Beatles-mimicking 'Why Don't You Get A Job?' which has the entirety of the 5,000 strong crowd ('surprisingly round number, don't you think?') singing along with massive grins on dials. You know that The Offspring have such a strong back catalogue when they can afford to leave out 'Original Prankster' and 'Gotta Get Away' and still have an absolutely killer set, and the encore is one of the finest that any band could possibly cook up - 'Hammerhead' threatens to blow the roof clean off the Academy with its muscular guitars and powerhouse drumming, 'Want You Bad', with it's Stiff Little Fingers-esque classic punk riffs, is quite simply awesome, and as they roll out the timeless 'Self Esteem' to finish, I can't see a single person in the audience NOT jumping up and down and bellowing the words back at the band. If I'm being picky, I could point out such things as the fact that some of the songs are not quite as fast as they used to be, or that there isn't a tremendous amount in the way of audience participation or stage banter, but do you know what? Tonight is not about needless sniping - it is about celebrating a band which have weathered the mainstream storm and remain, to this day, one of the kings of modern punk rock. Overall Rating: 9/10Setlist: 1. Stuff Is Messed Up 2. Bad Habit 3. You're Gonna Go Far, Kid 4. Come Out and Play (Keep 'Em Separated) 5. Million Miles Away 6. Have You Ever 7. Staring at the Sun 8. Gone Away (Piano Version) 9. Kristy, Are You Doing Okay? 10. Intermission 11. Americana 12. Hit That 13. Half-Truism 14. Why Don't You Get a Job? 15. All I Want 16. Pretty Fly (for a White Guy) 17. (Can't Get My) Head Around You 18. The Kids Aren't Alright Encore: 19. Hammerhead 20. Want You Bad 21. Self Esteem
The current trend in rock 'n' roll music right now appears to be to go as big and as 'epic' as possible. Bands appear to be throwing more and more guitar tracks, strings, horns, choirs and ballads onto their records than ever before, with their eyes firmly set on blasting these enormous 'widescreen' 'sonic vistas' out off the stages of arenas and stadiums around the world. Ah yes, arenas and stadiums. Expensive tickets, usually a poor view of the band, sometimes poor sound quality, and nine times out of ten the band in question don't actually have the songs to fill the seismic venue, no matter how hard they are trying to...I'm not naming any names there.
Whatever. That's just my take on arenas. One thing is for sure though, if you're looking for a venue which is as diametrically opposed to Wembley Stadium as you can get, you wouldn't go far wrong with the Call Boy pub. Tucked away down a one-way street near the town's clock tower, the area set aside for tonight's bands (calling it a stage would be like calling a rowing boat the Titanic) is about the size of your average living room. The word that springs to mind is 'intimate'. So intimate, in fact, that if you were to stand at the front of the crowd, there is a chance you could step on the performing band's toes. It really is that kind of a venue, and it is in fact perfectly suited to the two bands performing tonight.
Torn Out (9/10) are up first, and after a lengthy delay caused by a stubborn PA system, the two-piece stroll up to the mics and begin at about 9:15, and it doesn't take long before their truly unique brand of gritty acoustic street-punk persuades people to start singing. Electric guitars are the order of the day tonight, and it gives the songs a little more meat, particularly with bassist Steve Knight's wicked bass lines and runs. Guitarist and vocalist Ben Smith hollars and barks his lines with equal amounts of anger and emotion, blasting out lyrics about boring towns, dead-end jobs, consumer culture and unfulfilled dreams with so much frustration and bitterness that you cannot help but be swept up by it, and you feel it is your duty to join in, especially on crowd favourites such as 'Knuckles and Pride' (complete with some superb whistling from Steve), 'Soul of These Streets', and set closer and band anthem 'Chasing Lost Nights'. The entirety of their self-titled EP is wheeled out and given a battering tonight, along with a new song entitled only as 'Retail' on the scribbled set-list, and this newie slots in nicely alongside the established favourites - I personally cannot wait to hear a recorded version, as it showed real promise and progression from a band who appear to be getting better and better as a song-writing unit.
I didn't really know what to expect from Calico Street Riots (10/10); unlike Torn Out, where I had listened and enjoyed their EP and also seen them live once before, I hadn't heard a single note of the folk-punk sextet, and had only the description that they sound like a 'drunken Flogging Molly' to go on. In the end, that description was absolutely spot on. From the moment they somehow managed to squeeze themselves all onto the 'stage' until the moment they said their goodnights and came off it, they inspired almost chaotic levels of dancing and hollered singalongs. The reaction from the crowd was frankly unbelievable, one of the most intense I've seen since Tyrannosaurus Alan set the fuse on a rabid skankathon back at the Red Lion in August. The songs all blended into one, which is normally a criticism, but in this case, it doesn't matter, as they were all of the same formula: rabid and frenzied folk-punk packed to bursting full of hooks, energy and infectious melodies. The six of them hammered as much power and raw danceability out of the tracks as possible - the rhythm section of brothers Nick (bass and backing vocals) and Dave (drums) Whiteoak set a tight foundation for the others to follow, bandana-clad frontman Ian Day shouted his lines with real gusto, guitarist Tage Wood seemed hell-bent on ringing as much noise as he could out of his guitar, and additional instrumentalists Nathenial Smith (accordion) and Laura Lancaster (fiddle) augmented the mayhem with hooks galore.
This kind of music is hardly subtle, or intricate, and to an extent is isn't even that particularly original, but do you know what? I can't think of many other bands who are so perfectly suited to this kind of venue. You find yourself not caring about any of the above, and simply becoming caught up in the chaos, and I can promise you this - I saw nobody leaving at the end of the night without a massive grin on their face. Tonight, in a pub full of punks and beer, Calico Street Riots are an absolute runaway success.
Overall: 9/10
Photos by Ben Thompson.
Of all the fantastic bands on display at the recent ska-punk all-dayer, 7-Day Conspiracy were one of the very few bands I unfortunately missed. Which is a shame, as I did catch literally 30 seconds of their set, and that 30-second sampler was very promising - fast and hard skate-punk stylings with real bite and vigour. Which is why when a friend offered me the chance to have a listen to their EP, I jumped at the opportunity, and I've been busy catching up on what I missed, which is, it seems, something quite impressive.
'The Man Who Stole The World' is a bit of a curve-ball opening to the record, being as it is a lovely slice of atmospheric and catchy street-reggae, accented by some classy harmonica and with vocalist Dirty's gritty tones cutting through the mix, it is a real belter, topped off with some subtle distorted guitar licks not that far removed from Paul Fox's guitar work on The Ruts' 'Jah War'.
The rest of the record is packed with belting, lightning-fast punk, almost verging on the hardcore end of punk in some places, especially on the machine-gun bursts of 'Kicked to Death' and 'Go Back to Sleep' which both pass by in under a minute of aural mayhem. The mix is rough and messy, with the vocals often segueing into the chaos and sometimes being difficult to hear, but this doesn't detract hugely from the impact this will have being blasted out of your stereo. If you look for immediate comparisons, then I would say it sounds like a mix of early Oi! punk, several early NOFX cuts, mixed in with very early Bad Religion and Rise Against.
The record's sure-fire standout is the fantastic 'Open Your Eyes', which, alongside 'The Man...' makes this record worth buying on it's own. It's not as fast as their other onslaughts, but it works in their favour here, as they take the chance to throw some nice reggae-style interludes into the verses and pre-choruses to augment the furiously catchy chorus and driving rhythms.
This is all very promising stuff, and points towards a great future for the Sittingborne quartet - all that lets this particular offering down is a slight lack of cohesion caused by a rough, low-fi mix on most of the tracks bar 'The Man...', but this is nothing that can't be sorted on future discs. Apart from that, there is great potential here, and I wait with baited breath for future releases and live appearances.
Rating: 8/10.
Standout tracks: The Man Who Stole The World, Open Your Eyes.
I don't want to sound too righteous, but honestly, so many people who claim to be deeply into punk rock don't have a clue about it. I'm talking about the countless NME journalists and keyboard warriors on YouTube who constantly argue about what exactly 'is' punk and what 'isn't', and they've mostly been miles off the mark. NME are particularly guilty, along with many UK music publications, as they have been busy, in the past few years especially, championing the likes of Gallows as the 'saviours of punk rock'. Firstly, who decided that punk rock as a genre needed 'saving'? And secondly, whenever I listen to any of their tracks, all I hear is a messy, tuneless barrage of almost white noise, with the only lyrics being distinguishable being the odd expletive here and there amongst the sound of what seems to be Frank Carter trying to puke up his vocal chords. They certainly aren't 'saving' punk rock. I don't like the term 'saviors of (insert genre here)', but if you're gonna bandy it around, then I'd be very inclined to take it from Frank Carter and co and slap it emphatically on the backs of Richard Harris, Sadie Williams, Phil Morgan and Stuart Cavell, known collectively as The Submission.
I'm well aware of how bold a claim that statement is, but I stick by it. And that comes after witnessing just one frenzied half-hour set in a small club in Gravesend. And now we arrive at this 5-track EP, purchased for the princely sum of £2, presented as it is in a plastic wallet with the cover being what looks like an intense mosh pit. As visual embodiments of a band's sound go, this one is very effective. And I will say this right off the bat, I enjoyed this EP almost as much as I enjoyed seeing them live.
In terms of production, I've been warned by Rich that the quality isn't too great, but to be honest I had no problems with it. Sure, it's scratchy stuff, with the backing vocals not quite meshing with each other, and overall this is the polar opposite of the highly-polished, high-budget affairs many of us are more used to, but I wouldn't say it affects the quality of the music, and it may actually add something to it - it gives the music a slightly rawer edge which I think actually compliments it. Think along the lines of The Offspring and Green Day's respective pre-major label records, 'Ignition' and 'Kerplunk', and you have a fairly accurate picture.
The five tracks on here consist of three originals and two covers, and while the two covers - hugely enjoyable punk remixes of the '80s pop song 'Spin Me Right Round' and the rock 'n' roll classic 'Johnny B Goode' - are entertaining listens, the three originals are the songs that really merit praise here. It's easy enough to say that they are simple blasts of pure punk rock joy, but what makes them such entertaining listens is that they aren't just standard three-chords-and-that's-your-lot - every individual member injects extra life into the mayhem to take it up to another level. Rich hollers his vocals with wild abandon, but instead of just tuneless larynx-shredding, it meshes into the high-octane rhythms very well. He and fellow guitarist Phil intersperse the fast-paced riffs with thrilling and angular guitar breaks and solos to make the likes of Captain Sensible of The Damned or Brian Baker of Bad Religion proud, particularly on standout track 'You Just Don't Know'. Drummer Stuart drives things forward all the time, throwing in rolls and helter-skelter fills only where appropriate, and bassist Sadie augments the six-stringers' assault with some neat bass lines which bring to mind such famous punk bassmen as Mike Dirnt of Green Day or Paul Simonon of The Clash - hardly the centre of attention, more the glue which musically holds everything together.
Lyrically, do not look at the sniggery, blink-182-esque toilet humour of the title track as a guide, although it is funny in places. Instead, look at the aforementioned YJDK and the 'Reggae Rock Rebels' with it's fantastic skanking verses, as better guides for themes, the former being a powerful rant against those who look down their noses at others not quite like them, with Rich taking great pride in declaring: "I don't wanna ever be like you!" and the latter acting as a counterpoint, rallying the troops in emphatic style to break out of whatever humdrum town they may be stuck in (quite a common situation for many in towns across Kent), and when all four bellow the lines 'Jump up!/Shout out!/You're reggae rock rebels' with a ferocity that distorts the microphone, you can't help but want to join them.
Of course, this is hardly original stuff - the title track nabs a vocal line from the Stiff Little Fingers back catalogue, YJDK runs like a medley of all the best songs from the Clash's debut album, and RRR bounces along on a very much Rancid-style vibe. But at no point does it feel like blatant re-hashing of some dated concepts - the tracks all buzz with their own electricity and intensity, and are laden with hooks which are all their own, no matter how many nods to past legends they may make. And, ironically for a band who sing 'I don't think it really matters/whether you are, punk or not', The Submission are the best pure, 100% punk rock band I've had the pleasure of hearing in a long time, and one listen of this handful of tracks will leave you desperate for more.
If you can, go and see them live, and enjoy The Submission in their element. But if they don't happen to be playing anywhere near you tonight, then this little disc is a very enjoyable listen, and serves as a fascinating taste of things to come.
Rating: 8/10
Standout tracks: You Just Don't Know, Reggae Rock Rebels.
Usually, when you see a bloke touting an acoustic guitar, it's a prelude to some plodding, achingly earnest dirge. There are a few exceptions, but certainly you would never put acoustic instruments and raging punk rock together. It appears acoustic duo Ben Smith and Steve Knight, AKA Torn Out, have never read this particular rulebook on the do's and don'ts of punk, and they head into battle armed only with a couple of battered acoustic guitars. Even I will admit at first that I was slightly skeptical, but I'm happy to report that such conceptions are quickly ripped apart when you hear them for the first time. For me, that was a 2-track EP loaned from a friend, then a live appearance at a certain local all-day event, and now we arrive at this 9-track EP, freely distributed at the event in a full CD case with inlay card and lyric sheet, as well as nicely designed album cover.
First track 'Filthy Hands and Fluro Ink' is introduced courtesy of a lightning-fast bassline, with the guitar joining swiftly afterwards, and Ben's shouted vocals soon after that. And really, this opening track sets the tone for the entire record - it's fast, catchy, and confrontational, with Ben hollering for all his worth throughout. It quickly gives way to band anthem 'Chasing Lost Nights' which sums everything that Torn Out are all about up in two and a half minutes - energetic and hummable guitar lines, augmented by slick bass runs and backing vocals barked with gusto from Steve and topped off with Ben's aggressive vocals.
The lyrics really are an ace up Torn Out's proverbial sleeve - heartfelt, gritty and emotional without a hint of angst or cliched whining. It also has a powerful, street-level realism to it all - when Ben shouts 'these split bin bags and pissed stained streets are not the life of which we dreamed', people can nod along in agreement - having lived in Swanley for nigh-on the past decade or so, I can certainly relate to such statements as that. Such angry and disillusioned vibes run through the entire album, reaching their apex on 'Soul of these Streets', where Ben proudly declares 'We are the soul of these streets/we are the heart that beats/underneath all the chain pubs/we're the flesh and blood that's capable of love'. A strong anti-commercialist vibe permeates on the aforementioned 'Filthy Hands...' and album closer '10 Steps to Great Abs', a furious finale where Ben cries 'Let's stop buying what they're selling/we'll deal with our insecurities together/then we'll see we're all the same/not a manipulated image on a glossy page!'
The music has a fantastic renegade vibe to it, and they successfully achieve what many people would think was impossible - acoustic guitar music with more soul, passion, power and energy than most bands twice their size with more instruments and amplifiers. For them to pull this off is a tremendous achievement, and they should be congratulated for doing so. They successfully tap into the mundane and soulless vibe of many inner-cities and satellite towns without a hint of cliche or posturing; when they sing 'Together there's nothing stopping us/leaving this life we never owned', you feel duty bound to join them in their escape. Uplifting and anthemic in equal measure, Torn Out really are a hidden gem. Highly recommended.
Rating: 9/10
Standout tracks: 'Chasing Lost Nights', 'Matilda & Me', 'Soul of These Streets'.
