We've all known one, haven't we? That band that you're due bound to like because of obligations pertaining to inconvenient things like friendship and matedom, but you just can't bring yourself to do so because, well, they're appalling. No two ways about it. Yup, I'm talking about 'my mate's band'. The band you're forced to like and stick up for despite your better judgement (and your ears) telling you otherwise. You wind up either going to their gigs because they invite you along, then standing at the back nursing a beer and trying to make conversation with other people who are covering their ears at the God-awful cacophony, or making up some pathetic excuse to avoid having to sit through the torture in the first place.
Yeah, not really liking a mate's band is quite an awkward business, which is why I had reason to be anxious when a friend of mine told me he was putting together a self-described 'punk rock power trio'. Don't get me wrong, I was interested and curious to hear them, just as I am about any new punk band, but my inner cynic braced himself and started lining up possible excuses. That band soon broke cover and revealed themselves as Artificial Nature, and fortunately, the shotgun of harsh judgement gets to stay right where it is, because, if a 40-minute setlist at the Red Lion (a review of which will be on it's way shortly) and this EP are anything to go by, Artificial Nature are an enjoyable band full of youthful vigour and promise.
The first thing that strikes you within a matter of seconds of putting the disc on is...wait a minute, where did Brian Molko from Placebo come from?! Oh no, my mistake, that's just vocalist and bassist Rob Driscoll, doing what sounds like his best Brian Molko impression. Well, that's a bit harsh - he also breaks out into a decent Billie Joe Armstrong impression in other parts of the EP too, none more so than on 2nd track 'Be Who You Wanna Be'. In all seriousness, he and the rest of the band wear their influences on their collective sleeves, having listed Green Day and Placebo as personal favourites of theirs, so it's a good thing that they choose to purloin the best bits of the aforementioned artists - for example, returning to Driscoll's vocal delivery, he retains the snotty bark of Armstrong, and the dry drawl of Molko, using both to good effect.
The band themselves exhibit a good tightness between them, and a youthful strut and swagger is evident from first note to last, for better or worse. For worse being in the low-fi production, occasional technical slip and sometimes appallingly cliched lyric line (whoever signed off 'I'm full of spunk and I hate my mum' as acceptable needs to see me afterwards), and for better being the occasional excellent guitar hook or burst of energy. They are a typical young garage rock band in that they can veer through the good, the bad and the ugly of rock 'n' roll at will, and at times it can be frustrating. For example, the aforementioned '...You Wanna Be' sounds like an attempt to be this generation's 'Longview' and juxtaposes the above dreadful lyric line with a genuinely catchy guitar riff and a neat driving drumbeat, and 'Turn Your Back' exhibits promise but ends up dragging its heels a little too much towards the end, despite more nifty drum work from sticksman Tom Parker.
Speaking of names, guitarist Nick Sands (here going under the pseudonym of Nicky Sparks) leads loudly and proudly from the front with crunching chords aplenty, and even gets the chance to bust out a solo or two, whilst Driscoll's rumbling basslines add meat to the rhythms. I've already mentioned Parker's excellent drum work, and I'm going to mention it again, because he threatens to steal the show at times, such is his beat dexterity. This is a crucial part of their armoury - power trios by their very definition have to be tighter than a nun's proverbial nether regions, and whilst they aren't quite there yet, AN showcase enough on this disc to tell me that they are close, and eminently capable of reaching this point. Standout track and EP closer 'Lonely Island' is probably the zenith of their collective powers, combining everything I've mentioned so far into just under four minutes of brash garage-punk mayhem, and it's immensely enjoyable. If this is the shape of things to come, then count me in - I look forward to enjoying the ride.
Nearly all of my reviews of underground/up-and-coming bands end up coming down to one question: do they have potential? And yes, Artificial Nature definitely do have potential. This EP is a warts-and-all declaration of their powers, strengths, and weaknesses, and there is enough evidence here to suggest that, as they gain experience on the gig circuit and gel more as a unit, they will grow into a fine little rock 'n' roll band worthy of the power trio tag. There's overtones of The Subways in their makeup, and look where that particular trio of rag-tag young scoundrels have ended up.
Rating: 7/10
Standout Tracks: Lonely Island, Be Who You Wanna Be.
You want a study in longevity, and how to keep sounding fresh and vital as the years, and even decades, roll by? Look no further than Hollywood's finest, Bad Religion. Their career is the very definition of rollercoaster, and how to fight back from adversity to produce one brilliant record after another, time and again.
It would be impossible to fully give their varied and storied history justice in this review, celebrating as they are 30 years as a band this year - I'll leave that to a future article. It's an incredible achievement that the band have even lasted this long, let alone still featuring four of the very original members from their earliest days. And, far from simply touring old classics in a half-baked nostalgic look back at past years, they continue to push on, fiercely rolling back the years to keep producing records as vital as their earlier output - indeed, the album I herald as their best ever is not any of their earlier, late-'80s work, as great as they are, but 2004's blistering 'The Empire Strikes First'. It, along with 2002's excellent 'The Process of Belief' and 2007's pounding 'New Maps of Hell', showcases the best characteristics of new millennium-era BR - all the energy and clusterbomb fury of those early releases, but honed, refined and tuned with additional shredding solos and hooky riffs, and the trademark 'oozin' ahhs' backing vocals infusing the fury with soaring melodies. And now, as part of the 30th anniversary celebrations that also saw them release a free-to-download live album earlier this year, BR proudly unveil the latest addition to their mighty back catalogue - 'The Dissent of Man'
Let me state right off the bat, first impressions of this record were not good. I had heard rumours that it wasn't very strong, so I dug up the tracks and gave them a listen - and I could see people's points. It felt...flat. I wouldn't say boring - the assault is still as brutally powerful as ever - but it definitely lacked something. Tracks seem to pass by without muster, and nothing jumped out at me. Indeed, some of the riffs sounded cobbled together and forced, lacking the natural flow that is such a trademark of BR's sound. Even singer Greg Graffin's lyrics lacked the usual intelligent bite to them, and were in danger in some places of falling into cliche. Indeed, of the 15 tracks on the album, it took me until track 9, 'Someone to Believe', for a song to grab me by the collar and yank me in. I was genuinely about to write off this record as the moment where BR's age had finally caught up to them, where they had finally run out of steam and plain out of ideas, after 30 years of defying all known laws of bands and rolling back the years, this would be the moment where I finally say it was time for them to hang up the guitars and call it quits.
But then, something happened. I gave it another listen, and something began to click. Something intangible. Yes, opener 'The Day The Earth Stalled' still passed by without really a second glance. But then 'Only Rain' burst into action, and suddenly it began to make sense. Suddenly, more tracks began to leap out at me and snatch my attention, such as the sizzling lead-off single 'Resist Stance', even send shivers up my spine at some moments. It's fortunate that I didn't review this album based on first impressions, as they can be deceptive - this album is certainly a grower. I was wrong to doubt them - the grizzled old dogs of punk have done it again, pushed themselves that bit more to create something that stands alone on it's own merits as part of their repertoire.
Having said that, I will still go as far as saying this is probably their weakest record of the last decade. The main problem is consistency, and pacing - they seem to stack the majority of the mid-paced, introspective numbers right at the end of the disc, which totally kills the balance of the album - it explodes into life at the start, but peters out with a bit of a shrug at the end. Even some of the faster songs can't seem to decide on a tone - melancholy or angry? Wistful or fiercely determined? It's inevitable to a degree that they will take more and more nostalgic looks back as they go on, and 30 years into their career is as good a time as any to do so I suppose, but it comes at a cost on some songs - 'Wrong Way Kids' (or 'Keeds' if Graffin is to be believed) gets caught in this particular limbo, and looses it's impact as a result, and 'Ad Hominum' winds up coming across as an inferior remix of '21st Century Digital Boy'. It's when they focus on one particular mood that their best tracks rise - 'Won't Somebody' and 'Turn Your Back' are the picks of the more mid-tempo, melancholic tunes in this regard.
I mentioned before how BR are never a band to stand still, and will keep trying to push their trademark sound to new levels, and while all the hallmarks - Brooks Wackerman's powerhouse drumming, the crushing three-guitar assault augmented with Brian Baker's howling leads, the 'oozing ahh's' backing vocals, and Graffin's gruff and emotionally charged lead vocal delivery - are still present and correct, they do attempt to cram other influences and approaches into the smelting pot, with hit and miss results. The most obvious experimentation is the vaguely folksy 'Cyanide', complete with a neat slide solo from Tom Petty and the Heartbreaker's guitarist Mike Campbell, which comes across as a slowed-down version of 'The Quickening' from TESF. The aforementioned 'Someone to Believe' gives a heavy tip of the hat to The Ramones with it's 'Beat on the Brat'-mimicking lead-off riff and buzzsaw guitar attack, and the also previously mentioned '...Stance' opens on a searing solo lead, and rides on the back of this epic riff for most of the song.
People will try to point to this album's weaknesses and suggest it is a sign that the band are finally starting to edge into decline after years of defying the odds. Indeed, I thought this myself on first listen. But though this record isn't quite as strong as it's most recent predecessors, it still wipes the floor with most of their late-90s output, and is a worthy addition to their canon. So what if they fancy looking back a bit more nowadays - after 30 years in the game, most of that time spent at the very top of their powers, they've earned the right to, and they still manage it a lot better than other much younger bands than they. Dismiss them at your peril - on the evidence of this, there's still a helluva lot of life in the old dogs yet.
Album Details
Label: Epitaph Records
Release Date: 28th September 2010
Rating: 7/10
Standout Tracks: 'Only Rain', 'The Resist Stance', 'Someone to Believe'.
Standing on the platform of a freezing cold Walmer station in the wee small hours of Sunday morning, waiting for the train that would take me homeward bound to Swanley, I found myself (amongst swearing under my breath at the fact my train was delayed, and perhaps yawning) reflecting on the previous 24 hours that had gone before it. Just down the road from the station I was sat at was The Railway Pub, and at this hour of the morning, only some broken glass on the pavement outside and some tatty posters in the windows gave any clue at what had come before it. It had seen me experience a gig like no other, one I had to travel nearly 60 miles just to get to, a fair distance for any gig, let alone one by local bands in a tiny pub in a small coastal town, but one that was a pretty hefty rollercoaster of music, beer, and great fun from its relatively slow start to its blistering finale. And now that I'm back home and back to normal levels of sleep and energy (just about), it's time for me to recount, in as much detail as I can, that hectic Saturday afternoon and evening. It's pretty safe to say that the day hardly got underway in glorious fashion - in fact, if you had no prior idea of the quality of some of the bands following, you'd be well within your rights to have walked through the front doors, seen the first band playing on the first stage (what I'll call from now on the Bar Stage), and have turned round and walked straight back out the door again to stay in for the evening with The X Factor. I'm not joking - opening band Dr Goon (2/10) were so atrocious they had to be seen to be believed. Not seen for too long, mind - just long enough to realise that listening to them play was on a par with sticking a cordless drill in one ear and a screwdriver in the other. Their main problem (amongst the myriad of others) was that they looked like they had never even seen each other before, let alone played together. Lesson 1 for up-and-coming bands, kids - make sure you are relatively tight as a unit before you even think of looking for gigs. As much as I poked fun at the early iterations of My Third Leg for their technical sloppiness, at least they could hold a tune together. The Total Goons were so shockingly sloppy it sounded at times like each member was playing a completely different song - each very badly. Matters were hardly helped by a singer who looked utterly comatose, and a keyboard player who had got lost at a trad jazz gig and never found his way back home. The only reason they managed two scores was the fact that their guitarist and drummer at least looked into it, although the one shred of talent in the entire band was firmly with the guitarist - imagine Clem Burke after a particularly ham-fisted frontal lobotomy and you have Collection of Dribbling Goons' drummer. Which leads me nicely onto Lesson 2 for up-and-coming bands: if you are borrowing someone else's equipment, avoid breaking it, as the drummer did when he managed to somehow split the skin of the bass drum with the pedal. And then Lesson 3 - don't then use this pause in play to advertise a show you're playing on the very same day not very far away from there. This is perhaps one of the biggest faux pas you can commit, particularly when one of the chief organisers of the show you're currently playing (and owner of the piece of equipment you've just broken) happens to be standing right next to you. Fortunately, Mr Rich Harris kept his rebuke short and to the point (a barked 'fuck off') and the Travelling Band of Blithering Goons were allowed to leave with all of their members still in one piece. What made the incident particularly hilarious was how farcically awful they had performed - it made you wonder how on Earth they managed to get two gigs at all, let alone on the same day. Answers on a postcard please - for now, I'm calling bribery.
It's not too much of an exaggeration to suggest that anybody could look good following on from the pile of foul-smelling shite that had opened proceedings, but having said that, I genuinely quite liked Shattered Resolutions (6.5/10). They flitted from drop-C tuned metal-y, sometimes stoner-y fuzz rock to something a bit more faster paced, but whilst certainly not reinventing the wheel, they at least showcased a bit of flash and imagination. Of particular note is how the two guitarists, Aaron Dixon and James Revell, deliberately manufactured two different sounds from their respective guitars, which when combined together created an interesting mix, using it to try and expand the songs sonically. They traded solos nicely too, and when you throw in Tyler French's yelped vocals and the fairly dynamic rhythm section of Robby Levesley on bass and James Nesbitt (no, not the James Nesbitt) on drums, you have a group that have promise. They could've scored higher had their set had the energy and confidence their music deserved, but they are a young band, and have time on their side to iron these creases out.
Sadly, one of the bands I was most looking forward to seeing pulled a complete no-show - The Moo Woos. In fact, a no nothing - not a phonecall, not an answering of a phone call, no appearance at all. Very frustrating, as it puts a big black mark next to their name, which their music doesn't deserve, and I'm sure they would've thrived in the intimate setting and atmosphere of the venue, but hey, their loss I suppose.
So we move straight back into the backroom stage where Shattered Resolutions had performed, and we find The Plan's Andrew Keech (complete with trademark flat-cap) and Ben Gower, but instead of their partners in crime in The Plan, instead they are backed up today by a myriad of different instruments and members. Time to welcome to proceedings Captain Bastard and the Scallywags (7.5/10), a band with not only a spectacular name, but a spectacular array of weapons in their sonic arsenal - alongside the traditional guitar/bass/drums triumvirate, we introduce an acoustic guitar, a mandolin, an accordion, and a penny whistle, just for good measure. I was told beforehand to expect folk-punk fun to rival Calico Street Riots, with perhaps some added Guinness and pirate shenanigans, and that's a fairly accurate description. They deviated from the standard, fast-paced folk-punk template at times though, and this refreshing change of pace enabled them to make better use of the wide variety of instruments at their disposal - the mandolin in particular, played with great aplomb by Jordan Harris, was particularly prominent, and pennywhistlist (is that even a word?!) Kayla Harlow lead off one song in fine solo fashion. Just like Calico, all of their songs are infused with the bouncing energy and sense of unabashed fun that makes the genre great. Two things largely let them down - firstly, Keech's vocals were suffering due to illness and were largely reduced to a series of barks and croaks, and secondly, the band are still a work-in-progress in terms of gelling as a unit - one song had to be abandoned and the drumming fell out in several other parts. But, as I was quick to remind Keech afterwards, they are a new band, having only played 2 shows before this, and particularly with this many instruments in the mix, it would take a little more time for things to start clicking completely smoothly. For now, they are a band easing into life on the circuit, and I look forward to seeing them progress, as there is a lot of potential laying in wait.
Next up on the Bar Stage were, from a personal perspective, the biggest surprises of the day - A Boy Named Girl (8/10). I'd seen them a couple of times beforehand, and both times had never really 'got' them, and I really don't know why. Maybe I had an in-built indifference and cynicism for the largely bland, generic pap that passes for modern pop-punk nowadays which clouded my judgement of them before, but on this particular evening, I went into their set with an open mind, and I was hooked from first outrageously catchy note to last. Y'see, this is how modern pop-punk should sound - yes, there's floppy fringes, yes, there's half-tempo breakdowns, but they are interwoven into tunes packed with hooks and properly shimmering choruses, and a sound that avoids being hackneyed and cliched, and a stage presence that sidesteps plastic posturing and concentrates wholly on having a damn good time, which is exactly what the crowd that gathers to watch them do have. The theme of being tight as a unit has run constantly throughout this review, and I have to come back to it, because that's one of ABNG's biggest strengths - good pop-punk has to be razor-sharp in it's delivery, and that's something the five-piece pull off brilliantly. Great job, and I'll happily admit to being wrong about them before.
I didn't actually watch directly the next act, the Disclosure Project (6/10), so take this rating as being based on what I heard whilst having a break from the music with a beer in the bar as they performed in the backroom. All I saw directly of them was their soundcheck, which told me that they were a expansive and technical three-piece. What I heard from them in the background after that proved that pretty much right, but also told me that they somehow had a knack of making even epic rock songs by the likes of Foo Fighters and 30 Seconds to Mars sound...well, kinda boring. I don't know why, they just didn't grip me. Let's put it this way - I was waiting for them to drag me away from the bar and into the backroom to watch them, but they never managed it. Every song of theirs seemed to drag it's heels somehow, and they came across as being a bit MOR for my liking. Still, I will give them credit for being musically tight and technically very sound, with a decent depth.
Hang on, I'm feeling a bit of de ja vu coming on here...or should that be Dave Ja Vu, to be precise? Yes, for the second time in as many days, it was time for me to check out up-and-coming ska-punkers My Third Leg (8/10), Gravesend's chief representatives at the show, and the penultimate band up on the Bar Stage. Having seen them only the night before I had a pretty good idea of what to expect from them, and so it proved, as they turned in what was not only a step up from their performance in Central London, but the best performance I've seen from them so far in their burgeoning career. Bizarrely enough, despite the malfunctioning drumkit (still hungover from the brutalising it got earlier on in the day), drummer Paul Smith produced his most consistent tub-thumbing performance yet, with no obvious cock-ups - I can barely believe I'm writing this! - and the rest of the band also played to the top of their strengths. Frontman Will Woodrow was all-action, a powerful mix of crashing guitar leads and strong singing, and he was ably back up by his cohorts - additional guitarist Mike Smith was a highly rhythmic sidekick in the six-string antics, and bassist Dave Ja Vu was all beaming smiles and rippling, anchorweight basslines. Their standards were all wheeled out and given a battering - the joyous singalong of '3470 Miles', the skankpit-baiting 'Going for a Drive', and the moody 'Time Travel', and the rest from their Fift E.P., all present and correct and all sounding excellent in such a setting. A nice injection of ska-styled energy into an evening that was swiftly building towards an entertaining crescendo.
I had another break after this one to get another pint or so in and to conserve energy before the finale, so I missed IRIS's set, only hearing glimpses in the background - nowhere near enough to give them an accurate rating. The odd snatches I did hear did sounded heavy, technical and pretty creative in parts, so one to watch out for for the future perhaps.
In all fairness though, anticipation was by now building with all the speed of a runaway freight train for the arrival onto the Bar Stage of the local heroes to finish off the evening in spectacular style. And so, at around 10pm in the evening, The Submission (9.5/10) arrived on the Bar Stage, briefly tuned up, and blasted headlong into action, with a furious and spectacular medley of 'Reggae Rock Rebels', 'Stay in Action' and their rendition of the unofficial rock 'n' roll national anthem, 'Johnny Be Good.' And so began a rollercoaster journey through The Submission's personal vision of punk rock - rip-snorting energy, raucous singalongs, buzzsaw guitar riffs, hooks aplenty, and pure, uplifting power. Frontman Richard Harris was as always the absolute heart and soul of the performance, channelling the spirits of Joe Strummer, Jake Burns, Tim Armstrong and other legendary punk frontmen into his ballistic, gung-ho delivery, bellowing his vocals, headspinning, jumping around and thrashing the life out of his guitar like it was his last night on Earth - just like every Submission performance, then. That's not to say they are a one-man operation - in fact, bassist Sadie Williams acted as the calm counterpoint, quietly grooving and locking the operation down with rock solid and neat bass work, and stayed cool and collected despite the chaos erupting around her. A lot of kudoes has to go to stand-in drummer for the evening Bernie Watts, who despite less than a handful of rehearsals with the group, slotted in with no problems at all, and was a reliable and steady hand behind the kit. Sadly, guitarist Phil Morgan was reduced to errant bystander for most of the set, as a stray beer glass caused terminal damage to his amp very early on, but in true Submission fashion, a little hiccup like this wasn't allowed to get in the way of the chaos.
It's a measure of their quality as songwriters that their original songs, such as the stomping 'No Motivation' or the blistering 'No Tomorrow', merged seamlessly into the setlist alongside the gamut of covers they rolled out. Tonight the covers list included the traditional brace of Rancid tunes ('Radio' and 'Roots Radicals'), as well as their 100mph rendition of the classic Clash anthem 'White Riot', a frenzied rev-up (if it ever needed revving up in the first place) of Green Day's 'Maria', and further run throughs of 'Longview', 'Should I Stay or Should I Go' (which pushed the dancing and moshing to almost chaotic levels), blink-182's 'All The Small Things', the '80s pop hit 'Spin Me Right Round' and the Stiff Little Fingers' 'Barbed Wire Love' - all of them delivered with exactly the same hammerhead precision and relentless energy as their originals.
There was also just enough time for a mid-set interlude to finally unveil the surprise 'guest' band, Meat Whiplash, whom were in reality The Submission but with sadly departing landlord Stu and wife Wanda guesting on vocals and drums, respectively. As a way to bow out, guest-starring with the headline act at your own farewell gig is a pretty stylish way to go, and Stu celebrated the occasion by rolling back the years and giving as good as he got on covers of Department S's 'Is Vic There?', the Dead Kennadys' 'Holiday in Cambodia', and The Jam's 'That's Entertainment'. Wanda gave the drumkit a sound battering for a few numbers before allowing Bernie to re-take the hot seat and instead gave additional vocal support up front, and the Whiplash's brief set closed with a madcap run through Electric Six's 'Gay Bar', before they departed to allow The Submission to wrap things up in style, firstly with the aforementioned 'Should I Stay...' and 'Longview' covers before drawing the mayhem to a close with 'It Won't Stop', as defiant a statement as any to end what could possibly be their last showing at this particular venue. The only things that stops me giving them a maximum score was the issues with Phil's guitar, and the fact that the set sort of never really regained the early momentum after Meat Whiplash's cameo appearance, although neither of which can really be attested to the band, and they were still my personal favourite band of the entire day by some way - that's not to be disrespectful to the other bands, some of whom were excellent (okay, not Dr Goon), but that's more a measure of just how much I enjoy watching The Submission play - they are, to my mind, a live experience like no other.
So, here comes the part where I try and condense down everything into a handful of easily digestible sentence nuggets to summarise the entire review. Not easy, but I'll give it a go anyway: as a gig, it was sometimes inconsistent, although fortunately gradually improved to a spectacular zenith at the conclusion after a dreadful start, but as an experience, it was a fantastic day and evening which will last in the memory for a long time - long after I had departed Walmer on the first train back home, and long after I've even finished writing this very review. Congratulations to everybody involved in setting up and organising this great show, and I'd like to wish Stu and Wanda all the best in their new pursuits - if this is to be the last time rock 'n' roll comes to The Railway Pub in this fashion, then it's safe to say it went out in style.
Overall Review 9/10
As I type now, my voice is largely destroyed, and I'm exhausted due to a combination of lack of sleep and huge amount of manic dancing and singing. All of this, plus an 100-mile plus round trip to the Kent Coast and back, plus a rather large hole in my wallet, was all very much worthwhile, however, as it meant I got to experience the madness that was The Railway Pub's send-off all-day show in all it's blisteringly loud, beer-spilling, raucous and hella fun glory. I will get down to reviewing this show once I've recovered a little more, but for now, I fancy having a look at an EP by one of the bands that starred at the show in question - ascending ska-punkers My Third Leg.
Funnily enough, I've been seeing rather a lot of MTL over the last few days (stop sniggering at the back) - how does two shows in as many days go? And during that time I've really had a chance to see how far the band have come in a relatively short space of time, and how much potential is still laying in wait. It's fair to say - and the band themselves even admit this to a degree - that in their early iterations, there was a relative lack of structure, and the feeling was that the band were often stuck on as the shits 'n' giggles first acts at most LSP gigs in and around Gravesend - well, wouldn't you do the same if you ran a promotions company organising punk and ska gigs, and handily happened to be in a ska-punk band yourself? But my point being here was that it was easy to not take them all that seriously, a bit of a laugh, mucking around, regularly swapping instruments, etc etc. But as I mentioned in my review of their Comedy Pub show, they've quietly gone about knuckling down to work on their craft, gelling more as a unit, and honing their songwriting and technical skill, and all this has resulted in them starting to become a band to be really taken seriously as a force - all seemingly whilst I wasn't looking. All this progress business has resulted in them recording and releasing their first E.P. of material, selling at shows and on their recently set-up merch store (I told you they were going up in the world) for the princely sum of 50p (hence the title, see?), and having procured a copy for myself on Friday, it's time to give it a spin.
What jumps out straight away is the crispness of the production and sound quality, which is a very high quality for a DIY recording - credit must be given to the producer, none other than The Submission's Rich Harris, who is rightly thanked in the sleeve notes. His biggest asset from a production and mixing standpoint appears to be his ability to keep all instruments balanced - even when all instruments are at full volume and intensity, the mix does well to avoid being muddy and clogged, and the vocals are nice and clear, something that characterises The Submission's own self-produced work. This high-quality production helps the songs themselves to shine through, and guess what? That's exactly what they do.
Some of the songs on the EP date back from the very first days of the band, but have been mercilessly honed, trimmed and refined into the catchy and addictive nuggets of ska-punk we are treated to on this disc. Two such songs combine to form a nice one-two opening salvo - 'Going for a Drive' and '3470 Miles', both of which are growing to become signature anthems for the group, and rightly so, as both of them encapsulate the best aspects of the band's sound - Will Woodrow's easily recognisable vocal delivery, the trading between quiet/loud and slow/fast sections, Will and Mike Smith's choppy guitar lines, Dave Ja Vu's fantastic, bubbling basslines, and drummer Paul Smith's primal skin-battering. Another MTL standard, Random Inspiration, bookends the disc, giving the record a strong start and a strong finish - something I always like to hear on records, and something that many much bigger bands seem to completely forget about.
However, don't think for a second that they've put their most recognisable songs at each end of the disc and padded out the middle with some random filler they had lying around the rehearsal room - far from it. If you can look beyond the rather embarrassing (and pretty funny) story told in the lyrics, 'Balls Deep' is a real gem, showcasing a slight Britpop feel to the skanking mayhem. 'Yes Please' is catchy as hell, and the furious end section is tailor-made to be bellowed along with at the more drunken gigs they play, and 'Time Travel' is quite possibly the best song they've written so far overall. It's actually quite a dour song, but they use this downbeat tone to their advantage - some delicate, echoey guitar lines flit in and out, Will's vocals are mournful and wistful without becoming mawkish and dreary, and though it does speed up at parts, it doesn't go completely balls-out at any stage, instead emphasising the slow-burning atmosphere of the lyrics.
This issue of restraint is probably my main criticism of other parts of the record - there is a feeling that they try to cram too much into certain songs. 'Random Inspiration' is the worst offender, as it seems to drag it's heels near the end, and ends up being about a minute too long, which dilutes the energy and punch of the song. I mean, I know bassist Dave Ja Vu's good, but do we need to hear his little bass solo another few times than we already do in the song? Personally, I reckon the final instrumental section would be better served in another song altogether, and trim this one down to keep it more succinct. This is the only song where it's really noticeable, and otherwise the mixing of different tempos and dynamics works very well, and is a core part of their sound, so I suppose all I'm saying is be careful of that problem rearing it's head again when writing new songs in the future. Perhaps Paul's drum work is still a bit slack, but considering how it was before, it's best to be grateful that he's made it this far.
In fact, any more criticism is needless nit-picking, because I really can't find anything else to moan about. What we have here is six strong songs that form a nice blueprint of My Third Leg's sound as of right now, but also where they could go from here, and perhaps that's the most exciting part - there's still a sense that there's more ascending to come from the band, as they continue to tighten up as a unit and gig relentlessly, and this E.P. is a good snapshot of where they are right now, and what to expect for the future.
Rating: 7.5/10
Standout Tracks: 'Going for a Drive', '3470 Miles', 'Time Travel'
It's been nearly 10 long months since I last checked out a local scene gig, which is an inexcusably long amount of time. Now that I'm safely out the other side of A-levels, coursework and exams in roughly one piece, and now looking forward to a gap year of doing precisely nothing except work and twiddle my thumbs a bit, I can turn my attention back to the scene, and tonight at a tiny subterranean bar tucked in the shadows of the neon lights of Piccadilly Circus, I decided to get a minor glimpse of what I'd been missing. At least, initially that was the plan.
Firstly, finding the damn place was a mission in itself, what with it being part of about 5 venues in the same street named 'The Comedy (blank)'. But having stumbled through pretty much all the variations of said venue title, I finally found the mystical set of stairs to ascend to the tiny basement bar which would form the setting for tonight's show. When I got there, I discovered that only one member of Four Letter Cure had actually showed up - I was told they were planning on calling quits after 2 more gigs anyway, so maybe they decided to speed the process up a bit? I dunno. I'm not gonna speculate further, and I'd be interested to hear from people about how the situation lies. Thankfully, all constituent parts of My Third Leg were there, plus what could be called a half-decent little entourage for them. Also, it's worth noting that I was being facetious earlier - there was a third band scheduled for this evening, but I saw nothing in their sound check or tunes to persuade me to stick around for their set. In fact, if anything, the sound check put me right off them - old good-time rock 'n' roll with watered-down rock, no roll, a desperate lack of a good time and a guitarist who had a bad case of head firmly stuck up own arse, with all the other members having to settle with mild case of face I want to punch hard. And keyboards that just shat on all the other instruments. I've heard bands with full horn sections not sound as messy as this, seriously. Oh, and buggering off after you've done your asinine and stupidly smug soundcheck and only arriving back at your own bloody show when it's your time to go on is only going to further people's impressions that you think you're bigger than you are and are therefore complete pretentious twats. Right, that's the surplus bile dispensed with, on with the two (or rather one and a half, ish) other good bands here tonight.
Four Letter Cure (5/10) - or more like Two Letter UnSure considering as only frontman Hassan Afenah was present, along with two acoustic guitars (one rather cheap and battered) and his sidekick Asher on extra guitar and vocal duties - were on first, and it's rather hard to be harsh to them, considering the circumstances. If I tell you that they were practicing their set when I arrived, that'll tell you the level of preparation they were afforded, and considering it all, they did pretty well. What they lacked in tightness and accuracy, they made up for in easy humour, and when the stars did align and the two guitars and sets of vocals matched together relatively seamlessly, there was definitely promise on show. It might be an easy comparison to make, but a Torn Out vibe emanated from them, and Hassan's gravelly and soulful voice worked surprisingly well out of a harsh electric context, and their set showed a nice talent for reworking powerful punk songs into campfire acoustic singalongs - oh, and they earn additional kudos for nearly pulling off a great cover of Rise Against's 'Like The Angel', complete with an aborted attempt on the solo.
To give the next part of the review some context, my first local scene show was the epic all-day event in August 2009. That day, a band named the Constant G's graced the outside stage, and found themselves in a similar situation that Four Letter Cure found themselves in tonight - hastily re-organising their lineup and set in liu of members bailing out at the last minute. Their set was therefore pretty shambolic, but in keeping with the spirit of the day, it was still fun and full of energy. This hastily cobbled together lineup eventually formed the basis for the band we see before us tonight, My Third Leg (7.5/10). Maybe it's because of the not great first impression I got, and I might be being overly harsh on them, but I did view them for a while as a handy band to open every LSP show assembled - a nifty and fun little band to open every LSP show, but still, not a band I took entirely seriously. But in the time I've been away from the scene, they've really began to go places and, if you'll pardon the phrase, get their shit together. They've recorded an EP of material, been touring hard and working on their stage craft, and with a full album and possibly bigger venues and full-length tours on the horizon, M3L are ready to start really making a name for themselves in the scene - and smash any lingering and unwarranted cynicism I had about them through the bar windows and out into the street. In the end they did just that, and in some style too, with a set that mixed everything that was always good about them - plenty of skanking riffs and an eye for fun - with improved dexterity, confidence and precision. Singer and lead guitarist Will Woodrow has really grown into his frontman duties - he now has a unique character to his voice and I was impressed with how he flitted from delicate lead lines to high-intensity strumming with ease. Probably the biggest improvement of all is how the band now gel as a unit - transitions from time signatures and styles flow a little more now, where before they felt forced and a bit strained, and part of that credit has to go to the rhythm section of bassist Dave Ja Vu and drummer Paul Smith. Sure, Paul still arses up the odd fill, but he is now a technically solid drummer, and he and Dave create a foundation for Will and skank-tastic rhythm guitarist Mike Smith to lock into. And let's face it, it probably wouldn't feel right if Paul didn't arse at least one thing up.
So to sum up, a very enjoyable and fun evening, and a slice of humble pie is in the microwave as we speak. Now time to knuckle down for what should hopefully, fingers crossed and touch wood, be an epic in the making down in Deal tomorrow. See you there!
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'.
