Under The Driftwood Tree - London - 17th June 2010

Opening with their trademark of mash-up covers, Under The Driftwood Tree skillfully work The Killers Mr Brightside, Kings of Leon’s Use Somebody and Stereophonics Local Boy in the Photograph into their own breezy summer model, Local Boy Mr Brightside Uses Somebody. It is a testament to their talent that this foray into their stylings on stage take three of the most recognisable tracks of the recent past and twists them into a creature of their own making. Beautiful in its own right. There can be no better way to describe the Welsh wonders than that. With a fabulous array of covers, and their own songs interwoven with banter and the odd impromptu free-styling from the gentlemen up front, Chris and Robbie, the magic and sparkle of their set is visible even in daylight.

Formed in 2009 it is amazing to see a collective who are so comfortable, at home even, in front of an audience, and indeed with each other. The fluidity of movement, and the sounds coaxed and spun from their instruments beautifully compliments the shared harmonious vocals, and all around them seem enraptured. The instruments on stage are swapped and tuned with ease as the set up seems to change from song to song. This adds a fantastic element to the set, as each member showcases their talents; Robbie and Kathryn on Accordion and Percussion, Chris on Ukulele, Guitar and Didgeridoo, Alex on lead guitar, and Sam on Bass.

With their stage presence and collective impish humour in full swing, they pull out of their repertoire a song apparently written by their neighbours, detailing their annoyance at having loud music played next door at all hours. The whimsey with which they retell this tale speaks volumes of each individuals easy going nature.

As the day moves on, and the sky gets hazy with the coming dusk, we are treated to a further mash-up cover. one which whips up energy within the sun dazzled audience and stirs some movement throughout. Weaving the pre-Kid Rock ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ and Reef’s ‘Put Your Hands Up’ into another hand-made classic Pink Alabama, we are swept along into their final song, a beautiful instrumental which conjures images of country village dance and large tankards of Cider and Guinness in the sun. Perfect for the days setting! We are left wanting more, and the juggling woman, who has stood by the stage the whole set rhythmically bouncing her balls in time with the music ceases. Just another example of the level of involvement the crowd feel with the band!

There is no doubt that Under The Driftwood Tree have the talent and energy to sustain interest from the audience, to engage with and perform to the crowd and generate a great reaction. There is a great deal of certainty within me that there will be so much more to come from a this Welsh band, who have come so far and achieved such beauty in their stylings in just over a year. Carving out their own perfectly formed bohemian niche in the weathered stone that is Folk. If they continue on this path, they will be unstoppable, and this is a fact.

www.myspace.com/underthedriftwoodtree

Canterbury - Thank You - November 2009

Right at this moment, Canterbury are giving out their album free. On their myspace. This is not a gimmick, this is free genius! Please go and download, then read this. or the other way round, it doesn’t really matter. I found these guys by accident, and that makes me worried. what if there is a whole host of amazing bands I will never hear because there aren’t enough hours in the day to hunt them down. All the more reason to up my game.

So, the album. It is an Über showcase of the talents encompassing these young men. With titles which follow a flow, like a semi concept album (titles follow in sequence, such as; Accident Ambulance & Hospital), the audio equilibrium is constantly rocked, as the lyrics whip from angry bitterness to soulful melancholy. But this isn’t an album of alternating rage and static. No, no. The tunes are full of fluid movement, whether pensive and endearing with dulcet tones and lyrics gently pulling you in (Hospital, Diver), or 11,12, which oozes an angsty energy. Generally the word angst makes me cringe, I use it in a good sense here, when that tightness in your chest rips through you, the chorus kicks in and you let it all go.

This album can be alloted a place alongside those of You Me At Six and artists of that ilk. perhaps, dare I say it, they go one better in creating a debut of this form. It would seem as though it is a dismissive action, but there is a reason there is such a collective who adore this style. It simultaneously argues for emotion and passion as well as F***ing S**t UP. This is what we should all choose embody in our lives, and as the opening of Ambulance crashes with symbols and drums, there can be no other case than for the latter. it really embodies the confusion and energy that would actually go with the appearance of an ambulance, funnily enough. That is where the concept lies, in the attention to detail with the lyrics and the cultivated sound. They make sense together.

This fluctuating mixture involves a touch of upbeat controlled chaos, with Set Your Right delivering a fast paced staccato beat with an impeccable sense of timing, leaving you feeling ready for a night out with your best male friends. Witness the amusing highlight of Friends_ We’re More Like A Gang. The sheer range of paces and ideas that are traversed within Thank You leaves you feeling slightly addled, but in a good way. Though we traverse the stages of joy and heartache with the foursome, there is little room for melancholy, and absolutely no room for boredom. With the hidden melancholic tang of the ending track Hometime, and lyrics ‘I never had something mess me up like this...You were a sunset, I was a hurricane’, it feels as though this story is unfinished. If music is set by the pace of a lifestyle, it is clear that these guys never have a dull moment.

Knock2Bag - Comedy Gold!

21st April 2010 - Shepherds Bush - Bar FM

Ascending the steps to the underground 'Bar FM', there seems to be no better setting for a comedy night than this. There seems to be an undeniable sense of other-worldiness in the plush darkness within. The Knock2Bag stage is raised almost imperceptibly from the ground as chairs tables and sofas occupy the surrounding space creating a sense of intimacy. We are all in this together, which is just as well as in a setting this small, very few can escape the ever watchful eye of the comics, especially MC Fergus Craig, starting off the evening with a tailored brand of childish imagery and musings, effortlessly delivered and sandwiched between his sharp wit and impeccable timing.

Tonight's ensemble are a charming mix of established and upcoming talents, and without much ado Mike Wozniak appears onstage, the embodiment of Tom Selleck after a nervous breakdown. With perfect diction he delivers an observational eye, twisted with a surreal cerebral vision, culminating in a story about his father taking a job cleaning mice on the underground. Perfectly executed with a remark about his fathers competency in such a job, given the state of underground mice these days, he exits to a roar of applause, replaced with an even fresher face, named Grainne Maguire.

Gawky and nervous as she is, her comic style takes some getting used to. There is a fine line between comic awkwardness and a nervous disposition. Nonetheless, a fair few laughs bestowed to us from this 2009 Mercury New Act Of The Year finalist, especially in her take on our relationship with the new Conservatives, drawing links between the British public and a battered wife. "They've changed! They recycle now!". Finishing with a terribly awkward but lovable 'reclaiming of the belly' rap, which only serves to reinforce her naive charm, she scurries off stage indulging us in a quick break to sate our thirst for booze.

The next portion of the event is reserved for the well established comics which took the headlines of this particular event. Doc Brown takes to the stage, armed with a folder and an amazing penchant for comic rapping. His swagger and charm are a winning combination, and rapping about anything from his love of David Attenborough, to the correct pronunciation of urban 'gang speak' and its middle class translation, a quick scan of the audience will see most people bent double in silent fits, or choking on their chips. As usual, this particular set is not long enough. We move on to the mysterious 'top secret telly guest'.

Award winning writer and actor Stephen Merchant is not one best known for his standup. A change he is prepared to make, as he introduces himself thus, stating his interest in having something "he can't get his hands on". No need to ask to whom he refers! unleashing his wealth of observations on the responsibilities men have in the dating stakes, height and levels of 'geek', he is every bit as brilliant as you can imagine. Here is a wealth of talent which we hope he will continue to utilise to great effect. His personality, passion and delivery smack of his unique writing style, a winning combination it seems.

We end on an absolute high, as Robin Ince spews bile on all and sundry, covering a ten mile radius in enraged ramblings. Prophecising the failure of his set due to his 'good mood', he is soon berating all those who own up to "guilty pleasures", calling for these pleasures to be far more guilty, crossing the lines into downright illegal. Just how far into guilt is a bit too rich to put into print! After too short a time, the end is nigh, and we are spilling out on to the streets once more, a gaggle of half remembered jokes, too rare to be repeated, and too blue to be aired on television! With the wealth of amazing upcoming and well-known comics treading the boards within the realms Knock2Bag enterprises, it is a perfect gem of brilliance which never fails to deliver. A cheap night out at £8 per ticket, the only solution is to go and see it for yourself. You will choke on your chips, so be careful!

Fionn Regan - A Late Review If You Please!

The Shadow of an Empire – 8^th February 2010

With a grand chasm opening up between Regan’s last album, ‘The End Of History’ in 2006, one could be forgiven for thinking hope had been lost for the Mercury award nominated Dandy-haired wonder. However, time has given birth to his latest little capsule of Irish folk-itude in the form of ‘the Sahdow of an Empire’, an album that doesn’t so much ask for your attention, but forcibly pulls you to the ground and shouts in your face, urging you to give a damn.

If Fionn Regan’s debut album envisions the “morning after”, then ‘The Shadow of an Empire’ is most definitely the fabled “night before”. With much the same vocal tones that made his brand of magic unique, and an extra unmistakable tinge of Bob Dylan as exemplified on House Detective and Coat Hook, Regan shatters his easy acoustic image and spins a revved up electric country-folk concoction, engorged with harmonica soundscapes, banjo rhythms, and the odd piano solo. Even with tracks like Little Nancy, which is slower than most, the resulting effect is louder than any you will find on ‘The End of History’.

The single release Protection Racket continues on the Dylan trail, rich as it is in Americana culture reference such as the perfect lyrics “you curse the darkness and I’ll strike a match’, and of course “Let’s raise our glasses to Mr Onasses”. Its upbeat nature and untiring rhythm is sharply backed up by Catacombs, who’s lyrics “Let’s take it outside…I’ll pay you to do me some damage” support the overall Texan bar-brawl feel, along with the atmospheric Genocide Matinee, with its classic rock overtones.

Fionn Regan has broken radically with expectation, and while it is clear that the long wait has proved necessary for personal growth and upheaval, there are still those tell-tale glimmers of the route taken to reach this altered perspective. This is obvious in Violent Demeanour, where the deep and dark lyric prevails over all others “and now there’s pennies on your eyes”. Again, in Lines Written In Winter Lord Help and My Poor Soul, with the raw and beautifully under-produced vocals we had become accustomed to, arching over those nostalgic lilting acoustics, we are treated to a celebration of his old youthful melancholy. This is harking back to times of a more authentic innocence, whereas Fionn Regan’s subtly deeper newfound voice heaves with the challenge of maturity and experience.

Tim Ten Yen - Everything Beautiful Reminds Me Of You

In October 2008 I attended a gig, a Club Fandango three day city festival event in a bar I cannot even recall now, and I saw the most amazing thing that had graced my tiny mind to that date. The event went by the name of Tim Ten Yen, and his method of wonder was a performance of sorts, of his own musical styling. He is in fact a one man band, but the performance is so much a part of his art that it cannot go without being mentioned. Awkward thrusting arms and funky leg-kicks make him seem less than comfortable in the limelight, but his stage presence refuses to let him depart from it. Even on the street, there is a spotlight following this awkward lord of the dance.

I duly bought his album ‘Everything Beautiful Reminds Me Of You’, which came out the following week, and have never looked back. Mr. Ten Yen harnesses a wealth of Divine Comedy style croonings, reggae based 80’s synth pop, the occasional thrum of the steel drum, and the odd stealthy guitar solo to create a heady base of joy, which frolics unchecked with his wonderfully naïve and creatively deep lyrics. This album, which slipped by unnoticed in 2008, and indeed latterly, is quite simply a cult classic. Confusing though his style is there are songs like ‘Radio Nowhere’ which forms the perfect basis for an electro re-mix, whilst the acute rhythmic step and subtle production of ‘Move with the Wildpalms’ was made for radio play. A coveted favourite at the minute is ‘Sea Anemone’, which wouldn’t sound out of place in a collection of nursery rhymes, an bears the lyrics ‘the kind of enemy, that gets hold of me, and gently lets me go with an apology’, along with the extremely sage line ‘if I ever had complete control of my life, would I ever keep hold of what I have?’. Pure genius! This is one for you all ladies and gents. Disregard your particular ‘tastes’, because this defies genre, and your expectations.

Designated Graffitti Moan

With the ‘Banksy Years’ well under way, Bristol has had quite some time to bask in the reflective glow of his magic touch. Whilst every cultural outlet indulges in naked profiteering from another’s talent (in the form of Coasters, Card and Canvas bearing their chosen graven image) and stars such as Angie Jolie clamour to collect various pieces, or so I’m told, I can help but feel a little sorry for those little graffiti imps forever in the shadow of the lord of spray-can. Well, with this chosen method of self expression not favoured by the more ‘society conscious’, maybe they are used to it? It may even be preferred. Whilst the art market is now claiming graffiti as one of its own, I am forced to wonder how much the profile of its art has changed. Is it really more acceptable? Or more except-able, failing under the light that only Banksy brand Graf is good. I am using the term ‘good’ loosely to mean ‘worth money’. The gentleman is an exception to the rule.

With almost every surface he touches turning to concrete gold, it seems that he is standing on the shoulders of other artists such as himself, pushing them further underground, where it is much darker and there is no golden ticket. Whilst the savvy among you will know of and appreciate other artists, this IS what they are, those who didn’t know before Banksy, will care less about others as they have their own acceptable form of defacement, which they can display with pride and purchase at great expense, all the while feeling edgy and ‘out there’.

I have nothing against Banksy, he deserves his rewards for being talented and insightful, but the artist hasn’t changed, just the canvas. Whether we like it or not, graffiti hasn’t been lifted higher as an art form, one man has, and the rest have been sentenced to a lifetime in the gloom, unless they copy the golden child, then losing the meaning of what this method of self expression is. Self expression is now just another mode that we use to congratulate or castigate. It seems if it is ‘good’ (worth money) it is art, if it is ‘not good’, it is vandalism. Those who love it, will always appreciate, but for now, I have half a mind to hold an impromptu cocktail party on the streets of Stokes Croft, loudly applauding and discussing other artworks, whilst ignoring those already famed. Maybe even hold mock auctions to buy a piece of the wall, complete with price tag stickers. Graffiti-ing graffiti? How postmodern.

Disasters and Diabolicalness, Happy New Year!

Ok, it has been a long while, and it is plain that I have been neglecting this little corner of my life. Contrary to the norm, I am going to have a life rant, before I get back to reviewing the more interesting things that other people have done.

Time has now crept quietly and quickly into 2010, and it still doesn't feel real. Perhaps it is all the 'End of the Decade' spaz that has been spat from every corner of the media, complete with the top 10, 20, 100 amazing or horrific things that happened since Y2K. Its like that fabled period of destruction all over again, where planes would fall from the sky and all technology would turn their shiny silicone chip-boards on us, and refuse to be our bitches anymore. it is a let down, its the same as it always has been, except now we put down a different set of numbers next to the date. Im not really cynical though, I brought in the New Year with all the other three thousand people at the Motion skate palace behind Temple Meads Station, and it was pretty damn nifty. However, there is one thing which puts me in mind with all those that fretted over our fortune come the year 2000. Fucking Technology!

I am not one of those technophobes, quite the contrary. I love technology, I was a late starter for Myspace, and neglected to join Facebook until I really had to, thinking I would hate it but actually loving it. I love the fact that everything you want is just a click away. I am technophile if anything, and I, like so many others, am not ashamed to admit it. The problem is, that I seem to have been shunned by technology. Having completed my move to Bristol in the middle of November 2009, I have come up against a multitude of issues involving technological devices which has left me feeling like an impotent male in a room full of sex-starved playboy bunnies. unimaginably frustrated! 

First of all I have to give one massive nod to SKY, for giving me and my boyfriend Henry one massive headache from the minute we joined them in early November. Not only did they send our SKY viewing card to Henry's address from 2 YEARS AGO three times, but they then sent our internet hub without a phone (as promised) and then made us go out and buy one to fnd out if we had a dial tone, so they could work out why we had to internet connection. We had to unscrew wall plates in various areas of the house, all the while being referred to as 'Mr. Henry', a very small but instantly infuriating factor that prompted us to ask to speak to someone who actually spoke english. After numerous refusals to send out an engineer, and numerous times trying to quit SKY, we have ben told we can have an engineer come and look at the problem, at the grand cost of £99 for the initial callout costs, and a subsequent £64 per hour. Wonderful. take my advice, never, ever join them. they are total wankers. 

Apart from this absolutely awful experience, I have had my laptop refuse to acknowledge it has an airport card, although I KNOW it does, forcing me to borrow Henry's sisters laptop, for which I am eternally grateful. However, even this is prone to some issues with the local Wi-Fi in my favourite frequented bar, Start The Bus. I have also discovered, since moving to Bristol, that every potential place of work likes to send emails to potential staff giving details of where and when interviews will take place, forcing me to develop a e-mail checking tick, which forces me to check me emails every 30 seconds of the 2 hours window that my current temp. job allows for private email. Luckily I have now secured a three month role, so that should make things easier. 

I thought that my problems would disappear with the prospect of 2010 and a new job round the corner. but fresh despair has come in the form of my amazing new external hard-drive, and a supposedly great new online publishers. I covet my Hard-drive it is beautiful, but having got back to my new house, and tried to tidy up my files a bit, I have found that I cannot make any changes to the files on the Hard-Drive. 

Merry fucking Christmas to me. 

Oh and the new publishers I have signed up to have managed to lose most of the first article I drafted and saved on my account, 1000 words of it! I was really pleased with it too.

And a Happy New God-Damn Year!   

It may no seem like such a big deal, but with the snowball that is following close behind me threatening to engulf, it makes a difference. 

OK, rant over. On to more interesting things....