Craig David Bowie?

Craig David’s sampled Bowie’s ‘Let’s Dance’ and mushed it into a song that…well….is actually ok. Granted, I have certain misgivings- mainly that the chorus has the decidedly mid-90’s opinion that a ‘Sexy thong, mini-skirt, stilletos’ are all that are needed to excite a young gentleman on the dancefloor.( Is that where I’ve been going wrong all these years?)- but as a whole it’s a lot less heinous than I had first imagined.

I guess if you’re going to sample Bowie, it’s probably safest to pick a sub-par, not-very-Bowie song such as ‘Let’s Dance’, though, really, I think Samantha Mumba has aced Craig in the Bowie stakes. While I can’t really listen to this song without thinking of that drinking and driving ad campaign that was out a few years ago, let’s close with a reminisce… By the way, note that our Sam isn’t wearing her seatbelt in the car. Geesh.

Of Montreal pimp their stage to epic proportions…

 

Just when you thought the Of Montreal stage show couldn’t have gotten any more theatrical, it did. Gareth and myself headed along to that Nokia Trend lab dealy in Crawdaddy over the summer and I thought it was pretty fucking mental, what with all those dudes dressed up with gold face masks and black robes. Sort of reminds me of the gimp in the basement in Pulp Fiction. Now Kevin Barnes apparently has a bigger budget and a brand new flashy stage. Would be majorly cool for EP next year. 

Deezer

Ignoring for the moment that the idea of a conceptual entity like ‘music’ having an enemy is a category error of such bizarre proportions it makes the War On Terror™ look like the Western front, the website Deezer.com is most probably well on its way to becoming labelled music’s enemy no 1 by the recording industry.

The industry has been wielding its might of late, in an effort to have web radio services like Pandora either shut down completely or made so unprofitable as to be edible. Is this a good idea? Do working musicians lose out when their audience stream (rather than download) their catalogue for free? Does the culture belong to all of us, or to to those corporations who’ve bought the rights to lend it to us? In the end it probably wont matter, the consensus amongst musicians and copyfighters alike is that the industry is in terminal decline. While it remains to be seen whether this will ultimately be a boon or a bust for genuinely talented artists, it looks in the short term at least, to predict more factory produced pop-pap raiding our airwaves - that what commodity means folks.

Back to Deezer, a website which allows you to stream an enormous variety of music, gratis; perhaps increasing sales in the process. Perhaps draining music of it’s implicit value, and turning the audience into giggling unappreciative philistines. Try it, or just criticise it in the comments and pretend you haven’t.

I Wish Wish Wish

www.myspace.com/robynmyspace 

Robyn’s the coolest thing in the world. We had the same haircut for a while. Then I got fed up having a different profile when I turned my head.

She can also spit some pretty cool rhymes. In these modern climes of rhyming ‘outrageous/contagious’, it’s nice to hear ‘outrageous/great but’. It doesn’t scan as nicely, granted, but neither does it scream ‘Xenomania (team behind most of Girls Aloud, Sugababes, Liberty X.)* wrote my song. OMGz!’. 

I wish she was my friend.

*Keavy from B*Witched is now working with Xenomania. Thoughts?

Dr Stringz

We now present everyone’s favourite multi-instrumentalist troubadour Andrew Bird, in a wondrous cameo as Dr Stringz; from Jack’s Big Music Show on Noggin, yankie Nickelodeon’s early learning channel.

Just in case you thought Jon Brion was only about the baroque pop soundtracks

For bonus points check out this all to short clip of Brion playing Radiohead by way of Tom Waits, in San Francisco’s wonderful Aoemba music store in 2004. Those of you unlucky enough to be visiting LA, can check out Brion weekly several days a month at Fairfax avenue’s Largo club.

Worst Interview Eva’

We’ve been pretty lucky here in Analogue land, both with the diversity and quality of interviews we’ve managed (and you won’t believe some of the bands we have lined up for issue two) to land. However, conducting a good interview is not always easy. The band or singer may be exhausted from travel, performance or endless rounds of inane questions; worse still, occasionally - and so far we’ve been very lucky in this regard - they may simply loathe being interviewed.

Imagine spending hours researching the life and work of an act, playing phone tennis with their management, stressing out, working through layers of PR, uncertain if your hoped for interview will actually happen untill the very, last, moment. Imagine meeting an artist, a person or group you utterly respect, and having them hate you.

This happened recently to Luke Burbank of NPR syndicated drivetime show ‘The Bryant Park Project’. Luke interviewed Sigur Ros. Sigur Freaking Ros, and found them to put it mildly, uncommunicative. Check out the video.

For an interesting glimpse behind the other side of the lens, check out this weeks blog post from the ever wonderful Stephen Fry.

Airports

Coming back from Manchester this afternoon was a delightful experience. Aurally at least.

It began happily as I waited to check in (+81 - Deerhoof). It got less charming as I waited some more to board (Ashes to Ashes - David Bowie). It was decidedly unpleasant when I realised that I was at the wrong terminal (The Dreaming - Kate Bush). When I arrived, unathletically, at the correct terminal, Marvin Gaye was a little much for my out-of-breath ears to handle (I am that unfit), so ‘Can I Get A Witness’ was turned off, along with my entire iPod for the duration of the flight. Landing on Irish soil, The Knife guided me through the labyrinth that is Dublin airport with ‘You Make Me Like Charity’. I was all set for a full-on Brendan Benson session on the aircoach home, but, alas, the friendly Indian man next to me wanted to converse.

From what I’ve written, it would appear that when I put my iPod on shuffle, it produces uniformly solid jams, such as the above. The truth is, my iPod is far too fond of Van Morrisson rarities, and despite all my best efforts, plays ‘Cleaning Windows’ about every five songs. On better days it’s ‘Gloria’….

xa

The Reformation Game

“We are the mods! We are the mods! We are the mods! We are, we are, we are the mods!” Or rather you were. But it doesn’t seem to matter to the middle aged men, many dressed like cabbies, out for their first gig since the early eighties, watching a group of men up on stage, all of whom look like cabbies, and indeed Rick Buckler was one until recently.

Then From the Jam kick off, in a perfect an tight set, and the gentlemen around me surge towards the stage in Tripod, then seem to remember themselves, and share slight smiles and half laughs with others around them. Foxton is brilliant, charismatic and utterly unchanged from when Weller walked out of the best looking band ever, and up his own arse. But then Foxton never stopped gigging, he moonlights with the Stiff Little Fingers, and genuinely seems to enjoy being on stage. When he does one of trademark little jumps, one leg forward, the other back, everyone holds their breathe, its one of rocks great moments, and another crossed off the list of must see before I die list.

Weller refused to come back, what with him being unable to answer the Frog Princes questions, so they got someone who sounds just like him, and off they went, to the sounds of unironic “We are the mods!”

The Jams reformation has been a quiet and low key affair, compared to some. Cheap too. And for so many thatís what the lure is. Mounds of cash. They look at the big beasts of rock, the Rolling Stones, at their never ending tours, with their sacks of cash littering up the place and think to themselves thats something I could deal with. Their own original cash is gone, largely spunked up the wall or down the taxmanís greedy throat. And so we get to our current situation, up to the balls in big band heroes getting together again to pass round the begging bowl.

Although some may think the wide spread fleecing of the fans to go to big stadium concerts for the same amount of money I have to live on for a week is the worst of it. It isn’t though, its the little corporate parties the heroes of my youth play. The Specials reformed to play Simon “Don’t look at me” Jordans birthday party and Christina Aguilera singing at a Russian business man’s wedding.

There’s another side though. I never caught the Jam in their pomp first time round, what with me not being born yet, or the Smashing Pumpkins, what with me being utterly uninterested in their terrible music, or the Police, for both reasons. I have am delighted that I get the chance to see them before they fall off the face of the earth all together (although with Sting this cannot happen soon enough), but I’m not sure how happy I am about doing it at cripplingly high prices, to fund the cocaine lifestyle of a wrinkling legend, holding out his hand for one last pay day, singing songs decades old, wringing out a finished talent.

Devotchka

Devotchka, a Denver-based quartet whose unique brand of music has brought them critical acclaim, stormed the tiny venue of Crawdaddy on the 24th of August in a display exuding vibrant colour and sounds that inter-railed through the melodies of Eastern Europe and South America.

The band strode out onto the stage which was cluttered with various instruments, a barrage of percussion behind a beautifully ornate accordion, and two guitars at its side as a mandolin kept them company, all the while under the watchful gaze of the domineering presence of an upright bass. Nick Urata took his position behind a retro microphone, scuffed acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, bottle of red wine in one hand, waiting in muddied boots while the other members prepared themselves; Tom Hagerman’s formal attire complimented with the delicate frame of a violin; Jeanie Schroeder, hair garnished with a red orchid, embracing her fairy light adorned sousaphone; and Shawn King who took his place behind them amid an assembly of drums.

Their array of instruments reflects their partiality for a fugue of different influences: South American, Eastern European folk and American punk with interludes of ballads and catchy pop. The culprit for creating such a unique fusion seems to be the monotonous ubiquity of rock that has greyed out in the US. “I was really burnt out on the whole rock ‘n’ roll formula of the US, and I just wanted to branch out and invite other styles into it”, Nick Urata, the lead singer admits to me, also crediting his move to Denver as ample inspiration. “There has always been a really kind of diverse underground music scene there … mariachi and kind of some weird western acts have sort of developed [there]. It’s always been sort of a transient city, people coming from all over bringing different influences”.

Having opened for such diverse acts as Gogol Bordello, Marilyn Manson and even a burlesque show, they credit their positive reactions to the fact that they are able to “touch on a little something for everybody”, although Urata admits that it didn’t go too well with Marilyn Manson. “Yea, his fans are kinda jerks. Well,” he concedes, “they’re just aggressive; most of them [pauses and thinks] are marginalized twelve year old boys. They weren’t ready for what we were doing”.

Having established an already formidable following in the US, they recently released their album ‘How it Ends’ in Europe and embarked on a European tour. They self-financed their first three albums which were only released in the US and signed a deal with a European label which brought about the European release of ‘How it Ends’, albeit two years after its American release. A little over half way through this tour and they have already a rapidly growing European fan base. “We’ve had really good reactions so far,” Urata comments.

Known for their live visual spectacle as much as their aural one, they have spoiled their audiences with aerial artists, belly dancers and video montages to enhance their performance. However, on the tiny stage of Crawdaddy, it would have been hard to clutter any of these in, perhaps explaining their exodus into the crowd, initiated by a nod of the head from Nick and acknowledged by Jeanie with a wry smile and a grimace as she manoeuvred her upright bass into the wings. The crowd’s slightly confused gazes followed her off the stage down the steps and into the area where we all stood bemused. Immediately behind her was Nick, his scuffed acoustic guitar in hand, Tom still grasping his violin, followed by Shawn who had swiftly replaced his drums with a trumpet. Taking intimacy to unexpected levels, in true Mariachi style they broke into their South American-infused song, ‘We’re Leaving’. Their arrival was greeted with an appreciative applause as they attempted to condense themselves and their instruments amongst the crowd.

As Hagerman’s fingers spider up and down the violin through a hopscotch of notes, you cannot help but join Urata in the admiration that he possesses for all the members of the band. “I was lucky enough to find some serious musicians, music students, players and these guys wanted to kind of give a go at it” he informs me, adding that he “was on the same page”. Jeanie demonstrates this musical dexterity as she freely trades her double bass for a sousaphone and vice-versa, while Shawn gallops through the rhythm of songs behind the subterfuge of drums but seems equally content to radiate the audience with the warm sound of a trumpet. It’s this vast musical understanding and bartering of ideas and sounds that allows them to create such a diverse and unique fusion that dips its toes into everything from Mariachi, Eastern European folk to American punk.

As they play through their songs, a cheer erupts from the crowd with the instantly recognisable introduction into their song, ‘How it Ends’. The song is taken from the album of the same name and also appears on the soundtrack to the surprise indie hit, ‘Little Miss Sunshine’, although its presence on the latter was attributed more to luck. “The director just happened to hear one of our songs on the radio in Los Angeles by chance and they heard something that evoked the sound they were looking for and we got in touch and started working together”. A score composed and performed mainly by Devotchka and earning a Grammy nomination for Best Compilation Soundtrack in 2006, the band were startled by its success in America and Europe. “It was a very small independent production when it started so we were doing stuff over the phone, there wasn’t any contracts or that sort of thing, nobody even knew if the movie was going to come out in a big way,” Urata reflects, adding that this contributed to his apprehension in licensing the band’s music to the film. “I was so wary at first, ‘cause the songs meant so much to me because some of them were pre-existing songs … so we had to kind of put a lot of trust in these people, and I didn’t know what the repercussions of that were going to be”. It’s hardly surprising therefore to discover that he turned down a McDonalds advert. Cringing at the very thought of it, he explains how “they chose a very personal, sweet song” of his and he “saw it associated with a McRib sandwich”. “I woke up the next morning in a panic,” he exclaims. “I couldn’t live with it”.

Playing through various songs from their earlier albums such as ‘Une Volta’ and ‘Supermelodrama’, they also included ones from their most recent album of covers ‘Curse Your Little Heart’. A risky endeavour for even the most accomplished artist to indulge in, Urata acknowledges that such an album can be a possible menace. “Yeah, I thought it was really risky, cause we chose some sort of sacred territory,” referring to such legendary performers as Sinatra, the Velvet Underground, Lou Reed and Siouxsie and The Banshees, artists generally cordoned off from emulation. However, with the band’s far-left take on the songs, they managed to bring a fresh and innovative twist to them. Although Urata comments, “I met the guy from Siouxsie and The Banshees last summer and he came over and I thought he was going to beat us up,” but he adds, “he actually liked it a lot. So that was kind of a good redemption and I think most of the other people are dead so we’re safe there … except for Lou Reed (laughs) … and he looks dead!”

After nearly two hours of vigorous performing, Devotchka relented to the time constraints and allowed their instruments some repose, instigating a perpetual applause from the crowd which ultimately degraded into shameless baying for an encore. Our efforts were remedied by the presumed return of Devotchka for one last song to satiate our short-term withdrawal, provoking syncopated claps and debauched dances to dapple the crowd. Closure was brought to the gig in the form of Nick Urata raising his bottle of vino to the crowd and defiantly knocking it back, affording a drop or two to the pint glass of an audience member.

As they embark on the final leg of their European tour, the future looks bright for Devotchka and promises a lot more characteristically kaleidoscopic sounds. “Luckily we’re just finished up another album. We’re almost done with it and that will be released quite soon by the company in Europe … not two years from now!”

So, will Devotchka be returning to tour Europe any time soon, I question, before the gig in Crawdaddy has commenced. He responds with prophetic words. “We’ll be back. If people like us, we’ll be back”.

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