In my inbox this morning was a heartwarming Monday-morning surprise. Analogue under-rated indie favourites The Antlers are free-releasing a new EP, New York Hospitals to coincide with the NY-based After The Jump Fest this 21st of June. In ringleader Pete Silberman’s own press-released words the EP consists of “Two covers from New York-ish bands from around 1999 surround an original, entitled “Sylvia (An Introduction)”, intended to introduce the focus of the soon to be completed Hospice LP.” Last time we talked, Silberman chatted about his burgeoning My Bloody Valentine affections, and their influence can be heard seeping through the EP, as the three songs absolutely drip with reverb and ethereal vocals. Yet the New Yorker’s high-frequency vocals and increasingly orchestral compositions lend a particularly singular sound to a record with more cover material than original.

“Nothing Matters When We’re Dancing”, from the Magnetic Fields seminal 69 Lovesongs filters the song through some Mazzy Star aesthetics to spectral effect (get used to thesaurus-ized versions of the word “haunted” for this blog entry… comes up quite a bit). It is a deceivingly hopeful opener, and one look at the lyrics set the song up for an impending darkness. Silberman’s lyrics complete the Herculean challenge of matching the haunted chill Merritt’s own words invoke with second song “Sylvia (Introduction)”. He sings in his Elliot Smith-like vibrato ostensibly about Sylvia Plath (It made you crawl under that house/And stick your head under the stove), possibly from the point of view of Ted Hughes. Rather though, it seems like a personal allegory for a Plath-like person in his own life, and the spectres they carry through their lives. Their inability to cope with mortality at an early age “makes you sting/…makes you want to kill“, and Silberman, or Silberman’s character struggles to understand his Sylvia’s morose pain. Set against the same sea of reverb “Sylvia (Introduction)” is otherworldly enough to keep Yvette Fielding in business.

The closing Yo La Tengo cover, “Tears In Your Eyes” from And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out acts as a sort of desperate attempt to save the aforementioned Sylvia, with it’s assurances that “Darkness always turns into the Dawn.” A beautiful rendition, if not somewhat unmemorable, rounds a short EP off with the commendable feat of actually engaging with the source material of the songs Silberman has produced here, and is a promising opening salvo from forthcoming sixth album Hospice. Mind you, if it’s this macabre in the New York Hospital, I’ll be needing a much bigger thesaurus for the Hospice…

Get the EP here.

Ed Banger parties have a reputation for being a bit wild, and last night’s sets at Transmission in The Button Factory from label head Busy P and DJ Mehdi were not about to break the mould. Playing to a packed and wildly enthusiastic crowd, the Ed Banger head honcho took over from local boy Arveene shortly before 1am, and, opening with Sebastian’s Motor and Mr Oizo’s latest, Z, things got off to a rocking start.

Ed Banger has come in for its fair share of criticism recently, on account of a couple of lacklustre releases and the label’s extended association with the seemingly less popular US electro scene, but when you find yourself in an atmosphere of such reckless abandon, surrounded by people having this much fun, it’s difficult not to join in.

DJ Mehdi took over an hour and a half later and gave a set that lived up to his delirious standards. Looking slightly surly before the gig, as soon as he hit the decks out came that mile-wide smile, as he sang along to the tracks he was playing with all the delight of a kid on Christmas morning. His set encompassed the expected Ed Banger/Institubes/Boys Noize Records fare, together with other French stalwarts such as Daft Punk (until recently managed by one Pedro Winter, aka Busy P), as well as taking in influences from further afield, such as the Baltimore-inspired Be from Steve Angello and Laidback Luke, and Debonair Samir’s original Baltimore anthem Samir’s Theme.

The last time I saw Busy P and Mehdi on the same bill was a few days before Christmas in 2006, and, given the date, the crowd wasn’t huge. While a few characters surrounded the decks, the stage was full of dancing girls, with the odd stray male being promptly removed by security. This time around, a much bigger, and largely male, crowd ascended towards the stage, again meeting the same fate, all except for two girls who were called specifically to stay on stage by one of the DJs. What a life they lead.

The night closed in a slightly bizarre fashion – while Mehdi’s show in October with A-Trak ended with Junior Senior’s irritating Move Your Feet, the last track played this time around was The Buggles’ “classic” Video Killed the Radio Star. I scoff now, but maybe in three decades Junior Senior will be held in the same regard that The Buggles are today. Shortly after the music stopped, the fire alarms went off for an uncomfortably long time, prompting cries of “I’m in love the disco sirens” … Well, maybe it was just me. Midfield General is playing Andrew’s Lane in a few weeks time, maybe I’ll have someone to sing along with me then. Anyway, fire alarms blaring, P and Mehdi were led out of The Button Factory through hordes of adoring fans, male and female. After the reaction the two DJs had last night, one can only imagine how well a full Ed Banger lineup would go down on these shores. The guys themselves might like the venue, but I doubt The Button Factory could hold the multitudes that would flock to such an event.

First things first. The new Matmos album is considered their ‘pop’ record. To their fans, maybe. To the rest of us, well, not quite. Matmos you see, typically produce high-concept avant garde electronica that draws on sampled found sounds, and these boys will sample anything. You name it and they’ve sampled it. The sound of ejaculated human semen? Been there. The tap of an underwater mollusc shell? Done that. The soft tear of a human flesh opening under a scalpel? Matmos have bought the t shirt. It is only in circumstances such as these you can produce something like Supreme Balloon and call it your ‘pop’ record. For Supreme Balloon has at its centre a fantastic whooshing 24 minute Krautrock odyssey called Supreme Balloon. Pop? Emm, well its not going to cause Louis Walshe any sleepless nights. The track in question is a real period piece and surely a homage to the likes of Phaedra by Tangerine Dream, such is the smell of unicorn mane off its extended wibbly synth rushes.

The rest of the album, like the title track, is recorded exclusively from vintage synthesisers of all ages, shapes and sizes. However, the shorter songs are far more contemporary sounding and playful than Supreme Balloon. Best of these is ‘polychords’ which isn’t a million miles from Boards of Canada’s ROYBGIV, and bounces along in an exuberant rubbery way. Actually, rubbery is a pretty good adjective for the rest of the album. The music stretches, snaps, bounces and ricochets all over the place. It’s a veritable explosion in a rubber toy factory. It might not be to everyone’s taste, but if you have a penchant for experimental instrumental music served with a side-dollop of mischief then Supreme Balloon is for you. Now spark up a sneaky bowl and turn up the title track. It’s time to imagine you’re flying your pet rainbow-coloured animated unicorn over the pyramids.

Matmos play the Andrew’s Lane Theatre as part of the Future Days festival on June 12th. They’ll be backed up by the excellent Si Schroeder.

Pic by Loreana Rushe

Noise is great. Hands up who likes noise? And I mean proper, loud noise. Like the dizzying, distorted blast of chart techno you hear every time you hurl toward the centre of a trashy fairground ride, or the endless thunder of a waterfall up close. It quickens the blood; its powerful and cathartic. Times New Viking know this. The American three-piece (one girl, two guys) are all about noise, and tonight they bring it to Andrew’s Lane Theatre.

Before the onslaught all is quiet. When the band take the stage there is a funny muted feeling in the air. Its a Monday evening and, frankly, not many people have turned up. People stand around in clusters. The band tune up quietly. In fact they are so unassuming in doing this that there isn’t a clap or holler until they actually start to play, making me wonder if people initially thought they were sound technicians or some such. I fear the worst; a damp squib of a gig to a half empty venue. But then they play, and the torrential sound they make is so raw, so electrifying, that any such doubts are rinsed away in minutes, and replaced by a euphoric blood-rush brought on by this scuzzy, fucked up, yet utterly melodic pop.

Times New Viking don’t just do noise. They also do brevity. Tonight, the songs come ridiculously hard and fast. Tunes pile violently into each other like a twenty-car pile up on the M50, and the audience gape on like thrilled rubberneckers. Throughout, drummer Adam Elliot and Keyboardist Beth Murphy share vocals, most excitingly on (My Head) which ends on the demented chant “we need more money/ ‘cos we need more drugs”. His voice is viciously distorted, a ragged howl to match the mangled interplay between Murphy’s keyboard and Jared Philip’s guitar, both of which manage to sound like an entire army of banjaxed instruments. In fact, what is most impressive about the band tonight is how they manage to coax such a great wall of sound from a keyboard, a guitar and a drum-kit.

At around forty minutes the gig is aptly short and intense, but it satisfies. I’m left with a bigger shit-eating grin than a Cheshire cat and the conviction that Times New Viking are one of the most thrilling bands going. If they come back and play again, I hope its to a bigger crowd. They deserve it.

Pic By Loreana Rushe

The last time Foggy Notions had Jens play here, it was a stripped down affair in Whelans. Just him, backed up by his guitar, a bongo drum and a very special appearance by one Owen Pallett playing violin on a few songs. It was a remarkable gig. It was intimate, heartfelt and touched with more than a tiny bit of Christmas magic, no doubt helped by the fact that Whelans was newly redecorated and smelled of fresh pine-wood. He entertained, he charmed, and he pretty much had a capacity crowd hanging off his every utterance. Tonight, Jens returns to Dublin to what is perhaps an unfair weight of expectation.

Certainly, memories of the previous performance are fresh for many of the audience here, and I’m sure friends have been dragged along in tow with effusive tales of ‘that night’. However, as any seasoned gig-goer knows, the conditions that conspire for gigs that special are mercurial and lightning sadly rarely strikes twice. This, despite the presence of Jens’ full band (dressed up in varying monochrome colours like female versions of those disturbing Aussie TV children’s characters The Wiggles) and a sampler. Thats not to say its a bad gig. It isn’t. It just feels a little flat, rehearsed, and at times the band’s twee capers make me want to watch through my fingers in embarrassment. For example, at one point they all down their instruments, stretch out their arms and run circles around the stage pretending to be airplanes. Its like watching a community drama group getting in touch with their inner children. Its just a little too much for me, a cutesy contrivance too far, and I’m an avowed Belle and Sebastian fan.

However, there are plenty of highlights. ‘Maple Leaves’ and ‘You are the Light’ are delivered in a particularly rousing fashion by Jens, benefiting from the big band treatment. The full on version of ‘Black Cab’ makes an interesting counterpoint to the hushed version we were treated to last Christmas and thanks to the sampler ‘It was a Strange Time in my Life’ comes complete with the deeply peculiar duck-child warble that spooks the shit out of me. I guess tonight is ultimately about the type of music Jens trades in and how honest he can be to that. He trades in sincerity wrapped up in showmanship. His songs demand his and our full attention. Tonight he’s possibly tired, at the end of a long tour, and perhaps going through the motions. Because of this, what felt so real at Christmas now feels a little vaudeville. The original spirit is slightly lacking, making us more aware of the shiny, showy shell.

Coming straight out of art school, Times New Viking have been surfing a wave of “critical acclaim” big enough to drown Holland this year. Part of their selling-point seems to have been their intentionally poor recording technique. Because of their methods, ‘Rip It Off’ sounds quite a bit like it’s been fed through a distortion pedal and a phone speaker. Of course, many other bands have used home-recording to make albums nowhere this abjectly noisy, so the question must be asked - is the DIY thing affected? It’s hard to see another way of explaining it off. The fuzz acts like a built-in excuse, a buffer between the band and the listener. It even makes listening to them slightly painful.So it can get annoying.

Luckily, there is an excellent album somewhere underneath. They make a very American brand of guitar-driven indie pop, as it sounded circa 1994. Names like Yo La Tengo and Guided By Voices spring to mind throughout, and while Times New Viking aren’t necessarily breaking new ground, they’ve made a really endearing album here. Every song is short and to the point, with unschooled male and female vocals bellowing hooks and unpretentious everything else backing them up. It would be eminently listenable, if it wasn’t for the dense layer of obfuscating fuzz.

Songs like My Head and Drop-Out are insistently catchy, and they can switch gears with more sprawled (though still short) tracks such as The Wait. The highlight overall, however, is probably the last twenty seconds of End Of All Things. Fourteen tracks into the album and two minutes into the song, the fuzz drops for the first and only time, leaving two voices and a guitar. It’s like a revelation, a first glimpse of something that’s been on the cusp of appearing for forty minutes. It may take a little more time to get to the rest of the music, but it’s worth it.

Some songs on MySpace. Out now on Matador Records in a record store near you.

7 Guitars With A Cloud Of Milk is the puzzlingly titled sophomore effort from slightly cracked French trio Gablé. On a self-proclaimed “luxury DIY” label from London called LOAF, Gablé’s effort doesn’t really allow itself to be judged by regular album review criteria. It is best described as a sort of lo-fi pop cabaret, with different approaches and textures flying out of the speakers briefly and then being replaced straight away with new ideas. About half of the time, the songs are sung by a man and a woman, both with French accents. Nothing surprising there. But the rest of the time, someone with a vaguely comical English accent recounts stories over the music. These are generally quite funny.

The opening track, Noone Knows Why, tells of a group of people that depopulates gradually due to unlikely methods of suicide. The only track that beats this is the closer, Drunk Fox In London, which is a dialogue between someone extolling the virtues of the fox, and a fox planning to get drunk and eat people. It ends with a glitchy electro wig-out. There are a few of those over the course of the album. Apart from electro, retro French vinyl loops and elementary piano make appearances as musical backing.

It would be an overstatement to say that 7 Guitars With A Cloud of Milk is actually good. More reasonably, it should be called “interesting”, because it is undeniably that. Around every corner is a different reason to laugh or furrow the brow. A singular way to spend an hour.

Check out some tracks here. Album’s out on the 19th May, buy it in a shop.

As Richie Egan likes to point out one day he’ll be nothing more than a dead man who played the bass from Crumlin. For this tongue-in-cheek down-to-earth attitude I admire him. But there’s no need for him to be so humble, for with Jape’s current electro-rock sound he has ascended to the throne and become King of the Irish Underground.

It may be dubious to claim that Egan is still part of the underground, after all he has been around the Dublin music scene for almost a decade now, playing with Jape and The Redneck Manifesto. But whereas contemporaries such as Glen Hansard, Damien Rice and David Kitt have all moved on to bigger things following popular interest, Egan, bar the ‘Floating’ phenomenon, has never experienced international popular acclaim.

Maybe it’s because of the type of music he creates. The Redneck Manifesto, which he leads with his bass and freewheeling aplomb, are all about instrumental barrages of riffs and tight rhythms, a sound they’ve developed over the years and which has very much become their own. In contrast Jape began as a ’stoner-folk’ side profect, acoustica tinged with electronica. Hardly then the most popular of genres. Furthermore both groups have also suffered from a wildly exuberant live sound that has failed to translate well onto record.

If you’ve ever seen The Redneck Manifesto or Jape live you’ll understand. Their shows are intense high energy affairs, which Egan directs with ineffable charm. However their albums, although technically perfect, seem flat and austere in comparison. But has the time come to address these wrongs? On June 6th (or 9th, Egan wasn’t sure) Jape will release their third full length album Ritual. With any luck it will right Egan’s track record of underperforming albums. If the show at Crawdaddy last monday is anything to go by the new material is gold.

Support was provided by Robotnik who on first appearances seemed to be a karaoke act, however his set quickly developed into a boisterous electro-folk medley. Despite obvious resemblances to the headliner, Robotnik’s crowd invasion antics and his musical tale of an affair he had in prison: ‘I Found Jesus in the Year 2027′, won over most.

Jape launched straight into ‘Chirstopher and Anthony’ before steaming ahead into a set mostly made up of new material that hinged around the monumental ‘Floating’. Their sound was heavy, with a lot more electronics and rubbling bass than The Monkeys In The Zoo Have More Fun Than Me, despite the fact that Egan shunned his trademark instrument in favour of a guitar. ‘I Was a Man’ and the crowd pleasing ‘Phil Lynott’ especially stood out as future singalong favourites. The night was wrapped up with an acoustic two song encore culminating in a repeat performance of his self-professed favourite ‘Technology’.

If anything this show proved that they’ve still got the live appeal in buckets and spades. After an appearance at SXSW in 2007 Jape made some international waves for themselves. One year on hopefully Ritual will capitalise on on the recent momentum they’ve built up through shows at home and abroad. Let’s just hope that this time they can nail the album too.

Jape - myspace

For three dudes, Menomena pulled off an admirable coup in the Sugar Club on Friday night by playing a thumping good set of material drawn mostly from a complex studio recording process. Not only did they manage this, but they managed to transcend the strange physical barriers presented by the Sugar Club itself. This is not a club for a rock show. With its oppressive red drapes, ascending rows of fixed tables and stools, it is quite obviously built for crooners, comedians and cabaret performers. Its the sort of strange velvety place where Isabella Rosellini might walk out on stage, warble a song and collapse on the floor while her vocal eerily continues. Its not the sort of place you go to see three experimental young lads from Oregon play some twisted energetic indie. In my humble opinion Whelans would have suited Menomena much better as a venue.

Regardless, the show had sold out and in spite of all the jostling, those who wanted, managed to squeeze into places where they could dance and enjoy themselves. There was plenty of dancing. Maybe there was a bit of leap year craziness in the air but from the word go, the audience were lepping around as Menomena ripped into a set heavy with songs from their most recent album ‘Friend and Foe’. This was no mean feat as some serious instrument-swapping dexterity was required to tease out the various tricks and turns of tunes like ‘muscle and flo’ and ‘wet and rusting.’ It would seem that Menomena suffer for their art, judging by the steady streams of sweat lashing off the various band members, brought on no doubt by the instrument juggling. This was most notable in the case of sax player Justin Harris’s beard which looked like a hairy Niagra Falls by the time crowd-favourite ‘evil bee’ hit its crescendo. What struck me during this, is how easy it might be to mess it up, for a stray saxophone solo to fart unceremoniously over the wrong drum roll or something.

Yet, they never did mess it up, and managed to not only deliver the goods like a well oiled machine, but feel the crowd and respond to the enthusiasm in the room with a few spontaneous flourishes. And did I mention Danny Seim’s drumming? It was flippin’ breathtaking, a multi-speed acrobatic masterclass. I was watching with two members of bands who were both pretty much in awe at how Menomena pulled off their set. So Menomena then, I’d call them a musician’s band except that would make them sound technical and dry, and they managed to pull off technical proficiency with a good dollop of hard rocking fun. Shame about the venue though.

Words: Darragh McCausland
Photo: Loreana Rushe

Underworld, the era defining duo famed for their techno infused anthems, most notably their infamous Trainspotting cameo Born Slippy, return with a new release to coincide with their recent string of highly praised gigs.On this album we see them shy away from their “Lager Lager Lager” days and take a chance on some nice layering that creates broad ambient flavoured tracks like Good Morning Cockerel. In addition to this, songs like Glam Bucket certainly do the album title justice as its insistent bleeps dot its ethereal synthy climax.The inclusion of the beautifully illuminating melody of To Heal taken from the soundtrack of Danny Boyle’s Sunshine saves this album from its weaker moments such as Faxed Invitation whose organ conclusion arrives a little too late for complete redemption.For fear of neglecting their former fans, the album recalls typically sounding Underworld-esque tracks such as Crocodile and Beautiful Burnout with their trance like repetition, monotone vocals and floor shaking basslines.