Kudos to Melbourne duo Big Scary (or the management thereof) for landing the support slot tonight. With their breadcrumb trail of EPs having yet to lead to an album, opening for a Major American Rock Group is no small feat. They certainly deserve the exposure, the pair providing a toothsome showcase of their gentler side – the downside being that Tom Iansek’s sweetly warbling tenor was often overwhelmed by the friendly babble of a restive crowd. While this was mostly the sound guy’s fault, some material seemed a touch tentative, a concern that certainly didn’t apply to an innervating rendition of ‘Autumn’.
Midlake raised eyebrows with their third album The Courage Of Others, songwriter and scraggly troubadour Tim Smith’s fixation on the likes of Fairport Convention and Jethro Tull giving rise to an exercise in ’70s English folk revivalism with a peculiarly American flavour. The turn of the century log cabin shtick of the band’s breakthrough Van Occupanther gave way to ancient woods, fair maids and a deep and abiding melancholy. And such was the tone this evening, Smith performing much of the set comfortably seated whilst intoning lines such as “I will never have the courage of others” with an appropriate amount of gravitas.
Not that this was a downer in any way; the Texan septet generate a magnetic atmosphere with a decidedly old-school air (aided and abetted by the odd whiff of weed and the high ratio of grey hair scattered through the audience), while building some utterly electrifying climaxes (‘Core of Nature’ as a case in point). But while it’s difficult not admire the conviction and stature that Smith & Co. bring to their newer material, the VO favourites ‘Bandits’ and ‘Branches’ with which they chose to encore were like a ray of sunshine on the woodlands after rain.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 374, August 9th 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Arcade Fire - The Suburbs
Arcade Fire
The Suburbs
****1/2
Two albums down, and Arcade Fire have arrived at the most enviable position; they now have the time and resources to do whatever they want. It’s telling then that what they want is to return to the neighbourhood setting of their groundbreaking debut. Where Funeral was closely focussed on individual angst at the reality of death, The Suburbs takes the long view – the band bring their observant lens to bear on home territory.
For co-vocalists Win Butler and Regine Chassagne, the dormitories of the first world are the site of deeply conflicting emotions. Half-remembered images of after school shenanigans play like a home movie behind the apocalyptic fatalism of reality: full-time employment, mortgages, two-and-a-half kids. The Suburbs is as much an exorcism of personal cobwebs as it is a carefully aimed post-sub-prime attack on American complacency, and Wall St usury.
Butler is less precious lyrically than in the past, though direct as ever – in ‘City With No Children’ he asks, “do you think your righteousness / could pay the interest on your debt?” Musically, things tend towards the steady, complex mellowness of an album that will grow on you – punctuated by radio-ready amphetamine-fuelled, string-orchestra-backed dance anthems (‘Empty Room’), and hyper-accelerated electro whirls (‘Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)’). And there is nothing more exciting than ‘Ready To Start’. All in all, it’s a bit top heavy – and things start to feel flabby at sixteen tracks. The emotional peak of ‘Sprawl’ I and II, for instance, are reached only after some leaden purgatorial dross… But all in all, you’ll pay those dues.
First published, and featured as Album of the Week, in The Brag, Iss. 374, August 9th 2010
The Suburbs
****1/2
Two albums down, and Arcade Fire have arrived at the most enviable position; they now have the time and resources to do whatever they want. It’s telling then that what they want is to return to the neighbourhood setting of their groundbreaking debut. Where Funeral was closely focussed on individual angst at the reality of death, The Suburbs takes the long view – the band bring their observant lens to bear on home territory.
For co-vocalists Win Butler and Regine Chassagne, the dormitories of the first world are the site of deeply conflicting emotions. Half-remembered images of after school shenanigans play like a home movie behind the apocalyptic fatalism of reality: full-time employment, mortgages, two-and-a-half kids. The Suburbs is as much an exorcism of personal cobwebs as it is a carefully aimed post-sub-prime attack on American complacency, and Wall St usury.
Butler is less precious lyrically than in the past, though direct as ever – in ‘City With No Children’ he asks, “do you think your righteousness / could pay the interest on your debt?” Musically, things tend towards the steady, complex mellowness of an album that will grow on you – punctuated by radio-ready amphetamine-fuelled, string-orchestra-backed dance anthems (‘Empty Room’), and hyper-accelerated electro whirls (‘Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)’). And there is nothing more exciting than ‘Ready To Start’. All in all, it’s a bit top heavy – and things start to feel flabby at sixteen tracks. The emotional peak of ‘Sprawl’ I and II, for instance, are reached only after some leaden purgatorial dross… But all in all, you’ll pay those dues.
First published, and featured as Album of the Week, in The Brag, Iss. 374, August 9th 2010
Washington - I Believe You, Liar
Washington
I Believe You, Liar
****
I Believe You, Liar has been gestating in the brain of Megan Washington for a while now. Her three EPs over the last eighteen months have seen the former Brisvegan dabbling with various blendings of jazz, folk and pop, with mixed success but always with a quirky twist unmistakably her own. With her LP debut, her patience in establishing herself has paid dividends – it’s not just a collection of the most fully formed examples of a young songwriter’s craft, but an immensely enjoyable pop confection with a kick in the aftertaste.
Perhaps the biggest surprise is how musically upbeat so much of the material is; the extent to which you’ll go for a song like ‘Rich Kids’ depends entirely on how open you are to throwing yourself around the kitchen like a lunatic. It’s immaculately produced, radio-ready pop (congrats are in order for studio mastermind John Castle), tempered by the vicious flavour that is Meg’s fingerprint – lines like “I wonder how you ever made it / Holy shit, you sure can turn it on” (‘Sunday Best’) are delivered with a butter-wouldn’t-melt sort of smile.
Although her voice effortlessly carries the laughing challenge and knowing twinkle required by the songs, she’s just as capable of tenderness, wringing hard-earned eloquence from a line like “maybe people in love are all on the same side when they fight” (‘Lover / Soldier’). At no point is Washington anything less than utterly convincing; the searching self-interrogation of ‘How To Tame Lions’ for instance draws its power from the chastened understanding that can only come from having been there. And that’s a fact true of the album as a whole.
I Believe You, Liar is a strident first effort which promises even better things to come.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 374, August 9th 2010
I Believe You, Liar
****
I Believe You, Liar has been gestating in the brain of Megan Washington for a while now. Her three EPs over the last eighteen months have seen the former Brisvegan dabbling with various blendings of jazz, folk and pop, with mixed success but always with a quirky twist unmistakably her own. With her LP debut, her patience in establishing herself has paid dividends – it’s not just a collection of the most fully formed examples of a young songwriter’s craft, but an immensely enjoyable pop confection with a kick in the aftertaste.
Perhaps the biggest surprise is how musically upbeat so much of the material is; the extent to which you’ll go for a song like ‘Rich Kids’ depends entirely on how open you are to throwing yourself around the kitchen like a lunatic. It’s immaculately produced, radio-ready pop (congrats are in order for studio mastermind John Castle), tempered by the vicious flavour that is Meg’s fingerprint – lines like “I wonder how you ever made it / Holy shit, you sure can turn it on” (‘Sunday Best’) are delivered with a butter-wouldn’t-melt sort of smile.
Although her voice effortlessly carries the laughing challenge and knowing twinkle required by the songs, she’s just as capable of tenderness, wringing hard-earned eloquence from a line like “maybe people in love are all on the same side when they fight” (‘Lover / Soldier’). At no point is Washington anything less than utterly convincing; the searching self-interrogation of ‘How To Tame Lions’ for instance draws its power from the chastened understanding that can only come from having been there. And that’s a fact true of the album as a whole.
I Believe You, Liar is a strident first effort which promises even better things to come.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 374, August 9th 2010
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