Bellyache Ben and the Steamgrass Boys
with The MFW and The Noise, launching Yum Yum Tree Records
@ Caravan, 9th December 2011
Sydney is now one record label the wealthier with beguillingly named Yum Yum Tree being launched at Caravan last week. Aiming to support the disparate breeds of music cropping around the warehouses of the Inner West, from the jazz-hued pop of the Elana Stone Band to the kitsch retro of The Cope Street Parade, the label seems set to wreak havoc. Or make a talented group of friends very happy in any case.
Tucked behind the carwash on Addison Road (smokers hurriedly scattering every time a vehicle rolls through), ceilings adorned with spaceman-costume alum, Caravan certainly provided an appropriate atmosphere of roaches (both kinds) 'n rollerdoors for the evening's entertainments. First up was experimental jazz / alt-rock trio The MFW (an acronym of the artists surnames, or the descriptive phrase 'motherfucking wankers' depending who you ask) launching their album Sus Scrofa. Aaron Flower (guitar), Evan Mannell (drums) and Ben Waples (bass) seem to have a habit of establishing rather laid-back indie pop song riffs that are then systematically dismantled into strangely funky blues-influenced improvisations.
Less funky though piling on the experimentalism were second support The Noise, a string quartet (tonight trio) refreshingly unreliant on covers of metal songs, instead ultilising their extreme instrumental ability to create a series of shifting textures, elegant but laden with primitive foreboding. Delivered at all times with immaculate control, this was improvisatory string playing at its unconpromising best.
For the last umpteen months, those in the know have been adjourning to Madame Fling Flongs of a Wednesday eve, to sip booze 'n Bourbon-based cocktails, lounge on the comfortingly mismatched comfortable lounges and listen to the angel-voiced neer-do-wells that form Bellyache Ben and the Steamgrass Boys. Having completed their case study investigating the "regular gigging is really the only way to really nail a sound" rule (turns out it's totally true), the fellas tonight moved into phase two with the launch of their self-titled debut album, a modest (7 track) selection from the dozens of traditional tunes and James Daley (mandolin) originals under their collective picks.
Highlights included Bellyache Ben's (otherwise known as Ben Daley) curmudgeonly rendition of unofficial theme-tune Willie Dixon's 'You Can't Judge A Book By The Cover', the fatalistic stomp of traditional 'O' Death' as well as the obligatory kazoo solo from bass player John Maddox. The Steamgrass Boys have come a long way in the year since coming together; aside from the thrashing they give their instruments, the real attraction here is their vocal chutzpah, the five producing harmonies of unwavering tunefulness and genuine soul – expect to see them hitting the folk festival circuit in the coming year.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The Rescue Ships
Brian Campeau is a jumbling mass of contradictions: a writer of experimental folk who is also an avowed metalhead; a sublimely generous soul (Campeau insisted on purchasing this starving writer lunch. Score. If you see him, buy the bloke a beer) who genuinely believes in the rightness of the writings of Ayn Rand; a singer of rare levity who enjoys deploying a similarly punchy bluntness of tongue in casual conversation. Indeed at first sight, it seems he gets off on giving the impression of being a total jerk.
Thank goodness then for the tempering influence of Elana Stone, jazz songstress, lover of slip 'n slide and awful cheese-related jokes ("what did the cheese say to itself when it saw itself in the mirror? Hallo Me." Shudder). Highly respected soloists in their own right, together they are The Rescue Ships, one of the most exciting pop acts to emerge from the warehouses of Sydney's underground in the last ever.
Named after their song of the same name ("like Iron Maiden" Campeau helpfully clarifies), the two halves of The Rescue Ships originally met through Stone's brother Jake (sometime Brag contributor and Blue Juice mastermind), first contact provoking "hot chemistry - musically and otherwise" (although "the otherwise is not so much anymore") and resulting in numerous instances of both sitting in on each other's solo projects before songs slowly began to be written in tandem.
"For ages we just played each other's songs," says Campeau. "And then we decided to go to New Zealand, as a writing trip specifically ... During the day we'd go sightseeing and do whatever, during the night we'd just write. We finished with seven or eight songs probably, of which we've kept three or four ... Since then it's been more of an idea like, one of us will have a snippet of an idea and bring it, talk about it, work on it together, rather than bring a finished song ... Elana's been really focussed on getting a good song together, whereas I've been really focussed on getting really good arty production. I think we have that common interest in making it as arty as it is songwritery."
"It was quite hard," continues Stone, "us both being lead singers - not [that we have] classic lead singer personalit[ies] or anything - but we were both just set in our ways of doing things. And we both have very clear ideas of what should happen and sometimes they didn't meet up, so it was at times difficult and someone would have to capitulate. And a lot of the time that would be Brian ... I've never made an album that was consistent before, and this one is consistent. I mean, we're not like great radio songwriters together. We don't really write hits. We just write things that we think are really beautiful and hopefully quite different from everything else."
Cooperation is clearly paying dividends though, the pair's live sound, set to grace ears at this year's Peat's Ridge Festival, being a vivid blend of the catchy and the oddball, Campeau's frenetically precise acoustic playing being gracefully complemented by Stone's accordion, the instrumentals being topped by the luscious harmonies of two of the city's best live vocalists.
In between seeking further avenues for musical employment (including taking on the Musical Directorship of Underbelly) and making ends meet juggling half a dozen side-projects each (engineering gigs for Campeau, work with Tripod, Blue Juice and even the odd wedding for Stone), the process of polishing the final mix of their upcoming self-titled debut has become a somewhat extended one. With the end in sight however, Stone is keen to move on to the next stage: "I just want to play really, play as much as possible. And hopefully to see people enjoying that."
First published in The Brag
Thank goodness then for the tempering influence of Elana Stone, jazz songstress, lover of slip 'n slide and awful cheese-related jokes ("what did the cheese say to itself when it saw itself in the mirror? Hallo Me." Shudder). Highly respected soloists in their own right, together they are The Rescue Ships, one of the most exciting pop acts to emerge from the warehouses of Sydney's underground in the last ever.
Named after their song of the same name ("like Iron Maiden" Campeau helpfully clarifies), the two halves of The Rescue Ships originally met through Stone's brother Jake (sometime Brag contributor and Blue Juice mastermind), first contact provoking "hot chemistry - musically and otherwise" (although "the otherwise is not so much anymore") and resulting in numerous instances of both sitting in on each other's solo projects before songs slowly began to be written in tandem.
"For ages we just played each other's songs," says Campeau. "And then we decided to go to New Zealand, as a writing trip specifically ... During the day we'd go sightseeing and do whatever, during the night we'd just write. We finished with seven or eight songs probably, of which we've kept three or four ... Since then it's been more of an idea like, one of us will have a snippet of an idea and bring it, talk about it, work on it together, rather than bring a finished song ... Elana's been really focussed on getting a good song together, whereas I've been really focussed on getting really good arty production. I think we have that common interest in making it as arty as it is songwritery."
"It was quite hard," continues Stone, "us both being lead singers - not [that we have] classic lead singer personalit[ies] or anything - but we were both just set in our ways of doing things. And we both have very clear ideas of what should happen and sometimes they didn't meet up, so it was at times difficult and someone would have to capitulate. And a lot of the time that would be Brian ... I've never made an album that was consistent before, and this one is consistent. I mean, we're not like great radio songwriters together. We don't really write hits. We just write things that we think are really beautiful and hopefully quite different from everything else."
Cooperation is clearly paying dividends though, the pair's live sound, set to grace ears at this year's Peat's Ridge Festival, being a vivid blend of the catchy and the oddball, Campeau's frenetically precise acoustic playing being gracefully complemented by Stone's accordion, the instrumentals being topped by the luscious harmonies of two of the city's best live vocalists.
In between seeking further avenues for musical employment (including taking on the Musical Directorship of Underbelly) and making ends meet juggling half a dozen side-projects each (engineering gigs for Campeau, work with Tripod, Blue Juice and even the odd wedding for Stone), the process of polishing the final mix of their upcoming self-titled debut has become a somewhat extended one. With the end in sight however, Stone is keen to move on to the next stage: "I just want to play really, play as much as possible. And hopefully to see people enjoying that."
First published in The Brag
Kate Bush - 50 Words For Snow
There's only a few people kicking around with the time, money, skill, guts or inclination to pull off an album such as 50 Words For Snow. It's that rare thing: a musically and thematically unified song cycle. Tori Amos has given it a stab (somewhat wide of the mark) a few times in the last decade; Björk pulled it off recently with her striking Biophilia; Kate Bush has managed something of similar ambition, the seven tracks presented here unravelling with pristine and unhurried beauty.
It begins in isolate, Bush half-whispering half-crooning a snowflake's descent, falling helplessly through the void over a static piano ostinato. The listener is immediately plunged into an otherworldly, almost cinematic, space – a filmic preoccupation suggested by this year's Director's Cut. The music summons a peculiarly northern hemisphere idea of winter, Bush spinning yarns around the fire while outside the ice tumbles on the still, frozen world.
Wilder, far less mannered than 2005's Aerial, Bush has brought her uncompromising talents to bear on cathedral-size canvases, bringing to the foreground a wonder at the missing, the intangible. Whether it be the girl on 'Misty' waking to find her snowman lover vanished, leaving nothing but “dead leaves, bits of twisted branches” or the Shepherds and Sherpas who find no trace of the 'Wild Man' but “footprints in the snow”, everywhere there is an aching pain at a vanished presence. See for confirmation the surprisingly palatable duet with Elton John, 'Snowed In At Wheeler Street', in which immortal lovers are destined to forever cross paths that moment too late.
50 Words For Snow is the work of a perfectionist awed by the miracle of something coming from nothing, “born in a cloud”, dazzling and impermanent.
First published in The Brag
It begins in isolate, Bush half-whispering half-crooning a snowflake's descent, falling helplessly through the void over a static piano ostinato. The listener is immediately plunged into an otherworldly, almost cinematic, space – a filmic preoccupation suggested by this year's Director's Cut. The music summons a peculiarly northern hemisphere idea of winter, Bush spinning yarns around the fire while outside the ice tumbles on the still, frozen world.
Wilder, far less mannered than 2005's Aerial, Bush has brought her uncompromising talents to bear on cathedral-size canvases, bringing to the foreground a wonder at the missing, the intangible. Whether it be the girl on 'Misty' waking to find her snowman lover vanished, leaving nothing but “dead leaves, bits of twisted branches” or the Shepherds and Sherpas who find no trace of the 'Wild Man' but “footprints in the snow”, everywhere there is an aching pain at a vanished presence. See for confirmation the surprisingly palatable duet with Elton John, 'Snowed In At Wheeler Street', in which immortal lovers are destined to forever cross paths that moment too late.
50 Words For Snow is the work of a perfectionist awed by the miracle of something coming from nothing, “born in a cloud”, dazzling and impermanent.
First published in The Brag
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