Record Review - The Smoggers

THE SMOGGERS
Shame On You
Kotj 7"

The more "cartoony" garage-punk seems to get a bad rep on these shores, but on the continental mainland is rightly held in more respect. After all, if you’re going to make fuzz-drenched rock ’n’ roll what would be the point in taking yourself too seriously? These four adolescent minds hail from Andalusia are committed vinyl lovers and this single, on a new label set up by well-respected Spanish music journalist Óscar García, follows two recent 10” albums. 

The title track is your typical neo-garage organ heavy fuzz blaster played at 100 mph. A simple chord progression and chorus chant, elevated by some searing lead guitar playing. ‘It's Just Not The Same’ is perhaps my favourite of the three tracks on offer - it has enough of the screwed-up-and-pissed-off snotness of The Gories, The Gruesomes or The Trashbones to please. Turns out to be a cover of  ’80s Texan band The Delinquents. Excellent choice! ‘Jump Inside’ meanwhile doesn't pretend to have a melody: instead it’s a drum-heavy list of complaints and completely punk rock in spirit and execution.


These guys are playing all the garage festivals there are, so do go pogo to them soon and buy the single while you’re there! 

Phil Istine

Live Review - Roedelius

ROEDELIUS
Café Oto, Dalston, London, June 21 2012

Strange days indeed. The venue is rammed, stickier and hotter than a docker’s armpit, every square inch of floor housing an eager devotee of one of Krautrock’s founding fathers: outside, torrential rain pisses down, winds howl like banshees, and those in E8 soon begin to regret not bringing a jacket.

After a harmonically interesting and eventually climactic supporting set from Petrels, aka Oliver Barrett of Bleeding Heart Radio, and the obligatory extended drink-buying break (not too much outdoor fag-smoking this time, for aforementioned meteorological reasons) the hubbub of voices descends to a hush as the composer, 77 years young and still as irrepressibly unconventional as ever, humbly ambles on stage and positions himself between a piano - unusually, not the venue’s own- and an array of electronic devices. A few moments’ fiddling is followed by the appearance of several stark, low, quieter-than quiet chords, at which point it dawns on us: he’s started.

Nowhere else in my days as either fan, writer or even promoter can I remember a more subtle, gentle and inauspicious beginning to a show by such a heralded and revered artist, yet this is all very much part of the Hans-Joachim Roedelius experience. It also soon becomes apparent that this isn’t a gig, but more a recital. Nor if anyone else had performed this music would I be reviewing it here: truly, it dwells on the utmost fringes of Shindig!’s remit, only included by virtue of its author’s impeccable track record as one of the founding fathers of German progressive music in the 1970s; a progression still very much demonstrated by the man’s steadfast refusal to conform in any way to what people expect of him.

By this token, at least 65 to 70 percent of what is performed tonight consists of minimal, resonant and glacial solo piano, its nearest counterpart in recent years being the solo work of United Bible Studies’ Richard Moult or maybe some of the more meditative recordings of Current 93, and whilst this is no new departure - indeed, half of his solo work has been in this vein since 1978 - it still sounds entirely new and unfettered by preconception. The globular, tinkling electronics, swirling drone and occasional hammering assaults he popularised with Cluster, or the rockier, more song-based (by comparison) leanings of Harmonia, are largely absent tonight, although when he does move from piano to electronic keyboard, or tinker playfully with wires and devices (well, I assume this is what he physically does, but I am so entranced in thought at this point with both eyes closed, as probably is everyone else, that I can’t tell you for sure) it still creates the same powerful, ebbing, flowing worlds of sound so intrinsically associated with his best known recordings.

Not that, of course, he in any way plays up to this on purpose- you do not come to see Roedelius for a greatest hits set, and stand at the back yelling “Heisse Lippen!” whilst making metal horn signs, no matter how amusing it might be to do so. Anyway, both elements still move so seamlessly in and out of each other that there is no join to spot: bursts of sudden, amplified synthesized volume are followed yet again by ephemeral, barely audible pianistics which fall like raindrops slowly releasing in a pool. A shame, then, that it’s hammering down so much outside, the real rain almost threatens to aurally drown him out. A case of Hans Across The Water, maybe? Mind you, at least the elements are excusable, which is more than can be said for the twats outside babbling into their mobiles. There’s always one or two, isn’t there?

Sadly, just when the instrumentation locks into the first pulsing groove of the evening and the externalised nattering finally ceases, so does Roedelius: stepping to the microphone after a rapturous applause which the throng had withheld until they knew the right moment had arrived, he mumbles something about “enough for now” and proceeds to start unplugging everything. Is this the interval? No, that’s your lot. 45 minutes? I’ve waited at bus stops for longer, but then again, I do live in the countryside. True, we all know the adages of 'short but sweet', 'less is more' and what have you, but I can’t help feeling that the esteemed gentleman may be taking liberties even by those standards, especially considering that most people here actually paid to get in, some even after he’d started. Maybe the pillocks with the mobile phones wound him up after all, even though he seemed visibly unruffled at the time. Or, on the other hand, maybe when you’ve performed a piece (in several parts, but still a ‘piece’) of perfect music, it would be foolhardy to follow it with anything else.

The motive remains a matter of conjecture, but this was definitely the shortest concert I’ve ever attended (hardcore bands having their plugs pulled on them for encouraging stage invasions notwithstanding). Yet, the following morning, as I head homeward to the Shires in the definitely not minimalist downpour, a wry smile crosses my face, as it dawns on me that such foibles, maybe even pranksome japes, dwell at the very epicentre of Roedelius the live artist, and that he’s probably heading back to Berlin now in much the same way with the same wry smile spreading across his wise, chiselled features. Let us just hope, considering the transient nature by definition of such behaviour, that it won’t be too long before he returns in another of his manifold incarnations to play with us (and for us) again.

Darius Drewe Shimon

Record Review - The Movements / Angry Dead Pirates

THE MOVEMENTS / ANGRY DEAD PIRATES
The Movements vs Angry Dead Pirates
Pariah Records 10” split EP

With one side a piece and three tracks each, this split 10” EP finds The Movements, from Gothenburg in Sweden, squaring up to French band Angry Dead Pirates, from Toulose, but both bands also cover one of the other’s songs too. Ironically enough then, it’s the covers that prove to be the highlight of each band’s respective side.

The Movements’ cover of ‘Put Me Down’ is a fast paced shouty punk number with plenty of attitude and some mad wah-wah to boot, whilst they mine a more traditional 1960s garage vein on their own compositions – there’s also a great atmospheric Spaghetti Western feel to ‘She Said’.

With keyboards swirling amidst a barrage of fuzz distortion and echo effects, The Angry Dead Pirates certainly have a good hold on lysergic induced psychedelia too. Their cover of The Movements’ ‘Being’ is blatantly about LSD, and ‘I Don’t Mind’ is a Farfisa-fuelled garage goodie of groove-a-licious proportions.

You’ve got to hand it to the Scandinavians then, and the French for that matter, they don’t half know how to knock out a decent garage tune.

Rich Deakin

Record Review - The Silver Factory

THE SILVER FACTORY
If Words Could Kill
Elefant 10"

Pop music has a bad rap these days, what with all the bloody boy bands and manufactured one-hit wonders, but Leicester band The Silver Factory know what makes great pop music and with this seven track mini-LP on Spanish label Elefant they are taking pop music back. No gimmicks, no manufactured pap, no choreographers, just jangly guitar, unobtrusive percussion, lilting vocals and sweet, sweet pop.

Title track and opener 'If Words Could Kill' kicks us off with the guitars swirling, reeling you in with pure indie pop before 'I Am The Sign' hints at what The Smiths might have sounded like if they had more Byrds records in their collection. 'Comedown Cherry' comes across like something US band The Shoes would have been proud to call their own, while with 'The World May Bring Us Down' the percussion steps forward but even then it’s not obtrusive, just a shuffling beat to drive the song along, to keep you on your feet before 'I'’m Alright' has you checking to make sure you haven’t hit the shuffle button and come across an unknown Hollies or Twilights song. 'Flowers On The Scene' again touches on The Smiths but there'’s still that ghost of The Shoes hanging out too, especially in the vocals. Final track 'The Sun Shines Over You (Sitar Mix)' is a bit of a throwaway instrumental but it finishes the set with a groove and a smile and you certainly can'’t fault that idea. "Pure Pop For Now People"– - didn'’t Nick Lowe once say something like that? Well old Nick was onto something and so are The Silver Factory. Now it’'s your turn.

Kami Mcinnes

Record Review – The Roseline

THE ROSELINE
Vast As Sky
Nine Street Opus

American Neil Young lovers The Roseline's third album continues their affections for The Jayhawks, Ryan Adams and older vibes alike. If not quite as high octane as Ole Californio or as breath taking as the newly awoken Beachwood Sparks this is solid, smoky americana that fans of any of the above should pay repeated plays.

It's a crowded market (and the forefathers usually so much better), but The Roselines have both emotion and depth. Album closer 'Roll Around' is big on Crazy Horse guitars, Hammond and a big, vibrant chorus.

Jon 'Mojo' Mills

Tour News - The Wicked Whispers

We at Shindig! Happening can see a bright future for Liverpool's fab five The Wicked Whispers, so we suggest you catch them live early on this short autumn tour - before industry machinations inevitably corrupt them! A mixture of West Coast pop-sike and cosmic Scouse (The Coral, The Zutons) they write perfect pop melodies for hazy days.

THE WICKED WHISPERS UK DATES 2012

MANCHESTER - FRIDAY OCTOBER 5
@ The Soup Kitchen. Tickets £5adv
BUY TICKETS

LONDON - SUNDAY OCTOBER 14
@ The Social. Tickets £5adv
BUY TICKETS

NEWCASTLE - THURSDAY OCTOBER 18
@ The Cluny. Tickets £5adv
BUY TICKETS

GLASGOW - FRIDAY OCTOBER 19
@ Nice N Sleazy. Tickets £5adv
BUY TICKETS

LIVERPOOL - SATURDAY OCTOBER 27
@ O2 Academy 2. Tickets £6adv
BUY TICKETS

The debut single 'Dandelion Eyes' is available on 7" single and download from August 27th. Preview and order it from their website.

Record Review - The Crowman

THE CROWMAN

Songs From The Three-Eyed Crow

Twist CD

I’ve always been a bit dubious about one-man bands, usually associating them with kids’ parties, village fêtes or dodgy buskers. There are exceptions to the rule however, and in the last year or so I’ve reappraised my stance about some of these jack-of-all-trades troubadours. It must take some skill and dexterity coordinating such musical multi-instrumentation, as any one man band worth his rhythm stick will probably testify, and The Crowman certainly is – worth his rhythm stick that is.

By mixing up “blues, country, punk, steampunk and acid-folk” as his press release describes it – and that’s a fair enough a description as any – The Crowman certainly knows how to bash out a copacetic cacophony. The whole album, in particular the rowdier foot-stomping numbers like ‘Jigaboo’, ‘Lucifer Lady’ and ‘Bukowski’, would make the perfect accompaniment to a raucous party or drinking session, so crack open a casket, pour out the whiskey and get stamping those feet!

Rich Deakin