Selkirk's Frightened Rabbit

May 23, 2009

Following on from successful legs in London and Leeds, with better line-ups than Glasgow, some might have you believe Stag and Dagger’s final UK stop was Glasgow (another review can be found here). With acts like Wintersleep, Evan Dando and King Creosote at both Leeds and London, you’d be forgiven for thinking they had a point. But as I briskly stride uphill to collect my wristband, I decide that anything Leeds or London can do, Glasgow can do just as well. Armed with my schedule, notepad and ink-filled vessel, the saga begins.

First stop, NME Stage at the Captain’s Rest, and I indulge in some 5pm drinking, as I will do many times before my student status is cruelly rescinded in July. I catch the last song of Over the Wall, whose mix of electronic drums, keyboards and guitar has attracted a bumper crowd despite it being early in the day.

Next up is Glasgow’s very own French Wives who since I reviewed them eight days ago, leave little new to report. Stuart’s had a haircut, they still sadly don’t count Sarkozy’s missus or that one out of the Clio ad among their number- though they are still undeniably brilliant. Deliberately detaching myself from what I generally look for in their performance, I notice drummer Jonny’s exemplary bass pedal work and Stuart’s superb lyrics. The lyrics really speak as a snapshot for the city which shaped him. Each song stands as an image as iconic as the Clyde tower, The University of Glasgow or the Kelvingrove art museum, they speak for the city, almost as well as Alex Kapranos did on Franz Ferdinand’s debut.

No sooner has the French Wives stellar crescendo died down and it’s time to hot foot back to the ABC for Frightened Rabbit, made possible by a scheduling change, who are performing a special two-piece brothers set. The ABC is surprisingly barren upon arrival but quickly picks up during the first two tunes, from first album Sing The Greys as Scott announces, “So, this is what we sounded like before anybody liked us”. A flippant crowd member replies “no one likes you now”.

This is clearly untrue, the crowd swells and becomes more receptive as more familiar tunes from The Midnight Organ Fight are rolled out from ‘Fast Blood’ to ‘Keep Yourself Warm’ to the delight of the crowd, inspiring mass sing-a-longs among all present. Grant looks possessed from behind the kit and the entire set, though wrought with technical problems, has a rawer edge and evokes more aggression than the more rounded sound when performing as a four piece. Frightened Rabbit’s widespread appeal is sadly displayed as a mullet-adorned ned swaggers around and punches the air, as though a hybrid of Danny Dyer, Liam Gallagher and the singer from Kasabian – ergo the worst man ever to live.

There is barely time to catch breath before the second part of the Fat Cat double header, The Twilight Sad, take to the stage. Several members of the band are sporting a new look since last I saw them, guitarist Andy guitarist has taken a bic to his hair and combines that with a beard, while bassist Craig wears a positively terrifying all encompassing head mask. Thankfully, this is all that’s changed; the set opens with recently leaked new song ‘Reflection in the Television’ it’s the first new song played in a set peppered with new’uns. These songs offer an optimistic slant regarding the imminent release of second studio album, Forget The Night Ahead, due in September.

The set doesn’t forget how good their debut, Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters, was though playing through several old favourites such as I’m taking the train home and Walking for two hours. They are still impeccable anthems and despite an overly grandiose finale, which irked some onlookers, it was a real statement of intent particularly in the face of reported tension between members.

I dash, full tilt from the ABC back to the Captain’s Rest and as I scoff down a Ham and Mustard sandwich in 11.4 seconds I wonder if Usain Bolt could pull off such a feat. My thoughts then wander, as my lungs greedily steal the oxygen from my brain, to whether or not I’ve inadvertently stumbled across a new Olympic sport which I may bring home the Gold at London 2012. I decide on a two hour a day training strategy with a range of different sandwiches, a sponsorship deal with Subway before recovering my sanity to watch Paper Planes.

Paper Planes are snappily dressed for the occasion and on great form, they are a band I have meant to see for several months and the danger is that the experience is built up too much in your head, so as you can’t help but be disappointed, not on this occasion. Front woman Jen Paley dances about the stage, intermittently yelping over the music in a manner which defies her tiny stature. The conventional wisdom would suggest comparions to Yeah Yeah Yeah’s and you can certainly see the similarities, an excitable, American front woman and the coolest group of guys in Glasgow behind her. The sound owes a lot more to traditional punk, there’s certainly a kinship with the sound of Blondie with the elaborate fuzzy bass lines and reverby surf sound of the guitar, from songs Studio 45 to Diamond Diner, the band radiate energy and effortless cool. With an appearance at T in the Park and a support slot with The Horrors at Tut’s next week booked, this band is certainly one to watch.

I stick around at the Captain’s Rest for Tubelord, on the basis alone that they’ve toured with Tellison, who are simply magnificent and my faith by association is rewarded. The young band, who sound like they’re from London, summarise their sound through two of the tee shirts the bands members wear. The drummer is clad in a Fall of Troy shirt, while the afro-headed bassist wears a shirt proudly displaying the name Sky Larkin. It’s between these two bands sounds that Tubelord find themselves in, so halfway between Washington based experimental noise-niks and Yorkshire based intricate, hard pop. Think Johnny Foreigner, Forward Russia complicated guitar led pop, with a southern accent.

Next, a dilemma, selfish scheduling demands I watch EITHER Cursive or Danananananakroyd, having flip-flopped over the decision throughout the day, now, I can flip-flop no longer, nor sandal or any other implement of summer footwear. Armed with prior knowledge of how warm the Captain’s Rest gets, I decide on Cursive at Nice ‘n’ Sleazy’s and make a dash for the door. Again running full pelt I pass a gang of neds playing football who predictably shout “Run Forrest!” I contemplate stopping to point out that given my hair, attire and awkward running style, Napoleon might be a more apt insult, ultimately deciding this may exacerbate the situation, I concentrate on not falling over. I get to Woodlands Road and realise it’s not too late for one more flip-flop. I turn on my heels and head back the way I came, somehow slipping by the aforementioned neds unnoticed. I arrive back at the Captain’s Rest just before the one in one out policy results on queues around the building.

Danananananakroyd’s set is opened with album opener ‘Hey Everyone’ before launching headstrong into Watch This! quite literally. It takes lead singer Calum about three bars of introduction to throw himself headfirst into the crowd. It serves as a missile of interaction which is present throughout the entire set, Calum spends more time on the crowd’s outstretched arms than on the stage, a feat made all the more impressive when you consider how low the Captain’s Rest ceiling is. His summary is: “it’s nice to be back home, but why do we have to play in a shoebox?” It’s a set as full of energy as anyone would expect from Danananananakroyd set who has any prior knowledge of their self branded “fight pop”. The start is delayed because of the tricky stage dimensions not being ideal for their two drum kit set up, though when get going the crowd is about the most receptive I’ve seen all day, hits from their debut including ‘Pink Sabbath’ and ‘Infinity Milk’, among the biggest crowd-pleasers.

I dash up The Halt on Woodlands Road to see Paper Planes’ second show in as many hours before heading the deserted Art School for a nightcap and to watch CLARK spin some records before home, and I’ve made it. So what have we learned:

1. Glasgow has needed a festival like this for ages.
2. The Captain’s Rest has learned the definition of the word capacity.
3. The Art School is usually a bad idea.
4. The new Twilight Sad record is going to be sublime.
5. Frightened Rabbit are best as a quartet.

The End.

Marnie Stern

May 23, 2009

I’m not, by nature, a festival goer – too wary of getting covered in mud from top to toe, shelling out £10 for a half-cooked burger and all the other cliches/urban myths, but the idea of an indoor, city-wide(ish) festival appeals big-scale so off I trot to Glasgow on a Saturday afternoon in line with the second Stag and Dagger progressing from its first Leeds date to its first Scottish one.

The earliest shows are on at The Captain’s Rest, namely featuring multi-instrumentalist local duo Over The Wall. Rather bizarrely, they suffer a string of technical mishaps similar to the only other opening act I’ve seen at the same venue, also a local two-some (see here for more).

Like those previous troubadours though, they soldier boldly on and deliver an enjoyably energetic set of equal parts angst and humour with ‘Angela’, ‘Gimme 5′ and the finale ‘Keyboard Heaven’ particular highlights. Staying put we were soon in the presence of The French Wives, another local group playing good, solid indie tunes (the highlight of which was ‘Halloween’) and fronted by a singer bearing a passing resemblance to a young Thurston Moore or Beck. Featuring a violin throughout, they also augment their sound with an unexpected trombone at one point. Over the course of the day, this proves the bronze medallist of the megamix.

Shoving off from the Great Western Road berth, the next destination is Glasgow School of Art for Meursault, an Edinburgh band currently getting a fair amount of press. Blending knob-twiddling electro with mandolin and ukelele driven folk, and a singer with a pretty amazing vocal range, they bleep and bellow through a reasonable bunch of angst-ridden tunes including a Withered Hand cover. I can’t say I’m particularly blown away by them, though their cajon player is good and looks to be suffering for his art.

Shifting South to Sauchiehall Street and the smelly lower reaches of Nice and Sleazy for yet more home-grown talent in the shape of Findo Gask - and an enjoyable twenty minutes is had with their Simian (pre-Mobile Disco) meets Keane sound. A fair amount of instrument swapping goes on and hell, they seem to have Harry Potter on the keys. Thankfully their technical issues don’t put them off and ‘180′ alone is worth the experience. In need of something other than local groups by this point, I strike out for the Clyde to attempt to gain entry to the Classic Grand, who are apparently limiting festival attendees to a 100 maximum. Quite why they intended to do this is beyond me, as it’s clear this rather tasty venue hasn’t sold out the show that was taking place. On stage as I arrive are the Atlantean garage quartet Gringo Star so I quickly settle down to wallow in their no-nonsense, angst-free tunes. Great stuff.

Deciding against trekking back to the GSA and then down once more to where I already was, I stay put and am rewarded with the performance of the day next in the shape of LA’s Mika Miko. Coming across like The Donnas’ younger, less polished sisters with Darlene from Roseanne as one of their two singer, they look like they’ve all bunked off school to be there. Mika Miko deliver half an hour’s worth of what can only be described as pure punk. Obviously having a ball, they banter good-naturedly with the audience and clearly have energy in spades enough to do it all again at a moment’s notice. The crowd let them down by failing to create any sort of a pit, but that’s their loss. Headliners here are Black Lips and it’s clear the crowd are only really here to see them. They bring to mind live footage of The Clash at times, and carry the gig with aplomb. Over-excited punters are in danger of letting themselves down a couple of times, and for a while there’s a giant inflatable bottle of Jaegermeister getting chucked around atop them. Particularly rousing is ‘O Katrina’ from the Good Bad Not Evil album.

Northwards once more to the GSA for a quick look at The Phantom Band upstairs (very enthusiastically received by the large crowd) and then downstairs to get sonically pummelled by The Joy Formidable – that’s what happens next. Good drummers are often in evidence throughout the day but here there’s a monstrous sound forthcoming, each song was met with rapturous applause; they fully do justice to their great album.

Record Playerz warm things up nicely before I go upstairs for what turns out to be the biggest disappointment of the day. Tim Exile’s recent album Listening Tree is one I am eager to see performed live but unfortunately due to the worst technical trouble of the 10 hours of shows I see and the lack of a soundcheck, he has a ‘mare. At one point he is in the tiny crowd Pied Piper-like. He manages to play one song from the album plus a smattering of beats, bass bits and general gabba sorts of sounds and he doesn’t seem too happy.

Rounding off the night into the wee hours, we have banging sets downstairs from Art Of Parties and the much loved Dolby Anol while some chap called Clark let loose with some quite intense drum and bass upstairs to about half a dozen more folk than Tim Exile had attracted.

A grand exercise on the whole then and one that should be welcomed back next year with the only criticism being the distance between the two furthest afield venues and those in the centre.

French Wives

May 15, 2009

On a typical Glasgow night with shoes wringing from the skydiving precipitation one of the best new venues in the city paid host to some superb sonic nourishment. Up and coming promotion team Aerials, who operate in association with The List magazine, served up another fantastic night of Glasgow-based music. The night was kicked off by an acoustic set by Jonathan Sellar, main creative force behind My Cousin I Bid You Farewell. His set was peppered with songs from the imminent debut album and despite recent departures from the band, Jonathan appears to have kept his eyes firmly on the prize, the songs are incredibly well crafted Boss-esque tunes with a soulful charm and Jonny’s stunning vocals laced over the top.

From the honey-rich violins in the set opener, ‘Halloween’, to the stomping finale of ‘Me Versus Me’, French Wives display their frankly unfathomable songwriting talent, particularly in relation to their age as a band. Less than a year after forming The Wives have produced two five-track EPs, played every top night in Glasgow and even played at the last ever Connect.

In front of a star studded audience which reads like a who’s who on the Glasgow scene – from members of Brother Louis Collective, Paper Planes, Frightened Rabbit and, of course, yours truly – the young band display their strident steps not only in songwriting but also in general presence. Gaps between songs which formerly held pensive silence are now filled with full band crescendos and this makes for a much more fluid feeling and radiates unflappable confidence, all you want in a band. With festival performances booked for the summer, including Rockness in June, and the forthcoming return of guitarist Scott Macpherson from the USA later this month, I defy anyone to stand in this young bands way.

During the changeover, I contemplate many things including whether the finale of Lost will be good, if my shoes will ever dry and whether going swimming in Loch Lomand was a good idea. I decide that, despite a life-threatening bout of the sniffles, the answer is yes to each. Three yes’. Almost like Britain’s Got Talent, without the heart rendering back story about being a virgin.

Afro-headed, bespectacled troubadour Ross Clark is the headliner tonight and judging from the swell in crowd numbers, most people are here to watch his unique brand of country tinged Americana. Tonight Ross plays without backing band, The Scarfs go missing, though all star collaborations are very much the theme of the night, first up is Roslyn Potter of indie-popster six piece Washington Irving. Later in the night backing vocals are taken up by Louis Abbott of Brother Louis Collective, the songs are delivered with passion and an unmistakable talent. Comparisons with Ryan Adams are perhaps inevitable, though, I’d imagine, flattering they are lazy and saturated, and I see more in common with the emotion filled lo-fi of Built to Spill and certainly the invention of Neutral Milk Hotel.

While I’m not willing to chastise Clark for being too imaginative, as I don’t believe such a thing exists, without the benefit of a rhythm section the songs can often sound confused and disjointed. That is nit picking though, and I’m not a primary school nurse. It is true to say that when Fhearg and Davey, from the afore mentions scarfs, join Ross at the tail end of the set, the songs begin to make a lot more sense, particularly on highlight ‘Three Blind Wolves’. The Closer, ‘Anthems In Clams’, is as hauntingly beautiful as anything on Heartbreaker, particularly when delivered the to deathly silent room without the benefit of amplification.

Ross takes his evocative out of Glasgow next for a show at the Electric Circus in Edinburgh on Jun 7, Academy 2 in Newcastle on Jun 16 and a solo show at Kings College, London on Jun 17. He returns to Glasgow on Jun 24 for a performance at Oran Mor with Sparrow and the Workshop as part of the West End Festival.

Dananananaykroyd - Hey Everyone

Dananananaykroyd take themselves about as seriously as their bizarre name suggests they might. Some have taken to referring  to their stompy, guitar-led melodic inventions as ‘fight pop’, although it’s hard to imagine fighting to this unless it involved doing so on a bouncy castle dressed as a Pokemon.  Hey Everyone! is  the Glasgow six-piece’s first studio album and predictably, it’s a little bundle of energy. Big guitars, talkative riffs, acrobatic drums (Dananananaykroyd have two drummers) and excitable breathless vocals, it’s a fairly straightforward formula from the outset – there are no surprises here.

An awful lot of Dananananaykroyd’s buzz seems to have been generated by the live experience they offer, they’re a tight-knit unit, a spectacle of unabashed crowd pleasers. It’s clear that an effort has been made to infuse much of this into the record and for the most part, a pretty convincing job is done. Gang vocals stand in for crowd interaction and a slightly unbalanced ‘live’ feel still clings to the production, despite the obvious gloss.

There’s definite tones of their contemporary British rock predecessors also, the happy-go-lucky vocal chorus of ‘Black Wax’ brings to mind A at their best, while the brash, impetuous guitar slinging is at times reminiscent of a more optimistic Hell is For Heroes or a fresher –smelling Hundred Reasons, Dananananaykroyd re-tread this ground with a distinctly post-modern dose of self-awareness and turn up all the more entertaining, bolder results as a result.

Hey Everyone blasts past in just over 45 minutes and in that short time it becomes abundantly clear that Dananananaykroyd are experts in their very particular field. It could be said that the sound lacks depth, that the album fails to move or explore in any particular direction, but if Hey Everyone is underdeveloped it’s definitely perfectly formed. What it lacks in innovation it attempts to compensate for in enthusiasm – and the enthusiasm that bellows from this record is almost boundless. Dananananaykroyd might be a one-trick pony, but it has to be said, it’s a pretty cool trick. It’s hard to not to like the happiest guy in the room, especially when he’s really seems to want you to join in, but the party can only go on for so long.

Hey Everyone is a hyperactive listen, slathered liberally with oversized guitars and peppered with moments of fidgety pop kicks and is sure to win the hearts of a hardcore of fans who have probably been waiting for something like this to come along since late 2003. For the rest of us this effort might just lack the finesse, if not the heart, to stay on play rotation for more than a week. A small dose of this might be a cheap thrill, but for a full length album too much of the same ends up a little bland. On the whole extremely likeable but ultimately, unfortunately a little forgettable.

Zoey Van Goey - The Cage Was Unlocked All Along

Having been compared to the likes of The Postal Service and Belle & Sebastian (the latter justifiable in that this lot’s debut single, Foxtrot Vandals was produced by Stuart Murdoch), Zoey Van Goey have created an altogether intriguing noise for themselves. The Cage Was Unlocked All Along, is their debut album, and sees the trio proficient in creating an album spanning realms of both catchy folk-pop, and sombre yet buoyant melodies.

Opening track, ‘The Best Treasure Stays Buried’, begins on a somewhat solemn tone (the opening three chords would have little difficulty backing a scene in a teen drama), eventually picking up more of a rolling timbre that leads nicely into the succeeding track, ‘We Don’t Have That Kind of Bread’.

No, this one’s not concerned with baked goods choices; but rather the trepidation of a dozing couple that fear being abducted for ransom. It’s much more of a foot tapper, and has a gratifying, kitschy tone that will permeate a day.
‘Sweethearts in Disguise’, begins with the beguiling falsetto of a xylophone, adding to what is often a fairly childlike album. The track ticking with electronic blips and radar reverb, with its bittersweet melodies eventually building to an ensemble crescendo.

While some tracks may be slightly plodding in their attack, they often contain nuances of lyrical delight. ‘We All Hid in Basements’, a light stomp concerning the millennium bug hysteria proclaiming, “we would have to kneel before the wrath of the machines/so we all hid in basements and we stockpiled the baked beans”. Also on ‘With Two White Gloves’, which contains: “do you remember how me met/paying off our student debt/we had no other plans/ so we taught English in Japan”. Notions that will be familiar to many, seemingly obvious choices, yet they later delve into more cerebral issues.

The band’s debut single, ‘Foxtrot Vandals’ slams open like 10,000 Maniacs live, with a harmonic style similar to that of early REM. It’s an illuminating example of the bands ability to write catchy pop and is bolstered by the production of Stuart Murdoch.

Many tracks, such as ‘Cotton Covering’ are superb. Beginning simply but slowly building, the subtlety of an accordion adding a refreshing change from the synths which had previously provided an ethereal backdrop to the songs.

For the majority of the album, vocals are fulfilled by Kim Moore, with harmonic duties being carried out by the other band members. The tone is pleasing. Final song, ‘City is Exploding’, being a good example of this. Harking back to more traditional folk, reminiscent of the delicacy of Jacqui McShee and John Renbourne.

The album is very good. Slumbering tracks fitting nicely between faster, catchier ditties. The mood sways from still to racing. Lets hope it’s not too long before we hear more from this delightfully appealing three.

Jeffrey Lewis

May 1, 2009

It’s Day Two of Hinterland, the Whole Foods Market to the Camden Crawl’s Sam Smith ethos, and we’ve fallen in love with Glasgow entirely by this point. But no time for rose-tinted glasses, just a simple fact that we fail to see any acts short of at least noteworthy tonight. At all.

The first is Miss The Occupier, an unsigned trio purporting to love riot grrl and Sonic Youth but actually sounding a little more like Gang Of Four. Fronted by the sublime Roz Davies, it’s a fair enough observation that they wear their influences on their metaphorical bearskins, but they do it with panache. Maybe a tad unmemorable in the long run, but snappy and enjoyable for the moment all the same.

Two Door Cinema Club combine the one syllable, one note mentality of Vampire Weekend with the propensity for stadium-fill of Editors into something more interesting than most of the post-Foals club. Lacking the time to decide whether they fall on the wrong side of the Wombats/Envy and Other Sins divide (killable/laudible, in that order), they do the trick nicely for a cheery early Friday evening.

Something a little more challenging is occurring down the road at the beautiful Classic Grand, by the name of Juno !. Easily dismissed on first glance as duff, unfilleted post-nu-rave cod, it turns out that the seven-piece (I think) are to my ears what Art Brut are to my heart. With glowsticks wrapped around their glasses, they’re all simply adorable. The two frontmen jump around in a joyous frenzy, and the rest of the band play plinky, disco-led funpop including ‘Party Music’ and successfully bring the fun back in. And it’s a bonus that Bis’ Manda Rin appears for a song, a bit of a “wow, my gosh I’m in Glasgow and it’s buzzing and I bloody love it” moment to be quite honest. What a sap.

To continue on that affably foppish note, Sheffield duo Slow Club are back at The Arches ahead of the release of their debut album Yeah, So? They manage to pull in a decent-sized crowd with their cutesy tête-a-têtes, but any more self-depreciation and they’ll get a bit too cute. ‘Me and You’ et al are performed straight-up with panache, wry glee and a hint of disbelief. At one point, they come out into the crowd and play unplugged, which causes us to temporarily believe we’re in the middle of a Dickensian scene. Nice, but could do with being a smidgeon less ambrosial.

Good Shoes are one of our favoured incarnations of ‘London indie’, the jangliness of ‘All In My Head’ and ‘Morden’ making us go all woozy, but after seeing so many bands already over the course of the two days, the past tense just isn’t enough. Their set takes on new one/old one form, but we only last four tracks after realising that whilst Think Before You Speak IS a great album, Good Shoes aren’t necessarily going to hold up in the long term.

Instead, we head over to a bit of Ming Ming and The Ching Ching’s set – and their music is quite the racket. With one of the worst band names we’ve ever heard, we figure it worthwhile if purely for the spectacle. But as it turns out, they’ve got the straight-upness of mclusky, the stomp of The Sonics and the jauntiness of Au Pairs. Surprise of the night.

Leeds’ iliKETRAiNS are a small flight of stairs away, with baritone-led, epic pomp threatening to disintegrate the walls at more than one point. Dressed in a uniform suggesting they’ve just ushered a whole town’s population onto a steam engine, their material is dramatic beyond comprehension, performed as if a soundtrack. It’s shaping up to be a fantastic night and we’re struggling to keep up with our wishlist.

And so onto Jeffrey Lewis and The Junkyard’s lightning-fast brain at a packed, buzzing King Tut’s. Coming across part-devastating lothario, part-professor of the world, ‘The History of Punk On The Lower East Side’ is something else live. It’s a lecture interspersed with short samples of genres; it’s pin-sharp, incomparable. The nasal anarchism is transcendental, speeding through the concept of communism and the meaning of love just for fun. It’s strange that this guy hasn’t completely taken over the world.

And taking the intellectualism down to the disco is former Metronomy man Gabriel Stebbing’s new project, Your Twenties. ‘Caught Wheel’ proves Stebbing’s roots, the keyboard lines similarly GHB-laden, but the rest is altogether more California-birthed dream-poppy. Very fun and dance-encouraging, we’re wanting to see these pretty boys some time again very soon.

We Were Promised Jetpacks close proceedings to an excitable audience; wordlessly, their gratitude is jumping off their sleeves. While great right now, it’s perfectly rational to predict that a couple more albums down the line, ‘Jetpacks will have mastered the art of variation. For now, however, they are simply incredible live – far more extrovert than when we saw them play The Borderline in London a few months ago. ‘Quiet Little Voices’, their most straight up (and well-known) moment, is thrown away confidently early on, with later gems such as ‘It’s Thunder And It’s Lightning’ and ‘This Is My House, This Is My Home’ so full of crescendos that the band-members’ string-bothering hands must be threatening separation. And what a great name.

Thank you Hinterland – you’ve given us such joy. Here’s hoping that more people catch on next year…

God Help The Girl

In the three years since The Life Pursuit it would be totally unfair to say Belle & Sebastian’s fanbase has diminished, as any cardigan-cocooned fop will testify. But perhaps it is fair to say that anticipation of new output from Stuart Murdoch isn’t quite at the giddy peaks it reached around the time of the classy If You’re Feeling Sinister.

Interestingly, Murdoch has chosen to stake a step away from his band of merry Scots with new project God Help The Girl. ‘Come Monday Night’ is set to be pieced into a concept album of sorts, involving grandiose strings and a vague idea of storytelling, sound-tracking a musical film of Murdoch’s own creation.

This may all sound like the makings of an insane, Prince-esque vanity project but the track itself is a slice of ’60s indebted sweet and soulful balladry, swooning over a sunny London day. From the outset the track conjures to mind very prominent reference points of Bryter Later-era Nick Drake, with bittersweet vocals that could easily be mistaken for those of Nico. Lyrically, the song is very similar to Murdoch’s previous output, revelling in the quirky reference points and clever puns that made Belle and Sebastian so popular to the romantically minded, opting for a simplistic approach to daily monotony.

“Come Monday night/the day of work is done/Tuesday morning looms/the grey of ordinariness”

Rather than a ham-fisted attempt at retro-chic this naivety creates a charming and loveable atmosphere.

‘Come Monday Night’ is hindered by its insistence at aping its relative influences, but still manages to conjure up a slice of enjoyable sweeping pop nostalgia – despite never straying far from safe territory.

The Elvis Suicide

Seven songs in just over 12 minutes is pretty good going and the source of my only criticism of this release – it’s too short by far.

Following a musical path not often taken by Glaswegian bands in recent years the quartet have a sound somewhere between that of The D4 and The Psyclone Rangers – energetically punky and passionate.

That’s not to say though that the songs are all action and no depth, far from it. They manage to cram quite a lot in sound-wise, particularly on ‘All I Need’ with its handclaps and organ.

For me though ‘Hanging On The Edge’ is the record’s highlight. A more straightforward and in your face song than I’ve heard in many months and not even reaching two minutes. Anyone off to see The Black Lips in Glasgow on May 23rd is well advised to get there in time to see The Elvis Suicide on support band duties.

Frightened Rabbit

April 15th 2009

It can be heartbreaking to go to a live gig and see songs that mean the world to you disinterestedly rushed through by the band that originally wrote them. Songwriters get tired of their own songs, they resent people preferring their lovely little three-minute pop ditty to their four hour long song-cycle about the Eastern European public transport system. To see something so dear to you be treated as lightweight, something to be rushed through before playing some tracks from the new album, as an inconvenience, especially by its own creator seems to invalidate our own opinions and leave us distrusting our judgement.

As one of the many people around the world with something of a large emotional investment in Frightened Rabbit, especially their album The Midnight Organ Fight (large is perhaps an understatement – if my emotions were money, I could probably contribute a large part of the G20’s bailout with that investment), I was thinking about this on the way to their live gig at the Scala. I quite liked their recent live album, but it somehow didn’t seem to pull quite the same strings, and it’s now a year since TMOF came out; what if they’re sick of it? What if they spend the whole gig plugging a new record? WHAT IF NOBODY LIKES ME?

Anyway, getting to the gig just on time, after missing the much-lauded support acts We Were Promised Jetpacks and Airship (I blame the Guinness, your honour), we managed to elbow our way into the centre of the floor with moments to spare before Frightened Rabbit took the stage, looking about as unglamorous as it’s possible to be, much more like music fans (and ones who probably knew the lyrics and alternative live lyrics to every b-side – they had obsessive fans’ beards) than the terrified leporids who had managed to worm their way into my consciousness like Russell Brand into a convent school.

It became clear about twenty seconds into the first song ‘I Feel Better’ that my initial worries were going to be unfounded; they played slower, less crystal-clear and more embattled than on their record, with singer Scott Hutchison seeming to ignore the melodies he had sung on the record itself in favour of whatever seemed most appropriate at the time, which generally meant wringing every extra drop of melancholy and resignation out of their already heartbreaking songbook. At times, especially in the most desolate songs it was almost painful to watch. Far from being a performer, it seemed the song was being dragged out of him; in hymn for the cheated-on ‘Good Arms Vs. Bad Arms,’ one could imagine the act was happening right in front of him, and the despair and absence of self-belief in his voice for the line “I might not want you back, but I want to kill him” was not pleasant to hear, at all.

Not that the gig was an utter blub-fest; the songs that were perhaps less intricately threaded with his psyche shone, especially ‘Floating in the Forth,’ which was prefaced with a (comparatively) jolly little anecdote about how he worried his mother by stating he was moving to Fife to write songs for the third album, when it would appear in the context of the song they were about to play that “moving to Fife” was a metaphor for suicide. I guess you had to be there. The band did their best to lift the atmosphere as well, with some incredibly muscular drumming and guitar that sounded like they wanted to slice through the walls of the venue and out into the King’s Cross darkness.

They played all the “proper” songs from TMOF, ‘The Greys’ and ‘Square 9′ from their “shite” first album (his words), so there were a fair amount of highlights to pick from, but the two songs they played for the encore probably topped it. After leaving the stage to huge cheering from what was the biggest crowd that had ever come to see them play (or does he say that to all the audiences, the flirt), Scott came on to play a solo acoustic version of ‘Poke’, and when I say acoustic, I mean acoustic. His guitar wasn’t plugged in, and he didn’t use a microphone, he just leaned forward off the stage and sung out, his voice and guitar carrying easily around the not inconsiderable room. It was one of those moments where everyone falls silent (they had to or they wouldn’t have heard it – clever thinking) and really, really listens. It was stunning.

But it wouldn’t have been a suitable way to end – the rest of the band came on, accompanied by the extra member with thick glasses who was apparently a favourite with the ladies, or at least the girl I was at the gig with (apparently being a speccy mandolin player is in this season) and managed to transform ‘Keep Yourself Warm’ from a desolate lament about loveless casual sex into a life-affirming tower of song that didn’t just fill the Scala, it could have leaked out and filled the Emirates as well. This was the only gig I’ve ever been to where I felt totally drained, not by pogoing around like a tool into thick walls of thug, but just from experiencing it, and if that sounds cheesy just pretend it’s being performed live by Frightened Rabbit; it could move you to tears.

It’s also surely the first chance to re-see such delights as Wild Beasts and Good Shoes for quite some time, both of which will be welcomed back with open arms.

With more than 100 bands across the two days, Hinterland’s “primary aim is to showcase established and upcoming Scottish talent – as well as some of the UK’s best emerging and established talent”.

Mike Oman, organiser of Hinterland, offered the following: “The city has a rich heritage and history in the fields of both art and music. At the turn of the century Glasgow’s very own Charles Rennie Mackintosh – who was the UK’s leading exponent of the Art Nouveau movement – developed what is now commonly known in the art world as the ‘Glasgow’ style. In the world of music the city has also nurtured numerous world-recognised bands and musicians including Simple Minds, Wet Wet Wet, AC/DC’s Angus and Malcolm Young and more recently bands like Glasvegas and Biffy Clyro.”

Tickets are still (only just) available, via us, from here.