I wandered lonely as a cloud

I’ve two nights at the Scala in KX and first up is Waxahatchee who I’ve sort of stumbled upon and really like the sound of. Gig buddy Pete calls me last minute to bail out due to some nefarious reason and so I’m on my tod. As I will be the next night as I managed to buy the very last ticket for Jagwar Ma. I know this cos the only site that wasn’t sold out wouldn’t let met buy 4, nor 2 and I managed to buy 1 and when went back in to buy another they were sold out. So after a delicious cabbage curry at home I head off into the rain and Northern Line to KX where I fail to sell the spare and go into the Scala. The place is like a labyrinth with three bars none at stage level with a crazy amount of doors and a smoking area which seems to be about 5 stories down but still in the open. It’s always busy with folk either trying to find a bar, a toilet, have a smoke or simply completely lost. I head up to the topmost bar cos it’s nice up there with plush seating but no one in it bar the bar maid and so I get a can of Red Stripe and head downstairs as I’ve never been one for chatting up bar staff. The crowd is pretty old at the moment and as it later fills up with young ones I guess people of my age cram in all the music they can whilst we’re still able to traverse the slippery steps of night clubs. A few on their own as well which in a weird way makes me feel less lonely.

COLOUR ME WEDNESDAY take the stage and obviously very happy to be here with us. Quite a few bother to hang around the dance floor too. The first wave of the evening hits us punters with a lush laid back sound morphing stoner grunge of the west coast, laid back bliss of further south punctuated by a hard assed New York punkier edge. I’m surprised when the singer chats with us in an English accent but I guess we always were great at taking American sounds and retuning them (Stones, Pistols et al). The front three are women with a smiley bloke drumming. Hard rock guitar big bass driving drums with a whimsical yet strong voice soaring over the top. Sounds great and the price of a tenner seems well worthwhile as this is the first of three bands. If you force me to compare it would be to Kate Nash and her current band with feisty singing and dirty rock backing if you recorded a live single and played at 33 instead of 45. Go down well with the crowd too.

Happy band Colour Me Wednesday

Next up are SWEARIN’ and for some reason I was expecting a laid back angst ridden mid west indie guitar band but instead got a much fuller barrage of big lush rock guitar getting folk down the front and nearly dancing. Well some were jigging about. Including myself. Sort of similar to the first band but genuinely American this time. Hard hitting from all on stage including the singer and thoroughly enjoyable. As I think the front woman is the sister of and used to play with the front woman from Waxahatchee I’m switching my expectations from angsty yanks to below the belt punches. I’m happy with that.

Swearin' at the camera focus

Turning my expectations around the aforementioned WAXAHATCHEE take the stage at least the main woman who starts us off with a few mesmerizing songs even though her brilliant voice has a right hard edge to it whilst being full and soulful. She’s a great guitarist too with understated indie guitar blues. Lovely. Then the band come on to join her and hit us with a full on rock set that would go down great at a festival and does so in our increasingly sweaty club. Each musician holds their own which compared to our heroine is no mean feat. The band go off and for an encore we’re treated to a few more from just the hero of the hour and she ends with a self proclaimed sad indie balled that trails off at the end leaving a stunned audience who take a good few seconds before we come out of our collective trance and wildly applaud. A great act and ferocious talent. A four letter word for tonight. LUSH.

Katie Crutchfield in mesmerising form - sorry rest of band your photo was just a blur...

... this may be Waxahatchee

Wednesday morning looking out over east London - beaming Jagwar Ma onto planet earth

The next night I’m straight from work with black suit trousers counterpointed by black and white converses and black Harrington. Only when I get home does darling Debbie ask me “you didn’t go dressed like that did you?” and collapsed with laughter when I tell her I’ve been dancing like a fiend. But more of that later. The weather’s kinder tonight and the moon is out. I fight past the touts wondering where the hell were they last night when I needed them but it’s always the way innit. We’re blasted by a named DJ tonight with a full on banging sound (DJ Richard Norris) including a great mix for us of a certain age of Blue Monday. Sets us right up although the crowd tonight has decidedly less oldies and I’d be surprised if most recognised it.

JOHN WIZARDS take the stage. Five shabbily dressed guys who play an enjoyable set of rock, African guitar rhythms, techno and just about any other genre from the 50s thrown into the mix. It sounds great and one of the guitarists is finger picking classical Spanish type good. A sort of OMD for all seasons. Although good they don’t quite get me to the right spot but a very acceptable start to the night. They’re sweet boys too the lead singer giving a shout out for his Aunty Doris who’s in the audience tonight. Felt sorry for the drummer cos most of the stage is filled with the main act’s equipment so the drummer is in a hole stage left. Is that as you look at the stage from the dance floor? Anyway you couldn’t really see him.

John Wizards from above

After a few more discs thrown by our resident DJ for the night he fades out and expectation is heightened. One guy who I don’t recognise as being in the band comes on stage to take up synth duties and as no one claps him I think we’ve a pretty unappreciative crowd tonight. I assume he is in the band but that my memory is worse than usual. But then the tall one appears to massive adulation which is doubled as the shorter guy in a felt beany hat takes the stage. JAGWAR MA go straight into the hits of their brilliant album which gets a lot of the floor moving about which is a relief cos we’re all squashed up like peas in so many pods. A great mix of modern synth anthemic dance build ups and bagginess I close my eyes and dance like fury imagining the Happy Mondays progressing over the years and morphing into a techno club act. And what could beat that? Towards the end they hit the level and everyone’s up for dancing, well a good part of the crowd on the dance floor, and they leave us panting breathlessly for more. Or maybe that’s my age and not having cycled or played footie for a month. Anyways they come back for an encore which sounds like a ballad compared to the rest and then the last song which is slowish building up to their forte of big baggy dancing just teasing us really as it seems to last only a minute or so before they bring us back down to the end of the set. A little bit of me wishes they’d finished with a bang but I guess it would’ve been heartless to leave us at a peak and as they say what goes up. So letting us down themselves is probably preferable than being brought back down to earth by the customary exiting shuffle around the labyrinth and being ejected into the clear night air that is Kings Cross. So I survive my two nights of loneliness without being arrested for stalking angsted indie dance kids the only psychological scars being those inflicted by Debbie laughing at the thought of me dancing on my own in front of trendy kids wearing a nicely creased pair of black slacks and baseball boots. I really must get a new wardrobe and find more friends to go out with...

What Jagwar Ma looked like

What Jagwar Ma felt like

A bonus photo at the Olympic park - very arty methinks. I was on my own when I took this one too.

Full Metamoono Jacket

It’s the night of the much anticipated Metamono album launch party and with two highly sought after tickets in my grubby mitts I head off into the night. Forecast torrential rain hasn’t appeared (it’s happening now Sunday afternoon as I write) and there’s a beautifully clear night with near full moon lighting up the few stray clouds drifting by. Gorgeous. Meet Simon on the train en route to Crystal Palace and after necking the canned G&Ts he’s thoughtfully provided we trek up the hill from the station. Catching our breath we stop at the pub at the top for a swift one, or three thirds in Simon’s case, and to catch up on life before music and socialising. Then a wander to Bambino coffee and second hand curio shop where the gig is bumping into one of the band outside. Paul’s wearing a white lab coat which Simon says makes him look like a butcher which doesn’t impress. I keep my counsel which is that he looks like a 70’s Hawkwind fan as not sure if that will be taken as worse than a butcher or not. Into the shop which is heaving with folk chatting loudly around the Instrumentarium with Mark stressing that us punters will spill beer into the synths’ valves and puts an extremely effect barrier in place, duct tape on floor, to stop us. I receive my hand delivered deluxe 180gm vinyl bespoked sleeve copy of the album from Jono and then after some dandy geezer standing on a box shouts the Metamono manifesto through an acoustic megaphone  the band are on.

For a longer review see the one of a few weeks ago in Norwood as unsurprisingly it is pretty similar. However tonight the crowd seem a lot more up for it and the band hit the high spots and get us all dancing a lot sooner. We seem to be feeding off each other and pretty soon there’s a whole lot of skanking and shaking going on to the big techno dubby beats and synthy bleepery. It's pretty hard core and trippy in places and and with visual weirdness going on too I half expect Nik Turner to leap out blasting his sax. So maybe the white coat was a nod in that direction after all. There’s no enforced intermission unlike last time out so we're bopping right the way through the long set until the crowd demand what I think is an encore tho it’s hard to tell as there’s no room for the band to go off stage if there were one to come back onto. They finish a great set to tumultuous applause and much back slapping and all’s left for me and Simon to do is to chat at length with friendly folk who Simon seems to know most of and I get to know. Including a Gooner from Lewes with who I share our delight at the goal of the season scored a few hours earlier by, well, half the team really. Very enjoyable evening all round and as we’re walking back down to the station I’m a little concerned that I’m finally getting into electronic synth heavy music. A bit like I drifted into enjoying jazz at Latitude. And I'm reading The Time of Our Singing and wondering if I should give classical opera a try. What on earth is happening to my punk sensibilities. I’d hate to think I’m growing up and maturing. After Simon leaves me at Streatham Hill I resolve to play my old scratched Exploited Punks Not Dead at high volume on the Sunday but instead I find myself listening to my new double deluxe album interspersed with a remixed dub version of Black Uhuru that Jono put together and gave me years ago as thanks for lending him Red for educational purposes. It’s been an odd week music wise after seeing Wilko Johnson on Monday dressed in a black suit with shaved head playing 70s pub rock stripped down band of guitar bass and drums then Metamono another three piece with a guy in black suit with shaved head playing 70s influenced electronic rock stripped down to analogue. The average age of both audiences was about the same but Metamono certainly had a lot more dancing and energy in the crowd despite being squashed into a shop with small bar (i.e. collapsible table) and one toilet. Both brilliant in their own way; see last post for godlike Wilko review. Cheers band boys and bar girls for a great night.

Paul Conboy in action

Left hand side a synthesiser, probably, right hand side a theremin

Writing this watching the lightning and heavy rain listening to the record which hasn’t quite the energy of last night's gig but is wonderfully chilled for a lazy Sunday afternoon. Oh god I’m enjoying a full on synth band and I'm gonna have to download some Can. My daughter’s verdict of weird sounding like Super Mario in space (a commercial opportunity there boys?) is not way off the mark but a result of too much X Factor. She found the Uhuru dub CD easier to dance to, Jono. As I’ve not said a lot about the band's gig last night I’ll include a review of the album which is my first so be gentle with me. I wrote it before the gig when listening to the download and it seems to have Trypnotism and Slippery Jack flipped in order. So if one of the track reviews is way off it’s because I’ve written all the right words but not necessarily in the right order as Eric M said to Andrew Preview...

With the compliments of Nuclear Physics. 

Unable to control my anticipation I download the album before I get my greasy paws on the vinyl at Saturday’s album launch party. I plum for the bog standard iTunes compatible MP3 spurning the urge to come over all hi fidelity with FLAC or Ogg Vorbis which sound suspiciously like virtual or real viruses to me. Not being a synth music expert or even a fan in usual circumstances this review may be a little off kilter and having read a few on line reviews I’m not sure I’m cut out for reviewing a genre I know little about. I'm also embarrassed in advance of meeting the band members again if I've slighted their music or written crap especially as my musical talent stretched to French Horn grade 3 and playing Peaches on the bass and not all of it either. The temptation to plagiarise more learned reviewers was thwarted as I either didn’t understand what they were on about or I failed to keep up and got bored reading. I didn’t have either of those complaints listening to the album itself and my rock and roll sensibilities were well satisfied by the track lengths going from a Ramones like minute and a half and none over 7 minutes. Good show boys. My sort of double LP.

Uplink is a gentle introduction to the beats and blips to come. Heavy bassy rhythm comes in making my speakers twitch but they’re cheap and attached to my PC so looking forward to blasting my vinyl edition on my main hi-fi system. (Later note, the album sounds much more solid, richer and rounded played on my deck and half decent amp and speakers). Linger Langour starts with disco vibe beat morphing into dubby disco smooth before building up the high end synths into mini crescendos and down again. We’re talking the rolling hills of England rather than jagged peaks. Rare Earth Rush does as it promises with the beat pushing us along nicely and the blippiness getting more urgent it is indeed rare with vocals which I swear name check my ancestral home of Somerset. Something about a trip down there where Simon and I grew up. Maybe the Ogg Vorbis edition would have made it clearer for me. Plums and Custard gets us more into a dance hall vibe with driving rhythm overlaid with coordinated tuneful synth sound mixing it up in your mind’s eye. Get’s my feet moving and head nodding taking me back to seeing Metamono live before gently lowering us into a stop. Dare I say it but we’re getting accessible. But I guess accessible is in the ear of the listener.

Blessed Space puts a stop to all that anthemic dance nonsense and brings us back to basic beats sounding like thoroughly modern laid back dub. It livens up a bit towards the end and a bit of goat bleating in a Prince Far I stylee wouldn’t be out of place. Construct is a well constructed slice of electronica that brings us back to a more intellectual plain and the nearest to anything I can compare to namely OMD (the band, not an acronym for Oh My Days). Slenderman is a sleazy echoed swirly song with cheeky squeaky interruptions counterpointing the previous academia. La Grande Peur chills us out interspersed with shrill beeps and a riff that moves from lush piano to bass topped electronic organ.

Trypnotism starts with a darker edge before a cacophonic slice lightens things up then blends into a stride before jogging off to the end. Slippery Jack carries on running with more urgency to a regular clock blip before the ante is upped with a nod to the silliness of dance band blippery. (These are the other way round on vinyl). We get a little more mature half way through with deep throbs slowing us down before those pesky dance tunes over run us again and we tumble into a tangled dub vocal which I swear has the goat bleating I missed earlier. Deuce is the longest track and has the luxury of a slow beginning allowing anticipation of a build up into a dancing skanking beat which can then slow down and up whilst not feeling that we’re rushing around too much. Buzzy swirly sounds getting inside the head hover above the rhythm beat with each playing each other off to lead us on. Towards the end we get some classic high synth twiddling giving way to a classic driving low synth insisting on a bit of toe twitching before they both clash to a bloppy fade out. Sweet. Fezgate our 1 minute 26 second track is hardly an electronic version of Blitzgrieg Bop as I over optimistically anticipated but with old school rock and roll sampling at the start, at least the vocals, and frivolity throughout it’s obviously the nod to youth where the ephemeral rules.

This Constant brings us back down to earth with a sober fuzzy tom tom beat often sounding like out takes from the BBC Radiophonic workshop which must be trendy as I saw that at Latitude Jazz stage. The odd chatting is disarming especially over a mid eastern riff. We’ve strayed from the accessible path a bit here. Still on the untrodden ways Glowfade does just that by picking up a bit at times in a wry tongue in cheek tunefulness but not quite childish. The middle eastern influence is a theme by now and I realise that it’s a safe signposting to ways I recognise. But before I reach that I have to struggle through Just Real Enough which is either an early 70s snook at serious rock, a late 70s post punk attempt to be serious or a 10’s attempt to confound us all. I’m confounded. Stumbling back onto the beaten track I reach Funland with danceable beats punctuated by piano and happy synthy riffing and a fair bit of gratuitous banging about and Clangers-ish whistling. Was it Funland the Soup Dragon lived? Ah no, it was Glasgow. Armillaria Solidipes wraps up the album very neatly combining laid back danceable beats with brain twiddling crunchy blips and bleeps rising and falling. The electronica equivalent of shoe gazing where you can’t help shuffling your feet nodding your head and closing your eyes. This is one track that should’ve gone on for 7 minutes but in half that time it abruptly ends and silence bar the groove lead out scratching. At least that’s what I imagine I’ll hear until I open my eyes and realise it’s a Dell in front of me and not a BSR... (update, did indeed open eyes as arm lifted off vinyl to settle back into off position).

Overall an album I really enjoyed from smoothly chilled soaring to head banging beats all the while brought back to earth with strong dub vibes. As with all great records it brings back the excitement of a live performance whilst giving you something else in return for being sat in your living room rather than being in a crowded sweaty venue with a speaker deafening your left ear. The latter obviously being much more enjoyable. I would say they're on their way up and could pack out and scintillate tents full of trance techno dance fans... but not sure if they want all that glory. And they'd have to get a much bigger loud hailer to get that manifesto across to thousands of punters at a time.

Wilkokoko

Was it really well over a year ago when I saw the magnificent Wilko Johnson Band at the main man's book launch at Rough Trade East. A lot of muddy water has flowed under the bridges of London town on it's way out to the Essex estuary since then and we've found out the awful news that Wilko has terminal cancer. True to form he seemed to take it in his stride and was philosophical saying that he won't have treatment and that it's given him a sense of euphoria and makes him feel intensely alive every day. I guess the greatest living guitar player who remains relatively unknown must have to put life into perspective on a daily basis. So he had his farewell tour in the spring this year and after falling very ill and cancelling dates I'd resigned myself to never seeing him again. I counted my blessings that I'd seen him so often and a couple of times in the last 2 years. But as they say you can't keep a good man down and he is certainly that, despite his Game of Thrones character which I haven't seen but apparently ain't exactly a saint. The ain't is like going out to the kids of Harris Academy of Upper Norwood yeah. But I digress. The illness seems to have faded and Wilko's off on another tour and I get tickets to see his second night at Koko nee the Camden Palace. Hence the title of the post and a nod to Vic and Bob's name for Ms Jonsson (no relation).

So, Debbie and I find ourselves walking briskly along the Embankment on a dirty wet Monday night huddling under a small umbrella making for Gordons where our romance first sparked. We get a table which is a rarity and possibly the result of a guy telling Debbie that she has a lucky face a few days ago. Following a lovely bottle of well chilled white Rioja we tube up to Euston and go for a very quick dosa and brinjal bhaji on Drummond Street. As the rain's stopped we wander on up to Mornington Crescent and after a couple of large snifters in the Hope and Anchor we head into Koko. The place looks like a Saga Rock Disco night and smells like a municipal bog. We spot 3 people under 40 the whole night, a brother and sister with parents and another very bored looking guy who I think was probably expecting Wilco. We grab a drink and go down to get a better look at the suited four piece who are Eights Rounds Rapid. They are a dodgy R&B karaoke as Debs observes with a very uncharismatic singer and a guitarist who thinks he has Wilko's legs. I guess at least they're up on stage and go down well so fair dues, but they're a little premature for a Wilko Johnson Tribute Band.

Next up are Ruts DC who are the remains of a brilliant punk band with the tragic loss of two of them (smack and cancer) and they now have a woman on vocals. After a dodgy start sounding like a Bob Marley tribute band (which to be honest is pretty impressive but not what is needed live) they go into some harder punkier tunes interspersed with the trademark heavy reggae dubby bass and drums overlaid with some great singing of political lyrics which is refreshing in these dark times. They get the crowd on side especially with the old favourites but it ain't a night for cutting edge music and by the end have both Debs and I bopping away. Possibly One of the highlights is It Was Cold which on hearing it now is a goth classic but I can't remember thinking that back in the day. They look far from goth in fact pretty dapper in their rude boy suits and hats. Punk rock indeed. The woman's not dressed so sharp in an old Ruts T shirt. They sign off by telling us that American punk wouldn't have happened without Wilko and British pub rock (not so sure about that) and by saying Goodbye and Thank You Music Machine (a previous punk and disco era incarnation of this beautiful old venue).

Ruts DC. Not sure why my camera is getting so poor...

And so the alleged father of the New York Dolls and The Stooges not to mention The Ramones takes the stage to rapturous applause. Ladies and Gentlemen, Punks and Rockers, will you put your hands together for the Wilko Johnson Band. We are treated to a typically brilliant set with Wilko gliding across the stage with his effortless guitar playing alternating between pre punk grubby pub choppy machine gun noise, choppy dubby off beats and 70s rock solo licks often merging all three so you're looking for the 2nd guitarist. Brilliant. And amply supported by Norman Watt-Roy on a massively throbbing bass pulsating through the venue's wooden dance floor all the while he's throwing agile shapes and with the younger Dylan Howe driving the beat on whilst the other two are playing with us and the rhythm. As I bop about to Dr Dupree I feel a bit maudlin wondering if I'll ever hear it live again but then I decide that I'm only feeling that cos that's the mood of the song and carry on skanking. Talking of which I think that Debbie and I were the only two actually dancing the whole night. Honest. A few were bopping their heads but most of the audience were stood stock still. Unbelievable. I even get told that I'm dancing too close to someone. The outstanding set comes to an end and the ageing crowd have obviously been saving themselves for applauding the band as they come back for two encores and we're treated to a bit of behind the head guitar soloing which we can forgive someone as brilliant and well loved as Wilko. As they leave the stage you can sense the crowd wondering if that's the last we'll see of him and a couple of strangers chat to me about how great a gig it's been. We concur that he looks pretty healthy, well no worse than he has looked for the last 20 years as he's always been gaunt, and we're pretty certain we'll see him again. I sincerely hope so. A true legend of British rock. Shine on you diamond geezer.

Balding stationary men - and I don't mean the band

As I finish writing this Stevie Gerrard scores and we like him for tonight. So we're on the way to Brasil. Lovely stuff. As me and Debs have Glasto tickets that'll be another afternoon missing a few good bands and instead watching Germany put us out in the quarter finals. Ah well, it's the anticipation that's the important thing. And as I don't think he's ever played I wonder if we'll see the Wilko Johnson Band at Glastonbury. And if it'll clash with the England game. If so then the legend that is the man in black will win out over the boys in white.