I watched that 'Cadillac Records' film the other day. It's the story of Chess Records - the infamous label that launched the career's of Muddy Waters, Etta James, Howlin' Wolf and Little Walter.
Although the film may be a little bit of a vanity project for executive producer and actress Beyonce, and although it may be a bit inaccurate - we do allow for a bit of artistic interpretation.
Cynicism aside though, it is an entertaining film and the soundtrack is tip-top. Phenomenal soul croons and foot-shuffling beats mixed with the bluegrass beats and all the rock and roll associated violence, sex, booze and drugs makes this a worthy watch. It also got me into Little Walter. There's no point to this entry other than this song...it's brilliant...
Tuesday 7 December 2010
Bright Eyes Come To England
Conor Oberst has been a busy boy.
The tortured soul has been releasing songs since the age of 12. He's released nine albums under the Bright eyes name with a tenth to be released next year, titles 'The People's Key'. From 2008 Oberst then went on to release two albums with the Mystic Valley Band, travelling to the dusty dunes of Mexico, drinking too much and crafting amped-up folk-rock songs to a rapturous response. The two records with the Mystic Valley clan, 'Conor Oberst' and 'Outter South', demonstrated that Oberst was no longer affiliated with the fringe-flopped emo's who used to attempt association with the folk singer.
In 2009 Oberst then released an album under the title of 'Monsters Of Folk' with Jim James of My Morning Jacket and Mike Mogis who has recorded on albums by The Faint, Rilo Kiley and Bright Eyes. This was another stomp of variety for Conor. Time and time again he's proved himself to be more than just a folk singer. Analogies cast out comparing him to Dylan may be accurate in a sense that this man is one of the most gifted and virile song writers in the world, with ideas swirling around a cauldron of country-rock folk like some sort of Townes Van Zant shaman, but he's continually growing and can move away from the folk circuit as quickly as he can return to it.
When Oberst last played in the U.K under the Bright Eyes title it was at Glastonbury in 2007 (I believe - could be wrong) and under the influence the Omaha folk troubadour insulted one John Peel. But we'll put that in the past.
On June 23rd Bright Eyes will play the enigmatic Royal Albert Hall - a fine setting for such quaint bellowings of utter beauty. But take note! this is also the date of the Glastonbury weekend, so could Oberst be returning to that field in Sommerfet to repent for his sins? who knows, he works in mysterious ways...
The tortured soul has been releasing songs since the age of 12. He's released nine albums under the Bright eyes name with a tenth to be released next year, titles 'The People's Key'. From 2008 Oberst then went on to release two albums with the Mystic Valley Band, travelling to the dusty dunes of Mexico, drinking too much and crafting amped-up folk-rock songs to a rapturous response. The two records with the Mystic Valley clan, 'Conor Oberst' and 'Outter South', demonstrated that Oberst was no longer affiliated with the fringe-flopped emo's who used to attempt association with the folk singer.
In 2009 Oberst then released an album under the title of 'Monsters Of Folk' with Jim James of My Morning Jacket and Mike Mogis who has recorded on albums by The Faint, Rilo Kiley and Bright Eyes. This was another stomp of variety for Conor. Time and time again he's proved himself to be more than just a folk singer. Analogies cast out comparing him to Dylan may be accurate in a sense that this man is one of the most gifted and virile song writers in the world, with ideas swirling around a cauldron of country-rock folk like some sort of Townes Van Zant shaman, but he's continually growing and can move away from the folk circuit as quickly as he can return to it.
When Oberst last played in the U.K under the Bright Eyes title it was at Glastonbury in 2007 (I believe - could be wrong) and under the influence the Omaha folk troubadour insulted one John Peel. But we'll put that in the past.
On June 23rd Bright Eyes will play the enigmatic Royal Albert Hall - a fine setting for such quaint bellowings of utter beauty. But take note! this is also the date of the Glastonbury weekend, so could Oberst be returning to that field in Sommerfet to repent for his sins? who knows, he works in mysterious ways...
Friday 3 December 2010
Refreshed A Little..
Here are some songs i'm liking at the moment.
I've embraced the weather and the lack of buses to work has emerged favourably. Some songs i haven't heard in a while and appeared forgotten, and some new stuff which might not actually be new.
I've embraced the weather and the lack of buses to work has emerged favourably. Some songs i haven't heard in a while and appeared forgotten, and some new stuff which might not actually be new.
Thursday 2 December 2010
12 Dirty Bullets - A New Limb On The Body Of British Indie
In order to function and consume a product of nearly any nature, be it music, films, food, wine etc. it is the very nature of a normal, non-mental human to require some form of comparison in order to grasp their association with the product.
Critics and the like will constantly name drop people and influences and inspirations to a product because then the audience can conjure their pre-conceived perception of the item in question and whether they would benefit from the discussed entity.
Obviously this is frowned upon by musicians because everyone wants to be envisaged as 'original', but unfortunately, nine times out of ten this is far from the case. I get it though. You strive over your music for endless hours, you quit your job to pursue it, you break up with your girlfriend and then some ponsey, blogging prick (like myself) comes along with some utterly lucid comments and BAM! he defecates all over your hard work. But who cares? he's just a chronic masturbater hiding behind a computer screen.
Anyhow. Translucent comments are the bane of both musicians and critics, and it's a dangerous path to tred, comparing bands to other bands. But as i said, grievously, this is the human way - and we need it to function.
My problem with this whole facade is lazy journalists. Journalists who hear a london accent and see a bloke with a guitar and instantly spray images of 'Lad Rock' and 'Kasabian' and 'Brit pop revival' etc. simply because they're either too comatosed in their bubble to muster up the energy to go and see the band or because they really are that ill-informed and oblivious to the way the band actually differs from these mentioned analogies. But then again, their often right.
They weren't right, though, with 12 Dirty Bullets.
A lady at the BBC wrote about their 'well-used sound', 'the libertines' and even opened the bloody review with 'Hard-Fi'. Lazy. If she'd have taken the time to immerse herself in the raucous goings-on at the 12DB camp then she would have heard a whole lot more.
Lyrically rich in social observations that eb and flow with a backbone of sharp wit and an accurate eye, Singer / guitarist Jamie Jamieson hurls out contagiously hook-laden words like their confetti, casting them deep into the growling guitars that cascade their debut record like a tidal wave of distortion and distinct Britishness. On record, these are songs that embody a generation of young men and women in modern day Britain. Nights out on the tiles, boozing and birds, pubs and problems, the usual stuff, but the subject matter that transcends them into a grimey rock and roll band that cast them further away from the likes if Arctics and Jamie T than you first think.
The conviction in which these indie-rock punches are packed with is sincere on the highest level. 12DB's songs bleed with the grit of London and the stories they tell exude reality and sentiment and verve. They're not smooth-surfaced happy endings - they're the pennings of urchins scrambling urban playgrounds and dodgey tainted characters who you wouldn't want to meet down a back alley.
But what this young lady at the BBC clearly failed to do was to see the band perform these convincing roars of incendiary modernism's on a stage. Because if she had, she would have mentioned that the transformation of these songs from record to live performance is near inconceivable. They roar and pound with the ferocious vigour of rabid guitar-wielding rock stars. They cascade the scene with poignant wails of exploding vocals that induce flashing lights and a berserk audience response, primarily because it's inescapably up close in your mug - loud, booming and infectious.
'Rock And Roll Pretty Boys' begins with a subdued one-man-one-guitar enterence until crashing into a paced-out foot-stompin' indie-pop riot. 'Good Time Girls' and 'Black Roses And Violence' not only provoke urbanised hedonistic imagery from their titles, but they also bark with non-pretenious erruptive eye-gauging blasts that are nothing short of colossal.
A recent U.K tour saw them showcase a number of new anthems, namely 'Motown'. A howling judder of noughties indie-rock - and with this debut of new songs came the confirmation that 12DB are no longer still taking the tentative steps of a developing outfit: they are infact THERE. At the point they need to be, to make an impact, to demonstrate their ability, and just maybe, to change a few pre-conceptions of the couch-bloggers and the like. Swell.
Critics and the like will constantly name drop people and influences and inspirations to a product because then the audience can conjure their pre-conceived perception of the item in question and whether they would benefit from the discussed entity.
Obviously this is frowned upon by musicians because everyone wants to be envisaged as 'original', but unfortunately, nine times out of ten this is far from the case. I get it though. You strive over your music for endless hours, you quit your job to pursue it, you break up with your girlfriend and then some ponsey, blogging prick (like myself) comes along with some utterly lucid comments and BAM! he defecates all over your hard work. But who cares? he's just a chronic masturbater hiding behind a computer screen.
Anyhow. Translucent comments are the bane of both musicians and critics, and it's a dangerous path to tred, comparing bands to other bands. But as i said, grievously, this is the human way - and we need it to function.
My problem with this whole facade is lazy journalists. Journalists who hear a london accent and see a bloke with a guitar and instantly spray images of 'Lad Rock' and 'Kasabian' and 'Brit pop revival' etc. simply because they're either too comatosed in their bubble to muster up the energy to go and see the band or because they really are that ill-informed and oblivious to the way the band actually differs from these mentioned analogies. But then again, their often right.
They weren't right, though, with 12 Dirty Bullets.
A lady at the BBC wrote about their 'well-used sound', 'the libertines' and even opened the bloody review with 'Hard-Fi'. Lazy. If she'd have taken the time to immerse herself in the raucous goings-on at the 12DB camp then she would have heard a whole lot more.
Lyrically rich in social observations that eb and flow with a backbone of sharp wit and an accurate eye, Singer / guitarist Jamie Jamieson hurls out contagiously hook-laden words like their confetti, casting them deep into the growling guitars that cascade their debut record like a tidal wave of distortion and distinct Britishness. On record, these are songs that embody a generation of young men and women in modern day Britain. Nights out on the tiles, boozing and birds, pubs and problems, the usual stuff, but the subject matter that transcends them into a grimey rock and roll band that cast them further away from the likes if Arctics and Jamie T than you first think.
The conviction in which these indie-rock punches are packed with is sincere on the highest level. 12DB's songs bleed with the grit of London and the stories they tell exude reality and sentiment and verve. They're not smooth-surfaced happy endings - they're the pennings of urchins scrambling urban playgrounds and dodgey tainted characters who you wouldn't want to meet down a back alley.
But what this young lady at the BBC clearly failed to do was to see the band perform these convincing roars of incendiary modernism's on a stage. Because if she had, she would have mentioned that the transformation of these songs from record to live performance is near inconceivable. They roar and pound with the ferocious vigour of rabid guitar-wielding rock stars. They cascade the scene with poignant wails of exploding vocals that induce flashing lights and a berserk audience response, primarily because it's inescapably up close in your mug - loud, booming and infectious.
'Rock And Roll Pretty Boys' begins with a subdued one-man-one-guitar enterence until crashing into a paced-out foot-stompin' indie-pop riot. 'Good Time Girls' and 'Black Roses And Violence' not only provoke urbanised hedonistic imagery from their titles, but they also bark with non-pretenious erruptive eye-gauging blasts that are nothing short of colossal.
A recent U.K tour saw them showcase a number of new anthems, namely 'Motown'. A howling judder of noughties indie-rock - and with this debut of new songs came the confirmation that 12DB are no longer still taking the tentative steps of a developing outfit: they are infact THERE. At the point they need to be, to make an impact, to demonstrate their ability, and just maybe, to change a few pre-conceptions of the couch-bloggers and the like. Swell.
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