Oh I'm Surprised...

Few things on the cards...

The Crookes


Way over a year ago I booked The Crookes to play a night in Southampton and subsequently, the Sheffield band came back and played three more shows for me, all of which were fantastic declarations of chivalry and the resurrection of gentlemanly conduct.

Monday saw the release of their debut album, ‘Chasing After Ghosts’ which has been put out on Fierce Panda. One thing that this was to signify was primarily a boost in production for the band. Their past e.p’s, although lyrically plentiful, were left impaired by weepy production that packed little bite of heightened edge.

‘Dreams of Another Day’ was their 2010 output and it just delivered a limp, lifeless gmaw on the underbelly of what could have been an accomplished selection of romantic pop songs. Thankfully, in part, things have improved some what on ‘Chasing After Ghosts’.

As well as including a handful of previously released demos (‘Chorus of Fools’, ‘Bloodshot Days’ and ‘By The Seine’) there are eight new tracks to gawp over. Evidently, The Crookes are still a band fuelled by Victorian romanticism and vintage china tea pots, eloquence, good behavior and the like, but with the punchier product comes more of a snap and ‘Godless Girl’ obscurely morphs, in parts, to an unexpected Kings Of Leon-esqe pop declaration that confirms they really aren’t as straight laced as you think. While the old demos remain my favorite, it’s worth checking out…

Godless Girl SAMPLE by thecrookes

Phosphorescent


Hailing from Athens, Georgia, Phosphorescent is the moniker of Matthew Houck. Houck previously toured under the name of Fillup Shack and in 2000, released his debut album before transferring his thoughts and energy to Phosphorescent.

As a folk band from the Southern states of America they obviously that untainted artery of rooted soul flowing through their hardened exterior that runs all the way from the bust-ups of Bobby Womack and the insane drugged-up ramblings of Wilson Picket to the Alabama park where Eddie Hinton slept for a year.

Phosphorescent - It's Hard to Be Humble by thebangpop

Deer Tick


I’m very disappointed in myself for not getting into Deer Tick sooner. Three albums down and the congealed, sandy rasp of this country-rock outfit has developed from waltzing Replacements-meets-Strange Boys country to the rendered gothic-soul of Deer Tick’s blackened soul – as heard on their most recent record, ‘The Black Dirt Sessions’.

Songs of bereavement and bereft have trodden the folk path for years since, and will continue to do so for years to come, but that doesn’t hinder the poignancy and heart-break of their haunting third effort.

Deer Tick - Twenty Miles by Partisan Records

Josh T. Pearson

The first time I heard Josh T. Pearson was in Rough Trade – oh how absolutely cutting edge. But seriously, his second album, released February this year is titled, ‘Last Of The Country Gentlemen’, haunted the trendy 12 inches of the east end store like the ghosts of Lonesome Dove.

The second time Pearson shot into my vision was in the recent Uncut review, featured in March’s issue. This astute and accurately penned album breakdown was an insightful parchment into the warped mind of this shack-dwelling, bearded oddball. And as with all tortured country souls of his weary disposition, he is a troubled genius with a flourishing tale to tell that reaches peaks of alcoholism and depths of the darkest depression, blackened by fear and self-loathing and all these rancid attributes that bestow broken hearts and dying souls.

There was, however, shards of light creeping through the end of the tunnel as Pearson did an ‘Into The Wild’ and sold all his positions and moved into a ramshackle hut in the Texas desert. After a brief stay there he moved to Berlin where he created his latest album and then, illusive as ever, ended up on the banks of Paris where he now resides. Driven by his only hope left and a complete abundance of selflessness, he began to write again, fuelling his own self-mythological image by penning these pensive and apocalyptic country epics.

The aura of downfall and desolation that orbits his newest record sounds like the shadows of Texas themselves, creeping from the run-down homes and broken families and death that lies dormant in these desert towns.

I haven’t had enough time to fully immerse myself in the sorrow of this album, but the song below, ‘Woman, When I’ve Raised Hell’, suggests that anguish and woe may be removed from his own existence, but they certainly live on through the mysterious hells of his song writing.

Josh T. Pearson - Woman, When I've Raised Hell (Alternative Version) by Mute Artists

Various Cruelties

Plan B stating that he’s conquered soul was a bit presumptuous. In fact, it was a totally outrageous and ill-informed statement that holds little authenticity. The audacity of people these days is blood-boiling…

See, every once in a while an act like Plan B will hit the mainstream by shifting their original, rooted sound to a more polished, or possibly, totally altered outlook. These mainstream altering shifts then greet the public eye like a beacon of originality, and in turn, the audiences for whom this is crafted will leave their house, go to Tesco and buy their annual CD. This happens all over and it’s responsible for chart-dominating success, because think how many people fall into this category. Your parents maybe? Your sister? Your friends? – all of them.

Grandiose claims such as the one made by Plan B don’t affect the once-a-year CD shoppers though. Declarations and statements which burry themselves in the root-canal of music hold little stable ground with these music grazers, the deriding of soul means nothing, the alteration of sound is irrespective – but why should they care? It’s normal not to give a hoot, the oddities come from actually caring too much…

I was curious though, if Plan B has mastered soul and is apparently moving on to Reggae, where does that leave ‘Cold As You’ by Various Cruelties? Just teetering of the peripheral of Plan B’s conquered scene? Or is it a challenge? A fist-clenched challenge to the grime-turned-pop wordsmith? Nah, it’s more of an unintentional retort that disproves Plan B’s muggy, narcissistic presumption via oceans of fulfilling, Technicolor fore-frontal pop.

Various Cruelties stand firm, however, because the full-bodied brass and wavering melodious tones of Motown only hint towards their pop sensibilities. The London band formed in 2010 and have since supported Mumford and Sons, The Villagers and The Vaccines. An impressive roster of shows so far – and although personally I feel that means fuck all in the grand scheme of things, its something people like to write, so like the generic blog-mug I am, I’ve followed suit…

Various Cruelties - Cold As You by ListenBeforeYouBuy

The recently released ‘If It Wasn’t For You’ received some critical acclaim with its trembling surf guitar, undulating with mood and possession, but I feel the real extent of their sumptuous croons comes during ‘Chemicals’. Although extremely poppy and landing comfortably into the Brit-folk scene that emerged in the past couple of years, Various Cruelties lead the pack with throaty pouts and a sense of unaffected ease and comfort. At points it appears so perfectly delivered that you think you shouldn’t like it, but dismiss that moronic idea right out the window into on-coming traffic.

Various Cruelties - Chemicals by rockfeedback

There are many many positives that come from striving towards the polished product. They sound remarkably accomplished considering it’s still early for them, but most of all, the band wont have to alter any sound or direction to ‘conquer’ any form of popularity because they’re pretty much impeccable as they are.

Flats @ The Victory

I read the funniest interview with Flats the other day. In fact, it was less of an interview and more of a declaration of hate for various people. Firstly their fire-spitting angst and claims of just how punk they are teetered delicately along the line of cliché. “We’re the only band who are for real, out there smashing it,” stated bassist, Craig Pierce. It's dangerous territory this early on in your career, but you've got to admire the bravado.

The second thing that tickled me was frontman, Dan Devine, and his distain for mods as displayed in the visceral holler of 'Rat Trap', “I hate Paul Weller!, I hate The Jam!, I hate Roger Daltrey!” Someone needs a cup of tea and a nice lie down, I thought, as I sat there in my penny loafers and Harrington.

So I removed my paisley scarf and Wigan Casino t-shirt and geared up for Flats' show at The Victory in Dalston, with images of bloody revolt and murderous interaction swarming round my brain like the elated treasures of half-bit anarchy. It was quite exciting, if not a little scary.

From early on in the gig, the truth of these previous statements soon becomes clear and an overshadowing thunderous wave of sudden throttling noise is waved over The Victory by the dark hand of Flats. This is punk. Not garage rock or new wave hardcore or anything you might tend to bracket these guys in. It's an alarming projectile of anger, kicked in the behind by speed and the fowl, lewd bile of Dan’s uncompromising, rough slur that fuses The Damned, Ian Dury and Gallows into one fierce shrill.

‘Big Souls’ is a gutter-dwelling pit of doom breakdowns: unrestrained and feral, edgy and punchy, and equally as heartless as ‘Never Again’ with its rowdy, provoking overtones of fear-inducing wails. As Dan coughs up screams, his coiling and wiry figure seems unstable, but with a certain air of power about it. He will not be moved. I'd suggest you avoid eye contact because it looks like he might begin foaming at the mouth, ready to attack your face.

At points it’s hard to see a line of distinction between the songs, but then that’s the nature of this sort of burning onslaught: audio intrusion into the mind, screw with heads a little, bash about your thoughts of comfort into on-edge surprise. Don’t settle for any less.

So while Dan and co. hate everything except from themselves, I remain pleasantly surprised at the level of intensity knocked out by a band who are still taking their first steps. Their confidence is alarming (in a good way) and their arrogance sits well. But then what do I know? I’m off to watch ‘Quadrophenia’.

FLATS - EP 2 by flatsofcourse