Tag Archives: The Zodiac

King Biscuit Time

The Zodiac, Oxford
25th September 2005

Previously a side project, King Biscuit Time is now the main musical channel of ex-Beta Band frontman Steve Mason. Very much going it alone, he’s set up No Style – a subsidiary of Poptones – with fellow Scot Alan McGee to release his stuff.

King Biscuit Time isn’t a radical departure from the Beta Band’s folk hop; Mason’s soft voice and distinctive half-sung, half-spoken pseudo chanting float above dancehall-, reggae- and psychedelic folk-influenced sparse arrangements of scuzzy bass, crisp percussion and choppy electronica breakbeats. The styles vary, from the decidedly hip hoppy recent single, the political C I Am 15, to I Love You, a mellow layering of piano and syncopated bass. Mason pleases the crowd with acoustic treatments of Beta Band songs like Dr Baker, and finishes with a chilled reggae/calypso cover of Anarchy in the UK – a strange juxtaposition of lyrical intent and execution – before playing C I Am 15 again for no apparent reason.

King Biscuit Time comes across as an act that will divide people. There’s very little to criticise: the performance is accomplished, the beats tight, the repertoire varied and the lyrics aren’t banal. However, I think you either “get” it or you don’t – and I didn’t. Mason will attract enough of an existing Beta Band fanbase to keep him afloat (or at least make gig attendance look healthy), but King Biscuit Time might just be too much of an acquired taste (like the Beta Band often were) to really raise pulses. The music is just so unassuming and understated; if it were particularly emotive it would be far easier to make up your mind, but it just meanders pleasantly and confuses. Perhaps if Mason had more material – only 12 tracks are played tonight – it would be easier to be subjective.

 

From Nightshift, November 2005

Josh Rouse

The Zodiac, Oxford
17th July 2005

Josh Rouse is a Nebraska-born singer/songwriter who lived in Nashville for ten years (until recently). These things alone could point to a meld of standard country-tinged solo fare: kind of Willie Nelson meets Damien Rice. Happily, tonight Josh has brought his four-strong entourage to the Zodiac to quash any pessimistic expectations.

With Josh, the emphasis is on the song, rather than its constituent parts or sound, yet it’s not hard to pin down particular reference points. The influence of The Smiths and The Cure are as easy to detect as that of Neil Young and Bob Dylan; the results ramble between laid-back Bruce Springsteen (It’s The Nighttime), west-coast The Eagles-like soft rock (Streetlights), British indie (Winter in the Hamptons) and even soul (Come Back) and back again. Songs like Under Cold Blue Stars (the title track of his third album) are blissful and mellow – perfect summer afternoon lounging music – yet still work in the dark confines of the Zodiac.

Some of his more musically upbeat tracks have bittersweet lyrics, and vice versa; Under Your Charms sounds particularly sad, but is lyrically rather winsome and charming. He explores both sides of love; his most recent album, Nashville, followed his divorce, and My Love is Gone is as much a paean to that love of the past as Sad Eyes is to hopeful new beginnings. Both are delivered as personal narratives with full conviction, yet warmly rather than uncomfortably.

Josh certainly has the audience in his thrall; Nashville is his fifth album, and through sympathetic mediums like Radio 2 he has quietly yet steadily inspired much devotion while remaining relatively unknown.

While he may not be everyone’s cup of tea, tonight he works hard to convert the waverers; in Joshworld, it could be any time between now and the 1970s, but he certainly makes it a nice place to be.

 

From Nightshift, August 2005

I Am Kloot

The Zodiac, Oxford
16th April 2005

I don’t have high expectations of I Am Kloot; the Manchester trio have been around for 6 years and 3 albums, but haven’t significantly impinged on my, or the record-buying public’s, consciousness. They seem to be one of those bands who build up a loyal fanbase but never get big.

Suitably for a band who arrive on stage to a classical fanfare, their sound is larger than the sum of their parts (guitar/vocals, bass and drums, with occasional keyboards by the bassist), even on the more acoustic numbers. They are very much tune- and voice-led; the instruments follow and complement the vocals, rather than try to equal it or compete. Their songs are complex, melancholy stories of relationships and situations – sometimes kitchen-sink, sometimes more opaque, like the slow and sleazy, wry and acerbic Twist, a song, according to singer/guitarist Johnny Bramwell, about “fucking and disaster”. The boozy and bluesy The Stars Look Familiar and Storm Warning could be crooned by disillusioned bar philosophers at closing time.

Their twisted tales stick in the mind; each track never outstays its welcome – the melodies are never overdeveloped or flogged, and the lyrics are succinct and mysterious. Their set is a brisk 23 tracks long, drawing mostly from the current album Gods and Monsters and their first, Natural History.

Most memorable tracks seem to be the ones where something different happens – like cymbal-heavy jazzy drumming (Strange Without You), prominent falsetto (debut single To You) or a prominent keyboard riff (Gods and Monsters).

I Am Kloot’s strength is the fact that they are based around Bramwell, who is also the songwriter; in fact, they come across more like a solo act with a backing band at times. Despite never being upbeat, they’re endearing for their honesty and brevity; but those things may just be what prevents them from becoming big.

 

From Nightshift, May 2005

Thirteen Senses

The Zodiac, Oxford
8th March 2005

Imagine the agony: four Cornwall youngsters meet at college, find common musical ground, form a band, draw their songwriting inspiration from their surroundings, spend years crafting their sound, move to London and get signed – only to find a trio called Keane occupying their space in the MOR indie scene. Those Cornwallians are Thirteen Senses, and this story tells you most of what you need to know about their sound.

However, all this doesn’t mean that they should be dismissed immediately. Their piano-based similarity to Keane may not be deliberate, but an unfortunate coincidence. Their non-piano tracks nod towards Coldplay and Elbow, but again it’s probably not deliberate; just a case of growing up in the same country in the last few decades, drawing on the same influences.

Singer Will South directs proceedings, either from his Korg or guitar – roughly half of the set is driven by each. Will introduces their first top 20 hit, Thru The Glass, as one of their few “jumping around” numbers; it’s also the only one I recognise, and the most memorable – anthemic rather than delicate, positive rather than plaintive. New single The Salt Wound Routine, on the other hand, is string-laden emotion, and best just described as “nice”.

For the four of them, they do manage to make an assured, large sound; nevertheless, it’s evocative, like a soundtrack to a childhood, though any child involved might be a bit bored after the 15 songs played tonight. The way they repeat hooks and layer parts thankfully makes the flat melodies a bit more listenable.

One supposes that their debut album – The Invitation – is a grower, but I don’t know whether I’d be willing to investigate; my initial impression hasn’t really left me hungry for more.

 

From Nightshift, April 2005

The (International) Noise Conspiracy

The Zodiac, Oxford
8th June 2004

I was apprehensive about seeing The (International) Noise Conspiracy. The sort of band to have played a 15-gig illegal underground tour in China, the Swedes’ political agenda is mentioned in their press more than their sound, so I was afraid I’d be pummelled into submission by preaching and prosletising, and left unimpressed by their music. They are, however, more focused than I thought, though in some cases the message is lost within some (admittedly fine) tunes.

Jumping around in matching tight leather and with hair like a Shockwave ad, T(I)NC start with Up For Sale, which singer Dennis Lyxzen eloqently explains is about revolution and changing the world; Under A Communist Moon, preceded by a lecture about Reagan, Thatcher and how much the 80s sucked; and Capitalism Stole My Virginity, explained as being about growing up in a world constricted by economic and social structures. Dennis introduces Like A Landslide as his yearning for modern-day counterparts of his childhood favourites – The Clash and the Dead Kennedys – who are willing to speak out, presumably along the lines of T(I)NC’s leftist socialist anarchism. But it isn’t all about politics; stealing the riff from Smoke On The Water, The Dream Is Over is about wanting to be a punk rocker.

T(I)NC come across as intelligent rather than just angry, and this makes them more convincing in their convictions. Their sound is a The Who-like functional fusion of late 70s protest-mod and 60s garage rock, driven by punchy guitars and organ.

Despite currently promoting their third album Armed Love, produced by Rick Rubin, they seem to have been overlooked in the most recent wave of Swedish garage rock, overshadowed by acts like the perhaps more stylish and aloof The Hives. This is a shame, though, as T(I)NC do their melodic protest punk quite well.

 

From Nightshift, July 2004

The Others

The Zodiac, Oxford
25th October 2004

The Others are one of these bands that are a cultural, rather than musical, phenomenon.

Only on their second single release, and with their debut album not due until the new year, they have nevertheless managed to amass a loyal fan base – or rather, a huge group of friends – dubbed “The 853 Kamikaze Stage Diving Division” after their antics at gigs. A leading promoter of “guerilla gigging” – they have held impromptu gigs in places like a London tube train and the Radio One reception – they are less of a band than a movement, with the music being almost an afterthought. Lead singer Dominic Masters apparently has over 1600 fans’ phone numbers; part of the band’s manifesto is “celebrity is an empty vessel”, and the barriers – both metaphorical and physical – between the fans and the band are noticeably broken tonight.

Masters sings about very personal subjects, like his marriage break-up, bisexuality, the deaths of close friends, and a drug-dealing mother; all admirable, but The Others’ live sound would be far more compelling if as much emotion and care had been put into the songwriting. Masters’ painful-sounding (though noticeably passionate) shouting is rather off-putting for the casual observer who has been drawn to the band’s live performance by their music rather than their message.

The bass-driven guitar rock of most recent single Stan Bowles – about the legendary QPR player, and apparently dedicated to Masters’ close friend, Pete Doherty – is probably the best indication of The Others’ sound. This Is For The Poor emits palpable anger and frustration; its them-and-us lyrics, like “This is for the poor and not the rich kids”, seem to be aimed at those suffering social injustice, or maybe just those who see it and want to join Masters’ let’s-complain-about-it gang. Whichever it is, it seems to be this, rather than their music, that is making The Others the current flavour of the month.

Simple Kid

The Zodiac, Oxford
18th April 2004

Cork-born ex-Young Offender Ciaran McFeely – AKA Simple Kid – is in a jovial mood tonight at The Zodiac, the last night of his UK tour. High on a wave of popularity brought by the number 38 placing of the recently re-released single Truck On, he’s a literal – and very competent – one man band. Just him in a stetson with a guitar, harmonica, drum machine and samples, his presence, banter and humour more than make up for the lack of bodies on stage.

Simple Kid is a songsmith – not afraid to write songs about what he wants to rather than what he feels he should do, satirising today’s world and the people in it in the process. Drawing almost exclusively from his debut album 1 tonight, the narrative current single Staring At The Sun is a perfect example of his style: European wit (“Don’t let your e-go…”) wrapped up in American vocal mannerisms and post-country chords. Not afraid to touch on controversy (“I tried not to laugh when Diana was halved because it don’t make no difference to me”) or from alienating a potential target audience (reciting The Sun’s statistics about the average man in, erm, Average Man), he’s partly Beck as a shrewd urban commentator, partly a more astute and socially aware Super Furry Animals, and partly a modern Irish Ray Davies. His sound is country, rock, low-fi and even a little glam, maybe a little reliant on the harmonica at times, but quirky, refreshing and insistent.

The encore – a vocodered and eerie Hurt as a tribute to Johnny Cash, June Carter, his self-penned tribute to Johnny’s wife, and Average Man screamed with conviction over a backing of Black Sabbath’s Paranoid – expertly sums up his apparent influences. Despite scarily looking like Kevin Bacon in Tremors, Simple Kid seems to be on the ascendancy, and rightly so.

 

From Nightshift, May 2004

Polysics

The Zodiac, Oxford
16th September 2004

polysics

At first glance, there’s no reason why we should be surprised by Polysics. Kooky, heavily Western-influenced, frenetic and video gamey, they seem to combine some of the most obvious characteristics of exported Japanese pop music. However, the Tokyo two boy, two girl band – named after an early synthesizer, the Korg Polysix – have more up the sleeves of their matching red overalls.

They tear through 18 short, punchy tracks – the length of their first proper UK album, the compilation Polysics or Die. The influence of American new wavers Devo is obvious both visually and in the band’s philosophy; however, musically they are faster, bouncier, more energetic and far crazier.

Guitarist and singer Hayashi is enthusiastic and captivating, yelping and shrieking a mostly unintelligible mixture of Japanese and English and squealing his way through frantic guitar solos. Kayo, however, is almost motionless behind her keyboards, occasionally performing robotic dance moves and adding vocodered vocals (most prominent on their electro-punk cover of My Sharona, their next single). Fumi, on bass, holds the madness together, her fingers moving like a blur at times, occasionally contributing very girly “yayay”s. Drummer Yano – supplemented by mini disc beats – copes with what must be very difficult speeds and rhythms expertly.

The set’s pace increases to a crescendo and plunges us into an exhausting barrage of riffs. Amidst the noise there are touches of pure beauty, reminiscent of the swirly guitar/electronic genius of Cornelius. Most tracks, like Lookin’ Lookin’ Ga, don’t have a recognisable verse or chorus – just short repeated hooks weaving in and out of each other. Kaja Kaja Goo and New Wave Jacket are more commercial fare but no less noisy. Kayo’s keyboards sometimes lose out to Hayashi’s raging guitar, but the electronic robotic synth sound is just as important in the overall mix.

In short – brilliant. Miss out at your peril.

 

From Nightshift, October 2004

Photo: © Richard Whitelock

The Ordinary Boys and Dive Dive

The Zodiac, Oxford
15th October 2004

Last minute replacements in support tonight are Dive Dive, who seem to baffle the Ordinary Army already amassed at the front. Currently promoting the single release Good Show and preparing for their debut album release in the new year, the Oxford natives immediately look comfortable in their skin – they have a definite presence, a distinctive melodic rock-punk sound and give the impression of “going somewhere”, albeit probably more critically than commercially. The angst of Jamie Stuart’s vocals complements some lovely guitar flourishes over sparse beats, and the whole thing descends into prog-type ramblings. On the basis of this performance, any acclaim is deserved.

The Ordinary Boys start with the early single Maybe Someday, whose lyrics “Waiting for some inspiration/But lack the human interaction” introduce their raison d’etre – promoting the cause of pissed-off, disaffected British youth. The first comparison has to be Morrissey; although much faster and upbeat musically, lead singer Preston’s vocals are a good imitation, which must be deliberate (they’re named after an early Morrissey album track, after all). However, they lack the lyrical articulation and eloquence of The Smiths frontman, or that of The Jam and The Clash – two other acts they seem to be imitating – for that matter.

Tracks like The List Goes On, radio fodder Week In Week Out and Weekend Revolution are poppy and punchy, yet err on the jangly side of “indie”. They play a fair number of tracks not on their Stephen Street-produced debut album Over The Counter Culture, but it’s hard to see how they can develop their sound; maybe they just need a big hit, or cult status. With their current output, neither of these seem very likely, though recent single Seaside (with its anthemic cry of “not gonna wait, gonna wait for the weekend”) is easily their best song tonight, even if it does lack the recording’s distinctive trumpets.

Preston mentions that they’re touring Japan after their current UK jaunt finishes; the Worthing boys are apparently huge there, and you can see how their very British pop-yet-indie sound and attitude is attractive. Why them – and not any other of the many similar young British bands around – is probably just down to marketing. Their familiar “modern life is rubbish” aura makes it easy to understand how today’s generation of teenagers could relate to them – too young for The Smiths, but needing lyrics they can identify with and accessible music that’s still alternative.

Tuneful as it all is, I can’t see how The Ordinary Boys add anything to the current music scene. I leave feeling that they lack something, though I’m not quite sure what; it can’t be originality, because sometimes quite unoriginal bands are much loved and very successful (Oasis etc). Even though they pack 15 songs into an hour, and don’t stick closely to one sound (their forays into ska – like on their cover of The Specials’ Little Bitch – work quite well), they don’t quite hit the mark. There’s a fine line between being the next big thing and the current unfashionable whipping boys. The Ordinary Boys could manage both quite easily.

 

From Nightshift, November 2004

Longview

The Zodiac, Oxford
2nd July 2003

Things are finally looking very hopeful for Manchester-formed quartet Longview, long-signed but seemingly also long-groomed for somewhat inevitable Coldplay-like mainstream success. Recent tours in support of Easyworld, Goldrush, Athlete and Mull Historical Society have led to this headline tour to promote their debut album Mercury.

There’s something about Longview that’s impossible to dislike. They stay resolutely melodic while not letting their overall sound – that of quietly optimistic melancholy – turn to dirge. They have an impressive guitar arsenal – each guitarist, and even the bassist, swapping for most numbers – yet their sound is constant and full. Frontman Rob McVey’s strong voice is highly reverberated to sound winsome and mellifluous; the rest of the band all combine in impressive 3 and 4-part harmonies, and at times voices are by far their strongest instruments, especially on Still, Falling Without You and Can’t Explain.

Nowhere – a past single, but sure now to be re-released – is typical of their sound: not musically groundbreaking, but all parts make a very satisfying whole. Brooding rolling drums and bass coupled with higher guitar riffs characterise I Would, a slower number which Rob said “suited the atmosphere” of downstairs at the Zodiac very well (giving us the impression that it’s somewhat smaller than the most recent venues they’ve played, and proving their recent ascendency).

They closed the main set with Further, their Lord’s Prayer-plundering current single, which has reached the prestigious pinnacle of the Radio 1 playlist and an entry at number 27. Sara Cox recently said it wouldn’t have sounded out of place on the Lost Boys soundtrack, and she’s right, in a way; it seems timeless.

Their catchy lyrics create a mood rather than tell a story; they are eloquent in emotion rather than intellectual pretention, which is good, because that wouldn’t suit their mellow indie style.

 

From Nightshift, August 2003