We have reached peak Meghan Trainor

I know, we all had the same hope. We all thought "here was someone to break the treadmill of pop cliches and do Modern Woman Pop". We all thought the sad old, worn out tropes of pop cliche would be removed by someone with a bit of sass and an average body type. But no, it's just the same "ladies, you're perfect if your man will fuck you" bullshit we've seen a million times before. And no, it isn't all about that bass, no matter how much you decide to rip off Lou Bega.

Dear Future Husband, her latest single, has a couple of modernistic tropes in it. For example it acknowledges that women are also now a part of the work force and... erm...  No, that's about it. Skip beyond that starling revelation and it boils down (in order) to; put up with me when I'm being 'crazy', flatter my ego to get sex, admit you're wrong even if I was in error, never leave me alone or get on with your own thing, buy me things, and a chorus. That isn't a recipe for a good, positive, modern relationship. At worst it's a call to arms for the benefits of Stockholm Syndrome and at best it's all the pressures and social prejudices of the doo-wop era with a very minor backline beef-up added into the mix.

For someone who's stock-in-trade is being outside of the current pop norms Meghan is surprisingly and safely within everything that has happened before, an Empress in slightly baggy clothing. All she is doing is trading on feminist rhetoric, without actually putting any of the concepts into her lyrics or the body of her work. It's a shame, a disappointment, and stealing the spotlight from artists who actually have something to say on the subject of bringing grown up concepts of equality and respect into love songs, (Looking at you; Adele, Florence, Lorde, and a thousand other equally talented but gimmick missing performers). That she has a sound that gets rolled out ever 10 years or so (think Jive Bunny with a proclaimed adoration of pie, yet suspiciously tailored jeans) only adds to the conceit, a well crafted revolution that is playing on nostalgia without having the guts to be as revolutionary as the Shangri-Las or even the bloody Spice Girls. Which is what leads to the main emotion here: disappointment, and anger at her devolvement into an also-ran. As with only a few lyrical tweaks, and a slight step away from the pop-nagging blueprint of 'empowered moaning', we could have had something truly wonderful on our hands.

A few words on tickets.

There is something magical about a concert ticket, something about what is quite often just a simple bit of paper with a touch of ink on it. Mass produced and designed to last, at most, a couple of months, they are a prized item for the music fan that carry far more emotions than simple reminiscence of the night itself.

For a start there is the sense of occasion that a ticketed event brings with it. This is not a ‘turn up if you can’ show you may get down a pub or small venue (delightful though those are), this is an event that could sell out and that has asked you to confirm that you will be there with cash in advance. This is not a casual affair, this is an RSVP event for a limited few. And that limitation brings with it the apprehension of trying to get the damn thing in your hands. If it is a major event you have the phoneline and website hounding, waiting for the flag to be raised for you and the rest of the world to charge and grab the trophy; if it is a smaller event, it’s the quiet fear that you won’t get the ticket in time before the rest of the world realises how awesome the band is and decide to join in the fun. Either way, should luck or planning be on your side, once you have the ticket you want to hold it up high and show it off to the world as the rare prize it is.

But then, in a strange metamorphosis, it turns from a thing of joy into a totem of apprehension. The gig is only a few months away, but how many things can go wrong in those weeks? What if the band have to cancel? What if you can’t make the show? What if you don’t get there on time? What if you lose the ticket? So many things could happen, all of them turning those few cubic inches of printed matter from the token of high entertainment into a totem of bitter disappointment. But at the same time it also becomes a beacon of solace and a way to get through the daily trudgery. Whatever the world throws at you is survivable, as you have the solid reminder that the gig is coming. The magic that is live music, that is a live crowd, will be upon you soon. It’s a feeling that gets bigger as the date gets nearer: the ticket becoming more and more real, until it’s in your hand and you’re on the way to the show with it brandished like a pass to the riches of the world.

And then you arrive, you hand over the golden-ticket, and it’s just a bit of paper. Everything is on the music, the performance, the event. Until it’s all over, at which point it becomes a reminder of what went by; a thing to look at and remember with, the trophy to mount on your wall amongst your other mementos of great nights of music. But it’s not a simple reminder of where you were or what you saw, it’s more complicated than that. You didn’t get to see a movie or a broadway show, this wasn’t a performance that will have been repeated a hundred days before and after. And it’s not the tour t-shirt, showing a multitude of concerts that you may or may-not have been at, that can be bought without even having to be near the venue. This is an indelible marker of that show at that place on that date, this is a point in time that you were a part of. 

This is your place in rock history, not just of the history of your own journey, as the show will never happen again. And it is the tool for the whole ride that is live music, of the emotional journey you have gone through with that ticket, from hope to triumph to foreboding to consolation to eagerness to elation to remembrance and permanency.

Enter Shikari @ The Cambridge Corn Exchange - 24/02/2015

The opening act on the nights bill was FatherSon, who spent most of their set sounding something halfway between the pop-punk melodies FalloutBoy and the prog-alternative rocking of Biffy Clyro, but without the impact of either. They were very static, focused to the point of disconnected, and the vocals kept on dropping out as the singer didn't appear to know to keep his mouth near the mic. It was, to begin with, disappointing. Then they got to their last two numbers and started to come alive, with some really heartfelt stuff that if they could fill their set with would really get people swaying.

Allusondrugs were up next and they kicked into some high-grade shouty fast sleaze rock. It had edge, it had swagger, it had a front-man that was confident enough to take the piss out of himself and still look cool. It also had a very dangerous singer-on-guitarists-shoulders moment, which just added to the schoolyard charm of the whole set. They are playing the Portland Arms soon, and I think they will be worth a look in.

If it takes a brave singer to dive into the audience it must take an utter lunatic to start the set in it, and Feed The Rhino have such a singer. The lunatic factor isn't hindered by him looking like a slightly younger Alan Moore, nor in the amount of conviction that he and the whole band put into their doomy metalcore assault. To say the crowd blew up was an understatement, arms and legs went everywhere and there was even the first wall-of-death I've seen at The Corn Exchange. But there were also some more touching moments, such as when they turned off all the lights and had the audience illuminate the band purely via their phone lights. A very good blend of soft and hard, occasional quiet and mostly loud. Definitely one to watch, as they should be going places very, very soon.

Speaking of phone's it was curiously satisfying to see so many of them with broken screens, because if you're going to bring a couple hundred quids worth of tech into a pit then it's likely to get broken. It was also deeply satisfying to see a really diverse crowd having turned up: gender, race, clothing style, everyone was represented in equal measure. Okay, so it was a bit weird when people started chanting Oasis's 'Wonderwall' between sets but these things happen and everyone was a generally friendly lot: all there to see Enter Shikari do their thing.

After five minutes of amusing tape intro, which had people singing along to soul classics and shouting along to various minutes warnings, Enter Shikari finally took to the stage and began to play one of the best live sets I've seen. Bravely they took the bulk of the material from their latest album, with only a couple of their previous classics making the list. This shows a commitment to their material that you just don't expect from a band four albums into their career, however the audience reaction to material that's only been out for a couple of months shows that it pays off. Everything was fresh, everything was exciting, and everyone was loving it. As ever they performed with a warmth, genuine appreciation for their audience, and sense of fun which turned the whole thing into such a pleasant environment for people to let steam off in a friendly high-energy environment. It was also nice to have such a 'message band' not give any speeches or grand announcements, letting everything come through from the songs and the lyrics. Even the more fancy staging didn't get in the way of the music doing it's thing, everything managing to be impressive but simple and none distracting. Hopefully it won't take me another seven years to get to see them live again, because I don't know how much longer they can keep being one of the best live acts going.

War On The Dancefloor - 23/01/2015

Another great night of industrial and associated musics, all played at The Q Club Cambridge. The next one should be in the later half of April, keep an eye out at on the Facebook page for exact dates and then come along to enjoy it all. It's a small night but with a growing following, and whilst it might not have the art noise idiocy that was Noise Bastard it's certainly got the tunes (and two of it's DJs, but being sensible for once).

My sets were:

10:00 till 11:00
Blood Rave - Blade OST
Destroy all dancefloors - CTRL ALT DEL
Angel of ruin - The Chaos Engine
Dead shall rise - Flesh Eating Foundation
Dead planet - Frontline Assembly
Trip like I do - Filter & The Crystal Method
March of the pig - Nine Inch Nails
Precipice - Rabbit Junk
Don't stop - Inner Party System
Velocity - Neuroticfish
One drug - Audio War
Police State - Birmingham 6
Lamb of God - Psyclone 9
Bunch of Fuckers - Petrol Bastard

12:00 till 1:00
Headhunter V2 - Front 242 (possibly a request, in that it was lined up to play and then someone asked for it)
Nemesis - VNV Nation
I am the rain - Assembly 23
Access & Amplify - Icon of Coil
Starsign - Apoptygma Berzerk
Hardcore Motherfucker - Ultraviolence
Futile Nazi Bastard - Velvet Acid Christ
Angels of the dark - Studio X
Weep for me - Aslan Faction
What I want - Aktivehate
Jesus Christ buried alive - Alien Vampires


The main booth discussions were: , how cold weather buggers up club nights, if digital hardcore counts as industrial (Yes Nick, it does. Get a fucking grip), how to cover up a choke and stay sexy, if cohesive community experiences stopped happening on the alternative scene after 2003 & if that was a good or bad thing, and how utterly off-genre music goes down brilliantly if just the right track is played at just the right time,

The Mindsweep - Enter Shikari

The St Albans fab-four are back, bringing another collection of tunes for folks into subjects like the growth of the corporate-state , the imminent ecogedoon  the failings of capitalist greed, and high-energy mixing of big-beat trance with post-hardcore guitar rock. So four albums, 11 years, and no real changes to their whole operation. Although, as they motor into their 30's as flag-bearers of a musical sound that never defined a generation but certainly gave some of it it's own feel, they sure as heck seem to have mellowed out in places.

For example first single "The Last Garrison" starts up as one of their traditional onslaught masterpieces of socially aware observations but then grows into a more thoughtful slow piece. The singalong glory of the main hookline "Head's up and thank fuck you're still alive! There's still air in my lungs, still blood in my veins" isn't the call to arms of youth, it's the pause, consideration, and consolidation of experience that knows it's still got a long way to go. Very powerful, very moving, properly progressive on so many levels. It's a feel that goes through all the album, still powerful but with a bit less frantic and a little more confidence that they don't have to be doing a million things all at once.

"Never Let Go Of the Microscope" is another prime example, with a couple of sections in-between the thrashing that are not far off reggae, and "The Bank Of England" is a slow paced tale of caution rather than what would previously have been a  nonstop scream of disappointment. "Myopia" and "Anesthetist" are more of their classic sound, but even they have a touch less constant drive to them than previous tracks. For long-term fans it's more of what was found on A Flash Flood of Colour than Take To The Skies and Common Dreads, for new listeners it's going to be that little bit more accessible and also demonstration of a greater range. Live it's going to be fantastic, as with longer sets and more options it's going to be a roller-coaster rather than their previous 1000 foot drop.

It's not a radical departure, but a change never the less, and one that works incredibly well. As a band with a very distinct, and in many ways singular, sound they could have easily refined and concentrated the "hardcore with rave bits" approach to diminishing returns. Instead they have expanded and embraced areas of both dance and rock, grown as a band and grown up as an act in the best possible way, to give more of a range and depth of sounds. They have shown that they are going to continue to expand, continue to grow, and continue to make albums as amazing, energizing, thoughtful, and joyful as this one.

Stomachaches - FrnkIero Andthe Cellabration

First out of the gate with a solo album after the demise of My Chemical Romance, Frank Iero's offering shows a good slice of what he brought to MCR but also enough of how he's going to take things now he's out on his own. It's a difficult sound to pin down as the album lurches between styles, something that the befits a project that started out as someone playing music just for themselves.

It's got a large dollop of the simplicity and direct, clean sound of alternative/punk in there, along with a good amount of thrashing and urgency. But it also has moments of complexity and eclecticism that give it a post-punk / new-wave feel in places, included an understated and subtle use of electronica and EDM sounds. Lyrically it's very personal and powerful, not in the big emo manner of his previous band but in a playful and triumphant manner that just enjoys the sound and feel of the words without worry too much if the listener gets anything more than a sense of meaning and a touch of it's power. He can also sing, rather well, and is great at getting the emotions across without doing an overblown performance. Stand out tracks go to the two singles, "Weighted" and "Joyriding", the sing along fun of Tragician, and the slowmo epic that is Guilttripping. However if you like guitars and a bit of pace then there is bound to be something here for you.

This all combines into something that is joyfully all over the place, playing around with sounds & feelings to produce something that is exciting, experimental but also accessible & immediate. It's the bastard lovechild of Rites of Spring, non-Nevermind era Nirvana, Brand New after a couple of pints, your favorite muso's speed up bar band, and someone just discovering what can be done with some wubs the DJ left over from last night. It's also quite possibly suffering from ADD, as not all the ideas and sounds become as developed in the songs as you could have hoped for. And that gets frustrating, as whilst non of it is in anyway 'bad' it also means little of it is as 'good' as it could have been. Quite where it will end up I have no clue, but it'll be worth keeping an eye out of Frank's next album and for his tour.

The End Of Silence - Rollins Band

Three things become very clear within the first couple of minutes of listening to this album: that
Henry Rollins can't sing in anything resembling the conventional manner. that the Rollins Band are a fantastic collective of musicians, and that Henry Rollins is an outstanding lyricist. After a couple more tracks it becomes even more clear that words like "alternative" and "rock" really don't do credit to the sounds being created, as the usage of jazz, funk, and noise experimentation push beyond what had, even in the heyday of the Alternative 90's, was becoming a defined and codified genre. This is primal stuff, what Miles Davis could have made if he had discovered a Marshal stack or what John Lennon may have done were he born 20 years later. Lean, powerful, disciplined, and out to destroy so that it can rebuild you in your own image. You will have two reactions to this album: you'll either turn off the music from ill-ease or sit and feel the hairs on your neck twitching up.

Lyrically there are two main themes: improving your lot in life and the ills of love. Opener "Low Self Opinion" is an anthem to faux angst and the call to becoming all you can be, whilst "Another Life" is a call to recognise the life you are leading whatever it may be. On the other side of the anger coin "Tearing" is a song for when all the love has flushed out of the relationship and "Blues Jam" is primal scream therapy for the terminally resilient, with the howled refrain "life won't break your heart, it'll crush it" managing to sound dignified rather than the petulant or  overwrought angst that someone who hadn't lived through it all would of presented. Musically there is one main theme: slow, steady and powerful. It goes at the speed it needs to, never breaking into a sprint but never walking along. Tempos change and melodies switch, but everything is done as is needed with zero fat in the sound. Everything is where it needs to be, nothing sounds flashy in the way that only precision musicianship can allow. This is a jaguar of a band, prowling with restraint and confidence. With the two elements put together it's a titanic sound, a rumble of power and majesty.

That this album could get so much acclaim twenty-two years ago and still sound as fresh and vital as it does now is it's true testament. By working outside of trends and fashions, by being such a definitive statement of it's own makers (and quite possibly Henry Rollins greatest post-Black Flag musical work), it has manged to neither age nor weaken. I would encourage anyone who has the slightest interest in what rock can be, in finding out the sounds and rhythms that can be forged from the deceptively simple line up of drums and guitars and in lyrics that can be personal and triumphant without reveling, to give this the listen that you have been missing from you life.