Chuck Prophet - Castro Halloween

'Live' update  - when Prophet's tour was announced it was a straightforward decision to get tickets to see him in Manchester AND Leeds. After last night's gig at the Deaf Institute, two sightings may not be enough to keep me going until the next time he comes to the UK.


I'll keep it brief as I'm planning a more detailed piece on the Leeds show in May but...I doubt I'll see a better gig all year. I think he played seven - maybe eight  - from the new album and they all held up alongside the older material. What connects me to this guy is his open-eyed delight at what he does, the sheer unadulterated joy in how he goes about his business. His guitar technique is world class, as the closing encore surf indulgence ("the national anthem of California") and countless startling passages of interplay and effortless solos proved. It's power pop with balls, a muscular Flamin' Groovies that twangs,  that rocks and which gives the audience permission to leave cares and resentments at the door - for the next two hours just ENJOY. 


There are still a few dates left to see this vastly under-valued performer, and I'm going to a minimum of two. More here in May.


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It was a 2,4,6,8 Motorway moment - in 1978 when Radio 1's Kid Jensen played the Tom Robinson smash hit for the first time and then played it again... and again  - eventually citing 'playlist responsibilities' as the only reason he didn't spin it for the rest of his show. I took Chuck Prophet's new album on a run this morning and the second track - Castro Halloween - kept me company on repeat for the next 10 kilometers.

Songs grab me - I still get shivers at the opening chords of London Calling or the jazzy drum breakdown on Born To Run, just before the '1,2,3,4' and this song has, well, grabbed me.

Maybe it's because I've listened to a  lot of his music in the past five years or so and feel like I know a bit about him - how he cares about what he does but, as importantly, how his songs demonstrate how he cares for other people, the underdogs he meets along the way. His songs are personal/ universal with human messages rooted in the reality of people's lives.

Maybe it grabbed me because of the lines :-
"Did I dream you up or did you dream me/ Is there any place else you would rather be?"

This is a such a beautifully put together expression of love  - it's bursting with gratitude and modesty and I nearly choked.

Or maybe it's because he's thrown the kitchen sink at this song. The guitars melt in and out of each other, the backing vocals soar, there are bells, there is a plaintive George Harrison guitar line which eats into the synapses. And there is Prophet's honey-coated, bloodhound voice  - rich and authentic. Towards the end as the song goes reflective there is a sudden exhilarating 'HUH' which signals the climactic guitar melt down and then it fades out, thrillingly.

However it happens to have grabbed me Castro Halloween is a perfectly constructed piece of intelligent pop that works on every level. I haven't got past this track so there are still ten more to get to know, so I'll take those out on my run tomorrow.

Album: Temple Beautiful - Chuck Prophet (Yep Roc)

http://chuckprophet.com/
http://www.daytrotter.com/#!/concert/chuck-prophet/20031036-1295

Jonathan Wilson

Ruby Lounge, Manchester 1/02/12

Across to a dank and freezing Manchester for an artist I saw twice last year support Wilco. Wilson's music comes from the California to where Steinbeck's pilgrims headed west in the Great Depression to pluck the oranges from the trees. Tonight it's hoodies and North Face fleeces and an audience of a certain age attracted by the retro Laurel Canyon sound of his album 'Gentle Spirit' and its evocations of CS&N and Jackson Browne.

But when he ambles on at 9.40 and the band kicks in behind him it's immmediately clear that this isn't going to be a wistful aural gaze out to the Pacific Ocean but a decisively connected experience during which he will determinedly showcase his frighteningly impressive guitar technique and take jazzy, improvised excursions that the 1970s Californians seldom attempted. He has a wide attention span and demands the same of his audience.

The likes of CS&N were occasionally political standard bearers. The nearest Wilson gets to this is the opener  - 'Can We Really Party Today?'  - a rhetorical statement set in context by the next line  -  'with all that's going on...' He seems so laid back and at ease I'm sure he'll accept whatever comes his way, party or a quiet night in.

Four numbers in and I can sense an understated power behind the langourous melodies and the benign vocals. Sure enough, when he straps on his electric guitar it's the signal for a startling series of effortless solos. One minute he brings to mind Joe Walsh ('Rolling Universe') and the next David Gilmour ('Natural Rhapsody'). There is a langour and a blissful ease with which his band sits in behind him, a prominent Hammond organ adds texture and space to a sound which wraps itself around the venue  - I close my eyes for minutes at a time and it's a feeling close to meditation.

There is an honesty about Wilson which is endearing. He unshamedly evokes a hippy era which is very nostalgic for a lot of people. The stage is strewn with vintage analogue equipment and the instruments have the appearance of being used to death by a travelling band. Towards the end of the two hour set they put their foot down and it goes a bit Crazy Horse - unfortunately Wilson hasn't got the rasp or the vocal power of Neil Young and he looks more comfortable hunched over his guitar. The trade-off with the other lead guitar never quite approaches the telepathy of Verlaine and Lloyd but the convergence on the complex and addictive melodic figure that underpins 'Desert Raven' is hypnotic.

We head back to Leeds just before midnight and into and over the Pennine mist. Not quite the romance with which Wilson imbues his semi-spiritual journeys into the heart of nowhere but the experience must have rubbed off on me somehow as even the protracted M62 speed restrictions fail to impact on my wonderfully serene view of the world.

Wild Flag

The Cockpit, Leeds - 29/1/12

Kick-ass the Americans would say. BOOM! maybe. The opening salvo of Janet Weiss's bass drum is like thunder in the heart, a precursor to the kind of energy and noise that seize the senses. Four renowned musicians united as Wild Flag, a kind of super-group but more a coming together of hitherto left-field names with a love of visceral, faintly shambolic and shouty rock and roll.

The crowd is an odd mix of young girls and a older men, nobody in between as far as I can make out. Whatever the demographic, Wild Flag take it by the balls and don't let go for 70 utterly thrilling minutes. Chainsaw Buzzcocks guitars, those thumping drums - they have the confidence and stage craft to play to type without fear of irony, and the high kicks and axe poses work because the playing is so defiantly in your face. So when Carrie Brownstein straddles her guitar a la Hendrix you know it's only the intrusive health and safety legislation that deters her from setting it alight.

The songs race by as band leader Weiss just keeps on counting them in. There is the occasional indulgent proggy digression ('Glass Tambourine) which has a few in the crowd shuffling on their feet but this band love their endings and each is executed with panache and vigour.

The final two songs - 'Racehorse' and 'Romance' - finally get the timid Leeds crowd in the kind of groove they clearly regard as the norm. A frenetic encore of The Ramones' 'Do You Wanna Dance' (two false starts - 'is this in "B", no it's in "E") puts a satisfying full stop to the set.

Breathless, frantic and seriously impressive.

Nat Baldwin

Brudenell Social Club, Leeds - 24/1/12

A last minute recommendation from a reliable Twitter pal and I was down for this free gig just as Baldwin was readying himself to take to the stage - one man and his double bass, an instrument that has seen a resurgence in these incongruously analogue times. His other instrument is an incredible voice - a floating, gossamer-like thing which seems to be just an extension of his breathing. The contrast between the instrument and the vocals lends a detached yet very moving quality to the total sound - I've never quite noticed the double bass operate as percussion before but that was the startling effect created.

Baldwin is the bass player with New York scenesters The Dirty Projectors whose Bitte Orca album I adore for its daring, subtle meolodies. As a solo artist he straddles the octaves effortlessly, maintaining an impressive control of the bass that at one point seems to be coming from another sound source  - the thud of the instrument is at odds with the gentle winding of the voice, he makes it look effortless.

The crowd is attentive and, in my case, aghast. It's quieter than most fee-paying events and I'm guessing most are here on spec, spotting a cheap night opportunity. We are privileged indeed to see such a rare and individual talent. When I get home my Twitter feed is full of excited chat about this gig and his first UK appearance in London the previous night. His banter has been warm and generous - his unbelievable talent, hitherto largely hidden as an ensemble player, now brought into the light to marvel at. Privileged indeed.

Here he is at the Cargo, London (23/1/12) thanks to Liz on Twitter.

Guided By Voices - Let's Go Eat The Factory

It must have been 1998 when I first stumbled across Guided By Voices. Once I had I was completely 'in', discovering a whole new world of lo-fi nurdlings, pulsing power pop and noise excursions. Their trademark is to drop a melodic hook that departs as soon as it arrives. Not only are most of their songs quite short but they really, really dislike repetition. If you're lucky, you might get a chorus twice (if you don't I suppose it's just a verse).

This dislike of conformity has kept them under the radar but even so they occupy probably the biggest niche in modern pop music, revered by peers and fans alike. In 2004 they split up after many rotations of band members, the only constant being Robert Pollard - former athlete, teacher, beer drinker extraordinaire and a songwriting conveyor belt who continued to put out solo records and collaborations at a fearsome rate. He makes records faster than I can listen to them.

Now, the classic GBV line-up has reformed and released 'Let's Go Eat The Factory', a 21 song, 42 minute LP. In keeping with Pollard's profligacy, a second album is due in the spring with some live shows later in the year. What makes this a GBV album rather than a Pollard solo record is the presence of Tobin Sprout - a major chord foil to Pollard's love of distortion and half-finished snippets of works in progress.

The album starts with the guitar clang of 'Laundry and Lasers - its power chords gradually giving way to a fuzzy accumulation of distortion. At 2.38 this is quite a long song. 'Spiderfighter' is underpinned by a churning riff that is eventually overtaken by a single piano note that then introduces a song segment which echoes The Who's 'Behind Blue Eyes'. At 3.35 this is a very long song.

The conventional melodic ear of Pollard is evident all over the place, from the Lennon-aping of 'Hang Mr Kite' to the Daltrey-esque delivery of 'The Unsinkable Fats Domino'. But nothing sticks, nothing hangs around for long - fragments of malformed songs seemingly taped as soon as they entered and left the head ('How I Met My Mother', 'Go Rolling Home'). 'The Big Hat And Toy Show' sees Pollard improvising lyrics into a 4 track machine against a minor chord guitar melee. It's a tough listen.

'Waves', on the other hand, is a masterpiece - a pastiche of early REM era guitar pop and Big Star harmonies underpinned by a confluence of guitars and keyboards that just motors towards the ocean. It seems effortless and almost throwaway, understated yet profound in its simplicity.

'Chocolate Boy' is 1.31 of wall to wall melody  - a song most writers would look at developing into a radio-friendly pension banker. Here Pollard is happy to see it end, gloriously, without a hint of selfishness. I played it over and over about twelve times and its subtleties are still escaping me.

'We Won't Apologise For The Human Race'  closes the album in a vague glam stomp - it reminds me of Ziggy-era Bowie. The clouds regularly part to let four or five melodies come and go, with backing harmonies seemingly an afterthought as Pollard gets serious, adopting a baritone to suit the message of the song. At 4.01 it's an epic, GBV's 'Freebird'.

For all it's varied production values 'Let's Go Eat The Factory'  is a fully formed, deceptively complex album by instinctively gifted songwriters and musicians. It won't win them any new fans but that's not the point. The band went through a period of chasing the hits in the late 90s which, in hindsight, didn't deliver their best work. This 'classic' line-up remains true to their ethos of doing what comes naturally. Occasionally this will result in a song that makes the soul leap, more often it will produce a vignette or idea which intrigues rather than grips. This is a band that demands effort - the more you put in the more you get out - a bit like life itself.

Cymbals Eat Guitars/ Milagres/ The Spills

Brudenell Social Club, Leeds  - 6/01/12

The first gig of the New Year at my favourite venue and I’m eager for some live noise. Label mates and fellow New Yorkers Milagres and Cymbals Eat Guitars are here  - both bands hotly tipped and with new records making a stir.

Wakefield band The Spills bring up the rear and their lively indie – pop seems vaguely disconnected from the smallish audience who have come prepared for minor chords, distortion and mayhem from the main bands.

You can tell Milagres are a brainy bunch by their loucheness and the style of their tightly fitting shirts.  Attention to image at such an early stage in their career is impressive and is, for the most part, backed up by their confident art rock. They sound like SO many other groups though – the stabbing 80s synths recall Grizzly Bear and the singer’s voice is a dead ringer for Wild Beasts’ aerated falsetto  - not quite the hydrogenated range of a Jimmy Somerville but an instrument in itself. Too many songs start and then seem to lose direction and their spatial elegance begins to meander down over-rehearsed cul-de-sacs. I want to shout ‘GET ON WITH IT!' but don’t,  of course.

Cymbals Eat Guitars, on the other hand, seem to have no pretensions. Their muscular work ethic is reflected in singer Joseph D’Agostino’s  massive arms. He is a compelling front man, capable of guttural snarls and sweet-voiced cooing. The drums are massive but deceptively sophisticated.

Many of the songs seem to move between differently-paced movements – it is dynamic and a little bit dangerous – there is a frisson about the body language of this band which adds an unspoken dimension, propulsive yet wonderfully free-form and indulgent.

All told I’ve preferred the rough edges of Cymbals to the unruffled ease of Milagres. It’s always been that way – heart over head. Maybe it’s the time of year and the need to blow away those cobwebs in readiness for a packed year of live music ahead.

Top 20 tracks of 2011

20. Now It's Your Turn - Deer Tick (from Divine Providence)

Don't underestimate this band. For every throwaway redneck chugger they deliver a song that grabs the heart and makes the soul weep.

19. Keep Your Head - See See (from Late Morning Light)


Thanks to the wonderful Shindig! magazine, a slice of brainy psych pop for the modern day with a melody that will occupy the head.

18. Too Much Of A Good Thing - Hurray For The Riff Raff (from Hurray For The Riff Raff)

The best support act of 2011 - in fact they blew the main players away. Simple, understated yet burning with things unsaid. Whatever 'IT' may be, Alynda Lee Segarra has IT (and don't say Information Technology).

17. Shoals - Bleeding Heart Narrative (from Bison EP)

First track from the wonderful 'Bison' EP, destined for big things. Epic at last year's Green Man Festival.

16. One For You, One For Me - Bright Eyes (from The People's Key)

Boy wonder Conor Oberst, no longer a boy but a man with a sophisticated and merciful take on how we should be living our lives. A goose bumper.

15. All The Same - Real Estate (from Days)

This got under my skin over many weeks, persistent and complex melodies. The Byrds meets The Smiths.

14. June Hymn - The Decemberists (from The King Is Dead)

I could have picked any from 'The King Is Dead'. Colin Meloy writes lyrics which can warm the heart and chill the blood. Here it's a simple rumination on the butterfly in his garden, but the themes are huge.

13. The Dream - Thee Oh Sees (from Carrion Crawler/The Dream)

One of the gigs of the year, advanced mayhem - there is no thrilling live sight than Thee Oh Sees just doing it.

12. Used To Be A Cop - Drive-ByTruckers (from Go-Go Boots)

A fine commentary on the complex choices facing beaten individuals. Seedy, nasty and with just a tiny glimmer of hope - it simply broods. There is no more honest and intelligent band than the Truckers.

11. God Is God - Steve Earle (from I'll Never Get Out Of This World Alive)

Written for and originally recorded by Joan Baez nobody does 'God' better than Earle. This is nothing to do with a religious God, just simply the logical observation that 'I believe in God, and God ain't me.'

10. Come To The City - The War On Drugs (from Slave Ambient)

This starts intensely and builds to a point where something has to give - but doesn't - it just ends, gloriously.

9. Try To Sleep - Low (from C'mon)

The best Mormon band since The Osmonds? I have no idea what they're trying to convey here, only that it's heavy and pregnant with meaning and comes with a melody that reminds me of clouds parting in a blue sky.

8. Time Spent In Los Angeles - Dawes (from Nothing Is Wrong)

The opener on their 'Nothing Is Wrong' LP. A celebration of their home city, if only someone would write one as good about Leeds.

7. Vomit - Girls (from Father, Son, Holy Ghost)

I love a slow builder and this just keeps on going, climaxing in a shattering Dark Side Of The Moon-type finale. No holds barred, but why is it called 'Vomit'?

6. Dawned On Me - Wilco (from The Whole Love)

The sunny side of the best band in the world. Although if you dig deeper into Tweedy's words you'll spot an obsessive mind at work. Maybe this is why I connect - and it's got whistling!

5. Lazy Bones - Wooden Shjips (from West)

Heads down, the finale to this had me nearly driving off the road. Propulsive, unshakeable, this is what all rock music should be about.

4. Hell Broke Luce - Tom Waits (from Bad As Me)

'Boom went his head away
and boom went Valerie
What the hell was it that the President said?
Give them all a beautiful parade instead
and left - right - left'

3. Sweetheart I Ain't Your Christ - Josh T. Pearson (from The Last Of The Country Gentlemen)

Deceptively optimistic, Pearson's album changes with the mood. This is like an open wound - he invites everyone in to examine the blood pulsing out of the vein.

2. Desert Raven - Jonathan Wilson (from Gentle Spirit)

Languid, with a riff to retire on, Wilson re-invented one of the glorious eras of pop music - unshamedly old fashioned and gratifyingly long.

1. One Sunday Morning (Song For Jane Smiley's Boyfriend) - Wilco (from The Whole Love)

A guitar figure and keyboard frills that subtly change EVERY time, this showcases Tweedy as a lyricist without peer. 12 minutes - it's too short! Mortality, loss, guilt, hope - it's all here. Song of the century more like.