Procrasti-Nation

Since watching Thurston Moore in Exeter a few weeks ago (find my review down under), my boyfriend and I’s intake of Sonic Youth and all things Thurston has gotten a whole bunch bigger. Waking up to ‘Incinerate’ trickling from the bedside speakers this morning then wasn’t too much of a surprise. Taken from the 2006 album Rather Ripped, ‘Incinerate’ is one of those songs where you can’t help but think of other bands; the guitars are recognisable to the likes of Los Campesinos! and Bombay Bicycle Club fans, while the melancholic poeticism of the lyrics could be straight out of a Pixies or even Nirvana song. Yes ‘Incinerate’ is taken from a recent album, but it polishes up the signature understated anthemic guitar and dulcet vocals which have without doubt, made them one of the most influential bands of recent years.  

Best known for featuring on the infamous Drive movie/two hour music video soundtrack, I popped this song on while trudging my way up a mountain of a molehill earlier and it hasn’t left my head since. Moodily pulsating for the majority until Lovefoxxx’s brighter interludes break in, this song manages to keep a sunny disposition in the midst of desperate melancholy, a feat deftly done. A semi-oldie but definitely still a goodie. 

The opening moments of Thurston Moore’s set at the Exeter Phoenix - the eighth date of his current UK tour - seemed shaky to say the least as the 56 year old Sonic Youth co-founder, having forgotten his music, meandered on stage only to amble straight back off again leaving a confused audience nervously twittering under their breaths. They needn’t have worried though. Proving that glossy showmanship and chucking yourself around the stage really doesn’t make a stonker of a show, Moore and his Psychic Neon Band were kings (and queens) of cool as they ploughed through a one and a half hour set of only eight tracks with all the endurance and consistency of seasoned distance runners. Dodging the monotony of a marathon Moore set up an Octathlon of events, as tracks like ‘Speak To The Wild’ - already eight minutes on the album - were lengthened to a subtly anthemic and unexpectedly catchy fifteen minutes, while the more melancholy ‘Aphrodite’ or the closing and comparatively punchy ‘The Best Day’ kept things varied. All held together by a central skewer of recognisable sprawling, warping rock guitar intervals and the droll wit of Moore himself, this gig proved that slow, steady and seasoned wins for a goddamn good reason.

Ronson’s only gone and bloody done it again. Following the rip-roaring, niche-smashing success of ‘Uptown Funk’, January’s subsequent release of ‘Uptown Special’ quenched fans thirst for Ronson’s mixed up miracles.  But as fun as necking a whole cocktail pitcher is, it’s only with a considered sip that you really get the full palette-teasing flavour that proves it to be a work which can stand up to inspection (and indeed sobriety), and that sip is the new release ‘Feel Right’. With a James Brown funk and growling choral roaring to rival that of Soul Brother Number one himself mixed in with the attack of Mystikal’s dynamic lyrical style, the Bruno Mars compère-over isn't the only thing giving this the vibe of a down-town club flipped upside down and inside out. Add to this what seems to be a lip-syncing lil-Biggie Smalls jamming in a school talent show in culottes and then an outright wife-beater in the single’s video and the beautiful weirdness is complete – the disarmingly dapper chap that is Mark Ronson’s snuck behind the bar and around the radar to create a whole new menu that should be oh-so-wrong but feels oh-so-right.

Staring at a wall-consuming pentagram framed by flower bedecked microphones amidst a gaggle of beatniks, bankers and more than one bald old man swaying to 1930s circus music, the wait for Foxygen at the Electric Ballroom aptly set the tone for the ensuing onslaught. With a setlist focussed on last year’s ‘…And Star-Power’, Foxygen’s performance felt like some guys on acid had been told to make a decade-dance for every decade. ‘How does it feel to be old?!’ yelped the newly peroxide-topped France tauntingly as they lobbed rock’n’roll titbits - be it the doo-wop vocals and disco-dancing shenanigans of the Star girls, the punk thrashing, rigging-climbing and drumstick-fencing antics of the band themselves or the brief but brilliant psychedelic ‘Let it Be’ cover – at an enraptured audience whose participation peaked on the surprisingly anthemic ‘No Destruction’, France and his brothers and sisters in arms led the 45 minute battle cry with all the finesse and fearsomeness of a Jagger or a Bowie. Though aesthetic prowess sometimes detracted from acoustic, their vitality, adaptability and sheer joy still packed more of a ring-festooned punch than their records and left everyone, young and old, busting their grandma’s moves and feeling oh-so-fresh about it.

 Stornoway’s first release of their third album ‘Bonxie’ is the anti-Michael Fish scenario; with Gil Norton’s (of Pixies and Foo’s production fame) addition to the Stornoway soundscape fans expected a hurricane to stir up their waters but ‘The Road You Didn’t Take’ sees the folky vessel bobbing merrily along still, albeit with a tad more wind in its sails. Rather than adding the expected tsunami of guitars though Norton instead enriches the existing style, layering guitar and vocals to create a deep, undulating sound while emphatic drums create moments of drama. The result is musical waves crashing and receding; not gentle but not dangerous, this is Stornoway in winter, a beautiful storm.

Radio Tokyo is a straight-up party. A weird combo of rock drums, Sixties keyboard, punk screams and wailing guitar, all I can imagine is Hookworms wriggling around like their parasitic namesake, playing hard to this messy sort-of pop song. Taken from their second album ‘The Hum’, ‘Radio Tokyo’ epitomises the band’s progression; where before was mostly angst and melancholy there’s now joy and jamming, with even a (slightly) sedate mid-section maintaining the back-track while they bask in their own brilliance. The lyrics are indecipherable because basically, they don’t really matter: this song is about noise, fun and lots of it, and goddamn it works.

So. The Vaccines. ‘Handsome’. Taken from their upcoming third album ‘English Graffiti’ and about as cocky and self-indulgent as it sounds. Sure, it’s catchy but as the saying goes, so’s the flu and ‘Handsome’ fits right in that bracket. After all, there’s a reason there’s (ironically) a vaccine against that. A clichéd monster of repetitive shrillness from Justin Young, fast bland guitar and a clap machine to get their tween audience excited, it’s just not great. To paraphrase Young’s lyrics, ‘generic, flat and bad, thank god I’m handsome.’

The all-male band fronted by a girl may once have been all about the gimmick, but not anymore. Top job Wolf Alice.

With Jesse Ware, Wyclef Jean and the rest of the ever expanding Social Experiment gang in the mix, Chance takes childhood nostalgia and adds a little rum-pum-pum, a smattering of synths and a tonne of credibility to the next time you sit singing along to the opening Arthur credits. 

I've always thought they looked odd.