One of the better parts of life is the ability to snag a free door pass or two, and thus to check out acts that otherwise would be too expensive to bother seeing (what is it with the price of tickets?). So this weekend I set out to exploit that right in full, flushed by the relative success of Fidlar/Dune Rats live. That gig had most of the normal shortcomings – horrible sound, bad sightlines, over priced drinks but also a pleasant freshness and intensity and a lively moshpit. Live music was redeemed for a moment.
No moshpit was in sight at Oscar Key Sung, just a collection of one of the stranger crowds ever assembled. Oscar, clearly, has “no scene” judging by his scene. We all admired the small group of hipster girls, but enjoyed the large fellow in shorts and a headband more. He moved in (as U2 would have it) mysterious ways, but oddly appropriately for an artist who – although his set was pleasingly more banging than in previous incarnations – still produces beats that are hard to move to. This is more than compensated for by beautiful vocals, and by some of the politest audience song requesters in living memory. “I asked first … true, there’s no harm in being polite”. True, and something of a statement for Key Sung’s music itself.
Karnivool also provide beats that are hard to move to – not because their music doesn’t swing, but because of a drummer with a predilection for absurd time signatures. If you want to know how “the one” (copyright J.Brown) works notice how easily the body and head are confused by random rhythms in 5/8 and 7/4. It’s just not that easy to dance and count as Bloc Party & Foals definitively proved. Karnivool were good and the best bit was that they had drums that were genuinely heavy and loud. The second best bit was the really fast heavy ones which far outweigh the prog rock ballad bits which ooze “sincerity”. But the real best bit was the drunk man with the beard who bothered everyone about to tell them “I don’t care about these cunts, I don’t listen to them, I just came to see Northlane”. Bundy and Coke is a wonderful thing. He followed it by saying “just tell me to Fuck Off if you want”. So I did. Job done.
Jagwar Ma are a curate’s egg. It is obvious that I should like them but I find it hard too. This was my third time recently, like trying to crack a puzzle which just won’t open. I liked them better in the sunlight but I didn’t like them so much either way. I wondered if – it being Sunday night – this was because I wasn’t “on one matey” as this is clearly the milieu they are seeking, and also the one in which I enjoyed “baggy” mark one so much, but I don’t think so. It could be because they are far more Beatles than Stones underneath the laboured analogue synth beats and thus lack any edge, and it could be because they don’t really have a charismatic front man or very good basic tunes. But actually I think it was the fact that the great Baggy bands (this means you Mondays & Scream & Flowered Up) was basically original rock songs remixed by proper DJs who could work a club dancefloor. All attempts since (this means you The Music and Sunshine Underground and Kasabian a bit too) have been attempts to write dance rock. That genre works on neither level. And noticeably no one really dances.
Chvrches (yes the V is deliberate) promise a lot on radio. They seem like a new wavey, electronic-y pot of joy that is the sort of thing that you hope will usurp Flo Rida and Chris Brown on radio and make it better. There’s a vague hint of glamour in the silver metallic video and a definite hint of 80s pop. Live is a different matter. They have none of the style that made the likes of Spandau, Duran and even B Movie elusive guilty pleasures, and certainly none of the skill and subtlety of the Pet Shop Boys (who one hopes are bigger influences than Erasure and Yazoo although I wouldn’t count on it).. Instead the ungainly music makers take over introducing uninteresting pauses for instrument changes, lots of weak frontperson chatter (possibly nervous) in unintelligible Scottish, the sight of an ungainly chap pounding synth pads, and awesomely uninteresting remarks about “we play guitars too”. Oh and it was a lot more “gay club night” than delightful fizzy pop too. “Gun” is still a jam though, but please we need Le Roux back.
A rum bunch then. But not a bad flavour of the state of music 2013. Isn’t it a pity its still such a test of endurance as an experience. It would be so nice to be able to pay your money and get to see. Or get a drink. Or even get decent sound.
