MAXIMO PARK: 'Quicken the Heart' (Warp)
Concerned by the growing number of indie bands embracing dance music? Frightened by the inexplicable popularity of such style swerves, and the way in which your favourite groups seem to be jumping on the bandwagon with the greatest of glee? Does it keep you awake at night, sweating in your Subpop PJs? Have you put a parental lock on the once-reliable MTV2, lest you stumble across an offending track? Are you petrified about the future of alternative music? Well fear not dear reader, for here's one band you can always rely on. While their dependence on the wiry synths provided by mind-bogglingly hyperactive keyboardist Lukas Wooler may be steadily increasing, Maximo Park will never lose the indie-pop heart of the music: in the space of three albums, they have managed to remain relatively steadfast, producing energetic, hook-laden numbers without a trace of techno, grime or, heaven help us all, crunk. With 'Quicken the Heart', we have more of the same - Maximo know what you want and by God, they know how to give it to you.
As usual, their intrinsic command of melody produces some truly impressive tracks. 'The Kids Are Sick Again' is a blistering effort, promising a chorus but never quite delivering until the final minute or so, by which point the listener is far more susceptible to its charms. The song cleverly avoids becoming repetitive or predictable which, in turn, only makes its hooks more memorable. There are obvious singles everywhere on this record: 'Calm' is an effortless singalong, designed to claw at your skull, 'A Cloud of Mystery' has sass and sway, washing over you in a sea of dirty guitars and 'Wraithlike' is positively menacing, an invective two and a half minute flurry of jagged riffs and unusual rhythm changes. There is a slightly darker, more sombre, feel to the album, however, but Maximo quite rightly entrench it in the sort of raw energy that made debut 'A Certain Trigger' such an exciting listen (and its absence in 'Our Earthly Pleasures' such a distinct disappointment.) Paul Smith's penchant for storytelling remains, lending considerable verisimilitude, but in tracks like 'The Penultimate Clinch', with its cold Joy Division bass and drums, it's a hell of a lot darker.
Regrettably, 'Quicken the Heart' loses a great deal of this energy and versatility as it slouches its way into the final half. The meandering groove of 'Let's Get Clinical' is truly ill-advised, swamping the song in lethargy, refusing to let the melody seep through. 'Roller Disco Dreams' and 'Tanned' seem to bleed into one another, neither offering the listener anything to get excited about. Despite its promising title, 'Questing, Not Coasting' continues the trend, slumping into the sort of polished 'maturity' that haunted 'Pleasures', rejecting the band's natural inclination to crank the volume and sounding worryingly like late 90s indie nobodies Monaco. This weariness really damages the record, limiting its impact and exposing some of its limitations: at times, the refrains feel too familiar; while they are initially appealing, it doesn't take long before they begin to prove tiresome. 'In Another World' is probably the worst offender: listen to that chorus and tell me that it isn't just 'Girls Who Play Guitars' in a different key.
Predictably, Maximo Park's third effort is a perfectly comfortable record, the sound of a band settling into their well-honed sound. Often, this proves rather refreshing, especially when one considers the deluge of artists currently taking U-turns in an attempt to satisfy the ever-changing zeitgeist. The Park certainly have the ability to harness their considerable talents and ear for melody in order to create some damn fine singalongs, and there are plenty here. Unfortunately, their biggest strength is also their most infuriating weakness, as their familiarity quickly turns to predictability and the songs lose their power. There is little different here, and what is is ill-advised or sluggish, leaving the album sounding tired and dull in its latter stages. While I'm certainly not advocating a dalliance with grime, perhaps Maximo Park could do with an injection of fresh blood and a dose of fresh energy. 'Quicken the Heart' generally does what it's supposed to but sadly, in this day and age, that often isn't enough. (6/10)
Showing posts with label Maximo Park. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Maximo Park. Show all posts
Sunday, 23 August 2009
Friday, 15 May 2009
Live review: Maximo Park/The Noisettes/Stricken City (Newcastle 02 Academy, 13/05/09)
This is the original, unedited version of the review. The published version, which is somewhat shorter, can be found at Livethescene.
There are members of the local constabulary patrolling the halls of Newcastle's 02 Academy this evening, as homegrown heroes Maximo Park begin the first night of their two-date residency. However, rather than being hired to keep an eye on a few thousand over-exuberant Geordies, whose uncontrollable desire to get close to their idols threatens to trample hundreds of innocent bystanders under foot, the boys in blue are here in an attempt to quell a rising spate of phone and wallet thievery; at recent gigs by acts as disparate as NOFX and The Enemy, the pickpockets have been on the loose, scrounging what they can while the average music lover is distracted by the sight of his or her favourite band. Their presence is a nice, polite gesture, one that makes you think that yeah, maybe the venue does have our best interests at heart; until you walk through the double doors and are accosted by their 'promotional staff' that is, who, despite being amicable enough to have a mindless chat about Poison the Well with, are still there purely to sell you a phone network. A phone network that has a monopoly on the tickets they sell for their recently acquired venues, that offers its users the chance to buy them a day or so before they are released to the general public. It's just the sort of plastic, repugnant corporate claptrap that music can do without and no amount of free Monster-Munch-on-a-stick appetisers (yes, we're not kidding) from smiley-faced 'waitresses', if you can call them that, can disguise the fact.
So already, this false politeness leaves a bitter taste in the mouth, and that's before Stricken Kid and the Noisettes show up with the remit to be as inoffensive as possible. The London four piece carefully wheel out their Korg-led twee pop, stopping only to offer the most delicate of "thank you"s to a gracious, but markedly unmoved, crowd. Shingai Shoniwa's band of merry indie funksters continue the trend, despite having a drummer who looks like he should be in a 70s heavy metal act, bashing away at his kit with the kind of force generally reserved for Iron Maiden LPs. There's a sort of sultry sense of relaxation to their newly honed Gossip-lite sound, but it fails to ignite the very palpable spark that's buzzing around the clearly psyched-up crowd. Shoniwa's attempts to inject a little sleaze into the performance don't really help matters; while she drapes herself over the drumkit in her too-short yellow dress and gyrates suggestively against her guitarist, Newcastle just shrugs its shoulders, as if to say, "yeah, been there, done that, when's the guy in the trilby coming on?" Everyone stands stock still, even during recent single 'Go Baby Go', the one a few people might've actually heard. Oh sure, they bring their hands together, but its more out of obedience than any sort of appreciation. It certainly doesn't help that the Noisettes lack the tunes to really kick-start the party and, more importantly, that they make occasional use of a backing track instead of allowing Shoniwa to sing. Would it really kill her to perform her songs as they are recorded? By the end of their lacklustre twenty-five minutes, even the band look bored, resigned to the fact that they're never going to stimulate this most befuddled and unimpressed of audiences.
Thankfully, the main event shows up thirty minutes later and promptly puts an end to all of this indifference. There's nothing polite about Maximo Park's performance, that's for sure, and nor is there in Newcastle's very vocal adoration. As the various members of the band walk out onstage, the roars of appreciation threaten to blow the roof off and then, when Paul Smith's gangly, besuited and betrilbyed frame finally scissor kicks into view, they very almost do. There is such an incredible amount of love for this band that, at times, it threatens to overwhelm them; their Cheshire cat grins stay permanently glued to their faces, as if in awe of such sincere warmth. However, instead of simply resting on their laurels and letting the love wash over them, they grab onto it as tight as they can and use it to invigorate, transforming a standard set that's heavy on the new album with a smattering of hits, into a blisteringly impassioned performance. It's like they're playing for their lives, such is the intensity; Paul Smith frequently seems possessed, 'Hulking up' to his hoards, yelling "come on!" at the top of his voice and wildly gesticulating at us all as he tells nineteen stories in lyrical form. His songs seem to consume him: he feels and means every word, and frequently screams them, fists clenched, into the distance, as if addressing some invisible subject. And why wouldn't he? These are snapshots of a life, one loaded with a wealth of experience that he delights in regaling us with. From the bittersweet yearning of 'I Want You To Stay' to the heartfelt reminisce of 'By The Monument', there is a sort of emotional catharsis in his performance, as if the act of singing the words actually helps to resolve the personal conflict that they speak of.
There's room for mindless, flamboyant fun in the mix too. Smith's expert showmanship shines through at every turn: he stalks the stage from left to right, climbing speaker stacks, jumping off drum risers and standing on stage lights, all the while throwing shapes, twisting, contorting, swinging his mic around and so on and on, further into the most delectable sort of cabaret. There's a distinctly camp element to his behaviour, the kind that makes you half expect him to start twirling the mic stand around while performing a sort of barbershop quartet dance across the length of the stage. He never does though; instead, he just shakes his arse one more time and gropes keyboardist Lukas Wooller, who is also just about as delightfully fidgety.
If he isn't doing his traditional right-hand karate chops, he's swinging his keyboard from left to right, falling all over it and jumping around the stage, pointing suggestively at the screaming masses. It makes for quite a spectacle, but fortunately, it never distracts from the power of the music. While there is much here from the recently released 'Quicken the Heart', and only about a sixth of the audience know the words, Maximo circumvent this problem by turning the guitars up to twenty and bolstering their sound. From current single 'The Kids Are Sick Again' to sporadic album opener 'Wraithlike', everything seems heavier and more intense and as a result, you just can't help but shuffle your feet. It's the earlier material that really gives the floor a good pounding, though. Opener 'Graffiti' stomps out of the gate like a demented rock behemoth, and before long it's morphed into the whirlwind histrionics of 'Our Velocity', sending bodies bouncing off one another in a sort of riotous delirium. Then there's 'Girls Who Play Guitars', 'Now I'm All Over The Shop', 'Going Missing', 'Books From Boxes'... classics all, and greeted with the kind of vocal hysteria usually reserved for stadium terraces.
By the time the encore comes around, Newcastle is giving its heroes a standing ovation. They barely even need to play closer 'Apply Some Pressure'; the audience screams every word so loud that they almost drown out the rhythm section. It's a superlative moment, demonstrating the depth of devotion that this city has for its most prolific of bands, and when Maximo remain on stage at song's end, mouthing heartfelt "thank you"s and basking in the glory of a job well and truly done, you know the feeling is mutual. The restrained politeness that characterised the start of the evening has given way to an uncontrollable frenzy, and that’s something that not even the long arm of the law can control. Absolutely and utterly class.
There are members of the local constabulary patrolling the halls of Newcastle's 02 Academy this evening, as homegrown heroes Maximo Park begin the first night of their two-date residency. However, rather than being hired to keep an eye on a few thousand over-exuberant Geordies, whose uncontrollable desire to get close to their idols threatens to trample hundreds of innocent bystanders under foot, the boys in blue are here in an attempt to quell a rising spate of phone and wallet thievery; at recent gigs by acts as disparate as NOFX and The Enemy, the pickpockets have been on the loose, scrounging what they can while the average music lover is distracted by the sight of his or her favourite band. Their presence is a nice, polite gesture, one that makes you think that yeah, maybe the venue does have our best interests at heart; until you walk through the double doors and are accosted by their 'promotional staff' that is, who, despite being amicable enough to have a mindless chat about Poison the Well with, are still there purely to sell you a phone network. A phone network that has a monopoly on the tickets they sell for their recently acquired venues, that offers its users the chance to buy them a day or so before they are released to the general public. It's just the sort of plastic, repugnant corporate claptrap that music can do without and no amount of free Monster-Munch-on-a-stick appetisers (yes, we're not kidding) from smiley-faced 'waitresses', if you can call them that, can disguise the fact.
So already, this false politeness leaves a bitter taste in the mouth, and that's before Stricken Kid and the Noisettes show up with the remit to be as inoffensive as possible. The London four piece carefully wheel out their Korg-led twee pop, stopping only to offer the most delicate of "thank you"s to a gracious, but markedly unmoved, crowd. Shingai Shoniwa's band of merry indie funksters continue the trend, despite having a drummer who looks like he should be in a 70s heavy metal act, bashing away at his kit with the kind of force generally reserved for Iron Maiden LPs. There's a sort of sultry sense of relaxation to their newly honed Gossip-lite sound, but it fails to ignite the very palpable spark that's buzzing around the clearly psyched-up crowd. Shoniwa's attempts to inject a little sleaze into the performance don't really help matters; while she drapes herself over the drumkit in her too-short yellow dress and gyrates suggestively against her guitarist, Newcastle just shrugs its shoulders, as if to say, "yeah, been there, done that, when's the guy in the trilby coming on?" Everyone stands stock still, even during recent single 'Go Baby Go', the one a few people might've actually heard. Oh sure, they bring their hands together, but its more out of obedience than any sort of appreciation. It certainly doesn't help that the Noisettes lack the tunes to really kick-start the party and, more importantly, that they make occasional use of a backing track instead of allowing Shoniwa to sing. Would it really kill her to perform her songs as they are recorded? By the end of their lacklustre twenty-five minutes, even the band look bored, resigned to the fact that they're never going to stimulate this most befuddled and unimpressed of audiences.
Thankfully, the main event shows up thirty minutes later and promptly puts an end to all of this indifference. There's nothing polite about Maximo Park's performance, that's for sure, and nor is there in Newcastle's very vocal adoration. As the various members of the band walk out onstage, the roars of appreciation threaten to blow the roof off and then, when Paul Smith's gangly, besuited and betrilbyed frame finally scissor kicks into view, they very almost do. There is such an incredible amount of love for this band that, at times, it threatens to overwhelm them; their Cheshire cat grins stay permanently glued to their faces, as if in awe of such sincere warmth. However, instead of simply resting on their laurels and letting the love wash over them, they grab onto it as tight as they can and use it to invigorate, transforming a standard set that's heavy on the new album with a smattering of hits, into a blisteringly impassioned performance. It's like they're playing for their lives, such is the intensity; Paul Smith frequently seems possessed, 'Hulking up' to his hoards, yelling "come on!" at the top of his voice and wildly gesticulating at us all as he tells nineteen stories in lyrical form. His songs seem to consume him: he feels and means every word, and frequently screams them, fists clenched, into the distance, as if addressing some invisible subject. And why wouldn't he? These are snapshots of a life, one loaded with a wealth of experience that he delights in regaling us with. From the bittersweet yearning of 'I Want You To Stay' to the heartfelt reminisce of 'By The Monument', there is a sort of emotional catharsis in his performance, as if the act of singing the words actually helps to resolve the personal conflict that they speak of.
There's room for mindless, flamboyant fun in the mix too. Smith's expert showmanship shines through at every turn: he stalks the stage from left to right, climbing speaker stacks, jumping off drum risers and standing on stage lights, all the while throwing shapes, twisting, contorting, swinging his mic around and so on and on, further into the most delectable sort of cabaret. There's a distinctly camp element to his behaviour, the kind that makes you half expect him to start twirling the mic stand around while performing a sort of barbershop quartet dance across the length of the stage. He never does though; instead, he just shakes his arse one more time and gropes keyboardist Lukas Wooller, who is also just about as delightfully fidgety.
If he isn't doing his traditional right-hand karate chops, he's swinging his keyboard from left to right, falling all over it and jumping around the stage, pointing suggestively at the screaming masses. It makes for quite a spectacle, but fortunately, it never distracts from the power of the music. While there is much here from the recently released 'Quicken the Heart', and only about a sixth of the audience know the words, Maximo circumvent this problem by turning the guitars up to twenty and bolstering their sound. From current single 'The Kids Are Sick Again' to sporadic album opener 'Wraithlike', everything seems heavier and more intense and as a result, you just can't help but shuffle your feet. It's the earlier material that really gives the floor a good pounding, though. Opener 'Graffiti' stomps out of the gate like a demented rock behemoth, and before long it's morphed into the whirlwind histrionics of 'Our Velocity', sending bodies bouncing off one another in a sort of riotous delirium. Then there's 'Girls Who Play Guitars', 'Now I'm All Over The Shop', 'Going Missing', 'Books From Boxes'... classics all, and greeted with the kind of vocal hysteria usually reserved for stadium terraces.
By the time the encore comes around, Newcastle is giving its heroes a standing ovation. They barely even need to play closer 'Apply Some Pressure'; the audience screams every word so loud that they almost drown out the rhythm section. It's a superlative moment, demonstrating the depth of devotion that this city has for its most prolific of bands, and when Maximo remain on stage at song's end, mouthing heartfelt "thank you"s and basking in the glory of a job well and truly done, you know the feeling is mutual. The restrained politeness that characterised the start of the evening has given way to an uncontrollable frenzy, and that’s something that not even the long arm of the law can control. Absolutely and utterly class.
Monday, 4 May 2009
It's #musicmonday! Wah-hey!
Inspired by the 'trending topic' of the same name on Twitter, here's a new feature designed to tickle your earlobes. I post links to ten songs wot I fink r gud. You listen. And probably want to hit me repeatedly over the head with a hammer for exposing you to such garbage. Oh well.
1. ANTI-FLAG: "Sodom, Gomorrah, Washington D.C. (Sheep in Shepherd's Clothing)"
Nice and angry new single from the perpetually politicised ones. This gives me a chance to show off my lovely new blip.fm account too. God, there's just too many websites to give my precious time to these days.
2. CONOR OBERST AND THE MYSTIC VALLEY BAND: "Nicorette"
A lovely live performance of a lovely song from Oberst's lovely new album 'Outer Sight', released this lovely week. Altogether now, 'I'm just trying to be a human being/Sitting in the sun eating ice cream'.
3. BILLY TALENT: "Devil on My Shoulder"
Bootlegged from a live show in Sydney, a sample of the sort of delights we are in for from Billy Talent III. Not the single, it should be noted, which is called 'Rusted From The Rain' and is out on May 25th.
4. MANIC STREET PREACHERS: "All Is Vanity"
Managed to get my hands on a copy of Journal for Plague Lovers and, pleasingly, it's a bit of a beaut. This is one of my favourites from it, set to an excellent montage of scenes from the movie Equilibrium. I really can't wait for the end of May...
5. THE KING BLUES: "I Got Love"
It's a little cheesy, I'll grant you, and it's far from the best song on recent album Save the World, Get the Girl, but I love it all the same. And it's all over Radio 1, which can only be a good thing.
6. MAXIMO PARK: "The Kids Are Sick Again"
Sounds delightfully sinister this one. Lucas's weird keyboard parts make it for me, and it certainly helps that he's as mad as ever in the video. Not quite as immediate as 'Our Velocity', but it packs a good punch nonethless.
7. FAKE PROBLEMS: "The Dream Team"
From 'It's Great To Be Alive', one of the few albums released this year that I've been struck by, 'The Dream Team' is a top class pop song and a fine, fine representation of the band. Playing the Lock Up stage at Reading and Leeds and supporting Frank Turner on his October tour, these guys are not to be missed.
8. NEW END ORIGINAL: "14-41"
Been listening to the one and only album from Jonah Matranga's best band (controversial that; I know I should be bleating on about how nothing'll ever surpass Far but meh, that's just not me) since his solo show at Trillian's a few weeks back and I can't get enough of this song. The amateur nature of the video footage that this is underscoring quite suits both the feel of the track and Matranga's very inclusivist attitude to his music.
9. EELS: "Elizabeth on the Bathroom Floor"
The opening track from one of my favourite albums of all time, 1998's 'Electro-Shock Blues', 'Elizabeth on the Bathroom Floor' is probably the most haunting piece of music you will ever hear. The animated video that accompanies it was created by the Youtube user responsible for the upload and it's superb.
10. FRANK TURNER: "Try This At Home"
An excellent live performance of the utterly ace 'Try This At Home' at this year's SXSW. The track will feature on Frank's third album 'Poetry of the Deed', which is out in September. Further proof, as if any were needed, that he can do no wrong.
And that's that. More next Monday!
1. ANTI-FLAG: "Sodom, Gomorrah, Washington D.C. (Sheep in Shepherd's Clothing)"
Nice and angry new single from the perpetually politicised ones. This gives me a chance to show off my lovely new blip.fm account too. God, there's just too many websites to give my precious time to these days.
2. CONOR OBERST AND THE MYSTIC VALLEY BAND: "Nicorette"
A lovely live performance of a lovely song from Oberst's lovely new album 'Outer Sight', released this lovely week. Altogether now, 'I'm just trying to be a human being/Sitting in the sun eating ice cream'.
3. BILLY TALENT: "Devil on My Shoulder"
Bootlegged from a live show in Sydney, a sample of the sort of delights we are in for from Billy Talent III. Not the single, it should be noted, which is called 'Rusted From The Rain' and is out on May 25th.
4. MANIC STREET PREACHERS: "All Is Vanity"
Managed to get my hands on a copy of Journal for Plague Lovers and, pleasingly, it's a bit of a beaut. This is one of my favourites from it, set to an excellent montage of scenes from the movie Equilibrium. I really can't wait for the end of May...
5. THE KING BLUES: "I Got Love"
It's a little cheesy, I'll grant you, and it's far from the best song on recent album Save the World, Get the Girl, but I love it all the same. And it's all over Radio 1, which can only be a good thing.
6. MAXIMO PARK: "The Kids Are Sick Again"
Sounds delightfully sinister this one. Lucas's weird keyboard parts make it for me, and it certainly helps that he's as mad as ever in the video. Not quite as immediate as 'Our Velocity', but it packs a good punch nonethless.
7. FAKE PROBLEMS: "The Dream Team"
From 'It's Great To Be Alive', one of the few albums released this year that I've been struck by, 'The Dream Team' is a top class pop song and a fine, fine representation of the band. Playing the Lock Up stage at Reading and Leeds and supporting Frank Turner on his October tour, these guys are not to be missed.
8. NEW END ORIGINAL: "14-41"
Been listening to the one and only album from Jonah Matranga's best band (controversial that; I know I should be bleating on about how nothing'll ever surpass Far but meh, that's just not me) since his solo show at Trillian's a few weeks back and I can't get enough of this song. The amateur nature of the video footage that this is underscoring quite suits both the feel of the track and Matranga's very inclusivist attitude to his music.
9. EELS: "Elizabeth on the Bathroom Floor"
The opening track from one of my favourite albums of all time, 1998's 'Electro-Shock Blues', 'Elizabeth on the Bathroom Floor' is probably the most haunting piece of music you will ever hear. The animated video that accompanies it was created by the Youtube user responsible for the upload and it's superb.
10. FRANK TURNER: "Try This At Home"
An excellent live performance of the utterly ace 'Try This At Home' at this year's SXSW. The track will feature on Frank's third album 'Poetry of the Deed', which is out in September. Further proof, as if any were needed, that he can do no wrong.
And that's that. More next Monday!
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