804: 'Bitten'
Written by Robbie Thompson
Directed by Thomas J. Wright
Synopsis: The Winchesters track down a killer and the investigation leads them to
found footage of three college students investigating mysterious animal
attacks.
Verdict: In a move that will undoubtedly divide fans, Supernatural eschews its
regular format this week in favour of a home-movie style
point-of-view episode that presents a typical monster-of-the-week tale
from an entirely different set of perspectives. Sure, the use of
'amateur footage' to tell a story is nothing new (in fact, it's one of
the most conventional horror tropes out there), but it is definitely
refreshing to lose the usual procedural, investigative structure and see
a paranormal event unfold before the eyes of three college friends. Of course,
that means less Jensen and Jared but hey, if it means we get no doggy
flashbacks and a tonne of homoerotic undertones, I'll take it.
The
key to the success of this piece is the strength of the leads. The
three actors are brilliant and play their parts straight,
refusing, at least initially, to succumb to hyperbole. This, combined
with some cracking, organic dialogue, helps ground the episode in
reality, lending events a believability that can often be lacking in the
show (and that's understandable when faced with such outrageous
circumstances). There's a healthy amount of horror in all of this too,
aided by the jerky, off-kilter camera angles and use of handheld, and as
for that opening sequence... well, I thought I'd started up American
Horror Story by mistake.
It's a shame that the episode becomes a
victim of its own success in places: there's obviously a complete lack
of logic in the characters' continued use of cameras, even in the most
dire of circumstances, and things do get a little OTT towards the end,
particularly when Brian says he doesn't want to be Piggy any more but
wants a shot at being Ralph; euck, we really did not need the
heavy-handed Lord of the Flies reference, thanks. Still, 'Bitten' is
certainly a major improvement on 'Heartache' and, for all it is a
side-step from the main arc, it stands well enough on its own merits to
warrant a repeat viewing. (7)
Sunday, 28 October 2012
TV review: Fringe 504: 'The Bullet That Saved the World'
504: 'The Bullet That Saved the World'
Written by Alison Schapker
Directed by David Straiton
Synopsis: After infiltrating a subway station to recover a vital piece of Walter's plan, the Fringe team meet up with an old friend... and must determine if he can be trusted.
Verdict: Wait. Hold up. Pause that and rewind a second, would ya? They killed Etta? ETTA? Olivia and Peter's progeny? The child upon whose shoulders the fate of the world seems to rest? The symbol of hope (see 501)? Well, if the Fringe writers are trying to one-up Homeland's production crew in the 'WTF?' stakes then they're doing a mighty fine job. The impact of that suckerpunch is pretty damn intense and the ripple effects will doubtless be felt throughout the rest of the season. Kudos to everyone involved for keeping foreshadowing to a minimum, thereby making the scene all the more shocking, and also to Anna Torv and Josh Jackson for some absolutely stellar acting in both their final moments with their daughter and the aftermath at hour's end.
For all this will undoubtedly be the episode's major talking point for weeks to come, there's still a whole 35 other minutes worthy of our attention and Alison Schapker does a fine job of keeping up the pace and generating a whole whack-load of tension to keep us on the edge of our seats. The concept of Walter retaining evidence of previous Fringe events is an absolutely brilliant one, completely in keeping with his character (if a little out of the blue), and the decision to have the team create events of their own is a nice nod to continuity. It's also somewhat disturbing, taking the actions of the team into questionable territory (using deadly poison gas against guards? Some might cry terrorism), further blurring the fine line between hero and villain.
If there are flaws, they're to be found in some of the more unusual decisions made this week: Peter's trip to the pawn shop is sweet and everything but would he really risk throwing everything away for a necklace? How inept can the Loyalists be to miss every single shot at, and chance of capturing, the Fringe agents? And while things remain enjoyable for now, how much longer can the game of cat and mouse with the Observers (chase, capture, rescue, chase etc) endure? But let's not dwell too much on those right now... poor Etta! Poor Olivia! And Peter! Oh, and Broyles is back! Man, oh man. (8)
Written by Alison Schapker
Directed by David Straiton
Synopsis: After infiltrating a subway station to recover a vital piece of Walter's plan, the Fringe team meet up with an old friend... and must determine if he can be trusted.
Verdict: Wait. Hold up. Pause that and rewind a second, would ya? They killed Etta? ETTA? Olivia and Peter's progeny? The child upon whose shoulders the fate of the world seems to rest? The symbol of hope (see 501)? Well, if the Fringe writers are trying to one-up Homeland's production crew in the 'WTF?' stakes then they're doing a mighty fine job. The impact of that suckerpunch is pretty damn intense and the ripple effects will doubtless be felt throughout the rest of the season. Kudos to everyone involved for keeping foreshadowing to a minimum, thereby making the scene all the more shocking, and also to Anna Torv and Josh Jackson for some absolutely stellar acting in both their final moments with their daughter and the aftermath at hour's end.
For all this will undoubtedly be the episode's major talking point for weeks to come, there's still a whole 35 other minutes worthy of our attention and Alison Schapker does a fine job of keeping up the pace and generating a whole whack-load of tension to keep us on the edge of our seats. The concept of Walter retaining evidence of previous Fringe events is an absolutely brilliant one, completely in keeping with his character (if a little out of the blue), and the decision to have the team create events of their own is a nice nod to continuity. It's also somewhat disturbing, taking the actions of the team into questionable territory (using deadly poison gas against guards? Some might cry terrorism), further blurring the fine line between hero and villain.
If there are flaws, they're to be found in some of the more unusual decisions made this week: Peter's trip to the pawn shop is sweet and everything but would he really risk throwing everything away for a necklace? How inept can the Loyalists be to miss every single shot at, and chance of capturing, the Fringe agents? And while things remain enjoyable for now, how much longer can the game of cat and mouse with the Observers (chase, capture, rescue, chase etc) endure? But let's not dwell too much on those right now... poor Etta! Poor Olivia! And Peter! Oh, and Broyles is back! Man, oh man. (8)
TV review: Fringe 503: 'The Recordist'
503: 'The Recordist'
Written by Graham Roland
Directed by Jeff Bennett
Synopsis: The Fringe team meets with a group of humans who have taken refuge in the forest and seek to preserve humanity's history any way they can.
Verdict: After the whizz-bam suckerpunches of the season's first two hours, you'd be forgiven for thinking that 'The Recordist' is a bit of a slow-burner. Graham Roland's script is, at times, more akin to one of last year's 'case of the week as metaphor for the arc' episodes, wherein a standalone menace (or, in this case, infection) ties into the on-going narrative and moves it on a few paces, albeit cautiously. And this isn't necessarily a bad thing: the tree people, as I'm going to have to call them, are a pleasant touch, further establishing the extent to which the Observers' invasion has decimated the planet and thereby intensifying their credibility as a threat. The relationship between the group's leader and his son is also rather touching (the kid, notably, is excellent) and the knock-on impact this has on Olivia and Etta is much welcome.
There are a few niggling plot points, however: it seems a little implausible that the meticulous Observer horde would overlook this particular area of woodland for so long, however remote it is. The leader's sacrifice is also a little stilted and feels less akin to his character than the moments in which he professes to being scared. And then there's the risk of infection to the Fringe team which rears its head for a minute or two to give us a nifty mid-episode cliffhanger and is then effectively resolved, with no further mention for the rest of the hour. With a little tightening of the script, these problems could've been ironed out but as it is, they detract a little from the overall quality of the episode. Still, by no means a bad effort and quite possibly a breath of fresh air from the frenetic pace of the rest of the season. (7)
Written by Graham Roland
Directed by Jeff Bennett
Synopsis: The Fringe team meets with a group of humans who have taken refuge in the forest and seek to preserve humanity's history any way they can.
Verdict: After the whizz-bam suckerpunches of the season's first two hours, you'd be forgiven for thinking that 'The Recordist' is a bit of a slow-burner. Graham Roland's script is, at times, more akin to one of last year's 'case of the week as metaphor for the arc' episodes, wherein a standalone menace (or, in this case, infection) ties into the on-going narrative and moves it on a few paces, albeit cautiously. And this isn't necessarily a bad thing: the tree people, as I'm going to have to call them, are a pleasant touch, further establishing the extent to which the Observers' invasion has decimated the planet and thereby intensifying their credibility as a threat. The relationship between the group's leader and his son is also rather touching (the kid, notably, is excellent) and the knock-on impact this has on Olivia and Etta is much welcome.
There are a few niggling plot points, however: it seems a little implausible that the meticulous Observer horde would overlook this particular area of woodland for so long, however remote it is. The leader's sacrifice is also a little stilted and feels less akin to his character than the moments in which he professes to being scared. And then there's the risk of infection to the Fringe team which rears its head for a minute or two to give us a nifty mid-episode cliffhanger and is then effectively resolved, with no further mention for the rest of the hour. With a little tightening of the script, these problems could've been ironed out but as it is, they detract a little from the overall quality of the episode. Still, by no means a bad effort and quite possibly a breath of fresh air from the frenetic pace of the rest of the season. (7)
TV review: Fringe 502: 'In Absentia'
502: 'In Absentia'
Written by J.H. Wyman & David Fury
Directed by Jeannot Szwarc
Synopsis: After Walter's mind is damaged by Windmark's telepathic probe, the team goes to Walter's old Harvard lab to find the information they need to defeat the Observers.
Verdict: While it's certainly sad to see this show on its last hurrah, there's definitely something to be said for having a planned end date; just as with that other J.J. Abrams stalwart (oh, you know the one), Fringe feels tauter, better plotted and, crucially, more focused than ever in its final season, setting out its trajectory and sticking firmly to it, losing any potential wastage along the way (monster-of-the-week episodes are fine when executed deftly but these are the last days and we need no distractions, thank you very much).
So 'In Absentia' moves the arc plot along another twenty or so paces, bringing Harvard back into the mix (but without Daisy... or did Walter amber her too?) And carving out the basic structure for the hours to come in the form of the tapes that contain Walter's master plan. While this could become tiresome and repetitive, in the hands of Fringe's executive producers, it will doubtless be a thrilling ride. And if they continue to expertly marry the movement of the central narrative with considered character establishment, all the better. There are some wonderfully quiet moments here, from Olivia's disappointment at Etta's tactics to Etta's justifications to just about every line given to the guard. Lost's Radzinsky is absolutely superb as a man broken by the system, quietly searching for redemption. Wyman and Fury's shades of grey give these sequences extra clout, refusing to become bogged down in traditional tropes of good and evil, making everything all the more human. Another excellent episode then... even with Walter's somewhat cheesy final speech. (9)
Written by J.H. Wyman & David Fury
Directed by Jeannot Szwarc
Synopsis: After Walter's mind is damaged by Windmark's telepathic probe, the team goes to Walter's old Harvard lab to find the information they need to defeat the Observers.
Verdict: While it's certainly sad to see this show on its last hurrah, there's definitely something to be said for having a planned end date; just as with that other J.J. Abrams stalwart (oh, you know the one), Fringe feels tauter, better plotted and, crucially, more focused than ever in its final season, setting out its trajectory and sticking firmly to it, losing any potential wastage along the way (monster-of-the-week episodes are fine when executed deftly but these are the last days and we need no distractions, thank you very much).
So 'In Absentia' moves the arc plot along another twenty or so paces, bringing Harvard back into the mix (but without Daisy... or did Walter amber her too?) And carving out the basic structure for the hours to come in the form of the tapes that contain Walter's master plan. While this could become tiresome and repetitive, in the hands of Fringe's executive producers, it will doubtless be a thrilling ride. And if they continue to expertly marry the movement of the central narrative with considered character establishment, all the better. There are some wonderfully quiet moments here, from Olivia's disappointment at Etta's tactics to Etta's justifications to just about every line given to the guard. Lost's Radzinsky is absolutely superb as a man broken by the system, quietly searching for redemption. Wyman and Fury's shades of grey give these sequences extra clout, refusing to become bogged down in traditional tropes of good and evil, making everything all the more human. Another excellent episode then... even with Walter's somewhat cheesy final speech. (9)
Saturday, 27 October 2012
TV review: Fringe 501: 'Transilience Thought Unifier Model-11'
501: 'Transilience Thought Unifier Model-11'
Written by J.H. Wyman
Directed by Jeannot Szwarc & Miguel Sapochnik
Synopsis: In the year 2036, Peter, Astrid, Walter, and Etta set out to find Olivia and free her from amber. Once they do, they discover she holds the key to finding the plans for a weapon to defeat the Observers... but Walter is captured and interrogated for the same information.
Verdict: With a measly 13 episodes until the end of the line, Fringe ups the ante tenfold with an action-packed rollercoaster of a season opener that neatly establishes the template for weeks to come, jostling simultaneously between crazy, plot-fueled chase sequences and tender, often crushing, character moments. There's a notable sense of urgency about the whole hour, intensified by the magnificent duel directorial abilities of Szwarc and Sapochnik, who do an absolutely cracking job of making the decimated landscape of 2034 come to life. Of course, we've had a taster of this season's delights already - last year's superb 'Letters in Transit' - so it should come as no surprise that the production crew are a dab hand at these things but still, what they manage to achieve on such a tight budget is nothing short of astonishing. There are moments of genuine horror - Windmark's interrogation of Walter is gut-wrenching (he's one hell of a villain, ain't he?) - as well as punch-the-air euphoria (Etta reunited with her mother), but let's give credit where credit's due and talk about that final scene, eh? While it may seem like something of a cop-out to have Walter lose some of his memories again, the moment of poignancy that results more than makes up for it. John Noble is absolutely fantastic here, doing so much with so little, and the direction, lighting, camerawork and soundtrack all combine to produce a striking two minutes of television that will doubtless be talked about for months to come. And all to a Yazoo song... who'd have thunk it? (9)
Written by J.H. Wyman
Directed by Jeannot Szwarc & Miguel Sapochnik
Synopsis: In the year 2036, Peter, Astrid, Walter, and Etta set out to find Olivia and free her from amber. Once they do, they discover she holds the key to finding the plans for a weapon to defeat the Observers... but Walter is captured and interrogated for the same information.
Verdict: With a measly 13 episodes until the end of the line, Fringe ups the ante tenfold with an action-packed rollercoaster of a season opener that neatly establishes the template for weeks to come, jostling simultaneously between crazy, plot-fueled chase sequences and tender, often crushing, character moments. There's a notable sense of urgency about the whole hour, intensified by the magnificent duel directorial abilities of Szwarc and Sapochnik, who do an absolutely cracking job of making the decimated landscape of 2034 come to life. Of course, we've had a taster of this season's delights already - last year's superb 'Letters in Transit' - so it should come as no surprise that the production crew are a dab hand at these things but still, what they manage to achieve on such a tight budget is nothing short of astonishing. There are moments of genuine horror - Windmark's interrogation of Walter is gut-wrenching (he's one hell of a villain, ain't he?) - as well as punch-the-air euphoria (Etta reunited with her mother), but let's give credit where credit's due and talk about that final scene, eh? While it may seem like something of a cop-out to have Walter lose some of his memories again, the moment of poignancy that results more than makes up for it. John Noble is absolutely fantastic here, doing so much with so little, and the direction, lighting, camerawork and soundtrack all combine to produce a striking two minutes of television that will doubtless be talked about for months to come. And all to a Yazoo song... who'd have thunk it? (9)
Live review: Dry the River (w/Arcane Roots, Last Winter Dance Party), York Fibbers, 26/10/12
Okay,
listen. Being the unashamedly crass hacks that we are, it's all too
tempting to draw parallels between the conditions inside tonight's
pressure cooker of a venue and those outside; to make the oh-so-cliched
observation that, while the first, really rather heavy, snows of the
season are tumbling down upon a bitterly cold York city centre, within
these four walls, the atmosphere couldn't be any warmer (and that's not
just because the heating's been cranked up to the max). And yeah, it's
painful just typing that, but you know what? It's bloody true. The sold
out crowd packing themselves into Fibbers treat tonight's headliners
like long-lost family, welcoming the band with open arms, lovingly
embracing each track with their vocal chords and, crucially, hanging on
every word they say.
Dry the River are probably used to all of this by now; playing sold out shows up and down the country (and across the oceans, natch) to ever-increasing audiences may make the reverence on display this evening seem par for the course. The supports may not be accustomed to such reactions, however; and while the standing ovations and passionate singalongs may be reserved for later in the evening, there is, nevertheless, a politely attentive, and appreciative, mood in the air during both Last Winter Dance Party's half hour of wonderfully epic alt folk (check out the addictive 'Dawn Chorus' now... free download on their Facebook!) and the abrasive guitar assaults of Kingston's brilliant Arcane Roots who almost, almost, upstage their successors tonight in the intensity stakes. It's certainly refreshing to be part of a crowd that's genuinely interested in the music as opposed to chugging down the next pint while chatting idly to one another, and when this filters through to the support slots too, well, everyone's a winner.
To be fair to DtR, mind, it's virtually impossible not to keep your eyes permanently glued to the stage during their suitably colossal 60 minutes. Naturally, there's the much-touted audio-visual dichotomy of five relatively scrawny, tattooed-to-fuck former hardcore kids making such heartwrenchingly tender and beautiful music which, in itself, is enough to send a dozen or more jaws dropping to the floor every time Peter opens his mouth and THAT angelic voice comes spilling out... but that's only part of the story. Fact is, these guys know how to put on a show, when to let the tunes speak for themselves and when to let loose and unleash holy hell on their instruments.
So there are moments of unrelenting beauty: an achingly expansive 'Demons', the acapella opening to 'Weights and Measures', doused with enough melancholy to make even the most steadfast among us shed a tear or two, every solitary second of 'Bible Belt' and, lest we forget, the inspired decision to close the encore with an acapella rendition of 'Shaker Hymns'... in the middle of the crowd. And then there are the gargantuan numbers: the impassioned choruses of 'No Rest', the anthemic 'New Ceremony' and the piece da resistance, the six minute behemoth that is 'Lion's Den', which builds and builds into a climax of unfathomable proportions, each member of the band drawing deep to give us every ounce of energy they can possibly muster. It's a thrilling experience, leaving lumps the size of golfballs in the throats of every stunned spectator in the building.
And that's pretty much the go-to response for tonight's performance. With only 9 songs, no shoes and a few Maryland cookies (no, we don't know either), Dry the River blow every expectation out of the water, demonstrating their consummate skills as musicians but, more importantly than that, delivering something genuinely emotive and real. The passion, energy and intensity on display tonight is what live music was made for and it's brilliantly invigorating. Hats off to DtR then; there's absolutely nothing cold about this evening's show. Sorry... couldn't resist.
Dry the River are probably used to all of this by now; playing sold out shows up and down the country (and across the oceans, natch) to ever-increasing audiences may make the reverence on display this evening seem par for the course. The supports may not be accustomed to such reactions, however; and while the standing ovations and passionate singalongs may be reserved for later in the evening, there is, nevertheless, a politely attentive, and appreciative, mood in the air during both Last Winter Dance Party's half hour of wonderfully epic alt folk (check out the addictive 'Dawn Chorus' now... free download on their Facebook!) and the abrasive guitar assaults of Kingston's brilliant Arcane Roots who almost, almost, upstage their successors tonight in the intensity stakes. It's certainly refreshing to be part of a crowd that's genuinely interested in the music as opposed to chugging down the next pint while chatting idly to one another, and when this filters through to the support slots too, well, everyone's a winner.
To be fair to DtR, mind, it's virtually impossible not to keep your eyes permanently glued to the stage during their suitably colossal 60 minutes. Naturally, there's the much-touted audio-visual dichotomy of five relatively scrawny, tattooed-to-fuck former hardcore kids making such heartwrenchingly tender and beautiful music which, in itself, is enough to send a dozen or more jaws dropping to the floor every time Peter opens his mouth and THAT angelic voice comes spilling out... but that's only part of the story. Fact is, these guys know how to put on a show, when to let the tunes speak for themselves and when to let loose and unleash holy hell on their instruments.
So there are moments of unrelenting beauty: an achingly expansive 'Demons', the acapella opening to 'Weights and Measures', doused with enough melancholy to make even the most steadfast among us shed a tear or two, every solitary second of 'Bible Belt' and, lest we forget, the inspired decision to close the encore with an acapella rendition of 'Shaker Hymns'... in the middle of the crowd. And then there are the gargantuan numbers: the impassioned choruses of 'No Rest', the anthemic 'New Ceremony' and the piece da resistance, the six minute behemoth that is 'Lion's Den', which builds and builds into a climax of unfathomable proportions, each member of the band drawing deep to give us every ounce of energy they can possibly muster. It's a thrilling experience, leaving lumps the size of golfballs in the throats of every stunned spectator in the building.
And that's pretty much the go-to response for tonight's performance. With only 9 songs, no shoes and a few Maryland cookies (no, we don't know either), Dry the River blow every expectation out of the water, demonstrating their consummate skills as musicians but, more importantly than that, delivering something genuinely emotive and real. The passion, energy and intensity on display tonight is what live music was made for and it's brilliantly invigorating. Hats off to DtR then; there's absolutely nothing cold about this evening's show. Sorry... couldn't resist.
Live review: Muse, Glasgow SECC, 24/10/12
Let's get one important point out of the way before we begin: Muse are
an incredible live band. There is simply no denying the fact that Matt,
Chris and Dom are masters of their craft, perhaps THE masters, expertly
amalgamating extravagance, spectacle, technical wizardry, bone-crunching
guitar riffs and spine-tingling singalongs to produce a heady five
course musical meal that has crowds devouring the palms of their hands
throughout. It almost goes without saying that Muse shows are like no
other, and that the extortionate amount you undoubtedly paid for it will
be repaid tenfold by at least SOME of the 120 minute rollercoaster ride
unfolding before your eyes (and ears).
And so it is tonight at Glasgow's cavernous SECC, when the ivories tinkle the opening refrain of 'The Resistance'; when Matt launches into a heart-wrenchingly beautiful - and most unexpected - 'Ruled by Secrecy'; when Dom's thunderous drums drive a militaristic 'Uprising'; when Chris straps on the ol' harmonica, signalling the arrival of a brutal, pounding 'Knights of Cydonia'; and of course, when Matt slays seven shades of the proverbial out of 'Plug-In Baby' and 'Stockholm Syndrome', perhaps the finest, messiest, certainly noisiest headfuck of a closing duo you are ever likely to experience. These are the moments that stick with you, that send shivers careering down your spine, that thrill, that excite, that re-affirm your belief in this most colossal of bands.
It's a shame, then, that these moments are getting fewer and further between, that Muse seem hell-bent on abandoning the very things that make them such a delight to watch. Doubtless Matt, Dom and Chris are extremely proud of their latest effort, 'The 2nd Law', and that they, quite understandably, want to take any opportunity they can to share their new-born with the world. It's just unfortunate that it also happens to be something of a dud; unquestionably their worst record to date and quite frankly, hopeless in a live setting. Disappointing, then, that they choose to air no fewer than TEN - count 'em! - songs from it this evening which leaves a lot less room for those that are far likelier to elicit a positive reaction.
Muse could be forgiven, perhaps, if the lazy, almost parodic, sound of the album was given a complete make-over live, confounding expectations and forcing you to re-evaluate the record. Sadly, this is not the case: the flat songs still sound flat and, worse still, they kill the jubilant mood created by anthems like 'Time Is Running Out' and 'Starlight'. Five or six tracks might have been forgivable; 'Supremacy' does sound mega, 'Survival' was the Olympic song after all (though there is no way in hell it should close the show... talk about a Radio 2 ending), 'Madness' IS a single, though God only knows why, and at least 'Panic Station' makes people dance, but 'Animals'? 'Explorers'? Opening with 'Unsustainable'? Making us wait through ALL of 'Isolated System' before we return for the encore? Matt running around like Bono on steroids during 'Follow Me'? 'LIQUID STATE'? There really is no need for such an excessive amount of new material, particularly when the songs bleed into one another in the setlist ('Liquid State' into 'Madness' into 'Follow Me' into 'Undisclosed Desires' has got to be the worst run of Muse tracks EVER). Oh sure, we're all grateful for a toilet/bar break every now and again but not when it makes up approximately 50% of the show.
Of course, the biggest casualty of this over-reliance on new material is the loss of space for the old. Gone are any tracks from 'Showbiz', with the one concession, the first verse of 1997's 'Host', welcome but insufficient to remedy the loss of 'Unintended', 'Muscle Museum' or indeed, anything else from that record. Unforgivably, 'Hysteria' is nowhere to be found, despite the baying of the crowd and the fact that it contains the finest guitar solo to have ever wormed its way out of Matt's fingertips; a decent but hardly special 'Map of the Problematique' takes its place.
And then there's the 'New Born'/Stockholm Syndrome' thing. The two finest songs in their arsenal, both phenomenal live, and they'll only play one each night. They've even made a thing of it, notifying fans beforehand and, worse still, using a roulette graphic on-stage just before playing which of the two has been selected for that night, with the two songs as the only options; as if, you know, they haven't already decided beforehand. While this is undoubtedly supposed to manufacture some excitement, all it does is remind us of what we're NOT going to get. It's almost insulting, as if Muse are having a good laugh at our expense; "hah, yeah, we know you love 'em both but you know what, fucking TOUGH. We're gonna do what we like."
Frankly, we expect more from the UK's finest live performers. All the extravagant visuals, elaborate sets (the pyramid IS nifty), ludicrous suits, Star Trek onesies (Dom, you are a cad) and flash shades in the world cannot make up for the loss of the very thing that made Muse such a thrilling experience in the first place: the tunes. Sure, this is by no means a car crash of a performance; there are plenty astonishing moments, more than enough to justify the ticket price probably, and to make any first-time gig-goers think they've probably just witnessed the best show on Earth. It's just... we expect, no, we NEED, more from Muse. If they're to retain their reputation, Matt, Dom and Chris need to strip the '2nd Law' portion of the set to its bare bones, restore the tracks that got them to this point and cut back heavily on the Mercury and the Bono. Oh, and quit playing drum and bass jams too, you're too good for that shit. Disappointingly, then, the verdict is a resounding must try harder.
And so it is tonight at Glasgow's cavernous SECC, when the ivories tinkle the opening refrain of 'The Resistance'; when Matt launches into a heart-wrenchingly beautiful - and most unexpected - 'Ruled by Secrecy'; when Dom's thunderous drums drive a militaristic 'Uprising'; when Chris straps on the ol' harmonica, signalling the arrival of a brutal, pounding 'Knights of Cydonia'; and of course, when Matt slays seven shades of the proverbial out of 'Plug-In Baby' and 'Stockholm Syndrome', perhaps the finest, messiest, certainly noisiest headfuck of a closing duo you are ever likely to experience. These are the moments that stick with you, that send shivers careering down your spine, that thrill, that excite, that re-affirm your belief in this most colossal of bands.
It's a shame, then, that these moments are getting fewer and further between, that Muse seem hell-bent on abandoning the very things that make them such a delight to watch. Doubtless Matt, Dom and Chris are extremely proud of their latest effort, 'The 2nd Law', and that they, quite understandably, want to take any opportunity they can to share their new-born with the world. It's just unfortunate that it also happens to be something of a dud; unquestionably their worst record to date and quite frankly, hopeless in a live setting. Disappointing, then, that they choose to air no fewer than TEN - count 'em! - songs from it this evening which leaves a lot less room for those that are far likelier to elicit a positive reaction.
Muse could be forgiven, perhaps, if the lazy, almost parodic, sound of the album was given a complete make-over live, confounding expectations and forcing you to re-evaluate the record. Sadly, this is not the case: the flat songs still sound flat and, worse still, they kill the jubilant mood created by anthems like 'Time Is Running Out' and 'Starlight'. Five or six tracks might have been forgivable; 'Supremacy' does sound mega, 'Survival' was the Olympic song after all (though there is no way in hell it should close the show... talk about a Radio 2 ending), 'Madness' IS a single, though God only knows why, and at least 'Panic Station' makes people dance, but 'Animals'? 'Explorers'? Opening with 'Unsustainable'? Making us wait through ALL of 'Isolated System' before we return for the encore? Matt running around like Bono on steroids during 'Follow Me'? 'LIQUID STATE'? There really is no need for such an excessive amount of new material, particularly when the songs bleed into one another in the setlist ('Liquid State' into 'Madness' into 'Follow Me' into 'Undisclosed Desires' has got to be the worst run of Muse tracks EVER). Oh sure, we're all grateful for a toilet/bar break every now and again but not when it makes up approximately 50% of the show.
Of course, the biggest casualty of this over-reliance on new material is the loss of space for the old. Gone are any tracks from 'Showbiz', with the one concession, the first verse of 1997's 'Host', welcome but insufficient to remedy the loss of 'Unintended', 'Muscle Museum' or indeed, anything else from that record. Unforgivably, 'Hysteria' is nowhere to be found, despite the baying of the crowd and the fact that it contains the finest guitar solo to have ever wormed its way out of Matt's fingertips; a decent but hardly special 'Map of the Problematique' takes its place.
And then there's the 'New Born'/Stockholm Syndrome' thing. The two finest songs in their arsenal, both phenomenal live, and they'll only play one each night. They've even made a thing of it, notifying fans beforehand and, worse still, using a roulette graphic on-stage just before playing which of the two has been selected for that night, with the two songs as the only options; as if, you know, they haven't already decided beforehand. While this is undoubtedly supposed to manufacture some excitement, all it does is remind us of what we're NOT going to get. It's almost insulting, as if Muse are having a good laugh at our expense; "hah, yeah, we know you love 'em both but you know what, fucking TOUGH. We're gonna do what we like."
Frankly, we expect more from the UK's finest live performers. All the extravagant visuals, elaborate sets (the pyramid IS nifty), ludicrous suits, Star Trek onesies (Dom, you are a cad) and flash shades in the world cannot make up for the loss of the very thing that made Muse such a thrilling experience in the first place: the tunes. Sure, this is by no means a car crash of a performance; there are plenty astonishing moments, more than enough to justify the ticket price probably, and to make any first-time gig-goers think they've probably just witnessed the best show on Earth. It's just... we expect, no, we NEED, more from Muse. If they're to retain their reputation, Matt, Dom and Chris need to strip the '2nd Law' portion of the set to its bare bones, restore the tracks that got them to this point and cut back heavily on the Mercury and the Bono. Oh, and quit playing drum and bass jams too, you're too good for that shit. Disappointingly, then, the verdict is a resounding must try harder.
Live review: Little Comets (w/General Fiasco, Natasha Haws), Newcastle O2 Academy, 20/10/12
It wasn't so long ago that Jarrow's finest songsmiths were barely
troubling the claustrophobic shoebox that is Newcastle Academy's second
room. A year or two on from those halcyon days and with a sophomore
album under their collective belts, Little Comets are now packing out
the former Bingo Hall itself, drawing in delirious youngsters (and by
young, golly do we mean young) by the truckload and whipping every last
one of 'em into a frenzy with their unique brand of spiky kitchen sink
indie. And okay, so the venue isn't actually sold out tonight but with
the noise this lot make, and the mudhole stomped into the floor by the
end, you'd certainly be forgiven for thinking so.
In an inspired move, support this evening comes in two equally delicious flavours: first, soaring acoustic melancholia courtesy of South Shields' Natasha Haws, whose all-too-brief five song set is a lesson in how to pull heartstrings (mark our words, this girl will go far); second, hook-laden pop rock from Northern Ireland's General Fiasco who mainly showcase their latest release 'Unfaithfully Yours' (a real step up; buy it now, kids) but offer a veritable treasure trove of killer riffs and irresistible choruses ('Don't You Ever' and 'We Are The Foolish' are the main highlights) that get the hands clapping and the feet... well, you get the gist.
There's no mistaking the stars of tonight's soiree, however, and as the obligatory clothesline is draped with the requisite percussion instruments and the lights begin to dim, the atmosphere is positively electric. The 75 minute Greatest Hits (and then some) that follows is just about the perfect recipe to satisfy the rabid hordes, careering from one gigantic indie pop gem to another, only occasionally interrupted by lesser-known material from current record 'Life Is Elsewhere'.
And if, at times, the new tracks sound a little stifled, hinting perhaps that they could use a little bedding in, they're few enough to be forgiven. Before long, we're recklessly slamming into one another again as another 'In Search of Elusive...' classic erupts or one of the more recent singles gets an airing. Indeed, one of the night's foremost highlights is the delirium that greets 'Worry'; the corresponding singalong is almost enough to stun the band into silence. And five minutes later, this actually happens as the crowd bellow back the RIFF to 'One Night in October' and then engage in the greatest hand-clap/woo-woo/bounce-bounce combination this side of a Green Day concert during the frankly bonkers 'Dancing Song'.
Little Comets are humbled by all of this; at show's end, they seem genuinely stunned at the warmth of the reception, telling us that their 'silly little songs' were written in bedrooms in Jarrow for their own amusement and that they never expected that they would connect with so many. It's a typically British, and perhaps North Eastern, trait, downplaying one's talent, but it only increases the poignancy of the situation, hammering home the fact that tonight is something particularly special. The local boys done good, guys... now let's give 'em a hundred more nights as memorable as this one.
In an inspired move, support this evening comes in two equally delicious flavours: first, soaring acoustic melancholia courtesy of South Shields' Natasha Haws, whose all-too-brief five song set is a lesson in how to pull heartstrings (mark our words, this girl will go far); second, hook-laden pop rock from Northern Ireland's General Fiasco who mainly showcase their latest release 'Unfaithfully Yours' (a real step up; buy it now, kids) but offer a veritable treasure trove of killer riffs and irresistible choruses ('Don't You Ever' and 'We Are The Foolish' are the main highlights) that get the hands clapping and the feet... well, you get the gist.
There's no mistaking the stars of tonight's soiree, however, and as the obligatory clothesline is draped with the requisite percussion instruments and the lights begin to dim, the atmosphere is positively electric. The 75 minute Greatest Hits (and then some) that follows is just about the perfect recipe to satisfy the rabid hordes, careering from one gigantic indie pop gem to another, only occasionally interrupted by lesser-known material from current record 'Life Is Elsewhere'.
And if, at times, the new tracks sound a little stifled, hinting perhaps that they could use a little bedding in, they're few enough to be forgiven. Before long, we're recklessly slamming into one another again as another 'In Search of Elusive...' classic erupts or one of the more recent singles gets an airing. Indeed, one of the night's foremost highlights is the delirium that greets 'Worry'; the corresponding singalong is almost enough to stun the band into silence. And five minutes later, this actually happens as the crowd bellow back the RIFF to 'One Night in October' and then engage in the greatest hand-clap/woo-woo/bounce-bounce combination this side of a Green Day concert during the frankly bonkers 'Dancing Song'.
Little Comets are humbled by all of this; at show's end, they seem genuinely stunned at the warmth of the reception, telling us that their 'silly little songs' were written in bedrooms in Jarrow for their own amusement and that they never expected that they would connect with so many. It's a typically British, and perhaps North Eastern, trait, downplaying one's talent, but it only increases the poignancy of the situation, hammering home the fact that tonight is something particularly special. The local boys done good, guys... now let's give 'em a hundred more nights as memorable as this one.
Saturday, 20 October 2012
TV reviews: Supernatural 803: 'Heartache'
803: 'Heartache'
Written by Brad Buckner & Eugenie Ross-Leming
Directed by Jensen Ackles
Synopsis: After a series of brutal murders where the victims had their hearts torn out, the Winchesters track down and locate the killer. However, they soon realize that he's not the only killer and the others are still at large.
Verdict: Well, it was all a bit too good to be true, wasn't it? After last week's impressive 'What's Up, Tiger Mommy?' and Carver's solid season opener, you might've been forgiven for hoping for more of the same; for thinking that, perhaps, Supernatural was on the brink of doing the unthinkable in sustaining an uphill trajectory in its eighth season. Alas, no longer. It isn't that Buckner and Lemming's script is bad exactly, it's just... lacking. Disappointing. A bit humdrum. Things start out relatively well with a gruesome opening sequence and a genuinely intriguing mystery, layered enough to keep you guessing until, sadly, the exposition gets in the way. Around the midpoint, Sam, Dean and then Betsie unleash a protracted brain-dump on us all in a series of grossly talkative scenes that seriously deflate the drama. Scriptwriting 101 dictates that showing is usually better than telling, and this is oh so very true here. And to make matters worse, the whole thing is just too ridiculous to be taken seriously; a Mayan God who loves sports makes a deal, gets many more years, commits suicide and then his organs are donated to a bunch of folk who start eating hearts... I can barely type that without guffawing. Regrettably, the episode loses all credibility and with it, any semblance of interest once all the pieces are in place, and then it one-ups itself in the cringe-worthy stakes with that horrible moment where the stripper tells Dean that she's going to deliberately remove his heart oh-so-very-slowly, just so that Sam has enough time to save the day. Euck, guys, that's just bad writing. A disappointing effort then, and one that loses another point for the continued inanity of Sam's flashbacks. The dog, the birthday cake, it's just too much! (4)
Written by Brad Buckner & Eugenie Ross-Leming
Directed by Jensen Ackles
Synopsis: After a series of brutal murders where the victims had their hearts torn out, the Winchesters track down and locate the killer. However, they soon realize that he's not the only killer and the others are still at large.
Verdict: Well, it was all a bit too good to be true, wasn't it? After last week's impressive 'What's Up, Tiger Mommy?' and Carver's solid season opener, you might've been forgiven for hoping for more of the same; for thinking that, perhaps, Supernatural was on the brink of doing the unthinkable in sustaining an uphill trajectory in its eighth season. Alas, no longer. It isn't that Buckner and Lemming's script is bad exactly, it's just... lacking. Disappointing. A bit humdrum. Things start out relatively well with a gruesome opening sequence and a genuinely intriguing mystery, layered enough to keep you guessing until, sadly, the exposition gets in the way. Around the midpoint, Sam, Dean and then Betsie unleash a protracted brain-dump on us all in a series of grossly talkative scenes that seriously deflate the drama. Scriptwriting 101 dictates that showing is usually better than telling, and this is oh so very true here. And to make matters worse, the whole thing is just too ridiculous to be taken seriously; a Mayan God who loves sports makes a deal, gets many more years, commits suicide and then his organs are donated to a bunch of folk who start eating hearts... I can barely type that without guffawing. Regrettably, the episode loses all credibility and with it, any semblance of interest once all the pieces are in place, and then it one-ups itself in the cringe-worthy stakes with that horrible moment where the stripper tells Dean that she's going to deliberately remove his heart oh-so-very-slowly, just so that Sam has enough time to save the day. Euck, guys, that's just bad writing. A disappointing effort then, and one that loses another point for the continued inanity of Sam's flashbacks. The dog, the birthday cake, it's just too much! (4)
TV reviews: Supernatural 802: 'What's Up, Tiger Mommy?'
802: 'What's Up, Tiger Mommy?'
Written by Andrew Dabb & Daniel Loflin
Directed by John Showalter
Synopsis: Crowley takes Kevin's mother hostage in an attempt to recover Kevin as he searches for the tablet. The Winchesters help Kevin rescue her, only to discover that she insists on joining them on their quest.
Verdict: The ever-trustworthy Dabb and Loflin hit a home run this week with an episode bristling with continuity references, razor-sharp one-liners and well-established plot devices. 'What's Up, Tiger Mommy?' is, at times, a Supernatural fan's wet dream, casually throwing out references to Gods, angels and soul-selling and relying on them all to advance the course of the narrative without ever seemingly perfunctory or convenient. In lesser hands, the hour's essential backbone - the auction - could have fallen terribly flat, stumbling over the precarious line into parody, but not so here. While there are witticisms aplenty, the duo inject sufficient gravitas into proceedings to ensure that we take the whole business seriously, and their tour de force comes when Kevin's mom offers up her soul in exchange for her son. And while we're on the subject, let's give a much-deserved round of applause to Lauren Tom for her assured and oft-understated portrayal of Linda Tran, which helps sell the absurdity of the situation in which she and the Winchesters find themselves. The pay-off (Kevin's disappearance) is both logical and rewarding, with the added bonus of giving Jensen Ackles the opportunity to do some real soul-searching (did he really reject Castiel? Really?) And how about that opening sequence, huh? Daft as a brush, no shadow of a doubt, but deliciously so... especially when we get to see the bone's real importance. More episodes like this, please. (8)
Written by Andrew Dabb & Daniel Loflin
Directed by John Showalter
Synopsis: Crowley takes Kevin's mother hostage in an attempt to recover Kevin as he searches for the tablet. The Winchesters help Kevin rescue her, only to discover that she insists on joining them on their quest.
Verdict: The ever-trustworthy Dabb and Loflin hit a home run this week with an episode bristling with continuity references, razor-sharp one-liners and well-established plot devices. 'What's Up, Tiger Mommy?' is, at times, a Supernatural fan's wet dream, casually throwing out references to Gods, angels and soul-selling and relying on them all to advance the course of the narrative without ever seemingly perfunctory or convenient. In lesser hands, the hour's essential backbone - the auction - could have fallen terribly flat, stumbling over the precarious line into parody, but not so here. While there are witticisms aplenty, the duo inject sufficient gravitas into proceedings to ensure that we take the whole business seriously, and their tour de force comes when Kevin's mom offers up her soul in exchange for her son. And while we're on the subject, let's give a much-deserved round of applause to Lauren Tom for her assured and oft-understated portrayal of Linda Tran, which helps sell the absurdity of the situation in which she and the Winchesters find themselves. The pay-off (Kevin's disappearance) is both logical and rewarding, with the added bonus of giving Jensen Ackles the opportunity to do some real soul-searching (did he really reject Castiel? Really?) And how about that opening sequence, huh? Daft as a brush, no shadow of a doubt, but deliciously so... especially when we get to see the bone's real importance. More episodes like this, please. (8)
TV reviews: Supernatural #801 'We Need to Talk About Kevin'
801: 'We Need to Talk About Kevin'
Written by Jeremy Carver
Directed by Robert Singer
Synopsis: One year after their battle with the Leviathans, Sam finally finds his brother Dean, who reveals what happened to him and Castiel in Purgatory. They soon reunite with the prophet Kevin and learn about another Word of God... and an unbelievable opportunity.
Verdict: Another year, another change of show-runner, another quick-fire reunion for our favourite dysfunctional brotherly unit. The more things change, the more they stay the same, it would seem; Jeremy Carver's much-touted return to the Supernatural executive team still hasn't managed to rid us of the show's penchant for removing any dramatic impact whatsoever from its season-ending cliffhangers. As in previous seasons, bringing Sam and Dean back into one another's lives within the space of ten all-too-short minutes just feels like a cop-out, cheapening 'Survival of the Fittest's final moments and wasting a delicious opportunity to change the game altogether. Oh sure, we pick up a year later and we're gonna get some back-story via the tried and tested medium of the grainy flashback but then, don't we always? How about keeping the brothers apart for an extended period of time for a change? How about, you know, trying something different eight years in? No? Too much to ask? Thought so.
That irritating gripe aside, 'We Need to Talk About Kevin' is a fairly solid forty minutes of scene-setting and role-reversal that successfully presents Carver's statement of intent for the year ahead, simplifying the arc plot while retaining several much loved tropes and characters from seasons past. As usual, Mark Sheppard is superb as Crowley, stealing every scene he's in, and thankfully, he's actually established as a genuine threat rather than simply a darkly comedic observer, which seems to have been his go-to function for the last season or so. It's good to see Kevin back too, even if his supposed six month stint in the gutter stretches believability somewhat, and Dean's year in Purgatory shows promise, particularly given the acting chops on display from the guy playing his new vampy BFF. The only real disappointment is the sorry excuse for emotional resonance that poor Jared Padalecki's been saddled with; Sam ran over a dog? Seriously? This is the best the writing staff could come up with as a representation of the year he hung up his hunting boots? Dear, dear. (7)
Written by Jeremy Carver
Directed by Robert Singer
Synopsis: One year after their battle with the Leviathans, Sam finally finds his brother Dean, who reveals what happened to him and Castiel in Purgatory. They soon reunite with the prophet Kevin and learn about another Word of God... and an unbelievable opportunity.
Verdict: Another year, another change of show-runner, another quick-fire reunion for our favourite dysfunctional brotherly unit. The more things change, the more they stay the same, it would seem; Jeremy Carver's much-touted return to the Supernatural executive team still hasn't managed to rid us of the show's penchant for removing any dramatic impact whatsoever from its season-ending cliffhangers. As in previous seasons, bringing Sam and Dean back into one another's lives within the space of ten all-too-short minutes just feels like a cop-out, cheapening 'Survival of the Fittest's final moments and wasting a delicious opportunity to change the game altogether. Oh sure, we pick up a year later and we're gonna get some back-story via the tried and tested medium of the grainy flashback but then, don't we always? How about keeping the brothers apart for an extended period of time for a change? How about, you know, trying something different eight years in? No? Too much to ask? Thought so.
That irritating gripe aside, 'We Need to Talk About Kevin' is a fairly solid forty minutes of scene-setting and role-reversal that successfully presents Carver's statement of intent for the year ahead, simplifying the arc plot while retaining several much loved tropes and characters from seasons past. As usual, Mark Sheppard is superb as Crowley, stealing every scene he's in, and thankfully, he's actually established as a genuine threat rather than simply a darkly comedic observer, which seems to have been his go-to function for the last season or so. It's good to see Kevin back too, even if his supposed six month stint in the gutter stretches believability somewhat, and Dean's year in Purgatory shows promise, particularly given the acting chops on display from the guy playing his new vampy BFF. The only real disappointment is the sorry excuse for emotional resonance that poor Jared Padalecki's been saddled with; Sam ran over a dog? Seriously? This is the best the writing staff could come up with as a representation of the year he hung up his hunting boots? Dear, dear. (7)
Thursday, 5 April 2012
A Frank Turner gigging history (c/o YouTube)
I tried to find a clip from all 28 Frank Turner shows I've attended since August 2007 but was sadly defeated by his solo support slot at the Birmingham Academy 2 Gaslight Anthem show in 2009. Never mind. You'll have to make do with 27. Some of these bring back some fucking fantastic memories... particularly the Santiago's show which is the best I've seen him play and one of my favourite shows of all time. Enjoy.
1. 'The Ballad of Me and My Friends', Leeds Festival 2007, Carling Stage (filmed by yours truly)
2. 'When The Huntsman Comes A Marchin'/Thatcher Fucked the Pandas', Trillian's, Newcastle, 18/09/07
3. 'Sea Legs', The Cluny, Newcastle, 02/04/08
4. 'The Real Damage', Jam by the Lake Festival, Durham, June 2008
5. 'The Ballad of Me and My Friends', Leeds Festival 2008 (Lock Up Stage)
6. 'Long Live the Queen', The Cockpit, Leeds, 21/10/08
7. 'Photosynthesis' clip, The Duchess, York, 22/10/08
8. 'St. Christopher Is Coming Home', Oran Mor, Glasgow, 23/10/08
9. 'Long Live The Queen', Manchester Academy 3, 24/10/08
10. Foiled in my quest to find footage from Birmingham Academy 2!
11. Manchester Academy 2, 04/02/09
12. 'Dancing Queen', Middlesbrough Music Live Festival, 06/06/09
13. Leeds Festival 2009 (drummer's eye view) (NME Stage)
14. 'Smiling at Strangers on Trains', Manchester Academy 2, 16/10/09
15. 'The Road', Newcastle University, 17/10/09
16. 'Photosynthesis', Shepherd's Bush Empire, London, 29/10/09
17. 'Sons of Liberty', Northumbria University, Newcastle, 15/03/10
18. 'Once We Were Anarchists', Manchester Academy 1, 17/03/10
19. 'Try This At Home', Wembley Stadium, London, 19/06/10
20. 'I Still Believe', Leeds Festival 2010 (NME Stage)
21. 'Worse Things Happen At Sea', 53 Degrees, Preston (03/12/10)
22. 'The Ballad of Me and My Friends' clip (in-crowd), Santiago's, Leeds (secret show) (05/03/11) - I think you can see me and Cal in this. Best FTHC gig ever.
23. 'Lori Meyers' (with Stacey Dee), Bottom of the Hill, San Francisco (04/05/11)
24. 'The District Sleeps Alone Tonight' (with Ben Marwood), Brudenell Social Club, Leeds (16/05/11)
25. 'If Ever I Stray', Newcastle Academy, 06/08/11
26. 'Substitute', Leeds Festival 2011 (Main Stage)
27. 'The Boat' (with Chuck Ragan), Leeds Festival 2011 (Lock Up Stage)
28. 'Glory Hallelujah', Manchester Apollo, 26/11/11
1. 'The Ballad of Me and My Friends', Leeds Festival 2007, Carling Stage (filmed by yours truly)
2. 'When The Huntsman Comes A Marchin'/Thatcher Fucked the Pandas', Trillian's, Newcastle, 18/09/07
3. 'Sea Legs', The Cluny, Newcastle, 02/04/08
4. 'The Real Damage', Jam by the Lake Festival, Durham, June 2008
5. 'The Ballad of Me and My Friends', Leeds Festival 2008 (Lock Up Stage)
6. 'Long Live the Queen', The Cockpit, Leeds, 21/10/08
7. 'Photosynthesis' clip, The Duchess, York, 22/10/08
8. 'St. Christopher Is Coming Home', Oran Mor, Glasgow, 23/10/08
9. 'Long Live The Queen', Manchester Academy 3, 24/10/08
10. Foiled in my quest to find footage from Birmingham Academy 2!
11. Manchester Academy 2, 04/02/09
12. 'Dancing Queen', Middlesbrough Music Live Festival, 06/06/09
13. Leeds Festival 2009 (drummer's eye view) (NME Stage)
14. 'Smiling at Strangers on Trains', Manchester Academy 2, 16/10/09
15. 'The Road', Newcastle University, 17/10/09
16. 'Photosynthesis', Shepherd's Bush Empire, London, 29/10/09
17. 'Sons of Liberty', Northumbria University, Newcastle, 15/03/10
18. 'Once We Were Anarchists', Manchester Academy 1, 17/03/10
19. 'Try This At Home', Wembley Stadium, London, 19/06/10
20. 'I Still Believe', Leeds Festival 2010 (NME Stage)
21. 'Worse Things Happen At Sea', 53 Degrees, Preston (03/12/10)
22. 'The Ballad of Me and My Friends' clip (in-crowd), Santiago's, Leeds (secret show) (05/03/11) - I think you can see me and Cal in this. Best FTHC gig ever.
23. 'Lori Meyers' (with Stacey Dee), Bottom of the Hill, San Francisco (04/05/11)
24. 'The District Sleeps Alone Tonight' (with Ben Marwood), Brudenell Social Club, Leeds (16/05/11)
25. 'If Ever I Stray', Newcastle Academy, 06/08/11
26. 'Substitute', Leeds Festival 2011 (Main Stage)
27. 'The Boat' (with Chuck Ragan), Leeds Festival 2011 (Lock Up Stage)
28. 'Glory Hallelujah', Manchester Apollo, 26/11/11
To the East, to the East...
Okay. So. By my reckoning, next Friday's Wembley Arena gig will be the 29th Frank Turner show I've seen in the last five years (and yes, I include solo, full band and support slots in the mix). It's quite a varied list, with a somewhat mindblogging amount of mileage involved. Turns out, I've seen the man (and his band, sometimes) play in 11 different cities and at 22 different venues since August 2007. Bleedin' Nora. The full list is below:
1. Leeds Festival 2007 (Lock Up Stage)
2. Trillian's, Newcastle, 18/09/07 (solo)
3. The Cluny, Newcastle, 02/03/08
4. Jam by the Lake Festival, Durham, June 2008 (solo)
5. Leeds Festival 2008 (Carling Stage)
6. The Cockpit, Leeds, 21/10/08
7. The Duchess, York, 22/10/08
8. Oran Mor, Glasgow, 23/10/08
9. Manchester Academy 3, 24/10/08
10. Birmingham Academy 2 (solo - supporting Gaslight Anthem), 03/02/09
11. Manchester Academy 2 (solo - supporting Gaslight Anthem), 04/02/09
12. Middlesbrough Music Live festival, June 2009
13. Leeds Festival 2009 (NME Stage)
14. Manchester Academy 2, 16/10/09
15. Newcastle University, 17/10/09
16. Shepherd's Bush Empire, London, 29/10/09
17. Northumbria University, 15/03/10
18. Manchester Academy, 17/03/10
19. Wembley Stadium (supporting Green Day), London, 19/06/10
20. Leeds Festival 2010, NME Stage
21. 53 Degrees, Preston, 03/12/10
22. Santiago's, Leeds (secret show), 05/03/11 (solo)
23. Bottom of the Hill, San Francisco, 04/05/11 (solo)
24. Brudenell Social Club, Leeds, 16/05/11 (solo)
25. Newcastle Academy (Ignition make-up show), 06/08/11
26. Leeds Festival 2011, Main Stage
27. Leeds Festival 2011, Lock Up Stage
28. Manchester Apollo, 26/11/11
And now the bastard's at Wembley Arena. It really has been quite the journey.
1. Leeds Festival 2007 (Lock Up Stage)
2. Trillian's, Newcastle, 18/09/07 (solo)
3. The Cluny, Newcastle, 02/03/08
4. Jam by the Lake Festival, Durham, June 2008 (solo)
5. Leeds Festival 2008 (Carling Stage)
6. The Cockpit, Leeds, 21/10/08
7. The Duchess, York, 22/10/08
8. Oran Mor, Glasgow, 23/10/08
9. Manchester Academy 3, 24/10/08
10. Birmingham Academy 2 (solo - supporting Gaslight Anthem), 03/02/09
11. Manchester Academy 2 (solo - supporting Gaslight Anthem), 04/02/09
12. Middlesbrough Music Live festival, June 2009
13. Leeds Festival 2009 (NME Stage)
14. Manchester Academy 2, 16/10/09
15. Newcastle University, 17/10/09
16. Shepherd's Bush Empire, London, 29/10/09
17. Northumbria University, 15/03/10
18. Manchester Academy, 17/03/10
19. Wembley Stadium (supporting Green Day), London, 19/06/10
20. Leeds Festival 2010, NME Stage
21. 53 Degrees, Preston, 03/12/10
22. Santiago's, Leeds (secret show), 05/03/11 (solo)
23. Bottom of the Hill, San Francisco, 04/05/11 (solo)
24. Brudenell Social Club, Leeds, 16/05/11 (solo)
25. Newcastle Academy (Ignition make-up show), 06/08/11
26. Leeds Festival 2011, Main Stage
27. Leeds Festival 2011, Lock Up Stage
28. Manchester Apollo, 26/11/11
And now the bastard's at Wembley Arena. It really has been quite the journey.
Saturday, 31 March 2012
Live review: Noah and the Whale, Newcastle O2 Academy, 21/03/12
The trouble with Noah and the Whale is that it’s extremely difficult to muster a great deal of enthusiasm for the poor sods. Sure, they can carry a chorus and, yeah, they have a knack for a tune, but underneath it all, something, somewhere is missing. Beyond the softly, softly, cutesy pop singalongs for which they’ve become famous, and the gentle melancholia that used to take centre stage prior to 2011’s Last Night on Earth, there’s a tangible hole, a gaping chasm where something exciting should be.
Now, don’t get us wrong – the Whale are by no means a terrible band. On the contrary, they’re a decidedly savvy bunch, saving all their best tunes til last and working their curious hotchpotch of a crowd like wizened veterans, goading us all into song and, naturally, proclaiming Newcastle’s supremacy over all other cities. The mums, dads, students, pop freaks and nerdy hardcore contingent are all eating out of the palms of their well-groomed hands throughout their ninety minute set, and threaten to blow the roof off during a particularly cacophonous ‘L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.’ When the hits hit, they pack a major whollop, ‘Waiting For My Chance To Come’ and ‘Tonight’s The Kind of Night’ coming thick and fast, one after another, like a victorious boxer putting pay to a battered, bruised and broken opponent in the final rounds of a brutally bloody brawl.
The problem, however, is that the band just don’t have all that many of these mammoth tunes as yet. Give them another two or three years, and as many records, and perhaps they’ll be able to pack their sets tightly with smash hit after smash hit. At present, sadly, they have to resort to trotting out filler material from ‘Earth’ and to former small-scale glories such as the gorgeous ‘Blue Skies’, which would be perfectly fine if it weren’t for the rather unfortunate fact that their demographic has shifted immeasurably in the last twelve months. A small portion of their fanbase has deserted the band, yelling “sell outs!” as they trotted along, and the vacuum (and more) has been filled by Chase & Status fans (or worse still, Snow Patrol ones). These folk aren’t all that keen on awkward six minute dirges about personal demons and hence don’t take too kindly to the ‘First Days of Spring’ encore which, while satiating the devoted, falls hopelessly flat following ‘that song with the letters and all that’.
For the remainder, there is just too much embellishment and not enough substance, and for all Charlie tries his damndest, he just isn’t the Jarvis Cockeralike he possibly aspires to be. He’s getting better, admittedly, approaching the front rows, posing during ‘Give It All Back’ and even offering a few wry, self-deprecating comments, but all of this fails to disguise the mediocrity at the heart of the set. There are notable lulls, particularly around the halfway mark, and for all Newcastle is politely attentive, clapping along in all the right places, the atmosphere is one of impatient anticipation, desperate for that final run of ‘the ones we all know’.
It’s a shame really, as Noah and the Whale’s transformation into an indie pop outfit has essentially brought about this problem; in the early days, the quiet indie folk fans hung on every word, caring not whether the tracks were new, obscure or proverbial ‘classics’. As ever, the price of fame is the Drive Time audience, the replacement of the fan with the casual listener, and for all it may make the choruses more impressive, the singalongs more potent, these are fleeting moments, ten to fifteen minutes of genius as opposed to a complete package. A great deal of this isn’t the band’s fault of course, but that doesn’t alter the fact that tonight’s show feels too often like a test of endurance rather than a captivating performance and if these guys are to continue their ascent to superstardom, they’re gonna need to address this problem pretty fast. After all, we really wouldn’t want another Glasvegas on our hands, now would we?
Live review: The Cribs (w/Spectrals and This Many Boyfriends), The Liquid Room, Edinburgh, 01/03/12
Oh, how we’ve missed The Cribs. The UK music scene just isn’t the same without their ridiculous haircuts, questionable fashion sense and thoroughly shambolic performances. Try as they might, contemporary starlets such as Tribes and The Vaccines just cannot match the Jarman brothers in intensity, absurdity or sheer, mind-blowing rock and roll thrills. All it takes tonight is for Ryan, Gary and Ross to trot out onstage to the sound of Kiss classic-cum-shocker ‘God Gave Rock ‘n’ Roll To You’, Ryan decked out in hole-strewn jeans, knee-high striped socks and hideous, hideous yellow jacket, raise a hand or two and suddenly, we’re off, the rabid Edinburghian masses surging forward in a sweaty mass of adulation, voices roaring, bodies flying and the poor folk on the barrier (including yours truly) looking like they’re about to have their internal organs obliterated in the ensuing crush.
We barely need the filth-soaked opening bars of current single ‘Chi-Town’ to threaten the structural integrity of The Liquid Room’s all-too small basement venue but when the minor chords do bleed from Ryan’s shiny new Stratocaster, the temperature increases another twenty or so degrees and a mudhole is promptly stomped into the poor, unassuming floor. The track sets the tone for the evening’s performance, full of discordant guitar and bass attacks, drenched in feedback, threatening to fall apart at the seams at any minute, Ryan circling the stage like a man possessed, almost busting open his lip like old times while singing AT rather than into his mic, which, in turn, ends up on the stage floor, in the drumkit and straddling the amps at the climax of every other song.
Buoyed by a typically bonkers Scottish crowd, The Cribs play for their lives, collapsing into one another, screaming the words to staples like ‘Cheat on Me’, ‘We Were Aborted’ and ‘Hey Scenesters!’ and, on occasion, goading the masses on when they engage in activity that would otherwise be frowned upon at other shows. With bodies flying at him, Ryan takes a keen interest when crowdsurfers grab his hand, leg or any other body part while walking past the stage, at one point trying desperately to drag a girl onto it, and allowing himself to be dragged to the ground by a particularly overzealous male during the mess of sweat and tears that is closing magnum opus ‘City of Bugs’. He casually brushes off the swathes of lager and piss that rain down on the band when the set really kicks off during a blistering ‘I’m A Realist’, playing on like a trouper, Cheshire cat grin on his face, loving every moment. And amongst this furore, there’s never any risk of rock star excess, no sign of the Jarmans succumbing to their own hype. Indeed, Ryan is stereotypically self-deprecating, sarcastically giving the thumbs up to his own band when the crowd cheers them on, mockingly exclaiming “yeah! We rule!” He also acknowledges that the crowd inevitably prefer “the old school Cribs” prior to launching into a deafening ‘Another Number’ (which Edinburgh manages to sing so loudly, it drowns out the band) and that, actually, that’s okay with them.
There’s plenty delights from the back catalogue for fans to sink their teeth into, including riotous renditions of ‘Men’s Needs’ and ‘Our Bovine Public’, as well as the more studied ‘Women’s Needs’ and ‘Be Safe’, but as the band are releasing a new record soon, the set is inevitably peppered with a number of new tracks too, some of which sound fucking monumental, while others may take a little more time and the aid of a set of stereo speakers to really blossom. While so much of The Cribs’ appeal lies in their complete disregard for the principles of performance, allowing imperfections, fuck ups and, well, thrash to take precedence, it is also something of a crutch when it comes to airing fresh material. Sure, once we’re familiar with ‘In The Belly of the Brazen Bull’s charms, we’ll be content to scream the words and allow the waves of feedback to wash over us, but when we’re trying to listen out for the nuances and, in some cases, the tunes, this ‘looseness’ doesn’t help matters. To be fair, we’re very quickly back to familiar territory anyhow, so this is only a minor quibble, but it’s one that could perhaps have been addressed with fewer new tracks or by extending the all-too-short 75 minute set.
Yes, folks, we don’t get much time out of The Cribs tonight; in fact, it feels like the whole show passes before our eyes in a flash, and that’s largely the venue’s fault for having a pesky indie night on afterwards. Indeed, this presents a problem for This Many Boyfriends whose lovely, huggable funpop set is watched by around 20 people due to an inexcusably early start time (5 minutes after doors? Really?) and deserves so much more, especially when you consider that second support Spectrals’ 30 minutes is duller than dirty dishwater. But then, conversely, this only adds to the excitement of the whole thing, imbuing the show with an extra layer of urgency, as if the Jarmans didn’t already have it in abundance. It’s a thrilling whirlwind of a ride from start to finish and one that reaffirms The Cribs’ place as one of the most exciting live bands in Britain. Towards show’s end, Gary thanks the crowd for “still believing in The Cribs” but really, it’s us who should be thanking them for still believing enough to play shows like this. That new record – and more to the point, the accompanying rollercoaster of a tour – cannot come soon enough.
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