I’ll confess, the fact that Sparrow and the Workshop have twice insisted to me that John Knox Sex Club are the best live band in Scotland played a significant part in me asking them to play at Henry’s on Saturday.  Then I heard their version of Katie Cruel on the Sways Records Mixtape, and thought it was incredible.  And then I heard their new album Raise Ravens, and that was that. So I am really looking forward to tomorrow, I don’t know about you.

As for today, it really is unseasonably warm at the moment – almost creepily so.  I half expect Jeff Goldblum to come rushing in the door brandishing unfairly discredited research and demanding I help him get in touch with the president to explain how aliens are invading, or the dinosaurs are coming back, or a comet is about to collide with the planet or something like that.  It’s usually Jeff Goldblum who delivers that kind of news isn’t it?

I other news, the Eastern Promise even is taking place in Glasgow (well, Easterhouse actually, but that’s almost Glasgow) this weekend.  You can get the bus from Mono if you like, and tonight will see the appearance of the amazing Animal Magic Tricks, who was fucking great in Edinburgh a couple of weeks ago, and tomorrow the return of the Scottish Independent Record Fair, where you can purchase assorted tat from the independent record labels of Scotland, amongst which we number our good selves.  You’ll be able to tell our stall, because it will be the one with all the best stuff on it.  Bwah-ha!

Actually, I’ll be there to set up, but will have to get back through to Edinburgh pretty sharpish for obvious enough reasons. In my absence, the stall will be manned by Wee Matthew, who has helped us out with all sorts of things, from filming to PR to screen-printing of album covers, over the last few years.

And so, before I even begin to try and get my head around another busy weekend, let’s just kick back and relax a bit, and spend the afternoon fannying about on the internet. My Fresh Air Show, incidentally, is likely to be on a Friday afternoon this year. Along with yon Brian from Trapped Mice/Loch Awe/Last Battle/etc etc etc… and possibly one other victim.  So erm, yes, even more wastage to Friday afternoons than usual!

1. Name a band who sound nothing like their name.
2. Era you romanticise the most.
3. Of all the people saving the world in disaster movies, who would you most want on the case if you had the choice.
4. Has there actually been a good ‘ZOMG it’s the end of teh wurld!!1!’ film that you can think of?
5. Kids’ movie you actually like.

Five songs from 2003/4 for your entertainment.

Rickie Lee Jones – Little Mysteries

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Laura Viers – Shadow Blues

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R.E.M. – Bad Day

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Shiva Burlesque – Do the Way

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The Jesus & Mary Chain – Just Like Honey

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I first mentioned Thee Ludds a while back when I found their split 12″ on Palmist Records.  That was the first I had heard of the Leicester band, but it appears they have a couple of releases knocking around, including a cassette release on Sheffield-based Tye Die Tapes.  I am really starting to feel a bit dadrockish with my CDs at the moment!

Incidentally, anyone else finding the fashionable return of Sweater Shop-style nineties knitwear a bit unsettling?

Anyhow, this lot make garage rock/punk/pop/whatever/youknowtheusual, which is given something of a psychedelic flavour by the organ sound.  It’s somewhat reminiscent of Lil Daggers on our own label, actually, albeit with slight inflections of ska and mod which make it seem just that little bit more English.  More punky than swampy, I suppose you could say.

In any case, from the admittedly fairly scant evidence thus far (try their SoundCloud page to make your own mind up), these guys seem to have a really strong grasp of the basic ingredients of successful garage rock: keep it short, punchy and catchy.

I am starting to see a lot of these garage bands gravitating towards labels who do a lot of tape releases, split releases, and stuff like that.  It’s usually small scale and DIY, and quite a few rack up a fair few releases in this manner before going anywhere near an album.  In fact, I’d go so far as to say that I am not entirely certain where albums even fit in this aesthetic, actually.

Thee Ludds – Astral Plane

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Thee Ludds – Where to Begin

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I was alerted to this on Twitter the other day by Rich from The Line of Best Fit, I think.  Well, either that or it was the other Rich, formerly of The Line of Best Fit and now of The Quietus.  One of them anyway, and apologies to whichever it wasn’t, I never should have brought you into this.

Anyhow, the release in question is by a band called Sons of Joy, who have a three-song EP on their Bandcamp page for as much or as little as you care to pay for it.

The three songs are accompanied by a slightly mental manifesto, whose first point is simply “We hereby reclaim folk music.”  Umm, good, I think. It also includes a clause rejecting the copyrighting of music, or at least that’s how it reads, and another stating the following: “We reject the falsification of musical truths through multitracking or use of multiple microphones”.

I wonder how they feel about adding shitloads of distortion to, say, a violin track.  Because it kind of sounds to my (admittedly rather uneducated ears) like that’s what they’ve done here. Is that not ‘falsification of musical truths‘ then?

You all probably know how I feel about distortion by now, so that’s most certainly not a complaint.  In fact, it gives the music a belligerent demand for attention, which is only exacerbated by the rough screech of the vocal and the slow but angry thumping of the drums.  It’s not frantic music, but there is so much pent-up fury in it that it feels like a massive dam about to burst.

They are true to their word in the sense that this music seems to be pretty much just guitar, fiddle and drums, without overdubs, and it is indeed folk music.  But it’s screeching, sawing, tortured folk music of the best kind.  Of the kind, in fact, that would happily tear the still-beating heart from the shattered ribcage of the jelly-spined folk pop which sullies the name these days, and eat it in front of its grieving family. Awesome.

Sons of Joy – I Wouldn’t Mind Dying

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Rev. I.B. Ware with Wife and Son – I Wouldn’t Mind Dying (But I Gotta Go By Myself)

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The Honorable Worm – Wouldn’t Mind Dying

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This post can be shortened to one sentence, if you like: “It’s just one random arsehole’s opinion, that’s all, so who fucking cares?”

And the thing is, that’s all it ever is, no matter who writes the damn thing.  Me, you, the editor of Mojo, God al-fucking-mighty himself, it makes no difference, it’s just one arsehole’s opinion.

I know there are differences in the precise pucker of each specific arsehole.  Some arseholes write for very influential publications, so it can be frustrating and in some cases quite damaging if they don’t like something.  And journos, whether professional or amateur, can be incredibly herd-minded, so a couple of negative early write-ups can definitely produce a cascade effect, which is incredibly annoying.

But still, really, it’s just one arsehole’s opinion.  Now, of course, some writers and some of the better publications will put that random arsehole’s opinion into exquisitely well-researched and knowledgeable context, but there are plenty of derivative, badly played, badly recorded albums which add nothing new to the world and yet which people love, so whether or not their painstaking analysis emerges in a positive or a negative way is still down to whether or not they, personally, instinctively like or dislike your music.

And more often than not, even for a lot of the bigger publications, that random arsehole is some kid fresh out of college, or still in it, who isn’t being paid, and who in a year or two is almost certain to have quit the music writing business in favour of something that pays at a slightly more dignified level.

Alternatively it might be some jaded old fucker whose years of experience have almost certainly served more to entrench their pre-existing opinions than to open their minds, and honestly, would you care what your mate’s mum or dad thought of your album?  Would you fuck, so why care now, it’s just some random arsehole’s opinion, so who fucking cares?

Even if a whole bunch of random arseholes don’t really like it, does that lessen the enjoyment of the ones who do?  Would you be discouraged if you handed your album to a random person on the street and they didn’t like it, as if that would in some way render the enjoyment of your actual fans less meaningful?  Would you fuck, because who fucking cares about some random arsehole’s opinion, but that’s pretty much all that happens when you send your work out to be reviewed or submitted for radio play or anything like that.

If I was on the Mercury panel would PJ Harvey have won the prize this year?  Would she fuck, because I find her work boring.  I have no idea why, although I could probably go into great detail about all sorts of post hoc excuses, and loads of people whose music taste I respect and tend to agree with love her, I just happen not to.  Does that make her work less good, because I happen to find it dull? Of course not, and I would no longer be arrogant enough to think so.  Because that’s all ‘something being good’ actually is – more people like it than don’t.

You can bet your life that for every single classic album there will be a handful of high-profile, well-respected, expert critics who think it’s secretly rubbish.  And loads who think it’s great.  Does that make the naysayers righter or wrongerer than everyone else?  And what happens with the next classic album, when the exact same thing happens but the love it/loathe it hats get switched around a bit?

And as for the fucking internet, well Christ on a fucking bike, if you need to be told not to give a fuck about what some stupid fucker writes on the internet then you need a slap.  Any wanker can write a blog, and as you well know by now, any wanker frequently does.  But even at the high-profile internet rags, they rarely ever pay their writers a cent.  Even in the world of print this is increasingly common, so why would you worry about the opinions of someone whose writing and whose insight are so incredibly special they can’t get anyone to pay a red cent for the privilege of actually publishing it?

And while we’re at it, did I mention that paid or not, any review is just one random arsehole’s opinion, so really, who cares anyway? People enjoy things, or they don’t enjoy things, and this is an instinctive, emotional response which can’t be argued away.  So everything anyone writes about your stuff stems from this instinctive enjoyment, or lack thereof, of your music.

No music writer anywhere is ever capable of telling you the intrinsic value of your stuff.  Partly this is because music is too personal for that anyway, and partly because the cultural impact of something, which is pretty much the only way we can measure quality in the long term, is much more dependent on commercial factors and blind chance than it is on artistic merit.

So the next time your album gets butchered in Q magazine (if you’re lucky) or just plain ignored by some ignoramus like myself (if your aim is a lot, lot lower) then just remember that this is still always just the opinion of one random dude they happened to hand the album to.  Look at everything else they like.  If they love music that you hate, and vice versa, which is bound to happen because no-one in music agrees entirely on anything, then why would you necessarily expect to agree with one another on the music you yourself produce?

So bad reviews can be hurtful, they can be annoying, they can be inconvenient and they can be commercially harmful.  But deep down they mean absolutely nothing, and really, they are no more than just one random arsehole’s opinion, and why the fuck would you ever care at all about that?

One of the shite things about being self-employed is the lack of sickies.  My back is giving my right fucking grief today, but I have too much to do to be able to pull a sickie and spend the day lying on the living room floor watching movies.  Whinge whinge fucking whinge.

I don’t normally mention Glasgow gigs, but there is actually another Independent Record Fair being held through that way this week, as part of the Eastern Promise event, which is being held in Easterhouse, with busses leaving from Mono and a ticket setting you back either a tenner for the day or £15 for the weekend.  There is live music on both days, and the record fair itself on the evening of the Saturday.

And, also on Saturday, The Ides of Toad return to Edinburgh, with a fine three-band lineup at Henry’s Cellar Bar.  Sparrow & the Workshop have repeatedly told me that the John Knox Sex Club are the best live band in Scotland, so when their new album turned out to be so good, it made sense to invite them to play, and I am really looking forward to Saturday.

Thursday 29th September 2011: Tattie Toes album launch with Usurper & Shareholder at the Leith Dockers’ Club.

I don’t think I need to much more to persuade you to go to this gig that quote this from the Facebook event page, which describes Tattie Toes as “basque balkan jazz folk strammash, with a dash of avant garde violin screech, ceilidh stomp and shanty wooze”.

Saturday 1st October 2011: John Knox Sex Club, Easter & Fuzzystar at Henry’s Cellar Bar.

I haven’t had a gig on at Henry’s for a couple of months now, and I am very much looking forward to this one.  I got into Easter when they were recommended by Milk Maid, during their Toad Session, and I saw Fuzzystar play both at the Antihoot in August and then again at This is Music at Sneaky’s.

John Knox Sex Club – John the Revelator

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Easter – Somethin’ American

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Fuzzystar – Late Night Radio

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Saturday 1st October 2011: Supermarionation EP launch with Lee Patterson & Andrew Mill at the Wee Red Bar.

Supermarionation are releasing their second EP Amongst the Northern Lochs on Saturday and in keeping with the fact that this is a more acoustic affair than much of their earlier stuff, they have decided to play two sets on Saturday, and will be opening the evening with an acoustic performance and then closing it with a fully plugged in one.  Nice!

So, the new Trips and Falls album comes out tomorrow.  Or possibly today, depending on when you’re reading this. And it will be in lovely hand-printed Arigato packs, as you can see at the bottom of the page, with design by Chris from Brothers Grimm.

We’ve already had really nice support from the likes of Lauren Laverne, Gideon Coe, The Skinny and The List and, of course, because we’re so awfully fucking nice we are giving away a little bit more free stuff as an added inducement for you to buy the album (which you can do here, incidentally).

So as well as the free download of This is All Going to End Badly, which you will find below (direct download here), the band have also put together a fantastic animated video for Marginally More Than Mildly Annoying, the first free single from the album.

Trips and Falls – This is All Going to End Badly by Song, by Toad

 

Please note that this is called the Remmcast, rather than the Ariyemcast, for little better reason than that it sounds better.

R.E.M. split up this week, which is sort of like the death of an elderly relative: you know it’s sad, and you mourn the loss, but they hadn’t been themselves for a while, everyone knew it was probably coming, and maybe it’s for the best after all.

Due to not really wanting to pontificate too much, I haven’t really produced what could be in any way described as a ‘career retrospective’ or anything, nor have I really gone into much about their contemporaries or influences nor indeed the enduring influence they themselves have had.  Nope, I have simply recorded a podcast as per usual, but with three R.E.M. songs in it because they were fucking brilliant.

Direct download: Toadcast #193 – The Remcast

01. Ezra Furman & the Harpoons – Hard Time in a Terrible Land (00.26)
02. Burning Yellows – False Horizons (04.33)
03. R.E.M. – Perfect Circle (11.44)
04. The Twilight Sad – Kill it in the Morning (17.52)
05. Niwel Tsumbu – It’s All Vibrations (23.35)
06. R.E.M. – Star Me Kitten (33.03)
07. The Fair Ohs – I’m a Woman, I’m Your Wife (38:15)
08. Zoey Van Goey – You Told the Drunks I Knew Karate (GRNR Remix) (39.10)
09. The Whines – Electric Current (45.02)
10. Youthfall – Secular Child (49.01)
11. R.E.M. – Parakeet (59.47)

 As you’ve probably noticed, I haven’t exactly been overflowing with new music this week.  A large amount of this is down to the fact that it’s been the sort of week which has been constantly disrupted, meaning I’ve had almost no time to sit down and properly digest anything.

I have noticed an unusual number of people pushing their mewling progeny around the streets of Edinburgh with the buggy in one hand and their mobile phones in the other, squawking away like over-excited fucking geese. I wonder if there has been a recent rise of babies with phone-related facial injuries due to their idiotic fucking parents not paying attention to where the fuck they’re going and driving them into road signs, parked cars, bins and the knees of passing strangers.

“That’s the best we can do, son, I’m sorry.  I’m afraid you’re going to be scarred for life.”
“*Gurgle, giggle, splutter* Why’s that doctor?”
“Because mummy and daddy are a pair of stupid fucking cunts, kid.  That’s why.”

Also.  Old people in the post office.  Jesus fucking wept.

Anyway, Friday is the delurking amnesty, as you probably know by now, so feel free to come out of the woodwork and say hello.  I have done ranting about people now, so I promise I’ll be nice.

1. Favourite fictional detective.
2. Favourite fictional rake (and by this I mean rake as is rakish, not as in the garden implement)
3. Favourite fictional hapless sidekick.
4. On-screen couple with the worst chemistry.
5. Worst duet pairing in musical history.

This week’s five songs are straight from my inbox, so a little more current than usual.

Fair Ohs – I’m a Woman, I’m Your Wife

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Sea Pinks – Fountain Tesserae

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Steel Phantoms – Bedouin

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Girl Muscle – I Don’t Wanna Know

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Kurt Vile – The Creature

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 Sometimes the music I listen to clashes with my mood, and often it does so on purpose. Listening to sad music when you’re feeling happy is a wonderful feeling, for example. And when I’m down then I tend to listen to more angry music than depressing music, but sometimes that’s not quite the case.  Sometimes morose moods call for morose music.

It’s been sort of grey, sitting in this office watching Summer disappear, and there are times when I really do feel like I could do with a holiday. And for some reason this music suits that mood down to the ground.

I think The Bony King of Nowhere’s Eleonore EP must have done fairly well because for all I have to confess that I didn’t remember the name, I instantly recognised the cover art.

This release, however, the soundtrack to a film about which I know nothing at all called Les Géants, is the first time I have actually paid much attention to his music. And compared to a quick listen of Eleonore, it is a somewhat different beast.  Where that EP was a rich, pleasant folk pop sound, this is rather more spare and plaintive affair.  It seems more infused with melancholy and yearning as well, although there are certainly more cheerful moments.

I think the lack of extra instrumentation is a real bonus here too.  Bram Vanparys’ voice has a Thom Yorke quality to it at times, particularly in songs like In the Morning, and with little more accompaniment than acoustic guitar it is allowed to carry the tunes with actual lyrics mostly by itself, which it does extremely well.

The Stranger is more of a full band affair, but little more is added than some subtle drums, a bit of backing vocals and a bit more depth to the guitars so the principle of allowing his voice to carry the music seems intact.

I have no idea how this music actually interacts with the film it is supposed to soundtrack, but the six songs work wonderfully well as an EP in their own right, and they convey a sense of wistfulness which drifts from the slightly bitter to the cautiously optimistic as the record progresses.  And it seems to suit the grey skies and incipient drizzle of September in Edinburgh.

The Bony King of Nowhere – Across the River

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Bandcamp | Hype Machine | Facebook

 Walking.
Well it depends a lot on where you’re going and why.  If I am marching swiftly and purposefully to a meeting, then Bam!, fuck it, the phones go in and something goes on.  Something work-related though, and probably something I have been intending to review for a while, but not got round to listening to yet.

If I’m off out to a gig, on the other hand, then it’ll probably be something pretty raucous, to get me in the mood – something gravelly, angry and guitary. Not necessarily something I know all that well, but definitely something to encourage that spring in the step.

Coming home from a gig is different again though.  I am usually pissed as a fart and looking for something classic which I love and know I love, just to keep the gig euphoria going on the way home.  I also generally turn it up way too loud and have to be kind of careful crossing the street, because if something was coming I would never be able to hear it.

Finally, just going for a ramble is different again.  I don’t go wandering much, but when I do it is for peace, for tranquility and to clear my head, even if I am just wandering around Edinburgh. Consequently, music is forbidden.  I know for some people music helps them clear their heads, but for me at the moment that really isn’t true.  Plus, it seems kind of insulting to nature if you decide to go out walking in order to appreciate its majesty, but deliberately decide to shut off one of your senses.  Nature: fucking pretty, but the soundtrack’s shit, so I brought some Male Bonding!

Cycling.
Are you fucking joking, I live in Edinburgh, have you seen the hills here?

Flying.
Flying is a tricky one.  I fucking despise airports with a passion… in fact, I hate the whole fucking process of flying, from getting to the damn airport in the first place, to check in, to over-priced and fucking awful coffee, to squeezing into the teeny-tiny little seats, to EVERY-FUCKING-THING!  So I need music to soothe me or my irritation gets a bit too much.  That doesn’t mean I just stick to the classics of course, but it tends not to be too aggressive or too downbeat.

Turning off the iPod for takeoff never ceases to irritate me.  Are they implying that iPods are so dangerous they might make the plane actually crash, in which case why would they let us keep hold of them and take the chance?  Or alternatively, do they think that if the plane does crash I will be so distracted by Shakin’s Stevens’ greatest fucking hits that I will neglect to a/ leap from the wreckage and save myself or b/ instantly combust in a gigantic fireball like everyone else?

And once in the air you need something you can hear over the constant buzz of the engine, too, which kind of spoils it.  So all in all the joylessness of flying never fails to ruin my music listening, but at the same time I still need the music to take the edge off the grinding, relentless damage to the soul done by having to actually fly in the first place. Yeuch.

Driving.
Now this one is a bit good.  Listening to music in the car is fucking awesome, whatever way you cut it.  Although come to think of it, only if I am choosing the music, which I tend to because I am normally driving.  I do remember being stuck on a minibus in Malaysia with my little brother once, and we spent four hours listening to the Best of the Eagles on repeat.  That was, er, not fun.  Or actually it was, but only once the full range of emotions had been experienced, from mild irritation, to clenched teeth, to despair, to punch-drunk giggling to resigned defeat, to actual comedy.  It was a long trip, that one.

Actually, when pootling about town I am not always so keen on music in the car.  You can’t really get into anything, and songs are constantly being interrupted by the stopping and starting, so I often prefer just to leave on Radio 4.

Longer journeys, though, are the fucking best. Not only is it enormous fun to plan for the journey, make mixtapes or playlists and stuff like that, but it may be even more fun to think about the random weird stuff you can end up listening to after your own completely superior taste has bored even yourself.  Radio 4 documentaries on butterflies, for example, or the greatest hits of the 1980s psychedelic rock boom in Afghanistan or some such. Or even the Wind in the Willows on story tape.

And I like the difference in environments, too.  Driving on an A Road in the Midlands encourages one kind of music, down a remote coastal road in East Anglia another and, my personal favourite, that hypnotic thrum in the middle of the night on an empty motorway, which prompts me to listen to different stuff again.

Taxis.
ANYTHING to stop the fucking taxi driver talking to me.  I’d even listen to the new Kasabian album if I had to.

Buses.
Again, like with taxis, I listen to music on the bus for one reason and one reason only: to pretend that other people don’t exist. Although if you happen to get a double-decker, that detachment from the business of the street can make for some interesting juxtapositions of people-watching and music listening.

Trains.
Trains are definitely a Good Music Place for me. Music only has positive functions on a train (twunts playing theirs far, far too loud notwithstanding).  It serves to block out the inane chatter of other people, it adds a nice accompaniment to the scenery passing by, which might otherwise be soundtracked only by engine noise, and it puts you in a nice, placid, meditative mood which allows the hours to slip by in a pleasant, relaxed way.

Even when I take books or magazines on the train with me I still spend inordinate amounts of time sitting with my headphones on, gazing out the window, contemplating urgent stuff here, important stuff there, and sometimes nothing at all.  And when the line is as picturesque as the East Coast mainline from Edinburgh to London, the train I have taken more than any other, then sitting on a train peacefully listening to music and watching the world go by can be one of life’s great pleasures.

Especially if you remember to get a bottle of wine at the station before you left.