For all I slag off PR people all the time (most of them are fucking woeful, to be fair, but the good ones are a fucking joy to deal with), there are some PR companies who so consistently send me good things I actively look forward to their emails. One such is Banter media.
They aren’t chatty or anything, and I don’t have a friendly relationship with anyone there in particular, but their emails are to the point, the link to listen to music is immediate and obvious, and their taste matches mine to the extent that far from resenting the barrage of stuff, I genuinely look forward to hearing what they’ll send me next. One such is Barna Howard.
I had pals round the house recently and when they heard this the first reference point they made was the brilliant Elvis Perkins. I would say it’s a little more bare and a little less rounded than that. The people I am reminded of are the brilliant and little-known Barton Carroll and, somewhat more incongruously, the equally fantastic and perhaps even more unknown Adam Balbo.
If I were to summarise what Barton Carroll, Adam Balbo and Barna Howard all have in common I think it would be this: I could more or less listen to them sing the fucking phonebook and I would still be entranced. This seems paradoxical, because the lyrics of all three artists are so crucial to the appeal of all three artists. Balbo may be more sarcastic and Carroll more heartbreaking, but similarly to Howard they have something about their delivery, something about the warmth and charisma of their voices and something about their turn of phrase which means that even the most basic of music can be endlessly captivating.
Because let’s face it, there’s nothing too clever going on here; it’s a bloke with a guitar, and he sings some songs. As a publicist looking for a story to sell to the press you are told to look for a story and, as with many bands, there really isn’t one here. This is simply an album of someone singing some songs, accompanied by no more than acoustic guitar, and the lack of anything more to say about it than that makes it a challenging tale to spin. Especially as so many people do this kind of thing, and so many of them do it without the slightest shred of inspiration.
I say this only because it’s incredibly difficult for me to even begin to guess what makes this such a special album. In amongst all the bazillions of serious people plucking acoustic guitars, this record is a wonderful, magnetic piece of work. From my point of view at least this is a cut above so many similar albums, and assembles incredibly simple components, using a very well-established plan, to produce something which still manages to stand out.
The songs are personal and not dressed up in obliquity, which I suppose probably helps me engage with them, but in some ways I think half of the reason I find this so compelling is the slow, confident pace and the vocal delivery, which doesn’t cry for attention and simply gets on with its singing. And if by doing so it means you fail to pay attention, then more fool you.
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 I don’t tend to write reviews of EPs all that much, but this post doubles as an introduction to a really good new Scottish band, so I figured why the fuck not.
I think I’ve heard the name mentioned before, but apart from that I knew not a thing about the New Fabian Society until they got in touch asking if I would like to hear their new EP. They’ve made it available to listen to on Bandcamp, but I have to confess I am not entirely sure how to buy it just yet. Which is a shame, because it is very much worth it.
The music is chimey, echoey and dark – so epic in fact that the band kindly included two rather shorter radio edits of a couple of songs on the Bandcamp page, in the probably sensible assumption that for all six and seven minute songs might be great to listen to, they aren’t likely to find themselves being spun on drivetime by DJs accustomed to straightforward three minute pop songs.
These tracks, if they remind of a recent band, probably call to mind Leeds’ brilliant Hookworms, if I was to pull any name out of the hat in particular, although the fantastic opening song Lost in Berlin has more than a little of Interpol to it as well. You get the message though: slow but forceful guitar songs, full of foreboding, which build and build to a grand crescendo and leave the listener somewhat exhausted, but satisfied nevertheless. The surprisingly brief and far more frenetic closer Devious Minds is an exception though, its extra pace seemingly causing it to blow itself out a little sooner, but a sort of aggressive, barely suppressed grandiosity is still one of the defining characteristics of this music.
It’s the kind of stuff which I secretly suspect might be absolutely blinding live, although I’ve never seen them perform, so that’s no more than speculation. But if they can pull off that kind of thunderous, ear-crushing euphoria this kind of music can create when played live then it really should be something to behold.
There’s not much you can tell, generally, about a band with only three songs to their name, beyond the tantalising sense of promise, but these don’t sound like rookie recordings, they sound like a band who are pretty well-formed considering this is their first release.
Although really, I know those three minute radio edits are really sensible, but if people like this music they should like it for all of its epic, self-indulgent seven minutes. Balls to radio edits!
Well after a weekend of total mayhem in Scotland’s capital city, what the fuck are we in for this time around? Well there’s a few things actually, although one of my personal choices is pretty much sold out, I do believe: that being Withered Hand & the Pictish Trail at the Caves on Thursday. If there are a few tickets left I suggest you turn up at the door pretty promptly in order to score one.
The other stuff, as usual, is listed below:
[Meanwhile, in the now traditional 'Matthew is an idiot and has left something out' slot we have the following: on Thursday 1st March Thomas Truax is playing in a rather surprising choice of venue - Opium nightclub on the Cowgate.]
I think ‘sprightly guitar pop’ best sums this up. It’s cheerful, upbeat and bouncy – perhaps not entirely my kind of thing at the moment, but I reckon those of you who like your music a little less growly might enjoy this.
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If you fancy a bit of pantomime villian blues rock (to coin the stupidest genre designation I’ve heard in a while) then you might well like this. Despite being tipped by the NME, Wet Nuns sound pretty good, and there’s a sort of over-the-top camp to this bill which looks like great fun. The names alone are worth going for.
This gig is the launch night for the Machine Room’s new EP, which you can preview on the Bandcamp embed below. I am reserving judgment on the band for the time being, but it’s certainly very promising and contains lots of individual moments I do like. The support bands are pretty varied too, with bluesy screech from Zed Penguin and rollicking piano pop from Blank Canvas.
I am such a latecomer to the Adam Stafford Appreciation Party that I am probably really annoying everyone who’s been banging on about him for ages. Nevertheless, the way he builds his songs out of looped vocals and guitar is nevertheless something to behold. I confess I know nothing about Radio Trees, but Loch Awe have been recording in Chem19 recently and the one song I’ve heard from those sessions sounds bloody great.
A Hawk and a Hacksaw’s last visit to Edinburgh brought them to the Caves, if I remember, but this occasion will be rather different: they are here, I think, to play a live soundtrack to the Russian film Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors. I am a bit sketchy on the details I have to confess, but this looks rather fascinating.
Welcome to Toadcast number 215. This is called the Kingcast because I have been on a bit of run promoting gigs recently, with three in the last eight days or so. Given almost none of my friends or music associates came to these gigs and that the list of attending guests on the Facebook event pages made for pretty grisly reading, I was grimly expecting the gigs to be absolutely awful – barely attended wastelands of funlessness – but every single one was brilliant.
The people who came were almost all people I didn’t know, with a few welcome exceptions, and the gigs themselves were absolutely immense fun. There was probably more dancing this weekend that at anything Toad-related in history.
So today I have been looking through the forthcoming gigs and getting my ticket links live and stuff like that, and realising that we have some absolute stonkers coming up. So with a bit of luck, and rather depending on whereabouts in the world you’re listening from, I might well see you there.
01. Withered Hand – Heart Heart (00.26)
02. Willy Mason – Restless Fugitive (07.57)
03. Robert George Saull – One Sugar Day (16.47)
04. Narrow Sparrow – Joe Meeks Dream (22.59)
05. The Dirty Three – Sometimes I Forget You’ve Gone (28.41)
06. Jad Fair, Hifiklub & KPT Michigan (32.20)
07. Jonnie Common – I’ll Be Back (38.17)
08. Shudderpulps – Time (45.10)
09. Honeyblood – No Spare Key (48.33)
10. The Soft Walls – Black Cat (54.06)
Christ on a bike, is it that time already? So much to impart and so little time in which to do it! First up, a raging hangover and an incomplete Toad Session may have prevented me getting my gig listings sorted this week, but there are loads of things happening this weekend which you will enjoy, so I figured I might as well do a quick preview for you now, before the fives and the radio show.
Tonight:
- The Ides of Toad present: The Pineapple Chunk, Brown Brogues and Zed Penguin at Henry’s Cellar Bar.
- Sparrow & the Workshop and Bwani Junction at the National Museum of Scotland.
- Lach and Catherine Brogan doing spoken word performances at Neu Reekie, at the Scottish Book Trust.
- Rod Jones & the Birthday Suit at the Electric Circus.
Tomorrow:
- The Ides of Toad present: Louis Barabbbas & the Bedlam Six, Skeleton Bob and Lee Patterson at the Third Door.
- PAWS, Edinburgh School for the Deaf, Sebastian Dangerfield and Broken Records solo acoustic at the Wee Red Bar.
- Michael Kiwanuka at the Electric Circus (I think this is sold out, but it’s feasible there are tickets on the door if you’re really determined).
Anyhow, as per usual El, Brian and myself will be back on Fresh Air at half three, and this week El is picking the entire playlist so it should actually be some fun to listen to for a change. There might even be enjoyable music. And possibly some remixes. In fact, probably some remixes. But I’ll fill in the playlist at the bottom of the page as we go along so
And in the meantime, Friday is de-lurking day on Song, by Toad of course, so come out of the woodwork and say hello by answering, as frivolously as you please, the following five silly questions:
1. Any festivals you’re looking forward to this year?
2. Suggest a movie mashup of two films you’d like to see combined into one.
3. Give us a good colloquialism you’ve been enjoying recently.
4. If you make a piece of toast for a snack, what do you spread on it?
5. Instead of ‘this vehicle is reversing’ what should we be teaching our vans to say?
Playlist for our Fresh Air radio show this afternoon, as chosen entirely by Miss El Parks.
1. Selector Dub Narcotic – Distorted Cymbals
2. Y’All is Fantasy Island – With Handclaps
3. Dum Dum Girls – Play With Fire
4. El Mato a un Policia Motorizado – Un Million de Euros
5. Louis Barabbas & the Bedlam Six – Away in a Manger
6. Brown Brogues – Don’t Touch My Hair
7. Dead Rabbits – I Think I Know
8. Mount Kimbie – Maybes
9. Bull Moose Jackson – Big Ten Inch Record
10. The Coasters – Down in Mexico
11. Mongrels – Massive C*nt
12. Plastic Animals – Ghosts (Demo)
13. Franz Ferdinand – Lucid Dreams
 I was told off in the comments of a recent podcast for being mean about her, but I honestly couldn’t possibly care any less that Whitney Houston is dead, and when the news was announced I spent no more than a minute or two even thinking about it.
Her music was so fucking awful that I only slowly realised, as the eulogies began to roll in, that she actually sold a lot of records.
Given I love loads of music which is shite in almost every technical sense imaginable, I tend to define ‘good music’ as being a phrase which only means anything if it is entirely conflated with the term ‘popular music’. The music I like being shit or unpopular doesn’t make me like it any the less, and no-one is going to lessen my enjoyment by providing objective, empirical proof that it is rubbish.
Music is good if you derive something out of it which means something to you, personally, so I am left with little use for any broader meaning of the phrase ‘good’ music other than ‘lots of people like it’. By this definition, of course, most of the music I listen to and release is shit. I don’t care though, I can live with that. As I said, this doesn’t make me like it any the less, but does that mean that Whitney Houston was actually quite good? Please no!
Of course there are obvious ways to look at it differently, and one such was very nicely expressed in this particular blog post recently, which made the excellent point that even though the Toyota Corolla is the best-selling car of all time, no-one would make the argument that it was the best. Art and automobiles are evaluated by rather different criteria of course, so the analogy is not quite right, but it’s still a good way to look at it.
However the ‘just because it’s popular doesn’t mean it’s any good’ point was actually made as part of a wider argument that, irrespective of record sales, Whitney Houston was actually a pretty shite singer. I agree with this, personally, as the constant warbling did my fucking head in, but there are more reasons than aesthetic preference put forward.
The writer makes the distinction between a great singer and a great voice, and points out that irrespective of the notes you can hit or hold, being a great singer has as much to do with creating an emotionally resonant delivery of the actual words you are singing as it does with showing off your facility for vocal gymnastics. In that sense, Whitney Houston reminds me of the slightly sad sight of the busking footballer who can do endless keepy-uppies and ball control tricks, but is nevertheless fuck all use to anyone on a football pitch.
Her ludicrous, pantomime delivery of I Will Always Love You by Dolly Parton has so distorted its meaning that people actually get married to the song, which is just daft when you look at the words.  It’s pretty undeniable that the bombastic Disneyfication of Houston’s version seems entirely consonant with the wedding use, and I thought ‘damn, he’s right, she’s not just interpreted the song, she’s broken its entire meaning’.
The most obvious other example of this would be the American right’s co-opting of Springsteen’s Born in the USA. The song is obviously a protest song, and the lyrics are a harsh social critique which run in more or less diametric opposition to the context in which the song tends to be used, when it is used for clumsy propaganda.
Born in the USA, however, was initially recorded for the Nebraska Sessions, and sounded radically different. The version of Nebraska we know and love is not actually what Springsteen had in mind, apparently, but rather a series of demos which were intended to be re-recorded with the full E-Street Band. Those re-recordings never quite sounded right, so in the end the demos were released instead, although a radically different Born in the USA did make a famous re-appearance on his eighties album of the same name.
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Listen to the above version, and it’s pretty obvious what the tone is, and many people have expressed total bafflement and contemptuous derision that those on the right could possibly think the song expressed anything which chimed with their politics at all. I understand that bafflement of course, but in some ways you can say that the fault also lies with Springsteen himself.
Listen to the album version below. You can’t really blame chest-beating jingoists for co-opting a song whose most obvious musical characteristic, in this version anyway, is a kind of giddy, air-punching euphoria. There are many songs whose deliveries are at odds with their message, and I can understand the argument that the bitter message of the lyrics and the anthemic bombast of the music are intentionally cast in satirical juxtaposition. But the misinterpretation of the meaning of this song in particular, a little like Houston’s mangling of I Will Always Love You, does seem to be actively encouraged by the musical interpretation offered by the artist themselves.Â
And just as I was about to close the book on that one, write Houston off as someone with plenty of vocal dexterity but no artistic sensitivity whatsoever (and to rather more quietly chide Mr. Springsteen for being a grandiose muppet), I was reminded of another occasion where people completely bypass the meaning of a song and treat it as something completely different from what the artist intended. And in this case it’s really a lot less clear that the musical delivery is anything like as complicit in the confusion.
The song in question is The One I Love, by REM. This, like I Will Always Love You, is another song chosen frequently to be payed at weddings, and this one is equally baffling when you listen to the lyrics. It’s basically a song about treating a relationship as light entertainment and then discarding it when convenient – the very antithesis of marriage.
As I said, though, in this case I really am not so sure where the misinterpretation comes from. Stipe’s delivery is far from saccharine. It’s not even all that passive – the song is howled acrimoniously at the listener. With familiarity, the guitars sound less awkward and unpalatable these days than when the song was released, of course, but it still seems a long way from the kind of warm, fuzzy stuff you’d want soundtracking your nuptials. Mind you, what the fuck do I know, I had Better Off Without a Wife by Tom Waits playing at my wedding.
So maybe it’s not Houston’s fault after all. Maybe people are just fucking idiots.
I don’t know where I was going with this, but there are some points to be made, I guess. Just because she sold a lot of records doesn’t mean she was any good. Just because she could hit a lot of notes doesn’t mean she was a good singer. Bruce Springsteen can be too damn over the top for his own good at times. Document by REM is a fucking incredible album. I should DJ more weddings. And no-one at any point in human history will look back fondly on the Toyota Corolla.
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I am rather embarrassed to confess that we recorded this session absolutely bloody ages ago. First the Festival, then the mixes, then intervening sessions, and finally just the sheer amount of time these take to edit managed to delay things. But now, finally, at long, long last here it is: the Kid Canaveral Toad Session.
This was another relatively messy, drunken one I’m afraid. We were nice though – we made them dinner and supplied them with a beverage or several, and it happened to be a nice day too, so we were even able to sit out in the garden for a bit.
The team this time around consisted of Neil from Meursault, who recorded the session (and I hope I’ve not offended him with my mixes!), Fiona and Dylan who took the photos, and Dylan also did a lot of the video work as well. And cooked. Whereas I just sat around, drank beer and swore at people mostly.
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01. Kid Canaveral – And Another Thing! (Toad Session) (06.44)
02. The Shivers – Irrational Love (14.45)
03. Sleeper – What Do I Do Now? (18.33)
04. Kid Canaveral – Homerun and a Vow (Toad Session) (31.46)
05. Washington Irving – SiSi (38.47)
06. Popup – A Year in a Comprehensive (43.16)
07. Kid Canaveral – You Only Went Out to Get Drunk Last Night (Toad Session) (52.57)
08. Built to Spill – Carry the Zero (59.42)
09. Hall & Oates – Maneater (65.13)
10. Kid Canaveral – Her Hair Hangs Down (Toad Session) (78.02)
Work effectively you might not be able to, but watching telly with a massive hangover is just about manageable, so while I get the last bits for the Kid Canaveral Toad Session done I thought there was one more thing I might share with you.
Mrs. Toad and I have always been part-time Trekkies, in the sense that I think we both watched a fair bit of The Next Generation, and possibly dabbled in a couple of the spin-off series and stuff like that, but neither of us is what you would call a committed fan.
In the tradition of using the prequel to further milk any good idea which previously might have been thought to be wrung entirely dry, the bigwigs in Hollywood started a screening Enterprise a few years back, based on the voyages of the very first Starship Enterprise. It has the now obligatory hot babe* in a catsuit, pan-pipes used to instantly signpost either very primitive or very spiritual communities and that bloke from Quantum Leap as the captain (which took a bit of getting used to).
But in general, it is exactly what you would expect, and judging by the handful of episodes of the first series which I watched last night when the worst of the pain had subsided, it’s not at all bad. Fluff. But entertaining fluff. And it has spaceships, which I like.
The reason any of this at all is relevant to a music blog will already be apparent to those of you reckless enough to have clicked on that wee video above, which is the title sequence for the series. Yes, the song. Jesus cockfighting Christ! Normally Star Trek theme songs are that sort of cross between soft-focus idealism and the sort of rousing claptrap which appeals to that pathetically infantile part of the human heart which gives a fuck about national anthems.Â
This, on the other hand, is a different kind of abomination altogether. It’s as if they were trying to imply that humans invented spaceflight in the era when Michael Bolton was at the height of his powers. In fact, this is actually even fucking worse than Michael Bolton at the height [sic] of his powers [sic].
It’s so utterly fucking cringeworthy that both Mrs. Toad and I ended up quite literally squirming out of sheer embarrassment at the start of every single episode we watching because it is just so tortuously, ear-fuckingly, toe-curlingly, sphincter-sprainingly awful. It’s almost as bad as that horrific seduction scene in The Saint with Val Kilmer, which is so utterly excruciating that the film studio won’t let anyone post it on YouTube, presumably in case the internet commits ritual seppuku and fucking shuts itself down out of embarrassment.
*Disclaimer: I actually find her kinda funny lookin’, but I get what they were trying to do.
I have been away from the internet for the last couple of days, largely due to spending all afternoon in a restaurant with Mrs. Toad on Sunday and then yesterday lying curled up in a ball of tears fending off the ravages of an almighty hangover. To the untrained eye it might even look like I have been entirely slacking off, but that isn’t entirely true
On Saturday I managed to find time to record three songs with Rob St. John and his band, nip into Fresh Air Radio to do a quick ‘This is Your Life’ style interview except in a musical sense. I was invited to pick eight songs, and the player above will allow you to listen back to the show, if you’re interested. Thanks to Olivia for inviting me down, and I hope you enjoy it.
The tracklisting, for those too lazy to even click links, is as follows:
1. Duran Duran – The Reflex
The first song I ever remember being excited about as a child. My mum and I went out and bought Seven and the Ragged Tiger on the day of release, around my eighth birthday. Most of my early music taste was pop stuff I got from my mum – Erasure, Pet Shop Boys, Bowie, Kate Bush and stuff like that.
2. The Piranhas – Getting Beaten Up
My cousin Steve used to send me amazing mixtapes, and introduced me to The Dead Kennedys, The Specials, The Clash, REM, The Smiths, Billy Bragg, John Cooper Clark, Adam and the Ants and loads of others. I loved this song as a kid.
3. Pearl Jam – Black
The first time I liked popular music at the time it was actually popular, and probably the first time I got music from my peers rather than my parents, because we moved around such a lot as kids that I tended to get most of my music from my parents’ record collection. They didn’t like Pearl Jam.
4. Gene – Sick, Sober & Sorry
When I went to university I made friends with a guy called James Strath, and this was the first time I really got into bands before they’d even released their first album. Bands like Pulp and Blur I already liked, but Strath and I eagerly anticipated (and ended up being disappointed by) both the Gene and Bluetones’ debut albums.
5. Yo La Tengo – By the Time it Gets Dark
After uni I ended up as a bit of a nomad, living in the States, Canada, Manchester and Cambridge before settling in London for about three or four years. My music collection was all over the place at this point, and I lost loads of CDs because carrying them around was such a pain, but I really remember picking this EP up in Newberry Comics in Hyannis on Cape Cod and playing it lots when I was feeling down.
6. Billy Bragg & Wilco – Hesitating Beauty
I could pick a lot of songs to represent my marriage to Mrs. Toad, including ‘Better Off Without a Wife’ by Tom Waits which happened to be playing, by sheer coincidence, when we got back from the Mairie, having signed all our papers. This one however is the one which Mrs. Toad likes the most, so it’s the one that sticks most in my mind. The hesitating part is particularly fitting too, as I asked her to marry me pretty much once a day for two years before she capitulated.
7. Meursault – The Furnace
The first song I ever heard by Meursault, and the first thing we released on Song, by Toad Records. When I heard Meursault for the first time I genuinely did that ‘sit up and take notice double-take’ thing you see in cartoons. And now, almost four years later, here I am.
8. Waiters – Brisk
Since doing the Toad Sessions I have started doing a lot of recording as well, and this is the first thing I’ve engineered myself which we’ll actually be releasing, on a split 12″ out in May.
Well, what a productive morning I’ve had, being all domesticated. As Mrs. Toad and I have said before, we really need a wife for all this shit, because we’re both awful at it. Laundry just piles up in the corner of the bedroom until we literally have not one single item of clean clothing left. Dishes just sit and stare accusingly at us from the sink. Minor domestic DIY has been ignored for six years now, and counting. Although I suppose DIY is supposed to be a Man Job, rather than a Wife Job, if we’re respecting our stereotypes here.
Anyhow, Brian, El and myself will be back on Fresh Air Radio this afternoon at 3:30pm with Song, by Toad’s Friday Fives, so please do tune in for some fine tunes, interspersed with tedious bickering. We’ll be adding to the playlist at the bottom of the page live as we go along.
And I appreciate the affection, but the cats have been showing an inordinate interest in my working day recently. I don’t mind when they want to sit in my lap as I’m working through emails, although my legs do go to sleep eventually, but the trampling back and forth across the keyboard does get a little tedious. I might as them to fill in this week’s Friday Fives themselves. Question 1: orwhgw90382509l;\’a/[g, Question 2: wgm9ic2i2p98p;q/ etc etc etc…
Nah, not really, it’ll be my job as usual. So de-lurk, fill in your fives and then fritter away the rest of the afternoon talking shite. Hey, if you’re typing you must be working, right? They don’t know you’re just talking bollocks on the internet.
1. What is the worst touring band you’ve ever paid to see?
2. Which support band was so bad you couldn’t even enjoy the headliner?
3. How often do you arrive in time and actually pay attention to the support band?
4. Who are the most incongruous/later to become massive support band you’ve seen?
5. Who would you like to see being forced to support whom, as a lesson in humility?
Song, by Toad’s Friday Fives Fresh Air playlist:
1. Rob St. John – Domino (Acoustic Demo)
2. Rob St. John – Domino (Live at Retreat)
3. John Knox Sex Club – In the Ditch
4. SAUNA – Glitter Party
5. Elton Motello – Jet Boy, Jet Girl
6. Beirut – Elephant Gun
7. Beastie Boys – Body Movin’
8. Now Wakes the Sea – Propranolol
9. Adam Stafford – Shot Down You Summer Wannabes
10. Dead Prez – Hip Hop
11. LCD Soundsystem – Someone Great
12. Rob St. John – Domino (Album Version)
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 For all I slag off PR people all the time (most of them are fucking woeful, to be fair, but the good ones are a fucking joy to deal with), there are some PR companies who so consistently send me good things I actively look forward to their emails. One such is Banter media.
