Song, by Toad

[Click on the images to enlarge them, and go to Blueback Hotrod to view the full set.  I'd like to say a big thank you to Dylan for filming the interview and for letting me use his photos, both for this post and for the titles for the videos.]

It would be a total cliché to describe Willy Vlautin as a natural storyteller, but then again, sometimes the reason that things are clichés is because they are entirely and obviously true.  From the start of the  interview to the end of the gig it is obvious that Vlautin just rolls thoughts and ideas around in his head, around the conversation, just enjoying the process of building phrases and telling you things.

He is also one of the nicest, most unassuming people I have ever met – just a complete gent from start to finish.  I am far from an experienced interviewer, and his readiness to chip in, to participate, and to make the conversation worth everyone’s while turned what could potentially have been quite an awkward half hour into a genuine pleasure.  Maybe that’s why he’s such an engaging performer – he always puts enough of himself into the show to make the interaction worth his and his audience’s while.

Listening to Vlautin’s songs, they are brought vividly to life by what is an understated, but nevertheless phenomenal talent for finding the important detail which turns his broad-brush vistas into crystal-clear snapshots of people and places you can almost smell, they’re so real.

I wonder if it’s his genuine sympathy and interest which allows him to spot that kind of detail, and to communicate it so cleanly.  It’s hard to describe what’s so special about the way he does it, too.  He’s observant, and can be harsh, but never in a judgmental sense.  If ever what he describes comes across as harsh, he manages to do it in a sense that implies somehow that he still has great love for his characters, and it is simply reality which is mean-spirited.  Even describing a van he bought which clapped out five hours out of the lot he imbues the tale with a kind of pathos: “I don’t know what happened to that poor van. It liked me I think; it just didn’t want to drive any more.”

When he talks to me about how he builds his stories, he tells me that there may be a great deal of reality in there but it’s completely jumbled up, although you’d never guess it.  He doesn’t write to expose or to finger point, more as a way of imagining away the injustices and misfortunes of life either for himself or the people he writes about.

In fact, for someone whose stories can be so stark, and whose characters so intensely observational, he is at considerable pains to avoid either being voyeuristic or taking advantage of someone else’s misfortunes, explaining how he’ll exaggerate situations, extrapolate greatly from small moments to create the chains of events which provide the backbone to his plot, and break up and bury the literal observations under layers of new characters, new places and new consequences.

The catharsis, he tells me, is still the same.  Just because the feeling is caused by different circumstances and happening to a very different person, doesn’t mean that demon isn’t exorcised – as long as the heart of it is there, it’s still the same.

I was a little nervous going into this interview not to cross any lines by talking about Vlautin’s books or his music either too much or too little; preferring to try and let him define how much separation he wanted to keep between the two.  It turns out that boundary barely exists, however.

During the interview he tells me about how his latest book, Lean On Pete, was what happened when he sat down and started writing a story which had begun as a song which didn’t really work.  Songs like The Disappearance of Ray Norton from Thirteen Cities remained as songs, but ended up being spoken word because he just couldn’t get the story he wanted to tell to fit into a traditional song format.

As he chats his way through the gig it becomes increasingly clear that the clichés are perhaps still the best point of reference, at least to begin to understand Willy Vlautin.  He is, simply, a storyteller, and the medium is flexible.  What doesn’t change though, to expand on that cliché a little, is that perhaps as much as a storyteller, he comes across as a listener, and that’s probably why he’s so good.

The band have been together for fifteen years, and the obvious consonance between them as musicians seems to flow from that openness to other people, and the performance itself is full of that spirit.  I love an awful lot of Richmond Fontaine’s music, but there are definitely times when it’s not entirely my cup of tea.  Live, though, the generosity of Vlautin and his friends has so much impact that I found myself drawn in by the warmth they project and even loving the songs I hadn’t enjoyed as much on record.

It was a lovely evening in general, and the interview was so interesting that I am going to publish it in its entirety as a podcast in the next couple of weeks so you can all hear it for yourselves.  I’ll intersperse the conversation with the songs which get mentioned, and I absolutely defy anyone not to be captivated.

Richmond Fontaine – Moving Back Home #2

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Richmond Fontaine – The Boyfriends

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It’s been a great year for The Young Republic.  They’ve gone from three years of constant gigging through their university years, to being signed to a small but fairly upwardly mobile record label in End of the Road Records, to a well-received debut release, to touring across the States and the UK.

But despite the shiny exterior there have been hiccups, and recently rather a lot.  They parted company with their flautist, which led to the somewhat acrimonious departure of the drummer, although they don’t really want me to go into the details on either of these things so that’s about all I can tell you.  The move from Boston to Nashville brought another casualty: pianist MJ just couldn’t settle and has also packed it in.  The disruption and unpleasantness seems to have shaken the group a little.  They’ve been playing together for quite a while and I get the impression they regard one another as friends rather than colleagues.  Julian and Chris, who I spoke to at the gig, still seemed upset about it all, despite their determination to make the new lineup work.

To make matters worse, the replacement drummer had to be found at such short notice that there wasn’t time to properly sort out his UK visa and he was turned back at the border.  Such preparations hardly make for smooth sailing, but the guy who eventually took charge of the pots and pans has played with them before, so they were confident going into the show.

But was it over? Was it bollocks.  They broke a string in the soundcheck, Chris broke one on his bass guitar within the first song, every guitar needed tuning pretty much every song and eventually Julian seemed to break his acoustic guitar as well.

They themselves can’t have been happy, but it made for an excellent gig in an odd way.  They dealt with the adversity confidently and never lost their humour.  Julian is a truly excellent front man: relaxed, engaging and a really good laugh, he never seems fazed by anything and keeps the evening rolling over really nicely.  Given the recent turmoil and the technical nightmare, The Young Republic come out of the whole thing looking very much the business.

Musically, it’s interesting.  The pruning of instruments seems to have given the others a little more room to breathe.  Kristin Webb delivers an amazing violin performance, from the Scottish reel she played to introduce the show to the demented classical interludes in some songs, to the long slow sad parts in others.  Bob on guitar also seems to have a little more room to make his mark on songs, and does so to excellent effect.  It’s possible that this could turn out to be a very good thing for the band.

Currently working on two new albums, there was a lot of new material in the set.  Given my familiarity with their back catalogue it’s surprising how few of the songs I actually recognised.  More familiar tunes like the superb Girl From the Northern States, Girl in a Tree and Paper Ships were there, as were the usual covers (Tom Waits this time – yikes!), but it was the new songs that caught my attention the most.  Basically, for all I have no idea what they were called, they were pretty much all brilliant.  They’ve lost none of their genre-related ADD, leaping about from one style to the next without ever pausing for breath, but it was strangely coherent despite this.

It sounds to me like the next two albums should be ones to look forward to – this really was an excellent show, whether you feel you need to consider the circumstances or not.

The Young Republic – Isis
The Young Republic – Girl From the Northern States
The Young Republic – Paper Ships

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I realised, when I saw that they were playing in Edinburgh, that I have been relatively quiet on the subject of all things Paris Motel for the last little while. I guess this kind of happens in a field where news, as much as anything, seems to be paramount. When I do take time out to reflect it almost always seem to be to swear about something, so reflecting on music I loved recently but haven’t taken the time to cosy up to for a bit always seems to be somewhat down the agenda.

Amy May is actually a professional musician. Not in the rock star sense, unsurprisingly, rather in the session, arrangement and live performance sense. As an example, having played viola with The Enemy (Toad begins to grind teeth) she has nothing but praise for them. To paraphrase, they really mean what they’re singing, they’re really nice, down to earth lads and they think about and engage with the world thoughtfully and sincerely. Hating their music like I do, it’s mildly confusing to hear them spoken of so warmly – can’t the world just be full of one-dimensional stereotypes, dammit!

This kind of career diversity kind of explains her attitude to her own band. It’s like a little oasis of free expression in a world full of crust-earning artistic compromises and consequently she refuses to be budged on anything – this is the one chance to absolutely and unflinchingly do the kind of music that she wants. “I sometimes wish I could write a pop song, sometimes people tell me I should, but it’s just not what comes out”.

Paris Motel’s mini-orchestra produce a wonderfully rich, layered sound on record, but due to the financial constrictions of travelling with a dozen folk, this evening is played with just Amy, Joe the drummer on autoharp and a guitarist they’ve barely played with before who happened to get in touch because he is a fan. They say this is pretty much normal – they basically have to generate a new arrangement of the songs for each tour, depending on who of their number is actually available at the time.

This evening, they’re struggling. The guitarist doesn’t know the songs that well, and he and Amy seem to approach these things differently. She’s on the verge of panic and sure it’ll be a disaster and he’s shrugging his shoulders a little – there’s not much you can do but go for it and hope for the best. It’s funny to see actually, because I can kind of sympathise with both parties, and as a fan I honestly don’t care – I have no doubt that the songs will carry the evening.

And they do, of course. Joe made the very wise decision to ditch the rather dominant bongos and play his percussion on the merchandise suitcase instead, which sounded a million times better. And Amy’s voice, when she remembers the words, is simply superb. The only issue really is that the guitar does little but keep the rhythm, and the percussion already does that. Because of the classical background of the band, Paris Motel songs are very textured things, and with a guitar doing no more than keep rhythm I find myself questioning the need to have it at all, but given he only learned the songs that afternoon it’s impossible to blame the guitarist for this.

Ultimately, what we’re here for is Amy’s old-fashioned, crystal clear voice, and the defeated sadness of her delivery. They have yet to entirely capture the peaks and troughs of the live performance in their studio stuff, but at least one aspect of that might be impossible: Amy May’s face. When she sings, her eyes look so woefully, sincerely, achingly sad that you’re drawn into the slightly magical , watery tragedy of the songs as if the heartache they sing of was genuinely your own. They’re eminently personal as well, apparently. For all the imagery in the songs is all very reminiscent of old fairy tales and nursery rhymes – a very English equivalent to the Brothers Grimm, perhaps – the actual stories are intensely personal.

As Amy herself puts it “It may be all fairy tales, but I know each and every one of those characters and everything that happens to them is something really important from my own life.” It is sincere, heartfelt music and it shows. If you ever get the chance to go and see them, do it.

Paris Motel – 071
Paris Motel – Catherine By the Sea

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(Image pinched from Gregory Nolan)

I’d heard all sorts about Kid Harpoon’s much-vaunted live performances, so I was really looking forward to this gig and for the most part he didn’t disappoint.

Support came from new Scottish group We See Lights who seemed decent, although I didn’t get there in time to catch enough of their set to say anything sensible about them. Second support were The Kays Lavelle who were shit*.

As for the Kid himself? Well he fucking loves playing, that much is obvious. Greeting a slightly tepid crowd with a beaming ‘I’m just so chuffed to be here’ he launched into opener, the brilliant Milkmaid, with a bouncing, wild-eyed enthusiasm that even a sulky Edinburgh crowd couldn’t help but be drawn into.

All throughout the gig this kind of boundless, child-like enthusiasm was just spilling out of him. He’s one of the most mobile performers I’ve seen in a while, bouncing around the stage with joyful abandon, and throwing himself heart and soul into the performance and generally acting like playing this one gig was the most fun he’d ever had doing anything, ever.

Now, I am a sucker for this kind of passion and I absolutely loved the amazing enjoyment that spilled from Kid Canaveral all the way through the show, but I have one small quibble. Some of his finest songs are the quiet ones, and there was no room for them in this set. Now, I can see him wanting to play the upbeat, energetic ones in a live setting, but actually a slight change of pace might have been good once or twice. So he was terrific, but you didn’t really get the full impression of what his music is like and I for one would have loved to hear songs like As it Always Was performed live.

Kid Harpoon – Riverside
Kid Harpoon – As it Always Was

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*Haha, of course they weren’t. They were dead good actually. The only reason I did this to their review is because Euan – regular commenter on this site, frontman for the group and main man for gig promoters Trampoline – said during the gig that they’d supported half a dozen top groups recently and never once got a mention in the reviews. So naturally I took this as an opportunity to be a smart-arse. Yes, fucking hilarious, I know. I crack me up too.

Anyway, The Kays Lavelle. Well it’s always terrifying when you go and see a friend’s band, but fortunately they were excellent. Rather dark, and sailing close to the other side of the Atlantic at times, I really enjoyed their stuff. They were that sort of group whose guitar sound is sort of threatening – like they’re about to kick off and go absolutely mental any second now, but never quite do. Instead, Euan’s piano paints grey laments as the band sort of growl around him – excellent stuff.

I really am digging Cabaret Voltaire’s series of Duty Free gigs (ie, free entry). I think they’re co-sponsored by The List, so fair play to both of them as it really makes me far more likely to take a bit of a chance on something that I might think twice about shelling out a fiver for.

I feel a bit guilty actually, as my friend Morgan has vowed to take me to all sorts of interesting gigs I’d never get to under my own steam and what do I take him to in return? Absolutely stereotypical NME-friendly indie-pop: the sort of stuff that you can hear every minute of every day on XFM, assuming you are so musically apathetic as to be able to bring yourself to tune into that embarrassment of a station to begin with.

That sounds like Operahouse were bad, of course, and that was absolutely not the case. Actually they were really rather good. There wasn’t much audience interaction nor that much rock ‘n’ roll posturing, which may explain why they have yet to build up much in the way of feverish hype. What they had, however, were plenty of good tunes, played with the confidence of a band who bely both their youth and relative inexperience. They aren’t exactly beginners, but they have a very solid, unflappable stage presence that makes them seem like veterans.

If you play music that hits a middle ground between the likes of the Libertines, early Razorlight and late Futureheads then there is so little to digest in terms of new style that the one and only thing that will make you stand out is the hummability of your tunes. New single Born a Boy, first single Man Who Lives Next Door and Machine Palace all deliver in spades on this count and, although these are clearly the best of the tracks, the rest of the set contained plenty of stuff to enjoy.

They may not set the world on fire, but I was quietly impressed and reckon that if they can steer closer to the quality of their best then they could just make a decent career out of this music lark. It’s nothing clever, just good solid indie-pop. The single Born a Boy is really infectious too. I’d love to post it here but that would just be mean, so go out and buy it and enjoy.

Operahouse – The Man Who Lives Next Door
Operahouse – Machine Palace (Demo)
Operahouse – Jarvis

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It’s going to be something of a short review, this, and also serve as an intro to the band. Cabaret Voltaire are seriously making an effort to improve the quality of live music in Edinburgh, and their Duty Free gigs are absolutely excellent.

The Felt Tips actually released a single on Cloudberry Records last year and although that is sold out, the band have some of their own copies available via their MySpace page. Given the pop perfection of Boyfriend Devoted, the title track of the single, and the equal excellence of Treat Me Gently I can highly recommend it.

Purveying a sort of sugar-sweet indie pop of the light and dreamy variety, they may not blow anyone’s sock off, but they make immensely enjoyable music. They actually started the gig a couple of men short, when the drummer and bass guitarist got stuck on the train coming through from Glasgow, but the remaining members dealt with this with great equanimity and I really don’t think anyone minded. Things like this can improve a gig in a sense – instead of a shiny Top of the Pops performance you get to see more of their actual personalities, which I like.

In any case, the rest of the gig went off well. I didn’t fall for every song, but there was a lot about their music which I really liked. I reckon if they can match the heights of the two aforementioned tracks consistently then they will be well on the way.

The Felt Tips – Boyfriend Devoted

Well it wasn’t quite the unhinged insanity of their brilliant set at the End of the Road Festival, but British Sea Power can be counted on to put some serious welly into a gig.  They get stuck in and make a right fucking noise, and this puts them right up there with iLiKETRAiNS and The Twilight Sad in my favourite guitar-bothering gigs this year.

Cabaret Voltaire was unusually full actually – I really hope this means the message is getting out that of all the places in Edinburgh you can actually see some seriously good indie music, this is the one.  There’s nothing like enough decent, current indie in Scotland’s capital and Cab Vol (as The Kidz seem to call it) is the just about top of the list of those seriously trying to change that.  I sincerely hope they are rewarded for their efforts.

British Sea Power are warming up to an album release, although I’m not quite sure when.  Judging from the new stuff they played, including the typically ferocious Atom, the album will satisfy without shocking.  What do you call a band too young to be stalwarts and too old to be greenhorns?  British Sea Power evolve their sound slowly, so they won’t shock anyone, but they write such consistently good songs I’d be amazed if this album proves to be anything less that the solid indie excellence of Decline… and Open Season.

The 80s indie vocals, slightly tormented, morph into howls of rage and guitars build from pounding rhythm to ear-ringing squeals as they throw themselves into their songs.  It’s odd, because I tend to associate groups with the charisma of the lead singer, but BSP pass that baton between Scott and Neil Wilkinson during the gig without missing a beat.  Seamless it may be, but the effect is nevertheless slightly odd.  It’s like the character of the group changes subtly, although the music stays consistent.

Both of them throw themselves into their vocals though, and Martin Noble’s confrontational, angry guitar brings it all together into a passionate indie assault.  They bring cornet and violin for some of the subtler moments, but it is all entirely drowned out by the three guitars.  The craft and atmosphere of their albums tend to be forsaken for pure adrenaline during live performances.

Good.

Once again I leave a British Sea Power gig with my ears ringing and my spirits charged.  If you get a chance to go and see them – do it!

British Sea Power – Blackout
British Sea Power – Atom
British Sea Power – Good Good Boys

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My good god what a paedo-gig this was!  Fucking hell.  I felt positively creepy sneaking in, with my grey hair and my burgeoning squishyness around the middle.  They very kindly gave the dinosaurs a bracelet signifying that we were really quite old and thus should be allowed into the bar area.  Christ I needed one, but quite why they thought it was a good idea to let an inveterate old pervert like myself drink in the presence of so many teenage girls, all hell bent on proving their maturity, is anyone’s guess.  It would have been far safer to let them get pissed and keep me sober, honestly.

‘Won’t someone think of the children!’
‘I was officer, that was largely the problem.’

Erm, anyhow, the gig.  Yes, not bad at all actually.  I came along  primarily to treat myself to some live music after my rotten last two weeks at work, where I’ve been completely overloaded and stuck in the office all day every day for a fortnight.  Six quid, I thought, was an excellent price for three up-and-coming buzz bands about whom I have heard great things.

Sky Larkin – These lads started us off, and although I missed their first couple of songs I really liked what I heard.  Their punchy, spiky pop songs carried a tune very well in the live setting and Katie, who does most of the chat, came across as charming and witty.  She can bloody sing too.  They were by far the most traditionally indie of the lot – by which I mean a certain style of guitar band, rather than a strict description of the label they are on – so maybe the ones I most expected to like.  And so it proved.

Sky Larkin  – Summit
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You Say Party! We Say Die! – Fucking punctuation in band names should be bloody outlawed, grumble grumble.  Not entirely my cup of tea this lot, but that’s a comment based on taste, not quality.  They gave a terrific live performance and the lovely Becky Ninkovic was an 80s indie goddess par excellence, ably foiled by the relaxed and amusing Derek Adam on guitar and the slightly mental Devon Clifford on drums.  So their music may not be my scene entirely, but the do a great show and I would definitely recommend you catch them if you get the chance.  Assuming you like their tunes of course.

You Say Party! We Say Die! – Opportunity

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Los Campesinos - The biggies, the main headline act, the highlight of the evening.  I don’t know what the term is for this sort of guitary male/female indie spunk-pop but it is a definite movement at the moment, and not one that overlaps with my own taste an awful lot.  It does in places though, and Los Campesinos!?#@** are as close to Toad territory as anyone.  As with the other bands on the evening, they gave a top show and, although I don’t love the music especially, I ended up with a real liking for the band.  Maybe I am too entrenched in my traditional verse-bridge-chorus ways to appreciate this stuff properly, but I am definitely enjoying it when I hear it live.  Either this is a product of a slowly changing mind, or perhaps the energy of the genre gets the better of my resistance to the music in a live setting.

All in all it was an excellent evening’s music, and six quid very well spent indeed.  I like getting slightly out of my comfort zone from time to time with live stuff.  Often just being part of other people’s euphoria for these new things helps you understand better what all the fuss is about.  Ultimately I will probably only end up pursuing Sky Larkin on record, but I’d heartily recommend seeing the other two if you are even slightly that way inclined.

Los Campesinos! – The International Tweexcore Underground

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Sometimes I just love gigs; there are so many ways for them to be good. This was a classic example of the kind of gig where it is all about the performer, and the person, and how you relate to him. Turner is confident, charming and very, very funny on stage with the kind of sense of humour that is everywhere at once, although at times a tad too caustic for one or two of the audience members. Personally I appreciated this, as it is comforting to see someone else say something they think is funny, and have the room collectively take a sharp intake of breath, for a change instead of it always being me.

Apart from putting some genuine welly into his songs, his lively chat was the real highlight of this gig, but musically it was great as well. You can tell Turner comes from a punk rock background because, despite the dominance of the acoustic in his songwriting, he really gives the music a good seeing-to. It’s odd though – he’s younger than my little brother, but his songs sound kind of old-fashioned somehow. There is definitely something of the real grass-roots acoustic protest hero of the 80s about him. I reckon 90% of you will think he’s dreadful, but the rest will love him, but I can’t imagine much indifference somehow. Although there were a sizeable number of cool young things listening to this anachronistic-sounding acoustic punk-folk soap-box botherer who reminds me of Billy Bragg more than anyone, which really struck me as odd. Skinny jeans and brightly coloured, stripey tops? Ah well, they’re closer to his age than I am, if I’m honest.

What I like about Turner’s music is that at least half a dozen songs from his album, Sleep is For the Week, make me want to devote an entire essay to them by themselves. I won’t though, so don’t look so scared, I’ll just pop up a couple of tracks and urge you to give him a listen. The Real Damage is going to be released as the title track of a new EP in a few weeks. It’ll have four new songs on it, so keep an eye out for that one.

Frank Turner – The Real Damage
Frank Turner – Once We Were Anarchists

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