Song, by Toad

As you can see I have complied with Mrs. Toad’s request to stop featuring cutesy Edinburgh pictures on these little posts and put up some pictures of radgy wee neds instead. This is something I think she feels is more representative of a kind of Edinburgh life that tends to be ignored (for more such pictures, go here, it’s hilarious).

I play football regularly in Craigmillar, often against teams from there or alternatively from lovely places like Craigour, Niddrie and other delightful Edinburgh tourist spots. I’ve actually been threatened with being knifed something like three or four times during various matches when we’ve played out there. It is a little unsettling actually, because for all you always have to respond with bravado – ‘Yeah fuck off – I’m more scared of your Mum you little poof’ or something equally erudite – there’s always the slender chance that one of the weaselly little fuckers is just crazy enough to mean it.

The biggest question I have with neds (pikeys, scallys, radges, whatever you local variation might be) is how they manage to find the stamina to go through life so CONSTANTLY FUCKING ANGRY. Honestly, where does that rage come from, how can they summon that level of anger, all of every day, about nothing at all? I suppose having lost at everything doesn’t help. Maybe the anger is why they live such short lives too – the rage must just burn you up.

Anyway, all that’s by the by really, isn’t it. What’s on this week then? Not much, but one absolute corker: Fence Club.

Wednesday 17th September 2008: James Yorkston & the Athletes, Malcolm Middleton, and Pictish Trail & Rozi Plain at The Caves.
In terms of lineups you’d struggle to beat this. James Yorkston’s new album is gorgeous, and given his tour is necessarily going to be a solo affair I really recommend you take this chance to see him now. The lush beauty of the sound is going to be perfect for The Caves, especially with full Athletic accompaniment. Malcolm Middleton’s literate, witty, downbeat indie takes little introduction, I would hope, and the dynamic duo of Pictish and Plain should be a treat. Tickets are getting close to selling out, too, so I’d buy one now if I were you. The official line is that there should be tickets left to sell on the door, but they aren’t certain. Book here to put your mind at rest.
James Yorkston – Queen of Spain
Malcolm Middleton – A Brighter Beat

Saturday 20th September 2008: Jonquil at Henry’s Cellar Bar.
One of Edinburgh’s own has recently agreed to become their manager, so they must be good. It’s a sort of experimental folk sound, broadly speaking, and is really bloody marvellous live. It’s a late one too, so don’t get so plastered you fail to appreciate the music. I do that all the fucking time, and it irritates the shit out of me.
Jonquil – Apparency

And, you know, I really think that’s it.

Blimey James Yorkston has hit his stride. Not to imply that he was struggling to do so before of course, but in terms of having the confidence to experiment a little, whilst not being so frantic to reinvent himself that he throws the baby out with the bathwater, he has created an album with real presence.

It’s familiar, but something quite fundamental in the rhythm, particularly the rhythm of the vocal delivery, seems to have changed. It spills more, flows like an insistent stream, not strident, but purposeful. It is in fact very much like beat poetry (and not the kind you’re thinking of) at times. What I mean by that is that Yorkston seems to be increasingly disinclined to write choruses. I mean, he still does, but I find myself identifying songs more by the rise and roll of the rhythm, rather than by the lines in the chorus.

It seems somehow symphonic, too. I somehow think of symphonic as different from orchestral – more lilting, less bombastic – but I know I am not using the words in any way literally in so doing. It’s a little grander a sound than the rather too minimal Year of the Leopard, and less traditionally assembled than the glorious Just Beyond the River and Moving Up Country. Between that and the subtly adventurous arrangements, the aforementioned impression that he is really hitting his stride starts to emerge.

As writers of hush-folk go (although Yorkston, like Rob St. John, prefers to be referred to as a writer of pop songs) I am not sure there is anyone better around today. There’s a wonderful gentleness to his music, even when the song itself is about heartbreak, which envelops and comforts you like warm evening darkness. I love this record, and even if you splash out and buy the box set, this is money well worth spending.

James Yorkston – When the Haar Rolls In
James Yorkston – Midnight Feast

Website | More mp3s | Buy from Domino

This little bit of video genius/madness was made by on of our occasional commenters, the splendid Milo, so I thought it just had to be included.  And I thought I was excited!

Unboxing of James Yorkston ‘When The Haar Rolls In’ Boxset from Milo McLaughlin on Vimeo.

The 28th Toadcast is all about the Fence Collective. People who read this site regularly must know them, I assume, but I’ve been intending to do this post for a while as they might be my favourite label in music at the moment.

After Kenny Anderson’s last band fell apart about ten years ago or more, he started releasing his own stuff on hand made CD-Rs under the name of King Creosote and between him and his brothers and some of the other local musicians he’d grown up with in Fife, a collective started to form which has grown and grown. Now, thanks to the spotlight cast their direction by Kenny’s brother Gordon’s involvement with The Beta Band and The Aliens, the success of King Creosote and James Yorkston, and the rising of KT Tunstall (also a Fence alumnus, believe it or not) Fence Records have turned into one of the most beloved record labels in the country.

And actually, I think their approach of building a community rather than just pimping product might just have the potential to make them one of the success stories of Music 2.0, although that’s another story. So this podcast is all about Fence Records and the bands I have discovered due to their hard work, and why I think they’re great. What an arse-kisser I’ve turned into.

(Warning: I’m drunker than I sound and there is way too much talking in this one.)

Toadcast #28 – The Fencecast

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01. Skuobhie Dubh Orchestra – Our Last Needle (03.17)
02. King Creosote – You’ve No Clue Do You (09.21)
03. James Yorkston & the Athletes – St. Patrick (16.33)
04. Art Pedro – Joanne (21.19)
05. MC Quake – It Feels Good to Be In Scotland (27.57)
06. Down the Tiny Steps – Handstand (36.44)
07. Adam Beattie – Bank Street (46.39)
08. Player Piano – Mercy (AC Mix) (49.35)
09. Candythief – A Good Day (56.47)
10. Rob St. John – Tipping In (60.06)
11. Adrian Crowley – Star of the Harbour (65.11)
12. Eagleowl – This is Not Your Lucky Day (67.47)
13. OLO Worms – Fingers & Thumbs (77.04)
14. HMS Ginafore – You Built a City Inside of Me (85.41)
15. Gummi Bako – She’s the Carrot & I’m the Stick (87.44)
16. The Pictish Trail – Words Fail Me Now (94.39)
17. Rich Amino – Chicken & Chips (99.02)
18. Sara Lowes – Uniform Days (104.22)
19. Magic Arm – Outdoor Games (108.11)
20. King Creosote – I’ll Fly By the Seat of My Pants (115.32)

…or Poshfest, as I like to call it.  Honestly, it was the most middle-class, civillised event I can possibly imagine.  Even the toilets remained usable all the way through the weekend.

That may sound like I am mocking it, and in a way I am, but myself along with it because you see, I loved this festival.  It was absolutely, absolutely inch perfect for me and from the looks of it a good few others too.  I don’t know if it’s a sign of age, but I truly don’t think I have ever liked the grotty side of festivals – the shit-splattered toilets, swimming in a sea of someone else’s piss; the denuded field covered in used cans and broken plastic glasses, the seas of polystyrene shit and leftover food strewn about the place, the ninety minute queue at the bar for warm beer that is invariably the flavourless and piss-weak rubbish that is Tennents and a whole myriad of other whining-old-bastard-in-his-slippers complaints.

End of the Road, on the other hand was superb, primarily I think because it was pretty small.  The fields generally retained their grass, people were spread pretty nice and thinly throughout the gardens, the toilets were kept clean and even had bog roll in them pretty much all the time, the food was good, the bar queues were genuinely pretty minimal and the beer was really quite nice.  A pint of Leffe for £3 is pretty comparable to a high street bar, unlike the usual almighty fleecing you tend to get at these things, and the fact that Leffe was available at all is in itself a good sign.

You know the only complaint I have about End of the Road: the lineup was actually just too good.  It was a brilliant combination of the up-and-coming, the alternative staple and the indie legend.  I had to miss about half a dozen things I really wanted to see just because there was so much good stuff on, and that’s even with Dan Sartain and Micah P. Hinson dropping out.  I didn’t get to sample the excellent film and comedy selections for example, which I would have loved to do, but I am delighted they are there as it means I am almost certain to be able to persuade the musically indifferent Mrs. Toad to come along with me next year.

The other problem with the strength of the lineup was that, apart from missing several things I wanted to see – Malcolm Middleton, Herman Dune, James Yorkston, Jens Lekman, Josh T. Pearson, Giant Sand, just the list of people I missed would make an impressive festival lineup by itself – but also it never gave me time to just wander in on something random and discover new things.  It’s nice at festivals to idly meander from one small venue to the next and take a chance on things you’ve never heard, and I couldn’t do that this time because there was just so much stuff on that I really wanted to see.

So Simon, my only complaint about your festival is that it was just a bit too bloody good!  Oh, and a few more showers would have been handy.  But all in all, I could have gone to the exact same festival the following weekend and still not been bored – superb it was!

So here are some tracks from the groups I missed.  I’ll be writing up the bands from the individual days pretty soon, but for now, here’s what I could have won…

Malcolm Middleton – Fuck It, I Love You
Herman Dune – 123 Apple Tree
James Yorkston & the Athletes – A Man With My Skills
Jens Lekman – No Time For Breaking Up
Lift to Experience – These Are the Days
Giant Sand – Cracklin’ Water

Erm, this example of tactless verbal bumbling will not surprise my regular readers in the slightest. So here we go.

I was at the End of the Road Festival and just happened to bump into Reuben Taylor, who plays accordion and piano with James Yorkston & the Athletes. I’d chatted drunkenly with him at the last Fence Homegame so I said hello and we had a brief chat which included the following excruciating exchange:

Toad: You’re playing today aren’t you?
Reuben: Yes, over at the Bimble Inn, but we clash with Lambchop so I don’t know how well we’ll do.
T: Oh yes, I’m going [starts to realise this is not going to go well] to be, er, at Lambchop myself too…
R: *Doesn’t look impressed*
T: Well, erm, you guys ar, er, local and I’m going to get, ah, more chances to see you later so I thought, um… [tails off embarrassingly]
R: Well London’s not exactly local, Edinburgh’s 400 miles away.
T: Well, er, it’s more… [Tails off, forgetting to mention that Toad Hall is in fact in Edinburgh. Tries to pretend conversation hasn't happened.]
R: *Efficiently changes subject*

What absolute diplomatic genius, I think you’ll agree. I feel such a prat. What I meant to say would have sounded a bit more like this:

‘Seeing as I have seen James & the Athletes four times in the last couple of years and, given I live in Edinburgh am likely to see you just as often in the next couple of years, and given I have never seen Lambchop and may not get the chance again for ages, I think I am going to have to opt for Lambchop on this occasion. Hope the gig goes well though, and I will definitely be in your audience again very soon, clapping and cheering like nobody’s business’

Which I think we can all agree sounds an awful lot better. So, in a desperate attempt to make good my bungling I am going to introduce you to the splendid Mr. R. Taylor through what else but the medium of popular song.

Reuben Taylor – Fanfare From his De-Fence Records single, shared with Jon Hopkins, which can be bought on vinyl here and is very much worth a fistful of your sheckles.
James Yorkston & the Athletes – 6.30 is Just Way Too Early (Reuben’s String Arrangements) Off this single.
James Yorkston – Rosemary Lane I can’t swear it’s Reuben on accordion but it’s pretty likely. From the unspeakably beautiful EP, Someplace Simple which you have to buy – absolute genius.

Well, having reviewed a small number of the artists who particularly struck me at this year’s Homegame festival I thought it worth mentioning a few thoughts on the overall weekend, for those interested.

First, however, a little background. Kenny Anderson – a.k.a. King Creosote – was in a reasonably successful band back in the early 90s called the Skuobhie Dubh Orchestra. They released a couple of good albums but internal politics did for them, and Kenny was dropped by his record label. He continued recording, setting up a record shop in St. Andrews, and putting out self-released CD-Rs every now and then. To cut a long story very short, his two musical brothers, Lone Pigeon (of Beta Band fame) and Pip Dylan and a few other musical friends ended up clustering together to become what is now known as The Fence Collective.

Recently there have been some pretty high-profile releases from the Fencers as the whole enterprise has gathered momentum, including a couple of very well-received albums from King Creosote himself, as well as the lush and lovely fireside folk of James Yorkston. K.T Tunstall is also one of theirs, I think, but I don’t hear that much mention of her these days. Late last year Barbarossa released one of the most successful records on Fence Records to date, with Chemical Campfires – KC and James Yorkston release their stuff through larger labels. So the whole thing is starting to really take off, which is excellent because a more deserving bunch of people you couldn’t hope to meet.

Anyhow, once a year the Fence Collective and various other pals of theirs all come together back in Anstruther for a weekend (two weekends this time, due to popularity) and play lots of gigs shared amongst the local town halls, get pished as newts and generally have a right old laugh. The sell a couple of hundred tickets, and everyone spends the weekend in a lovely Scottish seaside town, walking from one gig to another, down to the seafront for fish & chips, or just generally dossing about and relaxing.

The music varies from bizarre electronic noodling to uber-hippy folk to immaculate indie pop and full on electro-disco-punk thrash. For the most part, however, the kind of introspective indie-folk of the likes of King Creosote tends to dominate – thoughtful, often slightly eccentric songs, largely acoustic, with threads of electronica and experimental accompaniments. Musicians turn up all over the place, wielding the washboard here, accompanying someone on guitar there, and then playing their own set somewhere later – I swear I even saw James Yorkston playing power chords on an electric guitar and pogo-ing around the stage at one point. There tend to be the odd surprise invitee as well, such as Blood Music and The Singleman Affair this year, and a couple of Scottish indie heroes, Malcolm Middleton and Ballboy, made appearances as well. By and large, though, this is just a bunch of old mates getting together and playing their music together. And we get to come too.

That is the best thing about this festival. Apart from the fact that it being in Anstruther completely avoids the bald, plastic glass-strewn fields and shitty campsites of other festivals, as well as giving indie widows such as Mrs. Toad something to do. Basically, the musicians are all attending the festival the same as you. They do all sorts of work on things like sound and dragging people’s hand-made CDs around so people can buy stuff from the bands they like. And I’ve never seen a bunch of people so completely unassuming and entirely tolerant of being accosted by drunken fans slurring incoherently at them. They were all up at Legends on the last night, getting plastered with everyone else and basically just enjoying the whole business.

And that’s the thing. As a fan, The Fence Collective starts to feel like something you belong to almost as much as they do, despite not actually doing anything yourself in particular. Perversely, I don’t want it to get too big because there is nothing in the world so pure and sincere that a marketing department can’t utterly fucking ruin it, but then if there was anyone in the world that you really want to see succeed then it’s these guys. So subscribe to your Fencezine, be sharp, and do your best to get tickets next year. Honestly, it’s easily, easily worth it.

For an introduction to the Fence musicians, get down to your local independent record shop and buy their sampler, Don’t Fudge With the Fence Made. Here’s a couple of highlights from that CD, plus a couple of songs from the mainstays of Fencelyness:

King Creosote – Circle my Demise (It’s miserable, this one, but gorgeous)
King Creosote – Klutz (A bit more cheerful for you)
James Yorkston & the Athletes – St. Patrick
Barbarossa – Aeroplanes
The Pictish Trail – All I Own
Adrian Crowley – Northern Country