Last Night From Glasgow - Indietracks

By the time you read this, you might have seen the wee black and white video I put together of the festival, there's a scene a third of the way through with people playing acoustic sets on a train platform, surrounded by adoring fans. Some reports say it was spontaneous, I disagree, it was carefully calculated and planned.

Well, this is my back story to it.

Earlier in the week Lets Whisper played in London, aw man, I still haven't written up any kind of review of that show. Lets Whisper are like a two piece featuring two members of The Smittens, Colin Clary and Dana Kaplan. I broadly assumed that, well, it was just the same songs as The Smittens play, but cut down. It was nice, twee, heartwarming stuff with cheesy choruses and wide-eyed nodding at the wonders of the world.

Days later the rest of the Smittens arrived and played a show in Glasgow, The Just Joans were support and friends were in the crowd. So after the gig I was online chatting to my friend Robbie who'd been very impressed by The Smittens, chatting to them after the show, they'd heard of this website. After skipping round the room doing dances of self-validation, I returned to my computer to find Robbie talking about how Colin Clary was dancing to The Just Joans. That would be a great music legend to catch on film, and use for cynical promotion and music videos. I decided I would use the Indietracks festival to take such footage.

The last band had played on Saturday, and there was a disco in the diesel shed, Bubblegum Killer DJs were playing, the tunes were good, but I wasn't in the mood for dancing. It takes very specific atmospheric and emotional conditions for me to dance, on Saturday it wasn't happening. Just outside the diesel shed, I found Camila from WeePop chatting to folk, Lets Whisper and Allo Darlin, The Just joans are nearby too. She collars me and asks if I have my guitar with me, aye safely locked up in my car just a wee stroll away. So yeah, we're going to get Colin to play.

I'm away like the wind to pick up my guitar and arrive back at the standing around in a flash. We just need somewhere to play, somewhere quiet and away from the various discos going on. I've been here before, last year, IoMoPS, played a wee set on the platform whilst waiting for a train, I think we roped in Pete Green too, but that was last year. On this warm Saturday night, I lead a small crowd to the station platform, we ousted some young lovers sharing an intimate moment, and we set up.

I pass my guitar to Colin who tunes it, I think there's a ukelele kicking about as well, the really cute bongo player from Allo Darlin has a bag of percussiony instruments and Will Harrison is hanging about too. I quickly drift away from the musical instrument holders lest I get asked to play in front of other people.

And then it kicks off.

Its quiet, people crowd round in silence, the crowd grows, folk sit cross legged. The camera crew who've been following the Just joans all day set up and start recording, people call requests. A strict three song limit is placed on each band, so we get Lets Whisper, Allo Darlin', Will Harrison. Pete Green shuffled in and a set was demanded of him, his Doctor Beeching song about the closure of the railways, particularly appreciated by the passing train drivers.

Lurking at the back of the crowd were The Just Joans, we'd run out of musicy folk at the front of the crowd to force to play, and it was The Just Joans that people wanted to hear. They had no choice in the matter, bashful or no, people were chanting for them, demanding it.

Just three of them, Katie, David and Rowan, the singers, harmonies and guitar. Hey Boy, you're oh so sensitive, What Do We Do Now and I hear you're the man now John. And there if happened, I got my footage of Colin Clary right at the front, bobbing up and down and clapping for The Just Joans. All around are my friends, the bands I love, folk off of the internet, all enjoying, relishing this scene that we built.

I grin and skip, and marvell, absolutely brimming with joy.

I don't want to be a full time promoter or a musician or a writer. I just want to, occasionally, make these little bubbles of magic pop.

Other photies
Obo-Bobo
Favourite Dress
Sunshine Pop
Kronky
WeePop
Kersy83
Will Erskine

MJ Hibbett (My Exciting Life in Rock), Pete Green - The Cross Kings

Pete Green


MJ Hibbett


MJ Hibbett - It only works because you're here

Pete Green, Pocketbooks, The Parallelograms, The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - The Betsey Trotwood

Nowt to do for a Saturday so I wandered into town for a bit of exercise and trekked along to Farringdon. Of course, I got to the venue about three hours early, so I wandered up the Road to Kings Cross and picked up a Flashman novel to read over a beer.

I'd forgotten how much I love George MacDonald Fraser, Flashy's a bit of a role model I guess. Some West Ham-based trouble breaks out in the pub, I slip out just as four police minibuses and half a dozen police cars arrive. They send in a pack of police dogs, I'm sure that'll diffuse the situation.

Time passes and I head along to the gig. Its a quaint looking place, Thor and Ladybug from Not Quite Rocket Science outside, we say hey, and inside its even more of a who's who. Trev Lost and Tom SoundsXP at the bar, the word is its going to be a bit crowded downstairs. Atomic Beat folk wandering about, MJ Hibbett materialises, beer is consumed. Topical ales include Bishop's Finger, which was nice, Kent's Best, which was okay, and Spitfire which is bogging or it could have been the Red Bull I'd been guzzling all day in lieu of food, its turned my tastebuds.

Lo! It is crowded downstairs, I get in earlish and find myself near the front. The basement is like catacombs, it is The Bards Tale, sunken booths, whitewashed walled and zombies.

Pete Green on first, it takes a few songs to get the levels right, and his guitar, tonight without layers of gaffertape sounds different to usual. Its a friendly performance in a room full of friends.

Hearing "Best British Band Supported by Shockwaves" for the first time was pretty neat, incrowd references and stuff made it. Maybe there are important questions about the nature of sponsorship in popular music which need to be addressed, not now mind. Its warm and gentle tonight.

Gah, no photies from me for this review, whilst my camera is nestled in my pocket, its battery is many miles away become charged. There are plenty of other folk with cameras and I think a chap from Dandelion Radio is taping the show for the internet.

Atomic Beat have the stage times pinned to the walls all over the place which is nice. At some point in the future it'll be square and too formal and not punk enough, but right now, its neat and appreciated. Fag break? Sure, plenty of time.

Pocketbooks on next, sounds better than last time, that show at the Enterprise. Birthday girl singer Emma fluffs her lines a few times, but they pull it off with good grace, Andy nodding to the Dandelion Radio guy he can edit it out later.

They still come over as the finely aimed bastard sons (and daughter) of Belle and Sebastian and Camera Obscura, with, I reckon, a sprinkling of the Lightning Seeds's perfect pop.

Ian the slightly new guitar player is settling into his role better, but they ought to prod the sound engineer a bit more.

As I sribble this review on the train home, a gentleman behind me says "His heart was as strong as an ox".

Last time I saw The Parallelograms was DSFAR in Nottingham just before Christmas, I was coming down with than flu that was going round and not in the best of moods. Some bloke I'd known for years barged me out of his way at the back of the crowd, and no one I knew saw me. I barely made it hom alive, let alone write up a coherent review of the bands that wouldn't get me banned from computer keyboards everywhere.

Ooh they have a standing up drummer, the guitar chap is a little drunk and the singing girl reminds me of Angelica when they're not rocking out. Its an awkward fit, teenage girl vocals and noisy guitar rock, but they pull it off with humour and single chord rock endings.

Single out on Atomic Beat Records, available in the foyer.

All the bands playing tonight roughly begin with the letter P. Its like Seasame Street, but with Anoraks instead of puppets.

I find myself stood at the back for the final band, mulling over ideas, ideas. For my final post here on LNFGIES I write about the first gig I ever went to, post all the songs I've ever recorded and I've got a few ideas for threads/indie concepts: cover version tennis, writing songs for other people, and never playing the same songs live twice.

The Pains of Being Pure At Heart, current doyennes of Anorak, they're very good, nice reverb on the vox and organy keyboards. Realy embracing stuff. I'm stood at the back, girl who looks familiar from Glasgow at 11 o'clock, names to faces all around, avoid eye contact. Avoid.

The Pains have this song with the refrain 'We will never die', the drums, maybe even the key, remind me of the mighty Roses' 'I am the Ressurrection'. The refrains have similar meanings.

As I trek home, I'm thinking More of that sort of thing.

Other reviews
here

Pete Green, The Sunny Street, Monster Bobby, The Strange IdOls - Tufnells

The place fulfills the potential that lies in the Woodside Social Club, if only the Woody was done up, it could be as nice as Tufnell's, clean, modern, no mould, fresh, air conditioning / dehumidifiers in the ceiling, bar proudly in the middle of the room. The flyer said doors 7, its almost 9 and the bands are still soundchecking.

They even have mirrors on the walls like the Woody here. Although the barman does bare a striking resemblance to both Leonardo Di Caprio and the T-1000.

The sound was a lot better for Pete Green than last night, amplified, tweaked, smoothed out. But shilst then it was a crowd of twee internet folk hanging on to his every word, toniht the promoter's chatting during his songs, the promoter's mates are chatting, the sound man and his mates are chatting, and most of the punters in the other room are chatting, its pretty distracting. He does give them a good talking to and the chatters depart, just leaving a thin twee line.

The walls here are sparkly, fitting neatly with his song "Everything I do is going to be sparkly" (buy the single). Unexpected phaser effect during his Oh Mr Beeching song and his "MySpace Fucking Sucks" song falls a little flat to the crowd who've heard it a dozen times before and the fifty in the other room who couldn't care less.

His last song reminded me a little of Dire Straits's Romeo and Juliet.

Great bloke, crap venue for him.

I was outside chatting to Fiona during Sunny Street's set, sounded okay, tamboriney, like the Hermit Crabs. But when we came inside it was shite. Two folk stood on stage in silence whilst a backing tape played. The backing tape sounded okay, but the boy with his guitar was too quiet, and the girl singing was way way down in the mix.

I was kind of embarrassed that I'd talked up the gig to Fiona.

Bobby Monster was on next, the guitarist from the Pipettes, I think they're one of these bands what my former flatmate Alan used to be mental about. Anyhoo it was kind of dischordant to start with , a bit experimental and arty. The guy probably thought he was Laurence from Felt. The drum/bass machine/synth drowned out his acoustic guitar and the lyrics were badly sung, a bit ropey.

Fiona was going on about misplaced arrogance and almost pissed herself when he announced he had an album for sale, only ten quid. You can buy Amy Winehouse's latest for £7.99 - compare and contrast. But as the set drew on, you could kind out make out the tunes hidden in there, trying to escape, even Fi slowly warmed to it.

Actually, now as I type this up, I note The Pipettes's wikpedia page references Bill and Jimi's The Manual, so hey ho, the guy's a god, its 2007: what the fuck's going on.

Finally, probably the best band of the night were headliners Strange Idols, but that's no saying much. They looked like they were having fun on stage. The singer girl all mincing it up as a vampish Eno/Dabbie Harry. But the sound was appalling, the bass at first drowned out everything and was pretty painful to listen to, to the sound dude turned up everything else to level it out, making it even hrder to listen to.

We left three songs in, I apologised to Fi, its not usually like this. Live music ought to be accessible, comprehensible, not painful and borderline pisstake. Fix it.

Pete Green, MJ Hibbett - The Lamb

Early doors shows tonight, I didn't even have time for me dinner before heading out and I'm Hank Marvin.

Too early for my London gig companion, Fiona, who was tied up until eight, but hey ho, I'll be able to get home and get my write up online quicker this way.

Pete Green's playing tomorrow night an'all, would it be overkill to see him then too?

At first it wasn't clear where the show was, so I crammed in with a bunch of businessmen supping pints until Pete and Mark passed by and pointed me the way.

Oh to the smoking ban, this place would be so much better if it were smokey, all green carpets, red walls and wood panelling. You may not be allowed to light up, but surely someone could inent tobacco fragranced air-freshener, there'd be a captive market for thousands of sales. Can Silk Cut no do it?

There's no stage here, just a dozen tables and chairs. I rather selfishly took a corner table, three chairs and one me, my lack of eye-contact guards them.

Christ, why did I have to single out Waz in the 'Flyer review? He's everywhere and I have no gripe with him. Just briefly during 'Tracks this overpowering sense of alienation, when folk chatted about the weekend later, I wouldn't be party to the banter.

Pete Green picks a spot in front of thr middle window and dons his guitar. Two adventurous souls join my table, and Crystalball hands out flyers for tomorrow's show. Shit, I just made contact with a chap I thought was Lars Frodo, but wasn't. The place is filling up.

Hi, my name's Chris, I work for a company making hi-fis. With any piece of hi-fi equipment affects the audio signal in someway. Assuming that a CD has been recorded and produced perfectly as the artist and engineer wants it it has a flat frequency response and if on your hi-fi system you turn the bass up or the treble down, you're essentially distorting the way the artist intended it to be heard. Now, with acoustic music, played live, there's isn't so much means to distort the sound. The artist can sing louder or play quieter, as is their perogative, but out of their control is the acoustics of the room. MJ Hibbett introduced Pete Green saying that he last saw him playing in a train carriage at IndieTracks and it was great, now tonight, I'm sat at the back and the frequency response of the room sounds a little different.

He asks is we can hear him okay, well, yeah, its okay, not perfect, but there's little he can do about it.

The weirdest thing, I was just drawing thems graphs abstractly, wondering about when I'd ever heard Pete Green recorded when suddenly I realised the song he was playing was on the Not Quite Rocket Science: Podcast #8 which is almost all I've been listening to for the last week, new computer with no MP3s.

He's very good playing live and acoustic, on his own, which admittedly is how I usually see him. One of his best acoustic shows according to the girl next to me, no chance of technical difficulties.

Comfortable, confident, knowledgable songs but still understated, kind of kneegazery. I bought a single on my way out, no record player though.

Short break between acts for drinks, cigarettes, the loo etc, I texted the missus and may have only just caught the start of MJ Hibbett's set.

He projects more, louder and more animated. The first song The Peterborough All-Saints Wide Game Team (group B) reminds me of the songs passing troubadours would sing round campfires at early nineties scout camps. Do they still do that?

When he played the slow song, It only works because you're here, my eyes all welled up and it was only by scribbling in my notebook that I didn't greet. It catches me right here, inside, as it did when I first heard it so far away.

The Lesson of the Smiths is still a life philosophy rather than just a song. Gay Train just reminds me of going to Clapham. New songs went down well, with the handful of people at the show seeing Hibbett of the first time, the looks of wonder on their faces. For the finale his Fresh Prince cover was the most joyous I've ever heard ir. MJ had to open a window mid-song it was getting so exciting.

Underground ride home, desperate for a wee, would have gone at the gig but I was holding a record.

Photies
here

Pete Green - Indietracks

Outside I bump into MJ Hibbett, a mutual half-arsed attempt at a manly hug in greeting, unless I mis-judged the situation and I'm on the other side of the tracks watching Pete Green.

Troubador style, its sweet and gentle like the school choir boy soloist. Whilst the crowd, damaged as we are, are on his side, there's something a little whiney about his music, rather than the usual chumminess. And the sibilance on the mic is off.

"Myspace fucking sucks" resonates slightly, like friends reunited, the sun is setting on that social phenomenum. My money spinning dot com idea is a site that signs you up to all these things and keeps them all updated, kind of like an aggregator in reverse. I shall call it sponge.info

He's very blue: jeans, blue t-shirt with some footballer motif lost on me, and a blue Mani hat, did baggy ever die?

He does an indiepop acoustic cover of the Ramones, but I think it falls flat, shallow echos of Hibbett's Boom Boom Shake the Room.

Reviews
here

Photies
here
here

Stars Of Aviation, With The Owls, Pocketbooks, Pete Green, Maia Hirasawa - Buffalo Bar

The reason given for me being at this gig tonight is "I was just passing and it looked interesting," followed by "oh, I'm not staying," and if pushed, some quote from xkcd about having adventures for the sake of it rather than same old same old.

Drive 400 miles for some gig, some bands I've never heard of? you bet.

This adventure in London is less alcohol fuelled than the last time and more measured. I'm on my way to Liverpool see, for Saturady night's Plimptons gig, part of the International Pop Overthrow Festival.

And that, your honour, is why I'm standing in a quiet corner of the bar in the Buffalo Bar in Highbury for something to do with Fortuna Pop.

Crikey, as the place fills up there's a chap here who looks just like MJ Hibbett, truly there's no escape from LNFG. Seconds after being spotted he come over and says hello, jolly nice chap. Hmm, more people saying hi, this is awkward, taking about twenty seconds too long to recognise people off of the internet in real life.

First on stage is a troubador called Pete Green, was the guy in Fleetwood Mac also the same name? Its not the same chap. Rather jolly songs, Similar to Hibbett I reckon, but seen through a different looking glass. Songs like "I haven't got a MySpace, cos MySpace fucking sucks" and "Share your kit" about snotty hipster bands with all the gear and no idea. Jolly stuff.

Pocketbooks are on next, oop, the guitarist noodles the lead line from Fleetwood Mac's The Chain, Maybe it was that Pete Green. Please imagine I came up with a snide comment about the band. They were really good, a fourpiece, two keyboards, glokenspiel, guiatar, drums, bass, instrument swapping. Belle and Seb-esque boy/girl harmonies, really tight drumming, almost drum machine-ish. The girl had the neatest bob hair I've seen since Bis.

An acquaintance, Paul points out people in the crowd, someone from the Duloks, Maia from Hello Saferide, various promoters I ought to know and folk from Amelia Fletcher bands, she ought to do something about bank charges.

The first two acts were promoting new singles released on Atomic Beat Records, Paul bought them on seven inch and seemed jolly impressed.

On stage next are a dapper two piece, called The Owls, swapping guitar and bass between each other.

A wee bit dour, and rather jarring dischordant guitar.

When the Pocketbooks were on the crowd seemed restless between songs, but with the owls they did even get that courtesy.

A girl walks by who bares a striking resemblance to Natasha Smith from school, or more honestly, Uma Thurman from Pulp Fiction.

So, looking at posters advertising other gigs here... bands I've never heard of sponsored by corporate entities such as Diesel, LaCoste and Cafe2U. Crikey.

Aw man, now there's hundreds of people on stage. The Stars of Aviation, sound like Aberfeldy, all of them seemed to be armed with egg-shakers and I'm convincedt the singing chap is called Eliot, but Paul assures me he simply cannot be, much like the end of American Psycho.

They spent a good ten minutes trying to get the audience to sing along to some song in French, that wasn't singing, that was just a load of drunk peopleshouting.

"A bit too... something" says Paul, maybe too twee indie. Some of the songs were nice and jaunty, but well, others were slow and sleepy and too easy listening.

Oop, as a secret bonus, that Maia girl, from Sweden, is going to play a set with her band and I snap my own photies. I love her dimples and her theatricalness and enthusiasm and the pleading in her voice with these really personal sounding songs about friends and MySpace. And the way she stomps, rocks and reels.

There's to be DJs and music and dancing, so I leave.

An hour later, I feel regret, after the bands I could have chatted merrily from people from way back when, firming up viewer/creator relationships, offering my services as nationwide music distributor and Ivan Lendil Music head honcho. Shit, just engaging would do. Instead I bungled a hug and noddled farewell awkwardly before barging and my way out in terror.

400 miles, I have complete control over my actions, its my feelings that require more work.

Reviews
here

Photies
here
here
here