The Gresham Flyers
Wintergreen
The Pete Green Corporate Juggernaut
The Deirdres
The Hermit Crabs
Other photies
acb
Your Funny Uncle
Ms-Bexy
Sunshine Pop
Showing posts with label The Deirdres. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Deirdres. Show all posts
Sunday, 10 August 2008
Bowlie Alldayer 2008: The Gresham Flyers, Wintergreen, The Pete Green Corporate Juggernaut, The Deirdres, The Hermit Crabs - Jamm
The Gresham Flyers
Wintergreen
The Pete Green Corporate Juggernaut
The Deirdres
The Hermit Crabs
Other photies
acb
Your Funny Uncle
Ms-Bexy
Sunshine Pop
Saturday, 2 August 2008
The Pete Green Corporate Juggernaut, The Deirdres, The Smittens - The Rescue Rooms
Crikey, the sound in here is great. The wee promoter girl was hyping it before, and I admit I was sceptical, but she was right, The Pete Green Corporate Juggernaut are on stage and they sound awesome.
Stadium Pete Green. The songs re-arranged for the whole band rather than just solo stuff with a band accompanying. Everything I Do Is Going To Be Sparkly, Dr Beeching, Monday Morning, they all sound so cohesive now, so big it fills the room. There's only a few of us who can hear the lonely ghost of solo troubadour Pete behind the songs.
This site has been following Pete Green's progress from floppy hair popster, to frontman with the mighty 'Juggernaut beside him, right there on the cusp of world domination now. If only the NME don't take offence at Best British Band Supported By Shockwaves.
Actually I keep meaning to say, whilst its a fine sentiment behind his song Hey Dr Beeching, the sort of paradoxes that would arise from what he proposes are seriously bad. If Stephen Moffat ever hears of it there'll be an interesting bank holiday special next year.
He does a wonderful speech before the final song, The Day of the Popshow, about how Indietracks doesn't have to end, you don't have to be at a train museum in the Midland, you just have to go to shows, start a fanzine, start a band and do it. There was barely a dry eye in the place.
Next up in this post-Indietracks popfest are The Deirdres, as utterly shambolic as always, bristling with their youthful energy and occasionally songs they haven't rehearsed for months.
Sophie's magic sentient feedback guitar and the chap who was forever runnig round the stage finding neglected instruments to play before running back to a microphone, any microphone to sing his next line.
The drums were a bit too loud this evening, and there were other bits of the mix that needed tweaking. Luckily the folks in the crowd still had the sound from Indietracks in there ears, The Deirdres can do no wrong. The was crowd surfing, there was reaching to touch Russell, and it was quite spectacular when Sophie actually took a run up and launched herself into the mosh pit.
Its the final night of The Smittens' UK tour, there's a little sadness in the air. As they point out, many folk in the crowd have followed them around for the past two weeks.
Crikey, I think I've seen Colin and Dana play seven times since they got here. Am I going to miss them or just back to business as usual? The Smittens were my summer holiday.
These songs I'd never heard before, now so familiar, 100 Roses, Gumdrops, the one where they try to get the audience to pretend to be bumblebees, Stop the Bombs, with the Pocketbooks, those dudes are crooks lyric, made me squeee a little.
There were hip hop bass noises coming from the club upstairs that only Dana could here at first then the rest of us, but it didn't distract from the stream of magic on stage, the instrument swapping and the joy.
I think Sapphire ought to sound a little more like Belle and Sebastian's Sleeping the Clock Around.
They finished with Gentlefication Now! (The La La La Song), a fabulous one for singing along to. But even afterwards, when the rest of the band were packing up, Colin was still playing some song about Justin Timberlake that he didn't know the words to, just for some guys in the audience.
It was a long drive home from Nottingham back to London, my ipod on shuffle, Sapphire comes on, and smiled a little.
Stadium Pete Green. The songs re-arranged for the whole band rather than just solo stuff with a band accompanying. Everything I Do Is Going To Be Sparkly, Dr Beeching, Monday Morning, they all sound so cohesive now, so big it fills the room. There's only a few of us who can hear the lonely ghost of solo troubadour Pete behind the songs.
This site has been following Pete Green's progress from floppy hair popster, to frontman with the mighty 'Juggernaut beside him, right there on the cusp of world domination now. If only the NME don't take offence at Best British Band Supported By Shockwaves.
Actually I keep meaning to say, whilst its a fine sentiment behind his song Hey Dr Beeching, the sort of paradoxes that would arise from what he proposes are seriously bad. If Stephen Moffat ever hears of it there'll be an interesting bank holiday special next year.
He does a wonderful speech before the final song, The Day of the Popshow, about how Indietracks doesn't have to end, you don't have to be at a train museum in the Midland, you just have to go to shows, start a fanzine, start a band and do it. There was barely a dry eye in the place.
Next up in this post-Indietracks popfest are The Deirdres, as utterly shambolic as always, bristling with their youthful energy and occasionally songs they haven't rehearsed for months.
Sophie's magic sentient feedback guitar and the chap who was forever runnig round the stage finding neglected instruments to play before running back to a microphone, any microphone to sing his next line.
The drums were a bit too loud this evening, and there were other bits of the mix that needed tweaking. Luckily the folks in the crowd still had the sound from Indietracks in there ears, The Deirdres can do no wrong. The was crowd surfing, there was reaching to touch Russell, and it was quite spectacular when Sophie actually took a run up and launched herself into the mosh pit.
Its the final night of The Smittens' UK tour, there's a little sadness in the air. As they point out, many folk in the crowd have followed them around for the past two weeks.
Crikey, I think I've seen Colin and Dana play seven times since they got here. Am I going to miss them or just back to business as usual? The Smittens were my summer holiday.
These songs I'd never heard before, now so familiar, 100 Roses, Gumdrops, the one where they try to get the audience to pretend to be bumblebees, Stop the Bombs, with the Pocketbooks, those dudes are crooks lyric, made me squeee a little.
There were hip hop bass noises coming from the club upstairs that only Dana could here at first then the rest of us, but it didn't distract from the stream of magic on stage, the instrument swapping and the joy.
I think Sapphire ought to sound a little more like Belle and Sebastian's Sleeping the Clock Around.
They finished with Gentlefication Now! (The La La La Song), a fabulous one for singing along to. But even afterwards, when the rest of the band were packing up, Colin was still playing some song about Justin Timberlake that he didn't know the words to, just for some guys in the audience.
It was a long drive home from Nottingham back to London, my ipod on shuffle, Sapphire comes on, and smiled a little.
Thursday, 31 January 2008
Monday, 3 December 2007
Sparklemotion Promotions: Nat Johnson, The 10p Mixes, MJ Hibbett, The Deirdres - The Red House
Dear UK Indiepop scenesters,
I must apologise for my non-attendance at the Indietracks Christmas Twee show. It was Saturday morning, I was doing my Christmas shopping at Brent Cross when I got a call from a friend formerly of Glasgow about possibly going to the cinema that night and well, it was preferable to a long trek to Nottinghamshire, Derby and random isolated railway stations.
We saw American Gangster, a long and engaging Ridley Scott movie. I feel there is some degree of fuckwittery in our friendship, her place is miles away on the other side of town and mine is a shithole at the moment. So whilst we get on really well and are fond of each other, it was just a pleasant evening out and drive home to opposite ends of the Northern Circular, followed by hours on wikipedia reading up on Frank Lucas, Senator Charlie Wilson and Star Trek.
So it led me to today's quick drive up the M1 to Sheffield. Whatever I'd missed at Indietracks was in a shadowy corner of my mind for before I left home I'd had a quick blast of YouPorn, some retro lesbian skit.
My car radio was bust, so for company on my way north I just had dark thoughts and memories of girls who'd fucked me over in the past. The familiar teen soap storyline of close friendships and fun times slowly leaning towards something more intimate when cometh the revelation that there's someone else, bad, mad, on the internet and less able to be introduced to parents and I'm cast out. Variations on the theme, usually with some degree of knife-twisting, despite buggery and brutalisation, its still deeply unsatisfying.
When I got to Sheffield, I was furious. Fire in my veins.
It was dark and wet, the rain in this city unrelenting as I had my weekly parental phone call. Mother concerned I hadn't eaten all day, convinced me to get fruit, veg, meat and all other food groups from a nearby supermarket.
And so it was, snacking on dried berries from Tescos that I stumble to the venue, The Red House, spotting MJ Hibbett helping a Validator unload outside. I've developed an uncanny ability to see him at gigs far away from the city in which I live, such as London/Glasgow and Sheffield/London.
Tonight Pete Green is promoting his first gig, they're still sound checking, but the turnout is already better than half a dozen gigs I've put on. CrystalBall is here, I engage in conversation. The girl who goes to even more Hibbett gigs than me is here. No sign of Indietracks survivors yet. I hope they're okay, whoever they are.
Sound checking first are The Deirdres, the mob who I missed at The Windmill a month ago. They look like they have an average age of 12, std dev 0.5 and make me wish that my own teenage band, Shouting Ralf, had made it out of Pnosni's garage back in '96. Their drummer even looks like Chris Stageman.
So this pub, The Red House, is pretty nifty. I've discovered four rooms so far, the gig room, the dark snug room, the quiet well-lit room where I write and the outside smoking bit, its kind of like The Crystal Maze with the décor.
MJ Hibbett and the Validator soundchecked a lot quicker, two swift run throughs of Mental Judo, from their 2006 album We Validate, particularly significant to this blog's conceit in that the first verse refers to a conversation MJ Hibbett had with Big Duncan from The Hector Collectors at a gig in Edinburgh, the album version includes a sample of Iain Smith introducing The Hectors, recorded live by Adam Smith.
First act to start proper was Nat Johnson from Monkey Swallows Universe, just on her own centre-stage, with a guitar and a tape loop pedal, surrounded by what could be close to a capacity crowd.
Whilst girl with guitar has been done to death thanks to Sandi Thom and her cohort and girl with tape loop pedal has cathedrals devoted to its cause, Nat Johnson's Chrissie Hynde-style vocals bring a much needed freshness to the genre. Gentle and Tender when admonishing folk in the crowd for burping and the realistic acceptance of songs which don't end properly are strangely reassuring.
Only a short set, which I liked.
The 10p Mixes on second, some tall perminator twat who manages to stand right in front of me twice in a minute. I'd heard good things online about the 'Mixes. Just a two-piece boy girl singing, guitar and a keyboard for solos. They started off pretty jolly, indiepop at it sparkly grass-roots, but their half-remembered cover of Johnny Cash's Jackson let them down, then the rest of the set veered between amateur musical requiem numbers and more half-remembered stuff. The sounds was a bit weedy too.
I sentence them to another six months rehearsing in a bedroom.
The mighty Hibbett takes to the stage next, a warm and raucous set, which is definitely in my Top Five Hibbett sets. Folk singing along and dancing all the way through, a secret plan to get this mob as the support for some major league band's stadium tour, to introduce them to a loving new audience.
The final act of the night were the aforementioned Deirdres. They were fab. There's about seven of them, all young and happy and smiley, maye a touch nervous, who knows. Some mad cross between The Loves, Motown, The Polyphonic Spree and the Go Team! All handwaving and shouting and folk having fun.
Dramatic interludes involving spilled drinks at the front of the stage and the barman performing a mop solo to clear it up.
Have you ever noticed how these reviews kind of trail off as the night wears on, and I get bored of scribbling, or maybe after the last band I'm more concerned with getting home than considering my opinion of the band.
170 miles in silence, save singing along to the songs in my head.
Reviews
here
I must apologise for my non-attendance at the Indietracks Christmas Twee show. It was Saturday morning, I was doing my Christmas shopping at Brent Cross when I got a call from a friend formerly of Glasgow about possibly going to the cinema that night and well, it was preferable to a long trek to Nottinghamshire, Derby and random isolated railway stations.
We saw American Gangster, a long and engaging Ridley Scott movie. I feel there is some degree of fuckwittery in our friendship, her place is miles away on the other side of town and mine is a shithole at the moment. So whilst we get on really well and are fond of each other, it was just a pleasant evening out and drive home to opposite ends of the Northern Circular, followed by hours on wikipedia reading up on Frank Lucas, Senator Charlie Wilson and Star Trek.
So it led me to today's quick drive up the M1 to Sheffield. Whatever I'd missed at Indietracks was in a shadowy corner of my mind for before I left home I'd had a quick blast of YouPorn, some retro lesbian skit.
My car radio was bust, so for company on my way north I just had dark thoughts and memories of girls who'd fucked me over in the past. The familiar teen soap storyline of close friendships and fun times slowly leaning towards something more intimate when cometh the revelation that there's someone else, bad, mad, on the internet and less able to be introduced to parents and I'm cast out. Variations on the theme, usually with some degree of knife-twisting, despite buggery and brutalisation, its still deeply unsatisfying.
When I got to Sheffield, I was furious. Fire in my veins.
It was dark and wet, the rain in this city unrelenting as I had my weekly parental phone call. Mother concerned I hadn't eaten all day, convinced me to get fruit, veg, meat and all other food groups from a nearby supermarket.
And so it was, snacking on dried berries from Tescos that I stumble to the venue, The Red House, spotting MJ Hibbett helping a Validator unload outside. I've developed an uncanny ability to see him at gigs far away from the city in which I live, such as London/Glasgow and Sheffield/London.
Tonight Pete Green is promoting his first gig, they're still sound checking, but the turnout is already better than half a dozen gigs I've put on. CrystalBall is here, I engage in conversation. The girl who goes to even more Hibbett gigs than me is here. No sign of Indietracks survivors yet. I hope they're okay, whoever they are.
Sound checking first are The Deirdres, the mob who I missed at The Windmill a month ago. They look like they have an average age of 12, std dev 0.5 and make me wish that my own teenage band, Shouting Ralf, had made it out of Pnosni's garage back in '96. Their drummer even looks like Chris Stageman.
So this pub, The Red House, is pretty nifty. I've discovered four rooms so far, the gig room, the dark snug room, the quiet well-lit room where I write and the outside smoking bit, its kind of like The Crystal Maze with the décor.
MJ Hibbett and the Validator soundchecked a lot quicker, two swift run throughs of Mental Judo, from their 2006 album We Validate, particularly significant to this blog's conceit in that the first verse refers to a conversation MJ Hibbett had with Big Duncan from The Hector Collectors at a gig in Edinburgh, the album version includes a sample of Iain Smith introducing The Hectors, recorded live by Adam Smith.
First act to start proper was Nat Johnson from Monkey Swallows Universe, just on her own centre-stage, with a guitar and a tape loop pedal, surrounded by what could be close to a capacity crowd.
Whilst girl with guitar has been done to death thanks to Sandi Thom and her cohort and girl with tape loop pedal has cathedrals devoted to its cause, Nat Johnson's Chrissie Hynde-style vocals bring a much needed freshness to the genre. Gentle and Tender when admonishing folk in the crowd for burping and the realistic acceptance of songs which don't end properly are strangely reassuring.
Only a short set, which I liked.
The 10p Mixes on second, some tall perminator twat who manages to stand right in front of me twice in a minute. I'd heard good things online about the 'Mixes. Just a two-piece boy girl singing, guitar and a keyboard for solos. They started off pretty jolly, indiepop at it sparkly grass-roots, but their half-remembered cover of Johnny Cash's Jackson let them down, then the rest of the set veered between amateur musical requiem numbers and more half-remembered stuff. The sounds was a bit weedy too.
I sentence them to another six months rehearsing in a bedroom.
The mighty Hibbett takes to the stage next, a warm and raucous set, which is definitely in my Top Five Hibbett sets. Folk singing along and dancing all the way through, a secret plan to get this mob as the support for some major league band's stadium tour, to introduce them to a loving new audience.
The final act of the night were the aforementioned Deirdres. They were fab. There's about seven of them, all young and happy and smiley, maye a touch nervous, who knows. Some mad cross between The Loves, Motown, The Polyphonic Spree and the Go Team! All handwaving and shouting and folk having fun.
Dramatic interludes involving spilled drinks at the front of the stage and the barman performing a mop solo to clear it up.
Have you ever noticed how these reviews kind of trail off as the night wears on, and I get bored of scribbling, or maybe after the last band I'm more concerned with getting home than considering my opinion of the band.
170 miles in silence, save singing along to the songs in my head.
Reviews
here
Friday, 2 November 2007
The School, The Brunettes, Wake The President, The Deirdres - The Windmill
So, after hellish experiences trying to get home from Brixton in thepast, I drove out all the way there tonight to find a sign on the door saying the show was sold out. So I went in anyway, to the ticket money chap, and asked if it was really sold out.
yup
The place was packed, I shrugged, "oh dear" and got back in my car and drove home.
Well, its a story to tell the grandkids or neice, knowing my lack of luck in the potential spawning world.
Yes petal, instead of seeing The School, The Brunettes, Wake The President and The Deirdres, pleading that I was a respected reviewer and secret pornographer in the hope my notoriety would be my gold card, I went home, listened to The School and The Loves demos and drew porn until I felt bad about myself and guilty about my emotions.
Bands
The School
The Brunettes
Wake The President
The Deirdres
yup
The place was packed, I shrugged, "oh dear" and got back in my car and drove home.
Well, its a story to tell the grandkids or neice, knowing my lack of luck in the potential spawning world.
Yes petal, instead of seeing The School, The Brunettes, Wake The President and The Deirdres, pleading that I was a respected reviewer and secret pornographer in the hope my notoriety would be my gold card, I went home, listened to The School and The Loves demos and drew porn until I felt bad about myself and guilty about my emotions.
Bands
The School
The Brunettes
Wake The President
The Deirdres
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
