Electric Six - Glasgow Barrowlands, February 20th 2005

    After a Led Zep lite, Suedette support by Hoggboy, Electric Six take to the stage in a blue light. Accompanied by a gospel mumbo jumble the six piece band are cocksure and ready to rumble. Living up to their Wildbunch reputation vocalist (Dick Valentine) is happy to announce that he's hammered, losing it, and in need of a day off. Not an encouraging start, whatever way you like to look at it.
   
    True to their title, the band actually is a six piece, with leanings toward white boy funk meshed with twangy stadium rawk. Valentine, very much the centrepiece of the band, tries to be cool and charismatic, but ends up looking faintly ridiculous. His stage persona is so much of an act that it's difficult to keep it going. However, the crowd lap it up, moshing to Naked Pictures (of your Mother), while drummer Percussion World (yes, that's what they call him) bangs away dismally. Valentine's headbanging looks rather like Kermit the frog.

    The camp fun you hear on an Electric Six record is all but lost. Valentine's diction is less tortuous live than on record and to be honest, he enunciates so clearly that your mother might approve. The falsetto vocals are weak and tired sounding, and only Johnny Na$hinal's twangy guitar rings true in songs like Gaybar and Danger! High Voltage! Everything sounds muddier, heavier and saggier than you might have hoped. There's cowbells on that drum kit, but the disco flavour only shines through for seconds at a time. By the encore of Radio GaGa, both the sea of clapping hands and the band are just going through the motions. All interest and groove is lost in a swamp of cock rock.

Brought to you in association with the reservoir.

The Fiery Furnaces - EP

    Pop opera is one of those genres that just doesn't come round or stay around very often. But on first listen, The Fiery Furnaces' new album EP is just that. All very knowing and self conscious. And this is their pop side. It's like Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody cranked up times 100 and trying to be clever. A million different time signatures, asides, tempos and multiple sections in each song. After three or four songs it's starting to get more than a little irritating. Calm down and stop showing off, please.

    As an album, it's a lesson in how musical intelligence doesn't always work. There are some great singalong moments, and some of the indie kids are going to love its archness. Whether it's alliteration overload in Sullivan's Social Slub, or the shock of setting domestic violence to a happy pop tune in Single Again, it's certainly full of surprises. The musicianship throughout is superb, and there are plenty catchy tunes, but it just won't settle. Shifting around to such a degree makes for uncomfortable listening. In some ways it's similar to the prog pop of Mansun's Six, with its segues and self conscious lyrics and production. It's all well and good doing something because you can, but when it doesn't gel it's time to think twice.

    If you don't get the references (e.g. Duffer St. George rips the piss out of the Shoreditch set) some of that archness is lost, and the music becomes more of a focus, making everything seem much more lighthearted. This would be a much more likeable album if it didn't take itself so seriously. Lighten up, Furnaces!

Brought to you in association with the reservoir

Emiliana Torrini - Fisherman's Woman

    Emiliana Torrini has one of those highly individual, quirky voices that provoke strong reactions in the listener. Some might find her ever so affected and fey, but a closer listen unveils hidden depths in her lightly accented voice. The half Italian, half Icelandic singer specialises in simple melodic songs and lightly poetic lyrics.

    After an award winning success with the song she wrote for Kylie (Slow), and Gollum's Song for the second film in The Lord of the Rings Trilogy: The Two Towers, Fisherman's Woman goes back to basics. The album was written with Brixton based producer, Mr Dan and is a largely acoustic, stripped down affair.

    A concept album of sorts, Fisherman's Woman is based around loss yet a sense of hope. The opening track: Nothing Brings me Down sets the scene, with a haunting, shifting guitar and a steady melody. Her voice is sweet, quirky and cute, but there's hidden depths there, like someone old before her time. More traditional than Björk and less annoying than Stina Nordenstam, her voice is touching and uplifting.

    The first single from the album, SunnyRoad is reminiscent of Nick Drake in pop-folk mode, simple well crafted and joyful. The whole album is lightly hypnotic and comforting, the melodies sometimes repetitive, but never boring. Lifesaver creaks like a familiar old ship, lulling you into a false sense of security. Listen carefully and you can hear her smiling gently as an accordion drifts along in the background. The track Honeymoon Child, is set apart slightly from the main thrust of the album, as it was penned by Bill Callahan of (smog), but acts as a turning point rather than a distraction, as the second half is brighter and more upbeat. The title track Fisherman's Woman is a modern blues gem, playing with rhythm, wistful and heartbreaking, but much too short.

     A journey with Fisherman's Woman is like being becalmed on the ocean, a moment of hope and stillness, restful and refreshing.

Brought to you in association with the reservoir.

The Buzzcocks, Neville Staple, Carling Academy, Glasgow, 9th December 2004

    Sometimes the old tunes are the best. Neville Staple (of The Specials) has been gigging on and off for almost thirty years and really knows how to put on a show. From the outset the band replicates the joyful skankin ska of the two-tone period, with trombone and trumpet and the solid bass to back it up. Staple and his band are full of the boisterous energy of the post punk period, and include favourites such as Gangsters, Monkey Man and Rudi, A Message to You in their half hour set. Staple is promoting a new album The Rude Boy Returns, but by the sound of it, he's never been away.

    The Buzzcocks begin their set with a light show and monster drums. Those drums are to be the heart of the Buzzcocks set, as Phil Barker, the machine of a drummer never seems to pause for an instant. The set kicks of with an initially unrecognisable rendition of Autonomy, but when Pete Shelley's distinctive vocals merge with the rest of the sound, everything falls into place. Almost every one of The Buzzcocks' hits are rattled off at breakneck speed in a celebration of punk pop perfection. Original guitarist, Steve Diggle, mulleted and sporting a waistcoat å la Francis Rossi (of Status Quo) wrings some skronky punk solos out of his axe with all the enthusiasm of youth. In contrast to the pop punks of today, the old geezers still sound like they mean it after all these years.

    The audience is peppered with old punks with walking sticks, glam goths and casual 30-40 somethings. When called upon to provide the harmony in Harmony in my Head, they do so with vigour, and there's even a tiny mosh pit for the hardcore. The gig is reminiscent of the classic album Singles Going Steady, with classic following classic. Shelley's voice sounds the same as it did twenty five years ago, and the crowd goes ape for definitive Buzzcocks' tunes like Boredom and Ever Fallen In Love?

    When the encore rounds off the night with everyone's favourites, What do I Get? and Orgasm Addict it seems that they've simply run out of songs to play. There never seems to have been a pause of more than ten seconds throughout. You can keep your Blink 182. For punk pop it has to be The Buzzcocks, they might be punks with paunches, but we loved them.

Brought to you with the aid of the lovely people at the-reservoir.

George Melly, The Big Chris Barber Band, Glasgow Concert Hall, 5th Dec 2004

    It was surprising that no-one started singing "Where Did you Get That Hat" when George Melly took the stage. It is Glasgow after all. Swagger and style in such an obviously elderly gent is a marvellous sight to behold, and Mr Melly has it in bucketloads. Oh yes. This reknowned jazz and blues singer, raconteur, art critic and writer really is a living legend. In his trademark garish striped suit, Melly takes a seat, removes his tiger striped cowboy hat and sings the blues. Booming and bassy, full of character (just like that white and red striped suit) his rendition of Old Rocking Chair really is the blues. He alludes to his wild heyday with a couple of mildly risque jokes, his fruity bass-baritone speaking voice every bit as unique as his taste in hats. The band, led by Digby Fairweather are a motley crew all very obviously having a whale of a time. Fairweather skips and hops about the stage directing the band like a hyperactive child at a wedding. He even manages to play his trumpet with a huge grin on his face. Melly tiptoes his way through some old vaudeville jazz numbers and rounds off his set with a rendition of the old favourite Sweet Georgia Brown, complete with comedy hand gestures.

    The Big Chris Barber Band are a force to be reckoned with. Trombonist and band leader Barber and trumpeter Pat Halcox have been working together continuously for 50 years. And they still look like they're having the time of their lives. An eleven piece band of multi-instrumentalists, they specialise in Old Time New Orleans style Jazz, bringing a big band flavour with that great big wall of horns. However, there's more to them than initially meets the ear. Trombonist and arranger, Bob Hunt does a marvellous job reworking Duke Ellington's Black and Tan Fantasy into a magical mystery tour. Tony Carter on flute leads a small section of the band in a breathtaking rendition of Miles Davis' All Blues. The stand out track of the evening though is an improv duet between the bassist Vic Pitt and drummer Colin Miller, utilising every percussive surface on the stage, and a whole lot of laughs. The whole band reunite, ditch the amplification and blast the audience with everyone's favourite Dixieland number, Oh When The Saints! Lets hope the Saints keep their distance for a little longer.