Strange Mercy. Without a doubt. Best album of the year.
Strange Mercy. Without a doubt. Best album of the year.
Been giving the latest New Bones Release a listen. When sitting, it induces foot-tapping in an extreme way, played live this translates to energetic and somewhat embarrassing dancing (I speak from experience). On stage the band oversee their audience with an almost veteran-like sense of calm and cool, as they induce mass shaking, popping and locking.
Self-described as “Abba on speed with a pinch of Small Faces brought together by some dog deafening falsetto, combined with a cheeky Ray Davis nasal whimper” their debut Album Trust Us? Beware! does indeed deliver the lovechild of an early Steve Marriott and Bjorn Ulvaeus. But in this case, Steve aint sure of said love child’s true parentage. Could it be that Bjorn had a little something something on the side with a vocoder synth AND a plaid-wearing indie kid? The album intimates as such.
The songs imprint themselves upon your brain mercilessly with their upbeat pop hooks and agile vocals (See Flirting in the City). The stand out tracks on the album are the band’s single Take this Underground, a veritable band anthem, Love Fades and Fools – probably one of the more ambitious tracks that I feel captures the band’s entire genre-bending scope.
Link time! Here we have a free download to 11 tracks by New Bones and access to limited free tickets for album launch party @ The Bowery, 30 August at 19:00.
Wild Beasts are without a doubt the most sultry, sexy and downright lustful band to ever grace the stage. I was in and out of conscious thought (due to, shall we say, extreme weather conditions and lack of food) while watching them at Glastonbury this year, but those moments in between the dissonant fuzz of festival overload were moments of true beauty.
I faintly remember Smother’s Albatross and Plaything, and distinctly remember Bed of Nails (fantastic opening) and End Come to Soon (fantastic ending, albeit fitting as there was much collective disappointment at the lack of an encore). I can only assuage that betwixt the latter, my favourites of the album, there was pure, sexual, Wild Beasts magic.
“Surround me like a warm bath,
Sum me up like an epitaph,
Be blatant as a bailiff,
I want my lips to blister when we kiss” -Bed of Nails, Wild Beasts.
I can’t get enough of their latest album, but I can’t get enough of any of their albums, each one a masterpiece in it’s own right. Here’s a song from each.
A taste of things to come… St. Vincent’s new album Strange Mercy is due for release on 12 September.
I feel sick. Sick to my stomach. Sick to my toes. And its not just some hypochondriac’s way of manifesting a subconscious cry for help. Neither is it something that could suffer a diagnosis without being pin-pointed as totally mind-made. It is mind-made. Or heart-made.
My emotions have a habit of getting the better of me. Anger boils my blood, ruptures the calm sea of my stomach, grinds my teeth down so that I am left with a half-hinged jaw and barely-there, woebegone stumps. Happiness soothes and cures all ailments for a time, wraps me in a glorious endorphin haze, makes me feel like I am not lost. With happiness comes sorrow, a symbiosis that makes me wonder if my happiness is in fact sadness and vice versa. Sorrow makes my face cold, bleeds me of all warmth and leaves me low and hopeless until my next happy high. And love? Love does all of the above.
Face-melter. No, not an epic shredding solo. More of an ectoplasmic drip, kinda like that scene in poltergeist. Never really found that scary. Just fascinating.
I’m not a fan of the month of May, hence the lack of posts and musical enlightenment. I’m a french fighter pilot too far gone behind enemy lines, my wing is on fire and I have no hope of ever sharing one last kiss with my fair french wife Josephine. It is on a grim May day that I cry “M’aidez!” while going down in flames. M’aidez. Help me.
Anyone ever notice what a face that Jeff Goldblum has? He looks like a cross between Shakespeare’s Puck, a youthful Italian wiseguy/mafioso and Ghandi. And those eyes just cut to the core of me. Oh Goldblum, you were Jurassic Park’s saving grace.
I do have a reason for citing the ‘Blum’s physical features as an introduction to this post, for it was his face that used to haunt my dreams. No, seriously. There have been a few conversations between my friends and I about our dreams and nightmares. The only dream I can remember from my childhood is a recurring ‘mare that started out with the shaking cup of water and ended with me on the back of a jeep being chased by the maniacal T-Rex. And Jeff Goldblum was driving.
Unfortunately my google search for the dream-interpretation of “being chased by a T-Rex” rendered little. So instead I looked up the interpretation of Dinosaurs because I do things like that, finding that it refers to “primitive power or tendencies” and that “one is in touch with an archaic or outmoded part of oneself”. Most probably though, I was a little kid terrified by things with big teeth and the ability to stomp somebody flat. Eloquent.
And so, I found myself falling into quite a pleasant dream-scape in the form of a Youtube video one warm Spring evening. A far cry from my mind’s reproductions of the terrible lizards, the video is for “Drive” the first single off Alpine’s forthcoming album. I have a massive lady-crush on the female singer, with her sprouting feathers and viking-esque ensembles. Perfect “night pop” to enduce fantastical hallucinations in your sleep.