CONDO FUCKS - FUCKBOOK

read the article on Gigwise here...

Six albums down the line Condo Fucks are still blazing out rock ‘n’ roll grimery with heterosexual abandon. Whether new album Fuckbook is actually a nod to a new fad that’s sweeping The USA of America called Facebook remains to be seen. But if it’s anything like as visceral and all-conquering as the Fucks themselves then the UK has something to look forward to.

If you haven’t heard of the CFs before then worry not because you may still recognise some tracks here. They’ve ripped through an album of covers for their Fuckbook, grabbing songs from across the ages and giving them the Condo treatment. They’ve taken everything from the Beach Boys to Richard Hell and pulled no punches.

They feature all three current members of the band Yo La Tengo.

Hang on… that means they ARE Yo La Tengo.

But Yo La Tengo do nice songs, and dreamy songs. Yeh, they are punk rock, they sure ain’t Condo Fucks. But they are.

Condo Fucks is the side project/alter-ego/schizophrenic realisation of Yo La Tengo’s James McNew, Georgia Hubley (known here as Georgia Condo) and Ira Kaplan (here as Kid Condo) where they indulge their love of the cover, and combine it with a clear desire for the dirty.

Fuckbook rocks. It’s gritty and skronky in the extreme. It sounds like they’ve come up with the tracklist at breakfast, recorded it over lunch (using breaks between singing duty to guzzle some petrol and hammers), thought about mastering it at teatime, but instead just released it, and it’s great for it.

Some tracks are brilliantly recognisable – Ira’s and James’ take on the Beach Boys’ Shut Down takes the sheen of the original in cracking style, then Georgia takes lead on a rendition of The Troggs’ With A Girl Like You that makes you want to get up and ‘ba ba ba’ along like it hasn’t gone out of fashion.

In the immortal (who knows whether they actually wrote them, but who cares!) words of The Hartford Advocate, The Condo Fucks are “one of the best bands Connecticut has to offer.” Fact.

MARY CHOCOLATIER - EASTER COLLECTION

read the article on The Culinary Guide here...

Mary Chocolatier have been making chocolate for 90 years, hail from Brussels in Belgium – some might call the home of fine chocolate – and have been producing chocolate by Royal Warrant since1942. With a pedigree like this you’d be forgiven for expecting something rather special: Milk Tray this is not, but do they measure up? And is their Easter Collection worth your hard-earned dollar?

Top end chocolates have a habit of making the same mistake that many top end eateries are guilty of – too much time on the fancy stuff, and not enough time on the basics. Show me a Trattoria that serves a simple, lightly browned, crisp yet moist, tangy yet sweet, ‘with cheese’ yet not cheesy, sensationally tasty margarita pizza and I’ll trust that the rest of their pizzas are exceptional too (in fact I’ll probably insist on trying them for that very same reason). Equally, show me a chocolatier who, with a single piece of smooth, rich, creamy-yet-caustic dark chocolate, can weaken my knees and the rest will almost always slot sweetly in to place.

Mary is that chocolatier. Her chocolate is weak-at-the-knees good – the sort of chocolate that could swing a marriage proposal; or in a more sedate setting could at least guarantee a second date.

The Easter collection features most of what you’d expect: big Easter bells, Bambi-esque bunnies, a big chicken and, of course, eggs; both big and small. They’re all cast in Mary’s dark chocolate and the chicken and egg (or should that be egg and chicken? Which came… forget it) can both be filled with a selection of chocolates from the Mary Chocolatier range, which is where it gets really decadent.

Choose from ganache, crème fraiche, liqueur, truffle, marzipan and many more. There’s subtle layers of flavour in the Badouin ganache where a light milk chocolate shell gives way to an even lighter, caramel-like milk chocolate ganache. There’s big slap-in-the-face flavours like the Truffe Fruits De Bois where the same milk chocolate hides what feels like a whole black forest gateaux. This is good stuff.

There’s an admirable amount of attention gone into the presentation here as well. The cunningly named Escargot is in the shape of a snail (Escargot is French for snail). Some of the ganache and praline range have images printed onto them, while elsewhere, in the crème fraiche and Marzipan ranges, others proudly sport a coffee bean or a walnut.

It can all get a bit much at times – big flavours and awkward combinations can sometimes leave you cold, but Mary encourages you to treat her wares like a fine cheese or wine: to take the time out to really savour the flavours, aromas and textures of each. But if that isn’t your style, just guzzling them all down should suffice to make for one of best Easter’s since the original.

Mary has just opened a new outlet at the Westbury Centre where you can try before you buy, and soak up the chocolate atmosphere, but if you fear you might not be able to control yourself you can also find out more, and order anything you choose online at www.marychocolate.co.uk or call (+44) 0208 749 2088 to order from anywhere in the known world. Be sure to order by April 12 for Easter.

ART BRUT - ART BRUT vs. SATAN

read the article on Gigwise here...

Eddie Argos and co. are back in our ears after last year’s ‘amicable’ split from EMI, soon after the major label released the song Pump Up The Volume as a download without their say so. Art Brut vs. Satan is released on Cooking Vinyl, the home of The Prodigy, Heaven 17, Camper Van Beethoven, and now Art Brut. It’s a proud record label championing pioneers and poets like the Pixies and Billy Bragg, but whether Art Brut fit in there remains to be seen.

Eddie Argos is a poet though, isn’t he? - a modern day troubadour, telling us of his woes, his loves and his losses, with simple, pure, pop-punk verses? Like a Greater London Weezer Art Brut have won the hearts of a dedicated few while completely passing by the contented masses. Perhaps that’s why the split with EMI was so amicable – the imprint wanted world-beaters, Art Brut just wanted to write love songs.

So, have they still got it? Well, Art Brut vs. Satan opener Alcoholics Unanimous would say yes. It’s a balls out of the bath rant about a hangover. “Bring me tea, bring me coffee” bellows Argos with his typical snarl-less endearment.

The album is produced by Frank Black, of The Pixies and Frank Black fame, and is better for it. On The Passenger - a funny nod to Iggy and the Stooges that is literally about public transport - loose guitar noise gives way to Kim Deal-esque backing vox before in comes Argos to claim it back. Then on What A Rush more of Frank’s geetar whining squeals through the speakers. But this is a good thing, mos def.

Sadly, the album peters out. Argos continues to moan like a fifteen year old losing Emily Kane, but it starts to grate. DC Comics and Chocolate Milkshakes is great – probably the best track on the album (and I prefer Marvel and Strawberry) but by the time you get to Summer Job, via Am I Normal and (Chaka Demus & Pliers tribute) Twist & Shout to the painful Mysterious Bruises, it’s too much. 

It’s out of date. On Demon’s Out he’s shouting about pop music, the record buying public and reality TV. Come on Eddie, we’ve done that, the public don’t buy records any more. 

Slap Dash For No Cash is a raucous respite where he champions real, raw music; music where you can here their parents saying “turn it down, turn it down, TURN IT DOWN!” but it’s not enough to save the album. Despite some inspired moments, the record middling too often.

RED LIGHT COMPANY - FINE FASCINATION

They formed in 2007, come from lots of places, have released four singles, and are now releasing their debut album; Fine Fascination on indie imprint Lavolta. They sound a bit like The Editors, a touch like White Lies and a lot like U2. They sound a tad like The Arcade Fire, a smidge like Figurines and a portion like The Flaming Lips. They’re anthemic and pop sensible while being gloomy and gothic – but they’re not Morrissey or The Cure. They’re a lot of things.

 

There’re five of them and they came together through internet shenanigans (not like that!). Bassist Shawn Day answered an ad placed by singer Richard Frenneaux on the Tuesday, and the band had their first gig on the Friday. This wouldn’t be so special but for the fact that Day answered the ad from Wyoming, and hopped on the plane the next day. A few immigration issues and a bunch of ‘best of British’ bandmates (James from Bridgend, Chris from Maidenhead and Paul from Motherwell) and Red Light Company was born.

 

A few months later and their first album is here. Their sound is grandiose posturing, the sort of epic tenacity made tawdry by the likes of terminal do-gooders U2 and Coldplay, but then reclaimed by genuine believers like the Arcade Fire and Annuals. At times on Fine Fascination you could be forgiven for wondering why Win Butler is putting on an English drawl.

 

Fine fascination flits from upwardly promising to genuinely catchy, but then drops all too easily into dullness and filler. Early promise comes in the form of ‘hit single’ Scheme Eugene with it’s reprise about playing Broken Social Scene with the Eugene of the title. You can imagine yourself pumping a fist in the air: a similar thrill to that which came with the first listen of The Kissaway Trail’s last album.

 

But, like the Kissaway Trail, Red Light Company ultimately leave you wanting. There are too many insincere ‘U2’ moments (incidentally the album is proudly produced by Adrian Bushby, who’s worked with the U2). The brooding First We Land floats around in the background like Where The Streets have No Name era, and never quite hits its stride, and When Everyone Is Everybody Else has Bono written all over it.

 

Perhaps the album’s finest moment is when Frenneaux’s voice sounds most like Christian Hjelm of Danish indie-rock band Figurines on With Lights Out and album closer The Alamo. These are the pop moments that you can believe in. Sadly there is just too much insincerity to fall for these guys.

NASA - THE SPIRIT OF APOLLO

Read the article on Gigwise here...

N.A.S.A is two sparkly LA scenesters called Squeak E. Clean and DJ Zegon (of course they’re not actually CALLED these names, they’re pseudonyms like – they’re CALLED Sam Spiegel and Zé Gonzales respectively). Squeak, or Spiegel, is Spike Jonze’s brother and Zegon, or Zé is a pro skater. Yessir, these guys are some talented guys AND they’ve got some friends too…

The Spirit of Apollo boasts “over 40 guest artists”. You might expect this to be all kinds of too-kool-for-skool unheard of LA DJs and MCs – and there are some of those – but for the most part these are some really BIG names. There’s everyone from the getting-big (Lykke Li, Santogold and the Cool Kids) via the pretty-darn-big (Karen O, David Byrne and John Frusciante) to the shitting-huge (Sizzla, Chuck D and Tom Waits!). Nigh on every song has at least two guest stars on it bleating away to differing degrees of success.

Ok, so there’s Eff-loads of stars there, but does it work? Well, sometimes. The album veers so massively from one song to the next, as you’d expect if you get forty egos flying around, that it’s difficult to feel it as a coherent album.

They do successfully bring the party and you can bust some moves. Karen O’s seductive mantra over Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s and Fatlip’s gruntings on 'Strange Enough' cannot fail to get your arms bouncing. Equally, the combo of MIA and Santogold’s booty shakin’ riddims, Nick Zinner’s (Karen O’s bandmate in Yeah Yeah Yeahs) geetar and Spank Rock’s crazy scat shouting, makes the song’s name 'Whatchadoin’?' the right question to ask anyone who isn’t bouncing.  

So what’s wrong with it? Well, it’s N.A.S.A. They pipe on about unity and equality, and these grand ambitions about new world order on the 'Intro', but then proceed to fall on their own sword. With a roster this Phat you just have to do more. The stars strut their thing, but there’s no sense of anyone taking control. There’s no Bob Geldof to organise this rap version of Live Aid. And, in this case, we need a Bob Geldof.

MICACHU - JEWELLERY

Read the article on Gigwise here...

Mica Levi had a good 2008: two secretly successful seven inches, a couple of grimy mixtapes, a piece commissioned for the London Philharmonic Orchestra and some choice column inches devoted. She is only 21, studies at Guildhall, has been signed to Matthew Herbert’s Accidental Records and is now about to release her debut album Jewellery. 

It’s a peach. With the help of her two trusty Shapes – Raisa Khan on electronics and Marc Pell on percussion – she’s put together a record that’s all over the place, but works: it’s a pop record. 

Jewellery is 15 pop songs that shift from bumpy hip hop to jangly, geetar crunk, via some Herbert-influenced (he’s worked with Roisin Murphy) swing moments, and is all over in under 35 minutes. There’s hundreds of other styles in there too… but at it’s heart Jewellery is unabashed pop. Mica herself said it’s indecision rather than experimental.

Micachu’s vocals have the straight up chat quality of fellow Lahndaner Billy Bragg. She chats about things like shit blokes on Worst Bastard: “When you pinched her arse she slapped you hard cos you’re a perv,” and taking precautions on the album’s catchiest moment Just In Case: “I Don’t have sex because of STDs.” 

While for some artists indecision holds them back, Mica just ploughs on leaving potential mistakes cloaked in ambiguity. The album is full of found sounds and electronic flourishes that compliment the acoustic rattle and solid drums. On final track Turn Me Well she brings in a Vacuum, blending dissonant, ambient noises with crisp bass-heavy beats to create another album highlight.

Other stand out tracks include previous single Golden Phone, replete with dubsteppy backing vocal, Sweetheart for her Snoop-from-The-Wire-esque gurgles and Guts for the pots and pans percussion. Micachu is the shit yo!

THE PAINS OF BEING PURE AT HEART - S/T

Read the article on Gigwise here...

There’s a new set of horses vying for your dollar out of the New York stable. They come with knitted sweaters on, eyes wide as starships and records full to bursting with C86 jangle. They are Vivian Girls, they are Crystal Stilts, and they are The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. Washed out, shoegaze indie is due its turn to try winning back the aching hearts of another generation of struggling, side-lined youthful lovers. The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart are four cute-as-koalas twenty-somethings from New York, led by the impossible combo of Kip and Peggy. Feeling a bit sick yet? Get this – they formed for Peggy’s birthday at a Brooklyn warehouse AND they refer to their upcoming tourmates The Wedding Present – a combination so made in heaven it hurts – as “The Weddoes”.

Swill the sickly sweet taste (or should that be the sweetly sick taste) from your mouth, you can engage your ears. Their self-titled debut album takes a wide-eyed walk through the late eighties shoegaze scene, taking in big slices of early Cure, Belle and Sebastian and The Cure. There’s even a big hint of The Stone Roses on 'The Tenure Itch': one of the album’s highlights. With their choice of influence comes a great burden of responsibility. These are bands that inspire obsession – fans would throw themselves in front of bullets to preserve this music.

The reason TPOBPAH can survive with this on their shoulders? They ARE those fans, they have pored through every note these bands have ever written. It pours out of the record, not as theft, but as homage – obsession. They know these bands better than they know themselves. 'Come Saturday 'is like their answer to Robert Smith’s 'Friday I’m In Love'. Friday’s done and now we’re free to spend Saturday whirling around our bedroom, arms by our sides, head lifted to the sky, eyes closed, like Audrey in Twin Peaks.

It’s all over in under 35 minutes and you’re free to remember where you are again. You’re left with the taste of Jesus & Mary Chain’s 'Just Like Honey' in your mouth from album closer 'Gentle Sons'. But it’s definitely over. But just maybe you’re a better lover for it.

ANTONY & THE JOHNSONS - THE CRYING LIGHT

Read the article on Gigwise here...

Antony aches for everything, so much so  it’s difficult to keep up with; his voices just drips with it as if he’s permanently on the edge of tears. He’s captured that fleeting moment when a child falls over and its face turns from confusion to horror: just before the pain takes hold, and turned it into a voice.

He quivered his way through a brutally honest and yet beautifully poignant battle with gender stereotyping and how he could show his true self on 2005’s I Am A Bird Now – and as if as recognition of his personal victory, we gave him a Mercury. With that safely stowed on his mantle he’s turned his righteous crusade out onto the world around him – first on last year’s simmering Another World EP and now on this, his third album, The Crying Light. 

He chose to tackle himself on his own, but for the world he has brought in Philip Glass protégé and sometime Bjork collaborator Nico Muhly on arrangement duty. Muhly helps give Antony’s previously stark vox and piano a new, depth swooping from the rich, grandiosity of Kiss My Name to the brittle, bleakness of Dust And Water. The effect of Muhly’s influence is similar to that of Van Dyke Parks on Joanna Newsom’s most recent record Ys – as Joanna proved she isn’t just a kooky girl with a harp, so Antony now proves he isn’t just a confused ‘man’ with a piano. 

The Crying Light is racked with the common guilt for us ruining the world around us. Opener Her Eyes Are Underneath The Ground serves as a confession to mother nature for stealing a flower from her garden when he was a kid. And later he cries for a new day on Daylight And The Sun, as if we will never see another dawn if we continue as we are. Perhaps we should listen to him, we’re bad people after all. Ahem. 

This mournful misery is not alone though: there is hope and even a touch of optimism. Stand out track Aeon holds the album’s most powerful and heart-rending moment when Antony’s usual falsetto gives way to an almost-manly bellow: “Without him I wouldn’t exist, hold the man that I love so much.”  Then on One Dove there is a hint of forgiveness in the smooth saxophone as the starlight brings mercy.

The Crying Light is a truly beautiful record. It’s initial impact is not like that of his previous two albums, but this allows his genuine talent to begin to blossom. There is more to come from Antony.