Tales To Tell: Editors – In This Light And On This Evening

I would previously have compared the Editors’ sound to bands like Interpol and The National in that it perfectly encompassed an emotive atmosphere comprising of misery, love and insecurity and demonstrated these themes with an imperfect, overdriven, coarse and just plain dirty sound. This was such a remarkable method to me in that the emotions they centralized their themes around should be conveyed as dirty, difficult, overpowering and rough.

I think this is where this album lost me with the shift towards a significantly more pre-determined clean sound focused around the atmosphere created by a synthesizer and keys. This shift essentially seemed to suggest a planned movement from their coarse misery mongering tracks to an attempt at creating an epic stage sound seeking to repeatedly chill the audience’ collective spines and unfortunately failing to do so. But I missed the old sound created on the foundations of an overdriven guitar tearing the rhythm from charismatic and powerful percussion, and ultimately created to flawlessly embody misery and loss in their infinite malice.

The newly recognised dominant synthesizer element isn’t all bad. At times it adds a lot to the sound they’re aiming to achieve, but though I hate to say it, some moments were reminiscent of an under-funded soundtrack to a tacky 80s flick rather than spine-chilling anthems that were evidently the intention.

Now I swear I’m not trying to totally bag the album, it has value. I can listen to this record as a separate entity to the Editors’ career and reasonably enjoy it. But when compared to the older albums and expecting the same promise, the album falls significantly short.

When I finally found a track that allowed me to feel the release of the rage that accompanies insecurity, loss and misery, I was further disappointed to find that the song I was appreciating as I did their former productions, ‘This House Is Full Of Noise’ was an extra that had been cut from the album and only appeared on the special edition. My favorite song was a CUT!? Where were they trying to go with this sound that they had to cut anything resembling their old stuff?

As you can see this album disappointed me. Maybe as I have more time to merger the two significantly different sounds as my imagining of the Editors I’ll be able to better appreciate it. But for now I suggest that before you buy this album you check out a few tracks online and recognize that you may as well be buying an album by an equally talented band heading in an entirely different direction to what you know from the Editors.

Three Words to Describe: Ramona Falls - Intuit

Intriguing.
Sublime.
Epic.



Watch a clip Here!

Tales To Tell: Them Crooked Vultures - (Self Titled)

The playful masochistic blues of Josh Homme’s post-millenium productions are revealed as the guiding light and backbone of this record, but every backbone needs limbs before it can kick teeth in, and this bad mother has more limbs than a cephalopod. Enter Dave Grohl and John Paul Jones to add their assembly of talents to a volatile mix, forming a dangerous amalgamation of 13 vicious abusers they would have you call the tracks.

Obviously influenced to compete with his younger counterparts and prove he still kicks ass (which he does, by the way), JPJ adds a series of characteristic Zep rhythms to the mix pushed determinedly into an aggressive state of overdrive. But even with the fact that these tracks should have racing stripes, they manage to maintain the distinct lovable cockiness abundant in Zeppelin songs. For instance, when an arrogant keys riff reminiscent of ‘Trampled Underfoot’ makes itself known on ‘Scumbag Blues’, you just know it’s authentic Zeppelin and it’s here to put a cheeky smile on your face.

So far the lyrics I’ve taken note of have been sadistic, abusive, despondent and everything else we’ve come to love about Homme’s lyrics in the past, but I haven’t read all too far into what the songs say, because… they just rock. And lets be honest, even if I could get into Josh Homme’s head to figure out what’s going on in there, would I ever get out alive? So for now I’ll let sleeping dogs lie but for what it’s worth, what I actually decipher I enjoy immensely and sometimes get a snigger out of.

Although I'm not trying to say that this album is 100% consistent. It does at moments lose focus and fall short of its aims, but overall I think this is made up for by the quality of the rest. The album easily demonstrates a kick-ass sound that can stand proudly among the back-catalogue from Queens of the Stone Age and Foo Fighters, but has a while to go before it can stand beside the Led Zeppelin Masters.

In essence, what can I say about this album that the names can’t? The tracks are nothing less than I would expect from the trio and everyone is in their favourable element. Grohl is on drums where he belongs, beating up a storm, Jones is sculpting the work of modern monsters into the legacy of past giants and Homme’s is doing what he does best, disseminating obscene gestures with corresponding phrases. Just-fucking-awesome.

Three Words to Describe: The Mess Hall - For The Birds

Straightforward.
Solid.
Satisfying.

Quick Review: The Temper Trap – Conditions

The erratic sound centralizes itself around a vague haze of somber keys and strings playing delayed and drowned out as if heard from the next room. This adds to an obviously pre-determined sense of absence that makes the impact of the vibrant vocals and emotive drumming all the more climactic in contrast to perfectly capture the listeners’ attention and hold it with a series of spine chilling moments carried along the changes. (Which are fantastic changes I might add, largely due to intricate and remarkably planned drumming).

To summarise the effect of the lyrics, this album makes you want more from life as it raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Whether in reference to something 'awfully nice or dreadfully bad' the lyrics make you want to feel everything life has to offer in all its abundant ferocity, if only just to say you've known and survived it as lyricist Dougy Mandagi has. It tells stories of love, determination, loss and culminates to produce an emotionally broad but none-the-less effective album.

I love listening to it start to finish and so should you.

The Good Old Days

I’d like to take you all to a time when music meant something, when The Killers would never be announced as headlining an Urban Grooves festival or Franz Ferdinand a House music festival, when people went to festivals to watch bands play music and drugs were used to enhance the experience, not define it.

These are the stories of The Good Old Days.


A V. Good Time on the Esplanade

In the final summer days to bring a sweat to every Perth music lovers’ brow, a festival celebrated the end of a remarkable season of festivals, events and late nights. This festival, bringing together some of the world’s most famous alternative rockers, was V Festival.

Among these perspiring music lovers was Perth’s own near-deaf delinquent, Ryan Williams (myself, me), surrounded by a haze of anticipation, excitement and smoke not hailing from any of the stages but all too familiar to anyone often on paddock grass when speakers play a role.

The day began with the agonizing wait for one of my greatest childhood influences, Canadian alt-pop ensemble, Hot Hot Heat. The wait however was well rewarded, as the band stole the stage with one of the most energetic sets I have ever seen spanning all the greats of their new and old albums and making it easy to not miss a word (though to my less than sober knowledge I think I missed about three), and to make my day even better I got a picture of lead singer, Steve Bays, pointing at me during ‘Bandages’.

After an incredible performance by HHH I set out towards the bar for every modern Australian youth’s sustenance of choice, alcohol. And Like Popeye on Spinach I was off again to be immersed in the tunes of Cut Copy, stand in awe of an admirable set by The Rakes, take a long awaited journey with Modest Mouse and an survive extremely wet and exhausting experience with Queens of the Stone Age.

After I escaped the QOTSA pit I made my way throughout the exhilarating atmosphere of thousands of people savoring their last taste of summer festivals for 2008, finally ending the night on Duran Duran’s outstanding 80’s tune, ‘Girls on Film’, after which I ventured home exhausted yet beyond content, to a well deserved bed.


No Time For Ear Plugs!

Some time ago, on one of Perth’s relentlessly bright summer Sundays, three young music lovers donned their sunglasses of choice and ventured out toward a showground boasting nine stages, and a host of impressive performers from around the world to experience the Big Day Out.

I, joined by my friends Paul and Tracy, had long been counting the days until the arrival and performance of bands setting new horizons for alternative music. Upon arriving at Claremont Showgrounds our trio stepped into an expeditious set by Cut Off Your Hands setting a high standard for the day to come. Catching our breath the newly dubbed Drp! Team (pronounced derp!) made our way to an exhilarating set by Battles, pondering the always-apparent conundrum, “Are there lyrics to all of it or is he just making noises?” So far I can still only really figure out Atlas, but that’s easy enough.

To see an astonishing day into the haze of unsorted memories and photos that was the night was Texas’ Dylan-esque quartet, Spoon. The band more than welcome in my admiring eyes were being scorned however by an impatient flock of Karnivool folk, shouting “Bring on Karnivool” from the beginning of the set. Being too impatient to wait for a metal band that hosted a gig in town once a month at the expense of a great band that hadn’t been in Perth for two years seemed to me to be something only someone with the attention span of a small fish could accomplish, none-the-less this seemed to be a common trait among the audience.

I rarely find a set in which I can sing word for word and dance start to finish without missing a beat, but Spoon delivered just that. A young man with long brown hair and myself seemed to be the only ones enjoying ourselves at the expense of the ever-impatient Karnies, but this never bothered us as we sung our way through an immensely satisfying set.

In the dying light of the now falling summer sun, Spoon front-man, Britt Daniel, applauded his audience of two, looking down to us and jesting, “It’s nice to see so many folks singing along!” And finishing on my favorite song of the time, Finer Feelings, Spoon saw the sun set on an incredible Big Day Out.