Reverend and The Makers, Leadmill, Sheffield

The murky spectator and mysterious curator of the Sheffield music scene is about to get his fifteen minutes and is intent in turning that fifteen minutes into fifteen years.

The Reverend is Jon McClure, a giant swaggering Manc megamix of heroes past, namely Ian Brown, Liam Gallagher and Shaun Ryder. But there’s more than that - the swaggering punch-drunk bear is full of attitude but there’s rapid bursts of poetry, spoken-word segments and six Makers’ themselves. While the mate of the Monkeys sways around the Leadmill, preaching to the converted locals like Alex Turner turned Incredible Hulk, The Makers create the funk-fused blips, riffs and pounding beats that make you want to dance. 18-30 is a funky, modern take on Blur’s Girls and Boys, with the cynical sniping of the Monkeys – “I stay in bed past midday, but at the night time I play, smash up your hotel, it’s ok” wedged between a shuffling disco beat and killer chorus. “I wanna get away on a holiday” shouts the Rev just after a violent scuffle sends the left of the Leadmill into brief panic. The Rev ignores the irony, continuing “causing trouble is our forte”.

New single Heavyweight Champion of The World is full of the Sheffield colloquialisms that are fast becoming part of the modern-day indie lexicon. From electricity bills to camber sands, there’s provincial desperation around every corner “caught up in the rat-race, I’m feeling like a no-one, appearing in the papers with the money and the girls, I could’ve been the heavyweight champion of the world”. While the accents and familiar source material will cause many to dub the Reverend and The Makers as the Monkeys Mark 2, there’s an aggression and attitude that pulls The Rev towards punk rather than funk. While Alex Turner is the picture postcard of a polite English poet, all shy greetings and awestruck silence, The Rev is a different beast altogether. “Haaaaaaave it!” he shouts as he introduces fan fave Bandits and points at the ceiling. The spoken-word slack of Last Resort is spat out so fiercely, you expect teeth and blood to hit the floor. Speaking about a seaside town with dirty weekends, lairy bastards and women that look like Ringo Starr, he snarls “it’s the sort of place you come to die, it’s fucking grim, no wonder why”. So, the Reverend and The Makers, punk poets for the indie generation and loaded with enough tunes to floor any featherweight contenders who plan to delay the inevitable, unstoppable rise to the top. As the Rev does his cardio dance work out, lifting invisible dumbbells and punching the air, you can hear the Rocky theme tune in his head…he’s not going down without a fight.

Reverend and The Makers, Leadmill, Sheffield

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The 'War on Emo' kickstarted by ABC

Just when you thought that the twat brigade at the Daily Mail produced the most hysterical, babbling nonsense concerning any type of modern music, think again.

Imagine the same brigade putting down their pens, turning off the Daniel O' Donnell CD and doing a TV show (in American accents) about the dangers of a toxic new substance that's 'even in Spider-Man'. This would be funny if it was something to do with Brasseye but, actually, it's real and, as always, America does fear and panic bigger and better than anyone else...

Alanis and her humps

We often get unspeakable amounts of shit for actually liking Alanis. By unspeakable amounts of shit, we mean people laughing behind our backs, questioning our sexuality and constant reminders that she (and we have to admit this) drinks her own piss.

Although this video won't make the haters change their minds, it's a little Friday afternoon eye candy for any dough-faced indie-kid in need of something for the weekend...Okay, so it's a bit try hard, but Jesus, it's better than listening to Fergie Ferg who now, incidentally, has the skin texture of a fake Fendi handbag and breasts that look like flaky oranges at the bottom of a Happy Shopper carrier bag.

Editors, Roundhouse, Camden

Just weeks after international misery merchants Interpol sprayed the insides of Koko with their own brand of dark, Joy Division gloom goo, the Editors match Interpol’s new songs with a selection of rapid, euphoric, foot stomping lyrical tombstones. Interpol might dress like goth Nazis and have the kind of hair partings that Herr Flick from 'Allo 'Allo might be proud of, but tonight, The Editors smack the pasty face of Interpol’s guitar Gestapo Daniel Kessler with a smelly leather glove, snatch the gloom gun and take aim at Camden.

It seems like a lifetime since first album The Back Room made floral shirted Guardian critics get all excited about a band which spoke to public schoolboys, high school misfits and pretty much anyone who attended a musical festival last year. Tonight, new songs like Smokers At The Hospital Doors sound like anthems in the making, but ones which resemble the work of Sylvia Plath when the Prozac had run out and the demons came round for tea. “It’s probably the saddest thing I’ve ever written” said Tom Smith when speaking about the song which seems tailor made to soundtrack the UK’s imminent indoor smoking ban. Now, talking about the song in front of the expectant crowd, he says “this is the best song we’ve ever put on record”. It’s almost believable, until the live outing of the stellar, looping, rocket powered scream-a-long Escape The Nest blows the lid off the Roundhouse. Like a circus big top, Tom Smith orbits above the crowd like a human cannon ball and descends like an ice-white angel. When the epic switch is turned off and the piano is wheeled out, slow songs sound like prayers but eventually rise to to epic status once again. Tonight, the epic switch is broken, it just can’t be turned off.

Bouncing up and down like his stool is on fire, Tom Smith’s call to arms sound like religious sermons and make Chris Martin’s tales of heart break read like a downbeat Hollyoaks script. Words plucked from the track listing for new album An End Has A Start show how the barometer of doom is in danger of cracking: rats, spiders, bones, worn, anger and hospital. When Tom sings “let’s pretend we never met, let’s pretend we’re on our own” on The Racing Rats, you realise that The Back Room was only the start of the descent into the bleak unknown Editors universe.

“Is it okay in there? People are saying it’s a bit dead” says a confused member of staff at the venue. Assorted parents of the band stand, raise hands and become tearful. People don’t pogo, they stare, mentally unwrapping and silently rehearsing new songs in preparation for the festivals and the arrival of the album next month. It’s a test, a revision class with the Editors. Learn to appreciate the misery and the mire and you’ll be the one having the time of your life at V Festival.

When Tom sings, he’s pleading with the audience, crossing his fingers and hoping that the new songs of strife, death and despair are accepted. “Thanks for remembering us” he says with a shadow of a grin. The motionless crowd cheer and it’s clear that the Editors have the party faithful back in the palm of their cold, cold hands.

Phil Spector Trial: The Naked Gun episode

The court was recently told that when the cops arrived to find a dead lady in his garden, Phil threw a bit of a wobbler and had to be shot with a taser gun...then taken downtown and stripped naked by the police.

Also, in a storyline which reminds us of Ugly Betty, Phil's driver is now being threatened with being deported to Brazil. In addition to being called a siesta lovin', taco chompin' nobody who can't speak English by the defense. The trial continues...

Brandon has something in his throat...

"Brandon starts out sounding completely fine then bam! In the middle
of his second song he walks off stage"

His doc says he has a serious throat injury - and, apparently the 'doctor' was backstage. Hmm.

From here

BBC brings back Radio 1 Road Show!

Ahead of the forthcoming Isle of Wight Festival coverage you’re going to get next month, here’s a few observations of the big one from last weekend (Radio 1 Big Weekend, Preston). Firstly, this wasn’t really a festival, more of a promotional push to get social networking sites to push eyeballs and eardrums* to Radio 1 and a good reason to justify all those digital BBC TV channels that spunk out endless episodes of Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps.

As much as we would have liked to see Kasabian, The View, Gossip and CSS, we couldn’t bring ourselves to go. Why? It was in Preston, spiritual home of Primark and the headliners were The Stereophonics. We watched it on telly and laughed at how Kelly Jones now looks strangely like Charlene Spiteri when she dressed up as Elvis for her Inner Smile music video.

Other highlights included Jo Whiley getting dressed up as Scissor Sister only to end up like a fat lipped porn star and Radio 1 DJ Annie Mac shamelessly making up the numbers for the Why Don’t You esque BBC3 broadcast. We hoped that The View would dedicate Face for The Radio to her, but no, they didn’t. Instead, Annie tried to do her best at presenting using a camera rather than a mic and resorted to interviewing fellow radio DJs when most bands assumed she was part of the local security team or a groupie seeking group sex with Kasabian.

Chris Moyles appeared, threw some shapes and although he’s as funny as cancer of the bollock on radio, he has now become a modern day Keith Chegwin on TV. Just watch the clip and say it ain’t so. Tim Westwood was also there, though we’re saving all our good jokes until he hits the obituary pages and is given a funeral at his dad’s church.

*We didn’t read the internal memo to alldjs@bbc.co.uk but we’re imagining that’s what it said.

The YouTube Clips!

Jo Whiley interviewing Annie Mac or vice versa, we're not sure

Jo Whiley goes backstage - no drugs, no groupies, just Mika getting a pedicure

Tim Westwood rocks 'the baby blue'

Annie Mac attempts to initiate Kasabian roasting session