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

Phil Spector trial: Day 11, defense resorts to racial insults

When Phil Spector turned to his driver and confessed he had shot someone, the driver saw Phil holding a gun and a dead woman on the floor. As if moving the bizarre musical version of Mr Burns around LA hotspots at odd hours, seeing a corpse and helping Phil go 'pee pee' wasn't enough, now the driver faces Phil's legal team.

The defense, working really hard for Phil, said the following about the long suffering driver:

"He's a substitute driver with a language problem, who was full of snacks and cookies and water and sound asleep, sitting in a closed car, with the heat on, and the radio on"

See more here

Kula Shaker drummer prepares for 2007 world tour (excludes America)

US Visas were denied because of some Nazi business, apparently.

11 Jun 2007 19:00	Òran Mór	Glasgow, Scotland
12 Jun 2007 19:00	Manchester Academy 3 *SOLD OUT*	Manchester
13 Jun 2007 19:00	Hoxton Bar & Grill *SOLD OUT*	London
15 Jun 2007 19:00	Bush Hall *SOLD OUT*	London
16 Jun 2007 19:00	Thekla *SOLD OUT*	Bristol
17 Jun 2007 19:00	Rescue Rooms *SOLD OUT*	Nottingham
22 Jun 2007 12:00	Bilbao BBK Live 2007	Bilbao,Spain
14 Jul 2007 8:00	Festival Cultura Quente	Caldas de Reis, Spain
28 Jul 2007 0:00	Fuji Rock Festival 2007	Japan

More here

Phil Spector Trial: Day 9 - defense prepares Mental Health plea

The Montrose Avenue return!

When we wrote about the comeback of not-that-great-in-the-first-place Manc simpletons Northen Uproar, we thought 388 MySpace friends and a wince worthy tour schedule was as bad as it got. We were wrong, so very wrong. Try 88 friends and listing your record label as ‘Major’ despite the fact the band effectively died in a pool of messy afterbirth.

The Montrose Avenue came into public view back in 1998 as a Byrds cover band, singing songs to please ladies - in American accents. Like The Feeling, but a bit more gay and without (as much as we hate to say this) any decent songwriters on board. They were pretty, ignoring the keyboard Nosferatu in the pic above but still, that’s not the point. The point is, they were shit. Evidence can be heard on their MySpace page but also, traced by the fact that one member joined the Stereophonics briefly and one decided to go to a radio station and promote decent bands rather than their own.

So there’s new tracks! Ring the victory bell! When Arctic Monkeys sing Fake Tales of San Francisco, you can’t help thinking of these poor lads – some of which have failed, some of which are obviously having a mid-life crisis in organising this unrequested reunion. Help them out. Or, on the other hand, just watch them flounder and hope that at least one has a guitar string long enough to attach to the top of his garage.

Hear them roar...

Guns N' Roses: album leak special!

Let’s get one thing straight here. Guns N' Roses used to be the dog’s bollocks. Even the UK live shows last year were pretty fucking special. But the recently leaked Chinese Democracy is a bloated, hideous pile of thick poodle-rocking wank that you might mistake for an albino anal projectile belonging to Justin Hawkins.

As a brief recap, this album has been delayed and pretty much a decade in the making. Secretly produced and mixed with Brian May solos in place of Slash, the odd bluesy snippet from recent live shows suggested that the new tracks might be good and might just see the light of day in our lifetime.

5 tracks have leaked online including Madagascar, The Blues, IRS, There Was A Time and Chinese Democracy. There’s another 5 floating about in various demo and live forms, these include Rhiad and the Bedouins, Oh My God, Catcher in The Rye, Better and Silkworms.

Chinese Democracy is best described as a hard rock, sample heavy record designed by a cretin with Fred Durst on vocal duties. There’s speedy riffs, swearing and 508 guitar solos but so many drums, needless grunts and aggression that it strips away any adoration you may have secretly saved for Axl Rose. Once a pencil thin rock rapunzel and all-round rock deity, Axl now is confused mess of ginger dreads singing karaoke rock in the worst possible way imaginable. He’s still got the voice and even though the trademark lilting swagger is encased within a spam flavoured Michelin Man flesh suit, Axl could still get away with being a twat and not doing an album for years because we remember Appetite For Destruction. Chinese Democracy has put an end to all of that.

In the words of the hip, still ‘very much with it’ jive-ass Axl, let’s break it down…

1. Better

Distorted guitar loop with Axl singing a lullaby in the background. 20 seconds in, angry Axl descends and poodle rock prevails. Could have easily been made in 1993, if Slash had left and the band were listening to Nickelback via a time machine.

2. Catcher In The Rye

It begins with a piano and could be November Rain but is something truly terrible. Like Jet with a gospel choir singing All Around The World by Oasis and Axl muttering about guns in a way that can only de described as senile and constipated.

3. Chinese Democracy

This is odd. Axl sounds like he’s in Slipknot and has eaten several cigars before doing the take. A bit grunge, a bit nu-metal and a bit spacey. The screaming riffs sound like some kind of alien mating call.

4. IRS

Lounge rock. Stompy half ballad, half mildly angry rock. The kind of puerile shit you’d expect Kelly Jones and his merry band of inbred fuckwits to come up with and call it genius. Includes the Ivor Novello award worthy lyric “what should I do If I gave my heart to you?”.

5. Madagascar

Marching horns introduce the lolloping protest song which babbles on about how Axl has lost his way, ‘so far from the shore’ and is the anthem which confirms that Axl needs to start speaking with the LA care home right away. There’s samples from famous leaders with hollow beats in the background. It’s ludicrous. Even more ludicrous than the Utah Saints shagging the KLF with Brian May touching himself as he prepares for the 306^th solo of the album. The title is nothing to do with the Disney film.

6. Oh My God

Demonic Axl is back. Or maybe Grotbags, we’re not sure. A nasty, punky cluster of ‘fuck you’ lyrics, monster voices and self indulgent solos. Sounds a bit like Marilyn Manson interspersed with bizarre, FM friendly rock riffs. Schizophrenic and very, very weird.

7. Rhiad & The Bedouins

No, it’s not the name of a Harry Potter spin off. This is the song that sounds closest to vintage Guns N' Roses. A rapid, swaggering beat and lots of wah wahs remind us of Welcome To The Jungle but then it runs out of steam, repeats itself and goes into a frickin’ ludicrous solo before sounding like EMF. A tragedy.

8. Silkworms

Has a bizarre near silent middle section. A bit Chili Peppers, a bit We Didn’t Start The Fire by Billy Joel. Apart from the lyric “what should I do with a bitch like you?” of course. Billy would never say that.

9. The Blues

Sad, if only for the fact that it’s actually an okay song murdered by Brian May doing another screaming solo over a piano and Axl singing in such an earnest tone that we want to kill him.

10. There Was A Time

There was. It was in 1989 on Sunset Strip in shitty bars that gave birth to the original Guns N' Roses. There Was A Time is so cringe-worthy, it’s beyond tragedy.

Northen Uproar return!

Or they did last month apparently and no one noticed.

They had a single in '95 called Rollercoaster? Remember? There's a jingle on XFM which promotes the 100 best indie anthems ever and then pokes fun at the Uproar?

I once saw them live in '96 at the Cavern in Exeter. The biggest thing they had to say was that the Manics' James Dean Bradfield was 'helping' them in the studio. They neglected to say the 'help' involved getting the teenagers booze and fags from the local Spar. Support band Brubaker were managed by the largely ignored third Gallagher brother Paul who, if we're being honest, had more of an interest in pies than Britpop. The two bands were trading off celebrity association in the Britpop zeitgeist, clambering over each other to snag groupies, fags and Haribo Starmix while Noel Gallagher was playing to 250,000 people at Knebworth.

Fast forward to today and a message dropped into my inbox talking of a live TV broadcast, new album and tour. I blinked with disbelief and read the email again. Aha. That's Sky channel 203, a 'tour' which actually means a single gig at the local Manchester Academy for six quid and an album on a label that may have been created by a Moss Side drug dealer. Of course, this isn't nice but, honestly, can comebacks like this really work?

I once stood in the pissing rain at Glastonbury to see Embrace play a stunning set in 1998, years later they became decorators and have now got a (sort of) credible job thanks to a songwriting leg up from friend Chris Martin. If you look closely he writes "I heart Embrace" beside the "Make Trade Fair" tattoo on his ankle. Anyway, the point is, that's a comeback backed by Mr Coldplay, Managing Director of perhaps the biggest band on earth. And that's at good as it gets! Playing forests, doing DJ sets in Camden and writing the World Cup Song! If I was Embrace, I'd ask for my paintbrush and buy back that Ford Transit.

But if you were Northen Uproar, why would even try and come back? We've got The Enemy and they're loads better thanks. Wouldn't you find it a bit embarrassing singing songs about rollercoasters you wrote when you were 18, ten years on? And what about the MySpace shame? The site appears to be managed by a roadie, or at least someone working in a profession which doesn't involve a computer keyboard. Also, and I'm not saying that every one of Lily Allen's 29 million MySpace minions turn up to every gig she does, but Northen Uproar have 388 friends at the time of writing. That's friends and family surely? If you want to do something charitable today, go to their site and read their Maxim Album of The Month review (1997) and see how they are, in their own words, "let loose and wild again". In the words of the Manc Grandaddy Shaun Ryder, we say "call the cops". Or maybe Harvey Goldsmith.

http://www.myspace.com/northernuproar

Babyshambles live at Camden Crawl

If you read last month's post about the Babyshambles Studio 88 gig, here's the pics and footage to go with the sweat soaked orgy which saw Kate Moss look on like a startled infant observing a mongolian clusterfuck for the first time.

If you haven't read the post, the gig was great but prematurely ended my Crawl session after a drum hit me on the head. Still, who gives a shit about missing The Bluetones eh?

See everything here: http://www.myspace.com/secretshowsuk

Or, my rubbish ones here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/8131741@N06/sets/72157600175423984/

Manic Street Preachers, Send Away The Tigers

The Manics never quite disappear from the radar, do they? After James Dean Bradfield released his recent solo album, you wondered whether the Manics would ever put out another album, let alone play another tour. The greatest hits has been and gone and there’s nothing more portentous than a solo album to signal the death of a rock band. It’s easy to imagine James travelling around the world, collecting vintage guitars and doing the odd cameo on a Super Furry Animals album. Likewise, you expect Nicky to pack up his mascara, guitar and Larkin paperbacks and disappear further into the depths of the Welsh countryside, popping back to civilization only to visit Sean’s up-market chippy…

But here they are, indie legends fighting for recognition once again in a musical landscape which hasn’t seen James, Nicky and Sean do anything truly remarkable since 1998’s slogan slathered This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours. Even first single Your Love Alone Is Not Enough harks back to 1998. The airy, giant larynx of Bradfield stomps out an epic chorus while Nicky and Nina from The Cardigans tweet away in the background, as delicate as Norah Jones’ backing singers. There’s a lyrical snatch of classic track You Stole The Sun From My Heart and it weighs heavy on the soul of anyone who has ever witnessed a Manics live show: an assault of riffs with hooks so big they threaten to pull your lip over your head, the scream of a vintage Les Paul guitar and a swirling, cross dressing bassist as your host. Nothing here manages to trigger the excitement once unleashed by a leopard skin Nicky slapping his bass to the opening marches of anything from Everything Must Go. No amount of slogans, make up or revisiting GNR riffs for Manic devotees can save the bulk of the track listing from the Radio 2 playlist. Title track Send Away The Tigers is as close to cock-rock as the Manics have ever come. At points it sounds like The Darkness and occasionally like Bon Jovi. It’s an anthem which only Jeremy Clarkson could love.

Nobody was expecting a revolution, but the will to fight, to be different and create a record to upset your parents disappeared a decade ago. Imperial Body bags is a token war comment, but there’s nothing deranged, no talk of serial killers, taking over the world or the death of your babies. Whether Nicky Wire has anything left to fight for or a controversial bone left in his body is up for debate. Album closer Working Class Hero is a slow, bluesy, desperate cry for help and you can’t escape the feeling that the cover comes directly from the heart of a tired and worn Nicky Wire, changing gear to become more like Neil Young plotting a course for a band that look as dated as the Holy Bible era reverse ‘Rs’ that adorn the album cover.