I’m unaware of having ever been quoted in a national paper, but that changed today.
The Word On… Prodigy, the new album
Archive for February, 2009
February 27, 2009
4
On Donk
By Ash in Musical MurmuringsDonk.
Just look at it: a stupid arrangement of otherwise brilliant letters.
Donk as an ‘art-form’, however, is even more ridiculous. Twittering, as I have been of late, resulted in an accidental and brief conversation with someone about what Donk is. We couldn’t fully resolve what it was all about, and as neither of us cared enough, we allowed our exploration of Donk to dissolve into the update ether.
But, it hasn’t gone away. I clicked over to MySpace today, and was immediately confronted by a GENRE ALERT which was accompanied by a lineup of the aging, uglifying faces of Blazing Squad who appear to have re-branded themselves The Blackout Crew. Blackout Crew, incidentally, has to rank amongst the worst names for any sort of crew anywhere on the planet ever.
From what I can decipher – a Donk can be:
a) A woman’s bum
b) A fierce kickdrum – thus ‘putting a donk on it’
c) A specifc type of car wit wide-ass rims, yo.
Soulja Boy seems to have publicly coined the term in a video filmed with some of the more glamorous members of Baltimore’s West side crew, whilst he was dealing with a serious back problem.
Ouch. Brave fella that Soulja Boy.
Anyway, that kind of track encouraged dance moves like these:
Which, in turn, attracted the amarous, devoted cries of the youtube devotee:
kollectahX (5 hours ago)
honey in the black can get it.
Around the same time (July 2008) this well-judged article on ‘Donk’ appeared in The Guardian, and though concurring with John McDonnell’s appraisal, what most disconcerts me about the Blackout Crew’s form of Donk is its thunderous embrace of Euro-pap, combined with a consequent adoration of Donk by dumb kids.
The track ‘Put a Donk on it’ sounds like the Blackout boyz popped some happy pills and started rapidly shouting at eachother whilst playing something by Scooter in their local pub car park.
“Aaaah, reet good that – let’s fucken record it, yeah? Get it down, yeah? Fucken yeah man, wicked – sorted!” And, lo, a genre was borne…
And now, according to the MySpace advert, “The future has arrived” and, if you hadn’t guessed by now, it’s called Donk. Formed from reconstituted Scouse House or Bouncy House; it’s being branded British; it epitmoises musical abomination and it is the music that will be played in your elevator as you descend into hell if you fail to eschew listening to it this minute.
Just writing this brings me closer to the Dark Lord than I’ve ever been, so let’s leave the last word on Donk to those veritable pioneers of Donk.
“I’m like Superman without kryptonite, fat as hell without celulite and I look well sick in a U.V light. Speakin of sick that’s me on the mic and if you don’t like it get on ya bike. Pack ya bags and get out my sight, otherwise its left right left goodnight.”
Straight. To. Fucking. Hell.
February 23, 2009
8
Why I won’t be attending Glastonbury 2009
By Ash in Musical Murmurings
It’s sold out? Already? Of course it’s sold out, and I don’t mean that in a ‘stick-it-to-the man’ kind of way. Clearly Mr Eavis’ latest method of ticket flogging has worked to great effect, and the gradual, trickling leak of headliners has only served to increase that.
There’s something for everyone at Glastonbury: the variety of music is astounding and, combined with the vast collection of street (or in this case, field) art and general mad shenanigans conjured up by the attendees – it makes for one of the very best festivals in the world. The ideal place to shed that city stress and learn how to circumnavigate with the use of a tiny, wet Guardian lanyard.
Unlike 2008, there are to be no hip-hop superstars taking the piss out of Oasis treading the Pyramid stage’s boards this year. Instead, it’s going to be the more traditional, humourless, politically-inspired pop legends of : Neil Young, Bruce Springsteen and Blur…
Oh, I’m sorry – I must’ve nodded off.
After returning from Glastonbury last year, tired, stinking and looking rather like I’d just been shat out of a cow; Michael ‘ye olde King of Glastonbury’ Eavis started whining that too many older people were changing the ‘feel’ of the festival.
Say what? I beg your puddin? Hex-squeeze me? Did you just infer that I is too old to part-ay? Hey, I didn’t know that 30 to 40 year olds weren’t your target audience – I mean – just look at this year’s headliners. Wow! Well they’re just set to appeal to dem mad yoof, yeah?
Now, I don’t care how bad the weather gets down on Worthy Farm, though the rain can make things an awful lot harder when it comes to dancing and generally ‘getting around’ the billion acre site when your wellies are caked in 2 kilos of mud; I’m not bothered that the PA on the main stages can be shoddy (remember the Arctic Monkeys’ headline slot when the sound was only coming out at one side of the stage? Ummm - wooops!); I’m quite happy to use the long-drop toilets and drink beer and cider that tastes like Michael’s flavoured, carbonated piss, but I absolutely refuse - REFUSE to be part of Glastonbury’s problem.
It was great to have Jay-Z headline last year. Amongst the many cow pats of crap that the Eavis’s managed to drop in, here was something so very different – and it showed just how adventurous people with CBEs can be. And then, like Commanders of the Order of the non-existent British Empire tend to, they go and spoil it with witless comments and return to their traditional, aged-rocker fayre - and all in time for all the ‘kids’ who they hope will have bought all the tickets on that new, goofy micro-credit system created to recreate that alleged bygone Glastonbury vibe.
Well, balls to Glastonbury and balls to your stupid, crinkly line-up, Eavis! As exciting as Shangrai-La was, and as brilliant as the fires of the magnificent Trash City were – Glastonbury 2009 sounds like it’s set to be more of the same bleeding bollock-ache of a traipse that it always was. Only, this time, and much like they did to Paul McCartney, the kids you so deeply value will be yelling “You’re shit!” at Bruce Springsteen. Which is, of course, what anyone with at least one functioning ear would say.
February 21, 2009
1
Anvil – the movie
By Ash in Movie Reviews, Musical Murmurings
It looks like 2009 is set to spoil us with great films. Anvil follows the story of two friends both in their 50s: Steve ‘Lips’ Kudlow (guitar and vocals) and the eerily named ‘Robb Reiner’ (drums) in their ceaseless quest for their band Anvil to earn the heavy metal glory they believe they so richly deserve. Having had a taste of the big time in the ’80s when Anvil toured with bands like Bon Jovi and The Scorpions, fans expected the band to break like similar heavy rock acts did at the time, but Anvil just never did. It’s a similar tale to that of Anton Newcombe’s Brian Jonestown Massacre as covered in the film target=”_blank”>Dig; only with spandex-clad, bondage-garbed Dulux dogs of men in place of smack-addled, coat-stand thin, ’60s inspired stoners.
Now, just because it’s about a heavy metal band, it doesn’t mean that you have to like or even understand the genre to watch this film. The same principles that drive and crush the band apply across any sphere. It’s about following and living ‘the dream’. Yes, all very quixotic and hippy-esque stuff – but if you thought that a film like (the heavily overhyped) Slumdog Millionaire was “feel-good”, Anvil is going to make your heart throw up.
The plot of the film so closely mirrors classic rockumentary target=”_blank”>This is Spinal Tap, I spent the first 20 minutes wondering if Anvil was, in fact, real. It doesn’t take much longer than that, however, to understand that it is. Much like Mickey Rourke’s Wrestler, all band members work day jobs. Kudlow works as a driver for a caterer and it’s uncanny to see him handling food with a hair net on much like Randy “The Ram” does in between wrestling bouts. Reiner seems to be in some sort of construction industry, but I only infer that as I recall seeing him using a drill half his size to break a stack of bricks apart. Maybe he’s an architect. I doubt it.
In tracking down British producer Chris Tsangarides to record their 13th album, 13 (I was going to say you couldn’t make it up – but Guest et al already did) – the band ‘self-finance’ their ‘best sounding’ recording with £13,000 of Kudlow’s sister’s money. Failing to secure a major label deal means the band have to self-release the album. yielding spectacular results.
Directed by long-time fan and one-time Anvil roadie, Sacha Gervasi, this is a compelling portrait of a life on the outskirts of stardom. Of course, it is filled with all the drama and sadness you would expect from being in a band, but the sheer passion of Kudlow in particular is enough to affect even the stoniest of hearts. With the band working on their 14th album, Anvil is a beautiful testament to friendship and a plaitive paean to music – one that is turned to all the way to 11.
Anvil play the Download festival later this year, and you can even buy Anvil’s latest album to help Lips recoup his sister’s cash here.
11/10
February 21, 2009
0
Interview with Mickaël Mottet
By Ash in Interviews
One of my favourite albums of 2008 was Ouilposaliva, by Angil + the Hiddntracks. I was fortunate enough to get an interview with the very talented Mickaël.
Though numerous sites said they would run it – they never did. So here it is in its entirety : conducted as it was towards the end of 2008.
What was the impetus that gave rise to Ouliposaliva? It seems very conceptual.
Blame it on saxophone!
I wanted Ouliposaliva to be built upon brass and woodwinds. Especially the way Francis of the Hiddentracks plays alto saxophone. I love his tempered, controlled notes. If you listen carefully, you can hear saliva running through the brass.
It reminds me of the story behind Miles Davis’ Lift to the Scaffold: at one point, a fragment of skin was detached from Miles’ lip and into the embouchure, but he just kept on playing, and this contributed to the unique feeling of the soundtrack. I think this is what I like: detached fragments of skin; accidents.
I told Francis about my project. He answered “well OK, but since the E key is a tough one for my instrument (and he knows I’ve written dozens of songs in E), this time I’d like you to not use it.” So much for the missing E chords. Then I adapted the idea to the letter E.
Can you tell us a little about the title ‘Ouliposaliva’?
You know about the ‘saliva’ part now… The ‘Oulipo’ was a French movement of writers in the 1960s who loved to use playful restrictions. Parts of their writings are shitty nonsense… there are some amazing pieces of works too. Especially Raymond Queneau’s novels.
Was it difficult to constrict your lyrics to not include the letter ‘e’?
I thought it would. It ended up being so stimulating! I never wrote that fast before; I wrote all 10 songs of the album in just a few months, it was a thrilling period. Restriction is actually the best remedy against the fear of the blank page: it is about trying to find all you can say within the limits you imposed to yourself.
Also, it makes your mind stretch and wriggle and worm its way out of what you mean, and would normally say employing Es. It is like opening a different window, one you never saw before. Am I making any sense?
I think so! ‘Trying to fit’ features the word ‘discipline’, but is incorrectly spelt in the lyric sheet. Isn’t that cheating?
Very well observed! Well, I am using the German word here, Disziplin. It is actually a reference to a theatre play that I translated into French a few years ago, untitled Re: Frankenstein. Dutch puppeteer Neville Tranter made it; it is absolutely brilliant.
There is one E left on purpose in the album booklet, though. Keep looking…
The artwork is really attractive, have you and the artist worked together before? There seems to be an artistic sympathy between you.
Guillaume Long and I are good friends, yes. He is a full member of the Hiddentracks. Sometimes he makes videoprojected live drawings on stage with us. He knows the songs very well – I’m not sure he realized, but I told him very personal things about the lyrics when he was working on the artwork.
Narrow Minds video
There is a very live feel to the record, which works to its favour – was this deliberate?
You bet! We recorded in a huge 3-floored place, formerly a shoelace plant, and used all the various sound textures we could get from all its different rooms in order to obtain exactly what we wanted, without using any post-production effect or plug-in. So the album does sound like it did on the spot, if you see what I mean.
Plus, we ended the recording with a collective session, which probably adds to the live feel of it. We all sat together with headphones on, placed one microphone in the middle of the room, played the already recorded parts of the album, and all the Hiddentracks sang, clapped, played percussion, etc…
Can you tell me a little about some of your musical influences and expand a little on the hip-hop / jazz inflections?
I ended up listening to free jazz and hip-hop through the likes of Swell, Stereolab, Yo la Tengo, early dEUS… these bands are where I come from, I learnt a lot from them. G Love’s first record made me want to find a double bass player to play with… Broadcast’s Ha Ha Sound aroused my musical curiosity so much.
I like jazz that’s not only about virtuosity. Francis got me acquainted with Gil Evans’ “Las Vegas Tango”, Coltrane’s A Love Supreme, Miles Davis’ In a Silent Way… also, while writing Ouliposaliva, I listened a lot to Tryggve Seim’s Different Rivers. Marvelous record.
It’s sort of the same with hip-hop, I like it when it is ‘demanding’. Why? and Quasimoto have been huge influences, so were Qwel, and Dark Leaf, and a breathtaking band called Kill the Vultures.
Has there been a noticeable difference between the way the album been received in the UK to France?
The biggest difference is that I get a lot of nice remarks about the lyrics in the UK. Few things were written about them in France, which is quite natural, I guess.
I really appreciate the fact that most writers, in France, Germany, the UK, and so on, point out the ‘restriction thing’ only as a method for writing good songs. I wouldn’t want it to look more important than it actually is. What matters really is the songs.
Any plans to tour the UK?
I do hope we’ll be able to come again in the UK… I hope the fantastic Chemikal Underground team will set out something – I’m not using the adjective only because I know they’ll read the interview!
Do the Hiddntracks accompany you when performing live?
It keeps changing all the time, and this is what I want. Danger is like a policy to us – one gig means one performance. Most of the times there are 5 of us (drums, double bass, a Farfisa keyboard, guitars, strings, and brass), and we like inviting one or two different Hiddentracks every time, depending on where we are playing. There are members from all over the place in France…
I also make some occasional solo appearances. I loop all instruments live, like a virtual band
Can you list me your top five albums of 2008?
My favourite album this year definitely was Portishead’s Three.
Vampire Weekend’s brilliant self-titled 1st LP;
The Radar Bros.’ very gracious Auditorium;
I’ve listened a lot to Françoise Breut’s À l’aveuglette lately;and I’m going crazy these days listening to El Perro del Mar’s albums, including From the Valley to the Stars.
Have there been any personal highpoints this year?
My son Paolo was born on November ’07, so this year was mostly about him. I’m not going any further, lest I sound cliché!..
Finally, can we expect a follow up to Ouliposaliva?
Yes. I hope we’ll record it next summer. This time, the prevailing idea should be ‘duets with women’. I am getting in touch with Stereolab’s Laetitia Sadier, Emma Pollock (formerly from the Delgados), Lisa Germano, Françoise Breut… we’ll see what comes out.
Meanwhile, we should be releasing a LP in 2009 with a new project called Jerri.
February 21, 2009
2
The Wrestler
By Ash in Musical MurmuringsThe Wrestler
The Wrestler is a fully fledged, iconic heartbreak of a movie. Mickey Rourke, who, as he himself says, spent 15 years fucking up his life, returns to take the lead in Darren Aronofsky’s latest.
After a few minor roles in major movies (Sin City being the last one of note), it’s great to see his premiere lead role make one hell of an impact.
Rourke’s true love of boxing has left its marks – etched as the effects are into his much changed face. The 30lbs he gained for the role (with the aid of some steroid use) renders him almost unrecognisable as the ’80s heartthrob he once was.
Rourke plays Randy “The Ram” Robinson: a past it, wrestling icon of the ’80s. He spends his time working the ring amongst amateur and semi-pro league wrestlers for the little money it pays. Picking up menial work wherever he can get it, Randy is a highly respected individual in the ring, and a nobody outside of it.
Suffering physical pain presents little problem for Randy, though the toll this took on Rourke was probably substantial. Like Rourke himself, one suspects the major problems Randy experiences are psychological. Unable to pay his rent, he is a man unable to socialise easily, choosing to attempt to court a stripper who is also near the end of her career (brilliantly played by the stunning Marisa Tomei). Evan Rachel Wood plays his estranged, emo, lesbian daughter and, personally, I wish she hadn’t.
Part of the fascination with The Wrestler comes from the reflection of Rourke’s own life: one of past glories and self-induced isolation. A method actor, it can’t have been too far a stretch for him to find the emotions necessary to fully play the part – even if he had to dig deep into his physical reserves.
With a heart attack rocking Randy to his core, we find him seeking the straight life. A regular job, a girlfriend, a family. Aronofsky has been brave enough to provide us with an ending that sees Randy’s glorious return to the ring, and he does not flinch from the truth – ditching the Hollywood melancholy in favour of honesty.
This is a film that celebrates the simplicity, the truth of the human ability to be selfish – and to revel in it. The Wrestler honours the spirit of soul and absolute freedom; though both prizes come with great expense. However, with Rourke nominated for an Oscar, I suspect his rewards are just about due.
9/10
February 20, 2009
5
The NME’s top 20 guitar riffs
By Ash in Musical MurmuringsYou may well ask what the NME readership knows about guitar riffs? And, considering their top 20, you’d be right to ask.
At the time of writing, the list stands like this:
Muse – Plug In Baby
Muse – Hysteria
Muse – New Born
Muse – Supermassive Black Hole
The Jimi Hendrix Experience – Purple Haze
The Jimi Hendrix Experience – Voodoo Child
Blur – Song 2
Nirvana – Smells Like Teen Spirit
The White Stripes – Seven Nation Army
Rage Against The Machine – Killing In The Name
The Kinks – You Really Got Me
The Rolling Stones – (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction
The Smiths – How Soon Is Now?
Franz Ferdinand – Take Me Out
Radiohead – Just
Queens Of The Stone Age – No One Knows
The Beatles – Day Tripper
Led Zeppelin – Whole Lotta Love
Nirvana – Heart-Shaped Box
Nirvana – Come As You Are
Though the list contains some classic guitar riffs, overall the list says more about the NME demographic than it does about actual great guitar riffs. And a few of these are chord progressions - not riffs. So let’s pick the great riffs out of this list to start:
Muse – New Born
Hendrix – both listed. But, really – pretty much everything Hendrix played was close to Godliness – so let’s get him straight to the top.
Nirvana – Smells like teen spirit. Classic and iconic. It’s Kurt trying to write like The Pixies and, though a progression, the bass holds down the riff throughout.
The White Stripes – Seven Nation Army. White’s best? Possibly. Many imitators and covers since have granted this song a place in rock history.
The Kinks – You really got me. Deadly and immediate.
The Rolling Stones – I can’t get no Satisfaction. Sounds like a horn – feels like Keith had one at the time of writing.
Queens of the Stone Age – No-one Knows. Homme is one of the best guitarists in the world.
The Beatles – Day Tripper. Harrison – forever under-rated.
Led Zeppelin – Whole Lotta Love. Another one of the best guitarists ever – send this skyward.
OK – so my filter brings that down to 10. Working backwards: let’s look at the artists and see if they have any better riffs than these listed.
The Rolling Stones – Paint it Black
The Kinks – All day and all of the night
Jimi Hendrix – The king of riffs.
And now let’s list what else should be there.
Well how about these?
Metallica – Enter Sandman (among many, many others)
Guns n’ Roses – Sweet Child o’ Mine
So, if I was to work in tandem with the NME, that would approximate my top 20. And, yes, I did leave out that riff in Bohemian Rhapsody…
February 19, 2009
8
Pornstation 3
By Ash in RandomThe new Playstation campaign
I foolishly picked up the mind-numbingly awful ‘Shortlist’ magazine this morning: I must have subconsciously wanted to see what shite Danny Wallace was spouting this week (in case you’re interested, it’s a fascinating exploration of how Danny harasses people on trains that he doesn’t know very well).
As I was flicking through this literary equivalent of candy floss, I came across this deeply compounding and disturbing image. Perhaps it’s just me and my perverted, damaged mind, but it seems to be feather-light inter-racial porn.
Let’s start with the woman licking her ice-cream. Of course, it’s meant to be as erotic as Nabokov’s Lolita sucking a lollipop; only this petite young thing’s grappling an outsized giant, whopper of a cone! And hey, what’s that trickling down between her fingers? Oh, it’s the melting ice-cream. Wow, as Bill Hicks would say – she’s taken to that like a duck to water!
And who’s that who served her? Why, it’s none other than a giant, smiling black man – cleverly re-imagined by Carol Thatcher.
Caricature...
So what are you telling me, Sony? Is that black fella in the ice-cream van serving that lucky white girl an extra large helping of his love cream? Is he a true representative of the extra super-cool Sony brand, but in this case fashioned to look like a an old fashioned caricature of a negro in the deep South of America some time in the ’40s?
Welcome to more! says the ad. More what? More ‘clever’ bollocks irrationally thrown out by a multinational congolmerate at young boys and middle-aged men. To what? To buy more PS3s and to maybe have a wank while they’re at it. I mean, could you even imagine holding an ice-cream that big? It was miracle enough for me to see Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley in Aliens famously holding an unsmoked cigarette that had burnt through completely with the ash fully intact – let alone trying to comprehend this violation of gravity.
You’d have thought that now we have a black president (yes, he is black, don’t debate that fact further, please), and that we live in 2009 and not 1939, that this sort of disgusting, stereotypical nonsense (that serves to imply that black men have massive cocks and white women want them) would be laughed out of any interntaional board room.
But at Sony, it seems that the ad execs calling the shots are all white, mysoginistic, racist, bigoted men.
February 18, 2009
2
Lock up your TV, the Brits are coming.
By Ash in Musical Murmurings
Ah, the Brit awards. That bastion of musical knowledge has finally rolled round once again. I remember lapping up the awards when I was 14 or so. I was round at a friend’s house – we were playing Bloodwych on his Amiga – and he had the Brits double album of the year (on tape) playing.
Like every other year – it’s awful stuff on display. It’s the kind of moronic theatre on a world stage that is surely detested by the rest of the world. I mean, does anyone actually care about these awards? Do they have any prestige whatsoever? Surely, this ‘British’ equivalent of the Grammys is just an excuse to rake in some cash, see Kylie’s arse and for good artists to not show up.
The best British male awards includes Mike Skinner, Ian Brown, James Morrison (?) and Paul Weller. Who lines this stuff up? Is it the public? It’s only Weller who’s released anything half-decent recently - and he should’ve stopped when The Jam ended. He should ditch the haircut and retire immediately. Maybe I’ll start a facebook campaign.
Good grief...
Radiohead should win the best band award – In Rainbows is possibly the best thing they’ve ever done. They’re pretty much the only UK band in the world who keep moving forward, musically. I reckon Elbow or *shudder* Coldplay will win. Coldplay, because they sold the most albums last year, and Elbow for that huge riff on Grounds for Divorce. I love it that Girls Aloud and Take That are even in the same category – it’s a mockery of an award.
Best UK band?
Best International Male is an interesting category Jay-Z, Kanye, Beck, Neil Diamond and Seasick Steve. Seasick Steve, who was hideously (and quite incorrectly) lambasted by a certain NME journo late last year, would be an interesting win. He’s as much an outsider as Neil Diamond. The BBC Seasick documentary ‘Bringing it all back home’ was excellent in terms of its breadth, delivery and content.
The Scientologist Beck won’t win – leaving one of the big hip-hop hitters who’ve both collaborated with UK artists. Did you see target=”_blank”>Jay-Z chumming it up with Coldplay at the Grammys? The lovely and unique Beth Rowley should win best Female but it will probably be Estelle in light of American Boy.
All in all, my feelings towards the Brits (and awards ceremonies in general) have changed as I’ve aged. BAFTA, Oscars, Grammy, MOBO and the plethora of other self-flagellating excuses for congratulating ‘artists’ make me want to pick up my TV, barge my way into the ceremony and smash it down on every winner’s head as they come to collect their bloody trophy.
Art created by artists is for appreciation – not for simple tokenistic trinkets and plaudits to stick on CD cases to shift more units. Sadly, that’s all these awards truly represent.
Seasick doing what he does best
Alright!