The past week has seen Sydney inundated with not just rain, but a torrent of enticing Falls Festival sideshows. Among these, at The Metro on Monday night, was The Maccabees, for whom the past year has been a tremendous success. Principally, 2015 saw the release of their fourth album Marks to Prove It, their most acclaimed to date and further evidence of the South London band’s quality and versatility.
The Maccabees are a band I’ve admired for a long time, but had not seen live before Monday night. It’s a real testament to their passion and guile that, amid a glut of sideshows from renowned live acts such as Foals and Bloc Party, they delivered a performance that will not easily be forgotten. Indeed, I write this after seeing Foals – perhaps my favourite band – unleash a set brimming with fury, style and tenderness upon Hordern Pavilion. And yet The Maccabees’ offering remains lodged in my mind for its own marvellous qualities.
With broad smiles across their faces, they strode on stage and kicked off with the blistering Marks to Prove It. Alright, boys; we’ve definitely started. It’s also worth noting that frontman Orlando Weeks was unable to play guitar due to a recently sustained thumb injury. This meant that three guitars became two, with brothers Felix and Hugo White skilfully filling the gaps. Weeks himself is as charming as they come, smiling and uttering thanks after each song. The Metro wasn’t exactly packed, but the healthy crowd were loud and unwavering in their support of the band, particularly when it came to older songs like the infectious Precious Time and the helter-skelter X-Ray. Recent singles Something Like Happiness and Spit It Out were immaculate in their performance, with Weeks’ vocals atoning for any forced adjustments to guitar parts.
Perhaps The Maccabees’ greatest asset is their mastery of tempo. They have an inimitable knack for working spectacular crescendos into songs at whim – Feel to Follow and WW1 Portraits are examples. Live, this is amplified; their equally impressive displays of patient restraint and shameless gusto make for songs crafted with poignancy and dynamism. Rounding out the set was an encore of the lullaby-like Toothpaste Kisses and the grand sing-a-long that is Pelican – a perfect end to a performance remarkably unencumbered by the band’s obvious six-string setback. Their tenacity and humour in this regard simply made The Maccabees all the more endearing.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bdNC9FVWdBk
It’s been a monumental year for South London five-piece The Maccabees. Their fourth album – by far their most successful to date – has seen them garner widespread acclaim, culminating in a UK #1 and a debut slot at Glastonbury, to name but two of their recent accolades. I spoke to a contemplative Orlando Weeks (vocals, guitar) ahead of the band’s Australian shows (principally Falls Festival and Southbound Festival) in January. Their success, it seems, is no fluke. And they’ve the marks to prove it.
It was a long time coming, this album, but you’d have to agree that it was worth it, wouldn’t you?
Yeah, it was a long time coming, but not an awful lot longer than previous records of ours and I think, especially now that we’re getting to play to our own crowds, it feels like it was worth it.
Perhaps it felt like longer because there was more anticipation this time around.
I think there was a bit of that, and I think there was a bit of us being in our own place which meant that we didn’t break up the process. We kind of stuttered, to begin with; we did an awful lot of work which we then decided wasn’t right. We had to scrap a lot of stuff and just for morale that was kind of a kick in the teeth.
It must be very difficult to forge on with an album after having to scrap so much work. What do you think the problems were, initially?
We’d done an awful lot of touring and I think we felt like we were playing well, but I don’t think that necessarily translated into writing well. I also think that we weren’t making enough of a different-sounding record; we were just sort of repeating ourselves. We always try not to do that.
It’s interesting you say that, because obviously in Given to the Wild, there were so many layers to that album; it was so intricate and elegant. There are similarities in Marks to Prove It, but also stark contrasts. Was it your aim to move away from the atmosphere of Given to the Wild?
Yes. Of course, the point for us is always to realise what was successful about the last record and not make the mistakes that we could hear on it again. One of the things we were conscious of is that we found it really difficult to translate a lot of that record into a live scenario. In retrospect, it feels like we hid behind a lot of stuff on Given to the Wild, so we wanted to strip it back a little bit. Personally, I wanted to not sit in so much reverb, and not triple check and double check. That became a kind of general rule, for everyone to try and reign in the layering and be a bit more decisive and commit to sounds or melodies or whatever, so it could feel less lush.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5iezedSefI
Where exactly does the phrase ‘marks to prove it’ fit in?
It was a phrase that I’d written as part of a bunch of lyric ideas. I’d been walking through one of the parks on the way home from the studio. We have very few days where everyone feels like they’ve sacked work off and gone and sat in the park and tried to get a suntan, but it was one of those days, and just seeing how people were desperately trying to get a memento of that day. It made me think about how people used to treat tans as a kind of status symbol. I remember especially when I was at school, kids would come back and the fact that they had a watch strap tan mark was evidence of the glamour of their holiday. That [made me] think about all the other things that people do – that they wear – as a kind of status symbol, and then all the things that we do nowadays that are examples or proof of our lifestyle.
Can you tell me a bit more about Elephant & Castle, the suburb where your studio is located?
I think to a lot of people it does sound pretty exotic, and I think it’s probably far less exotic than the name suggests. It’s an odd place because it’s really central and is in the process of being made to feel like the rest of central London, but for a long time it escaped that fate. It’s holding on to a unique identity; it’s still got some pretty crummy shops and it’s got a market where you can get some pretty good fruit and veg, but they also do a good line in mobile phone chargers that definitely aren’t of any kind of authentic origin. It’s got a certain character that only comes with being a bit neglected.
In October you released ‘Elephant Days’, a feature-length documentary about Elephant & Castle. Was that an effort to encapsulate how you feel about its changing identity?
The film spans the entire time we were making the record, so it took almost three years for the guys that made it (filmmakers James Caddick and James Cronin) to finish it. It was a little about trying to capture an area that was going through change. I would add that not necessarily all of those changes are going to be bad; it’s probably wanted investment but maybe it’s not the investment that it needs.
Anyway, the film isn’t really about Elephant & Castle, particularly – and that’s true of the record as well. That was just where we were and the point that we were all trying to make to ourselves was that an area like Elephant & Castle, which doesn’t have a fantastic reputation, would have plenty of material and inspiration for whatever we needed. The film in the end is about people trying to make something that they’re proud of, whether that be boots, or how far they can progress in a tournament, or how they impact on their area. It could have been [set] anywhere that has one strapline description that undermines its complexity.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FfP_Gy7abik
You can catch The Maccabees live at Falls or Southbound over New Year’s, or at these two sideshows:
Mon 4th Jan – Metro Theatre, Sydney
Wed 6th Jan – 170 Russell, Melbourne
It’s fitting that Lime Cordiale‘s new EP begins with the rich, brassy timbre of a trombone. Indeed, it’s their frequent use of this – and other such instruments – that makes their jaunty brand of pop music so appealing. The EP is titled Road to Paradise and, while brass is no longer the focal point (as it often was in their early work), it remains a fundamental aspect of the Sydney band’s style and persona. Spider Legs illustrates this perfectly, weaving trombone into nimble piano licks and crashing cymbals. It’s a sign of Lime Cordiale’s progression, in terms of both maturity and musical aptitude.
Next comes lead single Hanging Upside Down, which hinted in February that future work may edge away from the horn section. It was probably this implication that made me so indifferent about the song. After all, Lime Cordiale without brass would be like Sam Smith without Disclosure: pretty bloody boring.
Fortunately, the horns remain, albeit shrouded by the rock-influenced direction brothers Oli and Louis Leimbach (the creative forces behind the band) have chosen to take with this release. Third track Other Ties is a prime exponent of this; a crisp bass line and restrained drumming craft a slick groove beneath the characteristic earthiness of Oli’s vocals. Yes, Lime Cordiale have been diluted – but that’s only made them tastier.
Compare Road to Paradise with 2012’s Faceless Cat EP and you’ll hear a remarkable development. Much credit must be afforded to producer Jean-Paul Fung, whose ongoing work with the band has yielded remarkable results. Formerly playful and boisterous stylings have largely given way to music more taut and controlled, but Lime Cordiale are best when the stems of these musical vines are interwoven. For this reason, Not That Easy is the pick of the bunch. Dynamic and irresistible, it displays all the entertaining qualities that Lime Cordiale have to offer, while demonstrating their newfound ability to produce polished, well-paced songs with depth and charisma.
The same can be said of Good from Far, in which the influence of fellow Sydney-siders Sticky Fingers is clearly audible. The result is a reggae-tinged track that, more than anything, highlights Lime Cordiale’s improving versatility and the variety of artists from which they draw inspiration.
Released in May, Feel Alright was the second single from the EP and rounds out this solid little collection of songs in an impressive fashion. If the preceding five tracks are the Road to Paradise, then surely this is the destination. Feel Alright is positively joyous; it’s a reminder that, for all the fine-tuning and high production values (and these have undoubtedly increased the calibre of their music), there’s nothing quite like a horn section.
2015 has produced a multitude of tasty collaborations – Disclosure have certainly had their fill – but one of the more surprising has come in the form of Big Grams, which is the joint project of Atlanta rapper and OutKast founder Big Boi and electro-pop duo Phantogram. Phantogram contributed to Big Boi’s 2012 solo debut, Vicious Lies and Dangerous Rumours, but it wasn’t until the end of last year that their friendship evolved into full-blown collaborative work.
https://instagram.com/p/62yXMYL2mq/
Big Grams released a self-titled EP – which features cameos from Run the Jewels and Skrillex – in late September. They’ve also been receiving substantial praise for lead single Fell in the Sun, which has just been accompanied by the group’s first music video. The video, premiered (bizarrely) at WeTransfer, is a psychedelic mish-mash of bright, kaleidoscopic patterns and clips of the trio performing, apparently intended to replicate the visual sensation of staring into the sun. Watch the video right here.
Performance-wise, Big Grams have wasted little time in establishing themselves as a bona-fide act, with appearances on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon and Jimmy Kimmel Live! ensuring widespread exposure, and slots at the likes of Okeechobee Music & Arts Festival lined up for the near future.
Soul music has long been inextricably linked with black people, as a result of both their history and the outstanding vocal capabilities of many black performers. The nature of this soulful association is such that when a white person demonstrates similar tonal qualities, they are often assumed – quite reasonably – to be black. A recent example of this concept is English singer John Newman, whose full-throated, powerful voice bears similarities to the kind of robust timbre one might expect from a black singer.
It is with this in mind that we turn to the curious case of Tom Jones, whose signature baritone has contributed largely to his status as a sex symbol throughout his illustrious career. Born into a coal-mining family in South Wales, Jones’ ethnicity has been questioned for many years. Even at birth, his mother is said to have been asked if she had black ancestry, due to the thick curls and darker complexion her son possesses.
Now 75 years old, and tired of being told he is ‘just passing as white’, Jones is prepared to take a DNA test to definitively answer questions surrounding his heritage. The outcome of such a test is ultimately trivial, at least from a fan’s perspective, but it will be interesting to gauge the reaction of the music world, nonetheless.
Jones was also recently axed from the UK edition of The Voice, reportedly telling the BBC to ‘go fuck themselves’. You can’t fault his confidence.
Speaking of which, here’s Jones at his hip-shaking best back in 1968:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGRZBa4cKWA
Last weekend saw Halloween fever consume the United States, with the annual celebration of the spooky and spectacular resulting, yet again, in a swathe of impressive celebrity costumes. Mac DeMarco was Darth Maul, Chvrches‘ Lauren Mayberry was Edward Scissorhands and Justin Bieber was Jackie Moon from the Will Ferrell film Semi-Pro (which I have to admit, albeit reluctantly, is quite a funny costume). Basketball star LeBron James was another who committed wholeheartedly to the Halloween spirit, donning a full Prince outfit and attempting a cover of Purple Rain at the Cleveland Cavaliers’ party.
https://instagram.com/p/9dbay6gvno/
One of the standouts, however, was Parks & Recreation star Aziz Ansari, whose take on The Weeknd was about as entertaining as you’d expect it to be. Complete with leather jacket and that characteristic birds-nest hairstyle, Ansari’s costume was spot on. What’s more, he uploaded a video to Instagram in which he lip-syncs perfectly to The Weeknd’s smash-hit single, The Hills. Treat yo’ self to that little gem right here:
https://instagram.com/p/9jEPa_yREy/
Last month The Hills was remixed by both Eminem and Nicki Minaj, inserting their respective attitudes into the seductive single. I’d still rather hear Tom Haverford lay down a verse, though.
When you think of Australian music, what do you think of?
Maybe you’re old school, and the bands that come to mind are AC/DC, Midnight Oil or Cold Chisel. Perhaps you’re a desperate, shameless romantic whose first yearning thought is of Savage Garden. More likely – at least if you’re my age – you’ll consider our world-renowned brand of electronic music, pioneered by the likes of Flume and Flight Facilities.
Me? I think of Sydney’s Boy & Bear. To my mind, there’s no other artist whose music so effectively blends the earthy, carefree attitude of Australians with such deft musicianship. And, like all the best bands, they’re constantly evolving, crafting and altering their sound, without invoking the wrath of the infamous ‘I liked their early work better’ variety of fan.
Boy & Bear: (Back row L-R) Tim Hart, Killian Gavin, Dave Symes, (front row L-R) Jon Hart and Dave Hosking
Limit of Love is Boy & Bear’s third album. Initially, it sees the five-piece depending more readily on the electric guitar, an instrument that has previously been used sparingly in contributing dynamism to a swathe of acoustic material. Throughout Limit of Love, however, it is more obvious, resulting in an album that is sharp and purposeful, but not too far removed from the sunny veranda of an Australian homestead.
The album begins with its bold title track, into which the metronomic beat of a cowbell leads the charge. Lead single Walk the Wire follows, and already the mood is set – albeit falsely – for an upbeat and bracing ride. I say falsely because the vigour of Limit of Love‘s first few tracks belies the steadier pace and rather melancholy sound that characterise most of the album. Where’d You Go maintains the precedent of a solid guitar riff, but Hollow Ground and Breakdown Slow are two of the more mellow, folk-infused cuts from the album, a welcome reminder of the charm and versatility of Boy & Bear. Ambient minimalism meets a restrained chorus crescendo in Showdown, before A Thousand Faces lifts the tempo once more with forceful guitar and the unfamiliar sound of a synthesiser.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EapikNusv58
Anyone who has seen Boy & Bear live will appreciate the passion and integrity with which they perform. This has always been a feature of their recorded music, too, but never more so than in Limit of Love. With the guidance of producer Ethan Johns, the band recorded the album live, eschewing layers of editing and instrumental overdubs to produce a record of remarkable humanity and authenticity.
Man Alone is strikingly honest and beautifully composed; piano chords twist around Dave Hosking‘s vocals, ducking and weaving through the backbone of the song to transform it into something quite magnificent. Just Dumb is unassuming, yet exquisite. Hosking’s poignant vocals are the focus, but steady percussion and delicate plucking craft a song that could either have you beaming or bring you to tears.
Disappointingly, Fox Hole is the least remarkable track on the album, and therefore a rather tepid conclusion to Boy & Bear’s warm and storied new record. But it’s likeable enough and the piano is wistful enough not to spoil what is an honest and, at times, surprising collection of songs.
The listening experience as a whole is tremendously endearing; such is the sincerity of Limit of Love. Sure, there are Australian bands more innovative and more critically and commercially successful, but Boy & Bear capture the essence of Australia in music that is earnest and authentic, and which rarely fails to evoke emotion. That’s why, when I think of Australian music, I think of Boy & Bear.
Nestled in the quaint and lush countryside of the English north-west is the town of Macclesfield. The winding paths of the town’s expansive cemetery are lined with modest gravestones, each commemorating the life of one of Macclesfield’s late citizens. One of these gravestones – no more or less remarkable than those around it – is marked ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’. Its unembellished surface and basic typeface belie the extraordinary story of the man it honours.
In May 1977, an unknown band called Warsaw took the stage for the very first time. Comprised of vocalist Ian Curtis, guitarist Bernard Sumner, bassist Peter Hook and drummer Tony Tabac, the band, formed in Salford the year previous, received rapid and favourable exposure as a result of reviews in the NME and other national publications. By 1978, Stephen Morris had become the band’s permanent drummer and their name had changed to Joy Division, which is a reference to the infamous prostitution wing of the most depraved Nazi concentration camps. It was on that sinister note that Joy Division began recording music – first their An Ideal for Living EP in December of ’78, and then their timeless debut album, Unknown Pleasures, in June 1979.
Joy Division in 1979: (L-R) Peter Hook, Ian Curtis, Bernard Sumner and Stephen Morris
Like many my age, my first encounter with Joy Division was The Wombats‘ 2007 single, Let’s Dance to Joy Division; several years later, and with a broader knowledge of the band in question, the irony of this reference finally dawned on me. Nevertheless, to say that dancing to the gloom of Joy Division is an oxymoron would be untrue, because Curtis himself managed a unique kind of dance floor arrhythmia as he sang. This iconic dancing was said to be a reflection of his worsening bouts of epilepsy, the sudden onset of which marred many of the group’s live performances.
Disorder, then, is an apt beginning. Peter Hook’s bass provides a melodic anchor around which the other instruments float and intersect, their unerring groove pierced by Joy Division’s most striking guitar riff. There is an eerie sheen to Unknown Pleasures that is at odds with the intense moods and experiences the band sought to express. The raw aggression and emotion of their live performances gave way to a sound that was altogether more spacious (with the exception of the short, frenetic Interzone). Recorded, Disorder is almost a pop song. But listen to it and imagine Ian Curtis writhing madly on a dimly-lit stage, Stephen Morris’ drums a cacophony in the confinements of a Manchester club, and I think you get a far better idea of the essence of Joy Division.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhCLalLXHP4
Day of the Lords is gloomier, Hook’s bass less buoyant. Bernard Sumner’s guitar wails above Curtis’ wretched howls of ‘When will it end?’. Motoric percussion leads Candidate down the same dark alley, before a clanging gate introduces Insight, the vocals for which were deliberately recorded down a telephone line. The man responsible for this idea, and the eclectic array of sounds that appear throughout Unknown Pleasures (a bottle being smashed in I Remember Nothing, for example), was producer Martin Hannett. His unconventional methods left the band members divided in their appraisal of the album. Curtis and Morris were pleased, while Sumner and Hook thought it conveyed too dour an atmosphere and all but stifled the elements of punk that surfaced in their live performances.
This temperance is perhaps most apparent in New Dawn Fades; it teeters on the edge of ferocity, but, like a dog with a barking collar, is restrained to merely a snarl. This is a stark contrast to the clean, metronomic percussion of She’s Lost Control, one of the most memorable cuts from the album. The lyrics tell of a girl suffering an epileptic seizure; solemn enough in itself, this topic is made all the more poignant by Curtis’ own immense struggles with epilepsy.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVc29bYIvCM
Music is inextricably linked with emotion. As I get older and experience an array of more complex emotions, I often turn to music for validation and solace. It’s not that Joy Division’s music is the saddest or most relatable; it’s that it resonates in a way that is completely unique. Their remarkable aptitude for balancing sorrow and vigour, conveyed with the authority of Ian Curtis’ haunting baritone, ensured that the band’s existence, while brief, was enormously influential. This brevity was due, tragically, to Curtis’ suicide on the 18th May, 1980. He was 23.
In the end, no-one knows exactly what tore Ian Curtis apart. It might, indeed, have been love, or the failure thereof – his marriage had all but disintegrated – but the true reason he hanged himself in his kitchen is still veiled by conjecture. Fears about the band’s upcoming North American tour, as well as ongoing mental health problems, are probable contributing factors.
As a whole, Unknown Pleasures is an enigma of an album. It’s sparse, yet tremendous, offering as much ambience as it does passion. The circumstances surrounding Ian Curtis’ death undeniably enhance the mystique of Joy Division’s debut; nevertheless, it remains as relevant today as it was 36 years ago, having inspired a myriad post-punk bands at a definite turning point in music history.
Rolls Bayce – a triumvirate of some of Brisbane’s finest musical talent – have released yet another brilliant single. Lost follows on from a myriad of successes for the band over the past year, including a stellar four-track EP – lauded by triple j and the NME, among other trusted media sources – and a slew of support slots for big-name bands such as The Drums and Peace.
Lost is more of the same from a band whose catalogue, while limited, has never failed to impress. Merging psychedelic grooves with the playfulness inherent in so many Brisbane bands, Rolls Bayce are following a hugely effective blueprint. Lost swirls into cohesion, a crackling synth intro the forerunner to a powerful, purposeful guitar line. Dean McGrath‘s vocals soar over spacey loops and the taut, cyclical drumming that binds the song together.
A debut album from Rolls Bayce is slated for release early next year. Until then, we’ll make do with the immaculate singles they continue to gift us.
In October 2012, I attended the first live music event of my life (proper, cool music, that is; I choose to employ selective retention when it comes to Human Nature‘s Here & Now tour of 2002). The cool gig in question was headlined by Brisbane four-piece Last Dinosaurs, whose debut album In a Million Years had been my soundtrack to the latter half of grade 12.
In the years between then and early 2015, the band was relatively quiet. There was no new music and Australian shows were few and far between. This may have been due, at least in part, to the departure of bassist Sam Gethin-Jones in mid-2013. To say that I yearned for the sunny guitar riffs and youthful exuberance of Last Dinosaurs is not merely hyperbole; I really, really missed them. The announcement of a second album and the release of lead single Evie in April had kept me buoyant thus far in 2015, but listening to Wellness in full has been elating.
Opener Take Your Time is bustling with ideas. The focus here is not the guitar (though it is integral), but the trickling, rattling percussive aspects that are woven through drums and synth to form a song that requires proper exploration. Back that up with Evie – a terrific, punchy return single for the band – and you’re off to a damn good start.
What’s more, Karma might just feature my favourite riff of 2015. It’s comparatively sparse, but a moment of simplicity and reflection on an album of fresh ideas and unbridled effervescence is welcome. Out of all the tracks on Wellness, it’s probably the one most reminiscent of the old Last Dinosaurs. At the risk of sounding sappy and nostalgic, it reminds me why I love this band.
Wellness was recorded last summer with the expert guidance of producer Scott Horscroft, who has previously worked with the likes of The Presets and Empire of the Sun. He is largely responsible for the album’s slick and subtle electronic undertones, but, in terms of musical development, this is more of an adaptation than an evolution. Last Dinosaurs are still a riff-happy indie pop group; now, however, they’ve forged a depth and maturity in their sound that was previously absent. Even tracks like Wurl and Always, which start quite unassumingly, become irresistible sonic journeys. From the dreamy whirlpool of the title track – a suitably mellow juncture – to the sheen and bounce of second single Apollo, Wellness is a tremendous, invigorating return to form for Last Dinosaurs.