July was a good month for the sole reason of a free download of Abel’s new track, King Of The Fall. Just over 5 minutes long, this pounding R&B track seems to mark an up-tempo shift from his last album, Kiss Land, yet still boasts those trademark lyrics that will make your knees weak and cheeks blush.
Illangelo – Clockwork feat. Phlo Finister
Released on the Bromance #16 Compilation in May, I am kicking myself for only hearing Illangelo’s track with the dreamy, breathy vocals of Phlo Finister now. Both are two new names for me, but this song has me searching the world wide web backtracking all of their respective works. As executive producer on The Weeknd’s Trilogy and signed to the Bromance label, Illangelo is weaving through the cusp of moody R&B and avant-garde dance music, with a sound that is a rich and electric futuristic R&B . Illangelo’s references are as beautiful and provocative as his music, his first album History of Man inspired by Milton’s Paradise Lost and his this latest track, Clockwork “was inspired by a love of 60′s/70′s music and film mixed with 90′s trip hop as well as the famous Youthquake movement of 1960s fashion, musical and cultural movement coined by Vogue’s editor-in-chief Diana Vreeland in 1965.” Wow. This guy could teach me a lot.
Nao vs. A. K. Paul – So Good
Nao is my favourite musical discovery of late, and despite only having two songs on her soundcloud page, I have had them on repeat throughout July. The teasing synth opening of So Good is SO GOOD, and hits straight away with the distinctive retro-futuristic R&B sound of A.K.Paul (Jai Paul’s brother – Proud mother award or what?!) that he does best. I love listening to music like this as each sound is so rich and perplexing it makes it a really intriguing listen, funky synths interspersed with little two second snippets of guitar which sound like they have snuck their way off a Jai Paul editing room floor.
Peace – Lost On Me
Peace have perfected the art of the summer song. – again! Lost on me reminds me of last year’s Wraith thanks to its simple but fruity guitar riffs with and fun and flirty lyrics like ‘I love it when it hits the lightning from your lips’ – simple lyrics, which I have to admit leave me a little starry eyed. This song is an undeniable toe-tapper and the groovy falsetto backing vocals make singing those cutesy-poo lyrics double the fun.
SBTRKT – NEW DORP. NEW YORK. (ft. Ezra Koenig)
New Dorp New York dropped out of nowhere along with the announcement of the release of SBTRKT’s new album Wonder Where We Land . If Jerome’s new album is anything like this teaser track, we’re in for some not-so straight sounding new jams. New Dorp isn’t the new ‘Derp’ meme I was hoping for, but in fact a small neighborhood in Staten Island, and this song pays a tribute to the Big Apple. For me Ezra Koening’s jaunty vocals and mish mash of percussion and synths have this song sprawling out over all of NYC, painting a sonic map of the city and its boroughs, each chorus, twitching bass line and sparse bellowing of drums building up the chaotic and complex density of the city.
This time last week I was on my way to see Jack White at L’Olympia in Paris. I’ve already seen Jack White twice in concert, once as one half of The White Stripes in Belfast, the other on his ownio as ‘Jack White’ at Alexandra Palace in London. Anyone who has seen Mr White in concert can agree – the man is incredible live, and damn does he put on a good show. His new album Lazaretto has me sitting on the fence , but having peeked at recent setlists online and seeing that my favourite Icky Thump was now on the cards, I could not wait to see him again live . Getting ready to leave for the concert I did my usual mental check list. Rucksack that wasn’t bulky enough to peeve off other concert-goers? Check. Ticket and relevant ID? Check. Phone and camera? Ahhh the camera. Was there really any point in lugging this hefty little guy in my backpack when I knew that he would probably spend the evening in my roomy backpack as I took in the Third Man Record show with my own eyes? I had just loaded my Olympus Trip with a roll of black and white film which was kind of pointless as I know Jack White has a ban on photography and filming at his shows. And yet my fingers were crossed.
Walking up to the venue I spotted the white A4 pages, walking through the venue I spotted the white A4 pages, and at the stage I spotted the white A4 pages. Each one stressing that all recording is forbidden. Full stop. And then, just before the show starts, one of Jack’s roadies, dapper in his black trilby and trouser braces comes on stage accompanied by a not-so-dandified French translator, and we listen to the spiel in French and in English of how there is to be zero recording of the show. This is real life, what’s happening at that moment is real, so get that little LCD screen out of your face and use the two camera lenses God gave you – YOUR EYES (my words but you catch my drift…) The impatient crowd woops and the clatter of lock buttons sounds as phones are coyly slid into pockets, and people use camera wrist straps for their intended purpose for the first time.
The French are hardly known for playing by the rules, but I take my Third Man Record fedora hat off to them, as throughout the show I did not see one person reach for a device. I don’t think I could ever deny it – it was so refreshing to be at a concert where rows of hundred pound devices weren’t shakily being thrust up in the air
When Jack White comes on stage he grabs a Polaroid camera that is resting on a stand. He takes a few photos, with flash: his band, the crowd, himself. He whirs them into the audience like frisbees and I pray that one flutters my direction.
None do.
As a man known for his visual precision, the set design was the most impressive I had seen yet – three incredible hovering, ominous speakers glowing blue and white, set up to mimic the Third Man logo were lowered, rotated and pivoted throughout the show. The heavy blue curtain drawn round the stage while the band got ready. The immaculate silver violins and cellos. The lighting. The retro TV screen flickering with the Third Man logo. The fancy cowboy boots. It is all so photo worthy.
In his recent controversial Rolling Stone interview, White stated “If you know anything about me, do you think I like digital photography? No. I don’t.” I don’t really like digital photography too Jack. Well, not at concerts anyway. But I do like photography at concerts. Not view obstructing, inconsiderate filming of whole concerts that will stay in a video library to only be watched once or twice. Not phones glued to hands snapping every new chord played. I like people having a good time and wanting to take a picture of that moment to do whatever they want to do with it. Snapchat, Instagram, Vine, whatever. Concerts are exciting places to be and venues can offer so many different perspectives and views of a stage or crowd, it’s hard to resist taking a snap or two. I really enjoy looking on different social media sites the morning after a concert I attended, and having a look at the different photos people have taken seeing what their shots can reveal to me, or what moments they can help me relive.
Over the last few years I have really enjoyed bringing film cameras to concerts to experiment with. More discreet than DSLRs and digital cameras, I have found disposable cameras and little 35mm upgrades perfect for snapping bands at gigs. Of course, I am a sucker for the romanticised image of film photography too, and I’m currently amassing a little collection of photos and shots from the concerts I have been to which I’ll probably put into a scrapbook at some stage. I am not a very experienced photographer, so the results of my efforts are often amateur, but I really do enjoy experimenting with new films, trying out different shooting methods and waiting for them to be processed to see the results! Sometimes the photos can come out a flop (read on for the HAIM incident) and I haven’t stopped taking a snap or two on my iPhone for Instagram’s sake, but at the moment I’m getting snap-happy with my little Olympus Trip.
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The tie dye photo above is from HAIM‘s show at Le Trianon in April. Front of the crowd, I was closest to bassist Este (my favourite HAIM sister – squee!) so I got to see her epic bass face in all its glory. While the girls were as magical and incredible live as I had hoped (if you want to see Girl Power in action GET YOUR HAIM TICKETS AND GET EM NOW) sadly the rainbow tie dye effect is not from their mystical musical powers, but rather the result of a litre bottle of Evian leaking in my bag, seeping its way through my camera. A little warning then to the potential photographers out there – either get a sensible geeky camera case or make sure if you have dearly loved film in your camera it is kept in a protected space. Optional third piece of advice? DON’T BE A NUMPTY LIKE JOJO AND MAKE SURE YOUR BOTTLE LID IS SCREWED ON TIGHTLY. Thankfully, I love how this water damage made this photo a riot of colour.
Arctic Monkeys at Palau Olimpic, Barcelona 2013
Arctic Monkeys in concert? There was no way I was leaving my camera at home! Alex Turner is such a mover and shaker, so if you can focus your lens and catch him when he strikes those exaggerated poses and dad-dancing shimmies , they are golden! Unlike other smaller venues with the up and coming acts that I usually try and snap, the Palau Olimpic is an epic stadium, but I would like to think my hours of queuing were worth it for a front row spot as close to Alex Turner as possible! It was the first time I had tried shooting with B&W film and although I was anxious to see if the lighting would pay off or not, I love how they turned out. The laser lighting effect in most of the pictures gives a sense of the scale of the stage and show, and although the guys are quite small in the shots, I challenge any eye not to be drawn to those jaunty hips! The stage was big and at quite a distance from the crowd, so I don’t think my shots reflect how close I was to the band , but oh well, that’s what you get when you use a little 35mm camera with a fixed lens.
Summer Camp at Point Éphémère, Paris 2013
The Point Éphémère is located along Canal Saint Martin, and is an unassuming venue that can offer itself as a bit of a blank canvas to all kinds of music acts and genres. Summer Camp had this great video installment behind them, which during their set projected clips from Ferris Bueller, Pretty in Pink, Ghostbusters – all the classics! It almost felt like being at a little house party, with a movie screening, a cool crowd, good beer and even better music. Their sound is unpretentious, infectious pop, and while some might find the fairy lights, retro movies and 80s white blazers a bit too twee, I thought they did a great job of turning a cold little French basement into their own tropical teen pop paradise.
Deap Vally at Nouveau Casino, Paris 2014
I have a serious girl crush on Deap Vally…which only got worse after seeing them live. Lindsey and Troy seriously know how to rock out, and there’s no better place to do so than at Nouveau Casino on grungey rue Oberkampf. I noticed a lot of cameras at this concert, but not in an obnoxious way – people just seemed to want to catch some of their raw edge for themselves, a picture to stick on the fridge probably (new mantra: today I will be a Woman of Intention and channel badass Deap Vally – with zero fucks to give) I was to the front and right of the stage, prime location to see Julie beat it out on the drums – she has the most incredible mane of red, curly hair so when she’s going heavy it’s the coolest thing to watch.
Tom Odell at Le Trabendo, Paris 2013
Le Trabendo is one of my favourite concert venues in Paris, and I think a lot of this love is thanks to Tom Odell! With two levels for standing, a pit near the stage and a raised porch like area at the back, it’s perfect for both those who want to get as close as physically possible to the stage and for those who want to hang back and dance, and perhaps get to see the act over the sea of bobbing heads. I was a bit dubious as to how long my attention span would last watching a guy (albeit a very cute one) play piano, however the energy and emotion from Tom and the band was incredible. Electrifying. As albums go, ‘Long Way Down’ is quite intense and morose at times, but far from walking away feeling glum at the end of the evening and close to sending some soppy texts I would regret (always the fear) I left Le Trabendo absolutely blown away by Tom’s talent and only a sinking feeling of regret for not having taken piano lessons when I was younger. On a first glance, my pictures of Tom behind the piano don’t convey the energy of his music or his fantastic stage presence, but I think there’s something quite pretty about them as photos nonetheless. If you want to see some of his live talent for yourself, watch his cover of Etta James and try not to melt at his sexy sass…
Django Django at 100 Club, London 2012Best Coast at 100 Club, London 2012
Time for a 2012 throwback! I won two tickets to a Converse gig at the historic 100 Club in London, and while Santigold was the headliner, I was far more excited to see my latest musical discovery at that time, Django Django. I think this is the first concert I had been to that was in such an ‘intimate’ venue, and it was definitely the first concert I had taken a film camera too. The line up was eclectically wonderful with Friends, Citizens!, Best Coast, Django Django and Santigold taking the very small stage throughout the evening. Once all of Django’s synths and percussion instruments had got on stage, there really wasn’t much room for the guys to move around to their psychedelic beats, but the audience more than made up for it. The venue was hot, sweaty and overcrowded, but that didn’t stop people snapping away with their phones and devices, spurred on by the promoted brand’s hashtags and digital signups to “share” the event. These photos were taken on a little Fujifilm disposable which thankfully, despite being within touching distance, didn’t blind anyone on stage with its flash.
I can still remember how bloomin excited I was to go to this concert! I’m not from Brighton, but by the off-chance was on holiday there when this free Peace/Jaws/Gabriel Bruce gig was happening. The Green Door Store is essentially a cool dive bar with a big cellar in the back that makes the perfect place to jump around and for teenage rascals to start mosh pits. I am a big fan of Peace, and at the time they were my most prized new-indie-band discovery. A few days before this gig they had released their super catchy song Wraith, and after a day of non stop listening, I knew every “ice age sugar” lyric. From looking at this photo you would perhaps think that I was creepily close to the band, stage level, hands at an inappropriate distance and all up in their grill, but that’s because the crowd was so lively, those at the front of the small venue were being physically pushed onto the stage, so we did end up get creepily close to the band – sorry guys! This was another cheap disposable camera outing, and how that camera and plastic case survived the night and remained in one piece is still a mystery to me. The next morning my legs were black and blue from being pushed and shoved by the aggressively fun crowd, but it was totally worth it as Peace’s music lived up to my expectations. Not a very Peace-ful crowd, but the band set off a confetti canon at the end of the set which was a glorious display of ART-illery.
Snow Patrol at Limelight, Belfast 2013
I don’t particularly like this shot of Snow Patrol, however it was the only photo I took (on my last bit of film!) at their ‘secret’ concert around New Years in Belfast. Although I wouldn’t say that it’s a particularly good picture, I was standing near the back of the crowd, so I’m not too displeased at how it turned out! I ended up stumbling across this gig after having dinner in Belfast with one of my best friends. Rumours were swirling that Northern Ireland’s musical pride and joy, Snow Patrol, were set to play an Alzheimer’s Researchcharity gig, so once our bellies were filled with burgers, we made our way round to the Limelight and nabbed the last two tickets. It was a short and sweet, mellow set of acoustic versions of their most popular songs, and despite not being a big Snow Patrol fan, it’s a well known fact that being a Northern Irish citizen growing up with car rides and corner shops that blare Cool FM through the speakers, one is a student of the Snow Patrol syllabus from a young age. so I was able to sing word perfect to with every song without really knowing how or why I could. Over the years Gary Lightbody and the rest of the boys have consistently sold out concerts throughout the province (my mum still has their iconic performance in front of City Hall for the MTV EMAs saved on the Sky+ box and refuses to delete it. Ever.) so it felt quite special coming home for a few days at Christmas, and by chance, getting to see such a loved and appreciated band with their home crowd in a low-key setting. How very Northern Irish!
Cheap disposable cameras – you’re always there when I need you! Over exposed, grainy and thumb-bombed, this photo probably demonstrates why concert photography should be left to those with special lanyards, and ‘costs more than your house’ DSLRs harnessed on cushioned back straps. Yet, squint your eyes and let’s rethink. That man with the shaggy mop of dark hair and blue guitar in hand? Dave Grohl. DAVE GROHL. Live. 30 minutes from where I live. Eek. I took this photo , just like all the photos above, at a really happy moment – jamming out to a band who make me feel so many feeeeels- and just looking at it brings the memories flooding back.
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I’m going to keep toting my analogue camera with me to different concerts as I’m really enjoying furthering my interest in photography through doing so, while building up a little collection of photos of some of my favourite bands and artists that I can look back at in years to come. My main concern when shooting anything is that I don’t want to annoy or bother anyone – not the musician, my fellow concert goers, nor the professional photographers. It seems that the current state of concert photography has become selfish and in doing so, is tarnishing the act itself. What’s the point in going to see an artist live, breathing, singing, moving right in front of you, when we’re all experiencing it through the fourth wall of a screen or device? Photographs are not a substitute for memory, but they can aid and renew it, so let’s not outlaw cameras at concerts, but instead make them a conscious part of the experience.
Another throwback tidbit , this time a few words on Fall Out Boy’s CLASSIC TUNE (thank you Kerrang TV) Dance, Dance that was part of a great feature on the songs from our childhood and teenage years. Varsity, Lent 2013, accompanied by lovely illustrations by Lizzie Marx.
Writing these kind of pieces can always be cringe-inducing, and being forced to look back and fess up to my wee self’s penchant for punk-pop anthems, sung by boys who applied eyeliner better than me, made me giggle . Dance, Dance came at a really interesting time in terms of my relationship with music. We had just had an NTL box installed, and it became the new family member , and soon to be loved more than some of those in the household . I can still feel the waxy coated buttons under my skin as I flicked through the twenty or so music channels I now had at my fingertips. From that moment, Kerrang TV and Q TV exposed me to new rock/indie/pop-punk bands and songs that I had stayed away from in HMV, for they were the ones branded with the forbidden mark – the stripy zebra code of the law-touting, moral-corrupting, ‘PARENTAL ADVISORY’.
Most of the videos I binged on were similar: High school or house party (bonus points for a swimming pool so you can have that ‘slow-mo, fully clothed pool jump shot’!) + mosh pit crowd + deus ex machina (usually a pretty girl) = music video that wins zero VMA awards ever, but wins all the Moonmen in our teenage hearts. As videos go, Dance, Dance isn’t anything special, but I think the united force of adorable Pete Wentz throwing pebbles at a crush’s window + a prom so American that it’s worthy of Molly Ringwald + emo sideplot of being the alternative kids in school = Joanne’s favourite music video and new favourite band. Having seen Fall Out Boy in Paris, Le Zénith earlier this year it’s safe to say that things haven’t changed much. I can still sing every song word perfect and dance it out to Wentz’s Prom King worthy groove (starting at 3:55 with that geriatric pelvic thrust). Also let us never forget that paper boy hat/striped blazer combo that Pat wears in the video – proof that our younger selves are always cringeworthy.
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I can remember when socialising became so much more than knocking on neighbours’ doors to watch Hey Arnold and weekend birthday parties to the Pizza Hut Ice-Cream Factory. The arrival of a clunky PC sent my My Little Ponies trotting off to the attic, as I debated whether green Comic Sans or hot pink Curlz MT reflected ‘Joanne’ the best on the worldwideweb. Being online revealed the personalities of the faces I saw daily in school, yet with whom I had never exchanged words. Bebo flashboxes and lyrical MSN taglines exposed shared favourite bands and became conversation starters.
Chat logs soon became friendships IRL as we swapped the warm glow of our screens for traipsing round local dingy youth clubs. Despite the enthusiastic ‘nudges’ and extrovert emoticons we spoke fluently in online, there was no avoiding our teenage awkwardness in person. Praise be to Pete Wentz then, as the dense beat and pulsating riffs of Fall Out Boy’s’ Dance Dance’ was the needed call to (raise our) arms, and send checked Vans squeaking onto the sticky floor, while sweat bands suddenly became a bit soggy from all the emo exertion. Our erratic limb flailing shouldn’t be called dancing, but those lollypop guitar licks were the sugar highs we all needed to let go and ask AWHFY?
A little piece about my love of vinyl that I wrote for Varsity, Michaelmas 2013.
The year is 2004. Shaun of the Dead takes the UK by storm, and I cant help but laugh as a desperate Simon Pegg lobs cumbersome vinyl records at zombies. A few weeks later I see a Young Enterprise group selling kitsch bowls made from 12” and 7” discs melted down, molded and warped into whimsy knickknacks.
Things weren’t looking too good for vinyl records back them. From being threatened by sexier, slimmer and shinier products, to being depicted in a box office hit as the ideal missile fodder to fight a zombie apocalypse, the future was looking bleak for the humble record. And let’s speak no more of the whippersnappers set on boiling them down in the vain attempt of making a quick buck while adding a few credits to their CV…
But oh how the (turn)tables have turned! It’s 2013, and figures released last week from the British Phonographic Industry reveal that vinyl record sales are at a ten year high. I can see my 2004 self, frosty pink iPod ‘mini’ in hand, rolling her eyes in disbelief that I am now a contributor to the statistic that 18 to 24 year olds are buying more vinyl records than any other age group under 50.
Eager music fan I am, but trained audiophile (sadly) I am not. With an aural ability that is less Lassie, and more on par with your gran’s 12 year old gammy eyed mutt, I would probably struggle to differentiate a vinyl pressing from a FLAC, AAC or 256 bit-rate MP3 file on a blind listen. My iTunes library contents can play longer than I can survive without water, and yet this abundance of music that spans genres, decades and countries wasn’t enough to stop me from wanting to experience the vinyl record revival.
Unlike well-behaved digital files, orderly squeezed into itty-bitty bytes, I’ve found that owning vinyl is akin to having a gremlin. They need to be supervised, kept out of direct sunlight and it’s best not to get them wet. Expose them to any of the above, and they’ll become warped, bulbous rascals, spitting and hissing every chance they get.
However, I cherish every crackle and hiss of these impish records, my ear tuning in to every play, discovering a new quirk or distortion. The very act of playing a vinyl is problematic in that playing them and enjoying them is often what damages them. As anyone who enjoys live music will know, it is often the technical hiccups, and instrumental fuck ups that reanimate a track you might have listened to countless times. Although it may not be the artist’s intention for you to hear these flaws, ageing vinyl offers the listener a new perspective on what was a fixed experience; imparting them with a new listening, a new memory.
Vinyl aficionados extol the sonic warmth of the medium, but be warned, this warmth will probably end up burning a hole in your pocket. From looking after turntables to buying discs, investing in vinyl isn’t for those lacking in heart (or dollar).
For a vinyl aficionado the thrill is in the experience. They embark on intrepid adventures in their quest to perfect their collection. They risk asbestos poisoning as they root around their uncle’s attic in search of the Bowie LP that was loosely mentioned in conversation two years ago. Rising at the crack of dawn, they trek far and wide to car boot sales in far-flung parishes with the hope of uncovering their idea of the Holy Grail – a pristine pressing of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon”. They will find themselves crouching on their knees in musty charity shops, calling upon the spirits of Dr Barnardos and Marie Curie to take pity on them, by miraculously revealing a £2 12” of Prince’s Purple Rain or Mac’s Rumors, behind the moth eaten cardigans and Bunty annuals,
Graham Jones, author of Last Shop Standing has voiced that “Vinyl has saved many record shops and it is the reason that since 2009 more independent record shops have opened in the UK than closed.” Resident records in Brighton, Rough Trade East in Brick lane and the record stalls in Cambridge’s own market square all offer original or remastered LPs, rare 7” singles along with more current indie offerings from the likes of Vampire Weekend, The Black Keys and Arcade Fire.
The aesthetic appeal of records shouldn’t be undermined as mere, vacuous shelf props. Take The Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band for example. A tiny LCD screen cannot do justice for the trippy LSD magic of that cover. Look at the 12” case (a true miniature cardboard canvas), and ask yourself what famous face would you want to be stood beside in the lineup? Which hat would you don from the eclectic collection of boaters to stripy bonnets? That record was revolutionary at the time for not only production values, but for being the first to print lyrics on the back of the cover sleeve. Reading those lysergic etchings while being blinded by the dayglo riot of the cover art secures it as a psychedelic masterpiece. For such a grandiose album, replete with lyrical and visual nuances, it comes as no surprise that the tangible product is in tune with the music. A personal favourite is the 1969 Let it Bleed from The Rolling Stones. A surreal pictorial concoction of the vinyl being played by an antique phonograph, while the record changer supports several items, including a tire, pizza and a gaudy iced cake by our beloved Delia Smith. Somehow, the idea of a modern day reenactment, a Hummingbird red velvet cupcake smooshed onto an iPod nano just doesn’t cut it for me.
While I profess my new found appreciation for vinyl, I can’t say that I will be waving my white USB cable in complete surrender to analogue any time soon. Whether it’s played through an iPod or spun on a turntable, my primary concern, is that what’s playing is good.
The Meep 