The Beths live at Brudenell Social Club review – bubbly, light and a little safe
22
Apr

10,000 miles away from home, the fact that New Zealand indie rock outfit The Beths sold out Leeds’ Brudenell Social Club is remarkable in itself. What’s more, Elizabeth Stokes’ confessional yet light-hearted compositions were warmly received, even if her set lacked ambition.

Iam often amazed when I arrive at gigs to walk into a room packed full of people that all share a love of a single artist or band. When I’m with likeminded friends or at a gig the magnitude of something like Sam Fender in an arena it’s less remarkable, but when I’m stepping out of a cab in Hyde Park and joining a small queue outside the Brudenell for a rock band that has long been a private affection of mine, it’s a very strong feeling indeed. Having travelled from the other side of the world, the Beths were in our corner of Yorkshire for one night only and, ensconsed in the growing hubbub of bona fide fans, it felt like quite the occasion.

My surprise about the crowd should do nothing to belittle a band very much on the rise, not least in their home country, where they were one spot away from landing themselves a number one album with 2020’s solid Jump Rope Gazers. Sunny vocal harmonies help them stand out from the vast number of traditional four-piece rock bands around the world, as does their frontwoman Elizabeth Stokes, whose light, somewhat aloof vocal style is a surprisingly good match for her unfettered and confessional lyricism. Tonight her nonchalance is on full display, punfunctorily announcing her band name and their Aukland origin in the aftermath of screeching opener I’m Not Getting Excited. Even Stokes found it hard to stifle a smile as the crowd cheered and waved; an opening, repeated single guitar note is a well known rock trope, and on this song it was effective as ever in building anticipation for the first entry of the competent and confident performers around Stokes.

Only occasionally did the band regain the giddy heights of their strong opener. Cosy rock ballad Jump Rope Gazers was one highlight and perhaps the best singalong number of the night. Here Stokes’ vulnerable songwriting is shown at its most poignant. “I think I loved you the whole time, how could this happen?” she wailed to us heartbreakingly. The belting Uptown Girl – probably the punkiest two minutes and 43 seconds of the Beths’ discography to date – was an inspired choice of follow-up, with Stokes drowning out her sorrows and flexing her lead guitar muscles with one nut-tight riff after another. Throw in the sweet falsetto harmonies of Jonathan Pearce and Benjamin Sinclair, plus the furious snare fills of Tristan Deck and the result is the Beths at their exhilarating best.

Stokes’ songwriting may have been consistently good, but this routine showing did little to add to what we’d all already experienced on their two studio albums. Four-part vocal harmonies came at the cost of on-stage stasis, with every single performer tethered to the microphone set up in front of them. On such a small stage there’s little else they could have done, but any adaptation of the studio recordings whatsoever was sorely needed to make the gig feel like anything other than four musicians doing their job (albeit very well). Some endearing bandmate banter and compliments towards the Brudenell’s bespoke pastry offerings were about as special this set got.

Nonetheless, a band as rich in solid rock songs as the Beths can get away with not producing an all-round performance. It’s telling that even with the omission gritty debut single Idea/Intent and, tragically, Don’t Go Away (the best song from the band’s latest album), the set was not short on compelling songs. Po-faced guitarist Jonathan Pearce was suitably focused for the superbly squelchy guitar solo on Whatever before giving way to a chant of “baby, you’re breaking my heart!”. It was a hook so catchy and joyful the cliché lyrics only seemed to make the whole thing even more of a joy to experience. Little Death sounded much more impactful live, and the chorus spawned a surprisingly ferocious mosh pit that had me and the tamer fans around me periodically checking over our shoulders for the next time a crazed youth might barge into the back of us.

Jonathan Pearce and Elizabeth Stokes both gave solid performances on guitar

The set was not without lulls, not least an unnamed and unreleased song which on first listen sounded about as middle of the road as the Beths get. I remain unconvinced by the very risky and somewhat clumsy chorus on recent single A Real Thing and forgettable Dying to Believe was a disappointing closing number. It was the penultimate song, River Run: Lvl 1, that instead brought the emotional pinnacle of the night. Initially reflective and later propulsive, the song shifted between shades of Stokes’ raw emotions gracefully, with the sweet release of the chorus (“a river will run”) a surefire trigger for waterworks of a different kind amongst many of the fans around me. An awe-inspiring bridge was the one moment of the night where the four Kiwis managed to produce a piece of art that felt greater than themselves, and easily good enough to transcend the four walls of the Brudenell. For a few moments, I could well and truly lose myself in the flow of the music and, tellingly for the crowd around me, the reaction was calmed appreciation as opposed to manic moshing.

The Beths may be two full-length albums deep into their career, but there was a sense on the night that – to their credit or otherwise – bigger things are still to come for the Beths. The quality of the music is hugely promising, and a bigger, bolder performance from Stokes and her bandmates could easily turn the Beths’ live set into a force to be reckoned with. It may be years until they take another long haul flight or two back to the UK, but I feel certain they’ll be heading for grander venues armed with more remarkable sets. Let world domination ensue.

Lizzy McAlpine: five seconds flat review – indie-folk star raises the stakes
15
Apr

She may be yet to firmly establish her own distinctive sound, but Lizzy McAlpine strikes gold on several occasions on this sophomore LP destined to be one of the more compelling and consistent breakup albums of the year.

There’s a remarkable moment about seven minutes into Lizzy McAlpine’s second album, five seconds flat. After two verses and choruses with building menace, a bridge sees McAlpine’s belted vocals almost entirely consumed by a pair of battling, distorted synth lines that switch violently from one ear to the other and back again. Supported by the throb of an electronic kick drum and a gunshot-like snare sound, the result is a gutsy minute or two of industrial-leaning electronic music before McAlpine takes back control by way of an acoustic guitar breakdown, bringing the various musical strands of the masterful erase me back together for the big denouement. This meshing of acoustic and electronic instrumentation – often considered risky or plainly wrong by much of the modern pop industry – is totally uncharted territory for McAlpine, an artist much more used to the comfortable, folk constraints of an acoustic guitar and perhaps the occasional upright piano. Take her excellent 2021 project, When The World Stopped Moving, which unpacked the global trauma of the pandemic with intimate, acoustic solo recordings, putting a spotlight on McAlpine’s outstanding vocal ability in the process. To hear just a few moments of her now delving into electronic pop with such spectacular results is hugely promising.

Elsewhere on the singer-songwriter’s sophomore effort there are plenty more surprises to enjoy. all my ghosts, for instance, finds itself wading deeper and deeper into indie rock territory as the song progresses, culminating in a spectacular final minute. The saccarine sentimentalism of McAlpine’s debut album still lingers (“You got a Slurpee for free / I caught you lookin’ at me in the 7-Eleven”), but this time its accompanied by musical fireworks by way of sparkling performance from McAlpine’s band. By contrast, an ego thing‘s quirky minimalism wouldn’t sound out of place on a Billie Eilish record, with Eilish’s uncomfortably close ASMR whispers traded for McAlpine’s bell-clear, Broadway-ready vocals.

Besides showcasing risks that McAlpine’s debut album so sorely lacked, five seconds flat excels as an album clearly thought out and smartly executed. Halloween themes are established by stark opener doomsday and crop up throughout the following 13 tracks. It’s a strong, excellently produced opener, although the obvious extended funeral metaphor for the breakup in question comes across as somewhat lazy. The driving metaphor of reckless driving is even more laboured and uninspired (“Would you hold me when we crash or would you let me go?”), but an exciting crescendo to finish before a abrupt finish (presumably the car crash in question) partly saves the song.

Spacey follow-up weird feels appropriately like an exploration of the afterlife, and the intimate vocals and distant percussion and guitars lend it the same vaguely comforting feeling of a Phoebe Bridgers song with slightly less poetic lyrics. ceilings is a much better display of McAlpine’s lyrical ability, describing an idyllic young love that turns out to be entirely imaginary by the time we reach a devastating final chorus. The country-tinged instrumentation – complete with a beautiful strings arrangement – is utterly gorgeous, and McAlpine’s delicately sung melody floats above it all like a butterfly. Compositionally, it may be the least ambitious moment on the whole album, but it also happens to be one of the most exquisite acoustic ballads McAlpine has ever written – and she’s written many.

Just when the album begins to get a little emotionally heavy, McAlpine hits us with firearm, a power pop left hook that attempts the success of similar recent attempts at noisy rock from both Eilish and Bridgers. five seconds flat‘s rock moment is not quite as explosive or expansive as Happier Than Ever or I Know The End, but it does still pack a punch, with McAlpine at one point asking whether a breakup was over “fame or the lack thereof”, having been convinced that she was loved. As McAlpine returns to her usual acoustic guitar moments later, there’s a sense that the pure anger just showcased hasn’t gone away completely but has rather been bottled back up inside her, ready to be unleashed again whenever she sees fit. I can only hope McAlpine lets her inner anger out more often on future releases.

nobody likes a secret and chemtrails are much less stylistically interesting, but the latter is a particularly heartbreaking elegy to McAlpine’s father. “I see chemtrails in the sky, but I don’t see the plane,” McAlpine sings poignantly, reflecting on the impact her father has made on her, even after his passing. Wistful home audio recordings close the track, and the goofy “goodnight!” from a young Lizzy feels like a more permanent goodbye. Fast-pased indie pop track orange show speedway ends the album nicely, suitably restrained in its cheeriness in the wake of chemtrails.

Looking back on the album in its entirety, McAlpine’s musical style is consitently interesting and varied, almost to a fault. We are yet to hear McAlpine’s definitive sound or hear much to distinguish her from the plethora of similar female American singer-songwriters. That said, this female American singer-songwriter is producing more impressive songs than most, and the sharp stylistic shifts and attention-grabbing production decisions that crop up throughout five seconds flat deserve plenty of praise. Her full potential hasn’t quite been realised yet, but judging by her current forward momentum it won’t be long until McAlpine is producing records even more exciting than this one.

Cory Wong live at Manchester Academy review – utterly tireless
1
Apr

On his first post-pandemic UK performance the prolific funk guitarist aptly delivered a vast amount of music with flair, showmanship and boundless enthusiasm. A strong entourage of improvisers helped compensate for weak songwriting on a night when objective critique became difficult.

Perhaps I haven’t learnt my lesson. Just like a few weeks ago, I found myself sitting in a Mancunian branch of McDonald’s with a familiar posse of friends, fuelling up before another gig for an artist I’ve never quite been convinced by. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I should have seen a potential repeat of my middling experience with Samm Henshaw coming from a mile off.

One thing that I was certain of was that Cory Wong would give us a proper show and a proper horns section (Matt did well to spot the saxophone on stage ahead of time). The rubber wristed guitarist doesn’t seem to do anything but perform, be it on one of his extensive UK and US tours or on his own high-budget YouTube talk show. He’s already got a staggering six live albums under his belt (plus a not-too-shabby 12 studio albums). To keep this man away from any sizable venue for longer than six months – let alone the nigh-on three year gap since his last visit to Manchester – is no mean feat. Such a massive output of songs makes it hard to keep on top of it all even from a listener’s perspective, and even the most eager Wong fans amongst my friends happily admitted that listening to every Wong album was a level of commitment they were not quite prepared for. Picking out songs to watch for was made doubly hard by the fact Wong is such a frequent collaborator – standout tracks Golden and Cosmic Sans required surprise appearances from Cody Fry and Tom Misch which, despite our crossed fingers, never quite came to fruition.

There was nonetheless a strong lineup in support of Wong in the uninspiring black box of Manchester Academy. Kevin Gastonguay, for instance, was a machine both on his Nord keyboard and Hammond B3, his improvisations often adding a pleasant touch of adventurous jazz fusion to the set. Petar Janjic was also a standout performer on drums, delivering thunderous solos occasionally followed by a triumphant flip of the sticks or a knowing smile to Wong. Then there was saxophonist and former BBC Young Jazz Musician of the Year Alexander Bone (Wong claimed he was a local to the crowd’s delight, but after a bit of research I’m not so sure), the best of a three-part horn section. His solos steered clear of showy high notes of rapid passages, instead offering tastefully controlled builds that melded well with Wong’s compositions.

Wong himself, model-like with his pearly whites and showbiz suit that nicely matched his signature stratocaster, of course provided an impeccable performance on guitar, refusing to stop moving on even his softer, calmer tracks. His solos tended to be the most expansive and often headed for scratchy classic rock finales before slick transitions back to rhythm guitar playing. Home and Meditation were some of the more spectacular slow burners, even if the material Wong was basing his solos on was rarely particularly compelling.

Therein lies the problem with Wong’s music: attempting to put the texture-building discipline of rhythm guitar front and centre is a challenge he has never quite lived up to. Too often his guitar hooks are colourless and repetitive (take Lilypad for example) and his funk-by-numbers grooves tend to have few defining features. Often it took a standout performance from the rest of the band for the show to reach its best moments. Frenzied Assassin, for instance, was an exciting listen impressively performed by Bone, but tellingly a tune which saw Wong’s guitar sit behind the more interesting horns section. St. Paul was another highlight that nicely showed off just how unbelievably tight the rhythm section was, with its razor sharp stops and showstopping drum fills. Gastonguay’s bluesy piano solo was also one of the best of the evening. On no song did it feel like the band had even a frissen of sloppiness – this was funk at its most crystal clean, and the level of sheer talent onstage was dazzling.

Screeching guitar solos often had Wong squirming

The gig’s biggest challenge was just how long it was. In typical Wong style, we were dealt well over two hours of funk, which got tiring even despite the interval. The show wasn’t completely without light and shade, but much of the runtime was spent with so-so funk numbers that had a tendency to merge into one. It was all easy listening, but such a long show demanded a little more variety. Perhaps a solo number from Wong might have been what the evening needed; that or a larger selection of sure-fire hits, which Wong seems to be lacking, at least without the support of a surprise guest vocalist. What was impressive was just how well Wong and his band maintained their high-energy displays of musicianship. Never did it feel like any single player was tiring throughout the night, and Wong bounced around like an excited toddler both at the very beginning and very end of the performance.

I found myself struggling as the show grew to its finish, but not just due to my reservations about Wong’s performance. I was feeling increasingly ill and in need of water, and my nausea fuelled panic which fuelled more nausea. Once Wong had finished a particularly lengthy-seeming song I shouted an explanation over the loud applause in my friend Manon’s ear and queasily made my way to the bar, hands beginning to tingle.

Sitting on the floor in the nicely chilled foyer with a pint of water beside me I felt some relief, although I was missing the entire climax of Wong’s set. It took fifteen minutes and a familiar song to get me back on my feet and to the back of the crowd. If there was a bass line that could cure any ailment it would be that of Dean Town, a Vulfpeck cult classic and the ultimate crowd-pleasing set closer. I was a little sad as I watched the tune come and go from a distance, the audience singing the through-composed bass line note by note as is Vulfpeck tradition. It should have been an ecstatic highlight. Instead I was glad it was time to head home.

The crowd was jubilant as Wong and his band performed Dean Town at the end of the set

My aim is to keep my overall criticisms on Undertone as objective as possible, and I’m trying my best to ignore my minor illness on the night when I say that Cory Wong’s show genuinely won’t go down as one of my all-time favourites. The musical ability was undeniable, but more compelling songwriting and a much more concise set were needed if I was to have any hope of ignoring the increasing unease in my stomach. I can see why the crowd around me (and my friends in particular) seemed to love every second of it, but for me this night was one that will live in the memory for mostly the wrong reasons.

Silk Sonic: An Evening with Silk Sonic review – a modern blast from the past
21
Mar

When megastars Anderson .Paak and Bruno Mars first collaborated under the name Silk Sonic for their gorgeous retro single Leave the Door Open earlier this year they blew minds and topped charts the world over. Could the album that followed ever hope match the stellar quality of the lead single? Alex Walden seems to think so.

Remember as a kid when you’d be in the car with your parents and they’d play their music and they would be absolutely feeling it, yet, if you were like me, you were probably sat their thinking “these songs are so cheesy, I wish they’d put something better on”? I’d say that’s probably one of my fondest memories as a child. Despite this, I was surprisingly excited when famed artists Anderson .Paak and Bruno Mars came together to release their debut track Leave The Door Open under their collaborative name Silk Sonic, which is a complete tribute to 70s B. Considering this song was released in 2021, as well as being in keeping with both Anderson .Paak and Bruno Mars’ musical styles, I was surprised to discover that this song sounded like it came fresh out of a 1970s RnB album and even more surprised that I liked it as much as I did. Everything about it from the music video to the sound, the background and even the dress sense screamed 70’s to me and I couldn’t get enough of it. The vibe was immaculate. I could tell that these two were destined to create something great from this song alone.

Shortly after, the dynamic duo released their next singles, Skate and Smokin’ Out The Window featuring Paak’s playa style lyrics followed by Mars’ amazing vocals. These tracks did not miss at all and only made me more excited about the possibility of an album. With features from Thundercat as well as the Godfather of Funk himself, Bootsy Collins, I was incredibly excited to see how these two could do when they make a full-length project.

The Sound of the album

As far as the album goes, I feel confident saying that this album is one of the best albums I’ve heard this year. It feels refreshing to get a decent short-length album which if entirely full of memorable tracks. Most albums produced by major artists today end up being one or two hours long and have about 20 to 30 songs which you end up forgetting the majority of because you just stream a few tracks. Silk Sonic definitely made the right decision by choosing to just keep their project short but sweet, with this project being nine tracks long and lasting a nice 31 minutes. It definitely feels like that feel-good funk that you need in your life to put you in a good mood. I find myself enjoying this project a lot (sometimes way to much more than I should do I’ll admit). Songs such as Fly as Me and 777 have that rich 70s Playboy vibe to make you feel confident and ready to stunt whereas songs such as After Last Night and Put On A Smile definitely have a much more relaxed feel. Nevertheless, Mars’ vocal ability on these tracks will definitely have you lip syncing in as if you’re on stage with him. As well as the duo’s lyrical ability, this album features plenty of comedy. With one liners such as “But I also hope that your triflin’ ass is walkin’ round barefoot in these streets” and “If bein’ fine was a crime girl, they’d lock your lil’ fine ass up in a tower” from Paak, These little splashes of comedy scattered throughout the album definitely help with the project’s originality.

It’s feel-good funk to put you in a good mood… Mars’ vocal ability will have you lip-syncing as if you’re on stage with him.

However, despite me mentioning the projects originality, honestly there’s not a lot to comment about when it comes how unique this project is. Now don’t get me wrong, I know this project is intended to sound like an ode to the 70s, but you can tell from the lyrics on this project that the main focus of this project was just to have as much fun as possible and while that pays off with the feel good vibe throughout the projects, the majority of the lyrics feel kind of bland considering were talking about Bruno Mars and Anderson .Paak here. These guys clearly have the potential to create something a more lyrically complex.

That said, it feels slightly weird to critique this project at all. Listening to this album is a bit like watching a school band performance or an old movie which has got quite poor special effects when compared to today’s standards. You don’t expect it to be flawless by any means but you’re seen as a bit of a party pooper if you critique it. The main purpose isn’t to sit there analysing how every single detail could be better – ironic considering that’s what I’m trying to do right now. It’s supposed to let you escape from modern music for a bit and just let you have fun, so I advise you listen to this with a casual mindset. Don’t go trying to analyse every single layer of music in each song to try comprehend how amazing it is.

The vocals are both incredibly smooth and extremely powerful. Prominent bass compliments the drums effortlessly.

Final Thoughts

Honestly, I’d recommend this to pretty much anyone. It just has an amazing vibe to it. I think everyone can enjoy this, regardless of what music you choose to listen to; no one can resist those vocals which are both incredibly smooth and extremely powerful, as well as that prominent bass which compliments those drums effortlessly. It’s not some project that you have to sit and really focus to fully grasp the artistic capabilities of these artists and that’s the good thing about it: you can just enjoy it casually and have fun. I guarantee you’ll be moving in some way while listening to it, whether it be just moving your feet, or dancing in your room like me. Either way, make sure you enjoy yourself.

Cory Wong: Wong’s Cafe review – nothing new from a band in disguise
14
Mar

Cory Wong’s latest project is ostensibly Vulfpeck’s sixth album, and it’s perhaps telling that the band have avoided official recognition for their efforts – Wong’s Cafe feels rushed and uninspired from start to finish, and is home to some of the most unremarkable songs in the band’s history.

Approaching the end of my first listen of Wong’s Cafe, I couldn’t help but feel baffled. Why does this album even exist? Wong is now somewhat notorious in funk guitar circles for his relentless, somewhat overwhelming creative output. 2021 may have only brought a miserly four albums from Wong (2020 had twice that many), but to be fair he’s been busy pumping out online guitar courses, presenting his own talk show and larking about on an ice rink with his band. On paper, Wong’s Cafe is just yet more output from the Vulfpeck guitarist, and the album does indeed have a good deal of Wong’s ultra-clean rhythm guitar idiosyncrasies that helped him gain a name for himself as a solo artist during Vulfpeck’s recent hiatus.

Look just a little closer, however, and Wong’s Cafe has the fingerprints of Vulfpeck creative mastermind Jack Stratton all over it. All the beloved characters are back in action: Joe Dart’s neck is as flexible as ever, bobbing to the tune of some typically outstanding bass lines; Stratton is still plonking a piano and excitedly directing each tune; Theo Katzman spends the album cowering over a minimalist drum kit; enigmatic Woody Goss is as humble as ever with his jazzy keys embellishments. Joey Dosik even pops up at one point, contributing with his signature sax rasp. I felt almost emotional when the first studio clips of lead single Disco De Lune were released; it’s been too long since I’ve seen my favourite band jam together like that.

With such esteemed company, it’s strange how so often on Wong’s Cafe it’s clearly not Wong leading the show but Stratton and the rest of the band. Stratton-penned You Got to Be You, for example, sees Wong as nothing more than filler behind a passable, if rather derivate piano hook. It’s been confirmed that Antwaun Stanley had recorded vocals for the entirety of this track, but his input was scrapped when the band decided to keep Wong’s Cafe wholly instrumental. It’s a tragic loss – without any vocals, verses feel empty and directionless, and that piano riff lacks the Parcels shine that might have helped it get past the first chorus before growing dull and repetitive. The groove is so run-of-the-mill for Vulfpeck, even Joey Dosik’s best efforts in a closing saxophone solo can’t save it. The following Let’s Go! is a similar story, and ironically sees Stratton play the lead guitar riff in Wong’s place. Cheesy disco strings and a plodding drum beat would have been a little less nauseating had it not all sounded like a blatant rip off the 1983 classic Jump (For My Love). Goss is plonked somewhat uncomfortably on a cliché retro synthesiser, and his solo lacks the assured jazz improvisation skills so often demonstrated when Goss is on his home territory of Wurlitzers and good, old-fashioned upright pianos.

Smokeshow and Sweet Potato Pie deserve some praise for experimenting beyond the retro funk and disco genres the band have churned out for over a decade now, but neither track offers much appeal beyond a first intriguing listen. Smokeshow is an attempt at sexy, catwalk-ready 90s house music, but the bumbling groove behind Eddie Barbash’s breathy saxophone seems to run out of ideas halfway through. Sweet Potato Pie is bizarre bluegrass jazz that might have been bareable had Wong’s acoustic guitar hook not been so unoriginal and bland. A series of rapidfire solos are competently performed, but the return of that nauseating original melody does well to snuff out any building momentum.

There are more oddities later on in a tracklist that has a habit to fly by unnoticed. Vulfpeck’s brilliant Radio Shack (released to great acclaim less than two years ago) gets a needless redo, this time minus all the authentic charm of the cheery original. Over-production and a few unnecessary instrumental additions bog down the track a little, but the truth is Radio Shack (Wong’s Cafe Version) is remarkably similar to the original and as a result feels completely redundant. Any new song would have been much preferable to this, in spite of the fact that the original Radio Shack is one of Vulfpeck’s best songs in recent years.

The times when Wong does take full control of things happen to be when Wong’s Cafe is at its most unremarkable. Guitar musings like Memories and the throwaway closer Kitchen Etude leave no impact on the listener at all, barely passing as background music. Then there’s Guitar Music, a 70 second loop of one guitar chord that marks the nadir of Wong’s career to date. A song uniquely devoid of any ideas whatsoever, quite how fluff like this managed to make it onto an official album by a professional musician like Wong is beyond me. He should have tried much harder, or better, not released the song at all.

For all its failings, Wong’s Cafe is not completely lacking in redeeming qualities. Disco De Lune is the album’s most promising moment, with a fresh and genuinely original take on Debussy’s famous dreamy piano harmonies. The outro builds up a good head of steam, giving Dart a chance to flex his still-extraordinary bass guitar muscles. It’s a shame that all the seven tracks that follow lack Disco De Lune‘s albeit modest confidence and flair.

Whilst it’s technically only a Cory Wong album, Wong’s Cafe is an unfortunate return for the Vulfpeck lads. The heady heights of the band’s unbelievable, seminal live album seem like a long time ago now. Try as Stratton and Wong might, the magic is fading. A distinct change of direction and some fresh ideas is essential for the next album; half-baked songs like these just won’t cut it.

Samm Henshaw live at Gorilla review – pristine at the cost of personality
11
Mar

With a lack of the real horns and backing singers that his densely-layered pop-soul hits demanded, Samm Henshaw was always fighting a losing battle on an underwhelming opening night in Manchester.

Chowing down on a barely-warm double big mac in a central Manchester branch of McDonald’s minutes before completing my second journey to Gorilla in the space of three days, it’s telling that my main anticipation was about whether or not the bouncer would allow me to enter the venue with a half-filled bottle of water. I should have been buzzing with excitement, but the truth is the main reason I had found myself with a ticket to see on-the-rise Londoner Samm don’t-forget-the-extra-M Henshaw was that five of my friends happened to have one too. There was a faint hope, too, that the occasionally bland easy-listening soul that populates Henshaw’s recent debut album Untidy Soul would have new punch and purpose when played at loud volume in a room full of genuine fans. If it worked for Larkins it should work for Samm, right?

It’s perhaps telling that I showed up on a Monday night under the arches at Gorilla in a group of five after struggling to muster similar company for the mighty Sons of Kemet on the preceding Saturday. There is nothing like the challenging modern jazz compositions of the Sons in Henshaw’s music. Instead, there’s well earned mass appeal by way of polished funk grooves, playful lyrics and injections of soul and gospel sunshine. His concise, catchy tracks are often perfect for trendy Spotify playlists, where listeners glide from track to track without needing to engage with any broader message beyond love or vague optimism. That said, as I like to think with my favourite band Vulfpeck, sometimes lyrical depth isn’t necessary when the musical backing is rock solid. Henshaw is no Jack Stratton, but he sure knows how to write a catchy pop single.

The crowd in Gorilla seemed to match Spotify’s core demographic: young, diverse and happy and spontaneous enough to go out and party on a random Monday night in February. Our group had made it in – water bottle and all – with no hitches, although Fionn was disapproving of the ale selection and our disappointing position behind tall heads and far from the stage took some getting used to for poor Manon, both the most excited and shortest member of the group. “I hate to say it,” Fionn mentioned to me as the final preparations for Henshaw were being made on stage. “It’s not looking good for horns, is it?” He was right – one vocal mic wouldn’t cut it for the saxophones and trumpets we had our fingers crossed for. Backing vocalists, vital for Henshaw’s gospel edge, also seemed out of the question.

In the end, Henshaw’s eventual entrance (hopelessly obscured by the already-drunk man lumbering around in front of us) brought with it more disappointment than anticipation. Opener Thoughts and Prayers set the tone for the things to come. It was a pleasant if hookless start, but the tasteful trumpet lines of the studio recording just weren’t cutting through when played through the speakers. Follow-up Grow would have been a completely different ball game had some backing singers showed up to sing the hook, but instead the band let a recording we’d all heard before do the honours.

Henshaw’s band lacked flair

The obvious fact that Henshaw’s band were sticking tightly to a pre-orchestrated track for the entire night blunted the experience of live music. Each musician performed with the confidence of the seasoned pros they no doubt are, but their precision was at the cost of authenticity. The drums lacked some soul, with fills hammered out precisely on the beat, bridging the gaps in Henshaw’s melodies with unnatural perfection. The bassist and keyboardist – who had the advantage of a strong selection of riffs to bash out – were even more faceless, and a single guitar solo plonked towards the end of the set came and went without any of the fanfare it deserved. For the lightheartedness of the frontman to fully come across, an element of playful improvisation was essential. Instead, Henshaw found himself singing elaborate karaoke.

Even so, the set wasn’t without its highlights. Slick hip hop number Chicken Wings was the first song to deliver a great singalong chorus despite its total lyrical banality. Later on, the creamy R&B of East Detroit ended a long, dull patch of slower duds, providing an excellent chance for Henshaw to demonstrate his exceptional vocal ability. It was Church, however, that was the night’s surprise of the night, with a winning piano riff propelling the track to joyous highs. Henshaw’s energetic demand to “wake up and get yourself to church!” had the crowd bouncing in double time, no extra gospel singers required. A lack of hip hop duo EARTHGANG for a guest verse left a hole in the middle of the track, but a final bubbly chorus helped ease the pain of Henshaw’s reliance on a backing track.

Attempts to work in the multiple interludes that appear on Untidy Soul achieved mixed results. The voice memo intro to Loved By You was a well-coordinated change of pace, whilst Keyon was almost embarrassingly played over the speaker, the tasteful muted trumpet solo of the Keyon in question painfully absent. Broke – Henshaw’s biggest hit and his best song by some distance – was somewhat clumsily thrown into the set just a song or two later. As far as I was concerned, the effortlessly funky opening groove had been destined to be greeted by frenzied cheers from the crowd after Henshaw and his band had made a false exit. Instead, Henshaw prematurely gave his concert a highlight that he had no hope of topping. He did at least milk the moment with some good old-fashioned call and response.

Joy was the song of choice, then, for the finish. The heartfelt ballad about Henshaw’s search for happiness came dangerously close to being sickly sweet (“this one ‘gon leave you teary eyed” Henshaw promised over the first few bars, before encouraging us to hug our friends and sing the lyrics to one another) but most of us were happy to follow along with it. In fairness, the simple singalong finish proved a hit, and there was a brief feeling of heart-warming togetherness as we sang “don’t you worry what tomorrow will bring / ‘cause we got joy” over and over. It was the sort of contradictory platitude that album reviewers rightfully scoff at, but when played in earnest to a receptive audience it was easy to sense the kind heart and good intentions behind the rushed lyrics. For all the show’s flaws, I left with a smile.

I tried and failed to catch sleep on the hopelessly slow 2307 Trans-Pennine Express back across the moors as Fionn enjoyed what looked like some good shuteye slumped over the table in front of me. I couldn’t help but question whether buying the gig ticket in the first place was a wise move. Despite the night’s great company, a 7:30am alarm call was approaching like the grim reaper. I decided it’s time to give Gorilla a miss for a little while.

Sons of Kemet live at Gorilla review – a tour de force of British jazz
4
Mar

In an almost entirely wordless opening night, the boundary-pushing quartet chose impulsive danceability over the political potency they’ve become known for. The result was a thrilling set that seemed to fly by in a matter of minutes.

Ialmost never saw UK jazz trailblazers Sons of Kemet in Manchester. It wasn’t due to Covid this time, but rather the fact that a two hour journey seems all the longer in prospect when fat snowflakes are falling in their millions outside your bedroom window. It was with some reluctance that I scraped the snow off the roof of my car and accepted the kind offering of blankets, a shovel and a bar of chocolate from my worried mother. Only by the time I was diving in and out of thick fog on the upper reaches of the M62 did I realise that this would be my first trip to Manchester completely alone. After a busy week at home, was the promise of somewhat well-known contemporary jazz band worth it?

There were two things that propelled me over the darkening Pennines and onto a delayed and noisy tram headed for the centre of the city. The first was the fact that Sons of Kemet are not your average modern jazz band (although in reality the UK jazz scene is so diverse, an ‘average’ band is near impossible to come across). The four-piece’s USP is without doubt their unique lineup: one tenor saxophone, one tuba and two drummers. And that’s it. Harmonic detail that may have been brought to the table by a guitar or keyboard is replaced by an abundance of percussion, with drummers Eddie Hick and Tom Skinner making full use of their arsenals of cowbells, shakers and cymbals. Tubist Theon Cross and ringleader saxophonist Shabaka Hutchings present a similarly intriguing instance of musical symbiosis; neither instrument takes precedent over the other. Sons of Kemet’s music simply has two concurrent melodies: one high and one low. To listen for hooks in one over the other is to miss the point completely.

The second reason was simply for the sake of adventure. Manchester still feels like it’s own exciting new world to me, and Gorilla is increasingly becoming a familiar haven tucked under the Oxford Road arches. As I walked in wide-eyed and feeling accomplished having completed my grand journey, memories of Nubya Garcia last November came flooding back. Just like I had done that night, I promptly purchased an obligatory half-pint of Coke, slid my way through the crowd (once again ending up miraculously close to the stage) and steeled myself for the several hours of standing up to come. A lack of support act made the wait feel long.

Sons of Kemet ended up sauntering onto stage with little fanfare, the 400-strong crowd greeting them more like old friends than disbelieving megafans. The two frontmen simply smiled, somewhat crudely taped vocal microphones as deep as they could into the end of their instruments and got to work. Plodding opener My Queen Is Doreen Lawrence eased the audience in gently, opening with a repeated kick drum pattern and crackling rimshots before Hutchings added his own tasteful saxophone melodies. There was a huge roar from the crowd when Theon Cross made his entry on tuba – an almighty entry at that, his majestic instrument so rich and powerful in sound it felt as if the ground was shaking beneath us. I found myself in the perfect position in the crowd for a faceful of tuba, the shining mass of muscular brass tubes and valves almost within touching distance. Cross later got into the habit of leaning forward with one boot on the monitor in front of me in such a way that his face was entirely blocked from view by the tuba’s enormous bell, leaving only his legs and his rapid fingers visible. Not in all of my recent gigs has a musician and their instrument looked so awe-inspiringly magnificent working in tandem.

Theon Cross delivered an outstanding performance on tuba

Besides the lineup, the extraordinary thing about the evening’s performance was that the musicmaking started from Doreen Lawrence and hardly stopped until the four of them left the stage for good. As a result, it all began to feel like one, epic piece of jazz, with each song contributing to the general ebb and flow of the performance rather than existing as pieces of art in and of themselves. Pauses for applause felt like obligations to conform to concert traditions rather than necessary breaks, and over an hour had passed before Hutchings first spoke into the mic, albeit only to briefly introduce his bandmates during a song. To my surprise, Sons of Kemet’s pro-BLM, anti-institutional rage that had been so integral to their fiery latest album Black to the Future was entirely limited to their instruments. There was nothing of viscious beat poetry that peppers the album, but in its place we recieved a range of Afrobeat grooves that highlighted the fact that jazz – and a vast portion of modern culture and broader society – originates from the work of black cultures in Africa and around the world. In the end, the band’s key message of respect and understanding was conveyed perhaps with more eloquence than words could ever muster.

In truth, comment about Sons of Kemet’s thoughts on race relations or their feminist slant on black history (many of their songs are named after unsung black women throughout history), was only a minor detail of their performance. As the pumped-up group of fans around me in the front row demonstrated just a few minutes into the band’s set, dancing is a more immediate aspect of the band’s appeal. Early highlights Pick Up Your Burning Cross and the pulsating My Queen Is Albertina Sisulu whipped up a storm in the crowd, with Skinner’s kick drum pounding hard and heavy on every last downbeat. It was striking how often the repetitive, bass-heavy drums grooves resembled EDM or trance music in its ability to compel an audience to lose themselves in the beat. We all seemed to bounce up and down accordingly, the thumping kick drum and hypnotic bassline helping us dismiss any question of fatigue or boredom.

Watching exactly how Skinner and Hick deal with the logistics of two drum kits was fascinating. It seemed to me there tended to be a split between one drummer laying down the basics of a groove and the other adding tasteful splashes of snare and cymbals, although it wasn’t always obvious who had been delegated which role. Each drummer also had a slightly different set of gear at their disposal: Skinner was treated to the bigger, louder of the two kick drums, whilst it was Hick who had been given cowbell privileges. Regardless of the specifics, the end product was an immaculate, exceptionally detailed layer of percussion that both drove the two horn players to ecstatic highs and offered moments of peace and relaxation in the evening’s more thoughtful passages.

It was Theon Cross’s performance, however, that stole the show. A man that has seemingly devoted his life to proving once and for all how phenomenally underrated his instrument is, Cross was a force to be reckoned with, blasting out thundering bass melodies and sweating profusely under the effort demanded from him by the music. Every occasional squeal into the tuba’s extremely loud and surprisingly alarming upper register – sounding somewhere between a revving motorbike and charging elephant – was a thrill that illicited a cheer from the audience, especially when the sound was unleashed at unexpected moments of relative quietness. A three-minute solo piece performed by Cross in the middle of the set showed him at the peak of his powers and in total, virtuosic command of his instrument.

Cross let out a coy smile and dried his sweat-drenched face as the crowd cheered in enthusiastic approval of his solo before beginning another piece completely alone. This time his performance blossomed into the throbbing My Queen Is Harriet Tubman, a blistering, relentlessly volatile piece that remains the band’s best song to date. It took genuine restraint to stop myself from singing along to every last squeal of Hutchings’ sax line which I had learnt by heart – I sensed from the largely quiet dancers around me that screaming along wasn’t the done thing at jazz gigs. Instead I found myself jumping up and down with glee to a tumult of cowbell as both Hutchings and Cross fired off one killer riff after another. Hutchings, bandana-clad and ready for battle with his sinewy biceps bulging from the sides of a sleeveless shirt, ruthlessly attacked every last note like a boxer fighting for the world title. Cross bobbed up and down just a couple of metres away from me, cheeks puffing under the strain of an almighty bass line as Hick swayed along in time behind him, his remarkable dexterity on percussion filling the room with noise. About a dozen gigs in, this surely ranks as my most thrilling live music experience to date.

Hutchings took to recorder at one point

From there, it was a victory lap for the quartet who were clearly enjoying an audience that would gladly stomp their feet at every last thump of Skinner’s kick drum. There were moments of delightful experimentation – Hutchings took to what looked like a recorder at one point (an atenteben would be my guess after a bit of Googling) and Cross added atmosphere to My Queen Is Nanny of the Maroons with some conch playing. Frustratingly neither instrument had been amplified at all, so the effect was more of a mood-setter rather than an attention-grabber. Nonetheless, it added a needed element of light and shade to the evening’s performance. To Never Forget the Source turned out to be a slightly perculiar closer as one of the more downtempo and less remarkable numbers from the band’s latest album. The choice to use an improvised solo piece from Hutchings as the encore was stranger still. His playing was nonetheless mesmerising – a song with a bassline, melody and percussion all conjured up by one man and his saxophone – but it was far from the crowd-pleasing finale I had come to expect.

It was barely 10pm by the time I left Gorilla, but there was a sense among the crowd that we had just experienced something special. Someone next to me remarked that the 90 minutes had flown by. It was true that with virtually no speaking let alone the inter-generational racial hatred I had anticipated, the gig had run like a particularly good concept album: seamless, beautifully crafted and with a vague sense of a journey. Like all the best gigs, I took home a resounding feel of awe – both at the incredible musicians I had come face to face with and the fantastic pieces of music they had brought to life. The long journey had been undoubtedly worth it in the end. What’s more, I didn’t even need to use my shovel.

Sam Fender: Seventeen Going Under review – arena-worthy classics to feed the soul
24
Feb

Whilst Fender’s expansive, often breathtaking sophomore record may not be flawless, it has more than its fair share of genius songwriting and lyricism thanks to a potent concoction of sepia nostalgia and brave sociopolitical lessons for the here and now.

I’ve long thought I knew who Sam Fender was. The caricature seemed fairly straightforward: Geordie and proudly working class lad turned hometown hero with a razor-sharp jawline and creamy yet delicate singing voice; probably the adoration of teenage girls and admiring lads who will think any song with a lot of distorted guitars is cool. Sure, I could appreciate Hypersonic Missiles, the driving title track from Fender’s commercially successful debut album, but beyond that I spent years not paying him much attention.

Then I heard Seventeen Going Under, the lead single ahead of Fender’s big coming-of-age sophomore release in 2021. I was alone in a car driving a long distance to the Lake District for a night and, despite the song’s simplicity, something about it had me enthralled. The characteristics I had expected were all there; the song and Fender in general are inseparable from the North East town of North Shields where “luck came and went” as Fender puts it in the form of once prosperous coal mines. Yet almost instantly, I came to the very belated realisation that this guy is the real deal. Over the jangly Springsteen-esque guitars, Fender’s faultless lyrics demand full attention. They illustrate adolescence in the town with visceral depth, from the “fist fights on the beach” to the mental health issues bottled up by the need to be the “joker” amongst “boys’ boys and locker-room talking lads’ lads”. The descriptions are painful yet sound vaguely nostalgic, portraying a childhood that was as precious as it was scarring. An awesome rush of noise gradually accumulates in support of Fender as his emotion builds to boiling point: a pounding, war-like drum groove, a sparkling glockenspiel and a screaming saxophone (an inspired instrumental choice) all contribute to the growing din. It’s sonically overwhelming, the song dripping with feeling and heartache in every note. To call it one of the finest songs to reach British mainstream rock this year is an understatement. It goes without saying, Seventeen Going Under was to soundtrack my subsequent hike in the mountains with an apt feel of September melancholy.

Both the memories of growing up in Tyneside and Fender’s generational anger at being left behind by his government run right the way through Seventeen Going Under. Getting Started decries the “council rigmarole” imposed on Fender’s poverty stricken mother, which is powerfully juxtaposed with Fender’s own urge to go out and do the things that 18-year-olds are supposed to do. The fact that Fender faced a decision between helping his mother or himself (“What I wouldn’t do to get you out this hole / For tonight I gotta let her go”) is an impactful political statement in itself. If the album needed a flagship political anthem, however, seething Aye is the song. Whilst it occasionally gets into the habit of look-at-this-very-bad-thing-isn’t-it-awful, there is also a good deal of provocative and interesting social commentary to be enjoyed. Written in the wake of the Conservative party’s shocking byelection win in Blyth Valley, Fender notes how the working class is being pulled apart by political polarisation (“poor hate the poor”) and how each side blames the other for society’s failings whilst in his view it’s really just the richest that are pulling the strings. Fender may be proudly left-wing, but the line “the woke kids are just dickheads” has proved contentious in the days and weeks since the single’s release. As far as I’m concerned, Fender’s bravery in the face of cancel culture should be applauded.

Elsewhere, toxic masculinity is a fruitful and powerful lyrical theme. Spit of You heart-wrenchingly covers Fender’s inability to talk to his father about the death of his grandmother over a tasteful and disarmingly light electric guitar backing. It lacks the fire power of something like the title track, but the hook is undeniably very strong. Get You Down is a much more compelling reflection on the anger and fear of emasculation that filled his early twenties. Its soaring melodies and relentless snare drum builds deserve to be blasted out from a lad’s first battered Vauxhall Corsa as he navigates the challenges of manhood alone, as the archetype of the perfect manly man demands. The strings are glorious and lush and Johnny Davis’ raspy saxophone makes another chill-inducing appearance, lifting the song from good to unforgettable. For all it’s self-loathing, Get You Down sounds remarkably cathartic, and makes for a perfect centrepiece to Seventeen Going Under.

The Leveller lands with similar urgency, and once again soaring strings are used compellingly. “Mark my words / This is a leveller”, Fender sings of the pandemic whilst painting his surging depression as a sort of unstoppable beast of its own. Stunning lines like “Scribed on the walls in the back lane by my flat / Teenage premonitions of Armageddon” or “Waiting in vain for the mighty crash / As little England tears itself to pieces” sound deeply unsettling over the ear-piercing punk guitars and menacing, shifting power chords. Later, Paradigms takes flight with a bright piano and expansive sound that evokes Coldplay in their world-dominating prime. I’m sure the fact that the sonic euphoria is set to words about marketing-induced bulimia and the UK’s shocking male suicide rates won’t stop thousands of young people belting this at full volume, sat on the shoulders of friends during next year’s festival season. In fact, it will make them sing louder, and rightly so.

I’d love to say Seventeen Going Under is perfect, but I’m afraid it’s not. Mantra is fatally lacking any hook whatsoever, a fact that not even a remarkable and completely unexpected trumpet solo can make up for. Getting Started and the lethargic Last To Make It Home also lack the songwriting oomph found in the album’s purple patches.

When it comes to the showstopper closer, The Dying Light, I hardly know where to begin. It’s another painful yet important song about Fender’s very personal depression and reckoning with suicidal thoughts, but the resolve and determination in lines like “I’m damned if I give up tonight / I must repel the dying light” speak of the universal urge to persist through extreme hardship even when death seems like such an easy escape. The reason to live, Fender decides, is not for his own gain, but for the sake of his family and friends and, as he belts on the album’s devastating final lyrics, “for all the ones who didn’t make the night”. Musically, the build is truly awe-inspiring, with grand strings and brass and percussion giving company to a once-solitary yet beautiful piano accompaniment. The final few minutes bounce with that innately human triumph of survival – another day of life to enjoy, another long list of challenges overcame and many more to come. As far as I’m concerned, this is as life-affirming as music gets.

In the end, despite all the gloomy depictions of an austere childhood and grim proclamations on the state of British politics, Seventeen Going Under is one gripping reminder that life is indeed worth living, no matter what. To try to make a caricature of the man behind this magnum opus is to miss the point entirely.

The Top 5 COLORS Sessions Of All Time
20
Feb

There’s beauty in the simplicity of COLORSxSTUDIOS audiovisual experiences, presenting an artist and their music with no strings attached. Alex Walden is here to explain more and guide you through the very best that the studio has to offer.

With projects such as Kanye West’s Donda and Drake’s Certified lover Boy making headlines everywhere. It’s easy to think that today’s music industry is dominated by this new wave of trap music. However, fear not reader, as music platform COLORSxSTUDIOS is here to restore your faith.

COLORSxSTUDIOS is an aesthetic-based music platform which showcases artists who are on the rise from all over the world, ranging from America to the UK, to Spain to Cameroon, and many more. COLORS forces viewers to focus on the artist by providing them with three simple ingredients. A background, a microphone, and headphones. The use of minimalist design leaves the viewer no choice but to simply focus on the artist and nothing else. It almost creates a form of escapism where for those three or so minutes you can forget about everything going on in the world; in that moment it’s just you and the artist. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Allow me to give you my personal top five COLORSxSTUDIOS performances that are bound to move you.

5 . Slowthai – Ladies

4.JID – Workin Out

Next, we take a trip to the States where Atlanta’s own JID gives us his performance of one of his most popular singles to date, Workin Out from his album DiCaprio 2. Armed with incredible flow and skilled lyricism (accompanied by an absolutely killer sample from Helen Miller’s Don’t Explain) JID discusses how despite attaining substantial wealth and success, his life isn’t “all that” and, as a matter of fact, it’s something far from what the kids today should aspire to have. Upon analysing the lyrics, we begin to unearth how vulnerable JID really was throughout points in his life. From leaving his mother to make a living, being around fake friends, to feeling completely numb inside as if he’s used to the mental toll his lifestyle has on him by this point. JID really shows us that this popular rapper lifestyle that the media portrays to us nowadays isn’t really all it seems and that in reality, he’s just a regular person, with regular people problems. JID’s soft voice is accompanied by a soft violet background to give a truly relaxing and comfortable vibe for his performance.

3.ENNY, ft. Jorja Smith – Peng Black Girls

Taking it back to the UK for number 3, East London artist ENNY, accompanied by legendary new age R&B singer Jorja Smith, tells us what it’s really like to be a black woman in the UK. Touching from topics such as body insecurities, under representation in today’s media and even topics as specific as the struggle of hairbands bursting due to your hair being so thick, ENNY and Jorja Smith take us through the thoughts of a black woman in the UK. ENNY effortlessly murders her verses to which Jorja Smith’s responds equally with a voice that sounds as if it’s almost holding back to give us a nice soft delivery to show us the true definition of “killing it”. I urge you to read the comments of the video as well as watching the video as you can see how big of a positive impact this performance really had on the Black British community.

2.EARTHGANG – UP

For number 2 we go back to Atlanta for probably the most energetic COLORSxSTUDIOS performance out there to date. Atlanta duo EARTHGANG give us a borderline surreal performance of their track UP, the second song from their 2019 album MIRRORLAND. To call this performance thrilling would an understatement. There are so many elements that make this it so good. From the way that Johnny Venus is able to push his vocal abilities to the edge yet make it work so well when accompanied by his erratic movements, it feels like you’re watching a performance from villain in an old Disney movie. And when you think it can’t get any more intense Doctur Dot adds a layer to the chorus melody to which Johnny Venus responds by somehow kicking it up another notch, then the bassline kicks in and it all comes together. It almost feels like a well strategized attack on your ears. This is quickly followed by a verse by Doctur Dot that you will definitely have to listen to a couple times to catch all the lyrics (I know I did). It’s rare that we get such an energetic performance on COLORSxSTUDIOS, however, clearly these guys came, saw, and conquered with this absolute banger of a show.

1.Jorja Smith – Blue Lights

To pick a number one performance was a difficult decision, however, after some careful consideration (and countless alterations of my list) I realised that picking a number 1 performance was, surprisingly, quite easy. I just had to boil it down to the basics of what separates the music that we love from the music that we just casually listen to. Those songs speak to us, make us feel some extreme emotion that makes us realise how beautiful music can actually be. Therefore, you’ll understand why I had no choice but to choose Jorja Smith’s Blue Lights.

Touching on topics such as knife crime and using headphones in an attempt escape the troubles of the growing up in the modern world, Jorja explores the feeling of having a guilty conscience due to growing up around an area filled with knife crime, which is still a growing issue in the UK. With subtle changes in lyrics throughout the song such as “There’s no need to run, if you’ve done nothing wrong, blue lights should just pass you by” to “When you hear the sirens coming, the blue lights are coming for you”. As a person of colour myself, I can say that I was moved to the point where I was on the verge of tears after hearing such a delicate topic ,which can be difficult to discuss, performed so well by such an amazing voice. There’s a reason as to why this is the second time I’ve mentioned Jorja Smith in this article, her voice simply speaks for itself. Her choice of soothing melodies fit so well with her soft voice until there’s a sudden clash where she absolutely belts it out with all her heart, yet it still sounds very controlled, it has such a genuine feel to it, as if she’s singing directly to you, as if she knows you need to hear this song.

So, there you have it, my top 5 COLORSxSTUDIOS performances. With performances ranging from the soft vulnerability from JID to the hard-hitting hyper tracks from EARTHGANG, I hope that there’s a performance that you’ll find as remarkable as I did. If I’m honest, I could’ve easily written about hundreds of COLORS performances due to the abundance of videos COLORSxSTUDIOS have, so regardless of if any of these particular recommendations interest you, make sure you check out COLORS. They upload frequently and cover multiple genres, so you’ll never run out of videos to enjoy.

Jade Bird: Different Kinds of Light review – a sparkling delight
16
Feb

English singer-songwriter Jade Bird’s sophomore album builds on the best parts of the debut with new maturity, sincerity and most importantly some cracking singles. The result is an album I felt an instant personal connection to.

There’s nothing quite like listening to an album in bed. For me it’s by far the most immersive way to enjoy it – an otherwise completely silent environment with no distracting visual stimuli, just a voice and instruments and a musical story to try and dissect. I find myself happy to lie motionless as the late hours pass and soak in someone else’s creative labour of love, moving only to check my phone and make a futile attempt to memorise the name of that standout song before an early sleep wipes it from memory. For me, late-night album listening is usually saved for special occasions, in particular for those times I find myself far from home and therefore prepared for a long, dark wait before sleep finally finds me. Of course, no night is as sleepless as a night spent wild camping, and so on each of my more recent camps I’ve chosen the company of a handful of outstanding atmospheric albums. Turn Out the Lights was an apt choice as I overlooked distant bright lights whilst bivvying in the Yorkshire Dales last year, whilst Lianne La Havas’ self-titled album (and more specifically her cover of Weird Fishes) was on loop when I had another overnight visit to the Dales this summer. Phoebe Bridgers’ Punisher joined me in north Wales whilst Cage The Elephant’s Melophobia was a psychedelic sleep soundtrack in the Lake District. Each time, I finish the album with a deeper personal connection to it, having experienced it at its fullest and purest.

I wasn’t in a tent when I first heard Different Kinds of Light, but was nonetheless once again sleeping alongside my best friend, sharing a ¾ double bed in a cramped Edinburgh uni student flat that felt like luxury compared to my poky two-man tent. It took only a few seconds of belting opener Open Up the Heavens for me to be fully engaged in the loud and bold new world of Different Kinds of Light. The opening bass riff is electrifying, helped along by a relentless tambourine and Bird’s impassioned vocals describing stormy betrayal. She really opens up in an expansive chorus, raising her voice almost to breaking point with the memorable refrain “it’s raining on a sunny day”. As an album opener to get me pumped up for what’s to come, it’s near flawless.

There’s plenty more vocal and instrumental grit to enjoy throughout Different Kinds of Light. Honeymoon moves with an Eleanor Rigby-esque chug, while Candidate serves up the nastiest chorus of the album, with Bird offering powerful self defense of her friends over screeching rock guitars, instead offering up herself: “If you want somebody to judge, if you want somebody to blame, if you want somebody to hate, I’m a great candidate”. It’s more disjointed and musically complex than Bird’s loveable but straightforward earlier tracks like Uh Huh and Love Has All Been Done Before, and offers a momentary insight into an art-rock side of Bird that sadly isn’t much explored elsewhere on Different Kinds of Light.

The real test of a country-rock album like this is if the quieter, less showy moments stick. In this regard, Bird does a pretty good job, with songs like Red White and Blue offering a much-needed tender side to Bird’s sound, as well as strong examples of good old-fashioned acoustic guitar songwriting. Sweet and delicate closer Prototype is a hidden gem of a love song, with Bird’s upfront and endearing lyricism (“I love you and I think I always will”) sitting nicely beside a joyful harmonica and touching harmonised vocals from boyfriend Luke. It’s a romantic campfire-ready package that sits just on the right side of cheesy. Houdini, however, is less successful, and a promising verse is let down by a rather weak and forgettable chorus, as well as a structure that gives the song little room to develop.

Where Different Kinds of Light excels most, inevitably, is where Bird finds the sonic balance between Prototype’s sweetness and Candidate’s bitterness. That moment comes around about halfway through with the stunning Now is the Time, which turns out to be one of the finest moments of Bird’s still-blossoming career. A gloriously bright acoustic guitar gives the song the vague feel of a modern Here Comes the Sun, complete with delightful lyrics about the love of life. “Never ever seen a better day to get up, doesn’t matter ‘bout the weather now’s the time to go and get it,” Bird blurts out in one excited breath at the end of each chorus before giving way to a country-informed guitar solo. Bubbling congas and some typically adventurous bass lines seem to fill the track with a sincerity and warmth that matches well with Different Kinds of Light’s bright orange album art. With all its soaring melodies and sense of youthful freedom, Now is the Time is a three-minute musical smile, and a timely reminder that every day is a gift during what has been a special summer for me.

Listening to thumping bonus track Headstart in the small hours in the middle of a new city, I’m reminded of why music means so much to me. Different Kinds of Light ends up feeling less like an escape from a long and unsuccessful night’s sleep and more a way of intensifying and enriching life’s emotions, be it through the raw anger of Candidate, the pure love of Prototype or the all-encompassing optimism of Now is the Time. It’s not a perfect album, but at its scintillating best Different Kinds of Light never fails to improve my spirits, no matter where in the world I happen to be.