‘Every bandmate is infusing their tastes into this album’: seven-strong pop collective Couch on their funky debut record
6
Aug

‘Every bandmate is infusing their tastes into this album’: seven-strong pop collective Couch on their funky debut record

After years of virtual band meetings and drumming up buzz online, Boston band Couch look set to take over the world with a debut album of polished, meticulously crafted pop bops and a sprawling 36-date tour. They spoke to Undertone about launching a band during the Covid years, their vulnerable new single, and the tricky task of making music with seven songwriters.

The pandemic did strange things to the music industry. On the one hand, we saw a fresh wave of what was giddily termed the 2020s’ “disco revival”. Jessie Ware, Róisín Murphy, Lady Gaga and Dua Lipa all released unequivocally dancefloor-primed records that perversely chimed with listeners trapped indoors all day, pining for a hedonistic escape and a return to the wonderfully unhygienic surroundings of a cramped and sweaty nightclub. On the other hand, the pandemic was a prompt for many artists to return to their roots with homespun, introspective album recorded with minimal equipment from home studios. Paul McCartney’s stripped-back McCartney III had the man himself play all the instruments, Charli xcx was in a reflective mood on how i’m feeling now, and Adrienne Lenker’s understated magnum opus songs was entirely recorded in a cabin in rural Massachusetts. As with seemingly many other aspects of society, such a radical change was only temporary: a few years after releasing her own folksy and minimalist albums folklore and evermore to critical acclaim, Taylor Swift is firmly back to her stadium-filling former self.

Couch, meanwhile, were biding their time, patiently plotting their route to stardom. Purveyors of soulful pop in the vein of Vulfpeck, Sammy Rae and Lake Street Dive, the seven-strong group specialise exactly the kind of free-spirited disco and funk tunes that topped the charts in 2020. For them, however, the pandemic (as well as attending various colleges across the States) meant it was three years of intermittent band meetups and FaceTime calls before the Bostonians finally took to the stage together for the first time.

That may sound tedious, but it was a blessing in disguise, keyboardist Danny Silverston tells me. “Once Covid hit, a lot of bands were like ‘man, what do we do now?’, but for us it was like ‘we actually kind of know what to do now’. We got to spend some really quality time together, and it set us up pretty effectively for our first ever tour, which was pretty much like a slam dunk.” Guitarist Zach Blankstein, who doubles as the band’s manager, agrees. “We had that remote incubation period where we got to share our music with people and start to feel some external excitement. Getting everyone [in the band] to make themselves available to go tour eventually was easy because we were all excited to go do it and felt like was a long time coming by that point.”

Silverston and Blankstein, as well as bassist Will Griffin, speak to me partway through a 16 hour drive back to Boston from Asheville, North Carolina, where they’ve just performed a charity show. The band may still be relatively new, but they’re no strangers to this sort of long-distance touring, and their first trip to the UK – an impressively full-throttle show which Undertone was lucky enough to catch – was over two years ago. For Griffin, touring and songwriting go hand in hand. “Something that feels best for us in the rehearsal space might feel totally different on stage. It opens up different opportunities to explore variations of arrangement styles and grooves.” In fact, Couch’s huge upcoming tour, which starts in November, was booked well before the new record was even fully written. Other times, though, it’s the finished song that comes first. “But they’re definitely very connected processes, no matter which order they happen,” Blankstein adds.

Perhaps it’s a sign of Couch’s easy-going, fluid approach to songwriting that, as Blankstein admits, the new album Big Talk isn’t even finished by the time of our interview. The band’s exceptional attention to detail, in particular with their knotty horn sections (see: Still Feeling You‘s wonderfully wiggly breakdown), no doubt slows down the writing process, but their emphasis on collaboration from all band members also partly explains the six year gap between their debut single and Big Talk. Whilst singer Tema Siegal takes the lead lyrically, musically the band takes a more democratic approach, taking turns as bandleaders and voting on creative choices. “On the one hand, I imagine it kind of slows us down,” Silverston says, “but it also means that the final product will really be Couch‘s debut, not like one or three individuals. It really feels like every single person in the band is infusing their tastes and sensibilities into the album.” It’s a key asset, Silverston says, that his bandmates don’t have identical, or even similar, musical tastes. “Jared [Gozinsky, drummer], for example, likes a lot of big band jazz stuff, which gets mixed with a few other band members who like more rock, heavy music. I think that difference is actually what makes songwriting so exciting, and where our growth can be seen the most.”

The first taste of this growth comes via the band’s slick new single What Were You Thinking, which winningly pits a tale of a romantic power imbalance against a sumptuous disco bass line and a silky smooth piano breakdown. The vulnerable lyrics and anthemic melodies make for an interesting contrast, I note to Blankstein. “Jeff [Pinsker-Smith, trumpeter] brought the demo that we all really liked and when Tema heard it she felt like it called for something a little angry,” he explains. “She had this story in her mind for a while […] and the energy she was feeling from the instrumental felt compatible with that story”. The result is a pop song that sounds simultaneously embittered and euphoric, matching Seigel’s snappy takedowns (“What were you thinking / Handling a heart of 20 years like that?”) with a sense that she’s emerged from the relationship with her sense of joy and self-confidence ultimately undimmed.

What Were You Thinking promises to be the highlight of Couch’s latest live offering, which will tour 36 cities across 11 countries from November to March. Fans can expect “most of, if not the entire new catalogue of music, plus some new arrangements of the older tunes that we’re really excited about,” says Blankstein. If it’s anything like their debut UK show in 2023 – which produced an electric atmosphere in Manchester’s Band on the Wall – it should be an memorable night of jubilant funk-pop singalongs. “We’re putting together a proper show to pay tribute to this album,” he concludes and, given the time and energy the whole band have put into Big Talk, there’s no doubt there’ll be plenty to love.

Orla Gartland live at Leeds University Stylus – great songs worthy of bigger occasions
25
Jul

Despite being in desperate need of an extra bandmate or two, Orla Gartland had plenty of strong enough material to give the crowd exactly what they wanted in Leeds. Unlike her friend and peer dodie, however, her live act still has plenty of room to grow in the years to come.

Idouble- and triple-checked that my ticket proudly branded with the words ‘Orla Gartland’ in stretched all caps (a valuable souvenir to keep for years) was safely stowed in my wallet as I walked across the unsettlingly gloomy campus of Leeds University alone at twilight. It had been a difficult drive in and locating the venue wasn’t any easier. I walked into the modern, sterile white of the student union building with some trepidation, half hoping to bump into some old school mates that must have been no further than a mile or two away. Down a flight of steps and round a corner and at last I found the Orla fans slowly meandering around the cafeteria amongst students hunched over chess boards, iMacs and fast food. Only now did the dejà vu I had expected kicked in; I’d partied with this bunch of stylish, brightly-coloured teenagers not so long ago. As a close friend of dodie, Gartland shares much of the same fanbase with the uke-pop superstar, even if her sound has a decidedly more rock ‘n’ roll edge than anything dodie’s ever released. I recognised a handful of familiar faces from dodie’s showstopping Manchester gig, and overheard phrases like “At The Dodie Gig she didn’t start until 9:30!” or “I hope there’s some choreo like The Dodie Gig!” I wore my dodie mask again with the pride of a passionate football supporter, albeit not quite at the right match.

For all their similarities, it must be said that dodie is simply the more famous and more beloved of the two friends. If O2 Apollo was a Championship-level venue for dodie, Gartland’s Stylus had more of a League Two feel, and this time I had no issues in getting close enough to the stage to properly take in all the action. The venue size inevitably meant there was none of the fancy confetti or versatile lighting that made the dodie gig feel so once-in-a-lifetime – this was a straightforward gig where musicians play their music and nothing more. Gartland’s time on the big stages of Britain is most certainly still to come.

The obvious comparisons to dodie can only be taken so far. After a humdrum choice of opener Pretending, Things That I’ve Learned and oh GOD made a nice pairing with their unmistakably-Orla and risky odd time grooves that got the crowd shrugging along, even though dance moves are difficult to coordinate in 5/4. Sara Leigh Shaw was the right drummer for the job, clattering into the chorus on oh GOD with a laser focus. Tucked away slightly on the side of the stage, she looked uncannily similar to Gartland herself with her own mop of ginger hair that bobbed about in time to the stumbling groove behind that “I don’t wanna think about it” earworm. Gartland meanwhile looked ready to take on the world with her chequered green suit and matching neon green eyeshadow, commanding the crowd atop an inch or two of chunky Doc Martens. Rounding out the band was Pete Daynes. One of the standout performers of the dodie tour, his return was well received, with his enthusiastic jaunts wielding his P-bass around the stage earning him chants of “Pete! Pete! Pete!” on two separate occasions.

The problem was a lack of personnel. Often Gartland’s ambitious pop-rock creations demanded more than the three albeit competent musicians could provide. (Intriguingly, support acts Greta Isaac and Clean Cut Kid could have really done with at least two more performers each – probably another manifestation of the supply chain crisis or something.) Poor Pete often had to oblige with synth parts, backing vocals and a drum machine, and a cool yet unnecessary glowing drumstick wasn’t enough to distract from the fact that this man was born to leap around with his bass like the Easter Bunny. Restricting him to the keyboard rack on the gritty, earthy bomb of a pop song Bloodline for example was nothing short of criminal.

Gartland was an engaging and loveable frontwoman, delivering sure-fire crowd pleasers from the recent album like You’re Not Special, Babe and Over Your Head with guts and charisma. Indie rock gem Codependency sounded somehow even better than the studio version, with Shaw digging in on the sections of the chorus where all momentum was previously lost. It’s a testament to Gartland’s skills as a performer that the quieter moments of the set were just as powerful as the aforementioned rock singalongs. Madison was a joy – a perfectly written acoustic ode to Gartland’s therapist with an expertly crafted melody at its heart. Gartland took to the piano for the touching Left Behind, an achingly vulnerable piece that left the crowd desperate to give Gartland one big hug before she embarked on her last few numbers.

Sara Leigh Shaw leaped atop Pete Daynes to celebrate another successful night on tour with Orla Gartland

I Go Crazy soon picked things up, taking the role of Gartland’s almost-funk jam (see dodie’s In the Middle) and properly turning the pit into a dancefloor for the first time in the night. Daynes was sure to make the most of a bubbly bassline, whipping up the crowd whenever he could. Gartland ramped up the usual crowd participation routine as the set drew to a close. Difficult Things was a good opportunity for a two-part audience call and response section, and there was something vaguely profound and moving about a few hundred concert-goers repeatedly chanting “we never talk about difficult things” in unison. In contrast, synthpop foot-tapper Flatline was a chance for the obligatory “crouch for the bridge and jump up for chorus” schtick which, despite being somewhat painful in the knees after hours of standing in one spot, was impossible not to smile at. I didn’t even know the song, but something about bouncing around in sync with these young and happy strangers was life-affirming.

The encore was mostly reserved for fan favourites More Like You and Zombie!, although as far as I was concerned the gig had already reached its pinnacle. I may not have returned to my car with the giddy buzz that the best gigs give me, but it’s nonetheless hard to fault Gartland, who put in a good shift despite requiring some added support in the form of personnel and some more engaging staging and lighting. With that, I can safely stash away my dodie mask for a long while — or at least until Pete Daynes starts doing his own headline tours.

Awaith live at the Cluny review – Welsh indie trio are worth rooting for
27
May

The pioneering Welsh-language trio had plenty of quality material from their recent double album to dig into in Newcastle, although the scuzzy guitars and restless basslines were occasionally let down by Hollie Singer’s limited vocal performance.

It’s a gorgeous, starry night in Ouseburn, and from my vantage point high up in the valley the distant yellow lights of the Cluny could easily be sparkling campfire or a stray firefly. I walk down over the old cobblestone bridge that crosses the brook and, not for the first time, I’m awed by the looming giant that is Byker Bridge – a hulking red-brick symbol of the triumph and brutality of Victorian industry, which today conveys a steady flow of double decker busses some 100 feet above the valley floor. These days, of course, Ouseburn is known not as the centre of Newcastle’s heavy industries, but as a remarkable cultural oasis, with the Cluny as its beloved beating heart. This Tuesday night in February features a typically grassroots bill, including local dance-punks Fashion Tips (who deliver a rather incoherent set, despite the appeal of screaming frontwoman Louise Newman looking like a librarian gone wild) and buzzy Welsh-language post punk trio Adwaith.

In fact, these are exciting times for Adwaith and Welsh rock in general. The fact that the Carmarthen band choose to sing exclusively in Welsh is a laudably punk act in itself – any casual student of Eurovision will know English is the language of choice if you want to appeal to the broadest audience possible – but Adwaith clearly value the promotion of their language and culture over profits. They’re not shy about it either – their recent release, timed to coincide with the tenth anniversary of Welsh Language Music Day, is a 23-track, 75-minute behemoth that wilfully disregards the accepted wisdom that a steady stream of singles and EPs is that best way to grow your streaming numbers these days. Alongside Gruff Rhys and Tara Bandito, Adwaith are the brightest lights in a new wave of Welsh music revivalists hoping to meet and possibly surpass the success of the genre’s 90s figureheads Super Furry Animals.

What was so surprising about that double album, Solas, was not just its ambitious length, but how the quality of the songwriting remained so consistently strong throughout its testing runtime. “It cost us a bloody fortune,” bassist Gwenllian Anthony reminds us twice tonight, pointing towards the merch stand where t-shirts printed with the band’s glorious Welsh names (Gwenllian, Heledd and Hollie) appear to be selling well. Tonight’s set is essentially a front-to-back playthrough of Solas (minus of a few of the duller tracks), a choice which gives the set the meticulous sequencing of an album, although also leaves it feeling somewhat risk-free and predictable.

Opener Planed established quickly that the Welsh language was far from the only interesting thing about this band. Bubbly synths mingled with fidgety, vaguely Middle Eastern guitar snippets (inevitably pre-recorded and played as a backing track), whilst Anthony’s muscular bass riff contrasted nicely with Hollie Singer’s deadpan vocals – a juxtaposition that appeals on song after song tonight. Mwy and Gofyn were stompy early highlights, with Anthony wrapping her fingers around two elephantine bass riffs, the minimalist compositions ending up like warped approximations of Afrobeat and reggae respectively.

Whilst Singer’s quiet and restrained approach to vocals offered some nice contrasts to the gritty guitar music that surrounded her (her almost-whispered performance in frugging standout Y Ddawns was deliciously sinister), other songs demanded a bigger stage presence and a vocal commitment Singer never seemed prepared to offer. Coeden Anniben’s bratty punk strop fell flat with Singer standing largely motionless on stage, and it’s no wonder that there was never the faintest whiff of a mosh pit amongst the Cluny patrons (in fact, sometimes it felt like I was the only one dancing). Singer was upstaged when she swapped roles with Anthony for Pelydr-X, who duly wrapped the mic cord around her neck like a feather boa, planted a boot on an on-stage monitor and gave it her all. It was a theatrical performance that elevated an otherwise middling track, but it also highlighted how much better Adwaith could be with a little more charisma and chutzpah.

Sanas, the recent album’s exhilaratingly unhinged prog rock interlude, disappointingly didn’t make the cut for this show, but we did get its follow-up Miliwn. Easily the band’s most tightly written pop-rock composition, it was only at this point that Singer seemed to fully relax, digging into an anthemic chorus over a lively bassline (the fact that “miliwn” is a simple cognate of the English “million” allowed for a rare opportunity for an audience singalong in Newcastle). Heledd Owen was an engine on the drums at the back of the stage, and Singer’s hook is a knockout. One suspects more singles of this quality are only a matter of time for Adwaith, but for now Miliwn stands alone as their finest effort.

The applause at the end of the set lasted just about long enough to justify an encore of the band’s sleeper hit Fel i Fod and the sweetly sentimental Eto, before the trio were unplugging their guitars and hurrying over to man their own merch stand. I obtained a set list from Owen and happily strolled back onto the streets of Ouseburn and back under Byker Bridge. It had been a satisfying if unspectacular midweek fixture – the gigging equivalent to a 1-0 win at home – but I was reassured that I’d supported a worthy up-and-coming band, both with my ticket fee and my lonesome yet committed dancing at the front and centre of the crowd. I may not have understood a word Hollie Singer sang, but strolling back home along dark wooded lanes, I was left certain that Adwaith’s star is in the ascendance.

PUP live at Project House review – propulsive pop punk pandemonium
10
May

The Canadian racket-makers specialise in gloomy songs about hopelessness and self-loathing, but this exhilarating blitz of bangers in Leeds brought nothing but joy to an amped up crowd eager to throw their drinks – and each other – in the air.

About three songs into PUP’s Leeds gig hands are already sprouting up from the centre of the crowd between songs. It’s not out of music-induced joy, but requests for the paper cups of water the stewards in front of the stage are already handing out – such is the heart-racing intensity of this band’s mosh-primed punk tracks. By the time a much needed drink comes my way, the next song is already revving into gear, a volley of cymbals setting the people around me in frenzied motion. I end up drinking half of it and spilling the rest over myself and the poor woman next to me in the ensuing carnage. 90 minutes later, it will be hard to spot a concertgoer not drenched in an odorous mix of water, sweat and beer as they stagger out the venue and back into reality.

PUP have no doubt seen scenes such as these many times before. The Toronto quartet are now five excellent albums in to a steadily successful career in the business of laying their hearts on the line over high octane guitar riffs and pounding drums. 2016’s fan favourite The Dream Is Over and more polished follow-up Morbid Stuff were nothing less than classics of the genre, Stefan Babcock’s unremittingly grim lyrics about harsh Canadian winters proving a winning combination with his anthemic and gloriously catchy melodies. Those albums were a creative high water mark that PUP – and most rock bands, in fact – have struggled to regain ever since, although this month’s new release Who Will Look After the Dogs? proved Babcock’s appetite for catchy nihilism isn’t going anywhere soon (the very first lyrics read “Staring into the void now / You’re going down with the ship”.)

In fact, PUP’s numerous songs about depression, hopelessness and loneliness are so intensely bleak you can understand Babcock feeling a little uncomfortable singing them night after night to packed rooms of thrilled fans. “These songs are so depressing, but we play them and you guys look like you’re smiling and having a good time and it feels… good,” Babcock tells us touchingly at one point. Cue Sleep In The Heat, a song about living alone and “blacking out on my carpet” which sparks sheer bedlam. “You wasted away / And nothing I do is gonna save you,” Babcock’s lyrics admit, but the fans are more interested in belting the free-spirited “woah-oh” hook, one hand on their chests and the other in the air as if it were the national anthem.

Such is the remarkable power of music: write a good melody and even words written from the lowest depths of depression can feel paradoxically awe-inspiring, life-affirming and even hopeful. Time and again, PUP pulled off this artistic miracle in front of an anarchic crowd lapping up every last power chord. Totally Fine’s flirtation with suicidal ideation sparked a wave of crowd surfers, crashing over my shoulders every 30 seconds or so. Free At Last had us screaming PUP’s most brilliantly bitter lyric (“Just ‘cause you’re sad again / It doesn’t make you special”) as Nestor Chumak sprinted through a sinuous bass line and Steve Sladkowski delivered one of the night’s many exquisite guitar solos.

The up tempo bangers came quick and fast, and perhaps a more shrewd use of the band’s slower numbers might have resulted in a stronger reception for recent single Get Dumber – for my money one of the band’s most exhilarating singles to date, but during which I found myself pogoing mostly alone. Babcock apologised before playing his pet song at the expense of the fans’ wishes (a cacophonous PUPTHEBAND Inc. Is Filing For Bankruptcy), but really this show offered a generous helping of old fan favourites. Nine year old magnum opus DVP was breathless musically and literally – one person pinned hard against the barriers had to be hurriedly extracted by stewards mid-song. Babcock couldn’t help but smile when a huge mosh circle formed spontaneously at the grand climax of Scorpion Hill; PUP have long graduated from the days of verbally coordinating these things. All Babcock needs to do is give a quick plea for a baseline level of personal safety at the start of the gig, and the rest of the mosh runs like clockwork, limbs flying and bodies rushing towards each other with instinctive glee.

Like all the best gigs, there was a sense that even Babcock and his bandmates felt that this particular gig was a special one. “Leeds has always been kind to us,” he told us gratefully, and there was a glint in his eye as he romped through an apocalyptic-sounding Paranoid, the band given extra heft by two guitarists from support act Illuminati Hotties. Hotties vocalist Sarah Tudzin stayed on stage for a rendition of Reservoir and promptly missed her cue for the first verse. No bother – the crowd were screaming along so loudly the vocals were barely audible anyway.

Metal-leaning Full Blown Meltdown was an oddly non-anthemic choice of song to close on, and PUP admirably refused to go through the usual encore pantomime. I had moshed my way to the front and was shouting the lyrics back at Babcock when he locked eyes with me, jumped off the stage and grabbed my hands, urgently shouting something off-mic. It didn’t take long for me to get the message – I set about hauling him into the air, pulling at his jeans and then lifting up his Converses above the sea of bodies behind me. It turned out to be a textbook piece of surfing from Babcock, moving at pace around the room six feet above the floor in a smooth arc before washing up back on stage just in time for the end of the song.

With that, PUP left the stage and the crowd caught their breath. A woman collected her cardigan now in tatters on the floor beside me. A man stood alone in the centre of the room holding up a single leather shoe, searching in vain for its owner. Friends reunited and hugged tightly before recounting their own tales from the mosh pit. I beelined for the water stand then relocated my own friends to hug and brag to about my moment with Stefan. The whole gig had been an extraordinary mix of violence and tenderness, loathing and loving, depression and euphoria. In each case, it was the latter that stuck with us in the smelly taxi ride home.

Ichiko Aoba live at the Glasshouse review – perfect serenity from the Japanese isles
29
Apr

Ichiko Aoba’s virtuosic guitar playing proved the main draw for a night of deeply beautiful experimental folk pieces from Japan, prefaced by one of the most extraordinary support acts I’ve ever witnessed.

It’s a blowy Friday night on the cusp of spring in Gateshead, and looking down towards the Millenium Bridge from my beloved Glasshouse, spying a dance troupe recording a video in front of the old Baltic flour mills and smartly dressed couples arriving for drinks at the glassy bars across the water. It’s no surprise I’m not the only lone figure wistfully looking out over the city ahead of celebrated Japanese songstress Ichiko Aoba’s performance – Aoba is the ultimate introverts’ artist. She makes gossamer experimental folk decorated with shimmering guitars and dream-like pianos and propelled by breathtaking vocals that flutter and dance with all the grace of a kite in flight. The staging on the Glasshouse’s second, more intimate stage was suitably homely and minimalist – a large silk lampshade, an elegant mahogany chair, an upright piano sitting patiently to one side. It seemed a blissful evening of music was ahead.

But first, a shock. I don’t usually mention support acts on this blog, but Julien Desprez’s performance of his 2020 work Agora was simply too extraordinary to omit. It started innocuously enough, Desprez somewhat awkwardly walking onto stage in silence and meekly introducing himself. An opening section on keyboard, with Desprez singing sombrely in French, was pleasant enough, although the ever-present dentists’ drill-style synthesiser in the background provided an undercurrent of unease. Soon that undercurrent became a raging torrent, Desprez picking up his guitar and launching into Agora’s punishing passages of bowel-rupturing electronics, flashes of intricate slap guitar interspersed throughout an assault of apocalyptic screeches. His feet moved furiously the whole time, rhythmically mashing away at his extensive pedalboard, a technique which the programme rather romantically links to the French-Canadian folk tradition of podorythmie. Only 20 minutes later did Desprez’s wall of sound finally let up. Just sitting through it required perseverance. To Desprez’s great credit, I’ve never experienced art so profoundly awful.

Much of the unease I felt during Desprez’s fearless performance wasn’t just to do with the music, but the fact that I was sat in a room full of fans of a famously quiet and delicate Japanese singer-songwriter. It would be hard to think of a support act more diametrically opposed to Aoba’s style. Predictably, Desprez soon had people clambering out of their seats and for the exits despite the minimal legroom. A woman on the row across from me was in such a hurry to leave she loudly dropped her phone on the floor. Others put their heads in their hands. On one particularly gruesome sonic explosion the man next to me threw his head back, either in awe or disgust. I was half-worried there might be boos at the end of the performance, but instead the Aoba fans politely clapped, then slowly filed out for the interval in a stunned hush.

Remarkably, Desprez had been chosen by Aoba herself. During one break in her set she teased a knowing chuckle from the crowd by struggling to define what sort of art Desprez made. Was it even music? “I really love Julien’s… dancing,” she settled on, before briefly giving her own version of Desprez-style noise-making by pulling at some random strings on her guitar. Desprez’s selection is a testament to Aoba’s unique eclecticism. A first listen to her catchier tunes may recall Phoebe Bridgers or Lizzy McAlpine, but this is by no means your standard-fare indie folk singer. Instead, Aoba pushes the limits of musical serenity with patient, drawn-out pieces and evocative field recordings from her home on the Ryukyu archipelago of southern Japan. Her artistry culminated in 2020’s magnificent Windswept Adan, a concept album that described a mythical, isolated tropical island by way of meditative guitars and rich orchestral instrumentation.

Of course, there’s only so much Aoba can do sat there alone on the Glasshouse stage – and as a result tonight’s rendition of Windswept Adan’s majestic highlight Dawn In the Adan feels sadly diminished in potency – but by and large Aoba’s compositions are strong enough to stand up to the scrutiny of a bare guitar-and-vocals set up. It helps that Aoba is an exceptional guitarist; Sagu Palm’s Song’s layered guitar plucking had Aoba’s right hand moving in a blur, but the resulting music sounded effortless. Murmurs of smooth jazz came and went throughout her set, particularly on opener Kokoro no Sekai, the sort of dignified waltz you might expect to overhear walking along the banks of the Seine on a summer’s evening.

Aoba’s technique was almost as virtuosic on keyboards, too, drifting gracefully across the keys during the atmospheric Coloratura, a song which winningly ends with Aoba evoking a far-flung seashore with soft whooshing sounds into the microphone. Sonar’s sturdier piano chords and lullaby-like melody was so trance-like it seemed to warp time. I could have sat there listening to it happily for hours.

Aoba, largely expressionless under a low fringe of thick black hair, might initially strike an overly serious, contemplative figure, but this performance proved that musical beauty need not be as stuffy and rigid as the formal Dvořák concert happening across the hallway in the Glasshouse’s main venue. In the silences as she switched instruments Aoba took to humming merrily and skipping across the stage like a fairy. When a persistent phone ringtone interrupted a particularly peaceful moment, she simply mimicked the melody on the piano Jacob Collier-style, causing some of the loudest audience cheers of the night. And then there was the adorable encore number Sayonara Penguin, which featured Aoba singing in a squeaky voice from the perspective of her feathered friend. It was gloriously stupid, and I was left wanting more.

Jeff Rosenstock: HELLMODE review – punk’s golden boy plays it safe
25
Apr

Billed as both his most chaotic and “solid” record so far, Jeff Rosenstock’s seventh full-length is neither, but still provides its fair share of satisfying if familiar punk rock hits.

There are few acts in rock today that can depict this era’s lingering sense of apocalypse (the broken machinations of late-stage capitalism, the corrosion of American democracy, the imminent decay of the whole planet above all) quite as sharply as Jeff Rosenstock. The veteran New York punk who started his career in an unhinged DIY collective called Bomb the Music Industry! (exclamation mark mandatory) has now spent over ten years dissecting his converging personal and global worries in the form of an increasingly lauded and hit-dense discography, peaking perhaps with the smooth-flowing masterpiece of angst WORRY., an album so definitive it deserved a full stop in the title.

This year’s promisingly titled HELLMODE was hailed by promoters and early reviewers as his most chaotic, anarchic and, in Rosenstock’s own words, “solid” record yet, so it’s something of a disappointment that it ends up sounding more or less like the six albums that preceded it. The good news is that any Jeff Rosenstock album is a good one, and his knack for sticky hooks and pithy distillations of a very millennial form of pessimism isn’t going anywhere. HELLMODE is front loaded with tightly written numbers. Exhilarating opener WILL U STILL U is packed with instrumental left turns and belting gang vocals that wouldn’t sound out of place next to the 40-year-old’s very best. Lead single LIKED U BETTER winningly pairs a jaunty keyboard earworm with that sinking feeling of being able to escape your own anxieties. DOUBT follows suit, nurturing a false sense of ease before erupting into a screechy, cathartic polemic. Oftentimes Rosenstock’s dismay at the state of the world – the climate crisis in particular looms over this record – veers towards a relatable defeatism. “The world doesn’t owe you,” he concludes powerfully in standout FUTURE IS DUMB, thus summarising ten years of intense creative output in a single harsh truth.

It’s a shame that Rosenstock couldn’t quite maintain his momentum, especially when it comes to album centrepiece HEALMODE, which does away with the rest of the record’s nuance and undermines the prevailing sense of gloom with the tired, sickly sweet message that love alone can save us from unmitigated disaster. It doesn’t help that the clichéd lyrics are delivered with a cautious softness by Rosenstock, whose voice is much better suited to angry ragers about the constitution than cutesy love songs with an acoustic guitar. Hookless LIFE ADMIN follows, which stands out as one of the limpest tracks Rosenstock has released in years.

As is customary for a Rosenstock album, it all ends in a somewhat theatrical seven minute epic, although there’s very little in 3 SUMMERS that can outdo the much more memorable closing numbers in Rosenstock albums of years gone by. Above all, that’s the key limitation of HELLMODE: with the exception of flawed moment of calm HEALMODE, there’s little invention to be found here, and this distinctive form of volatile rock is better served by most of Rosenstock’s previous releases. True, this is a competently delivered album by an artist who clearly knows how to set a room alight with blaring guitars and verbalised deep-seated dread. It just helps if you don’t know what you’re missing out from the rest of Rosenstock’s oeuvre.

Los Bitchos live at Star and Shadow review – scintillating cumbia finds a new home on the Tyne
19
Apr

Sturdy trainers were indispensable for a night of moving and shaking in one of the trendiest little venues in Newcastle. Armed with an arsenal of percussion, it was Los Bitchos’s touching onstage chemistry that turned a good show into a fabulous one.

It’s been a wild week, but something about stepping into the modest crowd inside the Star and Shadow felt like home. I’d been slightly nervous on the bus journey across Newcastle city centre – perhaps a sign that my solo gigging confidence has been lost somewhere in an almost concert-free summer – but seeing the lights and the staging and feeling the atmosphere of anticipation reminded me why I love live music so much, with company or otherwise. It helped that the Star and Shadow turned out to be my sort of venue. Cinema by day, the small complex is proudly independent and volunteer-run, and it felt like it with its artsy handmade signs and exposed overhead ventilation ducts that butted up against a mirrorball hung up by string, giving the place a cobbled together feel, albeit lovingly. No one I had asked since moving to the city three days earlier had even heard of the venue, which was small enough for the merch queue to be almost non-existent and the bar queue an unusually polite single line leading to one side. The typically awkward task of wrangling my way to the front was a cakewalk; in fact I did a little too well, and my spot front and centre with some space around me was a bit more of a challenge to my shyness than I had bargained for. Being the only member of the crowd in a fresh, bright tangerine Los Bitchos t-shirt admittedly didn’t help me blend in.

The Star and Shadow seemed to suit Los Bitchos too, a somewhat underground four-piece from London whose remarkably niche style of guitar-driven ’80s instrumental cumbia (Latin-American dance music with roots in Africa) has gained them some notoriety as the queens of their genre in the Big Smoke. To call Los Bitchos Londoners is to discount the improbable variety the band members offer. Australian former drummer Serra Petale plays lead guitar and acts as frontwoman; Swede Josefine Jonsson, formerly of a garage rock band, takes bass; Uruguayan model Agustina Ruiz plays synthesiser and born-and-bred Londoner Nic Crawshaw both plays drums and is a working physiotherapist in the NHS.

Despite their disparate origins, as soon as the music started Los Bitchos were one inseperable unit, and the undeniable chemistry between performers was a joy to witness. Whether performing coordinated footwork (the band simply having too much fun for it to come across cheesy) or sharing swigs of tequila between songs, the four women were clearly keen to share the spotlight as evenly as possible. Leading the charge was Petale with her slinking, frictionless guitar lines and carefree dancing which was well replicated by an energetic audience. Jonsson was an authority on bass, her riffs heavy and thumping, and Crawshaw was an engine at the back on kit, her kick drum providing an everpresent thwack that got the crowd’s feet moving. Percussion is an essential part of Los Bitchos’s appeal, and every member had a crack on some sort of percussion throughout the night. The several exhilarating drum breaks involved a flurry of clattering cowbell and rippling bongos, a tapestry of sound too detailed to fully appreciate in the moment. In the midst of it all, the four of them looked like they could hardly be having more fun. Even Ruiz, tasked largely with holding down long notes on a relatively quiet synthesiser between sorties on an egg shaker, rarely stood still amid the frenzy.

I had quietly hoped that a live show would give Los Bitchos – and Petale in particular – time to explore their tracks with some improvisation, but instead songs largely stuck to their original blueprint, with Petale’s guitar playing never beyond the remit of your average intermediate guitar player. Instead, the smartly crafted ostinatos were performed with purpose and passion by Petale, who often seemed utterly lost in the groove. At her best, like on impulsive plodder Pista (Fresh Start) or hopelessly earwormy The Link Is About to Die, Petale’s hooks felt inevitable, and quite capable of being played over and over for many minutes without losing any of their appeal. Throbbing Tripping at a Party, which at times sounded like a quaint cumbian Benny Hill Theme, was another example of Petale at the top of her game both in terms of songwriting and performance.

Drum breaks were amongst the show’s highlights

Wisely given the billing it deserved, Las Panteras was an ecstatic, roof-demolishing set closer. A final build – faster, louder and even more thrilling than the original – had the crowd in raptures. The end result was a room of invariably hot and sweaty revellers begging for more; poor Star and Shadow lacked the air ventilation to deal with such an invigorating dance number. Tequila, fulfilling the wishes of several crowd members, was the fated encore follow up. Changing the formula for possibly the only Latin-American surf rock standard in Western popular culture was a necessity, and Los Bitchos’s Tequila was refreshingly intense, Ruiz belting out Spanish into the mic with the force of a pop punk star behind a wall of rock guitars. An uninhibited yelp of “Tequila!” from everyone in the room marked a fitting end to a deeply lovely night of joyful music from musicians that didn’t take themselves or their art too seriously. Such an act isn’t always easy to find.

I walked back onto the quiet evening streets of Shieldfield glowing with that addictive post-gig high, not before taking an opportunity to thank Ruiz and Crawshaw who were already calming down with cigarettes on the entrance steps. A Los Bitchos gig had been a strange way to come to terms with the big week of change in a new city, but it had worked wonders. I couldn’t have wished for a more delightful inauguration.

Britain’s new age indie scene – a new sound is on the rise and you don’t want to miss out
1
Apr

A new wave of indie music has been brewing and the potential isn’t barred by any limits. Indie music has been huge in the UK for as long as I remember, but new factors are changing the sound of the new up-and-coming talent into something completely different. By Matthew Rowe.

Indie music has often been praised as the voice of the younger generation, and you will often find that the youth will associate themselves with the sound of the ever-recognisable tunes of the Arctic Monkeys, the Strokes, and Pulp, just to name a few. These are big household names who have helped develop and create their own indie sound, one that will certainly never be forgotten. However, more recently, there has been a huge burst of creativity within the indie scene, with a lot of new talent alongside it. These new artists are helping preserve the meaning of indie while putting their own twist on it.

As a genre, indie music has a massive cultural significance that can’t be ignored. For one, the university experience I’ve enjoyed wouldn’t have been anywhere as good without it. You can’t go to a party without soaking up indie music and its culture. My personal favourite venue, The Leadmill, is host to many indie nights out and so many great gigs; it is truly a hub of musical exploration and a place to have a damn good time (bless the £1.50 doubles).

If I had a pound for every reference to the Tories in indie songs, I’m be deemed a Conservative.

The sound may be developing but some things in indie don’t change. Themes in indie songs still follow consistent themes and messages. If I had a pound for every reference to how bad the Tories are in an indie song, I’d be deemed a Conservative voter. But this is what it’s all about: the voice of the youth expressing their opinions on a vast amount of issues both inside the UK and globally, one example being Declan McKenna‘s British Bombs, a modern-day cult classic that is recognisable instantaneously. The standard themes are being followed but some have rightfully been pushed further than others. Ideas of identity, self-worth and female empowerment have been made so much more vocal, creating an insight into issues recently pushed into the public’s eye, often to the distaste of the older generation. Two songs that I think show this beautifully are Lime Garden’s I Want To Be You and CMAT’s Whatever’s Inconvenient. The sounds of the greats don’t lose their value and are often replicated by bands wanting to reach the great hits their predecessors had. This is shown by Sheffield-based band The Reytons, who have adapted local legends and the Arctic Monkeys sound relatively successfully. If you are ever on a night out, it’s unexplainable, but the atmosphere will become electric whenever an indie banger comes on.

These developments can’t purely be put down to indie music; the music scene as a whole has shifted in recent years. Huge developments in UK jazz, post-punk and rap have all had their impact on the genre, elevating it to a whole new level. This allows a level of creativity and it shows. Post-punk has had such an amazing impact; artists such as BC,NR have had such a huge impact, and other bands in the crank wave subgenre are interchangeable with indie. Hard-hitting indie bands Do Nothing, Dry Cleaning, and Courting are great examples of the development of indie in the post-punk direction. This isn’t the only way the scene has developed; spoken word has snuck its way in almost seamlessly. Leeds band Yard Act are a great example of this, often leaving the preconceptions of how an indie song should be laid out, allowing them to both create standard songs with funky hooks but also much more solemn monologues. This sound is also shown by the much more popular Wet Leg.

The impact of other otherwise irrelevant genres is not to be understated

Outside of the UK, very unexpected artists have been entering the domain. Rapper Lil Yachty gained a reputation for creating rap songs such as iSpy, but last year he took a huge risk by entering alternative indie with the very influential album Let’s Start Here. This was a complete change in vibe for the American artist but it paid off. The song Drive Me Crazy! is a perfect example of this new experimental feel he was going for, creating a perfect example of how the genre of rap has been infused into indie. The concept has been around for a while. Years ago, Arctic Monkeys collaborated with British icon Dizzie Rascal to create Temptation Greets You Like Your Naughty Friend. Bloc Party is known for mixing the two consistently, but it’s incredibly promising to see otherwise unexpected artists entering the subgenre.

Here are some songs by the insane new talent that you need to hear:

I Want To Be You – Lime Garden (Single)

This song is a perfect embodiment of how the standards held by those famous on TV lead to innate jealousy and a desire to change their body and lifestyle, highlighting the huge issues of being surrounded by these fake idols. This is consistent in Lime Garden’s music, a girl band who seamlessly expresses modern issues in their songs

Nearly Daffodils – English Teacher (Nearly Daffodils)

Heavily post-punk inspired band English Teacher often takes a heavier, rock feel to indie, especially in this song sounding akin to a hybrid of Fontaines D.C., Dry Cleaning, and Wet Leg. The singer, ironically named Lily Fontaine, bridges the gap between a harsh, brutal instrumental and a much more melodic and soothing voice, despite still being able to shout out to drive home the whole point: “You can lead water to the daffodils, but you can’t make them drink.” Fontaine’s range is shown in their discography, with much more melancholy compositions like Mastermind Specialism and a poetic start to Yorkshire Tapas.

R Entertainment – Sports Team (Gulp!)

It wouldn’t be a list of indie recommendations if I didn’t mention Cambridge-formed band Sports Team, who gained notoriety in 2020 with their debut album Deep Down Happy and many of my favourite indie rock songs, such as Stations of the Cross. They haven’t slowed down since, going on several tours or releasing a second album, Gulp!. This album hasn’t gained as much traction as their debut, but in my opinion it has songs of the same or even better quality. R Entertainment is my pick from this album, a commentary on how desensitised the general public has become to otherwise shocking content and how war, homicide, and car crashes have become almost trivial to us. “They’re mowing us down, for R entertainment.” The slang just emphasises how much of an issue it is in the UK.

I Wanna Be a Cowboy, Baby! – CMAT (If My Wife New I’d Be Dead)

CMAT has one of the most impressive voices I have ever heard. Hailing from Ireland, she doesn’t hold back with her loud, passion-filled choruses. I had the pleasure of seeing her live recently, and I was amazed her voice hadn’t died by the end of a nearly three hour action packed and downright fun set. Her song I Wanna Be a Cowboy, Baby! covers so many issues while being an incredibly catchy banger. Several people in the crowd donned cowboy hats for the gig. Issues of self-identity and empowerment are covered here with lines such as “But I break down every time I’m on the scales” and “My style icon is the wolverine / Between each finger lies the key / To getting home without a buckaroo.” These lines emphasise issues of body standards as well as how society and men will often go out with the pure intention of going home with someone and view women as objects, the keys referencing needing self-defense on a day-to-day basis. Her discography covers so many deep issues while maintaining high quality and listenability.

The British music scene and indie as a whole are in great hands; these new talents have already achieved brilliant things, from widely acclaimed albums to supporting huge global talents to having their own national and international tours. I can’t wait to see what they are capable of and how other genres will continue to influence both new and established artists. The Arctic Monkeys delving into more lounge and art rock is a great example of this. To conclude, please give the new indie scene a listen, specifically the songs mentioned above.

Welly: Big In The Suburbs review – puts the fun back in British indie rock
21
Mar

Welly’s debut album is winningly silly, although its political satire feels a little too safe, and the comedy in Elliot Hall’s cartoonish vocals wears thin quickly.

“It’s very serious, at least it is later on, and you’re not to laugh at the serious bits,” a pompous presenter tells us at the start of Welly’s debut album. “I’ll tell you when that comes.” It’s as good a manifesto as any for this lively indie upstart with a penchant for wry observations of modern life in the vein of witty Americans Cheekface, as well as their ever popular British indie peers Sports Team.

Elliot Hall leads the charge, delivering absurd character portraits and the occasional political barb with a nasally yelp à la Squid’s Ollie Judge, yet somehow even more cartoonish. His delivery adds rowdiness to Big in the Suburbs’ noisier numbers (‘Home For the Weekend’, ‘Deere John’), but risks becoming headache-inducingly irritating over the course of a 50-minute album.

It helps that the words he’s singing are interesting, mixing quickfire puns with political takedowns. “She’s fallen in love with a gameshow host / The chase was on, but it’s pointless now,” the self-assured title track offers, before turning its attention to the more serious matters of the housing crisis and “nationalised hate”. ‘Shopping’ is a shrewd dissection of modern consumerism, even if Hall’s vocal delivery sounds like a whiny nine-year-old throwing a tantrum.

Punky and ragged single ‘Deere John’ attacks a lonely, alcoholic husband (“You’re too old for nightlife!”), whilst ‘Soak Up the Culture’ turns its scorn to self-obsessed gap year girls. It’s all entertaining enough, but also feels only surface-level deep, cheaply mocking the symptoms of inequality and social malaise rather than attempting the trickier task of pinning down the root causes.

That said, fans who dismiss Welly based on Big In the Suburbs’ patchy first half will miss this album’s surprising shift in tone in the second half. Album highlight ‘Pampass Grass’ sounds like a distorted ABBA rendition, succeeding in telling a series of tragic character portraits whilst also making it all irresistibly danceable. “I’ve got to get out!” Hall belts in endearing disco number ‘The Roundabout Racehorse’ whilst ‘Family Photos’ intriguingly hints at personal struggles behind Hall’s comic showman, although the meek outro exposes his vocal frailties.

In the end, Big In the Suburbs doesn’t quite marry Hall’s love of political satire with his desire to deliver something more emotionally impactful. Often the album’s many characters feel deliberately shallow and archetypal, lyrical strawmen for Hall to fire his witty one-liners at. The result is fun and entertaining, but recoils from offering something more meaningful or artistically vulnerable.

It’s exemplified in the spoken word piece ‘Under Milk Wood’, a poignant poem about zooming out from life’s fine-grained chaos and observing a sleeping town from a neutral, god-like perspective. “From where you are, you can hear their dreams… or something like that,” the speaker concludes, tossing away his profound musings behind a protective barrier of laughter and irony. Yes, Hall is a sharp humourist, but Big In the Suburbs leaves you wishing Welly stopped shying away from all those ‘serious bits’.

Courting: Lust for Life review – overwrought concept album pulls its punches
17
Mar

Courting: Lust for Life review – overwrought concept album pulls its punches

The Liverpool band’s drive for creative risk-taking is admirable, but the experiment doesn’t pay off on this disappointingly messy and scant third album.

Depending on your perspective, Courting’s new album, Lust for Life, Or: ‘How to Thread the Needle and Come Out the Other Side To Tell the Story’ was always destined to be genius or disastrous. Frontman Sean Murphy-O’Neill was clear about his ambitions in his interviews before release day: there would be a ‘mirrored’ track list (each song has a musically-related pair), a promise of multiple lyrical ‘Easter eggs’, an overriding theme of duality exemplified by the two figures on the monochrome cover art and that exhausting two-part album title.

In a rock landscape of unadventurous yet ever successful 2000s indie revivalists – I’m looking at you, Circa Waves – it’s hard to fault Murphy-O’Neill’s drive to deliver a high-art modern rock classic. Last year’s New Last Name came with a grand love narrative, but really it was all about a few stellar singles, not least Flex, which brilliantly conveyed the blissful ignorance of youth, sounding a bit like Carly Rae Jepsen if she made rock for teen boys rather than pop for teen girls.

It’s a disappointment, then, that the new album trailered as the culmination of Courting’s ‘evolution’ thus far weighs in at a meagre 25 minutes and eight tracks, two of which are instrumental tone-setters. O’Neill has talked about the band’s newfound search for conciseness but on this, their third album in a little over three years, the end result just feels rushed and underwritten. The lyrical cross-references and much-touted “hidden depths” are no doubt bountiful, but it’s a shame that Courting couldn’t spend more time fleshing out their numerous intriguing ideas.