indie | Music Boats

Undertone’s best songs of 2023
28
Dec

From chart-toppers to hidden gems, it’s time to reminisce about the most remarkable musical moments of 2023, as we countdown the year’s greatest hits. The rules are the same as usual: only one song per artist and no covers. Remember this is primarily a personal reflection on my own music habits this year; I don’t pretend to have listened to enough music to declare the best works of all popular music this year, and you might spot some songs that were released before 2023. This list is about sharing the best songs that I happen to have discovered in the last twelve months.

40.I See Myself

by Geese from 3D Country

It’s been a breakout year for lovable New York indie band Geese, whose unhinged, creative post-punk creations suit their throwaway nickname. Beyond the playful vocals, there’s a deep sense of groove to I See Myself’s half time strut, which oozes with tambourine and cowbell yet never feels cluttered – every last dink has earned its place in this mix. As for the hook, good luck forgetting the titular refrain – belted every time – any time this side of next Christmas.

Also try: Cowboy Nudes

39.impossible

by Wasia Project from how can i pretend?

Creative pop siblings Wasia Project look set for big things in 2024. The Guildhall students already have an impressive collection of stylish, instrument-driven pop under their name (plus an acting credit in hit Netflix series Heartstopper), and impossible is just one example of an intelligently written composition rich in potential. It lifts off in the final third, piano throbbing and Olivia Hardy’s vocals soaring skywards. Keep a close eye on them.

Also try: Petals on the Moon

38.Topless Mother

by Nadine Shah from Filthy Underneath

Nadine Shah delivers her chorus in Topless Mother with ample venom, hissing out every last syllable, backed by tribal drums and sudden deluges of cymbals. It’s just as well, because the words themselves are rhyming gibberish: “Sinatra, Viagra, iguana / Sharia, Diana, samosa” comprise the first two lines. It’s a startling approach that serves as a middle finger to her critics and a steadfast refusal to fit into the mould assigned to her. It’s a vicious reminder never to get on the wrong side of a skilled songwriter.

Also try: Twenty Things

37.HOT TO GO!

by Chappell Roan from The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess

It’s been a breakout year for many artists, but few have had a trajectory as stratospheric as Chappell Roan’s, who started the year as one of thousands of aspiring young American pop stars and finished it with a global hit album and a support slot on tour with no less than the undisputed queen of young American pop stars, Olivia Rodrigo. HOT TO GO!, and its accompanying dance routine, accounts for some of Roan’s phenomenal success, typifying her bratty, entertaining brand of pop. Roan’s lyrics are hardly Shakespeare (she’s certainly not above spelling out the song title cheerleader-style), but the silly chorus comprises one of the most intractable earworms of the year – hear it once and it will haunt your dreams (and perhaps nightmares) for sixth months hence. Add some bouncy synths and a half-rapped pre chorus that veers precariously close to cheesiness and the result is a career-launching banger free of pomposity and absolutely stuffed with life-affirming glee.

Also try: Femininomenon

36.Then It All Goes Away

by Dayglow from People In Motion

Then It All Goes Away is one of the most satisfying examples of sunny indie pop that Texan showman Dayglow has come out with so far. Bright piano riffs and a very healthy contingent of cowbell make for easy listening, and spacey guitars hold gimmers of 80s pop at its dreamiest. A perfect soundtrack to your next daydream of summer.

Also try: Deep End

35.Glory

by Gabriels from Angels & Queens

Soul trio Gabriels were one of the standout performers of Glastonbury 2023, with Glory the peak of a heart-warming set. Jacob Lusk’s silky voice is as charismatic as ever, but its the driving percussion and insistent strings that make this foot-tapper such an exciting listen.

Also try: Love and Hate in a Different Time

34.Who Let Him In

by Obongjayar

What’s refreshing about Who Let Him In is not the strength of Obongjayar’s brags (being able to string together a few rhymes about how great and unique you are is more or less a prerequisite for today’s rappers) but in how justified they are. “I fear no one / Walk in the room like the owner,” he tells us, and by the sounds of this beat – a bubbling Afrobeat groove bursting at the seams with energy – he seems utterly believable. Obongjayar doesn’t just want to be a good artist, he wants to “take over”, and with tracks as inspired as this one, that’s exactly what he seems destined to do.

Also try: Just Cool

33.Dans Le Noir

by Free Love from Inside

Glasgow synth duo sound anything but Scottish on this largely French-language funk-pop belter, but the language gives this sticky dance number a flirtatious edge, regardless of the meaning of Suzi Cook’s words. An almost comically overblown synth bass is the main attraction, though, and the instrument is rightly given free reign to wobble around its rich upper range in an extended instrument section in the middle of this song. Cook’s vocal hook eventually returns us to solid ground in a song full of left turns from a duo quite happy to keep their audiences guessing.

Also try: Open The Door

32.Who the Hell Is Edgar?

by TEYA & SALENA

Sweden may have won it with a vaguely uninspiring pop song, but it was Austria that came to Eurovision 2023 with arguably best song of this year’s contest. Who the Hell Is Edgar? strikes the fine balance between loveable joke song and earnest work of art with a clear message in a contest where songs usually fall heavily into one of the two categories (think hard rock fancy dress monsters for the former, hymn for the deported Crimean Tatars for the latter). TEYA and SALENA’s playful chemistry is a joy as they summon the ghost of 19th century poet Edgar Allen Poe and the various threads of the song are knotted together cleverly after the bridge. Granted, TEYA and SALENA’s performance on the night left something to be desired and a slot as show opener can’t have helped votes, but in more favourable conditions Who the Hell Is Edgar? would have made for a worthy Eurovision champion.

Also try: Ukraine’s excellent entry, Heart of Steel by TVORCHI

31.(You) On My Arm

by Leith Ross from To Learn

Leith Ross hit viral success in 2023 with the acoustic guitar track We’ll Never Have Sex, the sort of throwaway almost-song (it’s only 100 seconds long) that would never be a hit before the age of streaming. (You) On My Arm stands out as both the only uptempo track and best tune on their debut album, a pleasingly understated indie rock number that features the ingenious line “I’d be better armed if you agreed to take it.” The songwriting fundamentals are handled so competently here it’s a relief that Ross doesn’t unnecessarily complicate things with a flashy backing, instead sticking to a muted bass tone and spacey guitars that complement her introspective vocals. It’s no wonder her humble approach to music making has resonated with millions around the world.

Also try: Monogamy

30.Love for the Last Time

by Leadley from LIGHT POP

There’s an unreality that goes beyond the usual popstar Photoshopping in West Midlands singer Leadley’s album covers, presenting her as a sort of celestial beauty of impossible perfection. Her songs have a similar immaculate quality, especially Love For The Last Time, a note perfect pop song blessed with crystalline production. A divine sax riff recalls Carly Rae Jepsen at her five star best, and enjoyably schmaltzy lyrics like “Hold me like it isn’t goodbye / Touch me like you’re never really leaving,” roll off the tongue like honey on freshly baked pancakes. The result is almost too sweet.

Also try: Love Me Like That

29.Hell

by Sleater-Kinney from Little Rope

“Hell is desperation / And a young man with a gun,” Corin Tucker informs us ominously in the minimalist start to Hell, her portentous lyrics the only sign of the melee of sound to come. It’s a contrast that works deliciously well when the chorus does eventually hit, a screaming electric guitar loud and salient in the mix like the whirr of a dentist’s drill. It’s one of the grungiest choruses I’ve heard all year and I can’t get enough of it.

Also try: Say It Like You Mean It

28.Dancer

by IDLES feat. LCD Soundsystem from TANGK

Dance and disco music may not be an obvious match for IDLES, Bristol’s ever popular post punk group helmed by the fearsome Joe Talbot, a man who seems to grow more grizzled and bear-like with every passing year. But, right from the opening swoop of disco strings, this collaboration with dance music luminary LCD Soundsystem comes off surprisingly well. Industrial guitar riffs open up for a pummeling chorus, Talbot’s descriptions of dancing “cheek to cheek” sounding uneasily violent rather than swooning and romantic. Their new album TANGK, due in February, promises to be something special.

Also try: Grace

27.Poor Madeline

by Daffo from Pest

Daffo came out with one of the finest indie rock EPs of the year with October’s Pest, which features a number of soulful compositions that have both a depth of emotion and proficiency of songwriting that many of her peers lack. Poor Madeline is just one of several potential picks for this list and shows Daffo’s typical urge to strive above and beyond the usual song structures associated with the genre.

Also try: Seed, Good God and Collector are all Poor Madeline‘s equal

26.New York Transit Queen

by Corinne Bailey Rae from Black Rainbows

Corinne Bailey Rae’s September album Black Rainbows marked one of the most astounding artistic pivots of the year. For the woman behind the smooth, sunshine-filled R&B hit Put Your Records On, lead single New York Transit Queen could hardly have been more shocking. There are no tinkling triangles or cheery Hammond organs to be found here – this track is an unreservedly grungy pastiche of 60s rock and roll in all its swaggering glory. The opening guitar riff, which has all the blunt-force simplicity of You Really Got Me, hits like a truck and Rae’s vocals are strikingly distorted and unhinged. What’s most remarkable is that the track doesn’t end up sounding like a cover or parody. The grit of the blaring instrumentation here feels organic, the drums hammered out with what feels like genuine fury. Appropriately, a vodka shot of a song like this comes and goes in a frantic 109 seconds. It’s just as well – even at this length, New York Transit Queen has a tendency to leave you breathless.

Also try: He Will Follow You With His Eyes is a remarkable, completely different sonic experience.

25.Theatre

by Etta Marcus from The Death of Summer & Other Promises

Etta Marcus made the list two years ago with a melancholy, nuanced ballad with Matt Maltese, and Theatre starts in much the same vein before revealing itself to be a much different beast. Far from a sweetly romantic tune about moving to America, Theatre is a rock rager about crushing, desperate loneliness, with the volume turned up to the max. It’s propelled by a gut-wrenching set of lyrics in which Marcus plays a twisted version of herself hell bent on love, demanding someone, anyone, to “call me baby / let me die on the stage / let the orchestra play”. The melodrama is matched by a barnstorming vocal performance, Marcus almost audibly dropping to her knees in anguish. Like an enthralling stage performance, this song is impossible to ignore.

Also try: Snowflake Suzy

24.Phone Me

by CMAT from Crazymad, For Me

2023 was a year in which Irish singer-songwriter CMAT finally fulfilled her potential with a rewarding second album of charismatic indie rock that married inventive songwriting with thinly veiled self-mocking humour. Phone Me was the catchiest of the bunch, with a cracking bass line and a chorus that leaned into the strengths of CMAT’s formidable vocals. “Does my affliction turn you on?” she belts with trademark matter-of-factness. It’s this fearlessness that has seen CMAT’s career flourish this year, and there’s a sense that 2024 will likely be more of the same.

Also try: California and Have Fun! are similarly great tracks that bookend CMAT’s new album, while Rent is the mid-album showpiece.

23.5-Watt Rock

by Theo Katzman from Be the Wheel

Theo Katzman’s fourth studio album Be The Wheel was not short on earnestly profound reflections on a pandemic spent largely alone in the wilderness (the eloquent title track very nearly made it on to this list), so I could forgive Katzman for feeling disappointed that the record’s comic relief is what I’ve selected here. Sure, this tale of a humble songwriter overcoming the inadequacies of his small guitar amp is not overtly thought provoking, but it’s still a sweet story expertly delivered and a fine example of Katzman’s knack for satisfying rhymes. The chorus is one of the earworms of his career – you can practically hear the band’s smiles as the group vocals reach ever upwards, urged on by a genius chord progression even by Katzman’s high standards. No doubt Katzman spent many more sleepless nights crafting the dense lyrics found elsewhere on the album than for this light-hearted ditty, but perhaps Be The Wheel would have benefitted from a little more of 5-Watt Rock’s simple joy.

Also try: Be the Wheel and Hit the Target provide a bit more food for thought and also showcase Katzman’s adroit songwriting.

22.One That Got Away

by MUNA

There’s only been one song from Los Angeles pack leaders MUNA this year following the triumph of last year’s Silk Chiffon, a glorious collaboration with Phoebe Bridgers, but boy is it a good one. On One That Got Away, the band lean into full-blown 80s art pop, the angular synths almost blinding vibrant, the aggressively clipped snare drum sounding colossal. Katie Gavin’s hook is a winner, and a climactic bass fill almost feels cribbed from that moment in You Can Call Me Al. This ever popular trio aren’t going anywhere.

Also try: Silk Chiffon is an essential piece of not just MUNA’s discography, but modern pop in general.

21.Clashing Colours

by Quinn Oulton feat. Monica Martin from Alexithymia

A reworking with incomparable soul singer Monica Martin elevated this track from South London multi-instrumentalist Quinn Oulton in April. A sublimely rich bass is a spectre looming over the mix and a nice match for Oulton’s tip-toeing breathy sax, which eventually finds its place in the track with a meandering jazz solo. It makes for an impossibly cool jazz-funk stew – a groove to savour with every listen.

Also try: Lately

20.New York

by The Kills from God Games

“Why should hip-hop be future-forward and guitar music always looking back?” the Kills asked in an NME interview before their recent album God Games, and it’s only when you hear the inventive brilliance of that album that it becomes how clear just how behind the curve the rest of today’s guitar music is. New York in particular succeeds in being unlike any rock song you’ve heard before, in large part to a heavy use of orchestra hits, which lend the track the grandiosity of the opening scenes of a spy thriller. Bare bones percussion and wall-shaking bass make for a suitably industrial-feeling portrait of the Big Apple. This isn’t a repeat of Alicia Keys’ or Frank Sinatra’s romantic visions of American Dream New York, but perhaps something more realistic: dirtier, angrier, with rats scuttling from gutter to gutter and taxi horns blaring. New York’s most compelling aspect, however, is its roof-raiser of a guitar riff, destined to be sung passionately by thousands in the vast concert halls that no doubt await this daring rock duo.

Also try: Wasterpiece

19.Begin Again

by Jessie Ware from That! Feels Good!

Begin Again formed the pinnacle of Jessie Ware’s April album That! Feels Good!, which largely built on the sound established by its predecessor What’s Your Pleasure? – no bad thing since What’s Your Pleasure? was nothing short of a modern classic. It’s a towering five and a half minute epic that earns favourable comparisons to Stevie Wonder’s Another Star. The descending bass line holds similar gravitas, as does a stellar horn contribution from trendy London jazz group Kokoroko. It’s Ware herself, however, that crowns it, sealing a cinematic crescendo with spine-tingling high notes that exemplify the huge strides she’s made as both an artist and a singer since her debut 13 years ago.

Also try: you can’t go wrong with Ware’s latest album, but Pearls and Freak Me Now are two of my other favourites.

18.Everybody’s Saying That

by Girl Ray from Prestige

Girl Ray’s live show may have disappointed in November, but there’s no denying Everybody’s Saying That is a glorious little disco single. There’s a loveable awkwardness to Poppy Hankin’s vocals and the mix as a whole, which trades the glossy sheen of something Dua Lipa might release for the air of three friends simply having a good time in a studio. There’s plenty of fun to be had on that bulletproof chorus hook, and the trio don’t miss the opportunity for a slightly silly clavinet breakdown. The result is a simple joy: funk at its euphoric, uncomplicated best.

Also try: True Love and Tell Me provide plenty more disco joy.

17.Birth4000

by Floating Points

Try to explain to someone in a sentence what sort of music Floating Points makes and you’ll find yourself giving five more sentences of qualifiers and explanations before you can get close to fully conveying the extent of this artist’s musical creativity. A good place to start is his astonishing work with London Symphony Orchestra, Promises, which is a transfixing, 46-minute long ambient classical piece that features the murmured incantations of late sax giant Pharoah Sanders. Fittingly, Birth4000 is just about the complete opposite: a steamy, in-your-face trance banger that writhes and throbs the way only the most compelling dance music can. The drops are titanic, with the kick drum turned up just loud enough to become slightly distorted. This is a piece of music that kicks you by the backside into the hypnotising strobes of a euphoric, thronging nightclub. You won’t want it to stop.

Also try: devote an hour to Promises and thank me later, or try trippy single Vocoder for a completely different side of Floating Points.

16.Running Out of Time

by Paramore from This Is Why

Beloved punk pop group Paramore could be forgiven for calling it quits at this point, their late-noughties hits like Misery Business and All I Wanted now increasingly old enough to enter nostalgic classic territory. Instead, they released one of the best albums of their career so far with February’s edgy, quick-witted tour de force This Is Why. The call-to-action title track that opens the album was easy to love, but I’ve gone with funky Running Out Of Time for this list. A playful number about always being late (“There was a fire! (metaphorically) / Be there in five! (hyperbolically)”), there’s also a touch of social commentary on our productivity-first culture for any listeners looking for some food for thought. More importantly, there’s some delightfully nasty guitar riffs, plus Zac Farro letting loose on a swaggering drum groove. Paramore’s golden era hits may be untouchable but make no mistake: this band isn’t fading away any time soon.

Also try: This Is Why‘s title track makes for a killer album opener.

15.Go Dig My Grave

by Lankum from False Lankum

Irish drone-folk group are no strangers to gothic tales of doom and misery, but Go Dig My Grave, the masterful opener to their lauded March album False Lankum (the Guardian’s Album of the Year, no less) reaches new levels of chilling. It begins with a breathtaking two minutes of solo vocals from Radie Peat, who possesses an earthy, sorrowful voice unlike any you’ve heard before. She unravels a disturbing narrative as storm clouds gather in the form of industrial clatters and a sinister strings drone. Each member of Lankum is a multi-instrumentalist and the fact that most of the instruments in the ensuing dirge are tricky to identify adds to the disorientating horror, lending the climax a supernatural intensity. This is folk music at its most sickening, the terror of Peat’s lyrics realised potently in the incessant rise and fall of detuned violins. Go Dig My Grave is Lankum at the peak of their witch-like powers.

Also try: there’s plenty of treasures on False Lankum. Master Crowley’s successfully turns a Gaelic jig into something hellish, while On a Monday Morning is one of many drone-free moments of peaceful melancholia.

14.Sleepwalker

by Ava Max from Diamonds & Dancefloors

It seems the intensely mainstream sound of Ava Max has caused to her music to be largely dismissed as chart-ready pop candy floss, primed to keep company with the countless other indistinguishable female pop acts destined to be forgotten in a few years’ time. Indeed, Max’s vocals are hardly exceptional, and Sleepwalker’s lyrics about making a guy obsess over her are at best functional and at worst clunky, but the fact is no other pop song this year has matched this one’s instant appeal. Flawless chorus hook aside, what other charting track this year features a synth solo this brazen? In a genre plagued by impersonal corporate hitmakers, crafting pernicious hooks behind the scenes like evil scientists, there’s a frisson of playfulness in the longer than necessary solo that suggests Max is genuinely having fun beyond her quest for a global pop empire. That’s not to say Sleepwalker shows much daring, but it does deliver the pop formula for success in a way so impeccably you’ll find yourself humming along to the chorus before your first listen is even over. Max has had much bigger hits than this and will no doubt push Sleepwalker further into obscurity with another slew of smashes in 2024, but I maintain this little pop gem is criminally underrated.

Also try: Maybe You’re the Problem, Ghost and Hold Up (Wait a Minute) are all bangers, not to mention Max’s energetic contribution to the Barbie movie, Choose Your Fighter.

13.The Abyss

by KNOWER from KNOWER FOREVER

Inimitable US funk artist Louis Cole has played some nut-tight grooves in his time, but few are as exquisitely precise as The Abyss, the face-melting highlight of his superb project with Genevieve Artadi under the name KNOWER released in October. Sam Wilkes delivers a particularly monstrous performance on bass, purring tiger-like under Artadi’s clipped vocals and Cole’s trademark sharp-edged synths. The rhythmic discipline all round is immense – not one note comes a fraction too late – and that’s before mentioning the ensuing chaos of the track’s unfettered second half: not one but two whirlwind Cole drum solos, a screaming distorted sax solo and a showstopping blast on keyboards all provide an assault on the ears before Artadi coolly brings it home with one last chorus. It’s KNOWER at their ruthless best: astonishing, cut-throat electro-funk from start to finish.

Also try: I’m the President is a thoroughly satisfying album opener, while Nightmare descends into a cosmic electrofunk jam.

12.Phlox

by Emma Rawicz from Chroma

Emma Rawicz is gaining a reputation as one of the more cerebral new exponents of UK jazz, serving shape-shifting, rhythmically complex compositions that are often hard to pin down. Phlox is a song that avoids any aimless wandering via the oldest trick in the book: a no nonsense riff, repeated over and over. Granted, it’s a very Rawicz sort of riff – that is to say, dazzlingly complex – but it’s delivered with such flair and precision it’s hard not to get whipped up in the stormy brilliance of it all. Rawicz is also on fine form for a delightfully impolite solo, but it’s drummer Asaf Sirkis who steals the show with a marvellous closing drum solo that both neatly fills the gaps made by that riff whilst sounding utterly chaotic. Rawicz’s jazz has never felt so vital.

Also try: Middle Ground is a perfect example of Rawicz’s softer side.

11.You Are Not My Friend

by Tessa Violet from MY GOD!

One of the great underrated albums of the year in my books was Tessa Violet’s midsummer release MY GOD!, a leitmotif-laden opus that excelled in every genre Violet had a crack at, from the bombastic hyperpop opener to Swift-esque Again, Again or the folksy singalong Kitchen Song. You Are Not My Friend was an apt closer, wrapping up the emotional complexities of the earlier tracks with a straightforward pop punk sound as unapologetic and self-assured as its title. Here, as in virtually all of Violet’s songs, the songwriting is exceptional, with the interlocking vocals in the technicolour finale evidence of Violet’s considerable pop nous. The lyrics are gold dust for anyone looking for reassurance after a messy breakup, but even for the rest of us the quotable nuggets come thick and fast (“You say I’m insecure? / You’re twenty-eight with a teenager” will go down as one of Violet’s sharpest take downs). It’s a testament to the strength of You Are Not My Friend that you don’t need to directly relate to any of the lyrics in order to share Violet’s sweet, sweet taste of retribution.

Also try: MY GOD! is an album that rewards front to back listening, but start with BAD BITCH or Breakdown if you want to dip your toes into it.

10.Up Song

by Black Country, New Road from Live at Bush Hall

Up Song is responsible for one of the most memorable live music experiences of my life so far. It happened not this year, but in May 2022, in a feverish Brudenell Social Club the day Leeds United narrowly avoided relegation. Black Country, New Road were a band in a unique turmoil: just five days following the release of their instant cult classic Ants From Up There, their lyrically gifted yet troubled frontman Isaac Wood abruptly left the band. Up Song marked the beginning of the remaining six members’ intimate gig in Leeds which, astonishingly, comprised of an entirely new album worth of unreleased material. New lead vocalist Tyler Hyde proved she was not one for introductions, soon interrupting a quiet opening with a typically unpredictable onslaught of sound, May Kershaw prominently hammering away behind her on piano. It ended up being an inspired reflection on the band’s turbulent recent history; the climactic line “Look at what we did together / BCNR, friends forever,” might sound trite on paper, but belted in a sudden a capella unison from every band member it was uniquely moving. The rest of the gig (and 2023’s live album) had more than its fair share of interesting post-Wood creativity, but it was Up Song that announced BCNR’s rapid reinvention in glorious style.

Also try: Dancers holds the album’s best vocal hook, but it was cinematic epic Turbines/Pigs that had the BCNR fans really swooning.

9.But leaving is

by Matt Maltese from Driving Just To Drive

Reading balladeer Matt Maltese is no stranger to a good old fashioned love song. These days he’s got a slew of bittersweet tracks to his name, from the formative breakout hit Even If It’s a Lie (the sort of superb songwriting that demands no more than a simple piano accompaniment to shine) to the viral epic As the World Caves In, a spectacular song which changes complexion somewhat when you learn it was written about Theresa May and Donald Trump spending a steamy night together before nuking the planet. Even by Maltese’s standards, however, But leaving is is an utterly heart-wrenching ballad. The central punchline – “Love isn’t a choice / … but leaving is” – might be the finest lyric of his career, a smart one-two that manages to encapsulate much of the lovesick emotion that Maltese has devoted his music career to thus far. He seems to know he’s got a winner on his hands, too, delaying the payoff in two exquisite choruses, which are lifted by tasteful strings and his trademark melancholy piano. It’s a stunningly emotive arrangement of the sort Maltese’s starry peers like Lewis Capaldi and Dean Lewis simply can’t match with their cookie cutter four-chorders.

Also try: Hello Black Dog has a sickening, dark edge, whilst Florence is a lovely, rare uptempo number from Maltese.

8.All Life Long

by Kali Malone from All Life Long

All Life Long has the power to bend time. It’s a piece of ambient music that gets under my skin, stops me in my tracks and leaves me feeling invariably different – calmer, more in tune with my surroundings – than when I started it. Like most of Kali Malone’s work, it is a piece of solo pipe organ music, and the most obvious image evoked is that of a funeral; the achingly slow tempo brings with it palpable gravitas as notes slowly float downwards the same way a coffin might be carefully lowered into a grave. But All Life Long deserves also to be felt outside the context of the Church. Through her music, Malone has made it her mission to decouple the majestic organ from the dogmatic domain of religion and worship, and what makes All Life Long (and much of Malone’s work) so interesting is how starkly different it is from the organ music we know: more patient, nuanced and imaginative than the music we tend to associate with a church organ. Bach’s mathematically precise masterpieces for the instrument may be rightly venerated, but he never brought us intimacy with the instrument the way Malone does, never highlighted the way the notes aren’t constant but in fact a breath-like wave (which Malone leans into in a 70-second long final note here), or showed us how each note begins with a little whistle as the air shifts direction in the pipes, plus the tactile click of a key being pressed. The organ is a uniquely magnificent instrument. As All Life Long argues convincingly, it’s time it left the cold confines of the Church.

Also try: Thought-provoking lockdown album Does Spring Hide Its Joy weighs in at a daunting five hours but rewards an open mind, whereas The Sacrificial Code provides more of All Life Long‘s ruminative, secular organ music.

7.Bewitched

by Laufey from Bewitched

It’s easy to imagine Laufey landing into Bewitched Mary Poppins style, floating down gracefully via umbrella just in time for the first verse. Such is the love-it-or-hate-it Disney feel to the ornate orchestral arrangement in this track, the likes of which the mainstream pop charts hasn’t seen for generations; the Icelandic-Chinese jazz singer would have certainly had a number one album on her hands if a certain Olivia Rodrigo hadn’t released a slightly better album the same week. Lean into the intense sweetness of Bewitched’s orchestration and you’ll no doubt be as besotted as I am. Laufey’s gentle vocals are gorgeous yet charmingly unshowy, singing as if a song of this delicate beauty might fall apart if she were to overexert for a high note. Not that she needs any vocal flourishes – every melody here is a beauty, the luscious strings supporting Laufey like a warm, cosy bed. Laufey’s lyrics are deeply romantic, framing love not as a choice but a sort of benign curse, an uncontrollable desire to lose yourself in its “all-consuming fire”. It may sound like there’s an uncurrent of unease in all the talk of “bewitching”, but make no mistake: Bewitched is pure, unrestrained love in music form. Love songs just don’t get any lovelier.

Also try: Lovesick is Laufey’s rock moment and comes off surprisingly well; From the Start is her record-breaking bossa nova smash hit.

6.A Month Or Two

by Odie Leigh

Every so often, a song comes along that seems to tell you exactly what you need to hear. Odie Leigh’s charming ditty A Month Or Two was that song for me, an unfussy waltz on acoustic guitar broadly about growing up. Leigh’s repeated progression on guitar might have outstayed its welcome if it weren’t for a glorious string quartet that patiently weaves its way into the fabric of the track. The tension is held for a moment before the exquisite payoff, the luscious interlocking melodies sounding like a warm bath at the end of a long day. Leigh’s repeated assurance to “give it some time” is beyond comforting. It’s obviously a vague lyric that will resonate with many listeners in different ways, but there’s some magic in Leigh’s cooing vocals or her lullaby-like guitar plucking that makes it feel like she’s speaking directly to you, and only you. A Month Or Two is a cooling balm of a song I’m convinced everyone needs in their life from time to time.

Also try: Crop Circles, or Big Thief’s Change which was a similar comfort song for me this year.

5.My Love Mine All Mine

by Mitski from The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We

To get a hooky, upbeat pop song about, say, being “hot to go” in the charts is tough enough, but getting the masses hooked on a quiet, subtle two-minute country ballad about the moon is a Herculean challenge. Of course, if anyone could pulled it off, it would be America’s favourite troubled genius Mitski, who took over the Internet in September with this jewel from her divine seventh album. Every second is a meticulously crafted moment of bliss, from the lazy, last-orders-at-a-jazz-bar piano inflections to the silky wisps of slide guitar that seem to weightlessly hang in the mix like a plume of cigarette smoke. Mitski’s lyric sheet is as poetic as ever, but more optimistic than usual, celebrating the preciousness of both her lover and, more importantly, her capacity to love. As is customary for a Mitski song, this track briskly comes and goes with little time for rumination. The good news is that My Love Mine All Mine is not a song that loses its emotional potency with repeat listens – trust me.

Also try: When Memories Snow includes one of Mitski’s strongest metaphors, whilst I’m Your Man memorably depicts the artist being eaten alive by hounds, sound effects and all.

4.Nothing Matters

by the Last Dinner Party from Prelude to Ecstacy

Arguably the most exciting development in British indie music this year has been the rise of the Last Dinner Party, a London five-piece who continue to amass a cult following despite having released only four songs. In fact, they’d already signed to Island Records and scored a support slot for the Rolling Stones at Hyde Park before they’d released their first single, prompting perhaps justifiable claims from hard-working independent artists of being an ‘industry plant’. The good news is, organically successful or not, every one of the Last Dinner Party’s four singles has been exceptional, each introducing their carefully presented brand of baroque rock. Live shows involve band members (and audience members) dressed in elaborate Edwardian-style gowns and corsets whilst frolicking amidst regal candelabras. Their visit to the intimate, famed stage of Brudenell Social Club promises to be one of the most thrilling occasions for Undertone in 2024.

Debut single Nothing Matters is perhaps the most majestic of the four songs and a masterclass in endowing a straightforward two note chorus with as much emotional weight as it can possibly sustain. Abigail Morris’ lyrics are poetic and layered, yet unafraid to unleash an embittered expletive when the time comes in the chorus. What turns Nothing Matters from a good song into a great one is how the band negotiate the denouement. Emily Roberts’ dovetailing guitar solo evokes Sam Ryder in full Eurovision saviour mode, and a fanfare of horns and strings provide a sense of scale and pathos unlike any debut single I’ve heard before. It’s an instant masterpiece for a band that thus far hasn’t put a foot wrong. Industry plants? If the music is this good, I say let the industry keep planting.

Also try: the three other singles so far, in order of greatness, are My Lady of Mercy, By Your Side and Sinner.

3.vampire

by Olivia Rodrigo from GUTS

Almost no one reading this will need reminding of Olivia Rodrigo. She’s had an astonishingly successful 2023, finishing up with six Grammy nominations and a potential Oscar next year for her song in the new Hunger Games movie. Increasingly, it seems like everything she touches turns to gold. That was certainly the case for her second album, GUTS, one of those precious music releases that was both listened to by everybody and adored by everybody. It was earthier, wittier and just generally better than her 2021 debut album and almost every track was worthy of this list, but the lead single was the most obvious choice of album highlight. vampire is Rodrigo’s masterpiece, opening with a gentle Beatles-esque chord progression and crashing to a halt with a spliced up piano bashed with maximum rage. In the intervening three and a half minutes Rodrigo steadily ramps up the intensity, dissecting a toxic relationship with some of her sharpest lyrical slights to date. Behind her, an accompaniment thrillingly gathers pace, eventually snowballing into a compelling gallop that lifts the track to new, mesmeric heights. Rodrigo started her career with a blockbuster bridge (on Drivers’ License), and vampire’s is perhaps even better, the galloping backing sounding relentless, her melody inevitable. With vampire, Olivia Rodrigo rightly took over the planet once more. When she visits Manchester on her world tour next year (which, to the detriment of my bank account, I have tickets for), she will be greeted like a queen.

Also try: GUTS, probably my album of the year. all-american bitch, bad idea right? and making the bed are all essential listens in the unlikely case you’ve navigated 2023 without coming into contact with them.

2.Not Strong Enough

by boygenius from the record

The boygenius trio are friends before bandmates. It’s a fact clearer than ever on their soaring country rock number Not Strong Enough, which finds the three American singer-songwriters, who formed boygenius as something of an indie supergroup and released their debut album this year, trading verses and eventually coalescing in stunning harmony. Their imagery is particularly thoughtful (joyriding through a canyon, disassociating whilst staring at the ceiling, a quiet drive home alone) but it’s the proudly belted “I don’t know why I am the way I am” that lingers longest, a lyric as simple as it is wise. It’s delivered with the sort of fist-pumping melody that compelled hundreds to lose their voices (and their consciousness) singing along when Undertone caught the group in Halifax on a memorable midsummer’s night. boygenius’ layered lyrics about feminism and friendship have plenty of depth, but really Not Strong Enough is a wonderfully simple song and one of those pieces of music that makes you smile without exactly knowing why.

Also try: Cool About It and True Blue were my fourth and fifth most listened to songs of the year. Not Strong Enough was my number one.

1.Any Time Of Day

by the Lemon Twigs from Everything Harmony

I am a believer that our musical preferences are often determined by the cultural prevalence of certain styles during our formative teenage years, which partly explains why soft rock – a genre that had its heyday in the 70s and, unlike its disco cousin, is not yet considered cool enough for a modern revival – is often synonymous with the somewhat derogatory term ‘Dad rock’. These days much of soft rock feels dated, now replaced by the myriad of more courageous and forward-thinking rock subgenres that could never have thrived during an era where the idea of accessing virtually all recorded music in a few clicks was science fiction.

The Lemon Twigs, New York brothers Brian and Michael D’Addario, are the exception. Their six years of releasing proudly revivalist soft rock came to a head in May with their fourth album and magnum opus, Everything Harmony. As a staunch musical defense of Dad rock, it was difficult to refute – from elegant melodies to imaginative song structures and harmony, Everything Harmony managed to point out all the most flattering aspects of soft rock that have been somewhat overlooked in recent decades. The crème de la crème was Any Time Of Day, a truly titanic ballad. It may be fairly brief, but every inch of this song is genius, especially when it comes to the fantastically interesting chord choices (and buttery smooth key change), which sound miles more sophisticated than anything in the charts today.

There’s a timelessness to the lyrics, which are dreamily romantic (“you can make it bright / any time of day”) without pinning themselves down to a specific era or circumstance – like all the best songs, Any Time Of Day is an accommodating blank slate on which to imprint any meaning or emotion you like. The lines are delivered with in a heavenly falsetto which seems to get more and more euphoric with every line until the utterly glorious musical fireworks of the finale. The bass purrs, the backing vocals flutter, the synths scintillate; by the two minute mark you’ll be transported into a wholly different, blissful realm. I usually dismiss soft rock fans living in the past who may tut at the current state of the charts with lines like “they don’t make ‘em like they used to”. Comparing the majesty of Any Time Of Day to the rest of the competition in 2023, I’m beginning to think they might have a point after all.

Also try: inspired songwriting is abound on Everything Harmony, but When Winter Comes Around and What Happens to a Heart are two of my other favourites.

PinkPantheress: Heaven knows review – a polished, hard-hitting graduation
25
Dec

Two years after enigmatic Bath uni student PinkPantheress found instant fame with her nostalgic brand of dancepop, Victoria Walker is back with a rewarding debut album that fulfils the promise of that viral debut mixtape, writes Alex Walden.

get this feeling of excitement mixed with fear when alternative artists begin to gain popularity. It’s essentially a takeover of mainstream media, like the alt scene no longer has to hide on streaming services or small venue concerts any more. But what if it’s only a phase for the majority of listeners? What if these artists who are essentially pioneering new genres are left to fade out? I can remember feeling this range of emotions when I first heard Pink Pantheress’ Boy’s a liar Pt.2 on the radio. I was so happy for her but who knew if it would last?

Those who read my article on Pink Pantheress’ previous mixtape know that this was one of my biggest concerns for her. I thought that her first mixtape was a good start, but she had a long way to go to make her next project truly astounding. However, after two years of singles with some iconic artists such as Willow Smith, Kaytranada, Skrillex and Ice Spice, Pink Pantheress has officially released her first studio album. That’s right, she’s graduated from short mixtapes to just under 35 minutes of album-quality tracks, but is it enough to mark her place in the music industry permanently?

The music video for Mosquito includes cameos from Charithra Chandra, India Amarteifio and Yara Shahidi.

Numerous aspects of inspiration

One of my favourite elements of her previous work was that PinkPantheress wasn’t afraid to channel a sound from a time that often gets forgotten. With elements of garage, jungle and even nu metal littered throughout her mixtape to hell with it, it’s clear that she’s not afraid to take inspiration from the era of her youth. Any fan of this aspect of her music will love the fact that not only do we get the same amalgamation of sounds, but she also incorporates some new influences this time. In tracks like True romance and The aisle we get this crisp discotheque/pop sound but then with tracks like Bury me, we get this softened and heavily delayed 808 mix with a very ambient melody which gives us a somewhat psychedelic sound. This plethora of different sounds is mixed together incredibly well and gives the album a more polished feel that makes it sound longer than 35 minutes.

Lyrical progression

As far as musicians go, PinkPantheress has never really been labelled as a lyrical genius and it’s never really been a problem for her because her songs are so incredibly catchy that you barely pay attention to the lyrics anyway (despite her usually talking about some quite serious stuff). I have countless friends who could recite the entirety of Pain and I Must Apologize but if I asked them what those songs are actually about, they’d have to think about it before giving me an answer. But with this album it’s almost impossible to ignore the lyrics. It’s full of serious and quite dark topics ranging from being wanted for her career and not her personality, like being so crazily in love with someone she starts losing friends or her ongoing battle coming to terms with her fame and fortune. These themes are presented in an aggressively straight-up manner. I mean, seriously, I was completely astonished when I heard the line “because I just had a dream I was dead, and I only cared ‘cause I was taken from you”. It’s not every day you hear a lyric like that. There’s no heavy wordplay for you to decode at all, instead it’s very raw and hard hitting. In my opinion it’s amazing that she can be so blunt. We saw a glimpse of this in her EP but this time around, it’s a real step up.

Ice Spice collaboration Boy’s a liar Pt. 2 is a certified hit, reaching number 2 in the UK earlier this year.

Finding a balance

After Internet baby (interlude) the album begins to take a slower pace for the next five tracks. We can hear a range of standout melodies accompanied by these beats that come across as borderline ambient like in the tracks Blue and Feelings. It feels like this half of the album was inspired specifically by the songs All My Friends Know and Nineteen from her mixtape in 2021, but it doesn’t have the same soothing sound that those tracks do. With those two tracks we got rudimentary melodies matched by a calming tone from PinkPantheress singing about her struggles with her love life, growing up and loneliness, while the lyrics had no hidden meaning or crazy harmonic drive. Not that that was an issue – her melancholic tone fused together with the beats so effortlessly that it gave us this schematic “less is more” feel which worked well as a method of giving your mind a break from the fast paced drum brakes and overall feel-good/hype songs earlier in the tape.

Yet with this album the beats are all a bit too well structured. It’s not every day that I find beats that feel overdone but in this case the tracks feel a bit too heavy in places. For example, in the track Capable of love you’re unable to fully let the music take hold of you like in her previous work because there’s just so much going on. You’re constantly waiting for the next hook, the next drum fill, the next thing to happen which clashes with her soft voice making it feel lacklustre in some parts, almost like a supporting instrument rather than the star act.

Final thoughts

The only real negative thing I had to say about PinkPantheress’ first mixtape was that I thought that it was too short. It felt like you couldn’t really get into it because as soon as your mind starts to escape with the music, it was over. I’m glad to say that with Heaven knows, I can eat my words with this album as PinkPantheress has shown amazing improvement in both quality and quantity, there’s a very clear progression in terms of production quality in this album as well as none of the tracks feeling short at all. While I still think that in some areas songs sound a bit overdone, overall this is another great step forward for PinkPantheress. She has shown that she can keep that classic sound we all adore while still experimenting with other ones to give us a more refreshing sound. PinkPantheress has clearly been working hard since her ‘To hell with it’ days and has proved that she’s got what it takes to stay in the spotlight.

‘I still try to put people onto Sonic music today’: in conversation with genre-defying producer AshZone
18
Dec

Following the release of his new lo-fi single me and you, Alex Walden caught up with East London producer and artist AshZone to talk about the story behind his most recent music video, some features you may have missed, and his influences as a producer as well as an artist.

AW: You posted in Instagram about how there’s a sort of storyline behind your latest music video.

AZ: Yeah, there’s a bit of lore behind the whole AshZone thingy.

How does that work then?

It’s more sort of like a personal thing, the storyline. Each song sort of tells a story of me as an artist. If you go all the way back to 2020, with my project called NIGHTINGALE, each song was telling a story. The whole story behind that EP was about finding myself as an artist and exploring myself – kind of like travelling. Although I didn’t actually go anywhere physically, it was about exploring different things and places as an artist so I kind of developed that a bit more in my recent songs.

My last four songs, papaya, get right!, move your body and me and you, all have some sort of connection in terms of my artistry, being obviously my purple self, but I’ve also allowed myself to create this world which is literally based off real life. Everything that happens in real life I draw or animate.

The way that you have your drawings blend in with the real world is dope in my opinion. I love how it shows you can blend your music with the real world.

Thank you. The way I went about it before was I used to draw everything, like literally everything, then I kind of realised from I think papaya onwards, the music video or visualiser or whatever, this blends really well. With papaya I used screenshots from this game called Forza so then I started trying to use more real-life stuff with the next music video get right! and I was like “you know what? I’m going to do a full-length music video,” and thenmove your body came and then with me and you I was like “move your body’s music video is good but I want do better” you know? “I want to do much more interactive stuff”. So, I went out several times and shot different things in Hornchurch, which is my hometown, just shooting different areas and stuff. I had to be careful so I brought the tripod so I could track the camera motion so that my animation would work really well with all that stuff.

When you draw, I notice that there’s often little pop culture references. When you posted the snippet of the character with the overall and rollerblades, I immediately clocked that’s got to be Tab from Jet Set Radio.

Yeah 100%

And I saw you had included a snippet of some Bomb Rush Cyberfunk in there as well. Would you say that those games have influenced the way that you make music as well as draw?

Oh 100%. It’s not even just Jet Set Radio and Bomb Rush Cyberfunk. I think at the end of the day, it always boils down to my love for Sonic the Hedgehog. I’ve always heard people say to me “your music sounds like something I would hear in a sonic game” and I’m like “yeah thanks, this is perfect,” because again, it goes all the way back to when I was 12. Actually, I started making music at like 11-ish and I think Sonic Colors had just come out at around that time and the soundtrack was what had literally pushed me to like… I remember saying to myself at a very very young age “I want my music to sound like that”.

It is a killer soundtrack to be fair.

Literally, Sonic music is so good and that is what gave me the push to look a lot deeper into music, into composition and all that stuff and to this day I still try to put people onto Sonic music as crazy as it sounds like.

Bro so do I! There are so many hidden gems in Sonic games.

Literally!

The way they construct a whole world with their music is insane.

Literally, like I feel weird sometimes listening to Sonic music but these guys… these guys know what they’re doing you know?

For real, they’re good at what they do.

Yeah but in terms of art, I got into art through my older brother because he does graphic design and back then he used to design a lot of characters and stuff so that kind of pushed me to do the same thing as well. For me to this day, art is still a hobby but at the same time it’s like… you know it’s one of those things where I was like “I can use this a lot for my music”, and my art takes inspiration from many things from Scott Pilgrim to Jet Set Radio. There’s this artist on Instagram called Cassandra Calin. She played a huge role with my art style and everything, but the music video itself does take inspiration from Jet Set Radio and in the outfit I

designed – well not designed because I already own it in real life – but the outfit is based off of Tab or Corn’s outfit from Jet Set Radio to the roller skates and just putting stickers everywhere in my town centre. I would’ve done graffiti but I realised that it would’ve been a lot harder to animate plus I’m sure it’s illegal. You know I’m for inspiring kids to do the right thing these days.

Wow a true role model if I ever heard one.

Ha-ha, exactly!

Moving from the inspiration in your drawing back to your sound; when I first discovered you it was when you released get right! It brought back this garage sound that I hadn’t heard in a while and then, looking further into your discography, I can see you have so many different sounds. You have garage, house Splatoon remixes and even Vocaloid music. With you having such an extensive range of sounds, do you ever find it difficult producing and releasing different genres of music because the audience might not like it or is it just “I want to make this song. I’m just going to make it”?

I used to have a bit of anxiety a little while ago. This was back when I was working on NIGHTINGALE because I had two distinctive audiences at the time. I had my real life audience which was friends I know, my brothers and all that stuff and then there’s my online audience who are mostly from America and they used to like my EDM and my drum ‘n’ bass and all that stuff whereas my real life audience – they’re more used to my mellow kind of hip hop-ish sound and at the time I was thinking like “what do I make, what do I make?” but nowadays I kind of just want to make whatever I want to make, you know? If I want to make a full on EDM track like something you would hear in Rocket League or a Twitch streamer’s stream or whatever then I would make it. I mean maybe not now because I’m kind of in this era of lo-fi house and dance music and all that stuff but if I feel like it I feel like it. It’s that sort of artistic freedom in a way, if you get what I’m saying.

So then if you were to make a project in the future could we expect multiple genres or just the one?

It depends on how I’d want the project to go. It could be like a full on EDM sound or it could be straight up dance music/dance lo-fi or it could be a mixture of both. I’m definitely not new to that concept as I’ve done it before. In fact I think my very first EP that I put out when I was like… how old was I?… I was like 16, 17. It was like a full-on hip hop EP because it was more aimed at my real life audience. Although I was still heavily influenced by Sonic music, I kind of wanted to go back to my roots and then after going back and forth between genres I realised I just wanted to try loads of different genres at the time so I made a project that was strictly this genre and strictly that genre. So yeah, I would do it again if I felt like it.

To be fair, you’re good at that stuff. I mean with get right!, move your body and me and you, they all sound a little bit different; they aren’t exactly the same genre but the way you produce it kind of creates your own unique musical universe with all these characters. Focusing on the characters in move your body, I’m guessing that it’s you and Lotu5 in the video along with the other characters. Are these characters all based off of real people or are they people that you just draw?

For move your body, every single person in that video is based off of someone I know in real life. It’s essentially their cameo appearance in that video. I drew myself with Lotu5 alongside with friends whereas with me and you, yes there were loads of cameo appearances, but there were also people that I designed myself. I don’t know if they count as video vixens, but I did design and style them myself, some of them. For an example, if you look in the video there’s a girl wearing a red, black, and white Ferrari Jacket. I designed her by myself and it’s kind of based off not people that I know but people that I see in real life, like the different hairstyles and all that stuff – different black hairstyles might I add – and different fashion senses. You know, I had to like actually go outside, which is a crazy concept, but I had to go out and seek and study people’s different senses of fashion and all that stuff and I tried to apply it to these people that I’m creating for this specific music video.

I respect it man. One that caught my eye was the sticker of a man with a pink jacket and his dog in the art style of Bathing Ape’s Baby Milo, is that a real person?

Yeah that’s my friend, his name is Diore and his Instagram is @realeffingdee. He’s a very, very supportive friend. He’s one of my good friends in this scene. I only met him earlier this year but we found out we went to the same school and everything and he’s been so properly supportive with my music and stuff and he’s also just a really great guy so he asked me if he could have a little cameo appearance and I was like “yeah, not only am I going draw but I’m also going to give you your own little Brent [Faiyaz] sticker in different places here and there” and he was like “bro thank you so much!” and I was like “aye man it’s nothing, you’re so supportive of me, this is like me paying my respects back to you”.

Towards the end of the video, you put a little trailer for 365 which is coming soon. As well as that is there anything else we can expect from you in the foreseeable future?

About the 365 thing, I was hoping people would take more notice – I was sprinkling a little bit of 365 here and there throughout the whole music video. What’s so lucky about where I live is that there is a bus route with the number 365, so I thought I’d take advantage of that. But anyways, yes at the end of the video I do tease a little something with an artist called honey. She’s released music with an artist called 10tendo called Money and the song is really good but it’s big as well. Me and her have got a little something together. 365 is… I don’t want to say too much but it’s definitely something we can expect in the future at some point.

Girl Ray live at Belgrave Music Hall review – playful disco gets lost in the mix
8
Dec

Playing to a sparse crowd in Belgrave Music Hall, Girl Ray’s undercooked hour of straightforward disco-pop had highlights but suffered from a muddy mix and was ultimately upstaged by their support act.

To be fair to me, the passage from the neon-lit buzz of Belgrave Canteen to the upstairs Belgrave Music Hall isn’t immediately obvious, particularly upon arriving relatively early on a Tuesday night. Not for the first time at this venue, I accidentally managed to skip the queue via a promising unmarked door next to the pizza stand, and located a toilet before approaching the security guards, receiving a slightly mean chuckle when they pointed out I had toilet roll stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Once in, I did at least have first dibs for the bar and for Belgrave’s limited seating, plus unfettered access to the merch stand. It wouldn’t be manned until after the gig three hours later, but I made sure to leave the venue sporting a bright red Girl Ray tee nonetheless.

Twenty minutes later came that sinking feeling that comes with watching a support act take to the stage to a nearly empty room, and tonight was a particularly tough draw for Kuntessa, whose audience numbered around 20 for her opener. She did at least seem to have three dedicated fans supportively bobbing up and down to the beat near the front, until I realised these were of course the Girl Ray trio willing on their friend. Astonishingly, the Italian electronica songwriter seemed unfazed, posing and preening joyfully across the stage and hilariously introducing zany songs that ranged from rants about her time as a bartender, her love of Kylie Minogue prosecco and a showstopper about wanting to become her crush’s bike saddle – all from her recent Pussy Pitstop EP, as she was at pains to remind us. It was a showing easily profane enough to prove the crudeness of her stage name is no mistranslated coincidence.

Support act Kuntessa played to an almost empty room.
I positioned myself at the front during the final build up to Girl Ray’s set and had expected the wide empty space behind me to fill up with latecomers. Instead, there remained a six-feet radius around me and I ended up uncomfortably feeling like part of the show, feeling too exposed to slip back into the crowd; I was closer to frontwoman Poppy Hankin than any other audience member. It was perfect for dancing, yes (and it had been no problem when a similar thing happened for Los Bitchos last year), but also mildly embarrassing.

It was a shame, because this has been a big year for Girl Ray. Mirroring Jessie Ware, although on a much smaller scale, the trio has pivoted from serviceable indie pop to energising disco through their rewarding recent album Prestige, which presented a sort of raffish charm that suited a genre accustomed to not taking itself too seriously. Faultless pop tunes like Everybody’s Saying That and True Love have no doubt already fueled wild nights in Girl Ray’s familiar North London haunts but, like a hungry young football team contemplating an away day to Stoke, could they deliver the goods on a drab night in Leeds?

The answer was, sadly, not really. Opener True Love immediately fell flat when Hankin’s crucial rhythm guitar was rendered inaudible by a messy mix, and over the course of the next few songs the balance hardly improved even when Hankin repeatedly asked the sound engineer to turn her up. Unlike Kuntessa, Girl Ray seemed understandably a little deflated by the poor turnout on this, the penultimate night of a sizeable UK tour. The gave it an admirable good effort, but lyrics like “baby, get down with me,” simply don’t work without maximum gusto.

In the end, that was what condemned this brief gig: Girl Ray’s performance was never simply bad, just consistently unremarkable. Solos were unambitious, never venturing far from the original recording and lacking any sort of technical dazzle needed to wake up a tepid crowd. Hankin’s vocals sound endearingly rough and ready on the record, but here they just sounded ordinary and slightly held back, like a shy friend delivering a relatively impressive showing at karaoke, good enough for a few raised eyebrows, if not quite a free drink.

Nonetheless, there were highlights to be found once the worst of the mixing issues had been resolved. Tell Me was easily the band’s most exciting song and provided a workout for Sophie Moss on bass plus Girl Ray’s most pleasingly silly couplet: “baby, we were hot like a cigar / but here I am crying in the back of my car”. Hold Tight arrived with a bouncy electronic drum beat from Iris McConnell at the back of the stage and Hankin’s acoustic guitar strumming was buoyant and peppy, even if it seemed to take perhaps a little too much inspiration from George Michael’s Faith.

Give Me Your Love, Prestige’s 7 minutes, 43 seconds closer and arguably the only song in Girl Ray’s catalogue to show some genuine creative ambition, closed the set. I had found it underwhelming on the record but was hopeful it would come alive in person. The entry of a severely overblown kick drum, engulfing all other instruments with every beat, put a swift end to those hopes. It was so deafening it even seemed to startle the three band members at first – good for clearing out my sinuses, less good for closing out a pop concert. It was fitting for this gig that a final, potentially interesting crack at the vocoder from Hankin was almost entirely lost to the din.

I had hoped to meet one of the band at the merch stand afterwards, but having lingered for ten minutes I settled on telling Kuntessa how much I admired her confidence before attempting my exit, trying a door I’d been through on previous visits to Belgrave for investigative purposes. I quickly turned around when the same security guard as earlier told me in no uncertain terms that I had to leave the same way I came in. Feeling sheepish, I decided a bus home would be a solo adventure too far this time and called an Uber. For me as for Girl Ray, sometimes it’s just not your night.

KNOWER: KNOWER FOREVER review – a grand return for the LA duo
23
Nov

Louis Cole, Genevieve Artadi and an incredible collection of collaborators have crafted an album elevated far above any of their past music, shaping a promising future for the electronic funk duo, writes Matthew Rowe.

Agood few years ago I was playing GTA with some friends when I first heard F—k The Makeup, Skip The Shower on FlyLo FM, and ever since I have been obsessed with LA’s experimental funk duo KNOWER, the main driving factor for me getting into funk music (thank you rockstar). It has been seven years since Louis Cole, Genevieve Artadi and their array of ridiculously talented musicians released an album under KNOWER, but you can tell they never stopped.

Cole, Artadi and friends are often found touring with their respective bands and solo projects. For example, Louis Cole’s tours often include a full entourage of artists, having a huge overlap with those included in KNOWER FOREVER. This is evident with how tight all of the songs feel, with every member able to fit seamlessly into the funk pocket, no matter how convoluted some of the melodies are.

KNOWER FOREVER is the product of a band where each member has refined their act so finely that their sound has evolved significantly, moving from a more unhinged dubstep feel to well put together funk. As an album, this was a brave move from Cole and Artadi, releasing it on Bandcamp back in June before it got released on streaming services, but listening to it on Spotify, I wish I’d caved in and bought it via Bandcamp.

Admittedly, at first I was a little worried about how the album would turn out, and that the rest of the songs would struggle to hold a candle to the three released before the rest, those three being I’m The President, The Abyss and Crash The Car, all of which set the bar high. On the release of specifically the first two, they were all I could listen to for a good week. The risk of the rest not being as good was one of the reasons I was put off buying the Bandcamp version but now since the Spotify release, I can’t stop listening. This project is easily the best funk album I’ve heard this year and is in contention for my album of the year, alongside Black Country, New Road’s Live at Bush Hall.

This project is easily the best funk album I’ve heard this year.

KNOWER has always been known for pushing the boundaries of wacky and ridiculous, but I believe that in KNOWER FOREVER they have successfully balanced this with producing nicely subdued songs in comparison. In the previous album, Life, there were songs like The Government Knows and Pizza which I’m sure some people will miss, but I think it’s a very welcome change for them to focus more on the synergy of the band rather than making rather nonsensical music. The new sound is very similar to two of their most famous songs, Overtime, and Time Traveller, the Overtime live session being one of my favourite videos of all time.

In this project, it’s also clear that inspiration has derived specifically from Cole’s other endeavours. Louis Cole is part of a duo that goes by Clown Core and in It’s All Nothing Until It’s Everything it’s clear to see with the drum beat that it is heavily inspired by them. This album also hosts a wide range of musicians; despite being a project by Cole and Artadi, it feels more like a revolving collective of pure talent. On top of this, some big names have been bought in: Jacob Mann and MonoNeon, just to name a couple. The only problem I have with this project is MonoNeon’s lack of bass soloing on The Abyss and despite his insane bass lines, I was left feeling that there was untapped potential.

As a drummer, I love nothing more than hearing new Louis Cole tracks, and he delivered. I have found, after several hours of trying, that his sound is very tough to replicate. Every song on KNOWER FOREVER seemed to bring a different style with it, but I for one find it very impressive how easily he can fit technically complex drumming and fills seamlessly into the rest of the band without overstepping. This has developed with this album. In the past, in songs such as Like A Storm, the contrast with the melodic singing of Artadi clashed with Cole a bit too much, but the new album has perfectly mixed her vocals depending on the song. Pair this with Sam Wilkes’ stank-face-inducing basslines and Sam Gendel’s sax riffs; you can’t go wrong.

It’s not only Louis who displays range in his playing; the entire band is capable of completely different soundscapes depending on the song. Just in this one album, we are blessed with ethereal melodic songs that focus on the range of the soft-spoken lyricism of Genevieve, fast bouncy funk in Nightmare and hardcore dubstep funk in It’s All Nothing Until It’s Everything. The band’s ability to adapt to any subgenre is inspiring and gives me a lot of hope for the future of KNOWER.

The band’s ability to adapt to any subgenre is inspiring and gives me a lot of hope for the future of KNOWER.

One thing I really appreciate about this album is the use of the full house band. This is classic Cole: a house full of musicians, all somehow in perfect sync with each other. This has been done in the past, but to my knowledge, has never made it into a KNOWER album, often being made as fun projects after the songs have had official releases. This opens up a whole new dimension to the song I’m The President, making it more of an epic orchestra rather than just a band, and the result is all of these talented musicians coming together, with perfect mixing to help realise a song, that otherwise would have been incredible, but is greatly boosted up by the theatrics of the brass and choir.

KNOWER FOREVER was worth the seven year wait. Even though I only started listening to them after Life came out, I have been waiting to see what else they could do. This has set the bar very high for future projects, but if there’s a group of people who can maintain quality, it’s these guys. All members involved contributed greatly, and all of them had their chance to shine, creating solid music with well-suited solos. They are able to take on any genre they feel like, and I can’t wait to see what they’re going to do next.

Abel Selaocoe live at Boiler Shop review – fiery cello beats come filled with love
10
Nov

No Bach Preludes were to be found here, just consistently thrilling African beats propelled by Selaocoe’s fierce bowing and awesome throat singing. In between show-stopping dance numbers and a spellbinding percussion solo, it was the audience participation that lifted this gig towards something spiritual.

Abel Selaocoe doesn’t just play the cello, he consumes it. At the start of what will be a special night in Newcastle he strikes an imposing figure, appearing in a huge rose red toga with gold patterns flowing all around him, somewhat upstaging his three plainly dressed bandmates who comprise the Bantu Ensemble, a group fashioned specifically for this tour. Stood up or sitting down, Selaocoe is a bear of a man, but the lovable, cuddly kind: he starts his show with a heartfelt thanks to the audience, his broad smile only encouraging lengthy cheers in response which he patiently waits to subside. Like most musicians, he writes his music about love, but a love deeper than the coffee shop crushes and sickly clichés that might take your average popstar to the top of the charts. Instead, Selaocoe speaks about love for one’s friends, love for humanity in general and, most importantly, love for one’s home. Indeed, this concert is devoted to his homeland of South Africa, with its hypnotic, percussive grooves and ingrained emphasis on the power of community. The cello is Selaocoe’s tool of choice for celebrating his culture, his playing zippy and playful, lending a new sense of soul to an instrument so often confined to the sanitised world of European concert halls. Perhaps Selaocoe is less consuming his cello, then, more giving it a much needed hug.

That’s not to say Selaocoe’s music is all sunshine and lollipops. He opens with an expansive reworking of his track Qhawe / Hero, launching boldly into a capella vocals, standing tall and closing his eyes so as to maximise the power of his bone rattling voice. Therein lies the first surprise of the night: Selaocoe is a great cellist, but his vocal abilities are just as remarkable. The several passages of a capella singing in this show have a primal quality, and despite being almost entirely sung in his native Sesotho, there’s something about his abrasive transitions from lion-like throat singing to shamanic growl that require no translation. Besides, watering down his lyrics to appease an English audience would forgo the many wonderful qualities of his mother tongue, most notably Sesotho’s extraordinary click consonants, which give his faster passages of singing a fascinating percussive edge. Selaocoe does offer translations for his song titles, but otherwise we must simply enjoy how his words sound rather than what they mean, and his performance is all the better for it.

The best songs were the ones that managed to cram in all the many aspects of Selaocoe’s offering as a performer. Hlokomela / Take care was one of several roof-raisers, starting with gentle singing and plucking before bursting into joyous life, Selaocoe standing up at one point, leading claps for the crowd as if they needed any encouragement. This form of tribal African music seems to dig a layer deeper into our urge to dance as one community than most Western music, and a rowdy Newcastle crowd didn’t require much introduction to get their feet moving and heads bobbing, a few giddy yelps emerging from the audience to greet any particularly acrobatic new bass line from Alan Keary. Mohamadou Kouate was the engine in the centre of stage, kneeling amidst a playground of various percussive wonders but spending most of his time striking a calabash, an upturned dome that, when struck with a firm fist, released the earthy pulse at the heart of Selaocoe’s uptempo crowd pleasers. Hewasn’t merely a beat provider, though; exquisitely gentle Ibuyile l’Africa / Africa is Back sounded like the giant sun rising over the savannah at dawn, complete with birdlike whistles from Kouate, plus a shimmer of beads like a rattlesnake emerging for another day on the plains.

Quite what sort of music we were hearing was difficult to pin down. To English ears it sounded fresh and exotic, but it may not have sounded especially familiar to many of Selaocoe’s South African compatriots either. Some passages veered towards jazz, especially when Fred Thomas’s piano flutterings came to the fore, and Keary was even offered a wild jazz fusion solo on the opening track, an opportunity which he took with aplomb. Other times, Selaocoe played the role of spiritual leader, and an astonishing one at that. Several songs were elevated by two-part harmonies sung by an impressively full-throated Boiler Shop crowd. On the faster numbers the singing just added to the fun-filled chaos, but on slower compositions crowd participation added something deeper. The sound of several hundred strangers singing loudly and proudly will always be moving, but when applied to Selaocoe’s timeless melodies, the effect was transcendental. Ancestral Affirmations provided one such moment, our shared melodies falling like leaves. Most powerful was the fact that this clearly wasn’t just a song about joy – swelling piano chords and murmuring bass gave the music a dark, religious quality, Selaocoe our sombre funeral leader. Ancestral Affirmations truly was not just a song, but an experience, the sort that I’m convinced is impossible to properly convey in words.

“Dudu knows the cosmos better than the rest of us,” Selaocoe told us in his delicious baritone speaking voice between songs at one point, referring to percussionist Kouate. What followed was the most extraordinary percussion solo I’ve ever witnessed. It was not a drum solo in anything like the traditional sense, more a fascinating show-and-tell: here was a strange dark cylinder emitting a sound like waves; a black tube looped around the neck which Kouate blew into; two flexible corrugated plastic tubes which Kouate flung around his head like a football hooligan. Strangest of all were two pipes with cut-open water bottles taped to their ends, which Kouate dipped repetitively into a basin of water as if a plumber trying to dislodge a blockage. It was all inescapably absurd (there were plenty of confused laughs from the crowd, particularly after Selaocoe’s cryptic introduction) and might have devolved into silliness had the actual sounds produced not been so surprising. The hooligan plastic tubes, for instance, were spun at various speeds so as to produce – miraculously – a discernable melody which Thomas later picked up on the piano. The plumbing element initially seemed like a highbrow way to recreate the sound of watery footsteps, until Kouate used the air rushing through the tube and the partly-covered hole as its end to produce a sound like a wind instrument. Kneeling back down at his station, he delved into a tintinnabulum of shiny trinkets, producing a dazzling flurry of tinkles, even if it did occasionally sound like what happens when you open that precariously stacked kitchen cupboard full of saucepans.

By the time Ka Bohaleng / On the Sharp Side came along at the end of the gig, the crowd was in raptures. Destined to be not quite as thrilling or rhythmically impeccable as the brilliant studio recording, there was still a fantastic piece of call and response crowd work in the feverish finale, Selaocoe’s great clapping palms ushering bedlam. Kouate’s climatic solo on talking drum – a two-sided hourglass shaped drum tucked under the arm – had the added thrill of interpretive dance, Kouate’s arms flailing wildly at impossible speed, all silhouetted against a background of pulsing white lights.

It was all a far cry from the gig I had been expecting. Yes, Selaocoe’s debut album contains Ka Bohaleng, but it also contains strikingly restrained accounts of a Platti cello sonata and a few movements from Bach’s cello suites. It makes for a fascinating and perhaps uneven record, and I’d arrived at Boiler Shop prepared to critique Selaocoe’s attempt at marrying Western baroque music with its African antithesis.

But there was to be no such challenges: Selaocoe’s show was devoid of tranquil (and perhaps sleepy) baroque pieces and instead stuck to unchartered territory. I have no doubt Selaocoe’s passion for Bach runs deep, but it’s hard to imagine any music delivered as passionately and compellingly as Selaocoe’s own compositions. Crucially, rather than hearing interpretations of some other composer’s ideas, we got Selaocoe’s own soul. As a result the crowd required little thought before falling in love with it all, judging by all the shouts of joy during the grooviest passages and the staggeringly loud singalongs.

The applause was so fervent it made you wonder if the encore really was planned this time, or if the band, like me, had been awed by the sense of occasion. Either way, Selaocoe was not one to get carried away in the moment, standing calmly as the applause quietened before telling us, monk-like, that “with this energy we’re gonna take over the world out there.” The breathtakingly quiet Infinite Love rounded off the night, a delectable waltz that rose elegantly into the Boiler Shop rafters like smoke from an incense stick. Both Selaocoe’s vocals and cello sounded silkier than ever but, not for the first time, it was Mohamadou Kouate’s work on percussion that was most spellbinding. This time his bowl of water played the role of a sonorous kick drum, Kouate floating a smaller, upturned bowl on the water’s surface and deftly striking the top with his palms. Woody crunches like footsteps and sparkles of kalimba, all emanating from Kouate’s encyclopaedic ring of small instruments, completed a stunning soundworld. As his fellow musicians drew the song to a peaceful close, Kouate filled his bowl with water and purposefully poured it back out, his other hand tickling a set of chimes. Some may say the sound of water sloshing isn’t really music, but Abel Selaocoe’s concert had already ventured well beyond the traditional boundaries of music and into something more artful and poignant. As Selaocoe’s last stroke of the cello strings receded to nothing, Kouate shook out what was left of the water, the last drops falling like tears.

Squid live at Boiler Shop review – oddball post-punk casts a spell
3
Nov

Squid’s twisted, ugly brand of post-punk rock music was a perfect match for the industrial surroundings of Newcastle’s finest gigging venue for a set packed with interest and surprises, not least a theatrical twist at its climax.

Squid’s latest tour, in support of their critically acclaimed sophomore album O Monolith, begins with nothing but cowbells. Two rhythms weave immaculately together whilst drummer and frontman Ollie Judge gets comfortable on his stool, plinthed and silhouetted against a growing storm of technicolour stage lights. A buzzy, detuned synth loop arrives spectre-like, then an eerily off-kilter bass line and dizzying assemblage of dovetailing guitar lines. After a minute or two Louis Borlase lunges forward and unleashes a piercing guitar riff, his instrument scratching and screeching higher and higher, urging this monster of a song towards its startling finale. This is Swing (In a Dream), Squid’s fascinating set opener that serves as a head first dive into the strange, nightmarish underworld in which this band’s music resides, full of unhinged melodies and alien stretches of what can only be described as noise. It makes for unrelentingly challenging listening – unlike their similarly daring peers Black Midi, Squid aren’t tempted to throw in a delicate acoustic ballad just to keep the audience on their toes – but it is all utterly enthralling.

Ollie Judge’s endurance as both drummer and vocalist was impressive.

My friend Liam and I are in the thick of it. Despite arriving shortly after doors opened at Newcastle’s Boiler Shop, we’ve somehow secured the best spot in the venue, pressed against the barriers and right under the nose of a shadowy Judge, who is throned centre stage. With the masses of fans all behind us – Bristol group Squid have garnered a comparable cult following to the likes of Black Country, New Road in recent years – we can fully appreciate the perfectness of the venue, a bare and atmospherically lit former warehouse that seems built solely to recreate the dystopian future so vividly painted by Squid’s music. There’s plenty to look at on stage, too: five musicians and many more instruments. Borlase inhabits a small forest of synths on their stands; Laurie Nanivell makes use of a dedicated cowbell station when he’s not injecting songs with trumpet; Arthur Leadbetter has his own ring of synths, plus an electric cello for good measure. What’s more, it’s not all just eye-candy for music nerds like me; Squid’s ambitious compositions genuinely demand half the stock of the nearest Gear4music warehouse. It’s this vast choice of instrumentation that allows these songs to be so volatile, the band indulging in lengthy song transitions that veer towards the genre of ambient noise, full of indecipherable squeals of synth and undulating tides of electronic fuzz.

It’s in these off-script song transitions that Squid were their most daring and compelling. An early sortie in the preamble to Undergrowth was breathless, Judge emerging from a mist of guitar with a thumping dance groove that sounded like a warped version of Parcels in full nightclub mode. Then there was the song itself, with its heavy hip hop groove and sticky guitar hooks. “I’d rather melt, melt, melt, melt away,” Judge yelped in the chorus, competing with a honking trumpet amidst a superb, head-banging racket. Peel St. was another early highlight that emerged from experimental noise, the band miraculously turning what sounded like a jammed photocopier into one of the most lethal grooves they’ve ever dug their teeth into.

Louis Borlase played guitar and electronics whilst Arthur Leadbetter performed on electric cello.

It was all a bit too much for one man a few rows back from us, who used the few pauses in the music so impatiently shout the lyrics to Squid’s biggest hit, Narrator, at one point getting the crowd to clap distractingly during a quiet section of solo guitar. Liam and I saw him extricated from the crowd and awkwardly heaved over the barriers by half a dozen security a few songs later. “Sunday night… who would have thought it?” Judge mentioned quietly at one point, apparently in disapproval. Tellingly, it was one of the only things he said directly to the crowd all night.

It was a good thing that the five members of Squid were all far too absorbed in their craft to let a rude audience put them off. The crowd did at least elevate standout Documentary Filmmaker by singing along gleefully to a trumpet riff, then shouting along to Judge’s descriptions of a hot summer (“the sweat dripped off my plastic sheets”) during a suitably stifling climax. The biggest climax, however, was reserved for a deafening rendition of Siphon Song, which was helped by a more restrained use of the robot-like vocal manipulations that somewhat took the sting out of the studio recording. A patient outro that flickered like a dying ember gradually revealed Narrator, the track that many in the crowd will have been waiting for. It was a performance that was bound to fall short of the experience of listening to the original track for the first time – Martha Skye Murphy, whose blood-curdling screams in the finale make for one of the most disturbing pieces of rock I’ve ever heard, was of course not present at Boiler Shop – but Judge’s sheer vocal stamina in the epic crescendo was admirable, even if the song rather outstayed its welcome over the course of a nearly nine-minute runtime. Simultaneously drumming and singing (or, more accurately, wailing) for such a behemoth of a song was no mean feat.

Laurie Nankivell and Anton Pearson completed the lineup.

Whilst Squid’s sonic onslaught was sometimes overwhelming, they could never be accused of boring their audience. In Newcastle this was true right until the very end, with the awe-inspiring The Blades, which started with a clever reprise of the opening cowbell rhythms. Here lies perhaps the most memorable image of all Judge’s sinister lyrics: a drone operator sits alone and watches his screen that shows aerial images of people on the ground which he darkly reduces to “blades of grass waiting to be trimmed.” Judge repeated these menacing lyrics with increasingly uncontrolled yelps, as if playing the drone operator as he gradually loses his mind in the warfare, powerful trumpet melodies and wailing sirens exploding like bombs. It made for a violent depiction of mania that would be compelling even if it didn’t come at a time when war crimes are becoming depressingly common in the news.

Then came the twist. For the first time in the whole gig, Judge stepped out from behind his kit, untangled his microphone from its stand, and positioned himself at the very edge of the stage, almost within touching distance of Liam and me. “Back to bed / Another man’s hand on the joystick,” he almost whispered over dreamlike sustained guitar chords. He looked genuinely frightened, gazing nervously up to the metal rafters of the warehouse building while gradually tangling himself in his microphone cable. Judge – or, more accurately, his character – seemed defeated, lost, hopeless. It was a moment of intense theatre that would haunt me on the subsequent walk home and make me wish Judge had dug even deeper into the performance art that his evocative lyrics so easily lend themselves to. As the quiet final notes of this otherwise thunderous gig rang out, Judge stood alone centre-stage, incapacitated by his own microphone cord. The crowd had been rowdy all night, but something in Judge’s performance seemed to have genuinely struck a nerve. As the stage lights dimmed, all that was left of Squid’s concert was a stunned silence.

Penelope Scott & Lincoln live at the Deaf Institute review – agonisingly unprepared
27
Oct

A dejected, overwhelmed Lincoln set the scene for a thoroughly unprofessional showing from Penelope Scott, whose pitchy vocals and underwhelming songs made the hour feel like two.

Somewhere between Leeds and Manchester, the knot of anxiety in my stomach tightened. As the light outside the train window weakened, my apprehension of what was to come – namely a solo traversal of Manchester city centre by bus – strengthened. I am lucky to have travelled to far more exotic places than this, but something about the task of negotiating a ticket on the number 1 towards Wythenshaw from a no-nonsense Mancunian bus driver sent shivers down my spine. An egg sandwich bolted at a shady bus stop felt like battle fuel. Of course, as is almost always the case, there was absolutely nothing to worry about, although I had cut things finer than I anticipated, joining good friends Ewan and Isaac in the Deaf Institute’s bar queue with just enough time for hugs and Coke orders before the crowd cheered the night’s first performer onto the stage.

I wasn’t the only one feeling anxious that Wednesday night. Lincoln, a singer-songwriter from Ohio dealing in neatly packaged emo rock and painfully poetic lyrics, is the man responsible for what remains the finest EP I’ve ever heard, 2017’s A Constant State of Ohio. At five songs and 16 minutes long, there isn’t a single minute on Ohio where Lincoln loses his burning sense of creativity, with consistently thrilling songwriting and staggeringly stylish rock arrangements that belied the fact that it was his first – and for many years, only – official release, produced when he was still a teenager. It was this set of five tracks that caught the imaginations of 14-year-old Ewan and I, and we took to playing it in our high school’s only practice room, me bashing out the chords and bass lines on piano, Ewan playing guitar and singing along with all the heartfelt devotion that lyrics like these demand.

The fact that, somewhat out of the blue, Lincoln had booked a brief debut UK tour in support of Penelope Scott seemed too good to be true, and for those initial few minutes settling down in the beautifully restored Deaf Institute it still seemed ridiculous that this random American artist, adored by us and (more or less) us only, was just a matter of metres away from us. But there he was, plodding onto stage alone, head hung low and letting his now chest-length scraggly brown hair fall away in front of him, covering a wiry moustache that almost made Lincoln unrecognisable from the few, aged photos Ewan and I had seen of him online. Immediately, alarm bells were ringing. “There’s a lot of you here and… I’m not ready for this,” were his first tentative words, the crowd’s reaction gradually switching from laughter to intermittent cheers of encouragement as it became clear Lincoln wasn’t joking.

Right from those first words, it was obvious that Lincoln wouldn’t have the conviction to produce a satisfying support set, although circumstances didn’t help. Sat down and hunched over a guitar, he looked crushingly lonely on stage and needed other musicians not just for more visual interest but to beef out his songs – opener Smokey Eyes was a different song altogether without the spectacular drum fill intro that lights the touchpaper of the studio recording. Instead, Lincoln battled on alone, admirably pushing through what seemed like a genuine personal crisis but leaving little musical substance for the few fans like Ewan and I to cling to, even if Ewan proudly belted out every lyric in support anyway.

Lincoln had to battle through his set at the Deaf Institute.

Instrumentation aside, the lyrics remained extraordinary even if Lincoln often didn’t seem to enjoy delivering them. Lines like “quiet lies that you’re telling to those black and screaming skies” were appropriately spat out with disgust from the singer, as was Lincoln’s poetic assertion that “the sky is what we leave behind” on Downhill, which wrapped up this set powerfully as it did on the original EP. Not that Lincoln seemed at all aware of the effortless flow of his rhymes, instead rolling his eyes to the ceiling when they weren’t glued to his feet. He didn’t realise it, but they were songs that he had every right to be proud of.

It soon became clear exactly what he meant by “not ready”, too. Part of Lincoln’s apparent terror was the fact he had walked onto the stage without a plan, improvising a set list and often forgetting his lyrics. Every song seemed like a challenge to be overcome, and with awkward gap came the genuine risk that Lincoln might no longer be able summon the courage to continue at all. He needed the direct help of Ewan – easy to hear over a meek guitar intro – to find the opening line of Banks, a song that shouldn’t have been so difficult to remember; the stunning final four lines about the power and limitations of music and art in general remain etched in my memory since I first heard them years ago. As I would have the chance to insist on Lincoln later, if I was into tattoos, the lyric sheet of Banks would be my first point of call.

It wasn’t just Ewan unwaveringly powering Lincoln through this set, although they made up a big proportion of the most vocal supporters. Every song was cheered, every mumbled apology batted away with whoops and laughter and shouts of “we love you!” dotted around the room. When Lincoln cut his finger whilst strumming, one audience member even offered a plaster, symbolic of the band-of-friends atmosphere that had emerged in the Deaf Institute as we watched what felt like a mutual friend crumble in front of us. Of course, Lincoln declined the offer.

He finished the set with a subversion of the usual showman’s routine of lines like “I’m so sorry we’ve ran out of time” or “I can’t wait to see you all again soon!” Instead we got “I’m gonna get down off the stage. Can I do that?” It was a measure of the crowd’s sympathy that instead of the usual pantomime groans, the audience gave a loving, appreciative yes. With that Lincoln wiped his brow a final time, unplugged his guitar and slunk backstage.

Then something remarkable unfolded. Improbably, Ewan had acquired Lincoln’s personal email address in a thorough online trawl of the deepest corners of his elusive online presence in the weeks leading up to the gig, and had managed to persuade Lincoln into an exclusive interview for Ewan’s YouTube channel. After such a forlorn performance, the three of us wondered if he would appear after all, but sure enough Lincoln snuck out from a side door five minutes after leaving the stage, trailed by a lowkey stage manager. Venue security prohibited us from going outside, so the Deaf Institute’s atmospheric, gloomy stairwell would have to do for an interview venue. Lincoln Lutz from Cincinnati, Ohio is hardly Ed Sheeran, but meeting the creator of one of my most treasured works of art felt special. Ewan asked the questions (just as disbelieving as me), Isaac filmed and I positioned myself in a corner, trying to take it all in. Conversation veered chaotically from allusions to years of drug addiction and a sharp decline in mental health (about which Lincoln described himself as becoming “not a person”) to his newfound appreciation of the Manchester fruit juice delicacy Vimto. He was so addicted to nicotine that the transatlantic flight to the UK was a huge struggle, he would later tell me. When asked for wise words from Ewan, “don’t do crack!” was the half-jokey response, a sadness detectable in his muted laughter.

Ewan managed to grab a signature on their vinyl sleeve of Ohio before returning to the concert hall just in time for the appearance of the night’s main act, Penelope Scott. She is one of a new breed of TikTok star, unusual for having gained millions of monthly listeners with little to no mainstream coverage. Perhaps her wild success is down to just how much the Internet age dominates her music, which sounds like a corrupted, freakish video game soundtrack, restlessly lurching from punk rock to cutesy acoustic guitar to plodding 8-bit synths with a joyous disregard for the traditional rules of hit making.

There’s a limit to the mind-boggling numbers, though. The Deaf Institute, for one thing, is a humbling venue, housing just 250 fans at its capacity. Artists with her volume of streams – albeit largely coming from American shores – can at least aim for Gorilla’s 550 capacity, or perhaps even the 1,500 capacity O2 Ritz across the road (incidentally a venue which hosts the abysmally named Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs at the end of the month, a traditionally established metal band with a poxy 60,000 monthly listeners on Spotify). Alas, it seems streaming numbers aren’t everything in today’s gigging circuit. In fact, often they can be completely misleading.

Penelope Scott was in desperate need of a band to support her songs.

Scott’s lack of a backing band was perhaps even more underwhelming than Lincoln’s, largely neutering the tumultuous edge of much of Scott’s louder tracks. Feel Better, for instance, is home to Scott’s most impolite punk riff and was duly screamed in Manchester, but ended up sounding impotent with minimal support behind Scott’s vocals. More often the songs resembled a campfire singalong on a school residential trip, complete with awkward chat between songs and a proudly singing crowd that often drowned out Scott’s weedy amplification. The whiny vocals, invariably pitchy and occasionally nauseating, would have been acceptable from an overconfident middle schooler, but at a show like this were simply below the bare minimum required from a headline act. It was a shame there was no supervising schoolteacher to tell Scott that maybe it was time to give it a rest.

It didn’t help that the songs Scott was singing lacked much of Lincoln’s depth, often reading like stream of consciousness posts from a 15-year-old American girl’s Tumblr page. American Healthcare was typical of Scott’s general rage at the establishment without being able to pin down any specifics beyond scorn towards all those “corporate fucking pricks”. “I bet my shit all sounds the same to you,” she railed at an unappreciative ex on genuinely promising new piano number Cabaret, unaware that, at least when she restricts herself to plonky piano songs and flimsy mid-range vocals, the guy might actually have a point.

The real nail in the coffin, though, was the dearth of professionalism on show. Like Lincoln, although with a less obvious excuse, Scott seemed to have no plan when it came to a set list, nor even when it came to what key to play her songs in; at one point she completely restarted a song after deciding the starting note ought to be a bit lower. Instrumental sections were needlessly injected with lines like “just bear with me here” and “ooh I like this bit” as her tempos veered faster and slower like a bucking bronco.

The evening’s nadir came when Someone Like You began playing through the speakers after Scott left her laptop playing on shuffle after one backing track had finished. I say nadir – it might have been the musical highlight of the night had Scott just sat back and let the Adele classic ring out. Instead, she fumbled her way to the back of the stage and instructed us to talk amongst ourselves as she wrangled with her audio files for two excruciating minutes. As Isaac and Ewan pointed out, it was hardly Mitski-level artistry. With a bored-looking Soap, Scott’s set was over, an hour long reminder that sometimes TikTok success just doesn’t make sense.

The three of us lingered in the venue until security told us to leave. I was surprised by how much passionate Scott fans Ewan and Isaac agreed with my general disappointment. The gig had left a bitter aftertaste for us all given the toils involved in getting to Manchester on a Wednesday night in the first place. Ewan slipped backstage and bumped into both performers whilst Isaac and I waited outside, Ewan eventually emerging with a pizza-hungry Lincoln following behind. We stood in line with Lincoln at Domino’s – a genuinely surreal experience – before relocating to a shady bench where we chatted happily despite the growing chill and the unsettling number of beggars approaching us. We said our goodbyes to Lincoln at midnight and walked to Piccadilly still in disbelief. Ewan seemed dazed after a meaningful conversation with a deeply influential musical hero, leaving Isaac and I to be giddy on their behalf. The journey home would be gruelling, but discussing the most impossible events of the night – Lincoln referring to Ewan as a friend, the fact the embattled Lincoln had even agreed to chat in the first place – it was clear to all of us that this venture had been worth it, albeit for everything besides the music.

Theo Katzman live at Òran Mór review – Vulfpeck’s showman gets spiritual
16
Oct

On a damp and dreary night in Glasgow, Theo Katzman showcased his exemplary songwriting and impressive technique despite a set bloated with solos in one of those gigs overshadowed by my own circumstances.

Another gig, another nervous train journey. This time I was gazing out the window somewhere on Scotland’s central belt, the outside world so uniformly dark it was genuinely difficult to tell whether or not the train was passing through one very long tunnel on the way to Glasgow. I’d already had plenty of excitement for a Tuesday night – I sprinted in a failed attempt to catch an earlier train in Edinburgh, my overnight bag bouncing uncomfortably on my back – but the biggest challenge was to come: making it to the renovated church of Òran Mór in Glasgow’s West End before American singer-songwriter Theo Katzman took to the stage bright and early at 8.15 p.m.. Glasgow was damp and gloomy but jogging through the dimly glowing backstreets in search of the flat where my friend Fionn was waiting for me felt enjoyably like a movie, at least until I soaked my trainers in a puddle. I buzzed in to find a nervous Fionn, and understandably so. He’d had to buy a dodgy ticket online in the days leading up to the gig and was, crushingly, denied entry on the door. Neither of us had the guts to do a runner – this was, in truth, hardly a high-security venue – so we just stood there stunned for a few minutes, waiting for a solution to reveal itself which never came. Only when we heard the cheers heralding Katzman’s punctual appearance were we triggered to say a sad goodbye and part ways. Fionn made the 10 minute walk home alone whilst I shuffled into the already stuffy Òran Mór to find almost nowhere to get a good view. I settled on a spot just in front of the bar, my view of the main man largely obscured by pillars, and tried to focus on the music.

It was in these circumstances that I first saw Theo Katzman in person. His was the third name on my bucket list of Vulfpeck members to see live after prolific guitarist Cory Wong and fabled bassist Joe Dart, who happened to be stood right next to Katzman in Glasgow, the glints from his customary sunglasses dazzling even in the short glimpses I got from the back of the room. A guitarist, vocalist and drummer for Vulfpeck, Katzman’s showmanship instincts have sometimes felt squashed in that band by the zany presence of frontman Jack Stratton, but whilst Vulfpeck have taken an extended hiatus Katzman has grasped the opportunity to show the world exactly what he’s made of. Showing up tonight sporting a skew-whiff oversized baseball cap and loose, exposing denim jacket, Katzman has always felt a little different from the rest of the Vulfpeck gang, even if he can funk just as hard as the rest of ‘em. His distinctive take on country rock has only the barest resemblance to Vulfpeck, the link most clear in those moments he opts for a particularly perky funk bass line or indulges in a gleeful, improvised falsetto run. Lyrically, Katzman’s solo discography is so smartly written and heartfelt it makes you wonder what heights that Michigan band might have scaled if they chose to sing about something more stimulating than self aware ducks and whales with feet.

Katzman arrived in this damp Scottish city after, like many of contemporaries, having undertaken something of a creative (and, perhaps, personal) reinvention during the pandemic. He spent much of his chat during this gig discussing a formative year or two alone in the wild woods of the American midwest, doing little else than simply “thinking”. He cut himself off from the Internet for long periods, becoming self-sufficient and discovering the counterintuitive yet ever trendy hobby of extreme cold water swimming. It all amounted to a spiritual awakening that seemed destined to result in either powerfully profound or powerfully pretentious new material. A monologue played through the speakers as the band took to the stage in which a disembodied Katzman espoused the “universal law” that “everything in nature has a cost” and insisted that “we ourselves are nature,” dangerously teetered towards the latter, although in the remaining brief speeches that would pepper the rest of the gig Katzman came across as far more a humbly passionate advocate of spirituality than a self-absorbed ‘enlightened one’.

That said, Katzman’s latest album, Be The Wheel, is hardly a George Harrison-level musical departure from his earlier work, the change instead making itself clear in a notable decrease in the specificity of his lyrics. The title track and Hit The Target got things moving in Òran Mór, and although Katzman’s calls to “be the wheel” and “put down the pistol” seem indecipherable to anyone other himself, there was plenty to love in the consistently interesting composition, particularly than it came to the writhing retro synth in the latter track. 5-Watt Rock was an outlier in its directness – an endearing, self-aware tale about wooing a lover despite an underpowered guitar amp – but was tellingly one of the most enjoyable tracks of the night, the harmonised group vocals in that unforgettable chorus sounding even more glorious in the flesh.

Katzman performed to a sold out Òran Mór.

Katzman was blessed with a stellar live band, not least when it came to Mr. Dart, who is as far as I’m concerned one of the finest bassists active today. They were kept busy with a daunting quantity of solos – almost every song found eight bars to lend to one of the musicians who, whilst clearly very capable performers, occasionally struggled to justify every departure from the standard rock formula. At their best these improvisations were transformative – Dave Mackay’s blues blast on piano on Trump-bashing You Could Be President was a thing to behold – but other times, like on 5-Watt Rock, the solos added little to the original. At least Dart’s superfluous diversion on She’s In My Shoe added a degree of interest to an otherwise uninspiring plodder. Still, we were left wanting more – the cutting of a few solos would have been a small price to pay had Dart or one of his bandmates been given enough airtime to fully explore his instrument within a single song.

The new material may have its fair share of duds, but there’s no disputing what an exceptional songwriter Katzman is – unmatched by any of his Vulfpeck peers. The remarkable What Did You Mean (When You Said Love) is his best song and he knows it, drawing it out in Glasgow with a pretty yet convoluted piano intro followed by a stripped-back, overly theatrical first verse that showcased both Katzman’s expressive vocals and the song’s undulating harmonic foundations. Virtually every phrase was followed by an increasingly dramatic pause, culminating in a lengthy silence that verged on mick-taking before the band’s entry. “Do it, ya bastard!” one unmistakably Glaswegian man couldn’t help but blurt out from the back, somewhat puncturing all the romantic tension Katzman had worked so hard to construct, even if he had been playful about it. He did, eventually, “do it”, throwing in a jazz piano solo and rampaging electric guitar solo for good measure. The song came out perhaps a little overcooked, stretching out into a six minute epic, but if any Katzman song can withstand this sort of abuse, it’s this one. The Death of Us came as a welcome contrast, the sticky funk groove light on its feet yet still offering an electrifying extended jam that had these five musicians operating at the peak of their powers.

Katzman’s unwaveringly earnest inter-song talks about the new worldview he acquired during that forest retreat were hit and miss. A speech about bravery before You Gotta Go Through Me was genuinely compelling, Katzman urging us to take that crucial first step outside our comfort zones, starting tomorrow morning; cue a muted applause. “Yeah, that one never goes down that well,” he admitted. It was a pity that all the oration came as a prelude to one of Katzman’s sleepier numbers, but at least the song gave me a chance to make the most of my back row spot and get hold of a queue-free delayed Coke. There were also a lot of ‘prayers’ at play: The Only Chance We Have was “a prayer for listening”, followed by Corn Does Grow, which was both a “prayer for nature” and “a prayer for us”. Really, Corn Does Grow was just a rollicking country rock song, delivered in Glasgow without the excessive vocal distortion of the studio recording. Instead, there was the most head-banging guitar solo of the night and plenty of intense riffing – by the end, the temperature in an already stifling Òran Mór seemed to have gone up a degree or two.

Rip-roaring new tune Rome Wasn’t Built in a Day was the best surprise of the night, Katzman asking desperately “but how long did it take to fall down?” as chugging drums and guitars gathered pace around him. The other uptempo Rome-themed song in Katzman’s canon, As the Romans Do, would have made for a worthy finale but instead we got That’s The Life, a disappointingly middle-of-the-road choice of closing number but a neat encapsulation of the Katzman appeal, with lyrics about searching for life’s purpose set to the sound of a light-hearted hoe down. Heads bobbed politely in the crowd in front of me, but there was a sense that we weren’t quite seeing Katzman at his uninhibited best.

It was still drizzling when I found Fionn waiting outside for me, needlessly apologetic. I joked that it had been a rubbish gig anyway, but it was true that Fionn’s absence hadn’t been the only disappointment of the night. Katzman remains a consummate entertainer – his free-wheeling falsetto feats were so consistently remarkable it became easy to take them for granted – but it seems when he found himself in the woods he partly lost sight of what made his music so much fun – namely uncomplicated, joyous rock hooks. Unlike a good deal of his contemporaries, Katzman has plenty of worthwhile things to say, but on this sad night in Glasgow I was left wishing he’d let the music do more of the talking.

Vulfmon: Vulfnik review – puts the future of Vulf into question
25
Sep

With rambling tangents and a confused mix of genres, Jack Stratton fails to deliver on an otherwise promising new identity yet again. Matthew Rowe gives a track-by-track rundown on why the latest album doesn’t live up to the potential harboured by Vulfpeck frontman.

To call Vulfmon interesting would be an understatement. Jack Stratton has always been known within Vulfpeck as a wildcard, not standing out musically like Joe Dart and his iconic basslines or Theo Katzman with his incredible vocal range but as a personality, known for doing the unorthodox. From this, you would gather any solo project of his to be very experimental and unlike most of Vulf Records, and you wouldn’t be wrong. The two albums he has released so far, Here we go Jack and the most recent, Vulfnik, do exactly this but have been quite a letdown. Unlike coherent albums where a full listen feels natural, listening to these albums often feels like you’ve hit shuffle on your liked songs, but they don’t hold up to the standard of the genres they’re exploring into.

With the announcement of Vulfnik, I didn’t feel the general excitement I had a few years ago whenever a new Vulf release was announced. Recently they have fallen short of my previous expectations of them, struggling to hit that old, funky minimalistic feel that helped them flourish (The Fearless Flyers being the exception). A while back I looked forward to their weekly releases, but the first song didn’t set my expectations high.

This was I Can’t Party, in which Jack tells us a story about getting hit on at a coffee shop and him having to turn down the offer due to the fact he can’t party. The issue with this song is that it sounds like he’s trying to make a song specifically to become popular with millennials on TikTok; looking this up, you’ll see several videos of millennials frankly embarrassing themselves. For reference, if you’ve heard “coffee shop bop”, it’s a very similar vibe. But you’ve got to give it to him: he has some serious leg strength in the music video.

In the same category of lacklustre songs in the first half, we also have Harpejji I and James Jamerson Only Used One Finger, both of which could not even be seen as songs. Harpejji I does what it says in the title, consisting of Jack playing a harpejji with a basic drum beat in the background. In comparison to the short list of artists who show off this instrument, it falls short of the standard given by artists like Jacob Collier. The latter of these two songs is three and a half minutes of Jack rambling on about Motown bassist James Jamerson. There isn’t much to say about this other than the fact that the Vulf compressor makes a seemingly random speech even worse to listen to, leaving zero replay value.

Listening to Vulfmon feels like you’ve hit shuffle on your liked songs.

There is some redemption in the first half. Louie Zong helped to make an upbeat, beautiful-game-era sounding song in UCLA, with a solid bassline, tight drum beat and fitting keyboard to serve as the hook. The music video for this is quite special since Louie Zong is involved. It’s only right he has complete control over the video, which consists of an animated bear dancing through UCLA and performing in front of a judging frog, who was impressed. With the positive tones the song gives and the good vibes from the music video, it makes for a redeeming second song in the album. This is followed by Bonnie Wait, a very solid song which reminds me of Here We Go Jack, showing Stratton’s ability as a vocalist. Lyrics in this song show both outwards melancholy towards Bonnie’s situation and internal anger and jealousy towards Bonnie’s fiancé but unfortunately this is the only strong instance of Stratton’s vocals in this album.

Unlike the first half of the album, the last 5 songs get released at the same time and during my first listen of this half it was obvious there were too many wildcard songs thrown in there, even for Vulfmon. This side of the album had its fair share of disappointing songs but does have some redeeming factors. The three songs that took me aback were Harry’s Theme (Lite Pullman), Nice to You and How Much Do You Love Me.

The ending brings celebration for getting through Vulfnik and being frankly upset with Stratton.

In the first of these, the first few minutes is a nice chill song made up of two guitars, a bass, and Jack playing the drums using his thighs, naturally. This segment of the song is reminiscent of Grandma and other older Vulfpeck songs. But this isn’t the only part of the song. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere we get Lite Pullman which would probably work as its standalone song given how out of place it is. After some research, a lite pullman is some sort of travel bag, but where is the correlation here to Harry’s theme? Nice to You follows. This is a punch to the gut and Jacob Jeffries’ only new vocal appearance on this album, and he isn’t living up to his potential. On the debut Vulfmon album, he sang How Much Do You Love Me which gave him an impressive start in Vulf. However, this song is a satirical take on the emo genre, where Jacob draws out a lot of words in an unbearable accent, which would probably work fine as a parodical YouTube video, but it doesn’t hold up on an album. As well as this, Bonnie Wait covers similar themes in a much better way.

This album is wrapped up with a new take on the Jacob Jeffries classic How Much Do You Love Me. Seeing this on the announced track list, I was excited to see what they could do with it, expecting a more fleshed-out band version of the song but was let down. I hadn’t done my research on who “Ellis” was before listening to this song and nothing could have prepared me. The song kicks off like the original before dropping into an EDM version. When this happened on my first listen, I was speechless for about 5 minutes. Afterwards, my mix of feelings was a blend of feeling like celebrating getting through Vulfnik and being frankly upset with Stratton for his choice of collaborator and song direction.

Thankfully to save this album from being a complete travesty we have some highlights in the second half. This half opens with some of Vulfpeck’s most influential collaborators – Antwaun Stanley and Joey Dosik – on Lord Will Make a Way. This duo brings much-needed revitalisation to the album and even with a tiny mic, Antwaun’s vocals shine like they usually do and gives a good improvement to the questionable vocal decisions of this album. On top of this, Joey’s sax solo is very well-fitting and brings some good jazz vibes into an otherwise jazz-free project. However, there are drawbacks to this song as, much like a lot of recent Vulf, it’s a cover and I find the Al Green version to have much more impactful instrumentals where Stratton has dulled them down significantly. Another decent song in this half is Blue, is a relatively simple jazzy/blues song. The piano, performed by Jacob Jeffries, slightly redeems his efforts in this project.

I have found that this album is successful in branching out into areas Jack would most likely be too cautious to lead Vulfpeck into. However, in these attempts they haven’t reached the levels I hoped they would, often being too satirical or going too far to fit the theme of Vulf. Comparing this to the first Vulfmon album, it also doesn’t live up to that, with the first album being much more consistent. Stratton needs to pull off a miracle to bring Vulf to its former glory.