You are currently browsing the monthly archive for April, 2008.
Tape’s last album Rideau is a massive favourite of mine. Its languid mix of guitars and fizzing electronics reminds me of that strange and seemingly-mythical land, summer. So, with winter’s long and gnarled fingers finally beginning to loosen their grip on Britain’s wizened ankles, I’m especially pleased to have a new soundtrack to accompany the sound of it been kicked in the face and tossed to the southern hemisphere for them to deal with. Listening to Luminaire, I’m feeling ready for whatever that fairest of seasons can bring. Except those stupid bastard-faced insects (wasps, are you reading?), which will inevitably make me squeal and flap like a deflating zeppelin. Read the rest of this entry »
Philip Jeck’s latest album for Touch, Sand (alliteratively aligning itself with Seven, Soaked and Stoke), is even more explicit about its reflective nature than usual, coming as it does with a quote from Emily Dickinson’s poem “The Chariot” on the cover. Like the poem, the album feels like a heavy-hearted reminiscence on the course of a life, with its long-distant highs long worn away by the falling sands of time. The end result is almost unspeakably moving, and may well be Jeck’s masterpiece. Read the rest of this entry »
There is a huge monument on the Greenwich peninsula in the shape of a giant white female breast. Nobody knows exactly what it is for, but it is believed to have been erected as part of some pagan celebration at a particularly auspicious date in the calendar; perhaps the big tit symbolised the free-flowing wealth that they hoped they would be sucking on in the future. Unsure of its true significance, UK Plc sold the thing off to some Americans who believed they were buying an actual female breast; they also bought a plot of land in Croydon where they expected to begin digging to excavate “her” genitalia. On arrival they soon discovered their folly, and began a major recontextualisation of this once sacred place: from mammary to mammon; from nipple to Nando’s. Read the rest of this entry »
Bloody hell, The Wire didn’t make much of this, did they? What did Portishead do to them, come round their office and stick a Mika CD in a Mika Vainio CD case? “Two good tracks, but the rest sounds like animal faeces being sucked into a giant hoover while the circusmaster just stands around collecting cash”, they said, although I paraphrase a bit. By any other yardstick, including that deployed by what seems like pretty much the entire population of the internet – who, given the leakier-than-a-Tory-cabinet nature of that vast land, probably all have this on mp3 already – this is a stunning album. It is far better than we have any right to expect from a band who –again, like a Tory cabinet – haven’t existed for the last decade. Read the rest of this entry »
“Tickets for Marc Almond…any spare tickets for Marc Almond?”. It was obvious that the ticket touts were having a bit of trouble pitching this one. “’Ere Trev…what’s this Current 93 all about then?” “To be honest, it is just another example of your run of the mill apocalyptic folk band…visions of the second coming of Christ, eternal damnation, what have you.” (a pause) “That “Tainted Love” is a good tune though, innit? Spare tickets, any spare tickets, I’ll buy or sell!” Read the rest of this entry »
Michael Rother, Hans-Joachim Roedelius and Dieter Mobius took to the stage for the very first time in the UK to open this year’s Ether ragbag on the South Bank. Shuffling on to stand behind their desks, this looked more like the opening night for a symposium of retired German scientists; actually that is probably unfair on the spritely Rother, who is still a few years away from collecting his autobus pass. In front of footage of themselves as far younger men, and facing an extremely diverse and expectant crowd, they began to tinker with their boxes of wires. And, slightly worryingly, a laptop. Read the rest of this entry »
Another show, another photo of a bridge; this time the impressive spine of the Hammersmith flyover. I bought Monkeyman a pair of tickets to see Bjork in the Apollo for Christmas. I’d have been a bit gutted if I wasn’t invited along, especially in hindsight: imagine if I had to put up with Monkeyman going on and on about how brilliant it all was, and how beautiful she looked and how there were these people with these funny clothes and blah blah blah. I would have had no option but to run outside screaming, and to try to set fire to myself; although I would have failed due being sodden through with tears. Read the rest of this entry »
Ignore that tag that says “album review” (even more than you usually would). This is even less of an album review than all of the others which bask in the overinflated self-importantness of that title. Think of it more as a public service announcement, but by someone who couldn’t be bothered creating a new category for such posts. Read the rest of this entry »
Listening to this new album by Carla Bozulich’s new beat combo Evangelista reminds me of Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu’s 21 Grams film from a few year’s back . Under the mental strain caused by two hours spent watching Sean Penn’s method boy gurning some unspeakable tragedy, everything has fractured; the narrative to what may well once have been a love story is now horribly deranged and disfigured. I’d imagine if I had the fortitude to listen to this a thousand times I could piece it back together again. Not sure I do though; this is tough going…yet, damn it, perversely enjoyable. Read the rest of this entry »
The gLASSsHRIMP show on Resonance 104.4FM now has a functioning website again, where we’ll post playlists, links, photos, and details of forthcoming shows (of which there are a couple of crackers coming up…you’ll have to head over there to find out). Hopefully podcasts and stuff someday too. glASSsHRIMP – it’s for your ears.
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