Blog — Page 268 of 283

HIM, Caspian

Southampton Guildhall
Southampton, Hampshire, UK
October 28, 2013

It has been three years since HIM last played on the shores of the UK, with a lot of uncertainty whether they would continue as a band due to drummer Gas having arm splints that prevent him from playing. Also, earlier this year singer Ville Valo contracted pneumonia and things didn’t look good for the love metal band. But after the release of the band’s latest offering, Tears on Tape, everything seemed to fall back into place for them.

October 28 saw them playing Southampton Guildhall with support coming from Massachusetts instrumental band Caspian—a band whose post-rock sound seemed to fall short of getting the crowd of die hard HIM fan’s ready for their favourite band. This wasn’t because they were a bad band but there was just something lacking from their set, maybe it was there was no real connection with the audience?

As HIM took to the stage bursting into the new song “All Lips Go Blue,” it was clear that the break only made them tighter as a band, and that Ville has developed as a front man, now opting to pick up the acoustic guitar which brings a new dynamic to the live set. Although this tour is to promote the new album there was something for everyone with a lot of variety in song choice. Personal highlights were “The Funeral Of Hearts” and “Join Me In Death”.

The show ended with “When Love and Death Embrace,” which was the perfect note to go out on. It is clear they have been through a lot in the past three years but it has only made them a stronger band;if you were lucky enough to see them on this tour then you will know. If not, then I suggest that you catch them when they return to the UK next time. You won’t be disappointed.

Live review and photos courtesy of David Rutherford.

Beacons Festival 2013

North Yorkshire

August 16-18, 2013

Beacons Festival is a pretty novel addition to the British concert scene. Taking place in Skipton (Lancs > Yorks) away from the bright lights of Reading or Glastonbury, it boasts a lineup ranging from the well known – Wire, David Rodigan – to the sort of fresh faces more expected to be visitors than acts. There's a certain individualistic charm covering the DIY foundations of Beacons, whether it's the small scale, inclusion of independent businesses and scope of events beyond music, from film showings to arts classes. I headed down to see what the fuss was about.

My trip was reassuringly drawn out, trudging on train from London to York, then onto Leeds and finally Skipton. It was the bemused faces of locals en route, not the flowing greenery or diminishing traffic, that carted you into smallest of small town England. The short bus ride away led to the field where I'd spend the next three days. After sorting out my pop-up tent (easy to take out, a pain to pop back in) I made my way into the arena to check out the bands and get a sense of the atmosphere. 

What first struck me, and never left, was surprise at how sparse the crowd seemed. The area was fairly well laid out, with more than enough room between stages and a pleasant intimacy to the venues, but it seemed like there should've been more people milling/staggering/passed out around. After catching up with a couple of friends and getting nicely libated, I headed off to see the first band of the day, Egyptian Hip-Hop.



I'd heard a few of their songs, not enough to form a judgement but suffice to be interested in what they'd be like. Arriving on stage looking like acid casualties thrown out of Waynestock, they proceeded to play a set which provoked, interested but ultimately frustrated me. Frontman Alex Hewett varied between adding to the noise onstage to mingling with the crowd, his demeanour much more jovial than the occasionally indecipherable music. This was added to by the lack of vocal definition Hewett has, too often fading into the instrumentation. Compounded by an overly loud bass, the muddy mix sacrificed the nuances of Egyptian Hip-Hops sound. Nonetheless, a welcome start to the weekend's festivities. Up next was Matador up and comers Esben And The Witch. 



Despite being a trio, the group were more than the sum of their parts. Playing on the quiet-loud dynamics beloved of, say, the XX, the Brightonians showed a lot of promise with their dance influenced post-punk. Veering between sparseness and furious activity, it was a real diversity on show; however, it didn't make for a staggering live performance as the three seemed rooted in place to their pedals. At over five years of activity, perhaps they'd passed their moment to crossover into something bigger, but are surely the sort of gem to find on the off-chance. They played Noisey's You've Got To Hear This stage, which acted as host to a variety of great bands, one of which was next act Only Real. 



To say that the West London troubadour is divisive is to say that he's strawberry blonde. His Jamie T. referencing blend of hip-hop, classic rock 'n' roll and stoner delivery comes at a time when King Krule is slaying any and all imitators. At Beacons, he packed the stage with kids who wanted to rep Real. Accompanied by a band, Real filled out the gaps which appear in songs like 'Cinnamon Toast' or 'Cadillac Girl', sounding more substantial than the one-man-and-a-Macbook approach he's taken so far. Despite complaining of illness, Real manages to execute his surprisingly well thought out raps and youthful crooning, to the delight of people who're dressed as ridiculously as he is. If he built on the success shown, he'd soon escape the shadows of others. 

I was soon presented with a dilemma, a rare clash between two hotly tipped but very different acts who both appealed- Ghostpoet and Eagulls. The former is a songsmith who spans hip hop and electro music, as reminiscent of Jeremiah Jae as Portishead. The latter is a clan of Leeds miscreants who're getting ahead by their surly performances and music along the lines of Dinosaur Jr being cottaged by Electro Hippies. I initially plumped for Eagulls and readied myself for their set. The sweat-mist of cramped bodies was enough to prove what a draw the band were; within minutes of Eagulls kicking off, it was pretty much security's version of Apocalypse Now. Unsightly moshing, surges forward, frontman George working up enough people to the point of where they were heavy-handedly getting thrown out be security. At this point I bailed as I realised the value of having teeth, so off to Ghostpoet it was.



Whereas Eagulls was stripped-back aggression, Ghostpoet easily provides the experience closest to a 'show'. Dressed in all black, the singer and producer spends the lion's share of his time tied to a keyboard. His strut is self-assured, the moments when he take to the mic feel like high drama, accentuated with the atmospheric lighting and drawn out string instrumentals. This isn't to say he's somehow disengaged from the crowd; to the contrary, his performance is equally marked by tense rapping over catchy beats and cacophonous drums, setting the revellers off. Again, in terms of sound, so much is going on that while the sound dips into muddiness, plus the occasional technical fault, Ghostpoet continues as the consummate professional. 



My first night was capped off by a band who need no introduction: Fucked Up. While it's hardly a rare treat seeing the band - considering their prolific touring schedule - it's always enlivening to see a group who've stuck at it for over a decade, doing their own thing in spite of peers and trends. Despite the numerous pairs of jogging bottoms and jetlag symptons on show, Fucked Up waste no time ripping into their crowd as Eagulls did on the same stage hours earlier. It's harder to tell who's losing their shit more, fans, the band, or security, as Damian Abraham embraces the audience, bodies fly and the boys with the walkie talkies don't seem to know what to do. A lengthy, energetic set, the perfect nightcap for the weekend. 



Saturday 

I emerged from my peg-secured abode and ambled around the arena. I caught glimpse of a few acts, such as Wolf Alice and Amateur Best, but neither struck me worth watching. In fact, the second made me think Michael Bolton was playing a secret set with a Microkorg. The less said about his rap song the better. The first act that impressed me on Saturday was Bournemouth boy East India Youth. His sound is as varied as you'd expect from someone The Quietus releases music for. The keys vary from glitches to shimmering and the atmosphere drifts from the darkness of witch house to the flight of deep house. His inclusion of live bass feels somewhat like tokenism whilst his vocals need a dose more character, but overall, a promising performance.

Elliott Smith at his last-ever NYC show, January 29th 2003. He killed himself that October.
Photo: Alexis

I have this friend, let's call her L. We "met" on a music messageboard back when things like that were still popular. We lived in different cities and we never met in person, but we both loved music. She introduced me to a bunch of artists I'd never otherwise have come across.

L lived a complicated life. She suffered eating disorders, self-harmed to a quite terrifying degree, and was in and out of rehab centres. She was also a brilliant artist: a writer skilled with words and meaning and an expert with sketching, painting and textiles. This was reflected in the music she loved.

Elliott Smith was one of her favourites. I first learned how to properly spell his name after she painstakingly corrected me in late-night music discussions over MSN Messenger. She loved "Needle in the Hay", perhaps Smith's most famous song, as featured in The Royal Tenenbaums, which meant that this became the first of his recordings I ever heard.

Other artists captured her personal mixture of the tragic and beautiful: Xiu Xiu were another of her favourites. I could never warm to Jamie Stewart's heartwrenching pain and the sparse and uncomfortable soundtracks. Elliott's simple and unpolished aching, his open, bare outlook and sometimes joyous uplifts in spirit were something I could engage with, for a time.

He killed himself not long before I first became aware of him. I remember L telling me the story and wonder now if she understood a little of what he felt, while to me it was just another glamorous, mysterious dead rock star, joining the immortal ranks of Cobain, Vicious and Edwards. His gentle, lulling chords and angry, passionate yelps might have spoken to her with the depth and reach that Elliott's songs often reached for his most devoted followers.

I learned to play a few of his songs and recorded shaky cover versions to show her. They weren't great: my voice was weak and nervous and the guitar awkward at times and amateur. But sometimes that was how Elliott sounded: every time I listen to "The Biggest Lie", I marvel at how it begins like an over-eager open mic performer but transforms into a hymn, almost.

I copied out the lyrics to "Twilight" on a piece of paper because I didn't have a printer, wanting to perform it somewhere. My dad found the words and thought they were my own. I wonder sometimes what he thought when he read the lines: "haven't laughed this hard in a long time / better stop now before I start crying". I didn't really know then how Elliott felt, though I suspected L did.

His music never changed, by then. Unlike other artists whose work you come to late, Elliott's discography was final: an artefact, if you like. Sure, there were demos and b-sides and covers and all the rest. But what he left behind a decade ago this week has remained a constant in my life: the twinkly chords and mumbled verses instantly take me back to L and our long talks and my attempts to understand her world through the filter of Elliott's music.

I last spoke to L in the autumn of 2010, three years ago now. I'd just lost a close family member and was feeling, for the first time in my life, some of the emptiness that unexpected death can leave you with. I told her about it and she expressed her shock and sorrow for me. I told her I'd be okay.

That was the last time I heard from L. I know she'd been in some kind of recovery or rehab centre around that time, but I didn't know where. I texted, emailed, and after a couple of years, wrote to her a copied letter which I posted to all of the addresses I'd had for her. I did get one response back, from a man who'd moved into her old address. All he could tell me was that she didn't live there any more.

It's ten years now this week since Elliott Smith left us, and almost three years since L disappeared from my life. For me, the two are inextricably linked. L introduced me to the music and the tragedy of Elliott Smith's life and work. Elliott Smith helped me understand and cope with the beauty and the sadness of L and whatever path she took.

I miss her all the time and I wonder at what happened, but the music that Elliott left us gives me a bittersweet gift. I didn't really know what he meant when he said "because your candle burns too bright / well I almost forgot it was twilight", but I think now I have a little idea.

RIP Elliott Smith: 1969-2003

Thank you, L.

(names have been changed to ease loss)

--

Endnotes:

• Second Elliott photo by Constintina Trainwreck.
• Scene Point Blank wrote about Elliott's death the week it happened. You can read our reaction here.
• We also compiled a list of the Top 5 Elliott Smith Songs That'll Choke You Up.

Listen to the songs in this article (and others):

October 12, 2013

Calgary, Alberta

@ THE GOLDEN AGE CLUB

After a few hiccups in the booking process (venue issues, etc.) the day finally came for Terror to come back to Calgary. This time they managed to wrangle a diverse and intersting lineup as well. For this show the openers consisted of Secret Rivals, Code Orange Kids, Power Trip and Counterparts.

Local Openers Secret Rivals were up first. The lack of crowd did little to diswade them from blasting out their brand of NYHC groovy hardcore. In a short set they managed to remind one of classic NYHC such as Crown Of Thornz and Madball. For the sake of a M=more modern influence i'd venture to add Trapped Under Ice as well. Needless to say you knew the band we're going to bring with them a reson to mosh and that they did. Any fan of the aforementioned should be more than interested in searching them out.

Next came Code Orange Kids. While certainly the odd band out on an already diverse bill (for a hardcore show) they managed to truly stand up amongst the rest of the touring bands. Allowing for each song to stand on its own is a tough task for a band to do on record. Code Orange managed to pull it off on stage as well, even managing a spot for a guest vocal appearance. All of this made for a heady set with flares of heavy sludge, emotional calm, and absolute savage noise. This kind of set could certainly make doubters into believers.

Power Trip showed slightly late but wasted no time. After briefly thanking Canada for it's poutine women and recreational activites they quickly moved into a brutal set. While the set mostly consisted of songs from the new album (Manifest Decimation) the band managed to include a couple older songs. Somewhat surprisingly every song worked no matter how long or short (especially the longer ones from the new album). Every song sounded absolutely road ready and tight and the crowd didn't waste a single second to relish the songs.

Counterparts played as direct support for the show and came out with their stylized melodic hardcore. While the band played a longer set filled with mostly songs from their recent release (The Difference Between Hell And Home) the really great moments were relegated to the songs from their back catalog. These songs recieved strong responses from the crowd. On the other hand the seemed to be nary an interest paid by most in the newer songs. All in all the band played a completely competent set and tried what they could to get the crowd into it.

Finally is was Terror's turn to take the stage. As anyone familiar with Terror as a love entity knows there will be certain things contained therein consistently. These things include. moshing, sing alongs, stage dives and motivational speaches. If the set were to be judged solely on that Terror would get straight A's. Even with the basics covered when it came to the music and energy from the band things ran on all cylinders. For a band made up of guys that have been in hardcore bands for years they put nearly every younger band to absolute shame. With a set that mansaged to mix new and old without batting an eyelash not one showgoer would've been able to complain by the end. The band even stopped at points to ask exactly what the crowd wanted to hear before playing the requested songs. Only adding to this were some guest vocals by multiple members of each band throughout the set. 

Overall this would be a tour to go see for anyone into hardcore. With a diverse bill made up of bands that work hard to consistently put on great, entertaining sets one would certainly be amiss to forget about this tour. 

 A couple weeks ago, I went on a trip to the middle of the country to see my favorite band, AFI, play shows up and down the midwest. Some of my time there was spent writing my thoughts and daily activities down. This is the first half, the September half, of the tour diary. I'll be posting parts of it over the next few days before I leave again to write more in a couple weeks. Thanks for reading!

What Inspires You? A (Sort of) Tour Diary: Sept./Oct. 2013

On The Way I Saw Five Hours of Sleep, but Your Fire Makes it All Worth While: Day 2

            It's Friday the 13th. Yesterday, if you were to ask me if I were superstitious, I would have come out neutral. Following today's events, I might have to rethink my answer. We left later than originally intended which set us back about 45 minutes. We stopped at a Denny's after about an hour of driving. This had to be the classiest Denny's in the country. A warm atmosphere with soft-spoken, but audible conversationalists...and slow service. Also the kind of place that seems like they could be butchering people in the back and serving them to their customers. "Yes, you could say there's a little bit of Ooter in all of us," I recollected. While we waited for our food, we could hear a pair talk about some lady that was found dead in a lake so nonchalantly, which didn't exactly ease my nerves. We ended up spending about another hour there which was longer than we had expected.

            It wasn't until we were back on the road again that the real bad luck began to hit. It struck us late into the drive that we realized we forgot to take the time zone difference into account. There went another hour. Bad luck's laughter bellowed louder when a freeway closure forced us to come to a crawl. We lost another hour in traffic and having to take a detour. You do the math. Once we got back onto the freeway, things went a little more smoothly.

            I had been the one doing most of the driving on nearly no sleep. Casey, Sarah, and Addie had a chance to nap during the drive. When I could feel myself losing energy and nodding off here and there, I asked Sarah to take over. I could count the minutes of sleep I'd had. Black Sails in the Sunset was playing through the stereo. I fell asleep during, "Exsanguination," and I woke up before "God Called in Sick Today" had finished. Maybe a half hour? Give or take a couple minutes. That short amount of sleep was enough rest to last a few more hours.

            Sarah and I dropped Addie and Casey off in line at St. Andrew's Hall. It was about noon. The date kicked in again by having construction going on around the venue. Only the venue. What are the odds? That caused some frustration when it came to navigating the area. While the two waited in line, we headed towards Eastpointe to visit Sarah's mom. Yes, Sarah used to live in Michigan, but through a quirky turn of events, we fell in love and she moved to California. I don't think she'll even know just how much I love her and appreciate her gesture. After we had lunch, we went to visit her grandfather. In the short time we spent there, he managed to stir into my thoughts as we all sat and admired his woodwork. Amongst this room were a number of items he had built himself without much direction. Sarah's mom made a comment about her not having the ability to do such a thing. He immediately shot her words down and said she could. To paraphrase, he said, "you could do anything you set yourself to do," like something out of a dramatic episode of a sitcom. We've all heard those encouraging words from somewhere, but sitting there and seeing his fabulous work sets it apart from television drama. It's that encouragement and spirit that one needs every once in awhile. It's that same kind of spirit that I'm putting into this project, and it's that mentality that keeps people going.

            We got ourselves to the venue at about 4pm. We went to the front of the line where the rest of our friends were sitting. It didn't take the death glares from others to know what they were thinking, but there was no intention of cutting the line. We despise it ourselves, so were weren't about to do it to others. We just wanted to spend time with our friends which now included the addition of Katie and Lia (who will appear more often now). The hugs were welcome with much sleep deprivation. I could feel myself running out of steam, but I was going to pull through.

            Just before doors were about to open, Sarah and I headed to the end of the line. When we got inside, we found out that it didn't matter what time everyone got there because the venue had let the bar hoppers in first. The barricade was lined with drunken foolishness, but I didn't plan on being close anyway. I distanced myself from the gang and sat down on a stool on the balcony. The first band, Coming, went on and I'm sorry to say: I was too tired to watch their set. I began nodding off in the middle of it despite their loud volume. During Touche Amore, I made my way back downstairs. It's great to a see a band I used to watch in basements and living rooms get more attention. They've worked hard for it.

            When AFI took the stage, I was left with no strength or energy. They opened with "Leaving Song Pt. 2," and I could feel myself getting weak and dizzy. However, I still sang every word. Although, being so out of it made it difficult to enjoy "Overexposure," which is a song I've been pining for. The crowd had the voice for the band but not the respect for their fellow fans. A rude awakening of how much a crowd can differ between states and ruin the experience for others. A group of nitwits throwing themselves into other people during songs like a cover of The Cure's, "Just Like Heaven," to people pushing and pinching to get someone to move so they can get a good picture of the band with their iphones is not good show etiquette. Don't get me started on the emotionless, mindless, crowd-surfers laying on people like some kind of martyrs. During "Days of the Phoenix," I made my attempt to lower the phones by crawling over the crowd. To no one's surprise, I didn't get far. After the show, Davey Havok proclaimed a bit of appreciation when he mentioned that he saw me and said he was going to come out with the mic, but I was too far. "I tried," was all I could say, haha.

            He and Adam both seemed appreciative that we'd be going to more shows. They both just stared in awe. I can't help but wonder if they've ever felt the same dedication from their youth. We walked away like giddy 10 year olds on Christmas Day opening gifts. Talking to someone who has had such an impact on your life never loses its novelty. It never will. I was dead tired but following that moment, I could have done another 10 sets. To be honest though, I couldn't wait to get back to Sarah's mom's apartment and pass out. I don't even remember falling asleep when I laid down. I just remember waking up--eager to get ready for Riot Fest.

I Guess This is Growing Up: Day 3

            It was some time in 1997 that my older brother introduced me to Blink 182. They were amongst the first bands I named as "a favorite." I can still remember coming home from my first day at a new school--excited to tell my brother about how the video for "Dammit" was playing on the TVs at a Target my mom and I had gone to. In 2000, I went to what would be the first of many punk shows in my life thanks to a birthday gift from him. He got me tickets to the Mark, Tom and Travis Show, which also consisted of Bad Religion (another important band in my life) and Fenix TX. Regrettably, I've missed all of Blink's tours since. However, they still have a place in my heart and always will. So, when I read that they were announced to be playing Riot Fest, I was ecstatic.

            We didn't get to the festival until about a quarter after 6pm. We passed through the gates right as Flag were in the middle of "Nervous Breakdown." Unfortunately, I had no time to watch their performance. While the others stuck around for Blondie, I headed straight for the opposite end of the festival to get a good spot for The Lawrence Arms. The city street was packed with people from all over to catch the Chicago-native punk band. I managed to get close enough to see them perform. They were able to put on the same great act I remember from months ago. The audience was much more entertaining this time around. One fest attendee had on a green skin suit, while Brendan Kelly spotted two fans with horse-head masks on opposite sides of the crowd.  

            As I shuffled through the people, I came across Tim standing by the VIP area with Nick. Together we did sing-a-longs to "100 Resolutions" and "Are You There Margaret? It's Me God." By the set's end, Tim and I were making our way back to the stage Rancid would be playing on. On the way, we attempted to find the "Butter Stamos," which is where we would be meeting with the rest of our friends. If you don't know, Land-o-Lakes provided the festival with a block of butter for the use of sculpting a bust of John Stamos. Well, it wasn't as easy to find as we thought it was going to be. We must have spent half an hour looking. By the time we found him, Rancid had gone on stage. No one else was there. We tried communicating, but no one had phone service on the festival grounds.

            I must admit, I've never been much of a Rancid fan, but they were another band that slipped into my adolescence. "Ruby Soho" was one of those songs I can remember hearing my brother and his friends listen to when I was 5 or 6. They put on a great show though--besides the unnecessary "encore." Once they had finished, Tim and I finally met up with everyone. They were all excited to catch Taking Back Sunday's set. I was just there to see, "Cute Without the 'E'," just like 90 percent of the rest of the people there. Bit by bit, others began to leave so they wouldn't miss a second of Blink 182. We didn't walk back until a song or two before TBS were done. We came to a halt when we could hear them playing, "Make Damn Sure." We formed a circle and just started dancing and having the time of our lives. Even some random people joined us.

            We found our place for Blink. I was so excited...and so let down. Sure, the setlist didn't appeal to me very much being stacked mostly with Self-Titled and Neighborhoods tracks. Many of which I didn't even know. I know I can't expect a band to play songs they wrote 15+ years ago, but damn if I wasn't hopeful. They still squeezed in a couple favorites of mine like "Man Overboard" and "Josie." Those were the highlights for me though. The real Debbie of a downer though was their supposedly drunk sound engineer. I can't say for sure if it was him messing with the levels or just the setup going on the fritz, but I've heard stories of it happening at other Blink shows. Either way, it made for a real unenjoyable experience for everyone. It was easily the biggest disappointment all weekend. We still all had a killer time during "Dammit" though. After meeting back up at the "Butter Stamos" and made sure we were all together, we left the festival grounds. Both my body and my voice need a rest. Tomorrow is the final day of Riot Fest, and it's going to be a crazy one.

Come back for Days 4 and 5 soon!