Some would call this alcoholism, but this is a serious problem beyond the scope of this review

So… back to my pint of whisky: first up, is a band that I’ve never heard before: Hour Hands, and I’m very pleasantly surprised.

PUBLIC SERVICE BROADCAST (FROM THE GOVERNMENT)

‘Postmodern personality disorder’, is a common affliction which affects an increasing number of bands. It is diagnosed when at least three of the following five features are present:

• Discordant, cacophonous or just plain wonky guitar work
• No consistent adoption of style or freeform genre hopping
• Band members looking a bit ‘idiosyncratic’; clothing or haircuts in an odd or elaborate style
• Lyrical weirdness (or straight lyrics with weird delivery)
• Mumbles, or an unassuming (sometimes non-existent or socially phobic) level of audience   interaction between songs

An inflatory saline injection to the ears, usually fixes most cases.

Be vigilant…

END OF TRANSMISSION

To help the powers that be get back to sorting out the credit crunch; I’ll add to the public message by stating that; although this disorder is common, if a band is good enough - the personality disorder is transcended; becoming….‘Good band… er…syndrome’… .

..and Hour Hands are a very good band

…. Why?

Because they possess genuine charisma (particularly in the sultry, slightly menacing lead guitarist), lots of invention, soul, and the songs are very, very, good

Pavement; Kate Bush; Syd Barret; Bluesy harmonica….

….Ingredients that don’t work together on paper, but – (allegedly) like Heston Blumenthal’s bacon and egg ice cream – the whole is delectable -  and although I’ll never understand the fascination with singing in pretend accents - songs like Mood-swings and Hello from my Shell, are too darn dreamy and beautiful to criticise anyway…

Next up: Duke Raoul:

I should start the review unimaginatively by stating that Duke Raoul are also very, very, good. One of the best bands I’ve seen in donkeys; No, not in an actual donkey (that would be both cruel and brilliant) – but in a long time.

This is razor tight stuff, played with a clinical attention to detail, but also heart wrenching passion.

I really can’t compare them directly to anyone in particular, because the sound is fairly unique (and the pint of whisky that I started at the beginning of the review is half empty); however, the closest approximation I can reach, would be the recent, eponymous album by ‘The Week that Was’ - with added fire, melancholy, and recorded lucid dreams* - broadcast from a fuzzy, broken, black and white TV set, at close range….

The whole band perform, (and story-tell) convincingly and self assuredly - without trying too hard, and the chords are magically, triumphantly sad.

Songs like  ‘The Local News’ demonstrate that this band really could be playing on a bigger stage, possessing a duality that is perfectly designed for the stadium, and the small. The appeal is wide.

Great Stuff

www.myspace.com/hourhands

www.myspace.com/dukeraoul

*A dream recorder would be a great invention

There’s an excellent grasp of melody in the air – particularly in the blissful Lemonhead(y) harmonies of ‘We’re so Strong’, which is actually played twice in the set – this makes sense, it’s a good song, so why not play it once more?

However these guys are no submissive slaves to melody, and a classic, raw, bluesy soulfulness is abundant, conveyed by the extraordinary, gravel of Dans voice, which belies the fact that the band originate from the South of England, rather than the Deep South.

There’s a copious amount of rebellious energy here too - spasmodic episodes frequently erupt from the musical depths. Such movements can often be contrived and annoying, but here it seems genuine, looks real, and conventional jerk patterns are not followed.

The only real negative is a slight suspicion which develops. Have these guys sold their souls to some abyssal being, or even Satan himself at the Crossroads, am I about to be deviously coerced into a voodoo sacrifice by members of the band. Are these guys actually from Louisiana - having faked their own deaths like that Canoe man from Weymouth. He ended up in prison.

I’m looking forward to hearing the new songs…

Support comes from Sara Thor and On Safari – the former, sings songs of beauty through icy Scandinavian cool, but she’s now moved to Paris. Merde!

The latter blast Mark-E-Smith inspired rants over steady, menacing waves of song. There’s a particularly nice scream about sailing to heaven on a rickety boat. I like it a lot.

All considered; a very promising evening of musical entertainment.

www.myspace.com/now4thevinyls

From the off, my heid is blasted with apocalyptic, electronic blasts, played with a visceral intensity. The live, rather than recorded drums, provide a pounding, tribal quality, whilst the combination of shite keyboards and pedals, lends proceedings a stylish, lo-fi gravitas.

The racket is loud and entropic, but still makes sense, always. At times I was sweating a substance that appeared to be liquid joy. Unfortunately I forgot to bottle it and sell it to the depressed. This is insensitive. I apologise.

These guys really do it live. Quite frankly, one of the best fucking gigs I’ve been to in recent years.

www.myspace.com/holyfuck

This can be a good thing; sometimes a hastily recorded demo can skew the perception of a melody-seeking man such as me…

So, what was my naïve but intrepid mind greeted with?

Answer: A monolithic, noise-berg, occasionally melting to create bubbling little streams of gentle introspection. The metaphor is appalling, but the playing was much better; somewhere between Sigur-Ros and Johnny Greenwood’s less sane moments; transmitted by pylons.

There are no words, and no need for them, the sentiment is communicated through a form of subjective, musical vernacular. Lyrics would be unnecessary, ham-fisted and rude.

Being critical, perhaps a tad more variation would be welcome, much of the playing involved the thrashing of heavily effected/delayed guitars, and there was a ‘pinch’ too much self-importance at times, for my personal tastes.

However, I’ve since reversed the normal interaction of listen>gig and discovered that the recorded Kontakte are quite a different proposition, where the subtleties are more marked, and the louder moments more subtle. All in all. Pretty damn good.

www.myspace.com/kontakteuk