Live Review: Blogtoberfest - The Bad Books, Cancel The Astronauts, French Wives - Flying Duck 27/10/2012

One of the benefits of being part of the Peenko empire but not ultimately responsible for its strategic direction, is the opportunity to write about events and releases with which Mr Peenko gets himself dubiously involved with a degree of critical freedom. So, if Randolph's Leap ever do drop that much-threatened reggae EP, I'll certainly not feel bound by ties of brand loyalty! But in the meantime, this event - organised by an unholy blogging trinity comprised of Peenko, Ayetunes and Scottish Fiction - promised three bands at various points on the curve, playing together. From The Bad Books first forays here in the West to local types French Wives on the brink of album number two, tonight cut a swathe through Scottish pop music that perhaps only three blogs deeply versed in its dark arts could manage?

The Flying Duck is new to me. Squirrelled away in a forlorn tenement block between Buchanan Bus Station and the futuristic glassiness of the Herald Offices, even getting into the place isn't straightforward. Once I'd found the correct door and descended several staircases into the subterranean bar, I was ushered further into the bowels of the place to find the venue itself. This is in fact a confused mess of a club - a huge sunken oval dancefloor, surrounded by semi-circular booths of seating, with various sections of the room last decorated in each of the preceding three decades it seems. One of these awkward booths doubles as a makeshift stage - with a seriously solid supporting pillar squarely in the opening through which the band can be seen. In fairness, this is not a great place to see a band play - and it's perhaps testament to the draw of these three names that people have turned out and dealt with the limitations of the place at all. Remarkably enough too, the sound guy managed to make the acts sound great despite one of the most irregular, confusingly cluttered rooms I'd ever seen music performed in.

First up are The Bad Books, hailing from Edinburgh and playing their first Glasgow show. This can of course, be something of a baptism of fire - and playing out of your hometown comfort zone is never easy. But the special friction reserved for interactions between the cities which form the two pillars of the Scottish music scene means the stakes are perhaps even higher - especially considering the hype which has surrounded this act of late. It's a fact here that I'm writing about a band of which I know virtually nothing at all. But any sense this positive press is misplaced is blown away early in the set, which opens with a wall of noise and melody which provides a canvas for impassioned, heartfelt vocals. Such is the wash of noise that hidden squalls of gorgeous guitar are suddenly exposed before submerging again, pushing the songs forward and creating a sense of urgency and impatience. It's in these moments of overwhelming noise and prettiness that your ears begin to play tricks, with the sounds far exceeding the number of instruments on stage - or at least that can be seen in this curious space. It's no surprise to find that these guitar manipulations come courtesy of Mikey Morrison, lately of much missed Edinburgh outfit Come On Gang! Pondering reference points i'm moved to remember the pristine guitar-pop of Kitchens of Distinction way back from the early 1990s One Little Indian stable, however pressing this opinion quickly marks me out as "oldest blogger in the room" so I decide to keep my own counsel for now. As the set ramps up the energy, so the emotional pitch of the vocals increases to the point that The Bad Books' effortlessly charismatic frontman is away into the crowd barking into a megaphone while the band maintain the harmonies on stage. It's a fitting ending to a storm of a performance. This, remember is a band yet to record a single note - but already delivering performances which are smart, engaging and self-assured enough to tackle a dreadful venue and first-billing to a Glasgow crowd. I'll admit it - I'm convinced....and I don't give in easily. I can't wait to hear more.

Next up are another act who have made the journey through from Edinburgh, but on the back of a recent album release which has done a fair bit to advance their name locally. Cancel The Astronauts came to my attention a couple of years ago with brace of witty, edgy singles which had that rarest of things in music - a sense of humour. But the recent "Animal Love Match" album raised the stakes far beyond these tentative first steps, delivering a set of intelligent, effervescent guitar pop tunes which frankly blew away any preconceptions I had based on past hearings of the band.  That said I hadn't quite managed to make the album an essential listen yet, and I wondered if seeing the band perform might give me more of a sense of what they were aiming for? Squashed onto the tiny 'stage' it was clear that the space restrictions were not going to contain vocalist and frontman Matthew Riley who seems to be by turns possessed by Bryan Ferry and Ian Curtis as he jerks, shudders and gesticulates to the surprisingly poppy tunes being spun by the band. Of course I'm more careful with this observation given I've already betrayed my age with an idle comparison tonight! It's interesting to watch the audience response here too - with isolated outbursts of dancing occurring! That in itself is fairly compelling evidence that Cancel The Astronauts have grabbed the imagination of this strange little place and are now pretty much shaking the life from it. By closing tune and recent single "Intervention" any disconnection between audience and stage is purely physical, as the Flying Duck seems to be bouncing in time with the band. It's hard to reconcile those first, smart but funny, Pulp-influenced singles with the complex, nuanced pop music on display tonight - but the sense of occasion in the audience, and the steady trickle of punters to the merch stand, indicates that Cancel The Astronauts have an interesting time ahead.

Finally, French Wives arrived, crammed uneasily into the space, with Stuart Dougan's head dangerously close to the rafters. So cramped were they, that the ending guitar ensembles of several of the tracks saw them all turned to the centre of the stage in a weird approximation of Status Quo. However, this didn't affect the intensity or quality of a performance which, despite being a violinist down just now, exceeded my previous experiences of the band. Focusing a short set on tracks from the current and much vaunted "Dream of the Inbetween" album, and largely picking the more upbeat tracks to suit the occasion, they played to the strengths of a tiny place and made a lot of beautifully constructed noise, spun around their infectious choruses and hooks. The benefit of a hometown audience who knew these songs wasn't lost - evidenced in the collective bouncing along to the urgent pulse of "Me vs. Me" or the surprisingly respectful hush afforded to the lovely harmonies which opened the slightly-edited but still wonderfully epic "Halloween". While there is no doubt that I missed Siobahn's violin, not least during that track, the drafting in of keyboard player Frankie has ensured the sound remains full and rounded, and that the spacious orchestration and sparkling arrangements aren't lost despite the more straightforward rock band approach being employed tonight. Closing on a high with "Younger" was fitting given how I'd betrayed my own age earlier tonight - but whatever Stuart might sing, this is a band still at the start of something pretty special. It's going to be interesting to see how this develops into a second record next year.

Just before leaving I ventured into the gents to find one of the biggest open spaces in the entire confusion of a venue! A fellow gig-goer remarked that he "had better sightlines of the urinals in here than the bands out there", to which I had to agree. Extracting myself from the bowels of the Flying Duck into a damp Glasgow night, I was still humming the infectious melody of "Halloween" to myself as I negotiated packs of rampaging costume wearers wandering through the city. Who knew that the true message of this ancient celebration could be conveyed by dressing as a 'slutty cop'? That said, at least this increased the Police presence on Argyle Street, albeit in non-statutory and unenforcible ways. Despite the fairly impractical and fan-unfriendly venue, tonight was a triumph for three bands and three bloggers who are keeping things resolutely real, regardless how the rest of the music world dresses things up. Long may it continue.

Live Review: Player Piano, Randolph's Leap, The Pictish Trail - The London Palladium 28/09/2012

As a youngster, Sunday nights were always something of a liminal zone. That desperate wish to squeeze everything you could out of a precious weekend set against the strange tendency of the adult world to close down and go to sleep after lunch on the sabbath. It's not even like there was any escape in television – the geriatric antics of “Last of the Summer Wine” were followed by “Sunday Night at The London Palladium”. Essentially the precursor of the modern X Factor, but with celebs on their way down the showbiz ladder rather than try-hards and wannabes. Dubious comedians, people balancing things – or indeed themselves - on each other and fading variety acts who only your grandma would recognise – all glued together with an unctuously smarmy compere, often of the Forsyth or Monkhouse stable. When that arrived, you knew your weekend was over. So it was a strange sensation tonight to be threading my way through the straggling crowds of post-office drinkers in the West End, and approaching the brightly lit colonnade which brashly announced Tommy Steel in “Scrooge!”. To the side, a more discreet white paper notice announced tonight's entertainment, and a corridor led into an ante-room no less opulent than the entrance. Sadly, I wouldn't get to see the massed ranks of Randolph's Leap treading the same boards as Tommy Cooper or Jimmy Tarbuck tonight – but the promoter Idle Fret have got a heck of a venue on their hands here in the Val Parnell Room. Essentially the intermission bar of the main hall, it delights in a domed ceiling, a spiral staircase to the proper theatrical dressing rooms, and by far the most impeccably clean toilets in history. This folks, is London – where the gents are paved with marble...

First up was tonight's special guest – a late addition to the bill which had led to much speculation. The mystery act was in fact Player Piano, also known as Jeremy Radway, who has been treading the boards with Fence colleagues for a good few years now, always promising immediate progress the album which his debut EP whetted appetites for back in 2009. Tonight, it's just Radway with his guitar and thus we don't get to hear too much from that big, brassy EP of soulful croons – but we do get an insight into the record he's spent years working on. Radway has been a father for almost a year, and claims his domestic duties have left him wholly out of practice and unprepared for the evening. There's certainly a shambolic air to proceedings, but in the hands of a showman like him it becomes part of the fun. His deep growl of an Indiana accent in which he mutters during the between song pauses is nothing like the cracked, soaring leap of his vocals when he cuts loose and lets the simply strummed tunes turn into heartfelt, swelling soul-pop gems. There's a moment when his lack of preparation results in him having to play back an MP3 of one of his forthcoming tunes to fix the lyrics in his mind. A lesser performer could have been fazed, but the laconic Radway takes it in his sometimes oddly Lou Reed like stride. By the end of his short set he'd got the audience largely on side and responding warmly to his quiet take on things. He's claimed many times before that the album is almost here, and on the strength of tonight when it arrives it's got a fair chance of being quite a record.

There is a moment when it looks like Randolph's Leap aren't going to fit on the stage. For their landmark first ever gig outside Scotland, the entire band has assembled here. From the joyously brassy, opening blare of “Hermit” from their forthcoming Fence EP, it's clear that they intend to make an impression on the locals. Tonight we see a no-nonsense Adam Ross leading the band through an amazingly tight set list – written on the back of a discarded paper plate – with less of his inter-song jokes – which I surprisingly miss despite his famously dubious quality control - and more tunes packed in. And of course we still get his lyrics – dripping with wit, built around off-kilter and ill-advised rhymes but always managing to tug just the right heartstrings somehow. With a prodigious work rate, the Leap are here to promote not only the forthcoming EP but also a recent home-recorded affair for Peenko Records, “As Fast As A Man”. Hearing these brittle, wonderfully vulnerable solo pieces reworked by the full band is quite an experience, and with the addition of violin, trumpet and trombone filling them out into minor epics. One of the best things about seeing the full-band incarnation of Randolph's Leap is the sense of abject fun which exudes from the stage – there are lots of bands I love to see perform, but few I actually feel like I want to join on stage. Sadly, the Leap's long-suffering manager has forbidden them to add any more musicians to their growing troupe for now – so my triangle solo will have to wait. Just like the last couple of shows I've seen, they close with “Crisps”. How this song has mutated from a strange little casio-backed strum into the blarting, singalong romp which is played tonight is probably worth a whole article in itself. As it is, it provides a fittingly memorable exit for the band tonight. It's easy to be glib and dismissive if you're a Londoner and can see new bands every night of the week – but lets hope Randolph's Leap caught a few ears and stick in a few memories tonight.

It's fair to say that The Pictish Trail has his work cut out following the triumphant Randolph's Leap set. But, he's nothing if not a showman and on this, his birthday, he has a crowd of loyal Fence followers eating out of his hand. Opening alone on the stage with his guitar, his aching regret-laced falsetto has the audience spellbound. He could probably have got away with this for the entire set, but instead he introduces his band – a collection of musical luminaries culled from the might of Scotland's underground with whom he's been working fairly regularly for a while now. The result is a remarkably tightly honed indie-rock sound which produces some engaging moments of blissed-out noise, but occasionally drowns Lynch's vocal talents entirely. However, the presence of the band allows The Pictish Trail to explore work from his recent EP including the woozily narcotic “Michael Rocket” and a chugging, glam-rock take on “Of Course You Exist” released so far only as a download accompanying a sweatshirt. The highlight for me though, as it has been previously, was a searing, vitriol-drenched take on “Ribbon”. Turned from a delicately picked ballad on record into a spitting, howling burst of punk rock, it sets heads bobbing in a manner which this venue has probably not seen before. The band are clearly loving every moment of this, and the end sections of songs become extended workouts, with Bart Eagleowl emulating by turns Jimmy Page and Mark Knopfler while Lynch fiddles with electronics and introduces warped, warbling noises into the mix. Invoking the spirit of variety theatre which haunts the building, Lynch calls for audience participation during “Not To Be” and gets a raucous, roof-raising response, before closing with the mighty “Winter Home Disco”. Deceptively summery and warm, the gently insistent beats and shimmer of guitars provokes spontaneous dancing in the room. Its a reminder just how fine this song is, and despite the bands early exertions there is nothing brutal or hamfisted in their delicate treatment, while Lynch is spurred to new heights.

All too soon it's over, and we're left with Josie Long spinning Justin Timberlake on the decks without even a hint of irony, while a large chunk of Randolph's Leap hit the dancefloor. It was one of those kind of nights, where improbable things happen and where seeing acts you've seen repeatedly succeed on their home turf decide to tear up the opposition's pitch.

EH1 Live - Review

EH1 Live - Review

When I got asked if I fancied covering this one day event in Edinburgh I really didn't have to think very hard. On the face of it a good line-up of unsigned acts and it was taking place across one day and in five Edinburgh venues I knew well. Easy decision.

So, off the nation's capital I go and decide to head for Electric Circus first. The Machine Room are due on and I figure that's as good a place to start my Sunday afternoon as any. Even though I've said one of my reasons for not having to think too hard over covering this event was the line-up, I'm still very surprised when I get into Electric Circus and the venue is rammed. I've been here for many a good gig that was a lot less well attended. It's great the venue is busy though as The Machine Room kick off my EH1 Live with a really good set. There's a nice buzz from the audience and I spot three members of The Phantom Band in for the show. They kick off with little preamble and catch a few folk unawares, me included. The rhythm section are sounding good and by song number two there are hand claps. At times they channel Orange Juice and for an indie pop band that's not a bad thing. There's nice variety with the band switching between three guitars and two guitars/keyboard and bar one very minor sound issue and some mild confusion over when their set is supposed to end, it's very enjoyable and a good upbeat way to start a Sunday afternoon.

A quick glance at the running order and I pick Modern Faces as the next band to see. This is really only based of my vague memory of someone talking about them in the past and the fact that their name sounds like they are a Mod band. We all like reliving our youth right? I get up to Liquid Rooms, which is Madisons Stage today, and spotting a queue inside the door I wander in. The doorman clearly didn't like this as he demands a ticket from me so I show him my ticket and wristband. Naturally he has to growl at me and generally behave like a moron as he tells me he needs the ticket. Imagine me thinking a queue at the box office window in the venue was where I should go. Anyway, idiot on the door aside, I get down into the venue and find a good crowd here also. The PA is blasting out Oasis and The Charlatans and I fear I may have miscalculated. The band are about 15 minutes late in getting on stage and I can see that they are all young lads dressed like casuals or Oasis members (which is essentially the same thing I'd say). They proceed to sound check for another ten minutes and I'm getting restless. Once they do get started I quickly realise it's Oasis-lite. Through the overuse of the strobe lights, the band go about their business well. They are a tight outfit and the sound is pretty good. It's just not what I really want to hear. I came hoping for some Hammond infused, sixties inspired music but instead I'm getting a hybrid of Britpop and Dad Rock. There are plenty of people enjoying it though. Some, arms aloft, are singing along while the band swagger around the stage. It's just me that doesn't like it so I head for the exit a little disappointed.

I'm back at Electric Circus (thankfully all the venues being used are pretty close together so it takes minutes to get between them). Next on are Glasgow band John Wean. The venue is a little quieter that it was before, but with so much on offer this is bound to happen. The band kick off wit a big, brash opening. The bass guitar sounds really good and once the first song is out of the way, the singer decides to tell everyone that they are from Glasgow - "the real capital". I like his attitude and find it quite funny, especially as they follow it up with a song about Glasgow and "something close to their hearts", teenage pregnancy. The sound is a little messy around the edges at times, but that makes things much more interesting in my book. Who wants a completely polished sound? If you said yes, away and see Coldplay. This is good, honest indie-rock and in the same way Kid Canaveral approach things, these guys deliver it with a wry smile and twinkle in their collective eye. Towards the end they play a song called 'Pure' (I think that was it's name) and said they had been playing it since they were 15. you could tell as it was a much more confident sound from the band. They play a couple more and on the final three they sounded like they'd hit their groove with special mention to the drummer on the final track. Fantastic throughout, but he nailed the last one.

Next port of call is Bannerman's, located on the Cowgate. The band I'm here to see, Caravan Club, are completely unknown to me. I've just randomly picked them from who's on at the moment and we'll see what happens. Bannerman's is basically a pub that has one of Edinburgh's caverns attached to it, where they put on bands. It's so dark I can barely make out the people gathered but there are a few. The place is dark and dank and smells of sweat. I find a corner and settle in. The band appear and begin their sound check. Already I see a trumpet and an electric violin. Worrying times ahead. Again, the band are running well beyond their advertised start time which is odd given I'm now in a different venue, but it would seem there's not enough time between advertised set times for bands to change over and get prepared. This could impact seeing bands later on. They eventually get started and the opening number is very good. The guitar sound is excellent and has an alt-rock feel to it. There's the violin, which actually sounds pretty good, and two guitars, with drums backing them. It really needs a bass though to counter the other stringed instruments. I'm just finishing the thought when the song finishes and the lead singer informs us that they are down a singer and bass player tonight. I feel a bit guilty, but at least there's a real reason for the omission. From there on, the band do a great job of filling the bass void. The drums are louder and the lead guitar seems to lead on his top notes and while not covering the missing bass completely, it certainly goes some way to doing it. When the trumpet is used, it sounds great in the cavern, echoing off the walls. I'm more and more impressed with these guys as they go on. There are some really strong songs in there, along with a few more uptempo numbers. Probably the band of the day so far. Hopefully I can catch them when they have that bass guitar.

Next on my list is Selective Service (and NOT Select Service as I keep calling them in my head and in my notes). They're playing in Cabaret Voltaire, which just so happens to be about a minutes walk from Bannerman's. Again, I arrive just before the advertised start time to find that Davey Horne. Cabaret Voltaire is hosting the Tenement TV Stage, which was also present at this years Doune the Rabbit Hole festival which our very own Boab covered in two parts, here and here. I was also there (covering it for someone else but don't mention that) and went to see Selective Service at the Tenement TV Stage. I thought they were excellent and was really looking forward to seeing them again. Sun Kil Moon wins the "Best PA Music of the Day Award" (he was unavailable for comment). After the now obligatory 20 minute delay the band get going in front of a modest crowd. The keyboard plays a very prominent role on their sound, which it has to be sound, is fantastic. The frontman is no slouch. Like a young Martin Shaw he looks straight out of an episode of The Professionals. The band remind me a little of Dr Feelgood and the Hammond laced sound, backed by a great rhythm section is exceptional. There's hint of Mod, Garage, Northern Soul, Psychadelia and all mixed up beautifully. There's an assured confidence to these guys that I really admire. They behave like there are thousands here and their only role in life is to make sure we're bown away. Job done, I'd say. Second to last song 'Show What You're Made Of' was a great example. Drums driving the song forward at breakneck speed and dragging the crowd along with it. Brilliant stuff and enough to topple Caravan Club as the band of the day for me.

My next band will be my last band. Having a young daughter and a job to go to means an early start, so I'll leave the late shift that runs until 2am at Whistle Binkies to the youngsters. Liquid Rooms and The Phantom Band are my final destination. I manage to get in with only the mildest of scowls from the doorman. I get downstairs to find the place jam packed. The OK Social Club are finishing up their set so I see a couple of pretty decent songs. I had hoped to see more but the accumulation of delays has meant I've missed almost all their set. So, after the 20 minute delay (don't want to overdo this but how can it happen at every venue I've been in?) we're off and running. My previous time with these chaps live was in a big field and they sounded epic. I'm hoping for my head to be blown off in a smaller, enclosed space. The venue is quieter now, but I'd guess 8% of the audience are photographers, judging by the amount of backpack wearing people scurrying around snapping picures down at the stage. The band are sounding brilliant. Rick prowls the stage, bellowing his vocals and staring at the audience from his pulpit on the stage like some mad reformation preacher from days gone by. The fact there are six of them in the band, with keys/synths, up to three guitars, bass and a drummer who seems to want to kill his kit violently gives them a big sound. 'Folk Song Oblivion' sounds mighty in this room. There's even a forward roll from Rick as a song ends. All in all it's the perfect end to the day. The Phantom Band lived up to my expectations and in all honesty exceeded them. They were the icing on a particularly good cake. The lateness at various venues was a minor quibble, but all in all it was a really great day with lots of great music.

Live Review: Monoganon, Konx-om-Pax and Remember Remember, Stereo 25/08/2012

My trips to Glasgow nearly always manage to neatly miss significant events in the city's live music calendar. There's almost always something happening just days after I leave which I'm blissfully ignorant of until it's too late. This time I'd accidentally managed to end up here during the fairly local Doune The Rabbit Hole festival which was picking off the cream of the local talent, along with a good chunk of it's natural audience. However, I'd spotted tonight's show at Stereo a little while ago – a bit of an oasis in a rather dry weekend musically. A chance to catch up with some old favourites, and to discover new ones perhaps?

Firstly, it's always good to see Monoganon again – a band who seem to grow in confidence and musical stature each time. John B McKenna's quiet and unassuming frontman role extends to a little banter at the outset of this home-town show, before the band strike up a pensive and chilling take on “Anatomy” from “Songs to Swim To”.  On record a rather fragile and brittle construction, tonight it's a churn of sound, which sometimes collapses under the weight of swirling psychedelic guitars. A new – or at least unfamiliar to me – song follows as McKenna's yelps recall David Bowie but here he meets 60s garage rock head on. "To Glass in The Blast" begins with bright acoustic guitars cutting through the swirls of sound, whilst McKenna poses the eerie question "when we're all dead again/will the animals come in?". The quiet brooding storm of "Eternal See You Soon" sets urgent, skittering, almost punk rock rhythms alongside pretty folk melodies. Finally “Devils Finger” arrives - from its subdued opening, through the heart stopping off-rhythm drum interlude to the power-chording, thunderous finale this is a complex and untamed beast of a song. Monoganon tonight once again displayed their ability to be both edgy and disturbing alongside a sort of eerie prettiness and attention to tiny details. A new album seems to be in the works, and it can't come too soon for me.

My relationship with electronic music is a confused and unstable one at the best of times – but Konx-om-Pax really seemed to split the population of Stereo tonight. Named with a nod to the received angelic visions of Aleister Crowley, and apparently translated as “light extended” which is a more than suitable tag for the sonic and visual manipulations of Tom Scholefield. He sits hunched behind a Macbook on anotherwise empty stage, the faint glow of the screen the only clue to a human presence. Meanwhile, monochrome projections begin. They are strange but compelling – buildings and indistinct landscapes crumble, and strange half-mechanical half-organic creatures shudder and writhe. These images weave and pulse along with a sonic accompaniment which at first sounds like some strange, illegitimate child born of a coupling between The Dead C and The KLF. Warbling, thundering, sometimes urgent and beat heavy and sometimes ambient and overpowering sounds echo around the venue. The audience is divided almost from the start – a significant part are spellbound and captive in the collages of sound and light, the rest are bewildered and uncomfortable – but all are quite unable to ignore what's going with it's massive sensory load. Splashes of lurid colour enter the visuals, and liquid forms reshape and ooze across the stage, which works strangely to emphasise the sweet tang of dry ice on the air. Now and then, a dark distorted voice intones portents in the vein of Godspeed You Black Emperor. Shards of sound and light echo around the dim basement, and when the undertow of bass arrives I feel my kidneys vibrating in puddles of possibly ill-advised beer. Towards the end of the set, which has been conducted without comment, pause or other human intervention, eight bit video game tunes bleep and twitter like the menacing jingles from the Protect and Survive public information films back in the 1980s. Thunderous, thrash metal drums make an appearance and the audience find this more comfortable, head-bobbing territory. Scholefield leaves the stage as inconspicuously as he arrived, some new converts signed-up, and some left equally confused it seems.

Finally, and to a fair amount of audience acclaim, the massed ranks of Remember Remember fill the stage. Their most recent, second record “The Quickening” – a headphone-friendly mixture ofcuriously prog-like jams and epic national anthems for the stateless – has quite a challenge in the translation to this cavernous but well filled room. They pitch this almost perfectly, partly by emphasising the electronic edge to their tunes early in the set. Like strangely modernised Gerry Anderson TV theme tunes peppered with ringing glockenspiel hits and shivers of glassy guitar, their sound expands to fill the space but loses none of its intricacies. Accompanied by brutalist architectural visuals, "Unclean Powers" shimmers into being, its weird syncopations and meandering themes at odds but finally melting into each other. A saxophone adds a low, moody note to proceedings further adding to the complexity and miraculous coherence of what's happening on stage. This is live music and its meant to be all ragged and rough-edged right? Certainly this Remember Remember are far from either. At various points on his skittish progress around the stage playing virtually every instrument – and indeed non-instrument – he can find, Graeme Ronald points a recorder into a curious box of effects or summons up Pokemon samples which are then intriguingly delivered via a mobile phone laid against a guitar pick up. At others he is crouched over effect pedals, conducting the band with a raised hand behind his back. If this all sounds very strange, it's because frankly it is. A new track “Galaxy Ripple” begins in tribal fashion, with calypso sounds crashing into woodblock percussion before a thunder of bass enters the fray. There are elements of Stereolab's coldly neurotic euro-drone buried here in the jagged bass lines and spiralling guitars too. The set ends in a distant tumult of noise, with most of the band leaving the stage while Ronald remains to manipulate the roar of feedback and Joanne Murtagh's glockenspiel still echoes serenely through the chaos and storm, leaving the audience in rapture. It had been quite a night for Remember Remember.

In some ways this was a night of contrasts, with Monoganon's sprawling pyschadelic folk a world away from Remember Remember's glacial, slow-burning epics. However all of tonight's acts share an outsider spirit of experimentalism and a sense of being on the margins of their chosen field. To get them all together on the same bill should perhaps not have worked on paper at all, but happily it certainly did tonight.

Live review: Admiral Fallow - Glasgow Arches (02/03/11)

photos by Claire Thomson

Okay so I'm a bit of hypocrite, I know that it clearly states on the side panel to the right that I don't do reviews. Yet, low and behold just weeks after I wrote up a review of the Burns Unit for the BBC, here I am once again breaking my own rules. My excuse,? I don't think I need one. This is my site, so I can pretty much do what I want. Anyway, that's enough of that nonsense, on with the Fallow...

Arriving somewhat late for the gig as I wanted to watch as much of the football as I could, I was amazed at quite how rammed the Arches was. Having seen the Concretes play there a few months back to around 50 folk, this felt somewhat different. In fact I'll be brave and suggest that there was a feeling that we were about to witness a band who are on the cusp of greatness.
Having spent about 10 minutes trying to find friends, I soon came to the conclusion that this was pretty pointless as the place was that packed. So for the first time in years I found myself alone at a gig, normally I find myself getting overly paranoid about being alone and end up getting ridiculously pished. Tonight though no alcohol was consumed, so for once I can vaguely recollect some of my evening.

Having received a lot of critical acclaim last year for their debut album, 'Boots Met My Face' and having put in the leg work by playing numerous shows, which included supporting Frightened Rabbit on their UK tour. It's a widely held thought that this could be the year that Admiral Fallow break through to the mainstream. If the band are to make the leap, then one key factor will be their ability to win over new fans with their live performance. On tonight's showing I don't think they'll have any problems on that front.

Opening with a couple of downbeat numbers, the whispered tones of Louis Abott's voice brings and end to the drunken chatter, with the crowd showing a respected hush respect for the home town heroes. It's not until the first lines of Subbuteo, "Hello my chum, it's me and my banging on your door', that crowd has something more upbeat to dance to. It was around this point that the feeling that this could be a really special night kicked in. I guess the thing that makes Glasgow crowds so loved by touring bands is our willingness to join in with a good sing song and the Fallow have those kinds of songs by the bucket load.

We're even treated to a couple of new songs, The Paper Trench being the stand out song for me personally. If that's any indication of what we can expect from album number two then we are in for a real treat. The other newbie getting an airing, which I initially thought was called John The Resonator before realising that Louis was actually referring to the name of his guitar, is a more downbeat song that didn't seem to connect as much with crowd and was slightly marred by a poor wee guy having a fit in the middle of the crowd (thankfully though he looked alright as security waded in to save the day).

By the time the band played Squealing Pigs, I realised I was witnessing something pretty special with the crowd being left to sing the chorus "It's that sinking feeling of being alone, and it's the way it makes you screech And pulls the skin off your bones, and I can't help but think, as I pick my mouth off the floor, will you still know me in a year?"
Leaving to rapturous applause, they are soon ushered back to the stage for the inevitable pre-planned encore. I can't help but help remember back to their gig in Edinburgh last August, when the band were forced to play a song off the album that they didn't like as they'd actually ran out of songs to play. Instead, we are now faced with artists who almost feel comfortable taking the praise they deserve.

We're then treated to a solo outing from lead singer, Louis, who announces that this will be his Jeff Buckley moment, before covering Elbow's 'Switching Off'. He then leads the crowd to a chorus of 'happy birthday' for his girlfriend Kirsty. Before finishing off with "Old Balloons" and sending me off into the night with massive grin on my face. 2011 the year of the Fallow? I certainly wouldn't bet against it...


Admiral Fallow - Old Balloons