Cambridge Rock Festival 2012 – Saturday

We slept like logs on Friday night – probably not a surprise after the drive down, setting up the tent, and everything! So when Saturday morning arrived we wasted no time in grabbing Steen some coffee (crucial) and downing some breakfast. By the time we were done with that, the sun was out from between the clouds again. So much for the weather forecast, which had foretold rain all weekend…

So it was straight off to the main stage, where we found Silverjet roughly halfway through their set. Silverjet deal in straightforward, no-nonsense hard rock, and it has to be said they’re extremely good at it. Whilst they didn’t quite possess the whirlwind energy of Friday’s surprise Winter In Eden, they got stuck in and delivered a fast-paced set of riff-based rock that stayed the right side of authentic, not drifting into 80s-influenced poodle rock as some of their contemporaries are wont to do. Their lead guitarist/vocalist was especially impressive, as was the economy of their drummer who scarcely seemed to move but nonetheless made a hell of a racket with a comparatively small kit. Always good to see a female guitarist in this type of band as well: and that’s not a sexist comment so much as an observation about the typical gender make-up of yer average hard rock band. Considering neither Steen or I had ever heard of them before, we were pleasantly surprised and will definitely be keeping an eye on what they get up to.

Next up were York-based band Stolen Earth. Two years ago we had seen the majority of Stolen Earth take to the Cambridge Rock Festival main stage as Breathing Space (only the keyboardist was different) and deliver a fantastically powerful set. Now regrouped as Stolen Earth and with an excellent debut album (A Far Cry From Home) under their belt, I had high expectations for their set, and I was not to be disappointed. There were a few sound problems early in the set, but they set out their stall right from the off, the strident Unnatural Disaster providing a powerful opening salvo, before they showed their more atmospheric side with the slightly celtic-flavoured Soul In A Jar. Vocalist Heidi Widdop was in great form, as was guitarist Adam Dawson, who was given plenty of space to show off his Gilmour-esque chops, notably in a jaw-dropping extended solo spot on the song Silver Skies. Closing with the ear-splitting and brilliantly anthemic Perfect Wave – undoubtedly the loudest thing I heard all weekend – Stolen Earth were definite one of my weekend favourites, as I suspected they would be even before we arrived. I will confess that I was a tiny bit disappointed not to hear them play album highlight Mirror Mirror, but I suppose its gentle Floydian atmospherics didn’t make it ideal festival fare. Still, it’s yet another good reason to get out there and catch one of their headline shows.

Then it was time for personal favourites Panic Room. Anyone who knows me even a little knows that I just don’t stop going on about these guys, and their set was ample evidence of why this is the case. Effortlessly charming, they captured the crowd right from the off – and I was pleased to see a somewhat larger audience than they had gathered in 2010, last time I saw them at the festival. Come to think of it, I am truly baffled as to why they were so low down the bill: they had been third band on in 2010 as well, and they’ve made such emphatic progress since then that I find it hard to countenance them not being given a later slot. Further evidence of their confidence was the composition of their set, which was culled almost exclusively from their new album Skin, with only the anthemic Reborn, a rockin’ Freedom To Breathe and their lounge-rock reinvention of ELP’s Bitches Crystal representing their previous work. They clearly believe in their new record, and their confidence was rewarded with a loud and enthusiastic response from the audience, some of whom were clearly very familiar with the new record.

Having missed their recent album launch shows due to being under the weather, I was wondering how the new material would work live, as a fair amount of it is low-key and augmented by strings, but I should have known that they’d got it sussed. Opener Song For Tomorrow kicked all kinds of arse, and even the gentle acoustics of Freefall and the eerie Eastern-influences of Tightrope Walking came across crackling with energy and were deeply atmospheric: you could almost hear a pin drop during Tightrope Walking, which is no mean feat at a festival, in front of a non-partisan crowd. Closing with new songs Skin and heads-down rocker Hiding The World, their whole set was a triumph and a vindication of their decision not to take the easy way out and play the “old favourites”. Needless to say, we were treated to another audience invasion by their bassist Yatim, who seems physically incapable of remaining on the stage for the duration of a show .

After a brief chat with some of the members of Stolen Earth and Panic Room to congratulate them on a job well done, we went in search of sustenance, before returning in time to see Chantel McGregor‘s set. Chantel has been playing guitar practically since she started primary school, and boy, does it ever show. I’d heard a lot of good things about Chantel from a variety of people, but had only managed to catch a song and a half from her previous Cambridge performance, so this seemed like the perfect opportunity to catch a full set and see what the fuss was about.

We were not to be disappointed. Chantel’s quietly spoken persona and sly, gentle humour are almost totally at odds with her playing, which is truly formidable. It takes guts to launch into a cover of Hendrix’s Voodoo Chile at the best of times, but to carry it off so well that you could watch it being performed and almost forget that it was a cover version… now that’s real talent. Better yet, Chantel’s own songs are memorable and full of great playing (and singing, from the lady herself). So much so that before her set had finished, I was inside the tent checking out her merchandise. A few minutes after she closed her set to wild applause from a sizeable audience, Steen had me return to the merchandise table to snap up a copy of Chantel’s debut album, Like No Other, which we’ve very much enjoyed listening to since we got home. I can’t recommend it enough: if you like blues rock, or blues-influenced rock akin to the Led Zeppelin or Hendrix school, you really should go and check this lady out at your earliest convenience. And buy her album whilst you’re at it.

Alas, the rest of the day couldn’t live up to the standards of what we had already seen: X-UFO were up next on the main stage, and they seemed lethargic and scandalously under-rehearsed compared with the bands that had preceded them. After a desultory glance at the other stages to see what else was happening, we decided to grab dinner and return to our tent – upon which we happened across our friend Alexis and indulged in that other festival tradition, a good old-fashioned chin-wag. After all, whilst the music is the reason we as music fans gather at these events, it’s not only about the music . Before we knew it, Alexis’s husband Rob had returned to the campsite, and the sky grew steadily darker as we set the world to rights. Realising that Saturday’s headliners held little appeal and that Sunday was starting to look like a bit of a music marathon, we elected to get an early night.

As it happens, it’s a good job we did. Around 2am, some of our neighbours returned to their tent, and started playing Zeppelin’s Four Symbols album very loudly on their car stereo. “OK,” we thought, “this is festival life. It happens. They’ll turn in in a while.” Four Symbols played through in full. Then it started again. And ended again. And started again… I was starting to get properly annoyed, when I heard some of the party announce that they were off to sleep… just as Four Symbols began afresh for the fifth time…

We made it through to the end of Misty Mountain Hop for the fifth time before finally our neighbours gave up and called it a night. Still tired, we managed to sleep in until nearly 9am! The real tragedy of all this is that having heard Four Symbols once, I had hatched a plan to come home and stick it on my phone for the walk to and from work – “Hey, that’s cool, I haven’t heard that in full for ages”, you know how these things strike you. But after hearing it five times in a row, the novelty had worn off a bit. Consequently, I haven’t felt the urge to listen to the album again since I got home. Proof, were it needed, that sometimes you can have too much of a good thing .

Thought on Sunday to follow…

Cambridge Rock Festival 2012 – Friday

Both myself and Steen are in recovery this Monday, having spent a fabulous weekend with friends at the annual Cambridge Rock Festival. We’re tired, sunburnt and windswept, but with many happy memories of another fantastic festival. The festival continues to go from strength to strength, and kudos is due to Dave Roberts and the other organisers and festival staff for ensuring that the weekend is hassle-free and full of not just great music, but also a superb selection of real ales and relatively inexpensive but tasty on-site food and shopping of every kind. Like some of the larger festivals (like Glasters and Cropredy), the Cambridge Rock Festival (or Rockinbeerfest) really is a self-contained world all of its own. In short, after our various ailments of late, exactly what the doctor ordered .

The festival is actually a doddle to get to, being now situated just off the M11 outside of Cambridge, meaning it’s a straight shot along motorways and A-roads right to the door of the festival. The upshot of this is that a journey that we anticipated taking us over 2-and-a-half hours barely took us 2 hours and 10 minutes. Thankfully, the threatened rain had held off, and the sun was shining brightly on the site when we arrived. With some help from the friendly and laid-back staff, we’d found a parking space and were busily anchoring our rapidly erected tent in place within an hour of arrival. Then it was off to get our wristbands and get the lay of the land.

A quick glance at my newly-acquired programme told me that Heather Findlay was currently on the main stage with her band, so whilst Steen went back to our tent to finish setting up, I popped in to catch the tail end of Heather’s set. With talent like Dave Kilmister (Roger Waters) and Chris Johnson (Mostly Autumn, Halo Blind) on guitar and Steve Vantsis (Fish) on bass, Heather’s band has skill and energy to spare, and the few songs I saw were slickly delivered with an energy that surprised me somewhat, given the lacklustre, slightly leaden quality of her most recent release, The Phoenix Suite. Clearly the problem is translating the power and energy the band displays on stage to the studio; considering an album (or even another EP) has yet to appear, it could be that everyone involved realises that this is something that needs addressing. Let’s hope so: although Heather has never been one of my favourite vocalists, she has a distinctive tone and style and the charisma to deliver something special.

After a brief retreat to our tent to grab Steen, our camping chairs and funds for some chow, I got back in time to see the bulk of John Otway‘s set. We’d seen him do his one-man show as a support to Marillion at one of their previous convention weekends, but here he was performing with his full band. As madcap as ever, suitably deranged covers were deployed (along with the inevitable stepladder – don’t ask!) to comically heroic effect. His cover of Dio’s We Rock has to be heard to be believed. My only real criticism would be that his show hasn’t developed significantly in the near full decade since we last saw him (a lot of the same covers were wheeled out again). Beyond that, Otway was as entertaining as ever – assuming, of course, that you find him funny in the first place.

After grabbing some food, we moved our chairs so that we had a clear view of events on Stage 2, where Sankara were just starting their set. Partially comprised of ex-members of The Reasoning (vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Gareth Jones and drummer Vinden Wylde), the band play a set of mostly hard-hitting, metal-influenced material. My immediate reaction is stunned delight at the sheer power and clarity of Gareth’s vocals, which remain exceptional – seriously, this guy can sing anything with real impact and authority, tackling ballads and full-bore metallic intensity with equal effectiveness, his extended range more than up to the challenge. However, what was disappointing was how often the songs descended into metal-oriented cliche, several of them starting and/or ending in a very similar fashion – perhaps a bit more variety is called for? It’s perhaps telling that the highlight of Sankara’s set was a hugely effective rocked-up cover of Tori Amo’s Precious Things. Still, it’s early days for Sankara, and there’s no question that they’re only going to improve with time as they find their own direction.

Our ‘big draw’ of the evening were female-fronted metal act Winter In Eden, who had sounded good from the odd tracks I’d sampled online. They were playing Stage 2 later, so we elected to stay at Stage 2 for Jump, even though they’d never really made much of an impact on me in the past. I’d seen them support both Marillion and Panic Room in the past, and whilst John Dexter-Jones has a fine voice and they’re all perfectly effective players, their material never really clicked with me. However, whilst we were waiting, we had to contend with the lowlight of our weekend in the form of Broken Arrow, who were by now getting stuck into their set on Stage 3, in the tent next door. Playing a set principally comprised of Floyd and Dylan covers, they were truly excruciating – I had thought I’d heard some awful Floyd covers in my time, but Broken Arrow’s tuneless, endless, unintentionally hilarious cover of Comfortably Numb (complete with cack-handed guitar ‘solo’) is going to take some beating. Thankfully, just as I was about to jam clods of earth into my ears or perhaps take my own life, they were drowned out as Jump started their set.

Quite honestly, I’m still not sold on Jump. Dexter-Jones is a consummate frontman – and kudos for his perhaps somewhat outspoken comments during the band’s set about how the band are perceived by the media – and their performance was polished and energetic, but their material remains hit and miss for me. One of our friends commented that they were surprised that the band had opted not to play some of their more upbeat fare, which might have been more effective for a festival slot, and even not being all that familiar with their back catalogue, I think that that’s probably a fair comment. Still, Jump were better
than I had remembered, and we were all quite happy to have stuck around for their set, which in my case is definitely progress. Perhaps they’re getting under my skin after all!

And so it was time for Winter In Eden. Right from the start, I could sense we were in
for something special, and I was not disappointed. A positive ball of energy, the band hit the stage and went off like a firework. Frontwoman Vicky Johnson has a fantastically powerful and distinctive voice, and the band manage to walk the fine line between evident technical ability and needless instrumental showboating with real skill. Pitching themselves somewhere exactly midway between the metallic drama of Nightwish and the no-nonsense heads-down rock of bands like Delain and Evanescence, they delivered an
absolutely stunning set: the hour shot past so fast that it felt like they’d barely got on stage before they were leaving. In that hour they’d got the sizeable crowd entirely on their side, captivated by their relentless energy and good-humoured interaction with the audience. To say I was blown away was an understatement – I went from intrigued observer to complete devotee in the time it took them to play half a dozen songs. They’re supporting my beloved Karnataka in November, at the Assembly in Leamington – now that promises to be a double-header to relish! The first Winter In Eden album has accompanied me home – I’ve got some real catching up to do! Superlatives fail me: Winter In Eden were absolutely awesome. Definitely by far my Friday highlight, and right up there with the very best acts I saw all weekend. Check out their website for more details.

I was a bit disappointed that the festival had scheduled Winter In Eden, who I had wanted to check out for quite a while, against It Bites, a band who I own several albums by, but have never seen live. So once Winter In Eden had finished their set, Steen and I hoofed it fairly quickly back up to the main stage to catch what was left of the It Bites set. We arrived just in time to see It Bites close with a spirited Calling All The Heroes. I’d not heard the band with John Mitchell at the helm since
Francis Dunnery left the band, but on this evidence they’re every bit as effective as they ever were. It clearly wasn’t Steen’s cup of tea, but I think it’s high time I gave the Mitchell-fronted albums some time and caught up with events.

And on that note, we decided to call it a night. Beyond the daft fun of Hocus Pocus, Focus didn’t really appeal, and although metalheads Kyrbgrinder are very good at what they do, we weren’t really in the mood for it. Well, it’d been a long and tiring day, and I’m getting on a bit, alright?

Updates about our Saturday & Sunday experiences to follow

Space Rockin’

Last Sunday Steen and I piled into the Hippymobile and trucked up to Kings Heath to see space rock veterans Ozric Tentacles. It was a pre-birthday treat for Steen, who also loves the Ozrics – in fact the last time I’d seen them was with Steen, in a tiny club named Wetlands in New York in 1999. I have very fond memories of that gig – a guy named Adam Perkowsky (who we knew from the Freaks mailing list) met up with us before the gig, and introduced us to some other Freaks regulars before beer was consumed (or at least what passes for it in New York) and we spent a great evening with the Ozrics, who were on fine form, and their support band, the Star People. In fact Steen and I both remember the gig almost as fondly for the Star People as for the Ozrics, since they were great fun. Their whole schtick was that they pretended to be aliens who had studied life on Earth through the filter of the Rat Pack and Vegas culture: they were all in tuxes and formal dinner attire, performed space rock in a heavily Rat Pack influenced lounge style, and mixed and served cocktails (complete with cocktail glasses and paper umbrellas) to the audience from the stage. Alas, it seems they are no more – I’ve been trying to track down copies of their two or three full-length albums ever since, to no avail. But I digress.

We made it to Kings Heath in record time, parked up, met up with fellow gig-goers Ann & Tony and wandered off in search of a good curry (as is our wont). Sure enough, we located a top notch curry emporium just down the road from the venue (an impressive looking pub named the Hare & Hounds) and spent a thoroughly enjoyable 90 minutes or so catching up and consuming excellent Indian cuisine – in fact, if you’re ever in Kings Heath and find yourself in need of an excellent curry, you would not be putting a foot wrong if you sought out Sylhet Spice Cuisine on York Road, marched in and requested a menu. Just saying.

Duly replete, it was off to the Hare & Hounds in readiness for the gig. Given the vast exterior of the pub, it was a surprise to see just how cramped the interior was, but by now we were in full-on Ozrics appreciation mode and weren’t much concerned with our surroundings. I have to give the Hare & Hounds credit, actually: the stage was high enough that I didn’t have any trouble seeing anything, despite being over halfway back, and the sound was loud and crystal clear with no distortion, which is just how you want it to be. Fruit Salad Lights – who have been working with the Ozrics pretty much since their inception in the 80s – were on hand to do the lighting and came up with the goods as ever. In fact I think it was possibly the best presentation I’ve ever seen Fruit Salad come up with, which is no faint praise.

There were two support bands: The Tantrics were up first, and although they started out quite well in their slightly cheesy way (their vocalist kept repeating the same few tried-and-tested and ever-so-slightly self-conscious Rock Frontman Gestures), the game was soon up. They are clearly Hawkwind obsessed, and whilst that’s not a capital crime in my eyes (I love me some Hawkwind), it got faintly ridiculous that by three tracks in, they had ripped off wholesale the riff from Hawkwind’s Brainstorm. They struck me as the sort of band I’d have killed to have been in when I was in the Sixth Form, but were so devoid of originality and so in thrall to their three-chord playing that their appeal soon wilted. I do have to make special mention of their bassist, though, who manfully wielded his bass under a mass of exceedingly long dreadlocks (we’re talking head-to-floor length here) that threatened to get tangled up in his bass strings at one point. Fair play to you, guv’nor.

Next up were ex-Ozrics frontman “Jumpin’” Jon Egan’s band, Champignon. I had no real idea what to expect from Champignon, other than that they had a strong world music influence, and I have to admit I was blown away. They played a short 4 or 5 song set, and the band consisted merely of Jon and a percussionist (another ex-Ozrics alumni). It was superb, though: everything from gentle ambient washes overlayed with flute, to an acoustic raga inspired number to a barnstorming finale of a techno-inspired Zubzub track (Zubzub being another of the myriad Ozrics offshoots), which inspired one of the loudest cheers of the evening. It doesn’t appear that Champignon have actually recorded anything yet – at least Google hasn’t turned up anything – but I will most definitely be keeping an eye on these guys, they were something special.

It was around this point that the audience really began to get on our tits. OK, it was a pub gig at the end of the day and none of us were realistically expecting a rapt audience, but the amount of noise during the quiet bits of Champignon’s set was really annoying at times. The crowd had started out respectful, as Champignon opened with the ambient flute-adorned number I mentioned, but when that was over the chatter began in earnest and didn’t let up, even though most of the rest of Champignon’s set was just as mellow. It didn’t help that some complete dickhead and his mate parked themselves right in front of us after pushing through from behind – they were taller than any of us, so our view was curtailed straight away. Insult was then added to injury as they proceeded to yell at each other over the music about a number of things entirely unrelated to the gig, followed by a moment of absolute surreality that had us all giggling with helpless rage: the guy rang someone on his phone(!). “Hey, I’m at a gig! What? Sorry, I can’t hear you – the audience is too loud!” I mean, really. He then pushed past us to get to the rear of the venue where he could take the call in peace, returning a few minutes later to hand the phone to his mate, who then followed suit. Happily, once Champignon’s set was over, they went to the bar, and we immediately moved forward en masse so as to ensure that they couldn’t get in front of us again.

Unfortunately, as far as the audience was concerned, this set the pattern for much of the evening. This is a topic that comes up again and again when you’re talking to people about live music. Some bloody-minded types mistake wishing for a respectful audience to be requesting a sea of motionless, silent statues, but that is missing the point completely. It’s perfectly possible to thoroughly enjoy a gig without pissing people off, but also without standing there like a mannequin. Speaking for myself, all I ask of my fellow audience members is that they are there to enjoy the music. I honestly don’t mind if people sing along, jump up and down, dance, crowd surf, cheer until they are hoarse, play inflatable guitars… you name it. But if they are disrespectful to the band, or to the music being played, or to other audience members, then my patience rapidly evaporates. If there’s a quiet bit, I don’t want to hear ‘fan’s’ shouted conversations about Eastenders or what they bought in Tescos rather than the music I paid to come and enjoy. I don’t expect people to be standing in the gig taking phone calls. I don’t expect to be shoved out of the way by some drunken numbskull as if I’m a curtain. I don’t expect my wife to be groped when she doesn’t immediately stand aside for some mentally-unbalanced gooner who fancies his chances at pushing through a line of people as if they’re not there. I don’t expect to be threatened if I make so bold as to politely ask someone if they can keep it down or refrain from repeatedly spilling their drinks on me. And I definitely don’t expect to be told “Well, yer can move, can’t yer?” if some numpty insists on any of the above and I have the temerity to call them on it.

This is a discussion which seems to crop up again and again: not just about gigs, either, but something as seemingly straightforward and innocent as a trip to the cinema. Rustling crisp packets are the very least of it these days: you’ve just as likely to experience outbreaks of singing, fist fights, people browsing the web on an iPad or cheerfully talking to their mum on their phones about their weekly shop lately, it seems. Small wonder people get steamed about such disrespect, especially as the prices of cinema tickets and concert tickets continue to spiral almost out of control. When you’re forking out the best part of £50, £100 or even more for a single gig ticket, of course you’re going to want to enjoy what you’ve paid for without being constantly hassled or distracted by some passing village idiot. If you’re not there to be swept up by the music or event you’ve paid to see, why pay the fee and then behave like a twat? If you don’t care, why go along? All I can conclude is that some people clearly have money to burn. Either that, or the “it’s uncool to care” attitude that so pervaded British culture in the mid-to-late 90s has become so endemic that no-one wants to be seen to be enthusiastic about anything, which is an idea so horrific as to leave me practically nauseated. When did it become a crime to admit that you really enjoy something? Since when did everything you enjoy have to be so worthy and soul-suckingly ‘worthy’ and considered? Why are so many of us still hostages to this attitude that it’s not good to be enthusiastic about anything?

Its not like there aren’t people who care about such things. The best gigs are the ones where the audience is completely wrapped up in what the band are doing – and it doesn’t really matter how the audience are reacting, so long as they are ‘captured’ by the performance. I’ve seen crowds so rapt that they are practically speechless and you can hear a pin drop whilst the band are playing, only for the audience to tear the roof off between songs. Likewise, I’ve seen gigs where the audience has been boisterous, noisy and frankly in need of sedatives – and those have been amazing too. Where things break down are situations where members of the audience just doesn’t seem to care about the band, and allow a sense of self-entitlement to disengage the filter that stops them behaving just how they want to, resulting in an uncaring and unsympathetic attitude to their fellow audience members and the performers.

I’ve moaned before about the price of gig tickets for some bands, or the flaws of specific venues… but I tell you now, I’d be more than happy to swallow everything I’ve ever said on those scores if, when I bought a ticket to see someone, I could be sure that my gig experience wouldn’t proceed to be ruined by some fuckwit badly in need of a labotomy. If you’re reading this and can’t see anything wrong with the behaviour I’ve described above, please, do me a favour and never go to a live show ever again. Just in case I happen to be going to a show that you intended to go to.

Anyway, all ranting and audience shortcomings aside, the Ozrics put on an absolute blinder. Since it’d been over 10 years since the last time I saw them, there was an almost entirely different line-up to experience and I have to say they sounded just as good as they ever did. It’s quite a family affair now, with Ed (chief Ozric) on guitars and synths, his wife Brandi on bass, Ed’s son on keyboards and a new recruit in the drum stool. Everyone did themselves and the band proud – I was especially impressed by the drummer, who played so fast and hard that even long-standing Ozrics drummers Merv and Rad started to look a bit restrained. I was wondering how well they’d interact with the audience after Jon Egan’s departure, but Brandi has become the ‘face’ of the band to a large extent and her typically chilled West-Coast outlook on life and the band’s music made for an engaging change. Not that there was a lot of chat – the Ozrics always tend to hit the stage running and just go for it – but what interaction there was felt friendly and relaxed. The set was great, too: they opted for a 50/50 split between new stuff and familiar fan favourites, so there was always the sense that something amazing and familiar was just around the corner. Not that there was anything amiss with the new stuff – indeed their latest album Paper Monkeys is a firm Ozrics favourite already, and the live renditions of some of the material were nothing less than stellar (an appropriate term for the space-obsessed Ozrics). Two hours of psychedelic lighting and truly astounding playing later, we were all drained, and even the annoying chatter had wilted in the face of a truly astonishing performance of fan favourite Eternal Wheel.

Leaving the venue, we had all been annoyed by the chatter and rudeness of some gig attendees, but we all agreed that that certainly wouldn’t stop us going to see the Ozrics or indeed rule out a return to the Hare & Hounds (which is, after all, barely 40 minutes from Hippy Towers and dead easy to get to). I’ve certainly been listening to a great deal of Ozric-y goodness since the gig, and it’s really lit a fire under me to go and see them again, preferably sooner rather than later. If you like a bit of quality instrumental rock, go and see them if you get the chance – now they’re based in the US (as opposed to their roots in the West Country!) us UK-based types don’t get to see them as often as we used to, so it’s a real treat when we do. And if you don’t already own it, check out their latest album, the excellent Paper Monkeys. It’s first class ear candy of the best kind, and you pick it up from Amazon for about £7 at the moment. That’s a serious bargain by any sensible definition .

We Roll In The Radiation

I’ve always been a huge fan of Marillion. In some ways, though, 1997 saw me at the peak of my fandom. They were about to release their first independent album, This Strange Engine, after leaving EMI with whom they’d had a recording contract since 1982. After the last couple of albums they’d released (1994′s epic conceptual album Brave, and 1995′s richly atmospheric Afraid Of Sunlight, which remain my two favourite Marillion albums to date), I was convinced that they could do no wrong, and I was seriously excited at the prospect of a new album of new material and the upcoming tour.

And so it was that, on the day of This Strange Engine‘s release, I walked into town, picked up the album from my local indie, and spent the rest of the day at work sneaking peeks at the sleeve and inlay booklet whenever I could. I couldn’t wait to get that sucker home.

Needless to say, I was absolutely gagging to sit down with the album and give it a proper listen. But I made myself wait until I’d had my evening meal and my folks were safely ensconced in front of the telly before retiring to my room, feeding the CD into my CD player and settling back, secure in the knowledge that Marillion were about to dazzle me for the next hour or so.

Only that’s not what happened.

At the end of my first listen, I was simply dazed. Surely that wasn’t it? Hmmm. There were vast tracts of the album that didn’t really seem to do anything for me. Odd. Still, it had happened before: it had taken me weeks to really appreciate Holidays In Eden, which had appeared slight to me at first, and much longer even than that to appreciate Brave, which I resolutely Did Not Get At All until I’d seen the band perform the whole album on the accompanying tour. So I played This Strange Engine again. And again. And again. And again. Days passed. Then weeks. Then the tour arrived. Still completely baffled by the album, I found it hard to get excited about the tour, and ended up only going to one show (at Wolverahampton’s Civic Hall), where I also didn’t get it. Indeed the band seemed tired and unenthusiastic themselves – it remains probably the worst show I’ve ever seen them play, although admittedly that probably had as much to do with my state of mind as the band’s performance itself.

I felt myself losing enthusiasm for the band, something I would have not imagined possible a couple of months before. Time passed, and This Strange Engine got played less and less – when I fancied a Marillion fix I would turn to one of the older albums, and feel a little sad that their musical trajectory was deviating from my own. Other bands received more of my attention. It even took me months to renew my fan club membership, something that I would have turned around in 24 hours before, just in case I managed to miss something.

It was during this cooling-off period that I got online for the first time. Being naturally music-obsessed, one of the first things I did was go looking for sites dedicated to my favourite bands – and one of the first things I discovered whilst trucking around the Net looking for Marillion-related stuff was the Freaks mailing list. There I discovered that This Strange Engine was actually quite fondly regarded, which gave me pause for thought (though not nearly as much pause for thought as the abuse levelled at Afraid Of Sunlight – it’s amazing to me these days that the album is routinely regarded by the majority of fans as one the band’s best albums, considering the seemingly almost unanimously hostile reception it got back in the mid-90s). But more interesting news was that the band were already working on a new album. This was the album released in Autumn 1998 as Radiation.

Despite my love/hate relationship with This Strange Engine, joining the Freaks mailing list had rekindled my interest in the band’s new work, and having rejoined the fan club, I seized on the chance to get a preview of the new album before its release at a specially-organised gig for the fan club, held at the sweat box that was the Zodiac Club in Oxford’s Cowley Road. This was in August 1998, and I remember it was a ferociously hot day. I travelled down to Oxford with my school friend James who I occasionally cajoled into coming to gigs with me as he had his own car and travelling with James was (a) more fun than flying solo and (b) cheaper. The weather was so balmy that by the time we got down to Oxford we were already sweating buckets. By the time the Zodiac had filled up with equally hot and sweaty Marillion fans, the place was quite literally melting: condensation was running down the walls.

The band thoughtfully attempted to play the album in full over the PA before the gig, giving everyone time to listen to it before they came out to play, but the volume of chatter was such that it was a completely futile gesture. All I can remember hearing of the album was the blues guitar of Born To Run and the epic ending of A Few Words For The Dead, but I do remember feeling vaguely reassured by both, and looking forward to hearing the material played live in an hour or two.

When the band took the stage a little later, I wasn’t really prepared for the opener, new song Costa Del Slough: an almost Noel Coward-esque bit of acoustic whimsy, with Steve Hogarth singing through a megaphone. For a moment I had flashbacks to the daft Hope For The Future (This Strange Engine‘s nadir, for me) which was similarly whimsical. But as the opening riff of Under The Sun crashed in, suddenly I was on firmer ground. I have rarely fallen so hard and so fast for a song as I did for Under The Sun. The lyric was comic and sarcastic by turns, but the band were powering through a rocker the likes of which they had rarely turned in lately, the whole thing underpinned by Mark Kelly’s booming Moog part and a truly ferocious solo from Steve Rothery that showed the band still had a full set of teeth. I had come to see that part of the reason that I had been underwhelmed by This Strange Engine was that a lot of that album was acoustically based: I’ve always been a ‘plug ‘em in and turn ‘em up’ boy myself. And that is exactly what the new material was delivering.

It probably says a lot about the gig that I don’t actually remember what older songs, if any, were actually played. All I remember is the Radiation material. After Under The Sun we got the full-tilt rock-out of The Answering Machine (another instant favourite), Three Minute Boy with its gentle Beatles pastiche and knowing lyrics, the anthemic These Chains and a truly thunderous Cathedral Wall, which instantly became one of my all-time favourite Marillion songs – darker than just about anything they’d done before, with or without previous frontman Fish, and possessed of a phenomenally eerie quiet midsection and dynamite full-tilt ending, it ticked every box for me. I was absolutely gobsmacked at the end of the gig. It beggared belief to me that this was a band I was almost ready to give up on.

On a personal note, the gig was also notable for me for two other reasons. During the all-too-quiet playback of the album, I overheard a stocky guy in shorts and khaki top waxing enthusiastic about what I later came to realise was A Few Words For The Dead. I had no idea at the time, but a few weeks later in London, I was introduced to him – it was Rob Crossland, who at the time was putting the fan club magazines together. Also, pottering around the merch stand afterwards, I bumped into a young woman clutching a glass of coke and a lit cigarette who was holding court with a small group of people who were talking about the recently released first batch of remastered Marillion back catalogue albums that EMI were putting together. Putting two and two together from what was being said I realised that this was Lucy Jordache, who worked for EMI and was largely responsible for the remastering project. I managed to introduce myself and thank her for what she was doing, little realising that in a year or so I’d be going to parties at her house. When people come out with that old cliche, “it’s a small world”, they’re not kidding. It’s a tiny world.

And so Radiation was released. Despite what was identified fairly early on as a fairly ropey mix and frustrating mastering job, it rapidly became a huge personal favourite despite all the controversy it caused. Marillion had entered an experimental stage in their career, where they made a concerted effort not to be constrained by their earlier work, and needless to say it lost them as many fans as they won – possibly more, in fact, as gig attendances slowly dwindled for the rest of the 90s.

I’d always been broad-minded when it came to music: so much so that I didn’t really have a favourite genre (I still don’t, to be honest). Consequently, when fans started openly expressing dissatisfaction with Marillion’s more experimental writing, I began to defend them, somewhat outspokenly at times. I remember one spat on the Freaks list in particular, a mano-e-mano face-off with one of the reviewers for the Dutch progressive Rock Pages (DPRP) named Ed Sander (he’s still with DPRP today). We had diametrically opposed views on the album, and we went on hacking chunks out of each other for well over a week, taking up the majority of the mailing list digests during that time, neither of us emerging from it looking especially good. That was my first real taste of open internet warfare, and it actually taught me a great deal about how not to come off looking like a complete tool, so I probably owe Ed some overdue thanks. The fact remains that I admired Marillion for taking the chance to try something different and not making the same (albeit well-received) album over and over again. I still admire bands for doing that – if anything it seems more and more the case that bands are content to not push their personal envelopes, and it is the listener that suffers (whether they appreciate that fact or not). Consequently, Radiation is more than just an album full of great music to me: it stands for something, too. It represents a band’s willingness to experiment, to explore their music and do something unexpected, something I feel strongly that every band needs to do – not just to survive, but to grow and develop.

Why all this reminiscing? Well, Marillion have just announced that Radiation is to be the featured album at their Marillion Weekend events next year. It’s always been a controversial album, ever since its release, so it’s disappointing but not surprising to see very mixed reactions to this news. For me, though, this is amazing news. It’s one of my favourite Marillion albums for all the reasons given above, but due to its controversial nature, the band have been wary of adding too many of the songs from the album into their regular set lists. Consequently us Radiation afficionados have been largely starved of live performances of this material for quite a long time now – some of the songs make very occasional appearances at the covention weekends, but these are few and far between, especially for songs that I find so powerful and emotive. To have the chance to hear the whole album played in full, and recorded for posterity into the bargain, is just… Well, it’s wonderful. I can’t wait.

So, if you’re one of those who are disappointed by the news that Radiation is to be the featured album at these events, please, spare a thought for those of us who find the album really special, eh? Please don’t spoil the featured album nights at these events by using them to chat to your mates all the way through the gig. It might be fine during full-on rock-outs like Under The Sun and The Answering Machine, but nattering away whilst the band play the fragile, beautiful Now She’ll Never Know or Born To Run, or the gorgeous atmospheric extended intro of A Few Words For The Dead is just going to spoil things for those of us who love the album. We don’t get a chance to hear this stuff all that often, so please, if you don’t care for it, either stay away or show some consideration. It’s an hour out of your lives, and it’ll make dyed-in-the-wool Radiation nuts like me so very, very happy. In fact, if you can keep the noise down – or preferably not make any in the first place – I’ll happily buy you a pint.

In The Light

Last night, Steen and I wandered up to Bilston to see the new-look Karnataka in action.

It’s been nearly a full 18 months since the previous line-up fractured, and whilst the band were back on tour, it’s quite clear that a lot was riding on the ‘New Light’ tour. Whilst those of us who’ve been fans for some time know that the writing has always been great, the fairly high turnover in staff has meant that live performances haven’t always lived up to the band’s albums. The rebuilt band has been a work in progress of sorts, as musicians were taken on and departed for various reasons. Consequently there have been periods where the band hasn’t settled into a groove and performances have been erratic. There must be some considerable pressure on de facto band leader Ian Jones to make this latest incarnation work. He and guitarist Enrico Pinna are the sole remaining members from the previous line-up, the one that recorded the superb album The Gathering Light – the remaining four members are all new recruits. So we have new vocalist Hayley Griffiths, multi-instrumentalist Colin Mold, keyboardist Cagri Tozluoglu and drummer Matt McDonough.

Karnataka have always had a flair for the dramatic, and their new intro tape, played before the band took to the stage, shows that in that respect, nothing has changed. Starting out like the intro from The Gathering Light, with thunderstorm sound effects, the tape threw the old hands in the audience for a loop by following the intro with the sound of crashing waves married to vocal loop underpinned by a steadily intensifying pulse, before dissolving into the intro from the band’s ‘breakthrough’ album, 2003′s Delicate Flame Of Desire. The opening track from that album, the instrumental Karnataka, formed the opening song of the set. It’s as bold a statement of intent as you could wish for, opening with a song named after the band, and even this early in the set, it’s clear that this is not the same band we’ve seen before.

Firstly, and most obviously, Colin’s contribution: I can’t emphasise enough what a huge difference Colin has made to the sound of the band as a live unit. Alternating between violin and guitar (both acoustic and electric), and providing backing vocals to boot (although – like Enrico’s vocal contributions – they were mixed a tad too low last night), Colin’s presence allows the band a greater diversity of sound and a much thicker, more powerful sound. For Karnataka he wields his violin, and the question that springs instantly to mind is that the instrument is such a perfect fit for the band that it’s incredible it hasn’t been tried before.

Secondly, it’s quickly evident just what a huge difference Cagri’s presence in keyboard corner has made to the sound of the band. His predecessor, Gonzalo Carrera, had a much more tried and true old-school rock sound and relied heavily on speedy soloing and organ washes. Cagri’s sound is much cleaner and contemporary-sounding, much more akin to previous keyboard player Jonathan Edwards sound, more about atmosphere and bulking up the sound than clichéd progressive rock posturing. Cagri’s playing clearly and immediately makes the live band sound more akin to their recorded output.

But for all these immediately obvious and impressive changes, all eyes are on the mic stand that sits front and centre, for it is new vocalist Hayley who has the most difficult job tonight. Picking up where two very highly regarded vocalists left off is no easy matter, especially when your previous experience is worlds away from the part of the musical pantheon that Karnataka belong to. Hayley is probably best remembered previously for her roles in the Celtic dance and musical sensations Riverdance and Lord Of The Dance, where she performed a handful of traditional Irish folk standards at each show for several years. She’s also recorded two albums under the ‘Classical Crossover’ banner: none of which can surely have quite prepared her for the rough-and-tumble of a touring rock band, Celtic or otherwise.

However, as the band finish up Karnataka and Cagri picks out the tinkling keyboard intro for The Serpent And The Sea, the doubters are about to be reminded not to judge too quickly. Hayley’s voice is powerful and emotive, and whilst it’s a very different feel again to Rachel Jones’ ethereal folky tones or Lisa’s powerful rock voice, it is nonetheless highly effective. There are times when her style harks back to the slightly mannered delivery that worked so well at the much larger shows that she became so used to playing, but as the shows goes on, she relaxes into the set and by the time the band return from a short mid-set interlude, she exudes authority and displays a rock voice to die for. Pointing dramtically into the audience, she injects real vim into the delivery of the pointed Your World, and her rendition of The Gathering Light pretty much tears the roof off. Elsewhere, she delivers personal favourite, the folk standard My Lagan Love with achingly delicate beauty and an extended range that must surely make some of her contemporaries weep in helpless envy. In short, vocally she is just what is needed. Talking to Hayley after the show, she seems slightly surprised by her own ability in an arena of music that she perhaps felt she would never enter. You get the feeling that she agreed to join the band out of a sense of personal adventure, to test herself, in which case she has clearly managed far more than a passing grade.

However, as all good frontmen and women know, it’s about more than just the vocals. The trick is to project your personality, to ‘own’ the material and interact effectively with an audience. Some have said that Lisa was never especially good at communicating with the audience; perhaps that’s true, or perhaps she merely came up wanting next to the powerhouse performances that Rachel and Anne-Marie Helder used to routinely provide. Either way, six gigs into her first tour with the band, Hayley falls somewhere in the middle. Effortlessly charming, she has no problem talking to the audience and improvising remarks about the relentless heat on-stage; where her stagecraft shows a weak link is perhaps those moments where she is not singing and finds herself wondering what to do to avoid looking self-conscious. In a couple of the longer instrumental sections she solves the problem by wandering offstage, but there are times when she seems a little awkward. However, there’s no faulting her energy and enthusiasm – she dances around the stage, clearly wrapped up in the music and makes a point of interacting with the crowd even when not singing. It’s still very early days for Hayley, who previously spent most of her stage time standing still under a spotlight or walking slowly across a huge stage – the assurance will come. It’s worth remembering that even the now-hyperactive Rachel started out much less self-assured on stage.

Of the new members, this leaves just new drummer Matt. What’s immediately evident is that he plays extremely hard: he goes through two or three sticks during the show, bits of splintered wood jumping from behind the drumkit, catching beams from the lighting rig like sparks. There’s no faulting his energy or enthusiasm, and he’s quite evidently having a great deal of fun: a broad grin seldom leaves his face all night. A relatively last-minute addition to the touring line-up, however, there are times when his inexperience with the material shows: most notably during the intricate State Of Grace where he loses rhythm a couple of times and mistimes some of the drum fills. This may be slightly unfair, though, since he’s not the only one who comes a cropper during the track, almost certainly the most rythmically complex track the band have ever put together. Whatever his minor shortcomings, Matt’s welcome energy is just what the new-look band needed in the engine room.

So the ingredients are all there, and whilst the chemistry of this revamped Karnataka are patently still a work in progress, their performance is a delight. The set – carefully planned to showcase the band’s Gathering Light album which the previous incarnation didn’t survive long enough to tour, whilst providing a wealth of fan favourites to boot – is a delight. The songs chosen may not be huge surprises (although Hayley’s gorgeous, almost a cappella reading of My Lagan Love might have raised a few eyebrows, as might the re-tooled, rocked-up version of her solo number, Our Love, effectively Karnataka-cised for the tour), but the new members bring new flavours to even beloved old standards like The Journey and Heaven Can Wait. Colin’s occasional violin is the most obvious change: re-tooling some of the guitar parts from Heaven Can Wait as violin solos was inspired, and rearranging Troy Donockley’s uillean pipe solo from The Calling as a violin intro is a thing of absolute beauty that could wring blood from a stone – but even Colin’s turns on guitar throw up some really nice surprises: for instance, the epic central solo of Delicate Flame Of Desire which is split evenly between Colin and Enrico, then doubled in an immensely powerful section of near-unison playing which put goosebumps on my goosebumps. Likewise, with Colin now handling the acoustic guitar part of The Journey, Ian is now freed to add bass to the song, lending it a much greater weight and power. And let’s not forget Ian’s new toy, his Moog Taurus Pedals, which proved as much of a talking point on stage as they did off it .

There is always a point during a band’s first tour with a new line-up where, during each show, you can sense the attitude of the audience changing, almost before your eyes. Tonight it was a game of two halves: before the interval, and after it. Don’t get me wrong, there was nothing *worng* with the first half, it just didn’t have the intensity of the second half. The band scarcely put a foot wrong, the only exceptions being the messy State Of Grace and a slightly wobbly outro for first set closer After The Rain; by contrast, it’s virtually impossible for me to pick a ‘man/woman of the match’ since everyone played so well. There are a slew of highlights I do remember: the dual lead guitars in Delicate Flame Of Desire, Enrico’s show-stopping solo in Forsaken (which will be up there in the rock pantheon next to Floyd’s Comfortably Numb one day if there is any justice), Hayley’s incredible reading of My Lagan Love, Colin’s beautiful violin intros to Heaven Can Wait and The Calling, Cagri’s spot-on reproduction of the keys on Serpent And The Sea and Your World, the immense how-can-they-possibly-make-it-any-more-intense crash ending to Tide To Fall, Ian’s thunderous bass work in Forsaken and The Gathering Light, Enrico’s masterful reading of the guitar solos in much-beloved fan favourite Heart Of Stone, newly returned to the set for the first time since 2004… The list goes on. Which is proof enough to these eyes (and ears) that Ian has, somehow, managed to find the right people for the work at hand. Again.

Tremble, ye doubters. They’re back, and they’ve got plenty more to say. Write them off at your peril.

HippyDave’s Best Albums of 2011: #15 – #11

[15] Th1rt3en by Megadeth

Megadeth are survivors in the truest sense, having solidified their reputation back in the 80s alongside contemporaries Metallica with thunderous thrash metal and a slew of legendary albums, before spreading their wings with more commercial fare and – also like Metallica – allowing distinctly non-metal influences to creep into their work. Both bands survived the flirtations with FM rock radio and more mainstream stylings, but Megadeth emerged with their integrity more or less intact, whereas so many of their contemporaries fell by the wayside, victims of in-fighting, record label politics, or something as simple as their muse deserting them. Band lynchpin Dave Mustaine’s bloody-minded tale of survival in the industry is the stuff of legend now (and if you’re not familiar with it, you should read the man’s fantastic warts-’n-all autobiography, A Life In Metal). Th1rt3en is, logically enough, the band’s thirteenth studio album, and delivers ample proof that there’s plenty more great material where the previous twelve albums left off.

Th1rt3en takes a slightly different tack to the band’s previous album (the much-lauded Endgame), though. Whereas that album married the furious energy of their 80s thrash period with the melodic radio-friendly tendencies of their mid-90s heyday, this new offering sees the band ease up (albeit slightly) on the accelerator and opting for heavier, chainsaw-buzzing riffs and shout-along choruses – it’s more akin to mid-90s masterpieces Countdown To Extinction and Youthanasia. That’s not to say that the band’s trademark fury has been reined in, though: Never Dead is truly ferocious, whilst opener Sudden Death is likely to leave the uninitiated feeling like they’ve been beaten around the head.

All the traditional Megadeth lyrics concerns are present and correct: disdain for the system, anger at what our leaders are doing behind the scenes, organised crime, a few wince-inducing tales of horror and even another tongue-in-cheek number about how Mustaine feels he is regarded by the ‘suits’ (the brilliantly cheeky Public Enemy No. 1). Add in Mustaine’s dizzying riffing and soloing, and great foils in the shape of returning stalwart bassist Dave Ellefson, guitarist Chris Broderick (who acquits himself extraordinarily well here) and Shawn Drover’s relentlessly energetic drumming, and you’ve got the ingredients for another rip-roaring Megadeth classic. Endgame was brilliant – this is not as intense an album, but in some ways it’s even more enjoyable. One can’t help wondering what Metallica are doing messing around with Lou Reed when Megadeth can deliver two such strong albums in such a short period. Perhaps – understandably, after so many years of friendly (and not so friendly) competition – Metallica now regard themselves as outside of the scene that spawned them. One thing’s for certain, though: Mustaine is now in real danger of strolling off with the accolades that were so often accorded to his band’s biggest perceived rivals.

HIGHLIGHTS: We The People, Never Dead, Wrecker

 

[14] Paper Monkeys by Ozric Tentacles

Let’s face it, you know what you’re getting when Ozric Tentacles release a new album. The tried & tested Ozrics brand of psychedelic space rock is alive and well on this, their 18th (at least, depending on how you count them) studio album. Their detractors insist that they just make the same album over and over again, but that’s selling their invention short: as regular listeners will know, every Ozrics album as a slightly different flavour, a subtly different magic. This time around, the more obvious electronic influences of some of their more recent work have been dialled down, and the result is one of their more earthbound, organic records. Perhaps because of this more organic feel, the rhythm section seem particularly strong this time out: drummer Ollie Seagle has settled into his role now and provides both a solid backbone to proceedings when needed, as well as some extravagant fireworks here and there. Similarly, Brandi Wynne seems completely at home on bass now, and provides a thick, warm tone that bulks up the sound with real style.

The real star of the show, though, as always, is the Ozrics mastermind Ed Wynne (Brandi’s husband) who is, as ever, completely dazzling on guitar (and synths): it is Ed’s masterful, energetic and highly atmospheric playing that provides the focus of everything the band does, and he’s on rare form here. In fact, I might even go further and assert that this could be the best Ozrics album since 1999′s much-feted (and rightly so) album Waterfall Cities. There’s a real sense of the band getting back to basics after a few years where it seemed to be hard work keeping the band afloat, financially and creatively, and for the long-term Ozrics fan, it’s just a joy to listen to. For everyone else, this is as good a place as any to start. There’s never been a more opportune time to turn on, tune in and drop out.

HIGHLIGHTS: Flying Machines, Lost In The Sky, Paper Monkeys

 

[13] 50 Words For Snow by Kate Bush

I have to confess, I still haven’t heard all of Bush’s last album, the much-maligned Director’s Cut – mostly because I have very fond memories of the material that she re-tooled for that album, but also because the word of mouth about the album was so poor. Revisiting material that, by and large, was such a triumph the first time around seemed more than redundant, it seemed like a pointless expenditure of Bush’s time and much-appreciated creative talents – an opinion only strengthened the more that time passed in the wake of her last album of new material, the beautiful Aerial (released in 2005).

Consequently, the announcement that Bush was to release an album of truly new material was very exciting. Aerial was great, so my expectations were fairly high. Happily, they have been met, for the most part. 50 Words For Snow couldn’t have been conceived by anyone else: even before Bush’s vocals come in, musically it is clearly identifiable as a product of her writing: quite some achievement really, since so much of this album feels like it was built on sparse, exploratory, almost improvised piano parts.

I suppose that that last line has caused some furrowed brows among those who haven’t heard the album yet. Improvised? Exploratory? Is this the same Kate Bush that turned in so many classic 3 or 4 minute pop songs? Well, yes and no. Yes, it’s clearly her, but this feels very different in terms of how the songs are constructed. Fans will note a slew of typical little Bush flourishes now and again; a familiar chord change here, a vocal ad lib that you can’t imagine anyone else making there. However, whilst it’s identifiably her work, it carries the unhurried atmospherics of parts of Aerial to a new extreme. Most of the tracks here hover around the 7 or 8 minute mark, or even longer. Chart-friendly pop this is not; neither does it have the more rock or folk-oriented feel of some of her more left-field material. These are not songs so much as tone poems, recordings that are less about the notes being played, and more about the space between them.

This is starting to sound more than a little pretentious. I didn’t mean for it to be so – the results certainly don’t sound pretentious, merely atmospherically appropriate. For an album so wrapped up in the idea of winter – the snow, the cold, the icy stillness – the remote, tinkling piano, gentle washes of strings and the predictably warm blanket of Bush’s own vocals, the arrangements are brilliantly successful. This is one of the most immersive records I’ve heard this year. I swear you could listen to this over headphones, lying on the beach in Rio, and every inch of your body would be covered in cold-induced goosebumps. It’s that successful in creating a mood.

The subject matter is predictably unpredictable: we have the world as seen by a snowflake, tales of yeti and snowmen, the haunting tale of a lost girl and – perhaps most eventfully of all – a time-travelling couple regaling us with the story of their relationship in the staggeringly beautiful Snowed In At Wheeler Street, and – perhaps as light relief – the deliberately humorous and daft (and yet strangely touching) title track, where actor and comedian Stephen Fry comes up with the 50 different terms for snow, urged on by a comically enthusiastic and impatient Bush.

The more unkind critics are not treating this as a ‘proper’ album, instead trying to saddle it with that most depressing of labels, the ‘holiday’ or ‘seasonal’ album, mere filler until Bush can be cajoled into the studio for a ‘proper’ follow-up to Aerial. They’re missing the point, and a bloody great record to boot.

HIGHLIGHTS: Snowflake, Snowed In At Wheeler Street, Among Angels

 

[12] The Unforgiving by Within Temptation

Once collected together with bands like Nightwish and After Forever, Within Temptation have long since developed into a very different animal. Choosing to retain their Gothic tendencies, the band have chosen to largely dispense with the male/female counterpart vocals that are such a feature of the genre, jettisoned their more overtly metal stylings and honed a much more commercial, radio-friendly approach. It’s done wonders for them: they’re now one of Holland’s biggest-selling acts and are a success story even in the US, where the female-fronted metal scene is still struggling to get a foothold.

Unfortunately the tendency is to disparage bands that change their sound – whatever the reason – and become successful. They are said to “sell out”. Even rock legends like Nirvana are still accused of “selling out”. These bands produce a second album that sounds quite different to their first, and suddenly they’re “forgetting where they came from”, are “ditching the people who supported them from the beginning” and are pandering to the lowest common denominator. Whilst I would never suggest that this chain of events never occurs, such changes are more often the result of the bands in question actually developing, finding out what their strengths and weaknesses are and moving in a slightly different direction. They don’t call fans “fans” for nothing. It’s short for “fanatic”, remember?

But whilst some of the more fickle members of Within Temptation’s audience have decided that they don’t want to listen to a band that gets played on the radio, the rest of us have been thoroughly enjoying what they’ve been up in the years since they delivered their debut recording, Enter. The Unforgiving is the logical culmination of their development: a slick, highly commercial collection of Gothic-tinged rock songs and carefully crafted ballads that manage both to be hugely memorable and genuinely affecting.

Let’s be honest: instrumentally, Within Temptation are not especially adventurous. What they do, they do very well, but epic soloing, shifting time signatures and virtuosity are not their watchwords. The focus of the band – aurally and visually – has always been chanteuse Sharon Den Adel. She is on nothing less than awesome form here: her vocals soar and swoop with assurance, but when it’s needed (as on In The Middle Of The Night and Faster) she possesses some real grit, too. She has an unerring skill for dialling her performance up and down exactly when required and mines every last atom of emotion from what in less capable hands would be much simpler, straightforward fare. As a result, Fire And Ice is beautifully moving; Lost is a shimmering jewel of a song, and closer Stairway To The Skies is utterly gorgeous.

Ironically, though – for a band that has so often impressed with its ballads – it’s the more up-tempo fare that really shines this time out. The band sound tighter than ever, and Sharon’s vocals give already memorable songs the extra push they need to become instant classics. Faster is fantastically defiant; Shot In The Dark anthemic in a way that latter-day Bon Jovi can only dream of; and In The Middle Of The Night is a rollercoaster treat that will have you pressing ‘repeat’ until your finger is bruised.

The Unforgiving even has a concept of sorts, based around events in a comic book series. However, the sons all work so well in isolation that the concept almost feels like an afterthought. What we have here is one of the band’s finest offerings to date; and at the same time, easily their most commercial offering. Diehard Goth metal fans may sneer, but on this form, Within Temptation are most definitely going to have the last laugh.

HIGHLIGHTS: Shot In The Dark, Faster, Iron

 

[11] Let England Shake by PJ Harvey

Over the past 20-odd years, Polly Jean Harvey has amassed a body of work that’s the envy of any singer-songwriter you could name. She’s tried her hand at everything from scuzzy indie-metal to elegaic harpsichord-backed balladry, and amazingly, she’s made it work every time. Crossover success and a slew of critical awards have been her reward, and she now enjoys a deserved reputation as a national treasure of sorts.

Her writing has never been about sunshine and lollipops, however, and this, her 8th solo offering is typically uncompromising. A concept album of sorts about the gradual decay and collapse of England (a sort of “sunset on empire” record, if you will), Let England Shake is brave, bleak and moving in equal measure. Harvey’s vocals will put you in mind of a graveside mourner as she laments a country in entropy, her concerns ranging from individual struggles to the cost of war, moral decay and the larger picture of a changing world in which her home country seems increasingly ill-equipped to cope. Looming over everything, the raven-pecked, desolate cityscape of a country that manages to be a giant and a pygmy at one and the same time, it’s inhabitants singing of its glory, whilst recognising that the “good old days” are long since gone.

Reading that back, it’s fairly clear that the album is not a sing-along feelgood treat. Despite the bleakness, though, it *is* a fabulously emotive record: I dare anyone to listen to the title track and not be moved. It’s a cathartic record, but especially so for those of us who live in England and see the truth of Harvey’s lyrics in every news broadcast, every time we step out of our front doors. Harvey’s skill has always been to hold up a mirror to personal experience; this time she does it with an entire citizenship, and the result is correspondingly more powerful. She’s won a ton of critical awards for this album (including this year’s Mercury Music Prize): she richly deserves them all.

HIGHLIGHTS: Let England Shake, The Glorious Land, Bitter Branches

HippyDave’s Best Albums of 2011: #20 – #16

In time-honoured fashion, then, as we come towards the end of the year, I’ve jotted down some thoughts on my favourite albums of the year. As was the case last year, we’ve been really spoilt this year with an absolute glut of top-notch albums – so much so that for the first time, I’ve been tempted into making a Top 20 rather than a top 10. I always despair when I hear people moaning that no-one’s making great music any more – it actually makes me angry, because all it means is that the person who is complaining hasn’t bothered trying to find out what’s out there, and is instead content to sit back and be fed whatever is flavour of the month. If they then believe that they’re getting fed the cream of the crop, rather than whatever is having hods of cash thrown at it by the dying embers of what is now laughingly called the ‘music industry’, then frankly they deserve to be unhappy with their lot.

Anyway, lest this descend into a suitably festive attack on that subset of the human race that has failed to master the complexities of using Google, here’s some of the stuff that’s turned up this year that has really excited me .

 

[20] Beyond The Shrouded Horizon by Steve Hackett

It’s a mark of the quality of the opposition this year that Hackett’s latest offering only just barely makes my top 20. His recent marital breakup seems to have really lit a fire under him – not that he really needed one lit, since his output over the past 20-odd years has been of a sensationally high standard, but there really is a sense of a man rediscovering his mojo in a big way. His last album, Out Of The Tunnel’s Mouth was an absolute blinder, and if this album isn’t quite as consistently brilliant, it’s not for lack of trying.

As always, the album runs an enormous gamut of styles, and as you’d expect from Mr Hackett, the guitar playing here is beyond sublime – many guitarists go their whole careers and never come up with anything anywhere near this good. There’s a little musical surprise around every corner, and even though the album clocks in at a perfectly respectable 57 minutes, it manages to feel a fair bit shorter: the first time I heard it, it was so immersive that I lost all sense of time, and felt sure that it couldn’t be much more than 40 minutes long. This is typical of Hackett, whose albums are always this immersive.

The theme this time is a travelogue of sorts, and Hackett whisks you around the world in a series of songs and instrumental vignettes which are effortlessly beguiling and atmospheric. It has to be said, though, that the real jewel in the crown here is the closing track, the 12-minute long Turn This Island Earth, which has the same essential effect as watching back-to-back David Attenborough documentaries: by the end of it all, you feel very small and humbled by everything you’ve seen (or in this case, heard). It’s an utterly beautiful, powerful piece of work, and further proof that the ex-Genesis guitarist is still at the very peak of his powers. Long may it remain so.

HIGHLIGHTS: Between The Sunset And The Coconut Palms, Two Faces Of Cairo, Turn This Island Earth

 

[19] Evanescence by Evanescence

Finally, the third Evanescence album arrived… an album some of us were starting to wonder if we’d ever see. First we waited whilst sole remaining original member and vocalist Amy Lee took ‘time out’ from the band in the wake of the controversy-dogged album The Open Door. As the years passed, the break seemed to be more than temporary, especially once Amy fell pregnant. Then, news that she was writing – but that it only “might” be for Evanescence. Then, the news that they’d started to write an album, and that the material had been scrapped, followed by talk of experimenting with loops and electronics. The words “trip hop” were mentioned. Many metal fans became worried (not me, I like me some trip-hop and/or electronica, so I was merely curious). The wait continued.

Now it’s here, it seems that the talk of a shift in the Evanescence sound was overstated. Yes, there is some subtle electronica here and there, but then there was on The Open Door as well. This is basically business as usual for the band that gave us Bring Me To Life, Going Under and Lithium – in fact if there’s a surprise here at all, it’s that the album lacks the light and shade that delivered a classic ballad of the My Immortal ilk; it’s feisty femme metal with a distinctly radio friendly feel throughout. It’s a pity that Lee didn’t feel able to continue the experimentation with the band’s signature sound that led to some pleasant surprises on The Open Door. Then again, perhaps the comparatively hostile reaction that that album had from the band’s older fans was all the dissuasion she needed on that front.

That’s not to imply that the album isn’t a good one, though: what it lacks in comparative variety, it happily makes up with melody, enormously memorable choruses and Lee’s typically gutsy, larger-than-life delivery, which squeezes every last drop of emotion out of every line. Some may view her approach as OTT, which I think is unfair: clearly writing from personal experience as ever, Lee pours herself into every song and it’s very easy to be drawn into the material. It’s not hard to see why she and her band remain so popular, even after so long away from the scene.

If you weren’t a fan to begin with, there’s not likely to be much here to sway you one way or the other. That said, it’s virtually impossible to hear a song like What You Want *just once* and not come away with its chorus stuck in your brain like a pickaxe handle. This has always been Lee’s talent, and happily, nothing has changed.

HIGHLIGHTS: What You Want, My Heart Is Broken, Erase This

 

[18] The Path Of Totality by Korn

It’s always nice when an experiment goes well instead of going sadly wrong. It seems quite a few bands have been content to throw their self-imposed rule books out of the window, but very few have worked anywhere near as well as Korn’s bold experiments with adding dubstep (of all things) to their signature sound.

You probably know how Korn have tended to sound over the past decade or so: big, detuned riffs and flirtations with so-called ‘Sport Metal’ (a very unfortunate tag, but there you go): well, the fury has not abated noticeably, if at all, but the re-tooled Korn have definitely made a substantial shift in their sound. The big programmed drums of dubstep are present and correct – and it might seem like drummer Ray Luzier might not have too much to do, but he plays in and out of the thundering beats with skill and a fine ear for what helps to drive the material onwards – in some ways he’s the real star of the show this time out. That’s not to diminish the other members of the band, though, especially guitarist James Schaffer’s typically chunky riffing and Jonathan Davis’s typically intense and dramatic vocals, which have been fearlessly processed here and there to add another element to his delivery.

It’s almost a complete 180-degree turn from the ‘old-school Korn’ approach of their last album, and they should be applauded for having the belief to make it work. Yes, at times it comes across almost like a new Pendulum album, but as anyone who’s heard me waxing lyrical about Pendulum’s last album, the wonderful Immersion, will testify, that’s no bad thing in my eyes. Full of humour, bile and bloody-minded energy, this is the sound of a band with something to prove. I don’t doubt that there’ll be Korn fans out there that can’t come to terms with the change, but this is the most energised Korn have sounded in ages – possibly since Issues back in the 90s. This is a recent arrival compared with pretty much everything else in my top 20, but I loved it right out of the box, and I can’t wait to see where they go next.

HIGHLIGHTS: Kill Mercy Within, Burn The Obedient, Bleeding Out

 

[17] Fly From Here by Yes

Well, there’s life in the old dog(s) yet. It had become increasingly easy to accuse Yes of creative stagnation, what with nearly a decade passing between this and their last album, the Yes-goes-orchestral experiment of Magnification, and the band touring almost constantly in the interim, seemingly content to rest on their laurels. It seemed the wheels were going to come off altogether when long-standing vocalist Jon Anderson was essentially given his marching orders, and Yes tribute band vocalist Benoit David was brought in to take his place… and yet, whilst David lacks the charisma and talent for truly bizarre lyric writing that Anderson has in spades, the impossible has happened: the substitution – and the return of past members Geoff Downes on keyboards, and Trevor Horn in the producers chair – has enabled the band to return to the studio and produce this album – which is also happily their best for quite some time, at the very least since 1994′s fabulous Talk.

Typically, there is a faction of the fanbase that can’t adjust to life without Anderson at the mic, but it really is their loss, because this is a great record. There’s some real fire in the belly again (clearly evident on the closing Into The Storm, and elsewhere too), and several Yes traditions (the lengthy titular multi-part suite, and an acoustic showcase for guitarist Steve Howe – who still plays electric guitar quite unlike anyone else I’ve ever heard – among them). David acquits himself quite well for his first time in the studio with the band, and Downes slots in as if he’d never left.

I was starting to think that without the guiding influence of departed guitarist/writer Trevor Rabin at the helm, Yes were essentially moribund, or at least a pale shadow of their former selves. This album has caused some hasty reassessment. This is ‘old-fashioned’ progressive rock done precisely how it should be, with energy and style. And yes, that *is* a Roger Dean sleeve you see before you.

Welcome back, fellas. It’s been a while.

HIGHLIGHTS: Fly From Here, Solitaire, Into The Storm

 

[16] The Enigma Of Life by Sirenia

Symphonic metal – especially the female-fronted variety – seems to be undergoing a bit of a revolution lately. This is no bad thing, since recently the genre has seemed singularly lacking in imagination, seemingly content to produce material mired in the increasingly clichéd styles pioneered many years ago by the true trailblazers of the genre. Sirenia, happily, have rarely been dull or unimaginative since their inception and have managed to keep their output fresh and modern.

Like their forebears Nightwish, they’ve recently opted to take a very different tack with their vocals, ditching the more operatic stylings of their past vocalists and filling their lead vocalist spot with Spanish Pop Idol contestant Ailyn. As with Nightwish’s recruitment of the much more mainstream vocals of Anette Olzon, Ailyn’s recruitment caused its own fair share of controversy among Sirenia’s fans when it occurred, but – as has been the case with Olzon in Nightwish – Ailyn’s presence has helped to steer the band in a somewhat different direction. Whereas the Sirenia of the past very much fit the symphonic metal template, Ailyn’s mainstream – dare I even say ‘pop’? – vocals have enabled the band to produce two very slick, modern albums with one eye on the Gothic stylings of the past and another firmly fixed on the charts and a wider audience. Sirenia’s kingpin Morten Veland, who writes the majority of the band’s material, has managed to marry Ailyn’s vocal style to a more melodic, concise approach to songwriting. Nowhere is this more apparent than on new song The Twilight In Your Eyes, where Veland’s overtly gothic flourishes and crunching riffs are married to full-bore orchestration (complete with massed choir) and a completely bewitching performance from Ailyn, with a chorus to die for. Veland and his bandmates should also be congratulated for embracing technology in a way that many metal bands seem unable to wrap their heads around. There is ample use of loops, vocal effects, samples and even a stutter edit(!) here, which wraps things in a pleasingly contemporary air.

Whilst the highs are undeniably rather high, this latest offering is unfortunately hamstrung by two failings: a slight lack of variety (too many of these songs sound interchangeable; not an especially horrific sin as the standard is very high, but more variety would be welcome), and a sadly non-impactive production which robs the guitars in particular of their power and at its worst makes you feel like you’re listening to the rhythm guitars through a brick wall. If the band can address these problems next time around, there’ll be no stopping them – a band that until recently have rarely played live, Sirenia are now in real danger of making a real breakthrough.

HIGHLIGHTS: Fallen Angel, The Twilight In Your Eyes, Fading Star

NEXT TIME: 15-11!