Virgin

Solo projects for guitarists in big, brilliant, successful bands can often be a formula for the overblown extravagances that are honed back on their day jobs. For Graham Coxon, it is quite the opposite.

The Blur member now has seven solo efforts to his name, the latest of which – The Spinning Top – he showcased in the cosy confines of The Lexington. It is a mainly acoustic, whimsical offering, a tone that dominates and dictates the set.

From the ponderous opening strums of Look Into The Night, it is clear this isn’t an evening for showing off. Coxon sits awkwardly, adjusting his trademark glasses, and is joined by a double bassist and drummer. The mood onstage is gentle and calm, playfulness overriding any intensity.

The musicianship is supreme throughout, especially on the twee strum of In The Morning and the nursery rhyme melodiousness of Perfect Love. However, This House is pedestrian and it is a relief when Coxon finally dusts off the electric guitar and jerks into the exquisite Dead Bees.

He soon follows this thundering effort with Sorrow’s Army, as the double bass is played with a bow to create an intriguing sound that provides scope for Coxon to display his six-string mastery. The new songs keep coming thick and fast though – in fact he plays nothing else for the whole of the main set.

This leaves many gig-goers hoping in vain for a cut from other acclaimed albums such as Happiness in Magazines and Love Travels at Illegal Speeds. Much mirth and distraction is evident in the crowd due to this, with one heckler cheekily requesting “Play us a new one Graham”. However, Coxon is equal to it with a smile, querying “how we doing now? Worse?” after Home. His humour and warmth keep things affable as he lauds his Salvation Army shirt.

When arriving back onstage for an encore, a rendition of November is rather dribbly and directionless, but a cover of Babe, It Ain’t No Lie is a fitting ending. The pristine performance of a song made famous by the late Davey Graham, evidently a huge influence upon The Spinning Top, it is cajoled along by doting bassline and played with tenderness and care.

The new tracks lack the crashing fun and fury of the past and are more thoughtful and elegant in their composition in general. While this is certain to gain Coxon more admirers in bedrooms and headphones across the world, it doesn’t translate so well onstage as of yet – at least when taken as an entire set rather than a portion of his more mixed repertoire. Coxon is impressive tonight rather than exciting; the man himself is probably quite content to be so.

The boys from the Bloc have gone and got a bit big. This place looks like you could hold a giant British Union of Fascists rally here (anyone listening in history class?) let alone the homecoming gig for an indie band.

By the time Kele and company come onstage, the crowd feels full and ready for the group to confirm themselves as a proper, you know, whisper it, stadium band. Thankfully, it never looks a possibility.

This isn’t through lack of songs, ability or affection. By the time they get round to playing Banquet thousands are loudly proclaiming that they too are “on fire” and Positive Tension’s pay off of “so fucking useless” is gleefully dispatched. Song For Clay proves a highlight, both singalong and hymnal epic.

In addition, Kele sings with control and utter confidence, commanding without ever employing rock star clichés to entertain. On drums, Matt Tong is as innovative as ever, rousingly mathematical in his work on a pounding rendition of The Prayer.

There is a refusal to conform in their attitude though, from playing in this cavernous auditorium off the beaten gig track, to refusing to drop the less crowd-pleasing moments from their set, persevering with electro-driven songs from latest album Intimacy that require more precision than can be mustered in the live arena.

It is beguiling, but a balance needs to be struck. Kele breaking the old mould by striding about stage without his guitar as the thrillingly nonsensical reverb of Mercury rings out? Fine. Bassist Gordon Moakes becoming a second drummer for the average repetition of Sunday? Not so fine. The rhythm of the set is always in danger of being lost in disjointedness in favour of pursuing new thrills and directions.

However, a pair of calmer moments penetrates more than the frenetic fervour of One Month Off and its ilk. This Modern Love is reliably soothing, while Ion Square translates into a wholesome behemoth in the flesh. This leaves the space for the novelty of Ares and sonic wizardry of Flux to finish things off satisfyingly. It could have been better, but was fittingly unfiltered and keeps Bloc Party in the upper echelons of UK music, without banishing them to the stadium graveyard.

Amid a day and age dominated by Hype Machines, expiring downloads and YouTube sensations, exclusivity seems to have been thrown off the scent. With even the inspiringly independent Rough Trade up against the ropes, creativity could be said to be fading fast. Not that Scandinavia got that telegram of doom and gloom; tonight’s stellar Saturday night fever in the salubrious surroundings of the Southbank’s Royal Festival Hall sees Norwegian electro troubadours Röyksopp paired up with Swedish underground oddball Karin Dreijer Andersson as part of the ninth edition of the celebrated Ether Festival and it’s out with the mundane, in with the spectacular.

If Fever Ray’s self-titled debut record can feel as desolate and sterile as a Swedish suburban winter, Karin appears to thrive in the very setting she fears. Having only ever performed 22 shows with brother Olof as part of The Knife, she finds herself stranded miles away from any sort of comfort zone. Surrounded by hauntingly dim lampshades and accompanied by minions robed in the innards of Cirque du Soleil’s warped wardrobe, the unfathomable histrionics of the mysterious charade clench every sense for every second of the hour she graces the stage.

Disguised behind what can only be described as a Chinese New Year dragon costume following a spin in a washing machine with the bleeding shadows and shades of Nine Inch Nails’ back catalogue, the mystique esteemed by former incarnation The Knife is hideously apparent. An unnerving highlight appears spuriously when headdresses are removed, lasers blast skywards into the balcony and a vulnerable Karin instils visions of Amazonian landscapes soundtracked by panpipe synths on the majestic Triangle Walks, before picking up a solitary guitar and emotively serenading the few thousand present to witness the debut UK show from the saviour of the darkest tone of electronica.

Following Fever Ray’s relentless barrage of sensory overload-inducing blips and groans, the highly anticipated return of Torbjørn Brundtland and Svein Berge seems as contrasting as a rotating headline tour pairing Kylie Minogue together with Marilyn Manson. Yet rooted deep down in the genetic structure of both of tonight’s Scandinavian inspirations lies an inherent desire to create a strand of off-the-beaten-path electronic splendour that resides and thrives in neuronal receptors and iPods alike. Taking to the stage in tailcoats straight out of the West End and accompanied by the thunderous clamour of a live bass, opener Röyksopp Forever hints understatedly at the sheer thrill that’s set to erupt from their two synth-laden podiums. A solitary microphone wilts centre stage, awaiting a slew of princesses of the Swedish musical monarchy to join the duo; Robyn struts desperately to forthcoming single and inevitable dance floor destroyer The Girl and The Robot in an exhilarating shot of electro perfection, Anneli Drecker (dressed rather unconvincingly as an owl) coos over the euphoric You Don’t Have a Clue and Karin returns for the awkward aggression of Tricky Tricky.

Collaborations aside, Brundtland and Berge are more than capable of holding their ecstatic audience in the palm of their hands unaided; an encore (the first of two) filled to the brim with the otherworldly charms of signature track Eple and the vocoded genius of Poor Leno set Röyksopp light-years apart from their closest contemporaries. Havoc ensues in a moment of Spinal Tap-inspired madness as Svein Berge cranks everything up to eleven, launching his trusted laptop from his podium, carefully over keyboards and wires, landing it in pieces on the stage below. And who said Scandinavians lacked a rich sense of humour?

Photo: Darquati’s Flickr photostream

Grab yourself a pair of tickets to see the fantastic Peaches who marks her return to the scene with an appearance at the Ether Festival on London’s South Bank next weekend. All you have to do to be in with a chance to see the electro-punk princess is add a comment to this post. Then we’ll randomly pick one of you and set you up with your date with the lady herself (and a few hundred other people) next Friday - 10 April - at the Royal Festival Hall.

This is Peaches’ one night only party and your chance to see her incredible live show Every Little Defect Gets RESPECT. The show promises to feature material from her new album I feel Cream, which was produced by James Ford and will be out on XL on 4 May 2009. Support comes from 16-year-old underground ‘queen of the teen scene’ Charli XCX. For full details of this year’s Ether Festival, which also features David Byrne, Brian Eno, Royksopp, Fever Ray, J Spaceman & Squarepusher, visit southbankcentre.co.uk/festivals-series/ether

But right now - add your comment here (making sure you give us your correct email address) and you could be in with a chance to see Peaches for free… !

(NB: prize does not include travel or accommodation)

While the evolution of Animal Collective over the past five years or so has veered away from motorway mainstream on B-roads and backstreets, Merriweather Post Pavilion has given the trio a lease of life filled with jaded ecstasy and a backdrop of musical influences more unique than a card in a kaleidoscopic deck. Performing in the sort of vacuous hall usually reserved for bingo wings and inked crosses, the setting’s ideal for the chewed up vibrations reverberating from all four crumbling walls of TJ’s Woodhouse Club. Panda Bear’s squeals on the ephemeral Grass tower alongside the anthemia brought about by fuzzy duo Summertime Clothes and In the Flowers. Quite how they conjure up such part-stoned majestically picturesque sonic landscapes is testament to how essential they are to the Hype Machine generation. Guys Eyes and Lion In A Coma can only be pigeonholed as Friendly Fires sailing down the Amazon in a purple bottle kissing and cavorting with every panpipe they encounter along the way. Via didgeridoos. The evening’s highlight however is thrown away within 15 minutes of appearing amongst synths veiled in white cloaks illuminated fluorescently. Amidst such emphatically synthetic beauty the perfectly synchronised harmonics of Leaf House stand resolute against the forever-changing musical trends we’ve come to menially await. Primitive, primal and paradisiacal, Animal Collective are peerless.

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Road to V’s 2006 winners Bombay Bicycle Club are well and truly back with a record deal with Island Records, an album ready to go, a string of live dates and a brand new video to accompany their excellent new single Always Like This.

And if you’re in London this weekend, you can catch the boys playing a special gig this Saturday (March 21) at Camden’s Proud Galleries. Visit be-at.co.uk for details.

The band are also performing at Shepherds Bush Empire, alongside The Fratellis on May 27, as part of the Island Records 50th Anniversary concerts. You can buy tickets here.

And remember, if you’re one of the Road To V unsigned artists this year, upload a video to your profile and it could be chosen for Virgin’s Video on Demand, and shown on thousands of TV sets across the land. Get to it!

• roadtov.com

Performing beneath a giant howling wolf, Ladyhawke (aka Philipa ‘Pip’ Brown) took to her fairy-lit microphone stand. Very modest and quiet she introduced herself and got straight down to business.

Inspired by the 80s both musically and dress wise, the New Zealand singer songwriter can’t help but ooze cool. The 27 year old, whose stage name derives from an 80s (what else?) film, played a selection of her trademark relaxed, poppy electro tunes.

An audience of Ting Tings fans (last year’s breakthrough sell out band) must be a hard one to please. Surrounded by parents with children and adults (there of their own accord), the majority of  whom  recognised and went nuts for My Delirium. Playing Dusk Till Dawn, Magic and Paris Is Burning, the leading lady also introduces her new song, Back of The Van, to which the audience patiently listen and politely applaud.

Her specific style, indie-rock electro pop, is what sets her high above all the synth-boppers attempting to climb their way through the charts at the moment.  Her chilled style and easy riffs is what places her high up above her musical peers.

Road to V’s 2006 winners, Young Knives are off on tour this month. The trio have gone from strength to strength since winning the competition. In just a few short years, the band have appeared on countless TV shows, released three critically acclaimed albums, received a Mercury Music Prize nomination and headlined sold out shows at some of the country’s biggest venues. Blimey!

This time last year I caught up with the band as they reflected on their success since winning Road To V, so why not watch the video interview all over again here. Oh and here’s part 2:

• watch part 2 of the Young Knives interview

Young Knives are currently working on their fourth album but are taking a break from recording for a quick tour of the UK.

You can catch the lads at the following venues:

18 Mar 2009 Coalition, Brighton
19 Mar 2009 Bucks Uni, High Wycombe
22 Mar 2009 Arts Centre, Colchester
23 Mar 2009 Komedia, Bath
24 Mar 2009 University, Loughborough
26 Mar 2009 Club Ifor Bach, Cardiff
27 Mar 2009 Guildhall, Gloucester
29 Mar 2009 Sugarmill, Stoke
30 Mar 2009 Cluny, Newcastle
31 Mar 2009 Rescue Rooms, Nottingham
1 Apr 2009 Roadmenders, Northampton
3 Apr 2009 Casbah, Coventry
10 Apr 2009 Inside Out, Darlington

Visit myspace.com/theyoungknives for more details.

“Dear friend of mine is/testing his body/tempting disaster, testing water.” The Maccabees are back in London to put their cards on the table. It’s been a long time since they captured affection with their tales of childhood camaraderie and local anthems. Well, it’s clear from the moment they walk onstage, it’s all on the line; a new album in the offing, songs to try out, minds to readjust, friends to reacquaint. Things have changed.

Orlando Weeks, the lead singer, would look faintly ridiculous with his new heavily gelled hair if he didn’t appear so piercingly driven. His glazed focus blazes below the mic in his steely grip, claiming ownership of the song as No Kind Words begins. It sounds so utterly his, a change of direction to a darker climate, cold and unforgiving and more than a mere splash in a swimming pool.

The Maccabees were already a good group, but this is a statement of intent to leave that behind, to become a great band. The other members simply look delighted to be back on stage, guitarist Felix White guffawing and leaping with glee as the sparse lyricism surrounds him.

It’s an atypical setup as they progress though a couple of new tracks, Orlando donning a guitar more than usual to make a three-pronged attack and the five-piece adding some frivolity to the intensity. The release is evident after their lengthy break and the crowd is happy to share it.

What they are really waiting for is something to scream back at the band and it arrives with X-Ray. Weeks sings it with disdain but the audience are oblivious, moving the creaky upstairs floorboards of Barfly in a prolonged surge of energy.

As they continue the oldies with Precious Time and Lego, the atmosphere is charged and looks of happy abandon abound, a marked divergence from the mix of scorn and smiles on stage, Orlando dismissing the pay off line of Lego with a grin.

Young Lions is another broodier newbie, though there is room for harmonies and whoops in other songs from upcoming album Wall of Arms. The altered course they have taken is an intelligent one, not dismissing their old material but breaking through it with refreshed outlooks and loftier intentions.

As First Love is followed by a similar new closer that usurps it momentarily, full of heroically minor, sharp romanticism, The Maccabees depart. It has only been half hour, but 30 breathless, intriguing minutes have confirmed them as, with an album and five years already behind them, the best new band in the country right now.

Sexual vocals and fantastic guitar riffs brought a great turn out for the Polar Bear Club. Lead singer Jimmy Stadt led the band with his constant energy mix of jumping, singing, screaming into audience, talking to the audience and dancing about the stage. Perfectly entwined guitar riffs and carefully placed vocals, bass and drums delivered the perfect musical mix of indie, punk and rock. Trying to think of a band to compare them with proves difficult as these American boys slyly combine different elements of various music genres. Their end, almost ballad-y song, Most Miserable Life had the first four rows of dedicated fans going mental and singing back every lyric. Returning to America tomorrow but heading back to the UK in May, my ears will definitely be lusting after these boys come May, and so should yours.

PBC in Amsterdam courtesy of Cindy Frey

www.myspace.com/polarbearclub

There’s something very Scooby Doo about The Asteroids Galaxy Tour. They come onstage looking like they have only the slightest of attention spans, dressed like over-zealous nine-year-olds let loose in a dress up box after consuming a few too many Panda Pops. It’s all very cutesy and exciting in a juvenile way, but by the end they have solved the mystery, which in this case is how to entertain a Shoreditch crowd just waiting to be disappointed.

They are blessed with a singer who exudes the necessary qualities of a pop frontwoman; bolshie, pretty, kooky and more than a little like Blondie, Mette Lindberg is a star in waiting. If Lady GaGa and Katy Perry can do it, give me strength, it’s an open market. Ms Lindberg nails the attitude of her tracks, a little warped, a touch of cabaret but always going somewhere.

Her Copenhagen accent is more pronounced in person and compliments the bouncy beats of opener Hero, a hint of ska and squeaky beats dominating. Once the focus of their visually startling stance dims though, it’s hard to find much going on. Sure, there’s a horn section and a solid if basic topless drummer, but it’s all a bit corny in the musical department, with Bad Fever and its ilk doing little but pass time.

Tracks with lines rhyming crazy/mad with hazy/sad are as annoying as they sound, while even Debbie Harry-aping Rapture dance moves cannot appease forever. There is a distinct lack of substance, the feeling that this would all be better off neatly packaged into three minute bursts rather than hour sets. However, in these little snippets, such as the iPod advert adorning Around The Bend, the audience is absolutely smitten.

The only other song competing in the catchiness stakes is The Sun Ain’t Shining No More, which begins with a smooth Motown feel that Lindberg cavorts over with glee. It’s a tad darker, less throwaway and nails what this band should really be doing. There’s potential here, hits to be hit, but the whole cheesy cartoon act needs to be toned down. They aren’t mad, crazy kids – but they have a few bright ideas and a top singer. We’ll be hearing a lot more from this group – it’s still up to them to decide whether it’s any good or not.

A peculiar prospect, is Emmy The Great. While rejecting any labels that come her way, she attracts them by the bucket load: new folk starlet, next big thing, anti-anti-folk singer. She seems to have been around for so long that it’s about time she settled down into a pigeon-hole and was done with it. But no, tonight’s gig is a mish-mash of directions and inflections, some thrilling, some wayward and almost all entertaining.

First off, she can sing – even better than the sometimes passive, worryingly calm tones she reveals on record. Her vocals soar, lifting dark songs from the doldrums and dragging heart into brighter moments. But it was her wry, crafty lyrics that first hooked the attention and on these her show hinges.

In the main, the playful delivery of Bad Things Coming, We Are Safe and its fellow up-tempo jigs is countered pleasantly by thoughtfully youthful ballads, such as Everything Reminds Me Of You, which break up the set. It never settles, gathering a momentum and rhythm that adds meaning to City Song and a heady hurtle to Dylan. She’s genuinely funny, smart couplets regularly raising smiles.

Still, when she misses it is no close cut thing – the classically crass lines “I thought romance was pretty / Then you went and spoiled it / Every time that I think of you / I have to go to the toilet” still stick out of The Hypnotist’s Son like the gawky kid in a school picture. First Love’s Leonard Cohen inspired rhymes are another blip that provoke as much cringing as cheering.

But these moments of almost-mocking dreadfulness are sweetly countered by the generally distinguished level of musicianship on display from both Emmy and her band, keeping the platform level from which dips and raises in mood and rhythm can be launched.

On the Museum Island is one occasion when the many facets of the performance mix faultlessly. The wispy, yearning lyricism twists around a dainty, but prevailing, melody and Emmy’s voice rises above it all with clarity, capturing the essence of the song. MIA is another highlight, again the death-tinted sadness of the tune being brought to life by its delivery.

There are more hits and misses before the gig is through, a corny Carpenters cover and a classy War among them. But the prevailing feeling is that there is real flair here, as well as a smattering of good intentions and effort to paper over any misjudgements. This tentative, driven, unassuming talent could well have taken another step towards the big time tonight – whether she wants to get there or not is another issue.

• MySpace

Are you afraid of the dark? Hatcham Social clearly weren’t as they played Unit nightclub minus stage lights. With every other light in Unit working, it wasn’t by force that these Lord Voldemort-esque species strummed in the dark, rather by choice for reasons unknown. The strictly indie electro London rockers took the stage as fast as they departed. Playing a mixture of synth, clean guitar and catchy drum beats, these boys also use a tenori-on, not too common in your everyday indie band. More a gadget the likes of Little Boots or Ladyhawke would play with. With Catchy drum  beats but poor guitar riffs and vocals, Hatcham Social sound a little like wannabe Mystery Jets or even at a stretch, Kings of Leon (minus their sex, voice and edge).

Not a peep from any of them the whole set, these mysterious indie boys played an extremely short set. Looking glum with barely any stage presence these boys didn’t exactly wow the crowd either. Many not knowing where the performance was coming from, stood about looking puzzled. Those with finely tuned ears, found the stage, but still stood a good two metres from the stage either in awe or fear, I can’t be certain. For me, it was definitely fear.

• MySpace

photo: Nicola Pea

Watching bands at the Enterprise can feel often feel like chancing upon something a bit unusual. Maybe it is the climb up the narrow, creaky stairway to escape the Britpop blast of the downstairs soundsystem, or the hole in the toilet wall, or the pokey stage with just enough elevation to perform. But it all suits First Aid Kit, the daintily elusive duo in town tonight.

Most individuals in the crowd are older than the combined age of the youthful talents in front of them, but they lap up each track with infatuated applause. You’re Not Coming Home is aired early, the impossible innocence of a song written by Klara Söderberg when she was just 14 coming through in its simple structure.

Tangerine is an eloquent tale of misjudged devotion and the dizzy harmonising brings it gentle grace. Compared to their last performance in London at the back end of last year, a controlled aggression is smouldering beneath the surface now.

This comes to the fore in Jagadamba, You Might; Johanna’s backing vocals see her pressed against the mic, biting out barbed lines with passionate intensity. Their songs always feel not fully formed, being cajoled by Klara’s cavernous voice and Johanna’s sparse autoharp. This unrefined nature lends far greater interest and sincerity than a perfectly polished performance could.

However, their choice of covers is not so accomplished. As headliners, they are called upon to stretch the set and don’t yet have the depth of material to comfortably do so. Instead, three covers are played. Fleet Foxes’ Tiger Mountain Peasant Song is touching, filled with courtesy and clarity, and especially juicy due to the bearded band playing across the road at the Roundhouse the very same night.

But a version of Bob Dylan’s It Ain’t Me Babe, though passable, adds little, while Johnny Cash’s I Walk The Line seems hollow – both lack inspiration and trigger karaoke comparisons. A new song, Hard Believer, is corny and forgettable too. Nevertheless, the blip is obliterated by I Met Up With The King. Desperate, deep vocals from Clara are complimented by sparse accompaniment and the warped insight is back.

There’s an awful lot of talent yet to come out of First Aid Kit and plenty of time for it to do so. Some bands never recapture the vitality and audacity of their fledgling shows, but this pair has a style that suggests improvement with experience. They are interesting now, but could be irresistible in the future.

There’s no two ways about it, Ryan Adams is one of the most gifted but sadly underrated musicians of our time. Much of the press that surrounds him is so intent on bringing him down that it misses the point completely. What really matters is the music, and the music doesn’t lie.

The Enmore Theatre was pulsing with anticipation. Maybe it was the expectation from those who witnessed the infamous ‘in the dark’ Enmore performance last time around, or maybe it was simply the volatile reputation that proceeds the man. Either way, tonight’s audience were waiting for Ryan Adams to deliver, and deliver he did.

The first thing you notice about The Cardinals is the professionalism and their superb musicianship. It’s easy to see the delight that playing in this group gives Adams which makes it all the more perplexing as to why he’s decided to disband the group come March.

The evening begins with the majestic When The Stars Go Blue, a testament to Adams’ phenomenal songwriting ability and showed that the Cardinals are ready to fire on all cylinders.

Our first taste from the new album Cardinology comes in the form of Fix It, a song that translates much better in a live setting than the album version. Soon to follow is Magik, perhaps the album’s strongest moment and the moment that really lifts the roof on the Enmore Theatre.

The night’s highlight and perhaps most haunting moment arrives when the first soft notes of Wonderwall ring out. Arguably, the Ryan Adams version of this song has often been considered as the superior when compared to the Oasis original and tonight’s rendition did nothing to dispute that. The song was presented in a superbly structured extended version, building to a crescendo that made the hairs on the back of this reviewers neck stand on end.

A great mix of the Ryan Adams back catalogue is presented throughout the performance, especially 2000’s Heartbreaker with Come Pick Me Up, Oh My Sweet Carolina and Shakedown On 9th Street all appeasing the long time fans. Perhaps the biggest surprise of the night however was the inclusion of New York New York, from the quintessential Gold album of 2001.

Ryan’s interplay with the audience was something to behold, constantly chatting between songs and telling stories about everything from socks to mushrooms. He seemed genuinely touched when one gentleman announced that he used Oh My Sweet Carolina as his wedding song, changing the words to Oh My Sweet Alexandra. When it came time to introduce the band members, Adams was up for a joke and even performed an improvised tune dedicated to the audience.

As the band rolled through classics like Rescue Blues and the always spectacular Peaceful Valley, one got the impression that we were in for one of those special three hour performances that Ryan Adams is famous for when the mood is right. Disappointingly, the night ended rather abruptly with the excruciatingly bland Cobwebs from the new album.

An anti climax perhaps but no one was in a position to complain. The buzz was pretty unanimous that we’d just been treated to a solid two hour performance of pure musical heaven.

All we were told to expect beforehand were balloons and cupcakes, but we were delivered much, much more with the basement of the Slaughtered Lamb in London proving the perfect setting for the Heartbreak Ball on February 15. From the sofas and antique lamps to the floral wallpaper and black painted ceiling, it felt more like a gathering of friends in a large living room than a gig.

To start the evening’s events, the host, Jeremy Warmsley took to the stage with his new outfit, Little Words, to perform a series of Magnetic Fields’ covers. They were followed by Hereford four-piece Gossamer Albatross, who played their dark, eerie, intelligently arranged folk/pop which was well received.

With A Classic Education unfortunately having to return to Italy at late notice, Edinburgh-born Stars of Sunday League were next up. Lead vocalist and guitarist Euan Robinson wasted no time in charming the audience with his funny anecdotes and great storytelling, entertaining the on-lookers between songs. The tracks I Still Love Football, Scotland Has Let Me Down and Harvey Milk were particular highlights and the softly-spoken Scottish acoustic-folk duo left a lasting impression. Keep an eye out for their debut EP, out soon.

Johnny Flynn followed Stars of Sunday League with a solo set, and despite not being in the most talkative of moods, he let his music do the talking for him. Making his way through some of the best songs off of the debut album, A Larum, the set list included The Wrote and the Writ, Brown Trout Blues and Tickle Me Pink. Playing without his band, the Sussex Wit, the sheer strength of his voice was clearer than ever and it also gave him the chance to improvise the music that accompanied it.

Alt-folkers Slow Club have been quiet for the past few months, busy recording for their yet untitled album to be released this July. Playing only their third show this year, they showed no signs of rustiness. Making as much noise as possible for the best known hits Me and You and Because We’re Dead it wouldn’t have been surprising if the basement ceiling had caved in. As their set neared the end they took a request from the audience, Let’s Fall Back In Love, only fitting given the occasion, before discarding the makeshift stage and finishing the set amongst the crowd for their closing track Christmas TV.

As a perfect end to the evening’s festivities, Jeremy Warmsley returned to the stage. Alternating between performing solo and with his band, Mr. Warmsley played some favourites from his back catalogue, in addition to a couple of new tracks, Turn It Around and another yet to be named. As the set neared its end he played 5 Verses skilfully segued into Bob Dylan’s I Want You before If He Breaks Your Heart (an acoustic version of which is now available for free download from www.jeremywarmsley.com).

To finish, Jeremy suitably covered Bruce Springsteen’s Hungry Heart and with it came an end to one of the most unique and enjoyable shows this year. The show was a real display of how versatile the UK folk scene is becoming and was, ultimately, enough to heal any broken heart.

Howling Bells covering Britney Spears sounds like a lazy journalist’s attempt at defining the latest electro-rock-pop, one-woman amalgamation. It isn’t though, it’s tonight’s encore. Howling Bells are back with their second album and are clearly fixated on it outdoing their first smouldering triumph.

As they saunter onstage to face a sold-out crowd tonight, there is the tangible feeling they are after success; the kind that gets you on the end of talk shows and the start of charts. Not that there is anything wrong with that, as long as the tunes remain as creakingly, broodingly brilliant as before. Opening with oldie Blessed Night is an overdue welcome back to their fans, the chugging riff and sultry elusiveness of singer Juanita Stein stomping back into view.

Then it is into the new stuff, with sophomore record Radio Wars showcased solidly. It is certainly broader, the sonic scope of Cities Burning Down contrasting with the pop tart shimmer of Digital Hearts. However, despite the wider range, it lacks the focus of its predecessor in the live arena. When Wishing Stone is bludgeoned into action it’s a hearty relief.

Juanita is as enticingly as ever, her wispy, dreamy stage presence and infiltrating vocals holding the mood. Nevertheless, the chat between songs is grating, a feeling that annoying technical problems on Setting Sun only exacerbate. The slow-burning, creeper nature of their old sound never fully flourishes at this sold-out show, with flops such as the wet electro of Golden Web breaking it up.

Regardless, there are highlights, not least the breezy single Into The Chaos. Former darkness forgotten, it is smothered in a pleasing, toe-tapping glitz. This new direction is aptly illustrated by the choice of encore. Rather than returning to former singles such as Broken Bones, Toxic is tackled. Juanita pulls off Britney’s energetic playfulness well and its unexpected nature adds novelty, but there is little musically to match the original.

They have been away for quite a while, came back bigger than they ever were, but misplaced the nagging, blustery feel that made their music so alluring. Still, the textured nature of their new sound may be another grower and a repeat of this gig by spring could be transformed. There’s just enough sprinklings of imagination to ensure most stick around to find out, but this is not quite the night their Radio Wars are won.

Above is the Britney cover in all its spangled glory…

It’s opening night for The King Blues Big Issue Tour and no one seems to know how many people are going to turn up. The concept of the gig being that a copy of London’s Big Issue magazine replaces the traditional ticket seems to please the two Big Issue vendors standing outside as they gratefully offload their stacks of magazines. As more and more people turn up the organisers qualms of a poor turn out quickly diminish with the queue stretching round the corner of the club.

The small club with a floor level stage quickly fills up with an excitable mood in the air.  Overheard mumblings of overpriced beer are a constant encounter but this doesn’t seem to be putting off too many people. The venue, Fire - not usually a caterer for gigs but a gay bar - is full to the brim before the first band, Tommy Schitt and The Punishment Fuckers, makes to the stage. Their sound is reminiscent of traditional hard hitting punk with songs like Headbutt Fight (”Headbutt headbutt headbutt fight, do you wanna headbutt fight?”) being a winner with the crowd. Overall not a bad choice as they warm the crowd up for what’s to follow. However, they slide all too easily into cliche punk with no real outstanding attribute - in my opinion.

Once they finish an all important breath of fresh air (ie: a cigarette) is taken outside in a bid to cool down from the sweatbox inside. I notice that there is still a considerable amount of people queueing up as it seems a ‘one out, one in’ system is in place for a presumably sold out gig.

The King Blues emerge and singing/ukelele-playing frontman Itch spray paints The King Blues onto a white backdrop and mutters that he didn’t realise the beer was so overpriced and gives his apologies. They kick off with Hang the Landlord, a single from their latest album - Save the World, Get the Girl. The fast paced ska/reggae song kicks off wild movement in the crowd with kicks to the head received from people crowd surfing left, right and centre. They play their most popular songs, My Boulder and Streets Are Ours amongst others and end with their latest single Save the World, Get the Girl (released on the 14th of February through Field Records). While playing this there is a massive surge forward resulting in a stage invasion and the audience is, to simply put it, loving it.

The band leave only to come back after screams for an encore. Itch performs his poem What If Punk Never Happened? with a large amount of the audience joining in and the band join him to finish with Taking Over.

The King Blues who are at the forefront of music at present, featuring on the front cover of Kerrang coupled with countless radio plays, are bringing back music with a message. They’re playing songs that the people want to hear and what the people need to hear. This year is the beginning of something big for these guys.

MySpace /  iTunes / last.fm / Amazon / Spotify

Razorlight have been added to the V Festival Australia lineup. Johnny Borrell and the boys will now join The Killers, Snow Patrol, Kaiser Chiefs, Elbow and Duffy on the four dates across Australia: Sydney (28 March), Gold Coast (29 March), Melbourne (4 April) and Perth (5 April).

Razorlight are heading to their first ever shows in Australia next week where their Sydney and Melbourne gigs quickly sold out. But as a treat for Virgin Mobile customers in Oz who didn’t manage to get their hands on the sought after tickets, Virgin Mobile has grabbed the last 40 tickets to each show and is giving them away free!

To get your hands on a double pass, all you have to do is line up @ Virgin Mobile Pitt Street in Sydney tomorrow (Wednesday January 28), or Swanston Street in Melbourne on Thursday (January 29) before 1pm. It’s first in best dressed so get there early…

Razorlight play the Metro in Sydney on Thursday January 29, and The Hi Fi Bar in Melbourne on Saturday January 31.

The last 40 tickets will be given away from 1pm:

SYDNEY - Virgin Mobile Store at Westfield Centrepoint, Pitt St Mall, City on Wednesday Jan 28 (from 1pm).

MELBOURNE - Virgin Mobile Store, 133 Swanston St, City on Thursday Jan 29 (from 1pm).

With most bands that suddenly appear and are hyped within an inch of their lives for a fortnight, they don’t actually turn out to be all that special. However, with We Have Band – ok, that is absolutely true. This is rehashed and restyled but the same old stuff; far from awful yet further from awesome, if you didn’t come to see them tonight you wouldn’t remember you did.

In their defence, playing to a crowd that isn’t really there to watch live music is quite an obstacle for any group. This is Fabric, it has speakers in every dancefloor, substances in every pocket and favour for beats over bands. Still, We Have Band are more inclined to succeed here than most, with their rickety, disco-laden electro feel, and they do hold the attention.

The buzz about the band of former EMI workers is enough to attract a sizeable gathering to the clammy, crammed room that holds the gig. The trio manages to make them move with a blend of rolling bass and bleeping keys, but Dede’s backing vocals get more than a smidge overawed.

Nevertheless, it sounds suitably messy and gladly doesn’t place a 2007 glowstick gloss on the rougher elements of the mixture. Hear It In The Cans carries real momentum, kick-starting the set and revealing hints of charisma to come in singing/drumming/synthesizing Darren Dancroft.

Then breakthrough track Oh is aired. With grating, monosyllabic repetitiveness, it could work in the sticky confines of a gig, but not the wider surroundings of a superclub. A cover of The Pet Shop Boys’ West End Boys is cheesy enough to be cool and brings renewed vigour to a momentarily sapped crowd, but their rhythm cannot be recaptured.

There is potential, especially if the momentary sizzling moments can be stretched and the monotonous minutes minimised. While it is far too early to write them off, it is certainly not worth seeing them out of their comfort zone yet. The problem is there are dozens of breaking bands with synths, singles and stylish singers, so why should these stand out? The generic nature of their name doesn’t seem so wry after watching DJs set the same room ablaze with flailing arms and happy faces. We have band have work to do.