building the brand

doing more with less. potentially.

the basics

reasons i was wrong about the 80s.

"heavens above".

there but for fortune

oh - wait a minute.

the basics

julio iglesias: making CREAM like that n--.

willie knows how awesome this is.

bonus mathematics:

the basics

suspended bicycle. bug-eyed gallic horndog. moral panic.

"when you go to the boondocks..."

full whack:

it's not just for workers rolling barrels.

the marsden rattlers - 'the lambton worm'

the marsden rattlers - 'the lambton worm'

this story scared the be-jesus out of me when i were a lad. up in geordie-land, GMS' far-northern correspondent confirms, they taught the song to schoolchildren, in full dialect. fierce.

from bbc's folk on 2 presents: northumbrian folk

essential

gigsplurge 28: the mclusky reunion remuneration proposal

mclusky, bullingdon arms, oxford, 18 january 2001 etc. etc.

i'll be honest: i'll struggle to write much about mclusky on the gigsplurge. the band played oxford approximately once every three months, for three to four years, playing the same venue virtually every time, always with a similar set of rasping, buzzing, Pavement-gone-ADHD, Albini-nasty punk screeds, always with a different set of sacred-cow targets for between-song Bill Hicks-riffing onstage outbursts.

mclusky were never less than the best, funniest band in britain, never much different. they had an evangelical preacher's knack for making you feel good by telling you you're a piece of crap. andy falkous could make you feel a craven moron for shilling for a 'blur: are shite' t-shirt. so:

mclusky's posthumous veneration as something bordering on the best british punk band since the pistols (if you hate the clash) or the clash (if you hate the pistols) is one of the more baffling--and pleasing--developments in the stateside indie media during the last ten years. in some sense, it provides a nice karmic balance to the equally-odd embrace of post-OK Computer radiohead records, balancing the pretence and pomposity of the latter lot with directness, energy, honesty, and an ironic wit blunt enough to cross the ocean. there we have it.

having seen a lot of the funky troupes of my provincial youth reunite for "that cheese", i'm brewing a formula for band reunion finances. ten points:

(i) the angle of incidence of increased critical acclaim is clearly a key factor, as is

(ii) the lack of people who saw the original incarnation.

(iii) the quality of subsequent bands' outputs, divided by

(iv) the profile of said bands also acts in msclusky's favour, what with all future of the left reviews announcing a great record by a band that isn't mclusky.

(v) the likelihood of a fracas, reigniting old tensions, and thus keeping the reunion short and maximally profitable.

(vi) three LPs, three nights at camden koko on the Don't Look Back Circuit.

(vii) the kanye of acerbic lo-fi post-punk, falkous will say something funny at the first gig, equalling mad blog hits.

(viii) the age of the target audience should be borne in mind for maximum cheddar extraction: GMS just turned thirty and found himself rich beyond the dreams of avarice (try it).

(ix) ATP didn't book them the first time around. as someone who has booked mclusky, that's a serious dent to credibility on the cut-throat alt-rock circuit. automatic headline slot at butlins.

(x) posters.

rest in peace: a blogger-slash-writer respects

GMS is pouring liquor on the ground for those that ain't make it. don't worry, i have an absorbent cloth.

XXXXX had a major effect on me at a hard point in my thesis life. their passing made me reflect on the records they released commercially and think which mp3 or youtube video-link i would post, unless they were wrestlers, in which case a different kind of tribute is called for.

hope you're doing good, blog readers. stay strong.

*Note: Scott Walker isn't dead. The video is a "thematic choice".

gigsplurge 27: workhouse, reynolds, december 2000

Workhouse, Reynolds, Bullingdon Arms, Oxford, 21 December 2000

As promoters, we generally had two ideas. One was greasy, swaggering blues punk in thrall to Jon Spencer, the Birthday Party and the Gun Club. The other was chugging minor chord post-rock made by blokes who felt Steve Albini had a 'look' worth cultivating.

Both sort-of-genres wore their budget credentials with a wry British underdog wit; neither had much success in the 00s, although there was the odd glimmer in chancers like Hope of the States and the Libertines. Indie-punk moved towards aloof CBGB revivalism, funk flailing or emo histrionics; post-rock headed for the earnest triumphalism of Explosions in the Sky or took a left turn towards Four Tet and Boards of Canada's pastoral electronica.

Workhouse still chug along, Reynolds split in 2007. Here are the latter, with what I'd describe as an agreeable stoner lurch. Very nice:

gigsplurge 26: gold blade etc., december 2000

the GMS gigsplurge almost reached the end of 2000 by the end of 2009, and generated a lot of japanese spam in the process. a victory that you, reader, are welcome to share.

Gold Blade, Holy Roman Empire, Twister, Toby Slater, Bullingdon Arms, Oxford, 14 December 2009

amidst the ruins of britpop and in the absence of anything else particularly coherent, a pattern has emerged across 2000: ageing punky greasers with impressive hair playing deranged blues riffs to hopeful punters (liquor for Rowland S. Howard). hence, to round off 2000 we have gold blade, mancunian motormouth punk pundit john robb's nation of ulysses bootboy band, sham 69-ing christmas carols and hitting the stage from a broom cupboard in the corner of the bullingdon arms, the better to underline their grinning goon strummer-isms.

long since having retreated to bare-chested punk revival all-dayers, the blade in their prime (that is, the first one-and-a-half albums) rivalled king prawn in their toilet-venue omnipresence, and in their ability to inspire concurrent pogoing and frugging in the moshpit--the more delightful at the height of nu-metal and the NIN stomp. this gig was booked under the aegis of our then-online mag, full; but with the website stagnating (writing crap on the internets never being the most rewarding) it was also the launch of our promoting venture, strictly hardcore--named, appropriately, after the blade's single, the logo written on an arm like richey manic. it's beginning to look like we had an unhealthy belief in this sort of stuff.

support from the holy roman empire and twister, already covered in this series, and from toby slater, who sang songs locally and i believe still does.

sunn is funn. O))).

if i was to interrupt this blog for a spot of how's-your-father, chances are i'd head to the stereo and stick on some sunn o))). those guys know a thing or two, i can tell you. they mostly hail from the good ol' USA, which we all know is the land that invented loving--just ask philip larkin, or the president of the united states.* we all like to have fun, don't we--as long as it's safe. and sunn's blade-hatted laser-fingered mind-goblin singer attila csihar is no different. but don't take my word for it. i'll give the last word to the boys in the band. the band sunn o))).

*I didn’t say his name because he might change, and then I’d look like a ninny.

gigsplurge 25: tompaulin, vigilance black special & servant, november 2000

Tompaulin, Vigilance Black Special, Servant, Bullingdon Arms, Oxford, 30 November 2000

Finishing off the year with a trio of gigs GMS' gang booked at the Bully. Haven't a clue about Servant.

Vigilance Black Special were second only to the Workhouse amongst the Oxford bands of the time. Rarely, for a local outift, they sounded like grown-ups: dark Lee Hazlewood soul mixing with a countryfied take on Henry's Dream-era Bad Seeds. They now live dotted around the country, but are "keeping the band going", I'm glad to hear. Perhaps they might keep the band going in Oxford sometime soon.

The idea was for promising Peel-types tompaulin to be introduced by Tom Paulin--the sort of personal touch you'd expect from imaginative types like GMS et al. Sadly, the self-parodying Keats-misunderstanding late-night lit-pundit (who is surprisingly huge in person) sold us down the river for a date with Mark Lawson and that lot. He missed a cracker: tompaulin were likened to Belle & Sebastian at the time, but unlike a lot of imitators, they preserved the wit, range and occasional bile of B&S, while also being imaginative and versatile in their own right.

I hope they won't mind me nicking a lump from their myspace page: interesting stuff, in the context of this series:

Tompaulin formed in a bedroom in Blackburn, Lancashire in 1999. We loved records and wanted to make our own. Our first single was self-financed and released on a local label, Action Records. We had never even played live when 'Ballad of the Bootboys' sold out in a week. We borrowed some money and recorded another two singles with our friend Vinny Peculiar in Liverpool. 'Slender' and 'It’s a Girl’s World' also sold out very quickly. We were in the NME and all the music papers, and everyone contacted us wanting to sign, represent, remix and re-define us. We didn’t have a clue what was going on. Simon didn’t even have an amp. Vinny used to lend us all his stuff.

We signed to Uglyman Records in a pub in Blackburn. Guy Lovelady was the only person who came to Blackburn to see us and we were fed up with going to London every week. So we signed and made an LP, 'The Town and the City,' with him. It got good press and favourable radio play for the single, resulting in two Peel sessions and a gig at Glastonbury. More people came to see us live and we continued to receive great press and reviews, except we were surrounded by people who talked about units and strategies, features and angles and while all this was going on, the world went Strokes and White Stripes mad.
Our manager told us we were finished.
We didn’t feel finished.

We contacted Jim Reid from our beloved Jesus and Mary Chain records and went in the studio and recorded a new EP.

'Give Me a Riot in the Summertime' did very well for us, the Guardian Guide said we were on to something and we thought so too. We compiled all our singles on a CD we called 'Everything was Beautiful and Nothing Hurt.' Chris Roberts, writing for Uncut called it, "A revelation."

With the money we made from that we bought a small studio of our own and recorded 'Into The Black.' We asked Jim Reid back, this time to sing on 'Seams.' The Clientele, Ben Lurie (JAMC) and loads of other people came in to hang out and help and we had a good time recording it, despite the downbeat tone of the record.

Mojo and Uncut gave it four stars and all the usual press loved it, except the NME who ignored it.
The record label said, "Can’t hear a single."

We were fiercely proud of 'Into The Black' and decided to start playing live after two years off. We toured Germany and Scandinavia to sold out shows and came home to headline a sold out 'POW! To the People' mini-festival for Track and Field at the Barfly in London.

Then we split up.

the basics

60s stuff. appalling interview. 80s stuff.

gigsplurge 24: six by seven, december 2000

21st birthday spent with the punishing indie-drone misanthropy of six by seven. 30th birthday later this week, to be spent in the company of fuck buttons. if you've come here for damascene moments, the exit's that-a-way. if you've come here for lil' wayne, be my guest. underrated band that sounds like spacemen 3 of the decade?

gigsplurge 23: queens of the stone age etc., november 2000

Queens of the Stone Age, Snake River Conspiracy & Backyard Babies, Astoria, London, 23 November 2000

Live venues enjoyed mixed fortunes across the decade. Increased revenues from live music masked a shift in the balance of payments in favour of the bigger venues and bands. In Oxford, half the small venues already mentioned have folded, ceased promoting new bands, or re-emerged under new management. In London, the Astoria was the most high-profile casualty.

Its closure was initiated by populist Mayor Ken Livingstone, but caused only a minor ripple of nostalgic protest. Its rivals had more obvious qualities and friends in higher places: it could not be defended as part of a community's musical heritage like Camden's striking Roundhouse; nor was it among the elite of Newsnight Review crossover venues like the ICA, the Barbican or the RFH--attacks on which would have the boradsheets editorialising on cultural decline; nor was it even a particularly nice venue, like the Brixton Academy or the Union Chapel. Yet it performed a key function in the career cycle of a certain class of band. The Astoria's claim was to be the biggest toilet venue in Britain: hosting bands with an NME buzz, one-and-a-half hit singles, and a shot at the big-time on the back of a national tour.

It felt, too, like an overgrown indie boghole. A strange, dank smell. Sticky floors. A shitty 'Star Bar' covered in cack-handed, unsettling portraits of Jimi Hendrix and Keith Moon, in which errant members of Three Colours Red could be spotted sipping warm lager from plastic pint pots. A weird tension between indie drudgery of weeknights and the second-rate pop acts booked for the G.A.Y. nightclub on weekends. Unfortunates flyering in the rain for nightclubs offering, appealingly, "indie / metal".

For all the mediciocrity of the venue, I'd seen some great gigs there: Pavement in their pomp in 1997; Machinehead playing heart-punchingly loud in 1998; Mogwai lifting the roof off in 1999. This gig was not among them, but it was sort of archetypal of what I remember about the Astoria. All three bands were typical fag-smelling "indie / metal" nightclub fodder. Backyard Babies were a 'glam / sleaze' metal band from Sweden, who wore sailor hats and leather and said lewd things into the mic. They didn't have any tunes, or any redeeming sense of humour, and hence weren't the Darkness. Snake River Conspiracy fulfilled the "indie / metal" quotient: Kerrang pin-up lady singer, flabby industro-metal blokes, laughable cover of 'How Soon Is Now'.

Queens of the Stone Age would go on to produce one of the best records of the decade, and to assemble one of the best live bands I'll (eventually) write about here. But in 2000 they were the familiar Astoria headliners, one-and-a-half singles in, nearly there. The Astoria gave them a big stage--the sort that they'd eventually fill with Mark Lanegan's howling vocals, Dave Grohl's irrepressible drums, and Josh Homme's weird, sideways take on stoner rock. On this night the skewed funk riffs broke up the flow; Oliveri and Homme never gelled; the band poised uncertainly between indie and metal, lacking the confidence and swagger to forge their own sound. The Astoria was a staging post: rarely the scene of triumphant victories, never an all-expenses-paid consumer experience, but consistently interesting and engaging as a place to watch the music scene change.

the basics

rural pursuit. portly grunger.

beer labelled beer.

the basics

all the basics. and then some.

"a pot from spaho ahmetovic".

goose towel.

the basics

lariat. arm drag takedown. spinning toe hold.

the basics

blurry stuff. big hair.

rocking out in a warm coat.

the basics

darkened room. space nymphs. worried look.

ground control geek hat.