Urban Landfill

Music: Soulwaxmas, Grand Halle de la Villette, Paris, December 23rd, 2009

It's been a bloody long time since I leaped around like a hyperactive toddler to bouncy, electronic music. I thought I'd left the days of superstar DJs, pounding bass and, well, 'beautiful people' were well-and-truly behind me. These days, I'm all about beards, cardigans and gentle folk. I might get a little bit 'garaged up' occasionally, but that's more likely to be getting excited about obscure LSD-tinged 1960s rock than it us about South London dubstep. Or somefink.

It was with some trepidation, then, that I joined the queue of party people waiting outside the Grande Halle de la Villette in Paris the other night. Things didn't get going until very late, it was the night before Christmas eve, it was bloody cold, I had had a raging coffee-inspired headache for most of the day, I hadn't had enough to drink and Soulwaxmas was about to begin – a hedonistic celebration of buzzing, beeping and, erm, bass. I had been very tempted to stay a home. But, oh, what fun we had.

Soulwaxmas is, basically, a wandering Christmas festival set up by the brothers Dewaeles, a pair of not very cool looking Belgians who spent years slogging away with their band Soulwax, before finding fame as 2manyDJs, basially a DJ 'collective' that first popularized the concept of the 'mash up'. I've looked this up. Soulwax and 2ManyDJs were joined on the bill by a number of shit hot (or so I'm informed) dance Faces – notably Erol Alkan and Jimmy Saville. One of those wasn't actually there.

Souxwax were first up, I've never been a huge fan of them on record. Live, they got the kids jumping; a mixture of rocky electro-synths, combined with the most impressive lazer show I've seen this side of Jean-Michel Jarre. Soulwax, with their unfashionable white tuxedos, are, come to think of it, distinctly Jarre-esque, maybe the dirty disco bastard nephews. I don't think JMJ ever rocked London Docklands to the refrain of 'drugs, dirty dancing and pounding techno music.

The mighty Erol Alkan followed. Lots of fist pumping was involved. I got the opportunity to see first-hand exactly how hairy the man is. Put simply, the man is, a DJ legend (based on my particularly limited appreciation of the skills required...I thought Dave Lee Travis was good.). The undisputed highlight, for me, at least, was Waves, Alkan's own track, performed with Chilly Gonzales, and a four-piece live guitar onslaught. Seriously.

It all started to go a little blurry when 2manyDjs came on. There's a load of clips of their set on YouTube. On record, their mashups are fun; but live, they take them to the next dimension. We got it all Guns and Roses, Mr Oizo, Beethove, Donna Summer, MGMT, the mighty AC/DC, Justice. As well as the music, they pulled out all the stops with a cracking light show (son et lumière, anyone?) – animating the album covers of the music they were playing. It sounds, naff but works so so well. Go see them. I promise you will have a blast.

I leaped around like a loon. A loon that has had his limbs replaced by high-tension springs and been injected full of coffee. To put it simply, it wasn't clever, it wasn't the pretentious beard stroking that I'm such a fan of, but it was a hell of a lot of fun. Note to self, you are actually allowed to have fun at a live music event. Hmmmmm.

Vetiver, Beach House, Papercuts, Union Chapel London, August 21st, 2009

You can pander to band egos any way you want, but from a fans' perspective, the dreaded 'double headliner' tour never works; it always ends up disappointing. Whether you are talking about Guns N'Roses and Metallica on their legendary 1991 trawl through the US, or tonight's far more sombre, dare I say, grown-up affair, a fair proportion of the crowd will want, even expect, to see their favourite band, the one they've paid to see, go on last or actually headline the gig.

You can talk about bands having the same set lengths (neither of those being as long as you might expect from a traditional headliner), but psychologically at least, the one that goes on last is the star of the show, the daddy, the main attraction.

That's why I was a little peeved to find that the mighty new-folk troupe Vetiver were playing second-fiddle to the shoegazey Beach House at the Union Chapel tonight. Surely Vetiver – promoting their recent LP Tight Knit – are a friendly enough crowd proposition not to need another 'headliner? Their gentle 60s-infused folkie Americana should be a perfect match for the Union Chapel, surely with proper promotion they should have been able to fill the place on their own on a Friday night? And, relax... 

That said, as soon as frontman Andy Cabic and band stepped out onto stage tonight, they had the entire crowd captivvated. Last seen in London at the much-missed Spitz (aside from a support for Fleet Foxes at the Roundhouse), this was their most confident, commanding performance in the capital to date. The show's opening pairing of the beautiful Been So Long and Tight Knit's opener Rolling Sea, combined with the Chapel's wonderful acoustics and an impressive clarity of sound, were mesmerising.

Cabic, sporting the obligatory folk hat and beard combo (one predictably mirrored by many in the crowd) seemed to have a greater stage presence that he has previously, as well as an impressive control over his fragile voice, weaving it together with the sounds of the band, and his fingerpicked guitar. There was a self-assured element to Cabic tonight that we haven't seen before (maybe his extensive touring as part of Devendra Banhart's band as help this), and even a slightly rockier sound, as the band stepped up a gear with Everyday and You May Be Blue.

In short, Vetiver are a band on top of their game right now – something genuinely pleasing, inspiring and magical to see. Beach House, and their shoegaze, trippy, Mazzy Star-inspired jams, were only ever going to be a disappointment, and a disappointment they were. OK, I'm biased, but they seem to be doing what a million other bands are at the moment, so they were completely lost on me tonight. My mind was still lost in the Vetiverse. It was a shame for them to follow, and a shame for the crowd, mostly made up of Vetiver fans (based on a rough beard count...)

Tonight's show was opened by Papercuts, a band I've come late to and fronted by Vetiver collaborator Jason Quever . They've just released their third album, the gorgeous You Can Have What You Want and their music reminds me a little of a fuzz and reverb-drenched Daniel Johnson, there's even a little bit of early Brian Jonestown Massacre in there for good measure. Yes, they are that good. Watch this space...

Chrome Hoof with Marcus Coates, 'Ritual For Elephant and Castle, The Coronet, London, June 5, 2009

There's been a lot of noise made recently about the regeneration of Elephant and Castle. Southwark Council is apparently working hard to turn the place round by 2020. As well as, hopefully, ridding the whole area of the faint smell of urine, there's an ambitious programme of building, the way being led by a monstrous tower-block (just what the area needs!), with the aim of turning the whole area into a sanitised car-free plaza of joy. Southwark has, astutely, been looking to win the cultural hearts and minds hence a blossoming of press articles over the last few months looking at the areas 'thriving cultural scene' (ummm The Coronet, Corsica Studios and the Ministry of Sound, by my reckoning). You know, kind of how they've been trying to do to New Cross since forever.

Despite my cynicism, tonight's show was refreshingly different. Billed as a 'Ritual for Elephant and Castle', the aim was to exorcise the area and provide a cultural platform for regeneration (casting out the demons of Southwark Council's previous failures, presumably). A product of artistic collective NOMAD, it saw rising performance/video art star Marcus Coates collaborate with doom, prog, disco stompers Chrome Hoof. According to the press release, its the latest fruits of their ongoing residency, but anything else they've done together seems to have passed me by. We were promised 'one hell of a rock'n'roll disco show and, by golly, they didn't disappoint.

A collaboration between an artist and  a rock band should be terrible, on paper at least. It gets me thinking of Neil Young having a live painter on stage with him at his last headlining London shows, and some of Yoko Ono's questionable happenings. But there's definitely a natural synergy between Coates and da Hoof. Both are credible artistic bodies in their own right - Coates has steadily been gaining plaudits over the last few years, most recently forming part of Tate Britain's Altermodern, with Chrome Hoof's brand of cross-genre space rock gaining them fans from right over the musical spectrum. Both also have a track record in surprising and subverting an audience's expectations; Coates with his exploration of the role of the shaman in contemporary culture, Hoof by radically re-imagining what we define a rock band to be (eleven people and two dancers on stage - no problem!). Both resist pigeonholing and both are producing some of the most exiting work in the UK at the moment.

After impressive support from  Wildbirds & Peacedrums, first up, were Chrome Hoof. I have to admit I was a massive fan of Leo Smee's first band, retro doom-mongers Cathedral back in the 1990s but this is the first time I got to see his new project. I'm an admirer of their debut Album - Pre-Emptive False Rapture, but it works so much more effectively live than it does in records. Sure, we got the stand-out tracks from their platter, but this band is about much more than the songs - its the sensual overload of the totality that the live experience is all about. It's not subtle, its certainly not fashionable but its not supposed to be. They've emerged from the land of an NME-stylist's nightmare and do exactly what you shouldn't do on stage - fusing everything from metal to jazz to Parliament funk. Hell, they've even got a couple of terrifyingly in-character dancers, looking like refugees from Blake's 7.

After a few songs, Coates makes his entrance. Wearing a giant horses head. Not a rubber mask, but what looks like a REAL horses head from a taxidermist. With scarily real eyes and everything. Coates' artistic method is based on taking journeys to the spirit netherworld, and reporting back his interpretations of what he sees. This, he combines tonight with an extension of his shaman persona. He starts gently, with a locally-relevant traditional folk song, then as he enters the animal world,  he becomes horse rock god. It's an explosion of sex, of nature, of dormant animalism. I could ramble on about Coates for hours, but I'll leave it there, for now.

In short, it works as an extension of Chrome Hoof's set. Importantly, and this is a crucial feature of the rest of Coates' work, it's done with a sense of humour. When Coates' time is up, he retreats back into the shadows from whence he came and its the back to the Hoof to round things off. 

As far as Friday nights out go, this one was life-affirmingly joyous - part performance art, part rock sure. Yes, the place was packed out by twatty art students, but, above all, it was good old-fashioned fun! 

Dead Confederate - Wrecking Ball

There's been a lot of keyboard-bashing recently about the boundaries of psychedelic music. Lot's of pretty fruitless umming and ahhing about claiming bands for a certain movement or other. Lots of beard stroking and cogitating about how certain bands are nu-gaze (urghh) or neo-psych (ouch). All pretty introspective, and pretty appropriate if you think about it. But without wanting to get into a Foucauldian analysis of the classification of differernt-types of music, it doesn't really get us anywhere.

Dead Confederate, a hairy bunch of chaps from Georgia in the US, have just pushed Wrecking Ball into this space (whatever we may call it). It's an album that should make the purists shit themselves and that can only be a good thing.

The band were most recently seen in the UK on a bill that featured both Darker My Love and A Place To Bury Strangers - two bands that are more easily assimilated into the psychedelic domain so it's pretty easy to see how they are being marketed this side of the pond. On a first listen, it seems as though Dead Confederate are suffering from a similar musical identity crisis to all the British shoegazers - do they actually have an idea of how they fit into the musical landscape, and are they relevant in 2009?

I mean - just take a look at them - all checked shirts and sideburns - at a first glance you could be looking at an early 90s picture of Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains or Mudhoney. On record, as well, a large part of their music does - initially at least - seem to borrow from the hard rock/grunge traditions. Hardy Morris' vocals are the first thing that strike you - the raspy, emotional strains that wouldn't seem out of place on a Nirvana record. The heavy, crunchy guitar chords, followed up with epic soloing not heard outside my angsty adolescent bedroom since around 1994. Songs such as 'Goner' sound could have fitted in nicely on the soundtrack to Clerks.  And the stadium rock drumming - let's not forget that. So, are we all ready for the great grunge revival? Or are we talking about the dawn of the great 2009 Grunge-Gaze ((c) Russell Williams, 2009) movement?

Just when you think you've got the measure of Dead Confederate, and are ready to dismiss them as grunge-revivalists (I know I was) - well, that's when things get really interesting. After a couple of listens, you start to move beyond the lumberjack look and start to really appreciate their sensitive, epic songs. For all the heavy rock trappings, Wrecking Ball is a remarkably mature, and restrained album. Though they flirt with them, they never actually spill over into naff rock cliché territory. Their intensity remains shackled, and ultimately their plaything - in a similar way to The Black Angels or even Dead Meadow - something particularly pertinent on tracks like The News Underneath. 

For me, Wrecking Ball was a pleasant surprise. At times, the album can feel a little one-paced, but the sheer joy of some of the songwriting on the album is its saving grace. All The Angels is worth the price of the album alone, it's certainly one of the best tracks I've heard all year. Definitely worth getting hold of, and worth sticking with.

Is it grunge? Maybe. Is it 'Psychedelic'? Possibly. Does it really matter?

A Place to Bury Strangers, London King's College, April 6th, 2009

There probably should be some kind of health warning associated with A Place To Bury Strangers. It's not just the fact their stage show apparently flies headlong into the face of the UK Health and Safety Executive's recommendations for the use of strobe lights, it's the sheer complex intensity of their music that's the issue. The fact that I've been listening to them a lot recently (hell, this is the third time I've written about them in the last few months), and a lot of that has been through headphones, there's probably something very wrong indeed happening where my brain used to be. As such, I make no apologies at all for writing entirely subjectively about the Kings College show.

Picture of the band via Nathan Wind as Cochese licensed under Creative Commons

This is the second time I've seen the band  in the space of a few months. At the risk of getting all leather elbow patchy, seeing a band like this twice in quick succession is pretty interesting from a critical perspective (and part of the reason I went to see My Bloody Valentine twice in a week not so long ago). I've already been blown away by the sheer visceral roar of their music; my mind corrupted, my eyes and eyes numbed into an ecstatic  trance. This time, I wasn't about to get my self caught up in the frenzy. It was a Monday night, after all.

Once you've been shocked, offended or stunned, once the limits of acceptability have been transgressed, its impossible to be corrupted a second time and whilst the set list was largely the same, tonight's gig had a hugely different dynamic to the band's last London show at the ICA before Christmas. Last time was about being beaten into submission by the bombast, being mesmerised by the light show, this time I was able to start making out the layers, seeing that there's much more at work than just loud noise.

Don't get me wrong, loud noise is still an important part of their sound - they play it as another instrument in a similar way to MBV - but there's more going on. For me, tonight was about a gradual build of intensity, a slow creeping annihilation rather than a blitzkrieg. It was about Oliver Ackerman's twisted guitar noises, about how he inhabits the music on stage, turning from retiring shoegaze/indie popster to dangerously-crazed shaman within the space of their 70 minute set.

A Place to Bury Strangers are about more than just playing songs, they move beyond performance and start getting really physical. The music articulates the angsty, silent inner roar that you feel when you wake at 3.30am. Wow. I'm going to be leaving them alone for a bit. 

A Place To Bury Strangers, Missing You (Single)

It's a pretty good time to be Jono Mofo. Sure, he might have been cursed by parents with a particularly unfortunate sense of humour, but hey, he made it out of his native South Wales and is holding down a relatively stable job in glamorous New York City. His local football team, the mighty Cardiff City, an unfashionable bunch who (aside from making it through to last season's FA Cup Final) haven't really achieved a great deal since wining the cup in 1927 and beating Real Madrid in 1971, look as if they might get promoted this season to the top flight. 

Oh, the day job's going pretty well too. Jono's on bass duties in A Place To Bury Strangers. They aren't quite as mighty as the Bluebirds, but they've had a hell of a year. From being the buzz band of last year's SXSW, they've toured with the Dandy Warhols and MGMT, wowing audiences with they darkly psychedelic debut album and their punishing live show. They've been getting reviews from the alternative sections of Her Majesty's press that use impressive phrases like 'exhilaratingly effective', 'ferocious eloquence' and 'Fuuuuuukkkkkggggheellllll. YES.' They last stormed around the UK, scaring epileptics and horses alike at the end of last year.

Now, they're back. Which is good news if your ears have stopped ringing from the last shows. If not, then its probably best that you see a doctor. On no account should you go see them live. T

To mark their return, the record label is issuing a live favourite and the opening track from their debut album, Missing You, as a single (out April 6th, collectors and obssesives). It's one of the album's standout tracks and showcases Oliver Ackermann's skin flaying guitar, taking no prisoners on the way.

It's a good track, and all, but surely most of the people that would be likely to buy it already own a copy of the album and the extra tracks (a demo version, and two remixes of their last single, the charmingly named To Fix A Gash In Your Head, one of which by Peter Holmstrom from the Dandys) aren't going to be the type of things you are going to play over and over again. What the hell, buy it. It'll only cost you a couple of quid. 

Better still, go see them on their upcoming tour of the UK (bigger venues this time, and you get to see Darker My Love, who I PROMISE will blow you away if the headliners don't): April 1st, Glasgow, Stereo, April 2nd, Manchester, Ruby Lounge, April 3rd, Leeds, Cockpit, April 5th (the same day as Cardiff City play Swansea - please tell me Jono is taking the rest of the band to this!?), Birmingham, Barfly, April 6th, London, Kings College.

The Black Angels, The Brothers Movement, ULU, London, December 18th, 2008

A pre-Christmas gig attended by lots of friends and familar faces and a bar that wasn't so busy you could get a drink whenever you wanted is never going to produce the most coherent review. However, I care very deeply about the music of the Angels and was determined to pull my thoughts together, however fuzzy they may be.

You naturally anticipate that going to see a band called The Black Angels, with their reputation for bludgeoning sound and light onslaughts, in the run up to the holiest period in the Christian calendar isn't going to give you an evening of festive joy. What we did get tonight, however, was a sign that the band have started to move away from trying to pummell their audience into submission, and are moving towards a more soulful, mature sound. Maybe not quite Christmas carols, but at least a movement towards a slightly more uplifting and, well, less black, sound.

Having played a couple of stunning gigs in the capital over the last two years on the back of their Passover and follow-up Directions to See a Ghost albums, The Black Angels were greeted to the stage like long-lost friends and it was more familiar tracks from the bands debut such as Better Off Alone, Manipulation and Black Grease that got the warmest receptions.

Maybe its a result of the band's recent gigs with Roky Erickson, or maybe its a conscious decision to introduce a more varied mix of musical textures to their live show, but this increased soulfullness made the Angels seem somewhat tamer than they've done on their previous visits to London. Their shows at Sonic Cathedral and the ICA were particularly distinctive due to their bombast (like the Velvet Undergound jamming with The Doors), but its refreshing to see a band looking to evolve their sound. Tonight they were groovier than I've seen them previously, a richer, more considered, grown-up sound, but it seemed to be a trade off against the primal immediacy (dare I say excitement?) that made their previous shows so viscerally stunning.

Sometimes it works - the Nico-esque Vikings (at least I'm pretty sure that's what it was), was immense, but there's also a danger that the set becomes a little one-paced, a little plodding. You In Colour (they definitely played this) was a barnstorming set-closer, just before a curfew-nudging cover of the 13th Floor Elevators' Don't Fall Down.

It was a good gig, and The Black Angels are a great band. After hitting so many highs on their previous London shows, however, I left feeling just a little underwhelmed tonight (but that's probably down to what I was expecting from tonight, rather than any failure on the Black Angels' part). There were enough signs, however, that the bands' new, gentler, direction is something to get very excited about - less sonic carpet bombing, more beard stroking, perhaps. The prospect of some 2009 European shows with Roky Erickson have really got me salivating.

Support came from The Brothers Movement (formerly Mainline) who have been criminally under-rated. They've had some cracking support slots recently (including the likes of the Dandy Warhols and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club) and have some wonderful BRMC, Ride and even Embrace (their good, anthemic stuff)-esque pop songs. It's only a matter of time before they really start making some waves, here's to them having a cracking 2009.

Pic: Thanks to Underexposed

Music: The Aliens, Luna

Luna is the follow-up to The Aliens' critically-acclaimed 2007 debut Astronomy For Dogs. It's almost impossible to write about The Aliens (who formed out of the ashes of the Beta Band) without without referring in some way to singer/songwriter Gordon Anderson's mental troubles. On starting to write this, I agonised for a while about whether to make any references to his well-documented problems. Should I let the music speak for itself on its own terms? What relevance do his battles with his inner demons have for his music?

After a few listens of Luna, its pretty obvious that these battles are pretty inseperable from the music. Anderson, it seems, even encourages us to place his music in that context by referring pretty explicitly to other famously similarly troubled musical souls - what's Smoggy Bog if not a big nod to Syd Barrett? And Theremin could have been a track from Brian Wilson's Smile. The vocal refrain of Billy Jack - 'Tell me when your gonna rest with your mind' is another giveaway But wheras Astronomy for Dogs was a joyus, life-enhancing and uplifting album, Luna goes in an altogether different, albeit still psychedelic, direction. It's tempting to say that its all together too introspective and naval-gazing to be as big a success as the band's first platter.

Whatever the impact of mental illness on its creation, it's a patchy piece of work - a mish mash of fragments and fillers. Tracks such as Dove Returning and Everyone both have the kernels of wonderful, beautiful songs, but they don't seem to have been fully developed, they plod away rather than soaring majestically. The overblown prog-pomp hilarity of Bobby's Song and Billy Jack seem wonderful on a first listen (both at them come it at over ten minutes), but they just aren't strong enough tracks to demand a repeated listen. There are loads of enchanting moments on this album that make you smile, rock out or boogie, but they just aren't consistent enough when you are brought back done by average tracks like Daffodils. The only track that really seems fully formed and ready for external consumption, and in so doing capturing the dizzy heights of the first album is Magic Man.

Anyone who has seen The Aliens' shambolically entertaining live show knows how good they can be and for that reason its probably worth persisting with the album - it might suddenly kick in.. Luna at the moment however, leaves me feeling a little sad. It's certainly got more of a downbeat, contemplative tone that its predecessor, but that's not the reason. It's the underlying feeling that Luna had the potential to be as good, if not better than Astronomy For Dogs. It's that unrealised potential that means Luna is a missed opportunity for The Aliens to produce a truly brilliant piece of work. 

The Quarter After, Asteroid #4, Half Moon, Herne Hill, October 9, 2008

There's a danger that bands playing psychedelic, introspective music that focuses so heavily on externalising inner space lose track of their audience. It's something the Brian Jonestown Massacre are always in danger of, something that Sonic Boom/Spectrum can be guilty of, and something My Bloody Valentine stay (just) the right side of.

For me, listening to music at home, or through headphones on the way home from work is a very different experience than seeing a gig live. Rocking out on my own, or in my own space can be a solitary, meditative thing - akin to experiencing a novel. Heading out to a gig (again apart from the social aspect of seeing friends and people-watching) is less about contemplation, about decyphering the secrets of the cosmos than it is about being transported to another place, dancing around like a loon and having a bloody good time.

The Asteroid #4 and The Quarter After at The Dream Machine gig at Herne Hill's Half Moon was the archetype of everything a cracking night out should be about; it had a great, friendly crowd, a landlord that wasn't hung-up about curfews, and, most importantly, two bands that were focussed on producing a crowd-pleasing show.

The two bands have been touring together around the UK and Europe for a couple of weeks and this was their first London show since Psychodahlia at The Fly. First up were the QA who brought their Byrds/Springfield/Sabbath-influenced jangle pop to South London for the first time. Led by the Jonestown's Rob Campanella, the band were noticeably enjoying themselves (even Campanella who normally looks a slightly concerned/panicked figure onstage with Newcombe's gang looked happy to be kicking back). Hell, Christoph, the bands third guitarist/keyboard player looked like he'd stepped right out of the Rolling Thunder Revue with his sideburns and lace-up jeans. Yes, you read that right - lace-up jeans. Closing their set with the majestic Too Much To Think About, the Quarter After brought smiles aplenty to this part of London.

Tonight was all about the Asteroid #4, however.Touring to promote their blinding new album 'These Flowers of Ours', it took them a couple of songs to hit their stride, but once they got going, they moved the evening from a gig...to a happening, man. For me, they a shining example of everything a neo-psychedelic band should be - they've cherry picked some of the best sounds from the 60s and the Paisley Underground and fused them with a post Spacemen/Spiritualized drone. Crucually, they never lose sight of the fact its all about putting on a show; they've got the rockstar attitude (swigging from bottles of wine on stage), the mind melting lightshow but they clearly give a fuck about the crowd having a cracking time (like various audience members being dragged up on stage to play percussion. You know who you are).

Highlights all seemed to blur into one for me, but standout tracks were Ask Me About Pittsburgh and a Rain Parade cover (I Look Around - I got a little bit overexcited by that one!) Hell, even the Quarter After were into it (even after a few weeks of touring together). Special mention must go to QA singer Dominic Campanella's inspired dancefloor moves. Oh yes.

In short, tonight was a celebration - not only of the Dulwich Dream Machine record shop and all who sail in her, not just for Masonic Boom and her artwork (it was the opening of her show tonight), but of just how much fun the nu-gaze, post-Jonestown, neo-psych..whatever..'scene' can actually be.

Oct 26, 2008 3:04:25 PM | Music

It's rare that you go to a gig and wake up the next morning to The Sun printing a story about how the guitarist has been stabbed to death. Thankfully, the Currant Bun got it wrong on this occasion (there was, apparently, an incident that remains shrouded in mystery - whatever the record company says), but it'll surely go down in history as yet another episode in the ongoing soap opera that is The Brian Jonestown Massacre.

Cards on the table, the Jonestown are one of my very favourite bands. I've probably seen them more times than is healthy (my girlfriend would definitely agree). What with the countless stories of Newcombe-isms and general musical shenanigans, its almost easy to forget that the BJM remain one of the greatest live bands around - the grandaddys of the 'neo-psych' movement and a true bunch of innovators.

When the circus rolls into London, there's always talk that 'the band never put on a good show in the capital' or 'Anton always loses it at the big gigs'. For me, apart from one, notable drunken exception at Koko in June 2008, those fears have always been unfounded. The Forum date, was possibly their biggest triumph to date in London town. The same line-up that we've grown accustomed to over the last couple of years (is this the most stable Jonestown line-up ever?), with the notable addition of Willie B Carruthers (yes, the other one from Spacemen 3 and the first Spiritualized album) replacing the honeymooning Collin Henga on bass.

Some of the more hardcore BJM-ers (to be found lurking here:http://keepmusicevil.freeforums.org/) have bemoaned the lack of variation in the band's setlist over the last couple of tours. I freely admit to considering myself whether I'd pay the admission fee to hear 'Whoever You Are' open the set for what seems like the millionth time. Tonight, the setlist saw a number of welcome additions; yes we got firm set staples - Nailing Honey To The Bee, Here it Comes, the ever majestic Hide & Seek, When Jokers Attack, Servo and Swallowtail, but we also got a couple of relative newbies - Yeah Yeah and Golden Frost off the new album, and the as yet unreleased (and very Waiting For My Man esque) Prefab Ambulation which they performed as an encore after (yes AFTER) Swallowtail.

The overriding memory of this night ('stabbings' notwithstanding) was the fact this was a kick-ass professional performance from the band. Sure, it was shambolic in parts, and it took them until about the third song before things really started sounding as they should - that's what you get when the circus rolls into town - but the band were as tight as they've been for the last couple of UK tours. It wasn't a flawless gig, there were a number of technical gremlins, and there was the usual abuse from the 'cool' London crowd, but the band didn't let it break their stride. It was mostly good-humoured - even Anton's running gags about the knife crime epidemic in the capital...

Joel, stalking the middle of the stage with a new found post Dilettantes confidence seems to have found a whole new raft of stage moves, and a longer-haired Frankie Emerson was a little more, well, let's just say animated, than usual. Emerson was given free reign on Golden Frost. Apparently he made up his own words to that one...

Carruthers, however, was the real star of tonight. He's played bass guitar on a couple of the greatest modern psych/drone albums of modern times, and he brought his swagger and poise to the BJM basslines like never before, complementing Anton's guitar perfectly, freeing them from the freelovebabies. Sorry Collin, but may this collaboration long continue.

The Brian Jonestown Massacre in London: always an experience, always lots of talking points. Surely, the band are never slick, and their set is always full of peaks and troughs, highs and lows. Tonight, however, any troughs just made the peaks seem even clearer. It's just a shame Frankie had to die in the process.

The Brian Jonestown Massacre, The Forum, London, July 16, 2008

It's rare that you go to a gig and wake up the next morning to The Sun printing a story about how the guitarist has been stabbed to death. Thankfully, the Currant Bun got it wrong on this occasion (there was, apparently, an incident that remains shrouded in mystery - whatever the record company says), but it'll surely go down in history as yet another episode in the ongoing soap opera that is The Brian Jonestown Massacre.

Cards on the table, the Jonestown are one of my very favourite bands. I've probably seen them more times than is healthy (my girlfriend would definitely agree). What with the countless stories of Newcombe-isms and general musical shenanigans, its almost easy to forget that the BJM remain one of the greatest live bands around - the grandaddys of the 'neo-psych' movement and a true bunch of innovators.

When the circus rolls into London, there's always talk that 'the band never put on a good show in the capital' or 'Anton always loses it at the big gigs'. For me, apart from one, notable drunken exception at Koko in June 2008, those fears have always been unfounded. The Forum date, was possibly their biggest triumph to date in London town. The same line-up that we've grown accustomed to over the last couple of years (is this the most stable Jonestown line-up ever?), with the notable addition of Willie B Carruthers (yes, the other one from Spacemen 3 and the first Spiritualized album) replacing the honeymooning Collin Henga on bass.

Some of the more hardcore BJM-ers (to be found lurking here:http://keepmusicevil.freeforums.org/) have bemoaned the lack of variation in the band's setlist over the last couple of tours. I freely admit to considering myself whether I'd pay the admission fee to hear 'Whoever You Are' open the set for what seems like the millionth time. Tonight, the setlist saw a number of welcome additions; yes we got firm set staples - Nailing Honey To The Bee, Here it Comes, the ever majestic Hide & Seek, When Jokers Attack, Servo and Swallowtail, but we also got a couple of relative newbies - Yeah Yeah and Golden Frost off the new album, and the as yet unreleased (and very Waiting For My Man esque) Prefab Ambulation which they performed as an encore after (yes AFTER) Swallowtail.

The overriding memory of this night ('stabbings' notwithstanding) was the fact this was a kick-ass professional performance from the band. Sure, it was shambolic in parts, and it took them until about the third song before things really started sounding as they should - that's what you get when the circus rolls into town - but the band were as tight as they've been for the last couple of UK tours. It wasn't a flawless gig, there were a number of technical gremlins, and there was the usual abuse from the 'cool' London crowd, but the band didn't let it break their stride. It was mostly good-humoured - even Anton's running gags about the knife crime epidemic in the capital...

Joel, stalking the middle of the stage with a new found post Dilettantes confidence seems to have found a whole new raft of stage moves, and a longer-haired Frankie Emerson was a little more, well, let's just say animated, than usual. Emerson was given free reign on Golden Frost. Apparently he made up his own words to that one...

Carruthers, however, was the real star of tonight. He's played bass guitar on a couple of the greatest modern psych/drone albums of modern times, and he brought his swagger and poise to the BJM basslines like never before, complementing Anton's guitar perfectly, freeing them from the freelovebabies. Sorry Collin, but may this collaboration long continue.

The Brian Jonestown Massacre in London: always an experience, always lots of talking points. Surely, the band are never slick, and their set is always full of peaks and troughs, highs and lows. Tonight, however, any troughs just made the peaks seem even clearer. It's just a shame Frankie had to die in the process.