The Right Connections

Indietracks Festival, Midland Butterly Railway nr. Ripley, Derbyshire, July 24-26 2009.

This was Parallax View's first visit to Indietracks, now in its third year of bringing the best of indiepop to the grounds of a vintage railway station at Midland Railway, Butterly, near Ripley in Derbyshire. It was a sign of the weekend to come that the person we end up sharing a taxi with from Alfreton train station was Ian who runs the How Does If Feel To Be Loved? disco in the marquee at the event. Everything, and indeed, everyone, seemed to be connected.

Even, to some degree, our good selves, as we make re-acquaintance with Dunc from The Autumn Store and badge-bestowing Simon of Sweeping The Nation fame in fairly quick order on entering the grounds, and bump into Liz from The School not long after. And who should we be following on our way to the bar but the unmistakeable derrieres of the girls from Au Revoir Simone? It was very much that kind of festival.

Friday night's fare was entirely on the outdoor stage, with the synths of Modular washing over us pleasantly before Rosay Pipette (hitherto to be referred to, of course, as Rose Elinor Dougall) strutted her new solo stuff to mostly impressive effect. There wasn't too much on show that screamed out 'hit record' but it was all engaging enough to foster the belief that if anyone can sell Stereolab-lite to the masses it's RED.

While waiting for ARS to get into gear, we managed to catch a few words with Alice Hubley from Arthur and Martha as she chatted to Dunc, consoling her on the rather snide NME review of A&M's new album which was excessively sniping with regards to her own vocal contributions. Heads turned immediately with the arrival of Au Revoir Simone, who put on a confident and mesmering show featuring the best from their three albums. There are those that bemoan their lack of stagecraft but with presence like theirs craft is made redundant and superflous, and latest album 'Still Night, Still Light' is arguably their most consistent disc to date.

Thus followed some dancing with Dunc, his gf Debbie, and the rest of the Autumn Store posse in the Lipstick On Your Collar! disco, during which Dead Kenny may or may not have been jumping up and down rather rigorously to The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart's 'Young Adult Friction' chanting 'don't check me out! don't check me out!' to anyone without an option but to listen. All in all, was a Good Friday, if not THE Good Friday, if you see what we mean.

Saturday sees our bleary blogging eyes facing the serious business of catching as many indiepop acts as possible while still remembering to cover the basics of eating, drinking and breathing. We catch the sun somewhat while waiting for Sucrette, who make up for their late appearance with some top-notch breathy J-Pop which would appeal in particular to fans of Annie's 'Anniemal'. We were less seduced by Tender Trap, whose harmonies only really tugged at our heartstrings during their newest number, but at least that means they're heading in the right direction. Also failed to be engaged by Friends on the Indoor Stage (otherwise known as The Loco Shed), while One Happy Island won us over with the sheer persistence of their energy and charm during their set in the same arena.



Danish troubadour Labrador was late finding the festival but provided soothing electro-folk to calm our savage breasts on a hot Saturday evening in The Church (a case of Pew! What A Scorcher! anyone?). This proved the calm before the storm of The Specific Heats at the same location, whose reverb mechanism blew up during the first song, amongst other technical mishaps, which did nothing but add to the feeling that this was one of the festival landmark events, with scorching surf guitar and sun-kissed melodies providing a perversely devilish good time in the 'sanctity' of The Church.

Some fresh air was certainly needed at that point, but a look at the long snaking queue of people waiting to see The Lovely Eggs suggested that we wouldn't be able to get back in a hurry. And so it proved, as we were left to paw at the Church window like poor little orphan boys on Christmas Day, to get a glimpse of the hotly-tipped popsters. From our disadvantaged vantage point, The Lovely Eggs looked and sounded un-beatable, before we whisked ourselves off to see The Frank And Walters, who were still playing mostly the same songs and (if memory serves us correctly) telling mostly the same jokes that they used to back in 1992. Pretty entertaining and endearing stuff, nevertheless.

We only really know one Speedmarket Avenue song, the pretty fantastic 'Way Better Now' so wasn't quite sure what to expect of the Stockholm collective. Perhaps the most surprising aspect was that the vocal duties were fairly evenly shared between the male and female singer, the latter's sheer blue tights certainly scorching themselves on our retinas. It was all rather lovely, much lovelier than the fact that the main toilets were in need of plumbing attention, which certainly challenged punters' temperaments in what was supposed to be the friendliest of festivals.

Our underpants tension was somewhat eased by the always comforting presence of Camera Obscura, with lead singer Tracyann Campbell looking never more glam as the band dispensed a crowd-pleasing set of gems like 'Let's Get Out Of This Country'; 'French Navy' and 'If Looks Could Kill', climaxing beautifully as usual with 'Razzle Dazzle Rose' as the sun set. Met back up with Dunc and Debbie at this stage who pass on the tidbit that Marisa from The Besties is about to do a debut solo set in the Marquee. Right on cue the lead singer from The Specific Heats then pops his head out of said tent and hollers to anything within earshot the very same headline news.

Although your bluffing blogger is aware of The Besties' cult status in indiepop circles, Marisa seems more recently and vividly familiar to us, until it clicks she played keys for The Specific Heats earlier. We just have time to congratulate The Specific Heats singer on his set (he's philosophical about the equipment blowing up as it's the last day of their European tour) before he was required to act as a human mic stand for the slightly embarrassed but genuinely endearing Marisa, who ran through some old Besties tunes and other stuff even though at least one of her keys wasn't working. The whole shebang had so much impromptu charm and bonhomie we swear if we were any more full of ourselves at this point we'd have had to empty ourselves out just for the pleasure of filling ourselves back up again.

This also served to fill the gap while (reputedly) Emmy The Great had to be rescued from some sort of motorway-related fiasco before her set at The Indoor Stage. Better late than never, as we always say here on Parallax View, and while we can't quite re-create the flush of love at first sight we initially felt for Emmy, it's a bold and entertaining show with an impressive cover of The Pixies' 'Where Is My Mind?' thrown into the mix for good measure. Outside, La Casa Azul are in turns bemusing and bewitching with an undeniably odd combination of pigeon English, dancepop and balladry, to a visual backdrop of Mario Brothers, 'virtual backing band' and other random bytes and bobs. It's hit and miss for our tastes, but there's no doubt his version of John Paul Young's 'Love Is In The Air' provides one of the truly joyously unifying moments of the festival weekend.

Night-time saw Ian's 'How Does It Feel To be Loved?' pop-disco ramming the Marquee to its rafters, so we had our hearts and feet stolen by Barcelona's Bonnie & Clyde in the Loco Shed instead. TPOBPAH's 'Young Adult Friction' again gets a showing, and thus also does our crap dancing in a session of hot, sweaty fun. Rumours of ex-NME journo Tim Jonze being on site to do a piece for The Guardian permeated the night air as the contented crowds dispersed.

Sunday morning started with a call from our friend Keef to say he's coming up for the day to catch up with the evening's headliners Teenage Fanclub. After watching the entrancing (but startlingly young) Bonne Idee in the Loco Shed, we meet up with Keef on the steam train where we're completely out of earshot of the drum-and-bass from The Manhattan Love Suicides announcing the band's split. We're back on solid ground in time for The School's afternoon slot on The Outdoor Stage, where Simon from The Loves does his best to steal the show from a stunning set of stellar choons new and old, with his drunken wit and repartee and blatant-lack-of-socks appeal, but it's the impression of a band truly starting to find its feet live that's the lingering impression.

It then began to rain, which probably suited Denmark's Northern Portrait as their efficient Scandinavian remodelling of The Smiths would suggest they're more than comfortable with all things Northern Miserabilism. Happily they're not short of decent tunes and the material seems grounded and heartfelt enough to resonate more deeply than mere pastiche, and they appeared to go down well with a visibly impressed Emma from Pocketbooks who was stood next to us throughout. We wished her well with her set later that day, to which she summarily dismissed us to the merchandise stand. Still, as Confucious might have said, better a girl who only brings her business head to the party than one who doesn't bring any head at all.

Was well and truly chucking it down by this time, but it didn't stop us from heading to see Lucky Soul on the Outdoor Stage to gawp at the singer in her short little mini-dress and to remark on how one of the LS geezers is indecently rocking the Blake Fielder-Civil look, as well as sway about a bit and tap our feet to their pretty fetching pop-soul sound. Meanwhile, it wasn't just the rain that saw people scampering into the merchandise tent, as there was a bit of a Talulah Gosh reunion going on, which was nice, even though we found ourselves distracted by congratulating Liz on her set and introducing Dunc and Simon to each other (the indiepop equivalent of Frost:Nixon, we're sure you'll agree).

Sunday became a bit of a rainy blur from this point on, catching 20 minutes of the always-entertaining The Smittens here and 20 minutes of Hong Kong In The 60s ambient pop there, and a set by the aforementioned Pocketbooks that became increasingly compelling as the show went on, and we're sure Emma (who sports a haircut that makes her look a bit like Helen Marnie from Ladytron) would thank us for pointing out that their excellent album 'Flight Paths' is available for retail and download from all the usual outlets, now.

What else? Ah yes, Stereo Total were something of a rowdy revelation, featuring an impromptu performance from Birmingham's very own David Leach on harmonising, and a vaguely riotous stage invasion providing a feelgood finale. One-man NZ act Disasteradio gurned his way gloriously through a frenetic set of electronic gloopy loopiness, keeping Keef's son Joe suitably fascinated throughout. Some fishcake and chips in Johnson's Cafe later, Art Brut are their usual entertaining selves, even though their rockstar shapes and boisterous, slightly shambolic wit does lose its novelty value after a while. Nice of them to namecheck MJ Hibbett, though.

Which just left us with the minor details of your hustling hack falling flat on his back on the wet grass and a mighty, mighty closing performance from Teenage Fanclub which included a couple of new songs (one was called 'The Falls', we think) and plenty of the best from what we sometimes forget is a splendidly impressive back catalogue. Not only is everything and everybody connected, but, as TFC remind us to a cavalcade of chiming guitars, Everything Flows.

Easy Riders

Bombay Bicycle Club/Tantrums, The Rainbow, Digbeth, Birmingham, Saturday April 18 2009, 8.45pm.

In the interests of fairness and accuracy we should report that we attended this gig after a steady day's drinking before and after attendance at the Hammers' valiant draw at Villa Park and thus witnessed the event through an attendant fug of post-match euphoria and stealthily enveloping stupour. So if you're looking for a detailed analysis of chord changes and other such muso musings this review isn't likely to be particularly enlightening. But we enjoyed both bands so some sort of mention of this fact should be recorded, if only to enable the dear reader to look out for the aforementioned groups next time they're in town.

Tantrums are a local Birmingham band and in fact play the This Is Tomorrow all-dayer at The Victoria tomorrow (3rd). They helped stamp out tunelessness with a set drenched in harmonies, sounding a bit Britpop here and there but with vocal stylings perhaps more in keeping with the more radio-friendly end of emo. And yet, as desperate as that reads, it somehow worked, mainly thanks to some better-than-average choons and a healthy down-to-earth attitude ensuring there was no tears before bedtime on this occasion.

Crouch End's Bombay Bicycle Club looked impossibly young for a band who've been knocking around for long enough to be one of our top tips from the beginning of 2008. If theirs has been a slow progress to the point where they're headlining gigs like this, we witnessed first-hand from our unfamiliar stage-front positioning the frenzied excitement they've started eliciting from their peer-group following.

While you couldn't argue that the (lazy acronym alert!) BBC bring anything startlingly original to the table, you can't help but admire the way they mix the ingredients with such confident dexterity they can present a finished product that still feels fresh, vibrant and feelgood. Jack Steadman has the studied cool and easy arrogance to give Alex Turner a run for his money as the bookish fresher's heart-throb of choice, with tremulous vocals that occasionally recall the likes of Brett Anderson and Peter Perrett, while the band even get away with dropping in PV's pet hate (the token laboured ska-inflected song) and just about pulling it off without looking like prats.

Aside from the singles Always Like This and Evening/Morning, our favourites on the night were Ghost and Cancel On Me, and there certainly seemed enough strength in depth to suggest their debut album (due soon, we reckon) will be an impressive calling card. Although future records seemed the last thing on the audience's mind as they lost themselves in the here and now of crowd surges and stage invasions that saw your wobbling webmaster adopt the Bristol Jeff pose of shaking his mane while steadying one hand on the sound monitor throughout. And fashion pundits wouldn't forgive us for not mentioning the drummer's top-notch shiny parka, because surface coating is important, dontcha know.

Genuine Contenders

The Boxer Rebellion/Guile, 444Club@The Rainbow, Digbeth, Birmingham, Saturday March 14 2009, 9pm.
The Get Out Clause/Out In The Crowd/StRANGEtIME, Dragon Bar, Barfly, Birmingham, Saturday March 7 2009, 7.20pm.

If The Boxer Rebellion were dumped by Alan McGee's Poptones for being bedwetters does that make them Britain's Best Kept Secretions? In an era of 'landfill indie' the multinational group's strobelight anthems have proved stubbornly non-biodegradable, but there's a danger in these over-blogged times that the backstory (self-financed record is released digitally and breaks into Billboard Top 100 and ITunes Top10) obscures the fact that the music ('Union'), no matter what the format or means of distribution, is arguably the most impressive presentation of contemporary rock since Kings Of Leon's 'Because Of The Times'.

The weird thing about their live show is that stirring lead single 'Evacuate', despatched early on in proceedings, has possibly the most muted impact, with the slower-burning material like 'Soviets'; 'Forces' and 'Misplaced' seeming to fire the imagination of an interested crowd. We almost started smoking just so we could wave our lighters, and even minus the female backing vocals 'Flashing Red Light Means Go' still accelerated our emotions on the night.

If the headliners supplied big enough music to headline Glasto (or at least earn a Mercury Music Prize nomination) mention should also be made of main supports Guile, who hail from Cannock and knocked the Staffs out of us with their hypnotic, hard-driving rock music providing regular surges of melody and mayhem to glorious effect. If somebody would be as good as to give them enough time and money to make great records, these guys have it in 'em, we reckon.

The week before, we visited the Dragon Bar (upstairs in the Barfly building) for the first time, to catch a varied bill and get our first fix in 2009 of StRANGEtIME's mad dog rock. Kate Finch & Co. are definitely becoming more prog-metal show-by-show, an approach suiting some songs better than others, but overall the progress is undeniable. Elsewhere on the bill, a young female trio Out In The Crowd played radio-friendly harmonies and nuanced song compositions staggeringly proficient and mature for their years, more like 'Celebrity Skin' era Hole than 'the female McFly' their MySpace page promised/threatened. Even better were The Get Out Clause, whose powerful guitar noise was as impressive as their headgear was lamentable (we'd gladly take our hats off to 'em, if they promise to do the same), so there's really no excuses for not catching up with 'em soon.

Gig Review Ketchup - Emote Icons

The Walkmen, Barfly, Birmingham, Wednesday February 18 2009, 9.30pm.
Popfest All-Dayer, The Macbeth, Hoxton Street, London, Saturday February 28 2009 4pm.
Future Islands, The Old Blue Last, Great Eastern Street, London, Sunday March 1 2009, 10pm.

Sometimes a great and memorable gig is all about the peripheral details - the company; the ambience; the chance encounters and the general craic. The Walkmen's gig at Barfly was not like that at all. A nightmare journey (packed train, only seat available saw your puce-faced peacemaker caught in a ruckus between a reeking drunk and two wannabe gangstas), a heaving crowd and under-resourced, apparently under-trained bar staff made for one of our less comfortable gigging experiences for some months. So it's good to report that The Walkmen were in good enough form to make you realise why you bother.

Their fondness for vintage musical equipment is well recorded, but it's Hamilton Leithauser's voice that's the truly distinctive instrument at their disposal. No-one can hold a roared note quite like the grizzled frontman, and the band play with the confidence of knowing their latest record (You&Me) has defied all expectations and proved every bit as essential and revelatory as their earlier triumphs. Hamilton's academical background clearly didn't include local British accents though, as his improvised Brummie micktake sounded like Dick Van Dyke at his most hackneyed. Though we'll concede 'One more song, then we'll skedaddle' was a great closing line.

The lead singer of Baltimore's Future Islands has a similar impassioned angst-ridden drawl as The Walkmen vocalist, but it's allied to a frothy synth-and-bass backdrop to create a surreal vibe like the musical equivalent of 'Twin Peaks'. At the end of a long, great day which included a football match, catching up with friends and attendant beers, maybe it was our tired, emotional state that left us seduced by their woozy late-night ruminations, but later inspection of 'Wave Like Home' reveals gems like 'Beach Foam' and 'Old Friend' would resonate vividly on even the gloomiest of evenings.

The previous day we'd been round the corner celebrating all things bright and shiny-eyed at the Popfest All-Dayer. This allowed us to reacquaint ourselves with Sweden's Liechtenstein, who have trimmed down to a three-piece since last year's Autumn Store gig and delightful singer Renee's gained a blonde rinse and a Mo-dettes t-shirt into the bargain. Electrelane's harmonies are pleasingly grafted to an early 80s bed-sit pop feel to diverting effect, we recommend you buy their new Everything's For Sale ep now and start salivating for the debut album due later this year.

The Scandinavian presence didn't end there, with Action Biker proving the other revelation on the night, a pretty young lady in a beautiful dress cooing conversational melodies to pre-recorded music that would have strong appeal to fans of Saint-Etienne. Suppose it could be glibly dismissed as 'laptop karaoke' but she had the presence and charm, not to mention voice and hooks, to coax something magical and entrancing from the simple set-up.

Elsewhere on the bill The Pete Green Corporate Juggernaut offered barbed topical popcult anthems in the mould of Half Man Half Biscuit; Town Bike delivered a lively but surprisingly melodic set that would appeal to fans of HMHB and Helen Love; The Loves brought a harder, druggier feel to proceedings with some driving rock songs and no popfest is complete without a spirited, entertaining set from the marvellous Smittens. Only Help Stamp Out Loneliness failed to ignite our passions, but this emptiness may have had more to do with our hunger at this point than the band's lacking - with no food on the premises even the most inimitable indiefans need refuelling and as hard as we tried, sustenance by Guinness alone didn't quite see us through to the end of the night.

I Am Curious, Yelle

We know little about Yelle other than that they're French and Ce Jeu is the third single taken off their album 'Pop-Up'. You can sit there berating us for our lack of research or just take in the colourful fun of their video, which apparently contains a brief nipslip at 2:09 so might not be safe for work if your boss has 20:20 vision. We described this elsewhere as 'a generous slice of Eurovision cheese sizzling on a beefy electropop patty' but this was possibly just us getting carried away with ourselves...



Yelle, then: officially a scream.

Fez Fayre

Ladytron/Asobi Seksu, Kasbah, Primrose Hill Street, Coventry, Saturday November 15 2008, 7.30pm.

And so Dead Kenny sent himself to Coventry at the weekend, despite dire warnings of what your electropoppin' eejit might find there, and discovered that twenty-seven years on from The Specials No.1 hit single, this town's still comin' like a Ghost Town. But luckily also found that the Kasbah was a cool, funky oasis cunningly hidden therein, and kept the Aegean theme continuous with a cheeky chow-down beforehand at nearby World Kebab.

Being used to Birmingham's sweltering Academy venues where the bands regularly ruminate on the ghastly heat, it came as something of a cultural shock to see the guitarist from support act Asobi Seksu having to repeatedly blow into his hands before getting the set started. Reassuring that even glacial popsters don't like the air-conditioning set at antarctic levels, don't you think?

Fortunately things warmed up soon enough with Yuki Chikudate's sweet, ethereal but surprisingly robust singing melting hearts while the rest of the band contributed significant power surges to provide the shoegazing post-rock equivalent to global warming. Entrancing stuff, mainly taken from last year's bittersweet confection 'Citrus', given a light dusting of catharsis when Chikudate whipped off her plaid overshirt, muscled the drummer out of the way and pounded the skins for the set coda. Fans of Cocteau Twins and Lush who haven't yet explored Asobi Seksu (Japanese for playful sex, if you believe Wikipedia) should make amends with immediate effect.

By the time headliners, and lest ye forget, Britain's Best Pop Band (Ever?)(TM), Ladytron made the stage, the Turkish-themed club was filling out and a warm glow was starting to radiate amongst the expectant crowd. The girls were dressed in tasteful black satin as they joined Danny and Reuben on stage to the instrumental intro from third album 'Witching Hour', and two distinctive trends emerged very quickly as the set developed. Firstly, it is Mira Aroyo who takes on the role of talking (albeit in soft, quiet tones) between songs, and also the set (perhaps reflecting the balance of latest album Velocifero) sees a much more equal share of vocal chores between her and Helen Marnie than on the 'Witching Hour' shows.

Ladytron even had the confidence to drop in the superlative 'Seventeen' midway through the show rather than saving it for once-inevitable encore (the majestic 'Destroy Everything You Touch' got that honour). 'Seventeen' is still (rightly) a highlight of the show but it blended in better with the entire oeuvre in its central slot, with recent singles Ghosts and Runaway meeting equivalent approval from the mostly sharp and stylish crowd. Not all of the live interpretations particularly worked for your sceptical scribe however, the intricate melody and sentiment of 'International Dateline' near drowned in a drum-heavy treatment, and 'Deep Blue' making a late recovery from a muted, murky intro.

But Mira, Mira, as Dead Kenny is the fairest blogger of 'em all, he'll conclude on the hugely positive note that the snaky hypnotics of 'Black Cat' and 'Season Of Illusions' were the biggest revelations of the night, both in terms of their rendition and reception. The otherness of these songs may be a more difficult sell commercially, but perversely give them an edge over their rivals. Nobody's ever done better what Ladytron do, and doubtless no-one ever will, and how many of their contemporaries can you say that about?

Paris Is Yearning

Great songs about the French capital city are eifell-y rare but like Number 44 buses, when one comes along they tend to come in pairs (no anagram intended). So soon after Ladyhawke's fiery fave 'Paris Is Burning' this week's Single Of The Week from St. Albans' Friendly Fires is entitled simply 'Paris', a lush, plush promise of a tune that transcends the supposed limitations of their Klaxons-meet-The-Rapture template.

When we first encountered Friendly Fires live, it's fair to report we weren't entirely convinced, but having been lured to their debut self-titled album by the temptations of 'Jump In The Pool' we're coming round big time to their epic, seductive soundscapes, ably assisted on 'Paris' by the swooning harmonies of the girls of Au Revoir Simone (and you've gotta love the girls of Au Revoir Simone, right?).

Anyways, decided for yourselves by viewing the promo, which contains more morphing magnificence than a Tony Hart boxset. Not sure about the Nantes-y neckerchief, though.

Pip Matters

Lykke Li/Yoav, Glee Club, Hirst Street, Birmingham, Sunday October 5 2008, 8.30pm.
Ladyhawke/Deluka/Death Ohh Eff/The Electrilickers, 444 Club@The Rainbow, Digbeth, Birmingham, Monday October 6 2008, 8pm.

In the few months since we last saw Lykke Li at Glee, the seated-only studio has made way for a packed standing-room-only show in the bigger room, the crowd here less through curiousity and more from conviction, and the conversion sees the Swede in noticably more relaxed and engaging form. But before all that, we have Yoav, a tidy, bookish young man born in Israel but brought up in South Africa and New York. His music takes on a similarly hybrid form, folk, blues and R&B fused into intriguing songs enhanced by the singer-songwriter fully utilising plentiful effects pedals to create an atmospheric soundscape high on intrigue but a little short on memorable melody.

There a few people who could get away with making an entrance in a Freddy Parrot hat and shapeless outfit, but Lykke Li is one of the number who can, and it's safe to assume she knows it. The set opens with 'Dance, Dance, Dance' given a louder, squelchier, more 'electro' feel than the recorded version, paving the way for a lively performance aimed at dusting off the 'depression' she senses from the audience. 'I'm Good I'm Gone' and 'Breaking It Up' offer predictably giddy thrills, the soon-to-be-re-released 'Little Bit' is already treated like a greatest hit, the dubby, hypnotic pull of 'Complaints Department' is another winner on the night, and there's even room for a tongue-in-cheek cameo of Duffy's 'Mercy' sneaked into closing cover of 'Can I Kick It?'. There are officially no more excuses left not to invest in her debut album 'Youth Novels'.

Next night, head over to The Rainbow in Digbeth for a special 444 Club gig which sees three local hopefuls supporting touring Kiwi star Pip Brown aka Ladyhawke, here to promote her self-titled debut released the previous week. The cunningly-curated cabaret begins with The Electrilickers who operate at the exact intersection between the homespun lo-fi charm of Kate Nash and the harder-partying nu rave aesthetic, a formula which works on the night for two simple reasons: their tunes are cool and the singer's hot. The ecstasy throes of 'Constant Disco' are a suitable climax to a set that provides more fizz and tingle than licking your way through a battery factory.

Meet up with Kate and Chris from newly-rejuvanated StRANGEtIME as Death Ohh Eff make their entrance. Your crumbling correspondent may be getting old, but do bands have to look so young? These guys don't even look old enough to be policemen, but somewhere along the line they've obviously crammed in some intensive education on how to work a crowd with an energetic, keyboard-led set full of bounce, attitude and harmonies. Tremendous fun, although it was all 'a little bit Nathan Barley' for some.

We haven't seen Deluka for a couple of years, since when they've developed some extra balls, a tune on the soundtrack to Grand Theft Auto IV, and much tippin' and toutin' among the music press. They're tighter and rockier than the preceding acts with a stronger drive towards an anthemic punch, although they only hotwire into our hearts during the closing two numbers before leaving the crowd panting for more.

Headliner Ladyhawke has a different problem, and it's one that similarly affects her debut album. Her songs are consistently strong in terms of memorable tunes and anthemic power, but she operates within such a tight formula and poodle-permed 80s mindset, you feel like you've seen and heard enough about halfway through, even though she saves belters like 'Paris Is Burning' and 'My Delirium' for the concluding double-whammy. Maybe a little more personality in the performance and more depth in the lyrics would help develop a higher-level of emotional engagement to undertow the undoubted heft of the choonage.

With many thanks to Shakeypix for kind permission to use some of his brilliant shots from the night in this review.

Scents and Indie Sensibility

Not that we're shallow enough to buy a mens fragrance on the basis of a moodily-shot B&W advert starring Josh Hartnett and soundtracked by Interpol, of course!

Manic Mondo

Because the internet would just be boryn without a bit of Robyn, we start off this Monday mini-mitherpiece with some self-styled self-regarding nonsense from the suddenly big and bossy Ms Wilder. Titbits include revelations about wandering through London with her blouse undone to the waist, but it's not just blogging ninja divas who suffer from wardrobe malfunctions, as Rihanna shows in this set of dubious-safety-for-work photos, proving that not even an umbrella (ella, ella, ella) could hide your blushes when it's that nippy out.

Raising our eyes from the gutters to the stars somewhat, Warren Ellis gives a sceptical glance back at speccy sci-fi boffin Joe 90 (via LMG) and Carl Hiassen's Lucky You is being adapted for the British stage. Elsewhere, various bods recall this year's Indietracks; On Dancefloors is a Bristol music blog with a funky attitude; In Pictures: Kate Bush is 50 and, remember Cardiff pop kids, Tell The Police The Truth.

Bloggers don't so much fade away as they do diversify, a case in point being Creepy Lesbo's Slash Media (NOT SAFE FOR WORK) in which she samples some of modern pop culture's gashtronomic delights. Skin Flicks is much more safe for work, although as he considers himself to be a very angry man and is found pleading for fallen women to be shown to him, maybe due caution should be shown after all.

Meanwhile, the undisputed star of Bristol's Dot-to-Dot, the inimitable Big Jeff, has MySpace.

And wherever else your browser points you, remember, Jesus Can See!

Ida Awe

Ida Maria/Dan Whitehouse, Glee Club, Birmingham, Tuesday May 27 2008, 8.30pm.

There's an urban legend that if you wander the streets of Birmingham for long enough you will invariably chance upon an encounter with the Prykemeister. On the way to Birmingham's Glee Club tonight, our peripheral vision reveals everyone's favourite AI boffin rushing towards your confused correspondent with a bunch of flowers. Fortunately for all concerned, Prykemeister isn't acting on any kind of backcrack-fuelled impulse, and is in fact on his way to present said petals and stems to his girlfriend Huma.

Don't have time to go into detail with him about what he might have done wrong to require flowers (oh come on, they're always a guilt-edged gift, aren't they?) as need to get into Glee before their curfew. Support again tonight comes from Wolverhampton troubadour-type Dan Whitehouse, although unlike his turn before Lykke Li, this time he's unaccompanied by pianist June Mori. Whether it's this, or the fact that, unusually for Glee, it's a standing gig, Dan is strangely subdued between the first few numbers, despite confidently starting the set with his best song 'Somewhere I Don't Want To Go'. Halfway through the set, however, he becomes less preoccupied and refinds his mojo, getting, by the end of the performance, the best crowd reception we've heard for him yet, and plenty of interest at the merch stand after the show, where he's selling sampler CDs ahead of an upcoming album release.

Swedish-based Norwegian Ida Maria acts pretty much the rock star from the outset, wearing a top hat, leather micro-jacket and lairy expression as she wraps her distinctively rasping larynx over a collection of songs that include her three singles to date plus other tasters from her upcoming album (due to ship late June). The standing-only format suits Ida well, because the music is essentially bluesy rock designed to get people moving and having a good time. Few blues-rock outfits have tunes as consistently good as these, however, and the presence and voice of Ida Maria helps the material transcend its' roots in the same way Rod Stewart elevated The Faces four decades ago.

The singles stand out, if on terms of familiarity alone, with the singer giving her all on the desperate denouement to former Parallax View Single Of The Week 'Stella', the feelgood folk fuzz of 'Queen Of The World' ratcheted up a few notches live, and the most punk-rock number 'Oh My God' seeing Ida dive in amongst the moshers for some sweaty catharsis. Of the other songs '(I Like You Better When You're) Naked' may yet be her breakthough hit, given its' catchy refrain complete with saucy sentiment seems destined to be chanted at student discos from here until at least Xmas.

In-Cistern-ed Rhythm

We've been mentioning it in despatches for a while, so with its physical release in stores now, it seems only fair to bestow the near-mythological Parallax View Single Of The Week status upon 'I'm Good I'm Gone' by Lykke Li. We could bore you with a long post about production techniques or a state-of-the-pop-nation address, but instead we'll just say we like this song because it makes us happy, so maybe there's a chance it'll make you happy too. To help you decide, here's a YouTube vid of La Lykke and chums belting it out in a toilet, complete with spoons and a rad reindeer jumper, and ending with a flush flourish.



And remember, pop pickers, don't forget to wash your hands!

Specs Mark The Spot

The Autumn Store Presents: The Deirdres/Winston Echo/Amida, Sunflower Lounge, Birmingham, Saturday May 10 2008, 8.45pm.

In honour of all things Deirdre, the Autumn Store organisers have put six pictures of Corrie character Deirdre Barlow/Raschid in various places within the venue for customers to take a punt as to how many and enter a prize draw of merchandise from all three bands playing. The correct answer is six, and your short-sighted scribe only found two, so no spotters badge for Dead Kenny tonight. Your concentrating correspondent does, however, manage to catch all three acts and these are our views.

Manchester's Amida are hurried on first on the bill so that they can get the train back home, but with a bit of decent fortune their slightly shambly and properly jangly take on alternative pop will bring in enough moolah to get themselves a van real soon. The band take time to thank the audience for being so polite and paying attention to their tunes before beating a path to New Street station. Overall impression: amiable, humble, could well be worth checking them out again real soon.

Winston Echo is a roundish gentleman from Wellingborough who has his own public transport woes to relate, as well as singing some observational lo-fi pop with a little bit of instrumental assistance from some bloke from The Retro Spankees. The missing link between Johnny Vegas and Billy Bragg, he's a bit different from the usual Autumn Store fayre, and the bill feels all the better for his hugely entertaining turn.

The Deirdres from Derby are huge in number and young of age, and there's too much going on at any one time to take all of it in at first. They start the show with their backs turned to the audience and have their own dance routine before revealing that they're all in character by wearing a pair of big Deirdre specs either on their face, their head or coquettishly tucked into their blouses. There are obvious comparisons to Los Campesinos! and another fashionable twist sees the group swap instruments and vocal turns with dizzying regularity.

Which is all very well, but does it all work? By and large, yes, aside from a slight glitch with that most evil of instruments, the recorder (the distant memories of disinfectant taste and clumsy fingers still bedevil your haunted hack), these precocious upstarts reveal talent, invention and more than decent songwriting skills. One suspects it may have taken years of practice and preparation for them to be this gauche and yet so good and so fun. The Deirdres, then: not a Barlow par performance between them.

Curious to see these acts for yourself? All three will be performing at the Indietracks festival in July in The Deirdres' home county of Derbyshire.

Crystal Tips

The NME/Top Man New Noise Tour feat. Crystal Castles/Friendly Fires/Team Waterpolo, Carling Academy 2, Birmingham, Thursday May 8 2008, 8pm.

Due to your tut-tutting tinker's train being delayed by 35 minutes the first act of four tonight is missed. To sum up then - White Lies: don't do it.

Perhaps in deference to the demographic chased by the tour sponsors it's a young crowd tonight, resulting in a weird permeating smell of spearmint and germolene, and a youth behind your Fila-footed faffer stamping his feet in indignation that he's the only one present 'wearing normal Adidas'. Mind, the band's aren't much older these days, judging on Team Waterpolo's appearance, who confidently launch into their own welcoming, self-referencing nu-metal anthem. They prove difficult to pigeon-hole however, with emo, fraggle and sun-kissed pop amongst the strings to their bow. Think PWEI. Think The Wonderstuff. Think Silver Sun. Think The Pigeon Detectives. Then stop thinking for a bit because your head will be hurting, and just smile along to the blissful harmonising.

For those of you who are gnashing at the bit for some new material by The Rapture, Friendly Fires may just be your favourite new band. For the rest of us, their energy, attitude and enthusiasm may only get them so far in persuading us their inspiration is equal to their perspiration. They serve their purpose in generating some heat before the main band comes on, but will need to find some more distinctive tinder in their box if they're to be considered genuinely flamin' groovy.

Crystal Castles have no such difficulty leaving a distinctive mark, lead singer Alice announcing 'We Are The Top Man' before launching herself into the audience and belting out the stand-out numbers from their excellent debut album while lit up by constantly flashing strobe lighting effects. They bring a new musical hybrid to town, with the euphoric rush of rave music blending with anxious jittery post-punk vox from Alice, for all the world looking like a whirling dervish wildchild of Sid Vicious and Gaye Advert. The effect is like Karen O fronting Justice, supplying instant pop thrills and an amphetamine edge but subtly tempered with a fuzz of MDMA wellbeing for a smooth in-built comedown.

She's Good, She's Gone

Lykke Li/Dan Whitehouse, Glee Club (Studio), Birmingham, Friday April 25 2008, 8.30pm.

With the audience once again at the Glee Club reduced to a catatonic state in the face of the quasi-fascistic tendencies of the PA, local troubadour Dan Whitehouse works hard to get us onside with some upbeat banter and a set of earnest but intriguingly crafted songs. Last time we saw Dan (supporting Maria McKee last year) his microphone drooped spectacularly during the first number, but tonight a pianist extension in the form of June Mori is on hand to provide complement and uplift, raising the singer-songwriter's game to a different level.

Lykke Li is a nineteen year-old Swede who dresses like a bohemian raver and sings dancefloor-friendly pop with a little-girl voice and a sad, haunted facial expression. She has a backing band of three musicians who include a man with a big bad drum and a keyboard player with really nice shoes. Lykke sometimes also helps out with some impromptu and seemingly improvised percussion via her stiletto heels and, once or twice, by striking the pendants hanging from her neck.

These lo-fi, DIY trimmings add inclusive appeal to some sterling pop gems that here and there bring to mind the likes of Cyndi Lauper, Lene Lovich and Lamb. The set includes the hypnotic 'Dance Dance Dance' and her first single (and best known track over here) 'Little Bit' but it's 'I'm Good I'm Gone' (one of the best choons of the year so far, say we) which really brings proceedings to life - kooky charm; defiant sentiments and a contagious rhythm intertwining to devastating effect. But no sooner has she won us over and she's good to her word, dissappearing into the night leaving us after a short set which serves as a 'teaser' before her album hits in June and the touring/festival circuit begins in earnest.

Charmed, we're sure, but how to pronounce her name? Lykke as in lick-y or Lykke as in lick-er or liquor? It's not until we're safely back at the Parallax palatial home and we turn on Later...with Jools Holland that we discover the former Squeeze man introducing the young Swede in a pre-recorded show as Lykke Li as in lucky-Li. Fortune's sometimes hiding in the wee small hours of the night, and good to see we're paying the TV licence for something!

Memories Of A Geezer

Flashbacks Of A Fool, Odeon Telford, Saturday April 19 2008, 2.45pm.

CAUTION: CONTAINS PLOT SPOILERS.

In Baillie Walsh's Flashbacks Of A Fool Daniel Craig plays a washed-up Hollywood star who's woken up by his housemaid (Eve, in a breakthrough bit of casting for a black woman) after a coke-and-hookers orgy and wonders where it all went wrong. Thanks to the titular flashbacks to his youth we find it all started with a few quick schoolboy bangs with Jodhi May's bored, busty housewife that lead to a more explosive climax elsewhere. Discussing where the movie went tits-up, however, may take slightly longer to explain.

The film is pretty to look at, but is dreadfully dull for the most part, and some strong, serviceable performances are often hamstrung by the fact that too much screentime is given to characters that don't move the plot forward while pivotal parts are marginalised to the extent that the whole story premise is fatally undermined. Aside from Jodhi May and a striking Felicity Jones as the glam racket-loving schooldays sweetheart, few come out of the film with any credit, which often looks like a vanity project to enable British actors like Mark Strong and Emilia Fox to showcase their American accents, and sees producer/star Craig packing more wood in his performance than he does inside his tight-fitting trunks. Indeed, just thinking about Flashbacks Of A Fool in any detail is enough to induce Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in any mug punter silly enough to part with their hard-earned six quid for this flat farrago. A word to the wise, then: avoid.

Just Like I Like Them, They've Got Nice Hits

The Teenagers/The Scarlet Harlots, Bar Academy, Birmingham, Wednesday April 2 2008, 8.30pm.
The Long Blondes/XX Teens, Carling Academy 2, Birmingham, Tuesday April 15 2008, 8.30pm.

We've seen local lot The Scarlet Harlots named on many a Brummie bill but this is our first experience of the saucily-monikered sonic merchants in the flesh. Maybe it's the relatively early midweek hour or your hard-working hack's sobriety but their ska-inflected funk-rock leaves us peculiarly unmoved for the most part, although the last three songs sees sufficient improvement for your fair-minded fathead to want to check them out again, late evening on a club night preferably.

Whatever you say about the French, they're just about the only nationality that knows how to get away with a moustache, as with the lead crooner of The Teenagers who as an oueuf sex appeal to beat the egg-carriers in the crowd crazy. The Gallic indie-poppers are difficult to describe (like a boyband exposed to MTV2, svengali'd by Houellebecq and Gainsbourg rather than Simon Cowell) but easy to listen to, with tunes and hooks that would be all over the radio like a pustulent STD if only they didn't drop the 'C' bomb so plentifully in the lyrics.

More serious weblogs would no doubt explore whether The Teenagers are a grim reflection of a European youth whose misogyny has been greased and colonised by satellite TV and internet p0rn or whether there's more dark, ironic games undertowing the songs' playful exterior, but here at Parallax View we'll satisfy ourselves with bouncing up and down and singing along to the likes of 'Getting Better', 'Streets Of Paris' and 'Wheel Of Fortune'. And in the final analysis the number of young women clambering on stage to sing the distaff part to 'Homecoming' (so popular, it gets two outings tonight) would suggest they don't feel excluded from the fun.

XX Teens are unfamiliar to us, but they get our attention from the get-go with their tight, funky, maths-punk coming on like an anglicised !!!. As things go on, though, we find ourselves urging them to find a new angle and/or take it to the next level, but on tonight's showing, they don't ever quite manage it. Not having a Plan B isn't something you can fairly level at The Long Blondes who have re-imagined themselves in the mould of Blondie's more experimental moments for second album "Couples". Pre-release buzz for the record was a low murmur of discontent, but now that it's out for the world to hear more and more people seem to be responding to their new-found adventurousness.

It's certainly a tightly-packed Academy 2 in the long half-hour wait between bands, a gap perhaps partially explained by hometown boy Screech's concentration on the WBA v Wolves local derby ('The Baggies have just gone 1-0 up' he cheerfully announces). The Long Blondes quickly move on from Championship skirmishes to Premiership pop matters, however, with a set that packs in pretty much every track from "Couples" as well as dropping in old favourites like 'Once And Never Again' and 'Giddy Stratospheres' which could even put a smile on the faces of rival derby-day gaffers Mick McCarthy and Tony Mowbray.

Although all of the band have their moments, it's still lead singer Kate Jackson who commands the attention, this year's more understated sartorial suss seeing her wear a micro-sleeved black top that reveals a large tattoo on her right arm which provides interesting counterpoint to the elegant feminity of the rest of her look. At once slightly aloof and yet eager to please, she's a fascinating frontperson who even finds time to give particular praise to the venue (we're not entirely sure, but we think this is a first in our experience at the Academy).

It's good to see the band confident enough in their new direction and sound to plunder so much from it live during the first few weeks of release. Of the new material, next single 'Guilt' has impressively stealthy appeal, 'The Couples' stands out more live than it does on record, the mesmerising motorik mayhem of 'Round The Hairpin' really roars into life at the midpoint of the set, while 'Here Comes The Serious Bit' combines the best bits of both Long Blondes phases to pleasingly raucous effect. And 'Century' remains drop-dead gorgeous, one of the songs of the year so far, in its precise, glacial appropriation of the Blondie of 'Fade Away And Radiate', 'Rapture' and 'Call Me'. The bold, clear lines of the latest Long Blondes deserves just rewards now, before cheaper, tackier copies start flooding the market.

Pringle Serving

Arriving hand-packaged and wrapped in a pink bow, there's little impoverished about the presentation or content of George Pringle's 'Poor EP, poor ep without a name'. It's the way ep's should be, in that each of the four tracks seems like your favourite at the time of listening. 'SW10' is an elegant, sophisticated spoken-word calling card; 'Carte Postale' is shorter, sharper, sexier; 'I'm Very Scared, Buster. Yes, At Last' introduces some disco beats to the mix and the first teasing glimpse of singing, while closer 'We Could Have Been Heroes' initially seems more ordinary before launching orbitwards with a fully-song chorus of 'My Bloody Valentine! My Bloody Valentine!'.

So from the impressive boutique trimmings to the posh-totty-talks-over-electro-beats schtick that recalls at times Saint-Etienne and Lori & The Chameleons amongst others, gorgeous George Pringle announces herself a fresh, vibrant, intelligent new voice on the contemporary music scene. Which is plenty good enough reason to make it Single Of The Week in our Parallax View.

Related link: George Pringle on Blogspot.

Monster Mish-Mash?

Frankenstein, The Royal & Derngate Theatre, Northampton, Thursday March 6 2008, 2.30pm.

It's your kitkat-crunching correspondent's first trip to Northampton, superficially a fairly unexceptional Midlands town whose train station is in particularly desperate need of a lick of paint. The museum opposite the theatre has lots and lots (and lots) of shoes, and the sales assistant at WHSmith from whom your well-read writer purchases a copy of Plan B is one of the most hostile customer service droids we've ever had the misfortune to give money to, but apart from that nothing to report. Yet we're not here for tourist travails, but to see whether Lisa Evans' adaptation for Frantic Assembly of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein at The Royal and Derngate can bring the nigh-on-two-hundred-years-old tale of terror back to life.

The answer is yes and no. The production is racy, pacy and stylish, performed with well-choreographed gusto by young and energetic performers on a minimalist but expensive-looking set which has the modern sheen of contemporary horror/fantasy films. Of the cast, Richard Winsor stands out as an unusually lithe monster who stalks proceedings more like a sullen Silver Surfer than the clunking nuts-and-bolts version from the Karloff film, while there's a spark behind Saskia Butler's eyes that the play and her part (as Frankenstein's wife) never quite gives her the chance to ignite.

Evans' brave strategy of juxtaposing the classic Shelley story with a present-day narrative involving a young woman (played by a game Georgina Lamb) locked up in a prison hospital after shutting a baby in a freezer, works to an extent in that it adds an extra layer of intrigue for those overly familiar with the original tale, but ultimately fails to find the right pitch or resonance to provide satisfying comparison or contrast with the bold source material. However, even though not all parts of the play completely work, for the most part the production does succeed in delivering entertainment, excitement and not a few scares along the way, with occasional strong language, adult themes and a graphic suicide attempt making it unsuitable for younger children.

Club Class

MGMT/Virgin Passages, Bar Academy, Birmingham, Monday March 3 2008, 8.45pm.
Yeasayer/Everett, Bar Academy, Birmingham, Wednesday March 5 2008, 8.15pm.

Two hotly-tipped Brooklyn bands on the brink of success with their newly-released debut albums touring the same level of venues at exactly the same time in the UK - did they not think about a co-headlining tour in bigger venues and thus bigger payola? Maybe they don't get on, or perhaps they do and it's just record/management company politics that prevented this good idea happening, and thus they're pining for each other as they plot parallel paths up and down the country?

Still, with the two gigs separated by two days we do get the bonus of additional support bands. Getting things warmed up for MGMT are Staffordshire's Virgin Passages whose strange, hypnotic take on alt.folk may find favour with fans of The Besnard Lakes and Low. Their songs rustle with rustic charm but with sufficient undertow of weirdness and menace to keep things interesting, even if your drooling diarist finds himself distracted by the delightful Davina Stevens' O-face as she coos her backing vox. It's perhaps not the right crowd tonight to fully appreciate the subtleties of what Virgin Passages are doing, but 'This Is Not The End Of The World' particularly impresses, their new ep 'Distances' (out now on Fire Records) is a keeper, and Davina and Kate are charming, engaging company from our brief conversation at the end of the night.

Meanwhile, Yeasayer's planned support, all-girl goth-poppers Ipso Facto, cancel on the night and local lads Everett from nearby Dudley are drafted in at the last minute. Their polite keyboard-driven pop-rock will draw obvious comparisons with the likes of Coldplay and Keane, and while it's tempting to suggest that times have moved on since those bands were in their pomp, their tunes are strong enough that given sufficient airplay they might just have a chance, particularly if they focus on the more energetic numbers which give them more opportunity to transcend their antecedents.

With brilliant new single 'Time To Pretend' (a Parallax Jukebox favourite for weeks now) out in the shops on the day of the gig and accumulating airplay as fast as Dead Kenny develops rockstar crushes MGMT are already too big a proposition for the Bar Academy, evidenced by the fact there seems twice as many people here than is usual for sell-out shows. Surprisingly, live the duo are augmented to a fairly standard band set-up, but while there's nothing particularly remarkable about their presentation, the confidence with which they drop the huge breakthrough bomb that's 'Time To Pretend' just second track in does indeed signpost exceptional belief.

Curiously, the tactic works, because it releases the tension that otherwise builds up to the song everyone knows, and also gives the crowd no other option but to give some time and attention to the rest of the band's tunes. Having snagged an import copy of 'Oracular Spectacular' in HMV Reading the prior weekend, your calm correspondent knows the cockiness isn't misplaced, the first five tracks on the album being one of the strongest sequence of tunes released this decade, two of those tracks - 'The Youth' and 'Kids' providing the encores which finally allow band and audience alike to drop their cool and start to party.

On Wednesday, Yeasayer have the advantage of their debut platter 'All Hour Cymbals' being in circulation for a few months now, meaning more people are likely to be here for the music than the buzz alone, and their dress sense of vests, ponytails and straggly beards is likely to scare away the fickle fashionista. All the better for the rest of us to lock into their groove-based rock which is difficult to describe without sounding wanky, but trust your happy hack when he says it just simply works. At once mellow and urgent, the music has the soothing qualities of feelgood muzak without ever lapsing into smugness, complacency or schmaltz, and never forgets to keep you moving, 'Wait For The Summer' particularly standing out on the night.

The lead singer convulses as if the tunes are being wrenched from deep inside his gut, as if exorcised by Max Von Sydow or something. This is more remarkable when you consider that rather than howls of angst, he's producing something so melodic that it's as if he's suffering from a kind of tuneful Tourette's. It's an impassioned, exhausting performance all-round from the band, and while MGMT execute drop-dead tunes with remarkable precision, you don't have to be a yes-man to concur that Yeasayer possess something even more precious: they're simply made of the right stuff.