Blood Red Shoes – In Time To Voices

I went and got drunk for no reason at all tonight. Shall we begin?

“In Time To Voices” is the third release from indie/pop duo Blood Red Shoes, an alt. rock duo from Brighton who have been plugging away at the British alternative scene since the early 21st Century. They finally made their mark on the genre in the decade I must agonizingly refer to as the “teenies” for want of someone cleverer making up a more poignant name, but as it stands, that is the decade they did it in. No, my generation, I don’t like it either. Yes, of course it sounds stupid. No, a petition won’t work. Look, can we get on with the review or not? Yes? Okay? Okay? Thank you.

The album starts in a dramatic and “epic” style, with echoing guitars and slow, building, pounding drums. The vocals, executed by Laura-Mary Carter are reminiscent of the early Yeah Yeah Yeahs, with a mixture of droning and warbling intermixing pleasingly on the (opening) title track. The guitar “solo”, if one can call it as such, is disappointing – a lament in the style of so many indie bands, relying on the vibrato of a single note for a four-bar duration; exactly the downfall of bands such as Bloc Party and The Big Pink, whose musical talents never fully matched their lyrical ones. Nevertheless, Blood Red Shoes overcome this small fault by building and building, rising above the foundations of the song in true opening style and ascending to a climax that leaves the listener – if not baying for more – at least curious and open to the remainder of the album.

Carter and Steve Ansell, the other half of the band, compliment each other’s vocals well, their two voices blending into an appreciable mix that gives the impression of one unified voice rather than several competing ones. “Lost Kids” is the followup track to “In Time To Voices”, but it in many ways is an identical song, following a similar structure and tempo to its preceding song and providing nothing new with which to capture the fresh listener. It is perhaps my critical nature towards indie and alternative bands of the 2010s, but they seem far more content in rehashing their own, time-told styles than adventuring into the great unknown and trailblazing new ones.

“Cold” is the first strong track on the album, showcasing both Carter’s ice-like, Patti-Smith howl and Ansell’s classic indie bark, which provides the substructure of the song and allows him to truly growl for the first time in seven minutes. Despite its catchy, anthemic chorus, the song reeks of the indie/pop genre that stagnated slightly towards the end of the last decade, and its approach is nothing new to anyone who  has ever heard the aforementioned Yeah Yeah Yeahs or, to grope back into the mists, the Pixies, even.

When it comes to slower compositions, BRS have more success. “The Silence and the Drones” begins simply with Carter’s harmonic vocals and a solitary drumbeat, which creates a haunting, atmospheric tone that is truly invigorating and intriguing; a song that you’ve, again, heard a thousand times before but not in this way. It builds to a crescendo – not an uncommon fallback in alternative music – but the drum track is not overpowering, and the track gives a sense of melancholy more than an “epic” set of bass notes, and is note merely manufactured into a marketable indie/pop song.

Another reviewer recently described Blood Red Shoes as an alternative to repetitive indie churn-out music – an evaluation I wholeheartedly disagree with. While they are not, in totality, a carbon copy of any current or past indie/alternative set-ups, BRS provide no new vision to the alternative scene, instead insisting on rehashing Karen-O soundalikes to the tune of ghostly guitars and faded Toms. 

Are there no pimples on the skin; no stand-out mountains on a plain grassland of an album? Certainly not: Je Me Perd, French for “I Am Lost” is a welcome change of pace and tone, reminiscent of the grunge of the 90s and providing a brief, sheer moment of excitement on an otherwise reserved album. “Stop Kicking”, similarly, is a showcase of Ansell’s, rather than Carter’s, singing talents, and they prove to be much more enjoyable lyrically – or perhaps put to a more receptive song. This is the key thought when entertaining the genetic make-up of BRS – whether one member has been given weaker songs, and one stronger, or whether one if the more obviously talented writer and has taken their songs for themselves.

The album in all is not a disappointing affair – merely a predictable one. Alternative music, at least towards the “indie” side of it, has entered a stagnation from which it does not seem to be recovering. Bands like Bloc Party, which forged their own sword, as it were, in the late Noughties, are being more heavily relied on than ever in the creation of new alternative music on the British scene. Blood Red Shoes’ release provides excellent filler music, but unfortunately is an album entirely composed as such; with nothing particularly capturing the musical or lyrical imagination from start to finish.

It is a shame, due to the obvious musical talents of both parties involved, but the hymn-like attitude with which the material is approached has at least stricken me with a desire not to listen for the second time. In my eyes, at least, the “alternative indie” genre is dying along with the bands that procured it – the YYYs having not released anything since It’s Blitz, and BP having disbanded – and sooner or later, the style will have to go too. BRS have merely failed to evolve with the times, and must lie with the fossils that they worship.

Marcus Collins – Marcus Collins

I do not watch the X Factor. That is not because I’m an anti-conformist hipster dickhead who wants to be different. It is because I don’t own a television. And that is what makes me a hipster dickhead who wants to be different.

Okay, it’s actually because I’m poor and lazy. I have watched the X Factor in the past, and along with the rest of this jolly little island, my favourite part is undoubtedly the auditions in the preliminary shows – watching Derek, 35, from Wigan get lambasted by the purposefully pitiless judges for his nasal rendition of Lionel Richie’s “Hello” is solid gold entertainment for a quiet Saturday night in. When it gets to the live rounds, however, and the horde of okay singers becomes a tight clique of great singers, I generally lose interest and melt back into my rock-n-roll fuelled haze somewhere dingy and smoke-filled.

My sparse research on Collins illuminated that he came runner-up on the most recent (UK) series of the X Factor, losing out to Little Mix, a girl group I had heard of and held in no high esteem. What did that mean for this venture? Would he be categorically worse, or would it be a classic case of the British public not knowing talent if it warbled a high C in their faces? A brief check of the songs he covered on the programme lifted my spirits – stellar tracks such as “My Girl”, “Superstition” and “Higher & Higher” peppered the list, and “Hey Ya” by OutKast, ever a favourite of mine, encouraged me to keep a clear mind.

The first track and recently-released single from Collins’ eponymous album is a cover of the classic Jack White riff-and-solo-fest “Seven Nation Army”, something that could be considered a very dangerous gamble for an R&B artist on their first recording. Indeed, it starts weakly; a muted bass riff with a wandering, slightly cheesy organ, retaining none of the suave class of the original. Collins’ opening vocals are smooth and clean, in complete juxtaposition to White’s raucous shriek – but suddenly backing vocals have kicked in, and drums cascade from seemingly nowhere, and I find I’m quite enjoying myself. It’s not a particularly powerful cover, as covers go, but it hones in on Collins’ personal style and adapts it to that, rather than forcing him to effect to The White Stripes’ far more jagged persona.

The entire album is steeped in a heavy motown and 60s soul vibe, and it is entirely unclear whether this is Collins’ own charisma or the combined talents of Matt Furmidge and Brian Rawling, who seem to take the wheel on the production side of things. Certainly, Collins does have a certain charm that makes this a very likeable album to listen to, and it is hugely encouraging to note his abundance of writing credits on the vast majority of the original material on this album. This is especially noteworthy due to the frequency of manufactured pop stars churned out by shows like this, who are dressed up as plastic puppets pushing music and ideals that are not their own.

The original music aspect is also praiseworthy – of the eleven-track LP, only three are cover songs, another tactic often used by X Factor graduates being hounded by the record company to put out a release as soon as possible. Apart from the aforementioned alpha-track, the other two are “Higher & Higher”, a song Collins performed as his “favourite performance” on the show, and a cover of “Tightrope” by Janelle Monáe, a song I will admit to having never heard of but which was released in only 2010. Even these, however, have been tailored to fit the style and tempo of what is a very upbeat album in its entirety; “Higher and Higher” has barely been changed, but on speculation, that is perhaps the best way Collins could have done it.

Tracks such as “That’s Just Life” with its doo-wop pop hook and “Love & Hate” are the stand-out songs, joys to listen to which hearken back to ages past, and suit Collins’ vocals perfectly. I feel loathe to make so many motown comparisons, but one cannot help but pick up a heavy debt to such artists as The Isley Brothers and Marvin Gaye throughout the course of Marcus Collins, and the singer seems to have found his ideal rhythm very quickly after finding fame. It can be said that the whole affair doesn’t exactly change speed, but it knows what it is trying to do, and is remarkably solid for a first album.

“Tightrope” is perhaps the weakest effort to speak of, its quick-rapping style sitting uncomfortably in the midst of crooning soul songs, and it could easily have been left off the album for a modest ten-song play. “It’s Time” is a far more modern piece than the rest, slotting more into the “RnB” category than “soul”, and sounding confusingly like a late Backstreet Boys number. As the album matures, so does the sound, and tracks such as “Feel Like I Feel” have a more funk- and disco-orientated 70s vibe than the previous half, but Collins’ voice sounds a little strained, and his vocals are far more confident on the lower, slower songs.

As a self-confessed rock-n-roller, I feel like I should stop being surprised at liking albums such as this. Collins’ release shares the same roots that much rock music does, in the Detroit sound of the 1960s, and his style is infectiously finger-clicky, for want of a less juvenile way of putting it. Despite a weak intro, the album is catchy and refreshing after the veritable electronic dirge that is currently stewing in the charts, and although the first half is definitely the stronger, the album overall is a pleasingly wholesome effort. Collins’ success may clearly be riding on the success of the soul scene in the past few years, with trailblazers like the late Amy Winehouse, and Plan B’s sterling Defamation of Strickland Banks, but RCA have cleverly inserted him into a niche which has been quiet for months. This album, perfectly geared up for the rapidly onrushing summer, should be a big hit.

Now, I know that rock music is probably past its prime as chart-topping material, especially with the tastes of the 21st Century. But if music like this can get big again, then that’s a fair compromise. I’ll accept that.

Bruce Springsteen – Wrecking Ball

The Boss has been putting out original music, both with and without the stalwart platoon that are the E Street Band, since 1972. His music has encompassed Dylan and Van Morrison-style rambles, soaring walls of sound led by moaning saxophones and tinkling waterfalls of piano trills, and organ-driven 80s pop ballads. After a triumphant return in New York City in 1999, he has spent the first decade of this century bunny-hopping between rediscovering his roots and making bold, modern political statements. Wrecking Ball is his seventeenth studio album, and follows the hugely disappointing Working On A Dream. So is the Boss still relevant? Or has he released one (or perhaps several) albums too many?

Wrecking Ball starts with “We Take Care Of Our Own”, a lively introductory track that echoes with the sentiments of “Born in the USA” released almost thirty years ago: the failure of the government in looking after its citizens, and the community spirit that is being fostered in America due to the hard times on which the world has fallen. The repetitive organ riff is catchy if not rather obviously derivative of the aforementioned single, but the tone of the song is an inspirational one in the genre that Springsteen is currently at the forefront of – hopeful; beaten; down – but on the rise.

This hopeful melancholy bulks out on re-released tracks such as “Land Of Hope and Dreams”, which had up until now only appeared in a live version on the New York City live compilation, which Bruce had purportedly written while on tour “in the style of Bob Dylan”. While said poet is one of Springsteen’s more noted influences, the song rocks and rolls with more than a touch of gospel music, as does the rest of the album – a Christian theme of community and social bonds seems to pervade much of the work on Wrecking Ball.

The title track is the stand-out feature – a song in the vein of “This Hard Land” and drawing tone and attitude heavily from the Magic album, arguably the Boss’ best original release of the past ten years. It is a masterclass in his raw live power, almost seamlessly ripped from the famous show at Giants Stadium in 2009 before the arena, long a faithful “home turf” for E Street, was torn down. The emotion of such an occasion is rightly captured in the nostalgic lyrics, characteristically drawled in the Appalachian burr that Springsteen has affected as his style has matured throughout the 90s and 00s.

It cannot be said that the entire album is a solid, hard-hitting package, however. Several tracks blend into the background with startling immediacy; namely “Shackled and Drawn” and “You’ve Got It”, with “Jack of All Trades” being saved by a jagged, edgy guitar solo no doubt executed by the incomparable Nils Lofgren. “Shackled and Drawn” is a clear piece of album filler, harking back to songs from The River like “Crush on You” and “Cadillac Ranch”, relying on the repetition of a single phrase to serve as a chorus, and frankly, a tactic you would expect to be beneath such an accomplished and long-standing artist.

“Death To My Hometown” lifts the tempo and the quality in the median slot; an anthemic chant, almost, railing against the state that the dismal economic situation has left most of Springsteen’s beloved New Jersey in. It is directly succeeded by “This Depression”, which is similarly not detestable, although it fails to strike any powerful chords despite its obviously earnest political message, lumbering along in the style of much of the latter half of Working on a Dream.

The atmosphere the album conjures overall is one of Bruce we know but are coming less to love: an artist who is and always has been a political voice, ever since the CND in the 70s and 80s, up until the Obama administration of today. Where Working was an LP that sung the incumbent President’s praises and hope for the future, Wrecking Ball is unsure of the government and itself – Springsteen knows he is unhappy, but its often difficult to understand at what. It seems in equal parts anger at the government, the economy in general, and a wistful nostalgia, completely regardless of the fact that he was even more critical of the Bush regime before this one. We must remember though that the album has not abandoned the aspect of hope – ever present in his releases since The Rising in 2002. However bad the Boss thinks things are, we can rest assured that he thinks they’re going to get better.

Wrecking Ball is by no means a bad album; definitely not as disappointing as its predecessor. It does feel like an average album though – a placeholder, in which Springsteen did not manage to adequately convey what he was attempting to, but could hone in on and nail on the next attempt. Because there will be a next attempt. Bruce Springsteen is timeless and there will always be another album. The question we now heartrendingly have to ask ourselves is whether there should be.

The Felice Brothers w/ Craig Finn

I will begin by admitting that I had barely heard of the Felice Brothers before this gig – an upstate New York band boasting four albums and a large cult following since their breakthrough in 2007 – and that the main attraction of the lineup was  Finn, better known as the lead singer of the Hold Steady, and playing second fiddle for the UK leg of this tour. My friend had interviewed him earlier in the day and had spent the previous few hours singing his praises; he was a genuine bloke, as it went, and one you could really have a chat with.

This side of the man came across from the offset as he quietly shuffled onstage with his band, smiling and nodding his welcome to an (at that point) fairly sparse audience in Academy 2. His main focus with his solo work has been to hone in on the “storytelling” aspect of the Hold Steady that makes them such a riveting band to listen to, and this really hit home in the first three songs of his set, largely abandoning the flashy riffs and squealing solos his voice so usually accompanies for more subdued and narrative pieces, all performed in his signature Mid-West drawl. As the show went on the crowd swelled, hanging on his every word, each one dripping with the emotion and lyrical melody that pervades his work – ever one to turn a phrase, as it were, Finn peppers his songs with short, snappy remarks that one cannot help but describe as “extremely quotable”.

The set came in at about forty minutes; a reasonable showing for a solitary support band, and Finn and his fellow musicians received a positive response from a crowd clearly there for the main attraction. While the Hold Steady would plot their songs to give a rise and fall of both soft and heavy tunes, I appreciated the fact that Finn’s set stayed in a fairly even-handed third gear, providing a steady warm-up for the Felice Brothers.

The aforementioned brethren took the stage promptly after Finn made his exit, and shifted quickly up through the gears. As I said, having little to no knowledge of their work, I was hearing it fresh for the first time – and it was fantastic. Their opener was fast paced and lively, bristling with a youthful and energetic buzz provided by the excellent James Felice on accordion, which added an element that  helped them rise above the current penchant for dirge-like rock music. His throaty growl, at times almost soulful, provided an excellent foil to lead singer and guitarist Ian Felice’s Dylanesque whine, which gave their music a healthy Americana vibe and placed the mood decades before 2012.

Throughout the meaty set all the personnel bar the drummer, Dave Turbeville, took their stand at the microphone; an impressive if rather eclectic touch as the styles and genres bounced and jumbled around seemingly at random. Nonetheless, bassist Christmas Clapton’s indie brogue served as a refreshing change of pace after country-infused romps, and fiddler Greg Farley proved as competent on the violin as on the synthesizer in Clapton’s more reserved pieces. At times his violin-playing was less prominent than it should have been; drowned out by the powerful accordion and booming drums, his melodies melted into songs  which they should have carried.

Finishing the set and leaving the stage, the band were stamped and cheered back on for an encore, which they executed with customary vigour. They kicked it off with a note-for-note yet more than competent rendition of the Bruce Springsteen classic “Darkness on the Edge of Town”, betraying an inspiration shared with Finn and other modern rockers such as the Gaslight Anthem and the Arcade Fire, and one which should be encouraged rather than downplayed in my opinion. They ended the three-song return to the stage with a rollicking singalong, the audience chanting back at Ian and James as they roared their parting words into the cavernous theatre.

My overall impression leaving the gig was one of wild elation – this was a band; not fresh, but new to me, who had managed to make me hang on their every word for ninety minutes. Their incredible onstage energy and the soaring sound of their music had me enraptured, and me and my companion both agreed that we’d be buying their discography as soon as we got home. Finn, too, played a great set, proving that life without the Hold Steady is not impossible and that his hard-hitting verse is as relevant now as it was in the middle of the last decade. Most of all, on a night where I had expected basic competency from a largely unknown band, at least here in the UK, I was given so much more, and left feeling like I had discovered solid gold.