John Hughes (1950 – 2009)

Broken Tense

… and I’m leaning on a broken fence

between the past

and the present tense …

She Falls

Everyday she falls in love
and every night she falls when she does

Blu Mar Ten “If I Could Tell You”

London based production outfit Blu Mar Ten have gone back to their D&B roots with this superb cut taken from their forthcoming album.
Dub-step swirls coupled with intricately snappy drum patterns are built around a sample of The Human League’s “Human“, which are then washed in warm pastel synths to make this dreamy but intense listen.
Just gorgeous. Philip Oakey never sounded this good.

In Her Smile

Young Folks

Standing On The Corner Of The Third World

Vous

Fever Ray: @ O2 Shepherd’s Bush Empire

I seemed to be standing around for an eternity whilst some roadie tech mucked about with the equipment onstage. Well, that was until I was informed with some credulity that that the guy fumbling around on stage was in fact not a roadie but the opening act and been playing his set for the past 25 minutes. Simon Scott is either a musical  genius or the consummate prankster, for his entire set sounded like one long intro, or outro for that matter. His continuous wooshy sounds remained unchanged throughout, sometimes louder, sometimes not. At one point he strapped on a guitar, played it for a few minutes then unstrapped it, with absolutely no change in the musical spectrum. I’m going with genius. Eventually he signaled the end of his set by conveniently standing and taking a bow (he’d obviously thought it through) prompting a ripple of applause along with some predictable ironic whooops! and yeaaahs!

Soon after, the lights went out to a gigantic plume of smoke as Fever Ray (Karin Dreijer Anderson) and her band skulked on stage. With the downright eerie and pulsing sub cords of “If I Had A Heart”, the first of the evenings light cues came to life, lamp shades pulsing along in time to the tracks rolling and heavy synth stabs. “This will never end because I want more, give me more, give me more, give me more…”  It was at this point I made my first reassuring glance at the emergency exits. It was a weird, creepy, but above all awesome entrance. The first true glimpse of the band through all the smoke revealed life sized objects from a Dali painting. One looked like a centipede on its hind legs sporting what one could only describe as a balaclava helmet, another in melted clowns make-up underneath a stunningly enormous top hat. But they all paled in comparison to Dreijer Anderson who was sporting a head piece so huge, she looked like she’d empaled her head on a sofa. Green lazer beams shot towards the crowd then fanned out to build a ceiling just inches above our heads for an extremely claustrophobic effect. The light show would move on to even more intricate patterns but is the throbbing bass lines and slumbering staccato beats that proves the anchor to all the theatrics. Unfortunately a lot of the albums subtleties are inevitably lost, for example the Shhhhhh-clap piece of boomerang sound design punctuating the first verse, is swallowed in the mix. This missing attribute allows the performance to flirt with a sense of tedium as all the other visual set pieces plays themselves out, but thankfully there is just enough diversity to keep things interesting.

Dreijer Anderson work blurs the lines between music and theatre and you get the feeling her live shows comes closest to truly representing the sum of her art. Watching her sway about on stage in what is all but tantamount to a witches grotto, you are overwhelmed with a feeling of the events uniqueness and the satisfaction that comes with having been a witness to it.

I seemed to be standing around for an eternity whilst some roadie tech mucked about with the equipment onstage. Well, that was until I was informed with some credulity that the guy fumbling around on stage was in fact not a roadie but the opening act, and had been diligently playing his set for the last 25 minutes.
Simon Scott is either a musical  genius or the consummate prankster, for his entire performance sounded like one long intro, or outro for that matter. His continuous wooshy sounds remained unchanged throughout, only sometimes louder, sometimes not. At one point he strapped on a guitar, played it for a few minutes then unstrapped it, with absolutely no change to the musical spectrum. Wow, I’m going with genius.
Eventually he signaled the end of his set by conveniently standing and taking a bow (he’d obviously thought it through), to a smattering of applause and sarcastic whooo!’s and yeaaah!’s.

Moments after, the lights went out to a gigantic plume of smoke as Fever Ray (Karin Dreijer Anderson) and her band skulked on stage to the downright eerie and pulsing sub cords of “If I Had A Heart”. At this point the first of the evenings mesmerising  light cues came to life. Deftly placed lamp shades pulsing along in time to the tracks rolling and heavy synth stabs. “This will never end because I want more, give me more, give me more, give me more…” chanted Dreijer Anderson, as I took my first reassuring glance towards the emergency exits. It was a weird, creepy, and totally enthralling entrance.

The first proper glimpse of the band through all the smoke revealed life sized objects from a Dali painting. One looked like a centipede on its hind legs sporting what one could only describe as a Medusa inspired balaclava type helmet, whilst another bopped in smeared clowns make-up underneath an enormous top hat. But they all paled in comparison to Dreijer Anderson who was sporting a head piece so huge, she looked like she’d empaled her head in a sofa. While behind her, the owner of maybe the most overpaid job in music (aside from the genius that is Simon Scott) waved about a crossed scepter whenever Dreijer Anderson would stand.
Soon after, green lazer beams shot towards the crowd before fanning out to build a ceiling just inches above our heads for an extremely claustrophobic effect. It was all brilliant, hugely unsettling and quite unlike anything else.

The light show would move on to even more intricate patterns but it was the throbbing bass lines and slumbering staccato beats that proved the anchor to all the on stage theatrics. Unfortunately a lot of the subtleties contained within the album were lost under the weight of added percussions, as in the “Shhhhhh-clap” piece of boomerang sound design punctuating the first verse of “When I Grow Up”.
Theses missing ingredients allowed the performance to flirt with a sense of tedium as all the other visual set pieces played themselves out, but thankfully there was just enough diversity to keep things this side of interesting.

Dreijer Anderson’s work blurs the lines between music and theatre and you get the feeling her live shows comes closest to truly representing the sum of her art. Watching her almost motionlessly conduct proceedings from a stage tantamount to a witches grotto, left you with an overwhelming feeling of the events uniqueness and the satisfaction that comes with having been a witness to it.

Nine Inch Nails: @ The 02 Arena, London

I pretty much wasn’t paying any attention when Nine Inch Nails where bringing the whole “industrial” seen to the masses during the 90’s but last night found myself in courtside seats at the O2 Arena witnessing what could well be their farewell tour.
That’s a maybe, but what was a certainty was that all who gathered in the name of NIN, got exactly what they came for.

As Reznor (who essentially is NIN) tore into the first two numbers it became glaringly obvious why he has sold well over 20 million records. Amidst an ocean of dry ice and a zillion flashing lights, he belted out the first four songs in immediate succession and in so doing, announced his intentions for the rest of evening, which can simply be describe in one word, carnage. I was in no doubt even sooner, having clocked the guy operating the lighting rig, already shirtless and head-banging his way into a coma with only a minute and a half on the clock.

Though Reznor wasn’t the same guy I remember from all those covers of the NME back in the day. He seemed to have gotten himself an uptown barber and some dumb-bells, but nobody seemed remotely bothered about his newly required “beef-cake” shtick.
Maybe that was because they were all preoccupied with the torrent of bone rattling sound hurtling in their direction. It mapped every landscape, and for that matter, every emotion.
From the mosh pit educing “Gave Up” to the almost operatic “The Fragile”, Reznor threw everything in his arsenal towards us from the get go. There was even scope to pull Gary Numan, as if out of a hat, unto the stage to do a few numbers, where a rendition of his own “Cars” triggered absolute bedlam. Only to make way for Reznor to return centre stage to crank it up even further with a last third onslaught.

This was a tour de force of arena rock and I’m sure not one of the heaving hoard left unsatisfied. For me it was an insight to what this lot were all about, which in turn left some feelings of contrition for not having seen them at their summit. But on the upside, I still have my fillings, which certainly wouldn’t have lasted too many of these outings.