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            “Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?” It was ironic, and perhaps even prophetic, that I had been discussing The Sex Pistols’ now legendary one-song swindle only seconds before entering The Ambassador to see The Hives. Straight from America Town, Sweden, this is an act who don’t like to waste any time making it known that they hold themselves nothing short of the same kind of legendary status that the Pistols occupy. Pelle Almqvist, as if proud owner of the title “World’s Most Annoying Front-man,” never missed an opportunity to remind the crowd how great the band were, or how their applause and screams just weren’t enough. When he patronisingly remarked to an already fervent and fully-participating crowd that the gaps between songs were there for us to cheer, it may have been a case of preaching to the converted. It soon became clear, however, that the converted were beginning to have second thoughts.

             I don’t think that the kind of hysterical arrogance put on display by The Hives will ever fully wash with an Irish crowd, particularly one that has paid €30 each on a Monday night for a set barely clocking in at an hour in length. Although their latest album is a slender half-hour in total, it was, by far and away, the shortest concert I’ve ever been to. Any hope of quality outweighing quantity was, sadly, not to be — as it was, the two struggled to balance each other out. It didn’t have to be this way, however; the songs themselves were of a good standard, and were short enough that may even have worked as instrumentals. The (literally) tight and rigid musicianship was let down by an overall muffled sound and the aforementioned front-man, who lambasted himself around the stage like a retarded peacock, blowing kisses with the kind of posturing that would make even Mick Jagger grimace.

             As Almqvist proceeded to tell the crowd, in an exaggerated Southern-drawl that even has Swedish natives perplexed, The Hive’s five-year plan for total world domination, an arguably justified number of plastic cups began to rain down towards him. “The Hives’ have unfairly been criticised for gimmicks,” he claimed, yet onstage they showed no intention of actually dropping them and letting the music speak for itself. It all became a bit too much when the audience were “forgiven” for secretly listening to other bands in The Hives’ absence, as the singer jokingly threatened to “come down there and beat up every single one of you.” It made me envision a hypothetical scenario which I would have gladly paid to see: if only the band, just after having repeated such pompous claims, could somehow have the misfortune to stumble across just one of the many blatant “inspirations” upon which they’ve based themselves (MC5, The Stooges, The Ramones, Television), in a dark alleyway with no way out. Yet before I could indulge any further in the daydream’s potential conclusion, the house-lights were brought up — the show was over, and it was only 22.05. In the end, one doesn’t have to look too far to realise that The Hives just aren’t the original, colossal force they see themselves as. From last night’s performance alone, those same criticisms that keep on arising seem well-founded. “Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?” Well, it’s all part of the act, of course…in this case, however, it’s just not a good one.

Popularity: unranked [?]

            With a slight departure from what we may normally associate with his typical sound, “Virginia Creeper” makes it clear that Grant Lee Phillips is an artist who can switch genre album by album and still seem masterful in all. This time out, it’s a dusting of country roots with an album of an almost decaying, autumnal feel; these are songs of such a stripped back, woodsy nature that you could imagine them being written on an old, weathered parchment with a quill.

            Beginning with the slow, winding “Mona Lisa,” where the warmth and resonance of Phillips’ voice revels in its quiet, the impact of Eric Gorfain’s irreplaceable violin is immediately clear. Though Phillips has always involved characters in his work (from “Jupiter and Teardrop” all the way up to the “Mobilize” album), he seems to be perfecting how he chooses to ply his trade with time (in more ways than one); from the lilting “Waking Memory” to the trickling, beautifully worked-out “Dirty Secret,” the songs trickle together carefully, embedded with rich imagery.

            ”Lily-a-Passion” melts with radio appeal — a gorgeous pop tune by an ensemble that is anything but. Kevin Jarvis’ perfectly accentuated drums make sure the cymbal shushes with the stretching “She is…” of the chorus; this is definitely a feel-good number, and as catchy as anything you’re likely to hear. Phillips puts his foot down here, making sure a similar momentum returns on the swinging “Calamity Jane.” The smoky bayou of Josephine of the Swamps, meanwhile — a dark, sweeping track that sounds as if it surrounds you — conjures up the image of a wooden canoe floating upstream after a Southern ghost.

            On the weighty “Far End of the Night,” Phillips sets a ponderous, lonesome tone: “When its just you and the road / Seen no taillights there for miles / And nothing’ much but static on the radio.” Gorfain’s falling violin again excels to help make this a timeless piece. The sparse “Susanna Little,” an ode to a native American ancestor, has an antiquated feel about it, reminding me somewhat of Shane MacGowan’s “Fairytale of New York.” “Wish I Knew,” on the other hand, is a lovely foot-tapping, fast-talkin’ shuffle of exasperation, sure to have you singing along.

            The album’s final song, a cover of Gram Parsons’ “Hickory Wind,” is more an accompaniment or a bonus track than a necessary part of the album, but a fitting one given the overall bittersweet feel of Virginia Creeper. Underlining the quality of all that has preceded, it also highlights the harmony between Phillips and vocalist Cindy Wasserman (also particularly strong on “Always Friends”). “Hickory Wind” is of the same canon of magnetic, unforgettable song-writing that Grant Lee-Phillips has long since immersed himself in (unfortunately, a fact that’s been criminally overlooked) and has the effect of cementing the deep body of this work. Ever the man with the Midas touch, Phillips here ensures that “Virginia Creeper” will grow on you, dig beneath you, and reward you further with each listen.

Artist / Group: Grant Lee Phillips Album: Virginia Creeper Label: Rounder Released: 16th February 2004

Popularity: 1% [?]

Double CD

Part 1 – Darkness – Runtime: 79m15s
1. Neu! – Hallo Gallo – Neu 1
2. Frank Zappa – Peaches En Regalia – Hot Rats
3. Captain Beefheart – Sure ‘Nuff Yes I Do – Safe As Milk
4. Angelo Badalamenti – Jitterbug – Mulhollan Drive OST
5. Can – Halleluwah (edit) – Tago Mago
6. Deodato – Superstrut – Groovy, Vol. 1
7. 13th Floor Elevators – Reverberations – The Psychedelic Sounds Of…
8. Amon Tobin – Bridge – Permutation
9. David Bowie – Cactus – Heathen
10.Flaming Lips – She Don’t Use Jelly – The Satellite Heart
11. Human Expression – Optical Sound – The Human Expression & Other Psychedlic Groups
12. Television – Marquee Moon – Marquee Moon
13. Screaming Jay Hawkins – I Put A Spell On You
14. Captain Beefheart – Abba Zabba – Safe As Milk
15. Iggy Pop – I’m Bored – New Values
16. Grateful Dead – Turn On Your Love Light – Live/Dead

Part 2 – Sunlight – Runtime: 78m58s
1. Velvet Underground – Who Loves The Sun? – Loaded
2. Quincy Jones – Summer In The City
3. Kool & The Gang – Summer Madness
4. Deodato – September 13 – Prelude
5. Tim Buckley – Blue Melody
6. M. Ward – Color of Water - End of Amnesia
7. M. Ward – Half Moon – End of Amnesia
8. Neil Young – Pardon my Heart – Zuma
9. Grant Lee Phillips – Lonesome Serenade – Ladies Love Oracle
10. Sigur Ros – Svefn g englar – Agaetis Byrjun
11. John Parish – Westward Airways – How Animals Move
12. Chocolate Milk – Girl Callin’
13. Yellow Sunshine – Yellow Sunshine
14. Amon Tobin – Nova – Permutation
15. Echoboy – Constantiople – Vol. 1
16. Four Tet – My Angel Rocks Back And Forth – Rounds
17. Lucky Pierre – The Heart Of All That Is – Hypnogoggia

Popularity: 1% [?]

Unlike anything else in the Captain’s back catalogue, 1967’s Safe As Milk is easily Beefheart’s most accessible release. From the outset, Ry Cooder’s slinking bottleneck grabs hold of the Delta sound and electrifies it in the Mojave desert, allowing Van Vliet’s trademark gruff to stomp and swagger over a thumping bass line.

But two tracks in and psych freak out Zigzag Wanderer is the first sign that something far more innovative than electric blues is afoot. What follows is an unpredictable blend of R&B ballads and west coast garage intent on redressing boundaries – an experiment few A&R men would go near at the time.

Merely a taste of the rule breaking to come, Beefheart’s later work would make this album look uncharacteristically focused. What was adventurous and chaotic then now seems like an enduring display of rock genius, but at all times Safe as Milk manages to be dirty, soulful and psychedelic.

Artist / Group:
Captain Beefheart
Album:
Safe As Milk
Label:
Buddah
Released:
1967

Popularity: 1% [?]

The Super Furry Animals took to the stage late in the evening after a build-up of swirling electronic music and psychedelic light displays had successfully worked the crowd up into a mounting state of anticipation. The band kicked into their opener while a huge overhead screen projected a pre-recorded visual of the lead singer’s face, mouthing the lyrics — but where was the real thing? Intending for a dramatic arrival on stage, the singer was elevated on a platform behind the band in a red Power Ranger helmet and cloak, his legs and arms outstretched. He stepped forward, grabbed a hold of the mic stand…only to find there was no mic. The overhead projection sang on in silence, as Gruff Rhys, with helmet now removed, frantically looked to the stage-hands for an answer, leaving the hyped-up, surprise entrance ruined. It was a Spinal Tap moment that summed up a day of disorganisation.

The Electric Picnic (or the “middle-class exclusivity festival”, as Des Bishop called it) seemed to be the festival of good intentions — a new, trendy alternative to rival the likes of Oxegen and Slane. So what would make this one different? “You won’t be stuck in four hour traffic jams,” the organisers promised, but if you took the official transport of the festival from the Custom House in Dublin (€22) at 12.15, this would mean you set foot on the grounds at around 15.45. “55 minutes from Dublin,” it was not. Having refused to provide a time-table for the acts beforehand, all I knew was that if the gates were to open at 15.00, we might have a few problems on our hands — especially for those of us who included the screening of Ireland’s World Cup Qualifier (which also kicked off at 15.00) as an essential part of the line-up on offer. On entry, however, you could find out exactly what the schedule was…for the extortionate price of €10.

The “more comfortable and accessible” capacity of 15,000 were hemmed in to a mere corner of the “500 acre estate” that was promised, feeling more like 50,000 in a lay-out where terms such as Budbar Tent and International Comedy Stage suddenly appeared as entirely misleading. In what many agreed was an organisational shambles, the sound would often spill over from neighbouring tents, drowning each other out. The press release also told us that we could “forget the queues” — yet this was the number one grievance of the day. At one point, forty-five minutes was required to get to the Budweiser-only bar, and a similar, though perhaps more nightmarish, wait was mandatory to reach one of the portaloos (as few and far between as a lifeboat on the Titanic). The “eclectic variety” of “organic” food (read: paninis and noodles), on the other hand, was also a disappointment, failing yet again to live up to the hype.

Aside from the organisational mishaps, the music was always going to be the deciding factor. Though the Electric Picnic may have lacked many big name headliners that could rival the larger festivals, and featured acts playing elsewhere in Ireland, there seemed to be something for everyone. The audience, a slightly older crowd and a bit more laid back, had a definite knock-on effect on the atmosphere — one that arguably didn’t deserve such poor co-ordination. Given the traffic delays (which, apparently, were also responsible for Lee Scratch Perry being left off the bill at the last minute), the impressive Arrested Development, undoubtedly one of the better performances of the day, may have been wasted in the opening slot of the main stage while the crowds were still only beginning to file in. The head to head between Cut Chemist and Nu Mark (featuring a fisher price turntable) was one of the highlights of the day, as was the impressive David O’Doherty in the comedy tent. Soulwax were also a pleasant surprise to many, rocking out the main stage before reappearing as 2 Many DJ’s to close out the Electric Stage after Jurassic Five had successfully managed to get the crowd into a funky sweat.

All in all, it seems that those who went simply in search of some good craic and were not drawn to see a particular act, enjoyed a fun day that was miraculously blessed with amazing weather. Saying that, this “Boutique Music Festival” was capitalising on a niche in the market, and, provided too many people haven’t already been put off, it is to be expanded upon into a two-day affair next year. These organisational weaknesses will need serious overhauling, however, for as the crowds were forced to march an incalculable distance up unlit country roads to find their bus at the end of the night, a bad taste was left in the mouth for some. Whether that was the result of naivety or cynicism on the organiser’s part, only time will tell.

Popularity: 1% [?]