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            As the first mainstream act to integrate not only both sexes, but different racial backgrounds, by reaching their creative peak amidst the crumbling ideology of the Sixties, Sly and the Family Stone ensured that their breakthrough to a mainstream audience was a timely one. When the sweeping harmonies of the title track open the album with a burst of rousing, motivational niceties, one would be forgiven for thinking that “Stand!” is going to be the wishy-washy sentiments of a bunch of soulful happy campers. Yet when the song suddenly closes out on a loaded funk break, cruising into the considerably risqué (for the time) “Don’t Call Me Nigger, Whitey,” it soon becomes clear that the group’s funkified rhythms can make the switch from anthems of good vibes to edgy social commentary at the drop of a hat.

              Saturated with Wah, its pumping horns stabbing away behind the simplest of refrains, “Don’t Call Me…” is one of those songs that will have you singing along the first time you hear it. Being one of the more jam-orientated tracks on the album, however, it’s guilty of building up to an unnecessary climax, dragging itself on when it would have been more effective as a track half its length. On the other hand, if a track like “I Want to Take You Higher” runs long, no one will be complaining. As three different vocalists deliver their lines one after the other, the combination of a dirty, distorted bass-line and the excited whispers of “boom-acka-lacka-lacka-boom” provide the song with a chugging momentum, becoming a rip-roaring display of funk that shifts the gear of the album up once more.

              The two-step dynamic of moving from the light and dreamy to spectacular breakbeats repeats anew when the simple, pleasant charm of “Somebody’s Watching You” paves the way for “Sing a Simple Song.” Along with Funkadelic’s “Can You Get to That?”, this has to be one of the greatest funk songs of all time, and easily considered an icon of the genre. Its springy riff is as recognisable as it is infectious, rolling along while the entire track is infused with an energetic array of different elements: the clean Blues sound to the twanging guitar, the stretching wheeze of the jazz horns, the Gospel-like interplay of the vocals – it all adds up to something that’s indisputably funky.

              Next up is the even more identifiable “Everyday People,” its uplifting shimmer made famous not only by Arrested Development’s hit cover version, but by its frequent placement in television commercials. With its positive, sing-along quality feeling like it’s come from the pages of a preacher’s sermon book, this song typifies the softer, smiley side to “Stand!”. In contrast, “Sex Machine” could not be any more different. A sprawling, gritty instrumental, Sly Stone rides its coasting, repetitive groove with a sound that appears to be his vocals being fed through a harmonica before filtered by a guitar talk box. Notching a track time upwards of fifteen minutes, it does something to send the album’s peak into a sharp comedown, leaving you wishing that climax could be drawn out – ironic, given that the song itself is designed to be a soundtrack to love making (and wouldn’t seem out of place in a porno).

              Finishing with “You Can Make It If You Try,” “Stand!” would appear to be book-ended by another heartening message, but the track actually forms a hybrid of the album’s two templates. While having the same spirit of the elevating “Stand!” and “Everyday People,” the song is also punctuated brilliantly every now and again with mouth-watering breakdowns – the kind that would be sampled countless times by hip-hop outfits ever since. Though James Brown is the only other act that could be credited with the birth of funk more so than Sly and the Family Stone, the latter’s polished form of songcraft gave way to a more widespread appeal, inspiring even the likes of Miles Davis…and that level of influence speaks for itself.

Artist / Group:
Sly and the Family Stone
Album:
Stand!
Label:
Epic
Released:
1969

Popularity: 1% [?]

           “The guitar is placed unusually high in the mix on C’mon’s second LP, “In the Heat of the Moment,” and understandably so: their strongpoint unmistakably lies behind the power of their throttling, high energy riffs. As someone who’s slaved away behind the production desk for countless local bands over the years, Ian Blurton knows exactly what he wants from his (relatively) new band – to kick ass. More specifically, to kick the ass of a number of recent bands who Blurton feels have been faking something that, when he grew up, was most definitely sacred (though he doesn’t name names, The Darkness most certainly come to mind). Fittingly, the trio have gone for a loaded, somewhat retro sound culled from three different elements: the dynamic and (time-length) of punk songs, the simplicity of classic 70s rock, and the sensibility of crunching metal licks.

            ” It should be no surprise, then, that there a plethora of influences to be found imprinted all over “In the Heat of the Moment,” ranging from the likes of AC/DC and Cheap Trick to Queens of the Stone Age and Turbonegro. Then again, you might ascertain the same conclusions just from glancing at the band: while it’s hard to miss Blurton’s prominent ZZ Top-like beard, the group as a whole look like they’ve been transported from some crumpled-up 70s rock magazine cover. What is slightly surprising, however, is how the ex-Change of Heart frontman manages to sound like a singer half his age, imbuing the release with all of the immediacy of a breakthrough debut album.

            ” Flying through twelve tracks in less than half an hour, “In the Heat of the Moment” is a collection of no nonsense, straight ahead rock cuts seemingly revived for starved, die-hard head-bangers in mind. Though there are virtually no blistering solos in sight (just melodic bursts), it’s Blurton’s knack for surging riffs that remain delectably neat and tidy that wins the day here. From the pulsating weight of opener “This is Yr Captain” to the magnetic guitar bends of highlight “Cut Me Down,” the album is impressively cohesive, if not short and sweet. Despite being lyrically weak in places (“I Got a Fever,” “Burn All Night”) and touches of familiarity (The Ramones on “Gonna Get Some,” and CCR’s “Green River” on “Desperate Hearts”), “In the Heat of the Moment” will make an opportune arrival to those whose air-guitars have long been lying dormant. If you ever took the likes of The Darkness seriously in the first place (which would be slightly worrying), alongside C’mon, it underlines the impression that the former are merely a pastiche of Spinal Tap.

Popularity: 1% [?]

            Though it seems unlikely that the Pixies perform in an indoor venue on these shores any time soon, there was a lot more connectivity to be found in Lansdowne Road yesterday evening than there ever could have been at last year’s outing in the sprawling acres of the Phoenix Park. Following the surprisingly impressive home-grown talent of Humanzi, the bland, ageing efforts of Teenage Fanclub, and the teenybopper-pleasing Kings of Leon, the crowds suddenly tightened together as the Pixies took stage for a punctual entrance at nine o’clock sharp, just as darkness was about to fall. Yes, the immediate shock and excitement of seeing the Pixies in the flesh – a band for which a reunion once seemed out of the question – had faded since last summer, but their return to Dublin looked promising from the very outset. Back with a much deserved headline slot, the group now had a more than ample timeframe to perform in, the crowd size was condensed to a mere fraction of the 115,000 that attended their previous Irish performance, and a gremlin-free PA system was as good as one could hope for at an outdoor gig.

             After starting off with the slowed-down, “UK Surf” version of “Wave of Mutilation,” followed by a cover of Peter Ivers’ brilliant “In Heaven (Lady in the Radiator Song)”, it’s clear the Pixies’ have no problem trotting out the big guns so early on, with “Where is My Mind?” and “Here Comes Your Man” both being introduced to the set within minutes. Doing so meant that little time was wasted by those intent on forming a mosh pit that would extend far beyond the railings which separated the majority of the audience from the “safe-haven” of a wristband-only area at the stage’s front. Despite the open air nature of the show, the crowd were hemmed in together in such a way that applauding was made difficult, and taking pictures nigh on impossible. With such restricted mobility, the surges of squashed-ness became a force that could not be reckoned with, and rather than be swept under, the order of the day soon became to sing your little heart out while jumping in time with the music, just to stay afloat…

             Of course, it was only a matter of time before someone realised that such conditions were perfectly conducive to crowd-surfing. Before long, throngs of Pixie-goers were passed over a horizon of heads only to announce their arrival with a tattered shoe in your ear. Though some managed to float by gracefully, there were those that met with more disastrous ends: as a sea of outstretched hands acted as pulleys, heads were kicked, spectacles were broken, and bodies were dropped. Meanwhile, back on stage, Joey Santiago was in the middle of his own controlled chaos during “Vamos,” performing a Nigel Tufnel-like solo by conducting his guitar with a drumstick as he fed its sound through a chain of effects pedals. Elsewhere, with plumes of dry ice billowing behind him just as the lighting shifted into a certain shade, for a moment, the big screens managed to create the impression that Frank Black was wailing from the flames of hell.

             Although Kim Deal (looking like someone’s long-lost evil, billionaire aunt), certainly seemed to be enjoying the enthusiasm of the crowd’s sing along antics throughout the night, the atmosphere on the ground didn’t seem to directly relate back to the band’s energy levels. Despite it being the first date of their European tour, and having only reformed just over a year ago, there was something about the nimble athleticism of David Lovering, the cool silhouette of Joey Santiago, and the nonchalant composure of Frank Black that seemed altogether regimented; something a little too unphased about their business-like demeanour. Perhaps it’s just professionalism. Either way, there was nothing stopping the band from being consistently brilliant on the night, delivering highlight performances of the likes of “Cactus” and “Gouge Away” while sounding dazzlingly close to the quality of the recorded versions. Even when a pool of rain water that had collected on the stage’s roof suddenly blew down on to the band as if it were a pre-planned burst of confetti, not a word was said to the crowd until it was time for the Pixies to bid goodnight. As they finally put their instruments down and thanked the audience, Black and Deal (who had shared a few playful interactions out of earshot over the course of the evening) engaged in an exaggerated, pantomime-like discussion over the question of an encore, stretching their mouths over each syllable and gesticulating with their fingers so as the crowd could lip-read every word. As the last notes of “Gigantic” rang out, the Pixies’ Irish fan-base could leave feeling more than satisfied (and knowing that they didn’t have miles to walk towards an exit this time out). Now, if only those rumours of b-side-only, secret gigs in Dublin’s best venues could materialise…

Set List:
Wave of Mutilation (Uk Surf)
In Heaven
Where is My Mind?
Here Comes Your Man
Nimrod’s Son
Holiday Song
Mr. Grieves
Vamos
Is She Weird
Bone Machine
No. 13, Baby
I Bleed
Monkey Gone to Heaven
Wave of Mutilation
Allison
Broken Face
IslaDe Encanta
River Euphrates
Caribou
The Sad Punk
Hey
Gouge Away
Cactus
Debaser
Tame
Planet of Sound
(encore)
Gigantic

Popularity: 1% [?]

Part One: The Anticipation

            There are few artists out there who could have their album plagiarised before it’s even released, but such is the case with Boards of Canada’s “The Campfire Headphase.” Since the album title and release date were revealed earlier this summer, several imitators have used the given track-listing to flood cyberspace with their own BoC-like sounds, passing the forgeries off as “leaks,” and in turn provoking a series of mislead (or just plain faked) reviews amid the stirrings of anticipation. However, such is the level of intrigue surrounding the enigma that is Boards of Canada that these kind of perplexing anomalies are nothing new to their followers.

             As if becoming the musical equivalent of Thomas Pynchon, Board of Canada’s psychedelic dreamworld has generated a certain amount of folklore amongst those whose curiosity has been entranced as much as their imagination. For if these tales are actually to be believed, then such a place is no dream…on hte contrary, it’s one which their albums are only mere fleeting glimpses of. Though very little is actually known about Marcus Eoin and Michael Sandison (you could probably count the number of live appearances and interviews they have given on your fingers), for those of whom the music by itself just isn’t enough, it doesn’t take long to become familiar with the image of the duo laboriously recording their work, hidden from sight in a bunker while living in the remains of a commune in some secret, rural location. The world of “Turquoise Hexagon Sun,” as we may perceive it, is a kaleidoscope of desolate green pastures, ice-cold seas, abandoned lighthouses, and a horizon of serene blue skies. Somewhere in the belly of a forest near Scotland’s Pentland hills, hallucinogenics are being consumed around a bonfire, their music the soundtrack to the experience – for decades now, this is the world within which Boards of Canada have been producing music, films, and images as part of an art-collective meant only for the eyes and ears of their friends and family.

             This aura of mystery which the pair have drawn around them is only furthered by the fact that in that twenty-odd years of recording music, only three full-length LPs (including “The Campfire Headphase”) have been made available to the record-buying public. Since the breakthrough of their 1998 release “Music Has the Right to Children,” reams of websites have sprung up, amassing evidence that might decode the meanings and secrets of their songs. Everything from subliminal, backwards messages, references of religious cults, numerology, and even mathematical patterns, are all speculated over in an attempt to shed light on the many hidden layers within their music. So when a preview of the album cover for “The Campfire Headphase” is suddenly upon us, looking tantalisingly similar to “Music Has the Right to Children,” the growing furore is quite understandable.

             It’s no secret that the sinister undertones of “Geogaddi” weren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but those hoping for a sequel to “Music Has…” will most likely (and deservedly) be disappointed. Though the new release may well be a return to similar elements, possibly moving away from the eerie darkness of “Geogaddi,” anyone waiting for “Music Has… Mark II” are better off giving up that fantasy altogether. Boards of Canada’s albums are designed as wonderfully cohesive and organic soundtracks to imaginary movies (“Geogaddi” being an intricate overture suited for a haunting, through-the-looking-glass type adventure), so a repeat performance is about as likely a director remaking one of his own films. Furthermore, as the nature of the duo’s lifestyle means severing a connection from what they consider to be a homogenous culture, pandering to the expectations and demands of others would, thankfully, seem out of the question.

             With a spectacular ability to morph from the sounds of your dreams to your nightmares in the blink of an eye, the vibe of hazy nostalgia that underpins their music does indeed feel like it’s a part of a world that we would, without them, perhaps have no other such ease of access to. While the masses eagerly await the arrival of “The Campfire Headphase” as if it were a renewed ticket to an altogether surreal destination, one gets the impression that, were it not for some vague obligation specified in their record contract, the outside world might never even be fortunate enough to hear these sounds at all.

Part Two: The Full Review

            The first thing one’s guaranteed to notice about The Campfire Headphase is the inclusion of a new element: guitars! On tracks like “Chromakey Dreamcoat,” rusty acoustics are carefully coiled into Boards of Canada’s trembling atmospheres, blending into the wintry fare in such a seamless fashion, you’d think they’d always been there. In many ways, The Campfire Headphase is like a more serene version of Geogaddi; the same currents are resonating, but this time out, there’s no eerie presence weaving behind the patterns (which can’t even be said of the now-canonised “Music Has the Right to Children”).

             Though the differences may seem subtle at first, when the album splits open on “Davyan Cowboy,” one’s familiarity with Boards of Canada (no matter how extensive) quickly feels obsolete. As if in a state of preparation, layers of swimming sounds warm the track through invitingly. Before long, an electrified chord comes sweeping in, draped in reverb, transforming the song completely. A wave of strings and a spell of belting drums are dramatically added to the mix, floating through and breaking out respectively, dissolving away just in time to leave your ears stretching for a double take. On the first listen, it’s hard to tell whether this is a good thing or not…

             There’s something about “‘84 Pontiac Dream,” meanwhile, that underlines how remarkably well Boards of Canada can tap into a sense of nostalgia. Perhaps it’s the soft, falling sample that sounds as if it’s been borrowed from The Goonies, but as strange as it might sound, this track really gives me a sense of being a child in the 80s like nothing else possibly could. It’s not just creating the impression of a much more innocent time through fantasy electronica – there is a tangible reminder here of what it was like to have your little imagination captivated by the worlds you thought existed behind all those Saturday morning cartoons.

            ”Sherbert Head” is typical Boards of Canada: watery and bass-heavy, it’s “strobe” effect is the sound of waking up in a completely foreign dimension, and works well to give one the feeling that the album is starting to come together. Similarly, the pulsating drone of “Oscar See Through Red Eye,” while providing a touch more in terms of head-nodding beats, brings us further into the duo’s sonic landscape. In fact, it’s here you realise, that when all of these tracks are at their most effective, they really can be best described as being of a place far, far away.

            ”Hey Saturday Sun,” on the other hand, feels overly-simplistic even for any lover of repetitive, instrumental electronica. In any other hands, the slow jangle of this riff would be dismissed as beginner guitar, and so it’s with that that we may wonder whether the decision to introduce guitars merely reflects a recent creative acquaintance with the instrument. As the album nears it close, our time at the campfire runs out with some pleasant, if not unremarkable, outings…their rather straight-forward nature leaving something to be desired. While the dreamy rays of sunshine to be found in “Tears from the Compound Eye” and “Farewell Fire” are undeniably tranquil, they simply aren’t a patch on anything from “A Beautiful Place in the Country.”

            In the end, while the breathtaking touches of freshness that one would expect from Boards of Canada are present in places, there is something altogether lacking about the finished project. Ironically, like the fake “leaks” of the album that have come one after the other, “The Campfire Headphase” seems disappointingly low on cohesiveness, and fails to pack a punch. Perhaps one can put it down to the anticipation that their former glories have created, but their latest release marks the first time that the Scottish brothers are beginning to sound like everyone else in the genre, rather than the other way around. Saying that, the timeless quality to the album’s scant highlights suggests that there is still no one better equipped to push that button inside your head that says “cognitive rewind.”

Artist / Group:
Boards of Canada
Album:
The Campfire Headphase
Label:
Warp
Released:
17th October 2005

Popularity: 1% [?]

           Releasing his second album only months after his first, Neil Young swiftly followed on from his debut as if to completely retract that direction and start anew. Gone is the polished country-folk that fades out on every track, and in its place arrives a rougher, jagged sound capable of unfolding into a blistering epic at any moment.

             If there’s one song in Young’s entire repertoire that’s perfectly suited to ringing in such a dramatic change, it’s “Cinnamon Girl.” Tearing the album open with the drive of its gravely, masticating riff, it also aptly announces the first appearance of Crazy Horse (formerly known as The Rockets”) behind Young, beginning a fruitful and extremely successful relationship that would continue to present day. Stomping along with the simplicity and effectiveness of other much-beloved classic rock gems such as “Sunshine of Your Love,” it’s an introduction made all the more breathtaking with one of the greatest endings to a song ever recorded. A solo, electric coda twiddles its way out of nowhere, capping things off with a sweep of remarkable style.

             The title song, meanwhile, attempts to speak for the transition undertaken from the simpler life of living in the open country to the superficial hustle and bustle of a modern metropolis such as L.A. (a move Young himself had recently undergone). Consequently, the apparent easy-going pace of the song is punctuated with a string of eschewing “sha-la-las,” intertwined with the thinly veiled cynicism of “everybody knows, everybody knows,” as the protagonist longs for his former lifestyle. A duet with Robin Lane, the slow dirge of “Round & Round (It Won’t Be long)” is exactly the kind of evocative, mournful craft of song-writing that Young would later perfect on “After the Goldrush.” Although such tender lines as “Round and round and round we spin / To weave a wall to hem us in,” sit slightly out of step with the brunt of the album, its presence attests to the more expressive range Young was after with “Everybody Knows This is Nowhere,” and is key to balancing out the force of its three-pronged strike.

             “Down by the River” is very much the centrepiece of that force; adapting the age-old story of a crime of passion at the waterside, Young makes it his own with unmistakable prowess. A far cry from the multi-layered, short but sweet structures that made up much of his previous release, the key to this song is its loose, live feel: as it drifts along, the interplay (both vocally and musically) between Young and guitarist Danny Whitten is exceptional, and the gaps left for the band are filled out in such a way that it would practically define the path of their careers. From the quiet strum of the opening chords, to an amazing solo that begins simply with the same note being strummed thirty-six times, digging into the song like barbed wire, its dramatic, mesmerising quality never dips for an instant.

             Where Whitten’s backup shined on “Down by the River,” Billy Talbot’s bass takes hold of the reins for the second epic, “Cowgirl in the Sand,” which eclipses the former’s already lengthy track time by extending to just over ten minutes. Meditating on the unobtainability of a dream girl (“When so many love you, is it the same?”), the song provides another platform for the newly discovered magic between Crazy Horse and Young to take centre stage, yet it’s the floating harmonies that follow Young’s leading lines (“Hello cowgirl in the sand… Hello ruby in the dust… Hello woman of my dreams”) that strengthen a song where not a single note has been wasted.

             The only problem with “Everybody Knows This is Nowhere” is that the power of its heavyweight trio means that the material in between is completely overshadowed, causing “The Losing End (When You’re On)” and “Running Dry (Requiem For The Rockets)” to appear as mere country-tinged filler when they would have normally been regarded as much more than mere solid, well-rounded efforts. However, the fact that three of its seven songs are arguably amongst Neil Young’s all-time top five is enough to secure it a place in the canon of rock’s masterpieces. On the other hand, its significance doesn’t quite end there: although the accessibility of “After the Goldrush” makes it a popular contender for Young’s most classic album, this is both his and Crazy Horse’s finest hour. It not only contains his defining moments, but by moving into new, groundbreaking territory, its continuing influence has since earned Young the title “Godfather of Grunge.”

Artist / Group:
Neil Young & Crazy Horse
Album:
Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere
Label:
Reprise
Released:
May 1969

Popularity: 1% [?]