Robyn Writes

Review: The Lawrence Arms – Buttsweat and Tears EP


It’s been about three years since The Lawrence Arms released Oh! Calcutta, which was a fine, fine album. After chewing the fat at Punksoc, it was clear that yes, we missed The Larry Arms, and yes, new material was needed. Which is why it was awesome when they released their latest EP last week – Buttsweat and Tears, available as a 7inch or download. Apparently, the title Buttsweat and Tears comes from an EP they wanted to release ten years ago, and on the approach of their tenth anniversary as a band, it’s an appropriate title indeed.

I’ll just spell it out now – this EP is awesome. Honestly, I don’t have a bad thing to say about it. This will make this review somewhat uninteresting if you’re not already an established Lawrence Arms fan, or it will serve to make you love them too, whichever you prefer. Even though I’ve just spoilt everything, I’ll at least attempt to give a coherent evaluation of the EP in all its glory!

The EP itself is fairly reminiscent of later Larry Arms, which is fine, because that’s my favourite type. Opening track, Spit Shining Shit, sounds like it’d be perfectly at home on a The Falcon release, with that palm muted opening into full on punk rock melody. It’s everything you’ve come to expect from The Lawrence Arms and truly a great opening. Track number two, The Slowest Drink At the Saddest Bar on the Snowiest Day in the Greatest City (try requesting that at your next club night!), fills me with absolute jealousy – as both a guitarist and a writer, I wish I’d written this song. Possibly my favourite song this year, and vocals are by Chris, making it even better. Lyrically, this song is superb and on par with anything else they’ve ever released, as is the rest of the EP. In particular, Slowest Drink evokes some rad imagery and atmosphere, especially with the chorus. Again, total jealousy. Third track, Them Angels Been Talkin’, lulls you into thinking it’ll be slow, a la Greatest Story, but no! The intro melds wonderfully into a fast paced, fast talking explosion of a song with some sweet riffs. On the download EP, which I have (shut up, I want a vinyl player but I don’t have one), there’s an extra track, which is entirely necessary. Demons is typical Larry Arms fare, a song that tells a story, and makes the EP feel more rounded and complete. Without it, I think the EP wouldn’t be as good as it is, it’d feel a bit empty. So if you do buy the vinyl, download this one song off iTunes. Final closing song, The Redness In The West is a slow affair with a country feel that keeps on building up and up until it all crashes together in a glorious mess of guitar, and Chris does his best gruff vocals to fit with it. Truly epic stuff.

I suppose I do have something slightly negative to say – it’s more of the same, but that’s not exactly a bad thing. The Lawrence Arms have been consistently good throughout their career and this EP reaffirms that well. Hopefully, it’s only a matter of time until a full album is released!

5 out of 5 high fives!

Kyra – These Precious Things EP

When you think of The Lake District, what springs to mind? Beautiful scenery? Heavily bearded ramblers? Beatrix Potter? Well, there’s a big noise coming from those grassy hills and it looks to be shaking Peter Rabbit from his burrow – and sorry dear ramblers, it doesn’t seem to be quietening down any time soon. Kyra are making quite a stir in alternative circles thanks to their impressively polished EP ‘These Precious Things’. Released in January 2010, Kyra’s most recent release may only contain four tracks, but it is indeed small yet beautifully formed. This dynamic four-piece have crafted a release that is bigger and better than most mainstream groups of their genre. Although ‘These Precious Things’ could be seen as a concise showcase of their musical influences, on the other hand, Kyra do deliver a diverse, but very accomplished record.

The title track opens the EP and is, in some respects, a largely unremarkable track. That said, ‘These Precious Things’ is not unpleasant to hear – it’s a perfectly nice, post-hardcore-esque offering with well-controlled and varied vocals. Although initially, the song does not appear to be breaking any new ground, the track eventually builds to a particularly distinctive, well-crafted and heavy ending, as lead singer Bell works the track into a frenzy with an open, raw, scream of ‘I refuse to believe that everything precious fades and dies’.

‘So Where Do We Go From Here’ is, for me at least, the strongest track on the EP, but is by no means the heaviest. The track is far, far tamer than its predecessor and certainly has a hint of New Found Glory about it, in the more upbeat tone of the song, and most noticeably in Bell’s sudden change in vocal stylings. Although Kyra’s heavier offerings are perfectly pleasant, their strength does lie in tracks such as this, where the opportunity for more singing and less screaming arises. The guitar and bass work is allowed to take centre stage in such mellower tracks as this, and it really does seem to produce a far more self-assured and distinctive sound than their other, heavier efforts.

‘Loyal Until The End’ could be seen as acting as a bridge between Kyra’s heavier and poppier persona, blending both complex post-hardcore vocal and guitar aspects with the warmer and more upbeat elements of such tracks as ‘Where Do We Go From Here . What is also surprising about Kyra’s forays into screaming is that the delivery and enunciation is just as clear as when they choose to use clean vocals. ‘Loyal Until the End’ also has a far stronger structure than the other tracks on the EP and features some great clean instrumental breaks that really allow the guitarists to showcase their talents.

The final track from ‘These Precious Things’ is a real diamond entitled ‘Somewhere In Between Dreams and Reality’. It’s a real warm, clean and inoffensive track with smooth breaks and changes in dynamics, which is surprising from a band that cites such heavy influences. Being the slowest song on the EP, ‘Somewhere…’ certainly does act as a soothing swansong of sorts, and a thoroughly good end to ‘These Precious Things’. Once again, clean vocals are chosen over screams, and this mellower musical route should most definitely be the one that the band focus their energies towards.

Although only a brief EP, both ‘So Where Do We Go From Here’ and ‘Somewhere In Between Dreams and Reality’ are blisteringly good tracks, and can certainly be seen as signs of Kyra’s future greatness. Although they don’t seem to be able to decide which sound to emulate, should Kyra make the right choice, they’ll be filling up those big gigs in no time.

3 out of 5!

Kraken by China Mieville (a review by Charlotte)

From the very first instant of encounter, from just its purple, tentacular beauty, Kraken is an intense experience. I fancy it would stand out even in the Vatican Library, the Library of Alexandria, and probably also the library of Lord Dream of the Endless. Find it, glowing, between the Necronomicon and the Gospel of Jesus. More concisely, it’s pretty. Pretty pretty pretty. Cold shower pretty.

The curtains rise with the spotlight on Billy Harrow, curator and specimen preserver extraordinaire, roped in to give a tour, the centrepiece of which is a magnificent Architeuthis, a giant squid. It is a remarkable specimen, most especially, as Billy, having worked on the process, knows, for its virtually flawless preservation. It also happens, contrary to all logic and laws of nature, to have utterly vanished.

For a chapter you get the sense of being in the middle of nothing more peculiar than a mystery thriller that is perhaps a shade eerier than it has any right to be, but before you start feeling secure, Kraken explodes out around our intrepid hero and starts to get seriously, well, weird. In short order, we meet a cast of thousands, ranging from supernatural crimelords, their hired brains and their hired brawn, to the Met’s supernatural squad, to a Marxist shabti who traded toiling for some forgotten pharaoh in the Field of Reeds for organising a union strike of magical assistants. Those that aren’t after the Architeuthis (and by extension, Billy) for whatever nefarious reason are nonetheless dragged into the squiddy fray.

The impossible squid/no squid is just the first of the breakneck inversions that riddle the plot and are played out by a cast of characters as myriad and varied as that of the real London. Inevitably, this means you’ll occasionally feel your favourite ideas and characters won’t have the playing time you would have liked. Above all, Officer Collingswood needs her own book. It could consist purely of her hurling ever more inventive profanities at the reader and I would still sell my brother to pay for it.

Another aspect of this is that the ending comes as something of an anticlimax, with all the grand plans failing and a simpler, barely foreshadowed course of action saving the day. While I was perverse enough to enjoy what happened, there was a definite blink-and-you-miss-it quality to proceedings. Really, though, I doubt anyone who gets within the last quarter of Kraken will still be reading for the conclusion – the journey there is too interesting. And more apocalypses need to be averted through wordplay and logical argument, if only to screw with the Hollywood special effects departments.

Plot and characterisation and all that shit aside, my favourite thing about Kraken is that China Miéville is the biggest fanboy of all time. The very words bubble with superhuman enthusiasm, in their Latinate polysyllabicism, their Hellenic technicality, their Anglo-Saxon bluntness that comes both as gallows humour and a punch to the guts. In practice, those who go into raptures over the man’s vocabulary are matched by those who just wish he’d get to the bloody point, but damn it’s a vocabulary.

The core of the novel is a spirit of I Think This Is Cool, Let Me Show You which is infectious and endearing. And, William Hope Hodgson’s ‘The Hog’ turned on its head (Cutest. Demonpig. Ever.) and run through I Can Haz Cheezburger? Literature has been working towards that moment since the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In conclusion, I can only advise most strongly that if you read only one New Weird- apocalyptic-detective-weird -political-thriller-mystery novel this year, you should make it Kraken. Or at least tell me which other one you find.

Live: Kill Hannah – O2 Academy Birmingham 2, 8/5/10

Picture the scene: Midnight, Saturday 8th May 2010. Against the flickering glow of streetlights, a girl stumbles towards her rented accommodation. Her clothes are sodden, reeking of beer and sweat. She’s lost a contact lens and gained a swelling (thanks to a sudden, unexpected ninja-kick to the face). In a scene reminiscent of ‘The Crystal Maze’, she wrestles with a bent key and runs into her bathroom. She showers, rubbing the grime from her hair with an unnaturally erotic relish. She leaves, sits on her bed and tries to process the night’s events. Thankfully, the police don’t need to be called. The girl has returned from a gig. The bands were Kill Hannah, My Passion and Octane OK, and she had no idea what she’d let herself in for.

I’m a ‘gothy type’; pessimistic and proud of it. I like melancholy music and monochrome t-shirts. I wear corsets to lectures and read Edgar Allan Poe in a fully non-ironic fashion! I thought I had this thing covered, I thought I knew who I was – that is, until tonight.

Firstly, I like Kill Hannah, but I’ve always regarded them as one of my secret guilty pleasures – something only your nearest and dearest need to know about. You file such pleasures away with the other unnatural urges you have – like how you like to sniff flannels and new sponges, or how you secretly love to stick your head in a washing machine after the cycle’s finished. Basically, they’re great, but let’s face it; they’re as dark and sinister as a Labrador puppy shitting marshmallows.

My first introduction to Kill Hannah, like many of us in the UK, was in 2007 when they supported HIM on their Venus Doom tour. Although they didn’t sing about unrequited love, satanic temptresses or torturing butterflies, their upbeat, high-energy ditties had me hooked. By the time Matt Devine (vocals) belted out those last few lines of ‘Lips Like Morphine’ I knew I had to see this band again, on their own shiny, happy terms. Three years later, that chance finally came- A headline tour, with an unfamiliar (to me, at least) support band. While queuing outside the venue, I was particularly surprised by the great lack of merch-laden Kill Hannah fans; while much of the crowd fulfilled my physical expectations, being waifish and heavily pierced with hair to rival Rainbow Brite’s, the majority seemed to be emblazoned with small heart designs. While Kill Hannah drew me, it seems the support band, My Passion, drew the masses.

I’m not going to beat around the bush, I loathe squealing fangirls and scenekids as much as the next self-respecting person, and being surrounded by them was slightly intimidating. Not in that they looked remotely fearsome, or that I envied their retina-melting fashion choices, but because they made me feel so damn old. It’s a hard fact to admit, but these kids didn’t come out of the womb with those piercings, I’d shuffled through my little northern life while these kids were networking, dancing and shoving pins in each other. I’m coming up for twenty, but in this environment, it may as well have been fifty. Jesus, I mean, these kids couldn’t even remember the ‘golden age’ of Nu-Metal! (Okay, I admit it was far from a Golden Age, but humour me – nostalgia’s all I’ve got to keep me going before arthritis sets in).

The gig itself was held in the Birmingham O2 Academy 2. Being a foreigner to these parts, this was an unfamiliar venue, but, like much of the evening, turned out to be a rather pleasant surprise. Unlike many other venues I’ve frequented over the years, the door staff were pleasant and efficient and for once, made sure everyone kept their place in line- no fangirls were going to come to blows over queue-jumping (which, coming from someone who’s been to their fair share of HIM gigs, is a familiar, yet unpleasant sight). After tottering in from the back of the queue, me and my companion did the ‘usual merch run’, spending our hard earned student loan (!) on over-priced t-shirts and novelty necklaces as so to beat the post-show rush.

After shunning the crowded bar and taking our place in amongst the backcombed masses, the first band soon took to the stage, the snappily titled ‘Octane OK’ . These four guys from Birmingham really brought the goods, and provided a high-energy fun set of harmless pop-punk ditties. Octane OK have a particularly well-polished radio friendly sound to them, and it really is only a matter of time until we see their fresh Brummie faces grace the ‘introducing’ pages of Kerrang! While they did indeed provide a suitably danceable opening, it could be said that (in places) some of their songs seem to be far too derivative of All Time Low (which resulted in a number of painfully predictable choruses and chants). As for the aesthetics of the group, it could not be ignored that these lads loved their v-necks, with their bassist taking the neckline into ‘chest-porn’ territories. And, while we really should’ve been listening to their music and appreciating their high-energy stage antics, their lustrous hair proved far more compelling to watch.

Having never listened to My Passion before, and not being terribly aware of the extent of their rabid following, I was in no way prepared for the set I was about to witness. Before My Passion took to the stage for their sound check, the excitement in the room was thick like London fog, with a distinct crush beginning to occur in the front rows of the excitable crowd. As My Passion’s peroxide guitarist, John Be took to the stage to the stage to tune his guitar, the screams were deafening. The same reaction was received by each member, aside from My Passion’s elegantly coiffed frontman, Mr Lawrence Rene. The noises emitted from the waifish girls crushed against that metal barrier were not dissimilar to that of a jet engine (if a jet engine wore fishnets and eye liner). Aesthetically, the band command attention- with their monochrome outfits, hair and guitars, they look like a band with a clear idea of who they are, and what they’re here to do. My Passion are also particularly lucky in that each member would not look out of place pinned to a teenage girl’s bedroom – the dramatically good looks held within this quartet are sickening

Yet from the first few bars of the anthemic ‘Day of the Bees’, no-one could be in any doubt that My Passion are going to be huge, and not just a pretty flash in the pan. With a melodic blend of synths and heavy guitar-ridden choruses, My Passion have carved their own niche and have sculpted a fresh and exciting sound all of their own. During their brief set, My Passion pumped out tune after blinding tune. The passion (excuse the pun) and raw energy within the foursome is truly breathtaking, with each member clearly relishing their time on stage and the very vocal adoration of their fans. As a frontman, Lawrence Rene is faultless, throwing himself, and his guitar, around the stage as though he were wired into the mains. The energy from their live performance was contagious, and soon, the whole audience was moving as one, hanging onto each chord and each considered word. The crowd-pleasing ‘Crazy and Me’ and polished ‘Never Never Land’ finale proved that they are indeed the much-needed voice of the Kerrang generation.

After My Passion returned backstage, a noticeable portion of the crowd seemed to move away from their choice spots against the barrier, towards the back of the room (Yet as soon as Kill Hannah take to the stage, many of the My Passion fans realised they’d made a clear mistake and soon ploughed back into the crowd). After a suitably dramatic, smoke-filled entrance, the Chicago collective took to the stage with ‘Mouth to Mouth’, a particularly powerful opener from their new Album ‘Wake up the Sleepers’. With a carefully considered blend of old and new material, Kill Hannah, and their stylish frontman, Mat Devine command the stage with great ease and grace. Devine’s amusing reckless demands for ‘a tidal wave of crowd-surfers’ and generally amusing banter entranced and entertained us all, ensuring that there was no dip in energy and excitement, even if some songs were down tempo. Although Kill Hannah jokily refer to themselves as a ‘fag band’ and are seemingly inoffensive, the crowd madness brought about by Devine’s crazy demands was like nothing I’ve experienced in years – the moshing and synchronised pogo-ing brought the room to fever pitch. And oddly, the multiple kicks to the face I sustained through Converse-wearing surfers could all be forgiven thanks to Devine’s infectious rock ‘n roll attitude. The music of Kill Hannah has undergone a great evolution from their ‘American Jet Set’ days in 1999, yet their Killer Hooks and raw energy has remained intact in their work and, after so many years of touring, still retain a clear belief and passion in their music, which is a trait lacking in so many bands of a similar ilk. After listening to their beautiful cover of The Cure’s ‘Just Like Heaven’, and their surprise performance of American Jet Set’s title track, it was clear that Devine and co. were more than capable of providing the gig of a lifetime.

Anyone attending this cramped little Birmingham gig could not be failed to be blown away by the energy and sheer dedication of both My Passion and Kill Hannah- indeed members of both stayed long after the gig had finished to sign merchandise and pose with waiting fans. The UK needs more bands like Kill Hannah, but while they’re back in their homeland, My Passion will be ready and waiting to entertain the masses. Catch them both while you can, as they’re sure to go stratospheric, but whatever you do, don’t forget to bring your eyeliner.

On The Road by fightclubsandwich

There is an odd smell about the gallery section of the Barber Institute Of Art, kind of like chocolate that’s been half melted and the mixed with wax. I have no idea what the actual source of the smell is, though. The gallery part is up a curved staircase, and the curved staircase is at the end of a very fancy corridor which has very high ceilings and very tall doors, but is not in anyway intimidating. The whole place is very marble and shiny, and there are lots of leaflets about future events to be taken, all over the place, and when I leave later, back down this same marble corridor, there’s very live, very fancy piano music coming from behind one of the very tall doors. This music may also have been playing when I entered the building, but I was listening to Jawbreaker, which drowned it out. I obviously chose Jawbreaker in order to “psych myself up” about what I was going to see, but when I started to ascend the stairs, the sound of jazz wafted down my way, and I decided that this maybe set the scene a little better than Shield Your Eyes. (I don’t have Boxcar on my iPod, though it would clearly have been the obvious choice)

The actual display itself was kind of lean and modest. The room was very small, and the walls were all white, and there weren’t nearly as many people there as I had expected. I think I might just be a huge geek, really, and my geekiness caused me to over estimate the appeal that this artefact had to the majority of students on campus. I won’t go on the first day it opens, I had thought to myself, there’ll be so much crowding, so many queues! I went to see it on the second day and saw something like five other people there. Admittedly, it was lunch time.

There were three very long, narrow glass cases in the middle of the room. The centre one obviously held On The Road itself, the ones on either side of it held supplementary materials, like various editions of the book, both British and American; articles about it, when it was first published, and copies of Kerouac’s other works, including one that was signed. That, more than anything else – for some reason – made me sad about Kerouac’s death at the age of just forty seven. Not only is that far too young an age to have died, it’s frustrating to think that he was never even alive in my lifetime. It was very odd considering just how many of my favourite authors are long dead (that’d be most of them) but thinking about it that way only really gets me at random moments, it stabs me like a needle and really bothers me. I had such a moment there, at the Kerouac display.

So, the actual scroll? Every single aspect of it is impressive. My eyes got caught on lines I remember reading in the book, “in their eyes I would be strange and ragged like the Prophet who has walked across the land to bring the dark Word” being one of my favourite parts, that I was hoping I’d see, but never really thought I would be able to pick out, when I saw it for real, but I did pick it out, and it felt terrific. The whole thing is very long, and there’s this aged amber tape holding the reams of paper together. It just reminds you how old, how historical this is, this is an artefact. There are crossings out too, in his own hand, in pencil. Not all of his handwriting is totally readable, but you can see how he changed it so that Sal lived with his aunt and not his mother- the word mother is crossed out a lot, and replaced with aunt. In reference to what I was saying earlier about picking out memorable lines, you’d think that the opening line – one of the most memorable in most novels – would be one of the easiest to find, and to remember it and make the connection between the Penguin Classic you have in your bag and the piece of history looming before you. But the opening line is utterly different, because of course, he changed Neal Cassady’s name to Dean Moriarty to make it less autobiographical, and changed the death of his father to the divorce of his first wife for reasons that can be explained either politically or sociologically.

On The Road is really remarkable for the way it was written – over the course of three weeks, under the influence of lots of coffee (hell yes) and based upon real, autobiographical stuff that Kerouac got up to. As strange, – but at the same time obvious – as it is to think that the computer’s take over of the typewriter as the most convenient way to write in the twenty-first century means an end to such artifacts as these, we have to remember that On The Road is in no way typical in its form, it really is special. As a landmark literary artefact, the scroll follows the original, handwritten versions of the likes of the Bronte sisters, or Dickens, and to go back even further, the extraordinary elaborate illuminated manuscripts of the Middle Ages. Now that we’ve chosen new mediums to write in that save our words as pure information and memory, (like this column you’re reading right now, oh wow!) and have all but discarded traditional, physical forms, I think it’s really exciting to think about what artefacts we’re going to be treasuring – years from now – as physical connections to the writers of today. Will we start keeping tiny things, like J.K. Rowling’s hair slides, or Audrey Niffenegger’s socks? I can’t help thinking about how monks kept bits of the body parts of saints after they died, as relics. What if you went to a library and they said “oh yeah, we’ve got Will Self’s hand in a glass case, wanna see?”

The cases in the exhibit were quite low down, which frustrated me. I’m something like five foot five, and they were about hip level, so I had to crane my neck downwards to read the scroll, not to mention that because of the very long, narrow, rectangle shape of the cases, you have to stand beside the thing at a right-angle to the words, so you have to turn your neck a lot to read it. This makes it a very awkward and uncomfortable thing to look at, and it starts to hurt a fair bit to pore over for too long. Luckily, the exhibit is completely free, and so close to my house, and the places I go every day, that I can go back whenever I want.

If you are anywhere near the Birmingham area, I compel you to go. Really. GO. You will not regret it. There is a train station on the campus itself, (the uncreatively named “University Station”) which is only five minutes walk (ten, maybe if you’re really slow) from the Barber Institute. If you’re remotely interested in Kerouac’s work – or books and literature at all – it’s a really remarkable thing. You will be impressed. You will be inspired. You might have an orgasm. If you miss out on a chance to see something so amazing, you will just be miserable.