Robyn Writes

Review: Next To Nothing – Stories We’ve Never Told

Since the fateful summer of 2002, I’ve been searching for the perfect pop-punk album. It’s been eleven years, and plenty have come close, but nothing has ever quite hit my high expectations (and need for sweet breakdowns). Could Next To Nothing‘s Stories We’ve Never Told be the ones to do it?

The short answer is, quite frankly, no. Stories We’ve Never Told does absolutely nothing to break the mould – or well, the first half, at least. That first half of the album is reasonably yawn-worthy, sounding like a collection of FUCT-era Fall Out Boy cast-offs, only without Fall Out Boy’s inevitable genius. Don’t get me wrong, it’s all very solid and decently put together, and there’s a couple of moments that elicit a smile; the guitar in the chorus of ‘Nothing From The Start’ is pretty clever, and the dual vocal approach in ‘This Is Not A Love Story’ is quite fun, but for the most part, it just does nothing to thrill.

Thankfully, there’s a bit of a turnaround by the time it gets to ‘Misery’. After a slow lead in, the band launch into an All-American Rejects-esque, heavily 80’s influenced riff-fest that’s actually rather exciting. Then it’s back to the generic ‘Read Between The Lines’ before ‘Take Me Back’ storms in, the pop-punk love story that all the songs on the first half of the record are striving to be. ‘The Summer You Left Me For San Francisco’ slows things down a little bit, with some passionate vocals, a little bit of synth, a lot of heart and some Acceptance-style guitar, and it’s arguably the best song on the album. Finishing on ‘Wish Me Well Into The Night’, a piano-led ballad, was an excellent choice, showcasing a talent that sadly isn’t revealed until too late. Lyrically, there’s a massive improvement too – there’s a lot of saccharine sweet moments that jar, but all of that’s forgotten in the beauty of the final track. It’s all still been done before, but Next To Nothing’s take on the formula finally starts to become their own by the end of it all.

With a little bit of faith and careful attention, Next To Nothing could be a contender. But at present, my quest for the perfect pop-punk record goes on. Wish me luck.

3 out of 5 high fives!

Review: The Slow Death – No Heaven

If you enjoy listening to “zero fucks given” punk whilst experimenting with how many beers you can ingest before you can’t see than The Slow Death are an essential addition to any soundtrack of alcoholic self-destruction. Eschewing tales of alcoholic excess, The Slow Death’s raucous and rollicking punk sound comes with infectious party vibes in tow, albeit the kind of party where you wake up with no trousers, covered in someone else’s blood with a convenient amnesia as to what the hell got you in such a predicament.

Sporting vocal chords blackened by infinite cigarettes and the burn of cheap whiskey, frontman Jesse Thorson is the epitome of gruffness- his voice straining in its ragged delivery, flecks of lung accompanying every gurgled holler. And whilst their riffs and chord progressions echo that of every other up-tempo punk band of the past thirty years, The Slow Death make a noble drive towards the anthemic. ‘I Need A Drink’ is every punk’s new drinking anthem – the caveman chorus chant of “goddamn I need a drink” a rallying call for a night of unbridled debauchery. Vocal purity is injected into the mix courtesy of Annie Sparrows of The Soviettes fame, her no less forceful vocal delivery sounding downright angelic next to the gravel tones of Jesse, giving those sing-along choruses on ‘No Heaven’ an extra boost. The furious pace slackens only once, for the measured motivational advice of ‘Raise Your Head Up’, where Jesse spurts the familiar “the world sucks but keep your head held high” shtick.

There’s very little on No Heaven that we haven’t heard before from various guises. This is simple four-chord major-key punk with a positive message tucked somewhere between all the allusions to filling your veins with as much alcohol as is medically possible. The Slow Death stick resolutely to the traditional punk formula and there ain’t a curveball in sight. Yet, the energy levels remain intense and The Slow Death are clearly intent on playing until their fingers are bloody stumps and voices are as ragged as someone on a diet of tarmac and sandpaper. Get the beers, put No Heaven on full volume and prepare to wake up naked in a puddle of your own vomit.

3 out of 5 high fives!

Live: Crucial Section/Geriatric Unit/King of Pigs, The Firefly Worcester, 25/9/13

Old. It’s the new young (some say). Like some deranged sequel to the 80’s classic Cocoon, this collective paroxysm of undimmed rage from a couple of bands who really should know better by now was something to behold. And that was just the undercard… The main event (Crucial Section) had travelled halfway around the globe to play above this pub in Worcestershire. And deserve their own special attention. More on that later.

King of Pigs are as simple and as direct a proposition as their name implies. “We’ve got three songs left, so reckon that’ll be about five minutes” says the vocalist as the set claw-hammered towards a close. And that’s about the length of it – fast, nuts-tight gobbets of saw-edged noise that left nothing at the door. Get in, do the thing, get out. Having just got back from playing across Europe with some truly horrific Croatian Hard / Grind core outfits, this was probably a quiet day at the office for these boys. But a gig’s a gig – and they played hard.

Geriatric Unit have a combined age greater than the occupants of a GP’s waiting room on a wet Thursday morning. But the intensity of their collective and individual existential fury belies the fact that they have been plying this trade in various bands – not least Heresy and X-Rays – for well over quarter of a century. “Fookin hell…” goaded their grizzled front guy after the second track or so, “back in the day we’d be four bars in and people would be going fookin mental…” This challenge was naturally enthusiastically taken up. Surprising it is how much heat and bodily fluids a relatively small number of people can generate in a relatively small space.

There was even a bit of politics. Railing in between songs against societal corrosion by social media, rentier capitalist PR and mass delusion – this lot gave out everything you’d kind of want from old school H-core. Remember Napalm Death’s Scum era? Or anything from the good god almighty Dead Kennedys (remember them too, people?) This scene was always about counterculture, thinking for yourself and speaking out – and these boys haven’t forgotten that. Power to your thick, arthritic elbows, gents. Rage on.

And while all this was kicking off, a crew of unassuming and extremely polite Japanese dudes in bandanas and skate wear were quietly limbering up in the background… Crucial Section take this seriously – and purvey some of the finest, sharpest and most spirited skatecore punk you will ever hear. Being of around the right age to be doing this daft sort of thing in the first place, the sheer wall of energy these guys threw out could knock out the power grid in a medium-sized city. There was a whole lot of leaping into mid-air. The lead guitarist repeatedly charged the punters, axe first. The drummer played hard and angry. The line between band and audience pretty much blurred away to nothing, and most people in the room had a bit of a dance. Neither audience nor the band fully understood what was going on – cue flurries of sign language between the band and the promoters on basic things like set start times and the encore. But the music – razor sharp edged, and struck through with an honesty and a poke that makes many current UK bands – young or old – look slovenly and insincere by comparison – blasted clear across any language or cultural barriers… and unified the whole damn room in a sweaty mass of rough love.

Or something. Domo Arigato, lads. I hope you smashed Bristol as thoroughly as you did this one.

Review: Reservoir – I Heard You As I Walked Away

Before emo was hijacked by a swarm of walking fringes spurting MTV friendly pap, emo was a curious and awfully passionate sub-genre. Intense and consuming, it required a substantial amount of emotional investment – donning a pair of black skinny jeans and smattering of ill-advised piercings just wasn’t enough. Channelling nineties emo and post-hardcore into a mixing bowl of fraught emotionality, Reservoir are certainly not a band susceptible to bouts of crippling self-awareness. Hearts are worn firmly upon sleeves, emotional vitriol bleeds from every orifice, uninhibited passion leaks from every pore.

The line between faintly melodic aural chaos and pure cataclysmic meltdown is straddled repeatedly to consistently brilliant effect, the band threatening to collapse in on itself in a fit of angst-ridden rage. Whilst these moments of potential implosion may initially grab attention like a full on slap to the face, the majority of the record consists of a more measured and grounded emo that centres on distortion-free guitars and some rather sumptuous jangly chord progressions. Mid album instrumental ‘I Heard You As I Walked Away’ is arguably as affecting in its delicate melodic nature as any of the band’s more explosive tendencies.

Vocally, Reservoir are all over the gaff. Often several members will be wailing in unison in what isn’t exactly the most tuneful vocal performance ever committed to tape, yet the inner tumult behind their cries and pained vocals is all too palpable and easily recognisable to those familiar with the trappings of the original, ‘pure’ brand of emo.
On opener ‘Before I Leave’, Reservoir exhibit two settings: fragile ultra-sensitive American Football types and freak out explosive catharsis. It’s a startling juxtaposition – emotional frailty and intense despair co-existing, delicate emo giving way to a terrific furore.

Violins appear for the downbeat ‘Samantha’, gifting their despondent and forlorn tones in a somewhat cliché manner to a song that is already inexorably gloomy. ‘Bedfellow’ and ‘Sleeping Away The Storm’ are two mesmerising five minute masterpieces bearing similar structural and aural makeup that exist as the standout tracks. Originating in melodic arpeggios, the songs sway and shift from fragile verse to exultant chorus, building alternatively to an exhilarating and cataclysmic crescendo on ‘Sleeping Away The Storm’ and a twinkling coda on ‘Bedfellows’.

Reservoir’s brand of alternately chaotic and delicate emo may have been purported in several guises by many a troupe of ultra-sensitive Rites Of Spring worshipers, yet these pensive lads take on the emo archetype is for the most part a efficacious exercise. I Heard You As I Walked Away is a studious exploration of the everlasting loud/quiet dynamic technique and a tumultuous foray into tortured emotion. In short, an original emo kid’s wet dream.

3.5 out of 5 high fives!

Review: You’ll Live – Lost. Forgotten. Abandoned. Buried. [EP]

US screamo outfit You’ll Live are back on the scene with their new four track EP Lost. Forgotten. Abandoned. Buried.. To be released on the 7th of October, the US three-piece recorded and mastered the EP while touring across the US, Canada, the UK and Europe.

The four tracks each make up part of the EP’s name, showing how it is meant to be listened to as a complete package, a unified production, rather than a mere collection of songs. First track, ‘Lost.’, is a short and sharp assault. Clocking in below the two minute mark, it still has time to overflow with raw emotion, provided primarily by the raspy vocals of … and pushed further by the driving guitars.

In this sense, the second and third tracks, ‘Forgotten.’ and ‘Abandoned.’, continue in a similar vein. The similarity resonates back through their previous catalogue as well, with the exception of the vocals which have deepened into more of a growl than the more shriek-y sound on debut EP Things Would Change If You Heard This and their full length Above The Weather. However the screamed vocals and lightly distorted guitars are still features of each release.

Final track ‘Buried.’ is the odd one out on the EP, with its 7 minute run time showcasing the slowest and most epic sound from You’ll Live to date. These seven minutes, about the same length as the rest of the EP combined, show the real progression and maturing of the band. It is as if you’re transported into the studio with the three of them, just listening to them jam and losing yourself in the music. However, what the EP gains in its methodical and contemplative style, it risks losing in its appeal to first time listeners, with far fewer riffs that tend to stick in the listener’s head and draw fans in.

3 out of 5 high fives!