Robyn Writes

Live: Brody Dalle, O2 Academy Birmingham 2, 26/4/14

Brody Dalle is kind of a big deal. As the frontwoman of one of the best punk bands of the early 2000s (and ever), she gave teenage girl hellraisers everywhere a voice. She taught a lot of us how to say ‘fuck you’ in a very elegant way. And she’s back, with new album Diploid Love, which promises to be a total garage-rock thrasher. I hadn’t been so excited about a show in months.

First up were The Beaches. This all-girl quartet from Toronto, Canada play punk rock and roll with a huge smattering of synths thrown over the top. Think Kill Hannah meets Bikini Kill and you’re about halfway there. And it’s awesome. On stage, they’re effortlessly cool – at least, until it gets to the banter, and then they’re kind of awkward and adorable. But they’re noisy, with some killer hooks under their belts and unforgettable synth lines. Definitely one to watch out for.

And then Brody. With the impending release of the new record and a bunch of Spinnerette stuff to choose from, I figured there’d be a couple of token Distillers songs and that would be it. The first couple of songs were taken from Diploid Love, but then they launched into ‘I Am A Revenant’ and I genuinely thought I might cry with sheer joy. All of that punk rock fury is still there, and Brody is utterly captivating. She’s the reason I play my guitar down low, almost resting on my knees. She’s the reason I picked up a guitar in the first place instead of a bass. And to see her, with a full band playing Distillers songs, kind of brought me back to those days when I was vulnerable and quiet, and reminded me exactly why I’m not any more. It was an absolutely storming set – mostly Sing Sing Death House, with smatterings of Coral Fang and even ‘The Blackest Years’ from the self-titled got a sneaky play. One glorious highlight was their cover of ‘Hybrid Moments’, which Brody dedicated to a cute 10 year old girl at the front who is no doubt going to grow up to be a rad little monster. But above anything else, it was a whole bunch of fun, and that’s how punk rock should be.

5 out of 5 high fives!

Notes from the Keybed: This Month in Synths

We bloody love synths at TBO. Usually in conjunction with very loud, shouty metal. But if you’ve been clamouring for a handy guide to this month’s electronic action, look no further than Charlie’s new column, Notes from the Keybed.

March was dominated by the somewhat sudden appearance of Skrillex’s debut album Recess. With little warning the US brostep don followed up his four-year run of EPs with a surprisingly diverse ten-tracker, showcasing his uncompromising production style from the mosh pit starting ‘Try It Out’ and ‘Ragga Bomb’ through to the glitch hop of ‘Doompy Poomp’ and the Burial-esque closer ‘Fire Away’. Having been used to the more immediate format of EPs the album does feel a bit disjointed in places, but it will inevitably propel Sonny Moore to even greater commercial success with radio friendly EDM singalong ‘Ease My Mind’ destined to soundtrack the festival fields of Summer 2014.

Continuing the theme of ‘orrible bass noises comes a new single release from Leamington’s finest Girls That Scream, who drop their cover of Labrinth’s Earthquake’. This live favourite has been doing the rounds at their shows for over a year now and has all the bounce of the popstep original countered with the band’s trademark eight string riffery and screaming vocals. It’s available now as a free download from SoundCloud.

Over to the indie world and the fantastic Fight Like Apes released a blinder of a new single in March. ‘Crouching Bees’ advances the Irish quartet’s love of 80’s synth music with a more mainstream pop sheen, which will surely appeal to today’s post-Chrvches hipsters. Although the single hints at a new-found maturity, the video will reassure fans of their earlier more playfully offensive material, ending with what can only be described as a masturbatory paintgasm. New EP Whigfield Sextape is out in May on Alcopop! Records.

More synth-packed new releases to make sure you pick up include wistful English singer-songwriter Paul Thomas Saunders’ debut album Beautiful Desolation. The record is out now and features stunningly heartfelt songwriting combined with shimmering synth sounds. Highlights include the haunting keyboard loops of ‘Kawai Celeste’ and euphoric string sounds of lead single ‘Good Women’.

This month also saw the release of a five-LP box set commemorating much-missed rave rockers LCD Soundsystem. The Long Goodbye is a recording of the band’s four hour long live show at New York’s Madison Square Garden, mixed by founding member James Murphy and featuring hits such as ‘Losing My Edge’, ‘Daft Punk Is Playing At My House’ and ‘Dance Yrself Clean’. It was released as part of Record Store Day on 19th April.

Synth punk fans need not despair though as taking up the mantle left by LCD are the frankly aces Heartsrevolution, who released new album Ride Or Die this month on OWSLA. The title track is a distorted riff-out for fans of Crystal Castles and Sleigh Bells. With an abundance of black and pink visuals, riot grrrl vocals and speaker smashing synths, the album is well worth your time.

Finally this month’s Keytar Hero award goes to Ben Rausch, who has been touring the UK with Johnny Foreigner, providing visuals controlled by a wireless Roland AX-7 keytar called Seafox! Tru punx.

Review: Manuals – In A Clean, Well Lighted Place

It’s pretty impressive that Manuals can make this much noise, given that there’s only two of them. Alex and Andy hail from that place up north called Leeds and make very noisy, discordant emo. Their latest single In A Clean, Well Lighted Place brings back memories of emo’s first wave, with atmospheric, yet fuzzy-as-hell guitars, and a desolate sonic landscape that’ll satisfy that one person you know who’s still trying to rename all the titleless Indian Summer tracks.

There are very few vocals to be found throughout the eponymous track, and fewer snappier lyrics. Instead, Manuals have focused on making it as hard-hitting as possible, and what words can be found cutting through the frantic riffs and razor-sharp drums are bleak and glorious. There’s beautiful peaks and troughs as the music rises and falls with wonderfully twiddly riffs. ‘In A Clean, Well Lighted Place’ is pretty perfect.

‘A Room Of Our Own’ blends in perfectly. As it goes on, it starts to sound a bit too much like its predecessor, but it’s a difficult thing to get right in this genre. Nevertheless, there’s still a lot to love, and if you were missing the pained, frustrated screams, they make an appearance halfway through, completely bringing the track together. But as the song hits the three minute mark, a long and barely distinguishable speech takes over, backed by a ton of distortion, and it just totally destroys the feeling.

However, what Manuals demonstrate throughout these two tracks is that there’s still a place for music like this. It’s not for everyone, but that’s part of what makes it great. Keep experimenting.

3.5 out of 5 high fives

From Chicago Softcore to Arena Tours: Can Fall Out Boy Still Be Punk?

I went to go see Fall Out Boy last month. This probably doesn’t come as much as a surprise to anyone who knows me, or anyone who reads this zine/blog/collaborative punk rock endeavour on the regular. The number of times that I’ve seen Fall Out Boy live throughout the years has clocked into the double digits, only beaten by New Found Glory’s insane touring repertoire. But last month, it was the first time I’d ever seen them take to an arena stage, and for me, the magic had gone.

There’s a light on in Chicago, but nobody’s home any more.

Fall Out Boy were probably in the best form they’ve been in for years. Patrick’s weight loss is more than just cosmetic – he can sing without losing his breath, and he dives around the stage like a charismatic little maniac. He has, finally, become the frontman he always should have been. Joe’s still an absolute hero, pulling off sweet guitar solos like nothing else matters, and Andy’s Andy; a vegan straight-edge no-nonsense motherfucker who gets down to business. Pete looked a little weathered, and the realisation that the entire front four rows are just screaming teenage girls meant that he didn’t dive into the crowd for ‘Saturday’ like before, but hey, we’ve all got to grow up sometime, and there’s still a little bit of that devilish charm left in our boy Wentz. Perhaps that’s it – Fall Out Boy are finally grown-ups, and Pete is no longer Peter Pan; those tired eyes are no longer hidden behind smeared black eyeliner. This added maturity obviously isn’t bad at all, and Save Rock and Roll is an extremely accomplished album. Ten solid slices of radio-friendly rock gold (and ‘Save Rock and Roll’ but we don’t talk about that), all tied together with one weird video concept, which actually made a great backdrop for the night. The stage at the NIA was backed by a huge array of screens, showing various bits from the Save Rock and Roll videos. They played a couple of token tracks off Take This to Your Grave. There was a good selection off From Under the Cork Tree. In theory, it had the makings to be one of the better sets I’ve seen from Fall Out Boy, but I left feeling a little bit empty. It’s not their fault; they’ve just moved on.

From Under The Cork Tree hasn’t hit the fire just yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

To truly understand why this hurts, you have to realise what a huge part of my adolescence Fall Out Boy were. I didn’t have a great amount of friends in high school. I was the school goth for a while, and after that, I was just another loser. The friends that I did have didn’t quite get my love of punk rock, black metal and Japanese pop music. There was one boy who did, and he pretty much took my heart and stomped on it, over and over. But Fall Out Boy were always there for me. Pete’s perfect poetry and Patrick’s dulcet tones carried me through, and I developed a fervour for them that even my adoration of AFI didn’t quite match. My love affair with AFI is a lifelong, consistent dedication – always there, burning slowly in the background. My obsession with Fall Out Boy was more like young love; it hit me fast and hard. I made friends with a bunch of people on online forums who felt the same, and when I felt lost, they were always there for me. My sister and I went to as many FOB shows as our parents would drive to, and we would sit wide-eyed in the back seat on the way home, awestruck by what we’d just witnessed. It’s not necessarily that FOB were technically that good (as a live band, they seriously took it up a notch at the NIA last month, but I’ve seen them just going through the motions before), but we always felt at home in those festival crowds, at those London venues, and we screamed the lyrics until we couldn’t scream any more.

I sang a little at the show last month. I mouthed the words a bit. I’m not totally jaded; give me a sweaty punk rock basement show and I’ll throw down with the best of them. Eyeliner can always be reapplied, clothes can always be changed, but the spark that the right show can ignite is priceless and dangerous. There’s a reason why punk rock and authority have never been great bedfellows. Fall Out Boy no longer ignite that spark in me. In a huge arena, denim vests covered in Fall Out Boy patches sell for £50, and boys in SoulCal polo shirts shrug when the show ends on ‘Saturday’. Middle-aged women who heard ‘Young Volcanoes’ on Radio 1 dance drunkenly around me, and there’s a girl in a Ramones t-shirt that didn’t recognise ‘Sheena is a Punk Rocker’ when they played it through the PA before the set started. I can’t say that Fall Out Boy sold out; who am I to deny them the success that they completely deserve? Moving on musically increased their popularity phenomenally after the trainwreck that was Folie a Deux (I mean seriously, what the hell was that), and Save Rock and Roll is still a great album, even if it lacks the emotional depth and the youthful arrogance of its predecessors. And I don’t want to be elitist; I don’t want to claim FOB for myself and teenage girl misfits everywhere. I just want to feel something when I listen to their records. I just want to feel connected when I see them up on that stage. I just want to feel unafraid and reckless.

Instead, I felt very alone that night, awash in a sea of perfectly practised motions. My boyfriend provided a much-needed lifeline (and he let me rant as much as my brain could handle) but Fall Out Boy are no longer the heroes I need. They may have saved rock and roll, and they once stirred my young and fragile heart, but they’ve gone onto bigger and better things. It takes something different to light that fire in the core of my soul now, but it burns stronger than ever. Thanks for the memories; they were truly great, but memories are now all they are.

Review: Naga – Hén

When you think of the Italian musical canon, bone-crunching and gratingly scuzzy doom metal are not high on the list of stylistic attributes often associated with the Italian musical output. Scratch beneath the surface though, and you’ll find the Mediterranean nation is adroit at spawning some downright hellish bands whose aggression is festered by a socio-political landscape in a perpetual state of tumult. The country may seem to possess a low profile in comparison to its European mainland cousins in regards to its output of confrontational bands whose repertoire lays in the realm of the aurally destructive. However, angry music is alive and well in Italy, especially in college towns where the country’s youth search for mediums in which to vent their fury at the incompetence of the self-serving political elite.

Recorded in Naples, in the shadow and ever-ominous presence of Mt. Vesuvius, Hén is a monolithic slab of down-tuned bulldozer riffs and thirteen-minute tracks that drag the listener through several stages of aural attrition. Despite Naga consisting of just three members, they produce tracks with fuzz several inches thick that is both impregnable and all-consuming. A swampy palette is sliced intermittently by shrill screams and vicious gurgles from noise-mongering guitarist/vocalist Lorenzo de Stefano, the exact nature of his vitriol obscured by contorted gargles to such an extent that whether his vocal barrage is delivered in Italian or English is a matter of ambiguity.

Sabbath-inspired riffs are dispensed with the venomous scourge of Toni Iommi. This is, if the hero of heavy metal had stubbed his toe immediately prior to recording the take and vehemently attacked his six-strings with a uniform derision. Hellish power chords are enlightened with discordant open-note stabs whilst some riffs remain employed for several minutes at a time, grinding down the listener with a pummelling monotony. Such monotony is amplified by the languorous pace at which the lumbering riff-machine advances, rarely diverting from a stoic plod that seems to sit at the perfect BPM to enact the ritual of supremely stoned head-banging.

The album’s namesake, ‘Hén’, indicates The One: the divining principle that rules over the entirety of reality. It is what Becoming implies. Although it is dubious whether any divine affinity can be extracted from Hén, the album itself practically forces listeners to stare directly into the abyss, inducing a state of existential uncertainty through its endlessly repeating sludge from which the only salvation can be found in the self. Hén is a record with enough outward malevolence to constitute a satisfactory casual listening experience. However, it is only when you fully immerse yourself in the pulverising scuzz that the record provokes a reaction that transcends the usual rhythmic bodily twitches into notions that offer insight into the nature of one’s true self.

3 out of 5 high fives!