Jamie T - Kings & Queens

When your debut record - an exhilarating, uncompromising mix of punk, indie and hip-hop - is so highly acclaimed, what do you do next? Well, if you’re Jamie T, you get into Bob Dylan and write a load of acoustic songs. Then you listen to some US hardcore punk and throw new influences and old together to come up with something similarly eclectic to your debut. Once again, you record it in your bedroom and in a shed.

And so, a couple of years after Panic Prevention, we have Kings & Queens, Jamie Treays’ potentially Difficult Second Album. Beginning with his Joe Strummeresque vocal barking its way into an infectious chorus hook, it seems he’s developed a real ear for a pop tune. Further evidence of this comes from Sticks 'n' Stones, which is a singalong anthem perfect for summer. The album is filled with upbeat songs based more around punky guitars than urban hip-hop as Treays - a cheeky London rapscallion - fires off colloquialisms about life in boozers and getting up to no good. There are some fine examples of his acoustic tangent, although the beautiful Emily’s Heart is more Doherty than Dylan.

This sophomore effort might not be as brilliantly barmy and uncompromising as Panic Prevention, but it is an effervescent, accessible record. Impressively, it manages to be observational while still brimming with summery songs that have all the fun, madness and Englishness of a night’s binge-drinking. Only with Kings & Queens you don’t suffer a hangover and you want to do the whole thing all over again as soon as you’re finished.

Throw Me The Statue - Creaturesque

Originally the solo project of songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Scott Reitherman, Throw Me The Statue has grown to a quartet and, while this is the second album from the Seattle pop-rockers, it’s the first to be released locally in Australia.

The most noticeable thing about Creaturesque is the distinctive stamp of its producer, Phil Ek, who has worked with, amongst others, The Shins, Built To Spill and Band Of Horses. There is mid-tempo guitar niceness and dreamy vocals aplenty here, so much so that it feels like the identity that the band found with debut Moonbeams has been ebbed away by their choice of producer this time round. Tag, for instance, plays out like a Shins b-side and Hi-Fi Goon is dangerously reminiscent of Built to Spill.

Put aside such overt references though, and Reitherman’s lyrics remain interesting, like on Pistol. “Love stinks/Finance the issue/You be the banks and I’ll be the missiles,” he sings over quiet keyboards. There are some other good moments too, like the electro fuzziness of Snowshoes and Evan Dando-style Baby You’re Bored.

Creaturesque is a nice enough record but, because it doesn’t really offer anything new, it feels like TMTS has missed the boat a little bit. Ten years ago maybe this kind of warmth and prettiness would have won hearts, but in 2009 we’ve been there and done that and the album comes across as little more than inoffensively uninspiring. Ultimately, it’s hard to make it through all 12 tracks without giving in to the urge to dig out your Shins albums and give them a listen instead.

Jamie T at The Metro, Sydney

JAMIE T
ERNEST ELLIS
The Metro 16/09/09

Local fellow Ernest Ellis and his band offered grand folk-rock that clearly had American influences. His songs were sweeping and generally fairly classically structured, but aside from a vocal range that included an impressive falsetto there was nothing especially attention-grabbing about this warm-up set.

With a hood pulled over a baseball cap, Jamie T - Jamie Treays if we’re being formal - ambled onstage looking like the kind of dodgy youth you see stalking the streets of the less salubrious parts of London. However, Treays is no shady character but rather a chirpy troubadour and was soon ripping through a fun version of Brand New Bass Guitar. The high energy of this raw opener continued for the rest of the night, as Treays and his band, The Pacemakers, belted out a hectic mixture of hip-hop and punk. Between songs Treays chatted in his very English style, dedicating Earth, Wind & Fire to his Dad for being “a double-hard bastard,” and telling the crowd to “stop being pansies and start fucking dancing,” before newie Chaka Demus showed his newfound pop sensibilities.

Sans band, he led the all-ages crowd through a cacophonous version of Back In The Game as the singalongs got progressively louder. If You Got The Money almost ripped the roof off and every word of Sheila was roared back at the stage. By the evening’s finale, Sticks ‘n’ Stones, the crowd was going absolutely mental.

Surprisingly though, the set’s highlight was Emily’s Heart, an incongruously delicate opening to the encore. It’s a shame that large sections of the audience, who were clearly there to hear the singles and nothing else, were too busy talking really fucking loudly to notice the sheer beauty of this tiny acoustic song. Still, the main throng held lighters aloft and appreciated it for the heartbreakingly tender and sorrowful love song that it was. Ending by bursting into an epic crescendo of noise, with Treays screaming “This is what happens when you fuck around,” it showed a new, deeper dimension to the songwriter. On top of the urban punk thing that he does so well, tonight Jamie T proved he also has a knack for pop gems and gentle acoustic ballads. We wait with excitement to see which direction he goes in next.

King Khan and the Shrines - The Supreme Genius of King Khan and the Shrines

The brainchild of their Montreal-born frontman, Berlin-based King Khan and The Shrines are an eleven-piece psychedelic-soul band, and The Supreme Genius of… sees them compile tracks from their previous albums, EPs and singles. As one might expect from the title, it’s a loud, brash, eccentric record, which dances between 60s soul, doo wop and funk, all done with a dollop of raucous garage rock.

The songs here are delivered with a caricatured rock ‘n’ roll, Hives-esque swagger, and indeed Khan’s vocal is a bit like Howlin’ Pete Almqvist mimicking Mick Jagger. Khan also often channels James Brown, like in his vocal riffing with the band on Land of the Free. In the garage rock tradition, the lyrics are consistently dumb as hell and sometimes - like on Took My Lady Out To Dinner - you have to leave your brain at the door: “She‘s fat, she’s ugly/But I really, really love her.”

Teetering so near the edge of parody, it’s hard to tell whether The Supreme Genius of… is pastiche or loving homage or somewhere twixt the two. Regardless, at 16 songs and 52 minutes, it’s a bit too long but, in small doses, there is enough energy here to suggest that seeing King Khan and The Shrines live might just be the best fun ever. On record though, after the initial rush of excitement at its vivacity subsides, there’s not much substance left to grab hold of and you might just be left wondering as to the relevance of it all.

A mercenary industry where cold hard cash supersedes loyalty

This week, my football column in The Argus focuses on Manchester City and on what money is doing to the game:
Even to people who have no real love for the English Premier League, a game to keep an eye on this weekend is Arsenal’s visit to Manchester City, as the juxtaposition between the two clubs is really interesting. One has a manager who, rather than spending the big bucks, likes to bring unknown players through the ranks, while the other is football’s equivalent of a Lotto winner going on a spending spree. It’ll be intriguing to see what happens and I’m probably not alone when I say that I’d really like Arsenal’s lovingly nurtured team to take City to the cleaners.

To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about Manchester City. On the one hand, I want them to fail miserably. The way they are cherry-picking players by throwing silly money around is indicative of just what is wrong with the game nowadays. Money is a disease that is eating football from the inside out. It is creating a mercenary industry where cold hard cash supersedes loyalty and success must be attained immediately or the manager is given the sack (with a tasty golden handshake) at the first opportunity. All the while fans are finding themselves progressively more alienated. How much longer can we be expected to love a game played by petulant millionaires while we struggle to afford the ever increasing ticket prices? To see City pay £24m for Jolene Lescott, who is probably worth less than half that, shows just how distorted things are becoming.

On the other hand though, I certainly don’t begrudge Manchester City fans the newfound excitement that all these signings has brought them. It can’t be easy living in the shadow of Manchester United, and it would be nice if the top four’s monopoly was compromised. I suppose though, that the reason I’m not sure how I feel about Manchester City is because I realise that my problems with their wealth are born largely out of jealousy. In truth, it’s hard to be too resentful when I know, in my heart of hearts, that if an insanely rich Sheikh threw a gazillion pounds at my team, my outlook would be very much different. We’d all love it if success was achieved organically; if our club climbed the leagues through hard work and a sensible business model while retaining a sense of community, but if a place among football’s elite could be fast-tracked by an Arab with more dosh than sense, would you hear me moralising about how money is ruining the game? Of course not, I’d be too busy deciding which of our new superstar signings’ names I was going to have printed on the back of my replica shirt.

Malcolm Middleton - Waxing Gibbous

Waxing Gibbous is the fifth solo album from former Arab Strap member, Malcolm Middleton. Described in his own press release as “a very self-aware record, which is hard if you’re aware that what you’re doing may not be any good,” it’s safe to assume that this is a man with a very Scottish sense of self-deprecation and impishness. Indeed, a couple of years ago, he tried to sabotage the Christmas pop charts in Britain by releasing a single called We’re All Going To Die.

The album opens in decidedly upbeat fashion, with the epic Red Travelling Socks - which sounds vaguely like Springsteen covering The Lemonheads - followed by the rumbling Kiss At The Station. Next, Middleton’s storytelling excels with the ruminative spoken word section of the delicate Carry Me. Throughout the record, observations of his failures are brilliantly delivered, with the wryness of Morrissey but in a more understated way. Regardless of whether the songs are jaunty, downbeat, or just a bit odd (like when Zero breaks down into an 80s-style rap), Waxing Gibbous is a thoughtful and interesting listen (with a delicious cover of Ladyhawke's My Delirium being an unexpected bonus). Its high point is Ballad of Fuck All which, as well as havng an awesome title, plays like a Leonard Cohen composition, with Middleton’s pleasingly dour Scottish delivery backed up by gentle female vocals over acoustic guitars.

Paradoxically sad and uplifting, this is an intelligent, fragile and really lovely record that finds beauty in the bleakest places. Like Leonard Cohen himself once said, there is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.

Slow Club - Yeah, So

English duo Slow Club have a familiar boy-on-guitar/girl-on-drums dynamic. However, while this may suggest that Charles Watson and Rebecca Taylor are a couple of White Stripes wannabes, in truth their sound is closer to the cuteness of Noah and The Whale than the ragged blues of Jack and Meg.

On their debut long-player, the gentle acoustic melody of opener When I Go is followed by the foot-stomping indie-pop of Giving Up On Love. This dichotomous pattern continues throughout, as slower tracks are interspersed with more upbeat numbers. While the softer songs show off some pretty harmonies (imagine The Magic Numbers going anti-folk), the high-points on Yeah, So are largely more upbeat, like the Rockabilly romp of It Doesn’t Have To Be Beautiful. With a big chorus that’s hard not to sing along to, it’s one of a few really memorable, uplifting tunes. Similarly, the shouty skiffle of Because We’re Dead is good fun. Throughout the record, Taylor proves herself to have a lovely voice, with a touch of the Laura Marlings about it.

Amongst an array of innocent love songs there is some darker wordplay, and plenty of wit too (“The bones inside my shins are crumbling/It’s from all the crunking I’ve been doing,”). Largely though, for all their unconventionality (in amongst bashing the stand-up drums Taylor finds percussion from bottles, spoons and chairs) the Sheffield pair actually offer fairly simple and accessible boy/girl melodies and, while Yeah, So might be more twee than Belle and Sebastian going cardigan shopping, it’s certainly charming enough to be a worthwhile listen.