Words - Suzy Sims, April 2010
THE LITTLE PHILISTINES - HEAD ON FIRE
“To my surprise and wonder, my life is on the up.”
London types The Little Philistines don’t ever have dark days, misery or humdrum times. There’s no moodiness, no bad rock attitude, no complicated time signatures. They are possibly the most cheerful sounding band I’ve heard in some time, equally at home in a mucky scruffy indie venue as they could be dressed as clowns entertaining at a children’s party, juggling with cakes and balloon animals and the like. Possibly.
It therefore gives me pleasure to announce that Head On Fire is another chipper single to get your toes skipping excitedly and your head spinning. “My body is a holy temple / I fill it up with smoke,” they announce before launching into the catchy heads on fire and beds on fire line. Gosh, they’re just so darn jolly. I particularly liked the lyric “Even death has a drink at the weekend.” This is a spritely and relentlessly cheerful tune.
Head On Fire is a double A side released alongside Stick Together which has a hint of the Sixties in the jangling guitar. This one is a bit more subdued and subtle, yet warming. The comfortable softness provides a rest from the band’s usual exhaustingly happy pace.
Be sure to check out the cartoon artwork, which is drawn by the Little Philistines’ John Riordan.
The Little Philistines are a pick me up band for those who like their indie pop to be friendly and their tunes bright. As appealing as they are, I imagine some people would be turned off by their permanent smile. However if you’re an easy-going sort and like to keep your mood buoyant, then give them a whirl.
The Little Philistines
Saturday, 8 May 2010
Friday, 7 May 2010
Live Review - Stereophonics @ Portsmouth Guildhall
What I really like is when someone calls me up mid-afternoon and says "I've got a ticket for a gig tionight but I can't go - do you want it?" Yes please matey, yes please.
Previously published on mINtSOUTH.com in February 2010
Words - Suzy Sims
(c) mINtSOUTH.com
STEREOPHONICS + TAPE THE RADIO @ PORTSMOUTH GUILDHALL 25/01/2010
I did a little bit of internet research to find out what other people think about Stereophonics, because for a lot who are frankly quite middle-of-the-road, they can be quite polarising. They rock. They are freakin’ awesome. They are the best band ever. They are dull. Predictable. Better than Snow Patrol (is this good or bad?). Their fans can’t spell ‘Wembly’.
It’s the first date of Stereophonics’ tour; a cosy warm up gig. They’ve sold out the SECC, the NIA, the O2, the MEN. Therefore it’s strange to find a handful of tickets still available on the door for a few lucky and hopeful fans who had been told this show was also sold out. The seat next to me was empty all night. It cost a whopping £30-odd squid to get into the Guildhall. Those on the guestlist have to pay at least a small sum for charity, which was a jolly decent thing to do.
First up come Tape The Radio. They warmed up the crowd almost as much as an ice cube shoved hastily down the pants. This band wear leather trousers – always a dubious sign of being rawk and roll. Their music is averagely plodding. They were aiming for dark, sultry and controlled, but it just came across as a dull roar; like a hefty helping of tinnitus, you’d shake your head slightly, but they were still there. It’s the kind of commercial rock which angers tutting trendy types. They were okay really, with harmless background music. Single Save A Life was a glimmer of interest in the murk, but you wouldn’t make a special trip to catch them play. I hoped the headliners had someone a bit more special in mind for their arena support.
Tape The Radio are what I feared Stereophonics would be like.
Tonight is a bit of a tasty treat for Stereophonics fans – the chance to get a lot closer than when the band play the O2, little specks upon the stage, while half the crowd struggle with vertigo and the rest queue 45 minutes for a drink. The queue’s not quite as big tonight, though Portsmouth Guildhall isn’t exactly known for its speedy bar service.
The band announced that they’re playing around with the setlist just before the start of the arena tour. They seem comfortable and are enjoying themselves. It’s good value as they cram a lot in, playing for well over an hour and a half.
It’s obvious that Stereophonics have truly earned their reputation as a fierce live band. With various releases watered down guitar-wise, it’s easy to lose track of the fact they are first and foremost, a rock band. Kelly Jones’ voice is impressively husky and he can really hold a tune while looking completely at ease onstage, surrounded by spotlights.
The crowd listened patiently for the first half but perk up slightly for the oldies and goodies – a charming Help Me, Pedal Pusher, Mr Writer, A Thousand Trees, She’s Alright, Innocent, Local Boy In The Photograph. I felt disappointed that a band as massive as Stereophonics couldn’t galvanise the crowd into moving. Everyone was so damn static. From upstairs, I was looking down into a sea of cameraphone lights. I wanted the band to do well. I wanted everyone to be having a great time. But atmosphere-wise, it was a little flat, and music-wise, I just don’t know enough of the band’s catalogue to fully throw myself into it. Some of it was a bit samey, but the band’s musicianship carried them though and I found myself impressed by their professionalism and enjoying the set.
The best moment was the end. No, I don’t mean it like that. The volume of applause and stamping for an encore showed the crowd were having a fantastic time. Then Dakota came on and the place burst open. People on the balcony finally got to their feet and danced. The number of hands waving in the standing area increased and a small moshpit formed to the right. There was even one crowdsurfer, and my, did he look pleased with himself. Everyone filed out chattering – they had a blistering time, and Stereophonics got to practise before their arena concerts. I found them to be much better than expected. Everyone’s a winner.
Stereophonics
Tape The Radio
Previously published on mINtSOUTH.com in February 2010
Words - Suzy Sims
(c) mINtSOUTH.com
STEREOPHONICS + TAPE THE RADIO @ PORTSMOUTH GUILDHALL 25/01/2010
I did a little bit of internet research to find out what other people think about Stereophonics, because for a lot who are frankly quite middle-of-the-road, they can be quite polarising. They rock. They are freakin’ awesome. They are the best band ever. They are dull. Predictable. Better than Snow Patrol (is this good or bad?). Their fans can’t spell ‘Wembly’.
It’s the first date of Stereophonics’ tour; a cosy warm up gig. They’ve sold out the SECC, the NIA, the O2, the MEN. Therefore it’s strange to find a handful of tickets still available on the door for a few lucky and hopeful fans who had been told this show was also sold out. The seat next to me was empty all night. It cost a whopping £30-odd squid to get into the Guildhall. Those on the guestlist have to pay at least a small sum for charity, which was a jolly decent thing to do.
First up come Tape The Radio. They warmed up the crowd almost as much as an ice cube shoved hastily down the pants. This band wear leather trousers – always a dubious sign of being rawk and roll. Their music is averagely plodding. They were aiming for dark, sultry and controlled, but it just came across as a dull roar; like a hefty helping of tinnitus, you’d shake your head slightly, but they were still there. It’s the kind of commercial rock which angers tutting trendy types. They were okay really, with harmless background music. Single Save A Life was a glimmer of interest in the murk, but you wouldn’t make a special trip to catch them play. I hoped the headliners had someone a bit more special in mind for their arena support.
Tape The Radio are what I feared Stereophonics would be like.
Tonight is a bit of a tasty treat for Stereophonics fans – the chance to get a lot closer than when the band play the O2, little specks upon the stage, while half the crowd struggle with vertigo and the rest queue 45 minutes for a drink. The queue’s not quite as big tonight, though Portsmouth Guildhall isn’t exactly known for its speedy bar service.
The band announced that they’re playing around with the setlist just before the start of the arena tour. They seem comfortable and are enjoying themselves. It’s good value as they cram a lot in, playing for well over an hour and a half.
It’s obvious that Stereophonics have truly earned their reputation as a fierce live band. With various releases watered down guitar-wise, it’s easy to lose track of the fact they are first and foremost, a rock band. Kelly Jones’ voice is impressively husky and he can really hold a tune while looking completely at ease onstage, surrounded by spotlights.
The crowd listened patiently for the first half but perk up slightly for the oldies and goodies – a charming Help Me, Pedal Pusher, Mr Writer, A Thousand Trees, She’s Alright, Innocent, Local Boy In The Photograph. I felt disappointed that a band as massive as Stereophonics couldn’t galvanise the crowd into moving. Everyone was so damn static. From upstairs, I was looking down into a sea of cameraphone lights. I wanted the band to do well. I wanted everyone to be having a great time. But atmosphere-wise, it was a little flat, and music-wise, I just don’t know enough of the band’s catalogue to fully throw myself into it. Some of it was a bit samey, but the band’s musicianship carried them though and I found myself impressed by their professionalism and enjoying the set.
The best moment was the end. No, I don’t mean it like that. The volume of applause and stamping for an encore showed the crowd were having a fantastic time. Then Dakota came on and the place burst open. People on the balcony finally got to their feet and danced. The number of hands waving in the standing area increased and a small moshpit formed to the right. There was even one crowdsurfer, and my, did he look pleased with himself. Everyone filed out chattering – they had a blistering time, and Stereophonics got to practise before their arena concerts. I found them to be much better than expected. Everyone’s a winner.
Stereophonics
Tape The Radio
Live Review - Shed Seven and The Holloways
Previously published on mINtSOUTH.com in January 2010
Words - Suzy Sims
(c) mINtSOUTH.com
SHED SEVEN + THE HOLLOWAYS @ PORTSMOUTH PYRAMIDS 17/12/2009
I’m showing my age now. In 1996 I was a young teen and an avid Top Of The Pops viewer, as were all my school pals. Back in the playground on the following day, you’d discuss the things you’d spotted, such as the Gallaghers swapping places on Roll With It and sticking their tongues out instead of miming, the cheeky scamps. We all witnessed Shed Seven’s appearance in sparkly suits to perform Going For Gold. I don’t remember if we discussed this – after all, it was just Shed Seven, and they weren’t the key movers and shakers. If you’d told me that I’d be seeing them live, 13 years in the future, I would have told you to jog on (or whatever the mid-Nineties equivalent dismissal was).
Shed Seven were on the whole, a thoroughly decent sounding, if slightly average, Britpop rock band. If you want to find their fans, try yelling ‘SHE LEFT ME ON FRIDAY!’ to see who correctly responds with ‘IT RUINED MY WEEKEND!’ “Yes, they’re still going,” I found myself answering to everyone, and was curious to see what the experience would be like.
Opening the night were The Holloways, the perfect example of what Shed Seven were like a decade ago. They are a cheerful band with uplifting music, who toured with the likes of the Pigeon Detectives. Highly tipped and great fun live, with little sweaty moshpits and cheerful fiddles and singalong choruses, they always leave you in a good mood.
Then something changed. Generator received a bit of Radio 1 play, and was subsequently re-released approximately 400 times. Then fiddle player Rob Skipper left. Now they’re opening for larger acts but instead of a fond fanbase waiting for them at the front of the Pyramids, they find a crowd of mature indie kids, arms crossed, waiting for the headliners. One man dances over to his friends, beer aloft, and the band regard him hungrily. They appear desperate for more people to be enjoying the show. “This is one you should recognise,” says red hatted singer Alfie Jackson as they start Generator and the crowd wakes up. I’m not sure if I‘m just imagining a bitter note in his voice.
The band open with Dancefloor, play Two Left Feet and a couple of newbies off recent album No Smoke, No Mirrors, but the crowd is quiet and the band try to rise above it but seem slightly disappointed in the reception.
Then we’re back in 1996 as Shed Seven stride out to bursts of light and cracking shots of noise. The crowd parts and men with curtains and sports jackets take prime positions in the audience.
Singer Rick Witter has turned into a wiry chap and is sharp witted and charismatic in a slightly waspish way. Some girls at the front start whooping and ask him to do a shout out to one of their friends. “This isn’t a fucking meet and greet. We’ll be here until midnight if I say hello to everyone...“ he responds, and spends a good portion of the night making lewd comments about someone else’s mother, who may or may not have been waiting in their tour bus.
I found myself recognising little snippets (‘It’s like I’ve never been born’ – On Standby, ‘Shame on you...’ - Dolphin) from songs which otherwise I would have been hard-pressed to recall. It’s amazing how little melodies suddenly bring back memories and whole lines of songs you used to sing to. Most of the crowd were in their early 30s; obviously 16-odd when the Shed were at their peak, now reliving the moments when they had few responsibilities and were about to step into the world as fresh-faced adults.
In bad moments it all gets a bit pub rock, sounding like Oasis b-sides when they weren’t really trying. However the songs are warm and familiar friends to most of the crowd, rocking along fuzzily with the odd psychedelic loop. The Heroes is a quirky epic, Getting Better and She Left Me On Friday still make you roar along, Disco Down sees a moshpit kicking off and a pint of what we all hoped was lager descending on our little group, but everyone is waiting for the sweet tune of Chasing Rainbows, a touching song that can still bring a tear to the eye, and is performed with some fantastic colourful lighting.
Shed Seven do (and did) get knocked for not being quite up there with the Britpop elite – Blur, Oasis, Pulp etc – but it’s evident they made an impact on their fans. Rick Witter shakes hands with a guy in the front row who has seen the band 25 times. And I bet he’s not the only fan who keeps coming back.
Shed Seven
The Holloways
Words - Suzy Sims
(c) mINtSOUTH.com
SHED SEVEN + THE HOLLOWAYS @ PORTSMOUTH PYRAMIDS 17/12/2009
I’m showing my age now. In 1996 I was a young teen and an avid Top Of The Pops viewer, as were all my school pals. Back in the playground on the following day, you’d discuss the things you’d spotted, such as the Gallaghers swapping places on Roll With It and sticking their tongues out instead of miming, the cheeky scamps. We all witnessed Shed Seven’s appearance in sparkly suits to perform Going For Gold. I don’t remember if we discussed this – after all, it was just Shed Seven, and they weren’t the key movers and shakers. If you’d told me that I’d be seeing them live, 13 years in the future, I would have told you to jog on (or whatever the mid-Nineties equivalent dismissal was).
Shed Seven were on the whole, a thoroughly decent sounding, if slightly average, Britpop rock band. If you want to find their fans, try yelling ‘SHE LEFT ME ON FRIDAY!’ to see who correctly responds with ‘IT RUINED MY WEEKEND!’ “Yes, they’re still going,” I found myself answering to everyone, and was curious to see what the experience would be like.
Opening the night were The Holloways, the perfect example of what Shed Seven were like a decade ago. They are a cheerful band with uplifting music, who toured with the likes of the Pigeon Detectives. Highly tipped and great fun live, with little sweaty moshpits and cheerful fiddles and singalong choruses, they always leave you in a good mood.
Then something changed. Generator received a bit of Radio 1 play, and was subsequently re-released approximately 400 times. Then fiddle player Rob Skipper left. Now they’re opening for larger acts but instead of a fond fanbase waiting for them at the front of the Pyramids, they find a crowd of mature indie kids, arms crossed, waiting for the headliners. One man dances over to his friends, beer aloft, and the band regard him hungrily. They appear desperate for more people to be enjoying the show. “This is one you should recognise,” says red hatted singer Alfie Jackson as they start Generator and the crowd wakes up. I’m not sure if I‘m just imagining a bitter note in his voice.
The band open with Dancefloor, play Two Left Feet and a couple of newbies off recent album No Smoke, No Mirrors, but the crowd is quiet and the band try to rise above it but seem slightly disappointed in the reception.
Then we’re back in 1996 as Shed Seven stride out to bursts of light and cracking shots of noise. The crowd parts and men with curtains and sports jackets take prime positions in the audience.
Singer Rick Witter has turned into a wiry chap and is sharp witted and charismatic in a slightly waspish way. Some girls at the front start whooping and ask him to do a shout out to one of their friends. “This isn’t a fucking meet and greet. We’ll be here until midnight if I say hello to everyone...“ he responds, and spends a good portion of the night making lewd comments about someone else’s mother, who may or may not have been waiting in their tour bus.
I found myself recognising little snippets (‘It’s like I’ve never been born’ – On Standby, ‘Shame on you...’ - Dolphin) from songs which otherwise I would have been hard-pressed to recall. It’s amazing how little melodies suddenly bring back memories and whole lines of songs you used to sing to. Most of the crowd were in their early 30s; obviously 16-odd when the Shed were at their peak, now reliving the moments when they had few responsibilities and were about to step into the world as fresh-faced adults.
In bad moments it all gets a bit pub rock, sounding like Oasis b-sides when they weren’t really trying. However the songs are warm and familiar friends to most of the crowd, rocking along fuzzily with the odd psychedelic loop. The Heroes is a quirky epic, Getting Better and She Left Me On Friday still make you roar along, Disco Down sees a moshpit kicking off and a pint of what we all hoped was lager descending on our little group, but everyone is waiting for the sweet tune of Chasing Rainbows, a touching song that can still bring a tear to the eye, and is performed with some fantastic colourful lighting.
Shed Seven do (and did) get knocked for not being quite up there with the Britpop elite – Blur, Oasis, Pulp etc – but it’s evident they made an impact on their fans. Rick Witter shakes hands with a guy in the front row who has seen the band 25 times. And I bet he’s not the only fan who keeps coming back.
Shed Seven
The Holloways
Thursday, 6 May 2010
Live Review - Haunted Stereo Curates At Hamptons
Apologies for the lack of band links at the end... Blogspot decided it was going to have one or two issues...
Previously published on mINtSOUTH.com in January 2010
Words - Suzy Sims
(c) mINtSOUTH
HAUNTED STEREO CURATES @ HAMPTONS 16/01/2010 - MONEYTREE, THE MOPES, SO SAY SO, THE LITTLE PHILISTINES, NOT MADE IN CHINA
Haunted Stereo are looking nervous. It’s Saturday night in Southampton. They’ve put together a splendid gig line up, but now the sky is emptying bucketloads. It’s not the sort of weather you really want to go out in, unless perhaps your shower is broken. “I’m hoping all our friends turn up and the weather won’t have put people off,” frets Haunted Stereo’s Andy Harris, shortly before the first band take the stage.
The opening act of the night is Not Made In China. This name sounds a little more exotic than Made In Bournemouth, where the band have kindly travelled all the way from tonight. It wasn’t too much trouble to come all this way. Nothing seems too much trouble for them and they look eager to please. The band themselves don’t sound very exotic, just terribly, terribly nice, or “about as edgy as a muffin,” as mINtSOUTH’s snapper remarks. Not Made In China are full of goodness and jangly Rickenbacker rhythms. They’re very chirpy and keen and keep grinning. Charming as it is to begin, the flat pleasantries are a little wearing.
Things perk up a bit as The Little Philistines cram onto the stage with guitars, drums, violin and trumpet. They’re louder and brisker with tales of ‘complications when communicating in relationships’ and muggings, with some warmly amusing banter and onstage personality shining through. Love Explodes is a highlight of the set, bursting out with brash guitars and a lovely melody. What I particularly enjoy about the band is that they haven’t forgotten that a memorable tune is a fairly important thing, and they do their best to pop it up but without taking themselves too seriously. A joy to catch.
Trendy types So Say So also feature a girl with a violin. I feel a bit left out, as I failed to bring one with me tonight. The mood gets a bit darker as they flood Hamptons with the cool sound of electronic angst, tipped with a dash of optimism and hidden beneath some very Eighties t shirts. The male keyboardist plays with a twisted and focused expression, like he is trapped in his very own glass case of emotion. “Please buy a t shirt – we need to cover the petrol back to London!” they beg. (I almost do, but there’s only so many white-band-t-shirts-with-black-writing that a person can have. If there had been a tipping bowl, I would have left enough money for them to have a service station Ginsters between them). So Say So were something a bit different, and my favourite band of the night.
I was slightly disappointed by The Mopes. They’re a motley crew but they impressed everyone with their lively set, although my ‘scary instrument radar’ started bleeping when some miniature maracas and an accordion were pulled out. I was half fearing some bagpipes would be foisted on us as well, but luckily the band play a lot of blues and foot-stamping country folk, which doesn’t often call for the pipes. It looks like most of the crowd have seen them before and are pleased to welcome them back – there’s a handful at the front dancing. The band can sense the love in the air. “Can anyone buy seven people a drink?” they ask hopefully. The Mopes seemed very experienced and professional, but struggled to capture and hold my full attention.
Moneytree look familiar, probably because half the band had been stood next to me, energetically throwing shapes to the electro music that was pounding out the speaker between acts. “This band are so good, they literally shit music!” enthuse an over-excited Haunted Stereo as the headliners take to the stage and cheerfully power out a set including singles, b-sides and a ‘three-quarters finished draft’, where they appear to repeat a large chunk because everyone is enjoying it so much. Moneytree are currently one of the top acts in Southampton, mainly owing to likeable frontman Campbell Austin, who is in fine voice tonight. I don’t quite agree with the curators’ opinion – Moneytree are a good band, but not life-changing - but their polished indie rock is a big step above the quality of your average local music scene. It doesn’t matter that they get everyone’s names wrong when trying to thank them (“The Small Philisteens! Sorry, the Little Philistines... Say So Say! Oh wait, no, So Say So...”) because tonight they are amongst friends.
Moneytree
The Mopes
So Say So
The Little Philistines
Not Made In China
Previously published on mINtSOUTH.com in January 2010
Words - Suzy Sims
(c) mINtSOUTH
HAUNTED STEREO CURATES @ HAMPTONS 16/01/2010 - MONEYTREE, THE MOPES, SO SAY SO, THE LITTLE PHILISTINES, NOT MADE IN CHINA
Haunted Stereo are looking nervous. It’s Saturday night in Southampton. They’ve put together a splendid gig line up, but now the sky is emptying bucketloads. It’s not the sort of weather you really want to go out in, unless perhaps your shower is broken. “I’m hoping all our friends turn up and the weather won’t have put people off,” frets Haunted Stereo’s Andy Harris, shortly before the first band take the stage.
The opening act of the night is Not Made In China. This name sounds a little more exotic than Made In Bournemouth, where the band have kindly travelled all the way from tonight. It wasn’t too much trouble to come all this way. Nothing seems too much trouble for them and they look eager to please. The band themselves don’t sound very exotic, just terribly, terribly nice, or “about as edgy as a muffin,” as mINtSOUTH’s snapper remarks. Not Made In China are full of goodness and jangly Rickenbacker rhythms. They’re very chirpy and keen and keep grinning. Charming as it is to begin, the flat pleasantries are a little wearing.
Things perk up a bit as The Little Philistines cram onto the stage with guitars, drums, violin and trumpet. They’re louder and brisker with tales of ‘complications when communicating in relationships’ and muggings, with some warmly amusing banter and onstage personality shining through. Love Explodes is a highlight of the set, bursting out with brash guitars and a lovely melody. What I particularly enjoy about the band is that they haven’t forgotten that a memorable tune is a fairly important thing, and they do their best to pop it up but without taking themselves too seriously. A joy to catch.
Trendy types So Say So also feature a girl with a violin. I feel a bit left out, as I failed to bring one with me tonight. The mood gets a bit darker as they flood Hamptons with the cool sound of electronic angst, tipped with a dash of optimism and hidden beneath some very Eighties t shirts. The male keyboardist plays with a twisted and focused expression, like he is trapped in his very own glass case of emotion. “Please buy a t shirt – we need to cover the petrol back to London!” they beg. (I almost do, but there’s only so many white-band-t-shirts-with-black-writing that a person can have. If there had been a tipping bowl, I would have left enough money for them to have a service station Ginsters between them). So Say So were something a bit different, and my favourite band of the night.
I was slightly disappointed by The Mopes. They’re a motley crew but they impressed everyone with their lively set, although my ‘scary instrument radar’ started bleeping when some miniature maracas and an accordion were pulled out. I was half fearing some bagpipes would be foisted on us as well, but luckily the band play a lot of blues and foot-stamping country folk, which doesn’t often call for the pipes. It looks like most of the crowd have seen them before and are pleased to welcome them back – there’s a handful at the front dancing. The band can sense the love in the air. “Can anyone buy seven people a drink?” they ask hopefully. The Mopes seemed very experienced and professional, but struggled to capture and hold my full attention.
Moneytree look familiar, probably because half the band had been stood next to me, energetically throwing shapes to the electro music that was pounding out the speaker between acts. “This band are so good, they literally shit music!” enthuse an over-excited Haunted Stereo as the headliners take to the stage and cheerfully power out a set including singles, b-sides and a ‘three-quarters finished draft’, where they appear to repeat a large chunk because everyone is enjoying it so much. Moneytree are currently one of the top acts in Southampton, mainly owing to likeable frontman Campbell Austin, who is in fine voice tonight. I don’t quite agree with the curators’ opinion – Moneytree are a good band, but not life-changing - but their polished indie rock is a big step above the quality of your average local music scene. It doesn’t matter that they get everyone’s names wrong when trying to thank them (“The Small Philisteens! Sorry, the Little Philistines... Say So Say! Oh wait, no, So Say So...”) because tonight they are amongst friends.
Moneytree
The Mopes
So Say So
The Little Philistines
Not Made In China
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