I’ve been listening a lot this week to Weezer‘s self-titled album (Green) – my younger sister recently got her license and we’ve been sharing a car, and the girl is a total Weezer tragic and I can’t be bothered changing the CD so it’s been ‘Knock Down, Drag Out’ day after day.

It reminded me, though, of when I first heard the band – I can’t remember the year and Google isn’t helping, but I’d estimate around 2001 or 2002 when there was a Snickers ad using ‘Island in the Sun’ as their jingle. The ad showed a guy in a house looking out the window, with an attractive girl waving to him, only for him to later realise that she wasn’t actually wooing him but actually trying to alert him to the fact that his house was on fire. Pretty funny ad, but the song was what stood out to me the most (and apparently to Weezer too, seeing as they put it on not one, but two of their albums!).

I bought Maladroit around the same time and was pretty underwhelmed by it – honestly, the reason I bought it in the first place is because it was 10 dollars from some dodgy record hovel in Parramatta – a few good songs, sure (‘Keep Fishing’, awesome) but nothing outstanding. But a couple of years later I discovered the glory that is Pinkerton, and even now I struggle to think of any other album that is as consistently brilliant; it’s a timeless classic to me, even if Rivers Cuomo might disagree, even if it was critically slammed when it was released.

And what do I have to thank for my ongoing Weezer love?

Supported by: Noxshi

Photo: Herald Sun

I have a confession to make – I don’t really know much about Cat Stevens/Yusuf/whatever you want to call him. I own a couple of his records on vinyl (my uncle dumped a bunch of LPs in my room when I was a teenager and I obsessively listened to a few – hello, Talking Heads!) but other than the odd song or two, I wouldn’t call myself an aficionado of any type. When I heard he was coming to town, though, I thought of how awesome other comeback shows I’d seen had been (hello, Simon & Garfunkel, I miss you terribly) and decided it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to go. Thankfully I didn’t have to fork out $120+ for it because I ended up getting myself some sweet media tickets, and I’m so glad I did – this was a hell of a show.

Before the evening had even begun, though, the number one unwritten law of concerts had been broken. As everyone shuffled into the venue, Cat Stevens songs were blaring over the PA, welcoming us all to our seats. Is this as bad as wearing a band’s shirt to their gig? Is it worse? I don’t know, but I had a reluctant bop in my seat to ‘(I Never Wanted) To Be A Star’ until the lights dimmed and Noxshi came out on stage.

There was very clearly only one reason why this band had been invited to play the show, that being the fact that frontman Yoriyos was created with the genetics of Yusuf himself. (or, if I was being punny, because they share a FATHER AND SON relationship. Oh ho ho). Whilst technically proficient, Noxshi’s absurd hard funk (parts Mars Volta, parts Russell Brand’s Infant Sorrow), coupled with psychedelic swirls on three large panels, was not only bland, but also much too abrasive for the mostly octogenarian audience. The loudest cheers of the set were reserved for Yoriyos’ constant assurance that “he’s coming soon”, speaking volumes about the reception of Noxshi’s music itself.

Those cheers increased thousandfold when Yusuf walked out on stage, strumming a guitar and singing Lilywhite in that distinctive voice. It’s been 35 years since the artist formerly known as Cat Stevens set foot on Australian soil, so tonight was not without expectation, but all standards were surpassed with a moving and light-hearted set. Sitting before a backdrop that changed digitally to suit each individual song, Yusuf proved that songs over four decades old still hold relevance today, such as ‘Where Do The Children Play?’, which he related to the BP oil spill. Pedalling through old favourites (including a medley featuring a singalong-inducing ‘The First Cut Is The Deepest’), Yusuf also played some newer material such as Boots and Sand, all accompanied by back-stories.

Far and away the highlight of the night was the ingenious arrangement of classic songs into a musical theatre format – favourites like ‘Matthew and Son’ and ‘But I Might Die Tonight’ were abridged to become scenes in a love story, narrated by Yusuf between songs and accompanied by beautiful slides. Always the joker, Yusuf several times played the opening bars of a song to rapturous applause, only to pull back, laughing “I don’t feel like playing that one yet”. Accompaniment varied from minimalistic to a full seven-piece band (including original ’70s recording partner Alun Davies, sporting a Cat Stevens shirt), and at one point Yusuf abandoned the stage for his bandmates to lead the crowd in a rousing rendition of ‘Waltzing Matilda’, returning to join in at the end.

Here’s the thing – I know that most of these comeback shows are completely scripted. Hey, my heart broke into a million pieces when I saw Simon & Garfunkel for the second time and noted that every single bit of dialogue was identical, and then watched the Old Friends DVD from 2004 and noticed that all of that was exactly the same, too. Despite the fact that his set lists have all been identical so far this tour and that he’s probably scripted too, Yusuf actually seemed genuine – like he really wanted to be there, like he really cared about the words he was singing and the people he was singing them to.

Saving the big classics like ‘Morning Has Broken’, ‘Wild World’, ‘Father and Son’ and ‘Peace Train’ for last, Yusuf had 10 000 people spellbound, like a grandfather telling stories to wide-eyed children. These two short hours were life-affirming, for some people a throwback to their youth, and for others (like me) confirmation that life was better in the 1960s.

(Sad about the lack of any religious ranting, though.)

Set:
Lilywhite
The Wind
Midday
Where Do The Children Play?
Medley (I Love My Dog/Here Comes My Baby/The First Cut Is The Deepest)
Fill My Eyes
Boots and Sand
Miles From Nowhere
World of Darkness
Maybe There’s A World
Matthew and Son
But I Might Die Tonight
Remember The Days of the Old Schoolyard
Doors
Road to Find Out
Tuesday’s Dead
Roadsinger
Don’t Be Shy
Waltzing Matilda
Bad Brakes
Sitting
Morning Has Broken
Wild World
Father and Son
—
Moonshadow
All Kinds of Roses
Rubylove
—
Ruins
Peace Train

One of the big announcements around these parts recently has been the Unknown Pleasures tour about to hit our fine shores (dates on that page), starring “Peter Hook and friends” – Hook being the original Joy Division bassist. The band will perform the classic Joy Division album in full for the first time ever in Australia, and “other early Joy Division tracks, as well as the classic non-album singles ‘Transmission’ and ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’.”

Now don’t get me wrong, I understand what a big deal this is for some people. Joy Division are one of the most seminal acts of their genre of all time, and I know more than just a handful of folks who will be stoked to go along to this. Especially for those of around my age, an opportunity like this has rarely existed because of the fact that Joy Division disbanded long before we were even born, and to be able to hear the band’s debut album performed from start to finish is a really cool little occasion (having seen the Pixies’ Doolittle tour a few months back, I can totally understand this).

Except that it’s Peter Hook “and friends” and, well, you know, that tiny little bit about Ian Curtis being dead for the better part of 30 years.

Aside from the fact that I’m not sure why anyone would be interested in seeing any Joy Division performed without Curtis’ distinct vocals, I kind of am inclined to believe that this seems like a bit of a cash cow by Mr. Hook to pick up some dollars, perhaps stroll down memory lane a bit – but how interesting that none of the other members have decided to join him in this venture. There’s a little article here in which Hook claims that he is “celebrating Ian’s life” and celebrating “a fantastic start for a group and a milestone in my life”.

I’ve watched a couple of videos of past performances on this tour and while they’re certainly not bad, I don’t understand what the real appeal here is (especially at a pretty hefty price tag). For example, this version of ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ is a little…upbeat?…besides the fact that Hook’s vocals don’t hold a candle to Curtis’.

Let’s put it in a similar context – would you be interested in paying $70 to see, say, a Nevermind tour starring Kurt Novoselic “and friends”?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

This week I realised something – I am getting really, really old. Okay, so maybe 21 isn’t exactly old, but it’s just one of those periods (hehe, periods – alright, definitely not mature) where I get to thinking about the last 10 years of my life and what I’ve actually done. Sure, I passed the HSC with pretty good marks, got into uni, did some cool stuff while I was there, graduated. I’m in a pretty critical stage of my life right now – I just booked flights to Europe for a two-month holiday in September and when I get back, it’s time for me to settle down and find out where I fit in in this world. But I’d give a hell of a lot to go back a decade and feel exactly how I felt then without the worries of growing up.

So what the hell does N*SYNC have to do with any of this?

‘Bye Bye Bye’ was released in the year 2000, exactly ten years ago. I was 11 years old, just about to finish primary school and discovering music for myself, rather than just listening to my parents’ old records. I remember hearing this song and being instantly attracted to it (don’t ask me why because I have no idea), and on the day that No Strings Attached came out, I went to Sanity (oh, the days when people actually went to Sanity), shelled out a pile of earnestly saved pocket money, and bought a copy for myself. Incidentally, this was also the first record I ever purchased for myself, not including countless singles (oh, the days when people actually purchased singles on CD) – and yes, I’m perfectly willing to admit to that.

Although I’ve obviously grown past the boy band stage now, at the time it was the world to me and countless other kids (do NOT even get me started on the Backstreet Boys. Ever). I memorised all the songs on No Strings Attached (‘Bye Bye Bye’ still remaining the firm favourite, though), danced to them, sang my little heart out to them, watched the videos with the creepy fascination of a pre-pubescent girl (hello, I was one), pretended to faint when Lance Bass was on 7th Heaven (when I heard he was gay, my 11-year-old self died a slow, painful death. Even though that was in 2006). I really, really dug this record, even the weird shitty songs like ‘Digital Get Down’ which make my 21-year-old self side-eye so hard that I don’t even know what to do.

Around 2002 I became a “punk” (hah, no really, I don’t ever want to talk about that) and decided it was time to throw out my old records that provided evidence of my tween self. Out went N*SYNC. Out went Britney. Out went the Backstreet Boys. I gave them all to friends at school, family friends, whoever – just as long as they weren’t in my room to prove to everyone what a mainstream teenybopper loser I used to be (this was also around the time I called people ‘poseurs’, so pay no mind. At all).

And then a few years after that, I realised that what I’d done had been a gross mistake. Who the fuck cares what I liked when I was 11? The point is that I was 11. This shit shaped how I felt and what I liked and what made me happy, and I asked for my records back and got most of them. No Strings Attached was, sadly, never recovered, and to this day a little bit of my heart breaks whenever I hear any of the songs and pine for the physical product once again, with my name so lovingly written on the inner sleeve, as I used to do with all my albums.

The point is that even though I have this big, huge, scary future in front of me, I’m never ashamed to look back at the past and relive it when I need to. Sometimes it’s hard to believe than ten years really has passed. I know so many people who pretend their silly childhood years never happened, who claim that Pavement has been their favourite band since the tender age of 5 minutes, and sure, I used to want to be that person, but not any more. ‘Bye Bye Bye’ is my motherfucking jam. Yeah, I still wish I had a chance with Lance Bass. And since JT also got a little bit hot in the last couple of years, I’d take him on, too. I’m happy to live in the past while preparing for the future – the present is just a mixture of them both.

The moral of the story is, don’t ever let go of your childhood pleasures – you’ll really only be letting go of yourself. (Or if I wanted to be heaps shit, I could say “don’t ever say ‘Bye Bye Bye’ to your childhood pleasures”. She shoots, she SCORES!).

Here’s to the next ten years and looking back at 2010 with the same nostalgic eyes.

I’ll preface this with full disclosure – Jenna McDougall of Tonight Alive is a high school friend of my sister’s (and mine), who I had some rad musical “jams” with back in the wonder years (including a fucking awesome rendition of Ben Folds’ ‘The Luckiest’ at my parents’ 25th wedding anniversary party in 2006). It’s a pleasure to hear about any young up-and-coming bands making big things happen, but even moreso when it’s a friend (and really, I wouldn’t be promoting a friend’s music if it wasn’t any good).

Tonight Alive are a young five-piece pop/punk band from Sydney, having already racked up some pretty impressive support slots for acts like Lostprophets, 3oh!3 and Mest in their relatively short time as a group. This is their very first video for single ‘Wasting Away’, lifted from their debut album, All Shapes and Disguises, which was released to the iTunes store yesterday and has already made its way to #1 on the Australian alternative charts.

Though I haven’t really paid a whole lot of attention to the pop/punk scene since about 2005, it might very well be time to – this song is catchy as hell and is a pretty good throwback to my better days (Paramore comparisons aside). Check it out.

Over a decade has passed since Hot Hot Heat formed, but according to frontman Steve Bays, it’s only now that they’re taking total control.

(more…)

I’ve been spinning Ernest Ellis‘ debut record Hunting a hell of a lot of late, but seeing as it’s not officially released until this Friday, my thoughts on the album are technically under embargo for a few more days.

What I can say is that this guy is really something else. Hailing from the Blue Mountains, his music has a certain brisk and chilly quality to it, recalling the likes of Bon Iver, with both upbeat and sullen songs laced with delicately reverberating vocals bound to send a chill down your spine. Ellis employs some brave and bold idiosyncrasies, especially for a debut, that define him as an original and daring upcoming artist.

So while the remaining days whittle away before Hunting becomes available to the general public, check out the video above of his single ‘Loveless’. I know Ernest Ellis isn’t my own personal find since he’s been rising considerably of late, earning airplay on triple j and support slots for the likes of Florence + The Machine, but for those of you who haven’t heard of him before, here’s your chance.

I was wracking my brains on the drive home from work tonight thinking of what song to talk about for this week’s throwback, when I suddenly remembered a funny incident that happened years back in regards to a Bruce Springsteen song. As I giggled behind the wheel and kept thinking, it occurred to me that a lot of fun things in my life have been soundtracked by this dude, and so it was only fitting to create a post dedicated entirely to him. Here’s to you, buddy.

I first heard ‘Shut Out The Light’ when I was about 16, in an English exam, no less. It was one of those types where you listen to an audio text and analyse it in question and answer form – for instance, “how does the protagonist describe his journey?” or something equally inane. I’d heard of Springsteen at this point but I’d never consciously been exposed to his music and if we’re being truthful here, I was rightly annoyed by it – I couldn’t understand what he was singing and nor could anyone in my class, especially since we only got two listens before having to answer questions! We all ended up with dismal marks brinking on failure because instead of writing legitimate answers to the questions, we decided it would be a hoot to write things like “I’d answer the question if I could understand what he was singing”. Oh, to be young again. (And of course, upon listening to the song again years later, it confuses me greatly how I could ever have been confused about the lyrics – his enunciation is perfectly clear!).

Another fond memory I have is of ‘Dancing in the Dark’ over the years. I first heard this song not long after The Great English Exam Incident of 2004, and I was immediately hooked on it and played it ad infinitum to anyone who would (and wouldn’t, actually) listen. I remember racing around Parramatta in my school uniform after class with my friend, singing at the top of our lungs and probably annoying the pants off everyone around us. I remember dancing on my veranda while I set up for my ’80s themed 21st with this song playing (the man who delivered my hired jukebox was also named Bruce, and I was sorely disappointed to see that, upon arrival, he wasn’t the Bruce I’d been hoping for). If I had some Polyjuice Potion, by the way, I’d definitely lace it with the hair of Courteney Cox circa 1984 if it meant that I could dance with Bruce.

When interning at Rolling Stone at the end of my first year of university in 2007, I was given a style guide (a feature common to most, if not all publications), and I remember chuckling in amusement at the rule to “never refer to Bruce Springsteen as ‘The Boss’ (on request of Mr Springsteen himself). Funnily enough, I’m quite sure I haven’t called him that since I saw the style guide all those years ago. Hope you’re happy, Bo- I mean, Mr Springsteen.

To be completely honest, Born in the USA is the only Springsteen album that I know back to front – but boy, do I know it back to front. I bonded with a girl who is now a great friend because she wore a Born t-shirt to work one day – one that I also owned, actually – and we’re still planning to overload the office with awesome one day soon by rocking up in identical Bruce-tastic outfits.

I also went out to the local flea market one hot afternoon to discover a truck full of old vinyls, and after chatting a little with the guy sitting in it, found out that he was once a DJ and was getting rid of all his old things. Digging through his stash, I was elated to find a mint copy of Born that the bloke said had only been played once (and I verified this by looking at the actual disc itself), and for only $3! Bargain of my life.

So you can imagine my blend of disgust and hilarity when, last weekend in an old record store, I spied two 15-year-old wannabe hipster boys, Sennheiser oversize headphones enveloping their puberty-free selves, shuffling through the piles. One of them leaned over and said to the other, “It’s just him singing ‘Born in the USA’ over and over. Terrible song.”

That kid’s gonna look back one day and realise that he is, in fact, a prize idiot. Mr Springsteen, you can sing whatever you like over and over and still create a little party in my soul every single time. Thanks for the memories!

(And just quietly – WHAT A FOX. Considering that he’s older than my mum? Dayyyyyyum boy.)

Supported by: Caitlin Park

It’s always a pleasure to go to a gig at The Vanguard – for those unfamiliar, it’s a tiny little venue tucked away at the top of a small flight of stairs at the beginning of the vibrant King St, Newtown. It doubles as a little restaurant – you can pay about 30 bucks extra on your ticket for dinner, and last night it was positively buzzing with people downstairs having a meal and some sitting in wooden chairs upstairs, with Air’s Moon Safari providing some smooth background tunes.

Caitlin Park had a world of support last night, seen mingling with her friends up in the stands before waltzing onto the stage to open the night’s proceedings (the cheers of her friends were heard throughout her set, very audibly indeed). There’s reason to cheer this girl on though – the Sydneysider is very quietly intense and both her manner and show are very curious indeed. Accompanied by three friends, Park started the set with a song composed only of looped acoustic guitar and weighty sighs, and punctured the silence in between songs with inexplicable spoken recordings that recalled wartime announcements. She explained the roots of her songs, from those written overseas to ‘A Boat?’, originally a poem by her friend, US folk singer Peter Broderick, which she herself set to music. Sometimes simple folk, sometimes heady atmospheric Marissa Nadler-esque, there was not a dull moment in Park’s set; her bandmate Eirwen Skye played along on synth, melodica, recorder and more, adding interest to the tunes. Though there were several inconsistencies, mostly to do with harmonising pitch, Park’s set was an intriguing one that has put her on the map of those to watch.

Between sets, a cake was brought out to a table downstairs. The smell of sparklers filled the venue – something that J. Walker commented on when he emerged from the back room to take the stage, also wishing Mary a very happy 28th. This kind of friendliness is no stretch for the brains behind the now Melbourne-based Machine Translations, and was also a lovely way for him to say hello to our fair city for the first time since 2007. Kicking off with classic ‘Walt Must Die’, it was straight away evident that watching Walker on stage is less like paying to see a stranger and more like catching up with an old mate – the guy is an absolute riot and pleasure to watch. With a new four-piece band including two drummers, Walker tonight tested out new songs from his forthcoming record, including the excellent single ‘Telepathic Head’ with its high register superstrum (but minus the recorded version’s flighty backing vocals), and ‘Gamma’, which featured a synth-as-glock riff that didn’t seem to mesh too well with the rest of the instruments tonally. The set was a mixed bag, from more soulful cuts (the sombre ‘Oh Ma The Sea is Rising’) to ruthless jamming on newer songs, made only more brutally powerful by the double kit assault. Asking audience requests during the encore resulted in an almost unanimous plea for ‘Amnesia’, which Walker and pals delivered, before rounding the set off with another oldie, ‘Poor Circle’. There were several dull spots during the night, but it was overall a relaxed and enjoyable show. J, dude, I dig your new shit. Go forth and conquer!

Morr Music – March 22 2010

Iceland seems to be one of those unique places that produces nothing but greatness – if you’ve ever heard any bands from there, or ever seen photos of the place, it’s beautiful. Seabear is no exception to this – the Reykjavik septet presents a gorgeous stripped-back record with their second offering We Built A Fire, which ditches some of its 2007 predecessor’s more experimental elements for simple, uncomplicated splendour.

Vocalist Sindri Már Sigfússon (known also for his side project Sin Fang Bous) has a real honesty about his breathy enunciations, often accompanied by an ethereal female voice and a delicate handpicked acoustic guitar. Singing completely in English, there’s no mystery shrouding the meanings of the songs; the folky rollick of ‘Wooden Teeth’ sees him murmur, “we got married while you were asleep/carved our names out on your wooden teeth”, as his bride, the female vocalist, whispers along. Such quaint musings are rife on the album, with the musical style of the songs ranging from straight-out folk rock (‘Softship’ is the record’s loudest moment) to unassuming and atmospheric (‘In Winters Eyes’) to reflective (the piano-and-string-drenched ‘Cold Summer’).

It’s true that the indie folk thing has been overdone lately and, especially considering that Sigfússon’s musical and vocal style is so easily comparable to the likes of Sufjan Stevens and Iron & Wine, this album might be easy to overlook at first. But thanks to the use of more creative instruments like the musical saw, as well as the presence of a whole lot of emotion and raw heart, We Built A Fire is ultimately an adorably sweet album which still maintains a high level of musical gravitas.