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Hi, I'm Paul Carvill, I'm a web developer. I'm currently working as Technical Lead at LBi, Europe's largest digital agency.

I also like walking, cooking, Bollywood and rock 'n' roll.

Archive for the ‘Music’ Category

I want you back(ing singers)

Monday, November 5th, 2007

Dooes KT Tunstall know how to rock? Yes. Does she rock even better with her new backing singers? Yes again.

I saw her at the Roundhouse last week, and those singers add a depth and finesse to every song. Far more than an embellishment, they’re inherent to the sound, and they make the band sound more like a band than ever before. Previously there was a tendency for Tunstall’s gigs to be her and a motley collection of gadgets, echo pedals and kazoos. The kazoo’s are still there, as is the drummer playing dustbin lids with maracas. But the band function as a tight unit now, emphasised by the mid-set acoustic bit where they all gather front of stage, and the encore of Stopping The Love, with an excellent free-jazz cello solo, amongst other things.

The set is long, over two hours, borne out of the necessity of squeezing in songs from 3 albums, and keeping both old and new fans happy. If anything, she panders to newer fans a bit too much, asking them if they want to hear new songs or the hits, but set is swelled full of great stuff anyway so it’s not really a problem. Her infamous between-song banter is still there, too.

Apparently KT and her singers recently flew out to Japan to do a girls-only gig, which sounds cool. Maybe she should try this here sometime.

Q for snooze

Tuesday, October 16th, 2007

I think we can safely assume that Q Magazine is musically more backward-looking than it is an innovation seeker. At its recent awards ceremony, the results of which bizarrely but inevitably made their way into radio and TV news bulletins, no doubt thanks to a team of PR monkeys and a lack of any serious news agenda at the major stations, trophies for “classic ” artists, or the many euphemisms for that word, outnumbered prizes for new acts or new music by 10 to 8:

The categories:

Q Icon
Q Idol
Q Inspiration Award
Q Legend
Q Classic Songwriter
Q Hero
Q Lifetime Achievement
Q Merit Award
Q Classic Album
Q Classic Song

Breakthrough Artist
Best Act In The World Today
Best Live Act
Best Album
Q Innovation in Sound
Best Video
Best Track
Best New Act

Makes me want to Spitz

Thursday, September 27th, 2007

So the Spitz is closing down. At least for now, in its current location in , it is.

This is a bad thing. The Spitz has a history of putting on an eclectic mix of music from the fringes, specializing in folk, blues, country, avant garde and electronica. It’s a smart, intimate venue with a great feel and a friendly crowd. It’s location wasn’t always that convenient for me, but on arriving I always felt more at home than at any other venue of similar size.

I went last night to watch the penultimate gig in its current incarnation – Mr David viner supporting Paris Motel. Both bands were a revelation. Viner, cutting an early Phil Spector-meets-hillbilly figure stormed through some deafening blues and theatrical pop. And Paris Motel, described as “Brian Wilson was writing songs for the Weimar Cabaret”, were, perhaps in honour of their influences, gloriously ramshackle, an extraordinary mix of orchestral pop and spectral vocals.

Tonight they’re putting on one last hurrah – a gathering ofthe great and good who have played there over the years. Inspired by Art Kane’s famous “A Great Day In Harlem” photo from 1958, which captures New York’s jazz greats together, the Spitz’s swansong promises to be an extravaganza.

Great live music, plus a cafe, a bistro, a well-stocked bar and and art gallery. The Spitz is dead! Long live the Spitz!

Green Man

Thursday, August 23rd, 2007

Green Man proved to be, for the second year running, my music event of the year. Situated in gorgeous countryside at the foot of the Brecon Beacons, even the dismal Welsh weather and almost doubling the crowd capacity couldn’t spoil the idyllic musical enclave.

With the majority of the line-up erring on the side of the exploratory, the laid-back and, shall we say, the earthily authentic, this year some added beef came in the form of throbbing rock god Robert Plant and cranky, angular Steve Malkmus. Of course, ample soothing vibes were in available thanks to a sweeping set from elvish harp-plucker Joanna Newsom, folkey-dokey harmonisers Tunng (pronounced Toong, apparently) and beardy French pop geniuses Herman Dune.

The food is good and plentiful, and includes vegetarian Indian at in a cushion strewn tent overlooking the stage, the unfeasibly long queues for Pieminister’s pie, mash and peas combo, and a fresh mackerel barbecue. Woo! There’s also both a proper bar and a couple of tents just selling tinnies of Scrumpy quite cheap.

Add to that a uniquely friendly atmosphere, the ubiquitous bubble blowers, an open-mic milk float, a nightly campfire singalong and it’s the best fun you can have in a field in Wales without a sheep.

And then Robert Plant puts his foot up on the monitor and throw a classic Led Zep shape……awesome.

A bit of french – Keren Ann at the Arts Theatre

Thursday, August 2nd, 2007

The Arts Theatre is an unpromising venue for someone anticipating Keren Ann’s sultry, smoky, after-hours vibe. Yes, it’s tiny, but something about the low ceiling, the creaky seating, the unimaginative lighting means it lacks intimacy.

Still, once Keren Ann starts into “Nolita” everything changes. Her voice is a thundering whisper. The music – bass, trumpet and drums – is spare and, yes, haunting. The trumpeter, wearing mirrored shades in the darkness, dances back and forth lke an extra from the Muppet Show as the runs his output through a wah-wah pedal.. His behaviour is jarring, but just goes to highlight the otherworldliness of that voice.

keren.jpg

It takes a couple of songs for the atmosphere to warm up. The audience is polite, and Keren Ann seems reticent. But soon shes cracks a joke about her accent going “all Madonna” since she’s been in London., and things loosen up. The band start gossiping about each other behind each other’s backs – “…he thinks he’s the Jimi Hendrix of the trumpet…”. She runs through most of the Nolita and Keren Ann albums. They play around with arrangements, swap instruments, and generally have fun while playing some of the eeriest, sexiest jazz-blues-folk you’ll hear all year.

Why isn’t she more famous? Her relative obscurity is a good thing for the audience tonight, who get to see her close up in a crowd of 350. But she should be bigger. She should be huge. Her songs are pop. They are accessible. Maybe it’s because she (occasionally) sings in French. Perhaps the great British public can never take such a person into their hearts. She reminds me a little of KT Tunstall, in her inventiveness and willingness to play around with genres. Tunstall has made it, and made it big, through a combination of killer tunes, the sheer force of her personailty and an amaxing work ethic.

Maybe Keren Ann is just lazy?

The band do an encore which includes a lively version of Big Yellow Taxi, and something which has some beautiful three way harmonies. Then she sneaks back onstage for another one, requests that all the lights are turned off – that’s right, ALL the lights – then gives what I’d describe as a dark, breathy nursery rhyme. Apparently it’s “Manha de Carnaval”, a French classic.

She’ll be famous. One day. Watch this space.

Cornershop…time to shut up shop?

Friday, June 22nd, 2007

It was nice to see Cornershop picked by Jarvis Cocker to play as part of his Meltdown selection. It would also have been nice to hear from the man himself the reasoning behind his choice. This is a band who haven’t released an album in over 5 years ( 2002’s Handcream for a Generation).

They suffered from some awful sound problems for the first few songs, rendering Tjinder Singh’s already quiet voice virtually inaudible. Following that they belted out most of their well-known stuff – Brimful of Asha, Lessons Learned from Rocky I to Rocky III etc. The rhythm section pumped out fat, loose 70’s funk riffs, and if they put their mind to it Cornershop could have been one of the great party bands. A small crowd of people did run down the aisles of the Queen Elizabeth Hall to boogie at the front, but Singh’s notorious aversion to live gigs and audience interaction meant that this gig was disappointing.

They debuted no new material. They don’t seem to have progressed at all in the last 5 years. Why were they here, why turn up if you have nothing to say?

F*ck Live Earth

Sunday, April 15th, 2007

So, the lineup has been announced and the countdown has begun to that date which hums with so much resonance, 7th July 2007, and the Live Earth concerts.

It is very hard to criticise the intentions of the organisers of this massive global event, but the sheer numbing weight of stodgy rock piled upon bland pop balanced on, crikey, “the funk” in this lineup is enough to give anyone cause for complaint.

Take a look at the list of “talent” for the Wembley concert. Events like this surely need a rich mix of light and shade, melody and bombast, even, dare I say it, leather and lace. The flatness and uniformity of this list would please the most conservative of NASA engineers. It is dull to the point of absurdity. If this concert is to be televised then they better have a Rock & Pop Consultant on the staff lest they fatally confuse David Gray and Damien Rice – one a droning balladeer of heartbroken bedsit dirges, the other a droning balladeer….etc. Following on immediatelyafterwards there will be a Snow Patrol/Keane/James Blunt supergroup once-in-a-lifetime live mashup (until the next charity event supergroup once-in-a-lifetime live mashup) wherein they will try to create a heartwrenching melancholy ballad so stirring and soaring that it will add an extra strata to our atmosphere, safeguarding our children for centuries to come. The by-product of this, unfortunately, will be a million Lambrini-soaked girls sobbing so long and hard that sea-levels will rise around the globe, wiping out arable land, conurbations and up to 5% of the world’s population.

Next up, Duran Duran, who are legally contracted to appear at every Wembley charity event until either 2058, or when Simon Le Bum becomes too fat and bloated to get up on the stage, whichever comes first. The organisers are currently discussing whether to make the Diana Memorial Concert tickets interchangeable with Live Earth tickets, and there are even plans to keep all the acts playing in rotation for the full week between the two gigs. After Madonna has brought out a field full of failed crops for the audience to gaze upon while she performs yet another bionic bodypop disco twatathon, the Chilli Peppers will round things off in suicidal fashion with their “unique brand of funk” (TM).

A couple of points – obviously Live Earth is targeting the wedge-walleted conscience-stricken 30-something group, in the most cynical exploitation of a demographic since the ad industry worked out gay men had a spare quid or two to spend. Those wilfully offloading the green pound are desperate to secure their offspring at least a fighting chance in an atmosphere which will undoubtedly be gasping for oxygen after half a century of planet-killing rock and roll extravagance such as never-ending tours by Madonna, The Rolling Stones and U2, where hundreds of tons of equipment and personnel are flown, driven and shipped thousands of miles around the earth for the enjoyment of rock fans everywhere.

The most depressing thing is the sad inevitability of the wall-to-wall television and radio coverage, the constant barely disguised advertising dressed up as news items, the bands backstage giving interviews while simultaneously recycling their own urine, spit and sweat to power the amps for the next bands set, and the “making of…” documentaries about how the day was organised, how the clashing egos of Bailey Rae and Paolo Nutini almost put the mockers on the whole thing – at one point they were going to have to build an exact replica of Wembley right next door as both artists insisted on playing in their own venue. The “making of…” will, of course, be shown almost concurrently with the live concert, and will be presented by Fern Cotton who will also interview Tony Blair using only the words “wicked”, “green”, “kids”, “Cameron” and “cool”.

Galling, too, is the fact that events like this cost the artists absolutely nothing, while fans are asked to shell out vast sums of money just for the chance to stand in a monstrous stadium holding their wee in all day. It’s also hard to gauge how successfully this gig will raise the profile of the climate change lobby. Obviously anything we can do to help raise awareness is a good thing, but by targeting such a narrow market with these dreary marquee names there’s a huge possibility that this day will result in a groundswell towards the political party making the most noise about their new found environmental conscience. That’s currently David Cameron and the Tory party, and God only knows what else he’s got up his sleeve if he ever seizes Downing Street.

So, let’s Save Our Selves. But f*ck Live Earth. F*ck Bloc Party. F*ck Keane. F*ck Duran Duran. And especially f*ck Black Eyed Peas.

Speaking in tunngs

Tuesday, March 20th, 2007

If Tunng had any more bells and whistles they’d be able to open a bell-and-whistle shop. A big one. As such, though, they’re one of the most percussively over-engineered yet deceptively and beautifully simple bands I’ve heard.

They bury plaintive, repetitive vocal hooks inside chiming pastoral guitars. On top of this they start a Tourette’s avalanche of electronic beeps, squeaks and hiccups. The whole thing is oddly heartwarming and touching. I saw them live at the Queen Elizabeth Hall (the Purcell Rooms – nice big comfy seats) and it it was even better to discover that they wren’t a bunch of rural hobbits, or dungeons and dragons-playing Womad’s. Not all of them anyway. One guitarist looked like he was partial to ale. And cheese. And mandolins. But the others looked quite….cool. And funny, too.

About half way through the gig something in the hypnotic melodies reminded me that I’d already seen them before, at the Green Man festival last year. Memories of hazy, damp Saturday afternoon’s came back to me. And then I started to wonder if I hadn’t seen them many, many times before that. The haunting, cyclical, almost Gregorian chant of the music makes them sound as if they been lingering in the mists of time for hundreds of years, harking back to Henry VIII’s Greensleeves, sitting round campfires in windswept landscapes, constantly considering another flaggon of Old Peculiar.

They’re doing a ton of gigs this year, check out their website to read more. They might even have grown some proper grey, straggly, perhaos even plaited beards by then…

Mr Happy

Friday, February 9th, 2007

Ray Lamontagne and his band walked onto the Hammersmith Apollo’s stage in darkness and waited for the lights to go on. When they did, we could see Ray was wearing his usual beard, jeans and shirt. But he also had on a “Mr Happy” t-shirt. Without a hello, a smile or anything else he went straight into the first song.

It was “Be Here Now” off his second album “Till The Sun Turns Black”, which crept into the shops with little announcement a short while ago. That famous voice of his is way up in the mix, crystal clear, but still hushed, dry and powdery like he’s singing a lullaby to his deaf uncle. The next three songs are all new, then he hits us with a few oldies, which the crowd respond to with more enthusiasm.

He still hasn’t said anything at this point. The Apollo is a huge venue. It’s freezing, and there’s little warmth emanating from the stage save the tones of the pedal steel which gives nearly every song tonight a bit of barroom nostalgia. But the venue is big, and I’ve seen extremely charismatic singers here struggle to fill it. Ray gives us nothing, and it’s hard to work out if it’s a stance o if he really doesn’t care, as we’ve been led to believe.

Eventually the nagging heckles for old stuff seems to get to him, and he makes a beautifully quiet, measured threat to whoever it was that if they came down to the stage he’d give him something, ok? Completely deadpan, it had us all in stitches. He really could be the Ernie Wise of rootsy blues music.

When a breaks into Trouble and Three More Days the voice turns from a hoarse whisper to a belting great roar. It’s scary that his wiry frame produces such a thunderous, biblical, deafening noise. It’s fantastic. Three More Days in particular has got so much boogie it doesn’t know what to do with itself.

He plays for an hour and a half, and I don’t think I’ve ever known a gig to fly by so quickly. He must have played the majority of both albums. After each of the last four songs a member of the band drifts away and backstage, with a brief introduction from Ray and a ripple of applause, until we’re left with just the man himself. He hesitantly thanks everyone for coming, straining to find the words and sound sincere. Then he finished with a mesmeric version of Jolene, drawing from seemingly endless wells of heartbreak.

A fine singer, a fine gig, and an enigmatic man who both rocks and rolls and sometimes does neither.

More Arcade, and more Fire

Wednesday, February 7th, 2007

I saw them again at Porchester Hall three days later. This time they rocked even harder. It wasa all-standing, I’d heard the new album in the interim, and had a better idea of what to expect. They mashed the set around a little bit, opening with the new Springsteen-esque rockabilly number “Keep The Car Running” instead of Black Mirror, a welcome change.

Win leapt into the crowd and got swallowed up for a few minutes, before emerging and dancing through the crowd like the pied piper, guitar held up in the air above him. I even enjoyed Régine Chassagne’s arch dramatic delivery of everything from vocals to accordion.

They finished again with Wake Up, apparently after a scuffle with a security guard. As Alan Partridge would no doubt have commented, the number of people crowded in the foyer surely exceeded sensible fire regulations. Anyway I found myself standing next to Chris Martin from Coldplay singing along to Arcade Fire in the chandalier-lit foyer of an old Victorian banqueting hall. Which was nice.