In 1979 Iggy Pop declared that he was bored. His ennui was aimless, hitting out at everything disgusting around him. And yet, his boredom was premature. Even though punk was arguably over as soon as it started, there was still plenty of inspiration to be found in its descendants, stretching right through the next two decades of guitar music. Indeed, if ever there was a time that Iggy should assert his sheer antipathy with anything, especially music, it may well be now.

Why? Perhaps you should aim that question at San Diego’s The Soft Pack (nee The Muslims). Seemingly having forgotten that it’s not yet a decade since The Strokes released Is This It? and kick started a rock revival of their own (plundering a veritable garage sale of old vinyl and updating it with originality and attitude) The Soft Pack are trying to pay homage to the same era. But instead of coming across as reverential, their efforts barely qualify as a pastiche, whereby every song on their 10 track EP Extinction sounds like it is from the worst releases by The Modern Lovers, The Velvet Underground or The Stooges.

It’s tempting to lay the majority of the blame on lead singer Matt Lamkin, because with the exception of ‘Bright Side’, ‘Future Rock’ and ‘Extinction’ it sounds like he wishes he was channelling Jonathan Richman or Iggy Pop. But then of course, these tracks still sound like the bands from those singer’s respective outfits. It really is not a point to hammer home lightly.

Then there are titles like ‘American’, ‘Religion’ and the aforementioned ‘Extinction’, which make you wonder if perhaps The Soft Pack are trying to say something. But if that is the case it only really comes across on album closer (and highlight) ‘Right and Wrong’, the only track that spins an interesting, if unexpected, tale about mid-twentieth century privilege and segregation.

So where does this leave us? Some might argue that hopeful revivalists have the ability to introduce a new generation to their influences. And if that is the case, if you really haven’t heard anything by the bands mentioned above, then you probably will enjoy this purposefully raw and roughly hewn take on rock n roll. There is certainly rhythm here and the “alright, oh yeah’s” of ‘Bright Side’ and “Woah oh oh’s” of ‘Nightlife’ are interminably catchy. But where does it leave The Soft Pack once their fans discover how much better their influences are? Time (and not very much of it) will tell.

In 1959 Denis Mitchell released a short documentary about Liverpool entitledMorning in the Streets. Amid the images of broken bottles, schools that resemble prisons and destruction from a war that ended over a decade prior, disembodied voices speak of living on £3 a week and having to sleep up to five people in one bed. The grainy black and white footage is so stark it’s hard to imagine that this time in history ever had colour. It’s also hard to imagine that this is the same year that Mona Best decided to open the Casbah Coffee Club as a meeting place for her sons and their friends, who included John Lennon, Paul McCartney and George Harrison.

The origin of The Beatles is so well known and has so often been written about that it makes it difficult to shed any new light on the topic. But it is the blood, sweat, sex, drugs, toil and rock ‘n’ roll that simultaneously stands in stark contrast to, but also defines, the band The Beatles became that makes revisiting it so infinitely interesting.

Without the Casbah, Hamburg and eventually the Cavern Club, it’s fair to say that The Beatles would not have stood out beyond any of the other groups capitalizing on the burgeoning ‘beat’ scene at the time. In hindsight the perception is that there was always going to be a group out of the UK that would achieve what The Beatles eventually did. The 1950s saw a resurgence in skiffle, a genre of music largely based on a DIY ethic, which itself was a precursor to rock ‘n’ roll in the United States. Societal attitudes were changing and as so often is the case, optimism was found in creativity and the arts; a much needed distraction and unifying force. American rock ‘n’ roll had found its way to Britain by the mid 1950′s, not, as mythology would have it, by merchant seamen returning home with records in tow, but by being released by UK distributors. And Mona Best witnessed a music club’s success in London that gave her the idea to open the Casbah Coffee Club.

This gave Lennon, McCartney and Harrison (then known as The Quarrymen, along with Ken Brown) an outlet to perform and to perform regularly, which meant exposure where exposure had previously been limited. Even at this early stage, the very fact that The Quarrymen gathered a following and earned a residency speaks of their being the right people in the right place at the right time. Perhaps even key at this stage was Lennon and McCartney’s relationship; their sense of humour, their dissatisfaction with education and most importantly their drive to succeed. In Lennon’s case that could have been borne out of cynicism for his lot in life, but with McCartney it appeared to be more out of the desire to always better himself.

The Cashbah was also where (depending on whose version you read) George Harrison witnessed Pete Best’s drumming, which eventually lead to his joining the group at the last minute before they shipped off to Hamburg. The trip to the then less than salubrious German port came about thanks to Allan Williams who owned the Jacaranda Club in Liverpool. On the coattails of Derry and The Seniors’ success in Hamburg, the band that would become The Beatles (via Johnny and The Moondogs and The Silver Beetles) were also sent by Williams, who became their part-time manager. Further attesting to the bleak portrait of Liverpool in Mitchell’s documentary, it was money that persuaded the bands’ families to let their children go. At about £100 per week for the group, their wages were more than they could earn in Liverpool.

There is no understating the influence of their time in Hamburg. The people they met and the world they became privy to had such an impact on them, from the mundane (their haircuts) to the extraordinary (their musical prowess), that John Lennon famously remarked “I was born in Liverpool, but I grew up in Hamburg”. If put in the context of five young men (at this point Stu Sutcliffe had joined on bass) leaving home together for the first time to ply rock ‘n’ roll to prostitutes and sea merchants, it’s no wonder that Hamburg had such an impression on them. Aside from the promiscuous sex, sleep-defying drugs and horrendously inadequate housing, the city taught The Beatles how to play. Not only that but also how to entertain an audience during the long hours on stage at the Indra Club and the Kaiserkeller, seven days a week. Stuart Sutcliffe’s future girlfriend Astrid Kirchherr and her then boyfriend Klaus Voorman would comment on being drawn to the club because of their performances, a sound they hadn’t been introduced to before.

The familiar image of four be-suited youngsters from Liverpool singing “Love Me Do” in 1962 was nowhere to be seen at this time in their career. On the contrary, subsequent trips saw The Beatles switch to wearing all leather (emulating their American idols such as Gene Vincent), which was less expensive in Hamburg, and was also more durable than the fashionable collared shirts and jackets being worn in Liverpool.

The growth in their musical ability and their reliance on each other as friends was all thanks to the environment they inhabited in Hamburg. Some details in Beatles history are at odds with that view, such as the sacking of Pete Best. An act that Lennon would later admit was cowardly, it’s hard to imagine how it could have happened without anyone from the band explaining the reasons to Best first. It makes you wonder if the attention, success and unrequited freedom of playing in Hamburg gave them a false sense of entitlement that meant they would do anything to escape the fate of their broken home town. Conversely it could be that because Pete Best was another in a long line of drummers who took the stool out of necessity, they didn’t feel the same about him as they did each other.

Whatever the reason for this being handled so poorly, Best was part of The Beatles line-up until 1962, a period of vindication for the Beatles’ hard fought glory abroad when they made their most famous early appearances and were eventually discovered by Brian Epstein at the now-famous Cavern Club. Although The Quarrymen had performed at the Cavern in 1958 between two jazz bands, it wasn’t until 1961—when the club had changed owners and moved away from its jazz roots—that The Beatles would play on a regular basis. Similarly to their relationship with the Casbah Coffee Club, they is lead to a residency that from beginning to end saw The Beatles perform 292 times.

It’s indicative of the state of the music industry at the time that The Beatles and their contemporaries were so hard working. There was a fascination within the media about how long a band might see their careers in music lasting, and both George Harrison and members of The Rolling Stones had commented that they would be lucky if they lasted three years. The legendary proficiency of The Beatles, certainly in those early years, was simply the effect of feeling like at any moment, it could be over. It’s not unreasonable to correlate that attitude with their determination to endure hardship in Hamburg, replacing members at the behest of the recording company, or willingness to change their look and attitude if their management suggests it will make them more successful.

On August 3, 1963, the four-piece band we know as The Beatles today took the stage at the Cavern for the last time. Already having two charting records with “Love Me Do” and “Please Please Me”, they were just six months shy of embarking on their first tour of America. Changed from the ‘scruffy’ lads who wore leather, swore and openly indulged in sex and drugs, they would even bow deeply at the end of their sets. So much naivety had been shaken from them over the course of their journey from The Quarrymen to The Beatles that the ‘innocent’ image they achieved became the epitome of a cunning marketing tool. Even their charm and wit had a world weariness about it that bellied the fresh faces about to take over the world. It was such an interesting journey before the journey had even really begun.

The day tickets went on sale for thePixies four-night run at London’s Brixton Academy, events quickly transpired against me. While this was mostly my own fault (not setting my alarm and not wanting to pay the exorbitant asking prices on eBay after the shows sold out), things were looking dire, and understandably I was upset.

Some might say I was being melodramatic, and if it were just about any other band I would see their point. But when the Pixies play it’s not just a show, it’s an event. And as this current tour sees the band marking the 20th anniversary of the release of Doolittle by playing it in its entirety, not since their first reunion shows in 2004 has this been truer. Imagine my joy then, when somehow, at the 11th hour, I managed to procure a ticket to one of the shows. I would be seeing the Pixies.

Finally the night arrived and before proceedings kicked off we were treated to both UK band Art Brut (playing thrillingly satirical punk rock) and scenes from Luis Bunuel’s film Un Chien Andalou (“slicing up eyeballs, I want you to know”) before Joey Santiago, Black Francis, Kim Deal and David Lovering calmly walked onto the stage.

Opening, completely unexpectedly, with “Dancing the Manta Ray”, the first four tracks comprised all b-sides before the screen behind the band flashed “Doolittle” and the opening bass notes of “Debaser” rang out over the cheers. From there on in it was a veritable feast of melodies and rhythms that have been a primary part of some people’s consciousness for the past 20 years. Each time a song would finish the lights dimmed until another anticipated intro began with its own unique visual accompaniment. While this flourish helped to make the experience as far from sitting at home and listening to the album as possible, it was also helped by the chemistry of the four middle-aged musicians onstage, whose reputations more than preceded them. As Kim Deal jokingly asked the audience if they knew what was coming next, Santiago and Francis mis-timed the intro to “Here Comes Your Man” and the band and the audience succumbed to fits of laughter.

Moving on through “Monkey Gone to Heaven”, the Lovering voiced “La La Love You” to the suitably climactic “Gouge Away”, Doolittle was brought to life through not only the bands affectionate performance, but also the addition of 5,000 voices harmonising the lyrics back at them. Taking the front of the stage to accept their applause, Santiago, Francis, Deal and Lovering also appeared in a projection at the rear, bowing in unison. As they walked off, this visualisation remained to give the crowd something to applaud while the Pixies readied themselves for their encore.

Reacquainted with their instruments, the band broke into the two b-sides from “Here Comes Your Man”; “Wave of Mutilation [UK Surf]” and “Into the White”, the latter of which saw the band completely obscured by the dry-ice machines at either side of the stage. But it was the second encore that really topped off the night as what most of us dared not to expect came true and non-Doolittle material swelled throughout the room. First was the lilting “Caribou”, before Deal kicked straight in with the bass riff for “Gigantic”. The collective hairs on the back of everyone’s neck stood on end, while their voices screamed the refrain in unison. A truly magical night, befitting a truly magical band.

Conspiracy is rife in the UK at the moment following the reintroduction of plans to penalize illegal file-sharers by disconnecting them from their internet provider. Admittedly, the fact that the Member of Parliament involved in the policy has recently spent time with David Geffen and prior to that had a meeting with the chairman of Universal Music does lend credence to the idea of successful industry lobbying.

If this is the case, it perfectly illustrates the contrast in the methodology and culture of major labels when compared with independents. One seems adamant on fighting the technological era we live in, while the other accepts it. The reason, obviously, is that major labels are a business. They operate to make money.

Ever since the status quo for the music industry has been threatened by consumer indifference to copyright, the idea of a back to basics approach is becoming more and more important. Luckily for independent labels, this is the ethos they have always subsisted on.

Take for example an article on Topic Records recently in The Guardian. The oldest independent record label in Britain at 70 years, Topic was a product of the political era of the ’30s and ’40s. Its survival lies in its ability to adapt as time progresses and new trends manifest themselves. Not to mention employing people in love with folk music, Topic’s predominant genre. This culture and operational perspective has become synonymous with UK independent labels throughout the 20th century and right up to today.

From Stiff Records to Rough Trade, Factory to LTM Recordings and more recently Warp to Domino, independent labels have long been run by people who are passionate about music. In a lot of cases, this passion supersedes turning a profit.

Kevin Douch of Big Scary Monsters Recording Company (BSM) is someone in a long list of people who understand this. He started his label “almost ten years ago now” as a means to helping a friends band.

“A lot of my favourite UK indie’s were started for similar reasons. I think the vast majority of people [who start a label] are just fascinated by music and excited to be involved in something they’re so passionate about”.

That enthusiasm is what makes independent labels succeed. There isn’t one way of doing things, which breeds a culture of risk taking. Speaking at a recent UnConvention conference, Stef Lewandowski of boutique UK label Type Records said “[As an independent label] you can do stuff that hasn’t really been attempted before. That is the role of the small guy. It’s not the role of the big companies to be taking on the level of risk that we might be able to.”

UnConvention itself is a series of conferences aimed at aiding the future of independent music. Douch recently attended one of the events in Belfast and sees it as a key component of the industry. “Much like the Association of Independent Music, I think UnConvention is really important. It’s great to meet other people in the same boat as you, and to have the opportunity to swap ideas and experiences. I came away feeling energized and creative.”

Creativity is a big part of BSM’s manifesto, whether in regards to business operations or promoting bands. You just have to read Douch’s guest column on Drowned in Sound to get an idea of where he is coming from.

“I think there’s as much emphasis on creative thinking as there is anything else these days. The music industry has become too lazy over the last decade or two, which is why it’s in such a bad way now”.

Again, it echoes the idea of adapting to the current climate. Rather than bemoaning threats to the industry, BSM is interested in the idea of added value and loyalty to the brand. “It’s one thing to find a great band, but knowing how to bring them to the attention of people, let alone finding ways to actually sell their releases takes more than good taste. I also believe that, as a record label, you need to be consistent with the quality of your roster and build your brand as a whole, so that people firstly know who you are, and secondly want to support you and your artists”.

So in the 70 year lifespan of Topic records, there is a core attitude which seems to have prevailed despite the industry being in a state of constant fluctuation. It’s the idea of long-term thinking. As current Topic Records boss Tony Engle succinctly puts it in the Guardian article, “The music industry, by and large, wants to make money. It’s a business, and thinks relatively short term. I always think long term”. A sentiment echoed on the websites of Domino Records, (“It’s a marathon, not a sprint”), and XL Recordings (“One thing that remains constant is that we are 100% independent, continuing a great tradition of UK record label culture”), and Rough Trade, in which Geoff Travis beautifully summarizes; “It’s flattering that people are interested in the past, but the most important thing is what happens now, what happens next”. Are you starting to see a pattern?

I spent the last couple of hours re-watching the Brian Jonestown Massacre and Dandy Warholes doc ‘Dig!’. I’d forgotten just what a damning document it is, not so much for Anton Newcombe, the surreal anti-hero of the piece, but more so for Courtney Taylor, whose narration is heard throughout.

I’m sure it’s been said elsewhere before, and probably much better, but how can someone be so unaware of themselves? Much like Louis Theroux will allow his subjects to crucify themselves by feeling forced to talk in the silences between his questions, Taylor exposes his every bitterness, his conceit and ultimately his failings a musician; so cripplingly eager to succeed, but only while looking good doing it.

It was almost worth breaking off from the documentary to write this as it played in the background, so as to add quotes and other evidence in support of my claim, but like the train wreck that it is for both parties involved, I stood transfixed.

Logging onto Wikipedia, I was disappointed to see little information about Newcombe. I saw the Brian Jonestown Massacre at Glastonbury in 2008, from a very safe distance, and remember thinking that it was amazing that they were there and still as ramshackle as in Dig! Newcombe was upset with the film saying that it portrayed him unfairly. Given that it was filmed over seven years, you can see that there may have been times that contradicted his personality as shown, but the fact is that these things happened, and if nothing else, his band would not be as big as it is now if it weren’t for the film.

Though hardly revelatory, those were thoughts bouncing around my head as I watched the film. It really is good, and if you’ve not seen it before, please do so. It’ll satisfy music fans and psychology students alike.

On a different note, I can’t get this song out of my head. I’d originally dismissed HEALTH, put off by their performances in a documentary about now ubiquitous club ‘The Smell’. Their allum Ponytail still infuriate me, despite the praises of NPR, so we’ll have to see if that changes as it has with HEALTH, but in the meantime ‘Die Slow’  along with Girls new ‘Album’ are keeping my faith in music well above water level.

Last note: Off to see Pixies tonight at Brixton Academy as part of the ‘Doolittle’ anniversary tour. I genuinely can’t wait. Will report back tomorrow.

^{Posted: August 28, 2009 – London, United Kingdom}

Walking out of Big Wheel Sunday at the Open Air Theatre in Regent’s Park, I can hardly believe what I’ve just witnessed. Once again, it seems that the best way to approach something is with no expectations at all. I hadn’t seen British Sea Power live before and their recorded material had always interested me, if not blown me away. But on an ornate stage, several metres from where I was seated, the cool night air providing welcome relief from the unexpectedly hot London day, blown away is exactly what I was.

Several people, a forest’s worth of branches and someone dressed in a bear costume invade the stage during BSP’s encore, which sees them tearing apart “Carrion” from debut The Decline of British Sea Power. Security guards have to be on full alert as extremely overzealous fans try to climb the central plinth that is precariously keeping the canopy of the stage erect. Lead Guitarist Noble beckons at his amplifier helplessly; fearing further onslaught from the crowd. All the while the costumed caniform stalks the stage with arms raised and jaw open. It’s a far cry from the perennially serious affair that this gig started off as.

That’s not to say that there was ever an expectation of tedium. In fact, it was awe inspiring to enter the small amphitheatre and see the stage being laden with foliage, a lovingly crafted wooden structure adorned with symmetrical staircases and the fading blueness of the sky watching over it all. I did think that this setting, more typically housing stage productions of Shakespeare or (ahem) Hello, Dolly!, was unusual for the abrasive nature of BSP’s material, but the civility of it all provided reassurance of witnessing something unique.

The opening songs bore fruit for this hypothesis; “The Land Beyond”‘s emphatically understated swoon especially mimicked the grandeur of the setting. But with each song, the music got a little louder, as did the crowd. By the time they played “Remember Me”, six songs into their set, people began abandoning their seats to stand along the narrow passage between the stage and the first row. From there on in, this scene was a mainstay; if you weren’t pogoing at the front, you were standing and pumping your fist as if at a Springsteen concert.

In between songs, lead singer Yan provided some interesting and endearing anecdotes, including his “Justin Hawkins breaking out of Colditz” style plan to entertain the crowd that saw him ascending the stairs of the amphitheatre during soundcheck. Unfortunately this resulted in a twisted ankle and a cold compress being sported by the singer all night. The moral? “Safety is important”; a warning directed at the slow mania building in the audience.

Inevitably the floodgates burst. During a cacophony of feedback and foliage, the band took all of the energy that had been building up and solidified their reputation as an electrifying live band. Do You Like Rock Music‘s “Waving Flags” rounded out the pre-encore set with the crowd enthusiastically singing along. Even if BSP had not come back on I think that they would have felt they received their money’s worth. But of course, the band did come back on. And got more than they, the organisers, or I bargained for. Brilliant.

^{August 19, 2009 – Stourbridge, United Kingdom}

Rob Jones of The Voluntary Butler Scheme has a point. With the advent of MySpace, iTunes, bedroom recording studios and any number of other turn of the century progressions in musical ingenuity “there doesn’t have to be anyone out there to tell you that you’re a decent songwriter for you to put out a record.” Not only that, because of outlets like blogs and forums, “everyone’s a journalist.” The modern age, it seems, is humbling for the musician and the music critic alike.

The one thing that this era doesn’t guarantee however, is success. It is still easy to discern the musically impassioned from the musically impaired. Having been interested in music since he was young, Jones, for all intents and purposes, is The Voluntary Butler Scheme. The songs are written and (mostly) performed by he alone. Employing piano, guitar, synth, ukulele, drums and even at times a kazoo on stage, Rob Jones obviously fits squarely into the impassioned camp. This is why people have started to sit up and take notice.

“I had one little homemade EP that I was selling at gigs and people started playing it on the radio,” he says of his first notable tour with Brighton-based band Brakes. The shows saw Jones performing onstage alone, singing over the various looped instruments accompanying him. “The idea of doing it on my own seemed less terrifying than having other people relying on me as someone to lead it. I don’t really think I can be a Jagger style of front man so you have to find different ways of making it interesting”.

To hear the songs performed live is a completely different experience to hearing them recorded. While these aren’t Dylanesque variations, there are concessions that have to be made when performing the material solo. “They’re two different disciplines; trying to be entertaining on a CD and trying to entertain people when they’re standing right in front of you. You can have the same song and the same melody but then execute it in a different way. You could play a song just on a ukulele live, because maybe it’s the lyrics that you want to get across”.

This obviously means that musical dexterity is important. “I’ve become obsessed with different instruments. One of my biggest interests lies in Motown,” a style his music is often compared to, “and when I was recording certain songs, I would have been listening to Motown and thinking ‘how did they get those drums to sound like that?’. Then I’d try and notice if they used things like a glockenspiel. When I play live I’ve got all of this technology and these different instruments that go together and loop up in a big way.”

Some have written of The Voluntary Butler Scheme as another in a line of “quintessentially British” bands, whose sound is of their surroundings, either geographically or culturally. It’s easy to see the accusation given the brightness of VBS’s arrangements, not dissimilar to Badly Drawn Boy’s more flamboyant compositions. There is also the, dare I say it, ‘quirky’ nature of the lyrics; “Wear a De La Soul T-shirt once in a while to make you feel more hip hop than you are,” for example. But Jones maintains that he draws his inspiration from further afield than his own backyard. “I definitely don’t think that I’ve drawn any inspiration from where I’m from. If anything it’s maybe the opposite. Being from a quiet and sleepy place forces you to be bit of a dreamer and think about things that are going on elsewhere. So in a way I think it’s probably inspired by anything but Britain”.

The listening public will get to decide for themselves where Jones’ music fits when The Voluntary Butler Scheme’s debut album drops in the UK on September 7. The Voluntary Butler Scheme at Breakfast, Dinner, Tea features the singles “Multiplayer”, “Trading Things In” and “Tabasco Sole”, the videos for the former two being well worth a look. With the playlist being a culmination of the entire time Jones’ has been playing as VBS, he is understandably happy to see its arrival. “I’m glad to be at this point now because I’ve been touring up and down the UK having not even had an album to support. There are certain people who’ve been waiting for me to make an album and I’m glad to finally have something for them. It’s also a big help to me because I can now move on and make more music”.

^{August 14, 2009 – Newcastle, United Kingdom}

Given that all musicians really want to do is write, play and record their own music, it’s easy to understand how they become disillusioned with the superfluous elements of their craft.

Justin Lockey of White Belt Yellow Tag (WBYT) has decided to, in a sense, subvert the conventions of an industry which is slowly realizing its existence is dependent on being as malleable as possible. He speaks of bypassing A&R people, innovation through bedroom DIY and having “no rules or hoops to jump through,” like he knows a thing or two about this business; like he’s been here before, which of course, he has.

Undoubtedly Lockey would rather not mention his previous band, Yourcodenameis:milo, but the association seems important in understanding where he and fellow band member Craig Pilbin are heading with WBYT.

“I don’t really get anxious,” he says when asked about the time between finishing a record and it hitting shelves. “Maybe a little bit nervous about people who listened to previous bands we were in and expect us to remain in the same genre or mindset. I’m not a big fan of looking back.”

Where Yourcodenameis:milo was a five piece playing post-hardcore, alternative rock, WBYT seem more studious in technique, carving out melodies and focusing on atmosphere in each of their songs. With only two members in the studio (ex-Cooper Temple Clause member Tom Bellamy joins the band for live duties), it seems life is a bit easier creatively.

“The songs for the album came really fast. It was just a case of going into the studio and finding the sounds that we wanted to use. It’s massively liberating making a record this fast, and I think we were both happy to keep the pace up and not dwell on anything. I find it really easy to remain focused in the studio which I put down to having just the two of us making the record; no A&R or any of that, just straight up getting shit done!”

The album in question is called Methods and took an impressive 13 days to record. Any band would have you believe their forthcoming work is going to be good, but there is something about the way that Lockey describes it that exudes the confidence of someone who knows they’re right.

“I think we’re both massively proud and surprised at how it turned out! Because we didn’t head into it with any preconceived plan it has definitely turned out better than anything I’ve ever done before, in scope, depth and dynamics.” Initially WBYT recorded a four track EP, You’re Not Invincible, and by all accounts Methods will build on its sound. “…Invincible definitely outlines the massive melodies that we’re into. I’d say it hints at, and sets up, the tone for the album perfectly.”

The idea of WBYT existing without any “preconceived plan” is referred to often in Lockey’s responses. After all, the band didn’t come together in the most obvious fashion. “Craig and I got together in a studio I was doing some mixing in and he asked me to help with some songs he was working on. We carried on until voila, we’d done an albums worth! I find it odd when a band has ambitions before they have any tunes. I never really have any specific ambitions when it comes to working in a band. I’ve learned to not expect anything and just to keep my head down, working my ass off. Everything that comes along is a bonus.”

The EP was being played and heard before the band had played a note live. Whereas in the studio the pair shared the instruments between one another, their early shows had Pilbin on guitar and vocals with Lockey on drums. It was a simple decision that saw them add Tom Bellamy to this line-up. “It was purely because it didn’t feel big enough. I think we’ll still do the odd show as a two-piece because it’s a lot of fun and sounds a lot rawer, but once we’d tracked the record we really needed that extra member to make it work how we wanted it to”.

And the reaction to their live performances? “We’ve been blown away by the response to the shows. I don’t think we could have expected anything like the reception we’re getting.”

So WBYT are doing things their own way, on their own terms. Lockey sums this dynamic up perfectly. “The biggest difference from when I first began making music and now is that the way everything used to work (recording, touring, marketing, etc.) has been completely turned on its head. A band making a record in their bedroom can get it out to as many people as a band that are on a major label doing things that way. It evens things up, and surely that’s amazing right?”

^{August 7, 2009 – Atlanta, United States}

If you’ve not come across Manchester Orchestra before, it’s important to note the origins of the name, lest there be any confusion. Not, in fact, from Manchester, lead singer Andy Hull became intrigued with the city in Northern England by listening to bands such as The Smiths because of the mentality their name and music imbued. Simpler to explain, the Orchestra aspect came from the idea of Hull writing music that was then to be shared and augmented with friends.

Hailing from Atlanta in the United States, what began as an outlet for Hull’s songwriting has since become a band proper, overcoming numerous line-up changes to settle on the five-piece of Robert Powell on guitar, Chris Freeman on keys, Jonathan Corley on bass, Hull on vocals and guitar and drummer Jeremiah Edmond who sat down after a 20 hour trip back home from Australia to answer some questions about touring, their latest album, Mean Everything to Nothing, and the idea of having a backup plan.

“We got back yesterday” Edmond explains, “So I’m doing laundry, catching up on work and prepping for the next tour which starts in a few days.” This is the normality that exists between the madness of touring and recording it seems, however there isn’t much of it to be had by all accounts. When asked to provide a brief background of his time with the band, Edmond’s busy schedule is telling in its succinctness. “It’s been a whirlwind most of the time. I joined the band after they finished [unreleased first album] Nobody Sings Anymore and we started playing around town. We decided to put out [debut] I’m Like a Virgin Losing a Child on our own and started touring heavily. At that point we started getting all sorts of support tours which really helped us. We signed to Canvasback/Columbia and toured non-stop for a long time. Finally we took a break and made Mean Everything To Nothing. Now we’re back touring like crazy again.”

The current tour has taken in the UK, the aforementioned sojourn to Australia for the Splendour in the Grass festival, and now North America, for an extensive Canadian and U.S. leg. Most of us can only imagine the toll that experience must take on a person’s well-being. “Touring is the reason I play music but it is a love/hate thing. It’s very taxing physically, mentally and emotionally. I find myself experiencing the extreme highs and lows in each area. You have to keep the playing live portion of it as one of the high points though; otherwise it doesn’t balance at all.”

Finding that balance is all part of being a professional musician, but Edmond is realistic about the idea of having a backup plan if things don’t work out. Although obviously now in a position that he relishes and loves, he was already in a “dream career” which he left to return to playing music. “Sometimes you have a plan and sometimes you don’t. I was already a few years into my dream career as an engineer/producer when I joined the band, so I had to leave my backup job to become a musician again. There are a ton of things I’m sure I will end up trying either while in the band or after.”

Obviously things have worked out for the best, as the positivity surrounding the band’s second full-length album, Mean Everything to Nothing, attests to. According to their website, the starting point was ostensibly three landmark albums from the 1990s; Pinkerton by Weezer, In Utero by Nirvana and The Colour and the Shape by Foo Fighters. While the blueprint of the former influence is evident via the emotive nature of the lyrics, the latter two albums’ impact is heard in the heaviness of the instruments coalesced with melody. It’s also easy to listen to METN and draw comparisons to bands like Modest Mouse and Neutral Milk Hotel (“Shake it Out” and “The Only One” respectively). But how does the band react to comparisons?  “All of the above,” Edmond responds when asked if he finds comparisons interesting, annoying or flattering. “It just depends on what it is we’ve been compared to. I think many are ridiculous and don’t really make any sense but some do turn out to be really interesting.”

Being influenced by some of the best music of our generation is easy to understand and it seems that while Manchester Orchestra’s star only has one trajectory to follow right now, ultimately, the band wants to leave their mark on the next generation of songwriters. “That’s something that makes everything seem worth it. I think about the bands that were influential to me and realize now that many of them were not very well-known or successful when it comes to selling tons of albums or making much money. Even if we never make it past the level we are at now, there may be people out there who are influenced by our albums in the same way and that maybe one day they will make music that will inspire someone else.”

^{Posted: June 11, 2009 – Wellington, New Zealand}

When it was announced that Texan indie folk band Okkervil River would be returning to New Zealand, there ensued an awed silence. Ticket sales were slow to say the least. Daily calls to the vendor prior to pay day to check availability would be met with the same slightly agitated response, “There are hundreds left.”

Gradually the media picked up on the event and a mythology began to evolve. It seemed that Okkervil’s previous show in 2008 was akin to The Sex Pistols Lesser Free Trade Hall gig for its small attendance yet breathtaking brilliance. Any number of reviews were dug out and referred to for reaffirmation that this was a show not to be missed. And therein lies the first mitigating circumstance that made it nearly impossible for me to enjoy the show.

Despite the proselytizing of friends and critics, I couldn’t profess to being overwhelmed by Okkervil River. However, the opportunity to see them live gave me an ounce of hope, somewhat quixotically, that I would witness something revelatory; an expectation which seemed further justified by the aforementioned superlatives of their earlier performance. Unfortunately another barrier appeared. There isn’t an overabundance of good gig venues in Wellington, but Bodega, with its bottlenecks and sight restricting support beams, makes it one of the worst.

Still, I had never seen the venue as full as at this gig. It seemed that people were told to come, and they did. The result was three significantly different categories of attendees; devout fans, appreciators/expectant converts and those that felt they should be there. The latter being the ones in conversation so loud as to draw shushing from the devoutees; we appreciators were caught in the cross-fire.

All of which leads me to the conclusion that the reasons I didn’t fully enjoy this gig aren’t justified because they aren’t Okkervil River’s fault.

As soon as they graced the stage they were unreservedly charming; the sound was on par with the best I had experienced at a live gig in a small venue; and they played an expansive set from across their back catalogue. The section of the crowd that were there for the right reasons were rapturous in their applause, signifying their belief that they were getting their money’s worth. The songs “For Real”, “Our Life Is Not A Movie Or Maybe” and “Okkervil River Song” were all greeted with massive applause and sing-alongs. Sheff’s voice was ascendant over the chatting crowd on the outskirts of the bar and his wit was in fine form; baiting the crowd by asking if they had any requests before his riposte: “Don’t you people know how to write a set list?” And while the other band members seemed to be there simply in support of Sheff, they played the part well, all sounding immaculate.

Extenuating circumstances aside, the energy, affability, breadth and expertise with which Okkervil River conducted themselves made this a great show. A lone Will Sheff on stage for a second encore (“Red” from debut Don’t Fall In Love With Everyone You See) spoke volumes for their gratitude to be able to play for fans as far flung as our lonely isles. And we are thankful too.