the first rule of chapel club...there are no fucking rules

music >> album review >> chapel club >> palace

having listened to ‘palace’ by the much hyped chapel club i can’t help but think that these obviously skilled songwriters have missed a trick with their first release. a debut album from any band is often a jumble of structures, lyrics, themes and tempos as the hurried collection is formed from the most prominent ten or so songs gigged over the years as a band finds their place, mood and sound. ‘palace’ doesn’t suffer such inconsistencies, as fresh sounding tracks compliment one another, flowing comfortably while showing enormous potential and offering an accomplished and competent sound. however, despite the immediate compelling promise i am left wondering if it could have been so much better.

wearing your heart on your sleeve and being forthcoming with your influences will get you by, but originality is what can set you apart. throughout the album i was waiting for something novel, though incessantly my thoughts regressed to a sound reminiscent of obvious influences like echo & the bunnymen, joy division, the smiths, and more modern darlings such as editors, the strokes and white lies.

the delivery and lyrics from lewis bowman often sounds like a flirty yet moody poetic duet between ian mcculloch and morrissey. if this apparent intellect is a clever as he thinks, a slight tweak to the over wordy lyrics could have seen this album reach the loftiness the hype evoked. songs such as ‘surfacing’, ‘five trees’ and ‘the shore’ display intelligence and thought, while ‘blind’, ‘fine light’ and ‘o maybe i’ further evidence this is a band with obvious depth and song writing aptitude.

chapel club tick the right boxes for a modern british band – gloomy bleak vocal delivery, creative guitars plus they look the part and they can fill an indie disco, and that (not poetry corner) is where their focus should remain. if they can do this while exploring their own obvious musical psyche, they’ll quickly find that their sound becomes the one to influence so many others.

7/10

dad's brothers from holland

gig review >> dutch uncles >> old blue last, shoreditch >> 27.10.10

for the last few months the name 'dutch uncles' has been everywhere - i say everywhere, i mean my twitter account, which can seem like everywhere when you while away your working day tweeting about the weather and hunting down the next must-see gig. a lot of 'musos' i follow have repeatedly sung their praises, so to find they were playing the old blue last in shoreditch last night was a pre-halloween treat...

dutch uncles didn't disappoint and didn't miss a trick (how long can i abuse this halloween theme?). they begun awkwardly and having not seen them before i thought this might have been to the lack of stage space, or the the need to shake off some pre-gig jitters. three songs into their set, the awkwardness remained and it was apparent that this was indeed their stage style and essential to their indie-maths pop personality. frontman duncan wallis showed an often spooky likeness to the mannerisms of the late ian curtis, switching from timid and shy between songs, to cutting angular shapes with his flaying arms and square shoulders once the beat of the song had been fully embraced. bouncing 80s bass lines and creative entwining guitars backed up what wallis' punchy often feminine vocals confessed to the crowd.

it seemed a long set for a relatively low-key band, which evidences their wealth of material. the songs, often rousing became stronger towards the end of the night, a brooding intelligence which came to the forefront with songs such as 'fragrant' setting the busying crowd's knees jerking....

don't miss a trick, treat yourself to something from dutch uncles (boom boom ch...)

7.5/10

bye bye bus wankers

tv >> the inbetweeners

last monday brought down the curtain on a tv series that has really tickled me in the last couple of years; the inbetweeners. it's going to be an arduous toil filling the void left by the close-to-the-bone tales of four suburban teenagers who don't (despite their best efforts) fit in. neither too geeky to endure daily wedgies from the college bullies, nor cool enough to survive a night on the persians without crying for their mummy, they sit uncomfortably somewhere inbetween.

in the last few weeks i've plugged the show to my girlfriend, assuming the shenanigans of four heart-in-the-right-place lads will bring hilarity and enjoyment to her. sure, there's been a few 'lol' moments uttered from her lips but nothing to the levels of cracked-ribbed roars of merriment that i've been experiencing. surely smashing the hell out of some tulips with a golf club is hilarious? i believe the difference in our laughter meters is because as i watch the stupidity unfold, i relate it to my own inbetween years; such as the time we were arrested for stealing plant pots from someone's front garden (my mum fainted in the middle of lakeside when my sister phoned bragging the news), when we used to bunk off school one day each summer to go sailing but all we'd do is purposely and repeatedly capsize the boat much to our amusement and the annoyance of our fellow sea dogs, the camping trips where we'd drive for seven hours, face mass seagull poo attacks and have a baby puke on our laps in wimpy all for the sake of some teenage male bonding, the five mile drunken walks after nights out to stay at our mate's house just to have a perv on his mum in her silky nightie in the morning (despite only living half a mile from town ourselves) etc, etc - you get the picture. silly, yet not really hurting anyone - typically boyish behaviour that i can't fathom doing now, but at the time, seemed so right and so funny.

recalling our ever distancing youth is one of the main reasons behind the pleasure in the inbetweeners, i'm sure most of my male friends can see themselves and our previous disobedience in the characters - personally a scary mix of simon (terrible haircut/obsessing over unatainable girls) and jay (constant swearing and lying). ah, our naive and gone but not forgotten youth, how I miss thee. it's good to have these brief flashbacks remembering our fruition and coming of age, full of seemingly pointless happenings, but they were anything but pointless, they needed to happen to shape where we all are today. all teenage boys should experience the same playful mischief - just make sure your mum's sitting down (and not in lakeside) when she learns of your latest naughty adventure.

oh, and bring on the film - a lads holiday, it'll be like tenerife '97 all over again! sun, sea and absolutely no sex.

nothing's free in this world... except for this!

music >> free download

after much hype, a few weeks ago i caught the band i dream in colour live in east london. i was impressed with richard judge’s born for the stage vocals guiding us through the imaginatively progressive songs, often beginning with the most timid of introductions catapulting to a mature and ear pleasing musical culmination.

i've teamed up with i dream in colour to offer a free download of recently recorded single ‘if you’ produced by phil tyremen (doves, belle & sebastian) that you can download here:

i dream in colour. if you (mp3)

before the band hit the studio early next year to record their debut album they have taken to the road, relentlessly gigging to sell out venues and attracting a wave of new fans. stand out forthcoming gigs include november 11th hoxton underbelly and november 26th camden barfly. get along, and by that time you’ll have no excuse to not know all the words!

happy xmas mum, have a cd/coaster

music >> album review >> kings of leon >> come around sundown

to establish an unbiased view of kings of leon's new album 'come around sundown’ an open mind, ignoring the tiresome 'old kol / new kol' debate was required. 'only by the night', their fourth album brought a fresh wave of fans completely unaware of these tennessee boys before 'sex on fire', westlife cover 'use somebody' and sexy videos more akin to something beyonce would do. kol lost as many fans as they gained with their last album, but having reminded myself of their brilliance on their third record 'because of the times', i was hoping for great things from 'come around sundown'; either a return to their messy, frenzied bluesy rock, or a completely new direction - with whispers of a 'beachy' sounding album, i had high hopes that the polished stadium rock sound they'd uncomfortably slipped into was a one album blip.

sadly the divide between old and new kol remains, i can confirm they're still playing it safe and keeping their new fans (those playing 'sex on fire' off their phones and our take that-loving older sisters) happy with this over produced, stuck in second gear, middle of the road tosh that neither enlightens nor offends. even after three or four listens i couldn't help thinking the cd would make a nice christmas present for my mum, more suitable for afternoon coffee than brixton academy mosh pits. kol now have a signature commercial sound that is instantly recognisable, yet instantly forgettable. longing for the good times of 'spiral staircase' and 'california waiting' these new songs make clear those days are well and truly behind us.

it's not all bad, there are a couple of okay songs, 'no money' hints at their pre-2007 excellence with some choppy guitars and fuzzy production -(at last, i thought) but sadly the next song "pony up" immediately reminded me of the steering wheel-tapping beats they now embrace. 'beach side' has an interesting intro and bouncy bass, a song that flirts with a new direction, but just as my ears were readying themselves for the song to launch the new 2010 kol sound, it ends abruptly as if for fear of offending their new fans. 'pyro' and 'mary' are other songs that slightly stood out but still sat on the fence, not daring enough to tip toe next door where all the naughty, fun stuff is…

this album was kol's chance to slow the monster they've become but instead they've released a 'the only way is essex' friendly album that just doesn't do anything. the commercial road which they've taken is a very different road to the one we thought we were heading down when we jumped onboard during the blurry moustache and flared denim 'youth and young manhood' beginnings. those happy days are assigned to history, i miss them a lot but it seems kol don't, if they did we wouldn't be subjected to yet another soundtrack to bono's wet dreams.

4/10

relocation, relocation, relocation

life >> style

we've all had a laugh at the 'being a dickhead's cool' video that spread around the internet faster than a hoxton hero can roll their rizla. most of the people i know, myself included can tick off a few of the piss-takes highlighted - the current blog YOU ARE ENJOYING being the perfect example, but having recently returned from a week back in my hometown, i can confidently confirm that the life of these so called dickheads has to be an improvement on what is suffered by those diseased by small-town-syndrome now laughing at these supposed trendies. i agree with a of a lot of the video; take a stroll through east london and you'll see waves of pretentious young 'uns cat-walking their way down brick lane or broadway market, perfecting their look to whatever the leader of their whacky art student gang has decided is acceptably diverse enough from their gran's piss stained wardrobe that week, or which vintage camera (that probably doesn't work) looks coolest slung around their buttons-in collar.

the cloned "wow, i'm so diverse, look at my clothes and moustache, i'm the ultimate artist/musician/writer in hackney" falseness obviously riles a lot, but in their favour, at least these young upstarts aren't stuck in the small, narrow minded town they grew up in, desperate to try new things but constrained because of the fear of abuse or failure to fit in. they've moved to london, one of the most magnificent cities in the world, and yep they're wearing silly clothes, growing ridiculous facial hair, sitting over london fields, blogging about their cool day out looking all hip and happening for their 800+ facebook friends and they'll carry on doing it. finally these kids have found a place that tolerates this behaviour whereas before they would have been branded gay or a c*nt at the very thought of wearing a dead man's cardigan or going out without socks on! now all they have to put up with is funny internet videos. like all social groupings, sort through the crap, the fakeness and pretence and you'll find some lovely people who have lived and breathed what is their natural lifestyle for years. for every fifty sheep, there will be a few genuine shepherds; the effortlessly fashionable, artistic, creative types, but unfortunately their genuinity is lost amongst the hoards of hackney.

i diverge, a lot. so i was back in my hometown, the place i'd spent my conformed life surviving through not being too 'out there' or rebelling against what river island had decided was fashionable that season; back to the reptitiveness of the same conversations, same faces, same pubs, same shops and the same dress sense - you'd think the residents of my hometown would have the fitness levels of an olympian for the amount of tracksuits on parade. feeling out of place, i craved the comforts of london with it's endless supply of cosy pubs, amazing parks full of bbqs and guitars, no boy racers circuiting the town centre scouting for 14 year old girls to fill their mum's ford ka, but mostly for the 'anything goes' mentality. despite their obvious faults, these so called dickheads have a liberal and openess that should be applauded. embracing their new surroundings, there's an agreed and underlying acceptance of non-high street conformative fashion, varied music, ranging hair styles (although a morrissey quiff will help you find your feet) but most importantly an acceptance of any colour, any sex, any religion, any race. these people might not tick everyone's like box, sure they're lost in their little fashion student world (despite being 36 and working in a data entry office), but at least they're friendly and won't even shudder at the recent criticisms, just laugh, admit to nearly everything on there, and carry on doing it to the obvious annoyance of such film makers and shoreditch twat abusers.

as stated, most people i know can be loosely catergorised with these once vulnerable beings, but they're a friendly bunch and not out for trouble or to annoy. the younger crowd are enjoying the escapism of their new home, and older generation are out to retain an ever loosening grip on their youthfulness and have a good time while they cling. so with all that in mind, i proclaim "long live the dickheads, just tone it down a little yeah? i can't use up valuable blog space sticking up for you, i've got to promote my art, fashion, warehouse parties and all the other hip and trendy shit i've got on the go!"

i'm off to london fields to type this up on my macbook pro yah...

colchester, colchester or wolves (but definitely not spurs)

football >> my dad

when my old man talks about football i take note, he knows his stuff. this is the man who left his brother's wedding mid-ceremony to race to molineux to stand on the north bank (in his lilac flared suit) to catch the second half of his beloved wolverhampton wanderers versus everton in september 1971*. such dedication has led to a wealth of football knowledge filling his cigar and whisky stained brain; ask him who was rotherham's manager in 1983 and he'll tell you. test him with who won the world cup in 1972 and he'll immediately inform you there wasn't a world cup that year. so when my dad guided me into the wonderful world of football when i was five years old, he wisely advised me that people should only support a team that abides to these rules:

- the team of where you were born
- the team of where you grew up
- the team your dad supports

that left me with colchester, colchester or wolves. rebelling, i supported arsenal for a season or two - something to do with lee dixon's tanned thighs, a very peculiar time for a young boy. but over time my yoda-like father's wisdom took effect, that and the sorry realisation i'd never get a new nylon kit if i carried on cheering dixon et al. so as easy as kerry katona swaps bodily fluids, i switched my allegiances to the pride of the black country. for over two decades i've followed wolves through thick (steve bull's two million goals in the turner years, winning the 2003 play-offs, thrashing man utd 1-0, winning the 2009 championship, staying in the premier league last season), and thin (near closure, sir jack's millions wasted on crippled has-beens, seeing bolton or west brom repeatedly beat us in the play-off semi finals and relegation from the premier league despite the amazing free signing of steffen iversen in 2004!) and through these highs and lows i've been to a lot of games and taken in many an old rusty ground.

the money spent, the wet and cold tuesday evenings in january, the hours stuck in traffic jams evidence loyalty and have left a hopeful yet grounded football opinion. but it's all worth it in the end. the good times (premier league stability) might finally be returning to molineux, so in this sky sports led age when so few follow my father's model and now seek quick fix glories randomly supporting chelsea, man utd or spurs despite living hundreds of miles away, maybe it's time to take stock and think about who you should really be following. back my dad's methods and you'll find the success tastes sweeter, you might find yourself actually going to a game (who'd have thunk it?!) and your spurs winning the champions league theory won't be laughed out of your local boozer faster than kerry katona spreads her legs...

*my dad informs me it finished 1-1 if you were wondering