“I feel the need to complain in the strongest possible terms regarding the proposed axing of 6Music as well as the worrying direction that Mark Thompson seems intent on steering the BBC.  

The BBC holds a unique and priceless cultural archive in the form of decades of BBC sessions on the shows of John Peel and others. If it weren’t for 6Music, these would, for the most part, remain locked away. The fact they are systematically added to the 6Music playlist on a daily basis, allowing them to be heard by new audiences is, in my opinion, reason alone for the continued funding of the station. Phil Jupitus said that to axe 6Music would be an act of cultural vandalism and an affront to the memory of John Peel. He hit the nail squarely on the head.  

One of the reasons given for the axing of 6Music is that it would allow rival commercial operations to flourish. However, there is no commercial station which currently offers the breadth and scope of music which 6Music offers. Putting aside for a second the fact that the sessions mentioned above are owned by the BBC so cannot be offered by any commercial station, much of 6Music’s output is carefully selected and curated by experts to provide music programming which is both eclectic and entertaining. It is not just programmed by an algorithm with commercial concerns in mind. Almost every DJ on the station cares passionately about the music they play. 

By comparison, if you look at the daytime output of Radio’s 1 and 2, it is indistinguishable, at least musically, from almost every commercial station in the country. The majority of DJ’s on Radio 1 and Radio 2 are selected for their personality rather than their musical knowledge or taste. Their personalities (and, in most cases, their salaries!) are the only thing to distinguish Radio 1 and Radio 2 from their commercial rivals.

The simple fact is that 6Music is a station that could never be offered by a commercial company. It would be a naive person who thought that if the BBC cut 6Music that some commercial organisation would step up and fill it’s place. The main commercial station which plays alternative music is XFM, but it is just a regional station and does not tend to play the vast range of music found on 6Music, choosing instead to focus on current chart hits. This will always be the case with commercial stations.

There are a broad range of musical audiences catered for by 6Music who are not being served by any other station, either commercial or on the BBC. Off the top of my head, we have the following, but there are others:  

• Funk and Soul show (funk and soul)
• Freak Zone (experimental and Avant Garde)
• Don Letts (punk and reggae)
• Tom Robinson (unsigned)
• Gideon Coe (live BBC archives)

  Axing 6Music would disenfranchise all these audiences, otherwise uncatered for, either by current BBC or commercial output. The proposals are that the best elements of what 6Music currently offers will be incorporated into Radio 1 and 2. To be fair, there are many shows on these stations with impassioned presenters who are genuine music fans. However, without exception, they are marginalised to night time slots. By design, Radios 1 and 2 will always cater to the most mainstream of tastes. Moving a few 6Music DJ’s into late night slots on these stations IS NOT a suitable alternative. It is no more than a token offering.

And it certainly would be late night slots that these shows were forced to. Whilst it’s true that both those stations already occasionally play songs which appear on the 6Music playlist, one must sit through an awful lot of mainstream commercial music to do so. This is the key reason most 6Music listeners do not currently listen to either of those stations. Only Radio 3 and 6Music, despite the obvious difference in their respective output, clearly, distinctly communicate, with a strong voice, to music fans with discerning tastes.

I cannot imagine the vast majority of the Peel sessions would sound at home nestled between Lady Gaga and JLS on the daytime Radio 1 roster. Similarly, if you axe 6Music, its listeners will not simply migrate to Radio 1 or Radio 2. They choose not to listen to these stations for good reason. They will probably just stop listening to radio and will be lost to the BBC for good.

I, probably like the majority of 6Music listenership, grew up listening to Radio 1. In my teens, as I discovered the more eclectic late night output, I drifted away from listening during the day, but continued to listen to the evening shows of John Peel, Steve Lamacq, Mark Radcliffe etc. The arrival a few years later of 6Music seemed like the logical next step. Since it caters to this audience the BBC builds on Radio 1. For this reason, I propose that Radio 1 might finance the continued support of 6Music.    

This may sound like a radical proposal, but it is much the same practice already demonstrated by book publishers. They use their successes to fund ‘the long tail’. They know that there is not much money to be made in the majority of books, so rely on the huge profits from a few blockbusters to fund the production of a huge range of potentially less successful works, knowing that the collective human culture benefits overall. Similarly, it could be argued that since evening Radio 1 shows are probably the main breeding ground for 6Music listeners, money could be filtered from the budgets of Radio 1 and 2 to fund the cultural enrichment which 6Music offers.  

1Xtra has avoided the cuts despite lower listening figures than 6Music because of it’s direct connections to Radio 1. I have read that, for the same reasons, BBC7 is to be rebranded Radio 4 Extra. Might I suggest rebranding 6Music’s name (but just the name, not the output) to more closely align it with Radio 1 since there is already a clear cross pollination between Radio 1′s evening output and the entire output of 6Music. This would raise the stations profile and listenership and make it a more viable proposition.  

I pay my licence and am a strong, vocal supporter of the BBC. I don’t like sport, soaps or reality TV but would never dream of complaining about the tens of millions the BBC spends on those each year. Why should my opinion on what the BBC broadcasts be any less valid though? My personal opinion is that with BBC4, 6Music, the news website and the iPlayer, I have already got my moneysworth from the BBC. Axing 6Music may leave me, and the other hundreds of thousands who listen to the station, feeling short changed and alienated.  

If the BBC were to focus solely on catering to more marginal groups, at the expense of commercial output, it would play into Tory hands and put them exactly where the likes of Rupert Murdoch want them. Therefore, it is vital that the BBC continues to cater to commercial markets. However, their remit, and the justification for the licence, is to provide for audiences which are ignored by the commercial market. The current wide range of BBC radio stations balances both needs perfectly. If you axe 6Music and the Asian Network, then very little remains to distinguish the BBC’s output from that of commercial rivals. This, in turn lends fuel to the argument for scrapping the licence fee.

These changes are obviously being made to appease the Conservatives in case they are successful in the forthcoming election. However, The Tories are entirely in the pocket or Rupert Murdoch who would happily see the BBC dismantled completely to allow his rampant greed to be further fed. What the BBC needs right now is a director who is prepared for the fight and is ready to face down the threats of the next few years voraciously. Not a director who will roll over and start offering sacrificial lambs at the first hint of trouble. He costs more than twice what the previous director did and therefore is poor value for money. Get him out and get someone in on a more realistic salary who is prepared to fight fiercly for the corporation and offer the licence payers better value for money.

It is obvious that the BBC, and Mark Thompson did not expect the outraged public response to last weeks announcement, but I hope that it has given them food for thought and that common sense will provail at the BBC Trust when the final decision regarding these proposals is made.”

Malcolm Middleton – Waxing Gibbous

And So I Watch You From Afar
Balls as big as watermelons. This album sounds like Mogwai if you hacked out all the quiet bits with an axe and then surgically grafted even more loud bits on. A good thing.

Lord Cutglass
Ex Delgados man Alun finally released his much touted solo album this year under the Lord Cut-Glass moniker. Pretty much encompassing everything I loved about the Delgados in it’s relatively brief running time.

Fuck Buttons – Tarot Sport
Set aside ten minutes of your life and listen to Olympians in it’s entirety on the link above. When I first heard it, I tweeted that they could actually be the saviours of music.

Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavillion
In last years top ten, I mentioned that I had just heard the pre-release of this and thought it was going to be the album of this year. Certainly, it’s the one on this list that’s seen the most blog hype but it pretty much justifies every word spoken about it. Not as good as Strawberry Jam but still a complete belter of an album

Yo La Tengo – Popular Songs

Dark was the Night

Yes it’s waaaay to long but to complain too much would be churlish when you consider that A) it’s a charity album and B) it contains exclusive tracks by pretty much all my favourite acts…Andrew Bird, Sufjan Stevens (sounding like Rufus Wainwright here), Bon Iver, Arcade Fire, Beirut, Stuart Murdoch, Yo La Tengo and loads more.

Flaming Lips – Embryonic

Low Anthem – Oh My God, Charlie Darwin

The song, Charlie Darwin was the real standout on the ever excellent Rough Trade Counter Culture compilation at the start of the year and when the album finally dropped in September, it was more than worth the wait. Not quite this years Bon Iver but not too far off.

Yahweh – Tug of Love

The List described them as the missing link between Arab Strap and Boards of Canada. So much more than that but as confident a debut album as you could possibly want.

You Already Know – Stop Whispering

In many ways, this album complimented the And So I Watch You From Afar album. They are both different albums and both worthy of being on the list on their own merits though.

The Daredevil Christopher Wright – In Deference to a Broken Back

Produced by Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon, the album as reminiscent of early Elephant 6 recordings like Neutral Milk Hotel (more of which below) and Of Montreal (back when the wanted to be the Beach Boys rather than the Beegees)

Beer Jacket – Animosity

Jerri

Mumford & Sons

Andrew Bird – Noble Beast

Sufjan Stevens – The B.Q.E.

Honorary mention to albums I discovered this year that came out before now:

Neutral milk hotel – In The Aeroplane over the Sea

I normally pride myself on having a fairly good musical knowledge and being reasonably up to date with all the good bands. I’ve also been a big fan of a few other Elephant 6 collective bands since the late nineties. Somehow though, it took until the middle of this year for me to hear this album, which was originally released 13 years ago! And incredible it is too.

Angil + Hiddntracks – Oulipo Saliva

Would be album of the year if it weren’t for the fact it came out last year. Probably soundtracked my year more than any other. Written entirely without E’s. Either the letter or the note.

I’ve been subconsciously forming an idea for a while which was crystallised a few days ago when I read this article about Alan Moore’s new magazine, Dodgem Logic.

Back in the mid nineties, in the two years between school and work that I charitably refer to as my art school education, I was a huge fan of  Deadline Magazine. It brought together all the things that interested me at that point. There were a few other essentially underground magazines which threatened to go mainstream at the time, such as The Beastie Boys Grand Royal magazine and the Herb Garden, but to my mind, Deadline was the daddy. The inclusion of the comics just gave it another dimension which made it stand out from the more mainstream mags like Select and NME.

Of course, the Tank Girl movie sucked so badly, and crashed and burned so terribly it dragged the magazine down with it, and it left a gap on WH Smiths shelves which has never really been filled again.

The first issue of Dodgem Logic isn’t out yet but it looks like it will be taking much of the same inspiration as Deadline, but tying it around what’s going on in Northampton just now. Moore has hinted that he’d like people to localise the magazine for different cities through an 8 page pullout which will carry local event listings and the like, and I hope someone else picks up the challenge to do that for the central belt, but I’d like to read something which is more tailor built around what’s going on up here.

There’s always been a thriving creative scene in Scotland. Glasgow in particular always seemed to avoid the talent drain which affected a lot of English towns and cities, whereby anyone with the slightest hint of talent would leave for London at the first whiff of success. I guess the A&R men never made it past Hadrians Wall? Whatever it was, it sculpted a supportive local scene which functioned in complete isolation to whatever was going on in the rest of the UK. Exactly like what has happened over the last five years or so in more or less every city in the western world, thanks to Myspace, Twitter etc.

Now there’s an army of  quality bloggers writing passionately to document the latest bands, artists, photographers and writers. The ever brilliant Glasgow Podcart just posted a round-up of some of the best yesterday. Much as this couldn’t have happened without the internet, like Alan Moore, I still like artifacts. Something to pick up, hold and flick through. I accept the idea of producing something on dead trees in this day and age seems like a backwards step but, particularly when it comes to art, it’s more appealing, for me at least, to have something tactile. A physical printed object to hold.

So my idea is this. A magazine which would incorporate music features, short stories, serialised graphic novels and short strips, as well as features on artists and photographers. Initially, it would focus on what’s going on in Scotland right now but it certainly wouldn’t be a chestthumping ‘wha’s like us’ endeavour and wouldn’t automatically kiss any arses based on home postcode.

It would be full colour and printed on the best quality paper I could afford. I want the thing to look so beautiful, you can’t resist picking it up and flicking through it, like a copy of Juxtapoz or Hi Fructose. The sort of magazine you want to collect and keep, rather than throw out when the next issue arrives.

That’s the idea in a nutshell, and now I’m really looking for your input. Please leave comments. How many of you would be interested in reading something like that? What sort of features would you be looking for? More particularly, is there anyone who would be interested in contributing articles or having their work featured? I’m particularly interested in hearing from amateur graphic novelists, or other comic artists but if you are a writer interested in collaborating with an artist to produce graphic adaptations of your work, or vice versa, I’d love to hear from you too so I can get you in touch with each other.

Please leave a comment even if you wouldn’t be interested, so I can get an accurate idea of what sort of reception it might get.

Yann Tiersen will forever be associated with soundtracking Jean Pierre Jeunet’s 2001 cinematic masterpiece, Amelie. This would appear to be a fact which annoys him. In turn, his annoyance seems to annoy a lot of  his fans.

A quick google the day before the gig revealed a lot of disappointed gig reviews. The general consensus seemed to be that, while, on record, the music he makes seems perfectly designed for twee, quirky indie kids to fall in love with other twee, quirky indie kids to, live, he has shunned the sound which made him famous.

And it’s understandable how some people could be confused. Here’s what The List had to say as a preview to the show:

“Favouring the piano, accordion and violin…The 38-year-old has revolutionised the simple waltz and collaborated with a handful of classical greats. A modern day Chopin.”

With words like that. You may expect a tastefully respectable show that you wouldn’t mind taking your granny along to.  What you wouldn’t expect was two hours of wailing feedback that sounded like Mogwai overcoming their fear of Satan by kicking him squarely in the balls. That’s what you get though. And, for the most part, it was brilliant!

Before that though, there was the small matter of the support act. The ticket said ‘plus guests’. I had heard nothing about who was supporting him this tour. As we stood front and centre, it took a full 60 seconds or so of staring at a vaguely familiar cardboard cutout letters about a foot from my face before the penny dropped and I realised I was going to see Remember Remember again. Even if I was unsure about what I was going to think of the main act, at least I knew I was in a safe pair of hands with the support.

They played more or less the same set I’ve seen them do a few times now over the last year and a half. Albeit with sampled sellotape and scissors sounds on Fountain/Mountain rather than being played live. There were a few more people on stage with them than last time I saw them and this served to beef up the sound a bit. The set was as great as ever and I really hope they won a few new fans but right now all I really want to hear from them is new material. According to a recent interview with Glasgow Podcart, it’s in the works and I, quite frankly, cannae wait.

Onto the main course then.

As the roadies set up the stage, there were signs that there might still be a nod to the traditional sound when two violins and a toy guitar were carefully set up on stands. That idea was put to bed the second the band hit the stage and started playing though. Immediately building up walls of howling guitars and rumbling bass.

Toto, I don’t think we’re in Monmartre any more.

Somewhere around four songs into the set, when the existance of the violins hadn’t even been acknowledged by Yann, I started to suspect they were nothing more than set decoration and were just a cruel joke, put there to taunt the old fans who were expecting to see ‘Amelie Live’.

When he finally did pick up the violin, he played it with a fury and ferocity that somehow sounded even more threatening than his guitar. within seconds of starting, strings were snapping off the bow.

He finished with a version of La Valse D’Amelie which was so different from the original that it took a few minutes to even recognise it. This version sounded more like ’10,000 htz legend’ era Air (when they were at their most Pink Floyd sounding) and was utterly beguiling.

All in, I think I recognised two, maybe three songs that he played all night, despite being fairly fluent with his back catalogue. If I hadn’t been prewarned about the way he sounjds live these days, I might have been disappointed. As it was, I thought it was for the most part fantastic. I’m curious if this sound will persist through to his next album. I suspect it won’t but I kind of hope it does.

“Based on your tastes, Amazon recommends ‘The Best Gay Anthems in the World, Ever’.”

How do you tell a computer that, while it doesn’t actually matter whether or not it thinks you’re gay, you have no desire to listen to the high energy club tunes and camp divas warbling that populate such CD’s?

This was an issue I faced years ago, shortly after discovering Of Montreal. I had first heard them on Internet Radio and was intrigued enough by their Elephant 6 connections to download a few tunes, which lead to ordering their most-recent,-at-that-time, album: ‘The Gay Parade’. At that point, somewhere deep in the Amazon servers, an algorithm spotted the word ‘Gay’ in the title, and my user account was promptly transferred to a folder labled ‘Fabulous’, in pink, 72 point Arial. My recommendations for the next few months tended to consist of CD’s featuring topless, oily men on the cover.

Incidentally, it was about another year before I actually heard the full album since Amazon took it upon themselves to turn the online purchase of an album into an epic quest in search of the CD. An order which was originally supposed to despatch within 7 days was pushed back to being within 28 days. Then another 28 days. Then an email was sent, saying they were waiting for more stock, then another saying the stock hadn’t arrived and they were trying other suppliers. Eventually, they threw in the towel and advised they had cancelled the order.

When I did finally did hear the album, I was charmed by how authentically recorded-in-1967 they managed to sound. It had the lyrical innocence of Pet Sounds and, unlike a lot of other 60′s wannabe’s, sounded fresh, with just a hint of nostalgia for a bygone age that never really existed. The album was full of sweet songs about being happily, comfortably in love. Songs like ‘Neat Little Domestic Life’ and ‘Old Familiar Way’.

Of course, it’s well documented how trouble (albeit temporary) in Kevin Barnes personal paradise materialised a few years later. Finding himself plunged into a dark place, he gave birth to his flamboyant alter-ego Georgie Fruit, who brought about a huge evolution in the bands sound.

So it’s a different band I’m waiting to hear tonight than I would have heard back then. Waiting here on my own, I might add since Sydne is off to Fopp to buy a present for a friend, so I’m stuck here, holding place at the head of the (not-yet-existent) queue.

I therefore had nothing better to do than amuse myself with the sign on the door, which read: ‘This is a non-smoking premise’, which made it sound more of a suggestion than an order.

Shortly before Sydne appeared back, a guy came out and advised they were experiencing some ‘technical difficulties’ so might be a bit late.

After Sydne apeared back, I was standing with my back to the stairs and heard someone descending the stairs directly above my head. Sydne glanced up and, suppressing a laugh, instructed me not to look. A man in full kilt appeared, walked straight past us and tried the door. When it didn’t budge, he tried a bit harder. Still no progress. He yanked it as hard as he could to the extent that he nearly ripped it from the door completely. I was about to point out that the door was in fact, locked, a fact which was clearly eluding him, but just as I drew breath to speak, he let out an exasperated splutter and strode off again at full pelt back up the stairs.

Sydne was still suppressing a laugh and buy this point was close to turning purple. ‘So’, I asked her, ‘Was he a true Scot?’ After she regained her composure, she claimed she hadn’t noticed but I’m not sure I believe her.

As the sound of bagpipes flared up from Oran Mor’s upstairs venue (I presume a Burns supper, although, if it was, it was a day late) the queue started to grow. About fifteen minutes late, the doors eventually opened. Sydne headed for the stage and I got the drinks in.

When I joined her at the stage, conversation turned to the support act. I was particularly impressed by their lo-fi maraca which sat just in front of us, consisting of a used coke bottle with some rice in it. There was an extension chord next to it with ‘Casiokids’ written in black marker on the side. This adaptor had plugs with only two prongs sticking out of it. I applied my Sherlock Holmes like deduction skills to conclude they must not be from Britain. Only later, after their set and, more importantly, after they had already told us all where they were from, did I spot the  ‘Scandanavia Made’ tag on the keyboard about 2 ft from my nose which may have helped me pinpoint a bit more.

Normally, when a band consists of four tall slim blokes and one short, normal looking one, you can bet he writes all the songs. Casiokids had that dynamic. I have no idea if my prejudice is correct or not but in this case, the normal one looked a bit like a young Micky Dolenz. He was also the smiliest man on earth. I immediately warmed to them.

Musically, they sounded exactly like you might imagine a Scandanavian band called the Casiokids to sound. Which is not a bad thing. They were fun and bouncy with lots of lo-budget electronic noises on display.

The arrival of Of Montreal was heralded by a 6ft tall tiger in a white dinner jacket miming for us to cheer as loud as we could.

The band strode on and launched straight into ‘She’s a Rejector’. While they raced through the song, they were joined on stage by two strange human statues. One kneeled on the ground and was being whipped across his back by the other. They were then joined by a couple in ‘country laird and lady’ dress who started arguing with the statue who was dispensing the whipping which degenerated into a fist fight as the band played on around them.

For the next song, they were joined by a man with a handlebar moustache dressed as priest. His cassock was then ripped off (by a guy in a pig costume) and a pagan symbol was drawn on his chest, then devil horns were placed on his head. I was starting to realise that Of Montreal shows are as much about the performance as the music.

Other theatrical antics included strange golden statues like a melting plastic buddha. The whole show was clearly aiming for the euphoric party atmosphere of a Flaming Lips concert and, though they may not compare musically to the Flips best moments, atmosphere wise, they came close occasionally. The whole thing was one big party.

Now, comments on LastFM suggest there were a lot of annoying people in the crowd. From my position right down the front, I missed this and thought it had actually been a good crowd. (Hope that doesn’t mean we were among the annoying ones?) There was just one girl however who, while she may not have been annoying me, was clearly pissing off the stage manager throughout the gig. She was standing directly in front of The Late BP Helium and was very grabby.

Every time she tried to grab anyone from the stage within arms reach, she would knock the camera on BP’s mic stand, causing the stage manager to come running back on and align it again. His evil stares towards her  grew stronger each time, culminating in looking hard at her, giving the universally-recognised ‘I’m watching you’ hand sign, then, after pointing at the camera concluded with the, also-universally-recognised, throat slash gesture.

This managed to refrain her until the next song, when, what looked like ninjas with fencing masks appeared and started slinking towards the front few rows and indulge in stroking their faces and hair.  This of course was enough to set grabby girl off again.

This may well be the first gig I’ve been to with actual, proper costume changes, like Liza Minelli or someone. I’m sure when Liza Minelli does it though,  she doesn’t re-emerge clad in a bulging fake fur jumpsuit wired up to a smoke machine which pumps dry ice from every orifice.

 It lasted for one song before he stripped off completely to a shiny pair of sequenced briefs. Again, one more song before he disappeared offstage and reappeared for the final song of the main set covered from chin to ankle in shaving foam.

While they were offstage before the encore, I started eying up Kevins setlist and contemplated grabbing it but I decided to leave it until they had finished. This proved to be a mistake since within seconds of reappearing back onstage and launching into Suffer for Fashion, he kicked it backwards, out of his way and well out of my arms reach. Bugger.

As soon as the song finished, I made a quick change of tact and grabbed Nina’s which involved lying onstage slightly but by then, there were so many people onstage, it went unnoticed.

Some of these people onstage shuffled forwards and pointed a cannon at the crowd, out of which an explosion of feathers covered us all in the first few rows. Kevin mentioned they had recently supported Franz Ferdinand and then launched into a cover of  Franz’s ‘Take me out’.

Everyone piled back on stage all at once. The touchy-feely fencing ninjas grab sydnes camera and attempted to take a picture of her. When it was handed back, it had a worrying message suggesting all the photos have been erased. Fortunately, as you can see, they weren’t.

They immediately followed ’Take Me Out’ with a cover of ‘Smells like Teen Spirit’. Finishing with covers of two other peoples anthems could be seen as cheating slightly and in the cold light of day, it shouldn’t have worked. By that point in the gig though, they had fostered enough of a party atmosphere that they managed to get away with it.

As a final gift, when The Late BP Helium was leaving stage and launched his plectrum into the crowd, it must have ricoched off the ceiling since it landed IN MY HAND.

 As grabby girl pushed in front of us to harrass the stage crew about something or other, we wrestled to retrieve our feather covered jackets and bags from under her feet. At the time of writing, it’s four days later and I still haven’t managed to get all the feathers off of it.

This was easily the most I’ve looked forward to a gig since Arcade Fire, Flaming Lips and Kraftwerk all played for my 30th Birthday.

Now, I appreciate that, technically, the above bands did not, in fact play for my 30th birthday. Deep down, I know that they all happened to be on a festival bill which took place a few weeks before my 30th birthday. However, I’m working on the theory that, if I tell myself enough times that they did, then years from now, when I’m living in a nursing home and several marbles short of a schoolboys pocket, I’ll genuinely believe it to be true. And how great will that be?

The new album wasn’t due to be released until the day before the gig, but the hype on the blogosphere for this one has been so incredible that I couldn’t resist a sneak peek. When I read on Wikipedia that it leaked on Christmas day (what a christmas present!), I was helpless to resist. On first listen, it only took until the end of the second track, (the sublime ‘My Girls’), before I went to Amazon to preorder it. That was on the 29th December and it’s more or less been on permanant rotation ever since.

I had no sooner finished writing my best albums of 2008 list when quite possibly, the best album of 2009 comes along. It had been a  long gestation period getting into Animal Collective with a few aborted attempts. (Hint to noobs, ‘Here Comes The Indian‘ may be a great album once you allow its charms to work on you for a while, but it might not be the best album to start dipping your toe in to the band with.) I finally found a way in Strawberry Jam and then worked my way back.

Around the time last year  I was really getting into them, they played Oran Mor. Unfortunately, we were in Germany at the time announcing to my inlaws that we had got married so we couldn’t go.

So yes, I had been REALLY looking forward to this one. Did it live up to the expectations? Well…

In an unusual turn of events, we weren’t actually first in line for a gig for once. There were four or five people in front of us. When the doors finally opened, the bouncers shouted down the line for us to have both tickets and ID ready. I was in usual ‘travelling-light’ gig mode and had nothing more than cash and ticket in my pockets. Panicked thoughts of a long drive back home to pick up my drivers licence started fleeting through my head. Then someone in front of me questioned why ID was required. The bouncer qualified his earlier statement by saying that if anyone wanted to be served at the bar, ID would have to be shown.

I like to think I look youthful but the simple fact of the matter is, I’m 33 years old and slightly overweight with a hairline not so much receding as hastily retreating. There is absolutely no chance that anyone could possibly mistake me for being younger than 18.  I asked him, when it was my turn to show my ticket, if I was seriously going to have to show ID to buy a pint. His response was non verbal, but the look was just withering enough to answer my question.

As we squeezed past the younger attendees having their ID checked before getting a black cross written on the back of their hand, I noticed that the younger ones had the indignity of having ’U18′ written on theirs. [Edit: Revhalfro has pointed out that it was, in fact, a smiley face and not U18]

It’s a long time since I was last in the Art School. Last time was Mouse on Mars and Future Pilot AKA back in 2001 as part of the second Triptych lineup. It isn’t exactly as I remembered but, since my memory of that evening is a blur with numerous black holes, and an embarassing attempt to strike up a drunken conversation with Sushil Dade during his set, that’s probably a good thing.

My first impression this time round was of the sound system. Blimey, that gives good bass. A fact amply demonstrated by the spleen rupturing dubstep they chose to play, every other song, before the bands started.  The pre band music they played was actually ace. One track in particular stood out as warranting further investigation so I made best effort to make a mental note of  some of the lyrics with the intention of investigating further the following day. Unfortunately, the only line I could still remember by next morning was  a repeated refrain of  “I don’t know what happened”.

According to Google, there are ‘About 2,050,000′ results for that phrase. However, being the freaking google ninja that I am, I managed to figure out the track is What Happen’d? by SJ Esau. I was able to verify this by a quick scan of the rest of the lyrics and immediately recognised the rather more memorable line (by all but me, evidently): “A hurricane of piss and shit came to my door”.

Around 15 minutes late, the support act, Highlife, hit the stage. We were lucky enough to be front and centre. When he started playing, the speakers, which were already set to stun, were cranked up to dematerialise.

On witnessing him, I passed on to the next age of gig goer. When you first go to gigs, it seems as though everyone, band and audience, are older than you. After a while, the audience are the same age but the bands are still older. Gradually, the audience gets younger and you’re the same age as the bands. Then, even the bands are younger than you. I had accepted all of these stages graciously as they came and went. I thought there were no more stages to come. However, when a man on stage can have a beard, and not a whispy bumfluff beard but a full on man-of-the-forest style beard, and still look like a child, then you really feel old.

When Highlife played their first notes,  I immediately realised we weren’t quite as centred as I thought we were. I could tell this by the fact that whilst the music sounded damned loud through my right ear, my left ear immediately waved a white flag.  The bass, it could handle but Highlife had quite a high vocal range and a tendancy to sing the vocal sound ‘eeeeee’ as high as he could a lot, which, at our proximity and direct line to the speaker was the aural equivelant of a parmesan grater on my ear drums.

None of this is to criticise the music though since they (well, he since there was only one of them) started out brilliantly with a sitar like drone from a strange squeezebox contraption. The next few songs all sounded completely different to one before but were all really good. Samples, loops, guitar all coming together in a great way. I started thinking that this was exactly the sort of brilliantly eclectic band you might imagine supporting Animal Collective. Unfortunately, he shot his bolt a little to early.

Somewhere around the halfway point of his set, it was as though he allowed the loud talking from the back of the hall to drain every ounce of confidence from him. He seemed keen to get off the stage as quickly as he could, despite the fact that, from where I was stood, the crowd appeared to be genuinely into him.

He even resorted to the old support act trick of asking the audience ‘so are you all looking forward to Animal Collective then?’ which of course solicited a cheer. He then laughed nervously and said, to himself more than anyone else ‘I knew at least that would get a cheer’ before continuing with a few more perfectly nice, but average, alt-folk strumalongs before finishing his set.

He mentioned that he had a CD at the merch stall which was pay-what-you-like. If it wasn’t for the fact we had our space camped out down the front, I probably would have bought it. It was certainly worth a fiver based on what I heard.

On to business then. Not having seen them live before, and given their tendancy not to pose for normal band pictures, I didn’t really know what any of them looked like or what to expect.I had somehow imagined that not much would be happening onstage and it was going to be like watching orbital or something where there are just a few guys staring at keyboards and rows of knobs and not moving very much.I was wrong

As opener ‘In the flowers’ errupted into its euphoric second half  the lightshow exploded and attacked my sight with the same approximate intensity that the speakers were pummeling my ears. The real visual treat though was Avey Tares incredible ‘death by electrocution’ grimaces and head shakes throughout the show.

The set they played was very heavy on material from the new album but judging by the number of people singing along, theres either a lot of very fast learners in the AC fanbase or else I wasn’t the only one to have downloaded it earlier than it’s release date. The main problem with this is that, for a band 9 albums into their career,  there was so much great older stuff that got left out. a balance of old and new would have been nice.

I had anticipated that ‘My Girls’ was going to be the highlight of the evening, given how much like braincrack it has been to me since I first listened to it. However, if I was pushed to pick one, ‘Lion in a Coma’ was probably the highlight. The song has a perfect balance of melody, beats and noise.

Another highlight was the extended tribal drum wigout instrumental in the middle of ‘Fireworks’, which segwayed into the dayglow rave of set closer ‘Brothersport’.

The normal band ritual of leave the stage, wait one minute, return to stage was followed then they played two more songs. Neither of which could match the highs of the main set. Particularly, the final song they played ‘Daily Routine’ , I thought we could have done without. On the album, it starts out well but drifts into repetitiveness in it’s second half. Live, the second half of the song seemed to stretch on even longer.

They left the stage again and the lights came up. Is it wrong to wish, after such a brilliant show that they had gone without the encore and left us wanting more?

All in all though, it lived up to expectations and I still can’t stop listening to the new album compulsively, even though I should maybe be listening to a bit more Of Montreal before we go and see them next week.

Upon finding ourselves on Byers Road with a spare thirty minutes, we did what any self respecting music fan would do and headed straight for Fopp.   Of course, a visit to Fopp isn’t complete without spending money.  Always on some bargain you didn’t know you needed twenty minutes earlier, but now, absolutely must have since its just so cheap.  This time was no different.

As I idly browsed, Sydne came running up to me with her hands behind her back and a huge grin on her face.  ‘I bet you anything that when you see what I have behind my back, you’ll have to buy it’ she said.  Being experienced enough to recognise the signs which signal an imminent parting of this fool and his money, I said nothing and looked at her expectantly.  And sure enough, for just four of your shiny new pounds…

That girl knows me so well sometimes, it’s scary!

I’ve always been a fan of Jamie Hewlett’s artwork ever since the early days of Tank Girl appearing in Deadline back in the early nineties.  So, for some time, I’ve had my eye on this book, but I could never justify twenty five quid on it.  At four pounds though, Bargain!  (especially since, according to Amazon, it’s out of print and the few remaining new copies are going for £50!)  They had done it again.  Damn you Fopp and your reasonably priced media, costing me my hard earned small change (and dwindling storage space) at every visit.

I spotted something though that just seemed plain wrong.  Fopp have started selling computer games.  I can’t define why exactly it’s wrong, but it just is.  Even though they’re now part of the HMV megalith, they still exude, and trade on, the slightly musty air of an independent old-school record shop.  The kind from High Fidelity.  One that smells like your parents loft and is generally populated by slightly balding men in too much denim who are old enough to know better but too old to save.  Fopp selling computer games feels tantamount to Dylan going electric in ’65.  I managed to fight the urge to scream ‘Judas’ as we bundled out the door and headed back in the direction of Oran Mor.

We descended the stairs to the venue entrance with fifteen minutes until the scheduled opening time.  A minute or so later, we were joined by a friendly, talkative Aidan Moffat lookalike.  When we revealed we lived in Motherwell, he recounted a story of the last time he had been in one of Motherwell’s less respectable drinking establishments and witnessed a fight breaking out.  The two aggrieved parties found their way into the car park, and then partook in a somehow more wholesome and innocent kind of fight which is seldom seen in these harsh times;  A manner for which the correct term would probably be fisticuffs rather than fight.  Jackets and shirts were carefully removed beforehand to reveal threadbare string vests.  They fought sportingly for a few minutes before agreeing a draw, shaking hands and returning back inside together to conclude the consumption of their alcoholic beverage of choice.  Our Aidan-a-like described it as ‘One of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen’ and I can’t help but agree that it sounds like it.

A few more minutes passed and the queue began to grow some more.  A man with an American accent appeared and asked if this was where tickets could be bought. A few minutes earlier, our Aidan-a-like had spoken to one of the bouncers since he too was wanting to buy a ticket. The bouncer had confirmed there were fifteen tickets still available. He recounted this information to the American.

‘Aye. It’s no’ open yet though. theres about fifteen tickets left.’

To my ears, this was spoken quite clearly, but in hindsight, his accent must have been a bit impenetrable to those of a non-Glaswegian persuasion. He listened intently and nodded at all the correct moments but no lightbulb of understanding ever appeared above his head.  The cogs continued to visibly turn after silence had resumed.  A look of mild panic dawned on his face as he realised that it was his turn to speak but he had no idea what had just been said to him (a look I know only too well from my feeble attempts to speak German when visiting Sydne’s folks). The entire queue smiled at him encouragingly, as if hoping that we could make him understand by sheer will alone.  Aidan broke the silence again. “It’s due to open in ten minutes and there’s still about fifteen tickets left” The cogs appeared to speed up, but the eureka moment was still evading him.

Eventually, he spoke.  ‘So…it…is…where we get them?’  he asked tentatively.  We all nodded thinking that our collective psychic encouragement had prevailed and he had managed to penetrate Aidan’s accent. Sadly, we were mistaken. He immediately followed up by beginning to squeeze past us and head for the door. The tension in the crowd released itself with an audible ‘NO’ from a few of it’s number. He recoiled like a toddler being reprimanded for trying to touch something ‘burny’.  Someone else in the queue tried his luck, over enunciating every syllable. ‘This. Is. Where. You. Get. Tickets. But. It. Is. Not. Open. Yet.’

…glaciers drifted…

‘Aaaaah’. The American smiled and nodded. The rest of the queue exhaled as one. With the sound of a dropping penny ringing in our ears, silence returned to the queue.

Another few minutes passed, then the doors opened and we were allowed in. Oran Mor looked just as warm, cosy and inviting as ever. The soft lighting and bare stone walls, accented by the tasteful Christmas decorations, painted a festive picture which would just require the presence of a roaring log fire to be complete.

While we were waiting for the entertainment to begin, I had observed that, with Stereolab’s wealth of antique keyboards and other equipment surrounding the stage, the space left in the middle for the support act, ‘The Week That Was’, to perform in was miniscule. I wondered how they would fit.  I was reassured therefore to discover quite how tiny most of the band were.  They were abnormally small.  Positively Lilliputian.  The singer looked a bit like a tiny Bob Mortimer but there was an exact 1:3 scale replica of Alex Kapranos on drums, perfect in every detail right down to his pointy little shoes.  Conversely, the bass player/percussionist was  their Gulliver. He towered above the rest of the band and I half expected the others to pull him to the ground and tie him up halfway through the set.

That didn’t happen so I had to entertain myself with the music, which had the angular guitars and harmonies of the Futureheads but strayed dangerously close to the dreaded ‘prog-rock’ for way too much of their set.  Occasionally, I’d find myself liking what I was hearing but then the song would meander off in an altogether more noodly direction and I just wanted to scream ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ at the stage.  Overall though, they weren’t bad.

Eventually, Stereolab arrived on stage.  Now, much as I consider myself a fan of the band, I have to confess to only really being familiar with four of their albums.  For some reason, although I love those albums I do own, I never got round to filling in the gaps.  I think its always the problem with discovering a fairly prolific band when they are already four or five albums into their career, that you are forever playing catch-up and don’t know where to begin.  Especially when it comes to a band like Stereolab who seem to have an endless catalogue of ltd 7″s and rareties that make catching up seem like an impossible task. Because of that, I only really knew a handful of the songs they played.  They have such a definite sound though that it didn’t matter as much as I feared it might.  Still, it would have been nice to have heard some more songs from ‘Emperor Tomato Ketchup’.

What the songs lacked in familiarity to me, they more than made up for in volume.  Stereolab were LOUD.  Earbleedingly so at some points.  The two main touchstones of Stereolab’s music were always 60′s French pop and 70′s Krautrock, (although the new album has a large slice of Motown thrown in).  Most of the songs they played started at the French pop end of the spectrum and grew to become krautrock beasts by the end.

As I thought they might, they finished the main set with ‘French Disco’ to rapturous applause.  When they returned though, it was as though they decided to turn up the volume some more.  Twenty more minutes of krautrock wig-out ensued and then they were gone.

On the way out, I held the door open for Stuart Murdoch from Belle & Sebastian.  He didn’t say thank you.

Friendly Fires – Paris

Black Kids – I’m not going to teach your boyfriend how to dance with you (Embedding Disabled)

Frank Black – The Seus

The Notwist – Good Lies

Mae Shi – Run to your Grave

Brian Jacket Letdown – Sometimes (couldn’t find a vid for that so here’s Piratas)

The BPA ft David Byrne and Dizzee Rascal – Toe Jam (Genius Video)

Ida Maria – I Like You So Much Better When You’re Naked (embedding disabled)

MGMT – Time To Pretend (embedding disabled)

Johnny Flynn – The Box

Neon Neon – I Told Her On Alderaan

Mercury Rev – Senses are on Fire

Santogold – Lights Out

Joan As A Police Woman – Holiday

Mystery Jets – Young Love

Elbow – An Audience With the Pope

Ron Sexsmith – Impossible World

Ladyhawke – From Dusk Til Dawn

Noah And The Whale – Five Years Time

Courteeners – Not Nineteen Forever

My Hope (I hope you forget about your Myspace) – Sweetafton23