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Doug Paisley – Strong Feelings

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The Canadian crooner returns. Now with added Garth Hudson and Mary Margaret O'Hara... There’s something about Doug Paisley that defies categorisation. Generally, the Toronto-based singer is filed as a throwback to the singer-songwriters of the early 1970s, though the fact that his tunes arrive with a twang makes it tempting to see him as a country artist. On the evidence of his first two albums, you might place him to the left of James Taylor and Don Williams, on account of the easy smoothness of his sound. But he’s way more interesting than that. What’s evident is that Paisley has embarked on a re-evaluation since his fine 2010 album, Constant Companion (characterised by friendly critics as sounding like a never-ending 1971). Since then there has been one release, the austere EP, Golden Embers (2012), in which Paisley’s acoustic guitar, a mandolin, and Leslie Feist, added muted backing to his characteristically careworn vocals. If Golden Embers was a hat-tip to the bluegrass Paisley played for a decade as a member of a Stanley Brothers’ tribute act, Strong Feelings is more diverse. There is, at the end of “Where The Light Takes Youâ€, a playful coda which could conceivably be termed “progâ€; “Growing Souls†marries a church organ and a disorienting burst of Mellotron (the result sounds like The Beatles rehearsing in a Chapel of Rest). Then there is the bustling “To and Froâ€, which dates from Paisley’s time as part of Dark Hand and Lamplight, in which he sang while visual artist Shary Boyle projected sympathetic images. These variations are welcome, but Paisley’s real gift is neither generic, nor subversive. His band, which includes Emmett Kelly (ex-Cairo Gang, and a Will Oldham sideman), is limber. But Paisley is an unassuming character and, at its best, his music is waist-high in the mainstream. A song like “Old Times†has the parched quality of a Guy Clark lament, while the ballad “One Love†is soothing and supple, its sweet intimacies propelled by the resting heartbeat of Bazil Donovan’s bass. Paisley can do the Nashville sound, but he isn’t a formulaic writer. Mostly, he edits, removing narrative clues until only emotion remains. The opener, “Radio Girl†has a lyric that is almost like a cut-up of country lyrics, yet the warmth of the melody takes it beyond pastiche. “It’s Not Too Late (To Say Goodbyeâ€) is a conventional country weeper, with resonant guitar from Kelly.  And “Song My Love Can Sing†is a dreamily understated song about love and regret, with a gorgeous keyboard riff from The Band’s Garth Hudson. Hudson is also at the centre of the album’s stand-out, “What’s Up Is Downâ€, a late night heartbreaker of the type Tom Waits and Crystal Gayle might have essayed in One From The Heart. Hudson plays “One For My Baby†piano on Glenn Gould’s old Steinway, while Paisley acts the wounded man, and (another unclassifiable Canadian) Mary Margaret O’Hara trills beautifully. “What’s Up Is Down†is a perfect illustration of Paisley’s gift. It sounds timeless, and oddly familiar. But subsequent listens add intrigue. It’s a love song framed as a complaint, though the exact nature of the singer’s disquiet is hard to fathom. Perhaps it reveals a forbidden affair, or maybe a dishonest relationship. It could be read as a passive-aggressive farewell, a blue valentine, or a melancholy wallow. In truth, it’s all those things, yet the mood is calibrated so precisely that the lingering impression is of emotional uncertainty, a nervous flux in which love and hurt are locked in a bleary waltz. Then there is the closer, “Because I Love Youâ€, in which Paisley directly addresses the power of song, via the metaphor of love. Recorded in a few spare moments at the end of his session with O’Hara, it’s playful, joyous and sad. O’Hara improvises a whistling solo. “Songs can travel over walls, across great spaces, and through time,†Paisley croons. It’s crafted to the point of timelessness, as compelling as a dream. Alastair McKay Q& How did you approach this album? Foremost, I’m a guitar player, so my daily work is really just sitting at home and playing lots of guitar and songs come out of that. A lot of these songs took two or three years So you’re really just playing them hundreds and hundreds of times.  If you are interested enough in them, that’s what’s going to make you keep playing them. But also you just have to wear away everything that might be superfluous, or that you don’t like. Beyond that, when I work with musicians, particularly people like Garth Hudson or the other people on this album, I have so much confidence in what they do that there really isn’t any direction. So I guess I could say the backbone of what I’m doing is very deliberately laboured over, but when it comes time to record it with others, there’s a lot of spontaneity. How did you find, Mary Margaret O’Hara? Isn’t she a recluse? She’s actually quite active in Toronto. Her mythology is one hugely important album [Miss America] and then disappearing but she has been doing a lot of really interesting stuff all this time.  She’s a very funny person, a real character, but actually when we were working, she’s like any great musician you’d want to work with. She’s very quick and very creative. INTERVIEW: ALASTAIR McKAY

The Canadian crooner returns. Now with added Garth Hudson and Mary Margaret O’Hara…

There’s something about Doug Paisley that defies categorisation. Generally, the Toronto-based singer is filed as a throwback to the singer-songwriters of the early 1970s, though the fact that his tunes arrive with a twang makes it tempting to see him as a country artist. On the evidence of his first two albums, you might place him to the left of James Taylor and Don Williams, on account of the easy smoothness of his sound. But he’s way more interesting than that.

What’s evident is that Paisley has embarked on a re-evaluation since his fine 2010 album, Constant Companion (characterised by friendly critics as sounding like a never-ending 1971). Since then there has been one release, the austere EP, Golden Embers (2012), in which Paisley’s acoustic guitar, a mandolin, and Leslie Feist, added muted backing to his characteristically careworn vocals.

If Golden Embers was a hat-tip to the bluegrass Paisley played for a decade as a member of a Stanley Brothers’ tribute act, Strong Feelings is more diverse. There is, at the end of “Where The Light Takes Youâ€, a playful coda which could conceivably be termed “progâ€; “Growing Souls†marries a church organ and a disorienting burst of Mellotron (the result sounds like The Beatles rehearsing in a Chapel of Rest). Then there is the bustling “To and Froâ€, which dates from Paisley’s time as part of Dark Hand and Lamplight, in which he sang while visual artist Shary Boyle projected sympathetic images.

These variations are welcome, but Paisley’s real gift is neither generic, nor subversive. His band, which includes Emmett Kelly (ex-Cairo Gang, and a Will Oldham sideman), is limber. But Paisley is an unassuming character and, at its best, his music is waist-high in the mainstream. A song like “Old Times†has the parched quality of a Guy Clark lament, while the ballad “One Love†is soothing and supple, its sweet intimacies propelled by the resting heartbeat of Bazil Donovan’s bass.

Paisley can do the Nashville sound, but he isn’t a formulaic writer. Mostly, he edits, removing narrative clues until only emotion remains. The opener, “Radio Girl†has a lyric that is almost like a cut-up of country lyrics, yet the warmth of the melody takes it beyond pastiche. “It’s Not Too Late (To Say Goodbyeâ€) is a conventional country weeper, with resonant guitar from Kelly.  And “Song My Love Can Sing†is a dreamily understated song about love and regret, with a gorgeous keyboard riff from The Band’s Garth Hudson.

Hudson is also at the centre of the album’s stand-out, “What’s Up Is Downâ€, a late night heartbreaker of the type Tom Waits and Crystal Gayle might have essayed in One From The Heart. Hudson plays “One For My Baby†piano on Glenn Gould’s old Steinway, while Paisley acts the wounded man, and (another unclassifiable Canadian) Mary Margaret O’Hara trills beautifully.

“What’s Up Is Down†is a perfect illustration of Paisley’s gift. It sounds timeless, and oddly familiar. But subsequent listens add intrigue. It’s a love song framed as a complaint, though the exact nature of the singer’s disquiet is hard to fathom. Perhaps it reveals a forbidden affair, or maybe a dishonest relationship. It could be read as a passive-aggressive farewell, a blue valentine, or a melancholy wallow. In truth, it’s all those things, yet the mood is calibrated so precisely that the lingering impression is of emotional uncertainty, a nervous flux in which love and hurt are locked in a bleary waltz.

Then there is the closer, “Because I Love Youâ€, in which Paisley directly addresses the power of song, via the metaphor of love. Recorded in a few spare moments at the end of his session with O’Hara, it’s playful, joyous and sad. O’Hara improvises a whistling solo. “Songs can travel over walls, across great spaces, and through time,†Paisley croons. It’s crafted to the point of timelessness, as compelling as a dream.

Alastair McKay

Q&

How did you approach this album?

Foremost, I’m a guitar player, so my daily work is really just sitting at home and playing lots of guitar and songs come out of that. A lot of these songs took two or three years So you’re really just playing them hundreds and hundreds of times.  If you are interested enough in them, that’s what’s going to make you keep playing them. But also you just have to wear away everything that might be superfluous, or that you don’t like. Beyond that, when I work with musicians, particularly people like Garth Hudson or the other people on this album, I have so much confidence in what they do that there really isn’t any direction. So I guess I could say the backbone of what I’m doing is very deliberately laboured over, but when it comes time to record it with others, there’s a lot of spontaneity.

How did you find, Mary Margaret O’Hara? Isn’t she a recluse?

She’s actually quite active in Toronto. Her mythology is one hugely important album [Miss America] and then disappearing but she has been doing a lot of really interesting stuff all this time.  She’s a very funny person, a real character, but actually when we were working, she’s like any great musician you’d want to work with. She’s very quick and very creative.

INTERVIEW: ALASTAIR McKAY

Watch The National’s new trailer for “Mistaken For Strangers” documentary

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The National have unveiled a new trailer for their Mistaken For Strangers documentary. The film, which premiered last year at the Tribeca Film Festival, will open in cinemas in the United States on March 25. Click below to watch the new trailer, which follows the band as frontman Matt Berninger's b...

The National have unveiled a new trailer for their Mistaken For Strangers documentary.

The film, which premiered last year at the Tribeca Film Festival, will open in cinemas in the United States on March 25. Click below to watch the new trailer, which follows the band as frontman Matt Berninger’s brother Tom joins them on tour as a roadie. Matt produced the film alongside Carin Besser and Craig Charland, and commented: “I was happy to give my brother whatever access he needed. I just didn’t expect this movie to include shower scenes.”

Tom Berninger added: “When my brother asked me along on tour as a roadie, I thought I might as well bring a camera to film the experience. What started as a pretty modest tour documentary has, over the last two and a half years, grown into something much more personal, and hopefully more entertaining.”

The National will play the inaugural BBC 6 Music Festival on March 1 at Manchester’s Victoria Warehouse. They will also perform alongside Neil Young & Crazy Horse at London’s Hyde Park on Saturday July 12.

Statue of “weeping” Kurt Cobain unveiled in singer’s hometown

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A statue of a weeping Kurt Cobain has been unveiled in the singer's hometown, Aberdeen, Washington. The city celebrated Kurt Cobain Day on February 20, which would have been Cobain's 47th birthday. The statue, which sees Cobain crying a single tear, is situated in the Aberdeen Museum of History. The day's festivities also included a gig and an appearance from Cobain's guitar teacher, reports Consequence Of Sound. Kurt Cobain Day will now be celebrated annually in the city of Aberdeen. Of the day, Mayor Bill Simpson recently read a proclamation, which stated: "Aberdeen residents may justifiably take pride in the role our community played in the life of Kurt Cobain and the international recognition our community has gained from its connections with Kurt Cobain and his artistic achievements." Neighbouring town Hoquiam will celebrate Nirvana Day on April 10 this year, when the band are being inducted into the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame. Cobain was born and raised in Aberdeen, but did briefly live in Hoquiam. Appearing on local radio station KXRO, Mayor Jack Durney said: "They bring great honor, I think as I say, to our entire community. And I think that it's good Kurt Cobain lived in Hoquiam for a little while, but he and Krist Novoselic are part of our community, and I think it's good to honour our sons and their great accomplishments."

A statue of a weeping Kurt Cobain has been unveiled in the singer’s hometown, Aberdeen, Washington.

The city celebrated Kurt Cobain Day on February 20, which would have been Cobain’s 47th birthday. The statue, which sees Cobain crying a single tear, is situated in the Aberdeen Museum of History. The day’s festivities also included a gig and an appearance from Cobain’s guitar teacher, reports Consequence Of Sound.

Kurt Cobain Day will now be celebrated annually in the city of Aberdeen. Of the day, Mayor Bill Simpson recently read a proclamation, which stated: “Aberdeen residents may justifiably take pride in the role our community played in the life of Kurt Cobain and the international recognition our community has gained from its connections with Kurt Cobain and his artistic achievements.”

Neighbouring town Hoquiam will celebrate Nirvana Day on April 10 this year, when the band are being inducted into the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame. Cobain was born and raised in Aberdeen, but did briefly live in Hoquiam. Appearing on local radio station KXRO, Mayor Jack Durney said: “They bring great honor, I think as I say, to our entire community. And I think that it’s good Kurt Cobain lived in Hoquiam for a little while, but he and Krist Novoselic are part of our community, and I think it’s good to honour our sons and their great accomplishments.”

April 2014

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No-one who saw Little Feat at their peak will want to contest Jon Dale's description of them later in this issue as one of the greatest American bands of their era. Their records were great, but live they were sensational - at least until a not unusual mix of drugs and personality clashes ruined the...

No-one who saw Little Feat at their peak will want to contest Jon Dale’s description of them later in this issue as one of the greatest American bands of their era. Their records were great, but live they were sensational – at least until a not unusual mix of drugs and personality clashes ruined them.

I missed them in 1974 when they came to the UK as part of a Warner Bros package tour intended to break The Doobie Brothers, who they nightly blew off the stage. When they come back in June 1976, however, to play on The Who Put The Boot In tour of various football stadiums, I’m waiting for them. I’ve been dispatched to interview them individually for a regular Melody Maker feature called Band Breakdown. I’m supposed to meet them early on a Friday afternoon, the day before they play Swansea with The Who, at the Montcalm, a swanky hotel near Marble Arch.

Unfortunately, when I get there, I’m informed by a worried label lackey that they’re being held at Heathrow, their impounded equipment, flight cases, amps and the like, being stripped, much like the group themselves, and thoroughly searched for drugs. They turn up around six, their remarkable good humour explained by the fact that whatever the officials were looking for had been sent ahead by the band and was waiting for them at the hotel, their stash quickly liberated, which makes for a series of mostly very convivial interviews.

Sam Clayton, Ken Gradney and Bill Payne are fine. But I don’t get on with guitarist Paul Barrere, who in a surly hint of tensions to come grumpily complains at one point that Lowell George gets too much credit for the band’s music. I get on fabulously, however, with drummer Richie Hayward. He’s sharp, funny and extremely generous with his share of what the band had collected when they’d rocked up at reception. We jabber for hours and I realise I still need to speak to Lowell, who doesn’t answer his door. Richie suggests I meet the band in Swansea and so the next day I spend a lot of time in Little Feat’s trailer, drinking beer, smoking this and that.

I still don’t manage to get Lowell in front of a tape recorder, so it’s agreed with someone that I’ll meet up with him at the soundcheck for their show on Monday at London’s Hammersmith Odeon, but that doesn’t happen either. There’s an aftershow party for the band at the Zanzibar, a Covent Garden cocktail bar, however, which is where after a sensational show Lowell is finally cornered. He’s already pretty much out of it, although not yet as far gone as he looks he might get, but for the next 45 minutes he’s charming and hilarious, hugely charismatic.

The next time I see him it’s August 1977. Little Feat are playing The Rainbow and something dreadful has clearly happened to Lowell in the last 12 months. Always given to portliness, he’s now grossly overweight, fat as a Buddha, hair greasy and unkempt, face bloated and his mind clearly elsewhere. His appearance is made even more disturbing by what he’s wearing – candy-striped overalls, puffed at the wrists and shoulders, that give him the appearance of something nightmarish from a nursery rhyme come frighteningly to life. By now, Barrere and Payne have taken control of Little Feat and apparently turned them into a brash jazz-fusion band, barely recognisable from a year earlier. When they play “Day At The Dog Races” from Time Loves A Hero, Lowell walks off, disconsolate and marginalised.

When I next run into him, it’s June 1979. He’s recently disbanded Little Feat and touring to promote his solo album, Thanks I’ll Eat It Here. I’m in a lift at The Gramercy Park Hotel in New York with Captain Sensible from The Damned, who’s dressed in a fluorescent pink rabbit suit, complete with ears. The lift doors open and Lowell steps in, stares disbelievingly at Sensible and before I have a chance to say anything gets out, possibly worried that he’s having a psychedelic episode. Two days later, he dies of a heart attack, another good man gone. You can only hope that the last thing he thought of wasn’t a man dressed as a rabbit, swearing his head off in a lift at five in the morning. Enjoy the issue.

ISSUE ON SALE FROM FRIDAY 28 FEBRUARY

Uncut is now available as a digital edition, download it now

The Rolling Stones play first date on 14 On Fire tour + set list

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The Rolling Stones played the first date off their 14 On Fire tour this evening [February 21]. The show was their very first performance in the United Arab Emirates. The band were joined by special guest, Mick Taylor. In addition to the songs familiar for the 2012/2013 50 & Counting tour, t...

The Rolling Stones played the first date off their 14 On Fire tour this evening [February 21].

The show was their very first performance in the United Arab Emirates.

The band were joined by special guest, Mick Taylor.

In addition to the songs familiar for the 2012/2013 50 & Counting tour, the band played “You Got Me Rocking” from the Voodoo Lounge album, as well as “Slipping Away” from Steel Wheels.

The Rolling Stones are travelling to Japan next where they will play three sold out shows at the Tokyo Dome, starting on Wednesday, February 26.

SET LIST:

Start Me Up

It’s Only Rock ‘N’ Roll (But I Like It)

You Got Me Rocking

Tumbling Dice

Emotional Rescue

Angie

Doom And Gloom

Paint It Black

Honky Tonk Women

-Band Introductions

Slipping Away (with Keith on lead vocals)

Before They Make Me Run (with Keith on lead vocals)

Midnight Rambler (with Mick Taylor)

Miss You

Gimme Shelter

Jumpin’ Jack Flash

ENCORE 1

Sympathy For The Devil

Brown Sugar

ENCORE 2

You Can’t Always Get What You Want (with the Al Khubairat Singers)

(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction

Ryuichi Sakamoto & Taylor Deupree, St John at Hackney, London, February 20, 2014

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There’s a Youtube clip of Ryuichi Sakamoto, dressed in black hunched over a piano playing the piece of music he is most famous for – “Forbidden Coloursâ€, from the film Merry Christmas, Mr Lawrence. It is, I guess, the idea of Sakamoto we’re most familiar with – the artist, his instrument of choice, the music he is playing both delicate and fluid. Of course, the range of Sakamoto’s music extends far beyond one film soundtrack from 1983, beginning in the late Seventies with the influential techno-pop of the Yellow Magic Orchestra up to his most recent project, Disappearance, an album collaboration with the American electronic musician Taylor Deupree. It is that collaboration that informs tonight’s show, part of a site specific project called St John Sessions, a season of mostly electronic music held in St John at Hackney that also includes Laraa Ji, Sun Araw and Julia Holter. The church has become a go-to venue for bespoke musical events – in recent years, Mencap’s Little Noise Sessions have brought in the likes of Coldplay, Elbow and Gary Barlow, and I spot a flyer for a one-off Pretty Things show here in April. The church itself, dating from the 18th century, has a 2,000 capacity, and its size and acoustics become relevant as the performance unfolds. First, we have Gareth Dickson, a singer-songwriter with connections to Vashti Bunyan and Max Richter, which is a good indication of the direction his early doors set takes. Next up is Roly Porter, formerly of dubstep duo Vex’d, whose kind of weird, gloomy, vaguely industrial set recalls Tangerine Dream, Aphex Twin and the BBC Radiophonic Workshop. If Porter’s compelling set is characterised by deep bass lines and creeped out electronics, then Sakamoto and Deupree’s is an elegant, sparse affair; though arguably one that proves to be just as immersive. Sakamoto has the lid raised on his piano, and the exposed insides mic’d up. He slowly and methodically scrapes his fingers along the piano strings, mimicking scales, occasionally breaking off to play short melodies on the keys themselves. Meanwhile, Deupree maintains a discreet backing by way of nuanced, electronic passages created with analogue synthesisers and field recordings. Sakamoto’s abstract experimentation feels almost as if he’s questioning and deconstructing the role of the piano in performance; as a conceptual philosophical idea it feels the natural next step in Sakamoto’s ongoing exploration of the keyboard. As you might imagine, the ghosts of Erik Satie and John Cage are summarily evoked. Sakamoto and Deupree began their creative relationship in 2006, when Deupree was invited to remix a song, “World Citizenâ€, from Sakamoto’s album, Chasm. The work on Disappearance began a few years later, when the pair were invited to perform together at John Zorn’s East Village arts space, The Stone, in April, 2012. The music they have concocted is both extremely minimal and incredibly complex. At some points during tonight’s show – for instance, when Sakamoto’s scratches at the piano strings become their quietest – you have to work hard to pick out the intricate details. These levels of subtlety demand a high degree of concentration, which in itself implies complicity from the audience. In fact, the ambient sounds in the room – a chair scraped across the floor, a cough, a door somewhere in the church closing audibly, indistinct noise leaking in from outside the venue – themselves become a part of the performance, spectral sounds transmitted through the ether. A little later, Sakamoto – dressed in a black cardigan and top and jeans – takes a place at a table and plays some kind of electronic mouth instrument (apologies for my ignorance here: any help identifying it would be greatly appreciated). The last 20 minutes or so of the set finds Sakamoto and Deupree reaching for a climax of sorts. Aside from the clever relation between the audience’s sporadic, impromptu involvement and the performance on stage, it’s hard too tell how much of this might be improvised and how much of it is pre-arranged. It certainly lacks a discernible narrative; but that, perhaps, is in itself a kind of narrative. I realise you can risk tying yourself up in knots here trying to fathom the intentions of these men – both of whom are inscrutable throughout. However, there reaches a point where you sense things are being wrapped up, and a gradual falling away of sound. There’s something quite radical about the way the music disappears. As sparse as it is, we’ve worked hard to engage with it, and for it to gradually, finally vanish is a strangely disquieting experience. Follow me on Twitter @MichaelBonner. You can find more information about forthcoming St John Sessions here.

There’s a Youtube clip of Ryuichi Sakamoto, dressed in black hunched over a piano playing the piece of music he is most famous for – “Forbidden Coloursâ€, from the film Merry Christmas, Mr Lawrence. It is, I guess, the idea of Sakamoto we’re most familiar with – the artist, his instrument of choice, the music he is playing both delicate and fluid. Of course, the range of Sakamoto’s music extends far beyond one film soundtrack from 1983, beginning in the late Seventies with the influential techno-pop of the Yellow Magic Orchestra up to his most recent project, Disappearance, an album collaboration with the American electronic musician Taylor Deupree. It is that collaboration that informs tonight’s show, part of a site specific project called St John Sessions, a season of mostly electronic music held in St John at Hackney that also includes Laraa Ji, Sun Araw and Julia Holter. The church has become a go-to venue for bespoke musical events – in recent years, Mencap’s Little Noise Sessions have brought in the likes of Coldplay, Elbow and Gary Barlow, and I spot a flyer for a one-off Pretty Things show here in April. The church itself, dating from the 18th century, has a 2,000 capacity, and its size and acoustics become relevant as the performance unfolds.

First, we have Gareth Dickson, a singer-songwriter with connections to Vashti Bunyan and Max Richter, which is a good indication of the direction his early doors set takes. Next up is Roly Porter, formerly of dubstep duo Vex’d, whose kind of weird, gloomy, vaguely industrial set recalls Tangerine Dream, Aphex Twin and the BBC Radiophonic Workshop.

If Porter’s compelling set is characterised by deep bass lines and creeped out electronics, then Sakamoto and Deupree’s is an elegant, sparse affair; though arguably one that proves to be just as immersive. Sakamoto has the lid raised on his piano, and the exposed insides mic’d up. He slowly and methodically scrapes his fingers along the piano strings, mimicking scales, occasionally breaking off to play short melodies on the keys themselves. Meanwhile, Deupree maintains a discreet backing by way of nuanced, electronic passages created with analogue synthesisers and field recordings. Sakamoto’s abstract experimentation feels almost as if he’s questioning and deconstructing the role of the piano in performance; as a conceptual philosophical idea it feels the natural next step in Sakamoto’s ongoing exploration of the keyboard. As you might imagine, the ghosts of Erik Satie and John Cage are summarily evoked.

Sakamoto and Deupree began their creative relationship in 2006, when Deupree was invited to remix a song, “World Citizenâ€, from Sakamoto’s album, Chasm. The work on Disappearance began a few years later, when the pair were invited to perform together at John Zorn’s East Village arts space, The Stone, in April, 2012. The music they have concocted is both extremely minimal and incredibly complex. At some points during tonight’s show – for instance, when Sakamoto’s scratches at the piano strings become their quietest – you have to work hard to pick out the intricate details. These levels of subtlety demand a high degree of concentration, which in itself implies complicity from the audience. In fact, the ambient sounds in the room – a chair scraped across the floor, a cough, a door somewhere in the church closing audibly, indistinct noise leaking in from outside the venue – themselves become a part of the performance, spectral sounds transmitted through the ether. A little later, Sakamoto – dressed in a black cardigan and top and jeans – takes a place at a table and plays some kind of electronic mouth instrument (apologies for my ignorance here: any help identifying it would be greatly appreciated).

The last 20 minutes or so of the set finds Sakamoto and Deupree reaching for a climax of sorts. Aside from the clever relation between the audience’s sporadic, impromptu involvement and the performance on stage, it’s hard too tell how much of this might be improvised and how much of it is pre-arranged. It certainly lacks a discernible narrative; but that, perhaps, is in itself a kind of narrative. I realise you can risk tying yourself up in knots here trying to fathom the intentions of these men – both of whom are inscrutable throughout. However, there reaches a point where you sense things are being wrapped up, and a gradual falling away of sound. There’s something quite radical about the way the music disappears. As sparse as it is, we’ve worked hard to engage with it, and for it to gradually, finally vanish is a strangely disquieting experience.

Follow me on Twitter @MichaelBonner.

You can find more information about forthcoming St John Sessions here.

Fear and loathing with The Damned, 1977

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The announcement by The Damned that they'll be playing the London Forum in April to celebrate Captain Sensible's 60th birthday and tickets for it will cost what they would have in 1977 has caused a lot of excitement among the band's venerabe fans and reminded me of the following mad escapade from that lively year. November 1977 The night before goes from bad to what you might call worse, a quick drink after work turning into a cocaine and tequila-crazed binge of somewhat devastating proportions. I wake up, frankly surprised to be alive, in a hotel room in Maida Vale, blood on the bathroom walls, in the company of people I don’t know and certainly can’t remember meeting. I feel like doing not much more than spending the next week starting at a wall and dribbling, but realise through the murk of returning consciousness that I have shortly to be at the west London HQ of Stiff Records, where I’m supposed to meet The Damned. They’re starting a UK tour tonight in Middlesbrough – MIDDLESBROUGH! – and with typically reckless disregard for what’s left of my physical well-being I’ve volunteered to go with them for a larky on-the-road feature for what used to be Melody Maker. Anyway, I stumble around the hotel room putting bits of myself back together, wondering what one of my shoes is doing on top of the wardbrobe. No one else is moving, but from the ungodly amount of snoring, moaning and groaning I’m fairly sure none of these people are dead, whoever they are. I stumble then into the early morning cold, twitching like Joe Strummer’s leg, nearly pass out and fall into the back of a cab that takes me to Alexander Street, which is near Paddington, where Stiff have their offices. As usual, it’s bedlam inside, but this has nothing to do with The Damned, who are nowhere to be seen, although it’s been impressed upon me that we need to make an unpleasantly early start. I had spoken the day before to the band’s tour manager, Ron, and this Ron had gone on at some length about the need for me to be at Stiff not long after the crack of dawn itself. So here I am, but where the fuck is Ron? Where, come to that, are the fucking Damned? I sit there fuming, feeling like I’ve been dragged naked over sharp rocks and beaten with logs, bones growing out of my head, a stunned and sullen silence my only response to the busy mayhem around me, telephones shrieking like alarm bells now and people shouting at each other. After considerably more than a while, a curious-looking cove wanders in off the street, looking baffled beneath a battered black bowler, an overcoat easily three times too big for him hanging from his lankily emaciated frame. Turns out this is Robert “Lu†Edmunds, enlisted a couple of months ago at the insistence of Brian James as the band’s second guitarist, a recruitment that immediately worsened the relationship between James and drummer Rat Scabies, the latter recently jumping ship altogether during a European tour. Rat’s been replaced by the dapper Jon Moss, who goes on to rather better things with Culture Club. That’s Jon, by the way, coming through the door behind Lu, who is followed in turn by the black-caped Dave Vanian, who looks like I feel – which is to day like death with a hangover. The vampiric Vanian is limping badly and soon telling us in gruesome detail about a growth he has discovered on his thigh. “What happened?†asks Brian James, who’s also now turned up. “Get bitten by one of yer bats?†James guffaws rawly at this vague stab at humour and there is much sniggering from the hapless Lu, who I am beginning to think might be suffering from some form of advanced gormlessness for which there is at the time no known remedy. I’m also frankly worried by the way he keeps staring at me, as if he’s wondering whether my head will fit in his fridge. Such morbid ponderings are duly interrupted by the arrival of Captain Sensible, who is preceded by more clanking than you might hear at the London Dungeon, the Captain decked out in sundry chains and padlocks. “Get yer fucking hair cut you hippie c***!†are his first words to me. “Let’s go to the pub,†are his second, on being told that Ron has yet to turn up. Over ensuing drinks, the Captain briefly describes the auditioning process for rat’s replacement. “Most of the people who phoned were c****,†he says. “The first thing we asked them was if they was the best drummer in the world. If they paused, we’d hang up.†An unbelievable four hours after we were supposed to have left Stiff we are finally off in the general direction of Middlesbrough, a lengthy journey made virtually unendurable by the wretched Sensible, whose pathological inability to settle down means that every passing fucking moment has to be occupied by some desperate prank or mischievous jape. And so there is much farting, giggling, flicking of burning matches sand the dropping of burning matches down the necks of unsuspecting victims. “Something’s burning!†screams the band’s minder, Marty, somewhere just outside Birmingham. This isn’t news to me, because it’s hair that’s on fire. I turn around in my seat and slap Sensible on the head. “Why did you do THAT?†he whimpers. “Why do you fucking THINK?†I shout at him, my hair smouldering and smoke filling the van. By Sheffield everyone’s calmed down a bit and the Captain is telling me an amusing story about Elvis Costello. Seems The Damned and Elvis and The Attractions were returning by coach from the Blitzen festival. Elvis had apparently got howlingly drunk on the evening prior to departure and the next morning was bundled onto the coach close to death. Jake Riviera – then managing both Elvis and The Damned, or “The Dimmed†as he often liked to call them – told the delinquent Sensible and equally disruptive Rat Scabies that under no circumstances whatsoever were they to attempt to tease, torment or generally molest the suffering Elvis. “Then Costello fell asleep,†the Captain recalls with an evil little grin, horns sprouting from the side of his head, “with his mouth open.†He’s chuckling like a bastard now. “Anyway,†the captain continues,†me and Rat tipped an ashtray into his mouth and then set fire to his shoelaces. He woke up with his feet on fire, tried to scream and nearly choked on the dog-ends.†The memory of this hilarious incident keeps the Captain chuckling until we get to Middlesbrough, when things turn bleak again. We’re sitting in a cold, miserable dressing room backstage at the Town hall when the woman who’s promoting tonight’s show gravely announces that there are punks fighting in the hall and her bouncers have lost control. She corners Sensible and tells him The Damned must adopt a responsible attitude. “Tell them,†she beseeches, “that if they don’t behave, like, there’ll be no more poonk in Middlesbrough.†“Too fucking right there’ll be no more punk in Middlesbrough,†Sensible fairly wails. “If they start throwing bottles and looking for a fight, there’ll be no more punk and no more Damned. We’ll be off home, don’t worry about that. I may be a c***,†says Sensible, “but I’m not fucking stupid.†The Damned in 1977, pic: Erica Echenberg/Redferrns

The announcement by The Damned that they’ll be playing the London Forum in April to celebrate Captain Sensible’s 60th birthday and tickets for it will cost what they would have in 1977 has caused a lot of excitement among the band’s venerabe fans and reminded me of the following mad escapade from that lively year.

November 1977

The night before goes from bad to what you might call worse, a quick drink after work turning into a cocaine and tequila-crazed binge of somewhat devastating proportions. I wake up, frankly surprised to be alive, in a hotel room in Maida Vale, blood on the bathroom walls, in the company of people I don’t know and certainly can’t remember meeting.

I feel like doing not much more than spending the next week starting at a wall and dribbling, but realise through the murk of returning consciousness that I have shortly to be at the west London HQ of Stiff Records, where I’m supposed to meet The Damned.

They’re starting a UK tour tonight in Middlesbrough – MIDDLESBROUGH! – and with typically reckless disregard for what’s left of my physical well-being I’ve volunteered to go with them for a larky on-the-road feature for what used to be Melody Maker.

Anyway, I stumble around the hotel room putting bits of myself back together, wondering what one of my shoes is doing on top of the wardbrobe. No one else is moving, but from the ungodly amount of snoring, moaning and groaning I’m fairly sure none of these people are dead, whoever they are.

I stumble then into the early morning cold, twitching like Joe Strummer’s leg, nearly pass out and fall into the back of a cab that takes me to Alexander Street, which is near Paddington, where Stiff have their offices. As usual, it’s bedlam inside, but this has nothing to do with The Damned, who are nowhere to be seen, although it’s been impressed upon me that we need to make an unpleasantly early start.

I had spoken the day before to the band’s tour manager, Ron, and this Ron had gone on at some length about the need for me to be at Stiff not long after the crack of dawn itself. So here I am, but where the fuck is Ron? Where, come to that, are the fucking Damned?

I sit there fuming, feeling like I’ve been dragged naked over sharp rocks and beaten with logs, bones growing out of my head, a stunned and sullen silence my only response to the busy mayhem around me, telephones shrieking like alarm bells now and people shouting at each other.

After considerably more than a while, a curious-looking cove wanders in off the street, looking baffled beneath a battered black bowler, an overcoat easily three times too big for him hanging from his lankily emaciated frame. Turns out this is Robert “Lu†Edmunds, enlisted a couple of months ago at the insistence of Brian James as the band’s second guitarist, a recruitment that immediately worsened the relationship between James and drummer Rat Scabies, the latter recently jumping ship altogether during a European tour. Rat’s been replaced by the dapper Jon Moss, who goes on to rather better things with Culture Club.

That’s Jon, by the way, coming through the door behind Lu, who is followed in turn by the black-caped Dave Vanian, who looks like I feel – which is to day like death with a hangover. The vampiric Vanian is limping badly and soon telling us in gruesome detail about a growth he has discovered on his thigh.

“What happened?†asks Brian James, who’s also now turned up. “Get bitten by one of yer bats?â€

James guffaws rawly at this vague stab at humour and there is much sniggering from the hapless Lu, who I am beginning to think might be suffering from some form of advanced gormlessness for which there is at the time no known remedy. I’m also frankly worried by the way he keeps staring at me, as if he’s wondering whether my head will fit in his fridge.

Such morbid ponderings are duly interrupted by the arrival of Captain Sensible, who is preceded by more clanking than you might hear at the London Dungeon, the Captain decked out in sundry chains and padlocks.

“Get yer fucking hair cut you hippie c***!†are his first words to me. “Let’s go to the pub,†are his second, on being told that Ron has yet to turn up. Over ensuing drinks, the Captain briefly describes the auditioning process for rat’s replacement.

“Most of the people who phoned were c****,†he says. “The first thing we asked them was if they was the best drummer in the world. If they paused, we’d hang up.â€

An unbelievable four hours after we were supposed to have left Stiff we are finally off in the general direction of Middlesbrough, a lengthy journey made virtually unendurable by the wretched Sensible, whose pathological inability to settle down means that every passing fucking moment has to be occupied by some desperate prank or mischievous jape. And so there is much farting, giggling, flicking of burning matches sand the dropping of burning matches down the necks of unsuspecting victims.

“Something’s burning!†screams the band’s minder, Marty, somewhere just outside Birmingham. This isn’t news to me, because it’s hair that’s on fire. I turn around in my seat and slap Sensible on the head.

“Why did you do THAT?†he whimpers.

“Why do you fucking THINK?†I shout at him, my hair smouldering and smoke filling the van.

By Sheffield everyone’s calmed down a bit and the Captain is telling me an amusing story about Elvis Costello. Seems The Damned and Elvis and The Attractions were returning by coach from the Blitzen festival. Elvis had apparently got howlingly drunk on the evening prior to departure and the next morning was bundled onto the coach close to death.

Jake Riviera – then managing both Elvis and The Damned, or “The Dimmed†as he often liked to call them – told the delinquent Sensible and equally disruptive Rat Scabies that under no circumstances whatsoever were they to attempt to tease, torment or generally molest the suffering Elvis.

“Then Costello fell asleep,†the Captain recalls with an evil little grin, horns sprouting from the side of his head, “with his mouth open.â€

He’s chuckling like a bastard now.

“Anyway,†the captain continues,†me and Rat tipped an ashtray into his mouth and then set fire to his shoelaces. He woke up with his feet on fire, tried to scream and nearly choked on the dog-ends.â€

The memory of this hilarious incident keeps the Captain chuckling until we get to Middlesbrough, when things turn bleak again.

We’re sitting in a cold, miserable dressing room backstage at the Town hall when the woman who’s promoting tonight’s show gravely announces that there are punks fighting in the hall and her bouncers have lost control. She corners Sensible and tells him The Damned must adopt a responsible attitude. “Tell them,†she beseeches, “that if they don’t behave, like, there’ll be no more poonk in Middlesbrough.â€

“Too fucking right there’ll be no more punk in Middlesbrough,†Sensible fairly wails. “If they start throwing bottles and looking for a fight, there’ll be no more punk and no more Damned. We’ll be off home, don’t worry about that. I may be a c***,†says Sensible, “but I’m not fucking stupid.â€

The Damned in 1977, pic: Erica Echenberg/Redferrns

Wilko Johnson: “Imagine Roger Daltrey saying to you, ‘I’ll sing whatever you like.’ So I took advantage…â€

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Wilko Johnson and Roger Daltrey reveal all about their new collaborative album in the upcoming issue of Uncut, dated April 2014 and out on Friday (February 28). The Who’s Daltrey and Johnson, who revealed last year that he is suffering from terminal cancer, release the punchy Going Back Home on...

Wilko Johnson and Roger Daltrey reveal all about their new collaborative album in the upcoming issue of Uncut, dated April 2014 and out on Friday (February 28).

The Who’s Daltrey and Johnson, who revealed last year that he is suffering from terminal cancer, release the punchy Going Back Home on March 10 through Chess.

“Finding out Wilko’s condition,†Daltrey tells Uncut, “I just said to him, ‘You choose the songs and I’ll have a go at singing whatever you throw at me.’ It was all done in a real rush. But so much modern music is over-polished and this album has a freshness. Fast, three-minute R’n’B songs. No bullshit. Just great songs.â€

“Imagine Roger Daltrey saying to you, ‘I’ll sing whatever you like’,†says Wilko Johnson. “So I took advantage…â€

For a review of the album and a full interview with Johnson and Daltrey, check out the new Uncut, out on Friday (February 28).

Photo: Andrew Naughton

The Great Northfield Minnesota Raid

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UK DVD debut for Right Stuff director Philip Kaufman’s cantankerous anti-western... Jesse James, the folk ballad tells us, stole from the rich, gave to the poor, and had a hand and a heart and a brain. Ever since Tyrone Power saddled up for 1939’s Jesse James, the movies have gone along with this. Even iconoclasts like Nicholas Ray and Sam Fuller, in I Shot Jesse James (1948) and The True Story Of Jesse James (1957), adhered to the image of the outlaw as a dangerous but sensitive Robin Hood of the border, whose murder was a loss of innocence for The West. Ray’s film included a scene replaying one of the most famous tales of Jesse: that of the poor old widow, about to be forced from her home by the banker who holds the mortgage. James gives her the cash to pay the man, then ambushes him as he rides away, taking the money back again. More recently, while it looked to interrogate the myth, The Assassination Of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford (2007) couldn’t help but burnish it, too, offering Brad Pitt’s Jesse as a brooding, burned-out monument. Among such company, the Jesse James offered by writer-director Philip Kaufman’s ragged and muddy Great Northfield Minnesota Raid (1971) goes against the grain. As played by Robert Duvall in full, hollering, feral mode, here is Jesse as neither hero nor anti-hero, but instead as a scummy redneck hillbilly: a sly, lying, psychotic little glory-hound, as noble and trustworthy as a rabid dog. Kaufman establishes his revisionist tone early, introducing Jesse as he sits sit side-by-side with brother Frank in a flyblown outhouse, backwoods boys enjoying the opportunity to spend some quality time shitting together. Long unavailable in the UK, this was Kaufman’s debut as a major filmmaker, another vibrant souvenir of that heroic “New Hollywood†moment when, spooked by changing tastes and younger audiences, studios were reluctantly casting around for new blood. Prior to this, Kaufman, a University graduate with European tastes, inspired by the independent example of John Cassavetes, had made two low-budget, long-hair films, the experimental Goldstein (1964) and Fearless Frank (1967), a scattershot Pop superhero satire. The Great Northfield Minnesota Raid marked a huge leap forward, but the ironic attitude remains. It fits into the cynical, blood-soaked western wave ushered in by Sam Peckinpah, but, if anything, it’s even less romantic about cowboy myths. Revisiting the film, it’s striking how much it foreshadows Kaufman’s great later work in The Outlaw Josey Wales (which Kaufman wrote, and started to direct, until Clint Eastwood kicked him off) and The Right Stuff. The former’s shagginess, and shaggy-dog qualities begin here. More fascinatingly, it prefigures the ambivalence of his compellingly strange adaptation of Tom Wolfe’s book on America’s first astronauts. In both movies, Kaufman seems to want heroes to believe in, and simultaneously to subvert that whole notion. The closest he can find to a hero here is not Jesse, but his usually overshadowed partner in crime, Cole Younger, played, in a brilliant, unshowy performance by Cliff Robertson, who co-produced. (Watch him in this and Fuller’s Underworld USA, and wonder why he was never better known.) Cast by Kaufman as the true brains of the James-Younger gang, Cole has his flaws – this is a film about thieves and con men, killers, bounty hunters and lynch mobs, after all - but he’s the best man in sight. Perhaps even a visionary. Set in the late summer of 1876, as the fracturing gang of train-robbers are hunted by Pinkertons employed by the railroad, the movie belongs to the times-changing subgenre of the western. Fascinated by the gadgets beginning to appear in the streets and shops around them, Cole is mesmerised by the dawning modern age, delighting in “machines run by steam, oil and electric,†two of which – a steam-powered calliope, and a safe’s clockwork time-lock – will play significant parts in his downfall during the disastrous attempted bank heist of the title. Cole is a visionary in the other sense, too. While Jesse fakes babbling fits of speaking in tongues, Cole is genuinely battered by visions, glimpses of images that turn out to be fragments of his own bloody future. Kaufman’s film has a very broad streak of very broad humour, but in these odd, unexplained moments, he sends strange gothic shivers running through it. He restages that story about Jesse and the old widow woman, too, but adds a new epilogue: Jesse subsequently kills the old woman, then disguises himself in clothes he’s stripped from her body, so he and Frank can slink off and escape, leaving the rest of the gang to get slaughtered. The best way to watch Kaufman’s movie would be in a double-bill with Walter Hill’s masterly take on the same story, The Long Riders (1980), following the same James-Younger gang as they ride toward bloody destiny through the same post-Civil War Missouri landscapes, wearing the same long white duster jackets. Spare, elegiac, achingly autumnal, Hill’s brilliant movie is a like a poem, or, more accurately, a ballad. It prints the legend. Kaufman’s treats the legend as a dirty joke, and rips it up. EXTRAS: None. Damien Love

UK DVD debut for Right Stuff director Philip Kaufman’s cantankerous anti-western…

Jesse James, the folk ballad tells us, stole from the rich, gave to the poor, and had a hand and a heart and a brain. Ever since Tyrone Power saddled up for 1939’s Jesse James, the movies have gone along with this. Even iconoclasts like Nicholas Ray and Sam Fuller, in I Shot Jesse James (1948) and The True Story Of Jesse James (1957), adhered to the image of the outlaw as a dangerous but sensitive Robin Hood of the border, whose murder was a loss of innocence for The West.

Ray’s film included a scene replaying one of the most famous tales of Jesse: that of the poor old widow, about to be forced from her home by the banker who holds the mortgage. James gives her the cash to pay the man, then ambushes him as he rides away, taking the money back again. More recently, while it looked to interrogate the myth, The Assassination Of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford (2007) couldn’t help but burnish it, too, offering Brad Pitt’s Jesse as a brooding, burned-out monument.

Among such company, the Jesse James offered by writer-director Philip Kaufman’s ragged and muddy Great Northfield Minnesota Raid (1971) goes against the grain. As played by Robert Duvall in full, hollering, feral mode, here is Jesse as neither hero nor anti-hero, but instead as a scummy redneck hillbilly: a sly, lying, psychotic little glory-hound, as noble and trustworthy as a rabid dog. Kaufman establishes his revisionist tone early, introducing Jesse as he sits sit side-by-side with brother Frank in a flyblown outhouse, backwoods boys enjoying the opportunity to spend some quality time shitting together.

Long unavailable in the UK, this was Kaufman’s debut as a major filmmaker, another vibrant souvenir of that heroic “New Hollywood†moment when, spooked by changing tastes and younger audiences, studios were reluctantly casting around for new blood. Prior to this, Kaufman, a University graduate with European tastes, inspired by the independent example of John Cassavetes, had made two low-budget, long-hair films, the experimental Goldstein (1964) and Fearless Frank (1967), a scattershot Pop superhero satire. The Great Northfield Minnesota Raid marked a huge leap forward, but the ironic attitude remains. It fits into the cynical, blood-soaked western wave ushered in by Sam Peckinpah, but, if anything, it’s even less romantic about cowboy myths.

Revisiting the film, it’s striking how much it foreshadows Kaufman’s great later work in The Outlaw Josey Wales (which Kaufman wrote, and started to direct, until Clint Eastwood kicked him off) and The Right Stuff. The former’s shagginess, and shaggy-dog qualities begin here. More fascinatingly, it prefigures the ambivalence of his compellingly strange adaptation of Tom Wolfe’s book on America’s first astronauts. In both movies, Kaufman seems to want heroes to believe in, and simultaneously to subvert that whole notion.

The closest he can find to a hero here is not Jesse, but his usually overshadowed partner in crime, Cole Younger, played, in a brilliant, unshowy performance by Cliff Robertson, who co-produced. (Watch him in this and Fuller’s Underworld USA, and wonder why he was never better known.) Cast by Kaufman as the true brains of the James-Younger gang, Cole has his flaws – this is a film about thieves and con men, killers, bounty hunters and lynch mobs, after all – but he’s the best man in sight. Perhaps even a visionary.

Set in the late summer of 1876, as the fracturing gang of train-robbers are hunted by Pinkertons employed by the railroad, the movie belongs to the times-changing subgenre of the western. Fascinated by the gadgets beginning to appear in the streets and shops around them, Cole is mesmerised by the dawning modern age, delighting in “machines run by steam, oil and electric,†two of which – a steam-powered calliope, and a safe’s clockwork time-lock – will play significant parts in his downfall during the disastrous attempted bank heist of the title.

Cole is a visionary in the other sense, too. While Jesse fakes babbling fits of speaking in tongues, Cole is genuinely battered by visions, glimpses of images that turn out to be fragments of his own bloody future. Kaufman’s film has a very broad streak of very broad humour, but in these odd, unexplained moments, he sends strange gothic shivers running through it. He restages that story about Jesse and the old widow woman, too, but adds a new epilogue: Jesse subsequently kills the old woman, then disguises himself in clothes he’s stripped from her body, so he and Frank can slink off and escape, leaving the rest of the gang to get slaughtered.

The best way to watch Kaufman’s movie would be in a double-bill with Walter Hill’s masterly take on the same story, The Long Riders (1980), following the same James-Younger gang as they ride toward bloody destiny through the same post-Civil War Missouri landscapes, wearing the same long white duster jackets. Spare, elegiac, achingly autumnal, Hill’s brilliant movie is a like a poem, or, more accurately, a ballad. It prints the legend. Kaufman’s treats the legend as a dirty joke, and rips it up.

EXTRAS: None.

Damien Love

Watch Pussy Riot’s video for “Putin Will Teach You To Love The Motherland”

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Pussy Riot have debuted a video for their track "Putin Will Teach You To Love The Motherland". The Russian punk collective unveiled the video yesterday (February 20) in response to the aggressive treatment they have received in Sochi. It was reported earlier this week that members of the group, in...

Pussy Riot have debuted a video for their track “Putin Will Teach You To Love The Motherland“.

The Russian punk collective unveiled the video yesterday (February 20) in response to the aggressive treatment they have received in Sochi. It was reported earlier this week that members of the group, including Maria Alyokhina and Nadezhda Tolokonnikova, were attacked by both uniformed Cossacks and security men as they attempted to perform in the Russian city, where the Winter Olympics are currently taking place.

Previously, meanwhile, Tolokonnikova had claimed that she and Alyokhina had been arrested in Sochi and were being detained in the centre of the town. “We were just walking around Sochi when they grabbed us,” Tolokonnikova told the Guardian via phone from a police station. “They told us we are suspected of theft. Of course there has been no theft.”

Semyon Simonov, a local human rights activist, was also detained along with the group and claims that he, Alyokhina, Tolokonnikova and seven others were picked up on the street by police after they were tipped off by employees of the hotel in which they are staying.

Alyokhina and Tolokonnikova were released from prison in December 2013 after serving a two-year sentence for protesting in a Moscow church.

Earlier this year Alyokhina and Tolokonnikova were criticised in an open letter by activists claiming to be members of Pussy Riot for launching human rights group Zona Prava (Justice Zone).

The statement also suggested that Alyokhina and Tolokonnikova have ignored attempts to communicate and expressed frustration with the way the pair were presented at a recent Amnesty International concert in New York.

Suede announce single box sets

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Suede will release two brand new CD and 7†single box sets featuring all 24 Suede singles from 1992 – 2013 on April 14. The CD Singles box set will feature nearly every Suede b-side across all previous formats of each single, including a number of hard to find tracks that were omitted from t...

Suede will release two brand new CD and 7†single box sets featuring all 24 Suede singles from 1992 – 2013 on April 14.

The CD Singles box set will feature nearly every Suede b-side across all previous formats of each single, including a number of hard to find tracks that were omitted from the 2011 reissues. The box also includes for the first time CD singles of the three Bloodsports era singles and B-sides from 2013.

The sets are limited to 1000 copies worldwide each.

The 7†Singles box will feature reproductions of the 11 x 7†singles the band have previously released, along with for the first time on the format 13 x 7†singles, with B-sides selected by Brett Anderson.

The first 250 pre-orders on either box set will be treated to an exclusive Suede print of the lyrics to “Trash” signed by Anderson, which fans can also have their name added too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8OgANfuNpk

Tracklisting:

Suede – CD singles

24 x CD singles

1 x DVD

1 x booklet

#1

The Drowners

To The Birds

My Insatiable One

#2

Metal Mickey

Where The Pigs Don’t Fly

He’s Dead

#3

Animal Nitrate

Painted People

The Big Time

#4

So Young

Dolly

High Rising

#5

Stay Together

The Living Dead

My Dark Star

Stay Together [extended mix]

#6

We Are The Pigs

Killing Of A Flashboy

Whipsnade

#7

The Wild Ones

Modern Boys

This World Needs A Father

Eno’s Introducing The Band

Asda Town

#8

New Generation

Together

Bentswood Boys

#9

Trash

Europe Is Our Playground

Every Monday Morning Comes

Have You Ever Been This Low?

Another No One

#10

Beautiful Ones

Young Men

Sound Of The Streets

Money

Sam

#11

Saturday Night

WSD

Jumble Sale Mums

This Time

Saturday Night [original demo]

#12

Lazy

These Are The Sad Songs

Feel

Sadie

Digging A Hole

#13

Filmstar

Graffiti Women

Duchess

Rent [live with Neil Tennant, Roundhouse, 15.12.96]

Saturday Night [live with Neil Tennant, Roundhouse, 15.12.96]

#14

Electricity

Popstar

Killer

See That Girl

Waterloo

Implement Yeah!

#15

She’s In Fashion

Bored

Pieces Of My Mind

Jubilee

God’s Gift

Down [demo]

#16

Everything Will Flow

Weight Of The World

Leaving

Crackhead

Seascape

#17

Can’t Get Enough

Let Go

Since You Went Away

Situations

Read My Mind

#18

Positivity

One Love

Simon

Superstar

Cheap

Colours

Campfire Song

#19

Obsessions [radio edit]

Cool Thing

Instant Sunshine

UFO

Rainy Day Girl

Hard Candy

#20

Attitude

Golden Gun

Oxygen

#21

Barriers

Nothing Can Stop Us

Howl

#22

It Starts And Ends With You Dawn Chorus

No Holding Back

#23

Hit Me

Falling Planes

What Violet Says

#24

For The Strangers

Darkest Days

Human Tide

DVD

SINGLES VIDEOS

The Drowners

Metal Mickey

Animal Nitrate

So Young

The Drowners [US version]

Stay Together

We Are The Pigs

The Wild Ones

New Generation

Trash

Beautiful Ones

Saturday Night

Lazy

Filmstar

Europe Is Our Playground

Electricity

She’s In Fashion

Can’t Get Enough

Everything Will Flow

Can’t Get Enough [Australian edition]

Positivity

Obsessions

Attitude [with Brett]

Attitude [without Brett]

Barriers

It Starts And Ends With You

Hit Me

For The Strangers

Suede – 7†singles

24 x 7†singles

1 x booklet

#1

The Drowners

To The Birds

#2

Metal Mickey

Where The Pigs Don’t Fly

#3

Animal Nitrate

The Big Time

#4

So Young

High Rising

#5

Stay Together

The Living Dead

#6

We Are The Pigs

Killing Of A Flash Boy

#7

The Wild Ones

Modern Boys

#8

New Generation

Together

#9

Trash

Europe Is Our Playground

#10

Beautiful Ones

Sound Of The Streets

#11

Saturday Night

This Time

#12

Lazy

Sadie

#13

Filmstar

Graffiti Women

#14

Electricity

Implement Yeah!

#15

She’s In Fashion

God’s Gift

#16

Everything Will Flow

Leaving

#17

Can’t Get Enough

Let Go

#18

Positivity

Simon

#19

Obsessions [radio edit]

Instant Sunshine

#20

Attitude

Golden Gun

#21

Barriers

Falling Planes

#22

It Starts And Ends With You

Dawn Chorus

#23

Hit Me

What Violet Says

#24

For The Strangers

Darkest Days

The single boxsets are available to pre-order here.

David Byrne and St Vincent: “It’s something really extraordinaryâ€

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St Vincent releases her self-titled fourth album on Monday (February 24) – here, from the Uncut archives (October 2012, Take 185), is a reminder of Annie Clark’s last project – Love This Giant, created with David Byrne. Gather round, then, as Byrne and Clark reveal the secrets of a successful ...

St Vincent releases her self-titled fourth album on Monday (February 24) – here, from the Uncut archives (October 2012, Take 185), is a reminder of Annie Clark’s last project – Love This Giant, created with David Byrne. Gather round, then, as Byrne and Clark reveal the secrets of a successful art-rock team-up, swish parties at the French Ambassador’s residence, and being “allergic to cymbals  Words: Peter Shapiro

___________________

It could be the heat doing crazy things to my brain, but as David Byrne paces around the office of his record label, Todo Mundo, I am struck by a strange thought. In his blue and white wide-wale seersucker trousers with matching braces, short-sleeve white cotton shirt and white flip-flops (to say nothing of his white hair and gradually whitening eyebrows), David Byrne resembles nothing so much as a giant ice lolly.

No-one, not even a freeze pop, wants to be in New York City in the middle of July, and today is why. It’s 100° Fahrenheit with 65 per cent humidity: walking in Manhattan is like trudging through a swamp of other people’s sweat and diesel exhaust. Then there’s the smell. Even on the genteel streets of Todo Mundo’s SoHo neighborhood, which is otherwise populated by swanky Comme Des Garçons boutiques, the fumes of dead rodents exude their unmistakable perfume like the devil’s own bougainvillea.

Although he rode his bike to work through these stifling streets (as he always does — after Lance Armstrong, Byrne is probably America’s most famous bicyclist), Byrne is totally cool and unruffled. A striking contrast, in fact, to the familiar sweaty, anxiety-ridden salary man he portrayed in Talking Heads’ video for “Once In A Lifetimeâ€. Byrne’s Popsicle-like appearance today is only accentuated by the fairground cornucopia of tchotchkes and ephemera that is the Todo Mundo office. The walls are adorned with paintings of the apocalyptic visions of self-ordained minister Howard Finster (one of which was the cover for Talking Heads’ Little Creatures album), game fish taxidermy, pistol range targets complete with bullet holes, a Christopher Columbus jigsaw in which the explorer’s face has been replaced by a comic book’s metal skull, and a photo of an astronaut holding a cassette of Talking Heads’ first album. There is a shelf of a bookcase that functions as a shrine to the caprices of consumerism (at least to an American): tins of spotted dick and mushy peas, odd liqueurs from Turkmenistan, baldness cures, bongs in the shape of skeletons, and miniature statuettes of lucha libre wrestlers from Mexico. Elsewhere, a rather hideous and obscenely phallic cutaway model of an earthworm’s innards sits on top of a television set, conjuring long repressed memories of traumatic biology class dissections.

Byrne’s office may be a reliquary of capitalist detritus, but interior decoration aside, he’s never been interested in resting on his laurels and mummifying his past. Byrne could easily fund a comfortable retirement by donning The Big Suit from Stop Making Sense and churning through “Psycho Killer†and “Burning Down The House†until he needs to put his dentures in a glass. Instead, unlike most of his peers, he constantly has his ear to the underground and engages in quirky, charming art projects (like hooking up an old pipe organ to a disused building’s plumbing and ceiling beams so visitors can “play†the building) in order to satisfy his perpetually restless polymath imagination.

“In order to feed my own creative juices, part of that process is being inspired by what other people are doing,†Byrne says. “Not that I want to copy them or rip them off, it’s just keeping my juices flowing, hearing what’s new, hearing what people are doing. I do presume that keeping the creative juices flowing means that you have to do new things fairly often and challenge yourself and get out of your comfort zone, all those sorts of things, which may be a bit much to ask for people who have achieved a certain level of success. They might feel like, ‘I did it. Isn’t that good enough?’â€

What’s been catching Byrne’s ears of late is the new wave of ambitious, intelligent indie rock coming out of New York: Dirty Projectors, The National, Sufjan Stevens, and especially St Vincent, the deceptively dark chamber-rock project of Texan exile and former Polyphonic Spree member Annie Clark, with whom he has collaborated on a rather fabulous new album, Love This Giant.

After performing with many of this new guard at the Dark Was The Night charity concert in May 2009, Byrne declared on his blog that they represented the “triumph of art rockâ€. “I said that? Oops,†he says today, half-joking. “I think I wrote at the time on my blog that with that crowd, Annie included, the ambition wasn’t, ‘I want to be a star. I want to throw televisions on the floor and be driven by chauffeurs.’ It was really, ‘What excites me the most is making great music.’ That’s the vibe I got from this generation of musicians. That’s great. That seems incredibly healthy, besides the fact a lot of them are making really good music.â€

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Shortly after the Dark Was The Night concert, Byrne and St Vincent were approached by Housing Works, a charity/bookstore in New York, to collaborate on a night of music to be performed at the shop. Byrne, both a relentless collaborator and a “dweeby fan†of St Vincent, naturally agreed. Although on the surface St Vincent’s baroque, fragile songs seem to be an odd match with Byrne’s open-to-anything MO, they actually approach their craft in much the same way: Clark is an as avaricious consumer of art and culture as Byrne, looking for inspiration anywhere she can find it, from Marilyn Monroe’s diaries to the peyote surrealism of Alejandro Jodorowsky’s movies, and her perhaps unexpected talent for guitar shredding has landed her gigs with everyone from Sufjan Stevens to Downtown enfant terrible Glenn Branca.

But as they started to throw around musical ideas, they ran into a problem: how do you construct a program of music for a tiny space that isn’t two hippies with acoustic guitars singing campfire songs? “I happened to be really inspired by the timbre of brass at the time and hadn’t really worked with it much,†explains Clark, who’s joined Byrne in the Todo Mundo offices. “I was also thinking that this space would be conducive to a small brass band and just a limited PA, because it’s a bookstore, so you’re not going to bring the bombast. Then we kept writing and kept going, the band got bigger and bigger [laughs]. There’s also something nice about brass in that it can be kind of timeless. It’s not like we were going for a genre study in any particular mode. It wasn’t like, ‘Let’s make a…’â€

“Dubstep?†Byrne offers.

“Dubstep album,†Clark continues, laughing, “or this is coming straight from Bourbon Street. We were trying to do something a little new with it. What is dubstep anyway?†she asks semi-facetiously.

You won’t find the answer on Love This Giant, but perhaps surprisingly you will find lithe, sprightly songs that aren’t afraid of the groove. This isn’t to say that the detailed observations of ordinary human cruelty that characterise St Vincent’s songs aren’t present or that Byrne’s tales of lonely people lost in the wake of urban overload have been sacrificed for the dancefloor, only that the horn-led arrangements cut through any pretension, create hooks aplenty and lend an air of buoyancy. The tropical heat of the brass also made the songs’ narrators horny as hell: the stripping housewife in “I Am An Apeâ€, the peeping tom in “Dinner For Twoâ€, the sexual awakening of “The Forest Awakes†(with the killer line, “the bombs burst in air, but my hair is alrightâ€).

Perhaps the best thing about Love This Giant is that it’s not overly concerned with “atmosphereâ€. To be sure, it creates moods and sets scenes, but it also jumps off the lounge chair and meets you more than halfway. Much of this is down to the drum programming of John Congleton, who produced the last two St Vincent albums. As Clark explains, “the programmed drums take up less sonic space, they really shined a light on the horns and their unique power.â€

Speaking to Congleton later, he reveals, “At some point halfway through making the record, I had a conversation with Annie about how the record was going and whether it had a real voice yet and we thought we would try some drum programming on the songs as opposed to organic instruments. In that way, it would be like a cyborg with human skin. There would be these horns and other organic things, but underneath it would be this completely mechanised sort of thing. We tried it out on a couple of songs and everyone was really happy with how it felt. So it became a process of me giving them ideas and us sort of riffing back and forth on things. Sometimes I would manipulate things they sent me. It’s a really strange way to make a record, but it ended up working just fine and we were able to accomplish a sound for the record where before it might have sounded more like some of the things David’s done just recently. Now, it’s a little bit dirtier and a little bit obtuse in a different way.â€

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Love This Giant was created in fits and starts over a two-and-a-half-year period, mostly via email file exchange. “This kind of record, I don’t know that it’s something that we could have sat in the same room with a couple of acoustic guitars and tried to write that way,†Clark says. “I’ve never actually written like that. It seems like that could potentially be a very inhibitingly self-conscious way to work. I wouldn’t necessarily be making the silly sounds that I make when trying to come up with a vocal melody in [Byrne’s] presence or in anyone’s presence.â€

“There’s always the danger in a tricky email exchange that something will be taken the wrong way and spiral out of control,†Byrne adds. “It didn’t, and when it doesn’t, it works really well. We added things and supplemented the tracks and songs and melodies incrementally, until it got to a point where we were like, ‘Hey, it’s a song.’ We didn’t sit in the same room and write stuff, but we did go out socially. So we kind of got to know one another a little bit that way, talking about books and movies or other music or whatever. That probably helped as well.â€

In addition to going together to James Blake and Lykke Li concerts, Byrne and Clark went to the White House Correspondents’ Dinner in Washington DC, an annual schmoozefest where the President and the press trade jokes and paper over the dysfunction of the American political system. “We didn’t know any of this stuff, but there are apparently lots of after-parties, and there are pre-parties, too,†Byrne reveals, marveling at the ridiculousness of celebrity culture infecting politics. “We didn’t go to all of them, but we were told that this Vanity Fair one was the most over the top, and it kind of was. The place was the French Ambassador’s residence in Washington. I believe the house is bigger than the White House. It was huge. It was after some war, in order to thank the French they were presented with this huge mansion. It’s not even the embassy, it’s just his house.â€

“At the Vanity Fair after-party, I remember seeing Rupert Murdoch and Arianna Huffington having a conversation. Remember we saw [former Speaker of the House and Republican Presidential candidate] Newt Gingrich?â€

“Yeah, Newt Gingrich sitting on a sofa,†Byrne replies.

“Newt looking like a toad over there.â€

As any Fleet Street hack will tell you, laughing at politicians always improves comradery, but Love This Giant is remarkable for the way Byrne and Clark seem to inhabit each other’s personas. With the exception of two tracks they wrote separately, the record was written collaboratively – and it’s hard to see the joins. “When collaboration works, you get something that you never would have thought of,†Byrne says. “You get this third thing that isn’t you, it isn’t the other person. It’s something else. When it works, it’s something really extraordinary.â€

Considering Byrne has spent the last few years largely writing for female voices (his last album was 2010’s Here Lies Love, a disco opera about Imelda Marcos written with Fatboy Slim that featured some 20 female singers including St Vincent, Sharon Jones, Florence Welch and Tori Amos), it perhaps isn’t so surprising that Byrne and Clark are so simpático. “Annie’s voice is in a range pretty close to mine,†Byrne says. “That worked out pretty well. [When you’re working with women] there’s a little less – well, a lot less – macho swagger to deal with [laughs]. You can be just dealing with the music, which is sometimes nice [laughing]. I’m going to get myself into trouble. Guys are really competitive. There can be an undercurrent there, which is maybe some extra baggage.â€

From all appearances, Love This Giant is no marriage of convenience. Byrne and Clark seem to genuinely enjoy each other’s company, even though there is something of a mentor-mentee relationship between the two, with Byrne going so far as to make suggestions for her doodle on the day’s interview schedule.

“The biggest difference between them is Annie is totally, totally new to the idea of collaborating with people, whereas David is totally used to that,†Congleton explains. “The biggest collaborator she’s ever really had was me and I’m a producer, so that’s not the same thing. When you’re collaborating with someone in an artistic way, writing songs together, it is a different dynamic. When I’m producing, my sole intention is to be the vehicle for the vision that suits her artistically. Whereas with David, he’s going to do something that suits him artistically, something that he likes. I think it was a very valuable experience for her, and coupled with the fact that she’s working with one of the best songwriters ever, it was probably a huge learning experience for her. David is pretty fucking fearless in the studio – he would do things quickly and not look back. Annie is a bit more in the navel-gazing stage where there is a lot more pontification. David’s already been through that [laughs]: ‘I’m just going to do a vocal take and I’ll be right back.’â€

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Love This Giant’s standout track is “The One Who Broke Your Heartâ€, a cryptic hip-winder rich with symbolism and featuring rousing horns from soul and Afrobeat revivalists The Dap-Kings and Antibalas. With its pan-Latin groove and poinging guitar riff, “The One Who Broke Your Heart†sounds like a long lost track by the great Big Apple post-punk funksters Konk. It belongs to a long line of syncretic records seeking to unite the various facets of New York’s “gorgeous mosaic†of cultures that had its heyday in the aftermath of the original Talking Heads albums. While the late ’70s and early ’80s are routinely hailed as the golden age of New York music, Byrne is not the least bit nostalgic.

“Creatively, there’s at least as much going on now as there was then,†he declares. “What kind of things does it take to have a big musical changeover or that kind of cultural reassessment? I think part of it is that the economy has to be on its knees. We’re almost there, so that part is almost fulfilled [laughing]. The other part that’s a little bit more difficult, going back to years ago, I remember the feeling that none of the commercial pop music or very, very little of it had any relevance to me or my friends. All the big acts are selling out the arenas, but they’re just irrelevant to us, except for a few marginal people barely scraping by. Now, I think it’s difficult: there’s so much more interesting stuff out there, people kind of eking out and surviving, maybe not playing Madison Square Garden, but it would be hard for people to say, ‘I hate everything.’ So I don’t know how you fulfill that part of the change equation. For me, there’s this really cool surprise, that groups like Dirty Projectors or St Vincent, who decades ago would have had a hard time being heard, can play and survive. Something like Tune-Yards: decades ago this would have been a weirdo fringe act that would have been playing at [Downtown avant-garde venue] The Kitchen, nothing against the acts that played there, but she’s filling Terminal 5 [capacity: 3,000]. That’s really something.â€

“I find nostalgia pretty cynical,†Clark adds. “It assumes that the past is better than the future. It’s very sad. I don’t find it all that rewarding. Of course there are great things in the past, but where you are is where you are.â€

Photo: Pieter M Van Hattem

Jim Jarmusch: “I thought Neil Young might burn psychic rays through my skullâ€

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Jim Jarmusch, speaking in the new issue of Uncut, recalls a run-in with Neil Young when the pair were collaborating on Jarmusch’s 1995 Dead Man film. While Young was tracking the soundtrack for the movie, they clashed about the manner of recording, until the guitarist told the director to “lo...

Jim Jarmusch, speaking in the new issue of Uncut, recalls a run-in with Neil Young when the pair were collaborating on Jarmusch’s 1995 Dead Man film.

While Young was tracking the soundtrack for the movie, they clashed about the manner of recording, until the guitarist told the director to “loosen upâ€.

“There was a scary moment when I thought Neil might burn psychic rays through my skull,†explains Jarmusch. “He’s an intense character.â€

In the feature, where the director answers questions from famous fans and admirers, he also talks about fighting with Tom Waits, being friends with Joe Strummer, his membership of the shadowy Sons Of Lee Marvin association, and the secrets behind his great hair.

The new issue of Uncut is out now.

Beck turned down the chance to record Mad Men theme

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Beck has revealed that he turned down the opportunity to record the theme tune to hit US TV series Mad Men. Beck, who releases new album Morning Phase next week (February 24), revealed in a new interview with Billboard that he was offered the chance to make music for the US TV series but that he di...

Beck has revealed that he turned down the opportunity to record the theme tune to hit US TV series Mad Men.

Beck, who releases new album Morning Phase next week (February 24), revealed in a new interview with Billboard that he was offered the chance to make music for the US TV series but that he did not think it sounded like a good show. The job was instead taken by RJD2, whose song “A Beautiful Mine” is synonymous with the animated opening credits.

Speaking about his missed opportunity, Beck said: “My instinct has definitely gone awry; I could give you many examples.” Explaining the Mad Men story, he explains why he was reticent to get involved. “It’s about ad executives in the ’60s? They’re going to make a show about that? Really? Um, I don’t think so,” he remembers saying. “Yeah, just like the best show ever made!”

Neil Young announces more solo acoustic shows + new Crazy Horse date

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Neil Young has announced two solo acoustic shows. These follow on from his run of shows in January at New York's Carnegie Hall and his recent 'Honor The Treaties' shows in Canada. Young will play the Dolby Theatre, Los Angeles, CA, on Saturday, March 29 and Sunday, March 30. Meanwhile, he has als...

Neil Young has announced two solo acoustic shows.

These follow on from his run of shows in January at New York’s Carnegie Hall and his recent ‘Honor The Treaties‘ shows in Canada.

Young will play the Dolby Theatre, Los Angeles, CA, on Saturday, March 29 and Sunday, March 30.

Meanwhile, he has also announced a new live date for Crazy Horse. They will play the Alsatian Wine Fair in Colmar, France on Friday, August 8. Click here for a list of the other Crazy Horse European shows to come this summer.

Alex Turner: “Rock’n’roll will never die”.

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Alex Turner made a defiant speech in support of rock'n'roll at last night's Brit Awards [February 19], where Arctic Monkeys becoming the first band to claim a Brits-double of British Group and British Album for a third time. Collecting British Group, Alex Turner said: "There's that 15 quid we put o...

Alex Turner made a defiant speech in support of rock’n’roll at last night’s Brit Awards [February 19], where Arctic Monkeys becoming the first band to claim a Brits-double of British Group and British Album for a third time.

Collecting British Group, Alex Turner said: “There’s that 15 quid we put on One Direction to win down the drain.” He declined to make a list of thank-yous, saying: “They need to hear their names read out as much as you need to hear another list of names of people you don’t know.”

The band then collected the final prize of the evening for British Album from Emeli Sandé, becoming the first band to claim a Brits-double of British Group and British Album for a third time. Turner told the crowd: “That rock’n’roll, hey? That rock’n’roll just won’t go away. It might hibernate from time to time and sink back into the swamp… but it’s always waiting there just around the corner.” He then signed off by telling organisers to “invoice me for the microphone if you wanna” before dropping it on the floor.

Here’s the full transcript of Turner’s speech:

“Thank you. That rock’n’roll, eh? That rock’n’roll, it just won’t go away. It might hibernate from time to time and sink back into the swamp. I think the cyclical nature of the universe in which it exists demands it adheres to some of its rules. But it’s always waiting there, just around the corner, ready to make its way back through the sludge and smash through the glass ceiling, looking better than ever. Yeah, that rock’n’roll, it seems like it’s fading away sometimes, but it will never die. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Thank you very much for this. I do truly appreciate it. Don’t take that the wrong way and invoice me for the microphone if you need to.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEVkt0fLWKA

The Sheffield band had opened the show with a performance of “R U Mine?“, during which pyrotechnics spelled out AM, the name of their 2013 album.

“Stay with us”: David Bowie weighs into Scottish independence debate

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David Bowie urged Scotland to "stay with us" and not vote for independence in his acceptance speech at last night's Brit Awards (February 19). The ceremony took place at London's O2 Arena earlier this evening, with Bowie winning Best International Male. However, the singer was not at the venue to ...

David Bowie urged Scotland to “stay with us” and not vote for independence in his acceptance speech at last night’s Brit Awards (February 19).

The ceremony took place at London’s O2 Arena earlier this evening, with Bowie winning Best International Male. However, the singer was not at the venue to pick up his award, and instead sent supermodel Kate Moss to pick up the prize on his behalf and read out his acceptance speech.

Moss, who was presented with the award by Noel Gallagher, told the crowd: “David has asked me to say this: In Japanese myth, the rabbits on my old costume that Kate’s wearing live on the moon. Kate comes from Venus, and I from Mars. I’m completely delighted to have a Brit for being the best male. I think it’s a great way to end the day. Thank you very much – and Scotland, stay with us.”

Ikea to discontinue vinyl-friendly shelving range

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IKEA have announced plans to discontinue their Expedit shelving range. The range has proved immensely popular with record collectors, as it's dimensions make it perfect for storing records. The news that the Expedit line is to be discontinued - at least in Germany, for the time being - has prompte...

IKEA have announced plans to discontinue their Expedit shelving range.

The range has proved immensely popular with record collectors, as it’s dimensions make it perfect for storing records.

The news that the Expedit line is to be discontinued – at least in Germany, for the time being – has prompted the formation of a Facebook page, which has received over 10,000 ‘likes’ so far.

IKEA have revealed that the Expedit line is to be replaced by a new line, Kallax. However, concerns about Kallax’ suitability among the record collecting community have been aired on the 35hz message board, who claim the dimensions of the Kallax range are thinner than its predecessor, and arguably less likely to satisfactorily support the weight of vinyl.

Exclusive! Hear Don Henley cover Jackson Browne’s “These Days”

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Don Henley has covered Jackson Browne's "These Days" for a forthcoming 2-CD album, Looking Into You: A Tribute To Jackson Browne. The album features versions of Browne’s songs by artists including Bruce Springsteen and Patti Scialfa, Lyle Lovett, Lucinda Williams, Bonnie Raitt and JD Souther. â€...

Don Henley has covered Jackson Browne’s “These Days” for a forthcoming 2-CD album, Looking Into You: A Tribute To Jackson Browne.

The album features versions of Browne’s songs by artists including Bruce Springsteen and Patti Scialfa, Lyle Lovett, Lucinda Williams, Bonnie Raitt and JD Souther.

“It is astounding to think that Jackson wrote ‘These Days’ when he was only 16 years old,†Henley said. “But then, he was always a step ahead of the rest of us. I’ve learned a lot from him, over the years, and am honored to be part of this album.â€

Looking Into You: A Tribute To Jackson Browne is released on April 28 on Music Road Records.

The tracklisting is:

Disc One

1. “These Days,†Don Henley with Blind Pilot

2. “Everywhere I Go,†Bonnie Raitt and David Lindley

3. “Running on Empty,†Bob Schneider

4. “Fountain of Sorrow,†Indigo Girls

5. “Doctor My Eyes,†Paul Thorn

6. “For Everyman,†Jimmy LaFave

7. “Barricades of Heaven,†Griffin House

8. “Our Lady of the Well,†Lyle Lovett

9. “Jamaica Say You Will,†Ben Harper

10. “Before the Deluge,†Eliza Gilkyson

11. “For a Dancer,†Venice

12. “Looking Into You,†Kevin Welch

Disc Two

1. “Rock Me on the Water,†Keb’ Mo’

2. “The Pretender,†Lucinda Williams

3. “Rosie,†Lyle Lovett

4. “Something Fine,†Karla Bonoff

5. “Too Many Angels,†Marc Cohn feat. Joan As Police Woman

6. “Your Bright Baby Blues,†Sean and Sara Watkins

7. “Linda Paloma,†Bruce Springsteen and Patti Scialfa

8. “Call It a Loan,†Shawn Colvin

9. “I’m Alive,†Bruce Hornsby

10. “Late for the Sky,†Joan Osborne

11. “My Opening Farewell,†JD Souther

Small Faces – Here Comes The Nice

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The Mod scamps best work, finally given due respect... In this boxset’s 72-page book, where tributes come from admirers as diverse as David Bowie and Paul Stanley, someone says of the Small Faces: “They deserve to be placed right up amongst their contemporaries the Stones and The Who.†The implication hangs in the air: deserve to be but aren’t. What happened? Was an injustice done? Impeccably dressed Mods with the talent to excel in R’n’B and psychedelia, the Small Faces had the songs and the singer to take on the world. But their master tapes were chucked in skips and their classic songs thrown away on cheap compilations. Years in the planning, Here Come The Nice has proved something of an archaeological and legal ordeal for its compilers, yet they persevered, as if doing right by McLagan and Jones – and by the memories of Marriott and Lane – has become the music industry’s last remaining moral imperative. Goodwill only gets you so far. The rest depends on how special you were in the first place. Here Come The Nice opens with a 20-track round-up of singles and EPs. Every Small Faces collector in captivity will already own them in 18 different sleeves, but that may not be the point. This disc is about explaining who the Small Faces were and what they did. A magnificent 54-minute sequence of hit singles, Hammond organs and high-water marks of ’60s pop, it establishes the context, the ground rules. We’re transported to a golden age and these four young men do indeed deserve to be placed right up amongst their contemporaries. Some of the B-sides – “I Feel Much Betterâ€, “Donkey Rides, A Penny A Glass†– are as magical as other groups’ A-sides. Boxsets have been dedicated to the Small Faces before, but this feels more intimate. A 4CD set (with some vinyl) of their 1967-8 sessions for Immediate, Here Come The Nice features two discs of unreleased material assembled from sessions at Olympic, IBC and Trident studios. Push open the door and we’re in, eavesdropping as they decide between a Marriott or a Lane vocal on “Green Circles†and attempt to nail an intro for “Tin Soldier†(working title: “Anythingâ€). As the discs unfold, they work up arrangements of “I Can’t Make It†(“Wit Art Yerâ€), “Wide Eyed Girl On The Wallâ€, “Wham Bam Thank You Mam†and others. By the end of CD3 they’re absorbed in sessions for an LP that will never come out, floating into an uncertain future with Marriott’s tender “Jenny’s Song†(“The Autumn Stoneâ€). Mindful of recent deluxe editions, Here Come The Nice avoids duplicating any album in full, though that wonderful first disc includes seven tracks from the 1967 Immediate LP (Small Faces) and five from Ogdens’ Nut Gone Flake (1968). Rather than aim to be an anthology of the whole career, it’s a dipping-into boxset for the fan who wants to get closer – as close as the Pet Sounds and Smile boxsets allowed Beach Boys fans to get to Brian Wilson. Aside from their glimpses of the Small Faces in their workplace, the second and third discs are a little window on their personalities. Marriott, small as life and twice as cheerful, is a constant energy in the room, putting on accents, calling everyone “manâ€, radiating warmth. Lane, seated here, and McLagan, over there, follow his direction. They’re a good-natured bunch. When a take breaks down, Jones quickly cues them in again. There’s less larking about than one might presume. Only on a session for “Mad Johnâ€, from Ogdens’ Nut Gone Flake, does Marriott sound terribly stoned. The fourth disc is an assortment of alternate mixes, rarities and live performances. It will delight anyone who wishes to hear Lane sing “Green Circles†in Italian – and many do – and it also boasts “(If You Think You’re) Groovyâ€, recorded with PP Arnold. But the live cuts are scarred by the teenage screamers who besieged the band, making it difficult for them to assert themselves as a serious group. In our modern age, of course, the currency of validity for serious groups has become the stylish, artfully constructed boxset. And so finally the Small Faces got there. Here Come The Nice really does sound lovely. David Cavanagh Q&A Ian McLagan You and Kenney have been involved in supervising this boxset. Is it everything you hoped it would be? It’s a beautiful job. Rob Caiger [producer] has worked very hard on it and I’m absolutely thrilled. I haven’t read all of the book yet, because it’s so big, but I’ve played some of the singles and listened to one of the CDs, and it all sounds so good. I’m looking forward to really getting into it. Listening to the tracking sessions, I was expecting to hear a fair amount of stoned giggling. But you sound like a band with a strong work ethic. Well, see, there was no time off. Time off was [spent] listening to records or playing. When we got to Olympic we didn’t waste time. Glyn Johns may offer a different opinion, haha. I remember he used to go home at 12. “That’s it. I’m off. You can stay here as long as you like.†And we did – ’til three or four am. We were just blessed to be in the studio. This box covers the second half of our career, when we learned to use the studio more creatively. What’s it like hearing Steve and Ronnie’s voices on those sessions? It’s like they’re still here. It brings a tear to my eye. As I look through the photos of us at Olympic, I can smell that place. I can see us, smoking cigarettes, passing a joint, having fun, getting on with it. The book has tributes from some surprising fans. Paul Stanley of Kiss, Chad Smith of the Red Hot Chili Peppers… I worked with Chad earlier this year. I’ve also met Flea. Flea could have been in the Small Faces. He’s the right height. INTERVIEW: DAVID CAVANAGH

The Mod scamps best work, finally given due respect…

In this boxset’s 72-page book, where tributes come from admirers as diverse as David Bowie and Paul Stanley, someone says of the Small Faces: “They deserve to be placed right up amongst their contemporaries the Stones and The Who.†The implication hangs in the air: deserve to be but aren’t. What happened? Was an injustice done?

Impeccably dressed Mods with the talent to excel in R’n’B and psychedelia, the Small Faces had the songs and the singer to take on the world. But their master tapes were chucked in skips and their classic songs thrown away on cheap compilations. Years in the planning, Here Come The Nice has proved something of an archaeological and legal ordeal for its compilers, yet they persevered, as if doing right by McLagan and Jones – and by the memories of Marriott and Lane – has become the music industry’s last remaining moral imperative.

Goodwill only gets you so far. The rest depends on how special you were in the first place. Here Come The Nice opens with a 20-track round-up of singles and EPs. Every Small Faces collector in captivity will already own them in 18 different sleeves, but that may not be the point. This disc is about explaining who the Small Faces were and what they did.

A magnificent 54-minute sequence of hit singles, Hammond organs and high-water marks of ’60s pop, it establishes the context, the ground rules. We’re transported to a golden age and these four young men do indeed deserve to be placed right up amongst their contemporaries. Some of the B-sides – “I Feel Much Betterâ€, “Donkey Rides, A Penny A Glass†– are as magical as other groups’ A-sides.

Boxsets have been dedicated to the Small Faces before, but this feels more intimate. A 4CD set (with some vinyl) of their 1967-8 sessions for Immediate, Here Come The Nice features two discs of unreleased material assembled from sessions at Olympic, IBC and Trident studios. Push open the door and we’re in, eavesdropping as they decide between a Marriott or a Lane vocal on “Green Circles†and attempt to nail an intro for “Tin Soldier†(working title: “Anythingâ€). As the discs unfold, they work up arrangements of “I Can’t Make It†(“Wit Art Yerâ€), “Wide Eyed Girl On The Wallâ€, “Wham Bam Thank You Mam†and others. By the end of CD3 they’re absorbed in sessions for an LP that will never come out, floating into an uncertain future with Marriott’s tender “Jenny’s Song†(“The Autumn Stoneâ€).

Mindful of recent deluxe editions, Here Come The Nice avoids duplicating any album in full, though that wonderful first disc includes seven tracks from the 1967 Immediate LP (Small Faces) and five from Ogdens’ Nut Gone Flake (1968). Rather than aim to be an anthology of the whole career, it’s a dipping-into boxset for the fan who wants to get closer – as close as the Pet Sounds and Smile boxsets allowed Beach Boys fans to get to Brian Wilson. Aside from their glimpses of the Small Faces in their workplace, the second and third discs are a little window on their personalities. Marriott, small as life and twice as cheerful, is a constant energy in the room, putting on accents, calling everyone “manâ€, radiating warmth. Lane, seated here, and McLagan, over there, follow his direction. They’re a good-natured bunch. When a take breaks down, Jones quickly cues them in again. There’s less larking about than one might presume. Only on a session for “Mad Johnâ€, from Ogdens’ Nut Gone Flake, does Marriott sound terribly stoned.

The fourth disc is an assortment of alternate mixes, rarities and live performances. It will delight anyone who wishes to hear Lane sing “Green Circles†in Italian – and many do – and it also boasts “(If You Think You’re) Groovyâ€, recorded with PP Arnold. But the live cuts are scarred by the teenage screamers who besieged the band, making it difficult for them to assert themselves as a serious group.

In our modern age, of course, the currency of validity for serious groups has become the stylish, artfully constructed boxset. And so finally the Small Faces got there. Here Come The Nice really does sound lovely.

David Cavanagh

Q&A

Ian McLagan

You and Kenney have been involved in supervising this boxset. Is it everything you hoped it would be?

It’s a beautiful job. Rob Caiger [producer] has worked very hard on it and I’m absolutely thrilled. I haven’t read all of the book yet, because it’s so big, but I’ve played some of the singles and listened to one of the CDs, and it all sounds so good. I’m looking forward to really getting into it.

Listening to the tracking sessions, I was expecting to hear a fair amount of stoned giggling. But you sound like a band with a strong work ethic.

Well, see, there was no time off. Time off was [spent] listening to records or playing. When we got to Olympic we didn’t waste time. Glyn Johns may offer a different opinion, haha. I remember he used to go home at 12. “That’s it. I’m off. You can stay here as long as you like.†And we did – ’til three or four am. We were just blessed to be in the studio. This box covers the second half of our career, when we learned to use the studio more creatively.

What’s it like hearing Steve and Ronnie’s voices on those sessions?

It’s like they’re still here. It brings a tear to my eye. As I look through the photos of us at Olympic, I can smell that place. I can see us, smoking cigarettes, passing a joint, having fun, getting on with it.

The book has tributes from some surprising fans. Paul Stanley of Kiss, Chad Smith of the Red Hot Chili Peppers…

I worked with Chad earlier this year. I’ve also met Flea. Flea could have been in the Small Faces. He’s the right height.

INTERVIEW: DAVID CAVANAGH