I have been listening to Noah and the Whale‘s second album. It was released in late 2009 and I am way behind the trend. I had the chance to see them at the Somerset House gigs this summer, but missed it because a sixth Brighton-to-London commute in a week didn’t seem too appealing. A lazy reason. Mostly though, I worried that their second album would be terrible following Charlie Fink’s break up with Laura Marling whose absence is evident on the album, with all songs focusing on her.

“[The] break-up with Laura Marling doesn’t just dominate this set of songs, it positively defines them,” Jonathan eloquently puts it. (I read his review a long time ago. In general they are all pretty fantastic and perfectly spot on.) My understanding of the album’s history comes pretty much straight from this. I was in no way inclined to hunt the album out; A break-up album is not a good premise – especially not one touted as so heart-wrenching. However, I have (finally long after everyone else) listened to it.

And it doesn’t instill a compulsory misery I suspected it might. It introduces a really rich and broad sense of orchestra – which sounds wanky, but if you listen to the first song it’s immediately there. The first album may have used a good collection of obligatory folk instruments (violin, ukulele) but they really fill the songs in this one, and very rarely do they feel empty or wastefully simple. It is less punchy and upbeat as a whole but there’s something thoughtful and lovely about it, however unpleasant heartache is. With lines like “I know in a year I’m gonna be happy”, it’s a relief to see it doesn’t exist solely to instill a dreary sadness, and neither is it the next album for sad people to stick on repeat and hide in their bedrooms with, which is my main fear taken care of.

I liked their first album but couldn’t shake a feeling that a couple of the songs were a little jarring – something putting me off fully recommending them. This one’s very much something you can sink into. It is more mature; incredibly atmospheric, and to steal a phrase “sweeping and intense.” Mostly, though sad, it’s hopeful. And there’s something wonderful about that.

The first track of many. I recommend them all.

Johnny Flynn and the Sussex Wit are introduced to us as the next folk sensation, so we plod along to Brighton’s Komedia which sees an excited crowd from far-a-field gushing to see him. Some have brought parents.

The focus is hardly on ‘the wit’ though. Watching, you can see why the audience is mostly female, and listening I can hear why they’ve done well. He’s got a teenage heart-throb haircut which doesn’t immediately tell of his grounding; actor, poet, songwriter, and theatre trouper (citing W.B. Yeats and Shakespeare among influences). His look swings between waistcoated artisan, paint smeared jumpers and as tonight brings, and more often to plain checkered shirts when not on a photo-shoot. But when he sings it’s out of the ordinary and barely fits his age.

When he plays it’s incredibly polished, coming across very much as a performance; speaking briefly to the audience and simply getting on and playing to the crowd. The cellist and Johhny hijack the show and whilst they’re all good, the rest of the band disappears into the orifices of our memory. I could vaguely tell you about the keyboardist’s haircut (mop like) and some languishing strokes from the drumer but I could tell you for longer about the cellist. Shining under stage lights by the all-too-loud speaker, he’s playing with thin strings of horsehair broken and floating about under the bow as it slides about. They steal the show together.

Towards the end Flynn’s enthusiasm ventures out from behind the polish. The second that sells him to me is when he falters and a bit of musician focus streams out. A couple of drunk fans bellow “Oh, Johnny!” and he smirks as he changes from guitar to banjo, and tunes it. Everyone stands politely, and he strums a couple of notes.

Stops, retunes. Looks out, unabashed – strums and stops. The crowd shuffles and they launch into song, playing upbeat notes. They stop seconds later. I grin my face off and squeak my enthusiasm to Elliott, whilst a couple of the crowd look vastly unimpressed. He ignores them and concentrates on tuning. He starts up again, and their enthusiasm’s dwindled, but three tunings and a focus on getting the sound right have made me watch a little closer. What follows is the best song, and is like a couple of their tunes is incredibly catchy.

He is good, and touted as “the next poster boy of the nu-folk scene” by the Times. However, whilst this might seem a frivolous complaint I leave feeling that some of the songs are almost too wholesome, and too easily slide by.

My parting thought is with the support.

My favourite band of the night comes in the form of Dry the River; a awkwardly delightful forerunner. The singer is a chap in a grey tshirt and skinny trousers who rotates about the stage in a silly arm-flailing and angular sort of way. They’re incredibly tight as a band, they’ve got a mandolin, and they’re really fucking fun. It’s upbeat, tuneful, clappy chanty sort of stuff and makes you smile outright. They make me feel at home, included in their well-formed music and jolly as hell.

I recommend you investigate them.

Johnny Flynn – Been Listening by cooperativemusic1
Of them all, I recommend Barnacled Warship

Despite Darwin Deez (aka Darwin Smith)’s New York twang appearing throughout his songs, I’m still surprised when it comes out of his mouth.

“Are you nervous?” I ask as he sidles about the crowd in typical vest, jeans, and bearably silly string-headband attachment.

“I was before, but not now” he admits, sloping off for a cupcake.

Soon to be playing as part of the NME Radar Tour, he’s playing at the sold out Black Heart in Camden organised by The Allotment, a small group of people I have more time for than the NME who work by the simple ethic of ‘we promote what we like’. It’s a gorgeous little venue; a box room where my hand’s greeted with a red pen smiley face drawn onto it. Naked orange filaments shine down and the squat stage is adorned with Orange amps, foam flowers and bendy rubber tube lights snaking about. The white-brick wall has 40s style up-turned lamps and balloons bundled about, and “Darwin Deez” in hand-made tissue paper letters plastered over it to the left of the stage. The whole thing reeks beautifully of home-craft and love.

We loiter and eat cupcakes.

The support, Extradition Order, starts and finishes; the singer belting into the mic with a habit of anxiously tearing his hair out as he sings, and the drummer pouting in the background.

Darwin Deez dive into ‘Hot Nights’ and ‘Up in the Clouds’, tunes pulled from outside their debut album. Three tracks later and the crowd is thick and stocky until the back wall. Jumpy, noisy notes blare out, crammed into the small space. They are long, pleasing five minute deals which keep and demand attention.

“I want to get drunk. On beer! Hah!” he says into the mic, laughing at the seemingly impossible task.

My research on Darwin Deez has extended to repeated watching of Radar Detector and a short listen to a couple of other tracks. Until I am saving face in a conversation, it does not strike me that they are in fact, a band. He’s joined by sister Michelle, without a string headband but with a penchant for diving into guitar beats with almost grungy grooving, and second guitarist Cole with a red and white striped top, rocking a faded denim jacket, backwards baseball hat and jeans rolled up around his ankles, teal socks pooling. The drummer beats zebra-striped drums. It’s a little bit indie alright.

The gig is infectious, fantastic fun and gets the first three rows dancing, unashamedly breaking the indie past-time of toe-tapping.

“I can’t see,” complains the fourth row, and when Darwin launches into the middle of the crowd with his madcap dancing they look shocked, and happily terrified. There’s a shriek and a pileup as they throw themselves at the floor before launching back into happy, greedy notes of Radar Detector.

The lights point down at the Allotment sign hanging over the drummer, leaving Darwin mostly in the dark. The crowd keep him lit with hectic, repetitive white camera flashes. The guitarists bop in and out of the light. They pull out great renditions of Deep Sea Divers, though throughout the gig no song sags.

They hit hidden pop hearts as Beyonce’s Single Ladies streams out for choreographed dancing which all four launch into with smiles. Hands waves and arms wield in silly choreographed routines similar to what, with a bit of effort, I could have hoped to make part of a Spice Girls routine aged 9.

“Thank you for the cake!” he shouts before heading off to return for an encore.

It’s playful, confidently happy lo-fi pop, it’s got people dancing and it’s entirely lovable.  We filter out pleased, keen to play Darwin Deez at loud volumes with smiles on our faces.

MySpace – Spotify – Last.fm
Flickr photos

This is really cool!

A steampunk musician called Yoshi Akai has made a magical lego music-making machine. It’s called the “Sequencer MR II” and turns coloured lego blocks into sound:

“A contraption that uses three-dimensional Lego structures to emulate a three-channel, eight-step sequencer, where each differently colored plastic brick produces a different sound and complex combinations (including tremolo and overdrive) are possible when the blocks are stacked. Akai tells us it works using resistors embedded in each and every block, with parallel networks of resistors formed as the bricks pile up, equalling lower resistance and thus a higher frequency sound generated by the contraption. Akai says he’s building sound more than playing sound.” – engadget

I want a play..

I am a rhythm-deaf ginger kid with sausage fingers. We are not famed for our musical prowess (save perhaps Johnny Rotten and Florence). I borrowed a Ukulele last week and have been eagerly practicing chords. “What is a bar?” I keep asking.

I have been learning Noah and the Whale’s 5 Years Time. Wholly unoriginal. Today I have been also learning Ben Kweller’s On My Way which may not be a most fantastic song but means I am learning rhythm (in some capacity) which makes me very happy. Soon I might sing along garishly.