Friends May Come, and Friends May Go (but my NME's have never deserted me) - The NME Awards Tour Returns to Norwich with Blossoms, Cabbage, and Rory Wynne

Back in my teens most of the remaining earnings from my Saturday job that didn't disappear that night on underage drinking, petrol for my moped, or a packet of nine Players No6 (one ciggie missing in order that the two-bob vending machine didn't need to be sent away and reconfigured), would be earmarked for vinyl, and also my Thursday trip to the newsagent to collect the latest copy of New Musical Express. Melody Maker was a bit too clever (albeit essential reading for musicians and songwriters), Sounds was OK, and Record Mirror was way too 'singles' orientated. No, for any self-respecting prog-rocker it had to be the NME.

Then I went to college, and punk happened. NME cleverly re-invented itself, pronouncing that all prog-rock bands were 'dinosaurs', and that the future lay in just two guitar chords, both preferably played badly. As I embraced what was happening right outside my window in the Kings Road the NME was with me every step of the way, guiding me through the Streets of London that Ralph McTell dare not tread, and introducing me to venues where I first saw The Clash, X-Ray Spex and The Adverts.

But the tables had turned, and suddenly the magazine was bigger than the bands that it had once sycophantically praised. Suddenly the NME had the power to make or break a band, and the record companies held their breath as the likes of Charles Shaar Murray and Nick Kent offered their praise or unleashed their venom on the week's new releases. From that moment on I became a 'detached' reader, buying it just to get the cover mounted cassettes, and later CD's, or to check on tour dates.

In the same way that Video Killed The Radio Star, the internet finally nailed the coffin lid shut on Melody Maker (Sounds and Record Mirror having gone through their death throes years earlier). It briefly merged with New Musical Express which had escaped by the skin of its teeth, although by now I was mostly consulting the NME website rather than handing over cash for hard copy. For the occasional WH Smith indulgence I was more likely to pick up the glossy, though more expensive, monthly magazines like Q, Uncut or Mojo.

Finally, in 2015 the NME threw in the towel and became a free weekly disposa-rag available from branches of HMV. To be fair, despite its tendency to now put big name photos on the front cover, and include lots of fashion content on the inside, it still champions new artists that also tick the right boxes on its new agenda - bands like Years & Years and Christine and The Queens certainly benefited from the exposure given.

But one thing that the NME did, and always did well, was their annual live Awards Tour that would piece together a number of bands and venues for a mixture of breaking names and established acts. It would always call in on Norwich, quickly selling out the Nick Rayns LCR at the University of East Anglia, and we scrambled to get a chance to see bands like Arctic Monkeys, Florence and The Machine, Franz Ferdinand and The Killers. Then, in 2014, Norwich got missed out, and was again omitted the following year. And last year.

But fear not. In 2017 it was back, with latest indie darlings Blossoms as headliners, Cabbage as support, and with teenage newcomer Rory Wynne as opener.

Interestingly, Norwich appeared to be the only date on the thirteen city tour that had not sold out in advance - £20 tickets were still on offer at the door as I checked in with my VR-coded e-mail print-out.

Rory Wynne

Rory Wynne kicked off the evening, leading his three piece band through a set of songs that included all four tracks from his debut EP What Would Rory Wynne Do? Strangely, the stage set-up left Rory displaced to stage right, leaving him appear more like band vocalist than solo singer with backing band, but he didn't seem to mind. Too much. His confidence and swagger was perhaps bordering on cocky ('Let's hear it if you think I'm great'), and some of his poses were straight out of a Guitar Hero tutorial, but he managed to win over more of the crowd as he progressed. His Stockport background, and Liam Gallagher vocal style, gives a clue as to what to expect, but I also detected elements of John Lennon and I Am Kloot's John Bramwell jostling to be heard.

Cabbage

I missed Manchester's Cabbage when they rocked last year's Norwich Sound and Vision at the Arts Centre, so this was my time to make amends. With two dynamic vocalists in the shape of  Lee Broadbent (still recovering from a pelvic injury, but now able to stand for most of the gig) and lithe guitarist Joe Martin, Cabbage sing with pith, wit and venom about subjects ranging from the political to the taboo. Describing themselves as neo-post-punks, the influences of the classic punk bands like The Clash, The Sex Pistols and The Stranglers are all residing beneath a veneer of individual and distinctive songwriting, and they are very much about the present. Uber Capitalist Death Trade screams at our political system, and whilst Necroflats in the Palace lays blame for the state of our NHS at those holding the purse-strings. Meanwhile Dinner Lady re-invents classic American Pie humour with a savoury twist in Dinner Lady. Even the drumkit pokes fun self-deprecatingly at their own literacy with the band's name spelled as 'Cabij'. It rhymes with baggage. Definitely Not 'Cab-bage' (which rhymes with 'Farage').

It rhymes with Baggage, not Farage

The reason for Rory Wynne and his band, and also Cabbage, to be crammed to the front of the stage is fully revealed when the black drapes are removed, revealing three feet risers for Joe Donovan's drumkit and Myles Kellock's keyboards behind the bank of lights. In front of them the remainder of Blossoms - Josh Dewhurst (guitars), Charlie Salt (bass) and Tom Ogden (vocals and guitars) now seem to have acres in which to operate. From the opening bars of At Most a Kiss to the final bars of Charlemagne the Stockport band give everything in order to make this a show to remember. Watching Ogden control the centre stage whilst the band serve up a perfectly balanced platter of sound to the sides, behind and above him, it is hard to believe this is the same band that tentatively headlined on the Arts Centre stage a mere eighteen months ago. And this certainly does not seem like a play-everything-we-do performance oft witnessed from one-album bands thrust suddenly onto the large stage. Each and every song seems to sit perfectly alongside its neighbour, even allowing newer tracks from the extended version - songs like Smoke, Across The Moor, Fourteen and Polka Dot Bones to grow wings and fly. The lighting is perfectly executed and cued to the songs, using backlights, spots strobes and banks to create an arena-style experience. And then, as if to emphasise their grass roots appeal and refusal to be sucked into diva-dom, Ogden follows up his acoustic version of My Favourite Room, dedicated to the cruelly dumped Lizzie from the audience, with a sing-along medley that seamlessly morphs from Oasis' Half The World Away to Wham's Last Christmas. Brilliant.

Blossoms

Whether the NME blossoms in its new incarnation remains to be seen. But one thing is clear. As sure as Spring precedes Summer, Blossoms from Stockport are here to stay.

Kula Shaker's Back, so put the freshness back... (Crispian Mills' magic carpet cleans up a treat 20 years later)

For the last twenty years 'K' has remained a guilty pleasure of mine. Crispian Mills' concoction of Eastern mysticism and prog rock influences may have been dismissed by the critics as the self-indulgent project of a posh-kid with showbiz connections, but I loved it in 1996, and I still loves it now. Mills has grown up and is now a father to two children, has held true to his Krishna beliefs, and survived the badly-handled early press reaction to his comments about swastikas (the symbol was originally used as a Sanskrit symbol for 'good luck' or 'good fortune', but mischievous journalists tried to imply that Kula Shaker were somehow guilty of right-wing Fascist alliance through their adoption of it). When the '20th Anniversary of K' tour dates were announced back in June I immediately bought a ticket for the Norwich show. 

Six months on, and the novelty of these 'classic album' shows is beginning to wear off. In the last few weeks I have seen no less than five other bands performing 'anniversary' revival shows, and whilst I have enjoyed them all there is a danger that the old adage 'Nostalgia isn't what it used to be' could begin to ring true. And, besides, I am gutted that I am missing Kate Tempest's return to Norwich for her show at The Waterfront. But is there not some meditation technique (or failing that, hallucinogenic drug) that would provide an out-of-body opportunity to attend both gigs simultaneously?

Support for the entire Kula Shaker tour comes from three musicians from Folkestone, plucked from obscurity by Mills and given the chance to impress with their stampy blend of swampy blues-rock. Unfortunately, Rudy Warman & The Heavy Weather, use the opportunity to alienate me, not by their music (which is great), or their appearance (crusty eco-warrior), but by their arrogant between-song comments. Now, I have the utmost respect for those who hold strong beliefs and choose to follow an alternative lifestyle, but I feel slightly condescended to when it is assumed that, simply by being part of tonight's audience, I do not understand the issues at Standing Rock, or wish to continue to be carnivorous. And if I want to dance to your music, I will. I don't need Smart-Alec comments like 'There seems to be a lot of mud out there, 'cos your feet all seem to be stuck to the floor' any more than I need you to take your shirt off as some kind of evidence of the benefits of a vegan diet. You wouldn't like it if I took my shirt off to counter-demonstrate the effects of my pie and Adnams diet.

Rudy Warman & The Heavy Weather

Crispian Mills, by contrast, is as genial and as welcoming as one could hope for. After opening with a cheekily hi-jacked 'Kula Shaker's Crazy Hearts Club Band' (borrowed from a certain Fab Four) they give us Let Love B (With You) the new K.2.0 album, before getting on with the business in hand. Mills asks us to think of tonight's show not so much as a journey back in time, but as opening a door in time and bringing the past to the present. He reminds us of the ticket's promise to hear the 1996 'K' album played in its entirety, then playfully produces a vinyl copy of the album and a portable turntable. 'So, we will all listen to it together', he playfully teases, 'and then discuss it at the end'.

The atmosphere has already been prepared. Incense sticks have been burning atop Mills' ring of monitors, full length drapes featuring the 'K' logo and album artwork hang from either side of the stage, and above the drum-kit three projection screens synchronise kaleidoscopic imagery of Hindu deities. A lighting rig that reminds of the front half of a Louise Bourgeois sculpture straddles the back of the stage, whilst spotlight banks look on from the sides. Crispian Mills sense of the theatrical is certainly well-tuned after his directorial experiences.

The sound is joyously familiar as we work through the first half of the album. Bassist Alonza Bevan remains from the original line-up, as does drummer Paul Winterhart. Together with relatively new recruit Harry Broadbent on Hammond organ and keyboards, the re-creation is as perfect as one could hope for. Mills is suitably energetic in his performance, striking the obligatory poses but looking at times rather too much like Gareth Keenan from 'The Office' for comfort and total credibility.

There is a brief interlude between sides one and two, during which two B-sides are performed - Under The Hammer and the George Harrison tribute Gokula (containing a sampled riff from the Harrison song Skiing) as well as the single from Peasants, Pigs & Astronauts, Shower Your Love.

Side two features a further two singles, Tattva and Grateful When You're Dead, and the set ends with the Joe South cover, and hit single, Hush. By now we realise that one huge track from the album, the mighty Govinda, has been omitted from the album running order. Fear not. With the theatrical expertise of old pros Kula Shaker have kept the audience baying for more, and kept the best back for last. After an encore run through of two new tracks from K.2.0 we are duly given our chance to join in with the chanting of 'Govinda, Jaya, Jaya' until we are ready to leave for a higher plane. Or, in this case, the cold and foggy campus of the UEA.

Adore Life, and Adore Savages. And the Good Sad Happy Bad. Enjoy It All.

I have patiently waited three and a half years for Savages to return to Norwich. Back in May of 2013, just after the release of debut album Silence Yourself, they played Norwich Arts Centre on a Saturday night. The Son and his then fiancé, now wife, were coming up for the weekend, and I tried interesting them in tickets. I failed. Instead, and in order to make some kind of a point, I bought the album from HMV whilst we were out shopping, and played it non-stop for the remainder of that weekend.

Fast forward to the Spring of 2015 and the line-up announcements for Latitude Festival are being made, and even though I know I will end up buying a ticket, I am still waiting for that one name that will tip me into action, and have me reaching for my credit card. One was Warpaint. The other was Savages. Warpaint, playing on the main Obelisk Arena immediately before Manic Street Preachers and Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds on the Sunday failed to leave a lasting impression. Savages, playing the day before inside the huge marquee that was the Radio 6 Music Stage, engulfed and overwhelmed me with their earth-shattering  and audience-consuming brilliance. I was in the front row of that audience and was left feeling that I had been part of a musical messianic experience.

On a dank Wednesday in November, Savages return from a Summer of outdoor festival shows to play the Nick Raynes LCR in Norwich, an indoor warm-up if you like for their show at Brixton Academy on Friday. With their second album, Adore Life, having been nominated for the Mercury Prize and adding a new testament to their gospel of post-punk revivalism, how will tonight's UEA gig compare?

There is some confusion about the support act. We are expecting Mica Levi (she of Micachu and The Shapes, and composer of that tingling and award-winning soundtrack to Jonathan Glazer's 2014 film Under The Skin, starring Scarlett Johanssen), yet the set times indicate that the openers will be Good Sad Happy Bad. Even as the three-piece combination of guitarist, drummer and keyboards/vocalist take the stage the penny has not dropped, and no introductory bones are thrown in our direction. Theirs is a relatively lo-fi sound, some neat keyboard effects, competent vocals, but driven along by some really tight drumming and some proficient, but almost nonchalant, guitar work from the far side of the stage. As the set progresses their is little in the way of song introductions or namechecks, and I have to admit that there is nothing that is instantly recognisable.

Mica Levi

Only afterwards, when it is too late, do I remember that Good Sad Happy Bad was the title of Micachu and The Shapes' 2015 album release, tracks off which would have been played during their visit last October to Norwich Arts Centre. What Mica Levi, Raisa Khan and Marc Pell have only gone and done is changed their band name to that of their last album. The clues were all there, I simply failed to acknowledge them. Were these the tracks that made up their opening set, or was it all new material? I am embarrassed to have to admit that my memory is not that good, and I have not heard Good Sad Happy Bad enough times to be able to conclusively answer that question. I apologise for not realising that the tousle-haired figure in baggy trousers and leather jacket was actually Ms Levi, or recognising the other two members of the band. But perhaps that was the point? By coming on stage and impressing us as much as they did in a semi-anonymous way, Levi and Co. had achieved their objectives. Making me wonder that this trio was some French small-town indie punk band plucked from obscurity by Jehnny Beth and Johnny Hostile could have been part of some cunning complicit Gallic plan. Who knows? I'm just glad that the truth became apparent in time for me to write this review. They have left me feeling good and sad and happy and bad.

The floor of the LCR has bulked out a little but is by no means full, even by the time the lights dim and a live recording of Leonard Cohen's 'A Thousand Kisses Deep' serves as an apt and moving introduction to Savages' entrance. Over at The Waterfront (the other UEA Students Union venue) The Damned are performing as part of this year's 40th anniversary of punk celebrations, and may have siphoned off part of tonight's potential audience. Oddly though, the audience demograph here seems depleted on undergraduates and late-teen/twenty-somethings, not the 1976 punk nostalgics.

 In fact, to those of us old enough to have seen The Damned back in the late seventies, Savages' front woman Jehnny Beth, with short dark hair slicked neatly back, dressed in black and white and performing against a monochrome stage, bears a striking resemblance to a young Dave Vanian. Like the Transylvanian prince of punk before her, Beth prowls the stage like a predatory panther, surveying her audience, making direct eye contact and engaging in one-on-one acknowledgements. But, unlike Vanian, she is not out to shock or alienate. In the true spirit of Adore Life tonight's performance is all about communion. It is about love and life, and loving life. It is still strongly aligned with taking no shit, and standing up for each other, but is also about beauty and sex and passion. Very French. J'adore.

 

Whilst Jehnny Beth snakes her way around the stage, she oozes style and works her voice into a primal force that we may try to label as Siouxie or Patti Smith-like, but in reality has now formed its own unique ipseity. Meanwhile bassist Ayse Hassan conjures deep throaty notes out of her instrument that are released with devastating precision. She bounces on her toes during the up-tempo songs, and sways seductively during the moodier passages, but always seems to know instinctively when to temper her playing so as not to swamp Gemma Thompson's frequent forays into spiraling swirls of sustained distortion, which themselves return to roost on majestically melodic passages. And perched on the plinth above them all is the beautiful Fay Milton on drums - the closest there can be to a percussive paradise, sometimes overlooked but so, so instrumental in powering the essence of the Savages sound.

The band plays for what must be an hour and a half, during which time we probably heard each and every song off both Silence Yourself  and Adore Life (although I don't remember hearing the gentler and sensitive Marshall Dear). There is the, by now, obligatory journeying into the audience by Jehnny Beth during Hit Me, a kneeling excursion that is curtailed only by the localised concentration of raised arms. Despite earlier calls for the entire audience to move forwards and fill the open spaces on the sunken dance floor of the LCR, many still remain at their vantage points atop the surrounding raised areas.

For those who chose to throw themselves into the small but tight mosh area in front of the stage this must have been an amazing performance, one to remember for years to come. After all, you never glance behind you to check what is happening at the back of the room. Viewed from slightly further back, and reporting as an objective observer, I would have to say that this audience was not quite as universally energetic as was present at Latitude, and Brixton will surely go absolutely ballistic on Friday, but let not that detract from Savages' determination to put on a good show for the good folk of Norfolk. Just remember that, as in life, the more of yourself that you are prepared to put into a Savages show, the more you will get out of it. Adore Life, and Savages will adore you. As those that today are nursing their bruised and battered bodies will testify.

http://savagesband.com/

www.facebook.com/savagestheband

www.facebook.com/goodsadhappybad

Wolf Alice - My Love is Now Cool

It's hard to believe, but it's almost fifteen months since I last attended a concert at the University of East Anglia's Lower Common Room (LCR), and that was for Submotion Orchestra. This is a venue that has soundtracked my entire musical life, from the prog-rock of Caravan, the ambience of Tangerine Dream and the folk of Steeleye Span n the seventies, through the alternative comedy of Ben Elton in the eighties, and the Brit Pop and Indie of the nineties and noughties. Nick Raines and his team brought to Norwich some of the biggest bands of the day, and the annual NME Awards Tour was always must-see date in the calendar, whatever it took to secure a ticket.

Now I'm not going to say that the LCR is no longer capable of punching above its weight, but these days with franchised chains of venues like the O2's mopping up entire tour schedules, and arenas creating demand for aircraft hanger performances, contriving spectacular stage designs and light shows to lull us into false appreciation for our inflated ticket prices, it cannot be easy being a student venue. Thank god that the UEA Students Union still has the flexibility of the Waterfront and Waterfront Studio to at least maintain the flow of new music in lower-capacity venues through this fine city. Unfortunately it does now mean that the LCR has tended to become a destination for dinosaurs, dance acts, and club nights. Even the NME (now a shitty giveaway rather than a serious mirror of musical tastes) doesn't even come any closer than Cambridge.

But I digress. I am back tonight to see a band who have become the darlings of teenage indie-kids over the last couple of years, Wolf Alice. Funnily enough, it was at this very venue that I saw them perform a disastrous set supporting The 1975 back in February 2014. After about three songs, a guitar packed up leaving Ellie Rowsell without an instrument, but free to leave the stage and provide vocals from the floor. Bass player Theo walked off stage apologising for 'being shit', but their attitude and swagger stayed with me. Let's hope they can exorcise those ghosts tonight.

First up are the intriguingly-named Bloody Knees. Reassuringly British in their looks and demeanour, they are a band that have been dipped into a packet of Grunge and emerged with a faint aroma of teen spirit. They have healthy skin, long-flowing locks that have been shampooed as well as conditioned, and jeans and t-shirts that have been laundered with care. If they ever did have a bloody knee, I'm sure that Mother and a Band-Aid would never be that far away. They are way too lightweight for Reading or Download, but heavy enough to frighten the picnicking families from setting up camp within the marquees at Latitude.

Bloody Knees

Crows, however, have a much meaner and darker agenda, and produce a swirling cloud of guitar and distorted vocals that is genuinely hypnotic. If Bloody Knees were a bowl of musical granola, then these guys are the over-salty porridge that Goldilocks would be well advised to leave on the table. Front-man and vocalist James Cox grapples alternately with two microphones (and sometimes both at once, like a pair of sonic Nordic poles) and pumps out lyrics that may be sparse on  melody but twist and contort in a monkey-man manner reminiscent of  Ian Brown. These are a band that really can expect to take a place on the bloodline of  corvine legends that goes back to Maggie Bell's Stone the Crows, and includes The Black Crowes and Counting Crows (but probably doesn't include carrion crooner Sheryl).

Crows

Wolf Alice take to a darkened stage, with guitarist Joff Oddie leading the intro astride a monitor at the front of the stage, before unleashing into Your Loves Whore. The stage lighting rig is modest, and there's a twinkling backdrop derived from the album cover of Your Love Is Cool. We seem to alternate between the cool of misty greens and the warm glow of incandescence, the latter melding with the orange t-shirt and black jeans of vocalist Ellie. The set runs through the by now familiar tracklist from the album, with a couple of numbers from the earlier EP's thrown in as well. In fact, the only track from My Love Is Cool which I don't remember hearing is Soapy Water.

The predominantly young crowd are in second heaven, surging and forming mosh circles when not waving arms in massed adoration. From my position of sanctuary adjacent to a pillar at the top of the steps (there's no way I want to be accidentally targeted as a suspected sad-act gig-groper), one thought keeps coming back to me. This is all lovely, and I'm glad all the instruments are working, and everyone's having a ball, but where are the new songs? I appreciate that life has been one frenzied whirlwind of promotion and accolades since the album was released, but it would have been nice to have been given some clues as to which direction the band sees themselves headed next.

 

After the formula encore of Turn to Dust, Blush, and Giant Peach, the house lights come on, and I make my way out of the LCR wondering if mine is the only love that has cooled slightly. They were good, they still are good, but where do we go from here?

https://www.facebook.com/bloodyknees/
https://soundcloud.com/bloodyknees

https://www.facebook.com/crowsband
https://soundcloud.com/crows-band

http://wolfalice.co.uk/
https://www.facebook.com/wolfalicemusic