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2007-10-22
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EWAN PEARSON
FABRIC LIVE 35
FABRIC
TECHNO
Remixer and producer for the likes of Tracey Thorn, The Rapture, Nelly Furtardo and Franz Ferdinand, Ewan Pearson’s name may not be known to the masses, but his work certainly is. Since taking up DJing on more of a regular basis, he’s been playing regularly for the likes of Manumission and Berlin’s Watergate – not exactly the easiest clubs to crack as a DJ. No surprise then that Fabric have snapped him up for their latest instalment. We start with half-time dub house skanking thanks to Robert Johnson’s remix of Jahcoozi’s ‘Ali Mc Bills’, then the mix dips into some stripped-down grit to lead us to the sodden, low-slung Konrad Black remix of Snax’s ‘Honeymoon’s Over’, complete with urgent Plantlife-esque vocals. Intense, tripped-out nu disco prevails with names like DFA, Lee Burridge & Dan F cropping up, before we hit the sweet spot midway through the disc and drop into some funky techy shit thanks to 100 Hz’s ‘Trustlove’ and Samim’s minimal take on hip-house on ‘Paspd’. Things drop down a couple of levels before the irresistible, Detroit-meets-Berlin swagger of Samuel L Sessions & The Black Fu’s ‘Can You Relate’ jumps out of the speakers, swiftly followed by Tobi Neumann’s bouncing remix of Johannes Heil’s ‘All For One’. The mix concludes in typically Pearson electro-soul style with a double whammy of Carl Craig’s lush-stringed remix of Beanfield’s ‘Tides’ with the silken ‘Berghain’ by Aril Brikha gliding atop. One of the best Fabric CDs for some time, and equally at home in the club and in the...erm...home. |
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2007-10-22
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CHERRY GHOST
THIRST FOR ROMANCE
HEAVENLY
INDIE
This is a bit of a surprise, almost as shocking as if poltergeists decided to play tennis with your crockery. Despite relishing in driving plinkety-plonk piano and repetitive guitar lines into your head at an MOR pace, there’s something here a lot more palatable than similar acts. Maybe it’s the keening voice, the occasionally histrionic blast of guitar rising with the vocal lines, littered with “oooh-aaah” backing singers. Maybe it’s the building pressure and intensity of each song’s dynamics as it grows to previously unrealised heights. It could be the ebb and flow of the entire record, pulling your heart strings, your tear ducts and promoting that lump in your throat. It’s a record that creeps up on you, as if trying to scare you into submission, but instead telling you tales that leave you shaking and tearful. It’s rare that a band is able to achieve this, especially if it sounds relatively unexciting when sat next to Interpol’s latest opus. But from the charming ‘People Help The People,’ to the disarming ‘Roses’ via the boogie-woogie rock ‘n’ roll punch of ‘Alfred The Great,’ it’s a solid album worthy of the attention of any slightly troubled soul. Or perhaps just those of us who don’t mind showing our sensitive sides occasionally. Trust in the power of its soothing, undulating rhythms. Give it a few listens. Don’t stop after just the one. Guaranteed, these songs somehow find their way under your skin and before you know it you’re slapping yourself in disbelief. |
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2007-10-22
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ASOBI SEKSU
CITRUS
ONE LITTLE INDIAN
INDIE / POP
From the off, it’s clear this is something pretty special. Bilingual - English and Japanese - LA band Asobi Seksu (“playful sex” in Japanese, as you asked) run the gamut from dreamy incandescent intros to fiery, furious walls of guitar noise over which Yuki’s J-Pop ready voice carries fluorescent melodies. The wonderful ‘New Years’ carries itself with the confidence of Girls Aloud (or, if you can imagine it, The Bangles) and the indie cred of Interpol or My Bloody Valentine. It’s a fascinating convergence of ideals. Yet it makes utter sense. Ever have the urge to skip a track from an album? Almost impossible here. You want to get wrapped up in the pure crystalline beauty of it and await the next skin-peeling blast of Clementine scented guitars tuned to EXTREME NOISE. Thursday begins like an innocuous ballad, jangling and jingling in the right places. Then Yuki’s voice rises pitch and you’re carried with exorable pressure to the heavens. It’s that good. When the echoed male voices appear over a choir of distorted guitars, you’re quite convinced of their abilities. ‘Pink Cloud Tracing Paper’ really is ‘Loveless’-era Kevin Shields, so if you never found a penchant for shoegazing, you may feel a little lost here. Still, the sheer adrenaline in which these tunes are drenched should more than compensate. Quite clearly this is more than playful – it’s downright dirty… and oh-so good. |
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2007-10-22
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BELLERUCHE
TURNTABLE SOUL MUSIC
TRU THOUGHTS
SOUL
Sometimes, stuff reminds you of other stuff. This can work to your advantage or your detriment. When an outfit sounds as mellifluous as this, they should avoid names that remind people of a country described as “Europe's only remaining outpost of tyranny.” Google reveals that Belarus is ruled with an iron fist by a guy who looks like the shouty prison guard from ‘Porridge.’ Belleruche, on the other hand, are a London trio that produce sample’n’guitar soul with the downy touch of a velvet glove. Foxy voxstress Kathrin deBoer is bound to garner comparisons with Erykah Badu, albeit higher on the vocal scale than the latter (FACT: Erykah Badu was once called “MC Apples.”) DeBoer is backed up, judging from the drawing in the CD inlay, by a guitarist – the hilariously-named Ricky Fabulous - who looks like Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen, and DJ Modest (oh, I get it now, it’s a comedy of contrasts) who looks like a young Steven Merchant. Despite this, the motley crew possess boundless quantities of soul, and a not ungenerous complement of funk. It’s a little samey across the album - some of the tracks would benefit from a little more spice, but its limited range is executed with aplomb. Anoraks will have fun spotting the cheeky samples, too. Accompanied by a lengthy jazz-fag and a fat glass of Malbec, you’ve got yourself a superb chill-out album. And completely free of the negative connotations that come with describing something as “chill-out”. You know, patchouli and wind chimes and shit. |
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