Issue 51 / Dec 2014/Jan 2015

FREE 

Issue 51 

Dec 2014 / Jan 2015 

Ed Black by Mike Brits 

Ed Black 

Cavalry 

Cousin Jac 

Liverpool Music 

Week Review 

Bold Street 

Coffee Pullout

MON 24 NOV 

7pm £15 adv 

KATIE 

ARMIGER 

TUES 25 NOV 

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LIVERPOOL’S BIGGEST 

ALTERNATIVE, POP-PUNK 

& HARDCORE PARTY 

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& AMSTERDAM 

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FT. YOUSEF B2B NIC FANCIULLI, 

GEORGE FITZGERALD, 

SCUBA, DARIUS SYROSSIAN, 

PREMIESKU 

(LIVIO, ROBY & GEORGE G), 

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YOUSEF, RICHY AHMED, 

COYU, DETROIT SWINDLE, 

LEWIS BOARDMAN, 

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EGG LONDON PRESENTS 

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LIVERPOOL 

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- THE FINAL 

90 

SEEL STREET, LIVERPOOL, L1 4BH

Featuring over 200 

outstanding examples 

of writing combined 

with moving image 

13 November 2014 — 

08 February 2015 

FREE Entry 

fact.co.uk 

#typemotion 

In collaboration with 

Supported by

4 

Bido Lito! Dec 2014 / Jan 2015 

Bido Lito! 

Issue Fifty One / Dec 2014 / Jan 2014 

bidolito.co.uk 

Static Gallery 

23 Roscoe Lane 

Liverpool 

L1 9JD 

Editor 

Christopher Torpey - 

chris@bidolito.co.uk 

Editor-In-Chief / Publisher 

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Proofreading 

Debra Williams - 

debra@wordsanddeeds.co.uk 

Intern 

Emma Brady 

Words 

Christopher Torpey, Craig G 

Pennington, Joshua Potts, A.W. Wilde, 

Jack Graysmark, Maurice Stewart, 

Dave Tate, Richard Lewis, Alastair 

Dunn, Paddy Clarke, Spike Beecham, 

Emma Brady, Sam Turner, Paddy 

Hughes, Christopher Carr, Rob Syme, 

Naters P, Glyn Akroyd, Chris Hughes. 

Photography, Illustration and 

Layout 

Luke Avery, Mike Brits, Robin 

Clewley, Gaz Jones, Keith Ainsworth, 

Michelle Roberts, Nata Moraru, 

Stuart Moulding, Glyn Akroyd, Dan 

Medhurst. 

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To advertise please contact 

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Distributed By Middle Distance 

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The T 

views expressed in Bido Lito! are those 

of the respective contributors and do not 

necessarily reflect the opinions of the 

magazine, its staff or the publishers. All 

rights reserved. 

THE CURIOUS CASE OF INDEPENDENC 

Craig G Pennington 

If nothing else, the recent furore around the proposed 

enthuse about The Kazimier and the community around 

development that would, if passed, have resigned The 

it, a creative, collaborative sphere which has been central 

Kazimier and Nation to dust should serve as a stone cold, 

to Liverpool’s recent cultural renaissance. We can point 

sobering wake-up call to us all: as a creative community, we 

out the quite frankly laughable timing of a proposal that 

need to collectively represent our interests. 

would lead to the closure of Cream’s home, Nation, falling 

We all know that the idea of culling The Kazimier and Nation 

shortly after the superclub’s founder, James Barton, was 

to make way for another mono-development of ‘luxury’ 

recognised by Billboard Magazine in the US as “the most 

magnolia boxes is profoundly ludicrous, and we can bemoan 

influential person in the world for electronic dance music”. 

the lack of understanding and foresight from some within 

Plainly, the idea of English Heritage placing a plaque 

the corridors of power for even considering such proposals. 

outside Nation and the building being listed seems more 

We can point to Liverpool’s questionable track record when 

fitting than forcing its closure. We can make all these 

it comes to understanding, valuing and protecting its 

assertions and arguments passionately, enthusiastically 

cultural assets, and the inherent irony of tourism based on 

those blundered cultural assets seemingly rising from the 

ashes to take its place as our city’s golden goose. We can 

and eloquently until we are blue in the face but, until we 

find a way to have these sentiments understood on a city 

level, and until we are a part of the ongoing process of 

bidolito.co.uk

Bido Lito! Dec 2014 / Jan 2015 5 

Wolstenholme Square by Robin Clewley / @robinscamera 

E 

consulting, strategising and decision-making, we will merely 

be preaching to the converted, resigned to the margins. 

Kaz-Nation-gate is the latest in a run of conflicts over recent 

years between the powers that be and our grassroots creative 

community: the noise abatement notices affecting hubs 

such as Static, the whole ham-fisted drama around busking 

licences, the removal of business rate relief. Imagine if the 

grassroots creative community had been involved in policy 

discussion before these episodes erupted. Would we have 

ended up with the same flash points, the same decisions, the 

same outcry? 

Councils are – by their very nature – large, bureaucratic, 

sluggish organisations. They have fixed and formulaic 

processes and procedures by which decisions are taken. But 

they are there to represent a cross-section of opinion and 

interest from across the city. They need a way of consulting 

and engaging with our grassroots creative sector in a way 

that tessellates with their system. We need to be organised 

and structured so that we’re not only involved in the 

debate, but that we can lead 

the debate. We can then have 

the interests and concerns of our community represented, 

forming and moulding policy along with the city’s other core 

stakeholders. 

Bemoaning ‘the man’ is, to be honest, tiresome and boring. 

What is more interesting, to me anyway, is coming up with 

a solution, taking it to him. And taking it to him in a form he 

understands – us as a community serving it white-hot on a 

plate that’s just impossible to ignore. It’s vital to be part of 

that city process as an active participant, protecting what 

needs to be protected and what makes this city the place 

we love, but, more importantly, instigating positive, forwardthinking 

change. 

I suppose there is an inherent challenge to this within the 

very notion of us all being independent; we all value the notion 

of individualism, striding out, taking chances across our own 

shoulders. To be blunt, fragmented grassroots communities such 

as ours are made up of people who face enough challenges in 

maintaining the day-to-day existence of their own endeavours, 

without necessarily having the time or headspace to worry 

about the cohesive whole. But it comes back to the point I made 

in last month’s magazine: where do we sit as a community on 

this competitive-collaborative matrix? If we are to have any 

meaningful voice, if we are to play a part driving progressive 

dialogue about our city, if we are to be understood and valued 

as a sector, then we need collective representation. 

bidolito.co.uk

6 


EdBlack 

Words: Joshua Potts / @joshpjpotts 

Photography: Mike Brits / mikebrits.com 

Loneliness is a funny thing. It can sit in the grandest or 

smallest of rooms, ignore your friends, stride up to the furthest 

corner of your heart and nestle there without giving you so 

much as a compliment. Even when we’re on top form, quaffing 

beer and anecdotes, the threat of silence lingers like hands 

on a black clock. What awaits the loner? An empty bed, a walk 

through that street only you have familiarised? Apologies for 

this preamble: I’m managing to make songwriter and all-round 

nimble musician ED BLACK sound like Morrissey with a migraine. 

He’s not like this at all. He just knows that isolation is torture, 

and he’s managed to find an ointment for it. 

I’m speaking to him via Skype on an unremarkable November 

afternoon. It’s our fourth interview; our first was eight months 

ago, when he was eagerly explaining the pitfalls of being a 

solo singer. There are the Jake Buggs and Ben Howards of the 

world, who happen to play acoustic guitars and thus act as the 

vanguard of ‘authenticity’ in pop music. People expect other 

young men with quixotic haircuts to give them more of the same: 

stability, recognisable packages, whatever you want to call it. 

In our first conversation, Black was adamant that his ambitions 

were greater than this, and I could tell he meant it. He’d just 


left Ninetails, a band constantly humming across Liverpool’s 

fascination with the avant-garde. “They weren’t too keen on 

gigging,” was one of the reasons Ed gave for doing so. The group 

signed a management contract, but Ed has made his decision 

to go it alone – it was the right thing to do, from a musical 

perspective. He wanted to keep playing live, keep learning from 

a raft of mentors, to visualise the off-kilter leanings of his own, 

very personal, emotional exhibit. 

Won’t Go Back 

and 

Mistakes are the glorious fruits of his 

labours over the period since our first chat, which he is revealing 

in the form of a double A-side single in December. And ‘labour’ 

is as apt a word as any to describe the brief spurts of writing 

and recording that went into them. When these demos landed 

in my Dropbox in mid-July, they hinted at panoramas through 

infant eyes: gorgeously melodic, subtle and somewhat jarring 

due to their fluid wavering between old-school instrumentation 

and electronics. Synthesis and silence struck me then, and 

now, as the tracks pull delicately at the edges of their structure, 

lapping backwards and forwards to catch beats in the riptide. “I 

see an ornament,” he says during our Skype call in the midst of 

summer, when I ask him to come up with an image summarising 

the mood of the EP. He links me to the cover of an old Coldplay 

record: a stone or a shell in someone’s hand, swamped in velvet 

light. “Definitely an ornament in blue,” he affirms. “Please don’t 

think I’m into Coldplay by any means, but these colours would 

work.” Listening to the final version of the tracks, where Ed’s 

tender vocals seem to be balancing above a descent into the 

internal, accepting the bliss of one’s own solitary headspace, my 

mind’s eye can’t help but agree with him about the blue part. 

Though occasionally an exercise in frustration, spending the 

better part of a year on such scant material has enabled Ed 

to realise, to the fullest extent, how good these songs could 

be. Post-Ninetails, Black got an offer from Ady Suleiman (close 

friend and prospective alt-RnB artist) to be his right-hand man 

in London. He de-camped and got swiftly embroiled in new 

commitments and the pleasures of the capital. For our final 

Skype call in November, Ed is speaking from Suleiman’s shed. 

Time away from the north has only cemented his opinion of the 

music industry but “You have to move down here [London],” 

Ed tells me. “I know it’s typical to say that. For the stage Ady’s 

at, you have to have a connection to this city.” Living with that 

reality didn’t stop him from spending long nights in with Logic,


the digital software beloved by people with too little leisure 

time. When he was “starving or need[ing] a piss”, he’d forgo the 

demands of nature to spend hours at his digital workstation, 

fiddling over modulations and EQ levels. 

However, behind Black’s easy, tech-savvy veneer lurks an 

artistic obsession – some would say insecurity – with being 

alone. A breakup almost ruined him: he was nervous the ex in 

question would turn up for his Sound City gig, and he actually 

resurrected a song called Being Alone that night, drip-feeding 

his audience glimpses of the New Ed, the one willing to bear 

the scrutiny of an entire room and thrive in it. There’s been an 

acoustic release on the cards for quite a while, reflecting the 

shitload of Bon Iver he was listening to while trying to climb 

out of his emotional quicksand. “I wouldn’t necessarily classify 

[the acoustic tracks] as ‘of that mould’, but Justin Vernon was 

undeniably a huge influence on their conception. I still haven’t 

got round to doing them yet because I don’t want my tunes 

muddled up, and I don’t want to spread myself too thin.” He 

and the girl are back together after six months apart. “It’s a bit 

weird working on something I wrote in a completely different 

headspace. They’re a big thing for me, relationships. Since I was 

16 I’ve always been in one, in some form or another. Whenever 

I’m single I don’t enjoy it at all.” 

If the delayed catharsis of a voice and whispered chords 

could turn out to be Black’s For Emma, Forever Ago, then his 

completed material imitates Bon Iver’s second album, along 

with the spliced, sensual dub of FKA twigs and Baths’ child-like 

melodic intuition. I ask whether the lushness and warmth of the 

EP is an attempt to find solace in other people, or if it endorses 

retreating inside one’s self completely. “Hmmm,” he says. “I 

haven’t especially thought about that, but if I’d go one way, I’d 

say it reaches out. Y’know, like the experience of realising the 

layers and the textures of the thing with Jake.” 

This is Jake King, Ninetails’ drummer and Black’s alchemic 

totem. I visited Jake’s flat on Roscoe Street back in August to 

see how they were getting on. Alongside a Mac or two, and 

bunch of magnificent synth equipment, a board hung on the 

wall, scrawled with ideas like ‘Longer opening section?’ or, more 

simply, ‘BASS’. The lads sit me down and we listen to the halfcompleted 

demos without speaking, bobbing our heads. “There 

are elements of field recording in the percussion. I’ve just deleted 

a few actually...” Jake explains. “There’s a rain sound I really 

love: it was falling on a coal bunker outside my mum’s house. 

I’ll chop that up and make it into a sensible beat.” I attempt to 

make a link to Swedish philosopher Alain de Botton’s theory 

on the symbolic effects of thunderstorms. They look perplexed. 

Dammit, Josh, rein it in. 

Another difficult question is thrown to Ed in our last 

conversation: have you matured in the past year? He squints. 

“Subconsciously... My hair’s matured.” What about plans for an 

album in the near future? Would it be along the same lines (albeit 

faster lines, one might wish) as these effervescent offerings? 

“Again, I don’t think about it too much. There’s not a lot of 

thinking behind what I manage to do here and there. It’s cool – 

it’s why they’ve come out the way they have. But I’d say I’d lean 

more towards conventional structures, despite the fact I love the 

atmosphere I’ve already managed to capture.” 

Here’s hoping an atmosphere of daring originality continues 

to hang over Black’s career – it suits him down to the ground. 

Won’t Go Back 

b/w 

Mistakes is streaming exclusively on 

bidolito.co.uk now, and will be released in December. 

edblack.bandcamp.com 

bidolito.co.uk

8 


Cavalry 

Words: Jack Graysmark / @ZeppelinG1993 

Photography: Gaz Jones / @GJMPhoto 

As much as I adore Liverpool, I am still occasionally hit by the 

temptation to retreat to the countryside; lock yourself away in 

a reclusive log cabin in North Wales and the lush surroundings 

will delight you in abundance. But influence you? Well, it certainly 

worked for Bon Iver, but how about closer to home? CAVALRY’s 

guitarist Austin Logan was inspired enough to give it a try himself, 

and came away reaping the rewards. With a track called Leaves 

in their repertoire and an autumnal hue to their sound, you’d be 

forgiven for thinking that Austin’s excursion brought a fairly literal 

inspiration to the Cavalry aesthetic, but that’s where the parallel 

falls short. In fact, he refers to the result of his casual excursion 

– coming up with the band’s name – as a “happy accident”, one 

of many that have permeated the band’s career since they came 

together in late 2013. 

Ambushing the quintet in the midst of a busy schedule of 

meetings and rehearsals, I am keen to peer beneath the veneer 

of this rugged indie band blooming with potential. Two demos 

posted online back in January – Lament, and the aforementioned 

Leaves – have garnered acclaim across the board, from BBC 

Introducing in Merseyside to Radio 1’s new music heavyweight, 

Huw Stephens, and Radio 2 darling, Janice Long. But instead of 

rushing to respond to such praise, Cavalry have been carefully 

planning their next move while perfecting their craft with regular 

stints on the support-act circuit. There’s a charge coming, but 

never underestimate the importance of tactics. 

Their name even seems to personify the charge that’s also 

present in their songs, with slow-burning, folk-tinged introductions 

that increase in intensity as they march into grittier territory. 

Frontman Alan Croft highlights this idea as one that captures 

the essential tenet of the band, while bassist Paul James Jones 

points to the meaning of the word cavalry in the military sense: 

“It suggests the notion of being a last-minute rescue, a chance to 


escape – which I think reflects on how this project has taken us 

all by surprise. The way we came together, it was a saviour-style 

moment where we just decided to go with it.” Their criss-crossed 

roots (childhood friends and university acquaintances) make for 

a cosily fraternal relationship. Three of the band (Croft, Logan 

and guitarist Steve Taylor) operate from a house they share on 

Lark Lane, feeding off the area’s zealous bohemian spirit. It’s a 

setting where you would naturally expect creativity to flourish, 

but Logan admits that the lack of divide between a professional 

and personal relationship can occasionally put a strain on certain 

circumstances. “The positives outweigh the negatives though,” 

butts in Croft. “We initially moved in to focus on getting the songs 

to a certain standard. When you rent out a rehearsal space you 

can often feel like you’re working to a strict deadline, but it’s not 

so rigid when you’re living together.” 

It might come off as a slightly romanticised idea, five selfsacrificing 

figures putting in the overtime to iron out the fine details 

all for the love of their craft. But put those glamorised notions aside 

and think about it in terms of communication and collaboration – 

suddenly it actually seems like an obvious choice. If the perfect 

melody comes to you in a sudden moment of inspiration, then it’s 

much easier to share it with your bandmate if he’s in the room 

next door, and the best time to react to an idea and work on it is 

while it is still fresh. This also encourages a democratic approach to 

songwriting, allowing all five band members to amalgamate their 

vast range of influences from their own individual experiences. 

Jones has an invested interest in post-production through his 

past experiments with electronic music, which bleeds into Cavalry 

through the orchestration of different layers of sound. Croft spent 

time in Canada prior to the band’s inception, but he finds hindsight 

and reflection more fitting for inspiring his lyrics. “It’s been quite 

turbulent in the past few years, but now I’m far more comfortable 

writing knowing the situation that we’re in.” 

With their penchant for balancing intricacy with intimacy, 

likening Cavalry to elements of The National and Local Natives 

would be deemed fair suggestions. But heads nod fervently 

around the group when Croft mentions Paul Simon, citing 

Graceland as an album upon which they all agree as a defining 

influence. “He’s definitely someone I connect with lyrically,” Croft 

argues, “but what also stands out for me is that a lot of the songs 

are based around one man and his guitar; it’s then about how you 

coordinate the other parts.” 

There we have the tactic behind the charge; it is not just simply 

“what” but “how.” The first few bars on their demos are pleasant 

enough, but it’s the potency of the guitar on Leaves that stays 

with you long after its swoons have ebbed from the speakers. And 

then there are the harmonies from Logan and Taylor, which allow 

the tension of Gareth Dawson’s elevated percussion to release. 

There’s no denying its power, but it comes as a warm embrace 

rather than a crushing blow. “When I write a song, it always starts 

with an acoustic guitar,” Logan explains, “which can leave you 

quite limited. The harmonies add another texture, a different layer 

you can use to transform the melody.” 

“I think if we’d known how much joy we would have had from 

Lament and Leaves, we would have had more material lined up 

to drip-feed the response,” admits Croft. “There’s more material 

ready to go, enough to fill several albums, but it’s just picking the 

right time.” Bassist Jones agrees, going on to offer: “I think it’s 

been for the best though, because we’ve carved our identity into 

our sound a lot more since then. When the new release comes 

out, it’ll be the best representation of us as a band, because of 

what we’ve learned in the live arena.” 

Maybe it’s the harsh cold of the winter’s night that makes 

Cavalry’s music so soothing at this time of year, but it’s the band’s 

determination to evolve that pulls you back in. Change is natural 

after all, but when you have this solid unit, each element equally 

invested in the other, you know that any change will be balanced 

by consistency. Brace yourself for the charge. 

soundcloud.com/cavalryliverpool

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10 


Run from 

Fear 

Words: A. W. Wilde / awwilde.co.uk 

Don’t grow up: it’s a trap. As soon as you can read they’ve got 

you by the balls and there’s not much you can do about it. From 

that first day at little school in long socks you’ve been unwittingly 

cursed, coerced into understanding rules, dissuaded from dive 

bombing into swimming pools, exposed to the elucidating 

wants that hide behind brand strap-lines, and then crushed by 

the realisation that you didn’t-read-the-fucking-smallprint. Words 

are weapons. Words aren’t actions. Words can be twisted. 

When introduced to the first alphabet on a clear blue summer’s 

day in the 5th Century BC, Plato was instantly distrustful. With 

one white bushy eyebrow arched, he looked towards his pupil, 

Aristotle, and exclaimed for all of Athens to hear: “This shit smells 

real fishy to me. I oughta tear those Phoenicians a new asshole 

for inventing it”. Unfazed, Aristotle returned his gaze and replied, 

“Word is born”. 

Or so the story goes. And words are, of course, at least partly 

responsible for every great novel you’ve ever read and every 

song lyric you can’t get out of your head. Words animate what 

language depicts and can themselves be animated — all in the 

good name of art. Now showing at FACT is an exhibition entitled 

TYPE MOTION, a celebration of the creative possibilities of text 

in a digital galaxy far, far beyond print. The basis for this artistic 

vocabulary is nothing new: since the caves of Lascaux over 17,300 

years ago we’ve been using text and image as a mode of artistic 

expression. The printing press furthered this in 1439 and the 

conceptual art of the 1960s subverted it by dragging language 

into the field of painting. 

Type Motion is a multimedia affair; films, title sequences, 

pop videos and interactive screens all offer ample validation 

for text as an individual art form. Suspended from the ceiling 

in the downstairs gallery space are six screens on which films 

run continuously, each with their own soundtrack. The room is 

otherwise unlit and its walls are mirrored, the floor polished 

to an obsidian kinda blackness. In this most optimal setting 

the images reflect where they please, surrounding the viewer 

with a ton of moving text from the likes of Saul Bass, Marcel 

Duchamp and John Baldessari. It feels like walking into (and 

not onto) the set of Blade Runner: an engulfing disorientation 

of the most futuristic persuasion. Yet this feeling of being 

adrift didn’t last — and that’s because I’ve spent most of my 

life in cities, all of it as part of Generation X. In the modern 

metropolis we become desensitised to text for the sole reason 

that we’re bombarded by it: on buses, by fly-posters and from 

the many backlit pulpits of Viacom and Clear Channel. Yet 

for someone of my parents’ generation, I can imagine this 

sensory assault is similar to being pushed out of a moving car 

in 1950s Bootle only to land on the pavement in Tokyo 2020. 

Times don’t stop changing: in the late nineteenth century, folk 

from the outskirts of Paris would travel into the centre, arriving 

at Place Saint-Medard just to look at the new phenomenon 

of billboards. The same is true of Piccadilly Circus to post- 

Blitzkrieg greater Londoners. 

But what’s on show in this exhibition is art; it’s just very closely 

related to its commercial cousin. The delineation between the 

two has been expertly handled by the curators in this exhibition, 

even if its line was already blurred by those that dug its popular 

roots: text art royalty Ed Rushca worked as graphic designer at 

an advertising agency and Andy Warhol was first a commercial 

illustrator. In this most seriffed of worlds, profession and creative 

inclination are two sides of the same canvas. 

Upstairs, Type Motion invites you to get interactive on works 

specially commissioned for the exhibition. Hovering above a 

virtual cityscape, you navigate your flight via movement sensors 

and land on buildings that launch videos of iconic moments of 

text in motion. There is also the largest touch-screen device I’ve 

seen that doesn’t come with Jamie Carragher attached. It houses 

a diamond mine of information for the typographically minded: 

an archive of such breadth and depth it’d exhaust you before you 

exhaust it. My highlight of the exhibition is shown on the cinema 

screen up here: a structuralist film from 1970 by Hollis Frampton 

entitled Zorns Lemma. The film uses all the components of film: 

image, sound, narrative, but applies to them a mathematically 

devised structure (its title relates to the work of Max Zorn, a 

German algebraist) so the film appears to be entirely abstract. It’s 

not. It’s a beguiling, unravelling Ezra Pound poem of street signs, 

alphabets, couples and meat being minced. 

Fun from 

Rear 

bidolito.co.uk


Savour 

Kindness 

Because 

And Type Motion is a wonderfully curious thing; with its 

multitude of screens within screens it turns FACT into a set of 

Russian Matryoshka dolls. It’s an exhibition of an art form too 

new to have a retrospective, yet proving simultaneously that 

the simulation of newness is often the artist’s BBF. Does the 

exhibition prove that digital is the all-pervasive future? No. 

And neither should it. To say that digital is the death knell is to 

un-friend our future and to negate the influence of the many 

artists that paved the way to it. The commonality with the artist 

featured in Type Motion and their analogue forbearers is the 

creation of visual languages. A visual language is much more 

than just a style, although it is not itself unstylish. This next lot 

have meaning and style by the truckload: 

JENNY HOLTZER “borrows freely from mass culture to explore 

some of the more pressing issues of our time”. Her medium is 

text. Perhaps best known for her LED signs, her work takes many 

forms but, be they T-shirts or sandstone benches, the weight of 

what she’s saying is unquestionable. 

ED RUSHCA and Los Angeles are umbilically linked and many 

working in this field of art owe him a debt. An interrogation of 

language from an exceptional painter. Oof. 

BOB & ROBERTA SMITH is the work of one man who 

favours a swift and direct communication with the viewer and 

paints onto discarded wood and cardboard, the flotsam and 

jetsam of Deptford’s streets. His work is a warm cuddle from 

democracy itself. 

THE GUILFORD 4 ARE INNOCENT was the first bit of political 

graffiti I can remember seeing. As a 1970s child, it was everywhere 

in the aftermath of the hooky conviction of four supposed IRA 

terrorists. When each of their sentences were overturned sixteen 

years later the graffiti returned, this time shouting: GUILFORD 4 – 

POLICE 0. This is the simplistic epitome of text at its most potent 

and reflexive: once you see it, you can’t help but read it and want 

to understand the meaning behind it. And it is in protest that 

text becomes nakedly polemic and unashamedly powerful. The 

artwork of the Guerrilla Girls tackling sexism does for feminism 

what the posters of Emory Douglas and the Black Panthers did 

for racism. That is: force recognition of prejudice by spelling out 

exactly how much state-sanctioned, power-crazed bullshit exists 

in the world. 

The Paris riots of Mai ‘68 are a prime example of the role 

image, text and sloganeering can play in arming democracy and 

effecting change. The posters of the Atelier Populaire plastered 

Paris and were described as “weapons in the service of the 

struggle and are an inseparable part of it”. The riots and resulting 

ideology are credited by some as imbuing the French political 

class with a new brace of ethics. And such was its resonance 

in the popular culture that followed, describing its fetishistic 

attributes as a soundclash between acid house and the Miners’ 

Strike doesn’t sound remotely odd. 

The ’83-4 Miners’ Strike mobilised a mixture of text and 

image that nodded to the rich artistic history of trade union and 

working-class banners that pre-dates the Jarrow Crusade. The art 

of the marching banner is celebrated in John Gorman’s definitive 

book Banner Bright – in which the work of sign-writers and 

coach-painters is given its rightful elevation. Needless to say, this 

type of work wasn’t quick to produce and so posters, postcards 

and badges became an excellent medium for making solidarity 

visible in the day-to-day struggle against Thatcher’s clan. 

So, how do we conclude where the role of text resides in the 

arts this very second? Does digital artistry prove that the writing’s 

on the wall for writing on the wall? Does it fuck. It does, however, 

highlight the fact that the combination of images and text is now 

the most frequent kind of reading we do in a www-world. It’s a 

nightmare for novelists because it shortens the attention span. 

Because we can't concentrate, we read the same line in a book 

countless times. The same line in a book countless times. Same 

line. Countless times. And because we can't concentrate, we read 

the same line in a book countless times. Ahh, Buzzfeed. 

The Type Motion exhibition at FACT runs until 8th February 2015. 

fact.co.uk 

A.W. Wilde’s latest publication is a collection of short stories 

titled A Large Can Of Whoopass, which can be purchased from 

awwilde.co.uk 

Cruelty 

Is Always 

Possible Later 

A QUICK ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR TEXT 

IN ART, IN PROTEST AND ON WALLS 

bidolito.co.uk

12 


Words: Joshua Potts / @joshpjpotts 

Photography: Keith Ainsworth / arkimages.co.uk 

“It’s not a fable,” he says, leaning forward with wide eyes. “It’s 

an old truth.” 

A letter is placed on the table. It could be a copy, although its 

laminate covering suggests something precious and coveted. The 

date reads 21st November, 1911. In elegant type, a Mr Fred Luke is 

testifying about an organist. “Should you appoint him, I feel sure 

you will never regret the choice,” it reads. “Believe me to remain.” 

The letter ends at that, eschewing the traditional follow-up 

(“your loyal companion”) and leaving the line as a bare bone of 

poetic thought. It’s confident, romantic, and a little obtuse, and 

chimes perfectly with how Jez Wing, the man on the other side 

of the table to me, thinks. His great-grandfather, whose talents 

have inadvertently inspired Wing to work on a new trilogy of 

records as COUSIN JAC, happens to be the subject of Mr Luke’s 

glowing recommendation. For Wing, there is sadness in never 

knowing what has truly remained for our families and the history 

they inhabit, generation after generation. One thing’s for sure: for 

as much joy as that line gives him, you can bet there’s more in 

tackling a “great big Victorian synthesiser” in St. George’s Hall. 

He’s talking, of course, about the building’s grand concert organ, 

built in 1855 by Henry Willis, and which featured on at least one 

of the tracks on Cousin Jac’s first record, Believe Me To Remain. 

Maybe some propensities are hard to ignore. 

Cousin Jac has been a concept for a while, and not just in the 

mind of Jez Wing. The name was given by Cornish miners to their 


brethren looking for work across the Atlantic; now, it is Wing’s 

three-year project shuffling to the end of a beginning, an alias on 

which to launch his own voyage of personal conquest. Believe 

Me To Remain is an album born out of escape, reconciliation and 

jaunts to and from American airports with the smell of the ocean 

still in your nose. The singer and keyboardist, who has been a 

member of Echo & The Bunnymen’s live band since 2009, has 

eulogised a corner of the past that is often idealised but rarely 

articulated this well: the time of the New World, when making 

a life could mean leaving a family, and the call of the horizon 

was both noble and dangerous. Ships, ports and sacrifices drift 

on the record’s lean course towards spiritual promise, casting a 

long goodbye to an imagined shore where a lover stands waiting 

for the pain of separation to be justified. “I started writing from 

that point of view,” says Jez from the embrace of a suitably plush 

armchair. “What I would call ‘auto-fiction’. Primarily, the sea ties 

us all together. It also provides a life for people, which is why 

it makes me think of my family. My granddad was a navy man. 

It represents a life-blood, a lifeline.” One, then, that has crucially 

never left him as unchartered experiences tried to lay claim to 

his attention. 

“Recently, I heard that the impact of these huge ice meteors 

helped form the oceans we know today. I don’t necessarily believe 

that’s true but it fascinates me! Essentially, the sea is an asteroid!” 

he laughs, aware it sounds like bollocks. 

His commitments to the Bunnymen occasionally come 

between him and progress of his own work, although touring 

with one of the most quietly admired bands of the last 30 years 

sure has plenty of perks. A few weeks ago he performed in 

front of an audience of millions on David Letterman’s late-night 

show, and many of the musicians who contributed to Believe Me 

To Remain were picked up on tours in the US. In fact, the last 

couple of years have been vital for allowing Wing the security and 

brashness to bring his baby to life. The story in his head never 

got stale – on the contrary, the research he did in-between shows 

added a wealth of depth to his barnacle odyssey. Waterwitch, a 

favourite track of his, was written after he saw a framed painting 

of a vessel in a Dutch hotel. Like his great-grandfather’s letter 

from over a century ago, the combination of words sent ideas 

careering through Wing’s head, even though he admits to not 

knowing what the song is about exactly. Which is an unusual turn 

for Believe Me To Remain: the majority of the record’s lyrics, from 

the musings of Passing Place to Atlanta’s nostalgic longing for 

home, are rooted in specificity. The same care translates to the 

album’s cover, which was painted by one of Jez’s close friends. 

It depicts a sooty hill crashing down towards a steeple and thin, 

imposing houses, while a white-sailed ship grazes by, heading 

out to the unknown. 

Storytelling is so attached to this music that it’s sometimes hard 

to talk to Wing about much else. To be frank, it’s a miracle that his 

original inspiration carried him this far, that it didn’t sit and rot on 

the shelf after so long. I wonder if the imagery he seems obsessed 

by – the torrent of cannons, feathers, masts and setting suns – is 

his tool for coping with reality, as all stories tend to be. “Yes, it is 

our way of coping. But that doesn’t make it any less wonderful or 

completely immersive. Who’s to say I’m not playing with reality 

by spinning a yarn?” In particular, there is a recurring feminine 

presence keeping the narrator from abandoning himself. It’s very 

cyclical, I tell him. “In a loose sense, it draws from relationships,” he 

says. “Collective male/female struggles are part of what I’m talking 

about. [second track] Lightning And Thunder might come across like 

I’m a moody git. However, it’s come from a place that’s made up of 

intense laughter and a shitload of tension. It’s come from family. 

“There’s a Steely Dan lyric,” he continues, “that goes: ‘a woman’s 

voice reminds me to serve and not to speak’. In order to honour 

your wife, partner, community… we look to the harmonious 

female spirit.” All of this takes some getting used to. Seafaring is a 

myth that’s still broadly masculine. Yet if you think about it, cracks 

emerge beneath the deck of the Ahab figure, who, harpoon in 

hand, may be trembling in our collective conscious. After all, boats 

are feminised by default and many carry the names of women, as 

if there needs to be a maternal force to organise passage across 

chaos. For the ocean can also be pure, frightening space. 

Jez is safe with his own identity back home. He’s glad the 

Cornish have been recognised as a minority by the EU, and speaks 

fondly of the “tribal nature of British-ness”. By the end of his first 

outing as Cousin Jac, that divided land has melted away. Parts 

two and three of the narrative will be released when he gets 

around to recording them; writing has already begun, and he’s 

nervous about his ability to play it all live (the full backing band 

can reach a dozen in number, with the optional string section). 

Eventually, he’d like to go for the grandiose ploy of performing 

his triptych in full over successive evenings, though we’ll have to 

wait for them to mature, the narratives apparently setting course 

to traverse afro-beat and jazz next time: morsels from foreign 

shores, ready to gaze at the dwindling light on the horizon and 

add to the chase. 

Believe Me To Remain is out now. 

cousinjac.com

Book now for 

Christmas! 

Your NEW Liverpool 

Philharmonic Hall 

this Christmas 

David Gray 

Monday 1 December 7.30pm 

Imelda May 

Friday 5 December 7.30pm 

DadaFest International 2014 

Staff Benda Bilili 

Saturday 6 December 7.30pm 

Seth Lakeman 

Wednesday 4 February 7.30pm 

Christmas with the 

Royal Liverpool 

Philharmonic 

Orchestra 

White Christmas: 

The Greatest 

Holiday Hits 

Saturday 13 December 7.30pm 

The Spirit 

of Christmas 

Thursday 18 / Saturday 20 - 

Tuesday 23 December 7.30pm 

Family Concert 

Rudolph on 

Hope Street 

Saturday 20 & Sunday 21 

December 11.30am & 2.30pm 

Monday 22 December 2.30pm 

Swinging in the 

New Year with 

Jacqui Dankworth 

Wednesday 31 December 7.30pm 

Disney Fantasia 

Live in Concert 

Saturday 3 January 

2.30pm & 7.30pm 

Box Office 

liverpoolphil.com 

0151 709 3789

14 


LIVERPOOL MUSIC WEEK 

2014 REVIEW Words: 

Sam Turner, Dave Tate, Joshua Potts, Richard 

Lewis, Paddy Clarke, Alastair Dunn. 

Photography: Michelle Roberts / sheshoots.co.uk 

Liverpool has enjoyed an embarrassment of riches on the festival 

front this year. 2014 has seen the biggest names, the best cuttingedge 

artists and Shaggy all grace Merseyside. As we reached the 

year’s curtain call, LIVERPOOL MUSIC WEEK strode up to the plate 

for its tenth edition, primed to unleash more fantastic music on our 

venues with some mouth-watering prospects on an aggressively 

great bill. Dave Tate started at the top with the stunning opening 

event at Camp and Furnace, waiting with baited breath to see 

the current critic’s darling, while Josh Potts encountered post-rock 

royalty in the same venue the following night. Dave Tate then took 

a trip to the other side of town for a set by established indie-dance 

favourites at the O2 Academy. 

SHOWCASE EVENTS 

There are many round these parts (by which 

I of course mean the music press) who'd 

have you believe Daniel Snaith is some 

kind of musical second coming, 

and they certainly have a strong 

case. His last three albums, 

under the aliases of 

CARIBOU and Daphni, 

have all received 

justified critical 

acclaim 

and 

he has proved 

himself equally adept 

behind the decks, taking 

headline sets at festivals 

across the summer. 

While he's certainly blessed with 

a polymathic ability (not only in music, 

Snaith holds a doctorate in Mathematics), 

it would also be fair to say I've been slightly 

trepidatious about the trajectory his latest album 

has set him on. While his previous work has never 

shied away from the mainstream, he was usually found 

to be skirting its periphery. Familiar, while challenging its 

conventions enough to be interesting. With latest offering, Our 

Love, however, it seems he has set his sights firmly on the charts. 

My first thoughts on hearing the album were how similar a 

lot of it was to much contemporary pop/dance. Not that there's 

anything inherently wrong with that, of course, but the album 

failed to excite me in the same way as, say, Swim or (Daphni 

debut) Jiaolong. Perhaps this is a sign of Snaith’s increasing 

ambition to crack the mainstream. Judging from tonight's show 

ambition is something Snaith possesses in spades. Every track is 

squeezed and pushed to its most anthemic, showcasing his move 

towards a bigger and more club/festival-friendly sound. 


Perhaps Snaith’s overriding characteristic, and greatest 

strength, lies in his ability to connect seemingly disparate scenes 

and eras. The songs he plays from his last two Caribou albums – 

such as the ever-excellent 

reconcile a love of 

play as a band. In 

Odessa – exhibit his attempts to 

dance music with his desire to 

the context of this band, 

the music incorporates much of 

the flowery psychedelia of 

his earlier albums. 

not 

New 

single 

Can't 

Do 

Without 

You 

would 

sound out of 

place atop the Radio 1 

playlist, but even tracks dating as 

far back as 2007’s 

Andorra hold their own in 

this decidedly dance- friendly context. Caribou’s 

broad appeal is evident, 

Caribou 

with everyone from 'the youth of 

today' to the discerning, beard-stroking musos in attendance. It 

may be difficult to maintain your uniqueness as an artist whilst the 

audiences 

continue 

to 

grow but it's a 

safe bet to say if 

anyone can do it, 

it's probably Dan. 

The 

buzz 

surrounding 

Saturday 

night’s 

bill seems to 

shake the highest 

rafters of the 

Furnace, where a 

dense crowd has 

filled almost every 

nook in the room to watch 

MUGSTAR unleash hell. No, 

they don’t kick anything over, 

and their guitars are not beaten on 

the stage floor like Fisher Price mallets, 

though you wonder if the noises arising 

from such activity would be out of place in the 

quartet’s familiar (but never easy) krautrock tempest. 

Having gained an extremely passionate local following 

over the years, the band brutalise any who find the idea of 

ripples in their pints ungodly. Canvas and Black Fountain are 

as unstoppable as a truck spotlighting a baby deer; Mugstar are 

always best when their sheer energy batters the niggling feeling 

that maybe one gear is all they can hit but, Christ, what velocity, 

what furious confidence in their material. 

FOREST SWORDS is another local lad done good – one of 

Merseyside’s true breakout stars. It’s great to see him back home 

in Camp and Furnace on this celebratory Friday evening, at the 

summit of an All Tomorrow’s Parties event that he’s curated. An 

ancient idol revolves slowly on the screen behind him, possibly 

a nod towards Matthew Barnes’ fast and loose appropriation 

of world music to his tightly wound, electronic fantasia. Like 

his ambient forefathers, he’s able to let melodies squirrel away 

beneath percussive bedrock, yet stabs through here and there


Mogwai 

with vocal lines that take you off guard, shuttling towards a 

cataclysm we’re eternally hoping for. When Barnes’ stars 

align, there’s no will to refuse them. The Weight Of 

Gold is a perfect example of his mythos, performed 

with see-sawing back motions and a bass pitch 

that’s too ridiculous to be healthy. 

If Forest Swords represents 

the transitory level of success as an 

instrumental artist, MOGWAI have 

to be the lords of the long 

game. The Glaswegians 

have 

experimented 

with their quietloud 

nuclear 

dynamic 

before 

– 

however, 

2014’s Rave 

Tapes might be 

their most mature 

effort yet and, 

truthfully, it adds 

a lot of meat to 

Mogwai’s 

musical 

bones. 

Opener 

Heard About You 

Last Night slithers 

beautifully to life, 

three 

luminous 

hexagons 

above 

blinking out over our 

dark bodies. Remurdered’s 

menace could be lifted straight 

out of Pink Floyd’s Welcome To 

The Machine, another dizzying and 

dystopian murmur bubbling at the edges 

of ascendency. Count all of the finger-flights up 

the neck of John Cummings’ guitar and you deserve 

a medal. The group swap instruments occasionally, 

tuning into a kinesis that binds each take-off with the 

titanic force of a leviathan emerging from clouds of fog. Each 

song requires patience but they are very rewarding: Death Rays, in 

particular, layers its sonic patchwork together without revealing 

any seams. Mogwai can say more with a held chord than most 

bands can cram into a lyric sheet, and for this, and the fact that 

they are simply one of the most cohesive units gracing modern 

music, we can reattach to reality tomorrow with a glimpse of 

transcendence. 

On the face of it, MONEY don't look like a band you would 

particularly want opening for you. Recent headline slots have 

shown them to be a band capable of wearing out an audience 

with the conviction they put into their performance and, if they hit 

their stride, they could easily threaten to blow any headliners out 

of the water. Their reverb-washed post-punk sound brings to mind 

The Bunnymen and the songs push towards anthemic. Synth pads 

wash and rise and vocals soar, touching on themes of love and 

loss, all with a decidedly Byronic bent. And my, what vocals they 

are. Midway between a choirboy and a drunk, Jamie Lee manages 

to evoke an entire spectrum of emotions and then some, all 

with a coy smile across his face. His swagger and charisma are 

arresting. Again, not exactly a band you'd relish following. 

Pity, then, poor WILD BEASTS, for that is precisely the hand 

they've been dealt. Things start promisingly enough and they've 

brought along all the bells and whistles, not to mention a 

particularly impressive light show. In spite of all this, however, I 

find myself zoning out from the second song in. The sound from 

the venue could partially be to blame, but only to the extent that 

it exposes a weakness inherent in the band’s latest synth-based 

offerings. Stood up alongside their better – and better-renowned – 

earlier work such as All The King’s Men and Hooting And Howling, 

it makes you wonder why they ever chose to move away from 

their guitar-based roots at all. 

Indeed, the band seem a long 

way from those quirkyyet-compelling 

Cumbrians with 

the camp falsettos 

and jagged guitar pop that found 

them fame. Instead, they have 

repositioned 

themselves as a 

group of Thin 

White Dukeera 

Bowies, 

wrapped 

in swagger and 

turtlenecks. 

While 

they prove themselves 

experienced-enough musicians to 

put on a good show, at times it 

going through the motions. Towards 

Hookworms 

Hookworms 

feels like they're 

the end of the set they 

do try to engage the crowd with their louder songs and more 

dance-inspired beats but it's too little, too late. It's a shame really 

because underneath all the synth glitz, 80s fashion and faux 

posturing, I'm sure there's still a band capable of putting on a 

great show. Just not tonight. 

FREE SHOWS @ 

THE KAZIMIER 

With the echoing din of such fine purveyors of modern rock 

still rattling the walls of Camp and Furnace, we pitched up at 

The Kazimier for a fine weeklong series of free shows. Dave Tate, 

Richard Lewis and Paddy Clarke saw some of the highlights. 

There's nothing like a bit of Saturday Night Fever, particularly 

when it's soundtracked by the infectious, hypnotic grooves of one 

of San Francisco’s finest groups of recent years. PEAKING LIGHTS 

certainly bring a party atmosphere, even if it's mostly limited to 

the stage. Not since the Shangaan of Nozinja has Liverpool played 

host to music simultaneously ebullient and danceable. While their 

sound is clearly indebted to Jamaican dub production and ideas, 

there is a gratifying lack of affected patois, quasi-spirituality or 

misappropriated ideology that afflicts so much of dub-inspired 

music. Peaking Lights’ music equally references shades of 4AD as 

it does Studio One and is all the stronger and more interesting for 

it. Danceable and fun. Now if only they could drag a few more 

bodies on to the floor. 

HOOKWORMS’ support slot to fellow cosmic voyagers 

Moon Duo two years ago saw the same venue at 

roughly half-full, whereas tonight The Kaz is at 

sardines capacity before the five-piece descend 

from the dressing room. 

Assuredly opening with slow-burner 

Away/Towards – the curtain-raiser to 

last year’s magnificent debut LP, 

Pearl Mystic – the set powers 

forwards in units of 

three or four tracks 

at a time, the 

first 

tranche 

comprising 

twenty minutes 

of exhilarating prog/ 

psych cross-pollination 

before a brief respite is 

finally permitted. 

Stood front and centre onstage, 

vocalist MJ is the fulcrum of the band’s 

sound and somehow manages to combine 

intense emotional vocal catharsis with lab 

technician-like accuracy across keyboards and the 

sound desk of white noise effects and samples in front 

of him. To the left of the stage, a guitarist grapples with 

his low-slung axe whilst opposite a fellow six-stringer lets 

loose a blizzard of FX, their efforts backed up by the formidable 

drive of the rhythm section. 

Showcasing new material – XL-proportioned lead single The 

Impasse and new 45 On Leaving, pulsing along on an insistent 

jabbing bassline – amply demonstrate why imminent second LP 

The Hum is pulling in plaudits from across the board. The upbeat 

stomp of Radio Tokyo signposts the group’s excursions into 

poppier climes, while the swooning Off Screen proves the quintet 

can change gears from intense to expansive, ‘quieter’ moments 

where, conversely, the volume doesn’t actually drop. The title 

of the straight-ahead motorik psych-pop of Retreat played last, 

bidolito.co.uk

16 


meanwhile, proves paradoxical, given that the present band are 

advancing in the opposite direction at gathering speed. A quick 

“Cheers Liverpool” and they depart to long, highly deserved 

applause. 

Across this year’s Liverpool Music Week bill you 

can dip in to sets that are both brilliant and 

bizarre, but few are as unyieldingly bizarre 

as AMERICANS, the disordered duo who 

open the evening tucked in a corner 

amid a tangle of wires and props 

on the crowded floor. Though 

they open with sparse, 

easy chimes, the 

pleasantries 

are 

soon 

smothered 

by a harsh, 

cacophonous swarm of 

frantic drums and whirring, 

abrasive synths which attack 

and attack with no surrender in 

sight. 

It’s a shambolic set, yet somehow 

completely engrossing – it might well be one 

of the best comedy routines Liverpool’s seen in 

years. Though one particularly obnoxious gaggle of 

pissed-up, middle-aged punters who’ve stumbled into 

the wrong hen-do feel the need to heckle, for the majority 

the duo are remarkably endearing. 

SEAWITCHES follow and bring things back down to earth – 

unfortunately a little too much. Their set is a relatively engaging 

one, thanks in no small part to the lashings of ethereal charisma 

lent by frontwoman Jo Herring’s command of the stage, and they’ve 

no shortage of fetching riffs and creeping atmospherics. The band’s 

problem is simply a minor identity crisis – the shadows of Savages, 

Siouxsie and The Cure still darken their idiosyncrasies. That said, 

they reveal much in embryonic talent that’s there to be tightened, 

and those vocals soar nonetheless. 

WE CAME OUT LIKE TIGERS are, as ever, a welcome cat amongst 

the pigeons. Led by the melodrama of the choral Tribulation, 

as they take their opening strides they duly career into 

a thunder of drums and razor-sharp screams. Noisy 

is an understatement, the group completely 

uncompromising in a set of magnetic intensity. 

They take to quieter moments, too, with 

immense reserves of confidence, solo 

vocal segments still captivating 

for what appears to be a far 

from stereotypical screamo 

crowd. As frontman 

Simon Barr turns 

political orator for 

a defiant soap-box 

speech towards the 

set’s close, it’s more than 

clear that he’s a man with The 

Kazimier in his palm. 

EAGULLS have more than the 

swagger to follow, rocketing into their 

luscious post-punk wails with the fine-tuned 

intensity of Killing Joke at their most thrilling. It’s 

not long before the moshers stumble frontwards for 

Nerve Endings after ten minutes or so of quivering build 

up and, given the band’s early, inexorable pace it’s not hard 

to work out why. They are a potent live force, yet also a band 

without a huge amount of material – exuberantly acclaimed their 


Eagulls 

The The Antlers Antlers 

self-titled debut might be, but they’ve little more than that record’s 

ten tracks to work with, all of which follow a set formula, and the 

set feels wanting of a simple step up. That said, they’re as good 

in their delivery as any of the slick performers out there, and, 

should their baying crowd stick around, it’s only time in 

the way of some sure-to-be stratospheric highs. 

Tuesday brings a reminder that THE ANTLERS 

are a band of nothing but gargantuan quality. 

Before those venerable Brooklynites can 

see starry-eyed expectations fulfilled, 

however, JAMES CANTY is up 

showing off his own prowess: 

solo acoustic segments 

propped up by his 

modestly 

moving, 

electronic-leaning 

backers. In the former it’s 

off-kilter at the perfect angle, 

the passion more than apparent 

yet never bordering on the saccharine, 

while in the meatier sequences it’s synth 

pop done properly. 

With the bar set rather high then, ETCHES leap 

to push it once more with a plush, commanding set of 

individualist, dark electro pop that breathes charisma into 

a formula dominated by down-tempo mumblers. Above all, 

the set simply shows character, the group’s musical narratives 

shaped by organic twists and turns, kaleidoscopic collisions of 

texture and the hypnotic float of delectable riffs, their latest Ice 

Cream Dream Machine the closer and the highlight. It’s a set so 

good it almost leaves seeds of a scandalous upstaging in the back 

of some still-reeling minds. 

On record, The Antlers have a long time been the refuge of the 

disillusioned hipster, with records like Hospice earning the type of 

reverence reserved for their elders and so-called betters. Their live 

set is everything their adoring cult could hope for: a captivating 

sequence of knife-edge tenderness to reel in their doting mob. 

They open with the delicacies of Palace, distilling, refining and 

unleashing a yearning cocktail of opulent texture into the very 

purest of assaults on the senses. Throughout the set they 

essentially keep repeating the feat, their hour or so a 

protracted sequence of singular euphoria, peppered 

with stratospheric crescendos of sparse-yetunbridled 

emotion. As on record they never 

quite deviate from their marvellous 

mid-tempos, perhaps leaving those 

yet to be converted a little out 

of the communal loop. That 

minority are a meagre one, 

though, for at large 

the set leaves the 

masses in tatters as 

the spell finally breaks, 

and a departing Epilogue feels 

enough to stake a claim for the 

festival’s finest hour. 

For the uncostumed Halloween crowd 

that’s seemingly oblivious to the festivities 

beyond the beer garden, an imperious evening 

with LIARS awaits. As Liars take the stage to a beaten, 

bemused but ever-enraptured crowd there’s still plenty 

of room for manoeuvre; that, however, is the perfect state of 

affairs, with Liars seizing on the breathing room from the off, the 

gleeful bounces of an adoring front row quick to fill the space. 

The set rests on the trio’s more recent electronic leanings, and

18 


it’s their second outing, Mask Maker, that truly sets the night alight. 

Relentless grooves and finely-tuned explosions of electro-insanity 

are the order of the day, the New Yorkers hurtling through their 

show with an off-kilter swagger that soon filters into the mob, 

some of whom simply stare in befuddled hypnosis, others diving 

headfirst into the lunacy. The set concludes only slightly too soon 

with Mess On A Mission, and the crowd need no cajoling into a 

manic reception as frontman Angus Andrew’s frenzied refrain is 

matched at every word. 

CLOSING PARTY 

For those who’ve been here before – and there should be plenty 

of us, this being the tenth edition and all – the legendary status of 

the LMW Closing Party will need no explanation. For those new to 

it, it invariably offers a fittingly thrilling and bustling finale. Alastair 

Dunn and Jack Graysmark threw themselves in to the tumult of 

this year’s Music Week climax, which saw a full-on takeover 

of the city’s Baltic Triangle sprawling across numerous 

venues. 

The escapades of main act on the District Stage, 

BLACK LIPS, have become the stuff of legend, so it is 

no wonder that the venue is packed to capacity. 

Those who arrive late to the toilet-roll-andsweat 

party miss STRANGE COLLECTIVE 

charging the air in the room with 

a riotous crackle, but it’s the 

headliners who people will 

remember after this 

limb-flailing 

show. 

Though Black Lips 

appear to have 

matured 

and 

Song linger before swiftly being bought into 

focus with ear-shattering percussion. With 

whispers of the band shutting-up 

shop and confirmation that this 

is their final Liverpool show, 

it’s reassuring that they 

remain resolute in their 

performance 

as 

they fly home to 

roost. 

There are few signs to indicate the hive 

of activity into which the Baltic Triangle 

has been turned by Liverpool Music 

Week’s Closing Party, as it’s 

hidden away within these old 

warehouse walls. At a time 

when 

development 

plans threaten the 

very fabric of 

this 

area, 

this 

culmination of 

a week of musical 

extravagance 

feels 

even more selective and 

for those in the know. 

VEYU have managed to turn 

the bare white space of The Blade 

Factory in to their own mini-EPI, with 

neon-flecked artwork and rippling visuals 

splashed across the walls. It seems a little at 

odds with their own pastel-hued melodica but, as 

Running and In The Forest unravel, it’s hard to imagine 

a setting that won’t fit this band’s gorgeous tones. 

Black Black Lips Lips 

mellowed 

since 

their 

infamous 

early 

performances, 

they 

still put on a riotous show. 

The frenetic pace of their 

songs does little to disguise how 

well crafted they truly are, and the 

gospel and blues influences are clear 

throughout. Fan favourites Bad Kids and 

Oh Katrina! prove the highlights of the set, but 

everything in-between is just as good. 

Over at Camp and Furnace, such is the anticipation 

that a mass of punters are waiting patiently to get into the 

main hub when half-eight rolls around. Suddenly, the room is 

swelling and a foreboding static is heralding the arrival of BIRD, 

a four-piece that always capture the twisted, otherworldly beauty 

that lies within darkness. The subdued guitar notes on The Rain 

Chvrches 

Headliners 

CHVRCHES 

really 

reap the rewards of the 

vast, cavernous space of 

the same venue. Their melodies 

come ready-made for translating 

the crowd’s energy into a blissful, popheavy 

elation and, as they launch into the 

frenetic roll of We Sink, the industrial setting 

complements the swarm of synths and intense 

neon graphics that douse the stage. 

Maybe it’s just the PA, but despite frontwoman Lauren 

Mayberry’s determination her vocals occasionally drown 

under the full force of the band’s sound, such as the blistering 

chorus of Night Sky. Yet on other tracks, like Gun, she is clear and 

assertive, bolstered by a vigorous aura of self-belief. Iain Cook 

and Martin Doherty flank her, often shoehorned to their stations 

of synths and samples, so it’s refreshing when Cook pulls out a 

bass to flaunt at the front of the stage, while Doherty takes on 

vocal duties for new single Under The Tide, twisting his mic cord 

in aggressive writhing while Mayberry retreats to the safety of 

the synth pads. 

After what seems like an obvious finish on the woozy delirium 

of The Mother We Share, the band return for a triple encore of 

non-singles. As a calm wave attempting to defuse a boisterous 

storm, it feels out of place; in the live arena, this is a band that 

excel in their bombastic, full-on moments. It is astonishing that 

this is the Glasgow trio’s first visit to Merseyside, but what a 

debut to make; delivered in seismic quantities, Chvrches’ brand of 

synth pop demands not only your reaction but your participation. 

When the pace is pushed as far as it can go, it works wonders as 

a final charge. 

Head to bidolito.co.uk to see a full photo gallery from this year’s 

Liverpool Music Week shows. 

liverpoolmusicweek.com 

bidolito.co.uk

STEPHEN LANGSTAFF 

LANGSTTTTTAFF 

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FRI 6TH DEC 

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FRI 30TH JAN 

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KATHERINE 

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CARA DILLON 

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08448884411 

85 5 Hanover Street L1 3DZ 

WWW.EPSTEINLIVERPOOL.CO.UK 

@EpsteinTheatre 

facebook.com/EpsteinTheatre 

facebook.cooooom/EpsteinTheatre 

om/EpsteinTheatre

22 


“No way are you getting me to do that!” 

“No” isn't a word that I've heard very often from the mouth of 

Dave McTague, a man who has been heavily involved in music 

in this city for some time. From the early days of Another Late 

Night Magazine, through publicity and marketing for the likes 

of Africa Oyé and Threshold Festival, and artist management for 

Nordic chanteuse Ragz, McTague has been there and done pretty 

much everything there is to do in this old town. The constant 

throughout this myriad of projects has been MELLOWTONE, 

McTague’s own acoustic showcase, which celebrates ten years 

of soothing sounds this month, and is the basis for this jovial 

outburst. McTague is adamant he couldn't calculate how many 

Mellowtone shows there have been in total, despite spending 

days sifting through boxes of old flyers while compiling this 

retrospective. “All I know for sure is it's in the hundreds!” he tells 

me, laughing at the prospect. By way of celebration of a decade 

of promoting shows, McTague has compiled a commemorative 

release: Mellowtone: 10 Years is a CD of 18 songs by former 

Mellowtone alumni that soundtrack not only their timeline, but a 

explains. “Mellowtone only became a reality once Richie and I 

stumbled across the View Two. Instantly we knew: 'this is the 

place – this is happening now!'.” The View Two may be their 

spiritual home, but it's far from their only home. Over the years, 

Mellowtone have hosted events at over 40 different Liverpool 

venues, as well as curating stages at many of our major festivals 

– Sound City, Liverpool Music Week and Liverpool International 

Music Festival. McTague explains: “I've made a point of trying to 

keep it nomadic – different venues, different nights of the week. I 

wanted it to be regular, but in a way that people would still have 

to pay attention, and seek us out”. A bold strategy, but one that 

certainly worked on this enthusiastic music fan new to the city 

ten years ago. 

My early memories of Mellowtone centre on the friendly face 

of one of the most well-known and admired people working in 

Liverpool music. Dave always had time to chat even when he 

didn't, ready with a flyer to thrust into your hand as he left, each 

one a promise of interesting acts in exciting new places. “We 

try to use intimate venues – galleries, cafés, the small room in a 

start. We try and play sympathetically in terms of tempo and 

mood, but also contrast with the band's sound. Present people 

with something they may enjoy but have never heard before or 

wouldn't otherwise listen to.” 

Comedian Sam Avery was an accomplished compère throughout 

the early years, before passing the baton to another lively local 

luminary, DJ/promoter Monkey. Avery believes this attention to 

detail, which is often an afterthought for most people, helps 

set them apart: “Dave is totally on the ball with every minor and 

major part of a gig without being a tit about it, so Mellowtone is 

always very professionally run, but retains that laidback vibe that 

it wouldn't work without.” 

It's an infectious vibe that invites collaboration – another key 

component of their framework. Every carefully crafted Mellowtone 

flyer features the logos of countless other partners, local and 

national. In an industry where friendship is often fabricated, 

McTague is not shy of working with his peers and competitors, 

having combined with Harvest Sun, Cheap Thrills, Evol and 

many others where necessary to put on a good show. “Mutually 

Words: Maurice Stewart / theviewfromthebooth.tumblr.com 

rather pleasant evening in. 

For those of us who have been so wrapped up in musical 

goings on in the city over recent years, it’s difficult to think of a 

live music scene in Liverpool without Mellowtone; but it wasn’t 

ever thus. Having relocated from Leeds to study at John Moores 

University, McTague found himself promoting for a few local 

club nights back in 2004, where he met with future Mellowtone 

conspirator Richie Vegas. However, his experiences as a punter 

led to him creating a night of his own: “When we started, guitar 

bands were still influenced by 90s Britpop. I was sick of gigs with 

a few lads huddled at the back. There was very little acoustic 

music in Liverpool that wasn't open mic nights, which is normally 

a different standard to what you'd want at a folk night. So we 

tried to take that music and put it on a proper stage”. The word 

“proper” relates in this instance more to the perceptions of the 

audience than the dimensions of the playing area. 

The idea had formed, but wasn't firm until a chance encounter 

at the View Two Gallery on Mathew Street gave them the perfect 

launch pad. “Finding a good space was very important,” Dave 


pub,” explains McTague. “Even in the times we've progressed to 

bigger venues and bigger artists, we've maintained that intimacy 

through booking smaller shows alongside.” There was a certain 

thrill in discovering where they would pop up next, but it was 

always clear the music was most important – a fact not lost on the 

musicians themselves. Long-time Mellowtone performer Ragz 

Nordset vividly recalls “the intense silence filling the View Two 

at every gig once an artist had started”, a sure sign of the respect 

the audience held for both artist and promoter. “The audience can 

trust the artists to be worth seeing,” concurs Kaya Herstad Carney, 

who has also played at dozens of incarnations of the Mellowtone 

night. “There's a good mix of undiscovered gems from all over 

alongside more established local acts; acoustic in its core, but not 

scared of making big noises.” That trust is also built on a strong 

supporting cast. Resident DJs Vegas and Johnnie O'Hare – known 

under the moniker of their grassroots music festival Above the 

Beaten Track – have been integral since day one, helping “to 

turn each gig into an event,” according to Vegas. “Dave had 

that concept – an actual event rather than just a gig – from the 

beneficial” is a phrase to which McTague returns frequently, 

including when discussing the desire to produce the compilation. 

“We want more people to hear these great musicians we're 

booking, so maybe they come along next time we book them. It's 

a testament to how many good songwriters there are here that 

I really struggled with who to leave out. Some of the artists are 

no longer active or have gone on to other things, so it acts as a 

document of a period in Liverpool's musical history.” A decade is 

the perfect juncture at which to take stock. 

Everyone I spoke to has different theories, but personally I believe 

the mix of a tight and trusted crew allied to a perpetual addition 

of new ideas, people and places is the secret to Mellowtone's 

longevity. “It certainly keeps it interesting for me,” McTague admits. 

“I try to book shows that I'd want to go to myself.” 

Fitting last words – almost as good as the fresh flyer in my 

hand that accompanies them. 

Mellowtone:10 Years is available to buy at all Mellowtone live 

shows, and online at mellowtone.bandcamp.com

1 HESKETH ST 

AIGBURTH, LIVERPOOL 

L17 8XJ 

020 7232 0008

24 



Who are ya? 

Tales from the wings with The Music Consortium 

The next time you go to a festival and stand in front of a 

stage that looks like it’s been chopped off the back of an aircraft 

hangar, I want you to ask yourself the following questions: how 

did it get there?; was it there last week, and will it be there 

tomorrow?; who made sure that the sound that comes out of 

those colossal speakers is loud but not deafening?; how do the 

twinkly lights dangling from that truss always seem to kick in 

to life when the guitarist launches into his solo?; why are those 

men in three-quarter-length shorts and black T-shirts (for they 

are invariably men, mostly in three-quarter-lengths, and seldom 

out of black T-shirts) looking so miserable as they tinker with the 

dials on the amps?; why do the band always ask for “more vocals 

in the monitor”? 

By contemplating all of these questions, you will be weighing 

in your hands the largely ignored roles of the tech and production 

crew: those shadowy, saintly figures who make live music happen. 

Most of us are so wrapped up in experiencing the thrill of live 

performance that we rarely spare a thought for these mechanics 

behind the world of live music. Spike Beecham knows more than 

most about the vagaries of working in the shadows of stacks and 

monitors, having worked as a stage or production manager on 

events all round the world for over a decade. His company, THE 

MUSIC CONSORTIUM, began by providing local crewing to Leeds 

Festival, and has since expanded to supplying technical event 

support services to all manner of festivals, exhibitions and venues 

completely unimpressed with the infantile display that you might 

think comes with your dubious status. They were there hours 

before you building the stage and they will be there hours after 

you leave tearing it down. They should get your salary and you 

should get theirs.” 

So hands up who actually knows what a stage manager or a 

tech does, or what any of the crew does, for that matter? Lighting 

technicians anyone? Riggers? You may be more familiar with our 

American friends’ catchall phrase, “roadies”, whilst we Brits prefer 

to use tags that better explain our role on the road: guitar tech, 

sound engineer and so on. The point I’m making is that, although 

there are enough column inches written about bands on tour to 

sink the Titanic on a monthly basis, very little seems to be known 

about the dark arts of the touring crew. Although they are spoken 

about in hushed tones and are known by mythic names whose 

origins stem from the great and mysterious land of rock and roll 

legend – Mugger, Digby, Polaris, Stanna, Shippo, Bamo, Stone, 

Nick the Hat (all genuine) to name a few – little is known about 

what they do during the day, just what they get up to after the 

trucks are packed up at night. 

Traditionally, the best crew are half magician, half cynic, able 

to solve any technical issue with gaffer tape and a sharp knife 

while simultaneously shaking their heads and guffawing at the 

(more often than not) bombastic demands of a drunken vocalist 

who’s decided he wants to do a soundcheck, er… now. Today, 

70s the roadie became the person who got booed by the punters 

when they took the band offstage at the end of the show. These 

days, being a member of the backstage crew is a bit like being 

a social worker with a tool kit. If things go wrong on stage, you 

don't mince about and make a big song and dance: egos must 

remain firmly in check when the act is on stage, so that they 

remain relaxed and able to perform. You fix the problem with the 

minimum amount of fuss and return to the shadows. The act may 

or may not be aware that there’s a problem, but either way will 

give you a certain amount of time and space to get the issue 

sorted. The guy who takes the band off the stage at the end of 

the show still has to put up with the odd bit of booing: I should 

know because more often than not that’ll be me, as I’m usually 

either the stage manager or the production manager – as the job 

of the person that takes the act off stage is now called. Once the 

act leaves the stage, as Rollins stated, we tear it all down, load it 

into trucks and move on. 

In conclusion then, and for the record, if it wasn’t for the rest of 

the crew/technicians – whether they are operating on the stage, 

backstage or at front of house – I wouldn’t be able to get booed 

at all, because without that crew the act would never have been 

able to start the show in the first place. After reading this, you 

budding rock stars may still have no idea what these guys do, and 

to be honest that might be for the best, but show some respect, 

please. Because, although they may tread lightly and talk softly in 

across the globe. In a bid to find out a little more about the lot of 

the role of any member of a successful touring crew is one that 

the underappreciated techy, we asked Spike to debunk some of 

sees them spanning the globe and combines hours of frenetic 

the myths and tell us why we all owe them a debt of gratitude. 

activity, in order to the get the gig up and running, with hours of 

waiting around doing nothing. That’s when the boredom sets in, 

What follows is a message from the great Henry Rollins to all 

the mischief starts and taking care of the gear becomes taking 

you budding rock stars out there: “Listen to the stage manager 

care of the “gear”. 

and get on stage when they tell you to. No one has the time for 

your rock-star bullshit, none of the techs backstage care if you’re 

David Bowie or the milkman. When you act like a jerk, they are 

To coin a phrase from Springsteen, this job was born in the 

USA in the 1960s, when the roadie was essentially part of the 

band and was respected by the fans; but that evolved and by the 

your presence, just remember that, when they’re standing behind 

the amps in the dark, they all carry knives and the odd hammer… 

to fix things with, obviously. 

For more information about the services that The Music 

Consortium offer, head to themusicconsortium.com. 

Spike also writes a regular blog about some of the stories and 

experiences he encounters from his position side of stage. Head to 

themusicconsortium.tumblr.com to read more of these tales.

DECEMBER 

----------------------------------- CLUB 

02 

03 

05 

06 

07 

09 

12 

13 

22 

31 

SILVER APPLES £13 

JESSE MALIN £10 

M.O.P. £15 

ITCHY FEET £7 

NINA NESBITT + BILLY LOCKETT, 

KERRI WATT £14 

HYPNOTIC BRASS ENSEMBLE 

£13.50 

HERE & NOW w/POISENED ELEC- 

TRIC HEAD £10 

SAINT SAVIOUR & BILL RYDER- 

JONES £10 

CHERRY GHOST £15 

NYE - STEALING SHEEP PRESENT 

MYTHOPOEIA II - GALAXIES & 

TAPESTRIES £10-15

26 


DEC/JAN IN 

BRIEF 

SOUND CITY 2015 

SOUND CITY 2015 

The Unsung Hero will get its chance in the limelight with the subject being used as the unifying theme of LIVERPOOL SOUND CITY’s 2015 conference 

programme. And they’ve already lined up three heavyweight guests to deliver this idea: The Fall’s acerbic wit, MARK E. SMITH; Ramones manager and king 

of NYC punk, DANNY FIELDS; and Cream creator JAMES BARTON (pictured), who was just named by Billboard Magazine as the most influential person in the 

realm of EDM. Sound City are teaming up with Primavera Pro on their eighth music conference, which will take place at the Titanic Hotel, Stanley Dock. 

liverpoolsoundcity.co.uk 

Edited by Richard Lewis and Emma Brady 

MYTHOPOEIA II 

STEALING SHEEP are hosting a second outing of their New Year’s Eve spectacular in their spiritual home of The Kazimier, following 2013’s highly successful 

debut. Billed as MYTHOPOEIA II: GALAXIES & TAPESTRIES, the sequel includes a set from the hosts, alongside sets from some of their mates: electro noisecore 

ensemble BARBEROS; Leeds Afrobeat/no wave crew AZORES; and a collaboration with THE HARLEQUIN DYNAMITE MARCHING BAND. The décor and theme 

of the night will make for a unique deviation from the traditional Auld Lang Syne malarkey. And while we’re on the subject of the host band… 

The Kazimier / 31st December 

HEAVENLY WEEKEND 

Legendary indie label Heavenly Recordings celebrates its twenty-fifth birthday in January with a weekend-long shindig in the picturesque town of 

Hebden Bridge. Renowned as one of the leading small independent venues in the country, the Trades Club is set to feature luminaries of the label across 

the four days (including Temples, The Wytches, Toy, Jimi Goodwin and the Mark Lanegan Band). The evening of Sunday 25th is reserved for the label’s two 

Merseyside acts, as recent signings HOOTON TENNIS CLUB (pictured) appear alongside STEALING SHEEP, who are due to release a new LP in 2015. 

Hebden Bridge Trades Club / 22-25th January 2015 

THE PAPERHEAD 

We’re delighted that Nashville whizzkids THE PAPERHEAD have returned to the fray, making this gig at The Ship one that’s not to be missed. Signed to 

revered Chicago label Trouble In Mind (Ty Segall, Night Beats, Fuzz), the quartet issued their second LP, Africa Avenue, in November, three years after their 

debut record blazed a hole in the neo-psych movement. Adding elements of cosmic country and krautrock to their fresh spin on classic 1960s British 

psychedelia, the four-piece have shown that their potential for expansion will be hard to contain. 

The Shipping Forecast / 30th January 

SOUND STATION SUCCESS 

After a fantastic all-day live festival at Moorfields Station, which featured ten of Merseyside’s most exciting emerging new artists as well as live 

performances on Merseyrail trains, 18-year-old hip hop artist BLUE SAINT (pictured) scooped the title of MERSEYRAIL SOUND STATION PRIZE 2014 winner. 

Along with the title, Blue Saint will receive of a year of professional music industry management, recording time and free Merseyrail travel. Having just 

released the first EP in a three-part story, the next twelve months will be an exciting time for the artist: watch this space. merseyrailsoundstation.com 

MICHAEL CHAPMAN 

An artist who received sizeable praise from John Peel in the late sixties, and was a contemporary of folk legends John Martyn and Roy Harper, MICHAEL 

CHAPMAN visits Liverpool this month. A well-known figure amongst the folk cognoscenti, the 2011 reissue of Chapman’s creative and critical highpoint, Fully 

Qualified Survivor (1970), on storied reissue label Light In The Attic Records brought his work to a new audience. A 2012 tribute album, meanwhile, featured 

contributions from Lucinda Williams, Thurston Moore and Hiss Golden Messenger, who have all cited Chapman’s work as a major influence. 

Leaf / 8th December 

WINTER ARTS MARKET 

The Winter Arts Market returns for its 6th year as St George’s Hall invites artists and crafters to show what they’re made of. On Saturday 6th and Sunday 

7th December, over 200 artists – including Gillian Tidgwell, Martin Jones, and Sue Wood – will descend on the Liverpool landmark selling decorations, 

jewellery, art, prints and handmade greetings cards. Under 16s go free, and it’s £2 for everyone else. You can also book ahead to reserve your place on a 

craft workshop with The Super Silly Scientists to make your own traditional kinetic toy. winterartsmarket.com 

St George’s Hall / 6th and 7th December 

bidolito.co.uk


BIDO AND SOUND CHRISTMAS QUIZ 

This year sees a new festive date for your diary: the inaugural Bido Lito! and Sound Food & Drink Christmas Music Quiz is set to rival all other 

Quiz of the Years (or is that Quizzes of the Year?). Starting at 7.30pm, there’s a £100 cash prize and a shiny new trophy up for grabs; and if you 

win or lose, stick around for live music from seasonal string band THE EGGNOGS, plus DJ sets from ourselves and Liquidation til 1am. Down the 

Baileys and don’t worry about Wednesday morning, it’s Christmaaaaasss! 

Sound Food & Drink / 16th December 

SILVER APPLES 

Blossoming in the late-60s, US electro duo SILVER APPLES were successful in laying down a truly innovative blueprint to which a raft of psychedelic 

contemporaries and successors have paid homage – Kraftwerk, Cluster, Portishead and fellow New Yorkers Suicide among them. Now piloted solely by 76- 

year-old keyboard/proto-synthesizer whiz Simeon following the death of drummer Danny Taylor in 2005, Silver Apples continue to tour the world and win 

over successive generations of music fans at every turn. They return to Liverpool after recently headlining Le Guess Who? festival in Utrecht. 

The Kazimier / 2nd December 

BIDO LITO! @ LIVERPOOL ACOUSTIC FESTIVAL 

Liverpool Acoustic Festival returns in March 2015 to showcase acclaimed national and international acoustic artists plus a host of acoustic-related activities. And 

we’re delighted to say that we’re having a presence at the event this year, by hosting the showcase performance from Irish duo THE LOST BROTHERS (pictured) with 

an accompanying DJ set from NICK POWER, who collaborated with the former Liverpool-based pair on their new Parr Street Studios-recorded album New Songs Of 

Dawn And Dust. Academy Award winner and star of Once, MARKETA IRGLOVA, will also feature, alongside local artists, public workshops and a record fair. 

Unity Theatre / 20th and 21st March 2015 

THE INVISIBLE WIND FACTORY 

Deep in the docklands of the city sits a factory that once chugged to the grind of wind turbine production. Long since deserted, the building has now been 

appropriated by innovators The Vision Commission, and they’re throwing open the doors for a spectacular launch party that is based around the building’s 

former industrial processes. The centrepiece of the event will be a suitably immersive audio-visual treat from avant-techno duo DOGSHOW, accompanied 

by DJ Jacques Upitup’s piece entitled Organ Works – Variations For Electone HS6. Bring your hard hats and steel toecaps for a freakout. 

25 Carlton Street / 13th December 

NEON WALTZ 

Though NEON WALTZ hail from the far-flung Scottish Highlands, some irresistible pull to these here parts has drawn them back for a return date at The 

Shipping Forecast on their latest tour. Last time out they teamed up with Bill Ryder-Jones for a Mick Head cover, and their alignment with Scouse rock 

royalty dovetails nicely with their own moody and nagging fireside indie warmth. After a burgeoning start to their career, it’ll be interesting to see how far 

the Caithness troupe have come in these few short months. 

The Shipping Forecast / 12th December 

GIT AWARD 2015 

The GIT Award is back, already gearing up to present its fourth annual award for local artists at a lavish ceremony at The Kazimier on 4th April 2015. And 

the work in shortlisting potential successors to last year’s winner Forest Swords has already begun. Our very own Christopher Torpey has joined the local 

judging panel this year, with Clash Magazine’s Robin Murray, Simon Raymonde from Bella Union, and 4AD label boss Rich Walker among those joining 

the national judging panel. If you’d like to enter, send four tracks to gitaward@getintothis.co.uk 

by 31st January. Head to 


now to read 

Christopher Torpey's thoughts on what the GIT Award holds in store this year. 

THRESHOLD V 

Homegrown festival THRESHOLD returns on the weekend of 27th-29th March 2015, showcasing the best of Merseyside’s creative community with a 

programme including music, visual arts, performance, film, media and industry sessions. With four years of success under its belt it’s no surprise that 

early bird tickets are now nearly sold out. Easily one of the most accessible festivals for local talent, applications to play are now being accepted via a 

partnership with online music platform ReverbNation. Make sure your band gets in there quick though, as the application process closes in December. 

thresholdfestival.co.uk 

HYPNOTIC BRASS ENSEMBLE 

The Kazimier’s evergreen Funk and Soul Klub scores a triumph once again as they bring the highly venerated HYPNOTIC BRASS ENSEMBLE to town. 

Comprising the youngest eight sons of trumpet legend Phil Cohran (known for his work with the Sun Ra Arkestra), the Chicagoan horn octet incorporate 

hip hop, jazz, funk and rock influences in to their pieces. The group have amassed a dazzling list of collaborations over the past decade and more, 

including Wu Tang Clan, Prince and Femi Kuti, as well as appearing on Gorillaz’ Plastic Beach LP. 

The Kazimier / 9th December 

bidolito.co.uk

28 


Reviews 

Woman's Hour (Keith Ainsworth / arkimages.co.uk) 

WOMAN’S HOUR 

EVOL @ Arts Club 

Since the release of their debut LP 

Conversations in July, which seemed to 

seem to send the blogosphere into a frenzy, 

WOMAN’S HOUR have gone from strength to 

strength. With a string of stylish, self-directed 

videos they have carved for themselves a 

distinct aesthetic, and one that relates not 

only to their image but to their sound as well: 

word-of-mouth suggests that their live shows 

are similarly honed. 

The band emerge from the dark recesses 

and open with Unbroken Sequence, a slowly 

unfolding bed of pulsating synths and minimal 

percussion, with Fiona Burgess's characteristically 

soft, dream-like vocals floating just above 

everything else. Their songs may be effervescent, 

swooning numbers but they are also hooky 

as hell, with each track providing memorable 

shifts and turns. In this way, the art school pop 

sensibilities being exhibited on stage never 

really become pretentious or contrived, and it is 

clear throughout how much the members of the 

band enjoy playing these songs. 

The best example of this is standout track 

of the evening Her Ghost. Interesting and 

well crafted, it is the kind of song that could 

be played to ten people in a loft, like tonight, 

but that could also conceivably do well in the 

charts. Essentially, this is what Woman’s Hour 

have managed to achieve with their sound, the 

melding of avant-garde vision with relatively 

simple, pop-orientated structures. It certainly 

works for them, but after six or seven songs 

it has to be said that it becomes quite hard to 

maintain concentration and enthusiasm. The 

lack of atmosphere inside the venue almost 

definitely has a lot to do with this, but even so 

it does begin to detract from the performance, 

and it is clear that those on stage are slightly 

disappointed with the turnout. 

The show must go on, however, and 

single Conversations does much to buoy the 

spirits. Will Burgess's guitar-work intertwines 

symbiotically with his sister’s vocal lines, 

creating a perfect accompaniment that also 

brings depth to the instrumentation. The 

rhythm section is steady and understated, 

never pushing the songs in certain directions 

but waiting instead to be pulled along. 

Though there was a slight lull in the middle, 

overall it has been an enjoyable display and 

The Day That Needs Defending makes for a 

neat conclusion. Those in attendance appear 

satisfied, and perhaps even a little bewildered 

that they have been present to witness such 

an intimate performance from a much-hyped 

band. Personally, I wouldn't be surprised if in 

the not-too-distant future they return to play 

the much grander setting downstairs here at 

the Arts Club. I guess it remains to be seen. 

Alastair Dunn 

REAL ESTATE 

Alvvays 

Harvest Sun @ The Kazimier 

Canadians ALVVAYS open up tonight’s show 

and immediately impress the quickly swelling 

Tuesday night crowd. The five-piece delight in 

looking and sounding like the best teenage 

rom com never made. All the stereotypes are 

there but combining wonderfully to make 

something that thoroughly transcends any 

prejudicial first impressions. Subtle synth 

sounds underlie irresistible pop guitar hooks 

to sweetly highlight pintsized singer Holly 

Rankin’s soaring vocals. Next Of Kin is a set 

highlight and these rising stars do everything 

they need to to enamour themselves to this 

refreshingly engaged gathering of musos. 

Some bands sound exactly like where 

they’re from, their music intrinsically linked 

with their surrounds, both reflecting it and 

explaining it: Joy Division wrought urban 

decay in their doomed din, while Creedence 

Clearwater Revival delivered a slice of 

southern States small-town life via their 

countrified rock, but other bands use music 

as an escape. REAL ESTATE come from the 

tough blue-collar state, New Jersey (albeit a 

rather quaint suburb), from which its famous 

tough-guy forebears Frank Sinatra, Jon Bon 

Jovi and Bruce Springsteen drew strength in 

the face of life’s claustrophobia. Real Estate 

are very much from the other side of music’s 

geographical coin. 

It’s impossible not to listen to the fourpiece’s 

breezy tunes and not imagine driving 

down a West Coast palm tree-lined boulevard 

with the sun shimmering on the bonnet as 

lead guitarist Matt Mondaline’s flourishes 

wash over a packed-out Kazimier tonight. 

There’s sheer joy in this music rather than 

bidolito.co.uk

Reviews 


resistance to the daily grind. And it’s lapped 

up by the Liverpool crowd. 

The majority of tonight’s set comes from 

the band’s last two albums: Days and this 

year’s flawless Atlas. The interplay between 

Mondaline and frontman Martin Courtney’s 

guitars is mesmeric, while bassist Alex 

Bleeker (who at least looks like a New Jersey 

roughnik) is charming whilst adding the 

occasional hooky bassline. Real Estate as a 

package are charm personified; Bleeker’s quip 

about Clinic being the sum total of Liverpool’s 

musical heritage is received in the spirit it 

was delivered, whilst Courtney’s dialogue is 

limited but sincere. 

The crowd’s demands for their solid set 

to be followed by an encore are met as the 

band return to the stage to play Out Of Tune 

and It’s Real before parting with the crowd as 

they are transported from California to a damp 

Wolstenholme Square. 

Sam Turner / @samturner1984 

ROLLER TRIO 

Dead Hedge Trio – Leather Cow 

The Kazimier 

Tonight, presented by Kazimier’s Jazz Club, 

there come three bands that each give a 

different definition of what jazz actually is. It’s 

a vague and loose term, jazz, rescued from 

vapid “feel-good” commerciality in the World 

War Two era by the likes of Charlie Parker 

and his ilk. Be-bop clawed back jazz’s artistic 

credibility. Now, in a dimly lit Liverpool venue, 

it’s clear to see that not only is that credibility 

still intact but the music itself is still evolving 

beyond any boundaries created by past jazz 

idols. 

LEATHER COW arrive on stage first and burst 

into an onslaught of the most emancipated 

free jazz you’re likely to hear. Ornette Coleman 

is an obvious reference aside from the fact that 

Leather Cow’s bassist, Rob Wilkinson, hits a lot 

harder than Ornette ever did. Wilkinson plays 

like an out-of-place Death From Above 1979 fan 

which, surprisingly, nicely complements the 

wayward direction that the band take. Leather 

Cow are an impressive but challenging start 

to the night and that’s a challenge that this 

audience is more than willing to accept. 

Next we have DEAD HEDGE TRIO, who are 

slightly more refined than their predecessors 

yet even more expressive. The guitarist, Rory 

Ballantyne, adds 20,000 leagues’ worth 

of depth to their expansive sound, playing 

abrasive, coarse chords and melodies that 

are reminiscent of John Frusciante’s work 

on Ataxia’s first LP. Nick Branton, the trio’s 

saxophonist, lunges charismatically into his 

instrument, warring enigmatically with the 

thing as if it were in the midst of a musical 

brawl. The musicianship shown by the whole 

band, held together by drummer Michael 

Roller Trio (Nata Moraru / natamoraru.tumblr.com) 

bidolito.co.uk

30 Bido Lito! Dec 2014 / Jan 2015 

Reviews 

Spring King (Gaz Jones / @GJMPhoto) 

Metcalfe, is almost primal. They journey 

through tracks Monster Munch and the stirring 

Antibiotic with passionate fervour. Elements 

of early Portico Quartet emerge throughout. 

The boys from Dead Hedge leave the crowd 

stunned. 

It’s been a busy few years for ROLLER TRIO, 

whose debut album was nominated for a 

Mercury Music award. In no time at all they 

have become one of the most important and 

innovative new breakthrough acts in the British 

music scene, challenging people’s perceptions 

of what modern jazz should sound like. 

This evening’s show is part of a short tour 

in support of their imminent second album 

Fracture, the release of which is being funded 

through an online crowdfunding campaign. 

The band play an engaging set which includes 

the new single High Tea as well as older 

pieces Deep Heat, Roller Toaster and Howdy 

Saudi. The performance is immersive: complex 

melodic structures and rhythmic syncopations 

are fed through the instruments with almost 

mathematical precision. Guitarist Luke Wynter 

sticks like glue to the rhythms employed; 

even the erratic wanderings of drummer Luke 

Redding-Williams and saxophonist James 

Mainwaring, whose vibrant playing entrances 

everyone in the room, cannot throw off the 

skeletal underpinning of Wynter’s nebulous 

guitar work. 

Roller Trio offer a mix of electronic infusion, 

hip hop-style breakbeats, the occasional 

foray into rock territory and, mostly, some 

lush, opulent and almost geometric jazz. It’s 

a wonderful and innovative cacophony. You 

aren’t likely to catch a show quite like this 

one anytime soon, so, it’d be wise simply to 

patiently await Roller Trio’s next return to 

Liverpool. 

SPRING KING 

Moats 

Christopher Carr 

EVOL @ The Shipping Forecast 

SPRING KING stem from intriguing roots. 

Rather than the usual origins story featuring a 

few friends jamming together, the garage punk 

act was born in frontman Tarek Musa’s bedroom 

from a handful of demos. The fact he’s now 

the drummer means you’re constantly thrown 

off guard via your rigid expectations of where 

the vocalist should reside, as your eyes dart 

back and forth from centre stage. However, it 

would be foolish to suggest that the chemistry 

between each member is anything less because 

of it; in Spring King’s party, it’s all for one. 

The same can be said for support slot regulars 

MOATS. Just as exciting on the umpteenth 

performance as the first, everyone’s a winner, 

in particular the four lads themselves. It’s their 

last show before heading to Austin City Limits 

in Texas, but they’re not holding back here 

because of it. Hordes of friends surge forward 

bidolito.co.uk

as frontman Matthew Duncan requests 

the crowd to “get electrocuted”, with some 

having come from as far as south of the 

Birmingham divide to see the band. As the set 

lurches from fast and foreboding numbers 

to the more contemplative Fortnight, which 

ponders a past girlfriend over echoing guitars 

as the drums gradually build, it’s not difficult 

to see why. 

Unsurprisingly, Moats have built a strong 

reputation in this corner of the North West, 

while tonight acts as a road test for the 

headliners. Musa may recognise these parts 

as a LIPA alumni (which explains the presence 

of fellow graduate Dan Croll at the front), but 

since then he has returned to his stomping 

ground of Manchester and unleashed an 

impressive array of production work. Now 

signed to Transgressive with a debut EP 

preaching to the masses, it’s all raring to go; 

Spring King just need to test the water. 

Third track Can I? provides the first real 

ruckus of the night. From then on in it’s a 

relentless assault that is only reined in for the 

more restrained Not Me, Not Now towards 

the end. Croll is just one of many that indulge 

in some exuberant headbanging, which suits 

the scene perfectly; you wonder: why on earth 

is such boisterousness not a feature of every 

gig of this kind? Surely in the tight confines of 

the Hold it’s only a matter of time before the 

blaze of reverb draws the room to breaking 

point? The secret ingredient lies in the two 

guitarists and bassist on stage. 

While Musa remains heavily focused over 

the drums, the remaining members stand in 

a line and stimulate the crowd through their 

vigorous onstage antics. One guitarist veers 

across to Musa in a seamless flow during 

Mumma, before bravely crowdsurfing on 

curtain-call Vampire, where vigorous moshing 

hammers him against the ceiling. For all the 

casual, carefree vibes conveyed by their music, 

the Spring King live experience is tight as hell, 

and all the more enjoyable for it. 

Tonight has seen the reaction you crave 

at the unveiling of fresh, raw talent: reckless 

yet co-operative euphoria. It may be short 

and sweaty, but pandemonium is often best 

enjoyed in small doses, and Spring King carry 

it with such a strong sense of assurance that 

you can tell this is only the first step on a long 

road ahead. 

Jack Graysmark / @ZeppelinG1993 

LONE 

WYWH - Adronite 

The Kazimier 

With heady reverberations still ringing in 

the ever-hungry ears of Liverpool music fans, 

it is time to dust down and cram in as many 

gigs as possible before the year ends. For 

those feeling a little psyched-out, the prospect 

of a laidback evening in the company of one 

of the most discussed electronic musicians in 

recent months, LONE, is sure to be tempting. 

As first support act, WYWH, takes to the 

stage gig-goers are conspicuously absent. 

Unperturbed, WYWH, aka Andrew Parry, 

launches into an ethereal and enthralling set. 

The tracks are dark and introspective, with 

very deep, repetitive basslines and reverbsoaked, 

melodic meanderings. His usage 

of a chaosilator does exactly what its name 

suggests, bringing a little bit of chaos to what 

is otherwise a carefully constructed and wellorchestrated 

performance. It is a shame there 

are not more people here to witness it, but 

this is, sadly, usually the case at such gigs, 

and there are countless brilliant performances 

from opening acts that go practically unheard 

at venues across the city. 

Negativity aside, the crowd has swelled 

somewhat to welcome next act ADRONITE. 

The Sheffield-based two-piece blend live bass 

guitar and synths to create an interesting 

sonic palette. Overlaid with vocals from singer 

James de Graef the display is engaging if 

perhaps not overly memorable. This is not to 

detract from their skill as musicians or their 

appeal as performers, but for this particular 

show there is a certain sense that something 

is missing. 

Since the release of his fifth album, Reality 

Testing, in June, the name Lone (Matt Cutler) 

has been on the lips of many a music critic, 

and presumably on many a muso's mustsee 

lists. This being his first Liverpool show 

BidoLito.148x117.MASTER.indd 1 19/11/2014 11:25 

it is the first opportunity some have had 

and, with KONX-OM-PAX providing a live AV 

accompaniment, it promises to be a pretty 

special event. 

Cutler has always had an amazing ear for 

melody, and that is perhaps the defining 

feature of his work and tonight's performance. 

The music is intensely danceable whilst 

retaining an air of minimalism, and the 

refrains so catchy they are almost sung. 

In contrast to the previous acts on the bill, 

there is a real sense of joy to Lone's songs, 

with introspection making way for gleeful 

movement. This is not to suggest a lack of 

substance, as it is clear that every section and 

every beat has been painstakingly thought 

over and implemented expertly, to create a 

sound which is full yet not lacking in space. 

Lone's hip hop-inflected grooves, together 

with Konx's AV display make for a pretty fine 

spectacle indeed. 

Though the night, in terms of audience, 

started off pretty quietly it has ended on a 

definite high note. As far as debut Liverpool 

shows go Lone's has to be up there, and 

I imagine a lot of people will leave here 

tonight wondering why it has taken so long 

to bring him to the city. 

Alastair Dunn 

BOOK NOW: 0161 832 1111 

www.manchesteracdemy.net www.gigantic.com 

facebook.com/manchesteracademy 

@MancAcademy 

John Garcia Tuesday 4th December 

A Certain Ratio Saturday 13th December 

Urban Voodoo Machine Sunday 14th December 

Arch Enemy / Kreator Friday 19th December 

King Creosote Tuesday 27th January 

Nazareth Friday 30th January 

Gus G (Firewind/Ozzy Osbourne) Saturday 21st February 

Gun Friday 27th March 

Saturday 18th April (at The Ruby Lounge) 

Friday 15th May 

Big Country Saturday 12th December 

 

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COLLEGE 

Kalax 

Harvest Sun and Bam!Bam!Bam! @ Leaf 

I remember nostalgia. Or I thought I did, until 

tonight. As it turns out, opening that particular 

Pandora’s Box does not reap golden harvests of 

the heart. No, instead there is distance, coldness, 

and too much bloody over-thinking to justify 

taking a trip down our cultural backwaters for 

three hours of flashy, retrograde anaemia. 

There is really a third performer here this 

evening, who just maybe gets all the star credit: 

the screen. It is large and imposing, front and 

centre, an obelisk transmitting what is meant to 

be the twinned journeys of irony and technology, 

a prospect which has presumably drawn some of 

the crowd that haven’t seen Drive because they 

spend their days bashing out John Carpenter 

scores on a Casio keyboard. 

KALAX at least uses this behemoth for some 

sort of dynamism. Objects zoom in and out 

of perspective, making way for a dark car, 

patrolling a city, of course, that lights up a dame 

with a smoking gun. The man himself isn’t half 

as arresting. He wobbles under his beanie and 

presses keys on a Mac. All of us can do that, 

can’t we? What, exactly, is the point of coming 

to a show in which the music is interchangeable 

– set to precisely the same mood throughout: 

blooping, brooding, somnambulant synthgasms 

livened by a rare vocal sample – and the 

high point comes from assorted clips of people 

dancing in the 80s? We get it! This is post-modern 

love for the MTV generation; OK, fantastic, but 

does it have to be so damn predictable? 

And so to COLLEGE. Frenchman David Grellier 

is another level of mediocrity altogether. 

In 

fact, The Light Of Your Dress and The 

Drone could almost be the same song; ergo 

the entirety of his set, the whole numbing 

ordeal of it, replete with nothing so much 

as a smile from the sleepwalking composer. 

His accompanying visuals don’t try and go 

for story, opening as they do on a flickering 

desert morning and reminding us over and 

over again of his name in red neon script. One 

image in particular, outside of the time-lapse 

videos, is very fitting: a spaceman slumped 

pensively over the cosmic abyss, cradling a 

keytar while the world carries on without him. 

It’s to this effect that the reality of College’s 

work limps into focus. We should be in love 

with the earliest elements of electronica, he 

seems to argue, because that purity was the 

beginning of a sonic adventure without limits, 

bound only to the map of its beat. Confusion 

and introspection were not in vogue thirty 

years ago, and that carefree mentality can be 

ours again if we shrug off the advancements 

the genre has made and smell the hairspray, 

the lost abandon of the baby boomer. Well, 

bollocks. This sort of stuff helps no one apart 

from the middle-aged demographic that can’t 

give up their Sega Mega Drives. We have 

advanced, and it’s better than this. 

As menacing and sporadically danceable as 

a few of College’s tracks are, the mood has all 

the intensity of a retro screensaver, the kind that 

pings around without going anywhere. When 

Drive soundtrack highlight A Real Hero finally 

comes (drawing a cheer from everyone), it is far 

too late. The song actually highlights what’s been 

missing: something human, something real. 

Josh Potts / @joshpjpotts 

THE BOG STANDARDS 

Liverpool Irish Festival @ The 

Caledonia, Kelly’s Dispensary 

If you’d have bumped into Mikey Kenney a few 

months ago, he'd have told you he was learning 

how to tap dance while simultaneously playing 

the fiddle. Based on this, any band in which 

he features is bound to intrigue. Previously 

masquerading (mainly) as Ottersgear, Mikey 

was usually found solo at MelloMello's first 

incarnation (hopeful thinking for the future), 

his tunes ringing of Ireland, but not necessarily 

focusing. Merging his talents with that of 

bandmates Nick Branton and Simon Knighton 

to form THE BOG STANDARDS, Kenney has been 

allowed to blossom as the three have taken 

full advantage of their rumbling presence on 

the Liverpool pub music scene with this recent 

venture, an education on Irish and American folk. 

Liverpool Irish Festival provides a perfect setting 

for three young musicians intent on massaging 

the roots of Irish music into a culture that owes a 

lot to its traditional Celtic heritage. 

The Bog Standards are all about those songs 

that romance the imbibed memories of all those 

of Irish descent, no doubt having heard from the 

older members of our families that when you'd 

go down the pub, everyone would "give a song". 

Irish sessions led by the band members on 

Tuesday afternoons in The Caledonia no doubt 

set this scene, but it's the polished nature of the 

Bog Standards proper where they display their 

best. Before visiting The Caledonia and Kelly's 

Dispensary on their billed nights, I was fearful of 

wistful panpipes. But The Bog Standards hit hard, 

their melodies instantaneously transporting 

you to those green lands, managing to embody 

the most swirling of Irish music. An early 

outstanding rendition of These Hills is enough 

to cement the attention of the crowd. Kenney's a 

cappella rendition brings a smile to the faces of 

those captivated by the interlacing sounds, and 

his voice really is something else, reverberating 

about the room as he sings with his entire body, 

the dancers delighted. Their version of trad folk 

sounds like the kind that makes you feel real 

nostalgia even if you've only been to a wedding 

in Cork, once. Are they in our blood, this race of 

people, their music celebrated by their children 

miles away? 

Before long the crowd is spinning as if in

Reviews 


King Creosote (Glyn Akroyd) 

the underclass deck of the Titanic (as depicted 

in the Hollywood blockbuster of course – not 

sure if it was actually like that). The toe-tapping 

gets a little too fast for my skills, but Knighton's 

stomp box expertly drives on as Nick Branton 

whistles around the sharp and precise fiddling 

of Kenney, surely fatal to anyone standing 

behind him. The delivery of crowd favourites 

Rocky Top and Michael Hurley's The Slurf Song 

– one example of how the Bog Standards have 

incorporated an easy Irish slant on folk from 

overseas – intensifies further the atmosphere of 

this already emotionally charged gig. 

Delighted is exactly how you’d describe 

the audience of a Bog Standards gig. Though 

regularly billed, with the energy this band 

creates and feeds off, it'd be great to see them 

move out of the dicey world of pub residencies 

and into ticketed venues. Though as your nana 

would tell you, the pub is exactly where this 

music is supposed to be. 

Emma Brady / @emmabraydee 

KING CREOSOTE 

Charlie Cunningham 

Mellowtone and Ceremony Concerts 

@ The Epstein Theatre 

The last time I was in The Epstein Theatre – 

previously The Neptune Theatre – was panto 

season 1994; children ran riot in the aisles, 

popcorn coated the floor and the building 

appeared to be falling to bits. A good twenty 

years later and the atmosphere couldn’t be 

more different: there is a hushed murmur of 

chatter moving from the front of the theatre to 

the back, the walls look as sturdy as anything 

and the stalls are heaving with well-behaved 

musos waiting for Fife folker KING CREOSOTE to 

take to the traditional proscenium arch stage. 

However, before the headliner we are 

treated to a good helping of inoffensive singer 

songwriter folk in CHARLIE CUNNINGHAM. His 

voice echoes nicely around the building as the 

theatre audience gradually moves towards a full 

house. Charlie Cunningham is gracious and very 

likeable and his sweet, well-written songs are a 

brilliant segue into our main event. 

King Creosote arrives on stage to riotous 

applause. He humbly waves, takes a seat, picks 

up his guitar and begins. From songs about small 

Scottish towns to big political issues (“I shouldn’t 

really be mentioning the referendum, should I?” 

he jokes), King Creosote commands the venue 

and his audience. His music is soft, tender and 

at times very wistful, but the response it gets 

from the crowd is far from that as the mainly 

middle-aged crowd hoot and holler through the 

well-crafted set. Quaint, guitar-driven folk songs 

follow each other and are accompanied by a 

double bass and a one-man percussion section. 

Creosote truly comes into his own when he 

plays tracks from his collaboration album with 

Jon Hopkins. Songs such as John Taylor’s Month 

Away and Bats In The Attic resonate perfectly 

and show off his muted charm; yet one of the 

highlights of the evening is a surreal cover 

version of Nina’s political pop classic 99 Red 

Balloons which is so bizarre that it could only be 

described as a triumph. 

From start to finish Creosote owns the stage 

as everybody hangs intently on his every word. 

He is slick, talented and, most importantly, 

comes across as a bloke with whom you would 

love to share a whisky. His set leaves everyone 

loudly chattering after the gig, declaring the 

show a triumph. And, unlike my previous trip to 

this great venue, there is not a single “Oh no it 

wasn’t” to be heard in response. 

Paddy Hughes 

TOM VEK 

EVOL @ The Kazimier 

Ah TOM VEK, that nice chap who was at one 

time touted as the next big thing in British 

music. You know the one. He released a cult 

album around 2005 and then disappeared 

into the ether for some many years before 

returning with his much-anticipated follow-up 

and a snazzy new haircut. Precisely the kind of 

guy you'd like to take back to your parents. Yes 

Dad, he's in a band but don't worry, it's a steady 

income (provided it isn't another six years 

until his next album). Mum would love him. 

Handsome without being threatening, a casual 

but polite demeanour. A safe pair of hands. 

But his safety has proven to be a bit of a 

stumbling block for me. Like sneaking a drink 

from your parents’ cupboard aged 14 or that 

first cigarette at a friend’s birthday, falling 

for Vek’s minimalism may well feel exciting 

and dangerous at the time but in hindsight 

proves to be little more than a rite of passage 

– something that you move beyond onto more 

exciting things. That's not to say he is in any way 

musically naïve. Over the course of his three 

albums – the most recent of which, Luck, he is 

here tonight touring – he has proven adept at 

combining disparate threads of electronica, 

indie and pop. In combining these, though, I've 

always found his music to be a lot of everything 

but not necessarily enough of anything. 

In the studio his production chops go some 

way to overcoming this issue, imbuing the tracks 

with energy and vigour. In the flesh, however, 

the tracks come across as a little tired and 

uninspired. Polished and precise, definitely, but 

lacking in energy and inventiveness. Nothing 

from the newest album stands out particularly 

and even though the big hitters Nothing But 

Green Lights, C-C and A Chore manage to provide 

some energy, it fizzles out between songs – Vek 

lacking the onstage presence to really get the 

crowd going. 

All of the tracks do indeed highlight Vek’s 

proficiency as a songwriter with an excellent 

grasp of melody and rhythm but, as a live act, 

him and his band (again, perfectly capable if not 

maddeningly exciting) do little to convince me. 

Things do pick up somewhat in the middle of 

the set but the momentum is cut short by an 

awkwardly placed ballad. Maybe, this being a 

Sunday, they are a little tired, maybe Vek feels 

a little more at home in the studio than on the 

stage or maybe it's just one of those nights, but 

he's not quite won me round just yet. 

Dave Tate 

SANKOFA 

OxJam @ Arts Club 

It feels like SANKOFA have been around 

forever. Having played their way into most of 

the best venues in town, released numerous 

EPs and 7” singles, had cover sleeves designed 

by the legendary John Van Hamersveld and 

earned acclaim from Grateful Dead artist 

Stanley Mouse, the band are now an essential 

part of the local circuit. It’s a testament to 

Sankofa’s well-earned popularity that much 

of the crowd at the Arts Club arrive during the 

build-up to their set. However, the last year 

bidolito.co.uk

34 


Reviews 

Thought Forms (Stuart Moulding / @OohShootStu) 

has been a turbulent one, and since July the 

band have been playing as a three-piece in the 

absence of a full-time bassist. A change like this 

will always affect a band’s sound in one way 

or another, and the anticipation in the room to 

see how the garage blues trio deal with it is 

tangible. 

Grasp, recently recorded at Edge Studios 

and set for an EP release in December, starts 

with echoing plucks of guitar that merge with 

a steadily building drumbeat and break into a 

wash of dreamscape reverb. Ste Wall provides 

his inimitable vocals and guitar skills, with Joel 

Whitehead on lead guitar and Josh Perry tasked 

with providing the rhythm section. This is a 

much more relaxed sound than earlier releases, 

glittering guitar taking the place of driving bass. 

Josh does a great job of holding it all together, 

a difficult one with two lead instrumentalists. 

Between songs and during a guitar changeover, 

the band joke amongst themselves, clearly 

enjoying the chance to be back on stage after 

a three-month recording break. Their third song 

is Mamasan, more recognisable territory for 

the old-school Sankofa fans in the crowd. It’s a 

song very deliberately added to this set – a slow 

track that hints at an evolution away from their 

heavier psych sounds. The atmosphere is one 

of quiet reverence. The band then burst into a 

slamming blues riff, the guitars duelling with 

back-and-forth solos, building up an explosive 

ending chord before thanking the fans for 

coming and leaving the stage. 

Despite a shorter set than some would 

have expected, Sankofa show again that their 

desire to evolve and progress is going to be 

the creative force behind future releases. It’s 

clear that they’ve taken the positives from 

events that could have set them back and used 

them to experiment with new sounds and 

possibilities. This is what Liverpool has always 

done best, and it’s in good hands. 

THOUGHT FORMS 

Venus De Milo 

Chris Hughes 

Bam!Bam!Bam! @ The Shipping Forecast 

As local venues go, The Shipping Forecast’s 

Hold certainly has its charms; but, despite 

its excellent sound and just the right level 

of intimacy, gigs in here can occasionally 

feel a little roomy. Still, that’s not to say that 

those of us who’ve made the effort to turn 

out on a Friday night can’t endeavour to enjoy 

ourselves to the fullest. 

Main support VENUS DE MILO are comprised 

of impressively skilled musicians, with a good, 

solid rhythm section underpinning a canvas 

of ethereal, effects-drenched guitars. They 

flit between spacey, borderline-progressive 

shoegaze and driving, funky alt. rock as the 

set develops. It’s a fairly appealing mix, but 

it’s noticeable that they only seem truly 

comfortable when veering toward the latter, 

and it makes you wonder whether they might 

be better off putting all their eggs in the same 

basket. Their songs are good, and there’s 

no questioning their skill: but ultimately 

their performance falls a little flat, which 

can mostly be chalked up to their almost 

complete lack of stage presence. Of course, 

this doesn’t come naturally to everyone, but 

it’s something they might consider working 

on if they want their live experience to do 

their tunes justice. 

Predictably, once Venus De Milo finish their 

set, their LIPA chums in the audience piss 

off almost immediately. It’s a shame really, 

because THOUGHT FORMS are deserving of 

a far bigger audience. Their set begins with 

singer Deej Dhariwal playing a pulsating 

drone through a toy keyboard, fed through 

an effect pedal setup that wouldn’t look 

out of place on the Starship Enterprise, 

before switching to guitar and building (very) 

gradually into a full-on apocalyptic dirge with 

the drummer and other guitarist behind him. 

Thought Forms sound absolutely huge on 

stage, particularly considering that they’re a 

three-piece without a bassist – they simply 

don’t need one. The inventiveness and scope 

of their guitar playing is so layered, so meaty, 

that the addition of a bass probably would 

just make it sound that bit too muddy. 

To their credit, the band seem unperturbed 

by the empty space in front of them, and 

keenly soldier on through a set of compelling, 

challenging, and often blistering guitar music. 

Thought Forms’ ideas may be intense and 

complex, but their music is just so powerful 

and dense that you can’t help but get lost in 

it, leaving me nothing short of fixated for the 

whole set. 

Alex Holbourn / @AlexHolbourn 

TAMIKREST 

Harvest Sun @ The Kazimier 

Walking through town on a damp and cold 

November night, the odd whoosh and crackle 

of belated fireworks in the distance, it’s difficult 

to summon up images of the dazzling, pristine 

wilderness of the Sahara. The caravanseri, the 

bidolito.co.uk

JEFFERSON 

STARSHIP 

THU 

29th JAN 

8:00pm 

CURTIS 

STIGERS 

TUE 

10th FEB 

7:30pm 

MOTHERSHIP 

A TRIBUTE TO 

LED ZEPPELIN 

SAT 

21st FEB 

8:00pm 

JOE 

MCELDERRY 

THE EVOLUTION 

TOUR 2015 

SAT 

14th MAR 

7:30pm 

NATHAN 

CARTER 

TUE 

17th MAR 

7:30pm 

IAN 

MCCULLOCH 

THU 

19th MAR 

8:00pm 

FOCUS 

SUN 

22nd MAR 

8:00pm 

JOHN 

RENBOURN 

& WIZZ JONES 

SAT 

28th MAR 

8:00pm 

MARC 

ALMOND 

IN CONCERT 

THU 

16th APR 

7:30pm 

CURVED AIR 

2015 

FRI 

17th APR 

8:00pm

36 


Reviews 

Merseyrail Sound Station Festival (Keith Ainsowrth / arkimages.co.uk) 

wadis and oases are thousands of miles away 

and all that’s shifting on Hanover Street is the 

litter, blown this way and that by the gusts of 

wind. However, I’m on my way to The Kazimier, 

our very own cultural oasis right here in the 

heart of town, and tonight they’re serving up 

a desert storm of blues and traditional North 

African takamba in the form of TAMIKREST – 

cultural and political ambassadors of the Taureg, 

pan-national nomads of the Sahara. 

Tamikrest translates as “junction” or “alliance” 

and the band hail from the northern area of Mali, 

an area recently embroiled in fierce fighting 

involving several factions, so the geographical, 

political and musical connotations of the name 

strike an immediate chord. The band themselves, 

formed in 2006 and as much a vehicle for 

delivering a political message as a good 

time, could also be said to be standing at the 

crossroads, having recently delivered a critically 

acclaimed album, Chatma, and embarked on an 

extensive European tour. 

So, what to expect? Polemic or poetry? 

By the time Tamikrest arrive on stage, their 

Taureg members resplendent in traditional 

dress, there is a palpable air of expectation in 

the room and when Ousmane Ag Mossa deftly 

launches the band into a slide blues-enriched 

groove, a quick glance reveals everyone in the 

audience grinning in delight and starting to 

sway. These are infectious rhythms, propelled 

by crisp drumming and percussion, and stalking, 

restless basslines. Mossa’s vocals blend 

perfectly with singer Fatma Wallette Cheickhe, 

the mystery of the words (sung in Tamasheq) 

adding to the esoteric, exotic vibe. The feel of 

the songs recalls early 90s Ali Farka Toure/Ry 

Cooder collaboration Talking Timbuktu, as well 

as the more obvious reference point of Malian 

supergroup Tinariwen. 

Tamikrest do not go in for grand gestures: 

there is no rock-god posturing here, no diva 

desperate for attention. Instead, there’s almost 

a reluctance to stand in the spotlight – an 

ensemble cast working in perfect harmony to 

deliver the message via the sound. 

Halfway through the set the music stops and 

Mossa makes an impassioned speech in rapidfire 

French. After listening in respectful silence, 

the audience applaud enthusiastically at the 

conclusion, although I doubt no more than a 

handful have understood what was being said 

(actually, this being the Kaz, they probably did). 

A halted translation from the keyboard player 

reveals the subject of Mossa’s polemic – lack 

of schools, nutrition, healthcare; a surfeit of 

conflict, religious and political self-interest and 

killing. 

When the band return to their instruments, 

the tempo is heightened, and the rhythm is 

insistent and decorated with some blindingly 

nimble guitar work – the Floyd/Can comparisons 

being largely substantiated. The band leave the 

stage after almost an hour to huge acclaim, duly 

returning for an encore and playing a daringly 

low-key, beautifully melodic number before 

leaving again and being recalled once more by 

rapturous applause – a process that repeats two 

or three times. 

So, polemic or poetry? When Tamikrest leave 

the stage for the final time, the audience are 

still wearing those beatific smiles. This is a 

music whose origins lie in North Africa and 

which has been embellished in the cotton fields 

of the South and the juke joints of Chicago, 

returning full circle to provide a transcendent, 

contemporary groove. Poetry indeed. 

Glyn Akroyd 

MERSEYRAIL SOUND 

STATION FESTIVAL 

Moorfields Station 

After a year of solid podcasting and 

almost one hundred entries from Merseyside 

musicians, we’re now descending in to 

Moorfields train station for a gig… it can only 

be the MERSEYRAIL SOUND STATION FESTIVAL 

2014. Walking through the turnstile and down 

the escalator, it is clear that Moorfields has 

been transformed again, for the second annual 

finale of the Merseyrail Sound Station Prize. 

A full-stage rig dominates the concourse, to 

the slight bemusement of some morning 

commuters. Speaker stacks, crowd-control 

barriers and the day’s first bunch of groupies 

attest to a set-up that’s more suited to the O2 

Academy than a station on the Northern Line; 

there’s even a green room for the artists. 

The set-up is so that the ten finalists of this 

year’s Sound Station Prize can perform in front 

of a panel of judges to decide who will be 

the overall winner of the 2014 version of the 

competition. Before it all gets underway, the 

voice of the Sound Station podcast and today’s 

compère, Jay Hynd, announces that competitors 

EMILIO PINCHI and EMILY AYRE have been doing 

the rounds already, playing acoustic sets on 

trains. Both artists arrive at Moorfields with 

guitars in hands and slightly wider than normal 

smiles on their faces: they’ve just played the 

weirdest gig of their lives, to a carriage full of 

people making their way in to town. Not your 

average commute. 

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38 


Reviews 

First to take to the stage proper are 23 FAKE 

STREET, four young indie upstarts who receive 

a warm welcome with We Are The Fire. Though 

they’re not the most imaginative band, there’s 

undoubtedly plenty of promise in what they’re 

doing and we’ll look forward to seeing how they 

develop their precocious talents together. 

Voice warmed up from singing on the train, 

Emily Ayre is a personal highlight with her many 

idiosyncrasies. Visually, Ayre is a walking paint 

palette, while vocally she offers a mash-up of 

Kate Bush, Lykke Li and just a smidge of Lenka 

around the edges. Listen to Canvas, a single 

on her upcoming EP Pillow Talk, to hear for 

yourself. 

As the day goes on, it’s clear that Merseyside’s 

emerging music scene is anything but twodimensional, 

from THE RAGAMUFFINS and their 

nods to skiffly ska, to BLUE SAINT and his rap 

with a distinctly creative lyrical edge. As I watch, 

I’m particularly enjoying Blue Saint’s crowd 

participation: it takes a while, but his energy is 

infectious and by the end of his fifteen-minute 

stint I’m shouting louder than anyone else. 

Singer-songwriters NIAMH JONES and Emilio 

Pinchi show the depth of solo performing talent 

that we have in the city, both possessing some 

fine tunes that will be polished to a bright 

sheen by a few more years of development. 

DAVE O’GRADY sits at the other end of this axis, 

with a bank of releases already behind him. His 

three-song set is as accomplished as you’ll see, 

causing many passersby to stop and listen in. 

By the time SUNSTACK JONES roll in as last 

band of the day, the hallway of Moorfields is 

packed tight. It’s with sweaty hands that we 

applaud that just-sunk-into-a-warm-bath feeling 

that is Bet I Could. 

With Sunstack’s lyrics still in our ears, we move 

on to Hopskotch Restaurant and Bar for the prizegiving, 

and a few words from Andy Woodhouse 

of last year’s winners SOHO RIOTS. The tension 

is palpable I’ll tell you that much, as all ten 

finalists and ourselves are spread throughout 

the bar, awaiting the result. After a brief speech 

from the judges’ representative – our own Craig 

Pennington – host Jay Hynd announces that this 

year’s winner is… Blue Saint! 

Blue Saint (real name Daniel Sebuyange) 

steps up to gracefully accept his award, 

saying: “I’m shocked and extremely grateful 

to receive the award. I enjoyed the day 

so much, the mix of talent on show from 

the other acts was amazing,” before being 

whisked off for a live session on Dave Monks’ 

BBC Introducing Merseyside radio show. With 

a promising start to his rap career already 

underway (performing alongside the likes 

of Skinnyman, Ed Sheeran and Plan B), and 

a recently released EP titled Enter Mynd, Part 

I as the first part of an ambitious creative 

story depicting his musical journey so far, he 

seems a more than worthy choice as winner. 

Congratulations Blue Saint, we’ll be seeing 

lots of you, no doubt. 

NatersP / @natersp 

Dimensions Festival (Dan Medhurst) 

DIMENSIONS 

Fort Punta Christo, Croatia 

We made our first trip over to Fort Punta 

Christo back in September 2013 for the second 

edition of DIMENSIONS FESTIVAL. Over the last 

12 months we’ve spent every after party chatting 

people’s ears off about what an experience 

that was, so it’s with giddying excitement that 

we find ourselves on the tarmac of Pula’s tinpot 

airport once again. 

For those unacquainted, the festival takes 

place in and around a 19th Century fort located 

on a forested headland on Croatia’s sparkling 

Istrian coast. Common-or-garden stages are 

replaced by circular pits inside stone towers, 

dungeons, and what was formerly the moat 

of the fort – a 100-metre-long trench served by 

one of the most intense sound systems we’ve 

had the pleasure of being rattled by. 

We arrive just in time for an opening concert 

which happened to take place inside a 2000- 

year-old Roman amphitheatre in Pula itself. 

Featuring the mesmerising piano workouts of 

NILS FRAHM against the backdrop of a setting 

sun, this has the feeling of a once-in-a-lifetime 

experience. 

Having almost passed out of existence on 

the boat back to the site, hurling ourselves in 

to the ocean turns out to be one of the best 

hangover cures available. A few hours later, 

having nursed ourselves back to health on the 

beach, we find ourselves following a lantern 

trail up a winding, dusty path, through the 

trees and into the spectacular surroundings of 

the fort. 

ROY AYERS’ classic Everybody Loves The 

Sunshine perfectly captures the mood of the 

festival in The Clearing early on Thursday night, 

while inside the walls, many stay rooted at the 

Void stage, lapping up the muscular techno 

dished out by Ostgut Ton luminaries BEN KLOCK 

and MARCEL DETTMANN. We veer away to catch 

dubstep legend MALA, a decision rewarded 

with a set which serves as a crucial example 

of just how powerful the genre can be, in a 

time when it is often argued that the style has 

burnt itself out. Cuts from Compa and V.I.V.E.K. – 

artists who have broken through over the last 

couple of years – ride alongside the classics 

nicely, but those from Mala himself, and Coki’s 

examples of tear-out done proper, predictably 

have people skanking hardest. 

Still reeling from the experience, Hyperdub 

bossman KODE9 hammers the crowd with a 

bombardment of footwork and juke that serves 

as a barnstorming tribute to his late friend DJ 

Rashad, who died earlier this year, having been 

a torchbearer of these styles since the late 

90s. 

On Friday, GREG BEATO churns out rolling 

techno and woozy house with a distinctly 

rough flavour, warming up The Moat for a 

predictably on-point set from BEN UFO, who 

hands us one of the moments of the festival 

by dropping Floorplan’s Never Grow Old (Re- 

Plant), a rapturous collision of gospel and hardhitting 

techno. 

Our highlight? Jackmaster likened him to 

Jeff Mills at the top of his game and there can 

be no doubt that Steel city don BLAWAN is one 

of modern techno’s leading lights. Played at a 

frightening pace, new Karenn track Pace Yourself 

is a standout in a thunderous set riddled with 

that signature menace which courses through 

many of his productions. 

On paper, Sunday looked to provide a thrilling 

conclusion to the festival, with White Material 

boss DJ RICHARD, the live machinery onslaught 

of KARENN, Detroit legend ROBERT HOOD and 

his old pals in UNDERGROUND RESISTANCE 

all highlighted on our now dusty, ragged 

programme. But it’s not to be. Late that evening, 

a truly biblical storm causes a blackout on the 

majority of the stages meaning these artists 

and countless others are cancelled. Though 

a couple of stages reopen later on and some 

brave souls manage to catch a very special 

five-hour back-to-back set between FLOATING 

POINTS and MOTOR CITY DRUM ENSEMBLE, 

it’s a shame not everything goes off without 

a hitch. But after four incredibly memorable, 

joyous days and nights of the finest electronic 

music in the most spectacular setting we could 

hope for, we’ll be blessed if we make it three 

on the bounce next year. 

Rob Syme 

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Issue 51 / Dec 2014/Jan 2015

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