Issue 29 / Dec 2012/Jan 2013

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26 Bido Lito! Dec 2012 / Jan 2013 Reviews conclusion of the gig. Pretty clever, eh? Supply and demand, analogue versus digital - there are plenty of overriding themes to muse over. In truth, it becomes hard to pay them any attention at all with impending dirges of apocalyptic organ reverberating around the factory floor. Aesthetically, Clinic are a rather daunting prospect, and paired with their discordant, transportive guile, they’re a difficult package to digest. Garbed in medical scrubs and surgical masks, Clinic’s notoriously unconventional tendency to adopt an unnervingly sinister appearance has become the subject of myth and disputation. Static becomes reminiscent of an operating theatre with Ade Blackburn (Vocals) performing a musical lobotomy of psychiatric stimulation aided by his whimsical male nurse interns. Surreal drones of ethereal samples are tamed by neatly arranged sequences of a staid guitar line as they perform their latest single Miss You. Then the conceptual rumbling of I.P.C. Subeditors Dictate Our Youth reminds consumers of their earlier hypnotic brawn, Ade’s twisted melodic grumbles looming behind a perpetual kick drum. While production operatives frantically twist knobs and fumble cassette tapes across the assembly line, Clinic shuffle around the performance area, interchanging roles within their unrefined panorama of versatility. Regardless of the soft airy-pop inflections they undertook for their 2010 acoustically-led album Bubblegum, they’ve managed to retain their sordid, unbecoming disposition, which is noticeable as they drift into Cosmic Radiation for an interstellar jam, littered with seamless funk and experimental wah wah fuzz. You is a slowly off-kilter freak show of haunting grooves, while the sputtering vocals of Cement Mixer moan with a jaunty haste. From compact pockets of synth-laden dread and whimsy to whirring soundscapes of discombobulated electro-punk, Clinic continue to squirm through the cracks to weave an elaborate patchwork of eclecticism. Although Static’s future as a venue for hosting live music still remains opaque, one thing is The Wicked Whispers (Keith Ainsworth) clear, Clinic’s inherently strange disposition still induces an extraordinarily, spine-chilling quiver. Joshua Nevett THE WICKED WHISPERS The Sundowners - Edgar Summertyme O2 Academy 2 On a bill that assembles like-minded Americana-inspired acts for the launch of Dandelion Eyes, THE WICKED WHISPERS’ debut 45, first up EDGAR SUMMERTYME is brilliantly placed to begin an evening of US-Liverpool cultural exchange. Building on the warm reception that greeted his critically garlanded Sense Of Harmony LP, the former Stairs man is in especially good voice, hollering his way through an impassioned set. Appearing solo after recent outings with full band in tow, his allotted time strips his songs down to their raw delta blues essence. A group likely to give Rock Family Trees historian Pete Frame severe cramp when mapping out their connections to fellow Merseyside bands, THE SUNDOWNERS’ twelvestring guitar shimmer is in rude health live. A composite of Los Angeles’ sounds from times past, the unified vocals of Hummingbird marks the peak of their Byrds/Fleetwood Mac inspired mélange. With 70s-era ‘Mac now back in vogue after several years of being unfairly maligned, the Wirral band’s emergence is especially fortuitous: co-lead vocalist Fiona Skelly whirls around her mic stand replete in a black shawl and tambourine and maracas in hand, a dead ringer for Rumours-era Stevie Nicks. After a teasing wait THE WICKED WHISPERS emerge from the shadows and set their spiralling psych pop in motion in front of a near-capacity crowd. Beginning with the uptempo stomp of Odessey Mile, the ‘Whispers boast a deeper live sound, the rhythm section combining to propel the songs forward with greater force. With Ste Penn’s cascading Vox Continental Gig Guide and Ticket Shop live at www.bidolito.co.uk
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