Future Sounds: April 2009
By: Various Scribes
To announce the return of Future Sounds, we have two relatively traditional bands, in the song writing tradition, from either side of the pond (and, to end, something of an anomaly - but more on him later). London based The Bicycle Thieves, built around (but not solely) the vocal exchanges of Hannah Caughlin (The Accidental) and JS Rafaeli (ex-touring guitarist with The Aliens), they have a strong presence, all charmingly appearing as though they have recently received some good news. Elsewhere American, Lo-fi outfit The Love Language are busy wooing their local fans with a bullet point tour of the 'States, and Ashley Cole is confusing the hell out of the South West.
The Bicycle Thieves - Catch 22, London - 31/3/09
Overcoming the bad sound and heat at the back of Catch 22, The Bicycle Thieves win over a shamefully small crowd, with their melodically elegant, country-soul. There are even dashes of scratched funk guitar, like Madonna's True Blue gone indie, but their sound is a buffet of Rocking Birds, Steely Dan and Magic Numbers; sounding like a great, lost Heavenly (records) band. Despite their young age, there is a surprising maturity at play, and with the whistling outro of 'It Was Such A Shame' they already have a hit on their hands, if the public's appetite for whistling is not yet sated. Named after their club night, or vice versa, they also already have their theme tune, in the shape of the 60's tinged 'You Talk So Eloquently About Love', which skirts just the right side of twee, and while showcases Hannah's voice, is encouragingly not their best song. The vocal swapping between American-born JS and Hannah is enchanting on the poetically urban, 'Open City' and they even have a spelling song in the tradition of YMCA, or HAPPY, in the absurdly catchy 'Up or Down'.
However, the real live highlight was 'You're So Much Loved' which shimmers like the best of Lambchop; it's so beautifully put together, with violin masquerading as slide guitar, there is a noticeable hush from the crowd. With luck, and another five songs as good as these, (which they assure us they have) they have every chance of succeeding where bands like Absentee bafflingly haven't, as most importantly, as a collective, they transcend themselves as individuals, becoming a unique whole; as all great bands do. MYSPACE. (Author: Tom Hocknell)
THE LOVE LANGUAGE
Any band that promises to write and record albums while a dog sleeps on the studio floor gets our vote. The Love Language are the seven piece band of solo artist Stuart McLamb, a self-proclaimed 'lo-fi junkie', whose instantly recognisable voice, prevailing amongst the Californian, country fuzz, has an ear -catching, timeless quality. It's awash with lyrical stories, such as 'Talking to the Devil, But Thought I Heard an Angel Sing', while his heartache floats away. Atmospheric piano, yearning guitars and even xylophone, are all present and correct. The band gamely harmonises on Stuart's woes, most effectively on the Dylan-esque hymnal 'Manteo', while 'Nocturne' comes across as a murkier Mountain Goats. We look forward to their arrival here. MYSPACE. (Author: Tom Hocknell)
CONCRETE BELLY [Ashley Cole: First-Class Bender]
Why, would you imagine, might someone plug a little amp into a big amp then tw*t the little amp around the room for a while as violently as possible? After compiling your list, I wouldn't imagine 'to get people to dance' would be an answer near its top. Unless you're a psychopath. Or Ashley Cole.
"If I have simultaneously been violent and made people dance, I consider myself as having been successful."
Now, let's get it clear that we're not talking about Ashley Cole the footballer, we're talking about Ashley Cole the Hand-Made Experimental Electronica Musician, a man who doesn't actually, physically hurl amps at people's feet in order to force them to dance. There are other differences between the two namesakes (not that I'm implying that Ashley Cole the footballer actually does maniacally throw amps around at parties in order to make people dance. But I've certainly heard something along those lines), one of them being that Ashley Cole the Hand-Made Experimental Electronica Musician also goes by the alternative moniker of Concrete Belly. And if you shared a name with Ashley Cole the footballer, I believe you too would do the same.
Of course, when I say Hand-Made Experimental Electronica Musician, I don't mean a musical robot that has been made by hand in order to experiment with electronica. No, as fantastic as that would be, I mean a man that makes electronic robots by hand in order to experiment musically with them. As fantastic as that is.
Ashley has a Furby Army. And not just any old Furby Army at that. Not a Furby Army that merely opens and closes their beaks in unison when one button is pressed, or flaps their wings when an alternate one is pushed. Ashley's Furby Army sings. Ashley's Furby Army are a choir of automatons. They are nicknamed The AFA. And they are indeed anti-fascist. He also has a Tourette's Turtle. Which is fascist.
There are two things Ashley prefers to do above all others. One of these things is to masturbate. His cock. The other is to bend. His circuits. Occasionally he likes to do both simultaneously. I have it from a first-hand eyewitness (the mother of his newborn child) that he has definitely, at least once, wanked himself off whilst at the same time manipulating Furbys into performing 'Love Me Tender' to him. He is a sick man. Nay, he is a genius.
I, myself, have never seen Ashley do these things. What I have seen, is Ashley on stage with his Furby Army. I have seen him orchestrate them and their fellow toy-troops into producing something nothing less than enchanting. I have seen him bravely, maybe naively, step onto the stage during a local jam night; I've seen him follow on from some pseudo-punk outfit that have walked off the stage in their mummy-bought trainers, sporting their Tony & Guy Mohawks, feeling no remorse after stranding an unsatisfied crowd. I have seen him convene his troops and demand they entertain their bewildered spectators. And I've seen them obey.
I use the word 'naively' quite literally. Ashley the man effuses a childlike innocence: indeed, how else could one possess the power to command a regiment of toys? However, as with all superpowers, there is the evil alter ego. I have seen Ashley finish a set by throwing a tantrum because it didn't go perfectly. I have seen him smash holes into brick walls with his guitar. F*ck you, pseudo-punks. Conversely, I've seen Ashley get on stage and just stand there whilst something bleeps in the background. He did this as a reaction to being called 'an avant-garde c*nt'. Ashley is like a river. When peaceable, you can sit by him, close your eyes, relax and be bewitched by his chortling ruminations. Yet, when you encounter the spontaneous rage of his waterfall, you hear his white noise, his arrhythmic despair. Both occur in his music, they appear as a spectrum of sadness, a many-colour melancholy of melodies that range from the placid to the brutal. Both are enigmatic. Both are beautiful.
Ashley informs me that the art of the Hand-Made Experimental Electronica Musician is much more than simply improvising with beeps and beats. Indeed, the creation of the instrument itself is as unique in the music-making process as the resultant tune. Each song is as unique as the instrument with which it was created. This presents both the benefit of never being unoriginal but also the downside of having to attempt to replicate the exact sound that was made at home; Ashley's own favourite track, 'Heroin', took a matter of minutes to initially create but then a further six months to remember and perfect for the stage. It's an all too common and all too frustrating phenomenon, where he has created something but then can't replicate it. He says that for some of the 'lost' tracks he would have needed twenty-two hands to reproduce it at a live gig.
I asked Ashley why doesn't he just use laptops rather than children's toys, and he tells me that finding an individual toy is like finding an individual sound (which admittedly, you could possibly find on a computer programme), but there's an unrivalled satisfaction of modifying a toy that was bought for twenty pence and that you know was once played with by a child, that there's a unique adrenaline rush upon discovering a musical moment that is, "like a fleeting perfect memory". Ashley delights in making old technology sound better than new technology. As far as he's concerned, using a computer programme to find your sounds is like achieving spontaneous orgasm just by someone touching the end of your knob with a vibrator. Once. Put simply, you have to work hard for a really good jolly.
When I first met Ashley, I knew I'd met someone special. We were sat by a beach fire, twiddling with the knob on a radio. My recollection of it had always been that we had been "tuning in to the aliens, mate" but with hindsight I see that he had genuinely been enjoying listening to the sounds the indecisive radio was making. Where I had heard a screech, Ashley had heard a symphony. I remember the first time I went to his flat. Pinned all over the walls were bizarre models constructed of doll's heads with flashing LED eyes. It turned out they were components of his stage set. Let it not be forgotten that Ashley is a father to a newborn. I have met his child. I have seen her eyes. I have seen Ashley's eyes looking at her eyes. And I just know he's thinking that he wants to make her look extra pretty by sticking lights over them. In fact, I see this look on his face most of the time. Especially when he spies anything electrical that beeps. Such as the voice synthesisers used by the children with severe learning disabilities that he works with, or the machine his girlfriend was hooked up to after her emergency caesarean. However, since the latter was a machine required by doctors for reading his girlfriend's vital signs, he had to eventually make-do with constructing his own 'funny noise boxes' (as I like to call them), as well as scouring car-boot sales on a weekly basis for children's toys that he can 'bend'. He did have a bash at the voice synthesisers though. That ended up being hilarious actually. He wheeled the little fellas onto the stage for the encore.
Saying that, what Ashley does isn't funny. On the surface, it would appear that a man on stage intermittently playing the guitar between running around fiddling with children's toy's knobs whilst a hip-hop beat plays in the background, would be construed as, if not downright farcical, then at least amusing. But then you would have failed to interpret the intense inherent pathos of the occasion. Watch and listen to Ashley. Then dare speak about your happy childhood.
In the war between analogue and digital, Ashley is the admiral of the analogue army. Their mission, to annihilate the sterility of refined beats. Ashley's Furby Army wants to make you dance, but mostly to feel; they want you to improvise and be as involved on the dance floor as much as they are on the stage. Which will come in very handy when dodging those metaphorical flying amps. MYSPACE. (Author: Peter Mills)