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Live Music
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Red Bull Mu sic A ca d e my S o u n d sy ste m St. Paul’s Carnival, Bristol | July 6th The absence of St. Paul’s Carnival in 2012 left a gaping hole in most self-respecting Bristolians’ summer calendar. Its return was greeted as fervently as you’d expect, and the sun-drenched streets were teeming with bodies, the air alive with those distinctive odours and sounds, from early morning. A more structured alternative to the joyous mayhem came within St. Paul’s Park, where Red Bull Music Academy was conducting the first of its nationwide Carnival Soundsystems: the music was carefully programmed, you didn’t have to pay people to nip into their bathrooms, and the beers came from fridges, not bins of lukewarm water. But any doubts as to the authenticity of the experience were swiftly dismissed, thanks to an obscenely up-for-it crowd, a smartly-curated selection of largely Bristol-based music, and the crispest of systems. The likes of Buggsy, Throwing Snow, and particularly T. Williams nurtured that early sense of momentum, straddling the event’s traditional values with a refreshingly contemporary edge. But it was Joker’s set which truly lit the touch paper. An audacious mash-up of bass, dubstep, house and grime, you were given seconds to compose yourself, straighten your sunglasses, wipe your brow and take a sip of your drink before being propelled upwards by yet another monumental drop. With collaborator Javeon McCarthy stalking the front of the stage bringing the crowd to a raging head for the likes of a dubstep remix of Darude’s Sandstorm (honest), it was just the best fun ever and the culmination to a perfectly-pitched set.
© Red Bull Music Academy
It was left to the brash bottom end of Redlight and the more organic edge of Bristol royalty DJ Milo to keep moods sky-high. But as we were propelled back into the Portland Square sensory fever pitch, there was no doubt who’d been the star of the day. --------Words: Rich Bitt
Pi s s e d J e a n s
Iggy Aza lea
Mogwai pres. Zidane: A 21st Century Portrait
L C M F: G le n n Bra n ca
Electric Ballroom, London | July 5th
Fabric, London | July 9th
Barbican Hall, London | July 26th
Bold Tendencies, Peckham | July 27th
Ferocious Pennsylvania sludge-punk maestros Pissed Jeans, back in the UK after a five year hiatus to tour their excellent 2013 album Honeys, brought deafening noise to a sold-out Ballroom.
Since the releases of her Glory and Trap Gold EPs, the peroxide persona of Grand Hustle’s first lady Iggy Azalea has not only infiltrated the radars of the hip-hop underground, but also propelled her to prime time radio play and A-list populated red carpets.
The Barbican Centre is the perfect setting for Mogwai’s music. The arches overpasses, uniform in their concrete pebbledashery, seems made for Glasgow’s finest post rock outfit.
Three things it’s rare to experience when stood in a car park in Peckham on a night when the rain is lashing down so hard you forget summer could ever exist: a feeling of genuine ecstasy; a sense of almost physical abandonment; and an overwhelming desire to transcend whatever it is it means to be what we are.
The four-piece might have aged a bit, but calmed they most certainly have not, thrashing out their awesome brand of antagonising punk to a sweaty, noise hungry audience. While delivering taunts to the crowd, frontman Matt Korvette had a wicked glint in his eye. “Last night we played in Leeds, and I was positive that Leeds was the best. And you know what, I was right. Leeds is the best. I only played here because someone told me it was Leeds. I was fucking confused, alright?” The sociopathic Bathroom Laughter came at twice the speed as on record, Vain in Costume pounded violently and the slimy menace of Cafeteria Food was enough to churn any stomach. The track which really sent everyone batshit, though, was the King of Jeans opening track False Jesii Part 2, with crowd surfers passing overhead at a rate of one per second. As Korvette’s insults continued – “Last night we drove past Manchester, past some Marks and Spencers and I thought, this is better than London” – we couldn’t help but smile. No band pushes your buttons quite like Pissed Jeans.
As illuminated circus-themed features sparkle across the miniature stage, Iggy dives right into the firing line with the snare-laden opener Beat Down, demanding attention thanks to her lightning delivery and pristine clarity in the midst of the adrenaline. As a vivacious quartet of metallic hotpant-clad dancers twist and twerk around Iggy, an impressive a capella freestyle of D.R.U.G.S. is distributed, before her selfassured snarl comes into play for MurdaBizness. As the performance progresses on however, it becomes obvious that her craft isn’t as tightly perfected as first thought. Backseat is half-heartedly paraded, and Pu$$y spins speeches of “If you like pussy, you gotta like cheeks” that are followed by a brazen exhibit of gluteal slapping.
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Obviously a woman is totally entitled to flaunt her sexuality as and when she chooses, however tonight it feels like Iggy Azalea’s undeniable talent becomes slightly overshadowed. This show doesn’t see her sitting comfortably, but neither does it indicate a definitive direction for a fresh artist tipped so highly.
Words: Lucie Grace
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The Barbican played host to a multi-disciplinedand-exquisitely-executed event which saw Mogwai resurrect their score for Zidane: A 21st Century Portrait and give it the live treatment to a sell-out crowd. The film is a pretty tricky watch outside of a cinema setting, but these issues dissipate when presented in a cinema, and the compelling portrait of Zidane’s footballing genius only grew in stature when accompanied by Mogwai’s live score. Like any good soundtrack, Mogwai accompanied and accentuated the footage but never crossed the line to take precedence. There were only two or three occasions where Mogwai really tested the PA. You could see it coming as well; guitarist John Cummings drops to his knees and starts punching pedals and bassist Dominic Aitchison turns to the speaker stack to be fully in tune with the chaos. These are the moments that stuck with us both physically and emotionally. An hour after the show we sat covering both ears in an attempt to calm the tinnitus we had inherited. It was truly horrible, but we love Mogwai for making it happen. ----------Words: Thomas Hawkins
Words: Leah Connolly
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Glenn Branca made this happen and more. Beneath the trendy environs of Peckham’s carpark-rooftop bar Frank’s, a crowd gathered for what was arguably the star turn at the inaugural London Contemporary Music Festival. The performance began slowly. Then things switched up; open chords began to be played with greater intensity, the groove made its presence known. It didn’t feel like having songs played to or for you. It was as close to perfection as a live perfomance could be: bodily, visceral, powerfully real. The performance ended abruptly. Ten minutes into Twisting in Space Branca grabbed his microphone and chastised the soundman. “Eric”, he began, “fucking asshole. Turn off the goddamn feedback, the only thing I can hear now is the fucking snare drum!” Before Eric had a chance to work things out Branca had kicked over his music stand and stomped off. The rain carried on unabated. We made the slow incline down the multiple ramps, mouths grinning. ---------Words: Josh Baines