As proven so eloquently in our previous issue’s gorgeous cover story, Miss Houghton is a firecracker to contend with - small yet mighty and very headstrong, when she explodes, she covers her debut album in iridescent sparks that take your breath away. Floating like a geordie Joni Mitchell over the cosmic folky cloud of her accompanying Hooves, it would seem that her breathy vocals fall softly like snowflakes, dusting their musical landscape with a blanket of angelic delicateness. But as it thaws, it reveals a harsher side to Houghton’s mischievous personality. It’s a wicked streak that runs through ‘Yours Truly...’ and one that tantalises. As the album’s opening lines fittingly warn: “I knew a bird with words so sweet / That they would god damn rot your teeth”.

In their finer moments, the Hooves scale heady Spector-ish heights - ‘Dodecahedron’ swells with sparkling xylophones and strings, while ‘Liliputt’ gallops along upon rollicking drums. When they veer towards straighter folk (‘Nightswimmer’, ‘The Barely Skinny Bone Tree’) it’s hard to ignore Beth’s comparisons with Laura Marling, but to be blessed with two incredible homegrown starlets is surely a blessing. However, it’s the effervescence and humour of Houghton and her Hooves that separate the two.

That the departing words on the album are “Fuck off!”, courtesy of the rampant Pogues-like hidden final track, is entirely appropriate - she may not take life too seriously, but when it comes to making divine music, Beth means business.

9/10

Words by SIMON HARPER

Read an excerpt fom Clash's interview with Beth Jeans Houghton.

People get old and then they die, and sometime during the first part, even your favourite bands tend to let you down. It’s a fact that explains rock ‘n’ roll’s most painful conundrum. Great musicians die young because they never get old enough to cease being great; bands betray you with a tedious, middle-of-the-road fifth album when they grow up, get rich and stop wondering what life’s about. Whatever the cause, at some point in their thirties the things that drove artists in their creative youth usually disappear. The music ebbs, the passion fades, then (as above) so do you. But within that, there are exceptions. Wild Flag are a prime example.

Since their formation in 2010, much has been written about Wild Flag’s members and the potentially overbearing legacy of their past. That’s not surprising because, back in the mid-‘90s, at least three of them counted as doyennes of American alternative cool. Janet Weiss and Carrie Brownstein are, of course, veterans of Sleater-Kinney. Rebecca Cole was in the indie-pop outfit, The Minders. And Mary Timony was the breathy vocalist in Helium, a group who, at around the time Sleater-Kinney were turning riot grrrl into galvanised, hook-laden joy, were ploughing the same attitude into something murkier, grungier, occasionally arcane.

Fifteen years on, you would expect most bands to offer little more than a faint shadow of these things past. Tonight, though, age and heritage become irrelevant from the first writhing bars of ‘Black Tiles’, Brownstein kicking into the air on the breaks as her guitar twists and bickers with Timony’s.

Most of the set, like last year’s eponymous album, is the stuff of pure intuition – a mutual familiarity with the basic elements that make rock ‘n’ roll warm, fervid and impossible to ignore. Songs like ‘Romance’, or the contagious, septic jitter of ‘Boom’ are compact shards of indie punk that repeatedly disfigure and reform. It moves, starts, stops and swerves effortlessly. At the end of ‘Racehorse’, the flicker of a strobe catches Brownstein’s silhouette, left arm aloft, her cupped, upturned palm balancing her guitar in the air. It’s a natural, iconically skinny vision that might have occurred at any punk gig since The Clash. It only really seems to matter now.

It works because, for all their distance from their ancestor bands, Wild Flag retain a connection with the fundamental things that made them right. Few Sleater-Kinney tracks could, for example, be accused of being love songs, but when in ‘Romance’ Wild Flag sing about love, it’s a version fans of the earlier band would still recognise, linking love to blood and sickness as if they are part of the same thing. That, of course, is an older version of romance still, from a deep, poetic tradition.

Similarly, there is a feeling that Wild Flag are citizens of any-when, inmates on some sort of cultural never-say-diers lifer wing. Even their less captivating moments sound compelling tonight because they never lose control. Less a band, more of an idea, this is music by restless souls, each song a series of reflexes and impulses. Most of it’s so good, it’s like they just wind it up and watch it go.

Words by Tom Kirk

The London based five-piece Daytona Lights perform a stripped down set to a delighted audience of MPs and UK Music supporters on the back of the excellent news that the live music bill has been all but passed today. This bill paves the way for an increase in opportunities for musicians to play and perform live in more places and under less complicated circumstances so will no doubt be a welcome addition to the statute book unless you live next door to a pub of course.

The band are a jolly bunch with strong tunes if you like your pop bouncy and full of spirited vocal harmonies, which I do.

The second track "Kings" is a stand out and rather apt given the grand surroundings of the parliamentary annex room and the presence of lords and ladies. Clean, melody rich guitar parts and ‘sharp as a scepter’ bass lines add a delight of layers to the well-crafted songs.
Front man Dan Laurence is convincing & confident, his lyrics jump out immediately and are clearly the product of an observant and canny individual. His confidence is further reinforced by his band mates forthright delivery, there’s a sense of space and musicality that references early 80’s guitar bands like Aztec Camera and in particular the vocal parts are so well executed its almost too good, Beach Boys standard (I kid you not).

The presence of the legendary Steve Levine as producer of their recently released debut long player “This Modern Landscape” has clearly helped DL hone their obvious potential and seeing Mr Levine lugging gear with them as head off to another show in Tooting says it all; much belief and determination.

It's a short set and semi- acoustic so we should save any further analysis for another day, the aforementioned album is a real grower and well worth investing in.

Oh and a great venue too..

Words by Jason Bick

Veronica Falls know how to get a party started. No, seriously. How many other bands could get a Saturday night crowd dancing with a song that contemplates a plummet to death off the edge of a cliff?

Picture this, the most romantic of scenes if you will. The Leeds indie cognoscenti have packed the floor of the Brudenell Social Club, swaying blissfully, while three songs into their set, from underneath floppy fringes and curly hair, indie-poppers Veronica Falls are thundering out the swoonsome, Cramps-esque chorus of ‘Beachy Head’. “I’m gonna miss you, when you’re gone” coos singer Roxanne Clifford, managing to make ruminations of suicide sound as charmingly inviting as a picnic in a cherry blossom-strewn park.

It’s this juxtaposition of the bitter and sweet that makes Veronica Falls such an alluring proposition both on record and onstage. It’s no mean feat to create a distinctive sound when wearing your influences so brazenly on your sleeves, but they pull it off with aplomb. Close your eyes for one second and you could be listening to Siouxsie And The Banshees, while a brisk jangle of guitar later and they’re as shimmering, wide-eyed and shambolic as obvious idols The Pastels.

As fey as they are twee, the Falls’ appearance, like their sound, is a tale of two halves. Bassist Marion, the cool kid of the gang stares pretty much resolutely downwards, with eyes only for what her fingers are doing. Still, she learned to play in a month and you only wish you could look as good as her. Singers Clifford and James Hoare on the other hand hold fort in front of the microphone, she in a red polka dot blouse, he in paisley, both buttoned up to the throat and both faces alight with smiles.

They don’t say much in the way of banter, drummer Patrick Doyle providing the obligatory “It’s great to be back in Leeds” moments. But they don’t need to. As the band breeze through their macabre take on pop, seductive, dainty hooks weaving through gorgeous harmonies, the crowd are bewitched by the prettiness of it all, regardless of the guilelessly morbid themes that seep relentlessly throughout. They shuffle closer to the stage, heads bopping to ‘Buried Alive’ and ‘Bad Feeling’ while an audible moan of appreciation goes up for the deliciously goth opening riff to ‘Found Love In A Graveyard’ followed by Clifford’s deadpan delivery: “I get on my bike and I ride and ride and I’ll never be found again…”

There are airings of newer songs tonight, rearing their heads only four months after the release of their debut. And while sure, there’s more to Veronica Falls than dewy-eyed ghost stories, sonically the band tends to like to stay inside their familiar, surf-guitar bubble. Certainly the heavy hearted ‘Last Conversation’ and ‘Heart Beat’ suggest they aren’t about to do a volte-face on us just yet. But no matter. The crowd tonight haven’t come to hear one. And by the time the band play their best card - the urgent chime of ‘Come On Over’ we don’t feel like we’d want our Veronica Falls any other way.

Words by Dannii Leivers
Photo by Danny Payne

Now that's something you don't see every day: Xema Fuertes is playing kick drum and hi-hat with his feet while his hands switch from guitar to banjo. Live, Josh Rouse & The Long Vacations, a small band of musicians, showcase their talent more clearly than when recorded with high production values.

Appropriately, early in the set list is ‘Saturday’ from 2005’s ‘Nashville’. An expected selection, after all, it is a Saturday: “I’m playing my guitar in some basement club a thousand miles away,” sings Rouse, “’Cause Saturday I’m on that stage I’m feeling down and blue.”

This is the end of their UK tour, Union Chapel is a lovely place for it to come to a close. Rouse's voice has made it thus far. Well, sort of. He tried 'Directions' last night and couldn't sing it. "Now that I'm an old man with kids my voice has dropped," reveals Rouse, which is funny because from his youthful countenance it seems his balls have only recently dropped. To prove it he does a bar for us.

‘Fine, Fine', a song dripping in bossa nova, represents the new album’s short and lively pop songs. Influenced by the sun, they sound closer to tracks off ‘Valencia – EP’ and 'El Turista' than that of his early stuff.

"You didn't know I could play the drums too," jokes Rouse, not playing the drums, but sat on the kit’s stool unaccompanied. "There's people here and I'm almost forty-years-old," Rouse discloses. Most of the people here are almost forty too, but that's beside the point. Suitably, the next one is '1972', the year Rouse and probably many of his fans were born.

Despite calls for classics like ‘Sad Eyes’ Rouse chooses ‘Diggin’ In The Sand’, a folk song that is free from care in words and music and not in a good way. Fortunately dissatisfaction is cut short by Rouse: "If you'd like to stand up for this last one be our guest". The danceable 'Winter In The Hamptons' spreads its love into 'Love Vibration', and the celebratory stylings of the latter are oddly fitting for the spiritual environment of the chapel.

An uplifting end to a very stimulating show. "Thank you very much London," expresses Josh. No, thank you Mr Rouse.

Words by Jake Young
Photo by Al de Perez

Ever since hearing that King Creosote & Jon Hopkins’ gig at the Grand Ole Opry last year was "the best gig ever", I've been inquisitively intrigued by the act ever since. How can music that's ambient and slow-paced be so entertaining to watch?

Well I got to find out when King Creosote & Jon Hopkins played at a sell-out gig at the O2 ABC, Glasgow, as part of Celtic Connections 2012. King Creosote (alias Fife singer-songwriter Kenny Anderson) and electronic composer John Hopkins, were also joined by fellow Fifer KT Tunstall, who sang backing vocals throughout most of the night.

The night started with their album ‘Diamond Mine’, a collaboration they made last year and which nearly won them a Mercury Prize for their efforts. Hopkins starts the ball rolling with ‘First Watch’, a piano instrumental, and instantly the crowd is hooked. “Why?” you might ask? Well, in those first couple of minutes, love for this album was solidified. ‘First Watch’ is like a heart rendering lament, it stirs your inner core and takes you back to a time in your life where you remember those you've loved and lost. Don't ask why, it just does. It's poignant and thought-provoking. Suck it and see.

Before the audience can get out of their trance, King Creosote enters the stage and starts singing ‘John Taylor's Month Away’, which tells the story of a man who's going back to work “on a boat one ten miles east of Aberdeen.” There’s such an edge to his voice, it's powerfully romantic, endearing and effortless. His charming demeanour and humbling stage presence makes the crowd hold onto every note; the words of this song drag them into the story of someone who has to deal with the trials and tribulations of working away from friends and family.

Melancholy isn’t the best way to describe this music. It's so tranquil, it's like time has stopped. The O2 ABC's bar profits must be taking one hell of a beating as the crowd is fixated, no, hypnotised by the 'King'. Nobody's moving. King Creosote also interacts with the audience during the gig, he's down to earth with a brilliant sense of humour. What's not to like about this night?

‘Bats In The Attic’ is a favourite of the night, King Creosote and KT Tunstall make a formidable double act, singing in unison together. The drums from this song are soothing, they making the crowd feel like they’re a million miles away, not standing at a gig with thousands of strangers.

King Creosote plays other songs from this album, including ‘Running On Fumes’, ‘Bubbles’, ‘Your Own Spell’ and ‘Your Young Voice’, before playing some of his other well-known tracks. They also offer a rendition of Simon and Garfunkel's ‘The Only Living Boy In New York’, and make reference to Paul Simon's massive earlobes. He's one hell of a funny guy.

King Creosote ends with his favourite song: My Favourite Girl’. A loving, heartfelt song, and a perfect one to end the night on.

King Creosote & Jon Hopkins make you realise what's important about life; their music puts things into perspective and makes you want to throw away all the bullshit of everyday life. All that unwanted baggage and nonsense is gone and forgotten about.

Bottles of Prozac are abandoned, strewn across Sauchiehall Street after the gig, King Creosote is the ultimate stress reliever.

Words by Morven MacNeil
Photos by Euan Robertson

Click here for a photo gallery of the performance.

When a crowd spots a microphone on the stage of a band that are famous for recording songs bereft of vocals, its collective mind can plays tricks on itself. Is this a red-letter show? Are we about to be treated to the dulcet tones of the as yet muted Texan four-piece? Alas, this is not the case, as the mic is simply a tool with which the band can greet the audience and thank them for their attendance. Oh well, maybe next time…

Following the excellent Lanterns On The Lake, whose accessible melodies lent a pop sensibility to their brand of indie rock, Explosions In The Sky began ninety minutes of instrumental post-rock (although apparently this label is a dirty word in the EITS camp). Wordlessly transforming Brixton Academy into an arena of harmonious and melody in which dueling guitars battle one another in a flurry of thrashing and tapping, the band control the emotions of the auditorium with deft flicks of their fingers, positing them as musical puppet masters with the crowd serving as their playthings.

However, despite the sheer breadth of talent emanating from the giant speakers, it never seems to be a case of showmanship with EITS; their talents are so simpatico that no guitarist seems to be attempting to overshadow the other, as they trade repetitive yet innovative riffs that will ingrain themselves within one’s musical subconscious for days to come. Displaying a musical virtuosity that can border on rococo, they pull the show back from the brink of the excessive by alternating the intricate song structures with simple, plaintive melodies that engage and impress just as much as any high-speed shredding does.

The opening chords of penultimate number ‘The Birth And Death Of The Day’ elicits the strongest cheer from a four thousand-strong crowd that seem to have been rooted to their own specific spot ever since the band took to the stage. Picking out a scale-hopping melody that hovers just above the orchestral effects, the band slowly build to a climactic crescendo before detonating a burst of tremolo picking that serves as a shimmering wave of sound that blankets the room, soaking the audience in aural ecstasy.

With barely two words uttered all night, Explosions In The Sky have proffered more emotion than many bands whose songs seem to burst at the seams with lyrics could ever hope to achieve. It would seem that their decision to stand back from the microphones and allow their instruments to speak for them is the wisest move that EITS ever could have made; let’s hope that they continue this style for the next time and the next time, and the next time… ad infinitum.

Words by David Harfield

On approach to the O2 Academy, Birmingham, one would see a large group of people cueing miles down the street, brimming with anticipation for the events that the evening held. Anyone who took a second glance at the scene would realize that the crowd gathered, weren’t for Reel Big Fish at all, but in fact All Time Low. The Reel Big Fish gathering was alternatively much smaller in comparison. However, just because the Californian ska punks weren’t playing the largest room at the venue, didn’t mean that they weren’t going to put on a show.

The support helped to riel the crowd. What with an energetic performance from The JB Conspiracy (which we sincerely hoped had nothing to do with Jacob Black from Twilight) and the colourful Orange. Who, with the added help of props such as a horse mask, bras and big bow tie, set the party atmosphere as more and more people filtered into the room.

The packed out venue chanted frantically as the lights dropped and a trumpet played, introducing the main act on stage. Sprits were high and beer glasses even higher, as the band jumped into action, kicking off with ‘Everything Sucks’. There was no doubt that despite their aging and constant changing of members, ‘Reel Big Fish’ still had the same high energy and crowd presence they’d always had. Not to mention a loyal fan base.

‘Reel Big Fish’ played crowd pleaser after crowd pleaser. Including hits such as ‘I Want Your Girlfriend To Be My Girlfriend’, ‘She’s Got A Girlfriend Now’ and ‘Suburban Rhythm’, which was repeated in different styles of music as Aaron Barrett got the crowd to join in with different actions. Few included, creating a circle pit the size of the room and line dancing, as a country rendition was played.

It was a refreshing performance to see a band, bouncing around and enjoying the show as much as their fans. For those few hours the venue seemed to be transformed into a teen party from the nineties. Even with the little room to move, everywhere you turned there were people of all ages skanking to their favorite songs.

Original member Aaron Barrett, lead vocals and guitar, stole the show with his Hawaiian shirt and banter with long standing friend, Dan Regann, on trombone. The two of them made the crowd laugh with their adolescent jokes and slapstick approach to being in front of an audience.

Sweat was now pouring off both band and crowd as they finished the final few songs such as the almighty hit ‘Beer’ and ‘Trendy’ before going off stage to prepare for the encore. This is what many fans had been waiting for, the cover of ‘Take On Me.’ Camera phones could be seen all around as the hit from the film ‘Baseketball’ was preformed with as much energy as the band had when they had first approached the stage.

‘The End Of The World Celebrations Tour’ seemed like a fitting name for the show, as people danced vigorously from start to finish, keeping the party spirit and energy high throughout the whole of the gig. There was something extremely special about this gig - it stretched from a musical demonstration, to a whole hearted performance from both crowd and band. One thing’s for sure, with the current climate fans need more upbeat music and performances from bands like ‘Reel Big Fish’ to bring people together.

Words by Sophie Spareham
Photos by Rebecca Reilly

In creating last year's 'Both Ways Open Jaws', their second album, The Dø have attained some significant heights. Tonight is another feat of mountaineering from this Finnish-French pair, climbing step by step, track by track.

Olivia Meriliahti and Dan Levi have support this evening, taking the total number on stage to five. They begin with their debut album's opener, 'Playground Hustle', before getting crowd-pleaser 'Gonna Be Sick' out of the way.

The band is a sight on stage – shiny metallic-clad Meriliahti, sometimes wielding a lit-up megaphone, contrasts with Dan Levy and the rest of the band's black attire, this in turn a contrast with Bush Hall's formal deep red curtains. It summarises the band perfectly, with its myriad styles, influences and genres, which sometimes crash together within single tracks.

By the time they launch into 'Slippery Slope', by turns ominous and deranged, they are well and truly underway, even further confirmed by grunge track 'The Bridge Is Broken'. The Dø combine elements from genres just as easily in recordings as they do on stage.

It's at this point in the set, comfortable in their stride, that they present not one but two of the highlights of the evening. 'Too Insistent' is a breath of fresh air, clear and uplifting, with Meriliahti plaintively asking: “Why won't you let me know?” again and again.

'Bohemian Dances' follows, as it does on the album, and it's just as uplifting, if not more so. Changing pace frequently, with quieter passages leading into relatively more manic sections, it all builds to a triumphant finish. It's everything this band is good at, summarised into one glorious track.

And then, as on so many long journeys, they falter. It doesn't last long, but the few tracks that follow, while not quite fillers, just don't live up to what was such a promising start. What was bold and fearless turns cautious and ill-defined for a time.

'On My Shoulders' rescues things, putting them back on the right footing, with enough pace to take them right to the end, and the crowd's response confirms this. They celebrate with some shamelessly big electronic dance beats, another comfortable shift in style. It's during tracks like these, though, that they seem restricted by a venue that is maybe just a bit too civilised for an irreverent and rebellious performance like this - like they would be more at home in a warehouse or dark club.

They are having too good a time to notice, though, headed for the summit confidently, with tracks like playful 'The Calender' performed with a touch more excitement than the recorded version. The encore is a celebration, as the band takes in the view from the top with album opener ‘Dust It Off’, more restrained and pensive than much of the music that has preceded it. It sees Levy on keys providing accompaniment to Meriliahti's voice. And then, just for good measure, it's another dose of bass-heavy chaos to round off the night. It's a cathartic finish to a performance that this band have clearly put everything in to.

Words by Clinton Cawood

Susanna, Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy’s support act, began her set with a beautiful cover of Thin Lizzy’s ‘Jailbreak’. In her sincere absurdity, she recalled Billy’s version of R. Kelly’s wildly hubristic ‘The Greatest’. But there was nothing of that unpredictable spirit in her equally beautiful cover of Billy’s own ‘Joy and Jubilee’. Instead, Susanna sang with the reverence of the Hackney Empire audience when “the Prince” (her words) made his own entrance.

This reverence is deserved, and apt: Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy’s songs have the grace – and the knotted self-awareness – of prayers. But Will Oldham is an actor as well as a singer, and his Billy now is a performance ironically more in tune with Susanna’s ‘Jailbreak’ than her ‘Joy’. Oldham celebrates puncturing seriousness. Tonight, ‘There Is No God’ proved itself false, proclaiming God is all manner of things, including a mouth giving all-welcoming fellatio. The song is so indiscriminate that, for all we know, even R. Kelly is God. R himself certainly thinks so. In his prolix, meanwhile, in his pleasure taken in contradiction, and in that peculiar beard, Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy echoes Walt Whitman when Whitman writes “of these one and all I weave the song of myself.”

Such an echo is surely deliberate. Deliberate too was the way Billy stood: half awkward, half courtly, arms behind his back. Delivered like that, lines like “some things are so good that nothing after will compare” had the conviction of a child at a recital, uncomprehending yet compelled to sing. But there was also a playfulness that often only enhanced the steely self-awareness of his lyrics. His band infectiously supported the reshaping of his past around the spaces and peaks of his present. ‘I See A Darkness’, for instance, was played with a light country swagger that somehow made the darkness even more triumphant. And if there was a raggedness to their sound, its absence of care was a liberating thing.

Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy is still capable of stunning a crowd to silence. When he sang of his hope that “you hold me till the fire that brought us here chars us and takes us home,” the mid-song applause delayed Emmett Kelly’s great guitar part. Capable, then, but careless, like a writer acting his own work, Oldham was also very funny. Between songs, he explained The Big Question: “when a gentleman gets older, can he inspire respect, joy and lust in his partner without becoming laughable?” A voice in the crowd shouted “yes!” “That was a young voice,” Oldham replied, before starting ‘Pushkin’, the chorus of which told him and us says “God is the answer.” And yet ‘Pushkin’ was written at least a decade ago. It’s his young voice. To judge from his gig tonight, the older Oldham might think the answer lies in laughing. He’s all the better for it.

Words by Freddy Syborn
Photos by Jenny Lewis

Click here for a photo gallery of the performance.

Growing up is an inevitable aspect of life, but not all of choose to do it. I first caught The Maccabees in 2006 supporting The Fratellis, and at this point they were portrayed as the UK’s newest indie princesses with their recent release of ‘X-Ray’. A label like this is hard to shake off, and a lot of bands end up being remembered as The Fratellis are: a drunken football chant. But through some divine miracle, The Maccabees broke the curse of being just a teenage soundtrack band for the Skins generation, and became a grown-up force that appeals to all walks of life.

Sadly, this has not rubbed off on support band Trailer Trash Tracys. They start their set with an incessant feedback that makes Sonic Youth sound like Mozart. Combining that with wailing and Lana Del Rey-esque crooning throughout, they fail abysmally in the creative department. The band walks off stage to little applause and a lot of confused faces.

The Maccabees can’t come sooner, opening up with ‘Child’, easing the crowd into their newest material with velvety vocals and melodic guitars.

Some of the band’s songs now sound so mature that they should be in a home getting their arses wiped by emotionally void nurses. Well, compared to their old ones, and this is a strictly complimentary comment. This change is evident by the variety of people in the crowd too. From youngsters who still think it’s alright to wear sunglasses inside, to the older generation whose favorite part of the week is reading The Observer on a Sunday morning and taking their vitamin supplements, The Maccabees have vastly extended their fan base.

New song ‘Ayla’ proves to be the highlight of the night, and with the whole crowd shouting every word back at Orlando, it’s the only evidence you need to prove that the old songs won’t be missed from the set list too much.

Still, The Maccabees would never be that cruel. They drop in their earliest achievement ‘X-Ray’ and ‘Can You Give It’ (or “that song from The Inbetweeners”), a show that had the potential to ruin them if they hadn’t been successful on this album. In an alternate universe someone is saying “Anyone remember that band who done that Inbetweeners song?”

Another reason they make the night such a success is their stage presence. Orlando Weeks comes across as shy and modest when speaking to the crowd, but still manages to swing his guitar behind his back and wander the stage mid-song. Guitarist Felix White just makes it even better, he jumps around like an excited Dalmatian, gazing lovingly into the audience. It’s nice to see bands appreciating where they are and not just standing there, staring and pouting.

They play their first single from ‘Given To The Wild’, ‘Pelican’, near the end of the set. There is a pre-pubescent stampede from the bar to join in on the vocal harmonies (spilling my beer, thanks). This should have been the final song, but they choose to do ‘Love You Better’ instead, which falls short of the epic set-closer that people expected. But the band return to play fan-favorite ‘First Love’ in the encore, showing that they are still young at heart, but that their talent has evolved beyond anything that anyone expected.

Words by Jamie Carson

There’s always something rather special about witnessing an up and coming musician play live - right before they hit the big time. And watching Michael Kiwanuka and Emeli Sandé play an intimate gig in Shoreditch is a true testament to that.

Both Brit musicians are tipped to be huge stars, with Kiwanuka crowned BBC’s Sound of 2012 and Scottish singer Sandé winner of this year’s prestigious Brits Critics’ Choice award (a gong that’s previously been won by the likes of Adele, Jessie J and Florence and the Machine), it’s fair to say this is an eagerly anticipated show.

First to hit the stage is Kiwanuka, casually dressed in a check plaid shirt and blue denim jeans; the 24-year-old is greeted with joyous applause by a packed crowd at London’s XOYO. With his guitar firmly draped around his neck, the north Londoner addresses audiences in a reserved and almost timid manner. But as soon as he plays the first note, opening with the soothing ‘I’ll Get Along’, it’s evident to see just why the former session player is being hailed as the next big thing.

Projecting a mellow sound that’s well beyond his years, Kiwanuka fuses traditional soul with folk music, exuding a level of emotion which is intriguingly captivating and demands the full attention of concert goers at the East End venue. Michael’s idols Bill Withers and Otis Redding are clearly influential in his style of sound, Kiwanuka effortlessly breezes though songs, with current single ‘Home Again’ garnering the loudest applause. Ending his thirty minute set with a demure rendition of Withers’ ‘I Don’t Know’, Kiwanuka exits on a high, leaving fans wanting more.

Sandé’s performance is a stark contrast to her “opening act”. While Kiwanuka appeared rather shy, the blonde shaven haired songstress is full of confidence as she struts on stage, dressed in all black, donning a trendy leather jacket, accompanied on stage by an energetic full live band.

After providing melodic vocals for various rappers, such as Wiley, Tinie Tempah and Professor Green, the Aberdeenshire native is visibly ready to take centre stage and finally become the main act – and rightly so. Her vocal range is highly impressive, with precise delivery the crowd is clearly in tune with the talented singer-songwriter.

With her debut LP ‘Our Version Of Events’ out later this year, there’s no doubt that 2012 will be a huge year for the former medical student. And it’s highly unlikely fans will get the chance to see the rising star perform at such a small venue any time soon, giving the show that extra special feeling.

While Sandé’s voice is encore worthy and justifies all the buzz currently surrounding her, the twenty-four-year-old ‘Heaven’ singer’s songs are not as strong as her predecessor’s. But her solid vocals and stage presence – as well as a personal highlight performance of the Alicia Keys co-written ballad ‘Hope’ - assures that overall the feisty singer is not upstaged.

Words by Vanessa Laker
Photos by Gemma Greany

Click here for a photo gallery of the performances.

Outside MTV's Brand New showcase in Camden, a crowd of music fans are doing what can only be described as "clucking". They scurry around looking concerned, with abrupt high-pitched exchanges and urgent hunches over their iPhones. At first you may think something awful has happened, and then you see a hastily-printed sign and realise it's worse: "Lana Del Rey is unable to perform tonight due to illness."

After the critical panning she got after her Saturday Night Live performance it's no wonder that Lana's not quite feeling herself. Her billing tonight was a strange fit, slotted in between Charli XCX's goth-pop and The Maccabees' riffy dreamscapes at KOKO, especially given that she could easily fill the 2000 capacity venue herself.

Moving into Lana's slot tonight is the formidable Charli XCX, a pop princess at nineteen years old with big hair and bigger tunes. Once styled as a Grindie Princess (see her 2008 single '!Franchesckaar!'), Miss XCX has now gone all alt-pop with new material devised with Diplo, producer Ariel Rechtshaid and Swedish mastermind Patrik Berger. She motors onto the stage like she owns it, looking like Princess Jasmine grew up in a Hackney warehouse, wearing a loose black crop-top and glittery high-waist pantaloons.

Tonight she delivers a set of slick pop bolstered by crunching synths, with her voice veering from a chatter-stopping full belt to measured raps that are more The xx than the Lady Sov bolshiness of Charli's early material. On the mesmerising opener 'Stay Away' the full-throttled chorus is backed with haunting vocoders and the unnerving lyrics of the spoken-word breakdown: “Pulled on the chains/Licking up the blood yeah I made this decision.”

The set highlight is the pulsating, tubular bells-gone-haywire 'Nuclear Seasons', a huge pop tune with crashing bass drums and a fuzzy Italo twinkle. She sways to the song with a belly-dancer's confidence, tossing her head with mock-naïveté during the chorus' “oh oh oh, oh oh oh” her pentagram pendant swinging from her neck. In the pulsating 'Mess' she fist-pumps into the audience with trousers billowing around her legs like a ringside boxer raised on electro-pop.

New single 'You're The One' is a touching off-kilter love song with the admission “You're the one who could make me stay/You're the only one that makes me feel this way” before it morphs into a squelchy dub breakdown made for body popping.

As her set finishes I hear a couple talking behind me: "She's not pop really though, is she? More like These New Puritans." They're wrong, but understandably so. Charli XCX is a pop star as much as Robyn or Marina, she just happens to look like she lives in Dalston. Going home in the knowledge that Lana Del Rey's album had leaked, there was only one song to put on: 'Nuclear Seasons' by Charli XCX.

Words by Owen Myers

As Motown icon Martha Reeves takes to the stage at Ronnie Scott’s, for what is the second of a five night residency, woops and cheers fill the room. Martha’s visibly moved and it’s clear from the off that this is going to be a show to remember.

And what a show it is, a show in every sense of the word. Martha is from a dying breed, she’s an artist, a true performer. Looking beyond the songs, her music flows from the school of thought where a voice is not enough, it has to be the whole package: all or nothing.

Martha looks elegant, dressed in a red tassel dress, and the audience is immediately won over by her personality and interaction. This isn’t to say her voice (which is as strong as ever) fails in any way, but the way she works the crowd really is impressive – an art lost on many modern artists. Each song has a story that precedes it: where it came from, who wrote it, why she picked it to perform. And each one comes with a dose of humour. “The Beatles covered a lot of Motown numbers, but they never covered any of mine!” the soul star quips before singing one of her favourite Beatles numbers: ‘Something’.

The gig itself is split into two sets, each with a mix of upbeat and down tempo numbers. After the second song of the evening, 1966 classic ‘I’m Ready For Love’, Martha addresses the audience to let them know that the band are “gonna slow it down a little, before I faint.”

All the hits that propelled Martha into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame are on show. ‘(Love Is Like A) Heatwave’, ‘Nowhere To Run’ and the legendary ‘Jimmy Mack’ are received to riotous applause. Alongside these 60’s classics are a couple of Martha-penned numbers taken from her 2004 album ‘Home To You’ and a woozy cover of Duke Ellington’s ‘Mood Indigo’, giving each of her brass section a solo spot to shine.

The night draws to a close with the whole crowd on its feet, moving to what is arguably Martha’s best known hit ‘Dancing In The Street’. A song that she notes has been covered by many an artist “Bowie & Jagger, the Boss Bruce Springsteen, The Grateful Dead, The Mamas & The Papas and even... Phil Collins.”

Proof of Martha’s dedication to her fans is clear, as no sooner has she finished on stage she’s out front signing autographs and telling tales. This is a lady that very much deserves the word “Legend” to be mentioned in the same breath as her name.

A bittersweet yet upbeat opening track unfurls like an exotic Asian flower, or the soundtrack to a forgotten noirish Manga. Things continue in this ‘Bowie-does-Bladerunner’ vein for the Glasgow quartet before the thrilling introduction of vocals on the distorted ‘Magna Encarta’, all woozy melody over taut electronics and even tighter drumming.

These new vocals function like a textural instrument, obscure and indecipherable. This, along with increasingly traditional song structures humanises the band in an entirely new way. They’re still guitar led and retain a rock backbone but have transcended this with moments of glinting beauty.

‘Blank Media’ is a case in point, a transparent love letter to the Cocteau Twins, a multicoloured, multifaceted gem of loveliness. There’s definitely much more of a dance element to some tracks too, as demonstrated on ‘Pleasure Palaces’. More than once listening to this I’m reminded of the warped neon slickness of recent film ‘Drive’ and simultaneously of growing up in Scotland in the Eighties.

A studio roof caving incident at the outset of recording did nothing to distract them, they just convened instead at the guitarist’s house and worked on, collating their sounds at the end of each day. Bold, colourful and eclectic, ‘Have Some Faith’ displays a vivid musical palette showcasing a band growing in scope and stature. More corporeal than ethereal, the beauty here is constantly shifting, like mercury. It does contain magic, not of another world, but of this.

8/10

Words by ANNA WILSON

A wonderfully flamboyant concept prog pop opera based on a visionary 19th century novel about the lost civilisation of Atlantis. It’s peculiar themes and genre-busting spirit is further bolstered by the use of incredible instruments. But the Tesla coil and Edwardian amp pale in the august company of the ‘The Great Stalacpipe Organ’, a lithophone made of stalactites in a cave system in Luray, Virginia. Add to this mischief a myriad of collaborators, dashing moustaches, over ripe B-movie flourishes and you have something simultaneously retro and futurist, bonkers and brilliant. Its cleverness and humour burst like springs from an overstuffed rococo couch. Splendidly indulgent.

8/10

Words by ANNA WILSON

Gaining momentum on the back of mesmerising live shows over the past year has seen London based five-piece Dry The River hit many a tastemaker’s list for 2012. A string of festival appearances in 2011, including Glastonbury, End Of The Road, Reading and Leeds, plus a sold out show at The Scala many months before their debut album was even scheduled for release confirms public demand for them continues to grow. Tonight’s sold out show at XOYO reinforces the assumption that their star is indeed in the ascendant.

Dry The River’s heavy influence of traditional folk and gospel with lyrics steeped in religious iconography is not what you expect from a heavily tattooed bunch of rockers. If you resolve to judge a book by its cover, a few heavy beards within the band might be the only indication of what you’re about to hear. Incorporating earthy vocals, sweet harmonies, acoustic and electric guitars with the occasional flourish of violin produces a captivating mix of Americana. Lead singer and front man Peter Liddle recently described the group as “folky gospel music performed by a post-punk band.” This accurately illustrates why they’re so appealing to such wide range of music fans.

Opening tonight’s gig with ‘Demons’, Liddle’s ethereal voice wraps around the crowd like a warm glow. Suddenly the packed venue now has the band’s full attention as they power straight into ‘No Rest.’ The emotive power of Liddle’s lyrics on this song makes an impression. He tells of the “sweat on his brow” and the “fear in his heart” while declaring “I loved you in the best way possible.”

On ‘Weights & Measures’, down go the electric guitars and microphones for an acoustic a capella first verse to a hushed audience. The harmonies are beguiling and poignant as Liddle pours out the pain of love lost: “You are the coldest star in the sky, only I couldn't see it, I was blind and in comes the black night.” Kicking into a full on post-rock electric ending is reminiscent of Fleet Foxes or Bon Iver and sounds equally as epic. It’s a special night for this crowd as the band won’t be playing club venues much longer.

Genuinely grateful for the adoration shown to them, the encore finishes with 'Lions Den'. Any restraint held back during the set gives way to a cathartic head-banging thrash. This rock out may allude to where Dry The River have come from musically, but where they’re certainly headed now is to household name status.

Dry The River’s debut album ‘Shallow Bed’ is released on RCA Victor on 5th March with the first single ‘The Chambers & The Valves’ out on 27th February. A 13-date UK tour kicks off in Nottingham on 17th April.

Words by Alison Kerry

So much music runs in the background that it’s easy for a group to fall through the cracks. M83 have been quietly producing hits for shoegazing fans for ten years. Unfortunately, aside from a few breakout hits, Anthony Gonzalez’s multi-layered rhythms have gone unnoticed.

That is until ‘Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming’ propelled the band into the spotlight. With a little help from ‘Midnight City’- its synth beats jumping into every alternative club in the country - somehow M83 have pushed through the loose shoegazing stereotype and into the mainstream. Tonight’s venue has been upgraded to cope with the steady string of new fans wandering in M83’s direction with people climbing the walls to get a glimpse of Gonzalez and his band.

Without a word they jump into a multi-layered symphony of reverb and synths elongated by repetitive rhythms. Keyboardist Morgan takes centre stage, adding vocals at every opportunity while Gonzalez emerges from the shadows.

‘Reunion’ finally pushes the band into the limelight, accompanied by pounding rhythms and poptastic lyrics, with Gonzalez’s vocals channelling Animal Collective’s Panda Bear. Then the room explodes into a world of synths, rising until the air is thick with a twisted disco musk.

But despite the surge of fans towards the stage, Gonzalez barely acknowledges them, not saying a word. Whether it’s a language barrier or personal choice, it leaves the audience urging for more. As the set hits a lull slowly fans peel away as groups begin to gather at the bar.

Somehow M83's instrumental layers grow tired quickly, as another song builds to a mash of rhythms and guitars. In comparison the vocals look weak, even when accompanied by keyboardist Morgan.

‘Midnight City’ sets the room alight with its repetitive keyboards and techno drums, but again it’s the vocals that lack the real hook. An encore still has Gonzalez stagnant onstage, leaving other band members to engage with the audience. But there’s something about the group’s performance that feels unnatural. While the crowd surges almost spilling onto the stage it’s glaringly obvious the band are failing to get the same return.

Each song is note perfect, yet there’s no excitement, as another overlong track moulds into another. The band should be bouncing off the walls, bringing the disco beats to a warped indie rave but instead there’s a hard persona from Gonzalez that’s impossible to ignore.

M83 may be finally appealing for the masses, but it’s clear Gonzalez would rather be cooking up beats in a home studio than entertaining a buoyant crowd. Sometimes it’s better to let a band fall through the cracks and for M83 they’re more accustomed to life in the shadows.

Words by Ruth Offord
Photos by Andy Cook

Click here for a photo gallery of the performance.

You can taste the rain on this delicious album. You can also feel the long walk home from too much life. RM Hubbert should have been born next door to Kerouac’s Sal Paradise. But instead he woke up in cold, grey Glasgow. He’s made up by gigging his heart out, flogging his debut to anyone for fifty pence, then recruiting friends Aidan Moffat, Emma Pollock, Alisdair Roberts and Alex Kapranos to stitch together this second unique LP and his broken personal life. It’s therefore morose, delicate and beautiful. The guitar playing is eccentric and excels at nearly every deft pluck. If Ennio Morricone was from the damp confines of Finnieston then ‘Thirteen Lost And Found’ would all make heaps more sense.

7/10

Words by MATTHEW BENNETT

Islet don’t play by the rules. At all. ‘Libra Man’, the opening track on this genre-leaping debut album, is a seething nine-minute mix of snagged rhythms, disjointed vocal chants and guitar psychedelia. It shouldn’t work, but it does; the genius of Islet is their ability to splice a myriad of ideas into a thrilling headfuck of an aural joyride. The rampant ‘This Fortune’ and snarling ‘Filia’ capture the energy of their live show, while the eerie lullaby of ‘We Bow’ showcases the Cardiff collective’s nascent beauty. Staunchly DIY, Islet’s modus operandi has created a wilfully unique sound - ‘Illuminated People’ is a shining triumph.

8/10

Words by JOHN FREEMAN