British festivals appear and disappear quicker than X Factor contestants, but Stag and Dagger looks like it’s here to stay. Starting out five years ago as Shoreditch’s answer to the Camden Crawl, they quickly incorporated Glasgow on the tour, and the festival now feels something like an institution. The opportunity to see the most exciting new bands alongside underground heroes around the best venues in your city is a hard one to resist.

The Glasgow leg opened early at the Captain’s Rest, but we saved ourselves for the ABC, where White Denim were opening. It may have become something of a journalistic cliché to say that “White Denim are the best live rock ‘n’ roll band on the planet,” but, like many clichés, it’s probably true. The Austin Texas four piece hurtled through their back catalogue at a blistering pace, songs segued into each other like slam dancers in a mosh pit, but still finding time to indulge in complex, ecstatic guitar duels, flicking through punk, garage and even ‘70s Latino-style jazz funk. Not the easiest or most accessible music with which to open a festival, but the sheer brilliance of their set swept the crowd along.

White Denim are a very hard act to follow, but the Phantom Band took up the challenge manfully. Glasgow’s own psychedelic brotherhood, they forgo any ceremony and costume (no gold capes tonight!) in favour of smart shirts and straight-up blasts of their baroque pop, with deep baritones and delicious harmonies drawing us further into their warped world. It’s nice to see them on a stage this size, and the resulting set just heightens anticipation about where they are going to go, musically, for the follow-up to the still-fabulous second album, ‘The Wants’.

We dived across the road to the CCA to catch the latter half of Eleanor Friedberger’s set. She performed songs from her gorgeous album ‘Last Summer’, which reveal a lighter, poppier side to her persona than the sometimes fearsomely experimental Fiery Furnaces. Ably backed by what look like a father and son team of guitarist and bassist, Friedberger explores the classic pop of her youth to seductive effect. This feels like the closest we have to the young Patti Smith; if the Fiery Furnaces are ‘Horses’, this is her ‘Easter’.

Across the road to the ABC and Django Django, a young Scottish band who’ve become the hottest thing in Stag and Dagger’s home turf, East London, and probably, soon, the UK. On one level what Django Django do is very simple; write insanely catchy tunes with big surf guitar riffs in electro tracks. Genius! Why hadn’t anyone thought of that before? They also have real stage presence, in their paint spattered clothes and inappropriate shades, goading the crowd to dance their collective ass off. A triumphant homecoming for the band, then.

Tired and emotional, we heroically trudged downhill to another venue, Stereo, where we managed to catch the finale of what we heard was a stunning set from EMA, all jilted electronics and heightened emotions, a powerful concoction that left us beguiled and begging for more. Sadly, it was home time. Now all we can do is reminisce about another great day at the wonderful Stag and Dagger.

Words by Brian Beadie and Mark Millar

This Friday in Manchester plenty of people have left the office and decided to begin their hedonistic weekend by, well, heading to the office. The city’s leading promoters, Now Wave, have curated a line-up of emerging northern talent to showcase on the first floor of a derelict office block. With a bill topped by Leeds’ Alt-J and two elusive Mancunian acts preceding, – No Ceremony and Money – it’s clear they mean business.

Tonight feels like a secret gig that only the cognoscenti are privileged enough to know about. Quay House is on the outskirts of Spinningfields, a financial district. Were it not for bouncers being incongruously stood outside the building we’d have no idea it was the right place. This could be a UK version of the denouement of Fight Club, a tower-block surrounded by banks and businesses ready to explode. During the afternoon’s soundcheck a group of solicitors using the rooms upstairs actually came down to complain about the noise. It really feels like we’re sticking it to “the man” in this subversive setting.

Any stilted formalities once associated with the space are long forgotten as Liverpool’s female three-piece Stealing Sheep take to the stage. Mixing a love of ‘70s psychedelica and freak-folk, their blend of acoustic melodies and three-part harmonies is captivating live. Becky Hawley switches between bass and keys vivaciously while drummer Lucy Mercer keeps things bouncing for an ebullient crowd. Highlights come via their Heavenly Records releases; ‘Paper Moon’ in particular gets a spontaneous clap-along.

Next up, tension builds as the enigmatic No Ceremony/// get ready to play their debut show. The Manchester-based group retained anonymity in a now clichéd Wu Lyf way when emerging online earlier in the year. ‘Heartbreaker’s rasping heavy-synth and auto-tuned vocal combination caught the attention of many ears but how would it come across live? And who is in this mysterious act?

A three-piece take to the stage. Two guys and a girl perform a disappointingly sample heavy set. Strumming the odd note on a guitar here and there, they largely look uncomfortable while trying to nervously dance along to backing synths. It’s a dark sound with sardonic pop vocals. They teeter somewhere between Crystal Castles’ avant-electronica and Salem’s sinister witch-house. It’s a real baptism of fire in the now near full office, perhaps with a few more gigs they could be an exciting proposition.

Maybe the “baptism of fire” metaphor is a little inappropriate – a fire alarm wails in the build-up to Money’s set. Facing the proposition of evacuation, the biggest cheer of the night comes when it’s silenced. A huge translucent screen backs the band with laser visuals projected on it. They’re a group all about atmosphere; delicate subtleties are juxtaposed with huge crashing crescendos. The boisterous revellers are silenced to a muted susurration as they become rapt by the journey. It’s a cerebral set with incendiary visuals and deliquescent rhythms melting over the crowd.

‘Goodnight London’ is a beautiful moment, a softly sung track with echoing piano keys accompanying. It could be a lost moment from ‘In Rainbows’ or Foals’ ‘Total Life Forever’. Upcoming single ‘So Long’ stands out. It’s a slower-tempo number awash with reverb, and a tranquil feel. The laser visuals and iridescent rhythms of ‘Who’s Going To Love You Now?’ provide another anthemic moment too. People sway blissfully as the set comes to a close.

Headliners Alt-J have their debut album ‘An Awesome Wave’ gathering hugely positive reviews at the moment in anticipation of its release on May 28th and tonight they don’t disappoint. Sparingly used, yet daedal guitar patterns weave together to create a patchwork of distinct tones. Their inimitable sound is impossible to categorise, and gets things moving to a frenzy tonight. The band are clearly on fire but luckily the alarm stays quiet. ‘Breezeblocks’ gets the biggest reaction – screams, arms in the air. If they can do this now imagine how it’s going to be once the album’s out. Everyone leaves happy after a marathon line-up, a good day at the office for sure.

Words by Simon Butcher

Bring in the noise, bring in the fun! The perfect prelude for a jam-packed weekend is presented by Symptomatic and provided by the intensely bubbly and enthusiastic Library Voices, on a balmy Friday night.

This seven-piece from Canada are so overly and overtly enthusiastic that it’s almost surreal, especially when in the midst of a London crowd, in Hoxton.

Nothing comes between this band and their crowd though – Library Voices don’t understand or allow personal space – they get in each other’s space and the audience’s, with total unapologetic elation and ear to ear Cheshire cat grins. These cats caught the cream.

From song one, the physicality is bubbling under, but only for a short while. The entire band rips and roars with their signature sound of multi-instrumental power pop. The mesh of great musicianship from all seven of them – guitars, bass, drums, keys, synth/effects, and sax and percussion, is scintillating and the excitement, animation, camaraderie is elevating. The audience dances, close, closer, closer to the stage and band – you can see them being bombarded by a barrage of sweat beads. They bloody love it. An audience, any audience, can be won over. They are like moths to a flame – to the incandescence of a fabulous band – if the band is terrific and feed what they have on stage to those viewing. They can’t fight it. And they dance.

From ‘Travellers Digest’ to ‘Kundera on the Dance Floor’, the experience is of a band with no boundaries. The influences are from pop to rock to grunge. The lead singer delivers high octane power pop and gravelly grunge-tinged vocals. The male harmonies are unique, and when touched with the sugary female backing from the keyboard player, are made all the sweeter. Then guitarist Carl Johnson announces “This song is about the impending end of our life. Fairy dust and all that shit,” and tears into ‘Party Like It’s 2012’ a song that typifies their distinct brand of apocalyptic young adult angst pop.

Mid set, the keys/synth player moves to the front and takes control of the lead mic – he’s obviously their Master of Ceremonies. He delivers to us wise adages and quirky analogies and insights, to quip, engage, and set the record straight on what the purpose of this whole endeavour is. And it is NOT to hide enveloped in the darkness at the back; it’s to be front and centre with him. The Underbelly is fantastic, he says, and to him has a Twin Peaks feel to it. The stage is plush with red velvet curtains and huge ornate Louis the XIV mirrors, interspersed with framed photos of rock, pop, psychedelic heroes – Frank Zappa, Debbie Harry, Iggy Pop, and Captain Beefheart. It resembles a cool burlesque stage from The Crazy Horse or a man size Punch and Judy platform.

Again, a bit of contrast is brought to the set and performance tonight, and just when you think Library Voices couldn’t work out any harder or faster or one of them would suffer a fatality, during ‘Generation Handclap’ several of them start to climb stairway railings, scale rafters, hang from the ceiling, splay along the monitors, ascend the bass drum.

Canada has produced a string of great bands over the last decade – Arcade Fire, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, The Dears – and immersed in their upbeat sound and performance, offbeat and clever lyrics and song titles, you can add Library Voices to the roll call of honour.

Words by Libby Moné
Photo by Alex Cairncross

With ‘Body Language Volume 11’, Noze have been offered the reins to Get Physical’s ever-popular mix series. Known largely for their own aural creations, Noze are also seasoned in the trade of creating amazing mixes. And this is no exception. ‘Body Language Vol. 11’ spans a wide range of electronic sub-genres, most of which can be heard in elements in Noze’s own sound. Whether it be the deep house of Alex Niggeman’s ‘Black Rose’ or the enveloping clatter of Tiefschwarz’ remix of Ruede Haggelstein & Meggy’s ‘Embezzle Me’; this album is a testament to both the skill of its maker and the quality of electronic music at present.

8/10

Words by George Boorman

Over twenty years on the clock for Saint Etienne and, having been absorbed in various distractions for the last seven of those, here is album number eight. In the early-’90s, the indie dance scene was gathering steam and the band were swept up with it, providing a mellower antidote to bands with an inclination towards rock. Time has moved on since then, although we’re not sure that Saint Etienne have! There’s nothing essentially bad about that, but the only maturity in their sound is towards a more ambient quarter. Elevator music not quite, but rising out of the background might be an issue.

6/10

Words by TC

An imposing boxset for an imposing producer, we were still struggling to get through the hidden trapdoors and secret stashes of the Ninja twentieth anniversary bundle when this tome of terror landed on the doorstep with a convincing, never-settle-for-less thud. In many ways Amon Tobin IS Ninja Tune - unpredictable, unrelenting, inventive, ever evolving (see his film and computer game credits), and with a visual sound that has taken the idea of attacking the senses that step further by rewiring eyes and ears since 1997.

It’s always more fun to discover the outer extras at your leisure, and you’ll be praying for rainy days indoors upon receiving the...takes deep breath...double DVD, seven CD, six ten-inch, posters for your bedroom anthology.

So, concentrating solely on the music for now, a flood of unreleased curios and revelations has the Brazilian working on the edge of chaos, travelling through worlds reacting with volatility to having their undiscovered status rudely overturned. While the electronic helixes don’t always lurch towards a negative or high impact - Tobin is accountable for as just as many intangible quirks through his career as a Ninja thoroughbred (the going phrase back when was funkjazztical tricknology) - instrumentalist gloom sobs tears of granite next to jungle/drum ‘n’ bass whack attacks (the harrowing ‘Grief ’ remix for Ryuichi Sakamoto) and drill ‘n’ bass obliqueness.

Then, in summary of a freehanded sequence and the ways and means of the man, Tobin has the chutzpah to waltz in front of a Royal Albert Hall audience. Another essential Ninja landmark.

9/10

Words by MATT OLIVER

With 350 bands from more than 20 countries, an expo showcasing an array of products and services and a slew of panels, forums, roundtables and seminars with world-class keynote speakers, Liverpool Sound City is full on. There is so much to see it could easily induce choice paralysis… do you watch that intriguing documentary or attend that seminar that has a great panel discussing a subject you want more insight on? Do you catch that new band you’ve heard lots of people raving about or go and see that already established act that you know will smash it?

Clash avoids indecision and just sets about the whole shebang, gorging on as much music as possible and soaking up the wealth of other cultural enticements on the menu. Thursday started with a packed conference at the Hilton about creating a label - the conclusive message being there are no rules and prepare for a long hard slog but with joyous reward if you achieve your goals. Another incisive talk about becoming a manager relates a similar message and reveals how complicated clawing some success for a band can be - innovation, contacts and commitment being essential.

After some well-earned drinks in the rammed conference bar at the Hilton we spill out and mooch about between the venues. Local band, The Sterlings, eschew any thoughts of image in their jogging pants and trainers but start the night off in the Zanzibar with some well-honed, if conventional, rocking. Fellow scousers Cold Shoulder over at Binary Cell have been playing a lot longer, the singer being the former front man of The Aeroplanes. They give a raucous performance with rasping vocals and tight, blues-infused rock. The City Walls brand of melodic indie drew a decent crowd in The Brink, no mean feat considering it’s a dry venue, but TOY pulled in one of the larger crowds over at the Kazimier. One of the hyped bands of the event, they represent the other end of the scale in terms of image. All hair and thousand yard stares, their motorik, droning rock holds many in thrall. Followed by Death In Vegas, this is more like a DJ set and suffered a lack of impact without vocalists and a full band, but is lapped up by the electronic leaning fans.

Friday sees many bands start earlier in the afternoon, the Bombed Out Church, with the sky for a ceiling, being a great venue to see some performances. The Leaf venue is a favourite, hosting bands upstairs and downstairs there’s everything from Sicilian troubadour Fabrizio Cammarata to hardcore trio Hot Panda.

Friday night at the Kazimier venue has a line-up not to be missed though. The night starts with attitude and balls from local lad Eugene McGuinness who, since signing to Domino in 2007, has been making an eclectic brand of quirky, alternative rock. Next up White Denim pull off a festival highlight. This Texan four-piece crank out a 90-minute long extended jam, segueing from one track to the next without ever stopping for a breather. It might not be how you’d choose to listen to music at home, but what a live performance to behold. They go down a storm and when the next act began setting up we muse how they could manage following such a blistering set. People lingered to see what the diminutive and somewhat feral-looking fella taking centre stage, surrounded by his four Australian mates, would come up with. POND then delivered a psyched out and compelling blinder of a show. These boys from Perth are known for having three members of Tame Impala in the band, but there can be no notion of riding on coat tails here, they are nothing short of amazing.

Saturday rounds off the whole three-day bonanza with standout shows from The Loud, who are gloriously just that, and upcoming hype bands PINS and Ninetails. The Wedding Present give good of themselves for the official LSC closing party with a performance and a DJ set. The celebrated circus extravaganza act Slamboree being another option for the thousands of grateful fans to round off LSC with a bang. A well curated and well tiring success, roll on next year.

Words by Nick Rice

A warm Friday evening sees hoards of hipster kids piling into Brixton Academy for Mystery Jets’ headline show. The excitement is palpable. A swarm of twenty-somethings jostle for prime position, unknowingly sloshing their overpriced cider on unsuspecting passers-by. Such anticipation is not limited exclusively to fans, as singer Blaine Harrison states on the band’s website: “Brixton Academy is the show we have been waiting to play… As a band of London boys, the feeling of walking from the wings out onto that stage will be one of euphoria and we will do everything in us to make sure you feel the way we feel.” Tonight, Mystery Jets are committed to the cause.

An epically mountainous landscape provides the backdrop to tonight’s show and as pulsating music hypes the crowd, whipping them further into a frenzy, a beam of light makes the sun appear to set behind said mountains. Finally as the intro reaches its peak, the band takes their places and begin with ‘Radlands’ track ‘Someone Purer’. Gentle picking first fills our ears as Harrison’s voice rings out with an earnestness that the lyrical content deserves. Kapil Trivedi plays a simple drumbeat, which grows in force whilst the audience are propelled in a flurry of movement, bouncing and flailing as the chorus takes hold.

Mystery Jets knock out a string of classics including ‘Half In Love With Elizabeth’ and ‘Serotonin’ and once they have the crowd in the palm of their collective hand, they return to ‘Radlands’ with ‘Greatest Hits’ and ‘Hale Bop’. The songs aren’t as catchy as some of the back catalogue classics and a nearby punter mutters to his friend “It’s not been the same since (2008 album) ‘Twenty One’”. Despite this, the band maintains a fantastic energy throughout and this can be felt in the audience too. It’s impossible not to dance.

‘Sister Everett’ gets a great response. Guitarist, William Rees, sets the song up with the story of a religious woman that the band met on a flight from Austin, whose name became the song’s title. The opening keyboard chords are reminiscent of a church organ, perfectly complimented by the guitar line. The crowd stand with arms held open and aloft in an almost religious fervour.

‘Young Love’ and ‘Two Doors Down’ are predictably fabulous and played exactly as their recordings sound. Mystery Jets aren’t very adventurous when playing live. Anyone hoping for guitar parts to be elaborated and lengthened with the premise of no two live performances being the same will be disappointed. Fans that crave familiarity and enjoy singing each song word for word, on the other hand, will be delighted.

‘Show Me The Light’ is dedicated to an audience member: “a very special person… someone who will always be a Mystery Jet… Kai Fish.” The sentimentality doesn’t stop there as Harrison welcomes a special guest onstage for ‘Behind The Bunhouse’: his father, Henry Harrison. Choosing not to play live these days, Henry’s appearance is a rare honour. He plays tambourine and bops around the stage with such dynamism. One could easily forget the generational gap between him and his band mates.

An encore sees the band hammer through ‘Alice Springs’, ‘Flash A Hungry Smile’ and finally ‘Flakes’, which is met with ecstatic applause and a simultaneous sense of disappointment that it’s all over.

Those lucky enough to be at this milestone gig will agree that they have witnessed something very special, because tonight Mystery Jets have done all that they can to live up to their promise and make us feel the way they feel: euphoric.

Words by Becci Ride

Frontwoman Shirley Manson says that music icon David Bowie was a huge influence on this album, but the only resemblance that seems to be found here is that both struggle to recreate their former glories. Garbage’s new album plods along with an overproduced pompousness that falls somewhere between boring and annoying. Opener ‘Automatic Systematic Habit’ is a prime example of an overworked song battered with too much studio time. ‘Blood For Poppies’ has some potential in being an acceptable single, but is trounced by the “whoah whoah whoahs” and the catchier-than-an-STD chorus. Welcome to the 21st century, Garbage. Come join us in its promise of sunlight.

3/10

Words by Jamie Carson

When Supergrass split in 2010, the UK lost one of its best-loved and enduring bands. While ex-bandmate Danny Goffey recently cooked up a storm on Celebrity Masterchef, vocalist Gaz Coombes got busy making his debut solo album. And it is a belter. Basking in the freedom of experimentation, a rejuvenated Coombes is on vibrant form on the ethereal navel-gaze of ‘Bombs’, the understated menace of ‘Sub-Divider’ and the cinematic ‘Sleeping Giant’, while ‘Whore’ is a glorious vintage Supergrass anthem. Reunited with producer Sam Williams ‘...Here Come The Bombs’ is fresh and stylish and marks Coombes’ finest work in over a decade. A triumph.

8/10

Words by John Freeman

Freemasons rejoice! As a shape, and sometime symbol, the triangle is getting excellent press at the moment. Perhaps, somewhere out there, a geometry sect has enlisted a spin-doctor to improve our subconscious opinion of the pragmatic polygon. And when it’s not manifesting visually in fashion, graphic design and everything Kate Moross does, it’s manifesting audibly in the incomparable sounds of (Alt-J).

Every ounce of work to surface from the Leeds quintet has struck entirely different tones, making ‘An Awesome Wave’ quite the unpredictable beast. As a former Ones To Watch, we’ve followed them closely and come to this conclusion: the only thing that can ever be guaranteed with Alt-J is variation.

Expectedly, the album opens with ‘Intro’, a platter of their musical tendencies. Indicative of what’s to come. The keys dictate the melody, sparse guitars spread out behind and liberal, distorted bass drones (that any bedroom producer would be proud of ) provide chance drops. One could cautiously draw comparisons to Radiohead, in the way Alt-J veer through styles and ideas, and the warming, cosmic folk of early track ‘Something Good’ supports this with stuttering beats and meandering piano.

The abundance of interludes on the LP show how highly Alt-J value a flowing mood. Each operates as a go-between, none more so than the haunting oohs of ‘Interlude 3’, which sits between the raucous ‘Fitzpleasure’ and more timid ‘Bloodflood’. Without it, the two would struggle to accord.

A peak arrives with the deep opening plucks of ‘Breezeblocks’. Throughout this dark and feisty love song, an ominous picture is painted. As Joe Newman’s vocals roll into each other, the outline of a masochistic and disturbed romantic character forms. “Please break my heart,” he demands as a dramatic crescendo builds. “I love you so” and “I’ll eat you whole” are muttered simultaneously. Subtle, and in schizophrenic harmony.

Like many felt when The xx released their eponymous LP, it seemed too complete and rounded to ever be a debut. Alt-J are similarly composed. Young, yet somehow void of naivety. Vibrant, yet artistically matured. Even the naff name will slowly grow on you. More like this, please!

9/10

Words by Joe Zadeh

Alt-J play the Now Wave Stage at Parklife Weekender in Manchester on 8th-10th June 2012. Find out more and win tickets to the festival.

Six months after completing the US leg, rap royalty Jay-Z and Kanye West finally bring their highly anticipated Watch The Throne Tour to UK soil. And it’s undoubtedly worth the wait.

It’s not hard to see why Yeezy and HOV refer to themselves as “The Throne”, as cocky as it may be. Jay-Z, an emerging billionaire, has more US number one albums than Elvis Presley, with a successful career spanning over fifteen years. And his protégée Kanye West is close on his heels. While at times it’s easy to dislike Mr West, the flamboyant rapper’s musical genius often overrides his ego-fuelled gaffes. So it’s no surprise the rap juggernauts joint show is the hottest ticket in town, with celebrities such as Gwyneth Paltrow and Jessie J in attendance.

The 20,000-strong crowd patiently waits as the reigning monarchs of hip-hop are fashionably late to hit the stage at London’s O2 (as part of five consecutive shows at the Greenwich venue). But fans are unfazed by the 45 minute wait, as the anticipation only fuels excitement. Suddenly, the music dips and the venue erupts into frenzied applause, as the superstar rappers emerge. Sticking to their “all black everything” motto, both are decked out in black clothing from head to toe – with West donning what appears to be a skirt over his leather trousers. And in an intriguingly unique entrance, West, 34, and 42-year-old Jigga enter the stage on boxes from opposite sides of the venue, spitting back and forth with one another, opening the historic night with ‘H.A.M’.

Both stages slowly rise, with images of barking dogs and wildlife projecting from each, as the duo performs tracks from their smash hit joint album. As the intro to Otis Redding’s ‘Try A Little Tenderness’ plays, Jay sprints to the main stage to join his collaborator, and the pair break into the LP’s leading single ‘Otis’. Accompanied with a giant American flag draped at the back, it’s at this point the show really gets underway.

The tour may be called Watch The Throne, but both MCs – to the delight of fans - play numerous tracks from their impressive back catalogue of hits. Jay-Z’s ‘Jigga What, Jigga Who’ and ‘Big Pimpin’’ takes older fans back to the Roc-A-Fella heyday, while West’s ‘Can’t Tell Me Nothing’ and ‘All Falls Down’ garners rapturous screams and excited shape-throwing gestures.

Showcasing their natural stage chemistry, Yeezy assists Jay during a rendition of ‘99 Problems’, while HOV returns the favour on West’s ‘Gold Digger’. A personal highlight comes when the pair takes it down a notch, grabbing a seat, whilst casually conversing, reminiscing about earlier days –which proves a great intro to Jigga’s breakthrough 1997 single ‘Hard Knock Life’.

Despite its wide success, some critics have questioned the ‘Watch The Throne’ album, claiming the record’s over-the-top boasting of wealth, designer garments and private jet lifestyle, in a time where most are feeling the pinch of the credit crunch, suggests the rap icons are slowly losing touch with their original hip hop fanbase. And while elements of that cannot be disputed, the albums triumph (both commercially and within the hip hop scene) proves rap fans (and pop fans alike) are very much so onboard with the duo’s “luxury rap”. And The O2 gig is a testament to that.

The US stars close their breathtaking two-hour set with an extended version of ‘N****s In Paris’ - which is reloaded an astonishing FOUR times, providing a perfect encore to what is quite frankly an EPIC show. Jay and Kanye are well and truly sitting on top of the hip hop throne, with no contenders remotely insight of knocking them off anytime soon.

Words by Vanessa Laker

Shabazz Palaces – Ishmael Butler plus Tendai Maraire plus two pairs of "grim-tilted-bounce-killing" sunglasses – start with ‘Youology’. It's the furious fifth track on last year's ‘Black Up’, an album that had all the fractures, the danger and density of sheet glass in heat. An appropriate beginning. The initial menace of the beat dissipates and, in its place, a question: "How fast do you want it?" Fast? Shabazz aren't in the business of crowd-appeasement. Their set is dedicated to "the intensity of leisure time."

Butler and Maraire stand side by side: mixer and mbira, digital and analog, future, past, West, East. Differences dance by themselves, as sharp and distinct as the movements of their songs. Same as a comedian refusing the easy punch line, Shabazz Palaces aren't interested in mashing anything up (we're not in Kanye any more) or serving to provide us a cheap release.

Butler is a funny, shadowy, virtuosic front man. He warms up; he spreads his wings, grinning. Maraire, on the other hand, is opaque – he could be working in a lab. They seem to work by touch. In 'Gunbeat Falls', the first track on their first EP, the piano sample and beat urge and bridle Butler. Then he drops them, leaving a space which Maraire’s quieter congas can live in, but not obliterate. At its simplest, Shabazz Palaces is two men who respect each other, which is pretty cool.

At XOYO, we miss Thee Satisfaction, who appeared with the band last autumn at the Jazz Cafe. Without them, Shabazz sound unforgivingly cool. Still, it’s thrilling to hear them occupy and change silence. The nearest comparison is John Coltrane's ‘Alabama’. It's a piece that addresses the Klan's murder of four schoolgirls in 1963. Coltrane's first, mourning bars shadow Martin Luther King's eulogy. Then a note is held and, in the silence before what you think's the next note, Elvin Jones comes in with a groove that throws the tragedy bodily to one side.

Shabazz work in that moment. They live to change. XOYO isn’t as enthusiastic as the Jazz Cafe; with a cold crowd in a cold room, the gig never bops hard, but it still tantalizes. Old songs wear new flourishes: matador horns on free press and curl, an almost R'n'B lope to the old school caps and vanished ships of 'Are You...Can You...Were You?'. Heavy, sinuous, wary, magnetic, light-bright – this is music that doesn’t need a crowd, and doesn’t suffer for such an independence.

In ‘Youology’, Butler (the ex-Digable Planets man) raises a toast to when "thugging went mainstream." If jazz was an historical moment, then what and where is hip hop? That’s what Shabazz Palaces seem to ask. So they remix the ‘Last Poets’. They resist patterns. They ask "who do you think you are?" They proclaim: "I'm free."

Words by Freddy Syborn

“I think people are surprised when they come to see us live. They expect us to be really calm and quiet but in some ways we’re the opposite”. These are the scarily accurate words of Dry The River’s heavily tattooed front man, Peter Liddle. If you stumbled drunkenly upon this band in a night club – with long locks and their bodies ladened with tattoos your instinct would tell you, protect your ears and go elsewhere as this is going to be deafening. Even so, the previous comment would only apply to those who have been hiding under a rock for the past seven months and are vastly unaware of the headway this band have achieved, i.e – selling out Camden Electric Ballroom 3 months in advance and the same is said for London Scala…so no biggie then? Tonight sees Dry The River bring their falsetto inspired folklore to a sold out Manchester Academy brimming with anticipation.

With a modest entrance that subjected the crowd to an entire three minutes of Michel Jackson’s Will You Be There (which, surprisingly, was quite enjoyable), Dry The River finally bounced onstage with the up-most vigour and enthusiasm – and received a raucous reception from a pumped up crowd. Commencing with the ever popular No Rest, the nerves seemed to be kept at bay, at least for now, enabling the impressive falsetto they have become branded with to work its magic on the crowd. An audience thoroughly satisfied with a note perfect performance to start the evening, Peter began to tease and probe for a better reaction “We’re called Dry The River, it’s good to be back in Manchester. This is one of our favourite places to play”. To which countless men and women exclaimed their love for the folky five piece.

Shield Your Eyes takes the show to another dimension aided by intense lighting creating silhouette-like figures, whilst your ears are being treated to breathtaking harmonies coupled with bizarre lyrical content ‘Frigione line with excellent eye sight’ – Peter later jokes that even he doesn’t know what the lyrics mean, but it’s nice that people are taking an interest! The mention of Rio Ferdinand being here tonight in one of Peters interjections obviously throws the crowd into complete turmoil and ‘Rio, Rio’ can be heard reverberating around the walls – enough to make anyone leave I would think.

What impressed me most about Dry The River was not the impeccable falsetto, harmonies or the breathtakingly talented but underrated violinist in the background – nope, none of those. It was the fact the whole performance was seamless and the band were able to relax with each other and the crowd, this allowed all of the above to flow so effortlessly and none other than in 'Weights and Measures'.

This song was like no other song I have heard live in my life. Spine tingling, emotive, earth shattering. I could go on but none of those words would capture the moment that eerie and echoing falsetto vocal filled the room as the band took a stand away from their mic’s and a pin drop could be heard as the crowd fell deafly silent. A simply stunning piece of lyrical work and one that will stay with me for a very long time. If you have the opportunity to experience this bands exceptional talents live grab it with both hands, you will not be disappointed. An accomplished and professional performance from a band who I’m sure have a lot more talent to share.

Words by Ben Gilligan

There’s no place like home, you can’t go home again..

The list of clichés for a hometown show is endless. It’s a common enough routine – witness Oasis at Maine Road, Pulp in Sheffield etc etc – and it lends itself to a preset lexicon, a pre-determined dialogue.

At its root, though, the hometown show remains a fascinating proposition. This is the first time I’ve ever been to Southend (I’m Scottish, see) and it’s remarkable just how easily the place fits into my preconceptions. A fusion of Georgian and Brutalist architecture, 50s diners have been transposed into Costa Coffeehouses while the modern art / living space in the centre is a headache built out of concrete. If you were young, creative and chock full of ambition it’s a place you might well want to escape from. Fast.

So The Horrors are understandably a bit, well, angsty when they emerge onstage. Having long since outgrown the humble confines of Chinnery’s, the JD Roots project has coaxed them into one final set at their old stomping ground.

They don’t exactly look happy about it. “I’d love to say it’s good to be back home” Faris Badwan insists, “but we’re not from here”. Pedantic, perhaps – he’s from another village two miles down the road – but the underlying sentiment, the sheer constrained anger is difficult to ignore.

Pushing into ‘Mirrors Image’ it’s clear that there’s a very special energy rippling through the band. The first time they’ve played a venue as small as this – in Britain, at least – for some time, The Horrors seem to re-capture something fundamental, something primeval about what they do. Faris Badwan leers towards the crowd, his eyes blazing through the front row as ‘Who Can Say’ blazes all around him.

The set naturally leans towards albums #2 and #3, but the material has yet to lose its magic. The focal point is ‘Sea Within A Sea’, the track which seemed to indicate that The Horrors were more than just drainpipe jeans and a smoke (or hype) machine. Veering between the twin poles of noise and melody, the Krautrock rhythms come to the fore during a brutal – Brutalist – rendition.

Departing from the stage amid a wealth of feedback and confusion, The Horrors stumble back on for the obligatory encore – except this time there seems to be a real intent. Waving goodbye to their hometown, the band end the show with belching garage of ‘Moving Further Away’; escaping Southend one last time, you can’t help but feel they’re trying to tell us something...

Nootropics - intelligence-enhancing chemicals - lend their name to Lower Dens’ recently-released second album, and it’s precisely within this mental sphere, rather than any emotional or physical one, that tonight’s performance does its best work.

But first, Lower Dens band member Carter Tanton takes to the stage, equipped with a twelve-string acoustic guitar, some effects and a loop pedal. With these, and a later switch to an electric guitar, he constructs some fascinating sonic landscapes, accompanied by his voice, sometimes also electronically modified. As his set goes on these creations become increasingly experimental, and he crosses a fair amount of territory in the process.

Lower Dens follow, with Jana Hunter at the helm. Guitars and keyboards abound, as do serious faces on all of the members of this five-piece. The opener is 'Rosie', from debut album ‘Twin-Hand Movement’. A bass guitar drone sets the scene, from which some clearer notes from Hunter’s guitar begin to emerge. It’s a track that opens with the dreamier, more pensive side of the band’s spectrum, but then abruptly breaks, with a driving drum beat and an almost-comforting blanket of fuzzy guitar sound. It’s a solid and confident start, and one that shows off Hunter’s voice to best effect. The band continues in this vein for a while longer, before 'Propagation', off the new album, ushers in a more somber, darker mood. It’s endlessly patient, mesmerisingly so, as Hunter slowly sings: “Population incandescent, all roads lead here.”

And then it’s time for album single 'Brains', instantly likeable – almost catchy – and very, very good. From the driving, relentless drum beat throughout, to the strange electronic noises added like seasoning to the middle section of the track, it’s all brilliant.

There’s no doubt that Hunter is the centre of this band, but it’s the interaction between her voice and that of bassist Geoff Graham that is one of the most successful elements of this performance. The two exchange high and low parts effortlessly, yet remain distinct enough from each other to both really contribute to the dense, complex sound being created.

The band isn’t static either, exchanging instruments as needed, each contributing to the creation of a vivid atmosphere throughout, with many interesting moments along the way. Hunter herself switches from guitar to keyboard during the set.

There’s little by way of between-track banter, which means very little to interfere with this vivid, and quite bleak picture that Lower Dens paints. One of the few times that Hunter speaks is to introduce 'Alphabet Song', a track that offers a marginally lighter, gentler few minutes than much of the set.
The evening’s closing track, 'In The End Is The Beginning' is an epic, glacial number, hypnotic as it slowly, inexorably builds to far more of a crescendo than it does on the album. Hunter has time at one point to stroll backstage, return to sing a few lines, and then leave again. She returns only to say goodnight, concluding just over an hour of performance.

On the whole, it’s been compelling and immersive. It may not be overtly moving or emotional, but it’s impressive, cerebral stuff.

Words by Clinton Cawood

After a barnstorming Thursday night at The Great Escape, any little kitten could be forgiven for a sore head and a grizzly disposition on the Friday morning, yet with a line-up of the likes that Republic of Music and Clash put on there was to be no moping; this was a one stop shop to catch the choicest bobby dazzlers of the whole festival. Set in the Shipwright’s Yard just off the seafront the vibe was old school block party: the beer was warm, the music was loud, and everyone was getting their rocks off.

Like Alka-Seltzer for the ears, first on the billing came in form of Brighton's own homeboy, Thomas White. Known for his work with a whole bunch of bands but notably the Soft Parade, he played a selection of his truly lovely tunes, making sure those first few ales went down smooth with a brace of songs from his latest solo release 'Yalla!'

Hangovers finally shaken off it was time for a bit of Aussie gold. Perth's Pond rocked up, pitched in, and went hard, HARD I tell you. Their funked up, progressive psychedelia had the crowd gurning with appreciative grimaces. Singer Nick utterly lost himself on stage setting a precedent for showmanship for the whole damn day and left the crowd wondering if this could be the band of the festival. With four albums out and one in the oven and a line up that's half of Tame Impala we’re not sure how they've managed to keep such a low profile in the Northern hemisphere; they've clearly honed their live act into something spectacular.

A quick pop round the corner to the shop to get some ales and a packet of pickled Monster Munch could have cost us missing all of Michael Lovett's NZCA/Lines, yet even elbowing back through the crowd we still caught a glimpse of him and electrysexy it certainly was. Pant stiffening, you could say.

Toronto's genre defying Doldrums have been gaining momentum and the buzz declares they are Canada's next due-to-drop big thing. Fresh from supporting the rather awesome Bear in Heaven on the North American leg of their tour and with burgeoning critical acclaim interest was piqued. Expectations were high but deliver they did.

The queues grew round the block for Kitsuné's recent signing Citizens! It’s true the “stage” couldn't be seen for shit but, hot damn, they set off the beginnings of an elctro-disco melt down with a super smash-up of 'Reptile'.

So judging by the gridlock out front it was an ill-kept secret that one of the Escape's hottest tips Friends were the special guests and they played a short but sweet set; for the rest of the day 'I'm His Girl' was sticky-stuck in t'brain, goddamn, but surely a sign of a winning hit. It helps that they are beautiful to look at as well, shallow but true.

As the evening drew nearer, anticipation was rife for the last two acts, the show devolving into a full-tilt party vibe. We Have Band have become big hitters of adroit electro over the past few years with tunes to get down to and get down we did, with a select few tracks from their new record. Winding it up was the seasoned Slow Club rounding out deliciously what was a terrific day of astute music programming that showcased exactly what the festival is about, a celebration of great new music. Oh and drinking. That too.

Words by Hannah Lanfear
Photo by Andy Sturmey

Click here for a photo gallery of the gig.

It was with a degree of hesitation that we entered Horatio’s in Brighton at 7pm, the evening before The Great Escape officially started. On the line-up of Vevo’s first foray into the world of festivals were Benga, Chiddy Bang and Sub Focus. A rather odd trio at first glance, but enough to make us head down to the end of the pier and have a look-see.

The venue itself is pretty neat, though not typical for the dubstep heavy-hitters featured on the roster. Imagine a Harvester if it were to be popped on the end a pier and you’re pretty much there. Needless to say, the crowd was a very mixed bunch indeed. You had your typical dubstep fans – identifiable by Reeboks and buzz cuts, trendy dubstep fans – with their knitted jumpers and multicoloured vans. Then there were the minorities, the odd metal-head, a Brighton alt-kid here and there. So, as we were saying, the dubstep fan of 2012 takes many forms.

Chiddy Bang opened up proceedings, managing to warm up the first couple of rows but not inspiring any major reaction from the crowd. It was Benga who was the most tantalizing offering of this show. Known for being one of the original artists of the current outbreak of dubstep-mania: if there is a man who knows his cream from his dubstep-crud, Benga is he. Stepping onto the stage with Benga was Youngman, with whom Benga has been working on his new album. With sufficient swagger and lyrical quips, Youngman managed to hold his own on-stage, while keeping the crowd at bay.

The material Benga seemed most excited to play were new tracks of his own. The first to be played was ‘Yellow’, a cleanly produced, yet abrasive dubstep track, as we’d expect from Benga. Two other new tunes from Benga included guest vocalists, by the names of Bebe Black and Marlene. While the girls had their charms, and Marlene had a particularly strong voice, the commercial slant of Benga’s new work made these sound all too Katy B at points. The pulsating, certified dubstep classic; Benga and Coki’s ‘Night’ also made an appearance, much to the pleasure of the crowd.

The final act to grace the stage that night was Sub Focus. Now, while we’re open to many things, Chiddy Bang included, Sub Focus may have been a step too far. That night both distinct sides of dubstep were flaunted, in exaggerated fashion. The underground, roots movement; of which Benga was a part. Then the overblown, teeth-shattering mammoth of what dubstep has become; Skrillex, we’re looking at you. Many of the guys down the front were loving Sub Focus, with their flat-caps, their long black mops, Hawaiian shirts etcetera. And you know what? That’s fine. These two, very different beasts can co-exist in harmony- so long as we have people like Benga reminding us where the real good sh*t is.

Words by George Boorman

Playing their first show for over a year, and returning with a new, refined purpose, Poppy & The Jezebels were on the bill as part of a This Must Be Pop night, sandwiched between sets from EBRU and War Of Words. The four-piece all-girl band from the Midlands are on the verge of releasing their shiny new, Richard X-produced single 'Sign In, Dream On, Drop Out!' and it was that song's blatant socially-conscious ‘80s warmth and joyously shouty chorus that closed the set on this damp Hoxton Tuesday.

Quipping about their Birmingham roots ("You might not understand our accents at all,") and offering sound advice not to hug friends with umbrellas tucked under their arms, lead vocalist Mollie Kingsley and diminutive keyboard player Dom Vine were the cheerful, upbeat half of the band, augmented by guitarist Amber Bradbury's effortlessly cool demeanour and drummer Poppy Twist, who was determined to pound her drum kit into mere splinters.

Their songs in this too-short set veered from vintage New Order-style introspection, complete with obligatory jangly guitars, through to the more pronounced electronic edge on the new single. Halfway through the set they premiered a new song, 'Turn Up The Hey' which managed to neatly straddle dreamy indie pop with what sounded like retro house piano riffs. 'Momma's Boy', also getting its first airing, lurched forth with a heavy, reggae-inflected spikiness, while tinkly synth noises that might have been echoes from Tears For Fears' 'Change' - a song that was probably released well before the girls were born - were sprinkled over the top. As for the new single, devoid of a few of its synth layers, the track took on a new dimension with some angry drumming, Kingsley dancing round the small stage with evident abandon.

For some reason over the years, people seem to have made “pop” into an ugly word, something to be ridiculed and chastised, confined to playlists of guilty pleasures and fair game for jibes. Poppy & The Jezebels instead embrace pop's inherent catchiness and exploit it shamelessly. And, on the evidence offered up tonight, that's no bad thing at all.

Words by Mat Smith

Last year at The Great Escape, the Alcopop!/Big Scary Monsters all-dayer at the less than salubrious Pavillion Tavern – a pub known for its insanely cheap drinks – ended in carnage. With a capital CARNAGE. The headliners – Scottish noiseniks The Xcerts – and, before them quirky indie-popsters Stagecoach, turned the whole pub into a raucous, ridiculous moshpit – bodies were flying everywhere, bouncers were throttling people, light bulbs and glasses were smashed, spectacles were dropped and trampled on, the promoter was nearly kicked out of his own gig and a chandelier was pulled off the ceiling and carried out by one supremely cheeky member of the crowd. There’s a video of it on YouTube that’s well worth watching.

It was somewhat surprising, then, that the venue asked the two labels back to curate again this year. That said, the gig achieved such notoriety that they’d have been idiots not to – it was, truly, the stuff of legends. This year, amid ridiculous drinks offers – five Jagerbombs for a tenner means nothing is going to end well – and a host of awesome bands playing throughout the day, it’s up to Johnny Foreigner and headliners Tall Ships to finish the party and reach the ridiculous heights of the previous May.

By the time Johnny Foreigner arrive onstage – on a stage that’s level with the floor, just a few security guards separating them from the hyperactive and enthusiastic crowd – the mood of the whole place is ecstatic and ebullient. Sure, partly that’s due to the abundance of inexpensive booze, but it’s as much to do with the band’s playing too. And Johnny Foreigner bring the party vibe up about five notches with their exuberant, quirky and explosive pop. They take to the stage just before midnight and, first serenading the crowd with lullaby-esque poignancy of ‘Johnny Foreigner Vs. You’ before the blistering, jerkiness of ‘Feels Like Summer’ tears the contemplative mood of the room in two, while ‘Salt, Peppa and Spinderella’ is equally exciting and infectious. They finish, breathless and sweaty – because, by fuck, is it hot in here – with the triumphant flourish of ‘The Swell/Like Neverwhere’ – and deservedly so.

It’s after 1am when Tall Ships begin their set. There’s a huge amount of equipment crammed on the tiny stage, and no room in the crowd whatsoever, but it feels far from claustrophobic. If anything, ‘Plate Tectonics’ and ‘T = 0’ infusing the crowd with an otherworldly energy that takes over the room. There’s just three of them, but theirs is a sound that is so complex it seems impossible that there’s not five others hiding behind the amps and the equipment. At the same time, though, it’s music that cuts straight to the heart with a devastating, beautiful simplicity – and no more so than on this Friday at The Great Escape, in the early hours at the end of a phenomenal, booze-filled and fuelled day. It’s not quite as rowdy as the previous year, but it’s a performance - and, in fact, a whole day – that reaches the same dizzying heights that Alcopop! and BSM – and, of course, the bands they chose – set in 2011. Roll on 2013!

Words by Mischa Pearlman
Photo by Elinor Jones

Follow these links for photo galleries of Thursday, Friday and Saturday at The Great Escape.