Girls

2011 saw the completion of a transformation of the relationship between musicians and their influences. It’s now au fait to openly engage in revivalism; new music is borrowing heavily from the past in an unprecedented fashion. At the forefront of this were Girls, skilfully avoiding the usual pitfalls of making retro music by injecting colour and personality into the eerily familiar soundscapes present in their latest release, Father, Son, Holy Ghost. Frontman and primary creative force, Christopher Owens, explains that ‘the influences are different for each song and to me unimportant, the music is only a backdrop for what is operant, people spend too much time trying to figure music out – in my opinion.’ Owens works on his own terms, refusing to allow even the weighty influences employed to distract from the task at hand; an introspective exploration of the important things in life, which he explains are ‘looking for love, wanting happiness [and] reaching out to be noticed.’ With such an ambitious remit, it’s not a surprise that Owens is so forthright in being uncompromisingly hard-hitting lyrically; ‘I don’t know how to take a step back or be impersonal or to write fiction, I only write from my heart, when I become overwhelmed. I think that’s the reason I love it, because it’s a release’, he explains.

The extent to which Girls’ directness is unrelenting is particularly clear in the emphasis placed upon the no-holds-barred discussion of Owens’ relationship with his mother throughout the record. He explains that ‘[catharsis] is the only thing songwriting is for me’. With the discussion of such emotionally charged personal issues Owens admits that in a live scenario ‘it is intense, and there’s no way around that for me, because any other way would be a bad show and I’m very committed to a good show’. The honesty and integrity required to pull of such a feat could easily be understated as it’s clear that Owens’ feelings regarding his maternal relationship are particularly intense and complex in ways far removed from ordinary experience. Having been brought up by his mother within the confines of cult-like separatist Christian group ‘Children of God’, they led an almost nomadic existence, rarely settling in any country or area for large periods of time. An experience that Owens doesn’t ‘feel much affected by that musically’ but clearly affected the relationships that form the basis for his lyrics. The underlying tone behind the exploration of his feelings towards his mother appears to be forgiveness, a notion heavily supported by the spiritual transcendent quality Girls’ music takes on, a result of the utilisation of a gospel choir as modest backing for a voice which is self-described as ‘not the best’.

Christopher has wised up and grown up and wears this on his sleeve without betraying the fraught sense of vulnerability present in his voice that lends his words discomfortingly penetrative power. There’s a strong sense that ‘My Ma’ and ‘Vomit’, both perspicaciously commenting upon previously unhealthy perspectives towards past relationships, are reactions formed following a period of epiphany and self-realisation. This is evident in the borrowing of a biblical metaphor found in Proverbs 26:11 (“As a dog returns to his vomit, so does a fool return to his folly”) to liken a parasitic relationship to in the sprawling epic documenting emotional breakdown, ‘Vomit’. The wisdom exuded by the resurgent Owens is unflappable, taking on an almost supernatural capacity for love in opening himself up towards reconciliation with the mother he left when escaping from ‘Children of God’ aged 16. There is however danger in overplaying the religious aspect of a record filled to the brim with biblical references, it’s merely one facet of a complex narrative woven by Owens and he’s keen to draw attention elsewhere; ‘I have a heavy religious background… it’s less important than people think though’. The emphasis ought to be placed more in spirituality and Owens’ clear desire for love, the religious themes are just more prone to being picked out and analysed, given his background.

Father, Son, Holy Ghost differentiates itself from previous Girls records through its departure away from their original lo-fi approach, though Owens’ explains that ‘the only reason we sounded lo-fi in the beginning was because we had bad recording equipment which was broken half the time – we would have loved to have sounded this clean from the start, it’s only just now affordable for us.’ The effect this has on the record is immediate, the sonic constructions are awe-inspiring and the emotional weight of the material is striking from the offset. This allows Girls to be more effective in being faithful to their artistic intentions, which they pull off flawlessly, despite having set lofty aims. With such an achievement in their hands it’s difficult to see how Girls can follow up the intricately constructed rich complex tapestry they’ve presented to the world in Father, Son, Holy Ghost. However, the prolific Owens appears full of self-assurance in his assertion that ‘there are so many options (about 100 songs)’, a man never short of faith in himself prophesises that the next step for the band ‘won’t disappoint’.

John Lewis Ads

Eliciting emotional reactions everywhere, John Lewis’ latest campaign designed to prise the pennies from your pockets in the name of Christmas has been particularly effective this year. Social networks are flooded with reports of tears streaming down the collective face of the British public in response to supposedly the sweetest surprise in advertising history. The advert, soundtracked by a cover of The Smiths’ “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want”, has caused the band to have been the victim of a vicious backlash. The use of one of their songs in a campaign tacitly supporting materialism constitutes ‘selling out’ and panders towards a culture of superficiality, which appears contrary to The Smiths’ historic counter-cultural stance. However, is this level of scorn shown towards The Smiths justified as a result of their actions?

It’s strange to think that this is the first time a supposed misuse of a song by The Smiths has attracted such controversy from a rabid fanbase; as it’s certainly not the first time one of their songs has been used in advertising campaign. Since featuring ‘How Soon Is Now?’ in an advert for Pepe Jeans in the late 80s without plunging Morrissey and Marr into the mire of a heated ethical debate, The Smiths’ songs have featured in various places, albeit infrequently. In fact, ‘This Charming Man’ appeared in a John Lewis advert earlier this year. Crucially, none of these instances of songs appearing in adverts have attracted any controversy. It is clearly a weak line of argument that attacks the use of ‘Please, Please, Please…’ without considering previous usage of The Smiths’ songs that did little to sully their anti-establishment image. If they have ‘sold out’ in this manner, then they did it quite some time ago.

However, there appears to be something distinctively inappropriate about the use of this particular song that has riled the up-in-arms minority, rather than the mere act of The Smiths selling a song. The original sentiment of ‘Please, Please, Please…’ is disjoint from the message projected onto the song by backroom marketing bods. There’s no possible world in which the expression of the agony and loneliness inspired by unrequited love can be likened to the mild frustration of wanting to gift practical household items, courtesy of John Lewis, but having to wait until the specific day upon which it is the cultural norm to do so. This certainly wasn’t the message that the miserable tortured voice of Morrissey conveyed; allowing the meaning of ‘Please, Please, Please’ to be appropriated and bastardised in one foul move clearly signifies a betrayal of values from Morrissey and Marr.

It’s easy to see why some fans believe this, but the version of ‘Please, Please, Please’ used in the advert isn’t the original recording. A disgustingly twee-sounding cover from Slow Moving Millie, which eagerly disposed with many of the sonic characteristics which the original used in order to portray its excruciating sentiment, has instead been used. Such is the extent to which the initial aesthetic impression of the song has been changed, that the sentiment of advert and soundtrack don’t appear to violently clash in quite the way described above. The fault doesn’t lie with The Smiths then, it is clear to see that the emotional integrity of the song has been preserved, as the cover used is so far removed from the original in intent. If they are at fault, it’s for allowing covers that have a different take on the original song; it would be particularly harsh to incriminate The Smiths under these charges.

The last stand for the outraged fans consists in the claim that the lasting memories induced by listening to ‘Please, Please, Please…’ are tarnished by association with the materialistic message projected onto the song by John Lewis. It is a reasonable claim; when one is emotionally attached to a song that anything that may alter this experience for you becomes debilitating. However, if these original impressions and memories were strong enough to forge a sufficient emotional connection to be roused by the advert, they’re surely able to withstand six weeks of seasonal bombardment, with little to no lasting effect upon the listener’s continued experiences of the original song? To claim otherwise is practically admitting that the supposed emotional connection they hold is as superficial as the emotions experienced by those bawling tears over the offending advert. The lack of justified basis from which The Smiths’ critics attempt to launch an attack serves as a paradigm example of how certain musical circles’ obsessions with authenticity can be reduced to mere superficiality. The Smiths have allowed a cover of one of their songs to be used in an advert – what difference does it make?

Atlas Sound – Parallax

The once bedroom-confined solo project of Deerhunter frontman Bradford Cox has reached new levels of maturity with the release of Parallax, Atlas Sound’s third album. Cox’s methodology, consisting in stream-of-consciousness writing and production, when unshackled from the restraints imposed by the differing creative desires of bandmates, could easily have produced a record lacking in cohesion. Thematic exploration of cosmic reverie finds ‘entire galaxies’ encroaching upon the hazy sonic daydreams constructed by the methodology, a spaced-out feeling persisting throughout, providing a central frame of reference for the sprawling range of variety on show and swiftly allaying earlier fears over cohesion. Combining the best of Cox’s creativity with the sharp focus of a Deerhunter record; hypnotic electronic repetitions layered with unabrasive yet enchanting hooks create an astral atmosphere over which a crooning Cox masterfully presides. An immersive opalescence pervades each song on the record, from the shoegaze styled ‘Mona Lisa’ to the melancholic folk-lament ‘Terra Incognita’, heightening the sense of escapism characteristic of a Bradford Cox record. A line from the pensive ‘Flagstaff’ serves as a self-contained description of ‘Parallax’ itself – ‘I’d describe it, but your jaw would drop’.

on romance, heat rash and starvation

MY LIFE STORY

I went without food for this. Last week of the first term, I’d already stocked up on the essentials (read: no actual food); I decided to go a little more hungry than a starving student usually would, I spent my last monies on Los Campesinos!’ ‘Heat Rash’. And today, at last, my hunger has been satisfied and I can almost not remember picking up dirtied breadcrumbs off of my carpet in order to garnish a midnight snack one late night in December.

‘ZINE

If anyone read Alexei of Johnny Foreigner’s righteous rant aimed towards a deluded NME journalist (read here if you didn’t), then you’ll see that Heat Rash is irrefutable proof that Alexei was right. The small tangible things, utterly meaningless to most, cement the strongest ties between bands and fans. As the editorial opening the smooth-paged ‘zine asks ‘isn’t this collection of paper and staples, that you’re currently muddying, a sight more romantic than .pdfs and blog posts?’. I certainly think so.

‘Team Campesinos!’ combine wonderfully to meditate upon the theme of ‘romance’, each member making their own contribution. I did feel slightly disappointed at the lack of ‘chalkboard feature’; the harrowing feelings succinctly portrayed by Kim Campesinos! in ‘This Isn’t Love. Nor Romance.’ magnificently capture the same sense of loss and desperation inspired by a defeat on penalties in a play-off semi-final. Perhaps though, as the majority of the band support Manchester United, the feelings inspired by football aren’t as forlorn as those inspired by romance.

Continuing with football as a linking manoeuvre, Rob Campesinos! (crucially a Newcastle United fan) could quite easily be portraying the inevitable building of expectations on Tyneside; the false hope inspired by countless ‘messiahs’ and the inevitable disappointment when they flounce off in a huff, in his wonderful humour-laden comic strip ‘Spirit of St Louis’. The artwork (including the cover), the cutting wit and general angst-filled proverbial sigh of disappointment exuded by the entire thing, is brilliant. A tip for Micheal; creating a brochure listing your musical tastes and general strengths would’ve been effective. I mean, it worked for your almost namesake Mr Owen and he ended up at Manchester United (where they actually win things), so you should’ve given that a try.

Enough about the ‘zine. If you haven’t already positioned yourself on a bridge, ready to throw yourself off; you can learn how to woo using tried and tested techniques; make French-ish food for the special person you’ve wooed; increase your aesthetic appeal by covering yourself with love hearts to keep hold of them; pick up Nick Drake lyrics to appropriate and steal as your own heartfelt thoughts and be comforted by Ellen’s message that even though none of this really succeeded, deep-seated psychological issues about love and trust are ingrained into the general mentality. Overall, a self-contained guide to romance, it does what it says on the tin.

MUSIC

First and foremost, Los Campesinos! are a band. Bands make music. Heat Rash came with some music (a 7" vinyl with some wonderful artwork). Brief thoughts below:

Light Leaves, Dark Sees:

Begins and continues with a ripping melody that hooks you in and won’t let you go, only letting you leave on its terms, giving way to a calmer, quieter, more heartfelt close.

“It’s like my hand in your hair was just meant to be,

You are my angel now come sit atop of me”

The typical light-hearted Campesinos! frankness is retained and finds its way into honest playful lyrics, constantly drawing upon clichés (a hundred puppies as an expression of a burgeoning love, anyone?) but is immensely self-aware, which allows the expressed sentiment to remain sincere. Simple but effective, this one will definitely be a crowd-pleaser.

Four Seasons:

Different to ‘Light Leaves, Dark Sees’, starting as a soft ballad giving way to manic fury; the song has a more sinister take on what it means ‘to love’.

"Only dirt is washed away, cos all the bad lays far more deep

Please, I don’t wanna talk about it.“

The paranoia inspired by fear of loss and potential pain, causing the most dreadful of outcomes. There’s a difference between ‘I’d buy you a thousand puppies’ and ‘I’d kill for you’, especially when both of these sentiments are expressed naturally, genuinely, sincerely. Hauntingly identifiable is the other uglier, but nonetheless necessary side of love. Romantic? Perhaps not.

These two tracks are different; honest fun on one hand, with the subconscious psychotic residing on the other, but they both are expressions of the same thing. Plus they’re both rewarding listens. It’s exciting that Los Campesinos! can afford to dispense with tracks like this (even if they were written for this purpose alone) whilst producing a new album. Unlike romance, perhaps, this is a high expectation that won’t leave me feeling let down.

PITIFUL CONCLUDING THOUGHTS

So there we have it, Heat Rash; a physical memento that acknowledges and preserves the sanctity of the band/fan relationship in a sincere honest fashion. Some good tunes, some good reads and something to file in a box somewhere to look back upon, it’ll be far more meaningful than some mp3s and a .pdf lost somewhere on an antiquated digital media storage device.

the ethics of indirect stealing

I was mugged yesterday. It was quite distressing. Or at least, would’ve been if the ‘mugging’ had been direct; if a switchblade had coaxed the money from my pocket, or even if the producer of a particularly menacing stare had demanded it from me. I was robbed in the least emotion-stirring way I can think of, by a woman and her young child, via a photobooth. I was aggrieved nonetheless, but can I claim that the woman and her child were morally reprehensible for their actions?

There I was, wanting some passport photos, £5 in coins in hand, slowly entering them into the machine slot one by one. The last coin didn’t register. The machine has no capacity for giving change. I’m alone, no one to look after the machine for me. No more change in my pocket. Stripped of freedom, I have to get another pound, take that small hit, but be able to get the passport photos I required. Two minutes later, I return, woman and child outside my booth, printing their commemorative Royal Wedding photos. They could’ve at least got something decent.

Now, can it be said that they directly caused my ‘pain’? If they did, it’s clear that they are morally reprehensible. Let’s analyse this in terms of counterfactuals; if they had not used my photo credit, then my photo credit would have remained intact… wait, that doesn’t work at all. It’s quite possible that had they not used my credit, someone else may have. So there’s no direct causal link between their use of my credit and my pain, it’s quite possible that my pain would be intact, even if they had not used my credit. Someone else could’ve used my credit. They’re not directly responsible. Then who is?

We can pick out two direct causal factors, we can either blame the machine, or we can blame ‘everyone’ (for permitting such actions in general). If the machine had not been faulty, then my photo credit would have not only remained intact, but would have been completed. The whole issue would never have arisen. On the other hand, mechanical failure is inevitable, plus I want someone to be morally accountable for my pain (this is surely not unreasonable). Crucially, had no one used my photo credit, then my photo credit would have remained intact. The individual is not directly responsible for my ‘pain’, but ‘everyone’ is. How can we draw a sensible conclusion from this?

‘Everyone’ is identifiable with the general culture the majority promote. If the general culture prohibited indirect leeching off of others, then problems such as this would not arise. As no individual is necessarily reprehensible (exceptions are accepted, this woman and child may well have had their lives at stake and required commemorative Royal Wedding photos to save themselves, who am I to stop them?), the general culture is to blame. If no one took advantage of fortune (when it is clear that this fortune is balanced by the misfortune of others) in such a way, then ‘pain’ would not be created in this way.

This same conclusion, if not a stronger one, can be drawn for illegal downloading of music. I find it unfair to pick out individuals – everyone can justify themselves to some extent on an individual level, but only because the general culture does not actively prohibit downloading. It doesn’t matter if the artist receives a miniscule amount of the profits, that the record labels receive a lion’s share; that you can’t afford to buy music as vociferously as you consume it. On an individual level, these aren’t morally reprehensible in themselves, but the culture that justifies such excuses really is. If anything, the individual can be held more reprehensible than the woman and child who thieved from me, as downloaders are acutely aware of the fact that they are short-changing their favourite artists when they indirectly steal their music. Just because there isn’t an active real process of stealing, in either the case of photobooths or when acquiring music online, it does not mean that the culture of allowing such things to occur is acceptable.

The general culture and attitudes held need to change in order to facilitate fair reimbursement for music artists. However, such a task won’t be easy. If I found a fiver on the floor, I’d keep it. Wouldn’t you? And there lies the problem…

nature, not nurture

I was going to write a short tactical analysis of Spurs vs Real Madrid, then I realised there are people who are infinitely more experienced and qualified than me who’ll do a better job of it than I ever would. I did, in the few moments that occupied the intersection between the period of time in which I was watching the game and the period of time in which I was still entertaining this ludicrous idea, notice the attacking responsibility thrust upon Gareth Bale by the countless long cross-field balls barely finding their way into his path. With the media hyperbole and early one-dimensional (though fairly effective) tactics from Tottenham, one might think that Gareth Bale is a world-class player. Surely not? And if he is anywhere close to being so, can Harry Redknapp take any of the credit?

Years ago, even months ago, I was publically ridiculed for claiming that ‘Gareth Bale will be world-class one day’, not exclusively by non-Spurs fans either. I do, however, recall one person tentatively backing the various cases I made, most of them blaming Harry Redknapp for his lack of progress thus far. This was the same person I phoned at half-time of Inter vs Tottenham, when they were 4-0 down, to poke fun at and sarcastically comfort with ‘it’s alright though, Bale’s on the pitch, he’ll save you’. The night before, we’d been sat together watching Arsenal vs Shakhtar, where I’d been putting forward the claim that Bale is a little bit special to a Leeds fan and a Swindon fan, both of whom quickly concluded that I was talking nonsense. Thing is, I was right. Almost, at least, I wouldn’t get too carried away with the media hyperbole. However, Bale did score a hat-trick at the San Siro; he has become the main threat of a side who battled their way in the Champions League quarter-finals and is collectively feared amongst right-backs across Europe. Give me some credit at least.

I feel an examination of my past footballing claims is required, before deciding whether Harry Redknapp can take any credit for Bale’s metoric rise. It’s perhaps these claims that lead to little credence being given to my protestations that Bale would stand out at the highest level. The level of truth in a particular claim I’ll examine is irrelevant to me, the claim is one I’ll defend even now, its very root is the making of the football fan I am today.

Bored of listening to the endless boasts of how brilliant then Manchester United player Cristiano Ronaldo was, I decided to be rather controversial; to make a claim so clearly absurd, but passionately defensible. ‘Matt Le Tissier was better than Cristiano Ronaldo is’. At the time, Ronaldo hadn’t yet hit his stratospheric heights and was competing with the likes of Frank Lampard for the greatest goal tally, rather than competing with other-worldly talents like Lionel Messi. It wasn’t the most ridiculous claim, not if (as a young impressionable child) you were starved of football in a household with terrestrial and nothing other than a gifted Matt Le Tissier Unbelievable VHS to satiate your insatiable appetite for football. No one else I knew had seen it. They couldn’t identify where I was coming from, watching Manchester United win on TV every week is numbing to the realities of football. Whereas watching Southampton struggle for survival [or my hometown team lingering in the lower leagues] (Marian Pahars needs a mention, albeit a brief one) far too often, with wins rare and good wins even more so; watching Unbelievable naturally led to Le God worship. The fact that my peers couldn’t understand meant that my eye for talent was questioned, but I’d been brought up on Le Tissier; I knew talent when I saw it.

The masterful play of a precocious 17 year old left-back, acting as playmaker for a side reaching the Championship play-offs isn’t something you quickly forget. Despite the misleading tag as ‘set-piece specialist’ he quickly acquired, a brief moment watching him play quickly showed that there was much more to him than that. I don’t even need to say too much; Bale ran the show in the most enjoyable season for a Southampton fan since reaching the FA Cup final. He was entirely crucial to everything Southampton did that season; his and Kenwyne Jones’ tactical targeting by Billy Davies in the play-off semi-final first leg prevented him from making waves with Saints in the Premier League. Davies’ brutish Derby side quickly dispatched the fulcrum of Southampton’s attacking power, yet they still only managed to squeeze through the the play-off final, a task that likely would have proved impossible if not for Jones’ replacement Leon Best’s best efforts for the Rams.

With Southampton’s promotion charge thoroughly thwarted, it was clear Bale was moving on, to Spurs he went for a sizeable fee. He made an impressive start, but progress was quickly halted by injuries and an unfortunate 24 game streak of appearances in which he didn’t taste league victory didn’t help his case either. It can’t have helped his confidence, nor could the fact that Harry Redknapp was almost ready to ship him out to Nottingham Forest on loan before injuries took their toll and Bale was required for first team duty. He played well. He continued playing well. He’s still playing well. Playing in a confident creative side playing attacking football for a sustained period of time helped Bale; Harry Redknapp’s man-management of him up until that point clearly did not, if it weren’t for injuries, he’d have been on the scrapheap as David Bentley and Giovani Dos Santos find themselves now.

Redknapp can take credit for the environment in which Bale has flourished, but Bale’s flourishing in it is accidental, a stroke of luck caused by injuries rather than an orchestrated masterplan by the Tottenham manager. That’s as much as he can rightfully take credit for; the rest goes to Bale’s natural talent, evident from his time at Southampton. A talent like Bale, a talent like Le Tissier, they could make it anywhere (and so I’ve argued many times), such talents given the right environment (could this apply to Fernando Torres?) will always prosper and succeed. And it takes talent to spot such a talent… and with my overuse of the word ‘talent’ throughout this, I’ll argue that’s one talent I possess (with creative writing probably not being an element of the set of ‘my talents’).