Euro 2012: Footballing Anthems and Forecasting Failure

Uninspiring, underwhelming and unforgivable – no, not the appointment of Roy Hodgson, but instead it’s Chris Kamara’s significant bearing upon England’s potential Euro 2012 success that is truly criminal. His comically poor observational skills coupled with an acute proneness to become prematurely overexcited is symptomatic of everything that’s wrong with his contribution to England’s inevitable disappointment, but it’s not his punditry that I’m referring to. Instead it’s his role in producing England’s official Euro 2012 song that particularly offends, not just because it builds a paper-thin façade of bravado for England’s tournament chances, but because it’s just an awful song.

A successful tournament is always accompanied by a rousing anthem, capable of uniting the masses. Don’t believe me? Then how else does one explain away England’s lack of success at major tournaments in recent years? The ‘Golden Generation’ has been and almost gone, yet we’re no closer to the gleaming jewels of Rimet, or even Michel Platini’s silver-patterned plaything (who’s Delaunay anyway?). A paucity of talent can’t be the reason for this (or so we’re lead to believe), or at least, the squads of Italia ’90 and England ’96 don’t on the face of it seem significantly more talented than others who’ve failed to adequately step up to the mark. The England team require consistent backing and a unified spirit in order to succeed – the only consistent predictor for this appears to be the quality of theme song, be it official or unofficial. Without a novel catchy recorded chant repeatable on the terraces, any tournament campaign is surely doomed to failure.

Utilising mainstream musicians perhaps isn’t the best route to making a super-smash-soccer-hit, but England’s theme for the 1990 World Cup incorporated serious credibility into the national team’s musical machinery with New Order writing and performing ‘World In Motion’. Unlike Embrace’s 2006 contribution ‘World At Your Feet’, the employment of accomplished rapper-cum-footballer John Barnes to make a cameo appearance lightened the mood of the song in order to make it truly identifiable with for fans. Football may be a matter of life and death to some, but what’s the use in confronting mortal questions head-on without some comic relief?

The plain simplicity of New Order’s textured electronic rhythms bolstered by earworm hooks, coupled with the sheer togetherness displayed by the whole squad appearing on the record, does little but establish ‘World In Motion’ as a genuine classic. Granted, New Order could never have achieved the levels of dreariness that Embrace emphatically reached, but it’s the playful feel in combination with genuine musicality that makes ‘World In Motion’ truly special. A serious song is merely serious; it’s not a true footballing anthem. 2006 World Cup failure can be attested to the fact that Embrace took their role far too seriously.

However, a song primarily intended to be comedic is hardly a recipe for tournament success either. ‘Goldenballs’, ‘We’re On The Ball’, songs involving James Corden – all of these are clearly aiming at little more than simply ‘funny’. Even ‘Vindaloo’, the thoroughly enjoyable and genuinely humorous 1998 anthem, fails to hit the mark – the point isn’t to be funny, it’s also to rouse and to entertain. A song that truly captures the humanity and emotion of the situation that football fans find themselves in, without seriously implying mortal danger, is what’s required. There’s only one real song that pulls this off to any degree, and it does so flawlessly; Baddiel, Skinner and The Lightning Seeds’ ‘Three Lions’ (1996 version).

Football didn’t quite manage to find its way home, but its importance hit home hard, uniting all in grief. ‘Thirty years of hurt (now forty-six!) never stopped me dreaming’ succinctly captures exactly what it is to be an England football fan. Not a particularly spectacular track in terms of its sonic arrangements, but again its unbridled simplicity is key to its efficacy; the lyrics and sentiment hit hard. Easy to learn and even easier to chant, it’s the ultimate football anthem. It’s no surprise then, that only ‘Three Lions’ and ‘World In Motion’ accompanied England’s last semi-final appearances at major tournaments, the other tournaments appearances can be straightforwardly categorised as abject failure, it was only penalty shootouts against built for spot-kicks machines which prevented England from prospering in both ’90 and ’96.

So, what’s been established? To win the tournament, a good theme song isn’t sufficient; a Russian linesman is required in order to successfully overcome the Germans, but beyond that we need an anthem in order to foster a winning spirit within both squad and nation. And thus, the burden of our collective hopes and dreams fell upon the shoulders of Chris Kamara. And, not at all unbelievably, he buckled under the pressure. An insipid rhythm bolstered by lyrics more banal than Stephen Malkmus intentionally spouting nonsense does little to inspire. ‘Sing 4 England’, he asks – but who would dare sing along with such an awful song, devoid of actual humour? What does this song do to lift the nation? Nothing. It’s ‘funny’, but so is the thought of Gareth Southgate taking a penalty, and that doesn’t win us tournaments.

Pessimism is rife amongst England fans, and is entirely justified. Not because an ungodly proportion of the squad is formed by Liverpool players coming off the back of a painfully average season, nor because Rio Ferdinand, Micah Richards and Michael Carrick are nowhere to be seen, but because this song is truly terrible. A reliable predictor forecasts England failure once this year. Even if it seems like an absurd measure, I can’t help but feel that its prediction has more than a ring of believability to it.

Taylor Swift – We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

Taylor Swift may have the whole ‘successful undercover pixie next door’ thing locked down, but even that doesn’t make her immune to the charms of a certain Harry. Redknapp, of course. Despite promises of t’rrific times and endless media speculation, things never seem to actually work out for either Taylor or Harry. Despite the eminently catchy bubblegum pop wrapped package Swift delivers, the inevitable hurt inflicted by Harry can’t be masked. Taylor Swift perfectly captures the sheer anger, anguish and sense of helplessness of being left in the Red perfectly on this barnstorming track. No one wants you back Harry. No one. Fuck off.

Deerhunter – Monomania

If there’s one thing Bradford Cox is singularly obsessed with, it’s making music; since 2005 his output has been ceaselessly prolific. However, it’s been almost three years since Halcyon Digest, the last full Deerhunter release, and though Cox recently found time for a solo outing as Atlas Sound on Parallax, Deerhunter’s full return on Monomania is both welcome and long-awaited. They’re back and louder than they’ve been in recent times.

Thumping drums cocooned by cavernous thrashing guitars opens up the noise-drenched ‘Neon Junkyard’, thrusting Cox’s shouts to the forefront and submerging the listener into a den of garage-rock. A far cry from the intricate sonic explorations and warbling tones ofHalcyon Digest, Monomania begins with a bang and doesn’t ease up, cascading into the even louder ‘Neon Jacket II’, which comes complete with a seductively catchy riff and abrupt mid-track breakdown.

Discarding the spectacular astral projections of Halcyon Digest in favour of a rougher direct feel wasn’t what was expected, though given that Cox has the chutzpah to play ‘My Sharona’ on loop for a whole hour during live sets, a slight subversion of expectations isn’t as calamitous as it could’ve been. Instead, we’re left with a rare treat, a record that initially shocks, yet grows in strength and ultimately awes. Where Halcyon Digest was a fantastical dream, Monomania is an all too real awakening.

A penchant for pop hooks and subtle tracks hasn’t left the Atlanta rockers, with ‘Dream Captain’ and ‘T.H.M’ harking back to some of the finer moments of Deerhunter’s ambient forays. Title track ‘Monomania’ encapsulates the whole record wonderfully; it’s not lacking in classic sensibilities, demonstrating Cox’s unquestionable prowess for a strong hook, yet is shrouded in reverb and descends into a tantalising explosion of noise as Cox’s repeated drawls of ‘Monomania’ refuse to fade or die.

Cox’s response to lines of questioning regarding his virtuoso rendition of ‘My Sharona’ was to claim that his ‘job is to simply sodomise mediocrity’. There’s no question over whether or not Cox is ordinary (he clearly isn’t), whether Monomania is evidence that his talent is extraordinary is open to question. One thing’s for sure though – it’s anything but mediocre.

Youth Lagoon – Wondrous Bughouse

Where others turn their gaze towards the stars and the vastness beyond Earth, 23 year old producer Trevor Powers turns inwards. However, despite guiding the listener through an intensely introspective journey by submerging them into the all-consuming soporific soundscapes that compose Wondrous Bughouse, Youth Lagoon manages to avoid sacrificing the grand sense of wonder and excitement of exploration typically evoked by astral dreamers. This marks a genuine transformation for Powers – whose first record The Year of Hibernation was an archetypal intimate bedroom production – as the scope of his sound has been amplified beyond recognition. Crucially though, he’s done this without relinquishing the honesty that made his debut noteworthy. The melodies are uncomplicated and almost naive, but when surrounded by deep saturated productions are enveloped by otherness, making for an unsettlingly trippy experience. Wondrous Bughouse is unique and utterly brilliant; combining the dreamy atmospherics of Beach House with the infinite scope of Atlas Sound, creating a meditative Grimm-like fairytale that focuses within yet finds its reach stretching far beyond, directly into the darkest depths of the unknown.

Doldrums

Canadian producer Airick Woodhead, known by stage name Doldrums, isn’t afraid of apparent contradiction. Producing an uncompromising debut record containing both big dance beats and unsettling noise, often concurrently, is testament to this. Even the plodding phonetics of his chosen moniker seems to sit awkwardly alongside the frenetic psychedelic soundscapes on Lesser Evil. ‘It’s about escape,’ Woodhead explains ‘it’s a pretty positive driving force, though Doldrums is kind of about escaping isolation and the feeling that nothing is happening.’

Uncertainty juxtaposed with an invigorating thrill permeates the record, exemplified by the aptly-named ‘Anomaly’, where reverberating noise and glitchy production fail to mask the power of the anthemic beat into which Woodhead’s melancholic vocals inject a disturbingly hypnotic sense of purpose and drive. At times, Lesser Evil is euphoric, and at other points close to breaking point, but ultimately composes a gripping visceral experience from start to end.

Woodhead explains how this conflicting aesthetic works within the context of Doldrums. ‘Pop music is a way out. It’s a way to get excitement, to share something with other people. I think that the attraction that I have towards stagnation and all those negative things is a result of my unwillingness to compromise or live by other people’s standards.’ Marrying pop sensibilities with a tendency to explore isolation almost naturally then involves the incorporation of noise, flying in the face of other people’s standards. ‘It’s like a fuck you to consumer popular culture. It’s so hypocritical to make pop-noise. Noise is all about not wanting to be liked.  I just love the idea of these two terms battling it out, pop and noise. Both sides will hate me.’

The tension explored throughout is perhaps Woodhead’s mixed feelings towards the sense of isolation explored, when contrasted with the notion of personal freedom. He describes there being a ‘positive and negative side to both complete isolation and personal freedom, but also a positive and negative side to living by other people’s standards.’ However, Airick quickly corrects himself, ‘Actually, what I mean by other people’s standards is always a negative, fuck that!’ A different metaphor is drawn, more aptly describing the underlying competing themes throughout the record; ‘Lesser Evil is a dialogue between a person who is completely selfish and another person who’s completely altruistic. It’s not that either one is right, it’s just a conversation.’

Having spent the majority of his teen years travelling and on tour, first with previous project Spiral Beach, Woodhead possesses a disparate range of influences. Utilising heavy sampling because he enjoys ‘not only consuming culture but twisting it into something new’, these find their way into his work. Previous projects have found inspiration as far as 70s Bollywood psychedelia and Brazilian mash-ups via Costa Rica, yet Lesser Evil’s samples have come from a fairly narrow pool. ‘I wanted to have some more consistency on my album. Instead of stealing Missy Elliot beats for a track, I wanted to make my own.’

Nonetheless, the influence of Montreal is evident in the abundant layers of noise that cocoon the beats, Woodhead takes the aggressive spirit of noise he’s encountered whilst living there, applying it to great effect. ‘We put on a lot of poetry readings, shows, art shows. A lot of the shows are really insane violent noise shows and I’m really hoping to retain that spirit on a bigger scale, because I find bar shows really fucking boring.’ Further, the laptop on which Lesser Evil was recorded was borrowed from good friend Grimes, the Quebec connections almost seem endless. ‘[Montreal] collects people like me who are just looking for something and somewhere to pursue their own goals. I don’t think it’s like other scenes, because the label really is trying to foster our individuality and help us each do what we do as best we can.’

How to describe Doldrums accurately and concisely is difficult, with many opting to label Lesser Evil as experimental. ‘It’s only my kind of anthropological interest in noise music, especially with regards to electronic music that has made people call this project experimental. I try to shy away from the term experimental because it’s ambiguous what the experiment is. I don’t like how that term just means weirdo or something. It kind of has a negative connotation for me.’ If experimental isn’t apt, perhaps enticingly energising or irresistibly compelling will have to do.  Neither of those serves as an adequate description of the music, but they’re both certainly true. With the release of Lesser Evil, Airick Woodhead has firmly marked himself out as an exciting talent, and although his originality and ingenuity may polarise listeners, it will ultimately reward those who choose to persist.

Doldrums – Lesser Evil

Doldrums wouldn’t be my first choice of word with which to associate the musical stylings of 23-year-old Canadian producer Airick Woodhead. For one, the sample-driven experimental pop on Lesser Evil is about as far away from dull, drowsy low-spiritedness as I can imagine. If anything, the record’s the complete antithesis of the state of being ‘down in the doldrums’; comprising an energising visceral thrill that grips you by the throat and refuses to let go until the journey through Woodhead’s fragmented psychedelic soundscapes is over. It’s perhaps appropriate then, that Airick’s moniker is inspired by fantastical children’s novel The Phantom Tollbooth rather than the dictionary definition of the term.

Created by the light of the cracked screen of a Mac (featured on the album’s artwork) borrowed from friend and fellow Montreal-dwelling electronic creative Grimes, Lesser Evil quite literally forms an exploration of the point at which technology begins to break down. Woodhead’s muted lonely cries on ‘Intro’ give way to the thumping drumbeat of ‘Anomaly’, shifting perspective from a growing ambient opener to the subtly unsettling track that sets the tone for the rest of the record. Layers of reverberating noise, wavering bass and glitchy production fail to shackle the anthemic beat into which Woodhead’s bouncing yet melancholic vocals inject a disturbingly hypnotic sense of purpose and drive. It’s a veritable tumble down the rabbit hole, and though it feels acutely strange and almost riddled with contradiction, it’s utterly compelling.

We reach our breaking point of overstimulated fury early on; ‘She Is The Wave’ is where it becomes rather evident that Lesser Evil is a difficult record. Where frenzied blips begin to pit themselves against intense firing samples to produce an overwhelmingly disorienting blanket of noise, the regular listener will likely be repelled. It’s rather jarring and quite possibly the last point at which you can revert to the comfort of normality via the blue pill. But it’s worth persevering through. Not only is it strongly evocative of the sense of exhilarating uncertainty that makes this an irresistibly intoxicating record, but its audacity in aggressively challenging the listener early on smoothes the path for later greater reward.

The marriage of ingenuity and noise core with more conventional dance elements is where the record finds its highlights. Experimentation continues throughout the record, but later on fails to have the same unsettling effects, which leads to the appreciation of some uniquely stunning moments. Such as the dreamy spaced-out ‘Egypt’, where Woodhead’s androgynous vocals glide over a synthesised marimba melody layered with the usual noise trappings, resulting in an exotic pop track effortlessly dripping with style. Or the otherworldly ‘Live Forever’, where synthesisers combine expertly with pitch-distorted samples to forge a melody that seems capable of making intergalactic transportation possible. Despite approaching the crafting of Lesser Evil from the leftfield, Woodhead clearly hasn’t suppressed any pop sensibilities.

It would be unfair to paint Lesser Evil as being primarily experimental. It’s irrevocably so, but its scope encompasses so much more. Although concerned with testing the ultimate thresholds of technology, it gets down to crafting sumptuous pop melodies from a cocktail of noise, samples and synthesisers. Airick Woodhead has meaningfully engaged with seemingly distinct concerns yet produced an uncompromising cohesive record that stands as testament to his creativity and ingenuity. Lesser Evil ultimately comprises a raw thrill that excites just as much as it challenges, firmly placing Woodhead as an exciting talent, not just with regards to Montreal, but anywhere.

Harlem Shake

‘Viral videos – what fun! Let’s make a video of what we just saw, but with us in it this time!’  This, or some variant of it, is how it starts. First ‘Gangnam Style’, then ‘One Pound Fish’ and now ‘Harlem Shake’. It begins on the internet, then your friends are doing it, it goes crazy for while and ultimately ends with your mother sending you a mid-Shake snapchat for you to digest whilst you’re already trying your best not to break down on the library staircase.

There are a few things that feel particularly wrong about the explosion in popularity of the aforementioned viral crazes. There’s the fact that in the cases of ‘Gangnam Style’ and ‘Harlem Shake’ there are pretty strong cultural factors that come into play which being overlooked by many viewers. What do the people of Harlem make of the ‘Harlem Shake’? Not much. How many of the billion plus viewers of ‘Gangnam Style’ are explicitly aware that the song is heavily satirising Korean society? Not many. An issue I have with these particular viral videos is the associated appropriation and distortion of cultures which originally birthed these phenomena.

Now, I’m not saying these memes aren’t entertaining. And nor am I arguing that I don’t understand why they’ve gone viral. The raw fact is, seeing a seal in captivity going wild to some trap is fun. So is watching this guy. But these entertaining versions are the exception, rather than the rule. Seriously, what is the point in a mass ‘Harlem Shake’? Who finds these videos, where hundreds of blurry indistinguishable bodies move awkwardly to a backing track, enthralling? And further, why would someone participate in one? They begin as unique expressions of creativity, but quickly become subsumed and overwhelmed by a vapid internet culture which forcibly removes any semblance of genuine expression from the nth created video.

In a week where a mass ‘Harlem Shake’ is being orchestrated at UBU, I implore you to consider the implications of your potential participation. Sure, your doing a ‘Harlem Shake’ might not hurt anyone directly, but what does it actually do for you? It’s fun? Maybe try a Baauer Boiler Room mix, a bit of K-Pop beyond Psy or even learning how to really do the ‘Harlem Shake’. What’s quite unnecessary is taking part in a dance craze that reflects upon one of the most concerning aspects of modern internet virality, the bastardisation of alien cultural phenomena whose wider meaning and significance are ultimately lost in exchange for cheap transient thrills. Though presently harmless, current attitudes to viral culture are indicative of a worrying wider trend; the masses are easily influenced and swayed solely in the name of mindless fun. Don’t be corny, guys.

Rise Bristol

HMV, an established feature of most high streets is set to disappear from many of them imminently, announcing the impending closure of 66 stores, with 990 jobs set to be lost. This comes after huge changes in consumer preferences and habits in the music industry. I spoke to to Lawrence Montgomery, owner of independent record shop Rise, on Queen’s Road, close to the university. He outlines the key issue for record stores as reacting to ‘diversification in the way people consume music’. He points out that the size of the CD market has shrunk by 50% in the last 5 years. ‘It’s a perfect storm. You’ve got people that illegally download, people who choose iTunes, people who choose Spotify and other streaming and you’ve got people that buy off Amazon.’ A storm HMV have failed to successfully weather.

What then can independent record stores aim to do in order to remain robust in the face of a volatile market? ‘What a shop has to do is easier said than done; you’ve got to be relevant to the customer.’Lawrence diagnoses one of the issues endemic to HMV’s failure; ‘HMV chased the middle-market, they needed to retain more individuality.’ Though a massive amount of sales will come from Adele CDs, X Factor singles and the like, the inevitable fact remains that on pricing ‘Amazon will always undercut you.’ This wasn’t entirely ignored by HMV chiefs, they did diversify their product range and ‘seemed to chase this digital thing really aggressively; headphones and accessories’. But perhaps this approach wasn’t quite in line with consumer preferences, and seemingly not with Rise’s target demographic, ‘I think a record shop should almost be about antiquity. People will take their leisure time outside of the whole digital norm which is how everyone lives their lives now.’

Independent record stores occupy that space, integrated with but usually separate from the all-encompassing digital realm, but the disappearance of HMV from many high streets isn’t a sign that independent stores will crop up to replace them. ‘I’d be careful about saying you’re going to have a boom of independent record shops.’ Financing a record shop in this climate is difficult, first of all is the issue of obtaining stock, ‘we have to fight with our suppliers everyday to give us enough credit.’ Supplying to a record store is a risk on behalf the suppliers, something evident in the case of HMV, where suppliers were handed 5% equity and vastly increased the amount of stock provided on consignment terms, they stand to lose out greatly if HMV ultimately fails. No one will be in a rush to put a record store on many high streets set to be deprived of HMV in the current climate, given that ‘the capital needed to open a record shop is quite large’.

How then can stores like Rise look to succeed in such a volatile market? Lawrence attributes their robustness to how they’ve approached the issue of changing consumer preferences. ‘Getting people through the door is the biggest challenge. When we didn’t have the café or the clothing it was a lot more difficult because people walk past a record shop now and think “I don’t buy records”’. Rise Bristol have introduced a café space run by Friska, a range of vintage clothing, reducing the floor space solely dedicated to records as a reaction to the changes in consumer preferences, but this doesn’t detract from the ethos of the store. ‘The key thing about the shop is passion about the product. The staff know what they’re talking about and they’re passionate about it.’

The focus for independent record stores moves away from hard selling (if ever that was the focus) and onto engendering a sense of community, ‘if you get them to stay in the store for long enough – the rest will come’. The focus at Rise is precisely this, encouraging active participation in the culture that surrounds a record store, at Rise Bristol you won’t find just records, food and clothes – but film nights, pub quizzes and in-store performances too, curated by staff and others alike. ‘This is a place that could be a hub for creativity. We’re lucky because it’s a great space. We want to get as many outside organisations and promoters to come in and use it.’

The lesson to learn for record stores following on from HMV’s demise is a simple one; don’t lose sight of the customer. Though it is a difficult one to put correctly into practice, but at Rise, along with the likes of Rough Trade, Piccadilly and Resident the customer hasn’t been lost sight of just yet and they provide a blueprint for what the future of record stores could and perhaps should be like. ‘If I was a customer, I would absolutely love this shop, that’s what I try to base it on.’

A$AP Rocky – LongLiveA$AP

After quite a wait LongLiveA$AP is finally here. It’s not quite Detox in terms of continual delay and postponement, but there’s only so long a fledgling artist can sustain the attention Harlem’s A$AP Rocky has received without a full release proper. There’s good reason as to why LongLiveA$AP has been so hotly anticipated, with 2011 mixtape LiveLoveA$AP setting a high standard; immersing the listener into a world of spaced-out slowed vocals and Clams Casino produced hazy beats over which Rocky’s not-so-sweet nothings concerning drugs, sex and money were stylishly delivered, paving the way to a multi-million dollar record deal.

Expectations were raised further still when the list of collaborators on LongLiveA$AP was released. Not only had Rocky managed to unite the best of hip-hop’s ‘new school’ with features from Drake, Joey Bada$$ and Kendrick Lamar amongst others, but he’d also made concerted attempts at mainstream crossover with ‘Wild For The Night’ being produced by Skrillex and ‘I Come Apart’ featuring Florence Welch. In the end, it feels a little like A$AP Rocky was trying to do too much at once and lost sight of what brought him success initially. Clams Casino produced ‘LVL’ stands as an early highlight, providing a luscious reverb-drenched beat for Rocky to glide over. The problem really is that there isn’t enough of Clams Casino on this record, because as a whole it lacks the cohesion his beats lent to LiveLoveA$AP.

Instead of a Clams-produced paradise, we’re objected to an absolute abomination of a beat on ‘Wild For The Night’, with Skrillex providing a Street Fighter button-mashing combination of shrill beeps and bleeps that has no place on this record, or anywhere for that matter. Same goes for ‘Fashion Killa’. Sandwiched between these tracks however is Hitboy-produced ‘1Train’, on which A$AP Rocky commands the mic alongside pretty much every notable rising rapper and isn’t outshined. There’s very strong single material in ‘Goldie’ and ‘Fucking Problems’, but that alone can’t propel the record from good to great. Frustratingly we’re left with a fragmented record which expends too much energy on courting the commercial and cementing A$AP Rocky’s personal brand, as opposed to providing a platform to display his full potential as a rapper.