Crystal Castles + Friendly Fires @ Astoria 2, London 14/05/08

A large queue of day-glow hoodie-clad teens is enough to put me off from entering the Astoria too early tonight (Crystal Castles did make an appearance on Skins after all). Luckily, it doesn’t actually feel like a school disco inside but the crowd is still noticeably young. The reason probably being that Crystal Castles and Friendly Fires are two bands so of the moment that you’d feel old just watching them if they weren’t both so invigorating.

 

If you thought the whole ‘new rave’ concept had finally died then you’d be mistaken, as is evidenced by the appearance of a mass of glow sticks in the audience when Friendly Fires take to the stage. But, for once, the idea isn’t totally off the mark as this is a party band at their very best. From the sexy, snakey basslines and crunchy rhythms to the knife-edge guitar lines and Gameboy keyboards, Friendly Fires are out to make you dance until your feet bleed.

 

But on top of all this they have actual proper songs. Not just a repetitive box of dancefloor tricks but melodies that arrive fully formed and ready to be lapped up and sung back. The band’s hypnotic falsetto vocals reach an apex on debut single Paris with it’s epic promise of “Every night, we’ll watch the stars – they’ll be out for us!” It’s the kind of sweeping dreamscape of sound that makes a music fan’s existence worthwhile.

 

Crystal Castles could be described as one solemn looking hooded guy hunched over a bunch of synths making a load of weird bleeping noises, while a girl in too much eye makeup throws herself around wildly and screams a lot. This summary wouldn’t be too far off the mark but would massively miss the point.

 

Those messed up, squelchy noises that sound like they’ve been extracted from a severely damaged 1980s computer have just what is needed to electrify the crowd after the benchmark of Friendly Fires. And Alice Glass’s distorted voice evokes such disturbing but strangely fascinating emotion as to be unmissable. As a live act they’re utterly captivating. Most bands would look cool under a strobe, but there’s something so fitting about seeing Crystal Castles through the flickering slow motion of lights that could cause seizures – as if the music wasn’t brain annihilating enough. 

 

Until this point, I’ve remained coolly sceptical about Crystal Castles recorded output, wary of the hype and novelty. But by the end of the set and a stunning performance of the ‘accidental’ single Alice Practice, all inhibitions have been abandoned and I’m throwing myself into the air with the rest of the crowd like I haven’t done in a long time.

 

Both these bands merge incredible energy with an experimental spirit and a desire to get people moving. But where Friendly Fires are optimistic, euphoric even, Crystal Castles are full of oppression and foreboding, like the soundtrack to a dystopian sci-fi future. The Fires may be able to boast the songwriting prowess, but the sheer magnetically weird energy of the Castles means they are more than deserving of the top slot of the evening.

Post War Years + Laurel Collective @ The Social, London 08/05/08

Tonight the Social plays host to two bands making serious rumbles in the London indie scene right now. Complementing each other perfectly, Post War Years and Laurel Collective make the ideal antidote to a Thursday night at home with the TV. Despite the rather limited dimensions of the venue, whip the crowd up into a flurry of dancefloor action as the bands promote the launch of Post War Years’ debut single The Black Morning.

Laurel Collective are six-piece with two, count ‘em two, lead singers that any writer would struggle to neatly classify. Refusing to be squashed into any boxes, they mix indie sensibilities with wildly veering proggy song structures and even a hint of funk in the basslines that keeps everyone’s feet tapping and heads bobbing. Plus I don’t think I’ve seen such fervent use of a cowbell since The Rapture. The dual vocals come from very different sources – the Nigerian-blooded Martin Sakutu and the bearded cardigan-wearing Bob Tollast – but merge with perfection to create a vocal blast occasionally reminiscent of Mystery Jets. Despite all the self-confessed “genre trashing,” Laurel Collective manage to pull off a convincingly coherent set of tunes. Because for all the experimentation there are enough pop thrills to enthral the audience and enough twists and turns to keep them guessing. Watch out for their upcoming album ‘Feel Good Hits Of The Nuclear Winter.’

While Laurel Collective have few sound-alike contemporaries, the opening strains of Post War Years’ set possess the kind of jerky awkward rhythms that bring straight to mind the work of one band du jour: Foals. It would be unfair to write them off as any kind of copycats though – there is too much variety, too much warmth, too much soul here for that – and the comparison soon fades as the music moves well beyond math rock stylings into a heady and hypnotic mix of dance and indie. Swirly synths surround a double pronged bass attack; all backed by some shit-hot incredible drumming that entrances the eyes as well as the ears. What is true, however, is that Post War Years are an ultra modern band. I never thought I’d ever hear any band claim their main influences as Tom Vek and Clor (as they did in a recent interview) but by drawing on the sound of 2005 they are creating the sound of 2008.

This review was first published here on Gigwise.

Violet Hill – Coldplay

Violet Hill is not one of those songs that immediately grabs you and gives you a good aural shaking. On first listen its simple melody plods along while Chris Martin does a bit of falsetto wailing now and then. When you think about it though, few Coldplay tracks could ever be called stunning the first time around. What this band do best are to craft songs that are easy on the ears but which secretly get under your skin and into your head without you realising it. And Violet Hill’s hook, ‘If you love me won’t you let me know,’ has certainly been bouncing around inside my cranium for sometime now. It’s not an exciting song per se; it’s one filled with a slow-building energy that is released in bolts through the guitar of Jonny Buckland with an electrifying sound never before heard on a Coldplay record. Indeed, the whole song, though starting with an ethereal intro, moves the band far away from the shiny, futuristic and cold sounds of their last album X&Y. It’s still anthemic, still excellently produced by Brian Eno, still tender in the right places and thunderous in others, but it has a rawness that’s perfectly timed for a band so often derided for being dull.

 

It’s easy to take a swipe at Coldplay (and many people do) for being boring, for being wet, for being simplistic, for rehashing the same song again and again, or merely for being popular. Why then is there such commotion in the music world each time they release a new record? This band hardly embodies ‘the spirit of punk’ or any other well-worn cliché then NME like to hurl at its usual upstart artists of choice, but Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends (when will bands stop with the ridiculous album names?) will probably be one of the magazine’s albums of the year. And they’re hardly a band you’d expect a website like Drowned in Sound to get excited about, but DiS broke their own conventions and gave Violet Hill a single review all of its own. For all the wisecracks, the critics and the public alike treat each new release as a major event in the musical calendar, with fans ranging from mums to musos.

 

It’s true, they’re not exactly the sexiest band to look at. The movie star wife probably helps draw attention but Chris Martin does not make good tabloid fodder and has never courted celebrity. So there must be something more to Coldplay than fame that keeps record buyers coming back for more. Their music has an allure that crosses tastes and markets. Though their songs could hardly be called influential in the same way that those of their own heroes (U2, Radiohead etc) can, they have undeniably become one of the biggest bands of the decade; a defining act, not of a generation, but of a time and place. They will always be the butt of many (usually undeserved) jokes but, even though it may never be cool to admit it, songs like Violet Hill will keep bringing people back for more.