Bloc Party in odd rush release

Tomorrow Bloc Party are set to release their third album Intimacy, taking the increasingly common step of rushing it out in order to avoid leakage onto peer-to-peer downloading networks. Except they’re not releasing it properly, they’re just making it available to download two months before the CD is available to buy. Two months!

For someone like myself who values the physical artefact of an album, this is a bit of a slap in the face. I enjoy savouring the unique moment of placing a new CD in the stereo and listening to those new notes for the very first time. Yes, you can preorder the physical release now while still getting the download for a total of £10 (its £5 and £8 for the download and CD separately), but why should fans be restricted in this way or forced to wait longer to receive their prized new record when they are the ones who are willing to pay for the album and probably who will value it the most?

Of course the music industry today is in turmoil and needs to find new ways to make money to combat the popularity of illegal downloading. But this strategy seems both foolhardy and disrespectful to fans. Making it available online so far in advance of the physical release will not stop it from appearing on peer-to-peer networks. CD buyers who make still make up the majority of the record-buying public are unlikely to be lured into legal downloads this way and so a huge part of the market will be cut out for rather a long period of time. Why not make the most of these fans’ enthusiasm by releasing the physical record sooner?

I have another issue with Bloc Party’s methods here. We have been promised that the CD will have different tracks to the initial internet release but it has not been specified what exactly these tracks will be. They could be bonus b-sides, live versions, additional new album tracks or something different altogether. If they are effectively bonus tracks then the marketing strategy seems confused – why snub CD buyers for now while simultaneously encouraging people to hold out for the physical release with the prospect of extra material?

If, on the other hand, these tracks are intended to form part of the actual album itself, then you have to wonder about the band’s respect for the album format. It seemed so strange, in the case of second long-player A Weekend in the City, that a group who had taken the time to craft a quasi-concept album would be happy to re-release it with an additional single jammed in the middle, throwing the integrity of the tracklisting and running order out the window. Now, their third album could be altered in a similar way.

Of course whether these tactics are down to the band themselves or their record company is unclear. But what seems apparent is that artists and industry types alike have yet to formulate a realistic and sensible strategy to combat internet piracy.

Intimacy is available to download and pre-order from Thursday 21 August from www.blocparty.com

From the mouths of babes

I don’t know why exactly, but the sound of children singing on pop records fills me with angsty dread. It’s not that I dislike kids in any way or have anything against young people raising their voices in song. It’s not some repressed childhood memory thing either – embarrassing revelation coming up – I actually rather enjoyed being part of the school choir; not that it did anything for my credibility or popularity at the time though, and we once absolutely butchered Bohemian Rhapsody.

I raise this issue now as Swedish singer Lykke Li releases another frustratingly catchy single ‘Breaking It Up’. On previous tracks ‘Little Bit’ and ‘I’m Good, I’m Gone,’ the potentially irritating bubblegum tunes were made irresistible by her enticing voice, sweet and innocent yet so sexual and aware that a few notes were enough to conjure the mental image of her legs wrapped firmly around you. But on ‘Breaking It Up’ all that is replaced with the incessant whining of (at least what sounds like) a gang of twelve-year-old girls. The fantasies vanish in seconds and my hand rushes for the stop button. Listener’s droop. When it comes to pop songs, there’s just something about the high-pitched unison of a children’s chorus that seems inherently out of place.

For the last 50 years, from rock’n’roll to hip-hop, pop music has been the cultural representation of teenage rebellion, of fighting against the system and breaking free from authority. Sex, drugs and occasional political diatribes were the themes and guitars and turntables were the means. Of course the reality of the music industry production line is most often a world away from this romanticised image; but in my mind, the sound of a harmonised troupe of young people, trained and disciplined by their elders, is the opposite of pop’s symbolic freedom.

I fear I’ll always have this immediate aversion to the sound of children on record. It was a stroke of genius to for Pink Floyd to invert the common connotations of the choir by getting a bunch of cockney schoolkids to coarsely holler “We don’t need no, educayshun!” Yet I still can’t help but cringe when their prepubescent voices emerge from my speakers. Maybe attending one too many recitals has forever burnt the associations of Andrew Lloyd Webber medleys into my brain.

Ironically, my own choir carried out a miniature rebellion by refusing to sing Another Brick in the Wall at the suggestion of one long-haired prog fan. Perhaps even then I knew that four part arrangements of unbroken voices just weren’t meant for rock and roll.

Top five songs to shudder to when the kids’ voices kick in:

Another Brick in the Wall (Part II) – Pink Floyd

Dirty Harry – Gorillaz

You Can’t Always Get What You Want – The Rolling Stones

Never Forget – Take That

The Lost Children – Michael Jackson This slightly obscure album track from 2001’s Invincible is especially unnerving because you don’t know how many of the kids on the record might have spent the night at Neverland.

No Age + HEALTH + Lovvers @ Scala, London 11/08/08

When you arrive at a gig and there are more men with beards than there are women of any kind, you expect to see chin stroking aplenty as skinny guys play intricate and intellectually challenging guitar parts. You don’t expect stage invasions and rousing raucous rock and roll. Yet that’s exactly what this triple lineup of noisemongers produce tonight.

Lovvers sound retro. Not retro like they’re just ripping off old songs. Retro like they are actually an early 1980s punk band. Like they were actually there. Like in a 1980s teen movie when the rebel character goes into a grotty little club to watch a band – Lovvers are that band. Like when you’re a teenager and you download a song because you heard it was an influence on Kurt Cobain, and you’re not sure you really ‘get’ it but you know it’s good – Lovvers wrote that song. Can a band so old fashioned really be relevant? When they sound this vital then the answer is “hell yes!”

Lovvers are what punk is supposed to be: heavy, hard and shouty but essentially three-minute pop songs with plenty of hooks. Singer (or perhaps vocalist is more appropriate) Shaun Hencher screams his way through a slowly awakening audience, but it is Henry Withers’ melodic guitar licks that really entice and keep you listening after your in initial excitement has abated.

A term like ‘experimental punk rock’ is confusing at best and mostly just an apparent contradiction. Wasn’t punk supposed to kill off all that weird proggy shit? HEALTH certainly exhibit plentry of fret wankery; in fact, when they stop thrashing about long enough for you to catch a glimpse of their faces, it looks as if they’re really having a wank – mouth open, eyes closed in a kind of tired, almost pained ecstasy orgasm face. It might occasionally verge on the ridiculous, but HEALTH take their music seriously.

The first few songs come across like derivative shite, but as more and more weird keyboard noises emerge, things become a lot more interesting, hypnotic even. As the long haired vocalist/pixie prances around the stage, limbs a-flailing, you realise those screams aren’t coming from his mouth. They’re coming from the effects pedal, as if somebody’s soul were trapped inside; like the sounds you’d expect to hear emanating from the Ghostbusters’ trap. Ghoulish.

It’s with the appearance of tonight’s headliners No Age that the crowd gets really excited. Their simple drum and guitar combination is about as far from the White Stripes as limitations allow. The seemingly poor quality sound only adds to the effect of a band so scuzzy they make the Jesus and Mary Chain sound like they’d been playing acoustic guitar all this time.

From about halfway through the set, the stage is near permanently invaded by a group of extremely earnest fans. Though No Age’s songs aren’t always the most memorable, as a live act, their combination of intelligence and vigour has the ability to release the inner mosher of even the nerdiest, most skinny-wristed, curly-haired, four-eyed, socially awkward young gentlemen. And really, that’s what rock and roll’s all about: making the uncool cool, or at least seem cool, or at least feel cool, at least forget that they’re uncool because for that brief moment, nothing but the music matters.

Field Day festival 09/08/08

Almost all new festivals seem to suffer an inescapable array of organisational pitfalls from sound system failure to toilet overcrowding. Just take ZOO8 and the Mighty Boosh Festival this year as dramatic examples. This leads me to believe that a) most people thing organising a festival is easy when, b) it is bloody difficult, nigh impossible.

East London’s newcomer to the ever-burgeoning festival season is Field Day and, by all accounts (that I’ve heard), its first outing last year was little short of a disaster. However, the organisers have bravely carried on, pulling themselves up by the laces of their plimsolls and attempting to learn the harsh lessons of their initial attempt. And while there seem to be some haters still out there, in my opinion it was a great success.

Field Day lived up to almost all its promises, providing an eclectic and interesting cross-genre lineup of artists in a fun and friendly atmosphere. And without too many perfectly coiffured trendy try-hards, drunken aviator-sporting landfill-indie louts or worn out fogies complaining it wasn’t as good as festivals used to be.

Yes, the weather was miserable. Yes, Mystery Jets and Dan Deacon pulled out. Yes the female festival-goers had to queue for yonks to use the portaloos, resulting in a line of squatters along the perimeter fence. But despite all of this, everyone I came across seemed to be in high spirits, in a “hardship brings us together” kind of way, and genuinely excited about the music.

Noah and the Whale kicked things off with a brightly coloured start (from their blue and yellow getup at least). Much-hyped “song of the summer” ‘Five Years Time’ goes down well but there’s a certain repetitive formula to each remaining song – start quiet and slow, build to energetic folk tune complete with fiddle and trumpet backing – that leaves the crowd wanting.

Howling Bells adequately release their brand of female-fronted grungey rock before giving way to a band whose performance both live and on record continues to astound me: Wild Beasts. Even in the setting of a dreary day with a limp crowd, they perform each song with the love and attention usually reserved for small children (who thankfully seem to be largely absent today – what on earth makes people think it’s a good idea to bring their toddlers to festivals?!).

Laura Marling seems to be plodding along in a pleasant and inoffensive way as I watch from behind the control tent but I don’t stay to hear the beautiful ‘Ghosts’ as I’m keen to hear the Mae Shi. Initial disappointment at what appears to be another dull band supposedly working under the banner of ‘experimental punk rock’ gives way to some actually pretty interesting sounds and some actually pretty fun songs that my little brain doesn’t quite know what to make of in the 15 minutes I see them perform for.

Choosing Jeffrey Lewis over Of Montreal, I head to the Homefires stage and peer over the umbrellas to watch Jeff and his female companion crank out some classic anti-folk. Much to my surprise and delight this included the epic and incredible ‘Williamsburg Will Oldham Horror’ with the scratchy violin replaced by battered acoustic guitar but losing none of the head-fuck of lyrical flood of consciousness. Plus to experience previously unfamiliar songs is a genuine treat from this master of storytelling and “Creeping brain, creeping brain” still rings round my head.

Paying £6 for uncooked pasta is enough to dampen things more than the rain ever could, especially when done to the sounds of Lightspeed Champion who receives an undeserved bump up to the main stage. Indeed Mystery Jets cancellation is my biggest disappointment of the day as “Two Doors Down” and “Young Love” would no doubt have blown the clouds away, such sunny pop songs as they are.

Another hard choice comes as Efterklang takes precedence over Les Savy Fav, but thankfully their creamy mix of Sufjan Stevens sounding baroque pop and Broken Social Scene collective zeal instils me with joy. However, the weather has finally broken me and with no great love of headliners Foals or Simian Mobile Disco I decide to retire to the warm and dry.

For all the complaints made since the day, I remain convinced that the weather was the biggest problem and that Field Day presented the left-field-loving public with a festival of impeccable taste. Where else could you find as great and varied a collection of artists for a mere £26.50 plus booking fee?