Talking about psycho-geography, indeed admitting that you like psycho-geography is a good way of making you sound like a complete twat. It’s a short-cut to being a twat.
There is a lot of music around that is fetishizing a lost innocence of folk music. There is a worrying preponderance of beards in folk music...
What is it with girl students? Don’t they know it’s possible to be cute, charming and ever so slightly kooky without buying a clapped out 2CV and painting ladybirds all over it?
They also had mouse traps with the word ‘Hello’ written on them, something called a “Commode Funny One” and a special offer on a wetsuit when you buy a pair of flippers. Having learnt our lesson in years past, we bought some sparkling water and then left rather sharpish.
Now, we’ve gone on about the pre-planning of our campers before, but I tell you, you know you need to work harder when you see four men carrying what looked like a viking long boat and oars up the road.
In fact it’s been a long time since a female vocalist gave off such a ‘fuck you’ vibe.
So there you go; it’s a sleek, powerful record, at times playing with big, rawk, sub U2 gestures albeit with a discernable panache.
Maybe a bit too wilfully eccentric, but for all my journalistic pedantry, I kept listening. They definitely have something.
Although the tracks are, in the main, built round acoustic guitar, there is enough going on sonically to make a case for this LP being much more of a psychedelic than a folk album.
Everything is unobtrusive, nothing is mixed to jump out at you; in some ways it’s brilliant soundtrack for a lethargic morning.
Hypnagogues starts with Sweden, a monotonous Ted Chippendale-as-boffin monologue over a sort of speeded up, droney Church of Anthrax backing.
Too many of the tickets may be snapped up by London meeja types but the festival’s laid-back vibe enables one to forgive even the Radical Midwives’ Yurt.
Opener Who Fingered Rock and Roll has a heady early seventies stomp to it, a nod to Mott the Hoople here or even Elton at his most star-struck there.
The Longcut have been about for a while, their powerful, restless romanticism always seemingly capable of propelling them to something bigger. Maybe they’ve managed to find a door opener in tracks like Open Hearts, Repeated and Boom. They deserve more.
...these tracks really reminded me of the smooth, deceptively calm emotional pressure the Blue Nile used to exert in records like A Walk Across the Rooftops.
When the Super Furries were huge, you had the absurd situation of bands from South Wales singing in the (very different) North Walian accent to sound more like Gruff Rhys.
I had a mate from Accrington who wouldn't go on holiday without a couple of boxes of Kellogs cornflakes. Do you have any similar tips for those bent on foreign travel?
For those who don’t know, Evangelista is the vehicle for Carla Bozulich’s muse and everything we’ve heard from her has been first rate.
A great, raucous rock and roll record, not a million miles away from stuff Dead Moon would bang out, blessed with two or three stand out tracks
I wonder whether these collisions of various musical ideas and traditions will ever transcend the sum of their parts. Or whether it’s better to give a sole focus on one of the two stools that music like this has to (often uncomfortably) straddle.