Songwriter, craftsman and curator, a dark horse by name and by nature, this alnum's unlikely to bring Cheval Sombre out of the shadows but it may just extend them into a few more people's record collections.
And, if I hear this album again, I'll be picking up a nice big stake, assembling a mob of angry villagers, replete with pitchforks and torches, and having me a good old-fashioned Goth hunt.
It's your last chance, don't miss out, please.
By far the most impressive thing about this album, without a shadow of a doubt, is its coherence. The careful structure of the record, depth of emotion communicated with such deliberate moderation, the cohesion of the sound that runs right thoughout the album makes it fanatastic as a whole.
Intelligent, beautiful, exhilarating and overpowering: a description of both America the country and America the album. It is clearly Deacon's most successful work and hopefully presages even more impressive things to come.
At one point Marc went out for a fag mid song, walking back in past some bemused members of the crowd who’d obviously be happier hanging out at Hema. And almost trying to outdo himself, Marc finishes things off in true entertainer’s style by jumping into the drumkit.
...though the Friday nights are now a regular fixture, the new (and frankly shambolic) press operation from SUB’s new set of bookers means I never know what’s on…
And all this high minded rejection of the Debordian spectacle is set over the most delightful, mellifluous electropop sound you could imagine.
...imagine some Cowell / Waterman figure manipulating these poppy well-crafted tracks into god-awfully addictive ur- torch-lit rallies for our collective subjugation...
Look at the titles, it should give you a hint of what’s going on: Are You Expired?, Coward, Bodies, Wrong Affection. You almost expect a hidden extra track called Body Bag, or something.
On reading this one is reminded of the essential vanity of the music business, its inability to balance hope and reality, the way that the alien nature of how money works clashes with the utopianism that doing things on impulse (such as releasing challenging records) releases.
Maybe it’s the tension in the effort of stopping everything morphing into a sub Primal Scream splurge in favour of just being an actual song that makes it so attractive. Who knows?
My name is Stephen, and I have a penchant for kitsch pop songs like I Lost My Heart to a Starship Trooper, Rasputin, Ça Plane Pour Moi and Kool in the Kaftan.
Having reached his mid-forties without attending an open-air festival, Stephen James assumed that The Stone Roses’ Heaton Park gig would be a baptism of fire. He was half right…
I can really bore you with this thing about eating in BeneLux pop from 64-68. The Eurifans sang about eating mustard, Het Pocomania sang of the benefits of eating parsley with a very straight face indeed, daddy-oh and then there's this track by Ruud Knolraap & The Sweet Vegetable (Knoolraap being a turnip).
The titles should give the nature of the music away; Morose Land, Solar, Inertia… redolent of the size and overbearing physicality of nature itself: of watching the world go by, of not bothering to waste words or gestures
It’s safe to say that on record, Mere make music that relies on atmosphere and turns of phrase, moody extempores that sort of promise that something will crystallise very soon.
I suppose you could say it’s the music Mizutani would perform if commissioned to record a summertime special soundtrack.
They were always a strange proposition. Gnomic is a good word for them, from the daft crab walks the singer, Vreselijk Ongeluk (Dreadful Accident), used to perform onstage, to their eye popping artwork
The sound at times isn’t too far off Young Gods, especially the opening few tracks; though the music is more punk, more make-do-and-mend, created from sort of electronic debris found down the Kringloop.