We Are Augustines and Admiral Fallow - Next Big Thing?

Londoners have been besieged by cold for a week now. It may seem silly to whinge about cold in London of all places, however after our delightfully temperate winter we were not prepared for the frostiness to come. Before last week I had not double scarved or stockinged once, and now I am festooning myself with woollies every time I step outside.

And so, with chattering teeth and blue lips, we descended into the chilly gullet of Borderline just of Charing Cross Road to witness two hopeful Next Big Things. But by the time we had wrapped a raw paw around an over priced cider the cockles of our hearts were being warmed by the folky arrangements of Admiral Fallow. A wonderful Glaswegian indie outfit, with a delightfully sweet sound which is rounded by flutes, clarinets and tambourines, their sweet sounds soon flushed my cheeks and brought the feeling back to my toes as I began to tap them. Perhaps it’s a peculiar pleasure of mine, but I really love being able to hear a singer’s accent in their singing, and singer/songwriter Louis Abbott sounds so delightfully Scotland, he makes me miss my wonderful Scottish family. With his big bushy beard it is somewhat surprise that any of his singing actually reaches us, however it does, and this melodic voice combined with his sort of jerking motions about the stage, and humorous self-deprecation between songs, made for a very likable character. They ended with an acoustic version of Four Bulbs, which was absolutely exquisite and gave me the shivers I had managed to shed half an hour before.

So if you like Mumford and Sons, Noah and the Whale and the like, then Youtube these guys because they are a real treat.

Nicely warmed by the folkstars the crowd headed to the bar to replenish drinks before returning to their spots, determined to secure a good view for the main attraction. We, like many, were there to see We Are Augustines. From New York city, I last saw them in December where they blew me away with a free gig at The Wheelbarrow, and I was anxious that they should show me that same power again. For a three piece band (guitarist Billy McCarthy, bassist Eric Sanderson and drummer Rob Allen), they make a helluva lot of noise – it seems like there should be ten of them up there – and by the end of their performance you do indeed feel that they have nothing left to give, they are sweating and messy and spent, it’s wonderful to watch. With a slightly bigger stage available to them at The Borderline, their show was a lot more physical, with McCarthy flinging himself about the place, careening into mic stands and amps and his band mates, performing with the same passionate that he channelled to write his music. The Augustine’s album, Rise ye Sunken Ships, is based largely around events leading up to the death of McCarthy’s brother who suffered with drug problems and schizophrenia, and every performance seems to be soaked in the desperation and pleading of that period so that each song is emotionally charged. As my friend Tim (an ace BS detector) said: ‘I detect no Bullshit here’. Their live set seemed almost painfully honest, driving home the songs on the album with an edge of anxiety that cannot be faked.

But despite the heavy issues dealt with on Book of James and their other songs, they do not stray from the making of solid Rock ‘n Roll. Stuff that makes you bop and bounce and lash about. They sweat, and demand that the crowd do. Songs that sounds quite calm on the record are thrashed out, whipping the audience into a frenzy. They follow in the footsteps of Bruce and Tom Petty – great songwriters putting together great music with pounds upon pounds of passion. Needless to say by the end of the gig, we were well warmed up.

Listen to these guys if you like The Gaslight Anthem, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, or Bruce Springsteen.

Review(ish): Pixies and Starboys

Who doesn't love a freebie? If it's gratis I'm there like a bear. This is the reason I have done a lot of things I wouldnt usually - because if I haven't shelled out for it I don't discern. This is a good thing - it opens me up to a multitude of experiences that I would never have had. It meant a couple of years ago I got to see Britney Spears in all her lip synching, costume changing, booty shaking glory. And I enjoyed it (okay this enjoyment may have been trebbled by the shooting off of a glitter cannon at the end - my first experience of one) despite myself. It was a spectacle. A show. Everything a pop concert should be.

So when my housemate proffered Pixie Lott tickets for free, I thought why the hell not. I could do with a bit of razzle dazzle, some glitter and a lot of zany outfits.

Now this freebie stuff is not all fun and games - if I am going to do something I will do it properly and so there was homework to be done. Pixie Lott is a familiar name and face from the papers, but I couldn't have told you one song she sang, so I plugged her name into YouTube and went for the play list. Frothy pop tunes emmited from my laptop, her little girl lost voice sometimes drowned amongst the dischord that is modern pop. And it seemd Pixie has an aversion to trousers of any kind as in each she bopped about in most of the videos in a leotard with elaborate sleeves. Hmmm...

But with my 'try everything once' mindset fixed firmly in place, off I went to see Pixie Lott. She was playing at the Kentish Town HMV Forum. My lovely friends Jo and Anna were my companions for the evening. After establishing we were at least 10 years older than everyone in the standing area we headed up to the seats, away from the tide of adolesence.

The opening act was Starboy Nathan - should I be mortified to say I don't know who this fellow is? In complete ignorance when we heard his name we actually took bets as too what he might look like and what he might sing. I felt even more out of touch with the youth when they joined in to his choruses, chanting away with the fervour of the initiated. How to describe his act? To be honest it wasn't a performance or style of music that appealed to me - all synchronised moves, pubescent thrusting and plaintive crooning. But that is not to say he is not good at what he does. Having watched snippets of this year's X Factor offerings over the last two weeks I notice that while most of them have some talent - they can sing or dance - in a cruel irony what they are all missing is the X Factor. And this is why even the winners, despite getting launched on an international platform, having a guaranteed #1 written for them, and Simon Cowell's media machine behind them, all fade into obscurity. So, using X Factor as my only real mainstream pop barometer, I will say that Starboy Nathan has the star power that seems so conspicously absent from the show's contestants. He has presence, which is more than I can say for most of those vapid Cowell creations. It seems no matter how much cash you throw at it that X Factor, much like love and class, is something money can't buy.

So onto the main act. As you already know my Pixie knowledge was lacking, and from the bits I had seen online I was prepared to be under whelmed. But she endeared herself to me early by skipping on stage bare foot, and donning little cat ears. She launched into her set with a trio of dancey numbers, all a bit over produced and consumer driven if you ask me, but the swirly light show was mesmirising. In between she chatted to the audience in a rather endearing way, and I was impressed that she was in an outfit that covered her bits for once - a short, black, backless dress, with a sequined Peter Pan collar and sleeves. I think I might describe it as evening Alice in Wonderland couture.

After the dancey numbers she slowed down into some more soulful numbers and I was pleased to hear she actually has a lovely voice. There was no lip synching, and without the computer generated cacophany of the faster songs her voice was impassioned and quite stirring. Cry Me Out is an impassioned ultimatum song. All around women were pounding their fists, flinging their hands out in diva stance and belting out the chorus and I realised that this was an act usually performed in front of bedroom mirrors and into hair brushes. Moving smoothly into Mama Do the atmosphere was transformed with an air of rebellion and defiance as she song of forbidden love. All quite generic and well worn, but again I was impressed by her singing ability and her unpretentious performance.

While it wasn't quite the big drums and guitar riffs I favour it was an interesting and I suppose some what educational evening. My only complaint - Pixie only had one outfit! Take some lessons from Britney... I was there for feathers and rhinestones!

Hayley and the Machine

Finally I got to see Florence and the Machine in a big solo show. She overawed me last night at the Hammersmith Apollo, with her huge show(wo)manship, and even bigger voice. Florence is totally worth falling in love with...Haunting voice, beautiful red hair, more energy than I expend in a week with each song.

Being the biggest show she has ever performed in London, we were spoiled with an entire string section, a choir and a HARP. She handled the crowd with an amazing blend of gratitude and arrogance. Listening to the songs from Lungs tumbling out of her with (if possible) even more emotion than on the album made me see even more vividly her world of emotion turned gothic fable. Her voice blew the cobwebs out of every corner of the Apollo, and out of my brain, and from the croaking of her voice when she chatted to the audience between songs, she gave everything and a little bit more to make the evening both familiar and riveting. Apart from the plain and simple fact that she is awesome, there is a reason I am so transfixed by Florence, her power and femininity, the tales she tells through her music, the mythical nature of her lyrics and melodies.

Anyone who knows me, or indeed has been following this blog, will know that music is central to my very existence. I sit in my office all day listening to the radio, I iPod in and out of work, bopping along to anything from the Foo Fighters to Edith Piaf. I have eclectic, but definite taste in music. Music is an instinctive pleasure, based on feeling, memory and submersion. It is also subjective. Different music speaks to me at different times.

In my ebullient late teens I felt a great affinity with the ultimate feel-good anthem “I’m Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the waves, I have wept through the end of many eras with Time of your Life by Green Day on repeat, my dear friend Julie and I once listened to Vampire Weekend compulsively in the car to cheer us up after a completely disastrous weekend that included a car wreck and missing out on a music festival), and who hasn’t stared rather self indulgently into a mirror, mascara running down cheeks ala Gene Simmons, with the mournful tones of Damien Rice as the soundtrack to any range of life crises.

Yes music has the capacity to heal and help us, as well as the ability to immediately transport us back to the time and place it became poignant. Sometimes that can be painful, sometimes redemptive, always powerful. Music has saved me many times in my life. A song or an album has proven to me I am not alone in feeling the way I do, comforted me when I was staring into the rather black abyss of depression, kept me company during nights of insomnia, given me the vicarious power I need to get through the day.

And so, my latest saviour comes in the form of fire headed fay Florence. Florence and her wonderful Machine gave me a soundtrack to a year of exploration, loneliness, loveliness and learning. Moving to London was one of the hardest decisions of my life, and one of the most necessary. That is for an array of reasons, which I may go into one day, but not now. 2009 was a year of reconnections with my roots, in the form of my beloved family, of rediscovery as I learnt who I was away from a group of friends who had become a family, and of reunions as I returned to a group of friends. All of this came with a triumphs and challenges, and the unavoidable melancholy of missing people and making change. But through it all I had Florence promising me that “the dark days were over”, the empowering Drumming song setting up a tribal chant in my heart, reminders that I need to become “Lion Hearted” and not “Rabbit Hearted”, and I couldn’t help but recognise the ghost “in my lungs…that sighs in my sleep, Wraps itself around my tongue, As it softly speaks. Then it walks, then it walks with my legs, To Fall, To Fall, To Fall, at your feet.” Walking through London’s crowds, in underground tunnels all over the city I felt the emancipation of admitting that “My fingers crawl your skin, try to tempt my way in, You are the moon that makes the night for which I have to Howl…”

And so after the stirring journey, of seeing my early London anthems sung by their mistress, I couldn’t help but have a very small weep as she sung the words, “The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out, You left me in the dark. No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight, In the shadow of your heart.”

Thank you Florence.