The popularity of Céleste Boursier-Mougenot’s installation at The Barbican’s Curve gallery dictates a queue of at least 40 minutes length but a trifling test of your patience is a small price to pay for the delights held within.
The atmosphere of the introductory dark space with giant projections of fingers on fretboards and burbling electronic sounds is compelling enough but one is drawn quickly and magnetically to the end of this tunnel and the forewarned spectacle that awaits.

A turn of the corner reveals an almost starkly lit contrasting space consisting of pale wooden decking, tiny grass and sand dunes, and a number of raised sculptural figures. The occasional familiar clanging sound of amplified electric guitar merges with the twittering of a small host of zebra finches who are hard at work with the tasks of their daily life. The sculptural figures are a selection of electric guitars, basses and cymbals lying flat, strings upwards which act as perches for these tiny colourful creatures. As they eat, drink and attempt to nest amongst the steel strings and upturned cymbal plates an intriguing weave of sound is created.

Photography is not allowed and the welfare of the birds is strictly monitored with an authentic day and night cycle where visitors are banned from entry.

Highly recommended.

On a side-note, as I was in the area I thought I’d pop in to the Record Store Day event at Rough Trade in Brick Lane. As expected, the area was crawling with daft looking “hipsters” and the prospect of a 50 people long queue (to get into a shop!) sent me reeling off on a no doubt much more enjoyable walk home in the late afternoon sun. I later spotted this tweet from Rough Trade: “I like to say a big #rsd10 fuck you to the vile ppl selling the beatles/blur/ etc on eBay for silly money after buying it off us for £4.99 ” – well what did you expect??? A misplaced concern if ever I saw one – any berk willing to pay in excess of £4.99 for a Blur or Beatles 7″ deserves no sympathy whatsoever!

I will leave my thoughts on Record Store (shouldn’t that be Shop?) Day with the mighty Max Tundra: “Celebrate Record Store Day by buying a bunch of LPs, taping them for your mates and then returning them to the shop. #rsd10″

Certain people talk about “outsider artists” but Liam Hayes and his music seems to exist in a timeless bubble somewhere on the outskirts of the music scene, untouched by any trends or concessions to the present millennium. There’s a strange inevitability that; as he has for about 15 years or so, Hayes will continue to create music with an inexplicably select appeal as it grows in melodic richness and pop sensibility. In short, he’s one of those guys who should be huge. This is made even more evident as he and Jimmy kick into “Take A Chance” the lead-off track from “Bright Penny” and biggest hit-single-that-never-was of 2009 (or is it 1973?). The sound of the Fender Rhodes is almost uniquely evocative in the way it captures a specific era i.e. the odd pre-punk wilderness of the early/mid 70s mainstream and the use of two makes for an ideal method of articulating the sound of Plush. I’ve tried many times to pin down the influences that make up this sound but on the whole they remain fleeting and mercurial at best – I have heard hints of Brian Wilson, Curtis Mayfield, Burt Bacharach, Alex Chilton, Marvin Gaye & Neil Young (later we also agree on The Carpenters and The Doors with Jimmy). Regardless of this, Plush has a sound that vividly transports me back to an early childhood of chart friendly soft rock and soul soaked up through my little blue battery powered AM radio. But don’t let that put you off…Hayes has a voice that could blunt the most embittered cynic and tunes which make grown men smile rather than weep – it’s no mean achievement. There are highlights from all three albums tonight and the set is received rapturously by the small but unusually vociferous crowd.

Both of us are enthused and while I go off to chat to Alan whose label Broken Horse released the latest album, Matt takes the opportunity to collar Mr Jimmy (right) and congratulate him on the night’s performance. Plush have given Matt his mojo back and we join Jimmy upstairs for a(nother) pint, he turns out to be charming company and regales us with tales of his many bands and his sweetheart back home in Nashville.

By now, the evening has turned into “An Audience With Matt and Nige” as we welcome Liam Hayes to our bar-based chat show. Our protestations at his lack of more widespread acclaim are greeted mostly with bemusement  so we move on to  chords stretching over four frets, analogue recording,  his “daring choice of patent leather shoes”  (my words) and god knows what else. I have to admit, it’s all got a bit hazy by now but to his credit he’s either too polite to make his excuses and leave or we’re making some sort of sense – who knows? Anyway, I have a coach to catch to Bristol the next morning so it’s one for the road and off to flag down the sodding night bus. Happily, this is one of those rare nights that refuses to be spoiled by such trifles…

Thanks to Matt for his super “lo-fi” photos.

And here’s a clip from the gig I’ve just discovered:

Thanks to http://mapsadaisical.wordpress.com/ for this nice photo

Neil Campbell’s (a.k.a. Astral Social Club) set is the equivalent of ingesting a supercharged chunk of good acid during an electrical storm. As he plate-spins effects pedals and mic-manipulates layers of dense disjointed (near impossible to) dance (to) music, the visuals sketch out complex ever-changing geometric line patterns. Even the sound of a mobile going off during a subdued section doesn’t detract from this extended episode  of sensory euphoria. Sweet.

Skaters have cancelled so Alexander Tucker steps breach-wards with a set of looped cello narratives. I always enjoy his shows and always seem to catch him more by accident then design – this is no exception. The night is cut short as my companion requires a taxi to ferry us across London to last orders at a theatre bar – this, if nothing else is an excuse for tequila. Goodnight.

The shambling antics continue as he ineptly tunes the guitar, asking the audience for advice and stops the first number halfway through to get the bass sound adjusted. But when The Musicians Of The British Empire get their mojo working it’s electrifying; the primal energy and raw power reminds you why you fell in love with rock n’ roll in the first place. This is why a loud trashy guitar, bass, drums and voice remain such a potent musical formula – these are the base atavistic elements of rock n’ roll and they ain’t going away baby.
Childish has an amusing line in self-deprecating patter which belies his (and his band’s) abilities as they blast through a set of loud reductive rock which includes covers of The Who and Jimi Hendrix. This and the trash aesthetic that embraces the fetishism of vintage Hagstrom guitars et al* are the true signifiers of garage rock…just don’t call it garage rock. Billy’s assertion is that they are a rock n’ roll band, it’s the press that labels them garage rock because they don’t understand the tradition and lineage of rock n’ roll music.This punk-inspired theme of authenticity is something he keeps returning to which leaves me torn as I am equally prone to artifice in music as I am to the former. However, at the end of the day (to coin a crap phrase); authentic or not, great music will always ring my bell – so ding dong to Billy Childish and The Musicians Of The British Empire.

*The Musicians Of The British Empire even have their own (admittedly beautiful) set of upright Shure PA speakers which must be approaching 50 years of age.

Post-script
I couldn’t resist the opportunity to capture my cd in its full glory on the shelves at Rough Trade – humour me…

Without a doubt, the highlight of the night was Nisennenmondai, an instrumental Tokyo female 3 piece (like any of that matters). Using the traditional guitar-bass-drum line-up, they assembled heavily repetitive extended pieces which ended up sounding more like disco-tinged primitive techno than the “math-rock” described in the programme.  In fact, the least satisfying element of their set was when they resorted to a safer no-wavey rock sound for the last couple of numbers. If anything, at its best their sound was in debt to Manuel Gottsching’s guitar experiments such as E2-E4 (which foresaw the birth of minimal dance music) and also to the heavily sustained playing of Michael Rother in Neu! Anyway, enough of my yakking – they’re a highly individual and enjoyable combo that deserve to be seen.
Other highlights were the Flower/Corsano duo whose electrifying Shahi Baaja and drum improvisations kicked off the afternoon and thankfully avoided blowing out the power like the last time I saw them. Thought Forms proved a hit with their blend of distorted shoegaze melodies a la MBV/Mogwai. Kim Hiorthoy delivered a sweet set of chunky hyperactive techno but sadly only to a room of about 30 or 40 people as most were off witnessing yet another incarnation of Sunn 0)))’s dull doom racket (Thorr’s Hammer). Final word goes to Skullflower with their cranium obliterating wall of noise that resembled “Metal Machine Music” forced through a meat grinder. To describe it as music would be a long stretch, it’s not even a drone as there aren’t any real notes to speak of.  There’s nothing to be “enjoyed” here (although a perverse few will no doubt attest to differ) but like witnessing a burning building, it holds a hypnotic compulsion that kept me rooted to my spot for 30 minutes or so and that’s only to be saluted I suppose.

Tune into Rhubarb Radio for streams of some of the weekend’s sets and see ya there next year…

Enjoy…

The good news is that O. Children have a strong grasp of the dynamics of a good alt-pop tune and also know a hook when it looks them in the face. Singer Tobias can command a room but also has that tiny degree of gawkish self-consciousness that will make him likeable, if not adorable to girls and guys up and down the land. A brief, energy-charged set convinces everyone in the room and they are on their way. Tobias’ closing words, “Remember the name, O. Children”.

Keep ‘em peeled.

As well as Coconut Monkey (who helped turn my birthday party in January into the best night ever) I’m going to give a shout-out to Alpha Road, Our Escape and Devilfork whom I particularly enjoyed.
I imagine there are lots of similar things going on up and down the country and indeed, around the world. So why not do a bit of digging about, find one near you (like these) and get yourself along?

The reality was much different – Johnny Rotten’s 1977 Capital Radio interview included music by the likes of Peter Hammill and The Third Ear Band, Keith Levene was a big Yes fan (even rumoured to be Steve Howe’s roadie shortly before joining The Clash), Pete Shelley loved Can and Joe Strummer was a Springsteen/Dylan Obsessive, to name but 4 of the “guilty” few.
Of course, in retrospect it was all utterly absurd especially as The Stranglers – much as I loved them were just a speeded up R n B band who, by their own admission, had jumped the bandwagon and Blondie had clearly always been a disco band anyway. It’s funny to see how the party-line Chinese-whispered its way out to the provincial playgrounds. At least I had the excuse of only being 8 or 9 years old.
All of which brings me to why I love this clip so much – the long-haired hippy in the front row loves The Clash more than anyone else in the place!

It’s highly probable that the source of all this dogma was Bernard Rhodes, the manager of The Clash. Rhodes was an ardent Marxist and is viewed by many to be the true architect of the UK punk scene. A close associate of Malcolm McLaren, it was Rhodes who both initiated the birth of the Sex Pistols and discovered Johnny Rotten, inviting him to the famed miming audition at the Roebuck pub. Joe Strummer was so inspired by Rhodes’ vision that he adopted a year zero approach which involved sacking many of his friends as well as his band, The 101ers – a move that (understandably) rankles some, even to this day. It’s a similar dogmatic approach to that employed by fellow musical Marxists, Ewan MacColl with his region-specific school of folk revivalism in the 50s and Cornelius Cardew’s early 70s denouncement of the avant-garde in favour of an idealised proletarian popular song.
Thankfully, the birth of a post-punk “scene” within about 18 months of  year zero brought with it a welcome and vital musical cross-pollination. You can read all about that in Simon Reynolds’ excellent “Rip It Up And Start Again”.

So it looks like my brother was right buying “Magic Fly” all along.