How NOT to write about music – 182. At The Edge Of The Sea

You have to understand, I did ‘A’ Level maths. Back then, we didn’t have autism or ADHD.

I was 17 when I attended my first concert (Darts – someone paid for that; Buzzcocks – I paid for it). For years, certainly into my 22nd year I graded all the concerts I attended. Two marks: one for my perceived notion of how ‘good’ the band were (even then, a problematic concept): the other, for my enjoyment of the show. I graded everyone I saw and while the two marks were often similar, they were also radically quite different on occasion. (For example, Nico at The Venue. For example, The Smirks when really I should have been watching Joy Division in the adjurning hall. I didn’t because the trumpet was so bright and everyone else had disappeared. Plus, I’d already seen JD three times – plenty of opportunity to see them in the future, I thought to myself, bouncing up and down with glee.) Although the grades had a limit (6 stars, I believe), it was all in the pluses and minuses – which could be added with gusto, in deference to some long-lost value system. (I also liked to play number cricket in class with the numbers etched into the side of my pencil. The resulting scores, involving my classmates, were a matter of considerable interest to the entire class after the lesson was finished.)

Anyway, you achieve a grade of above 3 stars (yes, I did allow halves) and I knew I’d enjoyed your set, in one respect or another. In the interests of brevity, then…

You know what’s coming, don’t you?

First, a little context. At The Edge Of The Sea is a two-day mini-festival The Wedding Present and pals put on at the Concorde 2 (two stages, one inside and one outside) right next to the beach in Brighton every year. I’ve attended one before, at the behest of Helen McCookerybook. It was when I was in a very dark place indeed. Today, because of an incident we’re not going to go into here, I am feeling like shit. Be among similar-minded souls, I think to myself. The greatest thing about these mini-festivals – they’ve been going on for quite a few years now – is the sense of community they engender. A sense of belonging. Just a few short hours when you can still believe. All inclusive and slightly self-deprecating.

Plus, the raffle!

Of course, I miss the one band I’m here to see. Cinerama. Damn, and double damn.

Here are mygrades then.

Terry de Castro & Friends: 3.5 stars/3 stars (I didn’t really watch but they seemed friendy.)

Canned Pineapple: 4 stars/5 stars ++ (I was feeling shit: they stopped me feeling shit and put a massive smile on my face. The moment when the five lads announced they were going to cover a Wedding Present song but the drummer was still unsure of how it went – cue sight of drummer holding a mobile device to his ear, listening to said song – was pure genius. Reminded me of The Undertones too, and man that ain’t never a bad thing.) (Don’t overlook the additional pluses I’ve given them.)

ARKK: 3 stars/3.5 stars (A little too metal for my taste, but loved the stage set-up and warmth emenating from the two members, also my mate Michelle dug them.)

Hypsoline: 3.5 stars/4 stars (The kind of band we’d have featured in Plan B Magazine, for damn sure.)

Blood Red Shoes: 4 stars/2 stars (Good band n’ all, but I couldn’t handle the volume after Swans the night before.)

Berries: 3 stars/2.5 stars (Hunger was starting to do me in.)

The Wedding Present: 4.5 stars/4 stars + (Don’t take this the wrong way but surprisingly good. Vibrant. Don’t overlook the bonus plus.)

How NOT to write about music – 181. Swans

Swans played in Kemptown, St. George’s Church.

The above isn’t a photograph of them, or even a mediated representation of a photograph of them. I find it near impossible to type while Swans are playing through my speakers. Swans are playing through my speakers. The last time I saw Michael Gira’s band play, it was more akin to Live Skull. It was 1987, or thereabouts and as I attempted to walk in the door of Fulham Greyhound. I found myself near physically buffeted straight out the door of the Fulham Greyhound, such was the volume. Back then, I always went down the front of stage. That night, I cowered at the back, far away from the speakers as possible. (Or maybe I watched it from outside, through thickened walls?) Back then, I never wore earplugs. Tonight, I wear earplugs and the very floorboards tremble and air particles shake.

Gira rises from his seat occasionally like a demented preacher. The beauty is to be found in the devotional attention, the noise attrition, the way notes linger and seem to last for eternities, the layering of noise upon noise, note upon note, the sudden CRACK of drum and pounding inside your head. The beauty lies in the stillness, the brief tempest change. You don’t need me to describe Swans in 2023, surely? You already have a vision, a sound in your head. Not to be taken lightly. Scary, in the way cults are usually scary. Beautiful, in the way cults are often beautiful. Loud <<– goes without saying.

Yeah, it was an experience.

How NOT to write about music – 180. Even As We Speak + The Luxembourg Signal

I need to lose the purple filter from my iPhone camera.

This is a scene I was never a part of, but can relate to. Sarah Records, a few years on, when it was gently more mature – the music still as fragile, personal, tremulous; but not so transparent in its formation and more inclusive as far as gender went. (Sarah Records was always so resolutely male in the early years, and I loved the switch of later emphasis.) I guess the touchpoints I knew were Trembling Blue Stars and The Field Mice – but there was plenty of other bands around, bubbling ‘neath the surface, if only I’d looked. (Matt sent me the first Sarah Records CD, and I couldn’t figure out how to remove it from the case, snapping it in two in the process.) It’s a scene (a community) that has never gone away, supported enough to continue existing through the years. Tonight is (to me) surprisingly packed and hot – the previous night at the Lexington in London was sold out. Three bands, a shared aesthetic, a shared audience.

My community? Probably not, but there again I’d say that about most shows. Doubtless, most people feel the same. Nonetheless, I do not feel excluded: the banter on stage is genial, self-deprecating, familiar. Banter is so important.

I cannot figure out Even As We Speak. (DISCLAIMER: that’s one of my PhD supervisors on guitar right there in the photo, to the left of the lady in the sparkly Pride dress and platform boots.) Perhaps their music is too sophisticated for me – too much Prefab Sprout and second album Scritti Politti, not enough ramalama punk. Certainly, the music feels thoughtful, smart and undone because of its awareness, Lush questioning melancholia. I recall being taken with their cover of ‘Bizarre Love Triangle’ all those years ago, and they play it tonight halfway through, me having retreated to the back to stand next to a jug of water on the bar, and it still entreats me. It gladdens me watching them, good people, Mary joking with the audience about a bag of stuff she wants to give away before they take the flight back to Australia – a John Grisham book, a pair of airplane slippers, a half-finished bottle of wine.

Afterwards, a very sweet man named Nick who used to do a very sweet fanzine called Diana Rigg, gives me two Even As We Speak 10-inch singles – which look lovely, and are beautifully packaged. “This is the man who taught me how to dance,” he announces to a passing musician. Sorry Nick. Anyway, this gift makes me happy indeed, and I spend the next day (today) falling in love with a slightly turbulent Peel Session version of ‘Straight As An Arrow’.

I miss Jetstream Pony cos a) it really is hot, and b) I’m catching up with old friends, not seen for decades.

I find myself staying far longer than I expected, watching Beth Arzy and her bewitching The Luxembourg Signal – I don’t use ‘her’ to suggest Beth owns or possesses them, incidentally, it’s just a turn of phrase to make the words slip down easier and now of course they don’t. This is dreamy upbeat/downbeat slightly psychedelic, slightly bewitching (oh, wait…) music I have more of a handle on – and now I understand why it was so crowded before. How many members have they got up on stage? Man, they must scrabble to eat on tour! Whatever. Each number, they seem to grow in stature a little more – bursts of red frenzy and blue harmony, sudden distortion and sudden beauty. I’m reminded of (let me see) The Aislers Set, Slumber Party, Belle & Sebastian (but nothing like, no really, I have no idea why I typed their name just now)… and I like being reminded of these bands. Kinda band who if I’d encountered before I would’ve developed something of a secret crush on – much like the good folk around me in the audience – and be smiling whenever I heard them mentioned. (Still might.) What I’m trying to say is…

Yeah, baby, yeah.

“The drummer likes any sort of whiskey as long as it’s stolen,” announces Beth in answer to a query. And I like tonight. Lots.

How NOT to write about music – 179. Snoozers + Two White Cranes

Sadly, we missed the first act, Irritable Bowel.

Fortunately, I had one at home I had already experienced.

It’s very purple and blue down the Bee’s Mouth in Hove. Just the splash of red for contrast. It’s the small details that matter. The minutaie. The way a hand grasps a guitar, the mournful echo of a drum machine. Harmonies, tentatively attempted. Your colour socks. A corner someone can find to watch from, huddled in secret appreciation. A chance encounter with an old friend: “You looked like a complete wreck five years ago. You look great tonight.” The Snoozers stickers and cassette tapes going unnoticed on the counter. Should that chord be an A or an A minor? The length of time between notes. A flourish of barnstorming guitar heroics that could have been The Jam, Brighton Centre 1979.

For clarification, I am not referring to Two White Cranes here: confusingly, there are no white cranes present, and only one person on stage. (I say ‘stage’: are you fucking kidding me?! This is the Bee’s Mouth in Hove not Glasgow fucken Barrowlands or the Avalon Ballroom!) She is fragile and full of hope and one-word songtitles: at the Bandcamp, quite gorgeous and expressive, not least because I can make out the words and I’m reminded of Simple Machines perhaps. Confusingly, this does not translate to the live setting until the final brace of numbers where the mode of accompaniment switches to sparse electronica and supportive whoops, much more suiting the singer’s Voice. The new Kristin Hersh album reminds me of Nirvana in places. This doesn’t.

Good.

I’ve had occasion to remark upon the Pat Benatar oooomph of Snoozers before now, and doubtless will do so again; this is misleading of course, but frankly if you’re not checking out the Snoozers Bandcamp for yourselves already it’s your loss baby – and perhaps theirs – and no, no one cares about what you gonna do with those baby blues, honey. Simple, intricate songs with the workings laid bare and the best stand-up drumming I’ve seen from someone who is sitting down. The music whirls and dips and quite often stutters to a brief halt, before starting up again even more glorious again for the heightened anticipation. Small details, see. There is such a lovely sense of belonging, inclusion. Nadia’s voice is wistful, mournful and sometimes downright scary: Jon’s voice is plain scary: Steve’s drums are front seat driver good.

To use an old music press cliche, Nadia’s voice transcends description: like other great blues singers, she lives every moment. ‘Duke And Bear’ is my favourite: just rapturous. (Actually, my favourite is the one they open with – but I cannot find that one online to listen to over and over again while I type these words.) I had occasion to mention Kristin irrelevantly already and I kinda want to do so again now here.

No reason. Just been sent her new album.

Tonight is glorious: I am smiling from one side of my mouth to the other – the best Snoozers show of the six I’ve seen, and they’re my favourite band of 2023. “You’ve only seen four,” remarks Jon. He knows the score.

Yes, but I know the next two are going to be rotten.