Tag Archives: The Guest

July 2018 – upcoming London gigs – Multi-Storey’s cabinet of pop disorientations featuring Famous, The Guest, Wharfwhit, Bianca Scout and Great Dad (24th July)

18 Jul

Sometimes it’s particularly rewarding to see a new band emerge. I’m feeling that way about Great Dad. Springing from the chrysalis of genderqueer punk-poppers Worm Hears (who, however interesting their component people, pronouns and propositions may be, maintain an unsurprising musical approach), they are currently breaking out – humming, carolling, blurring – into something far more promising. They’re making journeys into avant-pop, approaching it with a thin-skinned sense of wonder and detournement via a multiplicity of FX-sculpted vocals and the implication of an identity whose fluidity moves even beyond gender, and by soundbuilding which flitters between different pop forms, different cultural tones.

I’ve previously tagged them as “electronic bricolage”, but they’re also like some kind of tiny relentless broadcast drone, flying precariously between much bigger, looming shapes ideas and experiences; crashing into them and rebounding, reporting back in half-processed bursts. Some day they’re going to land and clarify, even if it’s only for a moment. Until then, I’m enjoying the buffeting ride and what I also tagged as “free-associating mashups of love, political paranoia, consumer anomie, salty language and an ever-strange out-of-step physicality half-trapped between distress and wonder.”




 

Great Dad are appearing next week on the bill for a Multi-Storey show which makes a lot of noise about being one to attend “if you unashamedly love indie” or “if you want reckless, guitar-led, drum-heavy aural delight”. Unless there’s been some new shift in language and I’m too dull to pick up on it, Multi-Storey are wantonly taking the piss. This is an unabashed weird pop evening, collaged together out of DIY electronica and from increasingly pixellated and fluid performance identities. The guitars (when they’re present at all) are struggling their way through Ballardian refractions or assorted studio fuckery. If you’re out for mediocre-white-hope guitar rock, look elsewhere.

Famous + The Guest + Wharfwit + Bianca Scout + Great Dad, 24th July 2018

Headlining are post-disco/art pop/glam crooner sextet Famous fronted by blazer-sporting singer Jack Merrett. They’ve been gigging for at least a year and a half, but I don’t know much about them. Like the enigmatic Black MIDI (and like Sistertalk, Multi-Storey headliners from earlier in the week) they’re a band who save their promotional energies for their live shows, percolating a word-of-mouth campaign that pretty much relies on your ears being around the right mouths (which mine often aren’t).

Famous’ web presence is matter-of-fact, minimal – almost disdainful. Single videos pop up on Youtube and are whisked away; the Soundcloud page just features a ‘Fitter Happier’-esque four minutes of spoken-word manifesto delivered by the Fred speech synth. Odd bits of gig promo blurb have pegged Famous as “combining pop craftsmanship with a penchant for the theatrical”; and back in April, ‘Not Another Music Blog’ sketched them out as “stylistically look(ing) like six strangers that wouldn’t even talk at a bus stop” and as delivering a set of “Joy Division, disco, and punk-influenced indie-pop bangers”. So we’ve got a shape, we’ve got faces and we’ve got a peg… the rest you’ll need to discover for yourself.

One thing’s for certain: Famous are the straightest band on the bill by far – the cement that holds the other acts in place and provides a link to standard underground pop.

A while ago, Gus Lobban (one-third of up-and-coming bitpop/dancehall act Kero Kero Bonito) played a solo gig as Augustus. Now it’s the turn of his bandmate Jamie Bulled, who – for a while now – has also been writing and performing as Wharfwhit. Under this fresh alias, he gobs out waywardly explosive, dynamically physical digital pop stunts involving a variety of collaborators. A typical Wharfwit piece might features sampled body noises – motions, grunts, wheezes – plus a deliberately inconclusive/confused hank of rapping from some emergent South London MC, or a shrill cutesy barrage of Mandarin from an Asian underground pop act.



 
There’s something a little lightweight about Jamie’s post-vaporwave/post-chop-and-screw stunts, but that’s part of the point. They’re divorced from any concept of gravity. They’re meticulously giddy, apparently still in love with a coalescing teenaged mindset of consumer-tech connection and sensual disarray (Skype hook-ups, the fading narcotic contrail of purple-drank culture) while still being able to comment on it… inasmuch as there’s any comment apart from arranging these chunks of experience, connection and distraction together into one pumping track: the components of a spread of options too busy happening to invite analysis. Log on and go.

No less fractured are the works of spectral deconstructer Bianca Scout – loose, yawing things clinging onto the edge of pop by a casual fingertip. Beats struggle like cocooned insects; synthesizers billow slo-mo smoke-clouds and kitchen metals scrape like a knife-drawer ballet… it’s a kind of timeslip electronica, in which the listener always seems to be nodding out into split-second blackouts. Bianca’s own voice winds intermittently and erratically through the mix, sometimes sounding like a Raudive voice – an incomprehensible ghost on the wire or muttering in between radio stations, now slipping to the foreground. At other times, her narcotic girlsing piles up like sediment; her voice pillow-muffled, her message prolonged and complicated by fuzzy detailand disintegrating enunciation, sliding from her murmuring lips. Other tracks are swaying, tide-tossed arrays of new age atmospherics mingling with urban air currents and sounds drawn around tower blocks. Unpicking all of this will be a long job, like teasing out a knotted tangle you’ve found in the back of a forgotten drawer.




 
Also back from a couple of other earlier Windmill gigs is enigmatic cheapsynth narrator and electronicist The Guest, unspooling low-budget electro/techno and odd little faux-stream-of-consciousness stories and commentaries. A touch of blank, owlish humour to season the mysteries.

 

Multi-Storey presents:
Famous + The Guest + Wharfwhit + Bianca Scout + Great Dad
The Windmill, 22 Blenheim Gardens, Brixton, London, SW2 5BZ, England
Tuesday 24th July 2018, 7.30pm
– information here, here and here
 

May 2018 – upcoming London pop-and-rock shows – offbeat-backstreet with Milk Disco, Barringtone, Show Boy and The Guest (26th May)

19 May

Milk Disco + Barringtone + Show Boy + The Guest, 26th May 2018

A few days after its show featuring Birdstriking and The Wolfhounds, the Brixton Windmill hosts another gig – this time for less-known, still-emerging names.

Headliners Milk Disco are the ones who’ve probably had the most impact in assorted zines and blogs so far. Dance-rock in the indie tradition, they navigate the sonic gaps between giant parallelogram bass shapes, frosted guitar twists and a desultory cowbell. They play out bored tales of tech-generation ennui – dying laptops and phones, decaying personal connections, desires to flee to Berlin. Sounds like gimmick stuff, except that it isn’t. In their sketchy way, they’re chroniclers of a latter-day angst in which budding twentysomethings construct such life-shapes: the products of a time in which so many things are available to consume and to be, but which so often fail to materialise or deliver.

Milk Disco tell their tales with a light dusting of first-person sympathy rather than just faddy, insouciant nihilism, but simultaneously duck out of sight round a corner when you try to get them into focus. They’re a little too self-conscious to be the party animals, but if there’s too much downtime they’ll spend it bobbing their heads a little, thank you.



 
Seemingly always on the brink of releasing that perpetually delayed debut album (except now they really are), Barringtone will also be on hand with their blip-and-bloop-assisted wiseacre guitar pop. If you’ve seen or heard them before, you’ll know the score – main bloke Barry Dobbin, long-bailed from his ‘NME’-favoured previous band (peppy Brixton nu-New Wavers Clor), forms new project branded as if he were selling vintage electric organs, slips smartly into the slipstream of XTC, and then flickers in and out of existence as if he was seeking (or running) from press attention and tipsters in several parallel universes.

The band’s latest tagline seems to be “elevator music for headbangers”. This just sounds like nosebleed techno to me, while Barringtone don’t. Instead, they discharge salvos of clever, distracting drollpop in something of a Partridge/Moulding/Mael brothers tradition, voiced in a dry aside and wrapped in little sparkling tuxedos of carefully manicured noise. Apparently ‘The Times’ once approvingly referred to them as “brainfuck stuff” (I had a stupid Victorian moment and imagined a clubful of Victorian colonels choking on their brandy and popping their monocles in affrontery after reading that) and they’ve got a drummer called Boomer (so now I have to avoid thinking about kangaroos, as if Barry wasn’t giving me enough trouble re. thinking about rocking horses…)

 
Show Boy, a.k.a. Jovis Lane, has been compared by Reprezent Radio to “Prince and Ariel Pink throwing glitter at each other” which isn’t too far off. He creates crafty, beautifully-voiced falsetto art-pop with funk and R&B dashes, an anxious swallow of hope, a seasoning of vulnerability and light-up-the-room ambition. When I say “room” I mean “room” – that ambition doesn’t rule out arenas, but it seems better suited to working and transforming smaller venues, turning a backroom into a little palace of swoon.

Judging by his self-directed video for new single Heart Is An Apple (in which a beleaguered pair of peg dolls venture across a wintery landscape, digging up an increasingly odd variety of objects before a disastrous final twist), Jovis also has a visual imagination similar to the nursery rhymes and fuzzy-felt workings of Cosmo Sheldrake. It’d be interesting to see whether he brings this to the live party as well.



 
Casio cave-techno specialist and parody-hipster narrator The Guest opens, providing “dark observations in an electro framework”. It’s like a meetup between adolescent versions of Jarvis Cocker and Julian Cope, Momus and Klark Kent in a school computer room, all up for smartarse bloopy experiments with primitive synth programs and hijacked games consoles.

 

I was going to add something here regarding upcoming shows by Windmill favourites Black Midi, but they’re being so industrious at the moment that it’ll have to spill into another post. Later.

Milk Disco + Barringtone + Show Boy + The Guest
The Windmill, 22 Blenheim Gardens, Brixton, London, SW2 5BZ, England
Saturday 26th May 2018, 8.00pm
– information here and here
 

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