10 of the best pubs in Edinburgh

I wrote an article for Guardian Travel about Edinburgh. It's pretty self-explanatory.

10 of the best pubs in Edinburgh

The Last Battle - Heart of the Land, Soul of the Sea

The Last Battle - Heart of the Land, Soul of the Sea (**)
album review for the skinny

For a band of six, Edinburgh’s The Last Battle sport a frail, minimal sound on debut album Heart of the Land, Soul of the Sea, based almost entirely on singer Scott Longmuir’s acoustic guitar. Tasteful cello flourishes and wispy female backing vocals don’t do much to fill out the palette, so The Last Battle ensure there’s some variation by, for example, splitting the short record with a monologue from a deep-voiced bandmate, and introducing a shuffling squeezebox to Cutlass.

Despite the stylistic difference, it’s that monologue, Photographic Memory, which encapsulates the album’s main problems: it’s sorely earnest and full of lyrical clichés. Heart of the Land's relentless sincerity becomes difficult to stomach if you’re not in a teary mood, and lines like "I'd like to sail away with you forever in a heartbeat" would surely earn derision were they to come from a soppy pop star, however melodiously they're delivered.

Andrew O'Neill @ The Tron

Andrew O'Neill (***)

comedy review for the list

If Andrew O'Neill's poster description "occult comedian" suggests an evening of witty witchcraft, that's not what he's serving at this year's Fringe. He's a metalhead, and wears all black clothing (and owns a black beach towel), but he's a long way from turning any unfortunate front-row volunteer into a newt.

He's actually very normal, towel tastes aside. In mocking religion, racism and homophobia he wrings laughs out of well-worn and worthy comedic subjects, and a long story about his first ever fight provides an impressive variety of angles. Metal music and culture is another deep well for comedy, one which O'Neill could probably explore further.

Unfortunately almost all of O'Neill's short scripted skits fall flat, both punctuating and puncturing his set. Surely every good David Dickinson joke has long ago been told, so there's not much to gain from two more attempts; and providing a melodramatic power ballad with a mundane answer is a schoolboy's game.

Meursault: Escape From Auld Reekie

feature for the skinny
(crappy photo taken by me on my phone about a year ago at The Bowery)

In the 16th century, after defeat at the Battle of Flodden, Edinburgh built a wall around its limits to protect itself from an expected invasion by the English. They never came, but the Flodden Wall proved useful to the city's rulers as a means of penning citizens in, making criminals easier to catch and traders easier to tax. The wall is mostly gone, but some mysterious force still seems to pen the capital's musical citizens in.

Every August, Edinburgh becomes the cultural capital of the western world, yet its own contemporary music rarely travels far. For two years, the chatter around these parts has been dominated by Meursault, and if you've been to a small-scale gig here recently, you've probably seen them. Meursault have performed live hundreds of times now and won new fans every time. Our readers poll saw their debut album, Pissing On Bonfires/Kissing With Tongues, qualify as one of the best Scottish albums of the last ten years. But despite their obvious talent, the hype has remained dispiritingly local.

It's time they burst through the wall.

For the uninitiated, Meursault are a six-piece (formerly four-piece) led by singer-songwriter Neil Pennycook, a big bald guy with a breathtaking boom of a voice. Other members combine autoharp-strumming with Ableton-programming, korg-playing and banjo-picking: they play modern forms of indie-rock and electronica, but with strong roots in Scottish folk. Pennycook has a versatile voice, but when he yells, jaws drop.

We caught up with Neil to hear more about Meursault's upcoming second album, All Creatures Will Make Merry.

How did you want your second album to be different from the first?
The main difference would be that I'm a lot more certain of what it is that I'm trying to say with these songs compared with those on the first record. If I've learned anything, it's to trust my own opinion and to work at my own pace. Also, playing with a full live band has helped shape this record considerably.

Do you mean - expanding to a six-piece?
Yeah. The two new members, Pete on cello and Phil on guitar, have opened up a huge range of possibilities with these songs. As well as other less obvious benefits such as Phil also acting as our booking agent which brings a whole new level of organisation to things. With Pete joining it gave me the opportunity to work closely with someone who understands music from a completely different perspective than myself, what with his being classically trained and his ability to understand every facet of a song as he hears it.

What would you say your influences have been for this record?
I've been listening to a lot of The Microphones, Mount Eerie. And I guess that's influenced my production style a fair bit.

How do you expect people will react?
I hope people get what I was trying to achieve with the production and arrangements as well. It's this idea that just because a song has a grander arrangement, or is more than just guitar, bass and drums, that shouldn't necessarily entail that it needs slick production, which always seems to be the case and has been for as long as people have been making records.

Edinburgh's happy to have Meursault, but logistical problems have undoubtedly played a part in keeping them here. They're signed to a bedroom-sized local label, Song By Toad, better known as a blog run by Matthew Young, and there's only so much he can do. And with six members, co-ordinating time off work to tour has proved extremely difficult. Hence most of their gigs in the last couple years have been in the homely Bowery basement, downstairs at what is now the Roxy. They were able to rehearse there regularly, and played so often they became like an unofficial house band. Just around the corner from the Bowery, on Drummond St, is a still-standing portion of the Flodden Wall. They're very close to getting beyond it.

MySpace

North Atlantic Oscillation - Grappling Hooks

North Atlantic Oscillation - Grappling Hooks
album review for DiS

Mibbe it's just their name, but I can't think about North Atlantic Oscillation's debut album without thinking about water. It's in the depths and swells of their song structures, the thin fluid sweep of their synths, and the drums which splash and spray across everything. North Atlantic Oscillation are an Edinburgh-based trio who eschew verse-chorus-story in favour of elongated washes, proggy effects and ever-inventive drumming. Grappling Hooks is an ambitious and accomplished-sounding record, that nevertheless doesn't hit the heights it aims for.

North Atlantic Oscillation's debut does excel in one area, and that's rhythm. Every track showcases drummer Ben Martin's restless impulse, stretching for fills and rolls where a lesser drummer might content himself with four-fours. Fourth track 'Some Blue Hive' is a good example, the grand opening rolls giving way to a relaxed, lolling groove, before the flourish-dotted outro that grabs tight to the song instead of letting it drift. Next is 'Audioplastic', a cinematic near-instrumental that rides atop a stuttering, shifting rhythm like a milder version of Primal Scream's 'Blood Money'; it just wouldn't be possible without a good drummer.

Whether North Atlantic Oscillation have a good singer is a more awkward question to answer. Sam Healy's androgynous vocal tone is nearly always filtered and in falsetto, giving it an otherworldly sense which works best on lead single 'Cell Count': his deadpan "it's amazing what they can do... to you", delivered over skittering flashes and whirrs, sounds like an alien observation of human science or the politics of power. But in other places his lyrics are unclear, or his delivery reserved, rendering his effected voice an instrument among all others, like a different tone of synth. Of course, its potential is to be far more expressive, so it isn't used to the full here.

There's nothing especially new on Grappling Hooks, but North Atlantic Oscillation's borrowing isn't usually problematic. '77 Hours' is a heated-up and stretched version of Boards of Canada's 'Roygbiv' that slowly builds towards a manic climax, and it's the highlight of Grappling Hooks' second half. 'Ritual', on the other hand, suffers from its rather blatant Sigur Ros-isms: not just in the slow build-up and ecstatic release, but also in the high harmony vocals which sound suspiciously Icelandic as they're reversed.

Although that's the only track worthy of specific criticism on this generally consistent full-length, Grappling Hooks doesn't reward repeated listens with new discoveries. Its tempo changes and pressure shifts flow in mostly predictable sequences where a few deep dives or bends-inducing leaps would be welcome. For such a rhythm-based record - where other potential qualities like beautiful harmonies or gritty passages of noise or big choruses aren't so relevant - it should be aiming for extra points on the dynamics of structure.

The many reference points to other bands Grappling Hooks fits in - in addition to the forementioned, Grandaddy, Flaming Lips and Holy Fuck all make ghost appearances - suggest North Atlantic Oscillation's burgeoning identity is still more composite than characteristic. That's entirely understandable for a new band, and a minor gripe even at that. Grappling Hooks is a strong debut by a band who can get stronger.

6/10

Withered Hand - Good News

Withered Hand - Good News (****)
album review for the skinny

By the time Edinburgh's Withered Hand opens Good News's final track with "maybe the world would be better without me", you'll want to give him a slap and tell him to pull himself together. Depression is a mental illness and that line proves Dan Willson is delusional. That's the bad news; the good news is that his debut album makes good on the promise of his two early EPs, partly because four of his strongest early songs are included here too. Supported by local musicians, including his friends in Meursault, Willson ponders his own existentialist quandaries on standouts Love In The Time Of Ecstasy and I Am Nothing. But all the self-deprecation and talk of alienation would get dreary were it not laced with dry humour. Every track features a handful of great lines, but Religious Songs is both his most quotable and most graceful number. The world is better for songwriters like Willson.

MySpace

An Introduction: Meursault

feature for Clash

Ask any music fan around Edinburgh who their favourite new local band is, and there’s a fair chance you won’t get the same answer twice.

This is a boom time for a city which lags way behind bigger brother Glasgow in terms of musical heritage. At the forefront of the capital city’s efforts to catch up are Meursault, a foursome led by singer and songwriter Neil Pennycook, who released a superb but slept-on debut album late last year.

Pissing On Bonfires / Kissing With Tongues was released at the height of year-end list season, meaning its many gushing reviews were quickly forgotten in the rush to put 2008 to bed and get on with 2009’s next big thing. But fans in Edinburgh didn’t forget - Pennycook is a big guy with a big heart and a big voice - why look for anyone else?

Though he tells me the word bugs him, we can’t proceed with a description of Meursault without talking about folk. Any group which uses banjo, ukelele, accordion and acoustic guitar, and which has songs that create mythologies around long-forgotten local heroes, is inevitably going to be associated with folk music. But that’s only a small part of the Meursault story, because they also use an assortment of electronic devices to add beats, beeps and rushes. Please, don’t call it folktronica - it’s much more fun than that.

Take ‘The Furnace’ for an example. “I was trying to write the catchiest, most infectious pop song with the weirdest bunch of instruments I could get my hands on,” Pennycook says, and he succeeded: it’s got a ridiculously catchy banjo melody sitting between skipping beats and abrasive scratching noise. Recent live shows under the side-project name Art Fag have demonstrated even more experimentation, with new influences like Holy Fuck and Animal Collective appearing. These recent shows have been stunning.

But then, when the noise subsists, Pennycook’s gift for straight-forward songwriting shines through. Songs like ‘Salt Pt.2’, ‘The Dirt And The Roots’, and ‘William Henry Miller’ from the ‘Nothing Broke EP’, are simultaneously heartbreaking and heartwarming. “There’s not a lot of hard fact out there about him,” Pennycook says of the latter titular figure, “that’s why I like it, because you can piece things together and make your own pseudo-folklore.”

But perhaps their most impressive single feature is Pennycook’s unmistakable foghorn voice, which you can sometimes hear just wandering the Old Town streets, where you used to hear bagpipes. Now there’s a new way to seduce the tourists.

ATP Film Premiere, Mogwai @ Picture House, 24 Jun

Edinburgh International Film Festival
All Tomorrow's Parties Film Premiere, and Mogwai, at Edinburgh's Picture House, 24/6
live review for the skinny (*****)

The organisers have made a real effort for tonights All Tomorrow’s Parties film premiere, appropriately hosted in a gig venue converted from an old cinema. In honour of ATP’s Butlins setting, there’s dancing girls and donkeys entertaining the queue outside (for the retro British seaside holidays theme y’see), while inside there’s a traditional ice cream stand and other decorations and Hi-Di-Hi references. The 75 minute film itself is a captivating composite of amateur footage shot across several ATPs, interspersed with more old-fashioned holiday scenes, that surely tempted everyone present to go straight home and buy a ticket. The shows by Battles, Grinderman and Boredoms looked great, but the most interesting parts are the outdoors scenes: Daniel Johnston sitting on the grass outside his room with his guitar and a small crowd; fans climbing into trees to get a better view of Lightning Bolt in a similar location; and Grizzly Bear wandering down to the beach at sunrise with guitars and a small troupe of disciples. I’ve never been, but ATP looks truly unique.

To nobody’s surprise, the surprise guests tonight are Mogwai. Kudos to the sound guy, because they’re both absolutely clear and extremely loud, and very moving in a way that’s impossible to pinpoint. What is it about a chord change or a shift in volume or an added texture that feels so meaningful despite being, on the face of it, utterly meaningless? Mogwai give nothing away easily, so every second is like a slowly unravelling epiphany that never fully exposes itself. My Father My King is a jaw-dropping closer, seeming to crack the atmosphere around us like My Bloody Valentine’s famous live Holocaust, except with structure, with purpose, as part of a song. Like a rainstorm purifying humid air, its effect is therapeutic; a spectacular end to a memorable evening.

We Were Promised Jetpacks - These Four Walls

We Were Promised Jetpacks - These Four Walls (Fat Cat)
album review for clash

Cards on the table: We Were Promised Jetpacks' signing to FatCat was a surprise to many music fans watching the Scottish unsigned music scene. It was thought by a fair few of us that there were better undiscovered gems out there, and that Jetpacks would struggle to follow-up the preceding FatCat releases from north of the border: The Twilight Sad's awesomely powerful debut album and Frightened Rabbit's widely acclaimed ‘The Midnight Organ Fight’.

Hands up: Jetpacks have proved us doubters wrong – ‘These Four Walls’ can stand proudly alongside both those brilliant records. The Edinburgh four-piece were actually brought to FatCat's attention by Frightened Rabbit, and have made good on their early promise with new, improved recordings of previously heard tracks; even better new tracks; and an attitude to constructing an album-as-whole that makes ‘These Four Walls’ greater than the sum of its parts. In fact, it's one of the best Scottish debuts for years.

And it's all about the rhythms - well, mostly. Like early Echo & The Bunnymen and U2, Jetpacks know that propulsive drums can be hugely effective without any concessions to funk or swing. It seems an obvious tactic, but by building everything on top of rollicking percussion from drummer Darren Lackie, Jetpacks ramp up tension for singer Adam Thompson to powerfully unleash. It's demonstrated best on ‘Short Bursts’, the fast-rolling drums on which sound huge, and in a hurry to get somewhere. A sombre, ominous opening is ripped up by scratching guitars and splaying hi-hats, Thompson yells, guitars fall away and tease themselves back in, the bass pokes a head round the door; "We'll teach you to die!" prompts an almighty squalling racket and, then, everyone leaves, steps out… and just the huge drums remain.

If it seems kinda simple on paper, it's exhilarating in practice, and the way they use driving 4/4 rhythms throughout gives ‘These Four Walls’ an undeniable energy. Check out the catalytic beats of ‘Quiet Little Voices’, which support a repeating three-chord riff and Thompson's anthemic chorus - it's sure to be a festival favourite this year.

Thompson's a romantic young guy, whose lyrics are repeated regularly so they become more like mantras. You won't forget his protective advice to "stay calm" or to "keep warm" or to "make time for us", because he says it again and again. But lyrics aren't really important here - too-clever wordplay would be implausible for a vocalist who hollers like Thompson, on a record that's more about sweaty youthful urgency than thoughtful rumination.

And such incessant rhythms could get formulaic, but Jetpacks have thought of that, too. The fifth track is a percussion-less instrumental interlude, an atmospheric drift and swell that sets the scene for the second half; and the tenth and final track is a beautiful acoustic-only lament, which eases us home with a sigh. Again, that's a standard album closer tactic, and yes, Jetpacks' debut album follows a big bunch of unwritten rules about how to meticulously construct an epic song, or an anthemic chorus, or whatever. But they've just taken good advice about how to get the most out of their songs, and most importantly, how to not be just another pedestrian indie-rock band.

The secret? Don't walk, run.

8/10

Broken Records - Until The Earth Begins To Part

Broken Records - Until The Earth Begins To Part (**)
album review for the skinny

Broken Records have had 18 months of building support from fans, bloggers and critics in the run-up to Until The Earth's release this month. A superb self-titled debut EP and regular enchanting live shows all over Britain had them marked as an obvious prospect. In fact, success seemed an inevitability, because unsigned bands as fully formed as Broken Records never stay unsigned for long. That no record deal was forthcoming from the rumoured bidding war until a celebrated signing with 4AD in January of this year was a only a minor concern.

Early comparisons to Arcade Fire might've been directed at Broken Records' passion, melodrama, and self-seriousness; or perhaps it's just because both bands have seven members. A better comparison for their music emerges now - The Waterboys, led by Edinburgh's own Mike Scott. The Waterboys' most acclaimed album, This Is The Sea, was a self-consciously big record, an untethered attempt at large-scale profundity which was difficult to listen to without cringing at its bombast. But Scott's indulgences were overlooked by many because, underlying it all, the songs were strong enough in other ways.

Broken Records' singer and chief songwriter Jamie Sutherland is how Mike Scott would be were he equally in thrall to Beirut's Gulag Orkestra as to Astral Weeks. There are clear Eastern European and Celtic influences on Until The Earth, which is part of the reason Broken Records were so enjoyable in the first place. The rip-roaring A Good Reason fuses boisterous Russian squat-kicking folk with muscular indie-rock, and If Eilert Loevberg Wrote A Song... makes use of an accordian-led polka to similar effect. Broken Records' pianist regularly finds a gorgeous chord sequence, such as in the intro to A Promise, and again at the start of Ghosts. Closing track Slow Parade majestically grows from shivering strings and guitar arpeggios into a dramatic and moving finale, one that should surely one day soundtrack a Hollywood rom-com's happy ending. In fact, Until The Earth's set is consistently strong, and the way several songs are blended directly into the next one provides a sense of continuity that adds to the album's overall cohesiveness. Unfortunately, like This Is The Sea, Until The Earth also presents a challenge to listeners: to appreciate the songs despite the pretentiousness of their presentation. If it wasn't for Sutherland's oversung vocals, the formulaic structures and grandiose arrangements of several songs, and song titles which heap on the pomposity by referencing 19th century Norwegian theatre, Until The Earth would be a classic.

Sutherland has always had a tendency to oversing, but it was masked somewhat by muffling effects on the EP. Here, the vocals are cloyingly forceful and false throughout. It's like when Bruce Springsteen summons up all the strength from his chest before he erupts into voice; his emphasis threatens to suffocate the actual meaning of the lyrics. And when, out of nowhere, Springsteen huffs and puffs a line like "let's blow this fucking place apart", as he does on his most recent album, he descends into self-parody. Until The Earth's opening track, Nearly Home, is reminiscent of a similar vocal excess when Sutherland sings "And rip it up, rip it all apart, this place that our parents built, we'll let it all burn down to the ground" before slurring that final word because he's seemingly too angry to pronounce the vowel. Fourth track A Promise features more bombastic bluster, as Sutherland strains so hard to emote each line: "hhhand if our hearts all disappear, hhhand if our bones they crumble to the soil, hhhand all our love will rise again, hhhand all fall to the sea." Almost every song features instances of such exertion that the album becomes as tiring to listen to as it sounds to perform.

A Promise also demonstrates the other major problem with Until The Earth. Listen to that delicate, tender piano intro: it lasts just a few seconds on its own, and it's gorgeous. Then Sutherland's vocals come in: a little oversung, but the melody is just right, and the story he recites about the burial of a loved one is genuinely touching, for a moment. Then piano chords louden, and my heart doesn't swell, it sinks. A Promise is the fourth track, but it's the third to do this exact same thing. What was originally subtle must now be made epic, the profundity amplified so you're left in no doubt that you must care, harder. Later, the embellishments fall away and there's another lovely strings interlude. But then the drums start to pound and the strings hold and tremble to build tension before, yes, the bombastic climax. By now it's a formula, and it's still to be repeated four more times before the album's end. It's like Broken Records don't trust us to comprehend their subtle majesty, so they decide to hammer it home in case we've missed it. Combined with Sutherland's emphatic angst, it portrays a sense of self-importance that's difficult to bear.

And that is so very frustrating because Until The Earth is an album that could've been "important", as far as indie rock ever can be, had it been recorded with a touch of modesty in mind. The producer could've minimised the gradiosity of the arrangements, not highlighted them. Someone could've had a discreet word in Jamie Sutherland's ear about his vocals. The band could've directed more songs towards un-epic endings. Sutherland could've thought about why the sixth track was like a song as written by Eilert Loevberg, and renamed it so we might understand. Until The Earth isn't a disaster. For many, Broken Records' grandiosity will amplify the obvious strengths in the songwriting. The Waterboys sold millions, won awards and rave reviews, and toured the world, and Broken Records still have a lot of achievements within their grasp. But others will be blinded by their bluster, dissuaded from listening by the forced sincerity and manufactured meaningfulness. Until The Earth Begins To Part is as ambitious and indulgent as its title suggests; and that's a pity.

PJ Harvey & John Parish @ Queen's Hall, Edinburgh, 26 Apr

PJ Harvey and John Parish @ The Queen's Hall, Edinburgh, 26/04/09
live review for the skinny

Tom Brosseau (**) is no frills, defined. White tucked-in-shirt, straight jeans, side-parted silver hair, guitar, man. Brosseau keeps it so minimal, he barely even plays chords. The hushed Queen's Hall is a dream for a musician of his persuasion, who demands the kind of close patient attention that drunks in most other venues wouldn't afford. His voice is compelling, as feminine as Nina Simone's is masculine, and young like it's barely been used - indeed, his gentle between-song burr suggests it rarely is. Problem is, such spare arrangements focus more attention on the lyrics than they can bear. A songwriter with lines like "I like it when the colour bleeds, I don't like watermelons 'cos of the seeds" frankly needs to obscure them with noise, not highlight them with quiet. Unfortunately, the closer you listen to Brosseau's words, the more they seem like empty parcels wrapped in shiny paper.

PJ Harvey and John Parish (****) tear the house down with every song, but that reaction seems to be more in reverence to the barefoot Polly Jean than to tonight's songs as such. They're jointly billed, of course, so we can't complain that PJ doesn't play a single solo song - but her work with JP just isn't quite as strong. Tonight's setlist is hit-and-miss, but when it's good it's great. PJ's voice is impeccable - she sings creepy new song Leaving California so high she's almost whistling; she's subtly controlled but forceful in the aggressive biters; and theatrical final song April is revelatory. Cowering over the mic, eyes closed and still, she sings like a frail and frightened old lady, before the staid and steady musical background gathers life, allowing PJ to throw off her elderly shackles and exult "I dream!" like a woman reborn. Come back soon Polly Jean, and mind to bring that other songbook along too eh?

We Were Promised Jetpacks

interview for The Mill magazine

High-fives all round for the FatCat scouts who brought us The Twilight Sad and Frightened Rabbit, two brilliant Scottish bands who've flourished with a little help from the Brighton-based independent label. Now they tell us they've found another great band from roundsabout here, and we're predictably salivating: FatCat's latest Scottish project are four-piece We Were Promised Jetpacks, discovered by none other than the aforementioned fearty bunny.

Singer Adam Thompson explains: "After a gig at Barfly in March last year I think the Rabbits phoned FatCat and said they should think about signing us." The groups had met previously while sharing a bill for an Is This Music? night and quickly became pals. "I've always imagined it to be like the bit in Back To The Future when Marty is beasting out the solo and the guy with the cut hand is on the phone telling his cousin to sign him. I hope it was like that."

Of course, record deals don't usually come with 'recommend a friend' promotions on the side, but FatCat obviously saw enough in the young quartet from Edinburgh's outskirts to keep listening, and eventually to sign. If there's something special about the Jetpacks, it's probably in the way they use rhythm: not as an unimportant wallpaper to the tune, nor as a herky-jerky fast-track to punk-funk cliche; but as a catalyst to every song, adding a restless urgency to Adam's vocals that add to their sincerity. Ian Curtis used to spasmodically dance when Joy Division's Stephen Morris locked into his groove: with the Jetpacks it's almost as if Adam is persuaded by the rhythms to gush out his innermost thoughts, his tongue flailing around like Curtis's arms.

"We do spend a long time getting the drums done once we have the skeleton of a song," Adam says. "They take ages [to get right]. It's a shame cause everyone with the stringed instruments yells at Lackie to play better drums and we all play the air-drums to help describe what we want it to sound like. He just sits there like he's about to greet!"

It's been a long road to get to this stage, with the group now recording a debut album for a growing expectant fanbase. After meeting at high school, the first ever Jetpacks gig was in April 2003. "We certainly didn't bond over a common love of a few bands or anything like that. Our drummer was into Blink 182 and screamo, Michael [guitars] didn't start liking guitar music for ages, and myself and Sean [bass] were content going to see the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Obviously as time has passed we have become much more passionate about music and are a bit more focussed now."

Luckily for all concerned, they sound nothing like a Blink/screamo/Chilli Peppers hybrid. Tastes can change a lot in six years, especially through school and young adulthood, and with the benefits of regular gigging and paying customers who won't hold back from offering a scathing critique where it's needed. "A guy came to one of our early gigs purely because of our name. He then heckled us and called me a farmer!" Adam complains, but with that they dropped their Wurzels influence, so all's for the better. Recent gigs have been going much better. They made a schoolboy error in selling out Nice N' Sleazy's -- "We had to turn friends who had bought tickets from us away, Sean's sister had to sneak in after we started!" -- and thoroughly enjoyed their September performance at Edinburgh's The Mill. "Yes that was great!" Adam says. "We were a bit suprised that it was so busy for us that night. It was great fun."

Now for that debut album. "We've recorded everything we've got! We're very pleased at how it's coming along. We feel it's a great interpretation of the live show: loud and quiet at the same time. We've done a bunch with Ken Thomas, who produced a couple of Sigur Ros albums, and M83, and they're getting mixed right now by Peter Katis, who's done Frightened Rabbit, The National, and Interpol."

And along with these opportunities, these esteemed names legitimately dropped, comes just a little expectation. I ask Adam about the Twilight Sad and Frightened Rabbit albums, which both won Album of the Year in The Skinny. "Yeah we completely love those albums. It's a bit scary because they are both soooooo good and Scottish and we are on the same label. We were joking about having to win The Skinny's Album of the Year now, you've put us under so much pressure! And now, of course, it'll go to Merriweather Post Pavillion because it's glorious. We're doomed!"

www.myspace.com/wewerepromisedjetpacks

Super Adventure Club

introduction for The Mill magazine

99 reasons to love Super Adventure Club 1. Their name is a South Park reference 2. It's the name of an international paedophile ring that kidnaps Chef: "We just liked the name cos it's silly" singer Bruce explained to The Skinny 3. They named their debut album, released last year, Chalk Horror! 4. Partly because it's a pun, and they like doing silly things like punning 5. Partly because they have a song about a fight between prehistoric chalk monuments, including the Uffington Horse taunting the Rude Giant with "Saint George was no saint you see, but he never flashed his piece at me" 6. Their drummer Waz is amazing 7. They have a song about over-thought no-fun Math Rock, with lines like "a new rock and roll is here, it's based on algebra" 8. You could say Super Adventure Club play Math Rock 9. Which one dunderheaded reviewer thought was hypocritical 10. Crucially forgetting that Super Adventure Club were mocking the very austerity of the form 11. Which is obvious live with bassist Mandy grinning throughout 12. They have a song about the super obese, sung by grinning Mandy, with a chorus of: "No offence to Rik Waller but you're not that much smaller than the state of Tennessee" 13. The lyrics are not in fact the best thing about this band, because they are musicians, not comedians 14. Two-thirds are music teachers, and all three together are tighter than, em, Rik Waller's tights 15. Frank Zappa might be their most obvious single forebearer, for his eclectism, virtuosity and humour 16. Live they're ferocious, veering between metal, punk, power pop and noise 17. They have a new song about the link between hip-hop and Pot Noodles 18. Clearly, they do not know the meaning of cliche 19. Whaddaya mean there's no more

(Obviously this clever ruse doesn't work online. Don't ask me for 80 more reasons! Also, this was not actually published in this form, for hilarious reasons which I cannot reveal. But it was butchered a bit and squeezed into the March issue of The Skinny)

www.myspace.com/superadventuremusic

Found

introduction for The Mill magazine

Edinburgh-based music and arts collective FOUND have been Scotland's most curious indie band for almost three years now, deftly side-stepping easy summation because they prefer asking new questions to asserting familiar answers. Signed to Fife's Fence Collective, their experimental bent is certainly reminiscent of hallowed Fifers the Beta Band, ex-members of which they regularly collaborate with. FOUND are carrying that torch further, squeezing pop songs into the spaces between uncommon scaffold, and borrowing others' songs to remix into more intriguing shapes. Succintly self-described as "Unpredictable, noisy, melodic, daft, electronic-art-pop", FOUND are a far different proposition from Edinburgh's usual indie traditionalists, and it's that singular spirit which has earned them an invitation to this year's South-By-Southwest industry showcase in Austin, Texas. With two excellent albums (the first earning a rare 5-star review in The Skinny) and countless eye-opening, horizon-expanding shows under their belts, it's hard to imagine what oddities they could possibly come up with next; but with a seemingly endless array of weird and wonderful instruments to tease new ideas from, we don't doubt there's plenty more to follow.

www.myspace.com/foundtheband

We See Lights

introduction for The Mill magazine

We've been seeing a bright future for We See Lights since their debut EP landed last May, but they've since evolved from the trio that recorded that promising little sample into a seven-piece collective dedicated to playing with your heart-strings like puppeteers. A debut album is in the can and will be available imminently, but it's live where we suspect they will continue to excel. Take lead single and band anthem "Parachute" for an example: while male and female lead vocalists regretfully trade confessions, it's the sight of all seven members chanting the "break my fall" chorus that reminds us we've all done things we're not proud of. It then becomes a communal admission of fallibility, a group hug involving everyone in the room, even if you didn't know you needed comforting when you walked in. With four songwriters contributing to their setlists, and a revolving cast of lead singers, they manage to avoid repeating themselves while still retaining a distinct group character: one of bittersweet melancholy that uses open-hearted song as therapy. Don't catch them on a down day, or you might just walk out blubbing.

myspace.com/weseelights