Caribou @ ABC, Glasgow

Caribou, Four Tet, James Holden @ ABC, Glasgow, November 21
live review for the skinny

With a line-up of James Holden, Rocketnumbernine, Nathan Fake, Holden again and Four Tet before Caribou, Sunday evening’s ABC lineup has a mini-festival feel to it. James Holden's mercurial dinner time techno slot tricks this sell-out crowd into thinking it’s 2am Saturday night, partly because we've been dancing for a couple hours already. He slides between bass-heavy bangers, slivery grooves and laser-driven mechanical shuffles until we’re all just about ready to spill out home to bed.

But it’s still only 10:15, and time for Four Tet to take over. Despite his albums’ more delicate style, now is definitely not the time for Kieran Hebden to slow down. So Holden's huge 4/4 kick drum remains, but louder now, so that its low frequencies grind all over the more fragile sounds of his new album. Everyone keeps dancing, of course, but there’s a feeling that Hebden might’ve been able to exercise a little more subtlety had he played earlier in the night.

After five hours of continuous beats, the 15 minute break for Caribou to set up as a four-piece band is a bit of a mood-killer. For their first few songs the crowd seems tired, and faced with Caribou’s more complex rhythms it takes some cajoling to get everyone moving again. That we would could never have been in doubt: a spectacular Niobe, propelled by clattering cymbal fills on every eighth bar, sets it up; more terrific drumming and scintillating noise for Melody Day ratchets the energy levels up again, and we’re not even on to the Swim stand-outs yet.

Jamelia, sung well by an unwell bass player in the absence of Born Ruffians’ singer Luke, swings cutely over a clickety woodblock rhythm before exploding in shimmering squall; Odessa's deep parping bassline and clattering rhythms sound profoundly weird and utterly compelling on this huge scale; and trippy encore Sun is stretched and pulled and pressed and dropped and revived til it’s mesmerised us all three times over. It’s a huge end to a night that seemed to have peaked too early, before Caribou proved it had never peaked at all.

Beach House @ Oran Mor, Glasgow

Beach House @ Oran Mor, Glasgow, November 20 (****)
live review for the skinny

Dream pop duo Beach House are a band whose live reputation is always going to be closely tethered to that of their albums; they’re perfectionists in the studio, so there isn’t much space for reinterpretation, and they’re permanently bereft, so they’re not much in a mood for energy. But in the darkness of Òran Mór, with a golden light fading in and out with singer Victoria Legrand’s breathy intros, fairy lights behind them twinkling like stars, and the aural haze enveloping each lovelorn song, they create a dramatic and intimate atmosphere.

There’s a stream of highlights from 2008s Devotion and this year’s Teen Dream, but the biggest moments come towards the end of the set. Heart of Chambers allows Legrand to really open up, roaring the melancholic chorus like it still hurts two years later, and mighty kick drums lend encore pair Real Love and Ten Mile Stereo an explosive edge. At the end of an evening of melancholy, the mimicking of Alex Scally’s skyscraping guitar line by the shimmering stars behind him makes for a stunning finale.

A Sunny Day In Glasgow @ Nice N' Sleazy's, Glasgow

A Sunny Day In Glasgow @ Nice N' Sleazy's, Glasgow, 15 May (***)

live review for the skinny

Sadly, the A Sunny Day In Glasgow founding member who would be most excited about playing with his band on an actual sunny day in Glasgow has left the group, leaving co-founder Ben Daniels to understatedly point out the obvious irony to the packed Sleazy's crowd.

This Philadelphian band have gathered a lot of attention round these parts for their bizarre name; and held that attention longer with two beautifully textured albums. Unfortunately, in Sleazy’s ASDIG are unable to fully replicate all the depths of noise that they wash their sound with on record, which exposes a frailty common to any dream pop-type band whose melodic nous is anywhere south of Kevin Shields’.

Precisely: if the 'dream' goes missing, the 'pop' has to stand on its own. The cover of Fleetwood Mac’s Everywhere certainly achieves that, but the band's own songs gasp for a little more fog.

Okkervil River @ Oran Mor, 9 Nov

Okkervil River live at Oran Mor, Glasgow, 9/11/08 (****)
live review for the skinny

Okkervil River's greatest moment yet is the seventh song of their fourth album, Black Sheep Boy. Halfway through tonight’s show, Will Sheff ushers his bandmates off-stage so he can perform "A Stone" almost-solo, so he can cultivate lumps in all our throats by explaining, through perfectly poised poetry, how baffling spurned affection can be; because love doesn’t behave as it should. Then, a trumpet heralds the arrival of something in my neck: so that’s what that expression means. But let’s not forget the overall quality of that album, nor the two since, and don’t mistake Okkervil’s smarts for rigidity: they’re more often flamboyant than reflective tonight. "Unless It‘s Kicks"’ riff is inspired by Bo Diddley‘s thrusting rhythms, and Sheff on-stage is a snaking hip and a swollen lip away from Mick Jagger; so they can rock, alright; but it’s "A Stone" which makes this show special.

Shearwater @ Captain's Rest, Glasgow, 15/9

live review for the skinny

Shearwater @ The Captain's Rest, Glasgow, September 15
(***)

Shearwater's most recent two albums, Palo Santo and Rook, both benefit from a production aesthetic that values each quiet second equally with each loud second, forging a real sense of space. Unfortunately, tonight, something in the room making a noise like a camera film rewinding for the entire duration of the set makes it hard to appreciate the quiet moments so much. Still, that just means the songs have to hold our attention in more conventional ways, and they do. Jonathan Meiburg, formerly a member of Okkervil River, has a tremendous voice, that switches between a forceful yell and a tender falsetto, exemplifying Shearwater's dynamic strength. Opening number On The Death Of The Waters eventually builds into a swirling crescendo, but it's the song's delicate opening passage, as well as I Was A Cloud's exquisite unwinding, that really captivate this audience. The encore is a Talk Talk recreation: all things considered, it seems Mark Hollis is finally getting the idolisation he deserves.

Santogold @ The Sub Club, Glasgow, 15/7

Santogold @ The Sub Club, Glasgow, July 15th (****)

live review for the skinny
Santogold's delayed again - but at least she's in the building this time. Originally due to play here in May, we finally get to see Miss Santi White in the flesh two months after she had to cancel her first Scottish performance due to voice problems. The Sub Club is the perfect environment for Santogold's pick'n'mix art-pop, with You'll Find A Way's battering bass assault particularly testing the sound system and getting full marks by way of a roaring applause. Crowd-member Vicky gives her all as a subbed-on dancer during Unstoppable, and a bigger (but still tiny) stage invasion during finale Creator only reinforces the impression that such a performer demands a bigger platform. Her vocals are perfect and she's evidently having a ball, while her stoney-faced backing singers swerve robotically to each new wave and dub bounce; but after waiting so long to see her, Santogold's half-hour set is brilliant but disappointingly brief.

Science Breakthrough: Common Cold Cured by My Bloody Valentine live

I wasn't looking forward to My Bloody Valentine at Glasgow's Barrowlands last night. Well, obviously I was looking forward to it, but my head was so stuffed with cold that it was only the promise of a special MBV sonic assualt that was keeping me out my bed. And at first I thought it was underwhelming and nowhere near as loud as they've been reputed to be; but then, I had dug my earphones in; a bit of wiggling, well, made me realise. And of course, every song was slightly louder than the previous, amping it up to infinity and beyond, until we got to the finale. Oh god the finale.



'The Holocaust', so called because it is pure evil, is the 20 minute long mid-section of 'You Made Me Realise' which sounds like being strapped to the underside of a space rocket on take-off. For 20 minutes. It's Metal Machine Music, live, at massive volume. It was harrowing. I was pushing my earplugs as far in as they'd go, while others were braving it with naked ears. I'm convinced hundreds of Scots will lose their hearing months earlier than otherwise because of that 20 minute spell. But then, hearing the reaction afterwards, they'd say it was worth it. Two of my mates said it was the greatest thing they'd ever seen. The others were almost as enthusiastic. A guy in the loos was yelling, "Kill me now! I'm ready to die! Nothing in life will ever beat that!", and nobody was disagreeing.

I didn't feel like that, but you know what? I think it cured my cold. My nose which had been streaming all day gave up during MBV. "Forget fighting this bug fellas, we need to get to the ears, pronto!". On leaving, for the first time in days, my nose was dry. There was some viscous liquid oozing from my ears, granted, but my nose was dry. So perhaps we've found a cure for the common cold: My Bloody Valentine live. I don't want to say 'The Holocaust' - that sounds a little, er, heavy-handed.

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More reaction from the gig:

Pat Nevin, former Chelsea and Scotland winger, currently BBC Scotland's best football pundit, said

"I've not seen anything like that since The Jesus & Mary Chain 25 years ago!"






James Graham, lead singer of The Twilight Sad, said

"it's back to the drawing board for us!"



Their noisy bluster owes a clear debt to MBV, and indeed the last time I saw anything as loud was The Twilight Sad in a tiny Edinburgh venue called Bannerman's.

I'm obviously not as cool as Pat Nevin.

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But I'm still not convinced that Loveless is anything more than a very good alt-rock record. I read this essay again today - Scott McKeating's Loveless take-down on WWIA - and find myself agreeing with a lot of it. In summary: Kevin Shields wasn't a genius, he was a stoner; the apparently revolutionary ethereal sound was just a more extreme layering of production techniques done by Cocteau Twins before; it conveniently helps mask a shortage of traditional songwriting ideas. There's nothing to grab hold of if you're not transfixed by the visceral thrill of the sound itself - which of course you will be, live, if they roar it at you at incredible volume. Isn't turning up the volume a kinda obvious and cheap trick to make anything sound better? My buddy Graeme, who's writing the gig review for The Skinny, explained that Loveless had changed his life, because it was completely unlike anything he'd heard before. I wonder if he'd have been so blown away if he'd already heard bands like Sonic Youth, the JAMC, or the Cocteaus.

Scotland 1 - 2 Italy

I was planning to watch the Scotland-Italy game in the Tennents bar in the West End of Glasgow, but not long after getting there I got a last-minute offer of a ticket to Party On The Green. This was the giant marquee erected on Glasgow Green with 8 gigantic screens inside, a stage with bands and dancers and stuff, and 7000 very drunken Scotsmen. How could I say no? The £12 tickets sold out last week in 3 minutes and were going for £80 on eBay - I tagged along with my oldest pal Alan, his gf Angela, and his flatmate Stevie.

7000 drunken and over-excited Scotsmen do not disappoint. The atmosphere was incredible, helped somewhat by the on-stage performers: firstly, a band of big beefy men, wearing nothing but kilts and wild faces, with long straggly hair and unkempt bears, blowing bagpipes and banging drums with all their might. These are men who devour porridge and whiskey for breakfast, and wrestle bears and Englishmen for fun. We sang Flower of Scotland and 500 Miles and that bloody Chelsea Dagger...and 70 seconds in to the game, it all went tits up.

We'd been asking for it! Imagine erecting a 7000 capacity bar on Glasgow Green for the game! Imagine planning a fireworks show and three post-match bands to celebrate with! Imagine the Daily Record devoting 20+ pages to the match for 6 days straight! When the game kicked off, the players who had been dreaming all week about the upcoming game-of-their-lives were still dreaming, and Italy punished us. Hutton, Brown and Fletcher stood motionless on the right flank, Weir lost Di Natale and McManus gave Toni too much room = 1-0 to Italy.

Gradually we got back into the game, but teams like Italy always do this: take an early lead, and then allow the other team to have possession. It gives us false confidence, because we think we're playing well. We only had so much of the ball because Italy were content, being 1-0 up already. At half-time I rushed to the bar, and didn't get back to the match until there was 20 minutes left.

Alan had taken an hour to get the first round in, and missed the first 15 minutes of the game (well, seen them on small screens from a distance). There were plenty of bar staff, none of whom looked like they had ever been in a bar before. Admittedly, it must be tough to get staff to work on a day like that, but it seemed like they only had WRVS ladies and foreigners: both groups who are going to struggle to understand steamin' Weegies barking orders at them. Still, most folk in the queue were in good spirits and we had a laugh. I didn't really see Ferguson's goal - on wee tellies, from afar - and didn't even know who had scored until people started singing "Oh Barry Barry!" - but the celebrations were wild, of course: everyone hugging and kissing everyone else, screaming and jumping, drinks flying, star-jumps, aerobic leaps, and primal screams. Stevie and I got back with the drinks in time to see a bit of Scottish pressure, and McFadden's glaring miss which instantly made me think of Gazza's v Germany at Euro 96 - the cross was just too fast for him to wrap his foot around the ball and keep the shot under control (or you could say he was an inch too slow in getting to the cross). The sucker-punch came in injury-time - a scandalous free-kick decision (it was a free-kick to Scotland, not Italy!) - but worse than that, our non-existent defending which allowed Panucci to rise unmarked at the far-post for a free header. All was not lost at 1-1, we would still have had a hope of qualifying, yet the defenders switched off. For Scotland, the first 90 seconds and the last 90 seconds undid the entire 90 minutes of good work in-between.

People walked. Instantly, the tent ejected dejected fans into the pouring rain. We stayed. A press photographer saw me sulking and went to take a photo - not wanting to be The Face Of Gutted Scotland in the papers, I obscured the shot with my pint glass. We watched the three covers bands trying to cheer up the hundred-odd fans that remained dry. We watched the entirely inappropriate fireworks show. We went back to Paisley and I won £20 on the karaoke. If there's one thing Scottish football fans can do, it's accept a glorious failure. Life goes on.