Tag Archives: The Zodiac

Dogs Die In Hot Cars

The Zodiac, Oxford
11th February 2004

Every so often a band comes along that picks you up and carries you away on their energetic whimsy about organic veg and loving Lucy Liu, and it’s a very pleasant experience. St Andrews-formed quintet Dogs Die In Hot Cars are such a band. Shunning more modern guitar band conventions, their sound is a refreshing throwback to late 70s and early 80s punchy pop soul. Dexy’s Midnight Runners and XTC comparisons are obvious, but I detected a more Squeeze-y feel, liberally sprinkled with hints of fellow Scottish bands Aztec Camera in their songwriting and, oddly, the Proclaimers in their stomp and vocal harmonies.

Their short and sharp style is cluttered with catchy hooks and odd key changes and at times they wander into cheeky Madness-style ska and jangly tweeness, which could irritate some but must endear them to others – especially V2, who snapped them up last summer. Overall though, they are more enthusiastic urban poets than corny pop urchins.

Lead singer Craig Macintosh, whose earnest and expressive voice reminds me of both Joe Jackson and The Associates’ Billy Mackenzie, looks like he wouldn’t have been out of place in the film Gregory’s Girl – and his band wouldn’t have been out of place on its soundtrack either.

Recent EP lead track Man Bites Man has a great Eurythmics-style lead synth line but their zenith is I Love You Cause I Have To, a Zoe Ball Record of The Week. Paul Newman contains the line “I wish I had Paul Newman’s eyes…” which sounds odd in isolation, but makes sense in the context of everything DDIHC present.

Ones to watch, especially when their debut album – currently being recorded with producers Clive Langer and Alan Winstanley (of Dexy’s, Madness and The Smiths fame) – comes out later this year.

From Nightshift, March 2004

The Futureheads

The Zodiac, Oxford
13th October 2003

Sunderland quartet The Futureheads are one of those bands that compel you to see them before – just in case – they get famous.

Energetic and punchy pop punk rockers, they have a good line in short sharp bursts of urban tales, mostly reminiscent of early XTC (though a bit more flippant in their story-telling) but with echoes of early Jam (especially on Ticket) and Gang of Four, which isn’t surprising as their recent EP 1-2-3-NUL! was produced by Andy Gill.

They’re also idiosyncratic, with songs like Stupid and Shallow (which Rolf Harris look-alike Ross Millard dedicates to the act of buying shoes) and Piece of Crap rubbing shoulders with recent single First Day, about the reality of growing up and getting a job, Man Ray, possibly a paean to the artist (though it’s hard to tell) and a cover of Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love.

Ross, Barry Hyde and Jaff, all on guitars and vocals, demonstrate very impressive lyrical play and harmonies; this alone makes them worth seeing. They seemed to have honed this down to a fine, if eccentric, art, sometimes even yelping or yodelling, but always in time with each other. The tune does sometime make way for the vocals and rhythm, admittedly, and they do tend to like one particular note and don’t deviate from that much, but their habit of slightly wandering off in another direction mid-song is endearing and at least keeps your attention.

Everything seems very quick and urgent with The Futureheads: their subject matter, staccato guitar and vocal styles and song lengths. They’re strong enough for the catchiness of their songs to also develop; they’re otherwise very impressive but the tunes you take away in your head aren’t theirs but the songs of artists they sound like, sung by their voices.

From Nightshift, November 2003

The Soundtrack of our Lives and Sahara Hotnights

The Zodiac
11th May 2002

There’s been a bit of a word-of-mouth buzz surrounding Sweden’s Sahara Hotnights for a while now; at the Zodiac last Saturday, the noisy all-girl quartet from the small town of Robertsfors exuded power, rawness and punk energy (most evident in Josephine Forsman’s remarkable head-banging display on drums), but they also proved themselves to be a tight and competent ensemble, sassy and dripping with enthusiasm and verve. Singer Maria Andersson’s vocals harked back to Siouxsie Sioux and Saffron from Republica, but sometimes her shouty style made it hard to discern a tune. Like a gang of Suzi Quatros with attitude, their style veered from the Pixies on speed to any manner of Britpop bands like Lush, Elastica and Sleeper. Their songs were brash and arrogant, laden with fast basslines and rock riffs, but their lack of variety might work against them in the future – a few more interesting chord sequences would have been welcome amidst the repetition. Despite this, some tracks stood out, like the feisty Alright Alright (Here’s My Fist Where’s the Fight), Down and Out and the new single With Or Without Control, all from their recently released second album Jennie Bomb. Closing with No Big Deal, Sahara Hotnights had come and rocked and packed more chords into half an hour than most bands manage in a whole set.

The Soundtrack of Our Lives, however, were a different experience altogether. An extremely powerful live stage presence, they performed, rather than played; I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it. Formed in Gothenberg, Sweden, in 1994 from the ashes of the domestically very successful Union Carbide Productions, a pedigree betrayed by their mature sound and style, the sextet fuse 60s rock n’ roll and psychedelia and 70s prog into a dreamy, delirious and forceful sound entirely of their own. Singer Ebbot Lundberg was a spectacle to behold: a beautiful, soulful and versatile voice emanating from black kaftan-clad bearded colossus; all arms, gestures and scary eyes, he even waded into the crowd during 21st Century Rip Off, exhorting us all to sit down. Comparisons to the Stones, Byrds, Captain Beefheart and even Pink Floyd are justified but come nowhere near to painting the whole soundscape; each song was an epic, sometimes quietening down towards the end a la The Doors before picking up again for a thundering finale. In a set mostly comprising songs from their third and most recent album Behind The Music, Ten Years Ahead came over as the best song Kula Shaker never covered, Tonight a dramatic lighter-waving tearjerking collaboration between keyboardist Martin Hederos and Ebbot, and Nevermore a fully-fledged prog-out. The crowd was most animated by the storming new single Sister Surround (released 13th May), a record of the week on Mark Radcliffe’s Radio 1 show. They clearly enjoy what they do and this was palpable; not to be confused with great new British bands like The Cooper Temple Clause or The Music, or fellow Swedes The Hives, the idiosyncratic TSOOL really are something else.

Mansun

The Zodiac, Oxford
19th May 2002

It’s always daunting to go a gig of a band you love at which they are introducing new, as-yet-unreleased material. So I went off to see Mansun at the Zodiac trying suppress my high expectations – but, thankfully, I wasn’t disappointed. Without the keyboards, the epic arrangements of previous performances weren’t possible, but their new songs didn’t suffer; the highlight was the radio-friendly and catchy Keep Telling Myself, although the punky and bass drum-led Secrets, guitar-heavy Slipping Away and mellow This Is My Home also stood out. They extended and sometimes improvised parts of their older songs, especially the set-closing seminal Take It Easy Chicken, and singer Paul Draper – whose current haircut (and the way he threw his head around) made him look scarily like Thom Yorke – tried to make a slightly unenthusiastic crowd sing bits of Legacy and even the early album track The Chad Who Loved Me.

Like at every other Mansun gig I’ve been to, something went wrong – this time a temporary amp failure – but a bloke in the crowd, whose impromptu slightly off-tune acappella Wide Open Space was praised by Draper, filled in the pause nicely. The lads from Chester looked cool and invigorated; their new stuff displayed a songwriting maturity that only comes with experience, while still keeping characteristic chord changes and Chad’s deft lead guitar riffs. I wasn’t even too bothered that they only played an hour of ten songs without an encore; they weren’t yet touring to promote the new album (due in Autumn), and so could slot new stuff in between crowd favourites without having to try too hard to match the crowd’s expectation.

All gigs should be like this: familiar Mansun played perfectly with a new twist, and new Mansun that was different to anything they’d done before but still – unmistakably – Mansun.

Photo: © Richard Whitelock

British Sea Power

The Zodiac, Oxford
15th October 2002

Things you should know about Brighton-based quartet British Sea Power: hailing mainly from the Lake District, their influences include Field Marshal Montgomery and Czech culture. They used to present their own eclectic night, Club Sea Power, monthly in Brighton. Their stage is bedecked with antlers and life-size plastic birds. They shun introductory music in favour of a reading by CS Lewis. Singer Yan, seemingly too small for a front man but given considerable gravitas by an intense stare and an echoing Bowie/Brett Anderson-ish howl, takes the stage in a brown tunic, with his brother, bassist Hamilton, guitarist Noble and drummer Wood in quasi-military garb.

However, it is their music which speaks the most about British Sea Power. With their martial onstage demeanour, every gig is a performance; they have a peculiarly captivating stage presence, and describe themselves as “high church amplified rock music”. There are some reference points: the group’s uniforms recall early Joy Division, Yan looks and acts like Ian Curtis, and Hamilton’s bass style is definitely redolent of Peter Hook.

Opener The Spirit of St Louis is a goth-punk peian to Iggy Pop and Charles Lindbergh, the first man to fly across the Atlantic; its guitar swirls and darkness seem influenced by Echo and the Bunnymen, although at times it is difficult to determine whether BSP are completely original or highly derivative.

Their first single for Rough Trade, Remember Me, is a plaintive bass-driven catchier number, melodramatic but earnest. Hamilton sings A Lovely Day Tomorrow – apparently about Moravia – with accompaniment from the tour manager (standing in for new live addition Eamon), whose tinny keyboard riffs are in stark contrast to the guitars. Set closer Lately is an epic feedback-based jam rock-out, towards the end of which Yan ventures into the crowd, Hamilton does headstands before wailing from atop his brother’s shoulders, and Noble dismantles the drum kit and takes it into the crowd.

It seems that BSP have found their niche, and will develop within it in their own iconoclastic and eccentric style. They even sang a song about beetroot; they truly are a big hope for the future.

From Nightshift, November 2002

Photo: © Richard Whitelock