DJ Sunderland

“I can’t draw or paint very well, and I don’t know how to play any instruments” (quote). Half the people I know can’t either, and the half who can play instruments have impressed me as much as DJ Sunderland.

Then again, if I’m not being amazed by how much I genuinely like the Bastard Pop (again, a phrase coined by Sunderland himself) mixes made by him, I’m being astounded by the sheer humbleness of the man.

An Astra-driving, UK-comedy loving, merchant of useless facts, I’m totally sold. As Equally annoyed as me by the band brown nosing that NME has succumb to, DJ Sunderland not only plays songs before they inevitably hit the mainstream but works the seldom used art of the mash up upon them.

This stuff is not for the faint hearted, frankly I can imagine that they’d find it that little too much. Similarly, the know-it-all Indie fans (and possibly of the scenes harshest critics) will read too much into it. But I can see his music is just about having as much fun listening to it, as he did making it.

If you’re bored with predicable play sets, text book chord progressions, and skinny little rich kids trying to provide a social commentary on a life they never lived, you need DJ Sunderland . If you just need something cool and different to play to your friends , DJ Sunderland is your man. Or if you simply fancy a refreshing change, DJ Sunderland is the one you need.

 

Festival Preview: Download 2008

It’s not only British artists that are selling out more and more. The festival scene is also treading a very thin line.  When it comes to giving the masses what they want, festival organisers increasingly buying into what they think will shift tickets, as opposed to what the punters really want.

With the British festival scene as a whole making a drastic decline in popularity though the late nineties, festival organisers have a ludicrously short time to get their acts together and pull it back.

In 2003 a glimmer of hope emerged in the East Midlands. The venue: Donnington Park. The concept: Britain’s first exclusively metal festival. The crowd: Around 90,000 of Britain’s most hardcore metal heads as far as the eye could see. With the potential to rival some of its long established European counter parts Download had the balls to take on the failing festival scene and return it to its former glory.

However on its 6^th year, there really is nothing to shout about. You would’ve thought that the organisers would have learnt from 2006 mistakes. It doesn’t take 4 days of near carnage, bear like metal head men caging up emo kids no bigger than my 9 year old niece, a mass water deficit and a full blown riot on the last day, to know that EMO bands playing a METAL festival - is bound to result in disaster.

But not only is there in increase in the number on emo bands playing in this year’s line up, to add insult to injury two of the headliners just happen to be so god damn emo even the mere thought of them both in the same place makes even the most hardcore metal head, want to break down in tears.

I guess we’ll just have to wait and see the end product of this year’s Download, but as much as I like to be natural over such matters, I hope the metal heads put up a fight the Lemmy would be proud of.

Portishead

Portis Head have been off the radair for a nearly a decade now, however there far  from dead and gone, sadly I couldn’t make the show at Hammersmith last night. But here’s a really snappy review I found online:

http://www.musicomh.com/music/gigs/portishead_0408.htm

Enjoy!

New Found Glory, Nottingham Rock City

Just thought I’d take this very early oppertunty to mention that New Found Glory are touring again in the UK in November 2008.

Here’s a review of one of thier shows I had the pleasure of going to last year.

 

It’s not a good gig unless you go home with at least one big purple bruise.  New Found Glory had it all, bottle throwing, middle fingers being flashed at the support bands, tiny girls unwillingly participating in needlessly violent mosh pits, and the almost primal chant of “NFG!” being hollered during any point of lengthy silence. But that being said – it was the most cheerful atmosphere I’ve ever experienced. Ever.

It was the first ever gig my boyfriend had been to in his entire life. Even at his tender age of 19, a good 18 months older than me, I felt like as proud as a mother would taking her first child to their very first sports day. Despite the surprisingly violent pit at the gig, every one so was near disgustingly friendly, I even found myself not only pitying the scene queens, and people who insist on PDA mid mosh pit, but even helping them up after I had “accidentally” launched into them across the mosh.

By the encore, 4 bottles of water, 1 lost bandana, several slams into the barrier, and God knows how many decibels of noise later, I still hadn’t had enough. But something was missing, something that in would make this fantastic gig legendry.

 As the lights where fading up and people started to filter out, NFG returned to the stage for one last time. Doling out souvenirs, guitar picks, play lists and the like. And then it hit me. A drum stick straight in the face.  Making it a gig I’ll never forget.

 

The Horror

As generations move on, so does music. It’s inevitable. But what’s a tree with out the roots beneath it? As time goes by classics are born, and of course others are more than keen to jump on the band wagon, and there you have it – the cover version is born.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore the sheer art of a good cover version. It’s not just about copying a song; any washed up karaoke queen can prove us with a straight photocopy of a 60’s classic.

But with the vast amount of cover’s banging about today, is there still the same amount of recognition to the original artists?

I’d bet down to my last penny that, almost all the kids of my generation  associate “Tainted Love” with Marilyn Manson, maybe some of the more musically educated would smugly answer Soft Cell, but I doubt any have had the delight of hearing the absolute original by Gloria Jones. It’s almost insulting.

Nothing compares to the sheer horror I witness the other day. Two preteens who genuinely thought that “Don’t stop me know” was an original McFly track. There’s no words to describe how horrified I was, and there’s simply no excuse. Freddie Mercury would spin in his grave, and the remaining members my have topped themselves.

Mon The Biffy!

Biffy Clyro are possibly one of the only bands in Brittan, if not the world at the moment, which can still be exclusively defined as just plain Rock.

Although Biffy has yet to reach chart fame (with only one of their fourteen singles reaching the top twenty) there current fans, though few and far between are possibly some of the most faithful fans ever. Whilst recently on the Kerrang tour, I felt a mass amount of sympathy for the other bands that played before them; it was blatant that 99% of people in that room were there for Biffy and Biffy only.  Far from the electric and masturbatory tones that filled the main hall at Rock City, Biffy presence on stage looked more like it was a mere jamming session in their parent’s garage than a near sell out tour,  and that there were genuinely happy to play for us. Even though its common knowledge that all members smoke cannabis regularly both on and off tour, their music, especially live, has no need for chemical enhancement what so ever. I’m hoping that the uninhibited cry of “Mon the Biffy!” will soon be set free amongst the rock and roll masses every where.

 

It’s alomost that time again folks!

Can you feel it yet?

I can.

Festival season is almost upon us folks, and I’ve been scouring the internet (as ever) and I’ve found a site that proved itself invaluable to both festival veterans and festival virgins alike.

http://www.festivalnews.co.uk/festival-survival-guide

I suggest you start rummaging those sale rails for those Easter bargains.