sparkleandsnarl

[sparkleandsnarl]

My Brexit soundtrack, part 2: Satellite Stories

Part 2 of my occasional Brexit soundtrack series! I grew up in the US but also have a Finnish passport, because my mother is Finnish, and that's how I live in London right now. As you can imagine, my anxiety about whether I'll have to leave, or whether I should try applying for citizenship, is skyrocketing.

It's probably appropriate then to talk about a Finnish song here: "The Trap" by Satellite Stories. I listened to this a ton last year when I was waiting for surgery. Satellite Stories were supposed to be my last gig beforehand, but because I got a cancellation date and got in a couple of months early, instead they became my first gig afterwards. I remember how euphoric I felt, able to not only go out for the evening after months of recovery, but being able to bounce and dance and cheer along with the rest of the crowd. I almost lost my trousers dancing to this song (I don't really wear belts when I should...).

It's become imbued with even more significance for me post-referendum. "Don't lose your hope and never give up," sings Esa Mankinen over a shiny ska-ish beat with horns that just barely escape being too synthy to be tolerated. Instead we just get a massively dancey song, even if the chorus turns a bit more anxious by pondering, "If we lose our home then where would you go, where would you go, where would you go?" If I have to leave the country, where should I go? What should I do to prepare for it? And how much time will I have to do anything?

(I should note my Finnish is extremely rusty &, even when I was speaking it loads, it was not quite at the point where I could get a job in it. I'm getting to that point of employability with German, though, but sometimes I wonder if I should abandon Plan Deutschland for Plan Suomi instead...)

The bridge tells us "we just have to keep living, living, living, living, living, living," and that's about right. Whatever happens with this Brexit mess, I have to find a way to deal with it.

[sparkleandsnarl]

My Brexit soundtrack (part 1?): Highasakite’s “Someone Who’ll Get It”

My furious, disappointed, and panicked thoughts about Brexit (as an EU migrant living in London) are probably not fit fodder for this blog (you can get a flavor of them by looking at my Twitter stream), but I can say that Highasakite's "Someone Who'll Get It" has become my post-referendum anthem.

All of their new Camp Echo album, really, but something about that song captures the despair I, & a lot of the country, feel, especially as the government destroys itself further. There just doesn't seem to be a whole lot of competence, never mind compassion or justice, going around.

So this song's become my plea to the country, to the skies, to anyone who can sort this: Send someone who's vital, send a fighter and Send a goddamn leader... send some goddamn freedom and the repeated Someone who'll get it, someone who'll get it. The kinda reggae-ish beat is soothing but then the lyrics, and Ingrid's voice -- seeming to alternate between desperate anger and resignation -- are the perfect funnel for my post-referendum anxiety and agony.

Feel the same way? Crank this up on repeat.

[sparkleandsnarl]

White privilege & erasure in today’s swing dance scene

Lately I've been thinking about the swing dance revival and cultural appropriation (lindy hop started in Harlem, ffs, but almost all the images I've seen of swing dancers, as well as my own experiences, have been suffused with whiteness).

Whitey's Lindy Hoppers. You may notice they're not actually white.

This isn't new, naturally; I first became intrigued by swing dancing as a teenager in the '90s (I blame too much watching of that movie Swing Kids -- shut up, that was when I had a thing for Robert Sean Leonard, thanks Dead Poets Society) and all the visuals I saw then were white too. Of course this was before I was even conversant with what cultural appropriation was, and before wider use of the internet made finding out about the history of swing dance easier than it was for me then. But of course the thing is, there was nothing that would've prompted me as a teenager to look further anyway: swing was obviously the province of cute white boys and pretty white girls, whether in Germany resisting Hitler or at home in the modern-day US.

Besides the fact that I was one of those kids that saw themselves as a brain that happened to have a body attached to it, not graceful or coordinated in any way, that overriding visual of swing dance as for wholesome perky super-white people would've prevented me even imagining I could do it.

Perky white people love to dance!

I always wanted to swing dance, though, and now as an adult I've finally learned how: lessons, and a bit of social dancing, and here I am living the dream. And with an internet connection and wondering just what's up with the super-white scenes I see around me and yeah, cultural appropriation. (I've heard electroswing is even more rife with it: white dudes with dreadlocks and top hats or whatever.) Note that I'm talking about the UK &, to a lesser extent, US here (there are big swing scenes in Asia, for example, did you know?) -- & I know there are US/UK scenes that aren't as super-white & culturally forgetful, but they don't seem to have remotely the visibility that the rest of the scene does.

Seoul has a huge swing scene!

I don't have any grand conclusions, naturally: it just takes me aback that I haven't thought more about this myself, but that also, even among the progressive swing groups I've had the most experience with (meaning, if nothing else, they don't tie leading and following to gender), there hasn't been much conversation about this. I suppose that could be in part because, as beginners, there's no question of us competing and potentially recreating classic dance routines in ways that strip them of important, and problematic, context. But a lot of it is about the privileges of whiteness: we can dance those old-timey steps and not have to think about it (I'm not white, but am not immune to racial privilege or cultural appropriation).

Here are a few links; if there are other things you've read that are useful, please do let me know, as I'd like to read them!

Race, Appropriation, & Lindy Hop: How to Honor our Heroes

‘Historical Recreation’: Fat Suits, Blackface and Dance (a response to the previous post)

(Possibly) Irrational Minority Dancer Thoughts (about race in swing scenes more generally)

[sparkleandsnarl]

The Great Escape 2016, day 3, part 2

This evening had tons of clashes, but I made my first difficult choice by opting for Jambinai at the university's Sallis Benney Theatre, an excellent decision. Jambinai are a Korean band that fuse traditional instruments with rock. They were fierce and extremely talented and also just really absorbing to watch. One long song had me almost in tears; I bought both their CDs (the second one hadn't yet been officially released, woohoo!) and discovered that this particularly moving song is called "커넥션 (Connection)," and I would urge you to put it on, loud, so you can hear all the nuances, and just sit back and close your eyes and let it wash over you. It's that one repeated melody bit whose poignancy really got me.

After a bit of a break, I returned to Patterns Upstairs to see Cosovel, a Polish woman with intriguing electro pop (her bio on the festival page says that the lyrics are based on translations of poems by modernist poet Srecko Kosovel). She was so bubbly and charming, and sweetly excited to be there, which made her set even more enjoyable. For visual interest, abstract patterns projected behind her during her performance cast her, and her backing musicians, into stripey or jaggedy shadows. I didn't often see people dancing at the smaller venues, especially if they weren't dimmed like traditional gig venues, but they were dancing so enthusiastically at the front that the guy next to me, filming on his iPad mini, had to relocate lest he capture nothing but bouncing fans.

I had other plans for the lineup that evening, but was suddenly knackered and... kind of ready for the festival to be done and dreading it being over at the same time. I didn't want to go back to my Airbnb room at 22:00; that just seemed like a defeated ending. I checked the timetable for the Unitarian Church, because I thought a gig that was sort of halfway between Patterns (on the seafront) and my room (by the station) would be a gentle way to start winding down.

Seeing dance music duo Mieux there sounded like a good idea. And a gig where I could sit seemed like an even better idea.

And it was! The two Austrian guys were kind of adorably nerdy/normcore, and told all of us sitting there that this was their first seated concert, and we should feel free to get up and dance. Most of us stayed slumped in our seats, nodding our heads or chair dancing as we had energy or lack of inhibition for, but there were about 20 people (in varying states of inebriation) at the back dancing wildly. Halfway through the set, two guys who'd been among the more frenetic of the chair dancers got up to dance for real with the crew at the back, and then for the very last song, one of the dancers led everyone up front. You could see Mieux were tickled by this tribute; it was all a thousand kinds of adorable.

So... that was my festival. The next morning I got up early and had a quick walk down the beach one last time, especially because the sun was shining (on Saturday it rained on and off, sometimes heavily, for pretty much the whole day). It was mostly quiet: day-trippers hadn't arrived yet and most of the festivalgoers were either sleeping off a hangover or already getting their trains. I dipped my fingers in the water again and took a selfie and some photos of the beach, and listened again to the rattle of the sea as the tide sucked itself back through all those pebbles.

I was dubious that the Great Escape would feel in any way as exciting and lovely as by:larm; it just seemed so much bigger and potentially more stressful, and in a way it was -- in the weeks before, I got pretty frantic with my spreadsheet and trying to note down whose songs I'd clicked 'like' on the festival playlist, and just despairing. But in the end, it was all right: there was no way I could see all those 400 bands, and I didn't want to, and that was okay.

Also, the ocean, THE OCEAN! I grew up very near the beach and spent a lot of time there growing up, and I miss it in London.

This was my second bit of holiday this year involving gigs (the first being by:larm), and so far it's worked out really well, after years of me saying, huh, the Great Escape's got a good line-up, I should've sorted out going this time. I'll try to go next year, I think. Who's with me?

[sparkleandsnarl]

The Great Escape 2016, day 3, part 1!

The Great Escape, day 3! I was torn between wanting to cram in as many gigs as possible on the final day and simple fatigue. Constantly trying to rejig my schedule depending on energy or crowds or weather (it rained a lot on Saturday...) got old fast. I really appreciated seeing other people with printed-out and annotated timetables or even their own spreadsheets (... I had both). With phone battery charge at a premium -- all the tweeting and Instagramming of bands takes a toll -- I agreed with one guy who fervently told me paper was the only way to go, the festival's app (which was, to be fair, very good: I think it was the same code as the one by:larm used, which was amazing) only to be used as a backup.

I started off with the Big Moon over at Komedia. The club, ickily enough, was apparently not mopping its floors during the festival: it was only lunchtime, and the floors were so sticky it hampered movement, certainly dancing. Anyway! The Big Moon are four confident, cheerful young women with tons of rock swagger. I loved watching them grin at each other and do all the requisite power posing (guitarist and bassist facing off, etc.). Their music is scratchy, buzzy pop-rock that put me in mind of the Muffs (or maybe that just means most of my musical references remain from my high school days), but with sweeter, less growly voices. They were hugely entertaining to watch!

Next I ducked briefly into the Spiegelpub, the big tent area that I'd only been to for wristband exchange a couple days ago. I kind of felt compelled to at least see one dePresno song -- he's so hyped at the moment, and I've missed seeing him about 3 or 4 different times (I meant to see him at by:larm and elsewhere, and just... never did). Visually he's got a kinda retro nerd thing going on, a combination of old Life cereal commercials and Ron Weasley. I love the warmth and resonance of his voice. He started off with some song that -- sorry! -- I can't even remember right now (I've just been clicking around his Soundcloud trying to find it, alas), but I remember that a weaker singer couldn't have carried the lyrics, because they would've been cliched and overwrought, but he made them so heavy and poignant that I clutched at my chest a little.

I had to scurry after that, over to Patterns to see Elifantree. My festival priorities always include focusing on Finns and/or women and/or people of color, and the intriguing Elifantree hit the first two items. They do a lot of... kind of noodley-jazz-improv-type stuff. To be honest, it was a bit too much so at times for me; it's just not hugely my thing. Still, I did enjoy their set; their personable singer has an incredible, versatile voice, and the three of them played with such verve and glee, it was a pleasure to watch. I would go see them again.

I next went over to the Latest Music Bar (where I'd happily had my rooibos tea and orange juice the other night!) to catch Korean doo-wop girl group the Barberettes. The room was rammed; for most of the show I could barely see them at all. They were a delight: impeccable styling, gorgeous voices, and bubbly. Their guitarist asked for the sound to be adjusted very nicely, noting, "You have to be very polite in England." Later on, after exhorting us to sing along, she said something like, "English people sing very well, I am very surprised!" Their set was somewhat heavy on English-language cover songs -- sharply and confidently done, but I wanted more original stuff, and wondered if they felt like too much Korean-language music would put off the audience (quite possibly, alas).

Then I had an encounter with a musician whose band I've already mentioned seeing at the festival: I saw him at a restaurant during dinner and flailed pathetically to him about how much I dug their music. Thrilling and embarrassing at the same time!

Next I went back to Patterns (enjoying feeling the vaguest bit familiar with the venue) to see the Polish band Sorry Boys. I'd describe them as doing witchy rock, an impression added to by the long white lace dress with random silver bits on it worn by their singer. At one point, she announced a song and someone called out from my right, "My favorite!" Someone to my left then chimed in, "Mine too." It was very sweet! (Later on the same person on the right called out, "Bela, give me your dress!" It was a pretty cool outfit...) The singer explained the cultural context of one of their songs, "Dagny" -- I've forgotten the details, but something about love frustrated by a political marriage, and how the story captured everyone's imagination at the time. It's sort of melancholy-languid-sultry; check out a live version here:

I'm going to stop here for now, but: one more post & I'll actually have written up an entire festival, woo! This never happens (you'll note on my first post it took me something like 4 years to write up 2 Stars gigs, however briefly...).

[sparkleandsnarl]

Highasakite, Village Underground, London 25 May 2016

I saw Highasakite last night, for the second time in three days (after their Great Escape set), and I feel even more incoherent than usual. I'm not going to do a song-by-song recap (not my style), but I'll try and convey how blown away I was by this show, my fourth time seeing them.

At Great Escape they had 30 minutes; here, we had the luxury of about 90 minutes, and they didn't flag, they were as sharp and emotive at the end as at the beginning.

I'm going to start off on a somewhat shallow note. Some bands make me think, "Oh, I should try a little harder to dress more interestingly," (I'm already a bit of a clotheshorse at times, but I'd like to dress as if I was going on stage every night, heh), and Highasakite are definitely one of them. They always have quirky hip casual style down perfectly. I noticed Marte, Trond, and Kristoffer all wore the same knee socks with a stylized heart logo on them and I was so curious: coincidence? Is it a brand that they just happen to like? Does it mean something? Did Ingrid and Øystein have them on too (they could've been hidden under their trousers)?

They're known for striking lighting sets, too; this time around they've swapped their masses of smaller lamps placed around the stage for five massive ones at the back, which lead to especially dramatic backlight moments. So even before a note is played, they're compelling to look at on stage.

A photo posted by j. (@nooneislost) on May 24, 2016 at 2:56pm PDT

Their set focused on their new album, Camp Echo, out just a couple of days ago. As I mentioned earlier, it's dark; dancier than their earlier stuff, but yes, dark, like how you can dance like hell to Stromae but it's that kind of desperate cathartic dancing you do when things are hard. This feels like an album very much of this moment. Ingrid has said in interviews it's political, it's angrier than their previous music -- I mean, the name is a Guantanamo reference -- and it pulls at you. The whole album feels like a prayer -- to heaven, if that's for you, but really to the whole world: "please don't let things be like this." Songs like "My Mind Is a Bad Neighborhood" and "God Don't Leave Me" and "I Am My Own Disease" are heavy with trauma; just because you can shift yourself to the beat doesn't make them celebrations, by any means.

No matter what they play, as a band they just feel enormous live; you feel like this is music that matters, that has heft and emotional weight, and especially this night at the Village Underground. Soundwise, I always notice Trond's drums a lot. For some bands, percussion seems to mainly be standard filler, mostly background noise, but here they're thunderous, they have as much of a voice and as much to say as any other element of the band.

Highasakite live tends to amp up the emotional pull of their songs anyway, and with the new ones, I felt this a thousandfold: so much grieving, so much pain, that feeling of a prayer being sent upwards and outwards to anyone who might listen. Ingrid's voice is stunning, agile and gorgeous and evocative and able to tell these kinds of painful stories in stark, true ways: nothing feels overblown or exaggerated, just real. The hymnlike harmonies on "God Don't Leave Me" could kill someone with sorrow, even more so live, and especially how the song ends with the sound of an air raid siren bleakly repeating.

There were moments during their set where a handful of lonely notes from Kristoffer on guitar -- starkly audible as intended, because the crowd was mostly spellbound into shutting up (thank goodness) -- made me feel like my heart was cracking open; the world was too much and I couldn't take the weight of the things that guitar line was telling me.

Kristoffer plays both guitar and flugabone (... as a kid in high school band I would've called this a flugelhorn; are they the same thing? I need to go Wikipedia this more) and is a wonder, for reals. On the flugabone he hunched over, standing on one leg, gesticulating with one arm. He played the guitar with that kind of verve, too, jumping around on one leg. Oh yeah, he also plays guitar a lot with a bow. Basically, dude, you are my new favorite for real, I tip my hat to you!

A photo posted by j. (@nooneislost) on May 24, 2016 at 2:54pm PDT

They're all so alive on stage, really -- I don't necessarily mean in terms of bouncing around, but just that you can tell they feel the music they're playing to the bone, they embody it, they're making this amazing transcendent thing happening and you can see it when Marte tips her head back, eyes shut, during a song, with Ingrid's fearless, taut dancing, with everything they all do.

This review so far probably sounds like the audience wanted to weep the whole time, but that's not true: there were glorious lighter moments too, like new single "Golden Ticket," one of the songs the audience was most happy to sing along with -- and how synthy-perfect is that one? (I love watching both Marte and Øystein play, and I was intrigued that they swapped places at their synths for one song! Why??? I'm not technically clued-in enough to know!)

Ingrid thanks the audience frequently during sets, but doesn't tend to otherwise chat that much; again, like I said about K-X-P a few days ago, it's rare that a band can be low on the interaction scale and yet draw me in so incredibly much. But it's a given here, it's easy, when you're presented with everything I've just rambled about, is it any wonder you sort of stagger out, eyes wide with wonder and gratitude at what you've just witnessed?

[sparkleandsnarl]

The Great Escape 2016, day 2, part 2!

My next stop was the pop-up stage on New Road, where Swing Patrol was starting the second of their taster sessions. I've been taking swing lessons for a few months this year, to my delight and surprise (after having wanted to for ages). They did some partner Charleston basics and had everyone switch partners, so I could join in even though I was alone; one of the teachers initially asked me to dance, which I appreciated! They ended with some splashy, fun demonstrations of what they could do. I also super appreciated that they had two men dancing together for one of them! At festivals you tend to eat random things at random times, in the gaps between sets, when you see a restaurant without a queue or something quick you can scarf down. For some approximation of dinner, I had a salted caramel brownie from Loving Hut, which was mind-meltingly delicious. I think my stomach didn't want all that sugar first thing though, so I had a rice ball from the Korean restaurant next door to settle it. Then I went off to Horatio's, the bar venue at the very end of Brighton Pier where I'd seen Anna of the North the day before, this time for LCMDF, the Finnish sisters who do really fun dancey electro stuff. Their Ja Ja Ja festival set a while ago was frenetic, lots of capering and bouncing around. Cool, still, so sharp you could cut yourself on it, but really energetic. This time, they were still full of energy, but more contained; the new songs they played were smoother, more chill, less wacky. Emma noted they were the house band that day, as they'd already done an early afternoon set there -- which had much lower attendance, so she was reassured by our presence now: "I've made it in Brighton, I might come back." She introduced a song for an ex-boyfriend; it went something like, "I couldn't be more done, you're an idiot, please go fuck yourself"; very satisfying! They were nearing the end of their set and hadn't yet played "Rookie," last year's fuck-you party anthem about sexism in music. Finally Emma said, "We try not to be political," -- aw, why? -- but this song was about how tired they were of the metal scene in Finland, mention of which got a few dudes in the crowd cheering. "Helsinki Rock City," one of them called out approvingly. Way to miss the point! Anyway: they could've done a nice "chicks up front!" moment with that song, but that's fine, I was almost the only non-dude up at the front and I had tons of fun singing along with them. (A thought I had: when your band name is an acronym and you sing in English but are from a country with another language, does it get annoying spelling out the letters differently depending on context? Do LCMDF -- and K-X-P, for that matter -- refer to themselves differently in Finland and in England?) I was too lazy for a 20-minute walk out to St. George's Church for a planned gig, so instead I headed to the Hub, a tiny venue along the beach (in one of the arches underneath the main road), to catch Rysy, two Polish guys doing very promising electronic dance music. I enjoyed the first few minutes of their set, until some technical problem occurred which ultimately led to their having to abandon ship. What a shame! They had some very dedicated fans up front cheering them on, one of whom received a CD from the guys for her kind thoughts. Rysy were very apologetic and grateful to the audience for sticking around while they tried to have a set. I don't know if the problem was on their side or not; my uninformed observations made me think it was a problem with the club's equipment, but I'm not sure. It's worth noting that the next band had some technical difficulties that delayed their set briefly, too, so I'm inclined to blame the club! Anyway: I'm going to make an extra effort to check out Rysy in support! The next act, the reason I was at the Hub, was Leyya, an electro-pop band from Vienna. They seemed understandably a bit annoyed and unnerved by the technical issues, but once they started they played with a fierce joyful concentration that was really appealing. I mean, I like their music too! It's kind of... well. Here we go again with my "dreamy, but with beats" descriptor. I'll look forward to seeing them again sometime, at least. My final show of the night was catching Finnish musician The Hearing over at the Queen's Hotel, where I'd seen K-X-P: a weirdly-shaped open venue space in the hotel's basement. An odd space for gigs; it just seemed like having a concert during a business conference. But I kinda liked it: small enough to be intimate, and because it was carpeted no one hesitated to sit down between sets (whereas some venues like Komedia were so sticky-floored with booze you could hardly move, much less dance). The Hearing talked a lot during her set, and kept saying she was talking too much, but her rambling was endearing. I liked watching her make her electro music; during one song, she unlaced and removed one of her Doc Martens, the better to manipulate one of her pedals. She was a real master with loops (and used them to good effect to demonstrate her exquisite voice); by the final song, I think she had close to a dozen loops on the go, rhythms and tones curling around each other gracefully. What is up with names with no Google juice lately, incidentally? I can't talk, as someone whose favorite band is named Stars, but just at TGE there was: View, Skies, Blossoms, Nature, Frances, Causes, just to name a few... really, people? After that I went to bed. Going to gigs all day is hard work!

[sparkleandsnarl]

PS. why I link to Soundcloud mostly

This Tumblr is essentially my gig-going diary; I'm not a music journalist or pro music blogger (which you probably already noticed...) -- sometimes it's hard enough for me to get myself to actually write up a gig, or an artist, without feeling like I have to embed a thousand tracks and live photos and such. I link mostly to Soundcloud because that's what I like when I read music blogs -- I can open up the artist's Soundcloud stream in another tab and have it playing while I read, and then move onto the next one in the post, etc. Let's face it, some musicians have shitty websites. Either they're inaccessible, clogged with Flash crap, or sometimes they only have a FB page (ugh!). If all you want is to hear them and decide if you want to dig around more for Twitter and gig dates and whatnot, then I find Soundcloud a good base to start from.

[sparkleandsnarl]

The Great Escape 2016: day 2, part 1

I forgot to write about seeing Axel Flóvent on the first day of the festival! This wasn't due to any regret on my part; I think by the time I was hastily tapping away on my tablet (before heading off for day 2!), I was already so muddled and didn't look at my notes at the right time. Anyway: this young Icelandic guy does gentle, kind songs. Maybe that last sounds ridiculous, but there's something about the way the vocals and the keyboard and acoustic guitar are layered: sometimes it's a little melancholy, sometimes a bit more quietly hopeful, but even when it's the former you're grateful to be listening. He had a full band with him playing in the Unitarian Church, which I thought was a good venue for him: the hugeness of the room, the high ceiling, and yes, I was quite ready to sit down, after running around between venues and standing for other sets! I started off Friday, day 2 of the festival, with a noontime set from New Zealander Aldous Harding and her spooky melancholy folk music. She seems initially rather placid, and then her eyebrows knit together, her face scrunches up, and she hunches over her acoustic guitar like some kind of troll. She makes such deliberate precise scowls and forceful hand gestures, I wonder if she has a background in musical theater. Her soaring delicate voice belies the darkness of her songs; she introduced one called, "I'm So Sorry," by saying it was about "how my drinking hurts the people around me." Wow. She could've softened it by implying it was a problem in the past, but no. Later she did a song called "What If Birds Aren't Singing, They're Screaming," about why she stopped doing drugs. When the audience laughed, she said that it might sound funny but it was very serious. Again, the matter-of-factness, the simple statement that wasn't a judgment, just a declaration. After that, for a complete change of pace, it was my third time seeing the Finnish space rock band K-X-P. They're always intense; you leave a little dazed after! Two of the three members -- the two drummers -- wear black hoods over their faces as they play; the songs meld into one another with little to no stage patter. Despite all this, I love watching them. It's a rare band that can choose not to speak to, or really even look at, the audience and yet still absorb me so much. They may not be chatting, but they're still fully engaged in performance, in their music. It was about 13:30 when they played; funny to see their hypnotic dark performance in the middle of the afternoon! It was in the Queens Hotel in a downstairs space, so no jarring daylight, at least. After that, I had enough time to grab some lunch at nearby V Bites restaurant (including a vegan cupcake, natch) before going to my sole Alternative Escape gig. As far as I can tell, Alternative Escape is a program of gigs that the main festival lists in their own schedule but maybe isn't in charge of putting together? I was glad for it since I got to see Noah Kin, the Finnish rapper, for the second time (the first being at the Ja Ja Ja festival a couple of years ago). He got a smaller crowd than he deserved, but if he was disappointed, it didn't show. Comically, his DJ was in the next room, visible behind Noah through a cut-out in the wall; I guess the pub couldn't fit them both in the same space! Anyway: I find Noah's stage personality to be kind of... fierce yet personable at the same time, if that makes any kind of sense; it's a combination I appreciate. Another Finnish rapper, View, joined him for one song. At the end of the set, the mic stand kind of broke, ruining the walk-off exit Noah said he wanted to make. Actually this was a day of technical errors in the sets I saw, beginning with Aldous' mic squawking abruptly twice, once causing her to abandon a song midway, while the second time she just picked up where she left off. There were more difficulties to come...

[sparkleandsnarl]

The Great Escape 2016, day 1

I'm in Brighton for the first time! To enjoy the ocean (I grew up near the ocean and miss it) and to go to the Great Escape festival. Waiting to get in to my first gig, I had some queue confusion, since there were two venues in the same building. Having established that, alas, I wanted the rather long queue instead of the nonexistent one, I was joined by two women who, as it turned out, wanted the other queue. They double-checked a printed out and marked up copy of the gig timetable off the festival website (I was glad I wasn't the only one who'd done that! There is an app but I find hard copy quicker in a pinch and to check against). They looked at who was playing at the gig I was going to. "Vallis Alps, what kind of music do they play?" Embarrassed, I shrugged and said, "I don't even remember! I just heard them and liked them and said, right, adding them to the list." They nodded in sympathy -- there are over 400 bands playing here -- and one of them said, "Tick, tick, tick," as she mimed frantic festival schedule-making. I wonder if they are still fretting, as I am, about a few intractable schedule conflicts and whether foot traffic will be the deciding factor in whether I can scramble between two far-flung venues in time. Highlights of yesterday: the aforementioned Vallis Alps! This two-piece from Australia started their first song and only after hammering away at their synths for a bit, said, "Are we playing in silence?!" A tap of a button later and they began again, this time with instruments plugged in! I realize a lot of the music I listen to lately could be described as "dreamy, with beats," and they are no exception. Beautiful vocals, kind of calm but joyous at the same time. And their music is very self-assured: as they were, performing confidently after their false start without apology or sheepishness. I'm really glad that, despite my train from London being delayed, I was able to catch their set. After lunch at Loving Hut, the culty international vegan chain that I go to whenever I find one, and a walk along the beach (pebble beaches are so odd to me! They're uncomfortable to walk on; what are they like to lie on?), I headed to the very end of Brighton Pier to Horatio's to catch a set from Anna of the North(yes, really. From Oslo, to be specific, but I suppose that wouldn't have the same lol factor as a stage name). Another set of dreamy pop (but yes, with beats!) followed on nicely from Vallis Alps. Anna is still finding her feet as a live performer; most of her stage commentary was thanking us in the exact same words after every song, and she caught her hair in the mic stand, after which it telescoped on her a minute later as she leaned on it. And she's a bit stiff in terms of movement. But all that kind of thing will come with more experience. In the meantime, I did enjoy her set; the musical atmosphere she creates distracts a bit from simplistic lyrics. (I don't think people need to have complex lyrics, but you need to have music interesting or stirring enough to carry it). Later on I caught the LA band Transviolet,who are so far my pick for new discovery. Thank goodness for Spotify festival playlists piquing my interest. They too are a bit dreamy, but with more rock to their brand of poignancy. There was one point where I suddenly found myself almost weeping! I really look forward to more from them. Next I decided to see Have You Seen the Jane Fonda Aerobic VHS?, which I almost didn't on principle, because I find the name so obnoxiously gimmicky. But I didn't have anything else I wanted to see in that time slot, the club was conveniently located, and I prioritize Finnish bands (because I am half-Finnish!) when possible. As it turns out, gloriously, the club let people in way in advance, so I got to sit (a welcome break) and even better, I spotted at the bar that they had tea. I am fighting off a cold and that sounded perfect for my sore throat. So other festivalgoers sat there with beer; I had rooibos tea and a glass of orange juice. Because I am clearly the coolest person here. The band, as it turned out, was 10 tons of fun live: super energetic and somehow giving me a feeling like old-school indie bands from the '90s; I was put in mind of Simple Machines records, that kinda "let's start a band and make noise with our friends" ethos, even if there isn't much overlap soundwise. HYSTJFAV sometimes had a touch of 70s rock retro, normally anathema to me, but it was only a hint here and there. Anyway, their buoyant energy was fantastic to see, and I will put up with the name! My final gig for the night (I'm leaving out a few terrible and/or boring acts here) was Highasakite. This was my third time seeing this Norwegian band, never in such a small venue. I am not sure how they and all their equipment (they use a lot of synths along with standard guitar, drums, etc.) fit, honestly! Anyway: they're always wonderful live, and this time they played all new stuff from their very upcoming new album Camp Echo (the name is a Guatanamo reference). I wouldn't say any of their songs are uncomplicatedly upbeat, but the new ones are, as you might imagine, even darker. They navigated through that darkness and that pain adeptly; they are always so alive and intense on stage, and I felt incredibly lucky to see that on such a small stage (I was right up front, too!). After that, I was ready to call it a day. What a performance to end the night on! I'm eager to discover what musical magic I encounter today.

[sparkleandsnarl]

This was my contribution to the very cool A Sea of Songs project -- do check them out (& contribute yourself!).

I had major, lifesaving surgery last year. I’d been miserable & desperate when September came, & with it the operation I’d been fighting for two years to get. 6 weeks off work, then inching back into my life. The last show I saw in 2015, & one of my first after surgery, was Mew at the Village Underground in London. It was their last show of the year, too. I remember how exuberant this song was live, how much unfettered joy rippled through their entire set, how glad they were that we were there to share it all. I almost wept a zillion times. For weeks after, “My Complications” was on repeat while I walked to work, marveling that I could hurry down the street – bag crammed with lunch, a book, a dozen other things – after months of slowness, of careful regard for how much weight I could carry as I healed. I’d come home & put it on as I cleaned my flat, astonished that I could scrub the bathroom without injury or needing to lie down afterwards. In the world’s arms, I feel like new again. This song’s always felt like it’s inviting me in: to dance, to dare, to celebrate. More than the physical aspects of my recovery, it started to give voice to the emotional side. The days were gloomy & winter-short, but glimpsing a sunrise would freeze me at the window anyway, eyes wide like I’d never seen one before. Everything was sharply beautiful; everything mattered. For years I couldn’t trust that I had a future, couldn’t even want one. Now? Suddenly I wanted to try everything, do everything, see everything. I wanted to inhale life. In this spirit, I signed up for swing dance classes. One night at home, I attempted to fit this song to the stroll we were learning. It sort of works. For a moment or two. I had a lot of fun trying, at least. Leaping around, throwing myself into the steps faster than I thought I’d be able to manage, delighted with the whole endeavor. Maybe that’s a good way to describe my life now.

- J, @sparkleandsnarl (also on Twitter & on Instagram)

[sparkleandsnarl]

Comfort Music Friday: the Birthday Massacre’s “Pins and Needles”

It's still Friday in some parts of the world, or it was as I started planning out this post a little earlier, so I'm counting this as a Comfort Music Friday!

Today I want to talk about the Birthday Massacre's "Pins and Needles." If you're not familiar with this sort of... goth rock synth pop whatever band, don't let the kinda silly name put you off! I adore them and find a large percentage of their music gives me that angsty teenage feeling of being understood. This is a little bit embarrassing to admit, but we all need music like that, don't we?

Anyway: this is brilliant to put on repeat when you've had a shitty week and want to feel sorry for yourself. Maybe things are dull and gray and flat. Then this is for you. The guitar slamming in right at the start leads to Chibi mourning that "the city's just not pretty like it used to be." She leads into the synthy-synthy chorus with the lyrics "it's always a nightmare, it's never a dream." This was made for cathartic singalongs. Chibi isn't the strongest vocalist (especially evident live, when Rainbow's backing vocals tend to overwhelm her), but she manages to give what she has the perfect pretty heartfelt melancholy for lines like "it's been so long, feels like pins and needles in my heart": really, there's no other way these lines ought to be sung, I feel.

Enjoy! There's no official video and everything on YouTube is geoblocked, so the Spotify link it is, I'm afraid. But here's a random live version too, in which you can really hear Rainbow outshining her on the chorus. I'd really recommend listening to the studio version first though, for the full glorious effect!

[sparkleandsnarl]

Letting ourselves see and be seen and what that has to do with a pub in Bishop’s Stortford

There were moments during Einar Stray's set in Bishop’s Stortford (full review here) where he was so unabashedly into the music, absolutely radiant with it, that I felt embarrassed, and then instantly ashamed of my embarrassment. And then it made me think of how much time most people -- self emphatically included -- spend trying to rein in their emotional volume, and how much shame we feel when we violate the arbitrary level of acceptability, or see others doing it.

One of my stock phrases -- if someone was programming a Twitter bot of me, they’d have to include this -- is to say in praise of someone that they were "so into it!" Bands performing, mostly, but also people dancing or explaining something they love or anything like that. People being visibly excited, or intense, or super-into whatever they're doing is one of my favorite things to see in the world.

Rewind: I spent a lot of the last few years desperately trying to keep my shit together in public while I struggled with serious health and personal stuff. I was that person crying on the tube in the morning, relying on British social norms to ensure that no one would actually speak to me about it.

Things are different now (and maybe that's why I started this blog), and I'm reading Brene Brown and thinking so much about vulnerability, and emotional openness, and what it costs us, and what it gives us. How, when I was a teenager, I was so fiercely determined to be open, to let my wounds show as well as my passions. and how I never wanted to grow up into one of those adults that grew a shell, but the world can be hard, and I did.

During "Caressed," Einar’s face and posture was just transfigured -- he looked completely, unself-consciously beatific. It was a gift to all of us in the room, and yet it was the moment where I sort of sucked in a breath and thought, oh help, oh no, I can't take this.

It's not like it's my emotions on display, it's not even like it's someone talking to me directly. But that's the thing about performance, about music, right? The best stuff calls to something inside us, reminds us that we, too, have emotional truths to tell, things we could say, feel, make known, worlds inside our hearts.

And that’s terrifying.

I spent so long trying so fucking hard not to have a breakdown on the tube every morning on my way to work.

Nowadays I like crying during gigs, crying without it feeling like the end of the world, crying because things are beautiful and true and complicated, and not just because I'm hurting so much it has to leak out of my face.

But still, it’s an excruciating habit to grow out of: being afraid of emotions, or limiting how much you'll let yourself feel them. And sometimes seeing someone else showing that bravery, that heart and courage that I struggle with: I recoil. If I feel too much, I might break, I might disintegrate, I might never come back to myself.

And further, what Einar’s performance reminded me is that it takes bravery to show misery, but a different kind of bravery to show joy. I flinch; I want to look away, duck, do some kind of superstitious warding against ill fortune.

As if I am afraid to see that kind of joy and dare to imagine that it could be a mirror for my own, someday, today, any day.

When you have been miserable for years, it feels foolish to anticipate happiness. A bad bet, if nothing else.

And it feels like the worst kind of tempting fate to write about it all. I think I have to be grateful, that I was at that gig, that I witnessed that song, that it shook me -- but, you know, damn if it isn’t scary as all hell to write this and hit post.

(There’s no proper ending to this post, you know: just me trying to tell the truth and not look away when I let other people see it too.)

[sparkleandsnarl]

Siv Jakobsen and Einar Stray, 4 April 2016, at the Half Moon in Bishop's Stortford

I've been a fan of Einar Stray's music for a few years now and recently got to see Siv (with Einar on keys) perform twice at the by:larm festival in Oslo (I think I first heard of her via Einar's Instagram? Musicians' Instagrams, and their comments on their own photos, are the greatest things, BTW).

So when I saw that they were playing a gig together near me, I was psyched, and glad that going from North London to Bishop's Stortford isn't difficult.

The Half Moon is a cozy pub on what seems to be the high street in Bishop's Stortford, full of slightly twee cafes and shops (I didn't realize there's a lot of tourism! I'd only heard the name because the Stansted Express stops there en route to the airport...). A sweet older dog was snuffling around, to my delight, when I arrived.

The Long Room at the Half Moon feels like a combo cave/TV sitcom family basement/school cafeteria (it was the little rows of chairs at the back). I liked that feeling; I knew we would get performances that were way too big and beautiful to be contained in that room, where maybe 30 or 40 people could fit. I paid the door charge and, instead of getting a stamp on my hand, got offered a smiley face sticker. I was told I could put it on my shirt or simply show it when needed; I opted for the latter, but was charmed to see several people proudly wearing them.

The opener was a local, a young man with an acoustic guitar. His stuff wasn't really my thing, but later I heard that he grew up as a musician through some regular performance nights that the pub has -- super cool. (And also, obviously, people can do good music that isn't my thing!)

Next up was Einar Stray. I'd never seen him solo before; I was curious how the rich, layered songs he’s recorded with a full band -- first under his own name, then officially as Einar Stray Orchestra -- would work if it was just him, without the heart-twisting harmonies that the full band brought on stage both times I’ve seen them.

Einar Stray Orchestra’s music is the kind of thing where you're always hearing new nuances or paying attention to a phrase (instrumental or vocal) that you hadn't quite picked up before. They take you from quietly jubilant to quietly heartbroken to louder versions of those emotions in the space of measures.

Let’s take “Chiaroscuro,” the title track off their first CD (full stream put up by the band here). The wordless refrain towards the end of the song has always struck me as a bit apocalyptic; you might hear it in a movie when terrible things start happening. The vocal harmonies and the instrumentation crescendo, everything rolling in like a storm, the most gorgeous, scariest, oh-shit moment. And maybe it's the prettiest thing you ever heard, but you still disturbed the Balrog and you're still a bit fucked.

So yeah, given stuff like that, I was naturally wondering what Einar's music would sound like when it was stripped down and just him. I needn't have worried: it was different, of course, but that just meant it was fantastic and impressively moving in a different way.

The last time I saw the full band, right after Politricks was released in the UK, they started off by coming down off the stage to stand in front of us and do "For the Country," a cappella. It’s a stark, simple song about throwing away human lives in the name of suspicious patriotism; it starts out with the line "bullets in the bellies of our babies." It's not something you can half-ass. I remember shivering as I heard it.

Halfway through his set at the Half Moon, Einar noted that the gig was pretty intimate, so "let's get intimate, right?" He stepped off the stage, stood mere feet in front of us, and did "For the Country," a cappella, by himself, with enough urgency and gravity as if all our lives depended on it. Singing this baldly about the lies we are told to justify mass violence, without being able to hide behind instrumentation, and then to do that standing an arm's length from the audience, alone: there are lots of performers who couldn't manage it.

There are lots of audiences that couldn't bear the weight. At small gigs, what you do (or don't) as an audience member feels much more apparent; I know I feel much more awkward and visible sometimes! Someone could've cackled nervously, someone could've heckled because the song was breaking them open a little. Nobody did; the moment held, and I know I'm not the only person who was grateful for it. The audience (including the somewhat unruly people at the back) was mesmerized, and silent, and very enthusiastic in their applause at the end. I think we all had chills.

That might not have even been the highlight of his set! He also did "Caressed," which I think Einar has said is about growing up in a Norwegian church community. The joyfulness of the music maybe belies the presumably complex nature of that experience a bit, but regardless, his performance at the Half Moon was so unself-consciously radiant, so intensely open and generous -- I don’t often see that on stage! (And it prompted a lot of thoughts about why at one point I winced, because joy is scary, so I had to write about it.)

Since I know Einar Stray Orchestra has been working on their third album, I was kind of hoping we'd get a sneak peek of a new track, but I suppose it makes sense to keep it under wraps for a solo set, since they probably want to premiere the new stuff as a full band. I shall wait with baited breath for the album release (and for another London gig, natch!).

After a short break, Siv Jakobsen took the stage, with Einar joining as well to play keyboard. Siv’s voice is stunning, adding layers of poignancy to her music, which can be downright haunting. When I listen to her songs (especially now that I have seen her live three times), I'm sometimes misled into thinking that they'll go in one direction, do something perhaps a bit simple, and then there's a shift and they go off and do something surprising and moving that takes me off guard. She doesn’t take the easy option. You'd be mistaken writing her off as simply another woman with an acoustic guitar wielding cliches in the name of love songs.

For example, you might think that doing an acoustic cover of Britney Spears' "Toxic" would just be a gimmick. But she makes it work; she makes it complicated and darkly sultry and intriguing. Because she takes it seriously. I really appreciate when musicians don't scorn pop music just for the sake of scorning it -- I think she’s said something before about thinking every set needs a Britney cover? I was skeptical, but was won over, so give it a try!

Siv was apologetic during her set for needing time to re-tune, but it just gave us more of a chance to appreciate her friendly and funny stage chat -- about her family dogs and her guitar, among other things. She was also deft at engaging with, and managing, the ever rowdier people at the back. While introducing every song, she finished with, "I hope you like it," which would strike me as a nervous tic except she didn't seem nervous at all. Maybe that was the only sign! Or maybe that was her own performer’s generosity coming to the fore.

Her set, like Einar’s, felt too short. Afterwards, both of them encouraged the audience to come up for selfies. How delightful! I was a bit hesitant -- maybe I’ve been living in England too long -- but was happy to do so, even if my phone was utter crap and nearly ruined them all.

I was also lucky enough to sit at a table with Einar and Siv before their sets -- thanks for having me! They were both so kind and warm and gracious; it made me feel even luckier to be at that gig than I already did.

Anyway -- both artists have played in considerably bigger venues, so it was a real treat to witness their magic at a teeny show and to get to hang out a bit! The Half Moon is a neat venue, and for others coming from London, let me confirm that it’s very easy to get to from the station, though depending on set times you might have to hustle to get the last reasonable train back (I left before the headliners for that reason!). I’ll be keeping an eye on their events calendar.

[sparkleandsnarl]

Comfort Music Friday: Maja Francis

Sweden's Maja Francis is the musical equivalent of a Weetzie Bat book, or at least when I was much younger and still kind of charmed by Francesca Lia Block: she's glittery and posi and fairylike (in the pink sparkles kind of way, no unseely fae here). She makes me feel like maybe the world is an okay kinda place sometimes.

I thought today I'd talk about Maja to inaugurate a haphazard series of Comfort Music Friday posts. Expect random (surely not weekly) Friday posts with music that makes me feel cozy-squishy-safe. And tell me yours!

Back to Maja. "Come Companion," which I think is a rather unfortunate title, is a real mood-lifter, the kind of song you want to send to a friend who's struggling. "You only see the rain, I see rainbows," should be repulsively cheesy, but somehow for me it works. Maja says about the song:

’Come Companion’ is an anthem to my friends, to myself, and everyone who sometimes feels like reality hurts and you can’t see the rainbows for all the clouds. I want us to know that we don’t have to be alone in that process and that all we have is now. So why not take each other’s hands when it’s scary, instead of crawling into our shells by ourselves, and try to be strong? It’s OK to be sad and to be weak; your tears will dry and become glitter on your cheek.

It's a little too simplistically sappy, and yet I want to believe her!

She makes lyrics like "when the sun explodes in our sky, nothing can save us" exuberant. She does this with another song of hers I also find comforting, "Last Days of Dancing": "I've got a feeling that the last days of dancing are coming soon": just a bit foreboding! But Maja makes it sound like something you'd welcome. Or at least that you'd better get your ass onto the dance floor and make it a grand glitterball of an ending and be happy about it: "I don't wanna change it, I don't wanna change it," and then "I'm gonna see you on the other side."

If the world is going to end in a dance club, this is the synthy sparkly tune I want to go out on.

Maja has an EP out now, but I'd love to hear even more from her. I hope London is next on her gig list! I was lucky enough to see her at by:larm in Oslo last month, and was enchanted by her live performance. "Enchanted" is not a word I use often and pretty much never about musicians: it feels like lazy hyperbole every time I see someone described that way, and yet I am completely sincere here! From her unfeigned positive energy to her pink shiny seashell of an outfit, to of course her exhilarating voice, her 30-minute set wasn't enough.

Maja doesn't seem to have her own website (I really wish artists would prioritize this!), but you can check her out on Facebook and Twitter and of course listen to her tunes on Spotify and Soundcloud.

What comfort songs are you listening to on this Friday?

[sparkleandsnarl]

The night starts here

In a lot of spaces online, the speedy response, the snappy answer is revered over all else. Music blogging is no exception: who's first to label a band as one to watch, who can get the quickest show reviews up, who's already done their top 10 albums of the year?

I'm slower. I don't have any deadlines but my own; I like to chill out; my physical and mental health rests on a base of making sure, more nights than not, I get seven hours of sleep, and time to myself, and something nice to eat.

There are a few Stars shows I went to back in 2012 that I’ve wanted to talk about ever since; they're still etched in my heart as two magical weekends, luminous winter nights, me dazed by being able to follow my favorite band around: four nights, four different cities in four different countries -- London, Paris, Brussels, Köln -- and me so fucking lucky I could hardly stand it.

I've always found myself again while traveling. Music takes me on a similar journey. Stars wakes you up, holds you while you weep, reminds you that you can stop, pushes you gently out the door towards the sunrise while brushing the hair back from your forehead.

On my last night, in Köln, I was at the tiny club early, super early. Torq walked in; our eyes met as he headed backstage, stopping briefly to inspect the soundboard. I should've leapt up and said, look, I've had a horrible year, seeing your band four times has been this restorative heart-healing road trip, and I wouldn't have gotten through without my friends, and I got the first line of "Look Up" tattooed on my arm because of them, and could you also tell Amy?

I froze. I didn't say any of it. It was a long, long time before I could stop kicking myself for that missed chance.

After a handful of songs on stage later, he asked us, "Are you ready?" He pointed at me, lowering his arm full-length like a lever, and said, "I bet you're ready." I just about exploded, giddy that he acknowledged me as the embarrassingly eager person who’d been there for hours. Then they launched into "We Don't Want Your Body.” And we the crowd, we were ready. So ready.

In Brussels the night before, the show was in a botanical garden, the damp, warm air even more of a contrast as I stepped in from the street. I didn't know the venue, any of the venues on my little pilgrimage, and didn't know Brussels, so I was there early. Maybe there'd be a queue. I wended my way through humid rooms teeming with greenery and abruptly was at the venue door. Just around the corner from it: Evan, playing with Delphine (his and Amy’s toddler daughter), no doubt before putting her to sleep before show time.

I fled: this was too private, I had transgressed as a fan, and also I was the uncoolest -- possibly bordering on creepy -- for being there so early. I didn't know, I wanted to explain to him (not that he'd seen me, thank fuck), to anyone: it's only that I love this band, and I'm short, and I like to be up front, bass reverb in my chest, close enough to see sweat or smudged eyeliner, swept up, living inside every note they gift us from the stage.

I'm not creepy. I'm just short and this band makes me feel alive, made me want to keep feeling alive in a year of dread and despair.

That's why I'm here. That's why I'm here.