Jeremy Gawp

Maps/Jeremy Warmsley, Carling Academy 2, Birmingham, Saturday October 6 2007, 7.30pm.

In what is becoming something of an increasingly self-referential Parallax View trend your chaotic correspondent arrives at the venue just as the first support act finish the last song of their set. All we can relate is that there are quite a few of them and they made a pleasing post-rock din but due to the on-the-go demands of the weekend (the gig is sandwiched in between the Villa v West Ham game and going to see the Ian Curtis biopic) don't get the chance to do the research to find out who they are. Parallax View is very, very sorry.

There's something naggingly familiar about the second act as he makes his meek but quietly assured way to the stage, and your hapless hack lets his face drop slightly on the realisation it's Jeremy Warmsley again, who we've seen twice before (at Summer Sundae and supporting I'm From Barcelona) in the last seven weeks. Now the problem with the fact that there's a sparse attendance so far at the venue is that you're a little exposed to the artist and embarrassingly Jez seems to clock my aghast expression and keeps a close eye on me for the rest of the show.

If this ensures your busted blogger remains on his best behaviour the same can't be said for a young man at the front who'd obviously started the pre-gig celebrations a little earlier than perhaps he should, and is sadly making a bit of a dickhead of himself. Warmsley asks him to behave himself and then heads to the barrier and has a quiet word in his ear while keeping an eagle eye on your studious scribe at the same time. We called on our lip-reading expertise and can advise with no degree of certainty whatsoever that what he said to the unfortunate young man in question was 'see that bloke over there, you're going to end up in his blog if you're not careful'. These wise words don't appear to do the trick, however, and Jez justifiably drops his calm reasonableness for a marvellously stroppy 'oh, just FUCK OFF!' instead, before finally security takes the matter out of his hands and escorts the nuisance off the premises.

Perhaps it's the distracting circumstances making us more pre-disposed to giving Jezza a fair hearing, but we find ourselves enjoying his show a bit more at the third time of asking. He seems to get the balance right between the slower and jauntier numbers, but does frustrate us with telling us there's a good joke hidden in the lyrics of one of his songs, because your attention-deficited amateur just can't concentrate for long enough to get it.

Troubling eye contact isn't an issue with main act Maps as they make the sort of symphonies that induce your blissed-out blogger to close his eyes and wig-out to the pulsating waves of sonic splendour. There are people who get paid decent money for writing about music who'd have you believe that Maps can't cut it in the relatively uncharted uncharted territories of the live arena, but take it as read from this Parallax Viewer these idiots don't know what they're talking about. If tunes like 'Eloise' and 'It Will Find You' can inspire this unco-ordinated upstart to shake a limb then these rhythms are chancers that will prove that fortune always favours the brave. Top marks for the roadie wearing a Medium 21 t-shirt as well - further proof that not everything coming out of Northampton is cobblers.

Related Link: Sweeping The Nation's Friendly Chat With...Jeremy Warmsley from last year. He's had a haircut since then, mind.

Spanish I's Are Smiling

I'm From Barcelona, Carling Academy 2, Birmingham, Monday September 10 2007.

Maybe it's 'cos it's Monday, maybe it's 'cos your mardy mitherer is a misanthropist at heart, or maybe it's 'cos your late-running linkdumper's tragi-comic lack of organisational skills sees the last conceivably viable train streaked with the scrapings of the skin of his teeth, but your jaded jobsworth has definitely felt more up for a gig than tonight, despite our lingering love for last year's long-player 'Let Me Introduce My Friends'.

Wander into the venue in time to catch the last few numbers from Jeremy Warmsley but sadly we haven't warmed to his wannabe-Wainwright warblings any more than when we caught his show at Summer Sundae last month. It's all very technically proficient but leaves us colder than a frigid igloo, so it's lucky the half-empty venue means at least we can get served our beer much quicker than normal.

This might have just as much to do with the fact that many attending are clearly better prepared for the I'm From Barcelona live experience than your clueless correspondent, because from the moment the supernaturally splendid Swedes burst into 'Treehouse' on stage, the barrage of balloons and confetti released in the Academy is best enjoyed as 'hands-free' entertainment. Even a lithe leopard like your supple scribe struggles not to spill his beverage while flicking a balloon up with one foot and punching it into the air with his fist in a dizzying display of dexterity doomed to descend into dampness.

No such squibs on stage with your unusually curmudgeonly correspondent eventually bullied into bonhomie by the band's good-natured banter and stout-hearted harmonies. Ginger-bearded singer Emanuel Lundgren bemoans the fact that the Birmingham crowd are balloon-murderers but a look around at the grins and bouncing limbs of the crowd and it's clear that the burst vessels are more to do with the Academy's low roof than any murderous intent amongst the mild-mannered massive. Lundgren dedicates 'Oversleeping' to the next morning's hangover, there's a mirthful mosh to instant anthem 'We're From Barcelona' and an impromptu kazoo orchestra corralled on stage for the contagious 'Chicken Pox', all making for a memorable evening from initially less-than-promising circumstances.

Owl 'n' Belles

Part Three of a Set of Three reviews from the Summer Sundae Weekender 2007.

Summer Sundae Weekender, DeMontfort Hall and Gardens, Leicester, Sunday August 12 2007.

Has the last day of the festival come round already? 'Fraid so, but your chipper correspondent is in surprisingly bouncy form this lunchtime, as are Leicester's Toy Heroes, their arrival marked by the drummer shouting 'YEAH!!!' and the singer/guitarist declaring their intention to 'burn this fucken house down'. Fortunately for the health and safety people the group deliver much more pop than they do the snap and crackle of burning canvas, pretty tunes containing rather lovely harmonies, diverting hooks and some pleasing rumbling rock touches. The band all wear shirts with the names of their favourite cartoon characters and for some obscure reason the one your hypnotised hack focuses on is the 'Danger Mouse' tee worn by the female keyboard player/singer, and we get to thinking if DM's sidekick joined up with them they could call themselves 'Penfold's Five'...

Toy Heroes are clearly doing something right as they hold our attention until the very end of their set, meaning we miss the first ten minutes of The Lea Shores over on the Indoor Stage. This London band are touted as being at the forefront of a shoegazing revival, but with their shamanic lead singer and dancey vibe they owe as much if not more to early Verve than they do the likes of Slowdive and Chapterhouse. They're none the worse for that, though, and there's no doubt the tambourine-shaking frontman is a real find, visually a cross between Mad Richard Ashcroft and the comedian/bon viveur Russell Brand. Musically there is perhaps a slight lack of variety to the sound (excusable at this early stage of their career) but there's enough melodies in there with the attitude and reverb to mark them out as ones to watch.

On record The Strange Death Of Liberal England find it difficult to escape comparisons with Arcade Fire, but playing live over on the Rising Stage they offer a more distinctive identity, interchanging instruments with brio and communicating with the audience between songs via placards only. The lead singer's high-pitched yelps are perhaps an acquired taste and the overcrowded tent sees a few folk leaving in a dazed fashion and scratching their heads as to what the fuss is about, the answer being some of the weekend's best moments in 'A Day Another Day' and 'An Old-Fashioned War' leading up to the chaotic climax and post-rock squall of 'Summer Gave Us Sweets But Autumn Wrought Division'. Good to see a band at Summer Sundae with such fire in their belly, and they also provide us with the most stunning band member of the weekend to date in Kelly Jones - no not that berk from Stereophonics but this one as well as the landmark visual prop of the fest in the 'Get Your Owl Out' banner that is purloined by a punter at some stage during the show.

Was looking forward to seeing Cherry Ghost on the main stage, but they are a bit deflating - pleasant enough in a radio-friendly fashion, with some good tunes but too much of their set is uncompelling middle-of-the-road mulch. Pop back in to the Rising Tent to check out the gorgeous Stephanie Dosen and her equally-stunning backing musicians. Dosen has an unusual voice and her ethereal tunes are in direct contrast to the earthy humour of her between-song banter. She's impressed with TSDOLE's placards and suggests they'd be a good idea for porno, before getting her own owl out - the feathered delight of 'Owl In The Dark', you doity birds!

Given that Koop's beats-culture jazz schtick is almost entirely sample-based, it's intriguing to see how they present it live. The two Swedish gentlemen are at the back of the stage twiddling their knobs in their trademark strappy dresses, but they are upstaged by the Norwegian chanteuse Hilde Louise Asbjornsen, who's like Doris Day infused with the va-va voom of Jessica Rabbit, wearing the most fantastic dress that accentuates every curve as she sashays and flirts while the trombonist frenetically extends his instrument. Retro glamour, musical improvisation and surreal visuals all combine for a pretty good way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Decide to put my feet up in the seats of the Indoor Stage to watch a bit of Spoon whose rather formal take on indie-rock moves leaves me sadly unstirred. Much less clever but heaps more fun are The Pigeon Detectives on the main stage with their daft-but-definitely-loveable take on proto-Strokes pogo-pop. The lead singer spies the 'Get Your Owl Out' placard amongst the crowd, grabs hold of it and leads an audience chant. Watching on to our right are The Strange Death Of Liberal England themselves, your cuckoo correspondent finds himself gazing over at Miss Kelly Jones but Dead Kenny decides he'd be a twit to woo...

Catch a bit of the Gruss Rhys on the Indoor Stage, his impressive set design seeing him framed inside a giant TV set, but his cacophonous caterwauling isn't what we're looking for at this stage of proceedings. Echo and The Bunnymen running through their greatest hits back outside is much more in order, though nothing lasting forever sadly extends to Ian McCullough's voice which is more ragged than glorious these days. Over on the Rising Stage, Polytechnic start off bright and lively but as their set goes on the lack of an extra-curricular spark becomes ever more apparent.

And, finally, ladies and gentlemen, we have Spiritualized headlining the Outdoor Stage, with Jason Pierce given a fantastic platform to deliver his 'acoustic' take on old Spiritualized and Spacemen-3 numbers, albeit backed by a mischievous three-piece gospel choir and a mini-orchestra. Perhaps not the most rousing finale to a festival ever, but on the whole Dead Kenny endorses a chilled and enchanting endpiece although as ever with Spiritualized am left with a sensation of wanting that little bit more from them, not in terms of quantity or volume, but in terms of epiphany - a rapturous climax agonisingly just out of reach. Was it ever thus?

In summary, however, this year's Summer Sundae Weekender can be considered a resounding success - brilliant weather, good organisation, fine company and a more satisfying range of acts across the musical spectrum than in previous years all combining to impressive effect.

Maps Prove Useful

Part Two of a Set of Three reviews from the Summer Sundae Weekender 2007.

Summer Sundae Weekender, DeMontfort Halls And Gardens, Leicester, Saturday August 11 2007.

Meander back onto the site about lunchtime feeling a little dehydrated after the previous night's alcohol consumption, so crack open a thirst-quenching but credibility-crushing can of Tango in the belief that there's no-one around to see and tell. On turning around, however, immediately bump into Simon who talks intelligently about music while your hoarse hack tries to avert his gaze from my childish choice of soft drink.

Manage to chug it all down before Ray and Deb arrive on site, and we stroll off to see The Falling Leaves on the Indoor Stage, who have their moments, and recall The Kissaway Trial here and there, but in general are as familiar and slightly depressing as the season of autumn itself. Some sunshine is in order then (have we mentioned yet this is the best festival weather of the year so far?) to catch the first few songs of teenage prodigies Kitty Daisy and Lewis who play with (and indeed, in the style of) their parents. It's pastiche, but done with style and gusto, and in the light of Amy Winehouse's success, you can't argue there's not a market for this sort of thing. Even so, your wandering writer slopes off to see whether The Lea Shores have finally started their slot over on The Rising stage. They hadn't (a last-minute switch to the Indoor Stage on Sunday, we later learn) so console ourselves with the warblings of Jeremy Warmsley a personable young man in search of that singularly defining tune, whose new material betrays a vaguely alarming ambition to be the British Rufus Wainwright. Jez, leave it.

Grab some food at this point and bump into The Prykemeister, but can't hear a lot of what he's saying because Jazz Jamaica are proving to be the loudest band on the main stage we can ever remember. Turn it down, grandads, or the overflying pigeons will be history! Peek back into the Indoor Stage to see recently-reformed indie veterans Cud try manfully to cope with the absence of their lead singer on premature parental leave by seeking volunteers from the crowd to take turns to sing ditties like 'Rich and Strange'. Simon Cowell, if he was here, would no doubt call it a shambles, and maybe it is, but it's an entertaining one nonetheless which seems to help bond the watching crowd.

Enjoy a quick pint with Ray and Deb before wandering down near the front of the Main Stage where former Arab Strap-ling Malcolm Middleton has just started his set. At our first Summer Sundae two years ago, Malcolm was one of the big hits on the Indoor Stage and, with the usual sizeable Scottish contingent present, it's a deserved elevation to the Main Stage to help promote his third (rather good) album 'A Brighter Beat'. Middleton breaks off at one point to say 'I didn't realise I swore so much...fuckin 'ell!' before eventually revealing the title of the next track, the rather-sweet-actually 'Fuck It I Love You'. Post-rock tinged celtic folk never sounded so good!

Back up to the Rising Stage to catch latest Mancunian hopefuls The Whip here to represent the Nu Rave movement for Summer Sundae. Not entirely sure about Nu Rave over at Parallax View although the Klaxons cover of 'It's Not Over' may be the thing that tips us over the edge into its favour in a kind of indie kerplunk fashion. Early doors The Whip seem a bit drippy but a steady swirl of sauce soon permeates proceedings and by the tremendous last number it's the moment the Summer Sundae turned DayGlo. Later find out they've been tipped as the new New Order, if had been aware of this before seeing them would have been disappointed, but taken on their own terms they're one of the revelations of the weekend. Indeed, the drummer seems so pleased with the crowd response she apparently flashes the bassist in celebration - it's good to see a rhythm section getting on so well.

The two big choices of the night were Maps vs Wild Beasts and Sophie Ellis Bextor vs Low. Dead Kenny opts for the co-ordinated ones and (sorry, No.1 Low fan Ben) S-E-B. Had heard reports that Maps were struggling to recreate the excellent debut We Can Create in the live arena, but on the contrary this was one of the highlights of the weekend for PV, genuinely mesmerising stuff with Eloise and It Will Find You the most vivid highlights. Sophie Ellis-Bextor divides the crowd in terms of how much is pre-recorded or not, but nobody could deny her entertainment value, alternating between chic and gauche with amusing regularity, and she can still twitch her tush to devastating effect. Enough anyway, to district your starstruck scribe from the sight of Kitty and Daisy of Kitty, Daisy and Lewis sat directly to our right.

Watch the first few numbers from The Magic Numbers but once they've performed 'Forever Lost' we make a move towards the Indoor Stage to see !!!, meeting the gaze of Kitty and Daisy again as they sit on the steps looking on (later discover they join The Magic Numbers for some of their encores). !!! have the cocky fucker from OutHud (remember them?) as their lead singer and he's in typically extrovert form during a frenetic show during which many people seem to be enjoying themselves immensely, even if we're not sure how many of 'em will remember much about it in the morning.

Try to meet up again with Ray and Deb in the Cocktail Bar, where your
confused correspondent thinks he spies the DJ Trevor Nelson. The doppelganger mistakes my perusal for some other enquiry and sidles over to me and says 'everyone seems to be having a good time, brother, whaddaya reckon?'. Not sure whether he thought your harmless hack was after a fight, a fuck or a score, but time for an f. sharp exit, a timeous text message leading the way to a rendezvous at the indie disco in The Charlotte. A couple of hours of twisting and shouting to the latest indie faves later, your duracell dunderhead still hasn't had enough and heads for the hotel bar for a double whisky and to check the football highlights.

My dazed reverie is however interrupted by a familiar cackle. Who should be lounging in the hotel with friends but the esteemed Mancunian punk-poet John Cooper-Clarke! If seeing him once meant we'd done good, and seeing him twice meant we'd done very very bad, what does seeing him three times mean? On that inscrutable enigma, retire to bed.

to be continued...

Rising Tent Pole

Part One of a Set of Three reviews from the Summer Sundae Weekender 2007.

Summer Sundae Weekender, DeMontfort Hall and Gardens, Leicester, Friday August 10th 2007.

Mebbe your cine-literate correspondent has seen Mulholland Dr. too many times but the night afore Summer Sundae Weekender starts, have a dream in which Mancunian punk-poet John Cooper-Clarke advises that if we see him over the weekend once we'll know we've done good, but if we see him twice we'll know we've done very very bad. Things continue in an ominous vein next day with a freight train derailment between Birmingham and Leicester cancelling all trains in that direction, the replacement coach passes a caravan that has just exploded into fire, and the driver and guard for the connecting train at Nuneaton get held up in the resulting jam.

So arrive in Leicester approximately 90 minutes behind schedule, but still with enough time for a quick shower at the hotel before heading on to the site, where we catch the tail end of some plinkety-plonkety synth-pop from Palladium another band seemingly convinced that what the world needs now is another Kajagoogoo, or in their better moments, another Flock Of Seagulls. Thankfully, some real proper chart pop stuff is about to start off on the main stage in the form of Kate Nash. With Kate's album due to top the album charts later this weekend, there's a backlash brewing for the bespoke boho brunette for sure, but it's one your balanced blogger won't be joining, because we still think she's lovely. Claims that she's just a Lily Allen knock-off are lazy and misguided, although 'Mariella' does sound like the Regina Spektor schtick given an EC1 lick of dayglo paint. It's a good show, not a great one (in the same way her album's entertaining but not fabulous) equal parts sweary and playful, and each generation deserves a break-up(?) song delivered to them in their own language and this year that's 'Foundations' and we don't begrudge her those fifteen minutes of dodging the paps.

A new innovation this year on site is a 'Hub Stage' next to the 6Music caravan, and we're treated to a couple of poems from John Cooper-Clarke and a brief but amusing interview between him and Steve Lamacq, where they stick to a 'script' to eliminate the swearing risk, and JCC advises with mock-weariness that he's been 'supporting The Fall all my life'. Your post-Britop pen-pusher always had a bit of a soft spot for The Beta Band but is afraid to report that spin-off satellite band The Aliens are nothing out of this world, so drift back to the 6Music caravan where your garrulous guide distracts Simon from getting an autograph from Kate Nash with the usual blogging blether.

Simon suggests a trip up to the Musician Stage to see the full John Cooper-Clarke set, and caught up in blogging bonhomie follow him in to the packed tent for an entertaining half-hour of the same jokes he always tells, interspersed with a few poems here and there. Take a call on the Parallax Phone towards the end of the set, so regrettably have to leave the marquee and so miss his Beasley Street remix. Fortunately, however, it does get me down to the Main Stage in time to see The Concretes your hopeful hack's first experience of seeing them in the flesh since Victoria Bergsman's exit. Erstwhile drummer Lisa Millberg has taken up the lead vocal reins, her singing is a dusky, drowsy, acquired taste (she'd have made a great foil for Serge Gainsbourg) but she makes an effort with bright red knee-length stockings and copious flirting with guitarist Maria Eriksson, despite a mixed response from a crowd seemingly expecting a 'best of' set rather than a platform for promoting new record 'Hey Trouble'. Lisa wants us all to move on from the Bergsman period, and that may well prove a struggle but if they continue writing songs of the calibre of 'Oh Boy' and 'Keep Yours' it may yet prove a worthwhile campaign, with 'Hey Trouble' for our money their most consistently rewarding record to date.

Shoot quickly off to the Indoor Stage to see Candie Payne who kindly plays all our favourites from debut platter 'I Wish I could Have Loved You More' (including the rather swish title track) during the first half of her set, allowing the opportunity to hotfoot it to the Rising stage to catch the last few songs from The Modified Toy Orchestra still bedecked in the same Primark suits as Supersonic, and with plentiful supply of banter, Toy Orchestra conductor Brian Duffy inviting one member of the audience to an anal sex experience after the show to show him/her how forbidden it wasn't. Bump into The Prykemeister after the performance, and a minute later get a call from Ray and Deb to say they've finally made it on site. Beers and banter ensue, with our last musical memories of the night involving Dead Kenny doing a spot of pole dancing - no, not what you're thinking, just your clumsy correspondent doing his best to co-ordinate shifting one foot to the other during a surprisingly funky latenight set from German experimentalists Pole in The Rising Stage.

To be continued...