Cross And Bothered

Antichrist, Odeon Telford, Tuesday October 6 2009, 8pm.

Lars Von Trier's Antichrist (2009) is an everyday story of love, death, sex, grief, psychotherapy and genital mutilation. Not exactly obvious material for a date movie, then, and if that night's performance was anything to go by not the sort of movie of any kind for about 90% of moviegoers: several walked out, and there was a lot of sighing, snoring, giggling and tutting throughout. Come the closing credits and a dedication to legendary Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky leads one disgruntled punter to chunter 'he should be shot!'. Which was a bit harsh on a poor fellow who's been dead fifteen years!

The film features a therapist (Willem Dafoe) and a writer (Charlotte Gainsbourg) trying to come to terms with their grief when their young son falls out of a window to his death while they have sex against a washing machine. Defoe's character breaks his own professional beliefs by trying to treat his wife himself, leading to the couple confronting nature and their own natures in a secluded retreat in the woods.

(The trailer below contains contentious themes and simulated sex so is NOT WORK SAFE)



Antichrist isn't a conventional horror film, although its' isolated, claustrophobic atmosphere, and focus on the (mental and physical) violence that men and women do to each other and unto themselves, not to mention the supernatural overtones that envelop the second half of the film, ultimately gives it the feel of being one, even though it's a million miles removed from crass contemporary franchises in the medium.

The film is worth sticking with, despite some scenes which seem to have been deliberately rendered boring, some clumsy exposition here and there and occasionally unconvincing effects. This is mainly because at least it's a film that's actually about something, even if its own conclusions seem muddled and potentially offensive (ie. is it a film about misogyny that ultimately becomes mysogynistic?), and also because it's often beautiful to watch, the performances from Dafoe and Gainsbourg match their director for bravery, and the breathtaking audacity of what unspools leave you genuinely uncertain what Von Trier will come up with next. A film, ultimately, that has to be seen to be believed, even though 9 out of 10 of you hepcats will probably prefer the taste of something else entirely.

Handsome Is As Handsome Does

Handsome Furs/Dan Smith, 93 Feet East, Brick Lane, East London, Wednesday March 8 2009, 8.45pm.

This is the third time in London for Handsome Furs' Canadian singer-guitarist Dan Boechner, perhaps better known thus far for one of his other bands Wolf Parade. The first time he got food poisoning, the second time he got roughed up, so will it be third time lucky on his debut gig here in the UK with the project he's set up with his wife/keyboard-drum machine oppo Alexei Perry?

Before we find out, there's the little matter of Dan Smith whose brand of folk left your patient pundit a little cold, with efforts to jazz things up with elements of ska, rap and even at one point some nu-metal, while welcome, only really serving to highlight the 'trad dad' lack of inspiration in the rest of the material. To end this part of the review on a positive note, however, the best song was announced as the newest and thus suggests this might be a work in progress, Radio2 listeners will undoubtedly love him, and the string section were kinda hot.

Whether its local fans of Londoner Smith lingering about, or a lot of internet buzz, or a combination of both, but the venue is pretty packed by the time Handsome Furs take stage. For the uninitiated, sonically they're kinda the musical intersection between The White Stripes and Bruce Springsteen, with some burbling electronic trimmings thrown in for good measure. Boechner is skinny, tattoo-ed and edgy with Perry supplying a kind of chipper curviness as well as huge amounts of bouncing energy to her instrumental duties, rotating her left arm so rapidly at one point your concerned correspondent thought she might take off helicopter-style.

The result is a big, loud noise but accessible, mainstream and pointedly unpretentious, each tune not forgetting to throw in an anthemic chorus and/or head-bobbing rhythm. Second album 'Face Control' is effectively a concept album inspired by a trip to Eastern Europe (the title refers to a superclub vetting policy where even exhorbitant pre-payment doesn't guarantee your entry if your physiog doesn't fit) although such lyrical concerns seemed to trouble the crowd little as they responded so warmly to the punchy radio rock of 'I'm Confused'; 'Talking Hotel Arbat Blues' and 'Evangeline' that Boechner admits he's gonna have to reassess his attitude to the capitol city after all. And despite his 'Mexican Fender' disintegrating and Perry's equipment having meltdown at various points through the show, it's perhaps no real surprise that huge fun travels so well.

Buffalo Bill And The Indie'Uns

Midori Hirano/Gnu And The Shrew/Muarena Helena, Buffalo Bar, Windsor Terrace, Cardiff, Thursday April 2 2009, 8.30pm.

Your chaotic correspondent has been threatening to make a Loose night in Cardiff for some time, and finally got his act together to make this eclectic and engaging bill, albeit one artiste short with the disappointing absence of Lily Green with throat problems. When in Cardiff, use your Brains, so your ruddy-cheeked rogue sampled some of the brewery's ales in a few local taverns beforehand, the pick being the Reverend James as available in the best of the bars, The Cottage, on St. Mary's Street.

All this exhaustive research already had your stewedshrewd scribe in a jolly mood by the time he made it upstairs at the popular Buffalo Bar, further enhanced by seeing the lovely Liz Hunt from The School on the door, dispensing some Parma Violets and a free compilation CD as she ushered your timeous tinker into the venue to catch the opening moments of East London's Muarena Helena. They're a good introduction to the evening's entertainment, as they combine folk, classical and rock instrumentation but with enough added edge and strangeness to offer a frisson of curious menace to proceedings. Sample song title: Gangland Hand Gesture, so listen to your creaking consigliore when he says watch out for this lot.

Duo Gnu And The Shrew hail from Manchester, and come to Cardiff fresh from Marc Riley's seal of approval on his 6Music show. 'Look at the scary puppets!' points out Liz, as the pair not only deal with found sounds but also a fascinating, mottley collection of vintage/retro bric-a-brac including the afore-mentioned finger furniture. Singer Jennifer Kay has a rasping delivery which may prove an acquired taste, but for your intrigued interloper added to the sense of theatrical oddness that give their predominantly acoustic ditties a distinctive appeal. CD 'Time For Tea', on sale at the gig for a mere six quid, is definitely worth rummaging for, with 'Gasboard Fraud' and 'Bingo' standing out on first few listens.

Headliner Midori Harano is a petite Japanese solo musician whose made her home amidst the electronic scene in Berlin. She offers predominantly keyboard music which produces pretty, pastoral, hazy soundscapes but with enough beats and glitches to add some swooning movement to the ambient electronica. Midori had also arrived in Cardiff entirely free of entourage, which made me rather fancifully think of her like a William Gibson character, a tough cookie in vulnerable guise, trotting the globe with her particular brand of techno-alchemistry. The result was even more intoxicating than the Brains' beers.

In conclusion, a roaring success for Loose, with three apparently very different acts making some logical connections with each other, a friendly, civilised vibe permeating throughout and all the artists concerned proving approachable, even to your Brains-dead blogger's blether!

Next day, had another wander around Cardiff before heading home, getting an 'above-par' cappuccino in Starbucks, taking a walk up and down the impressively reconstructed Roman castle that is slap-bang in the city centre (the audioguide is voiced by the BBC's Huw Edwards) and sampling the Wheat Ale at the nearby Zero Degrees microbrewery that is located opposite from the Millenium Stadium. Don't think it'll be too long before your restless rascal will be gig-going in this neck of the woods again.

Fertile Imagination

Puffball (directed by Nicolas Roeg), available on R2 DVD via Yume Pictures, 120mins.

In Nic Roeg's comeback film Puffball, the seemingly ubiquitous Kelly Reilly plays an ambitious architect who buys a rundown building in a remote Irish valley to transform and renovate. A spot of alfresco rumpty-pumpty later, she falls pregnant, much to the consternation of a neighbouring family who for reasons unknown other than their own belligerence and stupidity feel the unborn child belongs to them. Cue all sorts of nonsense involving dodgy wine, a glowing ball and an impenetrable cameo by Donald Sutherland.

A self-styled 'thriller about love, life, grief and sex', re-uniting director Roeg with star Donald Sutherland, it's not difficult to assume Puffball's backers were hoping for some of the magic of Don't Look Now to rub off on this latest project. While there's enough of Roeg's skills in evidence to just about keep the interest flowing through its' overlong 2hr running time, this latest tale of life, death and architecture, based on a Fay Weldon story, lacks the satisfying structure that made his earlier work such compelling viewing. The result is a vaguely beguiling misfire, mainly of interest to people keen on following the director's career, although to be fair that should include pretty much everybody with a regard for intelligent, handsome cinema.

Gig Review Ketchup - Emote Icons

The Walkmen, Barfly, Birmingham, Wednesday February 18 2009, 9.30pm.
Popfest All-Dayer, The Macbeth, Hoxton Street, London, Saturday February 28 2009 4pm.
Future Islands, The Old Blue Last, Great Eastern Street, London, Sunday March 1 2009, 10pm.

Sometimes a great and memorable gig is all about the peripheral details - the company; the ambience; the chance encounters and the general craic. The Walkmen's gig at Barfly was not like that at all. A nightmare journey (packed train, only seat available saw your puce-faced peacemaker caught in a ruckus between a reeking drunk and two wannabe gangstas), a heaving crowd and under-resourced, apparently under-trained bar staff made for one of our less comfortable gigging experiences for some months. So it's good to report that The Walkmen were in good enough form to make you realise why you bother.

Their fondness for vintage musical equipment is well recorded, but it's Hamilton Leithauser's voice that's the truly distinctive instrument at their disposal. No-one can hold a roared note quite like the grizzled frontman, and the band play with the confidence of knowing their latest record (You&Me) has defied all expectations and proved every bit as essential and revelatory as their earlier triumphs. Hamilton's academical background clearly didn't include local British accents though, as his improvised Brummie micktake sounded like Dick Van Dyke at his most hackneyed. Though we'll concede 'One more song, then we'll skedaddle' was a great closing line.

The lead singer of Baltimore's Future Islands has a similar impassioned angst-ridden drawl as The Walkmen vocalist, but it's allied to a frothy synth-and-bass backdrop to create a surreal vibe like the musical equivalent of 'Twin Peaks'. At the end of a long, great day which included a football match, catching up with friends and attendant beers, maybe it was our tired, emotional state that left us seduced by their woozy late-night ruminations, but later inspection of 'Wave Like Home' reveals gems like 'Beach Foam' and 'Old Friend' would resonate vividly on even the gloomiest of evenings.

The previous day we'd been round the corner celebrating all things bright and shiny-eyed at the Popfest All-Dayer. This allowed us to reacquaint ourselves with Sweden's Liechtenstein, who have trimmed down to a three-piece since last year's Autumn Store gig and delightful singer Renee's gained a blonde rinse and a Mo-dettes t-shirt into the bargain. Electrelane's harmonies are pleasingly grafted to an early 80s bed-sit pop feel to diverting effect, we recommend you buy their new Everything's For Sale ep now and start salivating for the debut album due later this year.

The Scandinavian presence didn't end there, with Action Biker proving the other revelation on the night, a pretty young lady in a beautiful dress cooing conversational melodies to pre-recorded music that would have strong appeal to fans of Saint-Etienne. Suppose it could be glibly dismissed as 'laptop karaoke' but she had the presence and charm, not to mention voice and hooks, to coax something magical and entrancing from the simple set-up.

Elsewhere on the bill The Pete Green Corporate Juggernaut offered barbed topical popcult anthems in the mould of Half Man Half Biscuit; Town Bike delivered a lively but surprisingly melodic set that would appeal to fans of HMHB and Helen Love; The Loves brought a harder, druggier feel to proceedings with some driving rock songs and no popfest is complete without a spirited, entertaining set from the marvellous Smittens. Only Help Stamp Out Loneliness failed to ignite our passions, but this emptiness may have had more to do with our hunger at this point than the band's lacking - with no food on the premises even the most inimitable indiefans need refuelling and as hard as we tried, sustenance by Guinness alone didn't quite see us through to the end of the night.

Fez Fayre

Ladytron/Asobi Seksu, Kasbah, Primrose Hill Street, Coventry, Saturday November 15 2008, 7.30pm.

And so Dead Kenny sent himself to Coventry at the weekend, despite dire warnings of what your electropoppin' eejit might find there, and discovered that twenty-seven years on from The Specials No.1 hit single, this town's still comin' like a Ghost Town. But luckily also found that the Kasbah was a cool, funky oasis cunningly hidden therein, and kept the Aegean theme continuous with a cheeky chow-down beforehand at nearby World Kebab.

Being used to Birmingham's sweltering Academy venues where the bands regularly ruminate on the ghastly heat, it came as something of a cultural shock to see the guitarist from support act Asobi Seksu having to repeatedly blow into his hands before getting the set started. Reassuring that even glacial popsters don't like the air-conditioning set at antarctic levels, don't you think?

Fortunately things warmed up soon enough with Yuki Chikudate's sweet, ethereal but surprisingly robust singing melting hearts while the rest of the band contributed significant power surges to provide the shoegazing post-rock equivalent to global warming. Entrancing stuff, mainly taken from last year's bittersweet confection 'Citrus', given a light dusting of catharsis when Chikudate whipped off her plaid overshirt, muscled the drummer out of the way and pounded the skins for the set coda. Fans of Cocteau Twins and Lush who haven't yet explored Asobi Seksu (Japanese for playful sex, if you believe Wikipedia) should make amends with immediate effect.

By the time headliners, and lest ye forget, Britain's Best Pop Band (Ever?)(TM), Ladytron made the stage, the Turkish-themed club was filling out and a warm glow was starting to radiate amongst the expectant crowd. The girls were dressed in tasteful black satin as they joined Danny and Reuben on stage to the instrumental intro from third album 'Witching Hour', and two distinctive trends emerged very quickly as the set developed. Firstly, it is Mira Aroyo who takes on the role of talking (albeit in soft, quiet tones) between songs, and also the set (perhaps reflecting the balance of latest album Velocifero) sees a much more equal share of vocal chores between her and Helen Marnie than on the 'Witching Hour' shows.

Ladytron even had the confidence to drop in the superlative 'Seventeen' midway through the show rather than saving it for once-inevitable encore (the majestic 'Destroy Everything You Touch' got that honour). 'Seventeen' is still (rightly) a highlight of the show but it blended in better with the entire oeuvre in its central slot, with recent singles Ghosts and Runaway meeting equivalent approval from the mostly sharp and stylish crowd. Not all of the live interpretations particularly worked for your sceptical scribe however, the intricate melody and sentiment of 'International Dateline' near drowned in a drum-heavy treatment, and 'Deep Blue' making a late recovery from a muted, murky intro.

But Mira, Mira, as Dead Kenny is the fairest blogger of 'em all, he'll conclude on the hugely positive note that the snaky hypnotics of 'Black Cat' and 'Season Of Illusions' were the biggest revelations of the night, both in terms of their rendition and reception. The otherness of these songs may be a more difficult sell commercially, but perversely give them an edge over their rivals. Nobody's ever done better what Ladytron do, and doubtless no-one ever will, and how many of their contemporaries can you say that about?

The Strife Of Reilly

Eden Lake, Odeon Telford, Tuesday September 16 2008, 6.30pm.

A weekend break in the secluded beautyspot Eden Lake for Kelly Reilly's primary school teacher and her buff diver boyfriend (Michael Fassbender) gains nightmarish proportions when they become terrorised by a feral mob of local youths. James Watkins' thriller adopts the classic trick of using familiar horror movie tropes to address contemporary social concerns, in this case anti-social behaviour, knife culture, dangerous dogs and general all-round 'chav' fear.

The result is nasty, brutish and short, but nevertheless, in all senses, a bloody good film. The combo of social realism and intense, hyperdriven violence is an awkward one to pull off, but Watkins manages it superbly through ramping up the suspense and terror an extra level at judicious points. The film is also ably served by a starmaking turn from curvaceous ingenue Reilly, who manages to look magnificent even after being fully dunked in a tank of shit, and makes the audience care enough to carry them through to the heartstopping climax.

Forward Marches!

You can't beat a bit of bull-y on a Sunday night, so your bovine blogger has decided to investigate the burgeoning indie-rock scene in nearby cattle town Hereford. Last time your carousing correspondent visited there we remember little other than a drab 0-0 draw between the home town and Telford United, and making cows eyes at a phenomenally-racked barmaid with a twin strikeforce that put the then-Conference outfits to shame. There's clearly something they've been putting in the water since, as guitar thrills are currently spreading like anthrax in an area hitherto best known musically for Mott the Hoople and the dead half of The Pretenders.

Our favourite new band name this week belongs to How To Dress For Cricket who deliver hard rock beamers and may yet have some wrong'un's up their sleeves. Even more promisingly, Pencil Toes manage the impressive feat of recalling Lush with their spiky, spidery soundscapes. Meanwhile, Bayonets offer a slightly less subtle form of attack with their post-rock bombast shown to best effect on the atmospheric 'The Battle Of Hand And Heart'.

Of course, no scene would be present and correct without an iconic club night and an all-girl jazz/techno/dutch supergroup who confess to more enthusiasm than talent. But the act with best chance of breaking Hereford into the mainstream moo-sic scene is cheeky acoustic-pop scamps Rupert and the Robbers whose 'Bad Hour' is set to steal hearts with its swoonsome strum lovely enough to give down time a good name.

Nothing lasts for heifer but Hereford certainly seems to be a happening scene in the here and now. Just don't be asking me Wye, Reg!

Closely Observed Pre-Trains

The Autumn Store Presents A Pre-Indietracks Special: The Smittens/The Zebras/Red Pony Clock, The Sunflower Lounge, off Queensway, Birmingham, Tuesday July 22 2008, 9.30pm.

Just get into the venue in time as Red Pony Clock start limbering up, a Tijuana-based octet who sound like a mix between Calexico and all-out chaos. Their van exploded on the way to the venue, but they seem in surprisingly good spirits about it, perhaps because on the plus-side it means you're not short of things to talk about between songs. You know those pictures that look like random dots but if you stare at them for long enough all of a sudden this brilliant 3-D image pops up before your eyes and makes sense of it all? Red Pony Clock are the sonic equivalent, as their seemingly ramshackle material develops into something clever, organic and fun to fully reward the patient, open-minded listener. There's still not enough dancing going on for the band's liking, though, until The Smittens' drummer Holly shows how it's done, leaping around like a frisky kitten ricocheting from furniture, to hugely engaging effect.

The Zebras aren't from South Yorkshire, they're from Rotherham - Rotherham, in Australia, that is, although Northern English influences like The Smiths and The Wedding Present would seem evident in a band with a much more immediate, accessible appeal to an indie crowd than Red Pony Clock. The Zebras are more than the sum of their influences, however, with songs that swoop and soar and stir, destined to go down well with Weddoes fans at this weekend's Indietracks, we feel. Their stage banter needs some work, however, maybe they need to emerge unscathed from a tour vehicle inferno to put some fire in their bellies?

With things running later than planned, your harassed hack needs to make a Last Train to Larksville exit halfway through the headline set from Burlington, Vermont's The Smittens, but what we see/hear is confident, breezy and tuneful, and fully in line with all the good things we've heard about/from them, and we'll look out for them next time they're jingling their jangle back on these shores.

All in all, another fine evening of high-quality indie gathering courtesy of those friendly folk from The Autumn Store!

All three bands featured will be playing at Indietracks this weekend (July 26-27, festival fact fans) in deepest Derbyshire.

E Gore

Donkey Punch, Cineworld Broad Street, Birmingham, Tuesday June 22 2008, 7pm.

Who knew that Eli Roth's Hostel, in which hormonal Westerners are butchered abroad for their unethical behaviour, would be the single most influential film of the latter part of this decade? Goes to show that if you make a cheap film that brings in huge profits and critical kudos you instantly create a template for others to follow. Oliver Blackburn's Donkey Punch at least comes to the slightly different and entirely reasonable conclusion: Brits aboard are (quite literally) their own worst enemy.

So we have three girls from Leeds abroad on holiday hooking up with a British crew of likely lairy lads on a luxury yacht. Ecstasy and hardcore Russian drugs leads to orgiastic ecstasy and softcore sex, until things take a sudden swerve to the worse when the titular sex act leaves one of the participants in the fleshy fivesome experiencing the 'petit mort' a little too literally for everyone's comfort. It's then every lad and ladette for themselves as the bodycount piles up amidst recriminations, cover-ups and sheer lunatic bloody-mindedness.

Donkey Punch has been described as a kind of Dead Calm for the Ibiza set, benefitting from a decent soundtrack that includes Parallax View faves The Knife and Peter Bjorn and John. While there are numerous faults (banal, seemingly semi-improvised dialogue, wavering performance levels, all-over-the-place plot structure), some of these weaknesses actually help Donkey Punch overcome the main danger in making this type of movie: formulaic predictability. The result is a bloody mess from just about any perspective, but remains gripping, stylish entertainment, different from the norm but not so out-there that people won't get it, and seems destined for cult status when it finds its natural home on DVD.

Summer Night City

Richard Prince: Continuations @Serpentine Gallery, Hyde Park, London, Sunday June 29 2008, 11am.
Female Agents, Odeon Covent Garden, Sunday June 29 2008, 6.25pm.

Spent the first weekend in a while down in London, the first couple of days mainly taken with meeting up with and getting to know a certain voluptuous Brazilian online friend of mine, who, amongst other things, introduced me to the delights of pacoquinha, an intensely sweet hit of peanut taste textured somewhere between biscuit and fudge, good with tea or coffee as long as long as you have a sweet tooth!

Sunday represented an opportunity to soak up some culture, and went along to see the Richard Prince exhibition Continuations at the Serpentine Gallery in Hyde Park. Prince may be best known to alt.music fans for providing the striking sleeve art to Sonic Youth's Sonic Nurse, but, although there were a few of his nurse paintings included, as well as a drumhead autographed by Thurston, Kim and Lee from SY, the exhibition presented a broader overview of his work that spans over four decades.

Just as the nurse pictures are appropriated images from pulp novel covers subverted and fetishised by Prince, much of the rest of his work involves customising found objects such as car hoods, and in one stunning case, an entire Buick adorned with objectified images of naked women. Elsewhere, there are a series of photographs of cowboys and biker chicks, and Prince isn't even beyond appropriating other peoples' jokes, with stylised paintings featuring looped one-liner gags. The result is an impressive, arresting collection worth a half-hour's browse for anyone in London with an interest in modern art.

Then headed off on the District Line to Brick Lane, where visited Rough Trade East for the first time, renewed my taste for octopus, wine and chocolate dessert at a tapas festival and wandered into 93 Feet East where there was supposed to be an all-dayer happening, but found no punters to be seen or music to be heard!

A quick change at the hotel later and then into the West End to see Female Agents, which follows in the sly, saucy footsteps of Paul Verhoeven's Black Book by looking at the derring-do of undercover female resistance agents in World War Two. In this case, Sophie Marceau's crackshot recruits/conscripts some dodgy distaff divas into the SOE's female operative branch (known as, we shit ye not, FANY) to distract the Nazis in France long enough for them to help the escape of an Allied geologist doing important groundwork paving the way for D-Day.

It's fairly derivate stuff, suffering from some erratic levels of characterisation that means you don't always care as much during episodes of jeopardy as perhaps you ought, but it says much for the zip of the production and the committed performances from the game, gallic cast that, despite some obvious flaws, the resulting film manages to be thrilling and poignant for the most part, particularly recommended for filmgoers with equal levels of passion for wartime heroics and the female form.

Turned out to be a bad time of it for Germans all round, as got back to the pub beneath the hotel in time to watch the second half of the Euro2008 final in which Spain vanquished the 1996 champions 1-0 to become worthy winners of a surprisingly entertaining competition, a particularly welcome result given that many of the bar's patrons seemed to be Spanish or Portugese speakers.

Rattled By The Hush

Things will be quiet on here for the next week or so for a variety of reasons. Won't have access to my normal email address for a while either so please refer enquiries here until further notice. Normal service to be resumed shortly. Whatever normal is.

School's Clout

The School/Flicklisten/The Puncture Repair Kit, Swiss Concrete @ The Bullingdon Arms, Oxford, Thursday June 19 2008, 8.45pm.

The Bullingdon Arms is a short taxi ride away from Oxford's main rail station, a smallish pub with friendly, fetching bar staff and a big backroom area where the bands play. Ben and your long-distance lurker meet up with a couple of the SWSLer's charming co-workers, and get waylaid watching Germany beat Portugal in the Euro2008 Q-F so only catch the last few songs from The Puncture Repair Kit. Their boisterous, slightly ramshackle take on indie-pop reminds your comparison-crazed correspondent of The Strange Death Of Liberal England, but we hope the rest of the set was less impressive because a) we hate to have missed out on anything and b) we'd just lurve to be able to say The Puncture Repair Kit flat-tyred to deceive.

Flicklisten is a guy who comes from Ohio but has lived in Oxford for four years, a singer/guitarist occasionally accompanied by a young lady who plays a violin shaped like a pair of scissors (a cut above the usual instrument, natch). He has a good voice, knows how to get a meaningful, sombre strum from his guitar, and has a droll line in tinder-dry banter, but his songs, on first listen anyway, are more interesting than truly memorable.

This last charge is certainly something you could never level at our learned friends The School, who've happily mastered the knack of catchy tunes addressing bold sentiments, embellished with 60s girl-pop stylings yet undertowed by savvy indie knowingness. They seem to be a Rosie and at least one Ryan short of the line-up when we last saw them, but Liz is in good, giggly form, describing Oxford as very pretty once you've found it, a reference to the maybe-Multimap-induced mayhem of their journey into the city. Of tonight's set, the songs from last week's Single Of The Week 'Let It Slip' ep prominently feature, there's a mystery cover version that no one gets, and the small matter of a dedication to their 'longest-travelling fan - Ken!' for their closing number 'All I Wanna Do'.

Your marathon-man mitherer hides his blushes for just long enough to grab a few words with Liz at the end of the show, as the band pack away their equipment in readiness for a trip to Spain for a festival performance. She insists the recent departures were amicable and not the result of a Mark E Smith-like hire-em-fire-em ethos, and reveals a new band member is forthcoming who will cover both instruments. Talking of covered instruments, we don't have to get our twelve-inch ruler out as Liz very kindly autographs our copy of the 'Let It Slip' ep before we wave her off to Spain. But not before she reveals an addition to The School timetable: a debut album due early next year!

Ship Shapes And Bristol Fashion

Dot-to-Dot Festival, Various venues in Bristol, Saturday May 24 2008 and Sunday May 25 2008, 2.45pm-11pm.

This is your erudite explorer's first time at Dot-to-Dot, and on only our second expedition to Brizzle itself, and special thanks are due to new city resident Alison for providing the hospitality, company, laptop access and orienteering skills as we traversed the city in search of indie-rock thrills. Bristol seems almost unfairly blessed with unusual venues, with things kicking off on a moored-boat-cum-nightclub Thekla, and other sites including a converted church (Trinity) and prison (the appropriately named Fiddlers), all adding to the sense of adventure and discovery.

All aboard the good ship Thekla, our first band of the fest were Telepathe (pronounced by the band as telepathy as if spoken in a foreign accent) who featured (running theme alert!) an androgynous lead singer who looked for all the world like a cabin boy until she opened her pipes. Technical difficulties bedevilled the New Yorkers' set, which had something of a shambolic air (the sexy drummer abandoned her instrument for most of the set), but somehow through it all, by combination of sullen cool and some beautiful, fascinating songs, they seem to just about get through it all with their allure intact.

Then caught a couple of songs by serious young men The Detachments, which was enough to make you walk the plank, so headed off to rockpub The Fleece where Dublin's Fight Like Apes turned Bristol into the Wild West for half-an-hour, striding across the bar counter and wrestling each other in the moshpit during a cathartic and hugely enjoyable set, with former Parallax View Single Of The Week 'Jake Summers' the crazed centrepiece amongst their other harder, slightly grungier material. FLA also afforded us our first encounter with Bristol's most noteworthy superfan, a tall ginger bearded fellow called Geoff/Jeff whose propulsive stage-front duracell-dancing antics were a significant ongoing feature during festivities.

Downstairs at local roots venue The Louisiana, Sid Delicious were offering some skewed, off-beat thrills, while upstairs met back up with Alison to catch some of Eugene McGuinness' more traditional folk fayre, which should offer some appeal to fans of the Norwegian troubadour Sondre Lerche. Much more to our liking was Esser back over at Thekla, who looked tetchy and preoccupied during the soundcheck, but with his band got everybody dancing with jerky, infectious, and ever-so-slightly ridiculous pop music all set to create waves everywhere if there was any justice in this world.

We should have followed Geoff/Jeff's purposeful gait towards the Fiddlers, but instead got slightly lost and so despairingly missed Southampton's Thomas Tantrum performing former Parallax View Single Of The Week 'Shake It! Shake It!' (dispatching your most famous song early in the set seems to be another emerging trend) although what remained was nevertheless impressive, albeit more conventionally rockin' than their strop-pop SOTW. Top marks too to the very pretty lead singer for taking the time to publicly thank Geoff/Jeff for his sterling dancefloor exertions, and the dishing out of the free badges afterwards.

We elected to stay in Fiddlers to catch Micachu, who've been recording with Matthew Herbert and are starting to make a noise in London. They make heavy weather of the start of the set, the singer appearing to be in the 'attitude' stage of a day's drinking, and our attention wanders to the consideration of whether the drummer is a boy or girl (the former, if you're interested). Things do improve as the set goes on, and maybe in the studio with a disciplined producer their recorded output might be worth exploring.

Sunday morning was spent trawling MySpace to identify some bands worth catching, and the day eventually took us by surprise in terms of offering an even wider array of thrills, despite getting lost in one of Bristol's less salubrious spots in search of Trinity, where we saw a couple of uninspiring bands kick the day off amidst the anti-climax of Team Waterpolo pulling out. Much better was to follow, however, with Woodbridge's Cheeky Cheeky And The Nosebleeds proving a genuine revelation back at Fiddlers, despatching urgent (East-Angular?) guitar pop with energy, enthusiasm and that raw fearlessness you get from a band that's twigged they're on the cusp of something transformative. Daft name, then, but brilliant choons, particularly the marvellous anthem 'Slow Kids'.

This inspires your adrenaline-rushed arsehole to stuff in quick snatches of bands during an intense period of shuttling between venues and a strict three-songs-and-then-you're-gone policy which we only break for Red Light Company at Fleece, because they are excellent value, because 'With Lights Off' is a majestic classic, because the lead singer looks like an even skinnier Tom Petty, but also because by this stage we're knackered. Bonus points for the ecstatic group hug afterwards, too, which seemed genuine and this gang mentality will serve them well in the music industry travails that are sure to follow.

Around RLC we also found ourselves rattled by the rush of Pack AD's butch, bruising take on modern blues in Louisiana; impressed with the colossal high-energy post-rock guitar squalls of Leicester's Maybeshewill at Fleece; smiling like a silly-'un to the giddy 80's guilty pleasures of Cornwall's Rosie and the Goldbug at Thekla and left feeling slightly cold by moody Swedes Dag for Dag back again in Louisiana.

Things were then topped off in Thekla with The Mae Shi nearly stealing the whole weekend in a suitably scurvied piratical style, their jittery, attention-deficited noise-pop keeping everybody hugely entertained. We've heard of bands canvassing their fans before, but we've never seen it quite so literally demonstrated as when the band haul a sheet of tarpaulin over the moshpit and all dive inside under it, where they find themselves, amongst others, rubbing pneumatic shoulders with the omnipresent Geoff/Jeff. All in all, a wonderfully in-tents performance, then.

Cutting Pink With Knives have the opposite effect to The Mae Shi's inclusive gestures, in one of their last ever live performances, with frightened punters scampering away for safety as the lead singer took off his shirt and attempted to bully those at the bar into the moshpit. The music was slammin' and powerful in a kind of Beestung Lips-with-the-brakes-off intensity, and although we weren't really in the mood for it, it was kind of fascinating to watch as a piece of theatre, even though the search for anything remotely resembling a melody proved a fruitless task.

Then it was back to The Fleece for our last show of the festival: Metronomy, who seemed to be trying to be Klaxons so hard it hertz, wacky light circles emblazoned on their chests, and all. They were OK, to be fair, a reasonable soundtrack to the last few drinks of the weekend, but nothing to write home about in comparison to The Red Light Company, The Mae Shi, Fight Like Apes, Cheeky Cheeky And The Nosebleeds, Esser, Rosie and The Goldbug and Thomas Tantrum, who made up my magnificent seven from this delightfully dotty weekend.

How Soon Is Nou

Keef's Stag Weekend, Various Bars, Restaurants, Football Stadiums, Clubs, Barcelona, Spain, April 4-7 2008.

One of the reasons for a quiet time here on Parallax View earlier this month was that your esteemed entertainer's presence was required on Keef's stag weekend in Barcelona. It seems rude to visit a new city and not post about it, although as is the normal way with stag weekends, events tended to proceed in an in-the-moment blur of food, alcohol, casual tourism and lively behaviour that prohibits too much in the way of detailed recollection.

Overall, the experience of Barcelona was a positive one and it's somewhere your jaded journeyman would definitely consider visiting again. The weather helped, bright sunshine throughout accompanied by a pleasing breeze, temperatures of around 20 degrees celsius contrasting with sub-zero conditions and three inches of snow back home at the time. Aside from the weather, however, the visit was distinguished by some fantastic tapas (including octopus!); some fascinating Gaudi architecture; meeting some lovely young women (including a gorgeous Asian girl from Brighton and a lovely lass from near Aberdeen) and a trip to the Nou Camp.

The weekend co-incided with Barcelona's home game with Getafe, for which we managed to procure tickets. On collecting the tickets the team coach roared past, too fast to clock individuals that well, although the overall impression was that all the players looked freakin' miserable. The Nou Camp (or should it be Camp Nou?) is an impressive stadium to be sure, but the match itself was an anti-climax, Ronaldhino and Messi were out injured and Thierry Henry looked far off the sort of form he showed during his Highbury heyday. Certainly nothing contradicted the notion that we were witnessing the tail end of coach Frank Rijkaard's controversial tenure.

Getafe dominated possession and chances during a dismal first half, but things picked up after the break although the home side's more fluid passing failed to trouble the scoresheets and the game ended 0-0. It would have been good to witness (and join in) some local goal celebrations but it wasn't to be, and it was still a good feeling to watch a match in such a famous stadium, particularly a domestic game that, at that stage, still had a possible bearing on the final outcome of La Liga.