Live Music Review - Robert Glasper - Concorde 2 - Brighton

 

Jazz has long had the reputation for being the unique preserve of uber-cool, beret-wearing beard-strokers smoking Gauloises in dingy basements.  Heads are nodded to improvised solos and diminished 9ths are talked about in reverential tones.  It’s a select club and there’s a good chance you are not invited.

Grammy winning Houstonian Robert Glasper has done his best to open up the genre with his contemporary amalgam of jazz and hip hop.  He is the go-to-guy for heavyweight  acts such as Maxwell, Q-Tip and Common hoping to sprinkle some of his jazz seasoning over their urban offerings. 

Beanie hat on and smoking a cheroot Glasper strolls on stage and perches behind a wall of keyboards playing the role of band leader with a practiced calm.  First up is Glasper’s take on Kanye’s No Church In the Wild which sets the tone for the rest of the evening with an atmospheric paired down arrangement, Derrick Hodge’s bubbling bass  and a vocoder laden vocal from Casey Benjamin.   

 

The charismatic Benjamin is tasked with most of tonight’s vocal duties subbing on the guest-laden tracks from Black Radio and its sequel which feature the likes of Anthony Hamilton, Snoop Dogg and Bilal all of whom were unlikely to pitch up on a cold Tuesday evening in Brighton.  Tonight he is decked out with an impressive quiff, beard, biker jacket and vest that make him look like a black George Michael.

The disco scratch of Nile Rogers guitar is substituted for some descending scales and weird synth burbles for their cover of Daft Punk’s Get Lucky changing the tone to such an extent that there is a ripple of satisfaction when the crowd eventually work out what they are playing.   Benjamin’s Herbie Hancock referencing vocals are interspersed with some ingenious Max Headroom stuttering audio effects.

Let it Ride picks up the pace with some with some intricate drumming from Mark Colenburg expertly conveying the songs delicate drum and bass texture.  This is the start of the show dedicated to the jazz nerds who coo loudly when a particular break or key change is delivered.  Glasper plays a long complicated improvisation simultaneously on two different keyboards, basically because he can.

 

I Stand Alone starts with a striking John Legendesque piano break that segues into an extend bass  solo from Hodge which recalls motifs from Miles Davis’ Sketches of Spain. It’s technically brilliant but so is a research scientist in a lab extracting stem cells from bone marrow.  Both hardly classify as Saturday night entertainment.

 Jazz fans may want to appear cooler than thou but they can’t help stifle a cheer when Radio 2 staple Lovely Day gets an airing. Benjamin’s vocoder lends the track a light funk that offsets the heavy hip hop beat laid down by Colenburg.

Basment Jaxx/Dizzee Rascal collaborator Vula Malinga then appears on stage to give the crowd a welcome break from the vocoder. Her sublime Minnie Ripperton register works well in harmony with Benjamin and her sultry vocals include some Badu-like scatting on the cover of Floetry’s Say Yes and are good enough to make Glasper leave the stage in mock admiration.

 

Up next is All Matter song Glasper co-wrote with Bilal.  I had the privilege of hearing the track played live at the Jazz Cafe a few years ago and Bilal’s band blew the roof off.  This version doesn't have anything like the urgency of the original and suffers from Glasper’s dissonant chords. Benjamin breaks out the alto sax midway through for an extended solo and we are on another one way trip to Noodlesville.

 

“Brighton rocks!”

exclaims  Glasper but he is beaten by the clock after another vocoder heavy  reworking of Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit takes him past curfew with no time for an encore.

There was me thinking jazzers were good at keeping time.

Live Music Review - The Darkness - Brighton Concorde 2 07/12/2013

Pop music has always been a little too po-faced for my liking. To be taken seriously as an "artist" you either have to the act the tough guy, get your kit off or appear mysterious. There's not much room in today’s charts for "comedians". Humorous acts are instantly dismissed as novelties and relegated to the Christmas hinterlands or Comic Relief telethons.

So when The Darkness came blazing into our lives in 2003 in a blur of spandex, testicle-constricting vocals and sense of escapist fun it was hard to know what to make of them. I remember hearing their breakthrough hit I Believe In A Thing Called Love and thinking its big dumb riffs and mad multi-tracked falsetto were the perfect antidote to the sea of boring earnest mediocrity doing the rounds at the time (Beddingfield and Stereophonics I'm looking at you).

I wasn't the only one to catch the hair-metal bug as debut Permission To Land sold by the denim jacket load. Even the cynical music press embraced The Darkness's tongue-in-cheek love of rock 'n roll excess. Don't forget this is a band who won an Ivor Novello for Songwriters of the Year in 2004. There’s craft in their cheese.

After the party comes the hangover and the band started overdoing the Alka Setlzer (wink wink) as they begun to embrace the rock ‘n roll lifestyle a little too readily. Bassist Frankie Poullain was acrimoniously sacked and the good vibes that had powered the first album evaporated. As a result sophomore album One Way Ticket To Hell...and Back was an over-produced dogs dinner.

In 2006 Hawkins thought he might as well go the whole hog with the rock n roll clichés and promptly checked into rehab for drug abuse. True to form the band split and members of The Darkness spent the intervening years time playing in poorly received side projects like Hot Leg, Stone Gods &; British Whale. Hawkins got clean (he sips on nothing stronger than bottle water tonight) and the inevitable band reconciliation followed. The second coming would yield the album Hot Cakes in 2011 which, although selling like lukewarm crumpets, was a handsome return to cock-rocking form.

So what of The Darkenss of 2013? Justin emerges on stage looking lean and mean sporting his usual Lycra onesy and a new beard/moustache combo that makes him look like th d'Artagnan of hair metal. Poullain is back on board & tonight seems to have come dressed as Prince circa Purple Rain with his extravagant bouffant, tache and flashy trench coat. Fans will be pleased to know that it's (absurd) business as usual from the guys.

Tonight's set is a game of two halves. The first is a hodgepodge of old tracks, new songs and covers. The second part is Permission To Land played in its entirety (big cheers at this news by the predominately older rockers who make up much of tonight's audience). The new song is The Horn which distils The Darkness to its ludicrous essence. Its balls out rock silliness with operatic flourishes. Sample lyrics

"Take off your dress, undo my tux
Stick your long,sharp nails
into my pale buttocks"

Curse of the Tolland Man is The Darkness doing prog-rock and maybe the only misfire of the night. It’s a non-album track from 2005 and it lacks the band's usual immediacy. With its new age lyrics and odd time signatures it sounds like a Jethro Tull B-side. That's never a good thing. Their cover is Radiohead's Street Spirit (Fade Out) which has been injected with steroids and kicked up the arse. It's an inspired makeover. Ed Graham's drums sound like a herd of horses about to trample you to death and Justin falsetto is so high it’s barely audible to dogs. It's magnificent and I actually prefer it to the original.

At half time Hawkins takes exception to a chap in the first few rows who has been filming the show since the start and tells him it’s illegal

"not to mention f*cking distracting. It’s this kind if sh*t that's killing music"

He then invites the entire audience to record the next part so they can upload it to YouTube.

"…as it will blow your f*cking mind"

The roadies come on stage for an inordinate amount of time and appear to be adjusting the drum kit for what is about to come. I was fully expecting the drum kit to levitate or spin in the air a-la-Motley Crue but with the crowd poised for something amazing Graham does nothing more than the most basic of drum fills, like a 3 year old given a toy kit on his birthday. The crowd dissolve into laughter. The Darkness may appear ridiculous but they are certainly self aware.

Sonically it’s hard not to hear echoes of Queen in The Darkness back catalogue and there is much of the Freddie Mercury in Justin Hawkins live performance. There are the outlandish outfits, the showmanship, the impeccable vocals and the easy rapport with the crowd. At one point during Growing On Me he stops and conducts the audience in an impromptu sing-along with a raising and lowering of his arm. He literally has the audience in the palm of his hand.

During Love Is Only A Feeling one middle aged fan emboldened by beer now feels its time to go for a spot of crowd surfing. He is doing well for a minute until his girth becomes too heavy for those supporting him and lands head first with a one way ticket to the concrete.

That's not the end of the crowd based fun. We are treated to an extended version of Love On The Rocks With No Ice with Justin getting on the shoulders of one of the roadies and riding him into the audience. He solos as he creeps closer to where we are standing all the while being groped by various rabid fans. He doesn’t miss a note. To top off an excellent show we get an encore of Christmas Time (Don't Let the Bells End) with the guys dressed up in their Xmas outfits (bobble hats, tank tops etc). I dread Xmas but this even managed to unearth the yuletide spirit buried deep within me.

The Darkness is in every shape and form a stadium band so it’s a privilege to see them in such close proximity. The songs, their attitude and their musical ability all scream Wembley Stadium. They may be a joke to some but it’s a punch line that keeps on giving.

Live Music Review - Mark Morriss @ Sticky Mike's Frog Bar Brighton

In life there are some jobs that are plainly harder than others. They go in this order: Prime Minister, A&E nurse, England manager & stand up comic. Long hours, pressure, scrutiny and an early heart attack await those lucky incumbents.

Shortly behind these in terms of stress levels comes the acoustic solo artist. There's no backing band to cover up your shoddy fretwork, no harmonies to compensate for your flat notes and no colleagues to protect you should the crowd turn hostile. Alone and " unplugged" this type of show is the musical equivalent of taking your pants off, walking down the high street and displaying your wares to the general public.

So, it's a brave man who treds this lonely path. That man is Mark Morriss, former lead singer of thinking man's Britpop stalwarts The Bluetones. Their commercial peak may have been the mid-90's but the band continued to release a series of fine albums after debut Expecting to Fly and only split in 2011 due to public apathy and a desire to broaden their horizons.

Having seen The Bluetones a number of times I can confirm that his line of self-depreciating, witty audience interaction is only rivalled by Jarvis Cocker and Richard Hawley. Gigs tend to be about three quarters music and a quarter top quality banter. Tonight's decision to fill his set list with a good chunk of solo material is explained in typical fashion:

"I've just been supporting Shed Seven...there is a lot of sportswear at those gigs. I have to spoon-feed that lot. But this is Brighton..."

In fairness new album A Flash Of Darkness deserves a good airing. Whilst the familiar blend of dark-hearted power-pop will be familiar to Bluetones fans there is a variety and skill displayed here that confirms his position as a hugely talented and versatile songwriter. Tracks are quirkily arranged and orchestrated with horns, harmonium, synth and woodblocks and there is a classy core running though the record that belies its fan-funded gestation.

My album highlight Consuela gets an airing tonight with a chorus so uplifting you would have to made of stone not to sing along to it. It also includes the following peachy couplet about a much maligned 80's detective from Jersey.

"You can say what you like behind my back
You can keep on my case like your Bergerac"

Mark is known for his tongue-in-cheek cover versions having previously aired such classics as Phyllis Nelson's Move Closer, TLC's Waterfalls and Frank Sinatra's That's Life. Tonight he doesn't disappoint and takes us to power ballad heaven with medley of Lionel Richie's Hello and Drive by The Cars. There is nothing more satisfying than exposing a guilty pleasure as the crowd attempt to stifle their giggles.

"If there is anyone working for the cruises let me know. More...fun...later"

Crowd favourite Keep The Home Fires Burning still sounds as good as it ever did and I'm Sick from debut solo album Memory Muscle powers along like a freight train. Mark's voice is still in fine fettle and has a quality that would put many of his Britpop contemporaries to shame. Shorn of horns & backing vocals it still delivers even if he has to do some of the solos with his mouth.

"Christ that was tense! I can't keep that up all night. Lets have a ballad for fuck sake"

Mark then slips in the bombshell that The Bluetones are actually going to reunite on the road next month, albeit temporarily, with a gig in London and possibly a few more. The Brighton crowd are too cool to get demonstrably excited but this is big news. Later Mark jokes that it isn't a reunion as such but:

"a chance for the rest of the band to get away from their families"

Next up is the woozy Space Cadet which is a forthcoming single and we're are told will be supported by a dazzling new video which is welcome evidence of new label Acid Jazz's desire to plug the album as best it can. It wouldn't have been my choice of single but what do I know. It's Mark's favourite song off the album but the music scene being what it is he is not a man to get his hopes up. On its chances of being number one?

"Don't go down to Paddy Power"

This Is The Lie (And Thats The Truth) sounds like a jaunty old English folk song about a delusional suburbanite trying to convince himself he is better off living alone. Its perfect for an acoustic outing and its the sort of thing you couldn't see anyone else recording.

By the time the bluesy intro of Marblehead Johnson gets and airing the crowd are fully engrossed by the intimate atmosphere created at Sticky Mikes. It's neither stifling nor particularly amphibian down in the basement and turns out to be quite a lovely little venue for this kind of performance.

 "I can see some of my stalkers are here. See you outside the Co-Op"

Mark steps off stage for the briefest of seconds to get his contractually mandated encore

"It's been a bad day I just need by ego boosted"

and then its request time. The floor is then open to the inevitable calls for Slight Return

"Fuck Slight Return up the arse!"

is the response from Mark. Instead we get Barbra Streisand’s Woman In Love, a deliciously ridiculous choice of cover, and the apt closer Sleazy Bed Track as it was getting pretty late.

Despite the lateness of the hour Mark takes time to chat to a few of us after the gig. I am pleased to report he is just as charismatic off stage as he is on it. He chats away like we have known him for ages.

Perhaps for the nicest man in music life as a solo artist isn’t so difficult after all.

Live Review - Magic Summer Live - Jamiroquai + Chic - Guildford 13/07/2013

Festivals in principle seem like a fabulous idea, thousands of like-minded music fans congregating in beautiful natural surroundings to the joyous, life-affirming sounds of their favourite bands. Their problems forgotten they are united in musical union, blind to the differences in colour, creed or religion. Festivals are modern day places of worship where Madonna replaces Mohammed and Jay-Z steps in for Jesus. That's the theory anyway.


However, these lofty ideals are normally shattered by the wet-fish-to-the-face that is reality. Once you factor in the exorbitant ticket prices, seas of mud/mind-bending heat (delete as appropriate), mediocre food, lack of sleep, shit-encrusted toilets, mongs, twats and piss-heads the divine takes on a more attritional air. With this in mind, the most I can tolerate are the one day festivals where a comfortable bed is never too far away.

Magic Summer Live sees the resurrection of the old Guilfest festival which folded due to financial problems (i.e nobody was coming). As usual it is set in the unremarkable grounds of Stoke Park in Guildford and this year played host the likes of Soul II Soul, Chic, Beverley Knight, Ocean Colour Scene, Joss Stone and Jamiroquai. It was as if it was 2003 never happened.

With the bands on the bill this was always going to draw in a diverse clientele and it was nice to see a few old timers, families and kids baking in the 30 degree heat along with the usual festival crowd. It may be touted as family friendly festival but I felt a bit sorry of the nippers as it was scorching hot. A lack of shade and children's entertainment reminiscent of Father Ted's "Fun Land" in its paucity and lack of imagination meant even the most accommodating of children would have found a whole day a struggle.

For adults Jamiroquai were the big draw on the day as they were performing their only UK gig this year. The warm up acts weren't too shabby either with a Nile Rodgers-led Chic reprising their fantastic Glastonbury performance with a heavy hitting set that drew on Rodgers talents as songwriter/producer/performer for hire. Musical tastes may vary but class remains permanent.

He showcased not just Chic's extensive back catalogue but his work with Sister Sledge, Diana Ross and David Bowie. Rodgers topped it off with a crowd led stage invasion and the longest thank you speech since Gwenyth Paltrow blubbed her way through the Oscars.

I'll put my cards on the table here; I'm a big Jamiroquai fan. I've seen them on numerous occasions in the UK and in Europe and they have always delivered live. Its been a while since I've seen them in the UK and the misfiring Rock Dust Light Star album made me worry that Jay's magic touch may have deserted him. I am happy to inform you that reports of his demise are greatly exaggerated..

Jay looks relaxed and happy to be back on home soil but starts the show with a little grumble.

"People say we don't do music anymore"

He then proceeds to read off a list of places he has performed to this year "Bogota, Belgrade, Budapest... " in the manner of an embittered Alan Partridge.

The current incarnation of Jamiroquai may be shorn of many of its original band members due in part to JK's egomania (only drummer Derrick McKenzie and percussionist Sola Akinbola remain from the peak of the band's powers) but the replacement rhythm section of bassist Paul Turner and guitarist Rob Harris keep the funk flame burning. Harris in particular is in inspired form, channelling Nile Rodgers' musical vibes with his scratchy disco chords and urgent rythym.

"Ve have a list and ve must use it!"

jokes a playful JK in a cod German accent when the crowd shout requests. The band launch into an blistering opening six songs starting with Alright and ending in Canned Heat that guaranteed even the fans in the disabled area up on their feet.

It would be easy for Jamiroquai to come out on autopilot and bash out the old hits but they routinely mix things up by reworking, extending and amending their tracks ensuring that no two concerts are never the same. Virtual Insanity gets a thorough going over tonight and emerges like a funked up butterfly on steriods.

By this time JK is drenched in sweat from his hip swivelling dance routines that belie his 43 years (he seems to have a particularly sweaty arse and knees for some reason) and he understandably brings the tempo down with an acoustic version of Rock Dust Light Star. This kills the mood somewhat, as A: its much slower and B: not a very good song.

Its was April 1993 when Jamiroquai's retro jazz-funk refreshed a grunge-scorched music scene. Their debut single When You Gonna Learn? celebrated its 20 years anniversary this year. It is landmark that Jay is justifiably proud of but he wearily acknowledges Father Time with the axiom:

"we all looked so much younger"

Years of fast living may have given him a few crows feet but the music still sounds as fresh now as it did in the early 90's. The pace picks up a again with a 90mph version of Travelling Without Moving, Love Foolosophy's extended keyboard wig outs and culminates in Deeper Underground's thrash pogoing. They should have left it there rather the Jamiroquai-by-numbers White Knuckle Ride which ends the set on an anti-climax. It's a minor quibble on a day of great music, clean(ish toilets) and blazing sunshine.

As it gets dark Jamiroquai unleash their laser show which combined with strobe lights going off in our faces feels like we're at an Orbital gig with a gaggle of aging ravers. Sadly, JK isn't the only one not getting any younger.

Set List
Alright
Use The force
High Times
Virtual Insanity
Little L
Canned Heat
Rock Dust Light Star
When You Gonna Learn
You Give Me Something
Runaway
Travelling Without Moving
Cosmic Girl
Love Foolosophy
Deeper Underground
Encore:
White Knuckle Ride