PIXIES RELEASE BRAND NEW SONG
PIXIES have written and recorded their first new song for thirteen years, and will release it tonight through the Internet.
'Bam Thwok' will go on-sale for 99 cents at midnight (June 15) exclusively on Apple's iTunes Music Store.
Written by bassist Kim Deal, the track was produced and recorded by the band at Stagg Street Studios, Los Angeles, in March.
Clocking in at 2 minutes 35 seconds, the lyrics for 'Bam Thwok' came from an art book Deal found on a city street while on tour a few years ago.
She said: "From the handwriting, you could tell that this book must have belonged to a little kid. This kid had written a short story, a paragraph really, about a party that took place in another universe, about people and monsters that were partying together. That's what provided the inspiration for the lyrics."
The chorus features the lyrics: 'Love. Bang. Crash. Wakka, Wakka, Bam Thwok'.
Deal added: "It's a song about loving everyone... showing goodwill to everyone."
A carousel-esque organ solo also features in the track, which was performed and recorded by guitarist Joey Santiago's father-in-law many years ago, when he was doing missionary work in the Philippines.
'Bam Thwok' was arranged and rehearsed at Santiago's home studio.
Singer Frank Black said: "Recording it was a nice way for us to break the ice after twelve years. The recording process was very relaxed and it didn't feel like twelve years had passed."
Pixies are currently touring Europe, and return to the UK for the T In The Park festival on July 11 and the V Festival over the weekend of August 21/22.
The band recently played a rapturously-received four-night sold-out stint at London Brixton Academy (June 2-5)
mercredi, juin 16, 2004
dimanche, juin 13, 2004
Artists hit the road
Many musicians on tour this summer
Saturday, June 12, 2004 Posted: 7:17 AM EDT (1117 GMT)
Dido
(AP) -- Summer's a big time for tours, and this year artists ranging from Van Halen to John Mayer are on the road.
The Associated Press talked to several artists about their plans -- and how they cope with the long, lazy days away from home.
Dido hangs with friends
When Dido goes out on the road, she likes to surround herself with people she's certain she'll get along with. And for the London-born pop star, that just so happens to be an easy task.
With four tour buses in tow -- and at least a half-dozen people bunking on her bus alone -- the petite singer has just enough people to keep her company, and keep things interesting.
"We're polite for about three days -- if we make it that long," she told The Associated Press. "I wouldn't have anyone on tour I don't get on with."
Dido, whose recent album "Life For Rent" has sold over 1.7 million copies in the United States, will visit more than a dozen U.S. cities this summer. And the singer-songwriter, whose career skyrocketed when rapper Eminem sampled her song "Thank You," for his hit "Stan," is no stranger to being the subject of on-the-road folly.
At a recent show in San Diego, she recalls her most embarrassing on-tour moment when she took a tumble off the stage. "I'm clumsy," she said. "I went back one step too far, and went flying. I just got up and laughed and carried on going."
It's a good thing she always remembers to pack her sense of humor.
Nickelback yuks it up
Nickelback has discovered the perfect pastime for life on the road -- the fine art of playing pranks.
Recently, lead singer Chad Kroeger planned retaliation for a previous prank. It involved the band's bus driver and a lightning storm (which shook the tour bus) and resulted in incriminating photos of the band and crew sitting on top of bags of garbage, protecting themselves from lightning.
"This joke traveled for a good week and a half," Kroeger told The Associated Press during a break before the band's upcoming summer tour.
Kroeger and his antics could put Ashton Kutcher out of a job, but for now, he's content being the frontman for the multiplatinum-selling, Canadian-based rock act. Best known for hits such as "How You Remind Me," they'll be hitting U.S. amphitheaters and pavilions with 3 Doors Down and Puddle of Mudd.
Nickelback is meticulous in the planning of their concerts.
"We have a very scientific approach," Kroeger said of the band's set list. "We like to know what songs have done best on radio, because in different places, different songs have done better. When we get up to Detroit and around there our early stuff was huge, it stayed up at the top of the charts for a long time. So we'll pull out stuff that we haven't played in a while."
Onstage, it's all about the music. But after the show's over, it's back to the pranks -- and the guys know to watch their backs for the night.
"The guys say, 'Don't ever do anything to Chad,"' Kroeger joked. "'And make sure he doesn't know where your toothbrush is."'
Sting and Lennox: Sharing a stage
Sting and Annie Lennox have a lot in common: Grammy wins, world-renowned new wave bands, families, lucrative solo careers.
Yet in the 30-odd years that the veteran musicians have known each other, they have yet to share a stage -- until now.
"People know they are going to get quality," Sting told The Associated Press of his upcoming tour, which he will co-headline with Lennox. Sting is currently organizing his set list, which will include songs from his latest album, "Sacred Love," as well old Police classics. He also confirmed that the pair will perform a song together.
Lennox will concentrate on material from her most recent album, "Bare." But she will dig into the past and perform Eurythmics material.
Of all the things the singers have in common, their lists of "must-have" on-tour supplies are also in harmony -- both are light packers. Lennox, who says she feels like a "witch doctor" when she packs her homeopathic remedies and "odd cures" to ward off illness, also brings along scented candles.
"When I go into a hotel, it's not my room, so I always bring a scented candle or incense so it becomes more personal to me," Lennox told AP.
Lennox's touring partner brings even less -- "my suitcase, toothbrush, my guitars and a chess set."
Does Sting always win?
"That depends on how much the crew and band want to keep their jobs," he said, laughing.
Incubus wings it
Incubus has been working at the rock 'n' roll game for so long, they've decided it's time for something different. But luckily for fans, that change doesn't involve band members or musical direction -- they're simply switching up their already explosive live set.
"We have so many different records and songs to choose from, that we're playing different sets now," singer Brandon Boyd told The Associated Press. "We'll have a couple different set models where eight or ten songs will be different every night. And were improvising more."
Boyd and his bandmates, who released the album "A Crow Left of Murder" earlier this year, are excited about revisiting songs they haven't played in some time.
"We're doing a lot of stuff that we recorded but never put on any records that a lot of hardcore fans know about from the Internet and from talking to each other," Boyd said.
Incubus' revised set lists include old fan favorites like "Crowded Elevator" and songs from their debut album, "S.C.I.E.N.C.E." When they're not writing set lists, Incubus pass the time on the tour bus by watching DVDs and exploring cities on their itinerary.
An avid amateur photographer, Boyd always makes sure to pack his cameras. He often sneaks away from the bus to explore the cities where they are playing. "I'm an avid walker," he said. "I love getting out, and when we have a day off, I'll walk until I can't walk anymore."
Saturday, June 12, 2004 Posted: 7:17 AM EDT (1117 GMT)
Dido
(AP) -- Summer's a big time for tours, and this year artists ranging from Van Halen to John Mayer are on the road.
The Associated Press talked to several artists about their plans -- and how they cope with the long, lazy days away from home.
Dido hangs with friends
When Dido goes out on the road, she likes to surround herself with people she's certain she'll get along with. And for the London-born pop star, that just so happens to be an easy task.
With four tour buses in tow -- and at least a half-dozen people bunking on her bus alone -- the petite singer has just enough people to keep her company, and keep things interesting.
"We're polite for about three days -- if we make it that long," she told The Associated Press. "I wouldn't have anyone on tour I don't get on with."
Dido, whose recent album "Life For Rent" has sold over 1.7 million copies in the United States, will visit more than a dozen U.S. cities this summer. And the singer-songwriter, whose career skyrocketed when rapper Eminem sampled her song "Thank You," for his hit "Stan," is no stranger to being the subject of on-the-road folly.
At a recent show in San Diego, she recalls her most embarrassing on-tour moment when she took a tumble off the stage. "I'm clumsy," she said. "I went back one step too far, and went flying. I just got up and laughed and carried on going."
It's a good thing she always remembers to pack her sense of humor.
Nickelback yuks it up
Nickelback has discovered the perfect pastime for life on the road -- the fine art of playing pranks.
Recently, lead singer Chad Kroeger planned retaliation for a previous prank. It involved the band's bus driver and a lightning storm (which shook the tour bus) and resulted in incriminating photos of the band and crew sitting on top of bags of garbage, protecting themselves from lightning.
"This joke traveled for a good week and a half," Kroeger told The Associated Press during a break before the band's upcoming summer tour.
Kroeger and his antics could put Ashton Kutcher out of a job, but for now, he's content being the frontman for the multiplatinum-selling, Canadian-based rock act. Best known for hits such as "How You Remind Me," they'll be hitting U.S. amphitheaters and pavilions with 3 Doors Down and Puddle of Mudd.
Nickelback is meticulous in the planning of their concerts.
"We have a very scientific approach," Kroeger said of the band's set list. "We like to know what songs have done best on radio, because in different places, different songs have done better. When we get up to Detroit and around there our early stuff was huge, it stayed up at the top of the charts for a long time. So we'll pull out stuff that we haven't played in a while."
Onstage, it's all about the music. But after the show's over, it's back to the pranks -- and the guys know to watch their backs for the night.
"The guys say, 'Don't ever do anything to Chad,"' Kroeger joked. "'And make sure he doesn't know where your toothbrush is."'
Sting and Lennox: Sharing a stage
Sting and Annie Lennox have a lot in common: Grammy wins, world-renowned new wave bands, families, lucrative solo careers.
Yet in the 30-odd years that the veteran musicians have known each other, they have yet to share a stage -- until now.
"People know they are going to get quality," Sting told The Associated Press of his upcoming tour, which he will co-headline with Lennox. Sting is currently organizing his set list, which will include songs from his latest album, "Sacred Love," as well old Police classics. He also confirmed that the pair will perform a song together.
Lennox will concentrate on material from her most recent album, "Bare." But she will dig into the past and perform Eurythmics material.
Of all the things the singers have in common, their lists of "must-have" on-tour supplies are also in harmony -- both are light packers. Lennox, who says she feels like a "witch doctor" when she packs her homeopathic remedies and "odd cures" to ward off illness, also brings along scented candles.
"When I go into a hotel, it's not my room, so I always bring a scented candle or incense so it becomes more personal to me," Lennox told AP.
Lennox's touring partner brings even less -- "my suitcase, toothbrush, my guitars and a chess set."
Does Sting always win?
"That depends on how much the crew and band want to keep their jobs," he said, laughing.
Incubus wings it
Incubus has been working at the rock 'n' roll game for so long, they've decided it's time for something different. But luckily for fans, that change doesn't involve band members or musical direction -- they're simply switching up their already explosive live set.
"We have so many different records and songs to choose from, that we're playing different sets now," singer Brandon Boyd told The Associated Press. "We'll have a couple different set models where eight or ten songs will be different every night. And were improvising more."
Boyd and his bandmates, who released the album "A Crow Left of Murder" earlier this year, are excited about revisiting songs they haven't played in some time.
"We're doing a lot of stuff that we recorded but never put on any records that a lot of hardcore fans know about from the Internet and from talking to each other," Boyd said.
Incubus' revised set lists include old fan favorites like "Crowded Elevator" and songs from their debut album, "S.C.I.E.N.C.E." When they're not writing set lists, Incubus pass the time on the tour bus by watching DVDs and exploring cities on their itinerary.
An avid amateur photographer, Boyd always makes sure to pack his cameras. He often sneaks away from the bus to explore the cities where they are playing. "I'm an avid walker," he said. "I love getting out, and when we have a day off, I'll walk until I can't walk anymore."
mercredi, juin 09, 2004
The ups and downs of being the Strokes
Band deals with fickle public, critics
By Kevin Drew, CNN
Tuesday, June 8, 2004 Posted: 5:27 PM EDT (2127 GMT)
The Strokes relax at a tour stop. The band has gone from being critical darlings to ... well, not being critical darlings.
ATLANTA, Georgia (CNN) -- A funny thing happened to the Strokes on the way to becoming anointed as rock 'n' roll's salvation: The same instant media buzz saw that uplifted them as rising stars became a vehicle for critics to try and tear them down.
The past three years have been a roller coaster for the band. Before its first album was even released, the group reached a level of fame that most veteran musicians only dream of. Almost as quickly, a backlash among critics and fans developed as their second album was released.
The band has understandably developed a tough, fatalistic skin.
"We don't even think about that kind of stuff; if it happens it'll happen, it'll always happen," said guitarist Albert Hammond Jr. in a recent interview.
As the band completes touring off its second album, "Room on Fire," which came out last October, it's preparing to go back to the studio and begin work on a third album, which band members say will stay grounded in their rock roots.
Take it or leave it, they say.
"The only way we can prevail through anything is to work on our music ... it got us here in the first place," Hammond said.
'Coolest band on Earth' to 'What's wrong?'
It's difficult for any band to continue to live up to the hype generated from the Strokes' first full album, the fall 2001 release "Is This It."
Hailed as a long-awaited rock 'n' roll antidote to the boy band and R&B-saturated pop music scene of the late 1990s, the group -- Hammond, lead singer Julian Casablancas, guitarist Nick Valensi, bassist Nikolai Fraiture and drummer Fabrizio Moretti -- immediately was embraced by many industry watchers as a fresh voice that tipped an inspirational hat to New Wave pioneers 20 years earlier.
"Is This It" drew comparisons to the Velvet Underground and rock acts of the late 1970s and early 1980s, helping launch a wave of retro-rock bands. By the time the band released "Room on Fire," an article in the mainstream music magazine Spin labeled them "arguably the coolest band on Earth."
"When that kind of stuff happens, especially when you've never had anything, you don't really even know what it is," Hammond said.
Any rock band that rises so far so fast will inevitably generate resentment, with some watching for a fall just as rapid. But the speed by which negative Internet postings about the Strokes appeared is not only a statement about today's instant cyberspace media, but also the strong feelings the group provokes.
"The only way we can prevail through anything is to work on our music," says guitarist Albert Hammond Jr.
By mid-2001, before their first album had released, the tone in Internet chat rooms and bulletin board discussing the band ranged from passionate cheerleading to criticism that questioned the accolades being placed on a group before its first album release. Even the group's musical skills were challenged.
The band members' upbringings didn't help. Casablancas is the son of model agency mogul John Casablancas. Hammond is the son of singer-songwriter Albert Hammond, who wrote "It Never Rains in Southern California" and other hits. All five band members are products of upper-class grooming, with prep-school educations. Some postings wondered out loud if such privileged lives gave them a boost in the entertainment industry.
"Is This It" peaked at No. 33 in Billboard's album sales charts, and the band members found themselves the objects of mass adulation and the celebrity whirl.
In November 2001, just a month after their first album release, an article appeared in Salon.com entitled "What's wrong with the Strokes?", which asked how such a young band could ignite such devotion or hatred.
"It's tough to answer," Hammond said. "All I know is we worked really hard to get ahead, and everything that people think we had, we didn't."
"It gets a little annoying and hard to deal with," Hammond continued, referring to criticism of their upbringing, "because, you know, it's something you can't pick, it's something you can't choose in life. We all love our parents, our families."
'It doesn't really matter what everyone says'
As the second album was completed and released, a decision was made by the band to not engage in saturation publicity, said manager Ryan Gentles.
"We were trying to do less media and fewer big things," Gentles said. "We could have done as much as the first album, but we just turned some down on purpose."
When "Room on Fire" was released, it was met with lukewarm reactions from music journalists who said it didn't match the intensity and whimsical fun of the first album. It peaked at No. 4 in the Billboard charts -- a better showing than "Is This It," but without the buzz.
Hammond makes no apologies for the second album, which has more complex material, with songs influenced by synthesizers, R&B and straightforward punk styles.
"As an album, I love it, I think it's fantastic. I'm very proud of it," he said.
"If we write something that is undeniably great, then in the long term it doesn't really matter what everyone says now," Hammond added.
And if the band has suffered from any so-called backlash, Gentles said, it hasn't shown, pointing to a tour this year of 35 sold-out concerts.
"This tour has gone great," he said. "It's quite an accomplishment, I think."
As for the future, the band is making plans to begin recording its third album later this year. It will stay true to the band's rock roots, Hammond said.
"Julian is the songwriter of the band," Gentles said. "He may want to go in different directions, but still sounding like The Strokes. I don't think you're going to hear a concept album."
"I don't think we're going to be the kind of band that start playing stadiums or arenas," Gentles added. "Even if we could sell that many tickets we really don't want to. We really like playing the venues of 2,000 to 5,000."
Hammond's future goals are just as straightforward: "I'd like to make many, many records. I'd like to be a band that has success but at the same time have respect for trying to work hard and write good music."
As the interview concludes, he has one last thought on any critics. "They can't believe that five guys who look good and play great music actually can make it," he said.
By Kevin Drew, CNN
Tuesday, June 8, 2004 Posted: 5:27 PM EDT (2127 GMT)
The Strokes relax at a tour stop. The band has gone from being critical darlings to ... well, not being critical darlings.
ATLANTA, Georgia (CNN) -- A funny thing happened to the Strokes on the way to becoming anointed as rock 'n' roll's salvation: The same instant media buzz saw that uplifted them as rising stars became a vehicle for critics to try and tear them down.
The past three years have been a roller coaster for the band. Before its first album was even released, the group reached a level of fame that most veteran musicians only dream of. Almost as quickly, a backlash among critics and fans developed as their second album was released.
The band has understandably developed a tough, fatalistic skin.
"We don't even think about that kind of stuff; if it happens it'll happen, it'll always happen," said guitarist Albert Hammond Jr. in a recent interview.
As the band completes touring off its second album, "Room on Fire," which came out last October, it's preparing to go back to the studio and begin work on a third album, which band members say will stay grounded in their rock roots.
Take it or leave it, they say.
"The only way we can prevail through anything is to work on our music ... it got us here in the first place," Hammond said.
'Coolest band on Earth' to 'What's wrong?'
It's difficult for any band to continue to live up to the hype generated from the Strokes' first full album, the fall 2001 release "Is This It."
Hailed as a long-awaited rock 'n' roll antidote to the boy band and R&B-saturated pop music scene of the late 1990s, the group -- Hammond, lead singer Julian Casablancas, guitarist Nick Valensi, bassist Nikolai Fraiture and drummer Fabrizio Moretti -- immediately was embraced by many industry watchers as a fresh voice that tipped an inspirational hat to New Wave pioneers 20 years earlier.
"Is This It" drew comparisons to the Velvet Underground and rock acts of the late 1970s and early 1980s, helping launch a wave of retro-rock bands. By the time the band released "Room on Fire," an article in the mainstream music magazine Spin labeled them "arguably the coolest band on Earth."
"When that kind of stuff happens, especially when you've never had anything, you don't really even know what it is," Hammond said.
Any rock band that rises so far so fast will inevitably generate resentment, with some watching for a fall just as rapid. But the speed by which negative Internet postings about the Strokes appeared is not only a statement about today's instant cyberspace media, but also the strong feelings the group provokes.
"The only way we can prevail through anything is to work on our music," says guitarist Albert Hammond Jr.
By mid-2001, before their first album had released, the tone in Internet chat rooms and bulletin board discussing the band ranged from passionate cheerleading to criticism that questioned the accolades being placed on a group before its first album release. Even the group's musical skills were challenged.
The band members' upbringings didn't help. Casablancas is the son of model agency mogul John Casablancas. Hammond is the son of singer-songwriter Albert Hammond, who wrote "It Never Rains in Southern California" and other hits. All five band members are products of upper-class grooming, with prep-school educations. Some postings wondered out loud if such privileged lives gave them a boost in the entertainment industry.
"Is This It" peaked at No. 33 in Billboard's album sales charts, and the band members found themselves the objects of mass adulation and the celebrity whirl.
In November 2001, just a month after their first album release, an article appeared in Salon.com entitled "What's wrong with the Strokes?", which asked how such a young band could ignite such devotion or hatred.
"It's tough to answer," Hammond said. "All I know is we worked really hard to get ahead, and everything that people think we had, we didn't."
"It gets a little annoying and hard to deal with," Hammond continued, referring to criticism of their upbringing, "because, you know, it's something you can't pick, it's something you can't choose in life. We all love our parents, our families."
'It doesn't really matter what everyone says'
As the second album was completed and released, a decision was made by the band to not engage in saturation publicity, said manager Ryan Gentles.
"We were trying to do less media and fewer big things," Gentles said. "We could have done as much as the first album, but we just turned some down on purpose."
When "Room on Fire" was released, it was met with lukewarm reactions from music journalists who said it didn't match the intensity and whimsical fun of the first album. It peaked at No. 4 in the Billboard charts -- a better showing than "Is This It," but without the buzz.
Hammond makes no apologies for the second album, which has more complex material, with songs influenced by synthesizers, R&B and straightforward punk styles.
"As an album, I love it, I think it's fantastic. I'm very proud of it," he said.
"If we write something that is undeniably great, then in the long term it doesn't really matter what everyone says now," Hammond added.
And if the band has suffered from any so-called backlash, Gentles said, it hasn't shown, pointing to a tour this year of 35 sold-out concerts.
"This tour has gone great," he said. "It's quite an accomplishment, I think."
As for the future, the band is making plans to begin recording its third album later this year. It will stay true to the band's rock roots, Hammond said.
"Julian is the songwriter of the band," Gentles said. "He may want to go in different directions, but still sounding like The Strokes. I don't think you're going to hear a concept album."
"I don't think we're going to be the kind of band that start playing stadiums or arenas," Gentles added. "Even if we could sell that many tickets we really don't want to. We really like playing the venues of 2,000 to 5,000."
Hammond's future goals are just as straightforward: "I'd like to make many, many records. I'd like to be a band that has success but at the same time have respect for trying to work hard and write good music."
As the interview concludes, he has one last thought on any critics. "They can't believe that five guys who look good and play great music actually can make it," he said.
Robert Quine RIP
Guitarist Robert Quine found dead
Played with Lou Reed, Tom Waits, Matthew Sweet
Tuesday, June 8, 2004 Posted: 8:50 AM EDT (1250 GMT)
LOS ANGELES, California/NEW YORK (Billboard) -- Guitarist Robert Quine, one of punk rock's most daring soloists, was found dead Saturday in his New York apartment. He was 61.
According to close friend and guitar maker Rick Kelly, who discovered Quine's body, the musician died of a heroin overdose Memorial Day weekend. He had been despondent over the recent death of his wife.
Born in Akron, Ohio, Quine was heavily influenced by the Velvet Underground, whose music he recorded obsessively while living in San Francisco. He moved to New York in 1971 and became the lead guitarist for bassist Richard Hell's important group the Voidoids, with whom he recorded two albums. His skittering, unpredictable work with Hell defined the possibilities of punk guitar.
During the '80s, he recorded and toured frequently with Lou Reed and played on saxophonist/composer John Zorn's best-known albums. Quine made key guest appearances on Tom Waits' "Rain Dogs" (1985) and Marianne Faithfull's "Strange Weather" (1987). In 1989, he began a long association with Matthew Sweet; he also worked regularly with Lloyd Cole.
In 2001, Universal released a three-CD box of Quine's live 1969 recordings of the Velvet Underground, "The Bootleg Series Volume 1: The Quine Tapes."
"Robert Quine was a magnificent guitar player -- an original and innovative tyro of the vintage beast," Reed said in a statement released to Billboard.com. "He was an extraordinary mixture of taste, intelligence and rock'n'roll abilities coupled with major technique and a scholar's memory for every decent guitar lick ever played under the musical son. He made tapes for me for which I am eternally grateful -- tapes of the juiciest parts of solos from players long gone.
"Quine was smarter than them all. And the proof is in the recordings, some of which happily are mine. If you can find more interesting sounds and musical clusters than Quine on 'Waves of Fear' (from Reed's 1982 album "The Blue Mask"), well, it's probably something else by Robert."
"He was a marvelous guitarist, a soulful music lover with high standards and had an eviscerating wit," Patti Smith Band drummer Jay Dee Daugherty told Billboard.com. "He did not suffer fools gladly, but made up for it with a thinly disguised generosity of spirit."
Copyright 2004 Reuters. All rights reserved.This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Played with Lou Reed, Tom Waits, Matthew Sweet
Tuesday, June 8, 2004 Posted: 8:50 AM EDT (1250 GMT)
LOS ANGELES, California/NEW YORK (Billboard) -- Guitarist Robert Quine, one of punk rock's most daring soloists, was found dead Saturday in his New York apartment. He was 61.
According to close friend and guitar maker Rick Kelly, who discovered Quine's body, the musician died of a heroin overdose Memorial Day weekend. He had been despondent over the recent death of his wife.
Born in Akron, Ohio, Quine was heavily influenced by the Velvet Underground, whose music he recorded obsessively while living in San Francisco. He moved to New York in 1971 and became the lead guitarist for bassist Richard Hell's important group the Voidoids, with whom he recorded two albums. His skittering, unpredictable work with Hell defined the possibilities of punk guitar.
During the '80s, he recorded and toured frequently with Lou Reed and played on saxophonist/composer John Zorn's best-known albums. Quine made key guest appearances on Tom Waits' "Rain Dogs" (1985) and Marianne Faithfull's "Strange Weather" (1987). In 1989, he began a long association with Matthew Sweet; he also worked regularly with Lloyd Cole.
In 2001, Universal released a three-CD box of Quine's live 1969 recordings of the Velvet Underground, "The Bootleg Series Volume 1: The Quine Tapes."
"Robert Quine was a magnificent guitar player -- an original and innovative tyro of the vintage beast," Reed said in a statement released to Billboard.com. "He was an extraordinary mixture of taste, intelligence and rock'n'roll abilities coupled with major technique and a scholar's memory for every decent guitar lick ever played under the musical son. He made tapes for me for which I am eternally grateful -- tapes of the juiciest parts of solos from players long gone.
"Quine was smarter than them all. And the proof is in the recordings, some of which happily are mine. If you can find more interesting sounds and musical clusters than Quine on 'Waves of Fear' (from Reed's 1982 album "The Blue Mask"), well, it's probably something else by Robert."
"He was a marvelous guitarist, a soulful music lover with high standards and had an eviscerating wit," Patti Smith Band drummer Jay Dee Daugherty told Billboard.com. "He did not suffer fools gladly, but made up for it with a thinly disguised generosity of spirit."
Copyright 2004 Reuters. All rights reserved.This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
lundi, juin 07, 2004
Peter Gabriel Live
Peter Gabriel, National Indoor Arena Birmingham
By Martin Longley
07 June 2004
Until recently, Peter Gabriel has not been prolific. Now, he's back already, updating last year's Grown Up stage show, rechristened as Still Growing Up. It's a collaboration with the director Robert Lepage, performed in the round and making imaginative use of lighting effects to create radical changes of mood.
Gabriel marches on alone, standing at his keyboard and laptop table. The house lights are on full glare as he sings "Here Comes the Flood", immediately establishing the grainy, throaty command of his still-distinctive voice. Then the lights are killed and the band sweeps on, lurching into a more predictable hardness.
Gabriel has a reputation for skewed rock drama, but at root, these songs are conventionally anthemic. It's often the theatrics that give them their twist. Many numbers have a scene-setting story, but after a while these introductions can seem too pat, too rehearsed.
Gabriel's vocal texture is often lost when battling against the bombast of his band; this crew needs to leave more space. Gabriel always employs English irony to subvert the stadium-sized setting, but sometimes he's in danger of being seduced by this air-punching experience. When he bangs his tambourine in the air and windmills in circles, we smile. But doubt descends when he consents to his orange-clad roadies raising their arms to the God-like descent of his sagging, tubular "Zorb" ball.
Thankfully, for "Growing up", Gabriel clambers inside this showpiece transparent globule and rolls around the edge of the stage, threatening to crush his own band as he bounces along. How tempting it must be to hurtle down into the crowd, surfing over their heads. The orange roadies look worried.
Gabriel is fixated on rotation. During "Games Without Frontiers" he perambulates around on one of those two-wheeler lawn mower things, again causing concern when he nears the stage lip. He's trained daughter Melanie Gabriel well, as she mimics his actions, riding and singing in tandem. Indeed, the whole band is draped in black smocks, following their leader in his spiritual sage look.
The oldest songs remain the best. Their existence almost transcends their delivery. When Gabriel wobbles around the perimeter on his undersized bicycle, singing without pause for breath, "Solsbury Hill" becomes an oddly anti-anthemic anthem. A homely treatment for such a grand ditty.
"Sledgehammer" is more conventional. Then "Biko" is majestic, again showing that Gabriel doesn't need to prod his audience into singing or clapping along. These things happen naturally, house lights burning, the mighty song exposed and more relevant than ever.
'Still Growing Up', Wembley Arena, London HA9 (0870 060 0870; www.whatsonwembley.com) tonight and tomorrow
By Martin Longley
07 June 2004
Until recently, Peter Gabriel has not been prolific. Now, he's back already, updating last year's Grown Up stage show, rechristened as Still Growing Up. It's a collaboration with the director Robert Lepage, performed in the round and making imaginative use of lighting effects to create radical changes of mood.
Gabriel marches on alone, standing at his keyboard and laptop table. The house lights are on full glare as he sings "Here Comes the Flood", immediately establishing the grainy, throaty command of his still-distinctive voice. Then the lights are killed and the band sweeps on, lurching into a more predictable hardness.
Gabriel has a reputation for skewed rock drama, but at root, these songs are conventionally anthemic. It's often the theatrics that give them their twist. Many numbers have a scene-setting story, but after a while these introductions can seem too pat, too rehearsed.
Gabriel's vocal texture is often lost when battling against the bombast of his band; this crew needs to leave more space. Gabriel always employs English irony to subvert the stadium-sized setting, but sometimes he's in danger of being seduced by this air-punching experience. When he bangs his tambourine in the air and windmills in circles, we smile. But doubt descends when he consents to his orange-clad roadies raising their arms to the God-like descent of his sagging, tubular "Zorb" ball.
Thankfully, for "Growing up", Gabriel clambers inside this showpiece transparent globule and rolls around the edge of the stage, threatening to crush his own band as he bounces along. How tempting it must be to hurtle down into the crowd, surfing over their heads. The orange roadies look worried.
Gabriel is fixated on rotation. During "Games Without Frontiers" he perambulates around on one of those two-wheeler lawn mower things, again causing concern when he nears the stage lip. He's trained daughter Melanie Gabriel well, as she mimics his actions, riding and singing in tandem. Indeed, the whole band is draped in black smocks, following their leader in his spiritual sage look.
The oldest songs remain the best. Their existence almost transcends their delivery. When Gabriel wobbles around the perimeter on his undersized bicycle, singing without pause for breath, "Solsbury Hill" becomes an oddly anti-anthemic anthem. A homely treatment for such a grand ditty.
"Sledgehammer" is more conventional. Then "Biko" is majestic, again showing that Gabriel doesn't need to prod his audience into singing or clapping along. These things happen naturally, house lights burning, the mighty song exposed and more relevant than ever.
'Still Growing Up', Wembley Arena, London HA9 (0870 060 0870; www.whatsonwembley.com) tonight and tomorrow
samedi, juin 05, 2004
Pixies, Brixton Academy, London
Away for so long but not yet a museum piece
By Nick Hasted
03 June 2004
Exactly how much this, the first UK night of the Pixies' reunion tour, means to the crowd is shown when they walk on stage to the loudest, most relieved cheer I have ever heard: a moment of mass catharsis that is emotionally devastating. Whether any mere flesh and blood band can live up to the memories that cheer represents is debatable.
Singer Black Francis, never skinny, now has the bald head, black clothes and girth of Brando's Colonel Kurtz. Kim Deal and Joey Santiago flank him, impassive and barely altered. They start in the byways of their back catalogue. "Here Comes Your Man'' is played with acoustic guitars. Only when Francis milks the suddenly pertinent lyric, "he's been away so long,'' does the occasion start to permeate the music. Clearly concerned to be more than a museum piece, they start to fracture songs with instrumental squalls.
The response to faithfully-played favourites shows how alive the old songs are. The crowd is whispering the words of "Ways Of Mutilation'' before Deal starts to sing them. When Francis starts to count down the strange numerical universe of "Monkey Gone To Heaven'' - hundreds of fingers slip the numbers back at him. It's a new ritual, for a new cult; when the Pixies last played, half this crowd were children.
By Nick Hasted
03 June 2004
Exactly how much this, the first UK night of the Pixies' reunion tour, means to the crowd is shown when they walk on stage to the loudest, most relieved cheer I have ever heard: a moment of mass catharsis that is emotionally devastating. Whether any mere flesh and blood band can live up to the memories that cheer represents is debatable.
Singer Black Francis, never skinny, now has the bald head, black clothes and girth of Brando's Colonel Kurtz. Kim Deal and Joey Santiago flank him, impassive and barely altered. They start in the byways of their back catalogue. "Here Comes Your Man'' is played with acoustic guitars. Only when Francis milks the suddenly pertinent lyric, "he's been away so long,'' does the occasion start to permeate the music. Clearly concerned to be more than a museum piece, they start to fracture songs with instrumental squalls.
The response to faithfully-played favourites shows how alive the old songs are. The crowd is whispering the words of "Ways Of Mutilation'' before Deal starts to sing them. When Francis starts to count down the strange numerical universe of "Monkey Gone To Heaven'' - hundreds of fingers slip the numbers back at him. It's a new ritual, for a new cult; when the Pixies last played, half this crowd were children.
Hope of the States
The Lost Riots, Sony
By Andy Gill
04 June 2004
The suicide of the guitarist Jimmi Lawrence just as Hope of the States were adding the finishing touches to their debut album has lent The Lost Riots a similar melancholy cachet to that which surrounded Joy Division's Closer, another album stained by suicide. In both cases, the gloomy circumstances are reflected in the Gothic darkness of the music, though where Closer seemed to offer a willing embrace of fate, The Lost Riots strives to surmount the darkness through a full-blooded, anthemic approach that's full of yearning.
The opening instrumental, "The Black Amnesias", is typical, building swiftly from a quiet acoustic guitar intro to a soaring cathedral of fizzing electric guitars and violins that recalls the epic manner of Spiritualized or Doves, but in more of a hurry. And with more of a political sensibility, too, with an anti-American message in songs such as "Black Dollar Bills" and the bustling new single "The Red, the White, the Black, the Blue".
But this densely layered type of music requires a high degree of precision to pull off properly, and when they don't quite nail it, the results can be as ponderous as Embrace. Thankfully, the strike rate is reasonably high throughout The Lost Riots, which is surely destined to join Keane atop the UK album chart.
By Andy Gill
04 June 2004
The suicide of the guitarist Jimmi Lawrence just as Hope of the States were adding the finishing touches to their debut album has lent The Lost Riots a similar melancholy cachet to that which surrounded Joy Division's Closer, another album stained by suicide. In both cases, the gloomy circumstances are reflected in the Gothic darkness of the music, though where Closer seemed to offer a willing embrace of fate, The Lost Riots strives to surmount the darkness through a full-blooded, anthemic approach that's full of yearning.
The opening instrumental, "The Black Amnesias", is typical, building swiftly from a quiet acoustic guitar intro to a soaring cathedral of fizzing electric guitars and violins that recalls the epic manner of Spiritualized or Doves, but in more of a hurry. And with more of a political sensibility, too, with an anti-American message in songs such as "Black Dollar Bills" and the bustling new single "The Red, the White, the Black, the Blue".
But this densely layered type of music requires a high degree of precision to pull off properly, and when they don't quite nail it, the results can be as ponderous as Embrace. Thankfully, the strike rate is reasonably high throughout The Lost Riots, which is surely destined to join Keane atop the UK album chart.
Wilco 2004
Wilco. A Ghost Is Born, Nonesuch
By Andy Gill
04 June 2004
A Ghost Is Born is a curiously backward album. Most bands acknowledge the benefits of putting their most appealing songs up front, to snare prospective punters with the first few tracks. Not Wilco: this album opens with their slowest, most moody and unaccommodating pieces, but gradually gets more animated towards the latter stages. Perversely, the most winning songs are all in the last five tracks, a risky strategy which repays perseverance on the listener's part.
As with 2002's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, the album sidles crablike into earshot, with the diffident melancholy of "At Least That's What You Said" setting the tone for the first tracks, glum piano ballads which rumble ponderously along before climaxing with visceral, cathartic guitar solos in the piercing style of Neil Young. Once again, Jeff Tweedy seems trapped in emotional entanglements beyond his control: "I thought it was cute for you to kiss my purple black eye," he sings. "And even though I caught it from you/ I thought you were serious/ At least, that's what you said." By the fifth song, "Hummingbird", the album title and the track sequencing are starting to make sense, through lines such as "His goal in life was to be an echo" and the chorus "Remember to remember me/ Standing still in your past/ Floating fast like a hummingbird": once again, the album seems to be charting a disintegrating relationship, the "ghost" left behind as Tweedy regains his emotional equilibrium through the second half.
The better tracks are all at this end of the album: "I'm a Wheel" is a fairly straightforward, direct rocker distracted by its constantly unorthodox chord changes, while "Company in my Back" features a melodic hook that you can actually hum after one listen. "Theologians" is another catchy number, though it doesn't seem to be produced to optimum effectiveness. Avant-rocker Jim O'Rourke again shares production duties with the band, and it's tempting to imagine his hand behind the longer, weirder tracks such as "Spiders" and particularly "Less Than You Think", a haunting piano ballad which evaporates into a haze of electronic noise.
"The Late Greats" is a jaunty tribute to the rock'n'roll mythos which would have fitted well on Wilco's debut, Being There, as Tweedy's musings about how the greatest music is always the hardest to find lead him to reflect upon other examples of thwarted desire - how, for instance, "the best laugh never leaves your lung". And how ultimately, things are probably best left that way. In a way, A Ghost Is Born itself exemplifies that attitude: it'll probably never be heard on daytime radio, and even sympathetic fans will have to dig deep into its running-order to find its greatest moments. Well worth the excavation, though.
By Andy Gill
04 June 2004
A Ghost Is Born is a curiously backward album. Most bands acknowledge the benefits of putting their most appealing songs up front, to snare prospective punters with the first few tracks. Not Wilco: this album opens with their slowest, most moody and unaccommodating pieces, but gradually gets more animated towards the latter stages. Perversely, the most winning songs are all in the last five tracks, a risky strategy which repays perseverance on the listener's part.
As with 2002's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, the album sidles crablike into earshot, with the diffident melancholy of "At Least That's What You Said" setting the tone for the first tracks, glum piano ballads which rumble ponderously along before climaxing with visceral, cathartic guitar solos in the piercing style of Neil Young. Once again, Jeff Tweedy seems trapped in emotional entanglements beyond his control: "I thought it was cute for you to kiss my purple black eye," he sings. "And even though I caught it from you/ I thought you were serious/ At least, that's what you said." By the fifth song, "Hummingbird", the album title and the track sequencing are starting to make sense, through lines such as "His goal in life was to be an echo" and the chorus "Remember to remember me/ Standing still in your past/ Floating fast like a hummingbird": once again, the album seems to be charting a disintegrating relationship, the "ghost" left behind as Tweedy regains his emotional equilibrium through the second half.
The better tracks are all at this end of the album: "I'm a Wheel" is a fairly straightforward, direct rocker distracted by its constantly unorthodox chord changes, while "Company in my Back" features a melodic hook that you can actually hum after one listen. "Theologians" is another catchy number, though it doesn't seem to be produced to optimum effectiveness. Avant-rocker Jim O'Rourke again shares production duties with the band, and it's tempting to imagine his hand behind the longer, weirder tracks such as "Spiders" and particularly "Less Than You Think", a haunting piano ballad which evaporates into a haze of electronic noise.
"The Late Greats" is a jaunty tribute to the rock'n'roll mythos which would have fitted well on Wilco's debut, Being There, as Tweedy's musings about how the greatest music is always the hardest to find lead him to reflect upon other examples of thwarted desire - how, for instance, "the best laugh never leaves your lung". And how ultimately, things are probably best left that way. In a way, A Ghost Is Born itself exemplifies that attitude: it'll probably never be heard on daytime radio, and even sympathetic fans will have to dig deep into its running-order to find its greatest moments. Well worth the excavation, though.
Faithless: All the trouble in the world
Faithless are back with a new album and a huge tour. And this time Britain's biggest dance band have some weighty matters to address, they tell Alexia Loundras
04 June 2004
"It's this place," gushes Maxi Jazz, the rapper in Faithless. "It's just so vibe-y." For house-music veterans, the band have an unlikely hippie disposition. Tucked away in the small corner of Copenhagen that makes up the "free state of Christiania", the band's live core - Jazz, a Buddhist and self-professed fry-up master, and the classical pianist turned DJ Sister Bliss - are in their element. The pair have just finished soundchecking for tonight's 2,000-capacity sold-out gig and the venue - a huge wooden hall with a ceiling like the hull of a Viking ship from which hangs a chandelier made of tiny milk bottles and whitewashed bicycle frames - is just as impressive as the liberal social experiment that spawned the idyllic community.
"I love the idea that people can live here exactly the way they want to," says Jazz.
Faithless face a summer packed with festival performances and a marathon 18-month tour to promote their fourth, and most ambitious, album, No Roots. After nine years, the novelty of living on the road together has worn thin. They are not entirely looking forward to what they call their "global schlep".
"Travelling like this," says Jazz, "is like being given a nice big piece of cake and only being allowed to nibble it."
The studio boffin Rollo Armstrong - the enigmatic mastermind who completes the Faithless trinity - has the best of both worlds. He orchestrates Faithless's sound but doesn't tour. He is a redundant cog in the band's stage incarnation and, as usual, he's absent today. Never mind travelling the world, he hardly even leaves Islington, busying himself concocting remixes and producing and co-writing albums with his little sister, Dido.
"We set out thinking this was going to be our last album," writes Rollo in the sleeve notes for No Roots. "Maybe we'd had our time in the sun." With the demise of dance music, Faithless felt their days were numbered. And their record label did little to allay their fears.
"Our record company came at us like the voice of doom," says Jazz. "They said selling us would be like pushing a snowball up a hill."
Instead of a new record, the label were angling for a greatest hits compilation. Bliss fervently resisted. "I thought it was too early for us - a 'greatest hits' record after three albums would have been like a nail in the coffin," she says. "I wanted to make sure people knew we were capable of doing something fresh." Faithless set about doing just that. "We weren't going to compromise," says Bliss. "We were going to make this album as brilliant as we possibly could. We were going to make it so that no one could ignore it."
Faithless have never been ones idly to milk a winning formula: they've evolved with each album. Their explosive 1996 debut, Reverence, spawned the club hits "Insomnia" and "Salva Mea", cementing their reputation for dance-floor-igniting classics. With the soulful follow-up Sunday 8pm, Faithless alternated their pounding house anthems with tales of lives lost and lived. Outrospective, Faithless's third effort, found them moving towards smoother, funkier sounds.
With No Roots, the band have again upped the ante. They sought to make a record in two parts - one more lyrical, the other more instrumental - where every song would be linked thematically. And, to test themselves further, they wanted to confine every note to the key of C - "like having to paint a masterpiece with three colours," says Jazz. It was a challenge. But Faithless have pulled it off: searing melodies meld into one another, while snatches of choruses and electronic swathes make cameo appearances, linking the tracks.
"We wanted every riff and every melody to sound clear - defiant," says Bliss. "Not a mushy stew." The new album, she continues, marks a progression for the band - not just musically, but lyrically too.
"As musicians, as people even, we've grown up," Jazz explains. "In the three years since our last record we've garnered a little more wisdom and we want to express it." Jazz's lyrics have always been powerful - his passionate narratives paint detailed pictures of strife, ecstasy and seduction. But this time he has something of an agenda. No Roots is a protest album.
The first single, "Mass Destruction", is the rapper's clarion call. Inspired by the war in Iraq and the repercussions of the "war on terror", it name-checks everyone from the energy conglomerate Halliburton to the BBC, and rails against ignorance, greed, thanklessness and indifference in the face of injustice. But although Jazz insists it's not a political song ("I'm not a political person, I don't think politics changes anything"), it is intended to incite reaction.
"The current state of affairs affects everybody," he says, leaning intently. "It's not just one army fighting another army - it's like my brother's kids are there in the front line. The most important words in the song are: 'you need to find courage, overcome/inaction is a weapon of mass destruction'. It's up to us individually to do what we can to register our protest, our dissatisfaction. It takes events like this to realise we'll be led into absolutely anything our supposed leaders feel we should be led into." Jazz sits back, spent with frustration. "Freedom of speech is no use to anybody if you're shouting down an empty well." Despite Jazz's undeniable passion, he doesn't intend to preach.
"That's the last thing you want," he says. "You just want to give someone something to think about." And that he does. Faithless believe in the collective power of humanity, which may seem an outdated concept in a world where a feeling of powerlessness has bred apathy. And, like the posters that litter the walls of tonight's venue, advertising a "Save Christiania Festival" (the community is under threat of closure), Faithless hope to fire emotion and inspire change.
No Roots is a stirring record. While Jazz's lyrics and those of the guest vocalist, LSK (who clearly shares much of Jazz's world view), may seem a little dark at times, they're balanced by wit and colourful turns of phrase. LSK's rich, soulful voice compliments Jazz's warm, rhythmic delivery.
Dido, too, makes her usual Faithless appearance, her glacial tones delicately jousting with Jazz's lava voice on "No Roots". (Singing on her brother Rollo's records is, after all, what inspired her to ditch her publishing job and pursue a music career of her own.) But it is multi-instrumentalist Bliss's heaving beats and trademark riffs - her crashing ocean of soaring and driving sounds - that elevates No Roots from a socio-political diatribe to the giddy highs of a DJ set.
But, for all its thought-provoking themes and rousing sonics, No Roots is essentially an album about love. "We're trying to put across an idea of an all-inclusive love," explains Jazz. While songs such as "In The End" and "I Want More" invite us to question the double standards in our society, the more personal "Miss U Less, See U More" and the title track, highlight the fact that, as Jazz says, "all our basic needs and wants have no cultural demarcation." That includes our need to belong.
There's a good chance this Faithless tour will be their last. The gigs won't stop, nor will the albums, but the relentless travelling will. Life, they say, is just too short to be spent on a bus.
"We're all getting on brilliantly and the music's great," says Bliss. "That's not the problem. The sex I'm not getting is the problem!"
The pair burst into knowing giggles. Nine years of hard work has, in one way, paid off. Dance culture may lie in tatters, yet Faithless remain popular - Radio 1 is all over the single. But it's time the band devoted the same effort to their personal lives. They are ready to put down some roots of their own.
"But whatever we do," says Jazz, a huge smile brightening his eyes, "we'll make sure the vibe is wonderful. Always."
The single 'Mass Destruction' is out on 31 May on Arista. 'No Roots' is released on 7 June
Faithless. No Roots, Cheeky
By Andy Gill
Faithless's Outrospective, says their press release, outsold offerings from Massive Attack, The Chemical Brothers and Basement Jaxx, presumably putting them at the forefront of UK dance. Odd, then, that for this follow-up they decided to move away from that album's eclecticism in favour of a more unified approach. So: no reggae beats, no Latin-house grooves, no Philly-soul numbers. In fact, nothing that's not in the key of C - a strategy whose potential for throwing out the baby with the bathwater is unfortunately realised. Part of the problem lies in Sister Bliss taking almost all the hands-on instrumental duties: withoutcontrasting ideas her parts start to sound similar, with few compelling melodies to distinguish tracks. Things aren't helped by the decision to sequence the album as just two segued suites. It seems like one long, endlessly cycling trance-house keyboard groove, while Maxi Jazz and the rapper LSK declaim upon romantic attraction, spiritual satisfaction and collective action. Bestare the social-realist commentaries "In the End", "I Want More" and "Mass Destruction", the last addressing attitudes as well as arms: "Whether Halliburton, Enron or anyone/ Greed is a weapon of mass destruction".
04 June 2004
"It's this place," gushes Maxi Jazz, the rapper in Faithless. "It's just so vibe-y." For house-music veterans, the band have an unlikely hippie disposition. Tucked away in the small corner of Copenhagen that makes up the "free state of Christiania", the band's live core - Jazz, a Buddhist and self-professed fry-up master, and the classical pianist turned DJ Sister Bliss - are in their element. The pair have just finished soundchecking for tonight's 2,000-capacity sold-out gig and the venue - a huge wooden hall with a ceiling like the hull of a Viking ship from which hangs a chandelier made of tiny milk bottles and whitewashed bicycle frames - is just as impressive as the liberal social experiment that spawned the idyllic community.
"I love the idea that people can live here exactly the way they want to," says Jazz.
Faithless face a summer packed with festival performances and a marathon 18-month tour to promote their fourth, and most ambitious, album, No Roots. After nine years, the novelty of living on the road together has worn thin. They are not entirely looking forward to what they call their "global schlep".
"Travelling like this," says Jazz, "is like being given a nice big piece of cake and only being allowed to nibble it."
The studio boffin Rollo Armstrong - the enigmatic mastermind who completes the Faithless trinity - has the best of both worlds. He orchestrates Faithless's sound but doesn't tour. He is a redundant cog in the band's stage incarnation and, as usual, he's absent today. Never mind travelling the world, he hardly even leaves Islington, busying himself concocting remixes and producing and co-writing albums with his little sister, Dido.
"We set out thinking this was going to be our last album," writes Rollo in the sleeve notes for No Roots. "Maybe we'd had our time in the sun." With the demise of dance music, Faithless felt their days were numbered. And their record label did little to allay their fears.
"Our record company came at us like the voice of doom," says Jazz. "They said selling us would be like pushing a snowball up a hill."
Instead of a new record, the label were angling for a greatest hits compilation. Bliss fervently resisted. "I thought it was too early for us - a 'greatest hits' record after three albums would have been like a nail in the coffin," she says. "I wanted to make sure people knew we were capable of doing something fresh." Faithless set about doing just that. "We weren't going to compromise," says Bliss. "We were going to make this album as brilliant as we possibly could. We were going to make it so that no one could ignore it."
Faithless have never been ones idly to milk a winning formula: they've evolved with each album. Their explosive 1996 debut, Reverence, spawned the club hits "Insomnia" and "Salva Mea", cementing their reputation for dance-floor-igniting classics. With the soulful follow-up Sunday 8pm, Faithless alternated their pounding house anthems with tales of lives lost and lived. Outrospective, Faithless's third effort, found them moving towards smoother, funkier sounds.
With No Roots, the band have again upped the ante. They sought to make a record in two parts - one more lyrical, the other more instrumental - where every song would be linked thematically. And, to test themselves further, they wanted to confine every note to the key of C - "like having to paint a masterpiece with three colours," says Jazz. It was a challenge. But Faithless have pulled it off: searing melodies meld into one another, while snatches of choruses and electronic swathes make cameo appearances, linking the tracks.
"We wanted every riff and every melody to sound clear - defiant," says Bliss. "Not a mushy stew." The new album, she continues, marks a progression for the band - not just musically, but lyrically too.
"As musicians, as people even, we've grown up," Jazz explains. "In the three years since our last record we've garnered a little more wisdom and we want to express it." Jazz's lyrics have always been powerful - his passionate narratives paint detailed pictures of strife, ecstasy and seduction. But this time he has something of an agenda. No Roots is a protest album.
The first single, "Mass Destruction", is the rapper's clarion call. Inspired by the war in Iraq and the repercussions of the "war on terror", it name-checks everyone from the energy conglomerate Halliburton to the BBC, and rails against ignorance, greed, thanklessness and indifference in the face of injustice. But although Jazz insists it's not a political song ("I'm not a political person, I don't think politics changes anything"), it is intended to incite reaction.
"The current state of affairs affects everybody," he says, leaning intently. "It's not just one army fighting another army - it's like my brother's kids are there in the front line. The most important words in the song are: 'you need to find courage, overcome/inaction is a weapon of mass destruction'. It's up to us individually to do what we can to register our protest, our dissatisfaction. It takes events like this to realise we'll be led into absolutely anything our supposed leaders feel we should be led into." Jazz sits back, spent with frustration. "Freedom of speech is no use to anybody if you're shouting down an empty well." Despite Jazz's undeniable passion, he doesn't intend to preach.
"That's the last thing you want," he says. "You just want to give someone something to think about." And that he does. Faithless believe in the collective power of humanity, which may seem an outdated concept in a world where a feeling of powerlessness has bred apathy. And, like the posters that litter the walls of tonight's venue, advertising a "Save Christiania Festival" (the community is under threat of closure), Faithless hope to fire emotion and inspire change.
No Roots is a stirring record. While Jazz's lyrics and those of the guest vocalist, LSK (who clearly shares much of Jazz's world view), may seem a little dark at times, they're balanced by wit and colourful turns of phrase. LSK's rich, soulful voice compliments Jazz's warm, rhythmic delivery.
Dido, too, makes her usual Faithless appearance, her glacial tones delicately jousting with Jazz's lava voice on "No Roots". (Singing on her brother Rollo's records is, after all, what inspired her to ditch her publishing job and pursue a music career of her own.) But it is multi-instrumentalist Bliss's heaving beats and trademark riffs - her crashing ocean of soaring and driving sounds - that elevates No Roots from a socio-political diatribe to the giddy highs of a DJ set.
But, for all its thought-provoking themes and rousing sonics, No Roots is essentially an album about love. "We're trying to put across an idea of an all-inclusive love," explains Jazz. While songs such as "In The End" and "I Want More" invite us to question the double standards in our society, the more personal "Miss U Less, See U More" and the title track, highlight the fact that, as Jazz says, "all our basic needs and wants have no cultural demarcation." That includes our need to belong.
There's a good chance this Faithless tour will be their last. The gigs won't stop, nor will the albums, but the relentless travelling will. Life, they say, is just too short to be spent on a bus.
"We're all getting on brilliantly and the music's great," says Bliss. "That's not the problem. The sex I'm not getting is the problem!"
The pair burst into knowing giggles. Nine years of hard work has, in one way, paid off. Dance culture may lie in tatters, yet Faithless remain popular - Radio 1 is all over the single. But it's time the band devoted the same effort to their personal lives. They are ready to put down some roots of their own.
"But whatever we do," says Jazz, a huge smile brightening his eyes, "we'll make sure the vibe is wonderful. Always."
The single 'Mass Destruction' is out on 31 May on Arista. 'No Roots' is released on 7 June
Faithless. No Roots, Cheeky
By Andy Gill
Faithless's Outrospective, says their press release, outsold offerings from Massive Attack, The Chemical Brothers and Basement Jaxx, presumably putting them at the forefront of UK dance. Odd, then, that for this follow-up they decided to move away from that album's eclecticism in favour of a more unified approach. So: no reggae beats, no Latin-house grooves, no Philly-soul numbers. In fact, nothing that's not in the key of C - a strategy whose potential for throwing out the baby with the bathwater is unfortunately realised. Part of the problem lies in Sister Bliss taking almost all the hands-on instrumental duties: withoutcontrasting ideas her parts start to sound similar, with few compelling melodies to distinguish tracks. Things aren't helped by the decision to sequence the album as just two segued suites. It seems like one long, endlessly cycling trance-house keyboard groove, while Maxi Jazz and the rapper LSK declaim upon romantic attraction, spiritual satisfaction and collective action. Bestare the social-realist commentaries "In the End", "I Want More" and "Mass Destruction", the last addressing attitudes as well as arms: "Whether Halliburton, Enron or anyone/ Greed is a weapon of mass destruction".
lundi, mai 31, 2004
The Others: The kids are all right
London, Saturday night. Teenagers are crowd-surfing down the aisle of a moving Tube train. Two carriages have just been commandeered by 200 fans of The Others, who are somewhere at the front playing a gig, announced over the internet hours earlier. The crowd-surfers are the self-styled 853 Division, the commandos of The Others' private army.
The Others are signed to Alan McGee's Poptones label, have been dubbed "the most worshipped new band in Britain" by NME, and have released one single, "This Is for the Poor", which just missed the Top 40 last Sunday. It is a good, class-conscious anthem, but it doesn't explain the band's fervent fan base. That has more to do with what happens after the gig, when singer Dominic Masters, 26, leads us through the streets to a pub near his East End home for an impromptu after-show party. As usual, fans too young to travel home alone sleep at his flat in their dozens. Others arrange house shares between themselves. Masters has also persuaded a promoter to let underage fans into clubs after hours, so no one has to be left out.
In the two years that The Others have existed, they have built an innocent, idealistic society around themselves. Playing music a world away from corporate fame and fortune, to hardcore fans whom Masters knows by name, the band's shambolic gigs are an excuse for exuberant teenage bonding.
"I know they're quite basic and everything," one teenage girl tells me, standing on a Tube seat to glimpse some action, "but what more do you want? They're not playing for the recognition. It's like they're playing for you." Now that the recognition is coming, of course, the fragile, private world The Others have built is in danger of dilution. But when I meet Masters, all that worries him is how to keep his ideals intact.
"What happens when there's too many people to care for?" he wonders. "Because partying with the audience, spending time together and not being on a different level is important. If they're putting an investment into your life, you should try and give as much of your life to them. And if it grows like it might, I've got to work out better ways to make sure that there is still equality, so that no one feels excluded."
The Others' movement seems mostly about fun, and tiny, intoxicating acts of rebellion - like the boy who illegally lights a cigarette during the Tube takeover. But Masters does detect some shared values. "I've got a boyfriend, see, called Johann," he shyly admits. "At first, when the band was going off, I didn't know what our appeal would be. When the heterosexual, Oasis kind of kids supporting us found out I had a boyfriend, I thought there might be some kind of backlash. But nothing was ever said. When we socialise, there are loads of gay kids, some Asian kids, some black kids, some real south Londoners, and kids up from Hertfordshire. We get the kids no one else wants."
The notion that The Others are a home for the excluded is emphasised by "This Is for the Poor", a calling card specifically rejecting the wealthy. The glut of posh girls merrily moshing to it on the Tube therefore leaves Masters utterly nonplussed. "This is a contentious issue," he says, brow furrowing. "I wrote 'This Is for the Poor' genuinely for my own social class. I can't say that it's an inclusive song. I find it hard to understand how a middle-class kid could go through the pain or troubles that a lot of working-class kids have to, just to leave home. There is this divide, and I wanted to write for people like me."
Masters's roots are in Somerset, the son of a strong mother who sold marijuana to get by and a welder father who left when he was four. When he got out at 18, to study politics in London, he was soon dealing to students himself before "getting a bit carried away", and quitting just in time. He was married then, too, to an Israeli girl in a New Romantic group. For a while, he lived the conventional life, and dreamed of joining the Civil Service. Only when that hope was dashed, and the loving cocoon of his marriage collapsed, did he think of rock'n'roll. Becoming a face on London's underground rock scene, he pretended to be in a band. When the Portuguese rockers The Parkinsons called his bluff by offering him a gig, he formed The Others just in time to play. The Parkinsons took the fledglings "under their wing", then The Libertines "adopted us". It's a fan's story, more than a star's.
The cloud on the horizon remains the limits that Masters may one day find to his vision of an inclusive rock'n'roll community, when not every fan who jumps on stage can be trusted, or named. But that won't stop him trying. "To give people a good time - I think that's a good quality," he muses. "It's just, how long can you give them a good time for? After the concert and the sleepovers, when it goes back to normal life - that's when you can't keep looking after them. That's why we should try and build something out of this, so that if it does only last for a few years, we can at least forge a community centre out of it, or a youth club, or a pub.
"Maybe a pub," he decides. "Because it'll take two years to get the money together - and by then, all our fans will be old enough to drink..."
'This Is for the Poor' is out now on Poptones
The Others are signed to Alan McGee's Poptones label, have been dubbed "the most worshipped new band in Britain" by NME, and have released one single, "This Is for the Poor", which just missed the Top 40 last Sunday. It is a good, class-conscious anthem, but it doesn't explain the band's fervent fan base. That has more to do with what happens after the gig, when singer Dominic Masters, 26, leads us through the streets to a pub near his East End home for an impromptu after-show party. As usual, fans too young to travel home alone sleep at his flat in their dozens. Others arrange house shares between themselves. Masters has also persuaded a promoter to let underage fans into clubs after hours, so no one has to be left out.
In the two years that The Others have existed, they have built an innocent, idealistic society around themselves. Playing music a world away from corporate fame and fortune, to hardcore fans whom Masters knows by name, the band's shambolic gigs are an excuse for exuberant teenage bonding.
"I know they're quite basic and everything," one teenage girl tells me, standing on a Tube seat to glimpse some action, "but what more do you want? They're not playing for the recognition. It's like they're playing for you." Now that the recognition is coming, of course, the fragile, private world The Others have built is in danger of dilution. But when I meet Masters, all that worries him is how to keep his ideals intact.
"What happens when there's too many people to care for?" he wonders. "Because partying with the audience, spending time together and not being on a different level is important. If they're putting an investment into your life, you should try and give as much of your life to them. And if it grows like it might, I've got to work out better ways to make sure that there is still equality, so that no one feels excluded."
The Others' movement seems mostly about fun, and tiny, intoxicating acts of rebellion - like the boy who illegally lights a cigarette during the Tube takeover. But Masters does detect some shared values. "I've got a boyfriend, see, called Johann," he shyly admits. "At first, when the band was going off, I didn't know what our appeal would be. When the heterosexual, Oasis kind of kids supporting us found out I had a boyfriend, I thought there might be some kind of backlash. But nothing was ever said. When we socialise, there are loads of gay kids, some Asian kids, some black kids, some real south Londoners, and kids up from Hertfordshire. We get the kids no one else wants."
The notion that The Others are a home for the excluded is emphasised by "This Is for the Poor", a calling card specifically rejecting the wealthy. The glut of posh girls merrily moshing to it on the Tube therefore leaves Masters utterly nonplussed. "This is a contentious issue," he says, brow furrowing. "I wrote 'This Is for the Poor' genuinely for my own social class. I can't say that it's an inclusive song. I find it hard to understand how a middle-class kid could go through the pain or troubles that a lot of working-class kids have to, just to leave home. There is this divide, and I wanted to write for people like me."
Masters's roots are in Somerset, the son of a strong mother who sold marijuana to get by and a welder father who left when he was four. When he got out at 18, to study politics in London, he was soon dealing to students himself before "getting a bit carried away", and quitting just in time. He was married then, too, to an Israeli girl in a New Romantic group. For a while, he lived the conventional life, and dreamed of joining the Civil Service. Only when that hope was dashed, and the loving cocoon of his marriage collapsed, did he think of rock'n'roll. Becoming a face on London's underground rock scene, he pretended to be in a band. When the Portuguese rockers The Parkinsons called his bluff by offering him a gig, he formed The Others just in time to play. The Parkinsons took the fledglings "under their wing", then The Libertines "adopted us". It's a fan's story, more than a star's.
The cloud on the horizon remains the limits that Masters may one day find to his vision of an inclusive rock'n'roll community, when not every fan who jumps on stage can be trusted, or named. But that won't stop him trying. "To give people a good time - I think that's a good quality," he muses. "It's just, how long can you give them a good time for? After the concert and the sleepovers, when it goes back to normal life - that's when you can't keep looking after them. That's why we should try and build something out of this, so that if it does only last for a few years, we can at least forge a community centre out of it, or a youth club, or a pub.
"Maybe a pub," he decides. "Because it'll take two years to get the money together - and by then, all our fans will be old enough to drink..."
'This Is for the Poor' is out now on Poptones
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