What Went Down at the SU?

for fans of: The Maccabees, Bombay Bicycle Club, Everything Everything, Bloc Party

In selecting a name, Foals did themselves an injustice. Such as namesake suggests that they are meek and mild baby horses waiting to graze on success, yet, in reality, they are stallions galloping to the forefront of British music. To an extent, this is achieved through beautifully cogitated albums that mediate between geeky wackiness and swooping trance rock, however it is their live shows which set them far apart from their modern contemporaries.

Although they're set to sell out arenas throughout the UK in 2016 (and probably headline a few festivals while they're at it), Foals' most recent tour saw them territorising intimate venues across the country - including the University of Bristol's Student Union (like, is this real life? Foals are playing at my uni?!???). It was a weekend of epic proportions for the SU, with their Anson Rooms hosting two of the country's hottest live acts - Slaves shut it down on Saturday with Foals following suit on Sunday.

photo creds: here today

The tour is in support of their fourth studio album What Went Down - their most emphatic to date. Part of Foals' brilliance is their ability to craft four albums that, on the surface, are noticeably very different yet are all distinctly very Foals - they have their own intricately woven narratives, their own quirks, their own variation on sounds, yet it's easy to exclaim "yes! That's Foals!" in each respective era. It's been a gradual progression from the irrepressible vitality of 2008's Antidotes to the blizzardly intensity of their latest effort that have enabled Foals to shapeshift into one of the world's most intoxicating live acts.

It was of little surprise that the Bristol leg of their tour was nothing short of a spectacle. However, from the strike of the first chord of Snake Oil, things look initially unpromising. While the band instantly got into their element among the robotic guitars and febrile percussion, the crowd's response was lukewarm. A swell of panic swallowed the room - is this really what the show would be like? While Foals trotted thunderously onstage, the audience would just... bop? Luckily, as Snake Oil trickled into the emblematic opening of indie anthem Mountain At My Gates the tables turned and the circus was in town. The surge in enthusiasm created one of the most elated moments in the set and it became clear that, although they cherish the recent gems from What Went Down, Foals fans love one thing: familiarity.

photo creds: the guardian

Throughout the gig, the Anson Rooms perspired with sweat and passion in equal measure, exuding from both the stage and those who worshiped beneath it. From the disco bop of My Number; to the trance-inspired, shoulder-climbing rock of Spanish Sahara; and the fiery outbursts from frontman Yannis Phillipakis, booming "FUCK THE TORIES" to an explosion of cheers - anything thrown out there by the Oxford band was met with ardor. Foals fans experience something along the lines of idoltary for this band and their unique stream of thrashing guitar magnetism.

In a triumphant encore, Foals reentered the stage to deafening applause - which could've been way rowdier if not for the fatigue and breathlessness deep in the pits. They begun their final juncture onstage with delicate ballad London Thunder. Expressing the band's ambidexterity for the gracefully tender and the roaring epic, they launched into the incitement of their new era - What Went Down, whose blustering guitar rock could've caved the roof in, as limbs flew wall to wall and shoes soared off of feet. Terminating the hysteria with Two Steps, Twice, Phillipakis dives into the bodies and fully immerses himself in the success and undying devotion that the group have worked so hard to cement. Here's to another year of triumph for them.

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GIG REVIEW: Drenge - Electric Ballroom, 21st April

for fans of: Palma Violets, Royal Blood, Eagulls, Slaves, Nirvana

(photo creds: gigwise)

With a Letterman appearance across the pond, a sold out UK tour and a top 20 album under their belt, Drenge have got it going on. The London leg of the Undertow tour was held at Camden's famous Electric Ballroom - a mini-Brixton type venue with a dodgy paint job, known to house rising rock and punk acts.

For their sophomore effort Undertow, Drenge departed from dry wit and towards something as close to maturity as you can get while being a member of a rock band who gets cups of overpriced beer thrown at you every night. Undertow was written with a new voice; a new perspective on old themes of death, weapons, and vehement melancholy. While songs like The Snake rumble with vicious biblical undertones and Favourite Son dreams of bloodthirsty sex, they've made a grittier statement than their eponymous debut did. Luckily, their signature meditated fury is easily brought to the stage.

The Loveless brothers (plus one) emerged into a room pumping with testosterone. Sweating adolescent males with rubbery torsos mimicked the boiling angst of Drenge's stone cold grunge. Violent mosh pits broke out from the moment the first echoed chord of album stand-out Running Wild was strung.

The addition of a bassist means Drenge's sound is sonically expansive but lacks niche. They've been replaced with the likes of Slaves and Royal Blood - the latter of which's success they may not achieve as it's unlikely that this Sheffield-born band whose lyrics consist of themes similar to "make you piss your pants / I wanna break you in half" could get the backing of the clean-cut, viewer-hungry BRIT Awards. Regardless, the fever of their live presence really proves that they can do what they want and their fans will follow like a pack of salivating dogs.

(photo creds: gigwise)

What they lack in on-stage charisma, Drenge (Danish for 'boys') make up for in monstrous sound. Lead singer and guitarist Eoin Loveless showcased their new, flavourful riffs in Never Awake - complete with howling crowd wail-a-longs - and old-school grunge favourites like Gun Crazy, where the mosh pits relished Loveless as he growled "woah, oh oh, my baby, oh my baby's gonna mess me around". The fantastic energy of their debut is still present in their sweatiest of new hits - We Can Do What We Want - where the atmosphere transformed into one of a collective acid trip.

Before unusual (i.e. dull; i.e. where is I Don't Want To Make Love To You?) set-closer Let's Pretend, the crowd - sounding like 60 year old heavy smokers - chant along to fan favourite Fuckabout. A few bruises and dislocated shoulders later, Drenge's set ends and proves that total anarchy will forever be in their favour.

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ONLY REAL: the jerk who keeps ska real

Take the sunny, slidy guitar licks of Mac Demarco, the dulcet rumblings (and carrot top) of King Krule, and the cheeky geezer rap of Jamie T - sugar, spice, and everything nice - and you have Only Real.  West Londoner Niall Galvin - not like the river, but like the Irish one in 1D - has conjured up a debut with as much fizz as a shaken up champagne bottle.

photo creds: NME

Free-spirited baggy pop is indented in every groove of Jerk At The End Of The Line, giving a ballsy twist to slacker rock. Opening with Twist It Up, a looping 90s-flared ditty that draws similarities to the dainty daydreaming of later track Backseat Kissers, a peculiar level of intrigue is set. Then the record plunges into the classic theme of 'fuck-I'm-in-my-late-teens-to-early-20s', accentuated by teasing vocals and commonplace tales of messing about, i.e. in the almost-titular track Jerk. If that Caribbean Twist alco-pop you used to drink when you were sixteen could sing, it'd probably sound something like this festival-ready soundtrack. Feeding the tongue-in-cheek lyrics that gave the album its name (baby when did you get so fine? / if you missed me, I'm the jerk at the end of the line), Jerk is Only Real at his indie-ska finest.

He brings the lo-fi hip-hop side out of him most prominently on the reworked version of Blood Carpet, heavy with saliva spits and floppy jingles. Yet he easily flips back to cutesy ska on the hyperactive sugar rush Pass The Pain, Daisychained - it's okay baby, we're crooks too - and Yesterdays, with its layers upon layers of easy breezy riffs. These vintage-tinged riffs are also favoured in closing track When This Begins, which starts with harmonies and minimalist production that could have come straight off of a Jungle demo.

The 22-year-old's biggest hitter, Cadillac Girl, gets stuck in your head for days on end. There's a certain psychedelic seriousness that's championed by essentially odd lyrics - e.g. the quick succession of too late / few days / shirt off / Kool-Aid (and whatever else he says... something about screw face, or some equal sort of slang...). The rythmic rap gathers the distance of lost love - "oh she's so over me / she's so cold" - as the summery synths take a step back into an undercover kind of sadness.

The instrumental of Petals seems to be haunted by more of a Casper the Friendly Ghost-esque ghoul but steps away from UK-centric grime to a spit with more of an American hip-hop flair, whereas Break It Off may have lackadaisical verses but the chorus is a heavy, resentful chant. Seemingly written from a place of nebulous disturbance, Can't Get Happy covers these dirt tracks of raw emotion with addictive beats and massive percussion. Though with a first listen the melancholy could be overlooked, it's actually all over Only Real's debut making it more complex than meets the eye... Or in this case, the ear. Nevertheless, Jerk At The End Of The Line marks the impending breakthrough of an underrated British talent.

JERK AT THE END OF THE LINE IS AVAILABLE NOW ON VIRGIN EMI RECORDS

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GIG REVIEW: welcome to the weird world of Happyness - Birthdays, 4th February //

for fans of: Mac Demarco, Wilco, Diiv, The Fat White Family, Honeyblood

(photo creds: Michael Jamison @ inthejunkyard)

Down the depths of Stoke Newington Road (well, about a ten minute walk from Dalston Kingsland station) is a disgustingly cute little bar called Birthdays. Being in the general Dalston / Stoke Newington / Islington / Shoreditch area, it's like a watering hole for hipsters. Standing outside drawing smoke out of their roll-ups were a sea of half-fringes, top knots, and Stan Smiths in the shadows of the awning lights.

Underneath the main bar, the bass throbbed with the rumblings of bold, self-confessed DIY rock outfit Nai Harvest. Hailing from Sheffield, it's unusual that they'd pocketed the support slot when a large chunk of the audience appeared to have been there for them rather than the main act. Statistically Nai Harvest are more popular: on average their angsty sounds attract slightly more Spotify traffic, they have four times the amount of Facebook likes, and are much easier to find on YouTube. Yet it is Happyness who had the honour of headlining this particular NME Award show. Other headliners of NME Award shows throughout the first quarter of 2015 include La Roux, Drenge, and the live return of The Cribs, however Happyness are the freshest, sprightliest young band of this crop.

The South London trio are Brooklyn-ready, having only just recently signed to cult label Moshi Moshi - previously nurturing big names such as Eagulls, Kate Nash, and Disclosure. As a welcome gift, the band explained in a slow, mumbled drawl how the label bought them drinks and a keyboard, which they exercised for the first time during the live debut of Regan's Lost Weekend (Porno Queen) - a dreamy piano ballad that manages to burn in one slow, steady swoop while paced by acoustic undertones.

Though none of the audience past the second row could see much else but 66.6% of the band - and even so, only their bobbing heads were visible over the crowd - they still managed to exude a very endearing stage presence. Their clumsy transitions and stuttering crowd talk was masked by their Dr Jekyll effect: Happyness manage to spout two very different sounds. There's no in between in their extremes: they produce either flossy garage turmoil or provocative dark-pop. The latter seemed to conjure the most rhapsodic reaction, particularly concerning brooding ballad Montreal Rock Band Somewhere / (one of my top 22 tracks of 2014).

photo creds: Michael Jamison

Among the crowd, I'd never seen so many long-haired men congregated in one place. Their curls bounced on their shoulders as they bopped around to beefed up versions of tracks from Happyness' aptly-named debut Weird Little Birthday - set to get its third reissue in March. Though their live sound is yet to be properly fulfilled - it still feels a tad empty and amateur - they still managed to amplify the sonically enjoyable but simultaneously super strange It's On You and tongue-in-cheek Great Minds Think Alike, All Brains Taste The Same into powerful little ditties. Bright grunge cheekiness may not be so evident in the greasy purr-a-long Baby, Jesus (Jelly Boy), until you clock lyrical gems such as "I see people come in twos / just like breasts do". It may be the third time I'd seen them live, and the umpteenth time I'd listened to that lyric, but their oddities always make me smile. Whether they were born that way, baby, or perpetually on some kind of mushroom remains to be seen. By the end of the set, Happyness had almost made a comfort zone alongside the excellent sound system and neon-lighted rainbow of Dalston's underground universe.

With a band of this much pizazz and novelty, it's no wonder that NME (notorious for being up Alex Turner's arse, but are always to be trusted to seek out zippy new talent) has got their back. Listen to their boisterous new 90s-esque single, A Whole New Shape, below.

CATCH HAPPYNESS ON LIVE DATES WITH JAWS ACROSS THE UK THIS YEAR
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GIG REVIEW: Amber Run - Dingwalls, 3rd February //

for fans of: Saint Raymond, Coasts, Young Kato, We The Wild, Bad Suns

(photo creds The Mahogany Sessions)

The Communion Music Group have a refined taste for supporting the freshest new talent. Acts they've previously backed include rock newbies Twin Peaks as well as bona-fide folk stars Ben Howard and Matt Corby. Feel-good pop quintet Amber Run were hand-picked by Communion to headline their second annual sold-out New Faces tour this Autumn. With songs that already sound like hits so early in their career, the world's a stage for the Notts boys. But just who are Amber Run?

No, not Wiz Khalifa's bald ex-wife. They're on all my Spotify playlists, they're frequently played on XFM, their logo was spray painted all over Bristol when I visited this summer, and they have opened for acoustic balladeer Lewis Watson, but I knew little about them. I discovered quickly that they have quite a substantial following, especially in their hometown of Nottingham, but after some digging around the blogs I happened upon some thought-provoking comments. A particular YouTube comment summarises the general feeling as they described the band as "middle-class indie drab". The other night in the cloakroom queue I heard snippets of the following conversation:

Man #1 (early-20s): Did you enjoy it?

Man #2 (mid-20s): I did actually - they're pretty good for posh pop

This kind of thing gets thrown around a lot, and you wonder what it really means. How tightly has capitalism grasped the bottom of the music pile? Are the underground nobodies of bandom actually just another classic example of the rich getting richer? Is there actually anything that bad about "posh pop"? All the rhetorical questions, but no answers.

(Disclaimer: I do not know Amber Run or their background, and so the entirety of the argument below is based upon speculation alone. But I do believe one of the members is called Felix, so.)

Define posh pop: a fairly modern revolution where the music industry has become the latest to fail the working class by ways of capitalism championing the middle and upper-middle classes. Again. Previously, the ones who succeeded in British music were the likes of the McCartneys and the Morrisseys but, in more recent years as the war against the working class wages on, the ones at the top are more likely than not privately educated. Chris Martin, Mumford & Sons, and Florence Welch are the most classic examples, and if I ever have to hear about Lily Allen sing about 'the streets' or 'the ghetto' one more time, I'm going to scream. Noel Gallagher has recently hit out at musicians of socio-economic privilege making it a hot topic of discussion (though in the past month, he's hit out at everyone from Ed Sheeran to Alex Turner, probably all in promotion of his newest album, and to be honest, no one really gives a shit what he says anyway). With funding into arts education slowly being shoved out the window by the Conservative government, the only people that can be educated in music and other arts subjects are the ones who can afford it. Even indie heroes like Peace and Bombay Bicycle Club have come from more privileged upbringings, which begs the question - is success even in this lucrative market still down to genuine talent, or the ability to financially support your way into the big time? Personally, I'm not sure where I stand on the issue: on one hand we don't need to contribute to any more demonization of the working classes - in what fields are we supposed to succeed in then? - but similarly, why should noses be turned up at talented young people because of the way of life they've been born into? It's a complicated matter that I don't feel able to weigh in on just yet.

So what does this mean? In short: nothing. In something as vast, exciting, and innovative as music, backgrounds shouldn't matter. To judge a band shouldn't it really all come down to the most obvious thing? In terms of Amber Run, they're passionate enough about making genuinely good music to drop out of Nottingham Uni and pursue the band dream, hence silencing the classist warriors. With the February leg of their UK tour selling out venues - including Camden's Dingwalls - across the country and an upcoming April tour consisting of some of their biggest headline shows to date, what can distinguish Amber Run from the rest of posh pop?

First it's the range of their appeal. Scattered among the audience was practically everyone within the realms of ages 14-54. Generally, this is a good sign: a nice even mix of people means that you're attracting enough young people to hit the mainstream, enough industry-types to create a buzz and a name for yourself, and enough older people to, err, well, have sing-along drunks in the audience.

The other, fundamental, recipe to their charm is the ability to utilise their talents in all the right places. For example, lead singer Joe Keogh's voice is the definition of divine - with pipes like that it's no way that he couldn't have had a choir boy past. Though strong, composed, and on-key throughout the set, it stood out on chilling opener I Found. Chosen as one of my top 22 tracks of 2014, the five-piece harmonies are just as delicious live as they are on the recorded version and captivated the audience in a split second. With little lights transfixed into the backdrop of the stage, the palatial vocal-synth blend made for a transportation to somewhere glorious.

They continued to churn out stellar tracks throughout the set - a perfectly timed length that made you think "is that it?" before you realise just how much time had flown by while you were enveloped by their joviality. Amber Run craft songs that focus so heavily on impact and so their lyrical weakness becomes a bit more prevalent. But don't sweat it, as a new band, their skill will eventually evolve so that their strengths in punchy instrumentals work in cohesion with a lyrical ability that's not quite there yet.

Nonetheless, crowd interaction is what the band nourish their vigour with. Take Pilot, for example; the commoving first track off the eponymous EP is the definition of a crowd-pleaser. Anthemic, and almost power ballad-esque, without the 80s hair to match. Throbbing drums wizzed around Dingwalls' notoriously questionable sound system before the thunderous impact of the guitars kicked in. This is matched in Spark - a favourite for those who enjoy vigorous hand-clapping and zesty chanting - and the very Mumford and Sons-y Noah. While Kites' rustic acoustic guitars and the charm of Heaven are peachy enough, they don't pack as much punch as some of the other corkers in the Amber Run catalogue.

In response to the two men I overheard in the cloakroom queue: before us are a very important band in terms of putting the fun and games back into music, and shouldn't be overshadowed by whatever label they've been defined as. Posh pop or otherwise.

CATCH AMBER RUN ON THEIR UPCOMING UK TOUR IN NOTTINGHAM, LONDON, MANCHESTER + NEWCASTLE
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GIG GROPING: the philosophy of "ask the cutie before you touch the booty"

As our wayward journeys on this erratic earth progress I think a time comes when we learn to accept that certain events are inescapable. We are going to be swathed into situations that are awkward and uncomfortable, and there's nothing much we can do about it other than just let it slide. I believe that we have adopted a certain tendency - whether this is culturally specific or not I don't know, but it does seem like a very 'British' habit - to sweep things under the rug to avoid said sticky predicaments. Sometimes it's just not worth making a mess over because scenarios are awkward and beef is seldom necessary, but there are rare occasions where I won't let shitty people get away with being shitty for my own peace of mind.

I went to see Circa Waves at Heaven on Wednesday night (19th November) to: a) see a band who play great music, b) spend time with a good friend, c) boogie a bit on a night out, and d) maybe write something nice on here after. I did not go to see Circa Waves at Heaven on Wednesday night to deal with infuriating circumstances.

(photo creds: Circa Waves Facebook)

The audience were riled up by Public Access TV - a NYC jangly rock outfit (think Drowners or a softer, boppier Skaters). They couldn't have been older than 19 yet they proved to be more than capable to deliver an overwhelmingly impressive catalogue of steamers. Bleeding charisma and a light dusting of cocky charm, songs like In The Mirror demonstrated a future so bright that it became understandable why the guitarist wore shades.

(photo creds: tmrw magazine)

Circa Waves, propelled to attention by Zane Lowe, are one of Britain's fastest rising bands who've toured with The 1975 and The Libertines so it was only natural that we wanted to move into the crux of the crowd. Though the set opened with stellar power tracks like Young Chasers and Good For Me, it took a while for the crowd's spirits to go from mildly pathetic to "that's a bit more like it" considering the vigour of the band's garage rock. Still, it was kind of nothing compared to most of the crowds I'd been in lately - meaning I'm more than used to having zero personal space, being pushed around like a rag doll, and sweaty bodies at every turn. Although I'm highly familiar with this kind of atmosphere, it doesn't mean I'm used to or in any way should expect to get my butt grabbed by a massive, excessively perspiring man.

Besides this week I have been groped once at a gig: I had just turned sixteen and was waiting to see Two Door Cinema Club. Admittedly this was one of the first proper gigs I'd been to (in terms of general admission madness), but it's not like I was unaware of the basic mechanics of how these things work. Long before Two Door Cinema Club had even started their set I could feel this boy behind me rubbing his hands up and down my legs and bum with the occasional soft pinch. To say I was incredibly uncomfortable and extremely embarrassed would be a severe understatement. Being only sixteen and unlikely to be able to defend myself against a nineteen year old boy, I kept quiet and pretended it wasn't happening while my sister continued to talk my ear off, oblivious to the problem at hand (I later revealed to her the grotesque nature of the groping once we were back home). Luckily during the show itself I was able to """accidentally""" elbow him in his cratered face, but that was the extent of my self-defence.

Times have changed. It is 2014 and I am not afraid of anyone. Especially not gross perverted men.

Why should I be subjected to sexual assault because I am a young girl at an angsty rock concert? I may be categorised as a fangirl because I'm a female consumer, but does my gender automatically mean that I do not belong at this event? That I must only be there because I find the members of the band aesthetically pleasing and not have any interest whatsoever in the music they create? Therefore I deserve to be touched inappropriately because it's 'all part of the experience'? Trust me, I have been to many a gig in my time and I can assure anyone with a shadow of a doubt that this is not a price that typically comes with the territory.

At first I thought it was an accidental encounter that followed the tides of the crowd. I gave the guy a dirty look, but realised it could have been unintentional so brought my focus back to the music and my own personal enjoyment. It often bothers me how stupidly naive and optimistic I can be; always hoping for the best in others when I'm consistently proven wrong.

The second time around confirmed that his actions were entirely purposeful. This time I experienced a full throttle grope in the area of my bum. I yanked his beefy hand away from me as his shiny face grinned at me. "You're a fucking disgusting arsehole!!!" I attempted to shout at him over the lo-fi rock. He chuckled in reply and reached for my waist again before I balled my hands into fists and hit him somewhere on his face as hard as I could. My hand couldn't have made a very large impact as I have as much upper body strength of a small child, but it was probably more of a shock to him that a female in a vulnerable position actually had the ability within her to defend herself. He called me a "little fucking bitch" but need I respond? I mean, I'd already replied physically to his threats - I didn't need to prove anything else to him because he now knew I was unafraid. (This is not the first time I've gotten into beef at a gig, but maybe those stories are for another instalment.) Arguably this action lacked common sense because who knows how he could've reacted, but thankfully I was able to relish the rest of the short but sweet showcase of Circa Waves' upcoming debut album assault-free, including the boppy delights of one of the year's strongest singles Stuck In My Teeth.

The fact of the matter is that I did something that I was proud of - besides the act of physically assaulting a stranger, I stood up for and protected myself. I've always been the kind of person that a few of my friends have said that they "wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of", but what does that say about me? For some it means I probably have too much attitude, but maybe it also means that I have the courage to not be pushed around and treated like a second-class citizen. Regardless of the fact that my bum is more inclined to the Taylor Swift rather than the Kim Kardashian end of the juicy booty spectrum, consent is always required before you so intimately touch a person (not that me or anyone else is going to say "yes" if you ask anyway). Especially with cases such as the Sam Pepper scandal coming to light recently, shouldn't men realise by now that women do not want your meaty hands on our bodies without our explicit permission? Would you want some strange chunky hand grappling at your groin area? It's ridiculous that I'm having to explain this. Accept the fact that gig groping, or groping of any kind, is not and will never be okay.

@acciogeorgia not cool! We'll have none of that at our shows.

— Circa Waves (@CircaWaves) November 20, 2014 

(what definitely IS cool is that bands care)

What vexed me most about the incident was not even the fact that I was groped, but the possibility of other young girls in the crowds being preyed on by this giant gross loser. As music fans collectively unifying to celebrate something we all enjoy, shouldn't we treat each other with comradery and respect? Thankfully I taught that wasteman a lesson and he was put in his place, but unfortunately girls in the future will continue to be taken advantage of when they're meant to be having the time of their lives, and that's a crying shame. Concerts are supposed to be experiences that grow to become a part of us, not something tainted with venomous memories. We need to protect girlies, not endanger them.

GIG REVIEW: NME NEW BREED TOUR PRESENTS SUPERFOOD + HONEYBLOOD - Dingwalls, 11th November //

In September this year, notorious music weekly NME announced their first ever New Breed Tour. Following in the footsteps of record label Communion's inaugral New Faces tour (which has most recently featured the likes of Fyfe and the insanely talented Amber Run), the NME New Breed Tour seeks to unveil to the world some of the industry's hottest tipped acts to make an impact over the next year. NME, very wisely, selected the deliciously named Superfood and Honeyblood to co-headline the tour.

The support for the London date came from the vastly unknown but strangely endearing Bad Sounds. Outfitted with we-have-never-even-walked-past-the-barber's hairstyles, the five piece took 80s pop rock to gleaming new heights. Their Egyptian Hip Hop-esque beats are clean and nothing short of completely funky. Unfortunately this is the only evidence I can find of them on the Internet, but I pray they release some more material over the coming months because I have an incredible thirst for more.

(photo creds: NME)

Honeyblood are Scotland's answer to Best Coast. Lead singer Stina Tweeddale's gutsy, reckless vocals scream out poisonous lyrics "I will hate you forever / Scum bag, sleaze / Slime ball, grease" in a fury of feminine angst. Their rebellious and rootsy girl power was devoured by the entire spectrum of gender in the crowd - a refreshing attitude from an audience who all too often claim that women have 'no place' in indie rock; a stereotype the industry has endeavoured to abolish in recent years with acts like Sky Ferreira, Haim, and female-fronted Wolf Alice. 90s grrrrl rock is back with a sting in its tail.

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where's wally did u mean where's georgia (photo creds NME)

Superfood, signed to Infectious Music, are an example of the young indie rock talent hailing from Birmingham. They join the ranks of 'B-town' alumni - notably Peace, Swim Deep, and Jaws - to set the music scene alight with their kinky garage sound. Having previously opened for Peace - and, in fact, at this very show - many fans of the band will discover a certain satisfaction in Superfood. Their addictive hooks are slick and candied by sweet riffs, yet the sheer noise of their Britpop infused sound was enough to rile the crowd into turmoil.

(photo creds DIY)

Rippling basslines were so effortlessly provided by resident cool girl Emily Baker while the true heartbeat of Superfood's catalogue of oddities and adolescent heartaches lay with drummer Carl Griffin. His thundering percussion created an atmosphere ripe for rebellion while lo-fi guitars were shredded to a pulp by Dom Ganderton and Ryan Malcolm to the delight of Dingwalls' lawless fans. No seriously, they were insane - no gig is complete without a full-on fandom stage invasion in which the onsite security melted into a proper mare. Such a devotion clearly filled the band with ecstasy as they looked out with a smile onto an unbridled moshpit while the leaking ceiling precipitated onto their heads. NME have well and truly sought out the next indie rock hype.

// JOIN ME IN SEEING ONE OF MY FAVOURITE BANDS TEMPLES ON THEIR UK TOUR WITH SUPPORT FROM SUPERFOOD #LASH // OFFICIAL WEBSITE // FACEBOOK // TWITTER //

where's wally part 2 (creds superfood)

To add the icing on the cake, as my friend Aimee and I exited the venue's bathroom who do we end up walking behind but the flash of red hair and iconic fur coat of Harrison flippin Koisser - lead singer and superbabe from Peace :o:o:o We talked about sparkly tops, Superfood, and friendship, and he was as wonderfully lovely and eccentric as you would expect. I luv luv luv him.

Harrison and I xxx

BIG NEWS: Lewis Watson releases more than four songs at once

pre-review warning: I am a superfan and so seeing Lewis finally release this album has been an important experience so please don't hate me for my heinous prejudice

sounds like: a sad Ben Howard

(photo creds theguardian.com)

I've been in a slump recently - finding something to write about has been hard. I've found little inspiration in the places that usually set my creative gears to go. I always like to write when it rains because I become wrapped up in the way the whole world stops for a little while as you hear the droplets softly strumming against your Window(s) (ayyyyyyyyyyyyyye). But, honestly, lately there's little that has been able to provoke creativity. Other writers can find it in music because, if you're listening to the right stuff, it's really an extension of poetry and the heart, however I can seldom find pieces of music that evoke sparks of inspiration (though the Hippie Sabotage remix of Tove Lo's Stay High is a lil bit of alright). However, the skies today are clear and so it seems that Lewis Watson (that NERd) has released an album exceptional enough to ignite my creative juices once more. thank u lewiz x

hello from lewis and i (and my sister's SHIT photography tekkers)

The Morning opens tremendously [insert colossally uncool reference about how there hasn't been a better start to an album since 'State of Grace' from Taylor Swift's Red (dem drums blud)]. 'Stones Around The Sun' is an eerie, acidic track that seems very lost-in-a-forest-ish with crashing drum crescendos and whispery, desperate vocals. It's spacey and strangely subtle yet a real monster of a song. It may be offbeat to those who seek his more typical twangy folk guitar, but it remains a gratifying surprise.

Still these acoustic ballad chasers are not left disappointed as The Morning is bountiful with unplugged crooning. The reassuring nature of 'Halo' is likely to become a hymn for anyone feelings of inadequacy, but still sort of manages to be a little bit redolent of James Blunt's urrrr beautifaalllllll (no need to take offence, what a banger). Continuing with this essence is 'Sink or Swim' which remains virtually untouched from it's original 2012 release. Unscathed is the honeyed integration of rumbling percussion and rich harmonies that his fans fell in love with not so long ago.

The recycling of old tracks that made the Oxford native a social media sensation extends with the song I selected to be my favourite of 2013: 'Into The Wild' encompasses Lewis' songwriting talent. Stunning, husky vocals prove to be a perfect way to showcase his lyrical peak and exude an aura of pure magic. Definitely a contender for best song from The Morning. Another impeccable example of this comes from a pumped-up version of 'Windows'. It's incredibly difficult to discuss this song as it's probably my favourite ever written ever (yes, even on par with Wish You Were Here o man!), and the only way to describe it justly is for you to close your eyes and think of every enchanting word you know. These are the words I would use to describe 'Windows' because they're all that come to mind when I submerge myself in its loveliness.

He consistently hits all the marks in appealing to his demographic and easing in seamlessly with the army of already established young singer-songwriters, such as Benjamin Francis Leftwich, however this slips away a teeny bit with the very pop radio friendly 'Close', complete with fuzzy sing-song lyrics and athemic production. Track 2, 'Holding On' (not to be confused with his SBTRKT cover), is also upbeat and ready for ya foot tap along, yet still drips with Watson's signature sorrow. The new folk music Rat Pack - Hudson Taylor, Saint Raymond, Charlie Simpson (yes, eyebrow lad from Busted), Kimberly Anne - contribute in the recording of the bewildering tale of a relationship slipping from one's fingertips ("if I bide my time / I'll get lost like a tear in the rain").

The lighthearted merrimet doesn't last for long as the divine harmonies of 'Ghost' transition sublimely into lead single 'Stay' - a song that not only centres around an indefectible falsetto, but also has the coolest back story of all time. Though he tells the tale of 'Outgrow' as a whimsical Art Attack anecdote, the song itself is anything but. It is awful. But, of course, not in the shit way; in the best possible way, simply because it hits home. The saddest thing is it's honest, and so therefore completely heartbreaking and kind of a slap in the face - growing up is bloody hard, bro but coming to terms with it is even harder. When you think that much melancholy at once wasn't enough, the album neatly comes to a close with the heart wrenching 'Castle Street' being hurled at your head and you seem to wonder "HEY, LEWIS WATSON, U JERK! WHATEVER DID I DO TO YOU FOR YOU TO MAKE ME FEEL THIS WAY?????????".

And though I dislike (!) secret tracks, Lewis includes one anyway. I'm pretty sure it's called 'The Morning', and it greatly echoes his very early EPs while clearly drawing inspiration from his fellow singer-songwriters, specifically reminiscent of original mun man Matt Corby. But if that wasn't enough to feed your Watson thirst, the deluxe edition features every song ever recorded by Lewis and so is basically the Bible for any devotee. It also features an array of fantastic unheard demos (featuring a pre-#3 #3 demo that is so frickin bubs).

The Morning proves to be achingly poetic and really sets the stage for what could be a starlighted career, and us fans couldn't be prouder. But one thing's for certain - just because he plays the guitar does not mean he's the next fucking Ed Sheeran x

my album haha what a wigga x

//THE MORNING IS RELEASED TOMORROW ON WARNER BROTHERS RECORDS\\
//ITUNES//
//AMAZON//
//BANQUET// (support independent!)
//ROUGH TRADE// (support independent!)
//LEWISWATSONMUSIC.COM//

i leave you with this gem - eyebrow game strong tho x

GIG REVIEW: Peace - O2 Shepherd's Bush Empire, 6th December

For fans of: Palma Violets, Foals, Primal Scream, Theme Park, Pink Floyd

The release of Birmingham indie rockers Peace's debut album in March 2013 was followed eagerly by a massive buzz. Following their EP 'Delicious' in late 2012, they surpassed all competition in becoming most talked about new band of the past 12 months (even dubbed by some as the "best British band in a decade", but let's leave that debate to the professionals). Bashed by some as "borrowing" too much inspiration from their influences, the quirky romanticism of 'In Love' creatively shaped something that was simultaneously (and ingeniously) nostalgic and current.

I scored tickets completely last-minute to their Shepherd's Bush show last night (6th December), making it the last gig of the year for me, booooooooooooo (but I have got The 1975, Taylor Swift, and George Ezra to look forward to in 2014 *heart eye emoji*). All I can say is: at least the year of great gigging has gone out with a bang (highlights of the year include Hudson Taylor, Sky Ferreira, Jake Bugg, and Vampire Weekend).

Their set was bursting at the seams with 90's positivity which only fed the hunger of the 'on-a-mad-one'-esque audience - noticeably full of, what looked like, 12 year old #LADZ in their chinos. Hilariously, it seemed that the ruckus of Peace was too much for some girls who were caught up in the sea of people and actually shed a few tears. I, for one, will be showcasing my bruise painted legs with pride.

The sugary bliss of the uncomplicated and idealistic 'Lovesick' was certainly a highlight. Never has each member shined so brightly and excited an audience more than with the exquisiteness of such an angst-fueled anthem. It was similarly, though slightly more, electrifying than the grungey array of whopping hits like 'Follow Baby' and feisty set opener 'Waste of Paint'. These contrasted beautifully with the flawless mellowness of 'Float Forever', a song that showed off their delicious harmonies.

The most defining moment was the unexpected cover of Wham!'s 1984 classic 'Last Christmas' which impulsively supercharged the already hysterical audience. Being my holiday tune of choice, I was pretty much floored how their discreetly original touch made out like the song had be written with them in mind.

Their performance was overall difficult to fault due to Harrison's foolproof vocal performance and the clean gelling of the entire band - so good that it would be problematic to differentiate between the live production and the studio recording. Though, I couldn't figure out why one of my favourite tracks ever 'California Daze' ever-so-slightly disappointed me. It wasn't until it was pointed out to me by a friend that Peace failed to make an emotional connection with their audience. Sure their show was pretty mesmerising, but something as dazzling as the dream-inducing anthemic ballad needed to be just as enchanting onstage as when I listened to it for the first time (she tastes like sunlight / and she's always going to be there in the back of your mind). Maybe then they could make their audience fall that little bit more in love with them than they were before.

luvin lyf in da crowd

read my friend Jemima's review //HERE//


(here's a cheeky piccy of me with the set list) (it's there I swear)