GIG REVIEW: Mac Demarco - The Roundhouse, 9th September

for fans of: Unknown Mortal Orchestra, DIIV, The War On Drugs

from a festival performance earlier this year
(photo creds: fame images)

Crossing the bridge at Camden Locke, it began. First they were in small quantities then, like a plague of locus, they multiplied and were everywhere. Walking down the street sporting cans of Red Stripe, they were greeted with more of their kind congregated on the grassy slope outside Camden Morrison's or lingering outside bars (which they probably hadn't even been into) on Chalk Farm Road smoking roll-ups. Then, Mecca is reached. And there are, what seems like, millions of them. The Mac Demarco clone squad is out in full force.

It was almost like a convention; the annual meeting for all who seek to emulate the style and aesthetic of Mr Demarco from head to toe. This was no exaggeration: a good 85% (an extremely mathematical estimation) of those who flocked to the Roundhouse to witness their idol in the flesh were living breathing cliches. The majority were clad in baggy t-shirts/sweatshirts/button-ups, jeans with the cuffs rolled up, sport socks pulled up to their ankles and any of the stereotypical footwear deemed acceptable to such a crowd. Many even went as far as to complete their look with the staple Mac accessory: the 80s flat cap (exemplified on 3/4 of his album covers thus far). It was fair to say that my second-hand embarrassment had seldom been so fierce. But at least no one had tried to imitate his iconic tooth gap: get the Demarco look.

Inside the venue itself, the atmosphere of the unmistakably try-hard crowd tiptoed into hysteria. Through the mist of marijuana (yes, people really did stoop to those depths to emphasise their "ultra-hip youthful rebellion") Demarco emerged to a vehement roar. It's clear from the get-go that these fans worship the holy ground he walks on.

Brooklyn's zaniest export has ascended from relative obscurity to against-the-tide hero status. His music is generally gentle soft rock slurs with the occasional doo-wop or quirk - intimate vanilla tunes that, remarkably, are able to keep themselves far away from bland territory - so what is it that's been able to charm the masses?

Mac during saucier times
(photo creds: tumblr)

I believe there to be a sort of illusion surrounding Mac Demarco. Because he engages in two-minute-long screams onstage in between songs and because it appears he has minimal responsibilities offstage, many consider him a pinnacle of hedonistic eccentricity. Often photographed surrounded by his beloved Marlboros or wearing a silly billy facial expression, it's easy to see why some perceive him as a bizarre nutjob. In reality, I judge him to be pretty normal. His antics are nothing short of happy-go-lucky banter. He's like a lad, except he's actually funny (e.g. when he strikes a multitude of poses while chanting "John" in honour of one of his new band members) and seems to be suffering from a bit of an identity crisis.

September 9th marked the second of Demarco's sold out shows at Camden's Roundhouse where he demonstrated a set heavy in his latest material from his newly-released mini album Another One. While songs like title-track Another One and The Way You'd Love Her created an aura of magnetism, others such as A Heart Like Hers fell onto deaf ears. His showmanship, however, was not the cause of this, but rather the crowd's bawdy restlessness.

Pictures of Mac Demarco gigs have always shown them to be artistic interpretations of feeding time at the zoo. Honestly, the pits are actual mad ting considering the nature of the music. From fists in faces to the current pulling fans under, it was clear that the mellow slacker smoothness in Demarco's catalogue was unmatched for the fans. The lawlessness reached its peak early in the set as soon as Demarco croaked the lines "As I'm getting older..." and everyone in the crowd screamed the entire song (which is, of course, the lazy boy anthem Salad Days from the 2014 album of the same name) back to him.

While the crowd's energy seemed to die somewhere along the halfway point, Demarco and his band steamrolled through the set like Duracell bunnies until the very end. Every song was the same classic that everyone had heard again and again while their Mac Demarco Spotify sessions played on loop, except live they're beefier and better. With an almost nitty gritty edge to his easy breezy freshness, he incited anarchy with favourites Freaking Out The Neighbourhood and Cooking Up Something Good. Perhaps the more rugged sound emanated from the Roundhouse's hideous sound system which meant hearing any spoken word from anyone onstage was literally impossible. Nonetheless, Demarco and his band seemed to slip into the spotlight of their biggest British stage to date with comfortable ease.

Mac and his Vans crowd surfing last year while they were
stiiiiiillll tooooogeeetttthhherrrrr
(photo creds: NME)

In his grand finale, Demarco ended with his cozy love serenade to long-time girlfriend Kiera (who he's waking at the end of the studio version - he's not calling over a cat as I originally thought). Still Together's shrill but in-tune wailing has a kind of Lion King-esque vibe going down and the live version has real gusto. While the band members onstage engage in an indulgent instrumental, what else can we expect from Demarco except for him to dive head first into the crowd only to emerge five minutes later utterly battered and bruised. Hobbling back onstage in a Sonic Youth shirt now ripped to shreds and unsalvageable, he mildly threatens to beat up whoever stole one of his red Vans before completing the howls of "stiiiiiillll tooooogethhherrrrrr". Apparently he was so pissed off at this that he refused to encore his usual Metallica cover. A bit of an ironic reaction considering he was detained by police mid-performance last year in Santa Barbara, CA for climbing the venue's scaffolding. I guess there's one thing you can learn from these experiences, Mac: don't feed the hipsters.

how i survived the 1989 world tour

looking out onto the sea of peasants
(photo creds: jason williamson @ the line of best fit)

Some may say her power lies in her ability to single-handedly make the largest cooperation in the world redesign their business plan (we're looking at you, Apple). Others in her ability to reduce relatively emotionally stable people of all ages into a fit of tears. Although, it's most prevalent (and, perhaps, most overlooked) in her ability to sell out Hyde Park (that's 65,000+ tickets, I'll have you know). Out of all the other headliners of the British Summertime Festival, the only other act who was able to draw identical numbers were The Who. Neither Britpop heroes Blur nor the founders of modern indie rock The Strokes could achieve such numbers. Hence, Taylor Swift is a musician completely on par with rock legends celebrating their golden anniversary. And she proves it in her biggest UK headline show to date in the company of her London crowd.

The day-long event was opened fittingly by an array of genre-crossing acts. Rae Morris was charming and euphoric; Vance Joy's cotton candy acoustics were impressive and dynamic; though he can't dance for piss and tried (and failed spectacularly) to get an audience who wasn't there for him to sing-a-long to his unknown tracks, John Newman gave his all; and Ellie Goulding went above and beyond, pumping up the crowd with a cluster of electronica fire-starters. Surprisingly, it all made the excruciating seven hour wait from doors opening to Miss Swift's set a little less painful.

For someone who once claimed she couldn't dance and is infamous for her problematic award show moves, the love letter to her beloved new home and show opener Welcome To New York was the first of many performances to boast high-precision body pops and locks. It also set the bar for an ornately camp extravaganza. Almost every sugar-tinted synth was accompanied by high kicks in even higher waisted garments and the most incredible (for lack of a better term) slut drops the eyes have ever seen. Behind the superstar herself was an army of truly exquisite backing dancers to accentuate the big top show. (Collectively, we decided we loved Mason Cutler the most.)

friendship group goals
(L-R: martha, kendall, serena, swizzle, karlie, gigi, cara)
(photo creds: glamour magazine)

Each beat which burst from the Great Oak Stage was bedazzled to perfection; whether they were a blazing inferno as in her 2013 worldwide smash-hit I Knew You Were Trouble or silky smooth under Style. During the latter - a slinky, seductive instant classic glossed with immaculate hooks and retro riffs - she paraded members of her ever-growing girl squad of beautiful people - Kendall Jenner, Gigi Hadid (I literally died), Serena Williams, Martha Hunt, Karlie Kloss, and Cara Delevingne - to the adoring crowd.

Prior to attending, I was initially a bit ambivalent towards the set list as, for a Swift-till-death personality like myself, it was too 1989-heavy for my liking, particularly due to the inclusion of This Love (which was a bit of a snore and could definitely done with being replaced by a masterpiece like Last Kiss or All Too Well) and You Are In Love. After attending, I still harbour these feelings. However, one of the most bewitching moments of the show was Taylor being suspended above the crowd against a background of sallow oranges as the sun was in mid-set as she acoustically (and unforgettably) sang You Are In Love.

love story at sunset

Yet, her set was not shy of her previous catalogue. Though it did not include any full version of her songs from the greatest album of all time (2010's multi-platinum Speak Now), the songs she did incorporate showed her remarkable talent for reinvention. It's not just the fact that 1989 transformed her from pop princess to the biggest superstar on the planet, but her tour has given her the artistic opportunity to inject fresh energies into her archive. During her platform suspension over the crowd, she played the song that catapulted a then-18 year old Taylor Swift into international music fame: Love Story. Tinkering at her keyboard, she turned the country crossover smash into an 80's tinged ballad. Later in the set, she electrified the crowd with an amazing beefed-up version of one of her dryer tracks We Are Never Getting Back Together, shredding guitar and whipping like it was nobody's business. Her final surprise was a mash up of one of my most favourite T Swizzle songs Enchanted (circa 2010) and brooding ballad Wildest Dreams. Living up to its namesake, it was enchanting. Beginning as a soft piano solo and evolving into a momentous serenade to the beauty and delicacy of love. It was certainly a set highlight.

don't be so baffled luv, they're all here for uuuuuuu
(photo creds: tumblr)

It is a well-known fact that Taylor is not a one-trick pony. Not only is she, possibly, the most famous singer-songwriter of the 21st century, accomplished multi-instrumentalist, philanthropist and the dictionary definition of 'goals', but she can add 'agony aunt' and 'potential Noble Prize speech writer' to her CV. Before Clean, her severely underrated track about finding yourself in the midst of stormy heartbreak, she gave a speech that wetted the cheeks of many. She preached about the importance of self-love and how we are not "damaged goods", before launching into a graceful melody that captured the crowd.

It is indisputable that Taylor Swift is some kind of phenomenon. She brings the bangers through some of this year's biggest songs - Shake It Off, Blank Space, Bad Blood (the tour version is, unfortunately, minus the explosive Kendrick Lamar appearance) - and lifts them to new, dazzling heights. She has flowered into a bonafide music icon. May the reign of Taylor Swift continue.

past taylor-related posts

WARNING CONTAINS SEVERE EMOTIONS: 1989 album review

Red Tour review

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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GIG REVIEW: Beach Baby - Sebright Arms, 16th April

for fans of: The Maccabees, Alvvays, Oscar, Cherry Glazerr, Dog Is Dead

photo creds: The Guardian

The Sebright Arms is an awkward venue. Deep in a pub basement, it attracts clusters of shouty people who are either transfixed or completely unengaged with the music.

What was even more awkward was the joke made by Honey Moon about how they've come all the way from London. No one in the basement of Shoreditch pub laughs, but I thought it was kind of funny. Clad in Mac Demarco flat hats and baggy shirts along with a member who resembles Reid from Criminal Minds, the opening set from this foetal (i.e. they formed in 2015) band is finished in a flash. In all fairness, they probably performed the only four songs they've written: songs about girls and the weather. Yet what they showcase is truly excellent: crafted hippy licks and dips and psychedelic melodies performed not entirely like amateurs but with a whimsical sort of air. Unfortunately, Honey Moon performed for about 20-30 people in the 150+ capacity venue but they are seriously ones to keep on your radar.

Between sets, the crowd grew steadily as a seemingly seamless string of people fed into the crowd. Soon the Sebright Arms was even more awkward - packed and stuffy, drawing in an odd mix of people, and not a bar of phone service in sight.

When Goldsmith University's Beach Baby took to the stage, they were met with a surprising amount of adoration - an unforeseen reaction because they've only released two songs... out of the five or six they already have. Nonetheless, either they have exceedingly impassioned fans, intensely proud family members or, the more likely scenario seeing as this is Britain, everyone was a jolly drunk - everything Beach Baby did was met with rapturous applause.

Fresh off Jungle's European tour and splashing into their first ever London headline show, Beach Baby are a bit of a mix-match - nothing quite fits yet. Blissful percussion beats were met with shredding guitars, and complimentary vocals from two lead singers with questionable fashion choices (like, board shorts????). The traditionally subtle debut single Ladybird was excitingly brash and fierce - totally different to the studio recording. Long gone were acoustic rumblings and vocal mumblings; in it's place were frantic guitars and exasperated vocals. If the crowd was young enough, there might have even been a mosh pit.

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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.

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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.

Love, Miley, Party // review of the Bangerz Tour - The O2, 6th May

for fans of: Katy Perry, Britney Spears, Rihanna, Lady Gaga, Iggy Azalea

(photo creds: Evening Standard)

"I'm not going down without a motherfucking fight!" the world's most controversial human, the iridescent Miley Cyrus, screams and solidifies this title as she rockets down a giant tongue slide and reemerges back on the Bangerz Tour. After a health scare last month, which the singer assures the fans was not a drug overdose *phew* and actually due to "bitch ass nurses", the 21-year-old Tennessee native has refused to come back without the biggest spectacle your eyes will ever behold.

Miley's performance followed a set from the ever-cool Californian rocker Sky Ferreira. I was blessed enough to be seeing Sky perform live for the third time lucky that night and, as always, one of the most talented female artists in the game did not disappoint. Though my friends and I were the only ones in our section going absolutely chicken-oriental mental, Sky shined. Despite the dodgy sound technicians and oh-so ironically messing up the start of 'Everything is Embarassing', her performance was collected and enviably chic as she showcased the stand-outs from her acclaimed debut album 'Night Time, My Time' (one of my albums of the year).

As soon as Miss Cyrus burst onto the stage in a hullabaloo, the F-bombs began to fly all over the place. Parents around me looked shocked and disgusted, but how could you be? Reportedly, The O2 has received an ocean of complaints about Bangerz Tour for its profanities and provocative nature. I'm sorry, but what else would you expect from a Miley Cyrus concert? Inevitably, you have seen her infamous antics such as her VMA performance and her array of music videos: Hannah Montana this ain't! That's about as idiotic as me rocking up to Starbucks with a coffee allergy and ordering a latte. Blame yourselves for exposing your children to what you deem as inappropriate instead of pushing the fault onto her for taking this step in her artistry. Besides, have you not listened to her album before you purchased tickets? Obviously the six year old behind me had as she was sassily screaming the lyrics to the Pharrell masterwork '#GETITRIGHT' (I been layin' in this bed / All night long / Don't you think it's time / To get it on?) as Miley was rolling around a bed imitating an orgy. Disturbing on the parent's part, to say the least.

(photo creds: Evening Standard)

Cyrus mixed the trash glam of Rihanna with the less-polished theatrics of Lady Gaga with the crazy cartoonisms of Katy Perry to create chaos. One of the slightly more... eccentric parts of the show was her worshiping and grinding up against a kind of Sphinx-style 30 foot blow up of her dead dog... I mean, that's when it got a bit too weird. Twerking midgets, twerking chickens, a surprisingly little amount of twerking by Miley herself. Bonkerz and utterly insane. Like a carnival on LSD. Her costume game, however, was out in full force: though she pretty much shoved her vagina into the audience's face while riding a ghetto fab gold car during the Hip-Hop jam anthem 'Love, Money, Party', her money-clad leotard was cause for serious envy.

And, honestly? Miley doesn't display the plastic, bonafide transparency that many starlets seem to exude; she has charm and charisma, and her between-song banter is indisputably genuine - even when she was rambling about the health benefits of weed and encouraging the audience to get stoned. Speaking from my own experiences as someone who isn't easily influenced by other and can easily resist peer pressures and such (thanks mum x), I can see how easily impressionable kids could get swayed by these kind of talks and perhaps it's not the greatest thing in the world to encourage your fans to be in possession of Class B drugs... But she also uses her position in a positive way and is an advocate for a multitude of causes such as animal rights, however in this show she preached to her fans about the importance of equality and being yourself. Usually the young and famous are perceived as thoughtless dummies, but I honestly think Miley is smart. She's judged purely on the basis of how she sexualises her body and talent in order to sell records, and maybe she does, but is she not garnering the attention that's she's so cleverly set out to achieve? She identifies herself, and rightly so, as "one of the biggest feminists" and that was emphasied in her speech about being yourself after her hit ballad 'Adore You' as she encouraged the audience to celebrate the LGBT society. Let's be fair, it's fantastic that there's a pop culture figurehead to shine this guiding light for her fans to be educated and beautifully intellectual young men and women who embrace feminism and are accepting of those from whatever background in which they come from. Preach!

(photo creds: nydailynews)

The highlight of the show was not, in fact, Miley straddling a giant hotdog while flying over the audience singing 'Someone Else' (yes! really!), but was her performance on the 'B' stage. Here she acoustically performed the sensual 'Rooting For My Baby', as well as a whopping four covers: cool points for the wholly appropriate Arctic Monkey's 'Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?', a beautiful rendition of 'You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go' by Bob Dylan, her Radio 1 Live Lounge of Lana Del Rey's 'Summertime Sadness', and her godmother Dolly Parton's classic 'Jolene' - which is probably the first time ever that Jolene has been called a C U Next Tuesday! This is another indication of Miley's smartness as it's unlikely that anyone, without seeing her perform live, would believe that she is hugely talented and has a wicked sense of humour. The tone of her voice is sweet but strong, and acoustically the audience really feels her country music roots and her sheer delight to be back onstage, keenly lapping up every second.

She closed her whopping 21 song set with a string of her biggest hits. Surprisingly, 'We Can't Stop' lacked the fireworks that the infamous 'Wrecking Ball' ballad set off, before she closed her return to the stage in a Union Jack leotard for the pop classic (we will be singing this for generations to come) 'Party in the USA'. The frankly rather adorable Miley Cyrus performs for the shock factor, and I think that's why people don't understand her. Once that fades, we'll see the emergence of an icon. Until then, she'll shock us until our eyes are raw.

(photo creds: nydailynews)

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)

TWO SICK NIGHTS: Vampire Weekend + Gabrielle Aplin

(Can we just start with this before I continue because not only is it extremely relevant but it's probably one of the funniest things I have ever seen...)

Today was a busy week for me; I had two gigs in a row (one was utterly disastrous, whereas the other had me slightly annoyed for reasons I will get back to later), and I'd just like to bring up the topic of gig etiquette which has been present in both events and is something I'd like to discuss further in maybe the longest gig review you shall ever read.

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Firstly I shall warn you that the issue of gig etiquette might be a little hypocritical in this circumstance but, whatever, u suck.

Let's begin with Vampire Weekend on Wednesday (13th November). It was quite the catastrophe if there ever was one. It was a casualty to end all casualties. It was just tragic. Not the actual performance, of course; Vampire Weekend were utterly amazing. But more on that later. It all started during the support act, the annoyingly cheerful Noah and the Wale. They were thoroughly enjoyable (and oh my actual God I didn't know the lead singer is that hot??? Jesus Christ???), despite only knowing that twee 'L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.' tune.

During their set, I didn't know what it was at the time, I felt a bit blerrrrrrh. You know, you get that bloated-y feeling in your stomach and you just want to close your eyes to make the pain in your head go away? Yeah, I had that. And I felt like I needed to spit, so I did, and the spit wasn't spit... It was a teeny tiny bit of chunder. Luckily, no one around me even saw so my friend, Hannah, and I rushed out of that crowd and the O2 staff gave me a lotta water to drink. I did feel a lot better and maybe thought it was a case of dehydration (the only gripe I now have with The O2 and other such venues is that you're not allowed to bring your own drinks inside. Like??? What??? No wonder you have so many tragedies in the crowd).

So we wormed our way back through the crowd. Admittedly, we did push our way through but, in all honesty, that's what you do at gigs. If you're going to be a dick about it, that's what seating is for. Obviously we ended up in the wrong place and with the wrong people surrounding us. This one woman was going off on one about people who push because everyone around us was pushing. She just wouldn't shut up so I, always thirsty for an argument to prove just how good I am at them and unknowingly not feeling very well, turned around and said to her "you know what? This is a gig. Pushing is what happens at gigs. If you don't like it, go to the back." And she, obviously not very good at arguments, started saying things like "yeah I've stood here this is my place, I've been going to gigs since I was sixteen, yes people push but it does it make it right? People murder other people, does that make it right?" Like, are you actually serious? Of course I continued arguing my point until I just gave up. During all this unnecessary bullshit, this American cockheaded dickweed of thirty-year-old man was being so rude to me. Literally so rude and so nasty, it was actually unbelievable and I do not wish to repeat his words.

Gig etiquette scenario one: is it okay to push at the standing area of concerts? Yes. The answer is always yes. Unless your shoving is actually putting someone in harm, do it. If you're uncomfortable with it, that's literally the reason why they have seating areas. You cannot expect to go to a gig, especially something like Vampire Weekend where people are going to go crazy, and not have people pushing. It is in no way bad etiquette to be pushed out of your space. If you can't handle the heat, get out of the freaking kitchen.

Then I it all started flooding back to me and I felt blurrrghhhh. I had to bend over and put my head down. The woman asked me if I was okay and I would like to take this chance to make a formal apology to her because she was actually probably a really nice person, she was just being quite annoying and I was clearly not feeling well and didn't realise I was being so rude. I said to my friend Hannah "I'm going to be sick" and turned around and (aiming it perfectly, I'm so proud of myself) chundered right there on the man's shoe. Instead of shouting at me and calling me disgusting, like I feared they would, everyone around me just went "awwwww bless", like they genuinely felt sorry for me I thought that was so nice? Well, almost everyone. I had to get out of there quick and so I ran away and didn't care who was in my way. That American man, with the most grotesque breath I'd ever had the displeasure to come into contact with, actually started clapping. I was livid. I turned quickly on my heel and shouted "WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SUCH A FUCKING DICK?" and pushed my way out of the crowd. Apparently after I'd left, he told me to go fuck myself and everyone around him started shouting at him, saying how dare he talk that way to a teenage girl. Ha, ha, ha *flips hair off shoulder*. But maybe I shouldn't be talking shit about gig etiquette when I spewed the contents of my stomach out onto a crowd, which is probably pretty low down on the list of accepted concert behaviour.

I never really cared for The O2 before: I always thought it was too big, too expensive, and just so impersonal. Yet again, as with jarring woman #1 earlier, I have judged too early. I am so impressed with the level of professionalism and kindness of the staff at The O2. They treated me so well and were with me every step of the way, from the nice man who gave me water and and someone to help me further, to another man who stayed with me and chatted to me about how much he loves Vampire Weekend, and to the two medical workers who made sure I was completely okay and accompanied me to amazing seats. Massive big up to everyone for their hospitality.

After I threw up twice more in front of the bar in between crying my eyes out, they took me backstage where I got pretty much VIP treatment and got to exchange hellos with Noah and the Whale before throwing up again. The medics confirmed there was nothing wrong with me and I probably had some kind of food poisoning from that wretched Nando's (not like it's going to stop me from going there again or anything). Then I hear the start of 'Diane Young' and I physically feel my heart break. I plead for them to get me back in there because if I miss 'Unbelievers', I may possibly curl up and die. Nice medic #1 promised me he'd get me there, and that he did and I am eternally grateful.

I got seated in section 112 (if you don't know The O2, that's the best section to be seated in) and I sat in the second row of the section, and the seats were incredible. I probably had a better view there than if I was stood in the middle of the crowd. I had the greatest time just jamming along in my chair (unable to stand up as I'd probably faint/throw up again).

And to get to the main point of a gig review, Vampire Weekend were absolutely, positively incredible. Their sound is infectiously sunny and each member's personality shines through in their own unique way through their instrumental and vocals. Props to all of them to sounding exactly like they do in the studio as they do live. Though, to me, it was always an odd choice for a band like Vampire Weekend to be playing a venue like The O2 and I worried whether they'd be able to fill such a capacity but their sound was nothing less than magnetising in the arena.

They definitely have earned the reputation of one of the most effortlessly stylish bands around at the moment. The stage - consisting of a pretty floral background, white Grecian columns, and a Snow White-esque mirror - was decorated with lazers and looked sensational. Lead singer Ezra Koenig rocked a Tom Cruise in 'Top Gun' style jumpsuit and sunglasses, and looked so effortlessly cool. He switched between a beautiful collection of guitars, while bassist Chris Baio did the same with, well, basses. I was also dazzled by Baio's booty-popping dance moves. Impressively, Rostam Batmanglij made easy transitions between vocals, keys, and guitar. Highlights of the set included my favourite Vampire Weekend song ever, 'Unbelievers', with it's iconic pumping bassline as well as the haunting 'Hannah Hunt' and colossal anthem 'Cousins' which sent the crowd into madness. Maybe the one single criticism I could give the New York foursome is to take more of a command with the crowd, and demand them to be captivated. But who am I to tell them shit.

(Yes, I got all those pictures from the #vampireweekend tag on Instagram. Fucking sue me bitch.)

Also, I emailed my teachers that night telling them how I'd been violently ill, embarrassingly humiliated, and would not be coming into school the next day and this is their reaction. Can you believe I actually have teachers like this?

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With a less dramatic story, the next day I stayed at home to rest as I thought the not-very-likely-to-form-a-mosh-pit crowd of teenage girls and middle-aged parents at Gabrielle Aplin would be less forgiving than the likes of the Vampire Weekend madness. Luckily, I was not sick at all but I did find another example of terrible gig etiquette.

This here is an example of my obstructed view throughout the entirety of the gig:

Gig etiquette scenario two: why, why, why on Earth would you wear your hair like that to gig? I honestly do not understand. I'm all up for wearing your hair up, as sometimes it gets in other people's mouths and that's really freaking gross. A small bun is fine, a ponytail is even better, but you are purposely making it that big. Do you not realise that absolutely no one behind of you can see past you? I do not have a gripe with tall people at gigs, because why do they not deserve to be as close to the front as they want to be, but you are consciously making your hair bigger than it already is, and by doing so bloody well hindering my view and making me into a grumpy little shit.

Unfortunately, I only got to see the top of young singer-songwriter Nick Wilson's head during his opening set for Gabrielle, though I was very fortunate to have been able to hear it. He opened with a unique cover of John Lennon's 'Jealous Guy' and sang a multitude of original songs, along with another cover of Kodaline's 'High Hopes' (as an opening act, two cover is always the way to go). I've since downloaded his debut EP 'Darkest Hour' which is incredibly impressive and well-worth a purchase. The only totally annoying thing about his set, and it's always the same when the audience is littered with teenage girls, is the girls in the crowd were so patronising it was painful. He couldn't even get a word in edgewise without a chorus of "AWWWWWWWWWWWWW" or someone shouting out "YOU'RE SO CUTE". Not that he probably minded anyway; I just found it extremely annoying (I'm turning out to be such a snob hahaha).

Gabrielle Aplin's 'English Rain' was one of my favourite debut album of this past year, especially as I've been a fan of her music for ages, so it was one of the gigs I was anticipating most. Her set opened with an extended intro to the incredibly underrated 'Keep On Walking' which turned out to be her most forceful live song and a definite highlight. After hearing the efficacious percussion with the foot-stomping strumming onstage, it has shot to the top of my favourite songs by the twenty-year-old songstress list.

She, like Vampire Weekend, also had a stunning stage set up with a subtle yet effective light show, a fake bush sprouting with artificial flowers to decorate her little keyboard, and a glittering disco ball to create the illusion of falling snow. Shepherd's Bush Empire had never looked so beautiful.

Her voice shined the most in emotive ballads like her next single 'Salvation' and the moving 'How Do You Feel Today?', but was also strong in upbeat fan-favourite 'Panic Cord' where she rocked the electric guitar. Her impeccable vocals were not the only thing that shined; her 'sad' songs (as she would prefer to describe them as) were surpassed by her cutesy, shiny personality as she chatted to the crowd between songs and cheekily messed around with her band members.

Another surprising aspect of her set was the cover of 'Wrecking Ball' by girl-of-the-moment Miley Cyrus. It wouldn't really be that hard to be better than the original, but dare I say, it's far better than any of the other multitude of covers I've heard of the song.

It was lovely to hear the crowd sing along to her hit singles such as the splendid summer folk-pop anthem 'Please Don't Say You Love Me' and the encore of one of her biggest tracks 'Home'. This proved just how much her popularity has grown from being the girl who sang in her bedroom, to being the girl becoming viral on YouTube, to the angel-voiced girl with a certified gold debut album who sells out Shepherd's Bush Empire. Pretty amazing if you ask me.