Live Review: YOUTH LAGOON, OLVIER TANK

The Toff in Town

To gently parting drapes, sporadic cheers and a smattering of applause Oliver Tank arrives on stage, a single tone lingering in the air. Soon, his heavily processed guitar and echoed vocals stretch over it mellifluously. Loops and samples don't repeat and build the way other delay-pedal-loving artists favour, rather they come and go with a slow-motion compositional intelligence. His Ben Gibbard/James Blake style of serious sweetness manifests as mantra-like lyrics whose meaning shifts as the music behind them swells, disappears and returns, fighting against glitchy beats and sparse deep bass - the structural repercussions of which often drown out the tones themselves. Lyrics like music is like air to me and I just want to help you breathe could act as a manifesto for tonight’s double-bill; the role of music in the life of Youth Lagoon has been well-documented and it seems Tank has a similar need for survivalist emotional expression. The songs themselves are an intoxicating and emotionally unfiltered blend of heavily processed signals and stark, pure intentions. Though most of his sounds are reused in different songs and his repeated bashful proclamations of love are amplified by looks of shy embarrassment at his own candidness that accompany the end of each song, it’s a safe bet that many of tonight’s skinny, immobile and reverent crowd are new converts.

The talking, texting and drinking amongst the crowd – now at a stifling capacity - is transformed into a near-deafening cheer as the curtain parts again, this time to the sight of two shy yet focused guys staring at a guitar and electric piano respectively. With Bobby, taken from his album The Year of Hibernation (as are all of tonight’s songs), Youth Lagoon aka Trevor Powers, sets about casting a spell from which we are only sporadically released. His strange, strained voice pierces the air above our heads, pushing us into silence, and allow the tones of his piano, sparse percussion and the crisp sound of Logan Hyde’s white Jaguar to fill his songs. Cannons follows, as does a brief awkward interlude of conversation about the beauty of Melbourne, the unfortunately heavy shirt he bought from Lost and Found and how this is his first ever show overseas; all things guaranteed to make us even fonder of him. Versions of Montana and Posters show just how well considered the live interpretations of these songs have been. Hyde’s brittle and unaffected sound offsets the heavy processed warmth of Powers’ voice and the presence of his synthesized sounds, all of which replace the organic techniques and atmospheric production of his album. There is something unsettling about the sweet lullabye-esque tones of the electric piano and synthesized glockenspiel played boldly and loudly.

Cheers emerge from the crowd at the opening bars of 17, which has people dancing as much as a sold-out Toff will allow, even when there is no beat. The set-closing July sees the most energetic playing of the night, and it’s a version that leaves us ecstatic. Still, it takes a lot of cheering to bring him out for an encore of Daydream and its cathartic singalong vocalizations send home a very satisfied crowd.

IN THE STILL OF THE HYPE: An interview withTrevor Powers aka Youth Lagoon

YOUTH LAGOON aka Trevor Powers talks anxiety, adulation and the creation of a critically acclaimed, partially therapeutic album recorded in a garage. ANDY HAZEL leans in a little closer.

“I still find it strange answering questions about my mind,” Trevor Powers says carefully. “But you do start to get used to it after a while. It’s still strange to me mainly because I don’t know how to explain things. I’ve never been good with words, I’m better at singing than talking.” It’s worth pointing out that Powers is very good with lyrics, as emails from empathetic fans around the world attest. His gentle warmth and quiet enthusiasm throughout the interview seem slightly at odds with the fragile lost soul haunting the songs of his album The Year of Hibernation.

In the case of writing such personal music and seeking an audience for it, most performers have a line dividing what they feel comfortable expressing and what is off limits. For Powers, a singer who identifies to an unusually strong degree with the acutely honest songwriting of Daniel Johnston, deciding where to draw that line is tricky. “I don’t know if I have decided yet!” he says laughing loudly. “I write songs that I feel and ideas that I want to express, the way that I’m interpreting things around me and life I guess, so as far as that goes I don’t really analyse what I can or cannot say or should and shouldn’t say. I’m just writing and I haven’t been analysing that much, not until someone asks me about it anyway,” he says lapsing into another easy laugh.

Since the release of The Year of Hibernation, Powers’ life has been taken over by his role as Youth Lagoon. Previously a student at Boise State University who recorded and wrote music in his spare time, in 2010 Powers had to choose between continuing to pay for counselling session that had been helping him to manage his chronic anxiety, or to record an album. So, it was that the album became a vehicle to help him organise his thoughts.

“When I write, part of what is going on stems from personal experiences, but also from analysing what’s going on around me. I’d say that process is partially therapeutic.” Though the album revels in intimate beauty using a garage as a studio, small synths and old pianos, and boasts poetic snapshots of emotional times and places, Powers is still unsure whether the album was ‘successful’ in helping him deal with the issues that prompted its creation. “I think so, but I still have a weird mind,” he says with another laugh. “It is always therapeutic dealing with things, growing and learning. I don’t think you put something on paper and it’s dealt with just like that, you’re constantly learning and constantly growing and you just getting better or wiser about managing. Being busy helps, it helps to keep my mind on other things, when you’re put in different circumstances, you have different anxieties,” he laughs. “It’s always one of those things you’re dealing with, but a lot of people don’t talk about it so much, I actually think it’s really common, but isn’t spoken about very often.”

To a certain extent, Powers has found that his music has had similar beneficial effects on other people dealing with severe anxiety, though he’s hesitant to take on the role of a teacher or example of success. “People do write to me and say: ‘I’ve heard you write stuff about anxiety and dealing with your mind,’ but really everyone is so different and people’s minds are structured so differently, it really comes down to that person figuring out their own way. I don’t know much help I can be to them directly, but I’m really glad that my music meant something to them.”

Playing his music in a live setting is something that has only recently been considered by Powers. “For the most part I went into recording the album with the mindset of making exactly what I wanted it to be, without thinking about how I’d play it live. Once it was done I was like ‘now what? How do I make it happen?’” he pauses. “It was a big process for about four months as far as getting everything together and figuring things out. Like how to use my beat machine and make all the beats happen away from me on stage. I have one person playing with me live, Logan [Hyde] who does the guitar, so with just two people on stage we have to figure out ways to do things. I‘m happy with how it’s been interpreted live, how the songs are expressed. It has a different feel than the album because that was made in such a specific environment. The vocals were recorded dry, without any effects, then played through these two monitors in my friend’s parents’ four-car garage and we captured the natural reverb, then they were recorded in order to get that feeling. On stage, there are different things I’ve done with my voice as far as pedals and effects go.”

Fortunately, Powers finds that revisiting the songs so often doesn’t lessen their emotional impact, an impact that many live reviews find compelling. “That’s the only way I know how to play,” he says. “Music to me takes me back to certain places and events. As for when a show starts, it’s almost impossible for me not to think about when it was written and what was going on, it’s just as emotional if not more so. Playing them over and over, reliving that over and over, I don’t mind that. I don’t know why,” he pauses, “maybe it’s just because I really enjoy it but then…man I don’t know if there is even an answer to that question!” he laughs again.

Despite writing the album alone, and having spent very little time by himself since the glowing reviews arrived and incessant touring began, Powers has found inspiration to write a new batch of songs in his constantly shifting environment, “I’m just always writing and working on ideas. A lot of the time I’m interpreting things around me. I can’t say if it’s more personal than what I’ve done, but the songs definitely act as time capsules. All my music is like that, especially now that I’m going on tour and working on songs in hotel rooms, they come across in a totally different way than if I’m writing at home, and these are times I want to remember.”

One environment that is a constant for him is his hometown of Boise, a place he mentions at every opportunity and the importance of which is underlined by a tattoo of Idaho on his arm, next to the words ‘Be still’. “I think Idaho is one of the most underrated places in the world,” he says keenly. “The other night I went for a drive into the mountains and…they’re always amazing to me. I’ve always loved camping and exploring the state but recently a friend and me have gotten more into hiking. Some of the Sawtooth Mountains and parts of Idaho National Park are so beautiful. It’s very much a part of who I am.” Here’s hoping he doesn’t lose this connection anytime soon.

ONLY HUMAN: An interview with Michael Rother

With fond memories of his last trip to Australia, Michael Rother – once of Kraftwerk, and founder of the massively influential bands Neu!, Cluster and Harmonia – looks back on a life as a founding father of Krautrock.

It’s difficult to understate the impact of musical developments in early to mid-1970s Germany. Tim Barr’s book From Dusseldorf to the Future (with Love) works on the premise that Kraftwerk’s impact on modern music rivals that of the Beatles, and it a claim yet to be seriously challenged. Virtually all electronic music you hear as well as whatever constitutes art-rock and math-rock these days, can be traced back to music created by a small group of men intent on building their own German identity and a new culture.

Integral to this movement, yet more reclusive than the front-men of Kraftwerk, a band he briefly played in, is Michael Rother a man returning to Australia to play highlights from his long career. This time however, he has enlisted Dieter Moebius (of Harmonia and Cluster) and Hans Lampe through songs of Neu!, Harmonia and his solo work.

“Oh Mt Buller!” he says brightly of Harmonia’s rapturously received set at 2009’s All Tomorrow’s Parties festival. “We’ve never played anywhere like that before or since. It was incredible. I saw photos people took of us on stage; it was like we were playing in the clouds! It was a glorious experience. That was Harmonia, now it’s a different situation,” he says of his new eponymous project. “It’s my selection of music as opposed to playing only songs by Harmonia. That concert was three years ago, shortly afterwards [Hans-Joachim] Roedelius decided he didn’t want to continue. I was surprised by that, so I began new collaborations, including this new one I’m bringing to Australia.”

With technology playing such an important role in the development and progression of electronic music, its influence on Rother is surprisingly small. “Certain aspects of technology change, but to be honest it’s about the same music. Hallogallo [the band Rother formed with Steve Shelley of Sonic Youth, Ben Curtis of School of Seven Bells and Tall Firs’ Aaron Mullan] was also my project. It was formed to play my selection of Neu! and Harmonia songs, and some of my solo work. Each time there are other musicians involved, the angle changes and that’s really interesting to see,” he says with palpable excitement before continuing. “If you look at a track like Hallogallo [a signature tune of Neu!’s], that’s something near the centre of everything. I’ll explain; the idea of creating interesting improved sounds and prepared music together doesn’t often occur along with the idea of the ‘fast forward movement’ of Hallogallo. It is so strange that Hallgallo in a few weeks is 40 years old,” he laughs. “Maybe I’m too lazy to move on, but this kind of drone and repetition and freedom to fly like an arrow straight to the horizon I feel in the music…that still fascinates me, that’s what I experience when I play it and it makes it a lot of fun.”

Looking back at the music Rother has to choose from when constructing a set, his recollections are tainted by the surprising rejection that Harmonia experienced, unusual for a band considered a Krautrock supergroup. “In the 1970s most people hated Harmonia,” he says slowly. “It was a complete commercial disaster. I loved Harmonia as much as Neu! but the reaction was quite different. It took our audience 25 years to catch up with that sound. My first solo album came out after the failure of Harmonia, and it sold 100 000 copies, and I thought, ‘why do they like me but not Harmonia?’ But, really, I am in a position to create it, others are in a position to judge it. It does make me happy that so long after there was anger and rejection for that music, people all around the world are enjoying it.”

Among those who found particular resonance with Rother’s various projects are some of the finest bands of the late 1980s and early 1990s. “It’s very hard now, to imagine that I had no clue what was happening to my music, but it’s true. That bands like Sonic Youth, The Fall and Stereolab and later on Radiohead were listening to it, and another ten years before I found out. Of course, since the ideas of our music are better known - I don’t think we can say we’ve become a household name – but you have a lot of musicians doing strange electronic sounds nowadays, in a way twisting our sounds and ideas.” He pauses. “Myself, ever since I’ve started writing music I started not listening to other musicians and focused on my own to create something as distant as possible from other people’s ideas. Nowadays this can be Bach or abstract music or folk music, but I can’t listen to music all day long. I’m not like people like John Frusciante.  It was awkward working with him because he’s an enthusiast - completely different to me - he listens to music all day long,” he says of his time working with the Red Hot Chilli Peppers’ guitarist.

Rother says that inspiration comes from experience, not other creative works, in particular, specific environments, something his music is renown for inspiring in other people. “I love in the countryside,” he intones. “That was where Harmonia lived and worked in the 70s and I guess it has an effect on my thinking and feelings about life. It is inspiring in an abstract way, but now I’m in Hamburg, in the city, the combination of both worlds is what I know these days. The vibration of the city and the quietness when you can hear birds in the distance… it’s the depth of the ambience that fascinates me. It has an effect on my soul, my feeling about life. There are filters before music comes out, of course these feelings run through many filters. I don’t even know the path of inspiration and I don’t want to know what leads to which effect.” That Rother can talk at length about inspiration and seems to barely touch on the actual music he makes is indicative of his method.

“In the 70s, when Neu tried to recreate the albums on stage, it was impossible. People thought we had all this amazing gear - I only had a guitar, a fuzzbox, a delay and a wah-wah pedal! Everyone thought we were the new thing, and there was this great technology behind it. People thought that if I played live to a backing track or pre-prepared music I’d written, then somehow I was lying. So the perception has really changed. I always said that it was about the human and how they use the equipment, not what they use. Of course, I enjoy the possibilities of sound creation and the machines that are available today and make it possible to play live, but the human being is more in the centre of my focus” And for that, we should be grateful.

Live Review: AUSTRA

Northcote Social Club

Despite a plethora of excellent options elsewhere in Melbourne tonight, the Social Club is packed to near capacity with a convivial and attentive crowd for the Canadian electro pop sextet. The crowd itself seems to consist almost entirely of couples, many of who are, as a nearby punter notes, 'from the Isle of Lesbos'. Electro dub plays loudly over the PA as the crowd chat, poke their phones, and drink. Soon enough, an androgynous keyboardist, a drummer and a bassist march out and begin the moody introduction to The Choke, a highlight of their album Feel it Break. Soon after, the three singers/dancers appear, each adorned with glittering gold necklaces and gauzy clothes that suit their flowing dance moves, which take a Bollywood/Dance of the Seven Veils influence and drive it into the ground throughout their short set. Hilariously, and possibly intentionally, every band member looks like they walked off a Frankie shoot except for bassist Dorian Wolf, sullen in jeans and a white t-shirt, like he wandered over from 303 to do the gig for a six-pack.

Second song Hate Crime finds the audience more vocal and allows the three distinctive singers to really impress with their arrangements. Lose It follows and begins to reveal a songwriting formula to which Austra adhere very closely; a heavy synth line accentuated by bass opens, drums enter followed by the stunning vocals of lead singer Katie Stelmanis. A chorus follows, and here are the harmonies from twin singers Sari and Romy Lightman who return for the later choruses and refrains. It’s a good formula and one that has worked well for many bands before, but it also renders many of the songs indistinguishable and, besides, Ladytron did exactly the same thing, with dynamics, a sense of humour and original vintage synths 12 years ago. That’s not to say Austra aren’t engaging or don’t know how to make electronic pulses sexy and danceable. Songs like radio hit Darken Her Horse, Beat and the Pulse and Spellwork are excellent electronic pop songs and the combined power of the three voices and arpeggiated synth bass is undeniable, as is the quality of the live sound; a band has rarely sounded better here.

Though the between-song conversation is minimal, and there is little of the dancing that this music would justify in other environments, the crowd is on side throughout. So it’s some surprise that after just 40 minutes, Stelmanis announces their last song. A brief two-song encore follows, and they close with the wonderful Identity in what has to be one of the pithiest gigs of recent times.

Live Review: OFWGKTA

The Hi-Fi Bar

The mood of the (heavily male and entirely young) queue snaking down Swanston Street is 'stoked!' Few acts have been more hyped with less commercially available material as Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All. Already legendarily divisive, if head honcho Tyler, The Creator had a dollar for every irate blog post, expletive laden defensive YouTube comment and carefully considered opinion piece, he could buy Apple. But as tonight’s show proves, they're not the North Korea of bands they’re made out to be (attention seeking outsiders who regularly hint at serious danger but rarely deliver). They’re crowd-hyping party guys who use every inch of the stage and know how to put on a show.

With no support act, pre-show entertainment comes in the form of several hundred people occasionally cheering and squealing as one of the OFWGKTA collective walk across the stage. Members wander through crowd and stand around, just chillin’ though looking as though they have somewhere to be. As showtime approaches, cheers are replaced by chants of ‘WOLF. GANG. WOLF. GANG’ and fears of a small turnout (hinted at by the show’s move from the Palace and the $70 tickets) are dispelled by a sold out crowd who can’t wait to lose their shit.

The lights drop, and DJ/producer Syd tha Kid detonates her metallic beats, as various members begin shouting from offstage; messing with the rising tension. Suddenly Domo Genesis, Mike G and LeftBrain storm the stage with haka-style moves and blistering raps, barely discernable due to the force of their speech. Soon chaos reigns as the whole crew arrives and begins blasting their way through Transylvania, Forest Green and Tron Cat, each more manic than the last. “Melbourne, I fucked with Fitzroy skate park today,” says Tyler. “I fucking love that place. And motherfucking Pancake Parlour”. “How many people here smoke weed?” asks LeftBrain. “Please, share with us if you have some,” Soon enough several members line the side of the edge of the stage smoking while others exhort us to 'do it like yr retarded!’ and refer to us (affectionately) as niggers, as the beats to French kicks in driving the crowd even crazier than the next high points of the set, Tyler’s Orange Juice, and Mike G’s time to shine, King.

They grab their crotch, pop their eyes, throw water on us and treat the stage like a rumpus room. Their delivery is so physical that songs flirt with musical theatre. Unsurprisingly, Tyler can barely begin their best-known song Yonkers due to the volume of the audience’s participation; even he seems surprised. Hodgy Beats takes the lead on the mighty Sandwitches, before the inane Radical and its screamed outro: ‘kill people / burn shit / fuck school’ that we holler back at ear bursting levels.

Yes there is ceaseless misogyny and glorification of extreme sexualized violence every time OFWGKTA open their mouths, but when the energy is this positive, the crowd this amped and the beast and songs this clever…that’s entertainment. Whether you think it should be or not, you can bet OFWGKTA don’t give a fuck.

Live Review: SAM AMIDON, OTOUTO

NORTHCOTE SOCIAL CLUB

Outside, the daylight gradually fades as a warm evening moves in. Inside the venue a small crowd is scattered through the room while onstage Otouto precisely deploy their bright staccatos of baritone guitar, synth, vocalisations and percussion into a remarkable whole. Songs feel empty and seem childlike in their sounds and simplicity, but they're deceptively complex. The brevity of the sounds they generate and the languid curling vocal forays across them give a sense of momentum and movement that is hypnotic. The use of environmental acoustics is expertly woven into the songs each a deft example of musical arrangement in which sounds are given room to be fully heard. A brushed snare, electric piano, cymbal-covered drum, a plucked motif and bizarre vocal noises; few bands seem to think as a sonic whole like this. Final song Balloon showcases a sense of humour as developed as their vocal harmonic skills.

By the time Sam Amidon takes to the stage the room is still only half-full, yet a surprisingly vocal crowd welcome him and drummer/keyboardist/bassist/sample-triggerer Chris Vatalaro. Opening with the title track of his most recent album I See the Sign, Vatalaro’s sometimes subtle and occasionally explosive drumming shows just how far from the recorded versions Amidon is willing to take these songs. Open, loose jazz reinterpretations of his reinterpretations of these ancient folk songs makes it seem that the bugbear of ‘songs bearing little resemblance to the recorded versions we all love’ might nuke any chance for connection. Thankfully, the night’s arrangements hew closer to the versions we know and love and freeform improvisation is that of a comedic not musical nature.

Amidon first tells us the band’s name is now John Cougar Melon Vacation and later illuminates us about a (fake) novel he’s writing about a guy called King Speachy and a secret songwriting society in rural Connecticut (‘the people who write all the songs’) including Johnny Depp's long-forgotten hit album In the Depp End. All of which makes for a break from the stunning, hushing delicacy of sorrowful ballads like O Death, Rain and Snow, Wild Bill Jones and his breathtakingly delicate versions of Prodigal Son and Saro. The death count runs as high as a Nick Cave album, but the gift Amidon brings is a solemn respect for the songs, reverence to their subjects and a playful way with his interpretations, a way that makes room for exaggerated mid-song death scenes and, weirdly and spontaneously, 30 push ups. So the appearance of Beth Orton firstly at the bar, then on the stage is another unexpected thrill as she lends her harmonies to old nursery rhyme Joanna Row-di and a flooring take on Big Star’s Thirteen. While the audience provides spooky and beautiful vocals on Way Go Lily, hearing Orton’s pure tones in such a venue is a rare experience.

Songs such as Wedding Dress, banjo-lead How Come That Blood and You’d Better Mind stray into bluegrass territory, a place the audience follow as we rowdily, if messily, accentuate the rhythms. Highlight of the night however comes late as the album-closing segue of Climbing High Mountains and R. Kelly’s Relief helps push this gig into one of the best in recent memory, audience sing-along and all.

SIGN LANGUAGE - An interview with Sam Amidon

In the crazy, heady world of indie music, one man with a calm voice, a guitar, some talented friends and a wealth of ideas can tune up, tone down and stand out; just don’t call him a folk musician.

“Well, I just spent a week back with the family in Vermont,” sighs Sam Amidon down the line from a hotel in Los Angeles, in explanation of his recent activities. “Growing up there in Brattleboro played a big role in how things have come about for me. It’s full of wonderful folk musicians and artists and I was lucky to grow up around their songs. I really took it for granted in a way, it’s such a strange place,’ he continues contemplatively. “It got a huge influx of hippies and artists in the 1970s and they made friends with the farmers in the area. So, now you have a lot of indie bands like Happy Birthday and Tune-Yards and a lot of folk musicians born in the 70s and 80. It’s kind of amazing really, but growing up there I just cared that it had a CD store.’

Despite being born into a neo-hippie utopia where everyone sang and churned butter while dodging the draft and forming fair trade collectives years before it was hip, Amidon decided that his burgeoning love of experimental music and free jazz necessitated a move to the big smoke. “I moved to New York to get away from those songs and that environment, he says, "but after a while, that’s what I found liked singing; these old folk songs. I’ve always loved working with musicians from different backgrounds and when I was living there I’d always move between groups of musicians and we’d work on each other's projects.” 


This breadth of collaborative experience is particularly palpable on his most recent album  I Saw the Sign, a collection of haunting songs we can expect to be highlighted at Amidon’s shows. Much loved cred-tastic arranger Nico Muhly, Melbourne’s own noise manipulator and Brian Eno-associate Ben Frost, Björk’s (and now Feist’s) go-to producer Valgeir Sigurðsson and Beth Orton, all make impressive and unusual contributions. In a way I See the Sign, and his preceding album, the attention-grabbing All is Well are demonstrations of how to integrate disparate talents into a powerful, uncluttered whole. 

“It ended being an apocalyptic little batch of songs,” laughs Amidon. “Most songs came from New England, some from the Georgia Sea Islands; hymns, children’s songs, I find songs from all over the place. Alan Lomax’s field recordings, singers that I love, folk music singers today, my parents or whoever, finding them is a random process. I’m not a scholar, I don’t have a huge archive, but a song I like has to be one that gets stuck in my head. And it’s not like I live the songs,” he says laughing 'they're full of sorrow and killing. If my life expressed the predicaments of my folk songs in a literal way I'd be a gangster rapper.”

“The truth is,' he states matter-of-factly, I don’t play folk music. If I did I’d play the songs as I learned them or first heard them, but I make these albums only when I feel I’ve done something to them musically. I’m not against people singing them straight, I’ll make one of those albums one day probably, but all of these songs I change around a lot.” It’s noticeable that his songs have often undergone decades of refashioning or disappearance only to emerge as new again, interpreted by Amidon and enhanced by his friends, which suggests a role of a cultural preservation institute as much as a musician. “It’s true,” he says, the big step is reworking the songs. Often, I’ll find some lyrics to a folk song, which will fit to a piece of guitar that I’ve written - I never write the lyrics but the music I do - which changes the meaning of things. Then maybe I’ll change the harmonies around; that’s the step that happens before I take it to Nico or my collaborators. Once I bring it to them, it’s almost like a series of exchanges; I never give them direction, and they’d probably ignore it if I did, they just take them away and work on it. I’ve always loved improvised music, if you sit down to play free jazz with someone and have no idea what they’re going to do you have a dialogue at that point. And that seems more interesting to me and better for the songs, than giving directions. Making the album is almost like an improvisation process.”

This improvisatory process is something we can expect to see at his forthcoming shows. “For a couple of gigs I’ll have some amazing multi instrumentalists and you never know where Beth Orton will turn up,” he says with an audible grin. More than that, he won’t say. “I’m working on a new album at the moment but…uhh…I can’t really talk about that either,” he laughs. “It's going to be a bit different from the last couple of albums...but of course in 2012 with demigods Roland Emmerich and Kirsten Dunst playing a strong but ambiguous role in our dates, the future is uncertain.”

Since he gained attention and plaudits for All is Well Amidon has been straddling the folk and indie rock worlds in equal measure, despite thinking of himself as a ‘jazz nerd’. “I think the folk and indie worlds are very different communities, but I do see myself as fitting into both. I maybe don’t fit into one of them alone, but that’s part of the whole New York thing I mentioned earlier,” he says pausing. “In this day and age with the internet, scene or genre distinction is not so important. One night I’ll be with Nico Mulhy in a classical music hall, next night I’m in an indie rock club, then I’m playing Irish fiddle tunes in abar; three days in a row in totally different environments! I love that.”

So, is this proclivity for interpreting old or unusual songs - I See the Sign does include a subtly stunning version of R. Kelly’s Relief  - simply due to the fact that there are too many songs in the world already? Amidon laughs. “As a listener I often feel that way, but as a musician, it’s less conceptual than that. These are songs I’ve found that I love singing, it’s not like a conceptual art project in that sense, at the same time it’s a project that I’m surprised I’ve stuck with for as long as I have. Maybe I won’t do it forever, but at the moment these songs are much better than songs I can write,” he says with another open laugh, "so I'm sticking with it".

2011 in Lists - The Year in the Rearview

Attempting to construct some sort of 'round up' of a year is, by now, so cliched and so many options are available that to do it seems almost redundant. However, it is worth stating that there was an unusually broad range of excellent albums and songs and it is the discovery of this music that seems the greatest challenge. Though much of it comes from seeing local live shows, and a little from friends and various websites like last.fm, Pitchfork, Mess+Noise and , almost none of it comes from radio or any technology not popularised in the last 15 years. This increasing reliance on technology seems to accompany a push away from it, to a romanticised version of music before this time. Few of the albums populating Top 10 of 2011 lists take advantage of these technological developments and ignore them when it comes to the writing of music, which still seems best done by people over 30. When someone is imaginative and reconsiders the concept of an album and sees the whole process as a chance to reconnect with an increasingly distant and often distracted audience, as Bjork did with Biophilia the result is not wholly successful. Biophilia was so revolutionary that barely any consideration was given to the music (a charge some rashly made against Bjork herself). 


All this shifting does beg the question how much more differently can we listen to music? It could hardly be more casual or integrated into our lives. The idea of incredibly convenient music which is about incredibly inconvenient experiences seems to dominate Top 10s; the war-laden stories of confrontation on PJ Harvey's Let England Shake, the traumatic and tragic personal history of Girls' singer and songwriter Christopher Owens and the futility of escape from suburban ennui that lies like a fog over the Twerps glorious eponymous debut. Now that digital downloads have finally passed physical sales (50.3% vs 49.7%) there's no reason to think it will stop anytime soon despite passionate listeners espousing vinyl over all else and a culture-lead concept of authenticity reigning supreme.

TOP TEN ALBUMS
1. Let England Shake PJ HARVEY

2. Father, Son, Holy Ghost GIRLS

3. Hello Sadness LOS CAMPESINOS!

4. Go With River OWLS OF THE SWAMP

5. Twerps TWERPS
6. Biophilia BJÖRK

7. Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming M83

8. New Brigade ICEAGE

9. Rolling Blackouts THE GO! TEAM
10.50 Words For Snow KATE BUSH 

TOP TEN SONGS
1. Underneath Tonight LOWTIDE

2. Heartlove ALPINE

3. Holly JAMES BLACKSHAW

4. Too Beautiful to Work THE LUYAS
5. Holiday in America BITCH PREFECT

6. Hey Cool Kid CLOUD NOTHINGS
7. Need You Now CUT COPY
8. Hard Times GILLIAN WELCH

9. Turn Me On THE GRATES
10. Crystalline BJÖRK

BEST NEW ARTISTS

1. Lowtide
2. Alpine
3. Tully on Tully

4. Collarbones
5. Bitch Prefect

TOP FIVE INTERNATIONAL ARTIST GIGS
1. Belle and Sebastian GOLDEN PLAINS

2. Gang of Four CORNER HOTEL
3. Pulp FESTIVAL HALL

4. The Antlers CORNER HOTEL
5. The Go! Team CORNER HOTEL

TOP FIVE AUSTRALIAN ARTIST GIGS
1. Alpine CORNER HOTEL
2. D. Rogers EDINBURGH CASTLE
3. Tully on Tully NORTHCOTE SOCIAL CLUB
4. The Good China, The Bon Scotts THE GRACE DARLING
5. Collarbones SUGAR MOUNTAIN

TOP FIVE RADIO SHOWS/PODCASTS
1. Mark Kermode and Simon Mayo’s Film Reviews BBC RADIO FIVE LIVE
2. Filmspotting CHICAGO PUBLIC RADIO

3. Adam and Joe BBC 6 MUSIC

4. Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me NPR
5. This American Life NPR

TOP FIVE TV SHOWS
1. Mad Men AMC

2. Game of Thrones HBO 

3. Lawrence Leung’s Unbelievable ABC

4. At The Movies ABC
5. Media Watch ABC

TOP TEN MOVIES
1. True Grit

2. Le Quattro Volte

3. Tree of Life

4. We Need to Talk About Kevin

5. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II

6. Jess + Moss

7. Certified Copy

8. Melancholia

9. Tiny Furniture

10.The Guard

THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES AWARD
Odd Future; horrific lyrics and rampant egos fuel songs with no structure, melody or purpose beyond offense, though it’s just as easy to construct an argument for their being band of the year.

QUOTE OF THE YEAR

It’s Fri-ee-day Fri-ee-day / Gotta get down on Fri-ee-day – Rebecca Black, Stephen Colbert, Jimmy Fallon and most of the developed world at some point.

PREDICTION FOR 2012
Obama to go, anarchy to reign, music to become increasingly cross-referential; first London Olympics to be a fiasco, world not to end, but very interesting things to happen. It will be a glorious year to be alive.

Live Review: THE GOOD CHINA, THE BON SCOTTS, ANIMAUX

The Grace Darling

Neither French nor animalistic, Animaux are one of the more competent bands to grace the small stage of the Grace Darling.  The first of the evening’s three bands (none of which have fewer than seven members), Animaux specialise in the brand of polished soulful pop beloved by teenage musicians having fun with their instrumental proficiency, which means there are riffs copped from all over the place everything is played and sung with technique to spare, and is totally bereft of actual pop or soul. Despite this, it’s hard to deny the fun being had on and off the crowded stage. It’s also the first of three exemplary displays of sound engineering by the mixer who does a brilliant job juggling instrument swapping, horn sections, copious percussion and multiple vocalists.

As audience numbers pick up, The Bon Scotts give them something to get excited about. Featuring harp, baritone horn, accordion, cello and a rhythm section raised on The Waterboys and Beirut, songs like Let’s Do What the Catholics Do and Lovely Bones (‘this has nothing to do with the book or film, that’s an unfortunate coincidence’) showcase singer Robert Zimmerman’s (yes, really) deft way with words and references. So passionately delivered is the music, its pace so frantic and acoustic instruments so prominent the songs sound politically driven, though the only politics Zimmerman is interested in are personal. The band’s gifted arrangements and banter like ‘this song is about songs you love now that will eventually be used to sell you crap, like fridges’ betray an imagination at work that will only get better with time.

By the time The Good China assemble themselves amongst the plastic foliage and paper lanterns decorating the stage, the venue is packed. Within minutes of the first song kicking in, you’re forced to ask ‘how can a band this good not be everywhere?’ While there are at least four singers in the octet, each with a different style of song, the songwriting quality never drops and the variations on attention-wresting imaginative pop music seem limitless. Singer James Grech favours clipped Phoenix-like funk, Nick McMillan an exciting Go Team!-style verbose intensity while backing vocals of Mietta Sancolo and violin of Quyen Le are the most notable examples of the musical prowess needed to make songs seem this thrillingly simple. Tonight’s show is to launch new single No More Maps, No More Roads one of several high points in a stellar set.

Live Review: HTRK, BEACHES, THE ORBWEAVERS, MONTERO, WINTERCOATS

St Michael's Church

A queue snakes down the broad stairs and along Collins Street in the balmy heat. It’s not the usual mix of punters given the Melbourne Music Week setting, but soon we’re all brought together in pews facing a broad podium, littered with instruments, a lighting system desperately drawing attention to itself, fold-back wedges and religious paraphernalia that sits beneath a giant pipe organ and stained glass windows. It's a beautiful room, a sold out gig, and a very appreciative crowd. 

James Wallace aka Wintercoats opens the evening’s proceedings, his blue-lit gaunt frame poised over a violin. Soon, layers of bowed notes build and percussive taps, flicks and jabs follow. As with most proponents of loop pedals, songs build gradually but unlike most, his technical mastery and pedal manipulations don't detract from the rich atmosphere. Wallace’s fantastically emotive voice is often subsumed beneath his ephemeral cascading violins, especially beautiful on the closing Working on a Dream; its unassuming majesty perfectly suited to the reverential surroundings.

Looking like kids still at school an hour after the last bell (nerds in the library and bad boys in detention), Montero is one of the finest bands 2011 has offered up. Though they hark back to whatever the least-referenced years of the 1970s and 80s are they don't recall any act or era specifically. Swung beats and a Moog will always attract the terms ‘psychedelia’ or ‘prog’, but Montero have no time for labels; the charisma of Ben Montero, drumming of Cameron Potts and talent in their all-star lineup is too compelling. Songs like Clear Sailing and Rainman are highlights of a stellar show and hint at forthcoming releases that will attract praise more gushing than this.

The gentle malevolence that lingers through the surprisingly celebratory songs of The Orbweavers is markedly offset by the sweet banter of birdlike singer Marita Dyson. Songs about Merri Creek, the Melbourne sewerage system and flash flooding are interspersed with illuminating factoids of local history, accidental insults directed at her pets and obsessive punctuality. The deft guitar of Stuart Flanagan and trumpet of Daniel Aulsebrook lets their dark country balladry soar and linger and their in their succession of quiet achievements, tonight is another win.

Ambling from the nearby bar, the crowd gives a mixed response to the almighty riffage and power of Beaches as they ease into gear. With less vocals and more chug, the excellence of the sound system and bright acoustics of the room mean songs that roared like jet engines have become sheets of fuzz with a buzzing lightness. Ebbs and surges are handled deftly and the occasional vocals from singer Ali McCann come as a respite from the blinding walls of white.

After a lengthy wait, the room darkens and the icebreaking sounds of HTRK detonate among us. Watching the duo is a difficult experience with bright pulsing lights trained on the crowd and the band bathed in dark blue. Listening is far easier, with their sounds so brilliantly sculpted and powerful and the room so ideal that what those sounds do is almost secondary. Almost. Unfortunately here lies the weakness of HTRK; songs seem exercises in shifting blocks of noise, each one sharing an asexual grind and annoyingly vague and indistinct lyrics, the repetition of which amplifies their annoying vagueness. This may, along with the alienating light show, be their intent, given their love of subversive music and cinema it’s possible. But, unlike their touchstones, there are no surprises or innovations here. Nigel Yang’s guitar is almost as an aesthetic afterthought, so buried is it beneath the synths and icily cyclical beats and so processed is its sounds. There is masterfulness in their execution but emptiness inside.

Live Review: THE FLAMING LIPS, POND

The Palace Theatre

Looking, and sounding like five guys who met in the Wolfmother audition queue (but actually being three quarters of Tame Impala), Pond seem at home spread across the lengthy Palace stage; no mean feat for a band used to playing Perth warehouse parties. In front of a wall of amps, their vintage guitars, crusading riffs, copious bouncing hair and indistinct impassioned wailing is, as with many recently celebrated Australian bands, totally derivative and incredibly well executed. Playing like they're headlining, songs like You Broke My Cool allow singer Nick Allbrook to wander the stage, occasionally flinging his arms out as if to say 'this is it! How good‽' A version of Tears of a Clown that's more Caligula than Smoky Robinson allows for some deft twin guitar action, and the audience (and The Flaming Lips) are suitably impressed.

Minutes later Flaming Lips’ Wayne Coyne crosses the stage to cheers as he helps roadies and techs assemble equipment, all wrapped in white tape, heavily stickered and customized. Checking the instruments, inflatable space bubble, dry ice, massive screens and tiny video cameras and effects would, ordinarily, be akin to a magician giving away tricks, but the Lips' sleeve is full of so many more that it only adds to the excitement.

Coyne's pre-show disclaimer includes an apology for their short set at Harvest due to: ’festival timing and a dilemma with trains and buses. Tonight, we have no limits, we will play longer and better and louder.’ True to form, the first five minutes include the birth-through-psychedelic-supernova-vagina entrance, Coyne striding over the crowd in his space bubble, massive balloons, exploding confetti cannons, swathes of jet-powered dry ice, two teams of leggy dancers, air raid megaphone sirens and the firing of numerous streamer launchers. All the distractions are dispatched with in an awe-inspiring burst of props and massive bass riffs, which begs the question ‘how are they going to top this?’ The answer; songs. Straight up we get She Don’t Use Jelly before being exhorted, as we are between every song, to get noisy, and Coyne needs all the help he can get, with his voice parched and frail from overuse, so we provide an admirable choir for Jelly and throughout the ensuing, brilliant The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song. Coyne's backless acoustic guitar exists just as much to burst massive balloons of confetti as to make music. TV On the Radio stand to the side of the audience with Pond with smiles as broad as ours as Stephen Drozd plays the iPhone for Is David Bowie Dying, which sounds huge, before we’re lead through a long, drawn-out version of Yoshimi, even more poignant for being played among the burst balloons and scattered detritus of happier songs. See the Leaves sees Coyne don giant hands that shoot lasers at disco balls, which is a perfect introduction to Drug Chart. We call The Lips back for a blinding encore of Race For the Prize and a magnificent hymnal Do You Realize, a pair of modern classics that conclude one of the most remarkable gigs of the year.

BROUS ALMIGHTY: An interview with SOPHIA BROUS

On the eve of her first Australian tour and the launch of her debut EP, ANDY HAZEL finds out about the long musical history and striking fresh sounds of multiple Age EG Music Award nominee SOPHIA BROUS.

When a debut single is musically proficient, lyrically unusual, artfully produced and stunningly delivered, it’s going to attract attention. Streamers, the lead single from the eponymous debut EP from Melbourne band Brous has been thrust to high rotation on JJJ as well as garnering community radio play and an Age EG Music Award nomination for Best Single. Despite a short musical career of surprising twists and turns, recent developments are something that vocalist, composer and chief architect Sophia Brous is still grappling with. “I’m really pleased!” she says happily. “It’s funny, when you view other people you think things are going well and achievements like this are all there is to their life at the moment. It is fantastic, but it’s not like the world has turned purple, life goes on.”

Life, for Brous, constitutes of a range of creative projects, which sees her week divided between writing music and playing gigs. It’s a work ethic befitting someone who can lay claim to an impressive array of achievements, including debuting onstage with Gil Askey, becoming, at 22, the youngest ever director of the Melbourne International Jazz Festival (a role she recently stepped down from), and winning a scholarship to the New England Conservatory and Berklee College of Music. These experiences feed in to the truly unusual and powerful sound that is being introduced to the world through Streamers. “When I went to the States, it was the first time in my formal music training that I had been introduced to music like exotica and tropicalia, and film noir soundtracks and was able to focus on them in an concentrated manner,” she says emphatically, highlighting influences that permeate the EP. “Many people who’ve gone through that system go through a process of unlearning, and it was like that for me. As soon as I got back, I went straight into jazz clubs and performing, but then there was a period of feeling like I wanted to explore other things, so I stepped back and started writing. It’s interesting,” she says, pausing, “as soon as I stepped away from jazz, I got the festival job; I jumped into it and gave it my all and it was a great experience, but now that Brous is out there, it’s time to be focusing on that.”

Unsurprisingly, when Brous focuses on something, impressive results follow, and so it is with the EP. Amazingly enough, with Brous’s powerful voice and poetic turns of phrase, the band’s music arrests almost as much attention. “The band were long time friends of mine and people I knew well before they joined,” she says keenly. “It began with James Rushford. We had an interest in pop melody, Europop, art music and avant garde and after playing with him I got further into melodies with a sense of darkness or depth. Shags [Chamberlain] was the last person to join the group, but he is a really important part of it,” she says with a rare pause for contemplation. “As oppose to having musical training, he has great taste in gear and an encyclopaedic knowledge of music and sounds which makes him great in the studio, this guy has 10000 records in his bedroom, so how could he not? I had a clear idea of what I wanted before I went in, but it’s difficult to communicate outside of music terms, and that was a great thing about having Shags there. I don’t have knowledge of synths, but when I write I have a very clear idea of the sounds I want, and sound is the core of my music – every song begins with the foundations of melody. To communicate the sound in my head means I’m singing stupid sounds to people, or playing recordings to focus on the exact tone I want, and Shags really gets that. Scott [Horscroft], Shags and me coproduced the whole thing. I bring the chords to the band and ultimately it’s what you do next that is the most interesting thing. Everything has to come back to the fundamentals; that’s the whole process on the writing - the melody, then lyrics. Then it’s a matter of extrapolating out and building around it, like architecture.” Other band members, or architects, include Alexander Garsden, Jeanette Little and Joe Talia, shining examples of the fertility of the Melbourne music community, which Brous seems intent on feeding back into.

“Initially we recorded nine tracks as a session - a few I wanted to hold for the album, some others as B sides - and this collection of songs felt cohesive. For the EP, it felt like this was enough of a first statement to come out with. We’ve written a lot of music since then and I can’t wait to get to work on that, but with Brous, there is a certain timbre. It’s dramatic and epic in scope, but I’m interested to see how this can be done in sparser ways with fewer instruments,” she says enthusiastically. “When we were recording and producing the EP Streamers was such a big song to create,” she continues breathlessly. “It took the most work, it was draining to record and it is a workout to perform; I call it my Jane Fonda song,” she laughs. “We had a lot of gear in the studio to play with, and time to develop countermelodies and give the song a certain robustness. Recording it was something that happened over time and in stages - because of my job we could only work in bursts - so the song was constructed in stages, which is funny because you can hear the song develop like that when you listen to it,” she says of its unusual structure. “I wanted a strange dislocation.”

Even with the quality and universally positive reviews, Streamers runs the danger of overshadowing the quieter and less exuberant songs on the EP, but that’s something Brous can justify. “Because Streamers came out first, and with the video getting lots of views online, people have had time to sit with it. I think every song on the EP has that scope of arrangement and heart and soul put into it; none of them are fading flowers,” she laughs. “A song like Little Ticket is a condensed version of the drama that people are talking about in Streamers. More is great, and giving something a sense of grandeur is great, but I don’t want to overwhelm the song,” she says carefully. With the company she keeps, you can be sure that’s unlikely and any density the songs have will only reward deeper listening.

Live Review: THE POINTER SISTERS, LIAM BURROWS

The Palais

When joining the throng in the foyer of the Palais, it’s fair to say few of us are expecting to be regaled by a 5-foot version of Michael Buble upon entering the theatre. However, 17-year old Australia’s Got Talent finalist Liam Burrows (who one signed-photo clutching patron later assures me later is ‘going to be really famous one day!’) is a graduate of the Sinatra school of entertainment and offers good clean fun versions of popular jazz standards. As much as the audience adores him, and as impressive as his voice and charisma is, it’s his assurance that ‘the Pointer Sisters are up next’ that gets the biggest cheer.

While some of us are holding out for The Pointer Sisters’ Pinball Count from Sesame Street, it seems that, on stage, five versions of Marcellus Wallace are occupying the bandstand. Before we have a chance to wonder how such well-built men and their muscley fingers are able to play their instruments so precisely, lights dim, applause breaks out and the voices of the Pointer Sisters tell us sweetly, amidst tinkling chimes, that they ‘love the way you give your heart so freely’. And with Happiness, we’re treated to the sight of Ruth, Issa and Sadako, three generations of Pointer. With the hem lines of their skin-tight black dresses ascending as their ages descend, the familial bond is evident long before Ruth explains that Issa is her daughter, and Sadako her granddaughter. The lack of Anita is soon forgotten as the power of their voices bind and blistering version after blistering version of some of the greatest pop songs from the 1980s erupts. Automatic is the first to get some excited audience members up the front and clapping, and it’s a safe bet that none of these people know of its recent popularity through Grand Theft Auto.

Ruth is the star of the show, clearly at ease on stage and with a voice as strong as ever, though Issa’s take on He’s So Shy makes it easy to forget she was only seven when the song was released. Going back even further, the band’s (Grammy award-winning) country and western roots come to the fore for their crowd-hushing takes on Slow Hand and Fire. While these songs didn’t have quite as much slap bass, ugly computer-fed guitar solos or as many boisterously emphasised endings the first time round, focus rarely leaves the girls and their voices. Closing the first set Dare Me, possibly the most underrated pop hit from that whole decade, sounds unbelievably fresh, keytar solo and all. During the break the band introduce themselves with hilariously funky instrumental solos, the sisters return in red, pink and orange dresses. Fashion was never their strong suit, but that they look a bit daft seems totally right, and who cares what they wear when I’m So Excited goes into Neutron Dance, and is followed by Jump? Even when Liam Burrows is brought back out to remind us that he’s short and 17 and only knows one word from the song Jump, it seems that the Pointers can do no wrong. With the band giving us a few more funk blasts, the ladies dancing in unison as they exit stage left, the show’s over and the merch desk gets very busy indeed. Here’s hoping they don’t leave a 28-year gap next time.