House Above The Sun live in Camden reviewed by John Robbins

House Above The Sun live at The Monarch, 40 Chalk Farm Road, Camden.

There are lots of things to like about South London four piece House Above The Sun, but probably the thing that makes them most interesting is the lyrical world that lead singer and guitarist Jim Moreton draws you into. 

Take their track Footsteps, which they drop approximately half way through their set in the party like atmosphere of Camden Folk's birthday celebrations. Over a stripped down almost gospel backing that's reminiscent of Spirituilized's Ladies and Gentleman... album, Jim reveals that he's "just doin' time for bad behaviour." Naturally, he leaves it to our collective imagination to guess what that black mark against his character might be, but that only makes it more intriguing. As does the smouldering intensity he delivers such revelatory, redemptive confessions, rhythmically strumming on his Telecaster as though he were off in a universe of his own.

When they play a track from their first EP entitled Still My Flesh and Blood, we witness Jim is coming to terms with a turbulent family life, and, with a Morrissey-esque flourish that brings a smile among such trauma, he shares with us that it's those conversations about the weather that really do him in.

All of which would be great on it's own but not much use without a bit of musical power to bring it up, and House Above The Sun have that too. The first song of the evening, Tamopah has a swooping quality that moves from a whisper to a growl in a mater of seconds, and it rocks out in no uncertain terms. Where The Eagles Dare has a country feel that - somewhat obviously - bring The Eagles to mind, while at other times it's the interplay between Jim and fellow singer and guitarist Ariel Moreton, in terms of gorgeous harmonies and six string interplay, that takes the breath away. 

Celebrating the release of their debut, self-released album, Five Hours North, tonight the band are clearly going places. Their sound is certainly mainstream enough - see also echoes of Fleetwood Mac and The Stones - but there's something individual and distinctive about the messages beneath the surface. 

Catch now before they make it to the enormodomes of this world would be our advice.

houseabovethesun.bandcamp.com

Reviewed by John Robbins 25/10/2017
Photos by Anna Laymond

High Windows by Philip Larkin reviewed by Denni Rusking

Kingsley Amis: "Philip Larkin is a poet who can move a large audience — to laughter and to tears — without betraying the highest artistic standards." 

High Windows was the last collection of poetry that Philip Larkin had published while he was alive. The most famous poem in the collection is This Be The Verse which begins "They fuck you up your mum and Dad, they may not mean to but they do." In a book on his favourite poets, Alan Bennett makes the point that although it's a shame Larkin's parents fucked their son up, at least they gave him something to write about. You can watch Bennett's 1990 Poetry in Motion documentary on Larkin here:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rr0CJ98lIJs

I love Larkin and I love this Springtime poem called The Trees written in 1967 - the year Larkin turned down an OBE. When I first became aware of the poem I was young and green but it still pleases me all these years later. Larkin writes poetry for people like me who didn't know they liked poetry. When Larkin went on Radio 4's Desert Island Discs he was asked how he had come up with one of his poems and he replied: "sheer genius"

The Trees

The trees are coming into leaf

Like something almost being said;

The recent buds relax and spread,

Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again

And we grow old? No, they die too,

Their yearly trick of looking new

Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh

In fullgrown thickness every May.

Last year is dead, they seem to say,

Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

Hear Larkin recite The Trees here:

High Windows

When I see a couple of kids

And guess he’s fucking her and she’s   

Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,   

I know this is paradise

Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives—   

Bonds and gestures pushed to one side

Like an outdated combine harvester,

And everyone young going down the long slide

To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if   

Anyone looked at me, forty years back,   

And thought, That’ll be the life;

No God any more, or sweating in the dark

About hell and that, or having to hide   

What you think of the priest. He

And his lot will all go down the long slide   

Like free bloody birds. And immediately

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:   

The sun-comprehending glass,

And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows

Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

Hear Larkin read High Windows here:

Daniel Torday: "Larkin was able to ignore any audience but himself.... That crass, stubborn, and yet unavoidably lovable curmudgeon who tends to poke his head out at the most inopportune times." 

Text by Denni Rusking 2017
High Windows is published by Faber & Faber

The Purple Lights at The Camden Monarch reviewed by Ben Willmott

Mark Beaumont Presents The Purple Lights, London

No-one could ever accuse East London twosome The Purple Lights are taking life too seriously. Bleach haired rock god Rob Fincham, guitarist and lead singer, and their enigmatic dreadlocked drummer Akeba saunter up on stage with all the casual manner of someone having a jam in a mate's garage rather than headlining an NME journalist's personally curated showcase. Nerves? If they're experiencing any then they're pretty good at hiding them.

Nor should they be nervous. They're one of the hardest working underground bands in Britain, both in terms of constant live appearances and new songs. A week before the show they shared the first track from their new EP, the enrapturing Afro-beat infused 'Try So Hard'. There's no room for it in the set tonight though, as they've got another new song on their hands, 'Wake Up', an incitement to rise up and react against the current backsliding political mess of Trump/Brexit we currently find ourselves in.

At least their set opener has remained pretty constant over a summer that's taken them from Glastonbury appearances to the nearby Roundhouse, who have adopted them as resident artists for 2017. 'Rain' fits the bill perfectly, anyway, starting quiet and slowly building to a powerchord-blasting chorus, Fincham's echo-y guitar work no doubt sending shivers down spines across the Monarch. Before long they are locked into a powerful groove, the heavy momentum of Akeba's reggae rhythms finding an unlikely but ultimately very natural sounding counterpoint in Fincham's riffs, flurries and soaring vocals.

They exude the kind of supreme confidence that only constant gigging can provide, but rather than creating arrogance it gives them the space to relax and have fun. Sometimes it even looks like they're playing more to impress each other than the audience, but at the same time they have a strong, serious message wrapped up in all the fun. 'Triggerman' is a great example of this. Yes, it's a passionate plea against the mindlessness of gun crime with a refrain, “triggerman - put that gun down.” But it's also a chance for Akeba to use his drumstick as a pretend gun, shoot Rob to the floor, then emerge from behind his kit to pick him up before they finish off the track in a blizzard of ska skanking.

Undoubtedly the most immediate song in their collection though, is the title track from their forthcoming second EP, 'Not Alone'. It's a sweetly-centred slow reggae workout dripping with the catchiest of hooks, augmented with looped up effects and, as ever, blessed with a chorus to die for.

Is it their best song? It might be. Then again, it's quite possible that they've written an even better one in the time it took you to read this review. It's certainly a good place to start.

Purple Lights on Sound cloud: 

Text by Ben Willmott 11/10/2017

Micko and The Mellotronics live in NW5 reviewed by Humphrey Fordham

Micko and The Mellotronics The Fiddler's Elbow Belsize Park.

A sense of 'full circle' permeates this review both in the musical and biographical sense. In 1997, this writer was an extra in Todd Haynes' celluloid Glam Rock extravaganza, 'Velvet Goldmine'. The eponymous frontman of The Mellotronics - the polymath Micko Westmoreland was also in said film, having the eloquent supporting role of 'Jack Fairy'. A dreamy slender Brian Eno-like figure. But that is another story, and now belongs in reverential Brit Flick history.

Here in this spit 'n' sawdust venue - a stone's throw away from the now generic hubbub of Camden Town. We are distinctly reminded in a 'short sharp shock' sense of what inspired the now 40-something Micko to divert from his electronic music leanings (he has composed film scores) and unashamedly pay homage to the musical heroes that inspired him to pick up a guitar in the first place.

The band in question is a no-frills three piece in the template of The Jam and the early Cure. Micko - looking very dapper in vintage Doctor Who style threads - plays Fender Jaguar and sings. Brian Pistolesi is the bassist and Nick Mackay is on drums.

Starting off in an arresting Stooges-like vein, they immediately invite you into their barre-chorded wind tunnel of excellence. 'Sick and Tired' is a downbeat number which certainly channels the intense '77-style facial contortions of MW. 'The Facts of Life' has a great rhythmic sci-fi sounding break. Well into the set, you do get a strong sense of the darkness closing in amid the 'Paint It, Black' vibe of 'Freaksville' (the video reminds me of The Banshees' 'Happy House'). When Micko sings, "I want to get back to Freaksville", you sense he craves a perennial womb-like existence. Definitely convincing.

'What do You Bring to the Party?' is festooned with excellent spidery guitar pickings, and 'The Finger' takes on an an unexpected twist - an instrumental beak a la The Supremes' 'You Can't Hurry Love'. I am left gobsmacked by such eclecticism.

The gig - which ends with the tongue-in-cheek shoplifting opus' Schmescos' - is barely an hour long. But in the grand scheme of things, that's fine. Long gigs usually leave you clock-watching anyway.

Micko has expressed his admiration for artistes as wide-ranging as Jacques Brel, Syd Barrett, Miles Davis and The Silver Apples. Such appreciation is very admirable within the challenging constraints of a three-piece. Micko told me that, pre-gig.

Long may he continue in his current incarnation.

Text by Humphrey Fordham 2017