Daisy House - Languages

A week ago, I didn’t know Daisy House existed. Then my friend Jim saw them mentioned on Mary Lou Lord’s Facebook page and told me they’d be right up my alley. Boy, was he ever right. This wonderful Long Beach folk rock band formed in December 2011, and consists of multi-instrumentalist/vocalist Doug Hammond, his daughter Tatiana (Angel) Hammond on vocals, and his long time friend Christ Stiles on cittern (an ancient, lute-like instrument). From the first listen, I was riveted by their deep grounding in British folk, most especially the late 60’s variety done so well by Fairport Convention. That is only a starting point, for it’s clear Daisy House have ingested a whole host of influences ranging from The Byrds to Donovan. I contacted Doug (DH) about an interview and he readily agreed to entertain my queries.

I have been a fan of Sandy Denny and Fairport Convention for over 30 years. When I first heard your work the other day, I was astonished. Many have tried and failed to capture the excitement of that long ago era, and yet the three of you have nailed it. How did you accomplish this?

DH: Fairport….Chris and I hooked up again, Christmas 2011, after a 30 year pause. We’d bonded originally over New Wave stuff and he played bass in our 1st originals “band” when we were Tatiana’s age. Shortly after that, he went into a self-described “English Folk Frenzy”, buying up everything he could find while I was digging into The Smiths, The Cocteau Twins, and REM. I did a couple shows with Chris’s folk band though that were very, uh, “Holy”. It left an impression on me, the intimacy and purity of it. When we reconnected, Chris’ electric cittern had literally rusted in its case, though the brass fittings had corroded like some sunken treasure. We jammed a bit with his acoustic cittern, and I suggested we do some folky songs with Angel and I singing, Donovan and Fairport in the back of my mind. As it progressed, I started seeing the possibilities more and more and the strange central hook of this singing blonde folk girl, flanked by these two elder dudes. Beauty and the Beasts, lol. Everybody loves her, little girls, college girls (except the mean ones). and their moms, who are reminded of their younger selves when they see her. So Chris had known about Fairport Convention back in the day, but I’d only known about Sandy through “Battle Of Evermore” like everybody else, and I didn’t didn’t realize she had this amazing body of work apart from that until around 2001. I heard “Blackwaterside” on KCRW (public radio), and after that just fell heart first into them. Fairport incorporated the depth of time into their music. The English writer Colin Wilson used to refer to the expansive psychological power and allure that “other places, other times” have on people’s imaginations. Fairport hit me like that, they just had it all, they were large, they were intimate, they were psychedelic, and they were grounded. They were “human-scaled”, in performance and improvisation, yet otherworldly in their themes. Sandy’s expressive voice and Richard’s playing, they were new to me, like a box of gold. The only thing that’s hit me as hard that way is discovering Elliott Smith. I don’t know of anyone else who’s attempted that Fairport dynamic except the folks in the original UK folk-rock music scene like Steeleye Span and Pentangle. That was part of the appeal of using Fairport as a template; it felt fertile and abandoned by the world, at the same time, and it seemed to fit the global economic moment. Handmade music for a world that may or may not find itself using hand tools again. So, I guess Tatiana’s “Sandy”. I’m Richard Thompson, and Chris is the guy with the citterns. They are a big part of the “sound” of us. That, “what is that thing?” thing. Another thing that helps us get closer to the expansiveness and intimacy of Fairport I believe, is the dynamic of a 50-year-old’s thoughts being channelled by a 20-year-old girl. It makes for an interesting frisson; experience and innocence in one pretty package, “skater boy” it’s not.

What artists have influenced you the most? And why is it that so much of today’s modern music is missing that critical element that makes it stand out?

DH: Most influential artists? Beatles. Beatles and the Beatles. 60’s pop music in general. The untouchably best decade for pop/rock/soul music that will ever be. Fairport, The Byrds, Beach Boys, Velvet Underground, Nick Drake, Cat Stevens, Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Donovan, Dylan, Zeppelin, Left Banke, Emitt Rhodes, Traffic, the Who, garage rock, The Kinks, The Association, Jefferson Airplane, Pink Floyd, Jethro Tull, Animals, Mamas and Papas, Doors, The Monkees, Small Faces, Zombies, Simon & Garfunkel, Walker Brothers, Nilsson, Jimmy Webb, Fleetwood Mac (both iterations). So much foment in such a tight time span. Like that song “Deep Blue” by Arcade Fire, my first memories of life are the songs of the 60’s coming out of car speakers when my older teenage half-brother had to babysit. He liked to go cruising in the suburbs with me in the back seat. I love Elliott Smith,The Smiths, REM, My Bloody Valentine. I just started digging into Richard Thompson; I love his lyrics, voice and guitar work. People kept saying, “You sound a bit like The National“, now I like The National. There’s The Black Keys, White Stripes, Radiohead, and Sharon Van Etten. Chrissy likes Gregorian chants, lute music, Bert Jansch, Martin Carthy, deep catalog UK folk artists, madrigals, and rounds. A lot of the “ancient” things I throw into Daisy House are a nod to Chrissy’s taste. Tatiana (I call her “Angel”) likes what I like. She never had a chance, poor kid. Hip hop is mocked in our house, singalongs are mandatory. She grew up with aphorisms like, “if singing is the most generous thing the human voice can do, what is rapping?” There’s really good stuff out there today in indie land, but there’s also a “dark side” to the “underground”. It can be lyrically obtuse, spiritually empty, and abstracted to death. Folk music hits more directly, usually with a bitchin’ story attached, if it’s done right. The mainstream as far as I can see (I don’t pay much attention) is still being culturally choked to death by what remains of the corporate music infrastructure. In rap, it’s been an endless parade of scowling clowns traipsing up to the mic over the last twenty years to rhyme “Bitch” with “Rich”, “Nigga” with “Trigga”. That’s corporatism at work, that “guaranteed revenue stream”. For pop music, the “career path” of any pop diva in America today seems to be innocent Disney chanteuse to pole dancing, cooch flashing “vixen”, that’s corporatism as well. Country? Pixel perfect approximations of the legacy of guys like George Jones and Johnny Cash, who used to sing about death among other non-pop subjects (end “old man rant”). A lot of modern American cultural offerings leave one cold I believe because they are not human scaled anymore. They’ve been engorged and “perfected” and offered up to a species that will never be perfected. There’s your disconnect right there, it’s the flaws that make a song adoptable and human in my opinion. I’m encouraged though, by the success of Adele (she’s got soul), The Black Keys (they’ve got funk on ‘em), Mumford and Sons (we have better songs though), and Arcade Fire. Makes me think that people may adopt us as well.

How long has the band existed, and what are your touring plans?

DH: We’ve been together a year and a half and initial touring plans are contingent on Chris and Angel. She got a 4 year scholarship to a college in PA, and has 1 1/2 to 2 years to go. Any touring or shows would have to be wedged into the summer or winter breaks. Chris teaches college history and has similar constraints.

It sounds like a host of musicians have joined you for your debut album. Is that the case, or are you all multi-instrumentalists?

DH: I played everything on the record except half the cittern parts (Emitt Rhodes is the patron saint of home recordists everywhere).

When did Tatiana start singing? Has she had voice lessons, or is her magical voice the result of good genes and a lot of practice?

DH: Angel began singing when she was 4. Her first song was, “Daddy wants some food. Mommy wants some food” (busted-lol). Actually, apart from the listening aspect of it, I never forced music down my 2 kids’ throats. Angel only really started picking up my guitar and singing around 13, when she sang “Ode to Billie Joe” at a middle school talent show. She sings like anyone would sing, in the car, with headphones on, nothing too intense (unless we’re recording), but she’s got this amazing quality to her voice. I hate to say it, but it’s better than mine. It’s a voice raised on classic rock chicks, and apart from all the useless coloratura of modern commercial divas; though she does know the indie divas, Regina Spektor, Feist, Sharon Van Etten (we love her). She’s more Sandy, Joni, Mary Hopkins, Marianne Faithful, and Grace Slick. She’s only beginning; as she gains more control over her voice, she could become even more amazing. We’ll just have to wait and see.

How does the band approach songwriting?

DH: I write all the songs. Chrissy provides me with “starter yeast”, and hips me to Celtic feedstock. The idea was to have anglo “folk” as the overarching theme of it all, while trying not to become too stifled by the conventions of folk music. For example, it could be a shoegaze tune as long as it got “folked up” lol. I’ve been perusing the Child ballads for the same reason, as jumping off points for Daisy House songs. For instance, I’ve got a new one called “Why Do You Dive So Deep in Beauty”, which is loosely based around a 17th century English folk song called “Tarry Trousers”. It’s striking how much the melody snippet sounds like something Elliott Smith would have busted out, and its over 300 years old! I also do historical research for some of the songs. There’s another new one, working title, “Plague Song”, where I ended up reading about the black plague for 3 days looking for imagery to use.  For the bulk of the 1st album, for Angel’s songs, sometimes I would imagine that Sandy was still alive and that I was writing songs for Sandy to sing on Fairport’s next album, but Anglo folk is always the parameter: no banjos, no harmonicas, it’s lutes and shit for daisy House ;)

Do you have favorite covers you like to perform, because I can totally see you covering Fairport, Steeleye Span, or The Pentangle? Maybe even Incredible String Band.

DH: Covers? We started working up a cover of “Blown A Wish” by My Bloody Valentine I’d like to do. Otherwise, there’s too many other songs of our own I’d like to flesh out right now.

Do you favor any particular equipment?

DH: The citterns. Chris has an acoustic Sobell cittern (octave mandolin) he bought back in the 70’s that’s worth about ten freaking thousand dollars now (I’d love to have one of those myself). It sounds like a grinding hurdy-gurdy-esque baritone mandolin, and is a big part of our sound. He also has the aforementioned electric cittern by Manson that sounds like a capoed 12 string guitar. Just awesome instruments. I have an old F’ed up Harmony Rocket that has more “flawed” mojo than any other electric I’ve ever played. I also like Strats, Rickenbackers and Les Pauls.

Finally, what are your future plans for the band? With your daughter in college, I imagine that might hamstring touring a bit.

DH: Our future plans are to crush the pop world, make it bend to our will and install Tatiana as the new un-spoilable, folk-rock, high priestess of pop. She could do it too. She’s pretty, she’s smart, she’s nice, she has a voice like an angel, and she’s cool! Failing that, I will continue to write “wicker man” songs about woodsmen, witches, leeches, love and death that will bring joy to hundreds! The next batch of songs is shaping up to be as good or better than the last.

From: https://bigtakeover.com/interviews/an-interview-with-doug-hammond-of-daisy-house

Genesis - Ripples

I’ve completed the Genesis Mark 1.5 three album catalogue with a purchase of Trick of the Tail. I have to say on only the first or second listening I can tell this is going to be pushing for my favourite Genesis album of all (currently The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway). It’s got it all and frankly I’m amazed to be hearing me say that after I first pondered the merits (or otherwise) of post Gabriel Genesis. I was clearly making unfounded assumptions without researching the facts. Sorry readers. The mix is tremendous (I don’t know if this is the result of the remaster — this is the 1994 edition) — clear, sharp and powerful. The bass is really deep, the guitar thick, and Collin’s vocals are a revelation. Apparently it was his rendition of Squonk that convinced the rest of the band he could step out from behind the drum kit and into Gabriel’s mighty shoes. I wonder what Gabriel must have made of this record when he first heard it. Do you think he was delighted for them, or was there a feeling of regret?

“The whole concept of The Lamb was darker, longer, and it was a real uphill battle to finish. That’s why A Trick of the Tail was easier to make. It was lighter, Phil was singing, and we had a whole new scenario with a breath of fresh air.” -Tony Banks

Unlike some of the earlier albums there are no instrumental fillers where a member of this group of egos are granted a solo piece which ill fits the whole concept. For example Hackett’s poor Bach imitation Horizons from Foxtrot, {Ed. Can you say that a bit quieter?} This is perhaps unfair on Hackett, probably the most modest member of the band. As the late joining guitarist it seems that his playing was generally so side-lined by the overwhelming keyboards of the dominant Tony Banks that he was merely and reluctantly granted the odd instrumental instead.

“I was getting tired of bringing ideas into the group, which I felt they weren’t going to do.” -Steve Hackett

Furthermore Banks has been at pains to recall that it was himself who wrote and played the guitar introduction to Supper’s Ready suggesting further that Hackett’s input was not that crucial. That series of Genesis album reissue interviews on youtube is so revealing. Fans would disagree and many argue the Genesis sound suffered more after the departure of Hackett than it did even with Gabriel. This sort of behaviour represented the worse excesses of prog rock when it became more important to demonstrate the technical skill of each musician rather than create great music itself. It’s almost as if the musicians have to demonstrate that although they are playing rock and pop music they are very serious musicians and were actually originally classically trained. The trouble is the real classical musicians see (or hear) through this. Yes were also most guilty of this where many of their albums have a solo Steve Howe or Rick Wakeman piece shoehorned in amongst the prog epics. More kudos to Robert Fripp (a guitarist to whom Hackett is sometimes compared) — a classical guitarist originally who said that hearing one chord of Jimi Hendrix meant more to him than the entire classical repertoire. He also says Wimborne in Dorset is the centre of the universe. Anyway, pleasingly it’s not such an issue on A Trick of the Tail where a balance and equilibrium between the individual musicians and the overall music is achieved throughout the album.

From: https://medium.com/6-album-sunday/genesis-a-trick-of-the-tail-8a3deec2a3c1

Birdeatsbaby - Painkiller

Normally in The Music Spotlight, I’ll pick five songs that I think are the perfect entry-level for anyone interested in exploring whichever artist or band I’ve chosen to focus on that week and then give you links to the videos on YouTube, along with my opinion on what makes these tunes so special. It’s a simple formula and one that I like, but today’s column is going to be different. Last week I was lucky enough to sit down and have a chat with Mishkin Fitzgerald. She’s the vocalist, lyricist, pianist, and all-around driving force behind one of the most underrated bands in existence today, Birdeatsbaby. She’s also a very complex person with some very interesting, and very dark, stories to tell.

Who are Birdeatsbaby?

Mishkin Fitzgerald: Birdeatsbaby has been going since 2009 (officially) but 2006 was actually our first gig. The name comes from a long bout of insomnia I had in my teens—I was on a lot of sleep medication and having strange and lucid nightmares. The first record was born out of this.

Neil Gray: So you had a dream where a bird ate a baby I take it?

MF: Kind of. I always used to see this bird-like creature on the ceiling; it was pretty creepy.

NG: Yeah, I bet it was. But from this nightmare, one of the best bands from the Dark Cabaret era was born. Did you mind being put into that niche when it happened? You’ve obviously grown from that point but that was where I found you at the time.

MF: No, we didn’t mind. It was nice to find a genre that could describe what we were doing and we ran with it, it gained us our first fanbase and we were able to find other artists to tour with through this. Yes, we’ve changed a lot but we don’t forget our roots and sometimes the cabaret sound pops up again in newer sounds, just for a moment and it’s a nod to the old sound.

NG: As you’re my guest this week, let’s start with one of your choices. “Mary”. To me, and please correct me if I’m wrong, but “Mary” strikes me as the ultimate middle finger towards organized religion.

MF: Yeah [laughs]. Well, I guess it’s not the ultimate middle finger, but it does point towards the Catholic Church. I chose the Hail Mary because it’s supposed to be a prayer towards the feminine symbol of God, the mother of God, etc., but it’s just a joke because the Catholic Church has repeatedly used its power to oppress and control women and their bodies. So I turned the Hail Mary into a poem about how the church uses a male figure to press down on women and keep them in place. Recently the Catholic Church in South America has been arresting women who miscarried or had life-saving abortions as a crime against God. Women were waking up on hospital beds in handcuffs. I get very angry about religion because I think it’s caused so much unnecessary damage to the world, avoided scientific evidence, and in this day and age people are still using it to control each other. It’s just bollocks.

NG: I totally agree with you here, it’s always struck me as weird that a male virgin in white robes has so much power over the lives and actions of millions of people worldwide and we’re all just supposed to go with it and be “Oh, him yeah, that’s cool”. The problem with religion, as expressed so well in this song, is that it makes you blind to reality.

MF: Yeah, it’s just so sad. The world would be a better place if religion could only move with the times and accept science, instead of always wanting to keep people in the dark. I’m not against religion if it helps people and they’re getting something positive out of it, but the minute it contradicts what we know to be fact in a damaging way then it should be put down. It just baffles me that most of the population still believe in a floaty-sky-man who sends you to hell if you’re naughty.

NG: On the subject of the video to Mary, shot in an actual church or?

MF: Yeah.

NG: Really? How did you manage to swing that?

MF: The pastor was very kind to let us use the space—I don’t think he knew much about the song though [laughs]. One of my student’s parents helps out there. It was funny cos he was like “Okay, I’ll leave you to it then”. Then when he came back I was dressed as a vicar with black eye contacts and my manager was like, “Hide! I’ll distract him!” and just talked his ear off while we continued the shoot. It was a fun day.

NG: Next up, I want to talk about my first choice, “The Trouble”. This was the song that clued me into Birdeatsbaby and it’s true that you can never forget your first love. To me, even to this day, it stands the test of time, but the subject matter is something I’ve always been curious about. It strikes me as almost Bowie-esque in the way the lyrics are written, not really saying anything, cut up to a degree, but at the same time getting across a feeling that people can relate to, rather than a message. Was this intentional?

MF: It’s a pretty dark subject matter. You might want to brace yourself [laughs]. When I was 19 I was assaulted by ex-boyfriend at a house party in Brighton. The experience was fairly traumatic and shaped my 20s. I can’t even walk past that place in Brighton without still feeling a sense of panic. The guy then moved in down my street, just a stone’s throw away from my house, that’s when I wrote, “Through Ten Walls”. Many of my songs are based around experience, I couldn’t help but use it at a subject matter as that kind of trauma can consume you and if you don’t get it out, then it can destroy you.

NG: I kind of feel bad for liking the song so much now.

MF: Don’t feel bad! I fuckin’ love that song! I was able to turn it into something that changed other people’s lives; otherwise, it would’ve killed me.

NG: That is a subject that seems to appear throughout your work, and as a failed poet I understand how cathartic that expressing your emotions through words can be, which leads me onto the next video “My Arms Will Open Wide”. Is this as cut and dried as it seems? Is it your goodbye to the world? Thankfully, you haven’t but was it that note?

MF: Yeah, I wrote that song as a suicide letter. I had really given up on my music, it felt like it was going nowhere and what was the point, I was really ill and had completely lost my faith which was a good thing, but at the time it felt very empty without it. When we made the video I was standing on the bridge and I was like, fuck, I really don’t want to fall. It was a good feeling to not want to die. It turns out I had more albums to write and a lot more music to give the world. Yeah, as long as I can write it, I’ll stick around. That’s my favorite video though. I’ve never felt a video could sum up my words so clearly, I was really happy with it and the shoes were nice too [laughs]. You can see them in “Tenterhooks” too.

NG: I have a story about this tune. In a previous life I used to work as a chef for a rather large chain of “If we can cook it, you can eat it” type business. Now, I used to take music in with me to get me through the grind of the day and one of the myriads of songs on the cd’s, yes they had a cd player, was “Deathbed Confession”. Thanks to Forbes production on that I used to get a bollocking every time I played it as it was so much louder than anything else I’d play. To the point, they’d have to send someone in from the front of house to ask me to turn it down because it was annoying the customers as they tried to listen to Frank Sinatra.

MF: [laughs] Brilliant! You make us proud.

NG: I love this song, with a passion and feel that it’s the perfect example of how you grew from that band I first heard in “The Trouble” into one of the most ass-kicking rock acts of all time.

MF: It’s actually a really old BEB song too. I wrote it in 2010, and it was just too heavy to go on the early stuff, so I kept it until the time was right. Forbes was definitely the right drummer for that album.

NG: So what finally brought it to the light?

MF: The line-up was perfect and we had freedom in the studio for the first time, plus Garry was playing more guitars which were what it needed too.

NG: That is very true. Garry’s guitar work on that song is sensational. The pure noise that he wrings from each note is something I hadn’t heard in a long time, not since my days of listening to the likes of Sonic Youth and The Pixies and the way that Forbes assaults the skins would get him arrested in 90% of countries. And when you add in your vocals, which are on point, and Hana, well, just being Hana, which is always a good thing, then there isn’t a bad note in the entire thing. There seems to be an underlying thought in your lyrics as well, is this another pretty fucking awful relationship one as well?

MF: No that’s not about anyone, it’s about politics, human nature and probably religion again too but this time how it’s used as a reason to go to war.

NG: Ah, so I’ve been approaching the song from the wrong angle all this time, at least from a lyrical standpoint, musically it’s the fucking boss.

MF: [laughs] Cool, thank you.

NG: I can understand why The Flock loves this video so much, the song is just downright nasty and is driven by the kind of groove that wouldn’t be out of place in an Iggy and The Stooges record.

MF: Yeah it’s hard not to like, we were listening to a lot of QOTSA that record and I had the chorus in my head while we were touring Europe, going around and around—Hana was helping me write the lyrics. It was very fun—the band grew a lot over that record.

NG: So, as I’m a sucker for your lyrics, it’s interesting to me to hear that this was a collaborative effort between you and Miss Piranha.

MF: She’s really good at lyrics, better than me. I take forever to write one line and it usually makes little sense. Hana is amazing at creating a picture and constantly referencing it again and again in new ways, the Heiress project we’re doing together now is her brilliant lyrics. I’m better at chord progressions and structure and she’s great at melodies and lyrics—we make a good team.

NG: As for the video, it seems to keep the simplicity of the song, except for your face paint. What inspired that?

MF: I think I wanted to make myself look truly evil [laughs]—the make-up was necessary to remove myself from the fragile/vulnerable Mishkin and become something empowering and seductive. I really wanted to grow as a person through that song and music video and it was definitely a turning point for me. I remember feeling like it was a risk—I mean you do open yourself up to people’s nonsense when you choose to express yourself as a sexual person, especially as a woman, but at the same time I always follow the Birdeatsbaby rule—“do what you want”. We used to announce the song on stage by saying “a good song should make you want to fight someone, fuck someone or kill yourself”. I stand by that—I don’t think there’s a single BEB song that doesn’t apply to. Also, it was a bit of fun. Being “naughty” is always so appealing and that video is just utter filth. The afterparty was… legendary.

It is very rare in this line of work that you meet someone so open and willing to discuss the demons that have driven their creative process. Normally, artists will skirt around the issue, which is understandable, as no-one wants to relive their traumatic past any longer than they have to. Mishkin Fitzgerald is not that kind of person. She is a raw nerve exposed to the elements, a musician and lyricist who has had to fight against some truly horrific experiences just so her art can see the light of day. But what she isn’t, is a victim. She has taken what life has thrown at her and turned it into some of the most powerful, beautiful, and sometimes downright nasty music you’ll ever hear. There have been close calls along the way, which she has openly admitted, but as she said; I love growing up, I feel more like the person I want to be with every year, hitting 30 was like realising who I am and making the big changes I needed to.” Even if I hadn’t had a chance to sit down and talk with her, I would’ve recommended Birdeatsbaby to you and anyone else who would listen, just because I love the band that much, but having spent a couple of hours in her company and getting just a small taste of how passionate she is about her craft, then I cannot think of a single reason that Birdeatsbaby doesn’t find their way into your playlist. Music should touch you, lyrics should speak to you and in Birdeatsbaby you have the perfect combination of both.

From: https://tvobsessive.com/2020/01/28/the-music-spotlight-birdeatsbaby/

The Hanging Stars - (I've Seen) The Summer in Her Eyes

An unexpected development: it turns out that both of my early 2024 country-adjacent favorite records come from England. These standouts achieve their success in different ways, though - Brown Horse’s Reservoir focuses on gritty bar band country-rock, while The Hanging Stars’ opt for a much lighter and airier approach. Said approach isn’t a major transformation for this London band. They’ve been in the “Cosmic Americana” lane for a while, with my first experience with them being the 2022 effort Hollow Heart, an effortlessly pleasant listen with solid replay value, even if the songs themselves didn’t particularly stand out as memorable. With follow-up On a Golden Shore, the group doesn’t drift far away from familiar territory, but their execution is flawless enough to consider the latest result a notable step up.
For those readers still wondering what The Hanging Stars sound like, it seems evident that the band have been wearing out their Gram Parsons records, alongside albums like The Byrds’ Sweetheart of the Rodeo, The Grateful Dead’s American Beauty, and The Jayhawks’ Tomorrow the Green Grass, with those kind of earthy yet transcendently beautiful influences felt in abundance on this release. The Hanging Stars have melded that sound with a couple styles more clearly associated with their homeland - a bevy of psychedelic touches and a hint of jangle pop, in particular. There’s definitely a Beatlesque tinge in places (particularly clear on “Happiness is a Bird”, and not solely because the track’s title sounds like a “Happiness is a Warm Gun”/”And Your Bird Can Sing” mashup). In addition, fans of fellow Englishman Honey Harper will probably find a lot to like here, with echoes of Starmaker’s shimmery melancholy clearly present.
The eleven songs collected in On a Golden Shore are easy-going and full of warmth, absolute ear candy from start to finish. The music is blissful, remaining ethereal while also possessing abundant pop sensibility. The biggest improvement here for The Hanging Stars is that the melodies are richer this time around, playing a key role in revealing some vital highlight tracks - “Sweet Light” is a total earworm, and “Disbelieving” is one of the most gorgeous country-ish jams I’ve heard in a while. Meanwhile, closer “Heart in a Box” is so subdued as to approach ambient, feeling like a sunset dream and leaving the listener to bask in the fading glow.
Lyrically, On a Golden Shore tends to hew towards heartbroken tales of woe, fitting for the genre tradition, but nonetheless this album remains an absolute joy to listen to. It might be a classic case of a band doing the simple things right and leaning upon a near-perfect fusion of sound and vibe, but if you understand the basic purpose of music as being about playing tunes which sound great and make the listener feel things, well, then, The Hanging Stars seem to have it all figured out. If you’re looking for me, I’ll be across the pond, rollin’ down that lost highway.  From: https://www.sputnikmusic.com/review/88310/The-Hanging-Stars-On-A-Golden-Shore/

New Riders of the Purple Sage - Dirty Business

In the summer of 1969, John Dawson was looking to showcase his songs while Jerry Garcia  was looking to practice his brand new pedal steel guitar. The two played in coffeehouses and small clubs initially, and the music they made became the nucleus for a band—the New Riders of the Purple Sage. That same year, David Nelson, expert in both country and rock guitar, joined the group on electric lead guitar. Filling out the rhythm section in those early days were Grateful Dead drummer Mickey Hart and engineer Bob Matthews on bass, who was later replaced by Phil Lesh. In 1970, Dave Torbert took over on bass and the New Riders played every chance they got. Soon enough, smoky clubs all over the San Francisco bay area were filling up with whooping, foot-stomping crowds as their music got tighter and more dynamic. They began to tour extensively with the Dead, and in December of 1970, Spencer Dryden, who had previously showed his impeccable drumming style with the Jefferson Airplane, had stepped in on drums.
One of the many gigs with the Dead included the Trans-Canadian Festival Express with Janis Joplin, The Band, and other American and Canadian artists like Ian and Sylvia, who had with them a brilliant, innovative pedal steel player named Buddy Cage. When Garcia’s busy schedule made it increasingly difficult for him to play with the New Riders, the talented Cage was the perfect choice to fill the pedal steel spot. He moved from Toronto where he had been working in Anne Murray’s band, to California in the spring of 1971 to join the New Riders. With the addition of Cage, the New Riders emerged as a fully independent unit. An excitingly creative band with a special brand of music—sweet country harmonies mixed with pulsing rock rhythms.
The New Riders were signed to Columbia Records in 1971 by Clive Davis and their eponymous first album, New Riders of the Purple Sage, was released in September of that year to widespread acclaim. In December, 1971 they played a live radio broadcast with the Dead over WNEW-FM in New York to an audience of millions. In 1972 the pattern of their success continued to grow, with their first European tour followed in June by the release of their second album, Powerglide. They toured the United States extensively in response to increasing demand, and in November, 1972 released their third album Gypsy Cowboy.
In May of 1973, the New Riders appeared on ABC-TV’s “In Concert” program to a nationwide audience. Working hard on the road for much of the year, including gigs with the Dead at Kezar Stadium in San Francisco and R.F.K. Stadium in Washington, DC, they took a brief time out to go into the Record Plant in Sausalito with producer Norbert Putnam. The result was The Adventures of Panama Red, released in September of 1973 and with Peter Rowan’s title track, this became an FM radio staple and the first gold record for the band. In November they embarked on an east coast tour that included them setting the box office record at New York City’s Academy of Music. This tour was recorded for the group’s first live album, Home, Home on the Road, which was produced by Jerry Garcia.
Early 1974 found bassist Dave Torbert wanting to pursue a more rock and roll direction as he left the New Riders to form Kingfish with old friends Matthew Kelly and Bob Weir. Skip Battin, formerly with the Byrds, joined the band on bass as they kept to their solid touring schedule which had become one of the band’s trademarks. In August, 1974, the New Riders gave a free thank you concert in Central Park on a Tuesday afternoon to 50,000 New York fans. Their sixth album, entitled Brujo, was released in October, 1974 and found their recorded sound getting crisper with delicate harmonies and more original songs.
Searching for expanded musical horizons, the New Riders hooked up with producer Bob Johnston, known for his work with Bob Dylan, in 1975. Letting Johnston take them down uncharted terrain, the resulting Oh, What A Mighty Time found the band hooking up with Sly Stone and a bevy of female background singers. Mighty Time also features Jerry Garcia’s electric guitar leads on “Take A Letter Maria.” Just about this time, the music business was entering another era and the New Riders ended their relationship with Columbia Records. The subsequent release of the Best of the New Riders of the Purple Sage, with its infamous cover, fulfilled their obligation to Columbia and the band then signed with MCA Records in 1976.  From: https://thenewriders.com/bio/history/

The Wyld Olde Souls - Ferris Wheel

Ensoulment, the first full length CD by the Wyld Olde Souls, serves up an intoxicating mix of psychedelic folk spiced with both Indian music and medieval love songs. The band consists of Ivy Vale (on seductive mahogany-rich vocals, guitar, and hand percussion), Rick Reil (vocals, bouzouki, and guitars), Melissa Davis (vocals, hand percussion), Kristin Pinell Reil (vocals, flute, guitar, mandolin), and Naren Budhakar (tablas). Both Reils are also long time members of legendary power pop band The Grip Weeds. Budhakar studied with tabla maestro Samir Chatterjee and has performed with a number of eastern and western artists.
The 14-song CD release has been widely praised -- "It's good to see that someone is still exploring folk and psychedelia and doing it so well" (Tom Rapp, founder of legendary '60s band Pearls Before Swine); "haunting ethereal mystical folk music led by female chant-song as atmospheric as a moth caught under a flickering gaslight on a stormy night and simply resonating with psychedelic Celtic harmony" (The Ptolemaic Terrascope); "... their use of folk and rock instruments can't be denied, but that's where the typical is left behind. It's left far in the background as you're lifted into a wonderful realm of the ethereal, the music and sincere Pagan lyrics opening up vistas of ancient sunlight, woodlands and calming nature... a rich serenade of transcendence" (Chaos Realm).
The Wyld Olde Souls were recently nominated by The Indie Music Channel for Best Folk Group, and have also been nominated for a Hollywood Music in Media Award for their live video of Led Zeppelin classic "Gallows Pole." The Hollywood Music in Media Awards take place in November -- now in its fifth year, heralding the start of awards season. The band has also released a new video for the album's first single "Leave Her" which, like the song itself, takes one on a magical journey in a verdant green forest setting with dappled sunlight. Dreamy, trippy, with a lyrical guitar solo, lush orchestral arrangements and Vale's stunning alto, "Leave Her" begins where Lee Hazlewood's "Some Velvet Morning" left off.  From: https://www.huffpost.com/entry/the-wyld-olde-souls_b_1868748

Gingerpig - Undefined Call

The title of the new Gingerpig album, Ghost On The Highway, wasn’t chosen randomly. It is a reference to the musical journey of Gingerpig, to the passion and the urge that has pushed them forward to three albums now. Founder and frontman of Gingerpig, Boudewijn Bonebakker, is clear about it: ”Music is my way to stay ahead of my personal ghost on the highway.” Ghost On The Highway is not just the result of years of perfecting the sound of Gingerpig. That sound is not the goal for Gingerpig, it’s the vehicle with which the story is being told. More than anything else it is the almost haunted intensity and conviction behind the songs that impresses and pulls you in. Five years ago Gingerpig’s journey started with the preparations for their first album. The grand experiment The Ways of the Gingerpig was built on the conviction that the listener can’t be fooled. Bonebakker and his associates opened up their suitcases and started off with lots of musical luggage and even more ideas and with their first they delivered a loving mix of seventies rock, blues, fusion and (post-) metal. The band had set just one single limit for themselves: making music. During the course of their search and their wanderings, the musical focus of Gingerpig sharpened. The identity and style of the band ripened fast and the eclectic character of their music matured. This culminated on the album Hidden from View, on which the organic sound and the sincere approach came more to the forefront. This development has continued on Ghost on the Highway but clearly the boys haven’t found their calm yet. Sure, Gingerpig sounds more weathered, more intense and louder than ever, a very distinct and recognisable loud that works in clear unity with the lyrical content, but the restlessness stays. Haunted, mean & lean by their musical travels, Gingerpig dispose most of their garnish and fringe on Ghost on the Highway and deliver not only musically but also lyrically a surprising resolute and thunderous rock album.  From: http://www.mig-music.de/en/releases/gingerpig-4/

Divahn - Ya'alah Ya’alah

Divahn is an all-woman Mizrahi/Sephardi ensemble which began dazzling audiences with its Middle Eastern grooves. Infusing traditional and original Jewish songs with sophisticated harmonies and entrancing improvisations. Divahn has engendered an international following, performing in venues ranging from top concert halls in Poland to the most prestigious clubs in NYC.
The group's thrilling live shows include lush string arrangements, eclectic Indian, Middle Eastern, and Latin percussion, and vocals spanning Hebrew, Judeo-Spanish, Persian, Arabic, and Aramaic.  Dardashti's diverse background performing Persian and Arab classical music, Ashkenazi cantorial music, Western classical music and jazz enhance Divahn's unique and innovative sound.
The group has appeared at music festivals and live television and radio shows internationally and has shared the stage with some of the world's most renowned master musicians. As one of the few groups performing Mizrahi and Judeo-Arab music in the US, Divahn welcomes its audiences to a beautiful sphere of shared Jewish and Muslim culture.  From: https://www.galeetdardashti.com/divahn

The Owl Service - Ladies, Don't Go

The second installment in their The Pattern Beneath The Plough series sees The Owl Service releasing a full album's worth of material - a follow-up to their EP-length collection of winter-themed folk songs, The Burn Comes Down. Once again the septet are joined by contributors Joolie Wood (of Current 93) and Mellow Candle's Alison O'Donnell, and the resultant recordings feel like the most complete collection of songs yet from the band. The album opens with a wonderfully atmospheric cello rendering of 'Polly On The Shore', set to a backdrop of vinyl static, portentous drum rolls and bells - both of the sleigh variety and the sort that might announce an imminent public hanging. It's a fittingly spooky opening to an album named after an M.R. James ghost story. Subsequently, 'The Banks Of The Nile' direct us towards more expected folk-rock sounds, but there remains an evocative sense of darkness running through much of the record - which makes a certain amount of sense given the thematic persistence of death and executions across this tracklist. Occasional acappellas like 'Sorry The Day I Was Married' and the apparently woodland-recorded 'In Thorneymoor Woods pt.1' entrench the Owl Service in folk heritage, yet they're equally at home channelling the fusionist sounds of the 1970s, electrifying their guitars and plugging in their Mellotrons for a great version of 'The Bold Poachers' before reverting once again to more vehemently traditionalist sounds on the Maypole-compatible 'The Ladies Go Dancing At Whitsun'. The key points of reference are bands like Steeleye Span, Fairport Convention and Pentangle, but on The View From A Hill, The Owl Service are really starting to sound special in their own right.  From: https://boomkat.com/products/the-view-from-a-hill

Custard Flux - I Feed The Fire

Gregory Curvey’s Custard Flux project sees him expanding the musical pallete he set in his group The Luck of Eden Hall. Jason Barnard speaks to Curvey about Custard Flux and his excellent new album Echo.

How has the sound of Custard Flux evolved over the past few years, culminating in Echo?

On Helium, last year’s release, I played every instrument, which wasn’t my initial intention but I wasn’t finding any local musicians that were interested in what I wanted to do, and I didn’t want to wait, so I dove in. Fortunately, this time I had the input of a couple of great musicians on Echo, and their individual styles have helped the sound expand. I’m very delighted.

Who’s in your current band and have you played with them before?

Just four of us so far. Timothy Prettyman on Double Bass, Vito Greco on Guitar, Walt Prettyman on Violin, and myself. Timothy and I played together in a project in the 80s that never got off the ground. Vito appeared on TLoEH’s version of Starship Trooper that was released on Fruits de Mer Records.

What was the writing and recording process for Echo?

I definitely wrote more songs on the guitar for this album. A lot of the Helium tracks were written while sitting at the Harmonium because it was a new acquisition and very inspiring. Extraordinary Man and Echo were the first couple tunes out of the gate, for this project. The basic structure of Extraordinary Man was written with my friend Tim Ferguson during a weekend of jamming in my studio, and later I added the lyrics. After those first two songs were written, I really tried to focus on more progressive melodies, and if a song sounded too typical I would scrap it, or deconstruct it and rearrange it, which was the case with Pink Indians. Most of the tracks started with a scratch guitar, which I’d play drums to, and then I’d add instrumentation to it from there. Timothy laid down his Bass parts after I’d played the drums. Vocal tracks were usually last. Sometimes I delete parts to let other instruments shine. For example, on Gold I totally removed the guitar track after the first chorus and let the piano take over. I also wasn’t sure if I was going to get Walt into my studio in time, but he came in at the last minute and nailed his solos superbly!

How much have you used the harmonium?

It’s on every song on the album.

America is one of my highlights. Were you making a statement about the double-sided nature of the US at the moment?

Yeah, I’m pretty disgusted with the current potus and his, I use the term loosely, administration. What a circus. Doing exactly the opposite of what desperately needs to be done. Appointing people to run departments that they’re publicly known to have despised. The people I know that actually like him and his policies have been brainwashed by decades of propaganda, and there doesn’t seem to be a way out of this rut. So, I tried to poetically write about American cultural faux pas, using Baseball and Apple Pie, two of the most American things I could think of, as metaphors.

Did you have a particular sound in mind for the album?

I’d developed a sound while recording Helium and wanted to stick to that formula. I record everything acoustically, with minimal studio effects, and then play an electric guitar solo if I felt like it. I really had to hold back from playing an electric solo on Supernatural, and I’m glad I left the space for Walt. His Violin parts remind me of Eddie Jobson’s work with Roxy Music. One of my all time favorites.

Who influences you – then and now?

I can remember being really little, before fm radio, listening to my Mom’s am radio and wishing for the DJ to play songs like Ain’t No Mountain High Enough and Temptation Eyes. Then changing stations and hearing Kick Out The Jams and Open My Eyes. So, Pop Set In at an early age. Sabbath and Jethro Tull were added to my mix of KISS and The Beatles in my Junior High years, then I discovered Prog on fm radio. Genesis, King Crimson, Yes had just released Relayer, Jeff Beck’s Wired album. I also went through a punk phase and just recently saw The Damned on tour. I draw inspiration from all of these genres but Psychedelic, Prog, and Pop are my true loves. Currently, I’ve been listening to White Denim and Tame Impala.

Is there any artists you’d like to collaborate with?

I’d love to work with Todd Rundgren. I’ve been fortunate to meet him a few times, and once my friend Patrice talked to his stage manager and he invited me backstage. TLoEH had just released Belladonna Marmalade, so I gave him a copy. We chatted while he and his family were eating dinner. I was shy as hell, but I did suggest my desire for him to produce my work. He laughed and said something like, “You’d be better off without me. I’m the kiss of death.” Rundgren just seems like he’d be a great person to work with, and I could learn so much.

The video and music for Supernatural perfectly complement each other. Did you give a brief to Shane Swank – how was it put together?

I pretty much let Shane do whatever he feels for the Custard Flux Music videos, because I love the aesthetic in his work, and have been an admirer for years. He’s an accomplished painter and visual artist and when I saw he’d started dabbling in animation, I asked and was ecstatic when he agreed to create a video for Innermission, one of the instrumental tracks on Helium. He also created a fantastic music video for The Hit Parade, complete with bouncing sing-a-long lyrics ala Charlie and The Chocolate Factory. Shane also did my portrait on the back cover of Helium.

Is there any lyrical themes across the album? What do you think ties them together – did you sequence them in a particular way?

I didn’t have any themes in mind when I was writing lyrics this time. Some are fantasy, some are about current or past life experiences. Cirque d’Enfant was written 12 or 13 years ago, just after my daughter was born. I’m not really sure if anything ties them together other than the music. As far as sequence goes, I always lay out the song order by feel. I didn’t know I was going to open the album with Supernatural until the song was finished, then it seemed a no-brainer.

What are your favourite Custard Flux tracks and why?

I like Sleepy. It’s fun to play on the piano and I was really happy with the song, although the piano part kind of got buried in the final mix. I like Forevermore because I discovered the piano/harmonium combination for the first time when recording it, which created a dreamy circus atmosphere. I’m proud of The Hit Parade. It started out as a little piano riff, and I liked the way it all came together. Supernatural is fun to play on the guitar, and I can’t wait to perform it live. I’m proud of Tiger because a musician from another country liked it enough to cover it and post his version on YouTube, which is pretty cool!

How would you say the Custard Flux material compares with The Luck of Eden Hall?

Most of the songs I write come to me the same way, so I could probably replace the Harmonium with Mellotron, plug in and make TLoEH versions of all these new songs, but the concept is to create the same type of music using only acoustic instruments. Electricity free, so to speak. The Harmonium really sparked the idea. It sounds almost like a Hammond Organ, and by playing it I can tell what they were trying to mimic when they created the first Hammond Organs. The keys don’t play as easy as a modern keyboard, so, much like the Mellotron, you need to learn how to play the Harmonium. There are two knee levers that allow you to change sounds while playing, along with the stops that you can push or pull to engage different sounds. It’s pretty cool. The other big difference would be my guitar playing. Playing electric guitar with pedals and an Echoplex is a blast, and I miss it, but I really had to practice a lot and focus on my ability to play acoustic guitar, so I’d be comfortable in a live setting. I wanted to be more accomplished at soloing, so I practice scales constantly. I’m very confident now.

You mentioned your increased confidence. I think that shows in the broader pallette you’re drawing from in this album with tracks like Gold and Cirque d’Enfant. Has that affected your writing style or does the wider range of sounds just come out when arranging and recording?

I think I’m getting more comfortable writing lyrics, which shows in the two songs you’ve mentioned, and focusing on a more progressive approach to the music definitely leads me down avenues I haven’t explored in the past. I’m not a technical composer. I’ve tried to learn about theory, but it doesn’t stick with me. I play by ear. I love Indian and Arabic music, Jazz and Hard Rock. Lately I’ve been trying to blend these sounds. Using alternative chords along with bar and power chords is really pleasing. Songs can go through a metamorphosis while I’m recording and radically change, but that keeps them fresh. If I just recorded everything the way it initially came to me out of the ether, the songs would be too typical. I almost always change the vocal melody. Sometimes the initial melody is in a register that can’t be sung powerfully enough, and things like that.

From: https://thestrangebrew.co.uk/interviews/curveys-custard-flux/

10,000 Maniacs - Stockton Gala Days

Natalie Merchant’s reasonably priced mega-box set is due out next month, though my pre-ordered copy is already in the UPS pipeline. I’ll have more to say about it after I receive it, no doubt, but one thing I can say is: I’m saddened that the same love and affection shown to Natalie’s solo career hasn’t been applied to her days with her old group, 10,000 Maniacs.
Don’t get me wrong: the 2004 2-CD collection Campfire Songs: The Popular, Obscure and Unknown Recordings of 10,000 Maniacs is an excellent compilation. But that early era of the Maniacs (who are still a working, and excellent, band) deserves more – at the least, a series of official concert recordings, given that they were such an incredible live band. (Unplugged, while a fine set, doesn’t do them justice.) I’d love nothing more than to relive their short set at WXPN’s Five-Star Night in 1992…and given that three of those songs turned up as bonus tracks the 1993 British “Candy Everybody Wants” CD single, one wonders why the entire show wasn’t released. The same goes for their 1988 set at Sadler Wells Theatre in London, which was recorded by BBC 6 Radio, plus others. Which is all beside the point of this “Essentials” plug, I suppose. Forgive the rant.
Anyway, from their first independent releases to their last CD, Unplugged, the Natalie-era 10K Maniacs never released a bum album. But – when it comes to stone-cold classics – two have more than stood the test of time: their 1987 breakthrough, In My Tribe, and their 1992 studio swan song, Our Time in Eden. At some to-be-determined time in the future, I’ll revisit the former; today, however, I’m spotlighting the latter. To my ears, it’s a perfect set. As I explained in my recap of 1992, it’s “everything I love about music: It’s poppy, rocky, bright, light and deep, with melodies that soar and lyrics that, if one listens to them, mean more than most. The juxtaposition of the jangly with the profound is something I adore.” I’d simply add that the addition of the horns and woodwinds from the J.B.’s (James Brown’s band) was a masterstroke, adding a depth to the proceedings. The Maniacs jumped into the deep end of the pool by adding the JB Horns, in other words, and swam with ease.
The album opens with the mesmerizing “Noah’s Dove,” which may well feature Natalie’s finest-ever vocal – or, more likely, one of her best. It also includes the once-upon-a-long-ago radio and MTV staples of “These Are Days” and “Candy Everybody Wants”. Other highlights include the fast-tempo “Few and Far Between” and sweeping “Stockton Gala Days”. One additional thought: The album should have a warning label affixed to it. One listen will beget two and, then, three, four and more – as just happened to me. So, be forewarned.  From: https://oldgreycat.blog/2017/06/24/the-essentials-10000-maniacs-our-time-in-eden/

Coil - It's In My Blood

My best friend reported a cataclysmic falling out with his girlfriend and told me he couldn’t come to watch Coil play live in London. I couldn’t have been more delighted. I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s enjoyment or for having to check in on their needs. For this one night – just one show – all I wanted was to sink into Coil’s sound, to turn my mind off and live within the spectacle. I clung to the security barrier by the stage throughout and remember John Balance’s glorious attire – a straitjacket; the fabric funnels enclosing Peter Christopherson and Thighpaulsandra; the swaying lightbulbs; the songs, the screams and the stories. The pleasure was of communing with only the warmth of humans. The hearty rounds of applause were the only reminders I was sharing it with anyone else. No one knew the end would come so soon after.
For all the sorrows brought about by their demise, it has been beautiful to see Coil’s reputation endure and grow in their absence. I adore seeing motivated individuals – the Live Coil Archive’s tireless archival efforts or Cormac Pentecost’s Man Is The Animal zine, for instance – keep their art alive purely for love. It’s kept my own enthusiasm high. What I wanted to achieve in Everything Keeps Dissolving: Conversations With Coil for Strange Attractor was to produce a volume drawing together the most insightful interviews, rare or lost material, in which John Balance and Peter Christopherson told their own tale as it unfolded. Living inside someone’s work for a year to two years can be exhausting, so I always have to be careful of what I take on, but this was a pleasure. I called it the treasure hunt: two years of tapes appearing from closets, letters dropping out of attics, persuading a film company to find the rushes of a TV show buried in a warehouse, paying a film director to digitise unused footage and a radio company to surface an old broadcast.
What I appreciate in a world where so much energy is devoted to acceptability, is witnessing individuals, like Coil, choosing to build their own world and giving it meaning that others are unlikely to comprehend, let alone value; striving to create in spite of hard costs or intangible rewards. I don’t care so much about end-results as I do about people living their process: in short people who try. I admire what two guys and their amazing collaborators achieved from a house by the river in Chiswick, then from another on a hillside in Weston-Super-Mare.
While the piece below dwells on darker times, what made a difference to me while living inside Coil’s words and works for such a prolonged period, was their humanity. They weren’t putting forward a carefully tended and curated image, instead there’s this explosion of humour, intellect, kindness, thoughtfulness that made it feel the way one does with a close friend or loved one, that you know them at their worst, but it’s OK because you know their richness of character too. Their work was not just an exorcism or magickal working, it was something that gave them pleasure – a pleasure I could feel and that warmed a lot of long nights.
While John Balance’s childhood memories dwell on untethered physical relocation, astral connections, a sense of becoming ever more who he wished to be, Peter Christopherson’s early life – at least as he described it – was far more steady… But it’s hard to know. From the time he joined Throbbing Gristle through his time in Coil, Christopherson tended to shy away from interviews, often occupying himself elsewhere, or staying in the background. This discretion is visible in the way his collaboration with one natural possessor of the spotlight, Genesis P-Orridge, gave way to another in Balance. In many ways, Balance was his perfect emotional match: one helplessly exposed, the other firmly repressed. A focus on this gap between public and private faces is critical to Christopherson’s work which delighted in poking at society’s squeamishness. His nickname — Sleazy — resulted from what he described in Simon Ford’s Wreckers Of Civilisation as a youthful taste for “using the body as an object of fetishistic exploration…” His personal inclinations rubbed up against an ever more stifling cultural climate in which he witnessed P-Orridge charged for ‘obscene’ mail-art; the hysterical condemnation of Coum Transmissions’ Prostitution show; and police raids on Throbbing Gristle’s studio.
Hostile officialdom was a perturbing presence throughout Coil’s first decade. Balance spoke of being subject to police stop-and-search; of a friend’s flat searched for drug paraphernalia; of being arrested at a gay rights protest; of fear of the police leading to the cessation of Psychic TV and Coil’s exploration of cults. The 1987 Operation Spanner raids and prosecutions — for consensual sadomasochistic acts — heightened tension, then everything erupted in 1992 when a documentary made unfounded allegations of child abuse against P-Orridge. P-Orridge and family fled into exile as the police raided their home and confiscated their archives. Coil described being so scared they sanitised their home of anything that might arouse police suspicion and spent several years expecting the front door to be kicked in.
This was not the only existential threat to Balance and Christopherson. Both participated enthusiastically in the libertinage of London’s gay scene, only to be slammed brutally into the burgeoning devastation of AIDS. Personally escaping infection brought limited relief as they witnessed friends succumbing. Madonna’s tour manager, Martin Burgoyne, died on his 23rd birthday in 1986 with Balance musing: “you start to dwell on it, y’know? Especially if you’ve had sex with him.” Balance still sounded angry in 1995 over the death of Eddie Cairns, the cover artist for the ‘Tainted Love’ single: “I think it was Hammersmith Council who dealt with Eddie’s body… men in bloody Dalek suits, wrapped the body in numerous sheets of plastic and didn’t know how to deal with the body.” Their friend Leigh Bowery would die, aged 33, in December 1994. Meanwhile their long association with Derek Jarman was lived in the shadow of his HIV diagnosis in December 1986, until his death in February 1994.
Coil, and the wider gay community, reeled in shock with Scatology’s nod toward niche pleasures giving way to Horse Rotorvator’s explicit grappling with death as a lived experience. A U.K. resident in their 20s might experience an elderly relative’s demise, a further few an untimely loss from disease or misadventure… But to have so many young friends die, the terror of that time is underappreciated. In 1986, Balance was 24, Christopherson was 31: their peak years of sensual exploration were derailed by risk, sickness and death.
Beyond AIDS lay further trauma. ‘Ostia (The Death Of Pasolini)’ was a simultaneous tribute to the murdered film director; to a friend, Wayne, who jumped from the Dover cliffs; and to Leon, whose cause of death Coil left undisclosed. Again, in 1992, a voicemail recounting someone’s suicide, “…he threw himself off a cliff…” was the basis of the haunting ‘Who’ll Fall’. The recording was revisited for 1993’s ‘Is Suicide A Solution?’ with a cover image taken from the bedroom of a Coil fan who leapt from the window to his death. Their other 1993 single was ‘Themes For Derek Jarman’s Blue’, the film visually described blindness arising from AIDS.
Instead of relief from the numbing drumbeat of death, from emotional baggage, from the policeman’s shadow, the years around Coil’s third album proved a personal cataclysm. Described as their ‘dance’ album, Love’s Secret Domain was no testament to Second Summer of Love joyousness. In a vast release of tension, Coil spent much of 1988 – 1992 immersed in the hedonistic relief of Ecstasy and other drugs. The resulting album opened with ‘Disco Hospital’ — a metaphor as pointed as Coil’s ‘Tainted Love’ — then dwelt throughout on the intertwining of death and love, a soundtrack to desperation not delight. The chemically-induced fallout of these years was so severe it propelled Stephen Thrower from the group, while Balance collapsed on occasions both public and private, ultimately lapsing into alcoholism. Marking the seriousness of this moment, ‘Eskaton’ became a permanent Coil label imprint. Eschatology — the study of the world’s end — tied together Horse Rotorvator’s explicit theme, as well as being a wordplay on Scatology. This loop acknowledged that Coil were beginning anew, that their past was linked to, but distinct from, their future. They lived now in the ‘last days,’ somewhere amid or beyond the apocalypse.
Balance and Christopherson sought workable ways to continue, but Coil, for a time, was too bloodied an entity to be the vehicle. Practically speaking, the name Coil existed from 1994 to 1998 almost entirely as an archive, a host for alternate identities, or a remixer of others’ work. Instead, a tentative step forward was taken by standing in direct opposition to their former self: 1994’s Coil Vs. The Eskaton and Coil Vs. ELpH singles. This led to the even more radical idea of shedding Coil’s damaged husk and splintering into new, unsullied personas: Wormsine, Black Light District, Time Machines, ELpH, Eskaton. 1995 – 1999 was an escape attempt: seeking refuge in a ‘black light district,’ the opposite of a red light district’s carnality; channelling alien entities to extirpate their own voices; escaping time altogether; rejecting Mars and the sun in favour of the feminine moon; leaving the dense metropolis in the east for a seaside town to the far west.
A mooted album title Coil had rejected ten years prior, Funeral Music For Princess Diana, seemed eerily prescient in 1997. It’s real significance, however, was as a mirror. Across their first decade, Coil tried to find ways to live amid trauma, then spent its aftermath shedding their identity to try to find the renewal that self-definition had given Balance as a young man. The final phase of their existence felt like a surrender. Tales of Balance’s frightening battle with alcohol were not products of a scandal-hungry media: Coil were the source. Alongside their candid interviews and on-stage acknowledgement of issues, by 2000 they were selling a blood-smeared ‘Trauma’ edition of Musick To Play In The Dark 2, then Balance performed in a straightjacket in 2004. Coil were not virgins. They understood the public’s appetite for salacious consumption, that the media was a delivery mechanism for perusing human pain, and they colluded in the same symbiotic relationship that ended Diana. While Christopherson gave every appearance of being ready to settle into being a musical elder statesman, Balance seemed harrowed by the prospect that he had no way out of his role as public avatar of pain.  From: https://thequietus.com/culture/books/coil-everything-keeps-dissolving/

The Duhks - 30-Minute Music Hour PBS

 The Duhks - 30-Minute Music Hour PBS - Part 1

 

 The Duhks - 30-Minute Music Hour PBS - Part 2

 

Jessee Havey remembers the day she took the Duhk call like it was… well… 2011. Four years after leaving the Duhks, one of the Canadian neo-folk scene’s most influential roots acts, the stunning songbird was sitting in the backseat of a taxicab heading toward her day job as school administrator at the Manitoba Theatre for Young People in Winnipeg. Leonard Podolak, who had known Havey since she was a baby, was phoning with a proposition. The founder, frontman, and clawhammer banjo player of the Duhks (rhymes with shucks) had to know: Would she “be into” returning to the band she joined fresh out of high school? “And I immediately, before I could even say anything, tears started streaming down my face and I was, ‘Yes, I want my band back! Yes!’ ” Havey enthusiastically recalled over the phone last month from her home in Winnipeg. “And this cab driver must have thought I was a lunatic. It’s not the first time or the last that I cried hysterically in the back of a cab. But, yeah, that was a pretty amazing moment.” Calling it her second chance, Havey was reborn, along with the Duhks, who nearly became as extinct as the dodo. Now that there’s an intact quintet again, with three new members — Rosie Newton (fiddle), Kevin Garcia (drums/percussion), and Colin Savoie-Levac (guitar/bouzouki) — this tasty potpourri of cultural influences, styles and substance sounds as vital as ever on Beyond the Blue. The 12-song record produced by Mike + Ruthy, to be released June 24 (Compass Records), is the first Havey has done with the Duhks since Migrations in 2006, when they were still with Sugar Hill. A lot has transpired since Havey left in 2007. So much, in fact, that she stayed on the phone for 30 more minutes after sharing Duhk tales for an hour with Podolak, who had to run after joining this joint interview on Victoria Day from the North End St. John’s bungalow he and his wife own in Manitoba’s capital. The two self-proclaimed Winnipeg babies (born and raised) barely got around to promoting the album, which initially required going to crowd-funding website Indiegogo, where they raised $18,276. The band subsequently signed with Compass, the label co-founded by banjo virtuoso Alison Brown and her husband Garry West. That partnership almost happened much earlier, when, according to Podolak, a deal was “99 percent of the way there” shortly after the Duhks were hatched in 2001, the year Havey said, “Leonard and I had our first jam (and simultaneous ‘aha’ moment).” After self-releasing Your Daughters & Your Sons in 2003, three studio albums (including one without Havey) for Sugar Hill followed. Now that Beyond the Blue is almost upon us, Podolak has a simple plea for anyone with ears: “Gee whiz, just give it a listen.” Urging loyal fans who have been there from the beginning or jump-on-the-bandwagon aficionados with a sense of adventure, he added, “It’s new and it’s fresh, but in Duhks tradition, it spans a wide variety of styles and traditions and it’s new and it’s old at the same time. And if you want to listen to an experimental folk record, listen to the Duhks.” “Tradition” means a lot to Podolak, who also shares an extraordinary gift of gab with Havey. In what goes around/comes around fashion, the two original lucky Duhks like to say they have come full circle. But to see how they got here from there requires going back in time.

Learning to Fly

Before there were the Duhks, there was Scruj MacDuhk, pronounced just like the Disney cartoon character. A 19-year-old Podolak formed that group in 1995 after a jam session he now calls “the most amazing night of music that I had ever had up until that point.” The players that evening included Geoff Butler, an accordionist from Newfoundland group Figgy Duff, and Dan Baseley, who brought a tin whistle and, much to Podolak’s amazement, also could play Irish and Scottish tunes on the steel drum. They planned their first gig for St. Patrick’s Day. But before Scruj MacDuhk there was — honest to God — Duckworth Donald, whom Podolak called “a killer bluegrass mandolin player and tenor singer” from Winnipeg who often performed with Cathy Fink. “He was 4-foot-11 or something and he weighed like 100 pounds,” Podolak said. “He was just an amazing character, an amazing guy. So when we were coming up with a band name, my dad (local folk hero Mitch Podolak), who was sitting around the same table, said, ‘Yeah, it has to be something with Duck.’ “So then someone yelled, ‘Fuck a Duck.’ And then somehow Scrooge McDuck came up. And I didn’t even really realize that was a Disney character. I didn’t watch Disney. It just sounded funny. And then Dan ran out of the room and came up with the (alternate) spelling.” Podolak eventually recruited Kelvin High School acquaintances Ruth Moody, who went on to become the exquisite singer-songwriter of the Wailin’ Jennys, and fiddler Jeremy Penner. In my 2010 interview with Moody, she called the Wolseley neighborhood where Podolak also grew up “the granola belt of Winnipeg.” Podolak, who went to school with Moody from their kindergarten days and remembers singing with her in the 12th grade choir (“I needed an extra credit”), inserted an adjective (“hippie”), then added, “Now it’s become yuppie, hoity-toity. But when I was a kid, it was like [laughing], it was where all the artistes and all the freaks lived. And Ruth and my families couldn’t be more different. I come from hippie Communist Jews and she comes from Australian, classical music people.” When Scruj MacDuhk broke up in 2001 (“We had a falling out and this and that like the way bands do,” Podolak said), the Duhks were born.

Teenage Crush

“I was literally just graduating from high school,” said Havey, who also attended Kelvin, but, as she was thrilled to point out, “eight whole years” after Podolak. Havey was recommended by her Uncle Marshall, who then was living in the Podolak family’s basement. “Something my mom told me years later was that I wrote a letter to Scruj MacDuhk because I was obsessed with them when I was a teenager,” Havey said, thinking that might have happened when she was 14. “And they were my favorite band. And apparently I wrote them a letter professing my undying love for them and saying that I loved Ruth Moody’s singing but if she ever decided she wanted to do something else, I would like to be the singer in their band.” Though their families knew each other socially, Podolak wasn’t aware that Havey was a singer until her uncle told him. “I was already a rock star in town here, and she was a kid,” he said tongue-in-cheekily. “And so, I’m like, ‘Well, I’ve got absolutely nothing to lose.’ ” He invited Havey over to his parents’ new house in Wolseley, where they played a couple of old-timey tunes together in the kitchen, including “I’m Going to the West.” “I taught her the words, very simple, and we were like face to face singing harmonies together,” Podolak said. “You make this connection and it’s like you’ve been playing or knowing each other the whole time. The whole family connection just made sense in that one moment. It immediately felt right for both of us.” The Sugar Hill contract they signed on the advice of a lawyer, who Podolak recalls saying, “It looks like a record deal,” gave them incredible exposure (NPR’s All Things Considered, records produced by Bela Fleck and Tim O’Brien, spots at prestigious festivals like MerleFest and Telluride), but little spending money. Still, Podolak said, “We went for it. And in some ways, I’m sure it was really great. I know it was really great. We were there. We experienced it. We met some amazing people.”

From: https://www.nodepression.com/interview/welcoming-back-the-mighty-duhks-an-interview-with-leonard-podolak-and-jessee-havey/

 

Rush - Live Capitol Theatre 1976

 Rush - Live Capitol Theatre 1976 - Part 1

 

 Rush - Live Capitol Theatre 1976 - Part 2

 

Alex Lifeson is on the phone, calling from his Toronto home, thinking back to the time between Rush's third and fourth albums in the winter of 1975 and 1976. It's difficult to believe now, some 40-odd million albums sold later, but the Canadian rock trio was at a crossroads then. After a pair of decently received albums, 1974's Rush and 1975's Fly By Night, follow-up Caress of Steel floundered both commercially and critically. Morale between guitarist Lifeson, bassist/singer Geddy Lee and drummer Neil Peart was low, and the pressure was on from American label Mercury Records to put out something as "relatable" as early hits "Working Man" and "Finding My Way." The writing was on the wall: Album number four was either going to break the band, or, well, break the band. "I remember thinking," Lifeson says candidly, "'I had eight years of playing rock in a band, and it's awesome, I love it, and I don't want to compromise. If this will be the end, I dunno, I'll go back to working with my dad plumbing, or go back to school, or something else.' To me it was impossible to take a step backwards and do something we'd already done just to please a record company."
The story is the stuff of legend. Rush stubbornly stuck to their plan, following up an album that had an ambitious 20-minute conceptual piece with an album with an even more ambitious 20-minute conceptual piece. Structurally 2112 was very much similar to Caress of Steel, only the band's vision was clearer, their musical chops were stronger, the songwriting was more advanced. Best of all, they sounded grown up. "'What are we going to do next?'" Lifeson remembers thinking. "'Are we going to do what they want us to do, which is basically the first album again? Or are we just going to say, 'Screw you, we're going to do what we want to do?' This was us giving them the finger. That's the way we looked at it right from the beginning. And then of course it turned into something else, something grander. We just wanted to let them know that they couldn't push us around."
For the first time Rush sounded truly assertive on record, like a band ready to conquer the rock world. Forty years after its April 1, 1976 release, 2112 is widely regarded as a classic album, a major influence on hard rock, progressive rock and heavy metal. Featuring the spellbinding sci-fi storytelling of the masterpiece title track and its five eclectic deep cuts that range from fun to introspective to ferocious, it was also the breakthrough Rush was so desperately in need of. "My first reaction was, 'This is like a futuristic prog rock spaceship ride,'" says Timothy Tiernan, a shipyard worker in Newport, R.I. who was a pre-teen when he first heard 2112 in 1978. "It was like rock and roll storytelling. The more you listened, the more you tried to find hidden messages. The album tempo would be a roller coaster ride. One song would be mellow, and the next would blow your face off. Just the way they would tie three songs together was like nothing the fans had heard. I was hooked from the jump."
In late 1975, Rush was convinced it had struck paydirt with Caress of Steel; Lee, Lifeson and Peart emerging from the sessions with producer Terry Brown immensely proud of what they had done. In retrospect, the album has it's moments, such as the bracing heavy metal of "Bastille Day" and the more wistful tones of "Lakeside Park," but for all the admirable spirit of the 12-and-a-half-minute "The Necromancer" and the 20-minute "The Fountain of Lamneth," both tracks are bogged down by dense songwriting, not to mention some outrageously lofty fantasy lyrics courtesy of Peart. "For me it sounds like the early experimental time for us, which is exactly what it was," Lifeson says. "Neil had just joined the band, we wanted to do something with a little more substance to it after Fly By Night, how he was writing lyrics, his contribution to what Geddy and I felt naturally, and the whole idea of us doing a concept 'side.' 'The Necromancer' was kind of a mini concept too, we broke it down into parts. With 'The Fountain of Lamneth,' it was a much meatier project. I think for us it was very satisfying on an artistic level. Obviously it wasn't a great success."
Critics had agreed. "I played the latest (and admittedly rather derivative) Rush album Caress of Steel in the office the other day, and unfortunately it received howls of derision," wrote influential British critic Geoff Barton in his review Sounds magazine. To this day Caress of Steel remains one of the only Rush albums not to be certified platinum in America, having taken nearly 20 years to achieve gold status. "2112 was a response to the indifference that greeted Caress of Steel," Lifeson says. I think we were at a point where we were evolving. We were becoming better musicians, we were playing better, we were working towards having more of a signature Rush sound. When we got to 2112, we were all set for that.
As was the norm in the '70s, if a young band was energetic and willing to work, record companies had them crank out new music at an alarming rate by today's standards. The bulk of 2112, which required meticulous attention to detail, especially on the title track, was written during the fall and winter of 1975, while the band was touring. "I recall writing in arenas, in dressing rooms, in the car," Lifeson reminisces. "We were playing in between 220 and 250 shows a year. We didn't have the luxury we would have later on where we would go somewhere for a month and just concentrate on writing. It was all written on the fly. So it had quite a different feel to it in its construction and in the way we developed it. We already had all the pieces written, we'd rehearsed them at sound checks, we knew the album, we knew all the material."
The storyline is a simple one, refreshingly linear compared to such bloated rock operas as The Who's Tommy and Genesis's The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway: In the year 2112 the world is under totalitarian rule of the Solar Federation, and all art and culture is controlled by the priests from "The Temples of Syrinx." A young man discovers an ancient guitar, learns to play it and suggests to the priests that its music would greatly benefit humanity. Citing the guitar and the music it yielded as a reason the previous civilization failed, the priests destroy the guitar. Distraught, the young man kills himself as chaos reigns, an ominous booming overhead: "Attention all planets of the Solar Federation: We have assumed control."
"'2112' took you somewhere; you can see it all playing out in your mind's eye," writes Vancouver-based music writer Rob Hughes. "It's the stuff of a million bad student screenplays. I always interpreted the '2112' suite's ending as destruction preceding renewal. Sure, the hero has died, but his transgression has sparked anarchy, which in turn has signaled the elder race — the ones who escaped the planet to build an enlightened society — to return to claim their former home. The voice that announces, 'We have assumed control,' comes from neither the priests nor the hero. It's the voice of hope."
Essentially a seven-part suite comprised of song fragments and reprised musical themes, what sets "2112" apart from Rush's earlier epic-length experimentation like "The Fountain of Lamneth" and Fly By Night's "By-Tor and the Snow Dog" is its accessibility. The exploration of dynamics, atmospherics and program music was a huge creative breakthrough for Rush, and the ambition and synthesis of styles would help the album appeal to a wider audience, one that could appreciate both the technical chops and the pop hooks. "I love that Rush combines total prog-nerd wankery with music that's actually catchy," writes Amanda Falke, a musician and software engineer based in Portland, OR. "Rush may sound nerdy, but at heart they're pop musicians. There is a warmth and presence to their music that very few bands have."
In the title suite's third chapter, "Discovery," the listener hears the babbling sound of a stream, as well as the protagonist picking up the old guitar. Lifeson plucks and strums awkwardly, completely out of tune, and gradually tunes the acoustic guitar ("How does he tune the guitar and learn to play it so fast?" Lifeson jokes), ultimately working his way to a pretty chord sequence. "What can this strange device be?" Lee sings plaintively. "When I touch it, it gives forth a sound." "We wanted it to feel like we were in a cave," Lifeson explains. "It's not a rock delivery. Sonically there's lots of reverb, there's the water trickling down the creek that's inside the cave. It became more visual, cinematic in a way, and that stuck with us for a long time. Now we had a structure that was working for us, that we felt confident with and were interested in."
It has been stated of more than one young rock musician that the two essential attributes are ignorance and arrogance. At the age of 22, Lifeson and his bandmates had learned to ditch convention in favor of experimentation. Gone was the overt Cream worship of the first album. In its place on 2112 was supreme self-assurance as well as youthful bravado. Coupled with the restraint and discipline that comes with artistic maturation, it was a perfect combination. "We'd been touring so much, we really felt comfortable in our skin as a band," Lifeson recalls. "If I listen to '2112' now, playing it on the last number of tours, there are some really interesting musical parts. There's lots of bluesy stuff on that, and maybe because of that there's a purity about it that grabs you. It's not too heady. It's a little more from the gut. With that record as well, there was the economy of it. That was important. It's more approachable than Caress of Steel."
"When it comes to space-age nerdy prog rock with massive compositions, Rush did it first, and they did it best on 2112," Falke writes. But she insists there's something more to Rush than technical innovation and sci-fi concepts: "Rush also has something most heavy bands today lack: vulnerability. The ending of '2112' (the song) is incredibly triumphant, and you only get that with the dynamics that result from total vulnerability in your music. That's so inspiring."
Lifeson says the band pulled from many sources on the way to finding its own sound. "We were all fans of Genesis, Yes, King Crimson. Pink Floyd as well. But we really wanted to do our own thing. We've found a lot of inspiration in a lot of different areas, from reggae, to country, to pop, to heavy metal. And that's always been a cool thing about us. We haven't been truly an overly progressive metal type band. We mix things up there, lots of ups and downs, lots of dynamics. We don't always play balls to the wall. We don't always try to make everything super complicated."
For an album that's been embraced as a "classic," the flipside of 2112 never gets as much attention as the song "2112" itself. You have the proto-stoner rock of "A Passage to Bangkok," the surreal, startlingly refined "Twilight Zone," Lifeson's wistful "Lessons" and Lee's melancholy "Tears" and the raucous "Something For Nothing," which reprises the individualist sentiment of the title track. "'Twilight Zone' was a difficult one," Lifeson muses. "There are a lot of weird time changes in it. The positioning of the guitar was awkward and uncomfortable. It wasn't as easy to do as some of the other things. 'Bangkok' is a really fun song for us to do, it's our homage to smoking pot around the world, finding the best that you can."
Following its release, attention to 2112 grew slowly. Eventually it charted as high as No. 61 on Billboard's album chart. But although the momentum was slow initially, it started to snowball to the point where the band would be an upper-tier arena and stadium act for the rest of their career. Every Rush album released since has charted higher — after 1980, every studio album but one has peaked in the chart's top 20. "Everything was slow but steady," Lifeson says, but "2112 bought us our independence. Mercury never, ever bothered us with material or studio work. They just left it up to us. They figured, 'Okay, they know what they're doing, and it works for them. As long as we're popping the cash register open, we're happy.'"
The album has continued to win new fans. Drummer Taylor Hawkins of the band Foo Fighters, who played with Rush on stage when the band was finally inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2013, says he came to the band as an adolescent half a decade after 2112 was released, and began working his way backward through its discography. "The overture grabbed me," he says. "I liked the fact that it was really hard rock. I loved Yes and Genesis when I was 10 or 12, but most of those prog bands were not really heavy. Not like 2112, which mixed heavy metal with technical stuff. It's so clear that they were such a huge influence on Metallica, that kind of technical metal at the time. I just loved that. It was as hard as Sabbath or Zeppelin, but the technicality was on a whole other level. That was the first time they put it all together."
Canadian illustrator Danille Gauvin, who has made artwork for nearly two dozen metal albums since 2009, describes 2112, which she encountered in 2005, as "an enabling factor for a hungry mind fascinated by horror, science fiction or fantasy." The fact that the band was also a homegrown was a bonus. "I cannot stress enough how the Canadian midwest can be very isolating for anyone growing up admiring the visual masterpieces of designers Roger Dean, Rodney Matthews, Richard Corben," she writes. "It was a place that did not take seriously the pursuit of art and design as anything but a childish fancy. 2112 did what great rock, and indeed great art, continually does in an infectious quality. It persuades you from feeling alone in your strangeness, and to celebrate it by making your own work."
Looking back on the album 40 years after its release, Lifeson says, "I'm very happy with it. Of course, I want to re-do the whole thing, just like all our records. When I go back and listen to the original record, I feel really proud of it. I can still remember how I felt at the time we were making it, and how important it seemed, and how satisfied we all were when it came together. We felt we played really well on it, and the recording experience was fantastic. We were such a real team holed up in that studio of Terry's. "When other bands cite us as an inspiration or an influence, the theme of 2112 is what they're talking about, more than anything. I've often read when we're mentioned as an influence for a band they'll say, 'We're big Rush fans, because they did it on their own, they did it their own way, and that told me that I could do the same thing. If I stick with it, persevere, I can do things the way I want them to be.'"  From: https://www.npr.org/sections/therecord/2016/04/30/476268876/all-the-gifts-of-life-40-years-of-rushs-2112