Orchestra Gold - Diyanye Ko (Passion)

Can you briefly tell how the band started working?

Erich: Mariam and I met in 2006 in Bamako, Mali. I was fortunate enough to spend almost three years living in that culture. During that time, Malian musician Abdoul Doumbia was my host. Abdoul introduced me to djembe teacher Matche Traore. Then Mariam & I met at one of Matche’s ceremonies.
Fast forward to 2016, when I visited Bamako. Matche Traore and I were listening to Toubab Krewe. “Matche looked at me and said, ‘Hey, I get what these white folks are doing. They are taking our music and mixing it in with theirs. You know who would be a great singer for that kind of thing? Madama.” That planted the seed for me to start working with Mariam on songs. Mariam is the likely heroine of the story. Mariam faced many challenges in relocating to Oakland to pursue her musical journey.

Mariam: There are always difficulties when you leave your culture and go to a new one. You will find the courage, the stamina, the perseverance to pass through any difficulties if you have that love for what you're doing.

Mariam comes from Mali, from the Fulani people. The songs that come from that part of the world are usually interpreted, let's call it that, in an Afro-pop manner like what Salif Kieta does. How did you decide on this fusion of African music with psychedelic rock?

Mariam: It's sort of this organic thing that happens when our worlds collide. It’s the product of this ever-evolving musical conversation between Mariam and myself. That’s what happens when two people spend a lot of time in each other's world and those two worlds are radically different.

Mariam, how do your relatives comment on the music performed by Orchestra Gold?

Mariam: It makes them happy. They are very encouraging.

There were many great musicians in Africa during the 20th century. Did any of them influence you?

Erich: Fela Kuti. Songhoy Blues is a really great young band from Mali. They push on boundaries, the sound is gritty, driving, and has a lot of rock inside of it. Lobi Traore - amazing Malian guitar player/songwriter. He plays music from the Segou region of Mali.

Mariam: Baaba Maal from Senegal, Salif Keita, Ali Farka Toure. I like their melodies.

Do you use the lyrics of some old, traditional songs in your work or is it your own material?

Mariam: There are a few old folkloric songs, but most of them are my own original creations.

I've been following your work since the first EPs ("O", I") and I think that "Medicine" is definitely your best album in your career. Can you tell us something about the creation of this album? How long did it take, where did you record, and do you have any interesting anecdotes from recordings?

Erich: Thanks so much for your kind words. We took the stylistic preferences of the first two albums as inspiration for "Medicine". Then we tried to take it further. Adding a wider palette of sonic frequency - more bass, more mid ranges. The engineer, Jacob Winik was amazing to work with. Jacob really used a lot of different tools (compressors and distressors) to gain stage the signals, so everything sounded crunchy, vibey, and loud. In the studio, we were recording for 2 days. The band was really well rehearsed and ready to go. There were 7 musicians involved in the recording. We recorded at Tiny Telephone in Oakland. TT is known for being good at working from tape to digital.

A lot of the heavy lifting for this album was born out of the pandemic. The pandemic made it clear that we are living in a state of sickness a lot of times in this world. Mental, spiritual, and physical. A source of strength came from knowing that there are lots of ways to heal ourselves. For us, music has been one of the primary sources of healing. With the release of Medicine, we hope to spread light and healing to the community through the universal gift of music.

Since the beginning of its work, Orchestra Gold has not had a publisher, but you do everything in a DIY manner. How difficult is it to work in such a way? Are there any publisher offers for future releases? How much is it necessary to have a publisher in this day and age, considering all the digital platforms available to everyone? Do you think that it is easier for bands from bigger publishing houses to reach the media space?

Erich: Yeah, of course. The question is, are they turning back more revenue? With the label behind you, you can reach a larger audience, but the label takes up a percentage of everything.
We self-released "Medicine", and it made it to the #1 spot on Seattle’s KEXP Global Charts. It was the only self-released title on the list. It's harder to do it our own way. Vinyl sales have been helpful. It's challenging to find sources of revenue. I’m not sure where a label comes in for everyone. I’m not sure if people make more money through a label or on their own.

What's the scene like for the music you play in Oakland and California in general? What kind of clubs do you play in?

Erich: California has a pretty strong music scene. Some remarkable bands have come out of California that you may know, such as The Doors, Santana, and Red Hot Chili Peppers. In general, despite the high cost of living, I think the climate of California is very conducive to creativity. If you look at our list of shows for this year, you’ll find us performing at clubs large and small, museums, and festivals. It’s really a mix that keeps us going. My personal favorites are small to medium size clubs because I like the intimacy. But festivals are good because they introduce tons of new people to your music.

In recent years, bands have appeared around the world that draw inspiration from traditional music that comes from some other parts of the world, not from their own country. How do you explain that? What is it about the elements of traditional music that attracts musicians?

Erich: I think it's the depth that we sense in traditional music. I was listening to a playlist on Spotify, and it was a Psychedelic Rock playlist. Though I noticed probably more than half the songs are heavily influenced by non-western genres of music. So, I think there’s also a collective opportunity to hear from voices that historically haven’t dominated the mainstream narrative as much. 

From: https://izvorista.substack.com/p/interview-orchestra-gold

The Who - I'm One / Love Reign O'er Me / The Punk and the Godfather

 The Who - I'm One

 The Who - Love Reign O'er Me

 The Who - The Punk and the Godfather

Bonfire night, 1973. The Who are 50 minutes into their set at Newcastle’s Odeon Cinema, the first gig of a three-night stand. They’re promoting Quadrophenia, the grand new opus written by Pete Townshend, but all is far from well. Audiences have been struggling to grasp the ambitious concept, leaving both Townshend and Roger Daltrey to explain the story between numbers. It’s been disrupting the flow, cramping The Who’s swashbuckling attack. And the backing tapes keep malfunctioning. As the band tear into 5:15, there’s no tape sync at all. It eventually kicks in, 15 seconds late. That does it. Townshend explodes.
He strides over to Who soundman Bob Pridden, grabs him by the neck and hauls him over the mixing desk towards the centre of the stage. Then Townshend smashes his guitar on the floor and sets about the sound board, clawing out clumps of wire and laying waste the pre-recorded tapes, before stalking off stage altogether. Much like the punters, his bandmates can only stare in silent disbelief, before the latter feel obligated to follow him into the wings. The stage curtain clunks down and an eerie quiet befalls the room. The Who are gone.
They’re back 20 minutes later, although there’s still a testy atmosphere. The Quadrophenia songs are abandoned, and the band start playing the old hits instead. Townshend clearly isn’t done. He berates the crowd for their inability to comprehend his new work, spits out a volley of four-letter words and finishes with a seismic version of My Generation, the climax of which sees him demolish another guitar – a Gibson Les Paul – and hurl an amp to the floor. Drummer Keith Moon makes similar wreckage of his kit, while Daltrey aims a boot at the microphone. Then they’re gone for good.
The audience roars its applause, but the local press scent blood. The Newcastle Evening Chronicle calls it “a ridiculous display of unwarranted violence” and “an extremely childish publicity stunt, with a potentially damaging effect on the thousands of youngsters who invariably follow their idols in all they do”.
The following day both Townshend and Moon appear on local TV show Look North to help quell the incident and confirm that the other two Newcastle gigs will still go ahead. “Well, nobody asked for their money back, did they?” laughs Moon.
It was, in fairness, hardly unique behaviour. The Who’s formidable reputation was partly based on such wanton acts of violence against unsuspecting hardware, though the sudden assault on Pridden was altogether more extreme. This was different. Townshend’s tipping point was the result of sustained pressure and frustration.
Quadrophenia, arriving hard-at-heel after his aborted Lifehouse project, was supposed to be his defining moment of the 70s, a rock opera to out-Tommy anything that had gone before. “If Tommy is rock opera, Quadrophenia is grand rock opera,” says lifelong Townshend associate and Who biographer Richard Barnes. “If Tommy is tabloid, Quadrophenia is broadsheet. I think Pete moved The Who to another level with that record.” But by the end of February ’74 The Who had stopped playing it entirely. “The whole thing was a disaster,” griped Townshend. It would be 22 years before they attempted it again.
Quadrophenia, likened by Townshend in 1973 to “a sort of musical Clockwork Orange”, was a deeply personal endeavour. Ostensibly about a young 60s mod at the crossroads of his adolescent life, it charts the spiritual yearning of main protagonist Jimmy Cooper through drugs, unrequited love, beachfront barneys, a string of useless jobs and unsympathetic parents. 
The mod scene sours quickly, his best mate runs off with his girl, he trashes his beloved scooter and makes a break for Brighton in a desperate attempt to reconnect with the thrill and camaraderie of the mods-versus-rockers skirmishes. But the summer of ’65 is long gone. Consumed by despair, he rows out to sea to end it all, but has a sudden epiphany.
Quadrophenia the album is a record awash with metaphor – particularly the sea as both a destructive and redemptive force – and sprinkled with allusion to The Who’s own past. It is, in fact, the idealism of 60s youth culture refracted through the lens of the cynical 70s, by big, rich rock stars who’d lived through it. It’s as much about The Who as it is about Jimmy.
It’s a complex, vaultingly ambitious work that is echoed in the music itself. Surging guitars and big vocals are tempered by brass arrangements, semi-orchestral strings and intricate layers of synths and piano. 
“At the time, Pete and I were writing to each other and I used to call him Tannhäuser because of Quadrophenia,” says Barnes. “Which was apt because it does sound really Wagnerian with those horns. You can imagine these big, fat ladies in helmets, riding Vespas. It’s a heavy, hard rock album but there are such delicate bits with violins and synthesisers. Pete has such a delicate touch. It’s like porcelain and reinforced concrete side by side.”
Rewind to the summer of 1972 and Townshend was in a dilemma. “I was worried about the band at the time,” he tells Classic Rock. “We were all bored with playing Tommy, and only played three songs from Who’s Next on stage. I wanted a Tommy replacement for our stage act. And the guys in the band were itchy, I think. I was definitely looking for a way to stroke the four eccentric egos of the guys in the band. We’d always been different, but by 1972 I felt I’d one last chance to do something that might hold us together and unify us in the eyes of our fans.”
The initial idea, floated by Townshend in the music press, was born out of a work called Rock Is Dead – Long Live Rock, which addressed The Who’s 60s roots. The as-yet-untitled Quadrophenia was, he said, designed to reflect the four distinct personalities within the band. But, as with Lifehouse – Townshend’s sci-fi fantasia about rock music’s ability to create a new kind of social utopia – it was less easily definable than that. He wanted to address the communal rapport between a band and its fans.
“Jimmy represented a special kind of pop-rock fan who demanded to encapsulate and reflect the members of the band he followed,” continues Townshend. “In this case the four members of The Who. So it was the reverse of what I was pitching in the music papers. In 1972/73 there were no mods, no ‘armies’ or ‘uniforms’ of any kind in the pop-rock audience, just big shirts with big collars, and haircuts from a Shakespeare play. 
"Part of what I wanted to do was re-establish with our fans the principles they themselves had set up when we’d started. I think The Who had been servants of the audience in 1964/65, not the other way around. Our job was always to give our audience something they needed, not make them think we were stars. 
"Inside The Who, Keith Moon was not just doing a ‘star’ thing, but taking it to extremes. He was behaving like a Saudi Prince. We all had our part to play. We’d lost perspective partly because our stage shows were so fucking intense. We felt inviolable… I think I felt a kinship with teenaged fans, but by 1972 I was 27 years old and maybe this was a last grab at writing my follow up to Tommy; my Catcher In The Rye.”
One of the central themes of Quadrophenia is the idea of joining a tribe or gang for the purposes of personal development, perhaps best expressed by the song I’m One. Townshend: “As a young man I needed, and wanted, to be part of a gang of young men. I’d grown up in a gang, one that started when I was a street kid in Acton when I was four years old, running wild when it was still safe to do so. 
"What happens when you’re subsumed in a gang or collective of any kind is that you soon find the parts of you that don’t fit, that can’t be accommodated. For Jimmy – for all the piss-taking I got from the band about following the Indian spiritual master Meher Baba – what didn’t fit the mod gang he was in was his spiritual confusion, his lack of a sense of deep human purpose.”
In September ’72 Townshend had issued his first solo album, Who Came First, a devotional album dedicated to Meher Baba. Were there certain aspects of himself that couldn’t be accommodated in The Who? “It was mainly my interest in spiritual things, and artistic endeavours, that the band found hard to accommodate without taking the piss. 
"Sadly, many – though not all – music critics were the same. They thought anyone who was in a band was necessarily a thick cunt who’d struck lucky, and should just shut up and play, make some money and fuck some girls, then crawl away and die and leave the analysis to them. No one in our team seemed to have any spiritual questions at all. They saw Meher Baba as a joke.”
The Who began recording Quadrophenia in early ’73. They’d recently bought an old church hall in Battersea, which they planned to strip down and convert into their own, state-of-the-70s recording studio and rehearsal room. But it still wasn’t ready, so they decamped to the mobile studio of good mate Ronnie Lane, then on the verge of leaving the Faces. Townshend singles out those early sessions as being particularly special, the band’s first major undertaking since Lifehouse and its resultant 1971 salvage operation, Who’s Next.
“With Lifehouse I really wanted a communally creative band, properly engaging with its audience, but I think it was all a bit too art school to work. Much is said about the sci-fi complexity of Lifehouse, its cumbersome narrative and the fact that I failed to explain it properly. Not so much is said about the fact that we’d become soft as a result of the success of Tommy, and then the unexpected windfall success of Who’s Next. 
"The other guys in the band hadn’t had to do very much, creatively speaking, to make that happen – just support me during recording, and then do the road work to back it up. I felt really supported by the other guys, especially at the moment they first started to play my new stuff. Running through one of the first songs we recorded for Quadrophenia, I remember thinking that we’d never sounded better, or played with such conviction on unproved material. This was especially true of Roger. He sang like a raging bear. His Love Reign O’er Me will never be surpassed.”
Received wisdom has it that the rest of The Who didn’t quite get Quadrophenia to begin with, which Townshend concedes is “understandable” given that “it didn’t really land completely as a collection of songs until about three weeks prior to starting to record”. But perhaps the one member who took to the project most readily was bassist John Entwistle, who was given free rein to add some ravishing horn parts to the mix, most notably the pumping brass salvos on 5:15, the semi-orchestral flourishes on the title track and the eruptive climax to Love Reign O’er Me.
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Townshend today describes Entwistle’s input as “Stunning, he was also wonderful to work with: meticulous, disciplined, funny and inspired. I loved it that he wrote out his brass parts on music manuscript paper like a proper composer. What he arranged and played on a whole variety of exotic brass instruments fit my own synthesiser and string arrangements perfectly. 
"The Who members all had one great facility once we were making music: they listened. So many musicians and band members couldn’t do that. It’s the mark of a great musician, even if – like Keith Moon – he was a drummer who didn’t keep time. He listened very carefully, and what he played fit my songs perfectly.”
The initial recordings were to be produced by The Who’s co-manager, Kit Lambert, Townshend’s usual port of call for feedback on his creative works, though the dynamic of their relationship was by then in deep flux. A year earlier Daltrey had discovered what he saw as discrepancies in The Who’s bank accounts. By ’73, no doubt hastened by Lambert and fellow manager Chris Stamp’s rejection of his debut solo album, Daltrey brought in Bill Curbishley to oversee his affairs. Townshend’s more protracted shift of allegiance to Curbishley signalled the end of an era, though it was hardly a surprise to all parties.
“My strategy was always to run to Kit Lambert or Chris Stamp to fly new ideas,” Townshend explains. “By 1973 they had both lost interest in The Who to some extent. Kit had long-since left the stage as my songwriting mentor, but I was hoping he would co-produce. He turned out to be too distracted.”
Whether all this management hoo-ha informed the recording of Quadrophenia in any way is something Townshend rejects out of hand: “I don’t think the trying events around us informed the album. We were at the height of our powers as a business as well as a band. We could make studios appear out of thin air. What we didn’t have enough of was time, so the much-vaunted quadrophonic mix never happened. And neither did the quadrophonic stage act.”
Richard Barnes adds: “Who’s Next had moved them up in one way, as it was the first record not produced by Kit Lambert – it was Pete and Glyn Johns – and they’d got a new, clear sound. The other thing was that Kit started getting into hard drugs after Tommy, so he didn’t have that same influence.”
Quadrophenia featured cameos from Grease Band pianist Chris Stainton and actor John Curle (the voice of the newsreader), but otherwise it’s classic Who. First single 5:15, which soundtracks Jimmy’s barrelling train journey to Brighton, gobbling purple hearts on the way, was written while Townshend was was “killing time between appointments” in Oxford Street and Carnaby Street. “What I had was a studio track and a riff, the essential riff behind 5:15, which is a little like a Chuck Berry derivation. I stood in the street and wrote down phrases while watching people walking past. I did it again in 1976 with Street In The City for the Rough Mix album with Ronnie Lane.”
And what of Drowned and Love Reign O’er Me, two of the choicest moments The Who have ever pressed to vinyl? “They’re two of my best songs,” Townshend agrees. “Drowned is wonderful to perform. They belong in Quadrophenia. The songs that have been most cathartic for me are probably the angrier ones. This kind of writing has always been, for me, an attempt to make the spiritual journey accessible as an idea, using watery metaphors. I explain in some detail in the [Quadrophenia reissue] liner notes how I came to write Love Reign O’er Me. It’s a kind of ‘scoop’, so I don’t want to spoil the surprise. I think Roger has dozens of fine moments, and his many live renditions of Love Reign O’er Me on recent tours have always blown me away.  From: https://www.loudersound.com/features/the-who-quadrophenia 

 

Mio - Ingen å Be

Mio has created a unique take on folk rock - which they themselves like to call "Folk 'n' Roll". Mio draws rich inspiration from Norwegian rock, punk, and folk music featuring hardanger fiddle with fuzz and a vast arsenal of folk instruments from around the world. The music is hard-hitting without losing balance with its more dynamic sides. Mio explores Norwegian folk music in many innovative ways - through tonality and lyrical pictures. Melodies shine through with a strong folk identity, using teqniques such as vocal- and fiddle trills. The lyrics draw inspiration from timeless images in folk tales, mixed with the sharp-edge and frankness from punk and rock - addressing current themes that navigate between society, politics and human emotions. Mio brings something new to the folk universe with their unique genre fusion.  From: https://www.miomusikk.com/about-us 

 

XTC - Holly Up on Poppy / Omnibus / That Wave

I was very happy to learn that XTC insisted on recording Nonsuch in England’s green and pleasant land because I needed them to come home so I could test a two-pronged equation that I hope will earn me a shot at the Nobel Prize for Physics. Here’s the first part (please note that all material on this website is protected by copyright laws and if you try to steal my equation I will sue your sorry ass):

XTC+LA=BJ

Oh my! I see that those with filthy minds could misinterpret my equation. Let me spell it out for the perverts in the audience:

XTC+LosAngeles=BadJuju

For those of you who still don’t get it, here’s the plain English version. This first equation is designed to prove that the commercially successful but artistically unsatisfying album Oranges and Lemons was the result of an incompatible energy vortex. The blending of XTC and Los Angeles resulted in bad juju that caused the band to produce subpar results.
The basis of the equation is grounded in fact. Q: What happened to XTC in their previous visit to La-La-Land? A: They had to cancel their show at the Hollywood Palladium because Andy was physically and mentally unable to grace the stage. XTC would never tour again, a development that would wreak long-term havoc on their finances (further aggravated by a manager who screwed them in the ass without the lube). Nine years later, both Colin and Dave had to take a second job at a car rental agency to make it through the Nonsuch sessions without having to file for bankruptcy. Conclusion: They never should have pushed their luck and made a second trip to L.A.
I must warn readers not to extend the equation beyond the borders of the L.A. metro area. The Skylarking sessions took place near Woodstock and in San Francisco and the result was more than satisfactory. The energy vortex surrounding Woodstock is so powerful that festival-goers didn’t mind fucking in the mud, and at the time of the recording, San Francisco was still a magnet for bohemians instead of the magnet for narcissistic high-tech moguls it is today. The second equation will be proven or disproven in this review:

XTC+UK=GJ

My working hypothesis is that Nonsuch will benefit from the good juju in England and the good juju will lead to a superior album. Any place in the U.K. would have done, but they wound up recording Nonsuch in Oxfordshire.
Please note that these equations are designed solely for the purpose of explaining the noticeable differences between Oranges and Lemons and Nonsuch. They recorded Mummer and The Big Express in the U.K. and the results were less than satisfying, but that was because the uncontrollable variable known as Andy Partridge used the studio as his personal toy box, thereby dissipating the impact of good old English juju.
It should be noted that other variables impact the quality of an XTC album but those variables are unreliable predictors. One of those squishy factors involves Andy’s relationships with the producers. XTC created one high-quality album when Andy and the producer were at loggerheads (Skylarking) but they also recorded several solid efforts when the relationship was more collaborative (Drums and Wires, Black Sea, English Settlement and the Dukes of Stratosphear releases). Things tended to go haywire when the producer too often deferred to Andy’s judgment (Mummer, The Big Express and Oranges and Lemons). The same is true of the relationship with Virgin; sometimes their interference worked for the better (Skylarking) and sometimes for the worse (Oranges and Lemons).
In the case of Nonsuch, both the twits at Virgin and producer Gus Dudgeon presented certain obstacles. As Andy explained in an interview with Les Inrockuptibles (translated from the original French) “It is a rather sad story, a big melodrama. We were ready two years ago, but our English record company refused all our songs. Then, we were unlucky with the approached producers.”
Andy’s gift for understatement is admirable. The musical director at Virgin rejected all thirty-two songs they presented to him and “threatened that Virgin would drop the band if the band didn’t write an album of twelve Top Ten guaranteed singles” (Wikipedia). Requiring XTC to top Michael Jackson’s record of seven Top Ten hits from Thriller was an absurd demand of an album-oriented band and the boys rightly told the jerk to piss off. A full year passed before Virgin replaced that dickhead with someone who appreciated their work but also pressed them to make the record ASAP.
Hiring a producer proved to be even more of a challenge. The first four choices didn’t work out for various reasons, so they wound up hiring Gus Dudgeon based on his work with the Bonzo Dog Band, ignoring the fact that Dudgeon’s primary claim to fame involved his work with pop darling Elton John. For the most part, Dudgeon was a minor annoyance, (except when he suggested to Andy that he drop “Rook” from the album) but things came to a head during the mixing stage. Dudgeon wanted Andy banned from the premises; Andy showed up anyway. Dudgeon’s first three mixes turned out busts in Andy’s opinion and engineer Barry Hammond sided with Andy. Virgin was called in to mediate the dispute and concluded that Dudgeon’s mixes were indeed bloody awful. They canned his ass on the spot and hired Nick Davis of Genesis fame to complete the work to Andy’s satisfaction. As Hammond proved to be a superb engineer, it took only two-and-a-half weeks for Nick to complete the mix.
The one area that presented no problem whatsoever was hiring a drummer. Dave Mattacks had expressed a desire to work with XTC and happened to have an open spot on his busy schedule at just the right time. For a band that had received very few breaks over the years, Dave Mattacks was the ultimate in godsends.  From: https://altrockchick.com/2024/03/16/xtc-nonsuch-classic-music-review/ 

Veruca Salt - Forsythia

Formed in 1992, the Chicago-based Veruca Salt had largely existed outside the radio and media purview until Seether catapulted them onto MTV and into a deal with Geffen. With major labels scouring Seattle and Chicago for the next Nirvana, a large-scale marketing campaign for Veruca Salt’s debut album American Thighs followed.
The dual harmonies of vocalists and guitarists Gordon and Post, lethally sweet like arsenic-laced candy floss, are at the core of American Thighs. On Seether they reveal the impolite girl, the bad daughter, the uncivilized woman who emerges when her defences are broken down. “I can’t see her till I’m foaming at the mouth,” they warn in unison.
Vocals aside, all 12 tracks feature chugging guitar and fuzzy feedback, which surges into whorls of all-consuming riffage between verses and choruses, occasionally making space for noodling, show-off solos. Post partnered a Gibson SG with a gritty Orange Rockerverb and Boss Overdrive/Distortion to deliver tidal waves of seething, seductive grunge sounds.
Like many acts of the era who enjoyed a career high only to be beaten down by the relentless touring, demands for more music, magazine cover shoots and press interrogations that came with it, Post and Gordon persevered until they didn’t. When Veruca Salt split in 1998, it took 15 years for them to find one another again.
“We kind of broke each other’s hearts,” Gordon recently told Australian site Music Feeds. She explained the pressure of “a whole machine” that demanded they keep going. In 2014 they began gradually easing themselves back into each other’s lives through emails and phone calls, having not seen each other for 14 years. Eventually Gordon dared to ask why they weren’t making music anymore. That year they reformed – the same year Rolling Stone declared American Thighs the 21st best alternative rock album of 1994.
Listening to American Thighs today and Gordon and Post’s indelible power to amplify the best in one another seems timeless. Rodrigo’s Portland homage was sweet but she couldn’t capture the sisterly sonic partnership that makes Gordon and Post so special.
On album opener Get Back, they sing “I’m spinning out, I can’t control my car,” in breathy unison. But there’s never a sense that they’re ceding control. From the opening to the closing seconds, it’s clear that this is a band that owns their music, from every wolfish fang of reverb to the thudding drums and the saccharine, verging on toxic lyrics.
All Hail Me epitomises the pair’s newly empowered identities as women who have killed the niceties worn throughout their childhood and early teens, with “So sorry, I’ve killed your baby, I don’t know how” a standout lyric.
It’s a surprisingly confident album debut – all killer, no filler, no mistake – especially given that Gordon and Post had only been working together for two years. The band was rounded out by Steve Lack on bass and Jim Shapiro on drums, and together with their debut album they did away with any worries that their Seether single might be a one-hit wonder.
The name of American Thighs was an oblique reference to the innuendo-rich, full-bore machismo of AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long, on which Brian Johnson sings, “She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean / She was the best damn woman that I ever seen / She had the sightless eyes, telling me no lies / Knocking me out with those American thighs”.
Brad Wood had treated Liz Phair’s groundbreaking debut Exile in Guyville with the care and respect it deserved in 1993, placing her vocals front and centre – the glue between the ravaging guitar, jangly melodies and garage-rock heartbeat. He was unquestionably the perfect producer to direct Veruca Salt’s explosive live chemistry, intertwining harmonies and incisive lyrics into a record.
All of which is evident on Forsythia, on which the band’s fuck-you sass contrasts with their vulnerable confessions of feeling like lesser woman, drained of exuberance but also giddily envious of the naturally extrovert, effortlessly confident cool girl. “One thing about Forsythia / She comes around and I get lost / Against her yellow, I’m no longer me”.  From: https://guitar.com/reviews/the-genius-of-american-thighs-by-veruca-salt/

 

Raynes - Your Mouth Is a Garden

The era of using the song "Walking on Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves as your main character song is over with this new release by Raynes. "Your Mouth Is A Garden" has so many components to make up a perfect single. A title that captures your attention, the feeling of nostalgia which can be hard to capture in a brand new song, all tied together beautifully with lyrics that feel incredibly intimate. At first listen, it feels almost like this song has been around forever where you want to immediately sing along. The song resembles a love letter written with a folk-feel is something that we will never get sick of hearing.
The style of this song defintely takes us back to 2012/2013 when we were seeing a blend of pop and folk music with bands like Lumineers, Of Monsters and Men and Mumford and Sons. What was so great about that time period was the use of percussion instruments which Raynes uses to capture that feeling of nostalgia. A very easy "walking" tempo adds an element that makes it perfect to throw headphones on and stroll down the street. One of the most incredible things about this song are the lyrics and they should not be overlooked. Using the analogy of comparing someone to the delicacy of flowers or gardens really hits emotionally. It feels like a reminder to treat ourselves with that same gentleness but also treating others that way too. It's a story that highlights what it's like to have enough love for someone that you're willing to stay patient while someone is still blooming and growing into themselves. Ending with a bang, the song wraps up with harmonies that feel angelic.
Raynes' foundation is a perfect combination of how modern day musicians are born from social media and how bands used to form pre-social media. Band members Mat Charley and Joe Berger met in college in 2015, hit it off and knew that this was meant to be. The band, though, still needed a strong vocalist when by the stroke of luck, an Instagram video came up of Mark Race singing. The duo knew this was their guy. The only problem? He lived in England while the other two lived in America. After a 10 day visit, Mark made the leap over to America and the band has been thriving since. They dropped their first two singles in 2019 and have seen growth every single year keeping the sound of what they call "expensive folk" alive. Their newest single, "Your Mouth Is A Garden" only heightens on this concept and was such a joy to listen to.  From: https://www.poppassionblog.com/post/review-your-mouth-is-a-garden-raynes

 

Sarah McLachlan - Witness

Make me a witness
take me out
out of darkness
out of doubt

I won't weigh you down
with good intention
won't make fire out of clay
or other inventions

Will we burn in heaven
like we do down here
will the change come
while we're waiting
everyone is waiting

And when we're done
soul searching
as we carried the weight
and died for the cause
is misery
made beautiful
right before our eyes
will mercy be revealed
or blind us where we stand

Will we burn in heaven
like we do down here
will the change come while we're waiting
everyone is waiting

Sarah McLachlan admits that her songs often deal in generalities — subtle hints at pointed events but with a universality to the emotion. It is what simultaneously connects listeners to her music and yet keeps them at a respectful distance from her private life. It is also why we are forced to probe her subconscious for insight.
McLachlan doesn’t remember most of her dreams, but when she does, it’s usually the violent ones. Like the one where she was held down by pigs who bit her hands and feet while a man in a black cloak raped, sodomized and beat her until she was unrecognizable.
“Isn’t it awful?” says McLachlan. “I remember thinking that the man was whoever you think is bearing down on you to the point that you can’t deal with your own life anymore. I’ve felt a lot of that pressure — like I wasn’t myself anymore, I was just being led.” And then there is the dream she had two nights ago.
“Oh, Lordy,” says McLachlan as she begins. “OK: You could tell the liars from the people who told the truth because they had this car exhaust coming out of their butts.” She laughs. “And I had it coming out of mine. So did everyone. Ah, more industry insight.”
She laughs again and continues: “So then we were in this religious congregation, this Billy Graham kind of thing. It was almost like a high school gymnasium. I was with someone I’d known a long time, but I kept morphing, so I wasn’t really me. It was almost an out-of-body experience, and suddenly I was Courtney Love and all these people were masturbating me. They were kind of doing it to put on a show and horrify this evangelist. And he started screaming.”
And? “I woke up,” says McLachlan. “So I never climaxed.” Interpretations can be mailed care of Sarah McLachlan, Vancouver, British Columbia. Non-Freudians need not apply.  From: https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/interview-sarah-mclachlan-86779/

Lift - Tripping Over the Rainbow

Lift was undoubtedly one of the finest US Progressive Rock bands, crafting remarkable, organ-driven Prog of the highest order. While their production quality didn’t match the polish of the aforementioned UK groups, this was largely due to their circumstances. Some collectors might argue that the band’s “raw” sound adds a unique and special vibe.
Although Lift never officially released an LP, their work was unofficially circulated in small quantities, and thanks to dedicated collectors worldwide, it has endured over the years. I recently had the chance to connect with one of the band’s members to discuss the Lift years, the influences on US Progressive Rock bands, and what they’re currently working on. Chip Gremillion, still an active musician, has something special slated for release in the coming weeks.

Were you a member of a band as a youth? What types of music did you play? Who were some of the artists you shared the stage with?

I formed or was a member of a number of bands from the time I was 12 through 18. Every band I was part of at the time was strictly a pop cover band. I actually worked in several cover bands with Lift drummer Chip Grevemberg and Lift bassist Cody Kelleher years before we formed Lift.
At first, I played guitar, but around 1967, organ became a main instrument in many popular songs. It was always easy to find guitar players—most of them better than me—so with a few years of piano lessons as my credentials, it was easy to guess who the “organ player” was going to be. ‘In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida,’ ‘Light My Fire,’ ‘House of the Rising Sun,’ along with ‘Born To Be Wild’ and ‘Magic Carpet Ride’ were among the first rock keyboard songs we performed.
By 1968, the combo organ sound had given way to the mighty Hammond B-3. The Farfisa I had just couldn’t replicate that sound, even with a single-rotor Leslie and light use of a distortion pedal. So, in late 1969, I acquired a Hammond L-100 and a 122 Leslie. That was heaven and all I thought I’d ever need—until I heard King Crimson, ELP, and Yes.
At that stage, we didn’t often perform with other groups, local or otherwise. There weren’t many venues or events back then to accommodate multiple bands in a single space, except for occasional weekend jams in the park. One version of a group I was in played one or two of those. Chip and I had been playing together for a while by then, and Cody was on bass, but it was still a couple of years before we formed Lift.

When did you begin writing music? What was the first song you wrote? What inspired it, and did you ever perform it live or record it?

The first song I wrote was when I was about 12. It was more folk rock, with my sister and me on guitar and singing. It was strictly for family gatherings and never recorded. The first songs I was truly inspired to write were the four that Lift recorded. The inspiration came from a desire to prove to myself that I could do it, and from the growing influence progressive music had on us as a band. We wanted to compose and play something other than the blues, rock, and jazz so prevalent in New Orleans.
By the time Lift was performing the four tunes on the ‘Caverns of Your Brain’ LP (I hate that title), we were the only band playing progressive music and one of the few bands doing original songs in New Orleans at the time. I remember giving a ride home to the lead guitarist of a popular local rock band. He asked me why we played such “crazy music.” Before I could answer, he said I’d grow out of it and get back to good blues-rock. I guess not. Just to be clear, there are many blues artists I love; we just didn’t want to be another Southern rock band.

What’s the story of Lift?

As I mentioned, I had worked with Chip and Cody in other groups before forming Lift. From late 1970 to mid-1972, I lived in Pensacola, Florida, where I met and played in a couple of cover bands with Courtenay Hilton-Green, our lead vocalist. I moved back to New Orleans in the summer of 1972, fully immersed in ELP, Yes, the Moody Blues, and Pink Floyd.
Once back, I contacted Chip and Cody. They weren’t working with anyone, and we realized we were on the same wavelength regarding progressive music. Sitting around Cody’s kitchen table in early June 1972, Lift was born. Our only goal was to cover progressive tunes and write our own, aiming to “make it” as a progressive band from the South.
From 1972 to 1973, I wrote the four tunes on ‘Caverns of Your Brain,’ but we didn’t perform them until after recording. We called them our “album set.” We thought we’d sign with a label and go back into the studio to properly record the songs for our first release. That didn’t happen. Lift grew a fan base and remained popular in certain circles. To this day, some people in New Orleans are still fans of the band.
In the fall of 1975, we relocated to Atlanta, hoping for a broader platform. Rumors circulated that Eddie Offord was building a studio there, and we thought our unique style would stand out. Things quickly went south—pun intended.
We managed one final studio session with the original lineup. We drove to Philadelphia and, in one night, recorded Simplicity, ‘Tripping Over the Rainbow,’ and an instrumental titled ‘To Undulate Rapidly.’ The producer seemed blown away, and we heard a rough mix that sounded promising. But we never received the tapes. Shortly after, Cody and Courtenay left the band. It took almost a year and a half to find replacements. When we did, the new members—Mike Mitchell, Laura “Poppy” Landres, and Tony Vaughn—brought about a creative explosion during early rehearsals.

From: https://www.psychedelicbabymag.com/2015/07/lift-interview-with-chip-gremillion.html

Robin & Linda Williams - A Tender Heart And Calloused Hands / If I Didn't Have You / Lying To The Moon

Robin and Linda Williams - Turn Toward Tomorrow: This is prime Robin & Linda. Their "On and On" sums up their life and this recording. They sing of getting a kick out of the ride. They wrote nine of the eleven tracks, sometimes working with longtime collaborator Jerry Clark. The first rate songs are ignited with plenty of energy and their trademark harmonies, surrounded by pure, full country production. Jim Watson adds fine background vocals on four of the songs. "Seventeen Years Old" is a particularly poignant song of young love. "Chain of Pain" follows telling of a relationship a few years later. It rocks with a great commercial beat, yet delivers an insightful message without compromise. They reprise the terrific "Famous In Missouri," but in this telling Robin sings the lead. The male vocal interestingly changes the meaning of the song. 
Amazingly, even songs they didn't write, such as "If I Didn't Have You" by Smith and Seals, sound like their own. "In the Country of the Night" tells of the night people with a truly catchy melody and beat. Linda has never sounded better than on the concluding "Lying To the Moon" a remarkably beautiful interpretation of the Berg and Samoset song.
John Jennings, who coproduced the album with Robin & Linda and provides most of the guitar, organ and bass accompaniment, deserves credit for steering them toward ideal production values that compliment their sound.  From: https://www.robinandlinda.com/294.html

 

The Small Faces - Talk To You / Up The Wooden Hills To Bedfordshire / Tin Soldier

After the psychedelia of "Itchycoo Park," Small Faces were worried it might typecast them so they reverted to the bluesy feel that had bought most of their chart success. Released on the Immediate label, with "I Feel Much Better" on the flip side, Tin Soldier was the group's first top ten entry in Germany but it only made #73 in the USA, a disappointment following Itychoo's breakthrough on the American charts.
Marriott wrote the song to woo model Jenny Rylance. They first met in 1966 and the singer was immediately smitten, but Rylance was dating Rod Stewart so the pair became friends. When Rylance and Stewart split up Marriott pursued her relentlessly, leading him to pen "Tin Soldier." Rylance and the singer were married at Kensington Register Office, London, on 29 May 1968.
P.P. Arnold sang backing vocals on the song. "Steve and I were lovers around that time," said Arnold to Mojo, "but I think he wrote 'Tin Soldier' about Jenny Rylance. She was the love of Steve's life."
Marriott intended to give the song to P.P. Arnold, but once it was finished, he liked it so much that he decided to keep it for Small Faces and gave Arnold "If You Think You're Groovy" instead.  From: https://www.songfacts.com/facts/small-faces/tin-soldier

Spinning today in the ‘rock room’ is the flip side of the ‘Small Faces ‘ British 1967 (Immediate 050) single ‘Here Come the Nice’. Released on June 2, 1967 the day after Sgt. Pepper, and smack dab at the beginning of the ‘Summer of Love’, the ‘B’ side ‘Talk to You’ is a hearty slab of Mod R and B. While the hazy amphetamine of the ‘A’ side, ‘Here Come the Nice’ would reach number 12 on the British charts and become one of the band’s most recognizable classics, the flip exhibits the true soul of the band. The song was also placed on the corresponding British LP, Small Faces and its US full length counterpart release There Are But Four Small Faces.
Although the ‘Small Faces’ short lifespan 65-68 was enveloped by thick smoke and psychedelic imagery, their Mod beginnings were always deeply entrenched in R and B roots similar to their contemporaries , ‘The Who’ and ‘The Pretty Things’. ‘Talk to You’ is a lively example of the band at their best. The song is usually available in stereo, but there is a mono version with a bit more ‘umph’, that can be heard as a bonus track on the 2014 reissue of the There Are But Four Small Faces album.
While the ‘Small Faces’ never properly ‘broke’ in the US, were stymied by poor management and disbanded way before their time, their discography continues to be investigated and discovered to this day; thanks to the power of their songwriting and performances. In a strange way their follow up bands, ‘Faces’ and ‘Humble Pie’ enjoyed the recognition that ‘Small Faces’ never did, but that recognition always leads back to the formative R and B roots of the ‘Small Faces’.  From: https://talkfromtherockroom.com/2017/05/take-one-small-faces-talk-to-you-1967-b.html

"Up The Wooden Hills To Bedfordshire" is a British euphemism for going to bed, specifically for children. The phrase "Up the wooden hill" refers to ascending the stairs, and "to Bedfordshire" is a rhyming slang term for "to bed."
Keyboardist Ian McLagan wrote the song largely inspired by bassist Ronnie Lane's father Stan Lane, who used to have specific word plays. "It's what Ronnie's dad used to say to him as a sort of lullaby," drummer Kenney Jones told Uncut magazine. "It's about an acid trip."
Ian McLagan joined Small Faces as their keyboardist in October 1965, and he made his debut performance with them on November 2 of the same year at the Lyceum Theatre in London. In their early days, Small Faces either played covers or songs written by vocalist Steve Marriott and Ronnie Lane. McLagan received shared credits for several instrumentals, including "Own Up Time," "Grow Your Own," and "Almost Grown," but "Up The Wooden Hills To Bedfordshire" marked McLagan's first original composition for the band.
Musically the song is a folk tune with a mod sound. "It suggests the pastoral feel where the band were headed," said Jones. "I used to go hop picking in Kent, which was a land of peace, discovery, and general well-being. Ronnie and Steve used to go to Epping Forest all the time on their bikes."  From: https://www.songfacts.com/facts/small-faces/up-the-wooden-hills-to-bedfordshire 

Mànran - Black Tower

In the course of any band’s evolution, there can sometimes appear a point that separates a previous version of the band from the one that’s taken its place, even when the name and the overall style remain. As in Genesis after Peter Gabriel, or Deep Purple with Steve Morse instead of Richie Blackmore on the guitar. You know what I mean.
I think this is the point Mànran have arrived with Ùrar: they are still Mànran – but not the same Mànran. I saw the new lineup, with Kim Carnie and Aidan Moodie added to the original quintet, at their Celtic Connections 2020 gig. It was a great night but I felt Kim and Aidan had not yet quite settled in their places in the band at that point. It felt more like Mànran with two special guests rather than an organic unit.
Two rough years later, the seven-piece band come up with a release that puts my worries decidedly to rest. I revisited their previous album, An Là Dà, before listening to Ùrar and I feel it’s safe to say the expanded lineup has brought more colors and shades into the music; there’s also a sense of the music being more layered than before.
As Mànran are one of my (and my wife’s) very favorite bands, I have to admit I needed to spin the album a couple of times to really get into it, as their previous trad-based and immediately danceable style has now branched out to find new modes that demand your ear a bit more than your body, so to say.
The difference is not of cosmic magnitude but it is real. Consider the opening: Ailean starts with a strong, mid-tempo, archaic drs’n’bass beat that contrasts with Kim’s tender but very focused, no-nonsense vocals. And when Mànran’s trademark “Scottish Funk” groove sets in at 1:30, it’s played with a lighter touch than one might expect: instead of a party feel, it glides rather than pounds and gives space to each musician to be heard clearly. The arrangement lives and evolves throughout the four minutes of the song and becomes a full blast only at the very end.
The same “one level up in sophistication” can be heard almost on every track. Black Tower combines a pretty heavy stop-and-go riff with a lovely, fluid pipe melody; The Loop is a chip off the previous Mànran block of instrumentals but comes across as sharper and somehow lighter; Foghar is brilliantly constructed to optimize the expanded toolbox the band now has; Griogal Crìdhe closes the album with a waltz that has a an easy elegance I don’t think was there on any previous Mànran album.
The more traditional style Gaelic songs and instrumentals are also extremely enjoyable and Kim Carnie’s lovely voice and presence really lights up the Gaelic material. To sum it up: Mànran have been great all along and now they are at least a notch more interesting and, just maybe, a bit even more great than they were before.  From: https://celtbritfolkmusic.net/2022/01/01/album-review-manran-urar/

Meer - Live Ostrów Rock Festival 2025

 Meer - Live Ostrów Rock Festival 2025 - Part 1

 

 Meer - Live Ostrów Rock Festival 2025 - Part 2

 

Meer were playing in Germany a couple of years ago when a man came up to them after the show. “He wanted to thank us, but he started crying,” says co-vocalist Johanne Kippersund Nesdal. “And he just cried and cried. He said, ‘You are making me do this.’ Getting that kind of reaction from a grown man makes you realise that your music is impacting people’s lives.”
It’s not surprising they provoked such a reaction. The Norwegian eight-piece’s music is big in every sense: melodically, emotionally, dramatically, marrying the intricacy and grand sweep of modern prog to the accessibility of pop. Even their name is a play on ‘Mer’ – the Norwegian word for ‘more.’
“We always want more,” jokes Eivind Strømstad, Meer’s guitarist and also Johanne’s husband. The pair are speaking from a room in the theatre that Nesdal and her brother and co-vocalist Knut’s parents own in the lakeside town of Hamar, 90 minutes north of Oslo (current productions: a summery spin on Shakespeare’s A Winter’s Tale and a version of Alice In Wonderland). Nesdal and Strømstad both work there. “He married into the family business,” says the singer.
Appropriately then, there’s a sense of drama to Meer’s third album, Wheels Within Wheels. The uplifting rush of their music is powered by the Nesdal siblings’ distinctive voices: Johanne’s powerful and soaring, Knut’s lithe and melodic. The latter came fourth in the Norwegian heats for Eurovision in 2014. “We both love to sing, but he’s more into the glam, TV stuff than I am,” says Johanne.
Wheels Within Wheels doesn’t exactly set its sights on Eurovision, but it does come with an unashamed desire to balance complexity with catchiness. “We wanted to write songs that people would have fun singing along with,” says Johanne. “Some of the songs are a little more pop-rocky. You can dance along to them.”
The singer was weaned on her parents’ classic rock CDs – Rainbow, Queen, Deep Purple, Pink Floyd. She sang in a Rush cover band as a teenager, but remained oblivious to the modern prog scene until Meer signed to influential Norwegian label Karisma for their second album, 2021’s Playing House. By contrast, Eivind was a full-blooded prog metal fan: Opeth and Pain Of Salvation were favourites. “Then I had a period where I pretended to be into jazz,” he says wryly. “If you want to study music, you have to.”
Such is the breadth of Wheels Within Wheels that all of those influences are evident, together with everything from Ennio Morricone to acclaimed British singer- songwriter Michael Kiwanuka. “With eight people in the band, there are eight sets of different musical influences,” says Johanne. Elvind adds: “Because I was a certified prog-head in my teen years, I was actively trying not to make prog music early on in the band. But that music is part of who I am.”  From: https://www.loudersound.com/features/meer-wheels-within-wheels

 

 

uKanDanZ - War Pigs

How do you improve a perfect sounding song? Sing it in a different language! uKanDanZ’s cover of War Pigs is performed in the Amharic language, one of the many languages of Ethiopia. uKanDanZ is an Ethiopian band formed in 2010, amd this track comes from their 7th album, Evil Plan.
Covers can be real tricky things for bands because ideally they want the familiarity of the song while giving it their own sound. this is made even harder when the song itself is something iconic like War Pigs, a song that it feels like has been covered by almost every metal and rock band.
However, uKanDanZ delivers. The soulful singing of Asnake Gebreyes combined with the surprisingly well placed Saxophone playing of Lionel Martin has them knock this classic heavy metal tune out of the park.  From: https://cavedwellermusic.net/albums-reviews/u/ukandanz-war-pigs-amharic-cover-review/

Róis - Caoine / Feel Love

 Róis - Caoine

 

 Róis - Feel Love

 

Grá mór to Róis and her album Mo Léan. This hidden story of the Irish keening tradition has become a shared fascination. She has liberated voices, long silenced by Church, State and Empire. A wonderful coup.
Last week, there were two distinctions for Róis at the RTÉ Radio 1 Folk Awards ­– Best Original Folk Track for ‘Caoine’ and Best Emerging Artist. The week before that, she was saluted at the Gradaim Nós event in Belfast. And now this week, the album is shortlisted in the Choice Music Prize, alongside peers like Fontaines DC, Kneecap and New Dad. Might there be an outlier victory that upsets the bookies?
“Well I’m up against the Fontaines,” says Róis, laughing, “so I’m not expecting anything at all. But it’s just great to have a night out with family. I wasn’t expecting anything in the Folk Awards now, either, but sure…”
There was an excellent moment during last Saturday’s RTÉ programming when Róis finished up the Tommy Tiernan Show and then reappeared, minutes later, in the TV transmission of the Folk Awards. It was like radical marketing, repeated glimpses of an artist wailing out of the darkness with a black veil on her head. You could hardly miss it. A good feeling, surely?
“It’s very satisfying. It’s a good time in Ireland to be bringing back keening – and as a woman as well. And it’s a nice mixture between experimental and not-so experimental.”
Róis says she doesn’t have a speech ready for the awards. She’s not presuming anything. When she was awarded her second RTÉ award, she was actually back in the balcony, unaware of what was happening. She almost missed receiving her trophy from Mary Chapin Carpenter, to the amusement of the Vicar Street audience. “I’d be late for my own funeral,” she told them, when she finally reached the stage, impeccably dressed in black.
I suggest that for her potential Choice Prize acceptance speech, Róis could resurrect the Father Ted moment at the Golden Cleric Awards. A good time to settle scores. She thinks this might be a fun idea.
“I know that speech very well. Off by heart. ‘And now, we move on to liars…’”
Róis, aka Rose Connolly, is from Newtownbutler in Fermanagh. She was raised in a music family, alive to trad music. She played the whistle, fiddle, banjo, piano, flute and mandolin. As a teenager, she liked Nirvana. “I was obsessed by Kurt Cobain. I was one of those angsty teenagers. I played ‘Stay Away’ in the bedroom constantly. I was very inspired by that expressive Nirvana feeling.” Hence her magnificent version of ‘Something in the Way’ that Róis fetched up last December, during her performance at the Black Box.
In 2018 she attended the Royal Irish Academy of Music, sometimes working against the formal constraints. She took an Erasmus visit to the Royal Conservatoire of the Hague. She listened to Meredith Monk, Hatis Noit and Alice Coltrane – some of which was evident on her debut album, Uisce Agus Bean, which combined the avant-garde with Irish trad and mythical themes.
The story of keening is sketchy and lightly documented. It was frowned on as a pagan legacy, and outlawed by the church. Much of this Irish tradition had vanished before the folk collectors arrived. Only scraps remain, like the voice of Cití Ní Ghallchóir, recorded by Alan Lomax in in Donegal, 1951, remembering a lament for a dead child.
I ask Róis if her work has parallels with the writing of Manchán Magan, who is drilling down into Irish language and culture, seeking the pre-Christian significance and linking it to the Indo-European trail. Manchán appeared on the Kneecap album, a cameo part as a rogue druid. But there are other voices out there, like Huartan, who venerate the hawthorn tree and strive to de-colonise their heads. All over, there are masks and sedition. A fascinating time.
“I think there’s a bit of a zeitgeist,” says Róis. “A resurgence, some sort of celebration. Pagan just means countryside, so I suppose it is a sort of a country-ness, a sort of a wildness, that we want to go back to. It’s been cleaned and sterilised by the likes of the Catholic Church and colonisation.
“There was too much order. And I think there has to be a balance of order and chaos, and I think we’re going back to the chaos. I think keening really suits me. And it’s no coincidence that it’s keening. We only have three recordings of the last keening women, and there’s a lot of hypothesis.
“What I think, and what other academic research says, is that before Christianity, keening would have been very experimental. It would have been so unique and individual to the keener. Like, the keening women used it for their own grievances on the village, or used it as a call to arms. And they tried to banish the priests that were there, doing wrong. And then of course, the priests then won, and banned them. In the end, we lost that tradition.”
When you watch Róis on stage, it’s seems like the music is being channelled. She has clearly found a medium that suits her.
“I love screaming. Not as art, just as a way to figure out my own emotions. Just to get that scaoil amach, that relief. It just suits my kind of thing. And I like that archetype of the wild woman (the hag, the sentainne, the cailleach) I think we should stop saying that it’s coming back because Growler (Dee Mulrooney), Manchán Magan, The Wild Geeze, the comedians, Julie Goo and all these people are bringing it all back.”
Was Róis confident that Mo Léan (my woe) was a significant record when she was finishing it?
“I remember starting it last year, and it just seemed wholesome and holistic. It was coming full circle. The stuff that I’m interested in is culture, a bit political, and putting a new spin on the tradition. It’s what I’m all about. I wanted the ‘Feel Love’ track to feel like a celebration.  I don’t want Róis to be this doom and gloom, scary mask thing. I want it to be like a dance party and fun because that’s what life is about too, and that’s what they used to celebrate. It wasn’t just all sad. I think we’ve actually gone too far…over to sad.”
Several of the speeches during the RTÉ Radio 1 Folk Awards, particularly in relation to the pioneer spirit of Dónal Lunny, stressed that the tradition was there to be respected, but that it was also fit for experiment. It was a reminder that some of the best practitioners have been mavericks. Like Seán Ó Riada, bringing the European classical canon to the music, or more recently Úna Monaghan, using AI to write weird airs. Róis agrees.
“Yeah, it’s great to know who you are as an artist. You always have to be very aware of your authenticity – what you believe in, and who you are, and it’s really important to know where you came from. Folk and sean-nós speaks to me, because I’m very connected to the land in Fermanagh and my musical upbringing was all traditional music.
“When I was about seven, I started getting into classical and jazz and all that, but it was always trad that was the main thing. It’s exploring that history and where it comes from… and the songs that would have been in the household. So yeah, knowing where you’re come from and where you’re going to. That anachronistic exploration is what I’m interested in.”
In the past, people sometimes said that Sinéad O’Connor was keening in her music, particularly on songs like ‘Jackie’, which was likely inspired by the keening mother at the end of the JM Synge play, Riders to the Sea. If so, you wonder if Sinéad had made a study of the form, or rather, that she pulled it out of some mythical race memory?
“She was so intuitive though. I think it’s like being in the moment – intuition, like. Maybe there is some sort of zeitgeist, the keening women in us. But I think it’s just being human and so was just so real and raw. That was her.”
The wearing of the mask is goes back to Irish traditions like the wren boys and the rhymers. Oscar Wilde famously noted that, “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” (The Critic as Artist, 1891). WB Yeats was fascinated by Japanese noh theatre and wrote up his Doctrine of the Mask, which pervaded much of his work. More recently, Blindboy Boatclub has said that wearing a shopping bag on his head aids his neurodivergent personality. It gives him anonymity and an escape from a neurotypical world. How does the Róis method fit with all this?
“My first love for music was Daft Punk. And Daft Punk obviously had the masks on. I remember my brothers were very influenced by that, and how mysterious that was. For me, it’s that anonymity. For the first year of gigging in Belfast, I wasn’t really sticking to it that much. But now I’ve won an award, I’m gonna definitely stick to it. It’s really great for performing it. You can really let go. You can express yourself more freely with the mask on.”
Upcoming plans for the artist include a possible collaboration with David Holmes plus a second keening album, this time with The Crash Ensemble. This latter project will be an elegy for rural Ireland, partly inspired by a John Healy book, The Death of an Irish Town (1967). “He writes about how emigration has been described as ‘outward social mobility’. He describes it as a ‘dead corpse’ –  the spasms when people leave, it’s already dead. I was very inspired by that.”  From: https://www.digwithit.com/?p=3526

 

 

Melody Fields - Fire

The Sixties. The decade when all good music was made. The greatest albums of all time. Except that’s not true, is it? Arguably, what we mean when we say the ’60s is the years between 1965 and 1969, plus a few earlier records by the Beatles, Stones, Beach Boys and Dylan. A switch flicks in ’65 and we get Rubber Soul - Out Of Our Heads - Beach Boys Today - Bringing It All Back Home - Highway 61 Revisited - Black Monk Time - The Pretty Things - The Great Otis Redding Sings Soul Ballads - Bert Jansch - Mr. Tambourine Man - The Paul Simon Songbook - Otis Blue - Turn Turn Turn - My Generation - Here Are The Sonics - The Transfiguration Of Blind Joe Death.
This doesn’t include the brilliant jazz records that came out prior to this date.  I’m talking about “pop” music, as it was classified then. Rock, pop, soul, whatever. That splurge of great, innovative music that poured out across those twelve months is still being felt today. And the albums that followed in ’66? ’67? The tremors of those classic singles from the early ’60s would erupt in a volcano of sound that is still being felt now.
Melody Fields aren’t from the ’60s, though you might be forgiven for thinking they’re some long lost acid group from that hallowed time.  The sleeve looks like something from the peak of the psychedelic era. Think Disraeli Gears but less shit. Drop the needle and right away you’re needing to give your inner eye a quick squeegee. 
So the first thing to say about this Swedish band is that there’s nothing particularly new here. So what. That’s true of a lot of great bands. These guys are tapped right into a bygone world of crushed velvet flairs and brown acid. The genius here is that they do it so well. Like The Strokes reconfiguring the sound of CBGBs for an audience who hadn’t even been born the first time round. And of course, they’re not the first bunch of hairy misfits to tap into these grooves. Spacemen 3 and Loop also spring to mind, along with the first two Spiritualized albums, back before Jason Spaceman disappeared up his own arse. 
So again, drop the needle on it and get sucked into that vortex, ride the drones and jangles and feel your synapses begin to crackle and fizz. Little maelstroms of chaos swirling across the landscape of your cortex. Jump in. Feel the little fishes swim between your toes. You’ll get notes of patchouli and reefer. Like that first Spiritualized album, Laser Guided Melodies, the songs blend into one another. This isn’t a bad thing. The melodies are varied and sparkle across the album. But the mood is there. The mood that sucks you in and keeps you captive. But while that first Spiritualized record always felt a little dry in its production, this feels fresh and warm. The music breathes. Unlike Spacemen 3 and their relentless drugginess, or Loop with their tough, raw guitar sound, there is a deftness here. A lightness of touch. 
Another group that spring to my mind is Cosmic Rough Riders, those jangly Glaswegian guys who caused a minor stir at the start of the century. But while CRR were clearly enthralled by the Byrds, Love and Buffalo Springfield, Melody Fields are much better at submerging their influences.  Yeah, the spirit of ’67 is here in all its raging glory, but it doesn’t sound derivative. When I first played it, it felt like a discovery. A lost album from that time. One of those pieces that gets a loving vinyl repress years later and is held up as a lost classic.
Being a Swedish group, it only seems right to namecheck the axis of Pärson Sound, International Harvester, and Träd, Gräs och Stenar. These cult classics are similarly rooted in drones and lysergic mayhem. What Melody Fields bring to the table is an emphasis on tunes and songs.  From: https://www.minimusiccritic.com/quarantine-diaries-time-traveling-with-melody-fields/