Sucka-sucka-sucka tailpipe!

I’ve just come back from Sea Change in Totnes, a mixed weekend of great music, pretty average organisation and cracking company, with a recorder full of tunes and a bit of a hangover…

It does mean I’m a little behind on a few things here, and tempting as it might be to go straight to a warm Sunday afternoon with Gruff, I’m going to keep things strictly in order, demonstrating the discipline and self-control for which this Blog has become a byword.

Which means this first…

Snapped Ankles, SWX Bristol

This is nothing to do with Sea Change. And technically, Snapped Ankles were actually the support band last Monday evening, backing up booming hometown boys, BEAK, in what I reckon must be one of the very best double bills I think I’ve ever seen. I’ll go on to the BEAK stuff next post (they were terrific) but right now I’ll focus my laser-like eye on East London’s foremost woodland folk / motoric ensemble.

This interview here suggests a whole more thoughtful side to a gang of hormone-busting urchins of which I was completely unaware as a mysterious troupe of costumed figures picked their way across the SWX stage veiled in dry ice. Completely unrecognisable beneath ski googles and shamanistic forest masks (an anonymity that extends to interviews and all publicity), they certainly made something of an entrance, before launching hell-for-leather into a pretty brutal set that went through most of their new record, Stunning Luxury.

The interview suggests that the record is some sort of protest about developers stomping all over rehearsal spaces in the Capital – I’m not really sure where the curious wicker men look comes into this – but to be honest I’m not buying it. Personally, I prefer to believe they’re a bunch of over-excited youngsters dressing up and smashing the hell out of all manner of electronic gizmos, enjoying the buzz they get from sounds their gear was surely not designed to make. You can say what you like about tribal rhythms, I just think they’re having a whale of a time, making it as uncomplicated as they possibly can whilst muddying things to impossible degrees with as many pedals, wires and processors as they can lay their grimy fingers on. Smashing fun…

You should probably watch at least part of this…

 

Lawks!

It was relentless, dizzying and got murkier as the evening went on. By the time their set was over, you could barely see them slinking ghoulishly from the stage because of the vast amounts of swirling, murky algae smoke flowing from the stage.

I’ve got a couple of recordings which are good and certainly capture the sound of the evening but which can do no justice to the sheer exhilarating weirdness of a Snapped Ankles set.

Tailpipe / True Ecology

I Want My Minutes Back

As the boys left the stage, we were left thinking “How on earth are Beak gonna match that?” and I’ll let you know in the next post.

(Spoiler: They smashed it…)

Sometimes four things can be going on at once…

An engaging first for me this week…

Rubén, my Asturian pal, who once a week in the pub listens uncomplainingly to my painful Spanish and makes courteous suggestions, had a hankering to see some live music and hauled me over for my debut appearance at the Cheltenham Jazz festival on Friday. Not really my cup of tea, thinks I, but utterly unable to express thirty years of a troubled relationship with jazz in schoolboy Spanish, I opted for “Sure, why not?”

We were actually up for tickets to see Georgie Fame, which I quite fancied (for old time sake, Twenty Beat Classics was a much-loved early acquisition of mine back in the day) but we dithered and unfortunately missed out. So, at random, we picked out a band we’d neither of us heard of…

Partisans, Parabola Arts Centre

I’d not heard of the Parabola Arts Centre either, which turns out to be some sort of concert hall for the Cheltenham Ladies College, but it’s a pretty little venue, immaculately swathed in dark wood and leather furnished seats. And the sound was really excellent. (It was certainly a far cry from my usual haunts – no sticky floors and pillars; no haunting sound of a beer bottle being tossed into a bin; no glimpse of a shaggy-maned Big Jef at the front – all very genteel. I could get used to it…)

Partisans have been around for 24 years (who knew?) and are apparently genuine Post Jazz commandos, plying their gawky trade all over world to general fizz and acclaim (there’s a great interview with them here – in the ominously named All About Jazz magazine). Consisting of a revved up guitarist, an impressively coifed saxophonist, electric bassist and busy, busy drummer, they ploughed through a dizzying set that from the first nimble skips of the bass blew asunder my silly reservations about being at a jazz concert. It was clearly going to be more Sun Ra than Georgie Fame.

It was a genuinely exciting set, goaded along by a ridiculously tight & loose rhythm section and powered by the occasional wah-wah and often fuzzed up guitar of Phil Robson. The recordings don’t quite bear witness to this, but at times it made me think of what I imagine the Third-era Soft Machine might’ve been like (before Wyatt exited, taking his zany genius with him).

The best tracks were a lot of fun, sounding modern and trad at the same time – each song swooping and summersaulting through distinct phases, twisting around traditional riffs and into bafflingly oblique passages that made the senses and scalp tingle.

Here’s a clip from the Montreux Jazz Festival a few years back, sounding more than a little Beefheart-y:

 

Sometimes, we were reminded that this was, when all’s said and done, still a jazz evening, and it did get a little dreary but at such times you can always focus on the drummer. Jazz drummers are an absorbing watch, generally much more interesting than rock drummers, and this was certainly true of Gene Calderazzo, a New Yorker with a fidgety, busy style and the low boredom threshold that marks his kind – he simply would not stay on the same shift for long and was constantly adding new fills and patterns. As well as all this, he could also maintain a different rhythm with all four limbs. Astonishing stuff. (His partner in rhythm is bass player Thad Kelly, who was  terrific too. Could there be any more Be Bop names than Thad and Gene?)

A strictly-curated hour-long set was over a little too soon for some, but for me it was about right, my attention was starting to wander – any longer and it might have started to chafe.

Here’s the opening two tracks from the evening…

Max / That’s Not His Bag