LIMN @ The Lion, Stoke Newington, London

Limn perform a set akin to the range of Stereolab and Tortoise: instrumental and very calculated rock music but sufficiently interesting enough not to fall into the haphazard ghetto description of dreary avant experimental post rock music continuously jumped on by various horrible bandwagon jumpers as far back as the late nineties. Even despite the stick humidity, the band still manages to draw on stage presence drawing the listener into psychic rhythms. This band play like graduates from the Pajo School Of Rock, an education institution akin to the Jack Black school only inhabited by adults (kind of) and really remind me of El Hombre Trajeado. Regularly throughout the set the participants exchange instrument duties, displaying something of a talented rollcall and an admirable versatility within the band. Towards the end, as the set rolls to a conclusion, the general sense of proceedings becomes heavier and harder until the highlight of the show sees the band’s brass section adding a completely different trajectory to the set, dispersing from the crowd as if by spontaneous decision with a proper Johnny Briggs-esqe brass blow as opposed to some arty jazzy schmaltz as per June Of 44 etc. The set contains a surprisingly amount of miserablism, as its surly inclusion into the day’s proceedings appears to resemble the Instrument soundtrack’s inclusion to the Fugazi discography.

My Ears My Ears + Compact Pussycat + The Skulls, Ipswich Steamboat May 29th 2005

Unless they change it to "WHEN TINITUS ATTACKS," there will never be a more appropriate band name than My Ears My Ears. MY ears will ring for days after this gig. Picture the scene: It's a bank holiday Sunday in East Anglia's premier backwater shithole town. Our erstwhile reviewer has just returned from the Badhand AGM / engagement party in London and is A) really tired B) wearing clothes he slept in C) on his own and bit lonely. I arrive at the Steamboat, get beer, drink beer and wait. The Steamboat isn't exactly Brixton Academy - any band bigger than a trio and the singer stands in the audience - but it's our local venue for local people and we'll have no trouble here. There's a bloke here that looks like an octogenarian Justin Hawkins as well, serenading embarrassed girls in the beer garden. Add to the mix a whole load of ancient punks and some not so ancient ones and you've got your typical Ipswich crowd. Not a bad crowd by any means, just frequently disinterested in any non-punk bands.

There's a bit of history to My Ears My Ears that takes some explaining to anyone unfamiliar with this particular scene (as in not from Ipswich). MEME were formed from the ashes of local pop punkers Violent Playground when the vocalist left the band for greener pastures. Most of the remaining members now reside in Nottingham and have arisen from the dead to drink the blood of living, only via the medium of really loud, noisy songs. Violent Playground were extremely popular locally, their 10" EP is still in print and recently reissued on CD, and My Ears My Ears were obviously booked partially on the back of this. However, anyone expecting VP mark 2 is going to be disappointed. Instead, you'll get something very different. Instead, to quote the classic album title, you'll get a holocaust in your head. This band put many metal bands to shame by sheer unsubtle loudness. This is abrasive noise of the highest calibre and the performance is raw as fuck. The sound of the guitar alone is like a polaris missile strike on the venue. Musically, MEME sound like a sleazy post-punk funk band. The vocals are slutty and screeching with intermittent bouts of melody, fitting snugly over the rumbling, groovy bass lines. Backed with some suitably minimalistic drumming and the aforementioned howling guitar, this could so easily go horribly wrong. Thankfully, there's enough variety in the songs to keep things interesting. Despite a singing drummer / drum machine routine making an appearence at one point and a climatic howler ostensibly about Batman, half the pub don't bother to look up from their pints. If they had done, they'd have witnessed drumsticks fly into the crowd, the kit collapsing after only three songs and the infamous feedback actually getting turned UP at one point. Finally, a telecaster flies into the drumkit with bespectacled girl still attached and the whole stage is trashed before the first band have even finished. How's that for a support slot?
After that performance, the rest of the evening was all downhill in an strictly entertaining way. Norwich all-girl punks Compact Pussycat are admirable enough performers even if you're in pretty safe territory musically - no curve balls being thrown here, though a snotty cover of Electric Six's "Gay Bar" is a surprise gem. I'm told by a certain former Violent Playground vocalist that they're a lightweight version of Sleater Kinney but no one really cares about that shit at a punk gig - headliners the Skulls being ample proof of that fact. Original '77 punks from New York you say? Old men. Tight trousers. Cliched riffs. Not actually bad, just typical punk. The locals fucking love it of course. Me? I was falling asleep on my feet, kept awake only by the ringing in my ears.

My ears, my ears...

Ex Models @ The Buffalo Bar

The Ex Models are playing their first new material in the 2 years since they released their second album 'Zoo Psychology'. That record represented a fairly sizable leap for the group. The album exhibited a harder edge and a wider propensity for noise when held up against their debut which ploughed a distinctly US strand of post punk, reminiscent of a condensed and more malicious Devo. They were widely attributed as being one of the torch bearers in the fledgling New York scene that went supernova a few years ago with Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Liars.

The now duo set up the stage with two guitars an a floor tom and crash cymbal centre stage. Kicking off with an abrasive backing track the duo whirl around the stage, faces contorting as something indecipherable is yelped. Immediately this looks like a band kicking against something. Since they've been away angular guitars have become the stuff of credible chart success. 'Zoo Psychology' dropped sizeable chunks of dissonance into the mix, this appears to have become the entire basis of the band's sound now. The primal, rhythmic tracks would seem arbitrary were it not for the fact that when there are breaks in the aural assault it is so tight you can almost feel the walls of the Buffalo Bar contorting as the punishing beats and guitar start up again. Over the course of the last two records the vocals of the duo have become abstracted to a mix of hollers and yelps masked under reverb. Tonight I genuinely do not understand a word that is said. The embracing of primitive (anti)structure in their playing is matched by a mixture of indecipherable vocals. This is not too disconnected from the last record, but it is enough of a leap to render lyrical examination impossible tonight.

Ending their set is a storming version of 'Pink Noise' from Zoo Psychology. Which fits seamlessly into amongst the new material confirming the early proclamation that they are now 'different, but kinda the same'. Wiry jagged riffs fill the venue, I don't mean in the Bloc Party sense of how that word is over used to the point of being meaningless. This is the sound of laceration. The strings sound like they are drawing blood, pulled tort with the group really capitalising of the visceral elements of their music which has only been hinted at on previous records. When the music does hit something approaching a groove, melody is replaced by distorted chunks of prepared noise and guitar. While I missed some of the conventional elements of the band it seems that so many others are now snapping at their heels. They leave behind two records that can be held way above most of their cotemporaries and hope that this new direction will prove just as fruitful. (Racton)

Mates of State @ Brixton Windmill

Mates of State take to the stage of the Brixton Windmill for the sweaty, sold out final show of their current European tour. I do not know this band. I have heard only one song pre-show and have been informed that they are a pop band, as if that is a dirty word amidst the assembled crowd. Things do not get off to a great start. Organ player Kori Gardner confesses to the crowd that they are not playing with a set list. At first this makes sense to me, they are a husband and wife duo - surely after three albums and numerous EP's since the group began in the late 90's some kind of weird unspoken communication must exist, the pre-empting of each others musical tics. What should be a device to free up the flow of the set and make for exciting viewing as the group leap through their sizeable back catalogue, soon emerges as some what half-assed, with protracted periods of questioning what song to play next jarring the momentum of the set and making me wish that someone would just leap into any song.

But the crowd is loving this, there are people holding their loved ones close like their very relationships are built on the harmonies that the duo are throwing out, their whole being together somehow vindicated by the song playing at that exact moment. This passion I find difficult to understand. As a keyboard and drum duo there will be constraints on the groups dynamic when compared to a full band, but at the very least you could imagine that there will be an uncluttered clarity to the songs. Sadly this is not the case. Whether they are dogged by a bad mix or whether they always sound like this I am not sure. There is no space in these songs, every second seems taken up by a massively irritating high organ melody or a bass organ way to high in the mix that blocks out pretty much everything else. These big fat clunky riffs are liberally painted all over everything. In an extension of their loose and freewheeling approach to no set list the songs themselves sound sloppy. This may pass for energy at other shows, but tonight all I can hear are duff notes and slightly out harmonies. The point of no return is a particularly awful cover of 'Starman' culminating with the crowd clapping to the outro. I am again baffled how they can take 100% pure gold pop and turn it into a particularly ungraceful song which sounds like it is being played for the first time.

My Luminaries "Musaic" EP.

"Catch them on a small stage now before you need binoculars to see them" (bbc.co.uk)

There's a gushing biography on the My Luminaries website with an abundance of glowing press, the above quote being a typical example. They're an up and coming four piece formally known as the Fondas with a string of energetic live shows behind them, plus airplay on XFM and Radio 1 and a small novel's worth of reviews. It's easy to see why the press already love them - pop hooks and pretty boys equals the next big thing. There's little pretension here, the Dawn Parade they most definitely are not. Neither are they quite as disposable as the likes of Busted or Maroon 5. Think indie also-rans Wilt or a less depressing post-Coxon Blur. Add one dash of Beach Boys, another of britpop and you'll be along the right lines. Guitar fans of the south are certainly sitting up and taking note. Indeed, HMV stores may soon carry this very EP nation-wide despite the band's apparent lack of a record deal. With professional management now under their collective belts, My Luminaries are a band we could be hearing a lot about over the next year. Once you get over the growing mountain of hyperbole, there's the actual music to consider.

The band's musical speciality is... well, nothing to be brutally honest. The big problem with My Luminaries is that they enjoy the dreaded "wide variety of influences" and attempt to cram them into their songs, all while striving to keep it (relatively) rockin' at the same time. The end result is so generic that they may as well not have bothered in the first place. True, the song writing's competent enough and there's no screamo-emo here for the uber-fashionable kids, but there is a lot of see-our-wide-influences-on-display style mincing to contend with. "Renegade musical direction" is one reviewer's way of describing this band's sound. Half-arsed is another way to put it. Much of the bands attempts at bringing what could be potentially interesting sounds into the mix fail to get off the starting blocks at all. Jazz and Frank Zappa may get namechecked by band members, but you can't hear any of that here. Try as they might, My Luminaries are just another guitar band.

Opening track "A Man Without His Phone" begins with a blatant rip off of "ABC" by the Jackson Five. Many a band have tried to sound all classic Motown before and sounded daft. My Luminaries interesting take on the soulful side of things is to make it sound like a Stereophonics pastiche. If the Jacksons had reverted to bland indie rock in every chorus and then back to pseudo-funk riffs again then maybe young Mike would still be black. The Pro-Tools style production is absolutely lifeless and flat, subtracting what little charm this song may have played live. The bass won't exactly have you shaking your booty either, there's barely enough to make you shake your head in disdain.

Then you have your low calorie version of Kings Of Leon in "Mad Dog". A shit copy of a shit band I hear you cry. Not quite. OK, the lyrics are awful (Mad Dog! Cool cat!) but compared to "A Man Without...", this actually sounds like a song rather than a load of bits stuck around a chorus. Again, the production lets the side down badly - there's not enough "twang" to the guitar which is a real necessity in pulling the bluesy sound off. Whoever decided to label this song an "aural assault" needs to switch Radio 2 off and get out more, unless they meant to say aural insult and got misquoted. Their own website says My Luminaries are above recycling blues rock, but "Mad Dog" is as recycled as they come.

The band obviously ran out of influences after two songs because there's nothing more on display but formulaic rock. "Transmitter" and "Her Or Me" struggle to be more than regurgitated Smiths riffs, to the point where sheer boredom sets in after only one or two listens. The less said about the "Slow Burning Flame" the better, let's just say one listen was enough for me. Trust me, you've heard these songs done before and done better. Yes boys, we know the lyrics are actually quite dark. We just don't care. With material like this and such a lightweight sound, My Luminaries are going to wind up in bargain buckets nation-wide after only one album. If they could only learn to kick things up a gear in the studio they might actually be successful. The production on this EP is cheap, yet polished to the point of utter transparency. These boys need to be locked in a room with a eight track recorder and given a kick up the arse. The ludicrous level of hype the band seem to have acquired already doesn't help matters. The next Blur you say? Don't make me laugh. They'll be lucky to survive the current climate of eighties revival bands like the Bravery long enough to get signed. The NME doesn't seem too likely to call right now, but give it another six months...

I've never seen My Luminaries live and I don't know that I ever will. Based on these few songs, anyone would think the band's live reputation is a joke because they could make Embrace sound like Emperor. This is Levis advert music, pure and simple. You'll buy this, rock fans, then you'll wonder why in a few months. Once they peak, they'll have moderate chart success. Then My Luminaries will disappear into the fiery hell of one-major-label-album-and-no-hit-singles, joining the likes of Semisonic and Third Eye Blind. The summer festival crowds beckon first - The second stage at V2007 or Reading isn't out of the question. At least you'll have one free half hour in the day with nothing good on. Those lines for the khazi can go on forever.

'I Never Wanted You' - The Headphones

What the hell? Has everybody decided that guitars are out for this season? Maybe the abrasive riff and crooned vocal just don't make the ladies (and emo boys) go weak at the knees anymore. First Ben Gibbard went all Pet Shop Boys with The Postal Service, then Conor Oberst decided that not everyone had already heard Her Space Holiday so he could get away with making a record that sounded exactly like them. Now David Bazan, of Pedro the Lion fame, is trying his hand at all things electronic with his new project The Headphones. 'I Never Wanted You' is a song on the group's debut for Suicide Squeeze Records. It kicks off with a growling fuzzy synth line over a sparse fractured drum machine. Whereas other singers' forays into this territory have been marred by an overcompensating of layers ('wow, pro tools!') This song benefits from focusing on said fuzzy motif, Bazan's equally gnarled delivery and little else. There is something massively seedy about this song. Imagine John Carpenter scoring 'Sideways', all cool retro keyboard sounds which, rather than accompanying Kurt Russell’s action packed antics, play over scenes of massive self-loathing. The simplicity of the instrumentation is an excellent counterpoint to a startlingly frank and downright nasty lyric. The lack of emotion here is akin to the robot HAL telling you that those heady days testing at NASA together never meant a thing before he jettisons you into space. However, the song is delivered with such lack of committal, that the all pervading sombre mood starts to suggest that the lyrics are deceptively simple and that this is really the awkward response of the jilted party, attempting a rather empty retaliation by falsely claiming to either himself and/or his ex that the whole thing was meaningless. The closing refrain of 'baby, I was faking the whole time' is unnerving in it's sedate delivery there is no climax, no swirl of keyboards, just the simple facts.

Women Wired at the Spitz! (partI) Compute

Compute – and I quote – ‘lives in a small pink room in Gothenburg, Sweden.’ And believes that the recipe for happiness includes; ‘bright, round blipping sounds playing melodies.’ This according to the promotional flier circulated before their appearance on stage at the Spitz, London. A long way, some might say for such a small and fluffy creature to venture. Compute also claim that their music ‘might have helped to keep the suicide numbers down.’ But admit that this is statistically unproven.

Certainly Compute begin with promise. Their first track full of intriguing off kilter beats and soft vocal mutterings. Thinking back to the promises of ‘bright, round blipping sounds’, their advertising seemed truthful enough. It was just unfortunate that Compute allowed this intelligent, engaging sound to stagnate as the set progressed and sounding at moments like Erasure with a dash of Ladytron, but not terribly original and with the subtle, muted vocals rejected for a much mediocre pop sound. By their last song I was off down (and down and down and down) to the loo and the music not much improved for having two and a half flights of stairs between it and me.

Coming soon... Rothko with Caroline Ross.