Search Results for: label/interview

Interview: Solar on the Rise, Tennis.

Prior to playing Hackney’s Oslo last month, it had been “two years almost” since Alaina Moore’s Tennis last washed up on these shores. “It’s been a really long time, but we needed it” she admits, visibly fresh-faced – her spindly, nigh on infantile figure now tattooed with spaceships that fall out from her sleeves and fly down her forearm. We begin, as so many reviews and career retrospectives have tended so to do, with Cape Dory – she and hubby…So on & so forth…

Interview: Let’s Grow, Gulp.

Every day, when I wake up, I thank the Lord I’m Welsh and rarely have I done so more frequently than of late although, to come absolutely clean, I in fact spoke with Guto Pryce of Gulp last winter. As the lengthening days have since strung themselves out to dry, becoming increasingly busy all the while, only now – with the release of he and (both musical and marital) partner Lindsey Leven’s début full-length, Season Sun due – do I find time to l…So on & so forth…

Interview: Hangin’ On, Sean Nicholas Savage.

It would take a far more psychoanalytical mind than mine to unravel the enigma that is Sean Nicholas Savage. However, even one as unimaginative as that which calls my cranium home will be able to readily appreciate the surreal, if rarely cerebral balladry that has become Savage’s stock-in-trade. His stock continues to rise with his every release, not least with his sublime Other Life of last year and the similarly impressive Bermuda Waterfall of…So on & so forth…

Interview: Walking Into The Wilderness, Gruff Rhys.

Chances are that if you’ve even a transitory interest* in the more independent end of the contemporary music spectrum, then you’ll be well aware of Gruff Rhys. And, in light of the fact that the sometime Super Furry Animal – itself an endangered species, lest we forget – commands enduring adulation among those that know and, by and large, love him, you’ll likely be cognisant of one John Evans also. An ostensibly distant relative of Gruff himself…So on & so forth…

Review: Lana Del Rey, Ultraviolence.

From allusions to noxious addiction to impolitic, self-important soundbites (namely last week’s grammatically contemptible, “I wish I was dead already”, from Tim Jonze’s landmark Guardian interview), Lizzy Grant – alias Lana Del Rey, and this distinction has, debatably, never been of greater importance than it is now – seems hell-bent on courting controversy. Having been notoriously ignored, under different guises, for years, her yearning for in…So on & so forth…

Review: Field Day 2014.

Needless to say, it’s no longer entirely necessary to pilgrimage – lukewarming crate of cider cradled in arms; sweat dribbling your back, as it malodorously fills the ravine made by your ailing spine; impossibly enormous rucksack attached to your back – to what can, at times, feel the ends of the Earth in order to access, and perhaps even enjoy the so-called ‘festival experience’. And Field Day, now in its eighth year, is just about the most con…So on & so forth…

Review: Phantogram, Voices.

Emerging players amid the indietronica zeitgeist, Phantogram and their self-proclaimed ‘street-beat’ stylings couldn’t be any more ‘in’ right now. They look the part, appearing like a bohemian’s answer to Beauty and the (beardy) Beast, and they sound it, too. With its alchemical blend of crystalline vocals, head-bobbing beats and J Dilla-evoking samples, Voices is an unquestionably trendy album. But it’s also dull. So very dull…So on & so forth…

Dripping, Blonde Redhead.

Thought No More Honey – the comeback track from multinational, NYC-stationed ensemble, Blonde Redhead – was good? Well, you’d best think again, and revise your interpretation of the term ‘good’ while you’re doing so, because Dripping – a second to emerge from their forthcoming Barragán full-length – goes several better, combining the screwy synths known of both Olof Dreijer and Håkan Wirenstrand with the stadium-primed, synthetic mel…So on & so forth…

First Transmission: On My Own In Hua Hin, TĀLĀ.

Even if you’ve a vehement aversion to outré typography, we’d implore you put it on hold a moment because the three-and-a-bit minutes to comprise On My Own In Hua Hin, from nascent London producer TĀLĀ, are arresting enough to not so much command, as demand your undivided attention. The finest of three to comprise her The Duchess EP, the outcome is a compelling maelstrom of massive choruses, exotic swells and superlative, seemingly al…So on & so forth…

Pleasure, Baxter Dury.

“Making this album I worked in New York, Brussels, Paris but you can’t hear a trace of any of them, only the faint cries of Chiswick” says immutably cheeky chappy Baxter Dury of his forthcoming It’s a Pleasure full-length. And judging by its nearly-title track, Pleasure, he’s bang on the proverbial money once more: for featuring fag-addled lyricisms of “Ferrero Rocher prostitutes/ Primark debutantes in boots”, a willingness to…So on & so forth…