living the dream - issue #3

LIVING THE DREAM - ISSUE #3
If you want to play a gig at The Half
Moon contact our music booker John
Lynch by email :
[email protected]
Welcome
to
the
third
edition
of
LIVING THE DREAM
your guide to what‟s happening down
here at The Half Moon, Herne Hill.
Our Open Mic night runs EVERY
TUESDAY at 8.pm….get down here and
grab a drink, for an eclectic evening of
musical and spoken performances, from
some of South London‟s finest….we have
a large stage, a fat sound system, a
professional sound engineer, and a nice
chilled, responsive atmosphere.. Get
down early with your instruments /
words to sign up to perform, as it can get
quite busy….or, of course, just come
down, relax, and enjoy some great
music, from a random, lively, and
eclectic bunch of south London‟s musical
massive.. and possibly yourself ? Doors
8pm - midnight. Hosted by Mr. Hovis
Contact him by email here
[email protected]
www.myspace.com/needleandthread
dotorg
He‟s back...THE BAND DOCTOR has
returned from his holiday and is on fine
form. Plus, we‟ve got an amazing review
on SHACK, a feature on theafterrabbit
plus loads more.
So, grab a pint, pizza or even A SUNDAY
ROAST, have a read and then see you
down the front.
All upcoming gigs are listed in here and
on our website :
www.halfmoonpub.co.uk
3in4 Production in association with Pilot
Light Theatre Presents:
The Dark and Cavernous Walls 2010
New and improved for 2010
They're dark,
They're cavernous
AND
They're WALLS!
'If you bought the Matrix...then you'll
swallow this hook, line and sink
her...'
Sunday 24th January 5pm
Monday 25th January 7.30pm
Wednesday 27th January 7.30pm
Thursday 28th January 7.30pm
Don't miss out...to book or find out more
email us at:
[email protected]
Sat 9th Jan
JUNIOR WELLS
ANNUAL MEMORIAL SHOW
£10 adv / £12 door
Annual memorial gig, for the legendary
Chicago blues harp player Amos
Blackmore aka Junior Wells (Muddy
Waters/Buddy Guy/Magic Sam) the
legendary Chicago blues harp player
who sadly died 15/1/98. An all star band
will feature John O‟Leary, Alan Glenn,
Johnny Mars & Paul Lamb for a blast of
top notch Chicago Blues!
Zoom @ The Moon
For tickets and more info please visit
www.feenstra.co.uk
The South London Capricorn massive
throws another Saturnalian bash - with
live music, eclectic DJs and visuals.
Sat 16th Jan
CAPRICORNS BALL
A welcome occasion to catch up with old
friends and sniff-out some new. All starsigns welcome but those wearing horns,
beards and/or fish's tails will receive
preferential
treatment.
Obviously,
because we're more equal than the
others. Easy access smoking pit and a
heated pen for those wishing to eat their
own babies.
Doors 8pm
Entry FREE
Since the release of Saxon Shore‟s last
album The Exquisite Death of Saxon
Shore (2005), members of the band have
once again moved to different cities
along the eastern seaboard. Previously
based in Philadelphia, Matthew Doty
(guitar,
keyboards)
resides
near
Baltimore, MD. William Stichter (bass)
and Matthew Stone (guitar) still call
Philadelphia, PA home. Oliver Chapoy
(guitar,
keyboards)
and
Stephen
Roessner (drums, percussion) live a short
distance of three blocks apart in
Brooklyn, NY. Due to the distance, the
development of their forthcoming album
It Doesn‟t Matter (Spring 2009) was a
slow and steady process requiring
frequent trips to Philadelphia by Chapoy
and Roessner.
At the time of recording The Exquisite
Death in June 2005, Doty was still
working with line-up changes with only
Roessner and Stone as full-time members
of the live group.
It was not until the band‟s spring 2006
Japan tour that the five-member roster
became the standard. The sound of this
five-member live performance is what
Saxon Shore wanted to capture with a
new album. The addition of keyboards
and electronics was kept to a minimum.
When rehearsals and demo sessions
started, the group had maintained a
The Dream Machine and consistent lineup for nearly 4 years.
The Half Moon are proud to While Doty continued to handle the
primary aspects of the writing, he
present......SAXON SHORE opened more space in the framework for
creative input. Oliver Chapoy, who
http://www.saxonshore.com
previously handled programming in the
http://www.myspace.com/saxonshore
band, shifted to guitar. William Stichter,
Label - Self Released
who joined the band in the midst of
recording The Exquisite Death, anchored
SAXON SHORE – new album, It Doesn't many of the melodies heard in tracks like
Matter – OUT NOW
“Tweleven” and “This Place.”
Drummer, Stephen Roessner, utilized his
classical music training to perform
timpani, vibes and celeste for various
songs on the album. And Matthew Stone
further developed his signature guitar
tone
with
unique
amplification
techniques and pedals.
The album also added two ideas Doty
had wanted to experiment with for years
vocals, courtesy of Caroline Lufkin on
“This Place,” and a string arrangement
by Roessner and Chapoy on “Small
Steps”.
Eventually, the band was ready to enter
the studio to record It Doesn‟t Matter,
working once again with producer Dave
Fridmann (MGMT, Clap Your Hands, The
Flaming Lips). In the months of May and
June 2008 the band tucked themselves
away with Fridmann in the Tarbox Road
Studios cabin, located in the backwoods
of Cassadaga, NY. Having released Be a
Bright Blue and Four Months of Darkness
on his own label imprint, Broken Factory,
Doty and the band decided to once again
release the album themselves in the U.S.
TOUR DATES
Jan 04 | Wiesbaden - GE | Schlachthof
Jan 05 | Karlsruhe - GE | Jubez
Jan 06 | Nürnberg - GE | Musikzentrale
Jan 07 | St.Gallen - CH | Grabenhalle
Jan 09 | Ravenna - IT | Bronson
Jan 13 | Brighton - UK | Freebutt
Jan 14 | London - UK | The Half Moon
Jan 15 | Bath - UK | Moles
Jan 16 | Leeds - UK | Brudenell Social
Jan 17 | London - UK | Bardens
Jan 18 | Amsterdam - NL | Paradiso
Jan 20 | Luxembourg - LUX | Kulturfabrik
Jan 21 | Leipzig - GE | Nato
Jan 22 | Berlin - GE | Schokoladen
Jan 23 | Duisburg - GE | Steinbruch
A string of fortunate licensing contracts
and a publishing deal with Primary Wave
(alongside artists such as Kurt Cobain
and Daniel Johnston) allowed the band to
pool their resources and finance the
record out of their own pockets.
The band‟s last U.S. tour was in the
summer of 2006, and their last
international trip was a headlining spot at
the Megaport Festival in Taiwan in
October 2006. With the release of It
Doesn‟t Matter the band will break
almost three years of silence with shows
slated for Japan, Taiwan, Hong Kong,
Europe and the U.S.
Band Members
Oliver Chapoy (Guitar, Keyboards,
Piano, Celeste)
Matthew Doty (Guitar, Keyboards, Piano,
Programming)
Stephen Roessner (Drums, Percussion,
Vibes, Celeste)
William Stichter (Bass)
Matthew Stone (Guitar, Keyboards)
ALEX MONK
Two years' worth of pent-up material
finds its way out of the world on these
simultaneously released dual debut
albums. Alex Monk is a London based
musician/producer who uses laptop
trickery and a concatenation of effects
pedals to balance swathes of gaseous
ambience against chiming, layered
guitars. Hardly a revolutionary approach,
you might think, but his music succeeds
in making a genuine emotional impact.
The high-built clouds of "Exchanging
Chairs" and the psychedelic stasis of
"What Thou Lovest Well" achieve a lofty
grandeur, while the electronicallyenhanced fingerpicking of "Neutrino"
and "Death Without Tears" opens up a
connection to the visionary beauty of
guitarist James Blackshaw. A frail vocal
rises like a broken reed through the
frozen mist of "Winter Meccanica"; it's a
glacial, incantatory conclusion. The CD's
are
packaged
in
attractively
screenprinted 7" sleeves - but it might be
difficult to get hold of them as they're
being made available in a limited edition
of just 60 copies each. Chris Sharp, The
Wire, December issue 2008. A review for
the CD-R debut from losing today: Alex
Monk
'Exchanging
Chairs'
(Self
released). This colossal 6 track 41 minute
set from London based musician Alex
Monk should by rights appeal to fans of
not only Brian Eno, Pimmon, Stockhausen
and EAR (especially on the mind melting
'Soyuz 1') but Moondog, Roy Montgomery
and
other
fringe
psychedelicists
operating in outer realms of concrete
ambience. Some time member of Arch
slider (who we now feel restless to seek
out and sample) Monk crafts monolithic
drone scapes by way of sound
manipulations extricated via guitars,
laptop and found sounds. The set opens
with the 11.12 in duration 'exchanging
chairs', a humungous sloth like slab of
glacial ambience reminiscent of Sadar
Bazaar and Windy and Carl and yet
swept through with a maligned void less
elegance more associated with Yellow 6.
This impenetrable slice of bleakly
cathedral like stateliness is pierced
through by ominous swathes of regal
swells that exact an unsettling edge to
the proceedings yet strangely sound if
truth be known like a despondent half
cousin of Laurie Anderson's 'Oh
Superman'. 'Neutrino' with it's flurry of
chime charming softly strummed chords
could easily assume a place on
Montgomery and Heaphy's 'True' set
without a so much as a batting of the eye
lid though on this occasion sounding as
though both Roy Budd in collaboration
with Gnac had wrestled with the
recording giving it a curious rain swept
noire-ish appeal. The abstract sounding
'The Advocate on the other hand is
something that Ochre records would
have welcomed with arms wide a few
years back given their love of all things
inspired by the BBC Radiophonic
Workshop while the daintily frail lunaresque suite 'MG' brings the set to a lulling
close - think early career ISAN meets
Raymond Scott, a shyly beguiling slice of
chilled out spectral galactic pop or rather
more a binary coded lovelorn epitaph to
a fading memory. However all said and
done the sets crowning glory is the
heavenly apparition like 'Przykrosc'. A
beautifully realised symphonic score
that's filtered through with layer upon
layer of reverential swathes of unworldly
celestial grace, shimmers and twinkles
achingly with a sense of monastic
majesty brought to heel by the
appearance of Madam Butterfly like
operatics which all at once evoke polar
mood swings that veer between tearful
tragedy and euphoric ecstasy.
Quite perfect if you ask me.
C’MON KIDS
Fri 22nd Jan
It was only a matter of time......Fridays
have been too boring for far too long.
Now, that‟s all going to change.
On Friday 22nd January we‟re starting a
new club night called C‟mon Kids.
It‟s a night to let your hair down and
forget all your troubles.
Sat 30th Jan
The Killing Moon runs on the last
We‟ll have dancing all night plus special Saturday of every month. £5 on the
performances from bands near and far.
door, £4 with flyer. 4 bands plus a DJ at
each night. The first night features :
This month we have live music from
Manchesters‟ finest, The Scar.
They recently supported "The 80's
Matchbox B-Line Disaster" at The Dry Bar
and headlined the Twisted Wheel after
show party at The Night And Day Cafe.
Earlier this year they headlined "Death
Disco" Alan McGee's (Ex Creation
Records/Oasis Manager) club night in
Notting Hill, London.
Their music has been described as..
"A Filthy sound, like a cross between
early owen morris produced Oasis and
the Deftones" - Eddy Temple-Morris, The
Losers, XFM London (THE REMIX)
"Like It" - Alan Mcgee (Ex Creation
Records) - a man of few words ( on this
occasion ).
You can listen to their latest recordings at
www.myspace.com/scartheband
THE CELLAR DOOR SOUND
www.myspace.com/thecellardoorsound
+
KINGS LIGHT CAVALIERS
www.myspace.com/kingslightcavaliers
+ more tba
Any bands wishing to play should e-mail:
[email protected]
Saturday 23rd Jan 2010
8pm-12 pm
Liver & Lights No 42 is a hand made
book and a 45 rpm vinyl single
containing two new „rabbit recordings. It
comes in a fantastic card fold
silkscreened cover and contains the
lyrics from the songs and new drawings
of the band. It also contains the usual
quotient of Liver & Lights hand made
reprographics - a true collectors item in a
very limited edition of 200. Available
only on the night for £10.00 (along with
limited edition t-shirts and badge sets!)
Theafterrabbit Live!
With Full Supporting Cast
Plus Badges, Books, T-shirts
Pants of Hank and Other Souvenirs
P.S. Vinyl: You will need to go and buy a
record player to listen to these tracks.
Instructions. Open Gramophone lid Place
plastic disk on turntable set device to
45rpm place stylus arm on disk settle
back in chair repeat for side two
Contact :
John Bently: 02075019566
[email protected]
www.liverandlights.co.uk
www.myspace.com/afterrabbit
A concert to celebrate the launch of
Liver & Lights No 42
Theafterrabbit: Kathy‟s plums
c/w Sawbones
at The Half Moon
Half Moon Lane Herne Hill
Theafterrabbit are an occasional but
passionate collaboration of musicians
who come together but a few times a
year at the bequest of word conjurer
John Bently, proprietor of the world
famous Liver & Lights Scriptorium
underground publishing house. The
band‟s
rare
live
performances,
developed from Bently‟s cult books are
as diverse as they
are memorable,
containing strange costumes and even
stranger props.
Currently Theafterrabbit are:
Alan Nook Outram, Synthesisers,
Bootfair instruments, toys. Alan records
for The Great Pop Supplement record
label under the name Woodcraft Folk,
firm festival favourites (Big Chill, Green
Man), well known for their mystical
analogue electronica. Alan is a regular
contributor to the records of others,
including Dollboy and Spongefinger. He
has also recently been recording
soundtracks for channel 4 horror films…
Sir Ollington Briggs. Guitar, keyboards
An intense, brooding original singer
songwriter, formerly with cult indie
heroes Ivich Lives, Ollie is aka Ivan
Ink and Pen. His raw melodic style and
considerable
stage
presence
are
currently employed in ex Unkle man
Richard File‟s We Fell to Earth, whose
debut album has just been released.
Phil Cranny Outram.
Drums. A
metronomic presence, a former member
of gloomtastic nineties anti-heroes A
Perfect Disaster (a band that also
contained Josephine Wiggs, later of The
Breeders)
Phil currently plays with brother Alan in
Woodcraft Folk.
Johnny
B.
Voice.
Thirty
years
experience
as
a
performer
of
impassioned verbal dexterity and with
over fifty books published: a one man
cottage industry. Expect the unexpected:
Tales of the olden days and tales of today
delivered by means of a multitude of
costume changes and some cunningly
amateur props.
SING FOR YOUR SUPPER – This editons’ guest chef is.........
Okkervil River (Will Sheff )
Okkervil River has been putting out
albums, touring endlessly, and growing
steadily in popularity since 1998. Will is a
master songwriter and lyricist with a
penchant for the melancholy. Jonathan
divides his time between Okkervil River
and his other band, Shearwater. Their
recent release, The Stage Names is one
of the most critically acclaimed albums of
2007. When not touring, Okkervil River is
based in Austin, TX.
great mixture of crunchy cookie crust
and ludicrously rich chocolate-andcaramel, and the sea salt is like a
surprising exclamation point at the end of
everything.”
Ingredients
Chocolate cookie crust
* 2 cups crushed chocolate cookies (I
often use chocolate Teddy Grahams
Recipe #1
because you kind find them lots of
places, but basically any not-overly
Chocolate Caramel Tart with Sea Salt
sweet simple chocolate cookie is gonna
work)
Will Sheff: “I reverse-engineered (read: * 3/4 cup melted butter
basically stole) this recipe from a great
place in Brooklyn called Marlow and Caramel filling
Sons. Their version of it is one of my
favorite desserts ever and I spent a few * 1 1/2 cup sugar
botched tries sometime last winter trying * 2/3 cup water
to figure out how the whole thing * 2/3 cup whipping cream
worked. I still don‟t know precisely how * 10 tablespoons unsalted butter
they do theirs, but after many attempts * 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
and failures and discouragement and * Pinch of salt
redoubled efforts this is what I came up
with, which tastes pretty similar to me Chocolate filling
and which I like just as much.”
* 3/4 cup whipping cream
“If you‟ve never made caramel before *
6
ounces
bittersweet
(not
that‟s the tricky part because while unsweetened) or semisweet chocolate,
you‟re cooking it can be hard to tell what finely chopped
consistency (and toughness) this molten
sugar-water is going to thicken into once Instructions
cooled. It took a couple tries for me to
develop the requisite zen-like calm Cookie crust
needed to assess when to remove the
caramel from the heat, but gradually I 1. Preheat oven to 375°F.
discovered that for me five minutes after 2. Combine the cookie crumbs and
you add the cream and the butter etc butter in a medium bowl and mix well.
seems about right. The finished tart is a Press the crumb and butter mixture
firmly and evenly into the bottom and up
the sides of a 9-inch pie or tart pan. Bake
for 8 minutes. Set aside and cool before
filling.
Make sure you use a coarsely-ground sea
salt (but not too thick and crunchy).
Added bonus for different sizes of flakes,
which looks nice and makes the flavor
more complex. I use Halen Môn, which is
Caramel filling
a wonderful sea salt from Wales (I
suspect that the name just means “sea
1. Stir the sugar and 1/3 cup water in a salt” in Welsh?), sliced into very thin,
heavy medium saucepan over low heat wide flakes.
until the sugar dissolves.
2. Increase the heat and boil until the All content copyright © Jennifer Robbins
syrup is an amber color – swirling the and Jenville Productions
pan occasionally and brushing down the
sides with a wet pastry brush – about 8
minutes. Remove from heat.
3. Add the cream, butter, vanilla and salt
(the mixture will bubble up).
4. Return the pan to very low heat; stir At The Half Moon we serve Traditional
until the caramel is smooth and the color stone baked thin crust Italian pizzas,
antipasto
and
ciabatta
deepens, about 5 minutes. Refrigerate salads,
sandwiches.
We
also
have
daily
specials
the caramel uncovered until cold but not
firm – about 20 minutes – before pouring on our blackboard. We make our own
into the crust to fill it a little more than pizza dough every day in our kitchen; we
do it the proper way!
halfway.
FOOD
(This recipe may make slightly more
caramel than is called for, depending on
the size of your pie pan. If you want, once
it cools slightly you can pour any excess
on wax paper to cut into caramels.)
Chocolate filling
1. Bring the cream to boil in a heavy
small saucepan. Add the chocolate and
whisk together until smooth.
2. Fill the rest of the pie or tart crust with
the chocolate filling. In the end, you want
slightly more caramel than chocolate in
the tart.
Refrigerate until firm, about 45 minutes.
Just before you serve the tart, sprinkle
the top of it with a dusting of sea salt to
taste. Not sure how to measure this – a
little bit more than you might think and a
little bit less than what seems gross?
Sunday Lunch
Roast Beef and Yorkshire pudding
Served with seasonal vegetables
Vegetarian option
Mushroom & Lentil Bake
£9.95
Served from 1pm until we run out
Pizza menu available afterwards
Monday meal deal
any two pizzas for £10 from 5pm.
Food served on the following times
Monday to Thursday : 5pm - 10pm
Friday : 4pm - 11pm
Saturday : 12pm - 11pm
Sunday : 1pm - 9pm
www.halfmoonpub.co.uk
for the ultimate cyborg look: Cylon from
Battlestar Galactica on the top half,
bollock naked human from the waist
down? If you were concerned about
offending anyone then you could maybe
spray your ball sacks silver, Jason. It's a
look I'm pretty sure hasn't been tried
before and one that will definitely get
you noticed. You'll be pleased to know I
only charge 20%.
Dear Band Doctor
I was on tour recently and met someone.
We had A LOT of fun together. However,
I haven't stopped itching since. Is there
something I can get from the chemists
Our manager has said we need a that works instantly. My girlfriend is
gimmick. He suggested skinny ties and coming over this weekend and I'm
pork pie hats, which we're not allowed to dreading it.
take off, ever, as it would spoil the image.
I prefer waistcoats and rolled up jeans. Yours
Maybe a combination of the two. What Itchy & Scratchy
would you suggest ?
Jason
So you cheated on your
girlfriend and you expect me to
bail you out do you? Well I never.
This dilemma of making one's At this point I should probably give you
act distinctive is one that has faced some advice regarding contraceptives,
artists right across the ages. Ludwig Van
Beethoven may have just been another
cocky piano player had he not gone
completely Mutton Geoff, while the
Beatles would almost certainly have
remained in Hamburg playing Chuck
Berry and skiffle numbers had Stuart
Sutcliffe's girlfriend not got her scissors
out; I know this to be a fact, for I have
seen Backbeat. Skinny ties and pork pie
hats are so 2005, though you never know,
2005 could be due for a revival soon. I
suggest something a little more futuristic,
after all, Lady Gaga didn't get to where
she is simply by looking like a tortoise
with a flannel on her head. The raunchier
the better I suggest. How about you go
but they do tend to take away all the
sensitivity and make me personally go
flatter than Ian Brown with the flu. Of
course, the days of bands shagging their
way around the world with little or no
consequence have been over a long
time. Rockstars in the 70's were okay as
their audiences were mostly underage
and so hadn't had time to catch too many
serious venereal diseases. That sort of
thing is frowned upon these days and
quite right too. The 80's saw the advent of
AIDS and bands began to be more
responsible, though groupies could still
get fingered by roadies round the back
of the Radio One roadshow. But after the
New Acoustic Movement of the 90's,
bands
became
so
beardy
and
uninteresting that they never indulged in
sex with groupies again. The lecture
circuit is where you get your oats these
days apparently, so you're one of the
lucky ones. Well I say lucky, but you
actually revealed your name and address
in this letter and I've already been on
your facebook and tracked down your
girlfriend to tell her what you've been up
to. She was very grateful for my
intervention and she told me to tell you
you're dumped and that she's going out
with me on Tuesday to see Cannibal
Corpse. I shall definitely be carrying
some rubbers with me that night. What
do you mean 'what about the Hippocratic
oath'? I'm not a real doctor you fucking
dummy.
Dear Band Doctor
We have a problem. Our singer is really
good, but, how can I put this politely, a
bit of a minger. We know someone who's
not as good a singer, but, is fucking
gorgeous. I know it means we'll end up
using a vocal tuner a lot in the studio and
maybe even backing tracks live, but I
reckon it could work. Any thoughts?
Georgio Marauder
People like you make me sick.
You've presented me with a moral
question here that you yourselves know
the answer to, but you're too gutless to
examine your own feelings. You want an
easy way out don't you? You expect me to
give you the answer that will somehow
make you feel better. Well here it is.
You're asking me, should you opt for
purely cosmetic image over talent,
integrity and brilliance? Of course you
fucking should. It's obvious isn't it. Do
you want girls at your gigs or do you
want chaps in rucksacks mooching
around at the front of the stage after
you've played asking you what pedals
you used? However, having said all that,
when you say ugly, Georgio, are we
talking the aborted foetus of Margaret
Beckett and Thom Yorke, or are we
talking Mick Jagger ugly? Because it's
unlikely to have passed your attention
that Mick Jagger has done a lot of
shagging over the years. Nearly as much
as Bill Wyman, and he was even fucking
uglier. Sometimes falling out of the ugly
tree and hitting every branch on the way
down is the only pre-requisite needed to
start a rock 'n' roll band. Aerosmith, the
Ramones, the New York Dolls... need I go
on? It's a shame more bands these days
aren't a bit more fucking ugly. Instead we
get these sexless, lispy boys like Keane
and Coldplay and... er, Jedward?? I've
just realised, I'm very out of touch. i think
it's time for my injection...
Have you got a problem ?
Want to ask a question ?
Send your queries to :
[email protected]
‘Waterpistol’ – SHACK
By Elliot Sweeney
“Gone are the days when you walked
through the door…”
In the last few years there‟s been plenty
written about Shack. Liverpool‟s greatlost band, hampered through misfortune
and tragic mishap. They‟re the stuff of
muso-pub banter legend. The unfulfilled
promise of the Head brothers has proven
irresistible to music journalists, seduced
by this Liverpool 4-piece possessing that
oh-so-rare mix of kitchen-sink grit and
heart-breaking vision. On the back of
this, they‟ve signed to Oasis‟ record
label, put out a „Best Of…‟, even had a
documentary made that you can see
online.
But back in 1996, before You Tube and
My Space and everything else we‟ve now
got on cyber-tap, I was sixteen and
soaked in sound, and Shack seemed
pretty much unheard of. I‟d occasionally
find a few long-toothed hacks and dieharders from Liverpool who could
remember their 80s synth-heavy Ian
Brodie produced debut „Zilch‟, or the
earlier incarnation from the Head
brothers, The Pale Fountains. Music was
everything to me in those days,
dissecting records, always on the
lookout, prowling through second-hand
shops and record fairs for elusive 12inches. On Mondays, you‟d find me after
school in Our Price scanning through the
latest singles or bussing up to buy the
new 45 from Berwick Street. Wednesdays
were special – NME came out. Without
fail, I‟d be in the canteen at lunchtime
immersed. „Cool Britannia‟ was upon us –
New Labour, new sounds. Noel Gallagher
shaking hands with Tony Blair at number
10. Damian Hirst and Tracy Emin doing
their respective things. Style came before
substance,
it
suddenly
became
fashionable to be from England, and to
have something to say, even if you
weren‟t 100% what it was you were
saying. There were reams of these new
bands, most shit, a few shockingly, and
even fewer decent. Playing live on TFI
Friday seemed to be the credentials that
made each of these groups, and looking
back, most didn‟t really get beyond that
footnote status.
But that was cool. They were great times.
I was learning to write and play myself,
learning to listen too. After the shoegazing post-baggy hangover from the
early 90s, there seemed to be a freshness
and simplicity to what I was hearing. I
liked the vision of the bands like Cast or
Oasis, even if the actual songs lacked the
depth that demanded repeat listens.
“I‟m gonna fly, up in the sky, so very high,
yeah-yeah-yeah!”
I was starting to dig out the bands that the
bands I liked were in to. The Byrds, Love,
Happy Mondays, My Bloody Valentine,
The La‟s, The Roses. I knew there was
stuff out there waiting to be discovered,
like I was on a sonic adventure without white Bert Hardy-esque snap taken on a
knowing what I was looking for.
bridge. We see a scruffy kid with shorts
and a satchel tugging cheekily on a fag
One day in March, I‟d picked up a copy and grinning at the photographer,
of VOX Magazine, the NME-monthly. blissfully unperturbed by a suited
Bjork on the front cover looking weird, bespectacled businessman strolling past,
Trainspotting being touted as „Film of the with pomp and contempt all over his
Year Already!‟ And in the album reviews face. It‟s a great image. A captured
section, I came upon a review by John moment, where rough meets smooth, not
Mulvey for „Waterpistol‟, Shack‟s second needing any explanation. No pictures of
recorded album. I reckon I‟ve read this the band, instrument-clad and painfully
review over a hundred times. I read:
hip. Inside the sleeve, more clues were
found. Two guys, who I later learnt were
“It recreates the moment when frayed brothers Mick and John, singer and
acoustics
go
spiralling
off
into guitarist respectively, and the driving
psychedelia”
force behind Shack in all their various
guises. The photo of Mick really struck
The history of the record is a pretty sad me – I saw in his eyes something I had to
tale, I‟d soon discover. The studio know, as if he‟d seen things I hadn‟t, as if
containing the master tapes burnt down, he‟d survived the poisonous heartbreak
and producer Chris Allison disappeared that only the true English Rose tastes.
to the States with the only DAT copy. Four There he sits, cool-as-fuck, collar popped
years on, tiny German indie Marina came and military crop, staring with faint
in to save 'Waterpistol' from the dust it amusement at the camera, and straight at
was gathering and put it out, by which me. “Eyes that know” I would go on to say
point, the band had dissolved in a wave to those deserving folk I shared the
of disillusion and addiction. Sounded album with. Most thought I was being a
good in writing, but would it stand up?
little weird, and should maybe lightenup. But fuck it, I thought. I had to know
So I toddled off to HMV on Oxford Street what those eyes knew.
that weekend and found a copy in the
upstairs section, not having much of a „Sgt. Major‟ is the opener, an effortless
clue what to expect. Putting on that CD statement of E‟d up ambition. This
was like one of those rare moments could‟ve stood up to anything by the
where I had no preconceptions. No one Mondays
or
Roses
for
its
had ever heard of Shack. It could have instantaneousness. A lazy drum intro
been rubbish, a waste of thirteen quid hooks us in before we‟re swirled and
and a bus to town. But instead, what I got seduced by the twangy 7th chord and
when I played that album in my Mum‟s loose bass groove. It‟s poppy without
kitchen that Saturday is an irreversible being twee, cocksure without being
moment. Like my first kiss, my first arrogant. But it was the voice that stood
getting dumped, my one and only heart out for me the most:
shattering from the girl I was meant to be
with. Things would never be quite the “You could be the Sgt. Major, if you really
same.
want to.”
The sleeve is reminiscent of The Smiths‟ I‟d been used to hearing nasal barbedperiod nostalgia covers, a black and wire vocals up until then, white boys
swerving the idea of soul out of fear of
loosing face, but in Mick Head, here was
a gruff Scouser who sounded like he‟d
had the arrogance beaten out of him,
with nothing to loose but tell the truth.
„Neighbours‟ follows, an edgier affair,
climbing walls with cabin fever, TV on
with the sound turned down, huddled
round bus stops and phone boxes in the
drizzle and cold. It gave a hint to the
band‟s darker and self-destructive side,
which went on to nearly get the better of
them. In the mid-section, Mick gives a
desperate cry, followed on by a Scouse
voice narrating low in the mix. The words
are muffled amongst John Head‟s icy
guitar teardrops, but at one point you can
make out the lines “There‟s only one way
out, like…” before it crashes into the
chorus again.
„Stranger‟ continues the melancholy, but
where as „Neighbours‟ hinted at urban
desperation, here we have a jazzy waltz,
reminiscent of „Moon Dance‟ by Van
Morrison, characterised with this otherworldly Baroque feel. It bobs and sways
into different keys and rhythms, lush and
smoky psychedelia that carries a vague
and haunting quality, stripped down to its
bare essentials. It makes me think of
horse-drawn carts trundling across baron
mores and dales late into the night.
„Dragonfly‟ is a wake-up, this straightahead piece of semi-acoustic pop-psych,
complete with surf guitar licks and
Mother Nature lyrics. But whereas as
piles of „Cosmic Scallies‟ past and
present
have
written
vague
2dimensional tunes that are catchy
enough, but lacking the originality and
whit of „Paperback Writer‟ or „There She
Goes‟, with a song like „Dragonfly‟
there‟s the ingredients for it to shine on
first listen but still stand up time and
again.
„Mood of the Morning‟ continues, and
was like nothing I‟d heard before or
since, deceptively simple, yet at the
same time, so rich with colour, humour
and honesty. It was as if Mick Head had
discarded all the synths and pretence,
and was pulling from a different source,
to reach for this undeniable truth.
Perhaps more than any other song off the
LP, “Mood…” encapsulates his ability to
intuitively not his ego get in the way of
the song-writing. A 2-chord acoustic
strum, meshed with DIY bongos and
scrappy things, and then Mick singing
about a girl who loves The Mondays and
will dance to keep the evening going no
matter what. It‟s got this Summer-breeze
innocence that‟s irresistible, and his
voice still sounds mega to this day. Near
the end, the tone becomes tinged with
sadness
and
reflection,
layered
harmonies hinting towards that sinking
you get when you realise the party‟s
finally over:
“When she‟s gone, it‟s like no one‟s
there, empty eyes, empty stares…”
When I first heard it, I knew. That might
sound silly, but that‟s how it was. Things
fell into place. John Mulvey‟s claim in the
VOX article, that this sounded like
“…some of the most outstanding, honest
music that‟s been made this decade…”
didn‟t sound bold at all. I was convinced.
Understand, I fancied myself as a
romantic back then. I took myself very
seriously. And lyrics and sounds like
this…well. They woke me up. So real.
Mick Head had appeared from nowhere,
a complete stranger from a place up in
the North, but he knew the unwritten
verses from my heart. And so it goes…
„Walter‟s Song‟ gives an affectionate nod
to „Night of the Hunter‟, the eerie Robert
Mitchum thriller about a knuckle-tattooed
child-stalker. There‟s loads of weird and
subtle references to music and cinema
throughout „Waterpistol‟ like this. But
whereas Shack‟s contemporaries tend to
make clunky attempts to re-hash
standard-fare influences, with the Head‟s
there‟s intelligence there, a sense of
admiration rather than imitation. Not to
mention a pretty wide knowledge for
some far-out stuff I‟d never heard of.
„Walter‟s…‟ is carried by a lullaby
melody, lifted from the dreamy interlude
in the film that I went on to discover on
the back on the song, and Mick‟s husky
voice has never sounded better. It‟s the
kind of brave and weird move that your
typical Brit-Pop dazzlers would‟ve
literally taken decades to come up with.
Mid-way through the LP, „Time Machine‟
would‟ve made the best single in my
opinion, a lazy waltz-time piece,
complete with twisting key signatures,
peaks and troughs, rising to an effects
drenched technicolour crescendo.
A
warm nostalgia trip, thick with whiskey,
whim and good-humoured regret. „Mr
Appointment‟ tells the story of a roundthe-clock dealer on the run, with „Ticket
to Ride‟ stop-start drumbeat and a siren
guitar lick over Mick‟s acoustic bashes.
The song pushes forward towards the 6minute mark, complete with crashes-aplenty and “na, na, na‟s…”, never letting
up until the closing few seconds where it
collapses into a dead-heat, and Mick
cites his Beatles heritage with a policesiren „Day In The Life‟ lifted-vocal: “D‟you
read the news today, oh boy…” before the
whole thing spirals down the plug-hole
some more.
„Undecided‟ is track 9, an achingly blue
semi-acoustic, sounding like it could
have been written anytime in the last few
hundred years. A simple, 4-chord repeat,
with Mick and John‟s harmonies never
letting up. It recreates the pain of being
pulled two ways and the things we resort
to when indecision gets too hard to bear:
“It‟s gotta be like sticking a needle in your
arm when your sleepin‟ and then you
could be somebody…”
„Hazy‟ arrives with a train-track „chukkachukka‟ groove that steams ahead into
Hansel & Gretel tale, with characters like
Michael and Siobhan who drink tea and
pass cheeky grins when no one‟s
looking. I liked to think it could‟ve been
lifted from some dusty folklore book that
Mick picked up on the Portobello Road. It
shuffles through verse and chorus, then
jars suddenly into a moment of fleeting
doubt, with Mick bowing his head and
almost whispering:
“What was that thing that you done? How
can you dream without loneliness?”
It‟s a disarming and daring shift. We hear
the sound of thunder and rain, and are
reminded that the light-headed rush of
Summer must always come to pass.
„Hey Mama‟ is the penultimate piece, a
little like „The End‟ by The Doors.
Middle-Eastern guitars and a 2-chord
guitar and drums heartbeat collage into a
wrenching call for maternal safety.
Mick‟s voice carries a desperation which
I‟ve not heard matched. Believe me, I‟ve
spent countless late-nights, smoking rollups and listening to those haunting
words:
“I used to think that falling was a game…”
Gets me every time.
„Waterpistol‟ winds down with „London
Town‟, a bittersweet snippet of stripped
down acoustics, with the similar
Elizabethan sizing that seems to
characterise the LP. It‟s a story about
coming to the big city for the first time,
the highs, lows, humour and the run-ins
that follow. Buying indigestion pills that
look like E‟s, calling up pals in a flap,
then coming-to, and seeing tomorrow
begin to dawn, and everything begins to
get clearer again through the fog. It‟s a
lovely, romantic way to close the album,
tinged with a little sadness too. We‟re left
with a suspended chord, and the distant
sound of a car whoosh by, leaving a
sense of heady and calm contemplation
on what‟s to be done.
And then it‟s over. 12 songs. Just under
an hour‟s worth of music, that very nearly
never got heard. Thinking this through, I
guess what does it for me is the way
„Waterpistol‟ has this knack of sounding
utterly contemporary, whilst it still
drawing from the past. When I listen to it,
I‟m hearing sun-drenched West-Coast
psychedelia
played
on
battered
acoustics in some Liverpudlian housing
estate kitchen. It‟s Ken Loach meets
Arthur Lee. But whereas so many of the
Brit bands before and after „Waterpistol‟
seemed to loose themselves somewhere
trying to duplicate a sound in their heads
that they thought people would like
because it‟s gone down well before, with
Mick Head, and „Waterpistol‟ above all
his others, it‟s the honesty of the songs
that makes it stand up to be heard. No
airs or graces. No Rolls Royces in the
swimming pool, TVs flying from the
Columbia Hotel windows or any of that
bollocks. These 12 songs cut through all
the trite, and just deliver.
I‟m thinking how this may all sound a bit
sentimental - but sod it. I‟ve grown up
with these songs. I‟ve fallen in love, fallen
on my knees, fallen into hard times and
picked myself back up again, always
with a soundtrack of „Waterpistol‟ never
far away. I played it the other day, start
to finish, and got this wave of familiarity,
too many memories to make sense of,
instead more like this tug of emotion, like
I‟d been reunited with my best friend.
Sounds good to me. I‟ve met a lot of
people who‟ve come and gone since.
Fair-weather
friends.
But
with
„Waterpistol‟, it‟s a different affair. We‟ll
know each other forever. Deffo.
If you would like us to review your
record then send us your stuff to
the following address : -
LISTINGS – JAN
Fri 1st
Sat 2nd
Sun 3rd
Mon 4th
Tues 5th
Weds 6th
Thurs 7th
Fri 8th
Sat 9th
Sun 10th
Mon 11th
Tues 12th
Weds 13th
Thurs 14th
Fri 15th
Sat 16th
Sun 17th
Mon 18th
Tues 19th
Weds 20th
Thurs 21st
Fri 22nd
Sat 23rd
Sun 24th
Mon 25th
Tues 26th
Weds 27th
Thurs 28th
Fri 29th
Sat 30th
Sun 31st
RECOVERY
OPEN MIC
QUIZ NIGHT
ZOOM @ THE MOON
SUNDAY LUNCH
OPEN MIC
SAXON SHORE
CAPRICORN BALL
SUNDAY LUNCH
OPEN MIC
QUIZ NIGHT
C’MON KIDS
THEAFTERRABBIT
PILOT LIGHT THEATRE
PILOT LIGHT THEATRE
OPEN MIC
PILOT LIGHT THEATRE
PILOT LIGHT THEATRE
THE KILLING MOON
SUNDAY LUNCH
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM
THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING
DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE
LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM LIVING THE DREAM