kdornan has written the following articles:
That's right, you heard. 'Glastonbury' by Zoe Lewis is the tale of seven "very different" festival-goers (from an unemployed builder to the - um - starlets and models you'll all have spotted avidly embracing the midfield sludge all around you this summer). It veritably shimmers and glitters with the»
Bear in mind that the ideal platform for My Computer is a Sunday afternoon in the city, hungover, living over a shop, wondering about braving the instant coffee but ears more receptive than stomach. Vowing never to smoke again, never to open your mouth again. Preferably on a major road, probably in the rain. Which i»
Elsewhere, scarcely a queen of the night is to be seen - one sulks and skulks with her broomstick off the interchange at King's Cross, but otherwise decadence hangs no heavier over Zone One than on any other day of the year. Fortunately, an improvised glower and some cheap plastic fangs away is the Arts Cafe and the»
It ain't rocket science. The Polyphonic Spree approach to songwriting is exemplified in 'What We Will Be', the first of these three live recordings - and no, don't make that face; this isn't the kind of grubby fuzzy four-piece live recording generally slopped onto B-sides to placate the hordes, it's the metho»
...in which a pair of Mancunian men go bleep. From a distance one might be tempted to think in terms of Soft Cell. Canny sheen of technophilia, dark Northern men, synths and insecurities, not to mention the title... you'd be forgiven for assuming this was another offshoot of the eighties - cough - 'futurism' »
On paper, it sounds like a potential classic: the tale of adolescents at the mercy of adolescent pack mentality, who turn to a glossy, mysterious chanteuse for spiritual solace - and to one another, in fans-only chatrooms, for more immediate companionship. It promises much: the vivid microcosm that is Japanese pop c»
Someone somewhere is going to describe this as "a very British film", and not just because it begins with a funeral. It's not clear who the "lawless heart" belongs to, with nobody coming off particularly lightly in the fidelity stakes, whether young, old, gay or straight - except perhaps the understated character of»
The "Director's Cut" in this case is, as often, more like the director's stretch as the already lavish fictionalised Mozart biopic now runs to three hours of non-stop fortepiano and whalebone corset action. Luckily, the elongation doesn't cause any holes to develop; where the film threatens to become bogged down in »
Back in the olden days, when electroclash was naught but a twinkle in Chris Lowe's eye and nary the rattle of a skateboard wheel was heard, bands were content to delve into Name Your Baby books (Marion, Jack, Ruth) and have done with it. But as befits a music industry which might still be entwined with youth culture»
As a first time visitor to 93 Feet East, none of the dire warnings from more dedicated gig-going friends seemed particularly justified (although, to be fair, they were mainly related to the sound system having unkindly mutilated Jack on their last visit). Like all the best London venues, there's a quietish, modish b»
Point one: real cellos. A scratchy vinyl recording of real cellos being ricocheted around a canyon at night, if the opening minute is anything to go by. The thing about starting with a sound like underwater depth-sounders getting their hearts broken is that you have to go somewhere with it, and fortunately at this p»
You might not have heard of Cody. Partly because they seem until recently to have been slightly confused about what they themselves were - on the basis of one apparently unrepresentative song ('August Song') they were briefly hyped as the new hope of Oxford, despite not really living in Oxford and nobody evi»
First off, don't be fooled by the fact that this falls under the 'demo' heading (or, for that matter, by the inexplicable and incongruent band name); it does so only because a forthcoming single is still in the works at time of writing, whilst various of the many, many guesting singers and the like on these tracks h»
As an offcut from recent, cherishable fourth album 'Alive to Every Smile', if you bought said record this is telling you nothing you don't already know. On the other hand, it's got a heart-filling expanse in it that is well worth the outlay if you bear in mind that most other releases of the moment seem to co»
Blimey, retro futurism is everywhere at the moment. Vic Twenty are more electrobounce than electroclash, and even their broadsides (an entire song about not liking Ibiza, blessed with the line 'give me Johnny, not Zoe Ball') are funny. Where a lot of multiple-synth lineups strive for postmodern chill o»
Here's something interesting. Ms. Allison, here introducing her second album 'We Are Science', is an increasingly cool chicken. For starters, she's shorn her blonde locks and migrated to the high street Dance section. But has she hit the line marked 'too cool for her own good'? On this evidence, not ye»
After 101 Rejkjavik and Tillsammen, yet another example of the immediacy and freshness of film making outside the English language behemoth. Y Tu Mamá También ('And Your Mother Too') is warm, honest, sexy and unashamedly hilarious. For a film that seemingly dedicates a third of its onscreen time»
They’re calling it "electroclash" because it is imagined that this will make it more acceptable to the knowing ‘00s audience than if it were marketed as what it is (synth pop, and a good deal of blatant retro styling at that). Well, if they must. It may make a good temporary buzzword, but if you’re there to see any »
Unwoman (cf. The Handmaid's Tale) is the alias for US-based singer, cellist and academically trained composer Erica Mulkey, who wrote and performed the album in its entirety. It's very much a one-woman piece of electronic polemic, taking influences (and songs) from Kate Bush to Crass,»
It's a university battle of the bands. Which - even, or perhaps especially, in the compact cobbledy centre of Oxford - invokes three inevitabilities; nepotism, dreadful sound and at least one acoustic guitarist who looks vaguely confused by the bright lights. Owing to transport issues, the reviewing entour»
The CD arrived by airmail with a vivid pink Post-It note: "it tends to grow on you the more it is listened to so PLAY OFTEN!". One initial listen in, I registered the savoury sink into a darker sound-world (keyboards like echoing corridors, vocals peeking out from blankets of static) but found it formless. A »
She Kills hail from a small town in Cumbria and are as much musically as geographically remote from fickle London. This is not at all a bad thing. True, opening two tracks "The Angel One" and "To Be Forgotten" aren't exactly embracing either the ice-crystal chill or the hedonism of twenty-first »
It is 9pm in North London, and tucked away from the chilly metropolis are a steady trickle of electro-pop enthusiasts, come to dance to undanceable tracks from the Ladytron and Pulp albums. Both apt, since Riviera are offering up a mixture of pingy keyboards, muttering and crunchy guitar. The venue’s sound is dr»
The aerial view of the main room is expectant - but it's that lax expectancy projected by a handful of friends hovering in an expanse of empty floor. It's that familiar air of seeing two bands with absolutely nothing in common play together, the two sets of fans mutually excluding and being happy that way, thanks all t»
The concept is refreshing for those who are sick of [having to answer for] the stuffy, elitist image of contemporary music. Twenty friendly chamber pieces for strings and piano, short enough for easy absorption (the longest, Elena Firsova’s 'Frozen Time', comes in at six and a half minutes – where »
“These are haunted days; bonfire-scented autumn days…”
Friday evening in a rainy city: and the night’s entertainment includes a roomful of boys with timid consonants, big dreams packed into cramped guitar cases. Autumn’s a good time to see the Trembling Blue Stars. It’s pining season.
First»
You're travelling through the desert, though maybe not as stifling as that sounds - maybe at night. It's somewhere open, anyway, far from London, far from here. Imagine you're walking through a canyon, the end just in sight, and somewhere beyond is just one guy toying with a piano. And suddenly the walls fall away a»
Hlynur has a problem. He counts masturbating to aerobics videos and topping up other people's parking meters amongst his most pressing pursuits. At the age of 28 or so, he bathes in the kitchen and lives in his mother's house. He deters the agents of employment and monogamy by illustrating at length his lack of sexu»
A quick look at the press release suggests that this could go one of two ways: either this is a rather silly "comedy rock" offering (clues: each member donning Travolta's surname and oversized face, the latter being one of the most disturbing sights to grace a CD in quite some time; the apportioning of roles between»
Debut single from Northern Ireland's "Best Hope For 2001", and the verdict is: a little over-slick, a little under-imaginative. Relish offer us a polished soul-tinged ballad which, whilst nice enough, is ultimately unlikely to cause the object of your affections to swoon helplessly into your arms. If you think t»
