Tag: The Walkabouts
Does a Local Music Scene Matter? Introducing Sheffield’s Dead Like Harry
by Dion on Oct.14, 2009, under Uncategorized
I’m currently living in Sheffield, UK, home to a disproportionate number of massive musical successes for a city of about 500,000 people. Joe Cocker, Def Leppard, the Human League, Tony (I don’t care about the route to Amarillo) Christie, Pulp, Richard Hawley and the Arctic Monkeys have all come from this part of South Yorkshire (Christie is actually from Conisbrough, but close enough). In addition to these big icons, the city is home to a thriving local music scene, with talented bands who haven’t got the recognition they deserve, and excellent music venues to hear live music. The success of local bands in a local context is great, but does it really have any effect in these days where the Internet extends a band’s reach far beyond their physical location, other than establishing a bit of street cred for annoying music aficionados? (I saw the Arctics when they were 12, playing in a pub, to me and the pub dog! I bought booze for Alex Turner when he was underage!). The Long Tail of music fans eager for something new has found new power, created in large part by the rise of the internet and sites such as Myspace, allowing bands to reach more people around the world without relying on local markets as much as they used to. One has to ask then, whether a local music scene even means anything anymore. Some of my favourite bands are from places like Brooklyn, Guelph, Virginia, Detroit, Alabama and New Jersey, all places I have never been to. I grew up in a place that has never, and I mean never, produced a noteworthy act (even the Northern Pikes, whoever they may be, hail from a location 180 km southwest of my birthplace), and no doubt this fact colours my perception of the importance of a local music scene. That caveat aside, I think the whole importance of a local music scene is a bit of a myth, and always has been. It’s something that has always appealed to a fairly niche market (for example, even extremely popular ‘local’ acts here might hope to attract an audience of 500, or approximately 0.1% of the population, and most local acts (even if some might not admit to it) would probably rather sell a million copies worldwide and be ignored in their hometown than play to a rabid fan base down at the local. Even the definition of ‘local’ is a subjective thing. Growing up in Canada, I looked at acts like Matt Mays, Cuff the Duke, and, um, Bryan Adams, as local just because they were Canadian, even though they came from thousands of kilometres away (and I was far from alone in looking at bands in this manner). Here, even bands from Leeds (50 km away) are considered to be foreign. Every community has their popular local act, the one that is really very good but is, quite frankly, never going to go anywhere. These acts still exist and will continue to do so. However, big music has rarely been about a location, except as a talking point; it essentially becomes the property of the world at large, rather than the place. Even bands closely tied to a location (Lou Reed and New York, Oasis and Manchester, Beach Boys and California) are enjoyed around the world, and this enjoyment is not diminished for people who have never been to New York, or Manchester, or California.
That being said, there is something special about a local music scene. It’s a great feeling to have a band that is practically YOURS, unheard of outside of your corner of the world, and one that you can connect with intimately and often. A lot of the time, music is as much about sharing and singing along with somebody you can grab and hug and yell and love with as it is about the sounds on a recording. It’s a completely different beast to the feeling you get from headphones on in a quiet room, or even the zeroes and ones racing down fibre optic cables as you ‘talk’ with other fans via Twitter or instant messaging or Myspace or whatever the kids are doing these days. Maybe music isn’t always local, but it IS often visceral, and that requires a real connection, and one that is fostered in sweaty little clubs in every location, small or large, in countries around the world.
On that note, this week I’m going to highlight a local band that’s currently near the top of my favourite acts. Their name is Dead Like Harry, and they’re from Sheffield. Around in their current iteration since early 2007, song writing brothers Matt (piano, accordion, vocals, percussion) and Sam Taylor (vocals and guitar), John Redgrave (guitars, vocals), Alice Faraday (vocals, percussion), Robin Baker (bass) and Adam Crofts (drums, vocals) peddle a poppy and accomplished type of folk rock. They join a growing list of British artists who are taking American alt-country in new and interesting directions, both paying homage to the dust and grit of Americana’s North American prairie roots and taking it in some uniquely British directions. Dead Like Harry is starting to get some more notice both locally and nationally, playing Glastonbury this summer after being one of eleven acts chosen from thousands of other bands in a Q music competition. They’ve released several EPs and singles to date (along with two earlier albums that have a markedly different sound from their current music), and are set to release their new album, Know the Joy of Good Living, in the near future. I was lucky enough to get an advance copy of the album.
Dead Like Harry – Know the Joy of Good Living
For fans of Fleetwood Mac, Coldplay, Doves, Bruce Springsteen, the Decemberists, Sarah McLachlan
Dead Like Harry are obviously and unabashedly a band that believes in the regenerative and life-affirming nature of positive music and they turn this feeling of optimism into a joyous concoction of pop, folk and good ol’ rock and roll that reaches for the back of metaphorical (at least for the time being) stadiums and causes involuntary arm waving and singing along. This album is made up of big songs that should be sung in large groups, in sweaty pubs, in festival settings, in love. This CD reminded me that once, U2 was a good and affecting band, and that Coldplay, despite its MOR nature, can still hit you emotionally in good ways, and that the 1970s had some amazing music outside of punk and disco. Sure, it’s effusive praise, but worthy of a band this charming and enthusiastic in its simple aim to entertain. And what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with anthems and wear-it-on-your-sleeve directness? Rock and roll should be fun and emotional and make you want to punch the air and cry and laugh and hug and believe and this CD does that.
First things first, the album SOUNDS good, with producer Alan Smyth (who’s produced the Arctic Monkeys, Pulp and nearly every other band to ever pass through the Steel City) knowing which instruments to highlight and when, and how to maximise the impact of what the band is trying to do. A wide range of instrumentation is used well throughout, providing depth and fullness to the sound, without any one instrument muscling the others out. Main vocalists Sam Taylor and Alice Faraday have a nice, easy chemistry, and their voices complement each other well. Taylor has a pleasant, slightly husky tenor that can be vulnerable or hard edged or even playful, depending on the song. Faraday has a strong, confident and soulful voice that works well in duet with Taylor and puts her own stamp on songs where she takes the lead. The rhythm section is solid, and Matt Taylor adds some unexpected and welcome instrumental flourishes to the songs.
The album starts off on an amazing high with the song Streets, which gives me shivers every time I hear its cascading guitar riff, causing an involuntary and slightly goofy smile to spread on my face at the simple happiness radiating throughout the tune. I Couldn’t Love You Anymore, Sarah and When We Were 17 continue on this carefree route, with their catchy choruses providing a good soundtrack to a sunny summer drive (in a large convertible, in the 1970s [preferably]). Meanwhile, songs like You’re Not Alone, Driving to Nowhere and What a Bloody Shame take on a slightly more contemplative hue. You’re Not Alone does so with pounding inspiration, Driving to Nowhere is an intimate little moment made stronger through its stripped-back arrangement, and What a Bloody Shame starts out as spare confessional before bursting into a country-tinged chorus as big as the sky. Satellite cuts nicely between their thoughtful and fun sides, evoking life-earned joy and an underlying sense of longing for something more. They end the album on the great one-two punch of Cross the Water and Cherry Street. Cross the Water has a grandiose feeling to it, acting as a powerful climax to the album (despite being the penultimate track), marked with chimes and a crescendo into an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink ending. Cherry Street acts as a suitable denouement, leaving you with the inescapable and welcome feeling that, indeed, everything might be fine with the world after all. Yes indeed, it’s the healing power of some good ol’ optimistic rock and roll.
I really do like this album, even if it does wear its emotions (and inspirations) on its sleeve. It doesn’t necessarily break any new ground, but why should music always be innovative? It combines its musical references in new ways and puts its own wonderfully innocent but honest stamp on it. I blame Britney or the Backstreet Boys or MTV or those damn kids or something, but somewhere along the way, ‘pop music’ became a derogatory term, and this is not a good thing. There’s nothing wrong with a catchy song, and even dyed-in-the-wool music snobs such as myself can’t constantly listen to deliberately obscurantist (and often annoying) indie all day. There’s nothing wrong with challenging or difficult music, but there’s also nothing wrong with music as an evocation of escapism and happiness, and Dead Like Harry provide that in spades. That being said, the album at times rests a bit too much on these contented feelings, with unchallenging lyrics that most often deal with the stock rock and roll issues of relationships, driving and freedom, or some literal and/or metaphorical combination of these ideas. The album as a whole has a fairly singular motif and sound, which acts as both a positive and negative. On the plus side, the album holds together exceptionally well, begging to be played from beginning to end, a real treat in the age of single-serving media. On the downside, this consistency hides the harder edge that Dead Like Harry can trot out on occasion (like on their single Fight), providing a bit of darkness behind the steady light of most of their songs. These reservations should be taken in stride though, as I’ve been listening to this album persistently over the last week (and some of these songs for much longer, from their singles). I really hope this album gives the band the recognition they deserve. Although the album is not yet available, their singles are available through their website or through iTunes, they’ll be through Glasgow, St. Andrews and Newcastle in late October, and have a hometown gig lined up at the Library Theatre in Sheffield just before Christmas.
I hate (or at least find it hard) to compare bands to others, but it helps to locate music to something with which others are familiar. Dead Like Harry may appeal to fans of these bands:
Fleetwood Mac
Sure, people remember the sex and acrimony, but Fleetwood Mac wrote some damn good songs. Rumours remains a strong album from stem to stern, and the combination of various vocalists playing off each other (strongly utilised by Dead Like Harry too) gave extra strength to the melodies. This is used to similar effect by American folk-rock band the Walkabouts.
Bruce Springsteen
Sure, the man is seen as a blue-collar folk-rock troubadour, but his earlier releases had a strong pop undercurrent to them, a pop undercurrent that Dead Like Harry picked up on and ran with. Other bands like the Killers (on Sam’s Town, at least) and the Gaslight Anthem have also taken this Springsteen sound in their own ways.
Coldplay
I almost fear using this comparison, given the hipster hate that Coldplay now faces (although I distinctly remember these same people loving Parachutes when it came out, at least before Yellow made it too popular for underground scenesters to love). Still, the comparison is valid and positive. Coldplay and Dead Like Harry both write open and honest songs that aren’t afraid of a strong hook, or tugging heart strings. This unabashed, anthemic pop, while maybe not cool to snobby critics or lovers of off-mainstream dissonance, is at least honest in a way that a lot of more fashionable bands aren’t.
Sarah McLachlan
The late 1990s saw a real uptick in female singer-songwriters, with McLachlan probably the most notable. The strong vocal presence of Alice Faraday, especially when the piano is brought to the forefront, gives Dead Like Harry a certain similarity to the catchier end of the Lilith Fair contingent.
Doves
Their sounds aren’t necessarily similar, but Doves and Dead Like Harry both draw on similar feelings in music, evoking a complicated kind of happiness, undercut by a bit of nostalgia.
The Decemberists
Lyrically, the Decemberists and Dead Like Harry are miles apart, but the slightly geeky but very charming folk-rock vibe can be seen in bits of each band.
Tiny Dancers
Another Yorkshire band, these guys were supposed to go big, being signed by major label Parlophone (home of Coldplay, Kylie, the Verve, Bat for Lashes, etc.). Unfortunately, the album didn’t sell well and they seem to have dropped off the map. Their 2007 album Free School Milk is one I still reach for regularly, and, similar to Dead Like Harry, combines folk with a healthy dose of pop.
New Music News
Editors – In This Light & On This Evening
The Editors released their new album, In This Light & On This Evening, this week. As I mentioned in a previous post, I don’t really get the appeal of Joy Division, and I get the appeal of Joy Division rip-offs even less (here’s looking at you, Interpol). Sure, the Joy Division comparisons are pretty evident in the Editors sound, but they took it in an accessible and downright catchy direction that I enjoyed, especially on their debut, 2005’s The Back Room. 2007’s An End Has a Start was also quite good, but essentially more of the same. Well, their new album is a definite break with their old sound, and one that is likely to divide their fans. Gone are their catchy and anthemic songs, replaced with darkness, repetition, and synthesizers. Lots and lots of synthesizers. This change in instrumental direction, while occasionally making them almost sound MORE like Joy Division (as on Bricks & Mortar), actually takes them much closer to the angsty side of Depeche Mode. While some people are likely to hate the new direction (and some reviews have been negative), I think that it’s a remarkable, welcome and skilled move forward for the band. It hasn’t completely abandoned what makes them tick and what got them here in the first place, but after this, nobody can accuse them of grinding their creative gears.
The album starts off on a very dark and repeated synth note on the title track, with lead singer Tom Smith singing even deeper than usual, with his voice multi-tracked and manipulated until it sounds slightly inhuman. The whole song sounds terribly oppressive and tightly wound, like it’s about to snap at any moment. It never does though, and this lack of catharsis strengthens rather than diminishes the impact of the song. Bricks & Mortar sounds a little too indebted to early 1980s post-punk, but by its end becomes something almost choralesque, with background, church-like vocals buried under the ever-present synthesizer. First single Papillon is probably the catchiest song on the record, but not the strongest. Slightly less catchy but much better is the horribly titled Eat Raw Meat = Blood Drool, a bizarre but great shambling Krautrock doom anthem. The album starts to feel a little too dark at times, but they at least vary the nature of this darkness, spreading in themes of love, violence and death. The Boxer has an exquisitely sad and resigned feel to it (with its refrain of ‘Damn this place makes a boy out of me’ sounding more like a spell of doom than a gleeful return to childhood innocence), and Walk the Fleet Road is a touching little love song for a very specific type of depressed goth person. Apart from the vocal similarities, the Editors mine more inspiration from straight up electronic and industrial music than from Joy Division’s post punk sounds. While it reminds me most of a particularly depressed and basso Dave Gahan and Depeche Mode, elements of prog rock make themselves heard, with some of the synth lines sounding almost Pink Floydian. Guitarist Chris Urbanowicz is mostly unheard on his principal instrument on this album, just adding occasional distorted guitar flourishes to songs. He has mainly switched to the album-dominating synthesizer, but I feel a bit sorry for drummer Ed Lay, who sounds like he’s been greatly replaced by a drum machine (or, if his playing is that incredibly metronomic, then kudos to him).
If you liked previous Editors stuff, there is no guarantee that you will like this, but I think it’s worth the effort and in time will reveal itself as by far the most mature and accomplished of their releases. If possible, buy the edition with the bonus disc (Cuttings II), as this is not your typical, throw-away ‘bonus’ collection of forgettable b-sides and demos. Instead, some of the songs are actually better than the album tracks and are all a welcome addition and continuation to the new Editors sound (and given that the actual album is only nine tracks, a bonus five rounds it out nicely without overstaying its welcome). The House is Full of Noise takes the loud-soft dynamic to extremes, starting off fairly pedestrian and quietly dirge-like before breaking into a metal meltdown of distortion. I Want a Forest’s synth riff sounds vaguely Japanese in parts. The best of these bonus songs is For the Money, which is a nice distillation of their previous and new sounds, with stabbing, abrasive guitars, metronomic percussive ticks and a grinding industrial beat. It builds to a catchy, repetitive and noisy conclusion that sounds sinisterly Wagnerian with its barely audible chanting in the background.
In other news, Tom Waits has announced that on 24 November he will release a two-disc live album documenting his 2008 Glitter and Doom tour. The first disc is a mouth-watering but standard live document, while the second disc is comprised of a selection of Waits’ famous and bizarre stage soliloquies, rants and observations, often hilarious and sure to be enjoyed. Generously, he’s offering an 8-track download preview of the album on his website, which also contains a complete transcript of the second disc’s spoken word bit. See you next week!
Dead Like Harry - Fight (Radio Edit)
Fleetwood Mac - Go Your Own Way
The Walkabouts - Tremble (Goes the Night)
Bruce Springsteen - Glory Days
