Ok so it’s probably a tad pointless reviewing this album after its well-documented internet leak over a month ago, but some of us are keen to remain professional and for a potential new prog album, I’m always happy to oblige. Except it’s not really prog, is it? I’d sum it up as a reckless, phantasmagorical journey into psychedelic rock,
Woah, thanks to our chums at Atlantic Records I’m hanging at Birmingham Academy to catch Plan B on his current sold out UK tour. Now that’s the stuff! Just before he hits the stage, a random guy called SFX comes on looking mega sharp in a suit and shirt.
Plan B, or Ben Drew, is a star. You might not have heard of him before, but let me assure you of one thing without any doubt whatsoever – this guy’s name will be well and truly etched upon the dark recesses of your musical memory well before 2010 is over and out.
I walk into Nottingham’s Rescue Rooms secretly thinking that nothing will be able to top The Horrors gig here last year. But not only do Sweden’s finest gang of musicians and uber producers Miike Snow hurl egg on my face, they leave me thinking that there must be a God somewhere who’s hell-bent on shovelling glorious music down my ears.
It’s Sunday bloody Sunday at Nottingham Rock City and, judging from the horribly sticky floor, it’s most definitely the night after the night before. After a somewhat bizarre double-whammy consisting of Shane Macgowan-esque vocal stylings of the absurdly-named Beans On Toast and the sometimes pedestrian indie-rock leanings of Fake Problems, there’s only one thing that’ll even start to placate tonight’s massive turnout – and that’s Frank Turner.
Never mind Frightened Rabbit; Lucy and I are stunned when, upon entering Nottingham’s Bodega Social, we’re met by a solid wall of tall, sweaty men. The venue is totally packed but we somehow manage to claw our way to the front. Big props go out to the motley crew of tree surgeons, a personal trainer, an astrophysicist and, err, a student, who let Lucy stand in front of them to take pics. Yes, there is a God – for tonight at least.
The crowd at Nottingham Rock City can – and do – reach newer lows every week. Take tonight for example: I thought I was being harsh taking bets on which idiot would decide to stand right in front of the girl in the wheelchair at the side of the stage, but when a crowd of morons turned up to do exactly that, even I was amazed.
A lot can happen in two years. Things evolve, people change, even wars can start and end. For me, the roots of NG Magazine will always start with The Horrors, being the first act we covered at the end of March 2007. Back then, even though they’d sold out Nottingham’s Rescue Rooms like tonight, large sectors of the music press still regarded them with distaste, mainly because their hair was excessively large and faces overly made up in a neo-Goth stylee.
I’m not really in the mood for hordes of screaming teens with their hands in the air tonight, but that’s firmly on the agenda when Chipmunk ( aka Chip Diddy Chip) hits Nottingham Rock City (or anywhere, I guess!). But first, the tone gets nice and grimey, blud. One of the original kings of the UK grime scene, Skepta, hits the stage to a cacophony of deafening screams. It’s awesome that these kids know who he is and greet him with the kind of reverence reserved for a headliner.
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