GIG: Wildcard - Monto Water Rats, 16th May

Tonight was surprising. So much quality, when your usual six-quid ticket has the odd decent band amongst much more average outfits. Tonight was the other way round completely. (Oh, and the sound wasn't crap either.)

Water Rats, at the heart of King's Cross, is a bit of a centrepoint for upcoming bands to show their stuff in the nation's capital, and has also seen the odd bigger-band action - Skunk Anansie played here last month, for instance. All these expectations are lived up to when I walk into the same room that Revolution are playing. The most ambitious groove-rock coated in very self-conscious contemporaneous vibes, their wall of sound smacks me straight in my face and makes me feel very small indeed. They may want to rename themselves the 'Wow' factor. Up next are Welsh punk-poppers Kick Box Riot - and the professionalism simply oozes as much as the laughs. The amount of charm Mike and the lads convey is enough to win over any cynic, but it's the tunes that are at the core. Spiky, angsty, boppy, with added hip. Definitely one who could easily get big, so keep your ears open.
I have sympathy for any band to follow these two - and it just happens to be The Centrals. Damn it, they could be great. The songwriting is all in place, but the talent isn't. Get a hold of your chosen instrument, and learn how to play it. The last song is grand, mind. So it's left to The Involved to pick up the audience's and my own attention. Their cathartic, arcing music leaves behind any traces of lesser bands of a similar sound, leaving only their own awesomeness. Their onstage timidity only acts to emphasize the enormity of their songs, and after a corker of an ending we have The Manhattan Project. 'Tell that DJ to turn off that shit music'. Well, they've lost me already. Sounding like the baby of Kasabian and The Enemy neither wanted to keep, they truck on with their own annoying arrogance and tired sounds. They're Northern so they can't be considered as Mockney, so they can be Mockgood instead.

Thankfully, the much friendlier Shortfall come equipped with some great songs. The anthemic radio-rock and onstage charisma does much to raise my spirits. So now the relatively new guys Wildcard are here to put an end to this evening's long night of live music... and this is their first gig as a band. Something great must've been in the cards for their headline slot then, and that's revealed instantly when they explode into the first song. Classic riffs, lofty vocal harmonies, elevating guitar solos; put simply, they have their shit together. The set is as tight as a drum, and even includes a cover of 'Boys Of Summer' that threatens to combust toward the end. The massive, full sonic arsenal they possess have them firing on all guns, never letting up until they finish (aggravatingly). Wildcard definitely have something to bring to the table, and this is just the beginning. Terrifying, really.

Overall - 9 / 10

ALBUM: Green Day - 21st Century Breakdown

This one's a bit of a biggie. Green Day, famous for setting the world alight with 'Basket Case' in 1994, then again in 2004 in the form of 'American Idiot', are pretty much members of the big league of rock bands. That's right, not 'punk band' - they're sonically just not one anymore. Sorry, die-hard fans. 21st Century Breakdown sees them become a showcase for classic rock principles, though the punk ideals do remain intact: their political commentary, no matter how vaguely researched and postulated it is, still contains the fire from the early days. Under all the pop, there's something that bites. Still, we had to wait five sodding years for it.

Billie Joe Armstrong, Tré Cool and Mike Dirnt represent the studio three-piece with Butch Vig at the helm. Producer of Nirvana's Nevermind, you know it's going to be an unabashed, ridiculously produced piece of overblown music from the off. That is one-hundred percent correct. Piano jingles open the album up, taken straight off 'The Joshua Tree', whilst the rest of the song unravels itself in three acts. This is the template of the entire album: three acts, all consisting of around five to six songs each, swapping musical motifs and echoing lyrics. This makes for a very complex listen, but sadly never really lifts off into the 'deep, enriching' kind. I just couldn't give a fuck about Christian and Gloria, the concept's main protagonists. The American Idiot, I loved to bits: he/she was a middle-finger to Bush, the Establishment, and while completely juvenile it still managed to invigorate a definite 'fuck you' in the throat. Fun yet relevant. The story presented on 21st Century Breakdown does not have that much of a plot, Billie Joe's vocals not clear enough to be heard properly. If he's not going to try, I'm not either.

The first act, Heroes and Cons, contains some gems in the form of '¡Viva La Gloria!', and even the warmly-received first single 'Know Your Enemy' sounds much better as a part in a greater arc. The pace never lets up, even going into the second act Charlatans and Saints. We have the first truly standout song with 'East Jesus Nowhere'. It's a biting remark on the fundamentalist, fanatic dogma of Christianity in America at the moment. This one's surprisingly very snide, and damn funny too given the subject. The Spanish-spiced 'Peacemaker' and anthem-fodder 'Last Of The American Girls' do little to ignite much in the soul but are catchy enough to be considered just above 'filler'. There are eighteen tracks on this LP after all, and the occasional pointless track does crop up but rarely is uninteresting enough to labeled as 'bad'. We do have 'Murder City' however, a nice flurry of rage fuelled vocals and filthy basslines. And the band seem to have nicked a bit from 'Boulevard Of Broken Dreams' (which is a fucking great pop song, by the way) in the solo section of 'Restless Heart Syndrome'. Naughty, naughty.
The final act - Horseshoes and Handgrenades - contains some stronger songs. The eponymous track is a more simplistic blast of pop-punk, which works for it in the context of the bigger tunes surrounding it. '21 Guns' has a great chorus, riveting guitar workout, and musically weighty guitar effects as a bookend. The album does suffer from closing on 'See The Light', which is very by-the-numbers, ending on a big enough bang but not the nuclear explosion the album promises.

You know what this album's problem is? Length. Not of the record as a whole (which clocks in at seventy minutes, which flies by surprisingly fast) but of the individual tracks. Sometimes they go on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and... you get the picture. There are at least ten songs on here that would benefit greatly from having their running time reduced. It seems that grandeur has pierced the trio's consciousness of making a tight song. I can imagine the conversation in the studio: 'this one doesn't have a guitar solo. Put one in! This one here, why is it three-and-a-half minutes instead of five? How are we going to beat Springsteen acting like this? Sort it out!' Green Day should realise they're already a stadium-devouring act. They don't need to inject false pretenses of epicness into the writing to feel more comfortable in the niche they've found themselves in 2004 onwards.

You may believe I have a lot of negative feelings towards this album. That's not true: I enjoy 21st Century Breakdown tremendously. While the tracks by themselves may not stand up to Green Day classics of old on their own, the album listened through as a whole makes for a colourful ride, abundant with energy and humour. A true work of a cartoon punk band (I did not come up with that term, but I wish to hell I did). Where the ride takes me, I have not a clue, but I enjoy it all the same. The question on every listener's lips, though dare none utter it, is was it worth waiting five years for?

Overall - 7.5 / 10

GIG: Madina Lake - Electric Ballroom, 8th May

Hmm, Camden. My kind of place. Well, minus all the murder and drug-dealing. And the dangerous traffic. And the dirt etched into every single brick. Madina Lake, in this instance, is then a bit of a brief light in the dinginess. Waving the banner for punk-pop with new album Attics To Eden, tonight is a year on since their last visit to London, and even though they severely lack any real praise for their recorded efforts - I'm in that same boat myself - the live work-out is a bit of a powerhouse.

Deep in the heart of the Camden Electric Ballroom, I manage to catch the end of Flood Of Red, who make enough of an epic noise in their last tune to leave a good impression. Up next are the hip-and-they-know-it The Audition, who the mainly under-seventeen crowd adore. Performing their own soundcheck, it isn't looking good from the start (it may save money, but the result is usually sonic mush). Shockingly, they sound fucking banging. Each song is a sweat-ridden, moshworthy scene-stealer, tightly crafted, sexy, and as loud as lead singer Danny Steven's own confidence. After all, they have been going since 2003, practically making them veterans in a scene famous less for the bands themselves, and more famous for how quickly they disappear off the radar.
Thoroughly satisfied, the question that begs being asked is how can Madina Lake top that? Their Download Festival '08 appearance was less than incendiary, and plus - they're Madina Lake. That's pretty damn uncool. But the fact is, the instant they hit the stage they almost split it in half with energy. That's pretty damn cool.

Blasting their way through tracks from From Them, Through Us, To You and newie Attics To Eden, there is never a boring moment. The acoustics are great, the crowd's giving it some, the band never lets up for a second. The Leone brothers, Nathan on vocals and Matthew on bass, are never egotistical rock stars; though Nate does blab a little too much with his modest and honest remarks. There can be too much of a good thing, you know. The positive sincerity doesn't turn the gig into a gooey emofest though (we have all the ingredients here to make one, that's for sure), as the drums rumble, the falsetto vocals coalesce beautifully and the guitars belch out riffs any metalhead could appreciate. The heaviness is the real star of the show here, and unfortunately this is never really communicated on their albums. Also, you can hear the frickin' bass for once. Bass level at a Madina Lake gig is a rare occurence; their tech must've been swapped. Or shot.
'Here I Stand' and 'Never Take Us Alive' are the highlights: actually, so are black balloons filled with white confetti bouncing all over the place, with Nathan swimming in the audience every other song. Really, it's over almost before it should be, but nevertheless the show is just the right length. The main offender in Madina Lake's pathway to greater sucess is definitely a lack of amazing songs. Sure, there are a few singable tunes, but nothing that's brilliantly written. They're like a desert with a spare few oasises scattered around. Having said that, that hasn't really stopped Youmeeatshit, has it?

Having a new respect for the boys live-wise, I can see why they've gotten hardcore fans already. The loyalty from fan to band is astounding enough, but to actually have that reciprocated is rare. All warm and fuzzy inside, the crowd empties slowly into the ashy air, grey pavements and people trying to sell me hash. I'm already reminded how good a show it was: I managed to forget about this shithole for over two hours.

Overall - 8 / 10

GIG: Bob Dylan - O2 Arena, 25th April

The Muso of Folk. The prime-time Boxer of revolution and change in the turbulent Sixties. The freakin' Governor. Though last Saturday night, Dylan showed England how to shit all over that legacy.

'8:00pm prompt' is what it reads on each and every ticket. Which is a bit wanky, but come on Bob; if you're not even going to show up until twenty minutes past eight, shut your beardy little yapper. When the lights finally go down, a brief moment of excitement is shattered when they launch into possibly the worst mixed performance I've seen in my life. It's firstly not loud enough, secondly the drum cymbals sound like they're under the fucking Thames outside the O2, and thirdly... actually, absolutely everything is awful. And this opening number, Maggie's Farm, could be saved by the picture everyone has of Dylan: a whimsical little sprite, with a world-worn wisdom and passionate voice. Unfortunately, that image is defunct. Utterly. The man on stage I see (barely, thanks to the production team for providing zero screens) is a decrepid, unmoving hermit, not once talking to the crowd who paid fifty big ones to be here tonight. And even all this could be forgiven, if he put any effort into his singing. His vocals sound like Bright Eyes covering Bob Dylan covering Bright Eyes, covering Scooby Doo. No shit. His voicebox sounds like the inside of a cement mixer. You can hear Shaggy making an embarassed 'zoinks' somewhere in the stalls.

After this, a ruinous version of The Times They Are A-Changin' confirms tonight is going to be shambolic from beginning to end. Bob Dylan and 'His Band' ('cause no-one else will fucking want them) rattle through the turgid set, which includes obscurer tracks among more well-known numbers like Highway 61 and... actually, I can't remember anything else. It was that boring.
There is no stage set-up: in all seriousness, I had a better set up for my college showcase. Even better lights. So there's nothing to look at while my brain slowly melts out of my ears. Having said all this, Dylan is nearly seventy after all; but don't go on the road if you can't bring the goods. You're obviously doing it for the money, there is no interest for you at all doing this. You are now an antithesis for everything you stand for. Cough - sorry, used to stand for.

Another cack-covered rendition of a huge song, Like A Rolling Stone, is the point where I decide to walk out. Oh, how I wish I had a sniper rifle to take out the engineer down on the mixing desk. I barely stay for the 'encore' that is a muddy All Along The Watchtower, and entirely missing the usual closer Blowin' In The Wind. At least I can get home a little earlier. The only reason this gets a rating of two and not a one, is because it's still mothereffin' Bob Dylan. And considering his current state, that's being generous.

Overall - 2 / 10

GIG: Jack's Mannequin - Knust, Hamburg, 8th March

I've been to many big gigs. 'Big', pertaining to arenas, stadiums, large theatres, the like. I'm used to U2, Muse and Foo Fighters, so the word 'intimate' doesn't normally come into my vocabulary when writing about concerts. The truth is, I've never really been to a smaller gig that was as electrifying and connecting as one of these stadia events. That connection comes in a different package tonight, however: the difference here is that I can actually strike up a conversation with the singer inbetween songs.

Knust feels like a pub gig. There's the bar on your right, then immediately in front is the stage. It doesn't matter that everyone around you is speaking German; they're all generally nice people. Much friendlier than an English crowd by a long shot. There is no support band, so when the lights go down it finally hits you: Jack's Mannequin, fronted by Something Corporate's Andrew McMahon, have never played Europe before this tour. Hamburg is only their second date, so emotions are understandably running high at the prospect of finally experiencing tracks from 'Everything In Transit' and the latest record 'The Glass Passenger'. Grinning from the start, Andrew and the band inaugurate proceedings with the latter's opener, Crashin', tying into the head-noddingly good Spinning. They have a perfect sound; Bobby Anderson's guitar twinkles and screams, Johnathon Sullivan's basslines are clear, full; and the drums of Jay McMillan take the back seat, but forever providing the right momentum and power that the songs require.

So, from now on in, it's a night to remember (a cliché McMahon would probably dislike). The majority of the set borrows from 'The Glass Passenger', notably a rousing The Resolution and American Love, but there are plenty from the first album. Renditions of Holiday From Real, Dark Blue and The Mixed Tape are stupendous: little nuances such as a piano and vocal intro instead of the full band really draw you in, and it's with Kill The Messenger it hits its high point. The song's downcast refrain 'send a little rain' takes on a more epic potency with an extended outro, complete with crashing piano, rumbling drums and bass, and screeching guitar lines.
Despite all the fantastic musicianship, the show really lifts off the ground so far because of Andrew's refreshing take on the role of the frontman. Always bantering with the crowd, his smile's genuine: he really does want to be here. He throws paper aeroplanes over the crowd, trying to reach the mixing desk; he swigs some jagermaister after we egg him on; he reponds to anything one of us yells. The real deal here is that he's obviously learnt that letting go while playing live is damn important. For example, during I'm Ready's chorus, he grabs his second mic and swings around almost violently while standing, anchored to his piano by his right hand. Later on, he stamps on it, jumps off it, and does many other things which are probably too controversial for me to write about.

'Welcome to the encore, the biggest piece of bullshit in rock n' roll'. Thankyou Andrew. Caves, 'The Glass Passenger''s closing track, brings it all down a notch, and you can feel the atmosphere around you relax and transform into something wholly more satisfying. Up next we have a well-received Something Corporate cover, Me And The Moon. I don't know the words. Oops. Good thing I make up for it by singing my heart out for La La Lie then. A great piece of harmonica rock-pop, it ends the show on a high note. I feel like a better person after this gig.

So, roughly four years of fan's anticipation all pent up. Was it worth it? If you were disappointed by Andrew and co's performance, you have no happiness inside you. Fact. The only actual let-downs are the non-inclusion of Suicide Blonde, Miss Delaney and M.F.E.O., and 'Dr. J' Sullivan's occasional appearance of not being all that interested. But that is more than made up for by Anderson's outstanding vocal harmonies and thoughtful fretwork.
Jack's Mannequin's next date, at London's KCLSU, was sold out. Tickets, ebay and outside the venue, were going for some pretty hefty prices, and all to see this little band who should be massive by rights. So in that case, I'm going to enjoy them as much as I can while they're at this stage, especially when they visit the UK again in the summer. People may say 'but it's no Foo Fighters show'. I'll come straight back with 'and a Foo Fighters show is no Jack's Mannequin show'.
Big or small, it just doesn't compare.

Overall - 9 / 10

NEWS: 'This is it'. Apparently. Michael Jackson Returns

The King of Pop they call him. That title may be a tad overblown, pretentious, or whatever you want to call it; but it's also utterly true. And now the half third Black, third White, third Alien is coming to rock your world at the O2 in July, over ten dates. Yep, that's right. Michael Jackson is playing live again.

At a press conference earlier with thousands of screaming fans, he stated that these shows will be his last ever. The 'This Is It' tour. The final curtain call. Yeahhhh, whatever. We'll see how much you make from it first (and how longer your silicone frame will hold out for).
I know I'm making quite a few jokes against his bizarre nature and / or lifestyle. But I still think he's an utter songwriting genius, a fantastic singer, and a blinding dancer. Truly what the real deal is made of. Perhaps this was more apparent in his eighties heyday, where Billie Jean and Smooth Criminal dominated the waves; yet sadly, he lost the plot. Completely. Did he touch kids? I don't know. No-one really does. The point is, he's still a fucking fruitcake. I just hope he doesn't blow it onstage.

Michael Jackson; The King Of Pop; Wacko Jacko. Whatever you want to label him, he still made Beat It. Your argument is now invalid.
(By the way, tickets go on sale 13th March.)

ALBUM: U2 - No Line On The Horizon

Ah, a U2 review. Finally.

2004’s ‘How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb’ was their last studio effort, so it’s been a while. The usual subsequent stadium tour was the real star of the whole thing, of course – U2’s live show has always been unparalleled. Which is all fine and dandy, but come on your Irish fucks – the last good thing you did was ‘All That You Can’t Believe Behind’, and that was ten years ago for chrissake. Even that collaboration with Green Day was unexciting (also an obvious cash-in), so what do we have that is good from the twenty-first century ‘biggest band in the world’? Vertigo. Maybe City Of Blinding Lights too. That’s it, readers. Not great going from motherfucking you-two, is it?

This album’s poor. And bland. And a combination of the two which I like to call pland, or bloor conversely. It’s simply Bono going through the motions, and the rest of the band (‘pshh, what’s the drummer and bassist’s names again?’) don’t do much to help either. The opening title track is probably the best thing on here, but even though only because it sounds ever so slightly different. There are some nice little odd squeals from the guitar, the customary intelligent percussion layering from Larry Mullen Jr. (see, I remembered his name), and a lovely chord change which underpins the whole track. But unfortunately, it never really stands up to its own wannabe pretensions, instead opting for being rather boring for its entire four-minute and twelve-second duration. Magnificient, on the other hand, is rather nice, but again not a great song. It only gets going with a lovely falsetto leading into a simple guitar solo, but before you know it the damn thing’s over. Up next we have Moment of Surrender: there are definitely some great lyrics here, but alas! It drags itself out for seven whole minutes, none of which are particularly awe-inspiring, moving, or touching in the slightest. It won’t even make you fidget in your seat apprehensively. It’s that boring.

Okay – so far, not so good. Maybe the ongoing theme of rubbishness will let up? No dice, sadly. It’s another six-minute ‘epic’. By God, if some of this was more phatly produced – yes, I did just use ‘phat’ as an adverb – it wouldn’t be so bad. It purely feels empty; the Edge’s mildly clean guitar rattles over a void that’s now and then interspersed with a couple of unimaginative ‘whoa-oh’s. Brian Eno, while a genius, doesn't show it here.

Bono is generally a good singer. However, sometimes not the most tasteful. I’ll Go Crazy If I Don’t Go Crazy Tonight – yep, that’s really the title readers – sees Sir Paul David Hewson utilising some utterly useless head voice in some delusional eighties-sexiness. No, Bono. You’re nearly fifty. Don’t try and be Madonna.

And now the first single! The instant I heard this, Get On Your Boots, my positive feelings for the album prior to its realise were compromised. It does have an attention-grabbing Spanish flavoured chorus, however it should’ve been the pre-chorus. I’m waiting for that massive eight-bar U2 refrain, and it never comes. I feel like a lover stood up, waiting forever in the rain. Severely disappointing.

I don’t think I’m going to go through and shoot down the rest of the album. It kind of makes me feel bad. On the other hand, this is a really boring record. Not bad, not terrible, not abhorrently horrendous – simply boring, and that is it. White As Snow is its sole redeeming tune, and even then isn’t fantastic. You should also know, this is coming from a self-proclaimed U2 fan. ‘The Joshua Tree’ and ‘Achtung Baby’ are both fantastic pieces of work, especially the latter. The way they have managed to carry on with no line-up changes through their career since 1976 and change their sound on every release is impressive, especially noting the sonic metamorphosis between ‘88 and ‘91. Even if the quality of their studio efforts has declined since the close of the last century, their live performances have been getting nothing but more and more fantastic. And that’s really the only reason U2 still deserve a spot as big in the music biz as they have now: filled stadiums the world over singing back Where The Streets Have No Name, One, It’s a Beautiful Day and With Or Without You is pretty much the most epic thing you’re going to see and hear. But it is a shame that this group, who have now become such a titanic brand, can’t deliver the radio goods anymore.

Overall – 3 / 10

Get it? - I honestly don't feel anything for this album either way.