Because they say it better than anyone.

CocoRosie (NNF10 13/05)

The date is 13/05. The time is 10.30 pm. The setting is ... unusual. We're at Norfolk&Norwich Festival '10, inside the whimsically-titled spiegeltent - a travelling wooden conception entirely reminiscent of a Victorian circus. Inside, everyone's in the spirit - the workers are in costume, the audience are glancing around appreciatively, and the ambiance is one of shared revelry and anticipation.

There are no support acts to introduce the main theatrics, which only adds to the surreality of the night. Instead, Bianca and Sierra Casady - otherwise known as CocoRosie - attended by keyboarders and a beatboxer, walk onto the stage and begin the set. The stage itself is overtly abnormal - on a table to the side is a careful collection of care-worn children's musical toys. These, it later unfolds, are the bands instruments, as much as Sierra's harp and Bianca's clarinet. The toys set the scene for what will be undoubtedly an engaging and mesmerising ninety minutes.

Though the crowd is an interesting if diverse mix of ages (and, evidently, musical tastes), there is at least one common factor between us: total immersion in the antics on stage. Indeed, the stage is a clusterfuck, a myriad of colours and shapes and images; behind the band (engaging in themselves, donning makeshift costumes and facial decoration) plays a video of crashing waves, of people, of eyes, of nature. The visual scenes are entirely relevent; as the track 'Grey Oceans' comes to an end, soft piano notes fading into nothingness, behind the two girls is framed slowly receding waves. Frankly, it's stunning. This evening - I refrain from referring to it as the proverbial gig: it's so much more - is as much a treat for the eyes as it is for the ears. And this is an impressive claim, because the music is so eccentrically, fantastically marvellous. The majority of songs are taken from the band's 2010 album Grey Oceans, a mish-mash of genre-defying tracks that centre on the theme of twilight (dawn and dusk, not vampires; nothing so generic). Though the album is new, unheard by most of the audience, all of us are moving languidly to CocoRosie's surreal sound - ranging from soft and tinkly, to electronically pulsating, and even to childishly jolly (in their aptly-named 'Hopskotch', a song that inspires the two girls to play an impromptu game of patty-cake). Grey Oceans, fourth album of sibling-duo CocoRosie, combines operatic arias and poetic rap; musically, the girls have progressed since La Maison de Mon Reve (2004), but they have also managed to cling to their original sound, the sound that made them so outrageous - and such a hot topic between alternative-music connoisseurs - when they made their debut.

When we leave the spiegeltent, we are buzzing from the narcotic effects of the night we have experienced. We do not stop commending the band and their performance until we get home. It is a night over which we will continually reminisce. And if that isn't the sign of a good concert, I don't know what is. 
 

The soundtrack to my revision...

... on this beautiful, overcast Sunday morning.

1. Masterswarm - Andrew Bird

2. Postcards From Italy - Beirut

3. Clickity Clack - Alela Diane

4. Butterscotch - CocoRosie

5. The Wrote And The Writ - Johnny Flynn

6. Made by Maid - Laura Marling

7. King Of The Mountain - Kate Bush

8. Alphabet City - Clare & The Reasons

9. Place To Be - Nick Drake

10. Chicago - Sufjan Stevens

Johnny Flynn - A Larum (2008)

Evidently far more than just a (very very) pretty face, actor-poet-songwriter Johnny Flynn - frontman of Johnny Flynn & The Sussex Wit - clearly has a penchant for the stage. And rightly so - he's beautiful. More than this, though: he's talented too. I have to admit, I was wary of listening to his 2008 album A Larum, scared that he was more face than talent, that the hype surrounding him and his success was essentially aesthetically-driven. I could not have been more wrong. Like Laura Marling, Mumford & Sons, Noah And The Whale, Feist and countless others, Johnny Flynn is bringing updated folk to the modern masses. Not so overdone that it's killing itself on the radio, but still popular enough to put on at houseparties, this genre is almost cutting edge in its retro-ism. And Johnny Flynn manages this effortlessly; A Larum ranges from upbeat - 'The Box' and 'Tickle Me Pink' in particular - to subdued - 'Wayne Rooney' (which, incidentally, neglects to mention the footballer, thank God); but the overall effect of the album is to leave you wanting more. For me, it's one of those I think I'll leave it on repeat affairs, suitable for walking into town, for cleaning your room, for reading a book - anything, as long as it's playing continuously. I can't seem to get enough of it.

Yes, this recording is a little rough around the edges - but I think the lack of work that has gone into finishing it gives it a warm if quirky quality. It's sort of wonderfully imperfect.

I realise that Johnny Flynn, the entire reason for this post, doesn't actually sing in this video; but he does act in it. Take it as an example of his acting abilities. Or, at the very least, take it as an example of his beautiful face. While you're doing that, also listen to the song. It's cute and catchy, and deserves more attention than it receives.

Laura Marling.

Laura Marling is a tough nut to crack. Emerging onto the music scene around 2007, with her first album Alas I Cannot Swim, she began her career as folk-singer at just seventeen. For this, she is worthy of praise. And yet, it seems to me that her perhaps the production of an album at such a young age was no good thing. Alas I Cannot Swim is sweet and sad and youthful - but, listening to it, I could never escape the feeling that there was something missing. The album received rave reviews - even the sales assistant in HMV praised me on my choice of purchase; and I did like the album. It was only that I felt I would never progress beyond 'like'; for me, the album would never be stunning. It was almost irritating: I had an idea of what I wanted the album to be - but I felt that it just missed the mark. It was almost there - but not quite - and that was the most unfortunate thing about it. Perhaps the album was produced too quickly; perhaps Marling was not given sufficient time to develop and refine her musical talents. For this, I'm willing to hold her age responsible. Once again, that's not to say I dislike the album. On the contrary, a few tracks - 'Ghosts', 'Old Stone' and 'Night Terror' I found enjoyable.

Between this album and her second, I Speak Because I Can (2010), the singer suffered a change in image: her blonde hair was cropped close, and then, later, dyed black. The dark hair gave her the appearance of maturity - and, luckily for listening audiences everywhere, this abrupt progression in maturity carried into her music. I Speak Because I Can was everything I hoped it would be. In all honesty, it took me some time to come around to the album - not because I found Alas I Cannot Swim terrible, but because I was scared of experiencing that same disappointment all over again. I Speak Because I Can, though, misses out on nothing. Marling's songs are boundless in their yearning, in their energy, in their emotion, and their melancholy, and their discontent. Track two, 'Made by Maid', almost brought me to tears. When I listen to it, I feel a strong affinity with the young singer. Any album that can achieve such a feat will stick with me forever.

Taken from I Speak Because I Can, this video is an effortless example of Marling's fantastic progression. The content and the style are dark but hopeful. Aged only twenty, it must be conceded, the girl has achieved a lot.

All in all, the few niggling complaints I had with the singer have been quashed by the brilliance of her second album. Besides, only a few months older than me and already a successful musician. I'm probably just jealous.

The sound of Saturday

(Well, the sound of my Saturday, at any rate)

1. Meet Me In The Morning - Bob Dylan

2. The World At Large - Modest Mouse

3. Free - Cat Power

4. Pluto - Clare & The Reasons

5. Funny Little Frog - God Help The Girl

6. Strawberry Swing - Coldplay

7. Liza Radley - The Jam

8. My Manic And I - Laura Marling

9. Middleman - Bright Eyes

10. Saturday Morning - Eels (... because it had to be done)

Lost in translation.

A couple of weeks ago, I was in town with a friend; and, as he went into a local bookshop to buy a book on bi-polar disease, I waited outside, leaning back against a low post, patiently minding my own business. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself accosted by a group of Japanese tourists, each armed with a clipboard and a few sheets of paper. Oh no, I thought to myself. They're going to ask me boring and inane questions. Funnily enough, I was right.

"What's your favourite kind of music?" one of them asked me.

I hesitated. My mind had gone blank. The question had thrown me, for some reason: it had figuratively forced all genres and categories of music, not to mention specific artists and bands, straight out of my head. As I say, this happened a few weeks ago - and, since then, I've had plenty of time to come to understand why I found it so hard to answer the boys. My reasoning is this: I couldn't come up with an answer on the spot because I like too many genres of music. It wasn't as though I could very well ask the poor tourists to stand there as I reeled off every kind of music in which I like to indulge: from the occasional mainstream chart-topper, through embarrassingly clichéd emo-punk, past classical scores, to the ever-played indie/alternative. For one thing, it would have taken both time (which, admittedly, I had to spare) and effort (which I didn't); but it would also have been awkward, and I'd have felt like a right dork, listing in my most pretentious "music-journalist-hopeful" accent, all of the types of music I like. Look at me, I would have been saying. I'm clever because I know lots of different genres and lots of different artists.

"Um," I said, instead. "I like ... indie?"

"Oh, yes!" they said. They were very enthusiastic. "And who is your favourite singer or band?"

Oh God, I thought. I'd been under the impression that the first question had been hard to answer - but now, as I stood there in front of the tourists, desperately wishing my friend would hurry up and help me out of this situation, I was forced to delve through the many categories of music I had just brought to the front of my mind and select a relevant artist. Many flashed through my head. Kate Bush? No - too weird. Alberta Cross? No - too specific. The Beatles? No - too generic. Come on, think - you like more than three bands, surely. Feeling like a disgrace to the name of music-journalism, I named the next appropriate band that materialised in my mind.

"Radiohead. I like Radiohead."

Again, they were enthusiastic: they had heard of Radiohead - they even liked Radiohead. After asking only a few further questions, they left me in peace to mull over my unsatisfactory answers. It's not that I dislike Radiohead - in fact, they are one of my favourite bands - but I couldn't help feeling as though I'd missed out on an opportunity. Five minutes earlier I had had the chance to wow some Japanese tourists with my far-reaching knowledge of music and its history: and yet, in my answers, I had chosen a generic genre and a well-known band. Why hadn't I felt comfortable in describing my many favourite genres of music? Why hadn't I chosen a lesser-known band to describe as my favourite, and perhaps encouraged them to give them a listen?

The truth is, I suppose, there is just too much music out there. I couldn't choose a favourite genre because I like too many; and, for much the same reason (but to a greater extent) I couldn't choose a favourite artist. Part of me wonders if I'll ever be able to answer those questions readily.

But, in the end, I try not to beat myself up about it. They were fairly stupid questions, after all.