It comes as no surprise that Houdini Dax’s new album Naughty Nation has been nominated for the Welsh music prize this year. The Cardiff outfit have been promising big things for long enough now and now they seem to be on the cusp of breaking through. They may have tweaked a few things along the way but they are essentially the same band with the same refreshing charm as we fondly remember from 4 or 5 years ago.
What is quite noticeable is that the production of the tracks from Naughty Nation probably does make the record more accessible to a wider audience, this is certainly true for Found Love At The Dole Office. My advice would be to go and see them rip it up live, after listening to their recordings you will be in for one hell of a surprise. This single was recorded at Monnow Valley studios and produced by Steffan Pringle along with all of the Naughty Nation album.
Houdini Dax have three major attributes that place them ahead of most acts in their field and well on the way to inevitable stardom. The first is their insatiable appetite for a chorus. Like so many, if not all the tracks on Naughty Nation, Dole Office will be imbedded in you, ever ready to be recalled for a jolly good whistle or to sing along to at a Dax gig. Some may consider them a bit ‘safe’, not overly dangerous or vicious but Dax are devoid of gimmick and bravado. They are three mates playing music they love, fluently and with evident enjoyment.
Found Love In The Dole Office as the title suggests contains the gritty humour that has been a trademark of all good British indie bands since before The Arctic Monkeys debut album in 2005, perhaps going back to the likes of Supergrass. The tongue in cheek ambiguity of the lyrics burst with romance and working class cockiness. Lead singer Jack Butler says the inspiration for the song came “from seeing a couple getting a bit too intimate while signing on. I went back home and started messing around with the melody, drummer Dave started writing it with me and it was complete within the hour. We were writing in the dark because we didn’t have enough money to get a new light bulb, and that probably helped the inspiration for the tune. The couple ended up getting kicked out of the dole office, doubt they got paid that week.” There is an attitude but with the second of their great strengths, wonderful vocal harmonies.
Lead singer Jack Butler has grown in stature recently taking a more asserted command but Owen Richards and drummer Dave Newington seamlessly enhance the overall sound. The chorus of Dole Office glides along in genuine ‘mod’ style drawing comparisons with the best of the 60’s and their more contemporary counterparts. Nothing other than long hours of practice and detailed knowledge of their craft can explain the tight notes that they reach, as one, every time.
The third weapon that they possess is the uber-talented drummer Dave Newington. This young man not only has an imagination that bolsters Houdini Dax’s song writing ten fold but he finds music effortless, drumming is in his blood, as are most other instruments. In the case of Dole Office the mood changes in an instant from sweet playfulness to a bruising battery if only for a fleeting moment. Newington controls the beat in a restraint that underplays his repertoire.
With this single Houdini Dax can expect an increased exposure that may well take their marketability to a new level. They are a radio friendly band with short sharp singles that are more than pleasing for the masses beyond the Cardiff underground.
November UK Tour dates
Nov 6th Swn Festival Cardiff
Nov 11th The Social w/Sugarmen, London
Nov 14th Friars Walk, Newport
Nov 19th The Railway, Winchester
Nov 20th Alfie Birds & The Oobleck, Birmingham Dec 18th Clwb Ifor Bach, Cardiff
Chain Of Flowers (left to right – S. Hunt, J. Smith, M. Clements, R. Clarke, D. Anderson, R. Jones)
Finally! They have released the album we have been waiting for. Too long have we listened to their phenomenal potential and watched, in awe, their tumultuous live sets but without anything to go away with to show our friends and demand they “Listen to this!”. Their self titled debutnot only does Chain Of Flowers proud, but now we have hard evidence to show off and ultimately celebrate.
These six friends from Cardiff are as grounded as a band of this talent can be, they will freely admit that they are just as euphoric to see Wales qualify for Euro 2016 as they are to release this record. Patriotic but universally minded, humble but with focused ambition – Chain Of Flowers have drawn upon their vast experience and endless influences to produce a genuinely magnificent album.
Released on Alter this first album proper was painstakingly constructed over the last few years via a process of trial and error but with a collective belief of exactly what the objective was. Chain Of Flowers have not had it easy despite building something of a cult following, and not only in South Wales. Singles such as Sleep had turned heads enough for them to support the likes of Eagulls, The Fall and Ceremony on UK tours.
Continuity in the line up and the resulting trust may account for the evident assertion that Chain display on this record. At no point do they compromise their sound or musical integrity, even though this is a debut album. Chain Of Flowers is overflowing with strong characters equally passionate about the music they make and the music that helps make them.
The artwork for the new Chain Of Flowers album
Chain Of Flowers cast a vast net over the waters of music and catch punk, shoe gaze, goth, indie and low-fi to take back to shore, yet this record is unconvoluted. It does not deviate from the blue print the opening track Nail Me To You Cross plans. These are a guitar band, a loud, unsympathetic guitar band and there is no quarter given in its entirety. Lead singer Joshua Smith epitomises self belief but he is sacrificial by allowing his undoubted vocal abilities to be almost diluted in order for the trademark guitar distortion to be at the forefront and for that the production should be applauded. So to the bands united direction.
Crisis is the awesome beauty of a natural disaster, Hunt’s thrusting guitars seem to unleash a gale force wind which the rest of the band follows on a jet stream but in contrast the narration from Smith wanders in the kingdom of humanity to give it that accessible punky edge. This is the sound of a band that dismiss what is marketable, instead relishing the opportunity to be classically different.
As the record lengthens, so do the songs. Death’s Got A Hold Of Me sparks out from an I.E.D unnoticed, Jones and Hunt take turns in worsening the explosive catastrophe of noise as Smith holds the wire ensuring the helium bomb stays within the stratosphere. In Glimmers Of Joy we recognise Echo And The Bunnymen or Public Image Limited while Bury My Love sees Smith take on Julian Cope form after Clarkes untamed but reliable drums form out of a Brian Jonestown Massacre hum.
As dank as the atmosphere Chain Of Flowers create is, the soaring repetitive riffs ignore the notion of bleakness. Anderson’s bass controls the majority of Colour/Blind as tempo swaps and switches until Hunt takes the track to that cloud level once again. The scene is set for Josh Smith to bury himself into the thick fog of noise and resonate his poetry from deep inside.
Drained restrains itself in making its own statement, Ross Jones’ part must not be under appreciated in what is the best track on the record. Suddenly everything is simplified, Jones brutal rhythm clears the floor for, first Smith to echo his sermon in a dreamy Bradford Cox like lecture; and then Hunt and Jones to clash out amongst the heavenly piano chords that linger formidably.
Chain Of Flowers prove with this album that time does wait for everyman and everyman will take time to be worth waiting for.
Everybody should go and see The Fall as only afterwards can you accurately assess to what degree you will be hooked. The predictable unpredictability of Mark E. Smith requires you to turn up just to see if he does the same or not. If he does, then what is he going to do? The world of rock and roll has eccentric characters, and then, there is Mark E. Smith.
The Fall’s fans are true, and once caught in the bands net there is no escape. These same loyal lot will have witnessed both the worst and the best of the band over the last 35 years and they will keep coming back, as long as there is breath in their lungs. Smith’s lungs may be inevitably failing but their unmistakable sound and prolific output is as exciting as it always has been. Just listen to The Fall’s recent releases such as Ersatz GB and Your Future Our Clutter to name but a few.
Local indie/punk outfit Chain Of Flowers proved more than a worthy opener as the old faithful, gradually gathered in The Globe. With a brand new set list, Cardiff’s talented band of brooding punks oozed confidence and power from the outset with new single Nail Me To Your Cross. Singer Josh Smith leaves little in the locker as he twists and turns around his microphone wire, and in Crisis his commitment to performance is equalled by his slicing romantic lyrics.
With usual drummer Rich Clarke state-side, stand in drummer Josh Day only had a fortnight to practice the parts but anchored the band brilliantly, with all things considered. Chain Of Flowers have supported Eagulls on a UK tour and it is clear to see that that experience is manifesting itself in the bands song writing.
Cardiff’s Chain Of Flowers
Guitarist’s – Sam Hunt and Ross Jones styles couldn’t be more contrasting. By ear and by eye, they are total opposites stood side by side. Another new track Glimmers Of Joy roars to cataclysmic crescendo but Jones is unmoved, staring blankly towards a ghost he sees at the back of the bar. Hunt is oblivious to his partners catatonic state as he is visibly consumed by the sounds attacking him from the wood he yields. Bury My Love brings an end to a set that should alert all present to the potential of this band.
The time had reached 22:20 and the tightly packed crowd clearly feared the worst, a slightly controlled raucousness steadily fizzed to a certain ‘unsteady’. After 15 minutes of the band’s intro and then re-intro and so on, the keyboard player and wife of the main man huffed and sighed and left the stage. Elena Poulou (Now Smith) strode up the stuffed stairwell towards the Globe’s upstairs bar. She returned a minute or so later with Mark in tow. She lead him back down and a round to the stage door and that was the starting gun. It may have been a false start however, the band sunk straight into My Door Is Never but still no Mark E. Smith. His grunts and slurs drifted over the Globe as a faceless taunt. And then, Mark E was there. He staggered on, stopping to acknowledge each of his players one by one. What mood would he be in tonight? He looked content enough, not well, but not ill, more like a drunk uncle at a wedding.
Smith wandered the boards with some kind of scrappy manual clutched under his arm only to brandish the tatty, scribbled on pages at random intervals like a threatening school master. It is amazing to think how a band with little or no continuity, at least until recently, can maintain a sound signature that completely different members made their own decades before. The relentless rhythm was born in punk and matured in new wave, throughout indie and then Madchester the beat was constant. Tonight the beat was felt in the bones, bass and drum sending shock waves through all physiologies present. Hittite Man (From Re-mit)and Junger Cloth (Sub Lingual Tablet)saw Smith’s blue suit going a darker shade as the heat built. Barely looking up from his laces, Smith exited and re-entered the stage via the door to the right as if carrying out an inventory of the venue.
Mark E. Smith with his harmonica
It was Theme From Sparta F.C that sparked a standing room only scrum of seasoned punksters, the hardened out of the 50,000 Fall fans (that can’t be wrong) seized upon the first tune in the set list not released in the last ten years to surge with venomous intent. It may be due to lack of shelf space that the longer serving supporters were not as familiar with the latest of The Fall’s prolific output which accounted for the overwhelming majority of the material tonight.
The Fall are forever influential but always inimitable and it shows when after 20 or so albums they still produce such marvels as Your Future Our Clutter from which Weather Report 2 comes; Wolf Kidult Man from the incredible Imperial Wax Solvent, but most tunes were brand new from this years Sub Lingual Tablet. The Globe cut the aura of a furnace by the time the stand out Sir William Wray from 2013’s Re-Mit formed a rotunda of vicious bass. Mark E. Smith ducked and dived through the final few never letting up on his over-emphasis of last syllable drawl like an MC from the centre of a boxing ring.
White Lightning was the last of a set that seemed to flow like a sulphuric river. If any other band of such a prolific back catalogue lasted less than this hour and twenty, many would feel aggrieved but based on the prior anxiety, all present went away feeling they cheated history and witnessed the best of The Fall.
A year cannot pass quickly enough so it would seem, and then, the first weekend of September is upon us and it is unfathomable how fast it has come around once more.
After traversing grand, Georgian Somerset gorges and negotiating a daring game of chicken by a bouquet of pheasants on windy rural tracks, the destination draws near. The open expanse of Wiltshire straddles into the archetypal beauty of North Dorset, Larmer Tree Gardens signals The End Of The Road and the start of the eagerly awaited festival.
A ’boutique’ festival it may be categorised as but on this, its tenth year anniversary, its organic nuances expel any idea of hipster gimmicks attempting to attract the cool crowd. End Of The Road Festival is concentrated on music wrapped up in nature, England’s habitat hosting the worlds finest artists and performers.
This year was Quiffed Owl’s third visit to End Of The Road, and on paper, seemingly the weakest of the three line-ups. That observation was emphatically disproven over the following three days as the constant quality consistently astounded audiences.
It was Ought who thankfully brought their idiosyncratic chaos to the manicured lawn of the glorious Garden Stage. Flanked by magisterial furs and oaks under a fast moving sky, the Montreal quartet plugged in their post punk and chased each others note-tails around a ring of arousing rock music. Lead singer Tim Darcy jerked and scuttled like a Jarvis Cocker peacock as if serenading the hens that wandered the Garden Stage’s verges.
Tim Darcy of Ought on the Garden Stage
Ought flickered between tracks from last years brilliant More Than Any Other Day album and their brand new record, Sun Coming Down. Although fresh and experimental, Ought could be likened to the Talking Heads doing battle with Pavement as Mark E. Smith weighs in with the odd jab. It was one of the new tracks that impressed the most. Beautiful Blue Sky like many of their tunes builds up steadily with a rattling low bass line, Darcy croaking out his internal monologue whilst posturing to the oblivious peahens. The title track of their first record ended an incredible performance of arrogance and excellence, whoever had not heard of them before went away feeling as if they had unearthed some buried treasure.
The Big Top Tent, for once, proudly boasted as many fine acts as The Woods and The Garden Stage. Prog rock giants Pond and Canadian grunge band Metz were more at home under the starry canopy, courtesy of the laser projections on the tents ceiling. Their respective forms of rock were more condensed in the enclosed heavy atmosphere with no route for the sound to escape. Pond came first and poured a psychedelic soup over the throngs of festival goers trapped inside. Songs from Hobo Rocket and Man, It Feels Like Space Again dominated proceedings. It is little wonder why this band from Western Australia are thought so highly of.
Before a return to the Big Top, a detour to the Tipi was in order to see Cardiff’s Gulp. They have enjoyed a splendid year owing in part to their inclusion in many end of year best album lists. Super Fury Animals bassist Guto Pryce’s side project embodies pop and krautrock fronted by singer and Aberdeen girl Lindsey Levin. In the afternoon light of the Tipi, the fresh cinematic sounds from their album Season Sun meandered around the bright auditorium acting as a nice filler before the all out offensive Metz back at the Big Top.
Toronto based Metz performed Friday afternoon at the Big Top
Metz came loud and cruel – a violent force of grunge echoing Nirvana’s Bleach era. A whirlpool of bodies span psychotically before the stage, impact after impact smashed and clattered as the music mirrored the mayhem below. The adolescent row of The Swimmer and Acetate fired in a chain reaction of aggressive 2 minute bursts. In Dirty Shirt, Alex Edkin’s blood curdling screams rang around the heaving pit. Subpop Records have found a gem in this band.
The first evening drew in and at the Woods stage Django Djangowarmed up the growing crowds with their signature twiddly indie which seemed pleasing enough as the volumes of ales and local beers steadily got the better of some. The sun was yet to set when Tame Impalaentered the fray, much to the audience’s excitement. They have quickly become a band that everyone wants to see since 2013’s Lonerism. By this time, new friendships were being forged as the sun and the smiles beamed around the Woods.
Comedian, DJ and EOTR stalwart Ronan Leonard would end the night at the Garden Stage. The silent disco was far from that – Rubber booted and well oiled, throngs of ravers duelled with pop princesses as each chose from the two channels on the headphones.
Ronan Leonard hosting the silent disco
It was a god send that Prodigy’s Out Of Space drowned out the singing along of The Spice Girl’s Wannabe as witnessed in the queue for the port-a-loos. The line shifted all kinds of shapes but in an orderly and respectable form – much like the privet hedges forming the corridor to relief for the well watered. They danced and chanted into the early hours with no regard for their energy levels needed for tomorrows itinerary.
The only way to start your EOTR day is with a spicy bloody Mary and a wander through the woods with all of its art installations, ending up at the piano stage and Ringo: Music Bingo. Ronan Leonard has become part of the furniture here over the years. He is well respected by the growing numbers of fans he has accumulated year on year with his sharp wit and irrepressible imagination. Not only does he get up early every morning to present his Breakfast With The Ink Spots at the tipi stage but he stays up later, as previously mentioned, hosting the silent disco. It is Ringo: Music Bingo for which he is best known, however. This interactive game of puns, music and improvised absurdity is a massive hit with families and youth alike and it is this perhaps, that encapsulates the community spirit of EOTR better than anything else. Where else could you see a game of invisible pass the parcel or a sing along to The littlest hobo theme result in camaraderie between complete strangers and shared fits of laughter amongst staff and the gleeful audience? Long may Leonard’s services be sought.
Saturdays music began with Slow Club on the Woods stage but it was The Unthanks sisters who owned the memories of the day. The Northumbrian duo cast a spell of melancholic optimism on the downward sloping meadow, evoking shades of 2012 when The Dirty Three did likewise. Unhurried and elegant, The Unthanks designed their own score to the scene of the England that swallowed them. Adorably synchronised strings and brass lovingly supported the songs of seven albums, songs that were seen to make tears stream from eyes dazzled by their beauty. The folk was only broken by the sisters charming interactions as they introduced certain tracks from their latest album Mount The Air from whence came the outstanding Flutter. Magpie and the title track, intermingled with examples of their earlier work ensuring that Dorset was the centre of English folk music. At least for the hour the sisters stood side by side.
A change of pace was brought by My Morning Jacket and in some style. A rollicking set of harmonious Americana exploded from the woods stage working the crowd into a frenzy of sorts. It was noticeable that a wide section of the onlookers were here especially for them and it was evident why. Unlike their contemporaries Band Of Horses and The Delta Spirit, My Morning Jacket offer additional dimensions other than rhythm and blues. Their sound is more progressive, more engaging, just more.
Inside The Big Top
A short but brisk strut to the big top was to be made next, in order to get as close as possible to one of the most revered live bands in the UK and see what the hype was all about for ourselves. The Fat White Family juxtapose their stance between The Doors and some crazed Willy Nelson at a Slits audition. The acid induced prog of Auto Neutron is contained and tense just for the all out unrehearsed bedlam of Is It Raining In Your Mouth to transform the look and feel of the atrium in which we jumped and stumbled. Nobody could accuse the south London 5 piece of going through the motions; their motions are not necessarily ones of which we are familiar. In Cream Of The Young the claustrophobic groan of Lias Saoudi was a phantom circling in the air above seemingly trying to escape the taunting of the guitar that followed his moans upwards. This was a stark reminder of the talent we are blessed with in this country and it is festivals like EOTR where they are most likely to be showcased.
Time for the headline act, an act that EOTR are particularly proud of securing this year and further highlighting the prestigious reputation of the festival. Sufjan Stevens whispered his lullabies into the moonlight and to the motionless mass of hypnotized eyes under his spell. In conversations had since that Saturday night, there have been contrasting opinions of Stevens’ performance. Some claim it to have been stagnant and flat and lacking in commitment but his mellow expression of fine folk rang true to, not only his new album Carrie And Lowell, but through tracks from Michigan and 2005’s Illinois, including the wonderful Chicago. The hairs that stood up on the necks of the several thousand whom sang in chorus with him during Chicago could be sensed. It was a particularly touching moment.
After the repetitive thump of the dissenting Sleaford Mods, it was to the woods disco and then to the eccentric family that is the Somerset cider bus. An unnamed genius free-styled his lyrical observations to the paying posse queued up to witness it, one would wager the majority didn’t even like hot cider. The party drove on – all 3 sides of the bus drank and danced only to stop when the poetic bar tender would grasp the microphone.
End Of The Road
Sunday lunchtime’s amble about the many stalls and stores was suitably scored by Houndstooth and The Dawes. Under the hot sun ladies perused the boutiques for vintage objet d’art, new and old friends met to share stories and to be quenched by icy cocktails. Times like these define a festival. Reality and responsibility are relieved and you are the master of your destiny, at least for another 16 hours or so.
Would comedy be next? a hearty and delicious meal? alas, the imperious Lisa O’Neil made up our minds. The singer songwriter from County Cavan accounted for the best hour of the entire weekend. Her lyrics are as pained as her gravelled voice, and in songs such as Dreaming her honest emotion captures the troubles of the heart and agony of love lost. In her introduction to England Has My Man O’Neil jokes that that is all that England has but her almost shy awkwardness disappears into thin air when those first chords begin. Lisa O’Neil announces she will be selling copies of her new record Same Cloth Or Not and who can resist after hearing its startling content? Neillie’s Song can only be bettered by the gut wrenching lament of Come Sit Sing. Whether it was one too many mojito’s in the midday sun prior to her taking the tipi stage, not many eyes were dry as this remarkable demonstration of passionate power drew to a close.
Lisa O’Neil was arguably the stand-out performer of the weekend
And so into the final evening’s entertainment we entered, with conscious ignorance of that fact a large crowd were drawn to the garden to see Mac Demarco’s lazy low-fi come to life. It was a surprise to many that Brakes were included on this years itinerary baring in mind how long they have been in the wilderness but the set was a foot stomping delight. 2009’s Touchdown album constituted the majority of the material to the die-hard’s contentment. Two Shocks, Worry About It Later and Crush On You were greeted with yelps of joy by frolicking 30 something’s as the Brighton band were buoyed by the support for them in the big top. The raging Red Rag seemed to lift the lid right off.
The final headliner was The War On Drugs and it was no surprise that Adam Granduciel’s band from Philadelphia would demand the biggest audience of the festival. Lauded by the music press The War On Drugs produced what was expected. It wasn’t mind blowing by any means but with tracks as mercurial as Red Eyes and An Ocean Between The Waves they were certainly worth a look.
It was fitting that it was not one of the big name bands that brought this charming adventure to a close. This festival is for lovers of music, no matter what age they are – it is a deep intrinsic passion and knowledge of music that forms the fundamental foundation for this festival to thrive. That may be true of others but never is it more true than at End Of The Road Festival.
Los Angeles psyche rockers Wand unleashed a torrent of fractured rock and splinters of stone sound to the Tipi’s faithful. They were thankfully one of the acts to perform twice, this their second showing of the day in the first of two secret gigs in the Tipi tent. With close links to Ty Segal, Wand balance a blistering guitar barrage with daring time signature changes which in turn can draw comparisons with The Oh-Sees and Tame Impala. This set was bruising and devilishly loud but a number of lagging torsos somehow resisted the energising decibels by remaining horizontal and oblivious to the magic being conjured up above them.
There are countless reasons why we will return in another year to The End Of The Road and marvel at the aesthetic splendour for all the senses. On the 20th anniversary in a decades time, the organisers have a hell of a lot to live up to.
Quiffed Owl 