And so it begins! I’ve decided that these posts will be a “behind the scenes” affair – behind the music scene, if you will – something more candid than your usual review. This way, I can get all the silly stuff that generally wouldn’t make the cut out in the open.

I still can’t quite believe this gig was for free. Not just for me (I was there in a journalistic capacity for Nation Sheffield), but for everyone. Every last speck of the public. Howler’s debut has been one of January’s most highly anticipated releases – alongside Tribes’ and Lana Del Rey’s debuts and The Maccabees 3rd album – so the fact they’ve managed to squeeze in an extra live show, sans charges, reflects very well on them as a band. Also, I’d never been to The Bowery before, so it was a perfect excuse to check the place out.

After walking all the way down a sodden Division Street, I met up with Leah, Nation Sheffield’s editor and creator, by The Bowery’s bar. We’ve been emailing every so often for the past couple of months, so it was nice to finally put a friendly face to the, well, text. Once we’d got our drinks, we made our way round to the front, where the non-existant barrier between audience and performer was. After a few minutes our photographer, Kristy, arrived. It was her first gig for Nation Sheffield too, and it turns out she lives about 5 minutes away from me, which could be great for future reviews – Nation Sheffield or otherwise. I have a really good feeling that this little project will help me branch out and make more contacts with creative/media types. I’ve recently felt as though this was my downfall, so hopefully it could all turn round by the end of the academic year (and possibly into the next!).

The three of us started casually chatting about Nation Sheffield and Leah’s plans for it’s future, when talk turned to tonight’s performers. The support act, Man Made, in particular. Man Made is the stage name for Nile Marr. Nile Marr, it turns out, is the son of The Smith’s guitarist Johnny Marr. Johnny Marr was watching his son perform tonight. JOHNNY MARR WAS STANDING OVER BY THE DOOR. You have no idea how much self restraint was mustered to not squeal, jump up and down, and make a complete fangirl-ing fool of myself. I reasoned that if I saw him on my way out, or he came closer to where we were standing, I’d ask for a casual photo and an autograph, then be on my way. Turns out I had no such luck, but still, I can now say I went to a gig with Johnny Marr. Kind of.

Man Made

Naturally, this heightened my expectations for Man Made quite significantly. Particularly when he decided to put of a sequin jacket before starting his set. However, he didn’t live up to it. How could he? It was a terrific jacket. Plus the whole legendary dad thing. I did like his music, it was just a bit samey. I’d done a spot of Youtubing beforehand, so recognised his closing song ‘Happiness (We’re All Invited)’, but the rest of his set just blurred into one great mass of moping acoustic indie rock. I’ll think of something more constructive to say when I write up a proper review, but my general impression was yawn.

Kristy was finding the intimacy of the gig quite hard to work with, as people tended to not want to move out of the way as she tried to get a wider shot, but I revelled in it. I could pick on the fact his lips occasionally pressed up against the mic. As I was standing to the side, I could gage the crowd’s reaction whilst still feeling a part of it (something which I think is vital for writing a comprehensive review). Plus, it was generally just nice to feel on the same level as the artist. I get starstruck ever so easily, so something like humanises musicians for me.

Now, the main event: Howler. They were as cocky as the hell they were trying to raise. Their musical style makes me think of The Strokes or The Libertines if they were beach-bums instead of city boys. Like an anarchic Drums. Lead singer Jordan Gatesmith flouted the invisible stage line and swayed into the crowd at free will, which a group of girls at the front seemed both delighted with and terrified by. The thing I like most about their performance would probably be the crowd banter. Yes, I know the word “banter” is more ubiquitous than Ed Sheeran right now, but this is what talking to the audience between songs has been referred to for goodness knows how long, so I’m going to stick with it. At the point where Jordan did the obligatory thanking-of-the-support speech, bassist France Camp decided to make a special mention to one of the bar tenders who’d managed to transform your average lemonade to a Sprite, through the power of soda and lime. France’s voice cracked as he announced that this was the work of “a magician”. It was a bit special. However, they did manage to touch a nerve with me. Howler had played Buffalo Bar in Cardiff during the week and said that “Wales told us you rape child. Apparently you say they rape sheep, so they told us you rape children. I don’t know, I couldn’t understand a fucking word they said.” …How very dare they.

The only drawback was that, as I’m not as familiar with their album as I’d like to have been, I couldn’t distinguish between a lot of the songs. Okay, certain ones stood out, which I made note of and so should be able to pick out and name for the review – but it was a little disappointing. For such a well received band, I was hoping they’d have more stand-out material, not just a unique sound.

Overall, not a bad first week of the challenge! This Friday I’ll be reviewing the release party for Low Duo’s latest EP for Sloucher. I’ve never been to a release party before, but I’m expecting it’s basically a big, celebratory gig – right?

As of this week, I am on a mission: to go to at least one gig for every week I’m in Sheffield. The title kind of gave it away, I know, but I have to clarify that my home town’s music scene is barely breathing, so this is only going to be possible while I’m at uni.

It came about because I realised that I don’t make the most of living in such a creatively potent city as Sheffield. For someone who adores music as much as I do, I’ve spent a lot less time experiencing it live than I’d care to admit. This has to change, and so the Gig-A-Week Challenge was born. I’ll be using this here blog to document it, either giving full-blown reviews or perhaps just a general overview if that week’s aural sensation was actually a bit naff.

Hopefully, if I pull my finger out (such a strange saying…), I’ll be able to go to a fair amount of these gigs as a reviewer for one of the publications I work for (see the ‘Who?’ page for more details). If not, I’ll have to go for more cheap ‘n’ cheerful options, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as I’ll be able to discover new bands who I’d otherwise have overlooked, or may never have even heard of.

This brings me on to one of the other reason for this challenge: I’m not as happy as used to be with waiting for bands and artists to “come to me”, as it were, through magazines, blogs and Twitter. I want to be more active. It’s a well known cliché for modern day journalists to never leave their desk and simply wait for the news to reach them, via PR emails and regular calls to the local authorities. I’ve had quite enough of being thought of as lazy, so I’m going to put myself amongst the unwashed masses more.

It’ll be fun. It may also be stressful, if I simply can’t find anything to go to, but I doubt that’s going to happen. However, I am completely open to suggestions. If you’re from Sheffield, or happen to know of a top-notch band/artist coming my way, do drop me a line! You can comment on this post, or tweet me any time, and I’ll be sure to look into it. I’d love it for this to become a completely collaborative project and have my readers tell me where to go and who to see, but I realise that I’ll have to put in the hard graft at first.

I’ve actually already made a start (I was going to leave it until my January exams were over, but got a bit excited): here is my review of The Maccabees, who played Leadmill last Saturday. As you’ll see, I rather like them a lot, and gradually gained a crush on lead singer Orlando Weeks as the gig progressed.

So, keep an eye out for my (official) first Gig-A-Week Challenge post. It’s going to be about a Howler and Man Made, who’re playing The Bowery this Sunday. I’ll be reviewing it as a practise run for possibly contributing to Nation Sheffield. Wish me luck!

The first night of a tour must be fairly nerve-wracking for any band. Not knowing if your setlists’ quite right, hoping you’ve got the new songs pinned down, wondering whether or not that big, polka-dot blouse was a good idea (I’m looking at you, Orlando Weeks).

But when your new album is being heralded as one of the best releases of the month – if not the impending year – and the critics are beyond sure that it’s going to be the making of you, then you’d be forgiven for having stomach full of butterflies. Never the less, when The Maccabees stride on stage, with their backs to the crowd, their welcome is enough to warm the entire room on this bitterly cold Winter’s night.

Their set is naturally dominated by ‘Given To The Wild’, but when played side-by-side with tracks from their debut, it highlights how much they’ve matured, both musically and personally. Having the gorgeously sensitive ‘Forever I’ve Known’ follow the likes of ‘Precious Time’ shows a sharp shift to heartbreak from the early days of flirtation and hope. Yet still, the lyrics “I’m a child to your voice” is echoed in the gaze of the Brighton boys’ long-time lovers, and the instrumental breakdown is just as hard-hitting live as it is on record, with strobe lights giving it an extra boost of aching angst.

The synth element of their new album is brought into play with ‘Went Away’, along with it’s twinkling guitars and strident bass. The gentle plea of “Don’t let me go / I need you so” amidst the prattling guitars sounds a million miles away from ‘First Love’s casual reprise of “It’s only love”, yet the band managed to bring their fuller sound, more complete sound to this old favourite. They sound comfortable, in the best possible way.

Frontman Oralando’s usually timid demeanour is sporadically broken with playful bobbing and slightly strange chicken pecks, but he remains ever humble, thanking the audience for being patient with the new material. Lead single ‘Pelican’ has a curious ability to make the room burst with energy and the mood skyrocket, despite it’s morbid lyrics – amazing what a rambunctious riff can make you overlook.

The boys return for the encore air-punching, although Orlando looks endearingly bashful. They come on to ‘Unknow’, starting eeriely but gaining momentum, leading into full-frontal atmospheric indie-rock. Weeks’ proves himself to be a rare breed in the realm of lead singers; the male nightingale, as he closes eyes and clings tightly to the microphone. As the heart-beat bassline flatlines, ‘X-Ray’ turns the crowd into a swaying frenzy. Guitarist brothers Hugo and Felix White look on proudly at the twee pandemonium they’ve created; a rollicking clash of wool and leather.

The night finishes with album closer ‘Grew Up At Midnight’, despite the crowd’s continuing cries for ‘Latchmere’. As the swirling, heading guitar reaches a strumming rush to the end, The Maccabees push through with their maturing sound, whether the fair-weather fans like it or not.

Alex Turner’s special brand of romanticised normality is back. What, you’re saying you’ve never done the macarena in the Devil’s lair? Loser.

It’s a little more on the Josh Homme side of things than usual, admittedly, but this brash new slant will definitely give them a competitive edge in claiming back the charts for the good of indie rock kind.

What I love about ‘Don’t Sit Down ‘Cause I’ve Moved You’re Chair’ is embedded in the track title itself: the Arctic Monkey’s sense of humour is back. As much I enjoy Humbug, it’s lacks the same witty spark of their first two albums, particularly the debut, Whatever People Say I Am, I’m Not.

In a recent NME interview, Alex admitted: “There’s a few more gags. Not just in the words but in some of the guitar solos and that as well – a bit of humour in the fuzz.” I’m not so sure there’s humour in this particular fuzz, but I like it all the same. The lyrics herald back to the Fluorescent Adolescent days of yore, keeping it sleek and tongue-in-cheek, with some chants thrown in for the festival crowd.

Their fourth studio album, Suck It and See will be out on 5th June, with this single being available for your listening and downloading pleasure now, in all the usual places. I’ll be seeing them in Don Valley Bowl on 10th June, with Miles Kane, The Vaccines and Sheffield band, Dead Sons supporting. Cannot. Bloody. Wait.

In interviews prior to the release of his solo album, Carl Barât claimed this new material was the “real him”, away from the drama and influence of band life. Instead of delivering a brand new sound, however, what was produced was largely the same as earlier efforts – except with a wider range of instruments – and very lyrically similar to Doherty. One can’t help but wonder whether he’s just sticking to the romantic rough and tumble that sells, or if the Real Carl has been there all along, and we were just mistaking it for collaboration.

Strutting on-stage in his leather, denim and pendants, he still looks every inch the Carlos from the Good Old Days. The set itself flits seamlessly between the foppish and rebellious pages of his back catalogue. Naturally, it’s The Libertines and Dirty Pretty Things material which garners the wildest crowd reaction (leaving my brand new blouse with more beer stains than I care to mention). Well, let’s be honest, the chance of anyone here tonight coming solely for the solo stuff is slim. Nevertheless, there were fist-pumps and foot-stomps galore during the chorus of ‘She’s Something’, and enough swaying to capsize the good ship Albion throughout ‘So Long, My Lover’. It’s much more accessible than Grace/Wasteland, if nothing else.

Barât is on clearly on form; amidst the caressing calls of “Carlos!” and “Biggles!”, he remains a charming riot of a man. From “Oh stop it, Sheffield, you’re making me blush…” and nibbling his nails mid-song, to thrashing round and around in circles with his guitar, in under a minute.

However, the Likely Lad can only go so long without bringing a partner in crime into the light. Carl formally introduces us to his guitarist, “Oli B”: his brother. Once the pleasantries have passed, the sure-fire routine of head-butt-nuzzle-things and general space invasion starts up. It’s strangely adorable, as per usual, but just not the same without Bilo.

After a quick interlude, he returns for the encore with an acoustic guitar and some unreleased tracks in tow. ‘Grimaldi’ is originally a rare Libertines recording, and it shows. This spindly ballad of twisted love has Peter’s signature poetic style all over it. Carlos also covers The Langly Sisters’ ‘Sing For My Supper’ with deserved, haunting sweetness. Both these, ‘This Is a Song’ (not currently available in the UK) and new single ‘Death Fires Burn at Night’ – a much heavier number, reminiscent of an unwound ‘Horror Show’ with extra sax and a hint of Iggy – will feature in his upcoming EP, due to be released on 22nd May. If this doesn’t capitalise on his split personality, I don’t know what will.

Yeup.

ANYWHO. The point is, I’m conflicted. A lot of my course (Journalism, in case you didn’t know/hadn’t guessed) is interesting; finding out different sources for information, having angry Libyans asking if I could pass a message on to  David Cameron (“Fuck off!” and *checks notes* “Kiss my ass!”), learning more about the Iraq inquiries (seeing as my coursemates and I were far too preoccupied with the wonders of prepubescence when all that was going on) and finding out exactly how the much the internet knows about you. But then there’s  parts of it which suck. Like shorthand (I want a Dictaphone for my birthday) and the weekly, two hour onslaught of rather-stab-your-own-cheeks-with-a-nail-file-Black-Swan-stylee tedium that is Public Administrations. I want to write about rock stars, not councillors. A heady dream, but it’s one I’m sticking with. Although, what with Chief Councillor Paul Scriven releasing this little number over the Winter, these two phenomena may become one:

Sexy. But I digress.

These past few weeks, I’ve found myself –  amongst other not-so-productive things – applying for music editor positions, blogging roles for an affordable vintage clothing fair, taking up a proposition from a rock zine and generally listening to more music than I have done in quite some time. In fact, probably since the last time I was bolted to the ground by the oppressive nail gun of Higher Education: A Levels. Admittedly there weren’t as many opportunities with regards to writing about music in my little town of Pontypridd, but I still had access to the internet and it’s bounty of new songs, EPs, albums, bands and genres that are just THERE for the listening. So that’s what I did. And what I’m doing now.

What with both Britney and The Strokes’ comeback albums being leaked online within about a week of each other, two slices of the pie that is my taste in music were covered in the gravy of satisfaction. Which is a lot less icky than it sounds. Miss Spears has created an all-dancefloor-filler-no-reputation-killer beaut and The Strokes have reminded us of why they’re so damn vital. I’ve had ‘Under Cover of Darkness’ as the elevator music of my subconscious for a fair amount of time now:

Sexy. But I digress.

Keeping with The Strokes for a moment, my question is: is this it? Am I stuck in a cycle of diverting stress by chasing the dream? When the going gets tough, the tough updates their iPod. I know I should knuckle down, but I’m a last minute kinda gal – I’m at my best when I’m under pressure. Therefore, can I only conclude that all this opportunity grabbing is a good thing? Getting more experience, whilst gearing up to for those weekend-before-the-deadline essay writing sessions. Productive, if not destructive to my nervous system. Besides, I’m only a First Year. I should probably enjoy the option of “winging it” while I can.

He’s got sensitive eyes, gritty stubble, a beautiful voice and a guitar (and an infamous hat). Deserving winner, fantastic debut single (‘Many of Horror’ ‘When We Collide’) and all round lovely seeming fella. Wonderful. Well done folks of Britain for voting for the right person.

But what’s this? America voted for the right person a whole 7 months before we did? Impossible!

Meet Lee DeWyze, this year’s American Idol winner:

He’s got sensitive eyes, gritty stubble, a beautiful voice and a guitar. Sound familiar? He’s currently the, uh, proud owner of a debut album which flopped in the American Charts (only reached #19 in it’s first week, the lowest position of an American idol winner debut to date), which he co-wrote during the American Idol tour.

So what does this all mean? That the majority of people who vote in music competitions have good taste in men? Maybe. That by giving a man an acoustic guitar he instantly becomes more likeable? Possibly. Personally, I think it shows that the public are suckers for “musical integrity”.

Both of these contestants were in bands prior to entering their respective reality TV shows. It goes without saying that neither band climbed particularly high on the musical career ladder, but the fact that they made a shot tells us that the boys are committed. This is what they want to do in life; more than anything else in the world. They’re not the fame-obsessed, attention seeking diva. They’re not the ugly duckling with the voice of an angel. They’re not the novelty freak. They’re not the soul singer. They’re just guys with their guitars; like the ones you see on the cover of Rolling Stone or NME.

So, what’s to argue with? They were both voted the best singer in their competitions, they can both play guitar (as we’ve well established) and they both clearly want to be professional singer/song writers. But no matter how famous they get, how many records they sell, how big a venue they play, they will forever be known as reality TV show winners. Pure and simple. It’s a shame, but it’s a fact.

Despite this, I think it shows that the voting public are wising up. They’re trying to make people who seem to have genuine musical talent – rather than a pretty face and a great, big pair of… lungs – an instant sojourn in the limelight. Which I suppose is good; sticking it to The Man. Sorta.

But why, dear reader, should we punish them to a lifetime of branding, when they – surely – should have “made it” on their own? Because they brought it upon themselves. No ifs, no buts. Win – nay, enter – a reality TV contest, and you can wave your credibility goodbye.

What were you expecting, more sycophancy?

Merry Christmas.

Best known for being half of the adorable, indie bromance that was Last of the Shadow Puppets (alongside Arctic Monkeys’ Alex Turner), but also as the front man of the now defunct Rascals, Miles Kane is striking out on his own.

His solo album is due out next April, but he’s already released two video for upcoming tracks, ‘Inhaler’ and ‘Come Closer’. The latter will be hitting us between the ears in February and the video’s got Daisy Lowe in it, look.

I like this 60s edge he’s got going on and Daisy can make any visual exploit 57% better just by dipping her toes into it. The song itself makes me want to dance, vaguely imitate singing and pout/pose a lot, so I’m giving it a thumbs up.

Whilst making his way round the music press, Miles has been drumming in the fact that he is now, officially:

• Sexy.
• Sleazy.
• That’s it.

Which seems fair enough. The success of the Puppets is essentially what killed The Rascals, so why make yourself out to be the Next Best Thing Since Sliced Beatles? Although, come to mention it, in an interview with NME back in October, he did say that the “whole point” of ‘Come Closer’ was to sound like Lennon. No pressure then.

Luckily, in that very same interview he also eluded to more collaboration work with his beloved Mr Turner. Good news for fans of microphone sharing, foppish brunette hair and wonderfully poetic lyrics.

However, what with the next three years of my life being mostly carried out in Sheffield, I would very much love to see the Arctic Monkeys perform in their home town. So, if you could just clean Alex up once you’re done with him, Miles, I’d be much obliged.

THE ONE WHICH FILLS ME WITH CHRISTMAS CHEER. OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT:

‘White Wine in the Sun’ by Tim Minchin

It won’t be played in a department store any time soon, but my favourite Christmas song is ‘White Wine in the Sun’, by Australian comedian and musician, Tim Minchin. Stepping back from the witty iconoclasm of the majority of his work, this song shows a much softer side of Minchin, singing to his daughter about the importance of family at Christmas. What starts off as Tim alone with a piano flows through to a modern-day carol, with a beautiful string section to boot, giving the passionate last verse that extra-special Christmasy tingle. Although he stays true to form, with rants about the institutionalisation of Christianity, getting freaked out by churches and “… the westernisation of a dead Palestinian / Press-ganged into selling Playstations and beer”, he always, bashfully, returns to the refrain “but I still really like it”. Overall, it’s an atheist ode to the festive season. and all the new socks and boxes of chocolate that come with it.

Honourable Mentions:

1. ‘Merry Christmas Everybody’ by Slade
2. ‘Fairytale of New York’ by The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl
3. ‘A Spaceman Came Travelling’ by Chris de Burgh

IF THE GRINCH AND SCROOGE WERE TO DO A DUET, IT WOULD SOUND ONLY HALF AS PAINFUL AS THIS:

‘Have a Cheeky Christmas’ by The Cheeky Girls

Need I go on?

Honourable Mentions:

1. ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ by Mariah Carey
2. ‘Christmas Conga’ by Cyndi Lauper
3. ‘Mistletoe and Wine’ by Cliff Richard

So tell me, dear reader, what seasonal songs get you all smiley or despair-y?

If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear this gig was sponsored by the word “sexy”. A pause between songs didn’t go by without tonight’s bands saying it: “Let’s get sexy!”, “You’re all so sexy!”, “What a sexy crowd!”. I was watching said crowd from the sidelines. “Sexy” isn’t the first word that comes to mind. But I suppose you can’t blame the bands for sweet-talking their audience; they were hell-bent on causing a scene.

The under-aged messes in the audience stumbled out once support acts, Young Legionnaires and Gay For Johnny Depp, had finished ripping every one’s eardrums (and in GFJD’s case, innocence) to shreds. Those who knew what was good for them stuck around to soak up one of Britain’s best up-and-coming live acts, in all their chaotic, sweaty, equine glory.

Pulled Apart By Horses have built up a reputation over the Summer for putting on a show, and tonight was no different. Their art metal approach is dappled with powerpop, making them incredibly fun to thrash about to, but with an eye for melody.

The grinding guitars and pounding drums of ‘E = MC Hammer’ was the curtain opener, providing the perfect call to arms in this war against the twee and the spineless. New songs ‘Back To The Fuck Yeah’, ‘Soft Handed Punk’ and ‘Yeah Buddy’ also exploded onto the stage, amongst a smattering of stage dives, attempts to take down the air-fans and general onstage tomfoolery.

Second single, ‘High Five, Swan Dive, Nose Dive’, from their self-titled debut album, really brought home the sheer magnitude of Pulled Apart By Horses’ angst-fueled alternative rock. With a righteous instrumental and battle cry “I’ll make you dance with my balls on fire”, it showcased the Leeds foursome’s strange, ear-twisting splendour to phenomenal effect.

When the end of this spectacle was nigh, the crowd were reminded of how sexy they were a couple more times and then turfed out into a snow-sprinkled Sheffield, never to have their ears stop ringing again.