Somewhere into the third or fourth song of former Cardiff U students Los Campesinos’ live set at Electric Owl – after ear-tickler “Romance is Boring”, “Death to Los Campesinos!” and “Life is a Long Time” – I turned to my gig buddies.

“Huh.” I said.
“Huh, what?” Michelle asked.

“I was expecting them to come out swinging, like really, really BIG and blow my mind with high energy,” I said, or something to that effect. “But this is straddling a 7 out of 10. I reckon they’re halfway through the tour. This is a CLASSIC halfway gig. Still good, but halfway tired.” “Huh. Yeah.” Michelle said. “Mind you, the stage is really too small for all of them. They probably can’t move.”

And it was true, they couldn’t really move. And they couldn’t really dance. And they were tired. But Los Campesinos! were still charming. And not just because of song titles like “A Heat Rash in the Shape of the Show Me State; or, Letters from Me to Charlotte” and “The Sea is a Good Place to Think of the Future”.

Between knocking the appeal of his own band, celebrating the fact that former tour mates You Say Party! were in attendance, making jokes about their videos and sort of backhandedly complimenting Vancouver, singer Gareth Paisley did all the chatting. And it was endearing.

But not as endearing as the hand-written sign posted on his xylophone that said:  “Do not be afraid to make eye contact with girls.” D’awwww. Oh, Los Camp, you’re adorable.

Afterward a solid set of first, third and latest album songs, I asked guitarist Neil Beale where they were in terms of the tour. “Halfway!” he chirped. “Why? Could you tell? ‘Cos we were all totally knackered?” “Uh, yeah, I could,” I said, not wanting to lie to a cute, young Cardiffian. “Huh, yeah” he said, smiling.

The next day, I got a tweet from Gareth on Twitter. “We’re weren’t knackered! The stage was just too small to dance!” he wrote. Uh, yeah, we got that, but that’s not what the three brunettes with beards in your band said, friend.

But still, I really like you Los Campesinos!  And tired…happens. Touring is tough, I geddit. Especially when you have a hard time looking hot girls in the eye. \m/

Los Campesinos live at the Electric Owl was a co-production between the equally rad music site SceneintheDark.com and Timbre Concerts. Both of whom I love.

The funny, sweet and remarkable show included odes to the house Palmer grew up in, Judy Blume, Lady Gaga, Joan of Arc and the small guitar thing known as the ukulele. It included an intense “Runs in the Family” from Who Killed Amanda Palmer? There were both “I’ll Be My Mirror” (from the 8 in 8 Project) AND “I’ll Be Your Mirror” a cover of the Velvet Underground classic. There was a hilarious take on
the Peter Cook/Dudley Moore sketch, “Jump, You Fucker Jump” (which was dedicated to actor Jeremy Geidt “even though he isn’t here to know that we’ve dedicated it to him.”). There was a brilliant Neil-done version of “Psycho” by Leon Payne (“You think I’m psycho, don’t you mama?”). And there were tears when Amanda dedicated her Death Cab for Cutie cover “I Will Follow You Into the Dark” to 23-year-old Ashlie Gough, who died at the Occupy Vancouver camp of an overdose.

There were poems and short stories, some never read live before and some exceptional (“Feminine Endings” – about a human statue, a story Neil sent to Amanda when he’d learned that she used be a human statue, “Before You Read This”, “Instructions”, “Orange” and Amanda’s chilling “Broken Heart Stew” among them.) And there was the EPIC and essential “Ukulele Anthem”, plus lots of kissin’ and lovin’ between the married performers on stage. And if that wasn’t enough? Thanks for flashin’ us your Australia flag underwear, AFP!

In other words, extraordinary. \m/

Enjoy the photos – all by Wayne Höecherl.

And don’t forget to check out the exclusive BackstageRider photo shoot with Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer, too!

T’would be a show filled with merriment and delight, hot ukulele action and poetry, laughter and music, Q&As and surprises, and be held in front of packed houses in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Vancouver, Portland and Seattle.

NeilandAmanda (no spaces, for I am convinced they are indeed one) are lower-case h heroes. To me, to countless. They’re heroes to readers and geeks, to libraries and comic collectors, to music fans and hipsters, to Occupy Wall Street supporters and social media addicts, and to most of the known alternative universe that possesses some form of discerning taste.

Neil and I had already bonded on Twitter over rockhands and an Indie Rock doc I was helping to promote, so I pitched him an idea: when they were in Vancouver, would they like to do a quick photoshoot for my little space on the interwebs? It’d be exclusive and we wouldn’t take up any of their time.

Neil agreed, bless him.

But time is what NeilandAmanda didn’t have.

Amanda had forgotten her passport in the US so was delayed a day. Upon arrival –  - on November 6, NeilandAmanda most likely kissed quickly and then  headed straight off to a “Ninja” gig at a local shoe store where Amanda performed. “Then they marched on to Occupy Vancouver, where she performed again in support of the local movement. THEN they came back for soundcheck, where we were waiting to pounce. (To be precise: I was out back having a cheeky cig with Aussie Tom Dickins of brilliant openers The Jane Austen Argument, while the crew of photographer Wayne Höecherl plus assistants Madhava Musterer and Syx Langemann, set up lights.) We needed to be speedy. Time is precious when you’re NeilandAmanda and have Kickstarter supporters to meet, piano to practice, voices to warm, poems to pace out and tweets to Twitter.

But what luck! A tremendous set brimming with props had been created by Heidi Wilkinson from our Bard on the Beach Shakespearean Festival and Jessie van Rijn of Carousel Theatre, causing Amanda to gasp as she walked in: “Why does the set look so amazing?” “That’s for the photoshoot,” Neil replied, incorrectly, though for a moment I wanted to believe it was all for us. Later at the show, the set shone just as much as the two people who were on it.

Before we had our minutes to snap, I chatted with with Neil – about his first book on Duran Duran, about the 6ths album Wasps Nest, about Craig Ferguson and the Isle of Skye. He drew a Sandman inside my 7lb Absolute Vol. 1 collection while Amanda prettified downstairs (a ruse, surely, as THEY ARE ONE and SHE is naturally beautiful), then came up in a dress that she needed Neil to zip up. She tumbled out – bra and boobs in front of us, thigh-high stockings on, underwear with an Australian flag on it – but told the photographers that she was “more comfortable naked”. I love Amanda Palmer. You should also love Amanda Palmer if you don’t already.

We snapped pictures. Amanda grinned and laughed, as if the next thing she had to do was just relax rather than meet a horde of fans downstairs, then play a three-hour show. But needs must. And so, after a few generous minutes, NeilandAmanda disappeared into the basement of the Vogue Theatre to meet fans, all over again. And we stood there giddy.

It turns out, this is the only styled photoshoot on a set, from the whole tour. To inappropriately hashtag: #BackstageRiderFullofWin

Here are just a few of the pictures from that Sunday afternoon. A full live gallery of the show will be coming soon, and you can click on all pics to embiggen them. We hope you enjoy. \m/

Photos are copyright Wayne Höecherl. Plese visit Ordeal.ca and WAHpix.com for more information. Many, many thanks to Wayne,  Madhava and Syx for volunteering their time, and to Neil, Amanda, Jaron and SuperKate. Please do not reproduce photos without consent.

I mean, it’s like the lad has a bag of snooker balls rammed inside his gob and he’s chanting stuff that doesn’t even compute when you read the lyrics. A repeated promise, like in “Dirt” of  ”Go tell fire” ends up sounding like “Ah woon-teh fie! AH!”, but that’s WU LYF for you. They don’t need to make sense – they’re a band of bolshy Mancunian 20s on their first North American tour, and all they really need to do is live up to the hype set out before them by chin-stroking European music writers.

After all, World Unite Lucifer Youth Foundation coulda just been full of crap: they wouldn’t be the first band to carefully customize their story/mystery for maximum impact.

And six months ago, I had that very same debate with myself. Shit or good? Debut album Go Tell Fire to the Mountain is filled with drums that sound like they’re being hit with a mace, early Stone Rose/shoegaze guitar and THAT MARBLE-MOUTHED VOICE of Ellery spitting out anthems. It was…a bit samey across all tracks, but still kinda different overall. Do we need another young British band with a meticulously crafted anti-image? Uh, yeah, why not?

So there they are, up on stage at Vancouver’s Electric Owl, for the first time, and the place is rammed. Who, other than a smattering of Anglophiles, have heard of these guys? The sold-out crowd, apparently. I’m not caught out often, but this surprises me.

By the time openers Crystal Antlers complete their fuzzy neo-post-current-whatever-psychedelia set, and WU leave us hanging for nearly an hour, it’s a quarter-past-feral, and the audience of mostly boys and chaps with beards are two drinks beyond the fun threshold.  They chant “WU-LIFE! WU-LIFE!” (but those of us in the real know, know it’s WU-LIFF, that’s how Ellery sez it), braying for the lads to get on stage. I reckon the boys are backstage drinking, ‘cos when they do materialize, Ellery croaks (and I do mean 20-packs-of-Marlboros-a-day croaks) that he’s kinda wankered.

The expectation is high. For some of us, really high. Maybe too high? I’m excited but my arms are metaphorically crossed.  OH GODS DON’T LET THEM DISAPPOINT.

So they hop on (Ellery on vocals, keys, Joe on drums, Evans on guitar, Tom on bass) and Ellery’s voice rumbles like Tom Waits with an electrolarynx. Then the drums go and the guitar goes, and while most of the mumble sound the same, there’s anthems in there, and the crowd is going mental. And by mental I mean, shirts are off onstage, shirts are off offstage, the crowd’s jumping and pushing in, and one scraggler decides for some reason to stand right up at the front with his middle finger up, and in Ellery’s face. When Ellery politely barks “Can ye stop doing that? It’s fookin’ annoyin’”  and when Evans says “Vancouvah, ye’ve got a beyoutiful citeh, but there’s one knucklehead innit. That guy. He’s a bein’ a dick,” the security guards move in to prepare for kick off. Mountain man eventually starts a punch up in the crowd…then gets extricated at speed of light.

But that’s okay. “Cave Song”, “Spitting Blood” and “Concrete Gold” and “LYF” all sounded good enough to distract. “Heavy Pop” was introduced by Ellery by way of “We are the foundation…this is the foundation. You are the foundation.” Yeah…whatever. But “Dirt”? AH WOON TEH FIE AH!/WORLD/ U-NIGH-AH/ LOVE YOU FA EVAH”!!!! Pretty damn BIG.

And just when the tick box of “huh, actually meets expectation” was about to be checked, they come on with the chant “We Bros” for their final encore. The crowd is shouting the chorus (or some close approximation) back at ‘em, Ellery showers them with water, invites a girl (later to be attached to his hip) up on stage to grind in front of ‘em, then stagedives into the small club’s crowd. It’s not new, and it’s not terribly clever, but it is fun. You can see for yourself in the iPhone video I took from sidestage below.

WU LYF: Expectation exceeded. Go tell fire to the mountain. \m/

Incredible sense of deja vu (and depression at the reality of my age) at the Tasseomancy/Young Galaxy/Austra gig the other night.

I mean, I was there the FIRST time that awesome Canadian new wave music made the rounds. LOVED it then. All the weirdo indie bands? The Spoons? Martha & The Muffins (“Echo Beach” era)? “Images in Vogue? Moev? Blue Peter? Platinum Blonde? Chalk Circle? Loved.

And okay, while the twins in Tasseomancy (Sari and Romy Lightman, who are also in Austra) sort of offer up the more modern/experimental Quiet Coco Rosie thing, Young Galaxy and Austra – possibly two of the best new bands in Canada – now totally OWN the early 80s synth darkwave thing.

And live? It even includes the sort of go-away-come-back-push-up-to-the-sky goth dancing!

Now I don’t mean to be musically reductionist. The music I loved then is the music I get to love again now, only it’s new. With a twist. Stunning vocals, looping layers, shoegaze and groove…. Yeah – this was a a triple bill of supersexy. Check out Austra’s Feel It Break and Young Galaxy’s Shapeshifting, now.

Right, off to sharpen my black eyeliner and remind myself how to draw Siousxie cat eyes. \m/

Mike Doughty is great at hawking his wares. His merch girl Jess wears a superhero cape, he’ll sell you a copy of THE GIG YOU JUST SAW right after THE GIG YOU JUST SAW, and he’ll sign anything. “If you bring a chandelier up, I will sign it. If you bring an ocelot up, I will sign that, too.” he explained in one of several attempts to let the assembled Neumos mass know he had stuffs for sale. Dude understands that to be an independent artist, survival is not just based on an excellent catalog (check! New album Yes And Also Yes, is probably my fave of his) but also in the merch and the touching of fans. And after a truly rad set featuring Doughty and His Band Fantastic, tons of folks took him up on that and queued up to buy stuffs, and meet and greet small rock’s clever troubadour. There were, however, no ocelots. Disappointment.

But not disappointing? Doughty’s well-known for his wit, groovy guitar rock, deep voice and being a fine poet and bender of words. So, natch, the guy’s gonna play a solid set. Why’d you miss it?

So let’s talk about Band Fantastic – for it’s been a while since Doughty’s been out on the road group-stylee and left the Question Jar at home. Fantastic Band? It’s not a misnomer, they really were – to see pianist Dan Chen tickling both ivories old-school and synth, the Panderers’ Pete McNeal bashing out drums and longtime Doughty foil Andrew “Scrap” Livingston on electric bass, all together, was a treat. It gave a fullness to the songs, in a way that my ears haven’t heard live for a while. (And that’s saying something, me and Mike D go wayyy back.)

He’s not just funny, sly (when folks kept calling for Soul Coughing songs – poor guy – he suggested: “Uh you’d best go back and Wikipedia that shit”) or a skilled guitarist (his green Fender Coronado is THE SEXY), but he gives good rockstar too. You sorta forget that when he’s sitting doing the cost-effective stripped-down shows… this was a was a nice reminder.

Anyway. I digged, the folks there dug, the set started with “(I Keep On) Rising Up”, merged into “27 Jennifers” and “Tremendous Brunettes”, then veered into a smofe and smattering of pretty much, you know, a smorgasbord of the louder tracks in the solo cannon. My picks? The rockity rolling of “Ossining”  and deep slow of “Down on the River by the Sugar Plant”. “Rational Man” and the popgood “Na Na Nothing, and funktastic “Vegetable” were also stellar.

But the bestest? Doughty – who’s not known for suffering loud-talking fools gladly – seems to have a new pet peeve. And one that I fully “Hell Yeah!” him on. Giant Tall Blonde Girl With Glasses In the Front Row, though probably sweet, and whom looked slightly bored through the entire gig, decided to start texting. And stay texting. For a while. Not just a quick, “ooh I took a picture and sent it to Twitter!” (I do that all the time), but for yonks. This act caught the bespectacled singer’s eye, who shot her a dagger. She kept texting. What’s a boy to do? Oh, you know, snatch it from her hands, and take pictures of the band with her phone. Dan Chen even posed with her for a photo.”Tsk tsk-ing” in a nice way? LOTS OF WIN, Mike Doughty!

After the groovy show, I hugged the Scrapman, chatted with other Canadian “Kashmir” Dan (formerly-known-as, though-still “Handsome” Dan), caught up with Doughty (he thanked me “for making the rip…wait? Rip? Why the fuck did I say that? I meant TRIP”), then went to collect my CD of the show.  But I didn’t need to get it signed. No, I’mma gonna wait until I have an ocelot.\m/

UK dance musician/producer Aaron Jerome (the mysterious man behind the mask of SBTRKT) made his Vancouver debut on October 25 at Fortune Sound Club and brought with him his singer sidekick Sampha, a chap who handled extra programming, steel drums and vocals, as the two-piece railed through a hybrid set of scattershot electro, house, dubstep, garage and smooth soul. Wearing the expected tribal masks (SBTRKT prefers to go “anonymous” in interviews so that folks focus the music, not the man, apparently), the duo’s set started out a mite glitchy. There were samples and beats going slightly awry, but it all warmed up nicely, as did Sampha’s strong voice.

And who knew Jerome was a decent drummer? He bashed out behind a kit for parts of the set and provided a wicked backbeat. Chicago house and soul are not typically on the BSR dance card – electro, D n’ B and techno, thanks! – but there were glimmers of that, in there as well. And the Drake/Little Dragon mashup remix of “Wildfire“? Excellent. So yeah, good to see the man behind the mask. \m/

To be precise, it was Beth Gibbons’ voice that rose above it all.

Every past ache and strain, every quiver, every broken heart and moment of anguish seemed to have been somehow recaptured and remembered. Gibbons spent little time talking, and sometimes had her back to the audience, hands fast at her side. The band – Adrian Utley on guitars/keys, Geoff Barrow doing programming and second percussion, plus a drummer, guitarist and keyboardist - hid in front of generous, lush projections on a massive screen. And though she’d apparently stagedived (!) at other shows, tonight was controlled.

From the opening of “Silence” through to the big-cheer-songs (“Sour Times” “Mysterons” and the wonderful “Glory Box” – with its own distortion freakout towards the end), via “Over” (the wicked scratching by Barrow reminding people of how the band earned itself the “hop” side of the “trip hop” name), past the stuttering “Machine Gun” and its hypnotic gunfire backbeat, and into the dark new wave ambient of “Chase the Tear”, it was obvious that Portishead was going to own our asses tonight.

Alongside the really, really good moments, there were perfect ones too. “The Rip” (from claustrophobic album Third) started – as it does – wavering and  insecure, a lone guitar next to Beth singing of her fantasy of white horses taking her away, then built slowly into a kind of  spellbinding Kraftwerk drone. Stunning track on Third, stunning track live.

Then there was “Wandering Star”, a song performed so flawlessly that the audience fell silent, and fell hard. You could hear NOTHING but Beth Gibbons in that infernal warehouse, and it was beautiful…note-perfect, emotionally charged and magnetic. Even the soundman was beaming and nodding. Moments like that are hard to come by, and harder still to enjoy in a place like the Forum. So just imagine what Portishead would be like in a venue that deserved them. \m/

You know you’re at a hipster show when you make a joke about the “guy in the toque” (beanie/knit hat for you Americans) and your friend asks “which one”? Such was the crowd as East Lahhhndon foursome Male Bonding (now! With added live guitarist Nathan Hewitt from Cheatahs!) at the Electric Owl Lounge in Vancouver on October 21st.

But whatever – hipsters can sometimes be appreciative, fingers-on-the-pulse indie rock punk pop soothsayers who comb through underground blogs to find the next Sub Pop buzz band. And so, we hipsters present: Male Bonding! Whom I really dig! Who live in my former London ‘hood! Who are typically a trio – John Arthur Webb, Kevin Hendrick, Robin Silas Christian – and whom have a new album Endless Now! An album that crunches and wails and yet layers some pretty awesome shoegaze and hooks in! It’s like Dinosaur Jr. meets Ride! The Pale Saints guitars when they rocked out! The English band Revolver not the French one!

Yeah, something like that.

And despite jetlag and singer/lead guitarist John’s sorta lack-of-engagement, they rallied most sportingly through about 16 or so songs both new and old (from 2010’s  Nothing Hurts), with “Tame the Sun” and “Bones” sounding pretty vast while “T.U.F.F.” “Pumpkin” and “Weird Feelings” were each an expeditious 2 minutes of awesome. Because really, two minutes or so is all a good punk pop song needs.  Mmm, yeah, nice one Male Bonding. Good Friday night. Next time, us hipsters might share you with a few others. \m/