Bands Featured: The Foals, Jeffrey Lewis
Pic By Paul
A man-crush? Are you fucking kidding me? This was the reaction that I
received from a perfectly balanced and normally quite liberal
friend-of-a-friend to the proclamation that I, a heterosexual male, in a
strictly 'do not want to grab his balls' kind of way, might have what is
commonly known as a 'man-crush' on a musician whom I respect. His
reaction baffled me. It's not as if I have any desire to indulge in the
poor hygiene and random explosions of hair offered on the bodies of my
gender. This was made obvious, yet the reaction that I received was one of
bigotry and judgment. I guess that in my little world this comment is
perfectly acceptable and wouldn't have provoked even the slightest
response. However, I am becoming increasingly aware that my little world
is not particularly representative of the society in which it sits. This
could at some point become hazardous.
In this particular instance I was talking about Mr. Jeffrey Lewis, an American
singer/songwriter whose lyrical escepades have drawn particular praise from some pretty distinguished corners.
Be it alongside Helen Shriner, John Kessel, and David Beachamp, with the occasional assistance of his brother Jack, or collaboratively with The Wave Pictures, Herman Dune, Kimya Dawson or Diane Cluck, Lewis has constructed a powerful live experience. Indeed, it is via his live shows and an almost nomadic dedication to touring that he has funnelled his nervous charisma into the hearts of a significant, dedicated and growing audience. His music draws on America's rich folk tradition, embracing a rambling narrative form that is closely reminiscent of the best of early Bob Dylan. This narrative form is unquestionably autobiagraphical and blisteringly honest, harnassing an articulate and wity grasp of language that makes any Jeffrey Lewis album as much a class in story telling as it is an expression of music.
In short, this is really rather good.
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Pic By Rebecca Miller (www.rebeccamiller.org)
As a semi-regular visitor to San Francisco over the last 3 or 4 years, I have observed what appears to be a music scene heavily inspired by retro-Britannia. At first glance bands like Joy Division, The Smiths and The Cure appear to dominate the local imagination despite a rich legacy of local talent. As an Englishman I have always found this slightly baffling due to the distance between England and San Francisco. In fact I still can't put my finger on why this situation has evolved. I've speculated that maybe this distance has contributed to a sense of the exotic, or that California posseses a genuine outward looking culture. In reality, I don't really know. What I do know however, is that as a result, San Francisco has some of the most England friendly jukeboxes that I have ever encountered (even in England).
If you delve a little deeper however, you find that this influence isn't universal. For example, one band who bucks this trend is the Two Gallants (Adam Stephens and Tyson Vogel), who started gigging in and around San Francisco back in 2002. Their sound is one of dizzying timelessness and traditional Americana, an approach that immediately distinguishes them from other acts to have broken out of this city over the last 10 years. These boys write songs with purpose, and they deliver them with a rowdy spirit that courts influence from a combination of both Garage and Country Rock. This is proper American street poetry delivered in proper American style. Honest, powerful and definitely worth a listen.
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In an inquisitive bid to escape a recent hang-over, I decided to utilise a well known piece of software to look back at my listening habits from the last 6 months. In my rapidly disintegrating mind, it made sense that this effort might combat the swelling post beer misery that had consumed the large space behind my eyes. I was wrong. The consequence of my self-inflicted mental mutilation continued, and my suffering seeped well into the next day. Rest assured, I have learnt my lesson.
Suprisingly, one track that appears to have been consistently rotated through my ear phones over the past 6 months is Javier Montiel's 'Mountain Lion and Pelican'. Javier Montiel is a Californian singer song writer who is a close friend of very close friend of mine. His vocal is reminiscent of early Mark Bolan, and it glides effortlessly over simple warm melodies that deserve a bigger audience. This music is the definition of potential, and for anyone looking for a new acoustic sound it is definitely worth a listen.
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So the summer that never really was has passed, and with it so have a number of great bands who, one-by-one, have monopolised my ears. By far the cream of this crop has been The Fleet Foxes, who like The Dodo's (review) before them, have proved that there is still air in the lungs of contemporary acoustic music. Combining southern gospel and modern folk with appropriate and satisfying measure The Fleet Foxes write intricate songs that lend themselves to the lazy enjoyment of the elusive summer sun. Reminiscent of the great harmony groups from both sides of the pond, they draw influence from legendary bands such as Crosby Stills & Nash and The Fairport Convention without forcing a gag reflex. This is an impressive feat and one that deserves to be respected. In short, if you can imagine what the Beach Boys would have sounded like if they had never seen the ocean, you'll get the drift.
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