Music
Wilderness Festival review
Virtual Festivals, August 2013
http://www.virtualfestivals.com/latest/news/14177
Electric Daisy Carnival preview (wrongly bylined)
Boxfresh blog, July 2013
http://www.blogboxfresh.com/boxfresh/electric-daisy-carnival/
The Rest is Noise festival feature
Scout London, January 2013
Danny Rampling & Shoom feature
Scout London, December 2012
http://www.scoutlondon.com/2012/12/07/danny-rampling-rave-new-world/
Lovers Rock feature
South London Press, October 2011
Influential reggae sub-genre Lovers Rock is the subject of a new documentary which is taking London cinemas by storm. DAN FROST speaks to the film's director Menelik Shabazz
A COUPLE of weeks ago a documentary called The Story Of Lovers Rock received a limited release in a handful of London cinemas. And it took them all by surprise.
Most only booked it for one night, but quickly extended the run when their initial screenings sold out well in advance. In South London, where Lovers Rock was born, both the Ritzy in Brixton and the Streatham Odeon had to turn people away on opening night, and ended up scheduling additional shows to cope with demand.
And up in Dalston, the manager of the Rio Cinema bet the film's director, Menelik Shabazz, that he couldn't sell out all 402 seats.
Menelik won the bet - comfortably.
"He had to pay up £10," the 57-year-old director says with a satisfied chuckle. "None of them really thought it would have much of an impact, so it's been a case of proving to them that this was real - that it's an important film about an important genre of music."
That it is indeed. Though the music industry of the time didn't take it particularly seriously, this down-tempo reggae sub-genre was hugely significant, both musically and socially. And it provided the adolescent soundtrack for thousands of black (and some white) youths growing up in the UK in the late 70s and early 80s.
"The film connects viewers to an era," Menlik tells me when we speak on the phone. "It connects people back to a time when teenagers were experiencing first love and things like that. Those are always strongly nostalgic, deeply-rooted moments, and the film taps into that."
It also taps into the social situations which helped to create the music. Black Londoners were living through hard times in the late 70s - poverty and police oppression were rife, and racism was widespread.
Menelik's previous films all have a strong political focus, and it's easy to see this film - funny and feel-good though it might be - in the same light.
"Lovers Rock isn't itself political," he says, "but it provided a healing from what was happening on the streets. That's where it fits into the story.
"The music and the close intimate dance that went with it was a kind of healing. You got your hug every week - which wasn't coming from anywhere else - and it provided an important connection with another person in a kind of ritual space. It kind of counteracted the pressures that were happening outside - the SUS laws, the police brutality, the racist attacks, all of that."
Most only booked it for one night, but quickly extended the run when their initial screenings sold out well in advance. In South London, where Lovers Rock was born, both the Ritzy in Brixton and the Streatham Odeon had to turn people away on opening night, and ended up scheduling additional shows to cope with demand.
And up in Dalston, the manager of the Rio Cinema bet the film's director, Menelik Shabazz, that he couldn't sell out all 402 seats.
Menelik won the bet - comfortably.
"He had to pay up £10," the 57-year-old director says with a satisfied chuckle. "None of them really thought it would have much of an impact, so it's been a case of proving to them that this was real - that it's an important film about an important genre of music."
That it is indeed. Though the music industry of the time didn't take it particularly seriously, this down-tempo reggae sub-genre was hugely significant, both musically and socially. And it provided the adolescent soundtrack for thousands of black (and some white) youths growing up in the UK in the late 70s and early 80s.
"The film connects viewers to an era," Menlik tells me when we speak on the phone. "It connects people back to a time when teenagers were experiencing first love and things like that. Those are always strongly nostalgic, deeply-rooted moments, and the film taps into that."
It also taps into the social situations which helped to create the music. Black Londoners were living through hard times in the late 70s - poverty and police oppression were rife, and racism was widespread.
Menelik's previous films all have a strong political focus, and it's easy to see this film - funny and feel-good though it might be - in the same light.
"Lovers Rock isn't itself political," he says, "but it provided a healing from what was happening on the streets. That's where it fits into the story.
"The music and the close intimate dance that went with it was a kind of healing. You got your hug every week - which wasn't coming from anywhere else - and it provided an important connection with another person in a kind of ritual space. It kind of counteracted the pressures that were happening outside - the SUS laws, the police brutality, the racist attacks, all of that."
Lovers Rock grew out of the South London soundsystem culture of the mid 70s, with singers such as Ginger Williams and Louisa Mark having early hits and helping to create the distinctive young female vocal sound that characterised the genre's early years.
It was this sound that Jamaican immigrant Dennis Harris wanted to produce when he set up a recording studio at his Brockley home, alongside an affiliated label called Lovers Rock. The sound spread quickly, and this soon became the adopted name for the new genre.
Singers such as Carroll Thompson, Janet Kay and Sandra Cross emerged as the stars of Lovers Rock, but its impact spread far wider. Acts including The Police and Culture Club owe it a major debt, and it paved the way for major reggae artists such as Maxi Priest and UB40.
Nevertheless, the most significant thing about Lovers Rock is that it is a part of reggae that is uniquely British - and one in which black women hold the dominant share.
"Lovers Rock ran counterpoint to the roots scene, which had a very male energy," explains Menelik. "But here was a kind of reggae with a very strong female element - it was kind of the first girl power movement.
"It was about love and feelings, and what people were experiencing in their relationships, so it represented the other side of the coin. Reggae has always had two sides - the political side and the love side - and women basically took ownership of the lovers' strand. It was really a female response to what was going on on the streets."
It was also the first kind of music ever to speak directly to a new generation of black British women.
Unlike their parents - the Windrush generation - most young black Londoners in the mid 70s had either been born in the UK or had arrived as little kids. Their connection to their parents' homeland was distant and often intangible, while their sense of belonging in Britain was tested by racist torment. Lovers Rock gave these young women a cultural product that was uniquely theirs, and which helped to shape their identity through difficult times.
It is issues of identity which go to the heart of why Lovers Rock is so significant, and why The Story Of Lovers Rock has had such an enthusiastic response. It was more than just a short-lived reggae sub-genre; it was a cultural movement of great power and significance - particularly for the young Londoners that embraced it.
And, as the manager of the Rio Cinema recently discovered, it's the kind of movement you're wise not to bet against.
The Story Of Lovers Rock is currently on general release. Visit www.loversrockthefilm.com.
Ghostpoet interview
South London Press, August 2011
South London has its strongest ever showing at this year's Mercury Prize, with five of the
12 nominees coming from the local area. DAN FROST speaks to Tooting rapper Ghostpoet,
whose debut album is in the running for the prestigious accolade
Tooting rapper Ghostpoet
EITHER he's very good at putting a brave face on, or life for Ghostpoet isn't quite as hard as his music suggests.
The 28-year-old rapper from Tooting, real name Obaro Ejimiwe, is all wit and charm when we speak, laughing regularly and even cracking a few jokes. To say it's surprising is an understatement - this is the man whose debut album, Peanut Butter Blues & Melancholy Jam, is bleaker than an Arctic winter. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration. But the impression is still of a weary soul, for whom life is to be endured not enjoyed.
"I guess, looking back, maybe it’s a bit too melancholy," he says with a warm chuckle. "But it's not all autobiographical, it’s a combination of my life and the lives of people I know, as well as things I read and see and hear - it's a reflection of life in general."
And is life in general really that depressing?
"Well, that interpretation is true to me. That was how I felt at the time and how I felt things needed to be said. I’m proud of that, and if I was to do it again I’d do it the same way - based only on how I was feeling at the time."
Indeed he should be proud. Gloomy though it might be, PBB&MJ is a great debut offering - inventive, often beautiful and atmospheric to the max. Many tracks hinge on glitchy, understated beats and sparse backing tracks, and they've duly had critics scrabbling around with various hip-hop and trip-hop related tags, the confusion fuelled by Ejimiwe's wonderfully enigmatic delivery - a lazy, Roots Mauva-ish baritone.
In short, it's an interesting album and a welcome crossover success. So it wasn't too surprising when it bagged a nomination for the Mercury Prize.
"It's amazing," Ejimiwe says enthusiastically when I bring it up. "You know, it’s a really strange thing. When I made this album there was no thinking at all about awards or accolades or anything like that. I don’t even know how many I’ve sold – I don’t make music for that.
"But at the same time, it’s just amazing to be recognised for such an award, and to be associated with the Adeles, the Tinie Tempahs, the Katy Bs – the big stars...everyone in fact. They’re all really talented people and it’s fantastic to be recognised next to them. It’s really encouraging and it’s giving me the motivation to keep pushing forward."
I ask him what he did to celebrate after the nomination. He laughs. "Uhhh, went to a little cafe....had a coffee....little bit of tea, then....went to bed." He bursts out laughing again, and I jibe him at his lack of rock'n'roll excess. "Well it was all over about 6ish - I had to go home and feed the dog."
The 28-year-old rapper from Tooting, real name Obaro Ejimiwe, is all wit and charm when we speak, laughing regularly and even cracking a few jokes. To say it's surprising is an understatement - this is the man whose debut album, Peanut Butter Blues & Melancholy Jam, is bleaker than an Arctic winter. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration. But the impression is still of a weary soul, for whom life is to be endured not enjoyed.
"I guess, looking back, maybe it’s a bit too melancholy," he says with a warm chuckle. "But it's not all autobiographical, it’s a combination of my life and the lives of people I know, as well as things I read and see and hear - it's a reflection of life in general."
And is life in general really that depressing?
"Well, that interpretation is true to me. That was how I felt at the time and how I felt things needed to be said. I’m proud of that, and if I was to do it again I’d do it the same way - based only on how I was feeling at the time."
Indeed he should be proud. Gloomy though it might be, PBB&MJ is a great debut offering - inventive, often beautiful and atmospheric to the max. Many tracks hinge on glitchy, understated beats and sparse backing tracks, and they've duly had critics scrabbling around with various hip-hop and trip-hop related tags, the confusion fuelled by Ejimiwe's wonderfully enigmatic delivery - a lazy, Roots Mauva-ish baritone.
In short, it's an interesting album and a welcome crossover success. So it wasn't too surprising when it bagged a nomination for the Mercury Prize.
"It's amazing," Ejimiwe says enthusiastically when I bring it up. "You know, it’s a really strange thing. When I made this album there was no thinking at all about awards or accolades or anything like that. I don’t even know how many I’ve sold – I don’t make music for that.
"But at the same time, it’s just amazing to be recognised for such an award, and to be associated with the Adeles, the Tinie Tempahs, the Katy Bs – the big stars...everyone in fact. They’re all really talented people and it’s fantastic to be recognised next to them. It’s really encouraging and it’s giving me the motivation to keep pushing forward."
I ask him what he did to celebrate after the nomination. He laughs. "Uhhh, went to a little cafe....had a coffee....little bit of tea, then....went to bed." He bursts out laughing again, and I jibe him at his lack of rock'n'roll excess. "Well it was all over about 6ish - I had to go home and feed the dog."
As you can probably tell, there's a pleasant humility to Ejimiwe. No doubt he's one of the Mercury's outside choices (his odds are currently hovering between 7/1 and 11/1 on the betting sites), but it's still a huge honour, and you get the sense he wouldn't let it go to his head even if he was the frontrunner.
In fact, the impression is of a simple, self-contained and rather ordinary life. He speaks of his "Mrs", and the house they own back in Coventry, where they met at university. And when I ask how he first started making music, he tells me that as a teenager he "got some decks", before immediately asking: "Do they still call them that?"
The feeling is of a man disconnected from the fickleness of cool and whatever might be happening 'in the scene'. And no doubt this is what allowed him to make such a distinctive and individual album.
Having begun as a grime MC at university - very much in the scene - he gradually drifted away as he grew older, developing as an artist.
"I felt with grime, it was great at the time and it was the first British kind of music that I really got into, but it was a bit too limiting for what I wanted to do," he says. "I didn't know what that was, I just wanted to do something different, something experimental. I knew it wasn’t hip-hop in the traditional sense, and I knew it wasn’t grime. I just knew I wanted to do something that was more a representation of me."
A key moment came when he started writing his own beats - invariably at a slower pace - allowing him to stretch words and experiment with his delivery. I ask him if there were any major influences guiding him at this stage.
"I think you do need to look at the past to move forward, and I listen to a lot of music," he says. "But I guess when I made this album it was just me wanting to be me, and not wanting to think about genre or interpreting anyone else."
There are certainly shadows of other artists on PBB&MJ. But it's a thoroughly original album nonetheless; the obvious result of a personal musical journey that is that of the artist alone.
And so we come back to the uncomfortable relationship between a seemingly upbeat, happy artist and the music of a tortured soul.
I tell Ejimiwe that he seems a lot happier in person than on record, which inspires another big laugh.
"Yeah people say that a lot...I dunno, I guess I just like moody music. I don't think I could make happy music."
Peanut Butter Blues & Melancholy Jam is available now. Visit www.ghostpoet.co.uk for more information. The Mercury Prize winner will be announced on September 6.
In fact, the impression is of a simple, self-contained and rather ordinary life. He speaks of his "Mrs", and the house they own back in Coventry, where they met at university. And when I ask how he first started making music, he tells me that as a teenager he "got some decks", before immediately asking: "Do they still call them that?"
The feeling is of a man disconnected from the fickleness of cool and whatever might be happening 'in the scene'. And no doubt this is what allowed him to make such a distinctive and individual album.
Having begun as a grime MC at university - very much in the scene - he gradually drifted away as he grew older, developing as an artist.
"I felt with grime, it was great at the time and it was the first British kind of music that I really got into, but it was a bit too limiting for what I wanted to do," he says. "I didn't know what that was, I just wanted to do something different, something experimental. I knew it wasn’t hip-hop in the traditional sense, and I knew it wasn’t grime. I just knew I wanted to do something that was more a representation of me."
A key moment came when he started writing his own beats - invariably at a slower pace - allowing him to stretch words and experiment with his delivery. I ask him if there were any major influences guiding him at this stage.
"I think you do need to look at the past to move forward, and I listen to a lot of music," he says. "But I guess when I made this album it was just me wanting to be me, and not wanting to think about genre or interpreting anyone else."
There are certainly shadows of other artists on PBB&MJ. But it's a thoroughly original album nonetheless; the obvious result of a personal musical journey that is that of the artist alone.
And so we come back to the uncomfortable relationship between a seemingly upbeat, happy artist and the music of a tortured soul.
I tell Ejimiwe that he seems a lot happier in person than on record, which inspires another big laugh.
"Yeah people say that a lot...I dunno, I guess I just like moody music. I don't think I could make happy music."
Peanut Butter Blues & Melancholy Jam is available now. Visit www.ghostpoet.co.uk for more information. The Mercury Prize winner will be announced on September 6.
Kaz Simmons interview
South London Press, August 2011
Kaz Simmons has gone from straight-forward jazz hopeful to musically-ambiguous singer-songwriter, with far more interesting prospects. She tells DAN FROST about the shift in direction, and how it won her some strangely devoted fans
Singer Kaz Simmons
"HAVE a look at this," says Kaz Simmons excitedly. Retrieving her iPhone from her bag, she flicks through the photos and stops on a picture of a young woman with the words "we make our own way" tattooed on the back of her shoulder.
"They're my lyrics," says Kaz proudly. I raise my eyebrows, impressed but also minorly concerned - one day it's a tattoo, the next it's night vision in the bushes.
I ask her if any other fans have offered similar gestures of support.
"No," she giggles, implying that such an idea is preposterous. "I doubt it'll ever happen again...but I'm really chuffed."
This is an interesting element of the Kaz Simmons story. She is, in the grand scheme of things, a small-fry singer-songwriter with a fanbase that could probably all fit into one medium-sized venue. But what fans she has often seem to take her to their hearts with surprising levels of devotion.
The tattoo is one example. Another is a YouTube video showing a young female fan seemingly on the verge of a tearful breakdown during one of Kaz's gigs. Maybe she had other things going on...or maybe not.
"I make people cry at my gigs a lot of the time," Kaz says, an embarrassed smile creeping onto her face. "I have random people come up to me in tears sometimes. Someone came up to me after Almost [one of many songs themed around romantic rejection] and said quite tearfully, 'Oh my God, that's my life'."
The impression might be, after reading some of these quotes, that Kaz has a rather inflated ego. But this couldn't be further from the truth. Perched awkwardly on a sofa in a Camberwell pub, she looks a fraction of her 32 years, and has a sweetly innocent persona to match. Supporting many comments with an insecure, child-like giggle, she is evidently uncomfortable talking about herself, and a far cry from arrogant starlet.
This sense of grounded humility might be one of the reasons why fans embrace her with such commitment. Another is that her fragile brand of jazz/folk is devoid of all pretension and quite disarmingly personal. Recent album Dandelions is essentially a large and impeccably clean window onto her tumultuous love life. Short of naming names, it's as close as you'll get to reading her diary.
But this is a relatively recent approach for the Hove-born girl, who now lives in Grove Park. Having begun as a jazz singer, her last two albums were dominated by standards, and her pitch aimed more squarely at the soft jazz market.
This album, however, is a far more personal affair - all original, soul-bearing material - and more stylistically complex.
"With my last album, I really didn't like it that much by the time it came out," Kaz reveals. "But with this one, it's definitely me, and I'm really happy with it. It's less jazz, but all my influences are in there - jazz, Brazilian, pop, folk....someone even said Kate Bush."
Indeed, arranger Riaan Vosloo has helped Kaz to create a rich and wonderfully textured album that swims with influences even as it exerts an unmistakable personality of its own. You can hear Damon Albarn next to Joni Mitchell next to Kaz's beloved Rufus Wainwright (whose music inspired her to start writing her own songs).
And there is another style that Kaz doesn't initially mention but which is, to my ears, glisteningly clear in many of her melodies and chord structures: musical theatre.
"I think that's partly Rufus's influence," says Kaz, referring to the American singer's Broadway-indebted pop. "But then, I grew up with West Side Story and all the Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals, so maybe it's a subconscious influence. Songs I've written recently I think are quite musical theatre, but I'd never thought about it until someone said it. Now I've started think 'oh god do I sound like Julie Andrews subconsciously?'."
I reassure her: she sounds nothing like Julie Andrews. In fact, Kaz's voice is entirely her own, about as honest and unaffected as you can get. Next to the soul-bearing confessionalism of her material, her voice is likely another reason why fans develop such strong bonds with the music.
Towards the end of our conversation, I ask her if she ever considers writing about more frivolous, less personal matters - though I already have an idea about the reply.
"Well, maybe I should try...it's just really hard writing about other people."
Maybe a political song? I joke.
"No!" she says, sounding scared by the idea alone. "I don't trust myself with anything other than me. I'm unsure of so much. If I've seen something on the news and I recount it to someone, I'm like 'oh, did I get all the facts right?'."
In which case, it probably is best for Kaz Simmons to stick to what she knows best...else one poor girl is liable to end up with a string of inaccurate tattoos.
Dandelions by Kaz Simmons is available now from all major outlets. Visit www.kazsimmons.com for information.
"They're my lyrics," says Kaz proudly. I raise my eyebrows, impressed but also minorly concerned - one day it's a tattoo, the next it's night vision in the bushes.
I ask her if any other fans have offered similar gestures of support.
"No," she giggles, implying that such an idea is preposterous. "I doubt it'll ever happen again...but I'm really chuffed."
This is an interesting element of the Kaz Simmons story. She is, in the grand scheme of things, a small-fry singer-songwriter with a fanbase that could probably all fit into one medium-sized venue. But what fans she has often seem to take her to their hearts with surprising levels of devotion.
The tattoo is one example. Another is a YouTube video showing a young female fan seemingly on the verge of a tearful breakdown during one of Kaz's gigs. Maybe she had other things going on...or maybe not.
"I make people cry at my gigs a lot of the time," Kaz says, an embarrassed smile creeping onto her face. "I have random people come up to me in tears sometimes. Someone came up to me after Almost [one of many songs themed around romantic rejection] and said quite tearfully, 'Oh my God, that's my life'."
The impression might be, after reading some of these quotes, that Kaz has a rather inflated ego. But this couldn't be further from the truth. Perched awkwardly on a sofa in a Camberwell pub, she looks a fraction of her 32 years, and has a sweetly innocent persona to match. Supporting many comments with an insecure, child-like giggle, she is evidently uncomfortable talking about herself, and a far cry from arrogant starlet.
This sense of grounded humility might be one of the reasons why fans embrace her with such commitment. Another is that her fragile brand of jazz/folk is devoid of all pretension and quite disarmingly personal. Recent album Dandelions is essentially a large and impeccably clean window onto her tumultuous love life. Short of naming names, it's as close as you'll get to reading her diary.
But this is a relatively recent approach for the Hove-born girl, who now lives in Grove Park. Having begun as a jazz singer, her last two albums were dominated by standards, and her pitch aimed more squarely at the soft jazz market.
This album, however, is a far more personal affair - all original, soul-bearing material - and more stylistically complex.
"With my last album, I really didn't like it that much by the time it came out," Kaz reveals. "But with this one, it's definitely me, and I'm really happy with it. It's less jazz, but all my influences are in there - jazz, Brazilian, pop, folk....someone even said Kate Bush."
Indeed, arranger Riaan Vosloo has helped Kaz to create a rich and wonderfully textured album that swims with influences even as it exerts an unmistakable personality of its own. You can hear Damon Albarn next to Joni Mitchell next to Kaz's beloved Rufus Wainwright (whose music inspired her to start writing her own songs).
And there is another style that Kaz doesn't initially mention but which is, to my ears, glisteningly clear in many of her melodies and chord structures: musical theatre.
"I think that's partly Rufus's influence," says Kaz, referring to the American singer's Broadway-indebted pop. "But then, I grew up with West Side Story and all the Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals, so maybe it's a subconscious influence. Songs I've written recently I think are quite musical theatre, but I'd never thought about it until someone said it. Now I've started think 'oh god do I sound like Julie Andrews subconsciously?'."
I reassure her: she sounds nothing like Julie Andrews. In fact, Kaz's voice is entirely her own, about as honest and unaffected as you can get. Next to the soul-bearing confessionalism of her material, her voice is likely another reason why fans develop such strong bonds with the music.
Towards the end of our conversation, I ask her if she ever considers writing about more frivolous, less personal matters - though I already have an idea about the reply.
"Well, maybe I should try...it's just really hard writing about other people."
Maybe a political song? I joke.
"No!" she says, sounding scared by the idea alone. "I don't trust myself with anything other than me. I'm unsure of so much. If I've seen something on the news and I recount it to someone, I'm like 'oh, did I get all the facts right?'."
In which case, it probably is best for Kaz Simmons to stick to what she knows best...else one poor girl is liable to end up with a string of inaccurate tattoos.
Dandelions by Kaz Simmons is available now from all major outlets. Visit www.kazsimmons.com for information.
Meltdown 2011 preview
South London Press, June 2011
Ray Davies' Meltdown is as trailblazing and unpredictable as the Southbank Centre festival has ever been.
WHEN history looks back on the long and illustrious parade of musicians enlisted to direct the Southbank Centre's Meltdown festival, the name Ray Davies will always stand out.
This, after all, is the man the Rock'n'Roll Hall Of Fame claims is "almost indisputably rock’s most literate, witty and insightful songwriter", and who Pete Townshend once referred to as "a gobsmacking genius".
As frontman and songwriter with The Kinks, his influence is pretty much unquantifiable - from The Who to The White Stripes, Black Sabbath to Blur, The Ramones to Radiohead, The Pixies to Paloma Faith, the list spans the roll call of rock itself. So even among company that includes David Bowie, Patti Smith and Morrissey, Davies has fair claim to being Meltdown's most influential director to date.
And he's chosen a line-up to match.
While it might be a bit of a shame not to see more of his mega star devotees on the bill (oh how we'd love to see the likes of Jack White, Damon Albarn and Frank Black bringing down the Royal Festival Hall), it's still a bill as trailblazing and unpredictable as Meltdown has ever seen. Favouring artists whose critical plaudits and cultural influence outweigh their modest commercial success, it's a muso's wet dream and a fine lesson in how rock became rock.
This, after all, is the man the Rock'n'Roll Hall Of Fame claims is "almost indisputably rock’s most literate, witty and insightful songwriter", and who Pete Townshend once referred to as "a gobsmacking genius".
As frontman and songwriter with The Kinks, his influence is pretty much unquantifiable - from The Who to The White Stripes, Black Sabbath to Blur, The Ramones to Radiohead, The Pixies to Paloma Faith, the list spans the roll call of rock itself. So even among company that includes David Bowie, Patti Smith and Morrissey, Davies has fair claim to being Meltdown's most influential director to date.
And he's chosen a line-up to match.
While it might be a bit of a shame not to see more of his mega star devotees on the bill (oh how we'd love to see the likes of Jack White, Damon Albarn and Frank Black bringing down the Royal Festival Hall), it's still a bill as trailblazing and unpredictable as Meltdown has ever seen. Favouring artists whose critical plaudits and cultural influence outweigh their modest commercial success, it's a muso's wet dream and a fine lesson in how rock became rock.
On June 18, for example, we have The Sonics (double bill with Wire at the Royal Festival Hall), a band often credited as "the first punk/grunge band", and invariably heralded as creators of the Seattle music scene - three decades before Mr Cobain et al came along. Much like Davies, they're cited right, left and centre by later artists, including both Cobain and Jack White. And take note kids: when James Murphy is spewing influences on LCD Soundsystem classic Losing My Edge, he finishes the list with The Sonics - repeated four times!
Then there's Lydia Lunch (Purcell Room, June 18), icon of the New York No Wave scene in the mid 70s and damn-near royalty over in the Big Apple's sprawling indie subculture. Sonic Youth owe her plenty, as do Yo La Tengo who are also on the Meltdown bill (Royal Festival Hall, June 12). Sometimes referred to as "the quintessential critics band", these New Jersey alt-rockers are another act whose commercial success has been limited but whose influence spreads far and wide.
Just to buck the trend, one of the key homegrown highlights certainly haven't suffered diminished sales for their art. Madness are, as you well know, a treasure of the UK music scene, and will be skanking their way through the classics on June 17 at the Royal Festival Hall (with help from Jerry Dammers of The Specials on the decks).
And there is, of course, much much more: the recreation of iconic 60s TV show Ready Steady Go!; the first UK show in more than 40 years for poetic American counterculture rockers The Fuggs; the original "God of Hell Fire", Arthur Brown; much cited singer-songwriter Nick Lowe, a favourite of Elvis Costello and Johnny Cash; punk poet John Cooper-Clarke; Monty Python members Terry Jones and Michael Palin; Glastonbury Festival founder Michael Eavis; and, of course, Davies himself.
To all intents and purposes, it's a raw, fearless and almost aggressive line-up...and it's quintessentially Ray Davies.
Ray Davies' Meltdown runs June 10-19. Southbank Centre, Belvedere Road, Waterloo SE1 8XX. Times and prices vary. Visit http://southbankcentre.co.uk/or call 0844 847 9910.
Then there's Lydia Lunch (Purcell Room, June 18), icon of the New York No Wave scene in the mid 70s and damn-near royalty over in the Big Apple's sprawling indie subculture. Sonic Youth owe her plenty, as do Yo La Tengo who are also on the Meltdown bill (Royal Festival Hall, June 12). Sometimes referred to as "the quintessential critics band", these New Jersey alt-rockers are another act whose commercial success has been limited but whose influence spreads far and wide.
Just to buck the trend, one of the key homegrown highlights certainly haven't suffered diminished sales for their art. Madness are, as you well know, a treasure of the UK music scene, and will be skanking their way through the classics on June 17 at the Royal Festival Hall (with help from Jerry Dammers of The Specials on the decks).
And there is, of course, much much more: the recreation of iconic 60s TV show Ready Steady Go!; the first UK show in more than 40 years for poetic American counterculture rockers The Fuggs; the original "God of Hell Fire", Arthur Brown; much cited singer-songwriter Nick Lowe, a favourite of Elvis Costello and Johnny Cash; punk poet John Cooper-Clarke; Monty Python members Terry Jones and Michael Palin; Glastonbury Festival founder Michael Eavis; and, of course, Davies himself.
To all intents and purposes, it's a raw, fearless and almost aggressive line-up...and it's quintessentially Ray Davies.
Ray Davies' Meltdown runs June 10-19. Southbank Centre, Belvedere Road, Waterloo SE1 8XX. Times and prices vary. Visit http://southbankcentre.co.uk/or call 0844 847 9910.
Bob Dylan and Robert Shelton feature
South London Press, May 2011
Bob Dylan turns 70 next week. Amid a flurry of plaudits and reminiscences to mark the occasion, DAN FROST
discovers a fascinating story linking the poet laureate of rock'n'roll to our very own South London
discovers a fascinating story linking the poet laureate of rock'n'roll to our very own South London
THERE are many people with a Bob Dylan story. "I nearly met Bob once...", or "Bob brushed past me when I was at....", are the kind of treasured anecdotes traded by legions of fans. As for those lucky enough to have spent any real time with Dylan - friends, fellow artists, a handful of journalists - most are prone to fond reminiscences (and probably exaggerations) about their time with him.
On May 24 Dylan will celebrate his 70th birthday, so there have been a fair few of these affectionate memories doing the rounds over the past week or so, in recognition of the big occasion. But few can top Robert Shelton's Bob Dylan story. Sadly, Shelton is no longer with us (he passed away in 1995), but his role in the Dylan narrative is integral. Though he was too modest to take much credit for it, Robert Shelton was "the man who discovered Bob Dylan".
In September 1961, while working as the New York Times folk critic, Shelton went to review a bluegrass act at Gerdes Folk City in Greenwich Village. Instead, he came away entranced by the opening act - a baby-faced, 20-year-old folk singer who was fresh off the bus from Minnesota.
Shelton wrote the first ever Bob Dylan review, praising him for being a "distinctive stylist...bursting at the seams with talent". Crucial exposure at a crucial time, the review led directly to Dylan's contract with Columbia Records and to a strong friendship between the young singer and the older journalist, 15 years his senior.
On May 24 Dylan will celebrate his 70th birthday, so there have been a fair few of these affectionate memories doing the rounds over the past week or so, in recognition of the big occasion. But few can top Robert Shelton's Bob Dylan story. Sadly, Shelton is no longer with us (he passed away in 1995), but his role in the Dylan narrative is integral. Though he was too modest to take much credit for it, Robert Shelton was "the man who discovered Bob Dylan".
In September 1961, while working as the New York Times folk critic, Shelton went to review a bluegrass act at Gerdes Folk City in Greenwich Village. Instead, he came away entranced by the opening act - a baby-faced, 20-year-old folk singer who was fresh off the bus from Minnesota.
Shelton wrote the first ever Bob Dylan review, praising him for being a "distinctive stylist...bursting at the seams with talent". Crucial exposure at a crucial time, the review led directly to Dylan's contract with Columbia Records and to a strong friendship between the young singer and the older journalist, 15 years his senior.
It also led to Shelton's defining work: No Direction Home, the only Bob Dylan biography (out of hundreds) that the singer actually sanctioned and contributed to. And, through what you might say was a simple twist of fate, a large chunk of the book was written right here in South London.
"It's very difficult, if you're not from that generation, to comprehend just how messianic Dylan was in the late 60s and early 70s," explains Patrick Humphries, a Dulwich-based journalist and Dylan obsessive who befriended Shelton when he moved to London. "Anybody who was even close to Dylan was hassled by people who treated him like a prophet. People in New York knew Shelton was close to Dylan, and he just wanted to get away from it, so he came to London and settled in Sydenham."
That's right, Sydenham. The man who discovered Bob Dylan spent an important chunk of the 70s, writing one of the most seminal Dylan biographies ever produced, in a small cottage in SE26.
"Even now," Patrick smiles, "the idea of Shelton writing this major biography of this major American artist in Sydenham...I still smile at the incongruity."
Patrick can't remember exactly when Shelton moved to Sydenham, but estimates he was there from the early 70s to the mid-to-late 70s, before relocating to Brighton where he died.
Though he came to South London as a form of retreat, they were not easy years for him. He had begun writing the book in 1966 and would not finish it until 20 years later - two decades that were filled with setbacks and continuing battles with publishers.
"When he started writing in 1966 he wanted to say that this kid - who was still only 25 - was a major artistic figure, who's comparable to Picasso and so on," says Patrick. "Not many people would dispute that now, but at the time nobody wrote books about pop stars - they weren't seen as being that culturally valuable. Even in the 70s when I knew him, this idea of a serious book about a musician was still quite unheard of, so he had an incredible battle getting the book taken seriously."
When it finally came out, Shelton was less than happy with the book, finding most grievance in the publisher's severe editing. And it's partly for this reason that Patrick and Elizabeth Thomson have co-edited a new edition of No Direction Home, in which 20,000 words of Shelton's original text have been reinstated.
"It's very difficult, if you're not from that generation, to comprehend just how messianic Dylan was in the late 60s and early 70s," explains Patrick Humphries, a Dulwich-based journalist and Dylan obsessive who befriended Shelton when he moved to London. "Anybody who was even close to Dylan was hassled by people who treated him like a prophet. People in New York knew Shelton was close to Dylan, and he just wanted to get away from it, so he came to London and settled in Sydenham."
That's right, Sydenham. The man who discovered Bob Dylan spent an important chunk of the 70s, writing one of the most seminal Dylan biographies ever produced, in a small cottage in SE26.
"Even now," Patrick smiles, "the idea of Shelton writing this major biography of this major American artist in Sydenham...I still smile at the incongruity."
Patrick can't remember exactly when Shelton moved to Sydenham, but estimates he was there from the early 70s to the mid-to-late 70s, before relocating to Brighton where he died.
Though he came to South London as a form of retreat, they were not easy years for him. He had begun writing the book in 1966 and would not finish it until 20 years later - two decades that were filled with setbacks and continuing battles with publishers.
"When he started writing in 1966 he wanted to say that this kid - who was still only 25 - was a major artistic figure, who's comparable to Picasso and so on," says Patrick. "Not many people would dispute that now, but at the time nobody wrote books about pop stars - they weren't seen as being that culturally valuable. Even in the 70s when I knew him, this idea of a serious book about a musician was still quite unheard of, so he had an incredible battle getting the book taken seriously."
When it finally came out, Shelton was less than happy with the book, finding most grievance in the publisher's severe editing. And it's partly for this reason that Patrick and Elizabeth Thomson have co-edited a new edition of No Direction Home, in which 20,000 words of Shelton's original text have been reinstated.
As well as taking the book a little closer to what Shelton envisaged, Patrick hopes it will help raise the late author's profile among Dylan fans.
"I've always felt that Shelton is very undervalued in the Dylan world," he says with remorse. "He never capitalised on his closeness with Dylan, and very few other biographies acknowledge him as the important figure he was in Bob Dylan's life and career."
Just how close were they? I ask.
"Oh they were very close. For example, when Dylan had the bike crash in 66, Dylan's father rang Robert Shelton to find out what had happened to his son. They used to double date, they went drinking together... Dylan and his father didn't get on and there's a sort of Freudian theory that perhaps Shelton was the father figure Dylan was looking for."
And did he speak about him much when you knew him - did he ever mention that first night in Gerdes?
"No, he kept the relationship very close to his chest. But I remember him once telling me about those early days, and he said 'you know, we were all going on the same marches, we were all reading the same books, we were all outraged about civil rights and discrimination, but there was this kid who was just so young and who would just go off into the corner and write these incredible songs on the backs of serviettes and envelopes, and he was just so far ahead of everybody else'."
Patrick pauses for a second, possibly for dramatic effect but more likely because he - like so many others - still struggle to comprehend the scale of Dylan's talent.
"Shelton just knew there was this talent in Dylan," he says quietly. "He just got it - before anyone else."
No Direction Home is published by Omnibus and is available now, priced £19.95.
"I've always felt that Shelton is very undervalued in the Dylan world," he says with remorse. "He never capitalised on his closeness with Dylan, and very few other biographies acknowledge him as the important figure he was in Bob Dylan's life and career."
Just how close were they? I ask.
"Oh they were very close. For example, when Dylan had the bike crash in 66, Dylan's father rang Robert Shelton to find out what had happened to his son. They used to double date, they went drinking together... Dylan and his father didn't get on and there's a sort of Freudian theory that perhaps Shelton was the father figure Dylan was looking for."
And did he speak about him much when you knew him - did he ever mention that first night in Gerdes?
"No, he kept the relationship very close to his chest. But I remember him once telling me about those early days, and he said 'you know, we were all going on the same marches, we were all reading the same books, we were all outraged about civil rights and discrimination, but there was this kid who was just so young and who would just go off into the corner and write these incredible songs on the backs of serviettes and envelopes, and he was just so far ahead of everybody else'."
Patrick pauses for a second, possibly for dramatic effect but more likely because he - like so many others - still struggle to comprehend the scale of Dylan's talent.
"Shelton just knew there was this talent in Dylan," he says quietly. "He just got it - before anyone else."
No Direction Home is published by Omnibus and is available now, priced £19.95.
Smoke Fairies interview
South London Press, May 2011
Gloriously rich and hauntingly beautiful, Smoke Fairies make bluesy folk that sounds like it comes straight
from the Deep South. In fact, it comes straight from Peckham. DAN FROST meets the acclaimed duo.
from the Deep South. In fact, it comes straight from Peckham. DAN FROST meets the acclaimed duo.
IT'S a sunny weekday morning in a Camberwell cafe, and Katherine Blamire and Jessica Davies - aka Smoke Fairies - are chatting cheerily about all manner of topics.
Childhood, musical inspiration and early songwriting efforts are all ticked off. But conversation also swings towards the unexpected - to the importance of good cupholders in their "really gross" tour van, the beauty of car parks and tower blocks near their Peckham home, and a particularly wild year spent in Vancouver in their early 20s when, as Katherine puts it, "we got some rebellion out of our system".
Illegal raves, furious neighbours, Martini binges and large scale fly-tipping all rear their heads in their Canadian recollections, accompanied by amused if fretful expressions and varying tones of regret.
"I think everyone where we lived let out a massive cheer when they saw us packing up our things," recalls Jessica with an embarrassed smile, her hand covering her eyes in shame. "We threw a lot of parties and people used to pee off the balcony onto other residents' cars, and loads of pants got scattered everywhere one day..."
"That was actually just an innocent thing," Katherine interjects, "you know, when you're trying to dry stuff...but it didn't look good combined with all the other stuff. We would never behave like that now, but it just felt like we were on a more destructive course then."
Childhood, musical inspiration and early songwriting efforts are all ticked off. But conversation also swings towards the unexpected - to the importance of good cupholders in their "really gross" tour van, the beauty of car parks and tower blocks near their Peckham home, and a particularly wild year spent in Vancouver in their early 20s when, as Katherine puts it, "we got some rebellion out of our system".
Illegal raves, furious neighbours, Martini binges and large scale fly-tipping all rear their heads in their Canadian recollections, accompanied by amused if fretful expressions and varying tones of regret.
"I think everyone where we lived let out a massive cheer when they saw us packing up our things," recalls Jessica with an embarrassed smile, her hand covering her eyes in shame. "We threw a lot of parties and people used to pee off the balcony onto other residents' cars, and loads of pants got scattered everywhere one day..."
"That was actually just an innocent thing," Katherine interjects, "you know, when you're trying to dry stuff...but it didn't look good combined with all the other stuff. We would never behave like that now, but it just felt like we were on a more destructive course then."
This kind of hell-raising might not raise many eyebrows from your average rock band, but it's hard to square with Smoke Fairies. Their 2010 album, Through Low Light And Trees, is a collection of delicately-crafted bluesy folk songs. Each swells gently with intricate, interwoven guitar and beguiling vocal harmonies that are as precise as they are haunting and fragile. In musical terms, it's the very epitome of control and balance, and would certainly struggle to soundtrack Katherine and Jessica's rebellious tales.
But expectations are there to be confounded, and that's something Smoke Fairies do particularly well. Just as you might not expect Magaluf-style antics from these Sussex-born chanteuses, you probably wouldn't expect the makers of such sorrowful music to be so sunny in person.
You might also find it surprising that an acclaimed folk duo who've toured with Laura Marling and Richard Hawley, and who count Jack White among their fans (he played drums on 2009 split single Gastown/River Song and released it on his Third Man label), live a very humble life in Peckham. And, most obviously, you wouldn't expect music that feels so at home in the thick heat of the Deep South to have been written in a South London flat.
But it was. And it turns out South London played quite a big role in the process.
"I can see how people wouldn't be able to see it, but the city has definitely impacted on the music," says Katherine. "There's a lot of inspiration to be got from the city and how everything is always changing, and you feel so at the mercy of it - the feeling of being lost in the mayhem of the city and being a prisoner to its madness."
But expectations are there to be confounded, and that's something Smoke Fairies do particularly well. Just as you might not expect Magaluf-style antics from these Sussex-born chanteuses, you probably wouldn't expect the makers of such sorrowful music to be so sunny in person.
You might also find it surprising that an acclaimed folk duo who've toured with Laura Marling and Richard Hawley, and who count Jack White among their fans (he played drums on 2009 split single Gastown/River Song and released it on his Third Man label), live a very humble life in Peckham. And, most obviously, you wouldn't expect music that feels so at home in the thick heat of the Deep South to have been written in a South London flat.
But it was. And it turns out South London played quite a big role in the process.
"I can see how people wouldn't be able to see it, but the city has definitely impacted on the music," says Katherine. "There's a lot of inspiration to be got from the city and how everything is always changing, and you feel so at the mercy of it - the feeling of being lost in the mayhem of the city and being a prisoner to its madness."
Similarly, the allure of their rural childhood landscapes weighs heavily in the music, and the name Smoke Fairies comes from the nickname given to mist that gathers around Sussex hedgerows.
Having met at school in Chichester when they were 11, Katherine and Jessica remember being drawn to rootsy American music even before they knew what it was. They sang together in the choir, then both took up the guitar when they were 13 and soon began writing together.
"I think we just wanted to write pop songs," says Jessica. "We were very into Sheryl Crow and we would play all her songs. There's only so much you can play when you only know three or four chords, so you just write pop songs, but they were good pop songs I think."
When many of their friends were heading off on gap year journeys around the world, Katherine's and Jessica's affinity with Americana led them to New Orleans, where they lived together for a year in 2002, absorbing the influences of its legendary musical heritage.
"It was just a drive to get away really, and the States was always somewhere we had thought about and mythologised," says Jessica.
"We never really wanted to go backpacking," Katherine adds. "We literally wanted to start an entirely new life somewhere."
Which is what they did in South London, several years later. And after a difficult start - including time in a run-down New Cross flat where if Katherine took a shower "Jessica would get rained on in her bed" - the pair seem relatively happy here, and the music is following suit.
"I think the general vibe of what we've been writing recently is way more happy," Jessica reveals. "If the last album was in a damp wintry wood, the next one will be on the beach, maybe the point when the sun goes down and the day's ending."
Katherine continues: "I think there will still be elements of melancholy and darkness. But we're definitely going to let a lot more lightness in, because it just reflects how we're feeling...things change don't they."
At the end of the interview both girls still seem cheerful and happy.
"We don't normally give that much away," smiles Katherine, in reference to all the Vancouver indiscretions.
"Yeah," agrees Jessica, giving me a wary look as if she suspects me of spiking their lattes with truth serum. "I can't believe I told you about the fly tipping...my mum would kill me."
Smoke Fairies play ULU near Euston on May 20. Through Low Light And Trees is available from all good retailers. Visit http://smokefairies.com/ for information.
Having met at school in Chichester when they were 11, Katherine and Jessica remember being drawn to rootsy American music even before they knew what it was. They sang together in the choir, then both took up the guitar when they were 13 and soon began writing together.
"I think we just wanted to write pop songs," says Jessica. "We were very into Sheryl Crow and we would play all her songs. There's only so much you can play when you only know three or four chords, so you just write pop songs, but they were good pop songs I think."
When many of their friends were heading off on gap year journeys around the world, Katherine's and Jessica's affinity with Americana led them to New Orleans, where they lived together for a year in 2002, absorbing the influences of its legendary musical heritage.
"It was just a drive to get away really, and the States was always somewhere we had thought about and mythologised," says Jessica.
"We never really wanted to go backpacking," Katherine adds. "We literally wanted to start an entirely new life somewhere."
Which is what they did in South London, several years later. And after a difficult start - including time in a run-down New Cross flat where if Katherine took a shower "Jessica would get rained on in her bed" - the pair seem relatively happy here, and the music is following suit.
"I think the general vibe of what we've been writing recently is way more happy," Jessica reveals. "If the last album was in a damp wintry wood, the next one will be on the beach, maybe the point when the sun goes down and the day's ending."
Katherine continues: "I think there will still be elements of melancholy and darkness. But we're definitely going to let a lot more lightness in, because it just reflects how we're feeling...things change don't they."
At the end of the interview both girls still seem cheerful and happy.
"We don't normally give that much away," smiles Katherine, in reference to all the Vancouver indiscretions.
"Yeah," agrees Jessica, giving me a wary look as if she suspects me of spiking their lattes with truth serum. "I can't believe I told you about the fly tipping...my mum would kill me."
Smoke Fairies play ULU near Euston on May 20. Through Low Light And Trees is available from all good retailers. Visit http://smokefairies.com/ for information.