Falling Sky

Converting Sound Into Electricity Into Bits Into Sound

I'm gradually getting back into the swing of things after a few weeks of various railroad shenanigans - expect to hear soon about Northampton, London, Brussels and my Night of the Idiot Tax. First up, though, there's Shellac.

Long-time readers (there's got to be one out there) might remember my enthusiastic yelping back in 2004 about seeing Shellac playing (twice) at All Tomorrow's Parties. Not only that, I'd had the pleasure of their onstage company two years before when they curated a full ATP, the memories of which remain immensely fond and loud. Fast forward by four years, and you've got them touring after their fourth album proper released last year, Excellent Italian Greyhound. It's a strange album, certainly not as immediate as the previous 1000 Hurts, with a couple of especially tense and unsettling numbers - anyone else feel unclean after playing A Real Lullabelle all the way through? - but it's a grower for the right frame of mind. And while they sound perfectly good recorded - make that seriously fucking good recorded - ever since I first saw them in 2002 I've felt they were a live band first, recording artistes distant second.

No wonder then that I've been psyched for months about Shellac playing the ABC Glasgow. On a practical level, the nice high ceiling at that venue guaranteed there'd be none of the stuffy heady air that makes my lungs constrict and my head spin, while the gig was bound to wrap up at a reasonable hour, pretty important for someone coming over from Edinburgh on a Sunday night. The icing on the cake was going to the gig with the illustrious illustrative Brothers Dunn, Rob and Gordon, both long-time Albini aficionados (that imaginary long-time reader will know Rob as Albini's Bitch in comments of yesteryear) who'd yet to see Shellac in concert. Expectations were immense, but I knew they wouldn't be failed.

For a band that plays so relatively rarely, Shellac are a remarkably tight band, tuned into each other on stage with a precision I've only seen a couple of times elsewhere. With two of the band members top-drawer record engineers, they've an ear for good sound and the excellent equipment and acoustics of the ABC responded wonderfully to them. When they came onstage I was startled to see that they'd all got younger by at least a decade since 2004, surely a testament to the health benefits of a life of Rock. Their show followed a similar drill to previous times - no projections, no encore, a Q&A session (during which one audience member confused Bob Weston with the compliment that his bass playing was "braw") and the final song ending with the piece-by-piece dismantling of the drum set. And, as with previous times, they were absolutely fucking MINT.

Hell, this was the best I've ever seen them, a band absolutely tuned in to each other, playing off against each other musically and verbally, creating an almighty sound that never degenerated into unfocused noise. Brutal, taut, tension and release, raw yet utterly in control. Perhaps surprisingly, given the menacing edge of the music, they're also a genuinely enjoyable band to watch - dare I say fun? It's not just the stage banter, though that's sharp - it's also in the bullet-time dramatic pause mid-song when all three sloooowly lunge backwards in preparation for the next note, drumsticks slo-mo spinning in Trainer's hands (of course, that next note was hit by all three with perfect precision), the freaky plane-shapes during Wingwalker (a definite highlight), Weston teasing the audience with promises of some Big Black numbers, and the aforementioned closing up even while the drummer is still hammering away. It managed the impressive task of being both a powerful show and a genuinely enjoyable one, the good vibes a welcome counterbalance to the tension of some of the songs (Prayer to God, anyone?).

Shellac live was a rare rare treat that left everyone reeling with big grins and ringing ears, as good a gig as you could ever hope to have. To celebrate, here's the first two tracks from their superb live session recorded at Maida Vale on Radio 1 a few years back, dedicated to John Peel - if you'd like the rest of the session, give me a yell.

Ghosts (4.5MB, MP3)

The End of Radio (8.7MB, MP3)

Il Était Une Fois...

Still feeling under the miserable weather - nasty spell of wheeziness today - and I'm going to be away from Internetland for the next few days, back in a week's time with literally buckets of stories to tell.  However, none of them will be remotely as good as that shown below.  While every child in Britain is given a hoodie, ASBO and mobile phone with tinny speakers at birth, in France each newborn is supplied with the collected works of Sartre, Baudelaire and de Beauvoir.  This is the result.

Once upon a time... from Capucha on Vimeo.

Originally spotted on Boing Boing and enthusiastically pointed out by The Lass.

Take A Thought On The Wild Side

There is SO BALLY MUCH to blog about from the last six days, but I'm too tuckered out right now to actually tell you any of it. Soon, soon. Until then, here's an interesting post regarding a new psychology paper that studies what any rural rambler already senses.

Thoreau would have liked this study: interacting with nature (at least when compared to a hectic urban landscape) dramatically improves cognitive function. In particular, being in natural settings restores our ability to exercise directed attention and working memory, which are crucial mental talents. The basic idea is that nature, unlike a city, is filled with inherently interesting stimuli (like a sunset, or an unusual bird) that trigger our involuntary attention, but in a modest fashion. Because you can't help but stop and notice the reddish orange twilight sky - paying attention to the sunset doesn't take any extra work or cognitive control - our attentional circuits are able to refresh themselves. A walk in the woods is like a vacation for the prefrontal cortex.

Spotted by Andrew Sullivan.

Meanwhile, my good good good good lady takes the words out of my mouth with a clip of Keith Olberman at his best yesterday regarding that repugnant proposition. Common sense and true love will surely eventually win out in California, but it should never have to be a struggle in the first damn place.

Waking Up To An American Dream

By 4am I couldn't sleep. I'd already been up twice during the night to check the results on BBC News, and at 3:30am I was lying in bed willing myself to sleep but at the same time imagining the results map, thinking of the voting stories that had been posted up on the Daily Dish, wondering which way Florida went - and all this for an election in a country thousands of miles away that I have no particular vested interest in. You think I'd be like this for a UK election? In 1997, perhaps, but that was utterly squandered by Blair after his disastrous friendship with Bush, and now this whole country seems to be slowly drowning in dead-eyed cynicism and selfishness. America could be forgiven for being in a similar state after the last 8 years of the Bush administration, and a McCain win would've been proof of this, but instead they've chosen hope, positivity, potential. After so long feeling nothing but despair about American politics and the direction the country has been dragged in, this is downright dizzying, in the nicest possible way. No-one should expect miracles from the man - and there's still plenty of destructive mischief that the current incumbent can make in the next few weeks - but as a figurehead for the one global superpower Obama presents a very different, uniting and inclusive face to the world. How rare to have some glimmer of hope in global politics again. These are going to be interesting times, but in the best of ways.

Here, remember this post, four years ago? I should start making more requests of nations...

Anyway, I've been watching Obama's victory speech - and it was a blinder, well worth watching by everyone - and it's not long now until 6am and I can start the day normally (I just heard the central heating start gurgling into life). We're still awaiting the results of Prop 8 in California, which could yet cast a cloud - the thought of supposedly progressive California actually voting yes to such a vile, discriminatory proposition seems boggling. The toasting begins with a cup of tea in 10 minutes, but will no doubt hit the harder stuff later on, and I wish I could give every Obama voter a kiss, a hug, a hearty handshake. You really can't overestimate what this means for so many of us non-Americans, who have no vote yet ultimately live with the consequences. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

And now, courtesy of the mighty Funky16Corners, with the supremely appropriate Funky President, ladies and gennelmen, MR JAMES BROWN!

Funky President 

What They Said

Being on the wrong side of the Atlantic and all, I've no input in the American election beyond keeping my fingers crossed for the entirety of tomorrow that good will out. But these two endorsements of Barack Obama are well worth a read, if only because the first comes with some righteously funky goodness.

This country has suffered through decades of the flag waving, breast beating, philosophically bankrupt variety of “patriotism” in which we are repeatedly subjected to screams of ‘USA!’ by people who act like they have no idea what that acronym stands for. The time for action is now.
- Funky16Corners

But there is something about his rise that is also supremely American, a reminder of why so many of us love this country so passionately and are filled with such grief at what has been done to it and in its name. I endorse Barack Obama because I will not give up on America, because I believe in America, and in her constitution and decency and character and strength.
- Andrew Sullivan

Fingers crossed, friends. Fingers crossed.