Right from their lo-fi beginnings, Glasgow’s Honeyblood have always been able to deliver the perfect kiss-off. It’s why it’s a relief to see that the duo’s self-titled debut album retains a fair slice of that crackle and hiss, Stina Tweeddale’s candy-coated vocals still providing a deceptive delivery method for her often venomous lyrics.
Erika M Anderson’s dystopian follow-up to 2011’s critically acclaimed Past Life Martyred Saints was always going to be prescient, but in the end even she was taken by surprise. “Facebook just bought the company that makes … the VR headset I am wearing on the cover of The Future’s Void,” she wrote on her blog a week or so back, by way of introduction to “3Jane”, the single that is the album’s "lyrical centrepiece".
Reasons behind the prolonged absence of Queens of the Stone Age are legion, including line-up turbulence, successful side projects and the near-death experience of band linchpin Josh Homme. As if to acknowledge and compensate for the lengthy gap in new material since 2007‘s Era Vulgaris, there’s little that hasn’t been thrown into the ...Like Clockwork mix: power ballads, industrial sleaze, surprising reunions, the sound of broken glass - and Elton John on piano.
If the subtitle - The Life and Near Death Story of Patty Schemel - didn't make it clear enough, Hit So Hard was never going to be your average "rockumentary". At about eight minutes in, before the titular drummer properly establishes us in the 1990s US grunge scene that forms much of the backdrop to her story, Schemel is already speaking openly and frankly about the addictions to alcohol and drugs that cost the lives of friends, her role in a platinum-selling rock band and very nearly her own life.
If, stripped-back and acoustic, a rock singer’s worth may be judged, then last night the Palladium sure had the opportunity to measure Chris Cornell. And, although these days unplugged can just mean the addition of a couple of steel-stringed guitars, that wasn't how Cornell played it. One man with a six-string and a microphone. That was it. And, blimey, for a man who over the years has given audiences every permutation of rage, angst, and torment, he showed that when he wants he hasn’t half got a sweet set of pipes.
As a teenager in the 1990s, there were two female-fronted bands that occupied my heart and my attention. Although I’d never have called Garbage my favourites, thanks to flame-haired Scottish frontwoman Shirley Manson it was fair to say that I felt more of a kinship towards them than many of their grungy contemporaries, so now Courtney Love’s blasphemous resurrection of the Hole name for Nobody’s Daughter in 2010 is a distant memory I’ll confess to having approached Not Your Kind Of People with far more enthusiasm than cynicism.
There have been many Earths. Dylan Carlson has been the only constant, using the shifting line-ups as the vehicle for his vision of a music that is all about space, slowness, and repetition. As last night's concert made clear, he no longer needs a heavy metal framework to achieve his goal. Nowadays, understatement achieves heaviness. You could call it maturing.
On 9 September, 1985 The Jesus and Mary Chain played Camden's Electric Ballroom to a ceaseless hail of plastic pint pots. After 20 minutes, the songs gave way to formless feedback and they sloped off the stage. Although Yuck weren’t born then, the significance of playing the same stage can’t have been lost on them. Carrying a torch for the pre-grunge fuzz-rock that was shoegazing’s ugly sister, Yuck know a thing or two about what they’re drawing from.
The story goes that Eddie Vedder first picked up a ukulele in Hawaii in the mid-Nineties, since when the instrument has become his constant travelling companion and a handy songwriting tool. A whole album's worth of songs written on the funny little stringed thing might sound like he's pushing his luck, but in the event it's an effective way of presenting a simpler, more introspective side of Vedder, a million miles from the roar and bluster of Pearl Jam.