Noah and the Whale - The First Days of Spring [Mercury album]

Charlie Fink and friends’ second album was always going to be an interesting proposition. The follow up to a well-received debut that swept Noah and the Whale from the vanguard of the burgeoning anti-folk scene into the big leagues thanks to the phenomenal success, popularity with whistlers everywhere and general radio and TV ubiquity of the single ‘5 Years Time’ could have gone either way. Rush-write and release more of the same perky folk to capture those all important record sales, or distance yourselves from the very thing everyone knows you for?

Whether by circumstance or design (The First Days of Spring documents, or at least references, Fink’s break up with Laura Marling), Noah and the Whale’s sophomore record wholeheartedly surrenders to the latter path, and it might just be the best thing that ever happened to them. It is standard PR fare to label a band like Noah and the Whale’s “difficult” second album as “more mature” or stating that the band has “grown up”, and these are indeed the kind of noises that have been surrounding the release of The First Days of Spring. But rarely can there have been such a stark departure, such a musical growth spurt. Though lyrically adept and with its fair share of dark moments, the often lackadaisical folk of debut Peaceful the World Lays Me Down – epitomised by ‘5 Years Time’ – is replaced by a richly atmospheric concept album detailing the heartbreaking end to a relationship and desperately search for the ability to move on. This time it is the electric guitar not the acoustic that is fingerpicked, the orchestral moments – be they string or brass – sweeping and intense rather than joyful.

The subject matter is far from revolutionary song material, but here it is handled with such deftness and honesty, detailing of the minutiae of exactly what it feels like to break up with someone you love, that you can’t fail to be intoxicated by it. More a song cycle than a conventional album, motifs recur throughout The First Days of Spring (not least that very season) – both musically and lyrically – as it proceeds on its journey. A chorus from one song will end up in an entirely different one (the ‘Blue Skies’ chorus appears at the culmination of ‘Our Window’, for example), while the sound of the lonely electric guitar and yearning violin flit in and out, with orchestral moments used to communicate the force of emotion, good and bad. This all reinforces the oppressive, overbearing mood of the record as it moves from stage to stage of the break up. It leads you through the dark days after a split, through the attempts to move on, the knowledge you’re going to get over it (just not yet), to the inevitable acceptance that life goes on.

From the opening heartbeat of a bass drum, every layer of the album seems clearly thought out, and they sit together in arresting fashion. What was an almost entertainingly lugubrious deep west country voice on Peaceful the World Lays Me Down, Fink’s vocals are perfect to detail in staccato words the pervading depression of the breakdown of the relationship, fitting the moroseness as well as a Leonard Cohen or Ian Curtis. Lyrically The First Days of Spring covers all bases with equal dexterity: from the straightforward communication of the awkwardness of language in such times (“You are talking like a stranger so I don’t know what to do”), through cutting statements (“I do believe everyone has one chance to fuck up their lives”) and pastoral metaphors along the springtime theme of rebirth (“Like a cut down tree I will rise again”), to some beautifully ornate phrasing (“I’m a fox trapped in the headlights and I’m waiting for the tyres to spin over me”). And all the while the swirling strings, the thudding bass drum and the sweep from quiet piano or guitar to majestic orchestral cacophony convey the emotional intensity dripping from the words. Female backing vocals are deafening by their absence in comparison to the first album, too, and whether deliberate or not it is indicative of the songs’ subject matter: the outpourings of a lonely and brokenhearted man.

The album is chronologically split in two, the pit of despair following the break up of the first half – as exemplified by the miserable ‘I Have Nothing’ (“'I love nothing, I love no one' are words that you whisper in my mind to someone I don’t know”) – and the more uplifting second half where acceptance kicks in, most notably the soaring single ‘Blue Skies’. As such the one incongruous moment comes in the central choral pieces, ‘Instrumental I’ and ‘The Love of an Orchestra’, which sound like they could have been taken from the score of The Sound of Music. As a tool to provide the bridge between the two halves they work fine, but as a result of this very contrast ‘The Love of an Orchestra’ is the one song that is easy to skip through. It is, however, followed by ‘Stranger’, which so successfully paints the scene of a rebound one night stand that any worry about the quality of the second half of the album is soon dispelled. For the four songs that provide the denouement to the story are at least the equal of those that set the scene, and we are even treated to some acoustic guitar strumming and singalongs (particularly the “I know in a year I’m gonna be happy, I know in a year it’s gonna be better” refrain), reflecting the more positive outlook.

In a world where music is increasingly disposable and has a shelf-life as short as our ever withering attention spans, Noah and the Whale have made an album that is worth its weight in gold. For it is one where you feel every word and every note means something to its writer, that blood, sweat, tears and real human emotion have gone into both its formulation and execution – and that is a rare commodity indeed. Impressive in almost every regard, it may not be what fans of ‘Five Years Time’ are looking for or were expecting, but it is at the end of the day a record you will – or at least you should – want to play again as soon as it ends. If you have ever been through the heartbreak at the end of a relationship, that is. Flawless it isn’t, but such is the ambition (emphasised by the album’s poignant companion film, also written and directed by Charlie Fink), quality and sheer beauty of The First Days of Spring, that you can’t fail to be moved by it. As Fink sings on the National-esque ‘Slow Glass’, “it’s not just music...the pain’s not brief”: this record is his catharsis, and its catharsis must surely resonate with all who listen to it.


****

First published on rockfeedback.com.

Camden Crawl 2009 - Friday 24th April

Airports are funny things. Generally much maligned, I actually have a lot of time for them. In the context of being a means to an end (the end generally being some sort of holiday), they provide some of the best people watching opportunities outside of another unpopular phenomenon - motorway service stations. Airports are a surreal microcosm of people coming and going, rushing and relaxing, excitement and arguments, tantrums and anticipation - and everything is right there where you need it, all laid out in one long strip of commercial opportunity. And, even if the trip turns out to be a complete disaster in the end, at that moment the potential of it remains infinite...

And so it is with the Camden Crawl. One long strip of opportunity. Disorientated people rushing to and fro, propelled by the potential of witnessing some stellar live music, be it the odd AAA live show from a real modern great (Yeah Yeah Yeahs), some chart-bothering indie-rock (Kasabian, The Enemy, Hockey), plenty of old favourites (Madness, Wire, The Fall, Echo & the Bunnymen) or hyped Camden favourites (Peggy Sue, Alessi’s Ark, Goldielocks).

However, thrown into the melee of Camden High St, Chalk Farm Road and Parkway on a Friday night just like a normal one only even busier, more than stellar live music, the reality seems to rely a lot more on just plain Stella (or perhaps sponsors Gaymers’ cider). A scan down the list of bands playing is likely to reveal enough eye-catching and enticing names over the course of the two days, but compared with many of festivals (be they field-based or among the ever-growing ranks of this kind of urban weekender), the 2009 Camden Crawl doesn’t seem to have the depth nor real quality of exciting bands as other events. What’s more, experience of previous years hinted that the chances of you being able to see more than one or two of the bands you had your eye on would be rather slim, with overcrowded venues, long queues and the distance between the Mornington Crescent and Chalk Farm extremities of the festival a fair old walk.

This very situation greets the tardier customer (such as I) strolling up to the Roundhouse at 6.30pm on the Friday to pick up a wristband, weaving through crowds of after-work punters still milling around trying to decipher their fold-up guides to the festival, only to discover the evening’s biggest queue – for many peoples’ highlights of the festival Yeah Yeah Yeahs playing a surprisingly early show for the BBC (and that a whole other wristband is needed to even get into the Roundhouse). A quick glance at the schedule also showed that the much-hyped Virgins had already played too, even earlier. Having got over that mild initial disappointment, though, there is still plenty of music to choose from across the 16 venues to take your mind off it. And with that considerable draw at the Chalk Farm end of the festival, many other venues had plenty of room to breathe and take in some new music. One such was a sparsely filled Underworld, where London-via-Brighton’s Flashguns kicked off my Camden Crawl ’09. The relative lack of audience was by no means reflected by any lack of enthusiasm on the part of the impossibly young-looking band, who barely paused for breath as they tore through an energetic and engaging set. From the extended thrashing of the opening number, through more standard, but thoroughly enjoyable ‘80s-influenced jerkily melodic indie-rock fare (supplemented with more than a touch of xylophone), the increasing head-nodding and foot-tapping of a growing crowd was complemented by some outstanding moves by frontman Sam Johnston, who, with guitar slung incredibly high, moved around the stage like a cross between Michael Flatley and David Byrne. This remarkable routine added to an all-round encouraging performance – including a great rendition of the Stephen Street produced single “Locarno” – from a band I would otherwise have missed, and provided a more than pleasant start to a Friday night.

My attempts at “doing” the Camden Crawl proceeded in very much the same way as Sam’s hap-hazard dancing. Neither the first – nor last – mix up corroborating the stage times on my schedule with my watch meant a trek back up the high street for Peggy Sue allowed me to also witness almost the entire set of Berlin-based Canadians Circlesquare on before them in The Monarch. Given that the average music fan’s year seems destined to be split between dancing about wildly to synth-orientated pop and gazing steadfastly at their shoes, Circlesquare should do fine, for live their square peg seeming to fall perfectly between the two circular holes filled by the glut of electro-pop and shoegaze bands doing the rounds. The dark, brooding, pulsating electro songs from their Songs About Drugs and Dancing album stretch out in a way that seems to fit perfectly into their geographical heritage – something like a trimmed down Broken Social Scene playing a krautrock-themed morning after party.

By the time Rosa, Katy et al of Peggy Sue (shorn of Pirates and Pictures) take the stage, the Monarch’s former Wetherspoon’s layout is full to bursting in anticipation. With Florence + her major label Machine picking up awards, fans and super-hype left, right and centre, Peggy Sue could be forgiven for feeling a little hard done by for being the quirky female chanteuses a little left behind in what seems to be developing into a whole new wave of eccentric girl power. Not that it shows in performance, with the cockney patois of their charming rockabilly-infused sea shanties sounding perfectly at home in 21st Century Camden. With the familiar to fans Missy Elliott cover “All In My Grill” crowning an impressive set to an appreciative crowd, there’s still time for the forthcoming debut album to set the Peggy Sue ship on course for bigger things this year.

A quick stop off at Dingwalls to catch the end of Sportsday Megaphone’s one man laptop party (including an intriguing folktronica version of The Buzzcocks’ “Ever Fallen In Love With Someone You Shouldn’t Have Fallen In Love With”, adding some clinical beats and Pet Shop Boys style vocals to the punk classic to pleasing effect) and what had initially seemed an evening of high maintenance struggling was starting to feel more comfortable, and dare I say it, fun. For this is really the key to something like the Camden Crawl – unless you plan to spend your evening queuing to see one or two bands you’ve just got to throw your preconceptions and attempts to formulate any kind of running order out the window and go for impulsiveness instead; make it a spontaneous pub crawl with an unpredictable soundtrack, rather than a hectic logistical nightmare trying to squeeze in your personal favourites. (By this point I was fully resigned to the fact that I probably wouldn’t be able to catch any of my wanna-sees of the evening like James Yuill, Three Trapped Tigers, Pulled Apart By Horses and more).

As much as that philosophy is true, you are still allowed to pick which band playing the “headliner” slot you want to brave the queues for. Being in the mood for a mellow end of the evening, mine was the wonderful Mumford and Sons at the Jazz Café and so I duly waited in line feeling rather satisfied at the night’s work so far. Alas, the sign on the door indicated that the Mumford and indeed his whole family had cancelled (a post-event check of the band’s Myspace indicated that they had announced in mid-March that they were rescheduling all their April tour dates, so quite why they were still down to perform up to the night of the event seems a little mystifying). The organisers had managed to find a replacement, though, and at the risk of a long walk to join the back of another queue I decided to cut my losses and stick around to check out... well I never actually caught their names. Replacing the scheduled folky Americana with some sweaty American hard rock may have been unavoidable at short notice, but it was something of a shock to my system and the entertained grin that appeared when first confronted with such a hairy band taking themselves very seriously soon turned into boredom and the feeling of being slightly robbed, so it was back out into the Camden night air. A headliner down and another timetable mix-up meant I had missed the end of Wire’s set at the Electric Ballroom. Still, with several more hours of DJs and more bands playing late sets, and a whole new day full of music to come, the night and weekend were far from over. Except it was for me. Deciding to cut my losses while the tube was still running, I headed away from my 2009 Camden Crawl with mixed emotions and no ticket for the Saturday.

So it can be over-crowded and frustrating with little chance to see the bands you wanted to and seemingly bizarre scheduling decisions, and the line-up isn’t necessarily the very best, but the Camden Crawl’s negatives can become plus points when they push you in the direction of some great new music. Get lucky, avoid the queues and catch some bands you might have passed up and things can work in your favour. At the end of the day no one can complain too much at a load of bands playing live at a load of pubs, clubs and venues, now can they? To return to the rather awkward and generally unnecessary opening airport metaphor, the holiday turned out fine but I’m not sure if I’d go back again.

***
First published on rockfeedback.com

End of the Road Festival 2008 - Larmer Tree Gardens, Dorset

At around 3pm on the Friday, spirits were not as high as they could have been down Larmer Tree Gardens way. No sooner was the last tent peg in the ground, than the wall of rain that had been lurking in the distance made its way across the plains of North Dorset and did its business all over the End of the Road site. Anyone who had taken any notice of the previous week’s Bestival was well-prepared for this soggy start, but a trudge to the arena uncovered more bad news – no alcohol to be taken inside. This is of course standard festival practice, but the word on the muddy field was that part of the bliss of End of the Road 2007 was being able to do just that. As the skies cleared briefly, though, any residual negativity disappeared with the drizzle and it was on with the show.

As far as quality of music goes, End of the Road has to be up there with the likes of All Tomorrow’s Parties for hosting critically acclaimed acts (albeit rather less diverse) and any other festival you care to mention for sheer consistency. There are “must see” bands from first to last, Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin to Calexico. There are the new (the winners of the Lucky Ten competition to play the festival, including The Accidental, Cats in Paris, Revenge of Shinobi) and well-worn (American Music Club, Billy Childish), the rising stars (Noah and the Whale, Laura Marling, Bon Iver) and old guard (Mercury Rev, Tindersticks), the cult heroes (Dirty Three, Low, Mountain Goats and many more) and Billboard hit-makers (Conor Oberst). And the true mark of consistency is that almost every band that plays over the three days is one that most in attendance would happily pay money to go and see.

So, having avoided most of the rain – and sadly a handful of the afternoon sets – it is with a fair amount of excitement and expectation at what my dirt cheap £105 ticket will bring me that I wander through the cluster of ethically sourced and fair trade stalls to the festival’s second stage, The Big Top, to catch the second half of Laura Marling’s nice-but-not-mind-blowing set. From here there is only one destination: to the main Garden Stage for Dirty Three. The Australian trio are in fine fettle, with frontman Warren Ellis on typically engaging form, ranting from somewhere behind his beard and supplementing his violin playing with an array of high kicks. In a folk-dominated weekend, the epic instrumentals they fit in to their 75 minute set (the long set times are a particularly welcome feature of the festival) are as powerful, fragile and absorbing as virtually anything that will be heard by Monday morning: a true weekend highlight before the first night’s even over.

There’s just time to pick up a hot and spicy cider from the Somerset Cider Bus (one of the hits of the weekend above all else) and it’s time for Conor Oberst’s headline slot with his Mystic Valley Band. The Bright Eyes man’s set is certainly entertaining, particularly to those familiar with the recent solo album, with evidence of the same feeling of freedom that comes through so strongly on that record. The rocking versions of ‘Danny Callahan’ and ‘I Don’t Want to Die (In the Hospital)’ and delicate solo renditions of ‘Lenders in the Temple’ and ‘Milk Thistle’ are musically great, but the performance is a little tarnished by the fact that Oberst himself gives off an air that he doesn’t fancy “End of the World” or any other festival appearance where he can see his breath in the chilly night air. Thankfully this has no particular bearing on what remained a thoroughly pleasing first day. Indeed, moments like this only stand out because of the amount of other performers – from Richard Hawley to Noah and the Whale, Bon Iver to Darren Hayman – that explicitly mention that out of all the festivals they’ve been to or played, End of the Road is up there with the best of them.

With Saturday comes sunshine and things are going so well that even the “No Alcohol” sign has disappeared and everyone is free to wander round with whatever cheap cans of lager they wish to. This sunny second day allows End of the Road’s crowning glory to come to the fore. The Garden Stage has to be the most idyllic setting in which I’ve ever watched music. Set in a clearing and surrounded by a line of trees on one side and hedges on the other, it is a natural amphitheatre, with antiquated buildings dotted around the edge to complete the Midsummer Night’s Dream feeling of the place, along with the almost surreal scene of peacocks (left) wandering amongst the people. On top of this, the sound on this main stage is as good as I’ve experienced at any outdoor show, something that makes such a difference given the different textures of the weekend’s performances.

The first one of the day is Absentee (left), who put their unique and deliciously lugubrious stamp on proceedings. Bowerbirds (below) then translate their bewitching songs to the Garden Stage, enrapturing the growing afternoon crowd with harmonious folk from debut album Hymns for a Dark Horse, while over in the Big Top, the slightly incongruous looking collective The Accidental do something rather similar. With talkative boy-girl vocalists Hannah Caughlin (also part of The Bicycle Thieves) and Liam Bailey flanked by elder statesmen Stephen Cracknell (The Memory Band) and Sam Genders (Tunng), they look a bit funny, but sound perfectly lovely. With the sun out, though, it is difficult to justify being inside and so its back outside to see the closest to current pop stars on show over the weekend, Noah & the Whale (below). Predictably, Charlie Fink and cohorts’ sunny folk-pop complements the weather perfectly, though, as with everyone who’s been near a radio for half an hour this year, (for good or bad) the ‘5 Years Time’ melody remained firmly lodged in the consciousness for many hours.

Late afternoon brings a multi-national three-way clash between Fins Seabear, Reading’s Pete & the Pirates and Bon Iver from across the pond. After catching the first couple from Seabear in a very sweaty Bimble Inn tent it’s fresh air time again and there’s really nowhere else to head but to get a decent spot for Bon Iver. One of many of the foreign acts who espouse from the stage about what a special place this is to play music, Justin Vernon and his band reprise their triumphant recent UK performances, playing For Emma, Forever Ago in its entirety along with an impressive new song and a Talk Talk cover. The crowd sing-along of ‘The Wolves (Parts I and II)’ is as powerful in a big field as it was in a St. Giles Church back in June, and from start to finish it is a mesmerising display. If everyone takes one musical memory of End of the Road 2008 away with them, the majority will probably take this one.

Following an entertaining set from British Sea Power, it is back to the Americans to provide the closing entertainment of the night. Low’s genre-defining slowcore can be intense at the best of times, but in the most controversial and unsettling moment of the weekend, singer/guitarist Alan Sparhawk seems to suffer a complete breakdown during the course of their set. Silent for the first part of the performance, he announces half way through “What a shitty day. Everyone I love told me they hate me today”. A mostly powerful but occasionally excruciating conclusion to the band’s show culminates in a moment of utter madness as Sparhawk flings his guitar full pelt into the front row of the audience. It’s a shame that he is having a bad day, but it’s pretty dangerous. Luckily, no harm is done, but a few humble apologies from the remainder of the band don’t wash away the nasty taste left in the mouth by an incident so out of keeping with the amiable atmosphere of the rest of the festival. All this puts a slight dampener on Mercury Rev’s grandiose headline gig, which makes for the perfect opportunity to explore the rest of the site.

A trip into the woods, or “Enchanted Forest” to give it its proper – and quite apt – name, brings some idyllic discoveries. With all completely lit by fairy lights, there is a “library” in one clearing, a public piano in another (ivories being tinkled by buskers throughout the evening – a drunken ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ sing-along symptomatic of the fun to be had), and an isolated tent with a light up dancefloor (left) in another (not to mention the “healing tent”). And these delightful touches are by no means the end of the bright ideas at End of the Road, with the Little White Lies film tent proving consistently popular, The Local and Bimble tents seemingly always full and even a small tent set up like your living room – complete with sofas, a record player and, remarkably, Trivial Pursuit. But back to Saturday night and after a lost while in the Enchanted Forest, a final stumble to the Big Top for Two Gallants is good fun, but the big tent sound unfortunately doesn’t really do justice to their undeniably great songs. That said, the duo still conjure up some crowd-pleasing moments, not least an absorbing ‘Despite What You’ve Been Told’ and rocking ‘Las Cruces Jail’. Spirits remain high for the remaining few hours of managing to stand up, with a variety of tents in which to dance and make further merry (walking into the Big Top to the sound of The Count Five’s ‘Psychotic Reaction’ is a lingering memory).

With Sunday comes more sun and the promise of a day of music to rival the first two excellent ones. If there’s any justice The Wave Pictures (above) will be a hell of a lot higher on the bill at next year’s End of the Road. Providing the perfect afternoon’s entertainment, the band sound even better than on record through a sparkling set that includes crowd requests alongside favourites from Instant Coffee Baby. They are without doubt a weekend highlight and whet the appetite for what’s to come. The band should also get some sort of medal for getting around as much as they do. Dave Watkins is clearly the most hard-working man of the festival, also reporting for duty with Darren Hayman and Jeffrey Lewis. Jason Molina’s set of Songs: Ohia and Magnolia Electric Co. songs is a serene affair, but a beautiful one nonetheless, Molina at once dapper and reserved. End of the Road Records’ own Woodpigeon are perfect to play the late afternoon set, the Canadians twee harmonies suiting the surroundings impeccably. A poignant note is provided in the Big Top, where indie godfather Darren Hayman admits that him and Jack probably won’t be playing too many more Darren and Jack Play Hefner Songs shows. A shame this would indeed be, but the all too brief set is a regressive delight, transporting many a viewer to a simpler time when John Peel was on the radio, Hefner were your favourite band and each of Hayman’s ‘Hymns’ (‘to the Alcohol’, ‘to the Cigarettes’, ‘to the Postal Service’ etc) took on almost religious significance. The set closes – perhaps for the last time – with the set culminating in a brilliant guitar duel between Darren, Jack and who else but Dave Watkins.

Here there is a disastrous gap in this writer’s weekend’s experience. One problem with so much music is that there is always going to be potential greatness missed. In my case, I manage to spectacularly avoid some of the things I was really looking forward to during the course of the weekend, including both of The Acorn’s two sets, Pete & the Pirates, Shearwater, Cats in Paris, David Thomas Broughton and Kurt Wagner to name a few. In this case, perhaps the biggest clash of the weekend – Jeffrey Lewis vs Tindersticks – results in me inexplicably missing both of them. However, my festival is brought to a fitting close by the wonderful Calexico, who are the perfect culmination to the weekend on the Garden Stage and outdo almost all that preceded them. The Tucsonites entertain all before them with their unique Mexi-Americana, getting everyone dancing to songs from the fantastic latest album Carried to Dust, as well as many a horn-filled tune from their back catalogue. It’s nothing less than a superb end to a superb weekend of music.

End of the Road 2008 was undoubtedly an absolute success, but of course no festival is perfect. The sound in the Big Top (like almost every festival tent I’ve been in) was not the best, with the likes of Two Gallants not having justice done to their performance. There’s quite a high proportion of families at the festival – something mildly positive or negative depending on which side of parenthood you sit – while the more neutral attendees might find that there’s not a huge amount of variety on offer at the festival: if you fancy a spot of math-rock, reggae or drum’n’bass, you’re probably going to be disappointed. Despite the likes of Dirty Three’s post-rock instrumentals, Let’s Wrestle’s DIY indie-punk and Zombie Zombie’s synth-fuelled weirdness, folk, anti-folk, Americana and associated genres are over-represented to say the least (though that is, of course, the point). And one profession that doesn’t need to worry about the credit crunch quite yet is the brass players of the world – there was more trumpets and horns on show at End of the Road 2008 than an elephant on rhinoceros sex party.

These are merely trifling matters, though, and in general I don’t think I can recommend End of the Road highly enough. The setting, the atmosphere, the organisation, the thought that went in to almost every detail, not least the music – from Calexico back to Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin – everything was nigh on perfect. With Early Bird tickets on sale already, I can’t travel down the road to September 2009 fast enough.

*****

First published on rockfeedback.com. See it here.

[All pictures copyright Chris Helsen 2008]