The motto "same old town, brand new music" befits Nod Ya Head well, with the Fareham promoter quickly establishing a deserved reputation for booking an interesting mix of bands for its live music nights. The line-up for their fourth showcase, which includes something great from the other side of the Solent, can only add to this renown.
The Isle of Wight continues to bring forth great musical offerings, such as the cinematic electronica of Curxes, the spiky indie-pop of Lauran Hibberd and the eclectic loveliness of Plastic Mermaids. The island's latest export is Jeph, an indie foursome with a lush line of jangly guitar; if you like The Beths then these should be right up your street.
Second on the bill are Flying Machines who, I have no doubt, some idle writer will tailor a quip about being magnificent men. The band Portsmouth band, not to be confused with the London outfit of the same name, released their debut long player Tales of a Quiet Guest last year.
Rounding out the line-up is Portsmouth's own Fugitive Orchestra, the one-man-band of James Tattington, who recently celebrated the release of his new single Tomahawk Caress with a gig at the city's newest venue, The House of Rapture.
Advance tickets for the Saturday 6th April gig at The Roundabout Hotel are available online now via BookEvents, priced at £6, with entry OTD still a snip at £7.
UPDATE:
02/04 Physical tickets are available for purchase from Heathen Chemistry, West Street, Fareham.
One Saturday in 2015 I found myself emerging from the dark basement of Brighton's Sticky Mike's (RIP), ears ringing from Kassassin Street's morning set, and stumbled across Jerry Williams playing a courtyard gig a few yards away. Barely a song in I was already aware that I was in the presence of a rare talent.
Since then Jerry has continued to perfect her craft, releasing new material, touring far and wide, building up an ever growing legion of fans in the process.
Having recently returned from New York, taking over Tidal's Instagram feed for a session whilst there, Jerry has since travelled to Germany for a string of live dates with her band before a return to the UK for further shows (including a gig at the Camden Assembly, the Barfly as was, on Wednesday 30th January and a visit to Southampton's Joiners the following night).
Current release David At The Bar is a reflective ode, a tale of a bar-side conversation the artist had with a young alcoholic she encountered; a soon-to-be new father, David promised Jerry that he'd stop drinking if she wrote a song about him, this affecting tune being the result. The lyrics reflect the drinker's fears for the future, whether they'll be able to put down the last glass, before toasting the artist with a plea not to follow the same path.
It's a delicate song which progresses in tone over its two and a half minutes, powerfully building to an anthemic crescendo that, yes, I could picture a drunken crowd sing-a-long aloud. Irony is a wonderful thing. It's unknown what the titular character makes of the song he made his bargain for as David appears to have vanished into the crowd after the conversation. I'm hoping that he's seized the opportunity life has presented for him, made good on his promise, and is building on the future with his young family. Yes, I've always been a sucker for a happy ending.
Sometimes, after a bad day at life's coalface, all a body wants to do is sit at the back of the bus, earbuds securely seated, and listen to something loud and/or shouty enough to abate the demons resident on each shoulder. If this is you right now might I suggest you quieten the devils by cranking up the latest release from Horseflies.
Fist is the first track lifted from the Portsmouth alt-rockers imminent new EP, Lucidity, and a frenetically joyous assault on the ear it is too. Chunky riffs and chords combine to produce an energy packed rollercoaster of a tune; if the opening bars are a call to the mosh-pit the body of the song provides a soundtrack to a flailing mass of bodies, the piano coda allowing for the briefest of warm-downs. It's an intense three minutes of guitar and bass and drums and, yes, the other people on the bus aren't going to like it.
José Feliciano's 1970 song 'Feliz Navidad' is, according to the folks at Nielsen, the eighth most downloaded Christmas song in the US and Canada (placing it higher than Wham's Last Christmas but some several hundred thousand adrift of the number one spot where Mariah Carey sits). It's a catchy enough pop song, with simple repetitive lyrics, that bounces along with a saccharine cheeriness; tap your foot, reach for the Egg Nog, repeat until you don't care singing it aloud.
London alternative rockers Shame recently covered Feliz Navidad, producing a refreshingly shambolic take on the original that garnered praise when it aired on Steve Lamacq's Roundtable, but it's not the best cover of the song out there.
Tucked away on SoundCloud, forgotten by me until the band tweeted a link to it yesterday, is Sigur Rós' suitably ethereal version of the song.
Recorded live in a Reykjavik pub in 1999, replete with background chatter and digital pops, 'ég fæ jólagjöf' is a sombre, mournful, near unrecognisable variant on the original.
Admittedly it's not as catchy as the original, and it doesn't roll along as does Shame's cover, but it has its own dark kind of Christmas magic about it. This version would sit comfortably over the end credits of a Scandi-noir film or, better yet, provide fitting music for a slow tracking shot over the discarded cardboard from Amazon's festive ad campaign; the singing boxes silenced after their festive cargoes have been retrieved.
Too dark for Christmas Day? Well, maybe just a bit; if this hopelandic elegy isn't the Noisette Triangle in your box of festive chocs then maybe crank this up loud instead.
