★★★★☆
Four Stars

There’s A Star Above The Manger Tonight becomes Red Red Meat’s first vinyl reissue this week. ‘Experimental rock’ would not do this album justice — a more accurate description would be the incredibly catchy ‘ambient post-bluegrass slide alternative boogeyblues’.

It is essentially a series of fragments, a broken picture with no directions for reassembly. The Meatheads dismantle their grooves as soon as they’ve built them, dragging you kicking and screaming through the resulting sonic mess.

But don’t get me wrong, that’s exactly what works so well with this album. It feels like the Meatheads, in a break from washing out meat trucks, ran inside — blood still dripping from their hands — and just happened to bung together whatever they found into an abyss of distorted ambience.

It’s almost impossible to pin down a top track, but ‘Chinese Balls’ comes pretty close. Starting off with a groove that seems to mould 1987 Rick Rubin/Russell Simmons Def Jam into a redo of the Baywatch theme song, you’d be forgiven for thinking you had the wrong disc, before a guitar track that sounds like it’s been strung with spools of worn-out, dirty audio tape comes in. The bridge almost breaks down into an early Pink Floyd psychedelic ramble.

For someone not usually a fan of reissues, this album really is worth the hassle.

★★★★☆

Four Stars

Christmas came early last night in the Simpkins Lee theatre, delivered in all its sleigh bell goodness by the Oxford Revue at the top of their game. My previous experiences of the Revue in the sweatbox that is the Wheatsheaf had given me high hopes for the evening, but this Christmas stocking of comedy went above and beyond my expectations. The performers seemed to revel in the freedom of the larger space and longer time slot, imbuing the evening with an infectious absurdity that had the audience spellbound throughout.

The show’s greatest strength lay in its variety, blending classic stand-up routines with Wogan-infused radio plays alongside moments of the absolutely surreal (without going into too much detail, I never thought I’d see that much human hair grace the stage of Oxford’s finest comedy troupe). The range of sketches was an admirable achievement in a show that has presumably been put together in a very short space of time, and it was testament to the professionalism of the performers that it came off as a cohesive, and at times almost slick, production – though, granted, professional does feel an odd choice of word to use of a show combining postman-based erotic fiction with a Tinder-inspired rock opera.

The Revue played to their strengths, alternating longer sketches and running gags with short and surreal set-pieces that managed to get their audience crying with laughter at the pure ludicrousness of what was going on. The combination of styles meant there was never a real lull in laughter or moment when you found yourself wishing for a sketch to just wrap itself up and end. If there were nerves, the Revue certainly didn’t show it; their breezy confidence meant the audience (when they weren’t desperately trying to avoid being picked on) were eating out of the palm of their hand.

To avoid sounding too sycophantic, I will admit that there were moments of imperfection among the brilliance. There were slight technical issues towards the end and a sketch about the pint of milk was, ironically, wrong about the price of milk (or am I missing the irony?). However, these were eclipsed by its much greater strengths. I genuinely can’t emphasis enough how much this show made me laugh, something I’m all too grateful for as a work-heavy 6th week hobbles to its close; despite the lack of the rumoured mulled wine and mince pies – I still want answers – the Oxford Revue’s Christmas Party proved itself to be an unmissable night of student comedy.

30 shows, 4 days: yes, it was that time of year again. The time of year where aspiring thesps flock to the Burton Taylor Studio for a whirlwind week of drama and heated competition. It certainly did not disappoint. As the producer of the event, I was hugely impressed with what all of the groups came up with; shortlisting the winners was by no means an easy task. Nonetheless, here’s a flavour of some of our favourite shows from the week.

Colin and Katya – Univ (Best Of Cuppers, Best New Writing)

[mm-hide-text]%%IMG_ORIGINAL%%10608%%[/mm-hide-text] 

As we left the auditorium after this show, one of my fellow judges had nothing to say but “That can’t possible have been written by a student.”

He was wrong about that. Jack Clover has certainly exploded onto the drama scene with this superb piece of new writing – the plot is an exquisite balance of comedy with more serious matter, which questions the portrayal of women, the judgemental nature of society and the inner-workings of culture itself. Clover’s play shows an intense amount of consideration for the audience’s emotional journey; we instantly find ourselves rooting for the hero, Colin, and his journey becomes ours.

A great test of a piece of new writing is how effectively other theatrical components are used to showcase the story. Colin and Katya certainly withstands this test. The stage design was minimalistic yet incredibly powerful, drawing the focus sharply on the story itself. As far as acting goes, there was very little to fault. There was a profound depth to all of the characters, including the narrators; the actors had carefully considered every little detail and nuance. The onstage interaction between the characters was incredibly natural, and the more abstract, physical moments were incredibly sharp and well rehearsed. The role-switching was clear and effective and the narration was engaging and perfectly paced to suit the moment. The wonderfully subtle comedic moments were perfectly timed and powerfully executed.

In short, all of the elements were there. There was very little about this play that hadn’t been well planned and creatively executed, even down to the computer keys used for tickets. Look out for these guys – we’d have paid more than £1 to see this.

Eight – Brasenose (Best Director, Best Actress)

[mm-hide-text]%%IMG_ORIGINAL%%10609%%[/mm-hide-text] 

Most of us had previously heard of Ella Hickson’s play Eight; eight monologues which build up a chilling portrait of the distorted nation we live in. We walked into the auditorium believing that we had a good idea of what we were about to see, but Jess Ward’s unique handling of the material was outstanding, and made Eight a real front-runner from the start.

For one thing, the monologues were not performed consecutively and in their entirety, but spliced up and woven in with one another, creating a gripping web of plot-lines and suspense. The emphasis on physical theatre was also hugely effective; the moments of ensemble were well rehearsed and created a powerful visual, using movement and subtle interaction to compliment each of the monologues. This had an incredibly disturbing effect and the heightened tension was only enhanced by the use of white masks, adding a new dimension to the play concerning the nature of identity. 

There were multiple contenders here for Best Actor/Actress. In a play 100% comprised of pieces of monologue, the finished product can only work if the actors have an in-depth understanding of the characters that they are portraying, and if these are developed well. However, there were no weak links in this cast; as individuals, each monologue was engaging and powerful. More importantly, as a group, they offered a colourful display of diversity, with each character bringing something different, and special, to the overriding story. The success of this show was a combination of innovative direction with incredibly skilled acting.

Down By Law – Wadham (Best Design, Best Actor)

[mm-hide-text]%%IMG_ORIGINAL%%10610%%[/mm-hide-text] 

What did we like about this one? It was daring. Any play which is dominated by space, time and silence is difficult to pull off. And luckily for these guys, we thought it worked.

Adapting a film for stage is incredibly different. Arguably, the most significant challenge is working with an entirely different visual framework. In a screenplay, you can change up the shots and angles; in a theatre you’re given a fixed space. These guys used this space extremely effectively. he set, for one thing, was magnificent. The crew had fashioned 2 sets of wooden jail bars, which were moved around the front of the stage to alter perceptions of enclosure, and to situate the audience within or without the cell – whichever fitted the moment best. The tech complimented this, utilising levels of light to mark changes in time, and culminating in an explosive finale whose staging provided a dynamic shift in atmosphere and pace.

The way the actors handled themselves really reflected the atmosphere onto the audience; time slowed right down. Ali Porteous was a worthy winner of our Best Actor award; he kept his character alive and delightfully colourful even in an environment where little interaction was offered to him. He offered a ray of hope, drawing out the best in the characters around him. He also played the audience well, with some well-timed moments of humour.

This was very ambitious yet well executed piece, which we really appreciated.

In Conclusion…

I would have liked to write a lot more. The standards were incredibly high, and just because only a handful of shows ended up winning prizes, it didn’t mean that we weren’t incredibly impressed with everyone. I just couldn’t afford to buy anymore trophies, really.

Despite what certain student publications have been telling you recently, I believe Oxford drama is worth your time and money. As I sat in the BT pretty much 24/7, it was heartening seeing the effort and care that had been invested into these half-hour slots; for me, it made all the chaos completely worth it. These students had been at Oxford for a few weeks, but amidst the subfusc and those first gruelling essay-crises they had taken the time out to assemble a team, put together a play and see it realised onstage. Their enthusiasm to integrate themselves into Oxford’s weird and wonderful world of theatre made them a joy to work with.

And watch this space; we’ve seen Macbeth and Banquo throwing shapes to Abba, we’ve had piano playing through a blackout and we’ve had a crazed director with a profound love for Barbara Streisand…

Who knows what these guys will come up with next?

★★★★☆
Four Stars

When asked to review Mark McGuire’s latest release, Noctilucence, I let out a sigh at the pretentious name. It required a concerted effort to fathom just what ‘noctilucence’ actually means (the phenomenon of clouds glowing at night — who knew?). My further discoveries of fourteen-minute songs did little to raise my hopes.

Yet Noctilucence surpassed all of my assumptions.

Its five tracks provide a stunning complexity of sound shrouded with an almost extraterrestrial undertone. Even if the weird and wonderful isn’t for you, it’s hard to deny the sheer complexity of the songs.

The album is also beautifully symmetrical. Opening track ‘Freedom of Spirit’ is reminiscent of a church choir, its ethereal vocals adding another layer to the song, ensuring that it constantly rushes up to full intensity before ebbing away. The album peaks with title track ‘Noctilucence’, which nevertheless frustrates with its long yet intense opening, before changing beautifully after four minutes into unadulterated electric guitar.

The album works incredibly well as a whole, let down only in the incredibly long introductions, which induce a sense of guilt for feeling frustrated at such beautiful music. If questioning the universe through instrumental music is for you, then McGuire’s Noctilucence comes highly recommended.

★★★☆☆
Three Stars

You can’t deny that Nathan Bowles is an impressive man. As well as teaching, he is an expert percussionist and banjo player. He’s also contributed to sixteen LPs and toured on both sides of the pond from his home state of Virginia. No biggie.

Nansemond is Bowles’ second foray as a soloist. Inspired by the gradual loss of the Nansemond tribal culture, Bowles attempts to preserve the Virginian tribe’s name upon his new album — even though the name itself has been wiped off the topographical map.

The influence of the Appalachian folk music of Virginia is clearly felt in the album. Bowles is a master of the banjo, and I can imagine that seeing him play it live would be a mesmerising experience. When listening to the album you are transported. Instead of sitting at a plywood desk, you can’t help but picture Bowles sat on a white-panelled porch, looking over a white picket fence at the surrounding Virginia forests.

The highpoint of the album is ‘The Smoke Swallower’. It’s ghostly sound of a tinkling piano and ominous drumming evokes a looming sense of sadness. Yet I can’t help thinking that the track would work better as an accompaniment to interpretive dance than as a standalone piece to be listened to in the privacy of your own room.

Instrumental tracks take up the majority of the album’s running time. But when Bowles finally sings, his raspy tones of religious paraphrase, ‘Jonah/Poor Liza Jane’, aren’t half bad. But that doesn’t make up for the fact that musically, there is a simple lack of variation.

‘Chuckatuck’, the album’s next track, sounds almost identical to that which precedes it.

And then there are the playing times. Ten minutes of the same riff does not make pleasant listening — it gets quite tiresome and boring, even after two or three minuites. If the album were divided into smaller, decidedly differently sounding chunks, it would be a more satisfying offering.

It’s far from a horrific album, but sadly I find it just isn’t all that memorable. As it stands, it’s the kind of album that you listen to once, appreciate the musical skill put into it, and then put it back on the shelf and never listen to it again.

If you love a good hour of banjo playing, then Nansemond is the album for you. But unfortunately I don’t. By the end of the album I wanted to throw the banjo into the Virginian forest, and ended up feeling quite relieved that I didn’t have to fly all that way to put an end to Bowles’ incessant strumming.

Nearly ten years ago, one man was propelled to stardom by a song so unremarkably bittersweet, so endearingly insipid, so remorselessly plodding, that we could hardly get through our little lives without it.

He wore a beanie. He looked a bit like Chris Martin. There was a sadness in his eyes, as in those of a dog who suspects this trip to the vet is his last. ‘Bad Day’ was the most played song in the UK between 2003 and 2008, briefly turning Daniel Powter into a superstar.

The difficult second album, the cocaine addiction and the stint in rehab later, and Dan’s still persevering on his slow climb back to the heights of (bad) days gone by.

He’s making a new album, and, judging by his verbose social media presence, it’ll be as miserable as ever. He misquotes Nietzsche; he posts photographs of himself looking contemplative. One is captioned “looking out a window toward presumably nothing”. This is a man who can only presume what it is he’s actually looking at.

Either he’s too bogged down in his epistemological philosophy, or he’s just got a bit lost. Dan’s next step, whatever it is, is well worth keeping an eye on.

Nick Mulvey is hands down one of the most accomplished musicians I have ever seen perform. The first time I heard him play, it struck me how rare it is with live music to be blown away by the sound itself — not the energy or the charisma or hook of the choruses — but rather the pure skill of the technical delivery.

It was an early afternoon slot at Wilderness last year and I was among a scattering of people sitting down to soak up the sunshine, half-indifferent to whatever the next low-key folk act would have to offer. But then something unexpected happened. As soon as the trickling, cyclical guitar melodies and Mulvey’s soft, unaffected voice carried themselves over the little crowd, the magnetism of ‘Fever To The Form’ drew everyone closer, making people sit up for a minute and really listen.

Like many of Mulvey’s best tracks, ‘Fever To The Form’ exudes both minimalism and effort- less complexity. “I feel really special about that song,” he tells me. “People seem to take to it. And that one more than any came from a place of working out my inside world.”

It is evident that drawing on personal experience and exploring this ‘inside world’ play central roles in Mulvey’s writing process. “The moment I took the courage to populate my songs with details from my actual life, they got better and it all mattered more. But then I also realised that song-writing isn’t confession — it’s really important to twist your life experience into artifice so that it becomes universal. If you were to do it wrong, that would be terrible. It’s about transcending the personal aspect.”

Listening to what is probably the best song on the album, ‘Cucurucu’, I start to see evidence of this in practice, with lyrics “All of my manhood is cast / down in the flood of remembrance / and I weep like a child for the past” speaking to the kind of mournful nostalgia present in so many of his songs. I ask which he most enjoys performing: “that’s like asking me to choose from my children!” he laughs. But jokes aside, it does seem as though Nick Mulvey’s songs share some of his DNA, they’re so distinctly his own.

Music has obviously been a focal point for a long time. “I never saw my life panning out, but I never questioned that I’d be playing music. I remember my brother saying when he was about fourteen that he didn’t really like playing music, and that was the first time I’d ever heard that. I was like ‘What?! How could you think that?’ I couldn’t conceive of that opinion,” he enthuses. “If someone had asked me as a youngster, whether I’d like a job where you have to learn an instrument, recording techniques, how to communicate to the press, about film and imagery and balance… then I’d have said ‘Yeah I’ll do that!”

It’s difficult to find another artist who shares Mulvey’s musical and lyrical foundation, (not to mention his enthusiasm), a testament to his impressive CV of experience includes studying in Cuba and being a member of jazz ensemble Portico Quartet. “I’ve never been too stylistically specific,” he ponders. “I think I sit between all the different stuff I love.” Rather than straddling different musical worlds, however, his debut record First Mind sounds more like a creative space where different influences and emotions are merged together.

Since that memorable Wilderness performance, things have continued on a steady upward trajectory for Mulvey, whose singles ‘Meet Me There’ and ‘Cucurucu’ have enjoyed generous air-time on Radio 1, whilst First Mind was among the albums nominated for a Mercury prize this year alongside the likes of Royal Blood and Jungle. “I walked past a middling-to-small stage at a festival recently and I just thought how happy I was that it wasn’t me playing there any more, I feel like I’ve done that, you know what I mean?”

Though I’ll never forget seeing Nick Mulvey capture the hearts of a small, unsuspecting festival audience, looking ahead it seems likely there are much bigger things in store.

★★★★☆
Four Stars

Dream Police, the electro-experimental alter ego of gritty punk Brooklyn rockers The Men, mark a shift back to the sound of their previous albums with Hypnotized. Members Nick Chiericozzi and Mark Perro started the project in 2010, and the album is the fruit of extensive jamming and the gradual release of cassette singles. Most notable is the addition of a drum machine to many of the songs, which has dramatically shaped the production of the album. Gone are the uncertain, hazy distortions with no clear build up, replaced by a solid rhythm acting as the backbone throughout the dimensions of experimental genre which cross on this record.

‘Hypnotized’, the album’s titular opening track, kicks off with its wavering vibrato flanger-intensified guitar effects, paving the way for the bass-backed vocals whispering, “Oh little sister what have you done…” Interest in the track is retained thanks to the constantly changing riffs; the fade out and built up of each phrase, “Grab a hold of my steering wheel / Let’s go for a ride” sums up the essence of liberation which it breathes.

‘My Mama’s Dead’, with its distorted screaming lyrics, is almost the perfect follow-on from this. It is contrasting in melody, but the steady synth is a heartbeat in a song about endless death.

While blues and country elements are ever-present, they take the lead in ‘Iris’, a reflective ballad with a vocal arrangement of both high and low growling extremes. ‘John’ is similarly distinctive with its gritty blues sound and Wurlitzer organ. ‘Pouring Rain’, the up-tempo game changer, is layered with synths, although the vocals are compromised. It’s still a not a track which Alan Vega or David Lynch would be ashamed of having to their name.

‘All We Are’, with its psychedelic overtones, is shorter and sweeter than the rest. ‘Let it Be’ is a purely instrumental interlude, driven on by its faster synthesized drumbeat and rising and falling guitar riffs.

‘Sandy’ ends the album on a more sombre note, brought out by interplay between the al- ternating male and female voices in the chorus — “church bells are ringing / hanging branch bending / and tonight I don’t feel like singing”. In a recent interview, Chiericozzi explains that “The song originally had drums and electric guitar, but… we made an acoustic demo that had something haunting in it.”

With the recent break up of The Virgins, and the state of The Strokes uncertain, it seems that the New York Scene has been missing something. This album’s combination of far-reaching nostalgic influences, inventive musicality and lyrical creativity is perhaps exactly what it needs.