Issue 104 / October 2019

Franz Ferdinand (Tomas Adam)
Kings Of Leon
Fusion Presents @ Sefton Park – 30/08
An extra day of rock music has been tacked on to the
beginning of FUSION FESTIVAL this year, following its move
from Otterspool Promenade to Sefton Park. The line-up leaves
you with more questions than answers; questions like: who
decided it would be a good idea to put these bands on the same
stage? Did JAKE BUGG do something recently? Are FRANZ
FERDINAND still together? Sure, it’s a strange mix, but that
doesn’t mean that we can’t have a good time.
The sun is beaming down as SAM FENDER starts the day
off right. Already the recipient of the Critics’ Choice award at
this year’s BRITs, he is gearing up to release his debut album
Hypersonic Missiles. The North Shields-born singer proudly
wears his influences on his sleeve, encapsulating the youthful
euphoria and nostalgia of 1980s stadium rock. His rhythm
guitarist mercilessly punches a sampler during Will We Talk?
blasting out triumphant bells and strings. However, with the
chills-inducing Dead Boys, Fender shows us that he is not a onetrick
pony. Although taking clear nods from Bruce Springsteen,
Fender still puts a modern spin on the style, in the same vein as
The War On Drugs. It’s early in the day, but the crowd feeds on
the adrenaline of Hypersonic Missiles, and a few people jump on
each other’s shoulders during the saxophone solo. Despite the
unnecessary Oasis cover of Morning Glory to close, the young
singer is infinitely exciting, and is definitely worth a second watch
at his upcoming Liverpool show in November.
There are scattered showers and, for whatever reason, all of
the bars are no longer taking cards. Yet, Liverpool darlings CIRCA
WAVES give a performance fit for a festival, as they march
through songs from their latest record What’s It Like Over There?.
The anthemic Movies and piano-smashing Times Won’t Change
Me are well received by the adoring crowd, whose spirits are not
dampened by the lack of booze. Circa Waves unleash a frankly
shocking amount of energy during their performance of Goodbye,
which should see all comparisons to The Vaccines thrown out
of the window; their calls for a mosh pit are answered during
the Queens of the Stone Age-esque barn burner, which is an
impressive feat so early in the day.
Despite Sam Fender covering
Morning Glory earlier on in the day,
Jake Bugg tries even harder to do
an impersonation of Noel Gallagher,
although it may not have been his
intention. The crowd isn’t as tightly
packed and sweating as they were for
Circa Waves, so something is definitely
amiss. Is this one Lightning Bolt? It is
Seen It All. Is this one Lightning Bolt? It
is Two Fingers. This is his last song. It
must be Lightning Bolt? It is.
For a complete change of pace,
next on is essential post-punk band
and pride of Liverpool, ECHO & THE
BUNNYMEN. How do they fit into this
line-up? The inclusion of this seminal band seems like a tone-deaf
ploy to draw in an older audience. Even classics like The Cutter
and The Killing Moon lose their magic in this setting, and ache to
be soaked in at a more dedicated show.
Franz Ferdinand are still together. In fact, they put out a
new album last year called Always Ascending. Seeing Franz
Ferdinand this high on a bill is a strange sight to see, like stepping
into a bizarre time machine that could take you back to the years
2004-2007. Sure, they are not exactly a one-hit-wonder per
se, but it is clear the audience is here for Take Me Out. Still, the
supressed coil, build and release section of the song continues
to be exciting and even refreshing despite the fact you know full
well it is coming.
KINGS OF LEON are aware of their controversy. Hardcore
“It’s hard not to feel
a part of something
greater, beyond
the bickering
and missteps of
Kings Of Leon”
fans love to talk about their early material and its ranking; Slow
Night, So Long, first – and how they stopped listening after Only
By The Night – Crawl second. The British resentment of their
later material is a paradox: the English embraced the sound of the
dirty Deep South when their own country wouldn’t, only to shout
“we were there first” across the water
as the Americans followed suit.
Anyone who likes their later
stuff; Waste A Moment, third; must
be an American, or closet American.
Albums like Come Around Sundown
(Radioactive, fourth) aren’t even given
a second thought. But, why? Because
it was right around the time we’d
grown sick of hearing those dreaded
two songs on the radio? Sure, we can
all agree that Because Of The Times
was the perfect goldilocks moment
between the two halves of their
career. Molly’s Chambers from the
first half and Supersoaker, from the
second, both retain raw energy, while
embracing the stadium-rock sound that propelled them into
stardom.
Their catalogue is deep and they play to their audience.
They know that their band means more to us than it does to
Americans. We’ve been there through the good times – Fans, My
Party, Mary – and the bad times – Sex On Fire, Use Somebody.
We want to hear it all: the songs that makes us dance (Closer)
or makes us cry (Milk), or both (Pyro). As the heavens open they
play Cold Desert, and it is hard not to feel a part of something
greater, beyond the bickering and missteps. !
Joel Durksen / @Joeldurksen
Peter Broderick and Friends Play
Arthur Russell
+ Claire Welles
+ Nick Branton & David Kelly
24 Kitchen Street – 22/08
Misunderstood by many during his own lifetime, cellist
Arthur Russell tragically passed away in 1992 unaware of
the cult status his music would one day achieve. Now, as his
reputation continues to grow, artists like multi-instrumentalist
PETER BRODERICK are discovering the mystique of his music.
Fans, too, who never had the chance to hear these outstanding
compositions live, are now reaping the benefits.
Russell served a brief tenure in the 70s as musical director
of The Kitchen, an NYC arts space that hosted emerging
experimental acts. Tonight’s proceedings at 24 Kitchen Street
appear to share something of that avant-garde spirit. NICK
BRANTON & DAVID KELLY’s three-song, entirely improvised, set
on saxophone and drum kit setting a fitful, atonal pace.
Outlier artist CLAIRE WELLES is truly absorbing despite
being on the verge of losing her voice. Opening with the
contagious (hopefully not) Viral Infection, Welles appears to be
Liverpool’s answer to John Maus. “Life’s a piece of piss, especially
when you’ve got no kids” she taunts on Shit For Brains, before
the Krautrock careen of Knowsley. Both are taken from Welles’
new album Transpose; “It’s my Nevermind,” she deadpans.
“You’re not meant to laugh.”
If anyone is fit to handle Russell’s sprawling back catalogue
it’s Peter Broderick, a prolific recording artist with an obscene
collaborative track record. The one-time Efterklang man isn’t one
to rest on his laurels. We get a glimpse of his virtuosic talent early
on during the deconstructed intensity of Lucky Cloud, which falls
always to the measured delicacy of Close My Eyes. Undeterred by
a false start, Losing My Taste For The Night Life is another fragile,
delay-drenched high. Eli, scaled down from cello to fiddle, shows
off the uncanny vocal resemblance between the two artists, as
Broderick nimbly slides between notes in Russell’s signature
touching style.
Broderick is later joined onstage by a backing band
comprising of some of Glasgow’s finest guns for hire. Their
alt-country and new wave leanings are swapped for a reggae
backbeat on A Little Lost, which closes with the ecstatic
repetition of “I’m so busy thinking about kissing you”. Next
Broderick asks for a volunteer in lieu of Allen Ginsberg on Ballad
Of The Lights. None of the fear-stricken faces around me seem
game, as if his suggestion seems to insight the same state of
anxiety surrounding a day of team building exercises. Claire
Welles, luckily, takes the stage before the all-out mutant disco of
Go Bang, Russell’s Dinosaur L dancefloor hit.
Broderick’s suggestion of getting the disco ball going is
shot down (“The death star has not yet been completed,” he
remarks) before some unnamed hero steps in repositioning the
lights. Broderick then clambers into the crowd, exuberant and
uninhibited, wailing the hook. Bathed in sepia rays, for his encore
he closes with the contrasting tender balladry of You Are My
Love, an unreleased Arthur Russell cut and one final testament to
the iconoclast’s phenomenal legacy. A wild combination, indeed.
David Weir / @betweenseeds
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