february 2008 cd reviews

IDLE JACK & THE BIG SLEEP : STONE TAPE THEORY VOLUME II

"Behold," said the esteemed Talk editor in his best serious voice, "Stone Tape Theory Volume II by Idle Jack & The Big Sleep.   Take it, be in awe, 2 discs, 143 minutes of music, the sort of local talent and ambition my august publication celebrates.   But spare thee the time, for verily, to listen to it is much like reading War and Peace..."  

If you haven't heard IJ&TBS before, they make a heady, vaultingly ambituous brew of hard rock, metallic noise, post-rock twists and psychedelia.   Singer / multi-instrumentalist Rob Hughes has used the dreaded 'prog' word to the horror of his band mates, but it's accurate in that they try to progress rock beyond its standard parameters, not just with long, shifting songs, but with banjos, cellos, theremins, background effects, imagination, oh, and here on STTVII a boxing bell, a bit of super-portentious narration and several samples of an oompah band.    When The Talk last caught up with them (see ish 42), the album was, after a long and painful recording process, at the alleged rough mix stage.   Much seemed finished, their perfectionism and insistence that everything needed to be rebuilt seemed unecessary.   Then came the rain, the Sheffield studio they were using flooded and much very hard work was destroyed.   Hell hath no fury, it seemed, like the elements invoked (the sea and its destructive power is a major theme here).   Cue much more hard work.   But take one listen and you understand their determination and stubbornness - Stone Tape Theory Vol. II sounds utterly, utterly superb.

This is a very serious album.   Very serious indeed.   Very very bloody serious.   As you start in on the lush DVD case packaging adorned with John Procter's gorgeous, haunting artwork, everything seems to be on the grand scale;   titles like 'Amongst The Rusting Giants' and 'The Great Unravelling' would be equally at home carved in stone.   The guests are some of York's top flight - some Hijak Oscars, Chris Helme, Tremulous Monk etc. Hughes' lyrics are full of rich, dark imagery, be it the ocean, death and loss (the untimely demise of Steve Hartley seems to inform 'Stolen Gift'), violent mental disintegration (the stunning, aggressive 'A Simple Matter of Displacement') and the oppressive nature of the daily grind (the relentless 'Luck Pusher').   Coffee addicts, ADHD sufferers and people without comfy chairs might quit before the end of the opener, the surging, Tsunami-inspired 'The Ocean:   The Machine.'   Sourpusses and humour bypass patients may not get past the intro;   you'll either welcome the plummy, tongue-in-cheek narrator intoning "What fate hath come to man..." with a grin the size of the Minster or you'll run away screaming.     All the IJ elements are here, just much much bigger than before:   dense heaviosity, with Mike East's crushing rhythm guitar and Rob East's taut bass propelling monster tracks such as closer 'A World Without Walls / "Hold On Tight" like nuclear fuel, and some of the production on Rob Hughes' voice making for some truly intense vocal effects;   grandiose humour - '...Displacement''s attack is leavened by the sudden clang of the aforementioned boxing bell and Jack Hammerton's most OTT guitar hero squalling ever, it's too crazy to be completely serious;   and tenderness,   both lyrical and musical, with moodpieces like 'Haunted Satellites and Failed Transmissions (Part I)'.

The surprise is a sequence of songs on disc 2 which invokes dusty Americana or even dark Nick Cave-esque troubadourisms, with the band seemingly more world-weary, vulnerable even, after the preceeding onslaughts.   'Cardiac Oak' is sparse, slow and gravelly, while 'Fire Flower Grows From The Blackheart Of The Matter' trips along a roots-folk highway with gentle accordion, backing vox from Holly Taymar and other niceties.   'Sinus Aestuum (S.O.S.)' starts lo-fi in feel before sweeps of melancholic strumming wash in.   Then there's the gorgeously bleak 'When The Moon Goes Boom' with its gentle piano, heartbroken lyrics and truly aching strings.   By the time you've reached the woozy, end-of-the-night lament 'The Dream Begins To Flicker' you're a million miles away from the ocean and epics, and a somewhat different IJ has been revealed.   Then the closing track kicks in suddenly, violently, and oompah, overdrive and guitars set on destructo are back with a vengeance...

The cruel thing for IJ is that while at the lower levels the music biz scrabbles around for meat 'n' potatoes indie bands called The somethings, in the upper echelons they would fit right in - Muse in the ascendant, Radiohead back in business, Led Zep reformed;   portents of doom, grandiose visions and general epicness are in.   If only someone would buy them a bunch of lasers and teleport them to the Albert Hall.   As it is, Stone Tape Vol. II is the aural equivalent of an Aztec temple in the Mexican jungle - vast, ambitious, discovered only by hardy adventurers, but maybe in the future masses of people will imbibe it and go "awesome, man."   It's a total summation of their work so far, it feels like a crowning glory, and less restively, a "what the hell happens now?" moment.   What they do next is anyone's guess.

tim procter

12 STONE TODDLER : CANDLES ON THE CAKE

Brighton band 12 Stone Toddler have a name that describes half of their sound.   While they sound as big and lumbering as their doctor's-surgery-magazine-article name suggests, they also have a fair amount of groove and sass about them too.   "Candles On The Cake" marches along on a heavy, sleazy riff but its wonderfully topped off with some cartoon scary vibes and a slightly detached delicate clipped vocal chorus.   The delicious sense of menace is maintained by a deep sonorous verse, before things break out into a melodic, croony middle section.   A suitably rock and roll guitar solo brings us back to the sound of the disgustingly heavy child bearing down on us.   Miraculously it's quite an enjoyable experience, as 12 Stone Toddler have made an infectious almost purposefully plodding single that is off set by some croony nonchalance and is actually a bit of a foot tapper.   Elephant rock, anyone?

martin cordiner

HIS MIGHTY ROBOT : OPEN YOUR MIND

This four track demo originally from 2005 has resurfaced and demonstrates the decadence and commitment of New York's His Mighty Robot to their art-rock craft. In 007 His Mighty Robot is a four piece with a full album "The Conflict" in their back pocket. This recording is now a distant memory.

On this four track EP "Open Your Mind" the band is a three piece, made up of members Soda on vocals, H-Rocker adding a softer melody and some guitar, and Barratt, no longer part of the outfit plays electronic drums.

Opener, "Birth" is dark and haunting with toned down guitars akin to early Cure. The vocalist uses his proud but equally tormented register to describe the frustrating world in which he finds himself. Equally diverse are the vocals of his female counterpart H-Rocker who offers a soothing contrast to Soda's Thom Yorke like crooning.

"To Flourish, To Burn" is an altogether smoother affair, silky male vocals dominate while electro bleeps and H-Rockers winding acoustics blend nicely. One of the major criticisms here is that vocally, the pair too often stray between sounding as loud as lions or as soft as mice. Still the resonating mix of electronica and acoustic guitar will stay in the mind and in turn appease fans of both genres.  

Follow-up "The Troubled Mind Of You", again demonstrates the pure talent of the band, stripping down the sound so that it becomes bare and personal. The song itself is an examination of the mind and uses physical aspects of the body to describe the internal deteriation, for example: "Falling to your knees, they are rough, you are lost."   Midway through the song everything becomes slightly heavier and the electronic drums become faster and more frantic towards the end. Again, this is done to remind the listener that the songs muse is quickly loosing focus upon the world.

Final track is "All Faces Will Fade". Here raw emotion is each members comfort, the drive to make music and just want to be heard is clearly obvious. Fuelled equally by the influence of classic Pink Floyd and The Pixies more "punkier" work. The songs are at times pure works of art and sometimes rough and uneducated.

This disk is blatantly the first work of one of the finest bands never to be picked up by a major label. www.myspace.com/hismightyrobot   / www.hismightyrobot.tv

For fans of: Darren Hayes, The Cure & Incubus.

dom smith