The Single Life: Green Buzzard, Foals & More

Don’t go changing. It tends to confuse us. But as artists get curious and go looking for other tangents, other musics, should they keep a brandname’s familiarity, or separate themselves from what has gone before? 

 

In her Bats For Lashes guise, Nastasha Khan has a good level of the exotic in who she is, and what she does. Now, in collaboration with indie guitar noodlers Toy and producer Dan Carey, she goes off on another angle entirely – which might fit with the new generation Kate Bush image some wish to weigh upon her. With no eye on the marketing campaign they call themselves Sexwitch, declare they’re ‘psychedelic’, and offer a collection of covers of the genre from the ‘60s and 70s. But no, this is not your standard rifle through the Pink Floyd back catalogue. Helelyos (Echo/BMG) is actually Iranian in origin – with others of their discovery from Morocco and Thailand, among other places. It builds on a sinuous middle-eastern tribal groove as you might expect. Ms Khan says she’s after something ‘violent and exhilarating’, and she might not be far wrong. 

 

 

To redefine herself slightly, Clairy Browne drops the Bangin’ Rackettes suffix, and updates the sound – while keeping some of the brassy swing. Yes, I said ‘brassy’, although the rhyming of Vanity Fair (Vanguard/Caroline) with ‘derriere’ will give you some idea of where this new style has its centre of gravity. You’re maybe not quite sure if she’s taking the piss on modern obsessions, or is in danger of becoming what she may have set out to ridicule, but there appears to be some tongue in cheek (so to speak…), so it’s hopefully still a bit more (Russ) Meyer than (Nicki) Minaj.

 

 

Then there’s challenging yourself. Andrew Hung, for usual purposes one-half of the still admirably named Fuck Buttons, cobbled together an EP of songs and pieces using the Nintendo GameBoy as an instrument, and being so amused with the result, he’s had a second go at it. Repetition Vs Time (ATP) beeps and burps as you’d expect, but does actually sit together as a piece of electro-pop, although Mr Hung’s explanation of it as revolving around ‘the anxiety of the future’ and celebrating living in the moment are perhaps better suited to a desk calendar or as one of those sunset-illustrated positive reinforcement memes that interrupt your cat videos on Facebook. And, once more: Fuck Buttons. No reason, just enjoyed typing it again.

 

 

Or you can just confuse even your most ardent followers, by moving your own goalposts. Repeatedly. Going on a decade ago, Ash ditched the girl that made the band more interesting to be a three-piece again. Then announced they weren’t going to make albums anymore. Then appeared sporadically for a couple of years. Then put out a greatest ‘hits’ record, which seemed to suggest it was all over. And then, earlier this year, put out an album. Damn kids, make your minds up, would ya? Evel Knievel (Ear) literally celebrates the ‘70s motorcycle daredevil with a sub-two minute blast of almost Morricone-to-Hank Marvin ‘60s instrumental surf guitars (ask your Grand-Uncle who still uses Brylcreem as to who we’re talking about…) over visuals not of the man himself, but footage from the very craply camp b-movie about him, starring George Hamilton (ask your Grand-Aunt as to who he is, she probably had an enormous crush on him when he was in Dynasty in the early ‘80s…).

 

 

Coming at you with a somewhat more contemporary squall of noise, Green Buzzard’s guitars upon guitars seem to echo and stumble from some point between later-period Oasis and something baggy from half-a-decade before that. You can see why the English have a growing fondness for them. Slow It Down Now (I Oh You) canters at you, with a singer just disinterested enough to be grumpy about whatever ails him. It actually works on its own terms, and the Buzzards sharing a tour with the damn splendid Bad||Dreems should give a fair idea of where local ‘rock’ music should be. 

 

 

While the guitars still rightly have some currency, our little battler of a nation also has an idea of how to use other machines to make music as well. Hayden Calnin makes a surprising warm electronica, White Night (Title Track) full of restraint and asides seeming from real life like ‘I’m not good at being alone’ and relying on ‘the pills you gave me’. It’s an odd, sometimes uncomfortable, intimacy that ebbs away to being just out of reach just as you’ve decided you might try and help. Pop music as a serious and well-dressed business. 

 

 

A little further down the street where old synths can be picked up from the footpath on hard rubbish night, the almost-too-aptly-named Noire go for twangy atmospheres that float by as a suitable audition to take over the Julee Cruise musical role for the remake of Twin Peaks. Baby Blue (Independent) is given even more focus and assurance with input from the very best producer, Wayne Connolly giving them a further leg-up to improve their status. Slightly haunting thing. 

 

 

It’s a finely balanced middle ground Foals can inhabit. They’re moody, sure. But not as self-consciously clever as Radiohead can be. And certainly with more brain and less bombast than Muse. Those namechecks will either entirely encourage or discourage you from listening to London Thunder (Transgressive/Warner). It shimmers a little like pop music, but coldly. They – slightly worryingly – claim they were after the sound of an airport terminal at a certain point in the evening. While lead Foal Yannis Phillipakis might say that, I couldn’t possibly - without sounding ridiculous. That might be part of their charm, and/or their talent.