Articles

Lyndon Blue

IN THE PINES @ SOMERVILLE AUDITORIUM, SUNDAY MAY 2

May 5

Into the cool shade of green-needled branches,
came sun-dappled companies like small avalanches,
as a radio station brought forth this fine day,
its ‘piece de résistance’ (one might rightly say).

It’s called ‘In The Pines’ – as you most likely know –
an aboreal sanctum where bands and fans go
and rejoice in the marvels of all-local sound
whilst good food and good beer and good folk abound.

I sauntered through gateways all clippity-clop,
to discern GOODNIGHT TIGER’s superb indie-pop,
crisp harmony lines and a smooth folk-rock swagger,
(and a pair of white boots befitting of Jagger)
the duo-cum-four-piece can sure craft a tune,
ideal for the start of a calm afternoon.

From the soil grew the blossoming STEREOFLOWER,
to release from its anther a bluesy rock shower,
both raucous and thoughtful, akin to The Veils
how artful pop hooks underpin frantic wails.
And though some of their tunes were unduly protracted,
one’s ears remained, by and large, keenly attracted.

ERASERS succeeded, in both the word’s meanings,
their rhythmic drone soundscapes with minimalist leanings
rich-textured, hypnotic, they seemed in the mood,
the PA allowed subtleties to protrude.
With Andrew Sinclair’s ever-tightening drumming,
it’s a neat little unit these three are becoming.

Thus lulled, I was roused by WIND WAKER’s brutality
Complex rhythms and grooves with intriguing tonality
Singer Clancey’s fierce growls emitted through throes
of a few seeming bass-amp-based technical woes.
There’s a grin to be had at every new riff,
and the last, tranquil-surf Tesla ode, ‘Wardenclyffe.’
ARTS MARTIAL emerged clad as keen martial artists,
A decision that, all in all, wasn’t the smartest
For the garb’s ostentation, through contrast, highlighted
the banality with which the band’s sound was blighted
They won ‘Next Big Thing,’ but I’m sorry to say,
that if that’s what they are, I’m the next Marvin Gaye.

GENERALS AND MAJORS marched in, an improvement,
their fervent pop-rock tunes injected with movement
and delivered adeptly, with passion, but still
no aspects arose to especially thrill
the senses, and though by all means they’re not bad
they would do well to spice up their style just a tad.

Soon MODULAR MAN bounced in on moon-shoes
with a sound that recalled by turn Battles and Muse,
and moreover late-90s Radiohead,
with Yorke-tastic vocals an unflagging thread.
For me, that’s no problem, though some would contend:
such plain derivation, they’d not recommend.

SPLIT SECONDS provided a tasty surprise,
with single-malt pop songs that soared through the skies
and landed like feathers on well-disposed ears
harmonies, textures, built up in rich tiers
While it’s nothing especially startling or new,
Splits Seconds do very well that which they do.

With dual-drum kit, three-guitar steez appeared SMRTS,
with crisp instrumentals so catchy it hurts,
they proved the first act to inspire me to hoof it,
it’s fun, life-affirming, and if you need proof it
resides in the smiles and gyrations of those
who revelled in the sharp, zestful tunes smRts compose.

EMPERORS followed, and my primary gripe
I suppose was the gulf between merit and hype,
But this notwithstanding, chemistry teemed
across the stage, and it most certainly seemed
they had more to offer than known heretofore
though that said, sounded kinda like Paramore.

THE AUTUMN ISLES tend to adhere to the school
of nostalgic plod-pop, which might not sound so cool
but they do it with talent, conviction and flair
and take it a notch above most retro fare;
with a new part-time axeman they verified such
a position with horns adding quite a smooth touch.

Cascading like honey came APRICOT RAIL,
with the hope-infused awe of a yatch setting sail
on a warm, soft-hued journey across the Atlantic
their dulcet post-rock sometimes calm, sometimes frantic
meandering woodwind – unfettered yet dutiful
the soundscapes immersive, impressive and beautiful.

With JACK ON FIRE flown in especially for ‘Pines,
they unleashed a swamp on the leafy confines
with the sun having set, their thick, dark blues venom
comes strong and arresting like acid-wash denim
Gloomy, brash folk in the mode of the Bad Seeds
evokes desert winters and spindly tumbleweeds.

FELICITY GROOM AND her doubly-black SMOKE
with a comparable vigour, do darkness evoke
but offset its grimness with jubilant hooks
upon which are hung clever lyrics, like books
growing wiser within a big raucous library
(Oh and Flick’s leopard suit is so sultry it’s scary).

The lumbering, post-rocky beast MUKAIZAKE
lacks broad tonal palette – it seems all just khaki
and cloud-grey and grout-grey and sea-grey and umber
slow-moving progressions in hazy half-slumber
But it’s powerful, stirring; one might equate it
to Pelican’s softer work, love it or hate it.

THE WEDNESDAY SOCIETY offered the singular
best set of ‘Pines twenty-ten – truly spine-tingular,
grounded in noise-rock, math-groove and post-punk
fresh layers and textures expanded and shrunk
like vocal explosions drowned deep in delay
and trumpet and bells, a dynamic melee.

CAPITAL CITY blazed through in a chevy,
all raucous and rapid and brazen and heavy,
pervading their sound, psychobilly nuance
performed with both fervour and strict nonchalance
They didn’t amaze, but nor did they bore,
it didn’t drag on, but you didn’t crave more,

and SCHVENDES now bubbled up, brooding and mellow,
their sound edged distinctly by Tristan Parr’s cello,
and tonight several guests on auxiliary brass,
a textural cocktail which kicked loads of arse –
we were glad to come down after several loud acts,
though Schvendes’ intensity remained in tact.

Then bam! To the cheek, cheeky old TUCKER B’s,
blended freak-noise and wide-appeal hard-rock with ease,
except when Matt Rudas’ mic wouldn’t sound,
which was most of the set – still, the Tucker B’s found
it in themselves to make it huge, to explode
with violent charisma – they practically glowed.

THE BANK HOLIDAYS rose then to see the night out,
warm afterglow pop for to set us about
on our merry way – though they seemed somewhat lacklustre
given the rep they’ve been able to muster
That is, until their set reached its conclusion
‘The Greatest Game’ a sweet soundtrack to diffusion

Of this sonically-pleased constellation of fans,
Gathered to witness a concert that spans
across genres and styles and subcultures and scenes
To unite one and all via marvellous means
If you dig local aural goods, all of the signs
point squarely and fairly at fair In The Pines.