British DJ Sigala is set to release his latest album and UK tour later this year.
Chart-topping DJ and producer Sigala will release debut album Brighter days on the 21st September. Details of the release were announced at the artist’s Summer of Sigala event earlier this week.
The album follows a series of songs the DJ is releasing this year, and will feature the musician’s previous top ten singles Lullaby, Give me your love, and Came here for love.
Sigala explains the decision behind the album as: “They’re songs that I’m really proud of and I’m really happy they’re able to see the light of day. If I’d just kept releasing singles that would have never happened.”
Securing five top ten UK singles with his debut number one single Easy love, Sweet Lovin’, Say you do, came here for love, and Give me your love, the electronic dance artist will also be performing a UK tour in support of the release. Tickets for the tour are available from the 1st June, and the 30th May for fans that pre-order his album.
As of 2017, the DJ is the number one most played British male artist on radio, with his music spending 130 total weeks in the UK charts collectively.
The ain’t giving up producer has seen 8M worldwide sales, 800M Spotify streams, 440M YouTube views, selling 6 platinum singles and 8 gold.
Hailing from the county of Norfolk, the DJ has previously worked alongside the likes of popstars: Craig David, John Newman and Ella Eyre.
The tour will see Sigala perform on the following dates:
The great adventure! The great entertainment! Presented to you in full colour by Canada House.
“WE’RE READY,” Danny confirms, his wrinkled face contorted in desperation to escape. The tunnel was just about big enough for us to crawl through, if we were careful, but it was going to take a lot of effort before we could all make it out scott free. “It’s perfect. Right through the middle of the foundation.”
We were about to make our escape, our climb towards freedom, towards a brighter future, and we we’re terrified.
“Good luck to us, Danny,” I said. And with that we began our journey.
The heat of the sun seemed to cook us, we were practically burnt to a crisp, tunnel melting, as we made our way through the chasm of mud and rocks. The dig had taken weeks – months in preparation and yet we were still underprepared. I didn’t have any form ID, nothing to convince the guards of who I was incase they caught us. But we had a contact on the outside that could let us in to the door of freedom if we had any problems. Thank goodness.
“Ouch!” Something cold and sharp scratched my arm. A rouge crowbar – we must have left it here when we were digging yesterday. The pain shot through my side, wriggling right through to my hand. “Ouch!” I howled.
“Shut up, they’ll hear us, you idiot!”
“it’s ok, we’re nearing the exit to the tunnel now, i can see the light,”
A sudden bright light illuminated my retinas, streaming into the dank tunnel. Oh my gosh, sunlight, actual sunlight. We can do this.
“We can make it, just a few more minutes and we’ll be free,” Danny screaches. And just as the final words left his mouth, a giant building appeared right in eye shot. We were clambering out of the mud and heading straight for the door. We’d done it.
Dusty brick walls practically hugged our eyes. “Green door store,” the sign above the door yelled, and before we knew it we, and two hundred and fifty others, were charging towards the entrance to this sanctuary.
Wait, who’s that? A tall man trudged towards us, paper in hand, and smile on his face. Oh, our contact. He must be our contact. “Hi, just go right in. The band’s will be on shortly,” he grinned, offering us our passes for the day. And with that, we had finally made it to the great escape.
Inside the building, it was small and smokey – no different from the trap tunnel we had left behind. Swarms of people were filling up the tiny room, until the amazed faces were spilling out of the door and into the street. Before the choking crowd of people stood a stage of wrangling guitars and screeching voices. “Hi Guys, we are Little destroyer,” the Canadian voice of the young singer screamed, and with that crashing drums and driving thumping electronic rhythms streamed through the building.
Crippling sounds of space rock seemed to burst from every synthetic chord, fused with a sparking power. Crunchy bass lines crackled at full volume, from a nearby amp, probably even breaking them. Jumping right into the fixated crowd, the singer wailed her striking vocal chords, bringing together the synthy dance beats of Clean bandit, but with a slight flare for a punk rock attitude.
A Rippling waterfall of violin notes flowed into the splintering spacey soundscape, as the band gave the stage away to the music of Respectful child. Waves of twinkling melodies loop together, as the frail and nervous musician pluckers her violin. The minimalist sounds of Steve Riech are raining down from the simple acoustic instrument, tender and smooth. I could feel myself dropping off to the gentle lullaby that was building on stage. Slowly, the young musician picks up her violin, drawing it to her lips for her to hum directly into the object’s pick up system; her vocal breezes joined to skipping melodies forming a sort of drone for them to dance across. It’s a weird sound, an odd creation to behold. The enchanting instrumental piece is a collage of acoustic violin trills, wistful vocalisations, and orchestral bowings reminiscent of a speeding car or sobbing child. All from a single person, pedal, and violin.
Is this the new form of classical music?
Boom.
Before I could even answer myself, the timid performer had blown an amp, stopped playing, and was staring out at the stage hands for aid. Oops, all the layering sounds must have become too much for the amps to hold; the very weight of each melody had created a sound that was too desperate to burst through the restrictions of the on stage electrical kit, so they killed the very prison that was holding them back. Much to Respectful child’s dismay. The painter of music lived up to her namesake though, sweetly apologising to the crowd and returning to her instrument’s control, soon after the restless amp was retired.
Three more artists appeared on stage after the shy soloist, each with their own distinctive take on psychedelia. Ghostly guitars and ambient basslines shared the spotlight amongst themselves, occasionally tackled by the prepackaged tectonic beats of the drum pads when the scene changed to feature Indigenous Canadians Nehiyawak. Mystical phantom wails from an electric cellist accompany the countryesque talk-singing of a lanky guitarist, with the addition of unusual electric band Raleigh. The Cantabile of guitars is intriguing, it’s not the sort of psychedelic rock twang from before. And a quick anecdote tells us the inspiration for the song – an ode to a well-loved cat as it turns out. Curious. Jiggling bass notes and a quick guitar solo hold hands tightly as the singer explains the inspiration behind yet another unusual song. This time, the twisting lyrics depicted the story of an old article he tore from a newspaper once. Set out on a pilgrimage to meet Mary, the eager followers in the article were in for more than they bargained. As it turns out, what they saw wasn’t Mary but an eclipse, with their bare eyes, burning their retinas. Bracing rock guitar rhythms and trembling cello swells fall against a backdrop of shuffling beats, as the band finish their quirky set and the favourite act of the night enter the room.
“Turns out, he wanted us to snort crystal meth off of his knuckles,” Peach pit’s singer quips. “We met him in Indonesia this one time, and that’s what this song’s about.” Taken aback, the packed room laughs as the sounds marry into a mix of smooth vocals and funky little guitar melodies that are coloured with a twist of dreamy chorus. An almost commercialised math rock style collage of shrill guitar and humming bass washes the entire room with a cheerful seaside feeling. The singer is bobbing his head along to the bracing beat as their songs play out, full of chirpy shoegazey tones.
From scratchy synth rock, and Sea Oleena style minimalist lo-fi acoustics, to a soup of psychedelic guitars and cackling bass, the indie Canada house has a lot on show today at the great escape. It’s amazing really what these indie artists can do, and the solidarity from each band as they’re watching each other play is quite sweet really. They’ve all come to this place today to entertain, and offer us a great escape from the prison of the relentless pull of the nine to five-day. A place of freedom, an adventure away from the tunnel we had to dig to get here. And, as Ramsay would say: “From what we’ve heard here, I think they did exactly that.”
Gay Singer songwriter Smashby has released his new E.P.
OPENLY GAY musician Smashby has released his newest E.P. Wild one, on May 18 via YouTube and ITunes.
The album’s title track and accompanying video tackle the topic of homophobia, and aim to celebrate the LGBT+ communities.
The 20 year old musician describes title track, Wild One, as: “The anthem my 13 year old self needed.”
He explains:“I really hope it helps people, anyone who’s going through something hard in their life. I want them to turn this record on and feel empowered.”
Produced by London’s Mosely, Luke Jackson and Monkey Harper, the E.P. follows Smashby’s first single Birthday Suit, which was released last year.
It’s a revelation, Reef are back with a new album and tour to boot. But is their roaring rock still as good?
“I JUST WANT to make a complaint actually,” the man on stage quips, dripping with sweat as he gasps for air, grabbing the nearest bottle of water. “I’ve been given a bathtowel. Who do i fire?”
When singer Gary Stringer first met bassist Jack Bessant back in college, they were just budding band mates and wannabe rock stars. The mere idea of them playing a sold out gig in the middle of Brighton would have seemed worlds away from what they could achieve. But soon after drummer Dominic Greensmith and guitarist Kenwyn House joined the rag-tag team of determined rockers, the dream came true, and the chart hitting alternative troupe known as Reef was formed.
Almost three decades, and a new guitarist by the name of Jesse Wood, later they’re still selling out tours and playing full to the brim gigs. And this one in particular i was lucky to see.
When i walked into the tightly packed venue, i wasn’t sure what I’d be in for. The room was full of sweaty excited fans, eager to test the band’s new album Revelation. Enthusiasm practically dripping off the onlookers and into a stuffy cloud of hope. It’s been eighteen years since their last album Glow was released, and with the addition of keyboardist Andy, the psychedelic band have transformed their old catalogue, sprinkling a handful of other spicy genres to the mix.
This time around, their sound has taken a softer turn, metamorphosing into mix of jagged rock in a sea of folky rhythms and soul fused vocals. Newbies Ball and Chain, Precious metal, and My sweet love, combine funky baselines and country guitar twangs with the iconic screeches of Stringer to form a weird sort of rock. It’s like the Bee Gees meets AC/DC, but in an old western saloon.
As the energetic singer Stringer and bassist Bessant jump about the stage and call out to the audience, the driving sounds of newer track First Mistake swim around the tiny room. Instantly the stain glass windows and decorated beams melt away into a dusty wooden bar with creaking walls and overhanging balconies that could split at any moment. With each twang of guitar, and smokey vocals, Reef paint a picture of an old rundown pub lost in the middle of desert in the wild west.
Ironically, a first mistake was more than just the name of a song. They’re veterans of the stage, but even the most experienced musician can’t be completely safe from the volatility of live performance. Pumped full of energy and vigor, Wood and Bessant start-up dreamy chorus of guitars and thumping bass, but perhaps too quickly as two seconds into I would have left you, out of time and out of tune, the song dissipates. Oops.
Laughs and headshakes erupt from the stage, and it’s not too long before the five piece are knees deep in a swamp pool of muddy guitar shreds, crashing drums and howling cheers.
Fan faves Naked, Stone for your love, Consideration, Yer old, and Place your hands on, just had to be part of the gritty gig, creating a perfect dichotomy between the band’s original rocky sound and their reinvention. But a sudden switch into throaty gospel ballard How i got over was a vanilla pod in an otherwise chilli drenched dish; sure it’s a featured cover on their new album, but in-between their classic crashing rock and funk jives, it sounded a little out-of-place. Especially when a flood of at least ten other people climbs onto the stage. Just like in their new album, the band recruited a choir (Soul of the city choir from Brighton this time) to help them sing along to their medley of past and present funky rock anthems. It’s a powerful sound to behold when not only the people on stage, but a whole room of sparkling fans sing as a wall of blaring voices along with nearly every track – even the new tracks were held up by the backing of fans.
“We actually entered the charts today at number ten with this new album” Stringer triumphantly cheers as the rest of the band smile back at each other.
Diving into the crowd, during title track Revelation, Wood and Stringer play up to the old cliché of a rock star, shrieking long winding solos and scratchy vocal cries. Aptly so; the song itself as an over the top old-fashioned rock track that applauses the rock and roll lifestyle. With painfully obvious lyrics (described by Stringer as “broad strokes“) and crunchy riffs, the track is a comic book style homage to touring and rocking out. At one point Stringer even pulls out his phone and snaps a picture with the sea of fans, hands up in a rock salute, truly living out the lyrics of the song. And when the band crumble of the stage after the would be final song, the crowd can’t help but howl in hope for them to return. Screaming “encore” and clapping out thunderous applause, the demand is high.
The beaming band mates strut back onto their pedestals and grab their instruments for a final farewell. The final song of the night. It has to be a good one, maybe it’ll be another newbie we haven’t heard yet. Or perhaps an old, old, old staple from way back.
“Happy birthday to you,” Stringer squawks.
Wait, happy birthday? What?
Laughter pours out of him as his joke lands and relief is soaked in by the previously perplexed audience. And once again a thumping bass and stringy synth is filling up the room. “I’ve got something to say,” a smooth soulful voice belts.
It’s not long before the room overflows with the crowd’s gleeful “nah nah nahs” and the slow song closes.
The fans are reluctant to leave, hollering for yet another encore. But the show is done now and much to everyone’s disappointment, the blaring lights of the shabby room flick back on and burn the retinas.
From supporting The Rolling Stones to racking up a portfolio of Top 40 singles, the band have never been far from praise. They’ve been a well-loved good old-fashioned nineties rock band for almost thirty years, so they’ve not exactly new to the scene. But they’ve managed to keep their sound fresh, adopting funky baselines, country guitar twangs, and a wild rock and roll attitude throughout the lively gig. And it may have been eighteen years since their last entry into the music scene, but they’ve still got all the vigor and bombastic crowd jumping of their younger selves, just with a cheeky joke or two thrown in.
Ciaran Levery opens the stage up to a beautiful pain on his latest album Sweet Decay.
THE STAGE opens up, and in the dim glow of the dilapidated spotlight a fragile ballerina tiptoes into view. He’s tall, so tall, but holds himself with the shame of a fleeting lion in the Serengeti outcast by his pride. Despair plastered on his face, which has greeted the floor below him with a broken gaze as soon as he met the dingy stage. Lights flicker. A heartstopping boom of guitars and angry drum breaks through the damaged speakers, bursting them open. He’s ready to begin.
Beast at my door fills the room with a heavy desperation, and with it the man dances. This ballerina wants so much to impress and improve; he tortures himself with ghostly voices telling him “to be reckless“. He twists, pirouettes and skips frantically. “I’m not that strong” he cries out as the monster pulls him down into a deep pit of tragic depression. All the solemnity of Biffy Clyro is reflected back into the studio, as the gruff and twinging voice expels the dancers struggle with himself out into a chorus of ill guitars. The entire song becomes a bittersweet cascading tunnel of bleakness. It’s captivatingly toxic. This gloomy place is too much, and even the strings weep and bawl in empathy for him, but he continues to wallow in the strangling pain and sickness. And this mess, this organised choas lets out a harrowing flood of fear that perfectly encapsulate the realisation and acceptance of a decent into darkness.
Ciaran Levery lets in a flood of naive onlookers through a door to gawp at the once great dancer, with his album Sweet Decay. And it’s all we can do not to cry at the beautifully broken sight.
As the song dies out into Two days in savannah, the dancer becomes distracted by the flowing crowd of judgment that ripples into the studio. He trips slightly, but disguises it quickly as a Relevé in fifth. Applause from the audience comes in slow like a drum beat. It’s not good enough. Whisperings from the skeleton of a performer he has become commence in a shrowded cacophony. “If i pull my heart out, would you tell me it’s good enough?” the voice of a vulnerable singer asks the audience .
Strings cry out once more. Guitars ripple a gentle melody, as Wicked teeth sets in, and the dancer twirls slowly in his excruciating darkness, desperate to prove himself to us. The subtle harmonies of high and gruff vocalists taunts the dancer in its perfect syncretism. So he dances, pushes harder on the chipped wooden floorboards and leaps to the skies. Is that – is that a Grand Jeté? Oh no. The voices drop, giving way to the guitar and throwing him off of his focus. He’s over thought the move. Disaster -he can’t jump that high, he’s too weak. Legs buckle, feet slam into the ground, broken and bruised. Shocked, the audience draw in a thick layer of air that splinters in their lungs. Fright consumes him.
Relief from his state of pity comes in the form of a steady river of rhythm from the guitar as Your artist begins. Careful chords pulled out into strings of notes take him out from his sadness, and instead carrying him along to the steady beats of the drum. And as the cloud of longing vocal calls meet the minimalist guitar, and chorus rises in hope, the dancer feels complete in his strength. Perhaps he can do this. And as his new found hope grows, the fervent 13 picks up the fallen pieces of his heart from the ground with a sweet falsetto of vocals. “Ahh” he growls as the speeding guitar and drums kick into his head. Dedication bursts out from his eyes and drowns his face. His passion becomes reignited with a buring flame of glory, and Levery howls in a moment of euphoria along with him. The voice is so powerful, but riddled with broken sense of the man from before. It shatters down the wall of worry and angst in dusty pieces that crumble into the floor.
In his new state of strength, he no longer has to focus so hard so the Ballerina flashes back to a night spent sitting at a dingy bar drinking alone. He’s watching the smiling faces of everyone else around him, and feels great pity in himself at his solitude. Everything is made to last is playing in the background of the bar, and he can’t help but drown his sorrows when the wailing strings and oddly energetic guitar welcome the strangers around him to dance. “I want to be alive and a part of the dream“- Lavery’s gruff whisper almost shrieks, fuelling the fire more, with voice choking in trying to push the words out.
Horrified by the flashback, the ballerina shakes it off. But the title track Sweey decay sweeps in to replace his shackle of a memory. And in a twist of fate, a member of the crowd creeps onto the stage (promted by the steady prancing piano chords), grasping his hands to prop up a feeling of optimism, to the sound of a cautiously hopeful piano. Much like the dancers, the piano melody doubles that of the vocal, and they too sway in unison. But the crowd member can’t dance well enough, switching in and out of sync with the ballerina. It reinstates his faith in himself, and his confidence grows. He has to teach the crowd member how to dance, and so the new dancer slowly begins to mirror what the ballerina is doing exactly like a human puppet (much like the piano does the vocal in each chorus). Lavery’s mastery songwriting is on full display here, propped up in it’s own frame of perfection, as delicate vocals and soft, sweet guitars marry with piano, to add the most subtle of textures.
And with the regal strings taking over in their own orchestrally refined instrumental, the two dancers begin to twirl in sync perfectly. Faith is restored in both dancers, and the audience finally applauds in absolute gratitude and awe at what they have seen.
Levery becomes a narrator to this sorrowful tale, choking on his shy vocals like a broken Ben Howard to perfectly envelope the discourse between mind and body. Through his poetic lyricism, he shows us the toxic marriage of a youthful mind, unwilling to give up, and a weathering body too broken to follow. His words are dark and twisted throughout but often juxtaposed with the sweet dichotomy of rhyming. And light vocals break open until tears gush out with every word he sings.

The album is deeply romanticly dark and twisting. It’s so painful to hear as it strums directly at the soul with it’s brooding and intense lyricism and melodies. Lavery’s musical construction is heartfelt, it’s earnest, it’s sweetly dark and disturbing. The album doesn’t just tiptoe into pain, he dives in fully clothed and drowns in it. Don’t listen unless you’re prepared to handle this consuming album.
A night of gloriously Grungey punk ass rock….with a Drag Queen.
“MISS VANJII, miss…Vanjiiii,” yelled the punky drag singer known as Adore Delano. “I’ll personally start a riot if she isn’t on All stars four!” she howled as the crowd (whom had clearly watched too much of the show Rupaul’s drag race, from whence the singer originated) screamed back “Vanjiiiii,” in delight.
In her black swimsuit and torn fishnet, Adore Delano had the audience in a frenzy with her cheeky couldn’t give a flying – attitude as she spilled out her whole soul (and 2017 album) on stage tonight at the Whatever tour. One minute, throwing flowers in the crazy crowd, the next recalling the time her friend almost beat someone in with a trash can (calm down, he was defending himself), and then crashing into the track No school, she never failed to keep the burning admiration and absolute amazement from tearing us all to shreds (there’s a reason why her name’s Adore).
Butterfly, No school, My address is Hollywood, each song was a thrashing drive of whining punk rock solos and heavy, earth-splitting bass, sprinkled with the drag singer’s sweet and soul ridden pipes.
The angsty 27 club had us flashing back to the days of Kurt Cobain, with its thick and scratchy power chords and distortion that just stuck to every surface of the room, and tunneling its way through each wall until they gave way, and a crushing hand of distortion and energy was ripping through your heart. The occasional leap into the crowd had us gasping for air.
Between the songs she slipped a quick quip or two – anecdotes about her tumultuous time in school (as one of only two gay class mates in the school, she suffered some harsh backlash, but she’s from Azuza so she’s tough and fought off attackers). All of this said with a sweet smile and nervous tone though. For a punk rock band, the members all seem very sweet.
And just as quick as the show had begun, another song closed. The final notes of the impish DTF were still wringing in our ears, as the singer said her goodbyes and disappeared into the mist off of the stage.
That couldn’t have been it? No way. It’s only half ten.
“Encore, encore!” a perplexed crowd howled until the band crept back into the spotlights. “ok we’ll do one more,” she grinned as the shredding solo of Negative Nancy came bursting through the amps.
All in all, the night was over far too quickly. The crazy crashing of beats and thriving rhythms were far too thrilling to only be fit into an hour or two, and the humble yet punky Adore Delano (and band) will go on throughout the UK, bringing the feeling of solidarity and cheer to all, on their Whatever tour. Let’s just hope the American will be back gracing the stages of the UK again in the next few years.
Project being the operative word here because this song is just unfinished.
“I HOPE I’min your dreams, I hope you dream about me, like I do,” – I’m sorry but what kind of lyric is that? Abisha sings: “I hope you dream about me, like I do,” which in all honesty is just an atrocious grammatical travesty. So what – you want the subject of your song to dream about you in the way that you dream about yourself? I’m already infuriated by the lack of effort in these lyrics, and we’re only listening to the opening lines.
But let me reverse a little.
This atrocity we’re listening to is Project X by Abisha. I suppose it’s an attempt on a relaxed R&B chill out sort of track – but I’m not buying it’s credentials.
A course fake drum hammers its lethargic beats every so often, to wake up the sleepy vocalist, as the track begins. Lazy lashes of “oh yeah” and other words for when you can’t think of any lyrics to sing drift into the blanket of basic drivel, pulling with them a shy guitar note here and there. I feel sorry for the musicians on this track (if there are any at all). They must have been looking over at Abisha in the recording studio thinking: “I’m so bored, I’m only playing a couple of notes at the most. This is a waste of my talents.” And they’re not wrong.
Honestly, I’m having a hard time with this song. My job is to describe to you every essence of what these songs are, but how can I when there’s nothing going on in this one?
Of course I am being slightly harsh on this one. I understand a lot of effort, money, and time goes into creating a song and it’s by no means easy. But as a songwriter myself, I just can’t get my head around these types of songs that seem to break through the charts and riddle mainstream music. In my eyes I can only see them as lackluster and desperate for some sort of payout, without any real soul or connection present in the music itself. There’s no heartbreak or honesty in Project X, it’s just a haphazard slap dash combination of basic electronic drum loops (probably taken from a digital audio workstation), and dull generic lyricism.
If you want a decent song from Abisha (minus the awful lyrics here too), you’re better off listening to All that. It’s textually richer and parades about a mastery of reverb and production effects. The sound is far more impressive, and could actually pass as an interesting dance worthy track. Actually, if you want a decent song at all, you should really listen to something by Hayley Chillcott or Iako; they are far more accomplished writers and have a gorgeous spilling of soul in their music.
To even indulge in this Project X track is a waste of time.
Cornish band ENNOR create an ode to the old land with their latest release.
A DEEP voice is humming on the wind. The air is thin and cold, but jangling and bright guitar melodies call in the sun to shine down on the beach below you.
Wistful “oohs” and “aahs” from the vocals layer themselves like clouds to fill the previously eerie landscape with a hopeful mist. The smooth chorus of voices are calming; they’re carefully coaxing the gentle tide out from its hiding place. Slowly the water comes into view, touching the beach oh so slightly with every new guitar melody and striking of chords. You’ve been staring blissfully at the sparkling ocean before you for what feels like mere seconds, but it’s been so much longer. Each note, each melody in the song passes the time quicker and quicker – it’s hard to believe in its entirety the track lasts four minutes.
A speeding guitar, full of the classic rock charm in its warbling tone, charges across the landscape, gripping tight the hands of a thriving drum pattern. All of a sudden you’re running towards the sea, desperate for a taste of the welcoming waves. ENNOR make you feel as though you are five again, out on your summer holiday trip to the beach and ready to learn how to swim.
The beach of Cornwall is a curious topic for a song, but ENNOR have a medieval magic that enchants each trembling guitar strum and lightly breaking vocal, as they celebrate their home town. It’s a charmingly nostalgic sound that the band seem to create, bursting with passionate melodies and driving vocal chants that not only show, but convince, you of the place’s beautiful charisma.
The Guitars slow, and drums mellow as you look out, immersed in the subtle waves of water, at the horizon and smile.
Flumps are soft right? Gooey and sweet. Not this one.
Thin. Bare, calm then
Crash.
Thrashing driving, with gritty guitars, and fast bars. Driving hammering, drum beats come flooding in, all with the force of a muddy grunge band, in sticky dive bar, ready to demolish the sunken stage in front of them. A synergy of sonic hums and fuses brashly buzzes about the avid crowd. Shrieking feedback and muddy distortion squirms into the calamity, whining its rough riff.
The latest track from Michael Jablonka is nothing like its sweet namesake. With scratchy guitar whaling and gravelly chords, the song pays homage to the rock and punk aesthetic of The White Stripes, and doesn’t hesitate to blast eardrums and spit crunching harmonies.
Light, Sultry- a voice laced with buzzing electronics turns the thrashy rhythms and crunchy guitar riffs into a skeletal pit of drums and tumble weed. All of a sudden the driving intro of chaotic sharp guitars and distortion funnels out into a calm verse. Some respite. But the combative slicing sounds return once more to burst your ears as soon as the chorus kicks in.
Overall, the track is a fast paced meddle of strings and drums, lightly topped off with fresh vocals that seem to channel Royal Blood or Muse in the electricity and tickling falsetto. Jablonka has created a psychedelic mash of rock and grunge, that isn’t quite as nerve tickling as Nirvana, but still has some tear away moments of oddly pretty sounds.
Of course I am being slightly harsh on this one. I understand a lot of effort, money, and time goes into creating a song and it’s by no means easy. But as a songwriter myself, I just can’t get my head around these types of songs that seem to break through the charts and riddle mainstream music. In my eyes I can only see them as lackluster and desperate for some sort of payout, without any real soul or connection present in the music itself. There’s no heartbreak or honesty in Project X, it’s just a haphazard slap dash combination of basic electronic drum loops (probably taken from a digital audio workstation), and dull generic lyricism.
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