Tommy Down has us asking: Isn’t it all just a little ‘Superficial’, with his funky track.
A funky twist here, a chirpy twang there – this relaxed summer night soundtrack from soul and jazz man Tommy Down somehow has me pondering the politics of selfies, but surrounded by the sounds of a synthy speakeasy.
Cheeky bass slaps and smokey vocals hark back to the good old days of Nile Rodgers, giving us the essence of funk but with a slight flicker of a modern chill out track.
Rich staccato chords, carried by a spacey synth, form a dusky cloud of smoke for the cutting bass to shine through. Unpretentious and soothing, the laid back vocals of Down nestle their way into the room, as the synth steps back for a verse. In his velvety and lax vocal tone (borrowed from John Newman almost), Down takes a step back to look at the people taking selfies, off handedly commenting: “It’s all just so hollow.” Yet, in his next sore breath, confesses his desperation to be involved in the narcissism and be “tagged” in the pictures.
Skeletal drums wake-up a sleepy guitar that oh-so cleverly chimes in every so often with its own quirky little twang of melody, reminding us that it’s still summer so we should just relax.
Down’s track is a curious one. He’s asking if the world has plunged too far into the pools of self-importance and become lost in the deep end of social media, but the carefree artist doesn’t dwell too much on the realisation, layering the heavy question underneath a light air of basking synth chords and lounging guitars. The compelling dichotomy perfectly encapsulates the dismissal and yet obsession towards social media.
It comes as no surprise that the ‘Best Original Composition’ winner has crafted such a refined and sophisticated modern jazz fueled funk track. Given his roots as male vocalist for the Bristol University Jazz Orchestra, he clearly understands the beauty in the marrying of a modest guitar melody and simplistic vocal tones. Lined with subtle little vocal cracks and gravely notes, the man’s voice just exudes soul.
Overall, Down cleverly plays out the simple nostalgic beats of funk beneath a subtle lyrical depiction of the self obsessed generation. His mastery of songwriting and singing is on full display here, and he never misses an opportunity to include a pretty little bass twang or sharp chord where he can. The jazzy singer has created a great chill out track for a late night beach party, laced with a poignant message of the dangers of self-absorption.
Indian singer Ishani returns with her new track Insomnia.
The Don’t stop the fight singer has released her latest single Insomnia – an ambient Trip hop track that aims to show solidarity with those struck with insomnia.
The singer describes the release as “a love song to all of those sleepless people up all night, trapped in their sheets.”
She explains: “I wanted to send some loveand strength to those people. One in three of us experience mild insomnia, but you’re not alone and yours isn’t the only light on in the middle of the night.”
Seeing airplay on MTV India and BBC introducing in 2014, with her track Pelican Elephant, the musician has since supported the Icelandic electronic group GusGus at Be My Lake Festival, and performed at the Sziget Festival.
Ishani is also set to release her debut EP Stormy Emotions in August of this year.
Right Said Fred’s new single, raises awareness of knife crime.
THE 90s pop band have released their single Lay down your knives as a free download on SoundCloud, to raise awareness of knife crime.
The release comes after a recent report stated knife crime in London has risen by 22% and reflect the Fairbrass brothers’ feelings towards events in London this year.
Regarding the choice of topic for the track, Fred said:“The issue of knife crime really struck a nerve with us. We need more youth centres, better role models for young people, and more police on the streets. Our hearts go out to the victims and families of those affected.”
The duo hope that they can raise an awareness and urge anyone affected by crime to contact the relevant services for support, such as: Victim Support, Childline, and Fearless.
The band have previously supported various charities throughout their time in the industry, such as Crisis, Alzheimer Society, Stroke Association, St. Mungo’s, Asthma UK, Liver4Life, and The Royal Marsden Cancer Society.
IAKO paints the perfect trailer to his upcoming E.P in his latest release.
black.
then blue. flashes of a mountain sweeP through view, lighting up a seA of eyes. spacIous ambieNt guitars creep in To open up a whole ocean for a cloud of dreamy vocals to ripPle in, slow and sure. the ghostly voices circulAte on the aIr above a vast laNdscape of reverb and acousTic guitar. each tear droP of a delicate piAno casts up Images of glassy oceaN currents- raw and biTingly cold. on the wind, a chilling voice is whistling its subtle tune. “you keeP on sAying,” the ghostly voIce repeats, as if spokeN by a broken man, with Tears streaming down his face. the Projection on the wAll shudders wIth every New shoT of the misty landscaPe. jAngling guItars pull the audieNce in To the giant screen as the trailer begins. we didn’t come to this theatre for the trailers, but we can’t helP but get lost in this one.
the dArkness returns, as the words “my heart Is yours, you can paiNt iT as you want,” are Plastered on the screen. for All of a splIt secoNd, silence reigns. buT…
the words echo as the silence dies and a deeP, bruding guitAr trickles through.
waves of hauntIng voices aNd crying piano crash upon waves of silence and conTemplation, sudden and tainted with the unsteadiness and unclarity of a crazed mind. and with them come images of a struggling world, suPhocated by mother nAture’s devIsatioN. The switch between light and shade, the dichoTomy is so sudden, it Pushes you over into a state of uncertainty; iAko doesN‘t care for pop’s common build of momenTum.
as soft as the sea’s breeze, the instrument circles a scene of burnt forests and desolation, calling up a thunderous wave of drums and stabbing Piano chords to transform the lAndscape to one of bItter euphoria .”doN‘t” the wind pleas, almosT weeping in Pain. “I never feel it Anymore,” it shrieks, and wIth it images of come rushiNg into view. Taken aback by the Painful beAuty of a world overcome by tIdal waves aNd hurricanes, The crowd gasP.
A brave guItar’s steady chords coNjures a dance beTween tiPtoeing piAno and the sudden marchIng drums, as the violeNt wind screams “now iT‘s raining,” and the instruments Pour into the next stAge of the song.
an Image flashes up oN screen – iT‘s a couPle rushing to meet each other As huge downpours of raIn flood the ice arouNd them. “My hearT, my heart is yours,” the wind taunts. They’re not fast enough. The ice breaks and each is cast adrift into the unforgiving ocean of a cold instrumental, with silence following closely in hand.
Melismatic gushes of “oooooohhhh” take over the snow white landscape, carrying with them the sound of a voice akin to Jeff Buckley, and remnants of his classic known as Grace. The section is so Powerful it forces up imAges of the destructIon in this disaster movie, showing the full leNgth of moTher nature’s fury.
and with the final calling card, Pasted on the screen: “As you want” the traIler ends. leaviNg behind remnanTs of a glorious symPhony captured in guitAr harmonIcs. Eerie aNd gripping.
in The cinema, the audience chatter: “iako has done it again; he has crafted a masterPiece As if from thIn air. Like aN conducTor he commands an orchestra of airy guitars that cut through the solemn Piano to show us the sound of beAuty entwIned with great paiN and darkness.”
This track never loses the Passion and excruciAting beauty that hIs debut queeN of balance was doused in so perfecTly. and the whole audience looks forward to the decent into darkness that could take over the rest of his E.P.
Alan Bonner reminisces about his time with Amy Winehouse, explains how playing live is like getting naked, and reminds us what true music is, in an interview with Ray A-J.
DON’T you just love Summer? The bright rays of sunlight, kissing your skin till it’s golden. The gorgeous beach that just comes alive with fields of people, all blissfully beaming with smiles firmly planted on their faces. And the best thing of all? A lazy summer afternoon.
Now, It may not be Summer exactly, but it certainly feels just as beautiful on this great afternoon. As I step outside of my door, I see swarms of people buzz about the beach, lively and cheerful. It’s just past six, and everyone is unwinding after their busy weeks at work. The sea is unwinding too, lax and slow, welcoming in a gentle breeze that drifts past the skin in a brief hello; it’s the perfect balance of warmth and optimism. The perfect weather, the perfect time, for an adventure.
So off we go on ours.
Down by the seafront we walk, and further down towards the horizon. With each step, new faces are introduced and the bright sunlight reflects off them as their smiles widen. It’s so bright, it hurts my eyes just to look up and the passionately pink sky – the blanket of candyfloss all soft and wispy. Hmm, with all of this heat, I’m feeling a little thirsty. Maybe we should go get a drink. Oh, I know, let’s go to a café.
“I’d love to be able to cut through people’s bullsh*t.”
We follow the road round and round for a while. The sun is calling, and we have to answer. We can’t just go to any cafe – we have to find the perfect one. Not this one. Not this one. Nope. Next. Ah, hang on. Here we are, we’ve found our destination. I can hear music coming from inside. It sounds so… Beautiful. Quick let’s go in before we miss anything.
A man is slumped over his trusty keyboard, eyes shut as the music flows from the keys through his hands and out of his mouth. Soul perfectly entwined with each note he plays, the man seems to spill over with the music into the crowd, flooding the quaint room with his compelling lyricism. His name? Alan Bonner – heart warming musician, former Bimm alumni and Brighton local.
A river of melodies ripples from the keys, and in the midst of the water rides a strong voice of power and pain. The melodies curl up to form a cooling wave that slowly descends upon the long, narrow room, to calm the various faces that stare up into the eyes of its commander. Every word, every lingering chord is absorbed into the very walls of this place. And we’re in the middle of it all. Looking around, I can see the camaraderie I had heard of that seems to exist in Brighton. Dripping from the walls, drawing, photographs and art from local artists. Rippling from each person in the audience, applause of great gratitude and support. The solidarity is almost moving.
Oh. Cramp. My legs are tired from all that walking, let’s just sit down for a minute. Pull up a chair and we’ll let ourselves fall into the waterfall of sound.
“Thanks for coming and listening to my sad songs,” Alan jokes to us, before playing his shy piano tunes. “we shot the video to this one on Brighton beach, and In the scene I had to lie on the floor and play dead. But maybe I was a little too convincing, because litter pickers started to come round, and they actually thought I was really dead,” he laughs, and the song known as Augustine follows on from the sound.
A few songs later and the whole room is singing along to the nah nah nahs of Talia – a song Alan tells us that started off as a poem he wrote for his friend’s birthday once, when he was “Twenty one and just left college. I was skint and wanted to get her something, so I wrote her a poem on the back of a cigarette packet as a sort of present. It was only ever meant for her, and was never meant to be shared with the world, but then I put music to it and it became Talia.”
Thank goodness he did share it, because it’s since been “played on Six music twice. At around four in the morning though so nobody hears it. Three years worth of my music, but this is the only one they’ll use; they won’t touch my other stuff. Believe me, I’ve tried,” he jokes with us. And with that, the song draws to an end. Alan thanks the crowd in his shy manner, he seems truly grateful for us being there, and many commend him for his talents as he gets up and walks over to the bar.
“If you want to walk down the street in Brighton in a Bustier with a flower-pot on your head, you can, no-one bats an eyelid.”
We’re at a short interval now, and while I can I want to grab Alan for a chat about his performance. So hang on a second and save my seat for me.
Sitting beside Alan outside the café, it hits me. The warm air from earlier has cooled drastically, and now we’re literally shivering in our little chairs. Today was the wrong day to forget your jacket. Typical English weather. Can’t make its mind up.
Poor Alan in his Hawaiian shirt and jeans is freezing, but he’s kind enough to suffer in the cold as we chat.
“It kind of felt like they’re sat on my lap a bit,” he jokes when I ask him about the intimate little show he just played. “You kind of feel like you’re getting a bit naked. You can see people’s reactions more. I always prefer if I play like clubs or theatres, where the stage lights are on so you can’t see people. I can pretend that I’m on my own, so I don’t feel so nervous. It’s nice to play intimate places sometimes as well.”
Despite being a veteran live performer, playing shows across Berlin, London and Brighton, Alan is still a shy musician – unaware of his talents and forever humble. It’s a rare look for a performer; these powerful musicians that take to the stage like a super hero, with polished performances, are often so reluctant to show the chink in their armour, and expose their vulnerability underneath it. But it’s refreshing to see the dichotomy brought to the audience in Alan’s performances, because in a show “Sometimes you f*ck up a lot, and it’s ok to bring the audience in to that. It makes you human. Like back there in the show, I forgot the words to Talia. I just started playing and went blank. But I just went ‘oh’ and started it again.”
With that said though, not every gig can be salvaged so quickly. And one in particular was “a disaster” for him. His keyboard was possessed. No, seriously, it was possessed. “I had a gig once where I was playing in the middle of a market in London, and for some reason there was like a ghost on my piano. The keyboard kept cutting out, and then I ended up just having to do most of it a cappella. It was a disaster.” Yet another example of Alan’s raw honesty. He has a giggle at how embarrassing the gig felt, but explains that there is a balance. “I played in a little jazz club called Blue Note, in Dresden, and it was packed. It was like this really smokey 1920’s speak-easy -“ We’re suddenly interrupted by a couple of audience members from earlier. They’re friends of Alan, and they congratulate him on his performance with beaming smiles. He’s well liked around here.
“It had a great vibe and everyone was really friendly,” he continues after he agrees to see them later, “The audience’s over there are a little more enthusiastic. I think English audiences can be a bit spoilt, we get so much live music everywhere that we don’t really appreciate it that much. It was very free there. I was able to, you know, work part-time and perform three times a week. You just have more time to concentrate on your music.”
“Getting a headline by slagging people off, I don’t like that.”
Both before and after his time in Brighton, Alan spent some time in London – a place known for its thriving art scene, but for Alan, “London’s a tough city to survive in. It’s a very hard to be an artist there.” He explains that there is a lot of fierce competition there, and with expensive rents, it’s difficult to focus on music properly.
But London wasn’t all bad. It’s where he met a certain incredible singer. “I used to work in Camden,” he explains. “My boss’ friend was Amy Winehouse, and I used to hang out with her a lot back then. There was a period in time where she was around, and at that time I was really young and had only recorded a couple of rubbish demos, and i hadn’t really got my shit together, you know. And l look back and I wish I’d had an opportunity to have sung with her. There were nights where we just sat and we were singing around the house, she was playing guitar. If I had been serious about music then… I had an opportunity in my hands there that I didn’t take. I would have love to have sung with her.”
But after London, he moved to Berlin. While he was traveling around Berlin, he was immediately captivated by the atmosphere. “There’s a lot of really great street music in Berlin, a lot of really great buskers. Some of them will blow your mind, and they’re just playing for spare change. It’s actually quite intimidating.” Alan is very much inspired by the uncelebrated performers around Berlin, London and Brighton. “I really think that there are gems. There’s so much here that never even gets to be heard by the general public. That’s why people need to go to these clubs and see them, and support live music,” he explains.
“music used to be about art, and now it’s about commerce.”
It’s a shame that we don’t get to experience half of the music that’s out there in the world. But what we do get to hear, these popular songs in the charts, seem to be the same renditions of awful basic verse-chorus spiel. And why?
“It’s all about money now, it’s not about art anymore. Shows like the X factor and all that stuff, it takes real balls to put yourself through that, but I think the way the industry has all gone towards that stuff is a complete nightmare. I hate those shows, I don’t hate the people on them, but I hate the beast. Where’s the art in all of that; it’s glorified karaoke. They take these people who are all really original and cool and different, and they change them. They give them some awful backing track, and make them sing someone else’s songs. They just mould them into these sort of robots.” Alan jokes that he sounds like some old dinosaur that’s just moaning, but he makes some erudite points. “Music used to be about art, and now it’s about commerce,” he says, and maybe he’s right. But he does have faith in the live music that finds its way around the local cities. And he greatly enthuses about the atmosphere in each.
“Brighton’s a really special city,”
Brighton in particular remains a great love of Alan’s. “Brighton’s a really special city. It’s got so much in terms of the art, music and queer scene here. It’s so celebratory of the arts and of people expressing themselves, you know.
If you want to walk down the street in Brighton in a… Bustier.” He laughs. “With a flower-pot on your head, you can, and no-one bats an eyelid. That’s what I love about this place.”
Haha, wait what, a bustier? “I don’t know where I got that from,” he laughs. So now we know what you do on your weekends. “Haha, I don’t think I’ve got the figure for that.”
In a way, Brighton is actually where his career began. Alan was once a student of Brighton’s own music university, BIMM, and this is where he created his first record. “I would never have thought about making a record, had I have not gone to BIMM.”
Since his BIMM days, Alan’s music has grown immensely; “I’ve travelled, I’ve had my heart-broken a million times. My songs are deeper now,” he explains. And the inspiration behind each song he creates has only grown too. “My music’s quite personal. I’ve lived them, without wanting to sound like a w*nker. Those things that I sing about happened to me. So people who like it feel that they can then talk to me afterwards, and they start telling me their life story. And I love that. And they’re kind of getting quite deep with you, and sometimes that stuff ends up in a song here and there. It’s kind of a sense of therapy in a way.”
But people he’s met aren’t the only ones that inspire his music. “70s music, Stevie Nicks, Elton John, PJ Harvey, Tori Amos,” are all part of Alan’s musical history. He even had a Britpop phase at one point, citing Blur and Oasis as main players in his teenage playlists, but his love of Oasis has fizzled slightly since. It turns out, he too is over the hate that the Gallagher brothers are churning out in interviews. “You know what I don’t like about them: every time I see an interview with them, they are slagging somebody off. I don’t like that. It just makes you look cheap, you know. Getting a headline by slagging people off, I don’t like that.” He’s on to something there; it does get dull to keep reading the same headlines from the duo again and again. If only someone could end the cycle.
Brrrr. Sitting outside the little café, it’s getting colder and colder. The wind is blowing a harsh wave across my face, and we’re both still shivering wildly. Alan takes a look through the window at the show that’s still going on inside. He’s friends with the performers, and doesn’t want to miss too much of their songs. His love and support of the local performers is so prevalent in every glance into the window. Luckily I just have a couple of quick questions burning a whole in my pocket.
We discuss his favourite musicians, and who he’d like to collaborate with. Names like Nick Cave, Cindy Lauper, and Sufjan Stevens crop up. “I would love to do a record with him [Sufjan], I mean, he’s cute as well so that always helps,” he jokes. But then we get down to the tough questions.
“so, if you were a superhero, what would your name be?” I ask, (a pretty hard-hitting question, I know). He ponders for a second, before he gets to his answer. “Um…Super Gay!” Haha, I can picture the outfit now. But what about his superpower? “I’d like to be able to fly, or read people’s minds.” But surely you wouldn’t want to know what people are thinking when you’re playing at a gig? “Oh no! Not at a gig, haha. Ok, I’d like the power to read people’s minds, anywhere but a gig though. Haha. Or…..you know, I’d love to be able to cut through people’s bullsh*t. Haha,” he jokes. That would be a handy power. And my last question before we shake hands, and Alan kindly offers me any help if I think of any more questions later, and I go back into café to collect you so we can brave the brisk breeze of this windy afternoon, and write an ending to our summer day adventure: “What’s would be your superhero catchphrase?” And Alan’s answer is the best I’ve heard so far. “oh f*ck….actually, yeah that, that will be my catchphrase: oh f*ck.”
Haha, a great catchphrase, for a great and authentic performer. And Alan will be returning to both Brighton (on July 8 at the Brunswick) and the Blue Note club in Dresden (September 21) for his upcoming shows, so if you like good old-fashioned piano music and heart breaking lyricism, be sure to look him up.
Pride’s Got Talent finalist Andrea Giovanni talks about being in the queerest competition around, androgyny, Rupaul, and the struggles of growing up in a strictly religious family.
ANDROGYNY. Music. Fashion. What do these things have in common? Andrea Di Giovanni.
The Italian singer-songwriter has taken his unique style and sound right to the finals of Pride’s got talent, and this weekend he’ll battle it out at the Charing Cross Theatre in London, in the hopes of slaying the house and donning the title of winner.
“I am so excited, I can’t wait! I’ve been trying to get to the finals for the past 3 years and never made it, so being part of it now is great!” he told me, brimming with zeal and zest. “It’s like having a second family. It’s so much fun, you meet other incredible, talented artists and we all do our thing with pride, which makes you feel right at home.”
As Rupaul once said:“When the going gets tough, the tough reinvent,” and Andrea did just that. Moving from his family in Italy to London at just 18, the singer set his sights on stardom. He pushed to pursue his music seriously, after TV show exposure in Italy.
It was then that “I realised I had what it takes and decided to go full-time with it, with the first step being moving to London!” he enthuses.
Enrolling himself at the British institute of modern music (BIMM), Andrea lit the flame that would lead him to the stages of Pride’s Got Talent. And as a fellow BIMM alumni, I wanted to know what London’s school of music had to offer our star.
“Aw, BIMMers everywhere! Haha.” he joked. “I’ve spent the best years of my life at BIMM. I’ve learned so much about myself and my abilities, perfected my craft, found my own musical identity and made great connections.”
“There had been difficult moments […] being bullied and shamed for being different and feeling a lot of confusion due to my sexuality.”
Moving away from home at such a young age must have been difficult (let alone moving countries), but for Andrea, it was a necessary evil.
“I felt a sense of relief moving to London, I immediately had the feeling that it was the right place for me to fully discover and accept my sexuality, and therefore thrive as a person and artist. It was great regardless my choice of moving away, my family were supportive in the best way they could and I was surely loved.”
And thanks to the move, Andrea was able to immerse himself in an LGBT+ community for the first time. “It’s like a big family, we support and look after each other. It’s great and we are working hard to make every part of the community feel represented and respected. I’ve never really approached my community back in Italy, I was way too scared to do so!”
“Discovering […] my sexuality made me feel like religion itself would not accept me, and made me feel scared,”
But it wasn’t always plain sailing for Andrea. He grew up in a strictly Catholic family, and of course there were some issues the rules of religion imparted on him.
“There had been difficult moments throughout my teenage years though, such as being bullied and shamed for being different and feeling a lot of confusion due to my sexuality. I guess that for years it made me feel like I lived in a bubble. I would follow the rules but never really questioned why. God’s words and all of that. Growing up though, things changed and I started to realise that I didn’t quite like it, nor believe in it quite frankly, and I took a step back. Also, discovering more and more about my sexuality made me feel like religion itself would not accept me and made me feel scared, wrong, so I completely despised it.”
But that’s all behind him now, and with the help of drag superstar Rupaul, Andrea has crafted his fabulously musical crossdressing career. “Androgyny spoke to me straight away, I’ve always been the guy with feminine traits and mannerisms and it’s exciting, it breaks the boundaries of gender and it questions masculinity, or at least our society’s conception of it, at its max. Seeing the platform he [Rupaul] created and how brave he was while doing so, makes me so inspired. Also thanks to him and the art of drag, I’ve learned not to take myself so seriously all the time and to have fun with people’s opinions and judgements, because, at the end of the day, if you’re not having fun, neither is your audience.”
Now his look might be inspired by Mama Ru, but his music definitely isn’t. Andrea’s new single Our own way is out soon, encompassing everything from Whitney Houston to Mary J Blige, to Michael Jackson and Queen.
But what is it about?“Our Own Way is a song I wrote 2 years ago and it talks about a breakthrough moment in my life,”he explains.“At the time I was with a girl but realised that it wasn’t what I really wanted, so I decided to follow my own way and my own path towards happiness,” – a story many can relate to.
And when our little chat concludes, Andrea leaves with a parting gift we should all live by. A quote from Mama Ru that just encapsulates Andrea’s arduous journey towards stardom, and the struggles he’s faced along the way to becoming the fabulous musician a performer he is.
“Unless they’re paying your bills, pay them b*tches no mind.”
The final of Pride’s Got Talent is on Sunday, April 29 at Charing Cross Theatre, Villiers St, WC2N 6NL London, United Kingdom from 6-10pm.
Tickets cost: Early Bird Stalls £12: Standard Stalls £15: Benches (5 seats each) – £120 – includes a bottle of bubbly!: Balcony (9 seats) – £240 – includes two bottles of bubbly!
The Singer songwriter is set to release his latest single Say something and music video on the May 11.
THE song follows Callahan’s debut single Burns like fire in 2017, and will be his second since his run on X factor in 2013, where he came 6th.
“The essence behind the track stems from a relationship that never fully developed, because neither party had the guts to truly express how they felt. Subsequently, if two people were brave enough to speak out and ‘say something’, there could have been a different outcome,” Callahan says about the upcoming track’s inspiration.
Callahan is set to perform alongside fellow X factor alumni Leon Mallet on May 12 in Nuneaton, UK, after touring in Canada this April, to support the release of the song.
He will also make an appearance at the Kiltwalk charity event in Glasgow, on April 28 and 29.
Receiving airplay from BBC in March earlier this year, the song has been described as an “emotionally charged pop banger”, and will be released via label Mean recordings.
The track is available to pre-order now on iTunes – then set for release on May 11, along with an attractive new music video, shot in the iconic Koreatown in Toronto, Canada.
ALL around you, Lavender fields glow in a warming golden tone as a picture ripples in and out of focus. The memory is hazy, but you can just make out a shadowy figure or two in the foreground of the image. Each figure moves frantically about the field, swapping things here and there. It’s clear now, there are five of them standing right in front of you, sweeping in and out, and scurrying about to get themselves together.
Slowly, the picture seems to spit and fizzle in front of your eyes, changing – morphing into a black pit of smoke and dust. A sudden bellowing of ghosts’ cheers climb the walls of the pit, filling the empty air around you and breaking the four figures into pieces shattered across the space. They sound so close – it’s deafening.
With the crash of a drum, blackness dissipates and flickers of sepia fields are forcing their way into your brain.
What are you seeing? What are you remembering?
A summer’s glow illuminates the fields and it’s clear now. It’s home.
As it turns out, you’re lost. Lost and too far from home. You don’t know where to go and the now the blackness is covering your eyes again. Clouding them over in a thick mist. Like Dorothy you’re inundated with memories, flashing through them in a desperate attempt to find a path back to Kansas. A yellow brick road in a field. But you’re not quick enough.
A lightning storm of green and red crashed down onto you, splits the memories in two, offering you to the hungry twister that’s right around the corner.
Marillion’s own Hogarth commands the twister in a tumbling motion to cascade round the room and draw up its cyclical shape, as he sings. And you’re pulled in with it, whirling in a crazed vortex as bright lights blind you. He’s got his Hooks in you, the man of a thousand faces, and you’re being drawn right into this tornado whether you like it or not.
The rest of the shadowy figures are playing their melodies, their weaving pleas, to lift the darkness and welcome you to this fantastic place. This eye of the storm known as the Brighton Dome. You’re in legendary progressive rock band Marillion’s grip now, and it’ll be another few hours before you can wake up from this fevered dream.
So take a look around while you can: the room around you is humblingly huge and circular (surprise, surprise, it’s a dome). Ornamental, and with tremendous gravitas, the area around you is like an arena almost or amphitheatre, rounded off with two floors all facing eagerly into the stage. It’s easy to get lost in this pit, with the sea of eager faces circling round the space ready to be picked up by Marillion’s twister. But every face is lightly wrinkled and full of a lifetime of dedication to the group. Chitter-chatter erupts from each crowd member, like cheery birds serenading the morning spring. If I didn’t know who Marillion were before, just glancing at the audience tells me everything I need to know. There has to be at least a hundred people here. No seat is spared, and the crowd are relieved to see their stars meet the stage with such a roar of energy.
And the energy never lets up. Every songs seems to contain a raging wind of effervescence that just explodes into a flurry of lights and flashes. The band is passionate, and so are their fans. They ought to be, given the band’s long history of crowdfunding, and even the host of the show gushes with gratitude for the fan’s unrelenting commitment. And after such a long run as forty years, Marillion have retained their compelling flare for the live show, displaying a greatly mesmerising display when performer touches stage. And as nothing more than an innocent bystander, I’m shocked at how captivating their live light extravaganza really is – I don’t even like the songs at all (in actuality their quite dull and unchanged) but it’s their flare for the dramatics and Hogarth’s crippling aneurysm style dancing that’s special.
This night isn’t just a gig, it’s a show. A grand production of atmospheric soundscapes set to the psychedelic backdrop of video footage, that looks like something out of a bad drug trip, with the occasional narrator steering you along the story’s highway. Of course they’re mixing both old and new tracks, integrating them into this blurry montage of images. And it has the whole audience chanting along with every song, as if there was a giant mirror cast up in front of the stage reflecting back Hogarth’s crazed screeches in the heavily sharp mix of cosmic guitar, synth and bass back at him.
In a pain stricken howl, Hogarth whisks the twirling tornado round once more, (yes we’re still in a tornado) fuelling it with the incredible deep reverbing of the bass, to pull the whole of the Dome arena through the roof and up into the sky. Cosmic clouds and daring stars are all that can be seen. The stratospheric galaxy of droning synthesisers and refined melodic guitar patterns mesmerises the audience, hypnotising them into a tall order of applause. Legs leave seats, as if with a mind of their own, planting themselves into the ground of the Dome. And suddenly everyone is on their feet, like pillars in the space coliseum. It must be the end of the gig because we’re all chanting for an encore – clapping desperately for one more song to drop us back down to earth and tumble us out of the tornado’s grip.
And when the show actually finishes, about thirty minutes later, I find myself not wanting to leave Oz.
Brighton based singer song-writer Hayley Chillcott shows us the true meaning of heartbreak and home in her latest E.P.
YOU know, sometimes it’s OK to feel sad. Sometimes you just need a moment or two to slow down and reflect, or even get lost for a while in homesickness, and Hayley Chillcott knows this.
In-between a collage of humble guitar melodies, and crying lyrics, Chillcott flicks through a photo album of bittersweet memories to create this woefully beautiful E.P. Every song seems to introduce another layer to the sadness perfectly, offering the occasional taste of euphoria.
Hope is scattered sporadically into every fibre of A lot like home. With welcoming guitars and cheery vocal melodies, the song offers up an optimistic view that tempts the listener to sway along with the tune. But this glory is short-lived as another track drifts into earshot.
“I feel lonely, so I grab her hand,” Chillcott’s distant voice recalls as the weeping guitar behind her draws us into a solemn state during the song known as Circles. It’s eerie tone is far more electric, creating the essence of a dim rainy night in the middle of town as you’re on the way home from a breakup. As each note subtly detunes, practically drowning in reverb, the feeling becomes a twinge in your stomach. It’s raw.
The musicality here takes you to place of crippling agony, with somber drum beats that hobble down the street with you on your journey. So wrapped up in defeat, You almost stumble, but the steady rhythms pick you up gently, helping you to your feet again.
A soft breaking light of vocals seems to stream its rays into the polaroid of a song. A delicate airy voice sweetly breaks as it reaches for a feeling of happiness, during Circles, but it suddenly loses grip and drops onto the cold floor below, grasping at anything remnants it can to break its fall. You can’t help but think of Ellie Goulding almost, but the fingerpicking on guitar and weaving of notes paint in their own ode to Passenger and folk.
Chillcott swiftly flicks to another simple page of images as Better off that way is introduced to your ears. One of the pictures is foggy and difficult to focus on but, as you zoom in, you get a better view, She’s on the side of the road singing her aria as people walk by on a misty autumn afternoon. The wind dances along the horizon, holding hands with a tumultuous grey cloud, as it pulls along the temptation of rain. But Chillcott couldn’t give a care as she plays her tune. She’s recalling memories with each pluck of a note, and tears steam down from the sky. It’s the sound of the soft and subtle breaking of a heart.
There’s this unshakeable sense of familiarity in the E.P. Woven into songs like Better off that way, is the remarkable feeling that you’ve experienced every single flick of sadness that she plays. It’s almost as though her guitar is made from strings of the heart, because each song has a way of speaking to you directly. But she delicately strums them, with great care, so as not to tear them to shreds. It’s such a simple sound, but it really hits at the very core of your heart.
As a cold gust of hope that grazes your face in the midst of a cold autumn’s afternoon – the entire collection of heartbroken melodies, encapsulates that feeling of longing and homesickness. Sorrow frequently drips in tears from the guitars, into a misty lake of reflection. Almost like a cloud, her delicate vocal breaks up an icy blue sky of strings and shy piano, to reveal the desperate sun glowing in-between. There’s a struggling sense of hope in each song, and it’s trying so hard to shoulder its way into the dark scene of pain. But it’s beautiful to hear.
Chillcott just creates a rare amalgamation of authenticity and catchiness, which is injected into an otherwise commercial song formula; there’s the basic verse chorus structure, but the songs feel real, as though they’re about your own memories. It’s such a sophisticated and refined quality, that is not difficult to fall in love with.
Is there a beauty in darkness? Maybe Iako’s Queen of balance can convince you.
BEAUTY is in the eye of the beholder, so the saying goes. But what about the ear? Can we actually hear something beautiful?
There are definitely contenders for this award. The sound of a waterfall, or a majestic eagle’s call are sounds that can be considered pleasant, indubitably. But is there really a sound of beauty? Come to think of it, a lot of what we as humans find beautiful is light and positive. A warming sunset or perfect painting is pleasing in its calm and radiating positive impression. And I myself favour that of the charming and cheerful art. But what of the dark. Is there a beauty in the sound of darkness?
This was a paradox for some time. But when I heard Iako’s music, I answered my own question – there was no disputing, it was beautiful.
At first, I was a little apprehensive. The beginning sound of an overplayed circle of fifth chord progression lured me into boredom. A Sam Smith style falsetto vocal planted a grimace on my face. A frown of disinterest crept on my brow, and by that time I had written the song off as nothing more than a sickeningly sappy ballard of ‘heartbreak’.
But, like a twisted circus, the tune takes a turn into the sinister. Unbalanced progressions disrupt the clean equality of the introduction, as the chords become tinged with something dark and churning. The dark beauty conjures up the image of a sad clown looping his mime day in day out in a busy street. I was instantly compelled. Originally he had hope, but now he’s bathing in rejection and ignorance from the passing crowds. It’s a woeful tale, and Iako doesn’t hesitate to delve right into the sour story with his taunting piano.
And just when you think you’ve grasped an understanding of the song, it transforms into an almost euphoric chorus of piano and ethereal vocals. Hope returns to the clown as a cheerful tone takes over. The lack of texture, and beautiful silence build a sort of palace for him. Subtle reverb opens up an empty hall for the vocals to waltz in. Elegant piano arpeggios line the hall with a red lace carpet. It’s delicate but fiery. And throughout, Iako’s voice is effortlessly airy and wistful; he creates the illusion of a ghost that’s plaguing the palace in his haunting whispers. But this life of luxury is short-lived. Piano crumbles, and the track once again descends into a gorgeous darkness.
Fast forward oh so slightly, and there’s this moment of perfection. It’s only a second or two, but it’s the monumental second of transcendence. That singular initial drum beat gets me every time. It has me lost for words. I am relieved to find a song I could immediately fall in love with. My only criticism is that it’s too short; I had to loop it at least three times to finally be released of its earworm catchiness and compelling grip.
So now I’m in awe, blissfully anticipating what Iako will do next. Whatever it is, i hope it’s at least half as good as this masterpiece.
But that’s all behind him now, and with the help of drag superstar Rupaul, Andrea has crafted his fabulously musical crossdressing career. “Androgyny spoke to me straight away, I’ve always been the guy with feminine traits and mannerisms and it’s exciting, it breaks the boundaries of gender and it questions masculinity, or at least our society’s conception of it, at its max. Seeing the platform he [Rupaul] created and how brave he was while doing so, makes me so inspired. Also thanks to him and the art of drag, I’ve learned not to take myself so seriously all the time and to have fun with people’s opinions and judgements, because, at the end of the day, if you’re not having fun, neither is your audience.”
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