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Author: Ray A-J

MUSIC REVIEW: Fire in me – Sigala remix

Posted on by Ray A-J

You know what, songs now are getting lazy.

John Newman
John Newman

RUNNING out of ideas? Just do a remix. Not sure how to write a song? Just do a remix. Want an easy income? Just make a remix. You get the idea. Music just seems to be a continuous onslaught of covers and remixes, with not even a whiff of originality.

But what’s in a song? I suppose that’s a complicated question, not every piece of music has to be poetic, not every line poignant. After all, art without diversity is just a dictatorship of paint and sounds. And yet, I still can’t help but demand more from the spiel of tracks these artists keep rolling out each year. Sigala’s latest remix of the John Newman song Fire in me, for example, is a collage of these popular synths and sparse lyricism prevalent in the industry now.
Lets load it up and you’ll see what I mean…

Loading…Please wait…

 

C:// Booting_

LOADING_MUSIC_

[Sigala_John_Newman_]

{Fire_in_me_}

 

_Start_

 

_Silence. _ Chorus of ethereal vocals.

Loading __

Long introduction with minimalist drips of instruments here and there. __ A typical dance track opening, in all honesty.

Loading. Loading.

_The formula is all the same, a male tenor vocal sings with the dramatic loneliness of an aria to start the piece. The occasional click here and desolate drum beat there are all that can be met on this empty landscape of sound. _ A swift stampede of synth keys come swooping in to carry him as his voice weakens and the strength builds. _ It sounds just like any other John Newman song, with his slightly nasal vocals ripping through the thick barrage of synths.

Loading Loading

_Im already bored and its only just got to the prechorus. _Finally a drum beat. A strong thunder of drums comes hailing down as the song finally pushes itself through the metal wall it built and into the chorus.

Were one minute in and this is where the track truly begins.

Loaded_ ready to start_

This explosion of skipping beats and sparkling ornate strings sews itself across the dark night sky. Suddenly the desolate landscape is lit with rich chords that hold the hands of the keyboard melodies; it’s a gorgeous coupling and may just save the entire track from it’s draw out verses.

The stratosphere is practically coming alive when the spectacular chorus hits. Everything sparkles with the shimmering glitter of the keys and their metallic timbre. Each iconic vocal sample causes a collision between the rocks in the sky – their powerful and sharp notes seem to slice into the atmosphere. The sounds are so distant. They’re doused in plenty of reverb, stuck like glue with perfect vocal harmonies and ever so slight cheeky reverse on the strings. It’s as though an entire Orchestra had taken over this manufactured track, morphing the sharp digital beats into something that transcends the audible. Thick and booming bass lines crack the ground beneath open, rumbling the earth until it crumbles underneath the light sky of strings.

This comet in the sky of blackened beats quickly passes however, as the verse shadows its way back into the scenery. _ Dim digital beats, stagnant and straight, they seem to make up at least 90% of this track__. It seems the dance break is just a glitch in the system, because the rest of the verses are just the same as the introduction – dull and disengaging.__

_Newman sings: “I’ve still got a fire in me”, but i just can’t hear it in this track.__ There’s no fire, no passion, nothing to disassociate it from all the other dance tracks out there. ___It’s just another over programmed formula that copies every other popular song, desperately trying to claw at their success and make a bucket load of money. __ I might have been seduced by the dance break, but I’ve been dropped like a hat by the verses. ___ I’m disappointed.__

__ENDING TRANSMISSION __

C:// Shutting_down_

_End_

MUSIC REVIEW: Stevie Appleton – ‘Supposed To Do’

Posted on by Ray A-J

Dance – it’s what you’re supposed to do!

GET out of the house for five minutes, and let Stevie Appleton take you on a day trip to the summery seaside.

With all of this rain, snow, hail and storms plaguing the weather forecast recently, it’s hard to even remember what summer feels like. The smiling sky and daffodil yellow sun rays feel like a decade away, and even the sight of a bright beach feels foreign. But fear not because Stevie Appleton’s got a cure for those blues.

Pack your bags quick, the crunchy drums are telling you as they jump-start Supposed to do. Hurry we’ve got to get to the car. Warm sunlight streaming in from the dusty blue sky and hugging your face. The cheeky muted guitar chop propels your excitement further, with every shy addition.

A voice suddenly breaks through the wispy clouds, beaming down on the lush countryside below. It’s echoing in reverb, the sort you’d find in a church hall or cathedral, and seems to transform the quite calm landscape into one of glorious bright beauty. Summer has begun, finally.

There’s an oh so slight little glimpse of sadness in the voice. It’s as though this makeshift trip is a desperate attempt to make the most of the weekend, and forget the fact that you’ve got to go to work tomorrow.

Honestly, Stevie Appleton sounds like if Passenger was sunbathing on a brightly lit beach at the end of a festival. He’s got that quirky twinge of folk in his voice, but still sounds like a cheery singer-songwriter that’s both happy and sad to see the end of the gig.

A short chain of funky guitar licks reminds you of the beautiful beaches that are just around the corner. And as they slowly build, you jump into the front seat of the car, pick up your besties and race down the road, wind blowing through your hair.

It’s a great picture that cartwheels into mind and races off in a gust of smoke. The song is more than just sounds, it’s a feeling and a damn good one at that.

The melodies are so simple and lax, it just lightly paints all of the cheer of summer but with little drops of worry, instead of throwing over the top elation in your face. With the slow and steady drums swaying in the cool breeze, and a fluttering chorus of synthesized jewels, you finally reach the beach. Bring on the summer!

This track is the sound of a summer trip, through the country, to the beach. It’s twisted chirpy folk at it’s best.

MUSIC REVIEW: Drink about by Seeb featuring Dagny

Posted on by Ray A-J

A recipe for Electronic dance with a dash of boredom.

SEEB show us what they can cook up in their newest single Drink About, featuring Dagny. May contain overdone rhythms and basic beats. Suitable for vegetarians. Spice free.

First preheat the oven to the lowest temperature possible – these beats are not hot or lit.  Next we can add some piano to the dish, but make sure you soak it in plenty of reverb first. Really drench the feeling of distance into the piano. We want it to sound like it’s in a church to cover up the fact that it’s not a real one; it has to sound classy.

Now grab a separate bowl and fill it with bland female vocals, all the way to the top until it over spills. That’s all we want here. Don’t mix anything else with it, it’s fine by itself. Now at this point you want to gradually turn the heat up to 120 degrees, it’s getting slightly more interesting, the water’s bubbling a bit, but not too much.

We don’t want too much excitement – it has to taste like any other popular song in the charts for us to make money from it. A pinch of that derivative drum machine pattern should be folded in to the mix, do it quickly though before we lose interest. It has to look like the track is going somewhere nearer the chorus.

Leave that to simmer for a moment whilst we start on the chorus /dance break /instrumental section. This is where we need to turn the heat up until the pan is red-hot and water is spitting.

A quicker tempo calls for another layer of trancing drums, so get yourself a pan and start cutting out the patterns. Don’t worry if you repeat the shapes a bit, nobody will notice – after all this track is best used in a club where people are having too much of a good time to notice the poor construction. Sprinkle a dash of thin synth strings and a generous spoonful of keys, until you can barely tell what instruments you’re tasting.

I see what you’re doing, put down those spices. We want this dish to be as bland as possible. See that bottle of wine over there? Grab it. Whoa stop what you’re doing, we’re not using it for this recipe. You can however feel free to take a swig, trust me, you’re going to need it to get through the rest of this track.

Repeat the instructions again from the beginning until you have two lots of food ready. Yep, this recipe is simple and lacklustre at best. Don’t expect any impressive songwriting or playing here, everything has been mixed and altered on a computer device.

Now once it’s cooked you should have yourself a typical dance song. Best served cold, with a side of unoriginality and copycat rhythms. Or if you’re feeling fancy, this track pairs well with any other song by Sigala, Kygo or David Guetta.

 

MUSIC REVIEW: Joan Armatrading – I like it when we’re together

Posted on by Ray A-J

New isn’t always better!

Joan Armatrading offers a plate of the old classics we know and love, in her latest single I like it when we’re together.

If I were to offer you an extravagant, giant, sugar-filled chocolate cake or a perfect little victoria sponge, which would you pick?

At first the chocolate cake is tempting, it’s sweet, rich and a little naughty; you know it won’t do your figure any good and it’ll ruin your dinner if you have it now, but you want it anyway. The latter is just basic, it’s nothing special – you could have it any other night of the week if you want to.

The obvious choice here is the first cake. But about three bites into the delightfully devilish coca extravaganza, regret comes knocking at the door of your taste buds. You change your mind, it’s far too rich and it’s getting too much for you to handle. Yuck. You feel sick. It’s tickling your tongue, grating on your teeth, and the whole time the delicate victoria cake is just staring at you with teasing eyes. It’s looking better now isn’t it? Why did you have to go and pick that dang sugar explosion?

Now of course music isn’t like a cake; I wouldn’t recommend eating it. But the point still stands: if you were offered an over the top extravagant song, or a simple old classic, which would you listen to? The newer, more interesting one, right?

Well just like the chocolate cake, the lavish song isn’t always the best. Sometimes it can tempt you into a terrible trap, not really sounding as good as it looks. But one thing you can always rely on is a classic. And the latest vanilla cake from Joan Armatrading delivered just what I hoped it would.

The song is a menu filled with homemade comfort food. The rustic guitar melodies and filling chords offer a perfect plate of healthy authenticity. It’s home-grown, and packed with everything you need for the tastiest meal.

As you dig into the delightful pie of music, you find the drums mash well with the other instruments to perfectly carry the rhythm, whilst still standing on their own buttery merit. Just like solid greens, the tonic and diatonic tonality (full of simplistic fifths and perfect harmonies) avoid spice or tension. Instead they create something that’s filling and nice to listen to in the background. I personally was listening to this whilst cooking and it was delightfully calming.

It’s not just Joan that’s impressive here though. The musicians are accomplished enough in their abilities to perform a memorable and pretty piece even when it’s just an instrumental version. The bass is a cheeky little lashing of red wine gravy; it has its own stage, demanding its own attention. It works well alongside the other vegetable instruments but is still worthy of its own limelight. As you can probably tell, it was my favourite part.

On top of your pie is a tingle of onions (caramelised of course). They are the simple yet sweet lyricism, with their powerful and often overlooked kick of directness. Oddly, they avoid the cliché of rhyming couplets and instead bring about an air of sophisticated clarity.

Usually I despise direct and obvious lyricism – I much prefer the metaphorical poetry of Passenger, but in this track the element gets a free pass. And all of this is carried on a force of well controlled impressive vocals.

Unlike Mariah or Beyonce, Joan doesn’t need over the top vocalisations. It’s not at all attention seeking or distracting, she gives room for the other musicians to breathe. She’s humble and modest in her singing. I wouldn’t expect anything less from her. The only additional little spice she has is a gorgeous vocal break at the end of the word “together”. The word just splits in two and drips out a heartwarming vulnerability that I can’t seem to escape from.

The whole song is subtly heart grabbing. It’s the perfect meal for a night in with a glass of something.

My only issue, is the awfully thin electronic piano. It doesn’t fit, it’s desperately missing reverb and ruins her authentic sound. But that’s just picking hairs at this point. I’m quite happy with my plate of home cooked, heart warming food, and wouldn’t change it for anything else.

Good work Joan, I look forward to your next release.

 

MUSIC REVIEW: Luka Sambe + Filter Bear

Posted on by Ray A-J

Luka Sambe and Filter Bear- Lavine’s creatures e.p along with remixes from Jay Haze and Ruede Hagelstein. Spacey, trippy and groovy!  (or the same song repeated three times).

Warning: this e.p is not for the lively listener, or even alive!

Usually electronic songs are lively and interesting. There’s no dilapidated droning rhythms, or dull construction. The music is a driving force behind you, forcing you to dance in an ecstatic trance of joy. But that’s not always the case – at least not with this album.

To tell the truth, I have a tumultuous relationship with this genre at best. I’m a stickler for authentic instruments and acoustic timbres, and don’t really appreciate the fake sounds created by some DJs on a computer. So the outlook for this album was already bleak. Their are some exceptions to my unusual rule though, with MGMT and Passion pit, so I hadn’t entirely written Luka Sambe and Filter bear’s Lavine’s creature off, just was dubious. And rightfully so.

Imagine listening to the same petty drum on loop for about ten minutes, with the occasional addition of white noise and sporadic melody. It’s tiring. The…same…four…beats, over and over with nothing but an out of date synthesiser as company, humming it’s own four note melody.

Actually to call it a melody would be generous, it’s more of a desperate fumbling over the keyboard to create an atmospheric minimalist spread of notes. And if the lack of melodic direction was off putting, the attempt at metamorphosis is worse.

There’s no light or shade, not even a flicker, it’s just a barrage of synthetic noise that blares through the speakers. It’s all at the same volume, and stays in the same monotonous humdrum with nothing to add except the odd off beat thud from another layer of drums.

And it wasn’t just the first incarnation of the track that threw me off. Neither of the other remixes of Lavine’s creatures are very dynamic. They seem to both be stagnant and static, like a murky pond with no current. They’re repetitive and ignorantly drone on as loud as they can for as long as they can.

Occasionally the artist adds flares of sounds and different patterns, but they never stick long enough to matter. It’s as though someone has just thrown together loops from Logic or an audio workstation and went: “that’ll do, now where’s my money?”; it’s just lazy. I’m sure a lot of hard work went into this, and not to disparage the creators, but I just don’t want to indulge in a ten minute loop of the same thumping drum beat over and over.

It’s ironic because their names offer far more promise than this E.P.

It seems that all of the tracks sound the same, they just have “remix” at the end of their names in a feeble attempt to establish a difference.

Weirdly, as I listened to these tracks, I found something very familiar. It’s uncanny, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that these tracks sound very much like my own. Perhaps that’s why I find them so disengaging. They seem to have hit the same wall I did, in that it’s impossible to make a decent evolved piece with just electronics – that is, if your’e not as good as Passion pit, MGMT or anyone else. Making electronic music is hard, just as hard as any other genre, but some of the artists just seem so lazy in what they finally produce and call ‘music;. It’s lost it’s heart, and Luka Sambe or Filter Bear need to try harder to find it, if they’re music is to improve.

Unlike the tracks, I’m not going to drone on and on for too long. But I hope somebody out there can listen to this E.P and explain to me what I’m missing, because I so wanted to love these songs.

Update: After scouring the Internet for some time, I found the possible inspiration behind this E.P. and it finally makes sense. Listen to Say by The creatures, and there is a little redemption for Lavine’s Creatures‘ many sins.

By Ray A-J

MUSIC REVIEW: Oblique – Argandiwal

Posted on by Ray A-J

Ever wondered what the inside of a computer sounds like?

Find out in Oblique’s latest album.

Oblique is a name I’m not familiar with, I must admit. The word brings up thoughts of maths and rigid design, with its literal definition. Robotics and animatronics spring to mind. And the music itself is no different.

The Berlin based DJ (or more aptly, sound designers) seem to favour a metallic rainforest for their musical backdrop. Although they explain their inspiration is Persian. Complex polyrhythms form the vast electric jungle of sound in their album Argandiwal, which can barely contain the rich collage of instruments it boasts. Even at their shortest, the songs themselves are way beyond the usual three-minute mark.

Drastically electronic – the entirety of the album sounds as though it was created on a computer exclusively. There’s not a single real acoustic instrument (or at least it sounds like there isn’t). Songs like Argandiwal – which there are three versions of – become a geeky tribal anthem of sorts; the sounds are both modern and primitive. It’s as though the sounds of the jungle have been translated by a robot. It’s a confusing concoction.

Holding up the album like scaffolding, the construction of the original version of Argandiwal is overly long and winding. In all it lasts ten minutes.

It begins with a dark tunnel, closing in all around you. Your only company is the sound of the builders in the distance, tapping into the ground, murdering the jungle. They’re far off, but you can still hear them. The sound stops. Emptiness reigns. Maybe they’ve stopped, maybe they ha- – – –

Obnoxiously loud chainsaws slice into the surface of your eardrums, masqueraded as the various drum patterns. It disorientates you greatly. Louder and louder they climb the ladder of volume until every other sound is lost in their shadow. The polyphony rises as a layer of white noise joins the chorus, crowding the enclosed space. The workers must have brought out a pneumatic drill because the sound is hammering into your skull.

Crawling through, you notice the opening is within reach. The bright white smile of the sky promises hope, and the wind embraces you.

All at once, the tunnel crumbles, leaving you in the jungle alone. It transforms into a landscape suddenly urban. Clouds mist over the mossy trees, and beneath the mist, a sinister metalic skyscraper looms. Shards fall down here and there whilst the layers of the track come closer to you. Rain mirrors the crumbling building, and a lightning storm becomes the next unwelcome guest.

All in all, It’s an animatronic forest inside a computer. Vines are cables, the wind is the whirling fan, and the drills are the sounds of the various devices that keep the machine running. In its giant ridgid box, the power supply takes the form of a skyscraper. Shards fall off from the failing power supply, to break down the motherboard, causing a lightning storm to spit from sparking cable. The workers are dust balls and viruses, pulling away at each part of the forest (motherboard). Taking out its insides, cutting it down. The track is the slow sound of deforestation, from the inside of a computer.

And just like the album, this review is a little convoluted!

REVIEW: Journey to a Twisted Circus @Troxy, London

Posted on by Ray A-J

Roll up, roll up, the drag circus is in town for one night only. And man was it a night.

Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, children of all ages, what you’re about to see will shock and amaze. It will flash you to a place of horror and wonder. It will inspire, it will transform. What you’re about to witness will change you’re life. It will be the only thing you desire. I welcome you… to the… Twisted circus.

Crash…….. A sudden burst of flames engulfs the stage and lights crowd the air, squabbling over who owns the audience. Faces are scattered everywhere with wide grins of glory. A flurry of glitter here a pink tutu there, drag is everywhere. And I love it. There is mystery, there is inspiration, and there is passion. I can’t believe I’m here.

Come to think of it, where is here?

Well sit tight, because it’s a bumpy ride full of catastrophe and craziness. We’ll start at the very beginning…

By any chance, have you ever tried to travel to London?  One word for you…stressful!

You get lost, tired, hungry – it’s a whole whirlwind. Back and forth, on one train, off the next. Like a crazy carousel going round and round, we were constantly in frantics, looking for the next platform.

We were on our way to Troxy, London, home of the drag show we were about to see, and we were starting to stress out. We had to find a way from Norfolk to London in the space of a few hours. The show starts at it was already 12:00pm. We had to catch a train fast.

Making our way to the station, we were panicking up a storm, but as luck would have it our saviour was on its way. The train pulled up just as we got there, so we charged on with the full force of a rocket. Phew.

An hour and a half later, we arrived at a station in London. Usually I love journeys and travelling, but this was horrendous because as we arrived, our luck changed. I had just found out our trains were delayed, the main line was cancelled, and it was another hour before the next one would get here. Great. We were running time fast, but we could do this. I didn’t know where the heck I was, and I was running out of money, but I had to get there. I had to see that show.

Three trains and about £30 worth of food later (damn London is expensive), we were finally in central London. Now all we had to do was find that venue. Oh wait – what’s the address? In all the calamity of catching trains, I had forgotten to check the address of the place.

Typical. All I can say is thank goodness for Google. I may be part of this Igeneration, and I might be useless with a map, but at least I had a trusty friend in my pocket. “take a left here, turn right there.”

Google got us in a continuous flip-flop of absolutely lost and knowing our way. And three lefts, four rights, 100 odd steps, and half an hour later we came to what looked like our destination. Troxy the sign said, and we breathed a sigh of relief. We had done it. It was stressful, but we had got there in one piece.

Now flash forward a bit.
It had been hours and so far nothing. The emptiness was heavy and thick. Around us stood a cathedral of walls, decadently decorated, and ceilings that reached for the skies. The people too were decorated, paint plastered on their faces to match their favourite stars. We were in a sea of an eager fish, frantically swimming about, trying to busy themselves to distract from the dead air.

“Excuse me, I’m just going to meet my friend over there,” a member of this curious cult screeched at me, as she barged her way through the mountain of people. “Sure,” I said,  thinking how hard it would be to lose your friend to the city of people. “Go ahead.” And what did she do? Barge her way through, only to stand right in front of me. Unbelievable. It was astounding really, but everyone was so…alive. We were swallowed in the crowd of people. Despite the emptiness and dead air, they were incredibly eager. Actually to say eager would be an understatement; you could feel the anticipation dripping from them – they were desperate to get to the front of the stage. Desperate to even breathe the same air as who we were about to see. For Drag fans, they were unusually bolshy and abrasive. And it was irritating.

To tell the truth, we were lucky to get in at all.  Along the tumultuous journey, numerous disasters cropped up and shook our hand. “We’re sorry to say, but there will be technical difficulties,” the robotic voice on the train had told us – and that was just the starter of our problems. I didn’t even know if the place would let us in. I didn’t have a ticket, or a lot of money, and the only form of ID I did have probably wouldn’t be useful. Dowsed in stress and we hadn’t even got to the venue yet.

So yes, that’s the hectic day I had to battle through before even seeing the palace of drag. But we were there, and the show was about to begin. Now let’s go back to the gig before we miss anything.

A sudden crash and the stage lights up like lightning. Music blares through the room, seeping into the ground until it grabs the roots of our feet. All the waiting and anticipation had brewed a relentless fire in me; I too was infected with the crazy desperation to watch the Queens, overwhelmed by the possibility of actually seeing them in person.

Through the mist of the stage, a face is creeping into view. “Linda, Linda I’m telling you, it was a horrible dream,” the face whimpers, as the first performer finally meets the stage. In a burst of smoke and lights, clowns are suddenly sparking before him – creepy and twisting in their dance. What looked like a ringmaster joined them, prancing across the floor like mad men in a hypnotic trance. The beat was thumping, has everybody jumping, transforming the dead air into a burning inferno of passion. It’s broken and beautifully disturbing. “There were clowns, and drag Queens, Linda. It was a nightmare!” And that might as well been the trailer for what the night was about to hold.

Damaged dancers leave, their twisty energy glued to stage as the remaining circus floods in. A pink wig and gorgeous glitter waltzes onto the stage, and the crowd is just roaring with excitement. Who’s there, I can’t see. There are too many heads an shoulders in the way. For a short kid like me, it seems seeing the acts is rare. Nearing us, it becomes clear – that’s Farrah Moan. Ring girl Farrah (or is it Christina Aguilera) gets the crowd in all of a flutter with her pristine beauty and perfection. Then Kim then Violet, the Queens are pouring in and soaking us in tears of disbelief. It’s just a collection of drag royalty. Milk, Kim Chi, Violet Chachki, Chad Michaels, we were kids in a sweet shop; you’re far from short of talent to chose from. Every area is covered.

Shea Coulee, Kim Chi and Amanda Lepore seem to command the room, carrying the air of lionesses, with Chad actually dressing as one, claiming the whole stage as their serengeti. Dances are strong and striking. Pouncing from corner to corner, teeming with power, the girls are absorbing the rippling passion from the audience and using it for their own charge. They are so sharp they cut through the misty air,  splitting our brains in two.

Throughout the night it becomes more and more apparent just how many fans are here. Like any show, there were floods of people earlier. Outside, a long line of eager fans swallowed the block around the venue, spilling onto the streets beyond. But this transcended the comfortable level once walls circled round us.

“Put the phone down! Move out-of-the-way!” someone calls out. This is too much, I need to move. I merely creep an inch one way and I can’t help but crash into someone. Move the other and I’ll l make contact with someone else. It’s tough to breathe, It became claustrophobic so quickly.

A figure suddenly moves across the stage, and in-between the heads of the crowd I can just about make out what appears to be antlers. “Which Queen is that?”

“I don’t know, I can’t tell but i think it’s Kim Chi.”

I have to stand on my tiptoes to see, but I think I can spot the Queen and her crazy painted face. That has to be Kim. “I want to take you away with me” the anime voice is singing. That’s definitely her.

Shyly creeping onto the stage, she looks like a stag crossed with Bambi. But she has the gravitas of Grizabella as soon as she begins her lipsync. It’s perfect. For somebody that claims they can’t perform (I mean – did you see season 8), she has an incredible hold over the audience. I can’t help it – I’m literally swaying along with her solemn ode. All I’m missing is a lighter or a candle.

“Look at me, look at me I’m on TV” the song floats into the background as the Queen spreads her arms and tries her best to dance. Not going to lie, she looks like Pearl flapping about like that. But we love it. The crowd is screaming along with the song gleefully. We’re more than just onlookers we’re part of the show too. That’s how it feels as she waltzes down into our little group.

About five minutes later, Milk is sweeping in donning what looks like a pastor’s gown. It’s a little – how do I put this politely? Extravagant. She’s singing something about “Santa Clause touched me” (which is a slightly odd but awkwardly funny when she sings in her weird way), and just after her, most of the girls have stripped down to reveal almost very close, bordering on censor worthy, nudity. Weird.

You know what. They’re brave.

I hadn’t thought of this before, but watching drag race is nothing compared to this – it’s a completely different experience. Milk isn’t just the catty Queen from all-stars three, here she’s a veteran performer, a master of the stage and the second best girl of the night to grace it. We all knew Shea was an incredibly fierce competitor ; she won most of the challenges and dominated the fan’s hearts in her season. But here she’s on a pedestal. It’s like all of her prowess has been magnified by ten. She’s amazing. And I’d never seen Amanda perform before, but wow is she good too. She’s keeping up with Farrah and Violet, and they’re half her age.

I see two foam hands appear from the back of the stage, and I know what’s about to happen. “Touch the fashion, change you’re life! Touch the fashion, change your life!” we’re chanting along with Milk at full volume. “Touch the fashion, change you’re life! Touch the fashion, change your life!”

Is that the time already?  It’s half ten and the show is closing. It’s only been on for an hour or two! We spent longer getting there then watching it. But it was worth it.

What a night!

Now all we have to do is get home.

If I thought travelling in London during the day was bad enough, this is even worse. It’s dark, we’re lost and we’ve just missed the next train from fussing about at the merchandise stall. We’re getting on the next train now, after waiting for a few hours,  and it’s like something out of a cartoon: Right in front of us, there’s this rowdy group of drunks shouting and spilling their beers all over the show. To our left, the overly pda couple that in the most polite way need to get a room. And about two inches away, an angry guy is in a blistering row on the phone. And that’s all in about the space of five minutes. Crazy.

“So how was the gig, did you like it?” I say to my sister beside me, as we’re trying to drown out the commotion on the train with our chatter.

“Honestly, that was a night for the books!”

MUSIC REVIEW: Is it a Man or a monster?

Posted on by Ray A-J

Singer BB Diamond creates a rave that will leave you asking just that, with her latest track.

You step out. it’s cold. Open spaces swallow faces filled with energy, engulfing the smokey air with an infectious urge to dance. Around the dark field stand people, brimming with the electricity of the music that’s climbing in your ears.  Slowly the faces move, weaving in and out of the foggy landscape surrounding you. Enchanted by an untouchable orchestra of vocals, you can’t help but move too, in a slow sway along with the introduction of the song.

Everything is in slow motion.

Rich and ornamental, BB Damond’s harmonies are an etherial light that bathes the crowd in their deep and commanding hold. Throughout the short introduction of Man or a Monster, the perfect marrying of voice and rhythm is on display; small staccato snippets become drum beats, vocal harmonies become chords.

The mere mention of any other instrumentation is needless here – her voice is the only instrument required. Any space surrounding left by the lack of guitars or piano is instantly filled with the depth of her voice that’s elegantly lined with reverb. After all, a lonely tree in a field demands all the attention; you have to focus on it.  The field simply becomes its stage.

But then the sweet orchard of sound descends into a soft acapella break, shifting the spotlight to just Diamond’s solo voice. It’s bare, stripped back and exposed, yet still manages to hold its own. Becoming a melodic compass, her lines set the path ablaze with melodic beauty for the sudden rising chorus of instruments to follow.

Clouds of colour – pink, red, and blue, burst around the dancing group, spilling their way into a pre-chorus with eager ascending drums. Around you,  everyone erupts into a frenzy of dance.

The verses relax a little, however, returning to the slow motion flow of the intro. In them, sneakily low bass trills accent the main vocal melody with minimalistic finesse. It’s a cheeky addition to each new verse rendition, and it provides its own freshness to the otherwise repetitive lyricism.

On the topic of lyricism – her words openly discuss a discourse between herself and the ‘monster’. Although, the words string themselves into predictable sentences which simply state the ‘monster’s’ wrongdoings – there’s no poetry, no playful lyrical content here. Honestly it’s a slight let down. But i suppose lyricism is secondary when the musical content is a thumping club ready dance track.

Overall, Man or a Monster is a late night rave in a field – it transcends the mere sounds it contains, forcing any listener into a joyous trance.

 

MUSIC REVIEW: Toni Braxton’s Sex & Cigarettes

Posted on by Ray A-J

Imagine this: It’s the nineties – early nineties, 1991 to be exact. You’re in a club and it’s slowly nearing the end of the night. Most people have gone home already, and those that are left are slow dancing in the middle of the desolate floor.

Babyface was just playing, imprinting on you the urge to get up and dance. You’ve been waiting all night to show off your best moves, and now as good a time as any to break onto the floor and raise hell. You signal the DJ to spin you a track by TLC or something – anything good, mustering up the courage to step out into the spotlight of the disco ball. You’re all ready, but then – ugh. Celine Dione.

That’s the feeling of Toni Braxton’s Sex and Cigarettes. A Tangled mess of ballads and mediocrity. With the rare welcoming of a synth or two to the party, there’s the teasing of a few well-rounded dance tracks, but they instead leave you hanging on long drawn out ballads.

Tracks like Deadwood clumsily blend together scratches of country guitar and the soulful R&B Braxton is known for, to no avail; it just sounds desperate to be modern.

The album is dated, but even the attempts at modernising it become generic and derivative. New elements like the iconic vocal one shot sample synth from Major Lazer’s Lean on make an appearance (all be it short), but it’s like a drunk DJ has fumbled his way onto the stage at a country concert – it doesn’t fit.

I suppose the only forgiving element in this album of drivel is that not all of the songs sound alike. Although, I did have trouble distinguishing between some (Looking at you Coping, Missin’, Sex and Cigarettes).

Amazingly My heart sounds worlds away from FOH, with Spanish guitars and haunting swirls from backing vocals (which by the way are gorgeous).

Thankfully Braxton teamed up with singer-songwriter Colbie Calliat to create the half decent poetic piece of My heart. Overall there’s an attempt at variation, but nothing beyond swapping a few instruments here and there which, from a seasoned musician such as Braxton, is a little disappointing.

After mulling over the album for a few days, the only song that really stood out was FOH. The track is the breath of fresh air Sex and Cigarettes desperately needs. Not quite overtly pop, but not too dull, the piano ballad reeks of pain. She’s waiting at the door in a dimly lit hallway, desperate for her phone to reveal the reply she’s longing for. Pain and fury entwined in the piano – tainted chords burning loneliness and anger into your ears with every second of sustain. A dark twinge of reverse on the instrument’s tears introduce a sadness to the album that was barely present before. Ignoring the drab lyricism, It’s almost heartbreaking. The track is the only one in the album that shows promise, but even then I wouldn’t commit to buying it. The perfect minimalism of the piano is a sound worthy of repeat however, but perhaps in a different song.

OPINION: I Have A Phobia 

Posted on by Ray A-J

What if I told you fear could be dissolved in under an hour? Completely – gone in a matter of minutes. Would you believe me? Asks Ray A-J.

Sitting in a brightly lit little waiting room, I was nervous. My phone yelled at me the time – it was four o’clock and I had just made it to the building with minutes to spare. Anxiety brewing at what I might have to face, I stared at the coffee machine in hopes of seeking some comfort studying the mundane object. I didn’t know exactly what I was in for. But before I could make a break for it out of the door, footsteps came from around the corner and with them a familiar face.

I was in therapy, seeking help for my phobia. It had been 13 years that I’d suffered with it, and I’d had enough. Luckily there happened to be a therapist near my home in Brighton, so I went with hopes I’d leave with one less thing holding me back. Rightfully so.

In the smaller session room, I felt like an imposter – my phobia isn’t that debilitating compared to others, I can still go outside and carry out my life as normal. Thoughts crept up on me like a sudden rising tide; did I deserve to be there? But as the session continued, I realised it doesn’t matter how severe your phobia is, it still holds you back.

The therapist asked how I was – the normal niceties, and I relaxed a little. But then the topic of Peter Pettigrew came up. That character from a ridiculous movie (Harry Potter) has plagued me for my entire childhood, right into adulthood. It was just one chance encounter of the rat man, when I was five, and I was tortured for years. His face imprinted itself into my whole life. But, of course, we had to talk about it. In order to move on and bring up the suffocating feelings of terror for the therapy to kill, I had to remember.

I was back in my house with my family. Five years old, and we were watching a film before it was bedtime (as we usually would). Blinds were shut, curtains closed, and a shroud of nighttime darkness filled the room. My often overactive imagination had already taken hold of my brain, painting its own little creatures and monsters out of the dark shadowy room.

All of a sudden my pulse elevated. Hands began to sweat. A burning sensation rose from my throat and flooded itself into my eyes and cheeks. A simple rat (the pet of Ron Weasly) had leapt from his hand. Scurrying along the floorboards of the attic room, it darted forward into a crevice. Slowly, his face grew outwards, stretching and stretching until his nose was long and teeth busting out of his mouth. Gradually, he took on a more human form; with puffed out cheeks, long coarse hair wildly sticking out at all ends, sharp unforgivingly angry eyebrows digging into his face he gnawed at the air in a rat-like pose. It was this transition that got me.

Like the rat he was quick, and hurled himself across the room to escape Harry, Sirious and the other characters. But they found him, named him Wormtail and held him so he couldn’t move. Sirious told the story of this crazed figure. It was he who had killed Harry’s parents, he who had made an attempt on Harry’s life. He was their childhood friend, and he betrayed them. As soon as that word ‘betrayed’ was spoken, a flurry of panic overcame me. Helplessly I clung to a pillow, blocking the TV screen from harming me further. But the damage had already been done.

Back in the therapy room, my eyes burned with the panic and fear of that memory. Tears came pouring down my face with no regard for my integrity. The therapist could see I was distraught, debilitated. She asked what the emotion felt like and I tried in vain to answer.

It was an ice cold, turquoise block in my chest. My hands were sweating out a river, and my heart pounded a stampede of horses, but that wasn’t emotion. She explained that those were the fight or flight responses, and what was really the problem was the energy from my emotional reaction. When you feel fear as intense as a phobia’s, your body reacts – not your brain. An emotion gets trapped in your energy lines, if you’re not allowed to process it fully. If you can’t truly feel it and let it go by itself. Forcing it down and suppressing emotion is what we’re told to do if it’s negative. But we shouldn’t.

Mine had been trapped in my body for years, forever knocking at the door each time Pettigrew’s face appeared, in hopes of it being answered and understood. It was being retriggered every time. It needed to go.

RAY A-J
RAY A-J

She then asked for me to give the emotion a colour and shape; a turquoise block of ice for me. And words were selected to describe the feeling (I think I just said “oh cr*p” and “I need to look away, this isn’t making me feel good”). I felt ridiculous saying it, but that’s what my brain was telling me. We were now ready to begin Emotional freedom technique (EFT).

EFT aims to rid the victim of their lingering negative feelings around their trigger, dislodging them until they are fully acknowledged and can leave. We had to tap on the ends of the meridian lines whilst reciting a mantra of “even though I’m scared, I still love and accept myself” in order for the emotion to be released. It was about four rounds of this, each time checking my reaction to the character and noticing the intensity quickly decreasing, in total that got me.

It felt stupid, I felt stupid, but it was beginning to work…

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