How to destroy rock n roll - an evening with The Telescopes

They make fucking noise.

The Telescopes make beautiful fucking noise.

It's been a while since I was actually in New Cross. I pass through it - but don't stop there so much (can't stop, won't stop) - not since those heady university Goldsmiths' daze. Which is pretty much where The Telescopes came in. Okay - I first found my love for their sonic shakes whilst living out life with a bowlhead and bag on the mean streets of Scunthorpe - a northern town to bring you right down.  The Cheree realeased Kick The Wall - summing up all that teenage frustration in guitars and screams.  On hearing Stephen and Co's cacophony I decided that I liked it and wanted to taste a little more - and I pursued it with abandon in my early university time.

So I set about going to a number of gigs of theirs - early days for them and late nights for me. It was clear then - as it was with tonight's concert - that The Telescopes take no prisoners. They just play hard motherfucking rock n squall - and that my friends is exactly as it should be. Early Telescopes had that Iggy/ Stooges/ Spaceman thing going - no down tempo numbers full on sonics and screams.

I sent letters - mainly to Jo - and Stephen as well - interviewed them for a fanzine - jumped myself silly at gigs - supported them in Hull - watched them play with The Mary Chain and then slowly I stopped listening for a while. It was those repetitive beats - pulling me somewhere else.

But now here I was again waiting for a set of something - and to be honest I wasn't expecting it to be that hard - that brutal - but I felt challenged and that's good - it makes you think - it makes you question music. And as that's my bag - tonight's Telescopes - so different to years gone past - but so bloody-minded and similar in repose and attitude - did just that. They destroyed rock n roll for all around and simply put it back together in layers of reverb and hate.

The day was billed as a Psych All Dayer  - but I was making an evening of it. I tend to end up at these things on my own - my 45 year old set don't go in for this type of abuse - so I arrived for a set from Black Seas - a five piece Jaguar guitars and tweed sort of thing - they had noise and jangle - a touch of early valentines and a singer prowling and sending deep reverberations around - I guess it was a Nick Cave type thing - but with none of the presence and he was wearing a Nike t-shirt - so I'm not having that. You've got to put some effort in.

This was followed by a transcendental trumpet and electronica pyschedelic workout by two blokes under the name Hirvikolari - they started with dub echoes and bleeps and pretty much kept it that way as a colossal twenty minute beast was unleashed with modular pulses and repetition. I liked it - I liked their style.

Next - Melt Dunes - young psych upstarts - with loud guitars and hair - I quite like d them to be honest - a bit Sabbath - a bit of this and that - but their was conviction and a sense of  show - some youth down the front showing that he dug it - I liked that - this band will have fans - they will show their appreciation. They finished with a cover -  and I can't remember it's name - but it was fantastic - all

repetitive and shouting - they will certainly make some memorable records.

And then to The Telescopes - this brooding thing - slowly lumbering to the stage from the caves - finally alive and hungry. Stephen has been ploughing this field for some time now - incarnations of The Telescopes - forever looking further and beyond the now - exploring new space with a set of like minded 'cavemen'.  This current line up found Dave Gryphon on three stringed bass - 'Why would I need a G?', Stuart Gardham ( I think - but I might be wrong) stretching the sonics through six strings and John or Jon hitting the skins - warrior like - in control and controlling. Stephen spends most of the night crouched down - kneeling on the stage - listening and adding - sending his vocals spinning out and out into space ringing around and around - merging and melding into one noise - one beautiful noise.

If truth be told - I didn't recognise a song - there was a fella and his wife  - had waited all day for this - he was wearing a Chapterhouse t-shirt - he didn't stick around - they weren't playing the hits. Not that that would be a bad thing - The Telescopes have an army of tunes - they just decided that this wasn't the place to play them - or if it was - present them in such a manner that meant they became something else. Feedback jazz - was my bag that night.

It's hard to describe the sheer force of this group - it is not noodling or sonic fuckery for the fun of it - it seems to me that they actually want to push the limits of sound. I was on such a buzz on it finishing - it felt like I'd been fought with - punched and dazed - half the crowd had made it through the door - pushed themselves away. It was confrontational pop music. I can only imagine it must have been like witnessing Suicide or Throbbing Gristle for the first time.  It was not for the faint hearted. It wanted to fucking eat us all up - but there was subtlety and simmering within - at one point with all members fallen to the floor pushing their instruments against speakers and stage - vibrating - shaking - as Stephen howled down the microphone there came about a point of sudden bliss coupled with an expectation that we had hit new heights - that rock n roll was dead and somehow it needed to be saved - it needed raizing from the dead. And all that we had learned came crashing down in that sound - it was offerring a new perspective on these South London streets.

The Telescopes were asking us to think - in this nostalgia fuelled era (of which I'm completely guilty - but I mean it maaaaaan - I truly do ) they didn't represent the past - and sell t shirts and CDs of glory days - they simply put that aside - they continued to breathe new breaths - new life and grew into this. I turned 45 this year - why should Stephen be stuck being 19 - we've all moved on. I'm glad I took th etrip back to past memories. I left New Cross just as the Venue crowd were lining up to get in. Times have changed - I first met Duglas from BMX bandits there - I got the feeling that the BMX Bandits would not be on the Venue's playlist tonight.

So why stick with the past?

I feel Stephen an Co are still trying to explore what can be done - they are still kicking against the wall. Even if it means that they don't necessarily play 'Kick the Wall'. Do you get me?

You should try it though actually having a night with The Telescopes. It's modern. It's vital. It's music pushed to its limits.

It's a fun night out.


One from the new long player 

Another response to (Sleaford) modernism Part 2

Arriving in Camden Town the rub and mix of London smashes against the senses - all nose, eyes and ears. I am making my way down the High Street to Koko - London's hip hangout for NME youth and groove (I've got a Brit Award) to see Sleaford Mods - Nottz (with a Z you cunt) upstarts  - emperor's new clothes or the real thing ?  (just so you are aware of this - the are the real thing - and i've never thought otherwise)

There's something about Sleaford Mods that brings out the bile in people - they either get it or fucking hate it - with a passion.  A real passion - trying to drown out one of the most authentic voices in rock n roll this decade. I don't know why the man (that's the 'man on the street) thinks like that - perhaps he's a wanker.

So down a hot high street of cheap plastic and chicken. With carrier bags, skateboards and mental health, crab eyes and rage I make my way to the Palais - a venue steeped in tradition and history - comedy ( the last Goon show was recorded there) and music hall - cheeky songs and bawdy crowds. 

How times have not changed.

The concert is an early one - doors at seven - Vic Goddard and his Subway Sect on at 7.30 - and Sleaford Mods at 8.30. We all have to get out by 10 so NME people can set up stuff and groove. Me I like the fact it finishes on time - clocking in and clocking off - I know my hours - work like. But this concert is far from work like - it feels like Sleaford Mods are on the verge of that bigger breakthrough - new songs from 'Key Markets' have creeping claustrophobic choruses - there is a difference in the air. And I'll return to this later.

So Vic gives a pleasant set of post punk scratchiness and hollers and shakes - you get the lineage (from here to where we'll be going with Sleaford Mods)  - the ranconteur - there's a story about this one and that one - the audience peppered with beards and loss of hair  - young ones and old ones - they are receptive. I am receptive to these sounds too - it reminds me of The Only Ones  and Orange Juice - The Jam and The Buzzcocks - it has its place because Goddard was a face then and he is now. Good stuff.

So myself and Andy B (a long time friend and with an open mind to music and the masses) snatch a cheeky pint or two and position ourselves in the crowd in readiness for the band. And they are a band comprising singer/ poet Jason Williamson and musician Andrew Robert Lindsay Fearn - oh but it's a lap top and he doesn't even play owt. Get awwt of it. Of course he fucking plays it - he plays it every night - without that stance and shake at the side to Williamson's frenetic peacock strutting - head shaking - hair brushing - tourette's ticking I think it wouldn't work. Fearn has this 'lad on a bike outside the off licence asking you to buy fags' feel about him - even though he could get his own.  It's a likely alliance of minds  - words and bass - beats and politics - it's a Pet Shop Boys borne out of Poundland and Bargain Booze - Kwik Save and Frozen Foods - of small market towns - concrete slabs and orange fluorescent haze as days became dazed as life present just fuck all to do - day in day aawwwwt.

I think I've been waiting for Sleaford Mods for a long time - saying that they've been going for a long time - anyway - I like a rant - an incoherence - a 'I just can't fucking believe it' strop at life and here is Williamson and Fearn to articuate this in brutal inarticulation - with bellows and burps - raspberries and grunts - this peppered spastic magic - sums up the state of the nation aptly - white British rap music (perhaps?). Williamson arrives after Fearn has set up - a few thumbs to the full hall and they are in and on it for the next 80 minutes. Williamson's lyrics depict the frustration and pointlessness to modern living - puncture the ideology of musical acceptance from the masses - he attacks bosses (sack the manager) - sees the ugly overbelly of being a citizen in the streets.

Williamson struts and juts - there's a camp element and theatre to it all (apt in this music hall setting)  - seeing it in the flesh he reminded me of Iggy Pop - all command and freak - everyman and star rolled into one - all stage glory as this nation turned Tory. What's your story? Delivered with wit not banter, shouts and stutters of tales of real life gutters and nutters on trains and buses and in shopping centres (the Vicky Centa)  I lived in Nottingham for eight years - it gets under your skin - I can see this midlands mentality wrapped round these visions.

These are true modernists.

You get a sense the audience are shifting in their demographic - there's a fella holding a wine glass ( i mean him no harm) but you know what I mean - all middle class elbows and A roads. English Heritage visits and cheese - mixed with fixed stares and potential threats of violence.  I guess Sleaford Mods have mortgages to pay with their faces of rage. And that doesn't matter - your music moves with you - you can tell on these new tunes - there's a temperance in his temper. Andy B even suggested that Sleaford Mods music would appear in advertisements - he thought  Homebase - I'm not quite certain about that.

But I feel I am witnessing a band of the (no) future. They mean it man. We mean it maaaaaaan. The band continue with abuse - sonic shakes and bass (rowche) rumbles - the aural equivalent of a gang of hoodies showing cheap youtube clips of spits in playgrounds and accidents and precinct fights - all hot headed and lairy - not scary. Cunt this and that. Rage about those times- i fucking hate these times and here is the idiocy articulation of fear and loathing - we don't know what to think - shut it aawt mate - shut it awwwt.

I want a bounty - just a fucking bounty.

Sleaford Mods are the genuine article - not that they claim authenticity and all that shit - this is craft and graft. 

I am 44 next week and I have never been more excited in my life. Onwards and upwards - here's to the Sleaford modernists - you cunt.

Here they are. 

I have always liked The Fall

I have always liked The Fall.

I’ve written about those (various) times before.  It was my brother Paul who got me into The Fall. Not John Peel.  He bought a seven inch from a man in a market and we played it at home again and again.

 It was called Totally Wired.

I arrived at Brixton Electric as the doors opened. Various Fall t-shirts already assembled in the queue – anticipation for this dedication to the rigmaroles of RnR already there in the air – all high tension (line) and knowing nods that we were all Fall fans.

And 50,000,000 Fall fans can’t be wrong.

As I ventured round the building locating enclosed open spaces for my lungs (that’s the smokers corner) I arrived there alone. On my own with cigarette smoke for friends.  When through the door burst two wide eyed – wired fresh young things – all angular movements and rapid talk – they were singing Totally Wired.

You don’t have to be weird to be wired.

I’d learnt this much early on.  Scunthorpe streets weren’t so tolerant back then – or at least I thought the world was divided into the ‘Henry Afrika’s Scene’ a nightclub on Doncaster Road with outdated hairstyles and outdated moral views and those of the independent scene – all spikes and hair and leather and cider – and never the twain should meet. It wasn’t actually like that at all – but I grew up thinking I was an outsider. 

Turns out we were just conforming another way.

So here I am a 43 year old man (and I like it) holed up in Brixton with The Fall. It was a first for me. It was a good introduction to the rampant ramalamma of MES and assorted musicians.  So from Totally Wired singing openings and nods and charged glasses I was wished well and that this would be an intense night and was welcome to join them later in the heaving mass of bodies up the front. I said I’d think about it.

There seems to be lots of discussion and talk at a gig like this – what’s your favourite Fall song? When did you first see them? How did you get into the Fall? Lots of never ending questions about the North and whether they’d be good or not.

They were good. Excellent in my head. But I’ll tell you about that later.

I read a review on the mighty Louder than War website that at a recent gig they had played a 45 minute slowed down film of rock royalty – just to set the place on edge. I wasn’t sure whether we’d be treated to the film  - I quite fancied it to tell the truth. Instead we had two bands – the first were called Wetpig and they had a ramshackle repetition in the music (and they're never gonna lose it) appeal. Scratchy and catchy if you get me. Three strong women with post -punk riffage  - keyboard drone – motorik drums and funked up bass. They were good actually. It may have been their last gig. So there you go.

This was followed by some overblown shite from a band who took themselves far too fucking seriously. All hand gestures to soundmen and raging intensity – they even had a strobe to accompanying their Ride/ U2/ Coldplay mash up. You don’t have to be weird to be wired. But it helps if you’re wired from the start. They weren’t. They will not feature on compilations in people’s cars in the future.

The Fall feature heavily on my car compilations. We as a family (my family- not the world) have listened to a potted history of The Fall over the years (yeah but what’s your favourite era?  I can hear you asking) So to eventually arrive in a building when I knew The Fall were going to play in was exciting for this old man.  So we waited - posters said 10pm The Fall - it would be considerably later than 10pm that MES and Frenz would walk on the stage. To a backdrop that simply read Dedication not Medication - You Decide on one half and The Fall (White on Blue) on the other  - microphones were set up and a moog set up right hand side with a chair - repetitive squelches and bass rumbles accompanying the roadies technical know how.

And then nothing. 

For forty five minutes. 

Nothing. 

Two deejays playing vinyl - but no Mark E Smith. 

A can is thrown. 

Still nothing.

Conversations turn to Mark's state - is he too drunk to get it together? Is he actually in the building? Is this the way to start a UK tour?

And then an introductory tape - and the nucleus of The Fall arrive - Elena (Mrs MES) places her red coat and bag on the chair to the side of the Moog - Peter Greenaway turns up the guitar - Dave connects it all with his bass and then they lock down in double drum time (Keiron and Darren) and we wait for an entrance. At first a voice from the wings - and then the man - staring us down - prowling and stopping - gurning and growling. His door is always open. We welcome him en masse - we are suddenly under the thrall of Mark. He will command proceedings from now on.

And it's a whirlwind - muddy vocals and indecipherable sounds emanate from Smith - yet it mutates into a classic Fall sound.  Chugging and reverberating around - as Smith swithes stance and microphones - turns dials and creates art out of chaos. He's the real deal this fella - he's wearing suit - you know - he's made an effort (I remember an interview with Mark in one of music magazines and he was bemoaning the lack of getting dressed up for a night out - I think it was around the time of the rave explosion)but here he is like he's just got out the office - slipped the tie off and wandered on stage. Oh to work with a colleague like MES in the office - it would be great.

Hurtling through new Fall material - this juggernaut of a group pummel us with twists and snarls -  as Smith makes every part of the stage his own. There's new material from the much anticipated Sub-Lingual Tablet - I think Quit iPhone gets an airing as I snap cheeky photographs on mine at the side of the stage. A blistering Mister Rode and sonic exploration via Auto Chip 14 - 15 9 (another new one) So I'm there - and I'm getting it - not rushing like I did when I first heard Totally Wired - but all these sounds are falling into place and suddenly I have the revelation (to me - it may not be to you) that The Fall are direct (dead beat) descendants of The Kinks. Observational scowl and punk attitude - in your face - menance and grimace. The Fall are making art. They reflect and reinvent. They are incredible.

And then they are gone. 26 minutes in. They leave. 

The crowd seem bemused. The band seem bemused. MES has left the stage - so they do to. 

This could get ugly. But then from the wings - comes the crooning of Smith. He's back it's not exactly an encore more a light breather and then he's there - jacket off - back to get on with the show (and it is a show - studied rock n roll like Elvis' hips and legs) and we get four more numbers - including a song I think is called Stout Man - which the whole band seem to chant - in fact Darren the 'second' drummer may have had a run out on this one - adding more Smith like sounds to Smith's  microphone maelstrom. Darren gets to round off the evening too. He's pretty integral to this whole set up.  We also get Facebook Troll - a new song from the new album - as Mark commands from he front all open arms demanding that he 'wants a Facebook Troll'. It's brilliant. It's pertinent and it's funny. MES always in touch - always ahead of the game.

Four songs in they disappear again. The lights aren't up but people are unsure. It's 10 past 11. There's a scurry for (stale) air and I overhear a conversation - young lads - fred perrys and short sensible hair - moaning between themselves - and there's just one lad complaining - 'I can't understand him - it's shit - this is shit - I can't hear him - what's he on about - this is shit'.  This is a band still getting a reaction that's divided  - that's up for debate - 31 albums in.

And then they are back.

Two more tunes. Venice with the girls and Bury.  Darren gets brought to the front. Stood next to Peter and MES stands with them as they tell us - explain to us they are not from Bury. Things like that are important.  He's quite egalitarian is MES tonight - microphones are given to group members - all are encouraged to participate - including the audience.

Then they are gone. But not finished.

Suddenly as Smith is wont to do - they re-emerge and strike up a mighty Theme from Sparta FC - there's power in this longest serving line up of The Fall. And with Darren shouting Sparta, Sparta, Sparta to the crowd they depart. 

It is finished. I have witnessed (the fitness) of the mighty Fall.

I don't think I could have envisaged that The Fall would still be so relevant - so important when we first played Totally Wired back then in Scunthorpe bedrooms. But Smith needs more room (to live) in this world. He might not play the game for the industry but he is a role model for art. He creates an effect - he demands a reaction. 

He still makes me think.

I like that in my popstars.

I like The Fall.

It's Facebook Troll  - but you never know MES may be writing another song called Fibre Book Troll.