My Life in 1952

Touched Inappropriately. By Talent

Albany Down are a four-piece band from North London, and are reasonably fresh out of Greg Haver’s studio with a mixed bag of wannabe-Yankee-doodling and a fifty-fifty chance of absolute greatness; but then, surely that’s all part of the fun? This modern blues thing isn’t supposed to be perfect.

The opening track Dirty kicks off with a guitar-driven theme which is similar to Hendrix’s Villanova Junction; not a bad place to start a journey on a southbound train. Whilst the Back-alley-sex-and-alcohol theme of the first two exhibits seemingly sit at odds with the band’s squeaky-clean persona, the effort is convincing, with well placed lead breaks and moments of sobriety interjected between stammering, slutty choruses.

I’m not entirely proud of myself in offering up the album’s only cover as recommendation for ‘Best in Show’, but Duffy’s Mercy sounds fabulously tainted with misery and reprehension; seemingly a 60-beats-per-minute journey into the less soulful side of the songstress’s heartache, complete with de rigueur Gary Moore solo, neck hum-bucker dressed in fat winter woolies. It’s better than the Glee version, anyway.

The Southern road trip takes us west, next, from Wales to somewhere closer to Harlem, NY. The glassy-Strat funk of Outside Your Window reaffirms a familiar middle ground for this blues band who are, at times, a little afraid to explore the more definite ends of the rectifier dial; it’s family-friendly punch and cordial, minus the Absinthe.

Next we have the enigmatic song about a train made immediately famous by Paul Jones’ lunchtime whitterings on Radio Two. Paul liked the track enough to gloss over the matter-of-fact lyrics and focus on the positive; it is catchy, no more, no less, and that’s all it’s supposed to be.

 

The eponymous title track, South of the City, is an overly-wrought warble into the side-of-the-road acoustic heartbreak and busted bottleneck slide motif, with a nicely raw texture, but a bit-too-American acquiescence to congeniality. Imagine if the setting for the song had been Tottenham instead of somewhere near Texas.

The rest of the album really picks up its hosiery and runs like it’s on funky fire. There are times when you want or need it to run that little bit faster, but generally, it’s a family-friendly feast of fun; very listenable, and very appealing to a wide audience.

Albany Down should be applauded for trying to turn the clock back in a totally non-kitsch way. The very fact that there is little to alarm here will be the exact same reason why so many people will like it. Remember to charge your dad for the CD copy he wants for his Benz; South of the City will sound just as good there as in your ruined hatchback; welcome to the inoffensive world of contemporary British Blues.

Independent Music Is Alive And . . . Dead?

Part of my freelance work out here in Thailand involves interviewing industry professionals for the purposes of creating a best-in-industry careers guidance web site.  I feel quite privileged to be working on such a project because it has put me in touch with such a broad selection of industry spokespeople, artisans, and to be honest, complete nutters.  Most of the time, it’s been an extraordinary treat; I’ve interviewed legendary Irish playwright, Finn Kennedy, renowned Swiss watchmaker, Martin Pauli, a pole dancer called Carla, and Little Man Tate guitarist, Maz Marriott.

The last category in particular forms a considerable core of my research and writing work; the music industry.  This is something I should know a bit about.

A few years ago, I played with a band, and during the five years we were performing, the scene put me into immediate contact with a very great number of people who were queuing up to take money off of gullible, limelight-craving starlets such as ourselves; producers, agents, managers, promoters, media distributors and of course, independent A&R (artist and repertoire) firms.  My hackles are well and truly up this morning, because today, Matthew, in a delirious and deliciously ironic twist of fate, I need to interview an A&R scout.

Let me just put that into some sort of perspective.  Today, I, a failed musician and unsuccessful band manager, must interview some blood-sucking, thoughtless weasel from the grimy low-end of the recording industry.

Should be fun, then.

Here’s how it works.  Your band records a demo which you all agree is great.  The feedback is good; your gran liked it, your mum liked it, and even your next door neighbour was playing it whilst he was washing his Proton Satria.  Stardom beckons.  But how?  Suddenly, whilst scouring the internet one afternoon, you happen across a small, unbiased, professional organisation, who, for a small fee, guarantee to put your music in front of the industry heavyweights like Sony, Polydor, and any other label which has not yet folded.  What a stroke of luck!

So you’ve sent your forty dollars and heard nothing for two months.  Next day, the post arrives; it’s an exciting-looking A4 envelope . . . !  How can you tell it looks exciting?  Well, because it’s too big to be a home furnishings catalogue, and too small to be an office supplies catalogue.  See?   It’s all about experience.

Anyway, you open the package to find a letter from the helpful A&R firm.  In a nutshell, it tells you that your music is okay, needs general re-composition, track 4 was okay (of your three-track demo), blah blah blah.  Money well spent, I’m sure you’ll agree.  Oh, and it would be wholly unprofessional of me to name Caragan Music Agency as this particular weasel, so I won’t.

I feel truly sorry for anyone who is in a band and trying to make “it”, I really do.  Whatever “it” is.

Aside from the obvious big-deal advantages of having cocaine on tap and a 36DD Scandinavian lap dancer on call to help you every time your zipper gets stuck, there is the arty side too; I understand that a big part of the draw (and lure) is being able to put your own music out there, and to get others interested in something you have personally created.  Of course, other bands will come up to you after your set and tell you how great you were, and your travelling support will also bolster confidence with their unwavering words of encouragement and undying loyalty.  In theory, getting a deal should be easy; you don’t even need to be good-looking.  Just look at that dude from Nickelback; he couldn’t come first in a beauty contest if its entrance criteria limited contestants to originating from a farmyard.

However, what independent artists always struggle to take note of is that there are 2 billion other struggling artists doing exactly the same thing, and that makes you a tasty-looking fish in a sea stocked to the brim with other tasty looking fishes.  But predators come from the bottom, not the top.  Yes, yes, you can look at your personal circumstances and derive some confidence; you can examine your genre, region and territory, and then declare boldly and with fortitude, “Yes!  Surely, we are the greatest progressive electric gospel choir in the South of Cardiff?!  A deal must be imminent . . . “.

But time to leave Wonderland, Alice.

Seriously.  If you consider that during a typical four-year period of touring, recording, replacing equipment and paying for blank media, postage and admin, the average four-piece band are going to spend probably in the region of £15,000.  Split those costs between the four band members and they become personally bearable, at £3,750.  Next step; go to Tesco and buy 3750 Lottery tickets, because you have more chance of winning, and the ultimate prize will be significantly much improved.

As someone who did tour with a band, and who did dedicate five years to live shows, rehearsals and recording, all the time hoping that one day, just maybe, we might be blessed with the coveted and glittering record deal, I can now look back with some retrospective vehemence.  I don’t regret giving half a decade of my life to music, but please, if you decide to do this, do it for the right reason; make it fun, and don’t get suckered.