One thing not on Everett True‘s desktop: the long-awaited Kate Nash interview tape.
Kate Nash, waiting for Everett True to run her interview.
THIS WEEK: a lost interview tape and a recollection of a concert 10 days past.
I’ve lost my Kate Nash tape.
It was lying there on my desk one day; next, it’s gone. Didn’t have a cover, not sure it was marked. I doubt if I’ll find it again. I suspect my two-and-a-half year old son Isaac’s restless hands in this: he has a habit of arriving home from nursery at lunchtime to be confronted by that day’s post – upwards of a dozen CDs, the foremost of which he’ll grab and open and take great pride in taking along to the CD-player and playing. “It’s a CD! This one’s mine!” Blood And Roses, Maximo Park, Hey Gravity…he doesn’t like any of them. Shaping up to be a critic of consummate good taste, I’d warrant. Anyway, Kate Nash. I think he’s probably had the tape up to his bedroom, mistaking it for one of his own personal compilations (Misty’s Big Adventure, The Jungle Book, ‘Telstar’, The Chefs)…but he hasn’t quite mastered handling the tape recorder yet, so it’s probably away down the side of his cot in frustration.
It’s a shame, cos that tape was earmarked for this column: not that you gentle folk probably are that aware of Kate Nash right now – she’s like a quirkier, more solipsistic, folksier Lily Allen: has a Number One hit over here (in the UK, duh) with the genial bittersweet post-break up song ‘Foundations’; and over the next few years she’ll be inspiring a generation of blog-fed teenage girls to bare their (mostly mundane) souls to music, same way as Regina Spektor has. And within that interview tape were contained insights on her strangest concert yet played (a tie: one, to 20,000 screaming Girl Guides in a field; the other, one song to a sainted audience at the British GQ awards that included Paul McCartney, Bob Geldof and…oh fuck, make up your own famous names, why don’t you?), plus detailed plans for a homespun fanzine to be sold at her concerts (presumably vying with Coke for the punters’ green stuff at her forthcoming arena tour) and her recollections at growing up listening to Christy Moore and The Chieftans among her Irish kin. The tape didn’t, however, contain her reaction upon discovering that I once actually met Kurt Cobain (have I mentioned that yet?) – she collapsed on the sofa in near hysterics, and couldn’t speak for close on two minutes.
“What was he like?”
“Um. He had three heads.”
Elsewhere, I saw a cracking good rock show down at Brighton’s Westhill Community Centre – like a church hall, with raised stage, stack chairs, candles (possibly even a candelabra), gallon containers of Somerset cider, piano, DJs spinning obscure seven-inch singles from ’78 (Blurt, Essential Logic, Leopards), boys up on stage in ramshackle shirts making like ramshackle versions of The Cramps (Pheromoans) but not quite piecing all the components together, boys and a girl up on stage carefully plucking their way through silence and utilising said silence as an extra instrument or two and picking out fragile melodies with call-and-response vocals that meticulously detailed fondness for takeouts (King Alfred, who contain some of the totally fine Brighton band Hamilton Yarns), several men and a lady up on stage radiant and flushed and making sharp patterns in the night air, ploughing a groove not dissimilar to their former peers from 1978, Kleenex and Delta 5 and all that, detailing alienated tales of coming to terms with an increasingly mechanised society and the growing indifference of the adult/London-based world, violin adding razor-fine texture a little like Raincoats but more like a former Adam And The Ants support band, songs with titles like ‘Don’t Misbehave In The Ice Age’ and ‘We Are Machines’, drummer all out-of-breath because the band’s just got their first ever encore in close on 30 years (Animals And Men).
Yep, Animals And Men were up in town from Somerset. The five-piece – average age, probably late forties – were playing one of their very rare forays on the live circuit. Similar to the way DFA rediscovered Pylon and have helped them attain a degree of the acclaim they always totally deserved, Animals And Men had an album (their first), Revel In The Static, released on obscurist US label Messthetics and, startled by the notion someone might’ve been into something they made so long ago to so little applause, have reformed to enjoy the good times. They’ll probably never make it to New York, but that don’t mean they ain’t great in their own way.
OK. End of bulletin.
Hugs And Kisses Top 5
What trips Everett True’s trigger today
1. DAVID THOMAS BROUGHTON VS 7 HERTZ, “Weight Of My Love” (Acuerela). Now that I’ve seen him live, all the sonorous repetition and deep scale emotion makes perfect sense.
2. CAT POWER, “Ramblin'” (from the forthcoming Matador album Jukebox). I’ve got the new Cat Power album and you haven’t. Ner ner ner.
3. NICK CAVE AND THE BAD SEEDS, “Night Of The Lotus Eaters” (from the forthcoming Mute album Dig, Lazurus, Dig!!!). I’ve got the new Nick Cave album and you haven’t. Ner ner ner.
4. DAN SARTAIN, “You Do Voodoo” (from the forthcoming One Little Indian album Arise Dan Sartain Arise!!!). I’ve got a sampler from the new Dan Sartain album and…etc.
5. MICHAEL DRACULA, “Please Don’t Take This The Wrong Way” (from the Ze album In The Red). First release on legendary NY label Ze is from a Glaswegian (female) artist, and it’s as wa-a-a-a-a-y poised and super-cool as you’d expect.