Features

After last week’s kind of dutiful list, some better things on this one, I think. Headline news, I guess, is the arrival of the Avey Tare album, though I’m also very taken with the new single from Forest Swords, and of course the much-needed official reissue of Peter Walker’s debut.

In spite of being a big fan of the last couple of Arbouretum albums – and also happily aware of Dave Heumann’s jobbing work in the past with Will Oldham and so on – I’ve been inexplicably useless at checking out one or two of his sidelines. Notably, that is, the band Human Bell he steers with one of the guys from Lungfish (not Daniel Higgs, I should say).

As discussed, I’ve been pretty slack of late, so I’m going to try and crack through some of my backlog over the next few days, beginning with this one, the debut album from Best Coast.

As a couple of you who’d seen earlier shows suggested yesterday, Will Oldham was on great form for the Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy & The Cairo Gang show in London last night. Not sure if anyone else who was there can corroborate, but did he wet himself during the encores?

First up, if you’ve been enjoying the Nick Cave business in the new issue of Uncut, something useful showed up on our Twitter feed the other day: a Spotify playlist of our Top 30 Cave tracks compiled by Wavey Davey 001. Thanks for that.

A slightly neurotic start to the biog which accompanies this one. “Next year,” it begins, “Marcus Lambkin, aka Shit Robot, will be 40 years old. If (which it shouldn’t) this fact bothers you, please stop reading now.”

Another busy week; busy enough to put me off expending any energy on the ritual travesties of the Mercury Music Prize. Then again, I guess holding out hopes for a Voice Of The Seven Thunders nomination would’ve been more deranged than optimistic; and there have been worse shortlists. Fingers crossed for Wild Beasts, or, indeed, for “critics’ favourites” the XX. Finally playing These New Puritans, as I type…

The defining moment of this year’s Lovebox – possibly, even, of any festival this year – comes about 10 minutes into Peaches’ Sunday afternoon set. It’s already got off to a colourful start. We’re greeted by the sight of the electro provocateur arriving on stage wearing a head-to-toe coat that appears to be made of raggedy fibres. This is soon dispensed with, and she cavorts in what resembles an S&M bra and panties kit, wearing some kind of gimp mask. So far, so odd. Then it gets really weird. This, it transpires, is not Peaches....

Profuse apologies, once again, for sketchy service over the past week or so: a lot of grappling with the print mag on my plate, which has meant the blog’s been passed over, unfortunately.

This sounds familiar. It’s a blast of Aaron Copeland’s “Hoedown”, a loud orchestral stirring the faithful many here tonight recognise immediately as the taped introduction to his shows he’s been using now for at least the last 10 years that still never fails to thrill and make you also laugh out loud. The voice of his long-time tour manager, Al Santos, follows, mock-serious.