For the past week or so, my inbox and mailbag have been assailed by labels and PR companies hyping their Tips For 2011, in readiness no doubt for the Brit Newcomer award and the BBC New Artists Poll. Annual frenzies, really, in which a lot of journalists diligently try and help out the music industry by anointing Clare Maguire or whoever as the next Ellie Goulding, and the odd sullen arrested adolescent like me effectively spoils their ballot paper by voting for the likes of Sun Araw.
Following on from yesterday’s catch-up session (thanks for the Gothenburg report on J Tillman and dulcimer, by the way), another bunch of stuff today that I’ve been meaning to write about for a while.
At a time when much British alternative rock is hobbled by the demands of 'authenticity', Brighton's Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster strike a rowdy, triumphantly rulebook-flouting note. Clearly, they have their heroes—The Cramps, Dead Kennedys, Melvins and Kyuss among them—but the band's wide-ranging vision suggests they couldn't churn out copies of the music they love even if they tried. The Royal Society explores themes of mental derailment and the black arts against a backdrop of the heaviest psychobilly, grunge-metal and stoner rock.
