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You are here -> Live / Past Gigs Friday, 05 December, 2008
PLANETNOTION TELEVISION!
CAMERA-FOLK AND FILM EDITORS WANTED!
Planet Notion is looking for guys and dolls to film and edit features for its new TV channel, PNTV. Accompanying Notion to artist interviews, gigs, fashion shows, festivals and international events, you will be skilled, passionate and full of ideas about how to produce shit-hot video content. Camera-folk will be experienced and ideally have their own equipment, or at least access to equipment, while editors must be able to turn projects around quickly, and with stylistic flare. If you can both film and edit content, we would especially like to hear from you! These casual, unpaid positions would be ideal for those looking to develop their showreels, and to get the chance to travel, film major artists and top events.
 
Please email lucy(at)musichqmedia
(dot)com if you’re interested in getting involved, cheers!
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Goodiepal/Shit and Shine/Faust. Cargo. September 2nd.
Goodiepal/Shit and Shine/Faust. Cargo. September 2nd.
04/09/2008
I’m pretty certain I harbour haughty delusions that “music” can be neatly defined, wrapped in a bow and held up as a yard stick to which all sounds are judged. However, fabulously moustachioed opener, Goodiepal, seems to have the sole mission of lining up all our musical preconceptions one by one and questioning them thoroughly until they lie deflated and confused on the floor. For half an hour he strides manically around various items of musical paraphernalia fastidiously arranged on a large wooden table, whilst excitedly spewing a diatribe that continuously branches off on ever jumbled digressions. Attempts to follow his ranting are foiled further by the eerie drones of a drummer and a vocalist that in parts, completely drown out the un-miked speaker. Shit and Shine have forged a reputation transfixing audiences with dramatic, building sets that weave layers of exquisite electronic chaos into pounding mesmeric rhythms. Tonight they grapple the floor with as much sincerity as a band wearing blue masks and rabbit ears can muster. Sweeping away the builds, they crash straight in with thunderously rampant drums that wrestle destructively with big, fuzz fuelled guitars. The tones of a clarinet screeching over the top make this first section reminiscent of a super fuzzed Mudhoney, who have transcended their fear of death and hurtle manic and unconstrained towards a distant cliff edge. As the set progresses, guitars give way to prolapsing synth über bass which serves as a backing for a slow deterioration into psychedelica; the clarinettist has merged with his instrument, now hanging from his face like a trunk, trumpeting out spasmodic noises. As everything resolves with breath taking awe, there’s little doubt that Shit and Shine are one of the most exciting and captivating experimental bands in the country, nay, the world at the moment. Despite having only two remaining founding members, there’s always a huge anticipation around seeing Faust. For a band that has done so much to aid the progression of music, it was quite disappointing that there was less of a shine about them and more of a... (well, I won’t insult anyone’s intelligence by completing that sentence). Headed by new member Geraldine Swayne, a softer feminine energy gives their sound a fresh new face, yet one that quickly becomes slightly dull – dull enough to half the size of an already apathetic audience within 15 minutes. New track Fresh Air starts nowhere and tails off from there, and their catalogue of driving classics has been replaced by faux-art improvisation in which cringe inducing sentiments are muttered over the sound of tearing paper. Perhaps it’s their expectation that is ultimately their downfall. Whatever it is, tonight’s performance saw the krautrock baton ceremoniously passed to along to the more musically virile clatters of Shit and Shine. Words: Simon Jablonski
tags: | goodiepal | more...
O'Death + The Cave Singers. Cargo. August 14th.
O'Death + The Cave Singers. Cargo. August 14th.
18/08/2008
Tremors of the current folk explosion have spewed forth a host of diverse and interesting bands from various reaches of the globe. The taking up of a tradition, long thought to have died the day Simon and Garfunkel decided to go their separate ways, is a phenomenon that has itself been the subject of over-lengthy musings and often hostile greetings. Tonight sees Cargo displaying a small sample of these folk shaped projectiles. A promising sign as O’Death take to the stage is the notable presence of beards; an adornment devoid of fashion value and rife with a renegade attitude that always announces that: Here stands a band ready to point us to a rich musical landscape. And O’Death affirm, at least for now, that this is still the case. Armed merely with the tools of a traditional bluegrass band – a banjo, guitar, violin, bass and drums – they throw together a plethora of brilliantly interweaving styles with the most impassioned force. Though musically they’re rooted in some 19th century western setting, where times are hard and mean and vocal harmonies battle it out over intricate banjo and fiddle parts, there is a strong punk drive that pounds against your chest - whilst a wild, gypsy heart, sees them tearing savagely through songs that demand to be danced to. This very much evokes comparisons to fellow New Yorkers Gogol Bordello. Though this would not be unreasonable, there’s a constant roll of creative splendour in O’Death’s set, where a ho-down of interchanging rhythms meet intensely with brilliantly crafted vocal melodies. Each song is delivered with such force and conviction, that it feels as if they’re reaching out into the audience and using their individual souls as microphones to shout their message into. Most definitely a band of biblical proportions. It would be near impossible to follow O’Death and outdo their boisterous ingenuity. The Cave Singers, however, alter the mood beautifully with their warm Americana tinged folk - which lacks nothing in intensity and whose soulful tones softly light the air around the room. Despite a more stripped down stage set-up than on their album ‘Invitation Songs’, with merely guitar and vocals for their opener Helen, the haunting timbre of singer Pete Quirk’s voice creates an orchestral presence that expands out into the venue. Their music is both delicate and powerful; with fervently delivered melodies that undulate gently, they manage to paint remarkably vivid imagery of their world. This expressive force is explicit in Pete Quirk’s face as he draws out each articulation as if in a state of deep catharsis. As the set progresses it builds up to unexpected climactic clangs and a swirling drive that places a progressive colour to their folk sensibilities. Although both bands have a sound essentially rooted in traditional music, they each remould it in their own unique way that surely proves to any doubters that there is life in the old folk dog yet. Words: Simon Jablonski Photography: Chiara Meattelli
tags: | o'death | more...
Lenny Kravitz. Brixton Academy. August 13th.
Lenny Kravitz. Brixton Academy. August 13th.
15/08/2008
Hmm, hmm, hmm… Yep, he takes some pondering, Lenny Kravitz. This is Planet Notion’s philosophy (following a day of pondering): ‘Fly Away’ killed Kravitz. I know, I know, that’s quite a statement; one that’ll probably have the mountains of people that took it to number one banging on our door like deranged freaks from the 1500s, searching for a witch to burn – or in my case, a low-paid hack drinking black coffee because we’ve run out of friggin’ milk... again!!! Sure, Kravitz retained the legendary status after 'Fly Away', but it greatly diminished. Let's face it, it was a wrong 'un. Krav turned his back on what his fans wanted to see by releasing a commercial song that the masses took to number one; The same masses that did the same for fucking Shaggy and Right Said Fred before giving them the ‘V’ sign, moving onto Chumbawumba, and leaving ‘em in purgatory until the End Of Time. I reckon a fair few rock fans washed their hands with Krav after ‘Fly Away’ because it was so damn soft and commercial. Fickle? Maybe; but if it ain’t broke, don’t try and fix it. So turning up to see Kravitz at the Brixton Academy, Planet Notion was feeling somewhat, um, I don’t know… nonchalant? Firstly, The Krav was almost an hour late on stage, and this creates two problems: (1) if the performance doesn’t live up to the unnecessary anticipation, you’re screwed; (2) you’re starting to piss off a fair few people. So what was The Krav’s saving grace? Well, the fact that he can still play the friggin’ guitar with the best of ‘em; still has a ‘good’ range to his voice; the fact that his presence makes you want to go all Total Recall on his arse and step into his shoes; and here’s the biggy: The fact that his backing band were one of the finest Planet Notion’s witnessed. It almost took us on a nostalgic, non-drug infused trip to the days when listening to Kravitz made you feel dirty in your scummy Converse, greasy leather jacket and stained vest (we imagine); back when he wasn’t playing friggin’ ‘Fly Away’ on a weekly basis to noughties teeny-boppers. The best bit of the night was probably the ten minute drum solo with a touch of ‘Moby Dick’ and the John Bonham’s about it. The worst bit was the encore of ‘Fly Away’ after already playing it twice already. Yep: Twice. Planet Notion went down the pub after that. Verdict: Good. But seriously Krav; ditch ‘Fly Away’ and stick to dirty rock-riffs. Dangerous
tags: | lenny kravitz | more...
The Great Escape Festival: A Diary Review!
The Great Escape Festival: A Diary Review!
29/05/2008
‘Twas that time of year in the middle of May for some Great Escapism. Over 200 performers graced more than 30 musical lairs in Brighton, all set against the backdrop of the Kooksian seaside. Londoners left the forts of Camden and Shoreditch to join their sexually adventurous cousins in Brighton for the poor man’s Benicassim: The Great Escape Festival . A chance to scavenge through the rubbish and pebbles for hidden treasures that, come next year, will be smothered by pages of music magazines and violated by Mark Ronson. Missing the headliners (Vampire Weekend, The Tings Tings, Late of the Pier) because you’re too smashed or sick of queuing - and settling instead for some unknowns in a cubby hole, may have just been the ticket to future smugness. That magical self-satisfying phrase: “I saw them before they were big.” Thursday 15th Beer in left hand, pen in right, I was led directly to the Ocean Rooms where I enter a hazy atmosphere, complete with coloured lighting and psychedelic scenery. Almost like an extension of the venue are Post War Years, with their ambient and synth sounds, simultaneously soothing and rave-inducing. The four young lads shuffle elegantly and awkwardly to some complex syncopated rhythms as if performing a choreographed epileptic fit. They’re so enthusiastic and energetic that they appear to have more fun than the crowd; surprising considering that their music is such a seamless mix of rave, dance and Indie - lacking the pretentious distorted-electro elements that so many possess. An instrumental swap-o-rama takes place throughout the gig with all members, bar the visually entrancing Animalesque drummer, showing how amazingly multitalented they are. Next I head down to see The Futureheads at Digital, which boasts the best soundsystem in the country but still hasn’t mastered the art of air-conditioning (lead singer Barry Hyde would later announce: “I think this is the hottest gig we’ve ever done”) . I enter to the crowd trembler of ‘Decent Days and Nights’, a fierce opening that harks back to a time of originality; when bands weren’t just replicas of the Arctic Monkeys and skinny jeans the uniform of the Indie masses. There’s a constant dialogue of friendly banter that tenderly narrates the anthems ‘Hounds of Love’ an d 'S kip to the End’ ; ewer singles ‘ The Beginning of the Twist’ and ‘Radio Heart’ thrown into the mix. The band succeed in nostalgic value only. Stumbling across the seafront I head to Barfly, to catch much-hyped pop-duo The Ting Tings. I’m met by a ridiculously long queue akin to Thorpe Park on a boiling-hot bank holiday. After a delayed start due to technical difficulties (sound problems remained throughout) the band kick-off with ‘Great DJ’, ending the set with number 1 single, ‘’That’s Not My Name’; the rest of the set a stodgy filling of forgettable and irritating songs. Friday 16th As I wander around the seaside town, with its fish and chip shops and arcades, I wonder where all the chavs have gone. I needn’t have worried, as I soon discover they’re all at Concorde 2 waiting to see The Wombats . The band’s introduced as a “goofy-arse three-piece” by We Are Scientists frontman Keith Murray, who earlier played a secret gig at an intimate outdoor BBQ. Unfortunately, all of The Wombats’ songs seem to mesh into a droney scouse dialogue of “woah woahs” with cheesy topics of romcoms, strippers and discos thrown in. Yet another boring mainstream Indie band that have had one good catchy song . Feeling slightly short changed, I head to the Barfly. I learn a valuable lesson; there are certain things that should be seen and not heard. Children, for one, Scarlett Johansson for another, and... Ipso Facto . For a painful 20 minutes I watch four somnambulist relatives of the Addams family ‘perform’ to a bewildered crowd. An echo permeates the venue, not just due to the poor sound quality, but the jeering of the masses. The music, contrary to their sixties haircuts, is distinctly shoegaze; that genre where ultra-cool scenesters shuffle and stare lovingly into their footwear. This poses a certain dichotomy, because you cannot help but look at these four attractive girls yet you are unable to move to such stiff soulless music. They apologise for it being such a short set (thank god!) and are met with absolute silence in place of applause. Saturday 17th I attempt to catch Wiley who is supposed to be playing at the gayer-than-gay club Revenge. Did the promoter acknowledge the irony of putting all the grime artists in this incongruous setting? Especially when you consider that much of this style of music has been chastised in Brighton over homophobic connotations. Perhaps Wiley wanted to maintain his macho reputation because for whatever reason, he failed to show. After the disappointing events of yesterday and today, I’m in need of a musical messiah to restore my faith. It comes in the form of the angelic Laura Marling who performs within the church-like acoustics of the Sallis Benney Theatre. A delicate young girl enters the stage who, as her intense lyrics suggests, appears to be carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. A full band including a violin and xylophone make a powerful majestic entrance, during the beginning of ‘Ghosts.’ A young Joni Mitchell belts country and folk from her fragile soul in fast-paced catchy songs, such as; ‘My Manic and I,’ recent single ‘Cross Your Fingers,’ and new song ‘Rebecca.’ Her awkwardness translates to the audience who are too embarrassed to sing along and the silence is broken only by male fans screaming, “I want your babies.” What is notably missing is her popular cockney-infused song ‘New Romantic;’ a smart move as she attempts to move away from Kate Gash comparisons. Overall Marling is a worthy saviour of a bland music scene, and it is no surprise that she is touring in churches next month. Next I’m led to the not-so-hidden gem of Crystal Castles at Barfly. Initially I had my doubts as I thought they were an over-hyped band who sounded like white noise from a bad Super Mario soundtrack. I was wrong. You truly have to experience them live to understand the uniqueness and power of their music. The crowd is bursting at the seams and, above them, an ethereal figure is suspended (by a very unlucky and confused security guard) - shrieking with intensity - it’s their front woman Alice Glass! Despite what her name suggests, she is anything but fragile. This girl has balls, sustaining the crowd as they gently pummel her head and attempt to grab her mic. The frantic crowd is panting in the chaos, to music that is the pure expression of their anger. The grime equivalent was when Bizzle’s ‘Pow’ came out and got banned for causing too much aggression in clubs. There is one significant difference; the Indie-electro fans aren’t violent, but unite in their aggression. The crowd join in with Glass’ frenetic behaviour, crowd-surfing alongside her as she’s repeatedly plunged back and forth. Her vocals suffer from the turmoil and are barely audible as she screeches through tracks such as ‘Air War’ and ‘Courtship Dating.’ A bruised but breathtaking finale to my quest of seeking out the gems amongst the musical rubble. The wistful darkened eyes of the seagulls fluttered in unison to bid farewell to their fellow scavengers. My basket of gems remained light, my ears less than satisfied, but my soul had been well fed by the friendliness of the festival goers, the electrifying atmosphere, and that indescribable buzz that ran through the veins of the town they call Brighton. Overall the festival was without doubt an experience, an expedition, and a true escape from the monotony of our musically insufficient lives. Words: Martha Kinn
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Breakin' Convention: 'Hip Hop and Dance Performance' at Sadler's Wells
Breakin' Convention: 'Hip Hop and Dance Performance' at Sadler's Wells
21/05/2008
2008 marked the fifth year of the annual festival of hip-hop music and dance performance, Breakin’ Convention, at Sadler’s Wells theatre. A night predominantly based around urban music sub-genres and performances incorporating the dance that has evolved from them, the foyers of the London theatre were decorated with graffiti. Sure, Breakin’ Convention proved to be a mesmerising physical and visual display of acts as far and wide as South Korea and Brazil, but first and foremost its routes are deep-set in street culture. This was evident from the start; curator and director Jonzi D pumping-up the audience and bringing a well-respected; some might say classy theatre, an immediate indication of the party to come. And boy was this a party. To say Sadler’s Wells has never rocked so hard would be the wrong genre, but when over the course of three days you’ve got guys performing break-moves in the foyer, and Membros from Brazil showcasing a performance from the violence and drug-addled ghettoes of Rio de Janeiro on stage; pyrotechnics accompanying unbelievable, spine-tingling, insane, and extremely dangerous stunts, you’ve certainly never felt so compelled to move. See, the visual display is just part of Breakin' Convention, and the music that accompanies the performances is hot, rump-shaking stuff, that shouldn't be dismissed. In conclusion, the greatest aspect of this three day festival, over the May Bank Holiday, wasn’t just the music and performance (the photographs only tell half the story), but Breakin' Convention's ability to draw on such a deep range of emotion. From MacMillan’s Elite Syncopations creating an atmosphere of dance and revelry, to the unnerving intensity of the fascinating Mukhtar OS Mukhtar of Cirque du Soleil (think hip hop dance based on the mentally unstable). In a nut-shell, Breakin’ Convention has finished its fifth year with barely a wrinkle on it’s backbone. Whatever anti-aging cream they’re using to retain and improve such attractive features, I for one want a part of. See you next year, Jonz!
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'Smirnoff Electric Cabaret' featuring Pete & The Pirates, ABC Glasgow
'Smirnoff Electric Cabaret' featuring Pete & The Pirates, ABC Glasgow
12/05/2008
First up, Reading’s Pete & The Pirates tore unapologetically through their Little Death LP. With an unassuming aesthetic (no skinny jeans or haircuts here), the band’s raw sound and unabashed energy came somewhat unexpected, but were that much more delicious as a result. Followed by the more seasoned (and more skinny jean clad) Mystery Jets – themselves touring their “Twenty One” longplayer – there were more high-octane antics. No longer sporting the father-son combo with which they debuted (frontman Blaine’s father Henry now in a studio-only role), the Jets exuded a new-found dynamic; one characterised as much by charm as confidence. Next up, New Yong Pony Club’s Ty leapt on stage donning a top seemingly made out of thousands of silver washers, the sort of attire you can only pull off with headline billing; something she and the band have been growing into for the past 12 months. Now a cosy fit, she soon had the crowd chanting to an arsenal of future classics. Sandwiched between the bands was an intriguing mix of performers (human beatbox? Check. Hula girl? Check. Rock’n’roll trapeze double act?! Check) and some frankly bizarre goings on (man on stage paints portrait of Freddy Mercury upside down in the time it takes one Queen track to play). Such original episodes of tried and tested silliness (show me a man who doesn’t want to go home with an inflatable guitar?) gave far more than the recommended daily allowance of fun. Wrapping things up were the unlikely turntable tag-team of Breastfed honcho Linus Loves and half of Maximo Park. Now, whilst the merging of warm, electro-tinged 4/4 and Northern indie-popsters might sound like a riddle (it did to this scribe), the reality was akin to everyone being invited to a “back-to-mine” DJ-off at Senor Smirnoff’s gaff. Magic. Words: Nick Morgan
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Jam For Bread w/Beardy Man and Bonobo @ Shepherd's Bush Empire
Jam For Bread w/Beardy Man and Bonobo @ Shepherd's Bush Empire
07/05/2008
It's heartening to see such a stellar line-up from the quality left-of-centre music scene, performing for a good cause. Jam for Bread, at the Shepherd's Bush Empire, was all about supporting the ‘Medical Foundation for the Care of Victims of Torture’ and its related fundraising event, with Gilles Peterson hosting the proceedings that celebrated 60 years of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Headlining was Bonobo – Ninja Tune stalwarts that put on a solid performance and trotted out their classics like 'Ketto' with a full live band. Lou Rhodes, ex Lamb chanteuse, was highly anticipated but disappointing due to sound problems and it being just her and a mellow guitar as the penultimate act to a crowd ripe for serious revelling. It was the lesser-known acts of the night that proved the most exciting; Surrey's Jamie Woon brought the place to a standstill, his Timberlake-esque vocals soaring as he sampled and re-sampled himself, his guitar, and beatbox rhythms. His 'Spirits' tune is outstanding. South Londoner Tawiah also showed her unmistakable star quality, performing an acoustic set, her three tracks enough to proselytise the previously unconverted. 4Hero's Mark Mac did a nice drum 'n bass DJ set that cranked up the energy after a slightly pedestrian outing from dub reggae band the Soothsayers. He didn't have nearly enough time to attest the massive contribution he's made to the UK music scene, but it was enough to impress and pique interest. A generous and uplifting occasion. Words: Helene Dancer Photography: Mandy Taylor
tags: | jam for bread | more...
The Rage Into Spring w/The Crimea at Cargo!
The Rage Into Spring w/The Crimea at Cargo!
01/05/2008
The Rage Into Spring Cargo, Shoreditch Sometime back in April The Rage events have a philosophy. The kind of philosophy that garners one of two reactions. There’s no in-between, no but; it’s either “that’s good” or “that’s bad”. Those that say The Rage is good are people who like to sip champagne, munch on posh nibbles and sway gently to cutting sounds secure in the knowledge that they are “one”. Maybe they have an inner rock demon fighting to break free with a twenty-four carat pitchfork and a penis like a pen-knife; who knows? Alas, at The Rage these people are made to feel special; part of a selective almost exclusive sect. The people who say that The Rage is “bad” are people who feel hard done by when they’re not granted access to the selective ‘mature’ sect because (A) they can’t afford it due to (B) a job that churns their guts about like a cement mixer which (C) leads to giddiness and projectile vomiting; probably because (D) they spent their meagre wages at a club called ‘Tiger Tiger’ or ‘The Blue Fountain’ that has a special deal on cocktail pitchers, including ‘Blackcurrant Bum Fuck’ and ‘Orange Cum Sunshine’. Or they could just be too young as The Rage events are strictly for a “mature audience”. Anyway, I went to The Rage’s first event of the year, The Rage Into Spring, and despite feeling somewhat out of my depth because (A) I can’t afford such things - (E) came into the equation – (E) being the fact I’m a journalist with powers of persuasion and flattery that continue to astound. To pen a modern phrase: “I blagged my way in”. An initial reaction: Everyone looks very smart. A second reaction: Good god man, you’re a fish out of water. Alas, we go to these things for the music not for a set dress code. Besides scratch beneath the suits, shirts, and fancy skirts and you’ll find there are people just like you whose clothes look worn and are there for the music too. ‘The Rage Into Spring’ had an eclectic bill, breaking talent that “can be appreciated by the more mature attendee” and acts familiar “with a more mature attendee”. Close friends of Hadouken! – The Clik Clik were there; a band (3 guys + 1 gal) who are rapidly gaining popularity and recognition with a couple of upcoming dates on the festival circuit. Championed by circles of the music press, with a firm fanbase and distinct sound, “Post-punk band” The Crimea were also on the bill. Though whether such a sound can be described as “Post-punk” is debatable… And a few of the more obscure acts like ‘Tom Hatred and The Angry Band’ and ‘Tom Yuli’ were playing on the night. Let’s be quick about this: Tom Hatred and The Angry Band should be watched with an eagle eye (V.good). The Crimea were exceptional. And our party missed The Clik Clik and Tom Yuli because we were fashionably late. But hey, if God intended us to be perfect there wouldn’t be pillaging, mugging, rape, murder, stabbings, shootings, and fungal foot rot. I managed to catch a few words with The Crimea’s bass player Joe Udwin. I was after a reaction, an opinion, a view on playing to such an exclusive ‘mature’ audience: “We knew what to expect and we knew what we were expecting would be good,” said Joe. “It’s great”, he continued. “To be honest, the age group doesn’t make it any different to any other gig I’ve been to. There are probably just less smuggled in bottles of cider”. Indeed… Joe was right. Nobody at The Rage would smuggle in a packet of painkillers, let alone a bottle of cider. The most they’d probably stretch to would be a Cuban cigar rolled on the thigh of a virgin. The Rage events are full to the brim with over twenties describing the ‘full-bodied’ flavour of their wine and the ‘delicate texture’ of their meat (dish). Hell, even the people were friendly and - by god, that wasn’t expected. An attractive girl from Sweden, a PR guy, a journalist, a guy simply here to see the bands - all talking, mingling and sharing the scene as one. To borrow a quote from the American self-help luminary Wayne Dyer: “Judgement prevents us from seeing the good that lies beyond appearances”. In conclusion: The Rage events may be somewhat exclusive - where people wear perfume, aftershave and sip champagne with an elegance ‘unfamiliar’ to those who “fiddle with stem” and “down like sun-drenched Cowboy”. But at heart it’s a great event, with great music, and great people. An event that those ‘unfamiliars’ should attempt to attend in their quest to feel “special” and become “one” (if not for the limitless Jack Daniels, live bands, and attractive Swedes). Words: Dangerous For info on The Rage visit: www.therage.tv The Rage On In Summer: 2nd July The Rage Through Autumn: 8th October The Rage Out In Winter: 11th December
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Method Man and Redman at Shepherd's Bush Empire
Method Man and Redman at Shepherd's Bush Empire
22/04/2008
Method Man and Redman Shepherd’s Bush Empire There's chemistry, and then there's the explosive combination of Method Man and Redman, who ripped up the stage with such force the place was filled to the rafters with people throwing their hands up Wu-Tang style as the duo trotted out all the classics. There was Meth's 'Bring the Pain', 'Method Man', a Wu-Tang moment with 'Wu-Tang Clan ain't nuttin to f*ck wit', Redman's genius 'Smoke Buddha' off the Muddy Waters album, and lots from their 1999 Blackout! album, naturally. 'Da Rockwilder' tore the roof off in particularly violent fashion. Rumour has it, a second album's on its way, along with ‘How High 2’ – the sequel to their film released in 2001. There was a shout-out to ODB too, Meth giving the man props in a spangly Wu-Tang t-shirt and Funk Doctor Spock raising his hands in appreciation. They may be highly charged individuals who pull no punches, but they're proud and professional, putting on a show tighter than their verbal sparring without a hint of filler in sight. Refreshing and too much fun. Words: Helene Dancer
tags: | method man | more...
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