Michael Kiwanuka in Exeter- One Year On

Last week Michael Kiwanuka, the enigmatic thirty-year-old London-born soul-pop singer/songwriter returned to Exeter almost exactly one year after his Phoenix gig. This time in the much bigger University hall, and with a larger entourage, Kiwanuka proved just how much success can change a young artist’s performance, even if he doesn’t fully realise it.

The inclusion of the three-piece gospel choir and the wind section (one guy deftly manoeuvring between tenor sax and flute at the drop of a bass note) was a great idea, but not necessarily well-played out. The singers were great, and accentuated Kiwanuka’s voice with harmonies that added depth and character to the more soulful numbers. The saxophone was far too loud, without being properly audible- a wall of sound seemed to emanate from the far-left corner of the stage, and the subtleties of the melody were lost to this sound design malfunction. And the fact that he was adapting between the two instruments so fluently mid-track meant that the sound was never going to be right for either instrument.

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Michael Kiwanuka at the Great Hall, Exeter

The rest of the band were as tight as ever- the lead electric guitar, keys, bass, drums and percussionist have obviously worked together for a lot longer than these new members, and it showed. The guitar especially was beautiful, and played with so much soul that at one climax I heard the person behind me say ‘reminds me a bit of Hendrix’ (perhaps a little hyperbolic, but we’ve all been in the hold of a decent guitarist on a Monday night in Devon).

Kiwanuka himself was on as good a form as ever: his naturally shy stage presence seems to evaporate the moment he plucks either his electric or acoustic, and his voice rings out with a truth that seems implausible from such a young musician. It was, again, only the sound design that let him down. You can tell a vocalist’s mic is caked in too much reverb when they try to tell the audience an amusing anecdote and it gets lost somewhere between him and the third row. Not much of a talker anyway, Kiwanuka’s occasional funny stories were only worthwhile if you were devotedly standing at the front of the hall. It seems strange to me that someone with a voice so naturally full of depth and feeling should need so much layered onto their vocal mic. This made the performance lose a fair amount of its effect, as you would expect only being able to hear half the lyrics would do.

The set list was mixed up a little from last year, with the inclusion of the 2012 top forty single ‘Home Again’. Slightly out of place amongst the plethora of soul-funk pieces surrounding it, this track seemed to hint at a weaker sense of Kiwanuka feeling confident enough to be able to do what he wants at his own gigs. Well received by his audience, it seems he may have decided to do what makes the people (and perhaps his manager?) happy.

And then there’s the encore. Having rounded up what seemed to be a generally well-thought-out and executed set (assuming the sound guys are in-house and not part of the entourage), Kiwanuka and band insisted on giving us, the people supposedly wanting of it, a dramatic and over-played encore. We knew it was going to happen- he was yet to play two of the most important singles of the 2016’s Love and Hate– but there was a small part of me holding on to the idea that the beautiful ending of the first set could be the way Kiwanuka wants to be remembered. I was, of course, wrong.

Kiwanuka thanked the band, one by one, before they took leave of the stage to the roar of the crowd (especially Hendrix-junior). The keys player was the last left standing, beautifully repeating the final two bars of the melody the band had spent fifteen minutes gradually stripping back. Finishing on a cliff-hanger, without satisfying us with the final note to make the perfect cadence, our keys player stood up unconfidently and walked the long way off-stage, without once even looking up, as if rehearsal in the garage was over and his mum had called him for in for his tea. It was beautiful. Celebrating the true nature of good live music, without charm and charisma, just showcasing that one guy at the back who’s a fantastic musician but kind of just forgets the crowd is there, this was a perfect end for a show like this. It was only when the house lights didn’t ping back on that I realised we were now going to stand here for ten minutes waiting for them all to trope back on and give us another two numbers.

Why, Kiwanuka, why?

Please, be confident in your own performance so that it doesn’t warrant this frankly ridiculous notion that you’re not an established and well-loved performer until you’ve made your paying audience scream your name at you because we cannot stand the idea that your hour-and-a-half set is over. Aside from some technical stuff that probably comes together with the venue (which didn’t suit the set-up as much as the much smaller hall from last year), this was a great gig. If only two-album pop stars would realise that they can do whatever they want, without playing up to the audience’s expectations, and that the true Devonian fans will still be there to pretend they understand any of the racial-tension that they pour so authentically into your lyrics.


How to Write About Female Musicians

Writing about female musicians is obviously very important. We’re incredibly under-represented in the media, as we’re constantly reminded by all the media coverage of how not-present we are. Therefore, it’s important to know, once you’ve decided to take the plunge and attempt to represent the minority, what language to use to talk about those enigmatic females that are, bless them, trying to make their way in the man’s world.


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First of all, be sure to state as often as possible the fact that they are ‘female’. When discussing a male singer, one might simply describe him as the ‘lead singer’. However, if you’re lead is female it is important to qualify this phrase with as many gender-signifiers as you can squeeze into your word count. For example, ‘frontwoman’ or ‘female vocalist’, or maybe even ‘female frontwoman’ are all good. This is especially helpful to the reader if you’re dealing with, god forbid, a female guitarist or, shock horror, drummer. Make sure to be clear to the reader that they needn’t worry, the female drummer managed to keep up and yeah, she was actually quite fit and even added a touch of sex appeal to the gig.

When reviewing a female artist’s album or single release, be sure to comment on the adjoining video also, as it is important to have as many avenues as possible with which to explore her ever-so-important physical appearance. Say that you think the video director is AWFUL for insisting that she wears that extreme outfit, that it’s horribly sexist, that women should be able to wear what they like the same as men etc. etc.… (in the same review, you should also bring the reader’s attention back to that awards night two years ago that the artist in question turned up to in jeans and a jumper- couldn’t they have at least been a little smarter? Didn’t they care that people voted for them to win the very prestigious and important award?! Honesty.)

Once you’ve made a brief judgement on the superficial appearance of the woman you’re reviewing, the comparisons can begin. Everyone knows that the only way to write about female musicians effectively and in a way that the reader will understand is to compare them to every and any other female musician that has previously been successful or caused some controversy. Whether they are alike or not, this comparison is an important part of letting your reader know what kind of character the woman is. Madonna and Bjork are two easily relatable favourites to use as part of your argument. If you believe the female musician you’re reviewing really IS just like one of these artists, however, you MUST call them out on it, naming them a fraud and accusing them of having no originality (something that must NEVER occur, in the pop industry especially).

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If you feel that there are already enough women just like the one you’re reviewing you can state this by calling her old news, because despite the fact that there are literally hundreds of male musicians that churn out the same old pop-rock dribble every year, it’s important that women stick to their quota of ‘one per genre’ at all times, no excuses.

After you’ve written your review you may be able to follow up with an interview (they’re probably not busy, let’s be honest). When interviewing a female musician remember to act completely differently, with an entirely different set of questions, than when interviewing men. Be aware that women ALWAYS want to talk about what they’re wearing, the colour they’ve died their hair or why they do/don’t want to get their boobs out. They’re also good at having a unique and in-depth response to the question as old as the music industry itself so be sure to ask: how have you managed to make it as a musician when you’re also a girl? Lean forward in your seat at this point, in order to give the impression of intent listening, but also make it clear that you don’t really care that they’re a woman, you’re just asking for the readers, who are just concerned about the whole situation and are totally on your side.

When asking a woman what instrument she plays, either in or out of an interview, be sure to react appropriately when she doesn’t tell you she’s a vocalist, pianist or cellist. If she plays an instrument that you personally find attractive, be sure to tell her, on behalf of the patriarchy, that she just got so much sexier, and that she must get loads of gigs because ‘she’s a girl who plays the sax’. Oh, on that note, it’s also probably necessary at that point in the conversation to point out how the word ‘sax’ sounds remarkably like the word ‘sex’, which is interesting because incidentally women aren’t often portrayed to be taking part in that, either. In fact, maybe that should be the theme of the piece you’re writing? I’m sure your boss will love it.

The Lemon Twigs- Do Hollywood

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Image Courtesy of thelemontwigs.com


The Lemon Twigs are doing something completely new in their blatantly days-of-old influenced debut Do Hollywood. Clearly audible influences such as the Beatles and Beach Boys, merged with the electronic blur that we’re used to hearing in the current pop world make for something ironically cutting edge, and very interesting.

The vocals are lo-fi and the instrumentation is classic of the record’s era (which as a statement is confusing in itself- what exactly is the era?). The predictable chord progressions are satisfying and the hooks are hooking, even if they flit away by the next verse and you realise you’re listening to a completely different genre. So much goes on in one track, and the passion and fun had in every section is palpable and infectious. The cheesy over-stated percussion and obvious bass riffs make you smile, before making you check you haven’t actually been transported back to the 60s. These four boys from New York take you on a musical journey that sounds like their childhood influences all mashed up together and smoothed out with modern-day techniques, culminating in an album that showcases something innovating but that your dad will also let you put on in the car.

In not trying to do anything different, in just loving the music they grew up listening to with their Long Island dad, and in being almost too hipster, The Lemon Twigs have created something new, and something the modern-day pop world needed: an album that’s fun, authentic, brimming with talent, and just plain good.

Jack Garratt- LIVE in Plymouth

Jack Garratt exerts an insane amount of energy in his live gigs. He bounces about the stage like an excitable puppy: drumming, guitar-ing, piano-ing and vocally-octave-jumping so much that if you closed your eyes you’d think there were 4 of him on stage. He shouts and jeers, banters and teases, and makes the whole crowd sing along to songs that were only released last summer. His talent for writing an anthem is tangible in the reaction of his fans.

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Impossible to pin down long enough for a photo- Jack Garratt in a blur on stage.

Garratt exploded onto the scene last year when he was announced as the winner of the BBC Critic’s Choice Award, and his debut album Phase was a massive success. The tour that has followed is brimming with excitement, and I stand by my notion that the 25 year old lad from Buckinghamshire is 100% a live act. The slick production of the album does the fun, electronic singles no good, and it does nothing to showcase the skill of this young musician.

Never did I think I’d enjoy booing at an act, but as Garratt teases the crowd with the intros to various covers, laughing in our faces as we shout angrily at him for stopping just before the drop, I find myself laughing back at him. He’s a joker, a performer, and definitely a crowd-pleaser.

At the moment there are no upcoming Jack Garratt gigs, but I’m sure he won’t be held down for long- another album and hopefully tour must be in the pipeline, and I would highly recommend grabbing tickets to listen to the album in it’s authentic, and I believe intended, setting.

Kings of Leon- WALLS


Image Courtesy of popgoesculture.com


We Are Like Love Songs, the 7th album from legends of Southern-pop-rock Kings of Leon is a small step back in time to the good old days of 13 years ago. Keeping with the 5 syllable record name tradition, WALLS is easy-listening and fun, despite the somewhat depressing themes of loss and speculated divorce.

An attempted throwback to the days of Aha Shake Heartbreak and Youth and Young Manhood, the new record is almost where our nostalgia wants it to take us- with its 80s glam vibes and angsty thrashing guitars- but it doesn’t quite manage to shake off the wad of money that comes with the success of being one of the biggest bands of the last decade.

Kings of Leon have had some great moments: Youth and Young Manhood is in my top 10 favourite records ever. Since that year I bought every record, at first with delight, and then (mentioning no names, Only By The Night…) it became a bit of a risk. I tend to give Caleb and his brothers/cousins the benefit of the doubt these days, almost with a sense of pity as I discover that ‘Sex on Fire’ was  ‘the joke song on the album that nobody was supposed to notice.’ But is it too much to ask that you just push away the dollar bills and get back to the garage you guys grew up in? ‘Around the World’ perked me up a bit, but Caleb’s vocals still just sound too… good, and everything is so polished it kind of takes away some of the magic.

It could be worse though. This is a definite improvement on 2010 and 2013. Maybe album number 8 will give us just what we want? Just please KoL, don’t ever throwback to 2008.

Michael Kiwanuka- LIVE in Exeter

Michael Kiwanuka doesn’t have to say much. He walks on the stage of the tiny Phoenix, nods slightly at his devoted audience, picks up his guitar, and plays an hour and a half of mesmerising soul. He makes us clap and sway our hips at one moment, and freeze open-mouthed with glisten-eyed wonder at the pure emotion pouring out of one man and an acoustic guitar the next. The room falls silent for these moments, and everyone unites in their imagination of what it’s like to not be white middle-class Devonians in the local arts centre.

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It’s a rare thing when a new album provokes as much audience reaction as a debut. But Michael and band (which were brilliant, and so serious and succinct in what they’re doing) succeed in exciting the crowd with tracks from Love and Hate that aren’t even released singles. I also have an immense amount of respect for an artist that doesn’t play the single that a lot of people know him by, and that put him in the ‘British Folk’ category in 2012. The Home Again single wasn’t even hinted at.

The transition between the two albums is fluent, though, firmly creating the notion that the two, while involving a lot of musical and personal development, provide Kiwanuka with a successful back-catalogue of already-classics.

‘The power went down on the bus today so I couldn’t play Fifa- had to go and actually look around. I like Exeter, I’ll be back’, he says shyly, before closing the set with the epic title single of the new album.

Next time, a full brass section and gospel backing choir please Michael- but for now I’m happy with the soulful authenticity of this 29-year-old Fifa-playing boy from North London.

The tour continues until May next year, with a few more UK dates towards the end. To find out more and get tickets click here.

Bon Iver- 22, A Million


Image courtesy of pitchfork.com


5 years after the success of Justin Vernon’s debut record Bon Iver, Bon Iver, the indie folk musician that we thought we knew and loved is back, with a whole new sound that he calls ‘folktronica’- a genre he’s brought back to our attention and into the mainstream through his previous success, but which of course is no new innovation to subculture folk history.

It is, however, a definite shift in Bon Iver’s creative output: there are no more lulling acoustic guitar strums and calming goat-y vocals: Bon Iver is a different, more serious man. The record opens with confused glitching- it’s not until Justin’s beautiful vocal harmonies come in that we’re sure our MP3 file isn’t corrupt, and then we’re drawn into the album, like angels have descended and pulled us up into the disturbing depths of Vernon’s mind. The soft lullaby of the saxophone draws us in further, and suddenly we’re lost in the experimental dream that 22, A Million surely is.

There is no standard song form: the record slowly walks us through the beauty of Bon Iver’s uncertainty about life, his existential insecurity and his clear boredom with just playing his acoustic guitar and singing over the top. Nothing is safe about this record, and nobody can escape the innovative folk world that Vernon’s created.

‘29 #Strafford APTS’ is probably the most recognisable track- still streaked with Bon Iver’s electronic vocal harmonies, but built around a string section, it is more what we might have expected. Neatly slotted almost exactly halfway through the record, it acts as a nice grounding for the listener to grasp a hold of some sense of reality, before lurching straight back into the album.

I don’t think it’s possible to review this album without mentioning the title tracks, which themselves are enough to confuse our already disoriented folk-loving brains- ‘00000 Million’, ’33 “GOD”’… It’s almost enough to make us want to snap straight back to 2011 and forget any of this ever happened. Almost.

Michael Kiwanuka- Love and Hate

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Image courtesy of iTunes 

Polydor Records

Michael Kiwanuka returns this year with the much awaited (by me, anyway) Love and Hate. After four years of apparent heartbreak and a self-reflective existential crisis, the 29-year-old is back, having painfully injected even more soul into his music while exploring a number of personal and social issues that cause even my little middle-class-white-girl heart to ache.

The record opens with frosty strings and echoing choir chords in the 10-minute epic ‘Cold Little Heart’. After a euphoric four minutes of tension building, the rhythm section kicks in almost with relief, and the electric guitar cuts through the fog with its shrieking melody, reminding fans of the beauty of the first album. Kiwanuka’s vocals sound authentically pained and melancholy, as he bleats: ‘I’m bleeding, my cold little heart.’

The album continues, with a reasonable proportion of anguished ballads and punchy blues numbers. ‘Black Man in a White World’ is as bluesy as it gets, with casually strummed acoustic guitar, praise-like-clapping and a simple repeated bass line. The subject is just as bluesy, reminding the modern listener how important the soul revival still is- ‘I feel like I’ve been here before/ I feel that knocking at my door.’ The funk influences (‘Place I Belong’) draw out even more sophisticated cool, and the transition from horns (which were plastered all over the first album) into the dominating strings that ring out on this record, seems like a suitable step up into more grown-up themes.

The debut, Home Again, won the Critics’ Choice Award upon its release in 2012, but Love and Hate takes a place of its own amongst the voices of Otis Reading and Marvin Gaye, to name-drop just a couple of dominions of this realm. Kiwanuka has taken it into a new level, and it’s a height at which I hope he stays.

The Last Shadow Puppets- Everything You’ve Come to Expect

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image courtesy of pitchfork.com

Domino Records

The Last Shadow Puppets have returned with that not-so-difficult-if-you’re-cocky-enough second album. The first was a great success- The Age of the Understatement went straight to number one in the UK in 2008- sending the duo of Alex Turner and Miles Kane to even farther heights than their respective solo music careers had already propelled them. Now they’re back, with the definitely not understated Everything You’ve Come to Expect.

They were kind for helpfully pre-warning us that the album holds no surprises. Swooning vocals that don’t seem to mean a lot, layered over lush sounding- but predictable- guitar strums make up the bulk of the record. Unlike its predecessor, Everything You’ve Come to Expect isn’t influenced by Scott Walker (the mutual love of the 80’s avant-garde composer is what brought Turner and Kane together in 2007), but it doesn’t provide a startling change in musical direction. Everything’s lyrics aren’t as interesting as the first record’s, just more vulgar, and the chauvinistic male-ego is still going strong.

‘Bad Habits’ is the highlight of the record. Unlike the slower ballads, this more upbeat number doesn’t need the lyrics to carry it; the punchy, driving bass line and striking, almost aggressive, string section are at the forefront of the track. You almost (almost) forget that they’re shouting about the things women will do to get a promotion. Generally it sounds more like something I want to hear from the rock-based duo; slick and sexy (instead of just remarkably creepy). This is fortunate, as it’s also the lead single. I just wish the rest of the album had followed in its supposed lead.

Everything You’ve Come to Expect is out now, and if you fancy standing amongst a throng of swooning teenage girls and mis-guided Scott Walker fans, the UK tour is doing the rounds over the next couple of months.

Desert Island Disks- my top 5

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A recent new friend of mine asked me a couple of weeks ago (as a way of getting to know me better, having no doubt been told that ‘music’ is my only defining characteristic) what my ‘desert island disks’ would be. He told me I had 5 to chose from, and he wanted an answer at that moment. Panic-stricken, not wanting to make a wrong impression, aware that other people were watching & reminded that I have a (admittedly mild) reputation to repute, I resisted the urge to shout ‘Spice Girls: the best of’ as my first answer.

This is a HARD question. Everyone enjoys music for different reasons, and in different ways. I’ve always stood by the notion that I don’t have any ‘guilty pleasures’; if I like something I don’t need to qualify my opinion and, as I said, different music has different purposes and intentions. Most of these albums take me to a very specific time and place, a different part of my life that is brought back every time I hear one of these songs. To me it doesn’t matter what the critics thought, how high the record went in the charts, or whether my uni professor likes it. Music is a universal language, but it means something different to everyone. Sometimes it’s something really specific- our stomach lurches when a crap pop song comes on the radio, remembering THAT boyfriend, that breakup. Other times it takes us back to whole summers, running around in a field in a flowery skirt with our best friend, thinking that nothing could ever make us feel as free (see number 3, Fran your friendship still makes me feel as free as it always has).

None of the above changes the fact that this could be very embarrassing.

So, *deep breath*, after much (much) thought, and slightly fearful of how this may forever define me, in no particular order (this was enough of a challenge), here are my 5 desert island disks:

1) Beautiful South- Solid Bronze (greatest hits)– I don’t remember the first time I listened to this album, I think my mum probably played it while I was in the womb. I know how crap it is, and I listen to it now and mostly laugh. But ‘Don’t Marry Her’ still makes me cry, and ‘Rotterdam’ will always come on when me and mum are drunk and we will hug and cry as if it’s some massive private thing that we have where that song really means something. I think it just reminds her of when it was just us, doing the washing up in our massive Belfast sink and listening to this terrible, terrible album on repeat.

2) Thunder- The Very Best of Thunder– Who even knew there could be a very best of thunder? My dad used to play this in the car all the time- it’s one of the first things I remember about him (he adopted me when I was 4). I still remember all the words, and I see the streets of my hometown and my dad pretending the steering wheel was a drum kit every time I listen to this. It was the first CD I owned; he bought it for me when it wasn’t even my birthday. Love you daddy.

3) Donavan Frankenreiter (self-titled)– This album was given to me and my mum as a present when I was young. ‘He’s like Jack Johnson, really big over in Oz, you’ll love it.’ I more than love it. It reminds me of so many happy summers, and the title track ‘It Don’t Matter’ took on an entirely new meaning when I was lucky enough to sing it with Donavan on stage last summer (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OaI5zLnHZu0).

4) Paolo Nutini- Caustic Love– A more recent one. I genuinely think this is one of the best albums ever written. It’s so sexy and sophisticated, without being so pretentious that I have to just pretend to like it in front of my cool friends. Paolo Nutini has been one of my favourites for forever, but he out-did himself with this one. ‘Scream (Funk my Life Up)’ is so fucking good. If you haven’t fallen in love with this record go and listen to it, and dance naked in your bedroom while pretending Paolo is watching you under his mop of a fringe. Sigh.

5) Jack Johnson- In Between Dreams– My stepdad bought this from WHSmiths when I was a kid because it was £3. My (sometimes obsessive) love of Jack Johnson has only grown since. I guess this album is symbolic of a few things about my life- it was at that young age, listening to ‘Better Together’ on the fluffy carpet in the dining room that I decided I was going to listen to this kind of music all the time, move to the seaside, learn to surf, travel to sunny places and go to as many gigs as I could. This in turn lead me to move to Falmouth, do a degree in music so that I could meet other people that like Jack Johnson (haha) and work in a healthy-surf-travel cafe on the weekends. This album didn’t so much change my life as it did shape it altogether.

Well, there they are! Now you can imagine exactly what rubbish I’m listening to as I’m stuck on my own little desert island, hopefully sipping a margarita and surrounded by all the people that have influenced my music taste to be so bloody bad (thanks mum and dad).

Follow me on Spotify (https://open.spotify.com/user/jadiephipps) to find out what else I like, it’s not all that crap I promise.