Wolfy Kraut and Vivers team up for a one off, rather exclusive review, with Wolfy ripping into the Zimmermans and Them Squirrels, and Vivers taking on Fol Chen….
I thought the Zimmermans might break into a Dick Van Dyke rendition of chim chiminey when they first entered the stage; lead guitarist/singer with his foot strapped to the bass pedal and a pack of squirrels waiting in the wings….
This however was not the case and as the Dylan two-some continued, they highly impressed with their somewhat raw songs, reminiscent of early Willy Mason or Two Gallants. The pair played a kind of rather enchanting sea shanty-esque garage rock… Looking down at my notepad, I was easily deceived into thinking the stage was filled with at least 7 eager musicians but there were in fact just the two.
Them Squirrels, who regularly find themselves in the bosom of Bethan Elfyn’s Radio 1 Introducing show, had been highly recommended prior to the show and so I was rather intrigued, having not seen the act before…
They were an excitable bunch, dominating the stage with their screechy, prog-rock riffs, interesting use of sound fx and beatboxing, tied in with the elegance of their violinist.
They seem like another one of the Cardiff ‘chin stroking bunch’, who always bring a surprising amount of people and are great if you’re in the mood. I just don’t think I was. The experimental performance was rather alienating and therewith abrasive, and perhaps would have been more at home in a drug-fuelled practice session. They seem like an extremely lovely bunch of individuals and so this rant makes me feel a little bad. They are most certainly a top bunch of talented entertainers, that are worth catching if you get the chance….
Vivers steps in…
There’s something oddly dispiriting about Fol Chen. They’re like a band made out of IKEA cabinets, all shiny and well constructed and nicely fucking nice. Lord knows where that barking rumour about them being a Liars side-project came from: Fol Chen splish in such shallow Hello Asthmatic Kitty waters you can only imagine Angus Andrews rupturing in disgust. Oh yeah, the music. Chen songs pivot around dual keyboard lines and the (quite good) weird noise wrung from Samuel Bing’s 3/4 guitar, occasionally jinking towards the mini epic, usually hamstrung by Bing’s warm milk vocals. They’re later joined onstage by an 11ft man, and though the ensuing “intimate” number is fairly embarrassing, it makes them look like the classic John Cleese/Two Ronnies class sketch from the Frost Report, which is quite funny. Whether you can locate a heart in all this, and stab it with a dagger, is up to you. But you might need a microscope.
