We welcome the inimitable Joseph Lawrenson, keyboard-wizard supremo and in possession of a lovely face, into the Shoreditch Radio studio to chat his big alternate plans to run cycle tours in Europe and maybe run some deliveroo action on the side. Sounds pretty great, right?
Hear some cracking tracks from Car Seat Headrest, Father John Misty and the Guillemots and choice anecdotes from Laurie’s university days on this week’s WHAT’S YOUR PLAN B.
Listen below or at mixcloud on this handy URL: https://www.mixcloud.com/WhatsYourPlanB/joseph-lawrenson-whats-your-plan-b/
Listen to Joe’s debut EP, “From Como to Pula”, right here: https://josephlawrenson.bandcamp.com/releases
Podshambles 44: Give Us Frubes is now OUT! Here’s what to expect:
Arrest those men and place them in Podtective Castody THIS INSTANT.
The two Shamblurais are back this week with a bag full of home cooked goodies. Laurie finally gets to meet Ponyo (the lasagne blacksmith) in Choose Your Own Adventure, Paddy pitches his genetic pug/duck splice, and who would have guessed we’d end up arguing over the value of making aeroplane noises whilst running.
Shuffle awkwardly, shimmy alluringly and waggle like there’s no need for waggling – it’s Podshambles 44.
Podshambles 42: Woops! There Go My Genitals is now OUT! Here’s what to expect:
Bread and butter Podding please – and don’t hold back on the Castard! Immediate edit: I’m convinced this counts as a pun. C’mon guys it’s been 42 episodes and I have to be honest I am running on empty when it comes to puns that contain rhymes for both Pod and Cast.
The Shambiblical prophets return with word of a podcast. Be prepared for Paddy’s new game ‘Where’s Dad?’, get ready for Laurie/Flagon’s new friend Russo Alicante, and hold onto your butts for the weirdest game of Would You Rather you are likely to hear this week/lifetime/butts.
Lick your fingers, remember your regrets and cry into your casserole – it’s Podshambles.
Well this week’s been a shitter, hasn’t it? We don’t believe in broadcasting the political debate here at Shambles HQ but rest assured that we’re a little disappointed at the outcome of the Referendum, even though our European Activities will continue at full pace.
It’s also been absolutely PISSING IT DOWN in London and the rest of the country: par for the course, naturally, and also a hallmark of hippy-Mecca happy-time music-party mud-slog Glastonbury Festival, which just finished this weekend. If you’re sane, like us, you went nowhere near a festival site that boasts hits such as “The Ditch of Death”, “Mabel’s Racist Cow Retirement Home” and “Oh God It’s a Room Full of Middle Class Children”, but still wanted to enjoy some of the music on offer.
Luckily, we’re here to help at Podshambles. Because that’s what we’re here for. Making podcasts and writing a bit about bands we like.
RUNNING DOWN FROM MOST TO LEAST LIKELY TO APPEAR ON THE QUEEN’S “TOP CHOONZ” COMPILATION:
Dancing Years
Pick number one is Dancing Years, a five-piece from Leeds that sound a bit like what would happen if Damien Rice, Sigur Rós and the Divine Comedy met for a few beers at their local before getting a bit sad and writing some songs around the knackered pub piano. Their set is sadly unavailable to watch in full but Neon Lights – on YouTube below – is a booze-fuelled and plaintive lover’s lament thanks to swallowed vocals from Dave Henshaw. The band’s other output ranges from not-so-laddy singalongs (Here’s To My Old Friends a particular treat) to angrier, more textured numbers that borrow from the aforementioned Icelanders. At present they’re touring a few venues up North but keep an eye on these cheeky Yorkshire chappies for other dates soon – they’re well worth skipping along to see.
Kamasi Washington
Man, Kamasi Washington. If you’re a jazzy hip-hop head you may already know of the Los Angeles funker, who’s played in the past alongside household names like Herbie Hancock, Lauryn Hill, Nas, Snoop Dogg, Flying Lotus, Thundercat – the list goes on. He was also a formative influence and saxy presence in the studio for Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly, widely regarded as one of the finest hip-hop albums produced in the last decade. On his own, Kamasi leads his own little band that put out some seriously fraught jams – the best jams there are – in huge, sweeping compositions that often last some 20 minutes. Check his whole set from the West Holts Stage right here, especially the shifting, pulsing highlight The Rhythm Changes.
Låpsley
AKA Holly Lapsley Fletcher, Låpsley is not some fey Scandinavian songstress but a young singer from Southport via Scotland who makes soft and spacey songs (where there enough susurruses in that sentence?) Her restrained keys, vocal manipulation and ear for a heart-swelling chorus are all hallmarks of a sound that sits somewhere between SOHN, Santigold and Jamie Woon, but is of course so much more than the sum of Låpsley’s inspirations. She played a few times over the weekend but her stripped down appearance on the BBC Introducing stage is well worth indulging in: check out Station below.
Sigur Rós
I’m pretty sure these Icelandic lads can do anything – they can make the most enchanting elf-music that it is possible to imagine, they put on a wicked light show and they even have appeared in Game of Thrones at what is officially the most satisfyingly macabre wedding EVER – but seeing them on this most recent tour, live and in the flesh, is something special. Though they had shed keyboards player Kjartan Sveinsson and, with him, a lot of the melodic, delicate twinkly bits some fans may love them for, Sigur Rós have re-cast themselves as a trio of mad, loud, angry thunderbastards, making a cacophony on stage that sounds like three ancient whales beaching themselves in an industrial dystopia. Or something near that effect.
Foals
I dunno if you’ve ever heard of these small-time dweebs from Oxfordshire – let alone the one that’s related to award-winning comedian and podcast Paddy “Fights with Emus” Gervers – but Foals picked up Glastonbury festival firmly by the lapels, blew some whiskey-spiked breath in its face and then walloped it around the face for the duration of their mega-set on the Pyramid Stage. You can watch highlights from their barnstorming, trouser-ripping set right here, but really you should go an experience them live. Paddy and Laurie did and barely recovered, their ears blown inside out, their trousers removed and butts firmly rocked by the power of Wally’s bass playing ALONE. Tracks from the fivesome’s latest LP What Went Down really belong on the big stage, the intricate math-rock of early Foals giving way to the snorting, sweaty, black stallion that they’ve now become. Phwoar.
BONUS: Secret list of bands you should boycott at all costs:
The Last Shadow Puppets. Because Alex Turner doesn’t need any more excuses to keep dressing Miles Kane up as himself, Alex Turner.
Bastille. Just dreadful. All the poise of a pissed goose and none of the class.
Tom Odell. YOU’RE NOT KIDDING ANYONE, TOM. YOU ARE GOING TO BE REMEMBERED FOR YOUR CONTRIBUTION TO ADVERT SOUNDTRACKS, TOM. O DEAR, OH DELL.
Wolf Alice. You’ll ask “WHY?” repeatedly during their set, eg: Why is the lead singer suddenly doing screamo? Why does the lead guitarist look like he dipped his hair in tippex? Why are we watching?
Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats. Nothing wrong with them or their music but that is a gross band name.
Podshambles 37: Meat In A Bag In A Pub is now OUT. Here’s what to expect:
Two pints of Poddingtons and a packet of WorCASTer Sauce crisps please. Thank you. Oh hang on I think you gave me the wrong change. Oh no, my mistake. Thanks.
Christmas is nearly upon us, so it’s about time for Podshambles 37. Those Shamblelfs are getting restless. Laurie finally goes through his ‘NO’ phase, Paddy tackles nudity, and the fruity pair of fruit-bears give us a taste of Shamble Karaoke. Download now for our eleven top tips for staying warm this winter!
It’s been a while. I know I usually say that in jest because it generally hasn’t been a while, but today I mean it. I very rarely mean things, or do I? We may never know.
So as you may have gathered from smatterings of tweets, facebook posts and Laurie’s tear-jerking (genuinely) LCD Soundsystem ‘All My Friends‘ Shambletrack – I am now in America. New York City to be precise, and I will be remaining here for the time being. Of course this has thrown a comically-sized socket-wrench into the purely metaphorical cogs of Podshambles (yeah that’s right guys – we have metaphorical cogs. Metaphorical cogs powered by FRIENDSHIP) but never fear – I’m to an extent back on the radar. It took me a good week to get used to residing out here, and I’m still very much adjusting to the intricacies of Stateside life – for instance everyone thinking I’m adorable because of my voice, the absence of soft drinks that won’t instantly kill you, or having to order ‘a pack of Marlboro Reds’ as opposed to ‘twenty Marlboro Reds’ – a conundrum which ended up with me accidentally being handed 400 hundred cigarettes by a cashier who thought I was either mental or trying to kill myself.
BUT THAT’S LIFE GUYS.
I’ve found a spare half an hour, so here we go. I was going to do something loosely based on New York City but I feel like I’ll be doing a few of those whilst I’m out here and I don’t want to just aimlessly throw something at you guys because it conveniently has the words ‘New York’ embedded in the lyrics somewhere. So I’ve chosen a song that actually means something to me.
I was asked in an interview today (that’s right – I do interviews because I am super cool) what my favourite political song was, and the answer was so blindingly obvious. Farewell To Welfare by Grace Petrie is a stand-out masterclass in just how effective and meaningful political and satirical music can be. I first gigged with Grace about three years ago and she blew me away. Her songs have so much heart and honesty that it brings a tear to the eye, and she is politically dead on – hitting points such as anti-LGBT discrimination, the victimisation of the working people and the attitudes of the husks currently running our UK government.
This goes out to everyone who gives a shit about our country and the people who live in it. Grace you are an absolute star.
Thanks for reading everyone – I’ll be back to usual soon, just need to get over some culture shock/sugar poisoning/getting hit by a big yellow taxi whilst ‘jaywalking‘ (?). You can buy the music of Grace Petrie (and more with her band ‘The Benefits Culture’) buy clicking HERE.
Big, big love and HEY IF YOU’RE IN NEW YORK GIVE ME A CALL ON 555-PADDY-NEW-YORK-PHONE-.com. I think that’s it?
Paddy XX
p.s Oh my God I actually just saw a TV advert for meow mix. I’ve wanted to see what all the fuss is about for years. Now I know. The cat even said ‘I want chicken I want liver Meow Mix Meow Mix please deliver’. IT WAS AMAZING. #meowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeow.
Anywho, I’ve chosen something a little different today. It’s an eight-and-a-half minute instrumental (I know, right?) in the form of Ain’t Gwine To Whistle Dixie by Taj Mahal. Point number one: I have been listening to this song for twenty years, and doing a quick google revealed to me that it isn’t in fact called ‘Ain’t Got To Whistle‘ – the name I have been referring to it by for literally 83.3333% of my life – which is a massive embarrassment. Point number two: it is gorgeous.
I was primarily brought up on blues music. My Dad plays the blues better than anyone I have ever met, and so the dulcet tones of old America used to ring throughout my childhood home every single day – and it was magnificent. My father is one of those guys that can just play music. Hand him an instrument and he will ace it: double-bass, jazz piano, trombone, erhu – you name it. He fucking rules. He’s in his mid-sixties and is still taking music lessons every week to ‘make sure he keeps his eye in’, and regularly plays with his bands ‘Lady & The Gents’, ‘The Coffin Dodgers’ and ‘Trains’. Thus it was only natural that myself and my siblings all learnt music from a very young age, all going on to forge careers in the industry. The one thing we can all agree on it that blues was the instigator – and it was all thanks to Dad.
I’m sure I’ll cover a fair bit of the music he introduced us to in the coming months, but the song that instantly springs to mind is this one. Perhaps it’s because it’s a long piece with no vocals, and therefore provides some kind of backing track to the vast majority of my earliest memories. Maybe it’s just because it is rad. Either way – here it is.
If you haven’t listened to Taj Mahal yet – DO IT NOW. Henry Saint Clair Fredericks (his real name) is a musical mastermind and a bloody hero to boot. Have a dig through his discography and you’ll find he has played with literally everyone under the sun (odds are you have heard him before on one song or another) and quite rightly so. Check out The Best Of Taj Mahal for an idea of his style.
I hope you enjoy the mellow tune from my youth ‘Ain’t Gwine To Whistle Dixie’.
Hello and hurrah, it’s a brand new week and I have the honour of kicking it all off for you.
I imagine by now the February blues have begun to overwhelm you; you have realised there are whole days of monotony separating you from now and the glorious possibilities of a free weekend and that must be frightening. Your morning coffee was not as sweet as the one which you lazily enjoyed yesterday, your morning meeting has presumably dragged on for far longer than necessary and you’re beginning to wonder how you wound up at this job you loathe.
Don’t worry. I have the cure. Sort of. If you like this kind of thing. If not, this song could tip you over the edge. If you do fall on this side of the fence, don’t worry, follow the final link in this post for a pick me up.
I’d like to caveat this introduction however and explain, before you judge me, that today’s post is kind of wanky. Not in the sense that, for example, Piers Morgan is a wanker and thus could be described as a wanky human being, but in the sense of ‘I’m a semi-pretentious twat’.
Last week I was shown the film La Haine, Mathieu Kassovitz’s stylized social commentary detailing the lives of three young men the day after a riot, sparked by police brutality, engulfed the estate in which they live. I won’t tell you any more about the plot, but simply implore you to watch it this week if you have a spare evening. I’ll only warn you that it won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, being a French indie film from the early 90s, with subtitles and shot in black and white (I told you I was going to sound a little wanky before the end of this post…)
One scene sums up Kassovitz’s approach to telling this would-be grim tale. Rather than focusing on the scars the recent violence has left on the estate, which are ever present nonetheless, Kassovitz constantly attempts to let the colour of life on the estate shine through despite it’s apparent bleakness.
As Cut Killer’s Assasin de la Police remix blares out over the oppressive cityscape, the audience is witness to an impossibly optimistic sentiment, that however depressing and downtrodden life may be there are those that will improvise and reinvent, making the best of a bad situation. And, uh, also that guys who scratch over massive speakers while overlooking a 1990s Parisian estate with a backwards snapback on – and do so in black and white – are fucking cool.
The remix in question samples seven songs in total (for a full list see the end) but in the main blurs together two songs which have no right to function in tandem, KRS-One’s Sound of the Police and Edith Paif’s, Non Je ne Regrette Rien. The result is awesome and has stuck with me since seeing the film for the first time last week.
I hope you enjoy it and, if you get a chance to see La Haine, that you enjoy it, too.
With the pleasantries out of the way, I think it’s time we got down to brass tacks. Cut the crap. Got to really mutually beneficial solution. Mano a mano. With a cherry on top. Without messing around, or elongating sentences, or looking for a quick getaway, or even- HOLY GONADS, BANANAMAN, HERE, ON A SUNDAY!? LAURIE AWAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaay.
Ah. OK, well, the truth is I’m very bloody tired today. I made the unfortunate mistake of ‘going’ on a ‘run’, if you can call ‘stumbling’ ‘vaguely’ towards ‘a park’ that. Then I ate a massive bowl of gnocchi and forgot to do Shambletracks until after midnight.
But it’s fine, guys, gals, centaurs, goblins and any other marginalised high fantasy beast! I’ve got something upbeat to shake you out of the funk, whether you spread across the sofa on Sunday night or sloppily dragging yourself to work, school or The Camelot School of Jiggery-Pokery and other Wizard Activities on Monday morning.
Yes, it’s everyone’s favourite secret scientologist and genre-hopper Beck ‘Beck’ Hansen, screeching in at the last second (just in time for your morning break, I suppose?), guitar and hand and a hell of a tune up his non-wizarding sleeves. ‘Girl’, taken from his 2005 album Guero, is a bleep-blork-tastic tale of summer love and the singer’s admission that ‘I know I’m gonna make her die / Take her where her soul belongs’. It’s really cute like that.
It’s a choice cut of gameboy sound samples, pumping acoustic guitar and fevered slide playing, combined with little snips of other clips to round out the sound. Aided by the amazing production of the Dust Brothers and Tony Hoffer (Tonys are always great), the rest of the album is also a electronically shaken up feast of similarly upbeat romps. Other favourites – if you ask me, which you are, just so we’re clear – are bombastic opener ‘E-Pro’ and ‘Black Tambourine’, which has an incredible ASCII Art video.
Guero as an album is a natural successor to his madly popular LP smash Odelay rather than Beck’s previous album, Sea Change, which is a bit of a mopey ballad mine (which is no problem – ‘Lost Cause’ is one of the greatest fucking songs ever written, but might be a bit distracting on a grey, cold Monday Morning). It’s well worth ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-checking out, you little minxes.
Till next time, make mine a quadruple scoop with extra chocolate sauce, tickle my hammock and hand me a badger on a plate of wasps,
But, alas, what holds for life also holds for the musical section of shambolic comedy podcasts: the show must go on. Like a beaten-up, one legged tortoise next to a particularly spritely and beautiful hare, who has defied convention to win the race, steal my wife and alienate my kids, I’ll plod towards the audio finish line with my pick for today: one of Japan’s finest hip-hop exports, Nujabes.
If the name’s not immediately familiar to you, I only discovered Mr Jabes – real name Jun Seba – through the cracking anime series Samurai Champloo. It’s the tale of homeless sword-swisher Mugen, Jin, a calm but sarcastic ronin, and Fuu, a young lady slightly hopelessly searching for a florally perfumed Samurai (literally the fulcrum of the plot). Though it’s set in Edo-era Japan – a time of long robes, wooden sandals, cowering peasants, wicked feudal lords and kickass sword-fighting – the soundtrack is all frenetic, jazzed-up hip-hop produced by Nujabes.
The result is that every clash of swords is punctuated by a shuffling beat, every quip by the twang of a syncopated bassline, every beautifully drawn sunset by a soulful lament. It’s gorgeous stuff. Highlights of the two Samurai Champloo soundtrack LPs include Aurarian Dance, an instrumental that borrows an old Spanish guitar song, complete with orchestral backing, and Shiki No Uta, a seedy funk ballad with vocals from Japanese soca singer Minmi.
Nujabes released five stunning albums, alongside a host of EPs, singles and collaborations with rappers and DJs. Devastatingly, however, his last album Spiritual Statewas released posthumously: on February 26th 2010, Seba was killed in a car accident at the Shuto Expressway in Tokyo.
Even since then, both Spiritual State and its predecessor Modal Soul are considered two of the finest hip-hop albums ever made, and still attract thousands of new young fans and admirers. Nujabes’ undeniable talent was for pairing scattered, heavy hip-hop beats with a myriad instrumental samples, which in his hands and through some weird alchemy were stitched together to create amazing new hybrids.
Feather, the track I’ve picked out today, is one of the few that featured rappers before the numerous re-releases that followed Seba’s death. Florida hip-hop outfit CLYNE and long-time collaborator Cisse Star alternate verses and choruses, their relaxed and slick words taking in nods to John Steinbeck, Flowers for Algernon and Don McLean’s American Pie. It’s all borne from a single piano lick, split up and cut back together, slowly joined by a growing backing of booming horns. It’s stunning stuff, and well worth a listen even if you’re not a huge hip-hop or rap fan. Chekkit.
Paddy returns tomorrow! Till next time, beloved Shambles,
L-Dwag 9000, owner of nubz and slayer of DARGONZ x
