Showing posts with label Sleaford Mods. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sleaford Mods. Show all posts

Friday, December 7, 2018

MEET YOU AT THE JOY ON FIRE CORNER OF THE WORLD.




Somewhere in the (recent) tumultuous moments of my life — ". . . waiting for / the catastrophe of my personality / to seem beautiful again. . ." (Frank O'Hara) — I received an embassy from John Paul Carillo. May you be so fortunate as to receive an embassy from John Paul Carillo. He came calling as a representative of his band, Joy on Fire

Scant weeks earlier, I had witnessed Joy on Fire batter two buildings to pulp: An die Musik and The Crown, both in Baltimore. I have written about this experience. What else can I say but when you hear the thing you've always wanted to hear, two outcomes are possible. The first is: nothing further transpires (but you have the memories!) The second is: you're invited to write lyrics — and deliver them. 

Meet You at the Jazz Corner of the World is a two-volume live album recorded by the Jazz Messengers and their leader, Art Blakey, in 1960. The sets are phat, and this version of the Messengers that graced the New York jazz club Birdland — Blakey, Morgan, Shorter, Timmons, Merritt — was perhaps the finest in that band's storied history. I love the title of those volumes. 

And Joy on Fire would describe themselves, in part, as jazz. Noisy, counter-punching, and full of late-day sunlight, the band is also punk, metal, and alternative. In comparison to a musician like Wayne Shorter, Anna Meadors has thoroughly established her tone on the bari and alto saxophones. Chris Olsen, drums and percussion, rattles the buildings across the street. And John shreds his bass guitar strings — bass guitar — as if he were Duane Eddy playing the Sex Pistols songbook. 

In the song, "Fizzy," Sleaford Mods front-man Jason Williamson howls, "I fuckin' hate rockers / Fuck your rocker shit / Fuck your progressive side, sleeve of tattoos / Oompa Loompa blow me down with a feather / Cloak and dagger bollocks!" I think I can speak for the others when I say that we admire those blokes and that sentiment. 

I say "we" because together, we are recording works that will become an album (hopefully albums) and I will be appearing with the gang on a mini-tour that begins December 14th at Mooselab in DUMBO, Brooklyn. On December 21st, we'll be at Champ's in Trenton, and on December 22nd, we'll be at Rhizome in D.C.

Therefore, I will see you at the Joy on Fire Corner of the World. Come join us.

Suddenly, the future is Jazz Punk. 
Hoy hoy!




References:

"Mayakovsky" by Frank O'Hara, from his collection Meditations in an Emergency (Grove / Atlantic 1957). 
Meet You at the Jazz Corner of the World, Vols. 1 and 2 by Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers (Blue Note, 1960). 
"Fizzy" by Sleaford Mods off their album Austerity Dogs (Harbinger Sound, 2013). 


Sunday, April 16, 2017

MOPTOP!

Please forgive me my amateur filming technique. 


I caught Sleaford Mods at Warsaw in Brooklyn on March 30 of this annum, and won’t forget that show anytime. For those who don’t know the Nottingham-based Mods, they are one part vocalist Jason Williamson and one part ‘beat-master’ Andrew Fearn. On that chilly evening in Brooklyn, the first night of their North American tour, Williamson famously brought the howling, gruff intensity, and Fearn, shouting off-microphone, shook and danced with trademark can of lager. It was quite ‘sausagey’ on line to get inside, but inside, many cute girls bounced around. Perhaps the audience could’ve misbehaved a bit more, but that’s an inconsequential quibble. Why admire the Mods without reservation? Why declare this the greatest show I’ve ever seen? It’s quite selfish really. They’re the performers I’d like to be. Unafraid to rage, to skewer, to curse madly, to bounce, to spit, to croon, to be odd, to be more energetic than groups half their age, to find their own space, to resist commercial molding—Sleaford Mods should be a lesson to every band and every poet who might (unaccountably) seek any other route.

You can listen above to one song, “Moptop,” I recorded on me phone, mate, from the show. It’s a song off the group’s newest album, English Tapas. In part, the song refers to the “moptop hairdo” of Boris Johnson, a British politician to whom some might apply words that rhyme with “punt” and “yacht.” According to the band, the song also delves into: “…the void that is modern music, internet attention spans, one-dimensional acts and the current trend of reformed bands looking to cash in with PR-heavy assaults that try to conceal their pointlessness.” Working from a few online lyrics sources, here are, what I think to be, the lyrics. Enjoy.

MOPTOP

Do you mind? You biffed my nose!

He’s got a blonde mop, he’s got a moptop
He’s got a blonde mop, he’s got a moptop

I’m sick of what I tell you for note
Saying fucking sorry to the catalogue vote
Having to be a bit naff and inclined
When all I really wanted was to batter ‘em blind
These pleasantries and intelligence
Are no real match for the spoon and tuppence
Of ale stops and tired minds
I think before I say it better be in line

I think before I say it better be in line
I think before I say and let the words slip by
I think before I say it better be in line
I think before I say and let the words slip by

He’s got a blonde mop, he’s got a moptop
He’s got a blonde mop, he’s got a moptop

I feel like I’m not gonna cope
The game has changed its proper
Now it comes with no hope
Rotten clementines, no socks, no pants
All reformed band and dead pop chants
Like the tinsel mate it’s the ‘70s
Reminds me of a time when we were little kids
Reminds of a time when the coast was clear
But now it’s meatballs and jam as I float around, oh dear
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…

I think before I say it better be in line
I think before I say and let the words slip by
I think before I say it better be in line
I think before I say and let the words slip by

He’s got a blonde mop, he’s got a moptop
He’s got a blonde mop, he’s got a moptop

I think before I say it better be in line
I think before I say and let the words slip by
I think before I say it better be in line
I think before I say and let the words slip by

He’s got a blonde mop, he’s got a moptop
He’s got a blonde mop, he’s got a MOPTOP!