Sometimes I feel as if the Daily Mail exists solely to try and agitate me. Given that it was founded in May 1896, over ninety years before I was born, this seems unlikely, but it's little consolation. The editorial policy is to seemingly promote an era of Britishness and old-fashioned standards that, as far as I can work out, never actually existed in the first place. There's also a mean undercurrent to many of the articles, purporting to be concerned for your welfare yet peddling the unsubstantiated myth that everyone different to you is to be feared. If the Daily Mail is to be taken at face value then disabled, homosexual immigrants are set to take your jobs, give you cancer and - most distressingly of all - cause house prices to rise.
This kind of criticism of the Daily Mail isn't particularly original - in fact, it appears to constitute roughly 65% of Russell Howard's stand-up act. I suspect the editors actually get some kind of perverse pleasure in winding-up well-meaning and easily outraged liberals. The thing is, this kind of propaganda wouldn't be so worrying if it weren't so widely read (and, one would have to assume as a corollary, believed); the physical newspaper has a circulation of over two million and close to three million visit Mail Online every day.
Despite all this, I'm usually pretty good at ignoring its presence. However, today was not one of those days.
Over the Easter weekend, 15-year-old Isobel Reilly tragically died in a West London house party. At the time of writing, the cause of death is believed to be a drug overdose. Despite the case being anything but finalised, The Mail saw fit to publish this article about the teenager this morning. Aside from the headline calling Isobel, "ecstasy death girl," a claim which - as far as I'm aware at this point - is nothing but guesswork, the article itself follows a bizarre line of effectively blaming celebrities and the internet for the event.
Despite no proof (or, at least, no proof referenced in the article), journalists Arthur Martin and Tamara Cohen claim Isobel "had become sucked in by the the drug-taking exploits of the celebrities she idolised." There is no suggestion anywhere that Isobel had taken banned drugs before; in fact, the only previous illegal activities alluded to are pictures of her on social networking sites "smoking a cigarette and drinking from a can of Strongbow cider." Of course, pastimes that no other 15-year-olds have partaken in before.
In the absence of refutable evidence, the subtext of the Mail article seems fairly stark in my eyes: blame celebrities and blame the internet.
Isobel is described in the article as a user of "at least seven social networking sites" and "a huge fan of controversial rappers 50 Cent and Kanye West" who once had a picture taken with "self-confessed former drug addict" Russell Brand. It's been the best part of a decade since I was 15, but I'd be prepared to wager that is fairly typical behaviour for a girl of that age. The rise of Facebook and its ilk has made reporting less of a chore for lazy hacks, and it's now all too easy for a journalist to cherry pick quotes from a prolific social network user to fit their desired storyline.
To me, the message here is pretty clear: careful, England, this could have been your daughter. The internet is confusing, which means it's dangerous and celebrities are drug-taking hedonists who are a bad influence.
Not all celebrities, however...
You may want to take a look at the sidebar to the right of the story, where several celebrity-themed stories are linked. A quick peek reveals Kelly Osbourne "hits back" at critics who have claimed she's fat, Kim Kardashian and Jessie J have had some photos taken while wearing not much, and a "tired and emotional" Rihanna - OMG! - went outside without wearing make-up. Of course, I've cherry-picked here too, but I'd also argue that reporting like this is more of a long-term risk to body-conscious teenage girls in Great Britain than the combined exploits of Russell Brand, 50 Cent and Kanye West. Actually, in anti-Daily Mail style, I'm going to give them helpful descriptions to impose some sort of spin on their characters and make you come round to my agenda. So, that's "newly settled-down" Russell Brand, "self-made entrepreneur" 50 Cent and "internationally successful performing artist" Kanye West. See, what nice chaps they all seem like now.
And what of the man arrested as part of the police enquiry? You might think the Mail would be more wary when reporting on someone yet to be convicted of any crime seeing as they're currently being sued for libel by Jo Yeates' landlord Christopher Jefferies, but no. Their article finishes with a picture and profile of the lecturer in question, describing him as "liberal" three times in a short piece and positing he "may have first-hand experience of families blighted by substance abuse" because he used to be a social worker. Lest we forget, this man's daughter is currently in hospital recovering from a suspected drug overdose after attending the same party, God forbid we give the guy some privacy, eh?
I can happily accept the Daily Mail don't share my political views and it doesn't bother me they sometimes print things I vehemently disagree with; it'd be a pretty boring world if everyone agreed with each other all the time. However, I find this kind of sensationalist, knee-jerk reporting offensive and objectionable. I don't know enough about publishing or libel law to know if this article is directly in breach of the Editors' Code of Practice as published by the Press Complaints Commission, but I certainly don't think speculative articles of this nature are doing anyone a favour.
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Sunday, 17 April 2011
On A Mission
released 4 April 2011 on Sony
Sometimes it can be hard to keep up with all the musical genres and sub-categories that are knocking around. For those of you who like your music ordered neatly, Kathleen Brien – better known as Katy B – fits into the box labelled “UK funky.” If you don’t know what UK funky is, you could always ask Katy herself, as she wrote an essay on the subject while studying for a degree in popular music. I’m no expert myself, but presumably it’s different to US funky, which I imagine to primarily consist of Bootsy Collins, George Clinton and Nile Rodgers jamming non-stop for three days aboard a spaceship made entirely of hallucinations.
Anyway, Katy B is a very different proposition; she’s been providing guest vocals for underground tracks since the age of sixteen and has been heavily supported by former pirate station, Rinse FM. She gate-crashed the UK Top 5 late last year with her calling card, Katy On A Mission, and there’s been no stopping her since.
On A Mission is the sound of the dancefloor being brought to the pop charts. In fact, it could even be labelled a concept album in the loosest possible sense, as it has a theme running through it of a big night out. Stylistically, there are plenty of nods to dance music trends of the last twenty years, most notably the breakbeat of the 1990s and the formerly ubiquitous sound of UK garage from the early 21st Century. Thankfully, Katy B brings more to the table than the irritating two-step beat that was unavoidable a decade or so ago. Credit must go to the production team behind On A Mission, as it is they (Geeneus, Benga, Zinc, Artwork and Skream) who elevate the album from merely “good” to “great.”
Opener Power On Me isn’t anything to write home about, but the album really bursts into life with aforementioned single, Katy On A Mission. It’s a song that expertly captures the thrilling moment when you enter a club and the sheer force of the music completely envelops you. Katy B’s clipped, English tones (listen as she sings, “I try to push past but he wants to play”) contrast perfectly with the bass-heavy, dubby production of Benga. On A Mission deftly mines non-commercial genres and repackages them for crossover success; there’s a very strong pop, radio-friendly vibe running through the record, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for experimentation and fresh ideas. The marvellously-titled Witches Brew throws oscillating bleeps around with some huge bass and Magnetic Man collaboration Perfect Stranger is uncompromising dubstep.
From Katy On A Mission’s start-of-the-night feel, we move to unwanted attention and rubbish potential hook-ups (Why You Always Here and the effortless Movement) all the way through to the closing of the club, Lights On, which features Mercury winning Ms. Dynamite. It’s a joyous track about not wanting the night to end, and the wish to keep dancing once the club lights come up. Seeing as the UK hasn’t had a decent female urban star since Ms. Dynamite’s halcyon days, this song could also be viewed as a symbolic passing of the baton.
We’ll neatly sidestep the insipid Easy Please Me with its terrible opening line of “Standing at the bar with my friend, Olivia,” and conveniently move onto final track, Hard To Get. We’ve gone out, had a drink and a dance, made it to closing time, survived the night bus, and Hard To Get is the post-club comedown. It’s languid and sexy funk, with horn stabs and sultry vocals, and an ideal way to end both an evening and the album. As if to let you know we’re at the end, Katy B does her album “thankyous” towards the end of the song, finally thanking the listener for “joining me on my mission.” She then puts on an endearingly silly voice, and collapses into laughter. It may seem an insignificant moment, but it shows Katy B’s one of us. She might be a star now, but she’s just the girl next door who lives to go out and have a good time. What could have been an unspectacular let-down of an album has become a triumphant pop masterclass that’s likely to soundtrack many a good time this year.
On A Mission has plenty for the charts, plenty for the dancefloors and plenty for people who take their music a bit more seriously. Katy B could be loved by everyone and she probably deserves to be; after all, she’s just made the pop record of 2011.
A Me B (interview)
Like many 18 year old girls, Amy Burns wants to be a successful solo artist. However, what sets her apart from vast swathes of the population is that she isn’t trying to achieve her dreams by turning up to reality show auditions and assuming that “passion” and the fact it “means the world” is all it takes. Making the most of the opportunities the internet affords new talent, she’s doing things on her own terms. Not only a singer and rapper, she also produces all her own tracks.
So far, so good – you have to admire her industry. But not only that, Amy Burns (a.k.a. A Me B) makes utterly fantastic music. When not studying at college, she creates songs that touch on the cornerstones of pop, hip-hop, dubstep, dance and electronica. She’s just released a frighteningly accomplished mixtape called Get Me Out This Box, which is available for free on her website. A debut full-length album is set to follow later this year, but before she launches her assault on the world of music, she found time to have a chat over Skype.
“When I was 12, I remember playing a PlayStation 2 game called EJay Clubworld, which was just basically arranging loops. From then on, I really liked making music that way, and that’s how I got into producing.” It’s incredibly refreshing to hear someone so young talk about their love for the creation side of music, rather than just the vocals. Amy is exceptionally assured and confident, but without any hint of arrogance. She’s also remarkably patient too – Skype connectivity issues meant that our conversation was split into three parts. While she laughed off this inconvenience, I was panicking and apologising profusely.
One of the more striking things about Get Me Out This Box is the fluidity of the lyrics. A Me B makes ordinary life and everyday dramas compelling, and this could be as a result of her writing every day. “I write when I’m on a train, or people-watching, or on the college bus even. Sometimes, lyrics just come depending on what mood you’re in.” The title track is a fantastic duel tale, with A Me B concerned about having her music labelled while simultaneously being stuck within a stifling relationship. “I don’t want to be pigeonholed, so it’s showing how I can use my voice both singing and rapping over different beats.”
Music critics are too quick to try and categorise artists, and it seems I’m no different. After asking how she got into making hip-hop, A Me B replied by telling me her music isn’t straight-up hip-hop. After pushing for an answer on how she’d describe the music she makes, I got the response of “urban dance.” It’s probably a better description than any established genre name you’d care to throw at A Me B – the range of influences don’t lend themselves to one particular type of music. Her mixtape even samples both The xx and Ian Brown.
So, just how close is A Me B to mainstream success? Chances are you haven’t heard of her yet, but she’s signed to an indie label (Manchester’s Affinity Records), has a tour coming up and has already supported the hugely successful Tinchy Stryder. “It was amazing!” she exclaims excitedly. “It was at the O2 Academy in Liverpool and two years before, I’d watched Dizzee Rascal there. Then, I was performing on that same stage; it was just mad. When I went on stage, some girls who must have seen me before started singing one of my songs, and that boosted me right up. It’s one of the best gigs I’ve done so far; when I was getting the crowd involved with call and response they were giving it back. It was just great!”
In the last decade, any female UK rappers who have broken through have tended to be from London, but A Me B hails from Wigan in Lancashire. Thus, she sings and raps with a disarming broad northern brogue, which makes you realise how little of this kind of sound you hear in music. Also, the female rappers who have broken through have seemed to fade away all too quickly. Ms. Dynamite, Speech Debelle and Lady Sovereign have all failed to live up to their initial promise. I wondered if A Me B had a theory on why this may be, but my enquiries were met with a defence of the artists in question. “To be fair to Ms. Dynamite, she’s just come back,” she correctly pointed out. “She’s just done a track with Katy B [Lights On] which has done well.” Now that’s solidarity.
Completely self-taught, bright, ambitious and a pleasure to interview, the music industry needs more people like A Me B. She promises her forthcoming album will be “not like a lot of commercial music that’s out there at the moment” and is savvy enough to realise “you’ve got to be a bit different if you want to stand out.” If the album fulfils the promise shown on Get Me Out This Box, we could well be witnessing the making of a star.
Saturday, 9 April 2011
F.A.M.E.
released 21 March 2011 on RCA
If you’d been charged with felony assault resulting in five years’ probation and a course of domestic violence counselling, there’s a good chance you’d find yourself out of a job. At the very least, your career would be likely to suffer. What you wouldn’t expect is that you’d return to your place of work to find some of the biggest and best names in your industry willing to work with you. This is because you aren’t Chris Brown. Yes, despite Brown’s convictions, there are a host of guest stars and collaborators on new album, F.A.M.E. It’s true what they say; there really is no business like showbusiness.
At this point, you may be wondering what this article’s about, and thinking that you came here to read a review of the new Chris Brown record, rather than a character assassination. However, past events are pertinent to F.A.M.E., and that’s apparent from the opening track, Deuces. Deuces is a statement of defiance aimed at a former paramour (widely accepted to be a certain Bajan recording artist) that paints Brown as the innocent victim of the relationship. He sings about how his ex was, “waiting for me to fuck up,” and how “you’ll regret the day when I find another girl,” who “knows just what I mean when I tell her keep it drama-free.” This is genuinely astonishing stuff and how Brown can be so tactless defies belief. Over mid-tempo, insubstantial R&B, guests Tyga and Kevin McCall get in on the act, informing us “thought it was true love, but you know women lie,” and “it finally hit me, like Tina did Ike in the limo.”
When taken out of context in a review, lyrics can often be bent towards the will of the writer, but these are pretty stark in meaning. There’s an uncomfortable feeling of Brown trying to coerce you, to convince you that his actions can be excused, and that he’s not sorry for what he did, only sorry he got caught. You might think he’d want to keep his head down and not mention past transgressions, but clearly that isn’t the case. Since being usurped by Bruno Mars, F.A.M.E. is Brown’s attempt at relaunching himself as a kind of “ladies’ man thug” a la Tupac.
The rest of F.A.M.E. – it stands for “Fans Are My Everything,” or, showing a staggering lack of foresight, “Fighting All My Enemies” – is little better. Worst of all are the sex-fixated slow jams, which display some of the least alluring imagery seen outside of a morgue. On No Bullshit, the noted violent misogynist boasts,“I’m gonna leave it in when we do it” in a heavily auto-tuned voice over a clichéd backing track.
In years gone by when censorship was rife, artists had to be imaginative and euphemistic when making allusions to sex. However, this is clearly now not the case and Brown has taken this as carte blanche to be very literal, removing any semblance of mystery and intrigue. The result is something about as enticing and erotic as a two hour documentary on the history of teapots. The nadir of F.A.M.E. – and perhaps of all recorded music in history – is the charmingly titled, Wet The Bed, featuring well-known campaigner for women’s rights, Ludacris. Brown and Ludacris are extremely confident of their sexual prowess, and this pleasant ditty lets us all know how they intend to please a lady so well, that she will – and let’s not mince our words here – experience multiple orgasms. As Brown coos, “put your legs behind your head, I’m gonna make you wet the bed” (no, seriously, he actually says that), you’ll probably start to feel nauseous. By the time Ludacris’s ridiculous boasts have begun – notably, “they call me the super soaker,” and “you about to get baptised, baby” – there's a good chance you'll be genuinely ill.
There is one genuinely hilarious track on F.A.M.E. though, when cowardly felon Brown teams up with Busta Rhymes and Lil Wayne for Look At Me Now. Over a bed that sounds like The Clangers having a party with too much jelly, Brown attempts to rap. He then becomes fixated on his own penis (“since we talkin’ about my dick, all of you haters say hi to it”) before deciding he’s fed up of hip-hop and grinding to a halt. Then, Busta Rhymes criticises Brown’s flow, tells him he’s not good enough, and shows him how it should be done. It’s an odd situation, where an artist not exactly short of bravado is put down so comprehensively in his own record. When this happens, you might like to do what I do, and let out a barely audible, but still significant, cheer.
The music itself is depressingly by-numbers R&B with few (read: no) redeeming features. Justin Bieber crops up on one track (nice decision by your management there, Bieber), making the listener lose the will to live. Even the almost-listenable tracks (Up 2 You, Yeah 3x) have all been done before, and done a lot better too. By the time this album finishes, sticking knitting needles through your eardrums seems like a decent proposition.
F.A.M.E. is a vile, despicable album that doesn’t deserve to be supported in any way, shape or form. Its very existence is a frightening indictment of our times, in terms of our attitudes to music, women and the cult of celebrity. If, in 2011, you’re wondering why feminism still exists, this record could go some way towards explaining why it’s still necessary. Please, please do not buy this album. If you do, you are likely to hear a loud creaking sound; that will be either your family opening the door and leaving the room, or Emmeline Pankhurst turning in her grave.
We're New Here
released 21 February 2011 on XL
Before having heard it, I was glad Gil Scott-Heron’s 2010 album, I’m New Here, existed. It’s a compelling story: 1970s counter-cultural icon overcomes personal strife to return, older and much wiser, and make a modern and exciting record. Verdict: anticipation matched by result. Hooray.
Similarly, before having heard We’re New Here, Scott-Heron’s “collaboration” of sorts with Jamie Smith of London upstarts The xx, I was glad it existed too. Again, another great story: stellar comeback album remixed by one of the rising stars of UK music in an intriguing marriage of opposites. Verdict: well, it’s good, but it’s no I’m New Here.
Smith’s certainly had an interesting idea with this album. Scott-Heron’s not been involved with the musical side of things, Smith taking his vocal tracks from I’m New Here and creating something entirely new and different. Whereas Scott-Heron primarily trades in gritty, grizzled soul, Smith is a dance producer, and Scott-Heron’s voice gives Smith’s creations a certain gravitas.
Despite Smith’s tender years, he’s clearly heavily influenced by the early 90s UK dance scene he’s barely old enough to remember. Running utilises old-school hip-hop beats and The Crutch sounds like something from the early days of trance or breakbeat. This, plus the numerous interludes and snatches of spoken-word performance from Scott-Heron, give We’re New Here the feeling of a mixtape or DJ set, rather than a traditional album.
If you’re thinking it’s a touch on the bizarre side to make a Gil Scott-Heron dance record, you’re right, it is, and occasionally the limitations of the concept are exposed. Smith is working within fairly fixed parameters, and on some tracks, Home and Ur Soul And Mine are notable examples, the approach falls flat. On these songs, Scott-Heron’s vocals add nothing and it’s surely only to keep consistency that they’re included at all.
But when Smith gets it right, it really works and – potentially controversial statement alert – some tracks are superior to the songs they’re based on. My Cloud has become a lurching, druggy, blissed-out reverie with Scott-Heron as some kind of hippie sage. NY Is Killing Me (yes, the “modernising” of track names is totally unnecessary) is probably the heaviest and most unrecognisable song on show, with its siren-like riff, techno bleeps and unremitting jungle beats – it’s completely immersive and cathartic, though. Even the interludes have been reworked, with background chatter, skittering percussion and jazz chords.
No review of We’re New Here would be complete, however, without a few words about the album’s best track; one that is equal parts gorgeous, heartfelt and addictive. I’ll Take Care Of You was arguably the highlight of I’m New Here and Smith’s reimagining, I’ll Take Care Of U, is irresistible. Smith takes the piano chords of the original and, by adding an earworm of a melody, turns it into something that sounds like the very best of Chicago house. I don’t usually recommend listening to individual album tracks out of context, but since this isn’t a normal record, an exception can be made. If you only download and/or listen to one track from We’re New Here, make it this one.
While it may not attain the dizzy heights of I’m New Here, Smith’s deftness ensures that We’re New Here is far more than just a vanity project. On occasion, he’s penned in by his own restrictions, but there’s enough here to suggest he’s got a real future in production. Who’d have thought it? A member of Britain’s best new band of the last couple of years is also potentially the best remixer and producer too. Not fair, is it?
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