MidiMidis and Delays @ The Relentless Garage, 6.10.10

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MiAxiGZKpGQ&fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b] Remember this tune? For anyone who grew up in the 90s, hearing the familiar, bleepy "doo doo dooos" can instantly transport you back to the days of playing Nintendo, watching Saturday morning cartoons, and swilling hefty portions of sugary, crack-like Kool-Aid through crazy straws.

For up-and-coming act, MidiMidis, mixing nostalgia with crazy electro rock is their name of the game. Their music is entirely composed of 8-bit and midi melodies. Imagine a British version of Julian Casablancas stroking himself with a Duck Hunt gun while watching "Tron", and you'll have some sense of what MidiMidis sound like. Or, y'know, you can just listen on their Myspace page.

The band were opening for Delays at the intimate Relentless Garage in London. An odd combination of bands, but they seemed ready to take on the challenge by performing with raw enthusiasm and fervor.

But despite giving an energetic performance, complete with brilliantly garish stage lights, the crowd was only mildly receptive. Perhaps they'd be more suited to opening for a band like Klaxons or Late of the Pier, rather than Delays.

Although, oddly enough, their performance seemed to have a Viagra-like effect on an older couple standing next to me, inspiring the man to gratuitously squeeze the bottom of his partner while she listened on to the bleepy, shouty spectacle going on in front of her.

Bottom line? MidiMidis are the perfect soundtrack for either your next crazy electro-rock warehouse party, or for people in their 'frisky fifties.'

Delays: Still Rockin' After All These Years

Six years is a long time to wait to see one of your favorite bands in concert again. The last time I saw Delays, I was just starting my first semester at USF. So naive, so innocent (but still with a kick-ass taste in music).

They've released three albums since then, including the recently released "Star Tiger Star Ariel." And judging by the crowd at the Relentless Garage, they've managed to maintain a strong fan base of hardcore followers.

The venue was packed with their most dedicated fans; the fans that can sing along to every single word whilst fist-pumping and pogoing up and down to every song.

Musically, they've come a long way since releasing "Faded Seaside Glamour," but they've retained the same freshness and exuberance in their live performance. And, somehow, they don't seem to have aged at all in the last six years. I'd like to know their secret!

Perhaps it's the same source of magic that gives lead singer Greg Gilbert his androgynously siren-like vocals, as he wails along to the lush, ethereal melodies and beats of the rest of the band.

Like the veelas had the power to hypnotize unsuspecting men in "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" with their song, Greg managed to get even the toughest-looking men in the venue to jump around like hooligans at a football match.

The band played a good mixture of songs from all of their albums, including "Long Time Coming", "Cavalry", and "Valentine." As the songs continued, hands shot up into the air like some type of religious spectacle at one of those weird churches in a tent, where people speak in tongues and pass out from the power of Christ.

Luckily, no one passed out here. The band expertly knew how to command the stage and get the audience going. It's obvious that Delays are a band that have been doing this for awhile, without the awkward or nervous onstage moments. Greg, Aaron, Colin, and Rowly all play with a noticeable confident attitude, somehow managing to simultaneously engage the crowd and blow them away at the same time.

And the crowd wouldn't let them get away without an encore, enticing the band to come back onstage by clapping in time and continuing the melodic "Oooohs" that Greg left off with.

Bottom line? Like Super Mario Bros, Delays are still just as amazing (if not better) after all these years!

The Futureheads: Live at Pure Groove Records in London

"Ok, this next song is going to sound very Russian, and when we start it will become very clear why," explains Barry Hyde, with the same mischievous grin as The Grinch when he's slinking around Whoville, stealing all of the Christmas decorations. The lead singer of The Futureheads has successfully captured the attention of the crowd packed into the tiny Pure Groove Records shop and cafe. It's a quiet Thursday afternoon in London, and a mixture of students and young, suited professionals on their lunch breaks are gathered to catch a rare, free acoustic performance of the normally raucous Sunderland-based indie rock quartet.

As the group launches into "Struck Dumb" from their newest album, The Chaos, which was released in the UK on April 26th, the Russian reference becomes very clear indeed. Without the aid of electric guitars, band members Ross Millard and David 'Jaff' Craig harmonise "ra da-da!" sounds--making sure to heavily roll the R's--and occasionally display Russian-inspired dance moves, alternately squatting and popping back up with flailing leg kicks and arm thrusts. The only thing missing from the scene is black, furry hats and shiny, red voluminous trousers.

Hyde joins in by singing, "Misery, is a little line, of a little dash, it's a subtraction sign." Meanwhile, drummer Dave Hyde sits off to the side, providing a rhythmic beat without the aid of a drum kit.

With influences ranging from new wave and post-punk greats like Fugazi, XTC, Devo, and Gang Of Four, The Futureheads normally perform upbeat-yet-aggressive sets that often result in moshing, crowd-surfing, and pogo dancing. But despite not having the usual array of electric instruments, amplifiers, smoke machines, and brilliantly-coloured stage lights, their performance doesn't feel any less exciting.

The Chaos Here, the excitement comes from admiring the power of their voices and poetic lyrics, like "Every time I listen to my heart/It's like a cartwheel in my head but my legs are made of lead" from "Heartbeat Song." This is The Futureheads stripped down to their rawest elements.

And, today, those elements consist of one part concert, one part variety show--the band members seem to be in a jovial mood, joking around with each other and encouraging crowd interaction. It's not every day that a band turns one of their songs ("Hounds Of Love", from 2004's self-titled debut album, in this case) into an audience participation game. Millard's side of the crowd has been instructed to sing the "OH oh-oh"s, while Craig's side of the crowd has the dueling "oh-OH!" melody.

It's here where it becomes clear that this isn't your ordinary British indie rock band, with generic melodies and a pretentious attitude--the band's vocals alone intertwine in perfect harmony, almost like a throwback to a-Capella barbershop quartets from the turn of the 20th century.

Although the audience members may not possess the same level of vocal talent as the band, hearing the entire shop singing along to "Hounds Of Love" is a testament to the band's showmanship. Moments like this make you remember why you bother going to shows in the first place. It's easy to sit back and listen to an album on the bus, while working, or at a club, but without the smoke and mirrors of studio productions, some bands just can't cut it live.

But whether they're playing an intimate acoustic set, or performing at Europe's largest festivals, The Futureheads have consistently proven that they can do more than cut it live--especially with the occasional, impromptu kalinka dance moves.

CeU: Brazilian Flavor in London

Although I love many different genres of music, I have a tendency to go to concerts that are more on the indie/rock/punk side of the music spectrum. A Brazilian friend of mine, who was visiting family members in London, had an extra ticket to see a Brazilian singer-songwriter known as CeU. He invited me to go with them, so I took him up on his offer.

I don't have a wide knowledge of Brazilian music, but I've always enjoyed what I've heard. When I was working full-time, I used to listen to the Brazilian station on Pandora.

The soothing, yet upbeat, bossanova-inspired tunes had the nearly-magical ability to keep stress levels to a minimum.

Not having heard CeU before, I had no expectations on what the concert would be like. All I knew was that she was a female musician, and that she's fairly famous in Brazil.

CeU Is Pronounced "Cow"

Reading her name, I assumed that it was pronounced as "Soo." At the concert, I learned otherwise.

I also learned that she's an incredibly talented singer. Her voice has a warm quality to it, a tone similar to listening to an album on vinyl, versus a scratchy mp3 copy.

Her stage presence is confident, and she exudes a natural cool cat quality, shimmying sinuously to the seductive music.

Most of her songs are in Portuguese, the national language of Brazil. However, she did perform a song in English. It was a cover of the 1950s song, "Takes Two To Tango."

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7LuTZ5rNhDQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00&border=1]

This video was not from the London show, but you get the gist.

I'm happy that I ended up going to this concert, as it turned out to be a great show! It seemed as if half the Brazilian population of London was in attendance, so there was a distinct Brazilian flair to ULU, the venue of choice.

I may not understand Portuguese, but the music was enjoyable nonetheless. Not only that, but it was refreshing to see a female artist command a crowd with such confidence.

To listen to more of this 'tropilectro' artist, check out her website.

Yeah Yeah Yeah La La La

Wednesday, aka 'hump day': so close to the weekend that you can almost taste it, but far enough away that you still have to find something to help you jump over the hurdle. This week, that special something was a Calvin Harris gig at HMV Forum. Luis and I fought the throngs of commuters heading home after a long day of working in the city, making it to the venue just in time to find out that the show was sold out. Damn. Luckily, there were super scalpers (the most honorable members of society, dontchaknow) to the rescue!

First scalper: 35 pounds a pop (you can do better). And giving up was not an option for us--let us trudge forward, my comrade! Together we will achieve greatness! Victory will be ours!

After a nourishing pre-gig meal of kebab and chips, we approached a second scalper and haggled the price down to 25. Still steep, but it was either that or go home. Funnily enough, the reason the show was sold out in the first place was probably, in part, because of scalpers. Scumbags. Nevertheless, we were ready to enjoy the gig.

Pulsating lights, spanning across the color spectrum--beams of acrid greens, vibrant fuchsias, brilliant whites, twinkling like the aftermath of a star explosion--like a form of extraterrestrial communication with the electronic-twinged music. Center-stage: an enormous backdrop of our fearless leader's head, as if he was the totalitarian leader, and we were his dutiful citizens.

Clap your hands? Each person clapped more vigorously than the next. Jump? We were spring-loaded, punching our fists in the air. Dance? We shimmied to the groove, unrestricted, insecurities magically disappearing: dancing for a common cause.

At once, feeling completely in your own world, but also making up a small portion of a sweaty, pulsating mass cross-section of society. Teenagers testing their rebellious sides, by sneaking sips of cider. Cougars, dressed in clothing that would have been more acceptable in the 80s, clutching at straws to hold onto their youth, hoping the lighting was favorable enough to catch the eye of a guy 20 years younger. Drunken guys, slurring along to the song they heard on a Coke advert ("Wicked choon, innit?!"). Flimsy plastic cups of beer sacrificing their lives for the cause, splattering tragically on cheap, generic shoes (thank God they only cost 1.50).

Then, the pivotal moment: the first few familiar, synthesized notes of my favorite song by Calvin Harris, 'The Girls.' "I like those mixed race girls" (hey, that's me!) Pure, shallow fun, with no room for pretension. Anyone not dancing and singing along would have to fight off a neon-clad mob of his most dutiful citizens.

When it's all over, we beg for more. A few teasing minutes of nothingness, and then our vigilance is rewarded with two more songs. In the end, we emerge from the battlefield sweaty, fatigued, and slightly deaf, but still buzzing from the adrenaline rush (or did they put something in the kebabs?).

Time to catch the tube home, ears ringing, legs more tired than after an intense Batuka session, but with a surge of endorphins flowing through my body.

Rather smugly, I smiled to myself for having just experienced the most glorious, natural high that is uniquely intrinsic with going to a gig--a feeling that no amount of pill-popping or powder-snorting fools could ever hope to mimic.Ready For The Weekend? Yes!