Saturday 28 August 2010

Job's Song


Grey skies spread out
And I've lost sight
Of the reason I'm out here
In the dead of the night

So I guess I'll roam 'round
Meditating my birth
Naked I came
And so I shall return

Take your eyes off me
Give me a moment to fall
Just don't say you love me
'Cause I won't comprehend at all


I now know the fine line
Between lost and found
What's the point in finding you
If you're buried deep underground

Let the ashes rain down
Sweep me out in the flood
I am not trailing old roads
Just so they vanish in the mud

Take your eyes off me
Give me a moment to fall
Just don't say you love me
'Cause I won't comprehend at all

Close your eyes and just let me be...


The winds have relented
But you're still severe
There's no use pretending
That I'm not in fear

So set free your fire
Caress me in flames
'Cause I'm sick and tired
Of playing these games

Close your eyes and just let me be...

Tuesday 24 August 2010

Plato's Dream Machine ~ Tal-Qamħa

New local folk-punk band Plato’s Dream Machine, waste no time jumping straight into business on their debut EP Tal-Qamħa. Five seconds into opening track Recession Street, and the listener is greeted with a contemptful “Rise and shine my son you’ve got to work.” Robert Farrugia Flores’ vocals force you to listen to his nihilist narrative of life wasted on mundane work. Bassist Frederick Abdilla, drummer Ryan Abela and flautist Justin Galea shout along, sounding like the street rabble from village festas.

The five songs on this EP ache with themes of angst, disenchantment, and political and social restlessness. Sugar in Your Poison is undeniably the most entertaining track of the bunch. Brian Tonna’s accordion playing here is a joy, and the chorus line is so hooky you can’t help but shout along with it.

But it is Fabbrika fuq l-Għolja which is perhaps the real standout track. Roberta Attard’s violin phrasings swoop and soar, washing beautiful textures over the sordid canvas. Flores also emotes better singing in his native tongue, consequently allowing the sorrow in his lyrics to come across with passionate credibility and authenticity.

PDM have decided not to polish their sound, instead opting to capture their organic-ness on record. The band have also embraced an organic DIY approach to the packaging of this EP, echoing the late spirit of late-'70s punk pioneers in the UK. The simple black cardboard sleeve-case brandishes a sprayed on golden grain of wheat, possibly an allusion to the everyman’s daily prayer; “Ħobżna ta'  kuljum  agħtina llum.”

While far from a perfect release, Tal-Qamħa does continue to reflect a renaissance of sorts in Maltese music. Along with fellow everyman-folksters Brikkuni, PDM are trying to tap into the emotions of social unrest in modern Malta, and that in itself makes this EP more relevant than most other recent local releases.

Standout tracks: Fabbrika Fuq l-Għolja//Sugar In Your Poison

Monday 23 August 2010

Moulettes & Plato's Dream Machine - Madliena Cottage 20/08/2010

{Published in The Times of Malta, 25/08/2010 p.24 }

For the love of folk


Malta has had its fair share of music events catering for the general masses this summer, large scale concerts headlined by big names. However on this warm Friday night at the remote Madliena Cottage, a different kind of musical spectacle is to take place. A crowd of about three hundred people have congregated to enjoy a night of, what can only be loosely termed as, neo-folk. The venue’s garden terrace is decorated with overhead patchwork triangle-flags, and above the small rustic stage a few glowing candle lanterns dangle idly. This may be a low key affair, but it has spirit and geniality.

First to take the stage are new local sextet Plato’s Dream Machine, who have also released their debut EP at this event. The band come across as the illegitimate offspring of New York based gypsy-punk band Gogol Bordello, who have been busily educating themselves in classicalist and nihilist philosophical thought. For most of their set the band’s performance does feel a little restrained, as if they aren’t yet entirely comfortable playing in front of an audience. It takes them a while to fully let go and enjoy themselves, which is a shame because once they do these guys can really get the crowd going, as they demonstrate during final song Recession Street. A few more gigs under their belt, and PDM will definitely come into their own as a must-see live attraction in the local gigging circuit.

British band The Moulettes start off their set with a traditional folk instrumental duet between cellist Hannah Miller and violinist Georgina Leach. Bassoonist Ruth Skipper and guitarist/drummer Oliver Austin join after this bewitching opening number, and as a four-piece they play Recipe for Alchemy. The sultry swooning vocal harmonies of Miller and Skipper are reminiscent of ‘30s female jazz singers, and add a hauntingly beautiful twist to the band’s folk sound. The musicians’ attire is as distinctive as their sound, a sartorial mesh between ‘swashbuckling pirate’ and ‘bohemian Victorian.’

Cannibal Song’s vivacious bassoon riff cheekily undermines its wickedly devilish subject matter, described matter-of-factly by Skipper as being about “unrequited love and eating.” The outro builds with a gradual accelerando, the intensity and chemistry of these four musicians leaves those watching in awe. They follow with Talisman and another instrumental they dub an “Irish jig”, which sees Leach give an incendiary fiddle solo.

Even if this event does feel more like a friendly gathering of folk music aficionados rather than a serious must-get-my-money’s-worth gig, issues with the sound still remain irritating. It becomes increasingly difficult to be wholly immersed in The Moulettes’ vivid musical narratives when jolts of screeching feedback suddenly come out of nowhere.

Also the constant chatting and laughing of some audience members during the band’s more quiet pieces spoils the magic somewhat, and is needless to say disrespectful to the brilliant musicianship on display. The crowd’s babble, on top of the poor on-stage monitoring, makes it difficult for the band members to hear each other at these points and consequently their intricate harmonies suffer. Nevertheless, the band continue with smiles on their faces.

Skipper explains at one point, “Doom is a word heavily associated with this band.” One can’t help but feel this is meant to be more tongue-in-cheek than literal, especially considering the joviality in their performance. In this fashion is Bloodshed in the Woodshed, which sounds just as if a resurrected Edgar Allen Poe were spitting out his most random macabre imaginings whilst bouncing around on a pogo stick with the legions of hell close on his heels. The music switches with the vehemence of lyrics such as “gutted, berotted, noose fairly knotted,” to the deranged sorrow of the chorus line “Oh darling what have you done, you forced my hand to bloodshed down in the woodshed”.

By the final three songs The Moulettes are in the full swing of things with impromptu ululations, bosom shaking and even a Kazoo solo during Going a’ Gathering. They finish to a unanimous chorus of cheers and applause. Despite the minor technical setbacks, the four Brits seem to have genuinely enjoyed themselves and with hope this will not be the last time they play on Maltese soil.

Wednesday 18 August 2010

Akon - Ta' Qali, Malta 14/08/2010

{Published in The Times of Malta, 18/08/2010}

(Akon)verted Crowd

Love him or hate him Akon’s impact on the modern music industry is unquestionable. Since his rise to fame a mere 6 years ago the R&B star has been nominated for six Grammy Awards, he helped kick-start Lady Gaga’s success story and has had the privilege of collaborating with late King of Pop Michael Jackson. Akon’s return to our shores is testament to his pulling power, and judging from the jam-packed crowd gathered at Ta’ Qali, his Maltese fanbase is evidently quite substantial.

The restless vibe of the waiting crowd instantly transforms into frenzy as soon as it is announced that Akon is about to hit the stage. Prior to the live proceedings, a short introductory video is aired, which features Akon playing the role of a diamond dealer who is on the verge of closing a lucrative deal with a shady looking mob boss. Having verified the mobster has the requisite cash to do business, Akon leisurely shows off his sparkling merchandise. However Akon soon realises that the whole scenario is a set up - the mob boss and his posse want to steal the diamonds and keep their money - and so a necessary gang shootout ensues, culminating with Akon’s escape through a glass window.

One can only wonder whether this is meant to be an extended metaphor for Akon’s take on the music industry; given the right amount of money he will deliver the musical goods, if not he’ll tear the place down. Understandably such analysis is not at the forefront of this audience’s mind, and with cameras at the ready they go berserk when Akon’s silhouette appears on stage.

For the first 15 minutes or so of Akon’s performance, the crowd is assaulted with a barrage of fast paced snippets of tracks, including We Takin’ Over and Soul Survivor. After this energised opening, the irresistibly hooky Sorry Blame It on Me serves as a well needed breather. However the party atmosphere is quick to resume with an extended version of Caribbean flavoured Don’t Matter, during which Akon showcases his conga skills. In between the multitude of hit singles the self proclaimed ‘konvict’ repeatedly name-checks Malta, making it clear that those present have his undivided attention. Akon’s ability to keep energy levels at a constant high is truly impressive, especially considering that there are no elaborate stage sets or dance troupes here.

At one point Malta is made to face off against rival clubbing island resort Ibiza in a who-is-the-loudest competition. With the help of Akon’s spirited encouragements, Malta is crowned the ‘liveliest place in the world’ by the star himself. The Maltese crowd exuberantly show their appreciation for this accolade. Clearly Akon knows how to get an audience on his side.

The atmosphere in Ta’ Qali reaches near hysteria when Akon decides to jump off stage and be carried amongst the front row audiences by security guards. The barriers holding the general standing section begin to buckle dangerously with the force of the throbbing crowd collectively pushing forward to touch the celebrity. Akon is almost recklessly relentless in his willingness to indulge his fans. He spends the final 15 minutes of his show stage diving and crowd surfing to hits such as Party Animal and Sexy Chick. It is quite a surreal sight to see Akon being carried messiah-like towards the stage by the crowd, nearby star-struck fans readily and happily wiping his soaked body with their removed garments.

In the aftermath, while the still buzzing crowd trails out trampling empty beer cans and plastic cups underfoot, it does dawn on the more astute audience member that Akon has slightly cheated his performance. For the final third of his 80 minute show Akon sang rather sparsely and was instead mostly a glorified MC bantering over playback tracks, throwing himself into the crowd. It appears that Akon is the diamond dealer of his opening video; his jewels are fame and celebrity. He has dazzled his audience with his celebrity, more so than with his music at this show.

That having been said, it does take considerable showmanship to work a crowd to such an entranced frenzy, and for the time he was on stage even disbelievers would have to admit that the R&B star had all present Akonverted.

Friday 13 August 2010

First Of Our Kind

Wake up
The world is turning
And it's worthwhile knowing
You're the first of your kind

Spoken word is our power
And we'll hold order
Just you and I

And we shall rise
Above the earth and the oceans
Because you and I are the first of our kind


This land shall be our fortune
We'll tear it down to find sparkling stones
And in the ruins
We'll fashion cities and concrete deities
And multiply

Why do you cry?
Don't you think this our purpose?
Because you and I are the first of our kind
So if you don't mind
I'm gonna burn down our garden
Because I think it's time there be more of our kind
You were singing while I toiled with fire and steel
You were dancing while I dug holes underground
You were dreaming while I was scheming
and you were happy with all that you had ...
Wake up
The world is burning
The sky is falling
There's nowhere to hide

Thursday 12 August 2010

Désolé

I got sick of the acting, the effort of imitating an already fake scenario. Then one night I tried to be spontaneous. We got in back home after a rather tiresome leaving do of one her work colleagues. I had been somewhat desolate all evening, sat at my corner of the table in the restaurant, sipping my one glass of wine slowly, listening idly to the babble surrounding me. Every so often honing in on particular pockets of gossip and blather that were garnering interest. I just wasn’t in the mood to drink myself stupid. There was one instance where she turned round to look at me. Her eyes locked with mine, and I felt the coolness of their ice-blue hue flood my mind and awaken me. She smiled an understanding smile that seemed to say, “I know, me neither”, and rubbed her hand gently on mine. I sensed some long forgotten something take flight from the depths of my soul, all the way up my spine trying to reach the surface. Maybe there was more to us than I first thought. I kissed her hand softly and she turned back to the high spirited cackle of her friends. After that though our understanding dissolved slowly slowly with every freshly topped up glass of wine she drank.

By the time we got home she had quietened down again, seemingly in a state of subdued euphoria. I sensed the slight heaviness of her body as she treaded up the stairs, making our way to the bedroom. In silence she undressed, her back towards me while I sat on the bed taking off my shoes. Looking up I took in the warm amber lamplight highlighting the curvature of her back, the shadows accentuating her hips and thighs. I could see the strap markings pressed in her skin as she unfastened her bra. I had seen her body countless times, and yet I had never taken it in. There was a sudden urge within me, a desire to re-capture that tiny instance in the restaurant. For a few fleeting seconds we had understood each other. I had caught a glimpse of how great we could be together. Desperately I pulled her round towards me and stood up. This time we were going to do this however it was meant to be done. I ran my hands through her hair. Smiling lazily, she sat down on the bed. I knelt down in front of her, and pulled her gently towards me to kiss her. I wanted to experience her lips for the first time. I kissed her deeply, with all the passion I could muster, my mind trying to let go and lose itself in a wave of ecstasy, but all I could taste was the synthetic matt paste of her lipstick. She slipped her tongue in my mouth, the dry bitter taste of red wine was still strong in her mouth. Determined to make this work I carried on regardless, stroking her hair, kissing her cheek tasting the powdery make up foundation, I ran my hands down her back, kissing her neck, tasting the sickly alcoholic perfume lingering there. More and more desperate, I clung on to the hope of the real, cupping her breasts, tenderly kissing her shoulders and arms, my nose flooded with the pungent odour of her deodorant. My fingers dug deep in her hips and my eyes welled up with tears and all the forced fervour rapidly receded from the tips of my fingers and the back of my neck back down deep somewhere in my core. Kneeling with my head drooped between her legs, my arms hung loosely, I breathed in deeply, trying to stop my eyes from flooding.

Tuesday 10 August 2010

An Episode on a Hotel Rooftop

{Author's note: I am not responsible for the actions and remarks of the characters in this piece. Nor am I responsible for events leading up to this episode on this particular hotel rooftop. Like you my dear reader, whoever you may be, I am clueless as to what is happening here. If you would happen to possess any information which may be crucial in helping me understand these goings-on, kindly communicate it in the comments section underneath. Kind regards.}

"Sit down," she said abruptly, her voice tinged in suppressed frustration. She took in a deep breath, and the icy wind rushed through her parted lips as if seeking shelter from the night, draining the little colour left in her cheeks. She appeared ice sculpture-esque, if not for the fact that her fingers spasmed every time she tried resisting her instinctive shivers. In an airy whisper she pleaded, "Please?" He saw the resolution in her eyes and reluctantly sat down, legs dangling over the hotel building. Looking down he saw the vertical lane of protruding hotel room balconies, warm yellow light pouring out of some. Each of these temporary abodes enclosed a medley of lives. A few individuals with heads settled on pillows knowingly or unknowingly explored the realm of the sub-conscious, while others feasted on decadent cocktails and vintage wines, the best the hotel had to offer. Elsewhere, razor blades were at the ready near small snowy heaps, and discarded designer fashion label lingerie lay at the foot of king-sized beds where pay-per-hour prostitutes were attending to wealthy senior businessmen, helping them relieve the stress of their inherited corporate empires.

Sitting on top of this microcosmic monument of human life, he took it all in. The suit he was wearing felt restricting. He impulsively pulled his shirt out of his trousers, and unbuttoned it at the top. Not much better, but better nonetheless.

She gazed at him momentarily, understanding what he was going through, yet simultaneously conscious that her time was almost up; soon dawn would come. She needed to get this done with now, there was no 'then' anymore. She took off her high heels, lifted the hem of her gown in order to bend her knees, and cautiously sat next to him. Her toes curled with the exhilaration of dangling her feet over such an abysmal drop. She had to catch her breath. She could feel that irrational voice inside enticing her to fulfil curiosity and experience the fall. Not tonight though, maybe there will be some other time, in another lifetime perhaps.

"Look, about tonight," she began deliberately, "it is important that you know I was only trying to help."

"Some help you've been," he retorted.

She knew he was angry with her but was still taken aback by the harshness in his voice. "That's unfair. You were the one who begged and begged me to show you what I knew. I warned you, once I showed you there was no turning back. You can't unknow knowledge like that."

"But you cheated me. You made me believe it was something real, something ..," he struggled to find the words for what he now understood and knew.

"Well it is real," she cut in quickly, seeing him stuck. Time was ticking. "Just maybe not what you would've normally defined as real," she let that seep in. "Listen, you also need to know this. I had explained to you that I was instructed to share my knowledge with one person, only one person, a person the Others and myself agreed upon, someone we believed would be ready." She really wished she could get away with not mentioning the next part, but that would just make his situation worse. "This is extremely hard for me to explain to you, but it is vital that you know."

"Know what?"

"Well that ... that you were not the intended one. The Others haven't got a clue that I ignored all prior deliberation and agreements."

"What?" he was aghast. The burden he would now have to endure the duration of his life could have been prevented if not for a sudden whim? "Then why the hell did you choose me? Christ, I know I begged, but if you are who you say you are, then surely you would have known I was not ready for this. I can't deal with this."

"It was something you said to me that made me change my mind." This, she was hoping, would convince him that her decision hadn't been mindless. "Remember that first night we met at The Apache? We went out for a cigarette and talked about that girl from your office, the one who hung herself because of the way this city is changing, the way people are being treated. You had no sympathy for her, you were angry with what she had done.” She realised he was beginning to comprehend where she was going with this; she continued determinedly, “I asked you how do you know you wouldn’t bail on life if it gave you a wrong hand. You answered ...”

“... I just do,” he finished her sentence off for her. He had said that. He had been so convinced at the time; a mere 5 months ago. How life had changed since then.

“I’m sorry,” she picked up, and followed with a hollow laugh, “I am gonna be in so much trouble when the Others find out. You have no idea.” She would probably be excommunicated, in exile for the rest of her ... well not life, existence? “Somehow I think this is going to work out, you are going to figure this out.” She put her hand on top of his and squeezed it gently, he felt calm. For a while they sat looking out over the city, letting the city lights and sounds take over their minds. Even at this hour cabs were still pulling up to the hotel entrance, the concierge busy welcoming guests and calling porters to take care of any luggage. The odd wave of music would come floating by; the murky bass of nearby underground electronica clubs, improvised jazz phrasings from nocturnal city buskers, and the smutty chanting of intoxicated youths, all merged with car horns and police sirens.

A lustful red gleam could now be seen dead ahead, its molten fringe softly drinking up the dark velvet in the sky. “Lana shall we go back down now?” his eyes were still locked on the metamorphosing skyline. She didn’t answer. “Lana?” But there was no one there. She was gone and he knew intuitively that he would never see her again. He was now in this alone. He took a final glance down the side of the hotel – tempting - got up and walked across the rooftop to the fire exit he had forced open earlier, pulling the door shut behind him.

Friday 6 August 2010

Sweets: putting psychosis to pseudo paper

dreaming, dreaming, extended hands reaching out from underneath carpets, from sideboards and from behind picture paintings on the wall ... whetted nails try to claw flesh, extricate crimson blood, to trickle down flesh onto nail, shining jewels, strawberry fountains flood floors, deliciously inviting.

let go and float down streams of maroon fluid, through the door, down the stairs, swept past waving neighbours calling hazily after you, out onto the street where liquids are not welcome, down the gutter they go, smaller and tinier you get, through the rusty bars to neverwhere.

splash, water sprays upwards, heaved upwards through the hole of the drop, rich colours await; sparkling blues, emerald greens, opal oranges, stripy watermelons and fuzzy coconuts. exotic aromas and worldly essences fill your nostrils, and on and on you float dazzled by your sumptuous surroundings, tummy grumble, it all looks so scrumptious you could eat, bite the marshmallowy ceiling, the candy floss lanes, reach for clouds, touch and pull, sticky sweet vines swiftly creep over your hands, over your arms, across your chest, let go, let go, let go, softly consumed by synthetic ingredients and deeper and deeper you go.

dark now, blinded now, trapped in cotton walled prison, no room to move, no room to breathe, push frantically, quick quick, air will not enter those lungs, colour fills your eyes, jolts of red, bursting violets, gasp gasp.

Thursday 5 August 2010

Winter Moods - The Granaries, Floriana, Malta 30/07/2010

{Published in The Times of Malta, 04/08/2010 p. 25}

An Emotionally Charged Show

The granaries in Floriana provide a fitting setting for this special night in Maltese music. The crowd shuffles in whilst new local band Cruz hit the stage. Cruz earned their place as opening act after winning a competition set by Winter Moods themselves in collaboration with radio station 89.7 Bay. The band’s blend of post-grunge and funk-rock warms the crowd up nicely. Finishing off with their winning song Red Tape, Cruz exit the stage, while the crowd waits expectantly for the men of the hour.

Shortly after 9p.m., the big screen on stage is filled with a Maltese cross against a red backdrop. Winter Moods enter the stage one by one to the sound of crackling radio frequencies and synth soundscapes provided by keyboardist Etienne Robinich. Each band member gradually feeds into the instrumental intro of Sun Won’t Shine, opening track from their latest album release Argento; guitarist Melvin Caruana injects sonorous guitar feedback into the mix, whilst bassist Joseph Rizzo and new drummer Karl Fenech form the steady rhythmic backbone.

Frontman Ivan Grech is last to come on stage, waving and showing his gratitude to the impressive 9,000 strong turnout. He is wearing a black shirt that bears the new Winter Moods logo on his right arm, and the Maltese cross on his left. Ivan is immediately on fine form, hitting big notes with his cool raspy timbre which has been a defining element of the Winter Moods sound over these last 25 years. When Ivan sings chorus line “The sun won’t shine without you”, the crowd is bathed in celestial white floodlights amongst rapturous applause and cheering. The band dive straight into second song Walk On By, after which Grech declares “Here we are, one big happy family,” while pointing to the entire audience. Clearly the band feels this is as much the crowd’s night as it is their own, a fact they are keen to emphasise throughout this emotionally charged show.

Evidently Winter Moods and the whole crew behind them have gone through great lengths to pull out all the stops and ensure the audience is treated to a show on par with international standards. Nine songs in and the Animae Gospel choir are welcomed on stage for two numbers. Crowd favourite Everyday Song is especially stunning with the supplemental gospel harmonies. Soon after, the band leave the stage and shortly reappear walking down an aisle from the back of the crowd up onto a small stage in the middle of the venue - a feat which must have required impeccable logistical organisation. Here they deliver a few acoustic numbers, including a bluesy rendition of Water and a poignant piano led cover of Maltese classic Xemx, originally recorded in the ‘70s by late Gozitan Dominic Grech and his band The Tramps, which gets most of the crowd singing heartily along. Another brief interlude and the band are back on the mainstage.

Surprisingly, fan favourites such as Jamaica and Lonely Vegas were left out to make way for the new and as yet, less familiar material from the Argento album. The band’s pièce de résistance Marigold is greeted with a flurry of sparklers in the front rows. Smiles all around, the ecstatic crowd sing their hearts out to this song which has already earned its place as one of the most popular Maltese songs ever, despite it only being a few years old. By the end of their two and a half hour set, Winter Moods have boldly proven that local music can be taken to new heights with just enough hard work and dedication ... and of course with the help of a Maltese public that holds you dearly in its heart.