Liz Green
this review of a Simple Folk Radio session appeared in The Observer, August 12th 2007

Asking Liz Green to talk about her music makes her writhe and twitch, like a butterfly caught on a pin. The 24-year-old chanteuse is at the Pelirocco, a 'rock'n'roll boutique' hotel tucked into one of Brighton's shabbily elegant seafront squares, where later she will play an intimate gig in the shadowy front room-cum-bar. She's unassuming, pale-faced and improbably shy, except when it comes to singing. Accompanied by a gently plucked guitar, her voice has a timeless quality, in turn mournful and comforting, crystal-clear and gutsy. Her delicate songs are a perfect knot of grassroots jazz, muddy blues and homespun folk, and recall the kiss of a needle on a brittle 78.

Her voice is as unlikely as it is mesmerising, since Green grew up in the small seaside town of West Kirby on the Wirral. At home, her dad played the Beatles and Motown but her musical tastes veered towards artists of a certain vintage: the likes of Son House, Edith Piaf and Bessie Smith.

Green is comically vague about her early years. She does reveal, though, that in the past three years she's only written nine songs, and that her first gig was a couple of years ago at the Fuel bar in the Manchester suburb of Withington.

'I can't remember anything, I have to write it down,' she confesses, clutching a tawny hardback notebook, its creamy pages lined with stacks of spidery words. 'I can't remember my own words, can't remember the chords. If you write the words out over and over again they finally stick.'

Green studied English at university but dropped out. 'I was never any good at turning up ... or doing any work, which is essential for passing the course,' she says, drily. But it explains the tart couplets and vivid, narrative twists of her songs. 'They're just stories in my head, apart from "Louis", which is about a man from Brazil who's been to every funeral in his home village for 20 years. I found that in the Metro newspaper!'

For now, Green works as a teaching assistant in a Manchester comprehensive, but things are gathering pace. She played Glastonbury's Pyramid Stage after winning the festival's Emerging Talent competition, and 'Bad Medicine', her infectiously bittersweet first single, is released on Manchester indie Humble Soul this month. Green is impatient to lay down her album ('I've calculated that it will be a substantial 29 minutes long, so it will be a short read in fiction terms'), but confesses that the prospect of being a famous singer makes her want to 'do a JD Salinger and disappear'. And therein lies the rub: you sense that once the world gets wind of her elegant, spooky songs there will be nowhere for Green to hide.
written by Sarah Boden


Stanley Brinks (formally Andre Herman Dune)
this review of a Simple Folk Radio session appeared on brightonculture.co.uk, September 2007.

Stanley Brinks is the moniker of Herman Dune band member Andre, who no longer plays live with that band, despite writing and recording albums with them. He prefers to play simple live shows as Stanley Brinks, and tonight was one such show. This was an invite only gig held in Brighton and hosted by Dillon from Simple Folk Radio, which is broadcast on local radio station Radio Reverb. Each couple of weeks Dillon invites some friends and people involved in the local scene along to watch 2 full length sets which are recorded and then edited for broadcast on the show. Support tonight came from the superb local artist Birdengine.

Amongst those invited this evening was Everett True, creator of Plan B magazine and one time friend of Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love (legend has it he introduced the two of them). He left before the first band came on for some reason, and sadly missed a great night. In an interview with Herman Dune, conducted by Everett True himself (in his living room no less) for Plan B magazine, the band explain how Andre still currently is involved with the band, but has no interest in performing live with them, as he prefers a stripped down sound and they like playing as a full band. Apparently he is now more at home playing for people in Berlin squats. Excellent!

Andre's music combines a lo-fi sound with humorous and intelligent lyrics that cover a range of topics including Germans, a lack of confidence with a girl and trees in the garden. One track, simply called Stanley Brinks, seems to be autobiographical, describing his time at university, playing in a band and then going solo. If you like artists such as Iron and Wine and Mark Eitzel (American Music Club) and then this is for you. If you like Herman Dune, don't expect more of the same. He plays with only his guitar and the musical arrangements are sparse. Most of the musical content comes from the tunes he sings, and the guitar need not be there at all. Very few artists have this ability and his voice is strong and soothing so this in no way is a bad thing. Indeed, its the lyrics where the real meat of the performance lies, they are often very poignant and amusing, lots of laughs filled the room this evening. In fact, tonight felt less like a gig and more like a poetry reading albeit a sung one.

As an individual Andre seems very headstrong and determined (he's French), he's not the sort of guy you would want to argue with. When he asks for a few requests (apparently as a joke) he answers one request for (presumably) a Herman Dune song with a 'no f***ing way', it seems he wants to make it quite clear he's a solo artist now (and apparently he forget all those songs anyway). He does however treat us to a requested cover of Small Town Boy by Jimmy Sommerville rather bizarrely. Smoking a cigarette to illustrate one track was also on the cards, either in defiance of our new laws or because he didn't realise.

If you find Stanley Brinks passing through a cafe or venue in your town pop down, but make sure you get a seat.'
written by Mark Kirby


Birdengine
this review of a Simple Folk Radio session appeared on brightonculture.co.uk September 2007.

Birdengine is the performing name used by Lawry Joseph Tilbury a local Brighton artist originally from Dorset. I first became aware of this man when I originally moved to Brighton 3 years ago and saw someone who looked remarkably like Beck, everywhere I went. I think it was mainly the glasses that lead me to this comparison, that and the fact he had the same face. It wasn't until tonight that I discovered that this man was not in fact Beck at all, but Birdengine.

Birdengine removes his glasses to play live, so no one else saw the resemblance tonight and we were able to focus purely on the music. This is a good thing, as his music is quite wonderfully weird and unique. Although on record the instrumentation can be varied, tonight Birdengine simply played a guitar and sang. This was good as we could concentrate on his biggest asset, his extraordinary voice. The only other artist I can think of who might give an idea of how unusual it is is Antony, of Antony and the Johnsons. His voice is not like Antonys, just as different to the norm as Antony's is. Rather than describe it, I will urge you to watch the videos that follow and listen for yourself.

Like the act who followed, Stanley Brinks, Birdengines lyrics are humorous and are a key element of tonights performance. They summon up witchy supernatural thoughts as he sings about dying mermaids, a man who has 'hoof where toe should be' (the absensce of plurals in that line were the highlight of my day), and chopping heads off dogs. The mid song banter is also rather unusual, at one point he comments on the tiny man living inside his arm, when asked what he's doing there, Birdengine replys 'just trying to live his life, like the rest of us', poignant and imaginative, a fine combination.

Needless to say, I shall be looking out for this man again, it turns out he's just as much of a celebrity as his doppelganger Beck himself, well, should be at least'
written by Mark Kirby


Matt Bauer
this review of a Simple Folk Radio session appeared on brightonculture.co.uk, April 2008.

Who is Matt Bauer?
Matt Bauer is a Brooklynite from Kentucky by way of San Fransisco. He's an Americana singer-songwriter in the same sort of vein as Iron and Wine and Calexico. Jolie Holland, one of the founding members of the lovely Be Good Tanya's, is a friend and guests on his new EP 'Wasps and White Roses'.
What was the set up tonight?

Normally Matt plays with some other musicians - which would have been nice - but he's still great when performing solo as he was tonight; all he had with him was a banjo and a guitar. Occasionally tapping his foot, but nothing close to percussion.

What was the performance like?
Playing to a select group of people in a small bar in Brighton, Matt Bauer seemed in his element. He certainly looked the part, with a big beard (essential if you want to be taken seriously as a folk contender these days) and a shaven head, making him resemble a certain rock star of heavier persuasions. This was certainly not the case however, as much of Matt's music is very slight, with whispered vocals and simple but effective melodies played out on banjo or guitar.

Matt's music is gorgeous, and evocative of a mystical dusty Mid-America, especially the gorgeous and moving Western States - a tale of travelling on the train tracks (which incidentally catch fire later in the song) and on buses to visit a lost love, passing North Ohio and Rocky Junction Beach. Whilst Matt's breathy vocals meant I couldn't quite catch all the lyrics, they certainly set me in the right mood, and the sound of the vocals alone conjured all kinds of dusty and deserty images in my head. Another highlight was a cover of a song a friend of his wrote which includes the refrain "never gonna come down"; it was certainly as catchy as he described it.

Matt seemed a very likeable and friendly chap; he chatted to us for a bit about a time he got stuck on a train whilst another caught fire (this after he wrote the aforementioned song about a similar incident). He said he'd only been in Brighton a couple of hours, but liked it - he'd had some nice soup - and had heard about our wonderful Booth Museum and its stuffed animals. I only heard about that for the first time a couple of weeks ago and I've been here for 3 years!

A superb night of beautiful music. My biggest regret was not buying a CD. Not sure what happened there, but if you're reading this Matt, I'll be in Brooklyn all next week so send me a mail (mark [dot] kirby [at] gmail [dot] com) and I'll come and pick one up from you!
written by Mark Kirby


James Yorkston
this review of a Guilded Palace Of Sin night, which was aired by Simple Folk Radio, appeared on clickmusic.com December 2007.

James Yorkston is a lone Athlete tonight, and there is an unassuming loneliness about the opening of his set. No introduction, just straight in with that distinctive voice - mellifluous but commanding - and intricate guitar. There is a compulsive quietness about him, an intangible sadness, and he brings a dignified pathos to each of the 22 songs he plays in this two hour set.

Without the mood-setting instruments of his Athletes, Yorkston has to work harder to bring his imagined worlds to life, but luckily his storytelling skills are as superb as his musicianship - a talent best revealed in the tragic tale of Leith lovers in 'Thar She Blows'. Intuitive shifts in tempo, tone and texture create atmospheres romantic or foreboding, whimsical or dark.

His voice is not always perfect – he has a cold – and occasional blue notes pass as out of tune accidentals without the guidance of the full band to back up key changes. Some tracks would benefit from the guitar picking out key melodies originally played by other instruments, but generally these solo songs are enhanced by sparser, understated renditions. A slower 'St Patrick' becomes more whimsical, while the angrier 'Banjo #1' gets added punch from spat-out alliterative lyrics.

The audience hangs on his every word as he ploughs through his entire back catalogue. The aggressive guitar on 'Shipwreckers' conveys the tale's turbulent emotions; something really rings true in the performance that makes the hair stand on end. It's followed by the equally heartfelt 'Surf Song', with a welcome injection of crisp, purposeful harmonica. The pace picks up for 'Steady As She Goes', which has a fun, jaunty feel enhanced by Yorkston's reaction when he forgets the words at the end. A haunting gypsy Christmas carol shows another side of Yorkston's style, as he twists moody, modal riffs over a pulsing bass note and mysterious vocals.

After the tenth song, he starts taking requests. It's great to hear obscurer tracks that a conventional set list may have left out, like spine-tingling wartime heartbreaker 'Higher Germany' and wry spoken word piece 'Woozy With Cider', featuring support act Adrian Crowley. After every track, a gentle smile plays on his lips as if he is amused to find himself the subject of rapturous gazes and applause.

The best word for him is genuine. There is a compelling honesty in his detailed first person narratives, compounded by profound depth of feeling. Caressing strings and sucking harmonicas - Yorkston was born to play these tunes. He rocks on his feet with the breath of the music, his head sways, and his eyes barely open throughout the two hour marathon.

The surprise of the night is how funny he is, often stopping mid-song to recount a discursive anecdote – the 'lazy dog' reference in old favourite '6.30 Is Just Too Early', for instance, prompts him to tell the life story of the pet in question. These stories – how nothing happened on the journey here, how scarves keep you warm - are so charmingly banal, so un-rock-n-roll, that even he laughs. Few musicians could interrupt their own songs with illusion-breaking anecdotes and then immediately recover the magic again; but Yorkston is both musician and magician, with an entire audience under his spell.

The 22nd and final song is 'Moving Up Country', the hit that brought him to public attention almost seven years ago. "Being the good Catholic boy I am, I couldn't send people home disappointed", he says, and he certainly doesn't. James Yorkston is a sublime performer who has perfected his craft, taking the acoustic folk solo genre back to its storytelling roots and telling a few stories of his own along the way. At the end of the extended set, he must have had very tired arms, from two hours of playing while balancing his heart on his sleeve and an entire audience in the palm of his hand.
written by Holly Dawson


The Handsome Family
this review of a Melting Vinyl night, which was aired by Simple Folk Radio, appeared on xyzmagazine.co.uk.

Rennie and Brett are THE HANDSOME FAMILY, an odd couple of medicated kooks from Albuquerque, New Mexico, with an unrivalled onstage chemistry. An extensive back catalogue of gems is whittled down to 14 songs for tonight’s organic performance. Their set is interspersed with the couple’s infamous banter, which couldn’t have been better scripted, and is undeniably borne from nearly two decades of partnership.

Brett is the teacher you wish you had on your side at college, stylish and sarcastic, while Rennie is the sweet hippy chick obsessed by spiders in her purse and wolves sitting in pine trees. “Our gigs are filled with scenarios,” she purrs, and it’s true: they appear from little more than a good-gestured heckle or off-the-cuff observation. Throughout, she looks longingly towards Brett as he sings in his warm baritone, as an audience of voyeurs silently look on.

Their approach to music might be termed "gothic Americana": a fusion of folk, country, bluegrass and an overriding theme of personal tragedy. The duo is accompanied by a multi-instrumentalist who plays a mandolin, various percussive tools and tames a hand saw over his knee, and a drummer. The show ends comfortably with requests honoured and a very content crowd spilling out into the night.

Daniel Knox sang a line earlier: “No one promised paradise”, but, in a strange way, a faithful Brighton audience got very close tonight.
written by Matthew Harfield