Webcuts Music

Never in the history of doing these ‘Who The Hell Are… ?’ spotlights has a band come along and answered each question so thoroughly and excitedly that to praise them any further would make it seem like we’re actually in this band or take bribes (we do. email for details). From the same stable of acts (and household one would presume) that brought you the percussive pop concussions of We//Are//Animal and the not-very-French-at-all Masters In France, come spicy indie rock quartet Fennel Seeds. Further proof that North Wales these days is a happening place or one that naught much else happens.

Behind every great album is more often than not, an even greater story waiting to be told. The pursuit for higher understanding of artists and their most influential pieces of work and how the two came to pass has long been the ultimate goal of the ardent music fan who thrives on having every recorded nuance and historical detail mapped out like a combined atlas and encyclopedia of the human body. One of the more indispensible series of music books published that actually does, more or less, what is expected above, has been Continuum’s 33 1/3. With the recent addition of The Rolling Stones Some Girls, Dinosaur Jr‘s You’re Living All Over Me and Television‘s Marquee Moon to their honour roll, 33 1/3 show no sign of scraping the bargain bin anytime soon.

Introducing KIDCITY. Two people, One word, uppercase for menacing effect. But really, aren’t they just too cute for words? Which is apt, seeing as the music that these two Canadian 21-year-olds make is more like haunted voices leaking from an overloaded digital landscape. “Somewhere between Enya and Dr. Dre”, someone said. Sure, why not. It might be simple enough to place them within the geographical radius of another glitchy electronic duo, Crystal Castles, but Kelly Ann’s vocals soothe, rather than antagonise, as the cracked beats and blistered frequencies dial up the intensity. Significantly impressed, we had no choice but to ask ‘Who the hell are… KIDCITY?”

It hasn’t been an amazing year for music, but surely an entertaining one. Lots of new acts jockeying for position amongst the wily veterans, and plenty of debate even as early as June over love ‘em-or hate ‘em titles such as King of Limbs and James Blake’s eponymous debut and where they belong in the year’s final canonization of greats. Honestly, I can’t remember a year in recent memory when I’ve found so many hyped records I’ve disliked or been entirely disinterested in. Cults? Pass. Tyler, The Creator? Garbage. The saviors from musical banality have consistently been experienced groups who know what they’re doing and get praised for their music and not being arrested in LA and starting riots.

There’s not much point in asking where Bleeding Knees Club got their name. It’s the kind of degenerate tag that you’d expect from a couple of Australian garage surf-punks, but for the innocent and curious alike the band spell it out below. If they happen to ask if you want to join their particular club, ladies just say ‘no’. Hailing from Brisbane, where every home has its own swimming pool thanks to last year’s insane floods, Alex and Jordan of Bleeding Knees Club have “won hearts and minds through a reckless live reputation and with a swag of super-catchy tunes on their debut EP Virginity“.

Having lived through the 80′s, witnessed the birth of Wham!, the ascension of Kylie from Neighbours mechanic to pop princess and the rise and fall of the Stock, Aitken and Waterman (s)hit factory, intelligent, well-crafted synth-pop has had a tough (but not impossible) road to climb to redeem itself. It’s easier done now for those with little memory of the 80′s, who can mine the decade of its untapped wealth and pull influences from The Human League or Gary Numan or even further back without being mocked, all the while creating something new and exciting. Having a rough guess at their ages, London’s Villa Cola could surely fill these shoes.

The best way to make a record company uncomfortable? — choose a highly litiguous band name and then sit back and watch them sweat. Once upon a time there was a Leicester-based three-piece called Dysneyland who existed for a few months and released one independent single “Walking Wounded” before seeing the error of their short-sighted ways, or perhaps the pointed finger of ‘The Man’ who said “no change-y, no release-y” and thus Sisterland was born. With their debut single “Tomorrow” released this week as part of the Too Pure Singles Club, we play the getting-to-know-you game with Sisterland.

Dial back to the summer of 2010 having spent the afternoon hanging out with electro-be-spectacle Amanda Warner aka MNDR, we get a tweet from her inviting us to come down to Camp Basement in Old Street to watch synth experimentalists Silk Flowers, a Brooklyn three-piece that she’d recently produced an album for. Standing facing each other in a semi-circle surrounded by banks of synths, the band were undoubtedly not of this planet, but one Krautrock based in nature, appearing wholly entranced in their own music which veered from instrumental collages to deadpan delivered pop.

Uh-oh, here comes trouble. Pris are a four piece from London featuring Cat on vocals, Agatha on guitar, Mary on bass and Sam on drums. Imagine Blondie with an attitude problem, Manics before the middle life spread and Kenickie without the big bones. They show their claws on the stuttering “All That Glitters is Not Pearl Lowe”, while “Icon on a motorbike” mixes C86 guitar and girl-group “do do, lah lah”‘s to great effect. “Thesaurus” is maybe the best distillation of Pris so far, punkish chords and a speak-sung verse combine with a killer melody in the chorus. Their skimpily dressed singer Cat Gordon answered our questions just like you’d expect, rapid fire in all caps.

The arrival of their four digit debut single “1268″ caused seismic speaker-blowing waves in the Webcuts offices in 2010. It truly was, and still is, a “What the fuck was that?” moment. It was in essence, Gang of Four meets LCD Soundsystem in an abandoned factory in North Wales. An electro pulse and surging beat, sheet metal guitars, inimitable Welsh vocals, it had ‘post-punk dancefloor smash’ writ large all over it, and had We//Are//Animal been from London instead of Wales, everybody would’ve been knocking down their door, kneeling to kiss their cossetted behinds (cough The Vaccines).