The End of America – Steep Bay

“Today we ditched the city for a cabin in the woods.  Gonna write a record.”

With those words, the three friends of The End of America embarked on a journey of reflection, self-discovery, and finally redemption in a cabin in the Adirondacks.  And just as impressively, using nothing but acoustic guitars, a banjo, mandolin, and their voices, they managed to take me along with them.

Now, in truth, I’m probably going to over-analyze the heck out of this album, much the same way some bespectacled intellectual tries to find meaning in a drawing of a soup can hanging on a wall of a modern art museum.  I wasn’t in the head of Brendon, James or Trevor as they loaded up that threadbare canoe and paddled across Steep Bay to their cabin recluse.  I don’t know if they intentionally chose the order of the songs for the reasons that I hear.  I don’t know if they’ve ever felt a moment of existential angst in their lives.  But this is the way the album hit me, and that’s the most important phrase I can write in this whole review-- “Hit me.”  The album hit me.  And still does.

The End of America isn’t a political statement, it’s a literal one.  It’s what they did . . . journeyed to the end of America to find an answer.  With each song being written and recorded at that isolated cabin with the aide of a battery-powered recorder and two mics, the album has a loose, organic, incredibly warm feel to it.  Each song is a free-form meditative excursion into a moment of thought.  None of that takes away from the craft of songwriting and performing, in fact in only makes the beauty of the result that much more impressive. 

Starting with the mournful “Are You Lonely,” The End of America begins their quest with an existential question.  A deeper search for meaning amongst the chaos and impersonal nature of life.  I don’t know if the song is about a lost friend imagined in heaven, a disconnect with a lover, or a pleading to a higher power, but it starts the EP off with a meditative longing.  A search for something more meaningful than whatever they were finding in life.  Immediately, I’m hit by the lush gorgeousness of the harmony vocals.  The three cats blend their voices as effortlessly as Crosby, Stills and Nash, or Simon or Garfunkel.   Gentle acoustic guitar accompanies the thought as the voices linger and float off in search of an answer.  “Are you lonely up there?”

“Running” bursts out next.  Full of vitriol and sneer.  After the philosophical question posed in the opener, this is the theme statement for the EP.  Acoustic guitars strum with energy as the boys harmonize “I gotta get out/ Gotta find my way.  I’ve been running all my life.”  And later, “It’s freaking me out/ it’s a sideshow/ Ain’t no place that’s felt like home/ so I let it all go.”  I don't know about you, but I've sure felt that way before.  A longing to feel at home, a place where we belong.  But as is so often the case, the answer to that plea isn’t in a physical place so much as a mental/spiritual one.  And the rest of the EP explores their journey to find that place.

“These Things are Mine,” follows as the natural next step in that philosophical quest.  After running away and leaving it all behind, it’s time to take stock in what’s left.  What we really own.  What defines us.   Banjo jumps into the acoustic guitar fray adding a sense of lightness to the song that perfectly fits the frame of mind.  A sense of liberation comes from ditching it all.  Feeling no ties, nothing that binds.  Freedom.  Just the clothes on my back, my thoughts, my values.  I’ve been there, ditching it all to spend 6 months hitchhiking around the world.  In truth, there’s no better feeling.  But eventually, that euphoria wears off when we really begin to settle in with our thoughts and what we’re running away from.  That sense of melancholy rears it’s head near the end of “These Things are Mine,” when the joyful strumming evaporates, leaving behind the stark harmonies of the boys and a weighty guitar. "Home, lady, I’m leaving home.”  Both physically and metaphorically.  Now alone. 

“Oh Mousey,” is a brief meditative exploration of a mouse the guys encountered, which really serves as a space holder for their thoughts.  The liberation is gone, the weight is setting in.  Observing a mouse becomes a perfect way to reflect before the deeper meaning comes.  Which is what happens with “All, Nothing.”  Perhaps the most spiritually reflective song here, the boys have become to realize what’s important to them.  “I want to be the mountain freeze/ I want to breathe I want to teach/ I want to slip through life unseen/ I want to paint the scenes of dreams/ I want it all/I want nothing.”   The guitar picking is perfect here, somber, weighty, yet hopeful, hinting towards better days ahead. The baggage has been dumped, optimism remains. 

Normally, random sound effects thrust into the middle of an album annoy me, serving as nothing more than an ego statement by the artist rather actually fleshing out the songs, but the 32 seconds of “Diving Rock” seems perfect to me.  Following the liberating thoughts of “All, Nothing,” we hear the three friends leaping off the nearby rock into the Bay.  The splashing and cascading water sounds cathartic to me, like a spiritual cleansing.  A fresh baptism into the waters of healing.  The laughter that follows is a refreshing reaffirmation of the joys of life, the marvel of living, which leads perfectly into “Fiona Grace,” a song of wonder written about a precocious three-year old.   With gentle hand percussion and acoustic picking, they sing about the girl whose old soul somehow takes them back to a place deep inside themselves.  A place where they are capable of seeing and remembering deeper truths.

Which leads directly to “The Hardest Thing,” the heaviest song on the album and the moment of true philosophical discovery.  Just acoustic guitar and banjo, but heavy.  The moment when the real reason for the running away becomes painfully clear.   “Oh, how I wanted to keep this alive/ oh, how hard I tried/ Before it kills me first/ maybe it’s time to let it die.”  Is it a song about a toxic relationship?  A dying dream?  A shattered home?  It really doesn’t matter.  It’s a song about realization and release.  A glimpse into the blackened part of the soul that was driving the pain.  We’ve all been there, the midnight of our discontent.  We all know what it feels like to be driven to our knees by the pain of a situation and the terrible sadness that follows the sudden recognition . . . and the knowing you need to let go.

And with that, the album ends with another soundbite.  Banjo plucking languidly as rain falls.  And falls.  And somehow it all seems fitting.  No more false euphoria.  No more illusions.  Reality, stark and true.  Painful at times, but ultimately cleansing and life-affirming.  Thunder roars in the background as we all know it’s time for the boys to go back home.  They’ve discovered what they came there for.  Part of them has been lost, and they still have need to mourn that, but in the end, more has been gained.  Or rather, reclaimed.

A deeply organic, beautiful album.  And this whole thing was written and recorded in 7 days. 

Over-analyzing?  Again, probably.

But that’s the way the album hit me.  And really, how often does an album hit you?

--Racer

www.facebook.com/theendofamericamusic

Wino - Adrift

I’m probably the last person you want reviewing an “acoustic” album. For the most part, acoustic guitar bores me to tears after a few minutes (Muddy Waters – Folk Singer is one of the few exceptions). But this is Wino we’re talking about, the master of doom, not some Jeff Tweedy snooze-fest so I approached it with an open mind and open beer.

Thankfully, the electric guitar makes an appearance early on and helped me to dive into this very solid album. Wino is an excellent player and it’s actually refreshing to hear him play acoustic. Lots of the riffs would probably work well in a band setting but playing them solo creates space for his great singing voice and powerful lyrics.

The title track starts off the album sounding like something The Who might have done in their early 70’s prime, energetic and moody. What really sold me on the record is the 2nd song, “I Don’t Care.” I’d imagine this is what Wino would say to me if I told him I was hesitant about listening to his acoustic album. It’s impossible for me to resist any kind of “fuck you” type of song extolling the virtues of having long hair and doing whatever you want. And then he rips into a great electric solo. Wino’s mentioned that Ross The Boss (The Dictators, Manowar, Shankin Street, etc) is one of his favorite guitarists and you can really hear the influence on this one.

“Hold On Love” and “Old & Alone” reveal a bit of a Beatles influence with big melodies to counteract the strong, personal lyrics. “Shot In The Head” is a great honky tonk shuffle. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Wino likes to drink beer and listen to Lefty Frizzell and Charlie Rich on a Saturday night. Even without bass or drums, it has a great boogie feel and killer slide guitar solo. The instrumental “O.B.E.” is all electric and lets him get all Frippertronic for 3 minutes.

 “Green Speed” is the fastest song on the album with killer dueling electric leads over a driving acoustic rhythm. But the real highlight of the album for me is the cover of Motorhead’s biker anthem “Iron Horse/Born To Lose.” It’s always been one of my favorite Motorhead songs (especially the On Parole version when Larry Wallis was in the band) and Wino really makes it his own. With all due respect to Lemmy, I don’t think he has a drivers license and shouldn’t really be operating any vehicles, while Wino is a well known die-hard motorcycle mutherfucker. The lyrics obviously mean a lot to him and his soulful vocals deliver the message hard.

Wino’s discography is pretty solid and Adrift is a great addition to it. Don’t let the “unplugged” thing scare you off. You can still play it loud n proud.

--Woody
Buy CD: Adrift

Buy here mp3: Adrift
Buy here vinyl: Adrift

http://scottweinrich.com/

A Man and his Guitar - A Ripple Rundown of Recent Singer/Songwriters Featuring PJ Bond and A Minor Kingdom

PJ Bond- You Didn't Know I was Alphabetical

Riding the crest of some amazing singer-songwriters that we've reviewed here at the Ripple recently like Matt Pond and Cory Case, PJ Bond has crafted an album that literally defines the singer/songwriter genre.  At times sassy and poppy, at others melancholic and sparse, You Didn't Know I was Alphabetical never fails to captivate and demonstrates a brilliant songsmith at the peak of his form.

PJ Bond, a New Jersey Native, has spent the majority of his days living out of his car, playing shows, crashing on couches and generally living the life of the true troubadour.   Recorded sporadically in studios and various apartment bedrooms, Alphabetical is a stunning collection of songs each with a core-melting emotional resonance.  Bond has the ability to make the mundane seem profound.  To take the ordinary and make it emotionally resonating.

 Alphabetical overflows with warmth and sincerity.  It's a decidedly organic affair, graced with tones of acoustic guitar, the occasional slide, a gentle beat and a human heart.  Bond throws a little bit of everything into the mix, from rustic, up tempo alt-country rockers to haunting, melancholy acoustic offerings and sweetly infectious indie numbers.  Not since Cory Case's debut have I been this wrapped up in an album so seemingly simple, yet truthfully complex.

Bond has a straight-forward yet eloquent way with his lyrics, often finding that particular angle to make the lyric turn into a poem.  On "You Too," the album's jaunty opener, Bond brings his own tone to a lyric of love.  "I know I'll never be a fearless leader saving you/ and I think you know that too/ And I know I'll never sing the songs of love you want to hear/ but at least I sing for you."  An honest, introspective glance at a man and his limitations, his failings, yet clear of his intent.  That simple declaration touches me as a more honest and genuine statement of love than a thousand Lionel Richie ballads.  The easy, repetitive nature of the verse bleeding into the chorus brings that song to life.  A backyard porch letter of love, blowing through a summer sky.

"Stop Being Bad," reminds me of the best of Paul Westerberg in terms of tone and melody, compelling storytelling told simply, soberly, and never at a loss for a singable melody.  "Skin and Bones," is haunting drug tale, sung to a person on the brink of death.  Minor chord progressions and PJ's wavering tenor bring chills to my arms as the song proceeds. "And your corpse will be pristine/when they bury you indeed."

The album unfolds so casually it's deceptive.  It flows so easy, it seems so relaxed, but that belies the assured confidence PJ has as a songwriter and performer.  Stripped nearly naked on several tracks, PJ never falters, never hesitates to take us to his most tender humiliation "Well I know that I am barely scraping by/I can barely afford to pay my bills" (From "Grow your Smile Wide")  and then twist that scenario on it's ear.  An accomplished album, available on vinyl (white or blue).  One I'll enjoy for years to come.

Buy here: Alphabetical

http://www.myspace.com/pjbondmusic

Minor Kingdom - My Back Will Bend

This is a strange review for me to write.  Since our inception, Pope and I decided that our goal was to spread the word on all the great music that's getting missed, going unheard.  With that as our goal, we wanted to create "ripples" and hope that maybe some of those ripples would turn into waves for the bands.  You, oh fearless reader, are of course, the waverider.

With that mission firmly in mind, it's clear that most of our reviews are ravenously glowing.  Some people have taken us to task for this, insinuating that we're unwilling to write a negative review, but they clearly can't wrap their feeble minds around the goal of the Ripple.  How could we write a negative review about something we like?  We write about what we like, get it? 

Having said all that, I'm still left with Minor Kingdom's latest release, My Back Will Bend and I don't know quite what to do.

Minor Kingdom is a man, not a band, the stage name for Kristian Melom, a singer/songwriter from Minneapolis.  And in true wandering minstrel fashion, his songs of loss and melancholy were recorded in various bedrooms, living rooms, and basements.  I'm sure many couches were slept on as well, probably some quarters bummed and some laundry rooms utilized. Kristian's music is sparse and haunting, drenched in the melancholy of a Depression-era, post-dust bowl haze.  Each song is like a dense country-gothic American painting, bereft of color; each scene washed in greys and dark ink washes.  Occasionally, a hint of light peaks through, but the clouds are always soon to return.

So why is this review so difficult to write, you may ask?  Mainly, because after 10 or so listens, I'm still totally unclear on how I feel about this album.  Let's talk about my ambivalence first.   While individually each song resonates strongly within its own claustrophobic cell of downhearted emptiness, as a whole, the album suffers from the relentless pace, or lack thereof.  Each song crawls along at a whisper's tone, some barely reflecting a heartbeat at all.  As such, for me, it's hard to get through the entire album in one listen without my mind wandering and my fingers tapping impatiently, waiting for that one big climax.  That one moment of tension building and release.   In a nutshell, the album is just too slow for me to get totally behind it.

Then why is My Back Will Bend appearing in the Ripple?  Because there's something undeniably compelling going on here.  It may not be in the album as a whole, but it's there, in the songs.  In each individual song.  And the more I play this album, the more it ingrains into my consciousness them more indispensable some of those songs become.

The lead-off title track simply doesn't do it for me.  So slow in it's monotonous intent that I was tempted to dump the album right there.  It wasn't a pretty sight, seeing me running around the room in a tizzy screaming for some speed metal or something with a pulse.  But then before the funny men in the white coats caught me, "Choir of the Lillies" came on and my entire view changed.  Sure, "Choir" still crawls along in a near-fugue state, starting with a spartanly strummed acoustic guitar and Kristian's haunting, near-whispered monotone voice. But then something happens.  Haley Bonar's angelic harmonies join in, gently lifting the song to a place of real resonance.  A sweeping, mournful cello floats by, underneath the harmonies, taking the song into some American Gothic den of despair.  Gentle tones of electric guitar enter, hinting at a light just beyond the horizon.  A healing in the distance.  A fullness for the heart.  Without a doubt, "Choir of the Lillies" is about as stark and moving a song as I've heard in a while.   This song alone shows me that we're dealing with a man capable of creating something truly great.

"Brita's Song,"which follows is a touch lighter, but again too slow.  There's no denying the craft here, but after the stunning revelation that was "Choir" I needed something new, something more dynamic.  Fortunately, Kristian delivers again with the next cut, "Perfect."  With the addition of some well-placed drums, a stark snare, and an ominous bass, a new energy emerges.  The song slithers and slinks, like a snake coiling for the strike.  From there the album continues in an alternating form between songs that are compelling or those that are simply too slow.  In the end, there's nothing wrong with any individual track, in fact, individually each song can be emotionally riveting, but the sum of them all creates an album that's nearly moribund.  Just begging for some CPR and some good mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Still, whenever I was about to give up on the album, I'd play "Choir of the Lillies" again, and once again I was enraptured.  Kristian has talent, there's no doubt, and the skill to back it up.  He just needs to vary the pace a bit, toss some life into his despondency.  Then, he'll really have something.

In the meantime, I'll keep playing "Choir of the Lillies" and wait for Minor Kingdom's next album.  It just may be the best album I've ever heard.

--Racer

Buy here: My Back Will Bend

Buy here mp3 download: Choir of the Lilies (feat. Haley Bonar)

A Sunday Conversation with Cellarscape

Power. Drama. Tension. Beauty. These are words that come to mind when you hear Cellarscape's panoramic, cinematic soundscape of an album, Animation, Suspension. Just check out our review and you'll see where we were coming from. But it wasn't until we had a chance to have the one-man band that is Cellarscape, Paul Terry, come join us on the Ripple red interview couch, that it all made sense. Just check out his "holy trinity" of favorite songwriters and you'll get a feeling why his music sounds like none other.

When I was a kid, growing up in a house with Cat Stevens, Neil Diamond, and Simon and Garfunkle, the first time I ever heard Kiss's "Detroit Rock City," it was a moment of musical epiphany. It was just so vicious, aggressive and mean. It changed the way I listened to music. I've had a few minor epiphanies since then, when you come across a band that just brings something new and revolutionary to your ears. What have been your musical epiphany moments?

From the age of about seven to my early teens it was a pretty solid mix of Queen, ELO and Run DMC. I think, aside from the obvious Queen classics, songs like ‘I Want It All’ off The Miracle album are still astounding today. Queen – just like ELO – for me, never repeated a song once: every song they wrote had its own unique signature, and every one sounds timeless. On the Run DMC front, I bought Raising Hell for my older brother for Christmas the year it came out, and we both didn’t stop playing it for months. The precision of the dual vocals/rapping, the deck work, the live instruments – it was just incredible. ‘It’s Tricky’ is still one of my favourite songs, and I can pretty much rap along to every word off ‘Raising Hell’ even today if I’m driving somewhere and have it blasting out.

Beyond those early years, there have been quite a few more epiphanies. The first time I heard ‘Davidian’ by MachineHead, it was jaw-dropping. It was like nothing I’d ever heard before. It was crushing, but it had such a groove too. Me and my long-time bass player mate Nik have pretty much been to every London gig they’ve played to date. For me, they’re the most important metal band since the 90s and are responsible for countless other metal bands’ sounds.
Then I have to mention ‘SYL’ by Strapping Young Lad. All hail this late night U.K. rock show called Noisy Mothers – it got us into so many amazing bands. Devin Townsend (the genius behind Strapping), again, changed the rules with ‘SYL’: there was nothing like it, and never has been since. From the Strapping records to all of Devin’s solo projects, Devin is an incredibly inspiring musician.

‘Winter’ by Tori Amos is another memorable moment: it’s a song that put a big smile on my face when I first heard it, but it breaks your heart at the same time – it’s such a tiny, intimate, fragile song. And the wonder of Tori is that every time I’ve seen her play it live, she plays it with the same passion as conviction as though she’d just written it earlier that day.

And most recently (well, 10 years ago), it’s two very different bands from Scotland. The first time I saw Aereogramme was at the Reading Festival before they’d released anything. Their cinematic quality, Craig B’s pure-then-Satanic vocals, it was a revelation. The band may not be together anymore, but the past decade of material they created is astounding. I don’t think a day goes by that I don’t out at least one Aereogramme song on.

And finally, I have to mention a certain song called ‘27’ by Biffy Clyro. After hearing the riffs, the huge chorus, the musicianship in that song, I grabbed the Blackened Sky album, and then that was it. I have probably listened to Blackened Sky a thousand times, and I never get sick of it. Every Biffy album that followed was different, and just as amazing, but in completely different ways. And their new album is astounding.

Talk to us about the song-writing process for you. What comes first, the idea? A riff? The lyrics? How does it all fall into place?

I know it’s a bit of a cliché to say this, but there’s never a pattern/formula. Some days, or songs, it’s all about a riff that breeds more riffs/breaks that dictate where things go. Sometimes it’s the rhythm of words, or their phonetics – I get really obsessed with lyrics. Or sometimes it’s a tempo or an atmosphere that becomes the core thing that everything else ends up relating back to. But that unpredictability is exciting.

Where do you look for continuing inspiration? New ideas, new motivation?

I think beyond music and musicians whose ideas and bodies of work are inspiring, filmmakers/writers, etc as inspiring too. I love a lot of Korean filmmakers. Kim Ji-woon makes incredible films. And Chuck Palahniuk and Mark Z. Danielewski’s novels have always inspired a lot of what I write. There’s a project that I’ve written a lot of darker, heavier music for called Ash Tree Lane (named after a road in Danielewski’s House Of Leaves) that I’ve been desperate to record properly and release, but with the Cellarscape plan and the film music projects there’s never been a window… even though there are ATL tracks that are 7 years old now! But in October 2010 I’m hoping to put out an EP of ATL songs, on the same day as a new Cellarscape EP – so the contrast should be fun. Overall, I guess contradictions have always inspired me the most: extreme metal & piano solos, horror films and love stories – it’s all good stuff.


Genres are so misleading and such a way to pigeonhole bands. Without resorting to labels, how would you describe your music?

I guess that’s another cliché that all bands find it hard to describe their sound in words, and I’m definitely in agreement with that. Even though there are a lot of acoustic guitars on the Cellarscape records, I’m always loathed to say, “It’s kinda acousticy” as I think it’s not the most important ingredient. I guess I hope people might feel it has a cinematic quality, and I hope overall that it’s an emotional experience.


Your music is such a dichotomy of moods, textures of light and shadow? What is you musical intention? What are you trying to express or get your audience to feel?

I always wanted the Cellarscape project to unite my loves of loud and gentle music. So, although you’ll hear fragile acoustics a times, you’ll also hear big, intense tones/drums too. I’ve never understood people that say metal is “just angry noise”. It’s emotive. And although Cellarscape is in no way metal, the songs have, and always will be, hugely influenced by metal artists. And so in that respect, when the song calls for it, I like to try and bring a certain intensity to the music. And with acoustic guitars forming, if you like, the ‘spine’ of a song from which everything else hangs off of, that’s part of the challenge. Don’t get me wrong, I obviously love distortion pedals – and there are some distorted guitars on the new album – but I wanted to see what a song would feel like if the distortion is kept to a minimal, and the vocal harmonies, the drums, strings, and the playing style of the acoustics had to carry/bring the darker emotion to the surface.

As far as what I want the listeners to feel? I never want to write something with an “I’d love people to react in so-and-so way” agenda. I’m the biggest critic of everything I write: if I hate it, it’s never getting recorded/performed. But when something comes together that I’m feeling is working – be it a positive, ‘up’ song, or a darker, more ominous track – then I’ll stick with an idea until it feels finished. Essentially, the gauge is always emotional: could this sequence/riff/melody/lyric start to do the ‘hairs on back of neck’ thing? And then hopefully, if someone listens to it and connects with the emotion of the song, then that’s a very cool thing. But I think everyone unwittingly brings something of themselves to every song they listen to as well. When I think about ‘Street Spirit’ by Radiohead, I’ve no idea what Thom Yorke’s intentions were for me to feel, but I think it’s a very powerful song, and the interpretation I have attached to it makes it into something very personal.


songwriting, how do you bring the song together? What do you look for in terms of complexity? Simplicity? Time changes?

The emotional core/story of the song definitely guides where things go. I’ve a massive love for angular arrangements/structures/time changes – the bands I’ve all name-checked definitely have that in common. But it has to suit the song. If it’s forced, it starts to sound really… well, forced. But it’s weird, a song like ‘You Got The Girl’ – which does kinda go all over the place – came together so quickly, in just a few days. Whereas some of the more ‘normally’ structured songs like ‘Patience & Zara’ and ‘Crawlspace’ took a lot longer until they felt completed.



The business of music is a brutal place. Changes in technology have made it easier than ever for bands to get their music out, but harder than ever to make a living? What are your plans to move the band forward? How do you stay motivated in this brutal business?

However much there are limitations, especially financially, with doing things this way/the independent way – I wouldn’t have it any other way. I know that I only have myself to blame if something doesn’t work! But, I always think of this song I scribbled some lyrics for years back that Nik reminds me of sometimes called ‘Tortoise Versus…’ I guess that’s it. I’m very content being a tortoise in the race: steady as she goes. I’m happy to gradually get the Cellarscape records out there, the independent film soundtracks and other future projects, and just see what happens. I really love music in every respect – listening to it, jamming it, writing it, so there are really only two options: do it this way and see what happens, or just don’t do it. And the second one isn’t an option. Now, what I just said doesn’t make any sense really… but hopefully you get what I mean!


No one has been in this business for long without creating a couple Spinal Tap moments. Care to share one or two?

The classic: kick the pedal to check tuning after a song, and then rip into the next song’s big opening riff… but with the pedal not disengaged, so a weedy, tiny sound “belted” out of the PA system? Done that a few times! Even after I’d replaced the crappy tuner for a decent one. My favourite gaff of them all though is probably back in my school band days. I was drumming in this band with my mates called Bloated and we were doing a cover of ‘More Human Than Human’ by White Zombie, to close the set. I was a bit drunk, and was enjoying playing it a bit too much that my concentration dropped… I went for a big fill round the toms… slice my knuckles on the edge of the metal drum rims… dropped a stick, and had to finish the song’s last few bars with just one stick. I like to think I ended it just how the record does – really tight with a grab on the final cymbal, but the
reality is, I think I sucked big time.


What makes a great song?

Ahh, the never-ending debate about subjectivity! Say, for example, at a Stag party that, in your opinion, you said that you preferred Queen’s songs to The Beatles’? You’d better be ready to sprint for your life…! So, as lame as it sounds, I think that a ‘great’ song is one that moves you: if a song that someone wrote makes you feel something that you get something out of – happiness, love, sadness, reflection – then that’s a pretty amazing thing for a collection of sounds to do that. There are a lot of songs that I absolutely hate, by bands that I think suck – but these are bands adored by millions of people – so if what they do stirs emotions in others, then that’s cool. I’ll just be in the minority who’ll remain completely baffled as to what the Hell the masses see in such awful songs…



Tell us about the first song you ever wrote?

Aside from the stuff co-wrote in my school band, the first song I ever wrote on my own was called ‘Your Dawn’ back in 1997. It was a gentle, swinging kinda riff that I really loved, but the lyrics never quite worked, and I sort of left it alone. So the first proper/complete song would be ‘Just One Thing’. It’s a really up-beat pop-rock song that I ended up recording on the Isla’s Milk record back in 1999/2000. I still like the song, but it’s maybe a bit twee in places now, but it invokes loads of great memories of playing the acoustic cafes in Portsmouth where I was at Uni. But that ‘Your Dawn’ riff re-surfaced in my head in 2001 for a short film soundtrack I was writing (for the Paul Williams film ‘Mightier’), and the scene in the film inspired/finished where it needed to go, and it became this piece called ‘Simplified Me’, which I was really pleased with.


What piece of your music are particularly proud of?

There are two songs that spring to mind that I really pleased with, mainly because I remember feeling really excited about how they were coming together during the recording stages. ‘Repeat, Erase, Unite’ is a very minimal song off the Copilot EP back in 2006. I think it became massively responsible for what I wanted to do with vocal harmonies, and I think the whole mood of the song definitely dictated where the Cellarscape sound has gone. And ‘Treading Water’ on the new album pretty much sums up what I was saying earlier about a dark/intense emotion coming from acoustic guitars. ‘Treading Water’ evolved into this thing that really pounds along, but still has, at its core, a very personal, intimate vibe.

Who today, writes great songs? Why?

My holy trinity: Devin Townsend, Tori Amos, and Biffy Clyro. I do listen to other bands, promise. A lot of other bands. Imogen Heap has been writing incredible songs since ‘Getting Scared’ came out. She’s one of a kind for sure. PJ Harvey rules because she is all about the emotions. Chris Cornell is a poet and has one of the most incredible voices ever. Gemma Hayes and Lisa Hannigan are two very different Irish singer-songwriters who I admire very much. Gemma writes very powerful, swirly songs that really connect with you, and Lisa’s music has a tiny, almost music-box quality, and it’s so beautiful. And Mike Patton is a law unto himself – and thank goodness he is! All of his solo projects are incredibly inspiring, however difficult some can be on first listen. And I have a big love for Sevendust. Their songs have such power and fantastic rhythms.



Vinyl, CD, or digital? What's your format of choice?

Tricky question, because I think all three have value. I love vinyl’s sound, and especially the way artists go to town with the artwork and packaging with vinyl box-sets. CDs are very immediate, and similarly, I’m a sucker for the great, inventive Limited Edition packaging my favorite bands do with their CD releases (with bonus DVDs, etc). I think in the past five years or so, bands have really pushed the envelope with the CD format, which has made new releases very exciting. And digital/MP3s are obviously invaluable in the way they’ve evolved the industry. Without the digital format it would be impossible for independent artists to function and spread the word about their music, so I don’t think people should criticize the stronghold the digital format has nowadays.

We, at the Ripple Effect, are constantly looking for new music. When we come to your town, what's the best record store to lose ourselves in?

I’d say Selectadisc on Berwick Street in London. Great selection of artists, including loads of cult/underground bands, plus lots of cool second-hand albums and a wealth of great vinyl to browse through too.
Any final comments or thoughts you'd like to share with our readers, the waveriders?

To anyone/everyone whose come across my Cellarscape stuff, huge thanks for the interest and support. To everyone reading this who has ever left ‘hater’ comments on any band’s Comment wall on any website, pause for second before you do it again. People leave positive comments because it’s a forum/way for them to say something they would gladly say to the band/person if they met them face-to-face. But I remain utterly confused at the stronghold ‘hate’ comments have on the internet. Brian Michael Bendis made an excellent attack on this in his Powers comic, via a character who was a stand-up comedian, expressing to the audience their disgust for online abuse – which is essentially what it is. His stand-up character made the point about the haters – what exactly have they done with their life? They can sit safely, anonymously at home and write horrendous things about complete strangers, but where is their product of endless blood, sweat and tears that they’ve thrown out into the world to be judged on..?

I’m simply a firm believer in “if you’ve got nothing positive to say, why say anything at all?” All bands and artists of all mediums already have enough outlets to deal with critiques – through journalism in all its forms – but they know that, and they know that it’s the nature of the beast. I just feel so saddened when I’m wandering around online and come across random Comment-leavers who are full of so much hate. I guess they feel they get some kind of validation/weird online ‘fame’ from doing it, but I think it’s very, very sad. But hey – I believe in karma too, so what goes around…

Beyond that rant, keep discovering old and new music, in all genres. If you want to release your own material: do it. It’s so easy to do these days: the control lies with the people making the music now – and there’s nothing more exciting or inspiring than that.

buy the album here: Animation, Suspension