Showing posts with label Patrick Wolf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Patrick Wolf. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
A Post-Mortem on Patrick Wolf's Dead Meat: Music Video For Vulture
I happened to be strolling through MySpace rounds today and ended up on Patrick Wolf's MySpace. The latest profile photo was Wolf in what appears to be S&M gear, and his forthcoming single, Vulture, the first to be released from his upcoming album, was on the player. Okay, I admit I don't have time to keep tabs on every musician in a consistent fashion, so I didn't realize until today that Wolf's forthcoming album, Battle, is now split into two companion discs called The Bachelor and The Conqueror, respectively, with the former releasing this June and the latter dropping next year. I should probably keep up with these things since I've become an investor in the album (Wolf's team have found a way for non-UK residents to invest via Tribe Wolf InterNational [TWIN] - see here for details).
The S&M gear in the photograph was soon made clear to me as I read one of the blog posts, which read:
The video for Patrick Wolf’s new single ‘Vulture’ will be shown as a late night exclusive on MySpace UK this Wednesday 18th and Thursday 19th March, 9pm-4am.
Deemed too provocative for even late night TV, MySpace are promoting the video as an exclusive post watershed in the late night hours, due to its graphic content.
Filmed in black & white, photographic style, it shows an enraptured, semi naked Patrick writhing in a full S&M, bondage outfit. The controversial scenes are intercut with those of Patrick as the leather clad ‘Vulture’ and as an unmasked icon. Inspired by experiences Patrick gained and suffered on the American leg of the 2007 'Magic Position' tour, the video perfectly depicts these experiences, which Patrick describes as ‘getting involved in some dodgy satanic sex games and exploring the many dark sides of Los Angeles.’
I duly waited until the time came to watch it, and I've embedded it above. I'm sure CTRR readers are mature enough to handle it at any time of the day. Especially since I find absolutely nothing shocking about it. This either says that I'm hugely desensitized to bondage gear and/or sexual fetishes, which may very well be true. Or this says that the hype building up the video was merely hype and a brilliant PR tactic to get people to watch it. After all, how can watershed time restrictions work online? This is not to say that the video wasn't creatively conceived and beautifully shot - the black and white photography and dramatic lighting produce a video worthy of any of Wolf's best. Wolf, who directed the video himself, has managed to incorporate an old-time glamour and German Expressionist style that is highly watchable. It's just no more shocking than the uncensored Girls on Film video from Duran Duran or Richey Edwards and Nicky Wire rolling all over each other while wearing g-strings in the video for Love's Sweet Exile.
The single itself points to yet another direction for Wolf, especially in light of the cheerful, gypsy energy of his last album, but it still makes sense within the context of his entire body of work. There were songs on his debut Lycanthropy that were much more graphic than Vulture and its connotations, and several of them employed esoteric noise and electronic elements to provide a shadowy side to the songs' narratives; The Childcatcher still gives me chills. And even his sophomore album, Wind in the Wires, had Tristan, a stomping electro beast that remains one of my favourites in the repertoire.
Wolf's strengths have always been connected to his ability to tell fantastic stories through eclectic sounds and his ever-evolving image. As I stated before, Wolf manages to balance between a fairytale-like innocence and a dangerous eroticism; he is a gambolling sprite one moment and a violent satyr the next. Perhaps the most startling thing about Vulture is how it wrenches us away from the mythical, escapist worlds that Wolf has built over the past few years and plunges us into a gritty reality, which, while no more disturbing than some of Wolf's fantasy scenarios, can be initially unsettling. Unlike previous compositions, Vulture is unrelenting in its modernity - there are no pastoral movements, gypsy reels or folk elements. It is all drum machines, squeals and electronic beeps and blips, but at the same time, Wolf's distinctive voice adds a sense of magic and mystery, and the brilliant vulture imagery carries this story and the music video. If anything, there's less darkness here than a camp sensibility - Wolf plays the part to the hilt in the video.
No matter which direction Patrick Wolf chooses to head in, you can rest assured it will be fresh and uncompromising. No matter the role, Wolf is his own master.
Vulture is released as a download and on 7" vinyl on April 20.
The Childcatcher - Patrick Wolf
The Tower - Patrick Wolf
Thursday, December 18, 2008
The "New" Music Industry: frYars and Bandstocks
I happened to be on London-based musician, frYars' MySpace page and discovered that a full-length album called Dark Young Hearts is in the works. After two excellent EPs, I was excited, and when I discovered how he was accomplishing it, I was intrigued. frYars is using Bandstocks, an organization that acts as a fairer middleman between fans and musicians, allowing fans to invest in the artists in return for both some of the profits and recognition. I signed up for a free download of the new frYars MP3 entitled Visitors (which features some vocal help from Dave Gahan), glanced briefly over what Bandstocks was and frYars' proposal to potential investors, and then went on my merry way to mull things over. I was reminded about Bandstocks again when I was sent the free MP3. In the process, I also discovered that frYars (real name: Ben Garrett) was, in fact, the first artist to sign up with Bandstocks' funding model.
Apparently, an investment of £10 buys you:
- a download (except for VAT) of the whole album
- a name credit on the album and on the Bandstocks website (if you want one)
- the right to buy (at extra cost) a special limited edition of the album signed by frYars
- special booking privileges for concerts
- special merchandise offers
- a share of the net receipts generated by the album
For this funding model, though, you have to be a UK resident over the age of 15, and if you're not, you would have to appoint a trustee in the UK to act on your behalf. Also, Bandstocks ensures that the artist receives 50% of the net profits, which seems a much better deal than with major label contracts (at least to my knowledge). And the catches already seem to be presented up front: you are not guaranteed any money back and you get a free, high-quality digital copy of the album you invested in (notably not a physical one, but you get a chance at a discounted price for the physical ones). It's all very interesting, but this isn't the first business model for musicians to emerge in the wake of the music industry crisis.
Sites like Amie Street, an organization which offers music initially for free download, but with an increasing price tag as the music gets more popular; Sellaband, a very similar set-up to Bandstock created by ex-major label executives two years ago; and Slicethepie, a site which allows fans to invest in musicians both financially and via scouting and review-writing, are also attempting to re-write the rules on how the music industry works. If anything, these sites are opening up the exact same music industry system that has existed for the past eighty years to anyone with some money to spare and an interest in music, which isn't a bad thing. How well these models are working at the moment is difficult to gauge. Then again, it can be difficult to determine the value and success of art outside of the financial framework. There are many musicians out there making music that I assign a lot of value to, but who aren't making very much money off their work at all.
Perhaps what I find most interesting about frYars decision to use Bandstocks and fans' investments is the fact frYars isn't exactly an unknown artist. He has been critically acclaimed by several "official" sources, including even the generally out-of-touch NME, toured with the likes of Goldfrapp, and worked with people in the music industry like Luke Smith, ex-Clor guitarist, and now Gahan. I would think his profile is sufficiently high enough to gain a record contract in the traditional way. This then leads me to believe that this was a conscious choice on frYars' part, a choice which eschewed the regular channels of the major labels and their subsidiaries, a choice which puts power in the hands of those who already feel emotionally invested in his art, a choice which makes frYars seem rather smart. I would think this is a way to be accountable to the people who matter the most to an artist: the fans. Interestingly, Patrick Wolf, who shares some similarities to frYars in terms of offbeat style and who has already found relatively large success around the world with the major label release of his last album The Magic Position, is also due to release his fourth album Battle by using Bandstocks. Wolf explains his reasons for doing so a lot better than I can here.
As of yet, I haven't invested in any artist via these channels, but I like to think I still have invested by continuing to purchase music, especially from independent artists and labels, by attending concerts when I can (sometimes even when I can't), and by maintaining a blog like this that attempts to give free publicity to the artists I want to see succeed. Being a real music fan is also a sizeable emotional investment that I'm prepared to make to those who warrant it. Perhaps I will invest in some bands up front in the future, especially when I'm gainfully employed, and I'm eager to see where this new system of capitalistic patronage will end up. It's not exactly a new music industry, but it's a start.
Visitors - frYars
The Novelist's Wife - frYars
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Starman
Forgive me for using older reviews of gigs that I did for my myspace page for my initial posts, but I'm still trying to sort through how I want to set this thing up. And these reviews are no less interesting for being older. People of future generations will hail these reviews as classic. I am the Lester Bangs of the Digital Age. I am John Peel without a radio show. I am also fairly delusional.
Anyway, here's a review of the Patrick Wolf gig in Toronto this last October. It was a cracker.
Starman
A contingent of hardcore fans lined the front of the small, chin-high stage. They were encrusted with glitter - their hair, the bandit stripes across their eyes, the swirls on their shoulders. It could have been a Bowie concert circa 1972. But it wasn't.
No, this was a Patrick Wolf show at Lee's Palace in downtown Toronto last night. This fact makes it no less exciting. Nor does it make it any less mythical. For Patrick Wolf has already become myth at age twenty-four. He is otherworldly, much like a potent mixture of David Bowie and Kate Bush. He oozes both sex and childlike innocence and abides by no particular rules. His style changes just as much as Bowie's has; one day he wears stegosaurus trousers, the next he wears an impossibly tight pair of aquamarine shorts and suspenders. And of course he can pull it off with the aplomb of an unabashed original.
I, myself, have been a huge fan of Patrick Wolf for a couple of years now. His first album, Lycanthropy, full of distorted beats and wolf-like howls, and stories of captured children and Peter Pan, captivated me. Electronic sounds and drum machines are seamlessly mixed with violins and accordian. Wolf isn't his real last name, but it becomes a fitting moniker and persona for the fantastical being and his three albums to date. His second album, Wind in the Wires, retains the magic of his previous storytelling, but pairs it with a generally mellower and folkier sound. His latest LP, The Magic Position, his first major label release, is different yet again with its joyful gypsy-like songs. A theme of escape and heedless abandon runs through all three, a boundless energy that transports you from mundane realities into a fairy netherworld that exists in a twilight of dark deeds and festive flights of freedom. Needless to say, when I finally got a chance to see him live, I took it, three hours on a bus and all.
Even though I arrived more than an hour before the doors were scheduled to open, the glittering obsessives were already there, listening to Patrick Wolf songs from one of the fan's stereo purse (songs which competed with the actual soundcheck taking place just behind a side door). They alternately sprinkled glitter over each other and blew bubbles with mini-bubble-wands. One wore a headband that looked like some sort of Egyptian headgear at first glance; on closer inspection, it was a headband with a tiny giraffe stuck to it (the giraffe - like the unicorn - being one of the beasts associated with the Patrick Wolf mythology). Some fans actually brought a bouquet of sunflowers and others brought their own special effects - in addition to the bubble wands, they also had streamers and maracas. As I soon discovered, the fans would time each use of the appointed props to specific points in songs, having a bit of a Rocky Horror Show quality to it.
During the palpable tension before Wolf came onstage, one fan asked another, "Is this your first time seeing him?" The other replied that indeed it was. The first responded with "Do you think it will be strange seeing him for real? It's like he's not real." One fan was leaping and screaming in excitement far before Wolf was due to come on - it was as though he was exploding with Christmas morning anticipation; he also draped a sunflower over the monitor directly in front of Wolf's microphone.
Wolf came on stage wearing a blond, curly wig and a gold collar akin to a disco Jacobean ruff. His body was awash with the same glitter as his glistening fans, giving him a magical, alien presence. His short cut-offs displayed long, sparkling legs with knee-high, nearly invisible net stockings and feet thrust into turquoise shoes reminscent of children's shoes at the turn of the century. As the gig progressed, he lost most of his clothing, revealing the unicorn tattooed to his chest, and he ended up in just his shorts and stockings, his blond hair tousled and spiked with sweat. Someone in the crowd shouted, "Take your shorts off." Wolf smiled and replied, "I can't. I'm not wearing any underwear." Perhaps as gender ambiguous as Bowie in the '70's, Wolf is astoundingly even more beautiful in real life than he is in photos.
As far as the song choices, he stayed well within the realm of his more popular and/or released singles ("The Libertine," "To the Lighthouse," "Wind in the Wires," "Accident and Emergency," "Teignmouth," etc). He bounced from violin to ukulele to keyboards and back again, displaying incredible musical versatility. His accompaniment was an additional violin, drums, some programmed sounds, and an upright bass. It was a pleasant change to actually be able to hear a singer's voice and lyrics so easily over the music - no distortion at all. My only complaint (and it's a tiny one) would be that I would have liked to hear one or two b-sides and/or cover songs. I would have personally loved to hear him sing "Adder" or Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill" live. I will admit that I danced, and jumped, and screamed with the best of them, feeling like a reckless child - I'm paying for it today, but it's yet another price I'm willing to pay for Mr. Wolf.
During the final song (the propulsive "The Magic Position") of the set proper, fans fired streamers onto the stage and Wolf ended up festooned in them. The whole show was truly like one big celebration as Wolf danced and jumped as much as the fans and continually smiled and laughed. Sometimes he would sit or lie on the stage and peer from behind the monitors; other times, he stalked across the stage like his predatory namesake. Between songs, he would talk to the audience, often making them laugh, and several of the songs were prefaced with self-deprecating banter that made him seem like a shy child ready to perform a recital. At one point, he suggestively unfolded his lanky body across the keyboard. The constant flux between a joyful innocence and a sexy suggestiveness created a mesmerizing, disarming duality. When he sings, "Come get lost with me," you do.
He returned for two encores - the haunting "Magpie," duetting with Bishi (his incredible opening act who blends sitar with electronic beats - highly recommended) and "Bloodbeat" - and nearing the end, he wore a disco ball-like beret. However, even after "Bloodbeat" finished, Wolf seemed reluctant to leave the stage and skipped and cantered about singing snatches of Whigfield's "Saturday Night" and Gina G's "Ooh Ah" - bizarre choices that nonetheless fit with his boyish exuberance.
It may be a bit presumptuous to say at this early stage in his career, but I felt like I had witnessed something very significant, perhaps on par with Bowie's Ziggy Stardust days. With his versatility, charisma, and massive imagination, I'm betting that Patrick Wolf will be renowned in the years to come, and these early days will be looked back upon with envy by those who weren't there to see it firsthand.
When I left the gig at two in the morning, the sidewalk shimmered with both newly fallen rain and glitter, creating a path both urban and fairy-like at the same time. The mundane transformed into something magical.
Running Up That Hill - Patrick Wolf
Anyway, here's a review of the Patrick Wolf gig in Toronto this last October. It was a cracker.
Starman
A contingent of hardcore fans lined the front of the small, chin-high stage. They were encrusted with glitter - their hair, the bandit stripes across their eyes, the swirls on their shoulders. It could have been a Bowie concert circa 1972. But it wasn't.
No, this was a Patrick Wolf show at Lee's Palace in downtown Toronto last night. This fact makes it no less exciting. Nor does it make it any less mythical. For Patrick Wolf has already become myth at age twenty-four. He is otherworldly, much like a potent mixture of David Bowie and Kate Bush. He oozes both sex and childlike innocence and abides by no particular rules. His style changes just as much as Bowie's has; one day he wears stegosaurus trousers, the next he wears an impossibly tight pair of aquamarine shorts and suspenders. And of course he can pull it off with the aplomb of an unabashed original.
I, myself, have been a huge fan of Patrick Wolf for a couple of years now. His first album, Lycanthropy, full of distorted beats and wolf-like howls, and stories of captured children and Peter Pan, captivated me. Electronic sounds and drum machines are seamlessly mixed with violins and accordian. Wolf isn't his real last name, but it becomes a fitting moniker and persona for the fantastical being and his three albums to date. His second album, Wind in the Wires, retains the magic of his previous storytelling, but pairs it with a generally mellower and folkier sound. His latest LP, The Magic Position, his first major label release, is different yet again with its joyful gypsy-like songs. A theme of escape and heedless abandon runs through all three, a boundless energy that transports you from mundane realities into a fairy netherworld that exists in a twilight of dark deeds and festive flights of freedom. Needless to say, when I finally got a chance to see him live, I took it, three hours on a bus and all.
Even though I arrived more than an hour before the doors were scheduled to open, the glittering obsessives were already there, listening to Patrick Wolf songs from one of the fan's stereo purse (songs which competed with the actual soundcheck taking place just behind a side door). They alternately sprinkled glitter over each other and blew bubbles with mini-bubble-wands. One wore a headband that looked like some sort of Egyptian headgear at first glance; on closer inspection, it was a headband with a tiny giraffe stuck to it (the giraffe - like the unicorn - being one of the beasts associated with the Patrick Wolf mythology). Some fans actually brought a bouquet of sunflowers and others brought their own special effects - in addition to the bubble wands, they also had streamers and maracas. As I soon discovered, the fans would time each use of the appointed props to specific points in songs, having a bit of a Rocky Horror Show quality to it.
During the palpable tension before Wolf came onstage, one fan asked another, "Is this your first time seeing him?" The other replied that indeed it was. The first responded with "Do you think it will be strange seeing him for real? It's like he's not real." One fan was leaping and screaming in excitement far before Wolf was due to come on - it was as though he was exploding with Christmas morning anticipation; he also draped a sunflower over the monitor directly in front of Wolf's microphone.
Wolf came on stage wearing a blond, curly wig and a gold collar akin to a disco Jacobean ruff. His body was awash with the same glitter as his glistening fans, giving him a magical, alien presence. His short cut-offs displayed long, sparkling legs with knee-high, nearly invisible net stockings and feet thrust into turquoise shoes reminscent of children's shoes at the turn of the century. As the gig progressed, he lost most of his clothing, revealing the unicorn tattooed to his chest, and he ended up in just his shorts and stockings, his blond hair tousled and spiked with sweat. Someone in the crowd shouted, "Take your shorts off." Wolf smiled and replied, "I can't. I'm not wearing any underwear." Perhaps as gender ambiguous as Bowie in the '70's, Wolf is astoundingly even more beautiful in real life than he is in photos.
As far as the song choices, he stayed well within the realm of his more popular and/or released singles ("The Libertine," "To the Lighthouse," "Wind in the Wires," "Accident and Emergency," "Teignmouth," etc). He bounced from violin to ukulele to keyboards and back again, displaying incredible musical versatility. His accompaniment was an additional violin, drums, some programmed sounds, and an upright bass. It was a pleasant change to actually be able to hear a singer's voice and lyrics so easily over the music - no distortion at all. My only complaint (and it's a tiny one) would be that I would have liked to hear one or two b-sides and/or cover songs. I would have personally loved to hear him sing "Adder" or Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill" live. I will admit that I danced, and jumped, and screamed with the best of them, feeling like a reckless child - I'm paying for it today, but it's yet another price I'm willing to pay for Mr. Wolf.
During the final song (the propulsive "The Magic Position") of the set proper, fans fired streamers onto the stage and Wolf ended up festooned in them. The whole show was truly like one big celebration as Wolf danced and jumped as much as the fans and continually smiled and laughed. Sometimes he would sit or lie on the stage and peer from behind the monitors; other times, he stalked across the stage like his predatory namesake. Between songs, he would talk to the audience, often making them laugh, and several of the songs were prefaced with self-deprecating banter that made him seem like a shy child ready to perform a recital. At one point, he suggestively unfolded his lanky body across the keyboard. The constant flux between a joyful innocence and a sexy suggestiveness created a mesmerizing, disarming duality. When he sings, "Come get lost with me," you do.
He returned for two encores - the haunting "Magpie," duetting with Bishi (his incredible opening act who blends sitar with electronic beats - highly recommended) and "Bloodbeat" - and nearing the end, he wore a disco ball-like beret. However, even after "Bloodbeat" finished, Wolf seemed reluctant to leave the stage and skipped and cantered about singing snatches of Whigfield's "Saturday Night" and Gina G's "Ooh Ah" - bizarre choices that nonetheless fit with his boyish exuberance.
It may be a bit presumptuous to say at this early stage in his career, but I felt like I had witnessed something very significant, perhaps on par with Bowie's Ziggy Stardust days. With his versatility, charisma, and massive imagination, I'm betting that Patrick Wolf will be renowned in the years to come, and these early days will be looked back upon with envy by those who weren't there to see it firsthand.
When I left the gig at two in the morning, the sidewalk shimmered with both newly fallen rain and glitter, creating a path both urban and fairy-like at the same time. The mundane transformed into something magical.
Running Up That Hill - Patrick Wolf
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