Haunted Stereo Live at the Hobbit

So here we are again. After a somewhat touch-and-go start to the day after being molested by numerous pints of toilet cleaner masquerading as Lord of the Rings characters, I find myself here considering what it was I saw last night at the Hobbit.

Things began well when I managed to sneak in and grab a peek at the performers’ soundchecks earlier in the evening. When I saw that an electric ukulele was involved, I knew that this was going to be anything but traditional. However, as these things tend to go, it would be an hour or two between soundchecks starting and the actual performances beginning, so I took the opportunity to use every piece of mobile Web 2.0 technology at my disposal to write last night’s blog post, tweet like crazy, post pictures of The Hobbit’s pleasantly literate toilet graffiti to Tumblr and generally keep things rolling until the bands took the stage later. I also had the opportunity to people-watch a little, with The Hobbit’s diverse clientele once again failing to disappoint. From the old drunk babbling about chicken to the selection of surly-looking goths playing pool, The Hobbit is a fine place to witness most subcultures coming together in relative harmony for once. The only group not really represented was the humble chav, which I have absolutely no objection to. I’d much rather they’d all be off their faces on cheap lager at Jesters down the road than spoiling everyone else’s night.

But I digress. There were performances to watch, and it turned out to be a very entertaining, very pleasant evening.

I’m not going to talk much about the support acts here, but I did want to mention the first one. This was a solo female singer named Plat du Jour. She gave a good start to the evening’s entertainment with her songs. Although her arrangements were necessarily simple, given that it was just her and her guitar, her songs were pleasant to listen to, covered a variety of different moods – all too many performers stick too much to one style and one style alone – and she had a wonderfully friendly, down-to-earth manner with the audience. She also had a great voice, with shades of Portishead’s Beth Gibbons at times. I’ll be interested to see where things go with her performances, as she certainly has a lot of potential, judging by her performance.

The main event of the evening, however, was Haunted Stereo, made up of members Andy, Anja, Dave, Joanna, Kenta and Lewis. They describe themselves on their MySpace page as “melodramatic popular song/folk/indie”, which is immediately intriguing. The band’s lineup changes from song to song, with some songs focusing on traditional guitar and drum sounds, with others bringing the folk angle to the fore with violin and accordion taking centre stage, others still involving banjo, the aforementioned electric ukulele and even a glockenspiel at one point. They’re nothing if not diverse.

But what of the music? Well, their own description, as it turns out, is pretty apt. There’s a definite folky edge to many of the songs thanks to the instrumentation involved and the patterns used in the backings. The melodrama comes mostly from the vocal lines which are simple, subtle and sometimes mournful, rising over the top of the busy backing. The combination of instruments means that although at times the band’s pieces are filled with activity, with violin lines, accordion harmonies, banjo plucking, piano lines, drums and guitar parts all competing for attention, they have a pleasantly clean sound which, should you be that guy who sits there listening analytically until he learns how to hum the most obscure harmony part to a song, will make you very happy.

I was impressed with Haunted Stereo. I have a feeling they’re another band that maybe won’t be to everyone’s taste due to their out-of-the ordinary stylings and instrumentation, but there’s certainly a lot to like. The performers all obviously have great technical ability and versatility, and the songs are all extremely listenable, with more than a touch of Belle and Sebastian to one or two of them. They offer an interesting twist on the “folk rock” genre, artists of which The Hobbit seems to attract like flies (but, err, in a good way) and a sound that, even if it’s not your thing, is nothing if not memorable.

Live music is absolutely not dead. Musicians with genuine creativity, too, are still alive and kicking, and this gig proved that. However, it’s only by stepping outside the comfort zone of the national and commercial radio stations, and the pure banality of the popular music charts, that you find this creativity. What I’ve certainly opened my eyes to over these last couple of visits to The Hobbit is that there’s a lot of very talented musicians out there who have no desire whatsoever to appear on The X-Factor in order to be catapulted to stardom and a career of mediocre, predictable songs. This is a good thing, as my thoughts on commercial crap are well-known and well-documented. Haunted Stereo are anything but commercial, but they have carved out a comfortable niche all of their own and I wish them every success in building their fanbase and being stars of the melodramatic popular song/folk/indie world.

Good music should speak for itself. And it does. I’ve enjoyed some good music recently. You should switch off your radio and join me.

Penny Arcade Live at the Hobbit

Photography in this post courtesy of Laura Bishop. If you’re reading on Facebook and you can’t see said pictures, click here to see the full article.

So I went out the other night. This is a pretty rare occurrence and worthy of discussion in and of itself but I’m not here to do that. Instead I’m going to be focusing on the gig I went to see – Penny Arcade, live at the Hobbit pub, Southampton, UK. I’m going to say now to all the gamers reading that this post has nothing whatsoever to do with Gabe and Tycho and the nomenclature of the band is a complete coincidence, apparently. Who am I to argue?

Live gigs here in Southampton are often a case of a million people crowding into a tiny pub that can seat about three old men and a dog around the fire, listening to ear-shatteringly loud music whilst downing drinks that look like they’ve been piped directly from the local toxic waste dump to the spigots, served frantically by an underpaid and overworked staff clearly insufficient in numbers to cope with the number of rabid, binge-drinking fans.

The Hobbit is, of course, no exception to this rule, with crowds regularly squeezing into its little downstairs bar (a little larger than the average living room) to listen to some tunes and destroy their brain-cells with the vibrant primary colours of the Lord of the Rings-themed cocktails. Actually, “themed” might be pushing things a bit far, as I don’t remember Gollum having a thing for Bols Blue, though many is the time that consumption of too many Gandalfs has led to a fall into darkness, albeit not accompanied by a big flamey demon thing. (Balrog. I know. Be quiet.) Despite all this, however, the Hobbit remains a popular nightspot with a lot of local acts of a variety of styles from the Southampton area performing there on a regular basis. Plus sometimes there’s a guy who comes around and sells fish. Really.

Penny Arcade, consisting of Alex Burton on guitar, Matt Rampton on vocals/bass and Tom Uplifter on drums, were performing as part of a complete evening’s set including other local performers Andy from Haunted Stereo, and Long Shore Drift. In total, they graced us with six songs, including Straight Through, I’m Not Sleeping, Are We Talking, Jaws of the Enemy, Katie and a work-in-progress song called “Rocket Ship” performed solo by vocalist Matt. Are We Talking and I’m Not Sleeping can both be heard on their MySpace page, if you’re reading this and are curious. You know you are.

Penny Arcade’s sound is a pleasingly smooth guitar-bass-drum combo which, when coupled with the distinctively melancholy sound of Matt’s vocals, is very listenable. The band keeps a deliberately lo-fi sound, with minimal guitar effects being used and repetitive, hypnotic guitar/bass riffs and beats making up the majority of the songs’ backings. Performing with a more “clean” sound and using minimal effects to hide behind can be a challenge for many bands as it often highlights the shortcomings of their own technical abilities, but Penny Arcade manage to perform very tightly together as an ensemble. Their songs have an intimate, personal feel to them, with Matt’s vocal performance style of eyes closed, mouth to the microphone and little in the way of body movement draws the audience in and encourages them to focus on what it is he is singing about throughout. This is a great style to perform in a venue as intimate/cramped (delete as applicable) as The Hobbit – arguably made rather more poignant by consuming just one too many Gandalfs to get one to that “drunken melancholia” stage.

Alex Burton on guitar (photo by Laura Bishop)

Penny Arcade’s style undoubtedly isn’t for everyone. They’re low on flashy glitz and overt showmanship, both in their unassuming physical performance styles and the sound of their music in general, but they’re all the better for it – to me, at least. All three performers look deep in concentration during their performance, which is in keeping with the “personal” feel to the songs, and the whole gig felt like the audience were being let in on some kind of secret. This is the kind of thing that I have a lot of time for, and it’s this kind of feel that keeps people coming to the Hobbit for gigs – however sticky the floor gets, however terrible those vibrantly-coloured cocktails may make you feel the next day, however many sweaty bodies you may be squeezing yourself up against (and not in a good way… usually) – it’s the intimacy of the venue and, by extension, the intimacy of the performances there that works so well. Penny Arcade fit right in, and I hope to see more of them in the future.

Matt Rampton on vocals and bass (photo by Laura Bishop)

As for the other bands? Well, to be honest, I couldn’t comment. Gandalf number three made me fall into darkness.

Photo credit: © Laura Bishop, 2009.

Art/Fart

Now with pictures! Happy now? 🙂

The idea of “games as art” is an over-discussed topic and has been since the days of the later Final Fantasy games, which many regard as one of many points where video games just started to show their potential to tell interesting stories in interesting ways.

So I’m not going to talk about games as art – at least, not “mainstream” games. I want to take a moment to share a few curious experiences I’ve had recently. I hesitate to call all of these examples except one “games” by virtue of the fact that they’re not really traditional “games” as such, more interactive artistic works, and I think that’s fast becoming a genre of its own – something I’m all for.

A few of these games are probably quite well known by the side of the gamer community that is interested in this sort of thing, a couple of others you may not have heard of. So I hope that by the end of this post you might be inspired to check out some things a little bit outside the box. You may well find them pretentious, boring and crap – I’m sure many people do – but like any work of “art”, there are bound to be differing opinions, expectations and feelings about them.

So let’s jump in with probably the most well-known of the titles I’m going to discuss today. There may be spoilarz ahead… and you can click the game titles to visit the sites for them. (If you’re reading this on Facebook, you might not be able to. Click here to read this post properly.)

Braid

Braid is a game by Jonathan Blow that represents, to me, one of the interesting things about the Xbox 360 – the fact that this is a console with such diversity that triple-A “blockbuster” titles like Gears of War 2 and independent “arthouse” (for want of a better term) games like this can happily coexist on the platform quite comfortably. With the recent launch of the NXE and the Community Games project, I think it’s relatively safe to say that Braid will not be the last game of its type that we’ll see.

But what is Braid? Ostensibly it’s a platform game that largely centres around puzzles rather than action. The central game mechanic is an interesting “time rewind” system which has an interesting twist put onto it in each of the game’s worlds. In some worlds, you can simply rewind time if you make a mistake. In others, certain areas or objects are immune to time manipulation, so you can rewind time in the areas around the object and remain unaffected by this. In yet others, time winds forwards while you run to the right and backwards while you run to the left. It’s an interesting mechanic that makes for some absolute brain-benders, and I maintain that I’m far too stupid to ever solve the game without help.

Still, the interesting thing about Braid for me, and the thing which divides opinion the most, is the “meaning” behind it all. Each world is preceded by a series of text interludes, describing the main character’s quest to reach a princess in floaty, dreamy, vague language and tying the central mechanic of each world in with the main character’s conflicting emotions and feelings about time, place, love and loss as he proceeds through the game. It’s a fine line between “emo bullshit” and “existential masterpiece” – and there’s plenty of people on both sides of the debate on this one. One thing is certain though, everyone who has played the game has plenty to say about it, whether it’s good or bad.

Passage and Gravitation

These two “autobiographical” games by Jason Rohrer at first glance appear to be simplistic “retro” style games with eye-catching super low-res pixel art. But look into them a little deeper (or, if you need a little prompting, as I did, read the Creator’s Statement that Rohrer has thoughtfully posted for each game) and you’ll find that each of these two games represent a deeply personal exploration of a certain aspect of “life” to Rohrer – with Passage offering a look at mortality, companionship, ambition, love, loss and the balance between these things and Gravitation looking at the concept of fatherhood, the creative process and again, the balance between these things.

Each is represented very simply with the aforementioned low-resolution pixel art. But it’s the little things about the presentation and the games themselves that carry the deeper meaning. In Passage you start on the left of the screen, with more of the “world” – your life – stretching out ahead of you. Very shortly after the beginning, you have the choice of picking up a companion, who then stays with you until almost the end of the game. This makes you unable to reach some areas of the game, but it’s actually quite difficult to consider leaving her behind. If you’re me, anyway.

As you progress through the game, you gradually move across the screen towards the right side, meaning that at the beginning, you are looking forward to what is ahead, while at the end you are looking back on where you have just been. Shortly before the end, had you chosen to take your companion with you, she dies, leaving you as an old, lonely man left to trudge on towards his own death alone. This moment, although it is represented simply by the companion suddenly turning into a gravestone and the speed of movement of your character suddenly cutting to a quarter of what it was originally, is a hugely touching moment due to how understated it is. For me, it put across the idea that death is unglamorous, is unavoidable, but there is always someone left behind to trudge on without the person who is gone. I found it to be quite a beautiful, thought-provoking sentiment that is all the more poignant when you read Rohrer’s description of the meaning behind the game.

Gravitation, conversely, does not deal with a subject such as death, but rather the struggle that a creative person has between his art and his family. The game starts with you playing “catch” with a child figure. Each time you bounce the ball back to the child, a little heart appears above their head, but you cannot make any progress in the game itself by doing this. To score “points”, you have to leap up a huge tower, with gravity that is constantly changing, presumably representing varying degrees of motivation (or “mania” as the Rohrer puts it), and collect stars, which fall to the ground and form rocks. Following this, you have to drop back down and push these blocks into a furnace.

The twist is, the more stars that drop, the less able you are to get to your child to play with them, as the rocks that appear form directly in front of your child, blocking your way to her, and this also seems to have an effect on the gravity of the game. So it becomes a balancing act between play with your child and the “work” of pushing the blocks into the furnace.

These two games are two of my favourite examples of this subgenre because of their simplicity of presentation and gameplay, and the amount of “interpretation” that can be had by looking more closely at what is happening. I think it’s also really interesting to see “autobiographical” games, as Rohrer calls them, and he himself points out that this is not something that many developers have done as yet.

The Majesty of Colors

This is another game that chooses to use 8-bit style pixel art as its means of presentation, giving it a distinctive look and character that seems entirely appropriate for the game. I can’t pin down why this is, but I love it. This is also the first of two games hosted on Kongregate, which originally became my favourite Flash games site purely for the presence of Desktop Tower Defense following my brother’s recommendations, but seems to be developing into an interesting community of indie developers, “interesting game enthusiasts” like myself, and illiterate 12 year olds who just want to play stuff with badly-drawn animé-style characters. Fortunately, like the Xbox 360, the groups seem to coexist quite happily, meaning we get titles like this.

In The Majesty of Colors, you play a betentacled sea monster. The game opens in black and white with balloons floating past your face and the “monster’s” inner monologue represented as text across the top of the screen. Grabbing a balloon and bringing it close to the monster’s eyes suddenly brings the world into vibrant colour, and the story itself begins. Essentially, the player can choose to manipulate the humans who appear on the scene either through violence or helping them, and this eventually leads to one of five endings, each of which involves the “monster” (whom, it transpires, is actually a person having a dream) awakening in very different ways.

I kind of don’t want to say anything else about this one, because I believe it’s worth experiencing. It’s a simplistic game with not a lot of “point” to it as a game, but it’s very much an interactive work of art to me.

Coil

The first of two games by Edmund McMillen, Coil is a self-professed game with no instructions that requests you “keep an open mind while playing”. It’s presented in a rather abstract manner, with mouse-driven mini-games interspersed with Braid-style text interludes. The story of the game appears to be deliberately ambiguous to provoke discussion, but the consensus from many people seems to be that it is about a woman who was raped and the feelings she develops towards the child that is the product of that incident.

Like The Majesty of Colors, I believe this is a “game” that’s somewhat open to interpretation, and another that will probably split opinion. The lack of instructions can make it challenging to progress, but it’s worth persevering with the story to see what you think of it.

Aether

Another from McMillen, Aether seems to be a rather personal story about childhood feelings of inadequacy in the eyes of others. Players swing through space atop the back of a curious blob-like monster trying to solve simple puzzles on planets to restore colour to their lives. The game is a somewhat abstract “journey into imagination” that seems to represent an individual’s struggle for validation and acceptance by others. It also has some fabulously hypnotic dynamically remixing music which really helps with the atmosphere.

So there you have them. Pretentious crap or an interesting method of displaying a work of art and telling a deeply personal story? I vote the latter, though I am more than prepared to hear people disagree, which they no doubt will!