Music: Mastodon, Low Anthem, Joan As Policewoman

It’s not often that I get to review a band or music artist – and then three gift-wrapped opportunities arrive at once like polaroid guys after a few too many. Working at iamsterdam.com last week had me plugged into Rhode-Island based trio The Low Anthem, after which I hitch-hiked along some dirt track to Atlanta, Georgia to drop in on Mastodon, a prog-rock four-piece, before winding down to the ethereal French chic of Joan As Police Woman. I hereby give you my soundbytes.

Mastodon

The almighty prehistoric Mastodon lives on via the prodigious efforts of four dudes from Atlanta, Georgia. The latter-day beast makes progressive metal look like the missing element on the periodic table. With NME, Kerrang! and metalheads reporting that they’ve seen ’something!!!’, you would do well to catch them this side of the century.

Remission to Levianthan
While their 2002 album Remission proved everyone loves a dinosaur, it was Leviathan in 2004 that saw the quartet outmetal any of their contemporaries. Swapping sludge for a new progressive metal jacket, Mastadon now aped elements of 80’s Metallica or the heyday Rush of the 70’s.

Blood Mountain
By the time they had released their third album, Blood Mountain, in 2006, Mastodon were critically acclaimed and reeking of polish with even tighter lyrics expertly alternated between vocals and guitar.

The metalhead’s Mastodon
Mastodon bring their epic album-making credits to the Melkweg including Crack of Skye, which was released last year amid hype. They’ve come to wow you with their Tolkien vision of seas and mountains and outer body experiences. If you like metal bands that actually sing, or even better, play the banjo, the Melkweg-Mastodon ticket is a golden opportunity.

The Low Anthem

All the way from Rhode Island,USA, we give you The Low Anthem. With some 32 instruments in tow, folksters Ben, Jocie and Jeff have been busy tearing up festivals like Bonnaroo and Glastonbury, reveling in such comparisons to the Fleet Foxes and the relentlessly growing fuss around them. Their eclectic sound will take you from raspy gospel to barnyard stomp via the pumpkin patches of Americana.

What the Crow Brings
The band self-released in 2007 with their maiden album What the Crow Brings, which has been described as a ‘gloriously romantic vision of America that sits somewhere between Dylan and Waits.’

Oh My God, Charlie Darwin
Their second album Oh My God, Charlie Darwin was released in 2008 and then re-released last year to critical acclaim. Evolution is no accidental theme here when you face the reality of a fuller sound which is held together by a haunting falsetto. Highlights include the piercing cold, choppy seas and bourbon drunk under star-filled skies, which conspire beautifully to produce a masterpiece.

The highs of The Low Anthem
These young hip things are clearly experiencing momentum, so it’s like catching a sunrise when all is well. They’ve not even played to their US fans yet (although a tour is imminent), so Amsterdammers, you lucky things, make room tonight for an alternative folk rave-up.

Joan As Police Woman

Singer, songwriter, and violinist Joan Wasser suits being the solo talent that made her the in-demand back-up player of the 90s. You can catch the gossamer voice as Joan as Police Woman, melting like a sleepy head into a pillow with unctuous touches of indie rock, American soul and punk R&B.

Real Life
Joan’s debut album Real Life had Europe, especially Britain, dazzled for most of 2006 with her stunning emotionally-dense pop songs, textured with deftly-plucked guitar.

To Survive
Joan didn’t just survive her second go around, she thrived. Her second album To Survive was recorded while on tour, and boy does it burst with exploration of love and life, intimate yet full of soulful piano melodies that linger like a compliment.

Talent To Watch
Her first two album titles carry epic emotional struggles within them but Wasser knows all about the release – and it’s beautiful. Elton John, Rufus Wainwright and the Scissor Sisters have all queued up to work with Joan, and we agree that this lady Police Woman is definitely worth queueing for.

BBC1’s MusLim Driving School

The controllers at the BBC are totally on their A-game right now. I’m talking super-crack scheduling because a) Heroes is back on Saturdays (Nathan as Sylar but Nathan’s just been killed (again!!), which means Sylar is now alive and duf duf duf… ) and b) there’s this brand new series called Muslim Driving School, which has had me and LeeRoy flashing gums with all the guffawing.

The series, about female Muslim learner drivers from up t’North, started two weeks ago and that’s exactly when the 58-year old granny Taslima Dhin from Bradford walked into my life. Quite frankly she deserves her own show. Or subsidised driving lessons. Something, anything. Can you think of a funkier accent anywhere? And those facial expressions and eyebrows. Next time we’re back in Bradford, I’m going after her with my autograph book and I’m coming back with her face on a crisp white tee. Guaranteed.

You need to spend the next 10 minutes watching the first episode: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UC8fLjLn5UA

In other TV news, series 3 of Mad Men starts Wednesday January 28 on BBC4. I simply cannot contain myself. [Sorry, can you please give me and the TV a moment now. This is private. Thanking you muchly]

Maisiehelensharon – Blog Love

She on the right is Sharon.

She on the left is Helen.

They like to party.

Follow their adventures at http://maisiehelensharon.tumblr.com/, my new favourite blog, powered by Scottish tablet and crunk juice.

It’s got intrigue (exhibit: Hanging out with the Boys in Bangkok); interiors fetish (exhibit: voyeuristic shot of king-sized bed spread); much smattering of Japanese love (exhibits include shots of super-kawaii baby Teru and a peeling Geisha; and an author with a taste for business class flights and cleaning.

It’s more fun than a game of Sticklebricks.

Don’t miss a minute. Enjoy the show!

Happy Weekend!

Seriously crushing on Volta Footwear.

http://voltafootwear.it/

Bombay Potatoes

Before I found my mouth, a discovery that assured my love for the culinary arts, namely cooking and eating, you’d see things like Smash mash in my cupboard. And it wouldn’t be hidden away at the back either; instead I liked it merched right up front where I could get my ghetto mealtime hands on it for instant, and I mean straight-outta-tin/Compton and no-need-for-water, gratification.

Nowadays it’s all about the spud. Real tuberous varieties that grow in fields and have roots and families with names. One thing’s for cert: you can’t beat a curried spud. I don’t eat them much too often as it goes but when I do I make up for lost time via Bombay Potatoes. The recipe is something I freestyled using my patchwork memory, courtesy of my mum and granny’s recipes (which are the best in the world), and from a little Googling.

It went a little something like this:

Riki’s Bombay Potatoes (rap and harem pants optional):

450g potatoes, scrubbed well

Small white onion

2 tsps garlic, chopped finely

Ghee or vegetable oil (I used ghee)

Big pinch of baby curry leaves or 2 bay leaves (I used curry leaves)

1 tsp of mustard seeds

1/4 tsp of good quality dried ginger

1/4 tsp of turmeric

Few pinches worth of dried red chillies

1/2 teaspoon of salt

Lemon juice

Cooking and prep time: 1 hour or a good glug of Vampire Weekend.

1) Parboil the potatoes, with or without skins, in a pan of boiling water flavoured with salt and a pinch of turmeric. (You could also cook them a little closer to boiled if you’re strapped for time.) When done, shake them about in their sieve to lightly crush the sides or fluff them up with a fork. Set aside.

2) Chop the onion and garlic finely and set aside. Meanwhile heat the ghee/oil on medium in a wok/regular pan and drop in a curry leaf/bay leaf. When it turns black, add the rest of the leaves along with the mustard seeds – and let them splutter with unbridled excitement (but please take care with this) for around 5 mins.

3) Add the onions and garlic to the spice mix and fry on medium ’till lovely and golden, adding the ginger, turmeric and red chillies next to avoid any burning. Fry these for a couple of mins so that the dried ingredients release a gorgeous aroma, then turn heat down and add the potatoes. Let them stir fry for around 10 minutes, depending on how cooked the potatoes are. Add the lemon juice and salt. Adjust to your desired level of heat/ seasoning or acidity.

*PS – I didn’t have my camera to take a pic so that will follow on a day when the hunger is less dramatic. For now, I give you a pile of potatoes – lovely, right.

1, 2, 3 and you’re under

You say books, my eyes start widening with panic. Because I’m sure I’ve missed one that I’m destined to read. No matter that theory that books pick you, I’m like Veronica Salt on speed when I want a book. I want it and I want it now. Fetch me that ooompa, loompa while you’re there.

I’m at peace with my ever sprouting book collection when I’m left alone. It’s when Amazon sticks its beak in that I’m reduced to a tragic mess. Let me take you back to 3 days before Christmas (I don’t know what my true love gave to me that day…  moving on…) as I settled myself to browsing some books online. I was after one book. A me-me gift. A self-gift. A win-win situation.

Amazon had already pinged my inbox several times reminding me that I’d like this book or that I’d want to run away and live on the beach in a shabby hut made for two with that other book. I just didn’t see it coming. Before I knew it, and I usually sense these things pretty fast, my wish list had turned into my checkout list. A basket containing 15 books. Geezo, 15 books. And where would these 15 books live?

A Ha, er ha ha, I can explain. Actually I can’t. The glaring answer is nowhere. My Amsterdam apartment can barely contain me, never mind my fastest-finger-to-the-buzzer impulses. Anyway, you live and you hope to learn. I just can’t wait to tuck into these beauties, a select few as it were:

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I’d seen her speak on TED.com (my current online crush) and something about her utterly compelled me to buy this book. It’s an international best seller too, you know. (You see how easy I am?!)

A Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. And into the next decade we go.

Ways of Seeing by John Berger. (Once read smitten, never shy).

Staying On by Paul Scott.

The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan.

George Orwell Narrative Essays

The Sopranos by Alan Warner

Coco Chanel, un parfum de mystère by Isabelle Fiemeyer (LeeRoy actually bought me this one, he loves me)

Already gorged Alain de Botton’s How Proust Can Change Your Life. Annnnd check.

Next conquest will be Food for Thought, Thought for Food, edited by pop-artist Richard Hamilton and Vicente Todolí (a Christmas gift from LeeRoy and his ma, and please join me in a Mexican Wave to them for that.)

2010, get in!

Wooohooo, 2010! Who’d have guessed it back in the 18th century! Never too late to wish you all a cracking good year. We all know that I’m probably THE most excited human being alive. Yep, I’d probably cream the lot of you in the cheesy grin stakes. Because.. wait for it…  LeeRoy and I are finally getting married, tying the knot, exchanging vows, going down the aisle… y’all still awake?… wait, let me just hit caps lock: WE’RE GETTING MARRIED! And that’s the last of the cliches for the year, I promise.

If you’re new to me (hello and grab a seat!), you’ll not be privy to our 13-year-old project of trying to do all those cliched things mentioned above. Just the once, of course, you pick the proverb. In real time, 13 is nothing but an isolated pair of prime numbers, and not a very lucky one at that. You wanna know how long 13 years is? Me and LeeRoy have been patient the length of time it took Top of the Pops to keel over and Chaka Demus and Pliers to stop being cool. Or were they ever cool? (Answers on a postcard please.)

So that’s me getting really excited and deciding not to make any resolutions.

You?

So what’s with that mountain you may ask? Or you may not care, in which case, split yourselves into two groups please. Red house, green house, good, we can now start. That there is Goatfell, the highest point on the Isle of Arran, Scotland. Breaking the trivia down further, that Goatfell is a small bit of madness that overcame myself, LeeRoy and a few of our pals who spent Hogmanay in bonny Scotland.

Nobody was trekking anywhere the night prior to the event. This was the by- product of a lengthy debate on the matter. We were being mental but the epic doom wasn’t going to put us off. The rapid conclusion was this: we did it anyway. I shared a few genteel words with my maker and I was off, despite having foolishly GHD’ing my hair to stop me from being so mental. The ascent amounted o 874 metres (2876 feet) which is higher than Dubai’s latest monstrosity, the Burj Khalifa.

I tell you all this because that’s how I rang in my New Year. Not exactly the night; We came down eventually. Now I see it like this: if I can do that, I definitely won’t become a Bridezilla. That last sentence is not supposed to make sense. Anyway, right, I’m off to scrapbook my big fat wedding day. Laters!