“Penn and Teller: Fool Us” has a great premise. Two of the world’s most popular, talented and experienced magicians watch other magicians perform their acts and attempt to fool them. While I’m sure Penn and Teller enjoy the challenge of having to work out how the tricks are performed, they (well, Penn at least) make it abundantly clear that they’d rather be fooled. The only way to do that is to do something they haven’t seen before. This doesn’t necessarily mean rewriting the book on magic, although that may be desirable, but there must be enough of a twist to put the act beyond their comprehension.

Magicians, as with musicians and any other artist, have a shared heritage. This shared heritage is a range of equipment and techniques which the magician or musician can use to elicit the desired reaction from their audience.  Musicians have their equivalents of these tools. These could be certain chord sequences, rhythms, breaks, dynamic changes, performance techniques such as crowd infiltration (diving and surfing etc.), violence towards instruments and the good old call and response. There are many other examples of these devices. None of them are necessarily bad or wrong.

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Disclaimer: Maybe I’ve led you into a false sense of security. From this point forward, the blog post may get preachy, pretentious, purist and possibly even condescending.

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I believe that music is more than just entertainment. It is a transcendent form of communication capable of altering thought, emotion and consciousness. Not only do I like to think that most other people see it that way, I am disappointed when I suspect they don’t. Even worse is when I suspect they used to see it as something other than entertainment but changed their mind over time. I believe that the perception of music as no more than entertainment is endemic in today’s music industry and, as an audience, we are all complicit in the degradation of music as an art form.

Somewhat ironically, it appears that those willing to dedicate their lives and careers to music are among the most susceptible to a reclassification of music from art form to mere entertainment. If you’re a musician, the bullshit starts early, most likely when you make your first demo. “You have 30 seconds to make it count” is sound advice on the surface, but it’s also potentially the first stage in a dangerous cycle. You’re already playing the percentages before you’re allowed on the bottom step of the ladder.

Objectivity is progress in most areas of life. It is science and logic and reason. It’s numbers. Obviously, music is a subjective experience. Where this objectivity and subjectivity meet is where the media come in. If I were a journalist, I would want to write or broadcast about all the things I love and nothing else. That’s why I’ll never be a journalist because they need to write about the things that reflect the numbers. These numbers can be gig attendances, album sales, Facebook likes (which is basically a really shit clap-o-meter) Twitter followers or even the list of results in Google. If the journalist doesn’t reflect the numbers, they can’t sustain their career. That’s fair enough. The problem arises when the objective experience of the numbers affects the subjective experience of the music. This is most prevalent in gig attendances where the music can become secondary to the event. “That band was awesome live but their album is shit. What’s missing?” The event is missing. I feel sorry for those bands. They get taken on the cruellest ride of all. That ride is called “The Scene”.

This is where I feel people will disagree with me: Music is not a social or shared experience. You can listen at the same time as someone, but you are not listening with them and, ultimately, it is a communication between you and the artist on a personal level. Their self-expression can change the way you think. There is a direct link between the artists I love the most and how much they seem to be communicating exclusively with me.

Now let’s go back to those tools; those tried and tested methods. If I can sense that those tools are being over-used and the percentages are being worked, I won’t like it. Depending on what tools have been used, I may even be insulted by because I know just how easily they can be implemented. I will know that song isn’t trying to communicate exclusively with me. If the artist can truly express themselves, if they can obscure the tools and communicate with me on a personal level, then I don’t care how many others like or dislike it. I don’t care what instrument they’re playing. I don’t care how many others are with me at the time. And I certainly don’t care whether it makes a connection within 30 seconds.

I want to be a member of the audience.

I need to be fooled.

Posted by Callum

We found out just five weeks ago that we’d be playing the BBC Introducing stage at T in the Park. We genuinely had no idea before then, so the invitation was a pleasant surprise fucking event in itself for us. A month later, we loaded up the van and made our way to Balado.

We were probably the most obscure act on the bill. Some of our closest friends and family have only vague recollections of us ever having formed a band. Even those who actually attend our gigs may get confused and ask questions like; “Why don’t they have any girls in the band?”, “Don’t they have any novelty instruments?”, or “Why can’t they sound like Graceland-era Paul Simon?” The answer to all those questions is; “We just don’t.” No agenda behind that. We just don’t.

The truth is, I don’t get out much. I’d never even been to a music festival before (blame an intense discomfort around large crowds) and an event of this scale was something of a baptism of fire. Thankfully, the others in the band are far more socially adept than I am, so were able to guide me through the finer points of festival etiquette (of which there appears to be very little). The much-touted statistic of this festival being the fifth largest population centre in Scotland becomes all too real when you first set eyes on the area in front of the main stage.

We saw some of the Saturday headliners. Slash was a real crowd pleaser. I played a little game while listening to him where I imagined that each of his intricate guitar lines was a botched attempt to find the right note by process of elimination. Sadly, that’s my version of fun. Wob thinks that Beyoncé is a great and charismatic performer. I agree, but she still has the cold dead stare of a Nazi experiment victim. Coldplay are good, but I see them as the bottled water of rock:- thirst quenching and impressively packaged while ultimately a filtered version of something you could easily find closer to source.

We spent more time at the smaller stages on Sunday, taking in impressive sets from both United Fruit and Bronto Skylift. The rest of the band also went off to see Rachel Sermanni (who, by all accounts, was really good) while I have to admit to disappearing off with my girlfriend to the Ghost Train. I think they missed a trick with the Ghost train. A more effective scare would have been if the train had run all the way to the front of the main stage while Kei$ha performed her set. Then you would be repeatedly forced to down pints of Tennents at £4 a go while your bank balance was broadcast on the big screens.

Overall, being one of the smallest acts at one of the country’s biggest festival is a humbling experience. The articulated trucks and chauffeur-driven Mercedes (with blacked out windows) of the biggest acts contrasted greatly with our little van. It’s an enduring irony that an apparently greater connection with audiences, demonstrated in popularity, is so often rewarded with a greater separation from those same audiences. I wonder if they’ll remember the mud.

Posted by Callum

I was the happiest four-year-old ever.

Posted by Callum

“How’s the band?” is a common question to be asked if you’re in a band (it rarely gets asked otherwise). What it really means, especially when asked by people who are also in a band, is “How commercially successful are you, relative to the last time I asked the question; How’s the band?”

The answer is normally something like “It’s going alright. We’re playing at [wherever] on [some date in the next two months].” Reciting gig listings is a good way of avoiding the question entirely. The diagram at the beginning of this post is a good representation of our long term chances.

There are, however, certain circumstances (or paths we may choose) that will pave the way for commercial success. We’ve decided to list them. (Feel free to treat this list as advice… which it is… sort of)

In no particular order:

Every so often, those unblessed by any obvious reasons for why they should be popular find themselves in positions of great authority because they mysteriously tap into some hither-to-unknown, unconscious desire of the general public. Think Hitler, George W. Bush or Ron Jeremy. That could be us.

We’ve all dreamed about it. The pram being pushed out of the way of the oncoming truck. The suicide bomber thwarted by a rugby tackle. If one of us ever managed to do that, we’d be on the front pages holding a copy of our album. The caption would read: “More acts of heroism available on iTunes.”

Play for free and get a bit of exposure for both yourself and some (hopefully) good causes. Too much like hard work? How about cynically leeching off the charity and bravery of others at the Pride of Britain awards? Their stories will be on page 8 while your massive face can be seen filling a champagne glass with tears on pages 1 through to 7. Seriously though, it’s brilliant that we have something like that… an awards show willing to recognise those who will do anything for publicity.

If heroism fails, be the suicide bomber. And you’ll be dead. This is double prizes as far as commercial success is concerned. The surviving members can even change their name and branch off into dance music.

Everyone loves Scotland, even the Scottish. Play quieter, roll your r’s and express your love of Bert Jansch. Sing about antiquated buildings, ferries and how different we are from the English and Americans. Ride that cultural heritage like a train filled with warm gravy. You’ll be playing to university lecturers at the Royal Concert Hall in no time. Mony a mickle maks a fuckload o’ wonga.

Your beard grows thicker, your grin refuses to cease and crowds of ticket holders, as far as the eye can see, have somehow failed to notice that you’ve mistakenly released the same album on at least four separate occasions.

Just like they don’t actually manufacture energy drinks, we probably wouldn’t even have to make a sound. As everyone knows, actually having to make a sound is the single greatest barrier to commercial success that any musician faces. And we’d get free tickets to every sporting event that’s yet to be invented.

Unlikely. (The accompanying photo is Jesus, pictured on the hard road to commercial success)

On Thursday, we had our first radio interview with Tom Robinson at BBC 6 Music in London. We can now, with complete authority, share some of the things we have learned:

1. BBC Radio presenters are disproportionately tall compared to the wider population.


2. BBC elevators are disproportionately small, expecially considering how disproportionately tall the presenters are.


3. There never has and never will be a shortage of cock jokes (or should that be cock gags?) Click here to find out how we overindulged in The Cock.


4. You should not assume that everybody living or working nearby The Cock (eg. BBC 6 Music interns) has ever heard of it. Interpretations of the question “Do you like The Cock?” may be severely limited. If any specific BBC 6 Music interns (to whom we may or may not have posed this question) are reading, we’re truly sorry.


5. Truly sorry you don’t like The Cock.


6. There is a restaurant called Testi (just around the corner from where we were staying) that specialises in testicles. This was actually only news to three of us (Sean has previously eaten there) but leads nicely into what we promise is the last cock joke in this blog…
   
   “London: Come for the testicles, stay for The Cock.”


7. Seven hours is too long to spend in a car. Fourteen hours, doubly so. Although, technically, that last bit was learned back in Glasgow.


8. Greig really loves Stevie Wonder and Prince, but not as much as Greig loves pharmacies and priority seating.

Here ends a valuable and in depth account of the experience of our first radio interview. More details on our appearance (including a stream when it’s available) may be found by clicking here. Many thanks to Tom for deeming us as suitable to broadcast.

It’s almost 10 years since Delia Derbyshire died. It’s seems ridiculous but I didn’t realise she was part of White Noise until recently. That album is now 42 years old.

Ahead of its time… and then some.

Posted by Callum

We were included in a Tom Robinson (BBC 6 Music) podcast (download) on Monday (took ourselves for a drink on Tuesday, obviously). The first time we were included in his podcast, we received this e-mail from a PR agency the following day…

Yesterday, we received the exact same e-mail. We’re not totally against mail merge but, when it includes compliments, it’s more than a little bit cynical. We decided to reply…

Incidently, http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/fuck_all really does exist… and a damn fine job it does too.