Now that Prime Minister Dave Thatcher (who would have thought, after that exquisite, exquisite ceremony, that he’d decide take her name) has finally announced, in a cascade of blue fireworks and go-green smoke, that the still-new decade will be known, from henceforth, as the Tory-teens, let’s all hold hands take...
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The first international performance to test the acoustics of the Arts Centre’s all-new (doesn’t seem to have changed that dramatically) Butterworth Hall was many things; subtle wasn’t one of them. Opening with a couple of fragments of Mussorgsky’s lusciously widescreen opera, ‘Khovanschina’, and closing with Tchaikovsky’s totally-fucking-exhausting final symphony (No.6),...
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This year’s NME Awards Tour was a thoroughly depressing experience for several reasons. A remarkable prevalence of rather creepy, down-with-the-kids yuppies in short-sleeved shirts was one. An even more remarkable prevalence of children intent on capturing every second of four – yes, four – entire sets on their mobile fucking...
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In a follow-up to his week 3 interview, Sam Kinchin-Smith meets Miri Ben-Ari.
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Hip-hop? With violins? It's probably time you met Miri Ben-Ari, writes Sam Kinchin-Smith.
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What happened in Dedorograd? Well you might ask, writes Sam Kinchin-Smith...
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Welcome to 2009! Population: more of the same, says Sam Kinchin-Smith...
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Considering that she’s a beautiful woman who has forged a significant portion of her reputation out of covering everybody from Janis Joplin to Billie Holiday, from the Velvet Underground to Oasis, the music press don’t half get a kick out of rather reverently musically intellectualising Cat Power. From Uncut magazine’s...
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The _Boar_ has ignored unsigned music for far too long. Time you were introduced to Patti Plinko and her Boy, then, writes Sam Kinchin-Smith
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The first and, as of yet, only time I’ve actually seen Glasvegas play live, was in the Uncut tent on the Sunday afternoon of Latitude. The context wasn’t ideal – I remember being about as far back as it was possible to be without actually being outside, and lodged somewhere...
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This review is fortunate enough to share a double-page with Dave Toulson’s opinions on the new Kings of Leon record, an entirely coincidental juxtaposition that got me thinking. The Streets and Kings of Leon: musical stratospheres apart, surely. One, a lisping Brummie with UK garage-redefining mockney pretensions and a penchant...
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