The Plan - Weekend Rockstar or Weekend Offender?

I was familiar with The Plan’s previous recordings on Soundcloud, but despite the masses of cool, teenage angst and a huge energy, I felt their sound lacked an edge; they were close, but they didn’t kick me in the face and steal my wallet. So, does their newest offering, Weekend Rockstar, get its claws out, or is it as blunt as Jeremy Paxman in a butterknife factory?

Much more polished and weighing in with more balls than a bowling alley, Weekend Rockstar is a massive step up for The Plan boys. It sounds much more complete, more how I wanted them to sound listening to their previous recordings. It screams at you and pushes you in the chest, goading you to come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough. I like that in a song; two fingers up to a quiet night in and punch in the arm to say ‘fuck it, we’re going out.’

The Plan have kept the classic britpop/indie roots but stepped away from sounding obvious; Weekend Rockstar is less about sounding like other bands and more about broadcasting their own brutally honest voice about the dirty, filthy, stinking weekends. That’s what I admire about The Plan; they give the guitar back to the weekend, and all the grime and grit that comes with them. 

Opening on a fat, juicy, bounding riff, the band jump in behind and catapult Weekend Rockstar into existence. Full of swaggering, surefooted movement, Weekend Rockstar details the lives of pretty much every 17 year old’s Friday night, with alarming accuracy. 

But the song is less about telling stories and more about bursting in through the door and slapping twenty quid on the bar to get the night rolling. If it were a drink, Weekend Rockstar would be a triple vodka, and hold the coke. Wash that down with a pint of I-don’t-care-what-as-long-as-it’s-30% and then it’s on to the next fine drinking establishment. A cackling, screeching guitar solo lands the final blow into the side of your head, before it downs its last pint and heads off for a kebab. It’s just proper, simple rock’n’roll loveliness that works and works well.

I’m more than impressed with the progress The Plan have made, and Weekend Rockstar is testament to all the gigging and living they’ve done. Unconcerned with complex harmonies or stupid runs up and down the fretboard, The Plan show that you can give life to the tried and tested indie formula and make a truly worthy song out of it. If this is where The Plan are going, then I’m all ears. This is how they should’ve sounded, and I’m very, very glad they’ve found that slicing edge that turns a song into something fantastic. 

What's its sound?

Think early Arctic Monkeys pace with a smoother, quintessentially rock-infused chord progression. Sprinkle in some Oasis attitude, a dash maybe of pop-punk, and garnish it with a Strokes-y cool, and leave to simmer for a weekend. 

https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Plan/660184137325065?ref=ts&fref=ts

https://soundcloud.com/theplan47

@ThePlan7

Florence Black - 'Zulu': Vicious Warrior or Men in Skirts?

When I do these reviews, I tend to jot a few words down after giving the song a listen. After 33 seconds of Florence Black’s latest offering, ‘Zulu’,I realised that I had written the word ‘massive’ 5 times. Massive works. I could push some words around a page, throw a metaphor in and hope that it all comes together in some poetic form, but in this instance, all I need is the word ‘massive.’

So what’s massive about it then? Firstly, the intro. Washed out chords drone underneath a beautifully unsure sitar-esque melody. There's something haunting about that opening; it crawls up your spine and breathes on the back of your neck. ‘The calm before the storm,’ you could say, but I'd prefer to call it the stand-off before the fight. It’s the point where the eyes meet, the breathing becomes heavy, and then Tristan’s guitar becomes violently clear. The ensuing hell that breaks loose echoes The Battle of Rorke, and guess what? It sounds massive.

Two notes. That’s all it is, and yet it’s fucking massive. It’s the type of riff that holds you down whilst two of its mates kick you in the stomach for their own amusement. It’s so dangerous, it’s bordering on GBH with intent. 

'Zulu', on its own, shows a massive leap forward from The Big Red EP of last year. They’ve ploughed everything they’ve learned into this new sound, and it is, as you’ve guessed, massive. It carries the energy of ‘Johnny’ and ‘Draggy Boot’ and channels it into a bigger, beefier, barbaric wall of hair, leather, and rock’n’roll. 

As a track, it really does show just what a Les Paul into a Marshall stack, 4 strings into an 8x10, and a bass drum bigger than the hatred for Josie Cunningham can do. It’s a tidal wave of distortion, violent torrents of fuzzy/Fozzi (geddit?) bass carried by thundering claps of snare and bass drum. It’s a very, very fine offering from Florence Black. 

However, that’s not to suggest that there’s no finesse to ‘Zulu’. The vocals are strained, but not untuneful, and the beautifully wah-ed solo screams with pain through gritted teeth; just as you expect it to choke into silence, a Perry and Fozzie double-team stamp the last living breath out of it. ‘Zulu’ is what your mother would call ‘a nasty piece of work.’

I’m very much impressed with ‘Zulu’. It’s not a new sound, just one that’s been fine-tuned and carefully redesigned to inflict maximum damage. If ‘Draggy Boot’ is a sledgehammer, then 'Zulu' is a full-on wrecking ball, with sharp, pointy bits and an operator who's just downed a bottle of Home Bargains vodka.

I hope they don’t release it as a CD. I really hope they just leave it in a cage somewhere and bring it out for special occasions. If it ever does come out as a CD, I’ll be forced to buy it, and after I’ve bought it, I will probably put it with the rest of my collection in my car. And then one day, I’ll come out of my house to find that my car has been stolen, and see the other CD’s beaten and bruised on my driveway. ‘Zulu’ will be responsible.

Please, Florence Black, don’t release ‘Zulu’. Lock it up, keep it away from the public and feed it stray cattle or something, because it’s too violent for us mere mortals. 

What does it sound like?

Take a heavy pinch of old school rock'n'roll. We're talking Deep Purple, Motorhead, people who have whiskey with their cornflakes. Then spread some teenage 'fuck you' on top. Add a healthy dose of Royal Blood, and finish with a fresh kick to the head. 

https://www.facebook.com/thenovacaines?ref=ts&fref=ts

https://soundcloud.com/florenceblackuk

@FlorenceBlackUK

'Zulu' - Florence Black, released 22/1/15.

Noughts & Crosses: Just a Couple of Squares?

I have to give these a mention. Think of it as a Sam on Sounds Christmas Special...

Twice this week have I found myself in the presence of Stuart 'Oxo' Jones and Lego Man. I say presence; when they're both 6 foot stupid, you generally find yourself in their presence wherever you may be. I was sat at the back of a pub as they played last Monday and could still feel the sweat dripping from their necks. Anyway, there's a reason I've decided to include them in Sam on Sounds this week, and thats because of a small sticker on the bass drum that Oxo sodomises with his shoe: 'Acoustic Duo'.

I pulled the dictionary up on my computer, which kindly defined 'acoustic' as: 'relating to sound or the sense of hearing: dogs have a much greater acoustic range than humans'. "Hmm," I thought. "That was my understanding of the word acoustic as well."

So why did I feel that this word didn't fit? 

Maybe it was the few pints, or perhaps the heat in the room, but I wouldn't describe them as an acoustic duo. I wouldn't describe them as an acoustic duo any less than I would describe an exploding bomb as an acoustic duo. There have been less energetic tsunami's than Noughts & Crosses, and generally, they tend to be less wet as well. These boys are pure energy. I've never seen anything like it.

Their repertoire is further reaching than a cheeky grope in Koolers, but every single one is played immaculately; a triumph in itself considering the constant, relentless movement. Everything from 60's Rock'n'Roll to last week's chart toppers were being thrown out, often laced into each other with the same craftsmanship and pain-staking care as the stitching in Victoria Beckham's face. It's a joy to behold, and an utter spectacle to watch. 

They have the ability to just pull people out of thin air. One minute, they're setting up in a quiet pub corner and two songs later, they've disappeared behind a sea of dancing, jumping bodies. They've either got some fantastic rates with Rent-a-Crowd or, more probably, people just absolutely adore them. There's a chemistry between the boys on stage that would put some happily married couples to shame; Lego leans in, and Oxo plonks his sliding glasses back up his nose like something from a Laurel and Hardy number.

I doubt they even need a PA system - their voices carry themselves like freight trains around the room, and the resulting mayhem is just one big party. In fact, that's what I'm going to Christen them: Noughts & Crosses aren't an 'Acoustic Duo', they are a '24-hour Party with More-Thrusting-and-More-Moisture-than-Hugh-Hefner's-Mattress Duo.' That is the only description I can 'come up' with (sorry) that comes close to describing them with some accuracy.

Go and see them. If you like a party, you'll love these.



What's their sound?

Think of Tom Jones being fired out of a cannon, toward the Playboy Mansion. Then, as Sir Tom wails through the air, he has a sudden urge to bellow out every party tune he can think of from the 1960's onwards. Then, just before he lands, a crowd of Playboy Bunnies emerge underneath him, and he knocks them all over like he was 10 pin bowling. Umm. Yeah, that'll do.



https://www.facebook.com/NoughtsCrossesBand?fref=ts