tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-106996732011-09-21T11:24:45.838ZWriting by Stevie ChickStevie Chicknoreply@blogger.comBlogger1101100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-28494711234775972692010-04-16T12:27:00.004Z2010-04-16T12:34:55.580Z

Wow. Over a year since I last posted anything... Writing books will do that to you.Here's a piece I wrote for the awesome Buddyhead.com a couple of years ago; am reposting it here, inspired in part by the tragic death of journalist and screenwriter David Mills, who passed away unexpectedly at the end of last month, and whose excellent blog, http://undercoverblackman.blogspot.com/, contained

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-61530070499922924882009-01-06T22:24:00.001Z2009-01-06T22:25:14.039Z

[for MOJO]Wild Combination: A Portrait Of Arthur Russell****PLEXIFILMWarm and insightful documentary traces the beguiling apparition that was Arthur RussellDue to the scant availability of interview footage with Wild Combination’s notoriously shy subject, Arthur Russell seems ghostlike even in this documentary dedicated to his short life and voluminous works; there, but not there. Director Matt

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-6613726406571962512008-12-14T16:58:00.001Z2008-12-14T16:58:42.609Z

[for PLAN B]Tim Harrington leans back on a metal folding chair, crazed gesticulations possessing his hands, midway through the latest in a series of unlikely tales. His eyes are wild, like his thick, curling-at-the-edges brown beard, or his bedhead-of-all-bedheads blonde hair. His monkish frame clad in pastel shades, he looks like a character from Caddyshack – Rodney Dangerfield’s gregarious and

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-50399593254019551612008-12-14T16:06:00.002Z2008-12-14T16:07:17.622Z

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-42459583362394168242008-11-12T12:30:00.002Z2008-11-12T12:32:38.954Z

My first cover piece for The Guardian, revisiting one of my favourite bands of my teenhood, and trying to figure out why they don't rock quite as hard as they used to, and explaining why I think that's a damn shame.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-47225529577607041232008-11-12T12:29:00.000Z2008-11-12T12:30:51.378Z

One of my favourite new artists of recent years, maybe he could be one of yours too?

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-43684185968192621352008-11-12T12:28:00.001Z2008-11-12T12:29:53.262Z

You can't keep a good band down, and for years I've believed Scarce were one of the best. They've reformed, sounding as painfully and beautifully alive as ever, and you can read their tale here.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-66509369721167202662008-11-12T12:27:00.001Z2008-11-12T12:28:41.055Z

Another shot at understanding the Fall Out Boy phenomenon, this time with the 08 election and wild times in Barcelona as the backdrop.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-54305864547629093712008-11-12T12:25:00.001Z2008-11-12T12:27:18.026Z

Alan from Low threw a guitar at our heads, and all I got was this lousy blog.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-83688507226614327112008-10-03T14:46:00.001Z2008-10-03T14:51:09.636Z

For Plan BThe Heads Dead In The Water (Rooster) Despite possessing such a deep love for noise bestowed with heavilypsychotropic effects, I've always felt something of a fraud whenwriting about psychedelic music, having never personally droppedanything stronger than a couple of valerian to ease jetlag. And yet,I've been familiar with the relationship between contraband chemicals,mind expansion and

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-19311048462229954992008-07-18T08:41:00.002Z2008-07-18T08:44:04.344Z

Are you familiar with the music of Justin Broadrick, formerly of Napalm Death, Head Of David, Godflesh, Ice and Techno Animal, currently rocking as Jesu? Or the work of Kevin Martin, AKA GOD, Ice, Techno Animal and now The Bug? You should be. Here's a crash course, published in The Guardian.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-73632752394182336942008-07-18T08:40:00.001Z2008-07-18T08:41:48.160Z

A brief history of the man who coined the phrase, 'Black Metal'. From The Guardian.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-39512691763693983682008-05-13T16:16:00.001Z2008-05-13T16:16:36.242Z

for the Guardian

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-68697784991152463392008-05-13T16:15:00.000Z2008-05-13T16:16:05.611Z

For the Guardian

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-46015588633444655562008-05-13T16:14:00.002Z2008-05-13T16:15:26.596Z

I love The Breeders so very much. Here's my recent Guardian feature on 'em...

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-74876286521708803742008-05-13T16:13:00.002Z2008-05-13T16:14:28.446Z

For MOJO

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-68977734875207812122008-05-13T16:13:00.001Z2008-05-13T16:13:47.720Z

For MOJO

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-15644254869929263152008-03-01T12:36:00.002Z2008-03-01T12:38:09.736Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } it exists!, originally uploaded by Stevie Chick, Foxy Boxer. Published March 3rd, and something of a labour of love...

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-31075473158034179782008-01-10T23:09:00.000Z2008-01-10T23:12:26.752Z

Dave Day, singer and banjo player with the remarkable Monks, just passed away. RIP. This was written for the London Lite when the group played the Dirty Water Club last year. What a night... THE MONKS are like The Velvet Underground of the garage-rock scene – few bought their sole album, Black Monk Time, on its release in 1966, but the group have since become an influential rock’n’roll cult.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-58234782521089118402008-01-09T13:48:00.000Z2008-01-09T13:49:57.422Z

I interviewed George Clinton last year and he was AWESOME.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-69494123586902222032007-12-01T18:06:00.000Z2007-12-01T18:11:33.572Z

[for Plan B magazine; meeting Maceo was, as you might imagine, quite a trip, and he was one of the coolest interviewees I've ever had the pleasure of questioning. Long may he blow...]He was, and perhaps still is, the hardest working saxophonist in showbusiness, blowing horn and evading fines with James Brown over several stretches through the 60s, 70s and 80s. Maceo Parker lent his furious bebop

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-74916582970327741722007-11-01T00:50:00.000Z2007-11-01T00:51:31.225Z

[news piece / review from MOJO]September 12th saw Brian Wilson return to the freshly-refurbished Royal Festival Hall – where he had previously debuted Smile and Pet Sounds – for the world premiere of his newest work, a song-cycle written with Wondermint Scott Bennett and long-time collaborator Van Dyke Parks. Entitled That Lucky Old Sun (A Narrative), conceived while Wilson was “in the middle of

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-57725004841185549322007-10-28T22:23:00.000Z2007-10-28T22:24:55.681Z

Big Dada Records is ten years old! Buy their new Well Deep compilation album and DVD! Then buy everything else they ever released! But first read this.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-8346970452890147342007-10-21T22:52:00.001Z2007-10-21T22:53:20.208Z

Oh, hello. You can find my Guardian feature on the wonderful Amerie here

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-49603111961671986032007-09-27T14:25:00.000Z2007-09-27T14:27:57.915Z

[for Arena... Las Vegas, well, I hated it. The Fall Out boys, however, were lovely. Big shout to Louise Mayne who had to put up with my interminable gloom throughout this trip (seriously, June sucked...)] “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The high-pitched banshee wail is ear-piercing and nigh unbearable. We’re at Nellis Air Force Base in Clark County Nevada, North East of Las

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-44757896558677018902007-09-08T22:22:00.001Z2007-09-08T23:23:22.914Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } too much time behind the monitor today, originally uploaded by Stevie Chick, Foxy Boxer. Am deep into a weekend of writing and transcribing, and going slightly mental. Earlier I fashioned a relief sculpture of E.T. the Extra

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-56113048809296119492007-09-06T18:28:00.000Z2007-09-06T18:43:26.975Z

[featuring The Bronx's Matt and Joby, and the sons of Los Lobos guitarist David Hidalgo, The Drips delivered one of the all-time great punk rock debuts with their eponymous 2006 LP. I play the shit out of it every chance I get, if you ever loved the Descendents or Husker Du you must get this album! for plan b]The Barfly is the biggest cheese of all Camden’s venues, most nights playing host to

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-86711747236953963642007-09-06T18:11:00.000Z2007-09-06T18:16:45.724Z

[the best part of this 'job' - aside from the joyful/agonising work of chipping a feature out of the impenetrable hunk of rock that might be your feelings about said music - is meeting people who you just think are ace in every way. and meeting the grates, an awesome young group from australia, was one of those moments; they totally won me over with their enthusiasm, their unforced bonhomie, the

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-10884170755338673022007-09-01T10:51:00.001Z2007-09-01T10:51:11.308Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } kim dances, originally uploaded by Stevie Chick, Foxy Boxer.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-15600419144438161282007-08-27T17:29:00.000Z2007-08-27T17:39:48.414Z

[written around 2001, getting published here in celebration of the upcoming Big Dada 10th Anniversary. Roots is a GOD.]The setting is Pimlico school, Westminster, in the mid-1980s. "Hip hop was everywhere, everybody was writing things on their tracksuits and colouring their white trainers black, having freestyle battles on the concourse," reminisces Rodney Smith, aka Roots Manuva, aka British Hip

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-54908028506529435582007-08-24T22:30:00.000Z2007-08-24T22:44:00.613Z

[this began life as a proposed MOJO blog idea, and subsequently grew into this mess of ideas inspired by a song that I'll admit I've been obsessed with most of this gloomy Summer. I have been reliably informed by my friend Tom that Surf's Up is actually a pretty good film; whatever the truth is on that score, go find this song.] The best single you’ll hear all year isn’t actually being released

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-65667955474242960302007-08-24T18:31:00.000Z2007-08-24T18:34:12.960Z

Blinkered idealism defuses a time bomb blindlySorting through a tangle of mixed messagesSelecting only the strands that flatter bluffing fingertipsEnsuring eventual explosion

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-69052717646402843802007-08-24T18:27:00.001Z2007-08-24T18:27:50.128Z

WordsWhat has happened?language eludes methe nice specifyingwords of my life failwhen I callAh says a frienddried up no doubton the dessicatedtwigs in the swampof the skull likea lake where thewater level has beenshifted by highwaysa couple of miles offAnother friend saysNo no my dear perhapsyou are only meant tospeak more plainly

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-81429469686746889012007-08-21T21:34:00.000Z2007-08-21T21:37:52.809Z

[for Plan B, and put up here mostly in honour of the friend mentioned in the piece, who is a dude I haven't hung with in far too long. A bit nervous uploading this one, now I know my mum reads my blog; Mum, I don't think you'll like this one, it's a bit rude]Hope For Men (Sub Pop) I’ll never forget the night I was devirginised by The Jesus Lizard, sometime back in the 1990s at a dingy,

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-15137384733019041102007-08-16T23:17:00.000Z2007-08-16T23:18:59.088Z

[for London Lite; TY is an absolute diamond] Rap’s a genre obsessed by location, location, location. Few can forget the infamous East Coast/West Coast ‘beefs’ of the 90s that pitted Californian gangstas against their Big Apple brethren. The biggest noise in mainstream hip-hop the last couple of years has been ‘crunk’ – a lewd and loud rap hybrid from Atlanta with a peculiarly Southern swagger.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-91566356862645053322007-08-16T23:14:00.000Z2007-08-17T11:13:22.385Z

[for London Lite]Innocence and darkness figure equally in the music of Daniel Johnston, a Texan singer-songwriter whose frail, homespun pop has won the hearts of rock superstars, and whose unlikely, unhappy life story was the subject of award-winning 2005 documentary, The Devil And Daniel Johnston. Johnston is, in many ways, the ultimate ‘outsider’ artist; diagnosed as manic depressive soon

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-54882210493794392902007-08-16T23:12:00.000Z2007-08-16T23:14:43.121Z

[a preview for Sly's performance at the Lovebox weekender; wish I'd made the show, whatever it was like]If it seems like the 60s superstars were doomed to Icarus-like fates, few soared as high or plummeted as sharply as Sylvester Stewart. As Sly, he led The Family Stone through a dizzying run of smash singles and acclaimed albums, their upbeat riot of soul, funk and rock evoking the optimism of

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-88377377913883468322007-07-25T15:11:00.000Z2007-07-25T19:38:04.364Z

[from Loose Lips Sink Ships, featuring amazing photography from Steve Gullick. Scout has a new album out soon, and I've been feeling a little 'kidnapped by neptune' myself lately, so I thought I'd upload it.]The drivers oozing down the dew-slicked blackness of the road stare incredulous through their windscreens, slowing down at the same spot as if on cue, rubbernecking like this were the scene

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-71934145574787410102007-07-23T16:09:00.002Z2007-07-23T16:11:08.548Z

[written for MOJO, obv., for their year-end issue 2006]A luxuriously-appointed drawing room overlooking Hyde Park, the Royal Suite of London’s Mandarin Hotel doesn’t often play host to rock’n’roll groups – especially not those who only released their debut album a scant five months earlier. But then The Raconteurs are no ordinary rock’n’roll group – a fact that both privileges and plagues them.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-12243717665121577772007-07-23T16:09:00.001Z2007-07-23T16:09:45.222Z

[for the London Lite] It’s more than five year now since the White Stripes first arrived in the UK, amid a hail of hype (and whispered rumours as to the exact nature of singular frontman Jack White’s relationship with drumming ‘sister’ Meg) but our national fascination with the group shows no sign of abating. The groups who surfaced with them in 2001, The Strokes and The Hives, have been replaced

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-59615590914078389052007-07-23T15:58:00.000Z2007-07-23T15:59:07.994Z

[this was for Plan B, in February I think. Seasick Steve rools] “Not bad for an old man, eh?” he croaks. He looks like he’s made of American redwood, with hard bitten baby blue eyes like an astronaut, a beard dredged from the bottom of the Atlantic, tattoos on those great tree trunk arms, exposed by his wife-beater and dungarees. He’s played with Modest Mouse, though he’s easily at least twice

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-34872601095905785732007-07-23T15:56:00.001Z2007-07-23T16:03:01.122Z

[I wrote this in April, I think, for Plan B, one of the few bits of journalism while tucked away writing my book (out October 9th, i believe!) and marking my students' coursework... I heart the Black Lips]Live, The Black Lips sound exactly like their records. This is a trip, and worth mentioning, because The Black Lips’ din is a blind and fearless leap into that monoaural Crypt Records sound,

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-40845632973035106142007-04-26T09:17:00.001Z2007-04-26T09:18:05.390Z

[this ran in MOJO in March 2007]An arctic January afternoon in New York’s East Village. MOJO is sitting in a handsome, wood-floored apartment staring at the thousands of alphabetised vinyl records and music and interior design books that occupy every available wallspace, awaiting the arrival of Bright Eyes’ frontman, poster-boy and sole permanent member, Conor Oberst. The flat belongs to Nate

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-84651506342006930302007-04-26T09:15:00.001Z2007-04-26T09:18:59.699Z

[from Kerrang!, 2007]DAVE GROHL recently said, “People think Nirvana travelled with a black cloud following us, and it’s absolutely not true.” Kurt Cobain’s tragic suicide threatens to overshadow his group’s brief blaze of glory, but they remain a crucial flashpoint in rock history. Fusing metal, punk, and pop with a deft underground sensibility and multi-platinum success, Nirvana became uneasy

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-77591748583722310122007-04-10T14:40:00.001Z2007-04-10T14:40:26.706Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Great Grandad, Nan, the late 60s (?), originally uploaded by Stevie Chick, Foxy Boxer. great old picture from my nan

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-61615617099607973232007-04-04T20:20:00.000Z2007-04-04T20:21:43.853Z

KRIST NOVOSELIC once said Nirvana’s blend of pop, punk and metal was “nothing new, Husker Du did it before us.” A trio from Minneapolis, featuring singer/guitarist Bob Mould, singing drummer Grant Hart and moustachioed bassist Greg Norton, Husker Du started out the fastest punks on the block, mellowing their pace but not their intensity for a faultless run of albums on the influential SST label.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-71424691407515408092007-04-04T20:17:00.000Z2007-04-04T20:19:54.201Z

They formed in the rural wastelands of Ellensburg, WA. Van and Gary Lee Connor were man-mountain brothers playing in a covers band; Mark Lanegan was a local wild-boy always in trouble with the cops, driving trucks for the Connor family’s repo business. When Lanegan took the microphone Screaming Trees were born, touring the US and recording albums of psychedelic proto-grunge for SST Records,

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-62075631325004449502007-04-04T20:15:00.001Z2007-04-04T20:16:33.052Z

Former leader of Minor Threat Ian MacKaye’s second great group are perhaps punk’s most fiercely inventive and fiercely independent band. United by a desire for musical experimentation and a love of James Brown, MacKaye hooked up with drummer Brendan Canty and bassist Joe Lally in 1987 to form a trio soon augmented by second singer Guy Picciotto (of emo progenitors Rites Of Spring). Taking their

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-80392861495553815582007-04-04T20:03:00.000Z2007-04-04T20:26:24.962Z

This'll be the first of a number of these 'Rough Guides' I've written for Kerrang! materialising on the Blog. You need to see them in the magazine, really, to appreciate how well they work - which is tribute to the great art team who work at the mag. Otherwise, they're fun to write, to try and play with the restrictions of the format, and to seduce Kerrang!'s youthful readership into the same

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-35315426278729883842007-03-06T13:25:00.001Z2007-03-06T15:17:46.301Z

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-22964536769475105172007-03-06T13:22:00.000Z2007-03-06T15:18:30.919Z

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-9664436895109479712007-03-05T17:02:00.000Z2007-03-05T17:03:22.378Z

[this LP review ran in Plan B] Welcome back, Jack. There was almost a point, deep into Elephant, where you could sense something slipping away from Jack White. Not that The Whites Stripes’ fourth album didn’t impress, its hefty stomp and regal prowl evoking its animal namesake. On the surface, Elephant was perfect, down to the dust-to-digital production of Toerag’s Liam Watson. But there was an

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-84897140608167552752007-03-05T16:59:00.000Z2007-03-05T17:01:08.358Z

[from MOJO, 2006. Green was a STAR] Green Gartside on A Tribe Called Quest’s Midnight Marauders "I’D BEEN in love with hip-hop since the first time I went to New York in 1979 and visited the Mudd Club and saw Afrika Bambaataa spin records. But then I grew tired of it. I was seduced by Dancehall; I heard Clement Irie and Robert French’s ‘Bun & Cheese’, a dancehall version of ‘Earth Angel’ and

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-67205659461351155782007-03-05T16:41:00.000Z2007-03-05T16:42:35.351Z

[For MOJO, early 2005 (i THINK)] In a nondescript London hotel bar, Alec Ounsworth shields his tour-worn frame behind dark sunglasses, flicked-up peacoat collars and strong coffee. A year ago, the Philadelphian never imagined he’d be touring Europe (even on a shoestring and no sleep); he’d just formed Clap Your Hands Say Yeah on a whim, visiting his sister in Massachusetts and bumping into

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-3071062484017049692007-03-05T16:39:00.000Z2007-03-05T16:41:26.435Z

[from MOJO]YOU MIGHT have thought that the humble cassette-tape had gone the way of the 8-Track cartridge, a nostalgic relic from our Hi-Fidelity yesteryears. Josh Grier, however, begs to differ. “Tapes are making a big resurgence,” he insists, over a Guinness in a Camden hostelry. “There are cassette-only labels, bands using cassette images for tee shirts and album covers - even kids who wear

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-87544211430613099052007-02-13T13:36:00.000Z2007-02-13T17:41:33.934Z

[for Plan B.]'Catfish Haven is soulful howling over an acoustic guitar turned way up. Hopeful yearning for better days echoed through amps and a drum kit.’website bumpf Three lush wet slashes of acoustic guitar open Catfish Haven‘s debut mini-LP, Please Come Back, before a breathless testifying voice barks, “We’re Catfish Haven and this is what we do…”, as the group launches into some joyous,

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-56343182640766964632007-02-13T13:32:00.000Z2007-02-13T13:32:34.772Z

[from Loose Lips Sink Ships. the members of Wives now play as no-age - check 'em out] A bar in Hoxton, an autumn evening. Outside, diamond drips of freezing rain spot the window, orange streetlamps setting the tarmac aglow, like the streets of London really were paved with gold. Across several worn leather sofas as crumpled as their slept-in tee-shirts and jeans, the three members of Wives -

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-55109448775818013362007-02-13T13:31:00.000Z2007-02-13T17:55:29.376Z

[from Mojo. Corinne is awesome!]Late afternoon in New York, on the second day of her first promotional trip across America - three cities, four shows and a plethora of radio appearances in just under a week - Corinne Bailey Rae went missing. Not for long, mind you, but, slipping out from the sound-check for that evening's show at the Mercury Lounge, she spent a stolen hour exploring the streets

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-50929572732945535462007-02-12T18:23:00.000Z2007-02-12T18:24:42.438Z

[really proud of this feature from The Times, and really enjoyed meeting the wonderful Gaz Mayall]“My name is Gaz Mayall, and I am a musicaholic,” confesses the dapper, effervescently-youthful 47 year-old Boho, over grilled Salmon at his regular table in Portobello’s legendary Spanish eaterie, Galicia. Son of pioneering British bluesman John Mayall, who launched the careers of Eric Clapton, Peter

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-86369482255434444722007-02-12T18:15:00.002Z2007-02-12T18:15:35.101Z

[for MOJO, Summer 2006. Ah, Barcelona...]Riveted and silent, festival-goers fill every seat and clutter the aisles of Parc Del Forum’s Auditori. Outside, in the blazing Barcelona sunshine, the fifth annual Primavera festival plays host to the neon lunacy of the Flaming Lips, the ear-quaking roar of Mogwai. In this cavernous room, however, illuminated by a single spotlight and armed with only a

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-54762865312990405312007-02-12T18:15:00.001Z2007-02-12T18:14:19.288Z

[from Kerrang!] Vaulting the barricades of decorum and good taste, Fucked Up are a brilliantly brutal hardcore quintet from Toronto, Canada. As their name suggests, compromise is not on their agenda; following a slew of cult-classic seven inches, the group’s debut album, Hidden World, pulls no punches, welding savvy, political lyrics to anthemic, gravel-gargling punk. “The 7” singles were often

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-40703953461059716262007-02-12T18:13:00.000Z2007-02-13T13:23:49.925Z

[Cover Feature, Loose Lips Sink Ships #6] This is how I remember rock shows being: baking hot, cramped, earachingly loud and uncomfortably sweaty. The stage is only visible through bobbing heads and past a mist of steam, and sweat, and dry ice coloured by harsh beams of amber, scarlet and mauve light, so all we can see is a raging, fiery colour, the heat suffocating, intense. Onstage, the

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-37726891130027706072007-02-12T18:11:00.000Z2007-02-12T18:08:47.808Z

[for Urb magazine, 2006] Deep in the grimy armpit of East London, round the corner from Brick Lane’s parade of hip boutiques and curry houses, you’ll find a rickety doorway fashioned from rotting wood, the unprepossessing entrance to the offices of Tummy Touch Records. A label specialising in electronica and house music, Tummy Touch has latterly been better known as the home of one of the more

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-90111824715429994592007-02-12T18:07:00.000Z2007-02-12T18:08:20.025Z

[great band, and great fun to talk to. for Plan B] So. Tell us how the Noisettes formed. “My take on it is, me and Shingai met at the Brits School… You know, the school for the Performing Arts in London…” Fantastic! “No! Not fantastic! Let the record note that I, Daniel, am making a ‘thumbs-downward’ gesture as I speak! It’s weird at the Brits School… The

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-90030601702433241572007-02-12T18:05:00.000Z2007-02-13T17:54:04.226Z

[after a less-than-satisfying piece with the group for the Times at the start of the year, Plan B offered me a chance to sink my teeth deeper into The Spinto Band's haywire world of invention]Skub A chilly winter morning in London’s Hyde Park. Enjoying their first visit to our shores, six young, scruffy Americans clamber upon venerated tourist trap Speaker’s Corner, honouring a grand tradition

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-18224254131664871792007-02-12T18:03:00.000Z2007-02-13T17:56:34.183Z

[buy everything you can find at Stones Throw, it's all good. and buy Plan B Magazine, they rock.]Labels build their reputations through the records they release. Bay Area imprint Stone’s Throw, begun by turntablist/producer Peanut Butter Wolf in 1996, nurtures an extended family of hip-hop mavericks. I’d struggle to justify these artists as being particularly ground-breaking or influential –

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-65741212026290421732007-02-12T18:02:00.000Z2007-02-12T18:02:09.165Z

[written for the London Lite, late 2006] ‘Jamming’ is a justly-maligned practice in rock, too often the last refuge of self-indulgent musos running low on inspiration. Gentle Kentucky hairies My Morning Jacket, however, have raised ‘jamming’ to a sublime art, as evidenced by tonight’s triumphant set of anthemic rock and stargazing country, given a gloriously ragged edge by extended passages of

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-88740748679179113462007-02-12T18:00:00.000Z2007-02-12T18:01:47.129Z

[written for the London Lite in late 2006. God, I love the Flaming Lips] You could spend a whole review just attempting to list everything grasping for your attention throughout the first song of last night’s Flaming Lips concert: the balloons of various size and hue forever bouncing about the room; the Santa Clauses and dancing girls congregating either side of the stage; frontman Wayne Coyne

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-61530377307095812942007-02-12T17:56:00.000Z2007-02-12T17:52:44.056Z

[While my own opinions on a plethora of subjects, from the worthiness of Kurt Cobain to the existence of God, are the polar opposites of Zakk Wylde's, he was hugely entertaining company for this Kerrang! feature, which ran in September 2006.]It’s only “ten in the fuckin’ morning” at the plush Los Angeles home Zakk Wylde shares with his wife and three kids, but the legendary lead guitarist, Ozzy’s

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-16057888004898490752007-02-12T17:49:00.000Z2007-02-12T17:47:33.894Z

[a Kerrang! featurette on Bronx frontman Matt Caughtran] “My buddies got beaten up by the LAPD, maaan,” yells the dude with a ‘punk-rock’-emblazoned razor blade tattooed upon his neck. “Fuck the cops, maaan! PUNK ROCK!” He then dissolves into a fit of chuckles. Frontman for whipcrack thrash-punk godheads The Bronx, Matt Caughtran isn’t blowing off righteous punk-rock steam, but

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-69415915986924359702007-02-12T17:45:00.000Z2007-02-12T17:32:00.477Z

[written for Kerrang! in Summer 2006; god bless the Bronx, the Bucking Bronco, and Ben Wileman]Punk is dead, and it’s been dead for a pretty long time. It’s a wild claim to make, and not one you’d expect coming from the group who have recorded the most incendiary punk album of the year. But that’s what Bronx guitarist Joby J. Ford believes. “’Punk’ doesn’t mean anything,” he spits, down a

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1136210796258418252006-01-02T14:03:00.000Z2006-01-02T14:11:39.330Z

Sao PaoloThe Sao Paolo show, Saturday June 4th, the last date of the Brazilian tour, brings a deluge of guests, invited and uninvited. Of the former party, a young Peruvian girl and her family are the most honoured. The teenager’s name is Claudetta, and last year she emailed the Stripes’ organisation, begging them to play South America. Her plea was a very real influence on the band’s current

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1136210537659451612006-01-02T13:59:00.000Z2006-01-02T14:02:17.666Z

RioThe next day, Thursday 2nd June, is mostly occupied by the long flight from Manaus to Rio, where we read up on the press reports of the previous night’s events. The Brazilian press jocularly receives gig’s riotous conclusion with good humour: “The White Stripes rock Manaus!” reads one headline; “The White Stripes’ Delicious Irresponsibility!” teases another. The only downside is the

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1136209975403912102006-01-02T13:51:00.000Z2006-01-02T13:58:45.313Z

Weddings, Riots, Rock'n'RollThe White Stripes could hardly have chosen a more iconic venue for the start of their Brazilian tour. Shipped brick by brick from Europe in the late 1800s (when three million dollars really meant something), Teatro Amazonas inspired Werner Herzog’s classic treatise on insane ambition, Fitzcarraldo, centred around the titular impresario’s effort to haul a 320 ton

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1136208266384143272006-01-02T13:17:00.000Z2006-01-02T14:10:09.096Z

[This piece was written for the cover of Mojo in June 2005, and was about the greatest week of my life, certainly the biggest piece I've ever sunk my teeth into. Tackling The White Stripes was such a big deal for me - I wrote the first pieces on the band for NME in 2001, having caught them with Steve Gullick at SXSW that April, following the discovery of their Die Stihl album earlier that year.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1128252121251088012005-10-02T11:13:00.000Z2005-10-02T11:33:33.190Z

[wrote this for Mojo earlier this year. the trip was a blast, we got to hang out at Dave's amazing studio, which was a bit of a headfuck for me as it was designed after the blueprints for Abba's Polar Studios in Sweden, where I first met Turbonegro a couple of years before. Dave's studio was awesome, as was Dave. he's called the 'nicest guy in rock' for a very good reason. as a teenaged Nirvana

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1127425387373021752005-09-22T21:36:00.000Z2005-09-22T21:45:13.496Z

[have been struggling to write my definitive piece on Madlib and his music, a quest begun for the first issue of Loose Lips Sink Ships, four pages strung together from a five minute photo shoot and a ten minute garbled phone interview. Spring of this year, 'Lib came over to the UK to promote his second Quasimoto album, The Further Adventures Of Lord Quas, and I got to meet him in person. i still

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1127424802945194092005-09-22T21:29:00.000Z2005-09-22T21:33:59.000Z

[this piece was written for Kerrang! in February of this year. i've never really been a NIN fan, but got deep into Trent's music while researching the assignment, which i took mainly to hang out with Aaron from the Icarus Line (which ended up not happening, but i met some wonderful people out in LA, and it was lots of fun).]Five years. It’s a long time by most people’s standards, but when such a

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1125583368216432692005-09-01T13:57:00.000Z2005-09-01T14:09:37.820Z

[This feature ran in Mojo earlier this year; writing it was a dream come true, since You're Living All Over Me has been an obsession for me since I first bought it, on scratchy second hand vinyl, back in the Summer of 1992. I had so many great stories from Lou, J and Murph, it could've been twice as long. Big thanks to Jon Fetler, John Robb and Lee Ranaldo for talking to me for this, also.]J

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1125063616737716142005-08-26T13:39:00.000Z2005-08-26T13:40:16.743Z

the kerrang! awards last night were lots and lots and lots of fun!

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1124825941232596312005-08-23T19:37:00.001Z2008-11-26T23:12:18.214Z

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1124824616014542772005-08-23T19:16:00.000Z2005-08-23T19:16:56.020Z

i wish i could go to this

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1124716801665264032005-08-22T13:18:00.000Z2005-08-22T13:20:01.670Z

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1124548360185951632005-08-20T14:32:00.000Z2005-08-20T14:35:25.360Z

second hand book shopping is the best.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1124108311456345592005-08-15T12:17:00.000Z2005-08-15T12:19:37.093Z

Flying cats, falling chairs, Salvador Dali... Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the work of Philippe Halsman.And also some bonus flying cats.

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1114012020807927962005-04-20T15:44:00.000Z2005-04-20T15:47:00.806Z

So. My old computer blew up, taking with it - temporarily, hopefully - all my old work. So I currently have NOTHING to share with you. Hopefully this will change soon, or maybe I shall start writing original stuff for the blog.Anyways, in lieu of writing, here's a photo that captures some of life's greatest treasures, not least cats, flowers, music, trinket boxes and Snoopy...

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1111504396023271652005-03-22T15:10:00.000Z2005-09-01T13:44:38.810Z

[This piece first appeared in The Times in late 1999, I'm reckoning... Though I could be wrong. Kid Koala is a lovely chap, and his live performances are astounding...] A seedy bar in Everytown, America. A somewhat inebriated fella weaves over to a woman drinking by herself. "What's a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?" "Beat it, jerk!" "Now, don't sugar coat it,

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1111417267843554712005-03-21T15:00:00.001Z2008-09-03T07:30:53.242Z

[I've written a few pieces on the Norwegian Deathpunk hellions over the years, as my aching liver can attest. This one ran in Kerrang! in late 2003, and is my favourite: a weekend with a bunch of faux-homosexuals in San Francisco.] “No Blood, No Fun… No Blood, No Fun… No Blood, No Fun…” This isn’t the eerie chanted soundtrack to some riotous backstage Bacchanal, but the murmured mantra of

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1111324975584986222005-03-20T13:18:00.000Z2005-09-01T13:45:28.120Z

[this piece ran in Mojo early in 2004. I love The Mars Volta, their questing sense of adventure, their music, and as people they've been among my favourite interview subjects. Always a pleasure to interview them] Forget the fib your trusted history tomes have sold you: the evolution of rock music can’t be charted as some clear linear progression, artist passing influence unto artist, united in

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1110902664355656442005-03-15T16:00:00.000Z2005-03-15T16:04:24.390Z

[This feature ran in the first issue of our Loose Lips Sink Ships, February 2004. A long one, but one of my best...] When was your first time in jail? “I was twelve years old... It was for shoplifting. Shoplifting booze, heh heh heh.” Have you always been attracted to trouble? “‘Attracted to trouble?’ No. It’s been attracted to me.” Has it always been attracted to you, then. “Well…

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1110801657284124652005-03-14T11:57:00.000Z2005-10-02T11:30:41.743Z

[This piece ran in Kerrang! early in 2004] “It’s such a thin line between stupid and clever…” - David St Hubbins, This Is Spinal Tap Interior: A typical Major Label launch party, a coterie of industry leeches and vacant-eyed rock ‘stars’ milling and mingling aimlessly. In one particular corner, the guests of honour have just been informed that the proposed sleeve for

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1110495881892863592005-03-10T23:00:00.000Z2005-03-10T23:04:41.913Z

[You'll have to forgive my recent glut of posts... Am laid low by jetlag and listening to ots of old records, and wanting people to hear about them. So here goes another long piece, this time on Grand Drive, a wonderful country-soul band from South London, whose four albums are all readily available, and all deserve your purchase. The following piece was commissioned by the band to promote the

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1110452033249345972005-03-10T10:43:00.000Z2005-04-18T16:44:45.726Z

[This piece ran in Kerrang! late back in 2003. If I preach full-pelt the wonders of My Morning Jacket here, then its only because My Morning Jacket are perhaps one of my favourite bands (check out all of their albums, or (even better) a live show), and that this is one of my favourite trips ever. The band themselves were warm, funny, wonderful people, who welcomed us into their home, forced us to

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1110405963890593682005-03-09T21:58:00.000Z2005-03-09T22:06:03.976Z

[Some might say that political comment relies upon its currency for effect and, as such, this Franti interview, from early 2001, is certainly a dated document. But re-reading it today, I was struck at how much of it still seems valid, pointed today (and I love Michael and his music, and wanted something about it up here), so here goes... I did the interview for myself, with no real view for

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1110361998121601332005-03-09T09:53:00.000Z2005-03-09T09:53:18.396Z

[This cover feature, for Kerrang!, ran early in 2003, and is notable mostly for the risky means by which I entered the US that day, and Paz Lechantin's innovative way of scuppering my whole interview technique with a simple wank joke. I have an iVisa now, as a direct result of this trip, thank you for asking kind INS officer] Our story begins, as so many rock’n’roll fables do, with a little

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1109870832984688292005-03-03T17:24:00.000Z2005-03-09T09:41:26.613Z

[From my short-lived career in the very Nathan Barley-esque world of the Style Press, I believe this was one of the first pieces on the Bootleg phenomenon, and it ran in Sleazenation some time in 2001. Thanks to Anna Chapman, Steve Slocombe and Stuart Turnbull for their help in researching and shaping this piece.][EDIT: re-reading this now, it's actually quite appallingly written; I'm keeping it

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1109761838896473802005-03-02T11:06:00.000Z2005-03-02T13:26:09.246Z

[So I wrote this yesterday for a book I'm contributing to, before realising that someone ese had beaten me to the punch on Maggot Brain. So here it is...]Funkadelic Maggot Brain (1971) “Flower children, that’s exactly what we was.” - Grady Thomas, Parliafunkadelicment vocalist, 1992 Bandleader George Clinton once asked “Who said a funk band can’t rock?” As his Parliament charmed

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1109761580207663362005-03-02T11:01:00.000Z2005-03-02T11:06:20.220Z

[This profile first appeared in Kerrang! in 2004] “It’s like sex, it’s a simple physical rush that happens, and I think more women should explore that part of themselves; to leave their heads, to be more of a primitive, physical person.” You find us in the luxuriously décor-ed bar of London’s swanky Royal Garden Hotel, a breath-taking view of Hyde Park sweeping grandly behind Melissa Auf

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1109674074542319792005-03-01T10:45:00.000Z2005-03-02T15:38:21.196Z

[This feature ran in Kerrang! in 2002, to co-incide with the release of the Dischord Records box set, 20 Years Of Dischord - which is a fine purchase, and well recommended]Photo: Pat Graham [from the Fugazi Live Series website]“I would rather go into the studio and record a new band than throw a party to celebrate 20 years of Dischord.” You’re too busy to celebrate? “I celebrate by being

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10699673.post-1109091724847567762005-02-22T16:57:00.000Z2005-02-22T17:28:25.170Z

[This feature ran in NME in 2000] Welcome to the Hotel California (such a lovely place), a swanky Parisian hotel minutes from the Champs Elysees. Up on the seventh-floor landing, a pint-sized pooch wearing a collar studded with diamonds scampers between the legs of a soft-spoken but sharp-witted fella perched on an antique chaise lounges. It is clear that the dog, ostentatiously bejewelled and

Stevie Chicknoreply@blogger.com1