Nightdubbing/Favouritism

Erstwhile parishioner Tim Robinson, faithful correspondent of the Mancs live scene, has an alter ego as half an electronica duo, Nightdubbing. They have just released an album. It is good.
Here were my thoughts, lifted from elsewhere.
Lets show him some love! (Or downloads!?!)

“Well this is a bit different, mindful the At the Barrier badge of eclecticism seldom strays into what might get labelled dance/electronica. But, then again, does this either, being more a bleary-eyed stagger into the chill out room? Commonly labelled as Balearica, this sort of music gets increasingly a bad name, not least through the cack-handed opportunism of record companies bandwagon jumping, with hastily cobbled together compilations and concoctions, often little more than some beats over some languid background music. (Harsh? You must know what I mean.) But when done well, thinking of early Café del Mar and Claud Challe’s Buddha Bar releases, it can be something to relish, along with any necessary sundowner of need or choice. (Dawn-upper??)

First things first, however, as, despite even the duo responsible, Tim Robinson and Carl Emery, describing this fourth release as “Balearic Disco Dub with Shoegaze Sonics,” at least one of them has never set foot on the island of Ibiza. Robinson, the technical wizard of the band, actually first met Emery in a record shop, he the regular returning customer to the other long serving him his exotic staples, forging a mutual bond in, well, all and every musical genre going. (So far, so ATB!)

Giving it a spin, it opens with Disconnection, a has it started yet to and fro of vocal snatches, before a bass starts bubbling, the then relentless beat picking it up and pulling it forward. Boosters bleep and channels swap and swoosh, the bass and drums a constant, a sequencer singing overhead. One for headphones, it surges all over and into your head, some Human League style analog bass lines giving further traction. The only disconnect I see is if you don’t feel connected. Stone Love isn’t dissimilar as it starts, if more disjointed in the even briefer snippets that snap and get snipped. A rhythm is established, with beep-beeps to beckon in some female vocal repetitions. Some folk enjoy spotting from where all these borrowed sounds arise, but it is no more relevant than comparing Beethoven with Lieutenant Pidgeon, given each employed piano. Tape is an instrument, right? As is the sound of a squelchy electronic bass.

Little Weekend starts with the muted feel of a piledriver, or an MRI, perhaps to denote the working week, as in the end of. Some hypnagogic shimmers gradually take the centre ground, sounds that wouldn’t shame Dik Mik or Del Dettmar in the early excursions of Hawkwind. Having just watched Christian Slater’s The Mechanic, there is a similar dysfunctional feel to it all, of doom rather than sybaritic pleasure, the track unchanging other than around the edges, which are fully fraying and friable. Night train to oblivion, maybe? Probably best listened out with medication, although the melodic patterm in the third quarter is a thing of no little joy. The title track follows with some slap bass samples, over some funky percussion, and swooping vocal ululations, the mood now completely transformed into a sweaty House club in Chicago. (No, of course, I’ve never been…) Actually less interesting than the track before, I can see that, for some, it would be a highlight.

A name like Oxford Roadshow inevitably conjures up midweek TV, “live music for young adults”, featuring, usually, the Thompson Twins or Spandau Ballet. I guess it counts for a little more in Manchester’s Oxford Road, but I am sure the title is deliberate. The core structure is an electronic shudder of increasingly percussive judder, with snippets of extraneous sound; laughter and applause, slipping in and out. An elastic sprinkle of notes begin to compete with a braying sax, and the listener is caught up on a merry-go-round. (So, much like any other 30 minutes with Peter Powell?) Glass House is calmer, with handclappy beats and an insistent bass, before a suggestion of some Robert Miles-y piano,, which never quite fully forms, if undeniably in there somewhere, deeper in the mix and less smoothly flowing than the Children hitmaker. Closer, Whatever It Is, It’s Yours, is the shortest track, arguably the most experimental, largely percussion and fluctuant, almost Floydian ,soundscapes. Is that a harmonica in there somewere? There is certainly guitar. Oddly, this is my highlight, possibly a taste of future direction.

No cd’s available, it is vinyl or digital only, the former for early birds. Bandcamp is your friend, but here is a taster: (see the box, if it decides to work)

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