Reviews

NWB showcase - The Attic, Accrington - 14th Sept 2006 Date - 14/09/2006 Gig Review - NWB showcase - The Attic, Accrington Next up were the Sound of Superstring, a well establish indie-pop band from Blackpool. Having brought no fans of their own, it deemed a bit taunting for them if they could win back over the audience. However their musical professionalism prevailed and they soon had the new audience singing along to their classics "Ledge Beyond the Edge" and "Iceberg of Mirrors". These guys definitely made a lot new fans on the night. www.northwestbands.co.uk/thesoundofsuperstring Reviewed by - www.northwestbands.co.uk Back to top

Bitter Sweet Embrace Review Date - 18/05/2006 Here's a review of the album "Meanwhile... Back at the Ranch" by The Sound of Superstring. Review by Paul on Bitter Sweet Embrace One of the fundamental principles of ecology is that poor soils are conducive to high levels of biodiversity. Now, you'd think ecosystems such as tropical rainforests would need very fertile soils to support all those big old trees and stuff, but the truth is the exact opposite: they would not be able to exist without a very poor substrate. The reason for this lies in the fact that nutrient-rich soils allow a small number of fast-growing, highly-competitive species to take over before any of the stragglers even get a chance to germinate. Nutrient poor soils, on the other hand, restrict the growth of the bully species, allowing the straggly little runts to keep up, and when a large variety of different plant species can get a foothold, a greater diversity of other organisms survive as well, leading to highly productive environments. (I will interrupt this spiel briefly to explain that, yes, going off on incomprehensibly long-winded, unrelated and highly pretentious metaphorical anecdotes as a way of introducing a feature is one of the great clichés of god-awful NME writers and the like, but bear with me; the point is on its way. At least I've not succumbed to the perils of inappropriately quoting from Nietzsche, Kierkegaard or Hunter S. Thompson, and I can't even spell Dostoyevsky.) As animals, the human species is subject to the whims of the global mega-ecosystem, in the same way that we, too, affect that ecosystem through our own whims. It should come as no surprise, then, that the dynamics of our society very often reflect the interactions that power the ecology of the habitats we live in. Take Blackpool, for example: a dilapidated resort on Lancashire's Fylde coast, clinging on with desperately over-chewed fingernails to the glories of times long gone, namely heyday of the great British seaside holiday. To the outsider, Blackpool is all about Roy Chubby Brown, illuminations, drizzle, terminally miserable donkey rides and second-rate scale models of the Eiffel Tower. At best, Blackpool has embraced the future in the repulsive form of alcopop-fuelled, chav culture stag parties and hen weekends. By no means is this the kind of place where the discerning music lover would come in search of the thrills of a dynamically creative, original and self-supporting DIY music scene. Take a closer look, though, and that's precisely what you'll find growing on this famished soil - possibly one of the most exciting underground musical communities of any town of a similar size in the UK. And if Blackpool is the jungle, then The Sound of Superstring are its resident gibbons: shaggy, long-armed apes, swinging athletically through the treetops, stuffing their faces with all manner of fruity delights and pausing from time to time to hoot their whooping call to anyone around with ears to listen. Formerly known as Smaquehead (a name teetering on a wobbly tightrope of wry irony over the perilous chasm of puerile childishness), Superstring have been doing their thing round about these parts for a while now, achieving some kind of local notoriety, but failing to cause any serious ripples beyond their home turf. With the release of their self-financed debut album, Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch…, however, they may finally be in a position to address that issue. The album opens with the intriguing QPC (42), a spoken-word introduction to the world of Superstring, touching on Blackpool, molecular biology and quantum physics. The music builds from a simple beat to a bewitchingly intense tribal chant before segueing into the Lynrd Skynrd-aping southern boogie of Invisible Snow. With this first 'proper' song on the album, Superstring unleash their two greatest weapons: horrendously catchy melodies and the perfect pop chorus, a theme they manage to replicate in the following two songs: the sunny, brass-driven stomp-along that is L=DM2 and Iceberg of Mirrors, resuscitated from its previous incarnation on their Smaquepool Rock E.P. An album that opens with three sure-fire crowd pleasers is usually something to be approached with caution. Normally, this would be a rock-solid guarantee that the rest of the record is going to be a mediocre disappointment. However, for every rule there must be an exception and here we have it. Over the ambitious course of fourteen songs and more than an hours' worth of music Meanwhile… rarely allows its standard to drop. If anything, the album manages to get better as it goes along. Plenty More Fish begins with the vocals staggering around in an inebriated circle over a haunting guitar melody. The sun rises on the song and the vocals awake to some kind of sober clarity, the circle focussing and rising upwards with the addition of handclaps and drums to the mix, spiralling in an ever faster dervish trance as the drums pound the rhythm towards the song's climax before the whole thing shoots off over the horizon, leaving you wondering if you ever really heard it in the first place. Sonely Love plays a similar game, moving from woozy, blissful psychedelia before building into a full-on stadium rock posturing maelstrom, Just when you might think things were getting a little too clever by half, Give Us a Kiss unleashes a gloriously dumb, lascivious glam rock groove. This is the soundtrack to a night out on the Sunset Strip circa 1975, transported to a drunken night out on Blackpool's infamous Golden Mile in the first decade of the 21st century. Another change of pace follows with Exit Smiling, the second song on the album to be rescued from Smaquepool Rock. Once again, Superstring dust off the kind of perfect pop that they do so well; the kind of song that Robbie Williams might release if he'd spent his youth listening to The Beatles and They Might be Giants instead of second-rate working men's club Sinatra impersonators and Gary Barlow. Watcha Gonna Do? shows the darker side of Superstring, with verses that sound like the punch drunk aftermath of an emotional breakdown, rearing its head for a tear-stained, fist-shaking last chance stand in the chorus, 'Watcha gonna do? Never gonna give up!'. The middle eight's mournful H.A.P.P.Y. chant sounds like the final slump into complete despair, before the song rises to its feet for one last defiant chorus, squaring up ferociously to its opponent, with its 'We're mad as hell, and we're not gonna take it anymore!' sample, the repeated final demand 'What the f**k are you gonna do?', spitting and kicking its way to victory over a maelstrom of guitar noise. Next up is, Here! Now!, the calm after the storm. A gentle, breezy melody sways along for a couple of verses, building almost imperceptibly into an uplifting slice of Neil Diamond-style gospel pop; a mini epic that is as close to perfect as anything on this record. The inexplicably nonsensical, Let Love into Your Lard is perhaps the only sign of overindulgence. It is, however, mercifully brief and, as such, we'll let it slip on this occasion, especially seeing as it is soon forgotten in the deliciously lush, stoned opening haze of Waste of Time. Like Plenty More Fish and Sonely Love, Waste of Time begins life slumped in a happy mess, gradually building until it ends up shooting off to heaven on a day-glo rocket loaded with happy pills and booze. As we approach the end of the record, the time is right to ditch all this high-falutin' epic grandiosity and uncork another bottle of fizzy pop. The kind of anthem that will guarantee to have crowds leaving a gig singing all the way home is what's needed here, and Ledge Beyond the Edge - the final Smaquepool Rock refugee on the album - delivers the goods with aplomb. It's a gimmick, a novelty song; it's a cheap, low blow, but it's a moment of astonishing musical greatness with a chorus that gets stuck in your head and will not let go, however politely you ask. As such, it should be cherished and adored by all. If you do not love this song, you do not have a pulse, plain and simple. The final track (well I say final - there is that old chestnut we call a secret track, but I won't mention that, else it wouldn't be a theekwet), Element Affray is the perfect album closer. We've been on a long journey through this record, and this is the aftermath, a soothing melancholy of acoustic guitar, vocal harmonies and strings. Something to dry your eyes, tuck you in, whisper a prayer in your ear and kiss you goodnight. The end. For an unsigned band, The Sound of Superstring have delivered something that is truly remarkable; arguably one of the most ambitiously brilliant collection of songs I have ever heard from a band with no record company backing. The dreaded word g****s is sitting at the tip of my tongue, but I'm too much of a stingy old scrooge to bother uttering it. Instead I'll urge you to make your own minds up. You can hear a couple of tracks on their myspace: www.myspace.com/thesoundofsuperstring. Contact the band through their website, www.thesoundofsuperstring.com, send 'em a fiver (bargain!) and get yourself a copy. You'll thank yourself for it – that's a promise. © BittersweetEmbrace.com Reviewed by - Paul on Bitter Sweet Embrace Back to top

Jam Night @Royal Oak, Poulton - Sun 26th March 06 Date - 26/03/2006 Royal Oak Jam Night 26th March 2006 I was quite surprised when I saw Superstring on the bill for Jam night, and Oz, Simon and the boys didn't dissapoint, with a emotionally-charged, powerful performance. Thought they were even better tonight than at Thornton Little Theatre gig. They still don't sound like anything else on earth, and it's all about the showmanship and the songs, as Oz gets Bondy, Miller, Ali and others up on the Oak stage with em for an epic 'Invisible Snow', marches as if on some crazed mission to space ('rise into the heavens'), salutes the audience, and, finally, threatens to hang himself from the Oak ceiling by his mic lead during a frazzled singalong of 'Ledge beyond the Edge'. Totally west, mad as a box of frogs and with a sound all of their own, if you've not seen Superstring yet, pull your finger out! In a word, Fun, with a capital F! Thanks for playing gents, the pleasure was all ours. Reviewed by - DeadbeatsDave Back to top

Smaquehead - Gillespies, Blackpool Date - 24/03/2005 Over the past 18 months or so I have been party to various and sundry, sometimes almost heated, discussions about Smaquehead. The other Thursday night in Gillespies I was in the middle of one with some girls on the topic of which part of Oz's anatomy was the fittest, when I found my mind wandering away from his shoulders and hair, and back in time to another such debate about whether the introduction of drums and bass would destroy the beauty of the acoustic sound that we early day believers had come to cherish so warmly in our hearts. When we heard the full sound of 5, there was no doubt in anyone's minds that drums and bass had been a smart move, yet hearing the loveliness of the acoustic sound in Gillespies reminded me of why I doubted. If you'd been there you'd have been forgiven for believing that you had been treated to a trip to a log cabin in the highlands of Scotland with your boyfriend. After spending the whole day outside dressed in every item of clothing you own to stay warm in the snow, listening to the set Smaquehead played was like stripping down in front of a huge log fire. The listener used to hearing the all wrapped up, snug and warm type of Smaque was privy to the raw exquisite pleasure of the naked sound of Shaun's excellent guitar - nothing was lacking, rather the sound was exposed for its skill and dexterity. More than that, having fewer instruments seemed to give the guys a freedom to play a broader set than usual, including a cover of Madonna's ‘Borderline'. Everything they do, they make distinctively Smaque-esque. We were treated to a ‘trilogy' of songs, claimed by Oz to describe all styles of love from Full Metal Jacket to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory and everything in-between – a lush new song called ‘S'only Love', ‘Sunshine, Love and Eroded Livers', and ‘Plenty More Fish in the Sea'. Love rapidly moved on to ‘Gizza Kiss' and ‘Here, Now', where Jonathan's, up to this point, carefully concentrated and meaningfully played tambourine and egg shaker was joined by Oz's creative use of floorboard percussion. In fact, it was almost unbelievable to imagine that what we were hearing was produced solely by a guitar, two voices, a tambourine and egg, floorboards, three barstools, a couple of pints and some orange juice. The fact that the sound is as markedly their own, regardless of which instruments are playing, is a testament to the quality of the music the band produces. Smaquehead stripped is as glorious as Smaquehead fully clothed and wrapped up in hat, scarf and gloves. Whether all dressed up, wearing mascara and stilettos, or standing in bra and knickers; whether as complicated as a Beethoven symphony or as simple as ‘three blind mice' sung slightly out of tune by children, the Smaque sound remains understatedly and empirically gorgeous. Reviewed by - Carrie O'Bagg Back to top

Smaquehead - Night & Day, Manchester Date - 05/03/2005 5th March found us on the campaign trail for Smaquehead, this time in Manchester's renowned Night and Day. The band delivered yet another excellently executed set of what could easily now be called Smaquehead's Greatest Hits, to entice and entertain the good people of Manchester. Despite having a 'New' Simon to alter the line-up, there was barely a whisper of a difference in the sound, and though playing songs that are well-known now to the affectionately named 'Baguettes', Smaquehead continue to retain an element of unpredictability that makes them eminently watchable. Oz, Chris and Shawn may have seemed like tranquil and distinguished country gentlemen drinking from cups and saucers before the gig whilst surrounded by bottles of Bud and cans of Red Stripe, but on stage nothing could be further from the truth as Oz shifts personas like a schizophrenic. We were lulled into a false sense of security at the start in Exit Smiling, with a guitar sound as voluptuous as a choir mistress with a 38 DD chest - something you might want to snuggle up to and bury yourself in - all the time Oz prowling predatorily over the speakers at the front of the stage like a caged tiger, before later leaping into the audience, suddenly loosed and with the potential to devour. One moment we were gently caressed by lyrics like 'I love it when you cry, I hate to say goodbye', the harmonies sung by Chris and Shawn softly brushing our faces with tentative fingertips; the next we were being screamed at with sexual demands in Gizza Kiss. You may have gathered that Smaquehead are anything but lethargic - this gig was exhilarating and almost exhausting, both for the audience and for the band. Oz announced at one point that he was 'sweating like Pete Doherty' and Jonathan left the stage looking like a drowned rat. It is this energy that creates an atmosphere as high as a hot air balloon every time I see them. Shaking like a man being possessed, Oz spazzed out in Waste of Time before finally succumbing to possession by the buxom choir mistress we met at the start, lining up the punters like 10 green bottles on the speakers to sing Ledge Beyond the Edge. By the end of the set, we were well wound round Oz's little finger and would have done pretty much anything. So enthralled were we, that the audience watched entranced and slightly bewildered as Oz climbed onto the bar, in what is now something of a trademark move, and conducted the rest of us like St Winifred's school choir before returning to the stage and making us sing 'Button Moon, be back soon, Button Moon' at the tops of our voices as if it meant everything. And maybe, at that moment, it did. Reviewed by - Carrie O'Bagg Back to top

Smaquehead CD review - from ch4 teletext, P357 Date - 07/12/2004 Smaquehead Iceberg of Mirrors A bright and cheerful CD falling somewhere between ***** and ****** *. Enough upbeat guitar pop and summery la-la-las to warm the coldest and most miserable hearts while the hooks are catchy enough to instantly get you humming. The musicianship and songwriting are strong, all neatly topped off with a soothing American west coast feel. ** The Bean adds a footnote: some of this review has been censored for aesthetic purposes. The last line seems especially prophetic, seeing as we actually recorded the CD in West Coast Studios, Blackpool (not to be confused with West Coast Studios in Thornton, the porn... ahem... 'glamour' studio) ** Reviewed by - Ch4 Teletext Back to top

Smaquehead - Gillespies, Blackpool Date - 01/09/2003 It was a damp, squibbish September night, 2003, and I walked into Gillespies bar under invitation to lose my smaque virginity and hear the band live for the first time. At that time there were only three members and there are three things that I remember about them then: Shaun had written on his hand: 'white shirt, jeans, brown socks', to remind himself how to get dressed in the morning, Bobby Barber wore a blue plastic bead elastic girl's bracelet and Oz walked along the bar, hunched over because he was so tall, as the bar staff cleared a path for him, singing Ledge Beyond the Edge at the top of his voice. He stood on the edge looking at the floor preparing to jump off, as if the bar were a cliff so high that he would spiral to his death for five long minutes before finally hitting the rocks beneath, and the whole place stood and shouted 'jump, jump, jump!' psyching him up for it, until he eventually threw himself off so violently that he staggered across the room and collapsed into the PA, knocking it off where it was precariously balanced in a window. I'd have been forgiven for thinking I'd walked into a show at the local mental hospital. I didn't realise at the time that there would always be a talking point after every gig I ever saw them play. Oh yeah, and what they played… Who cares about the eccentricities of personality, they add character. I was enthralled from the first time they uncurled their fingers to strum and opened their angelic mouths to sing - Oz's rough with-the-smooth tunefulness, Shaun and Simon's beautiful, unusual harmonies, and blue cigarette smoke words which curled up into the air in slow-motion, clearing the fug that filled the room. They sang words that weren't pretentious or pretending to be anything more than light-hearted and good-natured but that had a philosophy and a truth; lyrics that were well-crafted and meaningful, and not the angst driven melancholia I am so used to listening to. How can anyone sing about being in a place that's so far gone it's 'beyond the edge' and then sing 'la la la la la la la' afterwards and make it all sound like fun and games. These guys did. I loved the affirmation of life in all it's brilliance, zinging out of the speakers. The fact that these were songs you would sing when you were happy. And I found myself singing 'Iceberg of Mirrors' around work at the top of my voice for days afterwards. Two guitars and three voices, yet the sound filled the place with complicated fingerings and, now whispered, then belted vocals. Catchy, lyrically inspired, musical, uncheesy, unpretentious but cheerful songs with clarity - I needed more smaque in my life. And that damp night was where my addiction started and my devotion to the cause of smaque was sealed, the night that ensured I would do my best to be wherever they were playing, whenever, the night of the announcement that Rocktober was coming, and when I decided to lose it totally to Smaquehead. I wouldn't have done it with anyone else. Reviewed by - Carrie O'Bagg Back to top