May 10th 2007, at the Betsy Trotwood, Clerkenwell, London.

I saw a band the other night that I expected to sound like a genre of music called “fantasy speed metal” Ã la Battlelore. Therefore, I was happily surprised when the band that appeared did not act like Arthurian troubadours, singing songs overtly concerned with dragons and magic. Actually, the band was called the Young Playthings. After the show, the name was ringing in my ears and I kept thinking that the moniker was the “Bright Young Things.” Certainly, they possessed an amount of Evelyn Waugh cheek. I bet they were the kids in school who were infinitely smarter than those teachers’ pets (or the teachers for that matter). Instead, they merely sat apathetically in the back row, took the gentleman’s “C” and laughed at the kids who were lame enough to read Whalesong for homework.

The lead singer/guitar player, a bulking man decked in business attire and Chuck Taylors, goes by the name Bateman. He reminded me of the WWF’s yuppie bad guy (and sometime Ted DiBiase tag team partner), Irwin R. Schyster. Regardless of how it played out in the squared circle, the look works for Bateman. His voice has a lot of depth, pleasantly textured with a hint of a “not for everyone” taste. To his immediate right was the bearded bass player Jors Truly. Playing something equivalent to “lead bass,” Truly captained the music, sweatily directing its sound and singing along with Bateman. (Very much) in the background was the sublime drummer, Tibor, a man who concentrated on his musical craft. He was solid, steady and adaptable, allowing his band mates to explore new musical territories, whilst keeping them moored to the tune.

Immediately, the warmth of their sound struck me. It made me feel as if I had been a fan of the band since I was their 3rd MySpace friend or something to that effect. They were remarkably inventive, refusing to rest on their musical laurels, as two-minute surf-rock ditties naturally evolved into starry contemplative ballads. My interest was further piqued by their lyrics – songs invoking images of Volvos, the fiery demise of a middle class (British vernacular) kid who is not up for “compassionate conservatism,” a beachcomber, ex-pat alienation and Long Island Sounds.

There was one song titled “Just a Fool,” which was unashamedly heartfelt, reaching a dizzying crescendo as Bateman sang to grieve. It is one of those songs where you know things are just a little bit better now that you have heard it. At least it is a song that you can blissfully hum along to while on a dystopian city bus.

Overall the band’s music is diverse, but unifying, with touches of Pavement and Big Star. It is even splashed with the cinematic aesthetic very reminiscent of the criminally under appreciated, Brooklyn-via-Austin band, Volcano, I’m Still Excited!!!.

In these days when music omni-fests are plenty and certain bands flaunt their messianic tendencies ad nauseum as a necessary means to connect with their audiences, the Young Playthings seem rather disinterested in being crushed by the full weight of their seriousness. Refreshingly, they avoided grandiose statements and simply played music as Townes Van Zandt once said, “for the sake of the song.” The Young Playthings’ first album, Who Invented Love?, will be released on May 14th on Small Town America and it is worth checking out.

The following story was originally posted on a blog called Pergonomics. The author has given permission to post it to this site also. So with that, enjoy!

FORTY-NINE YEARS YOUNG

By M.F. Hinds

A couple months ago, former Guided By Voices (GBV) front man, Robert [jm1] Pollard, announced his retirement from touring. Pollard is one of the most daring front men in rock and he is as gifted physically as he is musically. (He once pitched a Division I no-hitter for Wright State.) Initially, he cancelled the last three gigs of his tour as a result of a leg injury; Pollard, however, was reportedly disillusioned by the smaller crowds of his solo shows as compared to the flocks of fans who followed GBV. Without the visceral intensity of his fans, Pollard found it difficult to carry on his live performances. “It’s too hard to psychologically re-energize yourself each night,” Pollard lamented, “with Guided by Voices, it didn’t matter what day it was.” I definitely understand Pollard’s point.

In early 2006, I had the privilege of seeing one of Pollard’s first shows as a solo artist at the 9:30 Club in Washington D.C. Of course the chronically obsessed GBV fans loved it and Bob, as he is addressed by his adoring fans, was “smothered with hugs.” However, after scanning the crowd and peering up at the stage, it was palpable that something was missing. The concert only hinted at the electricity of a GBV show during the encore, when Bob and his band played classic tracks from the Guided By Voices canon. Even when Pollard performed some of his stellar new songs, which mirror some of his GBV best, the crowd’s intensity level was relatively low and very disappointing.

To give some context, Guided By Voices was a musical aberration borne in a basement in Dayton, Ohio. There, elementary school teacher Robert Pollard and his friends ended up creating some of the greatest music in the history of rock and roll. Albums such as Propeller, Bee Thousand, Alien Lanes and Under the Bushes, Under the Stars were otherworldly lo-fi beauties that were quite possibly the missing link between Buddy Holly and the Beatles. Even now, it’s hard to determine the sources of this extraordinary music. Is it a celestial source perhaps? Possibly falling dust from a comet sailing across the fiery, orange Dayton sky on a summer’s eve? Or rather Pollard’s inherent talent for writing timeless pop songs in a dank, wood-paneled Ohio basement, fueled by heroic amounts of cheap beer and good friends. Whatever his inspirations or origins, it is unfair to expect Pollard to replicate on his own, the same dynamism and impact of his work with GBV.

However, this by no means suggests that Pollard is a spent creative force, relegated to spending the rest of his career ad infinitum collaborating with Rob Thomas and Carlos Santana. That night at the 9:30 Club, as I listened to his encore, once again I felt the power of Pollard’s songs. After all, it was the songs that were the catalyst to my typical GBV concert-life-affirming-experience. Understandably, the physical demands of a full blown live rock show may be too much for the 49 year old Pollard to handle night in and night out. Knowing the athletic and competitive nature, which has always imbued him, he probably cannot stand the idea of half-assing his stage performances.

GBV’s live shows have always revolved around the booming voice and presence of Pollard, the furious electric guitar, the steady drums, and the pounding bass. This sonic maelstrom made it impossible to be still and propelled the terrible beauty of Pollard up on stage, literally scissor kicking the jams with a beer and cigarette in hand. No doubt this physical exertion has probably taken its toll. Therefore, Pollard needs to eliminate the electric bombast of his live shows, go wooden, and play acoustic. It makes perfect sense. He has always written simple hymnal-like tunes that evoked surreal worlds: a mop-top Merseyside, a daisy glaze version of Greil Marcus’ “Old, Weird America.” Ultimately, when it comes down to it, Bob is really a folksinger, with a predilection for the 4 P’s: Prog, Pop, Psych, and Punk.

So this article is actually a message to Pollard, who may be reading this because he would appreciate the site’s non-ironic content in reference to 1970’s rock. For all I care Bob, you could perform like Alanis Morrisette circa 1996 MTV Unplugged and just sit and sing from a stool with either Todd Tobias or Tommy Keane while playing acoustic guitar surrounded by dripping candles. An acoustic live show would entice the world to experience Robert Pollard and the legacy of Guided By Voices in its most naked and raw form. At the same time, by playing GBV mainstays as “Echoes Myron” and “A Man Called Aerodynamics” in such a primordial state, it may be the fresh muse that Bob is seeking.