The world is littered, overrun, and bulging at the seams with songs, and most would be classified as of the ‘pop’ variety. With the constraints of the traditional 12 tone octave, applied in various permutations over the last five or so decades, you’d think that this once fertile field is due for a fallow period (some may argue we’ve been there for more than a few years). GRUFF RHYS, best known as leader of the SUPER FURRY ANIMALS, is the fertilizer, irrigation piping, and rototiller which ensures that a bountiful pop crop is always ready for periodic harvest from the lush, green lands of Wales, which he calls home. A quick perusal of the work he’s produced so far as the leader of SFA allows for no contest of my thesis. Sure, he’s dog-eared a few pages from BRIAN WILSON’s Farmer’s Almanac but has clearly staked out his own dirt pile and subsequent crop quite nicely. Perhaps an analog of the ROBERT POLLARD or HOWE GELB syndrome where the band or label can’t keep up with the output, Gruff’s turned to solo LPs as a way to keep songs getting out to the fans, and Candylion is the second such effort in as many years. Since he’s left to his own devices, the songs tend to be simpler and mellower, but his inquisitive and upbeat perspective on life is still fully preserved in the songs.
Referring to opening act ULRICH SCHNAUSS’s problems at the start of his set, Gruff predicted that his peculiar array of odds and ends laid out on the table in front of him wouldn’t fail, but he did state that he is prone to operator error. That self-deprecating humour would wend itself throughout Gruff’s dialog the entire evening. He referred to the small drum machine as “Kevin,” made excellent use of the auxiliary microphone to set up vocal loops (once cocking an ear as if he heard an echo), and held up a stitched banner which read “The Very Best Of Neil Diamond.” He explained where he bought it (in Cardiff), but wasn’t sure why anyone would make it; “I’m giving it new opportunities” was his dry response. Gruff also described how he came to his unusual guitar playing (heavier gauge strings are on the bottom, not top); his older brother and sister had a guitar laying about the house, but it was a right-handed guitar (Gruff is a lefty) and they neglected to leave a user manual next to it. Not once, but twice he interrupted and stopped songs before their rightful conclusion, telling the audience how they’d eventually end up, though the last one was the lengthy “Sklyon” (“How much time do we have left? Fifteen minutes? Good, I’ve got a fifteen-minute song”), where he and part-time vocal partner LISA JEN spun a tale of an airplane flight that has some mishaps, and put on flotation devices as visual props. A few songs were sung in his native tongue (“Gryrru Grryu Grryu,” which translated to “Driving Driving Driving,” detailing the monotony of the road; “Pdwin Wy 1” and “Pdwin Wy 2,” from his first solo LP, which apparently is some sort of term of endearment equivalent to “cupcake”), and he ended the set with a great choice, KEVIN AYERS’ first single “Religious Experience,” which seemed to neatly sum up Gruff’s approach to life: “Singing a song in the morning/singing it again at night//I don’t even know what I’m singing about/but it makes me feel I feel alright.”
As I alluded to above, Schnauss started out with some difficulties… his table full of electronic gear wasn’t working straight out of the blocks. Once the diagnosis was made and a faulty cable was coaxed into working, it was off to a cerebral mix of beats, hazy guitar, and delays, all executed with the cool flair and sound that only a German can deliver. It’s kinda hard to explain, but if you were to lead a dozen blind-folded music fans into the performance space, odds are high that they would pinpoint Western Europe as the home continent of the music maker. Since there’s not much visually happening with an electronic artist, Ulrich made the correct decision in bringing along some interesting visuals with him, projected onto a screen at the rear of the stage. Flowers, buildings, silhouettes of people, window blinds, cloud patterns—all fit in well with the gentle flow and ebb of the continual sound. Continual until the finicky cable decided to stop the flow of electrons, and stopped Ullrich in his tracks, into dead and sudden silence. A quick repair/troubleshooting session got the sound back on with a minimum of downtime, and despite the slight break in momentum, he was able to re-establish the blissful sounds which would not sound alien to a MY BLOODY VALENTINE or ROBIN GUTHRIE listener.
