Effortlessness is of course the cornerstone of cool.

That’s why the Chesterfield hanging out of the corner of James Dean’s mouth is better than the Benson being desperately tugged on by the 14 yr old on the corner of your street. It’s why more guitarists want to be Hendrix than Angus Young. It’s why every indie rocker in the late 80s wanted to be J Mascis.

And with that Dinosaur Jr reference we’ll move clumsily and rather obviously onto Yuck, a band who seemingly can’t be described by writers outside of the context of their apparent influences. Which is a pity since Yuck’s crime isn’t sounding derivative, it ‘s sounding authentic.

There’s plenty of bands that sound like they spent too many nights arguing over which is the best Sonic Youth album but few that have managed to amount to anything more than an NME cover. Late 80s American indie-rock is a tough genre to incorporate into your sound and retain an identity. Bands seem to master the sound and forget to write any memorable tunes. It’s why Biffy Clyro only soared when they realised that their heroes Nirvana were great because they wanted to write pop songs and the distortion pedals were the means, not the end. It’s also why The Vines are just a footnote.

The thirty-somethings in the audience tonight no doubt appreciated the familiarity of some of Yuck’s melodies, but the reason their debut album will be featuring in everyone’s lists at the end of the year isn’t just some exploitation of the plaid pound but their knack for songwriting  that manages to be both catchy and emotive. As great as the bands closest to their sound are/were, few of them had hooks that took up long-term residence in your head ready to burst out when the shower starts. Freak Scene and Teenage Riot are the exceptions that prove the rule.

For a band with just a debut album to their name, their set contains very little filler. Sure, new track Soothe Me seems surplus to their existing singles but the repetitive refrain of The Wall gets a surprisingly calm audience moving. Not that Yuck are begging for approval, that effortlessness belies an appreciation of the power of the instant hook. At their best, such as on Georgia, they manage a combine that hook with a perfect mix of listlessness and heartfelt sincerity.  Yuck, however have two settings and they unleash the slow-burners in the encore. The penultimate song  features percussion mixed to virtual silence resulting in a psychedelic jam reminiscent of My Bloody Valentine on a boring day. Maybe it was just an enormous intro to Rubber, with which they finished. This is probably the sort of thing we should know.

So here Yuck are, finishing the first chapter of their career- an assured debut, comparisons to all the right bands and a benevolent press talking them up. The second chapter will almost certainly feature the high-profile support slot and the talked about festival appearances. What follows after, the second album, will be the test…

To be a successful female in modern America, you have to release records that are edgy, oozing with sex and somehow able to offend various subsections of society or else you’re just old fashioned.

Rihanna constantly tells us how she likes to engage in adult activities, Lady Gaga likes to dress up as meat and Beyonce likes to fake pregnancies (if the mentalist rumours are true). So where does Nicki Minaj fit in?

Some say she bypasses all of the above shock factors and does an alright job of reinventing female rap. Previously, Nicki Minaj upset America when her right boob popped out to say hello. Now conservative types will probably get into a fluster as she prepares to release new songs as a gender bender.

People have cottoned on to the fact that controversy sells. Frankie Cocozza will probably be offered a record deal based solely on his hair and the fact he has amazingly tall hair, drinks booze and wears jeans that are so skinny, they have begun to disappear up his own hole.

So what’s the story with Nicki Minaj?

Well, something posted on her website (since removed) said:

“Roman will be in rare form this time. You know why? Cuz he no longer gives a fuck. He realises that his core matters the most. Everyone else will figure it the fuck out. He can no longer be censored. That’s not Lewinsky on a$$. It’s Roman. He has 2 more weeks in boarding school. We’re going to pick him up now. When he lands, he will address the nation in the form of music. He will announce the date.”

Don’t worry if you can’t make head or tail of that. We’re here to help.

Basically, Nicki Minaj has an alter ego, gay BFF called Roman Zolanski. We’ve no idea how that’ll work though, and more to the point, Minaj has missed a trick.

Instead of creating a gay alter ego, we would have liked to see Nicki creating a character who was an actual Roman. Imagine him racing around in a golden chariot wearing nothing more than a leather studded loin cloth, beads of sweat dripping down his hard chiselled stomach, whipping the crapola out of his stallions and pounding out raps that seduce you into his mercy.

Honestly, why aren’t we creative consultants to anyone?

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or join our Facebook group if anyone is still daft enough to use it

Drake is one of the world’s most hyped rappers on the planet despite releasing lame song after lame song. And his latest album, Take Care, has been delayed, presumably because it’s so poor that it’s hiding under the stairs, surrounded by people trying to cajole it outside.

As a teaser for just how lame it is, a new song called Make Me Proud featuring Nicki Minaj, has been leaked.

Yes, you can hear it over the jump and yes, Drizzy (when will this ‘izzy/’eezy thing end?) showcases rap in the style of The Little Book Of Calm. Again.

Talking about his lame process of making wet songs, Drake says:

“Whenever I make songs surrounding women, I always try to find refreshing stances to take as opposed to just like, ‘Oh, you’re sexy’ or ‘Oh, I want you.’ The song, it really came up in passing conversation, just being like, ‘I’m proud of you’.”

“Not even necessarily that a woman has to go achieve grandiose things to be proud; it’s just that I’m proud of you for trying. It’s hard to be a woman out here these days, especially to be pretty and especially to be smart and want something for yourself. So I’m just proud of you whether it’s Nicki or any girl that I’ve ever known in my life that’s doing well for herself.”

Did you hear that? Did it make you puke?

This song actually states at one point that Drake is proud of a woman who has just had a shower. Seriously. He’s proud of womenfolk because they are able to stand under water for a short period. Astonishing.

He’s not finished being a huge drip either.

He’s pushed back the release date for Take Care to give him more time to clear some samples. Talking like a trainee priest, he says:

“I do apologize for the delay but I promise that it is only for the benefit of our experience together”

Christ. Anyway, listen to Make Me Proud and get the sick bucket ready.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or else we’ll kill you in your sleep or join our Facebook group if anyone is still daft enough to use it or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS OR WE’LL KILL EVERYONE YOU’VE EVER LOVED!

You. You’ve thought about dying. Of course you have. You’re a pathetic excuse for a human. Look at you. You’re an embarrassment compared to your friends with their careers, savings, mortgages and stupid pets.

Of course, they’re worthless and resentful as well. They know people doing even better than they are. And this continues all the way to the toppermost of the poppermost, where they tell us, it’s lonely at the top.

And so, the entire human race wants to die. And Nicki Minaj is expecting us to give two hoots about the fact that she wanted to die before she was famous because she’s foolish enough to think that fame will solve her demons. HAHAHA!

Before people started throwing money at her to buy new wigs and such, Nicki Minaj wasn’t having a very good time. She had a life much like the one we’re all currently loitering in.

And it was dark apparently.

*looks around*

Yep. It’s definitely dimmer than someone who is surrounded by neon lights spelling their name.

Nicki says:

“I kept having doors slammed on my face. I felt like nothing was working. I had moved out on my own, and here I was thinking I’d have to go home. It was one dead end after another.

“At one point, I was, like, ‘What would happen if I just didn’t wake up?’ That’s how I felt. Like maybe I should just take my life?”

And if she had, she would’ve been just another vaguely depressing statistic… but alas, we wouldn’t have heard of her, so we wouldn’t care a jot if she’d gone through with it. Sorry.

Alas, while us plebs deal with the fact that our suicide is less-newsworthy than skateboarding dogs and orangutan who have learned to smoke, Nicki’s now just fine.

“I will have put out five albums and will have an Oscar and Grammys. And I will be getting married and, a couple of years after that will have a bun in the oven… My whole life is about being Nicki Minaj now. It’s a never-ending saga.”

A never-ending saga that will end when she’s put our five albums and got married and junk. Great. Will nothing give mortals like us the will to carry on?

No. But here’s a video (we’ve previously shared) which will make you want to die.

No problem.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or else we’ll kill you in your sleep or join our Facebook group if anyone is still daft enough to use it or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS OR WE’LL KILL EVERYONE YOU’VE EVER LOVED!

Five teenage boys are standing in a circle, arms locked around each others shoulders but this is no group hug.

They are all urinating into the centre.

They are ten metres away from the toilets.

Welcome to Leeds.

Another teenage boy is enjoying the comforts of a campfire.

A tent sits barely twelve inches away from the pile of burning rubbish.

“You’re brave having that so near your tent” a concerned passer-by ventures.

“It’s not my tent” comes the reply.

Yep. This is definitely Leeds alright.

This is not a festival where common sense prevails, but one where chaos reigns. It also routinely has one of the best line-ups a fan of what was once called ‘alternative rock’ but what could only be referred to now as ‘not metal’ could desire.  There are thousands of indie kids who are individually polite and considerate but as a collective are a drunken malco-ordinated tsunami of excitement. We’re only brave enough to come for one day.

Perhaps being the first band on the NME/Radio 1 stage is a prestigious slot? It’s the only to explain why Pulled Apart By Horses would be so low on the bill with the sound turned down to ‘morning’. Quiet noise-rock? Pity, since they’re one of more exciting homegrown live acts to have appeared in the last few years. We always undervalue British bands when they choose making a noise over striking a pose. We hope that’s not the case here.

Does it Offend You, Yeah? really are the perfect act for Leeds. With their anarchic attitude and childish techno-rock they provide the perfect antidote to The Blackout’s exercise in danger-free genre adherence playing simultaneously on the main stage. The kids get DIOYY in a way that suggests that they’re a critic-proof party band. On this occasion the kids are all right.

Dublin three-piece The Minutes are the first of several bands that we catch on the BBC Introducing stage. They’re another one whose sound requires more volume. Their brand of rock n’ roll would be better suited to a venue that’s wet as a result of perspiration rather than precipitation.

Employees of the hair conditioner industry aren’t the only people grateful for Bring Me the Horizon. The band earn such devotion from their fans, but presumably from their metalcore anthems rather than singer Olly Sykes genital fixation. We’ve not seen this much simulated masturbation since late ’80s Madonna.

After briefly checking out Cerebral Ballzy’s supremely energetic take on ’80s skatepunk, we catch a couple of songs from the dreamy piano-playing piece of girl-bait that is Tim Minchin before the heat of the tent gets too much.

Yes, they sound like no-one else, yes they are the thinking man’s metal band but after years of trying to like them, we’re just going to have to come clean- we find Deftones boring. Dreadfully boring.

The Vaccines remind us of so many bands that we can’t even be bothered to work out whether they’re any good. This may seem like a betrayal of journalistic responsibility but there’s only so much musical analysis we can do. If we think any more about the Vaccines we might miss the next Beatles.

It’s a good time at the moment if you like music with fuzzed-up early 90s guitar on. If you enjoyed the Yuck album, but want something more lo-fi but with a (slight) nod towards Velvets, you could do a lot worse than the Milk Maid album. There’s something pleasing about albums full of great melodies that are knowingly under produced- a reminder of how bringing joy to a few is better inspiration than redundant (and unrealistic) rock star fantasies. Live, they make it look effortless, which is not the same thing as uncaring.

Jared Leto really is a preposterous individual. I’ve never seen someone get so into rock star posturing that they can’t find the time to play any actual music, but that seems to be what passes for a performance from 30 Seconds to Mars. He invites fans on stage (a drawn-out, logistically challenging patience tester), makes long speeches about how awesome we all are, and thanks us for helping sell out their recent tour (complete with list of venues). It’s the most expensive award ceremony speech we’ve ever seen! We should point out that silly as this all is, it’s rather endearing.

My Chemical Romance are one hell of a pop band. We don’t mean that as an insult- they’ve amassed an arsenal of catchy 4 minute sing-a-long songs, and play them like a balls-out rock band. We don’t know whether we’d ever buy an album but they’re certainly welcome in a world with plenty of big-selling artists but not many worthy headliners.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or else we’ll kill you in your sleep or join our Facebook group if anyone is still daft enough to use it or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS OR WE’LL KILL EVERYONE YOU’VE EVER LOVED!

Argghhh! Panic! The festival industry is dying! Run for the hills (well, the cities)! So, then Big Chill- what are you about? Should we be impressed or not?

You’re run by Festival Republic who really aren’t the leftwing revolutionary group that your name would like us to infer, but your line-up isn’t exactly the warmed up Radio 1 tedium soup of V.

If our weekend was anything to go by, it’s where the kind of punters who used to frequent Glastonbury now like to er.. chill.

They may be from a different generation but the crowd at Big Chill are the same friendly, tasteful and, importantly, hedonistic crowd that Eavis used to woo. Imagine a Glastonbury where it’s small enough that parents can walk with the children from the kids’ area to see a band in the arena without three days worth of rations and survival training.

Those without children can party hard into the early hours, relaxed in the knowledge that the friendly security staff are there for your actual safety and not to police you to ensure your ‘safety’.

Okay, so the organisers seem to have taken a gamble and splashed out on Kanye West at the expense of interesting mid-level main stage acts but in doing so, they may have sold enough tickets to ensure its future.

Hecklerspray spent most of the time enjoying dubstep and drum and bass into the early hours although our favourite DJ set of the weekend was Alex Metric and his selection of electro house in the Bacardi Tent.

We’re embarrassed to say that we didn’t see as many of the live acts as we normally do. Fine by us since we got our kicks regardless, but it might make the review a little less interesting. Don’t worry, we’re not going to review the DJs.

Friday’s main stage boasted Empire of the Sun purveying us with their psychedelic pop to a visual feast that matched the admirably pretentious noise they make. Whilst they garnered hyperbole from many quarters with their debut album, like their psych-pop brethren MGMT we thought it was filler with some hidden gems. Looking absurdly out of place and over the top on a stage in Herefordshire however they make total sense. Perhaps a revisit to the album is in order?

It seems obvious to point out how good the Chemical Brothers are live these days. Although to be honest we don’t think anyone could balls up if they had (a) their back catalogue (b) a field full of people ready for a party. You do the math(s).

The first act we caught on the Saturday was Janelle Monae, whose album is easier to admire than love on account of it not sounding like anyone else. Shut up, idiot reviewer and sum it up in one of those pithy hack metaphors you lot love! Okay- if Andre 3000 had kept R & B in a cellar from 1981 to 2004, not allowed it to hear the radio during that time but had instead just continuously humped its leg like a horny puppy, it would sound like Janelle Monae. Except the bit about leg humping, but it’s the sort of thing he’d probably do. And it’s definitely something he’d pull off. Live, it all just sounded like the sort of thing that gets Jools Holland aroused.

As soon as Jessie J starts, a cavernous generation gap cracks open through the field. 500 cool teenagers (and about 100 uncool adults) stand on one side swearing at us and quoting internet memes that we don’t understand. On our side it’s just us, trying to decapitate them with records made by people with lesser voices who make genuinely great pop music.

We’re sure Kanye West has good reason for being thirty minutes late, but that doesn’t make it seem any less inevitable. We would like to think he was somewhere nearby and could hear the the cries of “do you like fishsticks?” but suspect he was probably having a pedicure whilst lying on a bed of velvet-skinned eunuchs or whatever it is that the mega-rich do these days.

His current stage show consists of various dancers running around a white stage whilst he plays songs whose lyrical content can be summed up as “I’m a genius/No I’m a douche” and “You bitch, you betrayed me/to be fair it was all my fault”. Luckily, portraying himself in two dimensions with interesting, if clumsy, lyrics to faultless production, is a hell of a lot more interesting than so many of his peers portraying themselves in one dimension with predictable, if well structured, lyrics to average production. This being the case, why are we not feeling it? Is this not the man that delivered arguably the best album of last year? Why do we feel like we’re watching a good performance on TV, hard to find fault with but ultimately uninvolving? The answer is presence. Kanye is a studio nerd, not a rock star. All that awkwardness that makes him so fascinating in his songs has the opposite effect on a stage. He’s not poor as such but as international superstar Kanye West, we have a certain expectations.

Oh well, we’re sure if he reads this, he’ll take it well- we hear he’s good with criticism.

He also has the worst finale of any set we’ve witnessed. After a daft dedication to a series of dead people (McQueen, Winehouse and Jackson if you’re interested), he played half of two Amy Winehouse songs. Not performed, just played the original versions over the loudspeakers. Say what you want about Elton John, but at least he thought the corpse du jour deserved the effort of singing.

Besides, if we have to hear someone else’s records can he not just leave, and let 2ManyDJs start on time? Eventually the Belgian Soulwaxers arrive and play a typically astonishing set, with songs they’ve remixed for maximum power and with specific visuals. The two guys next to us sum it up best-

“Are we watching two men who have come from Belgium just to press play on a mix CD?”

“Shut up and keep dancing, it’s still awesome and shits on Kanye West”.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or else we’ll kill you in your sleep or join our Facebook group if anyone is still daft enough to use it or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS OR WE’LL KILL EVERYONE YOU’VE EVER LOVED!

How did people entertain themselves in the days before electricity was invented? Imagine life a trillion billion years ago when there was nothing on the planet apart from your fellow human and stupid animals. People actually had to use their brains to amuse themselves, urgh.

Caveman drawings have given a small glimpse into what our ancestors got up to, but there’s one activity that is as popular as it ever was, and it involves the humble nipple.

From self exploration of your own, to nipple twisting someone else’s to cause them pain, its fun for everyone involved. You’d assume that everybody would embrace their bodies and not become overly offended by something they already have. Think again morons, because over in America, the sight of a nipple causes a blazing uproar and during a recent performance for Good Morning America, Nicki Minaj offended everyone. And probably Jebus.

Why is America is so anti nipple, yet doesn’t have a problem with giving away firearms with every tenth purchase in burger joint? Unless Americans have a genetic modification that allows them to fire lasers from their chests and don’t want the world to know about it, then hiding your nips ain’t on.

But it got us thinking – are people just sexist about nipples when it comes to men and women? On the front of beefcake magazines such as Men’s Health, vain and muscular types flex their buff bodies whilst bongo magazines featuring topless housewives are confined to the top shelves which are impossible for us to reach.

But sex indeed sell and women are generally easier on the eye than men. And the very pleasing Nicki Minaj combines the ability of being a decent rapper (listen to her show stealing section in Kanye’s ‘Monster’) and the whole Being A Little Crazy when it comes to outfits which may reveal a little bit too much for some.

It’s because of these sexy outfits that America has requested a system where potential wardrobe malfunctions are combated thanks to a five second broadcast delay.

We assume this is after the unsavoury incident when Janet Jackson exposed her boob during the Superbowl. Of course, parent groups in America need something to complain about on a continual basis, and this is the perfect chance. Some boring person from one such group of meddling spoilsports commented:

“For the umpteenth time in recent memory a morning news show has included inappropriate content for children and families. Instead of asking for forgiveness, they need to stop apologizing and implement the five second delay that so many Americans have been calling for.”

If Nicki Minaj had scrawled something offensive on her bare chest like “Bomb Christianity” then maybe the people complaining would have more of an argument. But crying over a bit of nipple?

Idiots.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or join our Facebook group or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS!

Odd Future are the hottest ticket in town at the moment, packing out shows and bombing off the stage like they’re The Stooges and creating a buzz in hip hop not seen since the Wu Tang Clan started taking names and numbers.

But what are they like behind all the horror and gore of their LPs? Well, in Tyler The Creator, they have a ringmaster supreme who, unsurprisingly,  is a lot smarter and more charming that he lets on.

And in a video interview (below), we find him to be engaging and wanting to do some damage to Bruno Mars while laughing like a drain at Peter Andre’s ‘Mysterious Girl’ video.

In the video, which is largely milkshake and burger-based, Tyler chomps and hoots his way through a pretty awkward interview with DJ Semtex without much fuss.

On Peter Andre, he snorts:

“This is horrible. That’s so bad. This is so bad.”

He then noted with glee about ‘the black dude’ with the ponytail, before wondering:

“I wonder what the music sounds like. This might be one of the greatest things I’ve experienced!”

He then goes about wishing violence on Bruno Mars just for being Bruno Mars, which absolutely no-one on Earth could possibly argue with, including Bruno Mars’ own mother.

LUNCH WITH TYLER from DJ SEMTEX on Vimeo.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or join our Facebook group or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS!

Despite the music industry being in some kind of financial crisis, it doesn’t stop certain artists from flaunting their gargantuan wealth and having wardrobes that are more expensive than absolutely everything in Ireland and Greece combined.

And so, when we need to make an example of them, we try and throw the book at them right? Try and teach them a lesson for having the audacity to be massively successful.

With that, cartoon rap sensation Nicki Minaj has been fined for swearing her way through a performance at a Jamaican music festival. In Jamaica, they don’t like the swearing, but overtly homophobic dancehall records are just fine. So how much did the obscenely wealthy Minaj get slapped with?

If you happen to be internationally successful and cuss cuss your way through a performance, the cops will come and yell at you and demand you start handing over some of your hard earned pennies. A grand total of 1,000 Jamaican dollars! WOWEE! So how much is that in Sterling? Is it, like, a million quid?!

Try £6.90.

That’s right. If you want to deter an international superstar from misbehaving, you need to threaten them with fines that roughly equate to the price of a bottle of Buckfast. Or a 20 pack of smokes.

It goes without saying that the hitmaker completely ignored warnings about profanity fines at the Reggae Sumfest in Montego Bay and delivered swear after swear, safe in the knowledge that she could cover the cost with the money she loses down the back of her sofa.

So small is the amount, that Minaj just sent her lawyer along to court to settle the fine with a guilty plea, which they promptly did with the loose change in their suit pocket.

Next week: Jamaica threaten someone famous with a 30 second stretch in prison for shitting from a balcony on passers-by.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or join our Facebook group or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS!

Like coffee shops and vintage clothing boutiques, UK festivals are cropping up all over the place. The modern day music lover is literally spoilt for choice in terms of who they want to see perform in a muddy field. While festivals such as Glastonbury, T in the Park and V offer a mixed bag of artists, more genre themed events have emerged that include rock at Download, indie at Reading & Leeds and electronic at Global Gathering.

Now in its tenth year, Global Gathering has always pushed the boundaries of innovation to make sure it tops the previous year with an ever expanding range of electronic genres are being for catered for.

Well known and underground artists from the world of dubstep, drum & bass and electro have been recruited to make sure that no-one attending is standing still for more than five seconds. If you missed out on tickets, fear not, we’ve got our grubby paws on a pair and we really want you to have them.

On Friday 29th July and Saturday 30th July, Global Gathering offers a selection of established artists, mixed up with new producers and musicians who’ve injected something new and exciting into electronic music. As a result, some notable headliners have been pulled in.

On Friday, legends of electronic music, Underworld take to the stage to perform tracks from their extensive back-catalogue that spans over twenty years. Elsewhere, Pendulum grace the main arena to make people jump up and down.

Saturday sees newcomers such as the ace Yasmin rub shoulders with DJ’s such as Carl Cox and Tinie Tempah.

So what do you have to do in order to join the thousands of ravers who’ll be dancing away at Long Marston Airfield in Stratford-Upon-Avon? Normally we’d ask an easy peasy question, but this time, we want you to get creative.

Fans of electronic music know that all sorts of sub-genres emerge all the time, so keeping in the spirit of genuine genre names such as witch house and chillwave, we want to know the following:

What would you call a brand new genre of music if a gun was pointed at your head?

We don’t care what it would sound like; just amuse us with your suggestions. The best name will win a pair of tickets to Global Gathering for absolutely nothing.

Enter by tweeting us over on @hecklerspray, scribbling on our Facebook wall or leaving us a comment on this here article. As per any competition, we have to let you know the following:

1) hecklerspray will provide you with a pair of tickets for Global Gathering. Transport and accommodation is up to you. We take no responsibility if you set up camp in a bog and drown. We will however, write an article mocking you.

2) Entries close on Wednesday 20th July at midnight. If we don’t forget, we’ll nag you for contact details the next day.

3) UK residents only, sorry it’s nothing personal. Except it is.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or join our Facebook group or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS!

Hyde Park’s a funny old place, what with it seeming to have two festivals sharing the same field. And as we walked in, there was a Radio 1 style pop-event going on. Ke$ha was on stage. She is profoundly irritating. Do we really need to justify this with serious journalistic observation? Well, according to her wikipedia page she cites Banksy as an influence. What kind of name-dropping wank-sack musician cites a graffiti artist as an influence*?

Needless to say, her performance successfully manages to reflect the pretentiousness of this notion. She puts on a show, and makes more of an effort than a thousand Snow Patrols but after watching her, even Nelson Mandela would have to murder a stranger just to let off some steam.

Retro electro**-pop duo Chromeo are a charming act on record, and on stage some of that charisma does come across but the intricate production that distinguishes their sound is lost in the field today. Their albums take the ‘eighties if the eighties had actually been any good’ vibe that Les Rythmes Digitales pioneered and add a sprinkling of synth-funk on top of it. Bands can sink or swim in open air, and even tracks like Fancy Footwork and Bonafide Lovin’, the Canadian duo fail to do themselves justice.

The other festival here was one catering towards the more discerning dance fan. Poor old Battles. Although loved by chin-strokers and journalists and promoting a second album which has already got itself a comfortable spot waiting for the ‘best of 2011’ lists, today was a genuine opportunity to steal some new fans. Sadly technology took umbrage at their art-rock doing electronica shenanigans and speakers blew during the opening song.

This was followed by the frantic fiddling of an army of exasperated engineers. Drummer John Stanier filled the silence with drum solos until they managed to start playing again, but clearly not everything was fixed properly as recent single Ice Cream sounded messy and muddled rather than the highlight it should have been. Two more poor-sounding songs and they walked off with long faces and apologies to the audience.

If he had wanted it, the world was once Aphex Twin’s for the taking. To his artistic credit he is the living embodiment of the ‘making songs for himself and if anyone else like it, that’s a bonus’ mantra that litter interviews with lesser musicians. Aside from playing Windowlicker, he’s still indulging his love of acid breaks and tempo changes that challenge your dancing feet.

Chemical Brothers don’t share Aphex’s love of esoterica, they want you to dance, and they still know exactly what you want to dance to. They are one of the best singles acts of the last twenty years so a festival headline slot is their natural environment.

They also have that wonderful advantage over rock bands in that they can mess around with their songs and as long as the new version simply has the essence of the original, your body will react all the same. Can you imagine how frustrating it would be for a rock band to stick chorus A into song B while playing the a guitar solo from song C? It would be like the world’s most annoying mash-up. A great electronic act can take advantage of this liberation. There’s a reason why the Daft Punk live albums are an essential part of their catalogue.

With last year’s Further, Tom and Ed made their finest album since 1996’s Dig Your Own Hole because they stopped trying to tick all the genre boxes and just got on with what they were best at and that’s it- they seem to know exactly what they’re doing at the moment. Making albums like that, doing film soundtracks and still headlining festivals after 20 years it must feel good to be a Chemical Brother at the moment.

*= aside from old-school hip-hop artists that is,

**= erectro, anyone? OK maybe not.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or join our Facebook group or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS!

Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All (OFWGKTA… or, for the sake of not typing the whole stinkin’ thing out, ‘Odd Future’ from now on) don’t mind a bit of controversy. In fact, they openly court it. They’re like Teflon. Nothing sticks to ‘em.

When one of Sara and Tegan said: “I’m disheartened that any self-respecting human being could stand in support with a message so vile”, Odd Future’s founder, Tyler the Creator, retorted with: “If Tegan and Sara need some hard dick, hit me up!”

And so, with the news that opponents of domestic violence have announced a protest at one of their upcoming shows, what are the chances of the group being phased by it?

There’s been a lot of controversy about Odd Future’s lyrical content, leaving bystanders worried sick about these words that are running rampage around millions of ears. One worried/angry onlooker is a group called Between Friends who, alongside groups like Rape Victims Advocates, the YWCA, and LGBT groups, will be protesting the group’s performance at the July Pitchfork music festival.

And sure, a lot of Odd Future’s content is hugely offensive… but surely, everyone has the right to be offended? Someone saying something horrible never made anyone wake up with a terminal illness did it? OFWGKTA rap about ultraviolence, rape, necrophilia and more, but there’s clearly more to it than just that (or it’d get tiresome).

While many point out that Odd Future’s sound engineer is a lesbian, that’s hardly the point as she’s probably got a dark sense of humour too. Sense of humour… sense of the surreal… not everything that’s hard-to-swallow is an instruction or a declaration of truth.

Fact is, Odd Future are smart and, crucially, in character. It’s oft quoted, but worthy of a mention, that Jay Z once said of rappers that “the rapper’s character is essentially a conceit, a first-person literary creation.” As Village Voice point out, “it’s not like we actually think Matt Damon is out assassinating rogue CIA agents between movies.”

And while ‘Splatter’ contains some off-centre lyrics about getting your way with pensioners in a home, it is part of an absurd narrative. Does anyone baulk at “”beatin’ midgets up with ladders” and think it’s an instruction of some kind? It seems strange that no-one would mention the sharp rhymes the band possess:

“I created O.F cause I feel we’re more talented/ Than 40-year- old rappers talking about Gucci/ When they have kids they haven’t seen in years.”

However, on 17th July, Between Friends will be wanting to…

“…let Odd Future know that this is something that we’re taking notice of, and we really want to get the other view out there as much as possible. There are going to be people in that audience who have experienced domestic violence, and we don’t want their experiences to go unnoticed.”

We’re not sure that Odd Future give a fuck. And maybe, in an age where pop music is incredibly clean and controlled, always politician-precise to say the right thing at the right time, that’s precisely is part of Odd Future’s allure.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or join our Facebook group or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS!

Is there any more fun to be drawn from rap/rock? Judging by Hyro Da Hero, the answer is “Fun, yes. Essential music, perhaps not.” This is the straighter end of alt/noise rock (think a less experimental At the Drive-In) with rapping over the top rather that the normal approach of recreating hip-hop’s bounce and swing with live instruments.

A welcome change on a rainy morning after all the white men shouting, but ultimately inconsequential.

Norway’s Kvelertak describe themselves as Black n’ Roll, and it’s a good a label as any. Rock n’ Roll with metal vocals. Like a less-pantomime Turbonegro, they sound like Satan’s favourite blues band. Another feather in Scandinavia’s already feather-stuffed cap.

We stick around for Gwar as it would foolish not to. We hope we can be forgiven for not paying too much attention to the thrash/hardcore music they were making. This was the first time we’ve seen them so we were too busy enjoying the violence and blood-letting on stage. People were stabbed, monsters disembowelled and the Queen had her breasts cut off.

A memorable afternoon’s entertainment.

It’s easy to see why Frank Turner is such a divisive figure. He lacks any of the detached cool of more traditional alternative icons and his lyrics are so humble and earnest he makes Kermit the Frog sound like the Ol’ Dirty Bastard.

What is less obvious is why metallers ‘get’ him, but get them they do. Maybe it’s the lack of cynicism with which they approach their music? Either way, if you’re prepared to experience sentiment and an anger sprinkled with optimism then there’s enjoyment of a very affecting sort to be had from Frank live.

Songs from the new album England Keep My Bones sound promising after his last album’s disappointing lack of hooks, and Photosynthesis with its rousing choruses is a fine way to end the weekend.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or join our Facebook group or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS!

Why are metal bands of such a high quality when playing live? We’ve lost count of the mind-numbing quantity of indie bands we’ve seen over the years that sounded passable on record but dreary once they sheepishly shuffle onto a stage.

Benji Webb knows how to work a crowd and Skindred are an amazing vehicle for his talent. The self-styled ‘ragga-metal’ [Jesus fucking Christ, really? - Ed.] band understand completely the musical forms with which they are playing.

Webb’s versatile vocals (roots crooning, rapping, metal roaring) allow the songs to change tempo all over the place so they are free to drop drum and bass rhythms without it sounding in the least bit contrived. Extra bonus points for getting a metal crowd doing the robot.

We love listening to Clutch records. Neil Fallon’s backwoods bark and those tight rhythms just fit together like simultaneous roars from the same beast. But as soon as we turn the album off we can never remember a single song. That super-cool sound just turns to smoke. They make a far greater impression here though with a set as convincing as it is too short.

Down pull a surprisingly unresponsive crowd. Maybe they’re offended by the band playing the riff from Walk by Pantera but not seeing it through. Phil Anselmo seems to be having a ball. Not that he has ever been in shortage of balls. His masculinity intimidates us.

Avenged Sevenfold are just too much for us. The rest of the crowd clearly think they’re nothing short of triumphant, and there’s passion at work, but their brand of operatic bombast just seems silly to us and the pyrotechnics too affected.

Much has been made of the importance of System of a Down’s current tour. The word is that it’s make or break, and all eyes are on them for any indication. It’s like watching a Dickensian rock opera with two Fagins (one of whom, guitarist/singer Daron Malakian, is absolutely mesmerising).

Intense as they are fascinating to watch, they are still utterly unique. No-one else does anything approaching this. Radio/Video may be the one that rocks the most but Lost in Hollywood is the highlight and, alongside Tool’s Aenema, the best ever poison-pen letter to LA.

Part three of this review comes tomorrow. You must be wetting yourself in anticipation.

Festivals are ace, aren’t they? They’re like proper gigs, but you have to spend a weekend in a smelly tent and buy beer for £4 a can from a crusty trust fund hippy in order to see your favourite band perform their popular hits from half a mile away while you hold in eight pints of urine because you don’t want to go to the horrible, horrible toilets.

Anyway, Leeds/Reading have had their lineups ‘leaked’ to the press, which has had the unfortunate side effect of making it ‘news’.

So yay! We can find out which bands we’re going to see as unremarkable dots in the distance this year. Would it surprise you to note that most of them are awful? No? In that case, read on.

So, the line up has been released. If you go to Reading, you’ll see the Strokes – just in time to catch them on their tenth anniversary of being at all relevant. And if you go to Leeds, you’ll see Pulp, who are pretty damn awesome, even if they are doing it for the money (sod off, even my hate glands can’t say anything bad about Jarvis Cocker. It’s not possible. I want his babies).

The other bands headlining are My Chemical Romance, which is good news for all you teenagers who can’t be arsed listening to anything half decent, and Muse, which is good news for all you deaf people who like to go to festivals.

To be fair (and to lay my music preferences bare) there are a couple of gems in the gigantic turd pile – Elbow and The National are playing – but you have to wade through 30 Seconds To Mars, The Offspring, Interpol, Beady Eye, The Streets, Noah And The Whale, Panic At The Disco (formerly known as Panic! At the Disco, formerly known at outright trash) and Patrick Wolf.

Not only that, you have to put up with parades of people wearing fashionable wellies and monged out hippies in rubbish jumpers ‘from Tibet’ in order to experience it.

Makes you mourn for the good old days of Blink 182 and Guns And Roses, doesn’t it? Nah, just kidding, they are terrible bands too. Serves you right for spending £250 for a campsite that will guarantee rubbish music, draconian alcohol laws and dysentery.

You can buy tickets from your local HMV – if it’s deemed worthy – or you can just stay at home and laugh at the muddy tossers who’ve spent vast amounts of money to experience life as a refuge from Kosovo.

Ah, who are kidding, it’s still better than Glastonbury.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or join our Facebook group or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS!