NME review

Leeds Rocket

Tonight's three acts may all play acoustic guitars, but that's about as far as the similarities go...

Tonight's three acts may all play acoustic guitars, but that's about as far as the similarities go. Despite only two out of three - Shawn Lee and I Am Kloot - being signed to Wall Of Sound's indie offshoot, We Love You, this gig represents that label's first (NME-sponsored) foray into the outside world. And for the most part, it's a real success.


Frequently compared to Belle & Sebastian, you might expect the two lanky, lovelorn Norwegians who comprise Kings Of Convenience to be hopelessly dysfunctional. In fact, they're all smiles and understated charm. Their cough-and-you'll-miss-'em songs may, occasionally, be a little insubstantial, like bubbles colliding and popping in mid-air, but the bulk of their set is as wistful as Simon & Garfunkel, with strong, surging melodies and clever melodic one-twos. They close with a cover of A-Ha's 'Manhattan Skyline', the perfect sedative for hungover Sunday evenings.


Unlike Wichita, Kansas' Shawn Lee, a man with a dazzlingly nimble voice who thrills and frustrates by turns. Last time NME saw him, with a full band, Lee's songs (Stevie Wonder soul/curious woozy falsettos and peculiar arrangements, à la Prince) were mired in muso guff. Smooth songs, like the cocktail-jazz of 'Happiness' or the screwed-tight soul of 'How Strong Is Your Soul', invariably sound best when tattered. And tonight, stripped to percussion, melodica and guitar, they shine. Now and then, however, Lee gets too caught up in gurning, riffing on his own voice or tinkering with a song's nuances, to notice that he's lapsed into acid-jazz smoothness.


I Am Kloot, in contrast, are the dark heart of the evening. We could talk about the airy, heart-bursting 'Sunlight Hits The Snow', or about how the supple rhythm section gives IAK's songs such dynamism, but tonight the Kloot are lingeringly uneasy.
Their set ends in fierce noise, John Bramwell screaming, "Stop! Stop! Stop!", like a grief-stricken, fly-weight psychotic.


For all the unsullied love and humanity, for all the meltingly good melodic twists, these songs contain something corrosive too. Runtish and confrontational, Bramwell doesn't seem to trust this situation, or the audience - "You're really fuckin' polite," he baits. "Can't somebody swear at me?" - any more than he trusts himself.


"I really love you", he repeats at the end of 'Twist', dead-eyed and disgusted, where once it might have sounded like a plea. You can't get a fix on them, any more than you can on life. In questioning their own songs, I Am Kloot unearth something hard
and true.

Tony Naylor

We Love UK

Rocket, Leeds ****

Dave Simpson
Wednesday October 18, 2000
The Guardian

Three different acts, one of them extraordinary, under the collective banner of the new We Love You label. Kings of Convenience are the kind of winsome, woolly scarf, acoustic duo that has been illegal in most countries since the 1960s. They play four songs. Mind-bogglingly drippy, the pair depart whimpering about "the next 10 days on the tour bus", and will hopefully end up as the butts of cruel jokes, and being used by other bandmembers as a dartboard.

Three weeks ago I criticised American Shawn Lee's Monkey Boy album on the grounds that the production had taken most of the feeling and emotion out of the songs. Now it's obvious that they must have laboured to get some emotion in. Live, his ridiculously mannered singing voice (Elvis impersonator meets wounded water buffalo), preening ego ("We're in for a night of great music") and showbiz schmaltz would actively embarrass Barry Gibb. "Hit it!" breezes perma-grinning, portly muso Shawn, to deafening silence. A long career beckons as in-house entertainer on Transpacific cruises.

The prospect of a third act looms as invitingly as another round with Prince Naseem, but I Am Kloot are astounding. Mancunian Johnny Bramwell is one of the most natural frontmen I have ever seen on a British stage. With one foot up on a milk crate, guitar strung to his hip, he effortlessly recreates the driven rocker stance perfected by Gene Vincent; there is something timeless and ghostly about him. Drenched in (equally Vincent-like) echo, Bramwell's staggering, scornful voice manages to be early Lennon, the La's Lee Mavers, and Liam Gallagher all at once.

Backed by casually haunting bassist Peter Jobson and a real jazz-tinged gem of a drummer, Andy Hargreaves, his songs, too, have the unmistakable air of the classic. Obviously steeped in the Kinks, the La's and maybe even the early, sardonic Lilac Time, Bramwell's stunningly dark lyrics ("I love you, there's blood on your legs") make this music his own.

Between songs he's surprisingly funny, which makes his sociopathic anthems even more beguiling. Potential saviours of British music, miss I Am Kloot now at your future cool's peril. Although, given the supporting cast, make sure to arrive fashionably late.

At Roadmenders, Northampton (01604 604222), tomorrow, then touring.