Post by Tin on Oct 2, 2010 22:19:02 GMT -5
Mark Ronson at the Hackney Empire: 'a lack of real light and shade'.
Mark Ronson's latest band – the Business Intl – take to the stage as a slick, retro-futurist dream cast in red, white, black and silver. There are sharp suits for the boys, a bluish-bleached quiff for Ronson and, for the girls, the 80s dressing-up box. (Singing keyboard-player Amanda Warner – one half of New York-based electronic duo MNDR – manages to recall Janet Street-Porter and Buggles simultaneously: quite a feat.)
This Business, it turns out, is an even more crowded, constantly revolving affair than that assembled for Version, Ronson's previous, million-selling album. And that's before most of Duran Duran turn up in Richardie bows, looking like they've just left an awards ceremony in 1985. Simon Le Bon's bowtie is undone and keyboard player Nick Rhodes is smiling his Mona Lisa smile, suggesting now, as then, that he has a bit more of a handle on irony than bassist Roger Taylor. {ROGER TAYLOR?? }
Later, Boy George will arrive to sing the moving "Somebody to Love Me", and you begin to wonder whether a cover of the Band Aid single might be in the offing.
Who isn't here? Well, Amy Winehouse, whose entertaining Twitter spat with Ronson last week seems to have ended in a truce. The gig ends with her successful cover, "Valerie". But instead of Amy, there is Kyle Falconer from post-Libertines outfit the View. He should be a disappointment – we've seen him subbing for the errant Winehouse before – but somehow, the shaggy Scot provides an upbeat, feelgood finale to a generous, if patchy, revue set.
Ronson has just released his third album, Record Collection. In an attempt not to repeat the swinging sound of Version, this latest project swaps the horn-toting soul of the 60s for the shiny synths of the 80s. Where Version proffered covers, Record Collection offers up original compositions and a cast of singers, rappers and co-writers, a proportion of whom are here tonight. (Regrettably, though, not even Ronson has the power to magic troubled soul singer D'Angelo across the Atlantic to sing his Record Collection track, "Glass Mountain Trust".)
Much of Record Collection passes in a perky, forgettable blur, however, with former Pipette Rose Elinor Dougall trading too many verses with Version veteran Alex Greenwald (an actor-turned-musician whose former band, Phantom Power, had a hit with The OC theme tune, "California").
Ronson might have concertedly changed eras for this album, but one constant in his works remains: hip-hop. As well as Dougall, Greenwald, and MNDR, Philadelphian rapper Spank Rock flits around a great deal, dropping verses on everything that moves, providing excitable continuity. He even manages to interject a bit of his own un-housetrained tune, "Race Riot on the Dancefloor" (sample lyric: "Shake it till my Richard turn racist") without anyone gasping too loudly. When he is around, parallels crop up between the Business and Gorillaz, that other hip-hop-tinged 00s ensemble piece, whose downsides mirror those of the Business. There is an enormous amount going on onstage, much of it propulsive. But a lack of focus, or real light and shade, hampers the sense of this being a truly memorable undertaking.
Another criticism perpetually levelled against Ronson the DJ-producer is that he is an imaginative enabler, rather than a true creative, seeing the joins between hits, but lacking any Tin Pan Alley skills himself. The quirky originals on Record Collection go some way to addressing the issue, with the sugary "Bang Bang Bang" a particular pleasure tonight. Check the album credits, though – it took seven people to write it.
If Record Collection has one great act of pop serendipity on it, it is the rehabilitation of Boy George, who gets to sing lines such as: "But tonight I crossed the line" ("Somebody to Love Me": eight writer credits) with a voice that, though damaged, remains unmistakable.
Ronson, meanwhile, tries to lay himself bare on the title track, pillorying his superstar DJ persona. He only wants to be in our record collections, he pleads (the "like a real artist" remains unsaid). But Ronson's average vocals aren't enough to convince. Happily, Simon Le Bon, idol to Ronson's six-year-old self, is on hand to sing the chorus, lifting the whole enterprise.
There follows a Duran Duran hits set ("Planet Earth", "Girls on Film"), but it's another, smaller Duran intervention that best encapsulates this fanboy-turned-powerbroker's particular skill set. During Ronson's brief but dextrous DJ interlude, he drops a bit of Duran Duran's "Rio".
"His name is Ronson and he mixes with his hands," pouts Le Bon's disembodied voice, before a hip-hop cataclysm ("Simon Says" by Pharoahe Monch) ensues. Those few seconds of front and wit are far more memorable than much of the synth-pop self-justification displayed tonight.
www.guardian.co.uk/music/2010/oct/03/mark-ronson-hackney-empire/print
Mark Ronson's latest band – the Business Intl – take to the stage as a slick, retro-futurist dream cast in red, white, black and silver. There are sharp suits for the boys, a bluish-bleached quiff for Ronson and, for the girls, the 80s dressing-up box. (Singing keyboard-player Amanda Warner – one half of New York-based electronic duo MNDR – manages to recall Janet Street-Porter and Buggles simultaneously: quite a feat.)
This Business, it turns out, is an even more crowded, constantly revolving affair than that assembled for Version, Ronson's previous, million-selling album. And that's before most of Duran Duran turn up in Richardie bows, looking like they've just left an awards ceremony in 1985. Simon Le Bon's bowtie is undone and keyboard player Nick Rhodes is smiling his Mona Lisa smile, suggesting now, as then, that he has a bit more of a handle on irony than bassist Roger Taylor. {ROGER TAYLOR?? }
Later, Boy George will arrive to sing the moving "Somebody to Love Me", and you begin to wonder whether a cover of the Band Aid single might be in the offing.
Who isn't here? Well, Amy Winehouse, whose entertaining Twitter spat with Ronson last week seems to have ended in a truce. The gig ends with her successful cover, "Valerie". But instead of Amy, there is Kyle Falconer from post-Libertines outfit the View. He should be a disappointment – we've seen him subbing for the errant Winehouse before – but somehow, the shaggy Scot provides an upbeat, feelgood finale to a generous, if patchy, revue set.
Ronson has just released his third album, Record Collection. In an attempt not to repeat the swinging sound of Version, this latest project swaps the horn-toting soul of the 60s for the shiny synths of the 80s. Where Version proffered covers, Record Collection offers up original compositions and a cast of singers, rappers and co-writers, a proportion of whom are here tonight. (Regrettably, though, not even Ronson has the power to magic troubled soul singer D'Angelo across the Atlantic to sing his Record Collection track, "Glass Mountain Trust".)
Much of Record Collection passes in a perky, forgettable blur, however, with former Pipette Rose Elinor Dougall trading too many verses with Version veteran Alex Greenwald (an actor-turned-musician whose former band, Phantom Power, had a hit with The OC theme tune, "California").
Ronson might have concertedly changed eras for this album, but one constant in his works remains: hip-hop. As well as Dougall, Greenwald, and MNDR, Philadelphian rapper Spank Rock flits around a great deal, dropping verses on everything that moves, providing excitable continuity. He even manages to interject a bit of his own un-housetrained tune, "Race Riot on the Dancefloor" (sample lyric: "Shake it till my Richard turn racist") without anyone gasping too loudly. When he is around, parallels crop up between the Business and Gorillaz, that other hip-hop-tinged 00s ensemble piece, whose downsides mirror those of the Business. There is an enormous amount going on onstage, much of it propulsive. But a lack of focus, or real light and shade, hampers the sense of this being a truly memorable undertaking.
Another criticism perpetually levelled against Ronson the DJ-producer is that he is an imaginative enabler, rather than a true creative, seeing the joins between hits, but lacking any Tin Pan Alley skills himself. The quirky originals on Record Collection go some way to addressing the issue, with the sugary "Bang Bang Bang" a particular pleasure tonight. Check the album credits, though – it took seven people to write it.
If Record Collection has one great act of pop serendipity on it, it is the rehabilitation of Boy George, who gets to sing lines such as: "But tonight I crossed the line" ("Somebody to Love Me": eight writer credits) with a voice that, though damaged, remains unmistakable.
Ronson, meanwhile, tries to lay himself bare on the title track, pillorying his superstar DJ persona. He only wants to be in our record collections, he pleads (the "like a real artist" remains unsaid). But Ronson's average vocals aren't enough to convince. Happily, Simon Le Bon, idol to Ronson's six-year-old self, is on hand to sing the chorus, lifting the whole enterprise.
There follows a Duran Duran hits set ("Planet Earth", "Girls on Film"), but it's another, smaller Duran intervention that best encapsulates this fanboy-turned-powerbroker's particular skill set. During Ronson's brief but dextrous DJ interlude, he drops a bit of Duran Duran's "Rio".
"His name is Ronson and he mixes with his hands," pouts Le Bon's disembodied voice, before a hip-hop cataclysm ("Simon Says" by Pharoahe Monch) ensues. Those few seconds of front and wit are far more memorable than much of the synth-pop self-justification displayed tonight.
www.guardian.co.uk/music/2010/oct/03/mark-ronson-hackney-empire/print