Estonia and beyond...
Friday
Global politics really should introduce a transfer system, like the football one, so Britain can put a big-money bid in for Estonia’s president. Not only does Toomas Hendrik Ilves pop up in person to open this year’s TMW - the annual showcase of music from Estonia and beyond - but it turns out he knows his onions too.
This becomes apparent after the festival’s opening night party, which features the one UK act on this year’s bill, singer-songwriter Alan McKim. McKim looks like Wolverine’s more bohemian older brother, has a diverting stage presence and a kazoo, which he eventually flings away dismissively, like Liam Gallagher used to do with ladies’ phone numbers. The Prez, seated in a corner of the venue and sadly blocking our path to the nibbles, is quite taken with him, and is later to be heard discussing the finer points of his chord progressions. It’s a cracking good place, Estonia.
The still little-known nation’s own artists are splendidly hit-and-miss, and often head-scratchingly odd. We get off to a good start with Aides – pronounced eye-des – whose frontman begins their set wielding a double-bass but discards it after one song (not by smashing it over the monitors, sadly). Aides’ regular stuff – enlivened by excellent Darren Aronofsky-like visuals - is funky, punky power-pop, played with such passion that the drummer manages to knacker his kit at one stage, after which they bring on another five young drummers for added oomph. These are presumably known as Aides’ aides.
Nevesis also possess plenty of spunk, and are fully paid-up members of the grunge historical re-enactment society, all plaid shirts and Cobain-like stripey tees. They’re more pub-rock than pain-wracked angst, really, but go down well all the same. Badass Yuki, on the other hand, are so laid-back they look likely to stop playing altogether at certain points, as their frontman drifts about the stage slightly distractedly, occasionally fiddles with a bit of kit and pulls some arty shapes over their impressively varied beats. He looks pleasingly unconcerned that umpteen foreign industry types are in the building.
Helsinki is a short ferry ride from Tallinn, and next up are a couple of the many diverse Finnish bands in attendance. French Films do an enjoyable strand of surf-pop – I’ll refrain from mentioning the popular US band they’re frequently likened to – although the most interesting thing about them is the tribute act devoted to them back home: French Milfs. Murmansk, meanwhile, are named after a remote Russian city but are well worth a visit: this is dark, dynamic shoegaze fronted by a small, shy lass who when onstage becomes a woman possessed. It’s like watching a fuzzy-guitar-based exorcism. Excellent.
Saturday
One of the annual TMW highlights is Check My Demo, which concludes the daytime conference programme but should probably be called Demo-lition given the spectacular kicking some of the hopeful CDs get from the assembled panel of industry types. It’s mainly the derivative stuff that’s dissed, in fairness, and there are clearly some intriguing new sounds and concepts emanating from the Nordic/Baltic region. Indeed, at the hotel bar later that evening we’re standing beside a chap in an elaborate lizard costume, complete with mask, tail, suit and shades. He, it turns out, is the focal point of a jazzy combo called Fredator, and the name itself gives a couple of Nordic types nearby a good laugh (it sounds a bit rude in Icelandic). Anyway, Clash misses the lounge lizard’s set but it’s reportedly rather good, and his scales, I bet, are perfect.
Also rather striking are Cleaning Women, a keyboard and drum duo whose visual touchstone would appear to be crazy-haired old music hack Simon Price; the music is moody and moogy and often quite mesmerising. The hotly-tipped Amoeba have given their look some thought too: ambitious haircuts, an array of dorky shades while the lead singer shoots lasers from his gloves. Shame the music is so forgettable.
Kosmofon have the look/sound thing nailed rather better. Imagine if The Young Knives were massive Kraftwerk geeks, as opposed to just massive geeks - that’s about the sound of it. Nicely turned out in an array of sports jackets, they make a very agreeable prog-dance groove which, being instrumental, is unencumbered by the awkward lyrics that sully several otherwise promising acts over the weekend. Splendid stuff.
To finish, the biggest hope for a crossover sensation right now. Iiris is a bit Kate Bush, a bit Marina Diamandis, with a captivating stage manner and a memorable voice, if also an uninspiring live set-up. When the band bugger off and she’s left alone at the keyboard, it’s a whole different, much more interesting proposition. Iiris might be better off either going it alone, or looking further afield collaboration-wise: anyone fancy taking a charismatic Estonian under their wing?
That’s the overriding impression from this year’s TMW then: lots of unpolished gems, some clearly itching for global success, others more than happy in their oddball Baltic niche, and all power to them. Mind you, lizard-based musical movements might just be the way forward for all we know. Modzilla, anyone?
Words by Si Hawkins
Global politics really should introduce a transfer system, like the football one, so Britain can put a big-money bid in for Estonia’s president. Not only does Toomas Hendrik Ilves pop up in person to open this year’s TMW - the annual showcase of music from Estonia and beyond - but it turns out he knows his onions too.
This becomes apparent after the festival’s opening night party, which features the one UK act on this year’s bill, singer-songwriter Alan McKim. McKim looks like Wolverine’s more bohemian older brother, has a diverting stage presence and a kazoo, which he eventually flings away dismissively, like Liam Gallagher used to do with ladies’ phone numbers. The Prez, seated in a corner of the venue and sadly blocking our path to the nibbles, is quite taken with him, and is later to be heard discussing the finer points of his chord progressions. It’s a cracking good place, Estonia.
The still little-known nation’s own artists are splendidly hit-and-miss, and often head-scratchingly odd. We get off to a good start with Aides – pronounced eye-des – whose frontman begins their set wielding a double-bass but discards it after one song (not by smashing it over the monitors, sadly). Aides’ regular stuff – enlivened by excellent Darren Aronofsky-like visuals - is funky, punky power-pop, played with such passion that the drummer manages to knacker his kit at one stage, after which they bring on another five young drummers for added oomph. These are presumably known as Aides’ aides.
Nevesis also possess plenty of spunk, and are fully paid-up members of the grunge historical re-enactment society, all plaid shirts and Cobain-like stripey tees. They’re more pub-rock than pain-wracked angst, really, but go down well all the same. Badass Yuki, on the other hand, are so laid-back they look likely to stop playing altogether at certain points, as their frontman drifts about the stage slightly distractedly, occasionally fiddles with a bit of kit and pulls some arty shapes over their impressively varied beats. He looks pleasingly unconcerned that umpteen foreign industry types are in the building.
Helsinki is a short ferry ride from Tallinn, and next up are a couple of the many diverse Finnish bands in attendance. French Films do an enjoyable strand of surf-pop – I’ll refrain from mentioning the popular US band they’re frequently likened to – although the most interesting thing about them is the tribute act devoted to them back home: French Milfs. Murmansk, meanwhile, are named after a remote Russian city but are well worth a visit: this is dark, dynamic shoegaze fronted by a small, shy lass who when onstage becomes a woman possessed. It’s like watching a fuzzy-guitar-based exorcism. Excellent.
Saturday
One of the annual TMW highlights is Check My Demo, which concludes the daytime conference programme but should probably be called Demo-lition given the spectacular kicking some of the hopeful CDs get from the assembled panel of industry types. It’s mainly the derivative stuff that’s dissed, in fairness, and there are clearly some intriguing new sounds and concepts emanating from the Nordic/Baltic region. Indeed, at the hotel bar later that evening we’re standing beside a chap in an elaborate lizard costume, complete with mask, tail, suit and shades. He, it turns out, is the focal point of a jazzy combo called Fredator, and the name itself gives a couple of Nordic types nearby a good laugh (it sounds a bit rude in Icelandic). Anyway, Clash misses the lounge lizard’s set but it’s reportedly rather good, and his scales, I bet, are perfect.
Also rather striking are Cleaning Women, a keyboard and drum duo whose visual touchstone would appear to be crazy-haired old music hack Simon Price; the music is moody and moogy and often quite mesmerising. The hotly-tipped Amoeba have given their look some thought too: ambitious haircuts, an array of dorky shades while the lead singer shoots lasers from his gloves. Shame the music is so forgettable.
Kosmofon have the look/sound thing nailed rather better. Imagine if The Young Knives were massive Kraftwerk geeks, as opposed to just massive geeks - that’s about the sound of it. Nicely turned out in an array of sports jackets, they make a very agreeable prog-dance groove which, being instrumental, is unencumbered by the awkward lyrics that sully several otherwise promising acts over the weekend. Splendid stuff.
To finish, the biggest hope for a crossover sensation right now. Iiris is a bit Kate Bush, a bit Marina Diamandis, with a captivating stage manner and a memorable voice, if also an uninspiring live set-up. When the band bugger off and she’s left alone at the keyboard, it’s a whole different, much more interesting proposition. Iiris might be better off either going it alone, or looking further afield collaboration-wise: anyone fancy taking a charismatic Estonian under their wing?
That’s the overriding impression from this year’s TMW then: lots of unpolished gems, some clearly itching for global success, others more than happy in their oddball Baltic niche, and all power to them. Mind you, lizard-based musical movements might just be the way forward for all we know. Modzilla, anyone?
Words by Si Hawkins
