A Band Called: Rock Bottom Risers

Music and Musicians.

In the 60s, bands like The Rolling Stones, The Who and The Beatles highlighted the musical talent born in Britain to the world, and they set the bar pretty damn high for all British rockers to come. As a late-eighties child, I was lucky enough to have some decent Rock and Indie bands to listen to (thank God for Radiohead), and we, as a nation, still manage to produce some talented souls today in the midst of a pre-pubescent boyband revolution. Hell, we even recognised Kings of Leon early on, and would gladly claim them as honorary Brits. But music gets diluted, guys start using way more product than women in there hair, and sing pop-songs made to be jingles in fast-food adverts. So, when a band is discovered - a real band, a true band, whose members can play instruments, and voices have cracked already - we must celebrate and honour their talent.


With that in mind, let me introduce to you, the wonderfully sexy, incredibly senstaional, and immensley talented, Rock Bottom Risers. They're kind of great.


Think Rock. Think Indie. Think British festivals, and a sexy Strokes-Kings of Leon mix. The sound is pretty much high quality Indie Rock, with little nods to psychedelia and blues, and riffs worthy of RHCP. Already making waves in and around the North of England, the Rock Bottom Risers mix the different styles to create and emotional experience for their audience.


The music is original, without being watered down or commercialised. The four-piece band show that Rock is well and alive, and hiding up north.


The four-piece are made up of Civ James Clegg (Vocals/Guitar), Kane Scott (Guitar/Backing Vocals), Greg Kirby (Bass/Backing Vocals), and John Butcher (Drums). But don't be taken in by the photos* and the hair, or the simple fact that they are musicians, and we like musicians. Go listen!


The band are already receiving fantastic press and exposure, acquiring fans with every one of their sell-out gigs. It's expected.


So go listen (which you should), and to explore a little more, follow on here...





*There are a few more photos if you insist on being distracted.

Clint Michaellson: Young, American, Raw.

Music and Musicians.

The twenty-year old singer from Lawrence, Kansas, originally reminded me of Radiohead - or what they would be in a more acoustic, young, state-side sort of way. I first listened to Tricks and Charms Lullaby - a painful melody, introducing an unpolished, raw talent, that welcomed listeners to soft drums and gentle guitar. It's addictive, it's fresh, it's untainted in a way, and invites listeners to explore his earlier work: first album, My Dearest Love.

Sure enough the love songs make believe that you are star of a coming-of-age summer movie, "running through the fields... getting lost, [you] don't know what to do..."

There is a beautiful innocence in his music, and the young artist manages to effortlessly combine the notion of pure, young love with the little sad realities of life - birds flying, the seasons changing, growing older - in some very genuine-feeling tracks.

Young though he is, Michaellson is accomplished on drums, guitar and keyboard. Paired with Kansas behind the boy, and a soft-spoken tone, is it a wonder how he produces such wonderful end of summer-autumn sunset type, gentle music?

It's warm, and familiar, but at the same time, fresh and untouched. Listen to his first album, My Dearest Love, get a taste of his second album, To Be Free, and, to paraphrase Michaellson, be left needing more of his tricks and his charms.

After a break...

After a (near) two month break, thewonderwound is back!

We have some fantastic new musicians and artists that will be featured here on thewonderwound soon, so get ready for some incredible talent, beautiful lyrics, and vocals that will send you into dream like states of wonder...

Fourteen years

Fourteen years
Gone
In one
Sip,
Shot,
Bottle.

Fourteen years
Of pent-up shakes
Reserved
For remission
Arrive,
Thrive,
Drive the addiction.

Fourteen years
Saving myself
Thrown in balance
As I try
Try
Try not to die.

Calling all Writers! Flash Fiction International: Submissions

Calling all writers of flash fiction! 

Below are the details of a fantastic new anthology being put together by W. W. Norton. So get ready to submit some wonderfully short stories!

Salidaa: Against the Grain

Why hello, wonderful London-based and bound readers! There is an incredibly arty, cultural, and generally brilliant event being held at the West Wing Arts Centre in Slough this weekend. So, if you find yourselves free this Saturday (6th July), why not head down to the fabulous Salidaa event in showcasing the works of the Asian Women Writers Collective?

The event will mark the re-launch of the South Asian Diaspora Literature and Arts Archive with the talented women of the AWWC and National Lottery Heritage Fund, so come along and have some fun!

To find out more about Salidaa, head over to Visual Arts Data Service (VADS) website here.

A Dark Light: Part 3

***

Over the last three years, he’s worked to undo me. I never ask him to love me, and I never ask him for his time, so he buys me an apartment, and furnishes it. I continue to work and dance, and show a glimpse of human when I slip of my Mata Hari bra, so he buys me a cell, and asks to take me away. The clientele is exclusive, all city, and they have a thing for the exotic. Being Indian works, and I play it well.

They buy us drinks, so he takes me for walks along Southbank. They want to take us to dinner, so he invests more time. He asks about how I know the book market, and, engrossed in a copy of Evolution of Ethnicity I let slip that I visited it a lot whilst at university. He asks what I did, and why I dropped out. I tell him about trying to get back, and the loopholes that kept me away. I don’t tell him about threatening the administrator with a gender-race lawsuit, Because I wonder, if I was male, or even white, would you make an effort let me back?

He tells me I look sad, and that I don’t have to this anymore.

It takes him three years to undo me, to pick apart a cold and calculated actress, playing the only part that gives her power, and to say, I’ve got money, you can go back to uni, or whatever. We can go away. You don’t have to do this.

I don’t tell him that it’s in my blood, to reject everything that is normal because it damages me. I don’t tell him I’m too far gone, having inherited a world of inequality and powerlessness since years before I was born – since my grandmother was burnt alive for being a woman whose husband had died. I tell him that I will meet him at his home, and I head towards the airport, mapping out a life in a place where money and sex trump everything else.