I can hear the inevitable groans already: “Not another feature about the female domination of the pop charts and the predictable soothsaying of who will reign in the months to come . . .”.
You’d have every right to be wary, as a lot has been made of the double X chromosome invasion of the UK’s music scene in recent months, from Duffy to Gaga. But I’m not bringing out my crystal ball just yet (or, in other words, jumping on the hype machine generally created by clever marketing campaigns).
I am instead choosing a sample of ladies at the buzz stage of their recording careers who definitely deserve a little attention. They may be solo, they may be part of a band, but they’re all exuding some element of the now-Simon Cowell-copyrighted X-factor and heavy doses of concentrated rock ‘n’ roll. And in some cases, I might even be harbouring a small girl crush for them.
My Toys Like Me’s Frances Noon
Debut album “Where We Are” took to the streets at the end of May, whoring out the stickiest of electrosugar that has yet to be peddled in the pick ‘n’ mix wall of record stores. Together with Lazlo Legezar, Frances Noon creates wispy and warped beats that suck you in to middle of the disco ball and reflect you back all over the dancefloor.
Frances’ Lolita voice is tantalising and is often in sweet juxtaposition to the acidic tracks that it’s laced over. Full of junk and eccentricities, Lazlo must carry a Mary Poppins bag full of extra noise and sound effects to throw into the mix whenever he pleases. With recently added band members, My Toys Like Me’s live poptronica has come into its own. And when you are as visually captivating as Noon, the audience’s attention is served to you with caviar.
She stands tall at the microphone with everlasting legs and an ever-changing take on an Afro adding to her stature. Whether afrohawk or a tinted orange side-sweep, there’s always a heap of glitter, glamour and, true to their name, toys. Or at least, the little red-checked elephant that graces the cover of their album.
Heavily involved in creating the band’s perfect image, and even artwork for some of their releases, Frances’ partnership with beat-making supremo Lazlo, really makes them a “Sick Couple”, true to their first single.
Kap Bambino’s Caroline Martial
One half of this French electro-punk outfit, Caroline could be best described, in the nicest possible way, as a bit of a mentalist on stage. I have a lot of respect for girls who crowd-surf, having never personally plucked up the courage to trust oft-drunken gig-goers to elevate me to any level higher than face-down on the floor. And when you’re hyping up the masses with speedthrash synth and an onstage strut somewhere between the peacocking of Freddie Mercury and the sweat-embracing antics of Juliette Lewis, giving yourself up to the mercy of the abandoned fans is a brave move indeed. Petite and elf-like, Caroline probably isn’t too worried about ending up nose first amongst the empty plastic cups, but high on grunge-tronica, groping hands could end up in the most awkward of places . . .
Kap Bambino’s first two albums passed by fairly quietly but their latest album “Blacklist” released at the beginning of June, seems to have gushed forth from a blocked dam of unadulterated energy. And riding fast on the wave of the rave is Caroline. You just want to be her–spitting beer and headbanging until her face is black with mascara and her lips are clown-like with unruly red lipstick. Her high-pitched, rabid vocals are incessant and there’s every chance you’ll hate KB’s music, until you’re standing mesmerised in a festival crowd at 3am in the morning watching a blonde-cropped cannonball charging around the stage and urging you to jump. All prior desperation for your sleeping bag evaporates with the rest of the crowd’s juices, suddenly you’ve never liked psychotic dance music more and you’re clambering on top of the people-sea, ready for a wipe-out.
I Blame Coco
Here’s a little story about my first encounter with Coco Sumner. Over a year ago, a friend of mine convinced me to come to a small Mr Hudson gig in a pub in Kentish Town. None too impressed with the man that Kanye has now taken under his tantrum-throwing wing, the set that did get us grooving on top of the table in the end was I Blame Coco’s.
It’s not a particularly exciting story considering how often people stumble upon unexpected moments of musical bliss, so let me embellish: about half-way through the night musical legend Sting and his wife Trudie walked into this unassuming little venue packed with kids barely at the legal drinking age. Putting aside my small attack of the starstrucks for a second, most of these youthful pub kids said hello to the man whose Police records I’ve drooled in ecstasy over upon many occasion.
So when this young and scruffy girl took to the stage with an untamed mane of dirty blonde hair and dub-infected basslines, my brain starting working out a few simple mathematical equations. If all these kids know both Sting and, by the way they keep whooping at her, probably Coco too then maybe they’re connected. Add the strong similarity between Coco’s voice and the desperate, reggae inflections of Sting together with the ska-grooves of her music that seem almost a homage to The Police and perhaps this girl could in fact be his daughter?
A quick dash for Google and it was confirmed: Coco Sumner is Sting’s eldest offspring. And instead of riding about town on the gravy train of her father’s glories, she’s been working the gig circuit, perfecting her wares and is currently holed up in Stockholm recording an album due for release sometime this year. Can’t wait.
Ipso Facto
In existence since 2007, a substantial swelling of expectant fans is already bubbling beneath this group of gothic-chic girls and their vintage psychedelic rock. It’s not hard to see why; their music pays homage to the past without sounding retro and their appearance is striking and obscenely cool – icy even. Uniformly monochromatic from their videos to their clothing, they’re able to rock through any performance without upsetting strict geometric haircuts which wouldn’t be out of place in a Mary Quant salon.
An odd mixture of Siouxsie and the girls from Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” video, Rosalie takes the lead on vocals and guitar while Victoria drums and Samantha takes the bass. Odd singles have come out here and there, including some early Garageband demos but the long-awaited full-length debut should hopefully be out before the end of the year.
Having just supported legendary British post-punk band Magazine on their recent reunion tour, Ipso Facto are mixing in some mighty fine circles of rock ‘n’ roll history. Far from being just a warm-up for expectant fans, they even joined the band on stage for a few collaborations. And if you can get Howard Devoto to sing back up for you, then you must be pretty special.