Casiotone For The Painfully Alone, The Luminaire, London
Artist:
Casiotone For The Painfully Alone
Venue: The Luminaire, London
Date: 19/03/08
Rating:
Casiotone for the Painfully Alone is one man, Owen Ashworth from Chicago (bearded, taller than you might expect) and a variety of keyboards and cuboidal noisemaking things which blink and tweet. Apart from this, the stage is clear, and the light-motes from The Luminaire's signature mirrorball explore its furthest corners. Owen frowns, pecks at the electronics, and gently builds his first song, 'Cold White Christmas'.
And it's strange. It's like Owen has has found the place where synthesised music stops representing all that shiny metallic pantsuit stuff it used to represent: videogames, robots, suburban life on the moon. Those long, round, unwavering notes, sinking and rising under each half-wretched, grumbled lyric - they are as soulful and as close to humanity's heart, now, as a campfire hymn. Something about the fullness of the sound. About the fact that they're here, these immensely lovable little character songs - that 'Tonight Was A Disaster' is here, eight years old and grown and humming against the walls - it's special. We are warmed.
After a quick blast of songs from all over - from his 'Pocket Symphonies for Lonesome Subway Cars' album, through to some 'Twinkle Echo' favourites, through to the gorgeous new song 'White on White' and a cover of Bruce Springsteen's 'Streets of Philadelphia' - he invites Jenny Herbinson to the stage. She's a longtime friend and lender of vocals in a pixie haircut and a dress, and the awkwardly cute pair elbow each other through the sharp and booming disco of 'Scattered Pearls'. Jenny also treats us to the tapdancing she promised at the Bush Hall gig two weeks before. Owen describes this as what happens "when Jenny drinks".
They then nervously try some songs absent from the rest of the tour, as well as the newer songs that have become staples (gleeful pastel-coloured 'Ice Cream Truck', the skidding, shuffling 'Old Panda Days', etc.). One of such treats is 'Lesley Gore on the Tami Show', kitted out in brand new beats and melodies that wheel upwards helically, like seagulls, echoing. Then later, after Jenny's final song of the tour, Owen works his sad magic on 'Calloused Fingers Won't Make You Strong, Edith Wong'. Slows it, simplifies it, chokes out every word.
The night winds to a close with Owen being tragically accommodating, begrudgingly playing his Prince cover, 'When You Were Mine' on request. This makes him grumpier than you'd think Prince was capable of. Still, he finishes with style, and floods the venue with the sound of his darkly grinding and shimmering cover of 'Graceland'. Which is a marvellous song for anyone to end on, really, all full of blind hope and an urge to heal. A song we need before being ejected from the safe haven of lovable gig dorks, the shared shoulder-warmth of the Painfully Alone. We may be heartbroken, we may have bad haircuts, but if we can just find ourselves somewhere in a voice on a beat-up keyboard, and hold that note and listen...
Okay, we'll still be alone. But it'll feel a lot sweeter than silence.
Meryl Trussler
Casiotone For The Painfully Alone Official Site
Venue: The Luminaire, London
Date: 19/03/08
Rating:
Casiotone for the Painfully Alone is one man, Owen Ashworth from Chicago (bearded, taller than you might expect) and a variety of keyboards and cuboidal noisemaking things which blink and tweet. Apart from this, the stage is clear, and the light-motes from The Luminaire's signature mirrorball explore its furthest corners. Owen frowns, pecks at the electronics, and gently builds his first song, 'Cold White Christmas'.
And it's strange. It's like Owen has has found the place where synthesised music stops representing all that shiny metallic pantsuit stuff it used to represent: videogames, robots, suburban life on the moon. Those long, round, unwavering notes, sinking and rising under each half-wretched, grumbled lyric - they are as soulful and as close to humanity's heart, now, as a campfire hymn. Something about the fullness of the sound. About the fact that they're here, these immensely lovable little character songs - that 'Tonight Was A Disaster' is here, eight years old and grown and humming against the walls - it's special. We are warmed.
After a quick blast of songs from all over - from his 'Pocket Symphonies for Lonesome Subway Cars' album, through to some 'Twinkle Echo' favourites, through to the gorgeous new song 'White on White' and a cover of Bruce Springsteen's 'Streets of Philadelphia' - he invites Jenny Herbinson to the stage. She's a longtime friend and lender of vocals in a pixie haircut and a dress, and the awkwardly cute pair elbow each other through the sharp and booming disco of 'Scattered Pearls'. Jenny also treats us to the tapdancing she promised at the Bush Hall gig two weeks before. Owen describes this as what happens "when Jenny drinks".
They then nervously try some songs absent from the rest of the tour, as well as the newer songs that have become staples (gleeful pastel-coloured 'Ice Cream Truck', the skidding, shuffling 'Old Panda Days', etc.). One of such treats is 'Lesley Gore on the Tami Show', kitted out in brand new beats and melodies that wheel upwards helically, like seagulls, echoing. Then later, after Jenny's final song of the tour, Owen works his sad magic on 'Calloused Fingers Won't Make You Strong, Edith Wong'. Slows it, simplifies it, chokes out every word.
The night winds to a close with Owen being tragically accommodating, begrudgingly playing his Prince cover, 'When You Were Mine' on request. This makes him grumpier than you'd think Prince was capable of. Still, he finishes with style, and floods the venue with the sound of his darkly grinding and shimmering cover of 'Graceland'. Which is a marvellous song for anyone to end on, really, all full of blind hope and an urge to heal. A song we need before being ejected from the safe haven of lovable gig dorks, the shared shoulder-warmth of the Painfully Alone. We may be heartbroken, we may have bad haircuts, but if we can just find ourselves somewhere in a voice on a beat-up keyboard, and hold that note and listen...
Okay, we'll still be alone. But it'll feel a lot sweeter than silence.
Meryl Trussler
Casiotone For The Painfully Alone Official Site
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