A New Band A Day 2008-2018

Welcome to ANBAD, which celebrated ten years online in April 2018, and is now “resting.” (I’m still jabbering on about music on my radio show and discussing new bands like, oh, I dunno, The Chats, on Twitter.)

However, ANBAD also has over 1200 posts featuring about 1500 artists. Most are buried deeeeep in the blog, rarely seen by human eyes. This seemed a bit unfair, so I randomised the posts and the ones you see below are yanked arbitrarily from the archive for you to explore.

As with anything this old on the internet, some music plugins, hyperlinks, images, formatting – and, frankly, the writing itself – is broken. But even I will begrudgingly admit that randomly looking at ten years of once-new bands is a fascinating glimpse into a very specific time capsule.

I’m as surprised as anyone that this ridiculous and utterly niche music blog has stumbled around online for a decade, surviving all of my attempts to break it, render it defunct, or let it wither on the vine.  So scroll down and read on – and maybe you’ll find some long-forgotten band from 2009 that you’ll love.


>Today’s New Band – She’s Hit

>One of the most important, and thus one of the most difficult and enigmatic, jobs of any band is to grab the attention of everyone else. For ‘everyone else‘, read ‘record buying public‘. For ‘record buying public‘, read ‘our tickets out of these drab desk jobs and into rock fantasy land‘.

Anyway – Today’s New Band, She’s Hit, achieved this feat through the most unlikely of sources – a comically mis-read URL. Their Myspace address is www.myspace.com/sheshitglasgow – and if you can’t spot the bowel-movement-from-hell gag in that, the you, sir, are the sort of person who sat at the front of class and tutted loudly to please the teacher when someone farted in class.
So, attention duly grabbed, She’s Hit quickly dispel any Glaswegian scat fetishism worries with their louche, relaxed and dirty sound.
Part One begins with a trapped-CD buzz, slouches into a lo-fi, lo-down, tinny rock slumber, and then drifts into a lovely noise-fuzz-screech. Black Transistor Nightmares is close to being Jesus-and-Mary-Chain-meets-Dick-Dale surf rock, but studded with sinister and creepy noise.
She’s Hit: the sound guitars would make if they could shrug their shoulders and sigh loudly. Listen here!

>Strippers, Lust, Pigeons and Today’s New Band – Hot Like Curry

>I got eyed up by two strippers yesterday, as I was walking through Chinatown. I say ‘eyed up’ – what I mean is that they broke off from their cigarette break out side the strip club, performed that glance-at-your-face-then-shoes-then-face-again routine and carried on talking about thongs or lubricant or whatever it is strippers chat about.

I suppose the reaction to their casting an eye over me was fairly non-descript – there were no deep, longing sighs or anything, but I like to think that the conversation was then all about how truly dreamy it would be if someone like me would lustily tuck ten pound notes into their garters instead of sleazy businessmen.

Walking away, not sure if I felt elated or mildly underwhelmed, it occurred to me that they may well have been chatting about Quantum String Theory, for all I knew. Perhaps they were the kind of strippers from the movies that are only doing it to pay their university fees, and actually have very incisive views on Foucault‘s Post-Structuralist ideals. People aren’t who you might assume them to be.

Take Today’s New Band, Hot Like Curry. They say that they ‘can’t play their own instruments’ (not strictly true) and are ‘a gimmick’ (possibly strictly true). They have one song, Pigeon. “You’re so seedy – we love it really,” they squeal. It’s a great, pocket-sized, buzzsaw song that’s worthy of two minutes of anyone’s time, and then another two minutes. Hot Like Curry have only been in existence for about as long as it’s taken me to type this, which frankly, is reason enough to feature them on ANBAD.

Hot Like Curry sound like a roomful of teenage girls having a ton o’ fun with the twin powers of guitars and yelping, but who knows, they could be an offshoot from a Women’s Institute music project, or teenage boys with very high voices. It could have been those two strippers. Who cares, it’s about as new and fun as any song you’ll hear for, like, ages – so listen to it here!

>Today’s New Band – Baby Long Legs PLUS! U2-mageddon!

>Hooray! U2 have got a new single out! It’s so great that I’m going to buy the album on the day it comes out! They totally rock, and Boneo is, like, a genuine rock star, yeah?

OK – that bit was for all the estate agents who were reading A New Band A Day by mistake. It’s safe to assume that they’ve jumped into their Audi TTs and are heading off to their local record store* to wait to buy a copy. Anyway, guess what? The new single sucks and blows at the same time. Steel yourself and listen to it here. (Done? Feeling dirty? Here’s something brilliant to compensate.)

*the supermarket

So, in yet another land-grab of public consciousness, U2 have managed to rip off not only Subterranean Homesick Blues by His Bobliness but also (say it ain’t so!) Dirty Boots by Sonic Freaking Youth. The horror, the horror.

Before, they’d at least stuck to the tried-and-tested routine of just using delay pedals, being dreadfully bland and knuckle-bitingly over-earnest. But here, in their most audacious, crafty, awful move yet, they’ve gone for the credible jugular.

Fortunately, for those of us who can actually hear normally, it’s obviously a clunker of epic proportions. Expect to hear it on drab local radio, everywhere soon. Don’t expect to hear Today’s New Band, Baby Long Legs, on AOR FM any time soon, because life just isn’t fair like that.

Just like Sweden (see yesterday’s new band), Sheffield seems to be squeezing out good new bands, one after the other, like sausages from a machine. Except that Baby Long Legs are filled with quality ingredients, with no pig anus, eyelid or ear in sight.

Floor Turtle, mixes the hitherto unexplored combination of a huge – no, epic – howling riff and the swanny whistle to create a touching song about the shelliest of reptiles. There are too few songs about turtles, and this goes some of the way to redress the balance.

Today, the only experience most people have of the true, life-affirming squeal of a rock solo is while playing Guitar Hero on the Xbox. Hopefully No-One’s Around will have those pasty teenage boys dispatching their plastic guitar-shaped controllers in favour of the real thing, combining bitchin’ guitar wandering with disconcertingly familiar musings on love’s quirks to be a suspiciously true-sounding love song.

Baby Long Legs remind us that all of the world’s mystery, joys and – GASP! – even life itself are contained in one shuddering Les Paul screech. That their songs are throwaway, catchy and straight faced only seals the deal. Supremely fun, serious and silly all at once. Rock out here!



I only really blog now when I’m frothing at the mouth about something, so please believe me when I tell you that my heart did backflips when I heard 100, the new song from Dean Blunt.

Here’s the video (because I can’t find it on Soundcloud.)

Yes, that Dean Blunt, who was one half of the amazing and amazingly mysterious Hype Williams.

The same Dean Blunt who thoroughly pranked an oblivious NME when he won an NME award — and then didn’t tell them that the man he’d sent in his place wasn’t, in fact, him.

That Dean Blunt. He’s just released the best song he’s ever written (or its video at least). 100 is almost too gorgeous to bear. It’s like slowly lowering your body into molten chocolate, but better.

Simple, sweet, husky and weirdly intimate, this is simply dripping with nonchalent brilliance. It sounds like a song that someone would write for Roy Orbison, if he was still alive.

PS – If you care about “beef”, the video starts with a half-negative quote from Idris Elba, who’s going to be the next James Bond but it seems that we have to wait for a number of people to come to terms with his skin colour first.

Maybe Idris should send Dean in his place.

>Today’s New Band – Amy Blue


After so many weeks on the road in a Nissan Micra which is starting to take on an odour somewhere between ‘unwashed human’ and ‘perhaps that’s where I left that half full tin of own-brand tuna’, it has been aural nectar to hear good music again.
Having not been able to check out new bands for so long, and existing only on the drivel that is served up on any Euro-radio station you care to pick (and there are hundreds, all churning out the same crappy Hits O’ Yesteryear Blend: now I know where Simply Red, The Police and Tony Christie get the bulk of their royalty payments from) I’ve started to wonder whether INXS weren’t, you know, all that bad.
So, with that terrifying thought to chew on, here’s Today’s New Band. They’re Amy Blue, and don’t sound anything like INXS, although if any member decides to go for a masturbatory-asphyxiation death trip, it’ll at least boost their profile a bit rather than finish them off completely.
Any dreadful ex-Yugoslav-radio-induced INXS comparisons are onviously very unfair. Amy Blue are a better band, and whilst I’m not totally certain, I don’t think the singer has had sex with Kylie Minogue. However, if they keep producing great, swirling ‘n’ clattering smash-up rock songs like The Language Of Ghosts, who knows? If Tiny Kylie swooned with happiness at the nicely dipping and droning chorus like I did, she may still end up their eager groupie.
The other songs on their Myspace page are, disappointingly, just 30-second snippets (either that or my Slovenian computer can’t cope with any more than that – a distinct possibility), but there’s enough there to conclude that Amy Blue are a raucous lot with an eagerness for making ear-drilling, quasi-early-My Bloody Valentine drone-noise. Which means they’re just peachy by my estimation. Listen here.

Val Venosta, Horror-Puns, and The Abominable Dr. Phibes

On the face of it, Van Venosta tick all of the boxes needed to appear on ANBAD. Just examine the evidence:

New band? Duh – tick. Protagonists wary of revealing their faces to the camera lest it steals their souls? Uh-huh. Originate from Göteborg, thus satisfying Scandinavian band obsession? Yup. Song titles betray a mutual and ongoing love of weak PUNS? Hell yes.

And so why fight it? They’re pretty much today’s new band by default. It doesn’t mean ANBAD’s quality control has finally, and sadly, shaken its head and dejectedly leapt feet first out of the window though – how could it when Val Venosta make songs that reek of shiny, plinking synth-dance music and ancient horror-movie pun-based titles?

Val VenostaThe Price Is Right

A shuddering four-square house song that samples clips from – that’s right – the Vincent Price movie The Abominable Dr. Phibes should pique the interest of any consumer of trashy pop culture – which, I’d wager, you are too.

They don’t try anything overtly fancy, instead concentrating fully on building exhilarating poppy-house tunes: foundations of heavy bass decorated with wisps of cheerfully piped melodies and musical box sounds. Vincent Price’s campy threats sound incongruous, fun and strangely fitting.

Val Venosta: mixing handsome Scandi-pop songs, dancefloor clout and heavy-breathing horror. A winning combination, right? Right.

>Today’s New Band – Computerization

>Sometimes, overblown rock is just what you need. I rediscovered a huge bundle of CDs the other day, and amongst them was the Manic Street Preachers’ half-good, half-poodle-rock debut LP, Generation Terrorists, an album I hadn’t listened to for years. It’s a pleasant Über-slick chug through a weird combo of late-80’s RAWK and the punky aesthetic that they later became better known for. That said, super-smooth rock grates after a while, and unless you own a pickup and live in Arkensas or Texas, I imagine that the slick radio-friendly stylings of Nickelback at al are as far away from your stereo as is humanly possible too.

An antidote to slick RAWK is Today’s New Band, Computerization, fresh from a bedroom in New York. Cobbled together from synths and bleeps, his songs are cheap ‘n’ cheerful – literally, in fact. He has a brilliant service where for a meagre $9 you can order your own song, to your specifications – subject matter, tempo, instruments etc – and he’ll make it and mail it to you. The songs that he makes for himself, like Go Back, with its lovely chorus, and 1Point14Me, a slow, scattered pop song, are the sound of an abandoned computer singing to you from a skip – vocodered, slight and a bit world-weary.

It’s all very simple, basic and rough and ready, and like his super-slick antipodal counterpart Generation Terrorists, you might not want to hear a whole album of it. But so what? Pop music is about short, creative bursts of happiness and with Computerization‘s songs, that’s just what you get. Listen to his songs here, and apply for your own custom song here!

Dolfinz; and Furious Machiavellian Machinations

So jaded am I with the furious machinations of the entertainment industry’s PR machine, I actually entertained the thought “I wonder whether the new band Dolfinz are actually surreptitious blog PR for the kids’ movie Dolphin Tale?” for a moment longer than is really feasible.

In reality, the Venn Diagram displaying a correlation between Dolfinz and Dolphin Tale wouldn’t have a huge overlap, but hey: if the conniving team behind Lana del Rey‘s perpendicular shot at startdom can dupe a whole world of bloggers, anyone can.

Still, if songs like Hot Pants are the result of such Machiavellian manipulation, then I’ll happily buy the spin; for now at least.


Hot Pants is a bubble-gum pop song played on a rickety Telecaster using a traffic cone filled with fish-and-chip-papers as amplification. It sounds broken, albeit the kind of endearingly lazy, drowsy broken that is found within lovesick stupor.

My two mental tests when picking a band to put on ANBAD are as follows: Would John Peel play this?, and Would this sound good on a crappy AM radio?

Hot Pants sounds good played through Dolfinz‘ own lo-fi filter, and so the answer to both is a resounding yes. High praise, I suppose.

MORE: soundcloud.com/dolfinz

>ANBAD on Euro-Tour: Cahors Fete de Musique


About this time of year, I keep getting twinges of regret that I’m not at Glastonbury Festival. I’m being stubborn and keep telling myself that I won’t return until the disappearance of the youths who spend hours on their hair and makeup in their tents and then updating their Facebook status to let everyone else know what an AMAZING TIME they’re having, instead of just getting muddy and sweaty and having a good time like the rest of us.

I know I’ll return eventually, but not until the memory of watching a never-ending queue of teenage Peaches Geldofs washing the mud off their designer Wellington Boots under a running tap – and then stepping right back into knee-deep mud, presumably with a view of joining the back of the queue again – has faded.
Still, I managed to find my first festival of then year, in France, and all by mistake, too. I stumbled into Cahors on the Sunday night, expecting little. Most French towns die down to Marie Celeste-type emptiness after 8pm, but on the previous night I’d seen a band playing in the street and wondered if something of interest might be going on.
I was right, and then some: it was the Cahors Fete de Musique – the annual music festival. Somehow, on the previous day’s wander, I’d missed all the huge, yellow, five-foot-high posters advertising the event. ANBAD has its ears to the ground, oh yes.
The old town of Cahors is a beautiful medieval, labyrinthine city, with most buildings older than, say, the whole of the USA. On every tiny street corner there was a band. There was a band in every square, too. And outside the market hall; inside and outside of bars; in the middle of wide roads, shoulder-width narrow passageways – everywhere. And almost all, without exception, were exactly what you’d expect of French rock bands – blander and more inoffensive than, I don’t know, Deep Blue Something.
In fact, if I have brought myself to have hung around to hear the band that was covering Two Princes by The Spin Doctors, I’d have gambled my last centime that Breakfast At Tiffany’s was coming up next. There were so many ‘blands’ it made my head spin – garbled covers of the Rolling Stones (“Street flyin’ man”), A DJ that was playing DJ Otzi megamixes (I never knew there were enough DJ Otzi songs to warrant a megamix), and the main event – a band that sounded like the French Levellers.
I continued walking. The fact that there was a band everywhere meant that quantity was high, even if quality was low; eventually, I wandered down an alleyway, and found a French hip-hop/punk/ska hybrid band that were, in the context of things, pretty good.
The narrow street fairly had sweat running off the narrow, high walls as teens pogoed to the yelpy ‘n’ angry sounds from the MCs, but I stood a little way back, so that they wouldn’t knock my glass of local vin rouge, which in retrospect is awfully middle age/class.
They reaffirmed my faith in live music after the numbness of earlier. French is one of the few languages that suits being rapped perfectly – Welsh is another surprising candidate – and they hauled the crowd into the air again and again, through the strength of their lyricism.
It was a great way to end the night, and try and remember which way out of the maze of streets led back to my tent. So: this band would have been New Band Of The Day, but I’m not brave enough to strike up a conversation with some angry French Hip-hoppers with my basic schoolboy French, so we’ll never know. Instead, here’s some classic-ish French-hop from IAM.

>Today’s New Band – The Whiffs


So again, after reeling from the glut of greatness in today’s previous post, which rounds up the best bands this month on ANBAD, we again take a delve back into our pockets to see what new great bands lurk within. (And to make that mangled mixed-metaphor-analogy work, try imagining we’re wearing big clown trousers, filled with every band in the world. I think I’m digging myself further in a hole here.) And today’s New Band is yet another nail in the Johnny Halliday-shaped coffin for people who think that French music stinks.

It’s been a bumper year for French music however you look at it – and I prefer to look mainly at Sebastian Tellier’s brilliant entry to this year’s Eurovision Song Contest, a song that shouldn’t have only won, but was so universally wonderful that it should have been put into those birthday cards that play a song when they’re opened. So, yes, today’s New Band is French, and are called The Whiffs – a name which virtually guaranteed them a place on A New Band A Day the moment the words hit my retina.

The Whiffs write songs which are slight, gentle and snappy, and whilst they stick with the tried-and-tested format of guitars ‘n’ drums, there’s a lovely Gallic, non-mainstream influence seeping through the verses. Conned in Adelade is catchy, simple and the sound of two people having fun. Fun is a quality all too sadly missing in a lot of music, and choose to follow the ironic ‘FUN’ (Hi, The Tings Tings) or determinedly sullen (Hi, every band wearing purple and black stripy cut-off socks on their arms) route instead. Let’s face it, if you’re called The Whiffs, you can’t take yourself too seriously. Listen to their tunes here, and forget your troubles.

TODAY’S GLIB BAND-COMPARISON: Like if someone had stolen the early Dandy Warhol’s fuzzboxes, Valium and skinny T-Shirts and enrolled them on a Cognitive Behavioural Therapy Happiness Programme.