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.


ANBAD’s Best Bands Of 2010 // 2nd place: D/R/U/G/S

Cal / D/R/U/G/S

To over-think is to destroy creativity. It is also the anti-matter of opinion, reaction and criticism. And yet wrapping one’s self up in thoughts is as alluring a prospect as any.  D/R/U/G/S recognise this complicated quandary.

D/R/U/G/S were the band that, more than any other in 2010, shot out bolts of pure excitement every time they took to the stage. This elation stemmed from the fact that D/R/U/G/S are careful – achingly careful – not to over-complicate their music.

Each time I saw them play – be it to an increasingly thrilled crowd at In The City, or an agonisingly inert, too-cool-to-dance crowd at Salford’s Islington Mill – their relentless push to create music that demands attention was always a joy.

The band is still a work-in-progress, but that is part of their charm. And so far, every hulking, thudding song that they tinker with on-stage has been a smash. Listen to the interview [below] with Cal from D/R/U/G/S, and the determination and focus that dictates the band’s precise steps is palpable.

Loud, bludgeoning and deft, D/R/U/G/S are one of the truly exciting bands of 2010. They’re destined for great things on a dancefloor near you in 2011. You can listen to the exclusive interview with Cal from D/R/U/G/S here, or read the interview here.


Menagerie: Peaks Vs Troughs

Of Steve Jobs’ many achievements, perhaps his most successful product, the iPod, also harboured his most unhelpful unhelpful: the driving-down of musical attention spans to a fraction of what they once were.

Why listen to a whole album when you can just skip to the single? And why listen to the verse when it’s simple to spool ahead to the chorus? It’s just to easy to skip from highlight to highlight; all peaks and no troughs.

So how would a teenager brought up on this tid-bit mentality cope with a song like Asahiyama by Menagerie – a song that never ponders or drags, but nonetheless takes its time to get up to speed?

At five minutes in length, this song is an ice-age in pop terms, and covers as much ground as  a glacier grunting its way to the sea. The beauty of the slow build is laid bare in Asahiyama – and we are all rewarded for our patience.

Jabbering basslines weave into caramelised melodies, icy and warm all at once. When the vocals eventually creep in, they are a pleasant shock – simply because, until then, their absence won’t be noticed.

Menagerie has a pace from another time, and slows us all down to it. Excellent.

MORE: menagerie.bandcamp.com

>Today’s New Band – Now

>If you ever want a reminder of the power of pocket money and a taste of its indiscriminate, bewildering influence on all our lives, just take a look at the pop charts. There is always, without exception, a heavily promoted, quasi-‘urban’ pop band that makes teenage girls weak at the knees, teenage boys boisterous, and the rest of us stunned at the stupidity of humanity.

Check out R&B/Hip-Hop/Mentalist act N-Dubz. Once you get past the sheer awfulness of their name, brace yourself for the utter lunacy involved in their being – a whirlwind of ‘street’ posturing, ridiculous hats and faux-sincerity. And that’s before you even consider the music. ‘The kids’ lap it up feverishly.

The good news is, that given time, they’ll move onto better music. Hopefully, this will include Today’s New Band, Now. They make music about as far removed from N-Dubz as is possible, and with songs like Splurge, have a neat line in niggling melody, self-descriptive song titles, and weirdness.

Now are defiantly unusual, not attempting to cater to any specific audience, not caring what others think. It’s the good side of the generic “we make music we like and if anyone else likes it, it’s a bonus” rock interview cliché. And so, when Ethnik Snack explodes in a maelstrom of cheeky sitar and tabla, it’s a welcome injection of fun, inventiveness and pace.

Likewise, when Everything Is Inout reveals itself to be a shuffling, soft bob along a river of rose-petal-melody, you’ll be swamped with easy calm, and not questioning any sudden departure from prior songs.

Now are buzzing with invention, charm and class. Listen to Now here, now!

The Trouble With Live Gigs, Part Two

You might want to read Part One first. It’s more level-headed, whereas this one is rankly steeped in emotional judgement…

Just like the best science lessons at school, this article will be preceded by an experiment. It is easy, and, just like science, only requires honesty to be considered a success.

So, quick – without thinking – answer this: what was the single greatest musical moment of your life? Could you come up with an answer? If you could, your response was probably along the lines of “Seeing [XXXX band] live at [XXXX venue]”.

My favourite gig was seeing Public Enemy perform all of It Takes A Nation Of Millions…, but then there have been a ton of good ones – Art Brut in the Stoke Sugarmill, White Stripes at Glastonbury, Super Furry Animals in the San Francisco Fillmore.

Public Enemy: Bringing The Noise to a lovely park near you

It’s easy in some ways to pin these ‘special moments’ – or memories – on an individual place, time and occurrence. “There’s no substitute for seeing a live band,” people will tell you. They’re wrong.

This is a difficult admission to make without being branded ‘not a proper music fan’, but I don’t think gigs are the most important thing in music. Live music is not the be-all and end-all. But now it has some special, truer, power by virtue of the artist being in the same room as the fan.

This is just demonstrably silly – if this was the case, all nightclubs would close overnight, and we wouldn’t have DJs raking in £10,000 fees for two-hour stints playing records behind the decks and waving their hands in the air.

But now, with the live experience treated as a holy experience, records have become devalued, and this is an enormous shame.

My opposition to this is also a philosophical stance, perhaps – I dislike the idea of art being judged by it’s scarcity as opposed to it’s intrinsic value. For example: the original painting of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers is massively more valuable than a perfect copy of it, even though the copy would be exactly the same image.

Gigs become special because of the I-Was-There factor: all you need is the exclusive gig T-shirt or ubiquitous mobile phone video footage et voila – you’re a Real Fan.

Couple this with the overwhelming emphasis placed upon live concerts by the record industry (see Part One), and we are now in a situation where records exist to warrant a tour, as opposed to a record being recorded to, er, make a record.

John Lennon said that abandoning live gigging in 1966 lead to The Beatles‘ studio-bound creative freedom, resulting in the mid-career-high pairing of Rubber Soul and Revolver. Would hearing the songs of these two albums live have been a better experience? Who cares? Why should one be linked to the other?

Answers to these questions weren’t sought by The Beatles. They made a record to be played as itself alone – each song a single, unalterable statement.

Pulp: Somehow The Vital Connection Was Made (wait - that was Elastica...)

So my favourite moments in music have been: hearing Bigmouth Strikes Again for the first time, stunned by the thrilling guitar break; stopping in my tracks when hearing Common People on my radio as I walked to school, and feeling a real connection for the first time; hearing a band whose name I didn’t catch play a bizarro thrash/hardcore techno hybrid on John Peel’s radio show back in 1994, and so on.

None of these thrilling moments could have been shared, no-one could have experienced it with me, I don’t have a shaky-cam recording of it. But they were more important to me than the vast majority of gigs I’ve ever been to.

I feel for those teenagers who sit in their bedrooms, listening to music, and not wanting to go to gigs because the venue will be full of scenesters. Crowds sooth insecurity and the unity of a gig validate beliefs.

Gig going is cool now. Cool craves a scene. Scenes provide security for the insecure. Reject the scenesters. Dig deep and admit your favourite musical moment is listening to your favourite record. We’ll all feel the benefit.


Comebacks have, in a very short period of time, transmogrified from delightful surprises to ho-hum cynicism-hackle-raisers. And it’s the fault of the very last person you’d expect.

Prior to last weekend, Kevin Shields had become a figure of fun in many quarters (or, at least, in my household) simply because here was a man slogging away at sonically revolutionary, near-spiritual and idealogical perfectionism in an age when people knock out echo-laden dream-pop on their MacBooks in their lunch breaks.

And it all seemed rather brilliant, rather worthy and rather un-now.

And it all seemed worth waiting for, and worth mocking all at once.

And it turns out these diametrically opposed thoughts were right all along.

Because the suddenly-released m b v just wasn’t worth it.

Go on, admit it. It’s easy. Glance forward a couple of months: you’re in the mood to pop on a mind-melting, meanderingly muddled album that sounds like it’s from the future.

You’re not going to reach for the phoned-in, inevitably-Pitchfork-7.8-scoring third album from My Bloody Valentine, are you? You’ll scroll one click less and select Loveless, and you’ll be correct to do so, too.

Kevin got it wrong. He laboured for decades – decades! Plural! – over an album he should never have released. Initially I thought he should’ve released it in 1996 as intended, and then I realised that even that was wrong – he should never have released it at all.

The third MBV album should never have sounded even remotely like Loveless. Instead, it should have dared to be reckless: the oft-rumoured drum ’n’ bass flavoured MBV album would’ve been crucifyingly bad, but at least it’d have drawn a full stop under The, Like, Coolest Album, Like, Ever; and – crucially – it’d allow him to move on.

Now, listen out into the wider world for the criticism of m b v – and listen hard, because it’s not forthcoming (yet). Maybe it will never arrive. Because MBV are just so agonisingly cool: how do you stab rock’s Cool Jesus Band in the back? How do you separate yourself from that particularly outré flock?

Yet: it should be done. And then witness this month’s mini-glut of surprise!!! comebacks.


Pulp’s After You? A decent effort, but one that wouldn’t have got within sniffing distance of the supreme Sisters EP in 1994.

Bowie’s Where Are We Now? is nice, but not a patch even on his output from the fallow years of ten years ago – and I defy anyone to justify the word “that” rhyming with itself three times inside two lines.

The hardest element to swallow about these comebacks is that they are driven in part by neo/faux-nostalgia.

In itself, this is not a bad thing, as long as the songs are worth it. Except that virtually none of them are, and the ones listed above might indeed be OK – but my life has hardly been enriched by their existence. But now who dares point out that not only is the Emperor naked, but is pointing, laughing and scratching his balls, too.


So how to do a comeback? Well, Suede, always confused for a band who were pretentious, (when actually, a certain luxurious straightforwardness was their trademark), were the ones who nailed it.

Barriers is a glorious pop song that soars, and glides, and skims the surface of the band’s own expectation like a glitter-covered stone, fully aware of its own ludicrousness.

It wasn’t that Suede weren’t aware of what they had to compete with that lurked in their past; it wasn’t even that they didn’t believe that they needed to compete with it. They just moved onwards, industriously – and ended up right in the spot we all assumed they would land in.

They produced a brilliantly touching, stretched and glossy pop song. We let it pass us by because it wasn’t remarkable, and in 2013, every single pop culture item has to be spiky and shattered and complex and different and OMFG.

And yet by simply ignoring this conceit, they did the hardest thing of all: they excelled, anew, again.

INTERVIEW // Islet – Out There, Somewhere

Islet are a new band. That much is obvious. Less obvious is the route they took before emergence, which is suddenly, strangely radical. And they don’t even know they’re doing it.

I know you’re out there
I know you’re gone
You can’t say that’s fair
Can’t you be wrong?

Dinosaur Jr., Out There, 1993

Islet are a band who have done it differently without even trying, and the story is not so much a breath of fresh air as a huge, Mistral-sized gust of clean, sweet change.

There was a time when the act of discovering a new band was thus: after hearing a snatch of a song on a late-night radio show, and assuming you were lucky enough to hear the DJ announce their name afterwards, you would spend the following weeks scouring the NME, Melody Maker and fanzines for more.

More information was the desired booty – words, pictures, gossip, anything. A gig review if you were lucky. Glueing oneself to the same radio show, finger poised over the REC button on the tape deck, hoping the DJ would play it again. Such behaviour seems archaic now, but this, remember, was the norm only just over a decade ago.

Now recognise this new route: band records song, band uploads song to Myspace, Bandcamp and Soundcloud, band blogs about the minutiae of their nascent musical lives, band immediately gets all the information you could ever need out there, the public consume ravenously.

This sounds perfect. It is not. Once you’re out there, mystique dies. Putting it all out there is too easy, too neat, too perfect. It’s even easier than total obscurity: after a while, someone will put it all out there for you. Craving information with such bludgeoning hunger ensures that something important – an emotional connection maybe – is lost.

Psychologists bemoan the impact that readily available pornography has had on teenage boys – their initial contact with sex is of the type that they will never see in real life. Real sex will always be tainted with lingering disappointment.

Like the teenage boy disappointed by a virginal girl’s stubborn reluctance to engage in sexual theatricality, witness the fans who dump a band after one album and move on, gobbling up more and more of the temptingly shiny and new.

If a fan knows everything about a band from the start, we all lose that something. The bands, the fans, labels, everyone. Islet gave nothing away.

Until their website was launched a month ago, Islet have existed in rumour, tip-offs and gossip alone. Their music wasn’t online. The band wasn’t online. The music only existed on the stage. If you wanted more, it had to be from fan sites, from excited reviews, from camera-phone videos.

I wanted to speak to Islet about their strange introduction to the public, and how it felt to be most well known for what they haven’t done rather than what they have.

And yet Islet, apparently, are unaware of all of this. When I spoke to Isleteer Mark, he was – understandably – more concerned with the pile of old merchandise that the Super Furry Animals had given him in a Cardiff recording studio just moments before. I tore him away from the Furry sun-visors:

ANBAD: Islet seem to, for once, have been overtaken by hype on the internet, rather than cultivating it yourselves. You’re one of the few bands who may have been surprised by the online reaction. How does this feel? Did it catch you unaware?

Mark: I don’t really know where the online reaction is to be honest. We’re always more interested in how people react in the real world, at a gig than in the realms of The Internet. It’s a shame that the word ‘hoopla’ isn’t used instead of hype, it’s more fun.

Was your ‘internet silence’ a very deliberate ploy – a rejection of the taken-as-read idea of an all-important online presence – or laziness, or a land-grab at a new gimmick, or was it just something that you didn’t see value in at that time?

To begin with we just started a band and when we had enough material and felt like it, we started doing gigs. We thought that we might as well wait until we have recordings before we make a website – so that’s what we did. People got a bit carried away with it, we’ve never proclaimed ourselves to be anti internet, I’m on the internet now, I was on the internet then and we all regularly utilise its many facilities.

New Music Strategist Andrew Dubber took a shine to you and set up your fanpage – how did you feel about that? Did you think it was – not a ploy so much – but as much of a demonstration of his own new band promo ethos (the Posterous account, selling the fan T-shirts, etc) as his genuinely enthusiastic appreciation of you?

We found it quite funny at the time, mainly because he and his friend Ben set it up straight after a gig in Swansea, of all places. You will have to ask them about their genuine enthusiastic appreciation of us. Mine and Bunters’ (also in Islet) older brother Lee hilariously bought us both a T-shirt from the fanpage, I’m yet to wear it.

The no-mp3, no-download, no-Myspace way of operating found an enthusiastic fan base. I really like that idea of a band having an air of mystery – is that part of the reasoning? Do you like that too? Do new bands who give everything to their fans from day one lose something special?

I think yes to all of the questions. At the moment we don’t feel the need to constantly tell the world where we are, what films we have watched and what we had for breakfast. Though who knows, one day we might feel that urge. The ‘no Myspace’ thing has got out of hand – to me it’s like caring whether or not we eat at McDonald’s. I do think that people in general give too much away about themselves on the internet, not just bands.

Is it becoming OK for bands to want to have success and money? For a long time, rock was very deliberately anti-corporate, anti-big business – whereas even young bands are now eager to sign deals that would have been entirely gauche just a few years ago.

I think it’s always OK for bands to want ‘success’. I think it’d be very difficult to start a band and not want any form of success, it depends how you measure it. We felt very successful when we finished our first song and got our first gig. We haven’t licensed any tracks as yet [for use in advertising] but we’ve not been asked to. We have no rules, we just deal with things as they come.

And that was it. The band are tired of discussing the hows and the whys – they just want their music to do the talking. This is clearly a tough task to undertake in such stubbornly chattering times.

Yet they determinedly persist in protecting their reputation. When Islet first got in touch with me, it was to politely but firmly refute a claim I’d made – a rumour I’d heard rubbishing their DIY ethos.

Islet’s anachronism makes life hard. Blab everything, and their fun dissolves; keep their lips nipped tight and idiots like me propagate bitter rumours because I’ve got nothing else to go on. When it comes to controlling their self-image, it turns out that they are damned if they do, and damned if they don’t; they’re even damned if they try neither, or both.

In the end, all this will pass, and it’ll be what remains – the songs – that will be left out there, surrounded by the debris, and they are what will count. It’s always the songs. And Islet’s songs aren’t an anachronism at all – they’re more daring, more exhilarating and more uncannily new than any other band’s for a very long time.

I know a few women who are Burlesque dancers. Their chosen sport is the art of the tease – not quite giving the whooping crowd what they want, but giving them enough to want more, more, more. And every time they return to dance, the crowds get bigger.

Islet have unwittingly joined their leggy troupe; sequins, corsets and pasties switched for guitars, raw musical talent and a gut faith in human nature, desire and curiosity. Every time they play a gig, a little more of them is out there. But only a little. And yet the crowds keep getting bigger.


>In The City Special: Ou Est Le Swimming Pool

At a music convention like In The City, rumour and hype swirl together to form a noxious fog that can engulf even the most seasoned and cynical new band seeker. Avoiding bands surrounded by hype is one of the basic rules of following rock music, and yet I willingly traipsed along to see two of the main ‘buzz’ bands, drunk on a few begrudging words of encouragement from a middle aged A&R man.

The club was packed on both occasions. One of these bands was actually cheered onto stage before they had even played a note, and yet when their guitars were actually plugged in, they were disappointingly risk-free, and average at best. So when I found myself in another crush of haircuts and PR sweat, I expected little. Half an hour later, after Ou Est Le Swimming Pool had finished, I still wasn’t sure if they were the best or worst band I’d ever seen.

On reflection, I realised that this was the best reaction I could have hoped for. Even ignoring their linguistically challenged of-the-moment name, the band is crammed with weird, admirable anomalies.

The two keyboard players looked like a before-and-after picture of a Pet Shop Boy who’d drunk a pint of LSD. One was in a geography teacher’s grey suit, and the other sported a moustache, vomit-coloured shirt, and a vividly coloured scarf wrapped around his head. They both played thrillingly big music; stabbing chords and huge drumbeats.

Contrast them with the two singers who emerge from the shadows, one a Burberry-clad Simon Le Bon mini-me, the other a boyband escapee. They both sing with a sincerity and passion that jars hard against a band set-up that is so post-ironic it has become pre-irony, and thus sincerity. Clever.

The response from everyone who saw them was the same: bewilderment and then a creeping realisation that Ou Est Le Swimming Pool were the most memorable band of In The City.

I could describe the songs to you as usual, but for once, I don’t think words could do them justice. Listen for yourself and feel a band more polarised than a trucker’s Aviators.

>Today’s New Band – Bleech

>ALERT – ANOTHER ART BRUT ARTICLE: those who despise irreverent indie-obsessed scrap-pop look away now. There was an interview with everyone’s favourite rabble-rousing, love-’em-or-hate-’em rock troubadours Art Brut in the NME recently.

Their new album is make-or-break, it said. The band is in fine spirits, is still knocking out fine tunes and is still largely ignored in their home country, it said. Five long years have passed since they first sang about wanting to be on Top Of The Pops, it said. The article was positive and sympathetic, but there was a suggestion that The ‘Brut’s life cycle might be reaching its natural conclusion.

I’m not sure – I chatted with the (very friendly) band at a gig recently and they seemed positive, though a little bit weary. To be honest, the gig itself was similar – highly enjoyable, ace tunes, and more energy than a thousand Scouting For Girls gigs – but I detected a wobble for the first time from their usual Über-confident, diffident, deliberately contrary nature.

Like Art Brut, Today’s New Band, Bleech, have a palpable affinity with 90’s Britpop. The very idea is so deeply unfashionable that Bleech might have found a path to prominence. Surely the britpop revival will dawn any time now.

Is It True That Boys Don’t Cry is clearly deep-fried Britpop. Even the most fervent denier can hear it. The song is by a shoutier Salad, an emphatic Echobelly, a punchier Powder. If this song had been released in 1995, £500,000 contracts would have been shoved under their noses.

Flowerhands reveals a band who know that songs need to have catchy choruses and sing-a-long verses. These twin ideas were the twin tenets of Britpop’s musical make-up. Maybe Bleech are 15 years too late, or maybe they’ve arrived at just the right time, with the melodies that have been missed for so long. Listen here!


ANBAD doesn’t exist in a vacuum, you know.

I mean, yes, it kind of does, as evidenced by all the thrusting up-and-comers that make up ANBAD’s Bands Of The Year.

But the point I’m making is that ANBAD has to be aware of the outside world to sniff out the new bands – so here’s ANBAD’s look back at 2012: chiefly the bands, albums and news too big to feature on ANBAD but ultimately too big to ignore.


The Beastie Boys, in the mainstream UK viewpoint at least, are still regarded as goofy pop-rap pranksters, and whilst there is an essential element of truth in this, the B-Boys are/were so much more than that.

At heart, the Beasties were driven by the desire to innovate (see their remarkable run of four genre-bending albums from Paul’s Boutique to Hello Nasty) but also their belief in doing the right thing.

Much of the latter was driven by MCA, a man who incorporated peace, Buddhism and gender equality into hip-hop – ideas which are still mainly absent in hip hop even now.

Couple this with a crazily rare determination to retain a sense of humour about music – whilst being deadly serious in the manner of making it – and it’s easy to see that his criminally early death is a monumental, terribly sad loss on a thousand important levels.


An artist too young to drink at his Hype Hotel gig at SXSW, but with an enviable depth of lush sounds at his agile fingertips, and a deft feel for song structure that marked Mmoths out as one of the figureheads of the new breed of young musician that plugs away quietly in his bedroom and then amazes the world with his close, warm, personal music.


ANBAD spent the first few months of 2012 in NYC, causing trouble for the kind souls at the Hype Machine. It took me until now to fully digest what NYC is, even though it’s actually blindingly obvious: NYC is the centre of the world/universe/your ego.

This is simultaneously as good and as bad as it sounds; or, to put it another way, as good you want it make it. Here, capitalism is made steel, concrete and taut flesh, all thrusting as high as they possibly can, scratching the clouds, tempting you to climb (and maybe fall).

Beyond this portentious musing, I finally achieved a long-held ambition and stood on the intersection of Ludlow and Rivington, as featured on the cover of Paul’s Boutique. It felt great. But, despite what the young ‘n’ moneyed will tell you, gentrification does not add character, and it looks better on the LP cover. Such is life.


Glancing back over the Beastie Boys’ career, it was noticeable how much goofing around and – whoah – having fun was a legitimate way to behave in the headier days of 80’s/90’s pop culture. Now, a New Seriousness has descended over music, and fun is for losers.

This would be fine if bands played it straight, but most hide behind a thick veneer of irony, clutching their influences like a pastiche-plastered shield, getting their excuses in first, not daring to keep their faces straight for real.

But Twin Shadow is the real deal: in turn agonisingly talented, handsome, gifted and aware. His new-wave-tinged songs are not mere impersonations, but meaningful, and are accompanied by accompanying art that veers close to pretentiousness, and just about gets away with it, just as good art ought to do.


You’re probably better-off reading my stream-of-consciousness thoughts on “South By” from the time.


One wag pointed out to me that Marcus Mumford, aside from having the most upper-middle-class name of all time, is essentially a one-trick-pony: albeit he has one very good trick.

And he’s right: all of Mumford’s songs sound the same: inoffensively MOR, and as rousing as a campfire singalong which stirs up childhood urges. Their music is perfect for soundtracking both first dances and final farewells at nice, middle-class weddings and funerals worldwide.

Truly, we have the first Daily Mail Superband, and the final confirmation that guitar music isn’t dead: it’s just retired and taking it nice and easy from now on, thanks very much.


Regardless of what you think of Alt-J/∆’s music, one thing is almost probably true: you hadn’t heard heard of them in January, and now they’re everywhere. Some consider their familial Music Biz connections to be slightly dubious, but such thinking ignores the fact that Alt-J deserve their rapid rise, simply by producing a collection of songs that dare to step to a slightly different drum.

And, if anyone still doubted the power of music blogs: here’s a band that were supported heavily, early on and along the course to prominence by the same music blogs that experienced pangs of existential crisis at various points during 2012.



>Today’s New Band – Appleblim – Bestival Themed Week!

>A New Band A Day continues its trawl through the Best of, er… Bestival

A.N.B.A.D. is about to go on holiday. Not the kind of holiday we’ve been on recently, when canvas, mud, cider and temperatures approaching zero Kelvin have been the primary features, but one in France, where the sun is out all the time, the steak is de cheval and the music is one of two options: Stupidly bangin’ or merely stupid.

But before we cram ourselves with the rest of the cattle on the cheapo flight out there and dream of all the vin rouge, steak tartare and hypermarchés that makes France so special, there’s time for one more fabulous nouvelle bande for you to rub against your curious ears.

Indeed, Today’s New Band, Appleblim, are perfect for those in-between moments in life, say, whilst you’re helplessly speeding at 300 MPH in a metal tube in the stratosphere, and you need to be distracted so that your whitened knuckles loosen on the arm rests.

Detached and calm but jittering, Peverelist Appleblimcircling skitters lopsidedly, whilst its cousin, Peverelist Appleblim Over Here is almost ‘anti-dub dub’, and electronic, spacey, wide-open track of epically small/large proportions. Circling Bass Clef Remix is even further removed from the ordinary, threatening to veer either towards mentalism or straightforwardness, but never reaching either point, thankfully.

Check it out and then check your mind out to Appleblim‘s space-tastic tunes – right here.

Meanwhile, look out for ANBAD on our return in two weeks, with loads more acers bands (durrrr), but also a MONSTER MASSIVE SUPER SURPRISE! What could it be? You’ll have to wait and see to find out!

Oh, OK, it’ll be a WOW-WEE SUPER site re-design. Pfft. A Bientot!