I was going to write a post about the Conservatives’ Breakthrough Britain policy suggestions this evening, but I then realised that the report is 861 pages long. So, tonight I shall take the easy way out, and just comment upon the delightful fifteen page report commissioned upon only problems in Birmingham (entitled Breakthrough Birmingham); which is apparently the hotbed of ‘worklessness’ of all of the UK’s main cities.

The report starts as would be expected really: a short introduction from Iain Duncan Smith followed by some initial ’state of the city’ declarations: as of May 2007, 21% of Birmingham adults were claiming key benefits being the main point standing out to me. Key failures in Birmingham’s educational system are pointed out reasonably objectively and rationally. Then, as would be expected of a report commissioned by the Conservative Party, the inevitable descent into description of the moral decay intrinsic of non-conventional family structures is hit upon:

Family breakdown

• At the time of the 2001 census, there were 37,696 lone parent households in Birmingham – almost 30 per cent of all households. This figure is 34 percent higher than the national rate of 21.8 per cent.
• In Birmingham, more than one in 20 girls between the ages of 15-17 will become pregnant – this is above the national rate of one in 24.
• In Birmingham 78 children per 10,000 are looked after by the Local Authority – this compares to 55 per 10,000 nationally.

Having a working role model at home increases the chances of a child being in work in adulthood. The worklessness rate for lone parents nationally is 42 percent, compared to 5 per cent for couple households with dependent children. Strengthening the family would have considerable impact on the number of children living in a household with a working role model and would therefore improve their future prospects.
This would also have much broader implications. Children from families that have experienced family breakdown are also much more likely to become teenage mothers or get involved in crime. The family environment is instrumental in the physical, emotional and psychological development of a child and the pressures of economic dependency put considerable strain on its stability.

The shorter version: Birmingham is pretty fucked up, basically. Teenage whores and single mothers abound, producing children bound to be nought but a burden. I must admit: I am biased here, being the product of a single-mother family myself; but their points are made moot by reality. Worklessness is higher amongst single parents in order that they are able to look after their children more readily in many cases: would they rather have the children lack even this supposedly ‘unbritish’ stability? The children’s ‘future prospects’ are not bound by the origins of their parents, but rather the capabilities and support of parents: and that is the true issue, not this structure snobbishness so popular with all three of our centrist parties.

The two areas of Birmingham chosen as case studies are known within the city as being amongst the worst: Sparkbrook and Balsall Heath. Most inhabitants of the Birmingham/Greater Birmingham area would also be aware that these areas being chosen would be indicative of the Conservatives’ slight xenophobic bent, having the highest Asian and Black populations in the city. Educational failure in these areas is put down mostly to English being a second language for many students: surely this is more of an immigration issue than a social one.

People living in deprivation and experiencing multiple pathways to poverty are more likely to be involved in crime, or addicted to drugs and alcohol. Marginalised in society, self belief and aspirations are significantly reduced. People therefore turn to negative sources of affirmation and inclusion.

I call bullshit: I doubt there to be any marginalisation other than that caused by the proliferation of the tertiary sector: if not for the strong desire for supposed ‘professionals’, even the uneducated would be able to find work as, for lack of a better term, factory-fodder. They’d still be living in deprivation, but they’d have work: something which is genuinely lacking in Birmingham.

The supposed solutions also leave a little to be desired; it’s all just advice bordering on ‘throw money at the problem’. Welfare-to-work schemes are hardly a new idea, with the entired organisation of the Job Centre being (admittedly haplessly) in existence solely for this task. An idea (and nothing more) of reinventing the welfare system is suggested, with only the core tenet of ‘incentivising work’ – it’s nothing concrete. Of course, the suggestion is made that the institution (archiac as it may be) of marriage should be recognised and rewarded; and that a two parent foundation should be blessed: I see this as nothing short of a veiled promotion of traditionally Christian values.

They still want nothing but to help those who ‘help themselves’.

You have to love a band who can reference pop (or otherwise) culture, and do it well: Graf Orlock made their entire fame on it. Coventry’s Even Flowers Kill begin, on paper, in very good books with me: with an EP titled in reference to the enigmatic Schrödinger’s Cat and a Fight Club reference in the title of I am Jack’s Smirking Revenge. The music, from its offset, is no disappointment either: Ruth has Information That Will Destroy You starts with delicate candour – a sonar-esque sound is emitted from what I can only assume to be an effects-laden guitar or synth, whilst a five-note lead part is played above it. After forty seconds, a gentle ascension in volume reaches its peak and is met with a gut-wrenching scream amidst the introduction of pounding guitar chords and drums. A second of chaos, and the prior delicacy is restored. And again. And again. This is repetition, but not repetitive: the juxtaposition of heavy and soft serves merely to keep the listener guessing as to the intention of the band, and fortunately for the impatient, this is soon made clear. Chugging rhythm parts intertwine with the smooth lead vocals and more harsh background screaming. It’s a rich, complex texture befitting of a band labelling themselves as ‘experimental’. Fast-paced, technical drumming is demonstrated throughout, and never seems to let up. There is an almost ska-like instrumental section at around 2 and a half minutes into the song, which the lets into the viscerally of the song prior to this point.

I Love You Kerry McKenna, Please Come Home is immediate. To say the least. In fact, immediacy may be too loose a quality to use to describe the sheer intensity and suddenness of the musical onslaught which comes from the outset. A scream-chant dichotomy is established ridiculously quickly and takes the form of a question-answer-question-answer dynamic rhythmically. It is divine noise; it is a waking call to the gods themselves. Sensitivity is not a quality which this song is devoid of however: the silky lead vocals make an appearance again, and it is Good. We face another transition into the heavier side of the band’s music once again, and another question-answer session is set-up between smooth and hoarse. An Envy-alike talking vocal session finds a home here, and it fits so well with the pauses in guitar playing.
Dick Wang is a Stinking Liar: a scream followed by the almost archetypal shredding of guitars into harmonics which can only be considered unholy. It’s really a horrible sound, but one with an almost pitiful appeal. Once again, we see the ever-transitory movements between heavy and soft; smooth and grainy. It has to be said that this song is truly the weakest on the album, with no real innovation present, but it’s still pleasant to listen to, even if one does feel that one has heard it all before. Machiavelli vs. The Little Prince is a step back onto the Path of Righteousness for the band: slight syncopation in rhythm and bright, trebly guitar leads introduce the cacophony which is bound to come. And when it comes, it truly does come: it comes with no ability to relent. Screams, bass drums, deep riffs: they all find a home here. A chant which can only be described as ‘epic’ develops and carries the song along to its conclusion, even in its absence. Clever little lead parts come into and out of hearing with a technical bombasticity bordering on the pretentious.

I am Jack’s Smirking Revenge caused me to become Jack’s sense of glee and mirth: blending technicality and brute force will do that for me. And I think that there’s an accordion in there. Whilst some of this EP borders on the hackneyed and overdone, there’s more than enough innovation to tide anyone over, and more than enough to make them winners in my eyes.

‘Synthesiser with a predilection for arpeggiated leads seeks like-minded vocalist and overdriven guitar for good company, good fun and maybe more.’

The ungodly combination that this Lonely Hearts ad promises is the conceptual embodiment of Crash Repeat. Trebles meet bass with no room for a middle ground: this breed of electronic experimentation has no room for middle grounds. As well as the synthesised beats, the vocal delivery serves to act as a percussive device: the staggered annunciation of syllables makes the vocals both bold in terms of message as well as their role as an instrument. Superbass is a song of huge sonic proportions: a gloriously fast-paced percussion backbone meets with synthetic oscillations pitch-bent to within a metaphorical inch of their tolerances. Spinner is a song of a dirtier persuasion: nothing is clean – distortion is king here, with even glitched overtones. The vocals truly become an instrument here: they are far too quick to be comprehensible and it is wonderful – the texture is kept thick, rich and unique. Trigger is like an 8-bit flashback: Spartan synth lines bring back memories of a misspent youth with a moustachioed rotund Italian plumber; memories tainted by the distortion and drive present here, but a present enriched by it.

This is my welcome to Birmingham’s future Aphex Twin.

Instrumental and minimalist music are two genres which are somewhat of a taboo in certain circles: it’s seen by far too many to be the case that music has to be immediate; music has to be loud; music has to be fast. The Winter League pretty much serve to define the veritable opposites of all of the above ‘requirements.’ Here was see progression, subtlety and low-tempo music executed with a sense of freedom which could be considered irresponsible. Nods towards Efterklang abound through their use of esoteric percussion and almost choral vocals. Even at their most monotone, the vocals are expressive beyond that of many bands/artists generally accepted to have music defined as capable of eliciting emotion. Far from one trick ponies, The Winter League also compose music to suit film, and do so with a great competency. If folky, indie-esque minimalism is your bag, The Winter League are definitely to be your cup of tea.

However, a history lesson isn’t what this article is about: even if their sins of woefully inadequate genre nomenclature are to be forgotten, the music itself exposes doubt as to the validity of their self-professed status as a band. They state that they ‘want to be known across the land for being unique and keeping it Astro’, but any prior illusions you may still have about their uniqueness in the sea of their ’screamo’ (inverted commas are important) peers are dispelled as soon as you hear the first chord in any of their songs. As for ‘keeping it Astro’, I’m not nearly well informed enough to know what that means: the cool kids are probably laughing at me right now for that.
Warranty, their most recent musical foray, shows the instantly recognisable chug-chug of a distorted electric guitar and the most dire screaming I have ever heard, even in a band of this perversion. The screams are not the light accentuated growl of the likes of Tim Kasher or Geoff Rickly, nor are they the visceral-yet-high-pitched wail of Billy Werner: they’re something all together more weak, a cross of the two styles as unwelcome as a 20 year old at a Conservative Club, and just about as out of place amidst the pop-punk riffs and hackneyed lead parts.

Listening through the rest of the tracks on their MySpace, one cannot help but get the feeling of deja entendu (and no, not the Brand New album. That work is holy and should not even be sullied with a mention here), and that is because, in all sincerity, the songs do sound the same. Guitars? Distorted, with crispy overtones. Bass? There. Drumming? Keeping time in the most dull ways imaginable. Think ditchwater, mixed with Jimmy Carr’s humour: shit, plain shit. Vocals: dual and completely out of harmony. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work.

There’s a limited school of thought (only on certain sites on the Internet, granted) that Casey Calvert’s opiate, citalopram and clonazepam fuelled death was due to the realisation that he had, almost single-handedly, destroyed a once great genre and ruined its name for the good many years of copycat bands to come. I sincerely hope that this band follow his lead, and just give up on music or find an original niche: I have no doubt of their instrumental ability. I just abhor their shitty music.

A Note: the band have split up since this was written. I’m not too bothered.