New Lightyears album out now

Morning pop fans! Welcome to Monday 19 January – a day that shall hereafter be remembered for unleashing the furious might of our new album London, England upon the world.

The album is now available from our online shop, priced £5.

Click here to buy your copy!

For those craving the digital option, London, England will become available to download from iTunes, Napster, eMusic and various other online outlets in the coming weeks. In the meantime, outside of www.TheLightyears.com the album will be available exclusively from independent download store and social networking site Amie Street.

New album reviewed live on Irish radio

Our new album’s being reviewed today on Phantom 105.2 FM in Dublin.

State Magazine’s Phil Udell will being discussing his thoughts on London, England live in the studio with “Front Row” presenter Sinead Ni Mhordha at around 1pm.

Listeners outside Ireland can tune in at Phantom’s website – click here to visit www.Phantom.ie.

“London, England” photoshoot online in Gallery

Head on over to the LYs gallery to check out a set of previously unseen photos taken last year in the studio during the recording of our new album London, England.

The photos were taken of the band, by the band, at the Voyager School in Peterborough during March and April 2008. The Voyager boasts a fully kitted out, state-of-the-art recording studio and we became the first professional band to use its facilities since the school’s launch in late 2007.

You’ll notice me doing my best impression of a World War Two fighter pilot and George and Tony struggling in vain to look important and as if they really know what all those little knobs do. Yeah, like anybody even knows that.

n.b. whilst we’re on this subject, if you ever hear Tony talking about “KTL ratios” with regard to their significance in the recording process, don’t be sucked in. It stands for “Knob To Light” ratio and he MADE IT UP to confuse innocent bystanders. The scamp.

The Sound Of 2009…?

Whilst perusing the BBC website recently I came across a story on the BBC’s search for the “Sound Of 2009“. A winner had been crowned – Little Boots, proclaimed the pundits, will be the sound of 2009. She is apparently being hailed by some as the saviour of pop music. To be frank I hadn’t spotted that pop music needed saving (Gwen Stefani aside) but I followed the link nonetheless and diligently sat through the video of Victoria Hesketh, AKA Little Boots, playing live in the BBC6 studio. Predecessors of this sweeping accolade include Keane and Duffy, both of whom went on to release best-selling albums, so the odds are on that Little Boots is in for a cracking year.

Like most people, my natural instinct when confronted with the supposed “Next Big Thing” is to join the long list of detractors and dismiss it all as a load of old hype. Unfortunately, in this case, I couldn’t summon up a reaction nearly as extreme as that. As it turns out her performance left me kind of indifferent. I think “saviour of pop music” might be a bit strong but I have to admit the song stuck in my head for ages afterwards. I suppose if I had to sum up Little Boots in seven words I’d probably go for “not as bad as The Ting Tings”.

Speaking of which, has anybody else noticed that The Tings Tings are, well…. to borrow an industry term…. a little bit rubbish? I mean, yes, it’s inventive – but then a Japanese Spider Crab wearing ladies pants and sucking scrambled eggs through a straw could be considered inventive but you wouldn’t buy his music, would you?

I remember when I first heard We Started Nothing, the band’s debut album. I had been downright nonplussed by the furore surrounding the ubiquitous hit single “That’s Not My Name” but intially concluded I must have just been missing the point. “They’re an ‘It’ band, I thought. A zeitgeist band. I just don’t get it. I’ve listened to too many Ben Folds and Jellyfish albums and now I’m just not Le Cool enough to understand this music”. Thing is, everyone was raving about it. Jools Holland, NME, The Independent On Sunday. I figured they knew a heck of a lot more about music than I did so I’d probably best keep my mouth shut – or at least give the album a listen before I issued judgment.

So I listened to the album and slumped deeper into a feeling that everybody – literally, everybody – was in on something that I wasn’t. I stood in my kitchen for 38 solid minutes, open-mouthed, wondering why I was the only person who’d noticed. Remember that story about the Emperor’s Clothes? Y’know, this Emperor dude is running around the streets with his arse hanging out and everyone’s so keen to fit in that they just go along with it and pretend he’s wearing clothes? Yeah? Well, it’s kinda like that.

Anyhow, ranting aside, 2009 has some exciting treats in store for music fans, I reckon. The sublime Glasvegas broke spectacularly last year and it looks like they could go stellar in the next twelve months. Think The Killers meets The Proclaimers singing songs about the drudgery of life, social workers and crippling paranoia. Check out their eponymous debut album and revel in its haunting beauty (disclaimer: most of the songs sound the same to me but then that seems to be fashionable these days).

Tipped alongside Little Boots for world domination are the glorious Mumford & Sons, purveyors of a folky Americana sound that has been described as “Coldplay reincarnated as hillbillies”. We caught them on the Park Stage at Glastonbury last summer and found their music to be charming, bittersweet and uplifting. One to watch…

Oh, and I know I’m hopelessly late noticing this but Beth Ditto rocks!! I caught her on the BBC6 Hub Sessions the other day and she has a wicked sense of humour. Yes, I know NME already voted her Most Super-Coolest Person On The Planet Of All Time Ever in, like, 1992, and I’m behind the times, but there you go. I was well impressed.

Oh, and for an alternative point of view, check this out – it’s Neil McCormick’s list of 2009’s Next Small Things. I like it. Very wry.

“You’re ‘avin a giraffe mate!”

WEDNESDAY 17 SEPTEMBER, 1.30pm (Time Square, New York, USA):
“I’m driving a van! Through Time Square! I’m James Bond!”

Tony is driving a van. Through Time Square. In doing so he is fulfilling a lifelong ambition and is having an absolute ball in the process.

A cab driver tries cutting us up and soon regrets it. Within seconds Tony’s head is out of the window unleashing a patter of mockney road-rage.

“Oi! Watchit mate! [pause] Nah mate, I ain’t moving. C’mon, you could get a bus through there! [another pause] Wot?! You’re ‘avin’ a giraffe!” 

The phrase “You’re having a giraffe” causes much hilarity and confusion amongst the Americans in our entourage. For in-depth analysis from a New Yorker’s POV, check out Ashley’s Guest Blog. Suffice it to say that they simply couldn’t get their head around the connection between a long-necked, land-dwelling mammal and an Italian-American cabbie.

The van in which we are travelling, by the way, is a truly beautiful machine. “Stella The Wonderbus” has clearly hosted many a touring band over the years but remains in fine condition, affectionately graffitied with phrases such as “Man Love” and “I ♥ NY”. We are employing Stella to drive into Philadelphia for a headline show at Milkboy Coffee, a venue we habitually refer to as our second home.

The first time we drove down the New Jersey turnpike back in 2006, Tony greeted the prospect with tangible excitement – it was another one of those activities that he wanted to cross off his list of Things To Achieve In Life.  By now the NJ turnpike is virtually an old friend of ours, a regular fixture in our lives. It’s also become fully apparent that, any romantic notions aside, it’s really just a bloody long road with lots of massive trucks on it. Why, we could almost be on the A329M cruising into Reading. Except you can’t get Taco Bell on the A329M. And that, believe me, is a crying shame. Little Chef is NO substitute for the Bell.

When we arrive at Milkboy in the picture-perfect town of Ardmore, Pennsylvania, it’s almost deserted. Two hours later, the sun has gone down and the place is full of Lightyears fans. This is why I adore Ardmore. It’s like coming home.

Oh, and the other reason I adore Ardmore is PEANUT-BUTTER MILKSHAKES. I believe I have made enough of this obsession of mine in previous blogs so I won’t harp on about it. But, if you’ve never had one, fly to Pennsylvania now and make a beeline for the Milkboy Coffee House. You won’t be disappointed.   

The Milkboy is a real listening venue, and we love those kind of gigs. Rocking out in a sweaty club is a lot of fun but there’s also something to be said for shows where your audience hangs on every note you play – and this is one of them. We open with Fine and build slowly through Girl On The Radio and Home For The Weekend into all the upbeat stuff – Sleepless, Beat Alive and Emily, as well as some tunes that will be new to this crowd such as Brightest Star and Run.    

As a general rule, and to quote Tony, when we play the Milkboy “something always goes catastrophically wrong”. It could be the sound-desk failing, or my module packing up, or George’s guitar falling to pieces – but it’ll always be something. I am, therefore, delighted to report that on this occasion the whole shooting match goes without incident. We play, if I do say so myself, a rather cracking show and the atmosphere in the venue is fantastic. Fans tell me afterwards that they’ve never seen the place that busy on a Wednesday night. 

Being the kind of band never to turn down an after-party we are soon whisked back to Riverton, New Jersey, where Maureen has opened up her famous porch to one-and-all and plays host to an abundance of merriment, gin & tonics and some really delicious little cakey things which I think the Americans call “biscuits” (even though, of course, we know that a biscuit is a hard-baked confectionary product. Not a cake. Still, they’re scrumptious). 

THURSDAY 18 SEPTEMBER, 7.45am (Maureen’s Yard, Riverton, New Jersey):
Once again, we were up last night until the wee small hours. However, respite is short-lived as we are forced to prise ourselves out of bed at 7.30am in order to get back to New York in time for a day of meetings and, in the evening, an impromptu studio session with a producer we met a couple of days ago in Manhattan.

Fortunately for us, the day starts in the best possible way – with Breakfast At Maureen’s. Supertramp may have recorded a hit album called Breakfast In America but they never had Breakfast At Maureen’s, so whadda they know? Not a lot, I’d say.

Scrambled egg, potatoes, crispy bacon, coffee, fresh orange juice, more biscuits (the American kind), several varieties of tea… we’re in heaven. The sun is shining and Riverton is looking resplendent. If only we had the time to shoot the breeze and admire the view; however, New York beckons. We say our goodbyes, climb back into our trusty steed and head back to The Big Apple.

Thursday passes in a whirl. We have a couple of meetings (most notably with Ariel Hyatt of Cyber PR – an absolute charmer and a fascinating person too – check out her blog here), experience our first ever Wendy’s burger (hearty, delicious and satisfyingly marketed as “old fashioned hamburgers” – although as far as I can tell the only difference from McDonalds is that the burgers are square), grab a pile of takeaway pizzas and a 12-pack of Buds and head to the recording studio.

Andy Baldwin runs a studio called The Devil’s Backyard in the heart of Chinatown. Funnily enough, by this point in the tour, I could quite easily have ended up in the devil’s actual backyard and not noticed – I am that beat. We paper over the cracks of our exhausted bodies with cheesy pizza and cold, fizzy beer and proceed to bash out a highly-charged version of Emily in under four hours. Andy mixed Morcheeba’s last album and is the John Wayne of producers – I mean, this man is seriously quick on the draw. He’s a machine. Which is just as well because we have a gig tonight on the other side of the East River and time is running seriously short. 

When the clock strikes midnight we decide we really have to dash and so we arrange with Andy that we’ll come back the next morning to finish our vocals before flying back to London. We have received word that fans at the loft party we’re playing in Brooklyn tonight are starting to get restless and that we’d better arrive soon or we could have a mutiny on our hands. There’s only one thing for it. We dash out into the middle of Chinatown and use our by now expert hailing skills to attract the attention of the nearest cabbie. Once inside Tony makes it very clear that the guy needs to step on it and, to his credit, this particular chap takes to the challenge with relish.

He is pelting through the streets, flouting the highway code left, right and centre and taking on fellow motorists by the dozen. Disaster strikes when, on the way into Brooklyn, we hit a killer traffic jam. As it turns out, however, things are just about to get entertaining.

Our cabbie, whom I shall call Luigi for convenience, cuts up some self-important businessman in a goliath 4×4 freelander and obviously raises the guy’s ire because suddenly he’s leaning out the window flinging abuse at our trusty driver: “What are you, some kinda wise guy?” (he pronounces it “woise goi”). I almost guffaw with joy. Surely you have to be in Bugsy Malone to say that.

Somehow we make it to the McKibbin Lofts before our loyal fans have given up the ghost and, by now, they are really ready for a gig. If you ever make it to Brooklyn, you have to check this place out – converted textile mills that have become a mecca for the city’s artists, bohemians and pleasure-seekers. McKibbin is an icon of hipster style. All the dudes hang out here. You almost expect to find the Dandy Warhols jamming in the hallway.

We play a ramshackle unplugged set to a lasciviously boogying mix of artists, musicians and hedonists. We are almost delirious from fatigue and perform as if not playing would cause our hearts to stop. It’s a thrilling, surreal, unforgettable experience. At the last minute, and in an uncharacteristic bout of spontaneous improvisation, Tony re-jigs Banana Republic and gives birth to Obama Republic – he sings along, we sing along, the crowd sings along. It’s two months before the election and campaign fever is peaking across New York, which adds a certain piquancy to an already eccentric evening.   

When the gig ends I’m whisked out the door by Ashley to go pick up another crate of beers. The only option, it seems, is to keep the party going ’till dawn. Gloriously, we end up staying up all night singing Ben Folds and Jeff Buckley, with Tony sticking staunchly to his claim that Hallelujah has “the worst lyrics in the history of music”, even in the face of a room full of people eulogizing over them as indisputably the greatest set of pop lyrics ever written. This commitment to contrariness is one of Tony’s most endearing features. He is the absolute best person to have a debate with, provided you don’t mind things getting a bit heated. Seriously, next time you see Tony, engage him in a discussion about his disdain for Hallelujah. He stores it in his brain right next to “The Cure might be my favourite band but Friday I’m In Love is a load of old dross” and “Humans are genetically pre-disposed to vegetarianism” in the “Opinions Guaranteed To Wind People Up” File. What a legend.

FRIDAY 19 SEPTEMBER, 9am (McKibbin Lofts, Brooklyn, New York):
I wake up at around 9am. It occurs to me almost immediately that I only went to bed at 6am. 

Though whilst I’m on the subject, “bed” may be a somewhat flamboyant term for a keyboard case and a couple of cigarette packets.

So here we are. The end of the line. A taxi ride back into Chinatown delivers us to The Devil’s Backyard, where we finish the track, say our goodbyes to Andy and head battle-weary for the airport.

What a week. It feels epoch-making, era-defining. Downing champagne and feasting on fillet steaks in Business Class seems a long, long time ago. Particularly since, on the flight home, we are consigned to the Economy Cabin. Economy! No truffles? No quail’s eggs?! No Financial Times?!!

Upon touching down on English soil again on Saturday morning, many soberer individuals would head for the comfort of a freshly-made bed.

But not the LYs. We’re playing a private party in Devon. And we have to be there in four hours. 

We do it because we love it. Pure and simple.

Chris Lightyear

New Lightyears album out on 19 January

Happy New Year folks! We’re very excited to kick off 2009 by announcing the official release of our new album London, England on Monday 19 January.

It’s been a long time in the making and we’re really proud of the results. Here’s the track-listing – a mixture of familiar LYs tracks and a couple of wild-cards…

1. Firefly
2. She’s The One
3. Sleepless
4. Emily
5. This House Will Burn
6. I’m Not
7. Filmstar
8. In Black Eyes
9. That Was Us
10. England

Tracks 3 and 4 were produced by the legendary Hugh Padgham, the man behind Phil Collins‘ “In The Air Tonight” and “Every Breath You Take” by The Police, amongst a ton of other massive hits. A splendid chap and a world-class producer to boot. The rest of the album was recorded in the state-of-the-art studio at Peterborough’s Voyager School, who gifted us a fortnight of free studio time as a thank you for time we spent at the school working as artists-in-residence.

The album will be available via download, or as a good ol’-fashioned compact disc, from The Lightyears’ online shop.

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