Last Friday, I went to hear Derrick May spin at the Mockingbird. Many others, it seemed, went to SEE Derrick May spin at the Mockingbird. Last time I went to hear May spin, it was Fukhouse (RIP) at Industry (RIP) and the place was packed to the tits and everyone was dancing like a maniac. This time, there were maybe 100 in attendance at any one point, everyone was constantly wandering between the main room and the lounge, and one might have thought that May was the Mona Lisa from the way that people were staring, gawking and generally thrilled to be in his presence. I can't fault the idol worship, because after all, it's DERRICK F'N MAY. And I can't fault people for not consistently packing the dancefloor, because everyone is free to enjoy music in whatever fashion they prefer, it's not written anywhere that when the DJ plays, the masses are obligated to dance like pill popping teenage girls. Also, May played a challenging set, filled with everything from beatless Philippe Cam to old school L'il Louis to slamming hard techno-funk. As an aside, the biggest rise from the crowd seemed to come from the cheery house tracks he dropped early on which instilled a momentary fear in me that the only way he'd get a rise out of the tiny crowd would be to stoke the Richard Simmons at Gay Pride Day reflex, but that fear quickly passed once the music got rougher and faster and the dancefloor cleared. But I got the feeling that coming to the Mockingbird that night was treated like a spectator sport, with the music he spun being second nature to the man himself. It was an evening in a never-been-there netherzone between the stereotypical faceless DJ while ravers get off their heads, and a fan-club admiration society in which the star DJ shows up, pops their summer mix tape into the stereo, does the obligatory meet and greet, and heads for the waiting limo nary an hour later.

I sauntered over to HMV and found myself at a listening booth breezing through Travis' new "The Invisible Band". There was a promotional poster above the listening booth which referred to the albums' "unique instrumentation and genius production", which caused me to have a good laugh (to myself) coupled with a sudden urge to run home and listen to MBV's "Loveless", which is the first name in albums that actually deserve such an accolade. I'm assuming that since the above phrase was followed by "(Nigel Godrich of Radiohead and Beck fame)" then one was meant to follow a misguided reasoning along the lines of $Radiohead, Beck = musical gods = genius production$. That still wouldn't excuse the claim that two guitars, bass and drums is any more unique than the latest release from the Popstars TV show in your favourite country. Which reminds me, I saw a promo which referred to the new release by Canada's Sugar Jones as "R&B flavoured pop stylings", or perhaps it was "pop flavoured R&B stylings" but in fact it really doesn't make a damn difference what it said because if you even have to ASK or mull for ONE SINGLE SECOND over what it's going to sound like, then please do emerge from the cave that you've been in since grunge died its painful death and turn on "(Today's) (Pop) Hit (s)(z) (__) FM" (it doesn't matter which one, because they're all the same) and listen semi-intently for about 30 minutes, and it doesn't matter what time of day you tune in, because it'll all sound the same no matter what. Jesus! British rock is turning into manufactured pop -- it all sounds the same! No surprises!

Now I like Travis, "The Man Who" is a fine piece of mellow guitar pop songcraft. Same goes for "The Invisible Band", but not quite as catchy as its predecessor (hey, that's pretty much what EVERY review has said, which I guess is what happens when your new record isn't inventive and sounds just like your last record -- everyone's heard it all before, and everyone hears it in the same way). But you or me or anyone who can be shown how to push a button on a mixing desk could have produced "The Invisible Band". You just have to fiddle with the controls until the instruments sound identical to "The Man Who" and you're done. There are NO creative decisions to be made, no wondering if the guitars should sound more trebly, or distorted, or more like a trumpet, just a simple sonic photocopy (auralcopy?) of "The Man Who". Sort of like when a band walks into a studio and their name is "(one or more monosyllabic words) (a number)" -- all you need to do is get your hands on Green Day's "Dookie", and PRESTO, merely twiddle the knobs until you hear the same thing, no decisions necessary, no mess, no fuss.