Rock, Singer-songwriter

The Sounds, Style And Life Of Lady Geraldine



Drawing inspiration from the likes of Stevie Nicks to Don Henley, Lady Geraldine is a fresh face to the classic rock scene, but has carried her style and repertoire of sophistication through to her music.

Lady Geraldine’s style can be seen as a mix from different artist’s, as well as drawing from her cultural experiences and own personal life. Travelling around, from starting in England, to then moving to North Africa, to then residing in Venezuela in South America, Lady Geraldine has definitely gained a wide range of attributes from each place and time.In her music, there is a sense of wisdom, that comes with the passing of time, as well as a relatable theme, that draws from things such as love and emotion.

Lady Geraldine Elliot, 8th, September, 2017

Lady Geraldine now lives in Edinburgh, where she writes and records her own original material. But is also very professionally active, she works on oil paintings, as well as jewellery designs, which are down to her business savvy, letting the music explore the emotional and creative side.

She is set to release her new album ‘Little Miss Blue’, the single that goes by the same name, is also available on Soundcloud and her website.





Alternative, Indie

The National- “Sleep Well Beast” Review

Towards the start of the newly digitised barroom balladry of “Carin at the Liquor Store” on the National’s seventh album “Sleep Well Beast”, the band’s singer Matt Berninger mumbles the name of one John Cheever. Cheever is an interesting point of reference. His Lynchian obsessions with the murky undercurrents of respectable middle-class life defined his work—as his contemporary John Updike once remarked of his suburban fascination, “Only Cheever was able to make an archetypal place out of it.”

In some ways, this mirrors the development of the National from a particular kind of nocturnal New York ennui into a more expansive, heady Americanism. As steeped in the band’s old themes of regret and lost love as “Sleep Well Beast” is, it’s also a product of the current volatility of American politics, albeit as obscurely as is to be expected of the National. The clearest admission of this is the dry evocation of “just another man, in shitty suits… this must be the genius we’ve been waiting years for” on “Turtleneck”, which unsurprisingly debuted on the eve of Trump’s inauguration.

The band’s thematic growth on “Sleep Well Beast” is paralleled by at least cosmetic musical evolution; although flurries of electronic bleeping at the start of tracks often give way to songs that still wind up sounding like the National, there are flashes of transgression. “Dark Side of the Gym” blooms from plodding mundanity into a gorgeously lush final verse, and wistful highlight “I’ll Still Destroy You” equally spins into an exhilarating, wind-in-the-hair climax.

Part of the album’s idiosyncrasy stems from the oaken, earthy grain of Matt Berninger’s voice, which is the National’s most distinctive instrument. Mumbling and murmuring his way through the album, there’s perhaps a little of Michael Stipe in the finely detailed opacity of his lyrics: “Here the sky’s been falling white flowers, and there’s ice in the trees” he croons on the juddering “Empire Line”, and references “another teacup with gin in your secret postcard life” on the richly textured title track.

Although easy to put out to pasture as latte-sipping, inevitably Democratic Brooklynite hipsters, “Sleep Well Beast” makes a persuasive argument for the canonisation of the National as a serious™ American band. Whether reeling from the tumult of relationships or national political discourse, “Sleep Well Beast” is an unambiguous microcosm for Middle America; about as unambiguous as the wooden edifice of a suburban house containing only the band that adorns the album’s cover. As John Cheever wrote in “The Country Husband”, “The village hangs morally and economically, from a thread. But it hangs by its thread in the evening light.” CO


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Alternative, Funk, Indie

Luna Blue Delighted Fans With EP Launch Competiton, And It Was One Not To Miss.

Brighton based band ‘Luna Blue’ have just released brand new EP ‘Nightjar‘, and they were celebrating.

The Indie-Rock funk fusion scene now has a new addition in ‘Luna Blue’, and to start their engines, they have just released a 6 track EP. Accompanying the release of their EP, they had a Launch night in Brighton’s very own venue ‘Hope and Ruin’.

The competition however is the real gem of an idea from the boys from Brighton. The competition was a genius idea, and the prizes were even more of a treat. For the lucky one’s, the band were giving away 5 copies of the new EP, 5 limited edition Luna Blue t-shirts, as well as free entry for all winners to the EP launch that was held on August 25th.

The band have recently been active promoting the EP, and have been playing live to do so. Here is a list of upcoming gigs they have pencilled in:

September 29th: Glasgow, The Buff Club
September 30th: Leicester, Pi Bar
October 4th: London, New Cross Inn
October 28th: Reading, Pavlov’s Dog

As well as this you can also find them on all of their social media sites, so check it out!

Luna Blue Website:




The Promise Ring- “Nothing Feels Good” Review

By 1997, when “Nothing Feels Good” was released 20 years ago, emo had scrubbed up noticeably from Rites of Spring’s eponymous 1985 debut, which is generally considered to be the inception of the genre. Emo had drifted from thrashing power chords and howled declarations of anguish into more cerebral waters, the genre’s requisite introspection now matched rather than obscured by its music. The likes of Shudder to Think’s “Pony Express Record” in 1994 and Sunny Day Real Estate’s “Diary” the same year had drifted so far from the old template of hardcore that emo was blossoming into its own, albeit loose, musical style. Two years later American Football would spin emo into an even gentler, almost math-rock gossamer. As with punk, hip-hop or any other pioneering cultural movement, the apparatus of big business eventually caught wind of it and before you could say “Simple Plan” this counter-culture was homogenised and absorbed into the mainstream culture, simply becoming another facet of it: the increasingly slickness of late-90s emo foreshadowed the hyper-stylised and chronically edgy beast the genre would morph into in the 2000s.

“Nothing Feels Good” is to a certain extent a bellwether of this change. With its polished production and unshakeable earnestness, it’s easy to see its echoes in a string of cookie-cutter noughties emo bands that further diluted this template into cliché. The nasal confessionals and octave solos to come are breathing down the neck of “Nothing Feels Good”, although it remains closer to Jawbreaker than Yellowcard. However, its placement at the crossroads of DIY rawness and airbrushed angst grants it surprising autonomy to cherry-pick musically. “Red and Blue Jeans” is an achingly sad track quickly sabotaged by cymbal-smashing Neanderthal buffoonery, and the arpeggiated thoughtfulness of Mineral clearly encroaches on the mordant “Raspberry Rush”.

However, part of the problem is that “Nothing Feels Good”, put vulgarly, blows its load immediately with phenomenal opener “Is This Thing On?”, which combines melodic beauty, exhilarating pace and earworm-y insistence, and thereafter struggles to recover. Highlights afterwards are scattered—the pitch-perfect transitional melancholy of “Make Me a Chevy” gives way to the unremarkable ambience of the aptly named “How Nothing Feels”, and the shrewd purpose of “Pink Chimneys” concaves into “B is for Bethlehem”, which is the same song inflated into aimless flailing and amusing Biblical references.

For all its segments of melodic sumptuousness, paradoxically the greatest strength of “Nothing Feels Good” is its lack of distinction. There’s an almost alluring anonymity to the vocals, which sound like any hollering American kid, and emo’s profound sense of inclusion as a medium invariably invites the listener to project themselves into the insular psychodrama of the album. Attempting to use “Nothing Feels Good” as a microcosm for emo is inevitably tenuous but its intoxicating contrast with the clearly delineated, stage-managed personalities that would emerge in the genre in the new millennium cement its relevance. A work fascinating in its facelessness. CO


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After rebelling from her conservative upbringing, former StereoGrind singer Neethusha returns with solo career

Neethushas future was already planned out for her, as she confessed her Indian upbringing meant that she had to go on a path of rebellion to achieve her dream of becoming a musician. Neethusha`s passion for music is stimulated by the likes of Celine Dion and Shania Twain.

After listening to the ‘voice in my head’, telling her not to back down, she began honing her sound and the Indian born vocalist is now here with her romantic ballad ‘Why Did I Lose You’.

Neethusha wears her heart on her sleeve in this track and her vulnerability is encapsulating. The beautiful and heartfelt ballad, written and composed by the singer tells us a story of pain and heartbreak. The simplicity of the acoustic guitar throughout the track allows the listener to focus exclusively on the lyrics and the purity of Neethusha`s voice.

The single was produced by Matthew Tryba, a well known producer/ songwriter who has worked with the likes of Taylor Swift, One Republic and Ariana Grande.




Industrial, Shoegaze

Pink Milk- “Purple” Review

Off the South-East coast of Sweden sits Gotland, a windswept island with a population of only 58,000 eking out their time above the frigid wastes of the Baltic sea. It was here that shoegaze duo Pink Milk convened to record their debut album “Purple”, which feels indelibly steeped in the desolate intransigence of that frozen landscape. Hailing from Sweden themselves, singer Maria Forslund’s Scandinavian intonations would add a dash of local colour to “Pink” if her lyrics were not virtually unintelligible—Pink Milk encompass the swampy vocals of “Halfaxa”-era Grimes, drenched in reverb as if murmured from down a deep well.

This is also true of the instruments, which seem to be being played in a huge aircraft hangar made of ice. On songs such as the imposing opener “River Phoenix” the guitars are rendered with a glacial, sonorous vastness, reminiscent of post-rock. There is little sense of Pink Milk as distinguishable individual members, more as an impassive, monolithic unit: on tracks such as “Awakening of Laura”, Forslund’s vocals seep inexorably into the swathes of guitar, which harden into a whirring, machine-like hum as the song progresses.

Pink Milk strike a balance somewhere between harsh, metallic noise and My Bloody Valentine-esque hazy sweetness; between the burnished glamour of Merchandise and the clanging, gothic industrialism of the Cure’s “Pornography”, with maybe even a little of the pastoral virtuosity of Felt in the spiralling guitar trills of Edward Forslund (the second half of Pink Milk) on booming first single “Detroit”. “Sushi Dreams (Flesh & Blood)” sounds like Kate Bush’s “Waking the Witch” sieved through the murky dreamscape that Pink Milk inhabit, and the most obvious evocation of another group is the band’s cover of Foreigner’s “I Want to Know What Love Is”, which strips the song of its placid 80s synths and pallid, sterile production in favour of breathy, expansive peals of sound.

“Pink” is an album that is ultimately defined by its incorporeal production, which will surely be divisive. The band’s snugness in the shoegaze genre is arguable, with Pink Milk also incorporating elements of post-rock and industrial music into their sound- the question of whether their desolate, expansive production obscures and detracts from the music, or is integral to it, will likely hold sway over your impressions of “Purple”.  Despite their elements of subversion—”Drömmens Skepp” transfigures “Be My Baby” into guttural Nordic intrigue, for instance—the ephemeral likes of “Sans Toi” only leave the impression that your headphones are malfunctioning. For all their interesting sonic experimentation, Pink Milk find themselves trapped in their own stringent fidelity to their musical ideal, which remains constrictive at best. CO


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Alternative, Singer-songwriter

Eels- “Electro-Shock Blues” Review

In a 1999 CNN interview Mark Oliver Everett, the creative motor and sole permanent member of Eels, described “Electro-Shock Blues”, with dry gallows humour, as “the party album of the year”. This was perhaps gently over-stating things by a light-year or two. Following the critical and commercial success of Eels’ 1996 debut “Beautiful Freak”, the band’s nascent fame was promptly derailed by a string of personal tragedies for Everett that are far too deeply saddening to delve into thoroughly here, basically comprising of the deaths of his remaining immediate family.

It was this deep well of sorrow that Everett was to plumb on “Electro-Shock Blues”, its title a reference to his sister’s electroconvulsive therapy. The album catalogues virtually every facet of human suffering, from the giddy paranoia of “Going to Your Funeral Part I” to the hideously pretty and almost unbearably desolate title track. On a musical level, the use of plinking xylophones and tinny music boxes—for instance, on the Beach Boys-esque “Baby Genius”—signifies a regression into a numbed, distorted childhood, which jars incongruously with the natural weariness and grain of Everett’s voice.

Although its intimately personal idiosyncrasy is inherently resistant to placement in a wider musical context, “Electro-Shock Blues” is truly the “difficult second album” amplified to almost farcical proportions. Everett, who surprisingly and laudably retained his self-deprecating sense of humour, is prone to droll, blackly funny quips about this. On “3 Speed” he remarks, dry as the Sahara, “Life is funny, but not ha-ha funny/Peculiar, I guess”. This deepens into the hard-won, utilitarian optimism of “Last Stop: This Town” which opens, with wonderfully deadpan flatness, “You’re dead, but the world keeps spinning”. The song is the album’s triumph, spinning pure, joyous pop of abject dejection. Especially in contrast to the songs that precede it, “Last Stop: This Town” attains a glorious transcendence, both physically and emotionally: “Why don’t we take a ride away up high through the neighbourhood? Up over the billboards and the factories and smoke?”

“Electro-Shock Blues” is an album inseparable from grief, but one that is ultimately about progression. As Everett enthused with startling candour in the aforementioned interview, “I started to get excited about it creatively, because I felt I could tie my own experience together and make it meaningful to everyone.” Whether you’re just on safari or know the sleepless nights and vodka bottles first-hand, the album is an uplifting assertion of the essential durability of character. From the maniacal samba of “Hospital Food” to the wistful lushness of “Going to Your Funeral Part II”, “Electro-Shock Blues” is a lost masterpiece of unflinching introspection. Drink it in. If he can stand it, you can. Perhaps it really is a party album. CO


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