Misleading musical headline of the day...

'The Killers' Brandon Flowers expecting third child', barks the current lead article on Gigwise.

After consulting Nick and another friend who used to beat me at Operation, we've come to the unanimous conclusion that there's no way this is possible... unless he's some kind of freakish man-witch who should be feared and worshipped in equal measure.

In other news, it's been reported that Duffy (remember her?) has taken a hip-hop route for her second album.

You heard. Duffy... doing hip-hop.

We're sure we're not alone in thinking that this is possibly one of the worst ideas ever, but it could have hilarious consequences. We're actually rather looking forward to hearing her sing 'Straight Outta Rhondda' while 'sippin' on Snake and Black' (with our minds on our money and our money on our minds, of course).

What? We can dream, can't we?

20-Word Record Review: Carl Barât // Carl Barât

It's shite.

Sorry, do we need to go any further? Okay, he's not the messiah; he's a very average musician.

Watching the X Factor... so that you don't have to

After Nick's decidedly highbrow monologue about union fistycuffs and subterranean rat-men, I thought I'd lower the tone completely by waffling on about the nation's favourite shooting gallery: the X Factor.

Before you run in the direction of the nearest minefield screaming "I want to end it all now!", pray patience. This isn't intended to be some wonderfully ironic post-modern comment on the state of the music industry - because, quite frankly, I have no idea what that sentence means.

Fact is, for the first time in what seems like a million years, I have subjected various senses to the X Factor. And I hate myself for it. The only thing providing any kind of comfort is the knowledge that I can subject you to the same level of hell by reporting my findings on this blog.

From what I can determine so far, this year's key runners and riders can be summarised thus:

• Vanity Project
• Gap Yah
• The Justin Bieber Five
• Four Girls Who'll Hate Each Other By Round Three
• We Fell Out Of The Shoreditch Tree And Hit Every Branch On The Way Down
• Louis Picked Me Because I'm Irish
• Strong Chance Of A Shower
• The Lovable Painter And Decorator Who I Quite Want To Win Because He'd Do A Good Bon Iver Impression.

Personally, I hope they all eat each other (except the painter, he's alright). At the very least, they could have a quick chomp on Louis Walsh's face; I have a theory that there's a vacant space and a very confused vole lurking just beneath the skin.

What's certain is that it's only going to get worse and I will be all the thicker for it come Christmas. So please, sit back and enjoy reading about my rapid mental descent into a condition known medically as: 'Katie Price'.

God help me.

White Ring hit London

Great news! One of my favourite witch house/drag/whatever acts White Ring is due to upset London in a couple of weeks.

They're playing at The Nest (used to be Barden's Boudoir) in Stoke Newington on 19th October. If you're a fan of strangely clubby miserablist half-time house with aggressive lady vocals, you can't miss this one. Also playing: Manchester wrong 'uns D/R/U/G/S, witch house label pioneer Robert Disaro and a bunch of great DJs.

Not heard White Ring before? Check this out:



Get your tickets here!

New Housewives EP up on Myspace!

As promised, I'll be plugging on here from time to time... Today, I'm very happy as the new Housewives EP, called What You Asked For, is ready for you to listen to online. It's four songs of wonky indie pop glee, and I'm really pleased with how it all sounds.

It's aces, so go and listen to it now!

Now playing! 'Nothing to See', Four Tet

Going further down the glitchy rabbit hole than he did in There is Love in You, Four Tet's contribution to the new Soul Jazz compilation Future Bass is brilliant. 'Nothing to See' drifts on warm fuzz, burbling synths and chiming cut-up instruments, loosely anchored by the stomping, clubby kick drum than ran through his last LP and The Ringer EP.

Four Tet's post-house production sounds so organic you can imagine it growing on trees in a shaded, mossy forest. I love it - you should too.

Transport For Lunatics

As any of you who while away your three score and 10 scurrying to and from work through London's vast network of underground caverns will know, there's a tube strike on today.

Being a right-on cyclist with my own Lycra and everything, the ructions between the RMT's subterranean rat-men and their awful overlords doesn't really bother me that much. Sure, the hordes of grey-faced commuters forced blinking into the weak October sunlight make the journey a little more fraught: the roads through the city are packed with bikes, mopeds and cars clearly piloted by the criminally insane and there's a far higher incidence of pedestrian lemmings hurling themselves from the kerb with frighteningly blank eyes. Still, it's helping Londoners engage with each other more than the usual commute does - even if the brief spark of human contact only seems to light a conflagration of communal moaning.

What's tickled me is the news coverage of the strike. The BBC covered it in the London local news section: fair enough. They also featured it as a headline story in the main body of BBC Breakfast, which made me wonder if we'd see similar stories if Nottingham's tram drivers took a day off in a huff. Is the Underground really national news, or is it just a parochial dust-up that's easy to send a reporter to?

The cries of 'union stooge!' that went up when Ed Miliband was elected as Labour leader have made industrial action more noteworthy. I'm looking forward to seeing how his relationship with the unions unfolds as the cuts start to bite, and curious to see how the coalition PR machine swings into action to fight a renewed opposition.

Whatever happens, I hope tube workers decide not to strike again in November, as all the extra people lurching around above ground do have one rubbish effect on my ride: I can't sing embarrassing songs to myself without attracting attention. And with an internal jukebox which inexplicably started playing 'La Isla Bonita' all last week, any involuntary singing as I peg down City Road can only end in humiliation...

Strap yourselves in: it’s going to be a bumpy ride…

Welcome to Shoots Band and Leaves. It's your new favourite music/culture/whinging/shamelessly self-promoting blog written by two of London's many word-monkeys.

Nick
Copywriter, sometime music journalist and bassist in dancefloor indie crew The Housewives. Shirks about in north London, listening to records while aimlessly browsing the internet for pictures of hungover owls and the like. Possessed of a fondness for music genres with daft names (shitgaze? witch house?). Enjoys asking bands odd questions, drinks and rides his bike home from the pub too much and will be plugging the shit out of his band on here. Apologies in advance...

Rory

Frustrated sub-editor and music journalist, with powerful sideburns and media glasses to match. Walking cliché? Not quite, but he will be your co-pilot for this tickertape parade of nonsense we’re calling a blog. When he’s not at gigs, Rory can be found bouncing around to a bit of floor-filling electro, or running round Regent’s Park (he’s the only runner who also ‘air drums’). He also likes bands that use cowbells, no matter how obviously shoddy the rest of their catalogue is.

Rory occasionally points his camera at things and comes away with a photo that looks like it should. It’s a rarity, but you can find them over there on the Flickr page. Take a look! Your optician will thank you later…