Artist Focus: Respite

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Artist Focus: Respite

This compelling five-piece formed from an amalgamation of previous bands, mindsets and connections and arose in 2020 as a formidable and commanding alt-rock/pop-punk force known newly as ‘Respite’.

Respite joined forces with Jeeni earlier this year and since then, Jeeni has been hard at work trying to elevate, uplift and support this fantastic group by providing an ethical worldwide platform for their hard-hitting and refreshing craft. Respite is: Andrew Vaughan & Euan Macqueen as guitarists, Ross Crawford on the bass, Reiss Mcleod on the drums and Sam Nicholson on the vocals.

Hailing from Glasgow, the group once known as ‘Finding Argyle’ committed to a brave yet necessary brand change as their sound and creative habits organically shifted and evolved over the major lockdown in 2020. The group formed as the five-piece they’re known as now back in 2015 as a result of recurring opportunities and coincidences and so, the band’s current synergy took shape as a perfect act of fate.

Their days as ‘Finding Argyle’ were decidedly grittier with tracks like ‘Spit’ and ‘Love Like Violence’. Their newer form, ‘Respite’ made a subtle, yet noticeable adjustment in their tone. The lightheartedness was slightly increased as a result of the more melodic and pop-punk inspirations for writing choruses. Vocalist Sam Nicholson is the primary conveyor of their new-found catchiness, held mostly in the anthemic choruses that parade accross most of their spirited songs. The change in vocal style is at times, reminiscent of the much more pop influenced rock style of ‘Deaf Havana’.

Although Respite generally embraces slightly less dark style of songwriting and performing, that doesn’t account for exceptions such as the deeply compelling and hard-hitting ‘Chemical Sleep’. The music video for which is simple, yet genius; contained in a cramped, red room, the group’s performance energy is barely contained and fills the space to the brim, matching the mood and vigor of the piece to a tee.

Another noticeable and welcome advance in style came from the increased use of synthesis, thanks to guitarist, producer and mastering engineer, Andrew Vaughan. Sam Nicholson put it simply yet aptly that Vaughan is “quite the wunderkind”. On top of mixing and mastering the tracks, Andrew also manages all of the recordings for the group, effectively doing the work of about 6-10 people when compared to a standard studio set-up.

Speaking of, the sound achieved from Respite really is that of a fully-fledged studio arrangement. Clear, concise and tight to a fault, the production and overall contribution from Vaughan is nothing other than remarkable.

As a Glaswegian act, I was interested in the band’s opinion on how the impressive lineup of Scottish rock groups break the mould when compared to that of English or American rock efforts. After conferring with the other members, Sam told me that “I think there's something about the vocals which usually sets them apart, whether that is just the accent, or the way it hits the ear, it does stand out more often than not.” As obvious as it might sound that the iconic Scottish voice plays a major role in differentiating this specific Celtic brand of the same genre from others, it’s nevertheless a profound point that voices from different tribes will react with the ear in different ways. It implies a fascinating discussion about how different ethnicity's natural voices can induce different subconscious responses in listeners.

Sam also voiced a tentative concern with lumping acts into the non-genre of Scottish rock and how it can at times be presumptuous, “I personally sometimes wonder if it's too easy to be lumped into "Scottish Rock" and then you're trapped there. It's a double-edged blade though, because, who wouldn't want their name next to bands like Biffy and Fatherson?” It certainly is an under-considered issue of generalising and connecting Scottish acts purely for being Scottish. It unintentionally strips individuality from these fantastic acts like Respite. Although, as Sam points out, it’s not exactly a bad thing to be mentioned among the greats of Scotland. A double-edged blade indeed.

Careful not to mention something the group isn’t ready to divulge just yet, Sam did allude to the future of Respite, “We're currently planning our second EP after a great response to the new tracks, and we're hoping to follow that up with a tour of Scotland, and potentially head down south.”

How can Jeeni support artists like Respite?

JEENI is a multi-channel platform for original entertainment on demand. We’re a direct service between creatives and the global audience.

• We give creatives, independent artists and performers a showcase for their talent and services. And they keep 100% of everything they make.
• We empower our audience and reward them every step of the way.
• We promise to treat our members ethically, fairly, honestly and with respect.
• Access to artist liaison and a supportive marketing team.

Check out Respite’s Jeeni showcase here: https://jeeni.com/showcase/respite-band/

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03
Sep

Mel's World

Today, Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “I admit we're ahead of our original schedule, but there's still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases. Then we can hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he's agreed to share his work with all our members. He's a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here's one of Mel's latest! This place is neither a home nor a prison. It is some sort of institution. It drips a pallid 1980s atmosphere, and it makes me both afraid and excited. I am completely lost in a badly-lit labyrinth of corridors. It feels like I am being toyed with, and I want to leave. Of course I know the rules by now, and the most important rule of all is that I must keep my social distance of an arms-length and avoid physical contact with any other lost souls who wander these passages. They are creepy. They look more like ghosts than real people. Their eyes are disturbing. Sometimes they stare ahead vacantly, sometimes their staring gazes flick to the left and then to the right in a zombie rhythm. I cannot see their noses or their mouths, because they are covered by coloured masks. My own mouth is not covered at all. My own mouth gapes wide open. I think I feel hungry. I think I am searching for food. Perhaps I will find a piece of fruit, or maybe one of those pills I am encouraged to consume. As I turn a corner, I nearly collide with one of the ghostly figures. But I keep calm. I do not panic. I simply turn away and move as fast as I can. Which is not very fast at all. I can sense another presence around the next corner. The passages are only wide enough for one soul to pass at a time. I feel rather hopeless. I feel quite trapped. I think there is a distinct possibility that very soon I will lose my life. I think I need to build a wall before my time runs out. I know how to build a wall, I have had plenty of practice. The bottom rows of bricks slot into place without much trouble. But the more I seem to succeed, the more difficult my masonic task becomes. The stupid smaller bricks take on a will of their own, and the larger bricks feel clumsy in my hands. My wall is becoming a mess. There are big gaps in the structure where an enemy might get through. There are little gaps in the structure where a virus can penetrate. I think I'd better get out of here. I think I'd better find me a new space, one with some ladders to climb up and ledges to crawl along. Perhaps if I navigate these ladders and ledges, I can find my way out. And will you look up there! High above the ladders, almost out of sight, there is a young woman in a purple frock. She is in obvious distress. She calls out to me. Her flame-red hair cascades around her face, and then blows backwards. Which is bizarre, because there is no wind to speak of. Now she screams out, the same word over and over again. The word is help. Her cry is too theatrical. She has a big nose, like Princess Diana, or Pete Townshend. I am not very interested in her. I am much more interested in the beer. It believe that the beer is stored in big wooden barrels, stacked up in strategic places, and seemingly too heavy to be manhandled. But I am able to pick up any barrel I like, magically, without a problem, because I am unnaturally strong. And I am very, very hairy, from tip to toe. If I was once Pacman, now I am the mighty Kong. It has been many years since the viral invaders arrived from the Far East. The Space Invaders. At first the effects of their invasion were only faintly amusing, but then they grew rather attractive, and strangely exciting, and eventually they became quite addictive, even all-consuming. But as with all invasions, their glamour grew dull and they eventually lost their grip on power and faded into folk-memory. Recently, my domestic patterns have been disrupted, just like everyone else's. I have been procrastinating. I have been clearing out the cupboard under the stairs. Which is how I came across this old crate that has been gathering dust for longer than I can remember. Near the top of the crate there was a sleeping collection of very old videogame cassettes, many of which I had published myself. And beneath those old games there were some vintage machines in their original boxes. Once I'd worked out which of their black power supplies went into which of their grubby little holes, they sprang back into life to display crude blocky graphics on their silly little screens. It's been decades since I played Pacman, or Tetris, or Donkey Kong. And the last time I played Space Invaders, silly haircuts were compulsory and Margaret Thatcher was driving around in a tank. When this shitstorm is over, and when I am able to go free-range again, I wonder how long it will take me to forget about all the ghosts in all the corridors from all those bygone times. As for the flame-haired damsel in distress, I remember her name clearly. Her name was Pauline Daniella Verducci Lady Louise. She was less than an inch tall. She was a drip. The beer was virtual. It still is. Jeeni Creator, Mel Croucher - badly in need of a haircut Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

06
Jun

Mel Croucher - Multimedia Entertainment - Ahead of his Time.

Today, Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “I admit we're ahead of our original schedule, but there's still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases. Then we can hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he's agreed to share his work with all our members. He's a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here's one of Mel's latest! I produced my first multi-media entertainment at the age of eight. It was a birthday gift for my mum. I called it Smellyvision. TV sets had begun to appear in the cleaner homes down my street, but my family was still years away from owning one of those magic boxes with their nine-inch screens. So I made my own. I took a cardboard box and cut a porthole in it, and used my mum's crank-handle mangle to scroll up the storyline that I drew on the reverse of a yard of wallpaper. The soundtrack lasted just under three minutes, which determined the length of my entertainment. It was a recording by the singing cowboy Roy Rogers, played on a shellac disc that spun at 78 revolutions a minute, also driven by a manual crank. But the best bits of my Smellyvision show were the different pongs that accompanied each segment of the story. I can still feel the sting of my mum's flattened hand because I had used her special perfume to enhance the production. The scent was called Evening In Paris, and had been maturing in a little blue bottle too precious to use since the 1930s. I sourced the smell of horses after the coalman's wagon had passed by, and that didn't go down well with my mum either. But how can you have a multimedia show about cowgirls and cowboys without perfume and horseshit? Capcom had exactly the same idea for their videogame Resident Evil 7, and I was not in the least surprised to discover that it too was horseshit. It was marketed as a "4D candle smelling of old timber and blood", with the brand name Blood, Sweat And Fears, and a burning time of 18 hours. The idea was to fire up the stinking candle to enhance gameplay, having handed over fifteen dollars for the privilege. As I have already said, it was crap, unless of course you managed to knock over the candle during your gaming frenzy, and emulate the zombies in the game by setting fire to your face. It wasn’t the first time that Resident Evil had been used to extort money for idiotic multimedia ideas. Back in 2005, there was a crummy accessory for the Nintendo Game Cube device called the Resident Evil 4 Chainsaw Controller. It was nothing more than a standard Game Cube handset with a vibrator unit and a "realistic chainsaw roar", that sounded like a wasp trapped in a jam jar. But gamers seemed to be willing to lay out fifty dollars for the privilege of acting like dorks, so what do I know. In fact Nintendo are serial abusers when it comes to dopey add-ons. Who can forget their Super Scope wireless light gun? Well, just about everybody, it turns out. It was a truly dreadful lump of overpriced plastic that only worked with a handful of games, and devoured AA batteries at the rate of six every four hours. And how about the Nintendo Power Pad which cost anything up to two hundred bucks way back in the 1980s. This was nothing more than a little shiny mat with a dozen or so pressure sensors in it. The idea was to jump around its red and blue squishy bits in order to trigger actions during video gameplay, and break your ankles in doing so. That's why most players resorted to cheating, by going down on all fours and using their fists to bash it into submission, My favourite Nintendo multimedia device is the DK Bongo. It's a totally stupid pair of miniature bongo drums, which suits me just fine. There's a built-in microphone to monitor my bongo-playing skills, and help track my progress as I play along to some of the worst music tracks in recorded history. To be honest, it works just as well if I clap my hands or produce fart noises, but sometimes honesty is not the best policy. After years of misuse, my DK Bongo still works fine and gives me innocent pleasure. Which brings me back to Resident Evil. Since its launch, the Resident Evil series has generated just over one billion dollars, making it the most profitable videogame spin-off in history. The only reward I ever got for my Smellyvision efforts was a sore arse. But I have never claimed to be a profiteer in these matters, only that when it comes to multi-media innovation I have always been way ahead of my time. Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

05
Jun

Black equality - in and out of music.

by Cherie Hu. I normally open up these articles with a standard “Happy [day of the week]!” greeting, but that feels inappropriate today.I was going to publish a “normal” newsletter earlier this week featuring my latest music-tech articles, but found it necessary to take a backseat in service of much more important conversations happening around the world. I wanted to share some thoughts on the conversations and realizations I’ve had with people in music this week about the responsibilities that we have, both as individuals and as a collective industry, to do better.Respect to everyone who took time off on Blackout Tuesday. I don’t intend on publishing my opinion on how the day went, because I don’t see that as my role and frankly have a lot more researching and listening to do to better understand all the issues at hand.I personally decided to continue working on Tuesday, but with a focus on gathering data and evidence that could point to concrete areas where the music industry could improve with respect to Black equality. I elaborate on them below with some additional context.The issues that are top of mind for me focus on two actions that all of us can start doing right now in service of Black equality, both in and out of music: Following the money (economics), and tracking what you see (visibility). 1. Only 8% of corporate music execs are Black. Lack of racial diversity in the music industry’s corporate and executive ranks is something that many of us feel intuitively. But we actually know surprisingly little, in terms of being able to point to concrete numbers.So, on Tuesday, I got to work. I wrote down the names of all the board members and C-Suite executives across the top three record labels (Universal Music Group, Warner Music Group and Sony Music Entertainment) and their biggest imprints, as well as the top two concert promoters (Live Nation and AEG).There are 61 board members on my list. 53 of them are white, and only five of them — or 8% of the total — are Black: Jon Platt (Chairman/CEO, Sony/ATV Music Publishing)Nadia Rawlinson (Chief Human Resources Officer, Live Nation)Maverick Carter (Board Member, Live Nation)Jeffrey Harleston (General Counsel and EVP of Business & Legal Affairs, Universal Music Group)Kevin McDowell (EVP & Chief Administrative Officer, AEG). If we expand our scope to include President and Executive Vice President (EVP) roles as well, the percentage does improve slightly. The total number of executives on my expanded list with President/EVP roles increases to 121 people. 92 of them are white, while 22 (around 18% of the total) are Black. All the additional Black execs on this list work at label imprints, specifically RCA Records, Epic Records, Motown Records, Island Records and Atlantic Records. Contrast this to what we see in the public-facing artist landscape: The USC’s Annenberg Inclusion Initiative found earlier this year that underrepresented races and ethnicities actually over-index on the list of top-charting performers compared to the general U.S. population (56.1% versus 39.6%, respectively). The relative absence of Black leadership in the upper echelons of an industry like mainstream music that profits off of developing Black culture and talent is clearly a problem. A similar problem pervades the music industry: We can’t just put Black executives into “urban” roles.As in politics or any other part of business, it’s difficult to effect change around these problems without measurable benchmarks. So consider this a call for music-industry companies to start seriously measuring, and openly sharing, the state of their own racial equity.Trade body UK Music published a diversity report in 2018 covering both ethnicity and sex, which I remember sparked a lot of helpful conversations on a global level. The RIAA has yet to publish any aggregate diversity statistics about its own constituents in the U.S. This needs to change as soon as possible — which requires collective acknowledgement from major music companies that their internal whiteness is a serious issue that needs to be publicly addressed and resolved.Music companies should also take a tip from Google’s Diversity Report and measure not just the absolute number of Black employees, but also hiring and attrition rates across demographic groups. 2. The flow of money is moral, not just financial. It’s often said in politics, and must also be said in business: Budgets are moral documents.You can’t talk about anti-racism and Black inequality in music without talking about how the money flows. But don’t listen to me. Listen to the conversations that Black artists and music-industry professionals are having about what steps need to be taken after Blackout Tuesday — almost all of which involve improving economic equity and opportunity.Every Black person you meet in the industry, and probably many non-Black people as well, will likely have a story about an emerging Black artist they know who got thrown into disproportionately unfavorable contracts, and who had limited access to resources like lawyers, business managers and general industry education that could help them better evaluate deals.Going beyond anecdotes and actually gathering evidence of this rampant phenomenon is difficult, because it requires navigating a complicated web of NDAs and political relationships. But it’s also the first place people are turning in their demands for change.Nothing brings the issue of economic equity to light more than the surreal timing of Warner Music Group’s IPO, which launched the day after Blackout Tuesday.I’m not calling out Warner Music specifically as the biggest culprit in the industry, nor am I saying that an IPO is inherently racist. I’m thinking about more systemic issues in how this money will flow. All of the major label’s $1.9 billion IPO money will go to Blavatnik, an older white man who donated $1 million to President Trump’s inauguration campaign, and to a handful of individual, mostly white Warner Music executives who already had shares in the company. None of it will go to Warner Music on the organizational level, and so none of it will go to the artists whose back catalogs make the label such an attractive investment to Wall Street in the first place.Birdman Zoe, who manages the likes of Taz Taylor and Nick Mira, recommended that WMG shares be included in artist deals, not just a cash advance. Many others have recommended this in private conversations with me as well.In general, Black people's call for a serious, internal reflection on how much revenue from Black artists’ catalogs the labels are keeping for themselves should not be ignored. Also, as Sabri Ben-Achour puts it in a recent episode of Marketplace: “The stock market reflects the corporate economy of the future, not the real economy of today.” Hence why a billion-dollar IPO launching the day after a series of discussions about improving economic equity for Black artists feels so strange. It’s all connected. 3. We need to take equity in online events more seriously. Livestreaming as a format and paradigm is now top-of-mind for the music industry as the live-events sector continues to face an uncertain future. In general, video, not lean-back audio, is now the leading indicator of music culture. So we need to take the equity of what we see in these videos seriously.One area where I know many of you reading this can have an immediate impact is making virtual festival lineups more diverse.Several of the highest-profile virtual EDM festival lineups from the past few months — including Room Service Festival, SiriusXM’s Virtual DisDance and the first edition of Digital Mirage — were only 5% to 8% Black, and around 70% to 80% white. (The gender split for these three festivals also skewed 84% to 95% male.)It hasn’t all been doom and gloom, as there have been many examples of diverse lineups as well — from Bandsintown’s net.werk festival, which was curated by Dani Deahl and featured primarily women and people of color, to Global Citizen’s televised One World: Together At Home event, whose lineup was 35% celebrities of color and roughly split down the middle on gender.Overall, you would expect virtual festival and showcase lineups to be more equitable than IRL events, given that promoters have access to a much wider pool of talent without the logistical burden of having to fly everyone to the same physical location. But recent events have shown that this increased equity is not and will not be guaranteed, unless everyone involved draws a line, speaks out and pledges to do better.Artists with enough leverage need to be selective and turn down opportunities on lineups that are not diverse. And of course, promoters need to put in the work to diversify their curation and talent search in the first place.There also needs to be more collective action and accountability. The PRS Foundation’s Keychange initiative successfully brought together over 250 international music companies — including labels, festivals, conferences, symphony orchestras and more — to pledge towards achieving or maintaining a 50/50 gender balance in their programming, staff and/or artist rosters by 2022. A similar rally needs to happen for racial equality as well, especially for Black people in a time where so many Black artists are shaping popular culture.I don't have an answer for what the benchmark should be, but the fact that one doesn't exist or is not being measured is in itself an issue. Again, measuring and improving surface-level visibility certainly isn’t the only thing necessary for systemic change. But anything less feels insufficient. *** Here at Jeeni HQ, we think that Cheri is a brilliant writer and clearly knows her stuff so we will be curating her work for all our members. #jeeni #unsigned #musicians #performers #cheriehu #water&music #blacklivesmatter

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