Record of the Week Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It’s Blitz ‘Hitz From Miss O And Co’ 7/10 Let us be clear that It’s Blitz is not Fever To Tell, nor Show Your Bones mark two, and even less a progression and extension when compared to Is Is. Is Is now appears to have been a cathartic expulsion of all that was left of Karen and co’s desire to screech and torture instruments. It’s Blitz loses the squeaks and squawks and welcomes sultry electro to the party. Those wishing for Fever To Tell 2 may well be disappointed. Evolution is natural by definition, and so is a desire to be commercially successful. Few manage it with any credibility, but Yeah Yeah Yeahs, along with Kings Of Leon, appear to be doing quite a good job of it. It’s Blitz is hugely accessible and radio friendly. As such, it lacks the cutting-edge excitement that Fever To Tell may have offered, but compensates by maintaining their danceable, art-punk-influenced sound. Whilst most Yeah Yeah Yeahs releases have been catchy, none have been more glamorous. The opening trinity of tracks inject a disco feel into the equation recalling Gary Numan and Blondie in its crossover. To a beat, these three are indie dancefloor filler and killer in one. ‘Skeletons’ however is more in line with ‘Maps’, a quieter ode, perhaps a lament to the underrated ‘Show Your Bones’. Sadly, the middle section of the album becomes shrug-worthy. The tempo is reduced and the result is disposable. These tracks are not at all revolutionary and more in line with Show Your Bones’ weaker pop-rockers. ‘Hysteric’ and ‘Little Shadow’ take it down a gear or two again at the album’s close and once again prove the band are capable of genuinely moving, shuffling pop-rock. These tracks are the natural end to the Blitz party, a pleasant but slightly bittersweet, walk home on a cool evening. It’s Blitz is not complex. It also has no pretence about its ambition, no apologies, and it is wholly enjoyable because of that. It continues an impressive run and certainly adds a further string to their burgeoning bow. It’s Blitz, certainly at its onset, is full of disco-punk-pop-rock hits, a formula which allows its tale end to showcase their slower, romantic waltzes. If that is the new focus, Yeah Yeah Yeahs doing New Romanticism may be the next natural step of evolution. You heard it here first. Shuddering optional. Other reviews Doves - Kingdom Of Rust ‘Polished Rust’ 7/10 After a four year hiatus Doves return with an album strongly hinting that period has allowed them to rust. Luckily, most of the rust of which they speak is only contained in the content of the lead single and title track, reference to megalithic pillars of industry crying in their abandonment. Doves may feel that city-mates Elbow have eclipsed them with ‘The Seldom Seen Kid’ and their public abandoned them in favour of that good ship, but Kingdom of Rust should stop the rot, so to speak. It is strong enough to persuade their followers back onto the right path, and convert a few new pilgrims along the way. The album opens with ‘Jetstream’, a track that doesn’t immediately recall Doves at all, more an indie-rock cover of one of their earlier Sub Sub incarnations. 303 sequences jostle sadly with unfortunately hackneyed, but local, lyrics about ‘meeting you there, high in the air’. The title tracks returns to more recently familiar ground, Goodwin’s trademark soaring shuffle bringing ‘Black And White Town’ to mind. It, along with ‘Winter Hill’, makes Doves Doves. It speaks of local landmark and undulence Winter Hill, the latter track references Manchester’s urban decay and the peculiar, but ironic, beauty it brings and inspires. It’s a pity that the track is little more than a pleasant meander, a more slender, distant cousin of ‘Here It Comes’. Sadly, some later numbers lack purpose, ‘Compulsion’ is an uneventful but pleasing plod, for example. Overall, it lacks a ‘Pounding’ to convince the newcomer, or a radical sense of progression. Nevertheless, ‘Kingdom Of Rust’ is gently anthemic. Where it hits the mark, it imbues an identifiable regional and national pride in their brand of indie-rock in a way that British Sea Power did last year with their excellent release ‘Do You Like Rock Music?’ ‘Kingdom Of Rust’ is the sound of a band very comfortable with themselves and their sound, perhaps a little too comfortable, for complacency will allow rust to set in. Wavves - Wavvves ‘Beachin’ Boredom’ 6/10 Throughout Wavvves the impression is one of a b-sides and rarities collection, of a spot of general knob-twiddling experimentation on a four-track rather than a convincing sophomore effort. The album is a distortion-heavy ensemble of super-slacker-indebted, lo-fi garage-rock with a large dollop of bedroom electronica inserted haphazardly. Although far from the sun-kissed harmonies of pop supremos the Beach Boys, their legacy also lives in this record, buried under mounds of pizza boxes and homemade bongs. Album highlight is early single ‘I’m So Bored’, a call to arms for those for whom morning-time is but a concept, an iconic surf-rock riff plays out over its close. ‘Beach Demon’ is a lively, fuzzy ode to West-Coast living. ‘Weed Demon’ suggests drug use may be to blame for the meandering on offer, though does come close to hinting at an acoustic Animal Collective track, the distortion for once only gently tanning the production. ‘To The Dregs’ is more of the same, in the ‘So Bored’ vein. Elsewhere however, it is less rousing. ‘Rainbow Everywhere’ is plainly irritating, aimless and instrumental glitchtronica veiled in large-scale fuzz. ‘Goth Girls’ is a more successful attempt at the same sound and introduces the first of five Goth-titled tracks, continuing the obsession laid down by the first album. Other tracks come across a little like No Age’s listless noise but without the hooks, like Jay Reatard’s DIY pop-punk but without the tunes. Williams may be bored now but sorting the wheat from the chaff on any next album should keep him well occupied in the future. Fever Ray - Fever Ray ‘One Armed Scissor’ 6/10 Fever Ray is Karin Dreijer Andersson of The Knife fame. She and her brother, for the most part, make credible to excellent oddball electro pop. She does the singing and filters it through a highly identifiable pitch shifter. Fever Ray is like that, only less so. It would appear that half of The Knife does a one-armed scissor make. The album lacks her brother’s sequencer skills and their combined synergy. This eponymous effort collects ten morsels of dark, atmospheric, ambient electro-pop to create an anti-dinner party sound, Andersson’s pitch shifting ever-present. The album is listenable and approaches enjoyable, but it is also uneventful. There is too great a reliance on the vocal at the cost of the music, which, despite its Knife-like squeaks and pops, gently meanders for the majority of the record. It lacks the thrust one might expect. Album highlight is probably ‘Triangle Walks’, which clacks along nicely in its beats, drips in its sequences and combines with an enviable, near-Oriental overlay. Andersson seems most at home on this track. She seems woefully absent on the rage-inducing ‘Keep The Streets Empty For Me’, which inadvisably attempts to introduce the panpipe into contemporary electronica. Blunted, Andersson has tried, but not achieved, the same as her sibling collaboration. Proof then that two heads are better than one. Grammatics - Grammatics ‘Well Polished Duels’ 7/10 On a first listen, Grammatics’ eponymous debut comes across like a neutered At The Drive In (Sparta) covering Red Light Company and Foals’ back catalogue. This is wholly unsettling comparison so it is with happy heart that repeat listens volunteer hidden depths. What upsets initial spins is the vocal, pitched somewhere between an indie-schmindie mew and The Mars Volta’s wail. In places, there is too heavy a reliance placed on this vocal, as it is passable at best. It would have been better to concentrate on the music, which, for the most part, is quite intriguing. ‘D.I.L.E.M.M.A’ starts with math-rock intricacy; ‘Murderer’ proudly hosts a menacing post-punk base line. Grammatics take these influences and add a dash of punk-funk to create a sound that in parts recalls fellow Leeds band The Sunshine Underground tackling dusty and emotional Puressence anthems. Radiohead comparisons, in particular with OK Computer, seem a little misplaced. Not to tread on any toes, but the credible Duels may be closer to the mark. There is a certain integrity to the album that gives it substance, a desire to concentrate on credibility rather than the charts - and they manage it, though only just. Without elements such as the album’s pleasing strings (‘Broken Wing’ and elsewhere), the considered electro-arrangements, or the niggling affection for all things Cedric Bixler (‘Rosa Flood’), they could have fallen foul of popular attention, which would have undoubtedly taken off their already rounded corners (see ‘The Vague Archive’) and resulted in a collection of blandish, indie pop-rock. They risk being labelled competent but shrug-worthy, also rans if you will, but happily their attention to detail, the grammar to their essay, should lift their collective neck above water and deliver them into the contender category.
Record of the Week We Rock Like Girls Don’t - How Did It Get To This ‘Ronseal Of Approval’ 8/10 Balls out rock with a dash of blues, this release peculiarly comes courtesy of two girls. They pedal a battery of drums and FX’d guitar with little pretence to be anything other than are. Vocally these girls recall a straining PJ Harvey throughout, and at their quietest do so musically, recalling ‘Rid Of Me’ on ‘Photograph’ and at the start of ‘I’ll Take What Comes’. The latter of these two later explodes into a bluesy riff-monster, speaking of ‘moanin’ to call to mind a much heavier Mr. Airplane Man. Such is the allure of Ms. Harvey that even her producer lends a hand on the crashing ‘Power Of Three’. Where the album carves its own niche however is in the blend of popular song-craft and the juggernaut delivery of the would-be Kyuss pedal abuse. There is little substance beyond the smiles this mighty mélange achieves and groundbreaking is not a known concept, but since when did that matter? Other reviews Official Secrets Act - Understanding Electricity ‘Lacks Spark’ 5/10 Understanding electricity took Franklin, Faraday and Edison years. I cannot imagine this album took more than one to conceive and produce, and it shows. Granted, it has an irrepressible, radio-humping charm. Futurehead-level hooks and Franz Ferdinand-aping bass lines ensure the album is very much in the latter category of its post-punk-pop genre. So, ahem, ‘Mainstream’ it almost fails to hit its target indie-schmindie, there are welcome distractions with splashes of cute electro here and there and the considered plod of ‘A Heart For Herod’ comes stamped with Arcade Fire’s approval. Name checking 80s icons Japan and Tears for Fears scores you some points, as does borrowing their keyboards. However, that straying from the template does not last long, the album soon reverting to wetter hunting ground. ‘Bloodsport’, for example, whiffs of late-90s, also-rans Monaco. FYI, not a good thing. Some secrets are better left that way, and for the most part … well, you see where I’m heading. Crystal Antlers - Tentacles ‘Shattering’ 7/10 Beasts with tentacles tend to have plenty of them, and Crystal Antlers all seem to have many, such is the number of instruments played simultaneously. Granted, they have two drummers and two guitarists but their collective noise is more than individually could be suggested. Part prog-rock noise, part blues-punk drone, all with a liberal dash of psychedelia, Tentacles jitters in variable tempos and against walls of FX’d reverb. The culmination is some sort of acid-garage rock with which Comets On Fire comparisons have been made. Tellingly, Ikey Owens of noise-terrorists Mars Volta fame has the production credits to this cacophony. Despite the complex soup of arrangements and raucous result, the underlying melody suggests a depth of song-craft beyond the engaging fuzz. Bell’s vocals wail and howl a little like Liars, the screaming guitars wail back. ‘Painless Sleep’ opens with the Doors’ Hammond organ, a sound ever-present throughout the album. One or two tracks even dare to introduce a tune. But for my money, it is epic closer ‘Several Tongues’ that steals the show, building to a deafening and unintelligible crescendo. Leisure Society - The Sleeper ‘Sedate Society ’ 6/10 Calling your band ‘Leisure Society’ and your album ‘The Sleeper’ strongly indicates that you do not pedal in death metal. So, it comes as no surprise to hear swirling ukulele, banjo and mandolin dancing amidst glockenspiel and flute on this release. All eleven tracks are full of pleasant, twee melodies suggesting Sufjan Stevens and sun-kissed 60s pop such as the Kinks. The sparingly used strings hint at Fleetwood Mac. Their pastoral, shuffling pop-folk comes across timelessly, a sort of every-age, English brand of Americana. Whilst there is little to fault Leisure Society on, save for being uneventful in parts, there is conversely little to commend. It is the sort of unchallenging soundtrack with which to drive your grandparents to lunch in the country on a sunny day. It would be unfair to call such releases the dregs of the Americana / folk revival but too much of this safety may encourage other, even less adventurous, ensembles to follow suit. It ends now please. Bat For Lashes - Two Suns ‘Stellar Progression’ 7/10 Let us get Kate Bush out of the way. Yes, Natasha Khan is a bit of an oddball and is prone to the occasional squeak or Tori Amos-like dalliance. However, neither of these girls served up an epic slice of druid pop-rock on a bed of Cure-d bass lines (‘Glass’). 30 seconds in and she’s off, whispering about ‘knights in shining armour’ across dreamscapes of timeless but modern atmospherics. Her voice drifts across the bridge between the Cocteau Twins and sanity like an incoming mist. However, it’s not all good news. ‘Moon And Moon’ is an unchallenging, if pretty, ballad. ‘Peace Of Mind’ is harmonised banality that falls short of PJ Harvey. Elsewhere there is an over reliance on synthesised beats to induce and implore radio play. That said, it has worked a treat. ‘Daniel’ is deceptively simple and wildly attainable because of it, despite whiffing of Fleetwood Mac. Her package is wrapped in a thin, but credible, alternative veil. It’s not all pop though. The back end of the album contorts into an introspective shuffle, far away from the heady, click-clack beats of earlier tracks. ‘The Big Sleep’ even welcomes Scott Walker as operatic accompaniment for a poignant lament more in line with Antony Hegarty’s ‘Daylight & The Sun’ than with shimmering, pop-princess ambition. Khan has grown in ambition with Two Suns. It is more adventurous and more polished. ‘Fur And Gold’ was intriguing but not all it could be, Two Suns is a giant leap towards fulfilling her potential and an impressive achievement. However, like Björk, she should continue to evolve and shake off any shackles of expectation. We, the listener, should demand those next steps with urgency.
Apologies for the hiatus, mine and that of TripleAre. Damn that RL. Record of the Week Bonnie Prince Billy - I See A Darkness 'Regal Beauty' 10/10 I came late to Will Oldham, but 'I See A Darkness' is a near perfect collection of acoustic singer-songwriting. It starts with the gentle nod of 'A Minor Place' which recalls the Decemberists' literacy and Neutral Milk Hotel's pronounced sense of atmosphere and place. This opening is relatively upbeat. From then on in, his gentle, forlorn tales of love, and more commonly loss, make contemporaries Iron & Wine sound playful, newcomer Bon Iver sociable. There is an awkwardness to the spotlight, but one that is compensated for in the virtually unparalleled beauty of Oldham's craft. This is a condensing of Neil Young and Nick Drake. 'Today I Was An Evil One' allows the country influences to shine, 'Knockturne' and album closer 'Raining In Darling' are piano-led ballads to rival those of Nick Cave. But it is the title track that steals the show, an unplugged prophecy of doom of breath-taking and tear-jerking beauty equivalent to, if not surpassing, Jeff Buckley's 'Hallelujah'. As close to perfection as is possible for the genre. Other reviews Vivian Girls - Vivian Girls 'Summertime Whimsy' 7/10 1986 is popular once more thanks to recent releases from The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart, Crystal Stilts and to a lesser extend The Manhattan Love Suicides. Even The Shop Assistants have been reissued from those halcyon days. Vivian Girls follow the revival, fuzzing along happily in a `proper' indie kind of way. There is little in the way of stand out material, but their frenetic jangle, pleasing, echo-y `whoa ohs' and the occasional surf-rock riff, à la Jesus & Mary Chain, serve them well. There are a few Raveonettes echoes to be heard: the spectre (ahem) of 60s girl groups in the background. Despite having little bite to it and being over and done in just over 20 minutes, Vivian Girls still capture the heart in a summertime-whimsy kind of way. But then, come to think of it, so do quite a few girls! Navvy - Idyll Intangible 'More Devvo Than Devo' 5/10 Navvy like to think they are embodying the spirit of Gang of Four and Devo, but in reality they are closer to art-school oiks Art Brut and Thomas Tantrum. They plough a line in angular post-punk-pop which flirts constantly with the plain annoying. Their lo.fi bounce is thanks to the repetitive, angular bass riffs lifted from their desired forefathers, but the vocal stylings anchor them to the contemporary influences. However, this is not an unlistenable collection and for the most part, despite their detractions, they pull it out the bag. There is a commendable energy to their approach that sugar-rush bands like Be Your Own Pet bring to the mix, and a telling sense of tongue-in-cheek such as Help She Can't Swim supply. Nevertheless, overall the feeling is insubstantial, one of frustration. Few will tolerate their brand of perky art-punk-pop for long, fewer still will fall in love with it. Those with a particular interest in hearing Eddie Argos fronting Devo, Jemima Pearl on backing vocals, may however find a very welcome home. James Yorkston - When The Haar Rolls In 'Rolls In Unnoticed' 5/10 The Haar is a fog that rolls in off the sea and over the land, and Yorkston has taken this productive imagery to create an album that washes over the listener. Unlike the fog however, there is little chance of losing yourself in the album. Whilst it plods along happily and unquestionably prettily, it ultimately does so uneventfully. This is an earnest but immemorable collection of inoffensive but bland folky, acoustic mumblings. Yorkston's vocals are, as ever, disinterested and as such hard to engage with, his words more spoken than sung. His songcraft here is able but uneventful. There are moments that recall Absentee's esoteric grit, gentle swellings of strings that recall The Tindersticks, but in comparison to these and others, `When The Haar Rolls In' falls short. Michachu - Jewellery 'Blingering' 7/10 Michachu probably doesn't festoon herself in tawdry baubles. However it would appear she has quite the magpie's eye (or ear) for samples. She has emplyed the 'kitchen-sink' approach to create a lo.fi, alt.pop 'n' beats mash-up. It's the sort of thing a younger Beck may have made on a sugar high. Lead single 'Golden Phone' is the bouncy highlight, a triangle and keyboard shuffle. Elsewhere the simple sample is less effective but happily not here. An acoustic loop plays with a clicking-clapping beat. Micachu tackles modern matters in a modern sound, singing about STDs and whatever Curly Teeth may be, often to an abrasive selection of rhythm. Chart-friendly radio humpers these are not. Album opener 'Vulture' flirts with dnb and breakneck changes in rhythm, 'Eat Your Heart' is lunatic street performance stuff. 'Curly Teeth' is a simple and effectice layering of acoustic guitar, fuzzy beats and squeaky sample. 'Ship' is a head-nodding, freestyle MC show with bedroom grime influences. Heck, there's even an ode to a calculator on here. Eclectic yes, madcap yes, but crucially, enjoyable yes. Darker My Love - 2 'Uppers & Dark Downers' 8/10 Darker My Love have a delicate late-night, stoner quality to their album '2'. It nestles happily in the reverb heavy mix of pysch. and rock. Album opener 'Northern Soul' comes on like good-era BRMC with an injection of Jim Morrison. 'Two Ways Out' is Supergrass circa 'I Should Coco' drowning in loveable and lethargic fuzz. 'White Composition' is not far from MGMT's summertime swoon. The strings on 'All The Hurry & Wait' are the pyschedelic twist Noel Gallagher has been searching for on a track that starts like a lost Aliens number. Like fellow drug lovers The Warlocks on an 'up' day, '2' sounds large scale. It is squarely rock with a thick coat of pysch, rather than the other way round. It veers towards mogadon territory in places but belies its pop-rock heart. Album highlight 'Talking Words' draws the album towards its close. It's a foggy trawl through reverbia, taking in the best that BRMC could ever muster and letting it loose in a playground full of West coast hippies. If that's not appealing imagery then this one's not for you. Delta Spirit - Ode To Sunshine 'Southern-fried Sunshine' 8/10 Delta Spirit bring soul to the alt.rock, alt.country party. They are equal parts Cold War Kids and healthy fascination with Gram Parsons. They are a sun-flecked Kings of Leon with a dash of Dylan and have an uncanny knack of sounding like Southern-fried Strokes. The dancing piano of `Strange Vine' recalls the Walkmen, the tortured vocal of `People C'Mon' the Veils, albeit with a stomping injection of soul. Some tracks reproduce Songs in A&E's template of simple done well, though these are much sunnier. Delta Spirit are not afraid to rock out, `Streetwalker' is pure Stones. Elsewhere they harness Doves' pounding relationship between galloping drums and bass. Ode To Sunshine neither fears borrowing Americana's harmonica nor Band of Horse's sense of heart on sleeve. The album is as happy is gentle acoustics (Tomorrow Goes Away) as it is in rocking yet restrained anthems. Ode To Sunshine harnesses all of these influences and yet still sound unique, what it is ever-present is the thorough dusting of sun-blessed, West-coast, Southern-sounding, alt.country and rock. All that is missing is a failing to capture the excitement of the live show on the record, but that only serves to make the live show truly special.
Record of the Week The Low Anthem – Oh My God, Charlie Darwin “Knowing Country For Old And Young Men Alike” 8/10 Americana is experiencing a sustained period of popularity, and it is thanks to albums like this. Charlie Darwin takes Dylan’s stoic harmonica and introduces it to the Eels knack for storytelling. They then layer that sound with a smattering of finger plucking before heading out to the barn with Tom Waits to jam until the sun rises. This album has the uncanny ability to recall an alt.folk hoedown and yet allow for moments of rarely heard, restrained introspection. Gentle, title track ‘Charlie Darwin’ recalls a more melodic Band of Horses or a falsetto My Morning Jacket. This pretty voice is all the more gruffer for the stomping ‘Horizon Is A Beltway’ and positively growling and unrecognisable for the moonshine-soaked square-dance that is ‘Home I’ll Never Be’. ‘Ticket Taker’ is pure Everett of Eels fame and could well have come from their sparse and tragic ‘Blinking Lights’ album. It also witnesses use of the much-undervalued clarinet. ‘Champion Angel’ comes on like an early Kings of Leon record, before they went all stadium: stately in its Southern flavour and liberal harmonica. The Low Anthem hail from Rhode Island but their home is distinctly less Eastern-seaboard and more Mid-Western. The double indication lies in album closer ‘To Ohio (Reprise)’ and second track ‘To Ohio’, which start in Louisiana before heading North. Certain tracks are a little plodding and in isolation would struggle to captivate the listener (Cage The Songbird), but serve The Low Anthem as a satisfying, if uneventful, canvas on which to paint the stronger numbers. ‘Omgcd’ brings the album full circle, ending it in gentle, nodding strumming. The handclap percussion only adds to the warm production. Darwin amazed the world with his theory of evolution and whilst this titular homage (and pun) may not have quite the same profundity, I think he would have thought it nevertheless a rather handsome beast, a product of natural selection, having opted to take the best bits of its stellar peers and use them to their alt.folk, country-stained advantage. Other reviews Deer Tick – War Elephant “Tick” 7/10 Two major genre influences craft War Elephant into an alt.country, indie-rock experience. McCauley is both responsible for the nasal, bluegrass hum as well as each of the instruments here present. He finger-plucks with the best of them, and toys with pedals and snare to pleasing Van Morrison effect throughout. The opening trinity of tracks is excellent, catchy and full of moonshine gruffness. ‘Ashamed’ is so damn alt.country it should come with its own spittoon, the slide guitar of ‘Art Isn’t Real’ exemplary for the genre. ‘Standing At The Threshold’ is a good as Two Gallants ever managed with similar material. This track also introduces the indie-rock shuffle, which accompanies many of the others. Whilst hinting sporadically at Neil Young, Bob Dylan and on ‘Long Time’ at a Velvet Underground raised away from heroin, War Elephant’s middle section is uneventful and drag the album out needlessly to a flabby 48 minutes. ‘Baltimore Blues’ is predictable, as is ‘Sink or Swim’. ‘Those Old Shoes’ however is a pulsing, prairie-beat toe-tapper. ‘Not So Dense’ witnesses the electric guitar punctuation heard fleetingly elsewhere. ‘Christ Jesus’ and the cover of ‘What Kind of Fool Am I?’ shows McCauley is more than just smoky beards and bourbon and the former belies a lo-fi Cobain, the execution of the track however sadly leans it toward pastiche. The latter is an honest if unnecessary croon worthy of the material. That said, War Elephant is an achievement by anyone’s standards. That it was written when McCauley was just 19 is remarkable. When he can add life-experienced, true blues to his burgeoning repertoire of commendable Americana he may well be very special indeed. Red Light Company – Fine Fascination “Green Light For Success” 6/10 Whilst there is nothing ostensibly wrong with Fine Fascination, there is a constant nag that although singles like ‘Scheme Eugene’ and ‘With Lights Out’ are hands-in-the-air, enjoyable pop-rock, this is an album very much designed to shift units rather than push boundaries. There is nothing wrong with this sort of honesty, but the lingering body-of-the-iceberg-rather-than-the-tip feeling casts an insidious shadow across Red Light Company’s radio-and-dancefloor friendly material. There are dollops of Editors-sized post-pop-rock to be found here, nuggets of U2 indulgence there. Sadly for Red Light Company, so many bands can achieve infectious indie-rock that they will not stand out with this otherwise earnest effort. Arcade Fire were a success because they jittered from template to template, tempo to tempo, throwing in a string section to boot. The margin between such bands is unfortunately too great to garner RLC anything more than passing attention. This said, their collection is pleasing in blockbuster-movie kind of way. There is little to get, as such the smiles that their spiky guitars and polished vocal cadences muster are entirely deserved and innocent. With the right marketing Red Light Company cannot fail to sell well even though their sound is approaching well-trodden. The path most often chosen is chosen for a good reason, that we musn’t forget, though the path less trodden is often the more interesting. Teitur – The Singer “… -Songwriter” 6/10 Teitur is more than he lets on. Firstly, he is more than a singer. He is an able singer-songwriter. And his pleasant sounding mélanges of piano, horns and percussion are under-laid with menacing double bass strings. ‘You Should Have Seen Us’ even sounds like the Jaws attack sequence! The vocals are often equally disturbing. ‘Of course I’ll break your heart’ he repeats on ‘Your Great Book’. The title track opens with him declaring ‘I always had the voice, and now I am a singer’, which is true. However, his voice on this opener is debatable to the point of Antony Hegarty. It is a little nasal and wearisome on the ear, but happily, elsewhere it is less so. The Singer suffers from never being more than a plain template, generously festooned in placed with an arsenal of instruments to supplement his tales of love and loss. Certain moments are left disappointingly barren of bedecking and the result is immemorable songcraft. Where the dressing works though, The Singer is a worthy listen. The xylophone, horns and reeds of ‘Catherine The Waitress’ culminate to a poppy, catchy tale similar to that of Aberfeldy or Belle & Sebastian. In general, however, this is a collection more mute than those fey comparisons. There is a knowing, Nordic restraint to these tracks. It appeals to the listener in the way that a documentary might, offering a snapshot insight into another world. There is however an obtrusive distance in documentary-making that separates the audience from the production, and that niggles the listen. Teitur has embraced brass as openly as Beirut, but where he stamps an identity onto his, Teitur’s are anonymous. Brass may be foreign to his native Faroe Islands or his adopted Denmark, but some statement of origin would have lifted this collection from anonymous to orchestral. Howling Bells – Radio Wars “Casualty Of Conflict” 5/10 What made the eponymous debut great was its menacing blend of mildy gothic pop-rock and hints at alt.country. The debut was brooding and haunting, the sound was PJ Harvey enjoying a knees up with Josh Homme, the Cocteau Twins spinning in the background. In retrospective brutality, that debut has not aged well and sounds a little MOR in comparison to some of today’s experimental and challenging luminaries. Yet, stand out tracks still stand out. The bombastic induce yawning indifference. Radio Wars does not differ from this template. All that has changed is the ratio of pop to rock. Where previously Stein convulsed with meaning now she coos passively. Like the debut, Radio Wars’ stand out moments appeal. ‘Cities Burning Down’ welcomes back the trademark menace, the latter half of the title track is sinister melody embodied. ‘Into The Chaos’ picks up where ‘Low Happening’ left off, but is neutered in comparison. The weaker tracks on the album are sadly bland to the point of banality. ‘Nightingale’ is a cadent pop-rock piece, delivered lethargically. ‘Let’s Be Kids’ reintroduces the shoe-gazy element of the debut, vocally recalling the Cocteau Twins afresh, but it’s a pity these lyrics are so trite. The musical backdrop is frustrating indie Muzak. ‘Golden Web’ is an inadvisable and wistful duet, which embraces lost love against a spider and fly analogy. Radio Wars is not a bad album, let that be clear. In fact, it is a lot better than initial listening suggests. The good does indeed outweigh the bad, but the so-so outweighs both. The problem with promise is sustainability. It is rare to achieve commercial and critical success and Radio Wars appears to have aimed to please the former rather than the latter. Only time will tell if the radio bites.
Record of the Week Emmy The Great – First Love “Deserved Egotism” 8/10 Earlier in her career Emmy played with Noah And The Whale and the stint grounded her in pop-folk but she has trumped their radio-friendly but bland attempt hands down with ‘First Love’. This is a cadent and largely acoustic album replete with tales of love and loss, strings, piano and acoustics. ‘We Almost Had A Baby’ is a near-danceable, tragic waltz, backed with endearing ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’. Neat little couplets pepper the lyrics and Emmy obligingly, if egotistically if we are judge by her name, coos them across the record. The heartfelt and well-executed homage to Leonard Cohen on ‘First Love’ (even sampling lyrics from ‘Hallelujah’) is the unquestionable highlight. ‘Dylan’ falls just on the right side of the annoying / catchy fence and encourages bouts of smiling and toe-tapping consequently. There’s some Laura Marling in here for sure, but there’s more of Emmy herself, and it is because she has stamped so much of herself all over the tracks that they succeed. Such an amiable presentation of herself and her song writing is irresistibly charming and will compel her wide-hearted followers to instantly and indefinitely love few others. Emmy has perhaps even introduced some to their first, and last, true love. Other Reviews Andrew Bird – Noble Beast “Beauty & The Beast” 7/10 Like all good folk-influenced music, Bird has crafted an album which places great importance on the lyrics. What is more unusual is that his tales veer towards the nonsensical, yet still compete for recognition with the rich musical backdrop. This is experimental folk-pop, if such a thing exists. It’s possible that this genre could be the noble beast of which Bird speaks, as there is a certain dignity in his assonatic poetry and the way it mixes with his warm acoustics. However, there is equally a strong sense of beauty to compliment this figurative, noble beast. The violins embrace the often-plucked rhythms, the handclap-resembling percussion partners the touch of Morricone effortlessly, which drifts across ‘Masterswarm’. ‘Fitz & Dizzyspells’ hints at The Shins and ‘Nonmenclature’ confirms it. ‘Not A Robot, But A Ghost’ even recalls a lo-fi Radiohead, circa ‘Amnesiac’. These are complex tracks with distorted pop at their charming heart. They envelop the listener with comfortable warmth, but may be too comfortable, allowing the experience to bypass the indifferent listener unaffected. There could be a case for having trimmed a couple of weaker numbers to allow that which remained to be the more memorable, but nevertheless Bird’s lush beast is still a beauty. Wintersleep – Welcome To The Night Sky “Not Yet Stars” 7/10 Yawnsome, adolescent poetry album title aside, Wintersleep have consistently made indie rock with ideas of grandeur. Album opener ‘Drunk On Aluminium’ is as good an example as any and opens in post-rock abandon before slowing to introduce a vocal equally reminiscent of (good era) Snow Patrol and Editors’ work. As true artists know, there is as much beauty in knowing when to hold back as there is in knowing when go for it. Wintersleep employ quiet / loud / quiet tactics to satisfying effect throughout, break into bass lines as catchy at those that Franz Ferdinand employ so regularly here, and hitting the caesural breaks there. Luckily, Wintersleep have mastered these balances. ‘Welcome To The Night’ was originally released in their native Canada in 2007, and that is ultimately the album’s biggest failing. Calling it dated would be to do it an injustice, but to call it groundbreaking would be equally so. To compensate for this, the band have added two bonus tracks for the UK release, but sadly they do not mask the slight sense of having heard all their earnest hooks before. They often seem to have been written specifically to soundtrack poignant moments in programmes like Scrubs, where the camera pans wide and the credits roll after 30 seconds of directorially induced melancholy. That said, this is a collection worth investing a little time in. ‘Weighty Ghost’ has a gentle alt.folk feel, far from the indie or post-rock moments which line the album elsewhere. ‘Astronaut’ as many have noted is equal parts REM and Editors. ‘Oblivion’ is modern, dancefloor-filling indie-rock of merit, some later tracks even hints at Neutral Milk Hotel, though that could just be the general Canadian-ness of the experience as a whole. Hotpants Romance – It’s A Heatwave “Hot Under The Collar And Cuffs?” 6/10 Three girls, three chords and little else it would appear on a first listen. This is super lo-fi garage rock, complete with oiksome exclamation and daft, spoken requests for ‘sugar hits’. The twelve tracks are finished in no time at all and leave behind them a whirlwird of energy. There is a commendable simplicity about their delivery but integrity-wise, questions must be asked as to their sustainability. 20 minutes is luckily enough of this brattish racket. Hotpants Romance however do have a certain appeal, just at the garment in question do. Though, like the micro-short, the appeal will be limited. Like Jay Reatard? Then give these girls ago. At the very least they’re prettier to look at, despite their shambling song construction and screaming vocals. By all rights, this release should have been Japanese. All that has really been substituted is schoolgirl outfits for lamé hotpants (if the cover is to be trusted) and I’d be disappointed if wrong. Equally, I’d be disappointed if on ‘Blow My Fuse’ the girls don’t indeed rhyme the song title with the peculiar request to ‘Pull My Pubes’. Strange, appealing but not for everyone, welcome to the world of Hotpants. J Tillman – Vacilando Territory “Blue Ridged Folk” 7/10 If you are desperate for new Fleet Foxes material then Tillman’s album could stand you in very good stead. It is no coincidence that there are large similarities as Tillman is the drummer for the band. This is not a carbon copy of his band’s material however, despite the near-a cappella harmonies on the familiar ‘First Born’ and ‘Blue Ridge Mountain’-like chord progressions of ‘James Blues’. Tillman’s voice is equally as soothing as Fleet Foxes’ Pecknold, his acoustic, folk guitar equally as poised and haunting. Where the albums differ is that Tillman has a long precedent of solo material and his maturity shows. There are no overblown, baroque moments here. This is Nick Drake unplugged, or the product of a very lonely Neil Young. Either way it is an internalised Fleet Foxes, a shyer affair, a Bon Iver reluctant to leave happy isolation. By no means indispensable, thanks to almost certain eclipsing by Fleet Foxes, Tillman has nevertheless produced a album with aching beauty (Laborless Land) and reverence for all that is good about folky, bluesy Americana.
Record of the Week The Joy Formidable – A Balloon Called Moaning “No Complaints – A Joy From Start To Finish” 9/10 Thanks to commendably free distribution of the EP last year, half of this much-anticipated album is already well cemented in my heart. That it comes in a hand-made, screen-printed box set seems equally a present as a purchase. The Joy Formidable hit lady-fronted, anthemic, indie-rock gold with each of those EP tracks, ‘The Greatest Light Is The Greatest Shade’ highlights one of many paradoxes on the album. It is both wonderfully understated yet also completely over the top; it takes the listen from depression to hands-in-the-air chest-beating in one gloomily opulent step. Ritzy Bryan’s repetitive vocals drive the track forward menacingly and equally drive the record deep into the psyche. ‘Cradle’ is a natural extension, more urgent that the opener and punctuated by choice ‘oohs’ to back the ear-filling sound and pedal-filled love in. ‘Austere’ is mildly more tender, yet still full of spikes and fuzz. Finally, ‘While The Flies’ is a huge statement of intent that takes White Lies insipid gloom and injects it with a steroid-infused boost of optimism. ‘Whirring’ starts the newer material, running with the established torch, and it’s a colossal call to arms which should capture the heart of every discerning indie-club goer with its spectral shimmy. ‘9669’ is a change of pace, a acoustic led ballad of loss which features a complimentary and touching duet, ‘The Last Drop’ showcases their potential if not their variety. Again, Bryan’s vocals make the track, stripped to the point of nihilism yet quintessentially urging, appealing to everyone’s wide-eyed rock-star dream. It seems a happy surprise to her that ‘it’s all around me’ presumably referring to the now hoards of adoring indie kids. Album closer, ‘Ostrich’ is a slow burn, reverb-heavy anthem for those that would shy away from it all, an extending of supporting arms, an understanding and haunting riff picked out as a positive lifeline to stygian fanatics. An oppressive joy from start to finish, ‘A Balloon Called Moaning’ soars into contention with no complaint. Other Reviews Beirut – March Of The Zapotec / Holland “Cosmopolitan Foreigner” 7/10 Condon remains a precocious talent on this split release. I expected each CD to be complete albums, but the split has not been approved for length reasons, rather style differences. Weighing it at no more than 40 minutes for the two releases strongly indicates that these are pills to be taken simultaneously, despite their differences. ‘March Of The Zapotec’ continues the Mexican death-march stylings, plodding bass and all, and it refrains from such heavy harpsichord-embracing as heard on ‘The Flying Club Cup’ and again weaves a little gypsy square-dance into the rich tapestry. So far, so Beirut. Whilst it would be hard to argue that ‘March …’ is as exciting as ‘The Gulag Orkestar’, it is still a very listenable collection. ‘Holland’ showcases Condon’s latent talent being a composed collection of bedroom electronica recorded under his early-teen moniker of Realpeople. The sound is as warm as elsewhere and his voice so welcome a spanning of the material that it ties the two halves together seamlessly, as does the slight legacy of harpsichord! I have read someone wittier than I describe ‘Holland’ as the most foreign of Beirut’s current repertoire, which is peculiar for an American called Beirut, equally influenced by Mexican brass, French harpsichord and Balkan dance. However, I do see his point, the electronica is complimentary without argument, completely unobtrusive, but it feels less special and that disappointment felt is foreign to Condon’s work to date. First Aid Kit – Drunken Trees “What A Way To Make A Living” 7/10 ‘Drunken Trees’ is an 8-track mini-album full of sweet, lady-voiced folk. First Aid Kit comprise of Swedish teenage sisters and they peddle a fine line in swoonsome acoustica. Currently, they are most famous for covering the Fleet Foxes ‘Tiger Mountain Peasant Song’ and, faithful and pleasing rendition as it is, one can’t but get the feeling they are about to become famous in their own right, no matter the beardy shadow cast across their peer group. ‘You’re Not Coming Home Tonight’ has a toe-tapping country feel to it, daring to talk of hallowed ‘9 to 5’ routines. ‘Jagadamba, You Might’ has a little vocal menace to the strumming and ‘Our Own Pretty Way’ comes close to recalling Neko Case. These are melodic, melancholic tales of love and loss and entirely suitable for discerning-campfire listening. A little keyboard and a driving bass line (Cross Oceans) lifts later tracks out of acoustic dependence but the whole is still comfortably lazy listening. ‘Drunken Trees’ has an aching beauty at its heart, much like the Fleet Foxes do, but they perhaps lack the depth the latter muster. What they do possess is resonance and First Aid Kit seem perfect for mending many a broken heart. This is music to fall in love to rather than with, a perfect accompaniment to that walk along the beach when you first took a special someone’s hand. Entirely satisfying but frustratingly ephemeral, ‘Drunken Trees’ 8 tracks are over before they began, and as such practically demand an extended stay in the player. Those Dancing Days – In Our Space Hero Suits “I’d Have Preferred Birthday …” 6/10 Those Dancing Days have produced an upbeat, poppy collection that recalls Ida Maria throughout, though less angsty and at times more wistful. For the most part ‘In Our Space Hero Suits’ is a charming, earnest listen and brings equal parts smile and toe-tapping fun to the party, but there is a nagging throughout that the record as a whole misses bite. That said, ‘Run Run’ is a worthy, catchy highlight which is infectious enough to cause sporadic bouts of unconscious dancing, which surely was the intention. Jönsson vocals have a serious timbre to them, which recall chart-friendly chanteuse Duffy et al. That Those Dancing Days comprise of 5 Swedish, practically teenage girls is appeal enough and that, along with their credible indie pop, will earn them quite a following, but does not appease the earlier nag, ‘Actionman’, for example, is anonymous in its naivety. These girls possess a confidence by which is difficult not to be swept along, the keyboard is considered where it could have been thick, the drums and bass all complimentary and in fact in being so polished they probably missed a trick, as everyone likes a little bit of rough. Too sweet, you see, and there is the real risk of gagging. The Deer Tracks – Aurora “Borealian Beauty” 8/10 Aurora is as impressive as its Borealian comparison suggests, a collection of shimmering, post-rock folktronica. Each track-onset is grounded in glitchy, ambient electronica, often building into outrageously unintelligible crescendos. Sigur Ròs must surely approve, Mew must think they have been burgled and M83 must already be reaching for the mixing desk. This is a collection less classical than, say, ‘Takk …’ but the thanks are entirely ours, the output less frosty, more classic than classical. Warm glockenspiel plays happily in ‘Before The Storm’, but it is album opener ‘Yes, This Is My Broken Shield’ which is the true highlight, every bit as moving as Hoppípolla, every bit as intriguing as a Cocteau Twins release. The beauty of the artwork matches the music, the cover’s stark silhouette as black and white as the direction in which these tracks are leading, the origamic pop-up, which delivers the CD in the digipak, equally breathtaking.
So I'm a few days late with this one apologies ... Record of the Week Antony & The Johnsons - The Crying Light "Crying Tears Of Happiness" 9/10 If `The Johnsons' was a weak stab at genitalia-based humour, the tears shed on this album are therefore ones of `happiness'. Joking aside, Antony Hegarty's beauty contained in `The Crying Light' is sufficient to reduce the listener to warm tears. The music possesses that same warmth that only Richard Hawley can imbue in a piece, the vocals are finally well pitched. Where I Am a Bird Now squawked and screeched, `The Crying Light' coos. Yes, Hegarty still sounds like a eunuch minstrel, but the fingers-down-chalkboard grating that some detractors identified in early work is here toned down into a soothing warble. As is the music, and the two are well suited. `The Crying Light' is more mute than earlier work, in parts more restrained and elsewhere much richer thanks to calling in favours from his classical friends. It is pitched more squarely, away from the contemporary edge, and as such is less challenging than the debut and all better for it. The orchestral inclusions: the piano, the alternating light and menacing strings, the woodwind: all are perfect for Sunday-morning paper reading and quiet but soaring introspection. That alone should supply enough to decide whether a purchase is required. `Another World' and `Daylight & The Sun' are piano-led masterpieces, every bit as beautiful as Nick Cave's No More Shall We Part, the latter perhaps one of the most poignant pieces ever committed to posterity. Hegarty's sublimely neutered, tear-jerking is present throughout. `Aeon' even embraces electric guitar to accompany the swelling sound, and there is no better example in Hegarty's work of his heart being firmly on sleeve. This is the sound of a man entirely comfortable with his ability and with himself. Antony Hegarty is a special talent that has finally matured to fruition. His Mercury-winning past was deserved, and this is one step beyond; mercury is also known as quicksilver, and now `The Crying Light' can be synonymous with gold. Other Reviews Blitzen Trapper - Furr “Cohesive Eclecticism” 8/10 Furr is a loving waltz through period Americana with Bob Dylan’s shadow cast long across the proceedings. The album starts in light pyschedelia, true RnB and organ rhythms, ‘Sleepytime in the Western World’ immediately recalls Manfred Mann’s cover of Dylan’s own “Quinn The Eskimo”. Title track ‘Furr’ is an exemplary drawl through Dylan’s laboured vocal strainings and anecdotal, rhyme-heavy folk. It is a tour de force in simple done well. The charm Blitzen Trapper evoke early in the album shines resplendently at all corner’s of ‘Furr’, showcasing toe-tapping, bluesy rhythms, and harmonica-flecked alt.country. This sunny homage to 60s and 70s Americana recalls fellow partisans Wilco and Ben Kweller, though the sound is always truer to the originals. Neil Young is constantly brought to mind, despite newer sounding number that gently alt.rock their harmonies through the speakers as heard on ‘Gold For Bread’ for example, which also hints at Fleetwood Mac’s most bluesy output. ‘Fire & Fast Bullets’ returns to pyschedlia-tinged garage-rock, ‘Black River Killer’ is pensive plucking of the highest order; ‘Love U’ is awash with pleasing harmonies and ‘Stolen Shoes & A Rifle’ is country, lonesome trail kind of stuff, again hinting at Fleetwood Mac, and Midlake for modern comparison. Blitzen Trapper have achieved the often difficult, producing an eclectic album that is at the same time cohesive. That glue is a love of Americana and its (bluegrass) roots. All that is missing is a fiddled, hoedown finale and for that we cannot really complain, as there is as much art it knowing when to hold off, as there is in knowing when to hit the (effects) pedal to the metal. Magic Magic - Magic Magic “Magic” 8/10 This eponymous release consists of ten earnest spirals of sun-kissed pop. Woozy, fall-in-love, walks-through-long-grass harmonies create an album as lazy and sunny as a whole afternoon with Ray Davies spent on Brian Wilson’s private beach. Album opener ‘Over Your Head’ is a melodic, folky gallop, ‘Sleepy Lion’ an endearing, pleasantly pounding track that recalls Ra Ra Riot, and Arcade Fire in its tempo changes. ‘Washington Or Bust’ is a smile-invoking, slow waltz that could be a future Slow Club release. Where the album is slightly let down is in its few moments or rambling filler, the bonus track is mildly annoying with its forced vocals and ukulele / banjo strains. ‘Talking Smoke’ is just anonymous. So special they named it twice, Magic Magic really are, nit-picking detractions aside. Titus Andronicus - The Airing Of Grievances “Neither Tragedy, Nor Comedy” 8/10 Fancy garage-punk and alt.country all on one record? Titus Andronicus did, and this concise opus is the result. Titus Andronicus sound like Cursive as a result, and quite often recall (m)any of the fractured beauties from the Saddle Creek stable. There is a respectful duplicity in the often-raw garage-punk fuzz and the wistful harmonica and steel strings of alt.country. ‘My Time Outside The Womb’ is a toe-tapping affair stained with Bright Eyes and a dark heart. ‘Joset Of Nazareth’s Blues’ recalls Rilo Kiley but that bit more abrasive. The self-titled ‘Titus Andronicus’ is a bouncy, shambly number which brings Black Lips to mind, their nihilist call to arms rings in the air long after the spinning stops, “Your life is over” the mantra. ‘No Future, Pt. 1’ is a poignant lament to that future-scape just described. Their control and clarity is commendable, only afterwards seeming to add the shambolic façade. This is a stripped album containing no excess, except perhaps in its members’ presumable, personal vice. Neither tragedy, nor comedy, Titus Andronicus are very serious contenders indeed.
Record of the Week The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart – S/T “Painless, Heartfelt Pop” 8/10 Pains (as I’ll call them from now on) love nostalgia. So much so that they appear not to have heard a record made after 1995, except perhaps for relistening to the re-released Shop Assistants album, originally from 1986. Such is their devotion to that year that one of the Shop Assistants, who featured on the NME’s influential C86 cassette, went onto form The Pastels, with whom comparison can surely be made. The fuzzy indie-pop on offer nestles comfortably with latter day artists Crystal Stilts and Manhattan Love Suicides in nostalgia, having absorbed the sort of jangly, smily, inoffensive indie qualities of, say, Belle & Sebastian on the way. ‘Contender’ buzzes along like a missing ‘Lost In Translation’ soundtrack number, all gentle fuzz and simple acoustic jangle. Early My Bloody Valentine and Jesus & Mary Chain influences reverb happily throughout. ‘Young Adult Friction’ and ‘Gentle Sons’ would play unnoticed between Stone Roses and Smiths records at any indie night club, unobtrusive in an entirely great way, the driving drums in the latter monumentally borrowed from the former of these artists. The drawback to this record is that it not only sounds like 1986 all over again, it also sounds a bit like the early 90s, the bits that didn’t sound like Nirvana, and did sound a bit like the beginnings of Britpop. Hence, ‘Come Saturday’ sounds a little too close to the Lightening Seeds, ‘Stay Alive’ a little closer to James. That said, this should not put the listener off, as, despite Pains’ unfortunate A-Level, poetry-club moniker and at-times-questionable sound, this harmless but effective pop record will warm the purest of hearts. Other Reviews Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavilion “Summertime Smiles” 8/10 Questions have been raised over the accessibility of this album but suffice it to say that Animal Collective fans will find this their most welcoming album to date. Their signature, psychedelic swoon is better honed on this album than ever before; their joyous brand of esoteric quasi-attainability is not easy to penetrate but worth the wait. ‘Summertime Clothes’ is a close to pop as Animal Collective have come, opening with Battles-like waves of nauseous squelching and like Battles’ opus ‘Atlas’, this track also comes replete with bubbling vocals, seemingly recorded underwater. The dancing, swirling, synthesised samples twinkle like deserved handclaps around this moment of catchy beauty. ‘Bluish’ is more of a restrained, comprehensible affair recalling the work of Mercury Rev circa ‘Deserter’s Songs’, but with a much larger vision for production. Album closer ‘Brother Sport’ is unsure what it wishes to be, part Paul Simon bandwagon, and part calypso freak-out: the sort of thing that Beetlejuice may play to get himself in the mood. This, like previous efforts, is thus an experimental album and one that converts will like or love, despite the flirting, near-conversion to alt. pop. ‘Lion In A Coma’ hints at dreamy, Deerhunter-like soundscapes, garbled layering notwithstanding. The vocals across the album have been used as an extra instrument, carrying rhythm rather than meaning and this complexity of production may leave come-latelies a little dry, unsure what to make of the more mute moments, which, in truth, pale only in comparison to dizzyingly-high highlights such as ‘Summertime Clothes’.
Other Reviews Thomas Tantrum – Thomas Tantrum “Petulant Pop’ 6/10 Like fellow female-fronted, art-pop rockers Help She Can’t Swim! and bubblegum punk- rockers Be Your Own Pet, Thomas Tantrum mine a squeaky, skittish, indie pop-rock vein with considered lyrics and inconsiderate yelps. There is a Britpop feel to the album evident in its chirpy guitars and Megan Thomas’ convincing mockney rendition of Damon Albarn and his ever-present charm. Album opener ‘Rage Against The Tantrum’ sounds like Echobelly, giving credence to this album being a worthy indie experiment, however, opinion will be divided on their true credentials. ‘Blasé’ strongly recalls Lily Allen’s socially commenting and observational brand of pop, although is must be said that Thomas is the more appealing option. As with most art-pop releases, (think Art Brut) the album undoes itself by trying to be two things at once. Part musical outlet for general creativity, part serious music project, the album becomes thin to the point of transparency. There is little substance. Art-pop is a scene to itself and like most art movements has little longevity. Thomas Tantrum is furthermore a dichotomy. I get the impression I’ve been dating this album during the last week, rather than listening to it; it’s sexy and intriguing in parts, thoroughly irritating in others. ‘Shake It! Shake It!’ and ‘Zig A Zag’ demonstrate this perfectly, the latter of these commendably borrows Stooges-lite guitars and drums to good effect. ‘Mum’s The Word’ is melancholic in its understatement and brings to mind what could have been. Less art and more application and they could have had a Britpop cover-version of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ previously inimitable ‘Fever To Tell’ on their petulant hands. White Williams – Smoke “Sadly Without Fire” 6/10 White Williams comes on very much like a Hot Chip and Beck collaboration, covering the T. Rex and Bowie back catalogues, which in principle sounds unmissable. ‘Smoke’, however, is a low-key party pop album, which combines sultry beats on ‘In The Club’ with funky but uneventful bass work ‘Going Down’. ‘New Violence’ opens suspiciously like ‘Gamma Ray’ and ‘Violator’ contains a stolen My Bloody Valentine-like drone sample, which while enchanting is equally perplexing. ‘Lice In The Rainbow’ is a downright incongruous slab of Gameboy-freaking-outery that is plainly annoying. Latter tracks like ‘We Know The Shadows’ are anonymous and remind the listener why Hot Chip aren’t more successful. ‘Smoke’ is acceptable in places, interesting in others, but mute overall. It lacks an ‘Over and Over’, it lacks sauce, and what is a Chip without sauce? The Mae Shi – Hillyh “Denied” 6/10 These fellows’ stock is high at the moment with their ‘hilarious’ Christian Bale ranting mash-up, which whatever your take on blog-bred opportunism, is not here present. Most of The Mae Shi’s tracks weigh in at little more than 2 minutes, with the title track, ‘Hillyh’ at 4, and an auspicious 11-minute punk-funk peak in ‘Kingdom Come’. Their madcap alt. rock is quite beguiling, and opens with a pleasant-enough 2-minute acoustic and handclap folky number, despite their best efforts to ruin it all with a 45 second hand-clap sponsored freak-out. To give ‘Hillyh’, its dues, it is an agreeable indie-rock number, but more interestingly allows for the first indications of what is to come to seep out onto the canvass. ‘Book Of Numbers’ and ‘Young Marks’ run into one another like two halves of the same track, the former is Americana influenced indie-rock and quite, quite listenable, the latter vocodes happily to create an emo sounding track, only with more bleeping, which calls to mind Klaxons remixing My Chemical Romance. ‘Party Politics’ sounds as shouty as ‘At The Drive In’ but poppier and with a dark looming of emo in the near falsetto vocals, though they’d never admit it. ‘I Get (Almost) Everything I Want’ looks emo in its parenthetical title, but actually reverts to album opener in its folk rock atmospherics, repetitive vocals and simple acoustics, drums and cymbals. This is an album suitable for those with ADD, and will give those over the age of fifteen a headache with its shifting tempos and mix of indie rock and jumpy keyboards. It is recorded at a furious pace, and is based in American Roots. The tracks however in their variety seem very alien from their forefathers, even in its language. 'Pwnd' is a crowd-splitting example. Just as Black Lips are clatteringly lo-fi, so are The Mae Shi, but to put the two in the same bracket would be to liken Black Sabbath and Tenacious D. One is serious but to the point of parody, and one is parody personified. The Mae Shi are knowingly oiksome, and embrace quirky aside and humour, but for all the shuddering with which I now ought to be convulsing, they do for the most part manage to pull it out of their odd-shaped bag. It’s just that behind their mostly esoteric adventure, there lacks a decent grounding in sustainability, one masked in an ethic that allows for zeitgeistial and questionable style to triumph over substance. It is with a distinct whiff of justice then that these lucky chancers will most likely find themselves in the bargain bin for years to come. Is their name a question? If so, 'denied' is my reply. Here’s to the next celebrity-blunder bandwagon boys! Spider & The Flies – Something Clockwork This Way Comes "Halloween Horror" 6/10 So, 'Spider' is Spider Webb of the Horrors; his Flies would appear to be an intimate collection of synthesizers, if this release is anything to go by. ‘Million Volt Light’ opens with a speeding, bleepy loop that increases the bpm to drone-level before breaking into a delicate but echo-y rise and fall rhythm. A distorted keyboard dances atop this knob twiddling throughout. A second keyboard strain continues the keyboard concentration, this time recalling Alton Tower's Haunted House theme music, which loiters apparition-like above the synthed beats. ‘Jungle Planet’ is more goth-like and returns Spider to familiar hunting grounds with an 80s, snare-heavy beat similar to Bauhaus' ‘In The Flat Field’, surely a bible for his career to date. This track breaks into furious and scratchy, industrial techno-like instrumentalism. The greatest problem though is here like elsewhere, as soon as the track gets anywhere, it finishes unceremoniously. It might have been better recording without track breaks to get the impression of coherency. ‘Space Walking’ is like Vitalic but darker. This is less ‘OK Cowboy’, and more ‘Hello, Rentboy’. It sees squelchy synths play with Dr. Who aping overlay, but ultimately it’s unexciting, despite the laser gunfight that distracts the ears. ‘Metallurge’ is a bizarre confrontation of Looney Tunes characters conducted in a Berlin techno factory, an Acme crash here, a dumbbell to the skull there and farting synths all the while. ‘Desmond Leslie’ sounds entirely like being on a launch pad for some space mission, all noise and no tune. ‘Teslabeat’ is a near-danceable, Trojan-ska-like shuffle like listening to a quality house party through a nearly soundproof wall; such is the muffle on offer. Final track ‘Autochrome’ is a sinister-house belter, which chases a synthy squeal around the menacing beats and would not be out of place on a Blade soundtrack, if the vampires liked low-grade MDMA as well as blood.
Record of the Week Telepathe – Dance Mother “Intangible But Attainable” 8/10 Telepathe use synths, keyboards, a drum-machine and little else to create an electronic, psychedelic rollercoaster, which, if asthmatic in its delivery, teases the listener in its Dave Sitek stamped, productive restraint. The tracks are too cool to break a sweat, indicating the likelihood of a static live show full of knowing nods, rather than the freaky dancing, which, in truth, could accompany this show, given the right drugs of course. And the album is rooted in the druggy. Its trance-like qualities come from slow rhythms, which pulse rather than shimmer. Early highlight ‘Trilogy: Breath Of Life’ induces an out-of-body-experience with its beats that recall Moloko circa ‘Tight Sweater’, and its otherworldly ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’. But Telepathe are more than like listening to the crowd at a firework display. It is in the restraint that they find beauty. The best writers know that less is often more and any lengthy wig-out would here seem flabby. This is a tight, but lazy sounding album and that is its art. The detractions come in the lack of memorable tracks, rather, there are just memorable moments, certain twists and extracts are well executed, but few tracks see that promise through to a meaningful conclusion. With a brutally honest condensing of the album, there would be a great EP’s worth of material, which over album has been spun out with tribal-trance electronica against an ambient-techno backdrop. ‘Michael’ is all drum-machine and effortless guitar-riff. It recalls the Joy Formidable in its hypnotic vocal cadence and loop, which peculiarly point the track in the direction of alt. pop. Gang Gang Dance are a valid comparison at this point. ‘Lights Go Down’ is beats and sounds like Glass Candy if they’d embraced dub-step rather than 80s disco. ‘Can’t Stand It’ introduces a synth that could or could not be distorted gospel, a stark bass-line and Cocteau Twins ethereality, which can further be heard in parts of ‘Chrome’s On It’. The smile-inducing refrain of “You know it could be so much better …” from ‘Can’t Stand It’ rings poignant, depending on the definition of ‘better’. If ‘better’ would be to remove this album’s coquettish beguilement for the sake of commercial success, then it would be a long way from ‘better’, but if it were to give a understated, sweeping, shoegaze-like classic as it promises throughout, then that would be ‘better’ with a capital B. Like a grand-staircase entry to some ballroom, ‘Dance Mother’ sways only gently at its centre. Pretty and dignified in its isolation, but not what it could have been. Other Reviews Phantom Band – Checkmate Savage “Wildly Inventive” 8/10 This squarely indie release comes on like a less twee Frightened Rabbit, but then devolves into a more complex animal. The synths and howls of the appropriately named ‘Howling’ mean more to this album that the pronounced Scots accent that warms its environs like a late night whiskey. The foreboding drums of ‘Burial Sounds’, chants and moog synths of ‘Folk Song Oblivion’ all betray the album’s progressive and psychedelic qualities. The latter of these two tracks later breaks into a less oppressive number and resembles dawn breaking from an inky night. With the refrain mention of ‘mountainsides’, we are swiftly returned to all things bucolic, as the track name may suggest. ‘Crocodile’ is a lengthy instrumental, which opens with five minutes of building percussion that recalls a frog chorus with its choice of wood instruments. The break, five minutes in, introduces a post-rock sentiment to the fabric, which earlier brooded and simmered to the boil. ‘Checkmate Savage’ embraces the eclectic and ‘Halfhound’ opens with a bluesy-rock riff before evolving into a lolloping pysch. rock beast. And the eclecticism continues, looking for the Scottish reply to Fleet Foxes ‘White Winter Hymnal’? Then, look no further than ‘Island’, a part prog, part folk masterpiece. ‘Checkmate Savage’ features an upside-down hallway on its cover, and whilst this album will not turn its listeners’ world so dramatically, it may well sufficiently jostle him into consciousness during these cold, winter months. Sebastien Grainger & The Mountains – Sebastien Grainger “The Eagle Has Landed” 7/10 Mr. DFA 1979 makes a pop-rock record. Whilst released on Saddle Creek it doesn’t sound like it, presumably missing out on the inimitable production values of Mike Mogis. Nevertheless, there is enough to savour on this release, which is due in part to Grainger’s ability to write a distorted pop song. He did so with DFA 1979 on ‘You’re a Woman …’ and he does so again here, though admittedly this is one giant leap further toward pop, despite containing echoes of his former work. ‘Who Do We Care For?’ sounds surprisingly like Supergrass circa ‘I Should Coco’, ‘I Hate My Friends’ is devilishly catchy thanks to its Rolling Stones-like licks and chin jutting. Whilst pop, there are plenty of crossovers into danceable punk, and these highlights twinned with Grainger’s often tortured whelp (turned way down from ‘You’re A Woman …) recall Jaguar Love’s 2008 album ‘Take Me To The Sea’. The comparisons don’t stop there, Jaguar Love also having spawned from harder backgrounds. But DFA 1979 fans needn’t fear, as Blood Brothers fans didn’t – this album wasn’t written for them, nor will it especially appeal, being rather mute in comparison. This is not to say that the album is poor, far from it. ‘(Are There) Ways To Come Home’ introduces a moog-driven lament, ‘American Names’ is a stirring call to arms, closer to ‘You’re A Woman …’, and ‘Renegade Silence’ would not sound out of place on a Radio 4 (punk-funk stalwarts not the snoozesome radio emission) album. So variety in abundance, just a lack of depth, this album sails by happily and without real complaint. Pity then that his previous mountains were that bit higher. The Devastations – Yes, U “Who, me?” 6/10 Unforgivable text-speak aside, The Devastations last outing with ‘Coal’ was a heartfelt, gravely voiced nightcap of an album, which strongly recalled the Tindersticks at their finest. ‘Yes, U’ is a different proposition, which takes the listener time to warm to, such is the variance from their previous offering. Nevertheless, it contains plenty of noteworthy moments, despite album opener ‘Black Ice’ starting like a soft-porn soundtrack with its lazy, soft, synthy beats and percussion. Luckily, this track then evolves into a sultry shuffle, which gets the toes a-tapping to Standish’s catchy rhetoric, ‘Is this some kind of slow dance?’ ‘Oh Me, Oh My’ recalls Super Furry Animals at their most minimalist, ‘The Face Of Love’ evokes Nick Cave circa ‘Murder Ballads’. Its touch of piano brings a spot of class to proceedings. ‘An Avalanche Of Stars’ sees Standish embody Jarvis Cocker and twins his sardonic drawl with Pulp’s lazy, pop constructions. The track that most recalls ‘Coal’ is the slightly saccharine, ‘The Saddest Sound’, which is an effortless, emotive ballad. The problem lying within this album is its anonymity. Each time after listening, it takes a moment to remember who it was that has played. ‘The Pest’ is neither memorable, nor annoying as the title suggests, ‘Misericordia’ an instrumental closer that leaves the listener indifferent. Perhaps the album title is there to jolt the listen into memory, more likely a plea to the same end. ‘Yes, U’ is harmless and enjoyable, an unobtrusive soundtrack to your chore of choice. The Black House – Postcards From An Abandoned Hotel “Abandon Ships!” 3/10 I obtained this album on the recommendation it would please fans of Nick Cave, and latter day Johnny Cash. Whilst it is difficult to review material objectively with these stately spectres as reference, my first thoughts were that such comparison was so misguided as to border on insult. And, my thoughts didn’t change with repeat and laboured listening. The Black House is a collection of short stories that focuses on crimes that are beyond persecution, and whilst it would be unfair to make the obvious slight towards this band of the same name, it would not be entirely unjustified. The vocals are often horribly off-key, and in places clunk awkwardly, such as in the crowbarred name-checking of ‘photographer Robert Mapplethorpe’. This luminary photographer, whose work features as the front cover to Patti Smith’s excellent ‘Horses’, must surely be displeased at the association. The majority of the tracks seem aimless, and little more than a boring shuffle. Their subject matter is often trite and jarring, the repetition of phrase is hackneyed, and clichéd allegory only further distances the listener, ‘travelling on different trains’, for example from the first track. It doesn’t get much better from this point onward, ‘Home’ is offensively bland, as is ‘Gone’. What saves the album from a worse rating is the odd flourish of promise, which is then quickly submerged again in flabby incredulity: the pretty guitar work for example in ‘Shadows’, the occasional moment where the vocals recall Stuart Staples, rather than some tone-deaf club-singer. This folky, acoustic, easy listening, singer-songwritten collection is so safe it should come with a warning; this album is not for the musically adventurous, nor the shrewd. There are many that do it much, much better. For starters, try Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave, Johnny Cash, the Tindersticks, the National, Gravenhurst, Nick Drake even.
Record of the Week Indian Jewelry - "Free Gold!" “Precious Stoner Jam” 8/10 “Free Gold!”, free punctuation aside, opens with ‘Swans’, a psychedelic stoner jam that strongly recalls the Warlocks at their most druggy. ‘Temporary Famine Ship’ features a heavily distorted vocal that floats over some Indian-themed guitar work. The stodgy pysch. rock at play suggests this is not recommended listening for your average Ting Tings fan. Recurrent droning interwoven with feedback and demented, distorted vocal samples and loops occur with high frequency and all lead to an album that is best savoured alone and indoors. Avoid listening to at night if you’re fond of sleeping easily, particularly ‘Hello Africa’, which features such a speed-freakily garbled vocal as to feed devil-searching conspiracy theorists for years to come. ‘Pompeii’ is an album highlight, and Crystal Stilts fans need look no further for their new favourite track. This dirge-like, Velvet Underground aping is twined with a super slow-motion, star-spangled banner-like riff, which drifts across its moribund optimism. The ever-present sonic fuzz of “Free Gold!” accompanies the listen well. Even where there are lulls in the intrigue, such as in lifeless album closers ‘Overdrive’ and ‘Seventh Heaven’, its presence seems to cement one track to another, and in such a way as to indicate the whole would not stand up without. Some commendable cymbal shimmering throughout ‘Overdrive’ does lessen the disappointment. Out of this fuzz, the album does however start to slowly reveal itself, emerging from the listless noise one naked limb at a time. In ‘Everyday’ we are given an easy point of access, its echo-y, female-led vocals linger prettily above the acoustic guitar work. However, it is in doom-laden tracks such as ‘Bird Is Broke (Won’t Sing)’ that the album is allowed to bask in its druggy glory, and here seems to soundtrack some art-house production, panning out gently to fade. “Free Gold!” is not for the unadventurous and has reached deep into it maker’s dark heart to produce a tribal collection of psychedelic jams, which are best kept to one’s self. This treat is not for sharing. Other Reviews Glass Candy – B/E/A/T/B/O/X “No Slouch” 8/10 This release is a long way from the band's early experiments with clattering new wave, punk-type music and is an altogether more elegant and refined affair than ‘Love Love Love’. All current Italians Do It Better releases are tricky to obtain but all are worth the pursuit, and this is no exception, as squelchy beats, filthy bass, and breathless-cum--glacial, semi-spoken lyrics, do an alt. disco classic make. More showy that Jewel's other band Chromatics, this album runs with the glacial-disco or nu-disco template but is a different beast to its shyer sister. Ida No's breathless, disinterested and sexy vocals are certainly a theme across the two records, but 'Night Drive' is entirely more laid back, one for the after show if you will. B/E/A/T/B/O/X caters for the full on midnight, hands-in-the-air crowd. 'Beatific' is the unquestionable highlight, part stomping disco-pop, part atmospheric anthem. The cover of Kraftwerk’s ‘Computer Love’ is steady as she goes, seductive to a note, as is ‘Life After Sundown’. A couple of less intriguing tracks, which I’ll label dance floor filler as oppose to killer, punctuate these tracks and draw the album to a close in ‘Last Night I Met A Costume’, where we leave the club satisfied, but wanting more, having been so thoroughly teased earlier in the evening. As unlikely a place as Portland is for an 80s Italian Disco revival, I can but only commend the results. The Sian Alice Group – 59:59 “Future Forgotten Classic” 7/10 Incorrectly labeled as post-rock, 59:59 clocks in just under the hour mark, thanks to protests from the label to produce a tight collection of tracks. There is a variety of minimalism on display throughout the album: understated loops, disinterested and ethereal vocals, simple piano repeats, hazy synths and a sustained build and release format. 59:59 comes Jason Pierce endorsed, and fans of his earlier material may find an awkward but happy home here, likewise Portishead fans that liked the industrial challenge of ‘Third’ may enjoy Sian Alice Group’s work. They mine a similar vein to both these artists, albeit more lo-fi than Spiritualized and less abrasive than ‘Third’. ‘Contours’ is true to its name, feeling like a fighter-jet flying over low terrain, but all in slow motion. The feel is reminiscent therefore of some ancient flight simulator you may have played on the Atari. ‘Motionless’ adds some welcome beats to this seemingly exclusive party, spicing up the near featureless landscape. The album is bleak for sure, but rewards the listener. It has a general coherency in its art that lends it toward the soundtrack genre, where the only complaint is that later tracks taper into esoteric mumbling, allowing the album to fall toward the future forgotten classic it may yet become. Thank You – Terrible Two “Occasionally Ideal” 6/10 Terrible two is a post-punk-rock aural challenge. ‘Empty Legs’ opens with rolling drums and whistles, before ushering in chanting bathed in battling and screeching guitar. ‘Embryo Imbroglio’ introduces some low fret scraping to mesmeric drumming and jittery guitar loops. It has a Japanese post-rock feel to its make up, but is less grandiose that, say, Mono. ‘Terrible Two’ is a mute, high-end of keyboard dirge to close the album, and follows ‘Pregnant Friends’, which opens with twee percussion as favoured by Tilly & The Wall before freaking out into a Lightening Bolt-like breakdown of drums and noises. Organs pulse sporadically throughout the album tying it together, and the assorted beats and loops that feature are oddly discordant yet pleasing. This is not an album to love, rather one to savour at opportune moments, and is perhaps ideal for scaring off your ex-wife when she comes to pick up the kids for the weekend. Atlas Sound – Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel “Comfortably Numb” 7/10 To tar Brandox Cox with the label ‘easy listening’ is to do him a grand injustice, but both his 2008 releases wash over the listener in such an aurally pleasing and unchallenging way that it is difficult to slap any other sticker on him. Like his Deerhunter album ‘Microcastle’, this album sounds lazy, but in an entirely commendable way, like it was recorded in shorts and straw hat. It sounds summery in a shoegaze-y way and laces dreamy qualities through a fuzzy, warm haze. The tracks seem to have an innate rhythm, and pulse gently accompanied by Cox’s acquiescent drawl. What ‘Let The Blind Lead …’ possesses that ‘Microcastle’ does not is a better sense of consistency, where all tracks are songs, rather than collections of ideas, and all compliment each other throughout, rather like Victorian gents doffing their caps respectfully to one another in the street. There is no reliance to fall into the overly experimental, which allows the album to fall comfortably under a straight ‘indie’ classification, with thorough nods to shoegaze. This has its drawbacks though, because where ‘Microcastle’ was more adventurous, it had the propensity to succeed. Granted it was hit and miss, but where it hit it was marvellous. ‘Let The Blind Lead …’ suffers consequently. The album lacks a standout moment, despite being an equally understated record that repays dedicated relistening in full. Both albums recall a more mute Grandaddy, failing to reach the same sense of abandon that ‘Sophtware Slump’ achieved, but humming along with the same drive to pleasantly please and to build layer-like with each listen. Sensory deprivation allows for acute perception elsewhere and in Atlas Sound Cox has produced a record above the ordinary, which leaves the listener comfortably numb, happily led by the deceptively simple but courageously effective experience.
Other Reviews Remember Remember – Remember Remember “I Just Might” 7/10 Mogwai stable-mate Graeme Ronald will not eclipse his fellow Scot peers with this album, but does provide a relaxing alternative to their sonic landscapes. This is the sound of a Sunday morning in a house with good taste. The entirely instrumental sound laps gently at the soul, appropriately sounding like running water on ‘The Swimming’. It caresses the ears with blissed out guitars and loops, but away with such cliché. Remember Remember are not rewriting the book but their instrumental, post-rock quasi-electronica adds an interesting, urban orchestra-like addendum. The layered samples of guitar, clarinet, percussion, wind-up toys (don’t let it put you off), synths, glockenspiels and so on might seem too strong a concoction for most constitutions, but the sound, although complex feels optimistic, complimentary and lush – like a retiring friend who knows what to say and when. Mogwai do leave an indelible imprint on the album, and their guiding hand and influence can be felt throughout, so much so as to even credit Stuart Braithwaite’s rhythmic handclaps in the liner notes, but this work is entirely Ronald’s and equally of merit, deserving to stand greater than as an anecdote in their tale. Deerhunter – Microcastle “Shot Through The Heart” 9/10 To tar Deerhunter with the label ‘easy listening’ is to do them a grand injustice. The album however does sound very lazy, but in an entirely great way, like it was somehow recorded with all the switches only turned up to nine. It sounds summery and laces dreamy, peculiar qualities through that fuzzy, warm haze. Grandaddy’s ‘Sophtware Slump’ is an immediate point of reference, as is The Shins entire catalogue. The tracks often seem to have an innate rhythm, and this is exacerbated in ‘Agoraphobia’ by assonatic vocals, which elsewhere are gently distorted to further recall alt. heroes Grandaddy. These influences point the album toward its natural hunting grounds of pop, but a dark shimmer lurks in the shadows that can only be accredited to the shoe-gazing fraternity, and it allows the album’s insular qualities to appear. Also in the shadows, is Brandon Cox’ tendency to embrace the musical anecdote, ‘Green Jacket’ leaves the path well trodden and enters ‘aside’ country. This murky domain of the interlude and skit, here hosts a mid-section of tracks, rather than songs, which make the album difficult to love yet compliment the whole seamlessly, the evocative spoken sample in ‘Saved By Old Times’ seems irrelevant yet wholly congruous. This understated record matures with each listen and repays dedicated relistening in full. As such, it is not an immediate album, which should serve as praise enough, as good records very rarely are. Cox was a busy boy in 2008, first releasing under the name of ‘Atlas Sound’ and this at the end of the year, and his output rightly garnered much positive attention. Its only detraction is that is not a little more heavyweight, not quite punchy nor quirky enough to warrant the use of ‘classic’. The album like the sound is best summed up by being nine out of ten, but despite that missing tenth, what has been achieved is a joy to share - easy and rewarding listening therefore. All The Saints – Fire On Corridor X “Heavenly Hellfire” 8/10 Opening track ‘Sheffield’ does not give an accurate feel of what is to come. It opens with staccato drumming and a very convincing impression of listening to alt. heroes Cursive. As enjoyable as listening to Cursive is, the fuzzy guitars belie the pysch. rock ride to come. And boy, then Ride do come, template-like in the mesmeric drumming, shimmering guitars and strong wafts of feedback on offer. Let it be said, that all the dials are squarely turned up to loud. This is heavy pysch. rock, and genre of choice for the Black Angels, if their vocalist had a smattering more Gallagher in him. And, speaking of swagger, it certainly does. The album comes on with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club style bolshiness, but never goes so far into parody as to draw comparison with, say, Kasabian. Like early BRMC, All The Saints are able to turn it down a notch successfully and sway shadow-like in their psychedelic firelight, as can be heard on the swimmy “Hornett” and acoustic led “Leeds”. Being label mates with A Place To Bury Strangers, pedal abuse comes as par for the course, but there is clarity in this production, missing in ‘APTBS’. The light-vocoding in ‘Regal Regalia’ allows the eponymous, chest-beating chant of “All the saints” to eschew egotism and embrace their strength of self-belief, the pedal fuzz serving only to support this heavy-weight affront. Despite sounding a lot like some of the aforementioned acts it must be said, and suffering in terms of overall variety, All The Saints do have a niche of their own at the heavier end of psychedelic rock, a niche that’ll suit small, dark venues with purple and green spots flickering intermittently with a lazy, drum-linked strobe. And, I‘ll be the one down the front looking bruised in the assault-coloured lightshow, but lapping up the punishment all the while.
Record of the Week Surf City - Surf City EP "Surf's Up!" 9/10 It is hard to fail with surf-rock riffs, a Jesus & Mary Chain inspired name and 1-2-3-4 vocals. Even harder with the channelled, lethargic energy of the Strokes, well placed “whoa ohs”, and a total sound that is reminiscent of intelligent indie rockers Tapes n’ Tapes having a knees-up with the Animal Collective, at the beach. And, Surf City don’t disappoint. ‘Headin’ Inside’ combines light feedback with ‘Is This It’, ‘Records Of A Flagpole Skater’ is the natural offspring of ‘Someday’, fed on a diet of sunshine. Its close harmony duetting, organ accompaniment, danceable, overlaid riffs and garage clothes worn over a poppy core amount to canned fun. ‘Dickshakers Union’ again embraces the surf-rock, opening with a galloping riff before settling into quick-tempo drums to produce something that resembles the poppiest moments of No Age’s catalogue. ‘Canned Food’ is more subdued, more echo-y, and recalls 80s indie production whilst also introducing an Editors-size post-rock riff. The vocals here recall that disinterested genre. ‘Mt. Kill’ is again more sombre, with post-rock dominance and atmospheric guitars, and ‘Free The City’ opens like Andrew Weatherall’s indie-dance classic, ‘Bullet Catcher’s Apprentice’. Its discordant, scratching beat opens into a danceable bass line that already feels like it has been with us for years. This final track is the only one to leave the breakneck crowd-pleasing for a moment, and widen into something more, a none-vocal lead track, as oppose to a 3-minute pleasing, pop song. In this time, it would be wise to calm down, stop enjoying yourself so much and to smile. Most bands would kill for this level of accomplishment and Surf City dropped Kill as prefix to their name, presumably debating all the while whether to replace it with Killer. Hipsters will not like it; it is too obvious, too enjoyable, and crucially, not obscure enough; this is a record that could only have come from a place away from their disapproving indifference, a place warm enough to allow these guys to blossom. Too cool, you see, and they would never have grown. Other Reviews All The Saints - Fire On Corridor X “Heavenly Hellfire” 8/10 Opening track ‘Sheffield’ does not give an accurate feel of what is to come. It opens with staccato drumming and a very convincing impression of listening to alt. heroes Cursive. As enjoyable as listening to Cursive is, the fuzzy guitars belie the pysch. rock ride to come. And boy, then Ride do come, template-like in the mesmeric drumming, shimmering guitars and strong wafts of feedback on offer. Let it be said, that all the dials are squarely turned up to loud. This is heavy pysch. rock, and genre of choice for the Black Angels, if their vocalist had a smattering more Gallagher in him. And, speaking of swagger, it certainly does. The album comes on with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club style bolshiness, but never goes so far into parody as to draw comparison with, say, Kasabian. Like early BRMC, All The Saints are able to turn it down a notch successfully and sway shadow-like in their psychedelic firelight, as can be heard on the swimmy “Hornett” and acoustic led “Leeds”. Being label mates with A Place To Bury Strangers, pedal abuse comes as par for the course, but there is clarity in this production, missing in ‘APTBS’. The light-vocoding in ‘Regal Regalia’ allows the eponymous, chest-beating chant of “All the saints” to eschew egotism and embrace their strength of self-belief, the pedal fuzz serving only to support this heavy-weight affront. Despite sounding a lot like some of the aforementioned acts it must be said, and suffering in terms of overall variety, All The Saints do have a niche of their own at the heavier end of psychedelic rock, a niche that’ll suit small, dark venues with purple and green spots flickering intermittently with a lazy, drum-linked strobe. And, I‘ll be the one down the front looking bruised in the assault-coloured lightshow, but lapping up the punishment all the while. Bon Iver – Blood Bank “Room To Bloom” 7/10 Bon Iver’s Blood Bank provides a four-track attempt to stave off difficult-second-album syndrome, and in doing so has allowed for an experimental outlet to either showcase his new direction or just to trial a phase. However, fans need not worry; for, at the record’s core is Vernon’s icy folk debut, layered in parts and stripped in others. The titular track ‘Blood Bank’ opens with a convincing and worrying Chris Martin vocal performance and as such, risks dragging the whole, sympathetic but unengaging sound into mediocrity. Happily, Vernon pulls it out of the bag, and then some. The acoustic pick-up builds into a pleasing shuffle before collapsing in a wall of droning feedback and leaves the impression of a slow-burn classic in the making. ‘Beach Baby’ follows the ‘Forever Emma, Forever Ago’ template more closely utilising the trademark falsetto-folk to good effect, allowing the track to burrow under the skin. A Hawaiian steel-string riff plays out over half the track and compliments the echo-y strumming well. ‘Babys’ embraces Vernon’s distancing from the debut and starts with a minute and a half of lively piano that recalls a bright winter’s morning and a chase across recent snowfall (un bon hiver indeed, therefore). The piano is then stripped back to a quieter accompaniment and the gentle slide of his acoustic guitar, before building back into a jittery, excitable piano and harmonious guitar marriage. It closes bathetically, having built to nothing more than a breathless romp through bucolia. Vernon knows the adage well of less often equally more, and has consciously decided to be coy with the listener, very much leaving him wanting more. And, in ‘Woods’, he potentially gives it to him. ‘Woods’ is a peculiar concept, peculiarly executed. Vernon employs a vocoder (think Cher in ‘Believe’, although no where near as awful) to startling effect. He layers his own vocals as backing, and conducts the whole track with little more than a few phrases on a cappella loop. This is a bold track which identifies boundless potential. As a whole, the EP sounds slightly awkward, straddling the future and Emma, as it were. It is as if Vernon is finally finding his feet after exorcising her with the debut, and is now making new-born, Bambi-like steps toward the future, stumbling and blinking on the journey. In postponing the second album, this EP does very nicely and will satiate most appetites. Whether the new direction will follow this beginning is yet to be seen, but now, on exiting the forest, Vernon should have the room to bloom. Spring may well, it would appear, have just started in the heart of Bon Iver. Glass Candy – Love Love Love “No Jewel” 6/10 Like Yeah Yeah Yeahs but think they're too commercial? Then ladies and gentlemen, I give you Glass Candy's Love Love Love. This clattering art-punk meets new-wave noise was Johnny Jewel's creative outlet before embracing the altogether more elegant and refined, Italians Do It Better endorsed, Beat Box album. Glass Candy (or G/L/A/S/S/C/A/N/D/Y, if you like) here recall Chromatics’ early work before the difficult to obtain ‘Night Drive’, unsurprising as Jewel plays in both bands. The disco elements that are later embraced in Beat Box are here present in the record's danceable bass lines, but are very much obscured by Suicide-like shredding. Hence 'death disco' has been offered as definition for the sound. No matter the genre, Jewel and No are too cool for school, this record slightly less so due to actually being available to buy easily; Beat Box is somewhat more illusive, but nevertheless worth the chase. This is a work in progress of the more commercial, but no less compromising, Beat Box and as such, should be treated as a stepping stone, unless you harbour a particularly strong interest in art-wave punk and hands up who does?! Thought so! So, in the absence of being able to find the better record, content yourself with the After Dark label compilation. The Dears – Missiles “Hits The Target” 8/10 ‘Missiles’ is a more mature outing for Murray Lightburn and sole remaining Dear (and wife) Natalia Yanchak. Gone are the youthful distractions of noisy outros and keyboard noodlery as can be found on the debut ‘No Cities Left’, and instead, relaxing saxophone anecdotes (Disclaimer) and measured song building, breaking into clever release (Missiles). Fans will be easily pleased; repeat listens reveal a subtle grower. New comers to the Dears are not really the intended market for the record, and so may take longer to love the smug couple, but should find plenty to enjoy nevertheless. Murray’s vocals are soothing as ever, but don’t quite live up to the former, Morrissey-level of lyrical dexterity with which comparisons were made. Awkward moments such as the high-school-like syntax ordering that allow tears that will not ‘quell’ to be sung purely to achieve a rhyme, or the cringe-worthy mention of someone being ‘as cool as a cucumber’ undo a little, but not much of the musically-sound, good work. Murray does not appear egocentric, insisting on his input alone and as such, Yanchak’s moment comes in ‘Crisis 1&2’ where her vocals serve as welcome distraction. Murray allows the discreet guitar work and considered bass of the album to do a lot of the work for him, the rhythmic drumming in ‘Dream Job’ also being pleasingly noteworthy, progressing the listen forward with each stroke. This is a collection of refined indie tracks, which sit regally in the Canadian landscape from whence they sprung. Murray has hinted that this album might be the Dears’ last, but he should rest easy knowing that if it is, it would not be with a whimper that he left us.
Record of the Week Crystal Stilts – Alight Of Night “Alight That’ll Never Go Out” 9/10 What a lifeless album. The vocals drawl and linger, the bass-lead, jangling sound is lazy, and the composite drone and echo-y reverb lull the listener to what could be a permanent sleep. But wait, a surf-rock rhythm stirs, playing out over feedback and the introduction of a curiously familiar organ. So cue very apparent influences. The dull sound is married quite harmoniously to a rich legacy of musical history. Unknown Pleasures is the apparent bible, Pyschocandy, the illicit thrill hidden inside its pages to stave off Sunday school boredom. All the while, Velvet Underground sit, pouting on the shoulder like a detrimentally persuasive peer, such as can be heard in ‘Prismatic Room’. And yet there is more, some anonymous goody two-shoes counterpart to the Velvet’s peerage sits prettily on the other shoulder, in its hand a pop record. For somewhere, in amongst this listless fuzz resides a pop record, perverted beyond all recognition and played at too slow a speed. Post-punk and shoe-gaze collide in slow motion to mask these pop sensibilities in moribund noise, which, albeit without the free experimentalism, could recall Loveless. Suggestion is hidden everywhere as to this pop theme, but sneaks out in rare moments such as in “Graveyard Orbit” which borrows wistful 50s rock ‘n’ roll guitars from the likes of Ben E. King. There are few highlights and like other numbing painkillers is best taken as a whole. This is a bleak and difficult, eight-star album, to which I’m awarding nine. It is because the album may be the biggest ‘grower’ I’ve ever heard, so much so in fact, that it finds itself at a difficult cross-road. It wants to slide into oblivion so that it can be hailed as a lost, cult classic by beard-strokers and music obsessives, but would also like to be recognized in its own lifetime. Whilst it might appear dead on arrival, there is a life aplenty with repeat listens. The problem is that this album will continue to grow, so eight stars now, and one more for good measure when it’s been allowed to mature like its contemporaries. Other Reviews Jay Reatard – Matador Singles 2008 “No Bull” 8/10 Reatard gets through his 13 energetic tracks in under half an hour and in doing so alerts the listener to his quick fix, DIY punk ethics. These ethics are also musically apparent in the earlier parts of the album, but become masked the further that the listener explores. That Reatard only released in 7” and that this is a later-day collection of those recordings tells us two things - that he is / was true to the underground stylings of his beloved punk genre, and that he is now branching from it, with the aim of commercial viability. The sound is charismatically lo-fi, but equally tuneful. His staccato rhymes are cleverly laid over catchy guitars and drums, all of which allow the album to get under the skin. It is breathlessly exciting, and at times (Always Wanting More) he seems to duet with soaring guitar, which both recall the Strokes and also his seeming objective to achieve commercial success. The tracks are inherently well constructed with pop characteristics; there are sing-along choruses for goodness sake, which do bring to mind the shambolic sound of Supergrass, when they were good. It has been suggested that the rather adept cover of Deerhunter’s “Fluorescent Grey”, which lies at the album’s heart, splits his desire. Before it are the kitchen-sink punk numbers, after, a curious evolution into control. The introspective, acoustic tracks that close the album, such as “No Time” show that Reatard is a man of talent, and more than able to master understatement, as oppose to what one might assume, given his adopted moniker. Reatard is no laureate lyricist, nor looker it must be said, but it can be said that at least his future is starting to look good. Death Vessel – Nothing Is Precious Enough For Us “Endearing But Not Enduring” 7/10 Another review, another alt. folk, alt. country, Americana influenced album. If each of them sounded alike I could cease, and simply file under derivative, but there is still life in genre yet. This album successfully hosts these alt. themes but also houses a true folk ethic, heard in the picked banjo of “Obadiah In Oblivion”, as well as more straight-up, quiet-loud indie-rock as can be heard on “Peninsula”. Despite being on Sub Pop, the sound often veers more toward Nebraska and the sound of Saddle Creek, but misses the inimitable and identifiable production of Mike Mogis. As such the album sounds a little like a Rilo Kiley release, or one from Azure Ray, but miss the bite that Mogis provides. And so we move to the inevitable, the voice. Sounding like Jenny Lewis or Orenda Fink is no bad thing, heck these gals can sing. However it is a dude called Joel who fronts Death Vessel, and once this is out in the open we can all move past it comfortably. His impersonation is so uncanny that the singer’s gender is not in question until one reads up about the band. Only at the start of “Exploded View” does he resemble a male vocally, and then only at the track’s onset. This amounts to a distinctive sound, but one that is not at all detracting. The greatest problem the record faces is whilst being endearing, is sadly not enduring. Not one of the tracks leaves a lasting impression, in the way that say, similar sounding Iron & Wine do. The mix of influences spread the record a little bit thin, which is peculiar for an album that also sounds quite simple and effective. Ra Ra Riot – The Rhumb Line “Ra Ra Rather Disappointing” 6/10 Quite right, this is a bit rhumb. Ra Ra Riot’s 2007 eponymous EP showed great promise, recalling both Arcade Fire in its use of lush strings and tempo changes, as well as, and in retrospect, Vampire Weekend, with its Paul Simon vocals. Sadly the Arcade Fire influence has been dropped for the album in favour of pursuing the Vampire Weekend influences, as well as some other radio-friendly indie-pop acts. The result is such that the four tracks here borrowed from the EP still ring promising, in particular ‘Ghost Under Rocks’, but they stand alone as standout moments. Granted the band sadly lost a member between the EP and album, but in doing so seem to have also lost their edge, which does serve as adequate posthumous praise for the poor lad. Where the album falls down is in its sub-Vampire Weekend aping. I am very much of the opinion that one of those is more than enough so a worse, at times (St. Peter’s Day Festival and Suspended In Gaffa) sound-alike does not inspire me. Where the album differentiates itself from the pack is with the commendable lashings of cello and other strings, but that alone does not a viable Arcade Fire alternative make. The EP had a curious effect of managing to be so discreet a grower as to leap from bland to great in one epiphanic moment, but with regret, I’m sure I could play the LP forever without that same realisation of Eureka!
Record of the Week Wovenhand – Ten Stones “Ten Commandments” 8/10 This is not a catchy record, rather an infectious one. These Ten Stones seem more like Ten Commandments. The ten tracks are primal, part-folk, part-righteous sermon (for he is a religious fellow), delivered from a seeming alter made of rock. There are also heavy alt. country influences, and the shuffling percussion of “Cohawkin Road” recalls those alt. country stalwarts Calexico. Folky features arrive in the form of the banjo, and the accordion, which appears in “White Knuckle Grip”, the spoken-shout vocals in which recall Nick Cave, circa “Abattoir Blues”. The record is actually an inventive indie rock one, and in being so shames most of that turgid scene. The wide-eyed, fanatic delivery is quite unnerving in parts and peaks in “Kingdom Of Ice” where Edwards (formally of 16 Horsepower) yells forth the “Flames of Akira and his kingdom of ice!” to disturbing effect. The final track reminds me that there is not one duff track on the album, rather just two or three respites in the sound of quieter, but no less intense tracks. The rest bubble and brood like the early “Horsetail”. A near indispensable album, creative and exciting – I for one am willing to convert to his church. Other Reviews F*cked Up – The Chemistry of Common Life “Chemistry Set, And The Match” 7/10 Now, aficionado of the hardcore genre I am not, and in fact my only real dalliances with the genre are with accessible artists such as Gallows, and slightly more credible ones like Poison The Well and The Bronx. And … well, hardcore is hardcore, except here. Like Metallica start both ‘Ride The Lightening’ and ‘Master of Puppets’, so do F*cked (pesky censure) Up, with a folky, quiet, tension-growing section before cracking into the more expected (controlled) shouting and juggernaut guitars, but there is flute-based! Where F*cked Up deviate from their peers is that this plucked (plucky?), folky element is present throughout, as is a conscious level of progressive style. The greatest shame is the album does not include a version of ‘Year of the Pig’, their 18-minute part-folk, part-prog, entirely hardcore masterpiece, not even the 4-minute version available on a ‘Rough Trade compilation’ is made available. But this gives reasonable impetus to buying that as well, so wise marketing, and one for the collectors I’d say. The album definitely works best as a ensemble and as such I shan’t single out any track for note, except perhaps to note that an 18-minute opus would have upset this collective balance, and perhaps, truth be told, the 4-minute condensation doesn’t cut the necessary mustard. In Pink Eyes the band surely have one of the most enigmatic of front man, particularly live, when he resembles a mildly saner Tim Harrington of Les Savy Fav, with whom comparison can certainly be made. This is a breathless odyssey and rich in deviation from a dusty template, and serves well as a crossover album, which should endear them in sales but whether it is quite hard enough for hardcore fans may be an issue for hot debate. What could be hotter still is that I was present at a recent Bronx show it was indicated that a double-header tour might be on the cards. Now, that would be f*cked up, and for all the right reasons. The Bookhouse Boys – The Bookhouse Boys “Boys, Tarantino’s Coming For You Soon” 7/10 Starting with frenetic Mariachi trumpets, which give way to a yelping vocal, the album immediately recalls a massively more energetic and celebratory Beirut, or the alt.country sound of Wovenhand. The opening tracks are also equally reminiscent in bass and vocal of Neil Diamond’s “Girl, You’ll Be A Woman Soon”, the track re-popularized by Urge Overkill on the “Pulp Fiction Soundtrack”, and in fairness the opening tracks recall that cover more than they do Mr. Diamond. Soundtrack influence seems to feature highly, and debt must surely be due in part to Ennio Morricone’s back catalogue. There are plenty more influences in here too, from jittery skiffle, to psycho-billy echoes and reverb, such as can be found on the shout-along “I Can’t Help Myself”, which starts in mad-cap fashion, such as The Coral used to, before quickly devolving into a darker vein. The album has a slower middle-section and slower-still finish, which is only punctuated by this track, which further recalls fledgling act Maybe Myrtle Turtle in its wide-eyed abandon. The slow finish, which in truth is closet indie, albeit quietly soaring, finishes with a refined whimper in the hidden track, which returns to the alt. country template with what sounds like a banjo. ‘Shoot You Down’ is from this middle-section and is led by Catherine Turner as an altogether more restrained affair, which brings to mind, say, Nancy Sinatra if you want to continue with the Tarantino soundtrack influences. Alt.country star Jenny Lewis could be a satisfactory contemporary comparison. Turner’s counterpart also turns in a decent Nick Cave sound from time to time. This is an inventively noir sound and wholly enjoyable, just that a couple of later tracks are a little dusty in comparison to the early whirlwinds. Pulled Apart By Horses – Meat Balloon “Rising (Live)Stock” 8/10 In a recent review of the Late Greats, I alluded to Midget’s indifferent ‘hit’ Invisible Balloon being my first musical port of call when balloons are referenced, but happily this is much, much better than either of those recordings. The sound is visceral, and laced with punk-rock guitars and a tortured whelp on vocals who screeches out the nihilist, yet party loving expletive lyrics. The pace change mid-track is commendable and makes the record stand out, introducing a danceable bass tone to the piece as a whole. The feel is similar to This City’s ‘With Loaded Guns’ in its energy, but unlike the emo-like A-side of that record ‘Romance’ – both are catchy in a loud way, but this is the more raw. Levi’s once advertised the strength of their jeans with straining horses at either leg, that same strength is delivered here with crashing guitars and walls of brutal loveliness. I have no idea what a Meat Balloon is, nor do I wish to for I suspect it’s sordid, but neither do I care because I have so much fun-time, hardcore-flecked, punk-rock to enjoy. The B-side is no slouch either. Baltic Fleet – Baltic Fleet “Silent Might” 7/10 This is a largely, if not entirely an instrumental album, with very occasional vocal samples woven into its post-rock fabric. The feel is one of relaxation and as such follows Sigur Rós’ template strongly, but this is a comparatively heavier album. However, heavy only in the druggy sense of the prog. rock influences that spill out to stain its post-rock make-up. Early in the album, a third influence is evident in the gloomy shape of the Cure, Interpol, and their forefathers Joy Division. The brooding post-punk bass-lines of early tracks, such as the Black Lounge are proof enough. I’ve mentioned Sigur Rós already and their influence is clear, heck, one track is even called ‘Reykjavik Promise’, but it is more evident in the track ‘In Chicago’ where an ethereal vocal sample drifts across atmospheric piano. This is a worthy experiment and strong fusion of genres, but throughout I can’t help but feel that there is something missing. It could be the lack of abandon that contemporaries Godspeed! employ so well, but more likely the nagging points to where a decent vocal should be. As such the feel is almost incomplete and therefore instills a sense of wistful longing across the album like a creeping fog, which if relaxing is equal parts unsettling. The Late Greats – Life Without Balloons “Dead Balloon” 6/10 The first thing that springs to mind when I think of balloons is Midget’s indifferent ‘hit’ Invisible Balloon, rather than some happy memory at a party, though I don’t have many friends and as a consequence don’t attend many parties. Still, I’ve lots of records and that’s just the same thing, right? This album is a collection of strangely simple yet compelling indie-pop jangles that in places drive the record forward commendably, but stagnate sadly in others. It is poppy but not in a detracting way, rather in an inoffensive way. With staccato drumming, an often-weedy voice that recalls the Maccabees and a surfeit of handclaps in places, the record does sound better as an ensemble than it probably ought to. This could be due to the few soaring Pixies-type moments that are to be found throughout, most noticeably in the track ‘Quick Fix’ – it’s the voice and the guitar noodlery that do it. Inoffensive I feel is the best description to use, because it isn’t a bad record at all, but one that will sadly have to compete at the arse-end of the market with derivative chart nonsense due to its blander, radio-friendly parts. That said, ‘Let It Happen’ is a good track that deserves more recognition, it is angular in a post-punk kind of way with a shout-along chorus and a substantial thread of simplistic charm at its core. Definite potential but perhaps a bit rushed; there is a good album in here somewhere. Strong start and finish with a flabby middle. I know how it feels, but then mine is a life without balloons, invisible or otherwise.