Chimpomatic

John Vanderslice

Romanian Names

Dead Oceans

John Vanderslice is not the kind of artist that you’ll find gracing the front cover of Q magazine. A media hooked on hyperbole and the shock of the new is probably not going to pin any hopes on a new album from a tried and tested over 40year old singer songwriter and I doubt his record company will reach the FTSE 100 on the back of him. Roman Names could possibly end up camouflaged amongst the masses of CDs in you local charity shop, before finding itself unsought in the 50p bargain bucket and eventually becoming asphalt in a the A127 between Bedford and Luton. If this were the fate that beholds Romananian Names it would be a little unfair, because the album stand up incredibly well to repeated listening.

Romanian Names could have been easy to dislike, it could have been classically ordinary ‘singer/songwriter by numbers’ material, the kind of catchy but empty nonsense that often appears on Radio 2 and is loved by those who own ‘Friends’ box sets and are slowly losing the will to live. All the classic ingredients are there, it’s mid-paced, melodic and it has light fluffy Jose Gonzalez-esque vocals. What really redeems Roman names from AOR graveyard is the subtle experimentation, the strange overdubbed vocals, the electronic landscape lurking quietly behind many tracks. All this happens without ever coming close to indulgence, in fact one of the highlights of the album is its lack of fat; the longest track weighs in at 3min 57 and after 12 song you’ve only invested just over 37 minutes. The album doesn’t suffer from over-reach, it doesn’t suffer the pretence that it’s going to be a classic album, and while there are some pretty ordinary tracks here, Vanderslice has the confidence to keep the songs short and so maximises their impact. The better tracks are also the most quirky, ‘Oblivion’ and ‘Sunken Union Boat’ wouldn’t feel out of place on an Of Montreal album - although they do lack OM’s camp weirdness. Best song on the album is ‘D.I.A.L.O.’, which sound like reigned in and cleaned up ‘Soft Bulletin’ era ‘Flaming Lips’. Worst is ‘C and O Canal”, a song so sickly melodic it sound as if it was made with the intention of appearing in an Apple Nano advert - the irony being, if this album is to eventually sell shed loads, this track will probably be the reason.

I doubt Romanian Names is going to set the world alight, but nor does it fall into the trap of being the only thing worse than being bad - which is being ordinary. It has enough confidence and invention to be well worth a listen and if you do happen to find it in the at your local charity shop. I implore you to rescue it.

#Music
#SP

21st May 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

White Denim

Old Blue Last, London

May 18th 2009

There's an old parable of a bug who lived in the worlds most beautiful Persian rug. He spent all his time laboriously climbing over each tuft and viewed them as nothing but obstacles that stood in his way of progress. The sad tale is that he lived and died in this thing of beauty but never saw the glorious pattern to which he belonged. I was reminded of this tale as I stood in the beer soaked ambiance of Shoreditch's Old Blue Last watching Texan trio White Denim. As they embarked on what would be a mammoth non-stop medley of pretty much everything on their debut LP it was at times hard to see this onslaught of feral noise as mere obstacles that stood in the way of me and a lifetime of healthy hearing. But thankfully, and unlike our little bug friend, one nod from vocalist James Petralli towards his band members and the whole thing would drop into jagged funk riffs and as if by magic the pattern was revealed and the beauty made gloriously evident.

Admittedly using words like 'pattern' and 'beauty' is perhaps as misguided as feeding caviar to a rabid dog. The reality was a sweaty bar heaving with eager fans and three guys who thrashed the shit out of their fledgling back catalogue. This set wasn't just one song after another, it was one song, lasting for about 25 minutes and never let up in tempo. The only reason they had a short break in the middle was to repair some equipment. It was fierce and furious and played out like they had a train to catch, double-time. It was thrilling from start to finish and actually made me resent the times we live in. We're all so self aware now-days and it felt wrong not to be punching some dude in the face to this music, not intentionally of course but a dirty yet euphoric mosh scrap was really the only fitting way to behave in the presence of such passionately manic rock. And yet like their album, all this seemingly unharnessed frenzy is very much supported by a sturdy and considered foundation and when it chooses to reveal itself the pattern is awesome. From what I could hear above the ringing in my ears (which still goes on this morning) the new songs sound just as sturdy as the old which just fueled my appetite for the imminent release of the new record Fits. I recommend anybody in earshot to go and see these guys.

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20th May 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

Jason Lytle

Yours Truly, The Commuter

Anti

It was a strange task indeed to review the last Grandaddy album, Just Like The Fambly Cat, knowing that it was to be their last. It was virtually impossible, armed with this knowledge, not to read every word of the record as a suicide note. It's hard to review the album in its own right and not view it in the context in which it was being presented, the full stop to a wonderful decade of music. Since that time the music scene has suffered three years without its most unashamedly romantic and yet seemingly reluctant indie hero, until now that is. Here he returns to our ears with his debut solo record and the task of reviewing a piece of work that finds Lytle at the start of a new road rather than at the end of an old one is an infinitely more joyous undertaking, and made even easier by the quality of the music in question.

Lytle's work has always danced intriguingly around a series of opposites or contradictions. There's the obvious one like a big, bearded country dude singing in such a delicate tone which, in turn, leads on to yet more trickery. In these soft tones he sings of unbridled romanticism of warm summer days, hand in hand or childhood idealism and then trashes them with stories of drunk robots or sudden bursts of feral punk rock. Thematically these contrasts have prevailed and one senses a constant struggle in Lytle between everything from art and pop, town and country, loud and quiet or past and present.

In true form the title of his solo debut is a signing off - Yours Truly. And The Commuter explains this struggle hinting at a constant state of traveling between one place and another, be that physical or emotional or forward and back. Place is a dominant theme here with much talk of "going home." the line in the opening song "I may be limping, but I'm coming home," touches on both his past experiences and what promise the future holds for him now. Back in 1997 he gave us lines like "Here I sit and play guitar, count stars, out in the country, having narrowly escaped my trip into town," from Collective Dream Wish Of Upperclass Elegance. Little has changed as we find him in a similar dichotomy. Lytle is a dreamer and his music has always vividly represented the artistic conundrum between free expression and some sort of existence in society and the rest of the world. The concept of 'home' can obviously be taken at face value having recently relocated to Montana but it could also represent a kind of comfort that he's now finding between these two artistic opposites.

The core of the Grandaddy sound is firmly in place on Yours Truly with a slightly more low-key feel to proceedings. Lytle writes simple songs about simple themes and it's in this pursuit of simplicity that he manages to create some of the most perfect songs of his career. In the liner notes there's a picture of his note pad on which is written "No more weird arrangements...not on this album!!! Very simple. Very nice. rich, Big, but with enough little fucked things." That kind of does my job for me, I couldn't have put it better. It's a lonely record, but sun drenched as always. Themes of loss prevail but hope springs forth continuously. He creates a kind of euphoric melancholia, or melancholic euphoria, depending on your state of mind. Brand New Sun swells with an almost tear jerking sense of promise as two people run headlong into the unknown with the sole purpose of change, whatever pitfalls await them they'll face it together. Birds Encouraged Him sees a character on the verge of giving up on life only to be talked out of it by the birds, this childlike vision of salvation at the hands of nature being a familiar thread.

Lytles work is so packed full of a unique kind of idealism, both innocent and jaded, that one is almost seduced into reading too much into his words. The temptation to do that on the final Grandaddy album was all too great and I don't want to do it here. Whether he's lost or has found his way home is his privilege to know but what he's given us is a wonderfully simple and endlessly beautiful piece of work and a worthy first step on this much anticipated solo journey.

Check out Lytle's notes on the album here.

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#BC

18th May 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

Odawas

The Blue Depths

Jagjaguwar

WARNING: 1983 VERSION OF SCARFACE SOUNDTRACK SPOILER ALERT.

If there are three things the 1983 remake of Scarface is known for it is probably violence, swearing and a truly shocking synth-drenched soundtrack.

However, were it Michael Mann not Brian De Palma remaking Scarface in 1983. And were Tony Montana to be getting high on his own supply of marijuana and not cocaine. And were Tony Montana to come to realise that world wasn’t actually just ‘his’ but infact was there to be shared with Dolphins and Whales and other such sea dwelling mammals. And were Sir David Attenbrough to pop up at some point. Whether you would have a superior film or not is highly questionable, whether you would have a superior soundtrack however is highly likely. And the chances are it would sound something like this, the 4th album from Indiana’s Odawas. Subtle synth tinged oceanic influenced niceness with yet another high-pitched/reverbed/lovely vocal ala My Morning Jacket / Band of Horses / Great Lake Swimmers ……as Tony Montana would say "Oooh that's nice. Who is it?".

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#chimpovich

15th May 2009 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Pink Mountaintops

Borderline, London

May 11th 2009

Steven McBean's Pink Mountaintops were in town in support of recent third album Outside Love - and hot from an appearance at the ATP Festival. After storming shows from the Black Mountain mothership last year, McBean is worth catching in any guise and this was no exception.

Perfectly suited to the Canadian-ski-shack-meets-Mexican-bolthole vibe of the Borderline, album opener Axis: Bold as Love opened the show, with the six-man band working as a great base for post-skater McBean (that hidden key chain is a dead give-away) to lead with his great voice. The subtle ebbing and flowing of the at-time hypnotic sounds was easy to get lost in, through tracks like Vampires, And I Thank You and Plasticman, You're The Devil - while older tracks like Sweet '69 and Single Life provided a more up-tempo element, displaying the band's wide range.

Amber Webber's vocals were sorely missed, but team stand-ins Sophie Trudeau and Sar Friedman did an admirable job - with the violins proving to be a rare secret weapon and the additional back-up vocals really filling out the bands sound. Add to that the great drumming and Black Mountain regular Matt Camirand's pounding bass and what's not to like? With the curfew police closing in, the band returned to the stage for a single encore - possible career highlight Tourist In Your Town.

In a style much like their recent album, Pink Mountaintops were laid-back, effortless and engaging - providing a (temporarily) welcome antidote to the relentless precision of big brother Black Mountain. Superior entertainment.

#Music
#Gig
#CSF

13th May 2009 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

King Creosote

Flick The V's

Domino

Somewhere between the 2005 Homefires gig and James Yorkston's Year of The Leopard the light that burned in me for the Fence Collective started to dwindle and soon ran out all together. Kenny Anderson AKA King Creosote was evolving into the jewel in the Fence crown with his stunning Rocket D.I.Y. album and to a lesser extent KC Rules OK, but with his 4th release ... I started to lose interest. It was all slightly too sugar sweet and the use of accordion, which was his USP for a long time started to drag. Thankfully, with this latest album, things are starting to illuminate again.

Much of this return to form can be placed at the door of the opening track No One Had It Better. With this Anderson emerges as a more mature artist who is embracing a more varied sonic pallet. The most obvious change is the use of technology. Layers of sampled vocals swim around this opening song and there's a real sense of patience as Anderson takes his time to introduce himself on this record. When he does is very exciting. With brisk drums joining this rising electronic background he comes in strong and with a pace that is sometimes lacking from previous songs. It's the longest song he's made and it really announces this new record with a fresh confidence but still manages to retain Anderson's weary innocence.

This song goes unrivaled on the rest of the record but that's not to dampen any of the other songs. The musical compositions are way more mature in their construction and ambition. His writing has always been of a charming and understated intelligence and I think the reason this record works better than past efforts is that the music elevates this writing to a status far greater than before and the contrast between this bigger sound and Anderson's humble insights makes this work. Rocket D.I.Y. dazzled with its realism and playful wit but with this new release both these qualities are joined by more contemporary company and the partnership makes for a lovely album that blows like a spring breeze, with a slight chill but heralding warmth to come.

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12th May 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

Great Lake Swimmers

Lost Channels

Nettwerk

There is a quiet beauty that runs through every album by this band but, the strong foundations that support this new release make this beauty sing more clearly and reveal itself with more confidence and power. With Tony Dekker's wistful vocals and the vast musical country-folk arrangements they create visions of endless landscapes rolling out before you in various seasonal warmth or chill.

Their previous work has tended to concentrate on the latter but I am overjoyed to see the sunshine streaming in on much of Lost Channels. Like Fleet Foxes, or My Morning Jacket it's the vocals that do most of the work in summoning up these epic spacial visions and Dekker only has to breath before this fills your mind's eye. But the warmth that accompanies these visions is what makes this record stand out from the others and turn it into a delight from start to finish. Songs like opener Palmistry, Pulling A Line and Still rely on strum-heavy rhythms that take the listener on a soaring flight of pure majesty while She Comes To Me In Dreams, probably the gutsiest track here, breaks this renewed briskness with pounding drums that bust open the back end of this song revealing a cavernous and monumental hidden space.

As well as all this you've got your expected chill that snakes in and out of this warmth. Much of Ongiara dwelt on this aspect of Dekker's voice, lush strings and gentle guitar waft effortlessly along as his feather-light vocals coax tars from each song. Concrete Heart and Stealing Tomorrow are two fine examples of the power of this voice. But it's this contrast, warmth and chill, light and dark, that really makes Lost Channels the album that raises this band to another level. Shearwater did it with Palo Santo and they've never been the same since. Great Lake Swimmers have proved with this record that while picking up the pace slightly and letting the sunshine in they sacrifice none of the spellbinding beauty and ghostly ambiguity that define their work.

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11th May 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

Pulling

Final special

BBC Three

Back for one final hour of drunken romance, jaw-dropping hangovers and scenes of people being superglued to the floor, Pulling is easily one of the best sitcoms we've had in years. It's hard to understand what more they had to do to get another full series commissioned - the characters are hilarious, the situations just the right/wrong side of believable and the one-liners savage. Tanya Franks, Rebekah Staton and co-writer Sharon Horgan all put in excellent performances, with Paul Kaye giving one of the best characters of his career as Karen's disastrous on/off/on/off/drunk/wasted/off/off boyfriend Billy.

Of course, now that BBC Three has morphed from the channel that gave us Nighty Night, Monkey Dust and even the early Little Britain into the home of quality entertainment like Coming Of Age or Horne & Corden, maybe it's better that it's been allowed to die a dignified death and head off into the near-perfect sitcom retirement home (Fawlty Towers was only 12 minutes long blah blah). But it's easy to imagine that Pulling could have become the female Peep Show and ran for a lot longer than just two series and this one hour special. At least it gets to wrap things up enough, and lets us wallow in the wince-worthy antics of Donna, Louise and the mighty Karen once more. 

Donna's dating a braying posho whose idea of a good time is to cover his sheets with cash; Louise is back from a trip round the world with a new loved-up hippy she can't stand, and Karen's somehow settled down with a guy who thinks women should be in the kitchen making him pies. 

It's a total testament to the madness of the modern TV world that this hasn't gone any further, but hey, at least they had the grace to let them back for one last round.

#TV
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9th May 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

The Vaselines

Enter The Vaselines

Sub Pop

Talking to a friend about cover versions, he said that his pal always preferred the first version of the song he heard rather than the first one recorded. Anguished, he told how his chum maintained that Jamie Cullum did a better version of High and Dry than Radiohead. With the ‘first past the lughole’ preference in mind, I was intrigued to listen to this aggregate collection of the Vaselines – ‘Enter The Vaselines’. Would the original versions of the late 80’s Scot indie band be better than the versions I knew by Messer’s Cobain, Novoselic and Grohl?

Kurt Cobain (from Aberdeen, USA) was a big fan of the Vaselines (from Glasgow, Scotland). So much so, that he is alleged to have described founder members Eugene Kelly and Frances McKee as his "most favourite songwriters in the whole world”. Which might explain why Nirvana released three Vaseline songs: "Molly's Lips” and "Son of a Gun" on 1992’s Incesticide and the more widely known "Jesus Doesn't Want Me for a Sunbeam" on the MTV Unplugged album.

Of course it’s unfair to talk about The Vaselines only in terms of being the band wot Kurt liked (which, I’ll confess, I seem to do in this review). However, it seems clear that the loud applause from the Grungemeister has been central in widening their fan base and in encouraging Sub Pop to re-release all their stuff…again (In 1992 Sub Pop packaged up just the two EP’s and the album).

This time the Seattle label has gone the whole way with this deluxe remastered album as it once again contains all the music ever released by the band, but is rounded off with some demos and two live sets recorded in Bristol and London. The two EP’s ‘Son of Gun’ and ‘Dying For It’ were originally on sale in 1987 and 1988, while their only album - ‘Dum-Dum’ - was originally released the week the band broke up in 1989. (Though they did reform - for the first time - to open the bill when Nirvana played Scotland in 1990).

So. A word to the wise: listening to the 36 songs in one sitting is hard work. Hearing three versions of “Son of a Gun” and “The Day I Was A Horse” is tough going (though I was happily humming the former for the rest of the day). The whole thing is much more agreeable when broken down into it's composite bits - with the looseness and humour of the live shows making them the most enjoyable slices.

With strong hints of a Velvet Underground drone, at their best the raw sound delivers catchy pieces of punk pop. However, it does feel a bit one-dimensional and, while it might simply be due to familiarity, I think Cobain picked out the best tunes (with the exception of the horse song). As for the battle of versions: It’s a close run thing, but I think Nirvana just edge it. The songs on Incesticide have more power and pedals, while the Vaselines lose vital points for the squeaky toy that needlessly appears on the EP version of ‘Mollys Lips’.

Here’s an editable spotify playlist of some covers and the originals. See if you can last more than the 40 seconds I managed of Jamie Cullum. 

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#Locochimpo

8th May 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

Red Red Meat

Bunny Gets Paid

Sub Pop

Being that I'm neither of a superstitious persuasion or a 9 year old boy I do not have a favourite number. If I was to do so however it would be 45. Being a history geek it resonates with 1945. It constitutes one half of the beautiful game. But really it is a happy conjunction of the fact that classic albums were moulded for the 45 minutes of space on vinyl and that 45 is the number of minutes it takes for me to walk home work. 45 minutes of blissful private head space and immersion music.
 
Working as a music reviewer can reap rich rewards and found gems have always rendered the before mentioned 45 minute walk a pleasure. Red Red Meat made it tortuous and tedious in equal measure. Bunny Gets Paid was the third of a trilogy of albums from the Chicago 'post grunge' band, first released in 1995. The omens are good as Sub Pop proclaims it as 'easily one of the high points of the entire Sub Pop catalog'. With stiff competition that is quite some accolade and prompted some excited anticipation.
 
To my mind it seems there's a perfectly adequate reason as to why Bunny Gets Paid failed to sell first time round. Because it's not that good. The necessary ingredients are all present, with fuzzy guitars and outsider ethos, but it fails to inspire. At the time it would have sounded much like everything else and sadly it stills does. There's no sense of kicking oneself and cursing 'damn how did I miss out on this first time round?'. By some accounts Red Red Meat have turned out to be quite influential but I doubt they will acquire Velvet Underground status as a band feted after the event. To be remembered as significant requires more credentials than that the band were present at the grunge banquet with the obligatory slacker attitudes and a penchant for flannel shirts.
 
Apparently what makes Bunny Gets Paid stand out is that the band decided to play around with form to create a more loose sound. They succeeded with this, whilst also jettisoning melody and coherence. It sounds like a sound check from when Beck had a devil haircut; a sound check at which he couldn't be arsed to boot. The mid nineties obsession with rejecting over-production means that there is almost no quality control. Main man Tim Rutili recalls of the record "when I bring in a song it's usually not that good until other people fuck around with it, and there was a lot of fucking around this time". Somebody should have pointed out that broths that are stirred by too many cooks get spoiled. Red Red Meat lyrics are oblique, something to normally be encouraged, but instead of prompting intrigue, reflection and personal interpretation just lead to bemusement and a shrug of the shoulders.
 
Die hard fans will be pleased to know that this release of Bunny Gets Paid is also accompanied by extras- B-sides and out-takes - but passing trade may find it all utterly tedious. I dare say a handful of listeners may love this cult offering but, much as it would pain my 1995 persona to have to hear me say so, I think Sub Pop is wrong. This is not a Sub Pop high point. 

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#Muxloe

7th May 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

Dag For Dag

Shooting From The Shadows EP

Saddle Creek

Dag For Dag are brother and sister Sarah Parthemore Snavely and Jacob Donald Snavely and while hailing from Southern California they now reside in Sweden. This is their debut EP and while being constructed out of some quite simple and well tested ideas is utterly infectious none the less.

As will be clear from the opening bars of first song Ring Me, Elise the whole thing centers around one guitar chord and rarely strays form this path. But who needs complicated backing texture when you have a vocalist as beguiling as Sarah. She instantly renders the bare bones guitar sound a cavernous and unhinged driving force. With an alto tone that hollows out your eardrums she picks this song up and scatters it into unexpected and thrilling territory. Things climb down from these lofty heights into progressively more pensive areas from here on in with the delicately melodic Pirate Sea and the haunting simplicity of Words. You Holler, You Scream and Better Now evolve Sarah's voice into more and more unhinged madness with the gritty guitar constantly threatening to drown her.

The remix that concludes this EP slightly lets the side down with its slick production making clean work of this rough diamond approach. This is incredibly simple music that really shouldn't be so pleasing, but it's the passion of the two siblings that drives this record and make it so listenable.

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6th May 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

Magic Markers

Balf Quarry

Drag City

Continuing on nicely from the swirling shit puddle that 2007's Boss left us in, Elisa Ambrogio and Pete Nolan dish out the next installment. As you'd expect form this duo, Balf Quarry is an awkward dose of sonic psychosis that has the ability to soak into you like freezing drizzle or square up for a some more direct combat. Like crack cocaine, it isn't pleasant but it's addictive.

With minimal input they manage to erect these insurmountable walls of noise that shake with tempting vulnerability but stand proud with a strength that is baffling. And cutting through all this is Ambrogio's voice. It can tick by in monotone simplicity like on 7/23 or it can howl like a possessed Karen O on Jerks. The whole thing creeks with lo fi charm as homemade surfaces are used to coax out minimal tapping beats, guitars swirl and cry with little sense or order. Like Ambrogio's vocals the texture can, from track to track, recede deep into the distance creating ghostly chills that blow around her isolated voice or instantly swell to fill the room and envelope the vocals like a merciless storm. With Scott Colburn at the helm whose production credits include Animal Collective this light and dark noise texture becomes the crooked wire coat hanger on which this record hangs it's success. With such bare bones for a framework the melody that is stretched over as some sort of skin can sometimes thin out to near collapse but it's always in view and with the exception of The Ricercar Of Dr. Clara Haber it remains the thread on which much of this is tied. There's a lot of this about at the moment so it's important to recognise the honest shit puddles when you step in one, and this is just the ticket.

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5th May 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

Doves

Kingdom of Rust

EMI

The other day, while shopping in Asda I found my self humming along to Elbow's On A Day Like This which was playing on what I presume was Asda FM and it got me thinking: surely this is when you know you've made it, when your artistic creations filter down to Asda level. Hell, I even heard that song playing in the Rovers on Corrie. This has been a long time coming for Elbow and it couldn't have happened to a better band or with a better album than The Seldom Seen Kid. I've always thought that Doves occupy a similar musical space to Elbow and have always curiously escaped the dizzy heights of Asda. Why bands like Coldplay have rocketed to star status with songs a fraction as good as Doves will forever escape me. By all accounts, based on the work they've put out so far, Doves should be one of the biggest bands in the world.

They're certainly one of the most steady bands performing today. Since their debut in 2000 they've delivered three strong albums full of stadium filling sounds that seem to have been born with the great ease. And yet we don't read about Jimi Goodwin's love exploits in the pages of Grazia. They're the Ryan Giggs of rock if you like - and with the fourth installment, Kingdom Of Rust, they should be getting the golden boot.

The first three songs on Kingdom Of Rust are Doves past, present and future and they're three of the best songs this band has ever produced. Choosing Jetstream as the opening song is a clear statement that the past five years since Some Cities haven't been wasted and Doves have certainly grown. It's a slow building, synth-heavy opener that swells to embrace Doves' previous Sub Sub qualities and levels out to a full-on techno-driven bullet train of a song. The title track is pretty much all you want from a Doves track - Goodwin's vocals riding atop a gently growing wave of delicate guitar work and euphoric melodies. Every one of their albums has one of these songs, the kind that make you want to throw your arms high in the air, The Cedar Room, There Goes The Fear and Black And White Town all had this and Kingdom Of Rust continues the tradition majestically. The Outsiders sees this band emerging from the last five years of silence with a new outlook, a darkly brooding tension and a refreshed muscular intention. Built around a relentless Krautrock rhythm it takes all of the past work and moulds it all into a seriously powerful sound that shows that this band may not have Asda FM knocking but they're not about to start trying to catch their ear. Emerging from the tinkling majesty of the previous track, The Outsiders drops its shoulder and drives forward into this driving, bass-heavy sound. To have a frontman playing bass really positions Goodwin as the central figure here. His ragged vocals are the sound of this band, but more notably than ever, his bass forms the throbbing vein of many of the best songs.

Though the album doesn't quite match the impact of the three-pronged opening assault it is never short of highlights. From 10.03's instrumental grunge breakdown that smashes Goodwin's astral first half to Compulsion's awkward 80's beat-fest, right through to House Of Mirrors ragged and endlessly pounding anthem, Kingdom Of Rust oozes great songs. It's a Doves album through and through, but things have changed. They've been watching the past five years but still do their own thing. It's hard to say that Doves haven't tasted the success they deserve when you see them playing to heaving crowds at Glastonbury - but somehow they haven't and this album is unlikely to change - that but in the shadow cast by that success there's room to take your time with your albums and come out with a stunning piece of work.

#Music
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1st May 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

Doom

Born Like This

Lex

He may have dropped the 'MF' form his name but the metal face is most definitely back behind the mask with his first album in years. In his absence the expectation has grown to mammoth proportions. The Mouse And The Mask elevated his status to stellar and with its success Doom was primed for something huge. So he goes to ground. The last time he did this was after the demise of KMD and the death of his brother, emerging as the masked villain he is today. His emergence here is less drastic, but things have definitely changed.

There are of course the usual cartoon related samples peppering htis album but naming the album after Charles Bukowski's 'Dinosauria, We' and including a lengthy sample from the man himself shows a new seriousness breathing a cold breeze through the record. It's still as comic as ever but there is a renewed malevolence creeping in and Bukowski's input on Cellz sends an apocalyptic shiver down the middle of the album.

But for all the time underground this is not the album I expected to break the silence. His name is more focused and so is his rhymes. Born Like This is not a blasting trumpet heralding the return of the king, instead its power is almost unrecognised on first listen, but it soaks itself in slowly and after spending some quality time with this record it stands up as some of his best work since Madvillainy. Production duties are shared between Doom himself, Madlib and the awesome Jake One. There's some resurrected beats by Dilla including the much used Lightworks and a three year-old collaboration with Ghostface. But with all these heavyweights onboard Born Like This is very understated. Bass is used sparingly on the beats and Doom's rhymes plod methodically with deeper gravel tones than usual.

It's nothing new to see a Doom album scattered with short, sharp tracks and the result of this unifies the album into an entity that needs to be heard as a whole to be fully appreciated. The three standout cuts for me are the darkly booming Ballskin with its sinister melody; Rap Ambush which features an impressive boom/clap beat where Doom tells of an insurgent attack on enemy forces, sending wave after wave of R.P.G's - Rhyme Propelled Grenades; the other choice cut is That's That, a tight rhyme over a sweetly melancholic clarinet tune that also ends with some Doom singing which really shouldn't be allowed. It's not all good though, there's some pretty weak moments like the clumsy Supervillainz, the slightly weary Lightworks and the tiresome homophobic content on Batty-Boys, where the constant references to gay superheroes may well be clever but get boring quite quickly.

To come back after this long under the weight of so much expectation with an album as restrained and focused as this can only be applauded. Doom reestablishes himself as one of the most intelligently gifted MCs around and the downplayed nature of this record only serves to allow his fans space to marvel at the intricacies of each expertly dropped word.

#Music
#HHG

30th Apr 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

Metric

Fantasies

The forum of a Chimpomatic review is one that I’ve already used to declare my love for Emily Haines; an ardour born of her anthems as a Broken Social Scene-ster and the achingly beautiful collection of songs on solo project ‘Knives Don’t Have Your Back’. I did however add the caveat that I wished at times the ice maiden might lighten up a touch and with Metric, the third of her musical trinity, she has deigned to do just that; to magical effect.

Like any long term relationship I feared that the passion may be waning and that the fire may just be dying out on first listen to Fantasies; Metric’s first full length album in 4 years. I confess to initially being a little on the miffed and disappointed side. Gripes included; occasionally the lyrics border on hectoring, song progression can feel slightly formulaic (taught tights starts like an a bow being pulled back raising to urgency and then arrow release) the veneer of over polished production threatens to muffle some numbers and the odd tune sounds like they’d been penned for the more intimate and vulnerable solo set only to be shoe-horned into a full band run out with an air of forced bravado. Its not that the criticisms are no longer legitimate it’s just that they are irrelevant and over thought. If one dissects a frog then one also kills it.

A few more listens and the passion roars just as fiercely as it ever did; like wondering how you could have ever thought that the girl next door was ever anything other than absolutely beautiful. As Emily implores ‘watch out cupid’ - the arrow has been shot. The merits of Fantasies, after a fair hearing, blow away any reservations. ‘Stadium Love’ is a manifesto for world domination warning U2 to vacate the stage. ‘Blindness’ is the sound of an Indie Queen on top of her game. I defy anyone not to hear ‘Help I’m Alive’ and not hum it endlessly for the following few days while ‘Sick Muse’ just soars; there’s no other way to describe it.

An ear for a melody, choppy New Wave riffs, hooky synths, no frills powerhouse drumming and a voice that has lived and is still alive all marry together to create a perfect harmony. Love, like faith, grows stronger when tested and I’m still in love with Emily Haines.

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#Muxloe

29th Apr 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

The Pinkmountaintops

Outside Love

Jagjaguwar

While best described as a Black Mountain side-project, Pink Mountaintops' debut record in fact preceded that of Black Mountain - but with the epic, note-perfect release of 2007's In The Future, Black Mountain is now firmly established as the main project, while Pink Mountaintops retains a distinctly more casual vibe, blending laid-back, bluesy riffs, with campfire vocals and the occasional burst of lo-fi disco rock.

Opener Axis: Thrones of Love is Pink Mountaintops-plus and sets the tone for much of the record with its slow pace, big drums and mellow harmonies. As expected, this is a more developed release than the previous two Pink Mountiantops records - and much as In The Future expanded Black Mountain's sound and pushed them into a new league, Outside Love attempts to do the same. The songs are bigger, more polished and more produced - while still eschewing that note-perfect precision of In The Future, instead opting for a more laid-back affair - more along the country-honk lines of Sticky Fingers than the technical perfection of Van Halen. It's also a good ten minutes longer than either of the previous Pink Mountaintops records - at a whopping 43 minutes.

With the band's higher profile comes a more extensive roster of guests on the record and guest spots are provided here for Godspeed You! Black Emperor's Sophie Trudeau, Jackie O Motherfucker's Josh Stevenson and Superconductor's Keith Parry amongst others. However, it's Black Mountain regular Amber Webber who makes the most notable contribution here - adding her atmospheric vocals to the excellent While We Were Dreaming, which recalls her own Lightning Dust album. Title track Outside Love is one notable disappointment on the record, promising much but never quite delivering, with the lumbering guest vocals from sunnO)))'s Jesse Sykes dragging it down. Luckily the damage is quickly repaired by album stand-out, I Thank You which builds on all the band's strengths, recalling Exile On Main St-era Stones and channeling the aforementioned country-honk in just the right places. The Gayest Of Sunbeams offers a break from the honkytonk and heads back into the disco-rock territory that the band explored with the likes of Bad Boogie Ballin' or more recent single Single Life, before the epic finale of Closer To Heaven.

Make no mistake, this is a great record that is a major move forward from the band's previous efforts, but it's missing that magic ingredient that lifted Black Mountain from 'great' to 'unmissable', and for that I can't help but feel mildly disappointed. Of course, this should come as no surprise in the context of The Pinkmountaintops' previous efforts and in fact even follows the step-up attitude that lifted the Black Mountain mothership's recent masterpiece up ahead of their prior work.

Outside Love was never going to topple In The Future from the throne and it has no intention of trying. This is a totally different beast and on its own terms it's another very successful effort.

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#CSF

28th Apr 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

X-Men Origins: Wolverine

(dir. Gavin Hood)

Fox

Another does-what-it-says-on-the-tin Marvel outing. It's Wolverine, and the story of how he got to be Wolverine. You know he won't die in the process because he made it all the way to X-Men 3: The Crap Stand, so there's no need to worry about any of the scrapes he gets into along the way. Anyone you've heard of from the others will also make it, with a good chance that any newbies we encounter along the way won't. If you can get over that, it's fine.

As in the other films, Hugh Jackman's early Clint charm pulls the whole thing along. He's got the chops and the sideburns, the claws and the cigars, and enough personality to make the film work. There are long passages where this is totally all you need, and it's quite fun seeing him acquire his jacket and chat about his life-long love of motorbikes etc.

It's efficient stuff, ably directed by Gavid Hood (Tsotsi, Rendition) until the obligatory blow-out ending - another one that suffers from the "hang on bad guys, just wait there while I do this thing over here for a moment and um, yes, ok, I'm ready for you to come and fight again now" syndrome that affects so many of these films. It's fine for them to ask us to believe in a chap with a metal skeleton and super-insta-healing and all that, but really, it sucks when films fall apart with basic lapses in logic. We get all the way to Stryker's evil scientist hideout - but then there's no-one there with him apart from some lab coat henchlady - he's in the US Army! Come on! Where's all his super secret soldiers or whatever?! 

Liev Shrieber is a decent foil as Sabretooth (although all he and Wolverine seem to do is run at each other every 20 minutes or so); Danny Houston makes a decent Colonel Stryker and there are various other mutants along the way to please Marvel fanboys: Gambit (magic cards), The Blob (super blobby dude), Bolt (power over lightbulbs - played by Lost refugee Dominic Monaghan), Deadpool (chatty assassin), John Wraith (played by will.i.am - seems to be a bit like Nightcrawler except with a cowboy hat) etc etc.  

It's nowhere near as lame as X3, and is all fairly entertaining, but it's hard not to wonder when we're going to get a whole new set of characters or worlds to get into, rather than fleshing out long-established franchises.

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#chimp71

27th Apr 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

The Horrors

Primary Colours

XL Recordings

What The Horrors first album Strange House alluded to and what Primary Colours only serves to confirm is that The Horrors are in essence a pastiche band - begging, borrowing and stealing from rock n roll’s history and then repackaging and re-releasing. Re-invention should not be considered a criticism, but you could easily have expected Primary Colours to be more of the same, a method Oasis have been executing for well over 15 years. In fact, Primary Colours is very different to its predecessor, slower, measured - and where Strange House took the Goth punk of The Cramps and blended it with the sixties psychedelic weirdness of acts such as Screaming Lord Such, the influences running through this LP are altogether different.

On hearing the introduction of opening track Mirror Image, your first reaction may be that you’ve been given the wrong album. Where are the gothic organ sounds and sixties surf bass-lines? Here you’ll hear phasing, pitch-bending distortion; and may assume you have been handed a lost My Bloody Valentine album in error. Vocalist Farris Badawan’s first appearance confirms it’s the right record - but even then his performance resembles Brett Anderson with slightly larger testicles; gone is the aggressive scowl that dominates Strange House. Unfortunately this doesn’t end with the first track and while the My Bloody Valentine motif runs through most of the album, this is unfortunately no Loveless. More like a cheap market version of MBV, doing remixes of other bands: The Cure on Mirror Image, The Psychedelic Furs on Primary Colours, or Siouxsie and the Banshees on I Can’t Control Myself.

What is lacking from Primary Colours is the energy, the aggression, the uncontained vocals and the simple but effective musicianship of Strange House. No band has an obligation to be defined by genre and it would be wrong to demand it (although I‘m tempted to say any band employing the Madchester drum break employed in Do You Remember has no right to call themselves The Horrors, EMF yes, The Charlatans maybe, The Horrors no). What disappoints most is, while they were never going to be the most original band, they were at least unique. Strange House wasn’t perfect, but it was different and refreshing, best of all it sounded like the antithesis to the entire rolling basslined, high-keyed anthems that were and are still dominating the current music scene. If Strange House was The Horrors as mavericks, this is The Horrors falling back into line - if Brandon Flowers sung Scarlet Fields, it could easily be a Killers track (remixed by the counterfeit My Bloody Valentine of course).

This is not to make Primary Colours sound like an obituary, because there are some undoubted highlights. New Ice Age, despite the over production retains its energy, I Only Think Of You is strong enough to survive the Boards Of Canada treatment and the production on I Can’t Control Myself works well. Best of all is Sea Within A Sea, the epic 8 minute closer which starts like Joy Division’s No Love Lost and ends like Portisheads The Rip (unsurprising, as Portishead’s Geoff Barrow co-produces the album).

Where Strange House compelled you to throw yourself into the mosh pit, Primary Colours encourages you to stand at the back and listen with your arms firmly folded. Some may consider this progress but it could easily alienate many existing fans. It will probably get 9/10 from the NME and be described as The Horrors ‘maturing’, if that’s true it’s them reaching adolescence, talented but unsure, full of doubt and overly influenced by their friends. Somewhere there’s a great band trying to get out, but this album leaves you confused as to whether they’re a studio or live band. At some point they’re going to have to make that decision.

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#SP

27th Apr 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet

In The Loop

(dir. Armando Iannucci)

"To walk the road of peace, sometimes we need to be ready to climb the mountain of conflict..."

Great big screen translation of TV's The Thick Of It's TV (aka Yes, Minister? Fuck The Fuck Off). The mighty Peter Capaldi returns as Malcom Tucker, the spin doctor's spin doctor in a transatlantic tale of dodgy dossiers and chicken-arsed political manoeuvres that bites into the whole Iraq build-up in a scarily convincing way. MP Tom Hollander's ambiguous statements about the possibility of war land him in trouble as he finds himself being courted by hawks and doves on either side of the Atlantic, with predictably disastrous results. 

This is a brilliant take on the madness of our modern political world, with all the usual suspects back from the TV show (some in slightly different roles which is a bit confusing, but fine after a while), and the added bonus of James Gandolfini in his first post-Sopranos role as a US army general caught up in the Washington political flak. Watch out for a decent Steve Coogan cameo too as a pissed-off area man back in the UK trying to get his wall fixed. 

It's packed with so many great one-liners and inventive insults that you start out trying to remember them all to use in conversation later, until the sheer volume of them forces you to give up and to just sit back and enjoy the barrage of language at its fullest. It's also worth pointing out that this is a British film that's not a geezer heist, a shitcom with a punfull title or written by Jane Austen.  

Giving it 4****s here in honour of the outstanding contributions to the art of swearing - it's ****ing great.  

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#chimp71

27th Apr 2009 - Add Comment - Tweet