Chimpomatic

Jay Reatard

Singles 06-07

In The Red

As the title may suggest, this compilation covers a very short space of time for this energetic songwriter, but one listen and you'll see that Jay Reatard has produced more quality material in one year than many bands get to in a life time. Jay Lindsey has been around for a while fronting various bands, but most notably The Reatards, which was actually just him alternating between vocals, guitars and a beat played out on an up-turned bucket. His recent solo work consists of one album, 2006's Blood Visions and a whole host of singles and EP's that are now out of print. So In The Red Records offer us this 17 song run through that collects together all these rare loose ends and the result is a startlingly consistent sonic clenched fist that repeatedly pounds your face for 38 minutes.

Opening track Night Of Broken Glass will let you know exactly what to expect from this collection as it launches in to screams and machine gun punk rock like a slightly polished Beastie Boys a la Heart Attack Man. Another Person is slightly more melodic, incorporating swirling synthesizers around the rapid drums and Reatard's voice that assumes an almost 80's New Wave monotone. The refreshing thing about Jay Reatard is that he never tries to do anything else but punk rock, but that's not to say that this collection lacks variety. Every song sounds like Jay Reatard but to write this off as a punch-in-the-face punk hammering would be wrong. Songs like I Know A Place and Hammer I Miss You keep a healthy pace but allow more percussion and melodic vocals with the latter evolving into a blanket tone of rising group vocals that seem remarkably majestic. Don't Let Him Come Back rides on a Monkey's-like rhythm section and is quite pedestrian by Reatard's standards.

But then, by contrast, you get the twin assault running down the middle of the record beginning with It's So Useless. Sounding like a possessed Marc Bolan, Reatard creates a near perfect punk song with the chorus being shrieked in time to crashing cymbals gladly recalling my Sham 69 days. All Wasted is slightly less abrasive but manages to merge the New Wave monotone with So Useless' catchy chorus, this time ending with the repeated chant of "All zombies are wasted, all zombies are useless to me."

For all its might and pace this is well crafted and slightly over polished punk rock. I may have described it as a clenched fist but I wouldn't be surprised if the fist had well manicured nails, maybe with glam-polish and relatively soft skin. Reatard's voice is very melodic no matter how much he tries to hide it. You do start to cry out for more short, sharp bursts like It's So Easy or Blood Visions with their classic punk urgency and pogo capabilities. This collection is less Black Flag and more Pop Levi, but at the same time he gives you enough indication that if it came to it he'd kick Levi's ass in a punch up. But if this doesn't satisfy your Reatard cravings then look no further. Having recently found his home at Matador, we lucky people get another round up of Reatard with the imaginatively titled "Matador Singles '08" compilation hitting stores on October 6th. The two compilations should undoubtedly show this guy as an artist of unrivaled energy and enthusiasm who seems physically unable to stop spewing out quality rock at an alarming rate.

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25th Aug 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Kinski

Down Below It's Chaos

Sub Pop

THEN: Like a hit-man's shot to the head, silenced through a pillow, Kinski's third album hits the target with muffled ferocity. Deep, wooly guitars rumble and thunder their way through this album sometimes accompanied by minimal vocals or simple melody but often just push forward with pounding drums as their only guide. (Read our original review here)

NOW: While a year is long time in rock music, I'm happy to report that Agent Kinski still takes no prisoners.

SUB POP SAYS: "Down Below It’s Chaos sums up Kinski’s past and propels them into the ozone."

KILLER TRACK: Plan, Steal, Drive (mp3)

NEXT: 2008 - No Age - Nouns

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15th Aug 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Bowerbirds

Hymns For A Dark Horse

Dead Oceans

In their original incarnation, Bowerbirds were a duo consisting of guitarist and principal songwriter Phil Moore and accomplished painter Beth Tacular (great name) assuming accordion and percussion duties. Before the recording of their debut album, Hymns For A Dark Horse, they were joined by Mark Paulson who has added vital instrumental layering to their compositions, bringing piano, violin and added percussion to the band. This album was originally released in 2007 on Burly Time Records but is given a rerun this August with added tracks by the Jagjaguar affiliate Dead Oceans. Currently on tour with Bon Iver, Bowerbirds continue the gentle wave of grass-roots American folk that is warming hearts across the globe.

An unassuming Hooves nudges this record into the light as it emerges quiet and lonely. The accordion provides glimmers of warmth until the multiple vocals arrive for the chorus. All these elements are exploited to greater effect on the following track. In Our Talons assumes a brisker pace with homemade drums click-clacking in the distant background and the rising voices lifting the song to its climax of "No, you're not alone." Dark Horse's violins soar with gentle melancholic sunshine like kind words spoken to a broken heart.

It's the group harmonies that provide the essential ingredient on this album. Moore's solo vocals have an easy croon to them but it's when he is joined by what sounds like more than 2 more voices that each song is lifted from simple singer/songwriter outpourings to majestic pieces of heartfelt beauty. Musically each song relies on two main factors, the whispering accordion that faithfully accompanies each vocal journey, and secondly it's the DIY drum beats that follow behind. As if being played with sticks on the kitchen table, this makeshift beat provides the record with its earthy rawness and as they seem to come from way back in the distance they provide a hollow element to the sound. The inevitable reaction that takes place when this emptiness is filled by the gathering vocal harmonies is the ultimate success of the record.

The comparisons to the aforementioned Bon Iver come not simply through the record company they are both associated with, but from an obvious ethos that surrounds the music they create and the life they live outside of this music. Moore and Tacular live in an Airstream trailer on a quiet plot of land on the outskirts of Raleigh in North Carolina and it's this sort of organic, rural and simple way of life that permeates every second of this record. It informs its unpretentious wishes and helps deliver on its honest expression. There are differences of course: Bon Iver aims to conjure a greater sense of loneliness and does it with dazzling effect. Hymns isn't so dazzling and Moore's voice lacks the captivation of Justin Vernon's and when left alone for too long can slip into a mediocre folk sound. Album closer Matchstick Maker illustrates this tendency to tread water. With no obvious centre to the song it can drift along in an unfocused haze as if guided by Adem. But thankfully for us this seldom happens and the result is a work of real beauty. Jagjaguar and it's affiliated labels are providing the backbone to this years top releases and while Bowerbirds may not leap from the pile like some of the others, it resides near the top of the heap as a band clearly in love with their craft.

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31st Jul 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Port O'Brien

All We Could Do Was Sing

City Slang

Van Pierszalowski, the front man for this Californian band, spends 3 months of the year on a salmon trawler on Kodiak Island, Alaska which goes some way to explain the great seafaring influence that dominates their sound - and like the sonic waves that wash over every moment of this record, Port O'Brien find themselves on distant and far richer shores than were explored on their debut.

2007's The Wind And The Swell was less of a debut and more of a compilation of the best of their self-released efforts, but it was very much a stripped down folk affair comprising of mainly guitar and vocals and tinny lo-fi drumming. It's very much a different story here with All We Could Do Was Sing, which curiously kicks off the same way their previous album did - with the frenzied group sing-along of I Woke Up Today. It's given a major overhaul this year but does slightly mislead the listener as to the general direction of this record. Stuck On A Boat is way more representative with its deep guitars and hollow vocals. It's a simple song vividly placing Pierszalowski on his Dad's trawler, it takes its time with the basic rhythmic structure but its glorious swathes of pastoral strings instantly hail the arrival of a whole new band. Fisherman's Son sees our protagonist leave his coastal roots and up and move to the city. Great waves of drums pick this song up and launch it into a vibrant gallop accompanied again by the string section.

Port O'Brien have developed many strings to their bow and this record is full of ideas that span more tempos than their debut hinted at. Songs like Pigeonhold show the band baring its teeth with crashing cymbals and truncated guitar solos that squeal and wine, until the strained vocals bring the whole thing to a calamitous close. This electric injection raises this band from the alt-folk wilderness that they threatened to reside in. The penultimate Close The Lid sees them perfect this element of their sound with a textbook indie jangle that lets rip into a joyous ramshackle of drums and raw vocals. Then as a total antithesis comes the frail closing sound of Valdez. More in line with the earlier songs this finishes the album with melancholic fragility and is the sonic opposite of how the record began. These polar bookends that contain this record illustrate perfectly the rich tapestry that Port O'Brien has woven. They may not be reinventing anything here, but as an example of a rock group that strives to evolve their sound, Port O'Brien's journey from lo-fi folk to indie rock confidence has resulted in a full bodied and endlessly listenable album.

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28th Jul 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Ratatat

LP3

XL Recordings

LP3 is the follow up to 2006's Classics and unlike its predecessor it was recorded in a very short space of time. Mike Stroud and Evan Mast recorded LP3 at Old Soul Studios, a large old house in a the small town of Catskill in upstate New York, and this change of venue has had a significant effect on the Ratatat sound, sort of. Though the core qualities remain intact there is a much fuller emphasis on keyboards and live instrumentation rather than programmed beats. All this is layered over their trademark swathes of synths and complex beat arrangements to form a rich tapestry indeed. The problem is, all this occurs in the first half of the album and is soon forgotten by the time we get to the end.

Mi Viejo uses delightful percussion over delicate guitar conjuring images of mysterious far off lands and as it plays out with a bongo drum solo it fades into Mirando, another complex amalgamation of swirling organs and rich percussion. Whereas Classics relied on guitar as its main sound, LP3 embraces a much wider array of musical instruments and sources from the hand-clap-like beat of Imperials to the skipping piano of Brulee. These touches raise the first half from the rest and see them standing proud as beacons of a way forward.

The beats do occasionally slip into synthesized obscurity that often flattens the record out and forces many of the songs into the background. Instrumental bands such as this have to work hard to raise each song from the sea of beats that sits stagnant below and without doing this many of these songs can slip by unnoticed. Songs like Dura and Shempi are well crafted but fail to move the sound on from the other albums and while retaining a core sound across records is admirable if little is brought to the table in terms of new thought, an unmemorable 40 minutes can slip by quite easily. I am not saying that is the case here but the key points where the listener is alerted all seem to happen in the first half with the rest of the record trailing off into mediocrity. The same guitar/organ swirl permeates nearly every song and threatens to bury all the delicate complexities that delight during the early stages. By the time we get to the album closer Black Heroes the band themselves seem bored and ready to finish which is in direct contrast to how they started, both on this record and their career in general.

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11th Jul 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

White Denim

Workout Holiday

Full Time Hobby

My apologies for the late arrival of this review but the sheer workload that is piled on me from this site means I tend to stop listening to a record once the review is done, and I really didn't want to stop listening to this. It seems as far as indie music is concerned all the ideas these days are coming from the US and arriving hot on the heals of the recent No Age record, White Denim's Workout Holiday not only reinforces this perception but positively hammers the point home.

Having been stuck in my car with only this CD for company, Workout Holiday has literally been thoroughly road tested and due to the nature of this listening experience I started formulating some driving metaphors in my head. One of the most exciting features of this band is what I call their 'gear shift' capabilities and by that I mean their penchant for ditching an idle pace for a sudden and electrifying upshift. So I started comparing this record to the experience of, as a youngster, trading your crappy 1 litre MG Metro for a one-time-only excursion down the road in your dads car. But then comparing this band to a high performance dad-car couldn't be further from the truth, I would have to leave that to a Metallica album. No, White Denim is more like getting into the same piece-of-shit Metro with the rusty body-work, decrepit brakes and highly questionable frame, only to find someone has switched your 1 litre engine for a super hybrid piece of engineering complete with flux capacitor that runs on plutonium.

Workout Holiday is highly charged, punk-infused rock that knows no boundaries or limitations. It comes from the Austin, TX trio following their 2007 debut 7" EP Lets Talk About It. It features 4 tracks from the EP which is slightly disappointing, but has become one of the most exciting records to bombard my eager ears for some time. White Denim walk the precarious line between genius and utter chaos, with each song fooling you into thinking it has no clue where it's going. It's ramshackle guitar chords race headlong into the distance with the makeshift rhythm section struggling to keep up, and the vocals erratically punctuating this mess when and where they feel like it. The result is an electrifying run of songs, no two alike, that never end where they start and this unpredictability seems to catch you out every time, making each listen a unique experience.

The EP tracks still form some of the strongest of these 12. Both Lets Talk About It and the following track Shake Shake Shake follow similar structures with furious, guitar driven first halves being taken down a notch at the midway point for an emerging instrumental ending that constantly threatens to finish but, as if with shear enthusiasm, keeps going and going. Sitting changes the pace with a bar-room singalong that sees singer James Petralli opening the vocals like Anthony And The Johnsons. It's a jaunty little number and the most conventional on the album.

Mess Your Hair Up seems to embody this band perfectly. It's opening section is a pretty non-descript mess of buried vocals, but as the mess gets thicker the feint screech of a guitar chord rises from the bog and takes the song off into unforeseen territory. As usual the band seem to be enjoying this change-up so much that they keep it going, reinventing different drum patterns just as the song should be finishing. Towards the end of the record comes a late heavyweight in the form of Don't Look That Way At It. Opening with a sound as erratic as a bucket of marbles being poured over a guitar, it sets up a bubbling cacophony of noise that trickles along at a steady pace, it maintains this complex and crammed formation until the midway point where the fuel injectors kick in The deep drums suddenly give way to crashing snare and cymbal and the complex guitar arrangements are smoothed out to driving chords. It's impressive to say the least.

The two instrumental songs here, Look That Way At It and WDA, sound less like conscious decisions to give space to the record and more like a band who are making things up as they go along and are way too into their instruments to bother with vocals, which may be in there somewhere but have been long buried beneath the ever mounting layers of sound. And this goes some way to describe this album. Each song stumbles into the other and the record just delivers idea after idea without becoming precious about any. They'll set up an impressive first half then tear it down like reckless hooligans. And here lies the diamond in this rough album. A better record may well crop up this year but I doubt if I will see such a reckless approach to an album. As one idea is discarded for another you get the impression that this liberation comes from a knowledge that there are more to follow. You get to the end of the album and instead of wanting to rewind you want to hear the next record, but as this isn't possible you'll have to settle for back to back plays. Highly recommended.

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10th Jul 2008 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Radiohead

Victoria Park, London

June 24th, 2008

In our recent interview with Silver Jews front man David Berman, he described festivals as a form of mass date-rape, where you get a load of willing victims into a field and rob them of what they think they hold dear. He also directed a few comments towards Radiohead, so while I stood for hours in a queue for beer in Victoria Park for the first night of the Radiohead extravaganza, my thoughts turned towards Berman's comments and what he might make of this. The band had turned Victoria Park into their own festival and it was huge. Swarms of people queued for food and drink, Berman would have puked. When the band started up, my intentions of getting near to the front were seriously downgraded so I had to settle for 80 meters back catching a fleeting glimpse of the pin prick on the horizon that I presumed was Thom Yorke.

So the venue was way too big, there were way too many dickheads in the crowd who had clearly come to chat to one-another rather than watch the show and I was way too far away for my liking. But, the music was sensational. I realised that night that Radiohead's music needs to be heard under an open sky. In this context it doesn't matter where you are standing as simply turning your gaze skyward releases this music into infinity where it belongs. It was such a still night and the sound drifted across to me perfectly. Set-wise it was a different story to the Hammersmith gig in 2006, with pretty much all of In Rainbows getting a thorough airing along with many choice morsels from Kid Amnesiac. Hail To The Thief was severely neglected with only There There representing and when any of the older songs cropped up they were not your usual choices. But this was the story of the night for me. I've heard Karma Police, Paranoid Android, The Bends and Fake Plastic Trees countless times live, but tonight it was a case of rediscovering under appreciated gems. Jonny Greenwood excelled himself on many occasions but his layered sampling on Climbing Up The Walls was truly stunning and coupled with Yorke's hauntingly lazy vocals this emerged as a surprising high point.

With each Radiohead gig I attend, I crave less and less these old favorites as the new songs - whether released or not - are so fresh and live. In Rainbows doubled in size under this still night sky with songs like Reckoner, Jigsaw and the chilling atmospherics of Videotape beaming up into the air with euphoric majesty. As Yorke retreated to the second drum kit for Bangers & Mash, Jonny Greenwood was left unattended up the front - an opportunity he seized with both hands providing a seriously fucked up, twisted version of this already raw track with avant guard screeches darting from his contorted guitar like a modern-day Coltrane. The whole evening was brought to an all too early close with one of the best moments of the night. The two big screens that flanked the stage displayed some multi angle camera work split into 4 sections, but as the opening chords of You And Who's Army? crept into view the whole screen was filled with a huge Yorke eye as he stretched up to pear into the lens. This minimal song with it's weary vocals accompanied by this all-seeing eye was mesmerising and as it gave way to the frenetic beats of Idioteque the night was complete.

Outdoor gigs always take shape as night falls and never has this been more true than here. As Yorke emerged after the encore and played a stripped down piano version of The Eraser's Cymbal Rush you could have heard a pin drop out there in that park. The shear size of the venue occasionally diluted the experience, as it's hard to feel connected to a band when you're so far away - but for a long term fan like myself to be reintroduced to songs I know so well is a treat and an unexpected delight. This band have all bases covered, from the light show to the live video art that attempts to do way more than simply show the people at the back what's going on. I would have to disagree with Mr. Berman, as on leaving the park I was buoyant with having been in the presence of greatness and though I strained to see anything and queued for an eternity in my own personal headspace I was flying.

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27th Jun 2008 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Windsor For The Derby

How We Lost

Secretly Canadian

Certainty is luxury these days, I mean to really know something for sure be it good or bad. I know England aren't going to go out of Euro 2008 to Portugal, I know I'll never pay money to see a Tarantino movie again. Musically, I know I'd rather stick pins up under my finger nails than go to a Kaiser Chiefs concert and that Michael Jackson's Billie Jean is one of the greatest 3 minutes life is likely to provide. So all these things are banked, I know where I stand, but the same can't be said for my feelings for Windsor For The Derby. In my vast gamete of appreciation that holds Billie Jean at one end and Kaiser Chiefs at the piss stinking other, Windsor For The Derby would probably fit in the better half - occasionally creeping towards the top but then slipping back down to the wasteland of the middle ground. When they creep slowly in the direction of the the hallowed Billie Jean pinnacle it would be during the eight minutes plus of the blissful The Melody Of A Fallen Tree which opened their 2004 album We Fight Till Death. This song is so pleasing, so complete and so sublime it tears the rest of the record down around it. The record is by no means bad, in fact there are some great moments but none that come close to its opener, and the same could be said for their follow up, How We Lost.

The success of The Melody Of A Fallen Tree throws my certainty out the window with this band. My love for it casts a searching eye around the songs that lie at its feet and though their are many a fine moment on How We Lost I am agin left wanting and confused. None of them come anywhere near the depths of the Keiser Chiefs but in a way I wish they would, at least then I'd know where I stand.

This band's talent lies in 2 thongs, their courage to go on past 4 minutes, although only 2 of them hit the 5 minute mark here, and their Krautrock/Joy Division/ New Order tendencies. When all of these things happen in the same song their position on the scale shifts in their favor. The album starts off well with the hollow sounding Let Go kicking things off and the gritty guitars of Maladies continuing the momentum. Fallen Off The Earth sees the band in familiar territory with steady rhythm building slowly but surely to a subtly layered finale. But it's Hold On that picks this album up by the scruff of it's neck and carries it to greener pastures. Running down the center of the record Hold On's patience and persistence reminds me of why I think I sort of like this band. It maintains the same steady pace as its predecessors but where lesser songs would reach for the fade button this one forges on, long outlasting the gentle vocals with a majestic guitar solo. It aint Melody but hey, it's getting there.

The trouble is it's surrounded by the usual fillers that ultimately condemn this album to yet another not quite memorable effort that does little to convince me of my opinion of this band. There's way too many ambient time wasters that only serve to dry up the once rich pastures of the mentioned high points, leaving a slightly moist wasteland of mediocrity.

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26th Jun 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Wooden Shjips

Vol. 1

Holy Mountain

The other day I got a wide diameter drill bit, fastened it to a pretty heavy-duty machine and preceded to bore a hole steadily through my skull. Of course the pain was immense but the feeling I was after just wasn't there, it just wasn't doing it for me. So a friend said I should try the new singles collection by San Francisco quartet Wooden Shjips and you know what? It hit the mark a treat. If I was a purist in my reviewing ethos then I should really leave you here, but that would be doing a disservice to this band. I think perhaps they need further explanation. So by way of loyalty to you, my readers, I will attempt to listen to this record again.

Vol. 1 is a collection of Wooden Shjips' three previous releases that are now out of print. The 2006 free released EP Shrinking Moon For You, the Dance California 7" and the SOL 7" all received critical acclaim on release and rightly so. My drill analogy is actually spot-on if slightly childish. You'll see this from the opening track Shrinking Moon. Wooden Shjips pump out tightly wound psych rock on a grand scale. In the first few bars they introduce their tools, i.e. hazy guitar drone and often pounding rhythm and pretty much stick with this limited palette through the duration of the session, and it will seem like a session. They keep a steady pace, swirling from ear to ear in a psychedelic frenzy.

Shrinking Moon encapsulates this band perfectly and convincingly sets the agenda early on, and the agenda is: this is not mum, chick or office-friendly. At over eight and a half minutes long you'll be either electrified from the outset or seriously wishing you hadn't put this on. Its tempo is misleading as it hints at regularity with rhythmical guitars and jangling bells but after five minutes without a change you know you're dealing with a band with a keen eye on fucking with your brain. With buried vocals and screeching tones this opener is truly captivating in its single mindedness. But captivating it might be, it's not something you'll want to dwell on so I have to move on, sorry.

Deaths Not Your Friend ploughs similar territory but brings the vocals slightly more to the foreground while Space Clothes breaks from tradition totally and delivers looped interview samples played backwards and forwards all to the sound of running water, bird song and a fucking annoying mosquito like tone. Its effect is surprising as you start to wish for the drill bit again, you're starting to miss the pain you see. It's what all good torturers are taught to do.

Thankfully Clouds Over Earthquake starts the machine up and bores deeper than any other. It's a modest 4.16 minutes but boy does it hurt. The drums are virtually drowned out by the guitars here who manage to reach new heights in monotony and ear piercing agony.

Thank christ I only have two more songs to review before I can shoot myself in the head.

With the introduction of your new tormentor, Dance California takes it slow. The deal is the same but it just takes longer. Like a slow rain soaking you to the bone this song rides celestial waves of dreamy psychedelia but drips filth from every pore. Vocals ooze out in a drugged out haze, drenched in reverb and swirling organs.

One more...

You're on your knees now and as you look at the time line for the final track Sol '07 your heart sinks, 11.40. Your not going to survive this, they've won the psychological battle and your will starts to break. But they don't just want to break you, they want to change you profoundly. I'd like to tell you that Sol '07 traverses many tempos and levels during its marathon eleven minutes but to lie to you now would be cruel. It doesn't. It's steady, relentless, shrouded in muffled noise and never lets up, you can skip on all you like but it doesn't change, you'll think your skip button is bust, it ain't. It finishes off a seriously intense thirty five minutes that hurts like fuck but boy is it addictive. This band give you nothing but like a released prisoner missing his captor, you'll come begging for more. Vol. 1 plays out like a long lost masterpiece by a forgotten band when in fact it's a singles collection by a band without an album yet and that just adds to the excitement this record generates.

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12th Jun 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Shearwater

Rook

Matador Records

2006's Palo Santo marked a bit of landmark for Shearwater with Jonathan Meiburg taking center stage as lead vocalist and the result was a much fuller sound that was way more ambitious than any of the bands previous work. The followup Rook has much work to do to keep up with its predecessor and despite a few bumps I'm pleased to report a worthy successor has taken up the crown.

The arresting cover image depicts a dark figure of a man with arms outstretched and cloaked head to foot in a swarm of rooks, His face is unrecognizable through the mass of feathered bodies and as you make your way down his solemn frame birds burst through his coat and emerge from pockets. He stands on a barren shoreline and the pallet for this scene is somber and dark with no hint of colour. While listening to the 10 tracks within, this image starts to take on new resonance and meaning. Rook is very much concerned with man's intersection with the natural world in all its facets from hunter to prey to the eventual extinction of species including mankind itself. Much of the record seems to come from a place so barren and wild that the very existence of human beings appears as nothing more than a haunting memory. Much like Palo Santo the music here can shift violently from a frail whisper to a calamitous boom and with Meiburg's unmistakable guidance Rook becomes a record of great visual power.

Though this record starts and finishes with two fine songs they don't seem like the right choices and had they been put in a different order Rook would work better as a complete concept. On The Death Of The Waters breathes life into the record with the faintest of breaths. Meiburg's vocals are as grey and as still as a winters day until the crashing waters change the scene in the form of a cacophonous orchestra. The violence of the two halves do seem to jar this early on in the record and it's not until the warmth of the opening guitar chords of the next track the we really start to settle in. Rooks is a glorious piece of work and one that we have come to expect from this band of late. With a steady drum pace and glistening musical rhythm section Meiburg's sweet tones drift gently throughout but show signs of teeth at just the right point. For me this feels like the album opener and it heads up a run of songs that form the spinal chord of this album and it's from these five songs that the structure and strength radiate.

Leviathan, Bound is a slow building song based around a gentle rhythm that ends in magnificent strings and ever increasing percussion subtleties while Home Life employs a similar structure originating from crackling drum taps and working towards an orchestral middle section that takes flight amid the soaring vocals of their captain. The music simmers like brooding weather patterns and changes direction with a glorious unpredictability, rising and falling, swirling and trickling.

Lost Boys struts proudly to a marching rhythm and triumphant horns tapering off slowly to the boiling might of Century Eyes. This is the first time the guitars have been given a proper run and they beat their fists with an energy of a force that has been kept under wraps for too long. Unfortunately the momentum that has been gathering ever since Rooks is somewhat dampened by some of the later tracks. I Was A Cloud seems to revisit this bands past at a time when the record was bravely conquering new territory and South Col's conceptual insistence might play to the theme of this album but slows things right down here.

Thankfully the shear scale of The Snow Leopard gathers these stragglers up in its all-encompassing arms and carries them away. It's often the case that a voice's true nature is found in its extremities and though Meiburg's vocal range is certainly extensive it is often held back like a force too powerful to unleash. Well there are fantastic glimpses of it here and it is only matched by the titanic mariachi horns that rise from the depths to accompany it. It's a colossal song and should really end the record. It feels like the band are giving it their all in a last chance show of power and the gentle melody of The Hunter's Star, achingly beautiful though it is, whispers in its wake like something of an after thought. It hurts to criticize as this song, had it appeared anywhere else in the record, would pierce you to the core with it's melancholy. But if song-order is the only thing that tries to drag this down then so be it, for at the beating heart of this album are some of the richest musical moments this band have created.

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4th Jun 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Bruce Springsteen

Emirates Stadium, London

May 30th, 2008

I've read a few reviews of the recent Springsteen shows including our very own CJ's glowing report last December and I don't really have much to add. I find no reason whatsoever for this show not to receive the same 5 star rating, as to criticize The Boss in any way for what he does on stage is gross ingratitude for the most giving and awe-inspiring performer in rock today. "So we're the first to play here huh?" asks the man as he surveys the impressive vista of The Emirates Stadium that spans out before his eyes, "well, we're gonna test its structure tonight." And that was no word of a lie as had the Gunners won anything this season their glorious stadium would not have seen adoration on such a scale as it did last night.

The set list, from what I can remember, wasn't a million miles from the O2 show, drawing at least 50% from albums of the last six years particularly the latest release Magic and The Rising but when the big tunes came they approached like giant waves and more than filled the stadium. The first of these waves came in the form of a much altered Atlantic City. Creeping in with quietly brooding subtlety this version showed the classic in all its bare bones and made every hair stand to attention.

Springsteen generously made countless jaunts into and around the face of the crowd shaking hands with as many people as was humanly possible with the composure of one greeting old friends. On several occasions, as if taken with the euphoria himself, he would fall to his knees with his back to the crowd and use their grabbing hands as a welcome support. During these crowd-outings, demanding to see the hundreds of request banners that the fans held aloft he would take his pick delivering them all to the drummers feet where from there his tremendous E Street accompaniment demonstrated their ability to turn on a dime and play whatever banner their Boss held up.

And play they did. The relentless display of energy and enthusiasm not to mention an inexhaustible back catalogue to choose from wipes every concert I've ever seen off my musical memory map. Before the crowd had time to show its gratitude and as his last note was still ringing out into the void in front of him, Bruce would race to the back of the stage to swap guitars and with a frantic "One, Two, Three, Four" the next card would be dealt. This went on in groups of about 4 or 5 songs for nearly 3 hours and this large-than-life front man showed no sign of tiring.

But the best was saved for last as an extended rendition of Badlands dovetailed unbelievably into back-to-back classics in the form of Thunder Road, Born To Run and Glory Days. It was like I was choosing the set list in my head and they were obeying me like some weird Jedi mind trick. There was many a mic-off with the impressive Miami Steve whose six-string prowess was also matched by his vocal abilities. Clarence Clemon's saxophone was tremendous and the whirling dervish antics of guitarist Nils Lofgren in the closing moments of Because The Night was something to behold. Ending with American Land from The Seeger Sessions the whole ensemble came to the front for a finale that threatened never to finish. It would be impossible for anyone with a heart still beating not to leave a Springsteen show physically exhausted but mentally buoyant from this unrivaled outpouring of energy, talent, passion and the long lost art of rock showmanship. There's no tricks, no gimmicks and no bullshit here - just a man playing like his life depended on it and judging by the smile that frequently adorned his face he's doing it as much for himself as he is for the thousands of outstretched arms before him.

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1st Jun 2008 - 9 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Silver Jews

ULU, London

May 29th, 2008

"I always thought London didn't give a fuck," claimed the stunned David Berman at ULU last night, as he stood aghast before the adoring crowd. He couldn't have been more mistaken. Although his most recent albums have seen accompanying tours Berman has a reputation of not playing by the rules when it comes to promotion - so when his band of Silver Jews roll into town you'd be a fool to miss them, as who knows when they'll return again. Always up for a challenge, Berman had a tough job in taking the stage after the support act Monotonix. Thrash metal from Tel Aviv is tricky at the best of times, but when the front man and drummer take their set-up marauding around the venue, barging into the crowd, topless and sweaty and screaming with vein busting ferocity, you've got to wonder how the Jews are going to follow this.

With glorious ease was the answer to that question as the first note rang out and the quietly confident Berman, dressed up to the nines, approached the mic. With the glamorous Cassie Berman at his right and twin guitars either side, the band lifted the roof from the start with old favorites Random Rules and Smith & Jones encouraging near euphoria from the fans. "I've got it all arranged," claimed Berman, "I'm gonna play an old one then a new one then an old one and so on," and with the exceptional musical accompaniment old and new melted into one sound. Silver Jews have always been a lyrics band with the actual music coming in second place in order of importance, but last night they morphed into such an impressive whole, raising the sound to a fuller and richer scale. On the lengthened musical end to Random Rules Berman walked around surveying each individual performance of his band like a school teacher. And things like this were another unexpected highlight. Having met Berman a few weeks ago I found him to be a warm and yet slightly reserved character who had only recently become acquainted with his fan base, but on stage he grows in confidence carrying himself like a Nashville Jarvis Cocker.

Although it was quite something to hear some of my favorite Silver Jews moments played out live, including some early gems like Trains Across The Sea, it was the new songs that really shone last night. Aloyisius, Bluegrass Drummer came storming out with a wonderfully brisk tempo and the playful San Francisco B.C. is obviously a band favorite being introduced by Berman "I hear you guys like your Fake Tales Of San Francisco over here, well we've got one of our own." Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea has many highlights, but Suffering Jukebox has to be one of the finest and it lived up to itself last night as did the fantastic Strange Victory, Strange Defeat. Both these songs benefit greatly from Cassie Berman's accompanying vocals and her presence on stage makes the whole show truly memorable. It's not often that you get a husband and wife partnership so lovingly and yet understatedly played out on stage and on the songs where Mr and Mrs Tennessee acknowledged each others presence, it was genuinely touching and really enhanced the songs and words being sung. "You're the only Tennessee," sang Berman adoringly to the woman at his side and the new album closer We Could Be Looking For The Same Thing took on new sweetness played out by this couple. "People don't write songs like that anymore," claimed Berman, damn right.

This show completes the trio of Silver Jews treats this week following the new record and the interview and hopefully clears up any misgivings Berman might have had concerning his bands place in London's heart. We give a shit DCB so don't be a stranger.

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30th May 2008 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Silver Jews

Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea

Drag City

It's been over two and a half years since David Berman last flung open the doors to his much coveted mental closet of worldly wisdom and on that occasion he left us with tales of "a place past the blues I never want to see again," and threatening to take "a hammer to it all." A rare tour accompanied the release of Tanglewood Numbers but then the doors were fastened shut once more and the world was lonely again. With these terminal words left ringing in our ears what were we to expect from the followup to Tanglewood's dark vista?

Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea sees a few returning members for a tried and tested Silver Jews line up in the form of Tony Crow, Brian Kotzur and the twin-ax attack of Peyton Pinkerton (Natural Bridge) and William Tyler (Bright Flight) who all join Berman and wife Cassie who, as usual, provides warmth and texture to much of the background space. In tone and content it's a fascinating addition to the puzzle that Berman has been relentlessly and stubbornly crafting since this band's conception in 1989. It stands alone from any other Jews album in terms of its relationship with the world and provides us with a valuable insight into this artist's shift in consciousness. And a shift is exactly what Lookout Mountain marks but, as might be expected with Berman, it's not the shift one would expect. Berman's opinions, beliefs, outlooks and observations remain firmly the same and provide the linking trail back to the other records, but it's Berman's viewpoint on these things that has changed. The world according to the Silver Jews has always been described through its minutiae, in all its tragic detail, but there is a sense of resolution in these songs that breathes new life into their whispering lungs. Instead of bitterness or anger there is a newfound tenderness for our culture but instead of emerging as celebration this tenderness brings with it feelings of pity. Berman's resolution acknowledges this pity and where his previous albums would leave it there, Lookout Mountain strives for a sense of warning. Where previous albums posed questions, this sixth addition provides the answers.

"What was not but could have been, was my obsession way back when./ Now I just remember this, what is not but could be if." And so this seismic shift is seen in full glory in the first verse of the opening song. The statement of lack remains in place but the gaze is turned forward to the future and a new feeling of hope is introduced. With the economic delivery of a Japanese Haiku poem, Berman relays his wisdom with mono-syllabic accuracy in this opener and with it a multi-faceted, new vernacular is born. But this look to the future is no unconditional march into greener pastures. Berman's new hope is full of lament for the past. The future as seen in Suffering Jukebox has no place for the past that Berman once belonged to. It tells of this sad machine in a "happy town, over in the corner breaking down." Could this machine be Berman himself, trying to impart a wisdom to a world that is happy enough without it? Or it could it be a comment on music's place in our society too preoccupied with the "cult of number one"? After-all, the jukebox, though neglected, is "all filled up with what other people need." Is this money or music itself?

This is echoed on Strange Victory, Strange Defeat when Berman talks of all the "handsome grandsons in these rock band magasines," and asks "what have they done with the fat ones, the bald and the goateed?" This song revisits a songwriting method that is well tested. Berman has a unique ability to describe man's follies by way of the absurd and often using animals, be it a "kitten from Great Britain" or as seen here, "Squirrels imported from Conneticut, just in time for fall." This song tells of a squirrel uprising against what Berman calls "a nightmare world of craven mediocrity." With wife, Cassie in assistance the squirrels call out "We're coming out of the black patch! / We're coming out of the pocket! / We're calling into question / such virtues gone to seed!" This is a reference to an Emerson quote in which he describes Fashion as a "Virtue gone to seed." So Berman is mounting an uprising against this new culture of seeming victories that ultimately end in "strange defeats." It's a culture that promises to be a lot more fun but as Berman asks, "how much fun is a lot more fun? / Not much fun at all."

Lookout Mountain also sees Berman assume a new style of writing in the form of a greater reliance on narrative. The first person shifts to the third with his observations being played out by a myriad of protagonists in far fetched and highly entertaining stories. This is seen most notable in the centerpiece of the record San Francisco B.C. It tells the story of a failed relationship that leads to all sorts of drama including Mafioso QVC operators, jewelry heists and murder mystery. It's one of the first time Berman's expert turn-of-phrase has been put to such a use and you hang on his every word for gems like "he came at me with some fist cuisine." It's the best brawl description since "a can of whoop-ass." With slightly less success and complete with seagull noises, Party Barge employs the same grasp of narrative and together they seem to allow Berman an added freedom that he had only ever enjoyed by putting animals in human situations. The characters are never that far removed from Berman himself and almost represent different facets of his complex character.

The record ends in a way no other has done before and in this ending the great Silver Jews shift is complete. We Could Be Looking For The Same Thing is a love song first of all, but a love song that only Berman could have written. In lines like "We could belong to each other / If you're not seeing anyone," we see Berman's ability to juxtapose the ultimate with the intimate, destiny with monotony. But it also sets up a love story from the point of view of two people at a later and more resourceful stage in their lives where they haven't so much downgraded their hope, but have become more realistic in their search for destiny. With this in mind, Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea is Berman accepting the faults of this existence but seeming more comfortable with their existence. In tone and content this record acts as a removal from the bad in society while still acknowledging that it exists for other people. It almost represents a truth that someone can emerge the other side and still be intact. In this respect it's a triumphant record but in a very realistic way. At just over half an hour it is more compact or concise. It comes from a less fragile place than his previous writings and displays this artist's unique and all too rare respect and appreciation for language. If society is indeed seen and experienced through the critical eyes of our artists then Berman is an essential addition.

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28th May 2008 - 4 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

The Ting Tings

We Started Nothing

Columbia

This duo have really got me stumped. I would prefer not to review this record than make up my mind as to whether I hate it or not. One thing I do know is that lead single That's Not My Name is fucking awesome. I first heard of The Ting Tings on a Later...With Jools Holland show sometime last year. They played this lead single and at first every judgmental nerve in my body kicked into action and I was ready to make a cup of tea until the next proper band came on. But then something strange happened which has started this acute indecision. With Jules De Martino on drums and backing vocals and the ever energetic Katie White up front they seemed like a sugary White Stripes. After the initial tirade of random girls names all the music stopped and White proceeded to craft a live loop of her harmony vocals with various pedals. The drums then picked up once more building to higher and higher levels of noise while all the time White matched this buildup with frenzied shrieks into the microphone. This went on far longer than any pop song should and with this near punk change-up crashing over the live looped harmony the whole song was transformed into something amazing and truly mesmerizing.

Why can't I just leave it there?

Ok, some facts: Tipped in the top 3 of the BBC's Sound of 2008 poll The Ting Tings have actually been around for a while. They formed the band after being dropped from their original label and much of the music, especially That's Not My Name seems to be a valiant reaction to the constrains and turmoil they experienced the first time around. They hail from Salford and put out a few DIY releases last year including the frantic disco-pop number Fruit Machine before releasing album opener Great DJ in March this year.

I can't think of any more facts so I guess I'm going to have to give some sort of opinion. First of all, this really isn't aimed at me, I'm an old bastard who's loving the new Bonny 'Prince' Billy album. So with that said, I find the rest of this record instantly appealing with its unlimited supply of catchy hooks, upbeat rhythm and endlessly energetic vocals. It's realistic in that it isn't trying to be anything more than what it is, and that's 10 flawless pop songs that are meant to be danced to not pondered over. But on the flip side, good pop music often brings with it the 'Pringle' effect. Once you pop, you can't stop, meaning, this shit stays in your head for 'like' ever. In it's unfailing energy comes unfailing irritation, in it's unashamed pop blueprint comes shallow ditties that have instant appeal but zero lasting effect. That's Not My Name is by far the best song on the record but it too has been diluted from its original live incarnation down to an album friendly song that plays all too nicely with the other kids. I wasn't surprised to see Shut Up And Let Me Go - probably the most irritating song here - feature on the new iTunes advert, as We Started Nothing is a bulging Christmas hamper to lazy advertising executives worldwide. But good on them, I hope they make a pile of money out of those soulless rats and make some kids dance along the way.

Is that ok?

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26th May 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

The National

A Skin, A Night / The Virginia EP

Beggars

A Skin, A Night - A Film By Vincent Moon

Personally I can take or leave films about bands and the trying times they experience while putting together a record, but Vincent Moon's portrayal of The National and the long and laborious creation of their biggest selling album Boxer is compelling viewing for the most part. It has the regular lingering shots of a troubled front man in the creative process while the rest of the band sit around in the recording studio waiting for his opinion but the stuff in between is beautiful. I have always seen The National's music as cinematic and Boxer solidified this with its darkly meandering melodies and cryptic verse, so for Moon to marry this up with long shots of a city asleep or lonely subway trains creeping through hauntingly desolate stations really brings to life the missing visual half to this bands music. Each shot is filtered through a heavy grainy film and is shrouded in stark contrasting black and white.

The dialogue is interesting as we discover this band's long recording history and the insecurities that come with it. 2005's Alligator was the first real break through for this band but it merely served to identify them with their fan base and it wasn't until last years stunning Boxer that things really started to change and they became aware of their growing presence in the music scene. The mood of the lighting is mirrored by much of the dialogue provided mainly by Berninger who comes across as the shy and introverted personality we see biting his fingernails on stage. He talks of his need to drink red wine before going on stage in order to shut out the fact that he's standing in front of a throbbing crowd. The success of Boxer doesn't seem to be making things any easier for this reserved leader. The demo versions of some of the songs are interesting especially when seen from the drummers point of view. Bryan Devendorf is one of the rising stars of Boxer as his rhythm dexterity provides much of the power and pace of the record.

The film as a whole doesn't provide us with much we didn't already imagine about The National but Moon's moody cinematic portrayal of the music is stunning and gives these songs the quiet weight they deserve.

3/5

The Virginia EP

Where the film may have lacked any new insights into The National's music, this 12 track EP makes up for it. It's basically a demo/live record which ordinarily wouldn't light me up as they tend to be lesser versions of your favorite tracks cynically pumped out to die-hard fans for a quick buck. But this EP is actually quite generous. Although some of the best tracks here were featured on the Extras tour EP the whole package serves as a worthy accompaniment to the Mothership of Boxer.

There aren't many bands these days that offer B-Sides worth bothering with but the first 3 songs here are equal to many of the lucky ones that made the Boxer final cut. All originating from Alligator's various releases, You've Done It Again Virginia is from Lit Up and Santa Clara and Blank Slate are both B-Sides to the Mistaken For Strangers single and it's Blank Slate that really shines. It's a reworking of an earlier B-Side Keep It Upstairs from the Abel single but this time it's been lifted out of it's original hollow surroundings and is given a glorious rock makeover and the result is one of the best National songs to date. Boxer has really elevated their sound with added strings and drumming of epic proportion so it's so special to hear some of these demo versions that show the band in their stripped down clarity. Forever After Days simply has Berninger's lonely vocals matched with a gentle guitar and lo-fi organ while Rest Of Years is a hollow slow burner that rises to a dirty finale of electric guitar and calamitous drums. But it's the Slow Show demo that gets the prize here as it did on the Extras EP. It's one of the finest songs on Boxer and here in it's bare bones it really shines. Berninger's vocals are mumbled to the point of near indecipherability and so are rendered down to just another instrument in this rich musical tapestry.

One of the best things about this EP is hearing a retrospective of this band's back catalogue all mixed up in various formats. This is seen most notably in how Slow Show is followed by the Daytrotter Session version of Lucky You, a gem off the 2003 album Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers. This is a heart wrenching, marvelously underplayed song that stands it's ground when put up against the latest work. This is then followed by a fantastic live rendition of Springsteen's Mansion On The Hill. The Boss' melancholic tone suits Berninger's style perfectly here and it's a triumph.

The album is brought to a close by two live versions of Fake Empire and About Today and unfortunately this is where the band slip up. These are two of the strongest songs on Boxer, but my criticism of their recorded versions still stands alongside the faults of their recent live show in London. With Berninger's delicate delivery and the ever richer musical waters he swims in The National's strength has alway seeped out of their restraint. On these recent live tracks the band take the songs off into all too grand territory with bloated guitar solo finale's that undermine the subtle depths previously plumbed and force the band into a genre they don't seem to belong in. It didn't work live and it doesn't work here. Still, it isn't enough to bring this generous EP down and it gives a glimpse of the talent that lies semi dormant in this group of musicians. Their albums are growing into something quite unique and their B-Sides show a cupboard full of unused masterpieces that few bands could afford to leave out.

4/5

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21st May 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Bonnie 'Prince' Billy

Lie Down In The Light

Domino

We may be heading for a recession but our usual touchstones of gloom and melancholy seem hellbent on taking us in the opposite direction. David Berman's Silver Jews are due to release an unusually positive new record and here Will Oldham follows up 2006's The Letting Go with an album bathed in weary resolution and renewed warmth. Both these artists have produced some of their finest work while struggling through their darkness and likewise both seem to project their new work from a well fought point of resolved insight. But the ultimate success of these two records come from a genuine wisdom that was born out of experience and a deep searching for a truth behind this human experience. They haven't just decided to make an 'upbeat record' but have allowed this new dawn in their understanding to shine on every word they utter and though these words will always be tinged with sadness they display an outlook glistening with light.

Oldham gently counts in the record with the retrospective Easy Does It. The whole feel of this album is encapsulated in this first song as it lovingly rakes over past beliefs and viewpoints to compare them to a newly acquired calmness and strength. "There are other ways, I used to think, to find my way around, the wood and the caves and the bad woman's ways that were always to be found." The whole song shimmers with this new "One Way" that Oldham refers to as he looks around him and sees the light shine off everyday wonders like the moon, friends and family and "good, earthly music singing into my head."

This album explores every range of Olham's vocals from the joyous country lilt of Easy Does It to the intimate whisperings of What's Missing Is. Musically it's just as rich from the clipped fiddle on Glory Goes to For Every Field There's A Mole's wonderful clarinet. Oldham's delicate guitar playing dances eagerly throughout the record but is also joined by colourful touches of lap steel. Dawn McCarthy's sweet harmonies shadowed Oldham's every word in The Letting Go and the duet role falls to Ashley Webber here with some beautiful results. You Want That Picture sees them assume the part of two accusing lovers while on Other's Gain they rise in harmony to majestic grandeur. The sense of loneliness is passing from every record Oldham makes, not only due to the company he keeps on the songs but in his words that fall so precisely from his mouth. On Other's Gain he tells of the importance to "Keep your loved ones near, and let them know just where you be," while Easy Does It describes "the wood and the smell and the word of farewell that I always had to sound."

This new embrace of the world and the people around him is at the very heart of this records warmth. Instead of the forked-tongue critic lurking in the judgmental shadow of the world Lie Down In The Light displays a new found knowledge of the artists place in this life and on songs like So Everyone he aims to declare it to all in earshot. But while this might be a celebration, Katrina And The Waves it most certainly is not. Lie Down In The Light might be the antithesis both in title and tone to one of Oldham's finest albums, 1999's I See A Darkness, but it's joyousness is delivered with patience and humility like one who has seen the light but is in no hurry to explore, opting rather, to dwell there knowingly in its warmth. Like Berman, Oldham's ability to describe joy as well as pain is giving new strength to his work and is transforming him into a more well rounded song writer and as this joy has come from pain its profundity is more striking and long lasting.

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19th May 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

O Fracas

Fits & Starts

I Can Count Records

The words 'angular' and 'spiky' are too often touted around when describing British indie music these days and they'll be dragged out yet again when referring to this Leeds four piece and their debut album Fits & Starts. Their name refers to the creative environment under which these songs were written and recorded. "Fracas is a reference to writing songs under blazing arguments, the act of creation through force, like a Super Collider," states the band - and having gone through three different bass players during the three years this album took to make this statement doesn't seem to be a word of a lie. The album is the sum parts of three sessions recorded with each of these different line-ups which does explain the varied sounds experienced during its thirty five minutes.

Along with angular guitars, quintessentially English vocals are also an element often found on todays indie scene and this band have it all. But despite that, O Fracas dish out an exciting blend of furious arrangements, intelligent lyrics and sometimes some nice lounge piano ditties. Influences ranging from afro-beat, jazz, folk and DC Hardcore drift in and out with a wide variety of instruments providing for an eclectic listen. They seem to have two gears though, fast and slow, and rarely explore anything in between or at least these two gears in the same song. Songs like Sixteen Beats or You Can Hear The World From Menwith Hill, with their grass-roots folky humility, work far better than the more generic, guitar driven moments like What Jim Hears or Zeros And Ones. These give the album its pace and ferocity but also drag it into musical obscurity by pumping out a sound that is all too common.

O Fracas exhibit some artful ideas on this debut and the album definately gets more interesting as it progresses and as they inject their own turbulent personality into the music rather than following the well trodden indie path. Unfortunately this path shows no sign of ending or taking a turn as band after band in this country pass around the same sound and style between them, all under the guise of originality.

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15th May 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Adem

Takes

Domino

Adem Ilhan's 2004 debut Homesongs was a delight indeed, bristling with home-made charm and sparkling with all sorts of intimate delicacies. It was fragile and vulnerable but used enough touches of Fridge's, his former band's, eccentricities to separate it from all the other male singer-songwriters that were his contemporaries. By the time his followup, Love And Other Planets had emerged two years later the market was brimming over with such artists and for me Adem was lost in their cacophony of breathy chatter. So with this third album I was pleased to see a slightly different approach. That approach comes in the form of Takes, a collection of cover versions of songs released in the decade between 1991 - 2001, a period of great musical influence to Adem. So with this interesting slant on not only an Adem album but a covers album, coupled with the newly reformed Fridge I was expecting some sort of step away from the comfort zones this artists has resided in for too long.

Sadly I was disappointed once again. Takes starts off so well with a quietly dazzling version of Bedhead's 1992 single Bedside Table. Adem's voice is soft but confident with his hushed tones following gently alongside his delicate finger-picking and gently fuzzy backing-effects. It's one of the longer songs on the record and follows a repeated vocal pattern that takes its time to get the album started but serves as a strong introduction. PJ Harvey's Dry, from the same year, follows and keeps the standard and strength going. These versions are heavily stripped down to their bare bones but Adem retains their melody with a fuller production than his previous home recordings, playing every instrument himself.

Unfortunately Lisa Germano's Slide marks the start of the gradual slide back into Adem obscurity. Be it the choice of songs or their treatment here but throughout most of the latter part of this record Adem works as a musical Pol Pot by sweeping aside all the varied characteristics of these different songs and reducing them all to the Adem norm. For him to cover Aphex Twin seems like a task indeed but his treatment of To Cure A Weakling Child is a lesson in biting off more than you can chew. He sets himself this mammoth challenge then shys away from it by delivering yet another delicate folktronic ditty. To contrast this choice, his decision to take on Yo La Tengo's Tears Are In Your Eyes is a no brainer. A fragile song dripping in melancholy is a simple enough gig for Ilhan but I guess the real skill is how he manages to make it sound like his Aphex Twin song. That can't be easily done but he seems to pull it off time after time from here on in going through such varied source material as Smashing Pumpkins, Tortoise, The Breeders and ending with another no-brainer. Low's Laser Beam is a hollow masterpiece that simply doesn't suit this singer's voice. He screeches his way through it's empty corridors reducing it to just another slightly annoying Adem song. I applaud his choices here as they too are a collection of songs from a very informative time in my own life but his treatment and reluctance to stray from his usual blueprint level a creative decade out to simple mediocrity.

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14th May 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Tapes 'n' Tapes

Walk It Off

XL Recordings

Like Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, the success story of Tapes 'N Tapes was born amidst the constant hum of the blogosphere. Their 2006 debut The Loon came out to rapturous praise with its infectious pop hooks and set up quite some expectation for their next move. CYHSY's answer to this expectation was with two fingers as they delivered Some Loud Thunder, a difficult and curious followup that stubbornly refused to accommodate the strengths that may have arisen from their debut. By hiring the producer of Some Loud Thunder, Dave Fridmann, TnT seem to be only too aware of these comparisons and though the result is not the same they too have delivered a curious sophomore effort.

From the outset it's clear this Minneapolis 4 piece intend to raise the stakes as Le Ruse screeches in to view and Josh Grier's vocals ride a wave of crashing cymbals and calamitous riffs. The increased might in the music and venom in the vocal delivery is an instant plus point but all this is shrouded in a curious muffled production that you instantly start to doubt your equipment. The opening track on Some Loud Thunder had me perplexed in the same way to the point where I now find it unlistenable. Headshock shows the same underproduction with the bass line that thunders at the chorus threatening to obliterate any recognition that might have come with the melody. Blunt does the same thing as it builds to a deafening concoction of drums and driving guitars and as you strain to hear the rumbling bass line your patience starts to fray.

Though this lo-fi quality lurks in pretty much every corner of this record the more melodic numbers manage to escape its blight. The slow-to-build Time Of Songs chimes with a wonderful clarity with Grier's melancholic mumble "I'll pull you from the bottom and i'll leave you on the floor." Say Back Something is a welcome break with it's down-tempo strums while Lines shuffles along at an uncharacteristically lazy pace until the military rhythm and taught guitars start to build to Grier's repeated vocal, "Over lines." This song sees an intelligent structure that is sometimes lacking in other songs like the slightly limp wristed Anvil.

But pretentious production aside, two of the strongest tracks on the record come in the form of Hang Then All and the album closer The Dirty Dirty. Hang Them All shows this bands ability to deliver a hook. It's a tense whirlwind of a song full of swirling organ and clipped, punchy guitars. As is often the case in this record Grier's tight lipped vocals build things to a head with the rousing, repeated chorus bringing the song to a rapturous close. Walk It Off is an exciting run and no matter how trying the going is you'll be glad you stuck it out when you get to The Dirty Dirty. It's the longest song on the album and it takes this band into new territory. Rumbling guitars and relentless drums give it a steady, driving pace which never lets up. Grier's vocals are deadpan and refuse to rise above the tone set by the rhythm. The song actually goes nowhere and continues at this formation until eventually fading out making it a questionable choice for the final track, but as questions were heavily on the agenda from the start here it seems a fitting way to finish.

The introduction of pillar after pillar of load-bearing riffs makes this follow-up a brave step forward. It's not breaking down any new musical frontiers but expands on the strengths of their debut nicely ...but just as I start to get excited about it the question of production undoes it's trousers and urinates on my fire. Bands like The Wedding Present recorded some of their best works with obvious production deficiencies but now that technology has improved their sound has benefitted enormously. As with CYHSY, this band have everything at their fingertips and with such credits as Mogwai and Mercury Rev to his name, Dave Fridmann is a master of his craft - so the insistence on this lo-fi style smacks of pretension and ultimately drags this otherwise promising and gutsy record down.

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7th May 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Flight Of The Conchords

Flight Of The Conchords

Sub Pop

The novelty comedy record is a tricky path to tread. It's fun on your initial saunter, then maybe again with a friend it might still hold some of the same appeal, but soon after these initial promenades, this little path will rarely be trodden again. This can't, however, be said for Sub Pop's most genius release to date. The HBO series Flight Of The Conchords told the story of 2 musicians from New Zealand, Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement who, with the (mis)guidance of their agent Murray, go to New York to try and make it big. In the all too short half hour episodes they usually treated us to a couple of songs that really had little to do with the plot but were a sheer joy to behold. Dealing with such complex themes as ATM charges, racist fruit sellers or supernatural visits from bygone era David Bowie, the songs took on a myriad of musical genres and were never short of hilarious. Knowing that the songs came first and HBO built the series around their narrative makes this album even more valid and having just completed my 27th listen it's still as sharp as ever.

Not only is the comedy album a tough gig, but to take these songs out of the context in which they were originally experienced (i.e. the elaborate fantasy settings Bret and Jermain found themselves in in their made-up rock n roll success story), really puts their audio comedy to the test. The result is a deeper appreciation of their writing. Each song is so loaded with gags that in this format one is able to marvel at nugget after nugget of well crafted comedy. Hiphoppopotamus Vs. Rhymenoceros was an early favorite on the show and it retains its title here. With lines like Jemaine's "Yeah sometimes my lyrics are sexist but you lovely bitches and hoes should know I'm trying to correct this." and when, after Bret's statement, "other rappers diss me, saying my rhymes are sissy, why? Why? " Jemaine interjects, " be more constructive with your feedback," you start to marvel at how these two white Kiwis manage to totally ridicule a whole hip hop genre so charmingly. Other highlights include Jemaine, on Think About It, pondering the state of the world where slave kids are forced to make sneakers but the sneakers don't seem to get any cheaper, exclaiming at the top of his voice: "What are your overheads?" or the binary solo on the fabulous Robots. It's hard to pick a favorite but Business Time hits the spot every time. The phrase for letting your lover know when it's time to make "sweet weekly love" must soon find its way into the dictionary, and after making enough love for two... minutes what better way to end it than to tell your partner "business hours are over baby." 

The problem I've found with this isn't its lack of repeated listen appeal but its potential to ruin just about every genre of music there is. Its spot-on parodies and razor-sharp observations will serve as a kiss of death to the afore mentioned hip-hop genre, Serge Gainsbourg, Dance Hall Ragga, Kraftwerk, The Pet Shop Boys and most certainly David Bowie. Since the TV show I've found it hard to listen to the final minute of Radiohead's Down Is The New Up, due to its striking similarities to these guys. But the destruction and ridicule of pop history is a small price to pay, so I urge you all to succumb to Bret and Jemaine's "groovitational pull" and check this out.

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1st May 2008 - 2 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Birds of Avalon

Bazaar Bazaar

Volcom

There's a lot of unapologetic music being made recently and the debut album from Birds Of Avalon has to top the lot. It would be a fun experiment to wire a music reviewer up to some high voltage and tell him to describe Bazaar Bazaar to someone who hasn't heard it - the catch being that if he mentions any other rock band in his description he gets zapped. It would be a pretty tough gig as this band reference just about every 1970's rock heavy-weight that's ever picked up a plectrum and that's just in the first song.

But that's not to say this isn't a good listen. Their lack of apology doesn't come across as tongue-in-cheek like The Darkness and their grasp of the genre may be obvious but it's a firm one and is delivered with all the might and sincerity of their mentors. They demand an open mind from their listeners by their title alone. Birds Of Avalon conjure up disastrous Spinal Tap visions, some very small Stone Henges and the sickly smell of patchouli oil - so from the opening chords of the equally questionable titled Bicentennial Baby you are pleasantly surprised. Craig Tilly's vocals instantly recall Black Sabbath or early Cheap Trick and as that recollection never leaves your side the album powers on through the Pink Floyd keyboards of Instant Coma, the Led Zeppelin psychedelia of Wanderlust and the shamelessly Steely Dan intro of Superpower. Chuck in two scoops of Hawkwind, a soupcon of Peter Frampton, eight heaped table spoons of Thin Lizzy and you've got yourself a tasty little rock cake.

When forming an opinion about Bazaar Bazaar one is presented with a quandary indeed. This is a very enjoyable listen. The riffs are tough, the drums are as furious as you'd want them to be and Tilly's vocals are as soaring, pretentious and vague as you would expect, BUT, the fact that it's all so regressive casts a major shadow over the whole thing. I don't need every album I listen to to reinvent the wheel but this is taking it a bit far. It's obviously aimed at fans of this genre and yet it's references will be sniffed out in an instant and like a bleeding limb in a shark pool will attract criticism from far and wide. But then again, maybe I'm giving this way too much thought. Though this is pretty much the sum of it's references it still rocks in all the right places when turned up to eleven.

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24th Apr 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Atlas Sound

Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel

4AD

"The dream of one summer, this last summer I had. It's almost as if I had one continuous dream and the product of achieving it is the album you have here." And so writes Bradford Cox, the creator behind Deerhunter and this, his earliest incarnation and solo pursuit, Atlas Sound. Let The Blind... is the debut album under this name and "one continuous dream" would be an accurate way to describe it. With themes of nostalgia and childhood infiltrating every pore of this sound much of its conception can be attributed to one whole summer where, as a 16 year old, Cox lay immobilized in a children's hospital undergoing surgery on his back and chest. This lost summer, spent bedridden and gazing longingly at the world, echoes the bleached out warmth of this sound and the endless dream-like imagery that loom in and out of focus throughout the record.

Let The Blind... is the vehicle by which Cox can express the ideas he feels unable to in Deerhunter. It's a one man bedroom recording of great depth and beauty that spends much of its time swimming in hazy pools of warmth while occasionally rising to minimal peaks of focus before receding back again. It employs similar washes of sound as Deerhunter's 2007 Cryptograms but assumes the roll of its more reserved cousin, lonely and sedated it spends its time indoors dreaming and anticipating.

A muffled child's voice clumsily narrates a ghost story in the opening few moments only to be overcome by a slow approaching wave of sampled glockenspiel that blissfully fades to the gentle rhythms and distant vocals of Recent Bedroom. Cox uses repetition to convey this dreamlike state with looping vocal formations drifting in and out of the listeners consciousness like the various stages of sleep. As the distant muffle of Recent Bedroom gives way to the crisp and clear pitter-patter of River Card you can feel yourself rising from slumber with ease and gentleness. Cold As Ice sees you fall back into the abyss only to be summoned back with angelic grandeur by the chiming synths of Small Horror. From the clipped drum roll of River Card to the sunken 4/4 techno beat of Winter Vacation, Cox smothers every minute of this record in rich effects conjured from homemade electronica.

Compared to his work with Deerhunter this is very much the sound of an individual. Sonically and thematically Let The Blind... describes the space inhabited by this one individual, be it the swirling pastoral landscape of his mind or the confines of a hospital bed. This is a very personal piece of work which manages to shimmer with warmth and shiver with icy melancholy. On Quarantined he sings "quarantined and kept so far away from friends," so his only option is to escape into this dream while he lies there "waiting to be changed."

As the closing fuzz of the final title track echoes opener A Ghost Story, you really have to emerge from this record to rejoin the real world. It's effects are subtle and it's not until it fades away that the spell is revealed and you realise how deep you have been taken. This is an abstract musical journey and seems to flow with a disjointed perfection that makes it work best as a unified whole rather than a collection of songs. It's headphone music to really disappear to and like most of Cox's work it's a fiercely original sound that knows exactly where its going and will take as long as it wants to get there. Your only choice is whether you've got what it takes to tag along.

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22nd Apr 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Bon Iver

For Emma, Forever Ago

4AD

Imagine you're in a public place, say a train station or doctors waiting room, and you can see this person going round gently and methodically whispering in peoples ears. You notice the look on these people's faces change slowly from one of skepticism to one of wonder and delight. You'd really want to know what this person was whispering right? Well as soon as the opening notes of For Emma, Forever Ago come to rest gracefully on your ears you'll realise what everyone else was hearing and your face will too be full of wonder.

Bon Iver (an intentional mis-spelling of 'Bon Hiver,' french for 'Good Winter,') is the work of Justin Vernon and his debut album is a very special thing indeed. It's one of the most beautiful sounds I've heard in a long time and its conception came about under fiercely controlled circumstances and time scale. After the break-up of his former band, DeYarmond Edison in 2006, Vernon opted out of society and took himself off into voluntary exile. Armed with only a couple of microphones, a baritone guitar, two drums, a horn and a reverb pedal he set off for the desolate landscape of Northeast Wisconsin and spent three months alone in a log cabin. Living off the land and hunting for food Vernon was able to shut himself away from the usual chatter of the world and allow an inner voice to emerge in his work. "I recognise that the record is enigmatic and special in a strange way. I can't take full credit for it, and I was the only one there." With no firm musical objective and the basic pressures of survival to worry about these songs grew organically and were governed purely by the natural artistic process that can only flourish under these circumstances. "I was able to access deeper, darker and even happier shit just by this sort of subconscious way of doing it."

Knowing this back story is not necessary, but it adds to the uniqueness of this record. Each song reflects the barren land in which it was born, as shiver and shudder under the clear sub-zero sky, with Vernon's spectral falsetto delivery trembling delicately like the frail trees that sway in the wind outside his window. But the glow of honesty and dedication burns with the comforting warmth of the log fire that crackles within, making this record endlessly captivating and welcoming. A bleak and lonely guitar strum opens the record, with Vernon's vocals tentatively creeping into view, but it's not long before they gently swell with an increased musical accompaniment like a rising flame. "I am my mother's only one, it's enough," is the line chosen to open this record and with it we see Vernon's thoughts turn inwards to memory as if forced by the elements outside. Lump Sum produces a choral arrangement so spacious it suggests a relationship between the empty space outside and the cavernous boom of a mind devoid of worldly noise. Skinny Love sees a rising of tempo and a new gravel sound creep into the voice as it gets louder. As if by way of response to the deafening silence that prevails, Vernon's words "I told you to be patient, I told you to be fine," lift with striking force but stand ambiguous to their target, a past love or Vernon himself?

There was some degree of post production added to the record once the exile ended, with instrumental accompaniments added by Chrissy Smith of Nola on Flume and Boston musicians John DeHaven and Randy Pingrey supplying horns on For Emma. Vernon achieved the choral sound, seen to great effect on The Wolves, by countless overdubs of his own voice. The subtle addition of these third parties and overdubs work in contrast to Vernon's solitary voice, making an interesting mark on the album's atmosphere. Instead of shattering the illusion of confined spaces this only serves to enhance the loneliness, with these added elements circling the central sound like ghosts of past regret rising to the surface of the memory. For Emma is the penultimate song and the inclusion of the horn section is so startling it brings with it a sense of the regret lifting and some conclusion being reached to the questions that have encircled us throughout. It's presence here is like a brief sighting of human company in this desolation and it swells the heart to triumphant heights. But as the achingly beautiful Re: Stacks fades in, the cold and loneliness encroach once more and you wonder if this sighting was only in your mind.

Re: Stacks brings the record full circle and tapers it off with delicate melody, gentle, resolved guitar strums and the sweetest vocals on the record. It leaves you with quiet resolution and the silence that reigns after the song is finished is all the richer for the sounds that have proceeded it. In this silence you beg the world to give you just a little more time, but slowly and surely it crashes in and the spell is broken - until of course you press play again.

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21st Apr 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

White Williams

Smoke

Double Six

Cleveland born Joe WIlliams, aka White Williams does everything he possibly can to sabotage this record, but ultimately fails. His debut record is 'unapologetic pop' which strikes me as baffling. Having toured with the likes of Girl Talk and Dan Deacon, he feels compelled to lace these sunny pop songs with touches of the avant garde. His guitar will be slightly out of key or he'll hit a bum note on the keyboard every now and again which in my mind is a form of apology to being pop music. With influences ranging from the 80's electro of The Human League (Headlines) and the hazy rock n' roll of T-Rex (In The Club) this is a collection of fairly simple and straight forward songs that would make for an enjoyable listen if the creator wasn't so preoccupied with taking his sound to other directions. So in trying to turn a pop album into a challenging slice of Art Pop he ends up doing neither.

Williams is clearly caught between some fairly obvious polar opposites. Songs like Going Down try their hardest to derail the melody with out-of-tune quirkiness but fail to rival the adventures of the afore mentioned Dan Deacon and the unlistenable noise of Lice In The Rainbow, a three and a half minute headache of directionless squeaks and twitters, aims at the abstract compositions of Black Dice - whom Williams also opened for with his previous band, but just serves to irritate the listener beyond belief. The title track, with its slow, plodding electronica and muffled vocals is so devoid of any substance it crumbles at the slightest glance, like a Tarantino plot line.

I hate to be so negative as this album does show signs of potential. Danger is the best song here, as it emerges from a cloud of tuneless mess it slips smoothly into a blissed out melody consisting of one word, "Danger." But it's a sad state of affairs when the strongest song features one word repeated over and over. Williams' desire to fit into that dubious genre 'Art Pop' is ultimately what kills this record. He has a natural ability to create effortless melody and catchy hooks but his half-hearted avant-garde dressing removes this from any genre at all and thins the whole thing down to dishwater. I realise this review sounds a bit like a school report and for that I apologise, seeing as the age old phrase we all experienced, "could try harder," doesn't really apply here as Williams' ultimate failing is that he's just trying way too hard.

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21st Apr 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Tokyo Police Club

Elephant Shell

Saddle Creek

In 2006 I wrote the following about this Toronto bands debut EP:

"A Lesson In Crime has glimmers of hope and offers more than enough clues that this is a band that, given the space of a full length album, could produce something great."

Well here we are, a year and a half later and Tokyo Police Club's debut album is upon us, but unfortunately it too shows glimmers of hope that this band have something great in them. The space that I had hoped for in a full-length seems to have diluted the edge they possessed in 2006 making Elephant Shell - by no means a bad record but not the tour-de-force their EP had hinted at.

Musically it's pretty similar to the EP with driving guitars and a rapid-fire drum pace propelling the songs forward but Dave Monk's vocals seem to have been sand-blasted down to a smooth mediocrity that is really the source of this albums diluted sound. I know it sounds perverse to site this as the fault when in my earlier review I highlighted the songs that strayed away from the "Strokes-like" rasp of Monk's voice as being the most promising but even in these songs there was a trace of effects and gravel to make it an interesting sound. In Elephant Shell it barely changes from song to song regardless of the change up in pace, in fact it sounds the most comfortable on The Harrowing Adventures Of with its acoustic strum and low-key tempo.

It's a much bigger record though with the force of the guitars setting their sights on the soaring heights of bands like Interpol or Editors giving this sound an added weight and a maturity that definitely improves on their earlier work. The stop-start technique of this driving sonic backbone in songs like Graves and Sixties Remake forms the basis of most of the record with Monk's vocals slotting in after the guitars subside taking the pounding drum as the only accompaniment until they all join forces for the rousing chorus. It works well when some of the more successful elements of the EP are rejoined. Tessellate sees the band bring back the furious hand-claps and Your English Is Good kicks off with a shouting rabble intro and comes as close as any of the songs to the rasping grit that Monk showed earlier.

The 2006 EP had large doses of The Strokes and that has been dealt with here but in its place they seem to have adopted the generic sound of a hundred indie bands making up the numbers in todays crowded scene. This is unfortunate as put alongside some of those acts like Editors these four guys have way more to give. They aren't a one-trick, derivative waist of space like a lot of the stuff being rammed down our necks but they really need to find their voice if they want to be heard above todays indie din.

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17th Apr 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Four Tet

Ringer

Domino

Say what you like about Four Tet but "same ol, same ol" is unlikely to be included. Having put out a rather under-par fourth album in 2005 with Everything Ecstatic and following it with ongoing collaboration with Steve Reid this 4 track EP is the first piece of solo material we've been given for a while, but boy was it worth the wait. Having slightly exhausted his form of cut-up beats and calamitous percussion, he crafts here a more minimal and deep techno formation that hints at conforming but always keeps it's hand hovering dangerously over the sabotage button where the slightest press could send the beat spiraling off into glorious irregularity.

From the opening title track to the closing disco percussion of Wing Body Wing these songs take in deep breaths of space then exude from their every pore sublime ripples of sonic richness. At over 10 minutes in length Ringer is a stunning way to open this EP. The sense of space is achieved by the slow build up and gradual layering of vast swathes of tone and delicate beats that climb upon eachother, higher and higher, until they stand proud, surveying this endless landscape. Ribbons drips with moist lushness while Swimmer rides the wave of a constant, resonating tone then slowly fades in erratic cymbal beats that swirl from one ear to the next with anarchic confidence. Wing Body Wing pulls focus on Hebdon's trademark recuttings of jazz breaks and brings them into line with a deep heartbeat and almost african rhythms. Gentle melody tip-toes around this rhythm making way for driving bursts of synthesizer.

This EP heralds a very promising direction for Hebdon. This is techno made with an afrobeat/krautrock sensibility and it may be minimal but this artists grasp of detail is very much present. Every moment of this record has been viewed under a microscope but the result sounds effortless and joyous. It beats with an unstoppable pulse and shields its eyes from the glaring sunshine ahead as it looks forward to the expanding horizon it has just created.

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15th Apr 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Clinic

Do It

Domino

For some strange reason, whenever I listen to Clinic I get this twisted vision of the band as puppet masters and on the end of their strings dance the recently slaughtered bodies of the Beach Boys. Lifeless, yet eerily animated, these corpses play out Clinic's own brand of surf-punk with singer Ade Blackburn's pursed-lipped vocals crawling from the mouth of Brian Wilson like maggots from a Thunderbird. Anyway...on with the review.

Do It is Clinic's fifth album and sees the band inhabiting much the same universe that they've been sole occupiers of since they started. It's a warped technicolor celebration that can veer from dreamy pop to acid psychosis with very little advance warning. This bipolar tension is deliciously seductive and on Do It Clinic have never sounded so relaxed and so uptight.

Memories opens this record with a gentle harpsichord chime which clears the way for a stomping marching band of calamitous percussion and driving guitars. With unstoppable ferocity it tramples down the aural highstreet of your mind, stopping dead as Blackburn imparts his bittersweet wisdom, then marching on as the occupying forces take their positions. The guitar strings on Tomorrow nearly buckle under the weight of the empty twang while single The Witch continues the advancing assault with thunderous guitars and booming rhythm. Shopping Bag is the point where this army takes up position and the real battle begins. With ferocious drumming and wild clarinet squeals Blackburn's voice reaches fever pitch as it assumes a crazed, demonic tone. It marks the most feral point of this record and even though the downbeat tempo of Corpus Christi shows no signing of afflicting the same damage its seething tension and distant squeals spell danger.

The juxtaposition that inhabits Clinic's sound is what give them their edge. Stylistically Do It doesn't stray too far from the ground covered by 2006's Visitations but simply reinforces and subtly steps up the tension between paranoia and tranquil waters. Their music envelopes the listener in an almost drug induced haze where nothing is as it seems. Visions of mysterious fortune tellers' horses in High Coin or the booming fog horn on Mary And Eddie loom out of this haze like dark ships that threaten your every turn. Each song continues this maniacal descent into madness as they spin you round and round on their twisted broken-down fair ground ride until you emerge, exhausted, the other side to the sound of chiming church bells. There is a reason why Clinic inhabit their own universe, no one else dares.

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9th Apr 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Colin Meloy

Sings Live!

Kill Rock Stars

We all know that Denzel Washington never deserved an Academy Award for his role in Training Day, but was given it in light of the countless times he was overlooked for more worthy roles. Likewise in 2006, by some unforgivable act of neglect this revered website you look to for guidance failed to cover the release of The Decemberists major label debut The Crane Wife. After the roaring success of Picaresque, The Crane Wife was a significant rise in production and scale for this band and the result was stunning. I will not attempt to squeeze in a review here as the damage is done and it would be a case of too little too late. Instead I will adopt the Academy's logic and give this record a glowing review. The only difference being that Sings Live! doesn't suck like Training Day did and it is more than worthy of the praise it's about to get.

This album covers The Decemberists front man's 2006 solo tour and it features 13 Meloy originals, 2 of which are previously unreleased (although Meloy claims one of these is the worst song he's ever written.) Opening with Devil's Elbow, a song from his previous band Tarkio, this live set spans pretty much the full Descemberists back catalogue but sadly none from The Crane Wife. This show coincided with the 'tour-only' release of Colin Meloy Sings Shirley Collins, a six song EP paying homage to the British folksinger, one of which is featured here. This follows the previous covers EP Colin Meloy Sings Morrissey. This penchant for the cover version is expressed expertly in the form of a verse or two from songs by The Smiths, Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd and REM being sneaked on to the dying chords of many of the songs which really transforms this record from being simply a stripped down 'best of.'

It's no surprise that this particular songwriter should cover Morrissey, as since he first began he has shown a similar eye for the descriptive detail and the unique turn of phrase to express his wit and wisdom. His tales heave with historic passion, dripping with revenge and devotion and to hear them as distilled as this is a treat. The Picaresque songs like We Both Go Down Together and The Engine Driver are received with rapturous applause but some of the earlier material really shines like the sinister A Cautionary Song and the 12 minute marathon of California One/Youth And Beauty Brigade - both from Castaways and Cutouts. Closing with the rare and beautiful Bandit Queen from the Picaresqueties EP, this acoustic show is a unique opportunity to see the bare bones of this talent.

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7th Apr 2008 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

The Orphanage

(dir. Juan Antonio Bayona)

This is the directorial debut of Juan Antonio Bayona and together with screenwriter Sergio Sanchez they have produced a modern ghost story that uses time honored traditions of horror and suspense to create a truly chilling piece of work. It centres around a small family unit, Laura (Belen Rueda) her husband Carlos (Fernando Cayo) and their adopted nine-year-old son Simon (Roger Princep), who return to the barren, coastal orphanage where Laura spent some of her childhood in order to re-establish it as a home for handicapped children. Pretty soon she becomes aware of a new set of 'imaginary' friends that seem to join in with Simon's carefree games. Innocent treasure hunts soon lose their charm when the treasure becomes something you really care about.

The less you know about the plot of this film the more you'll enjoy and succumb to its intrigue. The Orphanage has been brought to the screen by executive producer Guillermo del Toro - who clearly shines as a major influence here. Like the dazzling Pan's Labyrinth it delves deep into the imaginary worlds of a child's imagination and the fear that can arise from an adults inability to follow. Like del Toro's own film The Devil's Backbone, The Orphanage recognises and exploits the basic fear we all have through the vulnerability of children.

In a genre populated by countless teen-slasher films this film's superior grasp of the things that make us all scared is stunning. Both aesthetically and stylistically this is a traditional horror film in the sense that it all takes place in an old house full of dark rooms and even darker secrets. The fear is delivered with restraint and tension recognising that there is nothing more scary than what we create in our own minds. But their is an inevitable contemporary unease that presides over this story. The constant stream of child abductions that populate our news broadcasts and the recent horrors that have been uncovered in the Haut de la Garenne children's home in Jersey all serve to enhance our dread at the events that unfold.

This film may be subtle in it's fear delivery approach but there were several moments where everyone in the cinema screamed uncontrollably. The film opens with the young Laura facing a tree saying "one, two , three: knock on the door," then turning around to see how close her friends have approached, so when, as an adult, she is forced to repeat the same game in a darkened room in order to tempt the child- ghosts out of their hiding places the fear was tangible and audible throughout the cinema. There is also a 'jaw-dropping' car accident and a sack-masked child to scare the living daylights out of you as well.

Ever since The Shining I have been intrigued by a film that claims to be truly frightening but have been disappointed on many occasions. It doesn't seem hard to push our fear buttons but so many film makers repeatedly get it wrong opting for gore and violence over suggestion and subtlety. Together with Alejandro Amenabar (The Others) this crop of directors have an intelligence and sensitivity which, when put withquality acting performances, create some truly terrifying cinema experiences.

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4th Apr 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Speck Mountain

Summer Above

Peacefrog

Released way back in 2006, Summer Above - the debut album Chicago's Speck Mountain - is finally reaching our European ears  and like a fine rain it has seeped into my life without me even realizing. Entirely self-produced this record is one of such profound yet subtle beauty that you'll have to be careful not to miss it. Its impact is slow-release and comes in the form of dreamy, psychedelic pop-rock, built on organ drones, shimmering guitars and singer Marie-Claire Balabanian's soft, sedated, honey-dipped vocals.

The title song chimes in with dirty, jangly guitars which lay down an almost 2 minute long soundscape for the first, sweet breath of Balabanian's voice. Close and intimate, nobody is in any hurry to prove themselves here and by the end of this opening track the spell is cast. Hey Moon is a stripped down slice of minimal expertise while Midnight Sun shines with melancholic warmth. Fjord Song sees Balabanian's vocals dripping in reverb and as a result vast caverns of sound emerge from this previously barren landscape like long forgotten monuments. This seems to clear the way for a new and fresher sound and Chlorine Fields is the mighty forerunner of this. At over 8 minutes long it holds you with baited breath in suspended animation before embarking on a tripped out instrumental marathon that sees swirling organ spiraling into an abyss of droning guitar and a thick fog of sound. And if the advancing rain of this record has been building to this point then album closer Blood Is Clean is the fresh result of a storm passing. Clean and crisp, it is the antidote to the previous song and with typical restraint it finishes this record off perfectly.

Speck Mountain have brought with them comparisons to such bands as The Velvet Underground and Mazzy Star, they could also inspire memories of more contemporary sounds like that of Yo La Tengo but ultimately their success is all their own. There is a confidence and humility here that slows the whole thing down to a gentle hum. They effortlessly create space then take their time to fill it. It's repetition and time that makes this sound bore its way into your soul, it swirls with glorious psychedelia but Balabanian's vocals have a focus and clarity that maintain a foreground presence and keeps things from descending into hazy, intoxicated obscurity. Like an exploding star the light of Speck Mountain has taken its time to reach us but now that it's here we can all bask in its warmth.

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3rd Apr 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

The Cinematic Orchestra

Live At The Royal Albert Hall

Ninja Tune

For those who are yet to see The Cinematic Orchestra live then let this wet your appetite for what is truly a unique musical experience. Without belittling Jason Swinscoe's scintillating recordings this group were born to play live. This is where they truly live up to their name and what better place to convey this than in the Royal Albert Hall. On November 2nd 2007 Swinscoe brought with him an enhanced line up which featured the 24 piece Heritage Orchestra to this historic venue and dazzled an audience of more than 4000 people.

This recording aims to convey this extraordinary live event and really the only fault worth mentioning is that a recording can't possibly do justice to this night and though many of the original vocalists are not present this CD is a close second best.

Opening with Every Day's stand out song All That You Give, this night was all about using the original songs as platforms from which to launch the musical potential that lies within this group. Like any jazz ensemble the musicians here use the original structure of each song as a base to return to after their sonic journeys into the rafters of this great venue. Flite rolls along on the trademark drumbeat while guitar and organ dance playfully around it and great swathes of strings lift and lift. Last spring saw the release of Ma Fleur which featured the achingly beautiful song To Build A Home. Changing up on the vocalist here this live version has little of the magnitude of the original and is one of the few instances where the recording triumphs over the live. However this is all soon forgotten when we enter the opening phase of the epic and now classic Ode To The Big Sea. At over 14 minutes long we revisit in striking glory the jazz routs of this band. Though dazzling in their own right the last few albums have taken Swinscoe's outfit away from the free jazz sound and it really is special to see them return in such style. Skipping along to rain-drop-like piano we build to a frantic drum solo that just about marks the mid way point. A clarinet heralds the change up and with the hall silent the experimentation really begins. Accompanied by electronic bleeps this pair really use the space provided and receive rousing applause from the crowd for their courage when the drums finally rejoin them.

The whole night is concluded with Time And Space featuring Lou Rhodes of Lamb. A sedate yet beautiful end to a very special evening. After experiencing this live show you'd want a recording such as this to keep the memory alive.

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1st Apr 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Sea Wolf

Get to the River Before It Runs Too Low

Dangerbird

This is the debut EP from LA based singer/songwriter Alex Church, produced by Phil Ek (Built To Spill, The Shins). Recorded partly in the studio and partly in Church's living room, this collection of 5 songs captures the warmth of a homemade recording but can swell with beautiful confidence when mixed with complex orchestration. Church's vocals have an intimate feel that recalls vintage Fence releases but though many of the songs have a melancholic theme of loss the overall feeling is one of affection and honesty. Musically there is a rich blend of delicate guitars and washes of cello that create a satisfying mix of foggy folk with uplifting pop melodies. The result is simple and effective, captivating and entirely genuine and really whets the appetite for the full length album Leaves In The River.

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29th Mar 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

The Mountain Goats

Heretic Pride

4AD

If you've ever come in contact with our hip hop reviewer HHG you'll know it's probably not something you want to happen on a daily basis. He knows his stuff but he's a snob and thinks hip hop's the only music, not to mention his uncontrollable temper and borderline chauvanism. He's a valid member of the Chimp team but most of us here try not to have much to do with him for reasons already mentioned. So you can imagine my disappointment when his hulking frame approached me in the Chimp canteen one day last year. Standing there stinking of weed he asks, " Yo, Bear dude, who the fuck is this John Darnielle?"

Turns out his narrow field of musical experience was momentarily widened when The Mountain Goats frontman guest starred at the end of the recent Aesop Rock album. Much as I resent Darnielle for inadvertently bringing me into contact with my skunk soaked colleague it's clear that last years collaboration has opened the flood gates on Darnielle's own sphere of musical experience and brought out a thrilling surge in volume, tempo and excitement to this bands work.

Darnielle has always expressed a masterful penchant for storytelling, in few words he can evoke oceans of emotion, the slightest turn of phrase and he can explain a feeling or situation that you've been trying to pin down your whole life. When we last saw him he was struggling with solitude in the aftermath of a breakup in 2006's desolate Get Lonely. It's clear from the first drum stick count ins that the volume has picked up here but don't think for a minute that Darnielle is using this volume to express a new found lust for life. He might have addressed his romantic troubles since Get Lonely exclaiming in the album opener "I am coming home to you" but he follows it "with my own blood in my mouth." This new surge in musical arrangements serves more to express his heightened sense of fear and impending doom. The sorrow from 2006 has grown into taut anguish. On Lovecraft In Brooklyn he admits, "I woke up afraid of my own shadow, like genuinely afraid."

At the heart of this record lurks paranoia, tension and violence seen most effectively in the two songs that form the records backbone both in form and theme. In The Craters On The Moon builds with tight, drumbeat like guitar strums and heightened strings to a thunderous crescendo while Lovecraft In Brooklyn is a switchblade-wielding powerhouse prediction of death and destruction. This is contrasted in songs like Autoclave and the delicate So Desperate, which both show this songwriters continuing vulnerability.

Whether he's gently plucking, violently thrashing or soaring on great orchestral waves this record shows a refreshing array of musical expertise. How To Embrace A Swamp Creature employs sparkling jewels of instrumentation that glisten around Darniell's lyrics like looming rocks in the dazzling sunlight. Another reason for this renewed rise in tempo could be that Darnielle has more company on this record. Get Lonely was a stark portrayal of a man alone while here we have complex string arrangements (San Bernardino) and airy female vocals (Marduk T-Shirt Men's Room Incident) all joining together to create a far richer landscape than the ones inhabited in the past. This is undoubtedly The Mountain Goats most accessible record to date but it sacrifices none of the qualities that made the other albums. Darnielle is a very human song writer, weather he's using himself as the subject or creating complex characters to play out his view of this experience we call life he casts a light over this experience and though this reveals things we don't want to see they serve to enlighten us and inform us that little bit more about the human condition.

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26th Feb 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

The Diableros

The Diableros Aren't Ready For The Country

The Diableros' first album You Can't Break The Strings On Our Olympic Hearts was made on a shoe string but was a musical rags to riches tale. It stood proud as one of the best albums of 2006 and 2 years on it still holds its place. Since its release the Toronto band have seen their success spread way beyond their Canadian borders but still remain a well kept secret over here. But some secrets are best unkept and their follow up, though not a massive progression only goes to confound this fact. If you got on at the ground floor with these guys you'll find the second floor has much the same decor but is more spacious.

Taken it's title from Neil Young's Ready For The Country, this record sticks to the script set by its predecessor. It's the slightly more grown-up older brother, more far reaching yet more mature, it's bigger and slightly more controlled but also lacks some of the spirited, wet-behind-the-ears passion of the earlier record. But when you set the bar as high as they did from the get-go then this is to be expected.

Some familiar elements remain firmly in place for this second installment but are refreshed with a more varied pallet of tempo, intensity and emotion. The wall-of-sound barrage that dominated the first album and drew comparisons to hey-day Wedding Present is still standing tall here but is often punctuated with rhythmic guitars like on Nothing Down In Hogtown. They also show a more melodic and sometimes easy-going side on songs like Any Other Time with its pedestrian tempo and understated instrumentation which provides more space around Pete Carmichael's strained vocals. But even when this does occur the melody is always supported in part by the frenzied guitars that come so rapidly that they end up merging into one all engrossing wash of sound. The talent of this band rests on their ability to control this sound and they rarely get it wrong. A misuse of this wall-of-sound technique would make every song blend into one but they are well aware of the power they hold in their hands and never abuse it. It can start off subtle like a gentle buzz then ever so gradually swell like a rising wave and before you know what's hit you it looms overhead, it's shadow swallowing up everything underneath including Carmichael's often distorted vocals.

The rising intensity of songs like Ever-Changing and No One Wants To Drive with its soaring guitars and tales of kids getting high are cut from the same cloth as earlier favorites like Golden Gates and the spectacular Push It To Monday and remind me what lit my fire about this band in the first place. These songs are created with urgency and grit but don't fall into the trap of taking themselves too seriously. This album all the reasons the first record was so great but also suffers as a result of this similarity. It doesn't reach the same lofty heights but stays on the lower ground and covers more of it. It shows The Diableros as a more well rounded band that thankfully are no one hit wonder. There's nothing more embarrassing than backing a band early on only to see them crash at the second hurdle. So thanks boys, I still have my job.

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8th Feb 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Vampire Weekend

Vampire Weekend

XL

29 days into 2008 and it's here. Sound the horn to call in your spies, the search is over. We may be a week late, but the first second great record of this year is upon us and that's not just yet another NME prediction of greatness, this is the official Chimp opinion - and we're strict here. Cast your mind back to 2001 and your excitement at hearing The Strokes' debut Is This It. It wasn't an altogether new sound gracing your ears, it's musical reference points were unashamedly obvious but it represented a departure from the current music du jour that was gripping the scene. Well, Vampire Weekend is the self titled debut from this New York 4 piece and it sounds nothing like The Strokes but they are bedfellows for more profound reasons. It represents a similar departure and ironically enough this departure could be seen as the breakaway from the trend that Is This It started. The Strokes kick started a return to grimy indie bands belting out simple, well crafted guitar music and we've seen very little else ever since. Vampire Weekend do the opposite. Yes they're an indie 4 piece from New York but their sound reaches far wider and their references are refreshingly varied.

Gentle Afro-rhythms combine with cheap organs, jaunty drum beats and a vocal style so relaxed and unassuming it all makes for easy listening in the best possible way. Although Talking Heads does vaguely come to mind the rest of the reference points are rarely seen in today's indie scene. Paul Simon, The Police and Ski Sunday spring to mind and like someone who has drawn a head on a piece of paper, folded it over and passed it on for the next person to draw the body all these odd parts unfold into an astonishingly complete whole. If you're the type that needs genres to aid your musical appreciation fear not as the boys have done the work for you describing their sound as 'Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa,' and 'Upper West Side Soweto.' It's Paul Simon but with Chevy Chase at his side keeping things light.

The other reason The Strokes' debut has been twinned with this one is the ease by which it seems to have been born. Songs like Oxford Comma with it's lounge-act style keyboards or the pogoing funk guitars of A-Punk drip forth like melting wax, nothing seems forced and no one seems to give a shit if it works or not. With a varied choice of themes like English grammar, preferred bus routs or American preppie fashion this is not your average record about love and loss. M79 is where my Ski Sunday reference crops up. Starting off with courtly 18th century harpsichord then slipping into a chorus of chamber music, this really shouldn't work. M79 is named after a Manhattan bus route which only adds to the confusion as this song evokes more cultures than is healthy in just over 4 minutes. The hymnal-meets-tribal thunder of I Stand Corrected shows a slightly more serious string to the bow and it leads on brilliantly to Walcott, the figurehead of this record. It's a furious steel-drum carnival of a song. Crashing cymbals and soaring melodies carry the repeated 'don't you want to get out of Cape Cod' chorus to new heights. It's dazzling and a shame it doesn't finish the album.

Vampire Weekend is good because it isn't trying to be good and it's different for the same reason. Not once do you get the impression that these world-rhythms and mismatched instruments have been employed because no one else has done it recently. It's effortless and it's joyously unaware of itself. We'll have to wait and see how the ultimate judge of time treats this little gem. These are simple pop songs and it's hard to say whether some may fall by the wayside but right now their simplicity and charm is exactly what we need. Their creativity and wealth of ideas is such that one listen to Vampire Weekend will get your mouth watering for their next album. Bring it on. This world needs more Ski Sunday-Afro Pop.

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4th Feb 2008 - 3 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

The Cave Singers

Invitation Songs

Matador Records

Like an England early goal, a January love affair with an album almost certainly spells the inevitable slump into obscurity and defeat when it comes to the final whistle at the end of the year. Seattle's Cave Singers provided me with my first job of the year and though we all look set for a steady economic decline and general misery in the coming 12 months Invitation Songs has taken up the slack with its generous supply of much needed warmth this winter and only time will tell if it's still emitting this warmth come the end of play but I sincerely hope it is.

Cutting their teeth on a post-punk background and name-checking such bands as The Replacements, The Pixies and Fleetwood Mac as their influences this 3 piece has shocked everybody including themselves by creating what can only be described as a folk album. They never listen to folk music, they never intended to make folk music and until recently the guitarist had never even picked up his instrument. But all this can be seen to contribute to the honesty of this music and in this honesty comes its warmth, charm and power.

The music is uncomplicated with gentle guitar melodies being padded out with brushed and slapped drum beats and singer Pete Quirk's nasal drawl provides this music with the abrasion that is often missing from similar artists. Effortless stompers like opener Seeds Of Night (mp3) and Dancing On Our Graves recall Civil War marches with their relentless rhythm, while Helen is a tortured tale of lost love that swells slowly but then fades to nothing. This is the power of these songs as they hold in their repertoire the latent ability to freeze you with a sparse chill or scoop you up and cary you away on a thermal sky rocket, and they do all this without you knowing. This album makes no mission statements so it's effects are not easily spotted but deeply felt. This is very physical music and conjures up a whole host of landscapes around you as it plays. Called swirls around in a barely visible darkness with haunting cries looming out at you while Royal Lawns expands into cavernous halls that echo its melancholy. Elephant Clouds is the backbone of this record and is a curious affair indeed. It bears a strange resemblance to Richard Marx's Hazard and is still a corker. It tip-toes along on what is by now a trade mark nervous tension but then picks up into a galloping torrent of emotionally soaring awesomeness, but as is also a trademark it never fully puts out and leaves you breathless and wanting more.

The aptly named Invitation Songs has welcomed me into this musical year. It is an album dripping with mystery, its melodies are ghostly and empty and yet can turn with dazzling ease into foot-stomping rousers or delicate heart-warmers. Its humility will make it a slow burner but it has the power to seep into every corner of your life and once it does your life will be a better place.

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30th Jan 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Various Artists

Rough Trade Shops - Counter Culture 07

Counter Culture Records

In this new dawn of flagging record sales and mass closures of your favorite music shops it seemed a strange time for Rough Trade to expand its empire and open the impressive uber-shop that is Rough Trade East, but I guess if anyone can do it thy can and now that it has its own cafe at the front this new Counter Culture compilation is what you'd likely endure if you closed your office for a day and set up camp in the Rough Trade cafe. Needless to say it wouldn't all be what you were looking for. Having ditched the assistance of some of the major labels that aided the release of the previous Counter Culture series this one has been put together independently by the Rough Trade shops themselves. This is quite evident from the tracklist as some of the selections you just know are the choices of a minority nerd group that really doesn't give a monkeys if the customers don't like it, they're ignorant so why should they be trusted? But then there are some really big hitters that never fail to deliver.

Over the years I have often used these Rough Trade compilations as a way of discovering new musical territory previously untrodden by my delicate and sheltered ears. I first came across Sufjan Stevens on a Counter Culture CD and have looked forward to similar discoveries ever since. Though expertly compiled and a darn good listen throughout this outing unfortunately serves up little in the way of surprises. A quick glance at the tracklist will hint at some immediate stand out moments of last year like Battles' unrivaled and mighty Atlas or Of Montreal's avant-pop gem Gronlandic Edit. Pete And The Pirates provide some ramshackled indie-punk magic from their album Little Death with Come On Feet and Dan Deacon's d.i.y roadrunner-rave is perfectly expressed in The Crystal Cat. But at a glance I would have expected these to be some obvious high points and was slightly disappointed not to be proved wrong. There were exceptions however with Julian Cope and the dirty rock tornado of No Age pricking up my ears but the prize would have to go to Dan Le Sac Versus Scroobius Pip for Thou Shalt Always Kill. This is a razor-sharp pop-culture critique that providing you can keep up is a lesson to us all. Lessons like never to question Steven Fry or watch Hollyoaks are of course a given but the line, "Thou shalt not judge a book by its cover, thou shalt not judge Lethal Weapon by Danny Glover," is really something else.

So as the stand out song on this exceedingly mixed bag its wisdom casts a new light on the compilation itself. After being told repeatedly not set up bands as false idols and to think for yourselves you do start to look over these choices as just someone's opinion. But on a brighter note the whole thing comes impeccably presented in a 2 CD set with 20 page colour fold-out booklet and full sleeve notes and just serves to prove that the supposedly lifeless corpse of the record shop has some breath left in it after all.

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29th Jan 2008 - Add Comment - Tweet

Best of 2007

BC

Albums
Radiohead - In Rainbows
The album really lived up to the hype of it's release and it's proving to be their most consistent album yet.
LCD Soundsystem - Sound Of Silver
This is a shock favorite. Probably the most played album of the year
Arcade Fire - Neon Bible
They had a lot to live up to after Funeral but their second album was bigger and better. One of the few followup albums to actually expand on what made them so good to start with.
Spoon - Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
This was no surprise, they just did what they always do and it wins every time.
The National - Boxer
Some of the richest music put out this year, a near perfect album and just what we wanted after Alligator.

Honorable Mentions
Okkervil River - The Stage Names
Wilco - Sky Blue Sky
The More Shallows - Book Of Bad Breaks
Pela - Anytown Graffiti
Iron & Wine - The Shepherd's Dog
Electrelane - No Shouts, No Calls

Songs
All My Friends - LCD Soundsystem (Sound Of Silver)
Atlas - Battles (Mirrored)
Slow Show - The National (Boxer)
(Antichrist Television Blues) - Arcade Fire (Neon Bible)
John Allyn Smith Sails - Okkervil River (The Stage Names)

Gigs
Beastie Boys - Brixton Academy
Wilco - Shepherds Bush Empire
Beirut - Camden Roundhouse
Black Mountain - Cargo

TV
Sopranos
Flight Of The Conchords
Heros
Prison Break
Entourage

Turkeys
Death Proof (This needs it's own category)

Disappointments
Ian Brown - The World Is Yours
Couldn't even review this as it would mean I'd have to listen to it more than once.
24 - Day Six
Thank God for the writers strike and the incarceration. Although I was pleased to see Keifer taking one for the team by opting for a Christmas sentence so he can be free for shooting next year, that's Bauer would have done.
The National - Shepherds Bush Empire
An album of the year but didn't translate well live.

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20th Dec 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Radiohead

In Rainbows (Disc 2)

If you were expecting this addition to the most talked about record of the year to be to In Rainbows what Amnesiac was to Kid A you will be slightly disappointed. This is 8 songs but only 26 minutes long and serves as a worthy accompaniment to the original record. It differs both in pace and mood to In Rainbows and seems more like preparatory sketches after being dazzled by the finished painting. They don't have the same level of rich production, they are of a much more relaxed tempo and lack the same breadth of direction that their counterparts have. Having said that they manage to take all the uncharacteristic warmth of In Rainbows and turn it inward to the more haunting and desolate place we are used to seeing this band.

Where the first disc ends this one picks up with the opening Mk1's solemn piano chords echoing Video Tape. Many of these songs use the piano to create the sombre mood that dominates this record and with the help of soaring strings like on Go Slowly, Amnesiac's Pyramid Song becomes the main comparison for the first half of the album. It's not until Up On The Ladder that the mood shifts. This is a lip-curling rumble of a song that plods along full of tension on the minimal beat and deep guitar and though it threatens to explode it exercises merciless restraint and just fades away. The explosion is left for the following song. A crowd favorite at last years live shows Bangers And Mash is the muscle behind this record. Grinding guitars and Yorke's frenzied vocals lift the tempo at a vital point and as it all collapses in a heap of exhaustion the dust settles on the sublime closer 4 Minute Warning. It's a cavernous and empty song with the vocals brought right forward to an intimate closeness. It finishes this mini album off in the manner by which it started. Sedate and withdrawn, these songs are the less approachable and introvert cousin of the first record and actually have more in common with the haunting and empty feel of Kid A or Amnesiac than any of the more recent songs.

Having lived with In Rainbows for some time now it is emerging as one of the most complete Radiohead albums to date and for that reason it's hard to add anything to this. But this second disc avoids the 'add on' feel and shows us the darker underbelly of its predecessor. The disc comes with a generous helping of Stanley Donwood in the form of more than 60 digital artworks and even more behind the scenes band photos. The whole disc box is a treat to explore and really reignites the lost art of the record sleeve. The throwaway nature of the albums initial release is reversed with this exquisite packaging and elaborate presentation. It will probable go away into the cupboard now but will be something to treasure none the less.

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12th Dec 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Phosphorescent

Pride

Dead Oceans

There must be a moment in the sleep process and indeed the death process that is akin to the waking up, a moment where the two states cross over and if this moment were to freeze it would be near impossible to tell whether the body was regaining consciousness or receding. Phosphorescent's 2nd album is cleverly placed in this moment and though it is one of the loneliest and barren records I've heard since Bonny 'Prince' Billie's I See A Darkness it is clearly frozen in a state of waking up. This is not a conclusion I've arrived at easily. Any hint at the direction this record is taking is subtle to say the least, but that is where it's success lies.

Phosphorescent is the work of Matthew Houck and though this sound is comprised of many voices and musical accompaniments it is Houck who leads this choir. Like the afore mentioned Prince Billie, Houck's voice quivers and shakes like a fragile flame. His music is stark and minimal. The production is hollow and there is very little in the way of bass to provide you with any warmth. Periphery noise is often prominent with voices and shuffling creating a sense of emptiness behind Houck's intimate whispering. These are prayers set to music, some people would call that a hymn but these are more intimate and personal than that. 2005's Aw Come Aw Wry was a different affair from Pride, full of marching bands and evangelical fervor but here Houck takes the same sentiment but expresses it in a far more subtle and mystical way. The result is a more spiritual-sounding record.

The start of the album is very different from the end. A Picture Of Our Torn Up Praise and Be Dark Night conjure up the most desolate of landscapes. As cold, dark nights loom we huddle round these saddest of Christmas carols for a glimpse of warmth. Wolves is a divine piece of work. With the help of a gently plucked ukulele Houck starts off, "Mama there's wolves in the house, mama they wont let me out." In this song we see the albums aim to ward off this approaching death. "They make for my heart as their home."

By the time you get down to My Dove, My Lamb the approach has shifted. This song and the next - Cocaine Lights - are twice the length of their predecessors and serve as a total immersion in this prayer. They stubbornly take their time in a Dylanesque repetition of verse and chorus and they are simply dazzling. Were it not for the closer Pride which is over six minutes of wailing these two songs would end the album in uncompromising beauty.

This record creates this bleak image of cold and dark and yet at its heart there is so much warmth. It shows you the world outside but subtly gathers around you and holds you close. Houck's final line on Cocaine Lights ends this truly special album perfectly and sees this vulnerable, flickering flame show encouraging signs of burning bright. "I will recover my sense of grace, and rediscover my rightful place, yes and cover my face with the morning."

Buy this album now.

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6th Dec 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Jens Lekman

Night Falls Over Kortedala

The master of disguise is back with an even more cloaked album than 2005's fantastic Oh You're So Silent Jens. Night Falls Over Kortedala is 12 songs packed full of bone dry wit, ludicrously surreal observations and expert irony. But as usual they all come heavily masked in cheese and do their best to convince you they're nothing but throwaway tat. His skill is two pronged. He undercuts his grand notions of love by filling them with the common-place, but then he'll sing about the common-place using enormous, sweeping musical arrangements. No one but this guy could construct such wonderfully heartfelt love songs while mentioning avocados and asthma inhalers, or explain the tax repercussions of secretly running a beauty salon from your own apartment by way of the most perfect, floaty pop song.

Kortedala refers to a neighborhood in Jens' hometown of Gothenburg in all its depressing insularity. In his own words Jens explains, "My record basically never leaves the 30 square metres that I live on until the very last song when I take a short bus ride to the countryside in Friday Night At The Drive-in Bingo." The deep irony of these songs lies in Jens' ability to create some of the most uplifting and buoyantly joyful sounds while describing this suburban hell he lives in. He goes on, "Everyone goes to bed at nine, after that you can't see one single window lit up...But it's the atmosphere and the small incidents that scare me. The guys who yell faggot at me when I pass their balcony, the Nazis hanging out in a nearby garage...In Kortedala everyone minds their own business. And I'm slowly turning into one of them so as soon as I've finished this record I will get the hell out of here."

After the opening swell of the string section in And I Remember Every Kiss, Jens' glorious croon caries us through this modern-day kitchen sink drama with unfailing optimism. During tragic anecdotes like The Opposite Of Hallelujah's line "I picked up a seashell to illustrate my loneliness, but a crab crawled out making it useless," Jens maintains this rosy outlook. Tales of love are never cut and dry with Lekman, whether he's fallen in love with his barber in Shirin or pretending to be the boy friend of his lesbian friend during a difficult dinner with her father as in Postcard To Nina. The upshot to this fateful dinner is explained in Lekman's line "Your father's mailing me all the time, says he just wants to say hi, I send back out-of-office auto reply."

Each of these delightfully tragic stories is told in a myriad of high-kicking, tongue-in-cheek musical ways from cheap calypso to full on Strictly Ballroom drama. If you fail to recognise the irony in Lekman's work then it will be lost to you and the one criticism of this record is that this irony is more disguised than ever here. The cheery campness of the music can sometimes be too much to bear. But I guess it all depends on the mood you're in. This album presents Lekman as a truly unique talent. It has all the dry wit of a loved-up Morrissey but dresses it all up in the most hideous sunday best.

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6th Dec 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Bishop Allen

The Broken String

Dead Oceans

In 2006 this Brooklyn quartet released an EP every month and became self-made legends in blogs the world over. The Broken String is the bands sophomore album and is comprised of nine reworked songs from the EP's and 2 new cuts. The urgent time restrictions imposed on the EP songs shine forth here in simple, direct songwriting - but benefit greatly from the rich face-lift that The Broken String gives them.

From the slow building majesty of opening track The Monitor to the bar-room sing-along of closer The News From Your Bed, this album is simply a joy to be in the company of. The songwriting is very much in the vein of contemporary American icon Ben Folds, with it's piano driven melodies but has the quirky dark side of Eels. The 12 songs span a refreshing array of musical moods. Click, Click, Click, Click is an up-beat lesson is in joyful pop while Flight 180's string section and soaring vocals hints at the latent power this band possesses. The glorious Like Castanets hints at a feel good factor last seen in Loney, Dear's Sologne - and Choose Again's sadness makes it clear that this band aren't just here to make us feel better.

Using simple programming, banjo, piano, guitars and the good old hand clap Bishop Allen prove that good song writing is really all you need to make an album of this quality. It's hard to think of a single negative thing to say about The Broken String and after such an ambitious year last year the mind boggles at what these guys can produce when they give themselves less Sufjan-like deadlines.

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6th Dec 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Sunset Rubdown

Random Spirit Lover

Jagjaguwar

With their third album Sunset Rubdown present you with 2 options. (A) You could buy the album and listen to it a lot of times or (B) You could attach a balloon to a hose pipe, turn on the tap as far as it could go and put your face close to the ever expanding sack of tension. The result would be the same except for one difference. With option (B) you would get a more than refreshing blast in the face as the balloon bursts showering you with water. With option (A) the balloon would burst every 30 seconds and instead of a torrent of water pouring out, great birds of prey would launch forth from their captivity showering gold dust from their outstretched wings on any one lucky enough to witness this magical splendor.

Random Spirit Lover tests the elastic limits of both the album as a structure and your listening patience. It is crammed full of the most complex and intricate music heard since their last record and by building tension constantly it looks you square in the eyes and asks "how much are you willing to take?" Spencer Krug is the tour de force behind this project and it was his exquisite turn of phrase that dazzled in last years Shut Up I Am Dreaming. This time it's the grand musical arrangements that sweep you up in their daunting majesty and carry you away to lands never seen by the human eye. The songs give a fleeting glance to convention hinting at chorus and verse but bleed into one-another so completely that it would be impossible to separate this record into singles.

From the word go The Mending Of The Gown comes out of the blocks at an alarming pace. and the pounding piano and screeching guitar do their best to keep up with Krug's impatient vocals that tumble out like a rapid stream of consciousness. The songs are crammed with more instruments than are healthy and with multi layered vocals an all-encompassing wall of sound is created. This is where the listener can easily become overwhelmed but the album is cleverly paced with just enough pauses in this sound barrage to keep you onboard, like the opening drum/vocals on The Courtesan Has Sung. This slight glimpse of space makes the monstrous guitar that welcomes back the wall of sound seem even more thrilling.

Krug's work is always high drama and this album more than most has an unquestionable theatricality to it. His lyrics are steeped in antique narrative and invoke wild, fairy-tale imagery of magicians and courtesans or riding around on leopards throwing dead birds in the air. But with the addition of the music Random Spirit Lover is more akin to an opera both in its scale and ambition and in the fact that quite often you don't have clue what is going on and frequently think about leaving. And this time will come for us all believe me. The first prong of this attack is with the arrival of Colt Stands Up, Grows Horns. It is obviously the stories dream sequence where all rules are forgotten and the song descends into an unbearable spiral of synthesizers that never let up. And they continue through the next track like a nightmarish approach of madness. Thankfully the albums crowning glory rises triumphantly from this hell like a winged savior. The Taming Of The Hands That Came Back To Life is is the song to bring this record back to life. It;s a galloping, sword wielding knight riding into adversity. But sadly its bravery is soon overcome by Trumpet, Trumpet, Toot! Toot! Having been kept at bay for so long the fierce wall of sound returns bigger and fiercer than ever. It's wrath quashes our brave Knight into dust as the sound swells to terrifying levels and the entire structure of this record is threatened more than ever.

As you can see this music brings out the drama in us all and that is why it is such a special thing. It's like a girlfriend you just can't stay with but have to make yourself leave. It's a high maintenance ball buster that sometimes you just want to strangle but its ability to thrill at a moments notice and to transport you to far off places makes it virtually impossible to dismiss. It wont be the one you'll settle down with but it will claim a place in your heart forever.

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6th Dec 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Holy Fuck

LP

Young Turks

Aptly named after what your eardrums will shout after the first play of this infectious debut, Toronto based mega-band Holy Fuck may have just sneaked in at the last minute to claim their place in my top albums of this year. LP is the sound of a techno band practice in a dirty, disused toy shop after a power cut. From start to finish these 9 songs will kidnap your wife and kids and demand you accompany them on their fucked up, full-throttle joy ride if you ever want to see them alive again.

Hailing from a more punk rock background Holy Fuck construct pounding beats topped by crazy, swirling melodies that could be described as dance music if they weren't treated like full on rock songs. Using a whole heap of instruments and objects from battery powered, broken down keyboards to scratched 35 mm film, LP was totally written and recorded live and this method is at the heart of it's appeal. Each song seems to start with no direction only to fuck you up. As you think an end is near you can almost imagine one member signaling to another to go around again and the song takes off in another direction and you're left tied to the bumper of this unsupervised free-for-all.

It seems wrong to pick out individual tracks as this album has been constructed as a whole. As one song fades out another is waiting, impatiently to come on and as the beats are beautifully overlaid over each other the result is a tag-team assault that won't give up. Its pace is the infectious part. I like to think of music as a soundtrack to life but if you had this in your ears it would infect every thing you did. If you jogged to this you'd be at the top of Rocky's steps in no time, even if you set out from Clapham. With this on your headphones your evening walk to the tube would turn into a routine, Bourne style hit (before the amnesia). And if you had it in your car, well God help you and any one on the road. This is the musical equivalent of the opening scene in Beverly Hills Cop. It's an out-of-control juggernaut packed with contraband goods pelting down a suburban high street and your at the back swinging in the wind.

Check it.

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27th Nov 2007 - 2 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Cadence Weapon

Amersham Arms, London

After the powerhouse album that was Breaking Kayfabe, Canadian MC Rollie Pemberton aka Cadence Weapon is set to release the follow-up early next year. So in anticipation we thought we'd catch him at this intimate venue for a few reasons. Firstly, his debut was so electrifying I was intrigued how it would translate live and secondly, the gig was in a pub round the corner from our South London Division and we'd probable be drinking in there anyway. Well, it was worth the 5 minutes walk. For the first few songs things looked like they were going from bad to worse as the crowd was slow to warm to this full-on assault of electro beats and intricate wordplay. But the sheer exuberance of Pemberton soon stopped the tongues wagging at the back and he had us in the palm of his hand.

Big hitters like Sharks and Black Hand from the debut came out at full force with Pemberton carrying himself more like a rock star, wielding his mic stand and shrieking into his fist. But it was cuts from the forthcoming Afterparty Babies that really rocked the house. His DJ was often allowed to take centre stage with his expert beat skills and the near-house beats that blasted out had the whole place bumping to his every move. With frequent spells into the centre of the crowd, this young MC was captivating to watch so much so that he was cheered back on stage for an encore where he delivered the awesome Oliver Square. His energy was unfailing and though I could have done with a bit more volume on his mic his blend of hard-as-hell electro beats and fierce yet acutely intelligent lyrics, not to mention a surprising cover of Joy Division's Isolation which made this Friday night in the pub a memorable one.

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26th Nov 2007 - 2 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Yeasayer

All Hour Cymbals

Now We Are Free

In a fair and just world every part of me should be repelled by this New York 4 piece when the slightest scratch at the surface reveals such facts as: 2 of the founding members met in a barbershop quartet, the other one quit his rock opera to join the band, they describe themselves as World Music. If any one is still reading may I say that this is by no means a fair and just world and the Yeasayer's debut album is actually quite good.

All the facts stated above are certainly cringe worthy but can't be ignored and the bands success is very much due to these contributing factors rather than despite them. The fact that they hail from New York and from punk roots ultimately saves them from descending into the world music pit of obscurity that only spits out an act every now and again into the corner of Jools Holland's Later... stage. They construct complicated and chaotic arrangements using everything from tribal drums, cascading synths, soaring chanted harmonies and rhythmic guitars.

All Hour Cymbals took some time to make though the band have been playing for many years now. They feel their decision to release their work to the world has come in the wake of a resurgence in awareness of non-Strokes sounding music in New York and with bands like Beirut making serious waves worldwide the ground has never been richer. 2080 is the debut single and is the central song on the album with its Fleetwood Mac infused vocals. Their website claims "In 2080 the only thing that will save us from terror is enlightenment." This is a grand and admirable statement and sums up the concerns of the band.

Unfortunately the music sometimes fails to live up to such moral intentions. The mid way song No Need To Worry sends the album into confusing territory as it ambles along with no clear direction. This song alone starts to try our patience with the soaring, layered harmonies and it takes a while for the album to regain our focus. The ominous pound of Waiting For Wintertime goes some of the way but the record trails off into a murky concoction of indecipherable and repeated vocals and music that offers little in the way of direction.

This second half of the record is a shame as the first is so surprising. This band offer a refreshing blend of cultures but don't get the mix quite right first time. It is clear that they possess a rare commodity in indie music these days and that is open mindedness. It's hard to say where this band will take their sound next but they will be worth keeping an eye on.

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21st Nov 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Psapp

Tiger, My Friend

Domino

This is a reissue of Psapp's 2004 debut and while it's a beautiful and thoughtfully crafted album the years and numerous TV appearances have been slightly less than kind. Originally released on the Leaf label I remember this the first time around and it slipped out the speakers like a cool drink of water. Galia Durant's effortless vocals breathe a delightful breeze over the airy percussion and glitchy electronica that guide us through this record. It evokes the washed out sunshine bliss of Stereolab with the meticulous attention to detail of Four Tet. The music skips around with playful ease while Durant's vocals sing of loneliness and disappointment. Calm Down is the best known of the bunch and is a joy from start to finish. It has the kind of rhythm and melody that if played in a shop would have customers subconsciously tapping and swaying to its seduction in a four minute consumer paradise bubble.

And that leads me on to this records misgivings. It seems a shame to even mention them as they are, in effect, out of their control - but it was someone's decision to use many of these songs on TV shows like Nip/Tuck and the OC and 3 years and a follow up album later and this debut is sounding dated and overfamiliar. There is something cringingly T-Mobile-like about this sound and as you strut around to its soundtrack the world around you takes on a sugary sweet pleasantness that just doesn't sit right. Their follow up record The Only Thing I Ever Wanted also does this re-release a disservice. It's a slightly more down-played sound and sombre in tone and while it has all the same glitchy texture and floaty vocals, it relies less on the playful element of the debut and therefore sounds like a mature, upgraded version.

It seems wrong to critisise this reissue on factors that can be largely put down to time. It is a sensitive piece of work that, at the time warmed many a heart - mine included - but it's magic has been diluted due to over-exposure and a slight dash of cynicism.

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18th Nov 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Beirut

The Roundhouse, London

Last year, Beirut's first album was a beacon of light in a skinny-jeaned indie world. It seemed oblivious of it's contemporary musical context with its myriad of cultural references but unfortunately the follow up continued the concept all too closely and the love affair dwindled. Well last night it was reignited.

Any band lucky enough to play at the Camden Roundhouse starts off with at least one star for the venue alone, but the points soon notched up as the multi-instrumental troupe assembled on stage. From the first blasts of the trumpets my heart was confused. I felt like I was on holiday and stumbled across a local band and yet I was looking at a young punk in an unassuming jeans and t-shirt who looked like he'd been dragged from the crowd by someone shouting 'come on Zach, you can sing Balcan music.' As the slow notes rang out I imagined drowning my sorrows in a small fishing port with my fellow villagers as we bid farewell to the brave men soon to set sail, even though we all new some of them would not return. And when the tempo rose it was like we were celebrating their return.

There wasn't the slightest hint of pretension with this band. As Zach Condon took to the stage to a rapturous crowd he launched head long into this beguiling music. With trumpet slung over shoulder his voice seemed to be coming from another time, another culture and another body. In between vocals he would join his band in an onslaught of triple trumpets and the hair stood proud on the back of my neck, there was even a triple ukulele showdown on Brandenburg. Songs from the debut Gulag Orkestar brought the loudest cheers with treats like The Canals Of Our City sounding like a million heart strings playing in unison. Postcards From Italy was a whirling cacophony of musical pleasure that from its first pluck of the ukulele had the crowd swooning in pure middle-class joy.

It really is hard to fault this experience. Aside from Condon's effortless presence and spectacular voice the music that surrounded him was spectacular. Crisp and clear it raised the roof of this unique and truly fitting venue. As I queued for the toilet after all this had drawn to a close, the R'n'B playing faintly over the stereo was an affront to my ears (even more than usual) and I realised that it was going to be hard rejoining the world after such an all encompassing and magical experience.

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12th Nov 2007 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet