Mystery Jets - Serotonin (Album)

It's probably something of an understatement to describe Mystery Jets as unpredictable. Having meandered from their initial messy prog jams all the way through to pastel-hued pop, few could have guessed with any kind of accuracy which direction their third record would take. So then, probably the most surprising thing the band could have done is make a direct follow-on from its predecessor, taking the 80s-flecked pop blueprint and running even further with it. And while part of Twenty One’s appeal was the huge contrast to the sound of Making Dens, Serotonin’s perverse logicalness is equally thrilling.

Twenty One covered youthful romance pretty extensively, focusing on both the joy of being young in love, and also the pain of things not going completely to plan. This time out though, the spotlight is squarely on the latter, because Serotonin is undoubtedly a lovelorn record. However, the way the downbeat lyrical content is handled is further proof of Mystery Jets’ sheer contrariness, because the giddy headrush of pop which accompanies it makes the whole thing feel like a celebration of having the shit kicked out of your heart.

Take these snapshots from Alice Springs for instance – “Freedom is an illusion generated by your brain... Better to have loved and lost than to have lived and never loved anyone”. The maudlin gives way to the hopeful, and the blast of powerful pop energy blows away any sense of resentment which might have still been lingering when the lyrics were written. The result of this is that you get the impression that Mystery Jets would be great people to have around you if you were ever ditched by a loved one. (Who knows, perhaps supporting the recently dumped might be a handy sideline for them to explore if this fickle industry ever leaves them strapped for cash)

Serotonin is one of those records which feels like more than the sum of its parts, because it contains some of the simplest pieces of music Mystery Jets have put to record, yet it is probably more invigorating than anything they have ever done too. There is a lot on here which would make fantastic singles, songs which are radio-friendly in the most positive sense of the expression. Dreaming of Another World is the ultimate lead single, because it is difficult to imagine a more perfect three minutes of pop being released this year. It’s a beautifully buoyant hymn to escape and feels unimaginably fresh and youthful, the sort of song which can soothe aching limbs and iron out the dents in your psyche.

In a record built almost exclusively of highlights and gigantic choruses (the most ecstatic of which, by the way, can be found on Lady Grey), it is difficult to single out individual moments. The songs all hang together nicely, complementing each other and making for a record which is a million times more coherent than you would have expected from the band they were when they first started out. One song which stands apart from the rest, however, is Melt, primarily because it feels Christmassy where the rest of the record feels unmistakably summery. It’s a gorgeous, waltzing piece of music, which calls to mind Flakes from the last album, mainly because it shares the same wide-eyed sense of wonder, something which characterises a lot of the songs on which Blaine takes lead vocals.

The release of Serotonin will hopefully strengthen Mystery Jets’ reputation as our premier purveyors of eccentric pop music. In a year when two of their most prominent contemporaries Foals and Los Campsinos! have returned with records far darker in their execution than their previous efforts, Mystery Jets have, typically, gone against the grain with this boisterous surge of pop. Having shown their aptitude for surprising us with both change and then the lack of it, I guess it makes most sense for us to expect even more finely honed pop next time out, but knowing Mystery Jets, it’s probably more likely that album number four will be a nine hour suite of jazz-drone.

5/5

Delays - Star Tiger, Star Ariel (Album)

I have never been in a band. No obvious journo/failed musician clichés here then, more journo/never even tried to be a musician. Therefore, it is quite difficult for me to accurately assess at which point it becomes clear to a band that their creative and commercial peak (which are sometimes concurrent, but more often than not come at completely different times) are gone. More to the point, when that realisation does dawn on you, what do you do? Do you give up the ghost, or do you continue to plug away gamely, making music entirely for yourself and the die-hards? There’s an argument for both really. There are few things more depressing than seeing a once-wonderful band knocking out by-numbers tripe to an increasingly uninterested public (Weezer, anyone?). But then surely your first aim as a musician is to make songs that satisfy you, regardless of whether or not the public take them to heart?

The reason for this meandering train of thought is that to me, it is fairly apparent that Southampton four piece Delays probably enjoyed their zenith in their early years, with debut record Faded Seaside Glamour quite rightly garnering plaudits aplenty for its blend of Cocteau-esque beauty and jangly indie-pop. Mildly electro-infused follow-up You See Colours, perhaps harshly, didn’t take off in the way it was expected to, and Everything’s The Rush seemed to pretty much pass most people by entirely. So for the release of fourth album Star Tiger, Star Ariel, I guess you could say at least there is little to no pressure on the band.

And, for the most part, this freedom seems to show, because Star Tiger very definitely sounds like a band who, perhaps for the first time, have been liberated from the demands of having to follow up a successful debut record, or from the burden of having to regain lost momentum. It also gives us the impression that Delays are entirely comfortable in their own skin, old enough and mature enough to know who they are, and capable enough to convey that in the songs.

Where Everything’s the Rush was largely an exuberant blast of straight-up pop, Star Tiger tends to be a slightly more diverse affair. Its greatest successes are undoubtedly the moments where the band retreat into their shell with opening song Find a Home the most gorgeous example of this. Along with Hold Fire, it is also probably the most direct excursion the band has ever taken into dream pop yet. Few British bands can do woozy as well as Delays, which has a lot to do with Greg Gilbert’s falsetto, something which has always accounted for a sizeable chunk of the band’s column inches.

While the sleepier moments are the high points of the record, there is still plenty to cling on to for those who enjoy Delays doing straight up pop. In Brilliant Sunshine is an invigoratingly boisterous piece which has Aaron Gilbert’s fingerprints all over it, and would have fit quite nicely on You See Colours. Shanghaied is similarly urgent and also serves as a timely reminder that there’s another element to Greg’s voice, though, because as affecting as it is when he’s being all ghostly, it’s also pretty exhilarating when he lets rip with those throat-tearing howls. It’s like Mark Greaney probably thought he sounded on those JJ72 records all those years ago.

The album comes to a close with its title track, which is about as grand and majestic as we have ever seen the band. It reinforces the feeling that Delays have probably found their niche, a slot below the surface of mainstream success which allows them to quietly plug away safe in the knowledge that history will be kind to them. Granted, they might never produce such pure and perfect pop as Long Time Coming again, may never serve up another glorious dancefloor shredding curveball like Lost in a Melody or Valentine, and chances are they may never inspire in me that same feeling I did upon first encountering the band some seven years when a solo rendition of There’s Water Here by Greg pinned me spellbound to the floor. However, with Star Tiger, Star Ariel comes the realisation that Delays will also never produce a half-arsed record, nor is the quality of their songwriting ever likely to dip. Sometimes, you know, that’s enough.

4/5

Allo, Darlin' - Allo, Darlin' (Album)

There has probably never been a better time for a band to produce straight-up indie pop, particularly if they happen to position themselves at the twee-er end of the scale. What with the mass acclaim for The Pains of Being Pure at Heart last year, the gently swelling commercial and critical success of Camera Obscura, and a general wave of C86-inspired bands seemingly sweeping the blogosphere, it would appear that in 2010 it’s hip to be fey. It is into this hospitable environment that Allo, Darlin’, a part-English, part-Aussie punctuationary nightmare launch their eponymous debut record.

It’s clear from even the most cursory of listens that it is a record which nakedly displays its influences, a factor which makes it no less enjoyable. Album opener Dreaming calls to mind the sweet youthfulness of mid-90s twee superheroes Heavenly, and specifically their Calvin Johnson collaboration with its lovely boy-girl interplay. The Polaroid Song, on the other hand, has the sort of gently insistent melody which calls to mind a more girly Smiths. There are plenty more reference points to be found in here if you look further, but the band deliver the whole thing in such a way that it never feels like theft, more like affectionate homage to their musical idols.

One of the band’s greatest strengths is the disarming directness of their lyrics. Take Silver Dollars, for instance, a simple but charmingly pretty love song to the toilet circuit: “And yeah, I sold all my records, but I’m still in debt by two grand / and yeah, we played that show, but we spent what we earned on the cab...we do it, because we love it”. The delivery of singer Elizabeth Darling aches with vulnerability, and carries the same sort of delicate emotional punch as Tracyanne Campbell, something which is at its most apparent on Let’s Go Swimming.

It is Kiss Your Lips which sees Allo, Darlin’ achieve their aims most perfectly. Aside from the mildly grating pronunciation of the word lips (although I must concede that as a Geordie many would say I have no cause to call anyone up on any kind of accent-related foibles), the song is the glorious high point of the album. It is the centre-piece around which the rest of the album is built, a breezy burst of pop exuberance, and gains extra kudos for the beautifully reverential mini Weezer cover in the middle.

The other side of Allo, Darlin’ is their slow-paced ukulele-led laments which resonate with obvious heartache, but they don’t all find their mark in the same way as Let’s Go Swimming. Heartbreak Chilli is very nearly a step too far into tweeness, a syrupy ode to culinary flirtatiousness, while What Will Be Will Be is a bit of an inconsequential way to end a record so replete with pop gems. While this is a bit of a shame, it by no means takes the shine of what is a hugely impressive debut album. As far as the current wave of mid-tempo indie pop goes, Allo, Darlin’ is likely to be a key album, one which I’m sure many will try and fail to emulate.

4/5

Band of Horses - Infinite Arms (Album)

As much as it pains me to admit it, it is probably a bit snobbish to suggest that all bands who achieve stratospheric levels of radio saturation are chancers whose sole aim in making music is to hit the lowest common denominator paydirt. Nor should I really imply that they all sacrifice their artistic vision in favour of the ever more insipid for the sake of shifting another 100k units. Still though, there has quite clearly been a large element of this in popular music for a lot of years, and to those responsible, well, I guess all I can say is fair enough. Clearly the likes of Lightbody, Martin and Followill have long since reconciled themselves with their choices, and a bit of stick from little old me isn’t likely to change their ways. That said, it doesn’t half stick in your craw sometimes that such blanditry is so ubiquitous when there are innumerable artists producing music which could conceivably cross over to larger scale popularity without completely sacking off ambition or creativity. Band of Horses are a perfect example of such a band. Their dust-hewn Americana has raised their profile steadily for five years, making Infinite Arms a relatively major release in indie circles, but its arrival still comes largely unheralded in the mainstream.

Gradually increasing stature aside, little else seems to change in the band’s world. With every new release you know what you’re likely to be in for, something which makes the result no less pleasing. Sometimes the art of simple, stately songcraft, when exhibited as consummately as it is on Infinite Arms, can be far more stimulating than wild directional twists and turns.

The lilting waltz of Factory with which Infinite Arms opens is about as strong a back-up of the previous point as I could possibly provide. It is at once gorgeous, swooning, and completely and utterly typical of Band of Horses. Like much of the rest of the record, it provides little in the way of the unexpected, but it is still entirely satisfying. Perhaps the closest thing to a surprise to be found on the album is lead single Compliments, if only for the fact that it imbues an otherwise simple slice of pop with more bounce and swagger than we’re used to hearing from the band.

Band of Horses have always been fond of slow-burners, and Infinite Arms dips into their canon of lovelorn laments more than either of their previous two albums. They are masters of the art, and the likes of On My Way Back Home and Older can sit comfortably with their back catalogue, but with the heavy reliance on the sleepier songs comes the uneasy sensation that the balance of the album doesn’t feel quite right. There’s an unmistakeable lull between the middle and the end of the record where it is difficult to stop your attention from wandering until the gust of NW Apt suddenly blows away the cobwebs. I can’t help but feel that had the band bared their teeth once or twice more over the course of Infinite Arms, then the album would have been the healthier for it.

All told then, Infinite Arms is further proof, if such a thing were necessary, of Band of Horses’ enviable command of a song. It is not a perfect record, indeed it is probably not quite the best of their career, but there is sufficient elegance here to deem the album a success. And who knows, with a place on the soundtrack of the next Twilight film coming up, perhaps it’s not too unrealistic to expect them to be catapulted to the large scale fame soon...

3/5

Broken Social Scene - Forgiveness Rock Record (Album)

Is it really five years since the last Broken Social Scene album? It really doesn’t feel like it. Perhaps it’s the ubiquity borne out of their indie megastardom, perhaps it’s the not-quite-solo, not-quite-BSS records released by Kevin Drew and Brendan Canning since 2005’s eponymous effort. Either way, it feels like they’ve never been away. However, that didn’t stop the initial announcement of Forgiveness Rock Record’s arrival being greeted with a feverish level of anticipation only matched so far this year by The National. Like Messrs Berninger, Dessner et al, BSS were on a bit of a hiding to nothing in trying to satisfy expectations, however Forgiveness Rock Record, like High Violet, comfortably achieves this feat.

Impressively for a band whose membership is so befuddlingly fluid, Broken Social Scene have been quietly cultivating an entirely specific sound ever since You Forgot it in People. Their albums have always been pretty diverse affairs (and Forgiveness Rock Record is no exception), but there have always been odd common threads loosely woven throughout their music, that creaky guitar, for instance, or that slightly dusty feel to the production, all of which serve to make a Broken Social Scene record instantly recognisable. Forgiveness Rock Record has this same sense about it, yet is still markedly different to anything yet released by BSS.

The biggest difference to a lot of the band’s previous work is that large chunks of Forgiveness Rock Record show a greater focus on more conventional song structures than usual, which is no bad thing. You might be surprised to hear it of a mass conglomerate of indie experimentalists, but when they want to, BSS can do pop pretty nicely thank you. ‘Art House Director’ is the finest example of this, a glorious slice of fun driven by a bounding brass refrain which races breathlessly onwards. ‘Meet Me in the Basement’, too, is similarly unrestrained in the joyousness which seeps out of its instrumental elegance.

Broken Social Scene have featured their fair share of big name female singers over the years, but one of Forgiveness Rock Record’s most gorgeous moments comes courtesy of one of their less feted chanteuses in Lisa Lobsinger. ‘All to All’ is heartbreakingly pretty, all woozy and lovelorn, and also has a disarmingly catchy groove to it. Perhaps the competition from Lobsinger has inspired Emily Haines, who in response turns in one of her most seductive vocals in years on the irresistibly sexy ‘Sentimental X’s’. It would be misguided to think that it’s just the girls who are capable of sending a tingle down the listener’s spine, though. ‘Sweetest Kill’ creeps up on you after a few listens, gently tugging at your sleeve for attention, and it is Kevin Drew’s careworn vocal which is largely responsible for this. For years, Drew has been a master of understated emotion, and this is one of the finest moments of his enviable career.

It probably won’t come as a surprise to hardened Broken Social Scene listeners that Forgiveness Rock Record isn’t without its missteps. There are undoubtedly times when the album can frustrate, such as with the aimless closer ‘Me and My Hand’, or the throwaway ‘Ungrateful Little Father’. And the less said about the ill-advised ‘Scoody-doody’ bits at the start of ‘Highway Slipper Jam’, the better. That said, the slack quality control which comes with their chaotic make-up is part of the band’s appeal. After all, how often do we berate bands for being a bit too slick? Besides, none of the record’s faults can possibly take anything away from its high points, which are as plentiful as they are enriching. Forgiveness Rock Record is definitely as much of a slow burner as any previous BSS efforts, but it’s at least as good as any of them.

4/5