Los Campesinos! - Romance is Boring (Album)

In the two years since their debut, Los Campesinos! have come to embody all that is good about British guitar bands. This means that the arrival of their third (yes, the last one does count) long player in February is a big deal. But does Romance is Boring live up to expectations? Well, let’s have a listen, posting knee-jerk track by track reactions as we go, shall we?

1 ‘In Medias Res’ - A really ambitious start. Contains a wonderfully creepy mid-section and a first dalliance with brass. A real statement of intent and indication of how much they’ve grown.

2 ‘There are Listed Buildings’ - … but they haven’t grown too much. This could sit perfectly on either of the two previous records with its ‘ba ba ba’s and boundless exuberance.

3 ‘Romance is Boring’ - Perhaps as direct as they’ve ever been, this is straight-up ballsy rock with what might prove to be the biggest, boldest chorus of 2010. This is all going very well so far.

4 ‘We’ve Got Your Back (Documented Minor Emotional Breakdown #2)’ - Feels like an extension of that BSS-style texture that started to emerge on the last record. So much going on under the surface. Still very LC! though with those shouty gang vocals and lyrics (“Every girl I ever kissed / I was thinking of a pro footballer”)

5 ‘Plan A’ - In which Los Campesinos! pay homage to their fuzz-rock heroes. Aggressive and abrasive, but in an endearingly cuddly way.

6 ‘200-102’ - A little breathing space of weird creaky acoustic guitar. Gives us all a chance to calm down after all that shouting.

7 ‘Straight in at 101’ - More classic LC!, all soundbites and urgency: “I think we need more post-coital and less post-rock / Feels like the build-up takes forever but you never touch my cock”. Another instant, huge pop song.

8 ‘Who Fell Asleep In’ - God, this is incredible, a killer torch song. It just swells and swells. It’s woozy, fuzzy-headed and lovelorn as can be. Another indication of exactly what this band have always been capable of. The best so far.

9 ‘I Warned You - Do Not Make an Enemy of Me’ - But how do you follow that? Well, they keep it nice and simple, another catchy guitar-line and a WAB,WAD-style stomper.

10 ‘Heart-Swells / 100-1’ - Continues exactly where its predecessor left off on the previous record, all echoey, windswept and forlorn.

11 ‘I Just Signed, I Just Sighed, Just So You Know’ - More of this heavily-layered, complex production that should give the songs much more longevity. The recording of the songs is becoming as much of a star as the tunes themselves.

12 ‘A Heat Rash in the Shape of the Show Me State; Or, Letters From Me to Charlotte’ - Organ and more brass is splashed across the song, and it seems to make perfect sense. Right at the end Gareth tries some singing to befit the sheer hugeness of the song, and he just about pulls it off.

13 ‘The Sea is a Good Place to Think About the Future’ - We’re cheating a bit here, because this song’s already very famililar. It’s an incredible achievement, though, taking you on a rollercoaster of emotions in less than five minutes, from sadness to serenity to euphoria and back.

14 ‘This is a Flag. There is No Wind’ - One of three or four instantly catchy songs. Playful, crunchy guitars and a sky-scraping party chorus. The sound of a band at the peak of their powers.

15 ‘Coda: A Burn in the Shape of the Sooner State’ - Curiously down-beat closer. A lot of Parenthetical Girls influence here with its layer upon layer of percussive noise and pain-laced vocals which make ‘I can’t believe I chose the mountains every time you chose the sea’ sound like the saddest sentiment imaginable.

…So even on first listen this is already shaping up to be a massive album. Everything good about the band has been amplified and they’ve unleashed a gaggle of impressive new tricks. The way they’ve developed in the last three years or so is staggering. Los Campesinos! really don’t seem able to put a foot wrong at the moment.

January Singles Round-Up

It's now traditional that the music world agrees a ceasefire in December, allowing X-Factor hangers-on free reign to ride roughshod over the charts. A few (usually futile) infiltration attempts aside, most realise it's just easier that way. Let Cowell have his fun, because January sees things return to something resembling normality in terms of singles releases.

Not that considerations of the calendar bother Ash any more, now that they are taking the tag 'singles band' to worryingly literal extremes. Space Shot is the eighth in their 26 single series. It has their typical monster chorus and languid delivery, but really it's a shadow of the band that thrilled me years ago.

Far more endearing is Ben Dalby's impressively crafted Doctor Can. It's an absorbing piece of bass-led songsmithery which is just a little bit 80s although mercifully not in that horribly contrived La Roux way. Arno Cost flies in the face of Dalby's conciseness with his remix of Cicada's One Beat Away. Nicely textured electro it may be, but there's no need whatsoever for it to exceed seven minutes.

A one-two of local singles provides a doubly pleasant surprise. Hartlepool band Runwells’ As You Begin is the purest, simplest type of guitar pop. It‘s easygoing, catchy, and strangely moreish. Revelation number two comes from Longbenton's Nev Clay whose song Tony Robinson's Tears is a breezy, charming exercise in modern folk which recounts the tale of a particularly absorbing episode of Time Team. Nev has the sort of authenticity Paolo Nutini would slay his granny for. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you, but Nutini's 10/10 is a derisory lump of ironically-titled shite which sees him for some inexplicable reason pretending to be Jamaican. Hadouken are equally impossible to take seriously as their faux-everything, Sub-Skins drivel-fest Turn the Lights Out hammers another nail in their coffin. Winter Kiss by Young Guns is no better, as a bunch of rock kids from High Wycombe attempt to disguise their place of birth with generic phony American rawk mewling.

The antithesis to this posey horror comes in the form of Mixtapes and Cellmates' Soon and Victorian English Gentlemen's Club's Bored in Belgium. The former represents that gorgeously melodic and vaguely shoegazey pop the Swedes always do excellently. The latter is a quirky, playful line in yelping indie-pop. Both are excellent, and head and shoulders above much of the rest of January's offerings.

The Tailors - Come Dig Me Up (Album)

As the years glide by, trends come and go in music. As the artform which is most easily misused as a fashion statement only to be quietly discarded when the tide of public opinion changes, this is of course inevitable. Increasingly (and equally inevitably) bands will eschew the choppy seas of ‘the scene’ in favour of that gently drifting stream which ultimately doesn’t really lead anywhere but which is blissfully unaffected by trendy crosswinds. This waterway is often navigated by the sort of bands who make simple, unassuming pop music.

There are the likes of Left With Pictures, who are devastatingly adept with a simple melody. Then there are the sort of interchangeable and pointless scumbags who smash the bland-o-meter and thus invariably end up on Radio One six times a day. And then you have the likes of The Tailors who sit right in the middle of middle-of-the-road. This is a term which is often used as an insult, but in this context an insult is not what I mean. Equally though, on approaching Come Dig Me Up, their second album, it is important to go in with your eyes open. What you will get will be a pleasant and often pretty half an hour of music, but it is unlikely that it will ever be a particularly rewarding experience.

The album takes its cue from American alt-Country records, as it bobs along gently on arrangements lead by delicately strummed acoustic chords and piano. Singer Adam Killip’s care-worn voice sits perfectly with its backing, but at the risk of promoting an unhealthy lifestyle, I can’t help but think that it would benefit from a slug of whisky and a few fags to make it sound a bit more lived in, and give things that all-important bit of edge. ‘Impossible Wonder’, for example, is a well-constructed ballad which, like the rest of the album, can’t be faulted for competency, but would be all the better for being a little more scuffed up.

Notwithstanding the faults of Come Dig Me Up, it isn’t without its high-points. The slightly insipid opening track ‘Pictures of Her’ is washed away by ‘Bow Road’ and it’s jaunty, carefree refrain. There is also penultimate track ‘Crocodiles’ which appears to tell the tale of being disembowelled by the titular animals. The song is carried by a delicate melody which is at odds with the gruesome (although admittedly probably metaphorical) imagery.

‘Crocodiles’ segues into ‘Flying Blues’ which is an oddly jarring way to end the album. The band bare their teeth for the first time with crashing drums and power chords, which would be a welcome slice of diversity but for the fact that it all comes across very disjointed. The little quiet bits in the middle before the guitars kick in sound like they belong in a different song. It’s a strange way to finish off the record, and doesn’t really reflect what The Tailors are as a band. If you hadn’t been paying attention for the 28 or so minutes that precede it (sadly something which is not entirely impossible to imagine), and just dipped in at the end, I suspect you’d be left feeling pretty disoriented.

Ultimately, The Tailors are quite obviously good musicians. They clearly know how to write what most people would term a good song. They just need to consider the fact that this alone will not make them a good band. There’s potential here, but they need to shake off some of their niceness if they want to be truly memorable.

Trouble Books - Ones to Watch

The second of my two pieces in NARC's Ones to Watch in 2010 article:

Trouble Books are the ultimate accompaniment to the miserable rainy nights which probably won’t shift until about July. Their sleepy ambient noises have graced Akron, Ohio for a good few years now, but only in the last twelve months have they surfaced on the UK radar, after MIE Music issued the breathtakingly pretty ‘The United Colors of Trouble Books’. 2010 heralds a new album (‘Gathered Tones’) and a UK tour is planned, so we should see their elegant, woozy pop reach a bigger audience. It makes you wonder, what other secret gems have been lurking across the pond?

Arrows of Love - Ones to Watch

One of two pieces to appear in NARC's Ones to Watch in 2010 feature:

Arrows of Love are a mini super-group based in London and comprising a revolving cast of musicians who have previously worked with the likes of Hush the Many, Jamie T and Courtney Love to name a few. They have won an array of plaudits already for their singles so far which have been sharp, catchy, and tinged with that same hint of menace that characterises the best Sonic Youth songs. If they can put together an album which can match the quality of Burn This Town and The Illusionist then 2010 is theirs to do with as they see fit.

Gig of the Year (Take 2) - Yeah Yeah Yeahs at Newcastle O2 Academy - 3/12/09

After last Thursday, I had little choice but to amend my choice for the Muso's Guide Gig of the Year piece. Good job it hasn't been run yet!

It isn’t just a trick of my memory that the best gig I’ve been to this year also happens to be my most recent. It’s just that Yeah Yeah Yeahs were THAT good at Newcastle Academy on December 3rd. It’s not easy whipping the indie-kids into a frenzy in a venue of that size (I’ve seen plenty of bands fail) but from start to finish the band were a whirling buzz of energy, and the crowd had no choice but to comply. The new songs were as visceral as the old ones, and showed that the band can now put together a pretty meaty set after three albums. There was a real triumphant feel to the show which rounded off a fantastic year for the band. It wasn’t just the best gig I’ve seen this year, it was one of the best I’ve ever seen.

We Fell to Earth - We Fell to Earth (Album)

We Fell to Earth are a collaboration between longtime UNKLE stalwart Richard File and Wendy Rae Fowler (best known for her work with Queens of the Stone Age and Mark Lanegan). File was clearly aware that he was onto something with this project because his desire to completely focus his attention on it prompted him to quit his day job with UNKLE after nigh on ten years.

His decision would appear to be a sage one, as We Fell to Earth is an impressively engrossing debut album. The band’s manifesto is made quite plan right from the start with opening track Spin This Town. Its hypnotic beats and File’s mantra-like vocal delivery call to mind James Chapman’s best work with Maps.

From that point onwards, the record follows a fairly similar path to its opening moments. You‘d be forgiven for thinking that it is a path that we‘ve all seen trodden plenty of times over the last few years. It stops sufficiently short of copy-cat level, but that Maps parallel really is quite strong and there are even occasional echoes of 2009‘s biggest blog-hype victims the XX. That said, this doesn’t make its execution any less impressive. The key We Fell to Earth’s success is the same thing which made its counterparts so engaging - it has a certain intangible sense of brooding menace which draws you in and envelopes you right up to its climactic notes.

The most captivating moments on the record are those which see Fowler’s vocals drizzled over the songs. She is used sparingly throughout the album (perhaps a little too sparingly really), but on a few occasions she gets free reign. Two of these songs in particular, Sovereign and Be Careful What You Wish For are among the album’s high points. The backing tracks on both complement her voice perfectly, augmenting the atmosphere with ghostly synths and otherworldly percussion.

The album as a whole is an intriguing contrast between the muggy sultriness of the layers of noise and the sense of chill suggesting by the brooding basslines and the repetition-heavy vocal delivery. You get the impression that We Fell to Earth are conscious of this contradiction and play around with it purely to fuck with our heads. I get the sense that this is something which will give this record plenty of longevity, as there is hell of a lot to discover here, even notwithstanding the album’s reluctance to stray far from its formula. However, you also fear that the subtlety of the work will see it overlooked in most quarter. Therefore, I urge to persevere with it until it opens itself up, because the rewards are plentiful.

8/10

Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Newcastle O2 Academy - 3/12/09 (Gig)

When you’re an indie luddite like me, it becomes a bit of a rarity to attend a gig which involves you running the gauntlet of vultures touting ill-gotten tickets outside the venue. Tonight’s appearance by Yeah Yeah Yeahs at Newcastle Academy is such an occasion, where the presence of a parade of scum-sucking touts serves as a reminder of the scale we’re dealing with here. The band have grown out of their days as NME hype victims into a permanent fixture in the indie big league. And rightly so, given the consistently high standard of their three full-length records.

But what of their live show? Well, it’s peerless. Karen O is the undoubted star of the show, a prowling, twirling, pogoing hipster dream, decked out in some sort of Amazing Technicolour Dream Poncho. Her voice is like razor blades dipped in honey, and when on ‘Cheated Hearts’ she sings “Sometimes I think that I’m bigger than the sound”, it’s with a glint in her eye. She knows she’ll never write a truer line, because she’s without doubt the most charismatic and engaging front woman we’ve seen this decade.

Not that it’s all about Karen, mind you. One of the things which have allowed Yeah Yeah Yeahs to endure the initial push is the fact that they are more than just KO and Friends. Drummer Brian Chase and guitarist Nick Zinner pull their weight too, and help to amplify the energy captured on the records. This applies as much to the synth-heavy songs of It’s Blitz! (understandably dominant in the setlist) as it does to the rawer older material. The newer tracks maintain their inherent groove, but still sit comfortably alongside songs from the first couple of records thanks mainly to Zinner’s guitar work which instils them with more raggedness than the versions committed to tape.

There’s a moment during the set tonight when the lights turn the ceiling bright blue and for a fleeting second you’re transported from a rainy December night in the North East to a field somewhere in the middle of summer. This sits perfectly with the triumphant, one-off feel of tonight’s show which can only be compared to that of a festival. The fact that the Academy’s floor is stickier than the boggiest of farmer’s fields only serves to add to that impression.

There are elements of tonight’s set which would come across as cloying and hackneyed in the hands of lesser bands than Yeah Yeah Yeahs. However, moments like the regular (and blatant) crowd-pandering screams of “Noo-caaa-sull” from Karen come across so enthusiastically that they just make the band seem more likeable. The same goes for the lighters-in-the-air acoustic version of ‘Maps’. Far from being a cynical and lazy ploy, it’s a genuinely warming slow dance fit for the first dance at the indiest of weddings.

It’s clear now that Yeah Yeah Yeahs are Indie royalty. Few other bands out there can grab your attention so fully and so completely that you want to squeeze as much as humanly possible out of every second you spend in their company. Tonight sees them absolutely at the peak of their powers, and twenty pounds seems an absolute bargain for the privelege of experiencing it. Did someone say ‘Gig of the year’? Yep, everyone in the room.

The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - Newcastle 02 Academy 2 - 2/12/09 (Gig)

It’s been a hell of a year for New Yorkers The Pains of Being Pure at Heart. They’ve triumphantly ridden a wave of blog-driven hype for the whole of 2009, picking up a legion of plaudits for their effortlessly wonderful debut album which has culminated in a top 10 place in our very own albums of the year poll . I had them far higher than 8th in my own personal list, but hey, such is democracy…

Tonight’s trip to Newcastle’s O2 Academy 2 sees them hauling in a respectably sized crowd of skinny check-shirted types. At first, it seems they are going to struggle to live up to our (admittedly colossal) expectations, as the songs commence in a worryingly anaemic manner. ‘This Love is Fucking Right!’, one of the most buoyant, gleeful moments on the record raises the curtain in fairly underwhelming fashion, as it is tossed out almost indifferently. It gives us serious cause to worry that Newcastle’s first experience of The Pains of Being Pure at Heart will be a disappointing one.

However, after a couple of songs, the band visibly begin to relax and settle into their stride. As they do so, the volume seems to pick up, the drumming seems sharper and more urgent, and their distinctive wash of sound fills the room. It all culminates fittingly in the sky-scraping ‘Gentle Sons’, a microcosm for the whole set which starts off with a powerful ‘Be My Baby’ drumbeat and gradually builds into a tumult of almost My Bloody Valentine-esque proportions.

In spite of the obvious progression in the quality of the performance, sadly the Academy remains absolutely devoid of atmosphere. Maybe it’s down to the less than top-quality sound which obscures the vocals even more than is probably intended, or whether the crowd are just having a bit of an off-night, it’s hard to say. However, it doesn’t make the band’s job any easier, nor does it reflect on their efforts to engage us with their songs and occasional smattering of likeably awkward between-song chatter.

One other slight gripe is that it is clear that the newer songs are the ones which inspire the most enthusiasm in the band. In particular, the tracks aired from their gorgeous new Higher Than the Stars EP seem to be delivered with the most fervour, as does the apparently nameless new song (very much in the vein of their previous work, by the way, and no worse off for it). It seems that perhaps they’ve now reached that stage which all bands will eventually reach after having toured the living shit out of their debut for God knows how many months. No matter how good the songs, their jadedness in playing them night after night after night begins to show. Tonight is only a minor example of this, and we still leave with our faith in The Pains of Being Pure at Heart firmly in tact, but perhaps now is the time for them to go to ground and commence the daunting task of following up this year’s breathtaking recorded output.

The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - The Pains of Being Pure at Heart (Album)

My other contribution to the Muso's Guide Top 50 of 2009 countdown.

Plenty of artists have capitalised on the upsurge in popularity of the revival of 80s and 90s indie-pop. However, none have done so with quite as much aplomb of The Pains of Being Pure at Heart. While some bands seem to spend years honing their sound, The Pains… appear to have just dropped out of the sky with a sound that is at once unique and zeitgeist-embracing. Their debut album is a collection of upbeat and compelling songs, riddled with hooks and slathered in that wonderfully echoey dreaminess of C86. The songs are consistently strong, with particular highlights for me being ‘Come Saturday’ and ‘This Love is Fucking Right!’ What is even more encouraging is that they have followed up this record with an EP which occasionally even surpasses parts of the album. So then, a wonderful debut record, with the tantalising promise of an even better follow-up to come. Can this band do any wrong?

Asobi Seksu - ReWolf (Album)

Earlier this year, New York shoegazers Asobi Seksu released their third studio album Hush. It showed progression from their previous releases, moving away from their usual noise-heavy sound to something a little less ostentatious. As it turned out, the record proved slightly underwhelming, but then it had two very strong predecessors to live up to.

Asobi have always been partial to giving us the odd little sweetener between albums, and they’re at it again with ReWolf, which is a collection of acoustic reworkings of their existing compositions and a Hope Sandoval cover, all laid down in a single day in London last year. It’s actually a repackaged and renamed version of the previously tour / webshop only ‘Acoustic at Olympic Studios’, and is presumably designed to tide us over while they work on Hush’s follow-up. And, if that is ReWolf’s main aim, then you can certainly say mission accomplished. What we get here is an interesting curio, which showcases a starker, more fragile side to Asobi Seksu which we have only really seen fleeting glimpses of on previous releases.

By removing the heavily layered noise normally present on most of these songs, they have definitely emphasized the beauty of Yuki Chikudate’s voice.
However, in doing so they have also inadvertently taken away an important component in what was good about them in the first place. Because part of what makes Asobi Seksu interesting is the contradiction between the tumult of the guitars and the beguiling little girl lost vocals. Without that juxtaposition, this album can occasionally sound a bit one-dimensional, and at worst comes off like those pointless acoustic versions bands sometimes put out as b-sides when they’ve run out of songs.

ReWolf’s best moments are mainly the songs which were already relatively quiet, like Blind Little Rain and Breathe Into Glass. The emotional pull already present in those songs is amplified and thus so is their intrinsic quality. A large chunk of the credit here is due to Yuki’s delivery, the prettiness of which is unquestionably the highlight of the album. Of the songs which get a major reworking, only Thursday really benefits. Perhaps this is because the delicately melodic rehash it receives seems a bit less wishy-washy and a lot more thought out than some of the other songs on here.

Really then, ReWolf is a bit of a mixed bag. It’s a sweet and occasionally gorgeous listen, and like all of their records is a logical step from its predecessor, but it also leaves them at a bit of a crossroads. You wonder now what Album Four will sound like. I don’t think there’s any fear that they’ve fallen out of love with noise. Anyone who saw them on their UK tour earlier this year probably still has a faint ringing in their ears, so I think I can say with confidence that they won‘t be descending into radio-rock hell for the foreseeable future at least. That said, it might still be worth crossing your fingers that Yuki and James are astute enough to realise what makes their band so compelling.

6/10

Gig of the Year - Dananananaykroyd (Newcastle Cluny - 21/10/09)

My bit from Muso's Guide's Gigs of the Year Feature

For all the praise it received this year, Dananananaykroyd’s album Hey Everyone didn’t quite click with me until I saw them at The Cluny in Newcastle in October. Their live show took me back to my formative gig-going experiences and the rush of The Cooper Temple Clause’s early sets. It blended merciless aggression with sheer fun, and their onstage chemistry was a joy, blurring the lines between band and crowd. It felt less like a gig, and more like a party, and predictably the hour or so they played felt like five minutes. They’ve got a big reputation as a live band, and it’s entirely justified.

Manic Street Preachers - Journal For Plague Lovers (Album)

My two penn'oth on my favourite album of this year for Muso's Guide's impending Top 50 Countdown.

The prospect of Manic Street Preachers finally recording Richey’s last lyrics was both mouth-watering and terrifying. This weighty task had dogged them for fourteen years, what if it proved too great? Such trepidation seems foolish, even insulting, now. The process of finally exorcising their ghosts triggered a catharsis, as the band delivered one of their best albums yet, sounding more alive than they have in years. James’ delivery and guitar work, in particular often reached his high watermark of 1994. The songs were typically dense and occasionally harrowing, but they also contained odd flickers of the mordant humour that has long since been written out of Richey’s history. There’s also a real tenderness present in Nicky’s heartrendingly flat vocals on ‘William’s Last Words’, a strength always possessed by the Manics, but rarely fully appreciated. With Journal For Plague Lovers, the Manics have enhanced Richey’s legacy, when they could easily have harmed it.

Josephine Foster - Graphic as a Star (Album)

Josephine Foster has constructed a career out of the gloriously weird. Her track record thus far includes a children’s album, reinterpretations of 19th Century German standards and a dabble with frazzled acid-rock. Her latest release is a characteristically singular project which sees her setting the poems of Emily Dickinson to a minimal folky backing. As you might expect, the record is not a particularly easy listen, but it’s mostly worth the effort. The barely-there instrumentation puts the focus on Foster’s arresting voice which flutters and gently soars. Her obvious vocal talents are highlighted more by her restrained delivery, as she skilfully sidesteps any temptation to warble. Graphic as a Star is clearly a beautiful piece of work, but sometimes unrelentingly so. The result is akin to the effect having the heating on for too long: You’re toasty warm, but a bit sluggish and drained. For this reason, this is the archetypal late night album, tailor-made to lull you into a deep and cosy sleep. I’m not sure if this is what Josephine Foster or indeed Emily Dickinson intended, but, hey, in these stress-ridden times, the arrival into the public domain of anything this soothing should be welcomed.

3/5

The Albums of the Year - Part Two

Reasonably assured that no albums released in the next six weeks will have sufficient impact on me to be counted in the year's upper echelon, and after much painful deliberation, I've settled on the following as my top ten records of 2009. In reverse order, in time-honoured blog-countdown style, naturally...

10: Dirty Projectors - Bitte Orca
It is delightfully weird, sounding like the chirruping of some demented bird, and the songs are undeniably glorious. I couldn't stop listening to this for weeks after it was released.

9: The XX - XX
The undoubted hype record of the year, and the backlash inevitably started soon after release. However, there's a reason for the hype. With minimal ingredients and maximum precision, the Cockney teenagers were able to summon levels of black drama on a par with Interpol and The National.

8: The Horrors - Primary Colours
This received similar hype to The XX, and largely because of the surprise element. Nobody expected these immaculately coiffed ex-NME darlings to produce something so searing, and deep. Yes, it's very derivative, but this doesn't stop it being a fantastically well-realised piece of work.

7: Jason Lytle - Yours Truly, The Commuter
Grandaddy never received the Pavement-sized recognition they deserved in their lifetime, and this record hasn't pushed Lytle to untouchable status like Malkmus, but it should have. It's a gorgeous piece of bruised songcraft. The warmth Lytle is still able to conjure up is awe-inspiring.

6: Bat For Lashes - Two Suns
Fur and Gold was rightly lauded and this is leaps and bounds ahead of even that. On this record, Natasha Khan has gone from simple singer-songwriter to someone producing high art. Her voice is better than ever, and the Scott Walker duet is spine-tingling.

5: Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavillion
The first great record of 2009, and the point at which some people stopped considering other albums for the top prize of the year. It was massively (and predictably) hyped in indie circles, and (even more predictably) panned by the backlash brigade, but it is brilliant. Panda Bear's increased influence has smoothed off some of AC's more abrasive edges without blunting their creativity.

4: Fuck Buttons - Tarot Sport
Had this been released later in the year it would probably have been even higher. Another artist to have shown incredible progression from an already strong debut. The noise and menace is still there, but the harshness has been buffed out in place of something more mesmeric, but no less beguiling.

3: Wild Beasts - Two Dancers
Speaking of massive progress... Little to say on this other than that it is jaw-dropping stuff. Incredible maturity and depth to their sound that you wonder if they can ever top this.

2: The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
The band with the worst name of the year ironically nearly produce the best album. It distills all the good points about shoegaze and twee 90s indie pop, compressing them into a near perfect half hour or so. A record which becomes more and more addictive with every listen, and what is even more pleasing is the fact that the recent Higher Than the Stars EP contains songs that are arguably even better.

1: Manic Street Preachers - Journal For Plague Lovers
It's impossible for me to judge this record objectively, given that the Manics have always meant more to me than any other band. I awaited this album with real excitement, but also an equal measure of trepidation. I mean, what if they hadn't been able to live up to Richey's lyrics? I did them a real disservice though. After 20-odd years of friendship and 14 years of wrestling with his ghost, of course they understood the grandeur of their task, and of course they were able to do it justice, The entire band sound absolutely revitalised, meaning that I'm in two minds about whether now is the right time to end their story, or whether they should work with this newly rediscovered passion to make more awesome records.

So all things considered, 2009 has been a great year for new music. Fingers crossed for 2010...

The Albums of the Year - Part One

We've reached that special point in the year when the Coke advert is imminent, kids and grownups alike are swarming around the window of a certain Newcastle department store, and pasty indie kids all around the world are hastily compiling best of the year lists like some kind of grisly game of top trumps.

So, in the spirit of the season, and in anticipation of the lists that will soon litter the blogosphere, here's the first half of my favourite twenty albums of the year.

20: Sonic Youth - The Eternal
Not their best work, sure, but even allowing for the occasional drift into autopilot, Sonic Youth still creatively outshine most of their peers / grandkids

19: Dananananaykroyd - Hey Everyone!
A screamy blast of almighty power, which only really makes proper sense once you've seen them live.

18: Grammatics - Grammatics
It might have been completely overblown, but the point is that this kind of bombast hasn't been done this well since Dog Man Star.

17: Grizzly Bear - Veckatimest
In which the delicately hewn craftstmanship shown on the last couple of albums reached its apex of near perfect woodsy charm.

16: Sky Larkin - The Golden Spike
Infused with the vigour of youth, the sort of brilliant pop which could only be made in England.

15: Arctic Monkeys - Humbug
A tough album for them, but an undoubted success. Working with Homme gave them a welcome harder edge, and once again they showed progression without it seeming forced.

14: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It's Blitz!
The first of a seemingly endless slew of indie bands gone disco, and by far the most perfectly executed.

13: Lotus Plaza - The Floodlight Collective
Lockett Pundt (the 'other' one from Deerhunter) gives a clue why Deerhunter went from nothingy garage band to incredible dreamy space cadets after he joined.

12: Andrew Bird - Noble Beast
One of the cleverest and most enriching songwriters we have produces arguably his best collection of songs. Worth exploring again and again and again.

11: Years - Years
Ohad Benchetrit of Do Make Say Think puts together abandoned song fragments to make an unexpectedly cohesive collection. Like making a banquet out of the scraps left over from dinner.

Part Two to follow tomorrow...

Styles Make Fights - 4/11/09 - Cluny 2 (Gig)

Barely two weeks ago, we extolled the virtues of The Cluny. Well, Newcastle’s greatest gig spot recently said a commendable ‘fuck you’ to the recession and commandeered the former theatre next door, turning it into a mini-Cluny, called, of course, Cluny 2. The place is imbued with as much character as its big brother, and is a fitting addition to the family.

Our first visit there is for a show which marks the launch of the sterling new EP by Newcastle’s very own brilliant indie-popsters Styles Make Fights. The line-up, hand-picked by our headliners, starts off with a wonderful solo performance by Kieran Rafferty of White Collar Weapons.

We don’t believe for a second his assertion that he is part of ‘a thirteen piece band where twelve people haven’t turned up’, but in spite of his bare-faced lies, he’s a wonderfully likeable performer. His boisterously self-deprecating on-stage persona is reflected in his songs, raggedly charming as they are.

For someone who is presumably more used to playing with a band than alone, he looks completely at ease up there, and doesn’t seem at all perturbed when bits of his guitar start detaching themselves in his hand (alas, not the last guitar malfunction we will see this evening). His between-song chit-chat is as likeable as his songs, so that even when he is shamelessly touting for a job or a gig you can’t help but feel warmly towards him.

Second band Brilliant Mind are just as enjoyable as Rafferty, warming up nicely as their set goes on. They are the sort of classic indie pop band which only England has every been able to produce, and feature a front-man with some impressive Morrissey-meets-Paul Smith moves.

The songs at their disposal already seem completely effortless and fully-realised. It also definitely helps that they are all such good musicians, because the sharpness of the execution emphasises the sheer quality of the music. The fact that their best song of the night ‘Leave it Out, Rob’ is a new one is obviously an encouraging sign. They are a great foil for Styles Make Fights, sharing a similarly keen ear for a sharp melody.

As the years have gone by, our headliners have maintained a powerful pop sensibility but they’ve gradually instilled it with something a little edgier and darker. This has given them an enticing extra dimension, and might be something to do with the addition of new(ish) singer James, who gives a tetchy, agitated presence to their show.

The energy embedded in the songs has always been one of their strengths. As usual, this is reflected in their delivery, which carries the assurance of a band who know that they have a consistently strong set. With every show that goes by, songs like ‘Not Around’. ‘Rita and Betty’ and ‘ Chauffeurs’ sound more and more like classics. Even when they are struck by the distressingly potent curse of the malfunctioning guitar which is prevalent tonight, they manage to hold it together without any fuss or drama, consummate pros that they are.

Going into the second decade of the 21st Century, we find ourselves at a bit of a crossroads in the North-East. The decade’s first wave of our bands, led by Maximo Park and the Futureheads, found massive mainstream success. Then the second wave featuring the likes of Kubichek and Dartz produced fantastic albums, but kind of fizzled out. We are definitely primed for another attack on the national music scene, but we just need some kind of catalyst to kick it off. Tonight has made it quite clear that there is sufficient quality in the region to suggest that the third wave can’t be far off.

Talons' - Songs For Babes (Album)

Have you ever wondered what the best record you’ve never heard is? Well, you might as well save your brain the work, because it‘s probably The United Colors of Trouble Books by Trouble Books. It’s a feast of gentle ambience which will bathe your brain in a soothing, delicate fuzz.

One of the main protagonists of Trouble Books is Mike Tolan, who, not content with recording beautiful music under one moniker, also issues solo(ish) records as Talons’.

Under this name, Tolan has released a number of home recorded CD-Rs, and we now see his first full release, Songs for Babes. It’s a concept record of sorts, with each song apparently named after a different woman. But don’t worry, it sounds nothing like Kelly Jones. With most songs featuring just Tolan, his guitar and miscellaneous background chirruping (of which more later), it’s not a million miles away from his work with Trouble Books.

On Songs for Babes, he certainly manages to capture the same sense of warmth that made The United Colors… so captivating. As the songs are crafted from such minimalist elements, there is a fragility about them which is almost uncomfortable at times. ‘Erin’, for example, is a short but devastatingly beautiful song which juxtaposes the mundanities of day-to-day life with crushing, world changing horror with particularly affecting results: “It’s kinda like the feeling you get when you’re peeling the flag magnet off your car.. Oh, when I think of 9/11, I wish I would’ve followed you home”.

There are so many moments on this record which show Talons’ impressive command of the nuances of song construction. Coming from him, the gentlest lilt of the voice or trickle of melody can have a massive impact. The acapella ending to ‘Taz’ and gossamer-thin delivery of ‘Angela’ are just two examples from an endless list of possibilities.

The emotional pull doesn’t just come from the words, or Tolan’s fragile, careworn voice, but also from what lies under the surface of the songs. What lifts Talons’ above the clichéd hell that apparently automatically dictates ‘man + guitar = emotion’ is the gently bubbling ambient undercurrent. Weird, noodling effects combine with everyday background noises like police sirens, seagulls and chattering friends to create an incredibly intimate feel, as though Tolan is singing to you and nobody else.

‘Songs for Babes’ is an album to wrap around yourself while the wind and rain batter your windows. It is further proof of Mike Tolan’s peerless ability to create spacious beauty, seemingly without any effort at all. He is one of music’s best kept secrets. For now.

Left With Pictures - Beyond Our Means (Album)

We’ve always had a special connection to pop music in this country. At the risk of being immodest in a way that is unbecoming to an Englishman, I’d hazard a guess that this is because pop music is something we’ve always been pretty good at. And really, everybody likes pop music in one form or another, be it X-Factor-tainted radio-pop or something more cerebral. A well-constructed and catchy song is one of life’s great immutable pleasures.

This is a fact which is clearly not lost on London band Left With Pictures. Having formed at university and played around with their sound, they now come armed with an array of folk instruments and a mission to restore classicism to pop music. These ingredients, coupled with a dauntingly prodigious ear for melody, have brought about their debut record Beyond Our Means, which is a collection of chamber pop of the most elegant kind. It’s charming, likeable and about as English as it gets.

The record blends breezy pop songs with more hazy, dreamy pieces. Recent singles ‘Every Stitch, Every Line’ and ‘Her Father’s Nose’, hinge on jaunty melodies and playful choruses . Both are wonderful examples of the band’s enviable proficiency with pop‘s holy grail, the ability to create something that is at once memorable, catchy and extremely moreish. The album’s title track is another great success, sounding as it does like a drunken singalong in the politest pub you could ever imagine.

As comfortable as they are with bouncy melodiousness, Left With Pictures are equally adept with a more pensive approach. On ‘Yours, Tom Maclean’ singer Stuart Barter laments that “My song-writing’s over / What could I write here in Leicester?”. The song is structured as a letter to a old friend, and is about as close as this album comes to anything experimental. It is mournful, but at the same time tinged with optimism.

Similar in mood, closing track ‘Ghosts of ‘89’ is a gorgeous elegy for the naive joys of youth, evoking Cider With Rosie type images of summers that seem to unfold without end: “July seemed an acre of time / Stretching out beyond Hadrian‘s Wall”. This is subject matter which is in ideal hands with Left With Pictures, because one of their greatest strengths is the ability to inspire almost child-like feelings of hopefulness with their songs.

You could really pick out any song at random on Beyond Our Means and hold it up as an example of Left With Pictures’ class. The album is a lesson in the art of song craft, and it is presented in such a way that I would find it difficult to imagine anyone not warming to the band on hearing it. Some people might be put off by the shamelessly twee loveliness of the whole thing, or even misconstrue its effortlessness for being lightweight or throwaway. In reality though, this is an album which is deceptively substantial and ambitious. It is paradoxically youthful and world-weary all at one, and is a late contender to be crowned the most heartwarming album of the year.

9/10

Dananananaykroyd - The Cluny - 21/10/09 (Gig)

It faces increasing competition from corporate monsters, state of the art music halls and University dives, but really there will never be a better place to see a band in Newcastle than The Cluny. Not content with just being a lovely pub, it is also the most character-filled gig venue for miles around. Alas, without the right bands to turn a small empty room into a shindig, all this would count for nothing. For the opening night of Dananananaykroyd’s Hugtober tour, the right band and the right venue coalesce in glorious and electric fashion.

Right from the opening notes of ‘Totally Bone’, the band are like cornered mongooses, spilling off the lovably tiny stage into the welcoming arms of the assembled throng. This is another mark in the Cluny’s favour; it is not the sort of place where over-zealous meat-heads crack skulls at any hint of band/crowd interaction, the two are free to mingle with impunity. And really, that’s kind of the point of Dananananaykroyd, a band for whom a gig is less a performance, more a party.

On the face of it, the venue isn’t as heaving as you might expect for a band who have generated the sort of buzz that our lairy Scotch mates have whipped up, but they seem happy enough, pointing out that the turnout is ‘not bad for a Wednesday’. Chuck in the fact that it’s a rotten night, and Jack White’s latest superband are busy claiming a sizeable chunk of Newcastle’s gig-going public across the other side of town, and tonight’s attendance is pretty respectable.

To be honest though, you get the impression that Dananana would play with just as much fire in their bellies if there had only been three people in the crowd. The secret to their likeability lies in the inexorable fact that they are clearly having the time of their lives up there. There’s a chemistry between the band, in particular their two singers, that can’t be faked. It’s this which inspires the really special moments like crowd singalongs, over-ambitious stage-dives and which at one stage induces a slightly inebriated chap to take the tour’s name to wonderfully literal levels by climbing on stage to give the band cuddles. Less ‘fight pop’, more ‘hug pop’ then.

At times the intensity of their light-speed playing, and screamy vocal interplay almost feels like too much, and it imbues the already impressive songs with an extra dimension of enjoyability. ‘Black Wax’ and ‘The Greater Than Symbol and the Hash’, in particular are chest-throbbingly powerful.

As Dananananaykroyd are a band with a growing live reputation who are now well into the promotional run for a well-received debut record, you would think that most self-respecting indie fans will have seen them at some point. However, if for any reason you haven’t, or even if they haven’t quite clicked for you yet, then for God’s sake get out and see them on this tour because they will make glorious sense. Quite frankly, there isn’t a more exciting and downright fun live band in the country at the moment.

Tickley Feather - Hors d'Oeuvres (Album)

Sometimes music can be a seasonal thing, in that certain artists will be most enjoyable at a particular time of year. The National, for example, are tailor-made for those gloomy rain-soaked nights in November. And I find myself far more inclined to reach for an Ash record during those all too fleeting days of summer we get in this country. With that in mind, it seems quite fitting that in the run-up to Halloween we get a record as eerie and unsettling as Hors d’Oeuvres, the follow-up to last year’s eponymous debut by Tickley Feather (aka Annie Sachs).

When you learn that Tickley Feather is signed to Animal Collective’s Paw Tracks imprint, it should come as no surprise that she specialises in hazy, lo-fi bedroom pop. However, she is able to avoid falling into four-track cliché hell by dint of the genuinely idiosyncratic charm her sound carries.

She takes simple components, and builds something that is more than the mere sum of its parts. Most of the songs hang around a bouncy drumbeat, a simple melody and Sachs’s ghost-child vocal delivery, which is usually submerged deep under a sea of distortion. There are moments on the record, in fact, like ‘Sure Relaxing’ where the haze is so heavy that it’s hard to tell whether we are hearing Sachs’ voice or some other alien instrument.

The murky sound established on Hors d’Oeuvures creates a heady and occasionally oppressive atmosphere, which is at odds with the playful delivery of the words and melodies. The juxtaposition between the haunting and the naive is one of the key things that make the record such a likeable and engaging listen.

That said, at times it can be difficult to escape the nagging feeling that the record occasionally relies a bit too heavily on its sense of wooziness. You can’t help but find yourself wishing that Sachs’ strangely enticing voice wasn’t always so deeply obscured, as you suspect it could tug on the heartstrings a lot more than we experience here. Arguably the only instance of any kind of emotional impact is the simplistic and delicate ‘Roses of Romance’.

The most successful moments on Hors d’Oeuvres are the ones where Tickley really lets herself go. The record hinges on it’s slightly sleazy, groove-driven centre-piece ‘Trashy Boys’ and the brilliant bedroom disco of ‘Club Rhythm 96 and Cell Phone’. As well as this, closing track ‘Tickley Plays Guitar’ is a pulsating pysch guitar instrumental which is a world away from the rest of the album, and lends a splash of variation. These highlights are undoubtedly the enduring things you take away from the album, rather than the occasional frustrating lapse into auto-pilot.

Thanks largely to a keenly developed sense of the perverse which is exhibited in naming her second album Hors d’Oeuvres, Tickley Feather has crafted a mostly successful and enriching half hour of creative and experimental pop. She perhaps needs to surrender herself to the urge to get carried away rather than falling back on the tried and tested. However, there’s a lot to like here, and you get the sense that with every release, she will get better and better.

7/10

J. Tillman - Year in the Kingdom (Album)

For about eighteen months or so it has been compulsory when writing about Josh Tillman’s solo work to make reference to the fact that he happens to be the drummer of Fleet Foxes. So let’s slay that particular elephant sitting in the corner of the room straight away, shall we? The fact of the matter is that Year in the Kingdom is his sixth album in five years which strongly suggests that, vastly contrasting commercial fortunes aside, his day job comprises of solo work, and Fleet Foxes is a mere side project.

The sort of down-at-heel folk baladeering which Tillman specialises in is a popular market to say the least, teeming with over-earnest chancers trying desperately to convince us of their authenticity. However, authenticity is something weaved so intricately into the fabric of Tillman’s compositions that he doesn’t even have to try. And perhaps that’s the secret to success.

Year in the Kingdom continues where Vacillando Territory Blues left off earlier this year, adorned with little more than Tillman’s weatherbeaten voice and sparse guitar work. In spite of it’s elemental make-up, the album rarely descends into the realms of the forgettable or samey. For the majority of its duration, it maintains a tight grip of your senses. One of Tillman’s greatest strengths is his ability to use his ingredients sparingly. This includes his use of time, as the record is short enough at thirty-four minutes not to crush you under its weariness.

Curiously, the album starts off with one of its more optimistic feeling moments, in the form of its title track. As it progresses however, the sense of bleakness builds, particularly in the lyrics. On ‘Marked in the Valley’, for example, it seems to be all Tillman can do to force out ‘I lied for my birthright and sold it on the roadside for half what it was worth’. Even when he sings ‘All is well’ on ‘Howling Light’, his tone is so heavily mired in defeat that you don’t believe him for a second.

On the odd occasion, pockets of light are able to pierce the gloom to glorious effect, like the gospel harmonies on ‘Crosswinds’, or the quiet sense of euphoria which builds up on ‘There is No Good in Me’. These tiny beacons of hopefulness showcase an ability to bend his mind away from sorrow which we don’t see too often from Tillman on this record. They give the album an extra dimension, and imbue it with a subtlety and complexity which set the really good acoustic singer-songwriter work apart from the shallow pretenders.

Year in the Kingdom may not be a feast of eclecticism, but it is a lesson in the construction of compelling, stripped-down folk. It is the ultimate accompaniment for those rainy nights where, if you were Conor Oberst, you would sit alone in a dingy room, soaking yourself in whisky and lamenting your many failings. For those of us unable to pull off such idyllic self-deconstruction, I guess we can just soak in its majesty and try to remember that the world is a decent place really.

8/10

Muse - The Resistance (Album)

I've always fancied doing one of those live reaction pieces but I've never got round to it. The new Muse record seems as good a place as any to start, given the amount of reaction flying around to it.

1 - Uprising - Well this is okay in a Not-that-Musey-but-still-pompous-as-fuck kind of way. Not keen on those high pitch 'Come on'! bits. This isn't a Corsa ad lads.

2 - Resistance - God, Bellamy's lyrics are terrible sometimes. This sounds a bit like something off the terrible last Cooper Temple Clause record. Catchy, but deep down you know it's not very good.

3 - Undisclosed Desires - What's this plinky-plonky faux-Timbaland backing going on? Maybe I'm being harsh, but this ain't going well.

4 - United States of Eurasia- Ah, here comes that Queen song. I seem to really be warming to this. Totally overblown of course, but wonderfully so. Everything that I love about Muse. What a fantastic pianist Bellamy is too.

5- Guiding Light - Lovely throbby bass. This is definitely that moment on a Muse album which I don't particularly like at first because it's a bit overbearing but grow to love in the end. See Endlessly, Showbiz and Micro Cuts for further examples.

6 - Unnatural Selection - Ooh, nice funereal organ. This could end up being good. Oh God, that guitar's a bit hyper-Kaiser Chiefs at first though. Before it becomes like the New Born solo, that is. Confusing stuff. All told, a bit throwaway in the end, a la The Small Print. It gets better towards the end with that racing guitar bit. I bet this would be a bitch to play on Guitar Hero.

7 - MK Ultra - Nice guitar line, this. The ooooh, ooooh bits are good. This is about the closest thing I've heard to anything on Absolution on here so far. Pretty good actually. This might end up being one of my favourites. There's no need to write a song about Milton Keynes though, no matter how zany you are.

8 - I Belong to You - Christ, is this the intro from a Stevie Wonder b-side? I'm not keen on this cod-funk thing they seem to have discovered. The only bit with any kind of merit in this is that mournful piano in the middle. It all just feels like it's building up to a point it never really ever gets to. A bit like the album as a whole, actually. And is that a fucking clarinet solo?! Lads, you're too geeky to be funny, so leave it at the door.

9 - Exogenesis: Symphony Part 1 - I'm excited about this symphony piece. It's almost as though this is where they stop pissing about and start the album properly. This part is stunning, especially the first couple of minutes before the vocals. Really brooding and ominous.

10 - Exogenesis: Symphony Part 2 - Nice classic piano again and that melancholic, low key vocal he hasn't done nearly enough of on this album. These last couple of tracks might be saving the album. I was worried that the guitar which comes in about two minutes in would make it all a bit tacky, but it actually fits in quite nicely with those gorgeous searing strings.

11 - Exogenesis: Symphony Part 3 - This piano and strings intro might be the most beautiful piece of music Muse have done yet. In fact, fuck it, it's not just the intro, it's the whole piece. It just swells and swells. I'm so conflicted. Is this really the same album as I Belong to You? What a great way to end an album.

So all told, The Resistance is a fucking strange experience. It houses some absolutely unbearable moments, mainly the attempts at eclecticism. I'm all for experimentation, but you'd think that after five albums someone as gifted as Matt (as well as Dom and Chris) would know what they can and can't get away with. The three-part symphony at the end salvages something, saving the album from being a total disaster, but it's a hard record to love.

Alberta Cross - Broken Side of Time (Album)

For a band to be able to lay authentic claim to a genre which is traditionally attached to a specific part of the world, do they necessarily need to be born and bred there? Is it enough to have spent your life immersed in that particular sound, soaking in your influences to the extent that emulating it is your only natural course? That seems logical to me, but to learn that a band making (in this instance) such flagrantly Americana-tinged rock as Alberta Cross are Anglo-Swedish is still a bit jarring.

Last year they supported Oasis on a tour of the UK’s favourite aircraft hangars, and it’s not too hard to see why they were chosen for the job. Not because they’re a bad band (although given Noel’s heroically terrible taste in support bands, it would be a fair assumption to make before hearing them), but because of the combination of loud guitars and bluesy elements they utilise and in which Oasis seemed to think they excelled in their latter years.

Perhaps Alberta Cross feel the need to prove their authenticity a bit more sharply than they might if they were from Alabama, but their debut album Broken Side of Time is positively dripping in blues and folk influences. There’s little doubt about their sincerity, regardless of humdrum issues of nationality, but execution is another matter entirely.

Over the course of the ten songs which constitute their debut, Alberta Cross flourish, and fall short in pretty equal measure. At their best, they are woozy, weather beaten, and very occasionally heartbreaking. However, on too many occasions you get the impression that they ramp up the volume to mask a shortage of ideas. When this happens, as it does most obviously on the album’s title track, they come across like a less likeable Kissaway Trail, or worse, a whiskey-soaked version of Starsailor.

Singer / guitarist Petter Ericson Stakee’s voice acts as a barometer for the album. What starts off as an arresting and distinctive mumble becomes undeniably irritating as the record unfolds. In the same way that the guitars seem to be cranked up for the sake of it, his vocals are slammed straight into top gear without warning far too often, into a wail which smothers any hope of emotional engagement.

In the end, it’s the album’s lower-key moments which save it, and give Alberta Cross their biggest successes. ‘Old Man Chicago’ for instance is a pretty slice Ryan Adams-esque country rock, while ‘Rise From the Shadows’ builds slowly with menacing bass tones and creepy harmonies into one of the album’s most interesting pieces.

The best thing Broken Side of Time has to offer is it’s closing five minutes, ‘Ghost of City Life’. This tells the tale of a country boy jaded by the pressures and falsities of big city life. Set to a simplistic, folk backing, it aches with genuine emotion, and leaves you wishing that they had played to this strength more often. It does, however, finish the album on an undoubted positive, washing away some of the annoyances that might have built up over the previous forty-odd minutes.

Broken Side of Time is far from a wash-out, but it feels like an opportunity spurned. Some real quality lies within, but it’s difficult to lose yourself entirely when you know you can’t trust it not to wander off down the wrong path. That said, as a debut album it shows great promise. Provided they can focus themselves on what they do best, album number two could be very good indeed.

6/10

The Mercury Prize - Is it still relevant?

People talking about music is one of the great success stories of the digital age. It’s opened up so many opportunities for bands to get their music to an audience, and it’s given music fans the chance to hear untold amounts of life changing new music that fifteen years ago they would never have got near. But nothing inspires tedious recurring bitching among British and Irish music fans like the Mercury Prize. In the six weeks since the announcement of the shortlist, as with so many previous years, I’ve found myself jaded by the same tired old arguments that rear their gruesome heads every twelve months:

‘It’s criminal that (band a) aren’t nominated’
‘(band z) / (rapper b) are the token jazz / hip-hop act’
‘(band x) are too big, they don’t need the award’
‘The Mercury hasn’t been relevant for years’

So I pose the question, is now the time to revamp the way the Mercury Prize works? After all, if Kasabian can be nominated for an award which famously claims to reward innovation, something must be amiss, right? Well, the Mercury’s past is hardly blameless. Let’s not forget, historic nominees include Simply Red, Dina Carroll, Take That, The Spice Girls and Mark Morrison. And then of course, we had the prize’s darkest hour in 1994 which saw M People beat Blur and Pulp to the prize.

The American version of the Mercury, The Shortlist Music Prize restricts entry to albums which have not attained Gold status. Perhaps it’s time the Mercury adopted a similar approach. Of this year’s twelve Mercury-nominated artists, five (Florence and the Machine, La Roux, Glasvegas, Kasabian, and Bat For Lashes) have sold in excess of the British Gold record threshold of 100,000, and would therefore have been precluded from entering if this rule were adopted. Would the shortlist really have been poorer without these artists? Arguments can be made in favour of all of them (with the exception of Kasabian, obviously), but none of them really need the leg-up in terms of sales and increase profile that victory would have provided. Each are strong bets for Brit award nominations, something which is arguably a lot more appropriate for musicians with that level of exposure.

This year’s winning album, Speech Debelle’s debut Speech Therapy is the lowest-selling winner of the prize ever, having shifted 3,000 copies up to its victory. Given her desire to record which was fuelled by a love of music (that classic, if painfully clichéd image of kids in their bedrooms trying to emulate their heroes), and her affiliation with Ninja Tune, a hard-working London independent which has been around almost as long as the Mercury, it’s difficult to begrudge her victory, even if you aren’t a particular fan of her music. Sweet Billy Pilgrim are a similar story. Having slogged away for years, paying the bills with day jobs and session muso gigs, their lovely second album Twice Born Men was also nominated having previously slipped under the radar of the vast majority of music fans. Surely these are worthier candidates for a £20,000 prize which wouldn’t even keep La Roux in hairspray for a month?

The judges of the prize face a pretty unenviable task. Semi-legendary tales persist of heated arguments carrying on right through the bands’ performances on the night until a dishevelled spokesperson has to run down to the stage to breathlessly announce the winner before the papers go to press. To be fair though, this gives the Mercury a bit of ramshackle charm in keeping with it‘s ‘alternative’ reputation. After all, what’s would be an adequate substitute for a group of industry types arguing in a room? An online vote? You can just imagine the carnage and vote-rigging which would ensue. The Mercury might be severely flawed in some ways, but one thing we have to remember is that it aims to pick the single best British and Irish album of the year, and as such will always be massively divisive.

So all things considered, the Mercury Prize has its plus points and negatives. It has failed spectacularly in its aims in the past, and needs to refocus its purpose, in particular putting more thought into its nominees. However, Speech Debelle’s victory this week has stirred up enough interesting debate aside from the usual banalities to prove that the prize still has at least some kind of relevance.

Matthew Friedberger - Winter Women / Holy Ghost Language School (Album)

Winter Women / Holy Ghost Language School was originally recorded and released back in 2006 by Matthew Friedberger. However, due to all manner of troublesome distribution issues, a mere trickle of copies found their way to these shores. So, three years later, it gets a full release complete with shiny new packaging and four new bonus tracks.

Throughout his time working with his sister Eleanor as The Fiery Furnaces, one of the most wonderfully batshit bands we have, Friedberger has never shied away from musical excess. Therefore, nobody could honestly claim to be surprised to learn that his debut solo effort is a sprawling 33 track double album, which can be broken down into two (slightly) more bite-size individual records Winter Women and Holy Ghost Language School.

Winter Women bounces along merrily on chirpy piano and bubbly drums as Friedberger embraces his pop sensibilities more fully than he ever really has before. The blissful feeling of a carefree summer’s afternoon hangs around the record, particularly in the wide-eyed simplicity of ‘Theme From Never Going Home Again’. It’s the sound of a man comfortable in his own skin, issuing a timely reminder that he still knows his way around a melody.

Winter Women might be a treasure chest packed with pop gems, but that’s not all there is to the record though. Let’s not forget Friedberger’s previous form which includes silent records, story time with Granny, and multi-layered prog behemoths. Amid all the hooks, he indulges his experimental urges with stylish electro flourishes and warped, glitchy percussion. Just look at ‘Motorman’, with it’s whispered backwards vocals and sinister undertones. It’s like an overbearing dark cloud threatening to dampen the sunny atmosphere.

The combination of the electro experimentalism and the cheery pop creates something at once accessible and nourishing. Winter Women would more than suffice as a release, but this is but half of the story. Second disc Holy Ghost Language School is less a sister album, more a deranged cousin; an intriguing stab at the much maligned concept of a rock-opera, something which the Friedberger family have had a date with from the very beginning.

The result is undoubtedly up there with the most wilfully bonkers Fiery Furnaces work, featuring a chap called Scot Dombrowski as the hero of the tale, as he tries to set up a business language school in Japan, only to find himself confused as to whether or not the whole thing really happened, or whether it was all a dream. Got that? Nope, us neither.

In spite of it’s dense headfuckery, though, it’s excellent fun. Try and keep up with the narrative and you’re likely to go mad. Instead, enjoy the twists and turns of Friedberger’s musicianship which convey a story which is (if only slightly) less migraine-inducing than the main plot. Where Winter Women sugars the frequent slices of experimentalism with melody, Holy Ghost Language School twists them in the opposite direction, substituting pop hooks for irregular and unpredictable bursts of piano and synths and running all over the place with them.

Winter Women and Holy Ghost Language School undoubtedly need to be treated as entirely separate albums. It would take a brave man to tackle any two Fiery Furnaces records in one sitting, and in spite of these records bearing a different moniker, it’s exactly the same case here, such is the sheer weight of the content. This is a release which Fiery Furnaces die-hards will cherish, but it won’t convert any naysayers. Long may the Friedbergers’ lunacy endure.

Nurses - Apple's Acre (Album)

There’s something quite romantic (clichéd as it may be) in the image of musicians wandering the highways of the USA in search of somewhere to settle to record their masterpiece. Probably aware of this, Nurses’ core constituents Aaron Chapman and John Bowers did their fair share of roaming before picking up drummer James Mitchell, settling in Portland, Oregon, and emptying their toybox on the floor to produce Apple’s Acre.

The record is a patchwork of the most gorgeous type of euphoric but bruised pop. The most instantly recognisable thing about Nurses is Chapman’s voice, which flits back and forth between a strangled Joanna Newsom and Avey Tare at his most rasping. The swelling and soaring of the vocals regularly lift the songs to emotional highs. They also convey a real vulnerability which is at times at odds with the melodies chirruping away under the surface, never more so than on ‘Caterpillar Playground’.

Such distinctive vocals put serious pressure on a band to provide suitably interesting instrumentation. With such a powerful instrument so readily on display, the whole thing might have fallen a bit flat without a strong supporting framework. Happily, Nurses’ are more than up to this challenge, as they pack Apple’s Acre with rickety piano, overbearing organ and electronic flourishes, dousing the whole thing in blissful melody.

One of the most interesting and fulfilling things about Apple’s Acre is its sense of fluidity. It’s a living, breathing thing and just when you think you’ve got it figured out, it wanders off in a different direction like a mischievous child. It hints at this on opening track ‘Technicolor’, which is a journey in itself. It starts off with just Chapman’s voice at its most fearful and affecting, before mutating into a joyously twisted party atmosphere.

From then on, the album follows a similarly unpredictable course, veering between the pained and visceral (‘Mile After Mile’, ‘Winter’), deranged torch songs (‘Bright Ideas’) and sheer unbridled elation (‘Apple’s Acre’). The latter is one of the album’s real highlights, and comes as a wonderful surprise the first time you hear it, imbued as it is with that sense of urgency and gleeful harmonies that you would associate with the best pop songs of the 60s.

As full as their songs are, Nurses also understand the value of being concise. It comes as a surprise the first time you realise that Apple’s Acre clocks in at only thirty five minutes, because it feels like there’s enough content here to fill at least an hour. Brevity is perhaps a virtue here. It’s difficult to imagine such a joyful album ever dragging on, but it’s a clever stroke from Nurses to ensure that it never gets a chance to outstay its welcome.

Apple’s Acre is a tale of ambitions realised. Nurses set out to create a storybook of childish innocence, and they’ve achieved that. The album showcases their massive creativity and playfulness and is a fitting testament to the power of pop music to move your heart and head as well as your feet.

9/10

Idlewild - 100 Broken Windows (Album)

My contribution to a collective 'Best Albums of the Decade' feature which is due to appear on Muso's Guide:

As tricky a question as it is, I’d say the album which has meant the most to me this decade is 100 Broken Windows by Idlewild. The album was one of my first forays away from the Oasis, Travis, Stereophonics triumvirate which clogged the early-noughties hit parade, and opened up a gateway away from chart indie.

My love for this record isn’t just fuelled by nostalgia though. Even nine years later, no other British Indie band has matched it for energy, impact and sheer listenability.

It’s easy to understand why this is regarded by so many as a seminal album. . Roddy’s lyrics might straddle the line between intelligence and nonsense, (“…and Gertrude Stein said that’s enough!”) but that doesn’t matter at all, because 100 Broken Windows is powered along by incendiary (and bloody catchy) guitar riffs, and resonates with a glorious and barely contained rage.

100 Broken Windows marked Idlewild’s first steps from raggy-arsed punk slashers into something a little more refined. They might eventually have gone too far down the road to maturity, but at this stage Idlewild were still one of the most exciting bands in the world.

Omo - The White Album (Album)

Very occasionally, an album arrives which leaves us scratching our heads. An album which, in spite of repeated listens, does not open itself up or click into place. An album which you just don’t quite know what to make of. The White Album by Omo is such an album.

Omo are a two piece outfit consisting of Berit Immig and David Muth, They’ve been playing together for about five years, and this, their debut long player, is an assemblage of what they describe as ‘domestic pop for domestic occasions’. And it’s an unbelievably frustrating listen.

There’s absolutely no doubt that Omo possess unbounded creativity and flair. The White Album a lesson in exemplary electro textures. There is no shortage of ideas lurking among the exquisite concoction of beats and lo-fi instrumentation. Penultimate track ‘Turtle Neck’, for example, marries a looped guitar line to a pounding electronic pulse and the result, although hardly anything new, is still something vitaland invigorating. ‘König’ is an edgy, atmospheric piece of music which shows a creepier facet to the band’s sound.

Sadly though, Omo give with one hand and take away with the other. The most exasperating thing about The White Album is the handling of the ‘zany’ subject matter of the lyrics which ranges from underwater robots, to making a cuppa, to why birds couldn‘t fly if their eggs were too heavy. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with humour in music. If Neil Hannon can pull off a whole album about cricket, then why shouldn’t Omo be able to give us a song about tennis? The key is in the way the songs are delivered. There’s precious little warmth in Immig’s spoken word vocal delivery, which means the absurdity of the songs just sounds forced.

However, there are one or two instances where the Casio-pop aligns perfectly with the vocals, and, not surprisingly, these are among the album’s most successful moments. We see it on ‘Oversized’, where the mantra-like chant of “Will you be surprised when I’m oversized?” combines nicely with the hypnotic beat. It’s a shame that these moments of lucidity are few and far between, because underneath the wackiness is a brilliant album of painstakingly constructed bedroom electro desperate to make itself heard.

Lights - Rites (Album)

Rites is the second album by Brooklyn quartet-of-sorts Lights. We say ‘of-sorts’, because the fourth member of the band, Wizard Smoke, doesn’t actually play a note on the record, but contributes artwork and visuals for their live shows.

It may seem a bit of an outlandish concept to credit as a band member a person with no input on the recordings, but in the case of Lights, it makes a perverse kind of sense. The ethos here is that of a joyful collective, a band playing purely for themselves. The songs which constitute Rites progress at entirely their own pace, building a mood which is free from any kind of inhibitions.

The record is powered by the dual forces of the fallen angel vocal harmonies of Sophia Knapp and Linnea Vedder, and some proper old fashioned grubby stoner rock. It straddles the line between girlish sweetness, and heavy wooziness, which produces an end result which is as fun as it is stirring.

Rites’ fun side is borne out of the playfulness which is present on the album from start to finish. It’s there in the sleazy horns on ‘Can You Hear Me’, which, from most other bands would be a bit too on the nose. It’s also there in vast quantities on ‘Fire Night’. Take a throbbing bassline, some spoken word (or growled-word, to be more accurate) male French vocals, some heavy psychedelic guitars, mix in some suggestive girly cooing, and you’ve got a prime recipe for some wonderfully filthy stoner-disco.

For all the prettiness of the vocals, there’s a deliciously devilish air underpinning them throughout. On ‘Hold On’, for example, the refrain of "hold on, my little darling" is more than just a rallying cry to a loved one, it’s a siren-call shot through with wickedness. As well as this, the aforementioned ‘Fire Night’ puts paid to any notions of innocence suggested by the ever so slightly tongue in cheek white-robe clad images of the band in the artwork.

The main focal point of Rites, an album hardly lacking in highlights, is it’s second-last song ‘Nothing Left to Build’. It’s the song which encapsulates Lights’ philosophy best, summing up exactly what they’re about in a shade over four minutes. A gentle, simple guitar melody lifts into more of those beautiful harmonies, underpinned by some delicate fuzziness. The whole thing feels like at any moment it might soar off skywards, dragging you eagerly along with it.

So with Rites, Lights might well have delivered (dare we say it) one of 2009’s best records. There’s so much to enjoy here. It is an album which is driven by a duality of dark and light, of beauty and force, all of which make it such an enriching and substantial listen.

Emmy the Great - The Edward EP (EP)

So many dozens of great records are made each year that it’s quite easy not to think about those that will never see the light of day. But on reflection, it’s both intriguing and disturbing that we’ll never know just how much we end up missing out on from artists who might run out of steam, abandon their work in a fit of pique, or just wander off down another channel entirely.

Take Emmy the Great’s The Edward EP, as a prime example. In playing previously overlooked old songs in her encores on a recent tour, her nostalgic instincts were stirred to the extent that she decided to commit four of them to tape as a kind of prequel to her debut album First Love (though not, by her own admission, before having to double-check some of her lyrics online, so far to the back of her mind had these songs been cast).

The fact that these wonderful songs were discarded before even being recorded speaks volumes about the quality of what did end up making it on to the album. But perhaps Emmy was selling her earliest work a little short, because at times The Edward EP surpasses parts of First Love, particularly on its lead track ‘Edward is Dedward’.

The themes of death, loss and regret beset the songs, but even in the face of such heavy subject matter, Emmy’s typically sharp turn of phrase and delicately bouncy strum-alongs stave off any threat of mawkishness. On ‘Edward is Dedward’ for example, she imbues a bleak tale of mourning with a touching sense of defiance: ‘If burial restricts your view / I’ll bring the city here to you’. The folky opening of the song builds into something noisier, akin to the atmosphere of drunken revelry that gradually permeates a funeral and turns it into a celebration.

There are plenty of examples of the ability of Emmy to interweave poignancy with knowing wit which was often apparent on First Love. ‘Canopies and Drapes’ (no, it’s definitely not Grapes) recounts a tricky break-up sound-tracked by New Kids on The Block, Billy Bragg and stolen Magnetic Fields Eps and which results in predictably regrettable drunken episodes and feeling ‘worse than when S Club 7 broke up’. The same song also contains such beautiful imagery as a longing to ‘teach the mattress to erase you from its folds’.

Emmy has recently talked about how recording these songs has revived her love of song writing. The act of releasing this EP, far from being the backwards step it could be construed as, should have a positive impact on her next album. Given the quality of what she’s released so far, this is a seriously exciting prospect.

8/10