The Joy Formidable - The Big Roar Preview (Album)

It’s only been four years since they formed, but somehow it feels like it’s taken The Joy Formidable forever to get around to releasing a debut album. Having spent the last three or four years consistently appearing in ‘ones to watch’ lists and diverting us with an array of awesome dream-grunge singles and a barnstorming mini- album, the Welsh three piece have finally deigned to bless us with their first full-lengther The Big Roar which will land on record shop shelves on January 24^th. It’s worth ignoring the post-Christmas credit card bill just a little bit longer in order to grab yourself a copy, because this is a band who have been consistently growing in strength with every release, making The Big Roar a candidate to be the first great record of 2011. The album blends a load of new songs with a few that have been around for yonks (Whirring, Cradle and Austere), but sadly there is no place for the ridiculously moreish Paul Draper collaboration Greyhounds in the Slips or ‘festive’ single My Beerdrunk Soul is Sadder Than a Thousand Dead Christmas Trees. To a glass-half-full type like me, this would suggest that the songs which have made the cut might be even better. Besides, if you’re peeved by the absence of the aforementioned oldies, they feature on the stupidly comprehensive double CD and DVD box special edition, so indulge yourself. The band play the O2 in Newcastle on February the 8^th too, so if they are still strangers to you, there’s no excuse not to familiarise yourself with their music in the coming months.

Frightened Rabbit feature

The Frightened Rabbit review and interview ended up being melded into one feature, so this is the end result of the editing:

As the scene of my ‘education’, Northumbria University will always hold a special place in my heart, primarily because of the many sweaty, boozy hours I spent in its Student Union watching bands good, bad, and fucking terrible. However, as I have gradually degenerated from a hip ‘n’ happenin’ snake-hipped teen to a doughy late twenties office drone, so too did Northumbria fall from its pedestal as a regular fixture in Newcastle’s gig scene. Now though, after a major refit which has included reducing the capacity of the upstairs room (and in the process massively improving its atmosphere), it appears that the place is slowly trying to claw its way back into favour, having recently nabbed a couple of gigs which would usually be shoe-ins for one of the Academy venues. If you’ve ever been to the Academy, you’ll agree this is undoubtedly no bad thing.

Frightened Rabbit’s visit to Northumbria comes at the end of a year of great success, where their third record The Winter of Mixed Drinks has very nicely consolidated the massive critical acclaim which was so freely lobbed at its predecessor The Midnight Organ Fight. Singer Scott Hutchinson, speaking to us after the show, definitely feels happy with how 2010 has turned out: ‘I think it’s been great. We’ve always said that as long as we’re moving forward then we’re happy. I never pay too much attention to people saying that it’s going to be your year or whatever, because, well they can say what they like, but I’ve had a fucking fabulous year, I’ve really enjoyed it. The reception to the record has been good, and the more time that people have had with it, the better the reception to the songs has been’.

In keeping with all the good cheer surrounding the band (although Scott will hear nothing of the festive season until we’re into December), they are in wonderfully relaxed and amiable form tonight. The set is a pretty thorough trawl through the last two records, with Be Less Rude the only song from Sing the Greys to make an appearance, something which just illustrates the massive bounds Frightened Rabbit have made as a band since their earliest days. There’s little doubt that The Winter of Mixed Drinks has taken a while to fully worm its way into people’s consciousnesses but now that we’ve had nine months or so to live with the newer songs, they are sitting very comfortably alongside their older counterparts. Indeed, Swim Until You Can’t See Land, and set closer The Loneliness and the Scream are two of the evening’s high points, providing just as much singalong potential as the likes of I Feel Better and The Modern Leper.

As time has gone on, Frightened Rabbit’s recordings have unquestionably grown ever more polished. Clearly, this isn’t always a positive step, and it’s been the death of plenty of bands before them, but in this case, it has felt like a logical, organic growth, taking place as they have gradually accumulated members and grown in both confidence and stature. Scott can’t help but feel that he may have got just a little bit carried away with the extra instrumentation employed on the new record though: ‘It was huge, and I went a bit over the top, I’ll be the first to admit, and it was symptomatic of me feeling that The Midnight Organ Fight wasn’t quite right. I didn’t get to finish it, if you like, and doing The Winter of Mixed Drinks was almost like venting my frustration and getting everything on there, and then going fucking way over the top. I think now is the time to pull it back.’

Indeed, as it turns out, the fleeting instances where the band do strip things right down tonight are probably the greatest moments of a set not lacking in focal points. Scott delivers Poke and Good Arms vs Bad Arms solo, and it’s raw, gut-punching stuff. These songs serve to prove that no matter what strengths Frightened Rabbit develop as a band, ultimately, the thing they will always do best is to articulate the bleakest depths of lovelorn sorrow, and drag you down there with them.

This propensity with miserablism makes the band unlikely fodder for marketing types, yet still they have recently found their music thrust into millions of households thanks to a certain National Lottery advert. In spite of the odd bit of indier-than-thou vitriol, Scott sees no reason for self-reproach: ‘Until very recently, we were label-less, so we were paying for everything. I’m completely unapologetic about all that stuff because I do this so that I don’t have to do anything else and stuff like that goes back to the culture of downloading meaning you don’t make money from selling records. I have to make money somehow, and that’s one of the ways of doing it. A couple of people have been a bit... And I came to understand it, and now, I think I probably would be more wary of doing that in the future. I understand now that that album, and that song, will mean a lot to some people and to hear it in that setting might cheapen it a little bit, but, well, I don’t really care, because it’s going to be on for about two months, and it’ll be forgotten about by Christmas time. I won’t listen to too much stick, because you try working your arse off for four years for very little return financially, and then see if you’re going to give me shit for it! I don’t care. I haven’t actually even seen it. We’ve actually turned a lot of adverts down in the past, and there are a lot of companies I wouldn’t advertise. My thinking is that if somebody hears it and likes it, then it’s one more way of hearing the music.’

After a busy year, the band have one final blowout planned at the Bowlie 2 weekender which is being curated by Belle and Sebastian, and they intend to make the most of it: ‘It’s insane. I first looked at the line-up about two months ago and they added some more bands about a month ago, and it’s fucking even better. I think it’s probably one of the best festival line-ups I’ve seen this year. It’s our last show of the year, and it’s going to be our office party. It’ll feel extremely Christmassy.’

After Bowlie 2, don’t expect too much from Frightened Rabbit for a while, as Scott plans to go to ground to make album 4: ‘We’re going to really spend a long time doing it, I’ve got almost nothing written, so I’m going to have to go and do that at the start of the year, and I want to spend some time at home too.That’s my favourite part of it all. Touring is fine, but recording is why I started the band, so I just want to keep making records.’ There’s no question that Frightened Rabbit deserve their brief respite, and you can’t help but feel total faith that the next album is in safe hands, and it will be very surprising indeed if it doesn’t carry them still deeper into the hearts of the general public.

Frightened Rabbit Interview

After a successful 2010 which has seen Frightened Rabbit firmly cement themselves in the hearts and minds of an ever-increasing section of the record-buying public, the band are rounding the year off with a UK tour. We caught up with singer Scott Hutchinson after their show at Northumbria University for a chat about how life is treating him...

At the start of this year when The Winter of Mixed Drinks was coming out, following the fantastic reception The Midnight Organ Fight received, I think a lot of people were expecting this year to be your year. How do you feel it’s gone?

I think it’s been great. We’ve always said that as long as we’re moving forward then we’re happy. I never pay too much attention to people saying that it’s going to be your year or whatever, because, well they can say what they like, but I’ve had a fucking fabulous year, I’ve really enjoyed it. The reception to the record has been good, and the more time that people have had with it, the better the reception to the songs has been, because I think the Midnight Organ Fight was an album that so many people took really strongly to...

It was a very intense record...

A completely intense record, and we were never going to repeat that. You don’t write two Midnight Organ Fights, so I think people were, like, ‘oookaaay...’, and now they’re getting used to it and I think it’s been fantastic.

It must be nice seeing a room of this size so full for you?

Yeah, we’ve been talking about trying to move forward in a lot of ways creatively and developing the songwriting and stuff, but, hell, we want to see more people getting into the music and this tour we’ve seen that.

In comparing the two records, The Midnight Organ Fight was very obviously a break-up record, but you didn’t have that ready-made subject matter in place this time out, so was it difficult, or was it liberating having to start from scratch?

It was a challenge, but it was a good challenge, because it came to the point where I could write these songs about heavy angst, torrid times and black periods easily, it’s an easy language to get used to. It’s more difficult to write a song about being content and happy and enjoying yourself without sounding too cheesy, so that was a challenge for me, and I liked it. I don’t want to repeat myself.

So is the next record already in your mind?

I’m formulating ideas, and I’m thinking about it a lot just now, although I’m not actually acting on it just yet because I don’t write on tour. I’ve got bits and pieces floating about and it’s going to be different again. I want to strip it all back, strip all the shit that went on on the last record, all of the orchestration and stuff...

Yeah, The Winter of Mixed Drinks was definitely a much fuller sound...

Oh, it was huge, and I went a bit over the top, I’ll be the first to admit, and it was symptomatic of me feeling that The Midnight Organ Fight wasn’t quite right. I didn’t get to finish it, if you like, and doing The Winter of Mixed Drinks was almost like venting my frustration and getting everything on there, and then going fucking way over the top. I think now is the time to pull it back, yeah.

These days, we’re living in a world where it’s commonplace for people to help themselves to music off the internet, particularly before albums are released. How do you feel about that, and what sort of impact do you think it has on Frightened Rabbit specifically?

I’ve never really known a period of time when people make money from selling records, so actually it’s not changed the way that I feel. I think that it makes it easier for people to hear your music and that can only be a good thing. You can’t replace a live show, so as long as people have heard us and they want to come to a show and they want to buy a t-shirt and all that, then bands can survive, and I think, actually it’s put the power back into the bands’ hands. Labels are wondering how they can survive because records aren’t selling , but lots of people are coming out to the shows, and you get a much broader ocean of competition. There’s so much for people to consume, it’s really easy to get lost.

For a punter, there’s so much out there to explore, you almost feel like you’re not spending enough time with an album to do it justice...

Yeah, I mean I’m still seeing people writing on the internet about ‘giving this new Frightened Rabbit album a listen’, and it’s been out since March! It’s understandable, at one point I’d have maybe been a bit dismayed by that, but I think of myself as a listener as well. For instance it was only a week ago I got into the Bon Iver record, which is fantastic. I’d been thinking, ‘ah, fuck it, I’ll do it sometime’, and then last week it happened, so I completely understand that point of view.

In order to keep yourself ticking over, do things like the Lottery advert become a necessity to be able to continue doing what you do?

Until very recently, we were label-less, so we were paying for everything. I’m completely unapologetic about all that stuff because I do this so that I don’t have to do anything else and stuff like that goes back to the culture of downloading meaning you don’t make money from selling records. I have to make money somehow, and that’s one of the ways of doing it.

Have you had much stick for it?

A couple of people have been a bit... And I came to understand it, and now, I think I probably would be more wary of doing that in the future. I understand now that that album, and that song, will mean a lot to some people and to hear it in that setting might cheapen it a little bit, but, well, I don’t really care, because, it’s going to be on for about two months, and it’ll be forgotten about by Christmastime. I won’t listen too much stick, because try working your arse off for four years for very little return financially, and then see if you’re going to give me shit for it! I don’t care. I haven’t actually even seen it. We’ve actually turned a lot of adverts down in the past, and there are a lot of companies I wouldn’t advertise. My thinking is that if somebody hears it and likes it, then it’s one more way of hearing the music.

You’re playing Bowlie 2 soon. Are you excited about the festival?

It’s insane. I first looked at the line-up about two months ago and they added some more bands about a month ago, and it’s fucking even better. I think it’s probably one of the best festival line-ups I’ve seen this year.

Who are you looking forward to seeing?

This year I was surprised how much I loved the Foals album, it’s fucking amazing, because I didn’t really like the first one, but this one’s got something extra to it, so I really want to see them, and really want to see Wild Beasts again, I like them. I want to try and see all the Scottish bands! It’s our last show of the year, and it’s going to be the office party. It’ll feel extremely Christmassy.

Just to close things off, what does next year hold for the band?

Writing and recording the next record. We’re going to really spend a long time doing it, I’ve got almost nothing written, so I’m going to have to go and do that at the start of the year, and I want to spend some time at home too. It’s my favourite part of it all. Touring is fine, but recording is why I started the band, so I just want to keep making records.

Frightened Rabbit - Northumbria Uni - 23/11/2010 (Gig)

As the scene of my ‘education’, Northumbria University will always hold a special place in my heart, primarily because of the many sweaty, boozy hours I spent in its Student Union watching bands both good and bad. However, as I have gradually degenerated from a hip ‘n’ happenin’ snake-hipped teen to a doughy late twenties office drone, so too did Northumbria fall from its pedestal as a regular fixture in Newcastle’s gig scene. Now though, after a major refit which has included reducing the capacity of the upstairs room (and in the process massively improving its atmosphere), it appears that the place is slowly trying to claw its way back into favour, having recently nabbed a couple of gigs which would usually be shoe-ins for one of the Academy venues. If you’ve ever been to the Academy in Newcastle, you’ll agree this is undoubtedly no bad thing.

Frightened Rabbit’s visit to Northumbria comes at the end of a successful year which is about to climax with a slot at Bowlie 2 in a couple of weeks, which seems a fitting way to celebrate how nicely their third record The Winter of Mixed Drinks has consolidated the massive critical acclaim which was liberally lobbed at previous album The Midnight Organ Fight. In keeping with all the good cheer surrounding the band (although Scott will hear nothing of the festive season until we’re into December), they are in wonderfully relaxed and amiable form tonight. The set is made up almost completely of the last two records (with the exception of Be Less Rude), which, to be fair, illustrates the massive bounds Frightened Rabbit have made as a band since their earliest days.

As time has gone on, there’s no doubt that their music has grown more polished. Obviously, this isn’t always a positive step, and it’s been the death of plenty of bands before them, but in Frightened Rabbit’s case the progression of their sound it has felt like a logical, organic growth, taking place as they have gradually accumulated members and grown in both confidence and stature. Clearly, the self-deprecating emotional heft wielded by the lyrics has always been a major factor in making their songs so fucking stirring, but it feels like we’re now at a point where it’s not just about Scott’s words, because the music is every bit as enriching.

It‘s not unfair to say that The Winter of Mixed Drinks has taken a while to fully seep into people’s hearts and minds, and it’s possible that this is due to it being so different from its predecessor (ie it’s not a heart-shredding break-up record) but now that we’ve had nine months or so to live with them, the newer songs are sitting comfortably alongside their older counterparts. Indeed, Swim Until You Can’t See Land, and encore closer The Loneliness and the Scream are two of the evening’s high points, providing just as much singalong potential as the likes of I Feel Better and The Modern Leper.

As it turns out though, it ends up being two of The Midnight Organ Fight’s more tender moments which stand out most this evening. Poke and Good Arms vs Bad Arms are delivered solo by Scott, and it’s raw, gut-punching stuff. These songs serve to prove that no matter what strengths Frightened Rabbit develop as a band, ultimately, the thing they will always do best is to articulate the bleakest depths of lovelorn misery, and drag you down there with them. It’s undoubtedly a ride worth taking though.

December Singles Round Up

Those of you with a stock pile of back issues of Narc and too much time (or perhaps a worryingly precise memory) will be able to note that the last time I manned the singles column I made an ill-fated crack about how futile the attempts to sabotage Cowell’s dominance of the Christmas singles chart usually are (and subsequently lobbed my crystal ball in the Tyne). Well, I’m in no mood for such folly this time round but I will at least make a not-that-bold guess a that none of the singles I’m highlighting this month are likely to top the charts come Christmas day. Not that it’s a bad month, mind you, it’s a bloody strong one actually considering December’s usual truce between good taste and big bucks.

Unquestionably foremost among December’s 45s is the double A-Side from Vancouver’s Shimmering Stars, a band who appear to have shamelessly lifted the best bits of C86 and The Beach Boys and mashed them together in expert fashion. East Van Girls and its more laid-back cousin I’m Gonna Try are both exemplary chunks of sunny guitar japery, which are as impressively well-crafted as they are exhilarating. You can expect blogging types to be absolutely all over this lot next year.

A similarly lovely effort is Cambridge brother-sister duo The Cordelier Club’s Don’t Let it Go By, which is a lush example of how good guitar pop needn’t necessarily be particularly complicated, or even all that original. Indeed, both of the aforementioned bands could teach We Are Enfant Terrible that being derivative doesn’t always have to mean being boring. Sure, their double A-Side Wild Child / We Are Flesh n Blood Kids shows them to be perfectly competent handlers of catchy synth-pop, but there’s absolutely fuck all separating them from the dozens of bands making basically exactly the same records. The same thing could also easily be said about Primary 1, whose single Never Know is just as inoffensive a piece of electro pop as WAEF’s, and just as unremarkable.

Speaking of imitators, this month sees the welcome return of Panda Bear, a man who has almost single-handedly initiated a generation of low-fi sonic explorers, which is both a good and a bad thing. Last Night at the Jetty incorporates his usual dreamy ambience, his usual starry-eyed wonderment and his usual blissful sense of disorientation underpinning the song. With new album Tomboy due to land next year, this is an early indication that the record could be pretty special.

The second of this month’s more experimental efforts is Dog Bite’s Machino Machino, which takes its cue from Deerhunter’s recent work, so it’s heavy on echoey vocals and muddy guitars. It’s enjoyable enough, but there’s no denying that it feels a bit lightweight, to the extent that it’s difficult to keep your attention focused on it. A decidedly more engaging piece of music than this is Civil Civic’s Light on a Leash, which is a beautifully laid-out instrumental which veers unexpectedly from an ominous post-punk intro to a barmy synthy meltdown about halfway through. It’s addictive stuff, and in a weaker month would probably be top of the heap.

The only cover in the pile this month is Dirty Projectors’ take on Dylan’s As I Went Out One Morning, which, mystifyingly, turns out to be crushingly non-descript. It’s a shame that a band normally so adroit with a bit of loveable lunacy would bother to toss out a half-arsed effort like this, but at least it’s only a between album space-saver. A much better bit of folky fun comes from Lupen Crook with Dorothy Deserves, which is an exhilarating and enormously likeable bit of quirky stop-start pop which is up there with the best of this month.

Minus the Bear - O2 Academy 2 - 16/11/2010 (Gig)

It takes a hardy soul to brave the rancorous North-East winter when it is not absolutely necessary, so it is to the credit of Serious Young Men Newcastle-wide that the Academy 2 is two-thirds full on a night when the freezing fog stings your nostrils. Those present tonight are rewarded for their courage with an exemplary set of beard-stroking virtuosity from a Minus the Bear who are taking a welcome side-step from their current Jimmy Eat World support slots. This, in fact, may be the reason why tonight feels like a one-off rather than just another leg of a tour, and may be why the band are so relaxed and engaging between songs, in a manner which belies the solemn nature of their music. It’s the sheer skilfulness of their musicianship which is most impressive though, constantly illustrating the fact that these are five fucking talented people. The intricacy and melodiousness of their playing often calls to mind a less abstract version of Battles, although unlike their meandering countrymen, Minus the Bear’s musical detours usually give the impression that they are leading somewhere. Tonight we have witnessed a criminally underrated band whose passion and skill deserves a wider audience.

Munch Munch - Double Visions (Album)

Prior to recording their debut album, Bristolian quartet Munch Munch felt compelled to lay down some ground rules for themselves, (apparently in order to curb their maximalist tendencies), which included sacking off guitars entirely and limiting themselves solely to live percussion. You’d think such restrictive tenets would result in the whole thing sounding a bit constrained, but Double Visions is a gloriously creative hotchpotch of songs. To call it pop is simultaneously accurate and misleading, because, sure, there are hooks present, but there are bloody dozens of them. The record seems to have been built from little 30-odd second snippets which have been chopped up, put back together in no particular order and then sliced into ten songs seemingly for the sake of convention. As a result, it’s a pretty disorienting listen initially, but it doesn’t take long for the boisterousness and sheer fucking fun of the likes of Wedding and Bold Man of the Sea to come gushing over you like some heaven-sent remedy to the miseries of the Northern Winter. Not many bands are ambitious enough to attempt an album like Double Visions, even fewer are clever enough to actually pull it off.

5/5

Her Name is Calla Interview

These are exciting times for Her Name is Calla. Having spent six or so years making music together, they have reached a stage precious few bands attain, where their music is so utterly unique and so magically enriching that you marvel at the fact that mere human beings should be capable of creating such a thing. It’s a very good time for the band to be releasing their debut album then, and we recently caught up with Tom from the band for a bit of a natter about it.

For the benefit of those of us who enjoy being able to neatly categorise their record collection, the first thing we want clearing up is the thorny issue of whether forthcoming record The Quiet Lamb is their debut, or whether that would be 2008’s The Heritage? “I consider The Quiet Lamb our second album but some of the other guys don't and acknowledge it as our first. We're an unnecessarily complicated bunch of people, sorry. The difference for me would be how the record works as a cohesive whole, which I feel both albums do. That said, you could also consider that we intended The Quiet Lamb to be a full album, and so may have approached it differently from the start. That might not be true of The Heritage”.

So clearly, the band’s opinions differ on the semantics. They do, however, show an entirely united front on the much more important issues surrounding the creation of the music. The thoughtful sound of The Quiet Lamb was borne out of a determination not to hurry things, but although this approach has yielded an astonishing piece of music, it wasn’t without the odd wobble: “I always knew the album would be finished and released as it's a hugely important piece of work for us. We wouldn't have just let it fall by the wayside. But our promise to ourselves was that we wouldn't rush it and that we'd get it as close to perfect as we could. Obviously, the moment we sent it to Denovali for pressing we totally shit ourselves and found there were things that we wanted to change, but sometimes it's important to just let go. We recognised that we'd completed the album to the best of our abilities in quite difficult circumstances. For sure there were a few moments along the way where things seemed really bleak and unending. We scrapped the entire album recordings about four or five times, I think.”

To make life even trickier, the current economic climate means that a harsh reality of life for any musicians who aren’t selling out arenas is the ongoing problem of earning enough money to simply keep going, something Tom has recently highlighted in the band’s blog. Something that can’t help matters is the emergence of a culture in which people view it as their right to help themselves to music for free: “I think it's a disappointment. I don't have much money at all, but when I'm able to buy a record it makes it all that more special. I don't download music illegally. What's the point? I'd be a contradiction. It affects us hugely. Some folks think that it is only an issue for big bands but if anything it's the other way around. It's harder for the smaller bands or the bands that are just breaking out to a bigger audience. We give plenty of music away for free and there are plenty of tracks from the new album that are available to stream. Ultimately, downloading the album via illegal means does directly damage us as well as our label. I think it should be our choice to make it available for free download or not. That's something we chose for our first album and and EP we released earlier in the year.”

Given Tom’s feelings towards the pleasures of the physical specimen of a record, it’s no surprise that the presentation of their music is important to the band, resulting in the wooden box special edition of The Quiet Lamb: “We didn't put all this effort into making an album so that iTunes and MySpace could compress the living fuck out of it. I buy my music and there are people out there who do the same, so this album is for them, the folks who like to feel a record in their hands, smell it and leaf their way through a beautiful booklet of artwork whilst the record plays.”

From an entirely musical standpoint, although The Heritage was an extremely impressive piece of work, The Quiet Lamb feels like a big step up for the band, not just in terms of running time, but in terms of its scale, and an all-pervading sense of grandeur about the thing. With regard to how the two records sit together, Tom recognises more differences than similarities: “Both albums are fairly autobiographical. There are parts which are total creation, but those parts are far and few between. Mostly it documents the relationship with my ex-wife, the shit I put her through. There are certain punishments that I expect. If the album sounds personal it's because it is. The Heritage was more about the past and the future and what we'll leave behind. The Quiet Lamb is very much present tense. I'm happier with The Quiet Lamb. It's the first album where we worked together as a full band. It feels more complete and I'm happier with the arrangements and production. Even though both albums were just recorded in our houses, with the new album we were just a bit more experienced and found a better way of working.”

Although they are now freed from the recording environment, Tom expects the band to be no less busy over the next twelve months: “We'll do a few tours, and we are already in the initial stages of a new record that we'd like to release next year if all works out. We've also recorded a collaborative album with our friends The Monroe Transfer. That should come out early next year; it's just being mixed at the moment. There are all sorts of side projects and things going on as well.” So if for any reason the seventy-five minute masterpiece of The Quiet Lamb doesn’t slake your thirst for all things Calla, there’s plenty more music on the horizon. Can’t wait...

Ou Est le Swimming Pool - The Golden Year (Album)

When their singer Charlie Haddon died on August 20^th this year, it meant that the release of the debut album by Ou Est Le Swimming Pool would pale almost entirely into insignificance. The story of the end of Charlie’s life is an awful one, and there is nothing I can add to it that you haven’t read already. While it would be completely crass for me to talk about The Golden Year without acknowledging the tragedy which preceded it, it would be equally wrong to discuss the album exclusively in the context of Charlie’s death. Chances are that if you’re reading this, then you know the background, and you’re probably here to get an idea of what the album sounds like.

For the most part, The Golden Year sees Ou Est Le Swimming Pool building on the reputation which their previous singles built for them as doyens of punchy synth pop. The album houses a good five or six instances where the band completely and utterly hit their mark from a pop point of view, snaring you with a catchy chorus or insistent synth line and refusing to let go. ‘Dance the Way I Feel’ and ‘Jackson’s Last Stand’, in particular, provide the sort of devastatingly effective thrill out of seemingly simplistic ingredients which so many bands strive for, but which few achieve as completely as this.

When you’ve hit on a successful formula for pop perfection, there’s always a danger of overdoing it, and laying it on too thick with the hooks which has the inevitable impact of diluting their effectiveness. This is a pitfall which Ou Est Le Swimming Pool sidestep here, because The Golden Year isn’t played out entirely at full speed, with the pop stompers broken up with the odd slowie. While the more downbeat moments like ‘Our Lives’ don’t necessarily show the band playing their strongest hand, they are useful in saving The Golden Year from overwhelming you with boisterousness (aka The Passion Pit effect).

In spite of anyone’s best efforts to separate The Golden Year apart from its background, it was always likely that there would be one or two moments where its context would result in moments more poignant than the band probably intended them to be. ‘Better’s occasional dark sentiments, although masked by an upbeat melody, make for pretty difficult listening: “The quiet walls are more help than a friend could be”. A similar effect is created by the waves of delicate hope which open up the album on ‘You Started’, particularly its “You have started the beginning of my life” refrain.

Whether or not The Golden Year will prove to be the only album Ou Est Le Swimming Pool ever release is, at the time of writing, unclear, and is something which is a private decision for the band’s remaining members to make in their own good time. Clearly, if they do continue it will be with an entirely different dynamic to that which produced this record, a dynamic which at once shows the finely honed instincts the band possessed even at this early stage, as well as highlighting the potential they had for the future. Hopefully the strength of the album means that this is what Charlie Haddon will be remembered for, rather than the manner of his death.

7/10

Her Name is Calla - The Quiet Lamb (Album)

The five years since Her Name is Calla’s first recordings have been punctuated by a steady stream of releases, but The Quiet Lamb represents their debut album (they apparently consider 2008’s The Heritage a mini album). Clearly they are not a band to be unduly rushed into anything, and they have recently pointed out the efforts they have made to ensure that the record is as perfect as it could be. This is quite a refreshing approach, really. You only get to make one debut album, and the age of accelerated consumption in which we live means that a band who are pressured into rushing out something half-cooked might never get a chance to rectify the situation.

The unhurried philosophy to producing the album is something which can be clearly discerned on listening, because it sounds painstakingly considered. It is an approach which fits Her Name is Calla’s sound perfectly, and the result is that The Quiet Lamb sounds utterly majestic. Like The Heritage before it, it is far from an easy listen, and its seventy plus minutes are splashed with far more dark shades than light ones, but it is a hugely well-executed piece of work. The attention to detail which has gone into it is clear from its sequencing. The album flows wonderfully, right from the portentous openings of Moss Giant, into the desolate, moody A Blood Promise, through to Pour More Oil which sees the emotion which has built up finally being vented. There are times on the album where you find one song has drifted into another without you even noticing the transition, such is its smoothness and completeness.

One of the most impressive things about The Quiet Lamb is its diversity, which adds breadth to its grandeur, but never takes away any of its coherence. The combination of wintry beauty and bombast is underpinned by occasional departures in tone like the funereal folk of Homecoming, or the closing trio of The Union, which veers from triumphal otherworldly brilliance, to ambient beauty, to some kind of insane soundtrack to a sunset horseback pursuit. The album’s undoubted centre piece though is Condor and River, a gorgeous mini-epic which feels like the album in microcosm, building entirely at its own pace from placid beginnings into something so luxurious that seventeen minutes wash by in an instant.

With The Quiet Lamb, Her Name is Calla have managed to simultaneously build on their previous work and open up new doors. One of the key components in how good they are is the fact that they sound like no other band, a genuinely unique proposition who keep adding more and more components to their sound. Their decision to take things at their own pace has been entirely vindicated, because the album is a wonderful slow-burning success. Even if it takes another five years for them to follow up, it’s okay, because there’s plenty here to sustain us in the interim.

Feature - The NARC. Issue 55 Mixtape

The first of a new regular feature in NARC., a 10 track Spotify Mixtape

http://open.spotify.com/user/browno2/playlist/1pTxezMllmTs441dO3TOaa

Vessels – An Idle Brain and the Devil’s Workshop (Errors Remix) – A reworking which sees Errors deconstruct the wandering grandeur of the original, and replace it with a far more playful, glitchy aesthetic.

Trouble Books – Houseplants – Trouble Books are one of the USA’s best kept secrets. Here, they infuse the most minimal of musical elements with an abundance of space to create something beautifully fragile and affecting.

Emmy the Great – Canopies and Drapes – An offcut from Emmy’s impressive debut record which later emerged on the extended version. She namechecks The Magnetic Fields, S Club 7 and KD Lang among others on a lovely folk workout.

The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - Higher Than the Stars (Saint-Etienne Remix) – The EP from last year’s biggest word of blog successes was arguably as good as their debut record, and this remix adds a new air of dreaminess to their sunny C86-isms.

Elliott Smith – Son of Sam – While his sparser work is his most lauded, on Figure 8, Elliott showed that a fuller sound didn’t strip his songs of their emotion. Opening song Son of Sam is an undoubted highlight.

Her Name is Calla – Nylon – Her Name is Calla are one of our most interesting, creative bands, and Nylon illustrates their darker side, building slowly and menacingly to a histrionic crescendo.

Everything Everything – Photoshop Handsome – Any band hyped to fuck like Everything Everything will be met with suspicion, but the infectious bounce of Photoshop Handsome illustrates why they are worth (most of) the hyperbole.

Los Campesinos! – The Sea is a Good Place to Think of the Future – 2010 saw Los Campesinos! apparently outgrow their twee pop origins. This is the apex of the new LC’s achievements, at once euphoric, despairing and thoroughly enriching.

Asobi Seksu – Thursday – Taken from 2006’s Citrus, Thursday is the perfect blend of Asobi Seksu’s twin strengths, Yuki Chikudate’s gorgeous vocals, and the sometimes overpowering tumult of guitars.

Sonic Youth – The Diamond Sea – Clocking in at just under 20 minutes, this is Sonic Youth’s most decadent work, but also the most liberated they have ever sounded, as Thurston’s weary vocal gives way to 20 minutes of exquisitely meandering noise.

Manic Street Preachers - Postcards From a Young Man (Album)

A little over a year ago, when on these very pages I covered Journal For Plague Lovers, an album which saw Manic Street Preachers triumphantly rugby-tackling their personal history, I pondered whether 2009 would be a fitting time for their unfeasibly epic story to end. At the time, my logic seemed fairly sound. The act of bringing the last of Richey’s abandoned words into public consciousness after fourteen years had an undeniable air of finality to it, leaving the band with something of an unenviable dilemma as to how they would follow up such an album. But of course I’m forgetting that the Manics have always been contrary bastards who have spent more than twenty years being perfectly happy to do exactly the opposite of what you might expect. Therefore, the release of Postcards From a Young Man sees them emerging from the shadow of Richey’s ghost for a second time, and in exactly the same manner as they did in 1996, with an album which is brazen in its radio-conquering ambitions. The circumstances surrounding the two records, however, are entirely different. Where Everything Must Go displayed a defiant sense of optimism borne out of tragedy, wrapping it up in bombast and saturating it with strings, Postcards From a Young Man finds a band at an altogether more settled stage in their lives, crucially no longer needing to escape from their history. In spite of the clear differences surrounding their inception though, both records share the same sense of rejuvenation, a feeling that the band are no longer weighed down by the burden of expectation, and able to make a record just for the enjoyment of it.

In a recent press missive, James described the album as “one last shot at mass communication”, and, regardless of how tongue in cheek his sentiments may be, it’s easy to see what he means. Postcards can most definitely be considered a pop album in the sense that it is unmistakably front-loaded, and that it contains three or four absolutely killer singles which stand head and shoulders above much of the rest of it. Following on from the archetypal lead-single stylings of opening track ‘(It’s Not War) Just the End of Love’ is the album’s title track, which amounts to the most perfect distillation yet of what the band have been trying to achieve musically and lyrically for nigh on fifteen years, as Nicky laments the sting of seeing your youth drift away (“This life, it sucks your principles away”) while James engulfs his words in swooning, sweeping guitar. Even grander is the Ian McCulloch duet ‘Some Kind of Nothingness’. The song is enormous in scale, coming across like some Spector/Walker Brothers hybrid on which McCulloch’s magnificently jaded delivery is supported by an uncharacteristically benevolent-sounding vocal from James. Towards the end the whole thing swells to improbable levels of grandeur when the gospel choirs kick in, to such an extent that it really should all be too much, but the song is so gorgeous that it is impossible not to get caught up in its waves of joyous sadness.

Its first three songs are Postcards From a Young Man’s undoubted high points, before it begins to settle in a little, but every now and again it revisits the stateliness of its beginnings. ‘Hazelton Avenue’, for instance, sees an unlikely ode to the simple pleasures of consumerism (would anyone have seen that coming in 1992?) wrapped in an elegant, swirling refrain, while ‘Golden Platitudes’ comes off like a more grandiose version of the MOR pop of Lifeblood, with the massively uplifting musical accompaniment offsetting a song tinged with the sadness of being betrayed by your own political party (and possibly also by your own failing ideals): “What happened to those days when everything seemed possible... Where did the feeling go? Where did it all go wrong?”

Although they are clearly its most recognisable and memorable facets, the happy/sad big guitar pop numbers don’t quite tell the full story of Postcards. There are also occasional blasts of the characteristic anger which clearly still lingers in the 40-something version of Manic Street Preachers, aimed at targets both old (The decline of national industry, and with it, national identity) and new (Wire’s distaste for the blogger culture which means that anybody with a keyboard can now dispense the same kind of bile which he has spent years honing, to the point that “the printed world is all done and dusted”.) Truth be told though, for all that the angrier songs are bracing, with the rattling chorus of ‘A Billion Balconies Facing the Sun’ a standout example, they are ultimately a little bit throwaway, and at times feel just a little bit redundant. Not quite to the same extent as the likes of ‘Underdogs’ on Send Away the Tigers, mind you, but still they never quite seem to rise above the status of being decent rock knockabouts.

Really, Postcards From a Young Man can not be considered to be a logical follow-on from its predecessor. In spite of the relatively short period of time between the two, the parallels are fleeting, and only the paranoid, tetchy ‘Auto-Intoxication’ would come close to fitting comfortably on Journal For Plague Lovers. We only really see one direct reference to the emotional impact of creating Journal, but it is a telling one when on ‘The Descent (Pages 1 and 2)’, James sings “I’ve lost my last defence / The pages that you left”. Finally committing the last of Richey’s words to wax has left the band exposed, and without the safety buffer they have enjoyed all these years, which might explain the gusto and defiance with which they have attacked this project. While they have undoubtedly recorded better albums than this, they have also recorded much worse too, and there are moments on here which prove they can still genuinely surprise even me, a hardened Manics fan of some thirteen-odd years, with their passion and skill. The long and short of it is that Postcards From a Young Man is a microcosm of the band’s career, rich in glorious successes, pitted with the occasional mis-step, often contradictory, but ultimately completely life-affirming.

Grammatics - Brudenell Social Club, Leeds - 20/8/2010 (Gig)

About a month back, and seemingly out of the blue to the majority of us, Grammatics announced their intention to split, citing insurmountable financial woes as the primary cause. I have watched their latter days with interest, both as a fan of the band, and also as someone intrigued by the machinations of the music industry. They have fallen back on online resources to repay their debts by selling off band paraphernalia, merchandise and little exclusive treats like access to rehearsal time and gigs in people’s gardens. While it has been disagreeable to see a band having to resort to flogging off parts of their history, it’s also encouraging that these days they would have the means to be able to do this to break even, and it has also allowed them to draw a neat line under their story with a final tour and a farewell EP.

Tonight sees the very last leg of their send-off, the last ever Grammatics gig which takes place (of course) in their hometown, and features (of course) two locally-based support acts. Opening band These Monsters are gloriously chaotic, battering the shit out of their instruments, themselves, and our ears. Their songs are messy, unkempt, but thrillingly energetic, and they seem to raise the Brudenell’s temperature to sweltering levels which don’t diminish for the rest of the evening. After the frenetic implosion of These Monsters’ set, there is a sea change in tone when Blue Roses steps onto the stage. There is an endearing sense of awkwardness around her between song chat, which belies the extraordinary, spellbinding voice upon which her music hinges. There is a clear debt of gratitude owed to Joanna Newsom, but it’s difficult to quibble when the songs are so beautifully presented.

By the time Grammatics emerge onstage it is pushing eleven o’clock and there isn’t a soul in the room not drenched in a not-altogether pleasant cocktail of their own and someone else’s sweat. There is also a strange feeling in the tangy air, a mix of anticipation and sadness that this is the very last time that this band will play together. Indeed, one girl at the bar feels the need to tell me about how much she is going to cry tonight, and enquires whether I will experience the same response. Now I’m a bit too stoic a boy for all that (and, to be fair, probably not as drunk as my interlocutor), but as the band commence with the stuttering, swooning The Shadow Committee, there is no denying that it does feel a little emotional.

As the show progresses, the sense that this is their last one ever begins to dissipate (for a while at least), and the gig settles in to feel almost like any other. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, because it means that both we and they can relax a little and enjoy the night without it taking on a funereal air. The band themselves might not be particularly chatty, understandably, but they are in wonderful form. In typical Grammatics fashion, the songs are full, polished and deliciously melodramatic. It feels like a wise move when they drop album closer Swansong into the middle of the set as opposed to ending proceedings with it, because as far as choosing a song to permanently end Grammatics as a live band goes, this would probably be a little too on the nose.

The main set finishes with Double Negative, a song accurately described by Owen as ‘the whitest hiphop ever’, and it is here that the fun ends, and the sweet sting of finality begins to take hold. Having primed us with a particularly fraught version of one of their most overwrought songs, Broken Wing, to open the encore, the band’s finale is a massive, throat-shredding Relentless Fours. It is brutal, cathartic and downright fucking beautiful, concluding with one final, tumultuous descent. And then that is it. Grammatics are no more.

Magic Kids - Memphis (Album)

It’s probably inevitable, but a bit gloomy nonetheless, that as I’ve edged further into my twenties, and as I begin to lurch ever more rapidly towards their conclusion, my tolerance for anything even remotely youthful has waned significantly. This presents something of a quandary when it comes to attempting to critically appraise Memphis the debut album by Magic Kids because youthfulness is something which positively oozes out of every pore of the record. I must soldier on, though, because it really isn’t their fault that I’m seethingly envious that they retain the lustre which deserted me long ago, and who knows, maybe a little vicarious burst of vitality will do me some good.

One thing which will become abundantly clear from even the most cursory of listens to Memphis is that this is a record which nakedly displays its influences. The spectre of 60s pop hangs heavy in the air, with the Beach Boys being the most blatant of reference points. This is immediately evident on opening song ‘Phone’ which gleefully raids Brian Wilson’s box of tricks, pulling out some of his best harmonies along with his well-thumbed juxtaposition of the headrush and yearnings of young love. The Beach Boys influence goes on to pop its head above the parapet sporadically throughout the rest of the record, and is supplemented by occasional bursts of Spector’s girl bands (‘Hey Boy’), and glimpses of a perkier version of baroque pop (‘Superball’).

While Magic Kids’ magpie-like tendencies are pretty barefaced, more often than not they get away with it because they pilfer more than just a sound from their idols; they also display the faultless attention to detail of classic pop music, meaning that the hero-worship never really grates. It might all feel a little lightweight, but there’s no question that the songs are gorgeously well-crafted, making the intricate appear simple, something which is underlined by a straightforward, unfussy production which makes the album feel quite timeless, regardless of the fact that its roots are planted firmly in the 1960s.

Clearly Memphis is a summer record. This could, of course, present a bit of a potential problem for those of us dwelling in parts of the world where summer is but a myth. Fortunately, though, it is an album which doesn’t need a supportive environment, because it is bold enough and evocative enough to create a sunny climate entirely on its own. It is rich in things which make it easy to like, but undoubtedly, the most agreeable thing about it is the seemingly endless surge of happiness on which it is carried, which is so infectious and authentic that even a prematurely aged curmudgeon like me can do little to avoid being swept along with the tide. You probably wouldn’t expect Magic Kids to realistically be able to make more than two or three records with this blueprint, but frankly that isn’t something for us to think about right now. All that really matters for now is that their debut album is an unqualified success, a concise and perfectly-presented collection of first-class pop music.

8/10

My Vitriol and Me

My small contribution to the forthcoming DiS is 10 celebrations, a piece about an overlooked record from DiS' lifetime which has been of particular significance to me:

I’m pretty sure that the DiS’ tenth birthday celebrations will feature accounts of user/website relationships which are far more interesting than mine. It’s been a pretty commonplace journey for me, you see, one where boy meets website, boy falls in love with lots of bands, boy writes a few words for website in the hope of discovering more bands and (just maybe) helping others to do the same. While I’ve been plodding away mundanely on the boards, posting barely 4000 times in six years, there are those who have made friends, found and lost love, got married, had babies (probably) and, in one or two select cases, found national tabloid infamy. How could I compete with that? So, instead of even trying to, I wanted my little contribution to the festivities to be about a record which has been massively important to the development of my tastes, one which was released before I was even aware of the existence of drownedinsound.com, but which is probably just as much to blame as DiS for my unslakeable thirst for new music.

Around the start of the century’s maiden decade, I wouldn’t have said music was particularly important to me, something reflected by the fact that at the age of 17 the entirety of my ‘collection’ will have consisted of about 12 fairly standard samples of radio-friendly indie (of which probably only the Manics have endured to this day). As time progressed though, I gradually grew bored of the stodgy dad-rock, started borrowing a mate’s copies of the death-throe issues of Melody Maker (well, thieved really, sorry about that Richard), and began to spend time in the company of MTV2. As a direct result of the latter, My Vitriol appeared on my radar around the time they released the Pieces and Always: Your Way singles. They were the perfect band for me to discover at that particular time, accessible enough not to repulse my unsophisticated palate (and indeed to actually discover in the first place), but alternative enough for me to satisfy my urge to rebel against my own tastes.

On the surface (which is about as deep as the younger me would tend to delve), Finelines was a pretty uncomplicated proposition, a nice heavy rock record, bristling with venom, and sprinkled with the occasional catchy chorus. But if its appeal were merely superficial, it would have been chucked to one side with my Feeder, JJ72 and Kinesis records long ago. Instead, while I have experienced dozens of infatuations with songs, albums and genres, both brief and longer term, and discarded far more bands than I have loved, Finelines has grown with me, and become one of the few constants in my musical landscape, to the point where my Digipak copy is now just about ready to fall to bits once and for all.

A huge part of its appeal lies in its dextrous melding of pop rock and shoegaze. The likes of Cemented Shoes, Grounded and Losing Touch are instantly exhilarating (and, unsurprisingly, all singles), and their immediacy acts as a necessary breather from the endless surging waves of effects-heavy guitars, a handhold to cling to in the storm of noise. Even now, it’s hugely satisfying, and quite refreshing, to hear how unrestrained the album is. I mean, just look at Tongue Tied. On the face of it, a mainstream rock record could probably do without a meandering, overblown five and half minute instrumental peppered with false endings slap bang in the middle of it, but thanks largely to its joyous bloody-mindedness, it turns out to be a perfect distillation of the entire My Vitriol philosophy, and one of the highlights of the whole album. And then there are the other instrumental snippets, the shorter pieces like Alpha Waves and Taprobane, which in clumsier hands could jar or slow things down unnecessarily, but instead prove to be vital threads in the tapestry of the album as a whole.

So if you never discovered Finelines (and I wouldn’t were it not for opportune timing), if you dismissed My Vitriol out of hand, or even if you own the album and simply haven’t listened to it for ages, then it is without question a worthwhile way to spend forty-eight minutes. It’s a shame that its lack of a successor has overshadowed the record’s sheer strength, but it also means that it gives My Vitriol that rarefied air of mystique which shrouds bands whose only record is a stone-cold classic. For me though, while Finelines is a special record for its own qualities, what is arguably more important is the gateway it provided me to the likes of Seafood, The Cooper Temple Clause and Idlewild, who in turn each gave me a few more outlets, which then led me to a few more other threads to follow, and so on and so on and so on to a point where my hard drive and bookshelves creak under the strain of music they carry.

Bear in Heaven - Beast Rest Forth Mouth: Remixed (Album)

Beast Rest Forth Mouth is likely to end up one of 2010’s great overlooked records, destined to be overshadowed by Yeasayer’s similar, inferior effort. Entering the minefield of the remix album seems at first a curious decision, especially given the near-perfection of the source material but the result, by and large, vindicates Bear in Heaven. Undoubtedly, the album’s shimmering pop charm is lost, but in its place comes a subtler new appeal, particularly on The Field’s remix of Ultimate Satisfaction, or Deru’s Deafening Love, which experience two of the most radical deconstructions here, both taking on an unnerving, ghostly air. The BRAHMS remix of Fake Out, meanwhile, is a less drastic tweak, enhancing the song’s essence with a skittering little beat, the result of which is probably better than the original. As with practically every remix album ever made, not every reworking is a success, with Pink Skull’s version of Wholehearted Mess turning the song into a shapeless mush. On the whole though, the band have presided over a real success, adding an interesting new dimension to their album, which will hopefully bring it back on the radar to those who missed it first time round.

4/5

Deerhunter - Halcyon Digest Preview (Album)

These days, it feels strange to bemoan a period of less than twelve months as too long to have gone without recorded output from any artist. But such is the outrageously prolific nature of Bradford Cox, a man usually good for at least two records a year, that it seems like an age since his last release, October’s Atlas Sound album Logos. He even stopped spewing out the formerly frequent Virtual 7” recordings which litter the archives of the Deerhunter blog (most of which are well worth exploring if you find yourself with a spare afternoon and a fuckload of hard drive space). His quiet spell is due to end on September 28^th, as he and his Deerhunter cohorts knuckle back down to the day job with the release of their fifth full-lengther Halcyon Digest. Lead single Revival (quite fittingly, given the name), picks up the thread left by last Deerhunter EP Rainwater Cassette Exchange, taking on the same lazy, mildly shoegazey ambience of its predecessor. That’s not to say you should expect any kind of rehash of past glories, mind you, because Deerhunter are most definitely not that kind of band. There may be some vague sense of narrative logic running through their back catalogue, but a huge part of their overall appeal lies in their unpredictability and their sublime meandering tangents. In fact the only thing about Halcyon Digest that isn’t likely to surprise is its inevitable prominent spot in the end of end of year love-ins.

Salli Lunn - Heresy and Rite (Album)

I’ve often wondered what compels a band for whom English isn’t their mother tongue to sing in English. Clearly it is an artistic decision which is entirely theirs to make, and there are certainly a host of wonderful bands, including Phoenix, Mew and M83 to name a mere few, who choose to do it, but the motive behind it has never been entirely clear to me. Is it for commercial appeal? Is English particularly easier on the ear than other languages? Do foreign musicians just like to show off how expert their English is? Answers on a postcard (or that little comments box at the bottom) please.

Danes Salli Lunn are another example of a band recording in English as opposed to their native language. Now, short of hearing a recording of Heresy and Rite in Danish for comparison purposes, we are limited in our ability to assess the relevance of their linguistic choices, but what is all too apparent is that there are times when some frankly atrocious lyrics take the shine off what could have been one of this year’s most shining examples of noise-drenched indie. The most obvious and most squirm-inducing example of this can be found on Mirror Girl. You could take your pick from the song’s whole lyric-sheet, but the line which makes me recoil most is probably ‘She can not be a single girl with those pretty cheekbones’. One aberration of a song does not entirely ruin a record, but the unfortunate effect it has is to make it difficult to totally lose yourself the first half of the album because you know this is lurking portentously round the corner.

This is a real shame too, because at its best Heresy and Rite is a record which, either intentionally or otherwise, takes a number of reference points (I spotted, among others, very early Sonic Youth, Interpol, and Engineers) and blends them into a fairly agreeable melange. What Salli Lunn do really well (and it’s tragic the album doesn’t explore it more) are the huge assaults of squealing, crashing noise which punctuate the album, never more so than about five and a half minutes into Fast Cars, Clean Bodies, or the latter stages of Frame of Reference. When they pull this off, they are visceral, vital and exhilarating, and it’s a pleasure to slip the headphones on, turn the volume up, and immerse yourself in the shower of noise. Although the album’s more tumultuous sections represent its greatest successes, they are backed up by one or two strong lower key moments too. Parachutes Forever, for instance, shares a similar wide-eyed innocence to Jeniferever’s best work, while Belongings is a skilfully delivered slice of paranoid brooding.

On the whole, then, Heresy and Rite is an album which produces hugely inconsistent results. To call it a mixed bag would be the most enormous of understatements. It undoubtedly contains a lot of the right ingredients for Salli Lunn to be major noise-rock players, and the more experimental elements of the album are beautifully-realised, but what will ultimately stay with you after listening to Heresy and Rite are its slips into formulaic territory, as well as the horror of Mirror Girl.

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