She & Him - Volume Two (Album)

Much has been made of the unlikeliness of the pairing of Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward. Around the release of She & Him’s debut effort two years ago, references to the improbable juxtaposition between indie boys the world over’s fantasy object of choice and the folk troubadour became pretty tiresome in the end. Thankfully, Volume One became one of those depressingly rare records where the music spoke louder than the back story which accompanied it, and it was received well on its own merits as a record of charming, sun-kissed pop.

Volume Two, you won’t be surprised to learn, is no great departure from that template. It sees Ward and Deschanel serve up another set of refined, summery morsels. Ward’s instrumentation and Deschanel’s distinctively lovelorn delivery combine to produce a shimmering combination of country, folk and classic 60s girl-band pop. The point at which the two became a ‘proper band’ is unclear, but at no point does this album fall into self-conscious collaboration hell. Instead, the chemistry between the two means it always makes perfect sense.

Clearly, if you’re not a fan of the Deschanel’s out and out tweeness, then this record is not going to change your mind. Those who find her in any way annoying are advised to stay away, because they will inevitably be infuriated by her vocal characteristics and simplistic lyrical style. Indeed, even the most well-intentioned of listeners could find the whole thing a bit cloying, because at times it feels like you’re trying to swim through a sea of the gloopiest honey. But, if you’re taking the album at face value, as nothing more sinister than a dreamy, breezy little pop record, then it can be placed alongside other dainty popstrels like Camera Obscura in terms of quality.

Things start off at a fairly languorous pace with ‘Thieves’ on which a particularly heartbroken-sounding Deschanel pines that “A love like ours is terrible news”. From this point onwards, the album drifts along in placid fashion, from the bobbing refrain of ‘In the Sun’ to the naggingly catchy piano-led ‘Don’t Look Back’. The most saccharine moment on Volume Two, and probably the song which Zooey-haters will hold up as an example of her evil powers is ‘Home’. It feels briefly like a rare thundercloud is threatening to break the muggy air of the album, until the chorus kicks in, the sun bursts through and the song becomes a sultry exercise in girliness which sees her repeatedly cooing, “It doesn’t get better than home, now, does it?”. The elements of the record which prove to be most impressive are those where the classical pop influences are at their most obvious. ‘Over It Over Again’, in particular, is all layered backing vocals and rickety piano and guitar, and the result conjures up the same intangible wide-eyed splendour which characterised the best Spector recordings.

Volume Two is a well-timed release, poised perfectly to capitalise on the occasional (okay, rare) bouts of sun we get in this country at this time of year. It is a beautifully-realised progression of classic records of bygone days, which benefits from the painstaking care which has clearly gone into its production. Its unrelenting sweetness will probably prove to be divisive, but it would take a hard heart not to succumb to its charm.

Idlewild - O2 Academy 2 - 26/4/2010 (Gig)

Most indie fans will have seminal bands, those with a big role in shaping their tastes in their formative days, and for me, like many others, Idlewild were one of those bands. Tonight a completely crammed Academy 2 sees them on their final tour before an indefinite hiatus. It’s a strange night, because it serves as a reminder of the brutal creative force Idlewild once were, and the lifeless shadow of their former selves they eventually became. However, dips into the last three records are thankfully infrequent in a set which is heavy on 100 Broken Windows. The likes of ‘Idea Track’, ‘ Little Discourage’ and ‘Roseability’ are glorious throwbacks, searing flashes of anger which are brilliant examples of the bracing energy of Idlewild at their best. Not that all their post-2000 work was dreadful, mind you. When ‘American English’ closes the main set, it is genuine lump-in-the-throat stuff. Really, the best way we can remember Idlewild, is illustrated by the mid-set one-two-three of Hope is Important songs. They are delivered with a particularly savage intensity, and go a long way to eliminating the limp radio rock of recent years. For these wonderfully visceral moments, we will remember Idlewild fondly.

Rufus Wainwright - All Days Are Nights: Songs For Lulu (Album)

As the years have passed, Rufus Wainwright’s creative output has become increasingly ambitious. Having started off with jaunty (if showy) piano pop songs, his recorded work has swelled in scale, reaching its apex with the enormous productions of his last few records. In addition to this, two of his most recent projects have been a painstakingly constructed retelling of Judy Garland’s Judy at Carnegie Hall, and more recently he has staged his first opera Prima Donna, which tells the tale of an aging soprano. Clearly then, it might come as something of a surprise that his sixth album’s twelve songs feature only voice and piano. This less expansive approach was a conscious reaction to the increasingly ostentatious nature of his more recent recordings, and given the ill health of his mother Kate McGarrigle (who died in January) it is a logical step. The outcome of all this is that All Days Are Nights shows Rufus Wainwright at his most vulnerable, and features some of the starkest, most emotionally naked songs he has ever written.

Although the base ingredients of the record might be more minimal, this is far from a simple or straightforward album. In fact, it is probably one of the densest that we will see this year. It sashays into life with ‘Who Are You New York?’, all glittering arpeggios and snapshots of slightly stalkerish imagery set against a backdrop of The Big Apple’s landmarks. Like large swathes of the rest of the record, by isolating Wainwright’s piano playing from the heaps of instrumentation which sometimes overwhelm it, it shows his precocious musical ability, as well as dramatically emphasising his most powerful asset, that extraordinary voice which has won him so many devotees over the years.

Rufus has recently said that All Days Are Nights was a means of mourning his mother while she was still alive, so unsurprisingly the lyrical content is dominated by Kate. He has never shied away from the intimate when writing songs, but even by Wainwright’s standards, his lyrics here are often disarmingly. The clearest example of this is ‘Martha’, a poignant rallying cry to his sister, backed by a twinkling piano line, to spend more time with their mother as her health deteriorates (and also their father – which given the past antagonism is a telling sign of the family’s pressing need to be united). There is desperation in Rufus’ voice which reflects the fact that, really, only his sister knows exactly how all this feels. The uncomfortably intimacy of ‘Martha’ furthers a longstanding Wainwright/McGarrigle lyrical characteristic, and the fact that Rufus can make you feel like a voyeur, intruding on something too private for the likes of the general public, underlines his gift as a songwriter.

The Spartan components of the album mean that there is a strong sense of cohesiveness, but there is still one song which sticks out like a sore thumb. ‘Give Me What I Want And Give It To Me Now!’ appears, at least on the surface, a bouncy, throwaway number which would sit more comfortably on earlier Wainwright recordings than a record as intense as this. Scratch the surface, though and the song contains serious vitriol aimed at the opera purists who lambasted Prima Donna. However, it is difficult to escape the feeling that the perky melody is a failed attempt to offset the spite, and the song just ends up feeling a little out of place.

The latter stages of the album allow those not familiar with Rufus’ extra-curricular activities a bit more of an insight into his other life, starting with a trio of Shakespearian sonnets set to new musical compositions which featured in a Berlin production last year. Rufus brings the sonnets to life beautifully with his vocal delivery and three of the loveliest melodies on the record. This will be the point at which casual observers will either become completely entranced, or just drop off the map altogether because the sonnets prove heavy going on an already intense record. It becomes ever clearer as All Days Are Nights progresses that it is not an ‘easy’ album, but it is so much more rewarding and emotionally engaging for that. The decision to feature three sonnets rather than just one or two is further evidence of Rufus’ shameless and boundless sense of ambition. His flights of fancy might not always prove successful, but they are crucial to his work and a major factor in what makes him so captivating as an artist.

The final nod to his non-pop star activities is the penultimate song on the album, ‘Les Feux D’Artifice T’Appellent’, a rendition of the closing aria of Prima Donna, on which its protagonist Madame Saint Laurent reflects on the end of her career as an opera singer. The sense of sadness tinged with the tiniest glimmer hope is captured and delivered beautifully, and encapsulates the overall tone of the record entirely. In a far simpler way, so does ‘Zebulon’, which closes the album in devastating fashion. Delivered as an entreaty to a childhood friend and crush, and set to an austere melody, it sets out Rufus feelings about his lot in the simplest, most heartbreaking tones: “My Mother’s in the hospital / My Sister’s at the opera / I’m in love but let’s not talk about it”. It is probably the most beautiful song in Rufus Wainwright’s canon, and seems the most fitting way to end a record as draining, complicated and flawed as this.

The tone and content of All Days Are Nights give it an air of finality which has been echoed in the live shows which have supported it. Were I a betting man, I would wager that we would be far more likely to see another Rufus Wainwright opera before another album. If this does prove to be his last album for a while, then it is certainly a fitting way to draw a line under this phase of his career.

Holy Fuck - Latin (Album)

By allowing their third record to drift unhurriedly into your conscience with the creepily ambient scene-setter MD, Holy Fuck toy with us a little. Fans of their infectiously experimental electro may even fear that they’ve forgotten how to write a tune this time out. But then the almost comical funk of Red Lights kicks in, and such fears are rendered groundless. Latin is another massively accomplished piece of work, a beautifully rendered blend of noise and surging rhythm. All of Holy Fuck’s work is marked by sheer danceability, and this will inevitably make them a popular festival band, but what will make this record worth revisiting in future years is the range of moods encapsulated by its layers and textures. It is hugely evocative, often roaming into darker territory than usual, but you still sense that for all the seriousness, their funster instincts are always lurking under the surface, occasionally making a break for freedom in the mischievous basslines. After the major artistic breakthrough their last album represented, Holy Fuck have been successful in building on this, and have given us one of 2010’s most creative, inspiring albums so far.

5/5

Ash - A-Z Volume 1 (Album)

When a band has been together as long as Ash have, keeping it fresh must presumably become increasingly difficult. After eighteen years, five long-players, a mini-album, a live recording, and a singles collection, they have decided that now is the time for them to shake things up. Having already returned to their original three-man line-up, and apparently sickened by the lack of support their last record Twilight of the Innocents received, the band have decided to dispense entirely with the traditional cycle of albums. In a move which would probably be very pleasing to the geeky teenagers who first formed the band in Downpatrick, they have resolved to release only singles from now on.

That would seem a bold enough step in itself, but they haven’t quite stopped there. Last year they commenced with the A-Z Singles project which would see them releasing a single every fortnight for twelve months. We now find ourselves at the halfway stage of the venture, and singles A-M have been compiled on A-Z Volume 1. Whether or not this counts as reneging on their ‘no more albums’ pact is beside the point, and for more pedantic souls than me to debate. What is far more important is that these singles have inspired in Ash the best form since the career rescuing effort that was Free All Angels. For the first time in a good few years, the band seem to be having fun, an element which has always been fundamental to their best work. While Twilight of the Innocents was not without its highlights, even the staunchest of Ash lovers would struggle to argue that it didn’t sound just a little tired.

While they haven’t quite reinvented the wheel with these songs, they have certainly pumped up its tyres and given it some shiny new hubcaps. The freedom presented by the project would appear to have given Ash licence to be a little more experimental than they might attempt on a conventional album. This point is illustrated immediately with the playful electro pulse of Single A ‘True Love 1980’, a song which also contains the first of many classic Tim Wheeler pop choruses present on the disc (See also ‘Joy Kicks Darkness’, ‘Arcadia’ and ‘Neon’.)

Save for the occasional musical flourish here and there, these songs are still unmistakably and undeniably Ash. The same ingredients which made 1977 so thrilling to a whole generation of indie kids all those years ago can be found in the best songs on this collection; the gigantic melodies, the unbridled sense of youthfulness, Tim Wheeler’s boyishly just-about-in-tune vocals and the headrush of the power chord-led choruses. For those who have followed Ash’s journey from the start, the effect this produces is more than just nostalgia; it is a sense of rejuvenation.

While Ash have always been doyens of power-pop, none of their recordings have been complete without the odd flip into lovelorn teen mode. This has historically acted as a sobering antidote to the dizzying effect of the band at full pelt. A-Z Volume 1, true to form, is home to a couple of particularly lovely moments in the shape of the wide-eyed and expansive ‘Tracers’, and ‘Pripyat’, a longing paean to the titular nuclear city. Tim’s voice has always been suited to songs of yearning, and this is something which has not dimmed as the years have gone by.

So great are the high points of the collection that it’s a shame that it starts to run out of steam slightly towards the end. From ‘Space Shot’ onwards, things begin to drift along a little aimlessly until Single M ‘War With Me’ revives things at the death with a grand piano motif and yet another mega chorus. The flaws of the collection don’t spoil it in any way though, and they probably won’t even come as a surprise to most because Ash have always lived had a laudable lack of fear of screwing up. Their imperfections have always been a part of what makes them so endearing, and may even be why they have endured when most of their contemporaries gave up the ghost years ago. Either way, while this compilation brazenly embraces their past, it also shows their future could be far more compelling than might reasonably expected from a band nearing the end of their second decade.

7/10