Midlake - The Courage of Others (Album)

In the three and a half years since the release of what eventually proved to be their breakthrough record, The Trials of Van Occupanther, Midlake have seen the musical landscape shift in a manner which is unquestionably favourable to them. The sort of beardy, woodsy Americana they specialise in has swelled to a wider popularity with the successes of the likes of Fleet Foxes, Grizzly Bear and Bon Iver. It could reasonably be argued that the slow-burning success of Van Occupanther paved the way for these artists to reach mass acclaim. This has made The Courage of Others a much-anticipated album, all the more when you consider the lengthy wait we have endured for its arrival.

And really, there's no doubt that it has been worth the tantalising wait. What they have delivered to us is a quite different record from Van Occupanther, but one which is ultimately an even more enriching and rewarding listen. It might be less immediately obvious than its predecessor (which in itself is hardly an instant hookfest), but the more it slowly seeps into your consciousness, the more spellbinding it is.

The 70s AOR influences which informed the last album have mostly been pushed aside, and have been replaced by a more folky feel. In similar fashion to Van Occupanther, it is steeped in an earthy, natural kind of imagery. This is immediately clear not only in the song titles, but also in the lyrics: “As the spring is made alive, the winter dies” and “Into the core of nature / No earthly mind can enter” serving as but two examples out of potentially dozens. The relatively sparse, and occasionally ghostly instrumentation compliments the lyrical themes beautifully, as does the hangdog vocal delivery of Tim Smith. The whole thing feels more intimate, and closer to the bone. Van Occupanther was a stroll through a crisp autumn morning, while The Courage of Others is akin to being lust in the forest as dusk descends.

The strongest example of the album's stunning mesh of mood and beautiful construction is probably ‘Rulers, Ruling All Things‘, the record’s midpoint which swells gradually until the miserable air becomes almost uplifting. This gives way immediately to the only real example of any kind of tempo in the form of ‘Children of the Grounds‘, which adds a rare splash of light. It's quite telling that this happened to be one of the first songs written for the album, having appeared in live sets towards the end of Van Occupanther's run while the rest of the album was written during the recording process. It is quite possible, had this not been the case, that The Courage of Others could have ended up being a completely different animal. Let us be thankful that it turned out the way it did, then, because it is quite simply a stunning record, certainly Midlake's best yet, and one which will easily end up being one of the most evocative 2010 has to offer.

Frightened Rabbit - The Winter of Mixed Drinks

Ahead of the release of their third long-player, Frightened Rabbit found themselves at a critical sort of crossroads. Their last album, The Midnight Organ Fight was a slow-burner which found its acclaim building ever so gradually as it reached the end of its run. This led to very faint rumblings that FR were all set for a more mainstream audience next time out. This notion gained momentum at the tail end of last year when Swim Until You Can’t See Land appeared with the aroma of ‘breakthrough single’ oozing from its pores. Fortunately though, they’ve steered clear of the terrible path trod by almost-countrymen Snow Patrol (for now at least), because The Winter of Mixed Drinks isn’t the Radio 1 album some feared it might be.

Nothing on here quite matches the highest points of The Midnight Organ Fight (the likes of Fast Blood and The Modern Leper), but all things considered, this is a more consistent affair than its predecessor. Scott Hutchison has previously lamented the faults he finds with the last album, and it’s clear that there has been a concerted effort to fill the holes. In doing so though, his band don’t appear to have lost their edge. The beautifully dour sense of humour which has always permeated their songs still shows itself in fleeting glimpses, never more than on Skip the Youth: ‘All I need is a place to lie / Guess a grave will have to do’

The album opens in gorgeous fashion with Things, which has that wide-eyed, evocative feel normally best produced by The Twilight Sad. The aforementioned Skip the Youth is equally stirring, building from a clattering, noise-heavy intro into another chest-thumper of a song. Fans of swoony guitar lines will also find plenty to like on Foot Shooter and Not Miserable (a little irony in the titling there, perhaps?)

The moments which don’t find their mark are few and far between. Yes I Would is a curiously flat way to end an album for a band who’ve proven themselves to be skilled in the art of creating a mood, while Man/Bag of Sand is an oddly-placed reprise of Swim Until You Can’t See Land which doesn’t do the pacing of the record any favours. All told though, The Winter of Mixed Drinks has neatly sidestepped the banana skin of following up The Midnight Organ Fight.

4.5/5

Blood Red Shoes - Fire Like This (Album)

A little under two years ago, the unlawfully pretty Brighton two-piece Blood Red Shoes released their debut album Box of Secrets. At the time the general consensus (if such a thing could be said to exist) was that it was a good, first effort, if a little overproduced. It’s not unfair to say that the record didn’t quite capture the full effect of their live shows which at their best are deafening and visceral experiences. It might have been that the frustratingly protracted process of getting the album released left them too much time to meddle with the recordings, meaning some of the rawness which made them so enticing in the first place was lost. Either way, while this didn’t exactly spoil the album, it still meant that each listen was accompanied by a very faint feeling of disappointment at what it might have been.

Its follow-up Fire Like This comes with a promise that the superfluous gloss which beset its predecessor has been scraped away, as the record was recorded to analog tape with a bare minimum of overdubs. This seems to be a more logical way for a band like Blood Red Shoes to work, and one which is far more in keeping with their aggressive, elemental sound.

Recording processes aside, the album actually has quite a lot in common with Box of Secrets. The band haven’t reinvented the wheel here, but they’ve taken the blueprint of their debut and built on it. For instance, the effortlessly skilful utilisation of the quiet-loud dynamic is still there, only this time infused with a little bit more subtlety. The vocal duties are once again split fairly evenly between Steven Ansell’s throat-shredding yells and Laura-Mary Carter’s sweetly bolshy singing. The interplay between the two is as effective as ever, which is just as well because their chemistry has always been one of the band’s strongest assets, whether live or on record.

Where Box of Secrets only really had one mode - breakneck speed, this is an album with more layers to it. The most obvious example of this is ‘When We Wake’, on which Laura-Mary’s gently introspective vocals are set to an atypically slow-burning backing which eventually builds to a beautifully colossal outro. The result is one of the major highlights of an album which is hardly short of them. Closing track ‘Colours Fade’ is another departure, clocking in at over seven minutes, taking on a far more epic feel than we’d normally associate with Blood Red Shoes.

The instances of experimentation (with a resolutely small e) have definitely lifted the band up a level or two, but they haven’t forgotten their major strengths either. The album is liberally peppered with their typically punky shoutalongs. Recent single ‘Light it Up’, for example, is Nirvana-esque in its devastatingly simple (and completely exhilarating) make-up.

As noisy as Blood Red Shoes are, they still know their way around a pop hook, and there are plenty here, possibly even more than there are on Box of Secrets. It‘s ironic that a heavier album, shorn of studio trickery should contain more radio-friendly songs, there isn’t much on Fire Like This which would sound out of place as a single. ‘Don’t Ask’ is a breathlessly urgent way to open the album, while ‘One More Empty Chair’ is another exemplary piece of snotty, melodic pop.

To be quite honest, it’s difficult to resist the urge to pick out every song and highlight it as a focal point, because Fire Like This is so strong from start to finish. This isn’t really anything new, because Box of Secrets was similarly consistent. What is different, however, is the focus the band have found. In the past, there’s been an unfortunate tendency to take songs a chorus too far, but that doesn’t appear to be an issue any more. This is one of a few imperfections Blood Red Shoes have managed to overcome with their second album. The only problem they have now is that they haven’t really left themselves much room to improve for album three.

9/10

White Rabbits - It's Frightening (Album)

To many, competence is considered to be a positive attribute. In a lot of walks of life, whether of the everyday variety or in the public eye, the ability to set about your task in a steady and consistent manner is often commended. Even in this minefield we loosely call alternative music, it will always be those wilfully adequate careerist plodders who garner the filthy lucre. However, I’d still like to think that most right-minded music fans would plump for a creative spark over unswerving professionalism every time.

All of which brings me on to the second album from White Rabbits. On It’s Frightening, the New York-based six-piece display an acute proficiency when it comes to the art of song structure. There’s a lot to admire here, from the bouncy pianos, urgent drums and vocals which are delivered in a manner vaguely reminiscent of Hail to the Thief-era Thom Yorke. There are plenty of interesting musical ideas thrown into the mix, too, like the creepily grandiose piano breakdown in the middle of ‘They Done Wrong, We Done Wrong’ or the minute or so of gentle ambience which gives way to the paranoid beat of ‘Lionesse’. The big problem is that for all this professionalism, there just isn’t quite enough of that intangible magic which makes you want to keep coming back to an album time and time again.

Things start off promisingly enough with recent single ‘Percussion Gun’, which in spite of its uneasily self-referencing title is an enjoyable enough song which is carried along by a tribal drumbeat and Stephen Patterson’s vocal hysterics. For a while, the album continues in a fairly similar vein, taking in another of its highpoints ‘Lionesse’, until ‘Company I Keep’ threatens to derail the whole affair halfway through. You can see what exactly what effect they are going for here; the mid-tempo centrepiece which gives lifts things up to the next level and also allows a bit of breathing space after the mildly furious moments which peppered the first half of the record. As it turns out, though, it ends up falling flat and just comes across as a bit drab, undoing a lot of the momentum which has been built up earlier on. The album never really recovers from this frustration, and indeed, it’s not the only moment of mediocrity we see in the second half. This is in spite of the best efforts of the mildly sinister ‘Midnight and I’ on which Patterson coos ‘Get to sleep now’ as creepily as he can.

It’s clear, then that It’s Frightening is by no means a record which is without merit. I suspect that the input of Spoon’s Britt Daniel has infused it with a lot more presence than it might otherwise have had. However, that notwithstanding, the album’s lack of anything substantial to get your teeth into proves fatal. In an age where unfathomable amounts of music are but a click away, I fear White Rabbits might be destined to be one of those bands which fade meekly into the background.

6/10

Postdata - Postdata (Album)

Solo albums from the frontmen/women of indie bands often carry negative connotations. The record is frequently the product of the over-stimulated ego of a singer who has grown so big for their boots that they feel they will fare much better if they are shorn of the tuneless lunks who dare call themselves bandmates. Or perhaps it’s the opposite extreme: The ‘creative force’ has written ten songs so horrifically shoddy that their colleagues can’t countenance the thought having their names attached to them. In the case of Postdata, the first solo flight from Wintersleep’s Paul Murphy, neither of the above examples appear to be the case. The album finds itself separated from the Wintersleep discography largely because it is a world away from the sound of the band.

Instead of the urgent indie-rock he usually delivers, Murphy has produced an album of forlorn, stripped-to-the-bone songs which are mostly constructed of just his voice and plaintive acoustic strumming. Clearly there is currently a hell of a lot of music out there which consists of these same basic elements, and it’s a disheartening fact that for every Bon Iver there are half a dozen Damien Rices, but Postdata’s eponymous effort definitely adds something to a sorely saturated genre.

The key to its success is that it is more than a mere collection of songs. There is a tangible atmosphere here, a slightly oppressive, and entirely poignant feel weaved into the very fabric of the songs, making them far fuller than their rudimentary elements. In a way, it is almost a concept album. The seeds of ideas for the nine songs came, according to Murphy, from dreams of family members. Therefore, it is a record which is almost exclusively rooted in the subjects of love and death which serves as a tribute to his loved ones both living and dead.

As you might expect, the lyrical content is far from breezy. The songs are often bleak. On opener Lazarus, for example, Murphy sighs ‘And the sky’s as alcoholic as it’s ever been / The whole world’s got Alzheimers and we’re just checking in’. Equally crushing is the final line of Tobias Grey: ‘At a very young age, the paramedics took her away’. Such is the extent of the gloom, that by the time a fairly straightforward love song like Drift appears (sample lyric: ‘You’re my lover, my very best friend / I want to hold you forever’), it’s still difficult to shake the dark clouds that might appear to have formed your ears on listening.

Clearly then, Postdata is not an album to lift your spirits on a dank Monday morning. However, that’s not to say that it is an entirely depressing piece of work. It’s a dead-of-night record which, despite (or possibly because of) its forlorn content can soothe your aching limbs. There’s a warmth in Murphy’s delivery which isn’t always present on Wintersleep’s output, presumably because of the heartfelt content of the songs. His voice is responsible for a lot of the emotional impact of the album, rarely rising above the gentle whisper which glides lazily along the acoustic guitar lines.

We’ve seen a different side to Paul Murphy on Postdata, one only very gently hinted at on Wintersleep’s albums. It’s interesting to see how the style of these songs is incorporated in Wintersleep’s future work, if at all. That’s a musing for another day though. For the time being, all that we really need to consider right now is that Postdata is a beautifully-realised piece of work which has set an early high watermark for anyone considering making an album of acoustic laments this year.

9/10

Pantha du Prince - Black Noise (Album)

Hendrik Weber has gradually hauled himself into an enviable position within the electro world, garnering major acclaim for his albums as Pantha du Prince, as well as doing remix work for the likes of Bloc Party, Long Blondes and Animal Collective. His increasingly impressive CV means his third full-length Black Noise is more eagerly anticipated than any of his previous work. This also means he can rope in some indie pals, including Noah Lennox (aka Panda Bear) who thanks Weber for his brilliant Peacebone rehash by contributing vocals to Stick to My Side. This proves to be one of the weaker moments on the record, but only because Lennox’s usually spot-on vocals only serve as a distraction from the glorious electro work. The rest of the album is a masterclass in the art of mimimal techno, as gently throbbing basslines weave their way through warm ambient textures, and the whole thing is interspersed with percussive industrial noise. This reaches its zenith on A Nomad’s Retreat, which condenses all that is good about Pantha du Prince into just under seven minutes. Black Noise is a real achievement, a darkly captivating slice of brilliance which few will top this year.

4.5/5

Efterklang - Magic Chairs (Album)

With their second album Parades, Efterklang were responsible for one of 2007’s greatest records. It was a stunning, sprawling masterpiece, and left them with a hell of a standard to live up to. Magic Chairs doesn’t quite hit the same dizzying heights, but that’s not to their discredit, because it can still stand in its own right as a pretty impressive record. The songs are more instant, but don’t be fooled that this is some sort of cop-out. The instrumentation is as subtly intricate as ever, even within the confines of the slightly more conventional song structures. The best moments of the album ooze a majestic beauty. Full Moon, with it’s tense strings and creepy choral backing, and the gently swaying Harmonics are up there with their best work. However, the album can also occasionally drift into an uncharacteristic inconsequentiality, and at its lowest point (namely The Soft Beating) it leaves the unfortunate impression that you’re listening to Coldplay trying to sound like Sigur Ros. In spite of its flaws though, Magic Chairs should enthral more than it disappoints, and really, the very fact that anybody could be disappointed by it just illustrates what a special band Efterklang are.

4/5