The Line Of Best Fit » Record Reviews

Turin Brakes – Outbursts

Erik Thompson — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 09:00:15 +0000

Turin Brakes have had a bit of a tough time getting noticed as of late. Ever since their stellar debut The Optimist LP garnered them a coveted Mercury Music Prize nomination and helped usher in the New Acoustic Movement, their profile has continually diminished as they’ve struggled to settle on a contemporary sound while seemingly trying not to replicate the beautifully uncomplicated acoustic spirit of their first record. It’s subsequently made for a rather uneven batch of releases, with core members Olly Knights and Gale Paridjanian adding and subtracting instruments and influences in search of an elusive style that fluctuated between overly simple, stark arrangements and rather convoluted, darker tones. With Outbursts, their first new record in three years, Turin Brakes have scaled things back considerably, with Knights and Paridjanian handling nearly all of the musical responsibilities on the album themselves, including the understated production. And while there are indeed glimpses throughout the album of the artistry that initially caught our attention in the first place, Outbursts is plagued by rather innocuous songs that are pleasant enough but never really materialize into anything lasting or significant.

Lead single ‘The Sea Change’ starts the record off fairly well, with a bit of a Simon & Garfunkel-with-strings sound layered amidst the intricate strum of the dueling acoustic guitars. The bongos that erupt towards the end are a bit much, but don’t really spoil the positive nature of the tune. But the real weakness of the album (and the bands recent output as well) reveals itself on ‘Mirror,’ with elementary rhyme schemes and somewhat head-scratching similes threaded throughout the songs: “When the rain comes down on us, it makes us smell like fresh magazines.” Does it really? With arrangements that are intentionally sparse and basic, the lyrics inevitably become the focus, and that’s where the album and the band go off the rails a bit. On ‘Rocket Song’ Knights vocals grow in intensity as his lyrics get worse, impudently alluding to making the most of our time before skyscrapers inevitably crumble down around us, and equating love with a ‘rocket bound for the stars.’ It’s just bad poetry set to rather mundane, slow-building orchestration, and Knights undisguised earnestness doesn’t really help matters either, as he’s trying desperately to get you to believe in his overly-simple ideas about love.

‘Paper Heart’ continues this worrisome trend, with Knights revelation that “I live by the sea-not the one you’re thinking, the one inside of me.” It’s just incomprehensible pseudo-intellectual gibberish, especially when paired with a song as boring and flimsy as ‘Paper Heart.’ The sea makes an appearance in quite a few of the songs here, which often lead to the duo meditating on the passing of time and the destructive propensity of nature. While the subject matter presents the band with some grand themes for inspiration, the songs themselves just don’t reach those lofty heights. They drift by rather harmlessly, with nothing really distinctive standing out amidst the tracks to distinguish one from the other. But the second half of the album truly drags, with forgettable songs like ‘Embryos’ and ‘The Letting Down’ lacking any energy or ingenuity. Ultimately, while there isn’t anything truly dreadful on the album, there isn’t anything all that memorable here either, and conceivably the worst thing you can say about art is that it’s forgettable. Unfortunately, in the case of Outbursts, that proves to be precisely the case.

Toro Y Moi – Causers of This

Sophie McGrath — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 16:00:56 +0000

Toro Y Moi is not, as you might imagine, a classical-guitar wielding Spaniard, but the alias of Chaz Bundick, a 23-year-old musician from South Carolina. To be fair, with a name like that, I’d pick a pseudonym too, but Bundick’s choice is telling: a mashup of French and Spanish (‘the bull and me’), it hints at the fusion and confusion that marks his compositions.

For his tender years, Bundick is precociously skilled at creating rich, multilayered songs, but they tend to lack character. He’s associated, like bands including Neon Indian and Washed Out, with a newly-coined genre known as ‘chill-wave’ and ‘glo-fi’, but, as these disparate genre names suggest, it’s hard to see what characterises this music other than a vague laid-back, sample-happy attitude.

Causers of This is pretty much the musical embodiment of mellow, but after eleven tracks this gets a bit samey. For all the melange of styles – funk, r n b and shoegaze being particularly prominent – and the diversity of sounds and samples on offer here, the tracks generally fail to distinguish themselves, their beginnings and endings sometimes proving impossible to discern.

That’s not to say some songs don’t stand out. ‘Low Shoulder’ is great, really catchy and enjoyable, while ‘Blessa’ recalls Animal Collective with its soaring vocal harmonies and rich, evocative sonic textures. The next track, ‘Minors’, can’t quite pull off the same trick, always teetering on the edge of muzak. Its samples are clever and are perhaps intentionally slightly off-tempo, but after a while this starts to jar with the cascading melody they accompany. ‘Causers of this’ showcases a promising female voice, while ‘Freak Love’ gleefully embraces the handclap, but the same effects occur again and again. Sounds enter muffledly before surging to full volume, and then back again, like being underwater, and there’s a general atmosphere of perpetual stuck-ness. ‘Talamuk’ combines vocals skilfully, but delivered in Bundick’s weak, plaintive tone, like most of the album, they can only do so much.

That said, Bundick is undeniably talented and this is a pleasant, if incoherent, album, when taken in small doses. Those who like their music mellow and unobtrusive will probably wallow in it, but it left this listener slightly cold.

Happy Birthday – Happy Birthday

Euan Mackay — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 14:00:14 +0000

Thanks to the way that music spreads itself about these days, it has become an increasingly rare feat to approach an album with absolutely no-preconceptions or knowledge of what was about to unfold. However that’s exactly what happened on my first spin of the debut, self titled record by Happy Birthday. Aside from the name of the band and album, the only other information I had available was that it was being released on Sub-Pop records.

Now, of course, the fact that the album was being released on Sub-Pop was a bit of a comfort blanket really. They, like a few other labels, seem to have the knack of only releasing top notch artists. So it was with an element of confidence that this album was first spun and within one minute of the opening track, this confidence was validated.

This is because the record kicks off with a strong candidate for single of the year in the shape of ‘Girls FM’. A scratchy glam-punk hook opens the song which quickly springs into a ridiculously catchy chorus. It’s got a sound of the summer nailed down. It sounds like a revisited version of ‘Music To Watch Girls By’ made for fans of The Smith Westerns and Clor. It would be worth listening to this record for the opening track alone, but in all honesty there’s something of value on each and every track here.

It’s a little bit scratchy, it’s a little bit glam, it’s a little bit punk and it’s whole lotta fun. If it was to be shoved clumsily into a pigeonhole (as is the way) it would sit somewhere near to where the Girls album was pushed last year – only without the great big pantomime of a back story.

So what is the back story of Happy Birthday? Well, they are a three piece from Vermont comprising Kyle Duff (King Tuff in a previous life), Chris Weismann and Ruth Garbus (sister of Merrill Garbus – aka tUnEYaRdS). They initially got together as the frontman (Duff) needed a band to help him perform live because he was too scared to get up on stage on his own… They were promptly snapped up by Sub-Pop after having performed only five gigs.

So ‘Girls FM’ aside, what else of note is there on the record? ‘Perverted Girl’ comes across a little as it sounds, a little bit sleazy and dirty yet with something strangely allure about it. ‘Subliminal Messages’ has a chorus and hook that just will simply refuse to leave your head. ‘Maxine The Teenage Eskimo’ includes a bit of a 60s Beach Boys vibe whereas ‘Zit’ is a screech-along punk romp that includes the chorus “Now I want to break shit, don’t wan’t to make shit, just want to waste shit, now”. This, for me, sums up the record rather nicely. It’s not trying to be overly clever or high brow, but what it is, is something that has been missing from a lot of records recently. It’s really good entertaining rock and roll music.

Although the debut album from Happy Birthday was initially shrouded in mystery, a few spins later and it’s provided a real pleasant surprise. Whilst it may not necessarily be too high-brow or clever in it’s nature. This record is 35 minutes of catchy, hook filled glam-punk fun.

Swanton Bombs – Mumbo Jumbo And Murder

Scott Goodacre — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 12:00:51 +0000

It’s often cruel to judge a band by the first song on their album, but in Swanton Bombs’ case you get a picture-perfect view of what the rest of Mumbo Jumbo And Murder is going to be like. ‘Swanton Bombs’ is all heavy riffs and energetic drum fills, but is only lacking one crucial factor: vocals.

Second track ‘Who’s Asking?’ begins well, sustaining the rock’n’roll attitude of the first track. That is, until Dominic McGuinness opens his mouth. He seems to have a reluctance and whole-hearted refusal to follow any kind of tune, andthe music follows suit; meaning that the final 30 or so seconds alone could induce a terminal migraine. In fact, it’s so difficult to make out what’s going on that the two band members could simply have smashed their instruments off the floor and proceeded to argue with each other – it’s impossible to tell if this was left in as an accident.

‘Viktoria’ features yet more horrifically grating vocals. Complete choruses fall by the wayside until McGuinness decides to give way to the band’s best attribute: musicianship. Some of the riffs on Mumbo Jumbo And Murder are among the most accomplished committed to record, and some of Brendan Heaney’s drum fills – particularly those on ‘Swanton Bombs’ – are an absolute joy to behold. And when McGuinness quietens down a little bit, like he does on ‘Crowbar’, the results are actually fairly acceptable.

It’s the same with the low-tempo ‘Doom’ – the vocals are quelled slightly in order to adhere to the tune. The effect is so unexpected, given the previous four songs, that ‘Doom’ comes across as being, well, pretty good. In fact, when ‘Waistland’ (I do enjoy a good pun) starts, you’re more open-minded and willing to give them a second chance. Once again the riffs don’t disappoint, and the frantic pace is foot-stompingly friendly.

Despite their early reluctance to sing from the same hymn sheet Swanton Bombs do eventually deliver. McGuinness’ vocals are questionable at best, but a lot of the time it doesn’t matter when the music is as good as what’s found here. It’ll not make any ‘best of’ lists, but you’ll not regret your time spent in the two piece’s company either.

Detroit Social Club – Kiss The Sun EP

John Skibeat — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 10:00:46 +0000

Although the moniker Detroit Social Club may sound like a refuge for an American sports club for the elderly, this is actually a Newcastle band making just the right kind of noises. They’re so keen to make sure they make a big splash when they finally release their debut album that they’ve decided to fill the waiting gap with a 4-track EP.

And it’s actually a real melting pot of ideas as well. The peculiar title-track teeters along a line of mechanistic feedback whilst a solid 4/4 drum beat tries to dislodge it. When it all finally comes crashing down the strong vocal yanks it back to it’s feet cueing up a bass-backed chorus into gang-chanting us into a cloyingly predictable crescendo. Compare that to the spartan, bluesy hauteur of ’Black & White’, a cracking mix of Nine Black Alps and Dead Confederate with a wedge of sub-bothering electronica thrown in near the end, and it’s suddenly clear that DSC like it edgy as hell.

Stick spacedust, a drum-machine and The Enemy in a blender and you’ll get ‘Never Too Late To Try’. Whilst continuously keeping us guessing, it pops and snaps along gently yet only really kicks off the funk that smothers it with a climactic, colossally dirty guitar riff. Tasked with the job of shutting up shop, ‘Thousand Kings’ gets all tribal on us before succumbing to the shameful mistake of sounding like some kind of charity record when it comes to the chorus.

Certainly the band are keen to prove they aren’t just a one-trick pony, building on the promise that their first single, ’Sunshine People’, provided. Here’s hoping they don’t overstretch themselves trying to impress too much with that all important debut album. Look Ma, no hands!

Gorillaz – Plastic Beach

Erik Thompson — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 07:55:26 +0000

Those music fans that have frequently viewed Gorillaz as a novelty act and not technically a real ‘band,’ perhaps saw the fabricated connotations implied by the name of their new album, Plastic Beach, and viewed it as some sort of validation of their parochial judgment, deciding to steer clear of the animated group’s latest record entirely. That type of misguided decision would ultimately be a mistake, though, as Plastic Beach, despite a somewhat rocky start, blends together quite nicely, presenting the listener with a rich and nuanced musical palette, as well as a lively experimentation with both sound and style. It’s a loosely conceptual album, hinting at the harmful and indignant ways of man as well as the artificial nature of modern living-while also coming to us from a fictional island composed entirely out of trash. If that all seems a bit heavy-handed to you, the music itself is all rather lush and lighthearted, with some ominous undertones threaded throughout that never weighs the buoyant songs down.

The ‘Orchestral Intro’ sets a relaxed tone to the album that is ultimately broken by the West Coast flow of Snoop Dogg, whose presence is more curious than effectual, adding some simplistic, recycled rhymes over ‘Welcome To The World Of The Plastic Beach.’ The beats are fresh, even if the rhymes are not, a trend which carries over to ‘White Flag,’ with Kano and Bashy infusing the lively song with some rather corny lines. The Lebanese National Orchestra for Oriental Arabic Music provides a lovely arrangement for both the intro and coda of the song, making me wish the track was treated as an instrumental. Damon Albarn finally assumes lead vocals on the gorgeously relaxed ‘Rhinestone Eyes,’ which eventually gives way to the ‘Clint Eastwood’-like future-funk of the synth laden chorus. Gorillaz handled the production of this record in-house for the first time (with Albarn overseeing most of it himself), and while it contains elements of the scene-sampling spirit of their first two albums, Plastic Beach proves to be surprisingly innovative and wider-ranging in its influences, boldly sampling a vast reservoir of musical styles and continuing the album’s theme of turning cast-off leftovers into something entirely new and reusable.

The hypnotic first single ‘Stylo’ features a smooth guest spot by Mos Def over a bouncy disco beat, before Bobby Womack’s soulful voice takes over the song entirely. Damon chimes in subtly with his own ethereal lyrics, but the song essentially is owned by Womack. Albarn generally does a superb job playing mad scientist with these often disparate vocal contributions, blending them in seamlessly with his futuristic beats. But the goofy ‘Superfast Jellyfish’ is essentially a breakfast commercial masquerading as a pop song, and even with the weighty contributions of De La Soul and Gruff Rhys it can’t be taken all that seriously. The track signals a noticeable shift in tone to the album, with the songs that follow it growing more brooding and solemn in nature, as well as featuring a more pronounced vocal presence by Albarn.

‘Empire Ants’ has Damon leisurely singing over a lilting, fractured piano line, prior to Little Dragon assuming the controls midway through, turning the rather sedate song into a luxurious Balearic house party. Under less skilled hands the transference would sound jarring, but Albarn blends the contrasting styles fluidly, creating a slow-building dance track that conveys both emotion and depth. His deft touch colors this entire album, and while the record is occasionally inconsistent, it never lacks for inventiveness. Bringing Mark E. Smith and Lou Reed on board on successive tracks is both a knowing nod to Albarn’s own influences over the years, as well as an attempt to bring their estimable talents to a younger audience. Reed’s contributions to ‘Some Kind Of Nature’ are stellar and hilariously droll, while Smith’s spoken-word offerings to ‘Glitter Freeze’ are rather negligible, randomly peppering the electro-clash hum with his declarations but ultimately failing to add anything substantial to the track. But if either of these songs cause younger or less-informed listeners to discover these artists vast back catalogs, Albarn’s mission is accomplished.

‘On Melancholy Hill’ is one of the best songs Albarn has done in years, with echoes of Belle & Sebastian’s ‘Electric Renaissance’ threaded throughout the synthetic melody. It’s a gorgeously revealing track, with Albarn finally pulling the curtain back on the animated facade he’s hid behind on Gorillaz and presenting an honest part of himself, not a character he’s portraying. The lyrics hint a bit at the Beatles, both in the title and the verses, but at the heart of the song is Damon himself, and that sincerity is what makes the song so genuine and triumphant. ‘Broken’ continues that candor, with Albarn just turning his stark appraisal towards the fall of man. ‘Sweepstakes’ has Mos Def returning to the fray for the second time, delivering his acerbic, energetic lines over the choppy beats of the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble. The title track finds Albarn reuniting with his The Good, The Bad & The Queen cohort Paul Simonon, who brings his Clash compatriot Mick Jones along for the ride, and their thoroughly modern, moody contributions prove to be quite revelatory, giving us a glimpse what their former band might have sounded like had they grown more sinister along with the jaded times.

Two earlier contributors return at the close of the record, albeit to less successful effect, with both Little Dragon and Bobby Womack failing to recapture the dynamic energy of their earlier songs on ‘To Binge’ and ‘Cloud Of Unknowing,’ respectively. The album closes with ‘Pirate Jet,’ a finger-wagging song that chastises all of us for leaving ‘the taps running for a hundred years.’ It ties together the loose theme of waste and survival one last time, while also implying that the Gorillaz, as we know them, are off on that same pirate jet to a place that isn’t so decimated by the ills of society. Where that place is, one can only guess, and only Albarn truly knows. But on Plastic Beach, Gorillaz have given us a glimpse of the beauty one can fashion out of a bleak natural landscape, crafting discarded styles and sounds into something greater than we remember it, but vaguely familiar anyway.

So So Modern – Crude Futures

Alex Cocks — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 07:55:11 +0000

So So Modern’s live shows are a thing of calculated, intense beauty. Taking to the stage in primary colours, clad in shamanistic cowls and cloaks with banks of primal synthesisers in front of them they tap into our collective cultural memory banks in an almost quasi-pagan ritual. Playful and subversive, these Antipodeans have been kicking around the UK and Europe for a while now and released a singles and EPs compilation in 2008 (Friends and Fires + 000 EPs which was also released via Transgressive), but this is their first album proper. Having toured extensively they have honed their skills across the best part of a thousand shows, and their music is predictably tightly rendered as a result. Herein lies the perennial question surrounding the majority of overhyped, strategically positioned modern music; can an exciting live proposition bridge the gap and deliver on their promise and make a first album that doesn’t quell the hype and incite the naysayers?

Across the album a template emerges of taut, angular post-punk interspersed and lacerated with driving polyrhythms, gang vocals, Afrobeat guitars and math-rock pretensions. If we’re going to be cruel, So So 2005…there is even some woodblock hitting malarkey on ‘Be Anywhere’ that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Rapture record. But to paint them as revivalists would be disingenuous and unfair. Immediacy is the key on tracks such as ‘The Worst Is Yet To Come’, which is a blast of off kilter synths and cacophonous vocals, like Liars on uppers, which slowly convalesces into something much prettier and harder to pin down. The drones of noise that welcome ‘Be Anywhere’ offer a dislocated, unhinged texture while the gleefully humanist approach of ‘Island Hopping/Channel Crossing’ is nicely counterpointed by a breakdown that slows and regresses the song to its core element.

Where the album really makes sense is on the longer, more progressive tracks. Opener ‘Life In The Undergrowth’ possesses tautly meshed guitar lines that are underpinned with a disconcerting wash of synthesis that gradually weaves in and out of key. Oscillating bleeps of noise, pulsing bass and a reverb soaked guitar figure add to a sense of tumultuous decay. ‘Berlin’ is the touchstone, the heart of the album. Rhythmic sequences of motorik arpeggios collide, eliding time. Euphoric rushes of synthesis and guitar rise to meet each other before a subtle key change stretches and elongates the song, eventually completely folding it in on itself, providing a glimmering layer of sound that expands then contracts. It captures the mechanised, industrialised pulse of a city; white lights on grey concrete, the sense of movement and of being part of something but also the converse of this – the ‘lack’ that is at its heart. Connection with the environment around us is promoted but there is a stilted emotional distance present. ‘Dusk And Children’ is in comparison languorous in tone, structured around a deceptively simple combination of harmony, melody and samples that eventually surges into a crescendo of optimistic rapture.

Music can be an aurally coruscating experience, and this trio of songs feature an ambivalence of melody and emotion that is invigorating and perplexing. In their words the album “explores the burden of optimism in a constantly ‘apocalyptic’ reality”. Without wishing to further burden the arid wasteland of semi-intellectualism their music is a response to the pressure of postmodernity and its incumbent cultural practices. It’s all about togetherness. Or something like that.

Crude Futures is an album of immense promise and satisfaction that is contagious, fun and involving while the signposts for exciting new tangents are also evidential. There are blemishes and rough edges, but that is part of their charm, and amongst the differing and varied musical spheres traversed here they are on their way to finding that elusive sonic identity all of their own.

Gonjasufi – A Sufi and A Killer

Sam Shepherd — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 14:00:38 +0000

Gonjasufi – or Sumach Valentine as his yoga students might know him – has produced one of the most eclectic and exciting records likely to hit the shelves or scuttle down the phonelines this year.

That A Sufi and A Killer is produced by such talents as Flying Lotus, Mainframe and The Gaslamp Killer, has seen the album labelled as the new guiding light for hip-hop. The truth is that there is much more to this album than just hip-hop. It straddles music like a stoned colossus, brushes blims from its dressing gown and puts its best sandal clad foot forward. Its mind is suitably free to allow its ass to follow.

The Eastern chants of ‘Bharatanatyam’ that open the album suggest some kind of transcendental meditation may be necessary in order to enjoy what follows. However, such thoughts are quickly dispensed when ‘Kobwebz’ steps into the fray. A sparse desert-rock tune that is drenched in peyote juice, ‘Kobwebz’ kicks the notion of mediation into touch and stuffs a tab of acid under your tongue. Spaced-out sounds echo and morph as the hypnotic groove pulls you into Gonjasufi’s psychedelic world, where it is perfectly reasonable to conclude thanks to the gruff, delay soaked vocals, Gonjasufi assumes the role of a demented grizzled preacher.

Ancestors ticks the hip-hop box, but is so laid-back that it has to have its pulse checked every couple of minutes. Gonjasufi’s vocals are now cracked and damaged, exploring a higher register, which is apparently entirely alien to his vocal chords. For some reason it works magically. ‘Kowboyz&Indians’ explores similar territory to that of Tricky and Portishead’s second album. It is a dark and trippy experience that despite the ponderous groove that propels it manages to shred the nerves with ease. When the Eurocentric ‘Sheep’ appears, it is initially a jarring experience as it appears to be so out of place. A few spins of the album later, and it makes perfect sense, but when first encountered the image of Gonjasufi on a romantic bicycle ride with Serge Gainsbourg, enjoying a wheel of cheese surrounded by a lush green landscape is hard to come to terms with.

‘She Gone’ taps into a rolling Sixties sound, somewhere between ‘Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da’ and ‘Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)’. By now Gonjasufi’s vocals are in league with Tom Waits; all grizzled and bordering on the incoherent. In other words, it’s brilliant.

That ‘Suzie Q’ steals its schtick from The Stooges matters not a jot. This invigorating riot of punk attitude thunders out of the speakers like a super charged convertible being driven by a wild eyed Iggy Pop. Naturally Gonjasufi is in the back jabbering away like Grandpa Simpson.

A Sufi And A Killer is awash with ideas and snippets of almost any kind of music you dare to mention. Desert rock (‘Stardusting’), Eastern spirituals, hip hop (‘Love of Reign’), trip hop, ska, funk (the wonderful bass squelch ‘Candyland’) and speakeasy jazz all get brief appearances. The only constant throughout the album is Gonjasufi’s ability to refract all those genres through a fucked-up prism that gives them a psychedelic tint, and renders them slightly disconcerting. Yet somehow everything here is always completely welcoming.

It could just be that this remarkably confusing but expertly conceived record will be right up there come December as one of the year’s best. It is utterly spell-binding.

The Dillinger Escape Plan – Option Paralysis

Sam Krieg — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 12:00:04 +0000

The Dillinger Escape Plan’s fourth full-length, Option Paralysis, begins with ten second of near-silence before opener ‘Farewell, Mona Lisa’ kicks in. Ten seconds to wonder if this is the day that DEP has abandoned their true fans and will ride the wave of melodic vocals to fleeting mainstream success. Then, right when the suspense becomes too much, vocalist Greg Puciato screams out “Wash it down the drain” over suddenly-spastic guitars and drums, as if declaring the fate of all the doubts. The first track is a microcosm of Option Paralysis as a whole: traditional melody is a part of the mix, and really adds to the songs that feature it, but it only arrives after DEP have beat listeners down so hard that they can’t lift a finger to protest.

To cover familiar ground first, DEP can still cram more finger-tapping and ridiculous drumming into two minutes than any band not named Converge. That compressed mix of changing time signatures and fleeting grooves is brought by ‘Good Neighbor’ and ‘Crystal Morning’ with the quality fans have come to expect. As well, such as during the latter half of ‘Room Full of Eyes’, things slow down enough to inspire some major headbanging. ‘I Wouldn’t if you Didn’t’ nearly fades out before building up to an incredibly heavy ending where Puciato repeatedly screams that “Suffering is love.”

Even though drummer Billy Rymer still had that “new car” smell when DEP went into the studio to record, he gives a good account of himself as the complement to Ben Weinman (again) making a case for being one of the most talented guitarists on the scene these days. Weinman also puts his piano-playing skills to use on ‘Widower’, which progresses from a jazzy beginning to a well-sung, tension-building middle section to a climactic final declaration of “I couldn’t hold onto / The things that matter to you.” Looking past the concerns of others leads to the experimental moments on this record, such as ‘Widower’, and those separate it from previous DEP releases.

Since Nine Inch Nails covers are a staple of DEP set lists, it’s not surprising that ‘Parasitic Twins’ sounds like DEP’s attempt to record a B-side for The Fragile. As the album closer, the song highlights Puciato’s voice: the man has always shown more range than his predecessor, Dimitri Minakakis, but Option Paralysis also shows growth.

This album is also a step forward for the band, if not a lightyear jump. Considering their genre-defining previous albums, history tells us that the most obvious leap would be to make a DEP-flavored Black Album, and that road wisely remains untaken. Instead, this album features a band that knows what works for them and are cautiously seeking out less-obvious directions for the future. This self-aware band has created another amazing album that should do nothing but increase their fanbase and (hopefully) inspire enough pride to keep them making music for a long time.

Buy the album on Amazon | Rhythm Online

Celer – Close Proximity and the Unhindered Care-all

Rich Hughes — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 10:00:45 +0000

When music inspires, evokes and, indeed, provokes, it’s at its very best. Pressing play can open up a world that, until now, might have been completely unexplored. A world that, for whatever reason, has felt out of touch and distant. On Close Proximity and the Unhindered Care-all, Celer manage to create an almost alternative world, like exploring the travels and experiences of your day, but through someone else’s eyes. Like Alice Through The Looking Glass, everything feels similar yet oddly different.

The three pieces of music that make up the album each last around the 20 minute mark. Opener ‘Culling The Past From Unsentient Weeks’ is the most impressive. The swirling and looping rumbles of music are hooked around sounds that bring to mind walking through a park, birds chirping and gravel crunching under foot. There’s a section where you can hear the morning arguments of a household, as if you’re peering over the garden fence, watching the breakfast table as the momentum of the day takes hold. It feels oddly perverse and voyeristic as the voices continue, oblivious to your presence. In fact, the swirling synth feels like your soul floating through this morning scene, taking you on a journey out of your body and away.

‘Indentions On Summits Of Hands’ brings to mind Aphex Twin’s early, ambient, work. The flowing bass line acts as an anchor to the elaborate and floating sounds arcing through it. Gone are the “found sounds” of the opener, but this doesn’t stop this from still feeling organic. As it unfirls, the static builds and reminds me of the sounds of a waterfall, like the one gracing the cover art. From there, it moves a little more skyward. The tones and loops feel very “001: Space Odyssey. ‘Tended Pouring’ brings us back down to earth though, as the everyday sounds scuttle around the building waves of tones. The way the album progresses like this, it’s almost like a dream. You wake up, go to work, day dream at your desk, then head home to your more rooted existence. I’m not sure if it’s depressing or inspirational. I’m erring on the latter, as the album ends on a wave of noise and euphoric notes… as if you’ve just broke through the surface of the usual hum drum of existence into the light.

Close Proximity is a gentle, haunting and evocative piece of ambient music. Whilst it becomes increasingly difficult to make a name and a definitive sound for oneself in this genre, Celer have found the key part: inspiration. Each time I play this album I catch other sounds and movements, my mind is brought to different memories and places. In the end, this is the most basic, but also the most important, ability that music confers.

Sylvain Chauveau- Singular Forms (Sometimes Repeated)

Lauren Mayberry — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 07:55:01 +0000

For those only familiar with Sylvain Chauveau in an entirely instrumental form, the amount of vocals on this album may come as a surprise. The French multi-instrumentalist is comfortable using silence and space as effectively as any sound. The odd, unexpected noises placed low in the mix create different feels depending on the mood of the track in question. Chauveau’s melancholic lines are again dropped in and out by swift production over notes used so poignantly that there is little danger of the minimalist style growing tiresome at this stage, allowing the noises space to breathe and resonate.

The opening crackles of ‘From Stone To Cloud’, akin to a wartime wireless, give way to single piano notes and rich male vocals, slightly looped and almost clipping off the end of the preceding phrase- an effect set to be a prominent feature throughout the album. Ambient sounds litter the background, humming and buzzing until an abrupt cut-off before the titular lyrics, trailing off into creepily muted percussion to meld into the second track, ‘Show The Clear And Lonely Way’. Closing with what sounds like a vinyl skip, the song soon drops into the intergalactic blips of ‘The Unbroken Line’, almost 2001: A Space Odyssey-esque.

The blend between tracks makes Singular Forms feel cohesive, as if conceived as whole entity, rather than piece by piece. Although the intro shows what interesting and complex things the Frenchman can do with the most obscure of sounds, the six minute composition lacks some of the charisma and personality inherent in his other work. Despite the reappearance of poetic vocals about open oceans and snow, panning from speaker to speaker, the absence of piano for the most part finds us in territory that may feel too abstract for a few, with drones in place of tuneful keys.

This commendable new direction (or potentially divisive approach) is again present on ‘Slowburner’ – largely bare of any piano. Accompaniment for the vocals is concocted by loops and carefully placed cracks and blips, until all instruments stop abruptly, leaving only static noise.

‘Complexity Of The Simple’ returns the album to higher ground, with glockenspiel and piano question-and-answer passages birthed in the opening bars circling and looping throughout. As the time between the instruments lessens, tension builds until an eerie yet melodic fade.

‘A Cloud Of Dust’ spends its first three minutes celebrating the return of delicate, sparse piano, which is wordlessly introspective, especially in the higher, more dramatic sequences towards the close. Sparkling keys are present on final track, ‘I Ascended’, ending the composer’s first song-based album in five years on a familiar note.

New Young Pony Club – The Optimist

Danny Wadeson — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 14:00:21 +0000

So it goes that New Young Pony Club return after a rather long hiatus, hoping to remind everyone why they were so hotly tipped in the run up to their 2007 debut Fantastic Playroom. The new record is entitled, fittingly, The Optimist; unfortunately, New Young Pony Club haven’t aged well in the slightest; perhaps they should consider a name change?

Opener ‘Lost A Girl’ is a promising start, a natural continuation of a sound that, in many ways, they helped define. A strong harmony set over the rise and fall of thrumming bass and pounding drums makes for a compelling chorus, the interplay of rhythm really quite groovy. ‘Chaos’ features a nice loop feeding into a heavy, persistent bass riff and semi-spoken word vocals.

Sadly it’s goes, very swiftly, downhill from there. Even half way through the suspiciously orderly ‘Chaos’, things begin to feel laboured and seriously in need of a little variation, a dynamic drop, a pay off of some sort. Frankly incoherent lyrics such as ‘Strung out on your midas moment/you got the people singing “lalalala/whitewash your life as the lights go down”’ aren’t exactly the perfect antidote to lackluster instrumentation. If anything, you’ll find yourself singing ‘lalala’ to drown out the record.

Eponymous third track relies far too heavily once again on their admittedly massive bass sound to carry it forward. After the minute and a half instrumental intro (that barely musters a single hook or interesting dynamic) the vocals prove to be severely lacking in either melody, charisma, or engaging rhythms. It is summarily dull.

This problem is endemic to the record as a whole. A heavy bass sound, the odd slightly playful synth riff, and the timbre of vocalist Tahita’s voice is simply not enough to rest ten tracks comprising a forty five minute album on. There are, of course, moments where things pick up a little, but they’re so isolated and lost under what becomes the crushing banality of an unimaginative band, themselves drowned out by the dearth of unmistakable talent in a similar genre. Recommended only to seriously die-hard NWPC fans, and even then you’ll probably want to spotify it first. Put this nag down.

Nicholas Szczepanik – The Chiasmus

Matt Poacher — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 12:00:40 +0000

Something I’ve always wondered about with drone music is the methodology behind it. With more traditional music forms it’s no great imaginative leap to strip back the structures to the skeleton beneath. But with these long form creations, that have no skeletal frame as such, what’s the governing impulse? Are we watching the unfolding of a process, or exploration? Or is there a narrative core and does the creator obey some unseen (to us) internal compulsion? Is the best analogue with imaginary landscape painting, or abstract impressionism? And what of the weight of tradition and the anxiety of influence?

Lofty questions I suppose, but I’ve found myself asking them over and over when listening to Nicholas Szczepanik’s The Chiasmus, a towering album of huge soundscapes and measureless metallic drones. It’s the first release of Szczepanik’s I’ve come across, (though it is something like his 5^th release), but it feels immediately like a huge statement of intent – ambitious, poignant and profound – and does beg the questions asked above, namely: what is being conjured here? In essence, the construction is minimal and the tracks are built from comparatively little, but they speak of vast things.

‘Temporary Inundation of Sleep By Open Windows’ is a case in point: huge, but built from very little, its rolling deep of metallic drones provides a backdrop over which faint outside sounds intrude – distant rain, insect stridulations, the hum of background radiation. The title points towards a simple re-creation of a state of being, the listener hovers in a hypnagogic state and simply transcribes the experience into an aural medium. In this sense, the track becomes an exploration of the epic in the everyday – the drone functioning as a descriptive apparatus. And Szczepanik’s method does have a very visual quality to it, with ‘The Silhouettes of A Winter Sunset’ having a particularly visual feel. Much like ‘Temporary Inundation…’ it has odd extraneous sounds penetrating the surface of the main drone, which in this instance is a series of plangent, broad and hugely affecting vibrating layered organ tones. The visual element may be partly to do with the suggestive track title, but there is something else at work, something that functions at the edge of the soundwaves, like a ripple, almost becoming solid. It may be purely suggestibility of course, the inner eye looking for purchase. Whatever the reason, it’s quite something.

The Chiasmus closes with ‘Lose Yourself, which is I guess largely self-explanatory. A warm drone slowly builds and recedes, yet as if beneath layers of land, or exuded from deep inside your own limbic system. It’s a simple primitive pulse, inviting and already known – both from convention and from some other deeper strata. As the track swells, it gathers the same sense of high vibration that ‘Silhouttes…’ exuded, and develops a metallic sheen. It closes with a heart-leapingly loud burst of static – the same burst that opens the record, and well, we’re back where we started. Dazzled, and still grasping for answers. And I suspect, from the almost Borgesian aspect of the title, that’s probably the point. It’s a record that asks unanswerable questions and there is much to be said for that.

Neurosis – Times of Grace / Tribes of Neurot – Grace

Rich E — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 10:00:34 +0000

With a few other re-releases in the past couple of weeks from the Southern Records distro hub, it seems that there is now little excuse not to be aware of some of the other records that have passed through them. Out on Neurot Records is this re-release of Neurosis‘ Times of Grace and their sibling release Grace by the Tribes of Neurot. Both are out together as a double CD, which is not surprising given that it is said that you should play both theses albums at the same time to get the full aural experience. On a side note, this multi-layered and textured approach later inspired post-metal band Rosetta to do the same with their first album The Galiean Satellites.

Under the guidance of Steve Albini, Neurosis first released Times of Grace in 1999. It was the start of not only a recording relationship between Albini and the band that has remained since, but it cemented Neurosis’ transition towards an increasingly menacing and experimental sound through Albini’s stripped down / no bullshit production – the band at this time seemingly a couple of chapters through their next story arc. Neurosis’ later releases would contain the same abrasive and sludgy guitars and spatial drum patterns but with an added sense of density and heaviness – quite a difference from their crusty/punk/hardcore beginnings.

Although a side-project, the Tribes of Neurot recordings pretty much coincided with Neurosis releases. The band would get together with other invited musicians and record ‘tribal’ music using synths, samples, and various other instruments to create a mind-warping experience. Times Of Grace is a good album on its own, but I am not convinced about the dark ambient and sinister tribal twiddling on Grace – I have heard better ambient music than this. Though I shouldn’t knock it completely; without this scheduled freedom of expression the band would not be where they are today.

This may sound contradictory, but to properly listen to both of the recordings together, I had to merge mp3s together to create one album. The result is spectacular though. The murky ambient noises and samples add a new dimension to the tracks. But I have to ask this: why was a mixed version of both albums not included in the release? Or better yet; why not release just a mixed version?

The Besnard Lakes – …Are The Roaring Night

Andrew Grillo — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 07:55:14 +0000

Canadian Husband and Wife led collective The Besnard Lakes return with a dense, cinematic and dark new album recorded on equipment rumoured to have been used by Led Zeppelin on their Physical Graffiti sessions. It’s a welcome return too, their previous effort …Are The Dark Horse was full of brooding, emotive delights for those that discovered it, but slipped under the radar to a large extent. Well, The Lakes have sought to remedy this by deciding that modesty is no longer the way forward; no more ‘The Dark Horse’; they return with all guns blazing on a frequently colossal sounding record that finds itself in ownership of a most apt title.

Indeed, from the off, everything sounds fairly massive. There are moments that hint at classic rock and prog in terms of the lyrical themes of mistrust and deception – the press release even talks of a secret war! Sure, it’s unashamedly ambitious and it may seem like the band have set out to make the biggest, most intense record they could, but these moments of thunderous power are always met with a beauty and grace that means that, as a whole, the record is a resounding success. Take the closing moments of ‘Chicago Train’ that shimmer and evoke countless waves of regret and emotion whilst a juggernaut of a coda plays out.

This is followed by ‘Albatross’ where Olga Goreas takes lead vocals in what is a sultry highlight. The guitar noise flies around beyond her voice and it’s the battle between the power of the music and the gorgeous fragility of her voice which makes the likelihood of an explosion so thrilling. By the end you’re willing the waves of noise to crash down on yourself as she sings “And I scream for you/there goes my man”.

‘Glass Printer’ is dirgier and reminiscent of BRMC in its filthy bass. The reliance on groove has a hypnotic nature that’s lulls you into a daze. Jack Lasek’s falsetto means it’s rare that you hear more than a snatch of the lyrics on any track and it’s more important that the voices work as an instrument itself, revealing parts of a narrative piecemeal before yet another euphorically beautiful and bruised instrumental swathe takes hold.

There are not one but two, multi-part suites that provide standout moments on The Roaring Night. The opening world’s end atmospherics of ‘Like The Ocean; Like The Innocent’ segue into a more introspective string led second half, and ‘Land of The Living Skies’ finds Goreas on lead vocals, controlled and able to find a moment for retrospect as the noise explodes around her; “I’ll be sitting on that beach/thinking of what’s happened today”.

There’s been much mention of the sheer power and noise that dominates this album, but it is worth saying that it rarely descends into hollow bombast. Sure it may take a couple of listens to get to grips with the guitar solos, but this is an impeccably produced piece with true dynamic range (remember that?). You can really feel the power and bass when the tracks go from flute led intrigue into full on detonations of guitar and drums. The best advice is to simply turn it up loud and let it wash over you in one roaring night.

Angus and Julia Stone – Down The Way

Catriona Boyle — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 16:10:58 +0000

Down the Way is the sophomore album from Australia’s brother and sister Angus and Julia Stone. Their debut, A Book Like This was an accomplished collection of delicate acoustic melodies with child-like innocence.

Down the Way has been a long time coming, during which time the band have travelled all over the world, and, inevitably grown up. The warning tremor of foreboding strings in album opener Hold On immediately suggests that this album has moved on from the sweetness and light of its predecessor. Employing a full band, with now permanent members on drums and bass, the sound is full and rich, with lyrics of someone who is starting to notice the darker aspects of life.

Indeed, the idea of the beauty that can be found in darkness is very much a theme for the album. If A Book Like This told the tale of the first flushes of romance, then Down The Way is what happens when, after years down the line, it all falls apart.

Not your average brother/sister combo, the Stones write independently from each other, taking it in turns to take lead vocals. Angus’s ‘Big Jet Plane’ showcases his heart-on-the-sleeve lyrics, clearly influenced by spending so much time on the road. In the early days Angus was so crippled by shyness he was practically unable to look out into the crowd at gigs, but it would seem his writing has allowed him to come into his own, with his robust, honest songs.

‘Santa Monica Dream’ is again a direct response to the time the band have spent in the US, using it as a metaphor for giving up on dreams. Backed by simple picked acoustic, this track showcases the wonderful way in which the Stones’ voices blend together, matching and complementing each other on pitch and tone. With Julia’s child-like, sing-song style, listening to this track almost transports you back to their family home and the early beginnings of the band.

Down the Way is a little corner of rustic, charming, unpretentious enjoyment. Like that coffee shop or park bench that you’d like to think no one else knows about, put there simply for you to appreciate. Angus and Julia Stone have seen a lot and done a lot, but ultimately stick to what they know, laying it bare in their uncompromised, sincere songwriting and honed musicianship.

Goldheart Assembly – Wolves and Thieves

Euan Mackay — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 14:00:50 +0000

The timing of a release can make or break a record, can’t it? With this in mind, you would have to say them folks over at Fierce Panda seem to know their onions. The scheduled release of Wolves and Thieves, the debut offering from Goldheart Assembly, is pretty much spot on the money.

The first signs of spring are in the air. The first festival of the season is kicking off and thoughts are increasingly turning towards the prospect of some fine summery sunshine. So, when the sun-faded, Californian pop of Wolves And Thieves washes over you, this much sought-after warmth just seems just that little bit closer. Throw in an awesome mid-70s prog-rock look, a couple of obligatory beards, some catchy choruses, stunning harmonies and you have a sure-fire recipe for success, right?

Opening track ‘King Of Rome’, the lead single from the record, has all of these components in abundance. From the off the spiky guitar riff will have your feet tapping away keeping time. Before the four minutes and five seconds of the song are out you’ll find yourself singing along, joining in with the flawless and soothing vocal harmonies. Pretty much instantly you’ll find you’ll find you’ve fallen for Goldheart Assembly’s charms.

‘Anvil’ takes the edge off proceedings a little as everything gets slowed right down. Gone are the electric guitar riffs, replaced instead with acoustic strings and the odd chime of a xylophone. Still present though is the vocal harmonising between James Dale and John Herbert which again captivates. The seemingly effortless vocal melodies are one of the real strengths of this record. There will inevitably be some Fleet Foxes comparisons drawn here, but Goldheart Assembly certainly have more to offer than just being pegged as a tribute act.

‘Last Decade’ is a bit of a slow burner that eventually kicks in to action after about three minutes where it ignites a soaring pop hook that will again see those toes tapping. It’s followed by ‘So Long St Christopher’ which sweeps the listener along with some excellent organ-filled balladry.The sedate nature of the song is shattered midway by some primal freak-out howling only to segue straight back into the familiar calm of the 60s-esque harmonies. ‘Engraver’s Daughter’ is another candidate for a future single. Again it has a slow burning intro with some gentle acoustic strumming only to flourish into life with some joyous and summery country-tinged hooks (complete with an ‘ooohoohoohoohooh’ backing vocal), lovely stuff. ‘The Reminder’ is another sweet sounding ballad that peaks into a Sgt.Peppers-esque backing-track sample featuring almost animalistic-laughter, it sounds odd, I know, but somehow works.

By the time the album draws to a close with the organ filled lullaby of ‘Boulevards’ you realise that almost an hour has passed with very little effort. Whilst the soothing wash of Goldheart Assembly may not necessarily be earth-shatteringly new it is a most enjoyable listen that leaves you feeling just that little bit warmer and more optimistic about the oncoming summer. So much so, that Wolves and Thieves most definitely warrants another spin.

Loscil – Endless Falls

Matthew Haddrill — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 12:00:04 +0000

Vancouver gets about 1200mm of rainfall a year, most of it falling in the mild winter months, the city’s precipitation uppermost in the minds of the Winter Olympic authorities recently, but also ambient music artist Loscil’s Scott Morgan who bookends his latest work Endless Falls with the sound of rainfall.

Morgan works through music sampling and lo-fi (‘field’) recordings, using custom sequencing and processing devices to generate music on his computer. He invites musicians to play and then mixes the different layers of sound together, an organic approach, allowing the music to develop and grow gradually. He often explores aquatic themes (2003’s First narrows refers to the strait of water entering Vancouver from the Pacific, while songs on the 2002’s Submers are each named after submarines, the final track dedicated to the crew of tragic Russian sub ‘Kursk’). There’s more than a hint of water in the songs on Endless Falls, but some of the stranger crackling and gurgling noises suggest a volcanic landscape of lava pools and the bubbling streams. Now, I’m not claiming I can hear the shifting of tectonic plates across the High Cascades …

The rain of the opening title track fades to reveal a beautiful drone-induced soundscape with sampled melodic cello, the sound created is soft and warm, a stunning way to begin. ‘Estuarine’ edges the mood forward slightly, drip-drop percussive sounds combined with more minimalist sampling effects. Gentle undulations of water and bubbling sounds greet the listener in ‘Shallow water blackout’ and ‘Dub for Cascadia’ crackles like a fire, Massive Attack’s ‘Teardrop’ without Frazer’s warbling. ‘Fern and Robin’ revisits the opening track, the drone this time backed with quiet metronome and echo. ‘Lake orchard’ is breeze coming off a lake, more cinematic in scope and irresistibly warm bass riding underneath. ‘Showers of ink’ is dotted with metallic sounds, a beautiful bass recorder and eery bar clanking in the distance like a ship’s bell, evokes Black Heart Procession’s haunting debut. ‘The Making of Grief Point’ is a curious finale, Daniel Bejar, Morgan’s bandmate from Destroyer, guesting with vocals. Both artists are clearly outside their comfort zones, but it pays off, a memorable way to end as the Vancouver rain fades to grey…

Loscil and some of his more accessible band label mates at Kranky, Stars Of The Lid and White Rainbow, are offering a neat way into the ambient music genre. While Scott Morgan’s approach to music is both technical and thoughtful, none of it would matter much if the great pulsing waves of sound he produces weren’t so alluring and beautiful. If you’re an outsider looking in, test the waters, it’s lovely and warm…

Polar Bear – Peepers

Reef Younis — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 10:00:18 +0000

For a long time, the moment I heard the hearty keen of a saxophone, I’d be transported to the Fast Show’s incumbent jazz man, Louis Balfour. He of the bowl haircut and uniform catchphrase, he’d, without fail, and with cool restraint, show his appreciation for the wailing, wood (and long) winded dirge that’d have most of pining for the mewl of a thousand alley cats.

But then I learned to play myself (totin’ a mean Yamaha alto) and a new, informed appreciation came with it. That in itself doesn’t make Polar Bear, or their choice of music any more accessible – to many the mere muttering of “jazz” will always elicit squawking air sax performances – but from the bounding, wandering positivity of ‘Happy For You’, painting a picture of wide-eyed wonders through sunny city streets, Polar Bear take full advantage of the music form’s ability to evoke.

And although ‘Drunken Pharoahs’ stop start rhythm and intermittent trills might grate, it’s a track that slurs inebriation; a short show-reel of a drunk bouncing off walls and stumbling over tables and his own feet.

Obviously your conventional band setups (drums, bass, guitar x2) are great and all but they’ll never be able to capture the fluidity and freedom of a man (or two) and his saxophone. Often reduced to beefing up lightweight ska/punk tracks as part of a brass ensemble, here the brassy woodwind creates a storm.

‘The Love Didn’t Go Anywhere’ drops the sassy, punchy dynamic – wistful, melancholic sax harmonies and fleeting percussion gorgeously slowing it to a downbeat climax – while the similarly pensive ‘A New Morning Will Come’ and the later ‘Finding Our Feet’ sandwiches the rasping, Kuduro-beaten ‘Scream’ and zany, unrestrained ‘Hope Every Day is a Happy New Year’.

Polar Bear work the contrasts wonderfully well; brooding with an easy, laconic swing one moment, climbing up the walls the next. Working in a genre with improvisation and emotion it’s lifeblood, ‘Peepers’ mischievous, teasing dynamic, and balance of the bold and the beautiful ensures it, and Polar Bear, walk the line in all the right ways. Nice.

Valgeir Sigurðsson – Draumalandið

Matt Poacher — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 07:55:18 +0000

When you divorce a soundtrack from its source, there is a real sense that you’re placing it at a disadvantage. Created for a distinct purpose, and with sequences and shots in mind, a soundtrack stands or falls on its ability to accompany and enchance the visual elements you see on screen. Having said that, the best soundtracks do work as separate entities – the inherent drama and emotional resonances working as abstracted possibilities instead of particularities. Having now seen some chunks of Draumalandið, the film for which Valgeir Sigurðsson’s soundtrack of the same name was created, my impression is that the soundtrack manages to straddle both these outcomes – in situ it’s a powerful piece of work, managing to augment and mirror the immensity of themes explored by Andri Snaer Magnason’s and Þorfinnur Guðnason’s film; yet as a stand alone venture it retains its sense of drama and purpose.

Draumalandið is a film about fear and corruption, based around Iceland’s slide towards bankruptcy and the ways in which the government has manipulated the situation to expedite harnessing and brutalising the country’s natural resources to pay for the damage – primarily by encouraging the multinational Alcoa into making Iceland the largest producer of aluminium in the world. As Magnason puts it, ‘Iceland sacrificed two large rivers to Alcoa…Our government sold them cheap energy and doubled the energy production of Iceland – just to meet Alcoa’s needs. Alcoa needs enormouspower – about four times more energy than the whole nation uses.’ The double-bind behind all this is that generally speaking, the population welcomed the move (or at least were already saw it as a fait accompli) – seeing it as a way of securing the economic future of the regions involved, and the country as a whole. The film is as much about this tension as it is about the extraordinary sublimity of the Icelandic landscape and the pernicious behaviour of politicians.

And it’s this palpable tension that Sigurðsson captures so well. Generally speaking (‘Helter Smelter’ excepted) the score doesn’t attempt to overload the emotional content, preferring instead to use a more painterly approach, using the full Bedroom Community roster (including Nico Muhly, Sam Amidon and Ben Frost amongst others) to work a low-level drama and menace, and a sense of quiet sadness into the visual gaps. And Sigurðsson is no stranger to drama, both in his own solo work and in his varied production work – an impressive collection of talents that includes Bjork, Hildur Guðnadóttir and Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy; but despite the subject matter he generally resists the urge to ramp it up here.

The soundtrack’s central motif is a simple repeated piano progression, overlain with glockenspiel and strings – it bolsters the title track and re-appears in ‘Draumaland’ albeit in a more subdued fashion. It embodies the soundtracks twin airs of sadness and vague peril, a pairing best explored on the last two tracks, ‘Nowhere Land’ and ‘Helter Smelter’, both towering tracks in their way – the former for its subtle sweep of strings, the latter for its near-bestial violence, driven by a growling Ben Frost drone. Outside of this, however, the mood is one of quiet and contemplation. As such, vignettes like ‘I offer prosperity and eternal life…’ ‘Hot Ground Cold’ and ‘Laxness’ are beautifully restrained and very simple creations made from little more than piano and buried fluttering strings. ‘Grylukvæði’, featuring Sam Amidon on vocals, despite it’s ominous backwards strings is similarly quiescent.

Overall, Draumalandið is a forceful and poignant piece of work, and as part of the larger film project its quite outstanding. Seek both out if you can.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Drive-By Truckers – The Big To-Do

Steve Lampiris — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 14:00:53 +0000

It’s difficult not to read the Drive-By Truckers’ latest effort, The Big To-Do, as a eulogy of sorts. A eulogy of exactly what is left to the listener’s discretion; the subject(s) is/are never made explicit. The song titles themselves hint as much: ‘This Fucking Job,’ ‘After the Scene Dies,’ ‘(It’s Gonna Be) I Told You So,’ ‘Daddy Learned to Fly.’ The quasi-despondent pedal steel in ‘Sante Fe’ and ‘The Fourth Night of My Drinking’ argue this point just as strongly. To wit: That To-Do finds the Georgia collective at its most mournful is a jolting statement. The Truckers have damn near completely steered clear of upbeat tunes, to be sure, but To-Do has an element of finality to it where previous releases were gloomy but still contained a sense of potential. Indeed, there was still a future, the fog thinning out as you traverse forward. Here, it’s as if the road suddenly vanishes without warning.

Sure, the band still has its story songs. The boogie-shuffle track ‘The Wig He Made Her Wear’ is To-Do’s (token) murder ballad. This time, the tale is that of a wife killing her preacher husband because the preacher made her do certain things in the bedroom she wasn’t comfortable with. The aforementioned ‘Drinking,’ soon to be a barroom staple, is a simple account of a bender to end all benders wherein singer/guitarist/de facto band leader Patterson Hood admits at the end, “This will be through with me before I’m through with it.” Then there’s the single ‘Birthday Boy,’ which details the life of daddy’s little girl doing…certain things for money while battling a level of self-esteem that’s practically nonexistent.

Beyond that, though, is the mood of making peace with what has transpired in the past, and the (assumed) subsequent process of moving on. Yes, on the surface ‘Daddy’ is a first-person account of one’s father leaving. Yet, deeper than that the song can be seen as the band dealing with Jason Isbell leaving. He left amicably before the band’s previous album, certainly, but perhaps the collective is finally ready to accept the loss. And ‘This Fucking Job’ is a discussion of hating one’s job: “Working this job, I thought it sucked when I had it,” but then having to admit just as quickly that you need a job no matter how shitty because there are bills to pay. Thus, you’re trying to “hang on to the worst of places” but, paradoxically, a family can’t “live on fast-food wages.” Yet, below that cursory interpretation is a bitterly acerbic image of the current U.S. economy. The song’s basically stating that sometimes ya gotta swallow your pride and work an awful job in order to avoid starvation.

There has been no indication that the Drive-By Truckers are leaving the spotlight anytime soon. Still, all the evidence contained with The Big To-Do suggests that at one point during these sessions it might have been considered. Even the title itself reads like a synonym for “bucket list.” But perhaps that’s the meaning behind it: This album is the culmination of everything that the Truckers ever wanted to accomplish. The band wrote its fantastic songs (this set included), made a rock opera, toured the country (and became known as one of the best, most hard working live acts in the world), and consistently received critical praise throughout its career, all while battling to stay afloat in the lonely indie-southern-rock circuit. Not bad for a bunch of supposed rednecks.

Quasi – American Gong

Leah Pritchard — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 12:00:45 +0000

Looking back at the past couple of years, there are very few anomalies in the tendency towards objectively pristine sounding records. Glimmering production, cascading harmonies and orchestral arrangements seem almost compulsory, with gritty, dirty music surfacing occasionally, but rarely shaking us up enough to drag us back onto our feet. Whether Quasi have evaded this or are opposing it is irrelevant, all that is certain is that from the opening seconds of American Gong, the memories of those saccharine sounds are erased.

‘Repulsion’ chugs like a jet engine, it veers and moans like white noise with a vendetta. Sam Coomes’ usual modest, heartfelt murmurs deliver lyrics about sex and about whores, conveying both the meaning and vivid images of the track’s title. He rarely deviates from the warm familiarity of his voice, and Janet Weiss’ harmonies during the chorus – which seem a world away from the choral harmonies we are so accustomed to – acknowledge the classic idea of aesthetics but instead eerily slither over Coomes’ melody, which falls with the sleekness and unpredictability of a slinky making its way down stairs. All this set atop those growling guitars causes an uneasiness to the song, like watching a friend walking into the darkness with no means of shining a light.

Rest assured though, any demons in Coomes’ life are being observed rather than harboured. He sings, “So you’re ready to die / Oh, what’s the hurry? / You’re sure enough dead soon anyway / You don’t have to worry!” over arguably the greatest, bounciest, most joyful bassline Joanna Bolme has ever written (but how can we choose!?) on ‘Little White Horse’. Changing direction, he then addresses materialism, loneliness and faith on ‘Everything & Nothing at All’, and you can’t help but feel like Coomes is writing from a place of wisdom, that he somehow sees the bigger picture. Was it the band’s intention to juxtapose disgusting guitar tones and roaring, crashing drum beats against playful basslines and soaring, sweet melodies as a metaphor for some huge theory of life? Does it matter!? What is important is the feeling that this is something big, that when Coomes sings, “Rise up!” on ‘Now What’, he means it, and all that you have to do to comply is shake your head in time with the music.

Thomas White – The Maximalist

Simon Tyers — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 07:55:49 +0000

It’s not like Thomas White needs the extra workload. His famously packed musical CV – utility melodicist for Electric Soft Parade, all-action Brakes guitarist, drummer with dark surf instrumentalists Restlesslist and thematic garage rockers Clowns, current regular guitarist for Patrick Wolf, live stand-in and sessioneer for Sparks, British Sea Power, Cornershop, The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster, The Pipettes and the Levellers – tells its own story. Then again, getting to flex your creative muscles and freeing your creative brain cells from all that must be a massive relief.

Where 2008’s solo debut I Dream Of Black was an uneven but intriguing ride through four-track psych-pop with some garnishing sonic experiments, The Maximalist sees White throw nearly all caution to the wind, or possibly shit against a wall to see how much sticks. Within this kaleidoscopic 56 minutes White throws in a whole range of influences. Opener ‘Introducing The Band…’ samples some hard rock riffola and portentious prog overdubs, and the album finishes with ‘…Lost’ and its grand sweep of Zombies-recalling hazy strings, contemplative electronic dreamscape undertow and nostalgic lyrics, plus a whistling solo towards the end.

For the most part White pitches his oeuvre into a West Coast psychedelia field, but in a way that keeps the attentive listener on their toes. The prime example is over the seven and a half minutes of ‘The Weekend’. The subtly shifting laid-back feel betrays a slight air of prime time Flaming Lips, or more precisely the High Llamas’ adventures in similar grounds, it’s glued together by the cornet of the album’s sole other musician, British Sea Power’s Phil Sumner. Halfway through it dissolves into slo-mo guitar soloing which fades to cut-up static and distant spoken word before re-emerging in power-pop territory. ‘The Last Blast’, apparently a treatise on WWII novelist Sven Hassel with White exhibiting a restrained anger, comes on like Weezer with a rocket up their backsides and a horde of Super Furry Animals records on the studio player. Even more, all over the place ‘Moonlight And Snow’ plays with Beach Boys harmonies and flirts with 1970s soft rock before falling into an extended break lifted from some post-Aphex Warp Records parallel universe. ‘The Devil In The Trojan Horse’ begins with Western harmonica before evolving into acoustic strumming not far from Elliott Smith, before turning, without warning, into Smashing Pumpkins distorted post-grunge guitar. Tellingly, the album’s two covers, (a Warren Zevon and Guided By Voices), are played fairly straight to their original styles.

Ultimately, and in no small amount ironically, it’s White’s ADD approach to melodic fruition that stops The Maximalist achieving its primed kaleidoscopic magnum opus status. Some songs drag on for a minute or two further than necessary, whilst others fail to locate that key moment that would pin down their emotive core. Not that White is incapable of exploiting subtlety towards a properly affecting moment, as with the Syd Barrett echoes of ‘Starry Nite #4′, which shows not everything needs to have a mid-song breakdown or curveball thrown in. Further listens help the overall mood to gel, but the album falters under the weight of ideas fighting their way into pleasingly coasting subtleties.

Titus Andronicus – The Monitor

Andrew Taylor — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 12:00:29 +0000

If you’ve had an ear to the ground over the last few weeks, you may have detected a bit of a buzz building about the new Titus Andronicus record. Their excellent debut The Airing of Grievances was celebrated, then in some quarters, mindlessly knocked, for being a bit too much like other hyped “lo-fi” bands (Vivian Girls etc). Apparently, their debut was lo-fi out of necessity rather than choice, and critics who are still sat up on a high horse should just get off; there’s no doubt that Titus Andronicus have knocked the ball right out of the park with their latest.

The Monitor is a sprawling concept album, named after the U.S.S Monitor and released on the 148th anniversary of the battle between said ship and its confederate counterpart, the C.S.S Virginia. It tells the (present day) story of a young man who swaps New Jersey for Boston, where things don’t quite work out as planned. Ultimately he leaves, tail between his legs, ready to continue drinking and smoking to excess, because he thinks they’ve had just about enough of him there. Throughout, ghosts of the American Civil War crash the party, picking up military drums and bagpipes. Songs on the album average at least seven minutes, there are frequent spoken word interludes lifted from dusty, crackling tapes and Titus Andronicus are asking big questions—namely, whether the Civil War was won, lost, or even completed, and if humans are accountable for our own miseries. As lead singer Patrick Stickles has asked: what else should they be singing about? Girls?

Well, perhaps you’ve stopped reading by now because it’s all too clever by half. If so, your loss, because on this evidence Titus Andronicus might be the most exciting indie-rock band around. Part of the album’s success is the fact that it meets its critics head on—Bruce Springsteen is referenced in the first two minutes, as if to get that one out of the way, and the unapologetic awareness of their own influences means it’s easier to get to grips with Titus Andronicus’ terrific songwriting on its own terms. Often, three or more distinct sections make up one deceptively shambolic song and even the longest feel as if they are crammed full of ideas. The opening track, for example, rips out of the blocks at a blistering pace before slipping into what sounds like a 150-year-old punk-rock broadcast, then back again. It’s book-ended by two scratchy speeches.

The album reaches its peak in the middle, with three songs that add up to much more than the sum of their parts. The last of these,“Theme from Cheers” (which isn’t concerned with responsible drinking) slips through enough changes to make you feel as if the band are dragging you on a bleary bar-room crawl through some hopeless American town. The other two are epic Civil War tracks with superb, often bitterly funny lyrics, which Stickles delivers like a man who has gone way over the edge, then nailed a bottle of whiskey. Throughout, he’s the brilliant beating heart of the band, ferocious but endearing—although I wonder quite how long he’ll be able to keep up such intensity given the band’s punishing touring schedule.

So, in a parallel world I can imagine The Monitor being a huge hit, one that in particular, has the scope to resonate even with boring rock magazines who regularly feature artists like Bob Dylan on their boring front covers. Titus Andronicus are certainly steeped in classic rock and punk; I can hear Exile on Main Street, Springsteen, the Pogues, and Minor Threat. They’re a furious version of The Band, a punk-rock group straight out of Deadwood. And yet, beyond all that, they come off as absolutely unique—but whether The Monitor gets the attention it deserves remains to be seen.

Motion Picture Soundtrack – The Shapes We Fear Are Of Our Own

John Skibeat — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 10:01:31 +0000

With Motion Picture Soundtrack’s last release, the Departure EP, appearing late last year, it’s no surprise to find that this debut album The Shapes We Fear Are Of Our Own, features the same haunting, nihilistic approach to songwriting. This time round, though, the band have not one, or two, but three producers on board. Paul Schroeder (The Stone Roses, The Verve), Bob Ludwig (Rage Against The Machine, Tool) and Cenzo Townshend (Editors, Bloc Party) – I don’t know about you but that sounds like a case of too many cooks to me. I think we can safely assume that certainly Ludwing’s input has resulted in a heavier product whilst Schroeder and Townshend (both who featured on the EP as producer and mixer respectively) would be the ones wrestling their sound back towards the contemporary.

In essence, MPS are an eclectic mix of Editors, White Lies and Placebo and who come across as both disarmingly sincere and simpering at the same time. With lead single ‘Glass Figures’, for instance, there is an attack that invigorates as it crescendos, yet resorts to falling back into line along a well-trodden path, far too readily. Strikingly clean, yet lazily repetitive guitar sits beneath Alastair Blackwood’s urgently emotive, morbid musings with the damaged whole echoing climactically from beginning to embittered end.

Often the band seem happy pounding away at a few repetitious chords, perhaps to engender a poppier sound, but when they do flick about between song parts they manage to create luxurious layers of rhythm and texture. Simultaneous fierce undercurrents, jangling mid-range and falsetto peaks feature within tracks like ‘Make It Through The Night’ or ‘Whiterooms’ which tug upon a Coldplay/Keane loose seam until the whole thing happily disassembles itself. Heartier fodder sweeps in with tracks like ‘I Clipped Your Wing’ or ’On Earth (As It Is In Heaven) which are anchored down to a bruising bass and thunderous piano combo whilst all around piercing vocal crashes at the listener in cresting wave upon cresting wave.

The real disappointments here hide within the lack of momentum and the dearth of stop-gaps. Each song keeps to the same vague pattern that echoes the others around it. The last three tracks fight desperately to escape the familiar arrangement, but that wavering vocal drags it all kicking and screaming back into line. Sure, there are peaks and troughs on show here, but in the end it just feels like one big featureless ocean of sound. Whilst you’ll crave the sight of an iceberg or an island, I was simply finding it a struggle to stop from drowning.

The Moving Dawn Orchestra – Dials EP

Matt Poacher — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 10:00:48 +0000

The electroacoustic/post-classical/ambient (yes, I agree, it does need a new handle) field is currently about as overstuffed as any I can think of. There’s a wealth of established acts, and then a great slew of releases on smaller labels that seem to multiply infinitely into the distance – a fact that induces a kind of vertigo if you look too closely. Strangely though, there is a kind of comfort in knowing that there can be so much good and great music being made, and on such a small scale. It has its own kind of purity.

Into which comes Dials the first EP from The Moving Dawn Orchestra, the new project from Guy Andrews, sometime ambient creator with Iambic². Dials is released on the Fluid Audio imprint, an offshoot of the excellent Fluid Radio project that sits at something of a crossroads in the genres mentioned above, acting as a kind of node, drawing scene strands together. It’s released in a very limited run, and comes in exquisite packaging, featuring photographs (haunting scenes, featuring unnamed silhouettes in sepia landscapes), a parchment roll, and a hand made stitched fabric cover. My copy came wrapped with a handful of cloves, that singular smell acting as a harbinger of the music itself.

And that heavy hanging smell of cloves is a useful analogue, as the music on Dials does have a hovering presence. Thematically, the EP’s four tracks trace the passing of a year, and are built around Andrews’ simple piano figures, a deep cello undertow, acoustic instruments such as a xylophone, plus various washes of analogue synths. This exploration of the natural world is something Andrews has explored through his work with Iambic², but here, programmed beats are replaced with a more painterly method, the evocations more elegiac.

‘Keep Still’ (the track based around summer) is suitably warm and enveloping. It begins with a dripping glockenspiel, over which washes soft drones; an acoustic guitar picks out a lazy rhythm before Andrews’ hushed voice whispers ‘don’t stop, this summer to be’. It’s vaguely reminiscent of some of Keith Kennif’s work as Helios and has a similar sense of grace. ‘Silhouette’, the ‘winter’ track, has a more somber tone, built around again a simple piano progression, and a haunting cello line. Alongside the artwork, this track hints at something deeper within the work – beyond any abstracted sense of time passing, lived lives. It’s quietly powerful.

Dials is a strong release all round, and worth tracking down. Copies are available from Fluid Audio.

The Soft Pack – The Soft Pack

Scott Goodacre — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 07:55:06 +0000

You could get together with three of your friends, a rusty four-track, and you’d no doubt come up with an effort similar to The Soft Pack’s self-titled debut LP. However I’m yet to decide if this is a good thing.

The initial signs are promising; Vauxhall-friendly opening track ‘C’mon’ kicks things off with a minute or so of raw rock, but at this point even the band start to sound bored of what they’re doing. The lazily drawled chorus of “Ah, c’mon” starts to grate, and within two minutes they appear to have run out of ideas completely. It’s the same on the follow-up ‘Down On Loving’, where after a minute they spend a short while repeating the mantra “down on loving” and – more annoyingly – dragging out the word “down” for a couple of seconds.

This lazy approach to songwriting belies the energy that the LA-based four-piece put into their music. There’s a brilliantly fuzzy guitar solo during ‘Down On Loving’ (sandwiched, unfortunately, by those grating vocals), and the frantic pace of ‘Move Along’ is upheld brilliantly by David Lantzman’s bass playing. Sadly these moments are few and far between, as the rest of The Soft Pack is unfortunately dull. Certain tracks, such as ‘More Or Less’, are rendered unlistenable thanks to Matt Lamkin’s awful vocals, while ‘Mexico’ is spoiled by an over-distorted and out of tune guitar solo.

Still though, it’s difficult to actually hate the album too much. There’s a heavy dose of enthusiasm injected into each song, and the pace is such that it proves incredibly difficult not to tap along. But ultimately a poor recording quality and half-baked ideas count against The Soft Pack. Stick it on in the background then, but don’t pay too much attention or else the cracks really start to show.

Misterlee – This Disquiet Dog

Sam Shepherd — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 19:43:59 +0000

The Anti-Folk tag that apparently hangs around Misterlee’s neck is, on the evidence at least, as misleading as those sandwich-boards that read “the end of the world is nigh”. Although folk music gets the occasional nod here and there thanks to the use of acoustic guitars, and the finely crafted poetic language, there’s more going on here than a single defining term can cope with.

What better way to start an album than with a song about Adolf Hitler? Starting an album with a song about somebody who thinks they were Adolf Hitler in a past life – that’s how. This bare bones blast of noise is wonderfully disjointed with drums joining the mix at seemingly random intervals whilst the guitars, all wiry and angry, set about buzzing around this tale of a fantasist like a swarm of angry Nazi wasps.

From here on, it becomes clear that This Disquiet Dog is more of a poetry album than anything else. The delivery of Lee Allatson recalls those of Julian Cope, Nigel Blackwell, and John Cooper Clarke.

‘Stags of Schipol’ is a sprawling account of a trip to Amsterdam that never sits still. Musically it shifts frequently between bursts of skronking guitar noise, contemplative cosmopolitan sounding guitar strums, and driving electronic bass figures. The mood veers from light-hearted to terrifying without warning. With the space given to Allatson to explore the canals and coffee shops it is perhaps unsurprising that it eventually develops into something more daunting and paranoid by the end. That’s what happens if you spend too much time in the coffee shops; it’s inevitable that good humour will be tainted with paranoia.

‘Littleman (We’re Alive Here)’ is one of the more accessible tracks to be found in amongst the wildly exploding ideas that scatter the album. Essentially a well worked folk tune that snipes at Che Guavara t-shirts, it also finds time to critique the war in no uncertain terms. It also allows the guitar work of Jamie Smith to reach boiling point as it slowly approaches a raucous frenzy as the song heads towards its conclusion.

‘Stay Down Luke’ is awash with the imagery of war, from the sirens and barking attack dogs that permeate the track to the lyrics which warn the protagonist “if your head’s above the parapet, they’ll shoot the legs from under you”. The sinister feel is rounded up nicely with a electro-bass line that thunders along like a panzer division commanded by James Brown. It still manages to be one of the more catchy numbers on the album.

‘The Easy Apple’ feels like an episode of Jackanory gone terribly, terribly wrong. The first half is essentially just a spoken word performance, and although it is thoroughly assured, it isn’t until an incessant guitar line joins the fray that the darkened mood of the song is totally established. It would be easy to dismiss Misterlee as utterly pretentious at this point, but with some intelligent guitar work and ambience they just about get away with it.

It also helps that they follow up the self-indulgence of ‘The Easy Apple’ with ‘Don’t Kill Anyone’, the most straightforward song on the album. Had it existed on its own, outside of This Disquiet Dog, it probably would have been more effective. As it is, the weirdly catchy chorus, and basic construction (it’s almost a lo-fi garage song), make it sound like something of a sweetener – a concession that allows the more unhinged work of the album to exist. That doesn’t prevent it from being a rather effective blast of raucous noise of course; it just feels out of place on such an experimental album.

This Disquiet Dog will not appeal to everyone – any album that has a three minute track that consists of someone hammering on a snare over the recording of a heartbeat (‘Escaping’) will probably struggle to pull in the more mainstream punter – but for those willing to take a chance on something a bit unusual, you couldn’t wish for a better album.

Solex vs Cristina Martinez and Jon Spencer – Amsterdam Showdown, King Street Throwdown

Shawn Murtough — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 12:00:17 +0000

Jon Spencer is a lucky man indeed. Critcally lauded for his contributions to all things, SleazeBluesPunkRock he is also husband to the achingly beautiful Cristina Martinez. So when the call came from beat project manager extrordinaire, Elisabeth Esselink to record a collaborative album with his missus, it must have made his year.

Considering the marital conection of the leading lights in this venture, the result is a disappointing mish mash of ideas spliced into an unctuous mass. Those familiar with Spencers previous bands will immediately recognise the sleazy drawl and economic guitar style that epitomised much of his more recent work. Martinez works hard to provide a spiky resistance to the laconic proceedings but too often the alternative styles sound like polar opposites fighting for their right to be heard.

‘Fire Fire’ briefly raises the bar, Spencer proving the aggresor spouts “Fire – I got dat – desire” which is meshed against a seductive feminine vocal delivered as a spoken telephone call. ‘R is for Ring a Ding’ could be a rejected Gorillaz cut as could ‘Action’, both of which call in a brief hip hop interlude from Mike Ladd. Elsewhere things occassionally lean towards Beck on ‘Don’t Hold Back’ and bizarrely, Rolf Harris would be pround of ‘Er Ez Ex’.

Its that kind of collection…. pieces have been shoe horned together and the end result is weaker than its constituent parts. Solex has always specialised in the habberdashery approach to her mix ups but you get the feeling that when Spencer and Martinez are supping their retirment Whiskey, neither will fondly recall this as their best work.

High On Fire – Snakes For The Divine

Rich E — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 10:00:43 +0000

Have High On Fire actually stopped for a break since their huge 2007 album Death Is The Communion? I don’t think they have, but unlike some bands from that neck of the woods *cough* Machine Head *cough* this Oakland band do not try and squeeze out every last drop of blood from their fans – and then claim that some of them are ‘beat’ and that they are now ‘fired’. Instead, High On Fire have released Snakes For The Divine a continuation of their work on Death Is The Communion and a continual break from the murkier, slower side of the band that can be heard on Blessed Black Wings and The Art Of Self Defense. However, the eastern influences brought in by bassist Jeff Matz on their last album have been dropped.

At the moment the band have stopped working with producer Jack Endino, and instead enlisted Greg Fieldman – who has recently been at the helm for Slayer’s last album World Painted Blood. The result is a slightly smoother sounding low-end and cleaner and rounder top end on Matt Pike’s distinctive 9-string guitar. For a band that can be overpowering live, Fieldman has managed to EQ as much goodness out of the band as possible. The double-taked split stereo solos on ‘Snakes For The Divine’ and ‘How Dark We Pray’ sound a lot sweeter than anything put our before and Jeff Matz’s numbing bass tone rolls over you like a general anaesthetic. Fieldman was also more instrumental in developing the sound of the album than Endino had previously been, and apparently was extremely active in helping the band wade through around four hours of material which they had recorded.

Pike also sounds totally pissed off on this release. Maybe it is due to his personal experiences as of late, or maybe it is because his vocals are much clearer on this album compared to past releases. Whatever it is, it is loud, and perhaps a little too dominating in the mix for some.

Skipping past the title track lands you on ‘Frost Hammer’, a track showcased live by the band many months before the release. Just like another track on the album ‘The Path’, ‘Frost Hammer’ has more in common with ‘Death Is The Communion’ than other tracks, mainly because of Pike’s lengthy chord bends and melodic chorus, and Des Kensel’s sublime switching from punk-esque drumming to rampant double-kicks. The rest of the band doesn’t hang about either. The majority of the album is up-tempo dirty metal; whereas tracks such as ‘Bastard Samurai’, ‘The Path’, ‘Fire, Flood & Plague’ stand out as they more variation between the thick riffs and Motorhead style verses.

Their myspace url is highonfireslays, and the simple matter is that they do. A lot.

Palm Springs – The Hope That Kills You

Andy Johnson — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 07:55:43 +0000

Apologies in advance – some of the normal tropes of album criticism must neccesarily fall by the wayside for the purposes of reviewing this particular record. You see, those tropes often hinge on an album’s tracks posessing a certain minimum level of interest and distinctiveness, a level which depressingly-titled The Hope That Kills You lacks.

This second album by Palm Springs, put out on their own Random Acts of Vinyl label, is not bad. It’s just almost completely devoid of interest. The band don’t even sound enthusiastic themselves, especially in the case of DC Cane, whose lead vocals are incredibly flat, seemingly aimed specifically at an audience that just doesn’t listen to singing at all. He’s there, and yet not there – a frustratingly hollow presence who sucks out much of the album’s life. Unfortunately, this problem plagues most of the instrumental work, too. The arrangements here are lush, touched by strings, glocks and fashionable occasional washes of electronics, but they are uniformly uninspiring.

It is the sound of a band who appear pathologically desperate not to offend. It is this pale inoffensiveness which whitewashes every song, forever refusing to expose any kind of emotional core and instead focusing on bland outer appearances. There’s a chronic lack of unpredictability – these songs just breeze by lethargically and lazily, any attempts at being moving (which, I suspect, is the album’s main aim) frustrated by the absence of any passages which stand out from the others. How can a song move you if it is barely capable of moving itself?

Whilst trying to get to grips with what went wrong here is perplexing, deciding whether it is worth recommending certainly is not. The Hope That Kills You is, crucially, not bad. It is though, the most boring album I’ve heard in some time. This is a far cry from the best that the British independent music scene can offer.

The Courteeners – Falcon

Erik Thompson — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 14:00:34 +0000

In their effort to deliver a more ‘mature’ sound on their second album, Manchester’s The Courteeners instead give us Falcon, an overly safe, bland dadrock affair that relies too heavily on repetitive, unimaginative choruses and very little on authenticity and heart. The band apparently drew a lot of inspiration from touring America while writing the songs that make up this record, and it shows in quite a negative way as they extract all of the vapid, overdone cliches that made UK acts like Coldplay and Snow Patrol such a success in the U.S.; the bloated emotionalism of the chorus that is just begging for a crowd singalong, hackneyed lyrics that accompany simple, pedestrian chord progressions, and an underlying desire for their songs to be anthemic without the spirit and soul that is required. In the end, these tracks sound hollow simply because they are-it’s songwriting by the numbers and quite frankly I’m surprised that Liam Fray, after fatuously titling the first song on Falcon ‘The Opener,’ didn’t just continue on naming them ‘The Second Song’ and so-forth. It’s really that uninspired an album.

Speaking of ‘The Opener,’ it seems that Fray’s all-too-obvious shout-outs to America’s two largest cities during the songs endless coda is nothing more than a desperate plea for radio play in L.A. and New York, as well as an overly eager attempt at capturing a wider U.S. audience simply because they acknowledge the States in the lyrics. I don’t know how the folks in Dundee and Doncaster will take to the song, but I can’t imagine that getting name-checked in this stale song will result in an influx of tourism for them. The contrived, Coldplay-esque piano balladry of ‘Take Over The World’ lost me as soon as Fray uttered the boldface lie of “I’ve never written a cliche before” in the first verse. But for those that continue to listen, the ‘Viva La Vida’ aping “Oh Oh Oh” chorus could be considered a blatant musical theft of the massive London quartet, if the song ever registers on their radar.

I just didn’t find one song on Falcon that featured a musical style that another band wasn’t already doing far better; be it the soulless boogie of ‘Cross My Heart & Hope To Fly,’ which tries to cram the earnestness of Elbow within the staccato guitar riffs of the xx, or the Franz Ferdinand-lite of first single ‘You Overdid It Doll.’ I don’t see why someone who is after this type of sound would turn to a band that is so obviously pirating the sounds of other bands-especially when those bands aren’t breaking a lot of new musical ground themselves. ‘The Rest Of The World Has Gone Home’ is a half-assed sob story that tries in vain to mimic the fag-in-the-mouth careless posturing of Babyshambles, without the audacious, drug-addled back story of course.

If you’re able to get beyond The Courteeners all-too-familiar musical arrangements, Fray’s grating, facile lyrics are equally cringe inducing. Take this gem from the atrocious love song ‘Last Of The Ladies’: “Something is easy then it’s not worth the reward/Like remembering the list of bands that I wrote on the chalkboard. I’m not saying you’re New Order but I think you know what I mean/And I’m into the way that you’re into me like a scene from the silver screen.” I just don’t know what to make of that drivel-are these names of bands on the chalkboard a list of bands that he’s ripping off? And is it an insult or a compliment to not equate a woman with New Order? It’s just a mess really, and ultimately not worth deciphering. And by the time the album closes with ‘Will It Be This Way Forever,’ an insipid stab at the dark moodiness of White Lies, I’m left wondering what I can quickly listen to that will make me forget about the mind-numbing sounds of Falcon. Unfortunately, just about anything is an improvement over this watered down, recycled brand of arena rock.

Stanley Brinks and The Wave Pictures – S/T

Alex Wisgard — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 12:00:43 +0000

Album-length collaborations between two established artists are always risky business; for every seemingly-soulless money-grabber (quit trying to hide, Jay-Z and Linkin Park. You know what you did was wrong…), there’s a genuinely captivating artistic endeavour – step forward, The Pastels and Tenniscoats.

So when two big names on the indiepop scene – Stanley Brinks, formerly leading man of Herman Dune, and The Wave Pictures, Bethnal Green’s answer to The Modern Lovers – announced the release of their first formal collaboration, following Streets of Philadelphia, a gig-only CD-R, fans of both artists would be right to be as worried as they are excited. That CD-R was a lo-fi delight, with cutesy low-key ballads and pop classics, as well as its perfectly-executed eponymous Springsteen cover. Unfortunately, its ostensible follow-up, Stanley Brinks and The Wave Pictures is as uninspired and overlong as its title, with little sign of the breezy poptimism that littered the bands’ previous material.

It opens well enough with ‘Hi, Jane’, an endearingly breezy acoustic jaunt in the classic-sounding Wave Pictures mould; boasting a set of lyrics that are as lovelorn as they are cheeky (“I had idols at the time – it may sound funny to you, but I wanted to be like Bono from U2…”), the album’s most addictive melody and an amusing litany of words that rhyme with “Jane”. It should set the tone for the rest of the album at large, but sadly, it’s followed by a collection of lumberingly unmemorable minor-key plodders.

Too much of the album allows David “Axeman” Tattersall to indulge in the kind of fretwanking he usually reserves for his band’s live shows, and the songs themselves just don’t stand up over repeated listens. ‘End of the World’ steals blindly from Violent Femmes’ ‘Country Death Song’, save any sense of dynamics or drama, while ‘Keep Your Head High’ would be fantastic, were it at least twice as fast. Even when the Wave Pictures used to diverge into miserabilia, there’s enough emotion in Tattersall’s delivery and wit in his lyrics (check 2006’s ‘When I Leave You for Somebody Else’ for proof) for it to be palatable. Brinks doesn’t quite manage this, instead singing with the kind of idle conviction of someone reading a magazine in a GP’s waiting room. The only other exception is the Buddy Holly-flecked ‘Why the Martians Are Gone’, which casts Wave Pictures bassist Franic (who puts even less effort into his vocals than Brinks) as a disgruntled extra-terrestrial, working his way across the globe looking for “a good country for war.”

Overall, ST/WPs (as it’s likely to be referred to by no one) is a major disappointment; its release now, two years after it was recorded, confuses both artists’ chronologies – especially frustrating for those Wave Pictures fans waiting for a return to form after last year’s overlooked If You Leave It Alone – and should have really been left as a tour release curiosity. As it is, it’s yet another unnecessary addition to both bands’ rapidly-expanding catalogues, and one further case for bands keeping their art to themselves.

Kris Drever – Mark The Hard Earth

Catriona Boyle — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 10:00:45 +0000

Kris Drever is almost becoming ubiquitous on the folk circuit in one incarnation or another. He is one third of folk heavyweights Lau, and also one third of Drever, McCusker and Woomble – featuring Idlewild’s Roddy Woomble.
And somewhere in amongst all that he had time to record his second album – Mark the Hard Earth produced by John McCusker and featuring many of the artists Kris has been working with over the last few years. Even if folk music isn’t your normal staple Mark The Hard Earth is well worth a listen. It should challenge the ‘folkie’ stereotype of four old geezers in Aran Sweaters singing diddly dee.

The opening track is written by Kris himself, and it gets the record off to a great start. Although not a prolific song writer, (this is the only track on the album which he has written) Kris’s writing is thought provoking, and provides a sound platform for both his excellent guitar skills, and his distinctive voice. The track starts quietly – just Kris and his guitar, and gradually builds as vocal harmonies are added, then a little percussion, and strings. The next track ‘This Old Song’ again starts with just Kris on guitar, but this one has a quite different feel – written by America songwriter Caleb Klauder, this one is more of a sing along. Next up we have the first of two songs from fellow Scot Sandy Wright – Shining Star, which waltzes along gently, with an instrumental section in the middle – some very gentle fiddling taking the lead for a while. And this is about as close as the album gets to having any purely instrumental tracks. This is a departure from the format of the debut album. Black Water contained two instrumental medleys, but this on this one has all tracks feature Kris’s rich vocals.

‘Allegory’ introduces the backing vocals from Heidi Talbot, one of the best female singers around the British folk scene at the moment. She adds additional depth with her sweet harmonies, and really bring the track alive. Boo Hewerdine’s contribution to this album is ‘Sweet Honey In The Rock’ – at least the words are credited to Boo, with the music supplied by John McCusker. This is a cheerful song, with a nice sing along chorus, but is laced with Biblical references – Deuteronomy 32:13 mentions “wild honey among the rocks” – showing a more serious side to both composer and performer. And there’s also some handy advice on how to get to heaven!

Kris also slips in a love song penned by none other than Rabbie Burns – ‘O’ A’ the Airts’. This started life as a poem by Rabbie written for the love of his life, Jean Armour. For those not familiar with the lowland Scots dialect in use during the second half of the 18th Century, “O’A’ the airts the wind can blaw” can be translated as “Of all the directions the wind can blow” but after that you’re on your own – you’ll get the hang of it, I’m sure. This is fitting tribute to one of Scotland’s favourite sons on the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of his birth. The next track, ‘Crown of London’ sounds traditional too, but in fact was written by Kris’s brother Duncan. This serves to illustrate the diversity of the music presented in this album – different continents, different centuries, and yet all sitting comfortably together, and brought to life by this very talented young man. ‘Freedom come A’ ye’ rounds things off with some fine work by Karine Polwart on backing vocals.

All in all a very competent production and a great CD to listen to – thanks no doubt to the considerable talents of John McCusker, and also to the great wealth of talent that Kris is able to draw upon, songwriters, musicians, and singers. And of course, we must not to forget Kris’s own considerable talents both as a guitarist, and as a truly versatile singer.

Club Smith – The Loss EP

Steve Lampiris — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 07:55:13 +0000

Full disclosure: Within the first 30 seconds of Club Smith’s The Loss EP, I was ready to write this quartet off as a second-rate Bloc Party clone. Then the chorus of opener ‘Lament’ hit; everything changed. The song starts out as Hail to the Thief-era Radiohead by way of post-punk and transforms into a lush dream pop/shoegaze rocker that reaches for the stars. I imagine that’s the point of Club Smith’s songwriting: It’s all about the (soaring) hook. And every song has one. Take any of the four here and it’s obvious that Club Smith writes with more maturely than its short history suggests.

But it’s not just the hooks that make this EP worth your time, though that would be enough to justify it. The band – singer/guitarist Sam Robson, keyboardist/samplist Neil Clark, bassist Lee Clark and drummer Vijay Mistry – form an interlocking sum that is infinitely greater than its parts, with each resulting song built in much the same way. ‘Courtyard,’ for example, dances along a robotic guitar riff laid over the frantic pulse of the rhythm section. Upon further listens, it’s apparent that CS wants you to discover hidden gems in the songwriting, even after a dozen spins. Hence the sci-fi effects buried in the right channel which add to the overall track’s (and EP’s) atmosphere. ‘Connected’ funnels Joy Division (and, yes, Interpol) through a maze of background synth that twinkles and squeaks. Finally, ‘No Friend of Mine’ plays upon the vocal hook mentality of early Who singles while throwing in a rave party bass line and to ensure a riotous groove. Because of this dense song structure, every track here is simply a winner no matter how many times you hear it.

This includes the lyrical content. As the title points out, all of the cuts here deal with the loss of love. ‘Lament’ discusses regret: “With pointed eyes and bated breath/ I wait for her, I wait for her.” By the end of the song, the mantra becomes not just about a girl but about life. ‘Courtyard’ seems to be the sequel to the story with Robson declaring, “You can never say this love was wrong.” The Loss appears to be a self-help EP, music all about telling yourself that everything will be OK. It’s almost as if Robson wants this one girl out of his head permanently. Or at the very least make peace with her being gone as he admits on ‘Connected,’ “I haven’t got an axe to grind/ Just a razor in my pocket, razor in my pocket/ Have myself to find,” and later concedes, “But I still open up ‘cause she’s so connected.”

Despite only having a single-length run time, The Loss EP is an exciting exercise in overcoming heartbreak. And while the lyrics can, at times, be a tad painful to endure, they are nonetheless poignant and, thus, demand attention. That said, the music isn’t mopey as the EP’s title (and lyrics) may imply. Instead, it’s – dare I say – uplifting in a way. In addition, it’s fun to play “spot the influence.’ I won’t ruin them all, as they are fun to stumble across for yourself, but included in the surprisingly long list are The Cure, U2, Editors, The Smashing Pumpkins and, curiously, The Prodigy. Whether you’re suffering through heartache or not, Club Smith are a band you must spend time with because, as the band itself put it last week, “we do a new take on miserable.”

Adam Donen – Immortality

Simon Tyers — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 14:00:46 +0000

Adam Donen doesn’t do things by halves. Having praised his first band Alexandria Quartet a year earlier, in 2008 TLOBF put the then Adam Donen and the Drought on at Ill Fit supporting Loney Dear off the back of their fire and brimstone part-orchestral dynamism As Our Parents Slowly Turn To Clay. As things tend to do in Donen’s world, they soon fell apart, at which he took up with the classical poets and away from lit-art-rock cliche.

On that last album, Donen took on the road broadly travelled by fellow poet turned songwriter Leonard Cohen. Making the political personal and vice versa with a cracked vocal and a similarly distorted worldview. Here vocal and acoustic guitar are very much central even as strings swell around it, lyrically an insistent unfolding, occasionally semi-cryptic spiel that passes the six minute threshold a couple of times. The title track is one such swirling epic. Elegant strings and woodwind curl around a break-up entanglement, Donen darkly speaking of “a thorn for your side” and “our hopes though all realised were never enough to escape from the cusp of the heaven we thought that we sought”. The other, ‘A Century Of Stone’, is the album’s lyrical epic, a contemplative view of the attempt to find a course in life and love and its plausible consequences.

If this, as some sources suggest, is a break-up album it’s one that attempts to find the middle ground between regret and remorse. Occasionally it’s confessional and the close miked recording indulging the listener in the guiltiest secrets, as on the memory and loss of ‘Fragment (I Had A Dream…)’. At other times, the reflecting quiet anger of ‘It’s Over Now’ seems directed at modern mores and manners with its suggestion of how “you can preside over the decline of a civilisation”. The music often follows suit, ‘Tomorrow’s Gone’ is shrouded in sumptuous arrangements around a strong melody underneath, the album’s most Dylanesque moment.

If it doesn’t sound like an easy, throwaway listen… well, it isn’t. True, it cloaks most of its big message for and about humanity in layers of metaphor and allusion, elliptical references and fragmentary phrasing, making more sense of earlier Coleridge comparisons. Yet it often comes with a spiritually informed belief that suggests a British, more literary and less post-rock howling contemporary to Josh T Pearson. Despite being all of a musical piece it’s never allowed to settle into an elegaic torpor. It may require the listener’s careful attention but only insomuch as it’s steeped in ideas. Swapping Donen’s previous hell for leather preacher’s instinct for something more classically attuned, as something that doesn’t take the listener for granted, it delivers in spades.

Mat Riviere – Follow Your Heart

Tom Whyman — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 12:00:23 +0000

I don’t know if you people have heard about this, but I will shortly be leaving TLOBF to go and work on my movie project. I wrote a script, and sent it to all the top Hollywood studios, and got accepted. Pretty easy, really. But then again everything’s easy when you’ve got a script this good. If I do say so myself. The project is called ‘Blister In The Sun’ and its about two best friends, who were brought up in a weird bunker-colony, and then one day get discharged and sent out into the regular world. Throughout all their lives, they have had their behaviour continually disrupted by sequences of open rebellion in which they smash a window or something in defiance of a long-overbearing authority figure, every time to the soundtrack of ‘Blister In The Sun’ by the Violent Femmes. This happens to them about every two minutes or so, and they consider it completely normal, because it happens to everyone around them. But then they get to this new school, and they realize that only they are subject to these continuous Violent Femmes-soundtracked sequences of rebellion. Anyway, it transpires that the bunker-colony they were living in was actually a secret base for a project by the US military to breed new stars for mainstream indie flicks. The soundtracked rebellion sequences are in fact genetically triggered. But the two main characters weren’t considered gawky enough, so they were discharged. Anyway they decide they have to make the sequences stop so they can fit into mainstream society, and resolve to assassinate Gordon Gano. Which they do, in fact to the soundtrack of ‘Blister In The Sun’ (hence the film’s title). But then two minutes later they get the same regular sequences again like they have every other day of their life and realize that killing has done nothing to help them. The End.

If Mat Riviere wrote a film script though, it would probably be nothing like this, because judging if this record is all we have to go by then he inhabits a gloomy, frightening, half-lit world where the only piece of music punctuating the action every two minutes is Ivor Tarsky’s ‘Riga Death Waltz in G’. A lean wolf of a man from Norwich who used to be in a band called ‘The Bells, The Bells’ and who always plays on the floor, often accompanied by the grisly siren-call of Grace from the Middle Ones, you certainly wouldn’t bet your apples on the other team when Mat is the room (I mean if the bet is who would make the best music). If Ian Curtis punched the guy from Casiotone for the Painfully alone in his doughy, bearded face, then Mat Riviere, if watching, would later be able to do a pretty convincing impression of the whole fiasco all by himself.

Highlights include: FYH, Pause, Castroreale, Take My Sums and Add Them, Evening Drive, Slugs and the Dust, Godless Girl, Curse These Eyes, The Give In, Out of 3, Lamplight, and Never Rest Again. Oh wait that’s the whole record. (this was a joke though because some of these songs are actually better than the others, only I’m going to let you play a fun game where you have to guess which ones I am referring to).

Click here to view the embedded video.

answers: FYH, Pause, Castroreale, Slugs And The Dust, The Give In

Noisia – Split The Atom

Rich E — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 10:00:22 +0000

For years Noisia have arguably been the D&B crowd’s weapon of choice. Since they have continued to gather momentum through the packed ranks of today’s producers, the Dutch trio have been putting their sticky fingers into other areas, from album production for shitty indie/electropop bands to remixing tracks by The Prodigy and Moby. Doing these remixes is certainly one way of getting noticed, but Noisia have been “noticed” for years, and it is about time that they put out their first full length titled Split The Atom.

Sometimes when artists release a lot of single releases over a period of time, whenever they get round to putting out a full length, it can sound almost like a compilation of “greatest hits”; but this doesn’t. There’s plenty of new material and enough diversity to edge them away from other D&B albums and firmly put themselves ahead of the game with other artists such as Breakage and Kryptic Minds. Album opener ‘Machine Gun’ is a definite example of how the ‘Noisia sound’ has changed over recent releases. It is mix of D&B and breakbeat, with their trademark snapping snares and heavily filtered and obnoxiously phrased synth sounds that flood your earholes and make you want to contort your face in such way that makes you look ridiculous – and not wholly different from the faces Noisia ‘pull’ on the album cover.

Hidden amongst the full length tracks are snippets of experimental electronic abuse. It’s as if these tracks are the leftover pastry cut off from other tasty tracks and then used again so not to waste anything that they have created. The “interim” tracks range from squelchy slabs of sub bass to glitchy electronic – for example on “whiskers”. It certainly bolsters the track numbers up – there are a whopping 19 on the album – but do not really serve much purpose.

Noisia have also cleverly released and divided the album into 2 x 12″ releases, with the more D&B orientated tracks on one release (Vision EP), and the electro/break tracks on the other (Division EP). The more electro side of things includes title track ‘Split The Atom’ – yep, that massive chunk of breakbeat from their FabricLive mix. In fact, there are a few tracks that have crept on this album from their Fabric release, such as ‘Diplodocus’, ‘Stigma’, and ‘Square Feet’. The D&B orientated 12″ is diverse considering its length. You have everything from ‘Brainstitch’ and ‘Facacde’ era tech-step on ‘Sunhammer’ and ‘Shellshock’ – the latter which verges on something that could be put out on Breakbeat Kaos, to Teebee style atmospherics on ‘Thursday’, and Photek induced minimalism on ‘Hand Gestures’.

But what separates Noisia from their counterparts is their distinct and what used to be highly sought after techniques in creating mesmeric sounding synth lines. Noisia have spilled the beans on their techniques a number of times, and their overall sounds haven’t changed too much, it is just that they are now embracing other areas and pushing other artists in different directions, which can only be a good thing.

Retribution Gospel Choir – 2

Erik Thompson — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 07:55:15 +0000

Alan Sparhawk joked recently about how he’s done things in reverse throughout his musical career, starting out hushed and quiet and gradually getting louder and more clamorous as he’s grown older. The last couple Low albums clearly attest to that (as does his work with the Black Eyed Snakes), but it seems that Sparhawk’s discordant underpinnings are fully realized on 2, the raucous and free-spirited new album from the Duluth three-piece Retribution Gospel Choir. It’s a cacophonous, stormy record that features far more retribution than gospel within its ten songs, and chugs along with an intensity and focus that Sparhawk always brings to his disparate projects.

The albums bursts out of the gate with the dynamic first single ‘Hide It Away,’ which is one of the more conventional songs Sparhawk has ever released, but also one of the most indelible. It’s a propulsive, forceful number that just grows in potency, and features a fiery guitar solo over aggressive, staccato drum fills.’Your Bird’ quickly builds on that momentum, echoing Queens Of The Stone Age a bit with the reverb-heavy stoniness of the crunchy guitar riff. The song explodes at the start, demanding the listeners full attention-if ‘Hide It Away’ didn’t capture it already. The songs on 2 all feature Sparhawk’s unhinged guitar work, but remain tethered to melody and order through the capable and steady rhythm section of drummer Eric Pollard and current Low bassist Steve Garrington, who have both really crystallized their own sound and style within the group.

The album beats with a relentless pace, and is over in a scant 34 minutes, but that by no means signifies a trifling listen, for 2 is a rather dense, wholly affecting work that continues an extensive creative peak for Sparhawk. He’s clearly enlivened and enjoying himself immensely on this album, and that exuberance shines through on every track. ‘Workin’ Hard’ could be an outtake from Boston’s debut album (believe me, that’s a compliment), and blends right into the sprawling tension of ‘Poor Man’s Daughter,’ which anchors the first half of the album in the same way that ‘Electric Guitar’ fortifies the second half. They both form sturdy, expansive bookends to the record which allows Sparhawk the freedom to explore his vigorous guitar sound, shrugging off his unruffled poise and coming completely unglued while losing himself entirely in the magic of the moment. The rest of the band drives on dutifully behind Sparhawk, providing the proper turbulent musical landscape for him to get lost in.

The production throughout the album is polished but never heavy-handed, giving the album a live feel while also providing enough sonic flourishes to surprise the listener. Especially on ‘Something’s Going To Break,’ which starts out like a roar from within a cave, with muted drums and heavily distorted lyrics, before eventually ‘breaking’ into the combustible full band sound over two-minutes into the song. It sets the mood well for the rush of ‘Electric Guitar’ which finds Sparhawk pouring every ounce of himself into the track, leaving nothing left to say except the sweet lullaby of ‘Bless Us All,’ which closes out the album in a sincere and stirring manner. With 2, Retribution Gospel Choir have coalesced into something stronger that just another Alan Sparhawk side project; they’ve forged their own way amidst the often cold desolation of Duluth, and crafted another captivating musical outlet to help people forget about the harsh northern winters and start thinking about the promise of heartier times.

Dark Dark Dark – Bright Bright Bright

Erik Thompson — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 12:00:14 +0000

Dark Dark Dark recorded their new EP Bright Bright Bright at a former church in Duluth, Minnesota, which imbues these songs with an ethereal quality that only intensifies their splendor. Not only do the rich acoustics of Sacred Heart Studios add to the natural, elegant sound of the band, but the venue also provided a relaxed environment that allowed the sextet to wholly give themselves up to the gorgeous majesty of their songs. Dark Dark Dark have really deepened their sound on this new EP, while also enlisting two new members in order to fully flesh out their musical ideas and strengthen their arrangements. The results are frequently quite stunning, and hopefully this release signifies that bigger things are in store for them with their impending full-length (which they are currently recording in Minneapolis). Whatever the future holds for the band, Bright Bright Bright is filled with confident, fully-developed songs that are at once intimate and expansive, and represent a group that is focused intently on exploring both the peaks and depths of their own inspiration.

The EP begins with the gentle, unhurried pace of the title track, with Nona Marie Invie’s breathy vocals gradually growing in intensity as the song swells amidst the pleasing strains of the piano and cello accompaniment. There are some similarities to the lilting ebullience of Beirut within Dark Dark Dark’s songs (especially with the brass, strings and accordion embellishments), but the tracks have an thoroughly original spirit and style to them that gives them a fresh, modern sound. But there is also a timeless aura to their music that wouldn’t seem out of place wafting out of the cafes of Montmartre, and that only adds to their appeal.

Marshall Lacount takes over lead vocals on the swinging ‘Make Time,’ which grows to a glorious crescendo with the whole group contributing to the uplifting chorus. Otherwise though, the vocals are all handled adeptly by Invie, especially on the stunning ‘Something For Myself,’ where her sonorous voice soars above the melancholy piano and transports both the song and the listener heavenward. It’s a truly phenomenal song, and is the crowning centerpiece of the EP. The piano-laden berceuse ‘Wild Goose Chase’ closes out the all-too-brief album strongly, leaving me blown away and clearly wanting more. Thankfully a full-length is coming soon, so the ever-growing number of Dark Dark Dark fans won’t have to wait too long to hear more from this proficient and deeply affecting band.

Broken Bells – Broken Bells

Euan Mackay — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 10:00:00 +0000

Finally! Finally! Finally! After a torturous six months of drip feeding coded messages and unadulterated hype, the debut release from Broken Bells has arrived. Broken Bells are, of course, the chalk and cheese collaboration of The Shins’ James Mercer and knob twiddler extraordinaire Danger Mouse.

This is a ”band’ that was always going to go one way or the other. There was never likely to be any middle of the road dross coming from this partnership. Having two talened individuals such as these locking themselves in a studio together with their experimental hats on, the outputs were always going to be utter drivel or absolute genius.

Kicking off proceedings with ‘The High Road’, the lead single for the record, things start on a positive note. You get a good feel of how the record is going to go. It’s slick, smooth sounding and perfectly endearing. Though there’s a lot more going on under the surface than is perhaps apparent on first spin. Mercer’s vocals are unmistakable and as alluring as ever, but there’s something a little more full-sounding to this than many of his previous efforts. The depth comes in the form of the subtle beats and bleeps supplied by the hands of his partner in crime. It’s rounded off with a chorus that’s catchy enough to win over even the most sceptical.

‘Your Head is On Fire’ has some super-sweet harmonies that owe more than a tip of the aforementioned experimental hat to the Beach Boys’ best bits before the track moves subtly into the best bits of Mercer’s previous work. There are the obligatory overlaid electro beats, but really it’s the sound of strings that really makes this tune. They wash over you in waves. Providing a perfectly soothing and mellow feel (I don’t want to call it a chill-out vibe, but it’s not for off that, if a little less cliched). This has the soundtrack of a summer comedown nailed.

If, there were any lingering concerns that Broken Bells was just The Shins with some (Broken) bells on, then Ghost Inside, The should kill these off stone dead. This is one of the clear highlights of this record and one where Danger Mouse leads the show. Mercer’s vocal begins almost unrecognisable, transformed into a digital falsetto and is accompanied throughout by yet more trademark ‘Mouse loops and hooks.

Then there’s ‘Sailing to Nowhere’ where again there is more than a hint of the ‘Mouse at work. This time his stamp comes in the shape of the various samples that float about in the background adding a little extra to the track. The string-laden orchestral outro gives an almost epic Hollywood ending to the song.

‘Mongrel Heart’ sees the band take on a more electro-pop/rock sound, but panic not, this is no pastiche 80s-esque nonsense. It comprises a fuzzy bass riff which really drives the track along. It builds to a crescendo halfway through, where we are bizzarely led into a sombre, scratchy flamenco interlude before the bass returns to breath life back into song. It sounds ridiculous written down, but give it a try. It works a lot better on the ears.

All in all this is a pretty excellent record that shows strength in its depth throughout. It’s one of those few and far between albums that works as an out and out album. In an industry leaning increasingly towards the singles market it is quite refreshing to have something that works so well as a complete package. These Broken Bells don’t sound so broken to me.

Freelance Whales – Weathervanes

Danny Wadeson — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 08:30:10 +0000

Freelance Whales are the kind of band that set blogs and twitter on fire and the tongues of your friends furiously wagging. It’s taken them two years since getting together to unleash a debut LP and, if you dig their style in any way whatsoever, you’ll swiftly conclude that it was time well spent crafting a series of songs that mostly sound like old favourites, even on first listen.

To say nothing of the lush arrangements and beautifully worked textures thanks to an amalgam of glock, synths, harmonium, banjo (and less obviously cello and whatever a JP-8000 Waterphone is), Weathervanes just feels so familiar somehow; for better or for worse. Such instantly accessible, hook-laden pop will frustrate those hoping for a deep, slow-burning epic that rewards serious aural study, but such is the quality of the aforementioned instrumentation that Freelance Whales have come tantalizingly close to being both easy to learn and satisfyingly hard to master.

Indeed, second track ‘Hannah’ features such a doe-eyed, charming verse melody and a surging, warming chorus that is almost hard to imagine it bearing up to repeated listening for fear of sweetness overdose. The lyrics too, and vocal delivery are strictly low-profile, somewhat nonsensical twee (‘Every now and then she offers me a lemon now or later’ or ‘If I need to take a breath then you can take a trumpet solo’) but for the most part are evocative enough to avoid being throwaway.

Still, if you can stomach the saccharine content and the softly-softly approach to troubled slow songs there is a depth and an assuredness to their songwriting rarely found in similar genre contemporaries. Unfortunately it is in the slower, more contemplative songs (‘Broken Horse’, ‘Ghosting’, ‘We Could Be Friends’) that Freelance Whales can be accused of recycling a few tricks and a particular upwards inflection at the end of the vocal melody lines. It’s hardly a damning indictment but then it does rob a large swathe of the latter half of the album of the impact of the first.

Fortunately the final two tracks (‘Generator ^ Second Floor’ and ‘The Great Estates’) round off this debut on a more positive note; the former track increasingly layered and mesmeric, the closing song subtle and possessed of some truly gorgeous harmonies. More than anything it’s a poor choice of song-sequence, and essentially leaves the album dangerously close to feeling top loaded.

It is unclear then whether it is to Freelance Whales’ credit that they can fairly accurately summed up as a fusion of The Postal Service, Hellogoodbye and Sufjan Steven’s banjo. Theirs isn’t a particularly progressive sound but this means close to nothing in the face of such an impressive drawing together of their influences. Weathervanes contains some seriously memorable and intelligent pop gems, some that are merely adequate and some a little sub-par; despite having such an awful name, the forecast for Freelance Whales‘ debut and most certainly their future efforts is a very sunny one indeed.

The Boy Who Trapped The Sun – Home EP

Sam Shepherd — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 12:00:26 +0000

Having left his native Isle of Lewis to head towards London in order to make it as a singer songwriter, it is perhaps not entirely unsurprising that the title of Colin Macleod’s second EP is Home.

One man and an acoustic guitar can at times be a pretty uninspiring proposition, but it turns out that Macleod is something a little bit special. Kicking things off with the title track he introduces himself with a nifty guitar flourish before settling down into a wonderfully laid back groove supplied by some almost apathetic drums and a languid bass that slides along underneath it all with an almost funky lollop. Despite the fact that come the chorus it’s all you can do not to join in with a quick excerpt of coal mining ditty “Sixteen Tons”, this is a fine piece of song writing that sums up Macleod’s feelings about his relocation and that the city in which he currently resides is not a home. Despite the introspective nature of the lyrics, it’s actually quite an incessant upbeat little number and one that quickly attains earworm status on account of Macleod’s warm and tender vocals.

In the Dark strips things back to a simple guitar line and a plaintive vocal from Macleod which explores the nature of fear and his self doubt. There’s some nice imagery here, albeit in a fairly simplistic childlike manner. You get the feeling if only he’d turned his nightlight on when he wrote it, it would have been a much more positive song.

“Happiness exists when it shared” states Macleod on ‘The Fox’ a song which shows off his vocal dexterity and the emotional side of his writing. The piano melody that augments his guitar is simple but possesses a lovely melody which follows the vocal and adds a tinge of sadness to the song. For some reason he seems to be singing about Supertramp on the chorus, which rather affects the emotional tone, but so much as to render the whole thing ridiculous.

The nonsense of ‘Lying To Get on Your Good Side’ is a fun distraction. It feels out of place here, although it does suggest that if there was ever a Tom Lehrer covers album by The Boy Who Trapped The Sun, it would probably turn out to be pretty good.

‘Change The Clocks’ wraps things up in the style of a gentle lament. Out of all the material here, it’s the one that most obviously owes a debt to Macleod’s folk leanings. There’s a distinct Nick Drake edge to it, and it is undeniably a very pretty little song, but coming straight after the oddness of ‘Lying to Get On Your Good Side’, it feels a little out of place.

Home lacks a little focus at times, but there is little doubt that Colin Macleod is a genuine talent, and before long the regret he feels about leaving Home to head for the city will be a distant memory.

Archie Bronson Outfit – Coconut

Simon Tyers — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 10:00:48 +0000

Not that two thirds of the band’s raucously jagged 2007 side project Pyramids wasn’t enough of a clue that they were about to take things in a less conservative direction, but it was Archie Bronson Outfit’s set at End Of The Road last year which served notice that this third album wasn’t exactly going to refine and bland out their blues-laced attack despite the advertising cash Domino put into Derdang Derdang. Put simply, it was thunderous. The riffs were even more ear blistering than their already full-on sets, while someone behind some sort of console made 8-bit effects over the top. The encore could be heard from right across the other side of the site.

That voluminous experience informs third album Coconut insomuch as the intensity remains but is comprehensively fuzzed up, freaked out and roided to the gills. If James Murphy’s DFA sideman Tim Goldsworthy was charged with bringing the psychedelic freakshow somehow down to earth he only really manages it by anchoring it down to danceable structures in place, almost making it a second cousin removed to the Fall circa This Nation’s Saving Grace. The machine-like opener ‘Magnetic Warrior’ might not automatically get Mark E Smith rushing to note “notebooks out, plagiarists”, as he did on the sleeve of the Fall’s Shift-Work in 1991, but he’d surely recognise the quasi-stoned groove harking back to his own band’s experiments in northern Krautrock. Here the undulating rhythm is attached to a desperately howling Sam Windett appeal to “don’t let yourself fall apart” and a monstrously fuzzy repetitive riff interrupted only by a squalling solo that heads towards prime Hawkwind territory. ‘Shark’s Tooth’ adds the death disco element, finding a hook and battering it into submission with discordant noise as bassist Dorian Hobday does his best Peter Hook. ‘Hoola’ would be mistaken for the post-punk class of 2005 were it not for the maniac tension in Windett’s vocal and the constant sense that everything is about to totally take off.

And they do get to really take off into vitriolic flight on occasion. While whoever publishes Clinic’s work might like to have a listen to the closing ‘Run Gospel Singer’ with relation to ‘C.Q.’, they might also feel a slab of envy at ‘Wild Strawberries’, built on repeated riffs, distorted vocals that simultaneously recall Ade Blackburn’s gnomic vocalising and takes it several stages further and overdriven garagey thrash at the end of which it seems it’s just a race to see who blinks first. Especially coming after ‘Chunk’, seemingly an exercise in finding their inner Nile Rodgers, ‘You Have A Right To A Mountain Life/One Up On Yourself’ proceeds to send things right off the psychedelic hook into plain cachophony, full of melody-free no wave skronking and ripped apart soloing in the midst of which Windett seems to be attempting a muezzin.

Not unreasonably, the band take things down a gear after that, or at least as much as they feel they can. Surrounded by encroaching electronic noise and driven by Mark Cleveland’s relentless motorik drumming it may be, but ‘Bite It And Believe It’ is actually quite melancholic, a deceptively simple melody – after all that’s gone before, is he really singing “the sun lies in your eyes”? – doing its best not to be pulled apart. ‘Hunt You Down’ would almost be an electrified back porch lament, something in there almost resembling an electric banjo, were the lyrical sentiments not chilling for their quiet menace.

That seems odd in isolation, actually, as for the most part what Coconut is about is a very loud menace, taking their previous blues-rock howl, strong as that already was, and supercharging it until it bursts into discordant glory. You’d almost describe the addition of the danceable element and becalmed melody-heavy tracks near the end as their polishing themselves up were it not for that such elements are rent asunder by the sheer bloody minded power of the fuzztone assault of Windett’s guitar against the rhythm section’s churning Kraut-disco inventiveness. You can trace the lineage back to Los Angeles psych-rock, The Monks’ proto-punk staccato or a garage rock take on late 60s “happenings” at various points, but right now it merely sounds like Archie Bronson Outfit taking a great leap forward into the claustrophobic greatness they’d always only previously poked at.

Barn Burner – Bangers

John Skibeat — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 07:55:12 +0000

Montreal’s Barn Burner are just one of a growing rag-tag of 70s-worshipping rockers that seem to live only for the riff. At their very core are guitarists who love nothing more than to hack great, pulsating wedges of fuzz out of amps that are permanently rammed up to eleven. Digging into their archive of promo photos, one unfocussed shot tells us all we need to know – it’s of the band posing as a ragtag bunch of party-hard tramps with their dishevelled leader proffering a sign that reads “Will riff for food”.

You’ve got to love this band. Metal Blade obviously do. They’ve snapped them up and made a worldwide release of this, their debut album. Originally appearing last year on Montreal indie label, New Romance For Kids Records, it’s been boosted by the addition of three new tracks and has had a bit of a spit and polish applied to it. Adrian Popovich (Tricky Woo, Priestess, The Dears) is the man at the helm and he’s helped to hone a sound that borrows heavily from the present as well as the past.

Having already toured Canada with the likes of Priestess, Bison B.C. and Lords, it’s no surprise to find that the band dig their heels into each track, in very much the way that Bison B.C., The Sword and, indeed, Fu Manchu are want to do, grinding out repetitive patterns whilst gently cranking up the output to a final crescendo. And yet to suggest they fit neatly into such a simple template would be lackadaisical. Opener ‘Holy Smokes’, for instance, is without doubt influenced by the characteristic melodic arpeggios of Iron Maiden (even the title itself is surely a reference to Maiden’s own ‘Holy Smoke’), then ‘Half-Past Haggard’ (one of those extra tracks) recalls the riff from QOTSA’s ‘You Think I Ain’t Worth A Dollar…’, and tracks like ‘Fast Women’ and ‘Wizard Island’ conjure up the bluesy majesty of bands like Wolfmother and Thin Lizzy.

Kevin Keegan (no, not that one) sings such glorious lines as “For better, for worse / nice day for a fucking curse / I wrote these rules when I broke these rules” and “Don’t call for help ‘cos they’re already doomed / Don’t look ‘cos there’s blood on your hands, blood on your hands / And it’s not of your own, it’s everyone’s” in an angst-ridden, throaty vocal mixture of Andrew Stockdale (Wolfmother) and Robert Plant (Led Zeppelin). It energises the music, gurgling along above the crunchy murk of the guitar overdrive and bass vibration.

With such a tasty combination it’s easy to revel in the lumbering, blissed-out groove of ‘Beer Today, Bong Tomorrow’, the Jack n’ Coke rock n’ roll of ‘Tremors’ or the dangerously unstable rollercoaster ride of ‘Brohemoth’, but the one reason to buy into this seedy party is for the deranged, fist-throwing brute that is ‘Medium Rare’. What a way to announce your arrival.

Joanna Newsom – Have One On Me

Matt Poacher — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 07:55:09 +0000

There seems to me a critical space between the perception of Joanna Newsom and the actuality of what she produces, a space broad enough – and one that allows for such a huge sense of slippage – that all sorts of odd descriptions get bunged at her: musical genius, bourgeois fantasist, cutesy nonsense maker. It’s a space created by her image (self-cultivated or not), her precocity, and her style: that delivery that to many appears affected, worn. It’s also created by her talent – that thing you can’t fake. Yet it’s almost as if you have to earn the right to be accepted as odd and supernaturally talented – to be spoken of in the same breath as Joni Mitchell or Kate Bush – as if the contract is based on a system of trust. Well, Have One On Me isn’t exactly going to close that space any, as it’s as wildly ambitious and flighty as Ys and self-obsessed enough to convince the doubters. But having lived with it for a while now, it’s evidence enough for me that there’s enough going on here for a whole damn career, let alone a triple album.

Have One On Me covers six sides of vinyl and has a running time of just over two hours. Gone are the baroque, and at times invasive and sickly flourishes of Van Dyke Parks that featured on Ys, to be replaced by series of simple arrangements and augmentations from her long time sidekick and Ys Street Band Member Ryan Francsconi. Strings do feature regularly on the album, but take their place amongst an array of instruments including a Bulgarian tambura, a Gambian kora, harpsichord and trombone. There is also a good deal of piano, and of course Newsom’s signature polymetric solo harp compositions. And in many respects, it’s actually a fairly simple premise – the arrangements as vehicles for Newsom’s explorations of the themes she has worried at across her work to date: love and being unable to love, metamorphosis and transformation, and a simple urge to metaphorise her own solipsistic journey. (And let’s be clear, Newsom’s method is solipsistic; and despite the strange creatures she weaves into her songs – which at times reach a pitch worthy of Angela Carter – you sense this is all a form of Romantic self-exploration). Yet there is always an unorthodoxy about Newsom’s creations, a non-linear sense of narration and structure that gives the songs room to develop organically and on their own terms.

Though all this does beg the question of how Newsom writes, what her method is and how the songs come to be in their final form. On Ys, however embellished the actual process was, there was the sense of completion, that Newsom had obeyed some larger calling. Have One On Me doesn’t have that same sense of completion, at least not in the immediate sense. She has spoken of how she wanted it be in the vein of the Laurel Canyon singer/songwriter albums of the early 1970s, full of that vaguely melancholic sun-dazed lope (hence the opening track, ‘Easy’ which, incidentally, with its haunted air and Robert Kirby strings is anything but easy) but instead the album became about unease (un-Ys?), the song forms and lyrical content betraying the superficial levity of the early tracks. Inevitably then, you’re drawn to examine the life, looking for clues as to why the lyrics dwell so heavily on her – or her characters’ inability – to feel, or at least to project their feelings outwards: ‘But I am still a coward…But sometimes I can almost feel the power’ from ‘In California’; ‘Honey, just open your heart/when I’ve got trouble/even opening a honey jar’ from ‘Good Intentions Paving Company’; ‘I’m telling you I can love you again/love you again’ from ‘Jackrabbits’ – and though there is often recourse to nature imagery and a kind of default recourse to anthropomorphic transformations, the themes are stark to behold. Real or fantasy, this is in many senses a fairly naked album.

That nakedness is evident in the changes in her voice, too. During the early stages of recording, Newsom developed nodes on her vocal chords and went through a period of enforced silence. A significant part of the healing process involved Newsom relearning how to sing, relearning the shape and timbre of her voice. Consequently her voice seems softer – more soulful even – and generally more adaptable to the arc and pitch of the songs. There are the odd shrill stabs, like the ‘cuckoos’ in ‘In California’ (where she sounds at her most Kate Bush-like), but overall there’s less glass in her voice somehow, it seems less likely to crack into shards. Paradoxically, there’s probably something to be said for this new found control making it easier to hide away, to shrink into the fabric of her fabulations, but you can also sense this new depth and subtlety to her voice will take her far.

And you do have to wonder how far Newsom can go. There was a feeling that Ys, with all its dramatic sweep and thematic ambition, was some kind of logical endpoint, that this thing had been taken as far as it could go. Yet, in the true passion of vaudeville, here she comes back at us, band in tow, dressed like a flapper in all that Lola Montez finery, filling that critical space with all the whirls and feints of her talent. It’s like she recognised she was at a juncture and ran with it. Gone is the whispery intimacy of the Albini production to be replaced by something broader, more rolling. Time will tell if this has the staying power it promises; and if, in its sprawling form, it can achieve the same sense of solidity that Ys seems to possess – and indeed if any of these songs will come to occupy the same sainted space as ‘Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie’ from The Milk-Eyed Mender or the jaw-dropping perfection of ‘Sawdust and Diamonds’. But from this short distance, there are so many exquisite moments – that ecstatic Nabokovian pitch of the lyrics (always room for one more detail), that bluesy refrain in ‘Good Intentions Paving Company’, the ‘bump on a bump on a log’ from the same song (the whole damn thing is a revelation), the way she turns ‘Esme’ so beautifully into a 3 syllable trill, ‘Soft As Chalk’s’ Carole King-like mid section, ‘Kingfisher’s lament of ‘It is too short/the day we are born/we commence with our dying’ – so damn many, that really, you just have to stand and boggle.

Sambassadeur – European

Joseph Knowles — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 14:00:24 +0000

Suppose that it’s a clear summer day somewhere in Northern Europe. You’re leaning over the deck of a Baltic ferry, enjoying the first T-shirt weather in months and a little time off work. It’s a good day for staring at the sea, maybe sipping a splash or two of booze cruise rosé. Did I mention you’ve also just been dumped? But what the hell. It feels good to be alone. You’re not even sure where this boat is going, come to think of it. It doesn’t matter. You start wondering how the ups and downs of life have led to things, just now, being so right.

That’s about the best I can do to describe European, the breezy, mature third album by Gothenburg’s civilised indie pop quartet Sambassadeur. With the cool, detached voice of Anna Persson leading the way, the group continue to refine the charmed (and charming) indie pop of their self-recorded debut, the signature single ‘Kate,’ and fine follow-up LP Migration. European is made with considerably more studio resources than its predecessors, but it’s less a big push forward than a confidently grand distillation of what’s worked so far for this band. The sun-kissed piano and lush strings of album opener ‘Stranded’, for example, are wisely careful not to stray toward bombast—a frequent trap bands fall into when suddenly given a bit of a recording budget—allowing louder, more Spectorian tracks that come later (‘Days’ and ‘Sandy Dunes’ in particular) to flower in full widescreen grandeur. While Persson sings ‘loneliness is something you’re accustomed to’, melancholic isolation scarcely sounded so fabulously dynamic.

The album’s quieter middle, however, is where Sambassadeur really shine. ‘Forward Is All’ bubbles and builds with drums and strings to something like the clearest statement yet of a complicated view of romance as futile but unavoidable, and so all the better to carry on: “Love takes your life/Whether you win or lose”. Such sunny fatalism invites comparisons to Abba, and on ‘Albatross,’ the band take the comparison a step further and echo the melody of ‘The Winner Takes It All’ while Persson recounts, “I was happier alone/cut my hair just like a boy…” Surprisingly, the album concludes with a reinvention of Tobin Sprout’s ‘Small Parade’ that somehow seems like a natural coda, of a piece with the finely wrought chamber pop aesthetic developed over the course of the previous eight tracks.

Sambassadeur have raised the bar for indie pop in 2010.

mp3:> Sambassadeur: “Days”

Two Door Cinema Club – Tourist History

Emily Sergent — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 12:00:07 +0000

It would be easy to write off this album at first listen. And many probably will. Why? Because it’s another 10-track album filled with 3-minute tracks of cutesy indie-pop. Does it deserve a second chance though?

Well, first up, Two Door Cinema Club have had a fair amount of hype surrounding them over the past year and this album has actually been quite a long time coming. Plus, they are on the very respectable label Kitsuné Music, and as a general rule of thumb, anything from them deserves a listen.

The first thing that springs to mind is that every song sounds like it could be by a million other bands. You know those tracks that pop up on your iPod every now and then when it’s on shuffle; and you play that little game with yourself where you refrain from sneaking a peek at the screen in the hope that you can figure out who it is? Or maybe that’s just me… Well, anyways, all of the songs on this record could give you hours of entertainment in that sense.

Hmm, not a great start, but not a total write off just yet. A few more listens, and it’s quite easy to fall victim to involuntary toe-tapping and possibly a bit of chair dancing (if listening whilst seated). Opening track ‘Cigarettes In The Theatre’ pretty much sets the scene in this vain. Abundant with jangly guitars, chirpy vocals and a very upbeat rhythm, if you like this opening track you’re basically going to love this album. Hate it, and you should probably give up right away.

The danceable indie-theme continues with the happy-clap-strewn ‘Come Back Home’, followed by the guitar-driven electro-pop of ‘Do You Want It All’. It’s all good, clean, cheery fun.

‘Something Good Can Work’ – the one you’re most likely to have heard before – is up there in the ‘stand out track’ category, purely for the fact that it’s so god damn catchy. Joining that would have to be ‘I Can Talk’ – which could be a blue-print for the perfect indie-pop track (but where have I heard that uh-oh-uh-uh-oh before?!).

With ‘Undercover Martyn’ we’re treated to more jittery guitars and sing-along moments. It’s an undoubtedly familiar sound, but at the end of the day, you kind of know what you’re going to get and in that sense, the record will tick a lot of boxes for a lot of people. Basically, 4-5 years ago this album would have been considered exciting, now, it’s probably verging on ‘safe’.

I’m torn on how to conclude: on the one hand it’s nothing new, but on the other, they’ve done good with a tried and tested formula (plus it’s really hard to be critical of tunes this catchy!). Coming in at just over 30 minutes in length though, you could probably afford to risk giving at go either way.

Liars – Sisterworld

Danny Wadeson — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 10:00:18 +0000

Liars’ latest full-length opens somewhat portentously. ‘Scissor’ is a simmering opener, broiling with visceral inevitability; a fitting announcement of their return to the fray. But, does the rest of Sisterworld continue Liars proud tradition of innovation within their own parameters?

The answer, predictably isn’t simple. Liars’ latest is less pointedly abrasive in many ways than their previous efforts, but still manages to differentiate itself. Stylistically it’s closest to 2006’s Drum’s Not Dead but feels sparser, more languorous, more knowing.

By the time you have recovered from ‘Scissor’, you’ll be pretty much dropped straight into third track ‘Here Comes All The People’. It begins with a single, surf-gone-bad guitar line before breaking into whispers, a haunting melody and ponderous, menacing beats. ‘Drip’ continues this theme but it’s not until the following ‘Scarecrows On A Killer Slant’ that we see the true payoff – a belligerent, crazed, compelling slab of distorted noise.

These dynamics may not surprise Liars familiars but it’s a tight formula, and one overlaid this time around with a new sense of focus. Also novel is the direction latter tracks such as ‘Goodnight, Everything’, ‘Too Much, Too Much’ take, as though Liars are trying their hand at shoegaze. The former opens with melodic strings and refrains from introducing the beats for a good minute fifty, and then softly. The latter track especially shores up Angus’ ambling chants with an almost twinkling guitar line, a cello motif and a gentle swirl of synths to close out the album. In the context of the album it’s a totally effective tonal shift.

Liars succeed in once again bridging the gap between their previous sound and a subtle new direction, this time perhaps with more of a gleam in their eye than a wry smile. It’s not the consummate Liars record, but then Liars have always thrived on being underrated and on the periphery, free to grinding along new tracks without ever jumping the shark. This is one of those records that seems especially important in the context of the band’s history, but nevertheless stands up to scrutiny on its own merits.

Buy the album on Amazon | iTunes

Shout Out Louds – Work

Mathew Parri Thomas — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 07:55:05 +0000

Stockholm’s Shout Out Louds are back with Work, the follow up to 2007’s Our Ill Wills. The first thing that strikes on listening to their latest is that in the three years since the release of its predecessor the band have matured. The high energy, jangly guitar pop that characterised large parts of the band’s first two albums has this time been replaced with a more measured and tempered edge. The Shout Out Louds signature sound is still here — Adam Olenius’ characteristic vocal, the lackadaisical female harmonies, the hooky guitars and synths — but this time everything is treated with a slick production. This is no surprise when you read that, for this record, the band have been working with Phil Ek, whose recent portfolio includes Fleet Foxes’ debut, Band of Horses’ Cease to Begin and The Shins’ Wincing the Night Away.

Opening with ‘1999’, Work hits the ground running. It’s all driving bass lines, stabbing piano chords and catchy guitar riffs. ‘Fall Hard’ follows suit with a shimmering guitar line and beds of warm, throwback synths before the whole thing launches into a quietly confident chorus of call and answer. This is a big single.

After these two stone-cold classics the album settles into a more laid back affair which, if used to the band’s usual M.O. of upbeat indie-pop, could upset fans of old. ‘Play The Game’ slowly builds out of almost whispered vocals and melancholy strings before everything finally lifts for the final minute. ‘Candle Burned Out’ shimmers on rolling drums and a sparse, palm-muted guitar line before, again, we’re treated to a big finish. Phil Ek’s trademark production has helped the band evolve into something which is more akin with the “dream-pop” of Beach House or jj.

That said, the likes of ‘Throwing Stones’, ‘Walls’ and ‘Show Me Something New’ still tick the boxes when it comes to upbeat, dance-floor fillers. Their inclusion on the album not only serves to add variety but also gives the record a sound of a band in transition; we’re treated to both the Shout Out Louds of old and new in almost equal measures.

While the lack of immediacy we’ve come to expect from Shout Out Louds may worry some, Work is a record where the band sounds at their most comfortable. After multiple listens, the instantly gratifying singles are over-shadowed by their more mature, more considered company. If 2009 was the year that the expertly crafted guitar/synth pop of Phoenix broke to the masses the surely 2010 deserves to be Shout Out Loud’s year.

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