New York Telephone Conversation...

Drop It Like It's Hot...

2011-11-07T05:17:00.000-08:00

In the aftermath of a fire, it is always the embers which burn the hottest. Amidst scenes of great desolation, tiny fragments of that which raged relentlessly still remain.

This is Embers in a nutshell.

Formerly Lost Knives, minus their previous drummer and adapting a whole new direction, Embers early offerings are raw and ultimately, relentless.

The lineage of Manchester's music is well documented, and it's often cited that in Manchester, bleak is best. "It's grim up North" they say. Whoever 'they' are. This is what Manchester does best, it's not here to hold your hand, to tell you "everything's going to be alright."

The city itself has never had the glitz of London, or The Beatles, yet it carries on. Raging. Brooding. 'Days Turn Into Weeks' embodies this and threatens to be as vast and poignant as the material being released by The Horrors at the moment.

Dark, gothic and simmering away behind closed doors, Embers is a project that shows great potential. Keep your ear to the ground for the inevitable live bombardment as they aim to right the wrongs that came before them, and burn anew.

Hatchets Buried, 'Originals' at the Ready

2011-10-18T08:59:00.001-07:00

You’ll have to forgive me on this one. I know I’ve been prone to hyperbole in the past, and sometimes it’s unjustified. However, with something as cathartic and raw as music, it’s a natural response.

It’s very easy to get all wrapped up in the feelings of “what might be?” with the announcement of a new album from your favourite band, or the prospect of a tour, or the latent, post-foetal glow of “the best gig ever.”

Like I say, it is not giddy, it is what it is.

2011 has, again, been ‘The Year of the Reformation’, with indie demi-gods The Strokes and Britpop mastodon’s Pulp leading the way.

That was until around 4pm today, for 18/10/2011 will go down as a day in British music history as the day The Stone Roses finally decided to build bridges, and announce a new album and two comeback shows at Manchester’s Heaton Park. Both of which will be a prefix to a planned world tour.

Now I’m sure the pessimists and those who steer clear of ‘Madchester’ and all it’s nostalgia will together, groan collectively at the sight and sound of Manchester’s ‘Old Guard’ rearing their demonic, cocaine battered heads, but you know what? Fuck ‘em.

I have my doubts, yes. Brown’s always been questionable live, Mani could barely stand up during Primal Scream’s set at Glasto he was that battered and I’m not looking forward to the painful six minute instrumental ‘Foz’. In fact, I hope they swerve a fair bit of ‘Second Coming’, although I’d imagine that album’s prominence in the pending set-list was probably a clause in John Squire’s contract.

Seriously though, despite the negative tones of the above paragraph, does it all really matter? It’s ‘The Roses’. They, along with others, gave voice to a disgruntled Manchester, down trodden by the political and economical holocaust that beset the country under Thatcher’s rule.

Brown, Squire, Mani and Reni had people dancing in an environment when only bleakness seemed to prevail. Their timing, given the current mood and state of the country, is apt and probably no coincidence.

There’s nothing wrong with harking back to a time and scene that’s happened over 20 years ago, nothing wrong with it at all. Like they say, you can’t know where you’re going until you know where you’ve been. Chances are some pen pushers are going to claim this is a setback for all the creativity and excitement that has burst out of England recently. For me though, The Roses pushed British music forward about 30 years anyway, so when you add it up, we’re still a decade ahead of the curve. So fret not.

I don’t care if they were before my time, or even that I will never truly experience the mood and variables that helped the band become who they were. That’s irrelevant. I have my own connection with the band, my own memories of how I felt when they came on in a club. My own imitation of Ian Brown’s swagger whenever ‘I Wanna Be Adored’ played in 42nd Street, when I was an 18 year old little muppet acting hard because of vodka and red bull.

It’s our turn now and whether non-conformists like it or not, these gigs are going to happen. Well, providing Brown and Squire can stay mates for eight months.

So, to the naysayers I say this, go and trawl Youtube looking for piss poor vocal performances by Brown. Laugh at Squire’s egotism on ‘Second Coming’, or Mani’s white outfit at Benicassim 2011. Ask “who is John Reni anyway?”

And whilst you’re all sat in your room, I’m going to go down to Heaton Park with 75,000 other folk, sing every song at the top of my voice and have the time of my life.

That is if I manage to get a ticket.

70 today

2011-05-24T05:19:00.000-07:00

They don't make 'em like they used to.

Mash It Up...

2011-04-20T03:15:00.000-07:00

Nice little skim through some great songs from over the years. Hats off to the folk at 6Music.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/podcasts/series/joyof6

The Comeback Kid...

2011-04-10T05:03:00.000-07:00

Agent Provocateurs, there's a quite a few of them on God's green. People that incite debate, anger, frustration and a whole host of other emotions. Harry from The Only Way Is Essex, Jessie J, and Lucifer's own emissary of heated debate, Gary Neville. Individuals such as these are loved by some, reviled by others. Except for Jessie J, she's just a dick.

However, none of them lot hold a candle to Kanye West. The Chicago native incites all kinds of palavar, and every so often, downright encourages controversy. Sometimes it's humorous, "George Bush doesn't care about Black people", for example. In other cases, it leaves a sour taste in one's mouth. His hissy fit during the EMAs after he lost out to Justice in the Best Video category for instance. Ahhhhhhhh, you all thought I was going to harp on about poor Taylor Swift. Suckers.

"Yeezy's" taken a few hard hits of late, none moreso than his Mother's untimely death. Obama labelling him a "jackass", probably didn't help his Jupiter sized ego neither. Jay Leno more or less broke him when after his bumrushing of Taylor Swift, the chat show stalwart asked King Kanye how his mother would of reacted to the Hennessy fuelled sabotage?

Let's have it right, he's been a bit hit and miss since the stellar College Dropout, showing occasional flashes of brilliance with songs like 'Flashing Lights', 'We Major' and 'Crack Music'. Yet nothing has really floored you like 'All Falls Down', 'Never Let Me Down' and ultimately, the amazing 'Through The Wire'.

Kanye's always been a feller with an ear for a sample and often hilarious turns of phrase. Yet he seemed to lose his way a little with 808s and Heartbreaks, an ode to a stormy break-up with on off missus Amber Rose and his Mother's passing.

The haters thought they'd had their moment of triumph, writing Kanye's obituaries and celebrating the demise of the biggest selfdom in Hip-Hop since LL Cool J. Mistake. The worst error with an adversary, is to consider them unecessary. This will build a resentment in said foe, who, if they have anything about them, will turn that resentment into drive and use it as fuel to fuck you up.

Enter My Dark Twisted Fantasy.

It's an epic album, his biggest project yet. The music geeks over at Pitchfork drew similarities to Michael Jackson in relation to the scope of it all. They weren't wrong, really. Every song on the album is a haymaker, and it's difficult to really single out a favourite without getting in a twist. It's like trying to name your favourite character in The Wire (today it's Bunk, yesterday it was Body).

It's safe to say, Kanye is back. In the past two or three years, Wayne, T.I. and Big Boi have raised the bar that Kanye himself challenged them to equal with his hole-in-one first LP. Things appear to have come full circle as the Chicago rapper returns to the summit of rap with his fifth opus.

However, it'll all be irrelevant once the good doctor returns with Detox.

Until then, enjoy the video to 'All of The Lights'. And no, I haven't decided to post this one because Rihanna's side boob is draped all over it. Ahem.

Ta-ta for now.

Music For The Sunshine...

2011-03-25T05:37:00.000-07:00

Still don't think there's a better song to listen to when it's sunny.

One of the greatest social commentators music has ever been lucky enough to bare witness too.

Take care Joe.

2011-03-14T05:50:00.000-07:00

Visit this:

http://www.pulppeople.com/

Then watch this:

Then do this:

...

They're coming.

Erm...YES!?

2011-03-14T02:32:00.000-07:00

They're back. Actually back. Back for good. No silly, not Take That, The Strokes.

Yesterday I was watching Alexa Chung's new Gonzo (side note: mighty improvement on Zane Lowe) and the video for their new single 'Under Cover of Darkness' was on and for me this is where it sank in.

Seeing them assembled together in an official capacity, watching Casablancas look effortlessly cool in the video, this was The Strokes.

Yes, he's separate from the band for the most the video, and his wardrobe differs slightly making the band look like an ensemble session piece and Julian the solo musician. There's a point to all that though isn't there?

All the politics behind the third album, Albert Hammond Jnr. wanting to pitch in with the writing and Casablancas' subsequent rebuttal of his material leading Albert to pen two solo LPs. Frankly, neither First Impressions of Earth nor Yours to Keep were blinders, so to listen to 'UCoD' is a relief. Simply because it is.

Watching the video, listening to the lyrics, you'd hope the band have worked through their differences and will come back with Angles and remind everybody why, at one point, they were the best band going. There are still a couple of niggles though, one being not once do any of the band even look at Julian during the video, let alone make eye contact with him. Artistic direction or festering resentment? Who knows?

These things matter, with a band like The Strokes. To me anyway. In 2001 when Is This It was released, I was 15 and heavily into artists like Tupac and Biggie, so I didn't think an album with guitars would interest me. Incorrect. It provided a platform, shaping my tastes and preferences without me really noticing it. It crept up on me. To like this band meant something; I'd never witnessed a vested interest in music like this. I could relate to these guys. Well, I could relate to them, more so than I could a Black Panther activist who'd been shot five times.

Unfortunately, the band did lose their way a little. Casablancas did become a little too cool, which in turn seemed to exasperate the other band members. The 3rd album sounded discombobulated and strained.

From what I've heard of the new album so far, the band appears ready to be mates again. 'UCoD' is the flagship song of this reunion and that is no coincidence, seeing as it was penned by the band as a whole. Hopefully, The Strokes will take their past scrapes and use them to strengthen and rebuild a bond that gave us a truly classic album in Is This It.

"I'll wait for you,” sings Casablancas on 'UCoD', “will you wait for me too?”

All parties involved appear ready to do so now, which is comforting. As a collective, we want our band back. I don't think that's too much to ask is it? We have waited long enough.

(Editors Note: Fabrizio Moretti drumming in the video? Or Shia LeBeouf?)

Odd Future T.V. Debut...

2011-02-23T06:12:00.000-08:00

Heads are going apeshit for Tyler, The Creator at the minute. His 2010 debut solo album Radical put people onto him, with Pitchfork Media claiming it was the 32nd best album of 2010. The video for new single 'Yonkers' has people going mental on the interweb, and may spell the end for the "are they aren't they joking" guys from Die Antwoord.

Give them a listen, they're pretty good. By "pretty good" I mean they're brilliant.

Ta-ta for now.

New Beginnings...

2011-02-23T03:39:00.000-08:00

What with all the revolutionary goings on of late, I too felt it time to incite change. Granted, I'm nowhere near as brave as the students and protestors of Egypt, Libya and Bahrain, no sir. I exist within the world I was dealt, so my big change is going to begin with this blog. Starting frommmmmmm, now.

So, New York Telephone Conversation is going to become somtething more of, well, believe it or not; a conversation. Dun dun duhhhhhh.

This week, I have two topics of discussion; Gruff Rhys' lovely new album Hotel Shampoo and the aforementioned trouble in Libya. 'Citing.

Right then, onto the Welsh Wizard. No, not Ryan Giggs, the other one, our boy Gruff. The fantastically quirky 40 year old recently released his 3rd solo album, Hotel Shampoo.

All of his idiosyncrasies are prevalent on the album, which for his fans, is great. Gruff has always been, in the nicest possible way, pretty unapologetic about his output. He makes music for himself, pure and simple. Which means, above all the genius and eccentricity, he always comes across as sounding more content and happy with his work than any other artist I can think of really.

Gruff being weird

For people who've never really given Gruff, Neon Neon or Super Furry Animals (his other bands) a listen, Hotel Shampoo is probably a good place to start. It's easy to listen to, and the weirdness tends to serve the album as a whole rather than standing out too much and taking attention away from the ensemble.

Baring in mind ensembles and standing out and serving the bigger picture, I shall move on to Libya; a place which is so far removed from it's own contentness it seems like a nice polar comparison to Gruff and his Power Rangers helmet.

To say it's kicking off over in Libya is an understatement. Colonel Gaddafi himself has fled, supposedly to Venezuela.

A nice safe place...ahem policetooafraidtopatrolthestreetsanduserobotsinstead cough cough.

In his absence, Gaddafi's son Saif has blamed Libyans who live abroad for the current unrest in the country. Nothing to do with the fact that for 40 years, Saif's father has ruled Libya with an iron fist then? Or maybe the fact that the country has been involved in several high profile acts of terrorism? Including the Lockerbie bombing and the suspected shooting of police officer Yvonne Fletcher? Constable Fletcher was policing an anti-Gaddafi protest outside the Libyan embassy in London, and was thought to have been killed by a burst of machine gun fire that came from inside the embassy building.

Personally, I think it's high time the "Mad Dog of the Middle East" (quote Ronald Reagan) and his litter were held accountable for all their past discrepancies. The Colonel's son Hannibal has been running round Europe like a loose cannon for the best part of a decade. The wild pup has used diplomatic immunity to escape from such high jinx as attacking three French policeman who had the bare faced cheek to pull him over for drunkenly speeding the wrong way down the Champes Elysses.

In fact, the only country who took a stance against the aptly named sprog's maraudings across the continent was Switzerland. Hannibal and his wife were held in a cell for two nights after accusations of assault, backed up by injuries, from a couple staying at the same hotel. Did the good Colonel give his son a bollocking and teach him a lesson? Did he heck, he placed a block on oil to Switzerland, banned Swiss products such as Nestle from Libya and had two travelling Swiss businessman arrested on unfounded chrages of visa irregularities and tax evasion. As of November 2010, these two unfortunate souls are now each serving 16 month prison sentences.

No, I commend the people of Libya for finally saying enough is enough and bringing Gadaffi to rights. For too long, the Saddam's, the Gadaffi's and the Mubarak's of this world have been able ot get away, literally, with murder. For too long, people opposed to these regimes, people who have voiced their opinions, have had their voices snatched away from them. So, "hats off," I say.

Ta-ta for now.

Nuits Sonores, J'Taime

2010-08-28T04:19:00.000-07:00

When asked to reel off a list of festivals on mainland Europe, one tends to think of ‘EXIT’, ‘Sonar’, ‘Rock AM Ring’ and the accursed “Brits on tour” offering, ‘Benicassim’.

The more curious fellow will take pride in listing Gothenburg’s ‘Way out West’ or ‘Hove’ in Norway. You’d be hard pressed to hear somebody mention ‘Nuits Sonores’ though.

The electro festival is located in Lyon, France. It’s organised by Arty Farty and has been running since 2002 and has gradually welcomed more and more dance orientated limbs through its gates with each passing year.

In order to entice the gathered throngs, this years line-up boasted the likes of Simian Mobile Disco, Vitalic, Busy P, UNKLE, 2ManyDJs, Gang of Four, Uffie, Lindstrom & Christabelle, Laurent Garnier, The Go! Team, Ivan Smagghe, Booka Shade, Liars, Jesse Rose and The Juan Maclean.

An impressive roll call indeed.

Perhaps even more impressive is the set-up and layout of the festival. For four days, the city becomes one big festival site, with nine electro stages located all over the shop offering up all kinds of opportunities for attendees to dance and get up to mischief.

Lyon is literally your oyster.

One highlight was during a daytime party. Situated in what was no more than a ginnel sandwiched between two apartment blocks, revellers were treated to a live M.C., several DJ’s, alcohol and food. One of the DJ’s had a revelation and dropped ‘54-46 Was My Number’ and the little square turned into a right angle of reverie.

The main kicks are to be had within the festival’s main site. Honourable mention goes to Laurent Garnier and Uffie; however the weekend’s plaudits are reserved for Busy P and 2ManyDJs.

Busy’s energetic to-ing and fro-ing during his set caused a frenzy amongst the small numbers that came with the sole intention of “…their tits off” (insert whichever verb you feel is relevant).

The former Daft Punk manager raised false hope when he began to throw what appeared to be money into the crowd. Disappointed grabbers were met with pieces of paper instead. The dejection turned to elation when A-Trak’s remix of ‘Heads Will Roll’ was catapulted out of the speakers.

The mantle of ‘Best Fucking Set’ is saved for 2ManyDJs. Shelving their mainstream set for Warehouse Project and Sankeys, the Dewaele brothers proceeded to melt the purist’s faces with heavy electro. For three fucking hours!

Poignant moments included the effervescent ‘Flat Beat’, the teasing intro to ‘A Milli’ by Lil’ Wayne and the unavoidable elephant in the room, which came in the form of their remix of ‘Kids’.

A humorous scene involved a case of crossed wires. During the opening moments of ‘Rock The Casbah’ by The Clash, one confused reveller was to be heard shouting “IT’S WILLENIUM!”

So, for those of you who want to attend a festival where good music and a friendly atmosphere isn’t tainted by annoying “rah on a gap yah” types or loutish indie fans then Nuits Sonores is definitely the place for you. Lyon, J’Taime.

Bitches 'Aint Shit

2010-08-28T04:17:00.000-07:00

Rappers on The Pyramid Stage, ey? Two years ago Michael Eavis’ decision to name Jay-Z as a headliner brought with it a barrage of criticism, fronted by Manchester’s favourite hook nosed boff head Noel Gallagher.

So it is, two years later, another rapper is set to bring the gang signs to Worthy Farm. Enter stage right; Snoop Dogg. This time round, thanks in part to Jay-Z successfully bossing The Pyramid, there is no uproar amongst the festival goers. Granted he’s not a headliner.

In fact, the only real concern was whether ‘The Doggfather of Rap’ would be allowed to enter the country. “It’s been a while since I been here,” grins the lanky rapper, right before set opener ‘The Next Episode’ bowls in.

The stage is hammered, yet each attendee makes enough space to bounce both arms up and down like Snoop’s favourite Chevrolet Impala ’64.

Radio favourites like ‘Signs’ are present, but it’s the early 90’s classics like ‘Bitch Please’ and ‘Gin & Juice’ that bring out the ‘old’ Snoop. The swagger is still there, it always has been, but it’s a little less misogynistic than it used to be.

‘Beautiful’ is dedicated to “all the beautiful women”. There’s a lot more contentment and relaxation to the Snoop of today, a far cry from the man who has stood trial for murder. This might have something to do with copious inhalation of “some of that sticky icky”. His words, not mine.

Dizzee Rascal and Damon Albarn were in attendance at the side of the stage to watch the D O double G strut across The Pyramid as if he owned the place. The power stance, the pout, the slight tilt of the head, it all added to the general feeling that people were baring witness to something special.

The habitual dedication to Tupac Shakur is thrown in too, although not many people know the songs that Snoop is paying homage too.

Then Snoop shows a great deal of humility in performing ‘Pass Out’, bringing Tinie Tempah on to the stage.

Tempah brings an increase in pace to the set as he runs around frantically high fiving everybody in sight, probably counting his lucky stars that he has the good fortune to grace the main stage at Glastonbury with a bonafide legend like Snoop.

‘Drop It Like It’s Hot’ brings a chorus of “Snoooooops” from the crowd before ‘What’s My Name’ brings this amazing set to a close.

Snoop’s not finished there though. Before departing he asks three things of Glastonbury; 1.) The first thing it has to do in morning? “Brush yo teef!” 2.) Promote peace and love. 3.) “SMOKE WEED EVERY DAY!”

A wave of laughter engulfs Snoop as he exits, the smoothest man anybody is likely to see all weekend. He isn’t the only one to exit, as the throngs of crowds depart leaving what seems to be half the number of people to watch festival main stays Vampire Weekend.

Such is the draw of the rake like rapper. A festival highlight if ever there was one.

Bun Your Cheap Talk

2010-08-28T04:15:00.000-07:00

It is common knowledge that when it comes to Glastonbury, Michael Eavis is King. The Lord of the Manor. Yet, as with every kingdom, a court jester is required. At Glastonbury 2010, this was none other than the infamous Dappy, poster child of N-Dubz.

After being cajoled into making the journey to witness this modern ghetto spin on stand-up comedy, I found my opinions to be wavering. Whilst I still have no time for their actual music I respect them; in a way.

There are still certain occurrences I do not care for, with one in particular still leaving a bad taste in my mouth. In January of this year, Radio 1 listener and mother Chloe Moody text in to the Chris Moyles show, branding Dappy “vile” and a “little boy with a silly hat”.

His reaction was despicable and well documented. For this I have no time. The man has purposefully placed himself in the eye of the public, and with that recognition there is the old adage of “opinions being like arseholes, everybody has one”.

Despite his eventual apology, this reaction exhibits a distinct lack of class on Dappy’s part. For that reason, I can never hold my hands up and say “you know what? I actually like N-Dubz”.

Therein lays the irony. My refusal to fully embrace them will always be hindered by their attitudes, yet it is their attitude that earns my curiosity. Their music will never be endearing to me because it isn’t really my cup of tea. It is their sheer force of will that affords them my acknowledgement.

They simply won’t go away.

The first time I bore witness to their eventual juggernaut was on ‘Channel U’. Most of the music videos on the channel were low budget and nearly all of them were utter tripe.

Yet there was this trio whose videos continually stood out to me. Of course you know who I’m on about. The reason for that was this snarling little mutt that was more pug in a cute hat than pit bull in a harness.

There were obvious ‘bigger dogs’ on the channel, but like bigger dogs in real life, their bark scared the shit out of you and you’d want nothing more to do with them after that.

It’s the little annoying dogs in life that tend to have staying power. Whilst they peck head, a mere shove and they’re out of your consciousness. Yet you can bet your bottom dollar that they’ll come back.

This is how it is with N-Dubz. You change the channel and they’re gone. Yet after a few months and determination on their part, you change the channel and they’re on the next one. Then the next one. And so on, and so on. Until that horrific day when after you change the channel you find yourself going “Na na niiiiii.”
Society always loves a good success story. From ‘rags to riches’ and all that. It’s all the more poignant when that story is tied to a hint of tragedy too. Three years ago Dappy found his father Byron dead on the couch in their family home. He was also female band member Tulisa’s uncle.

Byron, or ‘Uncle B’, was a former bassist for band Mungo Jerry and had fought tirelessly to help the band achieve their dream of success. Two years after his death N-Dubz achieved their chart topping single with Tinchy Stryder’s ‘Number 1’.

With this dedicated drive behind them the band has gone from strength to strength. Dappy has tidied up his ham-fisted vocals, whilst still managing to retain the lethargic delivery.

Adidas have come sniffing and they’re currently the focal point of a Channel 4 series “Being…N-Dubz”. It’s nothing short of remarkable.

The naysayers can point to the fact that were grime not the current flavour of the week, thanks to more talented and inventive artists such as Wiley and Skepta, then N-Dubz wouldn’t have a pot to piss in.

Yet sometimes, it’s not about being the best, it’s about having the hindsight to see something big coming. To strategically place yourself in a position to reap the benefits. There is nothing wrong with wanting to succeed in life, so that life in itself is more comfortable.

Watching them at Glastonbury, I did feel a degree of shame. More so because I raised the average age by about eight years, Looking around you could see people laughing, pretending to take it all as a joke, feeling as though they were too ‘cool’ to genuinely like or respect N-Dubz.

I understand these feelings, but ultimately, they’re bullshit. If the people were too cool to watch them, then why be there in the first place? I’m not about to stand here and proclaim the trio to be the saviour of British music. Yet, with all the costume changes and stage production, they are interesting to watch. It’s car crash music.

They’ve worked hard to be where they are, which is refreshing. In an industry filled with bell ends like Pete Doherty who have God given talent yet proceed to piss it all away; a success story lined with hard graft is much needed.

Better Off Dead?

2010-05-23T05:49:00.000-07:00

This might sound grim, but some musicians just sound better dead. Especially if that artist is Jeff Buckley. I don’t think I’m alone in saying that his material took on a whole new level of spiritual potency following his death.

Don’t get me wrong, I subscribed to the opinion that Buckley was epically important to music before he was prematurely snatched from the mortal coil. It’s just that in death he has taken on something wholly more potent.

His music shifted from being moving to spiritual.

The obvious aesthetics are there. His voice was haunting whichever way you looked at it. Now it’s ghostly.

‘Hallelujah’ has been done to, excuse the pun, death. However, of all the versions, Buckley’s is far and away the best. This is coming from a guy who bloody loves Leonard Cohen.

Everything about it just makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention. From the refrained, almost broken guitars to the painful, world weary sigh at the beginning. It’ll take more than The O.C. to ruin a song like that.

There are few artists that can truly cause you to question your own tangibility. When one does, you cherish it.

Whilst I shant be as fickle to suggest his death defined him, it definitely did a great deal to add to the mystique. There are several stories circulating; stories of alcohol, stories of substance abuse, stories of suicide and stories of accidents.

Personally, I think it was an accident. The man had gone to great lengths to protect and nurture the integrity of his music. Lengths too great to waste. Why, when on the verge of releasing his 2nd album, would he simply choose to end it all? I know the mind works in mysterious ways, but so do rivers and their under currents.

The stories though, merely act as coping mechanisms. In the same way the conspiracies about John Lennon’s shooting and the circumstances surrounding Kurt Cobain’s suicide.

Buckley is an artist that inspires passionate, vehement mothering instincts in his fans. From his boyish appearance to his often frail voice, it seems the stories about his death are merely a way for his fans to protect his legacy as much as enhance it.

Songs like ‘Lover You Should’ve Come Over’ become posthumous juggernauts that transport the listener away from their surroundings and take them to a special place. I bet there are a few people that have cried at that one.

The lyric “Looking out the door I see rain fall upon the funeral mourners/Parading in a wake of sad relations as their shoes fill up with water” is haunting, and taking everything into account, fucking blows my tiny little mind.
When I think of Buckley, I do think of spiritualism. It’s a strange notion. I find Bob Dylan quite spiritual, but in a different way, simply because he’s still alive. The fact that Buckley is no longer with us means his music is often used as a tool of reflection.

I’m sat listening to him as I type this now, and I’m smiling. There’s something that’s comforting about his material. Despite all the tragedy that surrounds his life, it could have been worse. I shall leave you with this notion.

Jeff Buckley is not dead.

He lives on through those of us who still admire, love and respect his music. For me, that is just a calming train of thought.

Sugar plum pop...

2010-05-23T05:45:00.000-07:00

They like it simple, do She & Him. Just look at their band name. Then take a look at the titles of their two albums, Volume One and the imaginatively titled Volume Two. The transparency of the name, the album titles, all of it, is embedded in their songs too.

Zooey Deschanel – the She of the duo – pipes and chimes her way through songs about falling in love, falling out of love and all the accoutrement that comes with liking that boy.

M. Ward, or Him if you prefer, brings to the table trite production skills and a keen sense of what it is that best suits Deschanel’s lyrical content and vocal prowess.

It’s a tag team performance that worked rather well on Volume One and there’s no surprise to see it at work again with Volume Two.

‘Thieves’ is the 1st song and demonstrates Deschanel’s maturing as a song writer. Its bare bones stuff that shuns the hokey delivery she adopted on Volume One. It’s a great way to start things off.

Another instance in which this LP differs from the first is the fact that M. Ward actually sings solo parts on this album. The first time we see this is on ‘Ridin’ In My Car (NRBQ)’. The song is pretty much She & Him to a tee, offering listeners an idealised American folk/pop hybrid. Ward’s guitars are particularly strong on this one.

In fact, Ward may have just about outshined Deschanel on Volume Two. Bold statements indeed. The arrangements and production on the album have been fine tuned and help to make the LP a delightful listen. It’s good music to do the spring cleaning to, if you catch my drift? If not, listen to ‘Lingering Still’ and you will.

It’s actually quite difficult to dislike the album. It’s not going to be everybody’s cup of tea, but most of the naysayers criticisms are actually the albums strengths. Yes, its sugar plum pop and the influence of Deschanel’s Hollywood ties are their in abundance.

Her performance like delivery and picture perfect lyrical content don’t particularly exist in the real world, but since when has there been a problem with escapism? In the grand scheme of things, there are bigger issues to worry about. So let’s just leave She & Him to exist in their own little pocket. They’re not doing any harm.

If Not For You...

2010-03-20T11:47:00.001-07:00

There are many musicians, both male and female, that I’d consider “heroes”, or “heroines”. Artists like Johnny Cash, Patty Smith, Janis Joplin, Pete Townsend and Neil Young to name but a few.

For me however, there is one who stands tall above the rest. That ladies and gents, is Bob Dylan. So it is I am tasked with an attempt to sum up just how and why this man is a hero of music.

Therein lays the problem.

How do I, a person with his own opinions and feelings, hypothesise on what it is that makes Dylan a hero? It’s impossible. His music is so cathartic and personal that each listener takes something different and entirely unique from each of his wonderful songs.

And so I come to the conclusion that Bob Dylan isn’t a hero to a collective group of individuals, he is merely a hero to the individual. It just so happens that literally millions of people the world over feel the same about him.

That is the beauty of Dylan. A song as potently beautiful as ‘Mr. Tambourine Man’ is to one person an ode from one man to his drug dealer; whereas to another it can be something as simple and pure as being the quintessential hippy anthem. It is a true gift to be able to write something that can possess a different interpretation each time it is read or heard.

Dylan wasn’t the first musician to take an active role in radicalism and revolution. He won’t be the last either. In fact, he was reluctant at first to even be considered as a figurehead for civil momentum. He did however; use his rapidly rising notoriety to highlight many of the things wrong with the world.

He didn’t just place the proverbial spotlight on activism; he gave it the momentum of a freight train, turned the spotlight into a headlight and sent it careering towards the people’s consciousness.

Songs like ‘Blowin’ In The Wind’ weren’t stirring in the conventional sense; they weren’t a call to arms. Dylan was just 21 when he wrote the song, yet its maturity and message resonate so strong you’d be mistaken for thinking he wrote it yesterday.

It was this obvious maturity that caused the hippy movement of the 60’s to place so much faith in Dylan. His wisdom and astuteness instilled confidence in others. The fact that he was a reluctant leader only made him more endearing.

Dylan’s longevity is remarkable and the shelf life of his songs is almost unrivalled. The majority of his most potent material was recorded during a time of monumental unrest in America. The Civil Rights movement was in full force and Anti-Vietnam sentiment raged across the country.

Yet for music that was so blatantly aimed at certain events, the message still translates today. The majority of Dylan’s songs could easily be used to sum up sentiments about Afghanistan or the ridiculousness in which the Bush administration handled the dire situation faced by residents of New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina.

For me personally, Dylan is just special.

His songs are so caustic, so emotive, so personal, so catchy and so brilliant that even the dreaded greatest hits compilations are a joy to listen to as they band together all his obvious classics, sending you on a personal rollercoaster that covers every aspect of the emotional spectrum.

He can make you dance on ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’. He can make you telephone your loved one with ‘If Not For You’. He makes it OK to be a bastard on ‘It Aint Me Babe’. He makes you chuckle with ‘Tombstone Blues’. He makes you want to rebel with ‘Maggies Farm’. He can make you feel like you can do anything, simply by holding himself up as an example.

The man even makes it respectable to do a fucking Christmas album!

They say you should never meet your heroes, but, if I could have an audience with Bob Dylan I’d find it hard to complain. To be able to sit there and listen to all his stories and have him play 'Mr. Tambourine Man' just for me. Ah, I’d die a happy man.

Hunter S. Thompson used to use Dylan’s music as ‘fuel’ when he was writing. That’s exactly what it is; fuel. Fuel for change, fuel for activism, fuel for the brain and most importantly; fuel for the soul.

Øye Øye!

2010-03-20T11:43:00.000-07:00

Whitest Boy Alive
04/12/09 @ La Cigale, Paris

Whitest Boy Alive are one of those rare acts who completely embrace the philosophy “less is more”.

In the past two years they have only performed live 12 times, leaving their growing legions of fans parched of the opportunity to witness them personally.

Hence, the anticipation outside La Cigale is tangible.

Distraught individuals rush to and fro, trying to purchase spare tickets from the opportunistic touts. The lucky chosen few queue with grins and the occasional drone of somebody humming the bass intro to ‘Keep A Secret’ can be heard over the din.

La Cigale is an exquisitely intimate venue. It’s the perfect combination of opulence and chic, with a balcony for seating that overlooks the main floor area and the slightly raised stage. There aren’t any bums on chairs though once the gig commences.

The aforementioned humming strikes up again, this time emanating from the cool as fuck bass of Marcin Oz. A warm applause begins to blanket La Cigale as Erlend Øye questions his gathered admirers.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Honestly? No,” is the reply.

So great is the affection that Whitest Boy Alive’s fans have for the band that it’s difficult for them to stop chunnering on about just how good they are.

The band proceeded to gracefully swagger through their already cult back-catalogue, causing beautifully adorned Parisians to dance and sway to the likes of ‘Golden Cage’, ‘High On The Heels’ and ‘1517’.

The habitual cover version is included, with Erlend and co this time choosing to give Armand Van Helden’s ‘U Don’t Know Me’ their unique treatment, bringing familial smiles from the crowd.

During ‘Courage’, one lucky attendee manages to make it onto the stage. Unshakeably cool, Whitest Boy Alive continue to play whilst this euphoric individual struts his stuff, probably experiencing the most epic moment of his life. It’s even capped off with a stage dive cum crowd surf.

All the while the rest of the audience, without provocation, claps along in unison to the beat. That’s how cool Parisians are. They don’t just clap along aimlessly to a song like some Stella toting yob would at The Apollo, they keep with the beat; all 1,300 who’re in attendance at the gig. It’s remarkable.

‘Don’t Give Up’ is a touching song on wax but in concert it is given even more acumen and ends up coming off as quite inspirational.

‘Above You’ sounds amazing, with the R2-D2 like synth actually being played live as opposed to being reconstructed by some infernal contraption.

The set closes on ‘Island’, exhibiting the habitual WBA showmanship. During the build up to the song’s crescendo, Øye and them completely freeze where they’re stood, whilst the feedback from his guitar slices through the audience.

The “whoops” and clapping rise fiercely to counter the feedback and after what seems like an age, the band launch right into the shape inducing finish to the song.

The lights go down and the appreciation goes up. Paris and her natives are notoriously difficult to please, yet I think a pasty, humble Norwegian and his friends have left a sweet taste in the mouths of those in attendance. One only hopes that the frantic fans who were pursuing tickets outside managed to get their mitts on one.

They've Got It Covered...

2010-03-20T11:41:00.000-07:00

The xx @ Manchester Academy 2
06/03/10

The Academy 2 is sold out. That’s not entirely rare. What is rare is that unlike the attention seeking Mumford & Sons, The xx chose to keep it intimate rather than upgrade to the morbidly large Academy 1.

Keeping with the shy vibe, a white sheet shields the stage from prying eyes and as the lights go down it becomes apparent as to why it’s there.

The opening chords from Romy Madley-Croft’s guitar are accompanied by her shadow which is cast onto the sheet as a result of the lights behind it. As the other two members lick off their contributions, so to their shadows appear.

The roar from the crowd is intense and goes completely against the hushed appreciation that blanketed the band during their last Manchester outing at The Deaf Institute.

That performance was never going to be mimicked and it was always going to be a natural progression for a band whose music was always destined for bigger things.

Despite the upgrade in size the songs still bring a gentle, happy sway from those in attendance.

If anything, they are appreciated more as Jamie Smith’s shin shaking rumblings on songs like ‘Fantasy’ drown out the hyena chatter from the habitual bint who “heard them on Radio 1 just this week”.

‘Shelter’ brings a different kind of rumbling to the table, as the gentle murmur from the crowd’s sing-a-long accompanies Oliver Sim’s bass after its brief hiatus during the aforementioned ‘Fantasy’.

The band’s excellent eye for a cover song is in force again with Kyla’s ‘Do You Mind’ and Womack & Womack’s ‘Teardrops’ being given the treatment. The latter’s guitars are more reserved live than the studio version. There’s no need for flair here as Croft’s talent and introspective demeanour shines through.

‘VCR’ brings with it the familial chimes of appreciation that walk in hand in hand with a current single.

The verbal and instrumental sparring on ‘Basic Space’ both retain the distant familiarity that Sims and Croft seem to excel in. Before it gets to “nicey nice” Smith’s contraptions bowl in and wipe the floor with them both; leaving Croft’s guitars to whimper to fade.

A refrained menace lurks throughout ‘Infinity’ and rears it seismic horns as Smith grins demonically in the background.

Not to be outdone, Sims drops his bass and proceeds to smash the bejeezus out of the percussion cymbal. His hulking frame flashes black and white in the epileptic lighting, making for a striking visual.

This display of showmanship and focus on the visual as well as the musical negates the worry that The xx’s sentimental music would be unable to translate to larger venues.

The words “stars” and “shine” in the same hook tend to evoke memories of when Chris Martin wasn’t a dilbert. Fortunately this time round, The xx show us that those words together can still resonate during ‘Stars’.

Smith’s apocalyptic vibrations bring a nervous quiet, with the crowd wondering if the bricks and mortar can withstand the onslaught. In fairness, they make Pompeii seem like a wet fart.

The gathered masses are left to their own devices as the band leave the stage to their remix of Florence & The Machine’s cover of ‘You’ve Got The Love’. The enraptured applause and hollering suggest the irony of the songs title may not be lost on them.

If It 'Aint Broke, Don't Fix It...

2010-03-20T11:39:00.000-07:00

Sophomore albums are always pivotal. You put out a bad 2nd offering and a slippy slope waits, with the cess pit at the bottom filled with acts like The Strokes and The Hives; bands that could have been contenders.

So it is that Vampire Weekend grimace with hope and pray that they avoid the slag heap of promising acts that never breached the cocooned success of their 1st offering.

Contra does not disappoint. It does however, polarize. For those who view Vampire Weekend with disdain, so too shall you dislike this album. It is completely unapologetic with its opener. ‘Horchata’ not only sounds identical to their 1st LP, it walks hand in hand with it, playfully giving the two fingered salute to the non-subscribers.

In fact it would be apt to label the two albums as siblings, with Contra simply wishing to unabashedly emulate its elder. Only, as is often the case, the younger sprog is more adventurous, learning from their kinfolk’s mistakes.

Gone are the nicey nicey guitars on songs like ‘Boston’, having been replaced with more experimental numbers such as the M.I.A. sampled ‘Diplomat’s Son’.

Rostam Batmanglij’s keyboards on ‘White Sky’ are sublimely accompanied by differing, intertwining percussion from Chris Tomson. With his vocals, Ezra Koenig is seen to be embracing a cosy little penchant for Kate Bush.

‘Cousins’ doesn’t mince its nature as it announces itself as the LP’s attempts at recapturing the rip-roaring success of ‘A-Punk’.

Whilst there is nothing necessarily wrong with the song, it’s not really a shade on its predecessor. ‘A-Punk’ was such a behemoth of a club tune that the band may struggle to ever to better a song that, in its own intentions, was near perfection.

That being said, Tomson’s drums piss all over this song and are brilliant.

Koenig’s vocals on ‘Giving Up The Gun’ are softer than on the rest of the album, as he chimes “Your swords grown old and rusty/Burnt beneath the rising sun/It’s locked up like a trophy/Forgetting all the things it’s done.”

Ezra’s lyrics are greatly matured on Contra, with layered references to “Tokugawa smiles” demonstrating it’s not just Batmanglij and the rest of Vampire Weekend that are looking to mature.

The album closes on the delicate ‘I Think UR A Contra’, with Koenig lamenting “Never pick sides/Never choose between the two/But I just wanted you”.

Contra is an incredibly endearing album that serves to show Vampire Weekend as a band with depth and desire. In hindsight, their new found triteness fits them well.

A Familiar Voice In Unfamiliar Surroundings...

2010-03-20T11:36:00.000-07:00

“I was moved in with her, temporarily, just until things were patched,
‘Til this was patched and ‘til that was patched,
Until I became at 3,4,5,6,7,8, 9 and 10,
The patch that held Lily Scott,
Who held me and like them 4,
I became one more.”

These are some of the insights offered by the incomparable Gil Scott-Heron during ‘On Coming From A Broken Home (Part 1)’, the opening salvo from his new album I’m New Here.

It seems like a strange album title for a man so well versed as GSH. How can someone who has seen just about everything, be new to anything? Well the man has spent the worst part of the last ten years incarcerated for various drug charges.

During that period he has been virtually forgotten, aside from a brief appearance alongside Blackalicious and a respect laden shout out from LCD Soundsystem’s James Murphy on ‘Losing My Edge’.

So it is he sets out to address his woes and misdemeanours with I’m New Here.

“Being blessed is just not being able to float on air, I’m saying if you’ve gotta pay for things you’ve done wrong, I got a big bill coming, at the end of the day,” GSH laughs.

Songs like ‘Me and The Devil’ address his spells in prison and his drug addiction. The music is far from friendly as Scott-Heron attempts to tackle the issues head on, shirking nothing and apologizing for even less in his handling of the problems.

His brutal honesty is what makes him endearing, in the same way it did Johnny Cash. He doesn’t run from the issues that plague him, with ‘Running’ being the most direct example.

His mind is still as razor sharp as it was when he released the unfathomable Small Talk at 125th and Lennox in 1970, even if his voice is not. In fact, it’s this croaky, weathered version of his baritone delivery that really makes you believe what he’s saying.

“Turn around, turn around, turn around, and you may come full circle, and be new here, again” he laments, almost as if he is singing to himself in the mirror. The album is so cathartic. The audience is the proverbial priest and he is attending confession.

Further religious implications are evident on “Your Soul and Mine” as our sage host profess lyrical on the battle for a man’s soul. Again, it all appears to cut close to the bone.

‘New York is Killing Me’ sees GSH confess rather frankly that the city that never sleeps has a constrictor like hold on him, a hold that is detrimental to his health. “Bunch of doctors coming round, and New York was killing me, got to go back home and take it slow in Jackson, Tennessee,” stresses Scott-Heron.

The album closes by coming “full circle” with ‘On Coming From A Broken Home (Part 2)’, again with Kanye West’s ‘Flashing Lights’ – an obvious ode to old chipmunk cheeks’ sampling of GSH in the past – providing the backing track.

I’m New Here is obviously a very personal album, as are all GSH LP’s. This one deviates from the norm though in the sense that it addresses his personal problems, not his problem with the world he lives in but the problem with the world he has created for himself.

It’s a return to form for an artist who has been nothing but sorely missed over the years, not just for his output but also the input he has in other artists’ lives and opinions. Let’s face it, there would not really be Hip-Hop without GSH. The king is not dead, long live the king.

“My life has been guided by women,
But because of them,
I am a man,
God Bless you Momma,
And thank you.”

A Path of Pitfalls & Plaudits...

2009-10-19T12:06:00.000-07:00

Opinions; they’re like arseholes ey? Everyone has one and these days, everybody’s a critic. It has become increasingly important when making music, that a band or artist keep it fresh.

It used to be that music was a privilege whereas today it has become almost an expectation. It’s this saturation of the musical market that has forced bands to get up off their backsides and discover new ways to tickle their listener’s ear drums.

A change of direction is almost mandatory now. It used to be that there would be uproar over an artist changing their musical bearings. Recall if you will the brouhaha that surrounded Bob Dylan’s decision to switch from acoustic to electric at the Newport festival in ‘65?

The 50 year veteran alienated a large section of his fans, who felt he’d turned his back on the American Folk Revival he’d help to spearhead.

There’s a thin line between acclaim and scorn when shifting musical penchants. Invariably, you’re always going to have somebody who gets their knickers in a twist because they don’t agree with the path you’ve chosen to take as an artist.

There is a hatful of contemporary bands that have changed their musical penchants of late. Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Arctic Monkeys and Outkast have all wandered off the beaten track. However, I’m going to focus on The Horrors and Kings of Leon.

These two examples are instances of how to, in my opinion, both successfully and unsuccessfully wander a new path.

The Horrors first album, Strange House, was met with mixed reviews. Songs like ‘Count in Fives’ and ‘Sheena Is a Parasite’ were pretty decent, but on the whole the album was mediocre garage punk from a group of lads who seemed as though they were trying too hard.

So off went The Horrors, looking for that change in direction that would see them receive the adulation they always seemed intelligent and committed enough to achieve.

Ditching their garage punk roots as if they would give them HIV, they instead opted for a dark synth hugging juggernaut. The album sounded like the bastard love child of Joy Division and Human League, with Nick Cave’s heroin addiction thrown in as the feckless uncle of the whole sordid affair.

I recall being told I just had to listen to their single, Sea Within A Sea, and so it was with trepidation that I gave it a blast. I was blown away. It was eight minutes long, it was by The Horrors, the vocals sounded a bit too Ian Curtis-ey and by all accounts I should of hated it; but I loved it.

The formula was perfect and seemed to suit the band to a tee. Gone was the forced, laboured appeal of the first LP. It was replaced by a look and sound that demonstrated that love him or loathe him; Farris Badwan was born for this kind of thing.

Speaking of forcing something, allow me to move on to my next example of a change in direction. Some of you will cry “blasphemy,” some of you won’t; but at the end of the day I’ve grown to be incredibly disappointed with KoL’s 4th album.

For me, they could do no wrong. Youth & Young Manhood is still one of my favourite albums and whilst some said they’d “sold out” with 3rd LP Because of the Times, I believe now it may very well turn out to be their opus.

However, after moving past the original excitement that they had a new album out, I began to discover that my love affair with the band may very well be heading for an annulment.

“But they’re both the same, stadium fused albums,” I hear you cry.

Wrong. The success of Because of the Times lay in its musicianship, whereas the downfall of Only by the Night is that it seems to have disappeared altogether. Instead it has been replaced by an over reliance on Caleb’s goose bump inducing voice.

I just feel that OBTN sounds rushed and in some instances the production is what lets it down. For instance, when I hear ‘Notion’ or ‘Seventeen’ I don’t think “yeah mate” I think “hmmm, I wonder what’s on sale at ASDA this Christmas?”

KoL have always been this ornery bunch of Texans who enjoyed women, whiskey and weed. You always gained a sense of who they were on their albums and it was easy to connect with that. Now they seem more distanced than ever and that’s just bobbins. It really is.

I know eventually every band has to ‘grow up’ and that’s fine by me. Both The Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan have managed to do this whilst retaining the essence that made us love them in the first place.

In conclusion, I’m left pondering how exactly can an artist change direction, yet still stay faithful to what it was that endeared them to their fans in the first place? In the end I think the answer is simple. So long as they stay devoted to who they are, the rest will come naturally.

Keith Richards said “when I’m on-stage I don’t think, I feel.” That’s what music is, its instinct and it’s what you know. That’s how we’re able to connect with it. It’s a raw form of catharsis that is almost unrivalled and to listeners it’s obvious if it’s real or forced.

My my Mr. Wolf, what great potential you have...

2009-10-19T12:05:00.000-07:00

There’s something about folk music that just tantalizes people. What, exactly, is difficult to pinpoint. Maybe it’s because, when executed properly, it sounds lovely. Maybe it’s because it evokes memories of hippie protests and fonder times. Maybe it’s because Bob Dylan is that fucking good.

Whatever it is, the mere mention of a band being ‘folk’ is enough to peak people’s interest. It’s even better when they’re actually decent. So it is we come to Kurran and The Wolfnotes, even if their music isn’t exactly folk in its truest sense.

They’re a London based five-piece that make music that seems far too advanced for such a nubile band, and will soon stand alongside Rachel & The Unthanks, Johnny Flynn and Mumford & Sons as being responsible for reviving British Folk.

‘What A Bitch’ is their first single and it’s plain to see why. Of the three songs on their MySpace it encompasses the most genres and embraces that ‘indie’ sound more so than the other two; not that that is necessarily a bad thing. It has a great canter to it and is the kind of song that wouldn’t have been out of place on a Johnny Cash album.

However, whereas Cash’s voice was beautifully deep and macabre, Kurran’s is rather cherubic and lends an air of vulnerability to lyrics that can at times, be quite laddish and cocksure.

‘Your Four Limbs’ is a harmony driven acoustic treat that contains wistful lyrical delights such as “and how I long for your four limbs/and long to sleep amongst there bends.”

Despite the song sounding heartfelt it is quite clever and conniving in its make-up. With his soft vocals, just like The xx, Kurran manages to mask the notion that he’s basically just after getting his end away. The fact that he sounds vulnerable when doing so is a brilliant ruse and makes it all the more Machiavellian.

‘Better By The Minute’ is a clever ditty that, to be honest, Caleb Followill would love to write. Kurran demonstrates swagger and cockiness with lyrics like “there are still some songs that can stir your soul/and if I play one now then she takes me home/because with a tongue this sharp I don’t sleep alone.”

The band has a fantastic blend and they’ve certainly hit the proverbial nail on the head with what they’ve released on MySpace so far. They’re currently touring with Ex-Lovers at the minute so get off your backsides and have a gander yourself.

http://www.myspace.com/kurranandthewolfnotes

Beauty on wax...

2009-10-19T12:01:00.000-07:00

In life, there are many things that can be labelled as ‘beautiful’. Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia church, F. Scott’s The Great Gatsby and Natasha Khan all spring to mind.

Music is beautiful too, usually. 'Straight to Hell' by The Clash, 'Hurt' by Johnny Cash and 'It Aint Me Babe' by Bob Dylan are all songs I’d describe as “beautiful,” but in terms of contemporary offerings I’m hard pushed to be truly moved by a piece of music.

This is where The xx enter the fray, with their debut album ‘XX’ set to warm the hearts of listeners the world over. Singer Romy Madley Croft and bassist/co-vocalist Oliver Sim have known each other since nursery, which is touching in its own right.

Their close bond is as clear as Japanese rain when recounting the music they make. Songs like ‘VCR’ and ‘Heart Skipped a Beat’ are lovely little limericks that lighten even the blackest of pin sized hearts.

The xx are a foursome though, Baria Queshi is sublimely refrained on ‘Shelter’, with Jamie Smith’s production giving the song all the subtleties and nuances of a real life relationship that most other producers struggle to master.

The song is beautiful, simply beautiful. Madley-Croft is endearing to boot with her soft vocals asking her scorned lover “Maybe I had said/something that was wrong/can I make it better/with the lights turned on?”

Juvenile thinkers will assume she’s being a naughty lady, but there is something more wholesome about the statement when coming from Madley-Croft, as opposed to say, Lovefoxx.

Morrissey famously declared that “shyness is nice” and The xx are definitely subscribers to this philosophy. Unlike most writers who woefully scratch at the surface of honest intimacy and wishful lamentation, The xx simply say how they feel, yet they say it with a sincere sway that resonates with their listeners.

The album closes on ‘Stars’, with the pianos and Sim’s dulcet tones making Coldplay’s ‘Fix You’ sound more akin to ‘Raw Power’ by The Stooges in comparison. This is how reflective pop music should be done.

Almost sinfully though, their cover of Teardrops by Womack & Womack is not on the album. The guitars are masterfully at work on this one and I strongly recommend you search it out.

So, in a world of Baby P’s and pig germs, let’s be grateful for acts like The xx. They’re able to remind us that, when it wants to be, this existence can be rather lovely.

Teenage Kicks...

2009-08-10T05:14:00.000-07:00

It’s been almost 30 years since Ian Curtis echoed “Here are the young men/Well where have they been?”

As the air raid intro of ‘Hideaway’ rings out, it’s obvious that most of them are in the crowd for Mystery Jets’ performance for the Manchester International Festival.

The reason for that is because the gigs promoters – XOX & Same Teens – have decided to only open their doors for people aged 15-19.

This lovely little stroke of genius has seen Clint Boon declare this as “the most important night for Manchester music since The Sex Pistols played at the Free Trade Hall in 1976.” Bold words indeed.

The march of the teenagers is in full effect as the band segues into ‘Half in Love with Elizabeth’.

By the time the familiar beginnings of the aptly titled ‘Young Love’ begin to blanket a rapturous audience it’s obvious that with their 2nd LP, the Erol Alkan/Stephen Street produced Twenty One, they’ve earned a greater degree of exposure to a younger demographic.

It also portrays a band that is not afraid to take the necessary measures needed to move up to the next echelon of music.

Midway through the gig, the bass of Kai Fish stands tall as ‘Hand Me Down’ is introduced. However, by the end of the song any doubters who dared believe this Twickenham based foursome weren’t an ensemble piece are silenced.

The keyboards sound like something you’d hear from a B-movie take on ‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers’ and perfectly suite Blaine Harrison’s vocals.

Half way through the song William Rees rips into the audience with his guitar and it’s all capped off by some excellent showmanship from drummer Kapil Trivedi. The song is easily the highlight of the night and leaves the crowd breathless and reaching for the free bottles of water as the heat kicks up a notch.

‘Two Doors Down’ and ‘Behind the Bunhouse’ bring an end to the sweaty set, leaving the teenagers to seek their kicks in the form of fresh Mancunian air as they reflect on a unique gig that catered only for them.

3 1/2 out of 5

Bradford Cox Interview

2009-06-29T06:36:00.000-07:00

Deerhunter are an ambient punk band from Atlanta. Bradford Cox is the lead singer of aforementioned band. We decided to go down to Deaf Institute and interview the man before Deerhunter’s gig for Now Wave, y’know, because they make bitchin’ music and what not.

JG: Is it important to be able to lose yourself in something as emotionally raw as music?

BC: I think so. I think it would help probably to vent emotions that people tend to suppress, so I would say yes.

JG: Do you think music is a good platform for honesty?

BC: I would replace the word ‘honesty’ with cathartic. Sometimes there’s no truth or falsehood, it’s more just raw. Honesty tends to relate to translation, whereas catharsis is just like, explosions.

JG: In today’s industry what current recording artists do you think set a good example to both new bands and bands trying to carve a path?

BC: That’s a good question, let me think on it. Er, I don’t know. I have so many different ideas about that. Sometimes I’m really into independents then other times I understand the need for distribution and there are several bands that have challenged the conventional approaches to that sort of thing. I don’t know that there’s a single band that I would say have laid the path for me.

JG: What is it about making music that you love the most?

BC: That’s hard to pinpoint, I mean I love everything about it. Music is such a primordial thing for me; it’s the most basic part of my existence.

JG: Do you think it’s important to be wholly serious about music, or do you think it’s better to be more open to jest?

BC: Oh definitely, I’d be the first to laugh at certain jokes, you know? I don’t think you can take yourself too seriously.

JG: Does your music possess a lot of private jokes?

BC: I mean I think more references, but yeah I think there’s a sense of humour there. In the artwork you know? There can be references. Sometimes they’re not even conscious, sometimes I realise later.

JG: What’s your favourite flavour ice cream?

BC: I don’t like sweets, isn’t that weird? I’ll occasionally have a little taste of something. My Mom didn’t really raise me to like sweets that much. If I had to choose I’d probably say a generic flavour like Cookies & Cream.

JG: When it comes to Atlanta, the city is able to boast a rich musical heritage, what is it about the city that enables it to birth so many popular musicians?

BC: Probably cheap rent. And a lack of competition. A lot of the time when you go to bigger cities it’s really competitive and people don’t really get to form their own identity ‘cause they’re competing with other bands.

JG: You mentioned the lack of “competition” then, are there any bands from Atlanta that you would recommend to our readers?

BC: There’s a band called The Balkans that are great, they’re real young, they’re still in high school. They have a great sound though.

JG: If you had the opportunity to spend the day with Jimi Hendrix or Jim Morrison, which would it be?

BC: Jimi Hendrix.

JG: Why?

BC: He’s not Jim Morrison. The only thing he ever did that was worth a shit was ‘Spanish Caravan’. He’s kind of like a skeezy beaver Jim Morrison. Couldn’t I just hang out with Neil Young instead?

JG: Finally, what are your thoughts on the weather over here?

BC: Interesting you should ask. I was just talking today about how much I hate the weather over here. I don’t understand why this geographical location hasn’t been vacated for sunnier climates. I hope that doesn’t make me sound rude?

To be fair to Bradford, the weather is shit over here. Deerhunter’s music is not. The man says it’s “quite OK” for me to stay and hang out backstage, but tells me he’s going to take a quick nap. I take that as my cue to leave and meander back up Oxford Road cursing the raindrops as they soak me to the bone, wishing that I’d taken Bradford up on his offer.

The chrome might be 'on it', but Telepathe miss by a hairs breadth...

2009-06-12T08:19:00.000-07:00

When it comes to forming an avant electro pop duo, it would seem Telepathe have all the right ingredients. They’re both pretty sassy ladies from Brooklyn. They even managed to snare themselves Michael Sitek as a collaborator on debut album ‘Dance Mother’. Oh, and one of them is called Busy Ganges. Slick.

So why when watching Telepathe live does it feel like something’s missing? It’s certainly not the venue, The Deaf Institute is one of the few places in Manchester you can routinely rely on not to cock up a band’s performances with poor sound quality or a tepid atmosphere.

Maybe it’s the fact that the lights were turned right down, I assume to ‘create a mood’. All it did was see to it that you struggle to see the band thus making it very difficult to develop a rapport with their performance.

It borders on frustrating, because the band themselves have some brilliant tunes. ‘Chrome’s On It’ is a joy to watch live, with the drum machines and the rumble from the bass even causing the optics at the bar to topple over.

‘In Your Line’ is one of the stand-out tracks on the album, and that too transfers over to the live performance. Ganges and her band-mate Melissa Livaudais’ almost lackadaisical vocal delivery is a blessing on this track. The military drums saunter along hand in hand with the girls’ lyrics.

Not many people are aware of the decibel measuring device in the top right corner of the main hall at The Deaf Institute, yet for this performance it seemed to be the only consistent performer, with its levels perpetually in the red.

Unfortunately for Telepathe that wasn’t a good thing, as the performance at times was just a load of riff-raff and carried no real substance or weight.

On the track ‘Can’t Stand It’, the pair repeats “Oh you know it could be so much better”. This was a case of life imitating art. Telepathe certainly aren’t a million miles from being a fantastic act, both on wax and live, but when it comes to the latter some fine tuning is required.

Obviously we're trying to save a bit on energy these days, but surely it can't hurt to turn the lights up; or even on.

3 out of 5

Some Say They Walk Alone

2009-06-10T15:32:00.000-07:00

When it comes to The Horrors, it’s just as easy to dwell on the band’s controversial nature as it is their music. Seeing as it's all well documented we’ll just brush past it and in doing so focus on what was a brilliant live performance.

The band have ventured off into brave new worlds with 2nd LP Primary Colours, moving with gusto away from their garage punk roots and swanning into realms more akin to Nick Cave, Joy Division and The Human League.

The subterranean setting of Manchester’s Ruby Lounge couldn’t be more suited to their vampiric, hungover look. As they glide into ‘Mirror’s Image’ Farris Badwan flies forward, intending to drag the bewildered onlookers into his strange experimental world.

In keeping with the 2nd album, ‘Three Decades’ is next and catapults the rollercoaster down deeper, picking up torque in the process.

‘Sheena Is A Parasite’ and ‘Count In Fives’ also rear their spiky heads, appeasing those who’ve appreciated The Horrors open-minded approach to music since 1st LP Strange House.

‘Who Can Say’ is definitely the highlight of the evening. Farris’ ominous poise really brings the song to life. He utters “then I kissed her, with a kiss that could only mean goodbye” with a conviction that adds real authority to his words.

‘Sea Within A Sea’ gets a great response from a crowd who are so drenched with sweat they look as if they themselves have been for a dip with Ariel and chums. The bass line ushers the audience along as Farris’ vocals haunt their ears.

The song is very introspective. “Some say we walk alone” laments Farris, describing how he and his band “march into the sea” whilst others “stay firmly rooted in the shallows”.

The Horrors have definitely put themselves ahead of the curve with their 2nd album. Tonight’s performance demonstrates that the transition from studio to stage will be a seamless one. So let’s forget about all the accoutrement that comes with the band and focus on their music, because it definitely warrants acclaim.

4 out of 5

BBC Lost Knives review...

2009-05-18T10:18:00.001-07:00

There are many pitfalls that can threaten to clip the wings of a fledgling band. Tonight, it seems, the musical gods are itching to throw a whole gaggle of them at the newly named Lost Knives.

Through no fault of their own, after only seven weeks in existence, the band has had to change their name. Taking that into account, they would be forgiven for throwing a hissy fit when stepping foot onstage 90 minutes after they were originally supposed to.

“Cheers for waiting for so long,” says joint vocalist Steven Mcinerney. The venue is unfairly empty, meaning the apology is heard by not nearly enough people. Oh well, their loss.

Ever the optimists, they proceed to press on and incinerate the humble gathering with ‘Cold Morning’. Joe Craig is the gentile assassin on the drums, rasping the skins with unassuming enormity.

The song is incredibly bold for a new band, yet there is nothing green about Lost Knives or front-man George Agan, the harbinger in the long black coat.

During their first outing, ‘Solstice’ almost fell apart. As the klaxon intro rings out, there is no trace of nervousness this time round. Mcinerney shines, swaying to and fro, completely lost in the moment. As the song closes, his voice strains, demonstrating a hunger not heard round these parts since ‘Stay Young’. This is so far removed from the laddish Gallagher brothers though; it’s more like The Strokes meets Guillermo Del Toro

We’re treated to new song ‘Nothing Relents’ next, with Will Clutton breaking out bass lines that would make Peter Hook grin like a Cheshire cat.

‘Out of Touch’ closes and is a beastly tune. It lulls in the middle, building up to a crescendo and injecting the kind of anticipation that would cause Alfred Hitchcock to sweat.

It’s remarkable to see how much they have improved since their first gig. If they carry on this way, they won’t be “our little secret” for much longer.

3 1/4 out of 5

Young Pretenders or Genuine Contenders?

2009-05-18T10:09:00.000-07:00

With the weekend's boxing in mind, it'd be quite apt to compare the Ruby Lounge to Manny Pacquiao - both are small, compact little offerings, yet both certainly know how to punch above their weight.

Unfortunately for local band The Sticks, they, like Ricky Hatton, didn't really offer much. At best, they sound like a prickly Los Campesinos, although more often than not, their music seems better used as filler on a Kate Nash album.

Luckily, the next band on are definitely not also-rans. Baddies have acquired quite the reputation in their short existence and are tipped as contenders for 2009.

Stepping onto the stage in matching attire, similarities to The Hives are there to be seen. This comparison doesn’t end with aesthetics, as vocalist/guitarist Michael Webster channels his inner Howlin’ Pelle, whilst Juicebox-like guitars bang away during second song, Open One Eye.
Battleships portrays an incredibly tight band as the Southend natives break out bars that could dupe you into thinking you’d come to see an edgy B-52’s tribute act.

The set closes on Holler For My Holiday, demonstrating a passion most would struggle to muster in front of such a non-partisan crowd. In a time of synths and 80’s gimmicks, it’s nice to see four honest lads need only their instruments and wits to put on a good show.

Speaking of a good show, next up are Airship. These four messrs have been harkened to the the Pixies, but they’re less world-weary than that.

The kick drum reverberates around the venue for Spirit Party. Its bassline chips away at the audience and is perfectly juxtaposed by guitar riffs that hammer them. It’s a warm, Arcade Fire-laced song.

They close on Algebra, with front man Elliott Williams displaying amazing clarity. The song possesses that innate ability to lift the spirits, despite its borderline lethargic rhythms.
On tonight's showing, both Baddies and Airships are destined for popular, justified acclaim and might even make title contenders; The Sticks, on the other hand, were left floored in the first round and have lessons still to learn.

Lost Knives alternative review...

2009-05-10T04:41:00.000-07:00

They’ve gone from Hot to Lost; pretty soon they’ll be discovered too…

You’re a seven week old band, playing your 2nd gig. What scenarios would you prefer to avoid? Having to change your name due to the fear of being sued? Falling foul of piss poor scheduling, seeing to it that you take the stage 90 minutes later than expected? Finding out your backing singer is Michelle McManus, who is stoned, hallucinating and thinks you’re actually a cheeseburger?

OK, so the final scenario is a little ridiculous. The first two unfortunately, have happened to the newly named Lost Knives.

You wouldn’t have guessed it judging by tonight’s performance. To say it was flawless would be to lie. There were problems, an errant plectrum and a snapped guitar string almost scuppered things, but all in all this was a tighter display than their first, nervous outing two weeks ago.

‘Cold Morning’ opens the set, introducing the band. Specifically front-man George Agan. His long black coat and lethargic movements liken him to a manic doctor from an old B-movie. The tune itself is laced with samples, dark riffs and sternum shaking drums.

‘Solstice’ informs those who don’t know, this band has two singers. Lead guitarist Steven Mcinerney demonstrates he isn’t a one trick pony with this epic undertaking. The song has real passion in it and shows a great deal of hunger.

Will Clutton demonstrates the ability to bash out a cracking bass line on ‘Nothing Relents’, which is quite apt given the ridiculously cool performance turned in earlier by Whitest Boy Alive’s Marcin Oz.

‘Out of Touch’ rounds things off with its eerie percussion and driven drums; the latter supplied by Joe Craig. These chaps are more than just a guitar band; the different samples and contraptions add another layer and definitely serve to separate them from some of the tripe on the radio. Expect to hear more from them in the future.

2009-04-23T06:51:00.000-07:00

Bicycle Thieves are an indie five piece formed in November 2008. Their role call reads like this:

Tom Hammersley – Lead vocalist/Guitar
Ash Hopkins – Backing vocalist/Guitar
James “Jimmy” Feltham – Guitar
Jim Reynolds – Bass
Nick Pickering – Drums

Today’s port of call is Liverpool, the band’s base of operations. These two wheeled tea leaves are gaining momentum quicker than Lance Armstrong riding downhill. Steve Lamacq believes ‘Stop to Start’ is a “juggernaut of a track”. As we ‘effing love music, Dork mooched to Liverpool to interview them;

Is the band’s name from the Italian film, or the Pale Fountains song?

James: It’s the film, and the fact that Ash had his bike nicked the day we named the band.

What was the 1st album/single you ever purchased?

Jim: I think it was Baddiel and Skinner with ‘Three Lions’ in ’96.
James: Album wise, mine was Definitely Maybe, but I did buy Run-DMC’s single ‘It’s Like That’.

Being based in Liverpool, do you feel pressured by the cities musical heritage?

James: Obviously, you respect the band’s that have come before you, but you have pressure with every city. Liverpool it’s The Beatles, Manchester it’s Oasis, London it’s the Libertines.
Jim: In Wolverhampton you have Slade
James: You’ve just got to get on with it, you know?

When it comes to writing music, where do you draw your influences from?

Tom: Personal experience really, with a bit of romanticism thrown in. One of the songs is about when my mate hit me in the face, but that would only go so far, you have to add some depth really, and make it a big tongue in cheek.

Do you feel pressured by the industry attention you’ve been receiving?

Nick: Every step up seems very natural, it’s all come in its stride. I don’t think it’s beyond anyone what we’re doing.
Ash: I think the thing is we haven’t put any pressure on ourselves; we haven’t set ourselves a fixed template or anything.
Nick: I think it’s good as well that we’re up here, we can just get on with it like. It might be different if we were in London say.

If you could play any festival, which would you choose?

Unified response: Glastonbury.

If you were given the choice of headlining Glastonbury, or pulling Heidi Klum twice a week for the rest of your life, which would you choose?

Nick: If you told people you were ‘gonna headline Glasto, people would believe you. If you said you’d pulled Heidi Klum nobody would.
Jim: You might be able to do a duet with Seal though if Heidi Klum took a shine to you

With the magazine being called Dork, were any of you dorks in school?

Nick: I still am a dork mate. My bedroom hasn’t changed since I was six, I’ll leave you with that.

At that point, a mysterious character named Paul wanders over. The band tells me to “ask Paul a question about Bicycle Thieves”.

What colour best sums up Bicycle Thieves music?

Paul: Soiled Pink.

The band breaks into raucous laughter. I’m left feeling slightly bemused by what just happened and Paul saunters off to enlighten some other unsuspecting soul. Give ‘em a listen, then thank me later.

Bleeding Ears & Deaf Institutes...

2009-04-14T14:27:00.000-07:00

If somebody were to tell you that, for prolonged periods of time, Jimi Hendrix could often be found busking in Newcastle during the 60’s, I bet you’d call them a bare faced liar, no? Well, it’s true.

Historical tidbits aside, let’s move on to the matter at hand. Enter Detroit Social Club, a Geordie band making music that grasps onto the true spirit of the guitar, an instrument that Hendrix championed so viscerally.

If there’s one venue people love at the minute, it’s The Deaf Institute. By the time Sound of Guns (listen to the excellent ‘Collisions’) have finished warming up the onlookers, the venue is packed out. The proverbial grapevine has seen to it this band’s sterling live performances are not to be missed.

‘Sunshine People’ kicks things off, shaking the foundations. The stage is almost too small for the band to fit on. Front-man David Burn is a pretty big guy and he hulks over the crowd, dictating proceedings and holding sway.

In fact, it is Burn’s strong, husky vocals that appear destined to take this band places. He looks a bit like Guy Garvey, but with a stage presence more akin to My Morning Jacket’s Jim Jones.

“This one’s called Northern Man, and it’s for everyone, f**k the Southerners,” laughs Burn as he receives adulation from the predominately Mancunian crowd. The song has a big, carnal sound and it helps to cement DSC as one of the best live acts out there.

The set closes on ‘Forever Wonderland’, an absolute monster of a song. The guitar intro sounds like ‘Swamp Thing’ and as the drums kick in, for a moment the continental plateaus are bouncing. Burn yells “come on” and my how they have. The best thing to come out of Newcastle since Jimmy Nail.

4 out of 5

A Storm On The Vista...

2009-04-14T14:26:00.000-07:00

“The next big thing.” How many times have you heard a band described as the next big thing? It’s getting boring.

So boring in fact that it could do more harm than good. People switch off because it’s become a cliché, as are many of the bands handed this moniker.

The Black Marquee is the latest band to be affixed with the old ball & chain. To their credit, they carry it well.

The set opens with the heavy, singular drum of ‘I’ll Sell You All’, and goes on to set an impending tone that lurks throughout. The Black Marquee are shoe gazers, there’s nothing flash to them. They, like My Bloody Valentine, let the music do the talking.

During ‘Allusion’, vocalist Steven Young picks up his guitar for the 1st time and wields it like a weapon. The song is one of the best they have and has a real ebb and flow to it.

‘Reverie’ is where the band’s psychedelic 60’s influence is most prominent, only thanks to Young’s swagger it feels more like an 80’s casuals youth in his Stone Island smacking you in the face than it does a free loving hippy.

The star of this band though is Jeff Wooton. His guitars are haemorrhage inducing walls of noise. This is a feller who skulked off to L.A. at 16 and ended up playing with Zoe Bonham, daughter to Zeppelin’s John Bonham. There are moments when he carries the band, although his shy on-stage demeanour suggests he would feel differently.

The Black Marquee are that thunderstorm on the horizon. A rumbling, menacing threat with the occasional flashes of lightning brilliance provided by Wooton. Like that storm on the horizon however, they never quite get going. There’s still some work to do for this lot, but make no mistake, you will know their names soon enough.

3 out of 5

The Queen Hath Returned...

2009-04-14T14:25:00.000-07:00

For two years now, there has been a Karen O shaped hole in most people’s hearts. Well fear not followers of the Church of ‘O’, Yeah Yeah Yeahs are back with 3rd album ‘It’s Blitz!’. Thank fuck for that.

‘Zero’ opens proceedings, and reeks of danceability. The thrashing round your room doesn’t stop there though. No sooner have you finished readjusting whatever pictures adorn your wall than you are greeted with ‘Heads Will Roll’.

“Off with heads” states O with the air of a sexy medieval monarch, returning to behead any potential pretenders to her thrown.

‘It’s Blitz!’ slows down a bit after this, thank God. ‘Skeletons’ is a nice little number. Once it gets going, the song has a Celtic bagpipe feel to it, a bit like a Braveheart montage only without the bigoted Australian midget in a skirt, and no shit blue face paint.

‘Dull Life’ is the stand-out song on the album though. The intro is very MGMT. The track goes from strength to strength, with O’s presence kicking down doors.

It stands with ‘Maps’ and ‘Date With The Night’ as one of their great songs. In years to come ‘Dull Life’ will be the ground zero for a pandemic wave of sweaty clubbers who set foot on the dance-floor with the sole intention of kicking up a fuss.

Things are rounded off with ‘Little Shadow’, demonstrating the bands eye for a slower song. It’s a good way to bring things to a close, and feels like a nice warm hug. It never gets too sloppy though; this lot are far too slick to be sloppy.

The album is tinted with the current 80’s fad, although they never quite venture into that genre, keeping it strictly Yeah Yeah Yeahs. It has a fresh, experimental sound to it but O and them never lose sight of that which made us smitten in the first place. A truly great album.

4 ½ out of 5

Large prospects, lost shoes and Little Boots.

2009-03-09T17:26:00.000-07:00

Victoria Hesketh’s stage name ‘Little Boots’ is an ode to the naughty Roman emperor Caligula, and with performances like this her career should be as prestigious as his legacy.

It wasn’t all plain sailing though; her mother forgot to bring her shoes. I know right? The petite maiden was rescued thanks to social networking site Twitter, after a fan lent her a pair of size threes.

The nightmare didn’t stop there – a power out prematurely ended ‘Mathematics’. Ever the optimist, she powered through the electrical shortcomings by belting it out A Capella, with the crowd on backing vocals.

The Blackpool native recently topped the BBC’s Sound of 2009 list (previous winners include Adele and Corrine Bailey Rae) and with Kate Bush influenced songs and Human League covers it’s easy to see why.

The blonde siren maintains she wants to be as “big as Kylie” and the foundations have been firmly laid, with humdingers like ‘Stuck on Repeat’, ‘Meddle’ and Freddie Mercury cover ‘Love Kills’ whipping the audience into a mish-mash of flailing limbs and toothy grins.

There’s even an appearance from former Big Audio Dynamite vocalist and cult hero Don Letts. Big Audio Dynamite, for those who don’t know, was started by former Clash front man Mick Jones.

A hangover cleansing nap saw to it that I missed support act Everything Everything, but I strongly recommend you give those local boys a whirl. Big things indeed, on both counts.

4 out of 5.

You run with the devil.....

2009-03-09T17:25:00.000-07:00

With their self-titled debut album these Seattle boys have become the incumbent band of modern America.

Fleet Foxes has received critical acclaim on both sides of the Atlantic since its release, acquiring Album of the Year billing with Mojo and Pitchfork. Yes it’s been out since June of last year but who gives a toss? Let’s celebrate it anyway.

Robin Pecknold’s crystal vocals intertwine seamlessly with the bands musicianship to create a beautiful, haunting listening experience.

Songs like ‘Tiger Mountain Peasant Song’ whisk you away to the dust lands of America with only a star filled sky as your duvet.

Whilst some of the production is quite ‘big’, it’s done so in a manner that retains the comfortable nature of the band’s songs. The album never gets lost in the epic grandeur Arcade Fire sometimes fall victim to.

The single ‘White Winter Hymnal’ is sure to please the masses with its playful rhythm evoking soft smiles all round.

Whilst most the album saunters along at a calm pace; songs like ‘Ragged Wood’ inject some swiftness into the whole affair, with Josh Tillman’s drums comfortably imbedded in the track. The wonderfully named Skyler Skjelset’s guitars provide the perfect chaperone to it all.

‘Your Protector’ is a gallivanting, frontier laced offering. Pecknold’s strong lyrics cause the listener to sit up and take notice as he sings “You run with devil.” Definitely a high point.

The album is perfect easy listening. On the closing track ‘Oliver James’, Robin Pecknold’s lyrics will leave a lasting print on your consciousness, and could very well be the soundtrack to your slumber for the foreseeable future.

Penny For Your Thoughts?

2009-03-09T17:15:00.000-07:00

Evening folks. Or morning depending on your current global whereabouts. My name as you can see, is Josh. I've decided to start a blog because I have an insatiable appetite for putting words into action, as do all other bloggers. Most chat s**t (my Mum will invariably read this), some don't. I'll try to rest comfortably in the latter, although if I continue I fear I may enter the realms of the former. I'll try and keep this updated as often as I can. My names Josh, and I like crumpets and Anchor butter. Inabit.