New albums round-up

Well, it's about time I rounded up all the records that have landed in my bag in the last few weeks. There are quite a few of them, so be prepared for a very long post...

'The Slow Wonder' is a peculiar title for an album that seems to be over as soon as it has begun, but that is the title that New Pornographers songwriter A.C. Newman has given to his debut solo album. It lasts just 33 minutes. Critics made a great deal of the brevity of The Strokes' debut, claiming that its length ensured consistency (if consistency means a collection of merely adequate songs all sounding pretty much alike, then they were right). Whilst 'The Slow Wonder' is probably not a classic, it is largely infectious and entertaining. Newman is clearly in thrall to his influences - there are moments which recall Big Star or The Byrds and he shares a tendency for obtuse and elusive lyrics with Bob Pollard of Guided By Voices. In fact, much of this album also resembles the crisp, crunchy power pop sound of GBV. As they are about to release their final album, it's more than welcome that A.C. Newman may now take the baton from Pollard.

This album begins brilliantly. 'Miracle Drug' is immediately enthralling. It has a rolling energy, a tight arrangement and remarkably crisp production. It is followed by 'Drink To Me Babe Then', a more relaxed but equally catchy track bolstered by some nifty slide guitar playing. Both these tracks sound familiar, but also fresh and invigorating. The rest of the album is similar in style, although it some songs are not quite as memorable as others ('The Battle For Straight Time' and 'Most of Us Prize Fighters' are perhaps less immediate, as their titles might suggest). It ends powerfully too, with the confident and commanding '35 in Shade'. The quality of writing on display here bodes well for future solo releases. Newman sounds most comfortable when his melodies are at their most simple and accessible.

Royal City were one of the discoveries of last year's free Strawberry Fair festival in Cambridge where they electrified the acoustic stage with their exhuberant take on country rock. At least to these ears, it seems that they have yet to nail their sound in the studio. Last year's 'Alone At The Microphone' had its moments, but tended to drag, and its follow-up, 'Little Heart's Ease', suffers a similar fate. The production seems oddly earthbound and flat - and it compares very unfavourably with that of My Morning Jacket, a band who seem to be charting similar terrain. Royal City are capable of writing interesting songs, and arranging them intelligently, but they seem far less concerned with using the full resources of the recording studio to make their work more engaging. The result is that many of the tracks here are fascinating in isolation. Opener 'Bring My Father A Gift' is rich and mysterious, with a chorus that sounds almost like monastic chanting. 'Can't You' and 'Enemy' are very pretty songs, the former resembling the more wistful Velvet Underground songs such as 'Pale Blue Eyes'. It also takes off spectacularly when it is bolstered by organ and harmonica halfway through.

Part of the problem as a whole lies in the vocals. Although the harmonies are pleasant enough - the lead vocals seem detached and lack distinction. I must admit that I didn't pick up on this during their strawberry fair performance, so I was surprised to find it such an obstacle to enjoying this album. The other problem is that, save for the rattling, Dylanesque rambling of 'She Will Come', the album remains steadfastly mid-paced, and even at 43 minutes, it feels long and plodding.

There is obviously much to admire here. This is a thematically consistent and coherent album, with some powerful songwriting. It just feels too often that this band have failed to translate the energy of their live performances to studio work. It's rare that I say this - but some less restrained playing might help. It would be great to hear them let rip on a few more guitar solos - or even just play a little bit harder. As it stands, 'Little Heart's Ease' is merely pleasant.

The eponymously titled first album from The Memory Band is one of 2004's quiet gems. I first came across this band in a pub in Islington, where they were joined on Harmonium by Hot Chip singer Alexis Taylor. I found the set intermittently fascinating, but the album is more angaging still. It is the work of Stephen Cracknell, who has recorded electronic music under the guise of Gorodisch for the outstanding Leaf label, and it seems to be an attempt to merge traditional English folk sounds and traditions with the more futuristic production techniques that Cracknell obviously admires. The tag folktronica is one of those horribly overused terms - but to my mind, this seems closer to folk music than the first Manitoba album, or even the work of Four Tet's Kieran Hebden. It has a wistful, pastoral feel to it, but it never becomes twee or cloying. Instead, it creates its own distinct space, with a fascinating range of sounds and ideas. The Memory Band is aptly named as this sounds like the recovery of a collective memory and tradition and bringing new life to it through new influences. It is an affecting hybrid.

The album benefits from an excellent cast of supporting players. Adem Ilhan and Sam Jeffers from Fridge appear on a number of tracks, and excellent singer-songwriter Polly Paulusma offers her vocal talents, although she is mixed so low that she is almost inaudible. The album's greatest strength is that it keeps vocals to a minimum - when they are used, it tends to be in the form of chants and repeated phrases rather than verse-chorus-verse. Instead, the album explores, largely with considerable success, a number of different techniques in arrangement, from drones and looped drum beats to birdsong and the deployment of unusual instruments (recorders, autoharps etc). The sound is dreamy and relaxed, but never entirely soporiphic - a difficult skill to pull off. Melodic hints drift in and out of the ether (particularly on the dreamy 'Calling On'), and the album sustains its distinctive sound and approach throughout. Highlights include 'Catch As Catch Can', which showcases some fascinating jazz-inflected guitar playing, the excellent cover of Arthur Russell's 'The Way We Walk On The Moon' and the slurry, dreamy closer 'Last Orders'. It's an intriguing, charming and engaging album.

The 1,175th album from Sonic Youth is the dependably challenging 'Sonic Nurse'. It must be said that it hardly breaks new ground for the band - not even the addition of the warped mind of Jim O'Rourke has made much difference to their sound or their agenda. 'Sonic Nurse' sounds sharp, focussed and well produced (the guitars sound full and the drums have real bite). This is not to suggest that it is much of a compromise. Some of the songs return to the poppier edge that made 'Dirty' and 'Goo' such breakthrough albums, but there is also a generous amount of abrasive guitar squalling. Importantly, however, 'Sonic Nurse' continues the mature and intelligent trajectory established by 'A Thousand Leaves' and 'Murray Street'. Sonic Youth are now a band characterised by commendable control. They know when it is better to employ restraint and when it is effective to be confrontational. This makes 'Sonic Nurse' one of their more consistent and powerful albums, if not one of their most original.

If anything, this is Kim Gordon's album. For the most part, Thurston Moore sounds relaxed and restrained, whereas Gordon's material attacks and claws at the listener (particularly the opening 'Pattern Recognition'). The best tracks on the album are rhythmically agressive, and with intricate guitar arrangements. Sometimes this approach can leave Sonic Youth sounding like a chaotic band of isolated avant garde virtuosos battling to be the clearest voice - but here they sound vibrant, integrated and impressive.

The new album from Badly Drawn Boy, 'One Plus One Is One', seems to have taken a real critical hammering during the past few months. True, it is not the homespun restorer of faith that I had hoped it would be, but it is not completely without charm either. It begins with the lyric 'back to being who I was before', which sounds like a statement of intent, and a summary of this album's aims. 'Have You Fed The Fish?' suffered from its overproduced LA rock sound, and its follow-up sounds like a conscious reaction against this. It was recorded in Stockport with Damon Gough's Twisted Nerve colleague Andy Votel producing and engineering. It ought to be a simple, direct and touching affair.

In places, it certainly is. 'This Is That New Song' is one of Gough's most uncomplicated songs in ages - delicate, serene and with a subtle and involving melody. 'Easy Love' is also charming and effective. 'Another Devil Dies' is structurally and musically ambitious - it feels like a quiet triumph. The opening title track is striking - it seems informed by the same ideas that dominated 'Have You Fed The Fish', but it has a more spacious sound, and the arrangement is characteristically lavish. It also boasts the boldest and most successful vocal performance on the album.

Elsewhere, there are problems. Gough sounds muted and flat throughout the album, mostly singing in a low register which conveys little of his usual whimsical charm. On the more exhuberant moments, he has made the mistake of employing a child's choir. 'Year of the Rat' is just about bearable, but it's very treacly. To use the choir a second time on 'Holy Grail' represents a real error of judgment. There may be good songs buried underneath here - but it's hard to really engage with them. Similar problems affect 'Four Leaf Clover', which sounds brilliant musically - a soulful stomp with joyous handclaps which should be a moment of fun. Instead, Gough's vocal sounds strangely half-hearted. It needs the unashamed sentiment of songs such as 'You Were Right' or the big northern soul treatment of 'Disillusion' or 'All Possibilities'.

The production also isn't as distinctive as I would have hoped. 'Summertime In Wintertime' is a little rough and ragged, and makes for a welcome change in approach, but for the most part Votel's tricks seem to be a little obvious. On 'Life Turned Upside Down' the vocals are, well, turned upside down. Elsewhere, there are samples of chattering voices, rain and other such found sounds, but very little that adds much to the songs. It's nice to hear a wide range of instrumentation - there's plenty of electric piano, and some delicate acoustic guitar work - but that is something we've already come to expect.

As a collection of songs, 'One Plus One Is One' is adequate - and has moments that may point the way forward. However, it also feels like a minor work, stuck in a halfway house unsure of its overall direction. There is nothing here as inventive or intelligent as 'Silent Sigh'. Gough does not seem to have worked out how he wants to use his voice on this album. He is neither the best singer nor the best musician around - but in the past he has demonstrated good sense in knowing his limitations and working within them. To do that, he needs to craft songs as distinctive as 'Once Around The Block' or as touching as 'Magic In The Air' or 'The Shining'. His live shows are always stunningly entertaining and full of fun - I would be prepared to bet money that these songs come across more comfortably in the live setting.

The debut album from The Earlies has the rather strange title of 'These Were The Earlies'. I'm not sure whether or not that means it is the first and last we will hear from the band. I'm presuming it's just dry humour. It's one of those debuts that has been cobbled together mostly from previously released material. It contains all of their singles and EPs so far. Given the diversity and scope that this band have already demonstrated, it inevitably suffers from a lack of cohesion. If we can accept this, however, it is an impressive first venture.

Comparisons with Mercury Rev and Flaming Lips will no doubt be thrown at this band, and listening to a track like 'Wayward Song' with its vulnerable, high-pitched vocal and intricate arrangements (pianos, woodwind), it's easy to see why. However, whilst the Rev seemed to be headed in a slightly plodding, earthbound direction with the disappointing 'All Is Dream' album, 'These Were The Earlies' shoots off everywhere. The superbly titled 'One Of Us Is Dead' is a case in point - a brilliant mini-epic with multi-layered vocals and plenty of studio trickery. 'Devil's Country' is mad - parping brass and angular toms, together with more of the band's unusual vocal arrangements. The way vocals are used on this album is remarkably impressive. The Earlies do not seem overly concerned with verse-chorus-verse structure, and the layered vocal technique adds a great deal to their musical adventures. 'Morning Wonder' is a psychedelic drone-fest and, to my ears, one of the least interesting tracks here - but they build gradually on minimal vocal ideas, which proves highly effective and almost convinces me that the track is important.

Taken as a whole, it's quite difficult to get to grips with, but like recent albums from Doves and Broken Social Scene, 'These Were The Earlies' is an ambitious studio project with more than a few hints that this may be a band moving towards a masterpiece. They are not quite there yet, but this may still rank highly in my albums of the year list.

I've now decided this post has gone on way too long - so stay tuned for reviews of new albums from Wilco and The Beastie Boys, as well as Soul Jazz's excellent new Chicago Soul compilation. I also hope to put up reviews of the Sufjan Stevens and Magnetic Fields gigs from last week before the week is out....Thanks for reading!

Strawberry Fair

For me, the festival season began in earnest last Saturday with Strawberry Fair, a large free festival and the highlight of the Cambridge musical calendar. It felt good to get out of London for the weekend, and it proved to be another remarkably successful event.As we did last year, we spent the entire day in the acoustic/beer tent, thus enjoying some excellent music. The line-up did not quite hit the heights of last year, with Alasdair Roberts and Canada's Royal City putting in an appearance, that was a truly special occasion. The focus this year was largely on local acts (or at least acts with a strong local following), and when there is such a strong pool of musical talent in Cambridge, it was difficult to object.

The highlight yet again (although they were not in the headline slot this time, appearing instead at 4.15 in the afternoon) were local heroes The Broken Family Band. Introduced by Pete Um (what a shame he wasn't performing himself) as 'the sexiest band in the world', they had a lot to live up to. Since last year's triumphant headlining set, they have released their debut album proper, the marvellous 'Cold Water Songs', and a very impressive mini album 'Jesus Songs'. Even with an expanding back catalogue to select from, they still offered some new material, including an hilarious song called 'Devil Woman' (key lyric 'your heart is black but your body drives me crazy'). Dependably, their performance was a sustained blast of energetic, inventive, comic fun. With their robust take on the country idiom, fusing it with indie charm, punk rock energy and stamina, and poetic wit, BFB manage to be intensely humorous, quirky, endearing and touching simultaneously. Steve Adams' vocals manage to switch from the snarly to the sensitive over just a couple of bars (prime example, the carefully controlled 'Perfect Gentleman'), and there were plenty of wisecracks between the songs. Together with some incongruous rock posturing and some solid rhythm section support and there are the makings of a great band. Highlights included a raucous take on 'Don't Leave That Woman Unattended', complete with beatbox vocals, a splendid 'Twelve Eyes of Evil' with some amusing lyric changes ('I was playing drums in a psychedelic band' became 'I was playing drums in Franz Ferdinand') and a spirited version of 'Walking Back to Jesus pt. 2'.

Also returning to the festival after a triumphant performance last year was Chris T-T. Last year, he played his first set with his new band at Strawberry Fair, but this time round it was another of his charming solo acoustic performances. Rather less ramshackle than usual, this was a very solid performance, largely free from mistakes, but one that resonated with T-T's observant wit and good humour. There was no brand new material in this set - but what was made clear was Chris T-T's consistency over the course of four albums. He may not be a technically great musician (he often stumbles over chords and often strums in a fairly rudimentary fashion), but his songs are rich, intelligent, charming and, increasingly, politically involved and astute. This set was entertaining and satisfying, a generous selection of songs from throughout his career, including the wonderful 'Dreaming of Injured Popstars', a song that might be considered an albatross around his neck. He resisted calls for 'The Tin Man', claiming it was too quiet for a festival audience, but still played quietly affecting versions of 'Tomorrow Morning' and 'The English Earth', two of his most reflective and considered songs. 'Cull' demonstrated his political bite, whilst 'Sellotape (Dawson's Creek)' cheerfully lambasted trash TV whilst accepting its inevitable appeal ('admit it, you all like Hollyoaks', he added at the end) and set-closing 'Drink Beer' provided a homage to more earthy considerations. Of his albums, 'The 253' and 'London is Sinking' are the most successful and well worth checking out. I managed to pick up a special live acoustic CD from the man himself - and am enjoying it as I write this!

The rest of the bill was perhaps less exciting - although the brief set from Atilla the Stockbroker and his special guests was remarkable for its gutsy, impassioned political conviction. It wasn't without intelligence either - I've moaned elsewhere on this site about Damien Dempsey's embarassing rhyming dictionary lyrics - Atilla the Stockbroker was equally sincere, but almost massively more articulate. He also brought with him two intriguing singer-songwriters. From Australia, the imposing figure of Rory Ellis, who clearly had plenty of compelling life experience, but whose voice sadly seemed to betray the influence of post-grunge drawlers such as Nickelback. That's a little unfair, given that his sings were by no means that bland - but I found it hard to get past his rather forced vocal sound. From the US came David Rovicks, a radical, anti-war singer with a careful, convincing mix of satire and sincerity. Unfortunately, I was so desparate to empty my bladder at this point that I missed the bulk of his set, but from what I did manage to hear, he had character and quality. As a whole, the group crafted a stylistically varied, but thematically consistent performance that entertained and challenged in equal measure.

Much of the rest of the line-up was merely satisfying. Headliners The Low Country featured excellent local guitarist Rob Jackson. He has a full, resonant, blues-tinged guitar sound reminiscent of Bill Frissell in its use of spacey echo effects and tremolo. The songs were certainly pleasant enough, and I was struck by the vocal qualities of their singer, who seemed to be controlling the melodies well, although with some timidity. Unfortunately, most of the songs were also overlong, extrapolating single ideas for what occasionally seemed like hours rather than minutes. They also frequently succumbed to a tendency to be blandly soporiphic - not without charm, but also somewhat unremarkable.

A similar charge could probably be laid against London-based singer Pauline Taylor. I certainly wasn't particularly inspired by her deliberately inconsequential lyrics. However, her voice was impressive - commanding where necessary, soft and restrained where appropriate, and she benefited greatly from some skilled musical support from an excellent band. To these ears, she fared better when leaning towards a more soulful, perhaps even funky sound. An entirely acoustic performance may not necessarily be the best context for her voice - which seemed worth more than merely lingering in the background. Much better than Dido obviously, although that may well be damning her with faint praise.

Loophole were on a completely different planet - one where little things such as playing in time, harmonising together and matching music and lyrics didn't seem to matter much at all. This was ponderous, pompous and, ultimately, entirely tedious music, crowned by some horribly mannered singing. It all seemed to represent a rather cliched attempt to be epic (they had clearly been listening to Muse), but the result was an ill-judged, sprawling and really quite unpleasant mess. No doubt they will be signed up to a major label on the cover of the NME quite soon - it's the Nu Prog Revolution.

Loophole's chaotic and charmless din shouldn't however take anything away from another highly enjoyable festival. The organisation and effort that goes into putting this event on - organisers and bands are all working on an entirely voluntary basis, is considerable. Timings were consistently efficient, and the sound balance was clear and crisp. A big thanks must go to all the organisers - the fair is a marvellous local tradition, and a great celebration of a diverse array of talent.

The Union Of Wine

Last Wednesday, Toronto's wonderful Hidden Cameras returned to London to play 'The Union of Wine' show, and I felt very privileged to be part of the audience. London's Bush Hall is an unusual venue, with its ornate design and chandaliers. It also lacks any real security presence. It would not have been too much of a challenge to steal some guitars from the stage. This is refreshing in our paranoid age when most gig venues frisk all customers, search bags, and occasionally even place us all under metal detectors. It also made for an intimate concert performance, with little distance between band and audience. The result was a celebratory and joyful show with a generous set list incorporating most of the band's best songs and plenty of new material. It did indeed feel like a union - with the entire audience basking in the joyous mood. Indeed, there was also wine. And it was good.

The Hidden Cameras are already a very distinctive and special band - at full strenght they are thirteen members strong, and their remarkably catchy pop songs manage to combine a catalogue of sexual deviancy with genuinely moving romantic sentiment. They are a band with a real outsider appeal - that essential quality for an indie cult. They are regularly compared with Belle and Sebastian and The Magnetic Fields - yet these seem fairly lazy comparisons when their self-proclaimed 'gay folk church music' is so individual. They seem forthright and honest where Stephin Merritt is often ironic and detached, and they seem inclusive and committed where Belle and Sebastian can occasionally seem twee and half-hearted. 'Ban Marriage' was by some distance my favourite single of last year (even with some stiff competition from the likes of The Crimea), and 'The Smell of Our Own' was an impressive debut album - heartwarming, hummable, and humane.

This show maintained a consistently high level of energy. The band seemed to be enjoying themselves, bashing out a large selection of new songs to surprisingly rapturous applause. In fact, the sense of audience delight increases throughout the show, reaching a peak only in the exhilirating encore of 'Smells Like Happiness' and 'The Animals of Prey'. Pretty much everything is played tonight ('A Miracle' was perhaps a notable omission from the setlist) from rowdy versions of 'Ban Marriage' and 'Breathe On It' through energetic versions of less familiar anthems such as 'Music Is My Boyfriend' and the charming ode to self-publishing 'Fear of 'Zine Failure'. All this was accompanied throughout by a duo of masked semi-naked go-go dancers, supplying the audience with grapes and wine.

At least half the set was brand new material from the forthcoming 'Missisauga Goddam' album (due out in the UK on Rough Trade on 12th July). The fact that such material could receive such a rapturous reception is testament to the band's energy and warmth. Many of the new songs sounded like an extension of an already established, yet still undeniably winning formula. The arrangements were bigger, the sound bolder, and the performances rollicking. New single 'The Fear Is On' sounded both infectious and intense, whilst 'The Union Of Wine' benefited greatly from a big, hook-laden chorus. There were also notably melancholic moments which provided some significant dynamic contrast in the set. 'Missisauga Goddam' itself eeked a touching melody from a very familiar chord sequence, and the show opener - a song which I had never heard before, stripped down to just Joel Gibb's voice and guitar and a duo of string players was striking in its simplicity and emotional impact. It was a remarkably stirring song to open a rousing, entertaining and thoroughly invigorating set.

The second night of the Pixies residency at London's Brixton Academy arguably felt like too much of a union - with the loudest, most aggressive crowd I have come across in many years. The response to this reformation was so rapturous that the band came back to the stage for three encores, performing a generous set consisting of 29 songs. On the plus side, it was not an obscure set of unusual album tracks and B-sides. It included all of their most familiar material. However, after the camp fun of the Hidden Cameras the previous night, this felt much more like an endurance test, not least because some of those annoyingly manic pushing and jumping fans were impailing me on those completely pointless barriers that are dotted around the Academy's ample standing area. My back still ached on waking up this morning. This discomfort wasn't helped by the band being largely motionless, expresionless and aloof. To be honest, I wasn't expecting anything different - The Pixies are clearly a band who have earned their claim to musical significance; perhaps they need do no more than just play the songs. Frank Black did at least acknowledge the audience towards the end by asking for the house lights to be turned up, but none of the songs were announced, it just felt like a continuous bombardment or admonition. And, call me sacreligious if you want, it was just a little bit dull.

Given the reports in the press that this lenghty show was 'the best they had even played' and the awestruck reactions of other musicians in the audience (Badly Drawn Boy claimed 'they were incredible'), I really did wonder if I had been watching a different show. Other than a blisteringly intense 'Bone Machine', an anthemic version of 'Gigantic' and a colossal 'Caribou', I never really felt like I was watching an important or influential band. When the house lights were turned on the audience at the end - it felt like too little too late. The audience, nevertheless, were rapturous, obsessed with the Pixies legend and possibly blind to the reality. I'm not going to make the case that this was an awful gig but, to my ears, it seemed flat, lacking in contrast and unengaging. The performance of 'Debaser' seemed to be to be a case in point. As my friends threw themselves into the moshpit with wild abandon, I struggled to hear Frank Black's guttaral scream (or indeed any sonic definition) over the general rumble and found this reading of the song to be lacking the visceral intensity of the recorded version. I wouldn't want to make the case that the Hidden Cameras are a better band than the Pixies, nor that they are as significant - but their show was massively more entertaining.