Short Form!

Fleet Foxes – Sun Giant EP (Sub Pop/Bella Union)
Brethren of the Free Spirit – All Things Are From Him, Through Him and In Him (Audiomer)
Animal Collective – Water Curses (Domino)
Four Tet – Ringer (Domino)

The EP format seems to be enjoying a serious resurgence at the moment. While a debate rages about the merits of downloading individual tracks as opposed to purchasing entire albums, the mood seems ripe for something that offers a convenient balance between the two.

Seattle’s Fleet Foxes are one of those bands to have benefited mightily from exposure at the SXSW Festival earlier this year – their performance set in motion a blitz of blogging and unrestrained hyperbole that will no doubt make some suspicious of their merits. It’s inevitable that, much like kindred spirits Band of Horses, Fleet Foxes will be compared with My Morning Jacket. Not only are they a scarily hairy bunch but their lead vocalist is yet another identikit Jim James (incidentally, James is doing a pretty good job of disguising his more familiar tones on My Morning Jacket’s ‘Evil Urges’ album, perhaps an attempt to escape all his imitators). This comparison is a bit unfair on the band though – they lack the more aggressive, Southern rock angle of MMJ, instead focussing on a ritualistic form of American folk music, resplendent with joyous vocal harmonies and rustic acoustic guitars.

The melodies and arrangements on ‘Sun Giant’ are rich and rewarding. They are audacious enough to the EP with an acapella harmony track that has an enticing and haunting impact. Whilst there’s a transparent connection with a classic rock lineage here (the harmonies remind me most of Crosby, Stills and Nash), the music also has a delicacy and elegance that removes it from cliché or hokiness. There’s the way the fluidity of the guitar lines on ‘English House’ contrasts with the insistent pounding of its chorus, although, with intuitive care, the band don’t allow the song to slip into bombast. Perhaps best of all is the stealthy and ambitious ‘Mykonokos’, which veers from a charming and melodic opening section into something more mysterious and potent. The closing ‘Innocent Son’ is a tender and melancholy lament imbued with a powerful sense of vulnerability.

The one slightly irritating element is the group’s lyrics. Much like Yeasayer, they are a little too preoccupied with finding the sacred within nature and, as a result, there’s a little too much babble about the sun rising, rivers and nature worshipping. If you’re prepared to yield yourself to this quasi-pagan celebration though, it’s a deeply fulfilling listen, and at least these themes are accompanied by a genuine sense of awe present as much within the music as within the lyrics. It certainly all bodes well for their debut album, due later in the year.

Continuing on a ritualistic folk music trajectory, Brethren of the Free Spirit is the latest project from the outrageously gifted guitarist James Blackshaw. Blackshaw’s last solo album, ‘The Cloud of Unknowing’, was one of my favourite albums of last year, and having just discovered his previous record ‘O True Believers’, it seems he’s capable of even better, always harnessing his virtuosic playing to an abundant theme or mood.

Here, he joins forces with Jozsef Van Wissem, a similarly dexterous exponent of the Dutch lute to produce a short cycle of minimal and precise duets. It’s remarkably beautiful music, impressive at least as much for its stately sound as for the technical qualities of the musicians involved. It’s both repetitious and elaborate, gradually drawing feeling from its seemingly restricting system and method.

The first two pieces are long and extrapolated, whilst the shorter concluding pieces, whilst less intense, are more easily digested. It’s less bright, less florid and more challenging than Blackshaw’s solo work, which has a magisterial beauty, but the interplay between the two musicians is instinctive and magical. It’s also difficult to resist a project named after a medieval heresy which argued that the route to God was through having lots and lots of sex.

Perhaps it was simply the extravagant praise gifted to Panda Bear’s ‘Person Pitch’ album but there seems to have been something of a backlash against Animal Collective in recent months. Perhaps their ‘Strawberry Jam’ album proved too saccharine for those who preferred the band in more esoteric, confrontational mode – but I actually think the band have improved considerably as they’ve matured and become less abrasive. This peculiar, warped brand of pop music that they are currently purveying is certainly whimsical but it’s also generous and satisfying.

The band have already proved themselves masters of the EP format, particularly on their outstanding ‘Prospect Hummer’, an illuminating collaboration with formerly lost folk singer Vashti Bunyan that successfully joined the dots between a traditional musical canon and the group’s adventurous experimentalism. ‘Water Curses’ may well be their best release to date, capturing their heady, synaesthetic juxtaposition of sweetness and menace with a newfound fluency and ease.

The lead track is the most familiar – a close relation of ‘Peacebone’ or ‘Who Could Win A Rabbit?’ as one of those Animal Collective tunes bristling with unstoppable urgency. It’s buoyed on by an almost chaotic temperament, with strings of peculiar imagery bundled together and a bed of clattering, primitive drums. It’s marvellous of course, but not particularly unexpected.

The remaining three tracks on the EP take the group to yet more unconventional places. They are airy and spacious, with very minimal rhythm and plenty of near-silences. In the manner of the group’s best work, they combine a deftly melodic framework with disorientating and sinister sound effects and background noise. The vocals are frequently arranged in staggered bursts, invoking call and response mantras or chanting. This music is anything but earthy – it has a genuine psychedelic tinge to it, evoking as it does bright colours and heightened awareness. ‘Street Flash’ sounds comforting on the surface but almost concealed beneath the smooth texture are profoundly disconcerting elements – voices, screams – all largely incomprehensible and subtly terrifying.

Kieren Hebden has been trying very hard to distance himself from the ‘folktronica’ tag he unwittingly acquired, first through his peculiar collaboration with free jazz drummer Steve Reid, and now through this new set of relentless, energising techno. It’s his first release under the Four Tet moniker in three years and anyone expecting more of the same will certainly be surprised. The title track reminds me of Underworld at their very best, but mercifully stripped of the sometimes grating excesses of Karl Hyde’s vocals. It’s the most minimal of Hebden’s work to date, missing his preoccupations with confrontational rhythm or striking sound. Yet the sudden burst of drums at the end ties it back to Hebden’s familiar rhythmic preoccupations, and its sheer stubbornness is fascinating.

‘Ringer’ is perhaps the first Four Tet track made genuinely for dancing, rather than for more cerebral occasions, founded as it is on the more conventional layering and crescendos of club music. It seems perhaps closer to the form of dance music currently favoured by European producers – I can hear hints of Isolee or The Field in its entrancing textures. This all harks back to Kraftwerk of course, and Hebden seems to have taken from that group similar elements to those absorbed by the Swedish group The Knife on their excellent ‘Silent Shout’ album, particularly on the closing ‘Wing Body Wing’, where Hebden eventually, after plenty of teasing, finally allows us a glimpse of the polyrhythmic wizardy on which he made his name. Words like pastoral or rustic, familiar descriptions of Hebden’s music in the past, simply won’t suffice here. This is much more architectural and constructed music – extremely rigorous but equally propulsive.

‘Ribbons’ is prettier, although the handclaps, offbeat hi hats and gentle electronic interventions betray the influence of Chicago house or primitive techno. The warm sounds and appealing harmony provide some connection with Hebden’s earlier work, particularly the encircling friendliness of ‘Rounds’. The intense and claustrophobic droning of ‘Swimmer’ might be too much for some listeners, but beneath the Boards of Canada-esque surface lies a wealth of intriguing, unusual and occasionally abrasive sounds. This is not Hebden’s warmest or most welcoming work, but it does have the guilt free collective energy and abandon captured by the best dance music and it’s good to hear him branching out in less characteristic directions.

What Goes Around Comes Around

Jamie Lidell – Jim
Sam Sparro – Sam Sparro

A lot of people are going to react violently against this album. Jamie Lidell’s previous album, the outstanding ‘Multiply’, retained some vestiges of his history with electronic music - very slight hints remained of the glitchy short attention span of ‘Muddlin’ Gear’, or the propulsive club rhythms of his work with Supercollider. ‘Jim’, however, rejects this past completely, cementing Lidell’s reinvention as a modern day soul singer. Synths and cut-up beats are replaced with gospel infused piano lines, backup singers and the fundamental, inexhaustible template of a live rhythm section. It might simply be because Lidell is a white man from Cambridge (now living in Berlin), or perhaps there are more complex reasons, but many will no doubt bemoan this album’s lack of authenticity. Has Lidell sweated and suffered enough to earn the right to sing this music, music which he most certainly doesn’t own? Perhaps there is some element of post-Joss Stone, post-Amy Winehouse calculation going on here, odd as this might seem from an artist on the Warp label. Either way, Jools Holland will no doubt love this.

Frankly though, who seriously cares? Lidell openly admits he hasn’t tried to conceal any of his influences, and that ‘Jim’ is simply a reflection of the music he loves. Whether authentic or market driven product, ‘Jim’ reveals Lidell as a singer with charisma and passion and a genuine understanding of the necessary ingredients of soul music. Furthermore, he’s not striving to be too sophisticated here – most of the songs here are gritty, groovy, impassioned and entertaining. Even when the lyrics are essaying pain and frustration, there’s a fundamentally uplifting quality to the music, neatly summarised in ‘A Little Bit of Feelgood’, with its precision tight playing and its simple but attacking guitar line.

The result is that the energy and stamina of these songs is simply irresistible. Only a very churlish person could resist the toe-tapping thump of ‘Wait For Me’, or the honey-coated gospel vibe of ‘Another Day’. There’s a propulsive, appropriately stormy urgency to ‘Hurricane’ and a driving energy to ‘Figured Me Out’. Whilst undoubtedly derivative, the attention to detail on these songs is staggering. Listen to the arrangement of the backing vocals on ‘Wait for Me’, the horn chart for ‘A Little Bit of Feelgood’ or the glockenspiel and handclaps of ‘Out of My System’ for just a hint of how meticulously Lidell has recreated the ‘organic’ sound of classic Stax and Atlantic soul records here.

Lidell’s greater sophistication is also highlighted by the ballads. ‘All I Wanna Do’ is gorgeous, Lidell’s voice restrained and controlled, accompanied by surprisingly bucolic acoustic guitar pickings and high pitch keyboard parts. It’s when the dense backing vocals join in that the song is really lifted to another level though, somehow reminiscent of Rufus Wainwright when his opulence is best serviced to the demands of a song. Perhaps even better is the closing ‘Rope of Sound’, uncharacteristically elusive and mysterious.

There is a lingering sense of pointlessness here though. Just what has Lidell achieved by so carefully revisiting his founding influences, when Mark Ronson is already doing such a shrewd job of updating the soul template? He has succeeded in making a vigorous and enjoyable album, but one steadfast in its refusal to break any boundaries or take music to any new places. Clearly this was never part of Lidell’s gameplan here, but there’s enough evidence both in his voice and in the arrangements to suggest he has the potential to innovate as much as recreate. Maybe he is abrogating that responsibility in favour of something more comfortable and less challenging. He can clearly make records like this in his sleep.

Perhaps it is also disappointing that Lidell has not yet found a way of capturing the maverick innovation of his live shows on disc. There’s little hint of his gleeful sampling of himself or his construction of entire songs simply from manipulating the sounds of the human voice. Instead, he has favoured the sound of a real live band for this project. Similarly, there’s also a slight sense of disposability with this music when set against the tracks that have obviously influenced it – I frequently find myself enjoying the display of knowledge and enthusiasm, but completely ignoring the lyrics – to the extent that the songs have not really burrowed their way into my mind.

If there is a calculated mind at work behind ‘Jim’, it has been trumped and spectacularly undermined by the surprise success of Sam Sparro. Sparro looks more than a little ridiculous – and it’s difficult to know if this smooth, brilliantly executed electropop is intended as sincere art or merely intricate pastiche. The hilarious video to ‘Cottonmouth’ possibly suggests the latter, but like other irreverent songwriters (the likes of Stephin Merritt and Neil Hannon spring to mind), Sparro has written a collection of songs that stand strong enough on their own merits to withstand such accusations. Perhaps ‘Black and Gold’ has climbed close to the top of the charts simply because its bouncy groove and insistent melody are irresistible.

Sparro is neither as studied nor as dynamic a singer as Lidell. Instead, his voice has a richness and smoothness that makes it ideal for the accessible pop music he has crafted here. This is not to deny his manifest talent though – entirely self-written and produced, there is plenty of evidence on ‘Sam Sparro’ to suggest there is a knowledgeable and well trained musician at work here. The slap bass extravaganza of ‘21st Century Life’ reveals the heavy influence of Prince, but there’s also the sense that Sparro has absorbed the more polished end of 80s pop, from new romantics to the tail end of the disco boom (here the rhythm guitar on the slick ‘Hot Mess’). ‘Sick’ sounds like Erasure might have sounded if they had been fronted by Luther Vandross rather than Andy Bell. It might be absurdly cheesy, but I can’t resist the splurges of synth extravagance on ‘Cottonmouth’ or the chant of ‘I need some H2O! Down my throat!’ at the song’s conclusion.

Unfortunately, Sparro’s lyrics rarely match the saccharine confection of his melodies and arrangements – they are sometimes glib and frequently formulaic. There are platitudes in abundance too (‘everything you do will end up coming right back round again’, ‘it’s a sick world, but I’m your medicine’ etc) and plenty of rather pious celebration of the joys of music and its healing power.

I’m not sure all this cyclical repackaging of music already successfully realised decades ago is really necessary, or even particularly desirable. It arguably amounts to a tacit admission that pop music has fewer and fewer avenues left to explore, which is essentially a defeatist position. I’m also much more positive about artists that are at least drawing links between superficially divergent forms of contemporary music. The nagging sense that it might all reduce down to knowing irony doesn’t exactly help either. There’s no denying that this is an entertaining listen, with genuine broad appeal. At the very least, I’ll take it over the vast amounts of underachieving indie that it seems increasingly difficult to avoid (The Courteeners, The Kooks, The Wombats, The Pigeon Detectives etc).

Raise Your Own Flag

Bjork - Hammersmith Apollo, 14th April 2008

Bjork’s Volta tour finally arrives in London with discussion focussing more on the singer’s recent political controversies than on her music (she dedicated the full throttle dance track ‘Declare Independence’ to Tibet whilst performing in China). These shows will no doubt refocus attention on her core achievement – a unique juxtaposition of musical artistry, audacious performance and colourful, provocative image. The Volta set-up may be her most interesting to date – focussed as much on pageantry and an unashamed celebration of physicality as on rich emotion. The stage is decorated with dazzling heraldry and her bizarre costume, topped off with brilliantly preposterous exploding puffball headgear, may turn out to be as iconic in its own way as the infamous swan dress.

The Volta touring band is one of her most intriguing musical constructions too. It’s a world away from the intimate combination of quietly rustling electronics and Zeena Parkins’ harp that characterised ‘Vespertine’, but every bit as effective. Whereas that music delved deep into intimate, private territory, this is explosive, obtrusive and violently dramatic. The brilliant all-female Icelandic horn section add a full, sometimes extravagant timbre and help completely reinvent some of the older material aired tonight. Chris Corsano’s unconventional, sometimes barely audible drumming is frequently more textural than rhythmic and the peculiar touch-pad synthesisers, of which Bjork’s band appear to be leading pioneers, continue to provide mind-boggling visual as well as musical entertainment. Perhaps most surprising of all is the appearance on stage of a harpsichord, as far as I can recall only deployed on one song.

She focuses on the most primal, rhythmic material from ‘Volta’, mostly ignoring its more mysterious subtleties. This proves to be wise, as this selection of fresh material works very well in combination with reimagined choices from ‘Medulla’ and ‘Homogenic’. This creates a show with something approaching a narrative arc - it not only coheres but also has a strong sense of progression and development from start to finish. ‘Earth Intruders’ is a predictable opener, but its energy and chanting neatly summarise the physicality of this performance. It’s also the perfect introduction to her individualistic vocal style – often crossing bar lines and veering away from predictable phrasings. During the succeeding ‘Hunter’, giant streams explode behind her, leaving a trail that follows her as she marches across the stage. Even when delivering ballads, Bjork is a compelling physical presence on stage, hand movements following the templates dictated by her beatmasters, or gesturing the chord changes carried by her horn section. Although she avoids speaking too much, there’s a real sense of just how much Bjork enjoys performing.

Some special guests also help elevate this performance well beyond the ordinary. The fantastic Malian Kora player Toumani Diabate joins her for an eloquent rendition of ‘Hope’, proving himself every bit as virtuosic and dexterous as his reputation suggests. I found myself captivated by the alchemical connection between Diabate’s rapid flurries and the echoing cymbal pattering from Corsano. It’s a genuine privilege to witness this master exponent of such a unique and demanding instrument. There’s also an appearance from a towering, peculiarly dressed Antony Hegarty, who delivers a surprisingly subtle take on the circling, hypnotising ‘Dull Flame of Desire’, a remarkably unconventional duet. It starts with complete separation and gradually, intricately meshes together, as if two completely individual love stories are slowly intertwining. Both singers restrain their more intrusive tendencies, and the performance is powerful and moving as a result.

One of Bjork’s major concerns throughout her solo career has been constructing an elaborate synthesis of acoustic and electronic elements, whether through string arrangements, the manipulated vocal percussion of ‘Medulla’ or now the incorporation of a horn section. This allows her to perform versions of older material where the mood and feel of the songs are radically altered. The horns make an incisive, almost jarring impact on ‘The Pleasure Is All Mine’ and ‘Who Is It’, but earlier material undergoes a more subtle transformation. ‘Joga’ sounds richer and more melancholy with horns, ‘Unravel’ more devastating and desperate. The beautiful, haunting encore of ‘Anchor Song’, performed with only the horns for accompaniment, is another highlight, all the more so for being a less predictable song selection.

My only small niggle with this show is that it yet again focuses squarely on singles from ‘Post’ and ‘Homogenic’. The only concession to ‘Debut’ is the wonderful ‘Anchor Song’, but how appropriate and special it would have been to hear that wonderful celebration of sex that is ‘Big Time Sensuality’, rearranged to incorporate the horn section. Perhaps the ‘Vespertine’ material is simply too gentle and vulnerable for this setting, but I missed its paradoxical icy warmth and emotional insight.

The set ends at a real extreme – the end of ‘Hyperballad’ bursting into an excoriating blitz of harsh, pounding beats, and segueing into ‘Pluto’, one of her least accessible but most exciting songs. This intense, aggressive spirit is then revisited in the encore, Bjork ending her theatrical performance with ‘Declare Independence’. She avoids any particular dedication this time of course, but whilst the song sounds superficial on the surface, its message is universal, and is as good a way as any to sum up Bjork’s audacity and individuality. She had an image and presence that is entirely her own – and the exhortation to ‘raise your own flag’ could mean pretty much anything – nationalist celebration, gay anthem or simply a call to abandon concerns and submit to that most fundamental of rhythms – the four to the floor pulse. It’s hardly her most sophisticated work (certainly when compared with the brilliant asymmetrical military rhythms and stark dissonance of ‘Vertebrae by Vertebrae’), but it’s somehow an appropriate way to sign off – a joyous celebration of humanity.

To Z or not to Z - That is the Question...

It's unfathomable to me why the shockwaves following Michael Eavis' announcement that Jay-Z would be the Saturday night headliner at this year's Glastonbury Festival are still rolling around the internet like a bad smell. The only reservations I might have about Eavis' programming here is that it has come at least five, maybe even ten years too late. Jay-Z has been the most respected, challenging and innovative of American hip hop artists, and his prolific work rate puts most guitar groups to shame. Some of us may not relate to the lifestyle his music promotes but his wordplay has always been second-to-none and his performance should be invigorating and exciting. The problem is that he may by this stage be past his best.

The innate conservatism of some festival-goers has occasionally bordered on racism. It's fine not to appreciate hip hop, but to claim that Glastonbury is all about 'guitar bands' is not only inaccurate, but implies a certain supremacy lies in big British rock bands who mostly happen to also be white. Previous Glastonbury festivals have featured Basement Jaxx (with a wonderful cast of black vocalists and South American dancers), Orbital (one of the most famous Glastonbury headline sets, with nary a guitar in sight), Michael Franti (whom I was lucky enough to interview and record in 2004), Al Green and Toots and The Maytals (actually the most hotly anticipated act amongst festival-goers I canvassed for Radio Avalon in 2004). I would certainly rather stand in a muddy field watching Jay-Z than either of the other two headliners - Kings of Leon, a band whose live performances have tended to be sluggish and demotivated (certainly disappointing when playing second fiddle to Oasis in 2004) or The Verve, a band whose grandiose pretentions have surely now been revealed as exactly that - mere pretentions. Who exactly is Noel Gallagher to claim that Jay-Z is 'not right' for Glastonbury?

Having said that, I've not even attempted to buy a ticket and neither, it appears, have many others so far. So - why did Glastonbury not sell out in three minutes as it has done in the past? First of all, few seem to have recognised that this might actually be a good thing, particularly for festival-goers themselves. Why, after all, is it always so desirable for an event to sell out as soon as tickets have been put on sale? The registration process is certainly a pain, but if it has reduced demand, it has made it easier for those genuinely wanting to go to obtain a ticket. It has also helped tickets to be distributed fairly, virtually elimianting the role of ticket touts. If there are further factors involved, broadening choice and rising prices would certainly seem to be the main ones. Smaller, more specialist festivals are now not just surviving, but positively thriving, offering a more intimate and comfortable experience (particularly ATP, which even dares to offer accommodation). It seems a long time since the Phoenix Festival was mercilessly squeezed out of operation. Other festivals offer similar or better services at comparable prices - and Glastonbury is now beginning to look like a substantial expense for many people. For sure, it's in a wonderful setting - but one does not need to go to such a place every single year.

The corollary of this is that the mainstream festivals seem to concentrate relentlessly on the same artists - Jay-Z is doing Glastonbury and Wireless, The Verve and Kings of Leon are everywhere, and the Killers are the main act at Reading, having headlined Glastonbury only last year. Examining the finer detail suggests that choice is more limited than one might suspect - and still people moan that there is no sign of Radiohead or Oasis.

It's a very English analysis to cite the weather as a possible factor - regular Glastonbury-goers are probably a little more stoical about bad weather though. It's certainly stubborn of Eavis to insist on scheduling the festival for the last weekend in June, when it consistently rains pretty much every year. He could reconsider this, but if he's happy to deal with the carnage 180,000 people churning up farmland mud creates, then he can make his own bed and lie in it.

Similarly, perhaps he has to accept that some of the 'younger' audience he was attempting to court by booking Jay-Z are actually depressingly closed-minded about music. Hopefully, Glastonbury will have lost some of the regular whingers and gained some new converts. Next year Eavis should have more courage in backing innovators and not fall back on traditional pantomime horses such as The Verve. This year's line-up ultimately looks like a botched compromise.

Back To My Youth

The B-52s – Funplex
Was (Not Was) – Boo!

What on earth is going on here? Two of the most memorable singles of my childhood years were ‘Walk The Dinosaur’ by Was (Not Was) and ‘Love Shack’ by the B-52s. Not much has been heard of either band since the early nineties. I remember Simon Mayo hammering the latter to death on his Radio 1 breakfast show, thus guaranteeing it would be played pretty much every morning for a month during the short journey from home to my primary school. Some 18 years after this song was released, and 15 years since their last album, The B-52s have returned once more, this time styled in black and white rather than dayglo bright colours.

Other than that, as plenty of critics have stupidly bemoaned, not that much has changed. Even at quite an advanced age, they are still ‘pleasure seekers’, ‘lookin’ for some action’ and promoting a guilt-free philosophy of unrestrained hedonism. Well, good for them! Keith Strickland remains a superb rhythm guitarist and much of the band’s appeal still rests on the contrast between Fred Schneider’s high camp goofball interjections (‘there’s a rest stop – let’s hit the G Spot!’ etc) and the infectious melodies and harmonies carried by a now reunited Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson. This is all lightweight fluff of course – but who could resist such a tempting manifesto? When they promise to ‘take this party to the White House lawn’ at the album’s conclusion, I can’t help suspecting this least political of groups could still teach the Bush administration a thing or two.

It’s also unfair to suggest there have been no developments. Producer Steve Osborne has cautiously but effectively modernised their sound. Perhaps the most notable factor in this is the way the group have incorporated some ideas from bands they themselves once influenced. The emphasis on straightforward four to the floor disco backbeats is redolent of CSS or LCD Soundsystem, both of whom took on board much of the basic energy of early B-52s material. It’s interesting then that the CSS remix of the title track does not actually sound all that far removed from the album version. It’s both surprising and endearing to hear how suddenly fashionable a track like ‘Eyes Wide Open’ now sounds – with its precise hi-hat rhythm, scratchy, muted guitars and exuberant cowbells. Hearing Pierson and Wilson bellow ‘I don’t wanna crash! I don’t wanna rehash the past!’, it would be easy to be fooled into thinking this was something new, when really all it represents is an excellent band remembering what made them great in the first place.

It’s therefore worth recognising that ‘Funplex’, whilst unashamedly one-dimensional, is a good deal more consistent than either ‘Cosmic Thing’ or ‘Good Stuff’. Both those albums had great moments but sometimes veered into inconsequentiality with meandering melodies. By contrast, pretty much every track here is outrageously enjoyable, and at the very least pleasantly hummable. These are pop songs of course – it’s silly and ultimately banal, but for three or four minutes, it completely elevates the spirits in a way that no other form of music can. Even the band’s attempts at sounding more sophisticated somehow work in spite of themselves. ‘Juliet of the Spirits’ is more pristine, but also sugary and mesmerising.

Personally, I can’t resist Fred Schneider’s ‘spandex, spiral vortex’ on ‘Love in the Year 3000’ or the sheer energy and excitement of tracks like ‘Hot Corner’ or ‘Pump’. I certainly can’t resist the bizarre moment in the middle of ‘Deviant Ingredient’ when ‘the sensualists’ arrive (by pink helicopter, how else?), and Fred Schneider suddenly announces, without even a hint of shame: ‘I am now an eroticist - a fully eroticised being!’

Those critics who have found this album embarrassing have maybe just forgotten how to have fun. This is an album pretty much all about dancing and sex. Dancing and sex should be fun – and this music is as straightforwardly and uncomplicatedly pleasurable as it gets. Plus, I could hardly enjoy the full implications of all this in the car on the way to primary school, could I? Now that I can, it’s great to have them back.

In many ways, The B-52s and Was (Not Was) shared similar career trajectories. Both bands started out at the vanguard of alternative fashion – The B-52s uniting new wave and gay disco, Don and David Was emerging as pioneering producers and droll lyricists as part of the Ze records mutant disco staple. Both bands gradually embraced slicker production techniques, and expanded their popularity and radio-friendly credentials as a result. Yet, there were always oddities. Even as ‘Walk The Dinosaur’ and the quite brilliant ‘Spy In The House of Love’ stormed the pop charts, their parent album ‘What Up Dog?’ contained moments of real strangeness - songs like ‘Shadow and Jimmy’, co-written with Elvis Costello and one of the saddest, most melancholy stories imaginable, set to a Cajun lilt, and ‘Hello Dad, I’m in Jail’, a snarling, sardonic one minute rant that sounded positively avant garde. Importantly, both groups proved as adept at being hit factories as they were at being original and innovative.

‘Boo!’ is Don and David Was’ first new studio album since 1990’s ‘Are You Okay?’ (on which they felt better than James Brown and cavorted with Kim Basinger), but it retains all of their weird and wonderful qualities, as well as a cast of familiar faces and some stellar supporting musicians. The grizzly voiced Sweet Pea Atkinson remains the perfect mouthpiece for Don and David’s peculiar song-stories, whilst the group effortlessly craft the kind of bristling, precision-perfect funk that has long been subordinated to robotic R&B. It’s refreshing to be reminded of how energising and exciting this music can be when handled well.

The opening ‘Semi-Interesting Week’ is an awesome summation of this group’s off-the-wall qualities, a verbose story that begins with Sweet Pea enjoying some action with some patriotic twins from Washington DC, continues with him dismembering someone who insults him as ‘a dirty Jew’ (‘I assured him I had showered that very morning…’) and ends with aliens invading Hollywood. It’s a brilliant curtain-raiser and its maverick spirit is further developed with the irresistibly groovy ‘Forget Everything’ and ‘Mr. Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore’, apparently co-written with Bob Dylan. This fact isn’t as surprising as many seem to think, given that a number of these songs apparently date back to the early nineties and Dylan hired Don Was as producer for ‘Under The Red Sky’, his first studio album of that decade. All these tracks are elevated by some superb horn charts, and a seemingly unstoppable party vibe.

Elsewhere, the surreal elements become stronger, and the music gets murkier. ‘Needletooth’ is a disorientating close relation to ‘Hello Dad…’, David once more sounding like a total lunatic, whilst Kris Kristofferson sounds similarly unhinged (or at least a lot like Mark Lanegan) on the unsettling, blackly comic closer ‘Green Pills In The Drawer’. ‘Big Black Hole’ neatly combines the group’s interests – a notably dour song set to an urgent rhythm.

Don and David even pull off the album’s cheesiest moments. ‘It’s a Miracle’ is sweet, honey-laden soul benefiting from some sublime guitar playing, whilst first single ‘Crazy Water’ is a completely satisfying refashioning of a New Orleans stomp. It’s fascinating that in today’s climate, such well-crafted and sophisticated pop music can now seem thoroughly unfashionable and a genuine alternative to mainstream chart music, which now incorporates as much unambitious ‘indie’ tedium as it does mass-produced manufactured dross. Here are two of the best albums of the year so far, all the more impressive because they both sound as if they are hardly even trying.

Scandinavian Sensation

diskJokke - Staying In (Smalltown Supersound, 2008)

Although part of a movement amusingly dubbed Oslodisco in his home country of Norway, I’m not sure why Joachim Dyrdahl’s debut album has been so casually banded with Hercules and Love Affair and Kelley Polar in some nu-disco movement. As the album’s title suggests, this is, for want of a more imaginative term, a more intelligent breed of electronic album, perhaps more for the discerning ear than the hedonistic clubber. ‘Staying In’ completely eschews the glamour and excess of the Hercules and Love Affair record, although the title track’s punctuating horns and conga patterns possibly suggest some residual link to the disco movement.

Any classic influences are focused with a distinctively Scandinavian lens though, and the album’s bleepy, games console-esque sounds place it nearer contemporary dance music than any disco revival movement. By the standards and conventions of electronic music, ‘Staying In’ seems carefully composed. Whilst it’s certainly repetitive, built on the solid foundations of infectious basslines and insistent melodic phrases, each track also seems to undertake a journey or clear musical arc. The crucial element differing ‘Staying In’ from those other nu-disco records is that it rejects vocals. There’s enough going on here in terms of composition and melodic invention not to require them.

It’s also a bright sounding record, with a notable lightness of touch. The opening piano chords of ‘Folk I Farta’ and the intertwining synthesisers on ‘Storre Enn Forst Antatt’ make for a jovial, celebratory atmosphere. Throughout there’s an intriguing combination of tropical colour and Nordic detachment that is tremendously effective, particularly on the memorable and pretty ‘Interpolation’. This is about as sprightly, unaffected and direct as contemporary dance music gets, and is all the more welcome for that.

When the music does become more rigorous and scientific, as on the percussion-heavy workout of ‘Cold In’, it somehow retains its innate sense of fun and celebration. On this track and the ridiculously titled ‘I Was Go To Maracco and I Don’t See You’ (sic), there’s a sense that Dyrdahl is making real mischief. He also seems the inexhaustible appeal of a good squelchy bass line.

Dyrdahl is both a classically trained violinist and a mathematician, but he seems far less likely than his contemporaries to wear these formative influences on his sleeve. Instead, he has both tapped into the physical energy of dance music, and the capacity for varied sounds to invoke thought and pleasure. These tracks have the relentless, unstoppable qualities of house music, but rarely focus exclusively on one sound or idea. It’s rare to find electronic music this compositionally advanced that is also light, airy and good fun. I go out too much - perhaps I should stay in more often.

Getting Together

The Long Blondes – Couples (Rough Trade, 2008)

The consensus already seems to be that this Erol Alkan-produced follow up to the poptastic ‘Someone To Drive You Home’ represents a great leap forward for the otherwise conventional Long Blondes. My own feelings on the record are somewhat more ambiguous. The much vaunted synth pop angle breaks through on only maybe half the tracks and the album is a good deal less transparently melodic than its predecessor. Whereas Kate Jackson’s voice was frequently a bold bellow on the debut, it’s often breathy and faux-seductive here. Whilst there’s much more variety in tone and effect, the end result sometimes seems a little contrived.

Perhaps the most transparent influence is Blondie, and much of ‘Couples’ seems to be striving to revive the sound of ‘Parallel Lines’. It’s therefore more of a honing and finessing of the Long Blondes’ musical preoccupations, rather than some sort of sonic revolution. This is of course not entirely a bad thing, but anyone approaching this expecting true audacity might be better off looking elsewhere. Also, the removal of some of the group’s rough edges in favour of something more sassy and sophisticated has also blunted their appeal for this listener. Much of the enjoyment I surprised myself in finding in their debut came from its hasty urgency.

The album opens superbly, with the genuinely ambitious ‘Century’, a lengthy track propelled by a slinky backbeat and enervating synth and vocal stabs. It’s relentless and enveloping, but also fascinating in its gradual progression and unfolding ideas. ‘Guilt’ is perhaps the best of the tracks to update and hone the band’s trademark sound, this time with more emphasis on Nile Rogers-esque scratchy guitar than on distortion or angular attack.

Elsewhere though, the forays into new directions are more tentative. Some reviews have highlighted ‘Round The Hairpin’ as a highlight but it’s remarkably cold and robotic and completely devoid of melody. I can’t help but feel that this is the sort of material better left to the likes of Ladytron or Stereolab and that The Long Blondes don’t feel quite at home in this retro-futurist world. The neo-pop warmth of St Etienne might be a more apposite reference point, should they continue to follow this particular lead.

Having said that, ‘Too Clever By Far’ is much better – with Jackson adopting Perhaps that’s because it’s closer to Prince than Kraftwerk. The delayed entry of more Nile Rogers-styled guitar playing is particularly effective. Perhaps best of all is ‘Nostalgia’, at which Jackson’s voice is somehow both expressive and controlled. The greater emphasis on melody set against reverb-laden piano recalls some of the highlights of 1980s pop – like a streamlined version of ABC’s ‘All Of My Heart’. The brilliant ‘I’m Going To Hell’ (perhaps the most straightforwardly exciting track here) represents something of a careful synthesis of old and new.

What Alkan appears to have brought to the group is a tightening of the sound, particularly a more processed and rigourous drum sound emulating the work of DFA for the likes of The Rapture. He also seems to have encouraged the band to pay more attention to structure and arranging – and a number of the songs take some unpredictable twists and turns as a result. In spite of this, songs like ‘The Couples’ and ‘Erin O’ Connor’ are not as far from the sound of their debut as some writers have suggested.

Whilst many have highlighted this album as a response to the rise and fall of two inter-band relationships, I can’t help feeling that the lyrics here are less assured than the pithy observations that littered the debut, easily the equal of the more highly lauded Alex Turner. It’s also not as if they haven’t covered this ground before either .The debut featured numerous dissections of relationships, both conventional and unconventional.

There’s also plenty of narcissism and detachment in their approach to relationships, although, it must be conceded, nowhere near as misanthropic and ugly as that featured on the recent Teenagers album. Take, for example, the fear of commitment in ‘Here Comes The Serious Bit’ – ‘I can be a shoulder to cry on/I can be a body to lie on/But don’t ask me for more than that.’ When coupled with the somewhat one-sided perspective on relationships that dominates the rest of the record, it comes to look a little negative. The protagonists of these songs are wary of investing too much emotion in their relationships, and all seem to be striving to protect themselves from the inevitable fallout.

Lines like ‘Falling in love is sometimes hard/writing a love song is even harder/better off leaving that to somebody else’ are not particularly profound or appealing. That the song in question (‘The Couples’) moves on to quite a cogent analysis of feeling left out in a world of coupledom, and a direct admission of loneliness (‘people have the nerve to tell me that they’re lonely…’), merely makes the banality of those opening lines even more striking.

‘Couples’ proves that The Long Blondes are not content to stand in one place, but it perhaps hints at new directions more than it actually claims the territory. It’s occasionally brilliant but it is also missing some of the primacy and urgency of its predecessor. Similarly, the new elements the band bring to their sound are not particularly original, and tend to sound as if they are looking back more than looking forwards. But it reveals more and more with every listen – and it may well prove to have more staying power. They have treated their audience with respect and have trusted them to be open-minded – it might just be the basis of a long-lasting relationship.

The Joy Of Repetition

Sian Alice Group – 59.59 (Social Registry, 2008)

There seems to be an obsession with time going on here. Sian Alice Group (their vocalist is called Sian, but is not actually called Sian Alice but in fact Sian Ahern – what’s that about?) have named their debut album after its precise duration. There are also a series of interludes at regular intervals, all of which are named after the point in the album’s duration at which they appear. Musically, although the album seems to veer between a number of different styles, the one unifying characteristic is the group’s tendency to extrapolate one single idea over time.

So, there’s the slow and lovely opener ‘As The Morning Light’, with its delicate picked guitar line and lingering repetitive motif. Whilst ‘Way Down To Heaven’ sounds very different, built as it is on a snarly, gritty two chord guitar riff (very close to PJ Harvey at her most skeletal), the approach is essentially the same. The band take one clear idea, repeat it, and build on it. It’s no surprise to find Brian DeGraw from Social Registry labelmates Gang Gang Dance and Jason Pierce and John Coxon from Spiritualized are among the band’s adherents (DeGraw and Coxon both play on the record). Indeed, ‘Way Down To Heaven’ echoes Spiritualized in its juxtaposition of religious imagery with more earthy themes.

There’s been much talk of a shoegazing revival lately (although I’ve always felt that term to be quite spurious), and SAG could easily fit this bill given Ahern’s vocals often serve as textural shading rather than as a foregrounded instrument. If she is drawing from this aesthetic, her group is making something much more interesting from it, as My Bloody Valentine did before them, emphasising the impact of slow-building layers of sound and relentless repetition.

As a consequence, this is an album that requires a good deal of patience, as well as a willingness to pick out minor details and subtle changes of mood. The judicious use of percussion helps, particularly on the free-sounding introduction to ‘When’, which takes the group far away from any obvious indie-rock conventions. When it veers into a quietly menacing, claustrophobic guitar figure, it’s an effective release of tension from the preceding chaos.

Whilst ’59.59’ can at times be icy, it’s never clinical or pseudo-intellectual, and much of its appeal lies in its calm, elegant restraint. The languid pace of the album’s mid-section presents something of a challenge, and the listener must fully yield to its hypnotic, mesmeric intent. The group generously reward those with staying power by saving some of the album’s highlights for its home straight – particularly the insistent rhythm of ‘Motionless’ and the shimmering, melancholy ‘Larsen B’.

There’s a sparing and merciless economy to this music – and a clear restraining impulse. The band never deploy two chords when just one will suffice, and they really succeed in making this minimalist aesthetic bear fruit. This is translucent music, where the full drama is partially concealed by the rigorous approach and technical simplicity. Yet the results are haunting and cumulatively addictive. It might make you appreciate the small joy in watching the counter as time ticks by.

Drink Beer

On a rare non-musical tip, the news that Britain's only brewing museum is to close in June strikes me as rather sad. I've never been to Burton-on-Trent - and I'm now wondering if I might find the time before I'm prevented from doing so. As ever, Comment is Free readers like to conflate their issues. Somehow this veers from a discussion of the dangers in losing touch with industrial traditions such as brewing into a rant about the Olympics and trendy wine bars. The latter point may have some validity though - as local, independently run pubs become swamped by chains, particularly in cities, it becomes harder for domestic brewers to find outlets beyond the summer beer festivals...

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2008/apr/04/fooddrinks.foodanddrink

A Ramshackle Trip

The Dodos - Visiter (Frenchkiss, 2008)

Naming your group after a famously extinct bird might be inviting trouble, but luckily The Dodos have made a record that is anything but dead. ‘Visiter’ is a raw, exciting, frequently playful and very enjoyable collection. Duos seem to be the group format du jour at the moment – possibly a delayed reaction to the success of The White Stripes. Now, not only do we have The Black Keys and The Kills but also The Ting Tings, Shy Child and, indeed, The Dodos. Like these other groups, The Dodos also have a bare bones sound, dependent on clattering percussion and a heavily strummed acoustic guitar or even the odd ukulele. It’s safe to say the group do not treat their respective instruments with due respect.

They have the endearingly ramshackle, whimsical appeal of Animal Collective without that group’s fondness for harsh electronic interjections. More interesting is the surprising versatility the group muster from these strictures – and the way they thread a variety of melodic approaches through this minimal, rusty sound. Whilst the music often sounds primal – it would probably be unfair to label them as primitivists, such is the full force and impact of this unpredictable and inventive material. There are notable traces of the American folk canon, particularly in guitarist Meric Long’s preponderance for finger picking and slide guitar excursions, but sometimes the simple thrill of a pounding rhythm takes the group to an entirely different place.

More importantly, most of these other skeletal duos, be they synth-pop adventurers or garage rock revivalists, seem to favour vocal lines that reject melody in favour of cold monotony or insincere aggression. The Dodos, by way of contrast, are well aware of the value of a good tune, and are particularly adept at creating tension by pitting such winsome melodies against rattling, relentless and dirty accompaniment. Long’s vocals often seem to take cue from other artists – there’s a distinct Stephin Merritt influence on ‘Winter’ (although he of course would have wickedly devised a much more irony-laden context), and there are occasional hints of Elliott Smith and Conor Oberst too, albeit with the self-righteousness and feigned emotion of the latter dutifully extracted. There’s nothing wrong with having influences though, especially when they are deployed with such urgency, and intelligently positioned within the context of otherwise maverick performances.

The tracks on ‘Visiter’ veer between the irresistibly cute (‘Ashley’, ‘Winter’) and the more ambitious explorations found on ‘Joe’s Waltz’ and ‘Paint The Rust’. Frequently, the group juxtapose their ideas with an irreverent verve and the lengthier tracks seem to adopt a variety of misleading disguises before thrillingly revealing their true nature. By focussing as much on how their instruments sound as much as what is played (from foot tambourines and woodblocks to the variety of guitar playing techniques on offer), they make a virtue of their limitations. When they do opt to add additional layers – saccharine backing vocals, keyboards on ‘The Season’ or the charming brass section on ‘Winter’ and ‘God?’, the effect is both surprising and supportive rather than overbearing.

For all the obvious reference points mentioned above, the lingering sense is that the Dodos have achieved something slightly different from the current vogue. The rhythmic impetus is paramount, but there’s little trace of the West African influences currently dominating the Brooklyn scene (Yeasayer, Dirty Projectors and Vampire Weekend). I also have absolutely no reservations in calling this ‘pop’ music. It’s unlikely to crash into the UK top 10 of course, but it’s every bit as enervating and infectious as a Kylie record. Never underestimate the value of good fun. It would be great if the Dodos grew from temporary visitors to permanent residents.

Genius.

Pivot/Three Trapped Tigers, The Luminaire 2/04/08

At the end of last year, I described Three Trapped Tigers as ‘the most ambitious new band in London’. I based this judgement on the four demo tracks that appeared on the group’s MySpace page, my previous work playing with chief tiger Tom Rogerson in a Jeremy Warmsley side project, and having seen a number of Tom’s free improvisation gigs that both confounded and inspired me in equal measure. However, when I wrote those words, I’d yet to see this particular configuration of Tom’s restless musical mind in live performance. When DJ Martian drew his readers’ attention to the group, quoting me in the process, I hoped they could live up to my hyperbole.

Happily, they can do a little more than that. It’s no exaggeration to describe Rogerson as a complete musician – he’s a brilliant technician, a prodigiously gifted composer and improviser, an intense and physical presence on stage, and also capable of channelling transparent passion and emotion into his music. This is based on unfathomably intricate composing – I found myself struggling to keep up with the group’s restless energy and time signature changes. Whilst it has the technical invention of contemporary composition and the mathematical precision of post-rock, there’s also a frenetic energy and collective spirit that makes it completely engaging and exciting.

All three musicians are utterly committed and immersed in this extraordinary sound. Rogerson hunches over his keyboards with total concentration (if he makes a career of this he’s going to end up with severe back trouble), but occasionally ends up treating his array of keys, synths and samplers with genuine violence. Adam Betts is an outrageous drummer – physical and powerful but also capable of great subtlety and focus. Matt Calvert provides solid foundations on bass synth, but also clear, ringing chords from his guitar – he also provides the occasional flashes of conflict or dissonance from which the group builds its tensions. There’s an obvious chemistry between the performers, even if they rarely make eye contact. Given the complexity of the arrangements – it’s remarkable how proficient and tight the playing is. There is no hint of hesitancy or uncertainity.

If Rogerson has had a limitation in the past, it’s perhaps been a tendency to be too passionate and too frenetic for too long. What struck me most about this performance is that the bursts of vigorous anger were punctuated by moments of genuine beauty and contemplation, with Rogerson leaving surprisingly pretty-sounding chords lingering for as long as necessary. Rogerson’s playing is all the more impressive with breathing space. Betts ably supports this more impressionistic tendency with the remarkable range of sounds he produces from his percussive apparatus – drum kit, thumb piano, samplers and electronic drums galore. He is his own orchestra.

It’s rare to hear music this intense, innovative and original that is also massively entertaining. For me, it provokes great physical and visceral reactions – a gut feeling when the group explodes into seismic noise, toe-tapping when they hit a sterling asymmetrical groove, or melancholy when they veer into romantic abstraction.

This impressive versatility simply made headliners and new Warp signings Pivot look like pretenders to the throne. They had very similar ingredients – odd, off-kilter rhythms, electronic background sound, wordless vocalising and sudden bursts of noise. Yet, by contrast, they seemed so mechanical and cold – and transparently lacking Rogerson’s musical empathy, superb ear and lightness of touch. Whereas Three Trapped Tigers captivated me completely, I found myself drifiting off into conversation and mundane thought during Pivot’s lengthier, meandering set. Surely it’s only a matter of time before people wake up to Three Trapped Tigers and their superlative synthesis?

Restlessness Vs. Constancy

Gnarls Barkley – The Odd Couple (Warner, 2008)

A couple of years ago, I had a chat with Joe Goddard from Hot Chip in which he expressed his fears that the then (and still) ubiquitous ‘Over and Over’ might prove to be an albatross around his group’s neck. Happily, he was proved completely wrong, but the stellar success of ‘Crazy’ could well be a poisoned chalice for Gnarls Barkley. Even though that claustrophobic, paranoid song was hardly positive, its bright sound no doubt aided its rise to the top of the charts, and many listeners struggled with the darker elements of the duo’s superb debut album.

Danger Mouse and Cee-Lo have ratcheted up the tension a few more notches on this hastily prepared successor. In doing so, they may well have bravely savaged their reputation as hitmakers extraordinaire. In the process though, they have made a provocative, challenging and adventurous album far removed from the world of contemporary R&B or hip hop. There are elements of psychedelia and garage rock as much as classic soul, all refracted through the distinctively modern prism of Danger Mouse’s inventive production. This is a record that requires a good deal of patience, but those who invest time in it may well find it to be a major statement.

In spite of its flippant title, ‘The Odd Couple’ is a concentrated examination of the darker recesses of human psychology. Cee-Lo’s lyrics are extraordinarily bleak, and the only respite seems to come with the jaunty pop of ‘Blind Mary’. Everywhere else, he’s adopting the persona of someone damaged, depressed, questioning or even psychotic. If the pressures of 21st Century Living are fuelling a stark rise in stress, anger and clinical depression, then Cee-Lo documents all these problems in blackly comic fashion here.

Thematically, ‘The Odd Couple’ represents a brilliant exploration of extreme feeling (regrets, secrets, bestial urges, self loathing), deploying the force of rhetorical exaggeration. On the opening ‘Charity Case’, Cee-Lo masterfully presents the confession of a character who helps others with their problems in order to avoid his own. ‘Oh can’t you see’, he implores ‘if I help somebody it’s mercy for me’. But the reality is not so simple – ‘even my shadow leaves me alone at night’, he confesses, ‘because I need to take my own advice’. He explores a similar theme on the palpably desperate ‘Who’s Gonna Save My Soul Now?’ (‘how could this be – all this time I’ve lived vicariously?’). On ‘Would Be Killer’, he goes much further, inhabiting the persona of a merciless man with a desire to hurt – a man who could (would?) murder. The superb ‘Neighbours’ is an audacious exploration of envy and greed.

Musically, this is disorientating, imaginative and fervent. The skittering, stuttering backing track Danger Mouse crafts for ‘Open Book’ creates high end drama and suggests confusion and frustration. More simply, the reconstructed psychedelic soul vibe of first single ‘Run’ imbues it with sinister urgency. ‘Surprise’, with its propulsive rhythm, is also highly theatrical. ‘Who’s Gonna Save My Soul?’ initially seems to resemble the trademark Portishead sound, but closer inspection reveals the main source of inspiration might be an earlier landmark of musical history, Syl Johnson’s sublime civil rights track ‘Is it Because I’m Black?’, the rolling rhythms and exposed vocal of which this track seems to echo.

The only moment that doesn’t quite ring true here is the self-mocking parody ‘Whatever’, for which Cee-Lo adopts a pinched nasal whine for comic effect. The lyrics rely too heavily on an obvious rhyme scheme, and the music is an uncharacteristic basic stomp. Pretty much everywhere else though, the combination of Cee-Lo’s increasingly forceful bellow and Danger Mouse’s elaborate arrangements make for a winning, if not necessarily immediate combination. The integration of the excesses of Cee-Lo’s lead vocals with layers of backing vocals is particularly successful, and much of ‘The Odd Couple’ sounds more confrontational than resigned as a result.

With each listen, ‘The Odd Couple’ sounds closer and closer to a masterpiece. Those yearning for the immediacy of ‘Crazy’ might be disappointed, but they will find bolder and more resilient material here – and a dark mood that is far more disturbing and troubling than that found on most mainstream pop records. The songs all bear testament to the value of brevity in pop music. In this concise form, they never outstay their welcome, yet their restless energy and imaginative verve reveal the group’s considerable ambition.

Sun Kil Moon – April (Calde Verde, 2008)

If Gnarls Barkley attempt to cram as many ideas as possible into one concise album on ‘The Odd Couple’, Mark Kozelek remains a rock of unchanging constancy. ‘April’ contains just 11 tracks, but is over 74 minutes long. It sustains a consistently languid and melancholy mood, perhaps even a dour one, and is dominated by a lingering sadness that is both haunting and beautiful. It would be easy to criticise Kozelek for his spare voice with its limited range, but within those understated limitations, there is a world of complex emotion and feeling.

‘April’ isn’t as ragged and untamed as the outstanding first Sun Kil Moon album ‘Ghosts of the Great Highway’. Instead, its focus on acoustic guitar pluckings and stubborn repetition echoes Kozelek’s earlier work with Red House Painters. If he’s made some esoteric career choices (albums consisting entirely of cover versions of AC/DC and Modest Mouse songs), it’s merely because his own artistic voice is now so fully developed as to be able to lay claim to any material. However, these projects often seem like distractions from his original writing, which is always excellent, and seems particularly strong here, rich in dense imagery and enthralling language.

It’s difficult to highlight individual tracks given the album’s overall mood, but I particularly admire the Neil Young slow growl of ‘Tonight The Sky’, which also serves up one of Kozelek’s most memorable choruses. The opening ‘Lost Verses’ unravels very slowly and mysteriously indeed, before ending with an unexpected and almost spirited rock coda. By way of contrast, ‘Heron Blue’ steadfastly refuses to add any layers to its extremely minimal arrangement. In doing so, it creates a powerful and alluring mystique.

If there’s a development here it’s in the greater and very effective use of backing vocals, many of which come from the ubiquitous Will Oldham. He adds colour and texture to the brooding ‘Like A River’, which rolls with characteristic effortlessness. Indeed, the whole album sounds superbly natural – as if it has simply flowed from Kozelek without any exertion of force.

Given Kozelek’s relentless slow pace and melancholy, it’s easy to let these songs simply drift by. Such an approach does the material scant justice – given due attention, these songs are absorbing and fascinating. Just listen to the way Kozelek’s voice melts into the delicate guitar arpeggios of ‘Tonight in Bilbao’ (which drifts on elegantly for over nine minutes), or the way he completely embraces the dust of ‘Moorestown’. He’s a kindred spirit with Jason Molina, particularly in his Songs:Ohia guise, or Will Johnson from South San Gabriel and Centr-O-Matic. He remains one of rock music’s most painterly writers and performers – impressionistic, but completely free from pretension or fanfare – it’s all there in the music and its mysteries.

Suffer Little Children

The Orphanage (Juan Antonio Bayona, 2008)

NB: This review contains significant plot spoilers.

I am at something of a loss as to why this film has been so extravagantly praised. Directed by debutant Juan Antonio Bayona but, somewhat conveniently, produced by Mexican horror maestro Guillermo Del Toro, it’s a watchable, occasionally chilling horror film. Like many films before it, it exploits its audience’s very human emotions towards children – both their fear and lack of comprehension of their private worlds, and their desire to protect them. Whilst it certainly induces the odd shiver or expression of surprise, it adds nothing particularly new to this genre, and in fact relies very heavily on a set of conventions and clichés.

I am entirely prepared to suspend my disbelief when it comes to the existence of ghosts and also to the possibility of communication between the living and the dead. What I found much more difficult to accept with this picture was that any woman that had grown up in care in a creaky old orphanage (with very institutional facilities) could possibly ever want to return to live in that building as an adult. But so it is – we must accept that Laura, her docile husband Carlos and their young adopted son Simon have bought this old orphanage with the intention of admitting a new group of children and reopening it.

Simon has congenital HIV but is blissfully unaware of both his illness and his adopted status – at least until he starts receiving messages from a series of imaginary friends. Initially dismissive, Laura becomes increasingly intrigued by this private world, but not concerned enough to act when Simon demands that she visit Tomas’ private house. Fairly predictably, tragedy strikes when Simon disappears during a welcoming party for the new orphans, and the stage is set for a psychological and emotional horror story that is prevented from reaching its potential by a series of over-familiar tropes.

Almost everything in this film is taken from the Hitchcock textbook – the old isolated gothic building by the sea, the disused lighthouse, the creaky or slamming doors, the chill gusts of wind, creaking staircases, the ominous footsteps – even the sinister elderly social worker who visits the house in the days before Simon’s disappearance could be Norman Bates in his mother’s garb in Psycho.

The film is rescued from clunky lameness by a convincing central performance, and because it does indeed have something to say about the nature of maternal grief, and the way that children can induce extreme emotions and alter relationships. That Simon was adopted would seem almost incidental were it not for the link it provides with the ghostly orphans who tempt him. Yet it is hardly the first film to investigate adults’ protective and sacrificial relationship with children, surely a well worn theme in both literature and the cinema.

Other plus points include a hammed up and hilarious cameo from Geraldine Chaplin as a medium who attempts to bridge the gap between Laura’s world and the world of the dead children. These supposedly ‘imaginary’ children are all linked by illness, something young Simon of course also shares, and also by one tragic and dramatic event that had been concealed from Laura during her own youth at the Orphanage. This is quite an effective idea, but it is never fully realised or explored.

Equally effective is the film’s focus on childhood games as a means of breaking the barriers between the world of the living and the world of ghosts. These treasure hunts and other games effectively become the language of belief, and the moment when Laura re-enacts a childhood game of knock has genuine tension.

Unfortunately though, the film prefers to concentrate on the conventional – a tedious dialectic between scepticism and belief (have Bayona and Del Toro not seen the X Files?) and a string of predictable events. When Laura bravely hacks her way through sandbags in some storage units in the garden shed, what else would she possibly find other than the remains of dead children? Are we supposed to be surprised or shocked by this?

Any chance of cinematic redemption is destroyed by the film’s string of saccharine false endings, which represent a concession too far in favour of Hollywood formulae. Why it all reduces to a very icky and unpleasant recasting of the Peter Pan story is somewhat mystifying. Both the scene where Laura submits to an eternity caring for these ill children (in a somewhat less enticing version of Neverland) and where Carlos returns to the Orphanage to feel his wife’s ghostly presence made me groan audibly in the cinema.

I found myself wondering whether I might not have been the only person amongst the audience to find certain elements of this film distasteful. To some extent, it seems to be about illness, but it succeeds only in either turning the idea of care into something rather patronising, or exploiting our fears surrounding the otherness of illness or deformity. I felt this all became a bit conflated and dangerous in the welcoming party scene, where Laura is frantically searching for Simon, de-masking various children, all of whom seem to be suffering from cerebral palsy, and who are made to appear threatening and sinister. Was I the only person to feel extremely uncomfortable with this idea? Also, whilst the film had plenty to say about grief and motherhood, I felt it had very little to say about the fear of death, which is essentially the driving force behind the entire story.

Very brief blink-and-you’ll-miss-them flashbacks towards the end of the film essentially imply that Laura may have inadvertently caused Simon’s death. Are we expected to see the ghost story as a figment of her imagination – a mechanism for dealing with guilt? Or do the ghosts simply direct her to this revelation? If so, what does the ending actually mean?

Do Pianists Dream of Ginger Sheep?

Neil Cowley Trio – Loud…Louder…Stop! (Cake Music, 2008)

Talented pianist Neil Cowley has had an unpredictable and versatile career trajectory, from performing Shostakovich’s 2nd Piano Concerto at the Queen Elizabeth Hall at the age of 10, to session keyboardist for Brand New Heavies and Zero 7. Clearly, his own passions are free from the strictures of classical performance and sterile studio production though, as his debut trio album ‘Displaced’ demonstrated with impressive brio. If the European model of the contemporary piano trio veers towards the meditative and serene, Cowley has clearly learnt a good deal from the more irreverent approach adopted by US iconoclasts The Bad Plus. This is music with verve and panache, but also with the hard-hitting power and rigorous focus of rock music. In Cowley’s more than capable hands, it’s an appealing combination.

As with many contemporary jazz acts, the track titles alone are spectacular. What could possibly have inspired Cowley to compose a tune called ‘Ginger Sheep’ - a particularly surreal form of insomnia? Even better are ‘Clumsy Couple’ and ‘Streets Paved With Half Baguettes’. There are very few rock bands with this level of wit and creativity. Were it not for the relentless imagination and intensity of his music, it would make me yearn for Cowley to knuckle down and write some lyrics.

Some elements of Cowley’s approach will no doubt direct purists to question whether or not this is jazz. It’s a totally unimportant question when the synthesis is handled adroitly. The rhythmic simplicity and urgency of ‘Dinosaur Die’ echoes the conventions of indie-rock, yet the song’s insistence and gradual crescendo suggest it has more in common with the techniques of minimalism. It carries the listener on a journey from introverted reflection to outright anger – the kind of emotional transition rarely mustered by rock bands. By way of contrast, the track immediately following (‘Scaredy Cat’) incorporates elements of gospel and blues. Cowley is certainly aware of the mesmerising power of rhythm, but also of the emotional clarity that can be found in the elemental language of the blues.

Cowley is at his most irreverent and witty on ‘Ginger Sheep’, a track exploring offbeat emphasis, borrowing heavily from both Ska and European folk music. It’s fun, but ultimately lightweight and insubstantial. Much better is the more intricate ‘We Are Here To Make Plastic’, which confounds with its numerous time signature changes and off-kilter rhythms, also simmering with creeping unease, before collapsing into a playful section that exhibits Cowley’s breathtaking technique and manual dexterity. It then veers, again tangentially, into a more relaxed improvisation, with plenty of breathing space. All this happens within the space of a mere five minutes, pithy and concise by jazz standards.

The album’s home straight is a good deal more sensitive, and highlights Cowley’s more delicate and vulnerable side. It makes for essential respite from the heavy-handed hammering elsewhere, although careful listening reveals similar rhythmic and harmonic preoccupations simply being explored further through stylistic variation. Cowley also remains very heavy on the sustain pedal throughout even these more pensive moments.

There are some impressive and very immediate statements on this bold album, but sometimes the emphasis on driving rhythm or clear melody is a little limiting. I’d like to hear Cowley exercise his improvising chops a little more, or even take the music in a more abstract direction occasionally. It would also be good to hear more chemistry and interaction between the players in the group, an element of the music explored to greater impact on ‘Displaced’. Richard Sadler and Evan Jenkins seem reduced to much more of a controlled supporting role here and sometimes the compositions are so much in service of a rock music ethos that the long passages in slow four sound rather tepid and conventional. Also, so much is ‘Loud…Louder…Stop!’ about Cowley’s own exploration of single ideas that some of it does not reward closer scrutiny. Nevertheless, when these explorations are at their most intense, it’s an engaging and original listen.