Old Friends, Sat On A Park Bench Like Bookends

Kevin Ayers - The Unfairground
Robert Wyatt - Comicopera

It’s a special couple of months that sees these two pioneering collaborators (both Soft Machine alumni) both releasing new albums. Wyatt’s output has stayed restlessly creative over recent years, with a series of largely home-recorded albums demonstrating the continued flowering of his remarkable genius. As a composer, he is continually pushing himself in new directions, and he remains one of the most insightful and inventive of pop writers. ‘Cuckooland’ and now ‘Comicopera’ may show him becoming increasingly accessible but he is still completely fearless in his themes and juxtapositions, far from any comfortable or classifiable terrain. Yet, in some ways, it’s the Ayers album, whilst decidedly more conventional, that is the more unexpected. It’s this hermetic figure’s first recording for over fifteen years, and it is a remarkably dignified and unassuming disc. Wyatt himself is among the numerous guests on ‘The Unfairground’, billed amusingly as The Wyattron, although it’s not clear exactly what his contribution entails.

The play on words in Ayers’ chosen title is so obvious that it’s difficult to believe it hasn’t been used before. In fact, it neatly sums up the directness and clarity of this deceptively simple collection. Ayers’ vocal style is delicate, clear and almost conversational, and his melodies take a while to ingrain themselves in the mind. Repeated listens to ‘The Unfairground’ reveal numerous pleasures in its elaborate arrangements and old fashioned dusty shuffles. There’s also something hugely endearing about its ruminative and reflective mood.

Ayers may have been passing the time drinking wine in the South of France, but he clearly hasn’t closed his ears to contemporary talent. Among the guests on this beguiling record are indie-jazz pianist Bill Wells, various members of The Ladybug Transistor, former Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci singer Euros Childs and one of the greatest songwriters of the past 20 years in Teenage Fanclub’s Norman Blake. The songs all benefit from detail in the arrangements, including strings, brass and harmony vocals. These never feel tacked on after the event, but are rather innate contributing factors to the relaxed, lightly entertaining feel of the music.

The jauntiness of the opening ‘Only Heaven Knows’ or the delightfully infectious ‘Walk On Water’ border on twee, but never quite stray into that unpleasant pastiche territory coveted by Belle and Sebastian in their recent work with Trevor Horn. There’s also an important counterweight to be found elsewhere in the murky, dense trudge of ‘Brainstorm’ or the charming Cajun melancholy of ‘Baby Come Home’. The feel of much of this music is restrained and subtle, from the dusty shuffle of ‘Shine A Light’ to the multi-faceted rhythmic adventures of the title track, which bears a strong resemblance to Bob Dylan’s ‘Mozambique’.

Much of ‘The Unfairground’ deals with disappointment and uncertainty, and how age and experience do not by themselves bring greater insight. These are quite brave themes, although the reflective, whimsical humour with which Ayers confronts these subjects ensures that these songs are not overly weighty. Indeed, far from it, for there’s an admirable lightness of touch throughout the album. The resignation of ‘Cold Shoulder’ might be merely weary, or it might be wise (‘old shoulders become cold shoulders, nothing left to lean on’), whilst ‘Friends and Strangers’ neatly encapsulates the difficulties when the boundaries between friendship and love become blurred (‘funny how a situation changes, love can turn the best of friends into strangers’).

Those familiar with the oddball quirkiness Ayers displayed on albums like ‘Whatevershebringswesing’ might well find the relative straightforwardness and unashamed whimsy of ‘The Unfairground’ underwhelming. I have a clear sense that this is one of those delightfully modest albums that is all too easy to underestimate. It’s lovingly crafted, with an intriguing set of guests who have real empathy with Ayers’ unassuming approach.

Robert Wyatt claims that ‘Comicopera’ is about ‘the unpredictable mischief of real life’ and what greater, more sophisticated backdrop for an artistic statement could there be? He also claims that he doesn’t like to limit himself through prior planning or conceptual restrictions, although ‘Comicopera’ is an intelligently structured work neatly divided into three acts. Wyatt has a unique ability to make his work sound simultaneously both unfinished and utterly complete – there is as much space in this music as there is sound, and the low key production values allow for imperfections and real feeling.

So much has been made of Wyatt’s obfuscation or the challenge his music poses to ears more attuned to conventional pop music. His name has even become a verb – to ‘Wyatt’ now refers to the act of deliberately selecting the most outrageous or provocative track on a pub jukebox. Listening to ‘Comicopera’, though, I don’t feel that Wyatt’s music is without broader appeal. Whilst he’s undoubtedly preoccupied with sound in the broadest sense, and also with the traditions of improvisation and harmonic extension not usually explored in conventional pop writing, he has such a sensitive ear for melody and elegant chord progressions that much of the music here is both touching and approachable. Take the brief but charming ‘A Beautiful Peace’ for example, its delicate rustle and strum having an effortless charm. The music on ‘Comicopera’ is also subtle and considerably nuanced however, and therefore lacks the insistence or immediacy of much mainstream pop music. Like the best composition in any genre, it demands close attention, and rewards the effort handsomely.

Much of Wyatt’s last album (the outstanding ‘Cuckooland’) was fuelled by audacious examinations of the Middle East situation. ‘Comicopera’ advances this preoccupation by pivoting on the most original and intelligent expression of anger at the Iraq war any musician has yet mustered. Its second act sees Wyatt playing opposing roles, as a gung-ho bomber and an innocent victim of bombings. Then, in the album’s third (and most unconventional) act, Wyatt abandons the English language for Italian and Spanish, an expression of his perceived political and cultural alienation from the Anglo-American axis. This is a much more lucid, nuanced and powerful expression of dislocation than the uncontrolled anger Neil Young indulged on the massively overrated ‘Living With War’ album last year.

Ultimately, though, ‘Comicopera’ is as much personal as it is political, and even its most confrontational moments build broad pictures from individual perspectives. Wyatt and his wife and co-lyricist Alfreda Benge may be rivalled in 2007 only by Bjork and Feist for their insight into human behaviour. There are love songs here, but they are free from the burden of sentimentality and rarely predictable in their outlook. Sometimes, as much of the emotion and feeling is hidden as it is revealed (I particularly like ‘A.W.O.L’ with its lyrics about ‘thinking in riddles and waving to trains that no longer run’). Yet occasionally, Wyatt and Benge manage to be strikingly direct, as on ‘Just As You Are’ which manages to revisit that well-worn theme of constancy in love without sounding tired or jaded.

This album is so stylistically diverse and scattershot that it shouldn’t hang together nearly as coherently as it does. Its overarching themes and musical preoccupations provide a consistent thread, and there’s an engaging mystery neatly introduced by the eerie interpretation of Anja Garbarek’s ‘Stay Tuned’.

The three act scheme also helps to add shape and form, even if it was, as Wyatt suggests, an afterthought. The first act, subtitled ‘Lost In Noise’ is notable for its smoky, entrancing arrangements focussing on trumpet and saxophone. These performances are not just lovingly arranged (particularly the wonderful ‘Anachronist’ which is both hypnotic and discomforting) but also carefully recorded, capturing the natural live sound and tone of these instruments.

The first part of the middle act most explicitly conjures the comic mood the album’s title suggests. This being a Robert Wyatt album, however, the humour is particularly dry. On the quirky deconstructed blues ‘Be Serious’, he quips ‘how can I express myself when there’s no self to express?’, a peculiar inversion of existentialist philosophy. The act ends with the album’s most politically confrontational material, but is glued together by the endearingly ramshackle instrumental ‘On The Town Square’, essentially an extended improvisation for saxophone and steel pan over just one insistently repeated guitar chord. ‘A Beautiful War’ is devastating in its sardonic cynicism in the face of war, Wyatt playing the role of gleeful bomber privileged with a promise of freedom and security denied to his targets (‘I open the hatch, and I drop the first batch/It’s a shame, I’ll miss the place, but I’ll get to see the film within days…the replay of my beautiful day’). Immediately afterwards, on the brilliantly disorientating ‘Out Of The Blue’, Wyatt switches roles to play the part of the beleaguered victim of war (‘Beyond all understanding you’ve blown my house apart/You set me free…You’ve planted all your everlasting hatred in my heart’). It sounds appropriately confusing and terrifying, but also underlines a sense of anger and fearless righteousness.

The final act, subtitled ‘Away With The Fairies’ seems to enter another world completely, a land that is both romantic and disconcertingly dark, with Wyatt both forsaking the English language and veering into his most inventive musical terrain. ‘Cancion de Julieta’ might be the album’s most difficult moment but it’s also a clear highlight, setting a Lorca poem to appropriately dramatic and evocative music. It builds from just Wyatt’s uniquely conversational intoning set against a discreet double bass glide, into a swirling, malevolent concoction in asymmetrical time. The take on Orphy Robinson’s ‘Pastafari’ is equal parts Steve Reich and Lionel Hampton, far more engaging than a simple interlude. After ‘Fragment’ echoes some of the themes from the first act, the album ends with the Latin-tinged ‘Hasta Siemore Comandante’, which manages to be at once elusive and forthright, foreboding and celebratory.

It would be easy to take Wyatt for granted because he consistently produces music that is this weird and wonderful – it is exactly what his audience expects from him. But let’s be clear – there is no other male solo artist working on this level and nobody this unafraid to combine ideas and sounds that might otherwise be assumed to be in conflict with each other. ‘Comicopera’ is yet another vivid masterpiece in a career that has not yet produced anything less.

Adventurers United

I’ve been attempting to catch up on some records this week, so here are some of the results…

I have to confess to an element of ‘genre tokenism’ when it comes to specialist dance music. I don’t pick up that many dance records in the course of a year, and I’m certainly no expert in the field. I’m certainly appreciating the new album from The Field though (oh dear, do you see what I did there?). I’m not sure that Axel Willner’s breed of minimalist techno is bracingly original, but it’s certainly mesmerising and effective, as this music should be. All the individual elements of this music are steadfastly basic, from the skeletal drum programming (which initially seems unadventurous) to the repetition ad nauseum of various vocal samples and ambient effects. Yet this is anything but background music. The effect is such that very subtle shifts in texture become unexpectedly dramatic. With the four to the floor beat pushed into the background, the emphasis is more on sound and atmosphere than rhythm. The rippling synth figures of ‘The Little Heart Beats So Fast’ hark back to the acid house movement, whilst the more prominent ideas in tracks like ‘Over the Ice’ and ‘Everyday’ create an eerie calm unusual for dance music. This is music that sounds simultaneously detached and immediate – elusive, mysterious but captivating. The title seems eerily appropriate – this seems to capture what the process of sublimation might sound like.

‘Mirrored’ is the first album proper from avant-rock Warp signings Battles, and it seems to be dividing opinion somewhat. There are some that find it overly cerebral and irritating, whilst others seem to admire its rhythmic drive and foot-tapping qualities. The band certainly have technical pedigree, featuring former members of Don Caballero and Helmet, as well as Tyondai Braxton, son of free jazz legend Anthony Braxton. They are completely unafraid to show their chops – the opening ‘Race: In’ is about as dexterous and technically impressive as rock music gets. Luckily, it’s as exhilarating as it is confounding. Elsewhere, they prefer things quirky and goofy, as on lead single ‘Atlas’ with its peculiar vocals that completely eschew language. The best of the album provokes physical or visceral reactions, and the group interplay (particularly in the deft juxtaposition of electronic and conventional rock elements) is frequently compelling. The group become less engaging when they veer into abstraction though, and there’s a short section of the album (the close of ‘Rainbow’ leading into ‘Bad Trails’) that seems forced and out of place. Still, by the exhuberant, playful ‘Tij’ they’re more than back on track, and ‘Mirrored’ proves that rock music can still be bold and adventurous.

‘Noise Won’t Stop’ is the UK debut from Shy Child, a drums and synth duo that has inevitably been tagged with the rather ludicrous nu-rave label. The album shares some tracks with another album, ‘One With The Sun’, released elsewhere in the world last year, but unfortunately ignores the group’s two best moments (the outrageous ode to auto-fellatio ‘Down on Yourself’ and the insistent, clattering single ‘Technicrats’). There are plenty of treasures here in spite of this though, and what is likely to elevate this group above their similarly nostalgic contemporaries is the real sense of fun here. This is a tremendously entertaining record, all single finger synth lines, jittery drum beats, silly lyrics and bleepy noises. The collaboration with quirky rap outfit Spank Rock fits in perfectly. ‘Drop The Phone’, ‘Pressure to Come’ and ‘Kick Drum’, all three jerky and off kilter (essentially this seems to be club music for people who can’t dance), make for a killer opening trio. The group’s minimalism is perhaps a little limiting, and when they try for a smoother, more melodic sound on ‘Summer’ and ‘What’s It Feel Like?’ they come unstuck. ‘Cause and Effect’ is memorably delirious though – a fitting conclusion to a hugely enjoyable record.

For those that like their indie rock to come with a hefty dose of melodrama, ‘Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters’, the debut album from Scotland’s The Twilight Sad may just be the perfect tonic. One need only look at the titles to discern the group’s shameless lunges for grandeur (‘that summer, at home I had become the invisible boy’, ‘mapped by what surrounded them’, ‘and she would darken the memory’ – all set in consistently lower case letters). Yet, amidst the loftiness and grandiose theatrics there’s also plenty to like. The alternately shimmering and thunderous epic rock dynamics distance this music from the tepid template of most contemporary British guitar music. There’s also something inherently endearing in singer James Alexander Graham’s refusal to disguise his thick Scottish vowels and exaggerated consonants. For all the obvious swelling guitar crescendos, it’s the foregrounding of melody and emotive vocal lines that make this music effective. Similarly, the frequent use of accordion prevents the arrangements from becoming too swamped by the walls of abstract guitar noise. It’s interesting that all this has earned the band some serious plaudits – it sounds quite unfashionable in the current musical climate and if I can think of a clear reference point for this, it’s underrated Irish epic rockers Whipping Boy who spring most immediately to mind. A good friend of mine abandoned his early taste for indie rock by dismissing it as all about ‘trying to regress to the womb’. It’s an interesting notion, and one that this album does little to disprove, such is its focus on the torment of adolescence. Yet there’s an admirable empathy and perceptiveness at this album’s core that prevents it lapsing into caricature or mere bombast. It feels like a series of emotional highs and lows, which is exactly as it should feel.

It’s been a while since I’ve latched on to anything from the Kill Rock Stars label, but ‘In Advance of the Broken Arm’ by Marnie Stern is one of the albums of the year so far. It’s furious, high velocity rock and roll combining the visceral blues of Sleater Kinney with an unhinged and demented intricacy. It’s essentially a totally frenetic mess, but Stern is somehow gifted with the ability to shape these uncompromising elements into spirited, joyful and exhilarating music. It helps that she has the outrageously gifted drummer Zach Hill to work with. For Hill, a simple backbeat is never appropriate, and whilst he veers off in several unexpected tangents simultaneously, he always anchors the music to a clear pulse too, albeit usually a completely beserk one. Stern’s guitar playing rejects conventional riffing or soloing in favour of a constantly energetic high-end noodle, as if she’s been mainlining caffeine. With titles like ‘Plato’s Fucked Up Cave’ and (my personal favourite) ‘Put All Your Eggs in One Basket and Then Watch That Basket!!’, there’s also plenty of humour here too. She’s supporting the outstanding Animal Collective at the Coronet in London in July – definitely a show not to miss.

More to come later this week – including albums from The National, Fennesz/Sakomoto and Elliott Smith as well as my thoughts on the superb Wilco gig last weekend. There’s also a whole set of inspirational releases from the ECM label that I need to get round to writing about!

Buried Treasure #2

Mark Hollis - Mark Hollis (Polydor, 1998)

For all the critical rehabilitation of Talk Talk’s extraordinary ‘Spirit of Eden’ and ‘Laughing Stock’ albums over the last ten years, it’s still surprisingly difficult to find incisive writing on Mark Hollis’ debut, and so far only, solo work. It took several years for Hollis to muster the inspiration to record again after ‘Laughing Stock’, by which time Talk Talk had effectively disintegrated. It’s clear that the recording processes for both ‘Spirit..’ and ‘Laughing Stock’ were protracted and both physically and emotionally draining, leaving the group with little coherence or resolve. The results of course speak for themselves – both records are unique musical statements, completely unlike anything else in the British rock canon, with an originality, force and power few artists can muster.

Those major Talk Talk albums existed largely as seamless pieces of music, and made more sense as complete works than as a sequence of songs. They also displayed a steadfast lack of respect for genre boundaries, melding elements of contemporary composition with rock and improvised jazz. Recorded with large groups of musicians in unconventional groupings, they were meticulously arranged, with as much attention paid to silences as the sudden bursts of savage noise. In light of this, it’s tempting to portray Hollis’ solo work as simply an extension of this approach to writing and recording.

Yet there’s a crucial and fundamental difference that sets ‘Mark Hollis’ apart from all of Talk Talk’s output. If anything, this is a more schematic and theorised work, recorded entirely on acoustic instruments. As a result, there are no electric guitars, only upright bass, drums mostly delicately brushed rather than hit, and the overall sound is consistently dignified and restrained. Hollis had already explored a range of avenues in jazz and rock forms, but had now also discovered Eastern European folk music. Explaining his approach to this album on its release in 1998, he stated that he was searching for the common elements between chamber music, jazz and folk. It was also Hollis’ first work without the input of Tim Friese-Greene, instead collaborating with arrangers Phil Ramacon and Dominic Miller.

The result of this questing is a stark minimalism that defies musical convention or easy classification. Sometimes there is genuinely nothing here (opening track ‘The Colour Of Spring’ begins with 19 seconds of considered silence), and Hollis’ voice, increasingly elusive, drifts in and out of focus. The music is hushed, but extraordinary, and it remains staggering how much feeling and texture Hollis and his musicians could wrench from as few notes as possible. Hollis’ famous quotation from this period sums it all up brilliantly: "Before you play two notes learn how to play one note - and don't play one note unless you've got a reason to play it." There’s a palpable sense across the whole album that every beat and every sound have been placed in order to be meaningful. This is most notable from the deployment of reed and wind instruments – Flute, Cor anglais, Bassoon and Clarinet, which all serve to layer texture and enhance mood, in unshowy arrangements that reject the temptations of virtuosity.

Hollis is credited with production duties himself, but engineer Phill Brown must surely be the unsung hero of this project. The naturalistic, elemental sound at least gives the impression of a chamber ensemble interacting (although I have no idea whether or not the music was recorded ‘as live’), and there’s no attempt to manipulate or disguise the natural timbre of the instruments. Very few albums recorded in the '90s sounded this pure or convincing. There’s a beauty and clarity to the piano and vocal opener ‘The Colour Of Spring’ that is only deceptively simple, and the lengthy ‘A Life (1895-1915)’ is characterised by subtle and controlled shifts in texture and dynamics.

Hollis’ lyrics are frequently still derided as oblique or frustrating, and whilst it’s true that a literal meaning is not always immediately clear, there’s an elegant flow to the language that complements the music and also contributes to the languid, profoundly reflective atmosphere. The words frequently sound beautiful. The title of ‘The Colour Of Spring’ harks back to the earlier Talk Talk album of the same name, but the Talk Talk of the mid-80s would never have written or recorded anything this quietly intense: ‘And yet I’ll gaze/The colour of spring/Immerse in that one moment/Left in love with everything/Soar the bridges/That I burnt before/One song among us all’. Elsewhere, the lyrics sometimes seem like strands of disconnected words or phrases, but one of Hollis’ great gifts as a writer is to make plangent melancholy by undercutting expectations, such as on ‘A New Jerusalem’, where he sings, so softly its almost inaudible, ‘Summer unwinds/But no longer kind’. The fragmented nature of the language reflects the unusual ebb and flow of the music – with no obvious verses or choruses, these are free flowing songs that follow their own uniquely questing path. By varying the volume and lucidity of his singing, Hollis effectively subsumes his voice completely within the music – rather than something added as a hook or an afterthought, the vocals are an intrinsic part of these arrangements.

In the nine years since this album’s release, little has been heard from Hollis and it is unclear whether or not he plans to record again, although his former Talk Talk colleague Paul Webb was instrumental in the success of Beth Gibbons’ excellent ‘Out Of Season’ album. Hollis is a singular talent with a clear and uncompromising vision, but there’s the increasing sense that this melancholy, haunting work is the last we may hear from him.

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!