Bruised but Unbeaten

Gil Scott Heron - I'm New Here (XL Recordings)

This intriguing comeback from Gil Scott Heron is actually an incredibly difficult album to review. Scott Heron has arguably never made a bad record – even his last release, 1994’s ‘Spirits’, had its moments. Whilst ‘I’m New Here’ belatedly continues the quality streak, it stands alone in Scott Heron’s catalogue in terms of its sound and instrumentation. Yet it’s faintly ludicrous to applaud it for ‘incorporating hip-hop’ when, along with the Last Poets, Scott Heron is one of the founding fathers of rap. XL boss Richard Russell’s production therefore represents a sensitive and logical modernisation, rather than a forced or unnecessary one.

The sonic environment Russell has crafted for Scott Heron may not actually be all that radical. His claustrophobic, sinister but minimalist combination of strings and beats could easily have come from a Massive Attack album. He at least seems to be a good deal more creative with such backing tracks than Massive Attack themselves are these days. His accompaniments take Scott Heron away from his natural comfort zone without making him sound distant or uncomfortable. There’s no Fender Rhodes piano or live percussion and no attempt to smooth over the rough, nervy reality of Scott Heron’s words. The jazz lineage (the world of ‘lady Day and John Coltrane’) may have been sacrificed – but the results are suitably dank and fearsome.

What is most interesting about this record though is Scott Heron’s voice, which now sounds deeper and more resonant, but somehow simultaneously more weathered and dry. He now sounds like a man who has been through a tough prison sentence and various drug rehabilitation programmes. In this sense, the musical backings work remarkably well, given that they are atmospheric but unobtrusive – allowing that peculiar but powerful voice space to communicate.

This set supremely reaffirms Scott Heron’s talents as a performance poet. It is full of interludes and brief skits which complement the flow of the overall album rather than interrupt it. It is bookended by two parts of an autobiographical tale entitled ‘On Coming From A Broken Home’ in which Scott Heron’s elaborate language is as rich and evocative as the sound of his voice. Even more intense is the stark, pounding ‘Running’, which seems confessional in light of Scott Heron’s recent life experience.

The album is rather dominated by the choice of covers, which leads to obvious comparisons with Rick Rubin’s rehabilitation of Johnny Cash’s career. Yet, to hear Johnny Cash singing with acoustic instrumentation was not surprising. To hear Scott Heron doing it on the surprisingly effective version of Smog’s ‘I’m New Here’ is rather radical and unexpected. The song’s combination of irony and honesty is the perfect vehicle for Scott Heron’s resurrection, with its brilliant chat up lines (‘I met a woman in a bar and told her I was hard to get to know, but damn near impossible to forget’) and self-reflection (‘I had an ego the size of Texas. I forget –does that mean big or small?’).

Perhaps less unexpected are versions of Robert Johnson’s ‘Me and The Devil’, relocated from the Mississippi Delta to a paranoid urban environment, and an ostensibly soft take on Bobby Bland’s ‘I’ll Take Care Of You’. Here, Scott Heron’s harsh voice suggests not compassion or commitment – but rather defiance and conviction.

The only original ‘song’ here – ‘New York Is Killing Me’ – is excellent, and suggests that there may be much more to come from this resurrected artist. Set to a handclap backing reminiscent of the Dixie Cups’ ‘Iko Iko’, the accompanying vocal is anything but lightweight, actually weighed down by its burdensome natural gravitas.

I’ve long had reservations with the image of Scott Heron as a prophet of equality and human rights, given his early song ‘The Subject Was Faggots’, a rather unpleasant piece of observational writing. Perhaps now that he has singlehandedly failed to take his own advice (having fallen victim to the very drink and drugs he warned so gravely about) we can now see him in a different, more nuanced light. On ‘I’m New Here’ he seems defiant, but also wiser and slightly vulnerable too. This is an unexpected, powerful return to the real world.

Electric Dreams

Neon Neon - Stainless Style (Lex, 2008)

A concept album based on the rise and fall of playboy engineer John DeLorean relying heavily on recycled 80s production values doesn’t necessarily sound like one of 2008’s most appetising prospects. Yet any album combining the talents of Super Furry Animal Gruff Rhys and Anticon production maestro Bryan ‘Boom Bip’ Hollon has to be worthy of some attention. The two first collaborated on the track ‘Dos and Don’ts’ from Boom Bip’s 2005 album ‘Blue Eyed in the Red Room’. So pleasing were the results that a long form project became a certainty. This makes Rhys one of the most prolific artists currently at work, having released this, his excellent solo album ‘Candylion’ and a Super Furry Animals album all in the space of the last twelve months.

Whilst the album sounds deliberately dated, it inadvertently captures much of the current zeitgeist. The opening instrumental theme and percussion heavy ‘Racquel’ (yes, it really is an ode to Racquel Welch) closely resemble Hot Chip, whilst there are also further hints of robotic funk and even tinges of the same soft rock influences that have informed the likes of Yeasayer. Yet Rhys and Hollon are careful enough to steer the project away from either vanity or mere parody. This collection works superbly because of its extended exploration of the contrast between mechanical coldness and human warmth. It transpires that there is something peculiarly affecting in the narrative arc from hedonistic celebration to unexpected defeat and alienation.

The theme is introduced right from the very outset. ‘Dream Cars’ is set to a devilishly dirty groove, but with its edges smoothed by Rhys’ saccharine vocal line. He sings of ‘dream girls in cold cars’ and ‘cold girls in dream cars’, neatly summarising the parallels between triumph of engineering and sexual adventure. The juxtaposition is established even more explicitly on the hilarious ‘Trick For Treat’, a deliriously entertaining mix of games console sounds, rapping from Spank Rock and falsetto vocals (‘she looks cold, but warm enough to dip my pinkie in!’). The brilliantly titled ‘Steel Your Girl’ develops the theme further, in more wistful and reflective style, all delicate backing vocals and pretty guitar arpeggios.

Beneath its reconstituted sheen, ‘Stainless Style’ is a perceptive reflection on the excesses of 1980s capitalism. Everything is subordinated to personal ambition, the slinky but ultimately mechanical ‘I Lust U’ claiming ‘I love you if the price is right’. The factory closure lament that is ‘Belfast’ (‘I took you for granted like so many in my day/I built my empire and threw it all away’) and the cautionary tale that is ‘Luxury Pool’ capture the damaged and isolated flipside of the album’s initial excesses. Perhaps the most impressive aspect of all this is the way different elements of the era’s pop music are deployed to craft particular moods. The OMD-esque pop of ‘Belfast’ is tinged with regret, whilst the outrageous funk of ‘Sweat Shop’ creates a steamy swamp for the track’s musings on sex. Elsewhere, there’s a reasonable helping of infectious processed pop, complete with intrusive drums and irresistible melodies that help to encapsulate the era’s temptations and vices.

‘Stainless Style’ is a brilliantly crafted record that ultimately transcends its core purpose. It could easily be reduced to the three words with which Paddy McAloon of Prefab Sprout famously dismissed Bruce Springsteen – ‘cars and girls’ – but, in the event, it’s amazing what can be made from these core ingredients.

The Young and The Old: Dizzee Rascal, Bishi, Bruce Springsteen, Nick Lowe

One of the most irritating elements of pop music culture is the tendency to throw up sub-genres which all-too-briefly blaze incandescent before very quickly dying out. Two new albums arrive this week amid talk of ‘the death of grime’, particularly troubling given this genre has only recently been subsumed into the mainstream. I’ve not heard the Wiley album yet, but ‘Maths and English’, Dizzee Rascal’s third album has emerged to a curiously mixed reception. The Observer Music Monthly, increasingly the national mouthpiece of ludicrous hyperbole (the Arcade Fire are the best band in the world etc) hailed it as the best British hip hop album ever, but more critical reviews have expressed serious reservations.

It’s certainly fair to say that this is Dizzee’s attempt to distance himself from the limitations of the grime sound. The compelling and intriguing opener ‘World Outside’ sees him proclaim that he’s found a new world outside the ghetto. Along with a handful of other tracks here, it deftly incorporates some of the familiar sonic tricks from grime’s instrumental offshoot dubstep, with recent albums from Burial and Skream! perhaps being influences.

Given that Dizzee is British hip hop’s most distinctive and articulate voice, it’s difficult to resent him for seeking new contexts for his lyrics. When these contexts genuinely sound fresh, they are startling. ‘Temptation’, with its Arctic Monkeys sample, is surprisingly effective, and hints at how interesting the Monkeys could be if they placed Alex Turner’s wry musings in a setting less slavish to angular indie rock conventions. The insistent, repetitive phrasing of ‘Where’s Da G’s?’ (a merciless attack on the faux-posturing of drugs-rap) and the appropriately unsettling ‘Paranoid’ work particularly well. Both tracks are less dependent on the familiar bowel-crushing synth bass figures that predominated on ‘Boy in Da Corner’ and ‘Showtime’, and look more to high end sounds for their sinister impact. ‘Hardback’ is interesting as Dizzee adopts the wise voice of experience, advising those who might follow in his footsteps. ‘Another thing, make sure you buy a house before a car’ he sagely suggests ‘everyone thinks that Porsche looks great/but do you really want it sitting outside your council estate?’ It’s good to see his humour has not deserted him.

Elsewhere, there’s an old-skool preoccupation that works only intermittently. ‘Bubbles’ is preoccupied with fashion, most specifically Nike Air trainers. Looking fresh? These were the must-have item when I was nine! What goes around comes around, I suppose. It is also evidence to suggest that Dizzee can make almost any topic sound significant simply with the precision of his vocals. ‘Da Feelin’ goes for a summery vibe with a frantic drum ‘n’ bass beat but ends up sounding a little cheesy, DJ Jazzy Jeff’s ‘Summertime’ meets Goldie’s ‘Inner City Life’. ‘Sirens’ is simply awesome though – a hard-hitting tale of adolescent criminality with heavy, noisy music to match. It recalls Public Enemy’s collaboration with Anthrax on ‘Bring the Noise’. ‘Pussyole’ is just lame by comparison, yet another track content on merely recyling the tired old James Brown ‘Think’ break (perhaps second only to Brown’s ‘Funky Drummer’ in overused hip hop samples). It’s also by no means the only example of a puerile undercurrent running through this album – it’s difficult to tell whether ‘Suk My Dick’ is deliberate parody of hip hop braggadocio (in which case it’s quite clever), or simply juvenile rubbish.

Some tracks are simply substandard unfortunately. On ‘Excuse Me Please’, he lists some rather obvious contemporary problems in a rather uninspired and schematic way, whilst sounding thoroughly disinterested. The collaboration with Lily Allen on ‘Wanna Be’ is predictably irritating. For the privately educated Allen to mouth the witty ‘your mum buys your bling’ accusations seems a little ridiculous.

‘Boy In Da Corner’ had something of the shock of the new, whilst ‘Showtime’ cannily refined the formula. ‘Maths and English’ is the sound of an artist struggling to retain his core identity and seek new directions. It’s occasionally over-confident, and whilst it spends plenty of time lambasting posturing, it doesn’t always succeed in finding true substance underneath. ‘You Can’t Tell Me Nuffin’, coming right at the end of the album, reminds us how musically inventive he can be, all dissonant synth string lines pulling against each other in grimly compelling mismatches. We needed more of it here.

It’s great to hear a full length album from Bishi, KashPoint and Siren Suite DJ, Patrick Wolf collaborator and one of London’s most idiosyncratic young talents. I had expected ‘Nights at the Circus’ to be an album of traditional Indian and Eastern European folk music, particularly given the excellent acoustic folk set she performed in support of the Unit single launch at the Spitz last year. The finished product actually merges Bishi’s folk music discoveries with her own incisive and intelligent writing to quite glorious effect. ‘Night…’ is an album with a clear and coherent vision, where traditional instruments (sitar, tabla, accordion) meet electronics in a natural, homogenising fusion that uncovers connections between musical forms often wrongly deemed mutually exclusive. Drawing links between Indian melodies, Bulgarian folk harmonies, contemporary composition (the string arrangement on ‘Broken Creatures’ is particularly ef

It helps that Bishi’s voice is so unfashionable in its studied confidence and accurate enunciation. There’s no slurring of words here, just crystal clear phrasing coupled with enticing melodies and harmonies that genuinely enrich and enhance the music. Bishi is a talented and effective communicator, with the title track conjuring a mysterious and hedonistic alternative world, and the delightful ‘Nightbus’ proving that observational lyrics are not the sole preserve of Alex Turner.

It’s also clear from this collection that Bishi has managed to sustain this vision for some time – the gorgeous, moving finale ‘Namaste’ is the result of a collaboration with Patrick Wolf from some years ago. It sits comfortably alongside the more recent work because it shares a warmth and generosity of spirit with tracks like ‘Grandmother’s Floor’ and ‘Broken Creatures’. The relentless rhythmic drive of ‘On My Own Again’ and ‘Never Seen Your Face’ prove that she is as comfortable with contemporary club culture as she is with the traditional idioms she has learnt. The press release presents this album as a product of the ‘quiet revolution’ but I would take this wonderful cross-cultural bounty over the forced, pretentious faux-folk of Devendra Banhart or Joanna Newsom any day of the week. ‘Nights at the Circus’ is a work of genuine artistry and invention, completely out of step with any current trends.

By complete contrast, I’ve also been enjoying two releases from older statesmen of the rock world. Bruce Springsteen and The Session Band’s ‘Live in Dublin’ (not sure why the Seeger prefix has now been dropped from the group’s name) brilliantly captures the sheer passion and euphoria of last year’s live shows across two audio CDs and a DVD. Although taken from three separate performances, the sequencing faithfully reproduces the careful balance of a typical show, featuring many of the traditional folk songs from the Seeger Sessions album alongside radical reworkings of Springsteen originals and previously unreleased interpretations.

With effortless spirit and a pretty much unprecedented trust in audiences, these shows pretty much covered the entire history of rock ‘n’ roll. There’s gospel fervour aplenty (‘This Little Light of Mine’, ‘O Mary Don’t You Weep’), New Orleans Dixie and rhythm and blues, Irish folk melodies (‘Mrs. McGrath’ and the original immigrant song ‘American Land’), even dalliances with ska and reggae (an almost unrecognisable ‘Blinded By The Light’ and unexpected ‘Love of the Common People’ respectively). The performances are consistently both inspiring and inspired, with Springsteen frequently spitting out the words with the grit and guts of a preacher. The sheer exhuberance of this remarkable band remains a revelation – and there are great moments when the brass section all solo together, vocalists trade lines and fiddles spar with banjos and accordions. The energy never lets up. Indeed, this seems as much a travelling community as a band, with Springsteen generously ceding lead vocal duties to Mark Anthony Thompson and Patti Scialfa.

There are some curious omissions (no ‘John Henry’) and some of the original selections are idiosyncratic. I would have liked to have the beautiful 6/8 take on ‘The River’ here (and I sincerely hope I can find a recording from another source), and it’s interesting that he goes for the country shuffle version of the verbose ‘Growin’ Up’ over the more accessible ‘Bobby Jean’, which he had performed in a remarkably similar style (although perhaps it simply wasn’t played at the Dublin shows). Instead, though, we get some more rarely performed riches. The reimagining of ‘If I Should Fall Behind’ in the style of the Tennessee Waltz is particularly heartwarming and ‘Highway Patrolman’, one of his very best narratives, sounds particularly moving in this new context. I’m particularly grateful for the inclusion of ‘Long Time Comin’, in its full brass-bolstered glory, and clearly one of the very best songs of Springsteen’s career.

Some songs are so thoroughly reworked that they completely change mood. ‘Further On Up The Road’ sounded doom-laden and apocalyptic on ‘The Rising’, but here it sounds mordant, reflective and melancholy – both dance and lament. ‘Open All Night’, a stark acoustic blues on ‘Nebraska’ is presented here as barroom boogie party anthem, complete with backing vocal workouts and obligatory audience participation.

The centrepiece of the show is Springsteen’s brilliant reworking of Blind Alfred Reed’s ‘How Can A Poor Man Stand Such Times and Live?’, an impassioned howl of protest against the incompetence of the Bush administration in the face of Hurricane Katrina. It helps make the show far more than just a musical history revue – it’s brought crashingly, devastatingly into the present day, and crystallises the notion that the blues can never lose its relevance.

Springsteen is both committed bandleader and inspired storyteller throughout, laying his own claim to the public domain material and boldly refashioning his own to suggest a long dormant connection to the roots of American popular music. The E Street Band are now rumoured to be reconvening for a new studio album (again with Brendan O’Brien producing) and world tour, but there have to be serious doubts now as to whether this is the right move. Completely free from production trickery, this extraordinary record may be the very pinnacle of Springsteen’s career.

With its dry, self-mocking title and concise running time (just 33 minutes), ‘At My Age’ from Nick Lowe is a considerably more unassuming proposition. Lowe must be one of the most underrated songwriters in Britain. Best known for penning ‘(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding’ for Elvis Costello, his own work has been consistently neglected, and few have noticed the quite marvellous late-blossoming of his songwriting with his work since ‘The Impossible Bird’. This might be a result of his work-rate slowing considerably – ‘At My Age’ is the first we’ve heard of him since 2001’s outstanding ‘The Convincer’.

‘At My Age’ doesn’t offer any real surprises, mining the same rich seam of Southern country-soul as ‘The Convincer’, very much in the world of Dan Penn and Spooner Oldham. Those familiar with the recent work of Solomon Burke will already be familiar with ‘The Other Side of the Coin’, and the feel of that track is a pretty fair indication of the overall sound of the album. There are three covers, including an excellent version of Charlie Feathers’ ‘The Man in Love’, alongside nine Lowe originals.

The originals all have a relaxed, easy-going charm and direct lyrical simplicity. The opening ‘A Better Man’ is a slow dusty shuffle with a slight resemblance to Johnny Cash’s ‘I Still Miss Someone’, whilst ‘Long Limbed Girl’ has a slightly awkward half-groove that suits its title. ‘The Club’ combines a lazy brand or rockabilly with a lonely hearts lyric (Lowe claims he writes about what he knows, and he knows what it means to be blue). Most shocking is ‘I Trained Her To Love Me’, an exquisitely nasty piece of misogyny, with Lowe breaking a girl’s heart to take his vengeance on the whole of womankind.

It’s not a revelatory record by any means, and coming after ‘The Convincer’ it feels like more of the same, although if anything even more understated and controlled. Still, it’s a mostly warm and genial listen, and Lowe’s half-spoken, half-sung vocal delivery remains uniquely ingratiating.

Up All Night

Apostle Of Hustle - National Anthem of Nowhere (Arts and Crafts)
El-P - I'll Sleep When You're Dead (Definitive Jux)

A couple of albums have emerged in the past couple of weeks that could be serious album of the year contenders (although 2007 is, like the previous two years, offering such rich pickings that I’m not sure there will be one clear standout).

Oddly, given the belated chorus of approval for Toronto’s Broken Social Scene last year, nobody here seems to have noticed that one of their contributors, Andrew Whiteman, has just released a second album under his Apostle of Hustle guise. I wrote in praise of his first record, ‘Folkloric Feel’ a couple of years ago, although I now suspect that my admiration for that album had more to do with its sound and musical sensibility than the quality of Whiteman’s songwriting. ‘National Anthem of Nowhere’ makes big strides in achieving a greater equilibrium between ideas and memorable tunes – this is a consistently excellent set of songs.

Much like ‘Folkloric Feel’, the songs here deploy Whiteman’s burgeoning interest in a variety of music from across the globe, but most particularly the rhythms of Cuba. Whiteman has been remarkably successful in merging these ideas with a more conventional indie-rock template, and where Apostle of Hustle stand apart from a number of their counterparts is in the sheer quality of playing and arranging. Whilst this is very much Whiteman’s project, it sounds like there’s a real group dynamic here, and there’s never any bland strumming patterns or monotonous chugging. Instead, we get the atmospheric and infectious ‘Cheap Like Sebastien’ (a close relation of Wilco’s ‘Handshake Drugs’), the sea-shanty roll of ‘Haul Away’ and the Afro-Cuban groove of ‘My Sword Hand’s Anger’. There are even two Spanish language songs.

There are also a number of moments that will be instantly familiar to any BSS fan. ‘The Naked & Alone’ uses an ascending bass pattern that resembles ‘Stars and Suns’ from ‘You Forgot It In People’, whilst ‘National Anthem of Nowhere’ echoes the grander concerns of the eponymous BSS album with its introduction of an effervescent horn section. Yet, whilst BSS revel in fuzzy, sometimes incoherent production textures, there’s a much greater clarity of sound here that may well elevate this album above and beyond the achievements of the supergroup. Also, Whiteman’s voice sounds confident and commanding here, whereas Broken Social Scene’s vocals tend towards the unfocussed (sometimes burying their best singers – Leslie Feist, Emily Haines etc too deep in a sound fog). BSS are a remarkable band, and there’s something very exciting about the flexible collective approach they adopt – but let’s pay attention when there’s real clarity of vision from their less well known individual members.

It feels like a long time since I’ve written anything substantial about a hip-hop album (although I did briefly comment on Ghostface Killah’s outstanding ‘Fishscale’ in my albums of the year list). Producer and Definitive Jux label supremo El-P has been involved in some of my all time favourite rap records, including Company Flow’s masterpiece ‘Funcrusher’, and the terrifyingly dark netherworld of Cannibal Ox’s ‘The Cold Vein’, a real Urban record if ever there was one. He’s now back with another solo record, following the entertaining ‘Fantastic Damage’ and the brilliant Thirsty Ear jazz project ‘High Water’.

I’m pleased to report that ‘I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead’ is yet another masterpiece, maintaining a standard in production that few others have even come close to matching. It’s darker and heavier than ‘Fantastic Damage’ – if anything closer to the menacing, threatening landscape of ‘The Cold Vein’. It sounds positively dangerous and raw – a musical terrain filled with fear and foreboding. At 55 minutes, it’s mercilessly concise by hip-hop’s bloated standards; there are no pointless skits and no instrumental interludes. Alarm bells sounded when I first heard the guest cast list (including Omar and Cedric from The Mars Volta and Trent Reznor), but not even the mutual backslapping can puncture this record’s distinctive and claustrophobic atmosphere.

Amidst the harsh and punishing production, there is also an intelligence, warmth and emotional resonance that does even more to undermine hip-hop’s stale conventions. How many rap tracks are there with choruses that repeat lines like ‘I found love on a prison ship’? There are amusing ruminations (‘why should I be sober when God is so clearly dusted out of his mind?’) and powerful descriptions of revenge (‘heart of an altar boy molested in confession/who plotted for 20 years then slit the throat of a reverend’). What is most impressive about the lyrics is their preference for half-rhymes and internal rhymes, rather than the more obvious schemes which tend to appear in rap tracks. Even when it hits its most lyrically conventional, as on ‘Drive’, the beats are so relentless and powerful, with rich variety in the sounds and samples that drift in and out. It all coalesces brilliantly on the epic concluding track ‘Poisenville Kids No Wins’, which features subtle vocal interventions from Cat Power. ‘I’ll Sleep…’ is a hard-hitting record with a singular vision – nobody else in hip-hop production is working at this level. It won’t help my insomnia much though….

Further thoughts to come on new albums from Laura Veirs, Willy Mason, Findlay Brown, Maximo Park, Air, Robyn, The Bird and The Bee, Basquiat Strings, Paul Motian and more. I should also take the time to note how great 2007 has been for reissues so far - superb packages from Warren Zevon (with The Envoy becoming available on CD for the first time), Sly and The Family Stone, Chris McGregor's Brotherhood of Breath, Dexy's Midnight Runners, The Triffids and Nico.

Tidying Up

There's a whole load of stuff I haven't got around to writing about yet, so here's a bit of a catch up in advance of my albums of the year.

First of all, it's time for me to eat some humble pie. A couple of years ago, I reacted violently every time Amy Winehouse appeared on TV or received a glowing review (mind you, that 'Stronger Than Me' single was dreadful...). Two things have made me completely revise my opinions. Seeing her perform a song at Ko's final gig at the Green Note in Camden Town (a tiny cafe venue) was genuinely sensational and, secondly, the consistently high quality of her 'Back To Black' album is something of a revelation. A lot of back to basics soul albums turn out to be bland and insignificant, but her second album very much sees Winehouse finding her own voice. For sure, she's achieved this by heading back to some staple influences for inspiration (Ray Charles, Billy Paul, Donny Hathaway, swing jazz), but there's a soulful spirit to this music that is genuine and unforced. She still remains bolshy and mouthy throughout (with lyrics like 'what kind of fuckery are we/now you don't mean dick to me', one wonders why anyone gets involved with her), but the whole experience now seems much more natural and less contrived. Anyway, she's still a lightweight in the explicit and bitchy department when placed next to someone like Millie Jackson. Mark Ronson's production adds a distinctively modern sheen, with hints of hip hop flavouring, but without diluting the record's timeless spirit. The arrangements are rich and elaborate, but without sacrificing the infectious qualities of peerless pop songs such as 'Rehab' and 'You Know I'm No Good'. Perhaps Winehouse's nasal voice remains an acquired taste, but she seems less interested in simply emulating Billie Holiday this time round, and the vocal phrasing is impressively sophisticated. The highlights are too numerous to list, but the tender 'Love's A Losing Game', with delicate and restrained guitar playing that ably supports her expressive vocal, adds new dimensions to her craft and the title track is supremely ambitious.

The last album from EST (Viaticum) was highly acclaimed and just scraped the bottom end of my end-of-year list for 2005. It is, however, not an album I've returned too much this year, its austere chamber mood feeling a bit stifling and oppressive. Its rapid successor 'Tuesday Wonderland' seems to be one of those take-it-for-granted albums that hasn't quite received its dues from the music press, even in specialist jazz circles. As usual, the titles of the compositions are worth the asking price alone, with 'Brewery of Beggars', 'Dolores In A Shoestand' and 'Eight hundred Streets By Feet' being particular favourites of mine. Musically, it retains many of the staple elements of Esbjorn Svensson's by now signature sound - the subtle integration of electronic textures, gently expanding harmonic motifs, and a subtle, deftly handled rhythmic invention. To these ears, this album pushes these elements further than anything this band have recorded since 'From Gagarin's Point Of View', and has taken them to a new, almost hypnotic effect. It's still much more about sound and atmosphere than the technical virtues of improvisation, but these compositions have more than enough ideas, and the album as a whole is very carefully sequenced.

There are three other jazz albums from 2006 that make for some quietly inspirational listening. Kenny Garrett returns with 'Beyond The Wall', an album that mercifully steers well clear of the banal and smooth territory this excellent musician can sometimes frustratingly inhabit. With Garrett's emotional tones playing alongside some fiery and impassioned blowing from Pharoah Sanders (age seems incapable of diminishing his force and fury), 'Beyond The Wall' neatly juxtaposes the gospel spirit of America with the spiritual and mystical intrigue of the East. It's an intoxicating brew, essential to which is the full and intensely felt piano accompaniment from Mulgrew Miller. As is frequently the case with Garrett, the themes are very simple, occasionally risking sounding insubstantial or incomplete, but in this context, the minimalism feels wholly appropriate, and the keenly felt performances are vibrant and expressive. Albums with spiritual inspirations can seem pretentious, and it's probably a huge help that Garrett managed to get Sanders on board (who played on some of the key albums in Alice Coltrane's series of devotional works and has pioneered this sound himself). 'Beyond The Wall' is, however, gritty and thrilling in its more explosive moments, and carefully controlled and contemplative in its moments of peace and calm.

Over in Britian, the F-IRE collective have spawned a number of genuinely exciting acts, with Pete Wareham's Acoustic Ladyland and Seb Rochford's Polar Bear getting the lion share of attention. Rochford also appears behind the drum kit with the excellent Oriole, although he demonstrates a very different style of playing here from the righteous clatter that now predominates in Acoustic Ladyland's music - here he is supremely sensitive, playing largely with brushes, and really supporting the melodic ebb and flow of the music. The group are directed by guitarist Jonny Phillips, whose compositions are deeply melodic, and frequently inspired by music from other cultures, particularly those of South America and Africa. Phillips' acoustic rhythm playing is textural, but far from neutral, establishing unusual and esoteric moods over which his melodies can float and linger. The combination of Ingrid Laubrock's ebullient saxophone and the languid, delicate cello of Ben Davis is distinctive and unassumingly original. This music is delicate and has a real subtlety that amply rewards repeated listens. The title, 'Migration', is apt, suggesting a flow not just of peoples, but also of ideas, values, sounds and experiences between countries and cultures. Phillips succeeds not just in observing this shared experience, but in fully inhabiting it himself.

Joe Lovano remains one of the world's most astounding saxophonists, capable of powerful extended solos and carefully constructed melodic expression. The variety of his playing means he can handle sensitive ballads every bit as adroitly as he can hard swing. For his latest project, a collaboration with arranger Gunter Schuller, he has returned to one of the key texts in the jazz canon, Miles Davis' 'Birth Of The Cool' collection. The rearrangement of these pieces into a big band suite is an unqualified success, with some inventive reharmonising from Schuller, as well as a whole range of new structural intricacies. The rhythm section swings effortlessly when required, but also handles the through-composed elements of the music with real precision. This music is sandwiched between a series of original compositions from Lovano, all of which are directly inspired by giant and iconic figures in the music's history. What could easily have seemed a tediously reverential exercise is invigorated by the sheer range of inspiration Lovano draws from - there are actually very few players who could claim to be as much inspired by Albert Ayler as Sonny Rollins. The spirit of Ellington and Mingus are naturally strong presences too, but the whole set really succeeds in playfully remodelling some of jazz history's more established conventions.

There are many people more qualified than me to comment on the return of the king of rap Jay Z (but surely every one of his last five albums has seen him 'come out of retirement?'), but I'm going to add my views anyway. 'The Black Album' was clearly one of those pivotal records that it's next to impossible to improve on, but there's little doubt that 'Kingdom Come' would be considered a lazy offering even from a much lesser talent. It starts well enough, with 'Oh My God' and the title track in particular offering something hard hitting and compelling. The latter reworks the Rick James Superfreak sample to surprisingly heavy impact. After that, however, it quickly goes wrong. 'Show Me What You Got', although one of the better tracks, is a sprawling and disorientating mess, whilst the appearance of bland crooner John Legend on the uninspiringly titled 'Do U Wanna Ride?' gives a strong hint at the direction in which the album is headed. From here on, the beats are basic to the point of tedium, and the rapping mainly consists of boasts about the level of credit Jay Z can get. Who cares apart from Beyonce when she wants her 450th pair of heels? It's baffling that one of the more maverick and ambitious productions here comes from Chris Martin! Even The Neptunes are coasting with their dull contribution.

Two albums from singer-songwriters have caught my attention in recent months. 'Song Of The Blackbird' by William Elliott Whitmore is one of the country albums of the year (thanks to Lauren for the tip, albeit it a not entirely unbiased one), and Whitmore's voice is absolutely superb. It's gravelly and gutsy like a soul man overdosing on bourbon, but by accompaning himself usually only with the starkest of settings, he nimbly avoids the pitfalls of cliche. There's a sincere and emotive quality of the music, and the experiences related seem believable, even when they adhere rigidly to American folk traditions ('Lee County Flood'). It's possibly at its best when Whitmore makes use of the banjo, which when used alone, is surprisingly dramatic. Like the excellent Benoit Pioulard album, this should be benefiting from some word of mouth buzz.

The other is 'People Gonna Talk', a very traditionalist, perhaps even conservative record from British bluesman James Hunter, that it's really impossible not to embrace with open arms. We're very much in Van Morrison territory here, although mercifully not the flowery hippy drivel of Astral Weeks, more the jazz-meets-blues territory that Morrison has wandered, occasionally fruitfully, in more recent years. Yet, this album has everything you could want from this form of music - vocals that are crisp but understated, and some saxophone arrangements that don't crowd the music. It's mainly driven by a precision perfect rhythm section, that can incorporate elements of ska or reggae without ever sounding uncomfortable. Hunter's lyrics are simple, but frequently they resonate precisely because of this, and his melodies are warmly familiar, delivered in an unhurried and unshowy style. All the tracks have a similar feel, but it is all so lovingly and authentically rendered (it was all recorded at Toerag studios with former White Stripes and Holly Golightly engineer Liam Watson), and at just forty minutes, it certainly doesn't outstay it's welcome. With repeated listens, the subtle differences in tone become more readily apparent - 'Walk Away' has a gentle swing, whilst the more melancholy 'Mollena' betrays the influence of Sam Cooke. This is a charming, beautifully restrained record that harks back to a bygone era with swing and sophistication.

The Canadian supergroup Swan Lake, involving Dan Bejar of Destroyer and The New Pornographers, along with Spencer Krug from Wolf Parade, are responsible for one of the very strangest records of 2006. 'Beast Moans' seems to have some unfashionably progressive influences behind it, from the peculiar cover art featuring mythical creatures to the baffling lyrics that seem to speak of other worlds. The music favours mysterious droning and exotic atmospherics over rhythm or melody, and as such, it's all a bit difficult to get a grip on. It may well be outstanding, but I also can't help feeling that it's deliberately difficult, and something of an indulgence for the musicians involved. It sometimes sounds intriguing, but rarely makes any real sense. Destroyer's 'Your Blues' album is certainly a far more effective foray into peculiar territory, and it works primarily through being much less guitar-based.

I have no such doubts about the enchanting qualities of Trentemoller's outstanding 'Last Resort' though. This is one of the outstanding electronic albums of the year (albeit with the caveat that I haven't yet managed to hear recommended efforts from Booka Shade, Current 93 and James Holden), sublime and genuinely hypnotic without ever being boring. So much club music only sounds good in clubs, but this, although heavily reliant on the kind of relentless and pulsating rhythm tracks that occasionally tie dance music too closely to its own conventions, sounds intense and imaginative on a home stereo system. It has a peculiar mechanistic beauty, and it alternates between moments of stark clarity and moments of genuine warmth.

I've really run the gamut of genres with this one!

Sublime or Ridiculous?

Lots of albums to write about, I've been building up quite a backlog over the last couple of months. I'll try and be brief, but I'm not very good at being concise!

It's good to see that the ever-prolific Jason Molina is showing no signs of slowing his work rate. There's a new limited edition solo album called 'Let Me Go, Let Me Go, Let Me Go', which I haven't heard yet, but I understand is stylistically similar to the intense, stark minimalism of his Pyramid Electric Co. set. In addition to this, there's another new Magnolia Electric Co. collection. 'Fading Trails' isn't actually intended as a new album proper, but rather a compilation of tracks from a handful of sessions for various projects. There are two new full lengths scheduled for release in 2007 ('Nashville Moon' and 'Black Ram'), from which some of these selections are drawn (presumably in alternate takes), and the album also features selections from the 'lost' 'Shohola' album, much talked about among Magnolia cognoscenti. Unfortunately, the inlay is at best perfunctory, and gives no information as to which tracks come from which sessions. It's difficult to make an informed judgement then as to the progression or development of the band's sound, although much of this sounds like a continuation of the more accessible, but no less impressive country rock of last year's 'What Comes After The Blues'. Molina's voice continues to strengthen, and it's now hard to believe he was ever dismissed as a Will Oldham copyist. As Molina's melodic sense has developed, it's arguable that some of the mystery and illusion of the Songs:Ohia work has been lost, but it's been replaced by a carefully attuned and sensitive songcraft, and with a vocal presence that sounds equally comfortable on rockers such as 'Don't Fade On Me', or more abstract pieces such as 'The Old Horizon'. Best of all is when melody and arrangement are kept decidedly simple, and combine to great effect, such as on the stunning 'Talk to Me Devil, Again'. For the best introduction to Molina's work, I'd still recommend the double whammy of Songs:Ohia's 'Didn't It Rain' and 'Magnolia Electric Co.' albums, but this is an excellent summation of the space Molina has been occupying for the past couple of years. It's just a shame that it doesn't give too many pointers toward the next step.

Hot on the heels of last year's promising 'Picaresque', there's yet another new album from The Decemberists. Given their manifest influences drawn from both the English and Irish folk traditions, it's hard to comprehend why this excellent band haven't been given more attention in this country, especially as their releases are now widely available via the Rough Trade label. 'The Crane Wife' certainly rewards repeated listens, and is steadily worming its way into the upper reaches of my albums of the year. It's easily their most coherent work, in which they have widened their sonic armoury without compromising their inherent strangeness. The lyrics remain preoccupied with history and folklore, bloodshed and violence, and there's a thematic harmony to 'The Crane Wife' that makes it work best as a conceptual song cycle. This notion is supported by the album's sequencing, starting as it does at the end, with a lushly romantic part 3 of the title track, with parts 1 and 2 placed in the latter stages of the sequence. You'll need a high tolerance for whimsy (it's whimsical more than twee), and Colin Meloy's fey vocals may be something of an acquired taste. Whilst it's sometimes tempting to proclaim that these are people who have never been in civil wars or murdered fair maidens (at least I hope not...), it's worth noting just how successfully they have crafted their own singular vision here. There's now more than enough musical drama to match the extravagant pitch of some of the lyrics, particularly on the grandiose medley that makes up 'The Island', a track that manages to incorporate a Crazy Horse-esque swampy groove, Canterbury folk style pluckings, and even a slight borrowing from the more inventive offerings of The Doors. The band also now seem capable of drawing intrigue and sophistication from the bare minimum of constituent parts. 'The Perfect Crime #2' mostly sits on one chord, but drives along relentlessly with a rhythmic sophistication worthy of Talking Heads. 'When The War Came' is the loudest they've yet been, a clamouring surprise with brilliantly sustained intensity. They can also be genuinely anthemic, and 'O Valencia' is a gorgeous sugar rush of romantic pop brilliance, whilst parts 1 and 2 of the title track are richly melodic. This album is something of a triumph - already missing from Uncut's premature review of the year, will it be noticed by anyone else outside the blogosphere?

Another superb record I have to thank the blogosphere for (most specifically the excellent really rather blog - http://www.reallyrather.blogspot.com) is 'Precis' from the mysterious Benoit Pioulard. It's widely available here on Kranky records, but seems to have had no attention from the UK press whatsoever (until this month's Plan B magazine anyway, there's a track on the cover mount CD). I simply would not have heard about it without resourceful and independently minded internet writers! The album is another bedroom recorded kitchen sink fantasia, with an unusual tapestry of sound that defies categorisation. As such, it's a bit fatuous to make comparisons, but there's something of the fractured psychedelia of Animal Collective and Ariel Pink here somewhere. The lyrics are frequently rendered obscure by the recording process and by the deployed effects, but this doesn't prevent emotional connection with the music, as the overall effect is warm and enveloping. In fact, it frequently verges on the mesmeric or slightly sinister as a result, with a similar impact to Boards of Canada at their best. It all holds together beautifully, and is pleasantly concise, leaving at least this listener wanting a whole lot more.

I desperately want to join the Observer Music Monthly in hailing Jarvis Cocker's first solo album as an instant classic. It's not, but don't let that put you off. If anything, it's even more dour than Pulp's final two albums and those who, like me, admire those albums and feel them deeply underrated (surely the recent reissues provided a real opportunity to at least reassess 'This Is Hardcore'), should find plenty to revel in here. If there's a problem, it's simply that there's a little too much at one pace here - it starts off doggedly plodding (although not in a bad way), and ends up slower than it began! Only the characteristically sharp and caustic 'Fat Children' breaks the mood, although it's a little harsh and simplistic musically. 'Don't Let Him Waste Your Time' demonstrates that Jarvis hasn't lost his touch for a simple but effective melody - a shame therefore that he elected to accompany it with an outrageous piece of plagiarism. Those familiar with Dion's 'Born To Be With You' album will recognise the song's backing instantly. We'll call it an homage - at least it faithfully captures the classic Phil Spector sound. 'Black Magic' pulls off a similar trick, albeit with more originality, and its vigorous drama is impressive. Elsewhere, 'Baby's Coming Back To Me', originally written for Nancy Sinatra, is compellingly arranged, whilst 'From Auschwitz To Ipswich' probably represents the most effective coupling of lyrical invention and melodic sensibility on the album. There are some superb lines: 'You don't have to set the world to rights, but you can stop being wrong' from 'Tonight' and the delightful image of apocalypse in 'From Auschwitz...' ('Not one single soul was saved/I was ordering an Indian takeaway') stick in the mind particularly, along with the pointed denounciation of Asbo culture in 'Fat Children'. The piano ballad with a twist, 'I Will Kill Again' (surely Morrissey must have already bagged that title?) is a crisp portrayal of the evil that lurks in ordinary people. Where I can't agree with most critics is that the album hits its stride at the end - 'Big Julie' is dynamic enough, but I can't help feeling that its lyrical territory is really traversing any new ground. The closing 'Quantum Theory' is a little elusive, and it's concluding lines proclaiming 'everything will be all right' can't help but feel a little banal in light of what has come before. It's also hard to resist the notion that 'C*nts Are Still Running The World', saved for a secret track some thirty minutes after the end of the album proper, is the pithiest and most necessary statement here. It is, however, more than enough, that Jarvis remains our most relevant and essential pop commentator. It seems shameful that he has been allowed to sink back into indie outsiderdom when he really should be a perfect pop star.

Is there anyone on the planet not currently salivating over the 'genius' of Joanna Newsom? Her new album 'Ys' (apparently pronounced Ees) has received more column inches than an artist of her relative obscurity might usually merit. In some ways, this is encouraging, and it would be gratifying to see the mainstream media take more risks with challenging and uncompromising material. It's possible that I like the idea of this record more than the reality - it's great to have a harpist in pop music, isn't it? You can't argue with that, neither can you really argue with a work whose supporting cast includes Van Dyke Parks (who provided the lavish, occasionally intrusive orchestrations), Steve Albini and Jim O' Rourke. It's a dream team! It's also hard for a former Medieval Historian to resist an album which is packaged with a CD inlay replicating an antique book, complete with ornate scripts and gold leaf, and where the artist appears in strange medieval garb on the cover. 'Ys' contains only five tracks, but they are bloody long, and there's barely a minute when Newsom isn't singing. She has composed some dense, wordy and allusive prose-poetry for the lyrics (incorporating words such as 'hydrocephalitic', 'mica-spangled', 'spelunking' and 'asterisms' in bizarre and perhaps inappropriate contexts). She deploys alliteration wilfully, and it's a matter for debate as to whether this makes for beautifully flowing verse, or something more clunky and forced ('Then the slow lip of fire moves across the prairie with precision/while, somewhere, with your pliers and glue you make your first incision/And in a moment of unbearable vision/doubled over with the hunger of lions/Hold me close, cooed the dove/who was stuffed, now, with sawdust and diamonds.'). Her voice is certainly quirky to say the least. At its most restrained, it is an impressive instrument, but when she squeals like a strangulated cat, she can sound horribly mannered, as if from the same faux-kooky planet as the ghastly Devendra Banhart. The opening 'Emily' is the track that works best, and where the orchestrations combine with the basic melodic template most comfortably. Like the other songs here, it's very linear, and Newsom takes us on a peculiarly compelling journey through a strangely romantic landscape. The most difficult track is 'Only Skin', where she is unadorned by the orchestrations, which do serve to detract from the harsher realities of her voice. There's definitely an ambitious and singular talent at work here - and the defiant rejection of conventional structure in these songs is admirable. Newsom is making a genuine attempt to reinvent the wheel, and she has achieved some degree of success here. I'm just not convinced this is fully fledged genius yet. It's when she makes a record this wild and unhinged that actually demands repeated listens that she will have reached her full potential.

Another record not to have received enough press attention in recent months is 'Roots and Crowns' from the dependably magnificent Califone. This is their most accessible record yet, but one which still displays a genre-crossing ambition and sonic invention worthy of kindred spirits like TV On The Radio. 'Roots and Crowns' has all the elements of great music - a strong connection with the blues and the American folk tradition, carefully constructed harmonies, turbulent, twisting rhythms and a wildly unpredictable set of electronic interventions. It somehow all hangs together, and production trickery is used with subtlety and dexterity. Underpinning it all is Tim Rutili's delightfully wistful vocal and superb songwriting. I particularly admire the combination of Brian Wilson-esque lush harmony and Tom Waits-esque clattering on the majestic 'Spider's House' or the atmospheric mystery of 'The Eye You Lost In The Crusades' and 'Our Kitten Sees Ghosts' (some of the song titles are worth the price of admission alone). The mastery of these songs became more readily apparent when hearing them performed by just two members of the band's shifting line-up at The Windmill in Brixton last month - the melodies stand up even when the accompaniment is stripped back to acoustic guitar and countrified fiddle. The album itself takes a while to lodge itself in the mind but, once there, it becomes something far more than the sum of its impressive parts. It's a dazzling and intoxicating concoction.

Subtle is yet another project from the various members of the Anticon Collective (Clouddead etc), although this time released with the full backing of EMI (who, with Hot Chip also on their roster, seem to be taking more calculated risks than most of the independents these days). Anyone who has so far been agnostic about Doseone's superficially dazzling but ultimately meaningless stream of consciousness rapping might at least note that 'For Hero: For Fool' provides the most complementary foil so far for his verbal torrents. The music rarely settles, instead constantly shifting between rock and disco influenced sounds (occasionally it sounds most like 80s R 'n' B pioneers like Cameo). This restlessness might be irritating from any other group - but it at last helps Doseone's extravagant wordplay make some kind of sense. This is a far better match than Dose's other rock group, 13 & God (with members of The Notwist), that sounds positively conventional by comparison. This is a rare example of where tetchy musicality and a refusal to define a coherent sound can actually reap extraordinary rewards. Whilst this album is certainly challenging, it's also ceaselessly thrilling.

Stephin Merritt's imagination continues to work overtime. Not content with already having released the wonderful collection of his work for musical theatre on 'Showtunes' this year, he now resurrects another of his many pseudonyms The Gothic Archies. 'The Tragic Treasury' comprises a series of songs composed to accompany audio versions of the Lemony Snicket books for young children. I've not read the books but even with limited knowledge it's hard to imagine a better way for Merritt to apply his splendid wit. He has traversed adult territory with a childlike candour and playfulness with The Magnetic Fields and Future Bible Heroes, veiling his songs in so many layers of irony that it doesn't matter one jot whether they are ironic or not. Musically, this covers little new ground for Merritt, sticking with the gleeful marriage of the acoustic, the synthetic and the unfathomably infectious. His dry humour is in overdrive though, as he unpicks the books' array of weird and wonderful characters. He also has a keen eye for the child's attraction to risk, and the warning of 'The World Is A Very Scary Place' makes for one of his best songs. This album certainly captures the dark side of fantasy in its more peculiar moments ('The Abyss' , 'A Million Mushrooms'), but it's also wildly funny ('I go gray, then bald with chagrin/When you play the violin/How I pray for death to begin/when you play the violin') and even characteristically camp ('Have you no dignity?/Have you no sense of style?/You'll never be pretty until you smile!'). Some have questioned whether Merritt's music will actually appeal to children - I think there are numerous pleasures here for child and adult alike.

If it's not too embarrassing, can I also confess that I might actually quite like the My Chemical Romance album? Combining the grossly simplistic but brutally effective pop-punk of Green Day with the bombast of Queen is an idea so utterly absurd that it ultimately deserves a modicum of respect. This is an indulgent, over-produced, ludicrous extravagance of a record and it's concept (something to do with a dying man) is more than a little silly. Still, there's something inherently compelling about its pomp and majesty. I'll get me coat....

On that bombshell, I need some sleep, but stay tuned next week for some more reviews and some comments on this year's London Jazz Festival.

It's been a while, so I've been saving a great outpouring of rage for this post. First of all, let's get the obvious subject out of the way first - the U.S. Presidential election. It may just be that I'm naturally pessimistic, but the result came as no surprise to me. It had been clear for some time that John Kerry had placed far too much emphasis on his personal war record, and far too little on developing a coherent vision, both in terms of foreign policy and domestic issues. Not only that, but the Bush team mobilised the evangelical vote with considerable relish and vigour, and Bush has now been re-elected on the deeply hypocritical platform of promising greater 'freedom and democracy' abroad, whilst offering the most intolerant and restrictive set of policies at home. I don't want to spend too much time here analysing what this might mean for the next four years - but it's enough to say that I don't expect Bush will modify his stance on the environment, the economy, or healthcare provision. I also don't expect too great a change in the U.S. approach to what Bush has liked to call 'rogue states'. This is, after all, a President whose perspective on the world lacks any kind of nuance or finesse, and he is only capable of viewing the world in contrasting extremes. It's doubly depressing that the death of John Peel and the re-election of a moron to the greatest seat of world power had to come within the same week.

Whilst the election result is not surprising, it remains dismaying, and I only hope that the most vital political voices in America continue to protest and speak out. Bruce Springsteen's first reaction to the result has been to place a newly recorded version of The Star Spangled Banner on his website - a statement characteristically designed to appeal to American pride as much as post-election despair. Springsteen at last took a risk with his commitment to the Vote for Change tour - although his politics can easily be gleaned from many of his songs, he has always been careful not to ally himself with either political party. R.E.M. have already spoken in interviews of their dismay and fear. Perhaps the most vital political voice in American music right now, Steve Earle, appeared in the UK this week. The concerts were sure to be energised and brimming with conviction - the songs remain as relevant as ever with Bush still in power.

I was particularly depressed by several comments on the REM and Springsteen messageboards bemoaning the 'arrogance of the liberals' and, using far more expletives than I'd like to use here, instructing their favourite musicians to keep out of political debate. Leaving aside the question of how these people can identify with Springsteen songs and yet still support Bush's tax cuts (a policy designed to benefit only the very rich, with little or no broader economic justification), it's depressing that so many seem to think that musicians have no right to a democratic voice. Nobody has to follow the advice of Springsteen and REM et al - the American population have proved more than capable of ignoring them altogether. Yet I value these performers precisely because they are prepared to go beyond simply entertaining a crowd, and are prepared to use their celebrity to status towards what they feel are good ends. I'm no fan of U2 - but at least Bono is prepared to rise above banality and put his celebrity to some positive use, even if he could substantially reduce third world debt quite easily by donating some of his vast personal fortune!

Frankly, we need voices as harsh and plain as Steve Earle more than ever now. The election campaign finally directed me towards his album 'The Revolution Starts Now', which I had been meaning to pick up for some time. I can't really place it in context, because the only other Steve Earle album I'm really familiar with is his excellent bluegrass set 'The Mountain', recorded with The Del McCoury Band. Unsurprisingly, 'The Revolution...' packs a much weightier punch. Written and recorded within a matter of weeks, it actually benefits from its slightly hurried process. The need to get the record out before the election has given it an energy and urgency that might otherwise have been compromised. I very much doubt that this is Earle's most subtle collection - but the thumping and insistent drum sound, and crisp, crunchy guitars seem appropriate for the cause. The album is bookended by two broadly similar versions of the title track, which makes for a rousing rallying cry, set to an infectious melody and driving straight-ahead rock n'roll groove.

Earle is particularly adept at using localised, personal stories to illustrate a broader political picture, most notably on the anti-war songs 'Home to Houston' and 'Rich Man's War'. The former is a rollcking country shuffle, while the latter is quite brilliant - a plaintive and quite moving exposition of both how the Iraq war has wasted American lives and merely perpetuate a cycle of violence and fear. Earle's voice is snarling and forceful against the acousticm guitar picking. These songs share Springsteen's ability to craft refined character studies, but are more politically charged and less compromising.

'The Revolution...' is importantly not without humour either. At the centre of the album are two hilarious and riotous tracks. 'Condi, Condi' is a, presumably ironic, love song to Condoleeza Rice, set to an angular, almost reggae-flavoured backbeat. 'Oh she loves me, oops she loves me not/People say you're cold but I think you're hot!' Earle sings with considerable relish. 'F The CC' requires little exposition, and certainly makes its defence of democratic freedoms abundantly clear. It's context is undoubtedly the criticism that has been dealt out to those who have spoken out against the Bush administration, along with the restrictions on civil liberties introduced with the Patriot Act. It makes for a highly entertaining rant.

Elsewhere, a duet with Emmylou Harris on 'Comin' Around' is plaintive and affecting, proving that Earle is just as capable of handling traditional country material as he is at producing ranting rock-outs. It's not all perfect - 'The Warrior' sees Earle attempt a more poetic lyric, with mixed results. Much of the imagery and the alliterative devices seem a little forced. The closing tracks are enchanting - but more personal, perhaps even sentimental. Whilst it is by no means the most subtle or nuanced album ever recorded, it does present an eloquent, forceful and determined opposition to the Bush administration, as well as some powerful songwriting. It's just a shame that protest statements such as this haven't managed to secure a result.

An arguably more surprising voice of protest is that of Eminem. It's deeply disappointing that his record company have not had the courage to release 'Mosh' as the first single from his new 'Encore' album, now brought forward to be released today following another internet leak (surely Interscope must realise it will still be on the net after its release?!?!). Instead, they've opted for the comfortingly familiar puerile cartoon rap of 'Just Lose It'. 'Mosh' really is a different beast altogether. So far, Eminem's capacity for righteous anger has only really been channeled on somewhat tiresome 'leave me alone I'm so famous it's terrible' rants. Here, for arguably the first time, he channels this anger towards something more productive and valuable.

Whatever you think of its sentiments, 'Mosh' is an incredible piece of work, a passionate and furious anti-Bush invective, underpinned by rhythmic insistence and considerable intelligence. It is a vitriolic outpouring of frustration and indignation, with a video that illustrates the lyric in even starker terms. Its images and statements are devastating alone 'no more blood for oil, we've got battles to fight out on home soil', strap an AK47 to the President and make him fight his own war, 'this weapon of mass destruction we call our President' - but their cumulative impact is strangely moving. It's partially Eminem attempting to mobilise his fanbase to vote, but it's also an impassioned broadside - with Eminem proclaiming his own leadership, guiding a whole audience to 'mosh' against the President. Intelligent and articulate are words that have often been used about Eminem by gushing critics. In this case, they may well apply.


The second issue to have angered me this week is considerably more trivial, but one that I still feel compelled to write about. I've read a great deal recently about 'changing listener habits' and 'changing attitudes towards music', and other such bland mediaspeak in the past few weeks. Apparently, only the over 40s are buying albums now (how then does that explain 300,000 sales and counting for McFly, and triple that for Busted?). The rest of us apparently prefer to listen to single tracks, most likely downloaded from the internet, than purchase expensive albums which consist of fifty per cent filler. I'm certainly not going to argue with the conjecture that albums are too expensive, especially when CDs now cost so little to mass produce. However, it does undoubtedly depend on what you buy and where you buy it. If you are a regular internet user, then Amazon, Play and other such sites sell CDs at increasingly reasonable prices. Some independent shops - such as Fopp, Selectadisc and Rough Trade are also mostly affordable, albeit only accessible if you live in London or another major city. I increasingly find that, if I shop around, I have little reason to spend more than £12 on a CD, unless it's jazz, which remains sadly marginalised and overpriced.

As for the quality issue - I can't help feeling that comment is more than slightly demeaning to the great wealth of excellent albums that have been released this year. In the first half of this year, I felt I might the year looked like being a little disappointing - I've now completely revised that opinion. Sure - if you waste your money on industry manufactured pap, you're best sticking with singles. The genres of hip hop and R&B are particularly guilty - there are numerous singles in these genres that are innovative and hugely exciting, but the albums are invariably overlong and tiresome - so it becomes harder to sort the wheat from the chaff. If you're open minded, and are prepared to look further to the margins, read more and listen to more, there is plenty out there that is worth the investment of hard cash. Believe me, I wouldn't be writing this blog if there wasn't.

Yet still there is a prevailing trend towards downsizing, compartmentalising and just plain old dumbing down. Nowhere has this been made starker than in the new NME yearbook (don't worry I haven't bought it - I just flicked through it at work). Here, the learned staff of the NME give us their 336 best tracks of the year. First of all, 336 is a strangely arbitrary number, and the exercise seems somewhat pointless to begin with (I find it hard enough to organise a top 50 into any kind of order). What makes it worse is that the tracks are grouped into sub-sets with vacuous and presumptious titles like 'ten for the pensioners' and 'ten floor-shakers'. The NME have at least retained John Mulvey, Dele Fadele and a handful of other writers I trust to make reasonably informed judgements on new music. Yet, these writers now seem entirely marginalised in their polls, instead making way for a youth wing keen to abandon all knowledge of musical history and start proclaiming even the most banal bands of the moment as life-changing revolutionaries. Judging by this list, they also seem to be entirely at the whim of prevailing fashions.

Just as vinyl remains sacred for DJs and collectors, so the recorded product will remain cherished by fans and obsessives for some time to come. Whilst I value the internet as a means of seeking out new sounds - I regularly read music sites and blogs and seek out streaming media from bands and artists who have caught my attention - I would never be entirely satisfied with owning music as a file on a hard drive. For one, it's even more likely to get damaged or go missing than if my CD collection is stolen (my worst nightmare aside from going deaf). I still value the time, art and craft put into a package - including lyrics, artwork and sleevenotes, and I get angry when record companies take my cash for poorly conceived products. I also, believe it or not, still value 'the album' and 'the single' as valuable entities. The only compilations I really trust are ones I've made myself, or mix tapes handed to me by friends. There are odd exceptions of course (Charlie Gillett's outstanding Sound of the City series, Dave Godin's deep soul collections, Rough Trade shops' peerless sets etc etc). Still, there's simply no better feeling than going to a record store, purchasing something that I've never heard just because I've had a tip about it, and finding that it's brilliant. Long may those days continue. That's why if you return to this site a little closer to Christmas, you'll find my selections of albums and singles of the year - I can't resist a good list making exercise.