Cat People

South San Gabriel and The Ralfe Band - Borderline 29/5/05

I've been meaning to write something about this for ages, but have only just managed to compose my thoughts. This was a pretty major night for gigs - and I sacrificed seeing Hot Chip or Lou Barlow in order to come to this one. This was mainly because, at the time of booking, I was curious about South San Gabriel's new full length - an unashamedly whimsical concept album about the (mis)adventures of a cat called Carlton. Did the evening fulfil its initial promise?

First of all, a brief word must be said about the Ralfe Band, who were somewhat demented. Their music seemed to encompass a plethora of genres, taking in Calexico-style desert border strumming, campfire laments, klezmer, Les Dawson-esque comedy dissonance and invigorating hoe-downs. There was also a wealth of instrument swapping (even a viola, the most cruelly maligned of orchestral instruments, was deployed at one stage). It was a compelling and highly entertaining mix, although I did find myself wondering at one stage if the band's considerable ambition and ingenuity with arrangements might risk outstripping their songwriting skills. I'll reserve judgement until I've heard more, but there's no doubt that there is plenty of mileage here and an album from this band will be schizophrenic, challenging and, quite possibly, really very good.

South San Gabriel (one of many outfits for prolific songwriter Will Johnson, who also records under his own name and witl Centr-O-Matic) were considerably less wild. In fact, they were arguably a bit one-dimensional by comparison. We basically got the whole of the new record and the same problem that afflicted the record transferred to the show - it's a bit one-paced, and the pace is relentlessly slow and drawn-out. The songs are long, stretched and very deliberate.

Still, the music is plaintive, haunting and extremely beautiful. Also, in constructing a cohesive style, the band have very much defined their own sound (although obvious influences such as Neil Young hover in the background). It's like a more reflective My Morning Jacket (withouth the occasionally intrusive 70s rock behemoth tendencies). Everything is bathed in eerie reverb, and the presence of slide guitar enhances the dusty, otherworldly effect.

Johnson also makes for a compelling performer. Even though he remains seated throughout the entire performance, he appears completely committed to the music, and totally absorbed within it. His vocals are soft, soothing but with a vulnerable quality - and the band have a remarkable ear for harmony. If you were not familiar with the material, you'd be hard pressed to know it was all about a cat - it is performed tonight in considered and serious fashion. 'A bit presumptious of me to know what a cat is thinking about...' Johnson concedes dryly, but he appears to have done a good job.

Dinosaur Rock!

Dinosaur Jr. at The Forum 8/6/05

They say it takes a lot to get J Mascis out of bed. Well, someone must have offered him a real cash prize because not only as he come over to England for tour dates, including this weekend's Download Festival, but he's brought the original line-up of Dinosaur Jr. with him! I'd just about given up hope of ever seeing Dinosaur Jr. live, and certainly never thought J Mascis and Lou Barlow would bury the hatchet and perform together again. Yet, here they are, two of the musicians most influential to me, shuffling on stage as if they were completely inconsequential!

True to slacker form, J, Lou and Murph step out and spend what seems like an eternity tuning up. Did the sound tech people not just do all that for them? Yet, by the time they're plugged in and bursting into a terrifying rendition of 'Gargoyle', all doubts are immediately dispelled. This show really did lay down the gauntlet for all reunion shows. Unlike the Pixies show I saw last year, which to me felt forced, uncomfortable and mostly perfunctory (although I concede almost everyone disagreed with me) - this was energised, persuasive and very, very loud. Subtlety was never really a Dinosaur trait and here they are, looking older (is J's long hair greying, or just dyed blond?) but still every bit as visceral and aggressive. Lou hammers seven shades of shit out of his bass, playing with almost total disregard for technique. J attacks his guitar in numerous lengthy solos, which work wonderfully because his guitar playing is paradoxically both unnervingly unhinged and musically considered. Murph is also an absolutely terrific drummer, and plays with thunderous enthusiasm tonight. Lou Barlow genuinely seemed to be having fun (unusual for such a famously, err, reflective chap) and J even seemed to smile a couple of times, even if his rapport with the audience didn't really go beyond the occasional strange whistle or grunt.

As this was the original line-up, there was unsurprisingly no material post-Bug. It would have been great to hear the original band reconfigure some of J Mascis' later material, but not really something surprising or worth complaining about. From those pivotal early albums, we get just about everything we could ask for in a necessarily brief but thoroughly invigorating set. Almost unbelievably, this was the first time 'Little Fury Things' had been performed live with Lou on bass, despite it being one of the most popular songs from the first Dinosaur era. This lent it a renewed thrill and intensity that went beyond mere nostalgia. Other highlights included a swampy 'No Bones', a savage blast through 'In A Jar' (dispensed with quickly, surprisingly early in the set) and kinetic takes on 'Forget The Swan' and 'Repulsion'.

The closing moments seemed to come from nowhere. Suddenly, they're playing 'Freak Scene', one of alternative rock's finest moments and a pillar of proto-grunge. J Mascis messes up the stripped down bit completely, adding humour to the 'don't let me fuck up will you...' line, but it doesn't matter. It sounds committed and fiery nonetheless. It seemed that they might be too cool for encores, but they return with a full blooded performance of their interpretation of The Cure's 'Just Like Heaven' and a fractious, stormy 'Does It Float'. Despite Lou having savaged his bass to such an extent that strings have broken, he straps on a new bass, and they finish with a determinedly sludgy 'Mountain Man', which seems to encapsulate all the messy, untutored power that this remarkable band command.

Older, but seemingly wiser, Dinosaur Jr. still rocked righteously. As I left the venue I heard someone say 'I'm so glad it wasn't shit'. I'll second that - reunion exercises can be dour and unpleasant, this one was something special. Download is in for a treat.

The Big Guns Shoot Down The Real Heroes

So, while I've been out and about soaking up the sunshine in Seville, the big albums on which the very lifeblood of the record industry seems to depend have finally emerged. This week, what the NME has referred to as 'Super Monday' brought the ludicrously over-hyped new Coldplay album, along with 'Get Behind Me Satan', the album which supposedly sees The White Stripes move beyond their guitar-drums thrashing template, possibly with mixed results. I've yet to hear the latter, but I've plenty to say about the former (surprisingly, given that my usual reaction to Coldplay is complete indifference). Also, last week brought another Oasis album. 'They've rediscovered what made them great!' trumpeted the predictably unsubtle Observer Music Monthly, obviously attempting to lead some sort of premature critical rehabilitation, and conveniently ignoring the fact that Oasis were never actually great in the first place.

In the meantime, two albums slipped out quietly, highly unlikely to sell in bucketloads, but of much greater musical significance. Sleater Kinney's fruitful collaboration with Dave Fridmann 'The Woods' is dependably exhilirating, whilst Smog's 'A River Ain't Too Much To Love' suggests that the more accessible 'Supper' was a cheeky bluff - this is one of his more abstruse and challenging collections. Read on for my thoughts in full.

Coldplay - X&Y

As we all know, the delays and botched recordings in the sessions for 'X&Y' gave rise to disgruntled feelings among EMI shareholders and a major profit warning. Listening to it after all the hype, EMI really needn't have worried. 'X&Y' comes with swathes of synth strings and keyboards, but is really just a bigger, more confident (occasionally even strident) update of the familiar Coldplay template. Its sound is collossal and, at least initially, genuinely impressive. Even the most ardent of Coldplay haters would have to accept that this is leagues ahead of the inconsequential strumming of their debut, or even the mundane chugging of much of 'A Rush Of Blood To The Head'. There are healthy signs here that Coldplay have finally realised that the arrangement of a song is as important as its melody or sentiment. Hence, they even (gasp!) play on the offbeats, or employ some pleasantly substantial echoey guitar effects, even if it occasionally sounds too much like an attempt to replicate latter-day U2. Even the basslines have become more propulsive and less grindingly predictable. The production is effective, but there remains the linering doubt that it is all a bit clinical - big guitars suddenly emerge to underpin Chris Martin's none-too-subtle overwraught emoting.

When it works, it's easy to understand why it will no doubt be the stadium soundtrack of the summer. The opener, 'Square One' is bold and muscular, with an intriguingly twisting melody. The overall sound of first single 'Speed Of Sound' is a fair pointer - much of 'X&Y' sounds very polished and not too far from the likes of A-ha. The real focus of the album is the lengthy, spacious 'White Shadows', which neatly segues into the album's killer big ballad 'Fix You'. The former is the album's most impressive arrangment, with more rhythmic interest than anything Coldplay have previously recorded, whilst the latter flagrantly tugs the heartstrings. It would be churlish to deny the impact of its deceptively simple, haunting melody and the characteristically vulnerable tones of Martin's vocal. I suspect it will be released as a single, and will likely propel the album to become one of the all time biggest sellers. Quite how such an unassuming and generally unambitious band got to this stage is somewhat baffling.

Elsewhere, they try to prove their cultural worth by stealing the melody line from Kraftwerk's 'Computer Love' on 'Talk', although they don't do much of interest with it, using it as the main melodic device for the chorus vocal and the guitar line. A dialogue where both participants persist in repeating the same script does not hold the attention for long. Whilst the arrangements here are undoubtedly much improved, 'X&Y' still seems to suffer from a paucity of ideas. It's their most cohesive album to date, and seems to be striving for the big studio sound so successfully realised by the likes of Doves and Elbow. Unfortunately for Coldplay, those two bands have a much wider musical palette to draw from, and its difficult to detect the same instinctive acuteness on 'X&Y'. Still, those that admire the sound will no doubt not object to twelve tracks all adopting much the same approach at varying tempos. For these ears, the concept really starts to wear thin towards the end, where 'The Hardest Part' is pretty, but played rather conventionally (and therefore struggles to rise above blandness), 'Swallowed In The Sea' is dreadful and 'Twisted Logic' sounds big, but also somehow predictable and safe.

The real problem here is the lyrics. At best, they are banal. 'Speed Of Sound' and 'Square One' attempt to ask the big spiritual questions, but end up sounding thoroughly meaningless and somehow simultaneously cliched. The forced rhyme schemes reach an appalling apotheosis on 'Swallowed In The Sea' ('You put me on a she-eee-eelf/ And kept me for yourse-ee-eelf/ I can only blame my-see-eelf' etc) where Martin takes his uncomfortable emoting to ridiculous levels. Even the big love songs ('Fix You' aside) sound strangely self-conscious. Initially touching, repeated listens reveal 'What If' to be a merely skeletal lyric set to moody piano chords. Ironically, the simplest and least problematic love song is the uncredited 'Til Kingdom Come', the song the band originally wrote for Johnny Cash, a rare soujourn into countrified acoustic lament territory.

'X&Y' is not a bad album and in aiming to beef up their sound Coldplay have, ahem, put to bed all those criticisms of their 'bedwetter music'. Unfortunately, the lyrics rather leave those feelings lingering, despite the band's best efforts, and there is still the tendency towards meandering blandness and plodding tempos. For much of its first half, 'X&Y' shows a real sense of progression, but the latter half reveals that Coldplay are still shrouded in a restrictive safety net.

Oasis - Don't Believe The Truth

Indeed - don't believe it, for it is rubbish. By capturing the British mood for brash nostalgia during the mid-nineties Britpop boom, Oasis have had ridiculous expectations heaped upon them ever since. Essentially a pub rock band made good, they have struggled to recapture the undeniable thrill that catipulted them to fame. Through numerous line-up changes and fractious disputes, it's now been seven years since Oasis last made a half decent record, yet they still inspire ardent devotish from their closed-minded, loutish fans and can still command the odd magazine cover and deluded rapture from critics. Even I, long completely indifferent to the band had hoped, following my rather guilty enjoyment of their nostalgic headline set at Glastonbury (far from the disaster many reports denounced it as), that 'Don't Believe The Truth' might at least be enjoyably insubstantial. It's not at all - it sounds ham-fisted, unimaginative and, despite its lengthy gestation, somewhat rushed.

The spontaneity and humour of 'Definitely Maybe' has long given way to a monolithic, monotonous guitar thrum. Occasionally, they break the mould by adding piano or acoustic guitars, but the chord progressions remain familiar, and most of the melodies are predictably lifted from much better records. Noel Gallagher has never been one for original ideas, but with the new democratic approach to songwriting there seem to be more people on-hand to plagiarise. Noel's own 'Mucky Fingers' is a hotch-potch mix of the chugging rhythm of The Velvet Underground's 'I'm Waiting For My Man', the chords from the Ska classic 'A Message To You Rudy' and, more frustratingly, part of the melody from the godawful 'Smile' by The Supernaturals. The result is lumpen and thoroughly unengaging, but at least they are new influences. Liam's 'Guess God Thinks I'm Abel' pales into insignificance next to Elvis Costello's more inventive use of a similar pun, and shamelessly lifts the tune from 'I Wanna Be Your Man', conveniently a hit single for both The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, the two touchstones for this band. More bizarrely, Gem Archer's 'A Bell Will Ring', which is at least serviceable, faintly resembles Abba's unwitting gay anthem 'Does Your Mother Know?'.

Even more problematic than the chronic lack of invention is the terrible delivery of these limited ideas. Where once Liam Gallagher sounded snarly - a mix of compelling arrogance and untrained charm, he sounds lazy here. Whether it be imitating John Lennon on the utter piffle that is 'Let There Be Love', or simply disinterested on his own 'Love Like A Bomb', not even his vocal character can rescue such thin material. The drums are persistently thunderous, but with no dynamism whatsoever to the playing. The relentless strum and thump obliterates any sense of fun or enjoyment, and renders most of 'Don't Believe The Truth' thoroughly charmless.

A small handful of songs do at least manage to linger in the mind. Few would claim first single 'Lyla' to be one of their greatest achievements, but it at least has a catchy singalong chorus. Noel suggests he might eventually develop some subtlety with 'The Importance Of Being Idle' and 'Part Of The Queue', both of which resort to well-worn themes, but at least sound almost relaxed and comfortable.

This will no doubt sell enough to keep Oasis in business, but even that demonstrates what Oasis have become. They are their own corporation, and will keep putting out records because it is what they do. Yet, increasingly, they simply deliver a product designed to sell, but for which very little craft or industry have actually been deployed. The band sound like they were in separate rooms when this was recorded - there are no signs of chemistry or life here, no rush of blood, no thrill.

Sleater-Kinney - The Woods

Unfortunately, another Sleater-Kinney album is unlikely to register beyond their small but devoted fanbase. This is a shame, as here is a band constantly seeking to reshape and redefine their sound. Much has already been written about how this Dave Fridmann produced effort is substantially harder and heavier than previous outings. This is not entirely untrue, but the blues-rock dominated 'One Beat' had already given hints at this direction. Scuzzy opener 'The Fox' sets the tone defiantly, with a raw and relentless rhythmic hammer underpinnning Corin Tucker's uncompromising guttural howl.

For me, what really impresses about 'The Woods' is not its heavier approach, but the way in which it has substantially broadened the band's musical outlook. There are still hints at more melodic girl pop on the intriguing 'Jumpers' and the uncharacteristically breezy 'Modern Girl' (the latter suggesting that Sleater-Kinney can do summery pop as well as blisteringly intense wig-outs). There is bluesy-garage on the kinetic 'Rollercoaster' and a ferocious and righteous anger on 'Entertain', which seems to combine at least two different songs together with thrilling results. Much of 'The Woods' ups the ante in terms of ambition - 'Let's Call It Love', far from the bland platitudes of Coldplay or Keane, actually encompasses the tumult and wonder that its title suggests, descending into an extended 'jam' that is both temporarily unhinged and carefully controlled. It then seques into the loose, dense and groovy 'Night Light', both tracks showing the band pushing into new ground, much of their experimenting propelled by the energy and vigour of Janet Weiss' drumming.

The news that 'The Woods' had been produced by Dave Fridmann could have been viewed as overwhelmingly exciting or as a cause for concern. Fridmann has helmed his fair share of classics ('The Soft Bulletin' and 'Deserter's Songs' spring immediately to mind) but he also frequently over-eggs the pudding. The booming drums of Mogwai's 'Come On Die Young' occasionally threaten to overpower any sense of melody, whilst the numerous bleeps and glitches of The Flaming Lips' 'Yoshimi Battle The Pink Robots' infuriate. This year, however, Fridmann really has excelled himself, largely through some unusual and fruitful collaborations. First, Low's 'The Great Destroyer' retained all that band's myriad strengths, whilst bolstering a previously fragile sound. Now, with 'The Woods', he has sensibly resisted adding much in the way of production trickery. He has simply captured the thrilling essence of a band still seemingly in their prime. A techincally assured, wonderfully exciting record.

Smog - A River Ain't Too Much To Love

At last, those infuriating parentheses have gone! Does this mean a new, less obtuse, more contented Bill Callahan? Fat chance! 'A River Ain't Too Much To Love' reneges on much of the promise of 'Supper' (which added slide guitar, keyboards and lingering melodies to Callahan's famously dark wit), but with intriguing results. This is mostly pared down acostic music, occasionally interrupted by Jim White's brilliantly cluttered, off-kilter drumming, but it is far from twee. It's one of Callahan's most challenging records to date - his voice is deeper and more conversational than ever, and the harmonic basis is defiantly minimal. Callahan seems determined, wherever possible, to wring as much as possible from just one chord or, occasionally, just one note. There is nothing out of place on 'A River...' and nothing is made more complicated than it need be.

On most of the songs here, Callahan sounds frustrated and uncomfortable. On 'Say Valley Maker' we find him sailing down river, singing simply 'to keep from cursing'. By the end, he's promising to rise Phoenix-like from his own ashes. On the utterly brilliant 'The Well' he begins his lenghty, opaque narrative in a restless state, throwing a bottle into the woods and then searching for the pieces. On 'I Feel Like The Mother Of The World', he puts a stop to any theological debate. 'God is a word', he states flatly 'And the argument ends there'. Lyrically, he's on terrific form, and fans of his mordant irony will find an abundance of riches here.

Musically, 'A River...' is deceptively simple, its drones and repetitions acting as smoke and mirrors for its entrancing overall impact. It sounds appropriately rustic and isolated, but also ghostly and fragmentary. Despite its basic, mostly traditional instrumentation, it still sounds peculiar and highly original. It is haunting and hypnotic, and a difficult beast to get to grips with. It lacks the immediacy of 'Knock Knock' or 'Supper', but with the almost dangerous , sinister intrigue of songs like 'The Well' or 'Running The Loping', and the bleak hilarity of 'I'm New Here', it may prove to be one of his more enduring works - a 'Wild Love' rather than a 'Rain On Lens'.

It's been too long since the last post. I've been very busy with Unit (rehearsing, performing and recording - see http://www.unit-hq.com for all the live dates around London in the next few weeks). Luckily, I've still found time to seek out some new sounds...

Electrelane - Axes

I have a slightly tricky relationship with Electrelane (on a band/audience level - I don't know them personally, despite having attended the same University as two members). John Kell and I hit an impasse over the merits of their previous album, 'The Power Out'. I concede perhaps that I overstated its case a little. By virtue of being released very early in the year, and on the same day as the somewhat disappointing Lambchop double-set, I experienced that familiar rush of hearing the first really good release of the year. Still, listening to it again a couple of weeks ago, I still liked it. Its motorik propulsions are infectious, and best of all are its experiments with choral vocal arrangements. Electrelane repeat that trick on the best tracks here, once again benefitting from Steve Albini's thoughtfully understated production duties, although the bulk of the album is this time instrumental. This means that there's much less of Verity Susman's shaky vocals, but still a great deal of the heavily krautrock inspired grooves. By this stage, it is starting to appear less like a distinctive, carefully defined sound, and more like a straightjacket for a band too tentative to veer beyond its natural limitations.

Still, when it works, it's excellent. 'The Bells' is driving and relentless, and brings with it the welcome domination of the piano, with aggressive, dissonant chords hammered out relentlessly. Even better is the following 'Two For Joy', which is carried off on a wave of glorious harmony and is one of the best things Electrelane have recorded to date. Later on in the album, they completely abandon their standard pace and feel for a more melancholy and stately arrangement on 'I Keep Losing Heart', which definitely hints at better things to come.

Elsewhere, however, there are significant problems. More than once, 'Axes' veers into the realms of abstraction with what, to my ears, are slightly uncomfortable results. They may have been listening to the likes of Sun Ra or John Coltrane, but their improvisations are sloppy, unfocussed and lack a clear sense of direction. Their interpretation of 'The Partisan' at least benefits from being wildly different from the Leonard Cohen version which popularised the song (and which undoubtedly served as their source material), but its ramshackle noise feels like a step backwards from some of this album's more subtle moments.

It's certainly a mixed bag, but pick selectively, and there are plenty of rewards. 'Axes' seems like an appropriate name for an album that tilts precariously between a bright future and the restrictions of their immediate past.

Acoustic Ladyland - Last Chance Disco

Perhaps simply in the rush to hail Acoustic Ladyland as some sort of revolutionary saviours of British Jazz, critics have completely failed to place this album in the correct context. It is somewhat galling to see critics who have, until now, almost completely ignored that any kind of British jazz movement exists, suddenly determine that jazz will be fashionable again, simply because AC have brought a less traditional, more rock-flavoured approach to the table. The fact however remains that Acoustic Ladyland work so brilliantly because they combine their open-minded love of an extremely wide musical spectrum with their instinctive skill as jazz trained musicians. Band leader and saxophonist Pete Wareham was a former young jazz musician of the year and drummer Seb Rochford (who also leads the more subtle, equally wonderful Polar Bear, with whom Acoustic Ladyland share three members) is recognised as one of the most inventive drummers on the jazz circuit. The impressively swinging and groovy acoustic interpretations of Hendrix interpretations on debut 'Camouflage' seem to have been quickly forgotten. It actually makes much more sense to place 'Last Chance Disco' in a more familiar lineage - the jazz-rock fusion of Ian Carr's Nucleus (a British jazz act!), the swashbuckling rhythms of Tony Williams' Lifetime and the revolutionary late '60s and '70s work of Miles Davis.

Still, that doesn't diminish the incredible, visceral impact of this music, nor should it make its open-minded approach any less refreshing. One track here, the astonishing 'Om Konz' comes dedicated to both Olivier Messaien and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs - how many bands would have the audacity to do this, let alone those on the usually more parochial jazz circuit? That the track justifies the dedication is all the more impressive. Its sheer energy, off-kilter keyboards and thrillingly brash theme reveal inspirations from both modern rock and contemporary composition. Even better is 'Ludwig van Ramone', a real powerhouse of a track, with subtle interactions between Rochford's relentless drums and Tom Cawley's rhythmically acute keyboard work.

Opening with the vigorous, chaotic clutter of 'Iggy', which harks back not just to US proto-punk, but also displays a deep and thorough understanding of the blues, 'Last Chance Disco' is an overwhelming sensory assault, but it is not without subtlety. Acoustic Ladyland undertand the formative origins of all this music lie in the same classic blues form, and therefore can exploit the connections as well as the explosive clashes of style. There is real substance here as well as mastery of their chosen form. Almost in spite of this, they still toss in the throwaway the snotty, throwaway snarl of 'Perfect Bitch', the only vocal track here, and a quickfire rush that manages to incorporrate pop-punk convention and klezmer-like horn stabs. It's defiantly idiosyncratic.

'Last Chance Disco' sounds spontaneous and kinetic, as all great improvised music should. It's righteously apocalyptic, but also full of humour and good fun. Combining all these elements in a way that makes sense is no easy task, and Acoustic Ladyland have really thrown down the gauntlet here and defined their own sound. A major achievement and one of the finest albums of the year so far.

Spoon - Gimme Fiction

How can Spoon have been so criminally ignored in Britain for so long? They may not be mega-stars in the States, but they are at least looked upon favourably by the alternative press there. How many music lovers here have even heard of them? Following the marvellous 'Girls Can Tell' album and the 'Series Of Sneaks' compilation comes the long-awaited 'Gimme Fiction', another distinctively quirky, surreal and literate blast through the imagination of Britt Daniel. Is this the album to elevate Spoon's profile in the UK?

For its first half at least, it very much could be. The opening few tracks here are wonderful. 'The Beast and Dragon Adored' is laconic and resigned ('I'm going back to the water/Been landlocked for too long'), and it slouches with a considered delay. 'The Two Sides Of Monsieur Valentine' is every bit as good as its title, a real gem of quirky indie-pop, with very bizarre lyrics indeed. Even better is the lead single, 'I Turn My Camera On', with its surprisingly funky groove and falsetto vocal recalling Prince or even Steely Dan. It sounds decidedly unfashionable, yet somehow also strangely prescient.

Elsewhere, there's the propulsive, infectious 'Sister Jack' or the intriguing, distinctive 'My Mathematical Mind' which also stand out, all characterised by Britt Daniel's slightly rough-edged vocals and almost nonsensical lyrics. With songs like these, Daniel has refined all the enticing and endearing elements of the Spoon sound into something both immediate and mysterious.

The second half is unfortunately burdened by similarity. The album suddenly drifts into one-dimensional haziness, and the songs lose their focus and immediacy. It's not that the songs are bad as such, it's perhaps really more a problem of sequencing. With all the best material packed tightly together in the first half of the album, its difficult to avoid the feeling that 'Gimme Fiction' runs out of steam. The pace drops to a uniform mid-tempo feel, and much of the quirky character of the best songs becomes more muted. A shame, and something of a missed opportunity.

The Books - Lost and Safe

With 'Thought For Food' and 'The Lemon Of Pink', the Books made two of the best eletronic albums of recent years, effortlessly blending all manner of strange found sounds with traditional instrumentation and melody (the latter was liberally peppered with banjo and acoustic guitar).
'Lost and Safe' adopts a similarly restrained, hushed tone, but has been talked up as a vocal album. This statement could be perceived as misleading. There's not much in the way of melodic, conventional singing on 'Lost and Safe'. Instead, this extraordinary album manages to extend the duo's already well-worn approach by piecing together a whole spectrum of samples and human voices in a less piecemeal, more theoretical fashion. The result is a construction of a surreal narrative journey, and the printing of lyrics in the CD sleeve emphasises the primacy of the voices over the calm music.

It's an old journalistic cliche, but it makes little sense to pick out particular tracks here, although the unconventional titles of the tracks make for interesting reading by themsleves. The combined effect is slightly woozy, but also literate and compelling, occasionally even sinister. The paradox of the title is ingenious - the music here initially feels unusual, perhaps even threatening, but gradually creates its own sense of security. Less detached than its predecessors, 'Lost and Safe' is as complex, beguiling and beautiful as electronic music gets.

More reviews to come....

Attention Kell-Lovers!

The URL for John Kell's outstanding King of Quiet website has changed. You can now reach the same compelling content and more by visiting http://www.kingofquiet.co.uk.

A Holy Trinity

Not one, not two - but three fantastic gigs to write about!

First up was the seemingly unstoppable Mose Allison at the Pizza Express Jazz Club in Soho. Now well into his seventies, he still tours relentlessly, and is always careful to come to London for his annual stint at the charmingly intimate Pizza Express Jazz Club. Although Allison plays in the traditional piano trio format and there is plenty of improvisation within the set, those that might usually be put off by jazz should consider approaching Allison as a starting point. He is a songwriter of genius, rhyming with consummate ease and with the sharp wit of a great satirist. His conversational, rhythmic vocal inflections also add attack to crisp renditions of classics from the American songbook - from the likes of Duke Ellington (Trouble In Mind), Willie Dixon (The Seventh Son) and numerous others.

Much the same as last year, Allison played two hour long sets punctuated by a short break, his delicate piano flourises complimented neatly by Roy Babbington's precise and full bass tones, and by Paul Clarvis' fluid drumming (although the latter's bizarre facial expressions and strangely rigid posture meant he frequently resembled a Thunderbirds puppet). Although age has withered Allison's melodic command slightly (his pitch seems to drift when attempting to hold long notes), it has not compromised his phrasing and careful enunciation. Much of the pleasure of these concerts is gained from hearing his fully engaged performances of brilliant lyrics - there is never any sign of him tiring of playing these songs, many of which he must now have aired coutless times. Especially brilliant are 'Your Mind Is On Vacation' ('if talking was criminal - you'd lead a life of crime/Because your mind is on vacation but your mouth is working overtime') and 'Ever Since The World Ended' ('Ever since the world ended, I don't go out as much/People that I once befriended, just don't seem to stay in touch') with their shamelessly clever, deeply funny rhyme schemes, the latter wryly concluding 'we're better off without it anyway'. 'Everybody's Crying Mercy' is as good a state of the nation as I've heard in recent years ('everybody's crying justice, just as long as there's business first'), whilst 'Certified Senior Citizen' maintains his peculiar brand of optimism by poking fun at his increasing age.

The playing was full of subtle flourishes, although hardly innovative. That, however, was never really the point - Allison was never likely to latch on to any avant-garde bandwagon. As much a part of the tradition of popular song as the conventions of trio jazz, his playing his concise and very much in touch with its blues heritage. Much of it seemed endearingly spontaneous, particularly the conventional but fun four bar alternating solos at the end of the opening set. A highly enjoyable evening, and there does not yet seem to be any indication that Allison plans to retire, so I look forward to next year.

Mose Allison's brand of humour is full of irony and dry comment, but those who persist in arguing that music and comedy don't mix should definitely have attended this week's Unpeeled night at The Windmill in Brixton, which delivered a peerlessly entertaining line-up. Opening the night was the wonderful MJ Hibbett (see my earlier comments on the gig Unit played with MJ Hibbett and The Validators in Cambridge). Tonight, it was a solo set, focussing entirely on classic songs (which would have been huge hits in my parallel universe), and one which seemed to impress many members of the audience not familiar with the material. Hibbett's optimism remains infectious, and provocative outlook on social relations ('F**king Hippy') and politics ('Things'll Be Different When I'm In Charge' dares to offer some solutions) render him quite unique among singer-songwriters. Add this to a series of hummable melodies that seem to owe debts to skiffle and possibly even nursery rhyme and there is a winning combination. His voice has grown from a once timid, shaky foundation to a more confident projection, and seemed on especially good form this time. It all ended with a hilarious cover of 'Boom! Shake The Room', during which I embarassed myself spectacularly with some audience participation, sadly without anyone else joining in!

Up next were The Clashettes, a girl dance group who performed a brief choreographed routine to the soundtrack of 'Should I Stay Or Should I Go'. The performance was a little rough around the edges, but the enthusiasm and gusto were far more important to the overall effect than any mastery of technique. I enjoyed it simply because it's so rare to see anything like this performed in a pub venue. The Windmill promoters continue to impress with their open-minded yet thoughtful line-ups.

Initially, I didn't quite know what to make of Gary Le Strange. A grown man onstage in uncomfortably tight PVC trousers and a wealth of make-up does generally induce a rush for the nearest exit. I had to stay for a few minutes to work out whether or not he was serious. Actually, his parody of 80s electro-pop and nu-romantic glamour was acutely observed and overpoweringly funny, particularly on what may have been called 'Is My Toaster Sentient?' ('if not, then why did it give Mr. Kettle a kiss'). Seemingly both afraid and entranced by modern technology, Le Strange sang 'in character', delivering a bountiful selection of similarly ridiculous, occasionally entirely nonsensical songs. He performed to backing track, but with absolutely no shame whatsoever, he oversang with zealous enthusiasm and jumped energetically all over the place. Splendid.

Bringing the night to a fun conclusion were Mitch Benn and The Distractions. Benn composes and performs the music for a number of Radio 4 shows, most notably the satirial Now Show. He bears a remarkable resemblance to Bill Bailey, and speaks with a similar rapid-fire tongue, his whole set grafted together by a series of impeccably timed association links. Hardly anyone escapes his remorseless parodying - his guitar effects unit enables a scarily accurate impression of the trademark U2 sound, and there is a brilliant analysis of the shortcomings of both Colplay themselves, and their current legion of imitators ('everyone sounds like Coldplay now'). His girl backing band are tremendously well-rehearsed and they create a pretty impressive sound for a line-up of guitar, bass and electronic drums, although the bassist occasionally switches to keyboards. It is of course pure comedy, and it doesn't leave the same lasting impact of Hibbett's more original approach to music - but judged on the basis of its own intentions, Mitch Benn's set is a masterclass in comic timing and painfully accurate observations.

Then, the following day, John Kell and I made it out and about again - this time to the Transgressive Records night at The Barfly in Chalk Farm. Opening the night was songwriter Jeremy Warmsley, for whom I'm currently playing drums in his side-project Correspondent.
I wrote quite critically about Jeremy's last gig, despite being an admirer of his angular yet immediate brand of songwriting. This gig seemed altogether more confident, and was mercifully free from the sound problems that marred the show at The Marquee. Without being soaked in reverb, Jeremy's voice sounds unusual and full of character, and his singing seemed both more powerful and more controlled than on previous occasions. He seemed to connect a little better with the crowd too - no jokes or anything, but some between song announcements and a less aloof performance seemed to win people over. We'll certainly be hearing a lot more from him - his debut single is out on Exercise 1 in June, and it looks like there will be another release on Transgressive later in the year.

Next up were the utterly brilliant The Pipettes, who clearly know the value of good old fashioned entertainment. They are shamelessly retro - looking back to doo-wop and the classic girl pop groups of the late fifties and early sixties. Yet, in itself, this is such a refreshing concept - especially when most of today's next big things seem incapable of realising that pop music did exist before 1977. The Pipettes themselves are three exceptionally pretty girls, who sing of boys and high school proms whilst throwing shapes and grinning gleefully. They are backed by The Cassettes, who wear matching shirt and tank-top combos. The songs are incredibly compact - but still manage to contain joy and pain in equal amount. Quite simply, with songs like 'Your Kisses Are Wasted On Me', 'Judy' and 'I Like A Man In Uniform', they are great fun. My new favourite band.

How to follow that? Well, Duels at least have a reasonable stab at it. They seem to be harking back to the same combination of disco rhythms and punk energy that has fuelled the likes of Franz Ferdinand but are characterised by intensity and aggression rather than the urge to make people dance. They are certainly energised, and make effective use of some clever vocal harmonies. Their songs also seem intricate and twisting, and whilst they tend to fit a loud-quiet template, they mostly avoid cliches. Ones to watch.

I enjoyed The Young Knives as well, albeit to a lesser extent. I was perhaps a little agnostic about their somewhat relentless assault on the senses. They are a peculiar looking band - in school tie and jacket, the singer closely resembles Angus Young from AC/DC (possibly intentionally), and as the band themselves remark, the bass player and co-vocalist is basically a 'fat Timmy Mallett'. They have some spiky, imposing songs too, although their tendency to bellow them all at full throttle did become a little tiresome towards the end of the set. Many of the songs had bizarre and inconsistent lyrics - occasionally inspired but also frustrating. With a little more subtlety incorporated into their approach, they might well become more distinctive.

Election Fever

Well thank God it's almost over. This has been a thoroughly tiresome election campaign. It's depressing that the only realistic choice is between Michael Howard's exploitative, manipulative and undeserving Tory party and another four years of Tony Blair's complacent and untrustworthy Labour administration. The polls continue to indicate that this will be a tighter contest than in 2001 but with a low turnout expected, it's hard to see how the Tories will make sufficient gains to depose Labour (I'm prepared to eat my words should the result surprise me).

In my own constituency, it is a close run affair between Labour and the Liberal Democrats, and a vote for the latter cannot be seen simply as a wasted protest vote. On matters of principle, the Lib Dems seem to have identified all the critical issues - basic civil liberties, the need for progressive taxation, student fees, Iraq and trust in government, and have adopted a convincing position on all of them. I'm slightly disappointed that they were caught napping over the inherent ambiguities in their proposal for a local income tax, as the council tax is regressive, unfair and in urgent need of reform.

They oppose the introduction of ID cards - which I oppose for a number of reasons, one of the crucial points being that many technology experts believe that biometic technology cannot achieve what Blunkett argued passionately that it could. As a means of deterring or netting terrorists, ID cards are likely to be of minimal use. What Blunkett really proposed (and Clark has not yet done anything to alter) is for the complete control of individual identity to be handed to the state. It might sound like a conspiracy theory - but I can imagine these cards creating a situation where someone is actually unable to prove their own identity. Technology systems have failed before, with humiliating consequences. Not only this - they will act as an 'entitlement' card necessary before you can gain access to essential public services. Call me an idealist if you will, but I would feel extremely uncomfortable if we introduce a system where people are denied emergency medical treatment, be they genuine citizens or illegal immigrants.

There are therefore a series of principles and values underpinning the Liberal Democrat campaign - fairness, tolerance, honesty and liberty. None of these are intrinsically objectionable, and I do not believe it is impossible to apply them to the practical realities of government. They may yet prove to be the true progressive alternative. It is such a shame that the media still condemn their 'woolly thinking' and claim they are not yet ready for government. Perhaps not in first-past-the-post terms, but give them a chance, and we may yet see our outdated electoral system reformed. Speaking realistically, they may not be ready for government - but they are certainly ready for opposition. Unfortunately, whilst they may make a few gains at Labour's expense, they are unlikely to take seats from the Tories and may stand to lose as much as they gain.

The other main parties offer little that is positive. Alan Milburn's Labour campaign has been almost completely devoid of ideas - the sole positive argument being Labour's economic record. All Labour can offer is hollow buzzwords such as 'choice' (I would prefer dependable quality across the board), and 'reform' (an effective euphemism for the encroachment of the private sector, efficiency drives and job losses). The Tories have yet again adopted a strategy that will appeal to a limited core vote, despite the clear failure of this strategy in 2001. Howard may well stress the hopelessly misleading conflation of asylum and immigration as a populist measure in the short term, but will he really reject the advice of Digby Jones and the CBI and impose immigration quotas when in power? It would be a bold move for any inheritor of brute Thatcherite economic values.

Actually, there is very little to divide the three parties on immigration - all propose skills assessments, Australian-style points-systems and tighter border controls. Howard's policy is distinct simply through being inhumane and unworkable. None of the parties have addressed the key issues on immigration and asylum - should we work in closer harmony with the European Union to deal with refugees and asylum seekers? In my opinion, we probably should, although Euro-sceptics would no doubt profoundly disagree and the result would most likely be a more resolute Fortress Europe. Is it actually justifiable that the growth of the British economy rests so strongly on the exploitation of immigrant labour? If we have to cover skills shortages in this country by seeking skilled labour from other countries - what impact do we have on the available skills and struggling economies of those countries? Could the perception that Britain is 'full up' be countered by a proper redistribution of wealth, population and resources? Do we have a moral duty to asylum seekers? In my opinion, we do - especially when we use the moral highground to initiate conflicts ourselves. Howard may accuse Blair of avoiding the debate - but there are many interesting questions he would naturally seek to avoid himself. It is an extremely complex issue for which the questions, let alone the answers, are not entirely clear.

It is also difficult to see how Michael Howard can deliver his essential improvements to schools, hospitals and transport, increase the number of police on the beat, and impose a cap on immigration, all whilst cutting taxes. It's difficult to know where the revenue will come from. The likely result is an even stronger drive towards further privatisation than Labour promise, even when this has had demonstrably disastrous results. Michael Howard's most witless poster has surely got to be the one that asks 'how difficult is it to keep a hospital clean'. The answer is fucking hard, actually - and it requires investment, quality staff and decent training.

I am also tired of reading in the moderate liberal, left-leaning press that Mr. Blair should not be judged on his lamentable escapade in Iraq, but rather on his domestic record. For me, the whole election hinges on the Iraq war, and the erosion of democratic, cabinet government that the whole affair symbolises. Blair and Howard should both be made to suffer for it on polling day. Even last week, Howard admitted that he would still have supported the decision to invade without a further UN resolution, even if he had been aware of the vagaries of the Attorney General's legal advice. He is in no position to preach here. Blair has manipulated so-called 'inquiries' into letting him off the hook, whilst refusing to allow an adequate investigation into the conduct of the government. The leaked memos during the past week confirm what we all knew - this was a pre-determined invasion contrived by the Bush administration to which Blair granted Britain's support at the earliest stage and for which he struggled to find legal justification. The issue then hinges on what the motivations for war were. I accept the arguments are more complex than many in the anti-war camp would like to admit - I am certainly happy that Saddam is no longer in power. However, to my mind, Blair was not motivated by a desire to liberate Iraq from tyranny, but by the impulse to secure his place in history as a victor, regardless of the volume of dissenting voices. He therefore singled out Saddam precisely because of his weakness, not because of his threat. In painting Saddam as a clear danger to Britain, he misled Parliament in a considered and deplorable manner, for which he has yet to really play an appropriate political price. It is an issue over which he should have been made to resign. It now remains to be seen whether the war has really ensured our security - the current evidence of increased insurgence in Iraq is not exactly promising, especially if it is a barometer of feeling across the Islamic world. Whatever the alternative may be, I would find it difficult to lend my support to Labour given these circumstances.

We shall see what the result brings - but it seems unlikely that the feverish campaigning of the last few weeks will have made much difference to what feels like a crushingly inevitable outcome.

Wish List

I'm a bit broke at the moment, poor old me, but here are some of the albums I would be buying if I had the funds...

Caribou - The Milk Of Human Kindness
Spoon - Gimme Fiction
The Decemberists - Picaresque
The Books - Lost and Safe
Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti - Worn Copy
Mugison - Mugimama, Is It Monkey Music?
Keith Jarrett - Radiance (damn ECM double CDs - this one will probably be over £20!)
Magnolia Electric Co. - What Comes After The Blues
Acoustic Ladyland - Last Chance Disco
Sleater-Kinney - The Woods
Quasimoto (Madlib) - The Further Adventures Of Lord Quas
Ryan Adams - Cold Roses
Smog - A River Ain't Too Much To Love
Electrelane - Axes
Stevie Wonder - A Time To Love (single is surprisingly not bad)
Stephen Malkmus - Face The Truth
John Prine - Fair And Square
Herman Dune - Not On Top


...all of which would appear to be among the year's most essential albums. Why they all have to come out within the space of a month is beyond me! No doubt we'll have a drought for the rest of the summer.
I've also just heard that not only is Kate Bush supposedly returning with a new album later in the year, but the B-52s have reformed and are back in the studio as well. Fantastic!

Bad Timing

I do love you The Windmill, I really do - but if you're going to locate your music venue a good 10 minutes walk from Brixton station, it would be really helpful if you managed to finish your gigs in time to catch the last train. On Friday, I bit the bullet and left the Major Matt Mason USA gig early, but I steadfastly stayed to the end of the Broken Family Band set on Saturday and left myself a lengthy journey home on two night buses.

The Mason gig was a bit of a mixed bag - I was both horrified and amused to see the return of the strange vertically challenged performance poet I once saw play with Hot Chip at the Spitz club (the line-up that left Alexis Taylor in an exceptionally grumpy mood, as Hot Chip took to the stage over an hour late). His screechy rhymes are bearable for about 10 minutes and, mercifully, that was about the length of his set. I then remember a band who had some pleasant harmonies, but some very dull arrangements and a girl group (who I think were called Pantsuit), who included the drummer from Schwervon! amongst their number and played a sharp, punchy set of endearing girl pop.

Matt Mason himself played an engaging solo set, full of dry humour and laconic vocalising. I was not familiar with his songs - but given the reliance on his delivery and lyrics, they were the kind of songs that, given attentive listening, reap immediate rewards. One song saw Mason sing from the perspective of a dog and was quite brilliant - a kind of slowed-down, drawling skiffle song. Later, he brought some of the members of Pantsuit on stage for a couple of numbers, but the pace remained as hazily listless as ever. An enjoyable set - but it was sadly at this point that I had to depart.

The Saturday line-up was more consistent. The opening set from The Morning People (fronted by Sam Inglis, who used to run the singer-songwriter night at The Boat Race in Cambridge, and still runs it at its new home The Man On The Moon) was wonderful. These were inspired, humorous and sharp indie-pop songs given a twist of Americana by virtue of some lovely slide and lead guitar. They also had a keyboard player who favoured the high-register, plonky one-finger keyboard lines that are infectious as hell. There were just so many fantastic songs here - a song arguing, quite convincingly, that even the achievements of minor celebrities should be recognised. Strange metaphors were in abundance, most notably on the delightful 'Rocking Horse Shit'. 'Older Women' provided a light-hearted, if probably sincere, paen to the virtues of the, erm, older woman. It certainly made me chuckle, even if it did rather steal the thunder from Chris Trigg's equaly splendid 'Older Girls', as yet unheard except by a select few. 'Guilty Pleasures' provided exactly the kind of thrill its title implied it might. This is the sort of band that deserves to be heard by more people - but will no doubt sadly remain playing a small clutch of gigs in pub backrooms. Check out their website http://www.themorningpeople.com and be sure to catch them next time they make it to a venue near you.

After that, we had the acoustic singer-songwriter Elephant Micah, who closely resembled Joel Gibb from the Hidden Cameras, but sadly lacked Joel's gift for an insistent melody. In fact, even Joel's less subtle modes of provocation would have been welcome here, as the set was so calm and meandering it proved all too easy to ignore.

Next up were Abesentee, clearly strong favourites of The Broken Family Band, as they had already filled the support slot at The 100 Club a few months ago. Nothing had changed much in their set - the two most striking elements of their act, being the girl with the peculiar retro fashion sense (huge bug glasses and cowboy hat), and the tiny frontman with an unnervingly deep voice (sounding not unlike Smog's Bill Callahan). They sounded pleasant, but only occasionally enervated enough to be truly striking, and I was unable to distinguish the words, which may have acted against them. Still, there's plenty of promise and it would seem more than likely that I might catch them again some time soon.

As for BFB, this probably won't rank among their best gigs. It wasn't as drunken and riotuous as the first of their three gigs at The Windmill that I've seen, and it certainly didn't have the hometown thrill of their Strawberry Fair performances. In fact, despite Steve Adams' apparent drunkenness, they still used the occasion as an opportunity to showcase new material, most of which seemed to start with a slow drawl and suddenly accelerate into a brisk country-punk hoedown. This harmonisation of the two most distinct elements of their sound may provide them with the refashioning of the established formula that they really need, and I thought that there was plenty of promise in songs like 'You're Like A Woman' and 'The Booze and The Drugs', even if lyrically, they seemed to be mining an already familiar seam. Talking of mining, in leaving early, John Kell was unlucky to miss a fantastically raucous interpretation of Leonard Cohen's 'Diamonds In The Mine' which proved to be the highlight of the gig for me. They then played a couple of songs that may have been new, or may have been very old (I still haven't got round to picking up a copy of 'The King Will Build A Disco') and a strangely subdued encore of 'Devil In The Details' and the beautiful 'John Belushi' (clearly now a firm fan favourite judging by the number of people singing along). They ended with 'In Yer Bedroom' and I left, hoping to just catch the last train, but actually missing it by a matter of seconds. Ho hum.

Growing Older Gracefully

Two momentous events happened this week, and neither had anything to do with the impending general election (more of that in an imminent post). First, a new Bruce Springsteen album was released. For me at least, this was inevitably a major event, made all the more exciting by the advance whispers that Devils and Dust would see a return to the stark acoustic narratives of Nebraska and The Ghost of Tom Joad. Sony had kept the album tightly under wraps, pompously refusing to send out advance promos to the media and instead inviting everyone to one of those highly irritating listening parties that seem to be the current means of preventing pre-release internet leaks. Surprisingly enough, I was not important enough to attend. Despite the contractual restrictions apparently placed on the media, some mixed reports did seep out over the weekend, including a snobby, patronising and uncharacteristically off the mark review from Andy Gill in the Independent, baffled indifference from Alexis Petridis in the Guardian and an enthusiastic thumbs up from the consistently hopeless Observer Music Monthly. So far, the signs were not especially promising. Still, an exceptional article in the Observer review from Sean O' Hagan managed to put the album in its wider context, and was bold enough to finally suggest that Tom Joad may be the quintessential Springsteen album (it is).

The first thing to note about D&D is that the notion that it is the conclusion of a trilogy begun with Nebraska is only half the story. It does indeed contain some of Springsteen's most evocative storytelling, including the songs composed during the Tom Joad acoustic tour in 1996. Yet, it also contains a small cluster of roots rockers, a couple of which venture into something approaching new territory. If anything, it is closer in sound to 'Tunnel Of Love', the solo project in which Springsteen steadfastly refused to provide a chest-beating follow up to 'Born In The USA', although it's by no means as nakedly personal as that album - it largely retains the character-based storytelling approach of the acoustic albums. This is no bad thing, as Sprinsteen remains the best storyteller in popular music.

Secondly, much like The Rising before it, it's a bit of a mixed bag. It contains some great songs, but it also contains a couple of major turkeys. It doesn't share its predecessor's bloated length (it's surprisingly concise), but it does suffer from similar errors of judgement over tracklisting. The rockier tracks are mostly clustered in the first half, rendering the second half a bit of a chore, despite the quality of the songs. Comparisons with the best Springsteen albums may render it a minor work, but such a judgement may prove to be harsh - because it is still an incisive, mature and frequently moving piece of work.

Sadly, the only thing most writers seem to have noticed is the track 'Reno', which, gasp! shock! horror!, makes explicit reference to oral and anal sex! With a prostitute! It's in character of course, and is actually a great deal more subtle than your average chart pop hit (and significantly less offensive). That it's actually a powerful and affecting song contrasting the isolation and desperation of purchased sex with a deeper love existing only in distant memory seems to have escaped the critics' attention. Still, at least they were bothering to read the lyric sheet whilst they supped champagne at the listening party.

Some other tracks follow familiar Tom Joad territory - 'Matamoras Banks' is another song about immigrants at borders, and basically repeats the formula of 'The Line'. It's empathetic and sensitive, but not as devastating as the earlier song. 'Black Cowboys' is a classic Springsteen family narrative, which sees the slow ebb of 'the ties that bind', with its young protagonist fleeing on a train. It's wistful, delicate and composed with considered clarity. 'The Hitter' tells a boxer's story with Springsteen's characteristic blend of the elegance of poetry and the descriptive detail of prose. He sounds appropriately ragged and worn on this exquisite mini-epic. 'Jesus Was An Only Son' is a faith song where Springsteen has previously been more allusive (dismissed as 'questionable Christian piffle' by Andy Gill in The Independent, although I found it personal and introspective rather than preachy and confrontational). 'Silver Palomino' is wonderful, a song about a horse that acts as a metaphor for two young boys trying to come to terms with their mother's death.

Then there are the peculiar departures - 'Maria's Bed' is rootsy and uplifting, bolstered considerably by Soozy Tyrell's violin and Patti Scialfa's gospel-inspired chanting. This is one of a few tracks where Springsteen affects a different vocal approach, moving into an unusually high register and sounding something akin to Ryan Adams doing an impression of Neil Young. It's striking and irresistible. Equally superb is 'Long Time Comin', which takes the dogged rock blueprint of 'Lonesome Day' and 'Counting On A Miracle' and adds a welcome country lilt through some marvellous slide guitar work. It is also blessed with one of Springsteen's best lyrics in ages - as direct as it is sublime, the final verse particularly beautiful ('Out 'neath the arms of Cassiopeia/Where the sword of Orion swoops/It's me and you Rosie, cracklin' like crossed wires/And you breathin' in your sleep'). Less successful is 'All The Way Home', a generic rocker marred further by the plodding thud of a drum machine, a device that seems to be more frequent in Springsteen songs with Brendan O'Brien on production duties. It is the most thoroughly unremarkable Springsteen song since the days of 'Human Touch' and 'Lucky Town' - it could have sat comfortably on those albums, and in fact, a cursory glance at the sleevenotes does indeed date the song back to 1991. Why Springsteen decided to revisit such a lightweight piece of work now is anybody's guess.

Then there is a batch of songs caught somewhat uncomfortably between the two camps. 'All That I'm Thinkin' About' is yet another car song (but it's not as entertaining as 'Pink Cadillac'). It feels like it should have a Chuck Berry-esque chug to it but it's actually quite restrained, and the falsetto vocal sound more uncomfortable here than on 'Maria's Bed'. The title track opens the album in a worthy and dignified fashion - a lyric inspired by soldiers in Iraq being something we might expect from Bruce Springsteen in 2005. I was impressed by this track on first listen, as it builds from a subtle, introspective opening into a much bigger sound. On further listening, its impact is dulled, however. The chord sequence and melody are slightly predictable, the lyrics more benign platitudes than anything really incisive, and Brendan O'Brien's production is also at its most intrusive here. 'Leah' is a straightforward acoustic love song, but with a bigger arrangement and imposing chorus. It makes for a welcome, more poppy diversion from some of the weightier material here.

At its best, 'Devils and Dust' is substantial and involving - at its worst, it is somewhat inconsequential. This makes for a slightly uncomfortable mix, but there are certainly many more highs than lows, and Springsteen's desire to find new ways of presenting familiar ideas is admirable. His place in the pantheon of classic songwriters already assured, Springsteen is perhaps becoming more adventurous in his maturity.

The second major event was a secret Sleater-Kinney gig (billed as Slutty Kitty) at the tiny Barfly venue in Camden Town. This proved to be an absolute treat. I can't really offer too informed a review - much of the set was new material (new album 'The Woods', recorded with Dave Fridmann, is released at the end of the month) that I was hearing for the first time. I'm also only familiar with part of the Sleater-Kinney back catalogue, being something of a Johnny-come-lately to this most remarkable of bands. Like most music obsessives, and all weblog writers, my passion can occasionally drift into self-righteousness, so it's important to check myself every so often by admitting my past mistakes. I used to hate Sleater-Kinney - Corin Tucker's harsh vibrato used to make me wince, and I struggled to find much in the way of nuance or melody in the few songs I'd heard. Frankly, I was very, very wrong. Tonight, as they were at the Mean Fiddler last time I saw them, Sleater-Kinney were kinetic, thrilling and adventurous. The sound they achieve with two guitars and drums is colossal, much of it based around the visceral brilliance of Janet Weiss' drumming. The interplay of vocal lines and guitars is increasingly dextrous, without being overly ponderous or pretentious.

What struck me most at the Barfly is the way in which Sleater-Kinney effortlessly combine the angularity and confrontation of the post-punk movement with more historical influences. 'One Beat' betrayed an increasing engagement with blues, improv and heavy rock, and 'The Woods' promises to further these preoccupations, with what sounded here like more dynamic and sustained results. The Beefheart-esque improv explosion towards the end may have been a bit too much, but it didn't sound too unhinged - the band always sounded locked together and in control. They reward the small but energised crowd (who warmly received the new material) with a brilliant three song encore.

They are also brilliant performers - Corin contorting her face as she bellows frequently unintelligible lyrics, Carrie bounding around the stage with relentless energy, Janet's hair flailing all over the place as she pounds out her intricate backbeats. They perform with such gusto that they seem like a fresh, new proposition - it's astounding that they have been performing for over ten years now. They have lost none of their primacy or urgency. It's a powerful combination - and this is a band that should not be missed - catch them when they return to Europe in the summer for festivals, and hopefully a few more UK gigs.

Oh, and Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds are playing Alexandra Palace in August, a mere stone's throw from my home, and a great use for some of that recently acquired Birthday money! There are some advantages to getting older!

Murphy's Law

Pure Reason Revolution, Fans Of Kate- The Barfly, Chalk Farm 18/4/05

Bloody typical. The one time I actually arrive early for a pre-arranged meeting, there is all manner of chaos at Chalk Farm, involving what purported to be a defective train, but what may well actually have been a passenger on the track (especially likely given the strong police and emergency service presence outside the station). I got a justified taste of my own medicine in having to wait half an hour for John Kell to arrive (through no fault of his own). Ho Hum - given the irony, I guess it was appropriate that we ended up drinking Murphy's rather than Guinness inside the venue.

This proved to be a rather more nostalgic evening than I had expected. John Kell had played me a Pure Reason Revolution track whilst I was sitting in on the alumni edition of John Kell Vs. Satan, and from him I knew they had a track on the latest compilation in the Abuse Your Friends series (my old band Hyperfuzz were featured on number one). I also subsequently found out that my friend Seb (lead guitarist in aforementioned teen punk combo) had been asked to join the band on guitar. Had he actually told me that the band featured two former members of fellow teen pop-punkers Gel (who we supported on a number of occasions) and one member of girl punk group the Period Pains, the event would have seemed less like a series of odd coincidences, and more like an intricately connected, somewhat incestuous web. At last it all made sense! What's more bizarre is that I completely failed to recognise either Jon or Andrew from Gel, as they both looked radically different (bulkier and more hairy to put it politely). With two members of Gel, one member of Period Pains, all of Hyperfuzz, and apparently also the once omnipresent Emmy-Kate Montrose of Kenickie, it felt like a big old Friday Dynamite reunion. Anyway, more of PRR later....

First, the support acts. The opening act were called something like Make Your Good Escape, and they played highly proficient rock music that would not have been out of place in the pages of Kerrang! magazine. Not really my cup of tea, but they had a lot of energy, and they seemed more distinctive than the average heavy rock band largely due to some vigorous and technically impressive drumming.

Next up were the much touted Fans Of Kate, who have already received a couple of plays on the new Steve Lamacq afternoon show on BBC 6Music. It would be churlish not to admit that I quite enjoyed their set, bristling as it was with self-effacing charm, zest and a clutch of memorable tunes. Nevertheless, the somewhat conventional and chugging arrangements began to irritate by about half way through the set, and by the end I felt rather like I'd been pushed repeatedly against a brick wall. This was not in itself an entirely un-entertaining experience, but they were perhaps in danger of pummeling some very good pop songs into submitting to a somewhat predictable and generic format. Certainly, the set was perilously close to being samey.

Pure Reason Revolution took the longest setting up, and not without reason. With their banks of synths and keyboards, laptops, electronic drums and guitars they were certainly making use of that new advance from Sony (who are apparently hoping they will break America). How the two brothers from Gel went from 'Picture Frame' and 'Rosie and Jim' to this I'm not entirely sure. They played a near-continuous set of hypnotic, proggy grooves which were punctuated by harmonies straight out of the Crosby, Stills and Nash songbook, and fervent passages of cock-rock action. This made for an unconventional and striking combination. Some people I spoke to remained unconvinved by this staunchly unfashionable sound. I admit that the first reference point that sprang to my mind was Mansun (a band now at least partially unfairly ridiculed) but I wonder if PRR might have more commercial potential than they realise. OK, so 12 minute single 'Bright Ambassadors Of Morning' is hardly likely to be the most played track on your local GWR station - but they seem to have already amassed considerable interest, as well as something approaching a cult following. They are certainly techincally proficient and fearlessly indulgent, but the gift for a good pop melody that Jon displayed with the perpetually effervescent Gel clearly has not deserted him. They also had a remarkably polished sound, that made me temporarily forget I was in the claustrophobic confines of the Barfly (I could easily have been in an enormodome, watching this band open for the likes of Rammstein or Metallica!). The voices meshed together with consummate ease, and the band proved considerably more interesting when utilising the unusual juxtaposition of harmonies and heavy rock than when relying on meandering instrumental passages. I was slightly frustrated by the relentlessness of it all, particularly the insistence on playing a virtually continuous set with scant acknowledgement of the presence of an audience. This could only have added to the slightly unfair preconceptions of this band as pretentious, elitist, arty or other such stereotypes.

At the end, I left Seb vascilating over whether to accept the offer to join the band (it might well entail enduring a gruelling touring schedule as the band focus their efforts on the States). I must admit that I long for the opportunity for one of my musical outfits to be heard by a wider audience. But hey, like the Murphy's, I'm not bitter....

Wind Power!

Another account rather than a proper review, and another thrilling evening I'm pleased to report. My new band Correspondent played their second ever gig (albeit a gig that felt like the first in a really dedicated music venue) at The Windmill, Brixton last night. The Windmill remains one of my favourite London pub venues - it's a place where the promoters and DJs seem to actually have knowledge of music, good taste, and common sense. It's one of the rare places where they manage to put together a diverse line-up of acts that doesn't feel uncomfortable or inappropriate.

Starting off tonight were Ironpaw, two young guys from Kansas who sadly promised a little more than they delivered. With ukelelees, and guitar-case percussion, they looked endearingly ramshackle. They had some pleasant, country-tinged chord sequences (although I did indeed realise, in the middle of Correpondent's performance as I predicted I would, that the song they blatantly plagiarised was the not entirely credible 'Julia' by Chris Rea, so not an indie or country track at all!). These sat somewhat uncomfortably with shouty, chanty vocals that seemed designed more for the football terrace than an intimate pub venue. Still, impressive that they travelled all this way to play a clutch of shows in London - and there may be enough quirkiness in their sound for them to build on.

I was up next with Correspondent, and this seemed an altogether more confident and professional performance than our debut. It also felt enjoyable and entertaining - whereas I felt the first airing of the same set of songs a few weeks ago might have come across as a little po-faced. Various people remarked that the difference between this band and Unit can be summed up in that lyrically, Jeremy Warmsley likes to write about girls, whereas Brendan from Unit likes to write about doing nothing (a little unfair, perhaps - he does occasionally engage with the outside world!) and musically, Unit are a bit all-over-the-shop, whereas Correspondent are more straight ahead indie. I certainly accept the latter point (especially as I don't think it was intended as a criticism). I had been concerned that Correspondent might have been a lot less original a prospect than we had hoped, but I now feel comfortable that we are performing good quality songs with energy and conviction, which is more than enough. Much like Unit, however, we need to improve our engagement with the audience - some proper song titles might be a good starting point! We should be doing some recording soon, so watch this space...

Up next were another American act, this time all the way from Salt Lake City came Will Sartain. I'm not sure if this was a solo singer-songwriter and band, or if that was the name of the band (remember the 1980s confusion over the band called Danny Wilson?) but I can be sure that they were really rather good. The first few songs had jaunty rhythms and quirky vocals that reminded me a little of Ben Folds Five, and they performed with remarkable gusto. Each song seemed to be a mini-epic, with intricate twisting structures and several compelling melodies. Towards the end, it all started to get a little samey - but with their slight hints of psychedelia, classic pop and American indie, these guys had melded together a disparate set of influences with real success.

The headline act were some really nice guys from Switzerland, with the most refreshingly un-arsey drummer I've ever met (he let me use his rather substantial collection of cymbals, including a colossal China which I very much enjoyed crashing during Correspondent's set). Sadly, it was all running a bit late and I needed to get home by this stage - they seemed a bit dark and proggy, with intriguing instrumentation, including electronics, but I can't really pass a useful judgement from the soundcheck and the first song.

VALIDATED!

Colonel Bastard, MJ Hibbett and The Validators, Unit - The Man On The Moon, Cambridge

Obviously I can't really review my own gig - so this is going to be more of an account of what proved to be a quite brilliant night in Cambridge. Thanks must go to Cambridge local heroes Colonel Bastard for arranging this gig - it really was a great pleasure and privilege to play with some bands I actually like rather than a couple of random pub rock seventies throwbacks as usually happens. Self-promotion is the way forward - I intend to begin by honouring my promise of an exchange with Colonel Bastard - I hope we can repeat this line-up in London at some point soon.

Things got off to a terrible start, largely because of my EXTREME LATENESS. Some people (specifically John Kell) will tell you this was not exactly out of character - although having driven for three hours (across London North to South to pick up a bass amp - back again to avoid the apparently clogged M25 and then out to Cambridge) it was not entirely my fault this time. My reckless haste up an almost entirely empty M11 at least meant that the equipment arrived only just over an hour late, and frankly it could have been much worse. Sadly, that still left no time for adequate soundchecks - and I felt it was more than a little unfair that it was us, the latecomers, who managed to get a sneaky level check in before the doors opened.

Whilst we still have a few friends left in Cambridge, I wasn't sure how many people would be there. It transpired that a surprisingly good crowd turned out, which made me feel that my effort had been worth it. We began our groovy mash-up with a pretty storming version of 'Television' - Brendan getting crazy on the guitar, and Dan starting the silly cat dancing far too early in the set! Our new set list continued to work wonders, as there was far less arsing around (although Brendan's guitar tuning nightmares did return to haunt us tonight - we've finally bought an amp, a new guitar is now on the wishlist). We had intended to change it slightly from the previous gig at the Betsey Trotwood, but were ruthlessly curtailed as time seemed to slip from our fingers. Fair enough - it was my fault it was all running a bit late! So, our anti-Bush rant to backing track 'Monkey King' was an unfortunate casualty ('miditastic' as the soundman so accurately described it), as was the Turtle's sublime piece of wry borderline misogyny 'O Woman'. There always seems to be a gaping hole when these songs are absent - but the void was at least partially filled by new song 'The Explorer', given an even more energetic performance tonight than at its debut a couple of weeks ago, and it may well become a standard set closer. I love the lyrics - and the way it veers between half and full time without batting an eyelid. It's one of my current favourites. All good, although the onstage sound was frustratingly muffled and it's always annoying not to be able to hear the vocals. I wondered if place names were repeated during the improvised chorus to 'Shooting People'. This week we will be working on live versions of 'All EYes On You', 'Listen It Out', 'Highway 75' and 'Secretary Of State' - all to be given their live debut in the not too distant future. Check http://www.unit-hq.com for new live dates as they are confirmed.

The full set was:

TELEVISION
SLEEP WHEN YOU'RE DEAD
SHOOTING PEOPLE
EDGE OF TOWN
LOVER'S MESH
2C OTHERS AS THEY C ME
THE EXPLORER

After a quick trip to a cashpoint on the realisation I had no money for drinks - on came MJ Hibbett and The Validators. I've seen them a couple of times now, as well as MJ Hibbett solo, but this was comfortably the best of the bunch. Mark was understandably concerned about playing so many new songs - but I didn't find this a problem at all, simply because the songs are among his most articulate, immediate and entertaining. I particularly enjoyed 'The Gay Train' and 'Tell Me Something You Do Like' and it's refreshing to hear a songwriter so adept at identifying the state of the nation, but also of singing about it all with such infectious positivity. Best of all was a song about the brutal reality of the Thatcher years that may or may not be called 'The Fight For History' - provocative, incisive and also good fun. The band were also on top form, with Frankie Machine's great steal from 'This Charming Man' an extra level of irony to 'The Lesson Of The Smiths'.

All these songs seem to deploy the same four chords - but this doesn't matter a jot, because Hibbett and band can reap so many rewards from what might appear to be a limited framework. The inclusion of a violin with multi-effects also adds to the quirky appeal of their sound. Their performance brought a great beaming smile to my face - and that's a big compliment, if it doesn't sound too cheesy. The Validators are recording a new album imminently - I'm really looking forward to its appearance later this year. MJ Hibbett's own account of the evening can be read at http://www.mjhibbett.com

Headlining were the superb Colonel Bastard, who played many songs I remembered from my student days, but in considerably more polished and impressive versions. I don't think it would be overstating the case to say that this is some of the best indie guitar pop I've heard in recent months - so much more distinctive and enjoyable than most of the po-faced tripe in the pages of the NME. It's music with zest, intelligence and charm to boot. Martin White also has a great sense of humour - "I'm MJ White" he says, "so for one night only we are MJ White and The Vindicators!"

There are classics in abundance - the hilarious 'Peter Sissons' and 'Boring Gordon' are songs which revive the great British tradition of character and narrative in songwriting (and in this respect, Colonel Bastard hark back not just to the power pop of XTC, but also to Ray Davies and The Kinks). They end with a gloriously ragged version of their 'punk rock opera' 'Whitley Grange' which has lodged itself in my consciousness and now refuses to go away. They also looked great in their suits and hats, and had energy and enthusiasm in bucketloads. Tonight has made me realised that, whilst we have some great material, Unit need to go away and work quite hard on this aspect of our performance.

Afterwards, it was all back to Ben from Colonel Bastard's place for an aftershow with BEER - although it involved negotiating a maze of Cambridge backstreets that I never even knew existed. Thanks again to everyone involved.

Happy Birthday!

I can't believe I've managed to let In League With Paton's first birthday slip by (can it really be a year since I started this?).

So anyway, March 25th 2005 was the date - but I have no problem with a belated celebration!

In other news - for those in the Cambridge area there is a gig alert - TONIGHT - Colonel Bastard, MJ Hibbett and The Validators and Unit (my band!) at The Man On The Moon. It promises to be an excellent night!

Return Of The Mode

This has made me quite excited.....

http://www.nme.com/news/112011.htm

Following the remix album, it seems Depeche Mode are fashionable once more! Ben Hiller has produced some of the most intriguing British albums of recent years (Doves - Some Cities, Elbow - Cast Of Thousands, Blur - Think Tank) so I have very high expectations of this project.

Fun, Fun, Fun

Redjetson, Libreez, Twentysix Feet, Jeremy Warmsley – The Marquee 11/4/05

Truth be told, this was a bit of a frustrating evening, although clearly a labour of love for its promoter, who twice admonished us for sitting at the candlelit tables when we should have been standing in the middle watching the bands. Well, fine – and I’m all in favour of showing respect for the artists on stage (the woman in front of me who had an exceedingly loud conversation all the way through Jeremy Warmsley’s set did annoy me somewhat). However, first of all, the artists on stage need to show a corresponding degree of respect for their audience and two, don’t provide the tables if you don’t want people to use them. Promoters also need to use some modicum of common sense when putting events like this together. I’m by no means closed minded in my tastes, and I support diversity (anyone who has ever heard In League With Paton on CUR1350 or read this blog would realise this), but this line-up just felt somewhat uncomfortable in its self-conscious bucking of conventions.

Jeremy Warmsley opened the night convincingly, with brash energy. It’s hard for me to write critically about a friend – especially one whose music I certainly have admiration for, but there can be little doubt that Jeremy is a songwriter brimming with potential. On disc, he demonstrates a tremendous skill with atmospherics and production trickery. Live, and entirely solo, his songs are necessarily more skeletal – although he manages to get some interesting results from his heavy reliance on guitar loops and effects. Shorn of the layered vocals and electronic punctuations, ‘After The Fact’ and ‘Centre Of Things’ sound closer to the post-punk and new wave inspirations currently very much in vogue. Jeremy manages to avoid academic references by means of his inventive, spiky guitar playing and distinctive, powerful, slightly nasal vocals. He’s also reliable with a good melody – although his best songs twist and turn in unpredictable directions rather than relying on verse/chorus structures. He’s tremendously self-confident, and his talent is manifest. It’s refreshing simply to see a solo singer-songwriter not content to sit on a stool and blandly strum at an acoustic guitar. John Kell described him as ‘a more interesting Sondre Lerche’ – which, for those familiar with the work of either songwriter, pretty much hits the nail on the head. Both have a penchant for angular, quirky pop songs, although Lerche’s appeal rests more on a certain naivety and innocence, whilst Warmsley’s rests largely on his sheer precociousness.

The set was not without its problems, however. The murky sound didn’t help much, with a reverb-laden vocal so boomy that it became very difficult to discern Jeremy’s half-hearted between-song banter or even what he was singing about. Why do sound engineers do this? Granted, reverb can be a useful tool in crafting a mysterious sound (My Morning Jacket might well be the best recent example), but Jeremy’s voice has an unusual, striking character of its own – and this was unfortunately submerged in echo this evening. Given what I could comprehend, I’m not entirely convinced that Jeremy has found his voice as a lyricist yet. His words can seem a little self-absorbed or detached and he doesn’t yet have the poetic qualities of the classic songwriters. Still, this may come, as he experiments more with narrative in songs like ‘5 Verses’ (one of the highlights this evening) or comes closer to universalising his own experiences. He has largely abandoned his older songs that, although less original, had considerable warmth and charm. His more recent material however does demonstrate an admirable desire to escape the spell of his immediate influences, and tonight justifiably earned him a warm reception.

Whilst Jeremy undoubtedly takes his work very seriously (and some might even find him lacking in humour), it did seem more than a little unfair to lump him with such a po-faced line-up tonight. Twentysix Feet at least had voluminous commitment and energy (the singer’s highly physical performance seemed to leave him suffering from an unpleasant back injury). They also had a robust, impressively loud sound, incorporating electronics without sounding too mechanistic or clunky. It was, however, possibly all a bit too relentless. They were at their best when they allowed subtler textures and hints of melody to pierce through the metallic sheen. Still, possibly ones to watch, as this kind of prog-metal seems to be very much the rage right now (see also Oceansize and Pure Reason Revolution).

When Libreez began setting up, John Kell remarked that they ‘looked a bit indie in a Strokes- rather -than- Belle -and -Sebastian -kind -of -way’. Much to our mutual horror, he could not have been more wrong. This was art-wank of the most uncomfortable and embarrassing kind. As a jazz trained musician who has grown up instilled with the modern jazz tradition, I am open to the avant garde, and I dismiss improvised music with reluctance. This, however, really was utterly hopeless. One thrumming, dissonant chord was repeated over and over again, behind which the drummer bashed out intricate, impulsive interventions with considerable fervour. There was also a saxophone player, who attempted neither the squawking ferocity of an Evan Parker, nor the cool sophistication of a John Surman. He just warbled aimlessly over the top. It was 15-20 minutes of continuous meandering noise. If it was a jazz-club style satirical joke, it was complete genius – but I get the feeling these people are aiming for the heart of the improv pitch – and are therefore taking it all very seriously indeed. It didn’t have the intensity for free jazz, nor the aggression for rock or the melody for pop. All the great jazz pioneers – from Duke Ellington and Miles Davis to John Coltrane, Ornette Coleman and Cecil Taylor, all learnt the rulebook before they attempted to break it. These foolishly confrontational imbeciles demonstrated little or no knowledge of the tradition from which they were self-righteously stealing. The only positive comment I can make about this performance was that the silence at the end of their deluge of mindless noise was about the most sublime sound I heard all evening.
Redjetson finished the night with some slow-paced, doggedly tempestuous post-rock. We stayed for a few tunes that were not exactly unengaging – but felt like too small a reward after such a massive endurance test. They at least incorporated affecting melody into their tried and tested sturm und drang, sounding tough and, at least initially, powerfully arresting. Yet, without Jeremy’s appealing subversion of pop songwriting conventions, this line-up would have been insufferably po-faced and excessively serious. Whilst talent was evident, the evening was desperately in need of a sense of fun.

Music From The Margins

Prefuse 73 – Surrounded By Silence (Warp)

A more appropriate title might well have been ‘Surrounded By Special Guests’, so prominent are collaborations on this album. This work has been heavily criticised in some quarters for being fractured and fragmented, which seems odd to me given that these were the same people who heaped plaudits on its predecessor (‘One Word Extinguisher’), which was an equally bitty record. Herren’s working method is to ensure that his tracks are mercilessly concise, hence ‘Surrounded By Silence’ manages to squeeze a testing 21 tracks into its 70+ minutes. Whilst this approach tends to be a major obstacle to enjoying most conventional hip hop albums for me, it works perfectly with Prefuse 73. This is mainly because Herren is intelligent and talented enough a producer to know that short does not necessarily have to mean insubstantial.

What an array of guests Herren has amassed for this one – El-P, The Books, Broadcast, Aesop Rock, Kazu from Blonde Redhead, Beans – it’s a critical list of the most significant figures in contemporary experimental music. Reading the album credits feels a little uncomfortable – you could be forgiven for pre-judging Herren and assuming that he has depended on the talents of others to carry an otherwise lacklustre work. Luckily, this is not the case. The crucial point to remember is that Herren is not a lyricist – so collaborations are to some extent a necessity if Herren is going to progress beyond a narrow audience and convert more traditional rap fans.

This isn’t to say that there are no problems with ‘Surrounded By Silence’, just that the scattergun approach has always seemed to me to be one of Herren’s endearing idiosyncrasies. The slight malaise that drags down much of this record is its slight trepidation. It doesn’t ever go straight for the jugular like previous Prefuse releases, and it sounds slightly tentative and afraid to be audacious. The stuttering, fearlessly intricate beats of previous albums have been replaced by flatter, slightly plodding, more generic hip-hop conventions. The jazzy infusions of ‘One Word Extinguisher’ have been replaced by more familiar murky atmospherics.

There are some notable stand-out moments. Kazu’s breathy, slightly distant vocal adds some appealing mystery to ‘We Got Our Own Way’, whilst El-P and Ghostface sound ragged and fiery on ‘Hide Ya Face’. Beans retains his quixotic, quirky wordplay on the excellent ‘Morale Crusher’. Elsewhere, some of the collaborations feel strangely fruitless. The Books are one of the most inventive and distinctive electronica acts of the moment, but Herren can do little to improve on their already comfortable blueprint on ‘Pagina Dos’. ‘Just The Thought’, featuring Masta Killa and Gza of the Wu-Tang Clan ought to be a bewildering and brilliant clash of styles – but it disappoints simply by fault of not sounding fresh enough.

‘Surrounded By Silence’ also suffers as an album because of the lack of a unifying theme. The best hip hop albums of recent years have been powerful thematically as well as musically (take Cannibal Ox’s ‘The Cold Vein’, a dazzling, almost overwhelmingly brutal record that is evokes contemporary New York with grim and uncompromising realism). As a compilation, ‘Surrounded By Silence’ would be an impressive display, capturing both the successes and failures of an intelligent producer. As an album, it’s something of a frustrating challenge. It does reap rewards, but some of Herren’s sharper edges have been blunted in the process.


Sage Francis – A Healthy Distrust (Epitaph)

Sage Francis is a white rapper who has endured the inevitable comparisons with Eminem. Why are music journalists so lazy? Eminem is a hugely marketable proposition, with a cartoon style and populist production. Francis is uncompromising, with an acid tongue, and a brings a wry, refreshingly liberal perspective to his probing social commentaries. Their chosen genre of performance and the colour of their skin may well be their only common ground. It’s unlikely that Francis will enjoy Eminem’s massive success, but ‘A Healthy Distrust’ is a brilliant record nonetheless, elaborate, articulate, and hitting all the right targets with admirable rigour.

I picked this up largely because of ‘Sea Lion’, a collaboration with Will Oldham that works remarkably well. I’m always endeared to rappers and hip hop producers who seek out new ways of incorporating melody without relying on lazy cut and paste samples from classic soul records (compare this with the complete tedium of Kanye West and his helium segments). ‘Sea Lion’ is a deceptively simple record, with its skeletal guitar and woozy melody, and its effect is something close to intoxicating. It’s one of the finest tracks I’ve heard so far this year.

Fortuitously, there’s plenty more of interest elsewhere on this record. Francis is an engaging and often fearless rapper, dismissing radio stations that ignore him because they are afraid of veering from ‘clear channel playlists’ and best of all undermining rap’s casual homophobia by depicting the gun as a phallic symbol on the remarkable ‘Gunz Yo’. He even gets metaphysical on ‘Sun Vs. Moon’, stating that ‘the Devil only exists because of your belief in him’ and envisioning a ‘cock fight’ between the sun and moon. ‘Slow Down Gandhi’ seems to encompass as many topics as possible – berating political bandwagonists whilst providing something approaching a cogent analysis of America’s current political cul-de-sac. When placed next to the wealth-obsessed, bling nightmare of the current mainstream hip hop scene, we have an articulate poet, characterised by extreme scepticism (as the title implies) who is capable of reflection as well as braggadocio, and who is unafraid of confronting darker forces in the world around him.

Francis has also employed some inventive and creative producers to help him out. Alias, one of the numerous members of the Anticon collective, provides something close to folky ambience, particularly evocative for ‘Escape Artist’ and the aforementioned ‘Sea Lion’. There are also memorable contributions from Reanimator and Daddy Key. Best of all is Dangermouse, who gives a menacing undercurrent to ‘Gunz Yo’, placing the cut and paste schtik of ‘The Grey Album’ in a more intriguing context. All the contributions cohere more easily than the latest Prefuse 73 effort, at least in part due to Francis’ engagement with wider themes, and ‘A Healthy Distrust’ seems to work effortlessly.


Alasdair Roberts – No Earthly Man (Drag City)

I had high expectations of this record, not least because Alasdair Roberts has delivered two of my favourite records of recent years with ‘The Crook Of My Arm’ and ‘Farewell Sorrow’, and also because production duties on this third solo album are handled by Will Oldham. It is, of course, a natural move for Roberts. He has collaborated with Oldham before (on the Amalgamated Sons Of Rest project, also with Jason Molina) and benefited from Oldham’s patronage when fronting the now justly revered Appendix Out.

Oldham’s production makes for a considerably more challenging record. These songs delve right back into the folk tradition –with dirge-like melodies, and relentless, droning accompaniments. Oldham creates a mysterious space through which Roberts can thread his delicate, wispy vocals. Deeply respectful of the tradition from which he has drawn these songs, Roberts commits to singing all the verses, and the songs are typical of their idiom in their length and tendency towards repetition. This makes for a difficult listen – but the obstacles to enjoyment are counterbalanced by the ease with which Roberts inhabits this distant world of murder and sin. There are some who would question whether Roberts can really justify recording a collection of Scottish folk ballads – but listening to ‘No Earthly Man’, it becomes immediately clear how deep his understanding of the genre is. This is the music he has grown up with, refashioned for the contemporary folk world.

There are times when the effect is mesmerising and hypnotic. Opening track ‘Lord Ronald’ is typical. It is unusually floaty, but is cemented by Roberts’ endearingly vulnerable voice, the striking poetry of the lyrics and the respect for the traditional melody. Oldham provides some appropriately spectral backing vocals that weave in and out of the mix. It’s unusual to hear traditional music that sounds this original and fascinating, whilst also capturing the timeless quality of folk music. It’s easy to imagine these ballads as campfire songs – but they have been refracted through the restless imaginations of Roberts and Oldham. Even when they adopt something close to a conventional approach, such as on the acoustic lament ‘Sweet William’, it still sounds distant and almost alien. The paradoxes at the heart of this deeply impressive record make for a confounding but engaging experience.


Antony and The Johnsons – I Am A Bird Now (Secretly Canadian/ Rough Trade)

I bought this very hyped record after being so sick of reading about Antony that I simply had to hear the music speak for itself. Given the knowledge that this was an album of highly theatrical cabaret torch songs, I was expecting to admire it more than appreciate it. I’ve been somewhat guilty of prejudging it – this is an exquisite album, and one that is virtuous in restraint as well as elaborate expression. At just over 35 minutes, it is brilliantly brief. A longer album might well have given us too much of Antony’s tremulous vibrato. As it stands, we are left wanting more. Not only this, but there is much subtlety to be found beneath the theatrics.

This doesn’t have much in common with the Prefuse 73 album – but it does share that record’s preponderance for special guests. ‘I Am A Bird Now’ gives gainful employment to all the musical cognoscenti who have offered Antony their patronage – from critics’ darling Rufus Wainwright to fallen icon Boy George, via Lou Reed and overrated new folk minstrel Devendra Banhart. Some of them pale into insignificance next to Antony’s exquisite phrasing. Boy George guests on the sublime ‘You Are My Sister’ but it rather sounds like he’s trying too hard to emulate Antony’s distinctive style, Banhart is left floundering. Lou Reed offers a typically droll semi-spoken intro to the outstanding ‘Fistfull Of Love’ (sic) and therefore fares much better simply by being himself. Wainwright and Antony have already collaborated on the outrageously camp ‘Old Whore’s Diet’ (from Rufus’ excellent Want Two album), and they repeat the trick here.

Yet Antony manages to emerge sounding not only the freshest but also the most impressive talent here, particularly at the beginning and end of the album. The first three tracks are extraordinary. On ‘Hope There’s Someone’, he genuinely evokes memories of Nina Simone with his hovering, vulnerable tones, and he lends a sensuous, soulful quality to ‘My Lady Story’. Best of all is the delightfully simple ‘For Today I Am A Boy’, where the vocals are multi-tracked in delirious harmony. Significantly, whilst these tracks play heavily on Antony’s gender bending persona, they do not sound contrived or unconvincing, but instead entirely natural. This all reaches its apotheosis in the outstanding closer ‘Bird Guhrl’, which seems to sum up Antony’s thematic preoccupations very neatly, whilst also being remarkably free in its expression.
This is not just an album of cabaret torch songs, however. It’s clear that Antony’s inspiration runs deeper than that – there are hints of Southern Soul in the brass punctuations of ‘Fistfull Of Love’, and ‘My Lady Story’ might betray an interest in 80s electronics. The overall sound is both coherent and distinctive – and the salacious, sultry mood also comes tinged with mournful sadness and regret. ‘I Am A Bird Now’ is moving, evocative and timelessly beautiful.