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Live DVD filmed at Camden Underworld on July 5th, 2004. AD achieved quite a cult status in the late 80s and early 90s before calling it a day. This live show captures them a year after reforming and is a nice document of that gig. Well filmed but with no fancy effects, this captures AD doing 19 tracks of their wigged out punkjazzprog music that shoots off in all directions but is held together by tight musicianship and an obvious love for the band. Now, I admit that I am not that familiar with their stuff and the thought of watching a live DVD full of songs I don’t know is quite daunting but this is really enjoyable. Great songs, great characters and an enthusiastic crowd along with a good sound quality make this an essential for any fan. You also get an 18-minute interview with the band before the gig where we learn about the history of the band, a couple of songs recorded at their comeback gig at CBGBs in 2003 plus three promo videos that were made by fans recruited from the bands forum which is a nice touch. This has been kept simple and to the point and is all the better for it, a quality document of an interesting band. Grebo
The Ramones understood the point of going straight for the throat, of not giving the punters time to think about being bored. Thrill em early, keep ‘em keen, ignore any other idioms you’ve heard on the same lines. And speaking of lines, so it is with A-Lines, who throw in a heavy shake of a Buff Medway tailfeather. Somewhere between Holly Golightly and Armitage Shanks on the garage-punk axis, it is certainly unsurprising that Billy Childish oversaw production of this ripping LP. On this form, the retro-active garage scene could be theirs for the taking. Skif
The plunging guitars smother you from the outset in opener ‘Car Underwater’. You immediately find yourself in the soul of the hapless victim, joining him on his journey from this life to the next and beyond; this crafted concept album building momentum with each number. The emo feeling given to ‘The Truth About Heaven’ tugs at the heart strings, as Jorgensen’s vocals inherit a longing touch. This aids the deliverance of succinct and darkly poetic lyrics that shatter illusions of the romantic notion of heaven and, imply that misery does not get left behind after your day of reckoning. The story-like tempo to this album conveyed in dealing with such a mystical and sorrowful subject matter is frankly compelling. The harrowing ‘Basement Ghost Singing’ shows the album reaching an emotional high point, turning popular stereotypes right upon their head, as the most haunted person, in the song portrayed through the lacerating lyrics of this New Jersey quartet, is the ghost. Amor For Sleep have carefully crafted one of the eeriest, most compelling and downright thought provoking albums of this year. David Adair
After a year where the band members found themselves attending several funerals as loved ones passed away, a pained refrain like “I will dig a tunnel, from my window to yours” takes on extra depth. Indeed this entire LP has been named in tribute to all those they have lost. Sounds miserablist, huh? Instead though theirs is a big sound, a glorious sound, a glitterburst pyrotechnic of romance and introspection. ‘Neighbourhood #2’ between new-wave and Conor Oberst with traces of Bollywood funereal motifs in the backing vox, while the ‘…#3’ version allows the ventricles to be tickled by coquettish xylophone. You know when you get teary for no reason, but feel full of stretched-lung hope. This album is made by this kind of delicate soul. Skif
Like perpetually attacking hordes of Atari invaders, they fire electronic bursts. They attempt to communicate but it all gets lost in the less than friendly fire – “You say potato, I say…fuck you”. It’s incessant battery, vivid and quite Japanese in it’s unbridled ramshackle frenzy. The samples, the crashing and smashing, like Ultraviolence with more up top, guitars like battering rams, an army on fast forward. It’s not so intense that there’s no way in, but there’s a foot behind the door waiting to kick. Skif. website here.
Their fifth album sees CA evolving, exploring new and exciting aspects of a sound and a melody that can only be described as their own. The album is compound of nine instrumental tracks and one song, all adding up to seventy minutes of pure calm softness and sweet popish melodies wrapped in minimalist multilayered structures. For those of you who haven’t heard their name yet, this San Fransiscan post-rock trio captures a true sense of a space in-between mind and soul, employing carefully crafted compositions that could very easily tear you apart and then uplift you. To the dust grows with every listening and proves itself to be, simply put, essential. Nieve
The Beatbox Saboteurs did a speed-warped version of ‘Summer Holiday’ a while back, which was great fun. Cliff Richard & The Dark Side in their mangling of the whole darn summery soundtrack are more like the force-feeding of ice-creams to children, cone and melted vanilla extract littering their cherubic chops. They whip it through early on a pippy, post-hardcore undercurrent, at pace through cut up, echo, glitch and a drill tempo. ‘A Swinging Affair’ is, it seems, squeezed through a trumpet silencer, but at other times the tunes are just brutalised, as though Cardboard Dead Boy is imposing swirling death noise from a bunker somewhere. ‘Bachelor Boy’ plays forwards, as per, but is given an effect to suggest it is a devilish message within a curiosity satisfying reverse spin. Downright ugly but captivating stuff. Harry Webb, Tony Meehan, Bruce Welch, Jet Harris, Hank Marvin, your ‘boys’ took a hell of a beating. Skif. website here.
Everything about Cranebuilders seems low-key. There doesn’t appear to be any arrogance about them despite increasing interest in their wares. Nothing more is intriguing than the enigmatic I guess. At times the vocals are like a life-wearied elder cousin to Brian Molko’s under-developed squirt, certainly in the Lou Reed/Leonard Cohen ballpark. The unfussy utilisation of piano parts puts them as contemporaries of Elbow (Guy Garvey puts in some vox on one of the standout tracks ‘New Captain’) and they aren’t afraid to keep things down-tempo. That’s said, they are happy to sojourn into rockier terrain with ‘Public Space’ and ‘So What Could I Do’ chopping away emphatically. Like with Cohen, clearly a major influence, it’s like poetry written in dimly lit bedrooms but that’s intended to be read and spoken aloud in fields on calm Sundays. Skif
“Welcome to the Horsehead Point Community…the music capitol of New Gomorrah”, so speaks the accompanying materials to this 23-track collection of material recorded live in 1986 alongside other bits and pieces. As the title suggests, this record is all about wringing all possible life out of the electric guitar, like on ‘Life Cycle Of The Alien Queen’ which takes the Delta Blues and stretches them, drawing out the notes and allowing them to finish in their own time. This largely creates the atmospherics of a traumatic day’s caving, but with quirks like ‘Balinese Rhythm’ which incorporates swampy electronic effects and exotic influences, but the focus is on the dexterity of the fingering. A Fall-like stubborn experi-mentalist for the jazz-blues guitar. Skif
Absolutely beautiful music from the quality Suilven label. The first track on here, ‘Dunstanburgh Castle’, is a solo Quinn composition that wax and wanes as it drifts along on a simple beat with mournful violins entwining with softly breaking waves of synth. This, along with the other collaborative pieces ‘The Sun Rises’, ‘Death On The Ridge Road’ and ‘ Sutherland County’ are all exquisite instrumentals that draw you in to discover various textures and patterns that weave in and out of the undulating rhythms. At points the music can become almost hypnotic and drone like as is the case with ‘The Sun Rises’ that has me in mind of floating on gentle waves in a small boat with swirls of mist enveloping me. Soundscapes that will take you on the most beautiful of journeys to the most remote places and make you imagine colours you never knew existed, gently stunning. Grebo
Tick-tock post-punk, like Pere Ubu adorned with a thick red-velvet sash pronouncing from rooftops rather than from a dark corner of an understairs cupboard. So it be with opener ‘Live In The Town Tonight’. Elsewhere it’s like a glam-Wire, taking the same influences as Earl Brutus (Fall-isms, Suicide etc.) but going about it in a chirpy and clippy C86 kind(er) way. On top of this, ‘Someone To Blame’ marries workies-club organ to 60’s garage and ramshackle lo-fi. Destined to be a dotty old Aunt of a band, but all the more loveable for it. Skif
Despite the name, no turntables are present on this record, and vocals occur in 3 languages accompanied by both Western and Arabic musicians. Multiculturalism in it’s purest form. Gritty ragga and sunshine-soaked reggae sit comfortably next to mountain folk and claustrophobic glitchiness while opener ‘Overture: Watermelon City’ uses Liz Alexander to take us to the spoken-word soul of hip-hop poetry a la Gil Scott Heron. While it’s not as lairy as I expected, it’s frank diversity could see it dent a few open-minds with the same revolutionary candour as DJ Shadow’s ‘Endtroducing’. Skif
Dom claims to bring out the ‘happy’ from the blues, and the jug, cheese-grater, kazoo and duck-call don’t exactly scream melancholy. The kind of stuff you’d like to have playing in the corner of a rustic old pub bar on a celebratory Saturday. Bouncy it certainly is and rootsy without doubt, but the bawdy, sadly, is pretty single-entendre, such as on ‘My Jezebella’, which doesn’t really work for me. I prefer the hint, not obvious playground sexuality. Due to this, I’m sad to say, I think I’m likely to get more use out of the kazoo I was sent with the record, rather than the disc itself. Skif
Portsmouth based band that are developing into an exciting prospect live and here deliver ten infectious slices of melodic rock. Duri have managed to walk that fine line between powerful rock and big tunes and carry it off with some swagger and style. Now this album had me searching through my old vinyl as it really reminded me of something, eventually I came to my Ghost Dance releases from the 80s and it clicked. I feel Jaye has a similar strong voice to Ghost Dance singer Anne-Marie (though I know Jaye disagrees!), the music is more modern sounding however and is definitely melodic rock rather than Goth. With a bigger budget for recording the music would sound massive; the tunes are already quality and the next batch of recordings should be quite spectacular if they carry on developing at the pace they are. And in Jaye they have a wonderful singer with a big voice that is mesmerizing both live and when recorded. Surely some kind of deal beckons? Grebo. website here.
From Boston, MA, The Explosion used their advance from Virgin to set up Tarantula and release stuff they loved. A very admirable way to spend yer rock n’roll lucre, create hits rather than inject them. This shows as much of their punk-rock spirit as this direct and unpretentious LP. I feel young, and sweaty, and the book of hack clichés tells me that’s good. Tis. Skif
A wide expanse of field, recently cut grass, dandelions sending their downy seed to the serendipity of the breeze, but their progress is tempered by slow-motion. At the centre of the scene is a bandstand, with a random collection of fantastical and everyday objects piled up on each side. Two darkish figures then flicker into life upon it. This is how I imagine Fiery Furnaces gigs to be. Hope I’m right. This is just a collection of As and Bs from recent singles and serves to highlight just how much they have in reserve if they can chuck quality like the fairground processional grotesque of ‘Cousin Chris’ on a flip. This collection highlights the more accessible side to the band, whilst still having them speaking in Twin Peaks tongues on ‘Tropical Iceland’ (which drops an oversized acid tab on modern folk-pop), taking Sex Clark Five medieval departures on ‘Sweet Spots’ whilst branding the hide of ‘Here Comes The Summer’ with toy-like electronica. My favourite is ‘Duffer St. George’ which stamps gert hiking boots over the stolen melody and ‘Jimmy Crack Corn’ paraphrasing then coaxes it out of hiding with penny whistles. And they don’t care. Must catch up with ‘Blueberry Boat’ as a matter of some urgency. Skif
‘The Gold Leaves’, oh, ‘The Gold Leaves’, it’s only a minute long and I’m already thinking this whole damn LP could be in my Top 10 of 2005, and the rest of the LP certainly doesn’t dissuade me. ‘The Gold Leaves’ captures the unsettling harmonic and hypnotic calm of Low in it’s torch blues, creating a place where candles flicker and the wind whistles almost inaudibly against stone walls. ‘The Shiver In Our Bones’ is more traditional, strummin’ a little porch banjee, a bit like Charlie Parr. The overall feeling is quite sparse but with the subtlety of invention within their stripped country harmonics taken down pace to (Smog) and Sparklehorse country. On ‘The Silhouettes Attack!’, they employ the resourcefulness of Waits and the pensiveness of Cohen, but generally this is just a wonderful LP that drags the most subtle and beautiful aspects of Americana out into the open. Skif
A bunch of ardent Florida born punks who have seen more changes than the Manchester United line up for the replay against lowly Exeter City, proudly parade some of their most abrasive and intense offerings. The heart on sleeve punk realism that is encapsulated by singers/guitarists Chuck Ragan and Chris Woollard, occasionally bubbles over into rage. They voice their indignation at a range of subjects, most noticeably timewasters in ‘Under Everything’. ‘The New What Next’ serves the multiple purpose of reminding us of the potency and passion of the candid quartet that has sparked a renaissance in this genre, having clearly influenced the likes of Thrice and Vaux. Also, the combination of rhythm and cutting cogency displayed in ‘The Ebb and Flow’ shows the band’s growing stature and the timeless nature of their work. David Adair
You’ll not find a much more sweet and charming act than the Icicles. Taking the Heavenly & Dressy Bessy routes to uncluttered, unhistrionic success, they travel along at a steady rate, the wind only slightly troubling their hair. It’s for slow-dancin’ and floral-dressin’, hair-clips would probably also be an advantage. There is not a great deal that grips on this LP, but their open palms happily waft at sweaty brows in the summer heat. Skif
Very arousing rock n roll album produced in fine style by Rick Rubin. I don’t think I’ve heard a rock record that is quite as seductive as this; thanks in no small part to the fantastic organ groove provided by none other than the legend that is Billy Preston. It’s a perfect accompaniment to the punk/rock slight 60s sound of T[I]NC that is positively foot tapping, head bobbing and utterly compelling. On the lyric front, politics still reign supreme, but they make it sound so positive and interesting it becomes an absolute joy, if only Prime Ministers Question Time was this sexy. A must for those that like intelligent rock n roll. Grebo
Somewhere between pre-Detroit Teutonic cool and early 90’s trance/house p-pop-pop-populism, Jeans Team pose in spicily-embossed neon clothing, hair moulded into a jaunty point. Or so you’d think. You also might think 80’s synth funk with a inquisitive playfulness, peeking round corners and running away, skipping through hoops and such. But then there’s a prog-techno professionalism that leaves no pudding over-egged. The man-child with an electronic pulse. Skif
John Wayne Shot Me would appear to ride on that same synapse shot that telepathically links those who combine frailty with pizzazz, like say Wayne Coyne or Calvin Johnson. In addition though, the JWSM brain activity diverts every which way, bringing in elements of frenzied synth battery and pixelated invader electronica. They end up settling nearer the crazed, ramshackle ‘Testcard Girl’ end of the game. En route though, they pull hair from Daniel Johnston, Black Francis and the anti-folk crowd and weave it a very ugly/beautiful pullover for us folks to share. Some of the songs are so short, shy and without arrogance, that you might initially miss their gorgeousness. Pay close attention. Skif
Equally at home on shelves containing Ladytron and Belle & Sebastian records, Kawaii make lo-fi electro-pop with a shiny veneer for the IKEA generation. Like Neulander, their base sound is unfussy, hiding the trickery away for later discovery, such as the Norman Collier cut in/out tucked away at the rear of ‘I Wore A Smile’. Much good stuff present, like the flicky leap-frog synths of ‘Happy People, Scary Planet’, the jabbing keys and Stereolab-going-cutesy-poo effort of ‘They Would Probably Talk, Sleep Or Fuck’ or the excitable but feathery BPM of ‘Friends Who Make You Lonely’ which races it’s own relaxed vocals like tortoise and hair. Wrong speed, right speed, ra ra ra. Skif
Sickly Teutonic vocals warble, a synth-pop Franz F. poses, hands on hips with torso protruding. They belong in the late 80’s but a great deal of their influences (Bowie has to be in there) come from a decade prior. They are at the Fischerspooner end of things, dynamic, vivacious and feather boa enwrapped. They slow it down to Cohen-pace for ‘Sad Boy’ as scratchy strings hove in and out of view. Kissogram proffers that kiss with eyes glowing red, the hip jerking into swivel. Even devils know how to dance. Here’s proof. Skif
This is by all means my latest album of the month. At first I thought Different Days is just another trip hop album, not too far off Emiliana Torrini’s lovely little album that came out a few years ago, that it contains a sufficient amount of sweeping popish tunes to justify a purchase. Yet, with every listening, the album grows and somehow I find myself coming back to it just ‘once more’ (that never ends). The songs are written with a great talent; though it may seem in the beginning as if we’ve been there already, the combination of the lyrics, music and sounds simply works and nowadays that’s something proving somewhat hard to find. Above all stands out the song that bears the name of the album, which begins like a nursery song and then builds up into a little electronic wonder with tiny bits and pieces creating a winning rhythm. Definitely a hit. And then there’s the closing track, an instrumental tune that sounds as if it just came out of an eighties movie (possibly a Prince one) with the hand claps and all the rest… If you’re looking for something to sweeten your ears, this album just might be it. Nieve Goor
It is perhaps unsurprising that inspiration should come to us while we are resting, maybe even asleep. When our mind is not filled with day-to-day worries, our imagination can take up the synapses usually laden with stress. I can easily imagine that this record was created from notes scribbled in a 3am half-light, and as a tribute to that atmosphere, as it is one of the most peaceful collections I have heard in some time. It is seemingly not only created from an absence of disquiet, but also in itself a creator of similar sangfroid. There’s something innocent about ‘One Two Three Four’, a bit like Laura Cantrell in many ways, but with the candle closer to flickering out. Not that this should be taken as a metaphor for the snuffing out of life (although ‘Candle Opera’ cushions this theme), rather it is more an end of evening hush, the kind that reassures us that we will be protected from our nightmares. ‘One Two Three Four’ is precious, velvet-rope enwrapped, open plan folk for a simpler existence. Skif
You could argue that no 2 Low LPs sound completely alike, but this is a real departure. It’s up-tempo! Certainly by their standards. ‘Monkey’ opens this LP as a kind of bridge from the stark, hymnal quality of 2002’s ‘Trust’ to where they are at now. ‘The Great Destroyer’ isn’t afraid to fizz and clatter, in places (such as the opening riffs to ‘Everybody’s Song’) sounding a touch like a choral Killing Joke. My first listen, ‘Monkey’ aside, left me cold, as did subsequent listens, but I am warming to it increasingly. It’s just bit unexpected, and although I am a late comer to Low, I love the meditative, sometimes funereal, dynamic of the more recent LPs. Indeed I have spent a great deal of time defending Low’s music against charges that it is dull and depressing, by indicating how it makes me feel. It’s like taking a lungful of air and allowing stillness and emotion to take root, making me feel quite peaceful and joyful. It’s funny then, that when Low depart towards the positively sprightly, I should initially have my spirit dampened. Nonetheless, persevering is key, and the harmonies are still stunning, and progression should always be applauded. I like it, I may eventually love it. As yet, I cannot commit fully, but I want to. Skif
‘Lucky’ himself, otherwise known as Aidan Moffat of that there Arab Strap, follows up his ‘Hypnogogia’ debut with these 7 tracks, each one a pearler, although the real valuable stuff is shown off at the front. Opener ‘Crush’ is a haunted, mournful trudge bringing to mind Meanwhile, Back In Communist Russia’s first record, but here the elegance of decay is highlighted rather than the causticism and abrasiveness of break and loss. ‘Hotspots From The Crap Map’, which follows, is an expertly paced imposing beast with a spy-thriller dynamic: full; rich; hypnotic. Then there’s ‘Jim Dodge Dines At The Penguin Café’ which breaks out the steel for this smoking ‘Chill Out’-esque hokie shufflin’ critter. This is music which meanders like a river rather than as a result of indecision. Skif
The work of composers Hans Joachim Rodelius and Tim Story has one disc of original work, and another of remixes by fans and peers such as Elbow, Half Cousin, Adem, Lloyd Cole and Ulrich Schnauss. The originals combine sparse ambience with uncomplicated piano, heightening senses associated with fear. It is perhaps like an Eastern Bloc museum of the sonic less-becoming-more. The remixes inject a little pizzazz, but retain the inherent calm. Astrid Kane’s version of ‘Akimbo’ lending a poppy ethereality, while Icarus’ ‘Murmuring Mermaids’ is the tune-up and dismantling of bar-room piano. Indeed this is a disc which takes something of fascination apart to see how it works, but put it back together following instinct rather than blueprint. Skif
If it were a boot, it would be silver sequined, but made to be worn with t-shirt and jeans. The foot in boot can always be felt hovering over the brake as Magoo career along, but they just keep hurtling. That’s what it is. Hurtle-rock! Perhaps spiro-indie? Helio-pop? The music and quasi-androgynous vocals seem on a perpetual spiral with no beginning nor end. Sure they slow it down from time to time, but more often than not it’s like the history of glam rock jam-packed and overlapping on a 33. Then played at 45. A double CD EP/mini-album (effectively) this is magical, thrilling stuff. That they continue to make little impression on the masses is plain WRONG. Skif
Perky beats and low-key rhymes rule the roost here, a kind of twee hip-hop with gorgeous melodies (particularly on ‘Weekends’). ‘Digital Time’ brings to mind FortDax’s baroque chilliness, and Ladytron can be counted amongst their peers, while gabba movements flail their arms on ‘I Can’t Rock’. ‘Astroturf’ is a Bontempi demo button that launches Arab-Strapia. The vocals merge a happy medium between Ian Dury and Sci-Fi Steven. Old-skool sparsity techno and primitive electro-pop at it’s very best. Skif
They’re back. The leaders of the North East DIY scene return with a haphazard collection of new and updated tunes (the ‘Tried & Tested Formula’ that gives the LP its alternative name). Like MJ Hibbett, Milky Wimpshake’s Pete Dale has a way with words when it comes to describing foibles and such with a left-wing political bent. However, rather than being a singer-songwriter type, he has assembled a band of three to deliver his songs with a Medway punch but also the deftness of the new-wavers and the spirit of the Buzzcocks. Its not as coherent a collection as their previous LP ‘Lovers, Not Fighters’, nor are there as many standout songs, but a cover of ‘Pearshaped’ that strengthens the foundations of Neville Clay’s excellent tune , the prevalent sense of fun on ‘Spidey’ (and others) as well as the glorious ‘Milkmaid’ finale will keep this one spinning. Skif
From the 1st notes fogging a dark alleyway with dry ice and romantic allure and a menacing chill, it is clear that Misty Roses create a grandiose music heavily influenced by Scott Walker’s solo albums from the first ‘Scott’ through to ‘Tilt’ whilst also capturing Kevin Shield’s cinematic bent. It’s exotic, as though semi-obscured by wine-coloured lace curtains, a mirror-ball twisting slowly by way of distraction. It wears a velvet jacket, a bow tie hanging loose over the ruffles of the shirt beneath. It is music that always displays the expense of the cufflinks, never minding the width and showing off the quality. From the epic shuffle of ‘Fathers and Sons’ to the Bowie-like ‘Jellypop Perky Jean’ and the remixes that follow, it is confident and high class. It is easy for LPs like these to descend into sleaze, but this chooses to focus on the romance. Skif
Singer-songwriters are ten a penny, it is true, and many of their number attempt a humorous take on the quirky nature of life in general and in particular to them. Few, though, pitch it as well as MJ Hibbett Esq., lyrical dexterity a speciality. It is proletarian pop merging the worlds of Half Man Half Biscuit and William Bragg. The social politics of the latter, and the lovestruck-boy emotional appraisals, are something MJH shares, and even parodically nicks the melody of ‘Between The Wars’ to open ‘Work’s All Right (If It’s A Proper Job)’ which itself begins this handsome collections of bits and pieces. MJH doesn’t really do b-sides though so don’t expect any dip in quality. Classics such as the lo-fi scuzz of ‘Fucking Hippy’ (from 1998) and last year’s ‘Walkman In My Head’ highlight a maturation in the Validators recorded sound, although the cheeky humour remains the same (and ‘Same Page Of The Map’ brings the lo-fi right back). Also it has ‘The Peterborough All-Saints Wide Game Team (Group B)’, possibly the finest update of the tortoise and hare tale ever committed to vinyl, and now to CD. This you really must get and it’s a limited edition from www.artistsagainstsuccess.com only. Be quick. Skif
This CD represents EP tracks and demos from 1986-1988, a time when they were picking up John Peel plays. Indeed they fitted very well into the indie-pop scene of the time, and it may be surprising that Sarah never signed them up. A romantically fey jangle, as you might expect, features throughout but on ‘Ask The Lord’ a brittle, broken accordion melancholy occurs as flighty keys parp. On ‘Heaven Help Us Now’, soulful brass raises the bar, while ‘On A Valentine’ has ruffled shirt, velvetine class. There’s a swing to Dexys Midnight Runners at times, but they are certainly still relevant in 2005. Listen to ‘Ramona’ and ‘God Bless’ and you’ll understand why. Skif
David Bramwell has that same isolated innocence in his music as that which occupies Robert Wyatt’s lonesome fireplace jazz, with flutes, trumpets and strings utilised alongside the mainstay keys but not overly so. ‘Winter Creatures’ is certainly ‘different’ but isn’t awkward in being so, and is as welcoming and warm as Sufjan Stevens, but with an absent-minded thousand-yard stare apparent in the arrangements and lyrics. Psychedelic traits float about it while tales of nature are spun. Titles like ‘The Night We Saw A Badger’ and ‘Rabbit Country’ might suggest tweeness, but nothing could be further from Bramwell’s truth, which supports the stare with a knowing, but contented, smirk. Skif
Salvation for the downtrodden is an alternative name for this self-titled offering from the raw and candid Dominic Masters’ fronted quartet. Prolific touring and heart on sleeve honesty has ingratiated The Others to an expectant indie audience, thus rendering this offering one of the much awaited releases of the New Year. Their spirit is encapsulated in the cutting and thoughtful ‘This Is For The Poor’ that stands out for the fact that they have managed to demonstrate some The Clash style sincerity, despite possessing a title that could easily have found a place on the Band Aid single as a B-side. Vociferous vituperation is the order of the day in ‘Lackey’, ‘In The Background’ and ‘Psychovision’, as mundane working life, ruthless people and broken family life are respectively lacerated by the tongue of Masters. According to inside sources the band wishes to inspire people to go get off their backsides and instead of watching others; do it themselves, be it writing articles, starting a band or joining the paparazzi. Guess what? It has worked on me! David Adair
Seemingly 2 LPS but with tracks averaging out at 2 minutes apiece , this is no epic concept effort. On the first set, Bobby Conn funk dust is sparingly applied to the anguished rock n’ roll screams of ‘Gone Fishing’, but elsewhere they remain neat, raw and defiant, the guitarist hammering lumps out of his weapon of choice. A touch of At The Drive-In’s stylish hardcore abound, a restrained racket laden with class. On ‘Chi fa da se, fa per tre’, the sound is tinkered with in more overtly experimental way, with chiming ethereality linking with Waits and possibly the goth scene while also containing high pop glam moments like ‘Meganormous Frottage’. Skif
A gentle strum, acceding drum and campfire vocals breathing mist into the air, cheeks aglow as a result of the warming tunes. ‘Silverfish’ places vague echo on the emotive guitar line to great effect, while ‘A Hilly Town’ appears like the Magic Band upon their joining the circus. Hi-wire tension line. ‘Wilamena’ lilts like Orbison Americana, while the Beefheart ethic is taken onboard Sufjan Stevens style on ‘Domestic Pet’. Slide guitar is used sparingly and inventively, while Neil Young’s sparser, quieter efforts also spring to mind. Skif
Re-release of the 2001 Long Lost Cousin release with extra bits from the Matinee single ‘A Short Film About Sleeping’. 11 tracks all done and dusted in 25 minutes, it is an ideal summary of Pipas’ short, sweet hairclipped indie-pop that applies the Heavenly type to drum machines and tiny n’ tinny electronic bits which push them towards Pizzicato Five and Stereolab. These delicate rhythms serve only to enhance the bedsitty nature of their fruitful geek-chemistry. With their charming pop songs written on lap-tops, is this the new skiffle? It’ll do for me. Skif
‘25th Century’ is first and sees guitars buzz, beats leave ankles bit, synths sweep in and then we’re into the vocals which are quite Heather Small by comparison. ‘Under Sedation’ could come courtesy a 60s girl group, the Wedding Present or even T’Pau, perhaps all – Republica without the lipgloss and 50 quid haircuts. There’s effective sample usage on ‘Samba Spatiale’, particularly slinky and Avalanches-like in their atmospherics while ‘Band Of Outsiders’ is spirited New Order fizz. It is an album which reveals itself slowly, but rewarding en route. Skif
A short, sharp shock. I’d been expecting generic punk, but instead thick-necked Black Flag-style hardcore ends up carpet-bagged by a doleful droning squelch. Therapy?’s ‘Meat Abstract’ comes to mind, but with a Devoloid clatter to take it out of the bleak. They appear to be the happy medium, and we’ve all been looking for it, between Wolf Eyes and A-Ha. Surf-goth-garage-electro-da-da-da-ism and 8 tracks in 12:14. Verbosity exits stage left. Skif
Like Hulk Hogan celebrating a ‘win’, Scaramanga Six’s music is wonderfully theatrical, throwing all sorts of shapes to create near hysteria. Scaramanga Six’s music is also quite windswept and thalassic, although not wet at all. Neptune, god of the sea, might have knocked this up in home studio if he could have found enough mermaids to form a small choral unit (concentrated harmonies playing a vital part in S6’s gear). Cardiac-like moments, such as the percussive rattle toward the end of ‘Pincers’ are perhaps to be expected when a band, to produce their work, call in Tim Smith. His mark is imprinted with the fullness of ‘Cabin Fever’s sound, being an album that you could rely on to defend a castle, but tidy up thoroughly after any bloodshed. The vocals are beautifully over-the-top as well, like Humperdink applying his lungpower for the advancement of profoundly English expando-pronk (see ‘Unclean’). Thunderstorms; Keystone cops chase scenes; blown raspberries; eyepatches and catalogue pointing as caricature - all distinct images thrown like bean bags at the stocks-trapped listener. The Scaramanga Six’s music is an underlit, heavily eyelinered face, grinning, fixed, allowing the growing cacophony to build with not a flicker. Skif
As you might expect from a Pickled Egg act, you can apply the word ‘jazz’ to it, run away, and probably no-one will notice. It’s always freak jazz though, and at the same time not jazz at all, and so it is with Scatter. What it is is medieval melancholia with Nordenstam-like precociousness, Penninal hip-hop and spoken word well fixed up for caffeine, and that’s just ‘Orbling’. ‘National Magic’, meanwhile, is the suffix to Cossack begat mariachi begat…, faltering at its climax like a union of Politburo and Raj. There are echoes of Beefheart and Coltrane, but more in keeping with a 3am festival tent (as in place to sleep), with strolling players randomly creating psychedelic stoner folk, an isolated Orkney-strum in all their hearts. It’s for people who dance to farming machinery, so go cultivate wildly for these are the goods seeds for our land. Skif
Scritti Politti scored many a hit before leader Green Gartside pulled the plug for a quieter life. This collection represents their first forays into the public consciousness but for one reason or another, Scritti are one of those stellar acts who have never forayed into mine. It’s an excellent collection, capturing both sides of political involvement, the lyrics being the reasoned debate, the pulsing, punching bass the direct action. The music takes many different and agitated turns, twisting and fighting like a frontline protestor locked in a policeman’s nelson. It only takes the first few bars of the wonderful dub-punk debut single ‘Skank Bloc Bologna’ for them to grab me, totally. How have I managed not to hear this before? Better late than never when it comes to musical appreciation I always think. Skif
It’s all about the Trek for these boys it appears –the font for their name, the name itself and the apparent spacey theme – ‘It’s Your Universe’, ‘Parallel Worlds’ and so on. Nerds then? Who am I to talk, though. Musically, we’re talking a light and expressive surf-jazz take on acid-pop. I can hear Ian McCulloch and Stephen Jones in the vocals n’all. There’s a waft of fresh air abounding , a kind of proggy grandeur that’s been dragged out for a Saturday knees up. Skif
I remember once listening to Hood’s ‘the cycle of days and seasons’ on an afternoon kip in my tiny student accommodation cell in L’pool, when suddenly my stereo picked up police signals. It all got mixed together into a haunting experience of a ghost-like music dream/clip. This is exactly the feel you may get while listening to Croquet. The album has its own pace, outside of the everyday world, and its own surroundings that have probably found their way somehow from the deep subconscious of the Berliner Daniel Bürkner. Wisely mixing lo-fi thinking with electronics and a more classical acoustic instrumentation, he created his sombre atmospheric (yet melodic) folk. One of the highlights of the album would have to be then the fifth track, ‘abe Lincoln 2’, where all of a sudden on top of the song and the background noises enters what sounds like an electronic music-box/xylophone for kids. Quite simply heart lifting. A must for those last remaining winter days. Nieve Goor
Ah this stuff takes me back. Back to the days when I was a firm advocate of a thing known as Brit-Rock. While my patronage is not so vehement these days, this spirited, anthemic pea-shooter punk is refreshing to hear. Shades of a snotty Green Day (before they went all earnest on us) are here as well as Muse-like exaggerations (on ‘Return To Zero’) and it all succeeds in making me feel teenage again. Cheers lads. Skif
The Panacea Society – Do Me Rattle/God Is Sexy (TRACE)
Artist Andre Stitt courted controversy in the tabloids a while back for a council funded ‘White Trash Curry Kick’ whereby he would kick a curry tray around Bedford wearing silver platform boots as a satire of booze culture and town centre violence. The media interest caused the event to be cancelled, but this was one of many aspects to ‘the Bedford Project’. Another involved the unearthing of master tapes of late 60’s Bedford-based rock band Panacea, and by way of tribute formed the Panacea Society to re-release two of the track along with remixes on a handsome clear vinyl 10”. ‘Do Me Rattle’ is strident but slinky in it’s original form and the Society take the snaking riff and set about it with scuzzy beats. ‘God Is Sexy’ is bizarre in its original form, the title screamed and whispered over and over, and over a Hammond-loop. The Society conspire to make it odder still with a stuck-needle stubbornness but a groove that eventually grips. Andre Stitt has also put out an album, as Stitt, unrelated to the Bedford Project, titled ‘East Poppyfields’, which occupies a space of psychedelic ambience somewhere between The Orb and FortDax. The spoken word vocals follow a lineage involving Jim Morrison and William Burroughs, and are perfect for this type of thing: wordly trance that’s either subliminal self-help or hostile mind-capture. Now that WOULD be art. Or maybe terrorism. Skif
The work of Mat Anthony and Martin Jenkins, this is a huge album that refuses to be anything less than invigorating. From ‘Barocco’, a droney, plinky heat hazed panorama pricked by flute, it moves into ‘Uplink’ which swirls but in jagged shapes rather than concentric circles. ‘Downstream’ takes a Land Of Nod style approach with a clicky buzz through the schizophrenic, eccentric mood music, while ‘Looking Glass’s psyche-sheen is taken up a notch by Asha Puthli’s gorgeous vocals. The real killer for me is ‘Vapour’ that bounds like a camp 60’s superhero theme, but perhaps more for the arch-villain. The guitar line hops from foot to foot but not in time or even sequence, a creeping villainy that builds into full monsterism, an evil-genius to hulking beast metamorphosis. In all, it’s ambience with a spring in it’s step, making vibrant departures from the electronic norm. Skif
Despite being a live band of four, this disc is solely the work of Jessie, recorded deep in the words of Northern Holland. And it shows, sounding at times as though it were recorded at the bottom of a well. ‘Brandnew’ has distainful lo-fi primitive r n’r, but the riffs are playful. This joviality pops up from time to time, such as the da-da guitar that peeps through on occasion, and the pixie-ish skipping coda on ‘Travel On’ (note small p, but capitalisation could also apply)but mostly it borders on the homic idally intense. ‘Better Off’ employs intense screams as exclamations in early-PJ-like prose, while the off-kilter woos on ‘Summersetsun’ are like psiren-song luring you to the shed. The stubbornness of distortion appears throughout, with vocals yelps rapping on the window in the dead of night. You get the impression others may have followed Jessie into those woods and, well, I’m not going to go throwing serious accusations around, but this record is quite jumpy at times, suggesting guilt. Approach with caution, but we advise you to approach. Skif
Beyond the mountains of the darkened reverb, deep in the valley of the twisted sounds there lies the wonderful enigmatic land of Tsuky. A bizarre hybrid of an even more tormented Syd Barrett with a Scot Walker voice surrounded by a thick, at times gothic, wall of sound, dubbed by layers of heavy delays, reverbs and tremolos, Tsuky creates a space that is entirely his own, detached from most of the things that are happening today. If you are looking for a singer-songwriter that holds a strong, unique and innovative notion of sound, one with whom any comparison would only do injustice, a genuine hidden treasure that no one would probably ever hear of – here it is. Nieve
Recorded in a studio accessible through a changing room in a lingerie shop apparently, not that it’s important. The title track opens the LP and has the feel of a Devendra Banhart song for the sea, a prog-folk shanty for Tom Waits fans. There is clip and ping as guitars cascade like gentle weirs in a clearing. ‘Song Of The Sea’ itself, though, laps like flames around heathen feet. There are bizarre samples and harmonies, with ‘Beautiful And Light’ clacking and rolling along as though just buoyant on an unattached series of beaver-gnawed logs. Tunng allow scratchy electronica to join hands with folk guitar-picking. An excellent and resourceful union. Skif
Tall Order document stuff a-happenin’ in Croydon. Despite it’s image, it would appear to be an exciting place to be right now, if these ten acts are anything to go by. There’s Ten Foot Nun’s thunder-pronk pulling Siamese twins in opposite directions, a heavenly light glowing in the split, Mumrah’s flailing ska-punk, Numpty’s Shitmat-esque cut-up kindergarten theatre and Tempertwig’s Arab Strap-ian pluck. Although Kitty Hudson’s stadium-rock sound moving from Def Leppard to Stereophonics in the space of their two songs may not be quite as ingenious as their bedfellows, but the gusto in the delivery wins me over. In addition, there’s a song called ‘The Giggles’, so how can you argue? Skif
Genre-wise, Fat Northerner spread their net wide, but while no welly boots are pulled up with the family fish, the scaly wrigglers that represent their roster possibly need fattening up a bit. Earl provide a sparkly enough cover of New Order’s ‘Regret’ and their own sprightly take on late 90’s electropop ‘Risky Disco’, while Blue Avenger are a cheeky irritant and Rebecca try out Muse-like histrionics. However aside from the threatening caustic-funk blues of Ironwood’s ‘Down To My Grave’, there isn’t a great deal here that is genuinely exciting me. Good that these bands should be thrown together rather than pigeonholed though. Skif
A compilation of the first five in the Earsugar 7” series released in October and November of last year. Mek Obaam’s rumblin’ and skippin’ ‘Goodnight, Thank You’ opens it up, while Hi Lonesome Cowboy follow up with light, cloudy electronica that washed quickly over the sky towing the secret of calm upon a steel guitar. Schneider TM take on Queen’s ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ and drain it of it’s operatic rock n’ roll showmanship to leave a drip-glitch menace which eventually causes too much friction in the circuits and collapses. Super Reverb take the Suicide concept to a new level of calamitous distortion, while Julie Hummer ends the sampler with her Cat Power/college-radio piano-rock. A healthy mix, in my eyes. Skif.
Another freebie if you are quick and get over to the website (there are plenty out there if you just scratch around that internet thing). Fifteen wide and varied tracks all the way from the USA and much of it good quality from the shadowy opener ‘Delusion’ by Acid FM that lurks somewhere in a dark cave with it’s fuzzed out guitars to the wig out of Yay-Hooray. The dulcet tones of Anna Donia swim around in dark pop and Odd Modern revel in cheap sounding Casio beeps and beats, like a cheaper Hefner circa Dead Media. This compilation stops off at every stop in-between and works surprisingly well, not a dodgy track in sight which bodes well for their future releases and anyone with an open mind and varied tastes is going to enjoy this. Get surfing. Grebo
A sub-label of Tigerbeat6 and such luminaries as Kid 606, The Bug and DJ/Rupture put in appearances. Strategy’s dub-slink, Com.A & Wickedact throw in dancehall style (at least arson damage to said dancehall), while the grimy ragga of Rootsman & He-Man’s collaboration ‘Killer’ houses an amazing glottal growl from the MC. Indeed it is the vocal power that impresses me most about this scene. Indeed, the Bug’s ‘WWW’ is a cracking example of this intensity and downright stubbornness. Challenge your indie-kid ears, I dare you. Skif.
The kind of release that still gets me excited after all these years, lovingly put together over there in the USA by the one man operation that is Asaurus with a lovely hand made card cover in a plastic wallet held together by a little sticker that says ‘Hand Made by Asaurus Records’. It’s the little things that count, those small gestures that show the CD you are holding is truly loved, and they deserve your support just for that. As for the music, Winter Vacation offer up a curiously British gentle indie pop gem with an American twang. It’s bouncy, jangly and wraps it’s arms around you like it’s loved you forever and dissolves you into fourteen mini scenes of meandering storytelling. A fey vocal that leads you to tea and cake in front of the fire and tunes that flicker here and there and offer you an instrument to join in. It has that rare quality of enveloping you completely and making you feel part of the story, part of the music. Fantastic and already up there with some of my all time favourites; if you love gentle swirling indie pop then this is a must and worth the price of that extra p&p to get one sent over from a wonderful label. Grebo. website here.
Cheap compilation aimed at the Japanese market apparently and features 22 tracks of noise, deconstruction and sublime pop moments, as one would expect from the V/Vm stable. Styles vary from the Chas & Dave on drugs sounding Gorse with their ‘I Like A Pasty Do You’, the cut up distortions and looped to fu*k Solypsis and V/Vm to the takes on covers such as ‘Put Some Grime In The Jukebox Baby’ by Jansky Noise who make Joan Jett sound like Pinky & Perky while Skandium + Evol dDopa throw in ‘Smells Like Status Chaos’. Not even Atomic Kitten escape with their ‘Whole Again’ slowed down to funeral pace and given nice manly voices. Grebo. website here.