New Spanish flavour

(Morning Star, Friday 01 December 2006)

LIVE: Robrigo y Gabriela, Waterfront Hall, Belfast

LIKE banjo-based popular music-covering act Hayseed Dixie, Rodrigo y Gabriela take what may be termed "traditional" music and make it all modern, like - for the kids.

Comparisons to flamenco are denounced vociferously by the duo, but there is a degree of the classic Spanish guitar sound to their music.

Rodrigo y Gabriela's story is admittedly enthralling - two young Mexicans left their thrash-metal guitar background and made some cash playing low-key acoustic versions of Anthrax, Slayer et al in the foyers of posh hotels.

Now based in Dublin, the last few years have seen them move from gifted buskers into the realm of sell-out guitar artistes.

Rodrigo is a guitarist of immense skill, leading the audience through what are notionally their own compositions, but which do sound a little like the soundtrack from A Place in the Sun.

Followed swiftly by a set of rock covers, bringing in everything from Metallica to the White Stripes, he reacts well to the excitable crowd and really enjoys acting the star.

Gabriela is a quieter performer, but her talent is nonetheless breathtaking, keeping fierce rhythm with her knuckles on the guitar that she clutches, a controlled foil to Rodrigo's vivacious flair.

The show is given an extra dimension by the cameras positioned in close range to the pair, shooting blown-up black and white images onto the back screen and bringing an intimacy to a sell-out show which makes the experience all the more vital.

Approach Rodrigo y Gabriela with caution, sure - their new take on old songs may strike some as a gimmick, but the truth is that their talent makes an instant fan of anyone lucky enough to see these two up close and personal.

A born soloist

(Morning Star, Friday 17 November 2006)

ALBUM: The Mighty Stef - The Sins of Sainte Catherine
(The Firstborn is Dead Records)

WITH the sleazy swagger and sauce of a whole crew of sailors, the Mighty Stef is actually just one man - and in possession of a fine set of pipes he is too.

Setting out his store with a gravelly drawl pitched exactly between Nick Cave and Tom Waits, Dublin singer-songwriter Stefan Murphy makes a unique mark with this debut release, committed for posterity earlier this year on a self-imposed decampment to Montreal.

One suspects that Murphy has tried to make his way with various band combos over the years, but the grimy sound of The Sins of Sainte Catherine will leave any listener convinced that this man was made to be a solo performer.

The high point of the album is definitely the piano-driven ballad of the eponymous saint with a uniquely eastern European flavour.

Murphy's throaty growl brings menace and mirth, harkening back to such Bolshevik broads as Baboushka.

Elsewhere, there's less bluesy swagger but more pop goodness on instantly likable Liars, as well as lost romance on Prayer to the Broken-Hearted, all taking musical cues from the Stones to the Clash and many more besides.

Like a brawl in a Russian bar, there's plenty on this record to excite, inflame and intimidate - the secret is to pray for forgiveness.

Rock with heart

(Morning Star, Friday 03 November 2006)

LIVE: We Are Scientists, Mandela Hall, Belfast

In a music world full of pomposity, KIRSTIE MAY senses a breath of fresh air in the pithy lyrics and good-natured rock tunes of We Are Scientists.

There's a nauseating tradition of comedy in music, but it's long been accepted that there's a happy medium between the insanity of Tenacious D and the inanity of Coldplay.

Herald the happening of New York's We Are Scientists, a sensible three-piece who have cut their teeth playing well-crafted rock with heart, but with a nice line in pithy lyrical couplets and amusing videos.

Their debut album With Love and Squalor is composed of the sort of new wave-tinged, tuneful angst that'll give the proggy leanings of the recent trend of "emo" rock music short shrift.

Their website gives the lie to the doubted US understanding of irony and, in point of fact, the very ethos of "funny."

Sold out and packed to the rafters, the crowd grows restless during their support act The Blood Arm, a worryingly shambolic approximation of a band about whom the best thing is their song I Like All the Girls and even that tires quickly. Frontman Nathaniel Fregoso will hopefully one day front a great band, but The Blood Arm is not it.

For the main event, the lights dim and up comes the anthemic Against All Odds by Phil Collins.

As Keith, Chris and Michael bound onstage, they take over from Collins to massive cheers, flashing bright US teeth in recognition of the enthusiastic reception.

We Are Scientists' very catalogue lends itself to thrashing through all the hits, with an average song length of around two-and-a-half minutes.

Tearing from Collins's choice through Cash Cow, Lousy Reputation and the inimitable Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt, the trio are as demonstrative of their intelligence and humour live as on record.

Keith responds to calls to remove his shirt with "This is art, people," clearly making the most of a feverishly giddy audience.

The interplay between the band is fun to watch and their comments about the crowd have also a humanising impact on proceedings. They're cool guys, yes, but they like playing live and seem happy to acknowledge that, without these fans, they would be nowhere.

There are a few new tracks on show tonight and they sit well with what fans know already, all angular guitars and melodious harmonies from Keith and Chris.

The last three tracks are a blistering run of With Love and Squalor's most enduring hits This Scene is Dead, Inaction and single The Great Escape.

A swift goodbye and they're off, but an encore sees the boys return, replete in suit jackets and ties for an R'n'B a cappella classic Boyz II Men's The End of The Road.

Joined by The Blood Arm for the last verse, there's a great deal of laughing and back-slapping, but a distinct lack of smuggery, which is all anyone has come to expect of We Are Scientists.

Truthfully, there's a lot going on on their album, which comes out a lot better live. The energy and good nature of the performance makes them an immeasurably better band and one for whom success seems assured.

In the meantime, their comedic routine is a breath of fresh air for music fans so used to pomposity and sincerity being wrung out of every note, but there's an element of world-weary heartbreak shot through these songs which give them a weight and wisdom that doesn't weigh heavy on the listener and that translates perfectly between record and stage.

As they make their final bows, it's an unspoken pledge to the fans going mental from the pit down the front right up to the balcony.

The pledge is "trust us - We Are Scientists."

Birds of a feather

(Morning Star, Friday 20 October 2006)

LIVE: Guillemots, Mandela Hall, Belfast

KIRSTIE MAY comes across a motley crew of musical misfits who play thoughtful indie ballads about lost summer days.

There's a degree of fabrication to bands like the Guillemots.

Idiosyncratic, eccentric, begging to be adored - if any of these characteristics in a band leave you cold, Guillemots may not strike the right chord at first listen.

Are they trying so hard that they're strangling their own natural impulses?

Riding out the suspicion of pretension is worth it, though, because, after the initial discomfort, it is going to get so good.

Let's start at the beginning. Fyfe Dangerfield formed Guillemots in 2004. Hailing from Birmingham, he collected an unusual international elite of musical brains and they have been untouchable ever since.

There's an effort to be individual in their make-up that can be vexing and the concept of the four piece, who cite birdsong as one of their main influences, have had the music meeja foaming at the mouth since before their Through the Window Pane album went on the Mercury Music Prize shortlist earlier this year. But don't let that put you off.

Live, Guillemots are a daunting prospect to say the least. There's a broad social spectrum represented in the assembled crowd, from shouty lager types to thoughtful beards, as well as the obligatory loved-up couples with their claims staked on the quiet, thoughtful ballads.

From the second the band hit the stage, it is clear that they are in the most natural of habitats.

Dangerfield writes lyrics of rural paradise which have a place where trees and fields speak of summer days and the endless possibility of space becomes truly apparent, unfettered by buildings and urban grime.

But, failing that, it seems clear that a dingy basement in a students' union will substitute just fine, with the focus firmly on the spectacular showman that Dangerfield is.

There is a well-paced set on show, moving from tiny little quiet songs to big crazy rocking numbers, but never losing the momentum or the crowd.

Most of the tracks come off Through The Window Pane, including the crowd-pleasing Made-Up Lovesong 43 and epic set closer Sao Paulo, replete with Samba-style bin lid thumping.

Dangerfield makes sure of some good banter with the audience, including a request to rent the crowd and take them on tour with him.

Multi-instrumental breaks are a-plenty, where Dangerfield and fellow bandmates Brazilian MC Lord Magrao, Aristazabal Hawkes and Scots tub-thumper Greig Stewart hit various percussive instruments and body parts to form the resultant cacophony.

Canadian-born Aristazabal injects a degree of sexuality into the show which is frankly astonishing, as well as hitting a mean double bass.

Technically almost perfect, Guillemots are plainly a mad muso band, classically trained and invested with the sort of passion which makes timeless must-have albums.

By turns simple and then orchestral, they are at their best when invested with a wall of sound which boosts the whole live experience.

Coming across as a bunch of kooks and misfits, Guillemots are birds of a feather flocking together - and what could be more natural than that?

Success beckons

(Morning Star, Friday 13 October 2006)

INTERVIEW: Driving by Night

KIRSTIE MAY talks to pop hopefuls Driving by Night as they look forward to one of Britain's hottest talent showcases.

PRIOR TO hitting this month's In The City seminar, Belfast's Driving by Night are quietly confident of their success, as are those who've swooned over their melancholy pop.

In the world of pop, it has to be said that there's a recipe for success - and Northern Ireland's Driving by Night have it.

Abiding by all the tried and tested trademarks of rock, from charismatic frontman to soulful tunes, soaring melodies to insightful lyrics, the band are a poorly kept secret at best in their native land and even that looks set to change within the next month.

Driving By Night found their feet two years ago in Belfast when the afore-mentioned charismatic frontman Neal Hughes met bandmates Jason McCord (guitar/piano), Dave Gordon (guitar), Dave Newell (bass/piano) and Terry Lavery (drums).

Neal explains, "We used to be in an old band called Tyler and split up. Then we got bored with normality and started playing music again.

We were writing more and more songs and we started thinking about maybe gigging these songs."

From a somewhat inadvertent launchpad, Neal and co have since gone from strength to strength, landing a recording deal with BMG music and they are now lined up to appear at In The City, one of Britain's hottest showcases for unsigned acts.

They have played countless gigs across the six counties, including supporting Keane and The Thrills, and are currently squeezing in some last-minute warm-up gigs before heading off at to In The City. This is a festival known for being a hotbed for the A&R scramble, with every record company in the land sending talent scouts on the sniff for the next big thing.

So, are the guys ready for the big time? There's anticipation, certainly.

"We all do have day jobs, but I think we're itching to get rid of those day jobs," Neal admits. "We have had some interest across the water and there are people coming to see us at In The City," he adds, hopefully.

Depending on the outcome of In The City, there's a plan for a nationwide British tour and then, who knows?

When it comes to their own musical influences, Driving by Night tick all the best indie pop boxes - a little Radiohead, a little Echo and the Bunnymen, well, a lot of Echo and the Bunnymen, actually.

Neal remembers: "I was in my brother's car one day and he was playing The Cutter and I realised then that there was a similarity there."

Listen to Fears of Men and it's an easy spot for any Echo fan.

Still, the band members each bring a little something to the mix and what comes out is a real treat for lovers of well-crafted songs, nothing more.

"We're songwriters, so we write songs," Neal is keen to emphasise.

"Our style is buried in song. We have our own sound now, and it's strong."

He describes their sound as being "melancholic, strong melodies, tuneful, really standard strong indie pop songs. I think our songs are anthemic."

Playing heartfelt anthems of love and loss for the heartbroken, Driving by Night are mere steps away from the adulation that they deserve.

• Driving by Night's single Fears of Men is out now. Find out more on www.drivingbynight.com

Disco drama with the feel of 1976

(Morning Star, Friday 06 October 2006)

ALBUM: Scissor Sisters - Ta-Dah
(Polydor)

EXPLODING onto the scene in a cloud of glitter and, um, nipples, it's hard to believe that the Scissor Sisters haven't been with us for the last 30 years.

After all, their disco drama is pure Donna Summer and the outfits have their roots firmly in 1976.

But there is more to these flash, brash New Yorkers than harking back to the glory days of disco.

Their Elton John-style ballads and good-time pop songs seem to have captured the imagination of the music-buying public and, possibly most importantly, they have straddled the twin worlds of dinner party and clubbing music, which is to their credit.

As a result, like something that stepped out of Priscilla Queen of the Desert into the real world, the impossibly camp Ta-Dah kicks off with the - somewhat overplayed - "comeback" single I Don't Feel Like Dancing.

In itself, releasing a song that contains the line "I don't feel like dancing when the old Joanna plays" and, furthermore, having the kids kick up their heels in rhythm is a feat indeed.

Elsewhere, in Land of a Thousand Words, the spirit of the '70s is alive and kicking, all soulful piano and winsome lyrics.

Paul McCartney is an astonishing drum-driven freakout with a funk edge and Transistor is a drawn-out jam in the style of a Greek chorus, all vocal overlays and sonic effects.

Melding nauseating cheesy disco with boozy country swagger, music hall-style knees-ups with some occasional rock-outs, the Scissor Sisters are as much a musical surprise as any you'll hear all year.

Sass and spice

(Morning Star, Friday 06 October 2006)

LIVE: The Pipettes, Spring & Airbrake, Belfast

KIRSTIE MAY experiences The Pipettes and discovers a girl band all set to redress pop's historical imbalance.

A TRIO of angel-voiced singers dressed in identically patterned outfits takes to the stage.

Despite their diminutive size, they belt out top pop hits and whip the attendant crowd into a frenzy.

Ladies and gents, meet The Pipettes - Gwenno, RiotBecki and Rosie.

The idea of harmonising girl groups may have gone out with the ark, after all, we've had Joplin rocking out, and choking on her own puke, PJ Harvey giving it the raw sex appeal and Lily Allen whacking anyone who doesn't move fast enough.

But there's been a gap all along. Since the days of the Ronettes, the Velvettes and the Shirelles, the spirit of togetherness that a girl group offers, and the unmistakable popness of it all has been lost.

But the Pipettes have decided to redress the pop history imbalance - and how.

Support tonight is a terrifying experience, coming as it does from one of the Pip's actual band, a curious fellow named Monster Bobby.

There's little of the monster about him, but certainly a rumbling horror in his drum machine, which seems to be reacting violently against poor Bobby and all that he's trying to do.

But from the second the band burst onstage, all monstrous thoughts are dispelled. The girls, complete with matching dance moves, romp through the best of the album, from the tremendous Your Kisses Are Wasted On Me and One Night Stand, through new track Baby Don't Leave Me. With genuine banter from a thoroughly nice band, the Spring and Airbrake seems to shed its dour grime and explode in a bright pop light, all polka dots and flowers.

The assembled crowd react very strongly to the antics onstage, cheering and chatting with cheeky Gwenno and sweet Becki.

When new single Judy comes on, there's a general squeal of delight and the faithful mouth along to every word of a song which has long since been a Radio 2 favourite.

The best thing about The Pipettes is their ability to take the spirit of Spector and add their own sprinkle of sass and spice. There's rarely a lyric on show which doesn't demand a smile, from Judy's "I never said anything to her face, cuz my friends thought she'd kick my arse all over the place" to the closer, and total highlight, I Love a Boy in Uniform. "I Love a Boy in Uniform (school uniform)."

The Pipettes' deceptive innocence covers up the fact that they can be a bit dirty, but, when it sounds this good, even your dad would agree that they've taken the spirit of something fabulous and infused it with a new life.

Top hit Pull Shapes gets the best dance moves of the night, but there's never been a pertinent observation than the lyrics of their very own theme tune, We Are The Pipettes. "We are the Pipettes/And we've got no regrets/If you haven't noticed yet/We're the prettiest girls you've ever met." Too true.

Not part of music royalty

(Morning Star, Friday 06 October 2006)

ALBUM: Fergie - The Dutchess
(Polydor)

ONE can only imagine that former Black Eyed Peas songstress Fergie has endeavoured to infuse a little class into her get-up, punning her album title on the given name of a lady of state.

How handy, then, that the only actual duchess with anywhere near this much filth emanating from her is also Fergie's namesake, mother to Princess Eugenie and the other one.

You may think that we're lucky that we don't have to listen to Duchess of York rap in a sickening fashion about toe-sucking or any of the myriad scandals she has involved herself in, but you'd be wrong.

There's not really much anyone could say to recommend this album. Like the BEP, Fergie takes "sampling" and turns it into "ripping off" at various stages.

Her little-girl-lost sluttiness is the epitome of clubland horror, so it's guaranteed to fill dance floors, but there's nothing more unsettling than hearing her take off Pink in Big Girls Don't Cry, hard house in Get Your Hands Up and, bizarrely, Limp Bizkit in Wake Up, all without a flinch.

Fergie's a chameleon of sorts, but it's no recommendation and she certainly ain't no duchess.

Down the house road

(Morning Star, Friday 08 September 2006)

ALBUM: Basement Jaxx - Crazy Itch Radio
(XL)

THE Jaxx - if I may - are a funny one. A dance band who burst onto the scene with a raft of exciting, illuminating tracks. Red Alert, Rendez-Vu, Romeo - all dancefloor fillers, but all with a little soul, a little heart and, yes, a little pop.

How disappointing to learn, then, that curiously handsome Felix and that other one have gone down a house music route with no return.

Fans of Kish Kash will probably be delighted to find more of the same sort of thing, but, sadly, that amounts to pretty soulless, pretty dire dance puff with not a lot of bright spots.

Single Hush Boy has a catchiness to it that repetitive beats beget, taking its rhythmic cue from Earth, Wind and Fire et al, with all the horror that entails.

Hey You melds disco with Mexicana, while On The Train lifts Hit The Road, Jack and makes it a little bit banal.

Their past has proven that Basement Jaxx have a vision of dance music. It was fun and listenable and, crucially, unique to them.

Unfortunately, Crazy Itch Radio portrays a couple of lads who've lost the plot, producing the same old, same old as all others of their ilk.

There's more than this to the world of dance, but the Jaxx have clearly forgotten the steps.

Healing balm for the world

(Morning Star, Friday 08 September 2006)

ALBUM: Peter, Bjorn and John - Writer's Block
(Wichita)

IF the summer seemed frighteningly brief and the autumn rains have set in all too soon, this record will make it all better.

Putting Writer's Block onto your stereo will make you younger, the sound of sunshine that spills forth from your speakers proof enough that there is such things as light and love and, truthfully, that the world is better and more interesting than awarding the Mercury Music Prize to the Arctic Monkeys.

From the opening title track onwards, Peter, Bjorn and John explore a world of youth, heartbreak and hope, creating a soundtrack for young people in flared trousers moving to the music as in an episode of Ulysses 31.

Single Young Folks has the aural appeal of an afternoon spent chilling out with Felicity Kendal, all wholesome harmonies and an irresistible chorus, the like of which Air would be proud.

Amsterdam is a fine example of relaxed, folky pop and Let's Call It Off is a harmony-heavy delight with a chorus that stays with you as you enter the real world once again, refusing to be brought down by the dull and vexatious.

Buy this record and make it a family heirloom. Music like Peter, Bjorn and John play is the road map for world peace and it's destined to make everything better.

Another corker

(Morning Star, Friday 01 September 2006)

ALBUM: Outkast - Idlewild
(RCA)

OUTKAST have plundered through their musical career, confounding critics with their intelligent soul-tinged rap and rap-tinged soul on a wave of publicity from famous relationships and acting careers.

So it is quite surprising that they have managed to turn out, once again, a fair corker of a record.

Sadly, Outkast's sound is less individual nowadays and the prevalence of trumpets which once set it apart from the pop landscape in 2002 are now de rigueur for a band with pretensions of soul.ut, from the Outkast-by-numbers funk of Mighty O, the bluesy Idlewild Blue (Don'tchu Worry 'Bout Me) is a breath of fresh bluegrass, a modern take on a musical tradition which swaggers with their unmistakable sound.

Elsewhere, Morris Brown takes in a strong gospel influence and The Train exhibits anthemic positivity, while PJ and Rooster trundles in sounding like Star Wars's own Max Rebo Band, all indefinable but enjoyable noises.

Outkast are a classic band in the making, with all the heart of pop, the soul of Motown and, now, the inspiration of a bluegrass twang. They're an international treasure and their place in music history is cemented.

New York disco-rock groove

(Morning Star, Friday 01 September 2006)

ALBUM: The Rapture - Pieces of The People We Love
(Mercury)

NEW YORK band The Rapture make music that is an aquired taste. It's a sound that everyone should make acquiring their top priority.

Three years after their debut burst onto the impossibly cool disco-rock scene, the quartet are back to basics with this confident document to life as an established act.

From opener Don Gon Do It, it's clear that the winning template that they carved out in 2003 has been dusted off for this new journey into stereophonic sound. Without wanting to paint a vulgar picture, it's balls-out funky-assed pop-rock in the most strenuous sense.

Title track Pieces of the People We Love is a melodious meander with its roots in a drum beat enthused with the spirit of My Sharona, all tight and twitchy and teasing dance moves out of the lifeless limbs of passers-by.

Get Myself Into It is like a disco groove as belted out by Robert Smith and standout track Whoo! Alright, Yeah, Uh Huh is more jerky disco rock with a delightful call-and-response refrain.

There's a gear change in softer songs such as Calling Me, proving that hi-energy is not their only setting and, the maturity of the vocal on The Sound gives the lie to doubters of the band's breakout pop-funk smash House of Jealous Lovers.

The party line is that The Rapture are having way too much fun to care whether or not they're cool.

Listening to the hip sounds on this record, it's hard to believe that it's a by-product of the in-studio hilarity that their press speaks of.

But it's not important. They are cool and when their music is this much fun, who cares if it's studied?

Half-written plagiarisms

(Morning Star, Friday 25 August 2006)

ALBUM: Kasabian - Empire
(Columbia)

THE rock world loves a band who walks the walk and talks the talk.

Liam Gallagher? A voice rougher than a badger's behind, but he loves himself, so he's a winner.

Bono? An eejit who got a lucky break at 18 and has a God complex at 45. But so loved!

Kasabian? Well, they are very confident and people do seem to like them. Now hear this.

There is more than enough good music out there without regressing to listening to this nu-baggy nonsense or whatever it is.

Take the single, Empire. The most astounding thing is the bizarre half-tune that kicks in after verse one. It's not quite in tune and completely sends the rest of the rhythm out of whack.

After three party-time singles, one might have been persuaded to have a positive reaction. What foolishness.

Empire is an album speckled with half-written plagiarisms and overplayed dirges, specifically Stuntman and the abomination which is British Legion.

Here's what to do. Go to your local record store. Buy the Stone Roses debut album.

Dance your rocks off, baby, because Kasabian will never outdo this magic.

Average attempt at mimicry

(Morning Star, Friday 18 August 2006)

ALBUM: The Young Knives - Voices of Animals and Men
(Transgressive)

YOU know them, you've seen them peering out of the pages of all the indie magazines.

These prankster nu-pop-punk-alt-indie darlings are a little of the try-hard variety, hailing from Ashby-de-la-Zouch and bedecked in tweed.

If pretension is the death of modesty, then the Young Knives think that they're the dog's, if you'll pardon the expression.

Maybe all that tweed's alright in the capital, but how quick would they get kicked in in the provinces? They'll find out on their mega tour in October, but, in the meantime, there's a record to be had.

The angularity characterising the coolest of guitar bands is all present and correct here, but Part Timer makes for a somewhat weak album opener.

In fact, the singles on here are the true stand-outs, from Weekends and Bleak Days (Hot Summer) to Here Comes the Rumour Mill.

Weekends and Bleak Days offers vocals reminiscent of PIL-era John Lydon with a repetitive guitar part to give even the most eager of axemen RSI. With the maxim "hot summer, hot hot summer" it's a mite out of place this August, but very catchy nonetheless.

Similarly, Here Comes the Rumour Mill is bright, light and indie-disco-tastic, but, again, the plod through the fillers until She's Attracted To - a tale of parental disapproval and punch-ups - is a bit much.

The Young Knives definitely have something - a recent cover of Kids in America displayed the filmic claustrophobia of a David Lynch movie, if vocally a little strangled.

Their new wave, spikey style is executed with precision. But the sum total of this record is an average attempt at mimicry and not a lot more.

A bawdy wit and charm

(Morning Star, Friday 11 August 2006)

ALBUM: Lily Allen - Alright Still
(Regal)

BEST known for being the daughter of Keith and having a particularly gobby way about her, 20-something Lily Allen's debut exhibits a degree of wisdom well beyond her years and far outweighing her seemingly obnoxious persona.

Alright Still is packed with the sweetest sort of summer music - with one foot firmly in the pop camp and a lyrical poetry that falls halfway between the Arctic Monkeys and Maximo Park, Lily's crisp observational tone is much like, bear with me, a female Streets. But don't let that put you off.

On opener and number one single the gently reggae Smile, Lily's washing that cheating man right out of her hair with a wry examination of their failed relationship, less woman scorned, more woman relieved.

High points on the record would have to be the '60s-styled Everything's Just Wonderful, which details the modern world from Lily's point of view, registering disgust with everything from the inability to get a mortgage to the state of the dating game.

The sweet and cheery Alfie, which details Lily's concerns for her waster brother who spends his time smoking in his room. The "oompah" backing gives Alfie a magical nursery rhyme feel, as the relationship between brother and sister is cheerfully examined.

Allen is nothing if not bawdy and her lyrics, while sweet and charming, are peppered with swearing and colloquialisms.

But the magic of her music is none more recognisable than on LDN - an ode to London for the text generation. She notes the pimps and chavs filling the streets of her beloved capital with a dry pseudo-intellectual glance.

An album for the the heartbroken and the hopeful, Allen runs the gamut of human emotions and comes up with a record with about 100 times the sincerity of anything that Coldplay could dream of.

As they possibly say in Islington, nuff respect.

Fun and games

(Morning Star, Friday 11 August 2006)

ALBUM: The Pipettes - We Are The Pipettes
(Memphis Industries)

THE dazzling wonder that is the Pipettes cannot be overrated.

From the alien voices chanting "we are the Pipettes" on the intro to the song of the same name, Riotbecki, Gwenno and Rosay rock and roll their way through The Ronettes' back catalogue from an alternate universe.

Packed with harmonies and humour, there's no escaping singing along with all of your heart. Their basic pop tunes clobber anything from the MOR also-rans clogging the airwaves.

The Pipettes' positivity is contagious, but don't think that they are merely vacuous flirty pop vessels - the substance comes from their knack with a good tune and a finely-turned phrase.

Were it fully legal, this reviewer would volunteer to distribute copies of We are the Pipettes to all readers, but, instead, recognise the nudge to discover the incredible joy for yourself.

Top tunes for all

(Morning Star, Saturday 08 July 2006)

ALBUM: Aberfeldy - Do Whatever Turns You On
(Rough Trade)

IN terms of twee pop with a hint of the 1970s, Aberfeldy are up there with the best.

As a country whose prime exports number shortbread and skirts for men, Scotland's grasp of fashion is not what it might be.

As such, Aberfeldy's fellow limp-wristed noiseniks Belle and Sebastian rule the Caledonian airwaves, all gentle jingly-jangly pop played by foppish boys with Frank Spencer faces. And berets.

So it's nice that Aberfeldy have come back from their 2004 debut Young Forever having turned the guitars up a notch - to a tentative three, in fact - in an effort to dethrone B&S.

With the acerbic wit on show on Do Whatever Turns You On, this sort of fighting spirit is not entirely out of character. These sweet-voiced folky also-rans have a grit to them that songs like Uptight - name-checking the People's Friend magazine, always a plus in pop - and Poetry exhibit in a pleasingly straightforward manner.

The high point would have to be the title track, giving airtime to the idiosyncrasies that separate people from each other, a favoured conceit of the indie fan.

The gentle indie tunesmithery is still here and yet the appearance of a bit of gumption seems to have set Aberfeldy apart from their peers, with tunes to please everyone on the cool continuum from Russell Brand to Ken Bruce.

Et tu, Belle and Sebastian?

Rock god or just a shambles?

(Morning Star, Saturday 22 April 2006)

LIVE: Babyshambles, Spring and Airbrake, Belfast

SINCE the inception of the rock'n'roll star, few candidates have so embodied the live fast, die young template as Pete Doherty.

The idea that all his waywardness could be close to an end is enough of a catalyst for the ambulance-chasing media to follow his every public utterance.

And the added intrigue of the off-on relationship with one of the world's most famous supermodels throws any music actually produced into stark relief for the former army brat.

On record, the Babyshambles sound lives right up to its name - as such, a live crowd cannot approach their shows with high expectations.

And yet, the clean, lean and healthy Doherty that bounds onstage this evening is a far cry from the tabloid whipping boy pissing his talent up the wall.

The form of Babyshambles gigs seems to be at the discretion of Albion's favourite son, but, after dodging last night's show in Dublin, Doherty seems in a positive mood, showing up on time, running through the hits and fucking off without incident.

The crowd, resplendent in tracksuits and hollering football chants between songs, are all well versed in the lyrics, singing along to Killamangiro and 32nd of December.

But even Doherty wanes sometimes. The promised anthemic Fuck Forever doesn't materialise in the encore and the assembled kids drift home despondent, let down by their hero. Rock'n'roll indeed.

A new love

(Morning Star, Saturday 22 April 2006)

ALBUM: Morrissey - Ringleader of the Tormentors
(Sanctuary)

AS Ringleader of the Tormentors thrills into being, all Boz Boorer's rumbling guitar and full of eastern promise on I Will See You In Far-off Places, many a heart will skip with delight.

To Morrissey fans, Stephen Patrick is the god of literate lyricism and a withering wit who takes his cue and hands it on, holding court on a variety of topics.

This release is no different. The Roman ex-pat is in fine voice, with his amazing throaty croon which seems to have been gifted him for his 45th birthday.

He has his targets - such as US imperialism - but, overall, the record is overshadowed by a new-found passion. For who, who can say.

But the new brand of supposedly autobiographical love songs sit at odds beside acerbic solo standards such as The Father Who Must be Killed and In the Future When All's Well.

However, it would be churlish to complain about the album on the whole - the gift of a well-crafted, beautifully sung and intensely felt record is one too seldom in the world of popular music in 2006.

Naked emperor

(Morning Star, Saturday 15 April 2006)

ALBUM: Flaming Lips - At War with the Mystics
(Warner)

LIKE Murdoch from the A-Team, Flaming Lips' Wayne Coyne is someone whose annoyance level cannot be overstated.

Both men are crazy, whacked-out kooks, determined that the world should function on their level and that, as such, they are called creative, strategic visionaries.

Well, Murdoch is a fictional construct, so the annoyance that he fosters is a limited problem. But Coyne, with his pseudo-intellectual, neurotic sex-and-death confrontational bull, seems to be entirely real and, as such, is 100 per cent irritant.

So, At War with the Mystics comes highly commended, with some no mark calling them the "greatest US band."

Blink hard, my friends - the emperor is entirely nude. Coyne's daft squeaking rasp, cheap Prince take-offs and Jeff Wayne-style balladeering has no home on my stereo, even if Coyne is one of a crack team of military... oh, wait, that's the other guy.

Punk in the blood

(Morning Star, Saturday 25 March 2006)

INTERVIEW: STEVE DIGGLE chats to the Star about being part of the seminal Manchester punk band the Buzzcocks.

If there was ever a band who could puff out their chests and walk tall, a band who taught instead of learning, who forged instead of following, who spoke to the youth of a generation and would brook no disagreement, it would be The Ramones. Right?

Meanwhile, back in Britain, a Manchester band were throwing their lot in with some London punk rock ne'er-do-wells.

In 1976, the Buzzcocks, hailing from the "grim north," played their first show with the Sex Pistols and they've never looked back, so says the band's erstwhile guitarist and songwriter supreme Steve Diggle.

"Our first gig was with the Sex Pistols in 1976 in Manchester," Steve remembers with a grin. "It took us three weeks to get a band together. It really helped to put Manchester on the musical map and the provincial scenes really sprung up from there, as people realised that you didn't have to be in London to be a part of it all. I think that we were a catalyst for that in terms of coming from Manchester."

Diggle's conversation is peppered with references to how important and influential the Buzzcocks were. Anyone else who tried this would surely deserve a smack. But, when it comes to this confident northerner, you can't knock him - it's all true.

What would anyone's reaction be if they were hailed as punk's forefathers? Diggle is nonplussed.

"It's strange how time has flown. We do take it as a compliment that so many bands around sound like us. We invented the world that we came from, we were distinctive and individual," he affirms.

The Buzzcocks have a new album out.

It's not a Best Of, as one might expect. It's not even a rerelease of their most successful long-player. It's an all new, singing and rocking example of why these guys never went away. Yes, you read right - never went away. Anywhere.

"There is a lot of interest in this album." Diggle scratches his head. "Even though we did have one out three years ago. It's almost like people think we've made some big comeback. But it is a good album, so I think it deserves the coverage."

Diggle isn't at pains to point out their expertise, by the way. It's just something that seems to reaffirm itself.

So, after three years, how are the band sounding? Well, the album's a brash, searing take-no-Guantanamo-prisoners account of modern life - that it's rubbish, of course, but more than that. The world's changing in a terribly distressing way and, from our little corporate boxes, we're all complicit in some way.

As Diggle pointed out on his solo album, the Bruce Springsteen-approved Serious Contender, the brands that we buy are buying us off - lock, stock, the bleedin' lot.

From his solo record comes Diggle's best example of his feeling of dread. "I've got a song on my solo album called Starbucks Around the World, which has the lyric 'paper cups all look the same.' It means that we're all suffering from this corporate industry that runs everything. People are sitting in offices somewhere making marketing strategies and messing with our lives.

"Punk and the whole movement which we were part of questioned it all," he finishes triumphantly, confident that he has been part of a movement that judged everyone around them and who, years later, are still calling it how they see it. So what of today's young pretenders? What of the Buzzcocks-for-today, the social commentators and devil-may-care working-class intelligentsia like, say, the Arctic Monkeys?

Diggle seems unconvinced as to their socialist credentials. "They have an easy use of language, but they're not dangerous. It sounds like they're spirited, though, which is good. I like Hard-Fi, singing about coming from Staines and searching for a better life."

With all that's happened for the Buzzcocks - the booze, the bust-ups, the tours and the tantrums - they have earned their punk rock stripes. Diggle agrees emphatically.

"We just stand back in amazement that we got through. We seem to have gone from strength to strength. This album is a true return to our form and there are certainly some classic moments on there."

After all this time, Diggle is still fairly pragmatic about his lifestyle choice.

"If music is in your blood, you can't deny it. You can change the music over time and I think that I've changed into something else. I'm a conscientious objector to work after all this time." He laughs. "Something always spurs you on and writing new songs keeps the interest up and keeps your mind and heart in it. It's the age-old process of a blank piece of paper and just pulling something out of the air and making it great."

And great it indubitably is. Is the harmonious output of the band at odds with any sort of volatility in the relationship between Diggle and bandmate Pete Shelley?

"He has his business and I have mine," Diggle immediately jumps in. "I think that our songs complement each other, but we do have very different influences, as people more than through music. I like to write more social songs about the world and Pete writes about the love side of things. There are limits to how far I can go with my style, so it's a good healthy mix for us to have. People have called my lyrics existential and I guess that's accurate. I just want to make a point and let people decide for themselves."

With his social awareness expressed throughout his music, does Diggle feel that this is something that people should choose as their life plan? Or are careers teachers duty-bound to put off young Buzzcocks fans who hear punk's anarchic call?

"I didn't think of it as a career, it was just an urgent, direct thing. I just thought that one gig might lead to a couple more gigs. At the time, a lot of young people did feel the angst of 1976. There were coming up for one million people on the dole and the audience were just questioning things. We had an awareness of life which I think is lacking now."

So maybe punk fans need to re-evaluate. Because, if there was ever a band who could puff out their chests and walk tall, a band who taught instead of learning, who forged instead of following and who spoke to the youth of every generation and would brook no disagreement, it would be the Buzzcocks.

From pop's early days

(Morning Star, Saturday 18 February 2006)

ALBUM: The Hollies - Staying Power
(EMI)

HAVING appeared on the first ever Top of the Pops in 1964, The Hollies have proven that their staying power is quite almighty.

It seems incredibly unlikely that the old timers of British pop will be invited onto the show in its new guise, with their yester-pop crafted for Magic FM listeners. Well, we may be surprised.

In the meantime, this is tipped by the band themselves as their best ever studio album and who am I to argue?

First, the idea of the band still being The Hollies after all this time is an anathema to their youthful exuberance, not to mention how many are still original members. Very Stranglers.

Many tracks here are full of the same old pop ideas, but they don't really have the charisma to carry them off.

The Spanish guitar in So Damn Beautiful is peculiarly nauseating, while album closer Let Love Pass is unwieldy for the casual listener and just too too much.

With the vocal harmonies The Hollies are famed for peeking in every so often, most notably on Touch Me, there are sparks of inspiration, but the overall effect on this listener is one of antipathy, amplified to repulsion when the sleeve reveals Enrique Iglesias's part in the songwriting duties.

Juggernaut of revenge

(Morning Star, Thursday 09 February 2006)

Get Carter, Byre Theatre, St Andrews

WITH a burst of strident period music, Red Shift's production of Get Carter haemorrhages onto the stage, all bloody and grimy and full of despair.

Better known as the 1971 film starring Michael Caine in his most iconic of roles than from the 1970 novel Jack's Return Home by Ted Lewis, productions of Get Carter will forever be held up against Caine's defining celluloid interpretation.

Vicious gangster Jack Carter (Jack Lord) travels from London back to his childhood home in a northern steel town for his brother's funeral.

Suspecting that his death was not an accident, Carter sets out to find the culprits, weaving a heady and often violent path through the booze and fag-soaked north, finding momentary pleasure with tawdry sexual encounters.

Lord asserts himself early on in a blackly comic interchange with Daniel Copeland's Gerald Fletcher.

His Carter is a juggernaut of revenge, unstoppable until his brother's killers are brought to rough justice. He shines here as the punisher - remorseless and unforgiving but also brash and swaggering - and smart enough to watch his own back.

The female roles played by Sally Orrock and Angela Ward are uniquely strong, each woman inhabiting three distinctly separate characters.

This is a play full of strength and venom, where even the set is deceptively complex.

The only letdown is a soundtrack populated with a raft of recognisable hits so staccato in their appearance as to resemble a round of guess the intro. Recommended anyway.

The new cynics

(Morning Star, Saturday 04 February 2006)

ALBUM: Arctic Monkeys - Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not
(Domino)

KIRSTIE MAY introduces us to new rock upstarts the Arctic Monkeys, a Sheffield four-piece with a nice line in snappy lyrics and top tunes.

If you don't know who the Arctic Monkeys are, you must have been burying your head in the sand.

They are a critically lauded, recently successful band with a nice line in snappy lyrics and rocking tunes.

But, if that's all you know, you're still pretty clueless, because there's so much more.

Like a gang of little scoundrels who besiege your local offy, these four Sheffield boys have something of the glue sniffer about them.

Graduates of the school of junkie youth, like a Busted put together by Pete Doherty, Alex Turner and pals are dirty and dour, displaying a disenchantment and cynicism far beyond their average 19 years.

Their first single, I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor, was number one with a bullet off the back of a guerilla net campaign.

The song soundtracks a hundred school discos - sweaty and sordid, mindful of its own youth.

Dancefloor's chart success was echoed by its follow-up When the Sun Goes Down, a tale of hookers and horror in the north, ruled by a riff straight out of Keef's back catalogue.

The album clearly has a lot to live up to - the success of the singles means that the eyes of the music world are fixed on their every move - and there are already detractors baying for their demise.

But, take a step back from all of this superfluous journo opining and the fact remains that the Arctic Monkeys are just a very good band.

Maybe you don't like Turner's disinterested vocal, particularly on the sweet Mardy Bum.

That's your choice, of course, but bear in mind that he is merely aping the misanthropic Dylan at his most churlish.

Maybe singing in Yorkshire accents pisses you off, although the band themselves prize that honesty above all, as detailed in Fake Tales of San Francisco, a warning tale for indie poseurs everywhere.

Maybe you feel that their better-than-chav style is unpalatable, as they clearly have roots in that culture. Witness A Certain Romance, the album highlight.

Rolling in with a heavy drum sound, the song itself displays a ska tempo, the backdrop to a tale of two tribes destined not to see eye-to-eye.

But Turner's detailing of the differences creates a "them and us" scenario, that we know better than smashing people's heads in down the Red Lion, as much good as this knowledge does us.

When people say they like good music, it's often because they like a nice tune or the singer's got good hair.

But it takes effort and passion to like the Arctic Monkeys, because that's what they deserve.

Grows on you

(Morning Star, Saturday 28 January 2006)

ALBUM: Regina Spektor - Mary Ann Meets the Grave Diggers and Other Short Stories
(Transgressive)

THE idea of a experimental female pianist may make most gag and, trust me, there is a part of Regina Spektor's mythology which doesn't sit well.

That self-aware logo - so it looks like "respekt‚" do you see? - the associated cool from rock'n'roll pals like The Strokes, the gothic illustrative work on this album sleeve - all have the smell of trying a little too hard and ticks every one of my "irritating" boxes.

But then, there is the music. Hailing from New York via Russia, Spektor's self-awareness is probably less studied than it seems.

A genuinely talented pianist, she seems to have taken a Tori Amos fan club membership and made it into her own shtick.

This CD comprises all the highlights of Spektor's career so far and, truly, it is a thing of beauty.

Opener Oedipus has a charming naivety, both lyrically and vocally.

In Consequence of Sounds, Spektor showcases her humorous side with the lyric "the National Geographic was being too graphic/ When all she had wanted to know was the traffic." A clumsy couplet, sure, but one with more heart than Coldplay could ever hope to instil in their work, with their bland song-for-everyone template.

The standout track has to be the single Us, with its haunting strings and clearly defined characters - it is a truly career-defining piece for any artist, established or emerging and should guarantee this newcomer centre stage for class and majesty.

Regina Spektor is an acquired taste for certain, but delving into her dark little world is a bit like text sex with an ex - at first, it'll make you feel uncomfortable, but, once you throw yourself into it, you won't remember life without it.

Magic of water

(Morning Star, Tuesday 24 January 2006)

EXHIBITION: Elizabeth Ogilvie - Bodies of Water, Dundee Contemporary Arts

Having worked with water for over 10 years, Fife resident Elizabeth Ogilvie's show is a real coup for the DCA, an outstanding installation which exhibits strength and vulnerability in equal measure.

Gallery 2 is a gateway to the main event, showing Ogilvie's collaborative piece with renowned Taiko drummer Joji Hirota.

The piece features three screens, one showing off Hirota's rhythmic understanding of water and its movement and one displaying Ogilvie's reaction to the music as she excites the water with a rod.

The third and main screen displays the water itself changing from inanimate blank canvas to an intense, vibrant illustration of the collaboration.
The main attraction in Gallery 1 offers two large pools surrounded by a platform.

In the dim light, the first pool is mesmerising in its absolute stillness.

Acting as a reflective surface, the piece becomes more about that which can be seen in it, than what it is itself.

Over the pool, film is projected of the three main processes of the water cycle, a representation of the indefinable magic of water.

The second pool in the room is agitated, water being actively manipulated by way of pipes in the ceiling.

From them, precipitation falls in cycles, starting out as steady drizzle and eventually cascading down in a deluge.

Ogilvie's ongoing fascination with water seems never better placed than when in such close proximity to one of Scotland's grandest rivers, and Bodies of Water shows the lengths to which this natural resource can represent the fluidity of music and of human perception.

The artist's recent pledge to "promote a greater respect and understanding for water" is both brave and daunting, but through installations such as this, Ogilvie goes some way to persuading all that global bodies of water are ever-changing and our rapt attention is warranted.