Top 10 Albums of 2007

(Morning Star, Friday 28 December 2007)

IN REVIEW: Morning Star awards

Folk Rock
ROBERT PLANT AND ALISON KRAUSS - Raising Sand (Decca)

HOW incredibly poetic that it's taken bluegrass/country singer Krauss to smooth the sharp edges of Plant's balls-out rock schtick.

There's a vulnerability to the duo's sound which is haunting and comforting and both the folk and rock worlds have gained something special indeed with the release of this record.

Covering tracks from sources as broad as Tom Waits and the Everly Brothers, Plant and Krauss have conducted themselves with class and decorum through the "covers album" minefield, bringing a new slant to odes to love and loss like Let Your Loss Be Your Lesson and Gone Gone Gone (Done Moved On).

In truth, Plant's occasionally nasal tone here is soothing and the melodious quality of Krauss's voice really does mark her as without equal, a tuneful foil to her accompanist.

Although this union may be a fleeting drop in the ever-expanding folk rock ocean, Raising Sand stands to be a record revisited by fans of both and neither singer for some time to come, such is its glorious impact.

Folk Rock
KT TUNSTALL - Drastic Fantastic (Relentless)

IT'S a little disingenuous for KT not to acknowledge the debt that she owes to her years spent busking.

Of course, it was arduous, but the hard-won success of this native Fifer is all the sweeter because it comes to someone who has honed her craft to an almost perfect degree, producing what is easily one of the albums of the year.

The songs on Drastic Fantastic, Tunstall's third studio effort, are as sweet and tough as the singer herself and all thanks to the years spent reflecting on her work.

From the straightforward rock of Little Favours through to country-tinged Hold On, there's an evolution at work as the songstress takes her folk roots and imbues them with a sass and intelligence which knocks the spots off any of her contemporaries.

And how sweet the pleasure must be for Tunstall as she belts out If Only's chorus line - "if only you could see me now" - now that everyone can see her and what a marvel she is.

Irish country

(Morning Star, Friday 21 December 2007)

ALBUM: Richard Murray - Desert Wind
(Richardmurraymusic)

IF Bob Harris created a perfect country star from his imagination, one would imagine that it'd come pretty close to Richard Murray.

After all, the rough hewn vocal which calls to mind the wind-tousled plains of Mexico is a gift for someone twice Murray's mere 29 years.

The sweep of acoustic guitar has a profoundly blue tinge - of the grass variety - and the Tennessee twang throughout the instrumentals is a native's touch indeed.

This may seem a barrage of geographical points to plot, but the authenticity of Murray is an astoundingly genuine rendering considering that the multi-instrumentalist hails from Northern Ireland.

Now based in London, Murray's strength is in the control that he has taken over this, his debut long-player. Credited as co-producer and vocalist, Murray also racks up turns on the guitar, mandolin, harmonica and percussion.

As far as the songs go, Down in this Town is awash with the melancholy of slow country life, while closer The Wind And The Rain is an epic taste of the extraordinary future Murray that has landed himself in music.

Strong as the orchestration and melodies are, the proliferation of olde worlde nods and influences does seem a little trite at times. There's a sense that the lyrical output on Desert Wind is a bit of melting pot and the credibility is stretched when Murray cites biblical characters and events.

But, on an album where the singalong goodness of a popular tune is alive and well, Murray seems assured the status of a country star alright, with or without a commendation from Whispering Bob.

Ups and downs

(Morning Star, Friday 07 December 2007)

ALBUM: Khaya - Is/Are/Was
(SL Records)

IT'S a credit to Scotland's SL Records that, in this, its 10th anniversary year, it can draw on a back catalogue as strong as any. And it has done it as a ferociously independent label.

Khaya were the label's starter wheels and they were a band for whom erratic working and occasionally questionable output were not strange.

As such, this "best of" is an interesting listen. Of the 16 tracks, there are at least eight which hint at better things - I Hate Fucking is a riot of sound, a perfect rendering of 1980s indie and The Vampires seems like a screaming racket from some other band's session.

But, for every plus, there's a disastrous minus, with spoken-word Duet and We've Got Rhymes heading the "why bother?" bill.

There's more than a little Sons and Daughters to the rocky take on folk here and labelmates Ballboy were plainly a strong influence.

The biggest problem is, as a career retrospective, it's just really disjointed. There are moments of brilliance, but, sadly, they seem to be overshadowed by the mediocrity which one assumes drove the band their separate ways.

KATE NASH

(AU magazine December 2007)

LIVE: Mandela Hall, Belfast

WITH her cute round cheeks and quite astounding head of shaggy auburn hair, Kate Nash totters onstage at the Mandela more TopShop model than real live singing star.
Coming out to the strains of ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’, the crowd are instantly receptive to her natural girlish cheeriness.
The stage is set up like Auntie Maud’s front room, decorated with faux flowers and tacky ornaments, but it all adds to Nash’s oddball stage show, as she takes her seat at a piano swathed in red velvet and decorated with a massive bow.
Starting with Mariella - the tale of the girl who glued her lips together - each song is heralded by raucous cheering from the capacity crowd, but Nash’s purely aesthetic appeal is apparent with one glance at the predominantly male audience.
Picking up her guitar for ‘Birds’, she flirts shamelessly, batting her eyelashes before launching into another teen tale of crushes and texts.
Back at the keyboard, Nash is wide-eyed, playing the nursery rhyme-like ‘Mouthwash’, soundtracking an impromptu audience dance contest.
Then the one everyone’s here to hear, ‘Foundations’ – on record a surprisingly emotional song which loses all subtlety in the live forum, but makes for good bopping material.
Nash’s ‘Skins’-era appeal is clearly massive - at just 20, she writes songs called things like ‘Dickhead’ and ‘The Shit Song’ and speaks the same language as The Kids, hence her success.
This, the chart-topper’s second appearance in Belfast this year, is marked by both a definite weight loss and a substantial leap forward in confidence, but the naïve Londoner is still rocking the cutesy angle a little too much for an adult performer.
It’s clear Kate Nash is not just a mini Allen, but will she ever be more than the sum of her Pollyanna parts?

ANTHONY REYNOLDS - BRITISH BALLADS

(AU magazine December 2007)

(SPINNEY)

Following the break-up after just three albums of his band Jack, Reynolds is using the entire canvas of British Ballads to get his own picture across, and it's quite the masterpiece.
Tales of heartache and love lost are here painted in broad strokes, while literary ideals are intricately detailed. Reynolds has worked on the album with philosopher Colin Wilson, as well as chanteuses Dot Allison and Vashti Bunyan.
In truth, the sensitive balladry of Reynolds is a definite acqured taste. Expecting everyone to enjoy it would be like proposing Elliott Smith as acceptable support for System of a Down, where there is simply no common ground. But Reynolds has sneakily accomplished so much as a songwriter that his name should be spoken in the same hushed tones as Smith, or Richard Hawley - or any singer/songwriter with ability and sensitivity to override that of his peers.

Whole lotta Rosie

(London Green News Winter 2007)

INTERVIEW: Rosie and the Goldbug

A BAND who come onstage looking more gothic Victorian parlour act than modern day pop group is enough to raise a few eyebrows - but this Cornish trio are here to tantalise and terrorise the banal and the bland. Welcome to the weird and wonderful world of Rosie and the Goldbug.
Rosie Vanier is a force of nature. As lead singer, she seems a modern day Kate Bush - with a little Karen O thrown in. In truth, neither comparison does justice to a performer who gives so much at live shows (which Bush famously shuns).
As with most eccentrics, Rosie’s unusual childhood is responsible for much of her idiosyncracies.
“I grew up in the heart of Bodmin Moor, and we lived in a very isolated farm house,” she says.
Rosie attended what she refers to as an “unusual” school, next door to the legendary Jamaica Inn where Daphne du Maurier wrote her classic book about murder, mystery, storms and smugglers.
Backed by bassist Plums and drummer Pixie, the band have been workng together for around 11 months.
Regulars at Brixton’s Jamm will remember the band from their performance at the Green fundraiser in October, which was something of a dream realised for the band.
“When we were growing up we were all in bands and always yearned to gig up in London. The fundraiser was really really great.”
Rosie’s own performances have become the stuff of legend, as she sings and dances with abandon, giving her all to the show. The work of a great dramatist?
“Onstage, I am just being myself,” she insists. “I’m a bit of an extreme performer, I don’t hold back.”
It says a lot about Rosie’s musical intentions that she has recently been co-writing with Marcella Detroit, formerly of Shakespear’s Sister - herself no stranger to eccentricity and bombast.
In spite of being a band whose future seems so ensconced in the past, Rosie and the Goldbug really are going somewhere fast. Despite being pursued by labels desperate to sign them before their fame explodes, Rosie, a self-confessed ‘control freak’, is eager to make the most of the new media revolution.
“We are using new media to our advantage, but I really am a big fan of the punk DIY ethos.”
For a band who live in a make-believe world, Rosie and the Goldbug certainly seem to have their feet firmly planted on the ground.
Check www.rosieandthegoldbug.com for live dates.

Cut down on the cute, Kate

(Morning Star, Friday 30 November 2007)
LIVE: Kate Nash
Manchester Academy

THERE'S something about Kate Nash. The London chanteuse with a nice line in youth culture has been the big hit of the year and she really seems to be riding the wave all the way to proper music success.

Coming onstage to Somewhere Over The Rainbow, Nash is all wide eyes and auburn hair, with a vulnerability which is abundantly appreciated by the male fanbase in attendance.

Blokes of all ages are rapt with attention tonight as this most girlish of singers peddles her off-kilter tales of love in a time of Big Brother and text messages.

With a cinched-in waist, it's clear that fame has brought with it the identikit publicity machine. Now aged 20, there's no evidence of the puppy fat that she wore so well earlier in the year and, with it, has gone a little of her idiosyncrasy.

The stage is set up like Auntie Ethel's front room, resplendent with faux flowers and cheesy seaside ornaments, but it all adds to Nash's quirky stage show as she takes her seat at a piano swathed in red velvet and decorated with a massive bow.

Kicking off with the infectious Mariella, a song about a girl who glued her lips together to live in her own world, each song is heralded by raucous cheering from the capacity crowd.

The girl who has been cast in Lily Allen's mould flirts shamelessly, batting her eyelashes at her fans but, in truth, her sweet naivety and quaint storytelling often put her a margin above Allen's cynicism.

A case in point is the nursery rhyme-like Mouthwash, soundtracking an impromptu audience dance contest, then the one everyone's here to hear, Foundations, which, on record, is a surprisingly emotional song but which loses all subtlety in the live forum.

For all her sweetness, Nash's youth appeal is clearly massive. She does, after all, speak the same language as her audience.

Tonight's appearance is marked by a substantial leap forward in confidence, but the cutesy girl act is growing a little tired for someone who is now clearly an adult performer.

Nash is not, as her album title suggests, Made of Bricks, but she should take care not to look like she's made of fluff.

Calm follow-up

(Morning Star, Friday 09 November 2007)

ALBUM: Nine Black Alps - Love/Hate
(Island)

THE unrefined rocking Nine Black Alps of the first album had a thorn in their side.

They were the younger, sharper Brit siblings of Nirvana, thumping out great big rock tracks with grit in their eyes.

How refreshing, then, that the follow-up is so much calmer. Really - it's a magnificent thing that the Manchester three-piece have worked their way out of rock also-ran consignment.

Their new-found maturity has led them to produce an album of thought-provoking, accomplished songs with heart, balls and - most unnervingly - melodies.

Charity treat

(Morning Star, Friday 02 November 2007)

ALBUM: Various - The Cake Sale
(Oxfam Records - Vital)

THE concept of the charity album is to guilt people into buying it for the absolute right purpose - to help charities.

The Cake Sale is something of a blessing in that it's actually listenable - nay, enjoyable.

Bell X1's Brian Crosby thought of it and it's fair to say that his tuneful sensibilities are prevalent.

Couple that with the appearance of musical behemoths Nina Persson, Neil Hannon, Gary Lightbody and The Thrills, the record is a treat of the sweetest kind.

Why its British release is a full 12 months after its Republic of Ireland one is anyone's guess, though.

FILM SCHOOL - HIDEOUT

(AU magazine November 2007)

(Beggars Banquet)

Around 20 years ago, music fans couldn't move for bands making noises like Film School. Overwrought, distorted guitars propping up a maudlin vocal given that extra kudos because no one could quite make out the words were once all the rage.
For influences, My Bloody Valentine, early Verve, JAMC - all the miserable greats are invoked on the California quintet's third boasting an all-new line-up save singer/songwriter Greg Bertens. Hideout is a record so steeped in the aesthetics of 'indie' music that one expects Steve Lamacq will literally foam at the mouth on first listen. And he'd be right to - drenched in the past it may be, but Hideout's chock-full of delicious guitar goodness. Buy it at once, and talk long and loud about the obvious impact of William Reid's feedback-laden guitar work - it's big and clever.

MY DEVICE - JUMBO FIASCO

(AU magazine November 2007)

(Shifty Disco)

From the second My Device's distorted vocal free-for-all bursts out of the stereo, it's clear that the British trio has listened to more than their fair share of tuneless complaint thrash-rock from the other side of the pond.
The guitar-fuelled cacophany speaks of divisive 'subversive' acts like Sublime, of which influences make Jumbo Fiasco the Marmite of this month's new releases. Some would expect opener 'Uh!' or the equally abrasive 'Life is a Blast' to be popping up on the soon-to-be-released soundtrack to Hell, but truthfully, My Device fill a valuable slot in the esteemed pantheon of Brit bands who sound like Yanks - they are starter music for emo younglings, little goths who have yet to muster the ingenuity to seek out proper music which has merit and heart to recommend it.

Indie decade

(Morning Star, Friday 12 October 2007)

ALBUM: Idlewild - Scottish Fiction: Best of 1997-2007
(Parlophone)

INDIE folkster Roddy Woomble's Celtic indie songsters Idlewild have been chart-bothering for 10 years.

Idlewild's original incarnation as youthful noiseniks is fully represented here, with the unsurpassable When I Argue I See Shapes and These Wooden Ideas making an appearance, but, as with all best-of collections, it is astonishing to see the path that they have followed, through the REM-style tuneful mediocrity of American English, the more traditional stylings of Live in a Hiding Place and the 1980s rock sound of No Promises.

Enthralling and inspiring when at their best, this band will last at least another decade and, going by their current record, they'll yield some corkers.

Scottish treasure shines again

(Morning Star, Friday 05 October 2007)

ALBUM: Edwyn Collins - Home Again
(Heavenly Records)

EDWYN Collins should be up there with castles, shortbread and devolution - he's something that the Scottish have got absolutely right.

There are column inches about his stroke a couple of years ago, filled with patronising platitudes.

The truth is that Collins is a national treasure who, even with his unfortunate change in circumstances, has brought out one of the freshest, most enduring, most exciting records of the year.

Let no-one consider patronising here, of a man with a grasp on a rhyming couplet roundly denied most artists to reach the top 10 these days.

Home Again is an album for lovers and family, about youth and heartache, getting older and being loved.

One is a Lonely Number is a cracking opener, with an Orange Juice-style rhythm and plenty in the way of strangely prophetic lyrics which could almost foretell his stroke were one to be looking.

Elsewhere, the title track wouldn't sound out of place on a Richard Hawley record, which is an astounding compliment and You'll Never Know My Lovetakes the best soul of the Style Council and melds it with Collins's own uniquely moving voice.

The high point Leviathan pays homage to the great wilderness of Collins's own country, all brooding and Scottish.

It would have been to music fans' cost had Collins given up on recording. Home Again is his gift to the listener and it's a rich and wonderful record, shot through with hope and aspiration alongside realistic darknesses. Collins on this album, after all this time, truly is home again.

THE MONKS KITCHEN – THE WIND MAY HOWL

(AU magazine September 2007)

(1965 Records)

Dealing in the psychedelic pop normally associated with the Summer of Love, listeners would be forgiven for imagining they’ve taken a step back in time with The Wind May Howl.
Although this is the London band’s debut release, the presence here – as founder member – of Alfie’s Lee Gorton tells you all you need to know about sweet harmonies aplenty and melodies refracted through youthful memories of exuberant days in the park with friends.
The Monks Kitchen’s way of taking the innocence of the 1960s and planting it in NOW! will either delight or exasperate. Let heart rule head and it will be the former.

More than Allen

(Morning Star, Friday 31 August 2007)

ALBUM: Kate Nash - Made of Bricks
(Polydor)

SOME media darlings are in the frame for so long that it feels like they've been recording since nursery. Kate Nash is just one such performer.

It is astounding that this is only her debut release, so in the public eye has she been since Lily Allen sainted her all those moons ago.

Nash takes her cue from Allen as regards her Estuary accent and pitching her lyrics at a modern, fun level. The words here are shot through with cultural references and sassy language, but Nash's folky roots and the essence of her music go far beyond Allen's oeuvre, finding a magic and beauty in love stories, such as Birds, and break-ups, such as in radio favourite Foundations, that Allen misses time and again.

The 19-year-old Londoner may be a passing fad, but the songs which she has committed to record on Made of Bricks stand by themselves regardless of this year's musical landscape.

With an absolute high point in Merry Happy, the record is the essence of summer spent with your very best friend, checking out boys and bitching about girls. It's all a laugh, innit?

Average emo

(Morning Star, Friday 27 July 2007)

ALBUM: Reuben - In Nothing We Trust
(Hideous Records)

RESEARCHING Reuben, distinctiveness is the central theme. "Distinctive, vigorous style" and "distinctive nasal vocals" pop up, but not one of the reviews or pundits refers to Reuben as "distinctly average," which is a bit of a misstep.

The Farnborough trio of emo underdogs have come far since 2001 saw their inception in this form, but their aggressive guitar and introspective lyrics even on this, their third record, show that they took their musical cue from early noughties emotional hardcore compadres such as Hundred Reasons.

On album opener Cities on Fire, the guys step away from the heavy guitar for a few bars, before the quiet rhythm and bass blasts into a big dirty riff and thrashing percussion.

The band's musical maturity is evident on Suffocation of Soul, a track which utilises harmonising and howling in pretty much equal measure.

But attacking Joy Division and Morrissey on Crushed Under the Weight of the Enormous Bullshit is probably the nadir, considering that these young upstarts have yet to earn their musical legend stripes.

Considering the tone of the record, one would have to surmise that Reuben are pissed off being unknown. But don't call them underdogs - their bite may well be worse than their bark.

A real Latin feel

(Morning Star, Friday 27 July 2007)

ALBUM: Cat Empire - Two Shoes
(Universal)

IF Cat Empire could place a personal ad to attract new fans, it would go something like this: "Aussie six-piece with penchant for jazz fusion seeks ridiculously joy-filled listener for many hours of aural pleasure."

The Cat Empire make music for parties. They enjoy mixing styles up in a big pot of glee and spewing out rock-funk-ska-jazz all over their records. And so they should, they're bloody good at it.

Their third record Two Shoes is a winner for the world music-straddling colossus, reaching the dizzy heights of summer on virtually every track - a Cuban summer of heat and passion, not a soggy British summer.

There's a second on track Days Like This when the human heart is actually at its happiest, so thrilled with the clever lyricism and cheery salsa rhythms that it may well burst.

Recorded in Havana the album has a real Latin feeling, layering trumpets and sax with driving percussion and creating a rich wall of music to dance to. As far as music goes, this is designed to make your life better - all you have to do is bow down to the Cat Empire.

AIR TRAFFIC - FRACTURED LIFE

(AU magazine July 2007)

(Tiny Consumer/EMI)

A summertime record in 2007 has to try extra hard to keep its head above water - for every Holloways, there's a Tiny Dancers trying to out-pop them. Still, Air Traffic take the essence of sunshine and put it into 11 of the bounciest, most radio-friendly piano-driven hits this side of Magic Numbers.
From opener Just Abuse Me, through single Charlotte with its catchy ‘I’m wasted’ refrain, the Bournemouth quartet hold their own against all comers, stepping up the intensity for sweeping Shooting Star and melancholy Your Fractured Life.
Excellent as young indie scenesters, and their ability to slow it down makes them perfect all-rounders. Expect these to be the hit of the festival season, as this record will please 14-40 year olds with no effort.

Missing the hook

(Morning Star, Sunday 24 June 2007)

ALBUM: Editors - An End Has A Start
(Sony)

YOU have to hand it to Editors. Bringing elegiac guitar anthems to the masses straight outta Birmingham garnered them both critical and commercial success which would lead to any more mainstream band - ie Keane - facing accusations of selling out.

But Tom Smith's Midlands miserabilists wore their Echo-style coats and lyrics with all the aplomb of Interpol and the success of their debut album assures them a good hearing for this sophomore effort.

It's a shame, then, that they've made a change in direction. Not from the gloom - it's still front and centre, on the title track here especially.

No, the change of direction has been away from listenable pop music, leaving behind the anthems and the soaring sweep of breakout hit Munich.

From single Smokers Outside the Hospital Doors to When Anger Shows, there's not a hook on the whole record to make radio play a cert.

The guitar work by pixie-cute Chris Urbanowicz has remained passable, but the mourning tone of Smith's vocal makes for depressing listening from start to finish. By the time you get to album closer Well Worn Hand, you'll be glad the start has an end.

Putting the Left into a great big field: Glastonbury preview

(Morning Star, Thursday 21 June 2007)

The Fratellis
(Saturday, 7.45pm, Pyramid Stage)
For sheer festival exuberance and rousing pub songs drenched in singalong genius, Glasgow's best are the top draw on the Pyramid Stage's altogether wicked bill.

Maximo Park
(Saturday, 8pm, Other Stage)
Paul Smith delivers a live show to slay and the new record's strength is in its added rockiness. Mon the Park!

The Holloways
(Sunday, 11.40am, Other Stage)
With single Generator hitting the airwaves hard, there's nothing to stop these Londoners being a band of the weekend.

Young Knives
(Sunday, 4.45pm, John Peel Stage)
Punk reborn, with an edge of surrealism, not to be missed, if only for bassist The House of Lords' legendary banter.

Kate Nash
(Friday, 2.20pm, The Park Stage)
Beauteous Lahndan lady with more than a passing similarity to Jamie T (also one to see - Sunday, 9.25pm, John Peel Stage), Nash mixes feminine minxery with romantic daydreams and dazzles.

A bit backward

(Morning Star, Friday 08 June 2007)

ALBUM: Metro Riots - Night Time Angel Candy
(Universal)

BLAZING a trail, like a set of indie scenesters, straight through Camden, it will come as no surprise to all and sundry that the pseudo-politically monikered Metro Riots hail from London.

The mixing of their stylised indie-punk and standard blues here is quite a treat.

Single New Epidemic is a definite strength in the canon, giving lie to the assumption that young bands don't know what came before.

In fact, maybe Metro Riots' biggest problem would be looking backward a little too much. A band so aware of musical history cannot help but ape. On New Epidemic, as on the excellent Baby You've Become Another Habit, they do make the slip of throwing their punky blues influences into too small a pot, coming out with a 1970s garage band's wet dream of an anthem for disaffected youth.

Still, they rock and they look the part, so go on, Metro Riots, have your moment in the limelight. You've sort of earned it.

Worldwide mix

(Morning Star, Friday 01 June 2007)

ALBUM: Pink Martini - Hey Eugene
(Wrasse Records)

I HAD a pink martini once. It was a bit sickly and, frankly, made the morning after a real gut-wrencher.

But what this Pink Martini promise is less nauseating morning-after regret and more fizzy exuberance and chilled rhythms.

From the outset, frontwoman China Forbes marks herself out as a chameleon, channelling old-school Hollywood Garland glamour on Everywhere before diving headfirst into the sultry Latin rhythms of Tempo Perdido.

In fact, it's changeable throughout. Pink Martini go for full-on salsa from roasting hot Rio on the one hand, being instantly substituted with influences that any world music aficionado would embrace on the other.

For example, the sweet Japanese-language Taya Tan, or the frankly astonishing Bollywood-inspired Arabic language Bukra Wba'do.

If all this sounds like a bit of a mix, it is, but in the best way.

Forbes's astonishing voice guides the shyest of music fans through the most cathartic of musical landscapes and with vigor and class in equal measure.

Pink Martini may take their name from an alcoholic assault weapon, but the aftershock of Hey Eugene is given to freshness and clarity.

THE TWANG - LOVE IT WHEN I FEEL LIKE THIS

(AU magazine June 2007)

(b-unique)

There's nary a music fan in the world who doesn't enjoy a big dumb indie
anthem, and summer is the time to display them, from country's tip to
tail, as beered-up festival goers revel.
The Twang decided this was a basis for a pop career, and have presented 11
tracks for their debut with the potential to sweep a crowd into a frenzy
as surely as 'A Design For Life', all soaring guitars and modern urban
slang.
Their unsavoury deal assures them a stadia-lined future, but
unfortunately, their sound is best defined as 'Jasper Carrott fronting the
Stone Roses'. After the hype of downloads 'Wide Awake' and 'Either Way',
the album's tunefulness -- or lack -- is genuinely disappointing and Phil
Etheridge's heavily-accented voice just verges on comedic.
These Brummies love their modern slang, so they surely won't mind if you
give Love It When I Feel Like This the twang.

GOOD SHOES – THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK

(AU magazine June 2007)

(Brille Records)

Good Shoes’ DIY ethos doesn’t begin and end with their plasticine artwork and use of what sounds like children’s percussive implements, but these are as good cues as any when defining their debut album.
The four piece are heralded by singer Rhys’ shouty London vocal over a fractured guitar riff - a sound of no surprise to the current music fan - but the staccato technique employed on most of the tracks will start to grate.
Single ‘Never Meant To Hurt You’ addresses love with teen clarity – “Life’s a fucking bore” - whilst ‘Small Town Girl’ is similarly angst-ridden. Punky power pop for the pogoing intellectual.

Troubadour of a generation

(Morning Star, Friday 11 May 2007)

LIVE: The Lemonheads, Mandela Hall, Belfast

THE long-haired troubadour onstage this evening was the tabloid fodder of yesteryear. Pete Doherty with arrests for drug offences and shagging supermodels? Pah.

These are paltry tales of rock'n'roll excess compared to Lemonheads' frontman Evan Dando, whose various reported misdeeds are probably too libellous to reprint here.

The Lemonheads' first incarnation made sweet hippy poppy records with a nice line in wry lyrical self-deprecation and a suitably laid-back sound.

Then came Dando's 2003 solo effort Baby I'm Bored LP and, whaddya know? Sweet hippy pop turns out to be in his blood.

Now with a reformed Lemonheads - reformed because there are no original members in this line-up save for Dando himself - the tour of the century is dragging itself laconically around the country.

The crowd tonight are suitably matured. After all, most under-twenties wouldn't have the first notion about the band who set the radio waves alight in 1992 with their cover of Simon and Garfunkel's Mrs Robinson, or melted to the country-folk strains of Big Gay Heart in 1994.

But, as the audience buzzes with anticipation, it becomes clear that Dando, despite his wayward lifestyle and reserved attitude to public appearance, has built up a loyal following across the world.

With a nice mix of old and new music, it is worth noting that old standards such as Bit Part and Alison's Starting to Happen - off the 1992 classic album It's a Shame About Ray - stand shoulder to shoulder with the new material on this year's eponymously named comeback record. The only difference is that the level of voices singing along to It's a Shame About Ray dwarfs the few plaintive voices reciting new material such as Black Gown. It's a measure of fan dedication to the classics.

A half-time acoustic set lulls the crowd nicely, with solo work such as Shots is Fired sitting nicely beside The Outdoor Type from 1997, but there is a flurry of excitement when Dando mistakes a fan shouting: "Play Patience" for a heckler. "Play some songs? I just played one, man," says the voice of a generation before lunging into the crowd for swift justice. Talked over quietly, order resumes and the rest of the band return for a strong finale, following on from a fairly heavy Zep-style guitar freak-out.

Dando, it seems, cannot write a bad song. His knack for singalong verses and heart-wrenching tales of melancholy are the stuff of real pop legends and his onstage persona is so magnetic, so electrifying, that it seems almost criminal that there's ever a time when he isn't performing and weaving his sweet harmonious spell.

The Lemonheads are probably only really about Dando and maybe they only ever were, but there's a heart full of soul right ther and anyone would be honoured to watch the master at work.

Just don't call her Lily

(Morning Star, Friday 20 April 2007)

LIVE: Kate Nash, Spring and Airbrake, Belfast

YOU might well know who pretty singer-songwriter Kate Nash is because of the column inches about her in newspaper supplements. Notably, she's often presented not as an artist in her own right so much as the "new Lily Allen."

The idea of a new Lily Allen is, in itself, preposterous. It's like there being a new new thing to replace a merely slightly less new thing.

Allen has barely straightened her legs and left the pot since releasing her Alright, Still debut to the masses last year.

This sort of lazy comparison is a tool that we music journos often employ when our critical faculties leave us. But, in this case, it springs only from the fact that Kate Nash, like La Allen, is female. And maybe because she likes to speak her mind through music. But that's where the similarities end.

The venue is awash with oestrogen, all young ladies in floaty, hippy clothes ready to bob along to Kate's floaty, hippy music. A few guys are dotted about but, to be honest, they look a bit shifty.

In actuality, Ms Nash is ballsier than a look at her audience would lead you to believe. Decked out in a red ruffled dress with auburn hair spilling over her petite shoulders, Nash makes flirting with the audience an art form, imploring them to move closer to her in the opening minutes of the show with a tinkle of her feminine laugh.

The shifty guys notably swoon at her eyelash-fluttering and the room suddenly envelopes the crowd warmly.

As the vision onstage romps through Caroline's a Victim, the mood is one of '80s electro-pop exuberance and at no other point is Kate's media-given queen of cool Laaandon persona more apparent - "Caroline sits in her room playing killah killah killah killah beats."

But the following mood change is swift and tangible with the introduction of Birds, a ballad of young love conducted in Nash's world, which involves teens sneaking onto public transport without paying and issuing Skins-style declarations of love.

The high point comes at the end, with the production of Merry Happy. A song with home-grown sweetness baked right in, it tells of a suddenly single girl who is trying to assure herself she doesn't need her boy, with the mantra, "I can watch the sunset on my own."

Nash probably feels this herself, but to compare her to Allen and nowt else does her a great disservice.

She must be assured success, with her guileless charm and tunes that successfully marry the banality of everyday life with the enchanting world of young love.

That, and she's one hell of a flirt.

EUGENE FRANCIS JUNIOR - THE GOLDEN BEATLE

(AU magazine April 2008)

(LEGION)

LIMPING in like a weirdy beardy scholar, Eugene Francis Jr is enough to put anyone off their falafel.
Hailing from Wales, this debut is packed with socio-political comment and poppy tunes in equal measure. However, the nauseating aroma of incense sticks speaks loudly of undergraduate revolution circa 1992, as repackaged from 1968.
The mystical whirr of new single ‘Beginners’ trades on spiritual enlightenment as if all the cool kids are buying it down TopShop. They’re not – and on ‘Hobo Occupation’ (shudder), the naffness of lyric ‘the politicians are going straight to hell’ is something that would embarrass even the most reactionary of dippy hippies. Like The Levellers never left the building.

Suede man's epic fall from grace

(Morning Star, Friday 30 March 2007)

ALBUM: Brett Anderson - Brett Anderson
(Vital)

POISE is everything. Pretension, or the appearance of being pretentious, is key in pop.

In the heady days of the early 1990s, indie bands looked like Fraggles. The sartorially and intellectually challenged days of baggy left a sour taste in the mouths of music fans looking for more grace and style. They were looking for Suede.

Four whey-faced, fey, wasted indie kids with their roots in Thatcher's grim Britain, Suede shone a light on the bleak streets of modern Britain.

Theirs was a kingdom of urban wastelands and adolescent ankle sock dramas and, with well-read Brett Anderson at the helm, they offered intelligent pop for the disaffected youth unable to identify with the likes of the great unwashed superstars of grunge Kurt Cobain and Eddie Vedder.

So, Anderson has earned his stripes as a forerunner and a pioneer. He formed one half of probably the greatest songwriting partnership of the 1990s and gave nothing but sensational column inches for a music press foaming at the mouth for an erudite, self-aware frontman.

It's a bit of a shame that it's come to this for the great man, his first solo effort.

In fairness, his voice is still unique and attention-grabbing, if you like that sort of thing. He drags the emotion out of every note on debut single Love is Dead and, elsewhere, his singing sits well with the predominantly slow-paced tracks.

The real letdown here is, sorry to say, the lyrics. Dust and Rain plumbs new depth with its "I am the needle, you are the vein," while the less said about The More We Possess The Less We Own Of Ourselves, the better.

The strangely familiar chiming guitars of Intimacy bring back the Suede tingle, but the "Intimacy, I want you to be part of me" refrain is a little nauseating.

From such incredible stock, Anderson's made the leap to peddling sixth form poetry, becoming a slightly embarrassing earnest songwriter. Is it even earnest? Maybe he thinks this is how he should write.

It would be churlish to deny Anderson was ever prone to a little pretension.

Ditto's surprise

(Morning Star, Friday 16 March 2007)

ALBUM: The Gossip - Standing In The Way Of Control
(Backyard)

AS tabloid fodder goes, the Gossip's Beth Ditto is up there with the best. She has been labelled a "fat lesbian," but the Arkansas native actually has a lot more to her than that.

She cuts an erudite, intelligent swathe through other US government botherers and has certainly paid her dues before coming to this, what people are calling The Gossip's "success."

So, after all that, the music better be pretty good and - sigh with relief - it is.

Mostly because Ditto's pipes can adequately cover any style, from bellicose liberal rant to gentle lover's croon.

Surprisingly, much of Standing in the Way of Control is a lament for love, for society and for the lack of a perfect life, but not an outraged rant.

Standing in the Way of Control, the single, is the highest tempo track on here, but songs such as Holy Water and Dark Lines showcase a softer, more sensuous sound which gives The Gossip a roundedness which often eludes their garage punk peers.

Ditto's social activism may spook the coy and it would be fair enough to fear that her self-righteous indignation might bleach out all the soul from the music, but doubters should be ready for a surprise.

Bizarre abode

(Morning Star, Friday 16 March 2007)

ALBUM: The Horrors - Strange House
(Polydor)

IF you believe nothing else about The Horrors, you must believe that they do have a bloody strange house.

In this album, they sing about spectres of serial killers past drifting by in Jack the Ripper, violent femmes in Sheena is a Parasite and the terminally troubled Morgan in Excellent Choice, who wishes his family dead.

Like Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster before them, The Horrors are not all about making crazy eyes and butchering kittens. Rather, they take the best parts of goth and marry them with a punk rock sensibility, giving birth to a most uneasy alliance. It's a bit like pantomime, but with an underlying stench of dread and, well, horror.

The cacophonous result which springs forth from these art school boys makes their debut one of the records of the year.

All the same, Strange House is a cool place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there.

John Simpson - Man of the World

(My Weekly magazine, 3 March 2007)

She's got balls

(Morning Star, Friday 02 March 2007)

ALBUM: Charlotte Hatherley - The Deep Blue
(Little Sister)

CHARLOTTE Hatherley may have left a pop-punk trio of men in Ash, but make no mistake about it - she's the one with the testosterone.

Her kick-arse attitude aside, the video for The Deep Blue's first single offering I Want You To Know shows a beat 'em up Charl in fighting form with more muscles than Madonna.

But don't let the fact that she could punch your lights out cold force you into enjoying this record.

If you've any sense, you'll decide that this is one of the poppiest, rockiest, ballsiest, sweetest, coolest, hottest female artiste records to hit the shelves on musical merit alone.

The high point is the single. Lower points are apparent in some of the dodgier lyrics. But laying themselves bare is what these pop stars are all about, so just be prepared for it - and dive in.

THE DRAYTONES – FOREVER ON

(AU magazine March 2007)

(1965 Records)

A London-based Anglo-Argentinian trio with a penchant for jazz and two feet firmly in 1965 –year and label – The Draytones hail from the same stable as The View.
This alone should trigger the ‘scene’ warning loud and clear, but The Draytones’ sound is mercifully different from the Dundonian noiseniks.
In fact, the best word for this first album is ‘schizophrenic’, taking in as it does influences of garage rock, Babyshambles and even Jungle Book-style jazz on ‘Trafalgar Square’.
First single, ‘Keep Loving Me’ pushes some rock buttons, but the differences between the songs – from acoustic ‘Out Of This World’ to the soft-shoe ‘Trafalgar Square’ - translate as a distinct lack of cohesion.
With the varied influences they’re pulling together, it’s less than clear if the band are leaders or followers, but the latter seems a safer bet.

The return of rave

(Morning Star, Friday 09 February 2007)

LIVE: Klaxons/CSS/Sunshine Underground/New Young Pony Club, Sheffield Octagon

KIRSTIE MAY investigates the new rave phenomenon that's infecting dancefloors all over Britain this year.

The occurrence of the "new rave" phenomenon is ostensibly a terrifying event for those who remember old rave and, more specifically, for those who love music.

Who could celebrate the days of glowsticks and oversized dummies, surgical masks and hoodies?

There was an age when music lacked smarts and, crucially, heart.

With New Young Pony Club, one wonders if there's one member of the band who identifies with new rave.

Wearing their new romantic heart on their sleeves, they have the whiff of Duran Duran fronted by Tracey Emin.

But track Get Dancey is a surefire floorfiller and the overall set gives a pleasant glow to the unsuspecting crowd, most of whom are too young to remember anything before 1996.

But they're certainly not too young to realise that the Sunshine Underground are a bunch of chancers, tossing off a substandard set of dirges wherein the cowbell - yes, cowbell - is king.

Singer Craig Wellington, from Leeds, wears a menacing Top Man hoodie and has an arrogant persona- that's cribbed from Liam Gallagher. Piffle.

CSS are a band who revel in fun. Coming on draped in black sheets to the all too familiar strains of 1993 hit No Limits by Dutch chart-botherers 2Unlimited, singer Lovefoxxx discards her attire to eventually reveal the marginally less unsettling lilac lycra bodysuit which forms her second skin.

The Brazilians race through a set culled from their successful debut album and the underagers and ageing ravers alike find nowt at fault here, as Lovefoxx bounds like a demonic Jane Fonda, all flailing limbs and exuberance.

As a band of six, CSS really do fill out the stage and the arrival of Klaxons, a pitiful fourpiece, is a bit of a letdown.

But, with the magnetic stylings of singer Jamie Reynolds, the crowd quickly forgets all that came before.

To the untrained ear, their track The Bouncer would seem to have rave - the proper, no-brainer, old-school kind - stamped right through it like Blackpool rock.

Some wag in the crowd even throws one of the old-style Altern-8 face masks on the stage, which the guitarist toys with before deciding against it.

From Atlantis to Interzone is surely a lost dance classic of the early 1990s, packing a euphoric punch that any self-respecting noughties hitmakers should eschew at once.

Klaxons' trick, though, is to marry a set of harder dance with the sweet renderings of their own sounds - like current radio-friendly unit-shifter Golden Skans.

And that's how they disarm their audience, it seems, by wrongfooting their ear.

For every Four Horsemen of 2012 or Magick, stuffed full of rave goodness, there's a heartfelt plea from these four misfits, such as their glorious cover of Not Over Yet.

Klaxons are heralded by "those in the know" as the new rave figureheads who flew the coop before it took proper hold.

Well, whether they're pigeonholing themselves or not, they are heading up this bill, but, for them, labels are irrelevant - they're making tunes for music lovers.

No talent from new kids of rock

(Morning Star, Friday 09 February 2007)

LIVE: NME Indie Rock Tour, Sheffield Octagon

A SHOW featuring the newest rock kids on the block was always going to be bedlam. The event of the indie calendar, the NME Indie Rock tour, rolled into town with a kerfuffle and plenty of hairy boys, as Mumm-ra, The Horrors, The Automatic and The View came up against each other in Sheffield.

Unfortunately, Mumm-ra are about as uninspiring as a young band have any right to be. The single What Would Steve Do is pleasant enough, but there's a craving for innovation in the crowd here that just can't be sated by these Bexhill-on-Sea upstarts.

Next up, The Horrors show themselves to be a pale imitation of the goth bands that they so fervently wish to emulate, but their raft of vicious, spat-through songs and bouffant hairdos by art school prancing ponies actually works.

When Faris Rotter sings, it's easy to imagine that he hates himself as much as he deserves, and that's sort of endearing.

Single Sheena is a Parasite makes the impact here and the stories of riots ensuing at their shows seem all too accurate when the thrashing well and truly kicks off.

Welsh one-hit wonders The Automatic are a victory of the catchy chorus. Despite their gimmick of having two vocalists - one shouting incomprehensibly, one trilling tunefully - aligning them all too closely to Linkin Park, they have anchored themselves in the public consciousness with the infuriatingly singable Monster, which has every audience member in paroxysms of joy here.

But the rest of their efforts are, unfortunately, lacklustre, filtered-down versions.

Headliners The View (pictured) are this year's surprise hit - surprise, because there's no earthly way that these buffoons should have a recording contract, much less be allowed to peddle their sub-Oasis drivel to the honest music fans of Britain.

The event of Scouse-accented Kyle Falconer's puberty still appears to be some way off, but he and his band of miscreants are somehow dodging schooldays with nauseating Britpop rubbish such as current hit Same Jeans.

As trends go, it's been a long time since the NME set them. But, with the "talent" on show here tonight, it's clear that they're doing their damnedest to run their own once good name into the ground.

Second-rate indie stomper

(Morning Star, Friday 12 January 2007)

ALBUM: The View - Hats Off to the Buskers
(1965 Records)

THE View are not the latest "best new band in Britain," as touted by many in the music press.

Their sneers and snotty attidude are a stone's throw from such rock luminaries as Lil' Chris off Rock School and their Britpop-by-numbers leaves them far short of many contemporaries.

From the depths of 1995, they've made the most of their limited talents on this second-rate indie stomper of a record - they've half-inched both sound and swagger from such working-class scamps as Arctic Monkeys, but they just don't have the charisma to make it stick.

Superstar Tradesmen, a cynical, biting attack on the working people of their rundown hometown Dundee, has garnered the band a reputation, but, the truth is, their "punk" posing is straight out of the NME, their ethos wrenched from the newly media-savvy world of record company execs trawling MySpace.com for the next big thing.

Elsewhere, on the raucous Street Lights and single Wasted Little DJs, there's not a bad effort at guitar rock karaoke and no-one could blame The View for trying to escape from the misery of Dryburgh through the medium of music.

In fact, with that in mind, The View deserve snaps for effort - remember that and drop them a few coppers when they proffer their Burberry caps in your direction in the City Square.

But the decision to mix the lyrical poetry of Dodgy with the adopted swagger of Rick Witter is really a poor one.

The View's debut is overhyped and undercooked, which is probably why they've taken their hats off to the buskers - they know that's where they'll be themselves within the year.

A new direction

(Morning Star, Friday 12 January 2007)

ALBUM: The Good, The Bad and The Queen - The Good, The Bad and The Queen
(Parlophone)

THERE'S a prevalent marine theme on the debut release from Damon Albarn's latest outfit.

From the "ship across the estuary" on opener History Song, Albarn, along with The Clash's legendary Paul Simonon, Tony Allen (Africa 70/Fela Kuti) and Simon Tong (The Verve), lead listeners through a tempestuous oceanic landscape.

It's a refreshing take on modern life, but the relentless reinforcement, from "seas in our minds" on A Soldier's Tale to Nature Springs, the gentle swell of metaphors slowly begins to drown the subtleties of what is a truly beautiful record.

High points are Herculean, which is understated but unfeasibly strong, and Green Fields. The latter is a slightly clumsy socio-political comment on the state - and wars - that we're in, referencing tidal waves and the "bad man's dream," but it is doubtless a tour de force from a man better known for monkeying around.

From a lifetime's work with Blur, a band keen to espouse the virtues of London, this release is really a compendium of the true tales of Albion, awash not only with literary imagery but chillingly perfect vocal harmonies and a melancholy which none but the most optimistic of fans could have believed Albarn capable of since the Gorillaz warfare of 2001.

New ravers

(Morning Star, Friday 19 January 2007)

ALBUM: The Klaxons - Myths of the Near Future
(Polydor)

WHETHER or not the so-called nu-rave scene is an NME construct is, in actuality, a bit like the argument on whether or not there is racism in the s'leb Big Brother house - completely irrelevant now. What we are left to deal with is the international fallout. Or, in nu-rave's case, the Klaxons.

So, do the flag-wavers for 1992 stand proud without the crutch of a "scene" to hold them up? Truthfully, they really do.

The dreamy mid-80s pop of single Golden Skans sits surprisingly well beside the frankly terrifying Atlantis to Interzone, which is a bit like being beaten round the head by MDMA-abusing youths with glowsticks. But, you know, in a good way.

The high point, somewhat sadly, comes in the form of a cover. The version here of Planet Perfecto's It's Not Over Yet is, frankly, astonishing, imbued, as it is, with all the longing and loss of the original. With added rave beats.

Although the debate will continue to rage across the globe, let us put it to rest now - The Klaxons have made an astoundingly good debut.