James Blake - James Blake

A&M
Released: February 7th 2011

James Blake is virtually peerless. This is not to say that his debut album is wholly original. On the contrary, it draws inspiration from a variety of sources. It is to mean that James Blake works solely on his own terms and isn’t afraid in the slightest to delight, surprise, or disappoint listeners. Blake’s growth has been nothing short of phenomenal and not even the most astute in the dubstep scene could have initially predicted anything so markedly diverse as this self-titled release to come from the 22-year-old producer. But 2010 was a definitive year for Blake. His CMYK EP propelled him to the forefront of the underground, while the piano-driven Klavierwerke hinted strongly at the artistic direction of his successive full-length.

Even from the album’s cover art you get a sense of the split personality of Blake’s music, encapsulated by the ghostly overlaying of his image. On ‘The Wilhelm Scream’, Blake’s voice is almost lost in a haze of distortion and pulsing sub-bass, haunting the back of your mind while he sings about yearning and loss: “I don’t know about my dreams / I don’t know about my dreaming anymore / All that I know is I’m falling, falling, falling - might as well fall in.” The track that follows, ‘I Never Learnt To Share’, builds around the sparseness of a simple drum kick and what sounds like an askew Ben Frost melody, along with the repetition of a two-line stanza: “My brother and my sister don’t speak to me / But I don’t blame them, I don’t blame them.” After 3 minutes and 41 seconds of barrenness, the song bursts into a mind-warping mental breakdown with a  drop of warbling bass.

Bon Iver-inspired tracks ‘Lindesfarne I’ and ‘II’ precede the beautiful lead-single ‘Limit To Your Love’, exhibiting the same vocoder/acoustic guitar dynamic that Justin Vernon employs on ‘Woods’. ‘Give Me My Month’ is a highlight of the record’s more vocally- driven and sonically-subdued second half and the album’s gentle close provides a pause for thought about where Blake will go next. Like 2010, this coming year will be a shaping one for Blake as he juggles his new role as an emerging mainstream artist with his already established life as an electronic producer.

Luke Morgan Britton

Four Tet - There Is Love In You

It's been over four years since Kieran Hebden released his last album as Four Tet. In the meantime he's been busy in almost every other way possible, cropping up everywhere as producer, remixer, label boss and collaborator, most notably on some intriguing and frequenty stunning work with jazz drummer Steve Reid. Amidst all that, he also reformed his old post-rock outfit Fridge alongside neo-folkster Adem, which must have felt like a slighlty awkward indie school reunion, each member having followed very different career paths.

There will, however, always be room for the uniquely mesmerising sound collages he makes under the Four Tet moniker. Having become the go-to guy for intelligent, often subdued electronica, previous effort Everything Ecstatic left us with a jazzy, often manic sound, despite coming up slightly short in comparison to the modern classic status enjoyed by his masterpieces, Pause from 2001 and 2003's Rounds. 

There Is Love In You (an uplifting title if there ever was one) is just as lush as any of its predecessors, concentrating more on electronic and vocal samples than the earthier instrumentation which often shapes his work. The opening duo of 'Angel Echoes' and 'Love Cry' are both built around warped female vocals, creating a slight creepiness that nicely balances out the prettiness of the music. Elsewhere 'Circling' and 'This Unfolds' - as you'd expect from those titles - play around with loops to spellbinding effect. And nothing ever outstays its welcome: 'Love Cry' is the only epic here, and its nine minutes are far too entrancing to ever qualify as overblown.

Hebden has always been at the forefront of dance music, but on this album he's included a few songs you might actually be able to dance to. On 'Sing' he delves straight into techno, while the shuffling beats of 'Plastic People' sound crafted for the dancefloor in every way, minus the odd baby sample at the end.

There's a few nods to earlier albums. Closer 'She Just Likes To Fight' is the most gorgeous song on the album, an organic slow jam complete with cowbells and bongos. It resembles, well, 'Slow Jam' which finished off Rounds. There's nothing earth-shattering on here, but what's most important is that every track has the warm glow and instant likeabilty we've been missing all these years.

Mike Mantin

Charlotte Gainsbourg - IRM

It’s difficult to anticipate an album’s design when the daughter of an English Rose and Parisian love rat commissions a prodigious American purveyor of goofball funk to write music for her. So IRM, the collaboration of Charlotte Gainsbourg and Beck is, initially, a confounding one.

On cursory inspection, IRM plays like an out and out Beck record, albeit bleaker, more isolated and with Gainsbourg’s wispy vocals draped in place of Beck’s blocky rapping. Considering Beck took all songwriting and lyrical duties this is understandable, but with further scrutiny, the frequently quieting sternness suggests Gainsbourg anchored his hand in more remote territory. In the most apparent assertion of her influence, the title track features the cold buzzing of an MRI scanner (inspired by Gainsbourg’s experiences following recent head trauma) alongside a throbbing bass line typical of Beck. Though other examples are less overt, they are numerous: the restraint of the harp and murmurings of ‘Vanities’; the French poem ‘L’Adieu’ recited to close the album. The two songs (‘Trick Pony’ and ‘Greenwich Mean Time’) most congruous with Beck’s off-kilter back catalogue are actually the sorest detractors from an otherwise innately calm work.

Unsurprisingly then, IRM resembles Beck’s sombre past work, Sea Change. The cover ‘Le Chat Du Café Des Artistes’ could be inconspicuously twinned with Sea Change’s ‘Paper Tiger’ (which is itself heavily indebted to Gainsbourg Senior). In fact, with its slight, continental charm, IRM is superior to Sea Change. Gainsbourg’s hauntingly reserved whisper is a better match for Beck’s low-key approach than his own voice, which approaches a monotonous croon on his own slower songs. And whilst Beck’s production and instrumentation are always meticulous and lavish, they have never sounded this fragile or intimate.

Questions of accreditation aren’t necessary, as Gainsbourg didn’t hire Beck as a ghost-writer. IRM sounds like an artisan trying to convey the shy subconscious of his chanteuse, each song seemingly based on some fascinating idea plucked from the fog of an elusive persona. If Beck needs to piece together fragments of Gainsbourg’s thoughts to produce some of his best work, we’re better off for the collaboration.    

Dylan Williams

Hot Chip - One Life Stand

Hot Chip may have finally found the balance between synthy hijinks and melodic sincerity. Although less immediately gratifying than previous efforts, One Life Stand contains nine mature, well-rounded nuggets of pop genius, and one dire ballad (the aptly-named ‘Slush’).

The whole affair is decidedly understated, with really only the title track offering the kind of dancefloor potential seen in ‘Over and Over’ or ‘Ready for the Floor’. Everything comes together with artisan precision to create a rewarding journey that both calms and unsettles the ears, most adeptly through the looming pads, muted steel drums and half-mumbled vocals of ‘Keep Quiet’.

Whilst not in any way alien to existing fans, One Life Stand should finally attain Hot Chip the full scope of respect they deserve.

Matt Grimble 

Jaga Jazzist - One Armed Bandit

After a painfully inactive five year gap, this Norwegian nine-piece return to reclaim another maligned genre: prog. The accursed catch-all “electronica” and the substanceless “post rock” were transformed on previous offferings into marvelously eccentric and beautiful opuses; it seems with every influence of supposed ill repute they add to the palette, by some Nordish voodoo their scope and power widen without dilution.

Whilst there’s something distasteful about riff workouts,  the kaleidoscopic title track is crass-free, psychedelic rather than overwrought. The spacey, ‘70s-aping polyrhythms of ‘220V/Spektral’ are enchanting rather than cheesy, and on ‘Toccata’ the band wrap themselves around some decidedly Reich-esque minimalism without breaking so much as a sweat.

Simon Docherty

Midlake - The Courage of Others

A new decade, and a new start? Well, for Midlake in 2010 this rings only partly true. If the sound of their 2006 breakthrough album, The Trials of Van Occupanther dealt heavily in Fleetwood Mac stylings, then this new record is instead the result of long listens to retro English folk – think Fairport Convention, Steeleye Span, and Pentangle, all of whom frontman Tim Smith admits are integral to the sound of The Courage of Others. Gone is the bombast of ‘Roscoe’, replaced by the “fair maiden” sound of ‘Acts Of Man’ and, well, a number of… flutes.  And yet this change sounds like a natural progression rather than a sea-change for Midlake, with the same haunting vocal harmonies and spacious guitar sounds making for an experience that is just as affecting as Van Occupanther if not more.

Tim Wong

Beach House - Teen Dream

With our legs on the edge and our feet on the horizon" sings Victoria Legrand on '10 Mile Stereo'. Although it's possible she may have lost an octave to her cigarette habit, the tone of her voice - both delicate and androgynous - is invaluable to the Beach House sound, when combined with old-timey organs and the most melodic of guitar-playing. 2008's Devotion saw a bright awakening from the autumnal drowsiness of their debut, and although Teen Dream doesn't see a total retreat to their hazy beginnings, the sun is definitely setting on this album. It's a clash of colour and warmth, where more ambitious beats and spirited melodies have allowed Beach House to create a record of accessible pop songs with the charm and atmosphere they've proven time and again they can't shake.

Leah Pritchard

Delphic - Acolyte

A glance at previous occupants of the BBC’s annual ‘Sound of...’ wagers for musical domination in the ensuing year would seem to suggest Auntie knows best. Bloc Party, Klaxons, Foals, Vampire Weekend, McFly and La Roux had barely bothered the public conscious when they appeared in their respective years on the poll, but all have gone on to define the direction of pop music in one way or another, for better or worse. The prophecy is not necessarily self-fulfilling though, with many of their tips struggling to break beyond the initial hype. Either way, earning a healthy bronze position in this year’s list is a big deal for this six-legged Manchester outfit, and a great deal of their future is riding on the success of Acolyte.

Album opener ‘Clarion Call’ sets the scene aptly with a punchy, theatrical progression of climatic synths and choppy guitar, filled with desperation and ambition. Anyone who has been following the band and the three singles this album has spawned until now will be familiar with their brand of spaced out euphoric pads, massive hooks and ping-pong clicks and blips, a sound they coherently abide by throughout. In doing so, they manage to effectively channel the spirit of 90s acid house and earnest 80s synth groups through a strong grounding in modern indie songwriting. Beyond the three singles released in the buildup to this record, the highlight is certainly the pulsating ‘Halcyon’, a future hit for sure.

Unfortunately the boldness of the instrumentation is let down at times by the lyrics which, although well delivered, grope slightly too often at vague concepts without really saying anything deep. Likewise, in places the dynamic shifts and build-ups are too abrupt and unsubtle to give this release the immersive qualities it calls for.

Although not without flaws, Acolyte is a robust and well-crafted collection. It has the potential to cement Delphic as a formidable entity in the British music scene, and may lead them to fill a position which has been conspicuously vacant of late in the world of mature English pop. If Acolyte is indicative of the sound of 2010, we should be in for a good year.

Val Thomas

Laura Veirs - July Flame

To date, Laura Veirs hasn’t topped the songstress stakes. She lacks some of Cat Power’s sultry passion and she’s a little more bookish. She doesn’t possess the vocal tempest of Neko Case (who literally sang as a tornado last year), but Veirs has never sounded like one to pitch a disaster movie. She puts out slow-burners like July Flame, and with it she deserves a place amongst the best of them.

Thematically, the album is strongly grounded in mid-summer. The balmy images are ample - buzzing fireflies, daffodil fields, riverside dances - but Veirs can’t quite break her slight forlorn streak and the music doesn’t relay the straightforward, hazy connotations of an August campfire. Instead there’s an underlying delicacy, an awareness of the temporality of the season.

In fact, occasionally troubled times are more focal, as with the lyrics of hornet poison and lashings on ‘Wide-Eyed, Legless’, and there’s a sense that Veirs has recently dealt with emotional upheaval. But if there’s a message underpinning July Flame, it’s that she spent the summer convalescing - canning windfalls and bottling hone - and by the song’s end she’s proclaiming “No more looking back/faded epitaph”. Eventually she’s even idolising Carol Kaye, the bassist who played on the most unabashedly jubilant music of our time.

Regardless of what bought it on, the peaceful resolve suits her. The best songs here (the title track, ‘Life Is Good Blues’, ‘Summer Is The Champion’) all combine sweet temperate odes, hints of the organic and a little edge of fragility. If it’s possible to write a soft, reserved paean to living through the summer, Veirs has it here. It's a hard trick to make economy seem meaningful; where the simple plucking of a banjo is more moving than a claw-hammered solo, where understatement is still effusive, where essentially sparse songs speak volumes. At the centre of July Flame’s success is well-crafted reticence.

This is Veirs’ seventh album, but it still seems as ripe and abundant as the peach of the title. When she’s writing songs this good, I don’t see July Flame signalling a fade into the autumn of her career.

Dylan Williams

Live Review - 10 Years of ATP

To celebrate its tenth birthday, ATP has pulled together a line-up rich with bands from their own label, past curators of the festival and legendary ATP performers.

With such prestige, one can only imagine that bands playing here must feel like bedroom artists did when John Peel got their name wrong or when the NME listed a gig they were playing for the first time. Indeed, some bands are less coy than others: Afrirampo babble near-English gratitudes while performing a special ‘Happy Birthday ATP!’ dance/semaphore intro, Stephen Malkmus is visibly heartened by the crowd’s affection for him and Deerhoof are delirious - though this could be due to Satomi Matsuzaki’s sunny disposition, the frontwoman wheeling around the stage like her rider is made up entirely of Smarties.

Fever To Tell by Yeah Yeah Yeahs was released, many present would’ve been too young to attend this festival, but not too young to revel in its punky vitality. The record is the first to get the Don’t Look Back treatment this weekend, a complete play-through on stage – one of ATP’s calling cards. Karen O’s chutzpah must be admired – she combats arriving on stage forty minutes late to a torrent of boos with “WE ONLY JUST GOT HERE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS,” spraying champagne over the photographers in the pit and howling her way down the tracklisting with reckless abandon. ‘Maps’ proves the most touching moment of the weekend – a calm after the storm, a time for tears, kisses and heartbeats so big your ribcage can barely deal with them.

By contrast, Sunn O))) are utterly terrifying, Attila Csihar coming on half-man, half-tree with the lasers embedded in his gloves piercing the thick fog the stage is constantly filled with. The sub-bass growl vibrates every part of every body in the room, sending us off to sleep on the Sunday night feeling thoroughly disturbed by what has occurred. Another weekend of fascinating spectacles, frenetic Crazy Horse dancing and limit-stretching feats of bodily/auditory endurance – only 145 days til the next one!


Jon Fisher

Owen Pallett - Heartland

Former Arcade Fire member and string arranger extrordinaire Owen Pallett has always had a nerdy streak, but Heartland might well be his opus for dorkiness. Based on a sprawling narrative that charts a scrappy hero's quest to traverse a fictitious land and murder the author of his world, it seems slightly ironic that he chose to retire his Final Fantasy moniker. In spite of this, Pallett's third album is his finest to date; true, the concept might rob it of the emotional tether that gave previous releases so much power, but at its expense we're awarded with his most beautiful work thus far.

Bolstered by the Czech Philharmonic Orchestera, Heartland marks a grand broadening in scope. Arcade Fire drummer Jeremy Gara lends Pallett previously unrealised kineticism, whilst the myriad intricacies in the arangements give his orchestral pop as much depth as it has beauty.

Its unfortunate that the convoluted story might be off putting to some, as Heartland has enough fragility and scope to rival the best of Sufjan; alas, such is the curse of nerdiness. 

Simon Docherty

Race Horses - Goodbye Falkenburg

As lazy as it sounds, it is hard not to compare Aberystwyth’s Race Horses with fellow Welsh eccentrics Super Furry Animals. Like the Furries’ earliest works, Goodbye Falkenburg presents the listener with an almost intangible melting pot of influences, tracks such as lead single ‘Cake’ evoking 60s garage and psychedelia as it ponders on the joys of girls and home baking. However, such idiosyncrasies mean Race Horses find themselves running risk of self-indulgence towards the final furlong; faux-naval ditty ‘Captain Penelope Smith’ certainly succeeds in inducing seasickness. But there is still much to be content with on Goodbye Falkenburg. Maybe it’s guitar distortion that recreates the moment Ray Davies first took a razorblade to his amplifier speakers or the unashamed abundance of electric organs and studio-reversed pianos. Either way, there’s enough promise on here to suggest Race Horses may one day gallop alongside the Furries.

Jon Bauckham

Promised Works special: Epigram's favourite albums of the decade

As the first decade of the twenty-first century draws to a close, Epigram's music writers look back on their favourite releases from 2000 to 2009.

SINCE I LEFT YOU

The Avalanches
November 2000
XL Records

Since I Left You, the only long player from Melbourne’s finest plunderphonics collective The Avalanches is an album that has rarely left my side since uncovering a copy in my local library several summers ago. Released at the start of the decade, it is an album that manages to sound so overwhelmingly fresh on every listen, brimming with sheer energy and charm in equal measure, a quality that few dance albums since have managed to achieve.

Moreover, it is difficult not to appreciate Since I Left You as a technical masterpiece, painstakingly assembled from over 3,500 vinyl samples seamlessly woven together, twisting, turning and metamorphosing through an infinite number of genres in little over an hour. From ‘70s funk outfit Mandrill to Madonna, Boney M to foul-mouthed rapper Blow Fly, everything is here. But it is when these scraps of nostalgia are brought together under the helm of The Avalanches that something beautiful, danceable and downright brilliant is born.

Jon Bauckham

BURN, PIANO ISLAND, BURN
The Blood Brothers
March 2003
V2 Records
All snarling, barbed wire guitars and shrieking dual vocals, Burn, Piano Island, Burn is a fairly divisive listen. For my money it’s the apex of hardcore and nothing since has come close. Its relentlessly experimental, surreal stream of conscious poetry is matched by a tour de force of unbridled decaying youth chaos that barely lets up in intensity even in its most introspective moments.

The Blood Brothers had no qualms with following the San Diego punk scene’s reactionary adoption of femininity; none more represented than Johnny Whitney’s half screamed falsetto. Paired with Jordan Billie’s baritone vocals, the whole record exudes an almost sexual menace which up til then was completely foreign to the genre; one of many interesting contradictory dualities. Out of the chaotic discordance come strangely catchy repeated mantras, whilst bizarre avant punk freakouts are recorded with almost radio friendly precision and clarity. It’s a difficult but ultimately rewarding listen, a complex piece of art punk unrivaled in this decade and unlikely to be in the next.

Simon Docherty

I AM A BIRD NOW
Anthony & The Johnsons
February 2005
Secretly Canadian

I Am A Bird Now is a punishing album emotionally, painfully involving the listener with intimate lyrics dealing with sexuality and the longing for a new life incarnated in the body of the opposite sex. Antony’s characteristic voice, strongly influenced by the equally tormented Nina Simone, allows for the delicate yet powerful delivery of the lyrics, which together with the tactful musical accompaniment presented by The Johnsons makes every syllable resonate in your heart. Musically, the album is timeless combining new and old with an impressive list of collaborators ranging from the contemporaries Devendra Banhart and Rufus Wainwright, to the icons Lou Reed and Boy George. Particularly impressive is the manner in which every collaborator has his distinct place in the album and can clearly be identified while the album remains unified and constant throughout, with a sound that will be forever accredited to the Johnsons.

Daniel Sanchez Clemente

TOMAHAWK
Tomahawk
October 2001
Ipecac

What do you get when you mix the Jesus Lizard, the Melvins, Helmet and alt. rock titans Faith No More? The answer: Tomahawk, a band that lives up to its frightening potential on paper. Their eponymous debut came screaming onto the scene in 2001, and remains one of Mike Patton’s most consistent post- Faith No More projects to date. Sonically the album is a journey through America’s sordid underbelly; windswept desert highways and serial killer fantasies are evoked through dirty lo-fi guitars that jut out across huge, distorted bass riffs whilst John Stanier (now in Battles) lashes out lethal rhythms befitting of the schizophrenic visions of Mr. Patton. Vocally he lets rip with trademark intensity, yelping, screaming and melodising his way through an album full of dark twists and turns, from the grinding nightmare of ‘God Hates a Coward’ to the poignant release of ‘Cul De Sac’.

Mike Hine

LONDON ZOO
The Bug
July 2008
Ninja Tune

The Bug, AKA veteran electronic producer and dubstep pioneer Kevin Martin, manages to effortlessly blend dubstep, dancehall, ragga, and a touch of Basic Channel-esque techno to create one of the most unique and least forgettable albums of the last decade. Featuring some of dancehall’s finest MCs, musically it’s unpredictable, with jumpy unquantised beats and shifting rhythms. Every time you think you know where the music is going, it changes again. It’s chock full of wobbling synths, slick beats, intense bass, inviting grooves, and great MCs. What more could you want?

David Biddle

LE FIL
Camille
February 2005
Virgin France

With its squelching mix of percussive mouth raspberries, gulps and erratic vocal ticks, Le Fil is unlike any album made this decade. True, it shares a similar ambition to Björk’s Medúlla, to investigate the most meandering possibilities of the human voice (coincidentally, they both comment on the American government’s response to 9/11), but it transcends its self-imposed conceptual limitations. Working around a single note (“le fil” means the thread or wire) a double bass and keyboard, Camille moves between beatboxing like a new wave JT, emoting in powerful, wave-like swoops and fiercely spitting contradictions on the three parts of ‘Janine’ as if embroiled in a battle rap with a dictionary. But that’s not to say you need to know any French to appreciate this record – you can stop and start at “magnifique”.

Laura Snapes

BOYS AND GIRLS IN AMERICA
The Hold Steady
October 2006
Vagrant Records

The Hold Steady are unjustly tagged as a bar band. When have you ever heard a bar band reel off literate tales of John Berryman conversing with the devil before diving into the Mississippi, a girl who can predict the outcome of any horse race but gets too high to reap the benefits, or of lovers who meet in the first aid tent after ODing at a festival? Boys and Girls in America represents the ebullient spirit of youthful excesses better than any other album this decade, and the kaleidoscope of bright confetti falling on screaming, sweaty teenagers is perhaps the most pertinent album cover of the 2000’s. Kerouac was clearly more of a jazz man, but if he’d have heard The HS playing songs from Boys and Girls in America (even in a bar) somewhere, I know he’d have been real proud of these guys.

Dylan Williams

HISSING FAUNA, ARE YOU THE DESTROYER?
of Montreal
January 2007
Polyvinyl

An endlessly imaginative indie band that knows how to make people dance makes a disco-pop album which is thoroughly depressing: of Montreal’s astonishing Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer? delivers on all fronts. Wildly creative and original, especially for a band’s eighth (!) album, this saw frontman Kevin Barnes write and record most of the record himself, turning it into an outlet for the personal demons tearing him apart. But while the lyrics are bleak, there’s not a dirge to be seen. ‘A Sentence Of Sorts In Kongsvinger’ begins with an infectious ice-cream-van synth riff, only to deliver the sucker punch of, “I spent the winter on the verge of a nervous breakdown whilst living in Norway.” And the second half, which sees him transform into his latest alter-ego, 40-year-old black transsexual Georgie Fruit, adds an even weirder dimension to the catharsis. Immediately loveable yet rewarding on multiple levels, this album takes pains to stand out in every possible way.

Mike Mantin

SOUND OF SILVER
LCD Soundsystem
March 2007
DFA

With an album-opener like ‘Get Innocuous!’ it’s hard to imagine Sound of Silver getting any better, but LCD Soundsystem visionary James Murphy “sets controls for the heart of the sun” and comes out with a seminal sound in electronic music. Sound of Silver adds layer upon layer to an up-tempo beat until you think it can go no further, ‘Us V Them’ and ‘Get Innocuous!’ being prime examples of this ever-growing euphoria. Sound of Silver is a definitive party-starter but would not be out of place for more intimate moments, especially in delicate tracks ‘Someone Great’ and ‘All my Friends’, two songs about longing that become all the more raw in such surroundings. Both tracks remain so touching in the unique juxtaposition of electronica and emotion that defines this album of the decade.

Laura Richards

AMNESIAC
Radiohead
June 2001
EMI

“I jumped in the river and what did I see? / Black-eyed angels swam with me”. Such is the nature of Amnesiac, denounced by many as ‘Kid B’, a collection of also-rans to the majesty of Kid A. Get beneath the surface of this record, however, and you will find yourself in a potent and disquieting world of funereal passion and unscaleable intrigue. Some of Radiohead’s greatest compositions are present on this release, with the off-kilter apparitions in ‘Pyramid Song’, the menacing ‘You And Whose Army’ and the desperate beauty of ‘Knives Out’, but it is in the album’s three closing songs that the true baptismal power of Amnesiac is realised. Commit yourself to ‘Hunting Bears’, ‘Like Spinning Plates’ and ‘Life In A Glasshouse’ with attentive ears and you will be duly rewarded with the decade’s most commanding and immersive musical architecture.

Matt Grimble

YANKEE HOTEL FOXTROT
Wilco
April 2002
Nonesuch

Singer/Songwriter Jeff Tweedy’s guitar-based songs have seen many different styles over the years but have never been both as simple and as captivating as on Wilco’s fourth album, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. With traditional instruments, sampling of everyday noise and electronic effects - the music sums up a band at a creative peak looking at past, present and future for inspiration.

Lyrically, Tweedy considers the often smothering effect of modern technologies on 21st century life - “My mind is filled with radio cures, electronical surgical words,” whilst also contemplating morality with a healthy dash of mortality “All my lies are only wishes, I know I would die if I could come back new.” But it’s not all serious: pop song ‘Heavy Metal Drummer,’ recalls summery days of ‘Shiny shiny pants and bleached blond hair.’ Few albums blend the profound with the light-hearted in such a way that there’s a song for every mood, and this is one of them.

Tom Holcroft

Daniel Johnston - Trinity Centre, Nov 8th 2009

In total contrast to the flowing cleanliness of support Laura Marling, when Daniel Johnston first takes to the stage with just his guitar and a book of lyrics, it’s an entirely unrhythmic affair. Having lost much of his musical ability due to his battles with manic depression and obesity, every minute spent onstage is a battle for him. As if to confirm Johnston’s cult status, one fan even escaped from a Bristol hospital, ticketless and on crutches on the off-chance he could get in. (He did.)

After a few songs, Johnston’s joined onstage by an old college friend who takes over guitar-playing duties, allowing the crowd to appreciate Johnston’s best asset, his timeless, sensitive and simple songwriting, made even more transfixing with his quivering voice and shy delivery.

After a short break, Johnston returned to the stage with support band The Wave Pictures as accompaniment. Consisting of the lo-fi gems that made him famous, a healthy dose of Beatles covers, and new material, the set was brought to life with a band and audience that felt honoured to be there, ending with a sublime take on the quintessential Daniel Johnston song, ‘True Love Will Find You In The End,’ after which a beaming, tearful audience rushed to hug their idol.

Tom Holcroft

Aqua Teen Hunger Force - Have Yourself A Meaty Little Christmas

To say that this is the most significant contribution to the institution of recorded popular music of our lifetime is no overstatement. An album of this cultural magnitude could surely have only been birthed in response to the arrival of our lord and saviour. Praise Jesus for the greatest gift he has given unto us – a milkshake, a packet of fries and a ball of meat. Meet Aqua Teen Hunger Force.

Have yourself a meaty little christmas distils two millennia of festive folklore and songcraft into thirty five cohesive minutes of audio revelation for the whole family. It is deeply shocking to discover from a glance over the liner notes that no angels were present in the construction of this masterpiece.

No christmas album is complete without 'Santa Left A Booger In My Stocking', and the rendition featured here with guest vocalist Neko Case brings unprecedented depth and layers of meaning to the old standard. Where did the booger really come from? Those of a fragile disposition are not advised to enquire.

Master Shake's decision to eschew the traditional orchestration of 'Jingle Bells Deep' has left him exposed to an extent that would see a lesser artist crumble. Over a humble backing in the tradition of Microsoft's Songsmith, the giant cup's delivery brings naked honesty to the ever-sage “Jingle BALLS / Where's that lyrics sheet? / Take that sled through the snow / And hit your grandma in the face”. Casual listening is simply off the cards.

Offering respite from the epiphanic splendour which risks fatiguing the listener is a welcome cameo from everyone's favourite cardboard black power activist, Boxy Brown. Waxing lyrical on Jesus' ethnicity, it all boils down to the old adage - “crackers like to crack”. The profundity of wordplay present is surely beyond the grasp of even HRH Joe Pasquale.

Naturally, a record of this beauty escapes critical acclaim. Criminally absent from any respectable publication's retrospective coverage, this will inevitably be destined to underground notoriety until it attains the recognition it truly deserves. Never before have dick and fart jokes been so celestial.

Matt Grimble

Helen Llewelyn Product 19 - Christmas Blues EP

When a young John Peel was still John Ravenscroft, his original intention was to be known as ‘Helen Llewelyn Product 19’. It seems fitting then, that a small independent label founded by a self-confessed group of ‘obsessive’ music fans should lovingly adopt this bizarre moniker.

The MIDI keyboard soul of Filipino Dream Girls and gentle acoustic musings of Brighton songstress Mertle feature on this charming festive offering, a ramshackle concoction of triumphantly anti-Christmas pop tunes, complete with an abundance of ironic sleigh bells. Lost Boy Scout’s rant of ‘Bring Me the Head of the Man in Red’ captures this ethos perfectly as the musical equivalent of a stubborn child’s whinging about not getting everything on ‘their list’. I challenge anyone to find another Christmas song that threatens a certain Saint Nicholas with a ‘bazooka in his belly’.

Jon Bauckham

Olivia Newton John - Christmas Wish

Has Olivia Newton John managed to churn out yet another appalling generic Christmas release to add to January’s bargain bucket? In all honesty, yes; listening to Christmas Wish is like being given leprosy by Santa instead of that camera you asked for. You know you’re on to a winner when all you have to look forward to is a duet with Barry Manilow, nauseatingly titled ‘Gift of Love’. ‘Christmas On The Radio’ helps the package reach new lows of lyrical tediousness. The running order is also mind-numbingly unfortunate, offering a torturous instrumental interlude after every song. It must have been testing to produce twenty two tracks that sound like Celine Dion’s ‘My Heart Will Go On’, but by God they managed it The only thing remotely pleasing about this album is that it heralds the imminence of Christmas, and imagining Newton John and Tori Amos competing to see how could look waxier than an advent candle on their respective covers.

Amy Zachariah

Tori Amos - Midwinter Graces

They say that when the baby Jesus was born, he didn’t let out a bawl or a whimper. The Lord’s arrival clearly wasn’t serenaded with a Tori Amos Christmas record. If only the Wise Men had had the foresight to forget the gold and bring this instead.

On Midwinter Graces, we get a scattering of bizarre originals and a series of bastardised carols, not least ‘Pink And Glitter’, ripe with the traumatic memories of an auntie getting too frisky under the mistletoe. When the Amos compositions aren’t immediately forgettable, they’re congealed like bad eggnog.

To highlight the licence taken on the carols: Tori’s take on ‘Silent Night’ sounds just about seedy enough to make the seasonal playlist of a strip club. In order to maintain neutrality, I’ll state that it’s not all useless: ‘Candle: Coventry Choir’ is an ugly mess of a cover, but it did helpfully remind me to buy some candles in case of a power cut.

More sincerely, credit to her for not rehashing well-worn classics and testing conventions with her re-imaginings.

With jesting scorn momentarily aside, the album is unhinged by a serious difficulty: it hazardously avoids all three elements which lead to an enjoyable Yuletide album. It isn’t endowed with the propensity for fun that you get from a drunken ol’ Bob Dylan cawing jingles through a roguish grin, any incandescent festive warmth you’d find on a scratchy Bing Crosby record, or some degree of spirituality the best choral renditions may evoke. That crux means the album is susceptible to the inherent danger associated with a holiday album - direct competition with the products of other musicians.

However specific the usual styling of an artist or band may be, they’re all tackling the same territory to vie for a share of the Nativity cash cow, rather than appealing to a broader range of niche markets. Ultimately, Tori’s fault is that her record falls flat at the feet of rivals, even during a period when Sting is singing about soul cakes.

So I’m struggling to think why Amos made this album. Sure, she’s probably just chasing sales to put a fatter turkey on the table over the holidays. But maybe it’s a case of idle thumbs and Midwinter Graces is actually the Devil’s most insidious assault on the joys of Christmas to date.

Dylan Williams

Royal Bangs - Let It Beep

With fellow Tennesseans Kings of Leon dropping their beardy, Jack Daniel’s-swilling garage rock persona and plunging into a world of supermarket balladry and fraternal rivalry little over a year ago, it would be quite easy to label Royal Bangs as their replacement. 

However, Let It Beep shows that they’re entirely unsuited to such a Southern Comfort-tinged stereotype.

This is a record that somehow manages to cram just about any reference to a past popular music tradition in the past forty years in forty minutes, making quantum leaps between Thin Lizzy’s cock-rock, Kid A, and even disco - but manages to retain total coherence.

As opener ‘War Bells’ whirs into life, it would first seem as if we were witnessing a belated contribution to the garage rock revival, with raw, yearning vocals and punchy, overdriven guitars echoing the likes of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club at the turn of the century. However, as sizzling synths make an unexpected appearance, Royal Bangs begin to transcend expectation.

By the time we arrive at the undeniably sexy indie pop of ‘My Car Is Haunted’, complete with an abundance of disco cowbells, maracas and synth shrieks, it becomes clear that Royal Bangs are not a band afraid to show off.

Whilst tracks such as the vocoder-laden ‘Brainbow’ display ideas not too far removed from Super Furry Animals’ most recent meanderings into the bizarre, others such as ‘Shit Xmas’, a shouty, boozy, on-the-terraces sing-along, prove that they never threaten to lose their true rock and roll credentials; not many bands could pull off such a feat without sounding inherently crass, but somehow, Royal Bangs get away with it.

When you thought think album could not get any more ridiculous or successfully ambitious (as if you were not already convinced by track titles such as ‘Tiny Prince of Keytar’) ‘Gorilla King’ takes it one step further, staggering around and spewing out a delightful kaleidoscopic mess of hip hop beats, laser chops and desperate, angular guitar stabs.

There’s so much to be devoured here, and it would appear that this is purely the result of five men simply making music and having a good time – it’s this sense of unashamed self-indulgence that makes Let It Beep so irresistibly listenable.

Jon Bauckham

Mayer Hawthorne live at Metropolis

Mayer Hawthorne’s major appeal is his recreation of hip-hop’s pet fascination with soul, funk and R&B with blissful production on his first album, A Strange Arrangement.

The sounds emanating from the ex-comedy club Metropolis are audience-friendly: good old-fashioned rock’n’roll overtones, tight, true to the album and generally well received.

However, the disappointment is that that’s it. Ticking the fashion checklist written by Carlton from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air - geeky glasses, white suit and silk scarf, and matching preparatory school red sweatshirts for the band - characterized Mayer Hawthorne as a disingenuous, unoriginal fashion victim, by pandering to retro-fashion without producing soulful music you can believe and relate to.

The band’s superb vocal harmonies and the more soulful tunes are well worth investigating, yet the evening failed to parallel the hype that has surrounded this musical polymath.

Jon Wiltshire