Following their 2009 debut ‘Our First American Friends’, Tubelord return brandishing a new line-up and expanded sound, attributable in part to a steady diet of Phil Collins during the gestation period of this EP There’s definitely a rhythmic force and variation to each of the songs which would do the bald one proud, with percussion a standout on each track. ‘Arbours’ begins with lazily-picked guitar supporting Jo Prendergast’s effortlessly high-pitched vocals, ultimately complemented by a kick-drum pattern that turns out to be as strangely hummable as the chorus. ‘Ratchet’ phases in with a grimy, trip-hop beat so slick that it will help shift thousands of SUVs on TV should it get the chance: it’s therefore impressive when Tubelord don’t labour the hook, opting for a snazzy trumpet lick mid-way. ‘Bazel’ throws a further curveball, seeing the band dip toes, then jump headlong into convincing prog-metal that remains utterly melodic and interesting throughout. ‘Tezcatlipōca’ proves to be an object lesson in layered production, and is truly served better as a whole. There’s certainly plenty to savour, and it’s refreshing to hear an album’s worth of ambition and experimentation play itself out in a few 3-minute songs.
Edinburgh’s Salute Mary hit 88 miles per hour in a Delorean aimed straight for the grunge era with their ‘Lonely Escapades’ EP, a sparse, moody offering which manages to at least ally itself with heavier-hitters such as Nirvana and Smashing Pumpkins than the plethora of jobbing copyists that came in their wake. Backed up by a raw and spacious production that naturally calls to mind Steve Albini, the title track begins without fanfare, taking its time to build upon a lolloping bassline to a towering chorus riff. It’s very much the old ‘quietLOUDquiet’ trick, but it’s accomplished effectively enough to warrant repeated listens. ‘Hanging From Trees’ promises more of the same, as a plodding bassline supports familiar octave-informed guitars, so it’s a pleasant surprise when the cello accompaniment calls to mind Dirty Three, elevating and adding tension to what could have been a meander. ‘Alibi’ is less impressive, a standard punk thrash which spirals into a too-obvious Pearl Jam tribute. ‘Vivid Pale’ carries the Vedder torch further, although there’s an undeniable spirit at work which suggests that the band’s sound could well fill out beyond recreating their influences in later releases.
The soundtrack album is a tricky beast. At worst, a dumping ground for discarded tracks and solo excursions that Should Not Be, with an obligatory love ballad for heavily-rotated product placement on music television. At best, they complement and enrich a movie, uniting a disparate group of tracks under a theme. This soundtrack occupies neither extreme, but manages to be an entertaining listen that reinforces the kinetic, cartoonish story of the film. Standouts include the spiky, meta ‘ Sex Bob-Omb’ from the eponymous movie band, Frank Black’s cutesy epic ‘I Heard Ramona Sing’, and BSS’s sublime ‘Anthems For A 17 Year Old Girl’. Some thoughtful inclusions appear, with T.Rex’s ‘Teenage Dream’ and The Stones’ ‘Under My Thumb’ showing the upstarts how it used to be done. Here be throwaways too: Beck’s ‘Ramona’ raises a snigger if you’ve seen the movie, but bores you senseless if you’re not in on the joke, and there’s as little need for the Bluetones to appear as there ever was for the Bluetones to appear anywhere. All in all, unsurprisingly inconsistent: view it as a sampler, less than an album, and you’ll undoubtedly manage to cherry-pick a few good tracks for your next Spotify playlist.
As a malleable teen I was very much moulded by music; Paul Heaton was a central figure in my creation. If not the Mozzerian clay itself, the Beautiful South man was at least the water upon the hands of the sculptor. Therefore I approached ‘Acid Country’ with great excitement. Though times have changed and Paul is, by his own admission not as pertinent anymore, he can still write a wonderfully catchy pop tune and this is demonstrated on ‘Ladder’s Bottom Rung’ – the forthcoming single. There are also great exhibitions of Heaton’s masterly melodies and assiduous narratives on songs such as ‘House Party’ – an amusing vignette with an endearing chorus, and the thoroughly enjoyable ‘Life Of A Cat’. There are however, tracks that are, if not poor then certainly superfluous at stages. His tendency to draw songs out as long as life can sometimes grate and not even his Northern wit can ease the tedium at times – the title track being an example of this. ‘Acid Country’ isn’t going to set the charts on fire (though someone should) but it isn’t meant to, it strikes as one solely for the fans, for us lifeless lot craving their fix of intelligible, wit-strewn music – and that’s what it is.
When the third full-length LP from New Orleans musician AM (and his band) dropped through my door, I could almost feel the warmth coming out of the jiffy bag. This is unashamedly sundrenched music, and it’s something of a wee gem. There’s bits of Braziliana (It’s Been So Long), San Fran Doors-y psychedelia (Fortunate Family Tree), and a passable stab at Jeff Tweedy impersonating Neil Young (Grand Opinion). The whole thing comes across like a modern, slightly countrified-poppy take on Shuggie Otis (far too unknown) 1973 classic ‘Inspiration Information’, which is high praise indeed. However, in the praise lies the criticism – they’re currently supporting Air, and have recently toured with Charlotte Gainsbourg, and while it’s a very lovely album, there’s nothing in it that reaches out and grabs you by the neck. While AM is a skilled manipulator of the sonic palette, there’s a real danger he could end up the darling of the dinner party set. I’m not advocating all bands to be challenging, but sometimes being too easy on the ear breeds yawns – he’s sometimes skirting a bit close, and a couple of weak tracks drop the score, but for the most part, this is sterling stuff.
With a slew of mega-dub remixes and releases behind him, it is amidst feverish anticipation that Skream brings us his second album; ‘Outside The Box’. With an incongruous element of conflict, it’s a work of almost binary light and dark. Bracketed by relatively warm and inviting Vangelis-tinged bookends (like a benevolent Bladerunner offering you nice cup of tea and a biscuit), ‘Outside The Box’ more often than not retreats back to its interior of cold brutality, melancholy and clinical detachment. Its aloof core; the sort of music you’d play at a robot’s wake, is punctuated all too sparingly with glints of light (How Real, for example; verging on sublime). In a state of confusion, infrequent yet liberal doses of the Amen (which is never a bad idea, really) regrettably fail to prevent The Epic Last Song slipping into some kind of quasi Pat Metheny jungle/rave. Although no mere acolyte of the prevailing dubby surge, this isn’t perhaps the seminal genre-progressing kick in the nuts we’d hoped Skream would give us, but certainly a logical and crisp stroll following the Burial blueprint.
One of indie-punk crew Redtrack’s earlier gambits came in the form of ‘Pole Dancer’, a sparky, slice of sleaze and ‘oi-oi’ bravado. And while this, their debut LP, is still all about fun and youthful themes (there’s a song about memory cards—that’s how down with the kids these guys are), the band surprise with some song-writing that’s a cut above some of the toilet-circuit dross that counts for indie these days. Cue some tight melodies, and glimpses of a wider range than the ‘Pole Dancer’ single initially suggested. On ‘Perfectly Fine Intellectual’, released over the summer, tempered chav-rock aggression gives way to a melancholy chorus that keeps you on your toes. Meanwhile, closer ‘A Pretty Boy’, which harks back to the band’s Hollyoaks-invading roots (Redtrack won a band battle on the soap), finds ex-teen drama actress Hollie-Jay Bowes trading vocals with Redtrack’s own Billy Wright in what’s almost a love song. ‘Whole Town’s Heart’ has enough stomping about to keep the crowds happy, but Redtrack are at their best when they drop the faux rabble-rousing and engage their sensitive side.
having spawned its own genre, Magic Kids are yet another addition to the canon. But a welcome one, nonetheless. At times the young six piece achieve multi-layered pop gems – as on ‘Candy’, ‘Hideout’ and ‘Summer’ – where their violins, pianos and electronics bolster their sound and weave a shimmering tapestry most other outfits would go and hire an additional orchestra for. However, while the likes of Jason Pierce and Luke Steele tend to take Wilson’s template and skewer it with contemporary concerns and newer sounds, here Magic Kids retain the retro splendour of the sixties sun-kissed Californian original. This means that despite the slightly menacing kid on the cover, ‘Memphis’ sometimes succumbs to a tweeness akin to the worst excesses of Los Campesinos. But if songs about ‘steady girls’ and ‘watching the sunrise / after staying up all night’ are your thing, these clever harmonies and complex arrangements will give you your kicks. And the scope of ideas within this half hour debut is certainly worth commending, especially considering the band’s fermentation in a garage rock scene within which they really must seem magical.
Is it a joke? It would be far too generous (and let’s face it; a lie) to say that ‘Yestreen’ from Bearcraft is an homage to the pioneers of 80s electronic – so what is it? So poorly is it realised as a concept that it approaches parody; akin to a Flight of the Conchords intentionally unintentionally funny skit, but without the funny and lacking any hint of charm or irony. With the lightest wafts of Jim Noir it had the opportunity to suggest a tongue-in-cheek swagger, but none can be found. It seems happy enough to sound like public domain, “in the style of-” electro-pop for a market that doesn’t exist. I didn’t get it.
