Tuesday 21 September 2010

99 Red Balloons

There are some people that never seem to sleep. Like David Andrew Sitek of TV On The Radio. He is a member of one of the craziest and most original bands around. He is what one would call a sought-after producer with Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Liars, Scarlett Johansson and others in his portfolio. I seriously doubt the man lays his head on the pillow. Still, he pulls another string of sleepless nights and adds one more thing on the ‘what I’ve done so far’ list: Maximum Balloon.

He does them both here, songwriting and producing. It’s the singing bit that he leaves to a number of guest vocalists and “star-studded” doesn’t even begin to describe the album. David Byrne, Karen O, bandmates Tunde Adebimpe and Kyp Malone, the Swedes from Little Dragon to name some.

Hipster wonderland this is but the rules Sitek lays down are more pop than anything. He cites Prince, Madonna and Cyndi Lauper as influences for this project and drops the intricacy of TVOTR for a neon-lighted fun-fair. It still is wonderfully layered and thick, noisy even, but its funk and glamour are more important than anything.

There is also a lot of the singers’ persona here. Communication feels like something that would follow Yeah Yeah Yeahs It’s Blitz, with Karen O seductively taking hold of the spotlight. Apartment Wrestling is the perfect embodiment of just every reason why David Byrne is so great. Tunde Adebimpe makes Absence of Light a remarkably dark beast, the bleeps and howls adding a sense of urgency.

Sitek knows there is no need to be coy and goes full throttle on the listener, leaving no real moment for us to take our breaths. From the highly infectious 80s synth and luscious vocals provided by Celebration’s Katrina Ford on Young Love and the gameboy-scented outfit If You Return, its masterfulness enhanced by Little Dragon’s Yukimi Nagano vocals, to the almost surrealist background of The Lesson, it all feels like a whirlwind of great pop tunes.

It’s hard not to feel terribly excited about this album. Sitek’s talent seems to have no boundaries and neither does his boldness. And, amongst all the fun and incredible song crafting, what makes Maximum Balloon so great is the terrible sense of unity, not once leaving you that stale taste that this is sheer patchwork, not a solid record, like most featuring albums do.

Monday 20 September 2010

Hymn To Modernism

John Hughes did many great movies and with those movies can the soundtrack of a generation. Right up there, next to Psychedelic Furs’ Pretty in Pink, are Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark with their If You Leave. Having long ago secured their place in pop history, OMD have nothing to fear now, in 2010. Besides the fact that this, History of Modern, is the first album the classic line-up has recorded since their break-up in 1990. There must have been at least a hint of emotion and some butterflies in their stomachs when thinking what the fans will make of their studio return.

And truth is they should be a little worried. History of Modern sounds sickening and frustrating because there are far too many moments when it sounds like New Order would after having too many fizzy drinks and after Peter Hook took one too many happy pills. There’s a certain clumsiness here and it’s frustrating hearing it manifest itself so freely. Sometimes is particularly annoying with its loops and scratches and female vocals. Just the synths and Andy McCluskey’s voice and it would’ve been a perfect song.

There are, what you’d come to believe after one hour, happy moments. Fortunate accidents. New Babies: New Toys could be this decade’s If You Leave and The Right Side? is a masterful tribute to Kraftwerk and their Trans-Europe Express. The first and the last track. What comes in between is so pastiche it’s painful. It sounds too cheesy and too forced. In the 80s? Sure, anytime. Well, not really But today? Down right unaccaptable. The Future, The Past, And Forever After makes your ears bleed with its high notes and cars through the Autobahn noises in the back. Lyrics and unnecessary oxford comma ignored for our own sake.

Hymn to modernism? Yeah, right. History of Modern, sadly, fails to impress. Wrong direction, wrong time for such an album, wrong ideas all crammed on one record. We could give them credit and hope that the greatness it still there, somewhere. But we’ll also need it to resurface and we need OMD to make a decent album if they want to go down gracefully.

Postcards From South Wales

There is no proper way to start a Manic Street Preachers review. Sure, we could talk about Nicky Wire and his latest over-quoted rant. We could wonder where is No Manifesto and why do they delay its release. We could reveal our unhealthy obsession with everything about the guys and make a joke about Sean Moore’s gun collection or James Dean Bradfield’s love for pies that only hardcore fans will understand. No, there will not be any lamenting over the disappearance of Richey Edwards, deal with it. But what bothers me the most is that I don’t know what to make of the band’s tenth studio album, Postcards From A Young Man.

It is a strange release. Not that it is something (completely) new to the Manics: it is somewhere in the vein of the grand orchestrations of Everything Must Go and the over-the-top choruses of Send Away The Tigers. Sure, it’s nowhere near their previous work, Journal For Plague Lovers, but it shouldn’t amaze anyone as it comes from a different place. We were even prepared for this at times overblown sound by statements like “last shot at mass communication” and “Van Halen meets The Supremes”. (While others might be appalled, we Manics fans giggle with joy when hearing such things.) It is pretentious and tongue in cheek, just what we’d want from it.

And there is no denying it has moments when it outshines all the glitter in the world. The first single, (It’s Not War) Just The End Of Love, is annoyingly catchy and creeps under your skin only like a proper Manics anthem should. Some Kind Of Nothingness features the delightfully silky voice of Ian McCulloch and lovely choirs. A Billion Balconies Facing The Sun builds up tension wonderfully, Duff McKagan’s bass gracing the airwaves. I will even ignore how tone-death Wire is and say that The Future Will Be Here Forever (yes, I am also ignoring the stupid song titles) is endearing.

Truth is, it is a very good album, bar the occasional cringe worthy verse that is, after all, one of the many reasons we love Manics. The trouble with Postcards seems to be how un-engaging it is. Maybe because it comes straight after Journal, a release that takes hold of you instantly and, somehow, I expected Postcard to do the same thing. Maybe some people are right and this album was recorded too soon after Journal. Maybe it just requires a few more plays before actually sinking into its world.

Friday 17 September 2010

Back In Business


There are many bands that release an album (or two), enjoy success then disband and become history. Few of those bands decide to reform after almost two decades and release a new album.The Vaselines are one of those few bands. They were born back in the '80s and disbanded shortly after the release of their first full length album, Dum Dum. In 2008, they got back together, initially only for a charity event, but things became more serious. In fact, things became so serious, that now you have the occasion to enjoy their second album, Sex With An X.

The band picks up from where they let us more than twenty years ago. However, the sound is far from being obsolete. The album is a story about broken relationships, which is no surprise if we think about the relationship between Eugene Kelly and Frances McKee. But it’s not a sad album. On the contrary, Sex With An X is sarcastic and, in its own twisted way, full of energy. This is obvious even from the first track, Ruined, which starts in a very passionless way, giving you the impression that you listen to your great-great-grandmother's gramophone. After less than 30 seconds, you are completely turned upside down by the craziest guitar you can imagine. And just like that, the journey starts.

It seems that these twenty years have passed only in our minds, because The Vaselines sound as fresh as they did back in the '80s. The guitar riffs are annoyingly catchy, the only real exception being the last track, Exit the Vaselines, a really nostalgic piece, lyrically as well as instrumentally, on which the band slows the train, proving you they also know the meaning of the word "ballad".

But the best part is the lyrics. "You feel so good, it must be bad for me / Let's do it, let's do it again / You look so right, it must be wrong for me / Let's do it, let's do it again", Kelly sings on the title track, Sex With An X. Free translation: do not go there! But Kelly and McKee believe the both partners are guilty if a relationship goes wrong. Lyrics like "I've got the devil, the devil's inside me, I've got the devil in me / And it won't let go / He made me fight, he made you fall / He made me push you against the wall" make it pretty obvious. It's the story of two people who know their qualities and especially their defects, a dialogue full of irony and at the same time, full of strange tenderness. The climax is reached in It Wasn't All Duran Duran, which brings auto irony to the highest level you could ever imagine. "What do you know? You weren't there / It wasn't all Duran Duran Duran Duran / You want the truth? Well this is it / I hate the '80s 'cause the '80s were shit".

If it's true that few are the bands that decide to come back after a very long period of time and release a new album, then it's also true that even fewer manage to come up with a decent release. This is one more reason for you to appreciate Sex With An X and give The Vaselinesa warm round of applause.



*photo courtesy of The Vaselines' MySpace

Thursday 16 September 2010

Gin In Teacups


There’s this series of burning question I ask myself each time of Montreal take out a new album. Are they taking the piss? They must be, right? Art Snob Solutions, anyone? Suffer For Fashion or… or whatever? It is just their irony-free love for Eno, Bowie and all glam rock the source of all the flamboyance? And why is Kevin Barnes prancing naked on stage? Elephant 6 and all Prince references aside, of Montreal are here with their I-lost-count-and-hell-if-I-care album, False Priest. Who, you know, could be the indie star they were talking about on Gronlandic Edit.

We could, of course, beat around the bush, write a two-page review about how it sounds and how Barnes is one crazy cupcake. About how False Priest really manages to be sexy and funny, put a smile on your face each time that cupcake pens another lyric about love-making, lyric that will be sang in a blasé or high-pitched voice and that will charm us even when the reverbs are off the hook. How the piano is bubblier than Robby Bubble. How the little pink cupcake is still, inevitable, a depressed and miserable one because glitter is not the answer to everything. And how, just as inevitably, the cupcake drowns in melancholia and sadness disguised as overly-dramatic pianos, movie references and whispered lyrics.

Or we could just draw the line and say that Barnes doesn’t really want to change his persona. That tongue-in-cheekiness, funk, groove and strange arrangements are all here, present for the party. Well, I think the first one is here, maybe Barnes disapproves. That, no matter how rough the guitars get the disco ball still lights the room in which Barnes dances to 70s-pastiche tunes. That even if they go and have a duet with Solange Knowles, of Montreal still love ungodly mood shifts, schizoid instrumentals and too-intense-for-you quirkiness. With an extra touch of strobe lighting.

Yes, of Montreal are still divine and worth taking in heavy doses each day. False Priest feels like one would be when they’re high on marzipan. It swiftly grabs the limelight and asks you to take a ride with it in the fun fair teacups. And while it might not be particularly better than Hissing Fauna or a step forward, it still provides many moments that will reassure us that loving of Montreal is the right thing to do.

Friday 10 September 2010

All Today's Parties

Brian Eno said once about The Velvet Underground that their debut album wasn't much of a commercial success, but anyone who bought one of the first 30.000 copies started a band. And if we wouldn't know better, we would certainly assume that The Black Angels bought five out of 30.000. Hell, they named their band after The Black Angel's Death Song and they have Nico's photo as their logo.

Now, as we all know, being highly influenced by a band is dangerous, as it might result in your musical project just being a very good tribute band. However, this never seemed to be a problem for The Black Angels. While being strongly influenced, not only by VU, but by the Whole Psychedelic Era (with accents on 13th Floor Elevators), they somehow managed to build their own identity without being necessarily original. And they're willing to prove it again on their third studio album, Phosphene Dream.

The obsessive and twisted guitar riff and Alex Maas' almost unreal vocals blend perfectly on Bad Vibrations, making it one of the finest moments on the whole record. It’s also the opening track, so it’s safe to say the five Texans have no mercy. From front to back, they dazzle you to the point of obsession with hallucinating bass and guitar lines like those on the title track, Mass’s echoing voice refusing to leave your side for many days to come. They make you wonder whether you’ve been doing to many drugs, even if you have never touch such things, with every Spacemen 3 drone and Nuggets infused wall of sound.

They drive you insane with every hit of the drums. Drums that seem to surreal to be real, drums too perfect to come from this world, drums that add to the overall vibe of the space-y Yellow Elevator #2. They even provide the perfect soundtrack for a night out at your local psych club with Telephone and its heavy Doors-scented keyboard. Yes, we know The Doors actually used an organ, but the feeling is the same.

To say that after you push the play button, you'll be sucked into the '60s atmosphere before having time to say "Andy Warhol" is probably stating the obvious, but it's the best way to describe the feeling you get from the first to the last track. There's so much more to say about this release, but every word is pale in comparison with the album. It's true, some would argue there is nothing innovative about Phosphene Dream. But we would argue back that, for a mere journey to the past, it is a fabulous one.


*photo courtesy of The Black Angels' official site

Hellbound Hearts


You’ve probably heard Heathen Child. Whether you have a habit of listening to such music of your own free will or not (Jonathan Pierce, I am looking at you), you kinda feel obliged to admit that it is pretty much awesome. And kinda really cool. And when I say “kinda cool”, I am thinking of “mind-blowing, you’ll never be this cool so you’d better just stop trying now” kinda cool.

Now, most of the times, people have this thing where upon hearing the first single off an album, they will expect the album to be in a certain way. In our case, you’d probably expect Grinderman 2 to be dirty and free of structural inhibitions, Nick Cave howling over Warren Ellis’s crazy guitar. And, yes, you are mostly right. The four Grinderman shed all decency in the process of writing their second studio material. They are as shameless as they were on the first album when they made you forget all their musical baggage and beat all sense of wisdom out of their sound.

As always, Cave’s lyrics are a delicious mix between horrors imageries and black humour, tales of murder and rape, a stream of consciousness tour-de-force, mad one liners thrown at the listener and charming him like the words of a manic prophet. And be damn sure that you will smirk like Cave probably did when he dryly mused My baby calls me the Loch Ness monster. Two great big humps and I'm gone.”

Forget about midlife crisis. The only crisis here is how much louder can the guitars be, how much can they swirl and create abrasive walls of psychedelia, how much could the organ be abused on the apocalyptic Bellringer Blues and how will ever anyone make a creepier song than the minimalist When My Baby Comes. There is no need to be shy about it: Grinderman 2 is the older and by no means wiser version of The Birthday Party, it is feral and untamed, proudly taking off from where the first offering left us.

It really is a far too visceral album for the faint of heart. The non believers will easily dismiss the album as another record about naughtiness and disobedience. Or, you know, the two things nasty blues is made of after all. But Grinderman 2 is not talking to them. It is talking to us out there who enjoy the marriage of noise and rhythm, scum rock and art that the wayward Grinderman preach about.



Tuesday 7 September 2010

So Much Grace

I never bought much into the whole “they sound so much like Joy Division” thing. I am sick and tires of people mentioning in or talking about how one most go through certain steps in understanding Interpol’s music and one of them being sniffing the “oh-so-obvious” JD influences. The only place where the two bands meet is the pit of emotional torment where Ian Curtis and Paul Banks seem to love to play together. Other than that, those people can shut up and (re)listen (carefully) to the three previous albums. Or just to the (now) trio’s most recent work of genius, Interpol.

Your forth album being self titled might seem like a lack of inspiration, but with Interpol, as with other bands in their position, it’s seems to be more of a strong statement of being themselves and removing any clutter around their music. Not once, from intro Success to outro The Undoing, does it feel like these guys take a chord from here or there other than themselves. It’s truly a reminder of who Interpol are and why we loved them to begin with.

This means that this record is not easy to crack: the marriage of austere fuzzy guitars and the flood of anguish and despair wraps it in a shell. And not only this, but also of the drums, Sam Fogarino hitting them hard like it is the only way to make the demons that gravitated around the lyrics go away. However there is something alluring that makes the shell break quickly, overtaking you, maybe the brief moments of joyfulness and energetic outburst. The energetic bass off Success and the uplifting guitar riff of Lights or the art disco scent of Barricade form little crack which help us enter Interpol’s otherwise hermetic world.

What is great about Interpol is that it forms an actual story. There is unity in the album, especially musically as each song flows into the other or and feels like a natural step further to the album’s closing song. Each song introduces new elements and each new element helps paint a better picture of this sonic landscape. Sure, these elements can be as varied as the bareness of Always Malaise (The Man I Am) with its haunting vocals compared to the explosions on Barricade or how All Of The Ways haunting piano and build-up echoing guitars precede the luminous guitars on The Undoing.

Interpol is quite a grand record that likes to stand tall and show off . And given its undeniably merits and grace, it has all the rights to. Interpol have successfully managed, once more, to remove any doubt and show themselves as the truly majestic band that they are. Now we can focus on another issue: will Dave Pajo (formerly of Slint) become the forth official Interpol and how will this affect their sound?

Monday 6 September 2010

Can't Get Enough.

Of course, what you are to read is a case of taking sides. With Hurts it’s impossible not to take one side (love them) or the other (hate them). Their wet hair, their ‘Tears For Fears shot by Anton Corbijn’ photographs, their sax solos, their lingering 80s synths, their early 90s (electro) pop sensibilities. The Mancunian duo seems to love making it hard for some to accept their sheer existence, not to speak of their work. With the others, the ones who love them, and here personal experience is of high value, Theo Hutchcraft and Adam Anderson’s debut, Happiness, can only bring joy and make volumes go all the way to the max. Singing along included.

The record hits you full speed, merciless, with Silver Lighting, grand gothic cathedral choirs, the sorts that would make Depeche Mode blush, echoing vocals and expansive synths. It seems to be written with the sole purpose of making you fall in love with it. The slow-disco and urgency of Wonderful Life and the atmospheric Blood, Tears & Gold are naturally present on the LP, here to hunt your days furthermore.

While Sunday’s synths that echo DM’s Can’t Get Enough prove to be an explosion of glee, Stay with its backing vocals, lush vocals and Take That scented chorus turns to be one of the records most emotional down moments. “Say goodbye in the pouring rain and I break down as you walk away” lingers on, making it impossible for this track not to become your new favourite power ballad, the one you shouldn’t call a guilty pleasure as theatrical as it might be.

Illuminated opens the second half of Happiness, a half as theatrical and shameless in search of grandeur as Stay. Both this song and Evelyn reveal a certain sexuality and sensuality with every guitar, every pounding drum, every racing harmony, that make them wonderful examples of perfect pop tunes craftsmanship.

The bombastic Better That Love could be the album’s most fast-paced moment, a delightful DM tribute, the high-pitched vocals and swirling synths, the exact drums and crescendo guitars making it hard to believe that anyone could deny the sheer genius of this piece. Which is true about Devotion as well, a magnificent and extremely sexy pop gem featuring Kylie Minogue (her best work this year, hands down). Crystal clear, her voice and Theo’s sweep everything in their way, the cinematic melody leaving little doubt to how talented Hurts are.

Unspoken is, to put it simply, one of the best break up songs, a majestic track that’s beauty is only enhanced by the chord arrangement and steady rise of the melody. Water feels like Stay’s twin, just as unashamed to embrace boy band aesthetics and pop grandeur. It’s also makes for a wonderful album exit as it wraps up pretty much everything Hurts are about: lack of irony, a love for pop with all that is means, impeccable song writing, expansive melodies.

And sure there are quite a few pop clichés here and many too much unaltered love of pop (hidden track Verona is something you’d want to skip), but Happiness provides many of this year’s finest irony-free pop moments and it genuinely feels like a time machine back to the golden 80s, no apologies. It could fit in with any of that decade’s classics, but it works just as wonderfully as a reason to make us, 20-something year olds, feel proud of this decade.


Sunday 5 September 2010

All These Things That He's Done


It happens often. It's the well known "I-can-do-it-myself" syndrome, which appears when a band is very successful and a member (usually the lead singer) suddenly discovers they has so much more to say and show. So they have to pursue a solo career. Then everything turns crazy because media starts to speculate that soon the band will break up, so the said member has to give tons of interviews to reassure fans that this will never ever happen. Most of the time it does happen, especially if the solo album is successful, but that's another discussion.

Last year it was announced that The Killers will take a break, exhaustion being cited as one of the main reasons. Very quickly, rumours began to circulate about a Brandon Flowers album. Initially denied by the band, they were confirmed at the end of April by Flowers himself, who stated that the album was to be called Flamingo. The first single, Crossfire, was very nice and catchy, but it had a strong Killers fragrance, making you wonder if Flowers will be able to do-it-himself.

The first (rhetorical) question that will cross your mind right before pushing the PLAY button will probably be "boy, this guy is really obsessed with Las Vegas, isn't he?". Not only has he called his album Flamingo after Flamingo Casino & Flamingo Road from the above mentioned city. No, he also called the first track Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas. Okay, Brandon, we know already that Las Vegas is your hometown. It was not absolutely necessarily to write another song to glorify it, thank you very much.

But the feeling of annoyance disappears completely once you hear Only the Young. It's a damn catchy song, the kind of track that is especially written to become a single and be sung by thousands of people at live festivals, a song with an obsessive chorus you won't forget too soon. The Killers... uhm, I mean... Brandon Flowers should be proud of this one. Hard Enough manages to keep things at a high level by throwing in Jenny Lewis' wonderful vocals. And here's the point when you can already imagine millions of lovers in the world dedicating this song to each other. How sweet...

Jilted Lovers & Broken Hearts is somehow reminiscent to Mr. Brightside, as it's being built on the same I-love-you-you-love-him idea. It's a very tonic song, and actually on most tracks Flowers keeps a bright tone, using and abusing synth and guitar, as he does in Was It Something I Said?. The tunes are not danceable in the true sense of word, not that The Killers made out a habit on composing really danceable tunes. Oh, I'm sorry, this wasn't a Killers album, you're right.


An exception to the joyfulness is On the Floor or “the really slow and profound and introspective and let's pray together” type of track. It even has something that resembles a church choir on it. Very well, if that's the case, then someone assured himself a place in Heaven.

As we get to the album’s closing track and everything seems to be so nice and beautiful, we should ask the big question. If you read this carefully, you already know what it is. Yes, why did Brandon Flowers chose to go solo anyway? Each and every song on Flamingo fits so well in The Killers' shoes that at times you'll completely forget that you are actually listening to Flowers' solo work. The whole sound moves on the same path The Killers have followed post-Sam's Town. This is not necessarily a bad thing (you Hot Fuss fans over there will disagree, I know), but if Flowers wanted a new The Killers material, why didn't he called in his band mates? There are three possible explanations: a) the others were more exhausted than we initially thought or b) the others do not exist, they are just projections of Flowers' mind and the whole The Killers thing was just an illusion or c) this was actually meant to be a The Killers album, but Flowers' ego grew up so much that he decided to be the only one credited for the release. You choose.

Saturday 4 September 2010

Getting Intimate

When Hutch Harris sings “I wanna know your feelings, I wanna know your shame”, you get the strangest feeling of security. And as the little coy distorts creep into your bones, an instant need to “wonder into the dark” like he asks you to takes over. Arguably, The Thermals couldn’t have chosen a better intro than I’m Gonna Change Your Life for their fifth studio material, Personal Life. As homey and comfortable as the rest of the record, it somehow prepares you for the angst and insecurity that seems to take over as it becomes obvious this album is a story about failed human relationships.

As it evolves, the three Americans never give up on that feeling, even if it’s just the reassuring way in which Harris lets his voice follow every drum beat and brief moment of sweeping guitars then gently whispers “my love” on Only For You. It gently tickles your ears as the Portland trio makes Robert Pollard proud with the short and endearing Guided By Voice scented Alone, A Fool. There is, as a matter of fact, a great deal The Thermals owe to the jingly pop of the Ohio band for the making of this Personal Life.

It’s also a strangely punk album, admittedly in spirit more than sound or songs length. It feels like a blow in your face, but not thanks to the overall sounds. It’s the little things that make and break relationships and so it is the details that make The Thermals très punk this time round. It’s the nervous riffs and almost mechanically delivered lines off Personal Life’s longest track, Never Listen To Me, even though the disco cymbals make the song take the dancefloor direction. The way Harris burns with anxiety and spits his deepest worries over the battle of the instruments on Power Lies. The instant concert anthem Your Love Is So Strong, those distorted vocals, the pounding drums, ascending guitars, the lines “Your love is so strong/ It cracks at the slightest touch/ Your love is so strong/ It crumbles to dust”.

What makes Personal Life even better is its ending: the oddly OMD-ish You Changed My Life, the cycle complete, heavy dose of bitterness infused in your stereos. “You made me see how everything I ever knew was gone”. Sure, this release may be a bit more toned down than the previous ones. Sure there might be less shouting and not so many outbursts of insane energy. But Personal Life is beautiful enough in its search to replace the political with the intimate and it still has plenty of heart.

Friday 3 September 2010

Put Your Hands In the Air...?

Well, well, well. It seems like Placebo strike again with another wonderful release from their highly praised album Battle for the Sun (I hope you can feel the irony). This time it's Trigger Happy Hands, one of the new songs from Battle for the Sun Redux Edition (really now, how many editions of this album are they willing to release? Read my lips: this ain't no good!) The song is supposed to be a picture (and a very dark one) of the modern society. You know the story: wars, politicians and the rest of the plagues. As expected (we're talking about a song that appears on Battle, remember), the lyrics are shit if you compare them with Placebo's previous releases. Scratch that, if you compare them to anything. And it really hurts to say it, considering the fact that for over a decade, Placebo amazed us with sexual, straight-into-your-face, but also romantic and full of poetry lyrics. Even worse than that, they also seem to lack musical inspiration (at least the other songs from Battle have good instrumentals).

However, let's forget about the song and concentrate on the video. It does lack the awfulness of The Never-Ending Why (it takes a lot of effort to sink that low) but that does not mean it's the most wonderful thing you had the chance of seeing in your life. On the contrary. Trigger Happy Hands is the kind of video that anyone can make without any problems. Just film your little nephews in the garden playing with some water guns, throw in some violent images (the news are full of such things, that should not be a problem) and add a few images with Placebo in a live concert. And there you have it! It's a shame when you think what videos and songs these guys used to release. Nowadays we can give them credit only for their live concerts, which continue to be awesome. But they should know this won't last forever.

Thursday 2 September 2010

A Labyrinth of Emotions


Minotaur. The title itself is enough to send you a shiver down your spine. For those of you who aren't familiar with Greek mythology, the Minotaur was a monster with the head of a bull and the body of a man, who was kept prisoner in a labyrinth and fed with human beings. He was born from a cursed love his mother had for a bull. And suddenly you feel the urge to look at The Clientele and ask them "Guys, is everything alright with you?"

Now, some would say The Clientele are famous for their awesome guitar sounds and Alasdair MacLean's vocals, but it seems too much of a cliché and does not expresses properly the feeling you get when you listen to their finest releases. And this EP seems to be one of them. Is a story about human emotions, a story about fear, and the fact that they called one of their songs Paul Verlaine gives you a very good idea about the main theme.

The hidden tragedy of the ancient Greek myth reveals itself right from the first track with lyrics about the usefulness of hope. MacLean's words "It's not happening, oh no... I am the Minotaur" make so much more than one thousand metaphors. The instrumentals are calm, pop-friendly, with deep guitar sounds, gentle violins and dreamy piano sounds. It will make you think of at least one of the songs as the-pop-anthem-of-the-week (my sincere bet is on As the World Rises and Falls).

However, the calmness is only apparent – it is like a sea that hides a storm deep inside it and does not show any sign on the surface, just as the labyrinth didn’t show any sign of the beast hidden inside. There are two tracks that appear as completely different from the rest of the album. The first one is No. 33, on which Mel Draisey gives a really high measure of her musical talent on piano. After that comes the strangest moment of the album, The Green Man. It can't be actually called a song. It's just five minutes of MacLean speaking, with a sound in background that reminds you about the strong blow of the wind in the winter. The story might not be properly understood from the first listening, but the feelings of angst and fear cannot be denied. It's freaky. The last track, suggestively called Nothing Here Is What It Seems, restores the calmness and does nothing but prove you that if there is a band born to specialize in the conflict between human emotions, then that band has to be called The Clientele.

Minotaur is one of those albums that make you deeply fall in love with them and seem to be especially created to make you search for all the superlatives you know and maybe even invent some new ones. If the word “gem” just crossed your mind, don’t worry. You are not the only one.


*photo courtesy of The Clientele's official site

Dancing On Our Tongues

It would not be far-fetched to say the ones who say that there are no good (new) bands around nowadays, or too few, know nothing about music. They are but oblivious fools who don’t really ‘get out of the house’. Sure, there is no denying big words are thrown easily these days. “Epic”, “immense”, “best new band”, etc. But there is something about Everything Everything that makes it clear hyperboles should be used without fear of exaggeration.

Now, the four Mancunians have been kind to us and prepared the ground with exquisite songs like Suffragette Suffragette, its tingly bass lines following you around all day, stuck in your head, and My Kz Yr Bf, every high-pitched vocal making you jealous you couldn’t sing like Jonathan Higgs or, as a matter of fact, spit out the words with the same velocity.

The debut finally here, more words of praise are to roll off your tongue each time you’ll be playing it. It’s the clear accent that makes it feel all too snobbish and art-school-like. It’s the smile on your face when you hear the white-assed almost perfect R&B grooves, the way Higgs tries to be both a fifth Destiny’s Child and Hayden Thorpe's irreverent brother. It’s all the misheard lines that you can’t get right even after reading the liner notes. It’s the way they build around them, making each song a mystery.

Man Alive is the solid proof this band knows how to combine the influenced they cite in a way it is actually sounds exiting in practise and not only on paper. It turns each syncopate beat, each odd guitar, each exact drum into something that rightfully should top any chart and that belongs next to mainstream acts. It’s clear, after a little more than 50 minutes that Everything Everything know how to turn pop into something fresh and fun not because they don’t top the said charts, but because of all the ideas they throw in one song and wrapping them up in a dense atmosphere.

This record should be called epic and immense, fantastic and a stroke of genius. But Man Alive is, after all, just another reason to believe there must be something in the water in Manchester.