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 13^th 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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Siberian Breaks

Rarely has something so disturbing been so endearing.

EDIT This video has been removed due to copyright, so you can watch it here.

Surfin' In Memphis

Sure, it is stupid to say a thing like “If it makes you sad, it’s bad music”. But it would be really sad for people to judge Magic Kids solely on the basis of that line. For while we might disagree with their way of thinking, we can hardly disagree that the Beach Boys-scented Memphis band’sHey Boy is so adorable it should replace the world ‘adorable’ in the dictionary.

Their debut album, Memphis, on the other hand, tries to become the official synonym for ‘sugar-coated’. It’s all harmonies and choirs, chimes and oooh-ooohs, guitars and vocals that should be tagged as ‘not suitable for diabetics’. It calls for breezy sunny days, soft rain drops falling on your head, blissfully cool summer nights. Hey Boy is a pop gem like few: the boys’ choir, backing vocals, the crescendos, that very moment when they slow the pace and all you can hear are wooo-hooos and chimes, the explosion of the chorus. Good To Be is insanely catchy, every second making it impossible for you not to sing along. Sailin, Candy and Phone sparkle with pop perfection and heavy 60s goodness as if recorded to fit the Boat That Rocked soundtrack.

But no matter how much you love the bubbles that surround Magic Kids, it is all too tiresome. Interest fades, the lack of sound evolution or significant variations makes for a desire to press next. Too much of the sweetness almost makes you sick and you do end up wishing Magic Kidswould forget, at least for a second, that sad music is bad. A little angst hidden amongst the mountains of sugar canes and darkness in the layers of cotton candy would’ve made Memphis a lovely debut. In its true shape, it is a debut that makes you wish these kids would grow up a bit and discover new playgrounds.

E's Trilogy Came To An End

They say it's something magical about number three. Now, I can't tell if Eels (or Mark Everett, if you prefer it that way) had that in mind when he decided to release Hombre Lobo back in 2009, but this is rather irrelevant. Thing is the trilogy, started with that album and continued in January with End Times, has finally come to an end with Tomorrow Morning.

Now, one could expect a new collection of stories about sadness, depression and stuff like that, but even the cover (which represents a blossomed tree) proves it wrong. Hombre Lobo was about desire and unrequited love, End Times was about separation and aging. Tomorrow Morning is about love and its beauty. Of course, at first sight this might be unbelievable (in spite of the cover, or maybe just because of it) and listening to the first song, In Gratitude for This actually makes you believe it. However, Everett corrects the first impression in I'm a Hummingbird, by pening the lines "All the seconds and minutes and the hours and the days and the weeks and the months and the years of my life, it was all worth it to be here now". Happiness, you say? It might be called so. And E seems as puzzled by that as the listener when he sings "But baby loves me and she's smarter than you".

Lyrically, the album is a true celebration of love. Of course, that implies a glorification of the person who stands beside you (Spectacular Girl), a somewhat raised self-confidence (I Am the Man) as well as hope for a better, brighter future (I Like the Way This Is Going). But things can't be happy until the end (or else Everett wouldn't be Everett any longer) and that's why at times you can read between the lines the fear that everything might end. Musical wise, things couldn't be any better. Put his lyrics aside, E is best known for his love for instruments. The album is a delightful melange of acoustic guitars and electronic beats, of dreamy, ethereal ballads like I'm a Hummingbird or What I Have to Offer and catchy songs like Baby Loves Me. It even makes you regret at times that the man can't play more instruments at the same time in a live concert. That good he is.


It is not wrong to say Tomorrow Morning is a must. It does not exactly goes on the path Eels got us used to, but it is nevertheless a wonderful release, of which Everett should and must be proud of.


*photo courtesy of Eels' official site

At War With The Mystics

Every news about Surfing The Void must’ve had the “highly anticipated” in it, referring to the sophomore Klaxons album. And why not admit to it? We’ve all been biting our nails and praying it would leak faster. That there would be no news saying the album’s release is being delayed once more. And it’s not just the people who know Myths Of The Near Future by heart and cried along with the four Brits when the debut won the Mercury award. It’s just about anyone who knows just how talked about were Klaxons when they came along with the glowsticks and absurd William Burroughs-inspired lyrics.

Naturally, some will compare the two albums, Myths and Surfing, and maybe even throw some “just as good” or “I’m losing faith in them”. But there is no point. In recent interviews, Klaxons sound like different people. Indeed, everything post-Myths should show how it is no longer the pranksters who wrote and recorded a rave album we are talking about. They still are fucking insane, rest assured. But they are walking a different path and the music they make no longer feels immensely hedonistic like the Myths songs.

Just as naturally, there are things that stay the same. Never have Klaxons written intelligible lyrics. Never have the words to their sound been easy to understand. Just as cryptic as ever, they make Burroughs just as proud and the rest of us feel sorry these guys do not have plans for some dysptopic novel in the vein of JG Ballard’s Atrocity Exhibition. Just as easily as before, the four put the craziest of lyrics in your mouth, making them sound like the lines of your latest pop hit. The very combination that made Klaxons so popular to start with, the out-of-this-world chaotic lyrics and the incredibly catchy tunes, is ever-present and leaves little doubt to whether Surfing will be just as of an unlikely hit as Myths. It also sure feels like the new album is an extent to their song Four Horsemen of 2012 and it is clear their interest in the end of the world in no new thing.

But you know Surfing The Void is a completely different beast as soon as the heavy bass lines of Echoes hit you. Many were fearful of this release due to words that Polydor wanted something more pop. Yet, the record is hard to take in after one bite. Produced by Ross Robinson (responsible for producing albums for Korn and At The Drive-In), there seems to be so much going here and each second feels the space around you like glowsticks used to at the band’s first concerts. Guitars swirl like there is no tomorrow. Industrial sounds bounce back and forth and scratch your brains. Steffan Halperin’s blasting drums lead the way most of the times and it feels just right.

The title-track feels insanely claustrophobic, the chaos of the melody and the screams remind you of the long gone days of Atlantis To Interzone. Just that now paranoia takes hold of everything and all that lies ahead is suffocation. Extra Astronomical feels like a hit over the head with a hammer because of its dense industrial guitars, the menacing two notes riff and the rapid drums. Vortex-like Cyberspeed gives the impression Simon Taylor-Davies has been playing guitar with a drill, the menacing distorts creep out of the speakers while the vocals are buried deeper into the mechanical instrumental. Like Isle Of Her could’ve been a love song in disguise, so can Autotune-scented psychedelic love story The Same Space be the soundtrack of a Sci-fi film.

But the claustrophobia is lifted at times. Echoes with its guitar solo, focused melody, the chorus that comes in after one minute, its Muse-scent is quite obviously the album’s single and the one to feel in the shoes of Golden Skans. It’s not the only one, mind you. The prog-pop and slow pace of Twin Flames is a catchy as Klaxons can get. While most of the other tracks have joint cyborg-like vocals or mostly Jamie Reynolds’s airy voice, on this one it’s James Righton who lends his pop star coolness to the whole song. Future Memories, its space-out piano and soulful vocals, the way the bass builds tension promise to swiftly become part of the mainstream conscience.

And, with every listen, it becomes blatant Surfing The Void is a shamelessly fantastic release. There is all of the Klaxons we love here: pop sensibility, sheer madness, tale of strange worlds, impeccable song-writing. Psychedelia they promised and they do deliver: each layer of sound probably makes a whole lot more sense on ayahuasca (the hallucinogen they claim to have been ingesting – with Klaxons one can never be sure of the truth). But it is still a wonderful way to wrack your brain while trying to make sense of Surfing The Void.

Once More With A Lot Of Feeling

Whoever hears the name Ra Ra Riot for the first time might think at a punk rock/fuck-the-system band. However, things aren't what they seem. Ra Ra Riot have already been around for four years and a half, and one might say they specialised until now in writing indie pop songs, that are catchy without necessarily having the happy-happy-joy-joy sound. And this is not a surprise, considering the tragedy that happened before the release of their debut album (the death of their drummer).

Their new record, The Orchard, is a celebration of love in all of its aspects. At this moment, the word "ballad" would most likely cross the mind of many of you - and you'd be right. On their new album, the sound became more gentle and less claustrophobic. Just as in real life, time seems to heal wounds.

If it's true that every band must have a certain something meant to make a difference, then in Ra Ra Riot's case that certain something is for sure represented by the immersion of orchestral sounds. This is proven especially on the band's first single, Too Dramatic, which is basically the kind of song that enters your mind right after the first listen and sticks with you - violin and cello never sounded more energetic and fresh. Same sensation is given by Boy, with its interesting bass line, which might make some of you regret you're not in a rock band.

These are the most energetic tracks on the album, but that does not make the rest of them sound like they are from a different (and boring) movie. It's true, there are a few moments when the sound becomes a bit monotone (see Massachusetts), but that does not make you change your mind about the whole record. Especially when the band makes unexpected moves - an example is You And I Know, on which cellist Alexandra Lawn replaces Wes Miles on vocals, giving the song a plus of tenderness and making it one of the best tracks on the album.

To put it simple, The Orchard might not have the sparkling of The Rhumb Line, but it is without a doubt a good release and a pleasant listening, enough to make you want to keep an eye on them in the future.


*photo courtesy of Ra Ra Riot's official site

!!! Is In The House

!!! are the one supreme hipster band. And it’s not just the impossible to pronounce name. No, it’s also the detached (self) irony, the (uber) bored voice, the Studio 54 flair, the song titles like All My Heroes Are Weirdos. But with every album, !!! have proven they are also one of the best bands out there, that they are worth every ounce of love, that they are true artists making art that gets people grooving. In their all-too-loved style, the New Yorkers tell us it’s high time we filled every corner of that 70s retro bar and dance like there is no tomorrow via their newest album, Strange Weather, Isn’t It?

Which is, without doubt, a 100% !!! album. Nic Offer’s songwriting is just as irreverent as always. He still seems just as sarcastic singing about random things. He says it’s a good thing. But it’s a good thing he likes being alone and you can’t help but wonder if he isn’t throwing it in your face just like that, reminding you what an ass you are. His voice, his bored voice, might be out of tone or flat at times. It is still one of the funkiest out there. The female vocals swing and swag, making each song more soulful, adding a Groove Is In The House air to Wannagain Wannagain and turning Steady As The Sidewalk Cracks into Hearts Of Hearts little but really badass sister. And hell yeah, Anita Ward must be really jealous of these kids.

By now, it is indeed obvious !!! have their trademark sound. Strange Weather is the band we’ve all been loving for so long. But their ready-for-the-dancefloor sound is more than just some guitars and funky vocals. It’s also the saxophones that are used without a shred of irony and that are by no means a faux-pas in !!! land. The fuzzy guitars that are not afraid to bounce back and forth. The naughty bass line that feels each song with tones of sexuality. The way Even Judas Gave Jesus A Kiss and The Hammer are pieces of heavy sonic experimentation and still make you groove on your chair and pray that the DJ in your local bar will play this the next time you go there.

What’s more important about Strange Weather, Isn’t It? is that it is a solid album, not one moment that might let you down, bored you or make you want to skip the track. It’s the kind of album that you can’t help but play head to bottom and groove under imagined strobe lights. And while !!! don’t really need to prove the world anything, at least not after 2007’s Myth Takes, it sure feels great to hear them trying to convince you once more Studio 54 is not dead.

Rambling Duo

Isobel Campbell must hate always hearing how weird it is for her to work with Mark Lanegan. How peculiar that her post Belle & Sebastian career is all bluesy Americana and no twee Scottish pop. How this particular Scottish blonde get to collaborate with the taciturn American. And how it works surprisingly well. How people are still amased at the fluency of their music even if the duo has worked together for three albums.

Like she said it in an interview last week, it just works. There is a certain chemistry that is hard to put into words, to describe, to deconstruct. The first two albums, while maybe not perfect, gently let you know this. The duo’s third studio recording, Hawk, is not afraid to repeat it: herein lies a bond that few people can achieve. There is no such thing as pushing it, as trying too hard to write songs for the both of them. Effortless is what defines this album and, as a matter of fact, the duo’s entire work. It’s like they were in fact different faces of the same person. Lanegan’s rough bluesy voice and Campbell’s nightingale one exist to complete each other. There is no war of egos, no schizoid songs or different artistic approaches. Just a blissful union of two songwriters, an intimacy that seems out of this world.

It is hard to argue that Campbell and Lanegan are at their best when they craft breezy, sensual musical pieces. When they write about the troubles of the heart and wayward men. The softly sang To Hell & Back Again and No Place To Fall (“I’m not much of a lover, that’s true” muses Lanegan) are instant attention grabbers in a sea of beauty. But here, on Hawk, the two show where rockabilly can take them: Get Behind Me and Hawk recall of long highway drives and smoky Southern bars.

While there is no denying Hawk is an overall beautiful album, it has its flaws: it requires a certain mood when listening to the record, it is a bit too homogenous and, at times, a bit too forgettable. But it is serves its purpose just right. It reminds everyone that Campbell and Lanegan were always meant to work together and their artistic union should be no surprise to others.

Do You Like Boris?

Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin should be quite of a political band. Cause a scene, protest in front of the White House, ask for the demolition of Wall Street, things like these. But SSLYBY’s area of interest seemed to be a bit different: girls and their lips, love’s sweet torments and the pains of the heart. Five years on from their breezy self-released debut Broom and two after the exquisite Pershing, the Russian president’s fans return with an album that seems to follow the lines of the band’s previous recordings but takes it a step further.

Let It Sway is like a soft spring breeze, the sun on an April morning: handclaps gently tickle the hazy guitars and rapid drums while the seemingly dissonant voice wraps itself around your heart. There is also plenty of immersion into mid-90s American alternative: the excellent Banned (By The Man) and the semi-schizoid part mellow loveliness part blasting guitars and echo-y vocals Back In The Saddle are not just mere tracks, but a fully fledged time machines. And there are two-tone hints like the bass lines on In Pairs or jumping drums of My Terrible Personality or punk-meets-Americana outburst like the potentially concert favourite Critical Drain.

There are, as a matter of fact, many notes, chords and keys SSLYBY take from the past and glue them so closely together it’s hard to figure out where you’ve heard it before. Fortunately, songs like the bubbly Evelyn or the piano-kissed (future-Michael-Cera-movie-title) Stuart Gets Lost Dans Le Metro are moments when the glue is made of sheer and utter brilliance. Unfortunately, there are times when the four piece fails to create something remarkable. No, by no means is any of their songs sonically disturbing. Just that, on a first listen the likes of Animalkind say almost nothing to the listener and gently slip from the memory as the last notes of the songs are played.

But as proof SSLYBY are worthy of the indie front lines, the moments when the album drags seem too short and are easy to ignore. No need to fret, no need to despair. Those flaws exist to remind us SSLYBY are only human and they too can err. After all, it would be awfully depressing to listen to an album that has only airwave perfection like Cardinal Rules, wouldn’t it?

She Don't Care About Any Of That

Grinderman are here competing for the most random video of 2010. Hallefuckinglujah

P.S.: The tache owns. End of.

Infinite Zest

Youth is not to be easily dismissed. While some might laugh and throw an “Ah, but you are still young”, it is nothing short of obvious youth is something many chase. Indeed, Sky Larkin are young and one could think it comes naturally for these 20-plus-year-olds. But they way they craft their songs make it crystal clear few can do this. The zest of careless days is ever present in their melodies and the three Leeds natives make it seem so effortless one can but crave to be at least for a day like them.

Their latest album, Kaleide, is just another burst of energy. Irreverent and with a flair of the long lost 90s American alternative (well, maybe not that lost), Kaleide does not wish to be a wise-beyond-its-age album. It throws itself in your face and takes you back to the nights when you were still a teenager (including the heartaches, not just the fun). The rapid guitars, sneaky distorts and Casio keyboards shamelessly creep around you and remind you that sometimes even more than three chords, make for on hell of a punk recording. It is, one could rightfully say, the rebirth of grunge but on British land. Their love for female bands like Sleater-Kinney is ever present. The heavy drums and Katie Harkin’s voice stand as proof that the Olympia-trio is reincarnated into Sky Larkin.

Like fellow Brits Johnny Foreigner, Sky Larkin have always had a great pop sensibility: their songs seem to be instant hit in Indieland. The Foals-scented Year Dot with its computer game feel, the sun-kissed metal-infused Spooktacular with its obsessive chorus, the ecstatic Stay Windmills with its crescendos, all are meant to be festival anthems, musical tour-de-forces that should not be known be a handful of people and should grace radio waves.

Kaleide is by no means a surprise to those who know Sky Larkin’s previous output, but it makes for a great listen. Sky Larkin are slowly growing up and evolving while staying true to themselves and to their now trademark sound. This album is not supposed to raise eyebrows. What Kaleide is here for is to tell us to keep our eyes on the guys and never forget just what a wonderful band they are.