All 9 entries tagged Album
October 11, 2007
Hot on the heels of other summery indie pop bands such as The Hoosiers and Air Traffic, are “Scouting for Girls”, releasing their self titled first album. Following their top 10 single “She’s So Lovely” – a track which sounds just like The Feeling – if they weren’t quite so posh.
These guys have achieved the perfect formula for being just another band that becomes a local radio favourite, the type of band your mum would enjoy on the drive home from work. They’ve got catchy, piano driven songs that make you smile and think “that’s nice”. However, herein lies the main problem, since every song on the album follows this formula, it gets tired and repetitive very quickly.
It doesn’t help that all the songs on this album link back to the same old subject – girls. Songs about girls who have dumped him, songs about girls who have boys, so on and so on. Repetition also sits in every single song; with lead single “She’s So Lovely” being the worst, with the entire chorus being one line repeated seven times.
This album is cheery and probably perfect background music for the summer, however it's still unchallenging, bland and really just shows how lazy bands have become while still being able to achieve success by hopping onto the “remotely Indie” pile. This is probably one for your Mum.
This new release from Scottish Indie-rockers Idlewild contains 17 tracks spanning all 5 of their LP's but sadly nothing from the 1998 "Captain" EP.
Every Idlewild album so far has had a distinctive sound to it, so the non-chronological track order provides an eclectic and enjoyable experience, especially when the album moves from "When I Argue I See Shapes" from their debut LP "Hope is Important" to "Love Steals Us From Loneliness" from 2005's "Warnings/Promises", where the change in Roddy's voice is so profound that it makes you wonder if they replaced him with a lookalike folk singer somewhere between the two albums. Similarly the production qualities and styles vary so wildly you would be forgiven for thinking you were listening to a Various Artists album rather than hearing a band evolve over the years.
Listening to Scottish Fiction alone you would never believe that Idlewild started off as a punk band with Roddy screaming down the mic, and this is where my only criticism of the album lies. Even though you can immediately tell which era each song is from, the songs that defined the punk/folk periods of their career are missing, omitted in favour of the singles from each album.
So overall whilst this is a great introduction to Idlewild you need to dig a bit deeper to see the whole picture, which is a shame as some of their finest moments have come from the depths of each album.
David Ford is one of those gems from the troubadour scene with the Glengarry-esque ethic of ‘Always Be Touring’. The past year has seen him make his way from Northampton to
Weighing in at just nine tracks and thirty minutes in length, Songs represents the distillation of two years’ worth of mid-tour compositions from one of the more masterful members of the British acoustic scene. A notable evolution from the Spartan instrumentation of his debut album, Ford has boldly ventured into more epic territory with this release, padding the timbre of the first three tracks with a full string orchestra and even furnishing the album’s title track with an out-of-character trombone solo.
One can understand Ford’s reasoning for beginning his solo career with a more-or-less ‘one-man-and-his-acoustic’ instrumentation, as he had just split from ‘Easyworld’, a band that retrospectively appears to be David going about his musical business with a couple of teenage Smashing Pumpkins fans playing guitar and drums over the top. However, the effect of his recent readiness to work with a full band has given his sound the added sophistication of a songwriter who can competently write a part for a string quartet, such as opening track Go To Hell, without over-crowding the back-to-basics sound that endeared him to us in the first place.
Stand-out tracks on the album are Decimate, a song that was first composed using a percussion loop created by tapping type-writer keys, and Nobody Tells Me What To Do, a rare celebration of the life of the lonely single man. These are also the two songs that fully encapsulate the important effect of Ford’s use of a full band on his new album. Whilst his voice has always been an astounding hybrid of charm and melancholy with a vocal range to make most pop-stars jealous, and his lyrical ability putting him a cut above your average guy with a guitar and a broken heart, it is hard to listen to Ford’s early work without the strange feeling that you’re just listening to the work of a man in need of a hug. With songs such as Decimate however, we see Ford up the stakes somewhat and vie to make us cry and tap our feet at the same time, hitting us with one of those rare hybrids of ‘heartfelt’ and ‘catchy’.
I would recommend this album to anyone who likes Damien Rice but wish he’d just grow a pair of balls and get over it.
I’ve always struggled to pinpoint Hard-Fi’s appeal. I mean they’re a band with a pretty shabby name and the sort of image that even Marks and Spencer wouldn’t touch.
I’m going to make a conscious effort to avoid the ‘difficult second album’ tag and the fact that Hard-Fi are a rather poor live outfit.
Nevertheless, the boys are back with another forty minutes worth of bold, cocky, and stomping tunes. Suburban Knights isn’t bad at all and is even now a regular feature in Evolve’s ‘indie’ room on a Thursday. It's followed by I Shall Overcome, a song with a pathetic chorus yet a rather charming chorus.
Lyrically there’s no real progression. Richard Archer is once again falling for strangers and then singing about it in a very bitter manner from start to finish.
Recent single Can't Get Along (Without You) being the perfect example. Let’s just hope Archer has some strong friends to see him through his constant heartache.
The perennial Hard-Fi background harmonies haven’t gone anywhere and neither has the brisk guitaring that was key to the success of debut Stars Of CCTV.
My housemate has labelled Television as genuinely the worst song he’s ever heard coming from my room. Jonathan is not a Hard-Fi fan. Unfortunately for the lads from Staines it’s probably one of the more memorable moments from the record.
It’s safe to say, however, that the powers that be at mainstream radio will love this collection of gritty, wishy-washy indie rock’n’roll songs.
In truth it’s the job of the slow ballads, Help Me Please and Tonight, to save the album from mid-top forty obscurity. The band are clearly capable of some thoughtful song writing which will no doubt lend to their accessibility.
Having spent a fair bit of time living once upon a time on a train with this album i hard not to think that the band could have, and really should of, delivered a more convincing effort.
Once Upon A Time In The West is also an incredibly hard album to place in one’s life. It’s certainly not the best going out music; neither are the band suited to library time.
Watch Me Fall Apart is quite a pleasant little song but only goes to further illustrate the tediousness of the Archer anguish.
Likewise, We Need Love, will no doubt soon hold a special place in the hearts’ of middle aged singletons everywhere.
This is a musically competent album and not an entirely bad effort. I know this sounds like a sixth-form Geography report but there’s not an awful lot more to say about this lot. I’ve often wondered if anyone actually missed Hard-Fi during their absence? Anyone?
I’ve since discovered Hard-Fi to be the perfect band to have to perfect shave to.
My copy has already been handed down to my little brother. So thanks, but no thanks.
I must admit, Sum 41 are a guilty pleasure of mine. I enjoy nothing better then throwing on “All Killer No Filler” and reminiscing to the days when I was a tiny, spiky haired 14 year old.. In reviewing this album, I was hoping that losing their guitarist, taking a political stand and marrying Avril Lavigne had not caused Sum 41 to lose their spark.
Opening track "Underclass Hero" immediately jumps into All Killer No Filler mode, Donning baggy shorts and jumping in the air to something that sounds suspiciously like Fat Lip. The rest of the album though, sounds as if Deryck Whibley has been listening to his pop-punk contemporaries a bit too much. “March of the Dogs” and “Walking Disaster” wouldn’t sound out of place on Blink’s last album, and the political messages that constantly stand out scream “American Idiot”.
The melodrama that accompanies this album drags it down, and while previous album Chuck had slower ballads to intervene and break up the faster songs, this record leaves me waiting to throw my fists in the air and pump my fists.
The most disappointing thing about this album is that while their sound has obviously matured, they’ve lost what made them stand out in the first place, with only tracks like Underclass Hero and King of Contradictions sounding like Sum 41. It's just all been done before, and done better as well.
October 09, 2007
Hey Francis, how long has it been? Five, ten, fifteen years? Maybe not so long, but it’s the neck end of a decade since we bid adieu to the fat bloke who inspired Stiltskin or something. This rebirth of alt-rock’s favourite son has been much touted, but with good reason. You know how Pixies records have that timeless feel to them, they could never date badly. They will never date badly…well Bluefinger is just the same. The surf edge has gone but the Hispanic licks, psychotic vocals and off kilter humour remains – ‘He played piano really fucking good’.
Bluefinger could be the soundtrack to a spaghetti western, not just any fly-by-night cheese fest though, one that even big Duke Wayne would star in. It’s an erratic tongue in cheek trip to yesterday but you know the best part? Good ol’ Blackie is having a ball, and because Francis is having fun you can have fun. It works.
Lyrically it’s the same affair, deadpan, austere, surreal. Although a never ending stream of adjectives could not help but fail to describe this record. Whilst this is not a retread of Pixes albums it would be fair to say that there is a hint of familiarity in the sound of Bluefinger; both from the 4AD days and the Frank Black years. From the psyched out rockabilly punk of opener ‘Captain Pasty’ (that’s Paste-y not pasty) through to the soiled farewell of title track ‘Bluefinger’ the record radiates Francis’ talents and reminds you that whilst he may forever be associated with the Pixes he is so much more than that.
Whilst ‘Threshold Apprehension’ celebrates the past with a great sense of majesty tracks such as ‘Lolita’ emphasise the path of Black Francis as a solo artist, it’s nothing as drastic as a departure from the favoured stance but it’s a different take and as tongue in cheek as ever. Tongue-in-cheek is perhaps an apt description, especially lyrically. Titles such as ‘Tight black rubber’ and ‘Threshold apprehension’ are more than mere suggestion: ‘She bit me and I just filmed her’ and from ‘Angels come to comfort you’ is perhaps the best line on the entire album ‘He ain’t no saint/but he was Dutch’.
The crowning glory of this record is the syntax, or lack of it. Each song manages to lean on its successor but not out of dependence, more a general malaise. The frenzied punkabilly moves of the opening tracks soon collapses into moonshine and spittoon type grooves complete with harmonica and sleepy rhythms. The ever changing pace, humour and appeal of Black Francis has once again endured. If you can’t bring yourself to like the Pixies, do us all a favour and love Black Francis. Failing that just keep your opinions to yourself and I’ll make sure all toddlers are returned unharmed. Honest.
Album number three was never going to be easy for the indie popsters from Deptford. Still living in the shadow of older siblings Coldplay, and after an absence of almost three years, expectations were high for both me and my mother. If 2003’s Vehicles And Animals provided the dream start, clumsy second album Tourist was more full of holes than Tottenham Hotspur’s defence has been of late. Opening instrumental, In Between 2 States, is, quite frankly, rubbish. Thankfully for Mr Joel Pott, the combination of Hurricane and Tokyo saves the first third of the album from obscurity.
Its Not Your Fault represents the record’s strongest song and sees Athlete at their jauntiest best. It’s the kind of sustained quality of tune that the band need to master to make the step up from festival opener, to festival closer. Echoes of “Oh my God, what the hell just happened?” have already become a live favourite feature of Athlete shows since their live return to London’s Koko back in July. The excellent up-tempo In The Library is set to be the song that sees me through the summer exam period. Who would have thought that Athlete would ever write songs about swimming around academic institutions in far off fairytale lands? Not me.
Of course, Beyond The Neighbourhood would not be an Athlete album if it wasn’t scattered with the odd mediocre song and there are plenty of them here.
Flying Over Bus Stops sees the bands infatuation with travelling and all things holiday continue in a rather poor fashion. Its also the hardest Athlete song to sit through since the wonderful Westside brought the band the attention they’d craved since their amalgamation back in 1999. We’re even subjected to listening to Pott lament about the sound of his own voice during the album’s closer This Is What I Sound Like.
Pott, Willets, Roberts and Wanstall have always been ones to end on a low and this latest moan joins Le Casio and I Love in the Athlete slow-album-ender hall of fame. Nevertheless, the wagonwheel of further success could be round the corner with everyone from MTV2 to Hello magazine rallying round this, Athlete’s second best, or second worst album to date.
Pott’s voice has always had an element of marmite to it. More charisma than Chris Martin yet lacking the originality of Alex Turner. Its also a sad fact widely known that Athlete will never enter the same musical bracket as Coldplay, nor Arctic Monkeys. And yet even some of the weakest songs on the album hold a certain element of charm to it. I was even convinced that Best Not To Think About It was written about me for the best part of a week over the summer.
If you’re yet to enter the world of Athlete then Beyond The Neighbourhood is not a bad place to start. The foursome have matured over the years and even acquired a love for the unspoilt British coastline along the way. The band has certainly put up a good challenge to capture the mainstream market. Memorable choruses and artwork strangely reminiscent of X&Y just might do it. Come the summer the big festival fields will be calling yet its unlikely that the sun will have gone down by the time countless numbers of middle-aged couples start singing along to Wires.
Athlete’s trademark sound of wholesome lyrics, complacent percussion, vaguely anthemic choruses and experimental keyboards look to have firmly established the group in the British indie-pop industry.
This review appeared in Issue 1 of the *Warwick Boar*
Staring blankly at the fresh Microsoft Word document intended for my journalistic debut in the Warwick Boar, my mind wandered to the same thought that every Fresher will muse upon at some stage during their first year at university. At what point does borrowing for creative inspiration become plagiarism? It’s an important distinction to make, and having convinced myself that quickly flicking open the NME to read their opinion of The Go! Team’s second album, ‘Proof of Youth’, was perfectly acceptable in the eyes of the powers that be, I came across the following sentence: “Unsurprisingly, the most thrilling moments are the most genre-schizo.“ I feel it’s important to be honest at this point. I have absolutely no idea what that means. Yet, for some reason, that feeling of bafflement gave way to one of comfort. I was at odds with the NME. I’m pretty sure I heard on the news that this was the currently the cool thing to be. I’m anti-anti-establishment. But why should this matter to me, or indeed, anyone else? Are we now so convinced by style that we ignore substance? As a huge fan of The Go! Team’s acclaimed first album, ‘Thunder, Lightning, Strike’, it was with this question in mind I ventured to the Camden Electric Ballroom to hear their new material. And it was just as I had remembered it. Pure pop brilliance. People of all ages, dancing around like small children high on blue Smarties, responding to the warmth and sincerity of the assembled multi-talented musicians. It’s unfortunate that they’re never going to be classed as a “cool” group, and that’s probably the reason, as Ninja, the lead in the band, put it, “you’re not likely to have heard of us before”.
The pick of their new songs are the instantly recognisable Grip Like a Vice, the Chuck D inspired Flashlight Fight and the effervescent The Wrath of Marcie, but much like their debut album, every tune will create a connection and get your feet tapping along with the bouncy rhythm and lively tempo. They also develop a more restrained sound than we’ve seen before on My World and I Never Needed It Now So Much, which adds a new dimension to their live performances where you can take a break to simply enjoy the craft and talent of the individual members of the band (six in total). In summary, it’s as much fun as you’re likely to have had since you first discovered the sheer brilliance of bouncy castles as a five year old. If there was any justice in the musical world, they’d be at number one in the charts every week due to their hugely wide-ranging appeal, but, till such time, you’ll have to make do with seeing them at Warwick on Friday Week 1 as part of the NME Freshers Tour. Just leave your musical ego at the front door.
This review first appeared in Issue 1 of the Warwick Boar
I really should have learned by now not to avoid an artist simply on the basis of a couple of tone-deaf televised performances. Unfortunately, that’s what I did with M.I.A’s previous album, Arular, and on hearing the follow-up, could kick myself. Kala is ridiculously good – a bona fide iPod pounder packed with heavy, energetic beats and primal sounds. Previously a visual artist, Mathangi “Maya” Arulpragasam draws on her Sri Lankan heritage and many years spent in London in her effortlessly cross-cultural musical offerings. These are songs that could probably sound strangely at home in both Fabric and her native homeland.
The different sides to M.I.A. meld seamlessly throughout Kala; on the one hand, there are lyrics about shanty towns and border conflict, vocals in unfamiliar tonalities and tribal, militant beats. On the other hand, we have slick production and studio trickery, with mention of Roc-a-Wear models and such. Held taut together, all these elements make perfect sense and whereas on other albums the introduction of Bollywood strings would be the final nail in an overly-wrought coffin, here there is absolutely no cause for raised eyebrows. Next single Jimmy is a cover, apparently, of a soundtrack piece from the 1982 Bollywood film Disco Dancer. My knowledge of Bollywood being extremely limited, I couldn’t even begin to tell how different M.I.A.’s revisioning of the song is from the original. Suffice to say that it provides one of the many golden moments on the album – a track that I could listen to “time and time and time again”.
East meets West in every song on Kala. The album kicks off with Bamboo Banga, a relentless beat onslaught, featuring vaguely-tuned vocals with lyrics that bear more than passing resemblance to Jonathan Richmann’s US-punk classic Roadrunner. Elsewhere, $20, with its chorus of “with your feet on the air and your head on the ground” borrows fairly liberally from the seminal Pixies track Where Is My Mind?, but adds mesmerising vocals and synths that plough deep furrows through the song. An inescapably political album, here M.I.A. asks: “Do you know the cost of A.K.s up in Africa? $20 ain’t shit to you, but that’s how much they are”, where on Hussel, Afrikan Boy repeats “You think it’s tough now-ow-ow-ow, come to Africa” before going into more detail about the hardships of life in the economically developing world. It’s half a world away from the slick and superb, but somewhat less socially conscious, music of the Timberlakes & Furtados. However, producer extraordinaire Timbaland lends his Midas touch for final track Come Around, an insanely catchy slice of daft vocalising, warping flourishes and the obligatory call to “bounce”.
Mango Pickle Down River is probably the most multi-layered song on Kala – the one that takes several listens to penetrate its meaning. With a background of didjeridoo and drums, M.I.A. raps about life by the river, joined by an Aboriginal youth project under the name of The Wilcannia Mob. Distracted by the hypnotic ‘didge’ at first, the kids’ lyrics can take longer to really notice. One boy tells the listener: “I’m with a gang and I’m almost 10” in an accent virtually unheard in England. This song, possibly more than any other on Kala, illustrates the inventiveness of Maya Arulpragasam; searching outside the automatic musical comfort zone for inspiration in different lifestyles, continents and philosophies. I defy you to feel bored while listening to M.I.A.
This review first appeared in Issue 1 of the Warwick Boar