Hard-Fi - Blonde Redhead - The Coral - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
- Voxtrot - New Pornographers - Rilo Kiley - Grand National - The Bravery
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ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST - Hard-Fi
When they first appeared on our radar in late 2004, the talk was of a 21st-century Clash, who had something significant to say about Modern Day Britain, whatever that entails. Nearly three years on, and Hard-Fi are no longer Staines' second-most famous export.
This is something Richard Archer and co attempt to address before 'Once Upon A Time In The West' even begins - but the less said about the abysmal, try-hard attempt at subversive 'rule-breaking' that constitutes the album's cover, the better.
The album opens with lead single 'Suburban Knights' (which, incidentally, has an even worse cover) and with the unwavering certainty of a morning commuter train, normal service is resumed. Based around a terrace chant that'll be soundtracking goal of the month montages on Match of The Day very soon.
'Tonight', a sort of sombre reimagining of Springsteen's 'Thunder Road' for satellite-dwellers, with ghostly strings and another of those chant choruses, lends creedence to Archer's vague tale of two lovers "getting out of" what we can only assume is a lower middle-class housing estate and heading for the bright lights of the city, or something.
Some critics have lazilly suggested that 'Once Upon A Time...' is about as lyrically savvy as a Hollyoaks script, with the only real exception being the genuinely affecting 'Help Me Please', a simple and haunting piano ballad about the death of Archer's mum, with scant pretensions to suburban discontent. They have a point.
Once you accept the fact that most of the lyrics are paper-thin, however, there's much fun to be had. 'Television' is pure brass-balled '80s pop with a chorus that must kick itself for missing the festival season by a measly month, and that will win even the most sour-faced of doubters over. But it's 'Can't Get Along' that hints at genuine - and much welcome - progression. Accompanied by bombastic garlands of symphonic Motown brass and the cocksure swagger that marked 'Stars Of CCTV''s best moments, it has a few characteristic lyrical faux pas - "I picked fights with men twice my size/I picked fights, they punched out my lights" indeed - but coasts by on force of melody alone. The same applies for 'We Need Love', a slinky, Specials-indebted call to arms of the nation's city centres, that again tantalisingly suggests at what 'Once Upon A Time...' wants to be when it grows up.
Download: Hard-Fi - ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST
(available for 7 days from date of post)
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23 - Blonde Redhead
23 finds Blonde Redhead at their beauteous best, on the sort of form that saw the trio produce one of the finest LPs to date, 2004’s Misery Is A Butterfly. It’s a record that sinks in deep, from the very offset; an album that enriches the heart and mind and leaves the first-timer flabbergasted at just how fantastically otherworldly a single album can sound. Those wanting absolute succinctness at the earliest possible juncture, this is what you need to know: 23 is the next LP you have to buy.
Mysterious and magical, the New York-based trio have always been a complex puzzle of a band – experimental to a degree yet able to harness the rawest, purest pop hooks, the brothers Pace and vocalist Kazu Makino craft compositions that defy conventional classification. Indie-rock is one catchall that could be applied, but it’s ill-fitting given the three-piece’s penchant for exploring alternative routes to a song’s climax. Often what begins elementary takes a turn for the advanced, for the contradictory; here, ‘SW’ begins its journey under a heavy curtain of chimes and shimmers, trebly percussion and chant-like vocals, but by the midpoint of its allotted four-and-a-half it’s shifted gears courtesy of some superbly unexpected, wonderfully embellishing trumpeteering. It’s just one of 23’s many highlights – a song that strays from the norm enough to sate those with an appetite for the unusual, but does so in a way so affecting that even absolute beginners will be thoroughly intoxicated.
The opening title track, too, tosses an early curve: its introduction is pure eighties alternative rock, all drifting drones and blooded bombast – a comparison to the always referenced My Bloody Valentine would not be misplaced. Yet the song’s not designed for those with their eyes firmly on their laces; it’s a celebratory gambit, a gorgeous slice of alien soundscaping that’s somehow of this earth but utterly inhuman of design. It’s too perfect to be the product of fallible men, and that feeling, that Blonde Redhead have found a previously shrouded secret formula for songwriting, runs the length and breadth of 23.
It seems strange that a band so full of sound would lift their moniker from a no-wave group from a couple of decades ago, but in Blonde Redhead’s case the contradictory has always made a perverse sense. 23 offers no answers as to how Blonde Redhead should be appreciated, generically; all it does is remind the listener that few bands today are quite so perfect at their chosen art form.
If you missed it earlier, this is the next record you have to buy. Absolutely. Unequivocally. It’s better than Misery Is A Butterfly. Seriously. Do it.
Download: Blonde Redhead - 23
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ROOTS & ECHOES - The Coral
Yes, it's a knowing title, acknowledging the Coral's propensity for digging deep into the past and assimilating the findings into their own music. The calendar on the wall on Roots and Echoes stands at 1967, the dial on the radio set between breezy West Coast pop and glowering psych-rock - imagine Jan and Dean perched on one shoulder as Charles Manson hovers on the other. The push and pull between light and dark has always defined the group, but Roots and Echoes is a brighter, considerably more settled record than previous outings, less inclined to meander skittishly into dub, mariachi and sea shanties. It sounds like the work of a band harnessing their strengths, intent on packing a heavyweight punch after losing focus on 2005's misfiring The Invisible Invasion
With 'Roots & Echoes' The Coral reaffirm that they're one of the few white-boy guitar bands who can rock and roll, doing unfailingly interesting things with rhythm while at the same time being unafraid of A Good Tune. 'Put the Sun Back' is a glorious song of lost innocence - filled with parks, cinder paths, alleyways and 'schoolyard eyes', its emotional, geographical and musical terrain evokes Van Morrison circa the late Sixties. It's also one of those rare songs that touchingly confronts the inadequacy of language in the face of love ('I can't explain/ You know what I mean') rather than attempting to sidestep the issue via fancy verbal footwork. 'Who's Gonna Find Me', meanwhile, is the Doors-meets-the Isley Brothers' 'Summer Breeze': the kind of opener that compels you to skip back and drink it in one more time before moving on.
The darkness remains, but a happy balance is struck. On 'In the Rain' James Skelly defines himself as 'a stranger in this life/ Haunted by yesterday's desires'. Before you get snagged contemplating just what a heavy lyric that is for a 26-year-old, 'Cobwebs' takes the record on an engaging, light-hearted detour into shuffling tuxedo country, a Merseybeat take on 'Gentle on My Mind'.
The fear after The Invisible Invasion was that the Coral might end up like Gomez: another group of young, talented, retro-inclined over-achievers who rather faded in the face of their own over-experimental tendencies. Fear not. The stirring Roots and Echoes sets the Coral firmly back on course.
Download: The Coral - ROOTS & ECHOES
(available for 7 days from date of post)
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SOME LOUD THUNDER - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Two things stood against Clap Your Hands Say Yeah when they first emerged at the tail end of 2005. One was the ridiculous amount of hype that accompanied the band. The other was singer Alec Ounsworth's voice - a reedy, startled yelp that often resembled the unhinged warblings of a PCP-raddled drunk - and that, on first listen, made you curse evolution for providing you with ears. Little over a year later they're back with album number two, minus the initial hype, but with a frontman still resolute in his abstinence of what, in musical parlance, is known as 'being in tune'. But then again, Ian Brown had the very same affliction.
Listening to the opening track and you might think Clap Your Hands’ second album will be a retread of the first. But once the rag-tag Beach Boy-ish ambition of 'Emily Jean Stock' and the arpeggiated intricacies of 'Goodbye To The Mother And The Cov'e have worked their magic, it’s apparent that they’re a lot more ambitious than that. At their best, on 'Yankee Go Home' and 'Five Easy Pieces', their sound becomes less indie rock than ecstatic chanting. Oddly reassuring amid all this change is that singer Alec Ounsworth still sounds like David Byrne falling into icy water.
Download: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah - SOME LOUD THUNDER
(available for 7 days from date of post)
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VOXTROT - Voxtrot
For the last few years fans of Austin, TX indie band Voxtrot, have been bracing for disappointment. On a series of mini-CDs and vinyl singles the band revealed a knack for fervent little masterpieces, as well as a debt to a string of British forebears (comparisons to Belle & Sebastian, Housemartins or Wedding Present are the most often). Each release raised the stakes, all but ensuring that Voxtrot’s debut album would be a letdown.
Maybe it all paid off because Voxtrot’s self-titled debut album is marvelous: a collection of 11 tightly coiled songs, loud and fast and sweet. Mr. Srivastava is an unapologetic overwriter, cramming stanzas full of details and songs full of stanzas. In “Ghost,” he dashes through 12 quatrains, ricocheting from a plainspoken confession (“I don’t ever want to be alone like this”) to a cryptic vow (“I have no choice but to be vicious on my feet/I never sleep, I never eat”).
The band sounds pretty vicious, too, in a wimpy sort of way. It’s bigger and louder than before; agitated strumming still pushes the songs forward, but now strings and horns add bursts of harmony and noise. And Mr. Srivastava never stops wriggling, as if that were the only way to keep pressure and expectation at bay. In “Firecracker,” even the catchy chorus becomes a contortion: “Oh, did you turn your back on me?/Or did. I. Turn. My. Self./Oh, against myself, oh?” One fears — well, hopes — that Mr. Srivastava is already tying himself in knots, trying to figure out how on earth his band will top this.
Download: Voxtrot - VOXTROT
(available for 7 days from date of post)
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CHALLENGERS - The New Pornographers
If previous New Pornographers albums are the musical equivalent of Corporate Cola, then Challengers is the caffeine-free diet version: less sugary, more mature, initially not as invigorating, but ultimately just as addictive. It's the inevitable response to 2005's Twin Cinema, a benchmark that culminated the Canadian power-poppers' hyperactive "three hooks for every song" phase. In contrast, Challengers' songs are given room to stretch out and breathe, to reveal their gooey centers at a (relatively) leisurely pace, rather than jumping frantically out of the speakers. Challengers might not grab listeners right away—it's definitely a grower—but a little patience will help reveal the most consistent Pornos album yet.
The title track gets one of Newman's prettiest melodies, making it a natural showcase for Neko Case's subdued, vulnerable vocal. But Newman saves the saddest song—"Unguided"—for himself, letting it slowly swell into his best sing-along since "The Bleeding Heart Show." Dan Bejar of Destroyer is still playing the role of eccentric jester, and his three contributions—"Myriad Harbour," "Entering White Cecilia," and "The Spirit Of Giving"—drip with perverse charm, as always. But The New Pornographers is unmistakably a vehicle for Newman's songwriting, which is pure pop genius even with half the sweetness.
Download: The New Pornographers - CHALLENGERS
(available for 7 days from date of post)
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UNDER THE BLACKLIGHT - Rilo Kiley
It’s an intraband breakup album, a public reading of private diaries in the tradition of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. It’s also a perils-of-L.A. postcard. In addition, it’s a cocky bid for mass popularity from a band that passed quickly through four different indie labels. That’s a whole lot of heritage and ambition to pack into 37 minutes.
Miraculously, the different aspects of Under the Blacklight only compliment one another. Creamy and precise, every coo and arpeggio blows through your ear buds like the ruffle of crisp bills; Mike Elizondo, the West Coast rap producer who bolsters the band’s guitar pop with big, confident beats, is like a location scout, moving the tawdry action from a Bel Air mansion to a Los Feliz bungalow. The warm smell of colitas rises up through the digital air.
And, crucially, the perspective is female: Jenny Lewis has wrenched control of the group from guitarist and ex-boyfriend Blake Sennett. “I never felt so wicked/As when I willed our love to die,” she sings in a celebration of singleness that verges on a taunt. With a soft, poised voice that favors bittersweet notes, she explores female power in different guises—a girl who’s shaking her “moneymaker” to a ’70s funk beat; a tank-top temptress frolicking, braless, in a club; a precocious teen with a “developing body” who is “down for almost anything.”
What she finds, of course, is danger. To Lewis, women are born into trouble—and escape by flirting, feigning submission or going home with men they don’t know. The songs are full of sex (as well as the lure of money, like any great L.A. album). But the only real delight comes from hurting someone: The bursting “Breakin’ Up” (cowritten by Lewis and Sennett) makes revenge feel like a great new dance.
Incessantly catchy and well-made, the CD swaps indie quirks for familiarity: The sexy “Smoke Detector” builds off a generic British Invasion guitar, and “The Moneymaker” snatches a melody from the Cars’ “Moving in Stereo.” This isn’t an art-house film; it’s a suspenseful popcorn flick: Lewis never says what happens to that restless 15-year-old, but you can tell it won’t end well.
Download: Rilo Kiley - UNDER THE BLACKLIGHT
(available for 7 days from date of post)
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A DRINK & A QUICK DECISION - Grand National
Being a straight-up pop band like Grand National is a tricky business these days. With all the subgenre and the sub-subgenre tags, all the hype and counterhype and anti-counterhype flying around like so much confetti, well, it's getting awfully tough to actually celebrate. 2004's Kicking the National Habit gave us a great start, with almost supernaturally catchy tunes and cozy beats that worked on speakers as well as dancefloors. And A Drink And A Quick Decision is a pill every bit as sweet as its predecessor, mining similar terrain to achieve equally sexy results.
If anything characterizes the group, it's a willingness to craft lean, elegant songs that absorb their influences, rather than flaunt them. So what would those influences be? There's a definite connection with the buoyant melodic line of British rock-grounded pop bands: the Beatles, the Kinks, Blur. There's a frosty coating of mid-period new wave slickness and production values, and a foundation of tasteful dance-grounded beats (think Stone Roses, Happy Mondays, New Order). Those mistaking obnoxiousness or tunelessness for stylistic innovation will be quick to describe Grand National as "derivative," but they're merely the odd batch of traditionalists in the ideological war zone that is independent rock, where sounding like an old Coil b-side is somehow more progressive than writing a solid pop tune. If nothing here offends, well, maybe we should ask ourselves exactly when and how offending became such a virtue.
What really sets Grand National apart and allows them to navigate these tender zones with impunity, however, is their ability to pull all kinds of textural rabbits out of stylistic hats without ever sounding like they're genre-hopping. The choppy acoustic guitar and electrical static backdrop of "Tongue," the house kickdrum and lightly-flanged Cure-esque lead of "Close Approximation," the pastoral dreaminess of "Weird Ideas at Work," the wicked ska-not-ska of "Going to Switch the Light On," all these somehow make for perfect settings for the songwriting team of Rudd and partner Rupert Lyddon. And when their collaboration exceeds the merely excellent, it produces truly sublime fruit—first single "By the Time I Get Home...," the moody-yet-epic "Animal Sounds," and "Joker and Clown," which unashamedly stakes a claim on being one of 2007's best ballads, with a stark acoustic guitar strummed against a smart pair of rhythmic backdrops. Within that alternation lies the simple secret to Grand National's limber popcraft: it's nothing more than another update on the classic one-two of euphoria and melancholy. When was that ever a bad thing?
Download: Grand National - A DRINK & A QUICK DECISION
(available for 7 days from date of post)
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THE SUN AND THE MOON - The Bravery
Clever lads, the Bravery. To represent the title "The Sun and the Moon," they made half the album jacket one colour (gold for the sun) and the other half another (blue for the moon). Fortunately, the music isn’t as fractured. In fact, it’s another major step forward for the New York-based band. The boys keep the best of their ’80s-style, new wave rock sound but add more classic guitar rock touches under famed producer Brendan O’Brien. Singer Sam Endicott still sounds like a cross between Ray Davies of the Kinks and an earnest Morrissey. Many of the songs carry an increased seriousness but they're framed by irresistible melodies that turn Endicott’s soulsearching into compelling dance rock. The Bravery is still throwing a party, but it’s a thinking-man's party. This easily ranks among the top rock records of the year.
The Bravery released their 2005 neo-new-wave debut in the wake of a virtual dance-rock armada (see: the Killers, the Rapture), grafting beats onto steroidal guitar riffs. Labeled copycats, they quickly became persona non grata among the hipsterati. But The Sun and the Moon shows them weeding out the pogo-stick synth loops, favoring mid-'90s Britpop and early-'00s Strokes. The propulsive energy (and navel-gazing) is still there, channeled into stadium-size anthems and heartrending ballads. Too sappy for the cool kids, sure, but still a fine pop record.
Download: The Bravery - THE SUN AND THE MOON
(available for 7 days from date of post)
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