Month: April 2009

So, this album has its problems, as did its predecessor, 2007’s ‘Narcissus Road’, which slid from view with its arm extended but going largely unnoticed, like the indie world’s homeless man. It’s stock indie – melodramatic, comfortable, warm indie – played comfortably by competent men. Even if there is any pain in there, any attempt at poetic communication, and most probably there is a little, it’s hard to recognise with a surface so buffed and standard. Veterans of Britpop in Continue Reading

Caroline Sullivan of The Guardian commented that having Paul Weller as a patron was no guarantee of quality given that he backed London’s similarly non-specific Rifles with much the same passion. And she might also have added that those equally flattering sponsors, Oasis said exactly the same thing about Northern Uproar before they went to Spain and came back taxi-drivers. But we are not backing horses here. We could bang on all day about another punter’s form but if we Continue Reading

The man dreams of Dave Grohl tied up in chains and laughs like Vincent Price. Not the most promising of introductions but what it looks like on the surface is a poor indication of the lop-sided beauty of North Dakota’s Tom Brosseau and his new album, ‘Posthumous Success’. It might look wonky, it might sound wonky and it may be suffering from the kind of anxiety disorders more commonly associated with people handing out copies of ‘Big Issue’ but it Continue Reading

Just think of all the cool stuff you get, as children and now, in kit form. Cars, Meccano sets, chemistry sets, model aeroplanes that you always used to run out of patience with before you’d super-glued on every last fiddly detail and, erm, nowadays flat-pick furniture? Well, it’s cheap, we are in an end-of-days recession you know. Anyway, it’s more hands on and it’s fun to use your hands. Red Light Company are about the most realised embodiment of that Continue Reading

See pictures of Micachu – which you may well have done repeatedly over recent months – all tightly wound and intense of expression, acoustic guitar clutched intently to her chest, making an Oxfam mannequin look like the main draw at London Fashion Week, you accept that she’s clearly counter-mainstream, maybe pigeonhole her as a punk minstrel, an English Kimya Dawson, that kind of thing. The truth is actually far more disparate and frenetic than you might care to imagine. Her Continue Reading