Reviews

This album drops a matter of weeks before the return of the band that everyone seems to presume are New York City, like, umm period. But while That Other Band rely on the association like an umbilical cord to feed their legend, define their cool, give contextual meaning to the way they walk, blah blah etc, Stellastarr* don’t even seem to have considered the exploitable potential of their immediate geography. Fools, obviously. They might as well hail from New Earswick Continue Reading

Anyone could have made the same mistake. For the first thirty minutes of this album I genuinely thought that the Lyte Funky Ones had finally surmounted their less than unique brand of boy band funky hip hop with something rather exceptional. Then I realized I had the wrong band. This wasn’t the Lyte Funky Ones, this was Warp Records’ LFO: Lo Frequency Modulation, if you please – the boys who virtually reinvented techno in the early nineties with the sound Continue Reading

In the deliriously vibrant and glittery environment of the actual music, the kitsch and domestic understatement of the album cover and artwork for ‘The Little Ginger Club Kid’ makes for something of an interesting and rebellious choice. Whereas Basement Jaxx comply the full nine-yards with album titles as club friendly as ‘Rooty’ and ‘Remedy’ and artwork as style-conscious to boot, Tim Deluxe roots his debut offering firmly in the ordinary and familiar. The pictures accompanying the release depict an ordinary Continue Reading

Last years’ double dose of Black was in comparison to this a rather sprawling and patchy affair. Gone are the dust balls, mothballs and mutant side-show freaks of ‘Black Letter Days’ and the blurry, agitated glam of ‘Devils Workshop’ and in their place a bakers dozen or so tracks of effortlessly consistent – if sardonic –alt-country rock. It wasn’t that the last two were in any way sub-standard, it’s just that they were a little less economical. Not so much Continue Reading

A leopard can change its spots, particularly if they’re only made from glitter and felt, stitched to a pair of its mam’s old curtains and tied round its neck with a velvet-substitute rope. See, Muse are prog as fuck, with bells on. Gleaming church bells at that compared to the relative Christmas cracker hand-chimes of yesteryear (as air-rattling as they may have seemed at the time). But prog ain’t the creature it used to be, which is good news for Continue Reading

The thing about cults, you see, is that there’s almost certainly something alarm-ringingly wrong-in-the-head about them. Otherwise the natural human sheep-herding instinct would have kicked in wouldn’t it, and when there’s no more room in the paddock, it’d have to move to larger premises and probably end up building a ticket office and merchandising stand into the entrance hall. Then it loses its privileges and can be a cult no longer. Meaning a cult can only actually be a cult Continue Reading

The ninth month of the year two thousand and three AD must clearly be remembered as the best, most monumental and indeed important 30 days for British rock since the sun began its first creeping cycle between doom-laden clouds over a freshly erected Stonehenge back in the day. Muse finally release an album that makes perfect sense of its own ridiculousness, The Cooper Temple Clause release a sophomore effort that actually stands up unaided (look, no hands!), and Oceansize penetrate Continue Reading

You have to admit, that if you believed everything you read about Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts, you’d be under the impression that it was one of the most prodigious and pioneering events in the last twenty years. And whilst everyone may be waxing lyrical about the swelling, intergalactic, lush and pastoral 4/4 beats – when we do calm down we may begin to notice that for all its interplanetary, most extraordinary craft – it’s a fairly arduous Continue Reading

Phil Oakey may not have been the most versatile singer in the world, he may not have been the most versatile dancer, in fact his every move both vocally and physically seemed as rigid and robotic as the analogue synths and clockwork beats that drove the sound. What he had though was an almost totally accidental gift for crafting perfect pop from the flex of wire and steel he found at hand. You may cringe at the crazy, lopping haircuts, Continue Reading

“ The look – the visual creation and expression of an identity – is part of the very essence of rock & roll.” Anthony DeCurtis of Rolling Stone said this in 1995. And for Dexys Midnight Runners it was nothing short of vital. Not that the band needed it at all, or as one might first suspect. With the insurmountable swagger of a thumping horn section, the lingering swell and burn of a Hammond stab and the vociferous and athletic soul address Continue Reading