Iggy Pop
Naughty Little Doggie
(Virgin)
Throughout his long, distinguished career, Iggy Pop has been a very naughty little doggie. As he and his helmet (ho ho) adorn the cover to his latest opus, one can't but help see him as a kind of psychotic Droopy, with a mission to show the kids how punk-rock should be.
'Naughty Little Doggie' follows his previous outing, 'American Caesar', which was a patchy affair, ranging from the exhilarating to the downright stodgy and embarrassing. Iggy's new record is a more consistent offering, zipping along at a considerable pace, for such an old codger, and avoiding dragging on endlessly, as 'American Caesar' did. Again, the album opens on a stunner, and indeed, 'I Wanna Live', is a more than worthy counterpart to 'Wild America'. Added to this, 'Innocent World' makes you realise that Mr Pop is no lame dog as far as song-writing is concerned.
Admittedly, the album does not maintain this level of Pop-tasticness, and the last 3 songs testify to this, with 'Shoeshine Girl', an excellent illustration of why the Iggster should avoid torturing those ballads. Others, such as 'Heart Is Saved', take that small step towards cock rock which always annoys me about the Pop-meister. However, I shall put this down to his backing group, The Fuckups, a bunch of tossers most likely, in every respect. The Stooges were never like that.
Iggy's lyrics here, continue to side-step that barrier we call taste and decency as he manages to set feminism back about 20 years in half an hour, "Fancy Apple lap top cost 5 grand/Fresh girl in a T-shirt still looks best". I'll let you guess what 'Pussy Walk' is about. Oh well, as the saying goes, you can't teach an old dog new tricks, and when the old ones are as good as these, quite frankly, who'd want to?
The Calm Before the Storm (The Best of the Real People
and Rain)
Liverpool
(Mono)
Cast your mind back to 1990 - 91, the last time British 'Indie' dominated the charts as it does today. Pudding bowl haircuts abounded, the nation hummed James' "Sit Down" on the way to work, and Neds' fans wore ludicrous shorts. Looking back to those heady days of the Mondays and the Roses, the Inspirals and erm...the Mock Turtles, it's easy to forget that the Liverpool music scene was every bit as active as 'Madchester'. Everyone remembers The Farm and The La's, but this album pays tribute to two scouse bands long since condemned to 'whatever happened to...?' status, The Real People and Rain.
The publicity blurb for the album bemoans the fact that the bands were 'just 5 years too early', and this is probably true, for in these days when a guitar and a copy of "Revolver" can guarantee a top 20 hit, it is easy to see themfitting in (after all, if Ocean Colour Scene can do it...). In fact in several places this sounds just like Cast, and therefore very much like The La's, so if y like that sort of thing this is worth a look, although there are several weak songs in the collection alongside one or two gems.
Meanwhile, if any anoraks out there are interested in what happened to the bands , various members of Rain are now in Electrafixion, The Lightening Seeds, or just arsing around doing nothing, while The Real People are back in the studio. The revival starts here...
We suppose we had high expectations for this album: this was the breakthrough, the album that would take Butthole Surfers into the national consciousness, even it it was going to be off the back (as it were) of Johnny Depp. And anyone who tells you that this is anything other than a Buttholes spin-off is being far too generous to the aforementioned Johnny and the other contributors to this record. Which is not to say that a Buttholes spin-off is an unwelcome prospect, as long as it doesn't spin too far, which both Paul Leary's solo album and the quite awful Jackofficers album did.
'P' has all the hallmarks of a Buttholes album: tongue-in-soul ballads clash garishly with hideous noise beasts to create the Pentecostal speaking -in -voices multi-personality chaos we know and love. Most of all, it has the voice of Gibby Haynes, capable of deep throat soul, punk snarl, and Shane-MacGowan-Texas-Style dodgy warbling (the latter can be found particularly on P's deadpan take on 'Dancing Queen.') This means lyrics about Gibby playing with his penis in the White House and such, as well as the distortion of the Amazing Gibby Voice Effects Box, especially on 'Zing Splash.'
However, maybe because P are trying to be their own band, maybe because we don't get the unique guitar pyrotechnics of Paul Leary, or perhaps because Johnny Depp is a better actor than he is a guitarist or a bassist, this album doesn't come off. The last Buttholes album, 'Independent Worm Saloon,' was an object lesson in how to sell out with dignity, but this album seems a pale tribute to the Buttholes' back catalogue by earnest fans rather than a true progression from it, and fail to add up to the sum of its parts: 'Oklahoma' and 'White Man Sings the Blues,' for example, are no more than watered down takes on 'Pittsburgh to Lebanon.' At its best, 'P' attains some of the melody and quirky humour of 'Hairway to Steven' era Buttholes, in songs like the wonderful 'Michael Stipe' (about meeting Michael Stipe, you see,) and 'The Deal.' All in all though, this is P for pale.
Ruthruth
Laughing Gallery
(American Recordings)
My first thought, as I unpacked the album from its stiff cardboard casing, was one of fear. Images of Billy Joe Armstrong and his not Tre Cool drummer flicked past my mind's eye. The silly frowns in the photos, the cartoon designs on the album sleeve, the talk of psychological and sexual disorders, lives failed because of...yes apathy, and in-breeding; all pointed to the latest trend in punk-pop. But, no; these people couldn't even be weird properly.
My second thought, as I listened to the songs, was one of worst dread confirmed. These people are guilty on 3 counts, at least. (1) Everything they do has been done before, and better. (2) They still can't make it sound good. (3) They are boring. (After hearing three songs, I wondered if I had accidentally hit the 'repeat' button instead of the 'shuffle' one.) All their songs start with the same bouncy guitar, followed by uninteresting vocals, then by only half-way decent choruses. The wide array of mental-cases as song titles (Amnesia, Neurotica, Uptight...) remain unfulfilled by the songs themselves.
Moral: it might be funny or interesting to be crazy, but it isn't to want to be. I also wondered whether the name of the band was an unsubtle call for the help of a once daytime TV sex-counsellor, Austrian of origin, Dr. Ruth of name.
Terrorvision
Regular Urban Survivors
(Total Vegas)
"Terrorvision's manifesto was to take pop music away from the teeny-electro brigade and give it a damn good kick up the arse", we are reliably informed. And fair enough, they do have a knack with welding melodies to loud guitars quite convincingly. BUT... is it enough? Well, to be honest, sometimes it is, sometimes it ain't. It looks as if there's only so many variations on the pop/overdrive theme, and most of them sound - more or less - like 'Oblivion'. A few of them, though, don't, and these are the ones which make the album (in my humble opinion...). For example, 'Easy' adds some REMesque organ chords to the standard formula, and 'Junior' breaks down kinda jazzily in the middle, complete with a trumpet. We also get an almost epically sweeping string section on 'Bad Actress'. It's on this stuff, where they mess around with their usual sound that things start to get interesting, although it's a bit too samey most of the way through, and I can't help thinking that they should push themselves a bit more. In all fairness, when they come up with 'Conspiracy', it's pure Terrorvision at their best, and the phrase "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" comes to mind. However, 'If I Was You' - in contrast - isn't very good.
This album is a musical journey in some senses, but it's the kind of journey where you're lost in a strange town, and you keep coming across roundabouts that all look suspiciously similar. Which is OK if you like that kind of thing.
Annie On One
Various
(Heavenly)
Annie Nightingale's "chill out zone" on Radio 1 has become a legend in the minds of clubbers across the U.K. But this compilation is more than a tribute to the show - it surpasses it by far, with blinding remixes that you can't pick up (even in the specialist shops), big fuck off end of the night party tunes, and no Annie gibbering over your fave bit! Blast these sounds through your house and prepare yourself for those dancing ants in your psychedelic pants! Play it in your kitchen, turn off the TV and experience the joy of being the proud owner of that tune - the one that's been on your brain for weeks. From the freakily haunting remix of Primal Scream's "Rocks" to Daft Punk's "Da Funk", mindblowing in its brilliance, this compilation is everything clubbers want when they've just got home but wanna keep on partying. "Clubbed to Death" is a masterpiece, while Flowered Up's colossal "Weekender" truly is a spot-on finale for a flawless album. Get it, love it, play it now and forever more. (Amen).
Don't Be A Menace To South Central While Drinking Your Juice In The Hood
Various
(Island)
Like most modern soundtracks 'Don't Be A Menace ...' combines music with dialogue from the movie. However, for a comedy it seems, well, unfunny. The fact that it is 'taking America by storm' shows that the U.S continues to be a highly pants country. This would not be a problem, however, if the tunes were any good ... oh dear.
'Don't Be A Menace ...' contains a plethora of 'previously unreleased' tracks. Now, for me this has never been that great a selling point. If an artist does not put a song on an album or 12 inch then it is probably unworthy of public consumption. 'Don't Be a Menace ..' admirably proves my theory, even the normally excellent Wu-Tang-Clan sound tired and jaded.
To be honest a lot of my hatred for this album stems from the fact it is now constructed from the sort of bump'n'grind R&B that Jodeci and R Kelly (who both appear on this album) are past masters at. The problem is I think this sort of music is shit, my involvement with R&B goes as far as fancying Eternal and that's it. Now, not everyone is like me, in fact a bloke on the radio the other day said that he thought Joe's 'All The Things' was the best tune around at the moment and this sits proudly in the middle of the album. I unfortunately, think that Joe's 'All The Things' smells. Juvenile, but I think fair criticism.
The rest of the album contains some of the worst gangsta rap I heve ever heard. This really is getting quite worrying, surely Snoop Doggy Dog and Dr Dre took this genre as far as it can go, where are the next Chuck Ds and the next Michael Franti's coming from? The answer is definitely not here.
Marion
This World and Body
(London Recordings)
Marion, strange name for an all bloke band. That aside their music is pretty good. Lively bouncy indie rock that is pleasing to the ear. Their debut album 'This World and Body' is nice and easy to listen to. Not exactly mould- breaking stuff but the type of music that somehow has a familiarity that makes you want to keep listening and gives you an urge to play it loads (ask my next door neighbour!)
Marion, who come from Macclesfield have previously released singles that appear on this album, namely 'Sleep', 'Toys For Boys' and 'Lets all go Together' the latter being their top forty hit single. Unfortunately though, probably their best single, recorded under their previous label 'Rough Trade', is only available on a limited edition white vinyl version of the album which is a bit of a bugger.
Personally, I quite like the album although I have heard people say that it is a bit run of the mill and unimaginative. I think is vibrant and well produced (the same guy that produced the latest Therapy? album, Al Clay). If you haven't already heard it then have a listen and see what you think or go see them at one of their U.K dates, I would if given the chance.
Dar Williams
The Honesty Room
(The Grapevine Label)
If Angela from 'My So Called Life' was to become a country singer / songwriter she would be Dar Williams. Affecting, yet ever so slightly dull. Easy listening for the easily pleased. It's not unpleasant yet ... yet nothing much happens. Some nice songs some good melodies, a wry couplet or two, that's all. There are two albums here and the difference is inconsequential; the second is slightly more polished, slightly more accomplished and, as usual, slightly worse. The thing is, I'm finding it very difficult to care. Some people will love it. I doubt it'll be you, but some people will. I could try and make comparisons with the rest of the female singer songwriter country clan (Nanci Griffith et al), but you probably won't recognise the references and it wouldn't help. I couldn't slag off the whole genre because, when done well, it works; mostly the slower, emotive songs. However, I don't know if this is it being done well. It's pleasant, sometimes clever, sometimes witty but never really inspiring.
There are moments, where the melody is just right and the voice is perfect, but aren't there always moments? You probably don't really care anyway, I mean, you're students, why should you care about MOR country music? I don't. So I'll leave you with this simple message; buy the new Afghan Whigs single. It's great, especially the b-side. Thanks for listening.
The Auteurs
After Murder Park
(Hut)
"In the beginning, there was Grunge. One of the prophets of Grunge was known as Albini, who proclaimed the greatness of all things noisy. Britain saw Grunge, and thought that it was good. Long hair and checked shirts were worn in deference to the messiahs of Grunge."
"But then, on the horizon, there emerged a new prophet. The prophet was known as Haines, and his followers were known as The Auteurs. Haines proclaimed Grunge to be evil. To the small tribe known only as The Critics, he was hailed as a new messiah. But Britain saw Haines, and felt him unworthy of the term messiah. The pagans of Britain did hold aloft a false idol, known as Brett. He also said that Grunge was evil, but this time, Britain did listen."
"From the foul loins of Brett was spawned the monster known as Britpop, which did sweep across the plains of Britain, and then tried to enter the realms of Grunge. But by now Grunge was extinct, having been brought down through the Crucifixion of the lord Cobain by his own hand. Instead, the land of Grunge was awash with a new force, known as Hootieandtheblowfish. So what were Albini and Haines to do? Faced with Death By Britpop, and Death By Hootie. They were forced to co-operate in order to survive. They copulated, and 'After Murder Park' was created."
But never mind the biblical bollocks, I hear you cry, what does it sound like? Well, Albini does not seem to have had too much influence on the album, with the guitars seldom being overstated. The emphasis remains firmly on melody and lyrics for most of the time, and the lyrics are generally pretty unpleasant. I can't see the rugby team singing "I want a lover, who'll nail me to the wall" in the bar any time soon, can you? Most of the songs feature some sort of violent act. A song called 'Everything You Say Will Destroy You' on an album called 'After Murder Park' hardly sounds as cheery and upbeat as 'Mansize Rooster' on 'I Should Coco'. Supergrass, this ain't. But damn fine, sinister guitar-based pop it certainly is.
First things first, record companies shouldn't send out press releases with their albums. I know, I know, I shouldn't have read it, I shouldn't have succumbed to temptation, I should have just played the CD. But I did. The warning signs started to appear when it was mentioned that Brother Cane have toured with Aerosmith and Robert Plant, but I liked the sound of "insistent, bigger-than-life driving rockers" and "complex mid-tempo tunes". Ah, how I was fooled. What eventually materialised was a nice and safe American MTV rock type album which although never actually bad, and in places quite good, wasn't at all what I had in mind.
Just before I was going to condemn them totally I noticed the odd similarity to Aerosmith (who I've always had an irrational soft spot for), no more so than on the bouncier numbers like 'Hung on a Rope' and 'Kerosene'. These are separated by what passes for the 'epic' (despite being only 4:40 it's still the longest on the album) 'And Fools Shine On', which combines staccato rhythm with an easy flowing vocal to good effect. There was hope. Yet tragically none of the album really shines or grabs the attention, the songs get faster, or have a nice bit of guitar, or perhaps a nice acoustic number, but never break out of the mould. It's very easy to get cynical with albums like these and start saying, ooh a Soundgardeny bit, or aah a Counting Crows type song, but in the end there is nothing actually wrong with Brother Cane, they just happen to sound just like many other American bands, and don't do anything to show that they're going to be the ones who stand out in the future.
Cable
Down-Lift the Up-Trodden
(Infectious)
O.K. I'll start with the criticism. Why can't Infectious let their new bands (e.g. Ash) release full albums? A mini-album from Cable just isn't good enough. However, this shouldn't detract from the fact that 'Down-Lift The Up-Trodden' is a strong contender for record of the year already. Mind you, this is kind of predictable, when you realise that 5 of the 8 tracks here are re-recorded versions of superb old Cable singles anyway. But, before I go on, I suppose I'd better attempt a description of Cable for you poor fools who are yet to be acquainted with Derby's finest.
Well, they have been compared to Fugazi (with better singing) and Girls Against Boys (hmmmm), but however complimentary these comparisons may be, I feel Cable are forging a sound of their very own. Attempts to blindingly label Cable (ohh a rhyme), end up in utter confusion, Brit-garage-hardcore-grunge-avant-garde-angst-indie-rock anyone?
Cable seem to produce the most soulful guitar music imaginable, with tracks such as 'Hydra' and 'Sale Of The Century' mixing harmony and discord so stunningly, you are simply left breathless. Added to this, the two singles released by Infectious already, 'Blindman' and 'Seventy' are sublime tunes, heavily disguised under a wall of feedback and distortion. Matt Bagguley's lyrics are often indistinguishable, as he switches from heart-felt tunefulness, to vitriolic yelling, adding to the volatile nature of Cable's sound.
The three new tracks here are equally amazing, with 'Murdering Spree' illustrating Cable at their angriest. They are one of the few bands able to translate the live experience onto record with remarkable ease, and the anthemic 'Oubliette' is an astounding finale as well as a contender for one of my top songs ever. So, Cable are destined for great things, and if this mini-album is intended as an appetite whetter, well I'm positively drooling.
Conemelt
Confuse & Destroy
(Emissions Audio Output)
Conemelt are - in a very tenuous sense - the techno Pavement. What makes me say this? Well, although the two bands sound nothing like one another, they seem to share the same kind of approach to their music. Basically, why spend thousands of pounds in a really expensive studio that George Michael used to use, when you could record your records in your bedroom/garage on an old tape recorder, using whatever cheap equipment you can lay your hands on? There's even a song on this album entitled 'The Joys of Surface Noise'.
Another similarity is that both bands are a bit strange. Conemelt don't sing stream-of-consciousness lyrics (Conemelt don't actually sing at all) but they do have the same sort of tunes - almost recognisable, but unfamiliar - moving off in odd directions - 'Cuckoo Clock Rock' sounds like Orbital feeling lonely, 'Misty Traincrash' is sparse dub-house. The common theme to all the stuff on this album is minimalism, every track is stripped down, like Japanese music (where the silences between the notes are as important as the notes themselves). There are a couple of points where this gets a bit much, but most of the time Conemelt are capable of creating really compelling stuff. 'Big and Clever Track' makes a fairly unspectacular opening and wibbles around for a while before spontaneously turning into an old New Order remix B-side.
OK, some people might say they get a bit repetitive, but I think that misses the point. The notes may be repeated, but the sounds themselves are constantly evolving, moving onwards. Anyway, have you ever heard a piece of music with absolutely NO repetition whatsoever? Bearing in mind that most 'dance' music that gets in the charts is usually slightly pants, and costs loads to make, it is genuinely refreshing to hear something that puts the desire to make good music above the desire to make a large sum of money. This is an album that you can listen to over and over again and get something new from it at every listening.
Lawrence, who sings and writes the songs on this record, must be quite a disturbed chap, as he seems unable to write about anything without dollops of irony the size of brontosaurs. This is most evident in 'Council Houses', which has the most joyous of choruses; "council houses ooh yeah yeah." Another example of his lyrical sincerity is "we're going to the job centre, 'cos we want a job". Yep, there's definitely something wrong with this guy. These lyrics are hardly going to change anybody's life, but they certainly put a grin on your mush when you hear them.
Musically, Denim juggle synths and guitars very carefully to produce some very catchy melodies. The songs range from wholly synthesiser affairs like the 'Vienna' piss-take 'Synthesisers In The Rain' to the very nearly punk rock 'Jane Suck Died In 77', but most of the tracks find a pleasant balance between the two. There is a large variety of styles on this record making it difficult to get bored of the sound of the band. Unfortunately, a few of the tracks have the odd chorus of cute sounding kids, of which there's nothing I hate more. It just makes me want to put my hands around their little necks and squeeze until they cannot even produce a squeak.
Most of the tracks are quite short, which is probably just as well, as the novelty of many of the songs would wear off if they were any longer. Unlike many bands who write short tunes, Denim make up for it by sticking no less than eighteen tracks on the album. This is a collection of fun, quirky tunes that will make you smile (and cringe), but will unfortunately have a lifetime of about two weeks.