Dick Dale
Calling Up Spirits
Beggar's Banquet
You know who Dick Dale is, even if you think you don't. He's The King Of Surf Guitar, the guy whose machine-gun guitar playing opened up the soundtrack to Pulp Fiction and, just like John Travolta, it appears his career is due for a Tarantino-fuelled booster. As a result, 'Calling Up Spirits' is probably destined to end up in kitsch hell, which would be a shame, because we're talking about the man who inspired the Pixies, The Cramps and countless noisy metal guitarists.
Nine of the thirteen tracks here are instrumental and these are the better songs on the album; Dale's singing goes a bit MOR at times and the cover of 'Fever' seems a bit pointless. However, the opening track 'Nitrus' is a wall of noise, punk in its purest form, as Dale hammers at his instrument without mercy. The rest of the album follows suit, although it does start to get a little repetitive towards the end.
Right then. You know who Dick Dale is now. So, if you're fed up of all the best music being regurgitated by the kitsch fetishists in an 'ironic', 'postmodern', 'stupid Pulp Fiction dancing' manner, then buy this, program a track select to avoid the crap tracks, open your windows and PLAY IT LOUD!
I'm all for an easy life where I can take the nearest slip-road from life's screaming highways and cruise, stereo on, down the shady avenues of happy oblivion where I have no worries. So often, though, the lyrics of the songs that inevitably provide the soundtrack on such occasions evoke intrusive thoughts and lead only to soul-searching and anguish, but Trans Am don't have any because they "couldn't be bothered", which suits my mood perfectly. What this post-rock threepiece from Maryland does have is a hotch-potch of cheap, you-can-try-this-at-home-kids Casio keyboards, a couple of electric guitars and a short attention span.
The album, which was literally thrown together in a couple of days, consists mainly of improvised material and oozes laid-back style. It takes verve and audacity (and a Casio pre-programmed "rock" beat with one-touch chord sequence, punctuated by seemingly random bleeps) to make 'Enforcer', which is essentially 'Wanderer' by Status Quo, sound other than middle-aged, long-haired and balding. It also takes vinyl to experience fully the infinity of the wonderfully titled 'A Single Ray of Light on an Otherwise Cloudy Day', which starts with a staccato cymbal, interspersed with something like lasers ricocheting off walls in a Star-Wars-meets-Starsky-and-Hutch sort of way, progresses to more electronic wibbles, and culminates in a triumphant blast of jazz organ, vaguely reminiscent of Jon Spencer's 'Very Rare', before veering off at a tangent once more.
Trans Am never stop moving. They never know quite where they're going or how they're going to get there, but they know when they've arrived. By the time the end of the anthemic 'American Kooter' is reached, it seems futile to even attempt to recall how it began. But we're not worried, remember?
Various
NME Singles of the week 1995
(Indolent)
This album contains top 1995 ditties from Oasis, Pulp, Tricky, Ash and Cast. From the outset NME look like they've created an album of the same ilk as those smelly "Best in the World ..." compilations. They very nearly did so, but have thankfully included some of the most glorious tracks of last year that will enthral a select few punters rather than haul them in in their thousands.
Before I review the rest of this album, I have a gripe to bear. I found that this CD has the gorgeous and hypnotic 'Travelling Light" by the Tindersticks and 'Fine Time' by Cast. I wept blood. For metaphor fans, the 'Sticks smell of dry lavender and Cast smell of wee.
Now that's finished I'll look at the abundant positive points encapsulated in this long player. Last summer was the sort encouraging tabloid headlines like 'Phew what a scorcher', which is evident in he tracks by the High Llamas and the cheeky chappies Dean 'n' Gene Ween. Plush and The Geraldine Fibbers remind me of summer evenings, bonfires and creosote, which are all great things. For me though, the highlight was 'What a Life' by Rockers Hi Fi. Imagine Mao from Earthling in a chuffed mood jamming with a blissed out Collapsed Lung and preaching a creed for life and there you have it. Sheer class.
Just to fill up the chinks, NME included crackers from Nick Cave, the Wannadies, The Verve (when they became good) and the Charlatans who seem to be still playing with real joy and vigour. What a shocking shame that the one time single of the week 'Pink Carnations' by Animals That Swim was missed out. Talking personally here, I would have actually bought this CD if that was included.
A veritable yearbook on plastic.
Stars on E.S.P.
His Name Is Alive
(4AD)
A collection of fifteen brief stabs at a kind of serene oddity. And it all works very nicely thank you. If you like your music quirky in a kind of Stereolab way, then this is highly recommended.
Every song is named twice. Which is good really. And the highlight of the album is the three variations of one song through the album. So this song would, in a way, have six names, you'd think. But no - the shorter titles of the first two versions correspond, as does both the short and full titles of the last one, which is called "Last One", and is coincidentally the last song on the album. So in fact there are four different titles at work in the three reworkings of one song, which all adds up to the repeated credo of 'This World Is Not My Home.'
For the lack of a Mr. His Name is Alive, I'll go for Mr. Tickle, and hope that that communicates something.
Puressence are a huge, blackened mansion high on the moors. Wind whips round their bare, wizened trees. Children from the local village are advised not to go near Puressence, for strange people live up there. People called James, Kevin, Tony and Neil, who create the kind of passionate, despairing pop the Cure would be making if they weren't a bit crap these days. Hell, they probably keep big dogs and go hunting in the dead of night and stuff. But if the music coming from those thin, weather-beaten windows is as beautiful as this, we'll let them off.
It always amazes me just how much loss one band can experience. James sings like the bastard offspring of Vince Clarke and Sinead O'Connor on some serious downers. He does have a tendency to go "a-la-la-la-laaay-now-ee-ow-ee-ow", but I guess you do when you're depressed. Guitars echo through empty halls, trees rap on windows with an incessant, almost snare-drum-like sound. Still, "I suppose that I'm alright now, when all you ever gave was nothing". "You're so jealous of these things that I've become". "I've seen it all a million times, I want to keep my clothes on". "I've got nothing and I feel fine".
This album contains too many memories. Listen to Puressence on Prozac and you'd still associate with their loves and losses. But there's something strangely uplifting about wallowing in the past, and after this album, at least you realise you haven't had it that bad.
Ever made a mistake? Ever loved and lost? Go and live in isolation, and roll on yesterday.
Bim Sherman
Miracle
Mantra Recordings
Booming B-lines, acid squelches, machine-gun snare drums.....these are all elements that won't be found in a 30 mile radius of Bim Sherman's new album 'Miracle'. From the intro to the first track, which sounds frighteningly similar to the theme from the 'Holiday Programme', we are taken through eleven carefully and intimately crafted songs.
There are two reasons why this album deserves to be a success. Firstly, Sherman, from the age of 18, has been a musician for his love of music and for his love of music alone. This roots artist has always followed his own path, establishing two record labels to distribute the sound he wanted to be heard. This has paid off, because secondly, his 'Miracle' album, under the infamous On-U Sound banner, is one of the highest calibre. Too laid back for his own good, Sherman's unique reserved, wistful reggae voice is highlighted by the backing vocals and gruffer undertones of Skip McDonald (of 'Little Axe' fame). This voice of fragility is delicately backed by an array of like-minded and talented musicians, most notably the Studio Beats Orchestra of Bombay. Whilst the end product is too polished to justify being called roots, 'Miracle' is far more than purely an acoustic album. Sophisticated Jamaican rhythms, intricate percussion, delicate guitar work and soft harmonies help capture the flavour of those hot, relaxed Caribbean summers. Such is the attention to detail that it is only on further listening that the full texture of the tracks, which may initially seem sparse, can be appreciated.
Ever been in a hit and run? Well listen to the first three tracks on here and you might just know the feeling. 'Shéa' kicks off the album with a great chunk of howling feedback and a huge riff vaguely reminiscent of Nirvana's 'Negative Creep'. However, as soon as you start to get into the pounding guitar and Audrey Gallagher's blistering vocals it stops and they launch straight into one of the album's highlights, 'Howling Boy'. 'Wish You Were Dead' then follows on its heels and you are left gasping for breath at the audacity of this band to hit so hard and fast.
The album never again quite hits these heights again, but they have a decent stab at it. 'Demon' is quite superb for a first single and 'Driven' is another slab of awesome guitar rock. However, it is when they attempt to slow it down where they get a bit tangled up and don't quite hit all the right notes. Although, saying that, the acoustic 'Goodbye' which closes the album is as haunting a song as you will hear outside of Kristen Hersh's solo album
This is an equal to the guitar rush of Sugar's 'Copper Blue' with the fluid shapes of recent Throwing Muses. A sound that is surprisingly original and horribly addictive.
A bored music press seems keen at the moment to push a 'new wave' of Welsh bands while they wait for the next big Oasis story to break. Once again, a crass generalisation from the Baggage's ignorant and ignoble older cousins.
Consider Catatonia's poppy rock, the superbly bouncy Super Furry Animals, the inspired psychedelia of Gorky's Zygotic Mynci, along with the granddads of the 'scene', the all-new sensibly-coiffured and bombastic Manics. All a million miles away from each other. Well, not literally, of course. That would be stupid. Anyway, so where do Newport's 60 ft Dolls fit into all this? A town called Rock, that's where, my friends! Or at least, that's what they'd like. Throughout this debut album, guitarist Richard Parfitt delivers some storming riffs, aided and abetted by pounding beats from Carl Bevan, a man with quite literally the roundest face in pop, a face so round his chums are never wanting for a beach ball should they desire a little recreation during their seemingly never-ending tour of poor venues in the UK. A face so round it could cause a lunar eclipse. But only if Carl was much taller, obviously. However, enough of this arse-quality 'wit'. The tunes? A few of the tracks on offer here are just not memorable enough.
However, the good ones, often owing more than a debt to The Jam, far outweigh the bad ones, although there is a bit of a lingering feeling of familiarity in tempo and style throughout the album. This is a nice way of saying it all sounds a bit the same, but this is no bad thing when the tunes are as cool as 'Happy Shopper' and 'No 1 Pure Alcohol'. Overall, could do better, but a top album nonetheless.
Manic Street Preachers
Everything Must Go
Columbia
People will tell you this isn't a 'proper' Manics album, that without Richey it isn't the same. People will write letters, have written letters, that will use words like "betrayed" and "cheated". Hell, I bet some of the hardcore Manics fans won't even buy this album.
I've been a fan of the Manics since 'Stay Beautiful' and like many, my fascination with them was triggered by that NME article. Richey became a figurehead, an icon for a youth that was nowhere near as troubled as I thought I would have liked. But when I went to see them, it became obvious that the true star in the band was James. Perhaps a little too shy to front the band like Nicky could, or not beautiful enough to provide a focal point like Richey, but to me, it was James's guitar and vocals that epitomised the Manic Street Preachers.
Richey's part in the Manics' sound was purely inspirational. He and Nicky wrote the lyrics which shaped James and Sean's music. Now, with a few exceptions, I always found these lyrics rather embarrassing. In fact, I didn't understand a lot of the long words until quite recently. The Manics were important to me less for what they said and more for the way they said it.
What I'm trying to say is that this album is no less of a Manic Street Preachers record. 'The Holy Bible', possibly their definitive moment, was Richey's album. They couldn't remake that album, just as they couldn't carry on being a mess of eyeliner and spraypaint in their friend's absence. It was necessary to lose the Richey trappings in order to survive- 'Everything Must Go' -whilst keeping a sense of identity.
The identity is in the sound. This is still a recognisably MSP record, with some great MSP songs. It's just that they're different. Some people won't like that, they'll feel "betrayed", "cheated". Personally, should I feel the need for the old Manics, I still have my old Manics albums. But for now, this new version will do me just fine.
Soul Coughing
Irresistible Bliss
Slash / London
A while back, Soul Coughing released a song called 'Down To This'. It was a chaotic, infectious slice of jazz-funk and was quite unavoidably catchy. Indeed, I couldn't get the damn thing out of my head. This one line "You get the ankles and I'll get the wrists" kept swimming around in my mind, haunting me, driving me utterly mad. After being released from Broadmoor, I set about trying to forget this whole sorry incident, until now. Suddenly I am forced to restart my months of therapy in the face of a whole new album.
Leaving my personal problems aside, I have to confess that 'Irresistible Bliss' is nothing short of a bloody masterpiece. Soul Coughing's sparse tunes are hewn from the rudimentary materials of Sebastian Steinberg's super-tight bass patterns and Yuval Gabay's controlled drumming. Around this, M. Doughty employs minimal guitar noises and Mark de Gli Antoni produces some of the bizzarest keyboard sounds this side of a Mr Bungle album.
Together, they create an incredibly original jazzy take on rock, which can be atmospheric, poppy or just plain funky and often all at the same time. Doughty raps like a care-free Zack de la Rocha with a sense of humour and sings, as their name would suggest, from the 'soul' using his distinctive vocal twang. Visionary Steve Fisk and David Kahne help with the production, making this album a deadly exercise in coolness. However, like lots of things that are bad for you, the aptly titled 'Irresistible Bliss' provides more enjoyment than can possibly be legal. Call the authorities NOW.
Various
The Beautiful Game
RCA
Let's make one thing clear, I fucking hate football and know arse-all about it, so despite this being England's 'Official Album Of Euro 96', you'll be spared any crap sporting metaphors.
'The Beautiful Game' is a bit of a mess. Actually it's a big mess, because it has a rather epic twenty-two tracks, which, quality-wise, run the gamut from 'tip top' to 'large pile of pants' in quite spectacular fashion. This is primarily because of the decidedly eclectic selection of featured bands who could have ever forseen Northern Uproar and Massive Attack being in such close proximity?
Such a scatter-gun approach to a compilation album means that there are some original gems here; a gorgeous slice of trip-hop from Massive Attack, Primal Scream's ambient doodle, Spectre's track, and even The Boo Radleys 'Skywalker' which leaves 'Wake Up Boo!' as a distant memory. On the other hand, you also have to wade through the large steaming turd that is Jamiroquai's 'Use the Force', The Shamen and a New Order remix (yes, another one) of 'World In Motion' which, let's be honest, wasn't ever that good in the first place. Of course, the cool dance stuff isn't exactly your typical football sing-a-long fair, so several familiar Britpop numbers are included ('Parklife' etc).
The only track that manages to sound both new, worth chanting and relevant to the game is Black Grape's funny and funky 'England's Irie'. Actually, had Shaun and co. been let loose on the entire album it might have been worth buying. As it is, you may as well skip 'The Beautiful Game' and spend your money on the real thing: even I'd prefer that.
The Cure
Wild Mood Swings
Fiction
The Cure are as relevant to the music scene today as typewriters are to the InterNet. You know it wouldn't have got there without them but the word dated does seem like a compliment. However, we all know that The Cure are, critically speaking, a bit pointless but is this any good?
Well, the disappointing thing is that it's actually quite poor. The production, usually the refuge of 'mature' bands, is surprisingly messy and the songs are just far too mediocre to stand up against the undeniably strong back catalogue The Cure have. There are three songs that make the grade, the completely stupid and wonderful 'The 13th' and the two final tracks 'Treasure' and 'Bare' which are Robert Smith at his lyrical 'looks like we're splitting up then' best.
'Club America' is funny in that it sounds like Robert Smith doing a bad impression of Iggy Pop doing a bad impression of Robert Smith but the rest get tedious quite quickly and it's not half the album that 'Wish' was. Ho hum.
Apparently, this album "showcases the development of one of Britain's premier guitar bands". However, the selection of songs is generously limited to only those recorded on the Virgin label, so the more recent stuff taken from 'Jollification' is all missing - leaving a dire selection of early tracks.
There are eighteen tracks in all - the three recognisable ones being 'Pure', 'Sense' and 'Life Of Riley', which is now better known as the riff for Match of the Day- on a good day this can sound catchy, but in actuality it's crap.
The rest is a mish-mash of jangly guitar music and nice pop songs - nothing original or exciting, although some of the sample noises are mildly arousing (such as the bubbly-squeak noise used on 'All I Want'), but even these highlights fail to raise the songs much above banal. I started getting bored around track four.
If you do venture further then you can take comfort in the consistency of the songs. 'Tingle Tangle' is aptly named as being almost gloriously shite, as is 'Bound In A Nutshell' (presumably not an allusion to Hamlet), which manages to combine some of the worst harmonies and plink-plink noises I've ever heard. Rounding off the eighteen track bonanza is 'Thinking Up, Looking Down', which at nearly five and a half minutes long becomes something of an epic. Conclusion: a shit sandwich, without the bread.
Engine 88
Clean Your Room
Caroline Records
Oh God. Who let this band release an album? I thought bland rock was gone. But then again, just when you least expect it...it's like these Californians haven't got anything better to do than rent out a great big hangar on the beach somewhere and move some guitar strings around. And they seem to have a fixation for cars, "rubbing down the wheels with turtle wax..." it is needless to continue. Also, the raucous vocals over loud guitars is dangerously reminiscent of that now taboo Gr**ge. The thing is, there's something like a thin line between being interestingly unhappy and just being stupid and infuriating. Unfortunately, Engine 88 crossed that line when they sang "Hell is a place where we've all spent time...I've been known to stay there all night". Well, my heart bleeds.
The only moment of absolution on the entire album is a slower song called 'Crackers', and only because it breaks the monotony of the rest of the wailing and whining. This just belongs in the background, maybe the soundtrack of 'Melrose Place', or something like that. Don't waste your time or your money.
Various
In the Mix 96 - 2
Virgin
Various
Live at the Social Vol. 1
Heavenly
Well, what can I say? One of these is very good and the other is a pile of steaming poo. One has been compiled by Radio 1's Mark Goodier and the other is compiled by the Chemical Brothers, the mixing on one is brilliant and the other one could have been mixed better by my Gran. One has a track list that includes Meat Beat Manifesto, Eric B & Rakim, Lionrock, Red Snapper, The Charlatans and the Chemical Brothers and the other includes Babylon Zoo, Mark Morrison, Baby D, East 17 and Eternal.
Various
In Order To Dance 6
R&S
Right. Forget the rest of this page. This is what you need to hear. The full extent of the possibilities of drum 'n' bass are only hinted at on this compilation (the format is evolving so fucking fast it's gonna be impossible to collate the definitive selection), but the breadth of inventiveness is nonetheless amazing. Alex Reece, Wax Doctor, Lemon D and Jacob's Optical Stairway all contribute wicked tracks, but there really are far too many mind blowing things to mention by name.
The main point, though, is what this record represents. If, as Mystic Moods say here, 'Music Is The Basis Of All Life', then these are the sort of limitless, sky-kissing sounds worthy of the task. This album is transcendent.
As yet another classic begins, you can hear the experimental spirit of John Coltrane shining through, or that deep, dark and funky vibe of Miles Davis' 'On The Corner' beamed through to RIGHT NOW. Sure, these artists have their influences, but the point is that they fuck with the form, push on further, while maintaining the feel. They don't try to emulate their heroes in mere sound alone, but in terms of innovation, in the creation of something special.
Needless to say, essential.
Ammonia allegedly come from Australia, but I reckon that they come from the past (about 5 years ago), and have got stuck in a timewarp. Anyway, about 5 years ago, before Creation sold out, there was this band called Swervedriver, and they were an indie band (the old type).
They 'distinguished' themselves by playing bloody loud guitars, and thus were unlike other bands, so they got crap reviews for being different and consequently no one's ever heard of them (well, no one that I've met)... The point that I might eventually make is that Ammonia sound a bit like the aforementioned Swervedriver, although with a bit of Meat Puppets thrown in for good measure. Or, maybe they sound like Pavement messing around with Monster Magnet cover versions. Their sound leans towards 'grunge', but is more melodic and a little more upbeat than you'd expect, and as there's only three of them, it's nice, compact affair - no unnecessary guitar solos (praise the Lord!). Their subject matter includes drugs, death, being trapped, drowning... and all the old favourites. Still, I reckon they're alright, and I can see them going down a storm with fans of loud guitar pop if the circumstances work out in their favour, but they're a bit wide of the mainstream, so international chart success is probably out of the question. Still, I like a bit of individuality, and I don't have any problems with Ammonia at all. I wonder if there's an Australian trip-hop scene developing...
Various
'Kids' Soundtrack
London Records
Whoever thought of releasing film soundtracks is a bloody genius with an eye for a darn good money spinner. People go to see a film, they enjoy it and come out of the cinema wanting to relive the experience. They remember hearing a couple of cool songs, so they go out and buy the soundtrack. Alas, when they get their prized possession home they usually discover that most of the tracks are in fact utter bollocks and they've wasted about £15 on 2 songs that will be overplayed and consequently abandoned.
'Kids', however, is an entirely different ballgame. I have to admit to being dubious, having fallen victim to the above situation on more than one occasion. But since the CD was free, I didn't care and was pleasantly surprised to find there wasn't one track I absolutely despised. Most of the songs are by Lou Barlow of Sebadoh fame's other band Folk Implosion, and are more laid back background music than blow your mind tracks. The overall effect is surprisingly unsoundtracky, perhaps due to the rather amusing use of features like howling wolves in 'Simeon Groove' and accordian accompaniment in the acoustic 'Casper The Friendly Ghost', which sounds like an entry for the local pub talent contest.
The obvious stand-out tracks on the album are Sebadoh's 'Spoiled', the addictively catchy 'Nothing Gonna Stop', the just released 'Natural One' and the only shouty, screechy guitar one, 'Daddy Never Understood'. This is one of the few soundtracks worth forking out for...give it a chance.
Hells. xxxx
Longpigs
The Sun Is Often Out
Mother Records
The Longpigs really do not suit their name. They should really be a bag-of-shite Wildheartsesque cheesy rock bonanza. This fact alone puts me (admittedly unfairly) off them. They are, in fact, a middle ground between Suede and The Manic Street Preachers with fuzzily rocking guitars and whiny/screechy, verging on the pretentious, vocals. This album seems to be comprised of lots of songs that sound surprisingly similar to other songs. For example, the intro to 'She Said' could be 'Don't Look Back In Anger' by Oasis (unfortunately), 'Far' sounds like the Wonderstuff circa 'Hup', 'Jesus Christ' nicks the bassline, amusingly, from M's 'Pop Music' and 'All Hype' sounds like any Velvet Underground when Nico was singing. Incidentally, but probably not coincidentally, the Velvets are cited as major influences for the main songwriter, and singer, Crispin Hunt.
The result is that this album, although promising, is nothing new or special. There are, however, some high-points. The single 'On And On' is bearable and 'Happy Again' is a stand-out track (even though it is a bit cheesily like David Lee Roth to start with).
The Longpigs are trying to fit into the sensitive lads' rock genre with the totally superior Radiohead (who they have supported live) and almost succeed, but are just too whiny and self-indulgent for their melancholic intentions to be taken seriously. 'The Sun Often Comes Out' is not ace or skill, but it's not disastrous either, it's listenable. They've toured with Skunk Anansie and Cast and they come from the same town as Def Leppard. And unfortunately it shows.
Northern Uproar
Northern Uproar
Heavenly
I really can't be bothered. Two hundred and eighty words on this? I mean, I can understand getting passionate about something that you love, but something that you hate? It's just not worth the energy. If I'm being honest, I can't say I even hate this though, it's just sort of there. True to journalistic form I masochistically put this on. Five times, in fact. And do I remember any of the songs? The only times realised it was on, or rather had been on, was when I noticed that the room was a bit too quiet. It's piped music for the Britpop generation.
Even more depressing is the fact that James Dean Bradfield was involved and actually likes them. Loves them. I just don't understand; how can he, of all people, express such intense emotion over these dopes with four word lyrics to every song? It's probably a kickback reaction- after all those years of Richey's intellectually-fuelled trauma, I reckon he feels a bit safer around this lot.
Too dumb to do anything, they haven't even got the ability to work their facial muscles. A typically boring and predictable album cover is all that we could expect really, so I shouldn't be surprised. The gormless four gawp at the camera like bloodhounds in flashlight, all big-lidded eyes and slack jaws. Then again, bloodhounds take breeding, don't they? Is that two hundred and eighty words yet? Two hundred and fifty-six! Good, I'm off.
Sleeper
The It Girl
Indolent Records
Sleeper's second album has lived up to its expectations which, unfortunately, were not very high. Their first offering, 'Smart', was a selection of vibrant tunes interspersed with the odd non-starter, but on the whole it was a good album. 'The It Girl' is not exactly a great stride forward, more like a side-step into a puddle. The main problem with this record is that it lacks the two most important ingredients, energy and emotion.
As before, many of the songs are about real life situations usually involving one member of each sex. There is no disputing the relevance of the content, it's just that it is sung about in such a passive, unfeeling way. Maybe this is the whole idea; to emphasise the whole pointlessness of the situations but it doesn't work for me, I just find myself losing interest.
There are a couple of shining tracks stuck in the middle of the album. 'Feeling Peaky' consists of a swinging riff that kicks in at the end of each catchy, undulating verse. 'Shrink Wrapped' is the other one and is a really gorgeous song, with Louise slowly uttering each line backed by just a single guitar, simple but effective. To me, it seems to be a song about that period between the beer and the bed, the bit where you relax and try and make sense of the world but your brain is too busy making the room spin round to be of any use. To be fair, the band have tried hard to come up with a record that keeps your attention but the all too passive approach leads you to looking for satisfaction elsewhere.
The Dear Janes
No Skin
Transatlantic
It's a bit of a difficult one, isn't it. Folk music, I mean. It can be either very very bad, or quite good. The Dear Janes fall somewhere in between. I must admit, I expected to hate it. The opening track, 'Get Off The Cross' changed that, showing that these women were playing acoustic guitars with a bit of fire in their bellies, and singing with a little bit of venom. Well, quite a lot of venom, in fact. It reminds me of The Walkabouts, which is a good thing, but then they start to sound like a Cranberries/Proclaimers/Clannad hybrid, and it all goes horribly Pete Tong. In fact, much like the last Walkabouts album, nothing lives up to the opening track.
They try terribly hard, and they've played with Anto Thistlethwaite (former Waterboy) in the past, so I'll forgive them the frequent lapses into whimsy. It's a bit like that Irish Eurovision winner without such a strong singer and, to employ that old cliché, it's very often Worthy But Dull. I doubt I'll be listening to this again.
Everything But The Girl
Walking Wounded
Virgin
Falling in line with stick-a-beat-behind-it culture was bound to generate some interest, but Walking Wounded lacks the Todd Terry remix of Missing that (in part) inspired this new direction - and the original is on their previous album. What there is, mind you, is a fairly tight set of mournful numbers, with mostly a jungle spin. All that remains is for them to be advertising tampons on T.V. really.
Commercial strategy or just artistic development : it's not worth arguing over. Everything But The Girl continue to make nice, if a little bland, songs. The worry, though, is that when the music is most succesful - on the title track - the music is actually written by someone else. It often seems as if Ben Watt were pursuing an interest without quite having the credentials to be succesful at it himself.
Oh, and just to keep you happy there's a Todd Terry remix of one of the tracks tacked on the end that sounds remarkably like the remix of Missing. So in a funny old way, it's not really missing.
Aaaah.... How refreshing. A female singer/songwriter with an acoustic guitar, a drum machine, and a kind of odd whiney voice. Where exactly have I heard this before (except in a less untalented fashion)?
Melanie Garside's music is so inoffensively, simperingly, not-that-angry-really that it becomes offensive. Her guitar work is uninspired, ill-defined and very much over jangly. Her lyrics are insipid in their mild bubblegum introspection.
But perhaps I am being a little harsh? No, it really is that second rate. Angry girl pop for people unable to perceive the quality chasm between Alanis Morisette (there, I said it) and the glut of other female solo artists that suddenly sound like her.
Trite, radio tailored plastic music from a woman who should have got the message after the failure of her first two bands. And she can leave it out with the fake Americanisms too... you're from Hereford, woman and they don't have 'trash' there - it's rubbish or refuse, just like you.
Prong return from the 3 year wilderness with an album that is easier to listen to than 'Cleansing'. More variety is in evidence, with the well-heavy guitars being augmented by more interesting techno-type programming. Coupled with the sensibly restrained rhythms of the drums and the floor-scrapingly low, pulsating (but curiously melodic) bass, this serves to create a kind of pneumatic tense techno metal. The sort of guitar grind you can dance to without trying to break your own neck. At times it's still a little too formulaic - the second half begins to lapse into a kind of late 80's standard industrial guitar pattern - and the attention wavers as the songs begin to blur into one another. However, the more spacious moments (when the density of the sound is no longer hampering your breathing) allow for maintained interest and you can spot the clever bits. The thrash guitar over funky drumming on 'Mansruin' is a fairly cool point of note. 'Slicing' is a groovy sick little number and you tend to find yourself shuffling in your seat as the beats crawl deeper inside your skin.
Generally, 'Rude Awakening' is the sound of paranoia and running away. Silent screaming and stuff. It's not perfect or brilliant, but it's definitely got it's moments. It's maybe a bit more of a scary rude whisper in the ear really, but pretty good nonetheless.
Replicants
Replicants
ZOO / RCA
Unless your career is hurtling down into it's final death throes and you've still got an obligation of one album left on your contract, there really isn't a very good excuse for a covers album, so I was slightly surprised to find that the Replicants consist of select Tool and Failure members trawling through their influences.
The tracks range from Floyd's 'Ibiza Bar' to the synthpop of Missing Persons' 'Destination Unknown'. The obligatory T-Rex song is here, 'Life's a Gas', which wasn't their best anyway, as well as a totally forgettable Steely Dan number which serves little other purpose than to split up the best two tracks on the album; Bowie's 'The Bewlay Brothers', which is momentous in a way that only Ziggy-era Bowie can achieve, and Gary Numan's 'Are Friends Electric?' which rubbishes my 'good songs should feel shorter than they are' rule by seeming to be twice it's actual length and still sound fresh at the end. Other worthy efforts include a new take on Neil Young's 'Cinnamon Girl' and a succinct little number 'No Good Trying' originally from the mind of Syd Barrett. The only real losers are Lennon and McCartney, who's post Beatles 'How Do You Sleep?' and 'Silly Love Songs' sound like the flatulent vitriol they probably were originally.
In the end though, what's the point? A totally original collection of work from this lot would be interesting, especially given some of the ideas on show here, but this, this is little more than a novelty item for completists, or for those who want a seventies compilation album with a modern slant to it. Good, but I'm waiting for the real stuff.
Sincola
Crash Landing in Teen Heaven
Caroline
While we have Britpop, the Americans have been 'blessed' with a 'punk' revival. Sincola have been billed as part of this phenomenon, so it was not with any anticipation at all that I approached this album. However, it has to be said that despite its crap cliché of a title, its predictable and unfunny 'hidden track,' and the similarly originality-challenged lyrics, this album's actually not bad. Should you wish to sample American indie, this would not be a bad choice of album to start with: in other words, musically it's unchallenging and virtually conservative, but catchy in a punk-pop sort of way, with agreeable nods in the direction of better bands, like Throwing Muses, Pixies, and Shudder To Think, who pre-dated and pre-empted the current movement towards surprising melodies over noisy guitars and quiet bits. 'One Hit Wonder,' 'Nerd God,' and 'Letterbomb' (which echoes suspiciously the strains of David Byrne's 'Strange Ritual,') are the particularly above-average bits.
Slayer
Undisputed Attitide
American Recordings
Why oh why oh why o why o why o why? So Slayer have released an album of hardcore covers, an enterprise as pointless as an album of Elastica covering Buzzcocks songs, or Ocean Colour Scene covering Paul Weller (oops.) It's not that the idea of a hardcore covers album in itself is crap: Virus 100 was proof of that. But whereas Virus 100 contained an acapella by NoMeansNo, a zydeco number by F. N. M, and a storming hip-hop track from the Disposable Heroes of Hip-Hoprisy, 'Undisputed Attitude' contains gravelly monotone guitar versions as devoid of irony as the title of the album, which sounds like some shitty soft metal compilation only available off TV ads. If only this wasn't going to be available in the shops. Hardcore's passionate, high-energy fun deserves better than this. There are some artists whose take on hardcore I would genuinely like to hear: a Tricky album, for example, would be hilarious. Even the heavy-handed humour of Mike Flowers would be preferable to this trough of shite.
SWV, I am reliably informed, stands for Sisters With Voices. Although, Taj, Lelee and Coko (as in 'The Clown') may not be sisters in a legal, biological sense, they are certainly blessed with the gift of voices. God has provided them with this unique voice-related talent (as well as incredibly shiny teeth) and they recognise their calling, stating "...this is our new beginning - time to make some new decisions". Their copious thanks lists all include a nod to our Lord the Saviour and tears do start to well up as Coko blubs "First I'd like to thank God without whom I'd surely fail", displaying not a hint of irony.
Thus, in singing their beliefs to a background of funky R&B soul, SWV come across as a kind of hideous Whitney Houston / Harry Secombe amalgamation (not that the lovely ladies bear any physical resemblance to the portly star of TV's 'Highway'). Indeed, their song titles tell us 'Love Is So Amazin'', 'You Are My Love', 'I'm So In Love' and 'Ritually Slaughter A Goat' (no, that one wasn't actually true). Consequently, after 66 minutes of continuous 'love' and 'soul', I too began to feel the need to make a change. I can restore my life to one of peace and happiness just like the lovely ladies. I too can "make some new decisions" and take a positive step to improve my situation. Right, where's the eject button?
Ian McNabb, ex lead singer with The Icicle Works, hates you with a passion. He despises you. He wants you to suffer for his own sadistic pleasure. There can be no other explanation for the woefully misjudged release of 'Merseybeast,' an album that defies belief in its disregard for excellence or even competence. An unhealthy obsession for the seventies, coupled with an inexplicable desire to sound 'authentic' and 'heartfelt' have resulted in an anachronistic mess that no-one deserves to experience.
The attempt to recreate that decade has resulted in nothing more than almost two hours of trite cliché and banal pastiche. The polite guitars, subdued drums and handclaps that characterised an inexplicably romanticised era of folksy, blues-inspired anal retention, are all present and correct, combined in a meaningless, sycophantic jumble that is an embarrassment to contemplate. This album has nothing to say, recreating a time that meant nothing then and means less today. Even Crazy Horse, Neil Young's massively overrated backing band make an appearance on the second CD (as if one wasn't enough, the cunt).
McNabb is dead twice: frozen in digital format forever, and trapped within a time that doesn't mean anything anymore. This album will remain a testament to his inability to have anything worthwhile to say about anything. This is the sound of death, 44,100 times a second. On the title track, McNabb whines 'I'm funky and I'm free.' You liar. You fucking liar.
Various
The Eclipse - 'Dance 'Til Dawn' Slipmatt M25 Orbital Mix
Virgin
Hey kids, it's a double CD brought to us by Coventry's 'The Eclipse' - the original all night (legal) dance club! ('ooh') The Eclipse was voted club of the year by DJ magazine in '92 - so what!?! 4 years is a bloody long time in dance music, and this compilation should have been released ages ago......it would have been a huge success, no question about it. I expect it'll still be popular with clubbers who've evolved from the rave scene (or those still into it ), but mainly for sentimental value; that old skool 'thang'.....
That's not to say that the tracks aren't excellent- there are some real anthems here, from the likes of Leftfield, Cox, SL2, Altern 8, K Klass, and Brothers in Rhythm ( to name a few!). But the 2nd CD repeats most of the classics on the 1st, so Slipmatt's set is good, but not great, because the repetition makes it tedious.
Still, if its classic rave you want, you've got it - whether its Moby's 'Go', or Praga Khan's 'Injected With A Poison', the music is as uplifting as ever. So commuters, watch out - the roads to Stonehenge may well start to fill again...