Cornershop When I Was Born For The 7th Time Wiija I saw Cornershop at two festivals in 1993, and they were bollocks both times. Twice I watched as the then press darlings emptied the tent in which they were playing. The first time, I stayed a bit longer than some, trying desperately hard to like their not-very-good agit-prop punk with sitars and failing miserably. The second time I waited for them to do the one where Tjinder Singh shouts “Fight the power”, then went to get a hot dog. After this, I kept out of Cornershop’s way, pausing only to buy ‘Born Disco, Died Heavy Metal’ because I liked the title, and I have to say I now feel a bit stupid for not keeping tabs on them in the meanwhile. ‘When I Was Born For The 7th Time’ is 1997’s ‘Odelay’ or ‘Ill Communication’, a musical melting-pot of an album which suddenly makes sense out of everything that preceded it. Fusing traditional Punjabi instruments with hip-hop beats, country guitars, stupid scratching and gregorian chants might seem wilfully obtuse, but Cornershop have an unerring pop sensibility that ties the whole project together - I defy anyone to not grin like a maniac when the strings kick in on ‘Brimful Of Asha’. The breadth of this album becomes obvious when you realise that guest appearances from Allen Ginsberg, Justin Warfield and Tarnation’s Paula Fraser all fit perfectly. Finally, with the Punjabi cover of ‘Norwegian Wood’, Tjinder and co successfully get their revenge on the song that spawned a thousand Kula Shakers and show that Eastern instrumentation can be incorporated into a Western pop sound without smacking of tokenism or some kind of forced ‘exoticism’. For me, the sound of ‘97 packed into just under an hour. Tim.

		Radiohead OK Computer Parlophone Welcome to the future. It’s much like the past, far too much like the past. This is my album of the year because it’s the one I’ve felt most compelled to listen to. It’s reflected something about the life and culture of us late twentieth century inhabitants that has struck a chord and kept me coming back for more. As you listen to it, its superficial complexity is stripped away to reveal a mood of apathy and fear, paranoia and hurt. It searches for succour and you just tag along behind. Thom Yorke’s skeletal lyrical fragments are contorted by the musical ambitions of the rest of the band to create some kind of form on to which you can hang your interpretations. He sings “sing us a song, a song to keep us warm” and you wish he would. The music haunts the vocals and they both ebb and flow into different formations that leave you feeling the same thing; empty. ‘Let Down’ is deceptive in its sweet melody, lyrically echoing the bleak sentiments of ‘Exit Music (For A Film)’. The modernist haunting of ‘Fitter Happier’ is followed by the noisy guitar and political anguish of ‘Electioneering’. At least he still cares, we think. ‘Climbing up The Walls’ then scrabbles for the breath of life that ‘No Surprises’ provides and ‘Lucky’ rebuilds our illusions for the world outside. You get to the end of album drained of what it has briefly given you. You can’t follow it with anything but can’t stand the silence. For fifty minutes it captures what you are doing and makes you look at it a different way. I can’t think of a better album this year. Ben.

		Various Super Discount Solid / Different The excuse most frequently offered for the ‘innovation’ of speed garage is that the previous club sensation, Jungle, just wasn’t fun anymore. Whatever you think about darkside Jungle, and personally I found it hard to leave ‘Torque’ out of my top five, it was increasingly obvious that the party was over and for whatever the reason, the lights were quite firmly turned off. Then, during a particularly sunny spring period in France, a luridly coloured album appeared on the market. In an uncanny display of life imitating art, I obtained said compilation at a super discount price of 50 francs, from a contact in a Lyon DJ shop with a sense of humour and a will to rip off his employers. Spring and summer unfolded before my ears. An overwhelming urge to party took hold of my body and would not let go. ‘Super Discount,’ for me, is the summer of 1997. It has it all: easy listening getting-ready-to-go-out tracks such as ‘Prix Choc;’ low-slung limb-looseners like ‘Le Patron Est Devenu Fou’ and ‘Tout Doit Disparaitre;’ crazed dance frenzy with ‘Les 10 Jours Fous’ and ‘Fermeture Definitive;’ and, all importantly, for that hazy morning chill/crash out zone, the sublime ‘Soldissimo.’ The most important thing about this album is that it never sacrifices depth for the short-term rush. Etienne De Crecy and Philippe Zdar are both highly respected and experienced producers, and the lush quality of ‘Super Discount’ reasserts itself with every listen. It could only be French: not just because of the loving attention to minute detail, but also because of the feeling that you shouldn’t just listen, but eat and drink this album too. Like Masters At Work on NuYorican Soul, Crecy and Zdar have proved that you can take the party home with you and have it again and again. Malcolm.

		Super Furry Animals Radiator Creation A weird year for albums, 1997 - not much new, with a lot of band's 2nd / 3rd / 4th albums coming under close scrutiny. For me, the best of the lot was the Super Furries' second effort. I missed out on SFA first time round, so 'Radiator' fell on fresh indie-trained ears looking for something a bit more interesting than a third Oasis album. The nearest equivalent to 'Radiator' I can think of is the Boo Radley's 'Giant Steps' - it shouldn't work as an album, it should fall apart into 14 mutually exclusive messes, but somehow it all makes a weird, wonderful kind of sense. The greatest albums are eclectic, full of great singles, and yet still hold together as a coherent whole, and 'Radiator' gets away with murder, sliding effortlessly from noisy pop genius on 'International Language Of Screaming' to the laid-back Beach Boys phasers of 'Bass Tuned To D.E.A.D.'. If you can write an album about Puerto Rican goat-eating bats, Albert Einstein's parents, and Sierra Leone's revolutionary leader Valentine Strasser, and make videos in which 3D versions of yourselves kick 10ft high footballs into virtual goalmouths, you have my respect. If you can make me wander round for three weeks involuntarily performing handclaps in the street to the tune of 'Play It Cool', then I salute you for writing the coolest and damned catchiest single of the year bar 'Brimful Of Asha'. This is an album by a band who may well pop down the pub and visit the moon in the same three magical minutes, and the only potential travesty is the non-appearance of 'The Man Don't Give A Fuck'. Poppy, stoppy and never ever floppy, music to think to and drink to, cool and smooth with a hidden rough edge, 'Radiator' is wider and deeper than 'Fuzzy Logic' - in fact it's so wide, I can't get over it. Dave.