Meanwhile, in the 'still getting over it 14 years later' file...

...it's good to see Sir Alex Ferguson has real matters on his mind. The best display on New Year's Day EVAH! Remember Denis Law writing us off before the game on ITV and then QPR going two up after five minutes? We salute you Dennis Bailey!

Manchester United boss Sir Alex Ferguson:
"It was an excellent performance (beating Bolton). On my 50th birthday, we lost 4-1 to QPR so that was definitely a tonic today."

New Year's Glee(ve)

QPR never let you down. There's no other team in world football who put you through the mill - on and off the field - like Rangers. Only QPR can go to the likes of Crewe (look it up) for a meaningless fixture and win a 7 goal thriller 4-3. One nil down quickly became 2-1 up thanks to two goals in a minute. And this was after 35 minutes. Ten minutes later and we're suddenly 3-2 down by half time. Heads down all rounds then. But wait, what's this? Martin Rowlands makes it 3-3 with a long range drive ten minutes after the break and it's game on. And with the match, and indeed year, drawing to a close, returning hero Richard Langley scores a glorious winner to send the fans at the game and all us exiled ones into a frenzy. Just what is it with New Year's Eve games? I was at Highbury on this day in 1994 to see John Jensen score his only ever Arsenal goal (after 98 appearances, I scarily recall) before we went down the pitch and scored twice in a minute (spooky) in a famous 3-1 away win. Add this to the list, pop open the champagne and a Happy New Year to all readers. Cheers!

Top Tens Of The Year

Blog exclusive! You won’t read this anywhere else. Unless you’re extremely unlucky.

Top 10 records 2005

This was the year where the critics let me down. I bought into (with my own hard earned at times) the Antony & The Johnsons (back in March, mind) and Sufjan Stevens myth but was left puzzled more than anything else. This is also a genuine 2005 list, in that you won’t find the incredible ‘Funeral’ by the Arcade Fire here, unlike most publications, for the simple reason that it was released in 2004. I expected more from Franz Ferdinand, didn’t believe that Bloc Party were that good to start with whereas Oasis have lost the plot and, surely, left the building along with Pete Doherty, who clearly puts the shambles in Baby, when you come to think about it. Trust me, it’s far easier sticking to the trials and tribulations down at QPR – though credit where’s it due for putting Miss Moss in a Rangers shirt in the album artwork. Ryan Adams, meanwhile, was running his own top ten list by seemingly releasing that many records (for the record, it was three) and each had much to commend them without reaching the dizzying heights of ‘Gold’ or even ‘Rock ‘N’ Roll (am I the only person who loves that album?). If we’re doing male singers songwriters, can I put in a good word for Josh Rouse? This year’s ‘Nashville’ (rather perversely, recorded in Spain) just misses out on my list but is required listening along with ‘1972’. Before we get on with the ten (well, twelve) a brief comment on how exhilarating it was to finally see U2 live. Twice. At Madison Square Garden. I usually find every cultural experience a disappointment (and that’s just how I like it) but Bono and the boys – or the Patti Smith tribute band in their own words – exceeded all my expectations. Indeed, during the second show, the very definition of cynicism itself, Michael Moore, was humming along behind me (no, I didn’t expect him to dance either). But this year, in particular, we’ll gladly take a hum, so long as it’s nowhere near drum…

10. The Go! Team: ‘Thunder, Lightning, Strike’/LCD Soundsystem: LCD Soundsystem’
In a paragraph: A tie for tenth between Brighton and New York’s most enthusiastic purveyors of dance, electronica, sampling, call it what the hell you like. These infectious records made your head nod and toes tap…what the rest of your body did was entirely up to you. It was worth having a house party in 2005 just to be able to play these to your guests. Who, no doubt, rushed out and purchased them as soon as their hangovers wore off the following day.

9. Annie: ‘Anniemal’/Rilo Kiley: ‘More Adventurous’
The only other tie on the list (promise!). Whilst no one was officially sure whether Scandinavian sensation Annie was the new Madonna or Britney, everyone was in agreement that her future is rosier than either. Lush beats and shimmering vocals was the order of the day and was there a finer example of the shallow nature of the music industry than ‘Me Plus One’? Yet ‘Anniemal’s cleverest trick was pulling the wool over the eyes of her bosses – by delivering ‘Chewing Gum’ and ‘Greatest Hit’, she could (and can) continue to get away with delivering damning putdowns of a business that equally excites and horrifies her. Rilo Kiley, meanwhile, were led by a similarly intoxicating chanteuse in Jenny Lewis and finally came good on the potential seen in previous releases. But the album title lived up (literally) to its name with savage comments on the government and musings on just how difficult relationships can be. And on ‘Portions For Foxes’, Rilo walked away with, to this listener’s ears, the single of the year.

8. Foo Fighters: ‘In Your Honor’
Hard to believe that Dave Grohl’s post Nirvana project has been around for a decade. And this double disc was arguably their finest achievement to date. Although naysayers suggested that combining both CD’s would have led to a truly great album, isn’t that like bemoaning Real Madrid for their policy of buying players they don’t really need? Play it loud then play it soft, ‘In Your Honor’ finally established Dave Grohl as a serious artist who could be compared alongside Kurt Cobain.

7. Kaiser Chiefs, ‘Employment’
As the wave of British bands inspired by Britpop comes crashing in, it seems apt that these new pretenders to the crown actually released a superior album to Oasis in 2005. And what must have annoyed Noel Gallagher even further was that Kaiser Chiefs lead singer Ricky Wilson’s dulcet tones resembled the vocal style of Noel’s arch rival Damon Albarn (who, of course, was doing far more interesting work with Gorillaz on their second record, which just missed out on this Top Ten). This was a long player, chock full of singles, just how we remember when we were kids. ‘I Predict A Riot’, ‘Everyday I Love You Less And Less, ‘Modern Way’ and ‘Oh My God’ were but four examples of the treats on offer. They (meaning you Oasis) don’t write ‘em like this any more. Except they bloody well do!

6. Coldplay: ‘X & Y’
Admittedly, when yours truly reviewed this year six months ago (see down the page), I found it far more impressive than on later listens. Reflection brings with it the following conclusion: the first half of ‘X & Y’ (would that be X?!?) is truly terrific with ‘Talk’ being possibly their finest effort to date. After ‘Speed Of Sound’, however, the record meanders somewhat and only picks up the pace towards the end. They’ll probably end up being the new U2 mind and in Chris Martin, we have ourselves a front man racked with paranoia, which is most definitely A Good Thing. But make no mistake: ‘A Rush Of Blood To The Head’ is effortlessly the superior piece of work.

5. Bob Mould: ‘Body Of Song’
In turns chirpy and deadly, ‘Body Of Song’ was the most interesting release of the year. It seemed to polarize critics, who were unsure if it was a return to form or just an horrendous melange of guitars and electronica. Methinks they were taking it (and themselves) far too seriously: put simply, this is a fresh record, which sounds like the work of a man barely out of his teens, let alone pushing for his pension. Were there a finer opening trio of tracks this year than ‘Circles’, ‘(Shine Your) Light Love Hope’ and ‘Paralysed’ (the answer is no)? And was this album proof positive that Bob Mould remains an artist with plenty to say and worth hearing? (the answer is yes).

4. White Stripes: ‘Get Behind Me Satan’
Rolling Stone magazine really did put it best when declaring that “if you don’t happen to be in the White Stripes right now, it must suck to be you”. Indeed, it must make the rest of the music making world shudder when learning that ‘Get Behind Me Satan’ was recorded in less than a fortnight. The shuddering, tub-thumping guitars and drums were, for the most part, put to one side as a reflective, strings laden affair took over as Jack and Meg continue on their quest to take over from Mick and Keith (whenever they decide to call it a day, of course). Special props, too, to Michel Gondry’s video for ‘The Denial Twist’ – let’s hope it can make a star out of Conan O’Brien worldwide.

3. Madonna: ‘Confessions On A Dancefloor’
Let’s get the legal requirement out of the way. She’s 47 years old you know. And ‘Confessions…’ must now be placed up there with ‘Like A Prayer’ and ‘Ray Of Light’ as among her Madjesty’s finest accomplishments. Producer Stuart Price (Les Rhythms Digitales to my savvier readers) planted Madonna down in a non descript recording studio in his north London home and encouraged her to write lyrics on the fly, resulting in her feeling freer than ever before. The results are extraordinary. From ‘Hung Up’ to ‘Sorry’ and ‘I Love New York’ (despite rhyming ‘off with ‘golf’) to ‘Let It Will Be’ and ‘Jump’, this is Madge’s mash up album that wouldn’t sound out of place next to the masters of the craft, 2 Many DJ’s. The fact that they wouldn’t be able to improve upon this is testament enough to its achievement.

2. Idlewild: ‘Warnings/Promises’
Idlewild seem to be Scotland’s forgotten band. Franz Ferdinand might have the looks and hooks, Texas the success, Travis the fan base and Belle And Sebastian the cult factor but that doesn’t make it any easier to understand. Sure, you might not have actually been able to hear a single comprehensible lyric by Roddy Woomble on their debut album but each subsequent release has become more and more user friendly, culminating in ‘Warnings/Promises’, their finest effort to date. The simple fact is that Idlewild are now making better music than their heroes R.E.M and yet no one still seems to get it. Trust me, this is epic stuff and if there’s been a lovelier song released this year than ‘I Understand It’, this listener’s ears have yet to hear it.

1. Kanye West: ‘Late Registration’
It is to be hoped that 2005 doesn’t go down as the year that people only remember Kanye West for his seven infamous words that, “George Bush doesn’t care about black people”. Putting aside that firecracker of a comment (this is, after all, the Top Ten records of the year), we should hoist Kayne high for this staggering sophomore record. For if ‘The College Dropout’ shook hip-hop to its core then the follow up ‘Late Registration’ took it to a new level. By using mainstream producer Jon Brion, West made a record accessible to the masses (how ironic that President Bush himself would probably enjoy it) but never excluding his peers. The highlights are too many to mention but suffice to say, this is an essential addition to your record collection and may the Grammy voters decide whether this is worthy of awards based on the music and not West’s political views.


Top Ten Film Let Downs (not terrible movies, just not as good as I had hoped for. The order indicates how much hope was invested in the first place! Oh, and my Top Ten movies of the year will be here as soon as I've seen 'Munich' and 'Match Point'.):

1. Elizabethtown (Oh Cameron, firstly Vanilla Sky and now this. How many more chances do you get?)

2. King Kong (Why is this three hours? Because it can be. See the 1933 version instead and do something useful with the 90 minutes it saves you.)

3. Broken Flowers (Huh? What was it? Answers on a postcard. Or email. Worthy effort but it’s no Lost In Translation)

4. Crash (Not half as good as it thinks it is.)

5. Me And You And Everyone We Know (Director Miranda July’s debut feature is sweet enough but just doesn’t hold the attention.)

6. Syriana (Worst title of the year and a far too complex for its own good plot. Should have stuck with two storylines.)

7. Batman Begins (In fairness, this was a massive improvement upon the previous two movies in the franchise. But the ending was way too long and uneventful. I couldn’t wait for Batman Ends…)

8. Wedding Crashers (A great 2/3 of the movie, a lame last third.)

9. The 40 Year Old Virgin (Ditto.)

10. The Island (Actually, The Island was a terrible movie!)

Top Ten TV Shows

I expected more from my American television experiences in 2005. Starting off with their abject approach to news (December has seen Fox News waging war on those who don’t use Merry Christmas), you quickly start to appreciate BBC, ITN and even Sky News. And it really is true what they say – the best place to watch US TV is in the UK as we import the 5% of great programming and leave the remaining 95% well alone. Indeed, my long lasting love for HBO is starting to fade away: the 5th season of Curb Your Enthusiasm had more clunkers than classics, its finest three hours were co-funded and entirely made by the BBC (Extras) and don’t even get me started on Entourage or The Comeback. Speaking of which, does that network need the return of The Sopranos more than ever before? Late March 2006 can’t come soon enough for them or me.

1. Weeds (Mary-Louise Parker in the role, as they say, she was born to play.)

2. Extras (The far better than can have surely been expected follow up to The Office. Great cameos and check out Ricky and Steve’s weekly Guardian Unlimited podcast!)

3. Six Feet Under (SFU went under at exactly the right time. Oh, alright, it arguably outstayed its welcome after the penultimate season’s kidnapping episode but the last two episodes – namely, Nate’s funeral and the final hurrah – made the slight dip in quality forgivable. Apple experienced a surge in downloads for Sia’s ‘Breathe Me’ the following day. She gave me a massage once you know.)

4. The Daily Show with Jon Stewart (Still the best satire show in town. Sadly, this is quickly becoming the best news show too. The VT packages are to die for and even Stewart’s interviewing technique is improving. He’s also the world’s cleverest man, seemingly devouring every news report and book that comes out.)

5. The Colbert Report (After a slightly uncertain start – who else winced when he had trouble with his autocue? – this has found its own identity. The way in which he greets his nightly guest is touched by genius and will never tire. Truthiness and grippy indeed. And that’s the word!)

6. The Office (The NBC version has exceeded all expectations, mainly thanks to a – whisper it quietly! – superior cast than the UK version and Greg Daniels’s insistence on not just doing a shot by shot remake. Those pesky Americans: the irony is that they do get irony.)

7. The Rotters Club (BBC 2 in England only. This three-part adaptation of the Jonathan Coe novel was brilliantly done. Ask your British mates to send you over a copy on DVD. The depressed husband who suspects his wife of having an affair uttered my favourite line: “She assures me their relationship is plutonic. I had to look it up. It means they haven’t done it yet”.)

8. Lost (Nowhere near as good as the hype made you think it was. Second season seemed to have three frustrating episodes for every good one. Is it Earth, Heaven or somewhere in between? More importantly, do they ever wash? And as for those lottery numbers…)

9. Sleeper Cell (Barely anyone seemed to pick up on this Golden Globe nominated Showtime mini series. But it’s worth checking out On Demand for the sensational performance of the main terrorist. This would have scored higher were it not for the ludicrous amount of padding in the final episode.)

10. SportsCenter (ESPN’s trusty banker of a programme – 25 years strong you know – gets us sports nuts through the year, week by week, day by day, show by show. And Sunday’s ‘Ultimate Highlight’ package gives all us makers of music montages plenty of food for thought.)

Muse, 'Absolution'

It’s hardly a state secret to claim that Muse singer Matt Bellamy is keen on Radiohead and a fan of Thom Yorke’s voice. But while the majority of British bands look to Radiohead for inspiration for their next projects, ‘Absolution’ rejects the Oxford band’s ambiguous doodlings on ‘Kid A’ and the like and delves into the past for a blunt, brash update of ‘The Bends’. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Muse are “doing” sincere better than any of their peers.

Their third album proudly harks back to a bygone era: its considerable length could, and possibly should, have made it a double album. The band were finally allowed to take their time recording ‘Absolution’ and an abject lack of pressure from the men in suits pays dividends. Not only were the band clearly calm and considered themselves but this translates to the music. A not inconsiderable five singles were culled from ‘Absolution’ and they resemble the heart and soul of the record. ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ and ‘Hysteria’ redefine passion with the by now trademark grinding guitars in place and Bellamy provides a modern day update to the late Jeff Buckley’s dulcet tones. ‘Sing For Absolution’ tugs at the emotions but it’s the twin juggernauts of ‘Butterflies And Hurricanes’ and ‘Time Is Running Out’ that linger longest. ‘Butterflies…’ is almost prog-rock in nature and you imagine that Freddy Mercury would nod in approval. And no matter what else is in store for the trio, ‘Time Is Running Out’ will surely go down as their bona fide classic. Though it starts out serenely enough, literally using a click of the fingers for an intro, it quickly merges Radiohead’s talent of making long words sound cool (“asphyxiated”) with a pummeling riff over its post-punk paranoia subject matter. If this is what the end of the world will sound like, Armageddon out of here.

Muse, 'Origin Of Symmetry'

You can’t accuse Muse of lacking artistic integrity. Most bands – and especially those from sleepy British cities – would answer “how high?” to their US record company asking them if they would jump. The leap in question came when discussing the Devon trio’s second album ‘Origin Of Symmetry’. The lead single ‘Plug In Baby’ had already been a considerable hit across Europe but their American paymasters weren’t keen on singer Matt Bellamy’s distinctive falsetto drawl. Maverick Records requested that it be removed for the US release, due to it not being radio friendly. The conversation was a short one: Muse wouldn’t agree and the band and label parted ways. The anecdote is key for it illustrates that when you listen to Muse, you’re hearing their work exactly as they would want you to.

Actually, anecdotes seem to play a major part across the course of this expertly delivered example in harmonizing melodies with guitars. A further album highlight is their reworking of Nina Simone’s ‘Feeling Good’. A certain coffee company tried to use it for a commercial but didn’t ask the band’s permission. The upshot was a 500,000 pound settlement that was promptly sent to Oxfam. And it’s the band’s searing honesty – both in their morals and the music they make – that make them so compelling to listen to. Drummer Dominic Howard added to his traditional drum kit by bringing some extras of his own. Bellamy himself plays a church organ on ‘Megalomania’, a delightful irony seeing how the track is anti-religious in tone. Throw into the mix the ‘welcome to the millennium’ roar that is ‘New Born’ and you’re dealing with a heady brew (with apologies for the previous pun to the coffee company) of sensual melodies and unashamedly pompous guitars. These musical mavericks were showing Maverick exactly what they were missing out on.

Muse biography

You’ve got to watch the quiet ones. And maybe we should add to that adage, the quiet places too. Not much goes on in Teignmouth, Devon so when three school kids decide to get together and make some noise in their garage, pay attention. Especially when the spirit of Nirvana and Soundgarden is evoked at all times. Matt Bellamy, Chris Wolstenholme and Dominic Howard decided to forego university after winning a local Battle of the Bands contest in the mid 90s. Their success seemed to stem from breaking everything on stage and being louder than the other entrants.

The then Rocket Baby Dolls (Gothic Plague and Fixed Penalty had already been discarded) would change their name to Muse and received attention from the NME and Dennis Smith, the owner of Sawmills studios. He was so smitten by what he heard that he set up a publishing house – Taste Media - exclusively for them (he already had an in-house record label) and managed to snag them record deals in America (Maverick) and across Europe and Australia. This ‘pinch yourself’ story continued with acclaimed producer John Leckie (Radiohead, The Verve) working on their debut album ‘Showbiz’. The late 90s record was heavy and couldn’t be considered a huge success; nevertheless, their prolific touring made them a hit with rock fans and ensured further studio output. 2001s ‘Origin Of Symmetry’, once again produced by Leckie, hit more of the right notes with ‘Plug In Baby’ and ‘New Born’ bringing them to the attention of the masses. And third album, 2003s ‘Absolution’, was their most well rounded effort to date: it went to Number One in the UK album charts, gave them a veritable anthem in ‘Time Is Running Out’ and won them MTV Europe and Q Music awards. A Live 8 performance in July of 2005 cemented their place among rock’s premier performers and a fourth album is scheduled for release in April 2006.

Kasabian, 'Kasabian'

Picture the scene. You’re in a position of power at a record company. A meeting is scheduled between yourself and a bunch of British chancers who have named themselves after Charles Manson’s getaway driver. Of course you take the meeting, regardless of whether you passionately believe in the band or not because, well, they’re on your label. The outcome of the meeting? The band tells you that they’re planning to record their debut album – for which you’re stumping up the cash – at their rural farmhouse headquarters. What’s more, “it’s going to be the best f**king debut album of all time”. Ask yourself, what would you do?

Here’s what RCA Records did: they immediately agreed (though surely felt the need for a lie down afterwards) and Kasabian holed themselves up in their – by now, infamous – commune and delivered an adventurous, accomplished, daring debut. Before the praise, a slight word of warning: this album is not the second coming (an irony that shouldn’t be lost on the band nor their heroes the Stone Roses who named their long awaited follow-up exactly that) but can sit alongside, or more realistically slightly below The Roses’s first album, Primal Scream’s ‘Screamadelica’ and D.J Shadow’s ‘Endtroducing…’.

Baggy beats and trippy rock is the order of the day. Lead singer and, for a while, the planet’s most opinionated man Tom Meighan (he labeled The Strokes’ Julian Casablancas as a “posh f***king singer”) clearly gets off on this “us versus the world” manifesto. Straight from the off with dance floor and bedroom classic ‘Club Foot’ the listener learns that, “We’ve got our backs to the wall/Watch out/They’re gonna kill us all”. And this is a fairly timid lyric. Regardless of whether you’re on drugs when you listen to ‘Kasabian’ (the band, you sense, just might have been during the farmhouse recordings…) the foggy haze is simply inescapable. ‘Pinch Roller’ ‘Butcher Blues’, ‘Orange’ and ‘U Boat’ are four such examples. More mainstream material comes from the Happy Monday tribute that is ‘Processed Beats’ and Kasabian truly start to find their own voice on the naggingly addictive ‘L.S.F’, enthusiastic ‘Reason Is Treason’ and haunting ‘Ovary Stripe’, remarkable for not containing Meighan’s vocal. These early pointers suggest that Kasabian might be referenced as an important influence by tomorrow’s bands. Better get back to that farmhouse.

Kasabian biography

Possibly the most famous thing to come out of Leicester, England since Walkers Crisps (or Gary Lineker for the football fans among you) Kasabian have become an extremely welcome addition to Britain’s fine history of experimental rock bands.

Named after Charles Manson’s getaway driver turned state witness (as you do) Linda Kasabian, lead singer Tom Meighan has proclaimed to the press (who quickly adopted him as their darling) that he entered music because he found so much of it uninspiring. His influences fuse Madchester – to wit, the Stone Roses, Happy Mondays, Primal Scream – with Manchester’s more traditional Charlatans and Oasis. At the heart of everything appears to be a nod towards California too as DJ Shadow’s electronic twiddlings became aped by these Midlanders.

2004 was the band’s breakthrough year. A succession of singles such as ‘Club Foot’, ‘L.S.F’ and ‘Processed Beats’ came out, not just to widespread acclaim but incorporated with fascinating cover artwork, fold out poster sleeves and – gasp – hand-stenciled covers. Their eponymous debut album, meanwhile, hit the UK Top Five. You can’t help but feel that a band named Linda would have made music of an entirely different kind.

Jet, 'Get Born'

There is nothing remotely original about ‘Get Born’. You will have heard it all before. Indeed you may think that some of the tracks are covers they sound that familiar and the three-chord sequences behind the record is nothing if not derivative. For those of you not keen on surprises, look away now…gone? Good. Here’s the thing: the record is majestic and succeeds because of these attributes, not despite them.

The band are Australian and it would be remiss to point out that AC/DC is as necessary to Jet’s raison d’etre as breathing is to rest of the world (Jet presumably included). The Aussie veterans back catalog punctuates ‘Get Born’ at every opportunity. But at least Jet are wearing their influences proudly on their sleeves: British bands Oasis and The Verve can also take some unintended credit for the part they clearly played on the stereos in Nic and Chris Cester’s childhood home.

But let’s not dismiss ‘Get Born’ as some sort of contrived experiment in refusing to update the wheel. The songs contained within the album would be readily snapped up by the aforementioned names. ‘Are You Gonna Be My Girl’ was demanded to be sung aloud and once heard, is never forgotten. No wonder millions of iPod’s were sold on the back of it - if it didn’t exist Apple would have probably ended up inventing it. ‘Rollover D.J’ is similarly stompy in nature: you’ll pick up your air guitar whether you want to or not. And when they launch into ‘Cold Hard B****’, well, you’ll fill in the blanks yourself. More reflective musings are available with ‘Look What You’ve Done’ and ‘Move On’, which brings with it a soupcon of country tinged rock. It’s hard to recall a more enjoyable listening experience from a debut album. But when Cester’s refined vocal tells us that “this won’t be played on your radio” during the magnificent ‘Radio Song’, it’s abundantly clear that it’s the only time this brutally honest band are lying to us.

Jet biography

Melbourne, Australia is as good a place as any to get into AC/DC. Those long summer days (and nights) would provide the perfect backdrop to hone the three chord classics that Jet’s fellow countrymen became famous for. Working from the textbook entitled ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’, Jet are the modern day grunt rockers paying respect to their country’s musical past and attempting to give it a future.

Comprising of brothers Nic and Chris Cester, along with Cameron Muncey and Mark Wilson, Jet formed at the start of the millennium. And even their first pressing harked back to an earlier era: their ‘Dirty Sweet’ EP was limited to 1,000 pressings and was only available on vinyl. Quickly selling out (possibly both figuratively and literally) another 1,000 were pressed and UK and US record deals were signed. 2003 saw ‘Get Born’, the band’s studio length debut album, come out. The catchy, power-pop anthems hit all the right notes, especially with rock’s elder statesmen the Rolling Stones who offered the new pretenders to the throne an opening slot in Australia. Oasis – to whom Jet are often compared – have accorded the same welcome and stadiums around the world have bounced along to ‘Are You Gonna Be My Girl’, ‘Rollover D.J’ and ‘Cold Hard Bitch’. Much like their album title, these songs got born for stadiums. Whether they can fill them with entirely their own fans remains to be seen.

Idlewild, 'The Remote Part'

“Constantly searching to find something new” sings Roddy Woomble on ‘American English’ from ‘The Remote Part’ and it’s an encouraging sign. Idlewild’s early work, though brave, loud and, at times, downright outrageous, was probably never going to break them out from the indie pack. You know, the band that has a diehard group of supporters who firmly believe that the act is speaking directly to them and God forbid if anyone else should ever find out. The joy in this record is that Idlewild’s first fans should be able to share them with any newcomers.

Let’s return to the beginning (of this review, at least) by confidently stating that ‘The Remote Part’ is the most accessible album Idlewild will ever make. Woomble’s “search” might just have resulted in his finding his voice. Opening track (and lead single) ‘You Held The World In Your Arms’ is an unapologetically blatant anthem that demands your instant attention. You feel it’s the moment Idlewild have been waiting for their entire lives. And, boy, does it sound good.

Anthemic is as good a place as any to nail down how satisfying this record actually is. ‘(I Am) What I Am Not’ is as defiantly clench your fists and punch them through the roof as ‘Live In A Hiding Place’ brings you literally down to earth again. ‘Century After Century’ and ‘Stay The Same’ resemble outtakes from R.E.M’s ‘Document’ and doesn’t suffer from the comparison. Yet it’s ‘American English’ that lasts longest with you. It’s full of hope, ambition and the prospect that the future is theirs to write. In fact, you can’t analyse its impact any better than Woomble himself: the track, like ‘The Remote Part’ in general “requires you to stop and look up”. To the heavens, quite clearly, in admiration.

Idlewild, 'Hope Is Important'

Scottish bands are, without wishing to make sweeping generalisations, fairly innocuous. That’s not meant to come across as insulting but The Proclaimers, Belle And Sebastian, Travis and, er, the Bay City Rollers couldn’t ever be accused of making the listener check their CD player for feedback or distortion issues. The same applies to their lyrics: easy to understand and generally upbeat. In short: not much work for your ears.

The arrival of Glaswegian band Idlewild wasn’t so much a shot across the bows but more a full-bloodied aural and physical assault to the body, senses and pretty much everything in between. Vocalist Roddy Woomble had already built up a live reputation – if you’ll permit the metaphors to continue - of being something of a loose cannon. One moment he would calmly gaze at his shoes and gently serenade an audience…and then, without warning, his eyes would appear to bulge and a shrieking sound would leave his mouth and enter your ears. Delightfully, Idlewild’s debut album ‘Hope Is Important’ contains similar moments.

Its spirit comes from America and fuses early R.E.M with Nirvana. A night in with a bottle of wine and these three bands’ opening offerings should probably be listened to by yourself and not with a group of loved ones. ‘A Film For The Future’ is a menacing mission statement with ‘4 People Do Good’ coming across as an entertaining effort to be as noisy and, yet paradoxically, as restrained as possible. Don’t be put off though: whilst Woomble’s delivery does require attention, ‘Everyone Says You’re So Fragile’ is a joy to listen to and you’ll swear blind that Woomble is actually barking his way through the most commercial track on offer, ‘When I Argue I See Shapes’. Tremendous fun. And Michael Stipe himself would put ‘I’m Happy To Be Here Tonight’ on a constant loop, for it is the great R.E.M song that never was, thus proving that knowing your (musical) history is as important as hope.

Idlewild biography

Memorably described as the sound made by “a flight of stairs falling down a flight of stairs”, Scottish band Idlewild has certainly left an impression. And not just on flights of stairs. The band formed a decade ago – singer Roddy Woomble, guitarist Rod Jones, bassist Phil Scanlon (later replaced by Bob Fairfoull) and drummer Colin Newton completed the line up – and a 1997 single ‘Queen Of The Troubled Teens’ found favor with Radio One DJ Steve Lamacq. Media attention increased – and the mini albums ‘Chandelier’ and ‘Captain’ were released – as did the ferocity of the act’s live performances.

Food Records signed them to a major deal and ‘Hope Is Important’ came out in October 1998. Comparisons were quickly made between them and R.E.M, particularly Woomble’s knack for obscuring his lyrics. Subsequent albums have been more user friendly: ‘100 Windows’ was released in early 2001 and had a US tour in support and the following year’s ‘The Remote Part’ remains their biggest hit to date. Singles such as ‘You Held The World In Your Arms’ and ‘American English’ were heard all across Europe but as Idlewild looked set to take the band to the next level, internal problems kicked in. Founding member Fairfoull was kicked out during The Remote Part’s European tour in 2002 and was replaced by the guitar technician. A new bassist (Gavin Fox) and guitarist (Allan Stewart) have now made the band a settled five piece and 2005 saw the Scots release ‘Warnings/Promises’. Flights of stairs everywhere have been warned.

Garbage, 'Bleed Like Me'

Chances are that Garbage’s fourth album ‘Bleed Like Me’, will also be their final release. Though the dreaded Best Of is mooted for 2006 (and only dreaded in the sense that a compilation is more often than not released when an act have decided to call it quits), we should probably be grateful that this record even saw the light of day.

‘Bleed Like Me’’s original title was ‘Hands On A Hard Body’ – talk about making abundantly clear that the group weren’t getting on. Butch Vig actually believed that the band had split and took off to Los Angles. While there, some fans convinced him to carry on which at least made him listen to the original sessions for the record. Soon after, he bumped into Dave Grohl at a Christmas party who agreed to put in a cameo drumming spot on the track ‘Bad Boyfriend’. And so if the record doesn’t sound as slick as previous works from the Garbage canon, well, that’s hardly a surprise. Ironically, the tension translates onto the record with a real vigor. ‘Why Do You Love Me’ finds Shirley Manson at her angsty best (“I’ve held back a wealth of shit/I think I’m gonna choke”) whereas ‘Run Baby Run’ and ‘Right Between The Eyes’ are among the finest Garbage tracks.

And so out of adversity, Garbage have risen to deliver, against the odds, true quality and get it off their chests once and for all. Manson talks about her “scars” and even seems to challenge her band mates within three minutes of the record starting by declaring that, “if you can’t love me honey, go on, just pretend”. Whether they’re play-acting or not, you’ll be thrilled throughout. And if their last ever single proves to be ‘It’s All Over But The Crying’ you can’t say you weren’t warned.

Garbage, 'Version 2.0'

Picking up from where the debut left off, ‘Version 2.0’ does exactly what it says on the tin. The album may not make a great musical leap forwards, nor astound you with its originality but a more satisfying set of songs would be hard to find.

Three years had passed between these two albums and, as Butch Vig and his merry men (and Shirley Manson) were so adept at crossing genres in the first place, ‘Version 2.0’ works as a worthy follow-up. Manson had spent the time in-between recharging her batteries and listening to her heroes. Lead single ‘Push It’ unashamedly sampled from the Beach Boys’s ‘Don’t Worry Baby’ and Brian Wilson gave his rock royalty agreement to its inclusion. Chancing their arm even further, ‘Special’ heavily borrowed from The Pretenders ‘Talk Of The Town’, for which permission was granted by Chrissie Hynde, a fact that would have delighted one of her biggest fans in Manson. The sampling and dance tendencies are a constant theme throughout. Meanwhile, ‘I Think I’m Paranoid’, ‘When I Grow Up’ and ‘You Look So Fine’ stomped there glitzy way across the planet’s hit parades.

The record is ever so slightly knowing in places. Despite being an album highlight, witness how ‘The Trick Is To Keep Breathing’ talks about how “everything's about to fall apart”…and right on cue the instruments promptly stop working. But these are minor flaws and certainly no good reason to not add ‘Version 2.0’ to your essential 90s purchases.

Garbage, 'Garbage'

Nobody is entirely certain where the band name Garbage came from. Producer and Svengali behind the band, Butch Vig, claims that he would use the word to describe mediocre studio sessions post Nirvana but pre Shirley Manson’s involvement in his musical career. Nine Inch Nails front man Trent Reznor, however, is said to have used the word to describe Vig’s remix of his track ‘Fixed’. Whatever the truth may be, rest assured that this debut album is anything but.

Vig, though retaining a co-producer credit on ‘Garbage’, came out of the shadows and behind the drum kit for this mid 90s classic. In front of him were fellow producers turned musicians Steve Marker and Duke Erikson; but to the casual punter, Garbage was all about Shirley Manson. Her soulful, spiky style lends the album a true gravitas and signaled the arrival of a singer who proudly wore her heart on her sleeve. Not for nothing is the first track called ‘Supervixen’ and finds Manson passionately telling us that she “can take you out with just a flick of my wrist”. You’ve instantly entered be afraid, be very afraid territory.

The sonic assault continues unabated: ‘Only Happy When It Rains’, ‘Queer’ and ‘Stupid Girl’ were worldwide hits that made you feel good about yourself for enjoying them. Without doubt this is mainstream stadium rock but it’s far too smart for the average listener. Vig’s silky smooth production and gleaming guitars lend a sheen rarely accomplished with this much class. ‘Vow’ is equally terrifying and tumultuous in nature (“I can’t use what I can’t abuse”. Gulp.), ‘Fix Me Now’ is a call to (Manson’s) arms and final tune ‘Milk’ gently drifts off into trip-hop. It’s quite a ride and the fact that you’re gasping for more Manson as the album reaches its conclusion is what Vig would have wanted all along.

Garbage biography

'Video Killed The Radio Star' was, famously, the first song ever played on MTV. The channel’s impact has been felt around the world’s living rooms including, clearly, a certain Butch Vig’s. Best known for producing Nirvana’s ‘Nevermind’, Vig was relaxing at home and couldn’t help but notice the charismatic female fronting a group called Angelfish. Along with his buddy Steve Marker, they contacted this feisty front woman Shirley Manson and made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Fellow producer Duke Erikson joined the fray and Garbage was born.

All four had played in a variety of bands – Manson joined Goodbye Mr. MacKenzie as a teenager before moving on to Angelfish – but Vig’s credentials as the superstar producer du jour (Nirvana, Sonic Youth, Smashing Pumpkins, L7) ensured that his newest project would be heard. Their self-titled debut appeared in the fall of 1995 and had a pink fluffy cover – if you wanted to distance yourself from grunge, there could be no better way of doing so. Far from being a gimmick group however, Garbage rocked hard and loud. Radio and – yes – MTV jumped on the bandwagon at an early stage making hits out of ‘Only Happy When It Rains’, ‘Queer’ and ‘Stupid Girl’. Unsurprisingly, the record found favor with old and new rock fans alike and went platinum.

Three years later, the follow-up, reasonably entitled ‘Version 2.0 was released and sold truckloads of copies too, led by the infectious ‘Push It’. Two further albums, ‘Beautiful Garbage’ and ‘Bleed Like Me’, have followed and while Garbage may not be as vital as they once were, the band’s sense of style and knack for credible hits will ensure them a place in music’s history. Indeed, many feel that their impending Greatest Hits will signal an end for the group. But video, at least in Shirley Manson’s case, made the radio star.

Coldplay, 'A Rush Of Blood To The Head'

Two years on from the international success of ‘Parachutes’ and the world was a far different place for Coldplay. Actually, if you weren’t the lead singer in the band, the only difference was probably more money (not the biggest problem) but for Chris Martin the goalposts had moved. And he was partially responsible for moving them. His quest for musical perfection had resulted in a slew of imitators and even record companies executives had taken to comparing his band to “bed wetters”. Oh, for the days when no one knew us, you could almost hear Martin sigh. No wonder he was already hinting at splitting the band up before they got too big. Or possibly before matters got out of hand.

Remarkably, amidst the pressure that was evidently getting to him – in addition to his involvement with politics and a certain personal relationship – Coldplay’s follow up arguably improves upon the original. ‘A Rush Of Blood To The Head’ (now there’s a title simultaneously summing up instant success with ‘what do we do next?’) is almost onomatopoeic in nature, merging dizzying highs with world-weary lows. It is, in turns, magnificent, epic and a dazzling crossover of genres to boot.

If Martin’s world was now turning on its head, the record reflected it too. Whereas ‘Parachutes’ opened with the calm and considered ‘Don’t Panic’ (indeed!), ‘Politik’ bashed away on its guitars and pianos as if its life depended on it. And talk about a global view: the first words are “look at earth from outer space”. Our being told to “open up your eyes” gives a clear clue as to what is in store – a succession of stunning singles such as the three chord and proud of it ‘In Your Place’, addictively mesmerising ‘God Put A Smile Upon Your Face’ and the first wedding dance potential in the form of ‘The Scientist’ (“You don’t know how lovely you are…tell me you love me…take me back to the start”). But that’s merely preparing you for ‘Clocks’: its central hook of piano mixed with guitar takes up permanent residence in the head to the extent that you’ll want to start charging rent.

The album takes it down a few notches and the gear change is a welcome one. Nevertheless, ‘Warning Sign’ is the hidden gem on the record, resplendent with its lush intro and simple refrain (“The truth is, I miss you”). And the title track shows Coldplay’s ambition: the lyric is stripped of the trademark accompanying instruments and shows that Martin can “do” angry (“I’m going to buy a gun and start a war/If you can tell me something worth fighting for”) with the best of them. Ultimately, you realise that this isn’t the sound of bed wetters but a band unwilling to make music for anyone but themselves. And the rest of the world, record execs included, would just have to cry themselves to sleep to get over it.

Coldplay, 'Parachutes'

Oasis might have felt differently but in 2000, a full six years on from Kurt Cobain taking his own life, rock music was still on the road marked noisy. The Gallagher brothers claimed that ‘Live Forever’ was a direct response to grunge but Coldplay shifted the landscape over to contemplative rock far more effectively. For the most part, Oasis included, the majority of bands with a guitar in their midst were concentrating on the sounds their instruments made and left their voices literally trailing behind. And that’s why ‘Parachutes’ is arguably this decade’s definitive debut album.

The record starts – surprise surprise – quietly and without bombast. But in the space of three minutes Coldplay announce their arrival in stunning fashion. ‘Don’t Panic’ (later to be found on the soundtrack to ‘Garden State’, the filmic equivalent of this album if ever there was one) enters your head and heart and will remain there for the considerable future. ‘Parachutes’ deals with love lost and found and never forgets that the heart must be close by at all times.

The record is relentless in never letting up: ‘Shiver’ and ‘Trouble’ are far more than obvious singles, both containing memorable hooks and nagging choruses. ‘Spies’ introduces us formally to the world of Coldplay’s strings and points to Chris Martin’s vocal range and Jonny Buckland’s staggering guitar work. The duo combines just as efficiently on ‘High Speed’, remarkable for you feeling nervous for Martin (“before my head explodes") and then exhilarated in the way in which he refers to “living inside a bubble”. Naturally, a classic arms aloft anthem is provided by ‘Yellow’ – and your heart will soar when hearing “ I drew a line/I drew a line for you” two and a half minutes in – and final track ‘Everything’s Not Lost' is perfectly positioned. The piano is in place, Martin is “counting up his demons” and The Beatles themselves would have gladly lent their name to the tune’s epic nature. You might read it as a modern day retelling of ‘Hey Jude’ but the conclusion is clear: the baton is being passed on down. Definitely. Not Maybe.

Coldplay biography

Coldplay couldn’t be more representative of Britain if they tried. Chris Martin came from the West and Will Champion the South of England. Guy Berryman started off life in Scotland and Jonny Buckland hails from Wales. How appropriate that even their geographical makeup is easy to pigeonhole.

The foursome met in their first week at university in London during the mid 90s. The halls of residence resonated to Oasis’s ‘…Morning Glory’ and Blur’s ‘The Great Escape at the time. While the biggest bands in Britain were having a very public fight, Chris and Jonny started to write songs, Guy joined in on bass and Will gracefully put his guitar down and picked his drumsticks up. Early incarnations of the band had them perform as Starfish (for those of you who think that ‘Coldplay’ is a wet word, be grateful) but the name switch occurred after some friends who were in a band called – yes! – Coldplay split up. For the record, the name comes from a poetry book.

500 copies of a three-track EP were pressed, which in turn got them a gig at 1998’s In The City festival in Manchester. The right kind of people were impressed leading them ultimately to a major record deal with Parlophone, via Fierce Panda. Debut album ‘Parachutes’ had critics and fans salivating alike in the Fall of 2000. Those wholesome melodies contained within the likes of ‘Yellow’, ‘Trouble’ and ‘Shiver’ had clearly struck a chord - and not just in the UK. Americans “got” Coldplay at an early stage and also appreciated their tireless promotion work. Two years later, the band entered the premier league with ‘A Rush Of Blood To The Head’. Here was a seriously heavyweight work, full of crunching guitars, sweeping strings and a (fairly) charismatic front man in Martin. His subsequent wooing of Gwyneth Paltrow made them rock royalty, sold millions of tabloid newspapers (Apple, anyone?) and gave new meaning to Britain and America’s “special relationship”.

As record sales increased and Brit and Grammy Awards came flooding in, the band became more politically aware. Martin would more often than not be seen with the words ‘Make Trade Fair’ on his hands or clothing. Visits would be made to developing countries and he would see with his own eyes the difficulties faced by people less fortunate than he. The band’s admirable charity work is now as important to them as their music. Speaking of which, a live album recorded in Sydney came out in 2003, which plugged the gap before the release of ‘X & Y’ in June 2005. The familiar themes (love, paranoia, as many strings as possible) were all in place but as the band grows so does the quality of their work: ‘Talk’, ‘Low’ and ‘Swallowed In The Sea’ were among Coldplay’s finest songs and their tribute to Johnny Cash, ‘Kingdom Come’, proved that their 17 million album sales to date couldn’t have happened to a more decent, talented, hardworking and thoroughly nice bunch of people. How very British.

Bob Mould, 'Body Of Song'

Wanting both his cake and being able to eat it, Bob Mould’s first full-length album since 2002 succeeds on pretty much every level. As ever, Mould subscribes to the school of thought that says to thine own self be true. His last two solo albums (‘The Last Dog And Pony Show’ and ‘Modulate’) dropped large hints that Mould was becoming tired with the traditional guitar sounds that have punctuated his work over the past 25 years. If ‘TLDAPS’ buried rock (in his mind) for good then ‘Modulate’ must be seen as his venturing out on a voyage labeled ‘this way electronica lies’. Perversely, and entirely in keeping with the man, ‘Body Of Song’ combines both genres with stunning results.

It starts with ‘Circles’ and while the trusty Mould theme of lost love is immediately in place (“I’ve lost my one in a million”), previous feelings of despondency seem to have dissipated. What’s more, a backing band is in evidence (including Fugazi’s drummer Brendan Canty and David Barbe from Mould’s last band Sugar) and their tight arrangements add immeasurably to the mix. In many ways, it feels like Mould has gone full circle; indeed, this opening track feels fresh and enthused, a point not lost on The O.C’s producers who picked it up for inclusion on their third season.

But ‘Body Of Soul’ is about far more than soundtrack worthy ditties. Fans of his sprightly pop sensibilities will swoon over ‘Paralyzed’ (witness the way Mould sounds happy saying “I don’t have a clue how to start”), ‘Best Thing’, and the full of “ooh baby’s” ‘Missing You’. None of these would have appeared out of place on his undoubted classic ‘Copper Blue’ from 1992. A contemplative nature can be detected on ‘Always Tomorrow’ (“Doesn’t matter how much I try…it wouldn’t register anyway”), ‘Days Of Rain’ (now there’s a Husker Du title if ever you read one) and the starkly beautiful ‘High Fidelity, easily the finest track of the decade to include tubular bells. Mould’s increasing interest in DJ culture (check out Blowoff in Washington D.C to see him spin) bear fruit with ‘I Am Vision, I Am Sound’ and the majestic ‘(Shine Your) Light Love Hope’ which is playing in a nightclub as you read this. Mould probably did the remix himself. It’s clear that ‘Body Of Song’ is the sound of a man utterly at ease with himself. “This would be the sound you make looking for some sort of closure”, he sings on ‘Best Thing’ and finally you can hear a sigh of relief for rock’s great survivor and innovator is, for possibly the first time, looking to the future and not the past. Join him on the journey.

Bob Mould, 'Bob Mould'

Nearly a decade on from Husker Du’s split and it might be fair to suggest that Bob Mould hadn’t entirely gotten over it. Sure, this return to his solo work might have come after the sweet power pop tunes he made with Sugar but we need to look at that band’s oeuvre more carefully. Although ‘Copper Blue’ and ‘File Under Easy Listening’ appeared to be happy go lucky songs about trying to win back loved ones (‘If I Can’t Change Your Mind’, ‘Can’t Believe What You’re Saying”) or being in love (‘My Favorite Thing’ ‘Helpless’) it’s Sugar’s mini-album ‘Beaster’ that provided the most reliable indication of Mould’s state of mind. Its six tracks chronicled the life of Jesus but Mould was on fiery form as ever by spitting out lyrics such as “I became the ugly face”. Son of God or simply autobiographical? You decide…

Or maybe let Mould make up your mind. The first words on his self-titled third solo album are, “sick of myself, sick of everything I am” and the last are “if I couldn’t hold you I’d end it all”. Throw into the mix song titles called ‘Roll Over And Die’ (from whence that last lyric originates), ‘Next Time That You Leave’ and ‘I Hate Alternative Rock’ and those colors you’re looking at are being nailed to the mast.

And yet despite purporting to be darker than Florida without electricity, this album crackles with (possibly unintended) energy. Allegedly all the tracks were recorded in one take and Mould plays every instrument you’ll hear. He produced it too so no wonder ‘Egoverride’ is one of the standout efforts on show. Its full of the requisite bile but at least he takes no prisoners – you’re as likely to hear his scorn directed at himself in addition to former lovers and band mates. The fascination with electronica doesn’t work on every level but ‘Fort Knox, King Solomon’, ‘Thumbtack’ and ‘Deep Karma Canyon’ can also be added to any Mould highlights reel you’re brave enough to make.

Bob Mould, 'Workbook'

The end, when it finally came about, wasn’t pretty. Husker Du’s breakup was played out in public and, to this day, Bob Mould will broadcast his distain for Grant Hart. There was no shake of hands, nod of head and “take care, make sure you keep in touch” audibly heard when the punk pioneers split.

And that explains why the stripped down, deeply introspective ‘Workbook’ has got unfinished business on its stained hands. “All these things I’ve done before”, Mould sneers, almost casually tossing away his previous band’s considerable achievements, “it doesn’t matter anymore”. Like him or loathe him, you can’t claim that Mould keeps issues bottled up and tucked away, only speaking about them in therapy. ‘Workbook’ is eleven tracks OF therapy and is a fascinating piece of work for its abject refusal to resort to the obvious.

Instead of throwing his guitars to the wall and seeing what sticks, a wide range of styles are utilized. It’s virtually folky and whimsical in nature, as proven by the cellos heard throughout. ‘See A Little Light’ would provide the perfect blueprint to R.E.M’s ‘Automatic For The People’, and Mould himself would manufacture the power pop on tracks such as ‘Lonely Afternoon’ and ‘Wishing Well’ to even more staggering effect a few years later with Sugar’s ‘Copper Blue’. But if you’re keen to see where the second phase of Mould’s career took shape, then this is an essential purchase. The passing of time has, in all likelihood, softened him but when you hear ‘Heartbreak A Stranger’ with Mould making digs on many levels, you’ll be witnessing assassination with a smile.

Bob Mould biography

He might either roar with anger or smile at the suggestion but Bob Mould must be considered one or rock’s elder statesmen. Now in his mid 40s, the New York born punk pioneer cut his teeth in Minneapolis and came to prominence with his groundbreaking group Husker Du. The band’s acrimonious split kick started his solo career and the late 1980s/early 1990s saw the release of ‘Workbook’ and ‘Black Sheets Of Rain’. Soon after, Mould formed the power pop band Sugar and Virgin Records put out a compilation of those two solo albums, ‘Poison Years’.

Sugar came and went with three albums to their name: the instant classic that was 1992s ‘Copper Blue’, mini album ‘Beaster’ from ‘93 (which attempted to tell the story of Jesus Christ over six tracks) and ‘94s ‘File Under Easy Listening’. Mould’s increasing fascination with electronica would manifest itself as he returned to his solo output. He played all the instruments on his self-titled third album from 1996, notable for the single ‘Egoverride’ (still a live favorite to this day) and the crossing of genres continued two years later with ‘The Last Dog And Pony Show’.

A lengthy (for him) period of musical inactivity occurred and Mould started to write scripts for a professional wrestling organization. He would even thank two of the wrestlers (Kevin Nash and Kevin Sullivan) in the sleeve notes to 2002’s ‘Modulator’: a title that clearly inspired his entertaining blog (modulate.blogspot.com). Now residing in Washington D.C, Mould has turned his hand to DJing (Blowoff) and this unique talent returned in 2005 with his most commercial effort in years, ‘Body Of Song’. This new set of songs have appealed to the latest generation of students and television producers alike: lead track ‘Circles’ was used on Fox’s ‘The O.C’, a barometer of what is currently “cool”. Whether Mould roared with anger or smiled at his track’s inclusion is unknown.

Athlete, 'Tourist'

“Take all your chances while you can” are the first words to be heard on Athlete’s sophomore album. This is quite literally the sound of a singer savvy enough to understand how the shelf life of any act can be over before its truly begun. The key to survival, a band may reasonably conclude, is to evolve, to grow and to improve upon what was once there. On all these counts, Athlete comfortably achieves success with ‘Tourist’.

The opening track hinted at above, ‘Chances’, has the chutzpah to borrow from label mate Coldplay’s propensity to utilize strings and they pull it off majestically. In many ways, it’s a bold move which could have made or broken them (and, quite possibly, the strings themselves…) by going head to head in the melancholy stakes with the current world leaders in introspection. But vocalist Joel Potts sounds more comfortable and at ease with himself during this record. He may not ever end up sharing space with Gwyneth Paltrow but a legion of loyal followers should easily compensate.

And the reasons for this loyalty must be contained within the music itself. ‘Half Light’ veritably breezes along, carrying you willingly along for the ride, as Athlete experiment with electronic warblings here, a plethora of sounds there and those trusty keyboards, well, everywhere. ‘If I Found Out’ resembles the template in ‘doing’ uplifting so perfectly that you’ll contemplate taking up smoking just to be able to hold your lighter aloft. ‘Modern Mafia’, meanwhile provides a gritty sensibility (“They’re scared of us!”) that is, in turn, counterbalanced by the sweeping ‘Twenty Four Hours’. Best of all, however, is the quite epic ‘Wires’. Written about the time spent in hospital by Potts’s daughter, the track is beautiful and hopeful despite describing how it feels to possibly lose somebody you love. Thankfully, the song has a happy ending. You can’t help but hope for a similar outcome for the band.

Athlete, 'Vehicles & Animals'

You can criticize A&R men all you like but you can’t deny their ability to instinctively know what the public wants. So it should come as no surprise to learn that the man who discovered Coldplay plucked Athlete from a similar obscurity.

And certain cynics have tried their best to send the South London foursome back to anonymity by criticizing their debut album ‘Vehicles & Animals’ for being lightweight and insubstantial. But many points were missed along the way. Far from being the aforementioned, this record resonates with uplifting, soaring anthems and rewards the listener with repeated plays. Opening track ‘El Salvador’ sets the agenda, namely, that Joel Potts’s quirky and – naysayers be damned! – pleasant vocals will have your toes tapping and head bobbing along quicker than a sprinter leaving his blocks (Athlete, geddit?).

Indeed, this record is keen to not just deliver on the radio friendly singles front – and ‘Westside’ and ‘Beautiful’ tick plenty of demographic boxes – but address serious issues such as the recent British race riots on standout track ‘You’ve Got The Style’. By blending such a tricky topic with a verse-chorus-verse structure instantly appealing to playlist schedulers, Athlete’s achievement shouldn’t be underplayed. What’s more, palpable traces of Beck, Super Furry Animals and Pavement can be detected throughout the record, a healthy pointer to the future that might have been originally lost on the A&R man but is sure to pay dividends with subsequent releases.

Athlete biography

Deptford, in South London, isn’t known for much. Its bridge saw a battle back in 1497 but now, 500 years on, the only bridges worth talking about are those heard in the music of its most famous sons Athlete. The foursome – and indeed childhood friends – that are Carey Willets (bass), Joel Potts (vocals, guitar), Steve Roberts (drums), and Tim Wanstall (keyboards) formed in early 2000. Two years later, after extensive writing and recording, BBC Radio 1 DJ Jo Whiley awarded their first release ‘Westside’ Record of the Week status. Soon after, the band signed to EMI, went Top 40 in the UK with ‘You’ve Got The Style’ and toured with label mates Mansun and the Electric Soft Parade. Mid-2003 saw debut album ‘Vehicles & Animals’ come out to critical acclaim and commercial success. The band seemingly gigged every night and was rewarded with a prestigious Mercury Music Award nomination for ‘Vehicles…’. Athlete used the same producer, Victor Van Vugt, (as well as John Cornfield) for their 2005 follow-up ‘Tourist’. Arguably bolder and more ambitious in scope and style, it helped secure a headlining slot at Glastonbury’s Other Stage this past summer. Athlete, as their name would so aptly suggest, look set to run and run.

Aimee Mann, 'The Forgotten Arm'

How typically quirky that by delivering a concept album about a fictitious couple provides Aimee Mann with as engaging and personal an album as she’s ever created.

And how you even manage to release the subject matter in the first place – to wit, a former boxer returns from Vietnam addicted to smack and must endure drab domesticity with his good natured girlfriend – is a worthwhile question. The answer is simple: you put it out on your own label (SuperEgo), and the resulting record is your finest in years. Thankfully leaving behind her rather moribund last album ‘Lost In Space’, Mann’s protagonists of John and Caroline are searching for and running from themselves. The title is a reference to a cunning boxing trick (she’s a fan of the sport) of almost exclusively using one fist during a fight. Thus, you neglect the forgotten arm that ultimately lands the knockout punch. Needless to say, that’s as apt a metaphor for Mann’s career as you’re ever likely to read.

Mann paints the illuminating scenarios - mainly set in Virginia –, which results in “She Really Wants You” being the full on, unashamedly pop classic she probably should have penned ten years ago while “Dear John” and “Clean Up For Christmas” tug at the heartstrings to tremendous effect. Undoubted highlight, and maybe Mann’s musical peak to date, is ‘Goodbye Caroline’. Her voice has never sounded better and resonates with confidence as she belts out the words with gusto (“my favorite faith healer!”) backed by the trademark guitars, drums and piano that we’ve come to associate with this most mercurial of talents. It’s just reward for her loyal fan base, always in her corner, willing her to take on new challenges. Seconds out for the next round…

Aimee Mann, 'Magnolia Soundtrack'

Make no mistake. ‘Magnolia’ might be a soundtrack in name but this is essentially an Aimee Mann album. Indeed, so many of the tracks are culled from Mann’s work that she actually gets title billing on the album sleeve. And when you find out that the film’s director, Paul Thomas Anderson, created characters and situations after listening to Mann’s material, you can see why you should add this to her canon of work.

“So don’t work your stuff”, Mann sings on ‘Deathly’, “because I’ve got troubles enough”. A sense of perspective is required here. Mann was getting the unenviable reputation of releasing critically acclaimed albums to low sales. Legal battles had hampered her creativity so we should certainly forgive the introspective nature of the tracks. And yet from adversity came the sweet sound of triumph. It’s thought that this soundtrack, which was being recorded at the same time as her own record ‘Bachelor No 2’ (both albums share four tracks) might have been her final hurrah in the music industry. Well, those kinds of setbacks do tend to put a dampener on things.

Yet Mann’s ‘to hell with it’ attitude breathes new life into the material. ‘Momentum’ veritably bounces along (…”I agree with the stuff about seizing the day”) while ‘Build That Wall’ has a cacophony of instruments allowing Mann to break free from her previous restrictions (“you can’t pin this one on me”). Finding her own voice, Mann even comes across as a torch singer on ‘You Do’ - the track is so sumptuous that you’ll want to hear it all day long. Paired with the stark, confessional ‘Wise Up’, this gives the record its central pull. How the latter was nominated for an Oscar but ended up losing to Phil Collins work for Tarzan is, though utterly unjust, in keeping with the Mann story. She may not have nabbed the statue but as her nominated song told us, she wasn’t going to stop either.

Aimee Mann, 'Whatever'

Break up’s, by their very nature, are messy. Especially when broken hearts and unrequited love spill out onto a record. Aimee Mann’s debut solo release, ‘Whatever’, may not be the first, nor last, break up record but it’s up there with the best.

It details the end of her relationship – romantically and professionally – with singer/songwriter Jules Shear. There’s an immediate irony at work as the album’s title indicates a detached air, a shrug of the shoulders if you will, rather than the pain normally associated with the end of the (romantic) road. The opening words are “I should thank you almost”, a lyrical paradox in keeping with the album title and rest of the record itself. Unsurprisingly, the track is called ‘I Should’ve Known’ and, when heard, is followed by the words, “that it was coming down to this”. Barely a minute later, Mann is telling us “Rome was starting to fall”. Ask yourself: would you want to be Mr. Shear at this point?

Truth be told, bitterness is pretty much put to one side as a more subtle song writing approach takes over. Certainly, Mann is using the record as an effective method of therapy (‘Could’ve Been Anyone’, ‘Put Me On Top’, ‘Stupid Thing’, ‘I Could Hurt You Now’) but, as with all the great records, you can hear many varied topics at work. ‘Whatever’ manages to deals with America in a bygone era (’50 Years After The Fair’, ‘Way Back When’, ‘4th Of July’) contains a bookish nod to Charles Dickens (‘Jacob Marley’s Chain’) and can also point to an optimistic future (“I Know There’s A Word’). The record mixes electric guitar with acoustic to stunning effect. Mann’s voice, just nudging its way past timid, remains somewhat fragile but is never less than captivating. And does she ever have a way with words: each track contains golden nuggets with the remarkable ‘4th Of July’ offering up surely the finest opening lyrics about the day in question (“Today’s the 4th of July/Another June has gone by/And when they light up our town/I think what a waste of gunpowder and sky”).

This is the sound of a woman picking up the pieces and getting on with her life. But, if the point needed hammering home, Mann doesn’t require our sympathy. Returning to that opening track reveals that, despite the evident anger and recriminations, she’ll be just fine. “And I don’t know what else you hear, but it ain’t the sound of me weeping”.

Aimee Mann biography

Aimee Mann was nearly on the verge of super-stardom during the 1980's with her post-new wave group Til Tuesday. MTV latched onto her but no one seemed to be able to take her spiky hair, and in turn Mann herself, seriously. She split the band up after three albums and has spent the past 15 years forging a solo career.

It looked like she hit gold with her debut release, ‘Whatever’, in 1993. Critics and musicians alike praised the album to high heaven and placed it, without reservation, in their Best Of lists. Yet radio and the public didn’t pick up on it and this undoubted gem remains a hidden treasure.

Mann’s career went from bad to worse. Her record company, Imago, filed for bankruptcy as she prepared to release her follow-up album. A lengthy battle ensued with Imago not allowing Mann to put out music. Finally, she won her freedom (and signed with a DGC Records) but ‘I’m With Stupid’ once again suffered from positive reviews and poor sales. Perhaps it was appropriate that the kick-start to her solo career came not from the music industry but film. Director and auteur Paul Thomas Anderson not only incorporated eight Mann tunes on the soundtrack to 1999’s ‘Magnolia’ but also specifically worked from her lyrics to create the film’s characters and situations. Mann was nominated for an Oscar for ‘Save Me’, a title that adequately sums up what the film did for her.

By now fed up of the music business, Mann launched her own label, SuperEgo Records’ and only sold ‘Bachelor No 2’ at her concerts or via her website. Two years later, in 2002, the downbeat ‘Lost In Space’ came out but not to the same acclaim as 2005’s ‘The Forgotten Arm’. The concept album (two lovers meet at the Virginia state fair and run away) also illustrated (literally in the sleeve) Mann’s love of boxing (the title itself is a reference) and goes to show that when Mann has been backed into a corner over the course of her career, she’s come out fighting.

22-20s, 'The 22-20s'

The law of averages probably doesn’t state it anywhere but it would be fair to assume that, if America produces modern bands such as The White Stripes and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, it’s only a matter of time before Britain hits back. Leading the fight are the 22-20s who may be from Lincolnshire but sound quite unlike anything from the sleepy English county. And it doesn’t take long for them to have their wicked way with you. The gratifying effects of their self-titled album quickly seep into your veins and swirl around like an intoxicating, heady brew of dirty, rocking beats. It’s a record that should be listened to alone in the bedroom or with friends in the garage. And nowhere else in between.

You can’t help but feel that lead singer Martin Trimble was brought up under similar bedroom/garage rules himself. As already stated, he originated, like his band mates, from northern England, a region Darwin’s Survival of the fittest should have been written about. And its laws pervade this album: it sounds magnificently primal, literally roaring away at times. Just shy of forty minutes, the record assaults the head and heart in equal measure. Within seconds, you’ll hear distinct traces of The Rolling Stones, Yardbirds and the Animals. Trimble virtually spits out his lyrics with a healthy distain for everything and everyone. Considering he’s only in his 20s, his rugged voice sounds like its been round the block a fair few times – and then some.

And so ‘Devil In Me’ would be what the Rolling Stones sounded like if they were fresh faced on the scene, ‘Baby Brings Bad News’ is a boozy lament (“I’m getting bored of looking at his bedroom door/I’m getting bored of the song he sings that I’ve heard a million times before”) par excellence whereas ‘Shoot Your Gun’ is a sonically charged blues fest that defiantly asks you to cry. The tears won’t stop pouring out. And by the time you’re through – just wait until you feel the dazzling denouement of ’22 ‘I’m The One’ and ‘Hold On’ – you’ll be holding on for dear life. Mick Jagger and Jack White might be unaware of what’s going on underneath their noses but you need not be.

22-20s biography

The name isn’t for a ridiculously thin measurement (“no Sir, we don’t have jeans in THAT size”) but rather the Skip James song ’22-20 Blues’. And blues, in addition to rock, folk and country, all get mixed into the British band’s melting pot of music.

Vocalist Martin Trimble and bassist Glen Bartup had played together in local Lincolnshire bands while growing up. Forming the 22-20s in 2002 along with them were keyboardist Charlie Coombes and a succession of drummers. The eclectic sounds on offer quickly appealed to Heavenly Records who signed them before the year was out. Debut single ‘Such A Fool’ was released, the band played the Coachella Festival and, continuing the numbers theme, they recorded the ’05-03’ EP which contained a variety of live tracks.

The past couple of years have seen the band becoming the opening act de nos jours, getting audiences ready for the likes of Jet, Kings Of Leon, Graham Coxon and Supergrass as well as appearing at all the requisite festivals. More singles have steadily followed – ‘Why Don’t You Do It For Me?’ and ‘Shoot Your Gun’ – and last year saw their eponymous debut album released in the UK. Astralwerks released ‘The 22-20s’ in the US earlier this year and college radio stations have latched on. No doubt that the band’s near obsession with touring will result in your hearing their material sooner rather than later.

The Matador

“You a spy? Something like that?” asks Greg Kinnear’s character to Pierce Brosnan’s in writer/director Richard Shepard’s "The Matador". You can see why the question would be asked in the first place. Brosnan, after all, was the celebrated James Bond, Britain’s go to guy for saving the world (and their film industry). And the early signs are all in place: our man certainly has a way with the ladies, he packs a trusty revolver and as for the confident swagger, well, talk about licensed to thrill. But just as you settle down, safe in the belief that martinis will be shaken, and not stirred, subtle changes take place. "The Matador" might open on a close up of Brosnan’s world-weary face but almost immediately pulls out to reveal – yes! – a moustache. The name is now Noble, Julian Noble and our hero is applying liberal amounts of sunscreen and has swapped martinis for margaritas. The cold war must be over.

Or is it? Make no mistake, "The Matador" is Brosnan’s 'f*** you' to those involved in making the decision to not cast him as Bond for a fifth time. His interviews illustrated how disappointed he was and his performance single-handedly liberates him from 007 once and for all. He plays the hit man Noble by name and by nature. A master of his craft, though a tiring one with no fixed abode, he travels from city to city, facilitating the needs of his superiors. “It’s mainly corporate jobs”, he explains to a disbelieving Danny Wright (Kinnear) when fate inevitably brings them together down Mexico way. That’s right, we’re once again in the realms of the buddy movie but you’re in safe hands. Kinnear played the perfect foil to Jack Nicholson in "As Good As It Gets" and delivers the moral conscience to Brosnan’s cold-hearted killer. Danny Wright is a down on his luck salesman, who hasn’t recovered from the loss of his son and job a few years ago. The one bright spot in his life is his marriage to Bean (Hope Davis), a relationship that still sparkles with passion and joie de vivre. An early scene finds our lovers getting down and dirty in the kitchen only to be interrupted by a tree crashing through the window. “Still feeling horny?” enquires Danny, and you get the feeling she probably is. Now with the added pressure of salvaging his house, in addition to his finances, Danny duly arrives South of the border on a make-or-break deal. Whilst there, he encounters Noble and from that point on, the drinks and dilemmas start to flow.

The twosome should have been cast on Broadway for "The Odd Couple". They feed off each other and it’s a joy to watch. Matthau and Lemmon...sorry, Noble and Wright meet in a hotel bar, a location last used to such exhilarating effect in Sofia Coppola’s "Lost In Translation". And when you come to think about it, what better backdrop could there be for strangers to meet in? Noble spits out one liners with relish – his two-thirds Dick Van Dyke, one-third Cockney accent is as intoxicating as his seemingly permanent state of drunkenness. “If I can find a hooker’s heart, I can find you, Danny Wright,” he roars with pride. And Wright does the only decent thing by going along for the ride. And what a ride: Danny experiences bullfighting, the nuances involved in killing and quickly becomes drawn in to this way of life. Kinnear is clearly having the time of his life, ironic really when you consider that his part is getting off on other peoples deaths but you imagine that you can’t take yourself too seriously when it comes to this kind of movie.

"The Matador" is an unusually intelligent piece of work, adept at combining comedy with moments of real pathos. It will be hailed as Brosnan’s stand out performance to date and he invests more energy here than at any stage of his career. Not for nothing did he also co-produce the film and he utterly dominates every frame he appears in. Whether he’s engaging the services of hookers, drinking with Danny (“I’m a big fan of the ‘gotta pee’ theory of assassination”) or getting a worrying case of the yips, you won’t be able to take your eyes off him. Shepard’s script is engaging and refuses to stick to traditional plot conventions. But possibly his most inspiring casting was that of his principal cameraman David Tattersall. He films the locations with such poise – Mexico City and the bullfight, in particular, literally shimmer on screen – that they become part of the supporting cast. Speaking of which, Philip Baker Hall, as Noble’s mentor Mr. Randy, plays the father figure with sensitivity and Hope Davis, although not given nearly enough to do, represents the true soul of the movie. As Bean, her enquiring mind (“Can I see your gun?”) and good grace carry you along, culminating in possibly the loveliest scene of the year when she dances to "In The Wee Small Hours" with Noble, all under the watchful eye of her husband. Naturally, though, you’ll remember Brosnan and Kinnear longest and when Noble tells Wright, “That’s why I like you, you’re the complete opposite of me!”, it becomes abundantly clear that the conversation is actually taking place between Brosnan’s Bond and Noble. Talk about the ultimate character assassination. Over to you, 007.

http://www.richardshepard.com/thematador-reviews.htm

Liz Phair, "Somebody's Miracle"

"Yeah, you’ve heard it all before” announces Liz Phair prophetically towards the end of her latest album Somebody’s Miracle, “but this time it’s true”. Hint to reader: this is largely bad news. Phair was the post-grunge golden girl, seemingly charming all the demographics culminating in a Rolling Stone cover and, surely, stardom. Along the way, though, the quality of her music has slowly diminished. Debut record Exile In Guyville was far more than a terrific title, brimming with confidence and attitude. It didn’t just stand up for women’s rights, it sounded sexy and fearless at the same time, a heady combination if ever there was one. A decade on from that first foray was an eponymous 4th album, which featured tracks such as "Good Love Never Dies" (really? All evidence points to the opposite) and had the single ‘Why Can’t I’ find its way onto the 13 Going On 30 soundtrack. From the spirit of Janis Joplin to Jennifer Garner in the space of a few records. Progress? Probably not.

And so now we reach make or break time. Somebody’s Miracle starts not with a bang but a whimper. Phair’s voice seems to have transformed into Delores O’Riordan’s from The Cranberries and the unfortunate pop sensibilities hinted at in previous records have manifested themselves with near disastrous results. She seems scared to let loose and extend those vocal cords; everything sounds polite, calm and clinical. What’s worse, as early as the second track, "Wind And The Mountain", frank admissions of a lack of interest in life are heard with alarming regularity (“But sometimes I am too tired...I’ve got nothing and no one...sometimes I am inspired...you lose your way”). The title track continues this whimsical theme and comes over as light and insubstantial. Do we really want to hear about “a modern fairy tale”? You imagine that the Liz Phair of the early 90s would shudder if she knew that it was going to turn out like this.

The album gets worse before matters improve. "Count On Your Love" has a chorus that any boy band would be proud to put their name to (“You only have to ask and I’ll be there for you”) whereas "Lazy Dreamer" has a set of opening lyrics which are just that (“You fall hard. You fall deep. Even when you’re awake. You look half asleep”). The current single "Everything To Me" is possibly the most frustrating effort on show, daring as it does to hint at greater possibilities but ultimately fading away with Phair’s reluctance to belt out her words. Given half a chance, you’d just love to buy her a drink, watch that tongue loosen and listen to her lungs rip without inhibition. And, strangely enough, come the end of proceedings, that’s exactly what takes place. "Everything (Between Us)" verges on haunting, sounds sensational and is far and away the standout effort on show. The final tune, "Giving It All To You", immediately follows and has a welcome rawness (“I don’t want to keep my feelings locked inside. Everytime I see you, you just blow my mind”) which you’re dying to hear more of. It’s sadly too little too late and, of course, as you’re starting to become engrossed in Phair’s songs and what she has to say and realize that she does matter, the album ends. Another Rolling Stone cover might be fanciful thinking at the moment but if the next record can pick up from where Somebody’s Miracle leaves off, then this undoubted talent could still reclaim our love. But don’t hold your breath because life, as you often hear but never read, is rarely Phair.

Drive-Thru Records CMJ Showcase

The omens aren’t exactly encouraging. Mere moments before the first of six bands take to the stage a seriously annoyed kid huffs and puffs his way through the crowd to get a better view of proceedings. The word brandished across his t-shirt? Obituary. Talk about writing off a night before it’s even begun...

But maybe our young “fan” is onto something if we judge the entire night by the opening act. House Of Fools (who, disappointingly, don’t act like fools at any point) might have the crowd clapping along with their opening number but we refuse to - ahem - get fooled again and quickly realize that this is sub Guns N’ Roses drivel that even Axl Rose would be ashamed to put his name to. The end can’t come soon enough but, with their final song, some hope shines through. Ironically, it’s House Of Fools’s quietest moment and this softly spoken approach pays instant dividends as the bombast is put to bed and an introspective side takes over. Still, isn’t “doing” raucous their very raison d’etre, as they don’t say very often in these parts?

Look up exuberant in the dictionary and you’ll see a photograph of Houston Calls. Needless to say, you’ll probably want to return your dictionary as pictures of pop/rock bands have no place there...they should be under L for Loud. And, naturally, Houston Calls are that too but at least lead singer Tom Kreiger can hold a tune and isn’t this the least we should expect, nay, demand from our future pop heroes? This band is so happy that even the members who don’t have a singing role merrily chirp along to all the words. The keyboard player holds onto his instrument with gusto while leaning into the crowd and screaming out the lyrics as if his life depended on it. Naturally, it’s infectious behavior and it’s as apt a metaphor for modern music in 2005 as you’re likely to find. Their 2005 material isn’t too shabby either: ‘Sunrise Goodbyes’, ‘Conversation With The Wind’ and ‘One More Won’t Hurt’ wouldn’t sound out of place at a Blink 182 show and who could begrudge anyone with a song called ‘Amtrak Is 4 Lovers’ up their youthful sleeves? And though this shows their innocence - in five years time, the tune will have the readjusted title of ‘Amtrak Is A Frustrating Experience And I Don’t Think We’ll Ever Get There (Why Didn’t We Fly Instead?) - it’s entirely appropriate to conclude that Houston Calls, we don’t have a problem.

The start to Socratic’s set is not your usual affair. The customary feedback does kick in but during some initial guitar strummings on ‘Theme From Your Mother’s Garden’ (what is it with these titles? Remember when songs were called ‘She Loves You’ and you knew what you were letting yourself in for?), another kid in an ever so negative t-shirt (‘Looking Forward To Death’) casually strolls on carrying a human sized cardboard cutout of the band’s latest album. As a publicity stunt, it’s nothing short of relative genius (the average age of this crowd must be 15) but how could Socratic possibly measure up to it? You can read that on a literal level too, if you like. Lead singer Duane Okun means well, and material from their album ‘Lunch For The Sky’ is briefly engaging, but it’s instantly forgettable. Socratic come off as Queen, just without the bad hair, issues with sexuality and, sadly for them, the songs. The album’s huge though. You can read that on a literal...oh, never mind.

Continuing the tribute theme, I Am The Avalanche resemble a Dave Grohl fan club meeting. Except that they scream Brooklyn in that “we’re cool but are trying not to look it” way. You couldn’t fault them musically but much like biting into rhubarb and being unaware that candy exists, you just know that there’s something better out there. I Am The Avalanche’s lead singer Vinnie Caruana was the singer with The Movielife and his new project is attempting to be more ambitious. The effort is admirable - their tracks feature the requisite crunching guitars, ‘Murderous’ tips its hat to reggae and ‘New Disaster’ is about as optimistic as a mission statement written exclusively for pessimists can get. But Dave G can rest easy.

The real surprise of the night comes with Steel Train. Perfectly pitched between the Vans wearing Warped tour fans and those of us who want more from our music than the simple pleasure of banging our heads, this is a band with the chutzpah to cover The Jackson 5’s ‘I Want You Back’. Indeed, their ‘1969’ record has the good grace to pay respect to the year in question by offering a fresh perspective on David Bowie’s ‘Space Oddity’ and the barely known ‘Natural Mystic’ by Bob Marley (the name Steel Train is also a Marley reference). Grace is an apt word for their performance: vocalists Jack Antonoff and Scott Ranniar have it in spades and the fact that they’re so different from anything else on the Drive-Thru roster works in their favor. They sound like the official end of summer - it’s smoky and sultry as only country tinged rock seems to be these days - and as that New York Yankees advert would nearly have it, ‘Steel Train’ are as comfortable looking back as they are looking forward.

Headliners HelloGoodbye are what the majority of the kids have come to see and they don’t disappoint. Resembling a Fountains Of Wayne crossed with The Buggles, this is life affirming power pop. Not for nothing is a picture of a rainbow on their website and anyone who sings about a ‘Bonnie Taylor Shakedown’ (“Here’s a thanks for a summer I will always remember”) demands our attention. Predictably, the kids go wild, everyone claps their hands in perfect unison and exits the venue happier than when they entered. And isn’t that the point? You couldn’t say for certain that Obituary has been crossed out across our favorite fan’s chest but we’ll all fight to live another day.

KT Tunstall/Tom McRae at The Living Room, 'The Hotel Cafe Tour'

One of the more entertaining postings of the week on that scurrilous British website Popbitch suggested that KT Tunstall was becoming prone to showbiz strops. The poster alleged that KT had already fired four publicists and eight hairdressers. The punchline to the message was imagine what she might do if she ever became famous? Ouch. But look past the charges levelled at her and shouldn’t we actually be rather excited about this kind of behavior? In a manufactured world of American Idols, Maroon 5 and, er, the return of Hanson, shouldn’t we cherish a star in the making with - gasp! - an attitude? If she ever refuses to climb onto the stage and uses the third person by declaring that, “KT doesn’t do stairs” then we should immediately declare a public holiday and call it the ‘Whitney Houston would be proud’ day.

Of course, whether Scotland’s brightest talent since a kilt worn in sunshine would want this kind of attention is a moot point. And far more to the point is that her silky, smooth songs deserve attention, acclaim and all other kinds of alliterative terminology. Inevitably, KT (Kate sounds like a farmer’s daughter, in her opinion) is nothing but lovely and seems genuinely thrilled to be here. Announcing that this is only her second New York concert, Tunstall performs as if she's been playing here for years.

Right from the off with opener ‘Miniature Disasters’, her voice effortlessly mixes soul and classic “rawk”. Which is some achievement as she can’t be much taller than five feet. ‘Stoppin The Love’ sees KT “lose my piano cherry” while ‘’Through The Dark’ and Another Place To Fall’ simply cements her place as the breakthrough artist of the year. But all this pales in comparison to the final tune of an all too brief set. It’s quite a sight: KT slaps her guitar, claps her hands and makes this nagging “woo-oo” sound which she records and plays as her own backing loop to the epic ‘Black Horse & The Cherry Tree’. The song sounds like nothing else, nodding its head to a bygone era where torch singers ruled the roost yet still with its feet firmly planted in the present. Think of a Norah Jones with balls and you’re on the right track. And her reaction to the track is as tumultuous as ours - she pumps her fists in the air and gives a thumbs up before telling us how wonderful we are all. No one, to the best of our knowledge, gets fired but there’s a steely determination behind those eyes and when her last words are that she’ll be back, you wouldn’t dare doubt her. Diana Ross, Cher and hairdressers of the world: run for cover!

The only cover in evidence during Tom McRae’s set is the one drink minimum put in place by the venue. And you would want, say, a aged malt by your side during the British singer songwriter’s half hour performance. This is old fashioned music making: much like a fine whisky, it’s distinguished, with the faintest hint of oak (though that might just be the stage) and demands to be shared with as wide an audience as possible. Sadly for McRae, he wasn’t getting the airplay back in Britain so with an admirable ‘have guitar, will travel’ attitude, moved out here. And the gamble, if it even was one in the first place, is certainly paying off.

McRae’s most powerful weapon is his voice and you get the impression it can melt the harshest heart. His songs of lust and longing connect with the crowd though it’s fair to say that he takes ten minutes to get into his stride. The moment of impact comes during his “rock song” of ‘Enemies’, a haunting affair which builds into a crescendo where, with his eyes firmly shut, he repeats that “time slips away, blood is rising”. No way could that be his view on the British music industry...

From here on in, any possible bitterness is put to one side and the music takes over. Written about LA, ‘Hummingbird Song’ juxtaposes the highs and lows one experiences with the city of angels (“At night we fly above this town...feel the beatings of its wings”) with a mournful, quite possibly regretful refrain of “we’re coming down”. You can see why you need that drink by your side. The climax to the set is no less intoxicating. ‘Silent Boulevard’ seeps into your soul - when you hear the words “voice like a knife”, you’re more open to suggestion - and with his Hotel Cafe bandmates in tow, the words carry their way out into the New York night.

You’re left with the impression that Britain’s loss is America’s gain. And whilst the success achieved by David Gray and Damien Rice might ultimately elude McRae, at least his destiny is in his own hands. The joy in listening to him is that neither the singer nor the audience could predict what the future holds. Let’s leave the last words to him: “And in a year of new beginnings dear, how do we write the end?”

The Divorce: The Gifted Program

The press release for The Divorce proclaims that the pump-your-fist-through-the-Camaro’s-sunroof choruses, swooning vocals and robot-precise soloing are worth listening to. Look past the inevitable hyperbole and just feel those hyphens; it’s less a mission statement and more a 14th century British surname. How could the music itself possibly begin to live up to that?

The answer is pretty favorably actually. The watchword here is ‘tight’ as vocalist Shane Berry and his merry band of Seattle men have released 10 spunky, punky efforts that don’t reinvent the wheel but, crucially, don’t outstay their welcome either. Sure, you could draw comparison with The Killers or The Bravery but right from the off, this is economically driven music on a mission. Without doubt, there’s a healthy nod to the past - you get the impression that the band have listened to their fair share of New Order - yet the record doesn’t feel like an homage.

The tone is set with opening effort ‘Yes’, full of lyrical cheekiness (‘because the answer is ‘yes!’/and we don’t know the question yet’) and exuberance. This upbeat nature continues unabated as both the band and listener barely have time to draw breath. ‘Birds = Magic’, ‘Deny! Deny! Deny!’ (even the title smacks of enthusiasm) and ‘Houses In Hurricanes’ rattle along without a worry in the world but they really hit their stride with ‘Air Traffic Control’. Notwithstanding the audacity to rhyme ‘wine’ with ‘lying’, The Divorce seem to update ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ (‘So carry me home/Oh! Swing low) over these three minutes and that should surely be admired. ‘The Gifted Program’ won’t necessarily appeal to listeners with older ears but The Divorce are certainly there for - and are thinking about - the kids. And rather appropriately, shouldn’t that be the aim? At least they’ve now got something to work with for their next press release.

Emiliana Torrini: Fisherman’s Woman

(Strangely, I'm listening to her right now on the Mark Radcliffe Christmas show!)

Let's get the obvious out of the way: yes, the half-Italian, half-icelandic Emiliana Torrini sounds like Bjork. Just without the squeaking. Or high pitched sounds there for the benefit of dogs and - yes! - music critics. But hold on a minute, there surely can be room for both singers in this ever crowded world where, like London buses, you wait ages for one and then, well, two come along jostling for passengers? And if that doesn't mix your metaphors, then who knows what will?

Let's get the not so obvious out of the way. 'Fisherman's Woman' - recorded by the woman who wrote 'Gollum's Theme' for Lord Of The Rings you know - is far more sprightly than it might have had any right to be. Since releasing debut album 'Life in the Time of Science', Torrini has had to deal with the death of her lover and has been assaulted herself. The fact that this follow up is a stripped-down, mainly acoustic affair is entirely understandable. The record hums to a haunting, sensual beat, where nature, "running naked and dragging a kite" are commonplace affairs. Your daily routine of a Starbucks and rushing to and from work are not to be found inside Torrini's world.

Obviously, let's get to the end. Torrini could and has been accused of peddling the same song in 12 different ways but that would be harsh to standout track 'Sunny Road', the beguiling 'Honeymoon Child' and the general ambience of this beautiful collection. Be warned: before you know it, these songs will have snuck into your subconscious, taken up residence in your head and demand to be played. Bjork - and damn, there's that word again - may not have cause to be unduly worried but time, while you listen to this record, will stand still.

Coldplay: X & Y (baseball references seem sooo June 2005)

So here it is then, the only team in town worth talking about. People looking at them to fail, senior management worried about a lack of return on their investment and just what is up with the Big Unit? Yep, those Yankees sure are proving puzzling. Meanwhile, what of Coldplay’s third release as they leave the early innings of their career?

It might be a convenient comparison but EMI will be hoping to shift some seriously big units of ‘X & Y’, what with the delay in its release and the fall in share price. It’s enough to make your head spin or, at least in Chris Martin’s case, to label the label’s (!) shareholders “the greatest evil of the modern world”. We’ve been here before, of course, when Oasis made a claim for world domination with their third album ‘Be Here Now’. Instead, the record was inspired by cocaine, sounded overproduced and only now are Manchester’s finest finding their feet once again. Three was not the magic number - talk about pressure.

And pressure is a constant consideration in Martin’s mind. Am I good enough? Are we worthy enough to ask the public to listen to us? This will be our best album ever. This will be our last album ever. You know the drill. And the drill with ‘X & Y’ is the sound of a band becoming increasingly comfortable with themselves and the world in which they live. This time around, love and paranoia pour out of the record, with Martin effectively singing directly to Gwyneth Paltrow on ‘What If’ (What if you don’t want me there by your side/What if you don’t want me there in the light’) and ‘Fix You’ (‘Tears stream down your face/I promise you I will learn from my mistakes… and I will fix you’). The rest of us are virtual voyeurs, simply grateful to be part of the process. If anything, there’s an old fashioned sensibility to ‘X & Y’ in that you could quite easily permeate 7 or 8 singles from it. ‘Speed Of Sound’ has been and gone - though it is to ‘Clocks’ as album opener ‘Square One’ is to ‘Politik’ from the last record - yet finding filler is a tough task.

‘X & Y’ is by no means perfect. The spectre of U2 looms large throughout and Martin’s turn of phrase isn’t quite what it once was. The thrill of hearing ‘shoot an apple off my head’ has been replaced by rhyming ‘balloon’ with ‘spoon’ and ‘human race’ with ‘outer space’. But these are minor quibbles for when ‘X & Y’ clicks, it veritably soars and you’ll do well to see out 2005 by hearing better songs than ‘White Shadows’, ‘Swallowed In The Sea’ and hidden track ‘Til Kingdom Come’ (originally written for Johnny Cash). Whilst ‘X & Y’ may be no Grand Slam, the bases most certainly are loaded. Chris Martin, it’s down to you to hit it out of the park.

Better Late...

Right then, in a rare posting, I'm planning to spend the next few days updating this literary marvel with pretty much everything I've written this year for some of the world's greatest publications. OK, that might be taking things a tad too far but does it really matter? After all, does anyone actually read this except for me and automated programmes pushing lame stocks in my general direction? But thanks for the tips: buy low, sell high! Or something...