April 1, 2011

As he ambles out of the curtain and into the spotlight it becomes quite clear why it’s taken ten years for him to provide his patient audience with an album. He seems to receive more adulation for his mumbled hello, plugging his guitar in and expressing gratitude for the oranges in the green room than many bands in much more of a hurry are likely to get at the end of a nights work. He tells us that he’s spent the decade prior to Last Of The Country Gentlemen‘s release standing in rooms, playing the guitar, and why take a night off when you do it so well and receive this much adulation?

Josh T. Pearson

Of course, there may be another reason for the wait in the form of his languid approach to life. Having plugged in, tuned up and checked his levels, it is not music that follows but friendly introductions, a few jokes, and a warning to the ladies in the crowd to “get out while they still can.” I have been pre-warned of his tendency to ramble, but this affable Texan still surprises with the way his demeanour contrasts so much with the mood of his music. When he announces that he is going to play a Boney M. cover, the laughter that follows could as easily signify disbelief that we are going to get a song at all, let alone for the choice of track. ‘Rivers of Babylon’ though is made very much into a Josh T. Pearson song, transforming from a 1970s disco hit into what feels like a true yearning for Zion before it segues seamlessly into ‘Sweetheart, I Ain’t Your Christ’. It’s remarkable to watch him perform; you realise how simple his songs may be, but the way he is able to mould a few chords into such an aching sound is breathtaking.

For our performer this may well be just another night, but the way he’s standing alone on stage with only  his mighty beard to hide behind, singing these devastating stories, it feels like he trusts the audience, and this is enthralling; the sold out room hangs on his words, his guitar lingering as though he’s trying to uncover the next line right in front of us and when it comes it so regularly sounds so anguished that you kind of don’t care that he’s singing about his own infidelities.

As the gig progresses he continues to be easily distracted by movements in the crowd, a few previous attendees request to hear his drummer jokes (he has many), but when he gets going it’s like he’s never going to stop, that this is his natural position. Watching from the gloom at the back of the room, his spotlit face appears to evolve during the ten minute songs, from full and jovial, through a slender cheekiness down to a despairing, gaunt pallor as the tale requires. He seems to stick quite closely to his recent release for most of the evening, meandering through to the end when part of the audience finally seems to have had enough of his interludes and calls for him to get on with it. Josh T. Pearson doesn’t seem perturbed, he merely ruminates for a moment before deciding on ‘Devil’s On The Run’, during which he coaxes the audience into standing up and singing along with the chorus. It takes a while, but by the end the room is doing it’s best and Josh seems proud of his evening’s work. He lays down his guitar and makes his way back into the curtain.

David Karsten Daniels & Fight The Big Bull - I Mean To Live Here Still

I have to confess, when I read “9-piece jazz ensemble” I was a little worried about my latest assignment. However, as David Karsten Daniels has been on the fabulous FatCat label since his solo debut in 2007, I was more than willing to give his collaboration with Fight The Big Bull on I Mean To Live Here Still the benefit of the doubt, particularly after discovering he had worked on Frightened Rabbit’s Christmas single a couple of years ago. So, would all of this turn out to be a sign of a glorious new timbre to titillate a previously ignorant new audience, or a bit of an indulgent mishmash of genres?

We open with the sound of a brass section warming up as the vocal gradually builds over the top, sounding a bit folky before getting a bit cacophonic as more sounds are added and the voices get a little more urgent and overlaid, building and building, then relaxing gently. We take our seats and prepare for the performance. ‘Funeral Bell’ follows and is just grand. I played this outside in the sun the other day, and it made people smile, which I think is a sound test for anything. There’s an acoustic guitar, some upbeat drumming, and a bit of brass from that jazz section, all weaving together whimsically, an early indication that this marriage might just work.

They then take a bit of a sidestep though, as more warming up is followed by some squiggly sax, which seems to be happening in a different room at a different time to the singing and sounds like a lot of fun to take part in, but perhaps not to listen to too many times; we do though. I feel a little harsh saying that, although it is true, as we are treated to some very considered, stripped back folk, and quite occasionally it sounds like The Shins acoustically pretending to be Fleet Foxes (when plugged in, the same impression would maybe equal Band of Horses), which works very well indeed.

Our only real issue is that the songs almost invariably break down into some freeform jazz, which admittedly occasionally sounds like you’ve wandered into Disney’s The Jungle Book (ace) but sometimes sounds like the crashing together of a lack of ideas. ‘Salmon Brook’ for instance sounds like it could be building into something spectacular, but then about a minute and a half in it irretrievably wanders off into a freestyle ether. As a pattern, this does get a little frustrating, and it is perhaps telling that the only songs to avoid this altogether are the shorter entries.

That’s not to say it can’t work of course. The album’s final track, ‘Epitaph On The World’, does it well, following each individual bit of mayhem with something even more interesting, ensuring that when it’s all over you are left wanting a little more, or at least dreaming of what could have been.

It may be missing the point, but I Mean To Live Here Still sounds like a whole heap of fantastic ideas, just tied together a little too tenuously. When it’s cohesive though, such as with ‘Smoke’, you get some clever lyrics melded to head-shakingly good noise. So I Mean To Live Here Still is perhaps not quite glorious or titillating, and possibly a bit indulgent, but certainly worth your time. Nice.

2000trees

A bloody good festival, is what you might call 2000Trees. Two stages with tremendous lineups in the delightful Gloucestershire countryside and 2000-ish festivalees provides, it turns out, all you need to truly enjoy a the art of listening to music in a field. That and a whole load of seven per cent cider, which may or may not be eponymous. Now in it’s third year and having enjoyed many an accolade (see first sentence) the event has provided many a fantastic band a much smaller crowd than they may be expecting when asked “would you like to headline our festival?”

Their knack for asking/persuading just the right people to do this though has been key to their success. This year, maybe it’s a sign of an ageing Muso, the lineup seemed generally less well known, less awe-inspiring and jaw-dropping. No sign of Beans On Toast or his good friend who has yet to earn a mention (until Thursday at the After Party), Future Of The Left and Art Brut from last year. A couple of big names stepped up, but if it was Cider Smiles providing the much needed proof of the organiser’s pre-event pudding. No, not an aptly entitled musical troupe, but the official take-it-home-and-keep musical accompaniment to 2000Trees.

British Sea Power open the compilation as they closed the festival with knowing, wondrous, hugeness. “Astronomical fans of alcohol”? Youknowsit. To hear this is to dance, and feel the urge to wave foliage, regardless of the ethical position of such an act. They arrived on stage late which alas meant a cruelly shortened set, but whilst they were there we heard everything, both large and small, were chastised for our ill-preparedness to catch Noble’s mandatory stage dive and made new friends with the band’s groupies. ‘Remember Me’? We certainly did. ‘Larsen B’? Fell on us all. Easy.

Those in charge appeared to be completely in love with Amplifier, ensuring us that they were the best band ever and that we would love them. That the song they provided for this compilation is at least five years old did make me question how far they had come since. As one notable chap informed me, they sound a little like Incubus crossed with someone else. This is correct. A slow burning, epic track that does sum the band up quite well, as on stage they attracted quite the crowd and provided a good backing to the eating of an equally grand pie, the latter of which did admittedly grab more attention.

The Brute Chorus closed the Leaf Lounge (the tent that is stage two) on Sunday so were missed by many, but judging by this were loved by those that made it. Hand claps duelling with the drums to provide the beat and a carefully assured vocal interact with the rest of the standard indie band to create a funky-folky break down. Dance to it, jump to it, ho-down to it, all are acceptable. Baddies are one of a few bands to have pulled out in the build up, their contribution here making it hard to tell if they were missed. Generic, popular, noisy and possibly forgettable.

The Epstein’s ‘Thunder River’ and Babel’s ‘Hand Me Down’ provide good examples of what they have to offer on stage: country tinged, relaxed and upbeat. With the sun daring to shine on Saturday morning this seemed to provide a particularly useful morning recovery. Aided also by Jim Lockey & The Solemn Sun, playing their second set of the weekend after the early Thursday party. They drew an impressive crowd, offering something that this mix of local youngsters, bread-stick and dip day trippers and hardened festival goers could enjoy: some more folky, considered, uplifting tunes complete with countdown to the upbeat bit.

It was not all guitars and smiles, there was also Charlie Barnes. Sounding a lot like Styrofoam, ‘This Boy Blind’ is yearning vocals over clicky electronic beats and twinkling piano. Apparently getting his slot here after supporting Amplifier, he was worth his place, offering more of the same from his looping, intelligent synth. Had the lounge mesmerised. Some clever positioning on the compilation puts Napoleon IIIrd next. Not that he can be described as particularly similar to anyone, he does have more toys on stage than most, with reels turning, pedals and buttons, and a hat on his head. ‘Strong Nuclear Force’ was played with such conviction and funk that it would only have taken one emboldened, cider-addled attendee to crack and move their feet to get the whole tent bouncing. Alas that didn’t happen. Perhaps everyone was driving.

Moving on quite some way to Attack! Attack! who offer the finest in Funeral For A Friend alikes (I’m certain that’s the first time these welsh folks have heard that comparison, certain). Sheltering from the lashing rain, we were unconvinced of their brilliance, although there was some excitement when it sounded like they were about to play ‘Daft Punk Is Playing In My House’ (they didn’t), it largely passed by with nary a woop. The cool kids in black loved it though. So cliché. Sucioperro though were spectacular. The first band to get us dancing like loons, it’s stop, start, loud, clever lyrics all the way. ‘Are You Convinced’ is a fantastic example of this, big drums, chugging guitars and some well enunciated words. I decided not to mention Biffy, but then I did.

Beyond the compilation, other highlights were the beautiful Aspen Sails, the huge, name-dropping and wonderfully danceable Dawn Chorus, the shy and short set by a beardy Jay Jay Pistolet. Fightstar were there too, getting us all rowdy before the excellent silent disco. Give your tenner deposit to a guy in a fluorescent jacket and dance around in a field to the finest indie or cheesy records, tremendous and even memorable. There was also the cult hero of Stanton Delaplane (and Tilly), soldiering on despite the failings of his myriad contraptions to give us a stripped, back acoustic set on subjects like the ‘Hipposandal’ and ‘Magical Bird’.

All in all, a “totally wicked and equally ace” long weekend. If all festivals were like this then we’d all be much more relaxed, and band’s egos probably significantly smaller. Cider Smiles manages, for the second year in a row, to provide the perfect accompaniment to the even, both as an expertly compiled record and a nudge to the good times for the addled memory (particularly useful when there’s writing to be done). More please, Finn.

Fanfarlo - Reservoir

This starts out as a very sedate affair, albeit with a big bang on the bass drum, ‘I’m A Pilot’ sounding not dissimilar to Mystery Jets, with a song title that would not look out of place amongst theirs. It sways gently back and forth, building up to something like a crescendo without being too big to really surprise anybody. Some chuggy guitars every now and then, a few handclaps and our time’s up. Not an overwhelming album opener but its unlikely to make you want to turn it off, if you’ve noticed it’s still going you may well say “That’s nice,” and hang around for some more.

If you did do that you’re rewarded with some promising funky sounding guitars and appropriately ethereal aaahi-ing on ‘Ghosts’. The vocal doesn’t seem to have changed but by now you might be dancing as that bass line just doesn’t quit. There might be some pretty profound lyrics going on here, I picked up “The sky is so shallow” which may mean something in context, but on the whole the voice kind of gets lost in its own insipidness. It doesn’t really match the poppy backdrop. It continues in a similar vein, they seem to have noticed the issue by ‘Luna’ as they put some reverb on it and throw some backing vocals on to add a little bit of something, a bit of “wow, they really pressed that button”. Synthy keyboards mixed with thoughtful noise give a bit of interest but it all cools down by the end, the effects seem to have been dropped as it turns into just another song that starts all full of bluster, then calms down and then oh, yep, it’s getting louder again.

Again and again the songs keep starting with a bit of gusto, then the vocal comes along and seems to steal the impetus. You can hear the rest of the band trying in the background but the chap with the microphone just seems so laid-back, he can’t even be bothered to form all of his words, instead opting to let them fall away or merge together in a shambolic mess of missed plosives. It’s not that I dislike this album, not a bit, it’s lovely, but since when have musicians aimed for lovely? Imagine Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and Mercury Rev waking up from a nap together. Cosy.

‘If It Is Growing’ seems to be the slow one (same vocal, less drum) but then the fun bit happens. Maybe it’s just because it’s predecessor was as it was, but we seem to have a winner in the intriguingly-titled ‘Harold T. Wilkins Or How To Wait For A Very Long Time’. It is actually really tremendous, and apparently about a man who liked treasure and spaceships (cheers, internet). They seem to sprint over the ‘Finish Line’, the words stop drawling so much and pop along with the songs a mite more cohesively to make some really top notch noise. Alas, it’s then all over with a short ditty which, unless he’s really slurring his words, has no voice.

So an above average album with at least two fantastic songs showing that these Swedish-led music people have it in them to make something all the kids will scream for, they just don’t all the time.

Black Lips

February 16th, 2009

An early scream from the audience during tonight’s opening act - “KISS EACH OTHER” - presumably a reference to Black Lips’ oft-touted fruity onstage antics, supports the belief that it may be Topshop over taste on the floor today, but on stage it doesn’t seem to matter.

Having been wary of the saxophone in popular music ever since Gruff Rhys told us to be, seeing the foremost young man wrap the strap around his neck fills me with nothing but rage. Forgiveness is achieved though with this occasional funk fun, a kind of screamy jazz with the guy on the guitar looking and sounding a bit like the beardy one from Taking Back Sunday (we miss you Fred) all offset with poppy indie smooth spikes. Goodo.

After being turned away at the bar for being unable to pay twice for pint two as for pint one, we turn to wait impatiently for some more fun to happen. The chap next to me seemingly impresses his young lady by telling her that a pint would put him on the floor, which confuses my sober brain. Apparently drinking lots is becoming socially unacceptable, but in which society is being UNable to do something impressive? This one apparently. Whatever happened to our rock ‘n roll?

Black Lips’ drummer dashes through the crowd to retrieve his coat and no one seems to notice. He then removes his belt live on stage, seemingly about to grant a variation on that screaming girl’s wish but no noise. The show is then delayed as some of the band attack a large hat with some tape, and then they come on stage and the whole room changes. From the pockets of Vice-sponsored cool forms a gleeful mosh pit, camera people start lighting up the room, legs flail wildly as crowd surfers are delivered over this suddenly densely packed venue. Then the music starts.

The band seems so genuinely happy to be here as the rip through some fantastic songs, lining up in a very orderly fashion to croon out their beautifully ramshackle harmonies, all coming across a bit a really ramshackle Monkees, all of the fun and smiles but increased so much that it spills over into this cacophony of wahey, straddling the middle ground between The Thamesmen and Spinal Tap.

They play all the hits, going psychedelic with some budget visuals on ‘O Katrina’ adding to the insane fervour. People stream onto the stage to do a little dance and dive off. The band doesn’t care and the venue seems to be only half-worried, letting it go unless they stray too far from the edge. A few mumbled mum jokes get random cheers, probably just because words were said, and every move is adoringly met by the crowd. Putting a foot on the amp: rapture. Spitting on your own face: one girl explodes.

This just spurs them on further, although they do seem for the most to be holding back from those crrrazy japes that got them chased out of India. The mob does not want to be left out though so they continue to pour onto the fun, with ‘Bad Kids’ getting close to causing a stage invasion. Towards the end Cole meanders from the stage, mounts the bar and drinks straight from the Stella tap, staff looking on helplessly probably worried that to intervene would cause some form of riot. All in all a tremendous show which showed the uniting talent of songs and energy, definitely worth missing Whitechapel for.

Watch the video for ‘Short Fuse’ which is out on Monday right here…

The Gaslight Anthem

February 5th, 2009

Having not heard of Gaslight Anthem until about three months ago, I was surprised to learn that they were in fact not a brand new band, but a well travelled act on their second album. This fact to which I was quite ignorant explained the near sell-out show that I was in attendance of, as well as the sensational support act they were able to book for the tour.

Listening to the album (the latest one) in preparation for the show, I was struck by how incredibly U.S. they were. Bruce Springsteen‘s continued popularity and rumoured Glastonbury slot could do wonders for these folks, with their album sounding quite similar to any number of his, a trait that does start to grate towards the middle of the record, but I’d read that their live set was pretty emotional in a rock ‘n’ roll kinda way, so maybe it’d all make a bit more sense after the gig.

Polar Bear Club are on first tonight, a band whose name put quite a gentle thought in my head, but after seeing them I reconsidered and it became quite obvious that if polar bears were indeed to unionise, it would be at the expense of the human race who’d be made to suffer for the years of selfish resource squandering which has caused the decimation of the polar bears’ natural habitat. So, louder than I thought, and worth hearing some more of too.

‘Twas the next fellow, though, who had initially attracted me to the evening’s entertainment. Frank Turner never fails to impress, and tonight was obviously not an exception to this most rigorously followed of rules. Appearing without his band, he pulls a set out that makes you feel a little like he’s in a front room, just doing a favour for a few mates. Beginning at the beginning with his “song about everything,” a solo career-spanning show follows, ignoring some of the usual ‘hits’ in favour of those perhaps most appropriate for one man and his guitar.

No matter what he picks though there is a floor-sized chorus to accompany him, the room already nearly full with a number of people clearly more excited by Frank then they are about the impending headliners. Being a recent iTunes single of the week may have aided this fervour, or it may just be because he does marvellous music, but whatever the reason his renditions of ‘Long Live The Queen’ and ‘Reasons Not To Be An Idiot’ are met almost word for word by the audience. Attempts to start a wee hoe-down during ‘Back In The Day’ fall flat, with the crowd showing their adulation through the more staid woops and cheers. ‘The Ballad of Me and My Friends’ ends the set on just the right note, and leaves us all happily anticipating an opportunity to share the love with the next on the bill.

Gaslight Anthem come on stage to a collective scream loud enough to put my thoughts that everyone was there for the support to rest. An appreciative and embarrassed smile from the lead singer leads straight into the latest album’s opening track, ‘Great Expectations’ as the crowd goes suitably rapturous. I am pleased to see that Bristol’s gig-goers were still capable of this and impressed by the way the band respond to it. The song seems to elevate the more mental the crowd gets, with both seeming to feed off one another. If either were to suddenly stop it could well have lead to the other collapsing, like whipping away someone’s walking stick, but this did not happen.

The gaps between songs allow lead man Brian Fallon to gush about how great the support acts, the UK, and of course the crowd are, which causes more cheering and more moshing during the following song. ‘The ’59 Sound’ and ‘Old White Lincoln’ draw some particularly vociferous responses, but from my now slightly detached viewpoint it is becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish between some of the output. The promised emotion is indeed present, but it always feels like the same one; not so much a rollercoaster ride as a train, albeit quite a fast one.

They’ve definitely earned the screams that bring them back on for the encore but, mandatory slow one apart, they offer only more of the same. The steady, pounding, drum beat which provides the structure for the rest doesn’t seem to vary for the whole of the impressively long set, with the yearning optimism in Fallon’s voice remaining at a very equal, measured level throughout, picking up during the chorus and dropping again for the verse.

A tight and enjoyable performance of some good folky rock that has the crowd dancing in all the right places, with everyone seeming to leave with at least a bit of a grin on their face, it can be a comfortable mission accomplished for Gaslight Anthem tonight. A little bit more variation in the set would help to keep them in the memory as more than just purveyors of ‘The ’59 Sound’, even if it seems to be working pretty well at the moment.

Arctic Circle - That Fuzzy Feeling

Christmas is well and truly here. I heard it in my ears. Whilst this modern lifestyle with all it’s economic trials disguised as global warming preventing initiatives seem to have sapped some of those wonderfully overblown city-sized Christmas trees this year, at least we have Arctic Circle to shoehorn this wonderful set of festivities into our headphones. It doesn’t take an awful lot to make me overjoyed at this time of year, but I do count myself a connoiseur of Christmas cacophony; there’s a lot of dross out there, lazy covers and distressing cash-ins, so a well earned huzzah once more for these folks.

Starting with some warm horns to create that cosy fireplace feeling, it then delicately plucks it’s way to a sentimental tale which lets all us once-a-year shoppers know that yuletide present gathering is this hard for other people too, but as long as there’s a little love you’ll be OK. Might even make you want to hug an elf. Josh Weller is then joined by Paloma Faith for a pretty, witty, one-two about breaking up a home at this time of year. A topic which could stir unhappy memories and a depressing mood in the wrong hands, a bouncy enough tune and some rhymes memorable for being a bit dodgy (“Oedipus complex” and “Malcolm X”) and others that are completely fantastic (“job “and “knob”! Ha!) leave you with more of a ‘Fairytale of New York’-esque grin at their predicament as you jazz away to their plucky wee number.

It steps back a tad with a quieter, slightly darker, piano-y one. A bit more introspective and likely to have you staring into the distance, thinking of Christmas cheer gone by, it’s perhaps a bit off topic but form is recovered slightly for ‘I’ll Save The Bath Water For You This Christmas Time.’ More inspiring words of love, hope and “break dancing on the kitchen floor,” it ends before really having chance to say what you feel it wants to. Good though.

It ends with a slightly delicate, building female vocal singing about “the voice of Christmas Day.” Taking three and a half minutes to build up to a bit of pomp, it quickly dies down again and is actually a bit disappointing. Perhaps this isn’t as good as I declared at the start, but the first two tracks are obviously so marvellous that they’ll have you saying whatever they want you to. The rest is good too, just not quite sparklingly Santa-loving.

Jay Jay Pistolet

With the release of his new EP on 17th November, Jay Jay Pistolet found himself in the unusual position (for him) of looking forward to its release:

“Everything I’ve done since I picked up a guitar has been documented in some shape or form - I’ve publicly made mistakes,” although he admits that this is “only cos I’m so impatient.”

As such, his previous release, ‘We Are Free’, was, in his eyes, not quite the finished product hoped for, with lyrics the artist found embarassing and a little naive. Not so with this though:

“Songwise, I’m really happy with it. I’m already capable of better, this is a fair representation of where I am now… Without blowing my own trumpet, I’m really happy with it,” and rightfully so.

With a little help from his friends, Justin Hayward-Young has put together four love songs on his ‘Happy Birthday You EP’ capable of touching the coldest of hearts without sounding overtly soft. The support he has had in creating this is something for which he is proud and grateful, but he is also quick to point out the dangerous ignorance of being labelled as just another part of the same engine:

“If you’re being mentioned in the same sentence as other respected acts obviously that’s helpful, but only to a certain extent.” There have been many instances of popular acts paving the way for soundalikes who are encouraged by a lazy media, as well as a few genuinely talented people who have been waiting for their opportunity, and “when you start lumping people into a scene, one or maybe two acts survive and everyone else sort of sinks, where as if you let people get on with what they’re doing I don’t think that happens as much.”

“Get on with it” definitely seems to be an important part of Jay Jay Pistolet’s vocabulary as he starts to achieve more and more. Whilst he has recently been seen playing to “the perfect crowds” on tour with Laura Marling, he had also been invited onto Katie Melua’s UK tour which culminated in a show at the O2 Arena last Friday, an event he found “incredible” and “pretty daunting.”

“When I play, I find it more intimidating playing to less people and it is more personal, and I kind of prefer playing to less people. It (the o2 arena) is definitely more impersonal, it’s more scary ‘cos you think “I’m really loud and if I f*** up then loads and loads of people are going to see me”, but because it’s not as personal you don’t feel personally responsible…”

Taking the headline slot at that kind of gig then isn’t an immediate aim, although as he points out, “People would be lying if they said they didn’t want to do that, but it’s so inconceivable that it doesn’t really enter my mind.” His view is one of a more incremental climb up the ladder, rather than just being dropped at the top. At the moment he is just happy that “people want to phone up and interview me… the more you achieve the more you want,” which seems to be a well grounded attitude that should set him in good stead to take a few more steps.

Perhaps his most public review came in song, a reference which has elsewhere been described as heavy hyperbole, all of which is taken in this young man’s stride. He graciously accepts the compliment and then concedes his critic is probably correct, but only for the time being. At only 21 there’s plenty of time to progress in his chosen industry, with many people “a lot older than you thought they were,” there’s no rush to take hazardous giant leaps forwards.

Jay Jay Pistolet’s plans don’t seem to stretch much further than a quiet Christmas; he intends “to write some more, demo some more, maybe do another EP, headline tour…” (probably no festive single, though). For new material he says he is “trying not to write so many love songs, but sometimes I can’t help myself,” as he admits he is “a bit of a romantic” (but not a poet).

Tomorrow then doesn’t seem of much concern,  and he’s pretty confident is he that making the right choices now that will set his future in good stead regardless of what happens around him: “I just want to be here to stay, to play to the right people… I’m not going anywhere.”

http://www.myspace.com/jayjaypistolet

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These folks have done some good things in the past, suffering for their own brilliance with a song that everyone wanted to hear all the time and, four years on, is still like to get many an airing in your local indie disco. Unfortunately they still seem trapped in ’04, unable to follow it up with anything of equal magnitude; the rest of that album was very good, but didn’t quite match up. Even the press release for this new single mentions ‘The Rat’ in “you thought that was good,” kind of a way. It was only ever going to end in disappointment, a silly manoeuvre akin to The Strokes pretending to have bettered Is This It (twice). I did intend to ignore the comparison here, but they started it…

‘The Blue Route’ starts off with some jangly guitars and a slightly un-melancholy feel which is nice enough but takes too long to really do anything. Then it happens and you’re still waiting for something else. The repeat of “What happened to you?” seems prescient as you start to worry for the sanity of a band releasing this as a lead single for their new album. We were promised fun, more positive stuff but this is neither, it’s distressed boredom in sound format. The song opens with the lines “Keep replaying through the days/And it brought you to this place,” which by the end of the song sounds like a warning to other bands to at least keep up to your own standards, or you’ll end up on ‘The Blue Route’.

B side ‘Canadian Girl’ passes by pleasantly enough, but by now the damage is done. A look at the charts shows that, if you’re willing to forgo self respect, it is possible to at least sell lots of records by becoming a bad copy of your former glory. The Walkmen though have tried to retain their indie appeal to create a bland song that is hopefully just a bad choice of single rather than an accurate advert for their album.